#or will he realise what is going on when fable tries to kill his family | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

simsadventures · 4 years

Text

Wreak Havoc

Bucky Barnes x The Atomica (Reader), WInter Soldier x The Atomica

Summary: Bucky remembers you from his time as the Winter Soldier. And he can’t help but miss the times when you two would chase each other.

Warnings: swearing, violence, death (barely mentioned), implied smut, dirty talk

Word Count: 1892

A/N: This little something is for my friend Meg’s writing challenge @sebbbystaaan , with the prompt being the song Wreak Havoc…#sebbbystaaans500writingchallenge I know, I’m so original with the title of this story. Anywho, congrats Megs, I love you loads, and I hope you and all of you who are reading it will enjoy this story. Please, leave feedback :) xx

Bucky Barnes Masterlist __ Masterlist

When Bucky came into the room, he immediately knew what was going on. He could see Steve and Natasha, from the corner of his eye, looking around and observing what was left of his old Hydra base. Bucky could see them picking up debris, and he knew that they were talking, musing over what might have happened or who it was that caused so much damage, but Bucky didn’t listen to them too much.

His mind was clouded by old images of a person he thought he had long forgotten. The Atomica. He knew you from the times of his Winter Soldier years, from the time he wished he could have forgotten. But not you, never you.

Bucky could never really figure out what it was about you that made even the Winter Soldier snap, in his own way. You were a person that was extremely difficult to read for him. Your moral compass was fluid, and nobody could ever say if you were good or bad.

Lucky for Bucky, you never were his mission. He couldn’t muster why, but Hydra never set a price for your head, and Bucky was forever grateful for that.

Whenever the two of you met, it would always end up in one way. And Bucky missed it. He missed your firm but soft body writhing underneath him, trying to overpower him even in bed but eventually giving him the feeling he had the power over you. Bucky knew, in the back of his mind, that it wasn’t actually so, but he was happy you played the charade with him.

Bucky’s mouth turned into a smile, as he recalled all those meetings, fighting either together or against each other. He had to work for his money if he wanted to get you, he knew that much. But he also knew that you weren’t as rough as you wanted people to believe. Bucky didn’t necessarily know your soft side, or if you even had one, but he knew that you had feelings just like everybody else. You just kept them private well enough for all your enemies to think that you were actually a stone-cold bitch.

Steve called at Bucky, and he snapped out of his daydream. He knew it was you from the little things in the room. You never played with your victims, always hitting them so fast they didn’t even know they were attacked. That’s how you got your name. The Atomica. Just like an atomic bomb, you were lethal if launched, and slightly dangerous even if laid aside.

You always preferred to work alone, and you always honoured the people you fought. It was one of the most notable things on the scene, the four soldiers laid outside the base so that the bodies wouldn’t burn to ashes. Their eyes were covered by cloths, their hands crossed over their chests. You wanted the families to at least have bodies to bury. Natasha tried to get some prints off of specific evidence, but Bucky knew better. You never left anything behind you.

“Don’t even bother. She wouldn’t be so stupid to lead us right to her,” Bucky said with a grin. Steve and Natasha shared a quizzical look before they turned back to Bucky, confusion written all over their faces.

“She? What are you talking about, pal? You know who’s behind this? I mean, less work for us, but still,” Steve shrugged and waited for Bucky to begin explaining.

Bucky wasn’t too fond of sharing details of his time as the Soldat, but he knew it was pertinent. And he didn’t have to give them too many details. Just your MO and some general information Bucky could think of.

“Her name is Atomica, you might have heard about her,” Bucky began, and Natasha took in a deep breath.

“I mean, I’ve heard about her, but I thought it was all fables. Nobody is this crazy,” Natasha scoffed, and Bucky laughed at her.

“Oh, but she is. You never know with her, she might be on a mission to help her stop somebody or to kill you. I feel like it depends on her current mood, really. But she is meticulous at her job. She never makes mistakes, she is careful, and she knows what she’s doing.”

“Sounds like you have a crush on her, or something, bud,” Steve said with a smirk, and if he didn’t know any better, he could have sworn Bucky actually blushed a little. But, like a true gentleman, Steve didn’t comment on it. He would ask Bucky when they were alone.

Bucky wanted to tell them a little more about you, but then he heard rustling from somewhere behind him.

The trio tried to find the source of the noise, but couldn’t see anything. They wanted to disregard it as some kind of an animal, but then the rustling sounded again.

They were all in their fight modes, alert and restless. It was coming from the woods, they were sure of that. But even with their super-soldier sight, they couldn’t see anything. Until they saw everything.

You were listening to the conversation unfolding in front of the base, and you had to smile to yourself. So he did remember you. That was a good sign.

When you heard that the Winter Soldier wasn’t the Soldier anymore, you were disappointed. You loved the little cat and mouse chase you two had going on for years. The both of you being enhanced, it gave you so much more time to actually chase each other, unbothered by the ticking clock. You knew the Winter Soldier was only doing his job and that, even the machine-like man needed to let off some steam from time to time.

And that used to be your job. No matter how brutal the fight, the Soldier obviously had a soft spot for you. Not that kind that would keep you alive was he to get a mission to blow your head off. You were fun of yourself, but even you knew that you wouldn’t stand a chance.

But then a piece of information got to you, that even though he wasn’t the Soldier anymore, the person was still alive and fighting. You had a lot of stuff to do, creating chaos was your favourite past time. But then you stumbled upon the Hydra base, and based on the information you gathered throughout the years, you knew that these assholes didn’t deserve to have a fucking base. So you simply destroyed it.

And then you waited. You hoped they would come. No, scratch that. You hoped he would come. And true to your intuition, here he was, in the flesh.

He looked different but good different. He looked much healthier like he was actually getting enough sleep compared to last time you saw him. Well, last time you saw him was almost 15 years ago, so it was no surprise that he looked a bit different. You didn’t know if he would remember you, but from the conversation, he had with his friends, and the little smirk on his kissable lips, you knew he remembered just alright.

You couldn’t wait anymore, and so you made your presence known. You rustled the leafs a few times just to give yourself a big enough entrée.

When you finally emerged from behind the trees, everybody’s eyes were on you. But you didn’t care about the big bulk of muscles next to the Soldier nor about the pretty redhead. Your sole attention was on James Buchanan Barnes. You didn’t have an agenda or a plan as to what you actually wanted to do with him, all you knew was that you missed him. In your own particular way.

You could see Bucky’s eyes going a little wide before realisation set in as to who you were. He looked as if though he couldn’t believe his own eyes that you stood right in front of him.

“Long time, no see, Soldier. Heard you’ve been keeping busy, new brain and stuff,” you smirked at him as you crossed your arms on your chest.

He scoffed at you, but before he could speak up, Steve did it for him.

“Who are you, lady? Are you the one who caused the chaos here in this building?”

You eyed him up and down but chose to ignore him. He wasn’t your type, and therefore you had no wish to engage in anything with him.

“I must say, I kinda missed you, Soldier. We used to have so much fun together,” you winked at him playfully, and he snorted a laugh.

“If that’s what you call fun, doll-“ Bucky started saying, but Steve interrupted him once again.

“We’re here on a mission not to flirt. So unless you wanna tell me what the hell is going on here-“

It was your time to interrupt him. He paid no respect to you, and you weren’t too big of a fan of that. He was too full of himself, so you decided to show him who he was talking to.

You took a swift step towards him, grabbing him by the collar of his gear, and before he could react, you threw him out of your way. He landed with a thud good 10 meters away from you, staring at you with confusion written all over his face.

You could see the little redhead attacking you from the right, and it was no problem at all to duck and catch her ankle, throwing her the same way you sent Captain America.

You ostentatiously wiped your hands and turned back to Bucky.

It was his turn to smirk.

“You didn’t change one bit, did you, Y/N? And to go back to our conversation, yeah, I missed you too, you little spitfire.”

“Who’s little, you old sack of bones, huh? Don’t try and rile me up, pretty boy, I’m riled up alright from the little warm-up the taking down the base was for me, and to be honest, your friends here pissed me as well. So if you wanna get lucky, I advise you not to taunt me,” you playfully nudged his shoulder.

“Nobody was able to satisfy you, were they, Atomica? No matter how many men you’ve been with, nobody makes you quiver the way I do, am I right?” Bucky breathed into your ear as he stepped closer to you, holding you flush against his chest.

You would never admit it out loud, but he was right. You tried getting Bucky out of your system, but nobody was able to make you feel things or reach places Bucky reached within the first few minutes of your very first encounter.

Fire burst in your veins suddenly, and if you weren’t aware that you had an audience, you would’ve jumped his bones then and there.

“Oh, but this is not about me, old man. I just wanted to give you the ride of your new life, as a welcome, if you will,” you seductively whispered to him, and his grip on your hips as suddenly iron-clad.

You both knew that what was coming would be the sex of your lives. And you both rushed inside the woods to find your plane to do the one thing you have both been thinking about for what felt like ages.

Forever Tag:

@eileenalone @sasbb23 @p8tn0lish @coffeebooksandfandom @waiting4inspiration @caswinchester2000 @mogaruke @justthatfangirloverthere @mushyjellybeans @livsheph @sebbbystaaan @notyourtypicalrose @itsunclebucky @rinkashirikitateku @leosandbuckysgirl @miraclesoflove @keithseabrook27 @official-and-unstable-satan

Bucky Taglist

@this-kitten-is-smitten @paradisiacalsparks @crazybutconfidentaf @owlyannah @lassini @s-trawberryv-eins @reniescarlett @bxrnsfeyson @the-soulofdevil @haru-ririchiyo @winterboobear11

Marvel Taglist

@voltage-my2dlove @kneel-begyourpardon @lumar014 @ptrs-prkrs

285 notes · View notes

hermits-that-craft · 4 years

Text

hey so i realised i didnt post the au behind a rumour in lmanburg so here we go! Character Bio’s and basic au below the cut! The character bios will be for the rebellion, with Schlatt, George, Quackity, Sapnap, Bad and Skeppy being in a different post :D!!!!

Basics: After the election, Schlatt banned Wilbur and his allies from Manburg, but told his soldiers to ‘spare the children’. Eret and Nikki hid Tubbo and Fundy from the soldiers, who looked trigger happy, but Wilbur grabbed Tommy and ran. Schlatt found out that Tommy was taken, and decided to charge Wilbur with kidnapping as well. In the mean while, he went and executed Wilbur’s cabinet, searching for Fundy, Tommy and Tubbo so that he could ‘unteach’ them what Wilbur had taught them. The government soon gave up on trying to find them, and declared that they had been killed by loyalist traitors. Respawn is on in this world, but Schlatt can turn it on and off in Manburg. Manburg and DreamSMP are both large cities with a large population (to warrant no one recognising each other)

Tubbo: Tubbo was 10 when the election was held and, along with Tommy, he was the face of the revolution, though he never saw a battle. During the ensuing chaos of the election, he was taken by Eret and Nikki as the fled into the slums of L’Manburg. A few weeks after the election, the safe house he was hiding in was raided while Nikki and Eret were out, and he was hit over the head with the but of a gun. He woke up in an alleyway, alone and with Fundy. Fundy told him his name, and where he was, but didn’t tell him his past so that he could live his life without fear/being at risk of being arrested for being Wilbur’s adopted son. He learnt how to pick pockets, barter and steal to survive, and is a conman at age sixteen to make ends meet while Fundy works to get them both out of the city.

Fundy: Fundy is Wilbur’s son in this au, and he was 14 when the election was held. Six years later, he holds two jobs to keep Tubbo in school and fed. He spends most of his free time forging papers for other people and searching for Eret and Nikki. He keeps a small locket with a picture of himself, Wilbur, Tommy and Tubbo in it, and he never lets it out of his sight. He doesn’t give his name to anyone, and he spends most of his time hoping that any of his family survived, though he believes its only himself and Tubbo left. He is a fox hybrid in this au, so he has a mostly human appearance, though he has fox ears and a tale that he has to hide so no one recognises him.

Tommy: Tommy was 10 when the election was held and, along with Tubbo, he was the face of the revolution. After the election, while Wilbur and Tommy were trying to flee from Manburg, the two men were separated from each other. Tommy fell into a pit, hitting his head against the rock. When he woke up, he had no memories of his life before hand. He didn’t have a name, or a point of reference for where he should go. He foraged for food and learnt how to fight mobs alone for two years when one day he was seriously injured by an enderman, and Jack found him. He was taken back to Manburg and healed up, and he was named ‘Tom’ by Alyssa. From there, he worked odd jobs in the city as there was very few fulltime jobs left open for him.

Wilbur: President Wilbur Soot was executed on Thursday the eighth of October, one year after the election. He was tried in front of a closed court and found guilty of treason, kidnapping and manslaughter. The court saw that his kidnapping and subsequent losing of TommyInnit as the reason that the boy was missing, presumed dead. It was expected that he would have a public execution, but he was executed privately to an audience of President J.Schlatt and Vice President Quackity. George was the one who beheaded him. His sons were not in attendance. His execution was ‘swift and painless’, as told by President J.Schlatt in the following day, showing his mercy for the traitor. Reportedly dead. Reportedly painless. There is no body in his grave.

Eret: King Eret died a week after Wilbur was executed, faking a heart attack and slinking into the background, telling Dream to take care of his country as he promised to help the new rebellion to bring down Schlatt. He spent the next five years adapting to life as a commoner, aiding in Nikki’s bakery and doing odd jobs to help the neighbourhood he lives in. His neighbours say that he is kind, and he often tells stories and fables to the neighbourhood children. There is a rumour that he and Nikki had two children, once, and that they were lost during a riot, killed or kidnapped by traitors or rebels. Eret doesn’t deny if when he is asked, just getting a sad look on his face, though he denies any questions about if he and Nikki are together.

Nikki: Nikki is an integral part of the rebellion, an ear in the bakery that no one ever truely imagines is listening. She’s liked by many, known by nearly all in the city, and is a kind face among the crowd. A good and loyal citizen, who hangs the new flag of Manburg by her door. Not many know of her old loyalties, how she designed the L’Manburg flag, and was in every political meeting, ensuring freedom without fighting and peace without bloodshed. Only Schlatt, Quackity and George know about who she was, and they visit her occasionally, at least once every two months, to make sure that she isn’t harbouring any outlaws. None of them trust her, hiking the taxes for her and making it nearly impossible for her to leave the city. A bird in a cage, thats how her neighbours would describe her on the off occasion that they see her, moving about the city with a longing gaze towards the sky.

#a rumour in l'manburg #tubbo #tommyinnit #fundylive #Wilbur Soot #eret #niachu #lmanburg #manburg #dreamsmp #au

30 notes · View notes

nightingaletrash · 3 years

Note

Hello 😄 Could I ask for 4, 5, 9, 13 for the Hero of Oakvale Ask Game? And please tell me if I asked too many at once 😅 I rarely interact, but I really love reading your stories and headcanons 😁 / Have a good day 😀

Yay, thank you!! And there’s no such thing as too many :D

Doggo

Cole didn’t keep any pets during his adventures. For one, he couldn’t keep a pet in the Guild, and after leaving he didn’t see the point. He was too busy, he didn’t have time to look after a pet, and the time consumption would be annoying - basically he had a whole bunch of reasons for not having a pet of any kind. And on an unconscious level, it was also about not wanting another attachment to lose.

After dealing with Jack in the Northern Wastes, he ends up turning to the life of a farmer, which probably surprised a whole lot of people, and he ended up with all sorts of animals to tend to. Among them were his herding dogs, who definitely did not end up sleeping on top of him, no sir.

Sister

Cole always felt a little distant from Theresa when they were children. It’s not like they didn’t get along, they did, but from the outset it was obvious that she was different. She had her dreams, always keeping her just one step ahead of him, and in a way, Cole resented her a little because while she was showing the signs of being a Hero like their mother, he felt like he was only ever perfectly ordinary. Still, she looked out for him and if anyone ever tried to pick on Theresa for her oddness, Cole was always ready to leap to her defense. They played together, studied together, and shared an otherwise ordinary sibling bond.

On the day of the bandit raid, Theresa hid Cole in the forest before running off to try and lead the bandits away from him - it left him with an immense sense of guilt for surviving and for ever resenting her because she may well have died for him.

When Maze informed him that Theresa may have actually survived the raid, finding her became less of a goal and more of an obsession for Cole. He was blinded to all his other duties and responsibilities because his big sister, who risked her life to save his, might be out there. He barely even cared about Twinblade (supposedly) leading the raid on Oakvale despite that being his driving purpose in life. All he cared about was finding Theresa and ensuring her safety.

So, as you can imagine, he went through a whole rollercoaster of emotions when she reveals herself as the Bandit Seeress. After learning what had been done to her - watching their mother being tortured, having her eyes cut out for refusing to tell Jack where her brother was, being left for dead in the woods, and being raised at Twinblade’s side - something inside him... it didn’t quite break. But it changed. His sister had suffered and endured so much because she had prioritised his safety during the raid, and seeing her so different, so changed from the sweet, slightly odd young girl she used to be, that did something to him.

At times it was easy to be a little frustrated when working with Theresa, as she obviously knew things that she wasn’t telling, and Cole wished she’d just be more transparent with him, but he never pushed. His guilt constantly got the better of him when it came to her; she never blamed him or used it against him, she had chosen to save him and didn’t regret doing so, but he just constantly felt as if he had failed her despite having only been a child himself.

In the end, I don’t think Cole and Theresa saw each other again. They had gone in different directions as they tried to heal their lifetime of wounds. Theresa wanted to find a way to stop such terrible things happening ever again, while Cole was done being the Big Important Hero after defeating Jack for good. They saw the world from different perspectives, so it was... natural that they drifted as they did. Each kept the other in their thoughts always, but the separation was inevitable, if tragic.

Rival

Okay so I can’t be the only one who wanted to romance Whisper, right? Right?!

Whisper was perhaps the only person in the world that Cole truly felt comfortable around. His stern face and deadpan voice might never change, but Whisper had a way of drawing him out of his shell a little. When she learned about how he’d come to join the Guild, she’d tried to play at being nicer and not calling him Farm Boy... which was weird and uncomfortable for both of them, so it was a relief when Cole told her to stop.

She was always pushing him to his limits, challenging him to be better, and so he offered the same in turn, forcing her to adapt and push back, which resulted in both of them growing to be strong, fast, and adaptable as hell.

When the teams round at the Arena was announced, Cole was completely annoyed at the idea because he didn’t want to fight at some stranger’s side without having the ability to opt out. When it was Whisper that walked into the ring, he changed his mind there and then because he knows how Whisper fights and she know how he fights. Working together, they’re utterly deadly and the Arena challenge is in the bag. Which it is, as they fight together without rest...! Until Jack ordered them to fight to the death.

The moment Jack ordered that, Cole threw down his axe and refused to fight. He wasn’t going to kill Whisper. He had what he wanted from the Arena, he wasn’t giving it a drop more. When the crowd started jeering and demanding blood, Whisper suggested they make it an exhibition match so that no one tried to kill both of them to make up for his refusal. He grudgingly agreed, and the match played out and ending in Cole’s victory. Naturally it was followed by him telling Jack to go fuck himself and offering Whisper a healing potion before they hobbled out of the Arena together.

But it wasn’t until Whisper decided to leave Albion and return to the Southern Islands that it really hit Cole just how much she really meant to him. That she was the only friend he really had, the one person in the whole world who had even an inkling of what was going on in his head, and one of the very few people who ever gave a genuine damn about him. And she was leaving because she felt like she just couldn’t keep up with him. Add that to the list of things Cole feels guilty about.

Anyway, Cole saw her off at the docks and as she vanished over the horizon, he realised how alone he really was.

After stopping Jack in the Northern Wastes, Cole writes to Whisper about how he’s done with the guild and being a Hero, and right now he just needs a friend and if it’s okay if he comes to visit her in the Southern Isles. She tells him that he’d better, and that there’s a farm up for sale in her area if he’s interested.

Cole never returned to Albion after his departure, despite stories to the contrary. He was perfectly happy spending the rest of his years at Whisper’s side.

Family

Cole didn’t marry at all over the course of Fable. He was completely focused on avenging his family and his home, and he didn’t have the time, the patience or the desire.

Afterwards, he goes to visit Whisper in the Southern Isles, only to end up purchasing a farm and retiring from the guild because he realises that he’s done enough, and he wants to be able to do something with his life that doesn’t require fighting and killing unless it’s absolutely necessary. He ultimately marries Whisper and has some kids with her; three girls, with the older pair being twins. The twins spent their whole lives in the Southern Isles, following in their mother’s footsteps and protecting their people, while the youngest daughter decided to go to Albion and join the Guild.

#iustine #fable anniversary #cole reaper #theresa #whisper #cole/whisper #hehe i rambled so much

2 notes · View notes

stereksecretsanta · 4 years

Text

Merry Christmas, @kayefraser!

I hope you like it and sorry for the rather elaborate storyline lol. It kind of got away from me. Updates will be weekly as fic is completed.

Read on AO3

*****

Step Into The Circle

Chapter 1

: The AcademyChapter Text

The bell rang and but Stiles was so engrossed that he didn’t realise he’d be late until Scott appeared next to him and grabbed him by the sleeve of his uniform.

‘Dude!’ His huge brown eyes were pleading. ‘We’re going to be late!’

‘Shit.’ Stiles dropped the book he was scouring through and made a face. ‘Harris already hates me. He’s going to take pleasure in turning me into something unnatural if I’m late again this week.’

‘I know.’ Scott bundled him out of his chair and towards the library exit. ‘Come on, if we cut through the back quad we could still make it on time.’

‘The back quad.’ Stiles skidded to a halt. ‘No way, man. That’s where the seniors hang out.’

‘So?’ Scott frowned. ‘It’s the quickest way.’

‘Yes, that’s true.’ Stiles squirmed while he tried to come up with a reasonable answer. ‘It’s just…’ He looked at Scott and saw the judgement written all over his face. ‘Oh, come on. Like you’ve never made an ass out of yourself in front of Allison before.’

‘Allison at least knows I like her, which is why she’s my girlfriend.’ Scott countered, folding his arms. ‘You’ve been pining over Derek for an entire five years and all you’ve managed to do is electrocute him and avoid him in the corridors.’

‘Ugh.’ Stiles hung his head. ‘I know. It’s just he’s got those stupid eyes that change colour and shoulders for days and legs that don't quit…’ He trailed off, his eyes glazing over a little in the face of the unhuman hotness that was Derek Sebastian Hale (and Stiles was definitely not telling how he’d broken into the admin office to compulsively read Derek’s student record and so find out his middle name).

The second bell rang and they both nearly jumped out of their skins.

‘Crap.’ Stiles’ shoulders drooped. ‘We’re so fucked.’

‘Speak for yourself, buddy.’ Scott grumbled, dragging him down the corridor. ‘If Harris gives us detention, you’re doing all my laundry for a week.’

Harris did indeed give them detention, his pale blue eyes gleaming when Scott and Stiles attempted to sneak into the back of the lecture hall unseen. Now he stood in front of them, an unpleasant smirk on his face as he handed back their assignments from the previous week.

‘Stilinski.’ His lip curled in a sneer. ‘You’re lucky that your acceptance to the State Academy of Alchemy was not my decision to make or you’d be bounced out of here so quickly you wouldn’t even hit the ground for a hundred yards.’ He unceremoniously dropped a sheaf of papers on Stiles’ desk and kept moving and Stiles picked them up. He glared at the red ‘F’ at the top of his paper and fumed. Next to him Scott gave him a sympathetic look.

‘Sorry.’ he whispered. ‘I know you spent most of the time helping me with mine.’

‘It’s okay.’ Stiles muttered back. It was true though. Scott was an appallingly untalented military alchemist, his powers more in line with natural influences. He excelled at biological alchemy used for healing and making things grow but because his father Colonel Rafael McCall was a high up in the State Alchemy hierarchy, Scott had been forced to enroll instead of taking up a position in the medical arts he’d been offered by the hospital Melissa McCall worked for. Thankfully, he’d been taken under the wing of Senior Medic Alan Deaton and Stiles desperately hoped that he’d be allowed to apprentice to the older alchemist because Scott made a terrible soldier.

There was a smug noise a couple of seats down from them and Stiles leaned forward a little to see Lydia Martin giving her assignment a pleased look, flicking her perfect strawberry blond braid over one shoulder. He didn’t need to see it to know that she’d scored a perfect A+. Lydia was arrogant and beautiful and rumoured to be more brilliant than anyone else at the academy. She specialised in particularly complicated alchemy and the darker rumours hinted at forbidden transmutations. Stiles had thought she was the most amazing creature on the planet all the way through school. Of course that was before he’d joined the Academy, Lydia had ended up being his best friend instead of anything else and he'd discovered that terrifyingly brilliant was actually his type.

Next to her was another young woman, this one with a long dark braid and dimples that could serve as water wells in their own right. Allison Argent was another legacy. Her father and grandfather were both high ranking state alchemists, as had her mother when she was still alive, and while she only managed general transmutations, Allison was a very skilled fighter and expert marksman. She could transmute practically anything into a weapon and Stiles had seen Scott actually cry over how perfect her martial form was. Thankfully she was also sunshine personified and their friend, otherwise the two of them would never have passed their weapons module the year before.

Stiles sat back and regarded his essay. He knew Harris hated him and was used to poor grades. His own alchemy was something quite unique, unlike Harris’ relatively poor attempts at chimeric magic that he never got quite right. It had come from his father’s side of the family, although Noah Stilinski was better known as a soldier than an alchemist. His father was a brilliant man in his own right, even without magic, and he ran the City’s Watch with an even handed fairness. It was widely said that he was the most honest man in the State Military and very much respected, which was why Stiles always felt like he was a colossal disappointment. He was considered a troublemaker and upstart, his electrical alchemy thought to be highly unstable and a danger to those around him.

Class was finally over and he trudged out, the others following him. He was so morose, he didn’t even try and stop Lydia from snatching his paper.

‘Oh my.’ Her dark green eyes were narrowed as she read the scathing comments Harris had left. ‘You do realise that you could absolutely have him for bullying with this bullshit.’

‘Don’t.’ Stiles took it back from her. ‘I’m not even a qualified alchemist yet. You know they’d take his side if I made a complaint.’

‘It’s not right through.’ Allison’s mouth turned down. ‘I could talk to my dad if you want?’

‘Oh no.’ Stiles shook his head vehemently. ‘That is definitely not happening.’

‘Fine, we’ll drop it.’ Lydia said. ‘For now.’

They walked along the long cloistered walk towards the gymnasium and Stiles got lost in his head about what he should do about Harris. He was so deep in thought that he didn’t see the person in front of him until he walked right into a solid wall of muscle and fell over on his ass. He gasped when he looked up into a pair of kaleidoscopic eyes surmounted by dark bushy eyebrows that could convey I will end you without uttering a word.

‘Oh God.’ He tried to scoot back on his ass, flailing very unattractively as he did so. ‘Please don’t kill me.’

Towering above him and dressed immaculately in the black braided greatcoat that indicated a recently qualified senior student, Derek Hale rolled his eyes and made no offer to help him up. The exasperated expression on his face was spectacular and inherently genetic. Their Offensive Alchemy professor was his uncle, Peter Hale, and he had the exact same eye roll as did Derek’s younger sister Cora, who was in First Year. Stiles had never met the celebrated war hero, youngest major-general of the State Military and current Hale pack alpha Laura Hale, currently away and defending the Northern border, but he’d heard she could cow an entire battalion with a single eyebrow so it would stand to reason that the eye roll was probably also part of her repertoire.

‘Get up, Stilinski.’ he drawled. ‘You’re embarrassing yourself.’

‘No, leave him. This is the best entertainment I’ve had all day.’ This came from the willowy blonde next to Derek with a razor sharp smile. Erica Reyes was an elemental alchemist that specialised in air alchemy, a notoriously difficult form that allowed her to manipulate its density to produce concussive waves and also create impenetrable shields. She was also one of Laura’s pack, a werewolf as were his other two friends that stood behind her. The more cherubic of the two was Isaac Lahey, a specialist in manipulating time to move quicker than sight and Vernon Boyd, Derek’s best friend and a steel alchemist that wore his strength enhancing semi-gaunts inscribed with his transmutation circle openly and who roughly the size and shape of a tank. There were many running jokes about the four of them and some unsavoury rumours as well, not helped by the fact that Derek was said to be an elemental alchemist although nobody was actually sure what his true power was because he only ever used general transmutations, although Stiles probably knew more than most because he’d seen the notation in Derek’s student record that alluded to a sealed part of the documents that was classified.

‘Erica.’ Boyd rumbled before he sidestepped Derek and held out a hand to Stiles. ‘Come on, get up. You look ridiculous.’

‘Thanks.’ Stiles muttered but he took the hand and tried not to look horribly impressed when Boyd lifted him as if he weighed nothing. He was stupidly strong and people had a tendency to compare him with the fabled Alex Louis Armstrong, except with more hair and far less self-regard.

He dusted himself off and the pack swept past him in a swirl of black greatcoats. Derek was the last to leave and when he did it was with a glint of fang as he gave Stiles a smile that looked way beyond predatory and equal parts boner inducing and pant shittingly terrifying.

‘Try to look where you’re going in future.’ he growled and Stiles curled in on himself.

‘Whatever Sourwolf.’ he muttered under his breath and then nearly shrieked when Scott’s hand came down on his shoulder.

‘Damn.’ He looked as relieved as Stiles felt that he’d not been eaten. ‘Dude. You really have a knack for getting yourself into it.’

‘No kidding.’ Stiles glanced at Derek’s path through the cloister corridor, scattering junior students in his wake. ‘It’s like dancing with death, if death were a grumpy gorgeous asshole. Apparently bathing in the blood of your enemies gives you a glowing complexion and perfect stubble, in spite of it being against regulations.’

‘I don’t why know he intimidates you so much.’ Lydia buffed her nails on the front of her jacket. Fifth years wore short jackets with red braid instead of the black braided greatcoats that the qualified senior sixth years wore and she made it look as elegant as any evening gown, maybe even more so.

‘That’s because you’re both beautiful people.’ Stiles snorted. ‘The only reason you hang out with us plebs is because we make you look even better.’

‘Not a lie.’ The chuckle behind him made Stiles roll his eyes. It was Jackson and Danny, the only other couple in their year that could even match up with Allison and Scott for cuteness, even though their relationship was based more on mutual insult. Jackson was the adopted son of General David Whittemore, Noah Stilinski’s senior officer in the Home Guard, and he was forever trying to prove that he belonged in the Academy on his own merits, which were pretty damn good. He was a transformation alchemist, able to change his shape and take on the appearance of something else. His current alternate form was scaly and able to walk on the ceiling like a lizard, a sharp contrast to his human looks, and something Stiles enjoyed mocking on a regular basis. It made for an odd friendship but Jackson was an excellent sparring partner.

‘You’re just pissed you’re not Derek’s type so he never even acknowledges your existence.’ He retorted.

‘I could care less about attracting the attention of a known psychopath.’ Jackson sniffed, nose in the air. ‘And for your information, I’m everyone’s type.’

‘Now, now.’ Danny grinned. He could match Allison in the dimples department, his tanned skin and ability to manipulate rock into liquid forms a hallmark of his island ancestry. ‘You know that he was found innocent of all charges.’

Ah yes, the elephant in the Academy that nobody ever talked about. The last time someone had mentioned the deaths of almost the entire Hale family, Derek had grabbed the offending student, a sneaky little bastard called Matt Daehler that Stiles didn’t trust an inch, by the front of his uniform and hoisted him right off his feet before he’d threatened to rip his throat out with his teeth. Matt had promptly wet himself and then been quietly transferred to the State Military version of Administration, where he was now wading through paperwork as punishment. Talia Hale had been well-loved. Her time as General of the Northern Quarter had seen great improvement in relationships between the citizens of Beacon Hills City and the Military that ran every aspect of public services. She had been renowned as being fair and just, a far cry from the power hungry echelons below her. She’d favoured negotiation over conflict and her resistance to slaughtering her foes was through to be the reason she had been assassinated, along with almost her entire family, including her husband and twin sons, her parents and sisters and brothers and their children. Their pack had been large and the impact of their deaths had been far reaching, especially when the one put on trial for their deaths had been twelve year old Derek Hale, seemingly the only survivor of the fire that had incinerated his family. Laura and Peter had both been at the Academy and Cora had managed somehow to escape and lived feral in the forests surrounding the Hale estate for a year before she’d been found. By then, Derek had been cleared of all charges and enrolled in the Academy where his family could keep an eye on him.

That had been six years previously and the mystery as to who had killed the Hales was as enthralling as it had been right at the start. Stiles knew his father had a suspicion as to who it had been but he’d mentioned that he had no proof and so was unable to launch a proper investigation. So life had gone on, Gerard Argent had taken Talia’s place as General and the military action had stepped up. The soldiers fighting on the Northern Border were used as cannon fodder for his ambitions but whenever someone had objected, they ended up being transferred out to the furthest reaches of the empire or floating in the Beacon River. People knew not to go against the Argents, which made it all the more improbable that Allison had grown up to be as level headed as she was.

Stiles threw one last look in the direction Derek had gone. He could understand how being treated like a murderer and ostracised by almost everyone else at the Academy could make you hard and suspicious and hostile, reluctant to connect with anyone outside of his immediate pack.

He just wished his poor heart could take the hint.

*****

Chapter 2

: Trouble AfootChapter Text

The weekend came mercifully soon and Stiles bounded out of bed with an exuberance that he normally didn’t demonstrate during the week of confinement that he was subjected to. Thankfully as fifth years, they all had permission to take day leave on the weekend. It wasn’t as good as being in sixth year when the leave was extended until midnight curfew but it was better than nothing and Stiles grabbed it with both hands. He also did not have to go out in uniform like the sixth years did and he had a quick shower, luxuriating in being able to use as much hot water as he wanted because the communal showers were but empty at eight o’clock on a Saturday. He loped back to the room he shared with Scott and dressed in khakis, t-shirt and plaid overshirt before sitting down to tie his sneakers. A quick glance in the mirror told him he looked like any normal college student and he grinned. Scott muttered a goodbye as he flew out the door and galloped down to the mess hall, hoping to grab some coffee, a bowl of cereal and maybe a piece of fruit before he escaped and made the long tram ride to the city centre and the Watch HQ to see his dad.

He found Lydia already there, sipping herbal tea and eating a bowl of chopped fruit with delicate stabs of her fork. She had her hair twisted in a knot on top of her head, her face was made up and she wore a dress in emerald green print that made her eyes sparkle and Stiles knew there was no getting away from her. She’d developed a romance with one of his father’s junior officers and as much as Stiles was loathe to admit, Parrish was very good for her. He wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Lydia’s brilliance and loved her ardently enough for everyone to realise that they were more than likely in for the long haul. Jordan was an elemental alchemist and able to sustain being lit on fire as he was immune to its effects. He wasn’t particularly good at manipulating it though, hence his posting in the Watch, but he was very capable of rescuing people from burning buildings and a boon to his father’s department.

‘Good morning.’ She regarded him over the brim of her cup. ‘Do you have to dress like you have no idea how to press your clothing?’

‘Yes.’ Stiles went to inspect the buffet line. He made up a bowl of oatmeal, liberally dousing it in honey and cream, and then returned with an apple in each pocket, a banana clenched between his teeth and his precious coffee. He ate like a man possessed and glanced up to see Lydia pursing her lips in disapproval. For someone who purported to be his best friend, she was awfully judgy of him at all times so he made a face at her.

‘Where do you want to go today?’ he asked and she shrugged and set her empty cup aside.

‘Just to say hello and then Jordan’s taking me for lunch.’ she replied. ‘We’re going to visit my mother this afternoon.’

‘Ooh.’ Stiles grinned. ‘Meeting the family? It’s getting serious.’

‘A lady never kisses and tells.’ Lydia replied primly. ‘Are you spending the day with Noah?’

‘Yeah.’ Stiles drained his cup, the remains of his breakfast now scattered around him. ‘You ready to go?’

‘Sure.’ Lydia got up and he helped her into her coat and fell into step beside her.

They made it to the side door they both preferred to use and then Lydia caught his arm, pulling him into a side alcove where they were out of sight. Stiles was about to ask why when he heard the sound of footsteps and the low murmur of voices. They both peered out and saw Peter Hale coming down the corridor. He was unmistakable and every bit as handsome as his nephew was, coupled with an intellect that rivalled Lydia’s and an ability to phase through matter that made him a formidable opponent. Seeing him going out of the Academy meant that something serious must be afoot because he never left unless pressed, preferring his laboratory and library to the outside world.

There was someone next to him and when Stiles saw who it was, he sucked in a breath. If Peter was reluctant to leave the Academy that went double for Derek. He never used his passes and never left the Academy walls and so seeing him accompanying his uncle was like spotting a unicorn in the Botanical Gardens. Not to mention the fact that they both out of uniform, which was against regulations what with them both being qualified State Alchemists. Stiles had to admit though, Derek looked good in faded jeans. He was also sporting a black henley and a leather jacket that was too long in the arms for him, his inky dark hair styled in a distinctly no-military fashion.

It was like being sucker punched and Stiles bit his lip to stop the whimper that came out. Lydia glared at him and yanked him back as the Hales stopped and looked in their direction. There was no mistaking the sound of someone drawing breath and Stiles winced, knowing their were both scenting the air.

‘Stilinski and Martin are around here somewhere.’ Derek said, his voice deceptively soft and light and completely at odds with his appearance.

‘Hmmm.’ Peter sounded nonplussed. ‘Come on, we need to get there by nine. Leave the children alone, Derek.’

There was a rumbling growl but Derek followed his uncle, the sound of the steps fading as they left the building through the side door.

Lydia waited until the door was closed again before she stepped out of the alcove, a thoughtful look on her face.

‘Now, where do you think they’re going?’ she asked and Stiles got a sinking feeling.

‘No.’ he said. ‘Lydia, don’t even think about it.’

‘Like you’re not the slightest bit intrigued.’ Lydia grinned. ‘I mean, Derek and Peter going off by themselves and dressed as civilians doesn’t make you the slightest bit curious?’

Stiles huffed and let his head drop.

‘You’re not going to let this go until we find out what they’re up to, are you?’ he asked and she gave him a brilliant smile.

‘No.’ she replied, grabbing his arm and dragging him outside just in time to see a sleek black car leaving the side courtyard. ‘See? That’s an official staff car. Now if Peter was reporting to HQ I could understand, but Derek’s not even a graduated officer yet. Why’s he tagging along and why are they dressed like that? This is something hot, I’d bet your ass and mine on that.’

‘You’re the worst.’ Stiles grumbled as she hauled him down the stairs.

‘No I’m not.’ she replied easily. ‘I just like to be in the know and that’s why we’re going to go interrogate your father. If something’s happening, he’ll be the one to know about it.’

‘Ugh, I hate you.’ Stiles had to admit she was right though. If anyone knew what was happening in Beacon, it would be Noah. He hadn’t been Commander of the Watch for twenty years and survived the transition to Gerard without being astute. ‘In that case, we’ll need donuts.’

Derek looked out the window, his stomach churning. He hated this, the feeling of dread that was making him feel nauseated and the way Peter kept tapping his fingernails against the window sounding like thunder in his ears.

‘It’s the same MO.’ The seat opposite them was occupied by a lean man with greying blond hair and ice blue eyes. His uniform was immaculate, the braiding and epaulettes marking him as a Lt General. ‘We are pretty sure it’s her.’

‘Interesting.’ Peter leaned back and crossed his legs at the knee. ‘You do realise that it’s going to be very difficult to bring her in, not to mention the political fallout should she be identified.’

‘I am very aware of that.’ Chris Argent replied, his face perfectly neutral. He was angry though, Derek could smell it as clear as day. Then again, admitting that your own sister was a serial killer and child rapist had to be hard on one’s sense of wellbeing.

‘I’m guessing that’s why the need for secrecy.’ Peter smirked. ‘Not to mention the fact that your father would be more than happy to have us both out the way should this little venture go south.’

Derek couldn’t help himself. His eyes flashed blue and he growled deep in his chest, only relenting when Peter put a hand on his thigh and calmed him with a subsonic growl of his own.

‘This wasn’t my idea, Peter.’ Chris replied, looking pained. ‘And yes, everything you say is true. You know how it is. But the truth is, you two are also the best trackers in the city and we need to find her as soon as possible. She took out two alchemists from the East side just last night, burned them alive and dumped their bodies in Central Park right by the East Gate. The guards at the Ministry saw it so we were able to cover it up and suppress any information getting out about it.’ He handed over a pair of brown folders and Peter took them, studying the faces of the men inside.

‘Unger and Reddick.’ he mused. ‘Both low level grunts. What would she want with them?’

‘We think they may have had links to the incident.’ Chris’ eyes flashed to Derek. ‘The first victim was also connected. He was an inspector that falsified records as to the cause of the fire to make it look like Derek killed your family. Him finally confessing was one of the key testimonies in having the charges expunged.’

‘Garrison Myers? I see.’ Peter’s eyes also flashed blue for a moment and Derek felt the way the tension coiled and then released as Peter got control of his temper. His uncle was somewhat of a loose cannon with Laura so far away. He’d lost his mate in the fire and hadn’t been the same since. Derek thought that had been the saddest thing. Sasha Hale had been the only person to completely understand Peter and his death had caused a descent into madness that had seen Peter destroy a good half of the research facility that he’d been working in by simply blowing every molecule apart with devastating efficiency. It was yet another thing the Military had covered up, but Peter was now banned from field work.

Except of course, in extenuating circumstances like this one.

‘There will most certainly be others.’ Chris sighed. ‘She’s nothing if not thorough.’

‘She’s insane.’ Peter said and his voice held no trace of mockery. ‘You should have had her put down the last time. Instead, you and your father let her walk away.’

Derek closed his eyes, leaning his head against the window and trying to swallow down the sour taste in his mouth.

‘We had no idea the extent of her actions.’ Chris replied and, to give him credit, he reeked of remorse and guilt and shame. ‘If I’d known what she’d done...Peter, you have to believe I would have. I have a daughter and to think that anyone would have touched her like that when she was twelve...I would have ripped them to pieces.’

There was no blip in his heartbeat and Derek believed him. It didn’t stop him from shrinking back into the seat though, fighting his own pain and guilt and wanting to open the door and throw himself out the moving car and escape.

‘Good.’ Peter replied, his voice steely. ‘Then you’ll have no complaints when Derek does.’

The tram made its way through town and Stiles pondered the situation. Lydia was right, there was definitely something fishy going on.

They got off at the Watch stop, stopping to buy a dozen chocolate cream filled donuts before heading to the HQ. It was blocky squat building of red brick, the shiny six pointed star hanging outside showing its use. Stiles tripped inside and nearly faceplanted into the front desk. Grace was not one of his attributes. Lance Corporal Tara Graeme grinned at him when he righted himself, her dark eyes twinkling with humour at his expense.

‘Good morning.’ she said. ‘I’m assuming you’re here to see the Sheriff and not attempting to redecorate my desk with your face?’

‘Oh, ha ha.’ Stiles muttered. ‘Make fun of the clumsy kid.’

‘I already do.’ Tara laughed. ‘Hi Lydia. Jordan’s in the break room.’

‘Excellent.’ Lydia replied and strode past the desk and towards the back while Tara gave Stiles a once over.

‘I think you’ve grown again.’ she remarked and he preened.

‘Getting taller all the time.’ he said. ‘Is he in his office?’

‘Yeah.’ Tara made grabby hands at the box of pastries. ‘The toll will be one donut, please.’

‘Here.’ Stiles handed her one, licking frosting from his fingers. ‘Hey, you haven’t heard of anything weird going on this morning have you?’ He got his answer immediately from the shifty look on Tara’s face. ‘Never mind, I’ll just ask him what it is.’

‘Stiles!’ she admonished as he escaped past her. ‘Stay out of it!’

Stiles ignored her, tearing down the corridor to the stairs at the back of the station and his father’s office. Noah Stilinski was afforded the rank of Sargeant-Major but tradition meant he was still addressed as Sheriff by his staff, even though the rank had been defunct for centuries. He found him on the phone, his chair tilted back and his face strained. He caught Stiles’ eye as he came in and made a face and Stiles grinned, knowing without asking that he was talking to someone from Whittemore’s office. He sat and listened to his father make the appropriate noises, sliding the donuts across the desk like a sacrificial offering. Let it never be said that a Stilinski wasn’t a master of bribery.

Noah finally hung up and eyeballed him.

‘What do you know?’ he asked, helping himself to a donut.

‘Just that Peter and Derek Halke left the Academy in civilian clothing this morning.’ Stiles replied. ‘They got into a staff car and took off like their asses were on fire.’

‘Dammit.’ Noah’s voice came out muffled by donut. ‘This is high ranking stuff, kid. I can’t let you stick your nose into this one. I could get actually fired if I did.’

‘Wow.’ Stiles sat back. ‘It’s that serious?’

‘Extremely.’ Noah replied, then narrowed his eyes at him. ‘I also want you to be extra vigilant and no sneaking out the Academy after dark. I’m serious, Stiles. This is a very dangerous situation.’

‘Now, see.’ Stiles waved his hands in exasperation. ‘You can’t say things like that and not expect me to want to know what’s going on.’

Noah rested his chin in his hand and gave Stiles his most infuriating grin. He knew it well because it was the one he used on Lydia.

‘I wonder just how much what I know is worth?’ His grey eyes were twinkling madly and Stiles heaved a sigh.

‘You manipulative old man.’ he fumed. ‘This is the last thing you should be having. You know what Melissa said about your cholesterol. I’ve already gone against my better judgement and brought you donuts.’

‘Which are much appreciated.’ Noah replied, helping himself to another one. ‘But if you want the lowdown, it’s a steak at Mauricio’s or nothing.’

‘This is blackmail.’ Stiles glared at him.

‘I agree.’ Noah licked the frosting off his fingers with relish. ‘But seeing how my son makes more than I do as a State Alchemist in training, I figure he can afford it.’

‘I wonder how much the Fuhrer would pay to know one of his City Watch commanders is involved in criminal activity.’ Stiles muttered and Noah burst out laughing.

‘Not as much as you’re going to for a 24 oz. rib eye with all the trimmings.’ he replied and got up. ‘But to sweeten the deal, I’ll let you tag along on my visit to HQ.’

‘What?’ Stiles was on his feet in an instant. ‘And you’ll tell me what you know afterwards?’

‘Maybe.’ Noah replied. ‘But I’m under no illusions as to what you and Lydia came here for so go downstairs and get her as well. Jordan’s coming with so he’ll be pleased just to be in her presence.’

‘On it.’ Stiles said and bolted out the door, nearly taking himself out as he flew down the stairs. He found Lydia and Parrish locked at the lips in the break room, coughing loudly to get their attention. They broke apart and he gave them both a look.

‘Seriously?’ he asked. ‘That’s your interrogation technique?’

‘It works.’ Lydia retorted. Next to her, Parrish was straightening his uniform. Like the rest of the Military, they were also in black but with gold braiding looped about their shoulders to indicate they were City Watch.

Noah came past, shrugging into his greatcoat.

‘Come on.’ he said. ‘Time’s a wasting.’

‘I should have worn my uniform.’ Stiles said, following him out the back door and to the vehicles parked out back, grinning when he saw the driver jump to attention.

‘Guess you’ll have to just stay in the car.’ Noah chuckled and dodged the swipe Stiles aimed at him.

TBC.....

#kayefraser #stereksanta19 #*fics19 #*gifts19

10 notes · View notes

gaasaku-fanfests · 5 years

Text

Devil’s Due

Title: Devil’s Due Author: darkcivet Rating: M (just in case) Word Count: 3,313 Summary: They called him a monster. They said he was a demon. So he decided to summon one to kill them all. Warnings: Character death (not Gaara or Sakura). OOC. Author’s Note(s): (The title is a working title and I’ll change it if I think of anything better.) This is a bit of a creepy one-shot I guess: I’m numb to this kind of thing, apparently. Enjoy. ^_^

Trope: Dark Gaara or Dark Sakura

“Don’t touch that!”

Gaara jumped slightly, frozen in place; his arm outstretched and his fingers curled in a coaxing motion. He wanted the cat to come to him. He wanted to touch it. So bad. Just a tiny bit of warmth in this cold, empty house he was forced to live in.

“I said don’t touch that.”

That familiar voice had the gall to repeat itself.

Breaking out of his rigid stance slowly, he forced himself to relax and stood up; Gaara supposed he had looked quite suspicious, positioned like that. He felt it necessary to look like an animal on the hunt. Stretching his muscles in an almost cat like, lazy manner, he turned to face his irate sister.

Since his growth spurt, she hadn’t been able to look down on him in the literal sense, but Temari always maintained a commanding stature compared to him, nonetheless. Even next to Kankuro, who was also taller than her, she was never of lower standing. She was the only one that took after their father in that manner. But right now, she looked extremely nervous; her wide eyes and high pitched voice angered Gaara more than the demand. She was both angered and fearful of him. It annoyed him to no end that his siblings listened to the malicious rumours of his demonic heritage.

‘How else could he have turned out so monstrous?’ People asked. ‘His mother must’ve been taken by the devil to produce a child so vile.’ It was just a silly pack of superstitious lies. But sometimes, when the moon was full and his desire to watch blood drip from an open vein was strong enough, he believed them.

Years of neglect did that to a person. When he was a child, the ignorant villagers in town would pelt him; they took their cue from the great Sabaku clan that the youngest son to Rasa was just a lunatic who would grow up useless and insane. The story that his mother had been raped and gone mad was rampant among the lower class idiots.

Not that he would expect anything else from people who still traded goats for pigs.

Gaara refrained from frowning at his sister; he was used to the backwards superstition from strangers, but for some reason he just couldn’t stomach that his blood family would stoop to such idiocy. If he was indeed related to them at all.

‘We don’t have a lot in common.’

Perhaps he was just adopted? These kinds of questions swirled around in his head for years before he gave up asking them. It was only at times like this, when one of his siblings was glowering at him and telling him to stay away from the household pets (like he was going to kill them, sheesh), that the dissimilarities between them made him question his own parentage.

He was seventeen now, and almost old enough to leave home. If he had been born a peasant, he could’ve done so long ago, but his father would not let him go until it was appropriate.

‘Bastard.’

“Did you hear me, Gaara?” Temari waved a fan toward the cat, scaring it away. “Don’t touch the animals on the compound. You’re not supposed to be near them. You’re just a-”

He was a demon in her eyes, and always would be. The demon that killed her mother.

“Fine!” He screamed, startling Temari almost as much as he startled himself with the outburst; her hand went instinctively to the curved blade she kept hidden at her belt. “You want a demon? I’ll give you one!”

He ignored the sounds of his father and brothers’ approach, mixed in with the harsh whispers of nearby servants. The only silence in the area came from his sister. Their family was rich, renown, and powerful; and even a demon child among the clan couldn’t diminish their reach.

Gaara ran toward the only place he knew could help. The only source he knew of that could help him summon a real demon.

‘And kill them all.’

.:.

There were so many books on the occult in his father’s library that Gaara hadn’t known where to start; he’d been reading about demons for a while now, looking into the fables and folklore, trying to figure out which one the villagers viewed him as. There wasn’t anything in those books that would explain away his lust for violence, his predisposition toward lighting things on fire and fascination with the way blood travelled outside the body.

Rasa had a secret stash of black magic books that Gaara only knew about because he’d followed him that one time, in the middle of the night. Perhaps he’d collected them for the same reason the redhead perused them – to figure out what he was. Perhaps not.

All Gaara knew was the pounding of blood in his ears, the anger, the hate, and the desire to tear something limb from limb to be free of this place. Blood red spots obscured his vision as he rifled through the books as gently as his foul mood would allow him to. There were a number of books he remembered that talked about summoning imps and faeries to do favours, but he didn’t need something so low levelled. He wanted to enter a bargain with something that was dangerous and foul beyond words.

‘It’s not real. It’s all fake.’

His logical mind wouldn’t allow him to entertain the idea that he was just lashing out in vain. That if demons were real and could be summoned so readily, his father would’ve done so and gotten rid of Gaara years ago. His heart just wanted to hurt something.

‘Found it.’

A scroll that felt like leather; old, worn, and yellowed, it hadn’t been maintained well it seemed. But perhaps it was older than it looked, even. Gaara stared at it, unfurling the xuan paper carefully, almost like it could break under his hands.

“How to summon darkness.” He ran a finger over the intricate kanji. The title said it all.

He smiled.

‘I have it.’

“Gaara?”

His head snapped up at the sound of his brother’s voice, echoing through the library hallways. Kankuro couldn’t see him, but he was closing in on his position. Perhaps he’d been followed after all?

“A servant saw you enter here.”

That explained it.

“You know you’re not supposed to-”

Gaara blocked out his voice, feeling a new surge of anger rise with the familiar mantra of what he was and wasn’t allowed to do in this place. He’d contemplated summoning demons before – mostly out of fun – and even cast a few fun spells that were supposed to amplify the bad mood of everyone around him.

It never worked.

But something different was rising up in his throat this time; something far more disgusting than bile. He couldn’t explain it, but this time was going to end better. He was going to get his revenge.

Hugging the scroll to his chest and feeling far more immature than he should about this, Gaara fled the library. There were preparations to make and sacrifices to perform.

Blood to spill.

.:.

‘How did I forget the full moon?’

That was why he felt different. As the sun went down and Gaara found himself mesmerised by the faint light of the moon hanging over the Sabaku compound; a place that overlooked a maze of a town of sycophant peasants. It bathed the area in a soft glow that almost calmed him down enough to knock him out of his desire for blood and revenge.

‘Nothing will come of it; I’m just going to end up having to hand this scroll back and be punished.’

He wanted to avoid the morning, and the pain that would inevitably come with it. He’d snapped. He could feel it like a cord wrapped around his throat that had broken and clung to his skin in desperation. Something inside of him wanted to rip it apart and be done with this world.

But the blood sacrifice had to come first.

Carefully, he made his way to the loafing shed in the back of the estate; all kinds of animals were kept for slaughter or milking on the grounds, to funnel the resources through the pockets of his father. It meant that he controlled even the most domestic income of the region; and fear of him kept the populous from revolting.

Gaara found the goat house quickly, tugging on the hood covering his distinctive red hair, just in case one of those nosy servants spotted him. With the scroll in one hand and a double-edged knife in the other, he coaxed one of the goats forward and grabbed the chain that hung around it’s neck. The sharp sounds of discomfort were momentary; he started reciting the words the scroll dictated, holding the knife to the animals throat as he tried to concentrate on the summons.

With eyes wide open and expectant, Gaara slid the knife across the goat’s throat, making sure to cut across the full breadth of it’s gullet; deep, steady, and clean across. The goat gargled and thrashed for a moment, but he held tightly to the chain, transfixed by the trail of blood as it trailed down the length of the animal’s shoulder, down the brisket, and onto the ground. He watched as the blood began to move against gravity and common sense, slithering along the ground; forming what he couldn’t tell.

It spread out around Gaara, encircling him. He felt panicked, suddenly wary about this new development. Nothing in the scroll had indicated sentient blood.

‘Magic.’

That had to be it. Years of searching for a way out. Months of perusing and playing with low level spells that never worked out. Now it decided to heed his fury and revenge?

Gaara groaned when he realised the blood was forming a seal; it had a shape not dissimilar from the goat he had just killed. But the blood morphed again, leaving his enclosure and coagulating and stilling in a patch of grass, as though it had not been moving under it’s own will seconds before.

“What the hell?” This was getting out of control.

“Is that really a wise mantra, given the situation?”

Gaara dropped the scroll and knife in fright, his eyes blinking heavily. A woman stood before him, seemingly having materialised over the blood, a smile on her face, hands on her hips, and wearing the most strangest of scant clothes; robes made to cover so little, it was giving him ideas.

He cleared his throat. “You’re not the demon I wanted to summon.”

She was more like an angel. With pink hair, bright green eyes, and a smile that lit up her entire face.

“Oh?” His disappointment didn’t seem to bother her. “Who were you trying to summon?”

“The Tanuki.”

“You mean Shukaku?”

Gaara nodded.

She pouted; hands on her hips, lips pursing in what he decided was a very seductive manner.

“That trickster wouldn’t know a good summons if it bit him on the nuts.”

He couldn’t help the small, nervous laugh that bubbled up inside of him. “Who are you?”

“A friend.”

“I don’t have any friends.”

“That’s sad.” She moved slowly toward him and Gaara couldn’t move away. She poked his chest. “A young, strapping lad like you must be a big hit with the ladies at least.”

He shook his head.

The girl giggled. “A virgin? Well, no wonder Shukaku didn’t answer your summons, that rambunctious whore. You’re more my type, anyway.”

This was insane. “Uh...” Gaara realised all the anger and resentment that had been fuelling this encounter, was gone. In it’s place was wonder, bewilderment, and wariness.

‘With a hint of arousal.’

But that wasn’t important.

She chuckled. “Relax. I don’t bite unless you want me to. But I’m no sex demon, so get that lascivious look off your face. I’m joking,” she assured him when started to stutter at her. “Jeez. Kids these days. Alright!” She made a show of swishing her short robes and fixing her hair. “Let’s get this party started. What, mere mortal, is that deep desire that has caused you to summon me?”

Gaara glanced up at the full moon without thinking. This was why he’d summoned her… or at least, tried to summon a demon. Legend had it that Shukaku was the demon to call for a rampage. But, this girl who looked around his age, didn’t look like she was ready to slaughter hundreds of people. Her skin was soft and creamy. Her face was angelic and happy. She even had painted fingernails and toenails to match her outrageous outfit. She might’ve looked more at place in the nobilty – albeit one with a less strict dress code. She was also very beautiful, and delicate looking. Could she even grant this wish?

“Come on, don’t keep a girl waiting.”

He inhaled deeply. “I… wanted Shukaku to, uh… kill everyone.”

She blinked heavily at him. “Kill everyone? Like, your whole family and that little village nearby?”

He nodded.

She didn’t look convinced, and he wasn’t surprised. “Death and destruction? Are you sure?”

Was he, though? This wasn’t a request he could take back.

‘Why am I chickening out?’

The girl sighed. “Look, I am a demon, but I’m not here to carelessly slaughter people. If this is what you really want – to go full dark – then you should know you’ll suffer consequences too.”

“What consequences?”

She shrugged. “Oh, nothing compared to what the humans you want to kill will experience. Their end is nigh and I can help with that, but I need something from you.” She took his hand and held it palm up. “Blood.”

Gaara cried out, not expecting the open slash to his hand; she wasn’t even holding a weapon.

She smiled humourlessly. “Call me when you make up your mind.”

Gaara sighed, rubbing his wounded hand. “What’s your-”

She disappeared; her outline faded and blurred out of existence. Almost like she hadn’t even been there. How was he supposed to call her when he didn’t know her name? And what was this consequence she spoke of?

‘Probably for the best, anyway.’

He felt the sting on his hand as though he’d just awakened from some kind of dream. What had he been thinking, summoning a demon of all things? Even one as beautiful and seemingly harmless as her. He may be odd, and crazy, and a lover of all things macabre, but he was no killer. Not today, anyway.

.:.

The days following his break into Rasa’s library, and Temari once again ratting him out about trying to “commune with the beast”, were torturous. Locked away in one section of the compound, all Gaara could do was try to stave off boredom and hunger by trying to remember what the demon girl had looked like. It seemed the longer he went without seeing her, the less coherent his memory was. The wound on his hand had festered and was clearly infected, but nobody bothered to try to treat it. One servant even gave him a bewildered look when he asked for a healer for his hand. They were idiots, anyway.

Three weeks were all it took to break him.

Deep in the recesses of his mind, tied to the cellar and dankness of his prison, he felt the demon inside cry for release. The small bed in the corner of his new “room” beckoned him and he stayed, wrapped up in the thin blanket, reciting that summons that had infected him so. The call to the demon who had ignored his invocation.

When food came once a day and through the hands of yet another faceless servant, he could barely eat. Images of the townsfolk and his blood family writhing in pain and blood were his fuel now. His desire for retribution sustained him.

Twenty-one days on from his incarceration saw him summoning again; this time using his own blood. It wasn’t enough to sacrifice some insignificant animal. He had to give of himself. As he felt his life beginning to ebb under the cut he couldn’t remember making, Gaara was startled to hear her voice in his head. Out loud.

“You’re a right mess.”

He chuckled, looking up at her from the small comfort of the bed. “And you’re an angel.”

She scoffed. “Hardly. Come.” She leaned down to pull him to his feet. “Your desire for revenge awaits.”

“Hey...”

Seconds passed in which he wasn’t sure if this was a hallucination. It was the pink haired girl again.

“I… called for you?” He hadn’t called for her, had he?

She nodded. “You cried for me in your sleep. You must want me real bad.”

He lowered his eyes to the ground, fighting the blush warming his face. She slid an arm under his to support his weight.

“Don’t go gushing just yet,” she said. “I still have a promise to keep.”

A chill swept through his body; one moment he was in a dank room and the next they stood on the roof of the goat house where he’d performed the first summons.

“Tell me.”

Her voice was just above a whisper, tickling his ear, and slightly desperate. He couldn’t comprehend her urgency.

“Tell me to kill them.”

Ah. She was eager to get with the killing. He’d summoned her to slaughter his family, to kill the townsfolk who tormented him, and leave none alive. His anger had brought him to this moment, where he was bleeding out and only the cold arms of his demonic contractor might give him some reprieve before he died.

“Gaara-”

“Kill them.” His voice was croaky but he no longer cared. Whatever infection was festering in his body, it didn’t matter – the only thing he had left was the darkness in his heart. The evil she wanted to bring out in him. That demonic nature the people in his life were sure had been there all along, waiting for an excuse to butcher them all.

The girl smiled, tilted her head slightly, and pressed her lips to her summoner’s mouth. It wasn’t a kiss, but it sure felt like one – not that he knew what those felt like. As he opened his mouth to let her in, it occurred to him that this was probably how all her deals went.

He didn’t like that.

A foreign feeling of possessive jealousy boiled up inside him; screaming and wailing sounds in the distance couldn’t distract him from the fervour he attacked her mouth with. When she finally pulled away, breaking the contact he longed to prolong, Gaara’s brain began to clear.

Burning flesh, howling dogs, screaming women and children; the pink haired devil paid no attention to any of that. She just stared at him, running her fingers along his cheek. Her nails scratched his forehead and he hissed at the pain.

Was she marking him?

Gaara glanced toward the scene he hadn’t been cognisant enough to acknowledge was his own fault. He could hear his family screaming; there was an inhuman growl echoing throughout the compound. He could see, from afar, the village burning; something born of hellfire was rampaging in the streets tonight.

His heart broke in that moment, with the sounds of innocents. And he realised with clarity, that they had all been wrong about him.

“I was never a demon,” he said, tearing his eyes away from the carnage. He could no longer bear to look upon it. Instead, his naive eyes turned hard and dangerous, staring at the woman who now held him lovingly instead of in support. His body felt invigorated – reborn. He was something else, now.

Sakura smiled, brushing his fringe, and kissing the scar she’d left on his forehead to mark their new partnership. She growled; the sound was otherworldly.

“You are now.”

#GaaSaku #gaasaku-fanfests #GaaSaku Fic & Art Challenge #fanfic #darkcivet

34 notes · View notes

theateared · 4 years

Text

Lyes were often misunderstood.

Though they looked like animals on the outside, they were undoubtedly sentient. Their intelligence was far higher than that of the average animal, and their ability to communicate their desires was second only to beings that were capable of speech. Though most understood that these creatures were dangerous-- walking contradictions: fluff and venom all in one-- they often underestimated just how clever they were.

That was why, when he encountered Edgar yowling in the middle of the road, Murr knew that something was terribly wrong.

“Hey… hey! Quit that damn racket!” He crouched, tired legs creaking like an old attic ladder. In such a disgruntled state, the huro knew better than to try and pet him. “What’s wrong with you?”

What the lye couldn’t say, he made up for with action. He rounded Murr swiftly, forcefully nudging his rear as if imploring him to stand up again. He obeyed, hissing at the crack of his knees. There was no time to focus on it as the lye suddenly darted down the street. The entity reminded Murr of a perfectly shot arrow, straight and swift, and though his feet ached and his arms stung from his labour that day, he took off running after him, a brief “Hey!” being the only audible thing to leave him before momentum swallowed his sounds whole.

He followed Edgar as if he was the animal, drunk on loyalty, rucksack with his half-full lunchbox in it clattering dully against his back with every timed footfall. He needs something but he can’t tell me what it is. I wish he could tell me. It’d make things so much quicker. His thoughts parted like clouds when he witnessed the lye completely clear his orchard’s fence, dark form little more than a streak of shadow as he landed effortlessly on the other side, continuing his furious pace into the trees. Dear Raku, Murr thought, vaulting over the obstacle similarly, it must be an emergency.

His pursuit came to a stop as he shadowed his companion up the hill to his house. Pausing to catch his breath, he watched as Edgar dashed towards the nearby shed, pawing at it a few times before turning his head and staring expectantly. His macabre gaze locked onto the huro in a way that made him shudder. Had he not befriended Edgar, he likely would’ve felt afraid.

“Alright… no need’a be so pushy,” Murr muttered, closing the distance between himself and the door. Hands patted lazily at himself as he tried to locate the set of keys he kept on him, eventually finding the appropriate one and sliding it into the thick padlock. It opened with a cinematic clang, door pushed open so that the lye could slink through the thin gap and disappear into the darkness. Murr allowed the door to swing all the way open, the dying light of the day spilling inside and illuminating the surroundings a little. He watched with some amount of curiosity as Edgar clambered over the wagon he used to transport fruit, leaping from pail to pail as if he weighed nothing, eventually settling in the far corner of the room. Even before Murr entered the shed, he knew what the other was after, expression quickly changing from intrigued to sour. “Did y’seriously make me RUN from work just so you could have some goddamn fruit?”

“Mrrrooow.”

Murr felt his frustration build, a haughty huff heaved through his nose before he turned his back and began the loathsome hobble to his front door. Growing up on the Murphy Orchard, he was more than used to hard work. That being said, shifts at the factory-- shifts that he couldn’t get out of due to being the person who funded the creation of the place, therefore making him legally responsible for it-- killed something inside of him. It was more than just exhaustion; it was a deep-seated discomfort that was gained only from doing something that one despised. Though he’d been raised to accept that work was part of the equation (“With excess wealth comes great responsibility, Li’l Murph. That’s just how it is. You’ve been blessed, so you need to pay your dues in any way you can.”), that job was nothing short of hellish to someone like him. He didn’t want to spend his days sandwiched between identical work benches, he wanted to stand on stage, hone his craft, make art-- but there were some things that just had to be done.

“Myyyuuueeerrr…”

Though he doubted it, the utterance sounded awfully like his nickname, causing him to turn around and look at Edgar. He was swatting at the fruit he’d left in one of the pails, eyes glowing white in an attempt to get the huro’s attention.

Murr let out a deep sigh, then trailed inside. “Whaaat…? C’mon, Eddie, I’m fuckin’ beat…”

As soon as he crouched low, the lye stood on his hind legs and tugged at the bag tucked neatly over Murr’s shoulder. It dropped to the ground, zip tugged at with his teeth until he managed to pull it open. The lunchbox was swiped out with his jagged tail, flung carelessly to the other side of the shed, before he dragged the empty bag towards the fruit, looking up at Murr once more. It didn’t take long for the huro to piece together what he wanted.

Feeling curiously compelled to follow through, Murr began to scoop fruit into the bag until it was full. When it was, he pulled the zip taut, watching as Edgar’s head bobbed briefly with approval before he got back up and began to walk from the shed.

Murr sighed, climbing back onto his feet, adjusting the bag properly over his shoulders. Resignation had already begun to settle like dust: his day was not over, despite how tired he was.

“Alright… where’re we goin’, then?”

Edgar was a solid guide. As soon as he began to barrel down the hill, guiding Murr through his acres of land with all the aptitude of the fabled North Star, Murr knew that they were headed for the No-Mans Land. The deep forest that nobody but him had ever dared to call home… it held some mystic charm that he couldn’t quite put into words. Perhaps it was the questions that surrounded it-- where do its paths lead? And why does everybody steer clear of them?-- or perhaps it was the fact that, once upon a time, he’d made the foreboding shadows his home. It hadn’t been easy to leave the cushy life behind, mainly because of his family-oriented values. He had realised pretty quickly that he’d lived sheltered and privileged despite how hard his parents had worked to teach him good, honest values, but it hadn’t been that difficult for him to adjust. He had been raised not to take his wealth for granted; therefore, when he abandoned his bank account in favour of living amongst nature, praying to Raku that it would create a blank slate for him, it hadn’t been that hard to accept that he was completely at the mercy of it - and that, if he had any hope of surviving, it would be through learning a new way of life. In some ways, that isolation had saved his life as much as it had destroyed it.

They tore through the woods together like a pair of seasoned bandits, Murr finding his pace as he went, and the descent into the shadowy undergrowth became a walk in the park. He felt like a veteran when it came to traversing uncharted territory. He had the best chance out of perhaps anybody in Huron of navigating this tumultuous space. There was so much of Huron that most citizens didn’t know about, so much that lurked in the shadows, so many species and paths that existed independently of rhyme or reason or knowledge, and he could rest easy knowing that he was one of the few people who knew how to handle it. At this point, there was not a single nook nor cranny in this place that he didn’t understand.

Edgar, deeply dissatisfied around water, barely thought about it before making the impressive eight foot leap across the landmark that Murr had dubbed Pebble Cove. It was a shallow stream, knee-height at most, but the pebbles that littered the clear water made it appear much deeper, almost endless. His way across was courtesy of two large, slippery stones some ways apart from one another. There had been countless times where he’d lost his footing and gotten himself drenched from head to toe, but now he was used to it, knew exactly where to land in order to push himself onto the next one, then the bank, without skidding over and ruining his clothes. Even with the bag full of fruit weighing him down, he crossed with the light-footed quality of an antelope, bouncing across as if completely unhindered.

Their surroundings changed from sunset golds to emerald greens, the foliage becoming denser and shading everything a mesmerising tint of jade. A cumbersome fog befell them as they snaked their way through thick thorns and hurdled over fallen logs, charging further into the faux-unknown like untethered warriors. As he passed, Murr swore he saw pieces of himself lodged into landmarks. The time he taught himself to fish in the Foggy Fissure; the time he was swarmed by a gaggle of gluttonous glowflies after dark; the time he’d slayed a derma plant and spared Edgar’s life in the process… all things that had shaped him and his existence out there. Where are we going now? Why are you leading me through all of these places?

He was relieved when Edgar began to slow down, mad dash reduced to a brisk stalk, long whiskers twisting and turning like antennae as he scanned his surroundings keenly. He stopped completely at the base of a large tree, sitting down and waiting for Murr to approach.

“So,” he started, slinging his bag from over his shoulders. Now that he’d stopped moving, he felt the strain of his muscles, an uncomfortable fire burning in his joints. He was pushing his luck. “What business have y’got here, huh?”

The cat-like creature yawned, scratching at the bark listlessly before returning to its stationary pose. Murr squinted, shuffling closer until he could crouch low. As he ran his finger along the wobbly surface, he took note of a curious crease-- almost as if the bark was missing a zipper that could be pulled back. It didn’t take long for him to realise that the markings were that of his friend’s, his powerful claws and dagger-like tail carving out an entrance. Holy shit… I knew Edgar was strong, but strong enough to hollow out a tree? That’s new to me.

Stubbornly, Murr wriggled his fingers into the indentation until he was able to dig his nails in, pulling hard, feeling the bark eventually give way like a drawbridge. He was immediately met with two poised tails, venom dripping onto the floor, and he barely had time to yelp before Edgar suddenly leapt in with all the grace of a kamikaze pilot. With a bigger lye in the picture, both were quick to withdraw, stumbling backwards while hissing quietly.

“Who are these guys…?” Murr asked. It was more a question for himself than for Edgar. He wasn’t so stupid to think that, just because he had one lye’s trust, he could suddenly blend with the rest of the specie. But then why was he even here?

“Myyyuuueeerrr.” Though Edgar sat motionless, tail curled calmly around his feet, Murr felt as if he was being beckoned inside. It was only with a shred of reluctance that he did so, body curling in on itself so that he could fit through the makeshift door. Once inside the hollow trunk, he was shocked to find that there was a lot more space than he first thought. Though he could by no means stand up, he could sit comfortably without dipping his head or bending his spine. The back of his head met the wall, eyes cast to what he supposed was the ‘ceiling’. A couple of feet above his head, an opaque cylinder of wood travelled upwards undisturbed. They must only have dug out what was necessary for them to live comfortably, he mused, distracted only by Edgar fervently nudging his hand. “Myyyuuueeerrr!”

For a few seconds, he was clueless,staring back at the lye with an empty head… until he remembered the fruit he’d brought with him.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, leaning forwards enough to shrug the bag from his back and open it. As soon as starfruit entered the picture, both of the distrustful lyes fell silent, black eyes wide like dinner plates, before a pair of forked tongues stuck out in an attempt to taste it. “Oh… here. Lemme take it outta the bag real quick.” He ignored the collaborative flinch, wholly prepared for them to act offensively, settling two pieces of fruit a short distance from their feet. They glared sharply at him for several seconds, shark-like teeth bared like an armada of tiny knives, before they both let go of their aggression long enough to slink forward and snatch the fruit, retreating into the shadows at the back of the hole. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Edgar instead. “I get it now… these little guys needed food. But what was stoppin’ you from huntin’ yourself?” There was a long pause, one filled with his friend examining his claws with evident disinterest. Murr’s face fell deadpan. “Oh. Nothin’. You just used me because it was easier. You fucker.” However, when Edgar’s pointed smile curved across his face, he couldn’t help but smile too. There was something admirable about the lye’s intelligence, even when he felt the brunt of playing the fool.

He sat there for what felt like years, huddled in this small alcove deep in the woods, feeling safe despite being caged with three highly venomous creatures. The more the two youngsters ate, the more docile they became. His presence was met with the same indifference that Edgar treated him with; a quiet respect, a vague version of mutual trust manifesting from the dark in very much the same manner that doubt did. It was a tangible feeling despite its elusive, unspoken nature. Whether or not they considered him a ‘friend, he knew that he was at the very least welcome for the meantime.

When moonlight cast its dim cyan light, Murr felt it was time to leave. However, when he went to stand up, he felt one of his legs refuse to move. A glance down showed precisely why. One of the lyes had dug its tail into the loose fabric of his pant leg, all but stapling it to the ground. Though he had no doubt that he could free himself if he pulled hard, it would most likely result in the startled creature attacking him.

“Uh… Eddie?” he whispered, watching three pairs of ears twitch in his direction despite the fact that two of them were asleep. “I can’t-- move-- oh…” He fell quiet as Edgar clambered into his lap, curling into a ball, long bat-like ears wrapped around his head as he prepared to sleep. He’s not going to let me leave, is he?

“Hah...” Murr sighed deeply, allowing his legs to poke out of the entrance in an attempt to get more comfortable. The moon’s luminescence made it look like he had a whole-body halo. If only he could be that holy. “... I guess it’s a sleepover then.”

#☆ — i never promised you your dream boy. ❜ ( main. )#☆ — i'm just here to destroy. ❜ ( ic. )#drabble *#/ I REALLY LIKE THIS DRABBLE BYE #i know this's gonna just fall into the void but like. i still really like it

2 notes · View notes

venus-is-in-bloom · 6 years

Note

quick chuubo's arcs for as many UT characters as you want

oooooh hm

i’m actually not all that good at assigning arcs so this will be pretty simple, but i’ll do my best to explain my reasoning!

Undyne

Undyne is absolutely on a knight arc, and i think not her first. i think she started out on a mundane arc, but graduated to the miraculous level (become somebody) through her extraordinary resolve and force of will—and i feel like she’s fairly new to the miraculous level, probably only on her third arc when we meet her.

on all except the no mercy route, the human represents the challenge of knight quest 3 for her—defying her purpose as defender of monsters against humans; quest 4 represents how she deals with that, if she does at all; becoming queen or going on to live on the surface post-pacifist would fit into quest 5.

in the no mercy route i think she’s actually busting out the arc power unstoppable to temporarily become Undyne the Undying—but apart from that there’s very little sign that she’s bending the things or people around her to her will, so if she does have a high arc rating she’s very conscientious about using her extraordinary powers to uplift others, and is careful to let her friends walk their own paths.

her truth is that she is strong-willed and resolute; her failing is her recklessness; and her role is captain of the royal guard.

Asriel

Asriel is kind of complicated because there’s… so much we know to his life story, but i’m p sure his childhood with Chara would constitute one or more mundane shepherd arcs, with Chara as the new responsibility—a sibling he feels the need to support, love, and care for. this abruptly shifts into a miraculous otherworldly (child of the ash) arc when Chara starts talking about wanting to go back to the surface, and their plan culminates in the kaiju form of a beast of unfathomable power. quests 3-5 of this arc comprise events after absorbing Chara’s SOUL, mostly Asriel grappling with Chara’s frightened, vengeful will, losing to it in quest 4, but ultimately regaining control in quest 5, at the village, where he stops both of them from killing anyone. his realisation that he can’t go through with this plan, no matter what Chara says, is quest 5′s reconciliation, and the reward for it is that they manage to reach home before dying.

i’m unsure about this, but i think Flowey’s time in the underground is largely or completely emptiness arcs. the tone and themes of emptiness (accursed) fit very well i think, but i can’t quite find a suitable world-breaker’s hand or sanctuary in Flowey’s known skillset—i think probably his ability to SAVE, and the garden where Chara is buried, respectively.

regardless, the first emptiness arc would cover Flowey’s first run—he escapes Alphys’ lab and tries to live a normal life with Asgore, but in quest 2 he becomes fixated on his inability to feel anything, quest 4 ends with his discovering the power of determination, and in quest 5 he puts a decisive end to that run and tries something new. further emptiness arcs would probably cover a number of everyday moments, getting fixated on something, exploring it, confirming a “truth” about the world that adds to his cynical worldview, and deciding he’s done.

then i’m 90% sure Flowey’s last arc is a storyteller arc. possibly just a mundane one, although if it’s miraculous then i’d go with creature of fable, primarily for between the boundaries and cut the soul. storyteller quest 1 is about Frisk’s arrival as well as their journey through the underground. Flowey manipulates events subtly until the very end, when he kills Asgore—taking control as per quest 2. in a pacifist run, sparing Flowey initiates his quest 3, as the mystery of who Frisk is intensifies. (in a no mercy run i’m not sure he gets that far, or if a storyteller arc even fits.) quest 4 is then his ascension as the absolute god of hyperdeath (i think both photoshop Flowey and the absolute god of hyperdeath are expressions of kaiju form with some story-specific augments), and quest 5 is his mourning Chara and accepting his reversion to soullessness. after that, who knows?

Alphys

Alphys… hm… is also complicated. i feel like aspect arcs would be a default for her, but becoming royal scientist would have been a knight arc—probably closing out at quest 3 with the challenges of mounting stress, rising expectations, and new responsibilities preparing Alphys for the beginning of her next arc. i initially thought this was mundane, but i actually like the idea of her picking up reality syndrome, with her hack being human-inspired technology (cell phones that can change into jetpacks, living anime robots, &c.). i don’t really know what her shared experience would be in that case, though.

the story of Alphys and the power of determination is a mundane bindings arc. quest 1 is Alphys getting to know the captured human SOULs, quest 2 is Alphys realising she can resuscitate monsters that have fallen down, and quest 3 is Alphys deciding to do that… with the catastrophic results we all know about.

(a very similar arc structure would i think work for our empty hands au!! except the bindings arc would continue past 3.)

the bindings arc then ends, and Alphys falls into a series of emptiness (accursed) miraculous arcs that revolve around her trying to care for the amalgamates and keep them secret. quests 1-3 repeat indefinitely, a cycle of uneasy normality, obsessive catastrophising, and panic attacks, with the occasional inclusion of quest 4 to represent material struggles to stop things from getting worse. her world-breaker’s hand is determination extract, and her sanctuary is the true lab (she could probably get there from any bathroom, because if there are other bathrooms in the underground then they’re probably ones that she installed).

it’s entirely possible that other arcs are interspersed among the emptiness arcs—when Frisk comes along, for example. i feel strongly that that’s a storyteller arc, closing at quest 3 with the realisation that the friend Alphys really needs is Mettaton, not a human child she barely knows.

i think ideally (unless it’s cramming too many arcs into too short a time, which it might be) Alphys’ story in the pacifist run should be bookended—i think there’s a mundane bindings arc where she revisits her relationship with the amalgamates: quest 2 is her pacifying the amalgamates approaching Frisk, and resolving to fix this situation; quest 4 is coming clean to the world about the amalgamates, and quest 5 is exploring how the amalgamates are living now, reunited with their families.

then, conceptually, another knight arc, taking place largely post-game on the surface, in which Alphys resolves to build a new life and purpose for herself, makes mistakes, deals with them, and succeeds.

(the fact that most of Alphys’ arcs are really short in terms of quest length until the very end is… evocative.)

Frisk (& Chara)

Frisk has… kind of a variety of possibilities based on what course you the player allow them, which i think is interesting.

i feel like no mercy is definitely an emptiness (accursed) arc, maybe with the ability to kill anyone being their world-breaker’s hand and their sanctuary being the dark place with wind that is before every RESET. just like Flowey, they follow the simple pattern: be intrigued, investigate, be satisfied, RESET. emptiness quests 1-5.

while this is happening, i think Chara undergoes a miraculous mystic (primordial) transformation. lost and alone, they receive the portent of Frisk’s arrival, and slowly begin to interpret and reinforce Frisk’s actions in light of their new principle—LOVE, on their road to becoming the demon that comes when you call its name, tied to the element of numbers. quest 2 provides some opposition in the form of Undyne the Undying, but quest 3 deals with that being overcome. after that there is only the slowly dawning cold of quest 4. quest 5 has multiple possible applications—it could be the decision to RESET, it could be Chara enforcing consequences despite a RESET, it could be Chara asking politely for another route at the end of a second no mercy…

because of the headcanons i have about the children, i’d consider an aborted no mercy run much closer to a shared otherworldly arc? both of the children struggle with their own anger, fear, and compulsions, are overcome for a time, but eventually resurface as themselves and reconcile with each other. in this case, and in the next, you’d have to gloss determination as a mundane or magical skill rather than a miraculous power, or else infer that one or both children have an existing emptiness (accursed) arc trait.

there’s a variety of neutral runs, but for pacifist and for runs close to pacifist i think Frisk and Chara are both experiencing mystic arcs—Chara’s is similar to the one i just described for no mercy, except it’s a mundane arc because the transformation is not quite so violent, and the principle they are following is love, and their quest 2 foil is Flowey telling them kill or be killed. meanwhile, Frisk follows the principle of determination, the will to continue on—their portent is that they have survived the fall they took, and ended up in a world of monsters. their quest 2 foil is Toriel telling them to stay where they are, because they will die out there. Chara faces quest 3 when Flowey reveals he knows about the SAVE power. Frisk faces quest 3 when they leave the ruins and Toriel abandons them.

although i don’t believe the principles of a pacifist run are betrayed by the Asgore and photoshop Flowey fights, i think they’re suitable for representing the confounding moment of Chara’s quest 4, where they truly doubt that the path of saving everyone is possible, because they’ve reached the end of their journey and this is it. Frisk has their quest 4 trigger around the same time, when Asgore dies and his SOUL is destroyed. in this moment of simultaneous despair, holding on to each other is all the children have—but as it turns out, it’s just enough.

quest 5 for Frisk and Chara is the final stretch of the pacifist run, helping, healing, and holding on despite everything. and after that, who knows?

Toriel

Toriel definitely starts out with a high knight (become somebody) arc trait. i imagine she’s also picked up some of shepherd (a keeper of gardens), since while she’s around she can use superior land-rule to prevent the creatures of her domain from harming Frisk.

taking care of Frisk is also a shepherd arc all on its own—a mundane one, i think, although the idea of Toriel getting shepherd (sentimental) benefits around her children sounds… nice! i like the idea of Frisk living with her a while, making room for quests 1 and 2. wrestling with her conscience and ultimately, perhaps against her better judgement, letting them leave, makes a good quest 3—although i would argue it isn’t really finished until she goes to catch up with them and meet Asgore.

venturing out onto the surface, setting up a new life and new kingdom there, and making it possible to settle into that life would be suitable either as a quest 4 and 5 or as an entirely new shepherd, knight, or aspect arc.

this was… shorter than i thought it would be given how much i have to say about Toriel?

—

anyway, those are all the characters i’m doing for now! thank you for the question! ♥ ♥

#things venus said #Undertale #Chuubo's #cmwge #reflections #angst cw #manycats #i may have... missed the meaning of 'quick' here

4 notes · View notes