#my weakness for dad figure and feral daughter is showing

[phoenixyfriend]

Rey Gives No F*cks About the Grandfather Paradox

Okay so since nobody’s suggested a fic under these terms, I ended up expanding on this post on discord and things snowballed. We kept to the basics of the entire plot revolving around Rey really hating her grandad and leveraging her blood relation to not be unalived about it.

With contributions by @atagotiak​, @dracothulhu​, @thepallaspalace​, and several others. The title comes from @gelpenss​.

The basic thing I absolutely need is this: Rey gets thrown back to the middle of the clone wars, and the subsequent plot leans in really heavily on her being, genetically-via-clone-dad, the daughter of the guy running the entire galaxy.

Nobody knows what to do with her.

The timing is mid-TCW for the past (because I want Ahsoka there) and vaguely between Episodes 8 and 9 because I... never watched E9 and don’t want to worry about the timeline. The only things that matter is that Luke is dead (he can die as he did in canon) and that Rey knows she’s Palp’s granddaughter (not the way she does in canon).

We'll say Luke found out from Anakin's panicked force-ghost and just went "well, fuck, okay, I should tell her this before she ends up in a situation like mine and finds out mid-battle or something."

Luke, prior to time-travel: Okay, so, now that I'm dead I know some things I didn't before. Like who your parents were. In the interest of full disclosure because I was in a very similar situation and I don't want you learning the way I did, I'm just going to come right out and say that your father was a clone was Sheev Palpatine. Rey: ... Luke: Are you okay? Rey: I don't know who that is.

(She grew up on Jakku, the history education was a little subpar.)

Setting The Scene

Imagine Rey showing up during or immediately before the clone wars. There’s this phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater who tells you that if you ran a paternity test, it would probably pop up the Chancellor. She may or may not bring up cloning. She accuses said Chancellor of being a Sith Lord.

Your other phenomenally powerful feral teenager from a desert backwater, who may not be a teenager anymore but only barely, is very offended by this because Palpatine’s a Very Nice Old Grandfather Figure, but also he’s a little full of side-eye because if the blood test comes back as proof, then Palpatine had a kid and didn’t even know about them, or lied to Anakin, and that’s! Bad! Family’s important!!!

Palpatine hears about this daughter he apparently? Has? And is very confused because the timing doesn’t match up with ANYTHING he was doing, so the kid isn’t natural, and he says as much. (There is an explanation! It’s not a correct explanation, but he does come up with one.)

Finn and Poe and BB-8 all get dragged along because why not have the gang there? Nobody that’s already born, because [handwave] conservation of souls or something, IDK, point is the only person dragged along that’s even remotely close to already existing is Luke’s Force Ghost, who mostly hangs around begging Rey to be less impulsive. Finn is good because he is a nice polite boy, but for actual useful information they need Poe. The unfortunate situation is that the three do not land together. They land at the same time, in completely different corners of the galaxy. This means that nobody is there to curb Rey being her most impulsive self.

Time travel Rey knows two things. Luke’s dad ends up evil. Palpatine has always been evil.

She can solve one of these problems by killing the other, yes?

Rey: Ready to Rumble

See, the initial idea was this: Rey tried to break into the senate to kill Palpatine, got arrested, and then used the "he's biologically my father" card to get out of jail free. (Force Ghost Luke follows her like “please take five seconds to think this through.”)

But.

But.

It would be very, very, very funny if The Force just dumps her in a flash of light in the senate building and she just attacks Gramps on sight. Just a shouted "YOU!" and no-hesitation attempted murder.

Palpatine has no idea what's going on.

Rey took maybe two seconds to get identity confirmation and then started swinging.

[Image Description: An individual in a green metal helmet with an eye slit, holding a pistol. In the upper left, upper right, and lower middle are the phrases “I do not know who I am...” “I don’t know why I’m here” and “All I know is that I must kill.” End description.]

Of course, she gets arrested. There are Master Jedi in the Senate. There are Clone Troopers. Palpatine isn’t the weak old man he pretends to be. Of course she’s stopped.

But she isn’t executed in time for Palpatine to stop her from ruining his entire reputation.

Immediately after Rey fails to kill her Shitty Granddad, Luke's ghost shows up and begs her to not talk about the Sith thing because it will completely undermine everything she's trying to do. Pass off the attempted murder as something else!

Rey, panicking: "that fucker left me on a desert planet for 10 years!" "You owe me 19 years of child support you son of a Hutt!"

The Jedi have to do the investigation, because the girl showed up with a laser sword, and the conversation is, uh... interesting. (“Where did you get that lightsaber?” “I got it from a mysterious old pirate lady I never met before. I don't know, I was being shown around by a smuggler and a Wookie.”)

Interviewer: Why did you try to assassinate the Chancellor? Luke: Say it wasn't assassination. Rey: It wasn't assassination. Int: You weren't trying to kill him? Luke: Assassination has to be politically motivated. Rey: This was, um... not political. Assassination is political, right? Int: You mean this was personally motivated? Rey: Yes. Int: I see. What personal motivation? Luke: Jakku! Rey: He's my grandfather. Int: ... Rey: Possibly father. Nobody was very clear on that. Int: ... Luke: Tell them to run a paternity test. Rey: Oh hey, a blood test would tell us which, right? Int: ............ Rey: I spent ten years as an orphaned scrapdealer on Jakku. He's my father. I'm kind of a little angry. Int: ........... Luke: Good job, kid. You bought yourself some time. Int: I'm going to get a medic to see about that parternity test.

Obviously, it comes back positive. Congratulations, Sheev, you’re the father.

Rey comes with a ready-made built-in excuse for hating Palpatine that nobody can question or fault her for!

Rey, pouring Truth into the Force: I didn't even know I was related to the Chancellor until a few months ago, but it's his fault I grew up the way I did, and he should take some responsibility!

The entire thing is mostly kept hush hush but someone leaks it to the press and Palpatine's ratings tank.

"Chancellor, I think we'll need to waive family visitation until she wants you a little less dead." "I would like to find out why she wants me dead, and indeed, where she came from." "...sir, for your own safety--"

Who would win? A master plan years in the making spanning decades of manipulating and work? or One (1) paternity test

"Okay, so, Rey Palpat--" "Ew, no, I don't want his name." "You--okay. Sure, we can understand that. Is there a name you would prefer to put on the paperwork?" Rey, who would have gone by Skywalker in honor of Luke but can't do that when Anakin is right there and all: "Can I think about it?"

Rey: I don't know what I want my last name to be but I know I don't want his, and most of the people I’d want a name from have famous families like you... Luke's ghost, pointing out the Literal Nobody that she cares about a lot: How about Solo? Rey: ...Solo, then.

(A few months later she runs into Poe again and he offers for Finn and Rey to both take his name because honestly they need SOMETHING but at that point she’s already decided on Smuggler Dad.)

Backtrack a bit. We’ve got a bigger cast.

They all arrive separately. Poe, for one, does better than Rey, who is aiming for a murder, but not quite as well as Finn, who is currently being adopted and hidden like a secret cat by a bunch of Alpha Clones on Kamino. He vibes with the names-or-numbers thing. He doesn’t necessarily tell them where and when he’s from, but he’s very sweet and a great liar and they adopt him wholesale anyway.

The Finn situation is just... "Buir Ti, we need you to hide this man, we've decided he's our little brother but if Nala Se finds out she'll make him leave."

Of course, this leads into Shaak Ti teaching Finn how to Jedi.

Maybe consider Finn needing to almost be tricked into learning Jedi things because he willfully forgets it could apply to him. Finn does not like to think of himself as special, which is super valid, but frustrating for Shaak Ti when it comes to, you know, getting him to acquire knowledge. Finn's training at some point is "here, levitate objects with the Force to entertain the tubies." It’s a lot easier to convince him to practice when it involves the babies.

(Everyone on Kamino looked at Finn and went “oh I love him I’m keeping him and teaching him things.”)

(He’s just very lovable.)

Poe, meanwhile, buys the trust of Anakin Skywalker via R2D2 declaring BB-8 the absolute most baby of droids. R2D2 met BB-8 three hours ago but.

"Hey Obi-Wan this is Poe I met him like five days ago but R2D2 says he checks out because his droid is a baby." "That's nice, Anakin, did you know the Chancellor has a daughter who tried to assassinate him in broad daylight yesterday? Because guess who had to stop the Chancellor from getting assassinated by his daughter in broad daylight yesterday."

A summary so far:

Finn, on Kamino: Hey, um, I don't know where this is, but it's not where I was a few minutes ago. Do you think you could get me a comm? What's your name? Poe, on [dice roll] Denon: Oh, hey, you're General Skywalker? Nice to meet you, I'm so sorry about my droid, she's a little excitable and thought your R2 unit looked like a friend of hers-- Rey, on Coruscant: DIE, GRANDFATHER

Finn: [Peacefully vibing on Kamino, unaware of the chaos and bonding with the clones] Poe: [Trying to explain how he knows someone who tried to kill the chancellor and defend Rey] Rey: [Arrested for trying to kill the chancellor]

Just... just...

Anakin: Some guy ended up lost on base yesterday with his droid, how’s your day going? Obi-Wan: I had to stop someone who claims to be the chancellors daughter from murdering the chancellor after she seemingly blinked into existence in the Senate building. Poe: 😐

(Poe: Oh, so that's where Chaos^2 went.)

Poe: In her defense, she is his... well we don't know if she's his daughter or granddaughter, but she's definitely related to him, and she definitely grew up in a shitty situation that was his fault, so...

(Poe is trying very hard to explain this and not get arrested on the military base.)

As you’ve probably guessed, what's especially funny about all of this for me is the fact that Palpatine is fully aware that this girl shouldn't exist, but can't find a single piece of evidence about where she came from. He didn't start any experiments that could result in a female child, and he didn't have sex in that period of time, so where the hell--

Rey spends so much time in jail... BUT they do eventually assign her a Jedi Master. Possibly before she actually proves her evil grandfather is in fact evil. Most votes went to either Plo Koon or Obi-Wan. Plo, because he’s dad-shaped, and Obi...

"Obi-Wan, you already raised one feral desert child with implausible amounts of power, you handle this." Rey in return is very "Sweet, you vaguely remind me of Master Luke," and nobody knows who the hell she's talking about. Obi-Wan is NOT on board with this plan, she'd really be better off with Plo or like........ Mace.

Reunion Tour

What I need out of this is the eventual Finn and Rey reunion scene that is just excited screaming while someone in the background explains to Shaak Ti that yes this is apparently Palpatine's terrifyingly force-sensitive daughter who hates him.

(Finn senses Rey’s approach and just. Gathers the everyone to wait. He’s just :D REY MY FRIEND REY GUYS MY FRIEND REY IS COMING.)

Anakin shows up with Poe--just a guy who signed on to the military, no big deal--and then Poe and Rey are EXCITED and everyone's just like "Cool, how do you know this literal terrorist child?" And Poe has to scramble and "Uhhhhhhhhhhhh she saved my droid from a scrapheap once and BB-8 is basically my child so I owe her one."

Rey knows that Anakin ends up evil so she’s maybe not actively hostile but definitely very “I’m watching you.” That said, she vibes with him on a lot of things that he maybe doesn’t actively notice.

Rey picks up a snake, snaps off the head for venom avoidance, and starts biting off chunks. Obi-Wan's reaction: [undisguised horror] Anakin and Ahsoka: Ooh, where'd you find that? (Obi-Wan: And now I’m up to three feral children.)

What Does Palpatine Even Do?

OBVIOUSLY at a certain point, Palpatine is just phoning up every ally he has to figure out who broke protocol to synthesize a daughter for him.

So of course, Palpatine blame Plagueis.

She'd have been born five or so years before Naboo, just a few years younger than Anakin. It's such an EASY theory to build a conspiracy around. It is ENTIRELY WRONG, but it’s plausible! And anyone who might have been involved to say otherwise is probably dead!

A random bio-kid shows up you can’t possibly have contributed genes to? Maybe it’s the evil bio spark that did it.

Palpatine tries to placate her with the ‘my genes were stolen for an experiment and I didn’t know’ thing. It doesn’t work because her actual main complaint is he’s evil in her future but he tries.

It'd be a struggle to even get access to her, because of the aforementioned “maybe don’t try to talk to the daughter(?) that hates you” thing, but you know who Palpatine does have access to? The Chosen One.

Rey kind of decides on her favorites early on (she gravitates to Dad Energy and Sad Old Men so Plo and Obi-Wan are on her list, and that means decent time around Anakin and Ahsoka). It's really easy to talk Anakin into helping to some degree because "he'd like to connect to a daughter he never knew" and "a child of her power on a planet like that, you'd know her struggle, my dear boy" and so on. Anakin tries to connect! He tries to play up Sheev’s kind political work and how it can’t have really been his fault! It doesn’t work. Rey does not believe a word of it. Mostly she doesn’t even seem to hear him.

Rey's just like "...oh right, you're the melted mask that Kylo Ren was always ranting about," which means absolutely NOTHING to Anakin, but he mentions it to Palps, who loses his goddamn mind trying to figure out what she's talking about, because it also means absolutely nothing to him.

Here’s the thing: Rey’s already decided that Obi-Wan is cool, because Luke said so, and Plo Koon is dad-shaped, and she also gravitates towards earnest kindness in general, like she made friends with Finn real quick, so Ahsoka? Already getting along great.

She doesn’t dislike Anakin, really, he isn’t evil yet, he’s just... meh. She’s a little suspicious and she likes him less than the others but... Anakin.

Rey, to Anakin: You are my least favorite. Anakin, to Palpatine: YOUR DAUGHTER HATES ME???

And he goes from “she’s a lil standoffish” to “she doesn’t like me” to “she hates me” as is normal for Anakin.

It’s just an escalation of this one time Palpatine wants Anakin to not have rifts and trust issues with a person, at least not until later, because he needs information.

Meanwhile, that very moment, Rey is just like "huh, nobody here is listening to me about how make a sixth-hand carburetor work, where's Luke's dad?"

Anakin is venting to Palpatine about how hard it is to talk to Rey, and she's over in the Temple just like "Hey, that guy was useful last time, I should ask him," but also she only ever thinks of him as Luke's Dad.

(At one point, Obi-Wan is having a bit of a break down, and then Anakin starts having a breakdown about that, meanwhile the clones are (badly) trying to hide Finn behind their backs, Rey is watching Ahsoka practice and being like "I want two lightsabers," and Poe is trying to keep R2 from stealing BB-8 and Force Ghost Luke is just face palming in the background.)

(Rey deserved a saber staff, maybe one that can detach and turn into a jar’kai set. Possibly a pike. Mostly I just wish she got more chances to whack things with a big stick.)

#Rey #Finn #Poe Dameron #Sheev Palpatine #Luke Skywalker #Anakin Skywalker #Obi Wan Kenobi #Darth Sidious #Plo Koon #Shaak Ti #Ahsoka Tano #r2d2 #bb 8 #star wars #time travel #Rey and the Grandfather Paradox #Phoenix Posts

[matth1w]

Crucio

Pairing: PLATONIC Lucius Malfoy x Daughter!Reader

Summary: You were always close to your father, made him kind, loving, and what a father should be... Until the day the sorting hat put you in Gryffindor. After years of being disowned by your parents, you are reunited in a torturous way.

Warnings: Torture, Death

Rating: Everyone

Word Count: 1,485 words

Note: I hope you enjoy it, love! I loved going back to Harry Potter ⚡️

As Requested by: @accio-boys​

As a child, you always seemed a bit of a black sheep. Compared to your twin brother, Malfoy, you were kind, filled with genuine laughter, and very affectionate.

So affectionate that you had your father start to have moments of open emotion. He would smile down at you as you showed him your drawing and he’d reciprocate hugs given to him. He would even kiss your forehead as he tucked you in to bed each night.

Preparing for Hogwarts made you giddy with excitement. While your brother was concerned about making friends with only Pure-Bloods, you were excited to make new friends regardless.

As Draco selected his wand, you watched in anticipation and a bit of annoyance. You decided to walk down the aisles, tired of waiting. While you were skimming your fingers across the rows, you accidentally knocked into a shelf, causing a box to fall down.

Rather loudly, you might add. The sound of your mother’s heels grew towards you and you decided to simply own up to it. It was an accident after all.

You picked up the smooth box to bring to Mr. Ollivander. He turned from Draco who was proudly showing father his wand and looked at you curiously.

“What have you got there, child?” He mused.

You looked up sheepishly.

“I’m sorry sir. I bumped into the cabinet and it fell. It was too high for me to put back.”

He chuckled, “No need to fret. Give it here.” He held out his hand and you walked forward to give him the box, trying to avoid your father’s disapproving look.

Mr. Ollivander took the box and turned to put it back before he paused, “Well,” he turned around. “It wouldn’t be my first pick for a Malfoy but why don’t you try it out, love?”

You looked to your brother who was just radiating jealousy. He hated not being the center of attention. You nodded.

You looked on at the wand laying in the velvet within  and reached out to touch it. It felt heavy in your hands but strangely comfortable. Like you would grow into it.

“Go on,” he politely pressed.

You smiled as you lifted the wand and looked to your father, who had a proud glimmer in his eyes.

You twirled the wand and a twirl of golden flowers popped out.

“It worked!” You exclaimed!

“Mum, Dad! Did you see that?”

They both chuckled at you, a rare moment where you got to see both their smiles and hear their laughs. It was a proud moment after all, their children were receiving their wands and would head off to Hogwarts soon enough.

“Ah. Interesting” Mr. Ollivander bemused. “Very noble wand, Y/N Malfoy.”

“Noble?” Your mother asked. A hint of irritation encasing the word.

“Why yes. One of the Black children had a similar wand.”

— — —

“Hmm” the hat pondered.

“Y/N Malfoy. Twin of Draco. Hmm.”

You squirmed.

“Very interesting.”

He whispered to you, “Try as you might I’m never wrong, child.”

He paused, his words made you fearful.

“Gryffindor!” His voice boomed as the hall fell into a hush.

— — —

Later that week...

“This must be a mistake, Severus.”

Your mother’s voice was hushed yet firm. Professor Snape’s eyes flicked to you before returning to your parents.

“The Sorting Hat does not make mistakes.”

“But a Malfoy! In Gryffindor? It is preposterous!”

Your father looked at you before leaning forward in his seat, “Is there anything we can do to convince the Headmaster?”

His lip curled at the pure mention of Dumbledore. He needn’t even speak his name.

Snape frowned before he spoke slowly. “I can try to convince him to move your daughter to Slytherin but I doubt it will work.”

He paused, “Narcisa, Lucius, you have my word I will watch over Y/N no matter where she is.”

He lowered his voice. “Though it may make things more... complicated.”

— — —

“But Mum, Dad! Where will I go?”

“How about those Weasley’s or maybe that Mud Blood’s home, hmm?”, your mother snarled at you.

You looked to your father desperately, hoping he would say otherwise but he just looked down at you with cold, hard eyes.

“Father...” tears began welling in your eyes.

His lip curled, “I am no father to you, child. You had your chance, you made your choice.”

He twirled his robe as he spun and stomped away, a flick of his wand slamming open the door and pushing you through it before it slammed in your face.

— — —

Six years later...

Lucius stepped into the room and saw the other Death Eaters already seared and staring at him. The Dark Lord demanded masks to be off for this meeting and now he knew why.

Voldemort wanted to see - wanted everyone to see - the look on his face when he saw.

Your body was suspended over the head of the table. Your eyes dancing around with unbridled fear and terror as they met your fathers’. Your hair was falling into the air, hanging like a curtain.

The child who brought him shame. But the one who always was and always would be his weakness. He knew it was wrong but he always loved you more than your brother.

It pained him to think back to the days you were still a good child. When he only needed to walk down a hall to see your face. So often smiling and bright.

He forced those memories, those feelings down with a rough swallow and tried to steel his face.

You had made your choice. He lost you many years ago, this was the only natural ending. He knew it. It was in the air. You would not leave this room alive.

You had your mother’s headstrong mindset. Nothing could convince you to join the Dark Lord. He knew that and he assumed the Dark Lord knew as well.

“My child,” Voldemort’s cold, grated fingers swirled down your neck, “You could have had it all. But instead, here you are.”

He snarled as he pulled away from you.

“And here you will die.”

You closed your eyes with finality. If that was the fate you would be given, so be it. You would rather have a honorable death than live a traitorous life.

“But first,” he paused. Seemingly thriving off the feral energy in the room.

“You will tell us everything about Harry Potter and his plans to defeat me.”

You tried to push down your fear. Harry and Hermoine he tried to teach you ways to combat torture. But if it was the Dark Lord himself performing the curses, you knew you would not stand a chance.

You would fight as hard as you could. Every minute spent on you gave the Army more time.

— — —

Two weeks had passed and you had broken three days ago. You didn’t know why you were still being tortured, you had no information left to give.

The sound of the metal door scraping across the stone floor made you jump. That sound meant only one of two things. Either the masked guard giving you bread and water, or...

Your father. The man who you loved more than anything in the world. The one whose arms you would run into whenever you scraped your knee.

Now, he was the one inflicting the torture sentenced upon you. Hollow eyes staring back at you as you begged him to stop, let you go, kill you, anything.

“Father,” you whimpered as his figure loomed over you. “Please.”

His eyes broke their hard, cold shell of apathy and you saw their pain that mirrored yours. There was no hiding it. His body was tired, you could see the toll it was taking. Coming each day to torture you. And now, it seemed more cruel. Voldemort had taken what he wanted.

Lucius tried to reason with him. Told him as much. But his master only sneered at him and told him to be grateful it was you being punished, not him.

“Please,” you begged. You forced yourself to your feet, legs shaking.

“I... I have given- ” you frowned.

“No... you have taken everything from me.” Lucius was surprised there was still anger in you. Still after all these days there was venom in your voice and fire in your eyes.

“Now Father... Daddy, please. Just do it already.” your voice softened before you choked out a sob.

Lucius stood staring at you, and he pocketed his wand. He stepped over to you and pulled you into his arms.

You cried more, it had been so long since he held you.

“Make it stop, Daddy, please.”

He held your frail body is in his arms. You felt so weak and so small. Tears came to his eyes as he mouthed the words and a haze of green encompassed your body.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #malfoy reader #malfoy family #harry potter imagine #request #harry potter request #tw: torture #tw: death

[christinesficrecs]

So hey, do u know some* long and angsty but sweet and fluffy at the same time* sterek fics, because i swear i feel like i've read everything thats on AO3 and is overall popular, but still want more of those two?

Well, there might be a few in here that are new to you.

List of LONG fics. This is a partial list so check the tag page for the others. 

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Stiles is fairly certain that a case could be made for every bad thing in his life coming back to Peter Hale. This time it’s pissing off a powerful witch, who retaliated by swapping Stiles and Derek a la Freaky Friday, because sure. That makes sense. Um, there are GPAs on the line, not to mention the whole thing where his dad wants to shoot Derek on sight. Except who he sees as Derek is actually Stiles, and Stiles did not sign up for filicide.

Great. Wait…does this mean he’s the Alpha until they figure this out? Holy. Shit.

I’ll Be With You Through The Dark by the_misfortune_teller | 138.1K | Mature

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Stiles promises to serve the werewolf pack, not knowing what horrible use they might have for him. But it turns out his most useful skill is the ability to cross the boundary line between humans and werewolves. Life with the werewolves is nothing like he feared and the werewolves themselves are nothing like the hunters’ stories would have him believe.

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Bruises and Bitemarks | 121.5K | Explicit

Biologically, Stiles is weak. When he presented as an omega, he knew that to be the truth but that never stopped him from running his mouth as a defense mechanism. However, it could only save him so many times before he ended up pissing off the wrong person. After he’s attacked in the parking lot outside of school, Stiles realizes he can no longer protect himself with just pure wit and sarcasm. When the attack lands him in the hospital, his dad forces him to pick between two options, report the alphas who attacked him or join a kickboxing gym run by omega rights activist and alpha, Derek Hale, a man Stiles has been in love with for many years.

Fire, Fury, and Flame by IAmAVeronica | 124.5K | Explicit

Stiles Stilinski was never going to be the omega who got knocked up right after high school, and then he’s accidentally artificially inseminated with a stranger’s sperm.Awesome.And the father of Stiles’s baby just so happens to be Derek Hale. Half-feral, quite possibly a murderer, and pursued by a gleefully sadistic band of hunters who are only too eager to use Stiles and his baby to hit Derek right where it hurts.Joy.

#asks #sterek #ficrecs #100K #the long list #alifetimespentwithyou

[shippostshitpost]

Boyfriend does my makeup up: Part Kirishima

Kirishima would be lying if he said that he hadn’t been thinking of ways to win Midoriya’s heart long before that moment. And he knew he wasn’t the only one, watching everyone's faces, he knew he wasn’t the only player on the field. Kirishima felt confident for one reason, he had Katsuki. Sure they weren’t super close as far as he could tell, but he had to know someway to win of the green-haired goddess.

“Bakubro! I need your help!” he texted. They were sitting in the same room. He was literally two feet from him… but if he spoke out loud Midoriy Would hear him and he really couldn’t have that, she was sure to laugh at him.

“I. AM. TWO. FEET. AWAY. WHAT. THE. FUCK.”

“Yeah but if i talk out loud Midoriya-Chan will hear me... “

“I SWAER TO FUCKING GOD IF THIS IS ABOUT “WINNING HER HEART” IMMA KILL YOU.”

“C’mon man out of all of us, wouldn’t you rather it be me?”

Katsuki stared at him over his phone annoyed. He wondered if there was a polite way to say, “she really doesn’t need anyone in her life” as far as he was concerned between her father and himself was was fine. Still he knew that everyone in the room was going to try. He smirked a little.

“Listen shitty hair, and listen good. You know that rumor? About All Might being her dad?”

“Yeah everyone knows that rumor.”

“It’s true” Katsuki didn’t know he has accidentally told the truth, he was trying to find a good lie that would scare off any normal guy. Too bad Kirishima wasn’t normal.

“Oh, I get it! What your saying is the way to her heart is to impress her dad, and gain his approval! Thanka bakubro.”

“Uh yeah but you can’t tell her you know. It’s top secret.”

___________________

The next day during training Kirishima went absolutely feral.

All Might was overseeing their training, and he knew it was now or never to prove to All Might he could aid Izumi. To be perfectly clear, he didn’t believe Izumi needed to be protected, she was already the strong and capable on her own. No his goal was to show All Might that he could be slightly below his daughter, and that they would be a good team. He hoped to show him that he needed her strength, and beautiful smile in his life.

“Very good, Kirishima, i see you’ve figured out how to go full power for longer.”

“Yes sir! After all, my quirk works well with Izumi’s and I want to make sure I am strong enough to work alongside her. Wouldn’t be very manly if I couldn’t come through.” He puffed out his chest smiling as brightly as he could.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll come through. Midoriya you’re up next. Give it your all!”

Kirisima was on the edge of his seat watching her. If there was one thing he adored about Midoriya it was her focus and dedication on the field. She was absolutely ripped, muscles moving like water with each aggressive movement. Izumi wasn’t graceful in anysense of the word but damn was she powerful. Her fist coming down, creating a crater debris flying everywhere. Kirishima didn’t miss a single movement. The way her muscles tensed as the attack was unleashed, the way the force pushed her green curls back. How her eyes were narrowed, and the small smile that came to her lips as she realized her attack went according to plan.

She stood turning to All Might with an excited smile.”

“Well done Midoriya! I see you’ve been working on your quirk control.” Kirishima wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before, All Might always seemed more excited for Midoriya. Always cheering her on. Of course he was her father!

“Hey Midoriya! You were so awesome today!” Kirishima smiled running over to her.

Her freckled cheeks flushed a light pink, eyes widening. “O-Oh kirishima! Thank you! You were incredible too! You’ve really mastered your full power mode! It’s like it’s natural to you! Though I have some questions about your quirk…” She was lost in her mumbling session and Kirishima had to stop himself from swooning over her.

After all, she was more than incredibly powerful, she was super smart! If you wanted to know anything about quirks she was the woman to talk to, and that gave him an idea. But he would wait for her to finish talking.

“I’ll answer any question you’ve got IF you help me with quirk history.” He winked hoping he looked playful.

“O-oh sure, we heroes have to help each other! Though… I didn’t know you were having trouble?” He wasn’t but now was the time to lay on the charm.

“I am, I didn’t want to bother you with my request but when it comes to quirks everyone knows you’re the best of the best! Like you know everything there is to know about quirks even when you don’t know you find out! And like super super fast!”

Izumi blushed hiding her face this time. Making her shoulder look broader and more muscular. Kirishima was falling for her all over again. She was so strong, and smart, and modest. She really was the perfect girl. He felt his knees go weak as her legs began to shake.

“Okay we can study tonight, in my dorm.”

She was going to help him. Study. In her dorm. Her own sacred space. He was being invited in. He just nodded excitedly as Midoriya rushed off away. He had never felt more sure of anything. He had won the race, he just ask to ask her, though he knew while studying would be rude so he would ask her out on the weekend.

“Thanks man, she must really like me! She invited me to her dorm to study!”

Katsuki had a small heart attack reading that text. How had this backfired? Okay he just had to make sure the next one wasn’t successful… and after all inviting him to her dorm probably didn’t even mean anything. Yeah she just didn’t want anyone to see him being a dumbass. That was all. Just a courtesy.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #kirishima eijirou #kirideku #bakudeku #beauty guru au #fem izuku #dadmight

[tothewaterhq]

ACCEPTED // DAHLIA HORNBY

district twelve → tribute → lola flanery fc

pronouns: she/her strengths: agile, durable, tactical weaknesses: social skills, physical strength, maturity weapon of choice: hunting knives token: a few pages torn from her family survival guide (to be confiscated when she reaches the capitol)

tw: murder, tw: death, tw: guns, tw: language

did they volunteer? if so, why?: No

bio:

Marta and Eldon Hornby were two good people born in a bad world. When they met they knew that there were alike in so many ways. Both were orphans, both detested the capitol and both had people they knew reaped for the games on the same year. Eldon was a natural survivalist who spent his childhood trying to navigate poverty and looking after his younger brothers after his parents death. He’d always tried to teach his two younger brothers survival skills in case they were reaped for the games. His younger brother died before he reached the age of twelve. The elder was reaped when he was fifteen. He had never met Marta before. She had been alone most of her life. No siblings, no parents. Her best friend was her family. Her best friends name was called right afters Eldon’s brother. They both died in the bloodbath.

Eldon met Marta during the District Twelve stop of the victory tour they were both obliged to go to. He stopped her tossing a Molotov cocktail on the stage. They married a year later. It was as if tragedy had drawn them together. That and a burning hatred for the capitol. They bought a small shack of a house close to the fence. Together, they made plans. They wanted to escape panem, escape district twelve. To do that they needed money and security. Eldon started digging an escape hatch underneath the floor of their shack using tools borrowed from his mining profession. That took him around a year to get perfect. Then the pair of them started trying to track down other rebels through signals they’d leave on trees. They wasted another year on that. It took them three years to put together everything they needed to make there move. However the day before their escape, Marta discovered she was pregnant. So another nine months was added to the time frame. Enough time for them to have their daughter, Dahlia Hornby.

A baby was a new variable they had to take in to account before. They had never planned to bring a child into panem. Not whilst the games were still in place. They thought about hiding her. But that was no way to bring up a child. They thought about fleeing with her. However the risk was too great. So they stayed. Eldon raised his daughter the way he raised his brothers. It may not have helped them. However Dahlia would be prepared for both the games and escaping panem. Whichever came first.

Dahlia, or Lia to them (and only them) was a happy kid who loved both of her parents ‘to the moon and back’. That’s what her mother would say to her every night. She was also reminded every night that, soon they would ‘be in a better place.’ As soon became too long, Dahlia grew impatient. So her father upped her training routines. He even took her out in the woods occasionally to give her a taste of freedom. She was never allowed outside the shade of their house though. That’s something that frustrated her. Dahlia could start fires, tie knots, cook animals and do all sorts of things but waiting? That was a different story.

She was seven when she got the chance. Her parents were busy doing idle tasks. The floorboards guarding the passageway were up. What did the child do? She went outside.  She started off slow but was quickly just running through the woods, distracted by all the places she’d never seen before. She heard running water splashing against some rocks in the distance. She was totally encaptivated by the sounds. She didn’t hear hushed voices moving towards her. Before she knew it her father grabbed her from behind, covering her mouth as they hid behind a tree, just in time for them to hide from view as a peacekeeper walked past. That’s what Jervis had heard. Marta joined them quickly as they moved silently into a nearby cave. They had no way of getting out without being seen or heard. As her mother cradled her head, Dahlia whispered,

‘I’m scared mama.’

Marta grabbed hold of her quickly, whispering words of comfort in her ear. The usually mantra about loving her to the moon and back. Neither Marta or Eldon knew what they were going to do, one thing for sure was, they weren’t letting Dahlia get captured.

The plan was for her to run back to the house as Marta ran in the opposite direction to distract the peacekeepers. Eldon would hide and find his way back to Dahlia later, who was instructed to hide until he got back. So she ran back in the direction she came. However Marta didn’t get to run. She tried. Before she knew it the peacekeepers had cornered her. Things were not going as planned, Eldon watched on as his wife was captured. He couldn’t let that happen, so he lunged for the peacekeepers.

As Dahlia sprinted back to her home, she was startled by two gunshots.

When she returned home she hid in the small cabinet under the sink for what felt like hours.  It didn’t matter how long she waited, they didn’t return. She wasn’t brave enough to venture back out into the forest to look for her parents until two days later. She went prepared with a swiss army knife. She searched all day and woke up the next morning freezing in the forest. No matter how many times she came back without any more information, Dahlia continued to do this every morning. She lost track of time, not realising that an extended period had passed until her shoes grew too small for her feet. Then she ran out of food. She wasn’t sure about going to the market places, so she stuck to the forest. The first thing she found was a squirrel but the six year old didn’t know how to kill it. That was until she watched a spider pounce on a fly. Smothering it to death.   It was better, a lot less bloody. Following the technique,  she ate well for a while. Then winter hit and the small animals that she could actually catch disappeared.

Something strange happened during winter. Someone left a dead rabbit outside her house. Then another, then another. All winter the stranger left them for her. She caught a glimpse of them occasionally. Then they were gone again. When spring came back around Dahlia went back to the woods. Spring left the woods full of animals and she couldn’t help but watch them. She tried to emulate a squirrel by climbing up a tree, she copied a rabbit who drank from the stream. She even growled at a wolf. The animals were raising her in a way. At least someone was.

A year passed, Dahlia fell into bad habits. She didn’t wash,  she didn’t wear shoes, she ate with her hands. Rumours spread in district twelve about an animal child living in the woods. It wasn’t until she started going to the market that she realised it was her. She was covered in dirt, looking like a wild animal. No one stopped her stealing things. Even the peacekeepers. Especially after she sunk her teeth into one of them when they came across her lifting an apple from a fruit stand.

‘They don’t pay me enough to deal with this feral little bitch!’

Expecting them to chase her, she ran back to her house.  They didn’t come. Those words played over and over in her mind. Was she feral? She knew the word meant wild. And what about all those whispers she’d heard in town? The animal girl. The girl in the woods. She caught her reflection in some water. Suddenly, it all made sense.

The realisation that the animalistic behaviour was the reason no one had come to collect the parentless child got the wheels turning in Dahlia’s mind. She spent more time in the woods, crawling around like an animal. It was almost fun for her. She liked to test her luck in the district as well. See how many people she could fool. The answer was a lot. Then again, District twelve were preoccupied with something else at that time.

Katniss Everdeen they called her. She recognised her immediately; the woman that left rabbits outside for her. Suddenly she was engulfed by the hunger games.  She was rooting for the girl on fire just like everyone else, sneaking out to the square to watch the live showings. She was destined to win — except she didn’t. In a fit of rage, Dahlia kicked her wall. Out fell a book with a note attached,

‘Dahlia, I hope I never have to give this to you. I hope that by the time you turn twelve we’ll be far away from this wretched place. I hope that we’ll all be safe. In a better life. If you’re reading this, that hasn’t happened yet.’ It didn’t take her long to recognise the phrasing and handwriting. It was from her father. ‘Today is your first reaping day. If all has gone well, your name is only in there once. Your mother and I wouldn’t have it any other way.’ They got one thing right. She’d never taken tesserae. It wasn’t like the small girl needed that much food. The letter continued. ‘I hope I’m there reading this to you, but Panem is unpredictable. If not I’ll present it to you in writing. This gift, a book that’s been in my family for generations. The Hornby Survival Guide.’  

The book was a collection of loose paper and sketched. There were a few dried up plant clippings. But it was the content that was of most interest. A compilation of survival tips. All the stuff her dad had never got to teach her.

With the book and the memories of Katniss, Dahlia found a new figure to emulate instead of the animals. She even braided her hair (to the best of her abilities) to look like Katniss. Whilst she didn’t have a bow, she threw a knife, that she’d stolen, around like it was an arrow. She climbed the trees like she did. Even slept in them a few times. Dahlia started practicing sneaking around. Her time in the woods became less about hunting and more about training. As she got older she got sneakier, just like Katniss.She taught herself to fight, albeit a tree that gave her a dozen splinters. That still counted in her mind though. Most importantly she studied the book cover to cover. She was going to be ready just in case she got reaped. Of course, she wouldn’t be reaped on her first reaping. So she had time.

Wrong. She went to her first reaping because she didn’t want someone showing up at her house and forcing her to go. wasn’t sure even her fake feral-ness could keep them away.  She didn’t braid her hair or clean her face. She was wearing a moth eaten cardigan and skirt combination that didn’t go well with her fathers old boots. She didn’t look anything like the formal kids in the crowd. No one expected district twelve to have lavish clothes though.  Like cattle she was hoarded in to the pens they put aside for the girls. Surrounding her were teenagers, all of a much larger height than she. Her mind didn’t know what was going on. All she knew was someone was calling her name. No one knew Dahlia’s name though. The slip of paper from the bowl hadn’t said ‘The Girl from the Woods’ If that had been the case people would’ve recognised her.

Dahlia’s first mistake was attending the reaping in the first place. Her second was trying to creep away. In hindsight, it made her look guilty. Before she knew it she was being dragged up to the stage. Staring out into the crowd of lucky faces who hadn’t been reaped. Then again, luck had never been Dahlia’s friend. As she was dragged on to the capitol train started to kick and scream. That’s what she planned to do right until her last breath. Give them hell. After all, the capitol had taken her mother, father and Katniss Everdeen. They weren’t taking her too.

PLAYED BY // JO

#dahlia #accepted

[codylabs]

Chapter 25: The End of Fate

Links: P 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Wendy strained one last time at the webs holding her to the wall. She thought she felt a few strands breaking near her legs, but their failure did nothing to weaken the rest of the material. In fact, the more she wiggled around and tried to loose herself, the more the webs just stuck and mashed together, the more they bonded to her skin, and the more her muscles yielded to fatigue. After a minute or so she gave up, no closer to freedom and feeling significantly more like a cocooned insect.

She could move her fingers. She could move her toes. She could move her neck and her eyes, but that was the limit of her. Her arms, legs, torso, all her body… It no longer obeyed her. All she could do was stare at the monster, as it stared back.

The Shapeshifter’s mother. Some kind of time-traveling mystery character, who’d seen thousands of years of history, who’d killed people throughout them, who seemed to know everything, and who most likely ate people. Wendy could feel the eyes probing and inspecting, as indifferently as one might regard a museum piece, or a slab of meat.

The beast took a step toward her.

She could kill me. Wendy knew. She could kill me if she wanted, and I can’t even move.

…Wait, was she an ‘it’? Or was it a ‘she’? Wendy briefly wondered to herself. A person or a thing? How do you refer to intelligent creatures which act like this? Are they still rational beings? Or can you really be so evil and twisted that you forsake your own soul?

Wendy was quite too mad to really care.

“Let me down.” She told her, as she came closer. “Come on, you grimy old sack of phlegm! Let me down or I’ll beat the living daylights out of you! Come on!”

She stopped about 3 feet from Wendy, and peered down at her face. “I thought I gagged you.” She replied calmly, as she inspected the stray scraps of webbing around Wendy’s mouth.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should use more than weird spider webs next time.” Wendy growled. “Something I can’t just chew up and spit out.”

“Probably good advice.” Her head widened slightly, and her teeth shapeshifted into some kind of slobbering, many-tendrilled orifice, which then secreted a stringy mass of webbing. She rolled the material into a tight ball with her hands.

“Well, it’s just common sense.” Wendy tried to shrug. “I mean, if I had some alien tied up in my basement, you can bet I’d make darn su—” She squeezed Wendy’s cheeks, forced her mouth open, shoved the ball in between her teeth, and pasted it in place with another web across her face.

Wendy took a deep breath in through her nose, as she silently glared.

The creature calmly wiped the excess gunk off her hands, then eased to a seated position on the floor. They were both silent for a moment, one by necessity, one for thought.

“I know lots of things.” The shifter finally remarked. “From lots of times, from lots of places.”

“Mmf mf.” Wendy retorted.

“Some of them happen to be about you.” She said. Her body rearranged into the form of Mr. Sherman, her PE coach from grade school. “Wendy Blerble Corduroy…” Mr. Sherman’s voice hummed with perfect clarity. “You did pretty well on the football and wrestling teams during elementary and middle school… And word on the street is, you ‘kind of ruled’ in the annual lumberjack games…”

“Rgf mmf.” The gag made it easy to hide her confusion. Wait a minute, was Mr. Sherman the shapeshifter all along? How does THAT make sense? What the heck?

The shifter’s form changed again, this time solidifying as a short, intense Asian man: Mr. Chiu, her science teacher from just last year… “Although both your grades and extra-scholastic endeavors declined steadily through your teen years.” Mr. Chiu’s voice told her. Wait a minute! Wendy thought. Mr. Chiu has a human daughter. He couldn’t have been her all along… She must have… Wait, what? “Perhaps.” The image of Mr. Chiu continued. “Was it because you discovered friends in lower circles? Or as you became increasingly disillusioned with the world…?” She transformed into Toot-Toot McBumbersnazzle, aka Blind Ivan. “Or perhaps as the late Blind Eye Society trimmed back your working knowledge whenever you happened across something you ought not see…” Okay, there’s no WAY that HE was her this entire time… So how DOES she know so much…? It morphed again, and she was looking at and listening to her own dad… “However it worked, you got it through yer noggin’ that everything ya did was just useless and pointless… Guess ya figured on how easy it was to sit on your butt and do nothing at all. So ya threw yer life away, and turned inta the lazy one…”

Wendy glared.

The mimic of her father leaned in a little closer. “Yeah, that’s it, ain’t it? The Wendy that allll them school records show. Always so darn chill, always calm, level, and cool… But as far as the world’s concerned, less than useless…” It sounded and felt like her own dad talking. Gruff as ever. Candid as ever. Right as ever…

The shape changed again, to Stanley Pines. “No…” Her former employer scratched his chin skeptically, and adjusted his glasses. “No it’s not. That’s ain’t you, not anymore. Now I hear yer doing better in school, ya had a hand in eliminating the Blind Eye, in that rascal Bill’s defeat, and now in even deeper, stranger matters…”

She took the form of Robbie, which set off some alarm in Wendy’s mind, as she remembered that Robbie was probably dead… “You, like, don’t fear anything at all…” Robbie’s voice told her. “You fight robots on Tuesday, Aliens on Wednesday, ghosts on Thursday… All sorts of crazy adventures, you’re probably real close to a lot of things you really shouldn’t see…” And now the shifter looked like Tambry. “People don’t ever change.” Tambry told her. “They get changed. So why are you different all of a sudden? What changed you? Your job at the tourist trap selling junk? Mr. Pines, that old jerk you worked for?” Tambry put her hands on her hips. “Or something else, like your new friends?”

Now the shifter shrunk down to the size of a child. A very familiar size. A very familiar shape… Before Wendy had a chance to mentally prepare herself to look at this, she found her eyes locked with those of Dipper. “Was it me?” It was his voice again, his old, familiar, youthful voice. The voice tore into the weird corners of Wendy’s mind, upsetting everything, confusing everything; she was defenseless against it. Dipper. She blinked. DIPPER! She tried to shake her head. Dipper’s dead… Dipper! “…Was it Dipper…?” Dipper asked.

Wendy couldn’t quite find words.

“Sorry.” The Dipper mimic smiled awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to ramble. I guess… I guess what I really want to get down to is the cause of things. Why are you the way that you are? What happened, where, when… What made you? If it was Dipper, then what made him who he was? Who guided you? Trained you? Inspired you, knighted you, blessed you? What force of fate, chance or choice placed this destiny in your lap, and bid you go and become a hero?”

What a strange thing to ask.

“You do know.” The Dipper mimic insisted. “I know you’re not stupid, I know you know what I’m asking… Just c’mon, please Wendy?” The intonation of his voice matched Dipper’s so perfectly for a moment that she couldn’t help but recoil. Dipper’s hands reached up and peeled the gag off her mouth. “Like, c’mon, I can tell there’s something you’re not saying. Maybe many things? …No, just one thing… Yeah, there’s one secret you swore to always keep from me, and what’s that? C’mon, you can tell me… I mean, why not at this point, huh? Ha ha… Yeah…”

Wendy flexed her jaw, enjoying the ability to once again breath freely. Dipper’s hand reached up and brushed gently across her cheek. The thin, cold little fingers felt just exactly like his… Cognitive dissonance hit like another wet slap, as half her brain believed for a moment that it was him.

But of course, it wasn’t. And she didn’t believe it. “Go die in a hole, you PSYCHO!” She screamed.

“Whaaaat, c’mon Wendy!”

“You—”

“Hey now, you don’t want me to use the tentacles.”

“The? Wait, tenta—”

“I guess I wouldn’t mind though.” Two of the fingers on Dipper’s hand grew and expanded into a pair of stiff, thin, sharp little appendages, which he then shoved up Wendy’s nostrils.

It hurt.

Wendy thrashed around, tried to pull away, tried to turn and hide her face, tried to reach her hands in to help, but nothing worked; they were working their way deeper into her skull. Wendy’s furious struggling managed to break some of the webs holding her head in place, but the extra movement just made the probes hurt a hundred times worse.

IT HURT.

“You.” Dipper said. “Who were you? Who are you? And why?”

Wendy emitted a furious cry; a guttural, feral sound she didn’t know she had in her, and arched up to try to bite the hand. Her teeth clacked in the empty air.

Dipper’s voice burst out laughing. “An animal!” He said, as he drug Wendy’s head back down to face forward. “An animal pretending to be a person! A person priding in its ingenuity, modesty, fair judgement, rationality; the kinda things that set it above the beast. But deep, deep down, beyond the walls of faith and friendship, only nature remains. Now that you have lost these things, you’re getting the point where you cross the line. Maybe you already crossed it?”

“Die! In! A! Hole!” She managed.

“How can you say that? Look at your body, sick, weak, helpless, invaded, bound… It’s not your body, it’s mine now, and I see it as nothing but so much meat… So what do you hang on to? How can you spit in my face, when you dangle precariously at the end of yourself? Why aren’t you afraid? Do you believe yourself to be strong? Indestructible? Or is this fleshy body nothing but meat to you as well? What made you into this thing, this thing that thinks itself fearsome?”

“NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS!!”

“Remember everything you still have left to lose! Your sanity! Your honor! Your dignity! Your soul! How long until there is nothing left of Ms. Corduroy for me to speak to? How long until there’s nothing on this wall but a wild, snarling dog?!?”

“YOU SHUT UP!” Wendy screamed.

The lights flicked off in the room, leaving Wendy with no perception of the world except the sloppy sounds of creature’s movement, the taste of her own blood, and the pain…

She felt the fingers curling inside her nose, pulling her forward. Then they pushed, and slammed her head against the metal wall behind her. Then they pulled again, and they slammed again, and again, and now her entire head hurt and she could barely concentrate, and she could feel something inside her head splitting and stinging, as if with every blow was drilling the dreaded things deeper, closer to her brain.

Tiny, sharp, incredible pains shot through her arms and legs now too, and she guessed the shapeshifter must have put other limbs to work as well, poking and prodding and crawling over her like the probing limbs of some spidery thing, drilling and cutting and who knows what else. And all through it, there was just this darkness, hiding whatever else may be in store…

Why is this even happening? Why does it have to hurt? And why do I care whether this THING knows or not anyway? It’s not like it’s super important, or even true… What’s the point in keeping secrets? What’s the point in screaming threats? What’s the point in even trying? Just kill me! KILL ME!

All alone, in great pain, at the end of everything, Wendy finally panicked.

“11:03 THIS MORNING!” She gasped.

The pounding ceased. The poking and the stabbing paused.

“What was that, red?” Dipper’s voice asked.

“Eleven…” Wendy screwed her eyes shut, and felt tears trickle down her face. “Eleven-oh-three this morning… This morning… You’ll see… My secret…”

Slowly and painfully, the fingers pulled out of Wendy’s nose.

She sneezed up blood.

“Broken at last.” The creature remarked in its natural voice.

The gag was crammed back in her mouth, the loosened webs were reinforced, and then the monster retreated. She must have had a second time machine besides the one she gifted her son, because she promptly disappeared in a flash of blue light, leaving Wendy alone.

All seemed suddenly quiet and still… But not empty. All around her, she could feel the evil standing; threatening, near, haunting… It was danger, it was fear, this malignant force that watched and taunted and worked deeper, searching out those corners of her brain that hadn’t yet been violated. And one by one, as hopeful thoughts stood, up, it crushed them down, reminding her that she was broken, and helpless, and small. Nothing but a tiny, squealing animal, hanging on the wall.

She blinked.

I need to escape…

Wendy knew she couldn’t escape.

I need to bust loose…

How on Earth could she ever bust loose?

I need to stay conscious. Alert…

That was looking difficult…

I need to think…

Wendy couldn’t think.

I need to think…!

She wasn’t good at thinking.

I NEED TO THINK!

She never had been the thinking one. She was just the athletic one. The fighting one. The level one. The calm one. Dipper was the thinking one. Dipper was the creative one. Dipper was the hero, and I was just his crush. Just his sidekick. Just there to make sure he didn’t get hurt…

Dipper…

I knew you.

Know you.

I was your crush. I was your protection. And I was your calm.

Now I guess I’ve failed all three.

She sneezed again. Her chest heaved painfully, and more blood dribbled over her lips and down her chin. Dipper… She could barely breath, past her flooded nose and the gag in her mouth, so she gasped and wheezed every breath, as she croaked, and coughed, and cried, and bled. I’m sorry… I never told you that you were a great guy…. I never told you how much you meant to me… I let you die, left you for others to bury, I just stormed off and got myself here… And now I panicked… And now I played the fool with a monster who doesn’t even know you… I gave up my secret… I gave up OUR secret… She cried and she bled. I’m sorry…

He wasn’t who the shifter pretended to be. He wasn’t that. He wouldn’t say or do those things, wouldn’t taunt her for not being as indestructible as she seemed…

What would he say if he were here?

If Dipper were here…

Well. First of all, he’d probably be all like: ‘Wait, what secret? What’s so special about 11:03?’ He was a curious guy; always did have a hard time knowing when to mind his own business.

Wendy scraped her cheek against her shoulder as hard as she could, and managed to loosen some of the webs holding the gag in place. After a minute or so, she was able to get her tongue past the edges of it, and break the rest of the strings. Then she spat the ball to the ground, and was able to breathe easily again. The oxygen was little reconciliation for the rest of her suffering, and she may have swallowed some of the sticky gunk by accident.

If Dipper were here…

‘At 11:03 this morning…’ She would have muttered to him. ‘I… Kinda let Stan in on my secret… If creepy-face warps back to then, she’ll know too… Ha ha… I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going crazy, that’s why I told Stan… But I guess I’m still not sure… Guess I’ll never know…’

He would’ve been quick to deny her angst. ‘You’re not crazy… Y’know the stuff she said about being an animal isn’t true. You… You’re not. You’re not crazy. You’re not.’

‘… I guess everyone reaches a point, dude… Guess it just takes one bad day…’

He wouldn’t be quite sure how to counter that. ‘So… I dunno. So what’s the secret?’ He would’ve changed the subject.

Yeah, I never did tell him that one. Real shame, because I guess it was his secret as well as mine… If he were here, if things were looking this bad, I guess I probably would have admitted it to him. If we’re both to die, he deserves to know. She would have told him. ‘…I met myself last fall.’ She would’ve blurted reluctantly. ‘My future self. She came time-traveling back from maybe a decade down the road, and she talked to me… So she’s a big part of the reason I’m working harder in school, going on these adventures, and doing better with things in general… Like Momma Shifter said, I got changed…  Didn’t want her to know, because… I don’t know. It’s private. It’s cool… And after everything I lost, I didn’t want to lose that too…’

‘Woah… What was she like?’ Wendy turned her head to the left in the darkness. If Dipper had been here with her, he would have been captured too. He would’ve been webbed up in the empty spot next to her… She imagined him there now, and wondered again if she really was going crazy.

‘Uh… Real chill… Real chill.’ Wendy recalled. ‘Totally decked out in futurey gear though, like some kinda time-cop. She was wearing this big robotic suit of armor, she had weapons, and a time machine…’

‘…Did she say anything about me?’ Dipper would have asked. Well, no, actually he wouldn’t say that. He’d just think that. Out loud, he’d just nervously mumble something lame like… ‘Huh, wow. Robot suit, huh?’

‘Heck yes she mentioned you.’ Wendy would have replied. ‘Yeah… She said you were a great guy. An example to learn from, even… In fact!’ Wendy crossed the point of no return, and spat it out. ‘She said! She said that you end up being my husband for some reason! We’re married! How ‘bout that?’

That would have taken a couple seconds to sink into his brain. And then he would have freaked out for a several minutes at least.

‘Yeah, c’mon, see? See why I never told you?’ She would’ve scoffed, tried to downplay it. ‘You make this whole relationship weird and awkward enough without me dropping the “oh-hey-it’s-destiny-or-something!” bomb in the middle of things.’

‘WELL! BUT! I! UGH! AH! WHAT?!’

‘Look… Just calm down, it doesn’t matter, all right? I mean… It’s not even true. You’re dead. And now I’ll be dead. Somehow it wasn’t real… And now I don’t even know what’s happening! Everything’s falling apart and dying so fast; you, my friends, my dad… And to top it off, I sang like a canary after a measly 5 minutes of torture! I lost my calm! She got to me…! Like, what’s the point in even trying? I’m not strong any more… Dipper, if I’m not the strong one, then who am I?’

He would’ve forced his mind back on-topic; he was good at that. He would’ve thought about it all for a minute, trying to think of something wise to say. Then he’d finally say it, and it wouldn’t be very wise at all; just sweet and simple and caring… Something like, ‘Don’t you remember? You’re a flippin’ Corduroy!’

‘A flippin’ Corduroy…’ She sighed. ‘…Why did you idolize me so much, dude? Everything meaningful I ever did was just because I had to or because I was bored…’

‘Well—’

‘You know you could’ve done better than me… Guy like you could’ve set your sights higher; fallen in love with somebody beautiful and talented… A genius, or a super hero, or a princess…’

‘UH…!’ He would’ve hurried to interject ‘W-w-would it, like, be too cheesy to say you’re a princess to me?’

‘Oh my friggin’…’ She tried not to roll her eyes. ‘You…! Oh… Geez, okay, focus. C’mon Dipper. C’mon, help me out here, look at this rationally, what do I DO? How do I get out of this? I can’t fight time-traveling monsters, can I? Time traveling monsters that can be anyone, do anything…’

‘Well… I don’t… Uh…’

‘You have to know! I got myself into this mess, and now you have to get me out of it! Come on… You always know! You’re the smart one! You’re always able to ad-lib some kinda plan! Always!’

‘Umm… I don’t know… Oh man, I wish I could reach my journal…’

Wendy’s eyes drifted across the darkened room to the place where it was lying among her other confiscated stuff. ‘I can’t reach it either… But well, hey, I have been reading it the last couple nights since you died, so I remember a lot of it… Why?’

‘It’s got my notes on time travel…’

‘Uh… Oh, wait wait, yeah, I read those! I read them… What about ‘em?’

‘Well… Okay, think. Think about it: When did you see your future self?’

‘Huh?’

‘When did you see her? Before I died, or after?’

‘Before! Duh… I tried to write down a time and date to bring her back AFTER you died… But she didn’t show…’

‘Okay… Okay… Okayokayokay… Okay, So! Why wouldn’t she show up after Sam killed me?’

‘Umm…’ Wendy thought about that. Up to now, she’d just blindly accepted that something changed; that for some reason, it didn’t work anymore. But why? She tried to put it together. ‘Maybe… Maybe when he killed you, he changed the future? Yeah, so in this reality, I die right now instead of later, so she isn’t able to come back for me…’

‘But if you die right now, then how would she have been able to come back in the first place? If this is the way the future goes, then how could she ever have existed?’

‘The future changed…’

‘No no no! Remember my notes! What did I say?’

‘Uh…’ Wendy racked her brain. ‘I don’t… There wasn’t anything in there about this. Just one part about you trying to fix a mistake and then something about a baby and some gladiator battle…’

‘The first one. The mistake. Do you remember what happened?’

‘Well… I remember you were pretty vague; what was the mistake again?’

‘Doesn’t matter. All that matters is what happened! What happened? Remember!’

‘Uh… Well… Didn’t you say it didn’t work for some reason? Right? Yeah… You said it didn’t work…’

‘Right!’

‘And then…’

‘Then?’

‘Then one time… You said you tried really really hard, and actually did change it… But even then, circumstances forced you to go back in time by your own free will, and change it back…’

‘Exactly. No matter what I did, no matter WHAT, fate intervened to set history on its proper course… Even when I succeeded in one place, another place failed. Eventually even I gave up.’

‘Okay… So what does that mean?’ Wendy forced herself to think. ‘What does that mean, how does it all connect?!? Does that mean no matter what I do, I’m gonna die here?’

‘No! It just means that there’s only one reality, Wendy. You can’t change the future more than an inch, and even if you do, it’ll iron out the wrinkles itself. It’ll stabilize… And… And now this is great! This is great! Because remember, you’ve seen the future!’

‘…The future where I become… Like, a time-travely warrior thing?’

‘Yeah! Where we’re mar—’

‘Shut up.’

‘Ah! Sorry. I mean…! …I mean that future-you must have come from a time after all this… After the wrinkles get ironed out. After reality stabilizes. Which means that after today, after whatever happens next, somehow that’s the reality that’ll remain. And that’s probably why she couldn’t come back to today! Because this time is fated to get decay out and disappear. Get replaced…’

‘But…’

‘But what?’

‘…But how? What do I do to do that?’

‘Umm…’ Dipper came up short. This was as far as his optimistic reasoning took him, and he really didn’t know what to say next. ‘Well… I… I dunno. Time logic says something has to happen… I think… I guess you might outsmart her, or you might outfight her, or outfox her or out-time her… Uh… Heck, it might not be you; maybe somebody else entirely will find a way to change things. But I’m pretty sure something has to happen sometime, and if you’re the last one left, then… It’s pretty much up to you… It’s like destiny or something.’

‘But… Are you sure? What if… I mean, you don’t know everything. Your journal doesn’t know everything. What if this is all just… Stupid wishful thinking…?’

‘…You tell me; are you sure that it was you last fall? The time traveler?’

‘…Yes.’

‘And…’ His voice would have faltered just slightly. ‘Are you sure that that future is something you want?’

‘Well…’ Wendy thought for a minute.

If he were here, he would be trying not to stare at her, but still hanging on her every word, waiting for her reply. He’d said all he could say, and now he wanted to know if she would fight to the bitter end. Whether or not she could still keep her faith, even when everything seemed to be standing in the way, even after everyone who could ever help was gone, even if unspeakably twisted beasts tried to cut their way into her mind. He wanted to know if she would be willing to fight to the death to save him. He wanted to know if she loved him.

Wendy almost laughed when she realized what was being said. ‘Well, duh! Come on dude, of course!’

He would have nodded nervously; he was still a little stressed, a little overwhelmed, a little frightened. But now, he knew how she felt. He knew her secret. He wished he didn’t know it, because yeah: it did make everything weird. But still, he knew that this weak and hopeless prisoner would one day be his wife.

He believed it.

So he would have found a way to smile, and ask. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Wendy awoke with a start.

Just a dream.

…Just a dream? Naw… Naw, wait a minute, why would I have been sleeping anyway? Blood loss? Shock? General weirdness? No, that’s no reason to sleep… And that wasn’t a normal dream either… I dunno, that must’ve been Dipper’s ghost or some crap! …Or a wizard. Or some kinda time-traveling pseudo-memories from a timeline that never happened. Or the Shifter using psychic powers to deceive me… Or maybe it was just some kinda weird, prophetic dream that happens because… Reasons…

Oh, who am I kidding? It was nothing! Nothing at all… Everyone knows dreams never mean anything at all.

Of course they don’t.

But meaning or not, it made sense. It actually made a whole gob of sense.

She believed it.

Wendy shook her head to clear the last of her confusion, then took a deep breath to prepare herself. Her nose was still totally clogged up, but at least the bleeding had stopped, and she’d gotten that blasted gag loose.

Please God. She thought to pray. Make it all true. Help this all turn out alright.

She began to breath really heavily and quickly. She’d heard of scuba divers doing this before a deep dive; it’s to flood the body with oxygen and give you more energy.

When she felt fully riled up, she threw her entire weight to the left, curled with her left arm and pulled on her right, trying with every ounce of strength to pull it loose. When the webs digging into her wrist became too excruciating to bear, she threw herself to the right and tried to pull her left arm loose. That didn’t work either.

Dang it.

She relaxed after a moment, defeated yet again.

But when she wiggled her shoulders, she found the bands to be loosened at least partially. Maybe if she tried again in a couple minutes, after her muscles stopped hurting, and then another couple minutes after that, and again after that… Maybe she could eventually get free? It all depended on how long the shifter would take to get back… What was taking so long, anyway?

“Thought I gagged you.” The voice interrupted.

Wendy jumped. The voice unnerved her, startled her, reminded her of the pain that was still so near, and filled her imagination with pain to come… Before Wendy had time to fear, she reminded herself that she angry.

Bitterly, furiously angry.

Wendy Corduroy. Angry Corduroy. Flippin’ Corduroy.

There was gonna be payment. There was gonna be pain.

“You do realize I was able to just reappear the split second I left, don’t you?” The monster asked, with a tone like a smirk.

Wendy’s voice came out rather calm. Surprisingly calm, even to her. “…Oh yeah, I knew that.” She nodded smoothly. “Simple time logic, that’s what that is… So hey, I guess you know my secret now? How you like it? Bet you’re pretty surprised to find out you’ve got a time traveler locked in your basement, huh?”

“No… Not really. I get all types…” The lights in the room flicked back on. They weren’t very bright all considering, but after perfect blackness, Wendy still felt like blinking. The monster gestured to one of the skeletons on the wall. The body was human; and seemed to have some kind of cybernetic thing hanging from one eye socket. Its torso was plated in dusty, dark grey armor. “That one was a time traveler too.” She said, as she wiped a bit of dust off the hourglass insignia on the breastplate. “Lieutenant something-or-another. Very brave old man, very proud. Wouldn’t speak a word besides his name and rank… At least at first. But he cried out for his mother days later, and now I know all that he knew.” She pointed to another human cyborg skeleton. “That one, also a time traveler. He was head of his class at the time-academy, but applied all that knowledge just three and a half seconds too late.” She pointed again, this time to the lanky, squid-like skeleton of one of the ship’s crewmembers. “And the clever nuclear engineer. He knew every single bolt and beam of this vessel, and yet he failed to hide from me. That one? Top security officer of the whole place. He didn’t want to surrender the drone control codes, but such is the way of things… That one? A most prestigious scientist, master of everything from nanobiology to embryotic mutation decay. One of the smartest men I’ve ever talked too, he almost convinced me not to eat him. And her? Ex-convict. Stowed away on the ship to escape a death sentence on her homeworld. She devised all kinds of clever ways to escape from me too, but you can see how they ended. That one?” The shifter pointed to a metal skeleton, with clawed hands, a mouthful of saws, and dead aluminum eyeballs that had never quite rotted. “You know him; maybe even met him… Yes? Last survivor of a colony of intelligent machines. He was a truly great man in his life. Intelligent. Determined. Prepared. And an entirely good and noble man as well, stood for nothing but truth, honor, and the safety and preservation of loved ones… But he’s gone like the rest… Such a shame.”

“Yeah.” Wendy shrugged. “Nice collection… But, uh… None of them were destined to kick your butt though.”

The shifter turned to her. “So.” Her voice grated menacingly, like the tearing of cloth. “You claim a future version of yourself came into your life and directed you to become who you are… I’m sure it was a strong and powerful woman that came striding forward, reaching out to you as if out of your imagination, out of a dream, a wish, a vision, and made itself come true… Except it didn’t. Over time, this hard life beat you right back down from the lofty heights it raised you to, until it has proven to be just a wish after all, just a fancy, a youthful dream…” She chuckled. “Really, the only surprising part of your story is that you would even consider your secret a secret. The only surprising thing was how defeated and dejected you acted when I extracted a piece of trivia so petty and meaningless…”

“Yeah, well…”

“Oh, wait… Hold on a moment; you still think it’s true, don’t you? Really! What a wild idea; that a thing could give rise to itself. And not just some twisted, random, chaotic thing, but a thing of beauty, pride, heroism… It must have a cause, but what? Who sent it? Who sent it to you, that you might send it to yourself? And if nobody sent it, then how and why would fate choose a wild, rebellious animal like a Corduroy? Didn’t it ever dawn on you that somebody’s been lying to you all along? Did it ever even cross your mind?”

The shifter’s voice broke and changed now. Wendy couldn’t quite place it; it sounded familiar from somewhere… But then her body began to shift and morph. Four legs became two. White mucus hardened into flesh. Hard, dark plates formed together, rose up, and interlocked into armor. Little bioluminescent lights began to glow in high-tech patterns, and features solidified on the face.

The eyes… The hair… The suit of futuristic robotic armor… Wendy stared.

“Look familiar?” The monster ran a gloved hand through her long red hair, smiled her freckled, adult face, and twirled a futuristic axe. “You get good enough at shapeshifting, you can start inventing forms. How do you like this one? All I had to go on was your own appearance, and a little imagination…”

Wendy stared, and blinked, and stared again. She found herself at a loss for words.

“Perhaps I’ll head back to last Fall with this, and say some nice things to you. To make you do all the helpful things you’ve done since… What do you think of that?”

Wendy didn’t speak.

“…Or…” A smile twitched at the corners of the mimic’s mouth. “Or do you still believe you know the future?”

Wendy thought about this, as she stared at the perfect image of her dream. The image rested a hand on its hip, and stood in that characteristically powerful, proud, relaxed way… It really, truly was exactly how she remembered it.

My future self.

The promises. The mission. The hope. The vision.

It was all lies…

No…

No.

“No…” Wendy said.

The mimic cocked its head.

“No…” Wendy repeated. “Wait… You’ve seen her.”

“Hmm?”

“You’ve seen her! Seen me! That’s how you know what she looks like; you’ve met her… You’ve probably fought her, that’s it!” Wendy flexed her fingers, preparing to assault her bindings again. “You knew it all along! You’re trying to get in my head, trying to probe me and hurt me and BREAK me to prevent me from becoming who I AM, but you KNOW! You know the reason she didn’t show up this morning! It’s ‘Cause I’m gonna escape! This… This is destiny or something! I’m gonna fight my way across time and space to save my friends and my family, save the day, be the HERO! And then we’re gonna take what’s left of you, feed half to the pig and use the rest as VEGETABLE OIL!”

“YOU?” It scoffed, and gestured again to the skeletons. “When I’ve hunted and killed and eaten all who came before? Time travelers! Warriors! Scientists! Inventors! Heroes…! And now you! Hanging among the remains of better people, tell me:” Her voice rose to a screeching, furious, monstrous pitch as she raised her arm. The hand flattened itself, and sharpened into the fine edge of a large blade. Then she leapt at Wendy, lashing the deadly blade directly for her torso. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!?”

Wendy didn’t blink.

*BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! *

The computer console in a corner of the room chimed loudly.

By some unforeseeable, freak act of fortune, the alarm seemed to distract the shifter for a fraction of a second.

The blade missed Wendy’s body.

“WARNING!” The console chimed, in a language that was most certainly not English. “INTRUDERS DETECTED INCONCLUSIVE REFERENCE CODE RETURN THREAT LEVEL UPGRADED TO JELLY ROLL ONE: ERROR 443\]kl;/oij#JE’~~3Dde~~~”

The Shifter spun toward the computers and began to head toward them, outraged at the improbable, incredible, inconceivable timing of the interruption.

Wendy realized that the blade had actually severed most of the webs.

She threw herself forward, and her left arm ripped free. Her right arm followed it. Then she grabbed a sharp scrap of metal, and with one long slice tore through the material on her legs.

With a final push, her boots landed on the ground with a dull thud.

She stood up.

The Shifter glanced back at the human. She saw the tangled, matted hair, the faded blue hat, the clenched fists, the blood-stained lip, the furious little scowl, and the dark, murderous thoughts behind those green eyes. She thought that this was getting a little too complicated and improbable for a standard hostage situation; she should probably time-travel back by about 5 minutes, to find out the source of the alarm ahead of time, and undo her accidental severing of the human’s bonds.

Quickly though, before something worse happened.

But she was too late, because something worse was already happening.

There was a brilliant blue flash of light,

a tiny yellow machine was suddenly flying through the air,

And Wendy caught it.

“Who do I think I am? Funny you should ask that…” Wendy smiled, as she ad-libbed a plan.

“I’m a flippin’ Pines.”

#The Forest Of Daggers #wendip #wendy x dipper #gravity falls #scifi #wendy corduroy #dipper pines #shapeshifter #see you next summer #fanfiction #fanart #alien #robot #ghost #wendipweek #dang I didn't realize how dark this was when I was writing it. But now that I drew the picture... Daaaaang.

[beauvoyr]

Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 13

flowering | child of cosmogony

Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, Asphyxiation, Murder, no beta we die like men, pre-canon a.k.a before FFXV WARNING: This chapter contains murder and violence. Chapter Rating: M Crossposted on: AO3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership.

Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: White, too, can be corrosive, just like acid.

what happened to mother? you can’t say, for you do not know.

she fades into a distant blur, one of the many paintings hung in the halls of your head. sometimes, your mind is a treacherous friend playing tricks on you. you’d hear her last scream, hidden behind a door. you never dared to open it; if you do, you know you are intemperate, letting your feelings best you at this game for two. so mother remains, at most, locked behind the door. schrödinger’s cat, both alive and dead at the same time.

should you ask byron to quench your thirst?

no.

father’s lesson is still etched on his skin in long, raised lines you memorized under your fingertips. twelve on his front, five on his arms, and many more on his back. you’ve ruined him, you know. the remnants of these angry red lines have faded off into pale pinks on white over the years, as though branches of cherry blossoms bloomed on his skin. something so grotesque shouldn’t be so beautiful, even as you gingerly run your fingers across the patterns. whenever you do, byron stiffens under your touch like he’s afraid you’d dig your nails into the hatch welts.

he doesn’t know your touch is reverential, each brush an apology too late to be given.

and the lingering guilt in your heart paves way into something else.

“YOU AND NOCT REPENTED YET?”

Gladio is a merciless master. In this training room, he is the commander of the battlefield. Noct being a prince doesn’t mean shit to him, as long he knows how to dodge a blow and barrel into safety behind the Shield. Hardy as he is, he’s still got a weak spot somewhere in his heart when the feral glint in his amber eyes softens, coming across you and Noct, sitting together on your knees after getting banished to the farthest end of the hall. Your expression is certainly sorry enough, having repented to Hell and back as you rub your raw knees, and Noct is. Well. Kinda still working on the whole ‘repenting’ part.

“I can do three hours,” Noct grits out, deliberately cocking a brow in challenge. “You up for it?”

And Gladio’s casual smile morphs into something along the cynical lines of you little shit.

Just as quick, your hand flies out to smack him square in his bicep with an affronted, “Prince! Stop! I’m already sorry enough that I’m late…don’t drag me into this.”

Noct’s answer is a light elbow to your side, his grin taking on a criminal edge. “Your fault. Three hours should be good, hmm?”

“Spare me…I can’t even feel my legs anymore, is this normal?” Gladio catches your murmurs buried by your face in your hands. Your voice is certainly apologetic and he knows you’re not the type to piss him off on purpose, but Noct is just the devil sitting on your shoulder. An unrepentant, filthy devil wielding a trident for a spork.

Noct smirks, flippant. For some reasons, he looks oddly triumphant of himself, like he’s reveling that he can last longer than you. Which is technically cheating, in Gladio’s books, ‘cause Noct’s got years of punishment to back his credentials—and this is only your first day, for crying out loud. “It’s only normal when you can’t feel anything from waist down,” Noct says, his smirk turning savage. “If you can’t feel your legs, that means you need one more hour.”

There is a high note tucked somewhere in your following groan. “No, stop, please. Gladio, I’m sorry I’m late, I’m sorry I made His Highness late, I’m sorry we’re late—“

Honestly, you’re kinda pathetic like this.

With all due respect, you could still be King Regis’ illegitimate child or secretly some poetically forgotten Astral and he’d still think you’re pathetic. All the years you’ve been doing with your books developed none of your muscles. Gladio squints a little, hoping to find something to prove him wrong. Nope, not an inch. Ah well, he can’t blame you, not when your situation’s a bit weird like one of those stereotypical romance novels of noblewomen held captive since birth, just waiting for roguish warriors to rescue them. And now that you’re all ‘rescued’ by none other than nth-time Champion of Punishments, Prince Noctis, well—now what?

“Suck it up,” Noct drawls, lips all lazy smiles. “You’ve got 54 more minutes to go.”

Mumbled between your fingers, you resign your fate to the greedy prince. “Gods, I—I’ll do my best, Prince. I think.”

That gets him gloating more than ever, always a sucker for people obediently obeying his command, feeding his Ravatogh-sized ego. “Good.”

Well—now, Gladio guesses, it’s high time to put you out of your misery. “All right, knock it off. Noct, quit bullying the new kid on her first day.” He claps his hands, subjected to a moody glare from the little punk ass prince since Gladio obviously ruined his fun. “Architect guy, listen up: First rule, don’t be late. Noct can demonstrate what happens when you’re late, since he’s pro at this.”

And Noct, the pretentious prince who thinks he's hot shit, rolls his eyes. “Seniors are pros anyway.”

“Whatever.” Gladio’s way beyond holding up the conversation every time Noct gets all mouthy, being the smart-ass he is. He only holds up two fingers for emphasis. “Second: Don’t expect me to go easier on ya just ‘cause you’re a girl, got it? I’ll adjust your training regimen to start off with the basics, like building on your stamina and strength and flexibility. Nothing too hard, just somethin’ to get those muscles to work. Work hard and you’ll be as good as Iris in no time. All clear?”

You head bobs up and down fervently, wide-eyed. “Got it.”

He nods his approval. Good. You’re off to a pleasant track record if you keep this up, since you’re obviously preinstalled with strong self-discipline, ignited by your own initiative to better yourself for Noct. You look like a decent student in the long run, already managing to survive through two hours on your knees—and then there’s Noct, who’s already stretching out his legs and attempting to massage some life through them. He gets you to unfold your legs too, receiving all pained grunts and suffering moans when Noct taps your thighs, just being the asshole he is. Provided you don’t follow Noct’s bad influence, Gladio supposes you’ll survive through your training regimen with all your limbs intact.

…which brings him to rule number three.

“Third rule.” He clears his throat, drawing your attention to him once more. “If Noct’s being an ass, just punch him.”

“So if you’re being an ass, she gets to punch you too?” Noct asks, sounding all the more impressed with himself for thinking that up. “‘cause I’m pretty sure it goes both ways.”

“Can it, Prince Charmless.”

Little Prince Charmless scoffs at the injustice, nudging you in the rib, even if there’s an awkward reddening of his ears. Yep, he’s trying hard not to show Gladio’s jibe got under his skin, but the proof is right there. You only emit a long-suffering sigh, burying your face deeper in your hands. Nope, too damn late to escape your fate if you’re looking for a way out. Once someone gets involved a little too deeply with Noct, they’re usually stuck in the ride for the long haul, and then some. Noct, the very definition of guiltless and unrepentant right there in the dictionary, hasn’t shown you the fullest extent of his arsenal of assholery yet—oh, Gladio can’t wait for the day you’re gonna be moaning into your hands again as you lament your fate to the Astrals, ‘cause the good stuff is just starting with a bang.

“All right, kids, enough of that talk.” Gladio thumbs over his shoulder where the steel brackets display an array of daggers, swords, broadswords and polearms masterfully crafted from hardwood. “Noct, go do your warm-ups. I gotta have a little chitchat with our resident Architect right here. Now scram.”

Oddly, Noct doesn’t move. He’s regarding Gladio coolly under hooded blue eyes, arms crossed. “About what exactly?”

Unfazed because he’s the bigger person around here, both literally and figuratively, Gladio whistles low under his breath, sassing Noct’s huffy arm-crossing thing. “Didn’t know I needed His Highness’ express permission to talk to her.”

“Yeah,” Noct asserts, like the sky is blue and chocobos can’t fly and you’re all his. “I brought her down here so she’s my responsibility.”

Responsibility, what was that again? Gladio feels his eyebrows shooting up fast enough to launch into outer space. Noct being irresponsible is an ancient prophecy everyone and their grandmas heard of, but Noct being responsible is definitely not written anywhere in the Cosmogony, nope, not even a little footnote tacked at the end of the last page. What is he, some sort of feudal-era dad marrying off his daughter or something? The absurdity of the mental image gets Gladio chuckling a little.

“Responsibility is a big word, Noct, gotta be careful with that,” he points out. “You sure you wanna take responsibility over her paperwork, about two or three whole stacks of ‘em?”

That gets Noct decolorizing faster than expected and he’s all too happy to jump to his feet. “Gonna go get my warm-ups done. See ya.”

And that’s that. Noct betrays you just as easily, stalking off in the direction of the weapons. Gladio’s chuckling dissolves into barking laughter, colouring Noct’s nape with that same awkward red from earlier. Dropping on the polished floor, he snorts at Noct’s direction. “Heh, he freaks out on the big stuffs all the damn time. Chickens out the moment someone says the R word. Don’t let it offend ya, kid.”

“Not offended at all, don’t sweat it,” you answer, plain. There’s a bit of an improvement though, your tone is no longer as monotonous as a machine, sometimes ending in a breathier note, or dropping significantly whenever you’re distressed. None of that robotic rubbish whatsoever, probably thanks to Noct’s constant meddling in your life. “I know His Highness is a busy man, even if he looks all irresponsible. I just wanna be there to support him and the kingdom. It’s my duty as an Andronicus anyway, so it’s no biggie.”

Gladio huffs under his breath and scratches his cheek at the bit on the Andronicus. And that’s another matter altogether when it comes to your lineage. “Yeah… about that, I wasn’t joking about the paperwork. We’ve got whole stacks of them, standard security stuff on your background.” He sees you readying a rebuttal, all the more ready for your responsibility, and he holds up a hand to stop you from going further. “Hold your chocobos. Your situation’s a little difficult than the rest of the usual stuff we’ve got. Y’know what I mean?”

Of course you do, he knows you’re smarter than the average brat out there. The placidity in your eyes is deceptive, gazing unflinchingly into his. With each syllable, your lips curve, adopting a change in your languid lilt. “I’m aware of my unique predicament. I’m always doing things behind father’s back anyway, so it’s not a surprise if he finds out sooner or later. He can’t stop me.” Almost to yourself, your eyes trail aside and you murmur, “He’s long lost the power to control my life the moment I came to the Citadel. He knows he’s losing this war I waged. We’re now playing against time, that’s all.”

That’s—well, a little unnerving to hear.

Slack-jawed, it takes a moment for Gladio to dissociate the groaning, moaning mess curled up apologetically earlier from this conniving creature splayed before him. All lashes lidding low, examining a raveling thread on your thighs with the apathy of a queen, despite having uttered words an average twenty-something wouldn’t dream of a lifetime. How easily you switch depends on the matter, going from the ungainly girleen into this Machiavellian lady in mere seconds. As much as you paraded yourself as a harmless being, there is no denying the Andronicus inside.

And the Andronici are some of the most impersonal, inhumane nobles serving the Lucii Kings.

Gladio shuts his mouth with a hard click, getting his head in the game. He leans forward with a look meant to daunt those who’ve heard of the Amicitia, but you remain unconcerned. “What makes you so sure you’re gonna serve Noct?” he presses on. “What if your dad overrides your decision to become the next head of Andronicus, kid? You got backup ideas ready?”

Something about your illusory indolence feels off, gets his gut feeling roiling inside. “I already have plans in store,” you say. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t involve His Highness in my own mess, you have my word.”

Always answering things in a vague, roundabout way like what Noct complained when he first came across your existence, huh. Unless he resorts to brute force, he doubts he can wring anything from you without breaking an arm or two. Or ringing alarms somewhere else in their pentagonal friendship cycle. Still, as long as you’ve got Noct’s wellbeing as the number one priority in that pretty little head of yours, you’re entitled to your own secrets. You can deal with Quintus however you deem fit, since it’s your domestic problem to begin with. Stepping into someone’s familial crossfire isn’t exactly outlined in his job scope as Noct’s Shield anyway.

Putting an end to this, Gladio pulls himself up and points at you to stay. “Well, your document’s gonna be highly confidential stuff since we’re working against your dad here, so I’ll just bring it up to my old man, Clarus Amicitia, in case you don’t know who he is. Be prepared if he wants to meet you.” He pauses, then finding it appropriate to tack on a grin just for the sake of fucking around with you. “Personally.”

He doesn’t expect you to laugh but you do, a small, high sound that catches him off-guard with the brilliance of your smile.

LATER ON, Gladio chances a glance at your sealed envelopes. All six stacks bear the same name, marked at the top right hand corner in a careful cursive. Andronicus, and nothing more.

“the prophecy speaks of a king,” quintus utters, low. “a king who vanquishes eos’ illness. the true king.”

seated behind his impressive desk, against a curtain of crimson, he is the very picture of an imperator. well, byron supposes people do call him quintus the compeller for the very same reasons. standing near a suit of armour, byron pours some gourmet tea as he tries to tune out quintus the same way he tunes out a scream: by stabbing until the scream turns to squelches. he fashions his expression into one of apathy when he brings over the tray, setting it on the edge of the carved desk.

quintus does not wait for him to usher a cup at his direction; he takes as he pleases, tinkling china against china harshly after a deep sip. “what good will there be for a true king to emerge when niflheim is more than ready to snuff us out come tomorrow? rather than worrying about the impending darkness, i’d rather if his majesty would renew his efforts on reestablishing the military.”

this, byron inquires with careful curiosity. “reestablishing the military, sir?”

“he believes it to be futile effort.” quintus clicks his tongue, ridiculing the king’s trite choice of words. he sets down his teacup so sharply until it chips at the edges. “i respect him but i beg to differ, as this is a matter of life and death. our people are dying outside the old wall. daemons, mts, monsters, you name it, we have it. dissolving the military and rebranding it as the crownsguard is a foolhardy move executed by none other than the late king mors’ father. are the people beyond the walls not the people of lucis as well? they, too, deserve the lavish sense of security insomnia affords. if we cannot provide them the crystal’s protection, then we can surely offer them the reassurance of our military’s strength, no matter how little we may have. by ignoring their plights, by letting the imperials run free on our lands, we have abandoned them—no,” he bellows, tensing, “we spat on their faces.”

interesting. byron hums under his breath, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his sentiment. quintus seems content enough to continue his spiel of spite after refreshing himself with polishing off the lasts of his tea, and it has byron all too pleased to pour another cup.

“the kingsglaive may exist to handle our external crises, wars, riffraff, but tell me: how will we survive without them? those serving under our banner are none other than commoners with an aptitude in magic—they live outside the walls, yet, the king forsakes their villages, their tiny towns, just to keep insomnia safe. if we do not protect them, who will protect us once the last glaive dies? no,” quintus shakes his head, fingers laced tightly together, “i will not stand for this any longer. what my ancestors have failed to finish, that is to grant the outsiders equal rights to safety and revolutionizing their technology, i will strive to accomplish during my reign as the head of the andronicus, down to my very last breath.”

how moving. is this the very same man who left his speech on byron’s skin in long, red lines? spoken like a true man of the battlefield, one who operates insomnia the same way one operates a cadaver. he is attempting to reanimate lucis’ corpse by removing its decaying internal organs and swapping them with cables and switches. all the problems infesting lucis will be systematically tackled in stages, starting from the advancement of the army, right until the protection of its people. yet the problem lies with the king and his councilmen, and it is an obstacle quintus cannot resolve without challenging the king himself.

one cup turns to two, and two turns into three. with each cup, byron finds his thoughts swimming deeper and deeper until the dregs are all that’s left in the pot.

“YOU SEE, I DON’T LIKE MESS.” Byron begins, all conversational as he pulls latex gloves over his hands. The elastic snaps when he ensures they are snug around his wrists, and he smiles in satisfaction. “Whenever I see something messy, I get migraine. Long, horrible migraine, like someone sawing my brain. Do you ever feel that?”

A muffled cry.

Byron’s eyes crinkle into crescents at the pathetic sound. “Wonderful, I’m glad you understand. You must forgive me for my crude methods, of course, because it makes for easier cleanup when I’m done. Saved me from another migraine, good chap.”

There is a certain container wedged between blocks of steel that Byron calls his own. Nobody comes to these abandoned industrial dumpsites because who wants to deal with all the acrid stench and squelching maggots underneath their boots? Rusted cars missing their engines and wheel-less trucks are stacked one atop another, a brown stream of waste constantly seeping through decaying bags. Noxious fumes permeate the air, a permanent reminder of his origins: The streets, the sewers, the tin roof for Percival’s hideout and moldy, peeling walls.

Plastic crinkles under his weight, step by step to the table.

In here, everything is clean and white. White plastic tacked to the metal walls, white plastic over steel surgical trolley, an array of knives with white handles arranged in too-straight line. White is easy to stain. He’d know this very well, of course, since he’s been blessed with the very same whiteness. White is beautiful, pristine, the very shade representing purity. Yet, with just a fleck of colour, white stains.

Another muffled scream, and Byron raises his head.

Strapped on a rickety wooden chair, a weasel-looking forty-something man appears to be struggling in his binds. The Informant is trying to escape. Oh dear. He can’t have that, can he?

“It is ill-advised to escape,” Byron breathes out, tipping his chin. Too stoic, too blunt, and too smiling. “You know I’ll come and find you wherever you are, and I’ll make it more painful in our next meeting. Please, for your own good, stay quiet. I dislike rowdiness.”

Goodness, that gets the man thrashing more than he expected, the cloth gag barely muffling all the please and no and stop stop stop stop. Eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, sweat raining his receding hairline, he looks at Byron in what seems to be a mixture of contempt and terror. Really, he should decide on an emotion and channel it properly instead of delivering this half-assed excuse of an expression. Even his apathetic keeper managed better than that.

Byron heaves a heavier sigh, shoulders drooping at the sight. Something pulses faintly at the back of his head. “I gave you your warning, and you chose to disregard it. Very well.”

In theory, cleaving a human involves a body and a knife. Two simple objects readily found anywhere with varying levels of difficulty. In practice, it gets a little more complicated than that. It starts with the selection of tools, finding the best fit for the job. A screwdriver is to stab as an axe is to decapitate. But before all the excitement turns his nerves into jitters, he wants answers. And he wants them now.

“There is a certain dog I’ve taken to feeding, you see, for it is such a wretched, pitiable thing until I can’t bear the sight. In return, this dog carries news for me from far and wide. It’s been the utmost help, of course.” Byron reminds him, latex fingers squeaking over the stainless steel of the trolley. “However, I realized that this certain dog keeps running with his tail between his legs between two masters. A dog certainly has to be loyal to only one master, don’t you think so too?”

He catches the man vocalizing a quiet fuck from his throat.

Ah yes, bingo. Byron’s smile is painfully static as he traces absentminded circles on the tray, watery greys in his eyes turning molten steel. “You didn’t think I’d catch on, did you?”

More cursing, and the man thrashes harder, shaking like he’s got a seizure from just sitting in a chair. His perspiration is rank and Byron has half the mind to skin him just to get rid of the smell, but playing with food is very bad manner for a butler like him. Everything has to be done with clean precision, since he loathes leaving a mess behind.

“How long have you been in this business again?” Byron poses a rhetorical question, knowing the answer better than the man himself. “More than two decades, am I right? You’ve clearly underestimated the people you worked with. They might’ve not noticed your transgressions, but,” he bends at the waist, staring straight into the ruddy redness of the man’s eyeballs, bopping him lightly on his grimy nose, “I did.”

The Informant howls in his face, shivering, tears dampening the gag around his mouth. Awful sound, Byron can’t imagine what it’d be like without the handy cloth muffling his cry. The man breathes hard through his nose, lapsing into hysteric fits and kicking his bound limbs as if they’d come loose like a charming soap opera on the television. It’s useless, he knows that much, but maybe he held a faint hope in his heart that Byron’s overlooked something critical in a moment like this, like the knots are loose or the rope is frayed at the edges. Hope, he can keep hoping all he wants before Byron cuts his life out of him.

Straightening, Byron considers his choices, alternating glances between the knives. Should he go for the standard kitchen set, or the heavier butcher’s piece? Of course, each tool comes with its pros and cons. One is delicate, suited for carving initials into skin, and the other holds only one purpose: To hack meat into cubes. Coming to a decision, he hums and selects the latter. Cold and hefty in his hands, the perfect weight in its build. He runs a thumb over its blade, letting it glint under the fluorescent light.

Please please please stop is scattered between pleas for mercy and cries of apology, and the poor soul might run dry from tears if he keeps yowling like this.

Unfortunately, that is not an answer.

“Careful,” he cautions, lifting the blade to the light, examining its make under blinding whiteness. “The more you cry, the harder I’ll make it for you to die.”

As though Byron’s warning is a hammer to his chest, The Informant heaves and sputters, choking under the gag, swallowing all the noises he made with great effort. The container drops into silence, an overall improvement to the situation, save for stifled sniffling. Good. He likes it better this way. Dropping to his knees, Byron casually drags the knife up the length of the man’s feet—ah, he’s gone ahead and flinched from the cool metal, and now the knife nicked itself right in his flesh. Blood wells up and runs down the plastic. The Informant whimpers, biting off his cry in desperation.

“Have you heard of the death by a thousand cuts? No? That’s okay. Here, I’ll show you, though—“ Byron stops short with a soft laugh, “mine will contain a slight variation to accomplish my mission. Do forgive me for being unable to stay true to the original.”

A butcher’s knife is not meant to saw through meat. There’s no harm in trying anyway, so Byron sets to work. He drags it up and down across the little toe like he’s playing a violin, streaking steel in scarlet. At the back of his head, someone screams. A mindless hum, so he ignores it. The flesh gives way so easily under his ministrations, slowly but surely, and soon enough, there’s a satisfying friction once the blade reaches the bone. Here, Byron supposes, is where his experience tells him to hold enough pressure just to get it to yield. Tedious job, murdering someone. Wouldn’t recommend it to anyone searching for a pretty Credit.

Putting his bountiful knowledge to the practice, Byron grips the hilt tighter and applies just enough pressure with every push and pull of the knife. A raw scream, eyeballs rolling back, jerking with every grate. Please no is back again, this time punctuated by heavy sobs tearing out of his chest of how I’ve got a wife and my kids are gonna starve without me and bla bla bla, Byron’s heard this shit before, heard this too many times on the dull phonograph, seen the heavy wife scolding two scoundrels drawing on one of the many walls near the squatters, and then she gathers them into her arms with a weary sigh and—

—a satisfying crack, and the little toe rolls on the plastic.

Oh. He must’ve applied more pressure than he thought. That won’t do.

Fuck it hurts rips from the man’s throat, Martha Joseph Alvin is recited as final prayer, and Byron feels the pulsing in his head budding into the beginnings of a migraine and why does the damn man care so much for his family when Percival never gave a fucking shit whether Byron’s got anything left in his hands? No fucking mother to coddle his cries, no fucking father to catch his back, no fucking friend to care if he’s not breathing six feet underneath Duscae, turning into fertilizer for the wildlife. Nobody gives a fucking shit about him, not even Quintus, not even—

He raises the knife high and brings it down, a butcher and his meat.

Crimson all over the plastic, such satisfaction, but it’s not enough. Half of a foot is on his chopping board, the white of the bone peeking through meaty red. It’s not fair Byron’s going through this shit alone. Should he amputate the man just so he’d suffer Lavinia’s fate in Titus Andronicus? Cleave off his tongue, sever the joints of his arms and legs, leaving only his torso behind? Someone should suffer the same fate, shouldn’t they? Someone tangled too deeply in the Andronici’s mess deserves to live through the very same tragedy, don’t they?

Yes, he decides in morbid fascination, they should.

The knife is raised high once more.

WHITE, TOO, CAN BE CORROSIVE, just like acid.

o'er rotted soil, under blighted sky a dread plague the wicked has wrought. in the light of the gods, sword-sworn at his side 'gainst the dark the king's battle is fought. from the heavens high, to the blessed below, shines the beam of a peace long besought. "long live the line, and this stone divine, for the night when all comes to naught."

cosmogony: 15:2, nadir.

YOU ARE SORE ALL OVER thanks to the brutal beating of your first day. So sore from your third rep until you marvel at how dedicated Noctis can be, never breaking out of his stance as he took on Gladio in training. By the time you’ve wrapped up your set of push-ups, vision blurring and head spinning, he’s still parrying Gladio’s unforgiving strikes, quicker on his feet to match Gladio’s hulking brawn. He bursts in and out of the fight—warp-strike, he calls it—as flickers of magic drift around him like shards of broken mirrors, illuminating the floors in fractured blues.

Now, seeing him sprawled over the stretch of your bed sheets and comforters, he is an entirely different being from the aggressive prince prowling the training halls. Here, he is the lazy prince, one who conquers sixty percent of your land and demands more than fifty percent of your pillows. A conqueror through and through. If you listen hard enough, you can hear a small buzz in his breathing. His beautiful, expressive eyes are closed, dark lashes a stark contrast against his porcelain skin. Arm half-raised over his head and another resting on his chest, the comforters long gone and kicked off his body, tangling around his ankles.

Limber limbs, agile body, an unrelenting strength.

Your king is a pretty, pale prince, all ink spattered on snow.

Sitting up halfway, you unravel the twists and turns of his comforter and gently draw it over his body, letting the familiar heaviness cocoon him. It falls in the dips between his legs and arms and neck, but you’re careful enough to smoothen the fabric in all the nooks and crannies to ensure nothing’s exposed. It won’t do to have him catching cold limbs in your workspace, hindering all his princely progress if he falls ill. You’ve barely finished tugging the comforter over his feet when he shifts under you, rustling the sheets.

“Mmmh?” A voice thick with sleep. Noctis struggles with holding up his head, the hand over his hair catching a long yawn. “What’re you doing…?”

Patting the finishing touches to his feet, you drop onto the last forty percent of your land with your pillow. Comfort can be subjective when it comes to layered sheets playing the part of a makeshift mattress, but Noctis hasn’t complained thus far. The thought has you burrowing deeper into your own nest. “Nothing, Prince. Go back to sleep.”

Sleepy as he is, he still studies you how one reads a menu, head all full of delicious thoughts—and perhaps still basking in the afterglow of delicious dreams. The beautiful blue of his eyes are the skies across Galdin Quay, resting heavily on your face. So beautiful, you catch your fingers almost touching perfection. “You sure it’s nothing?”

No.  You lick your bottom lip to divert the thought, ducking your head when Noctis drops his gaze to the flit of your tongue, staring at your spit-shiny lips. All traces of sleepy blue are erased, waxing interest in its stead. Interest that you are unwilling to entertain, lest he demands your thoughts. “A thousand times yep.” Shoving your discomfort into the distance, you turn your back to him. Face buried in your pillow, you await suffocation to claim you into slumber. “Gonna get some sleep, see ya.”

“Hey.”

Noctis is saying something, inexplicably intent on preventing you from having the last word.

You pretend you’re fast asleep, emulating an even breathing just to get him to stop. What other choices do you have left? This is bad. You should sleep. Sleep always rids you of your apprehension the same way Byron rids you of your nightmares. Sleep should soothe your aching calves and twitching thighs, a restful balm meant to rejuvenate those who are weary. Sleep should distract you from this—whatever it is you’re thinking, whatever it is the prince wants to do with you.

“Hey,” he tries again, a touch louder this time. “Your hair is in my face.”

You give a start—really? Only to realize a second too late that he’s nowhere near your hair, nowhere close enough to breathe down your neck. What he’s looking for is the startled jerk just to see if you’re awake, and you fell for it. Drat. Knowing he’s bested you this time, you clear your throat and tighten your hold on the pillow. “Turn the other way round then, Prince.”

“Don’t wanna,” he says, voice gone quiet. “You turn around.”

That’s unfair. That’s unfair because he knows you can’t say no to him. Who are you to deny what the prince wants?

Resigning to your fate for the second time today, you finally turn again. Noctis is still where you last saw him, lying on his side, the comforter you pulled hanging off his shoulder. It gets your fingers scrambling for your own, tugging the weighty cotton over your head, leaving only a loose gap around the edges of your face. Trying to find something to distract you from thinking about the weight of his gaze, or the lazy drag of his eyes from your lips to your neck. Trying to string a sentence or two about something—anything, as long as he doesn’t look at you like this.

After a while, he snorts inelegantly. “You look like an egg.”

A what?

“An… egg?” The words are already out from your mouth before you’re consciously filtering them.

Noctis mimics what seems to be wrapping his head from a blanket of air, a live demonstration of his meaning. “Yeah, an egg,” he explains matter-of-factly, dropping his hand to the sheets once more. “Y’know, hard-boiled egg. That stuff. Your comforter’s all white and your face is just—“

“—the yolk,” you finish for him, almost incredulous, almost borderline wanting to smother him under your pillow if you could. Here you are, worrying if he’s read your thoughts, and he comes up with this? “Really, Prince? An egg?”

“Yep.” Remorseless, curling his bottom lip, nodding all the same. “Got a problem?”

Incredible. All you can do is to gawp at him, wordless. An egg, really? An incredibly specific egg—a hardboiled egg? With your face for the yolk? Precisely at that point in your life, you realize Noctis can be quite trying at times. Is that why Gladio was grinning all morning long? Just waiting for you to be suckered into his same experience? You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, seeing how your morning routine tumbled into a disaster with him by your bedside, hauling you to an unannounced training session, and then tapping your thighs when you experienced excruciating pins and needles from sitting on your knees for too long.

If today’s a sneak preview for your future, who knows what’s in store many more weeks after?

Trying to gain a semblance of rationality, you nod—then shake—before settling on a nod again. “Yeah. Yeah I’ve got a problem. Your comment failed to crack a smile on the Egg Queen's face. That was ineggscusable. Good night, Prince.”

“What.” Noctis deadpans, obviously not expecting that to backfire on him.  “Want me to snap a pic for proof? You gotta see it to believe it.”

Yanking the rest of the comforter over your face, you decide it’s best to spend the rest of your evening with a nap.

“Go to sleep, Prince. If you'll eggscuse me, I bid you a very good night.”

[tbc.]

Notes: 

this chapter isn’t particularly my favourite and a few things felt awkward/misplaced, but i think my editing skills have gone down the drain and i couldn't particularly make anything work. ( ´△｀) i’m sorry sometimes my writing just goes down under and doesn’t wanna come back up. i’ve been awake for the past 31 hours now and i’m absolutely planning to pass out after this.

but yes, thank you for still sticking around and reading this update! and thank you for sending in messages and asks on my tumblr about my current job, even though i couldn’t reply much on time (especially with the asks) while i was away abroad. it’s been really nice chatting with some of you readers and you kind anons as well ❤ i’ll be called for another flight sometime soon seeing how november/december schedule is really packed (holiday season actually stands for…horrible season), but i’ll still do my best to have a consistent update (or update you readers on the status on my tumblr).

i hope life treats you well ❤ here’s a preview on the next chapter!

PREVIEW:

As usual, Noctis doesn’t seem to exist in the equation. Not that he’s surprised, he’s long classified Byron as one of those cynical bastards thriving on treating others as though their collective intelligence is on par with five-year-olds. Scoffing under his breath, Noctis folds his arms over his chest and follows you this time around, letting you lead the way to your room. Byron is all fancy bows as though he’s mocking Noctis for some reasons, throwing the door open with an exaggerated flourish and shutting it behind him once they’re all safely inside.

°˖ ✧◝(○ ヮ ○)◜✧˖ ° and also just because i was editing chapter 23, have a super-future preview of chapter 23 as well!

PREVIEW | 23:

“You wanna tell me what it feels like to have someone else on top of you?” Noctis murmurs.

#Noctis Lucis Caelum #ffxv #final fantasy xv #noctis x reader #noctis/reader #final fantasy xv fanfic #noctis #gladiolus amicitia #Gladio #the next chapter will have byron vs noctis #and it's pretty much one of the chapters i laughed while writing #yeah those were the days #thank you for sticking around dear readers! #lazy people

[digimmortality-archive]

starter guide to my OCs under the cut! warning: there are a lot and i am trash for using the same FCs, but whatever whatever. <3

Alyssa Montgomery ( faceclaim: mackenzie davis ):  - tattoo artist  - single mom, very active in her kid’s life and very much involved in pta like things  - terribly romantic and loves being in love and doesn’t know when too much is enough

Aruna Charan ( faceclaim: naomi scott ):  - high school drop out  - lost in life and has no idea what to do or where to go  - uses humor as a way to cover up insecurities

Asurael ( faceclaim: jim caviezel ):  - fallen angel mercenary  - very much a damaged angel who is overcome with rage and anger at the thing who ripped off his wings  - also really oblivious to the way the modern world works, and isn’t very good with social cues

Avery Lucas ( faceclaim: chloe bennett ):  - destiny 2 based titan in fireteam aeternum  - in modern verse, she’s an underground fighter  - sees the fun in all things violent and is really just the type of person to see joy in life always

Cameron McCormick ( faceclaim: hugh dancy ):  - accountant / underground crime boss  - literally a serial killer with ASPD  - only cares about two or three people in separate verses, and will do anything to protect them

Donovan Crayford ( faceclaim: michael malarkey ):  - auto mechanic  - spent most of his life dating kiana before breaking it off when she returned from overseas  - tries to spread joy where he can, volunteers in his spare time at shelters and hospitals

Dylan Abernathy ( faceclaim: amy acker ):  - farmer / veteran  - literal human sunshine who makes it her goal to brighten the day of whoever she comes across  - most of the workers on her farm were homeless before she met them and offered them a place to work and live

Estela Tavares ( faceclaim: becky g ):  - high demon queen, previously a succubus  - feeds off of the literal life essence of humans and various other beings  - overly cocky / confident and believes she can do no wrong

Gavin Fischer ( faceclaim: cody christian ):  - kind of a deadbeat genius  - works as a waiter in a local steakhouse to help provide for his three siblings and parents  - dreams of one day being a physicist and discovering new things and being able to earn a lot of money so his parents and siblings never have to want again

Grayson Hauser ( faceclaim: tahmoh penikett ):  - POI based ISA / Samaritan agent  - comes off really gruff and stoic / flat effect almost  - soft when it comes to the people he cares about, will protect them, oblivious to the bigger picture and only follows orders

Isaac Harding ( faceclaim: tyler hoechlin ):  - private detective, specializing in the supernatural  - injured knee, addicted to coffee and nicotine  - soft spoken and studious, tends to go out of his way to complete a case, even when the danger is high

Jac Miller ( faceclaim: phoebe tonkin ):  - derby girl / pyrokinetic + empath  - has absolutely no control of her powers and the empathy makes her lose control more often than not  - definitely a wild child, feels too much ALWAYS even without her empathy

Jasper Davis ( faceclaim: chris wood ):  - destiny 2 based warlock of fireteam aeternum  - the gothest boy ever  - is part of a warlock order called the thanatonauts, in which he dies voluntarily to experience visions before being revived

Joey Belmont ( faceclaim: stella maeve ):  - atomic blonde based double agent ( CIA / SVR )  - spends a lot of her time undercover in the US investigating   - never shows who she really is and crafts a different personality for every meeting, in actuality a very lonely, dark person

Katia Boystov ( faceclaim: lyndsy fonseca ):  - gta based crew assassin  - runs with an all female crew and is known for how loud her assassinations are  - her personality is much like her style of violence: wild and in your face

Ke'aslas ( faceclaim: charlie cox ):  - elder god based oc  - was summoned to earth eons ago and has been existing just underneath the surface  - once technology began to uprise, they poured their essence into it. flickering lights? static on a tv? look closer and you will see and hear Them.

Kiana Razavi ( faceclaim: sarah shahi ):  - air force veteran  - severe ptsd. night terrors, flashbacks.   - the softest but also literally the most pathetic. latches onto any kindness and very easily falls in love because she craves affection and attention

Lex Stovall ( faceclaim: amy acker ):  - fuckboy neurosurgeon  - amab feminine agender person ( she/ her pronouns, male and nb titles ( dr, sir, mx, etc )  - too cocky and confident to function tbh. addicted to painkillers and drinks too much wine. afraid of commitment after her divorce

Mitchell Calloway ( faceclaim: jason bateman ):  - assistant district attorney  - very much the smarmy villain type you would expect him to be  - he’s charming in a way that seems unsettling and only in it for the money

Oliver Ward ( faceclaim: matthew gray gubler ):  - continuing ed. english professor, only teaches night classes  - very soft and very gay man who finds joy in fictional stories and fantasy  - somehow has his life together but looks a mess always, very disorganized and very disheveled

Owen Rebours ( faceclaim: richard harmon ):  - destiny 2 based hunter of fireteam aeternum  - the quietest hunter on the front. very focused on making sure the job is done, but loves the challenge  - has a gambling problem, but bets only on crucible matches and never plays himself

Rosalind Harston ( faceclaim: olivia taylor dudley ):  - late 1800s vampire  - nearly feral and lacks a humanity. her feralness translates into a sense of uncaring and feeds without remorse  - tends to prey on the stronger because the challenge is greater

Rosana Naceri ( faceclaim: sarah shahi ):  - psychology professor / self help book author  - completely fucked up after witnessing her father kill her mom and translates that into trying to help others, though does not follow her own advice  - rarely speaks unless its needed, and is quick to anger or judgement

Rowan Knight ( faceclaim: katie mcgrath ):  - up and coming mob queen  - ambitious to a fault and tends to take her anger and frustration out on those close to her  - prefers ruling from a perch and doesn’t like getting her hands dirty, but will if she has to 

Roya Veisi ( faceclaim: sarah shahi ):  - ex marine bodyguard  - is the type that feels too much and thinks its a weakness, so she comes off as stoic and unfeeling  - lets her anxieties get the better of her when it comes to social situations

Savina ( faceclaim: alycia debnam carey ):  - feral werewolf   - literally acts like more animal than person, has lived on her on in the wilds since she was young bc separated from her pack / family  - is barely in control of her beast and spends a lot of time trying to figure out how to get in under wraps without knowing how

Siya Parekh ( faceclaim: naomi scott ):  - literal princess of a made up city ( gotta write this up )  - very prim and proper in public but is also politely sarcastic in a way that turns heads  - tends to leave other royalty and politicians confused and surprised at how well she navigates matters

Theo Bradford ( faceclaim: jeffrey dean morgan ):  - physics professor  - single dad, divorced and estranged from his ex wife  - shy, quiet kind of guy. keeps to himself mostly and focuses more on his work and providing for his daughter

Tobias Gallo ( faceclaim: sean teale ):  - background vocalist of an indie band  - mainly sings, but also plays violin and wants to break off from the band and start his own career  - goes with the flow most of the time and pours his heart and soul into his music

Victor Moreno ( faceclaim: diego luna ):  - account executive for ford motors  - a blind man and uses a cane rather than a seeing eye dog   - finds fun and joy in literally every moment, and goes out of his way to make sure the people around him are also seeing things in a new light ( figuratively )

#[ oc guide; ] #anyways #i have so many #its ridiculous

[tvvolips]

For Now - a Tulip-centric fanfic

This is basically a glimpse at Victor’s proposition of marriage to Tulip, followed by a discussion between Tulip and Allie, and a lot of Tulip’s thoughts about the marriage and why she’s agreeing to it. 

Read on AO3: (X) 

“It’s simple, really. I want my daughter to have someone she can look up to, I would like the companionship. It’s nothing more, nothing less. You’ll have your own room, access to whatever you need, and you’ll go out with my men as you see fit, perhaps head a few operations of your own.” 

“I’m not someone to look up to. I’m the last person any kid should look up to. Daughter of a whore, can’t hold onto shit, can’t even keep my own goddamn head on straight anymore.” 

She looks so lost and ragged seated across from him, weariness still crippling her features. Tulip O’Hare is much like the feral cats that seem to litter the streets of New Orleans, mistrusting eyes shifting every which-way, as though expecting she’ll need a quick exit. 

“I think the opposite, really. I’ve spent enough time with you to know that we both could do with this. It’s something solid, a family that will always be here for you.” 

There’s a shift in her expression, and for a moment, she’s somewhere else entirely within her own mind, eyes spaced off to a corner. There’s so much Victor doesn’t know about her, but he does know something’s made her this way, given her such mournful eyes and sunken cheeks. For a moment, Victor assumes she’s about to simply leave, but that’s when she’s suddenly nodding. 

“Fine.” 

“Hey, Allie, whatcha’ up to down here?” 

The girl glanced up from her drawing, a blinding smile (full of gaps from the teeth she’s been losing like bowling pins) spreading across her face as she noted Tulip’s approach. “Was just drawing you and me, s’all.” 

Marriage was something Tulip had only imagined with Jesse Custer, if at all. They’d do it in some shitty Vegas chapel, or maybe even in goddamn Annville, just to show every asshole in town that they made it, but with Victor? She’d only ever thought of Victor as a mentor, the proposition had left her conflicted as shit, but the family he offered had reached to something deep inside of her, something that just goddamn needed something to be stable for once. After Dallas, after Carlos, the baby, Jesse, she’d lost herself. She was still lost, too, only now, here was goddamn Victor, offering her a chance to heal and for once, Tulip wasn’t so keen on running away from the chance of stability. She was tired. 

Standing there, looking down at Allie and the crudely drawn stick figures seated together in a purple car, she realized that this little girl did look up to her. Allie had lost a mother. Tulip had lost a child. Maybe this was goddamn fate. For now. 

Tulip knew she would leave. She knew Jesse Custer would crawl back into her thoughts and she’d be less angry towards him, but for now, this would be something nice (she’d think of how bad she’d hurt everyone later on). Her and him, they were ‘till the end of the world, or at least, she had thought so, not having been the one to leave. 

“You okay?” the girl’s question brought Tulip back to the present, doe-eyes wide in momentary confusion. 

“Oh yeah, yeah, just thinkin’, is all,” slowly, she seated herself adjacent to the drawing girl, baffled by how oblivious Allie remained, despite her father’s syndicate, despite the stress around her. Tulip’d come to the girl for a reason, of course. Though she’d initially agreed to Victor’s deal, Allie was a factor that would make or break things. “So, Allie,” Tulip trailed off, glancing towards one of the intricate paintings upon the wall. It was funny, really, how difficult this was, talking to a kid. Tulip’s stitched herself up, saved her own ass from sure-death situations, but kids, they weren’t easy. Anymore, they scared her, made her think on that baby-that-never-was, but Allie’s all right. Allie’s cool. “Right, so...your daddy, he, uh...he and me talked and he was thinking about...well, marrying me,” it was as blunt as the joint she goddamn wished she had right now, “but it’s not like, y’know, normal marriage, it’s more like...friends-with-marriage, you’re too young to get that, shit-I mean crap!” with an exasperated, growling moan, Tulip let her shoulders sink, pursing her lips tight together to will herself the patience to make this not seem like a friggin’ disastrous idea.

The girl hardly shifted, though, just resumed filling Tulip’s chevelle in with more Maximum Purple crayola. Allie leaned down to admire her handiwork before glancing to Tulip, soft eyes intent, “Why?” 

Kids always asked that, always, but for once, it wasn’t for some pointless explanation. This was some real shit. “Well,” Tulip swallowed, taking a steadying breath, “When I came here, you remember how I was kinda messed up? All bruised up, pale as a ghost? Big ‘ole circles under my eyes?” 

Allie paused for a moment, as if remembering how Tulip had appeared in those days, before nodding, “They’re still there but they’re almost better, maybe you should see a doctor?” 

The naive, goddamn sweet suggestion provoked a soft laugh from Tulip, the woman shaking her head in declination, “Naw, I’m fine now, I just mean...back then, I was really sad. Your daddy helped me a lot, but I’m still...sad. He and me don’t like...love each other and stuff like normal people getting married do, but it’s just a nice way to, y’know...” but she doesn’t know. There’s no explanation for it besides belonging. In the past, Tulip O’Hare’s never wanted to belong to anyone, she laughed in the face of marital constraint, but this, despite her prior beliefs, is for her, . She needs this to get on her feet again. 

“So you’ll be like my mom?” 

The question takes her aback, Tulip’s eyes widening a bit in worriment that it’s a bad thing. “Well, I don’t...I’m never gonna be your mom, but I’ll...sorta be like that, yeah.” 

Anxiously, Tulip watches as Allie pushes her drawing aside, seemingly chewing it over in her head, “You ever raise a kid before?” she questions, with the mature expression that a judge would friggin’ wear while questioning a witness. 

The question hits her though, as anything to do with her and children, mothering, or babies do. Tulip staves off the chilled nausea settling in her throat to offer a weak shrug, wetting her lips, “I...almost.” 

“Almost?” 

Tulip glanced over to the girl, weary eyes looking even wearier as she did, “My baby...died before I could meet it.” 

Allie blinked a few times, glancing down silently before slowly pushing her drawing towards Tulip. “You can marry my dad. You aren’t gonna be my mom, but you can show me how to be cool like you and I can be the flower girl in your wedding, okay?” 

Slowly, completely baffled, Tulip pressed her pinkie to the corner of Allie’s drawing, slowly tugging it closer into her view. For once, a kind of peace had settled in her chest, like she was doing the right thing. Jesse Custer wouldn’t believe his goddamn eyes, convinced that Tulip O’Hare was born to live, die, and stay on the run, but here she was, touched by a stick-figure drawing of her and the daughter of the friend she was goddamn marrying. 

“Good deal,” is all she managed, giving a soft huff of relief as she smiled, “I ever show you how to make a bazooka outta cans?” 

Immediately, like a jack-in-the-box, Allie’s standing on her chair, braids bouncing as she grins like a little freakin’ beam of sunshine, “No, but you gotta now! Please, Tulip?” in an instant, she was on the ground at Tulip’s side, tugging on her hand, “Pretty please?!” 

Tulip gave a hardy laugh, standing, “Yeah, yeah, but when your daddy gets mad it ain’t my fault,” she glanced over her shoulder, towards the stairs, caught Victor standing upon the landing with a faint smile. They shared a nod before Tulip was drug off towards the kitchen. For once, she didn’t feel so empty, didn’t feel like everything around her was a fragile icicle, ready to fall and leave at any second. 

Yeah, this was gonna be all right, for now. 

#preacher #amc preacher #tulip o'hare #jesse custer #julip #mentioned julip tho #long post #long

[jolteonjordansh]

Thoughts on Worlds Conflict Arc

The name of this arc was going to be wordy or confusing no matter how many different names I discussed with my boyfriend.

Supposedly this is considered the low end of the series but I guess I’ll ultimately decide that by the time I finish watching this? Either way I still have a lot to say about it. Below the break we go!

I don’t know about you guys, but much like Digimon Tamers I think this is one of those series that may get better as it goes on. There’s a lot of plot stuff to talk about in my opinion, so I’m going to try to keep this mostly about my opinions as much as possible because one of the biggest things that bothered me when I was writing my thoughts on Tamers is that I felt like I was just summarizing and regurgitating the plot more than I was giving my input and opinions on what happened in said arcs. Let me try to get it right this time.

This arc gets a lot more necessary and needed character and world development. Some might argue there was one character who got too much focus, but I kind of think it was also necessary to some extent. Thomas gets an episode that flashes back to his past and we understand why he became so emotional when spending time with Marcus' family since he lost his mother in a tragic accident. It was honestly a really heartbreaking episode with both wonderful moments of Thomas spending time with his gentle mother and the inevitable build-up to Thomas reliving his past, but this time he overcomes it. It really helps humanize Thomas and give him some depth, though I do wonder what happened to his dad considering he pretty much has no presence. Do we have an asshole dad on our hands? Or a dead dad? Either way, I have no idea if the show will ever cover it.

Yoshino also finally gets some much-needed development and backstory. She suffers from an inferiority complex since she sees a lot of talent in her family, but not herself. I could potentially see people feeling she comes off as selfish in this, but I don't think she does. Inferiority complexes are a very real thing and often times, shows and works of fiction tend to use them as a weakness for the antagonist. I certainly don't see it as a flaw on protagonists anywhere near as much, and I think this was a pretty good take on it. She wasn't necessarily just jealous of her sisters, she just wanted to have some talent in her own right. And really, don't we all want and need some form of self-worth? So really, I don't see what's so selfish about that. And I think it ties really nicely into how she met Lalamon with her Sing a Song technique and Yoshino's piano playing. Yoshino gains some much-needed confidence and does become more prevalent along with Lalamon from here, so it was a necessary episode that made her presence in the group stronger. Plus as the designated driver of the group, she gets some kind of hilariously badass car driving scenes.

As for Marcus, he doesn't quite get a ton of development in this arc, mostly because he got more of it in the DATS arc and the focus isn't really him. If anything, most of his development bounces off other characters. But I'd say the most development we get related to him regards his dad, Spencer. Whether he's actually alive or not, we don't know, but he was part of the Digital World Exploration Squad who explored the Digital World ten years ago, along with others like Richard and the old man who we finally get to know. But apparently the reason Marcus is so crazy strong is because he inherited god-like powers from his father. Spencer Damon punches Digimon straight in the face just like Marcus, down to punching a SaberLeomon and having ridiculous jumping powers. He doesn't even have to have a Digimon partner, but he was able to befriend a Merukimon with the biggest and most epic of fist bumps. Some of these characters legit weren't kidding when they said they see a lot of Spencer in Marcus. It's almost hilarious how much of Spencer's superhuman strength Marcus inherited. Spencer apparently even invented the Digivices, but how he was able to make such technology in the Digital World with no real scientific resources, I have no idea.

The other two Digimon partners also achieve their Ultimate levels in this arc--Gaomon up to MachGaogamon and Lalamon to Lilamon. MachGaogamon is a pretty neat design, especially since I'm usually kind of bothered when more feral designs go to anthropomorphic designs, especially Garurumon to WereGarurumon for me personally. Maybe I've just gotten used to that being a norm in Digimon, but MachGaogamon just feels like a cool design with its own uniqueness, while WereGarurumon was basically just Garurumon on two legs with pants and iron knuckles. But apparently MachGaogamon's design is so complex that the Digivolution animation actually lags and drops in framerate. Remember what I said about the Digivolution animations being really fluid in this series? Not so much for MachGaogamon, as the framerate drops significantly for a couple of seconds. But to be fair, the design has a lot going on and also goes really fast, so I could see why it would stress the rendering engine so much. Lilamon doesn't suffer this at least and is just as fluid as the other animations. The animations themselves are still really impressive, and I like how they smoothly go from Rookie to Champion to Ultimate, all as if it were one animation. It makes it all very cohesive and just all the more pleasant to look at and for me to appreciate.

The Digital World in this arc feels much more like the one in the Adventure series, with its sort of wild nature unlike Frontier's Digital World. So far there isn't really anything that indicates how it was created, it just seems like another dimension much like Frontier's. But I think I really like the design of it. I know it has a very random nature and some might call it uninspired for the random computer parts thrown around, but I think I honestly like that about it. Computer data and the internet can tend to have junk data and excessive coding, and there will always be bugs in them, so the world having some bits of randomness in its nature makes sense. The Adventure series Digital World was a bit like this too, but I think Savers' Digital World does this more and I think I like it that way--it keeps its own identity like this.

The main focus of this arc is the conflict between the Real World and Digital World, as Digimon find ways into the Real World and cause problems there, but the Digimon feel threatened by humans because apparently there was a time a group of humans infiltrated the Digital World and went on a killing spree for a bunch of Digimon. I'm not talking about just reducing them to DigiEggs either. While Digimon Savers follows the usual formula of Digimon reducing to DigiEggs when they die, here the humans have found a method to actually murder them and destroy their DigiEggs when they've died. Merukimon, a Mega level Digimon who is basically one of many leaders in the Digital World, begrudges the humans--especially since he actually made a deal with Spencer to aim for a world where humans and Digimon could get along. But after the other humans come in and kill the Digimon, he thinks Spencer has betrayed him and the Digital World more or less declares war on humans. But Merukimon still doesn't want to blindly send out Digimon to the Real World. Others like SaberLeomon do, and this is why SaberLeomon inevitably dies when he decides to go to the Real World himself. Smart thinking SaberLeomon.

But the other main focus of this arc is Keenan--known as Ikuto in the original (the name I prefer personally, but I'll use Keenan for these for some consistency)--a child who was sucked into the Digital World through a Digital Gate and essentially raised as a feral child among Digimon. He becomes the Sixth (technically Fourth) Ranger of the series, with his partner Falcomon. There's a lot of focus around him accepting his identity as a human, deciding whether to side with humans or Digimon, accepting his blood parents and being treated as a traitor by many Digimon who didn't really like him to begin with, especially Merukimon's spineless and not-so-loyal henchman, Gotsumon. He suffers a lot of hate and inner conflict not only because he has to decide whether he wants to identify as a human or a Digimon, but struggles as he doesn't want to reject his Digimon mother, Frigimon, who also died during the Digimon killing spree. So naturally, he hates humans and has to deal with that conflict as well.

While Keenan is an enemy for the main characters for a while, once they help Falcomon find a vaccine for a virus that infected Keenan and Yoshino, the hostility begins to lighten up, and Keenan trusts Marcus especially after Gotsumon goes out of his way to kill Keenan and Falcomon while Marcus continues to protect and help them. Marcus ends up becoming like an older brother figure for Keenan, even letting him live at his house, and I really liked this dynamic. He really helps Keenan find some of his sense of humanity and while he is pushy, he never pushes Keenan to a point that would make him uncomfortable. Keenan meeting up with his biological parents for the first time is also rather heartbreaking considering they had just recently had a new daughter, which makes Keenan believe he's already been replaced and he believes he doesn't belong anywhere. But he eventually realizes that he really does care for his blood parents when he saves his mother from a Hagurumon. While, again, people argue that there's too much focus on Keenan and his development, I still feel it was all good development and he was a character who needed a lot more character growth to progress, so personally it didn't bother me and I do like him and Falcomon. But of course, despite finally reuniting with his biological parents after a decade, the government always sucks whenever they are involved with Digimon and Governor Hashima orders an arrest of Keenan and his parents for the opening of the Digital Gate that brought in the Hagurumon.

I hate Hashima and his strict government ass. Seriously, talk about a man with no freaking chill and I swear he's another one of those government officials who's out for himself way more than he is taking responsibility for his country. But no matter how much I hate this guy, he's basically just a Lawful Evil in this show. As of right now, nothing beats the fucking asshole known as Akihiro Kurata. I fucking hate Kurata. I am absolutely on Marcus' side when he says the man is just a spineless coward. He makes no attempt to understand Digimon and even from his first major encounter with a Digimon, his first and only solution is to kill. He's behind the Digimon killing spree with his artificial Digimon, Gizumon, and ultimately Frigimon's death, making him a big adversary for Keenan as well as the fact that he kills Merukimon in the end. This does lead to Keenan and Falcomon achieving Digivolution to Ultimate level to Yatagaramon (I'm sorry, Crowmon is just too lame of a name for me to use). Again, another great set of Digivolution animations. I'll admit, the artificial Digimon Gizumon is an interesting idea, but UGH Kurata is just one of those antagonists you can hate without a moment's hesitation.

Even when Kurata is defeated in the Digital World and he has to retreat, he still manages to be an asshole by getting with other asshole Hashima and dismissing DATS. They do this forcefully by utilizing DATS' equipment to erase Marcus, Thomas and Yoshino's memories of their Digimon. I always thought that DATS' technology was kind of convenient, but to use it against them is clever if not totally a dick move from Kurata. Conveniently, they decide not to erase Keenan's memories or the two maids of DATS--Miki and Megumi, and somehow everyone else who knows about the Digimon like Marcus' family kind of conveniently remember over time? Still, the whole memory loss thing and how Agumon has to make Marcus remember is still pretty well-executed--I just wish we could have seen more of Thomas and Yoshino's sides. Though, one random plus of this episode was seeing Kudamon not on Richard's neck and acting on its own.

I don't think I talked about this enough in my last post, but the fights in Digimon Savers are really good and I think they manage to hit just the right balance with the fights. We have the traditional fights of Digimon fighting Digimon, but now with multiple attacks. Even Rookie levels have multiple attacks, and it makes them more dynamic kind of like what Digimon Adventure 02 tried to do, but pushes it even further. Plus, with Marcus punching around Digimon, even a freaking Mega level like SaberLeomon and breaking one of his teeth, they're just more interesting. Believer doesn't even cue every episode in this arc like most of the other Digimon shows, so I think that makes some of the instances of its use such as Yutagaramon's debut all the more impactful.

That's about as much as I can say about this arc, and I think it's more of a middle establishing arc of things to come, kind of like the Crest arc in Digimon Adventure. So for what it is, I do like it and I don't think it's a bad arc at all. I am looking for things to go up from here and for Kurata to be utterly destroyed so I guess I'm off to go watch even more and hope for even better. Also, there's a scene in this where Spencer takes photos of bouncing Gomamon. Even if Savers were to somehow turn into a disaster in the next two arcs, it was totally worth that kind of adorable scene.

#Shut Up JJ #JJ DigiWatches #final thoughts

[shaojuzeagoth]

The Beginning of the End

Just another story that’s part of a larger story, if you can call it that. Probably didn’t do grammar properly but wasn’t interested in being too technical with sentence structure and whatnot. Hopefully didn’t make any spelling errors, at least that much.

(As existence remains)

The figure of an unholy beauty twirled around the grand ballroom. Her movements made no sound but her sighs and laughs of joy echoed in the chamber. The trembling young girl, sweat glistening in the dim light and eyes wide with terror sat in the gold armchair, held down firmly by some unseen force. She could feel every nerve firing in vain attempts to awaken her muscles. She needed to run. The infectious fear coursed through her veins and the great weight on her body refused to budge. Her eyes tracked every movement of the woman in the silver gown, a sparkling demon dancing in the faint light from the iron fireplace. Her shadows seemed to form and melt on the walls, as if they were conscious shades that she projected from her body, watching and toying with the dainty prey trapped in the chair. She made sure to quickly glance at the figure cloaked in darkness sitting directly across from her, seemingly staring intently. Flickers from the fires highlighted his solemn face and his deathly stare, harsh emerald eyes. Phoebe's voice finally came to and she spoke as gently as she could muster. She dug her fingernails into the cold metal of the armrests. Her heart had never raced so quickly in her life.

"Please, I didn't meant to intrude on your ground, I w-was merely searching for fruit and there was a grove nearby and I thought I would j-just take a fe--" Phoebe whimpered.

"Silence, you ingrate!" the woman snapped, halting her gyration, standing firmly and menacingly. Her piercing crimson eyes stared hatefully at the poor girl. Phoebe wasn't sure whom to fear more, the explosive demonic beauty or the handsome brooding figure.

"Dorothy, that's no way to speak to our guest." the man calmly stated to his partner. He slowly rose from his seat and walked to the woman. He gently brushed a lock of black hair away from her porcelain forehead.

"My love, you know me," Dorothy cooed as she cupped his face. He never broke his gaze on Phoebe as he locked his lips with Dorothy's. "I get just a tad vicious when excited." She said, bearing her proud fangs in a sadistic smile. Dorothy could feel the beast within her aching to be free again. She was so intoxicated by the raw feral nature she so willingly indulged in. It was too much fun unleashing the monster in her heart.

"Please, just l-let me g-go. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, p-please, I'm sorry." Phoebe pleaded with tears flowing down her cheeks.

Breaking away from Dorothy's possessive embrace, the man came closer to Phoebe and stood in front of her. With a wave of his hand, candles were set aflame and the chamber was better lit, enough to see her captors more clearly. Adjusting to the brightness, Phoebe's eyes widened as she beheld him. His face was a kind and handsome one, but she understood what lied beneath that benign visage. He could have fooled anyone he wanted with that look, luring his victims and bringing their guard down.

"Do you know who I am?" he questioned.

Phoebe, with more tears flowing, hesitantly shook her head.  

"I don't, I'm so sorry, I don't." she whimpered. She knew that was the wrong answer, but her stupid tendencies to be honest hastily volunteered to seal her fate.

She watched his black glove grasp an emerald studded handle attached to the chest of his light armor. He slowly unsheathed a wicked serrated blade that made a sickening sound of metal gliding against metal. Phoebe's heart was crashing against her chest, as if to shatter its skeletal imprisonment and leave the doomed body behind. Dorothy, with the sound of her heels clicking giddily on the tiled floor, made her way to his side. She placed a pale and perfect hand on the black shoulder plate of her love.  

"Make her ours." she whispered to him, maintaining eye contact with Phoebe. She could gaze into Phoebe's terrified soul and this made her shudder with joy.

"Please, no." Phoebe choked.

"My love," he began, his voice ever as calm as it was before. "This is the third intruder in such quick succession." his dark green eyes looked toward the window. The pale full moon watched intently through the emerald stained glass and he at it. "Never mind the intrusion itself, we kill what we find, as is tradition. The fact that she knows nothing of me is what is most disappointing. Deino was long forgotten, merely a ghost story to be told at campfires to scare little children. I have been confronted with a decision that I feel must be made." he brushed Dorothy's cheek as he spoke. Dorothy heard a voice in her heart, a concerned voice that implored her to question him. The beast within sank its ravenous teeth into that voice and devoured it. "As for the girl, it is time for new methods." he placed the tip of the blade against Phoebe's trachea and she moaned in horror.

Phoebe's soul was drenched with regret and sorrow. She had never thought of dying like this, not in such a violent way. She wanted to see her father again and bask in the sun like she had always done. She understood her fate. She had to accept it. She closed her tired eyes and she prayed silently. The man could see her lips move. He quietly scoffed. Her lips stopped and she opened her delicate brown eyes, light red veins sprawling across the white of her eyes.

"M-make it quick, then." she spoke.

"Oh, no, dear." he responded. Phoebe's eyes opened wider than she had ever done in her life. "You're not going to die, technically speaking."

He whispered under his breath strange incantations and quickly thrust the blade deep into Phoebe's throat. Her body violently seized. She struggled to breath as blood filled her lungs. All preoccupations about what he said fled Dorothy's mind when he plunged the blade. Each gurgle only delighted her. She giddily clapped and spun away to resume her graceful dance. The burning pain that spread throughout Phoebe's body quickly dulled and her vision grew blurrier as she inhaled warm blood and coughed crimson sprays that lightly splattered against his dark armor. Phoebe eventually felt heavy and numb as everything grew black. With a slicing sound, he withdrew the blade from the bloody wound. The knife itself seemed to sigh out of satisfaction as the blood was absorbed into the blade, leaving it shiny and spotless.

Dorothy paused her dance for a moment as she hurried to the corpse in the gold chair. She delicately slid her index finger along Phoebe's throat and scooped up the delicious fluid. She eagerly wrapped her finger with her lips and sucked with delight. It was just as sweet as she had imagined.  

Phoebe suddenly twitched and rose from the chair, head hanging down and blood flowing freely from her neck. He gently lifted Phoebe's head up by her chin. He looked into her onyx eyes and spoke clearly to her.

"I am Duscour Zeagoth and I am your lord who brings you life in this pitiful world. You serve me for as long as existence remains."

Phoebe, or whatever inhabited her body, stared for a few seconds before slumping back into the chair. It paused as if to contemplate its new reality and gave a weak nod in agreement.

"Yes... my savior." it slurred.

(Prayed for strength)

Arthur, eager to show his daughter her gift, gently knocked on the door and stood patiently. The crisp morning air nipped at his skin and the birds chirped gleefully above him. A burnt orange leaf fluttered down and landed on his shoulder. He smiled at the perched leaf. The fall was deepening and the great harvest festival would begin soon, a time she loved. He had always felt some sorrow not being able to provide much for her when she was younger and how that still kept true even to this day. She struggled to make ends meet since her husband left but she always had her dad.  Arthur nervously cleared his throat, a father's worry settling in.

"Phoebe, sweetie, happy birthday! I have a little gift for you, dear." he called through the aged wooden door.

He knocked once more, awaiting a groggy response from a young woman who just wanted to sleep in. He chuckled and stood with the present behind his back. Nobody answered the door. After a few minutes, Arthur's blood suddenly began to feel cool in his veins. He could hear his own heartbeat and a sickening sensation settled in his gut. With a sense of dread, Arthur pushed the door and it creaked open. The interior of the house was bathed in shadows. He checked the door itself and the locks. There was no sign of forced entry. He carefully stepped inside the home. The modest living room was empty, her barebones kitchen was also vacant and she wasn't in her bedroom. The bed itself was perfectly made. She never did come back home.

Arthur's mind suddenly sprinted and ripped through many dreadful thoughts. He placed the box wrapped in sparkling silver paper on her nightstand and sat on the bed. He shook his head in disbelief, she wasn't the type to be out in the night just like that. But it made no sense since there was no sign that would tell him that she was kidnapped. No signs of entry, no signs of a struggle, nothing. Arthur thought back to the incident that occurred at the home of a man named Hank. If he recollected correctly, a man named Vincent was attacked by some unidentified creature in Hank's home. His throat had been sliced open and his spinal cord ripped out of the wound. Hank had been declared missing before then and was assumed dead after the incident with Vincent occurred since Hank never returned to his own home. Strange creatures did live around the villages but only recently did things become worse. Something happened to Phoebe and it wouldn't be something that could easily be explained given the circumstances these days. Things were getting worse, indeed, and Phoebe was dragged into it somehow.

Arthur felt tears crawl down his cheeks. He was going to lose, if he hadn't already lost, his daughter the same way her mother went. He hoped at any moment she would appear in the doorway with a puzzled look and questions about why her father was crying on her bed. He knew better, though. He was familiar with these woods and the evil entities that lived in them. He got on his knees, the floorboards creaking under each one, and began to pray. He prayed to his god to bring her back. He prayed for the strength to help him cope if she was gone and he begged for forgiveness from his wife that he lost her like this. He stopped mid prayer for a moment and thought to himself. Gripping his hands together, he prayed for the power to slay those who trespassed upon him.

(Hunted and slaughtered)

"Missing, huh? When did you see her last?" the guard questioned.

To Arthur, he seemed like a rookie from the hesitation in his voice. Kid probably never fought a real creature of the night and didn't seem like the type to wet his blade with the blood of one. Given that, he still had to respect the guard's authority. He wished he was back in his prime as a commander. He would have broken and shaped this kid into a fighter.  

"Yeah, that's correct." Arthur responded with impatience. "She is missing, I know it. She isn't the type to be out there, she has no reason to be outside of the village perimeter just like that. I'm going to need a search party to help me loo--"

"Wait, just a minute, now." the kid interrupted. "We have a few missing person cases as it stands and we're, uh, about backed up on those. I'm afraid you're going to have to hold on until we can get more peo--"

"Now, you listen to me, you little shit!" Arthur grabbed the kid by the chest plate and pulled him uncomfortably close. "I may not be the soldier I once was, but I would have kicked your dick in the dirt for being such a coward. I know damn well you have enough soldiers to assist me in the search, it doesn't take that many. Hell, I'll take even you along, whip you into shape while we're at it."

The young man gulped audibly and dumbly nodded. Why did he nod to this old man? What does he know about anything?

"Y-yeah, I'll go with another guy. Three of us should be enough, right?" he nervously asked.

Arthur released his death grip on the plate, having nearly warped the metal with his furious clutch. The young man paused for a moment and called for another guard member to his side. The two soldiers discussed at a distance away from Arthur. The kid seemed nervous but the other one let out a smirk. Arthur liked the attitude of the smirking one. They walked to him and nodded. Arthur was only slightly impressed by their willingness to go out. The youth introduced himself and the other soldier, another kid who looked like he had just slightly more experience.

"I'm Danner and this is Bryce. And, well, I guess we go now, right?" Danner asked.

Arthur hoisted his shield and sword which were as old as he was but absolutely reliable when it mattered.

"Let's head out, then." he declared. "I may have been out of the business for a few years, but my tenure as commander is as old as you kids are, so don't expect me to have gotten too rusty."

Danner was still not liking this idea of going out to some unknown areas to be hunted and slaughtered over some stupid girl who probably didn't like her own dad and ran away. His mother was the one who insisted on this suicidal job in the first place, it was really the only work he could get. Stupid how life works out that way.

As for Bryce, he felt a surge of excitement to be lead by this old commander who had garnered quite the reputation for being a resilient son of a bitch. His superiors always spoke highly of Arthur and having firsthand experience with this great man was something he was looking very much forward to.

(Dying no matter what)

Bryce felt his grip on his sword's handle tighten and he kept a stupid grin on his face for a good chunk of the trip. Danner had merely scoffed at it. Bryce briskly charged a few paces ahead of the group and paused. Arthur was really liking this young man.

"Up ahead, you hear that?" Bryce called out.

The search through the woods had not been pleasant for Danner. The cold was starting to settle in and it seemed to blanket him in chills. He couldn't tell where they were, in all honesty. He hadn't been this far out from the town and he never expected having to actually do any sort of real duty. Sure, the incidents with the creatures out here have started to increase in number, but that was just the way of life here, he didn't have to do anything about it, right? He had to make the best of it or else this grumpy old man would almost certainly give him lashes or some stupid old-school punishment. He was also equally displeased with Bryce's behavior, being a goddamn suck-up to the old man.

"Yeah, what is it?" Arthur called back, his words echoing eerily around the trees.

"Whistling of some kind, I don't know. Like..." Bryce brushed his oily hair away from his dirty face. He couldn't begin to describe it. He shook his head and quickly walked toward Arthur and Danner.

"What kind of whistling, man?" Danner shouted impatiently. "Someone just fucking with us or what?"

Arthur placed his hand firmly on Danner's shoulder plate to silence him. Bryce stepped in front of Arthur and gave Danner a nervous look.

"What kind of whistling was it? Did it have a pattern of some sort?" Arthur asked.

Bryce licked his lips and cleared his throat. His poor mind was racking itself for a way to clearly tell them anything.

"Not like anyone singing or anything like that. It sounded like a call of an animal of some kind. I mean..." Bryce looked behind himself toward the now darkening woods. "It sounded weird, like it was far away but it felt like it was whistling at me. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared right now. It's getting dark, too."

Arthur scoffed and looked the young man straight in the eyes. This Bryce kid was turning out to be a dud, what did he expect from a pair of rookies?  

"If either one of you wants to back out now, go right ahead. By today's standards, I guess, seems like you've done enough. The two of you go home." Arthur gruffly addressed the guys.

Danner felt a little lightness in his chest as his heart fluttered slightly. If the old man wanted to stay out here and die alone, that's his call. He couldn't give a single godda--

A shrieking whistling sound penetrated the still air around the group and Bryce seemed to be tackled by some black entity that charged out of the encroaching darkness slipping between the trees. Arthur instinctively charged after Bryce and his attacker. Danner felt fear grip his muscles and freeze them as he watched the chaos unfold. Bryce was dragged and then flung to the side as the creature skidded to a halt, dead leaves splashing in waves to the sides. It turned its ugly head and gazed at Arthur as he caught up to the wounded Bryce who lied moaning in pain. Arthur quickly checked Bryce and looked up at the aberrant wolf-like creature. Its numerous crimson eyes rapidly scanned Arthur, assessing the potential threat before it. Arthur kept perfectly still, waiting for the right moment to cut the creature down. The creature played the same waiting game as it sharpened its filthy claws against the jagged horns protruding from its skull. Arthur suddenly realized that Danner was still back there somewhere. He figured the piece of shit had run off to the town, so he was basically alone with the wounded Bryce. He came to realize that he couldn't play a game of chicken with this animal. It wasn't going to let itself be vulnerable by making the first move, knowing full well that Arthur had to do something if he wanted to tend to Bryce's potentially fatal wounds. The creature opened its maw slightly, bearing crooked and crowded spikes. It almost opened its mouth as if smirking at the situation. Bryce suddenly coughed violently. The dark night was nearly finished choking the light out of the surroundings but he could make out a crimson fluid in front of Bryce. Arthur had to hurry. He slowly and carefully moved himself into position. The crackling and rustling of the dead foliage under them gave away his intentions and the creature's eyes lit up in a bright bloody red. It snorted and opened the toothy maw once more, letting viscous saliva slowly drip. Not too far away from their position, branches suddenly snapped and echoed. The creature immediately cocked its head toward the sound and Arthur felt his muscles tense up.

"Fuck, where are you guys? Hey, where are you?" Danner yelled.

Every one of his footsteps announced his position and the creature raised itself. It turned its eyes to watch Arthur as it slowly walked toward Danner's direction. Arthur's mind locked up. He couldn't decide what to do. Bryce could very well be dying no matter what. He could at least save Danner. However, maybe the wounds weren't so bad. Maybe Bryce could be treated. But if he stayed with Bryce, Danner would almost certainly find the beast.

His mind finally shut down and his body entered auto-pilot. Arthur felt himself spring as he charged toward the animal. The beast had given too much respect to Arthur. It never anticipated such a foolish move and was too slow to react to the aged man's thrust of his sword. Arthur rammed the blade into the spine of the creature. It sunk deep into flesh and rubbed against bone. The creature gave a pained howl as it twisted itself and swiped at Arthur's neck. It missed by just a sole inch. Arthur could feel the air before his throat swiftly sliced as he recoiled away from the claws. He quickly placed his weight on the handle of the blade as the sword plunged itself further into soft tissue. The creature's back swallowed the metal up to the handle and exposed itself again as it pierced its way out of the beast. It quickly collapsed against the ground and between every wretched cough of crimson fluid it cried blood-gurgled howls. Panting and with his heart slamming inside of his chest, Arthur collected himself and watched the animal's sorrowful display. It may have been begging for death but its body refused to surrender. After a minute of agonizing struggle, the wolf quieted and ceased to breath.

"What in the hell..." Danner whispered when he saw the corpse on the ground.

"How absolutely nice of you to join us, you little shit." Arthur growled.

"I-I lost you guys back there, it was getting dark and--"

Arthur had already gotten up and angrily grabbed Danner by his neck. He looked him straight in his young eyes and spoke sternly.

"Oh, you would have loved to have left us here. You probably don't even know how to get back to town, though, huh?"

Danner shed tears as he nodded.

"I don't... I don't." he whimpered. He had never been so afraid in his life and now this man was adding to the trauma.

Arthur loosened his grip as he remembered Bryce. He let go of the kid's neck as he bolted to the still body on the ground. He rolled Bryce over on his back and checked his vitals.

"Oh, thank god, he's still alive." Arthur sighed with relief. "He isn't doing too well, though. Ribs might be broken." He looked up to the night sky. "We have to find shelter, can't stay out here for too long."

Danner rubbed his sore neck and hesitated a moment to speak.

"I, uh, I saw a cabin close to this area. I don't think anyone is in it but we can probably stay the night there." Danner finally piped up.

Arthur racked his mind on an alternative than to shack up at some stranger's cabin. He couldn't think of anything. The adrenaline was still pumping and it washed his thoughts with white nothingness. Danner took his portable lantern and lit it, orange light spreading and consuming the blackness that was swallowing them. Arthur nodded and lifted up the limp body on his back and followed Danner.

(Don't go dying on me)

Danner brushed aside a shrub, leading the way to the area where the cabin awaited them. Arthur kept listening for Bryce's light breathing as he carried him on his back. Arthur felt some remorse for the young man. To think that his enthusiasm would be wasted with his death while a coward like Danner would remain alive. How fate could reward such cowardice was beyond what Arthur could comprehend. At least the bastard was helping in some way with the cabin idea, better than nothing, he supposed. Arthur stopped cold in his tracks as he noticed exactly where Danner was leading them.

"No! Get off of that porch!" he yelled at Danner who was standing in front of the aged door.

Danner gave a concerned and confused look at Arthur. He couldn't figure out the issue.

"What? I really don't think anyone lives here." Danner reasoned.

Arthur made his way to Danner and looked around the cabin to confirm his suspicions. He gently placed Bryce against a boulder close to the cabin and within the clear moonlight.

"Don't go dying on me, kid." he whispered to Bryce. He checked his pulse one more time. Faint and weak, he didn't like those signs.

He ran back to Danner who was standing close to the entrance of the cabin, his confusion remaining. Arthur lapped around the cabin and when he reached Danner he looked at the young man with a concerned expression.

"What are you looking for?" Danner asked.

"Do you know what this place is?"

Danner frowned and shook his head.

"Figures, this cabin belonged to a guy named Hank. You've heard of the things that lurk in the darkness, I'm sure. You've probably seen them, too. If not, you got your first glimpse back there with that creature. The thing with Hank is that his disappearance was unusual. No remains were found and then a friend of his named Vincent was attacked in this very cabin." Arthur told the story.

Danner slowly turned and felt his body tremble. He quickly stepped away from the cabin and stood next to Arthur.

"Oh, shit..." Danner muttered.

Arthur nodded.

"What's even stranger is what happened to Vincent. I was dispatched with a group to investigate and we found his poor bastard with his head severed from the body. Damn thing even took out the spine, it was a huge mess. No animal out here would do that, they finish their meals. We can't be he--" Arthur suddenly noticed movement in a nearby bush.

He unsheathed his sword and followed the shaking leaves with his eyes. Danner stood frozen, gripping onto his own weapon but with no real intention to use it. Arthur yelled to show itself. The voice that came out made his heart sink with fear.

"Dad?" it uttered.

"Phoebe!?" Arthur choked. He tried to move his body toward the sound but his muscles held him in place, his instinct firmly reminding him of what ends up killing reckless men.  

"Arthur, what in the hell is going on?" Danner demanded.

"Daddy, is that you?" the voice whispered.

The bushes parted as a slender figure crawled out on all fours. Arthur felt his eyes water as he saw his daughter stand up before him. Dread quickly replaced the relief as he saw her eyes. Her dead onyx eyes, like a shark's eyes, stared into his soul. His heart commanded his hand to release the sword and embrace the girl. His mind rejected the order and tightened his fingers into a death grip.

"Daddy, I'm so cold. I can't see you. Please, help me. Hold me, daddy." the girl whimpered.

Bones cracked quietly as her arms slowly lifted up to embrace Arthur.

Danner's eyes darted back and forth between Arthur and this girl. He could feel his heart racing and adrenaline coursing through his body. He suddenly caught a glimpse of a strange sheen in the girl's mouth. Arthur's heart performed an override. He slowly moved forward to hug her and she smiled; it revealed fangs that glimmered in the moonlight. Danner reacted in a way that he would have never expected in his life.

"Arthur, no!" he screamed as he unsheathed his sword and plunged it deep into her belly, shoving her back until she landed with a shriek that pierced his ears.

He immediately felt Arthur's hands grab him as he was lifted and flung against the ground. The quick drop dazed Danner and he could barely make out Arthur on top of him with a fist raised high in the air. His jaw was numbed with pain as Arthur drove his fist with hateful force. The ringing in his ears made it difficult to hear Arthur's angered shouting but he understood what Arthur meant. He weakly put up an arm to defend himself but Arthur swatted it away and readied his fist again.

A blur suddenly tackled Arthur off of him and he could hear muffled shouting and arguing. Sleepiness weighed on his eyelids as he stared at the moon gazing above him. The dizziness turned his head and he watched with horror as the slender figure rose from the ground, sword protruding from the belly. Every fiber of his being fought the fatigue as the adrenaline steadily pumped again. Danner mumbled as best he could to get someone's attention. The figure pulled the blade out and ran on all fours like a crazed beast intoxicated with the scent of prey. He tried one last time to get someone's attention until he felt a great weight on his body.

"Arthur, goddamit, I saw the fangs, Danner was protecting you!" Bryce shouted as he held the enraged Arthur against the ground. "That thing is a vampire! He was protecting you, you were under its influence!"

Arthur stared into the young man's tired and determined eyes. He wanted to scream at Bryce with all of his might. Something made him stop. He could hear panicked sounds coming from Danner's location. Bryce heard it, too. They both immediately turned and witnessed the figure drinking heartily from Danner's throat. He feebly struggled and tried to push the girl off of him. She merely grabbed his arm and twisted it until it snapped and dropped limply.

"No! Danner!" Bryce screamed as he released Arthur and charged at the girl with his sword at the ready.

Bryce swung the sword with all of his might. In the blink of an eye, she quickly placed her palms together and trapped the blade. Bryce pushed downward. He felt his muscles burn with great fatigue as his previous wounds began to radiate pain, crippling his strength. He grunted and growled as he pushed himself to his absolute limit to cut this she-devil down. He couldn't do it. His body felt lighter as his power faded away. She merely watched him with a blank expression, blood soaking her lips and dripping down her chin. She then shoved the blade aside and pounced on Bryce. Before she could do anything else, Arthur swiftly kicked her off of him. She yelped in pain and cried.

"Daddy, why did you kick me? Why are you hurting me?" it tearfully asked.

"Don't listen to her, dammit!" Bryce coughed.

She sat on the ground and stared at Arthur with a saddened expression.

"Why are you hurting me? Where is mommy?"

"Arthur, no!"

"Daddy, I didn't mean to hurt anyone, he was just a bad man."

"Arthur!"

Arthur felt his mind shut down as he fell to his knees, unable to comprehend this reality he was in. What kind of sick nightmare was this? Was he asleep? When would he wake up?

"Phoebe... oh, god." he cried.

"Arthur, get up, you son of a bitch! Get up! She is going to kill us both!" Bryce yelled as he tried to steady himself on his sword.

"Daddy, don't listen to him. He's a bad man like the dead one. The dead one hurt me with his sword. He wants to hurt me, too. Don't let them hurt me, daddy. Please, daddy." she continued.

Everything around Arthur sounded hollow and dull. Bryce's screams and her begging all blended together into a mind-numbing cacophony. The volume fluctuated between barely audible and deafening.

Bryce's exhaustion hadn't ceased as he watched Arthur sit in a catatonic state. He slowly turned to the sitting girl who was still spewing her nonsense at Arthur. He had had enough of this chaos. He stood himself up again and brandished his sword once more. If he was going to die tonight, he would ensure this creature went down with him. Her face cocked toward his direction. She seemed to understand his intention to keep fighting. She hopped onto her feet and stared with the same neutral expression. Before Bryce could gather his energy to plunge himself into another battle with her, she merely turned and sprinted toward the darkness of the woods. Bryce stood still with a fused sense of dread and relief. A faint ray of light seemed to pierce through the shadows and he turned to face the sliver of sunlight in the horizon.  

(Whisper in nervous tones)

"Arthur? Hey, wake up." a voice echoed in his mind.

Arthur opened his weary eyes and a blurry image loomed over him. His vision focused and he saw Bryce's exhausted face. A rush of memories flooded him and Danner's body flashed for a second.

"He's dead, isn't he?" Arthur muttered. What a stupid question, he realized. Of course the kid is dead.

Bryce closed his eyes for a moment before confirming the obvious.

"Yeah... she ripped his throat out. Ran off before I could do anything. I'm glad she did, she would have slaughtered us both." Bryce finally said.

Arthur looked away and felt tears well up in his eyes. Danner's demise was entirely his fault. It was so painfully clear that it wasn't Phoebe. He didn't want to believe it but he had to. Phoebe was dead. Whatever that thing was, it wasn't Phoebe and would never be her. He allowed it to grasp his heart and toy with him. He was weak and instead of paying the price, Danner did. Arthur slowly sat up and looked at the thick woods surrounding them. Bryce must have carried him to this area to recuperate.

"I'm sorry. I'm deeply sorry about all of this nonsense that I've brought onto you two. I'm going to have to tell a worried mother that her son had his throat ripped out by the walking corpse of my daughter and that I dragged him into this situation in the first place."

Bryce paused for a few moments, letting Arthur's words sink in. He tried the best he could to respond to that.

"I'm sorry about your daughter. And I also take responsibility for his death. I was the stronger one, I could have helped save him. Instead, I got my ass handed to me by a wild animal and I was useless during that time. There's nothing for us here. We should head back already."

Arthur nodded pitifully in agreement. Bryce helped the physically and mentally aged man up to his feet and they both slowly made their way through the greenery until they exited to the scene of last night's horror. Danner's body still lied on the ground, his blood coagulated and darkened. A few crows hung around the corpse, pecking at his armor, looking for any leftover bread that he had been carrying. It was quiet, save for the cawing of the crows. However, there was also strange soft croaking coming from the area, as if a group of large ravens were nearby.

Arthur and Bryce immediately noticed black-robed figures standing near the cabin. They ducked into nearby shrubs as quietly as they could. The figures didn't seem to notice them as they were facing the cabin itself. Bryce motioned for Arthur to follow him. As they neared the group, they could hear the faint words coming from them. They seemed to whisper in nervous tones. The words were alien to them and their hushed speaking only sent chills down their spines. A member would caw quietly and another would croak in a whisper in response. One of the members seemed to motion away from the cabin and lead the group into the forest. Moments of silenced passed and the two came out from hiding.

"What in the hell was that all about?" Bryce asked.

Arthur slowly shook his head in confusion. In all of his years, he had never seen a strange group like that.

"I honestly don't know. I've never seen these things before in my life." he responded.

Arthur suddenly felt a painful sensation on the back of his head and immediately blacked out. Bryce heard the crack of something hard against Arthur's skull and turned to face the attacker. Blunt force slammed against his temple and he quickly fell to the ground. Vision blurring and darkening, he rolled over and saw robed figures towering over him. One of them lifted a scaly bird-like foot and sent it crashing against Bryce's face.

(Distant cawing and croaking)

"Arthur! Wake up!" the voice echoed.

Arthur's eyes immediately opened. The fallen torch lit the bodies of Bryce and some foul raven-like animal struggling to overcome one another. A robed body lied close by, black blood soaking the cloth and the ground. Bryce was on top of the creature but the scaled arms with wicked talons maintained a firm grip on his throat while Bryce pinned it against the ground with his sword. He screamed as best as he could at Arthur to get up. Arthur saw Bryce's hold weakening as his breathing was constricted. Arthur's body jolted upward and he ran to them. The raven-monster finally shoved Bryce aside and opened its decaying mottled beak wide open to reveal jagged incisors which gleamed beautifully against the moonlight. It rolled over on top of Bryce and used its massive black wings to smother Bryce's body.

"No!" Arthur cried as he tackled the beast.

Arthur and the monster were locked in a death struggle with the creature to be the sure winner as it pinned Arthur down effortlessly. He looked into its empty eye sockets. Unlike the rest of the black feathered body, the head of the raven-monster was pure exposed bone with stains of blood. It croaked and spat hot saliva onto Arthur's face. It opened its maw, ready to tear into flesh. The blade protruding from its chest suddenly slide out of its body with a sickening slice. Bryce swung the sword and struck home. The skull landed with a cracking thud, mouth frozen open. Arthur threw the blood-spurting corpse off of him and wiped the black fluid off of his face. His heart felt like it was going to explode. It took him what seemed like ages to finally slow the panicked thumping in his chest. He glanced at Bryce who looked like someone who hadn't slept for days.

"They split off, there were... about five of them. Three left the group some time ago and they left us with two of them. I saw an opportunity and I took it. The first one was easy, didn't see it coming but the other one got the better of me. I'm so exhausted but we have to run soon." Bryce declared.

Arthur was struggling to take this in but all he understood was the danger they were in. It was deep night and they were out alone with just one sword to protect themselves.

"Yeah, let's get moving." Arthur finally said.

Bryce helped the old man up and they quickly ran in an arbitrary direction. Any direction was fine as long as they were away from those creatures.

It seemed like an hour had passed. Arthur and Bryce felt the fatigue crawling inside of them but they had to keep moving. The moon had a light shade of red but cascaded white light. It was enough light for them navigate. It was enough light for them to see the dead ravens on the ground.

"Oh, god, no. Fuck, have we been going in circles?" Bryce panicked.

Arthur looked behind him at where they exited and forward at where they entered. They had been going straight, it didn't make sense. Bryce was still muttering obscenities and cursing this place. Distant cawing and croaking froze them with fear.

"They're coming here." Arthur whispered.

"For what? Do they know we killed the other two or is there something else around here?" Bryce asked.

Arthur hadn't noticed the dark gate with emerald thorns choking the bars. It was just a few paces away from the now burnt out torch and the first raven's body. The onyx castle seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Bryce stopped his panicking fit to gaze in awe. The cawing only seemed to grow closer and more fierce.

"We don't have a choice." Arthur uttered. "Over the fence, now!"

Bryce proceeded without hesitation and the two quickly scaled the gate, taking great care not to puncture their skin with the thorns. The cawing quickened as if they were cries of a feeding frenzy. They probably saw the bodies. They probably saw the two running across the garden toward the castle itself. If so, they were certainly enraged. The cawing became cries of war and the beating of their great wings in the air made Bryce yell out in terror. Their muscles ached and burned, begging for rest. There could be no rest. Not right now. They had to run.

(Until your dying breath)

The gardens, littered with the bones of unknown animals and vastly populated by statues depicting monstrous horrors that ranged from faceless scaled behemoths to the very colossal ravens that chased the two intruders, seemed to grow in size as the distance to reach the massive black doors stretched quickly. There seemed to be no end to this hellish landscape. The ferocious cawing maintained its malevolent intensity. Hearts felt ready to burst. Muscles were roaring fires. Souls were drained and a surrender to darkness presented itself as the true answer to this torture.  

Bryce felt the sweet beckoning of death caress his body. He hadn't realized it yet. The numbness that emanated from his punctured chest put him at ease. His legs were stopped. But why?

He looked down at the crimson coated talons protruding from his breast. Bryce's vision was quickly choked by inky blackness as he let himself go. His wet breaths caught Arthur's ear, overcoming the harsh thumping of his heartbeat. Arthur felt himself slide against the dark grass as he stopped and spun around to face the horrible sight. He could only watch in silent terror. The ravens tore into Bryce's flesh with their jagged teeth, sawing and slicing into warm meat, and cawed with a grand fervor as they bathed in the sprays of blood, licking their bony maws with their disgusting tongues. One of them took a moment to pause and leer at Arthur with the empty holes in its blood-coated skull. As if it to decide that another chase would be too much work, it resumed its ravenous feasting.

Arthur suddenly heard metal steps behind him. He turned to face a suit of the deepest black armor stand before him. Glowing dark emerald veins seemed to pulse with a strange green fluid that flowed through the armor, as if they were an external circulatory system. Arthur stared at the helmet of the figure, as black as the armor itself with a foreign dark emerald star gleaming on the face of the helmet. The burning emerald eyes scrutinized this exhausted old man before a voice within the armor questioned him. Its voice was soothing in its calmness and yet unnerving in its seemingly evil aura.

"You are intruding on my grounds. Your friend over there now feeds my raven-men. As for you," it suddenly clamped its hand around Arthur's throat and effortlessly lifted him up. Arthur could only struggle fruitlessly. The grip burned his skin with its freezing touch. He tried a swift kick forward into the chest plate. It only served to leave mud on the plate, hardly fazing the entity in the armor. It did succeed in annoying it, "it seems that you are quite the fighter. Until your dying breath, you fight to survive. It is admirable but you need not worry yourself with that prospect. You have already lost and you belong to me."

The armor took Arthur towards the castle. The ravens were nearly done with their meal. Bits and pieces of human meat that were once part of a person with thoughts and feelings, a person with a name and a past but no longer a future, lied scattered near the feeding frenzy. They would merely be scraps for scavenging later.

(Wipe out the sun)

"Oh, my love, another interloper for punishment. Please, do tell me, will we have him? Or are you going to be more," she curled her middle and index fingers to mimic quotation marks, "'creative' in your approach?" Dorothy excitedly asked.

Duscour threw Arthur against the polished tiled floor. Arthur placed his hands on his burnt throat, rubbing it to try to ease some of the pain. Every breath he took chilled his lungs and he sharply coughed up some blood. Dorothy, her shoes clicking against the floor, ran to the bloodied spot and kicked Arthur's chest. He spat another spray of blood.

"My beautiful floors, you repulsive beast!" she shrieked.

Dorothy scoffed and gave Duscour a dissatisfied look before she turned and walked out of the chamber.

"You're the one who is going to clean that mess up, bringing in such a dirty human..." her voice echoed as it trailed with her into silence.

Duscour hadn't broken his gaze on Arthur as he kneeled over the agonized man.

"Your trespass isn't by accident, I'm assuming. Prove me right. Why did you come here?" Duscour asked.

Arthur didn't register a single word. All he knew was the numbing pain in his chest and the blood he had to cough out of his lungs. A certain sound did catch his attention. It was a familiar voice.

"Daddy?" the voice whispered.

Arthur's eyes opened wide as he saw the pale walking corpse of Phoebe.

Duscour stood up. He motioned at Phoebe.

"So, you're the father of this little wretch. She had escaped last night and indulged in a little hunting. I'm glad we have her back after we sent a search team. Her soul has proved itself difficult to tear from the body. She still has no power over it but I can still feel her inside of it, clawing and struggling to break free and assume control again. It's a pity that it's all for naught." Duscour taunted Arthur.

Arthur clenched his teeth and felt searing anger course through his body. He didn't care for his own safety. He wanted answers.

"Why are you doing this?! You have no right to challenge god's powers with your necromancy!" he yelled.

Duscour felt something snap inside of his mind. His composure dissolved. His voice suddenly became harsh and offended. Arthur felt a great weight threaten to flatten his body against the floor as Duscour placed a metal foot on Arthur's chest.

"You humans have done nothing with the world you inherited! Your precious sun, which gave you the power to spread like an infection in this world and limit my kind, was mistaken in letting you flourish. To think we lost our birth right to rule this world to such vermin like humans is an insult to my ancestors and I will redeem myself in their eyes! I was content to just feast on and hunt your kind for sport, like the others did. I, being a good loser about things, decided to accept the course of nature. But nature has failed the both of us. You do not deserve this world. I will take it back and I will blot out the sun once again!" Duscour yelled at the pinned Arthur.

Whenever he screamed the word "sun" he pressed harder against Arthur, threatening to shatter his sternum.

Dorothy's clicking echoed in the chamber once more. She appeared in a beautiful silver gown with her lips full and blood-red. Duscour looked at the crimson eyes of his love. She looked into his with horror. Duscour's weight lifted off of Arthur and he seemed to even shudder in his armor. Phoebe whimpered and sunk into the shadows of a nearby room, terrified of the spontaneous Dorothy.

Duscour felt the warmth of embarrassment wash over his body. He had sworn to never let her see him like this. He surprised himself, letting a feeble human do something like this to him with just words. He cursed himself for being so weak. Duscour slowly walked toward his beloved.

"I'm so sorry for letting my emotions control me." he whispered.

A tear rolled down Dorothy's pale cheek. Duscour attempted to wipe it away but she slapped his iron claw away from her face. The jagged knuckles of the gauntlet punctured her skin and she hastily walked away with light drippings of blood marking her path. He could hear sniffles as the clicking of her shoes faded away.

He had terrified her. Maybe she understood what they had become and she finally saw her own reflection in him. She was always passionate and indulgent, for better or worse. Her primitive vampire instincts had a tendency to drive her actions. She fell in love with killing and torturing prey before the lethal strike. He kept her in check with his own restraint and logic. This old intruder finally cut the frail string holding the great weight of his monstrous nature from falling into his heart. He gave into impulse as was habit for her. If he was lost to this devolution of vampires, she most certainly had ventured deep into it. This probably scared her to finally face the reality, illustrated by a calm being transforming into something else. He couldn't forgive himself. He loved her but he knew he enabled her. Did she hate him for showing her what she was? Or did she hate him for encouraging it in the first place? His species lost for a reason, banished into the shadows to forever be haunted by the defeat. He could bring that glory back. Wipe out the sun, purge the earth of human rule and return to an age of vampires once more. Darkness needed not share time with light. He could bring everything back to how it used to be. His name would be carved into history as the savior of vampires.

Of course, this made him remember what it felt like during those awful ages. The wars, plague and itching hunger. It wasn't much different with humans, was it now? Duscour thought back to Deino and chuckled.

"You're lucky you're dead." he quietly said to himself.

"Please..." Arthur weakly whispered.

Duscour's savage emerald eyes stared down at the frail form. He extended a claw downward and lifted the pitiful figure up by its neck. Arthur could feel the cold metal burning into his flesh. Duscour made his decision. It was finally time to put an end to this charade. He had always been too nervous for that kind of revolution. It needed to be done.

"Your reign of this earth is over, human. We may have failed eons ago and I understand the risk of repeating history. Unlike your kind, however, we can learn. Your species, a plague, is still necessary for our own survival. We tried to end you long ago and it haunted us through our devolution. I won't make that mistake. Mark my words, the sun will die alongside your place as kings of this land. You will be nothing more than cattle for our own sustenance." Duscour declared.

Arthur felt his throat tighten as Duscour squeezed with great force. Darkness gripped Arthur's vision as he violently flailed and kicked at the armored behemoth. A light feeling washed over him as his struggle softened and finally his body hung limply from Duscour's grip.

(Devolved savages)

Dorothy sat on the plush covers of the bed, head hanging low and tears dripping onto the regal black and gold carpet. She sullenly licked the wounds on her hand, slightly repulsed at her own flavor. Rage swelled in her bosom toward Duscour. She had become so overwhelmed with primal instinct that the beast took over her and she hadn't even noticed until she saw him change, until she looked into a warped mirror of herself. She remembered the old days when her mother and father devolved and ate her siblings. Her friends and mentors succumbed to it. She could hear the great wings beating in the air as they flew over each and slashed and bit and tore into vampire flesh. The great cannibal war of vampire history had long been forgotten but by a few who were unfortunate enough to witness it. She was just a little girl during that time but she could still remember vividly the sprays of blood and the screaming.

She heard iron footsteps in the hallway approaching. She clenched her teeth together and felt her blood boil.

"Go away." she growled at the emerald studded armor that stood in the doorway.

"Please... I am so sorry, my love." Duscour calmly said.

"Why didn't you say anything?" she muttered.

"You seemed to enjoy it and I wanted you to be happy."

"Did you even see what I was? I was an animal, bathing in the blood of my enemies. I was no better than those devolved savages we were supposed to forget. I lost myself and you did nothing to save me." she cried.

Duscour remained silent. He did enjoy her purity, the monstrous vampiric instinct that drove the heart of his race. It also threatened to cross the fine line. On one side, the power and might of the vampire. On the other, which became so painfully infectious, the downward spiral into a true uncontrollable animal with no future. This volatility sometimes made Duscour wonder if they should even exist. He also understood that it was there for a reason, to make them better. It was a gift from some deranged god that they should be cursed if they failed to wield their gift correctly. He intended to make good on that.

"My darling, I intend to save our race. We don't have to hide in the shadows anymore as the sun ensures our hiding. I just need time to undertake a voyage back to my homela--"

"You stop right there!" Dorothy warned, her hateful blood-red eyes piercingly gazing into the soft green eyes of Duscour. "You swore to never return to those isles. That place has nothing for us but awful memories."

"Aren't you tired of how we live? We skulk in the shadows while they maintain free reign over this world that is so rightfully ours. It only took an old man for me to realize that trespass upon us is an inevitability. How long before more of them show up at our doorstep? How long before they try to remove the last of us and claim our lands as their own? We are discovered, my love, we have nowhere to run now. I can make the voyage over to the Emerald Isles and summon my ancestor to help lead us to victory."

Dorothy craved the feeling of slashing his face with her nails and screaming at him for this nonsensical speech.

"Is that so? To have another hundred years of your ancestor ruling us again? It was because of him that we even had the cannibal wars. He is a broken being that should not be resurrected."

"I do not know why he was the way he was. I can't answer that, my family history is secretive even to me. But we need his power. I want us to flourish again. Aren't you tired of being in the shadows, outcasts of this world?" he asked.

Dorothy sniffed and wiped tears from her cheeks. Yes, she was dying to have the world again for themselves, for all of vampire-kind. To ask for his help, though, was incredibly dangerous. Those awful bloody memories came again and they brutally called for her to deny him this voyage. She had to set those aside. She wanted to be out and free again, to not worry about the harsh burning light of the sun forcing them back underground or in a dark castle. She nodded with uncertainty.

"Okay. Do what you need to, if this ends up killing us, then it was meant to be." she whispered.

"Thank you, my love. I will make plans to set out for the Emerald Isles soon." Duscour said with a hint of relief. He was ready to bring back glory.

Dorothy closed her eyes with disappointment in herself. She opened them again and Duscour was gone. She swallowed and cleared her throat, her crimson eyes looking forward at the massive portrait of a blackened suit of armor, more grand and menacing than that of Duscour's, with the most fierce and hateful emerald eyes she had ever seen. Her gaze lowered at the name inscribed at the bottom of the frame and she shuddered internally as she silently read it: Lord Shaoju Zeagoth.

#Zeagoth #Zeagothian #Vampire #Darkness #Short story #Drama #Night #Creatures #Monsters