#to that checkpoint kicking and screaming every foot of the way. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anotherhawk · 2 years

Text

Play At War Chapter 3 - The Mechanisms fanfic

This chapter has not been cooperating and I've been trying to stay offline until I wrestled it into submission. Seem to have got somewhere. Also please note that while Jonnh is a reliable Narrator he is not necessarily a reliable narrator.

Whole story on AO3

The moonbeast was slain; the checkpoint recaptured, and in exchange for their sacrifices and violent efforts they got left to man it for the next three months. Twelve weeks with no fresh supplies, no running water, constantly under attack and with every second spent in constant darkness; their time was spent between long periods of mind-devouring boredom and welcome bloody violence.

Tim was sure he'd hated the fighting when they'd first been shipped out, all those months ago. It had been a struggle to pull the trigger knowing that there were people out there in the darkness, not just cardboard cutouts like in basic. Now he took a gun into the latrine, and kept a running tally of the deaths Lenny owed him on the butt of his favourite rifle.

One good thing came out of their posting; by the time a couple of weeks had gone by the new guys were firmly entrenched in the unit. Like a verruca maybe.

They were all a bit fucking weird, that’s what the war did. Tim had his songs, his death tally, his memory problems and his screaming nightmares. Bertie’s practical jokes had slowly moved from swapping the salt and the sugar around, to stealing a Lunar tank and driving it through the officer's showers. Amir punched officers in the dark and talked to their dead lover when he thought no one could hear him. Lamont stockpiled grenades like they were going out of style and had a necklace made of human ears.

So, sure, Jonny had no idea who the queen was and allegedly had never set foot on Earth, let alone England.

(“It can’t be that unusual,” he said, when Tim expressed incredulity. “We’re the Starborn Infantry, after all. I would have thought most people were offworlders.”

Tim had stared into the dark as though he would be able to make out Jonny’s face and see if he was joking. “Starborne. StarBORNE. Like airborne. We’re supposed to fight among the stars, not come from them!”

Jonny had struck a match, oblivious to all protests, and studied the patch on his tunic with an expression of incredulity. “Huh. You’re right. Well, fuck me.”

“In your dreams,” Tim said automatically, but their conversation was cut off by a sniper firing at the matchlight and incidentally hitting the Toy Soldier in its wooden arm.

“Jonny,” it said in a tone of great reproach. “There Is A Hole In My Coat.”

Jonny blew out the match. “Quit your fucking complaining and I’ll mend it for you.”)

And yes, the Toy Soldier apparently didn’t have a real name, and had at least two partially wooden limbs, along with whatever was going on with its face…but prosthetics were impressive these days, so maybe that was nothing to kick up a fuss over.

(“How did you lose your leg?” Bertie had dared to ask, late one night when no one could sleep through the artillery storm, drunk on alcohol made from fermented ration bars.

“I Did Not Lose It!” the Toy Soldier said, with a clink of teacup and saucer. “I Am Pleased To Report That All My Legs Are Present And Correct!”

“Um, yes, but I meant your flesh leg.”

“I Am Proud To Say I Have Never Lost Any Flesh Legs That Have Been In My Possession! Jonny Can Tell You That I Have Always Handed Them Over When Asked.”

“Except for that one time that you gave it to the Doc.”

“She Ordered Me To! I Did Not Lose It!”)

So, yes. Weird. But Jonny was the first to volunteer for any dangerous mission that passed their way, and the Toy Solder was always enthusiastic and happy to make tea, build up the barricades or anything else, and they were both always ready to join in for a singsong at the drop of a tin helmet. And they knew a lot of songs, and made up even more.

One night, with their sole respirator broken, and the pump broken they’d all had to manually pump their air supply if they wanted to keep breathing. It was exhausting, dirty work, and Tim didn’t think that they’d have made it if Jonny hadn’t started singing.

"A wiser man than I once spoke

That life at heart is all a joke

But he was not embroiled in smoke

So it's pump, me boys, before we choke

Pump, me boys, let her fly

Down to hell and up to the sky

Bend your backs and break your bones

We're a quarter million miles from home."

They went around and around, taking it in turns to improvise another verse. He had no idea how many they sang; hundreds, probably, each more ridiculous than the last, as night faded into day and back into night, as muscles tore and throats bled raw, until at last the all clear sounded and they could rest.

They’d pulled the bolsters from their cots and lain on the floor, tangled together, and with Bertie pressed against his back, the Toy Soldier curled in against his stomach and Jonny lying across their thighs, Tim had felt…something. Not ‘safe'. Not ‘happy’. Not even love, not yet, but something. Something that he wanted to hold onto. Something that made sleep come easy.

"You are fighting a war you cannot win in the name of an empire that will suck you dry and throw you away.

Your officers do not care for you.

You are going to die without ever seeing your homes again.

Your families have forgotten you.

You are lions led by donkeys. Your leaders will get you killed and replace you without a second thought.

You are trespassing on Lunar soil. You are being made criminals by a cruel imperialist power."

The Moon Kaiser's voice rang through the tunnels, domineering and sincere by turns. It had been five days now, and Tim wasn't even sure whether the broadcast was still being transmitted or if it was just echoing endlessly through his skull.

No one had been able to get more than a few minutes sleep in a three mile radius and tempers - minds - were beginning to fray. Lamont had taken to screaming ceaselessly at the mouth of the tunnel. At first they'd tried to talk him down, but more and more Tim was thinking about joining in.

"Would You Like Tea?" The Toy Soldier had come up unnoticed - easily done with all the noise.

He reached out and took the proffered mug. "Thanks." He took a sip. Pulled a face. "Is this really tea?"

"No! We Are Out Of Tea! But I Filled A Teabag With Moondust And Now We Can Pretend!"

Fuck it; moondust covered everything they ever ate or drank anyway, did it really make a difference? He took another sip. "Right then. I'll pretend it's good. Make sure Lamont drinks some okay?" All that screaming had to be killing his throat.

"Right-o, Corporal Gunpowder Tim, Sir!"

He felt it moving past him, and then a second later Lamont's screaming cut out and was replaced by a gurgling, choking sound. Ah. Fuck. Sounded like the Toy Soldier had taken his order a little too literally. Well, whatever worked.

He pressed his fingers against his eyelids, digging in, trying to push his headache back by force.

"You are going to die without ever seeing your homes again."

The Toy Soldier moved past him again and he heard its cheerful tones echoing deeper in the tunnel. "Private First Mate Jonny, Would You Like Some Moondust Tea?"

There was a dull thud, followed by the sound of a scuffle. "Fuck off and take your fucking tea with you. Actually? Go find the Kaiser and shove your teapot down his fucking throat."

"Right-o!" It started marching back in Tim's direction.

"Wait, no." Bertie sounded panicked and Tim automatically got to his feet, always alert to that tone. "Don't do that! Ignore Jonny!"

"Right-o!" it said in that same overly cheery tone and this was doing nothing to help with Tim's headache.

"You are fighting a war you cannot win in the name of an empire that will suck you dry and throw you away."

"Fuck it," he said loudly. "Let's go shut that noise up."

Jonny and the Toy Soldier cheered. Bertie laughed. Lamont continued to scream. Only Amir seemed concerned. "You're joking, right Corp? You know that thing's a trap. It's going to be surrounded by mines and snipers - Lennys just waiting for someone to come near it. And we were ordered to stay put."

"Don't care," he said cheerfully, gathering his guns, the tremor in his hands barely noticeable as he was finally doing something. "I'm going. You stay here and look after Lamont. Everyone else can make up their own minds."

"I Would Like To Be Involved!" the Toy Soldier said at once.

"What it said," Jonny added, a wild grin curled through his voice.

Bertie's hand found his. "You know I'm with you."

Two hours later found them slogging through the under-tunnels, the ones where there wasn't enough room to stand, and they had to inch forwards on their bellies, heads and rifles scraping off the rock above. It was a good thing none of them were especially large; as it was, judging by the noise of sandpaper scraping over wood he heard on occasion, he was pretty sure the Toy Soldier had needed to make adjustments to its limbs.

"You are trespassing on Lunar soil," the Kaiser's voice declared, the rocks around them reverberatingwith every word. "You are being made criminals by a cruel imperialist power."

"Fuck that," Bertie muttered from immediately behind him. "I'm a criminal out of choice, thank you."

"Yeah," Tim grunted as he struggled forwards, pretty sure that blood was now leaking out his ears. "Scrumping for apples and stealing penny sweets. My rebel."

"Oh, right, because carving 'Fuck the Queen' on the neck of your guitar is just the height of subversion," Bertie scoffed.

He flushed. It had felt that way at the time, as school children playing banned music on battered instruments. But that was a thousand years ago.

"Huh." Jonny's voice carried from up ahead. "I thought you were all gung ho for the crown."

"Never said that. Fuck the empire. No offense, TS."

"None Taken, Old Chap!"

"Oh, don't worry about offending it. It has no respect for authority, only orders. Mmm. I can smell blood from up ahead."

Tim groaned. "I wish that made the top ten of weirdest things you've said. Or even the top fifty."

But Jonny was right, as he generally was when it came to matters of blood and death. They found the remains of another squad up near the exit, torn apart by machine gun fire.

"Fuck. Poor bastards." Tim sighed. "Alright, let's get their dogtags, at least we can give them that."

"I've Got Their Tea!"

"I've got their cigarettes."

" I've got their hooch."

He sighed again. "You're all wankers...make sure to grab their ration chips too. We can sell them if we ever get back to Fort Thames."

"And this is why you're the one with the stripes, luv," Bertie said admiringly.

They were just about done with their looting when, above the sound of the Kaiser's voice, they heard boots crunching over the Lunar dust above them.

Tim reached out with both hands, drumming the same coded message onto Bertie and the Toy Soldier's arms. WAIT.

Jonny didn't wait. Jonny burst out from the tunnel with the exalted cry of a maniac who hadn't had any really good violence in almost thirty six hours. Gunshots and terrified Lunar cries rang out while Jonny laughed, chasing the Lennies down the tunnels.

Tim swore and ran after, the others on his heels. Muzzle flashes lit up the scene ahead of him; the half dozen lunarmen in their pointed helmets, Jonny a few steps behind, tin helmet gone, revolver in hand, shooting and laughing.

He'd always had good eyes. He saw the glint of metal peeking through the tunnel dust an instant before the lunarman's boot made contact with it. Just enough warning for him to turn round and throw himself desperately towards Bertie. "Get down!" he roared, and a second later everything went white as the moon exploded.

Time passed. He didn't know how much. But then Bertie was shaking him, shouting something that he couldn't grasp past the violent ringing in his ears.

"What…?" he mouthed, or maybe shouted. It didn't seem to make a difference.

The tunnel was lit by low burning fire. There was blood trickling down Bertie's face. Fear in his eyes. Tim reached up a shaky hand, trying to smooth away the concern, but then he managed to make out what Bertie was saying.

"Where are the others?"

Fuck.

He scrambled to his feet, or tried to; Bertie had to grab him round the waist to keep him from pitching over. The others. Where were the others? Jonny had been up ahead, close to the explosion (too close; he was probably...he had to be…) but the Toy Soldier had been right behind them, it should be here.

"Soldier!" he yelled out into the smoke, his voice hoarse and cracking. "Where are you?" His eyes were stinging as he screwed his eyes up, peering through the smog for that distinctive silhouette, the pointy helmet on top. "Toy Soldier!"

There was no response.

Deeper in the tunnels there was more movement. More shouting. It was safe to say that Lenny knew they were there.

"We need to get out of here," Bertie said, stumbling beside him, but he was searching too, pulling aside rubble, looking for their friends.

"You are going to die without ever seeing your homes again."

"I know," he said, bleeding hands scrabbling through rocks and splinters of wood and bone.

He could hear the Lunar soldiers shouting, voices coming closer.

"This way!"

"Watch your feet."

"You there! Quick! With us!"

"Those Tommies are still here somewhere."

"Here!" Bertie exclaimed, and Tim scrambled over, finding Bertie tugging at a boot with a belt strapped around it. Jonny.

They pulled him clear, and for a moment Tim was sure he was dead, the shadows making it look like his head was half caved in, blood all down his face. But then his eyes snapped open and he took a long, shuddering breath. "Fuck," he said with feeling.

Bertie and Tim reached out as one, hauling him to his feet, and they should be considering his injuries, but as soon as he was on his feet he was running along with them, as lasers fired all around.

He looked back. He looked everywhere. The Toy Soldier was nowhere to be found.

They made their way to the ridge overlooking the transmitter, a trail of dead bodies in their wake, and as one they drew their weapons of choice - Jonny's pistol, Tim's rifle, Bertie's railgun - and they shot up the transmitter and cut down the lunarmen who guarded it.

The Kaiser's voice crackled and squawked and died, and at long last there was silence.

The Toy Soldier was still gone.

"Maybe…" Bertie began breathlessly. "Maybe it just got lost in the confusion. Maybe when we get back to the checkpoint we'll find it waiting for us. And it'll have put the kettle on, and we can all drink whatever tea it got off the stiffs. Maybe it's fine and we can all laugh about this later."

Jonny laughed then, short and ugly. "Of course it's fine. It'll turn up, just the same as always. Trust me, there's no getting rid of it."

Filled with rage, Tim reached out and grabbed Jonny by the shirt front, slamming him back against the rock with all his strength. "Shut up! Just shut up, for once, you bastard! This was your fault. Why couldn't you just stay put?" His fingers were digging hard into Jonny's arms, and he shoved him down again. "We lost a good soldier while we were chasing after you. Don't you care?"

Beneath him, Jonny shrugged, but there was an edge to his tone. "Not really. Now get off me before I do something you'll regret."

"Tim…" Bertie sounded troubled, but Tim knew whose side he was on.

"Oh, you're so tough," he mocked. "Too tough to have friends, right? What the fuck is your problem?"

The punch shouldn't have taken him by surprise, but somehow it did, and he found himself stumbling back, the taste of blood on his lips. He threw his hands up, ready, but shockingly Jonny didn't follow up on his attack.

"The Toy Soldier is not my friend," Jonny growled. "It's my replacement."

Tim blinked. "What?"

He could hear Jonny's footsteps stalking past, back towards the tunnels. "My replacement. My sister bought it to replace me." The footsteps paused for a second. "I suppose she has more in common with our Mum than I'd previously assumed."

"Your sister bought a person?" Bertie's voice was choked. "That's terrible."

"Yes," Jonny agreed, walking on and leaving them to follow. "I have no idea why she didn't just steal it. But now here it is, and it won't leave, but it knows all the words, has the literal voice of an angel, plays half a dozen instruments and it can whistle. I can't fucking whistle, Bertie."

Tim really didn't think that was the problem here. "Jonny -"

" - and it's always happy. It's nice to people, a lot of the time anyway, and it makes the crew tea and asks how they're doing and people like it. It doesn't lash out randomly. It doesn't try to drown itself in whisky. It doesn't hole itself up in its room for decades at a time because the words won't work and they still won't stop."

He had no idea what the fuck Jonny was talking about, but he didn't care. It was all about the tone and the bitterness and he took a few quick steps, conscious of Bertie doing the same thing on Jonny's other side, and they leaned in, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip and Jonny was shaking but he didn't push them away.

"The Toy Soldier will be fine," he said.

Tim nodded, and in the dark he could picture Bertie doing the same. "Right," he agreed. "Maybe it's already made it back go the checkpoint."

It was a slow, bloody journey back to Checkpoint Bakerloo, and when they finally arrived there was no sign of the Toy Soldier. They settled in silence.

Bertie put the kettle on.

Tim carved another notch on his rifle.

Jonny lit a new cigarette from the embers of the last. "It'll be fine," he said. "It always turns up. You'll see."

#the mechanisms #gunpowder tim vs the moon kaiser #gunpowder tim #the toy soldier #jonny d'ville #my writing #the mechs #tw war #tw death

22 notes · View notes

pleasancies · 3 years

Text

Tragedy At Brineward

content : team whump, self-sacrifice, collapse, bleeding, vomiting

wordcount : 2.2k+

This one needs a lot of setup before getting into the meat of things, a lot of action scenes, I'm actually a bit worried if this counts as whump. Anyway, this is set in Heretics series. The events in this happens before First Shot. Tagging : @summer-of-whump

***

Brineward Research Facility loomed in the distance. The moon basked upon the roofs, creating a bright silhouette as Avis watched from afar. Its walls enshrined with greenery. Stone constructs overgrown with mold and moss. It spread several meters outside of the gate, a contrast with miles of dead plants around it. Hiding so far up from the institute, it doesn't took a binocular to make out the soldiers standing guard and the occasional Professors passing to and fro.

Someone tapped on her shoulder. Avis turned around, seeing a fully equipped James, with Sherman standing behind him. It wasn't a uniform by any measure, but it's something that can protect. He hold a gas mask for her. Nancy kneeled beside them, tying her shoes. Emmet sat behind Nancy, his expression deep in thought as he shuffled a deck of cards.

"Isn't it a little too early to wear your entire gear? They might spot us from here."

"Change of plans. Mary's group arrives half an hour from now."

Avis took the mask and wore it over her face. "Is it bad?" She asked.

James shrugged. "Nah. They didn't say much. How's the lab going?"

"Some of them have been working all night. I saw one going back and forth between buildings."

"They received another Wreckage?" Nancy asked.

"Not sure. Ask Sherman. He's on watch duty this afternoon."

Sherman, who sat back in front of Emmet between the stack of cards said, "If I saw a package coming I would have said it already."

"Ominous," Nancy noted.

Emmet perked up, "Anyone guessing they're reanimating the Pilots or is it just me?"

Avis chuckled, "They might as well reconstruct the entire spaceship. Flesh and all."

"Even the—"

Everyone raised their voice, voicing variations of horrified expressions to them. Nancy let out a nervous laugh. Emmet smiled and throw a card on the ground. Sherman groaned. James walked over them, lightly poking Emmet and Sherman's back with his foot.

"Come on, put your mask back on. We're going in a few minutes."

The youngest member of the team huffed a yes before shoving the cards into his pockets. The conversation goes on, plans, strategy, teasing. They traced their way back, retreating from a small corner at the top of a cliff. Along the homogenous forest and down until they arrived at a set of boulders in a hidden corner of the hill. Avis could only see the front side of Brineward now, but it's not the building they have to watch.

James leaned the radio to his ears. It buzzed. An uncomprehensible scramble.

"We're just waiting for Mary to enter the driveway now."

The Motorwagen arrives. It was a behemoth. A train of repurposed shipping containers with a chamber for the driver at the front. For something so big, it barely made a noise. It halted at the checkpoint. This is it. Everything hinges on whether Mary could sell the act. The security guard gets out of his booth. Everyone draw their breath in. A hand stretched out of the vehicle window. It gave him a paper. Avis gripped her gun. James brings out his binoculars, trying to gauge the man's expression. The fifteen seconds of him reading was unbearable. It was too long.

He let her in. Mary drives inside, but there's no collective sigh of relief to be heard. Only footsteps slowly marching to Brineward.

The plan was simple. Mary's group enter at the front. Cause a ruckus while they sneak in by crawling at the stony fence. Once they notice Mary's a distraction, they will be too busy fighting while James and his teammates navigated the path Mary had prepared for them

They were quiet, save from a few confirmations between Sherman and Nancy. A strong breeze passed through the forest, leaving a loud shrill in its wake. Minutes passed. Then a bright flash of white.

Glass shattered. Smoke billowed. Avis felt the ground shake before hearing anything. It was on left wing. Second floor, in seventh window from the right. Another bang followed, on the opposite side. Outside, close to the hybrid garden.

It's time.

James group approached the outer walls. They hold their breath as their clothes hugged the toxic mold. It crawled to their improvised plastic suits, blades of grass writhing like worms.

Nancy keep her head up, observing the windows. Her hands frantically scribbling at her notebook as the others take care of the two guards advancing at them. She was almost done when someone snatched her hand. Emmett muttered a curse and landed a kick. It wasn't enough to bring the guard to the ground, but the man was off-balance enough for Nancy to stab him in the leg. He fell, and James helped her strip him off of any communication device.

"Sector 5-6-B. All clear," James lied.

That done, they went inside the building. They've memorized the blueprints, and Mary provided them an easy entrance. They crossed path with a researcher, and he backs off as far away as possible when his eyes saw their green stained plastic apron.

"This way guys," Nancy pointed. Avis and Emmet go first, gun in hand. She hope it was unnecessary. Most people would run seeing the mold, outer guards excepted. They had their own military grade cloak to protect themself for long term exposure. The plastic cover does not compare. Their paths were cleared first so they don't run out of time.

It was a desperate plan. Research facilities had a reputation for being impossible to infiltrate. Their fences are poisonous, and their gates will always catch someone that doesn't belong.

They ventured down the hallway. It smelled of burnt cables and gunpowder. A scream erupts from the distance. Avis checked at the corners of the ceiling. Broken cameras riddled with holes. Mary's work. She shot the ones still functioning. At a hidden corner of the far end of the floor, they found a set of stairs. The bottom was relatively clean than the chaos upstairs. They're on their own for now.

Emmet went first, and he was greeted with an identical corridor of the above. Slightly darker, with thick metal doors. It was quiet sans the buzzing fluorescent lights and the drumming of their heartbeats.

"There's cameras. Should I shoot it?"

Sherman shook his head. "They'll know we're here."

"But they already watched the cameras. It's better to make them react instead of us fighting off a coordinated strike," Avis said.

"Alright, but don't waste your bullets."

A muffled shriek followed the loud bang of their pistols. Avis heard pounding from one of the doors.

"Don't do anything rash. We're covered head to toe with mold and we will not hesitate to smear it on your face," James walked around the hall, adressing the hiding researchers as if they are lined up in front of him. He couldn't mimic the slight hysterical tilt in Avis voice, but his threat are bold enough to keep the reputation of Heretics as a mad terrorist group.

Nancy chimed in, friendlier "This will be over soon if you cooperate."

Sherman reached a door on the far end of the complex. A solid block of metal work with a narrow hole to pass paperwork. His fist rapped at the door. He heard footsteps, someone rummaging.

"Open up, we know you're in here."

"No!" The person shouted. "You're all empty threats. As long as I'm here I'm safe and the soldiers are slowly making their way to you."

James mouthed a word. Hurry.

Sherman took off his cover. He crumpled it into a ball and slipped it to the door slot. It wasn't halfway in when the scientist flung his door open. He trembled in the corner of the lab. The man barely struggled as Sherman drag him by the arms.

It was worrying. Avis glanced at the other labs. That man must not be the only one. How many of them are sitting patiently with help on the way? The ceiling vibrated. A deep thunderous stampede of safeguards and panic.

"Hey, I think we should wrap this guy's head with your coat. Get it over with. He did said he called for help," Avis said, slightly louder than she should.

"Please, no! I lied, I didn't get the chance."

"Right, right. Well, you shouldn't lie to us this time. This next part is important. You're going to lead us into your special storage section, and we'll activate the traps if you try to screw us over."

Avis smiled. It was never pretty. A little too big, coupled with asymmetrical rows of teeth. The man nodded. Sherman held him as he shakily press the code for the final basement's door. They walked down a stairwell, past a lab, a warehouse, and an office. The room was small. Three set of cubicles and rows of metal racks and glass cases. They set to work. Nancy and James head to the cabinets. Emmet and Avis searched the cases. Sherman guarding their hostage.

They came here for data. Every file regarding Brineward's experiments with The Ship, barring the most sensitive. Blueprints of cutting edge technology on the shelves are a bonus.

Avis grinned. Her heart thudded with her whole body. She was jittery. They're almost done. And yet, a nagging sense of dread crept up to her senses. The room shook. Loud footsteps marching. A small buzz of the radio were barely heard. James understand either way. His face fell.

"Run! Forget about the blueprints, we got what we need!"

The Thing found them halfway near the stairs leading to the ground floor. It pounced behind them. Emmet barely escaped. His gun fell from his grasp. He practically skidded on the floor. His back hits the wall, hard.

They all turned to look. They only glimpsed at the creature, but its form burned into their minds. A man, kneeling. His thighs and arms swollen with muscle. Sharp, gigantic teeth forcing his mouth to a permanent scowl. He had a wolf-like snout. Mostly humanoid, except for the peculiar haunted look in his face. Driven by adrenaline, Sherman shot him. It wake Nancy out of her stupor to run for Emmet.

"Come on, run! Don't pass out on me."

His shoulders hissed in pain as he tried to stand. Emmet staggered, one good push away from collapsing. The Thing gets up again, chunks of flesh missing from his face.

No time to waste. Avis threw a grenade. Nancy and Sherman had to practically hauled Emmet to the top of the stairs. They covered their ears and eyes as they run. The blast rippled through the basement.

A rap of frantic footsteps closing in on them. The Thing lets out a primal scream. An angry, deep red husk of a person.

A rain of bullets hit him. Wasn't an accurate shot, but it slowed him down. The group went outside, climbing and walking in detours and unlikely places to distract it. The Thing found them nevertheless. Again and again. James threw his last hand bomb. They slipped in an alleyway between two buildings.

"What the fuck is that and how did it find us so quickly?" Nancy shrieked between gasps of breath.

"I think it's the smell. It had a dog's nose. We can't hide as long as it knows our scent," James said.

"B-but we burned him twice! It must be dead by now."

"I'm not sure. The thing barely looked like it was in pain," Emmett leaned against the wall. His dark hair slick with blood. It flowed throughout one side of his face. His eyes are wide, terror transfixed to his expression. Avis could see the slight tremor running through his body. It made him look small. A young boy realizing his mortality for the first time.

The exit is still a long way to go, possibly guarded. They wasted most of their bullets.

Avis spoke up, "We should split up. James, you took Emmet. Nancy you're with Sherman."

"No, never!" James raised his voice. "I'm not letting you run alone. This thing could kill you."

"This is our best chance. I could be bait, while you and Nancy grab your files and scram. It can't chase us all. The worst outcome would be two of us coming back with fifty-percent of the data."

"This isn't about the mission. It's about you! The mission doesn't matter if one of us bite it in the end."

"I'm not letting the four of you die for me! Face it, one of us had to go."

"Then it has to be me." James said. His voice thick with emotion, "I'm the leader. I brought you all into this."

Avis hitched her breath. Her thoughts ran into a thousand directions. Words spilled from her mouth. "No. You-you're useful. You had a wife and kids. Emmett's still young. Nancy is smart, she's valuable asset. Sherman have to take care of his mother alone."

"What?"

"I said what I said. You're all more valuable and important."

Nancy pushed Avis to the wall, hoisting her up by the collar, "Since when did you have the right to judge how valuable our life is?!"

She didn't wait for a reply. "You matter. Just as much as me. You have a mother just like Sherman. What about her, huh? I don't care about the mission anymore. Don't do this."

"My mother's fine. She had my siblings. Heretic will go on without me. I'm-I'm not needed." Avis voice were hollow. Nancy dropped her to the ground, too stunned to process.

James turned to look at Sherman. His brows furrowed. He saw a pale face, sweat beaded on Sherman's forehead.

"You've been quiet. Are you—"

Sherman collapsed. His eyes rolled back, knees buckling. James caught him in a hug. Vomit splattered on the pavement. A slurry of blood red, yellow bile, and mossy green. The rampaging monster's roar could be heard from a distance.

"Please, keep them safe." Avis said. None of them stopped her as she charged her way further and further from the exit.

Next Chapter

#summer of whump #team whump #self sacrifice #collapse #bleeding #emeto cw #guns cw #whump series #whump fic #summerofwhump13

4 notes · View notes

wiseautumn · 4 years

Text

Becoming a Runner

Over 5 years ago, I got it in my head that I needed to run. No, it was not something I was good at, or ever did. I mean, I ran to the fridge. I ran into a store. BUT I had never laced up my sneakers with the intent to run for an extended period of time. I signed up to run a mile race to raise money for a good cause. I was excited, and deep down in my heart, I felt that I could run lightning fast. I put on the t-shirt that was provided to all registered runners. I laced up my sneakers, that were only worn because they were cute. I was READY. I was excited. Stretching commenced. I ignored the fact that I could not touch my toes. I ignored all the naked legs and tinny shorts. I was eager to get this done. I was going to be faster than the speed of light. Now, let me just say, i had never, ever, ever, run for any extended period of time. I had never run 400 meters, let alone a mile, but that was not going to stop me. I continued to stretch and kick my knees up with the best of them. I was winded before the race even began. Time seemed to halt on its way to the start time. But I stayed focused.

Finally, start time had arrived. The national anthem played on, and I held on to my heart and watched the crowd as our patriotism and eagerness was one. I got my watch ready to track my race, so I can see how fast I could run a mile (with no training, no previous experience, no worries). I WAS READY....ON YOUR MARK, GET SET...GO!!!

The first three seconds a ran...lightning fast...eager to stay with the front runners. Eager to not let the huge crowd behind me catch up. The downhill pulled me forward, and i felt my legs render crazy arcs that made me feel like I was flying and might just face plant. Just keep pushing, the finish line is just around the corner. Well, I turned the corner, and hit an uphill, not the finish line. Anyone who tells you that a mile race is short is a liar!

I was winded. I was nauseous. My legs were shaking, and I did not know how far away the finish line really was. How far had I gotten? How much more did I have to push? Then, my lungs started to fight me. I started to cough. People started to ask if I was ok. I shrugged them off with laughter, and a smile, YEAH GREAT! But, inside, I was dying. I knew I had to walk it out. I fought back tears. I fought back the urge to quit. I had 5- and 6-year olds running past me in a full sprint. I had 70-year olds jogging past me comfortably. I was dying inside. I felt like a failure.

I cursed...a lot! I sneered at other runners that past me by. I yelled at myself. After each turn, waiting to see the finish line and being confronted with yet another uphill, I felt my will to keep going dwindle.

I do not know what the time clock said as I crossed the finish line that day. I do not remember what my pace was when it was all said and done. I did, however, achieve something that day. I promised myself that I would RUN a race. I would train and get ready. I would be a RUNNER! That is exactly the moment that I became a full-fledged runner.

The next day, I got up and went for a run. Everything hurt and I hated every minute of it. For months, I hated how “slow” I was. How winded and unfit I felt with every foot fall.

5 years later, and here we are. On November 1, 2020, I was supposed to get up and run the NYC Marathon. It was supposed to be my first NYC Marathon, and my second marathon to date. The NYC Marathon was going to celebrate 50 years! I was excited, until COVID ran its own race, and life got cancelled. But I didn’t stop training and I did not give up. I signed up to run virtually and made a pact with myself (and maybe the devil) that I would do it alone and cross the virtual finish line on November 1st.

26.2 miles of waves, wrong turns, uphills, cheers, and tears. My sneaker pounded pavement for over 5 hours. I was not going to quit, even when my legs felt numb and my hip flexors were screaming. My cheer squad, that I convinced to meet me at certain checkpoints in case I needed anything, asked me if I was ok. For the first ten miles, I was honestly OK. I felt good. I was excited...I was running too fast! I did not know it at the time, but I was moving faster than my planned pace, and I would be paying for it greatly. I went from Queens to Brooklyn back into Queens with a pace that was more along the pace for a 10K. I was running on adrenaline, and I was lost in the surroundings. Crossing over the Kosciuszko Bridge, and seeing the city skyline. My heart filled with pride. I kicked a little harder. I pushed a little faster. I was burning through my reserve tank and I was not even 5 miles in yet!

By the time I was back in Flushing, my legs were starting to burn. I was starting to realize; I went out way to fast. I knew where my finish line was, and I knew I had a long way to go. I fueled up. I stayed hydrated. Knowing that my cheer squad was counting on me and gave up their morning to follow me around, made me keep going. I had moments that reminded me of that first mile race. I was nauseous. I was tired. My lungs burned. I wanted to quit a thousand times. But I HAD TO KEEP GOING. I knew how far I had to still go, but my legs were on fire. My brain was a buzz with what turn came next.

By mile 20, I was lost in the maze of Flushing Meadows Corona Park. I could see the Unisphere and knew that my family was waiting to see me cross the finish line. I pushed. I walked. I cursed. I had a long conversation with myself. For 20 weeks, I had trained for this. For 20 weeks, my life had been about running 26.2 miles. Not about how fast I could do it but DOING IT! Queens is my home; I know the turns well. I know how far I had left. Other runners waved and gave me the thumbs up. People smiled and cheered me on. Dogs ran up to me and greeted me with excitement. I kept going!

Why am I sharing this with you? Living takes grit. Accomplishing your goals is like running a marathon. You have to stay the course. You have to curse at yourself and listen to the internal dialogue. When your legs are on fire, you push a little harder. When you hit an uphill, swing those arms. Talk yourself through the hard. When you cross the finish line, let it wash over you. Enjoy that moment. Look around you. See what you did!

I run because it is my happy place. Some folks go to church, I go to run. I am at peace in those moments. I smile at cute dogs. I wave to fellow runners. Some days are fast and easy. Some days, I dread every step. But, when I am done, I am centered and ready to be fully me, immersed in what the day holds. Running is for me. For my body. For my mind. Running is the one sport that has provided me with support, camaraderie and endless goals for a happier and healthier version of me. I have met the most amazing people. I run with the most caring and supporting crew. If I knew this on that day 5 years ago, I may have cursed a little less. I may have pushed a little harder. But I wouldn’t change a thing. Life is a marathon, fuel up and stay hydrated folks!

#2020NYCMarathon Iamamarathoner Iamrunnin runningisntcancelled marathoner queensdistancerunners runningislife babyelephantsteps running2020

4 notes · View notes

starlightshowtimeproductions · 4 years

Text

Double Feature Fatality!

Shu-hua Chiu falls out of the sky. Her feet hit the stage beneath her with a resounding thud. She barely sticks the landing, her whole body shaking from the reverb she felt. A less experienced martial artist may have fallen over, but she takes the pain with gritted teeth. She reaches for her cane, only to find nothing but air.

“Alright…” She’d have to stand on her own, then.

It looks as though she’s been dropped onto a stage, right in the center for everyone to see. A large projector screen has been pulled down behind her. Not knowing where to go, she takes an uncertain step towards it.

The lights shut off. The chugging of an old-fashioned film reel echoes in the theater. A video plays on the screen, gray and grainy like something taken out of the 30s with all the cracks and discoloration to match. Black spots dot the footage in random places, but they don’t hurt its legibility. It’s a video of a fight between two women.

Two oddly familiar women...identical to the one watching their duel, save for the gi on one of them. She watches their swings and punches—how they don’t quite seem to hit with full force, how they barely dodge each other’s hits in time. The choreography’s tight without much room for error. As Shu-hua takes it all in, she realizes what she’ll have to do. This is for her to copy.

Light floods the theater once more. She’s not sure if the other Shu-hua walked onto the stage in the darkness or just materialized. It doesn’t matter. Shu-hua mirrors her doppelganger, adopting the proper stance just as she does. Just as in the video, her clone runs towards her. Shu-hua steps out of the way. She spins, bringing out her leg for a high kick that makes her scream from the effort.

At the very least, she hasn’t missed her beat. Throughout it all, she follows the choreography to the letter. She throws punches that bring tears to her eyes, she weaves out of the path of kicks that would’ve sent her to her knees, and she makes it all look good. If she wasn’t fighting to her death, this would be a beautiful performance.

Once their fight reaches its conclusion, the theater goes dark. A new video plays. This time, they’re holding swords and the real Shu-hua’s holding a hand over her heart as she watches. Her breathing is labored, every gasp of air rattling her on the inside. Her muscles ache. Her joints are protesting even though she’s not doing much more than standing at this point. She… Swordplay? Can she handle something like that in her current state?

She’ll have to try. The video ends. The lights come on, like they did last round. Another Shu-hua stands before her, her sword in hand. The same weapon instantly appears in Shu-hua’s hand. It wouldn’t be a fair and accurate fight if she didn’t have one, too. She counts in her head, syncing every number to the choreography she’ll have to complete.

The fight begins. Shu-hua strikes with her sword. She parries. Shu-hua moves her blade away. She goes in for a hit that gets blocked. They’re interlocked for two seconds before trading dodges and blows. It’s graceful, and so much of Shu-hua is agony as she goes through the motions.

She missteps. Her doppelganger’s sword cuts at her side, ripping straight through her jacket and drawing blood. Shu-hua returns with a swing different from the choreography. She needs to gain an advantage here—

Electricity shoots through her. Shu-hua collapses with a yell. Her clone freezes, watching Shu-hua through narrowed eyes. They’ve still got another fifteen, maybe twelve seconds to go.

No deviations allowed.

“I get it…”

Shu-hua gets back up. She points her sword at her doppelganger.

Back to the fight. There’s a couple of times where she’s too slow. She stumbles. But she makes it through. Her clone disappears, and Shu-hua’s left alone on the stage to catch her breath. How many more fights would she have to complete? Every breath she takes feels worse than the last. Everything’s burning now. Her lungs. The slice across her stomach…

The theater goes dark. A new video plays, titled “Final Sequence.” It’s a routine that starts with a cartwheel to the left. Then, more acrobatic fighting. If she focuses, she can do it. She knows she can. Once the video ends and the lights come back on and her doppelganger’s staring her down, Shu-hua gets right into it.

She launches herself into the cartwheel, her arms shaking.

She falls over.

The wound on her stomach opens wide. Her blood spills, but she gets up one last time.

...Only to fall again.

It’s over for her.

Shu-hua dies, under her shadow’s unfeeling eye.

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

[ SECURE THE PREMISES ]

It happens in the blink of an eye. A new scenery. A new 'set'.

Chopped grass stretches out, as if trimmed to some perfect short height. In front of Alisa is an obstacle course, reminiscent perhaps of something found in a military or police academy. Even from this far, she can see a sign in the distance. Finish. If she makes it... then maybe...

Her first step is shaky, but it moves forward. Where else is there for her to go? What else is there for her to do?

The smooth slope upwards is the first checkpoint. It'll be hard to maintain your footing but it's possible, if she just perseveres. Nervous steps turning into running footfalls as she attempts to scale the arcing ramp. However, rather than the sleek surface one would expect, a myriad of small spikes coat both the ground and the rails. Alisa stumbles and struggles to find her footing as both hands hit the ramp, pricking them both. Still, she perseveres. With a shuddering breath, she digs her fingers in and pulls herself to the top of it, basically sliding down the other side. That's sure to bruise. It doesn't matter. She can keep going.

Next is a net to climb. It's obvious even from here it's snagged with small pointed needles and blades. But the only way is up. Each step up the net is grueling, each one tearing into her skin subtly, knees, fingers, thighs. She exerts herself to stop herself from getting stuck. Still, she perseveres. Her vision dizzies as she stands atop, ready to jump down into ice cold water. With a deep breath, she leaps and sputters upon hitting the surface. She hits it bad, leg in agony, body in pieces, but any screams are muffled by bubbling water. She barely manages to splash her way to shore. Thankfully, it's shallow.

It's not a surprise when the third checkpoint is a sandpit underneath barbed wire. Ragged breaths come out of her tired mouth as she gets onto her hands and knees and prepares to . Does she need to do it this way? Couldn't she just escape? Why go along with a cruel course like this? Honestly, she hasn't thought about it. Maybe that's why she's in this mess. If she could only think critically. Wire cuts and curls around her, further shredding her skin. She bites her lip as she struggles; so many scratches, both deep and shallow have cut into her face so much red is beginning to colour her vision.

Still. She perseveres. Each crawl towards completion has her snagged on another piece of wire. She grabs at the ground, she grabs at the barbed wire as her vision blurs. Disgustingly, bravely, in the most unrefined fashion, Alisa struggles towards her goal, tears pooling in her eyes. Is it regret? Pain? It doesn't matter anymore. The water stings at her wounds as she digs in her nails and completes the crawl, her left leg dragging behind pathetically.

What she's always wanted is ahead of her. The finish line. The police academy exam she failed. The father she had disappointed. The studio filled with people she'd let down. It was all building to this moment. Blood is pouring from her wounds, onto the ground as she limps to the door. Alisa, pulls it open and... a brilliant light... and laughter... she smiles at the thought of succeeding.

Bang!

A shot rings out and goes right through her chest. Ah. Of... course. There was no way it'd end any other way, right? She was stupid for believing anything otherwise. It's all fuzzy after that. Her lightheaded corpse teeters over and hits the ground, blood pool out from the sudden gunshot. Still... she perse...v...

Her hand reaches for something, anything. Any hope. Any support. "I ... j... ju... s... wanted... t..."

It falls to the ground by her side, a pained expression left on her face as the laugh track goes on. The defeated, bruised, broken and bloodied corpse of Alisa Belikova lays there.

For it was a joke, wasn't it?

To think it could end any other way.

#Chapter 3 #Trial Execution #Trial

4 notes · View notes

imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

chivalry is dead (8)

A/N: PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS!!! — also if i’ve missed any warnings, please please please let me know!!! this chapter’s a doozy, and i don’t know everything that could be construed into something that might upset someone, so please let me know if you think there’s something i’ve missed so i can update this chapter and make sure it’s tagged in future chapters! or if i've worded any of them wrong!

anyway, im so stoked for this chapter y’all wouldn’t even bELIEVE. you also finally get to see how much i adore the em-dash, ‘cause there are 33 in this chapter Alone

WARNINGS: Sympathetic Deceit, panic, panic attack!!, scarring/scars, past fights, loneliness, isolation, self-hatred/self-deprecation, self-isolation, swearing/cursing, curses, death threats, thoughts of ducking out, public torture (implied), argument (no yelling but Hardcore Debates)

WORDS: 9752 (it.,,.s,.s so su fkcing l ong .,,. ,. ., akshdlgasf sorry im so proud of myself bc i rarely ever write single chapters this long and im screaming)

PAIRINGS: I. am so fucking proud to say. that there’s a lil’ Prinxiety, Anxciet, and Roceit. more Prinxiety than the other two, but that’s because Roman’s doing all the legwork in this chapter

MASTERPOST

AO3 link!

@starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda@askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil

enjoy!!! love y’all so much <3 <3 <3 <3

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

Virgil didn’t think the first quest he’d have through Roman’s Imagination would involve trudging through a sewer line.

He pulled his hood tighter around his face, trying to block out the scent but leaving a hole just barely wide enough to see Deceit and the Thief walking in front of him, leading every step with the ball of his foot and basically tip-toeing through the cobblestone tunnel. The Thief had led him and Deceit around some roads too fast to follow, instructed them to put their hoods up and hide as much of their faces as they could until they breached the town’s defense wall, and to do that, they’d have to follow one of the paths beneath one of the two river branches. Underground and not seen. They were on the run from the guards, after all; Virgil agreed that getting caught would throw a wrench in absolutely everything.

Deceit was a little more careless. Virgil kinda wanted to kick him for it, actually. For someone so concerned about what was best for Thomas the real person, Deceit seemed very nonchalant about the whole “Roman, Creativity, might be gone forever” situation.

Roman was NOT gone forever.

Holy shit, Roman was gone.

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled, covering his mouth with his hood. The realization was coming in waves, slapping him with the ice cold knowledge that they’d demoralized Roman so much he’d basically ducked out. He’d done more than ducked out. He was fucking dead.

Calm down time, he could hear Patton’s voice in the back of his head start counting one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

“Virgil. Are you coming?” Deceit said.

Virgil looked up to see Deceit and the Thief both stopped and standing a few paces in front of him, waiting. While Deceit just watched with his mouth pressed in a line, the Thief looked more concerned.

Was that concern? Virgil couldn’t tell. He just nodded, not removing the hood from his mouth or taking any further steps forward, but it seemed that his approval was enough to placate the both of them.

The Thief turned back around, continuing to lead. “Sorry. I know it’s dismal down here, but this’ the safest passage out of the city,” his fingers trailed along the right wall, making a soft scraping sound as the leather rubbed against the stone. “We’re almost out.”

Deceit was trailing right behind the Thief, close enough that his cloak’s flapping was gently hitting his shins. It seemed best to stick close to their guide, especially in as confusing a situation as this one. Plus he may be able to learn some more about the Pandora’s box that they’d opened when interrupting this death fight nonsense. He actually kept trying to grab the Thief’s hand, something to guide (not comfort), but he kept missing. Or the Thief was dodging. But no, no way would he be doing that.

They turned another corner and the Thief held up a hand, stopping Deceit and Virgil behind himself. Neither of them opened their mouths, but he still shushed quietly and turned to face the wall. It looked like dirt and stone like all the rest of the walls. The Thief said something, not to either of them but himself. Deceit leaned forward, hand outstretched, but Virgil swatted it away.

He also ignored the glare Deceit shot him. “What?” Deceit taunted quietly, “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Fuckin’ liar,” Virgil grumbled into his hood, muffled enough that neither of the others could hear what he said.

Deceit heard that he said something, though, and smirked. It was always rewarding to watch Virgil squirm, especially since….

His smirk fell and was replaced with a sigh. The path to hell was paved in good intentions, after all.

The Thief stepped back, causing Virgil and Deceit to jump. They hadn’t noticed that he’d set a few fires — there were a few wicks embedded in the stone — and the glittering golden flames formed a circle in the wall. In the circle, where there used to be wall, was a hole leading to the outside world. Virgil could definitely see grass out there.

He followed the Thief as he stepped through the opening and out into the grass. “C’mon. And stop arguing, I can hear your eyebrow muscles moving,” he said.

Both Deceit and Virgil stopped, casting wary glances at each other before following again. The Thief didn’t look at them at least, but that just made it even more confusing as to how he knew they’d been shooting each other death glares for the whole sewer trip.

Ah, well. Nothing in this realm made much sense, anyhow. Virgil looked up, squinting at their surroundings. They were definitely out of the city. Behind them was the looming city wall, definitely over four stories tall and seemingly impenetrable. The hole they’d exited from was closed, small wisps of smoke rising from where the Thief had extinguished the spell’s flames.

And speaking of which, apparently there was a Roman who was a witch or something. Logan was right about the magic in this world, then. That was another thing he’d have to be wary about. Are you ever so stressed that you’re calm? Oh, worm.

Virgil snorted to himself and rubbed his face. The memes, they’d ruin him one day.

Deceit cast him a curious look, but disregarded it before Virgil noticed. They didn’t have the time nor expendable energy for animosity. Not here, and not with the stakes so high. He was trying his best to not antagonize Virgil — okay, but come on, it was just so easy!

To their left was the river, though it was more like a stream as it cut through a grate in the wall and along the grassy expanse towards the forest. The Thief seemed to be following it, humming a tune as he pushed around reeds and tall grass. To his credit, the Thief seemed less stressed now that they were out of the city; he was swaying, even, to the song he was humming.

“Thief,” he stopped humming when Deceit interrupted him, “You live in the tree, in the forest, correct?”

“I do. You’ve seen it?” the Thief looked over his shoulder at Deceit quickly.

“Yes. When we arrived in this world, we were in a patch of grass in the forest. Your tree was our first checkpoint.”

Deceit moved the reeds in front of him away with his hands. Crickets were chirping out here, the water glittering golden as the sun lowered behind them. Sunset would be happening soon.

It seemed everything shone gold, here.

“Like a video game?” the Thief asked, humor laced through his voice.

Deceit sighed. “That was Virgil’s idea.”

“Hey—!”

“It was a good one,” the Thief cut him off, waving a hand at Deceit without looking at him. “The concept of checkpoints isn’t just a video game thing. Any story has constants, things that’re always there to help the reader place themselves into the story and understand how things flow. My tree’s always been that, so we’ve always got somewhere we’re…,” he trailed off, then chuckled. “Rooted to.”

“Booo,” Deceit groaned, ignoring Virgil’s quiet snickering, “Patton would approve.”

The Thief winced. He stopped walking — they were halfway to the forest, following the river — and pointed two red fingers at them both. “I should warn you, watch out whose names you say. You never know who’s listening.”

Deceit shot a panicked and confused look right at the Thief’s back. He turned to Virgil and found his expression mirrored on the anxious side’s face, both not liking the implications of that statement.

They turned back to the Thief, who had just turned around and continued walking. Virgil cleared his throat first.

“What do you mean by that….?”

“There’s a curse on your guys’ names. Logan, Patton, Virgil, Deceit,” the Thief’s voice was light, airy, as though he didn’t particularly care. “If you say it, everyone hears it, knows where it was said and who said it. I don’t really care but, well. I would prefer not having too many uninvited guests tonight.”

“O….kay.” Deceit cleared his throat and shook out his hands, a little more frustrated now with that knowledge. He would have to ask more about that later — there were so many things they didn’t know about, that they needed to approach, but he couldn’t keep dropping things for others. “But….more on the tree. How old is it?”

Make the Thief finish a train of thought. Virgil raised an eyebrow at Deceit, who nodded. That was their gameplan. Milk him for information, on anything, because at this point, anything was helpful.

He clapped happily, Deceit noted, walking with a slight pep in his step as his thoughts were redirected toward his tree. “It was formed before this challenge. Roman made it, actually, back when Thomas was a kid and wanted a treehouse he could escape into. When….we feel like we want to be alone, it’s where we go, so it was fitting that I’d move into it once this challenge started.”

Virgil sped up a little, to catch up enough to walk inline with Deceit. No point in bringing up the rear the farther they got from the city. “You see this whole situation as a challenge? Like, the battle royale situation.”

The Thief waved a hand as the incline changed, entering the forest. “Something like that, yeah. Mostly we’re all fighting about what we think is best for Roman.”

Deceit and Virgil shared a look. They remembered the Playwright’s words, about maintaining order. It was easy, in the euphoria of finding Roman, to forget that all of these forms had ulterior motives.

Briefly, Deceit considered what the Playwright’s ulterior motive was. He hadn’t mentioned having one, but it was in his nature to not trust that sort of silence.

“What do YOU think is best?” Virgil asked as they both turned back to the Thief.

He didn’t turn to look at them, holding out a hand as a small bluejay — where the fuck did the bird come from?! — landed on his hand. The Thief whistled quietly at it, and it chirped back, and flew away.

They could see a sliver of his face, drawn up in a small smile, expression strained even as they couldn’t see it.

“....Stay in the Imagination. For forever.”

There was a pause.

Deceit was watching the back of the Thief’s head, eyebrow raised and glare frozen. That was a twist. No, no it wasn’t. He should have seen this coming — the others’ letting him stay locked in his room would definitely send the message that they didn’t care if he came out. Of course.

He glanced at Virgil, only to find the anxious side glaring absolute daggers at the Thief’s head. He wanted to duck out (quack). Son of a bitch, there was a part of Roman that wanted to duck out (quack).

Virgil was gonna scream.

Deceit made a gesture, and Virgil’s hand clamped over his mouth. He shot daggers at Deceit, who did his best to only focus on the Thief.

“That doesn’t sound healthy,” Deceit said, voice quiet.

“I don’t remember asking your opinion, little white lie,” the Thief grunted as he climbed over a particularly thick root.

He shot Deceit a quick glare before disappearing around it. His hand stuck out and motioned them both to follow. Virgil punched Deceit’s arm with his other hand and Deceit sighed, letting up so Virgil could speak.

“That wouldn’t benefit anyone,” Virgil hissed, dread laced through his voice as he held back as much of his panic as he could. He and Deceit both cringed when his Tempest Tongue slipped out, though.

They climbed over the root, Virgil first and giving Deceit a sharp kick in the side as he did so. Deceit hissed, and slapped Virgil’s back.

The Thief watched them both with a glare as they appeared over the root.

virgil could definitively say that the Thief was one of the parts of Roman that he didn’t like. He was squirrely, too ready to judge and too eager to cut ties, and Virgil didn’t see what a center-stage hog like Roman would gain from losing his audience. It was counterintuitive.

But maybe it was tied to ducking out. Who fucking knows.

The Thief’s expression seemed to let up, but he looked away again, continuing up the hill. “You, too, Dark Knight.”

They followed for while in silence, until Deceit asked, voice softer, “And what if you’re wrong?”

Now the Thief stopped. His shoulders were stiff, as though he had half a mind to tell them to shut up, or even to turn them back. Virgil opened his mouth, but Deceit held out a hand, shaking his head. Let him think.

Eventually, he slumped, tilting his head back and exhaling. “That’s the point of breaking Roman apart,” his voice was strained, “We need to piece him back together into something more, ah….I’m bad at wording, but something more indestructible.”

That was what he had suspected. Deceit sighed, lowering his arm and approaching the Thief’s back. Carefully, he rested his hand on his shoulder, giving him one tug to turn around and ignoring how stiff the Thief turned. The forest around them was darkening, and red light from the setting sun streamed in around them.

A harsh breeze swept through the opening. Virgil held his cloak tight around himself and looked around. The fear of bears was definitely more real now. But Deceit was unfazed. He held the Thief’s arm tight, even though it was limp in his grip.

He wasn’t going to lose Roman over something so….well, for lack of a better word, trivial.

“No one’s perfect, Thief. Everyone’s got flaws and denying yours might result in,” Deceit paused, trying to phrase this without revealing his exact thoughts, “Unwanted consequences.”

The Thief’s eyes were cast down, at the ground. His entire body was rigid, as though Deceit’s hand had frozen him upon touch.

Had he always looked so defeated? Held a darkness in those eyes just as bright as the shine that comes when spinning a yarn or acting in a play?

Deceit glanced at Virgil, then back at the Thief. How had they let this happen?

He shrugged Deceit’s hand off with a sharp shake, still refusing to look at him. “Yeah. It probably will. And, once you’re all out of here, you won’t have to deal with those flaws again.”

Deceit’s eyebrows shot up, hand curling into a fist at his side as he argued in the only way he could. The Thief didn’t care?! “It’ll hurt HIM, and it doesn’t matter who wins this stupid challenge. You understand that, right?”

“Yeah,” the Thief barked out a laugh, “I’ll take your word for it, Silver Tongue.”

He continued forward, not checking that they were following.

Deceit’s hands were curled into tight fists at his sides, shaking slightly. That went against all of his work. All of his and the other Sides’ wor, too! Trying to save Roman, for him to snap back and self-destruct like this.

It was going to hurt THOMAS, didn’t Roman understand that?

Did he WANT that?!

He huffed, eyes fixed on a dandelion growing in the grass. It did make sense, it was a long time coming — of course, what an oversight on his part, to allow this isolation to extend for so long—

“Hey, breathe,” Virgil’s whisper brought him back to focus, “C’mon.”

Virgil’s hand wrapped around one of Deceit’s, coaxing his hand open with practised understanding and gripping tight. “Don’t panic. That’s my job.”

Deceit cast him a sidelong glare.

Virgil shrugged, lips pursed, but a thin smile still present. He swung their arms up, then down again, and tugged him along. Deceit could feel him taking away some of his anxieties. There was no doubt that it was unhealthy, for Virgil to be roiling in everyone’s panic, but he couldn’t help but also being thankful as Virgil squeezed his hand in small pulses, tugging him along after the Thief.

After about a minute, he exhaled.

“Thank you,” Deceit murmured, eyes downcast.

Virgil glanced at him.

They could do this. Deceit swung their arms, and Virgil let out an exasperated sigh.

He was definitely still high strung, but they could do this.

But the Thief still wanted to leave.

Deceit pressed his lips together as he felt Virgil physically stiffen, the thought kicking him back into the reality. Which, in and of itself, was ironic, because the Imagination was super duper not reality.

“Thief,” he didn’t turn towards them, “You want to duck out.”

It wasn’t a question. Virgil was glaring at the Thief’s back, eyes a little wide.

Something was ringing in his ears. That’d been his fear — that’d been Virgil’s actual, personal fear for this whole endeavor. It’d just been confirmed.

The Thief stepped over a particularly large root, waving his right arm out towards the forest. “Of course. You’re necessary. Anxiety needs to have a seat at the table, yeah. You keep him out of trouble.”

He kicked a rock and hopped over another root. “We don’t. Uncreative people’re out in the world everywhere. Thomas can live without us, or with us muted.”

Oh my goodness gracious, Virgil was so glad Logan wasn’t there to hear that leap of logic. He couldn’t help the growing disgust on his face.

Deceit squeezed his hand again, but the Thief continued. “Getting to spend all our time here, in a world of our own creation? Win. You all get to go about running Thomas without getting annoyed by us all the time? Win. It’s a double win. A win-win.”

Virgil stood up straight, finally letting go of Deceit’s hand to gesture angrily at the Thief’s back. He seethed, throwing his arms into the air and shaking his tightly-gripped fists at the sky. It was like talking to a brick wall! An incredibly stubborn and narrow-minded brick wall who didn’t seem to have any critical thinking!

Maybe he should call it quits. He squatted, wrapping his arms around his head to block out the sunlight, trying to calm down again.

“Virgil.”

No, no, that wasn’t what he did. If Roman was stubborn, then Virgil was immovable, and he was gonna get his idiot back.

A hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him upward. Virgil swatted away at it, growling quietly into his own arms.

“Virgil, get up,” Deceit’s voice was barely audible over the blood pounding in his ears, “Or he’s gonna walk away.”

He nodded, exhaling into the ball he was curled into.

Let go. Let go of the damn worries.

“Virgil. Listen to my voice. Perhaps we cannot convince him, not alone and not tonight, but we can at least stay with him. Give him options.”

He’d trained himself to not listen to Deceit, who’d lied and manipulated his way around Thomas’ head. But, just this once….

Virgil nodded again and stood upright slowly, knees creaking and popping. They could do this.

Deceit patted his shoulder and motioned forward. The Thief was already a few yards ahead, but not out of sight just yet.

They both hurried after him.

Until he stopped.

The Thief’s shoulders slumped in relief as he finally spotted his tree in the distance. His pace quickened, jogging himself across the few meters between where he stood and the tree, and was followed by the other two Sides. Once they reached the tree, the Thief placed a hand against its side, running it along the bark slowly. As though greeting a friend.

“Welcome home,” he hummed, smiling up at the canopy.

He searched in his pocket and pulling out a lighter — a regular modern lighter, wasn’t there supposed to be a medieval theme or something?! That was MULTIPLE ITEMS— Deceit squinted at it, opening his mouth in an offended fashion. He was going to say something about that, because it was pretty unfair that he got to have something so modern while everyone else was relegated to objects that were period accurate, but Virgil elbowed him in the side.

The Thief, who was pressing the lighter to the black chalk, swirling the flame along the “door” opening, didn’t seem to notice. Virgil honestly just wanted to see what this magic was all about. Once he was done drawing the circle, he stepped back and held a hand out, pushing Deceit and Virgil back, too. “Open sesame,” he said with a grin.

All of the black chalk was alight, glowing gold from the flame. The Thief held a hand out for the drawn-on handle, and as soon as his hand got within an inch it glowed golden itself. The chalky text lit up red. He slowly turned the handle, now filling his hand with an amorphous golden light, and pushed the door open.

It swung easily, as though on invisible hinges.

The Thief smiled as the scent of home wafted over him. He took a deep breath, it’d been a long day, he was home, he was safe, and he turned to Deceit and Virgil.

Both of the other Sides were staring at the thick hole in the tree, mouths open slightly and eyes open much more. There wasn’t much to see inside the door, as there was a small staircase leading up to the actual living quarters, but the fact that the fairly solid tree opened was something. Neither of them had seen the magic in Roman’s kingdom, after all, and while they knew this was what happened….seeing it was a much different experience.

It was kind of humorous, actually. To think that he’d be bringing other Sides into his little sanctuary.

It felt….nice.

Shut up, shut up with that romantic bullshit.

“Are you coming?” he asked, cocking his lips into a smirk as he waved them in.

Virgil snapped out of it first, surprisingly. He shook his head and nodded. “Yeah. ‘Course.” He elbowed Deceit, who jumped and nodded so vigorously his hat fell off.

The Thief caught it, hand shooting out, and blinked at himself. And then he laughed.

His demeanor had flipped almost at the exact moment they got to the tree. He wasn’t curled inwards, dancing around words and ideas. No, here he was, his laugh light, airy and carefree, something that he didn’t seem capable of prior. A few birds in the forest even chirped along. One cardinal landed on his head, whistling with him, and he didn’t seem to mind.

Virgil and Deceit shared a look, both equally blushing. This was a stark change and their glum guide was kinda cute.

The bird thing was textbook Disney prince too, like, how did he even —

“Alright,” the Thief brushed off the hat, lips quirked in a small smile, “Enough fucking around, c’mon.”

He put the hat back onto Deceit’s head, hands carding through Deceit’s hair as he did so. If the Thief noticed how much redder he got, then he didn’t let on, because he turned around as soon as the hat was on snug.

Virgil noticed, though. He pressed the butt of his palm to his mouth, stifling a laugh as the snake spluttered silently at the Thief’s back.

The Thief, still unaware — maybe unaware, maybe not? — went into the tree and climbed the stairs without waiting for them to follow. Virgil went first, then Deceit quickly, not wanting to be alone in the forest for long and not wanting to think about that incredibly gentle and not-at-all pleasing interaction.

No sir. Not pleasing. Not what he absolutely wanted for the rest of his life.

For once, he cursed the existence of gloves. How much softer would the Thief’s hands be without them?

Deceit would die before acknowledging that he absolutely definitely didn’t not have a crush.

Virgil stepped up to the top landing, beside the Thief, and looked around. It was small, but cozy. Before them was a sitting area with a thick couch, identical to the one Thomas actually had in his living room but without the bend. In front of it was a wooden coffee table, beneath was a rug with circles, almost like the rings of a tree, Virgil thought. Atop the table was a vase of red roses in full bloom.

To the right was a small kitchen alcove, separated from the sitting area with a counter peninsula that had two toasters sitting on it. Two toasters. This Roman must like his bread, apparently. Floating around between the kitchen and sitting area were some candles, all lit and casting the room in a comforting warm glow. On the left was a stairwell, wooden and spiraling up in such a way that Virgil could only see the first few steps.

Besides the stairwell was a second door. As Deceit stepped up into the room, the Thief went to the second door and opened it. As soon as the door touched the back of the hall it opened to, it disappeared, leaving an uninhibited opening down to a curving hallway that seemed to wrap around the tree’s trunk.

“Make yourselves at home,” the Thief said, waving his hand at the living room, “Do you want me to take your cloaks?”

Deceit put up his hand dismissively, turning in a circle and examining the room.

Virgil also shook his head, holding his cloak around himself more. The Thief shrugged at him, taking off his own cloak. “Suit yourself.”

As he moved to hang it up, Virgil could see that the gloves went to the middle of his forearms, and his shirt seemed to be tucked into them. No part of him was exposed other than his collar, neck, and head. Interesting?

When Virgil turned back to Deceit, to maybe, you know, indicate that this Roman was taking some pages out of his book, he found that Deceit was wandering through the kitchen. He pointed to the two toasters, made a judgemental face at Virgil, and continued opening the cabinets and drawers. Virgil slumped a little. Figures.

He sighed, walking over to the couch and flopping onto it. Oh. It even smelt like Thomas’ couch. The tension left his shoulders as he rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the cushions and taking in a deep breath. It was dizzying, how quickly this lowered his heart rate. Virgil hadn’t realized how stressed he was with the fast-paced changes of this situation.

The hardwood floor creaking indicated that Deceit had moved from the kitchen to the hallway. His footsteps echoed away down the hall.

“You want some tea?” Virgil heard the Thief ask.

He shook his head. He just wanted to lay down for now.

“Deceit? Tea?”

“I’m fine, thank you. May I go upstairs?”

“Intrusion doesn’t seem to be something you worry about, given how you went through my kitchen.”

Deceit didn’t grace that with a response, and Virgil heard his footsteps tapping up the stairs.

Silence again. He hummed into the pillow and rolled over into his own cloak. He just needed some time.

“....Do you want something to eat?” the Thief tried and, again, Virgil shook his head.

“‘M good.”

“Mhm.”

The Thief went around the kitchen calmly. Virgil could hear it. His steps were soft, though not as quiet as Deceit’s. More just….comfortable. Not as heavy as Romans typically would be, either.

Virgil sat upright slowly, still hugging one of the cushions, and looked up. The Thief’s gloves were sitting on the counter, as was the Thief himself, cradling a mug in heavily-scarred hands. Virgil actually did a small double-take upon seeing them.

The Thief raised an eyebrow, questioning.

“....Your hands’re fucked up,” Virgil stated.

He got a nod back. “Wow, I had no idea ‘bout that. Not like they’re on my body or anything.”

Virgil rolled his eyes. Roman always was a smartass. “No shit. Were….Roman’s hands aren’t like that, right?”

The Thief took a sip from the mug and did a so-so motion with his hand. “Yes and no. All my scars are definitely real. It’s not like we get out of every scrap with creatures, monsters, villains, the like without any damage. But Roman just sorta conjures flatter skin on top of it.”

Virgil frowned. There were a lot of questions he had for that, but he didn’t want to bombard him just this second. “That’s pretty weird, not gonna lie. So they normally heal into scars?” he gestured to the Thief, who nodded.

“Yeah, and it’s better to conjure up new skin than make you all worried.”

He must have recoiled, because the Thief laughed a little at him and took another sip. He wiped his mouth with the butt of his palm, shaking his head and speaking into his hand. “C’mon, you can’t tell me Patt wouldn’t flip if he saw this shit.”

Patton….very much would. All of them would, if Roman ever came in with that many scars. He was scared of what they’d say.

Virgil was getting a clearer image of the Thief’s intentions every minute. Still, for now, he just shrugged and conceded. “You’re right, I guess.”

The Thief nodded, opening his mouth to continue, but Deceit’s footsteps hopping down the stairs interrupted him. The snake in question popped out around the spiral staircase’s bend, and Virgil saw that he’d removed his hat and cloak somewhere. He had a hand raised, too, to get their attention.

“Thief, question. Well. First, the top floor is beautiful — marvelous work,” the Thief raised his glass, but otherwise didn’t react. Must not be so susceptible to flattery, Deceit noted. “I saw a city. A modern looking one, behind the mountains.”

“Oh, yeah.”

The Thief took another sip of his drink and motioned for Deceit to sit by pulling out a stool from beneath the counter, with his leg. “That’s just another setting. We don’t always adhere to a medieval theme in here, but right now we’ve kinda fallen back on the Disney royalty theme because it’s something we’re familiar with. That, and we can all agree it’s marvelous.”

“I see,” Deceit sat beside Virgil, crossing his legs on the cushion. “So you’re never going to change the setting, though?”

Deceit thought it was a fair question, but the Thief let out a short laugh. “Are you kidding? We’d have to flip everything around! God, we’d need new names, too, and new hiding places. It’s all too much work.”

He took another sip, then set his mug down. Deceit then noticed his hands, brow furrowing. He opened his mouth to bring it up, but Virgil elbowed him in the side and waved his hand.

He’d explain later. Best not interrupt, because the Thief rubbed his mouth and continued. “I don’t even think we can. It’d need to be a unanimous decision, like a coherent thought, and we’re not really capable of that right now.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Virgil asked.

The Thief looked at them both. He seemed to be debating something.

This Roman took his time with his words. That must mean he had a lot to hide, Deceit thought, or he didn’t want to expose certain ideas.

“For one. Dragon would kill us.”

Ah. “Dragon?” Deceit asked, “Care to elaborate?”

The Thief looked at his knees, then hopped off of the counter. “I’m going to make dinner,” he said, voice a little more airy, clearly trying to deflect from this conversation, “Spaghetti okay?”

“Tell us about Dragon,” Virgil pressed harder.

The Thief shot him a squinted look and relented as he set up the pot of water. “He’s another one of us, another Roman,” his voice held so much disdain. “He’s dramatic, loud, all that good stuff, but the biggest thing about him is that he really likes being right.”

“You don’t like him,” Deceit stated.

“Can’t say I’m a fan.”

He opened a cupboard and took out a box of pasta. He cleared his throat, glancing up at the two expectant faces before relenting again.

“He’s a bit of a sadist. Like….he moved into the castle. He controls the guards. They all listen to ‘Roman,’” here, the Thief did air quotations, “But they aren’t sentient enough to notice that there are seven of us now, so they listen to the guy who took charge. Dragon.”

A villain part of Roman, apparently. One who would attack the others, if the way they found the Thief being chased by guards was any indication. Virgil stood up, going into the kitchen. “Where’re the plates?” he asked quietly, “‘M gonna set the table.”

The Thief nodded to one of the cabinets and Virgil opened it, taking out some plates. He set them down on the counter only for them to be picked up by Deceit and dispersed around the peninsula, where the three counter stools were.

“Dragon,” Deceit reminded, and the Thief sighed.

“Before you guys showed up, he caught another one of us. Another Roman. And, God….” his voice trailed off.

The pot was boiling. The Thief put the noodles in, taking a wooden spoon and easing them into the water. He seemed to roll something around in his head, lolling back and forth, before grimacing and continuing. “He….he did a lot of bad things to Damsel, the other Roman. Beat him publicly, in the village’s central square so all the characters got to see. So that we could all see. It was horrifying.”

A chill swept through the glassless windows of the tree.

“That’s….” Virgil and Deceit spoke at the same time.

“Dark.”

“Awful.”

They shared a look before turning back to Thief, who was churning the noodles, eyes glued to the rising steam and boiling water. It was surprising that the steam didn’t put out any of the candles, actually.

He looked forlorn, lost and defeated. “It was like a warning, to the rest of us. Don’t get caught, or else.”

Deceit picking up the conversation. “I didn’t realize there was a part of Roman willing to do….that. And for what?”

“For approval. And what can I say? He lives for validation, would kill for it, too. We all know you’re in here, so he’s definitely hunting you guys, maybe to gloat and probably hoping you all will tell him he did good,” the way Thief said it sounded almost too nonchalant, like it were forceful.

He turned off the stove top’s heat — hang on, Deceit thought, a stove?! Well, fuck the theme-ing then. This was a neverending hell of inconsistencies — and pulled a strainer out from another cabinet. Slowly, the Thief strained out the water, talking all the while.

“He probably wants to….” his eyes flicked up at them, quick as a flash, and he let out a small exhale. “I dunno. He’s a bit of a dice roll. One second, he’s talking about how much he wants all of you to love him, brushing his hair in the mirror and painting his nails, just being harmless, and the other second he’s talkin’ about how much he wants to dismember you and throw your bodies into locked boxes in the river.”

Virgil and Deceit exchanged a look, one worried and one determined. They were safe, knew how to defend themselves, and had the means with which to defend themselves, but….

Virgil’s brow furrowed. Logan and Patton were out there somewhere. And there was a bit of Roman that seemed happy to kill literally anything.

He looked up at Deceit, who was watching him with squinted eyes. Logan and Patton must be fine. They must be.

What if they weren’t? Virgil squinted right back at him. They could be hurt.

No, they were fine.

The Thief cleared his throat, cutting through the tension like a knife and drawing both of their attentions back to him. He was heating up some sauce now, mixing in some herbs with what looked like a tomato-paste base, eyes shifting between Virgil and Deceit.

The staredown lasted for a minute or two before he relented, exhaling and hitting his spoon on the side of the pan.

“Let’s….pause, for a hot sec. Dinner’s almost done and, after that, you both should sleep,” his voice carried like a whisper around the small kitchen.

Neither of them responded, and the Thief just kept cooking. He slowly poured the noodles into the sauce, mixing up a little before gesturing to the pasta.

He couldn’t honestly expect them to just drop the conversation like that. Could he?

“We are going to have to confront Dragon,” Deceit raised an eyebrow at him, “You know that, right?”

The Thief shrugged. He picked up a plate, took out a pair of tongs, and began putting pasta on the plate. “Probably. I can’t help you there, though. I’ve just been setting off all the booby traps in the castle, so he gets stuck in them. And stealing his jewelry. He’s got a hoard of it.”

Like a dragon, Virgil thought. And with scales, probably, and claws. And wings. Maybe he breathed fire.

He was frightened to all heck, but if they wanted Roman back, they’d have to….what. Talk with him? Probably talk with him.

He looked at Deceit, who was looking at the pasta, and then he heard his own stomach growl. The Thief had sat down at one of the peninsula stools, pointedly ignoring them for his noodles.

Then, he giggled. The Thief covered his mouth with a hand, but they both could see that a broad smile was behind it.

“What?” Deceit asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The Child just said the Social Nerd-work’s name. That means Dad-ton Abbey and him’re safe at the Artist’s house,” he explained, waving a hand and swirling his pasta on a fork, “Wow.”

Wow indeed. A little bit of the tension in Virgil’s shoulders released. Patton and Logan were safe, fine, hidden away with another less-murderous Roman. That was some good news.

….Well. Virgil sighed, more at ease now, and relented to the pasta. As he sat at the counter, Deceit went to make himself a plate.

They ate in nearly absolute silence, none of them wanting to mention the lack of a plan and the looming fear of this villainous Roman who apparently wanted to kill them all.

Deceit finished first, and he ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it back. “We’re sleeping here, correct? I also don’t suppose you have a shower or something?”

Thief pointed down a hall. “We might have an aesthetic going, but I’d die without a whole bathroom set up. Down and to the left, there’re towels in the side closet,” he took a final bite and set his fork down, standing up

“Thank you,” Deceit said, shooting Virgil a small look as he ducked toward the bathroom.

Deceit probably wanted him to ask more about the situation. Virgil tiredly continued to eat, but the pit that was opening his stomach was taking up more room than the pasta could fill. It was clear that the Thief — both of the Romans they’d interacted with, but right now, the Thief — trusted Virgil a lot more than Deceit. At least it showed a certain awareness on Roman’s part of Deceit’s trickery?

And it wasn’t like Virgil could help how upset he was by all this. It was a stressful situation and had a stressfully silent week before it.

“I also,” Virgil looked back up at the Thief, who gestured to Virgil’s plate, “Forgot to thank you all. For coming after us. Honestly didn’t expect it.”

Virgil nodded and carefully stood up from his stool. The Thief smiled and took the plate, but his brows were pinched. He wanted an explanation, didn’t he? It felt like a weird thing to need to explain. It was obvious. Wasn’t it?

“We were worried,” it sounded lame aloud, but the Thief just nodded in response.

“Thanks,” he put the plates into the sink and pointed down the hall, too. “You should go check out a room, too. Maybe change into some pajamas or something more comfortable? There’re, uh, pajamas. I’m just going to do the dishes then head to bed myself.”

Again, Virgil nodded. He was at a loss for words, honestly, and that was all a lot of information to process.

Take one thing at a time, though. That was what the Thief was suggesting, wasn’t it? “Sure thing,” he said, dashing away immediately.

The hall was dark, long, and curved. There were candles floating along the walls, same as out in the living area, and there were doors on either side. One already had Deceit’s double-snake-head logo shining yellow. Besides that door was another, unmarked door, but Virgil could hear a shower coming from inside.

He needed to get a room, first. Across from the bathroom was another unmarked door, probably a bedroom, and Virgil ducked into it, closing the door quickly.

He immediately threw himself onto the bed and rubbed his face. That probably smudged his eyeliner. It was already smudged.

No, no, he didn’t have the time to care about that. Virgil sat upright and looked around. There was a small open-fronted wardrobe pressed against the wall, with some pairs of pants and some shirts hanging on the wall. Surprisingly, they all looked to be various combinations of purple, black, and grey. He stood up, against his desire to curl into a ball and sleep on that bed for all eternity, and checked out the clothing. Yep, everything was about his aesthetic, and some even had his logo on them. Neat.

There was the bed and there was a mirror on top of the wardrobe. Around the room were some floating candles, but none were lit, and there was a light switch by the door. Virgil squinted. How the fuck did that work?

He flicked the switch and they all turned on, lit by flames. Alright. That was cool.

Virgil had to talk to the Thief. He couldn’t dance around it.

Or he could stay in here and admire how the wardrobe auto-filled with clothes that fit his style. Or he could admire the cool candle lights. Those would look sick in his room, actually. He should talk to the Thief about that, instead of literally anything else he actually had to talk to him about.

He just wanted Roman back, goddamnit. He wanted the Roman who would do outrageous things just to see Virgil smile. The one who would put on Black Cauldron for the millionth time, without complaint, when Virgil was having a bad day. He wanted the Roman who worked to improve himself and worked to include him, and didn’t shy away, and didn’t want to hide, and didn’t make him feel like he himself had overlooked something so disastrous as a crumbling self-image and gnawing concern that no one loved him.

The guilt weighed heavy in his stomach. Yeah, guilt. Virgil had felt Roman’s anxieties growing, but did he bring it up? Well, okay, he did. But every time that he did, Roman had deflected it with a witty quip or incredibly stupid comment or even that dumb, dashing smile. And then Roman would catch that he was nervous about something. He would never guess that it was himself.

Virgil could almost imagine what he’d do. Roman would take him by the hand into his room, always with the lights dimmer, more simplistic than was usual. He’d sit him in his squishy armchair, stand behind him, rub his shoulders and let him just vent.

Or maybe Roman would lead him down into the kitchen, sing a merry tune and make Virgil some peppermint tea. Swirl around in the kitchen, making jokes or telling stories, on those days where Virgil didn’t want to talk.

Ever since they’d shifted to accepting him, Roman had done his best. Extra, frivolous, occasionally over-the-top, but his fucking best. Virgil owed his best right back.

Virgil had to get him back. He had to face the music.Virgil’s fists balled at his sides as he whispered to himself, “Fuck it,” and threw open his door.

He hurried out of the hall and stopped in the entryway into the living area. The Thief was cradling another mug, sitting on a stool and staring at the flower vase sitting on the coffee table.

“Hey, Roman,” the Thief jumped and some liquid splashed out of his mug. Virgil winced. “Sorry, Thief?”

Virgil felt a little more guilty as the Thief sighed, rolling his shoulders and casting him a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, Virgil? You need anything?”

“Not really,” Virgil leaned on the wall as the Thief pulled out a roll of paper towels and tore some off. “I just wanted to say thanks. For keeping us safe. I don’t know what we would have done if you didn’t let us sleep over.”

The Thief pressed the towels to the spilt tea and matched eyes with Virgil. He gave him a reassuring albeit crooked smile, hair falling out of whatever order it’d been. It fluffed up around his face and, almost, looked like a crown. One of his hands reached up and ran through his hair, pushing it back into the messy but suave side-part Roman always had.

Hey, stop staring. Virgil blinked slowly and focused on the Thief’s words. “....probably safest place in the setting.”

He nodded, then shifted his weight, putting his hands in his pockets. Here goes. “Also, I don’t really understand why you want to be alone so badly. Like, I do, I get that feeling too sometimes, but….”

The Thief sighed, frustration laced through his breath, and Virgil added. “You know we’d miss you, Roman.”

That got him to falter. He stared at the countertop, then lifted the flower vase and cleaned beneath that. “I can’t say I wouldn’t miss you all, too,” he said. “I wish I wouldn’t. That’s more what I want. When we are all together, the best moments are so good. Nothing brings us more joy than seeing you smile and laugh at memes with us, or hearing Logan’s gasp when he reads something enticing, or watching Patton fuss around the kitchen. Heck, even Deceit’s dumb smirk makes us happy.”

Virgil could hear the “but” hanging in the air, especially once the Thief scrubbed the counter with extra vigor.

“But the lows. We can’t always handle the criticism, the shouting, the arguing and belittling. Being told we’re not enough,” he sighed, then added in a much softer voice. “That I’m not enough.”

He tossed the paper towels away into the trash bin, beneath the sink, and leaned his back on the sink’s edge. “Sometimes, I can’t help but wish I wanted to be alone. And if we self-impose that loneliness, then it might make it easier. To be alone.”

Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, watching. He’d known that they were less than supportive, on the best of days, but that was their job. Especially Virgil’s. He was the guy who was supposed to spot possible problems, things that the audience might not like, things that might endanger Thomas. He’d thought that Roman understood that he was doing it out of….

Alright, there was the L word again.

His internal monologue was interrupted when the Thief stood up straight and faced Virgil determinedly, wearing a tired smile.

“If you can convince the others, then I’ll come quiet. I just think that being alone’s….easier to handle,” he laughed a little to himself, a quiet chuckle that Virgil thought sounded hollow. “Besides, if Roman isolates himself, then it doesn’t matter if….”

His smile faltered a little, eyes seeming to watch something distantly away from Virgil. As quick as the expression came, though, it went as he looked back down at the counter. He reached up and ran his hands through his hair, settling it back.

There must be something Virgil should do or say. There must be, because sitting in silence like this — god, the Thief was gonna start crying, wasn’t he?

What wouldn’t matter? The question burned in his mind.

“....Haven’t I been through enough heartbreaks?”

The Thief’s question was so quiet, so desperate, that Virgil thought he just imagined it until a floorboard creak behind him indicated that someone had approached. He glanced back to see Deceit, hair still damp, clothed in a simple cream shirt and dark brown trousers. Pajamas, clearly, maybe taken from the room. Deceit nodded to the Thief, who was hunching over the counter, eyes stuck on the counter.

Virgil pursed his lips and made a so-so hand motion. He didn’t know exactly what was motivating the Thief, but they were getting inklings. Deceit nodded again in response and stood behind Virgil.

Who turned back to the Thief, still staring at the table. “We need you,” was how Virgil started, trying to piece together the best way to phrase what he wanted to say.

The Thief looked up at him and Virgil saw some wetness glittering in his dark brown eyes. They locked with his, not necessarily a glare nor anything aggressive. You could have convinced Virgil that the Thief was pleading. But for what, he couldn’t tell.

And then he smiled. He smiled and shook his head, looking away again.

“I…” He covered his mouth with a hand and reconsidered, shaking his head, “Nah, it’s dumb.”

“You’re not dumb, Thief.”

Virgil pushed off of the doorway to stand besides the Thief as he sank into one of the counter stools. Gently, like Roman had done for him many times, he put his hands on the Thief’s shoulders. “Can I?” he asked, voice quiet.

The Thief nodded, hand holding his mouth tight. His other hand, resting on the table and not gripping anything, had a slight tremor. Deceit stepped into the dining area, lips pinched in worry. He certainly wasn’t the one silencing the Thief, if it was anyone at all.

Virgil began rubbing the Thief’s shoulders, leaning closer and watching as his shoulders hiked up a little more. He was so tense, stiff as a rock.

“Listen. Thief,” Virgil glanced at Deceit, who was shifting his weight lamely, and nodded toward the mugs.

Deceit seemed to get the idea, because he nodded and got to work immediately. The Thief’s hand slid upward, covering his eyes now, and he shuddered as Virgil put more pressure on his shoulders. “Is this okay?” Virgil asked again, quietly, and the Thief nodded.

“Thanks,” his voice was so quiet that Virgil could barely hear him.

“You know,” Virgil hummed, quiet but determined. “I tried the whole lone-wolf thing. Thought it’d be good to keep myself separate ‘cause it would protect you all. Thought that was for the best. None of you seemed to want me back then, either.”

The Thief whined, and Virgil let up. But as his shoulders stiffened again, Virgil felt his anxiety mount. “No–uh, sorry, no that just–that was a good spot,” the Thief tried to explain, face turning redder under his hand.

Deceit snorted behind him, and Virgil kicked his heel out, managing to hit him square in the shin. He let out a chuckle when Deceit hissed in pain.

“I’m sorry. That we made you feel like that,” both of the other Sides looked at the Thief, whose hands were now both on the counter.

Virgil’s were still resting on his shoulders, so he exhaled and pressed down again. “We-We shouldn’t have—” the Thief tried to continue, but Virgil cut him off.

“Not saying you shouldn’t have, but you’ve been apologizing for it. You….all accept me, now. I’m working on getting used to that, you all work on making me feel included, and we work together. Maybe there’re highs, maybe there’re lows. That’s how everything goes, but we always get through it when we work as a team. ‘Cause teamwork makes the dream work, right?” Virgil smiled when the Thief snorted, “And we can’t make the team work without the dream.”

The Thief sat up a little more. Virgil didn’t want to pressure him or anything, so he rubbed a particularly tight knot near the base of his neck before letting go. It seemed that the Thief came to some understanding, though.

“Hot chocolate’s done,” Deceit said.

He leaned down beside Virgil and set a full mug down on the counter in front of the Thief. He then nudged Virgil’s hip with his own, holding out a mug for him but eyes not meeting Virgil’s.

That was the first bad sign. Virgil pressed his mouth into a line. Before he could make a move, though, Deceit picked up his own mug and stepped away. “I’m going to sleep,” he announced, “I can only assume tomorrow will be just as taxing as today was. Goodnight Roman. Virgil.”

Deceit’s eyes were still cast lower as he nodded once toward the Thief and once toward Virgil, and he stared at the floor as he hurried to the hallway. He disappeared down the hall, into the darkness, and they both heard his door close sharply.

Damn. So much for that truce.

Yeah, sure, Virgil wasn’t fond of Deceit. Much.

He used to be. They used to be thick as thieves — Patton would be proud of that pun, Virgil thought — and while time and responsibilities have wore down that relationship….Deceit was still important to him. Yeah, he was a bad influence, but, like….

Whatever. He didn’t care. He didn’t.

The Thief leaned back a little, head resting on Virgil’s shoulder. “You should sleep, too, Paramoody.”

His head tilted back and he smiled up at Virgil, who squinted at him. “If you fall backwards on that stool, I’m gonna laugh.”

“In fact, I’m the owner of Roman’s single braincell,” the Thief’s smile softened, “Thanks for earlier. I’ll think about that.”

His eyes were so soft. Had Roman always had that little beauty mark? Virgil really only noticed it now, with his face so close and with that weird scar pointing at it.

Not that he endorsed Roman being damaged in any physical way, but the scar was also. Pretty hot.

The Thief chuckled quietly, one hand reaching up to patt Virgil’s cheek.

His hands were a little cold, but they were soft, despite the scars. Virgil could feel him shudder a tiny bit as the Thief gently ran his thumb along his cheekbone.

Virgil felt….comfortable.

Why didn’t he want this, again? The Thief watched Virgil watching him, and saw him slowly lean his head into his hand. He must be tired, that was why Virgil was so open with him. There couldn’t have been another reason.

Still.

“Alright, you actually need to sleep, ‘cause your eyeshadow’s all over your face,” the Thief pulled his hand away and sat upright again.

As he slid off the stool, saying something about sleep and grabbing his hand, Virgil tuned him out, letting himself be pulled around.

What the hell was THAT moment? This was the absolute worst time to be reminded that he was a disaster, and the Thief must be so creeped out by how he was just staring at his goddamn face.

“And my room’s upstairs. If you go up the stairs, take a left, you’ll find me, okay?” Virgil blinked, looking up.

They were at the entrance to the hallway now. The Thief smiled kindly at him, though his brow was pinched in worry. “Have a good night, Virgil,” he whispered, hand still holding Virgil’s.

Virgil nodded, not trusting what he’d say if he opened his mouth, and met him with a small smile.

He wished had retained more of the romantic parts of Roman. Then, maybe, he’d be able to find the right words to describe how willing he was to throw this whole challenge away just to see that smile for the rest of eternity.

The Thief leaned in and pecked Virgil’s cheek. Then, he darted away, waist sash trailing up after him as he escaped up the stairs.

Virgil stared into nothing, eyes stuck to the empty staircase. Slowly, his hand lifted to his cheek, fingers grazing where the Thief’s — Roman’s — lips had been.

What the fuck.

Don’t even consider it.

He found himself walking back to the room he’d chosen — it was easy to find, his storm cloud logo was glowing a soft purple on the door — and collapsed onto the bed.

Virgil was absolutely sore from how fast his thoughts had been running today. It felt like years ago that he’d found Deceit in the hall and slammed him into the wall.

Oof. Maybe he wouldn’t sleep tonight, now that he’d remembered that. Virgil groaned into his pillow, crossing his arms over his head and pressing into it as his breathing’s erraticness increased

Deceit had been truly upset. Frustrated, angry, yeah, sure, that was the point — Virgil hadn’t expected that flash of betrayal. He couldn’t get that stupid snakey hurt expression out of his goddamn head. Plus it was just poor instincts to immediately strangle someone. And the way Deceit had slunk out of the kitchen just now, not daring to look at either of their faces.

He screamed into the pillow, pressing down into it even more. Calm down. He had to calm down.

What, why calm down now? You’d been holding this panic attack in all day, Virgil.

The pillow grew damp beneath his face; he hadn’t noticed that he was crying a little.

Virgil flipped over, now pressing the back of his head into the pillow, and wrapped his arms around his head, wiping at his eyes with his hand. He began tapping his left hand on the back of his arm, counting quietly as he inhaled, held, and exhaled.

It helped that it wasn’t completely silent. Virgil’s room had a window, a circle in above the bed. A gentle breeze wafted in, as did the sound of the trees rustling, frogs croaking, and bugs buzzing — a solid background noise to focus on, rather than the day’s events. Virgil mentally counted the frogs’ croaks as he felt his chest loosen. Maybe it was a product of being in the Imagination and, by extension, Roman’s room, but he got a grip of himself faster than usual.

As he calmed down, though, he also regained the feelings of absolute exhaustion. Calm quickly turned to drowsiness, and Virgil was asleep within seconds.

53 notes · View notes

echoes-of-the-clockwork · 5 years

Text

Deacon St. John || Ambush

A/n: By the way, I do have a Wattpad where you’ll find these stories, too. I literally just copy these from my drafts and post them here. Hope you all enjoy! Love you all!!! ••••••••••••••••••••

***HAS NOT BEEN PROOFREAD! PLEASE NOTIFY ME OF ANY ERRORS!!!***

***** Prompt: You and Deacon have been happily married for five years. Even when all hell broke loose, your love for one another remained intact. One day while on a supply run, the two of you are ambushed by a group of marauders. *****

~3rd Person POV~

"So, what's the plan?" (Y/n) questioned, waiting patiently on Deacon's bike as he filled the tank with gas.

"Get in, get out. It's just a normal supply run, (Y/n)," he said, placing the jerrycan down beside the barrels of gasoline.

"Remember what Tucker said the last time we visited the Hot Springs? Y'know, about all the marauder activity recently in Belknap and how all their supply routes were ambushed?"

Deacon took one of his wife's hands in his, entwining their fingers together. "You worry too much."

"You," she used her other hand to poke him on the cheek. "Don't worry enough. Someone's gotta make up for all your carelessness. And who would be a better candidate than the woman you married, huh? Even Boozer is as careless as you sometimes! I can't believe you both are still alive with all the crazy shit you've done in the past two years."

A smirk crept across Deacon's face as he released her hand and mounted the bike. "Pretty sure you're the reason why we're still alive. All that nagging keeps our asses in check."

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around his waist with a scoff. "Why does that sound like and insult and compliment combined?"

"'Cause it is." Deacon revved the engine of his motorcycle, his smile widening. "Better hold on tighter. We're not stopping until we reach Belknap."

"I just hope this place you have in mind hasn't been raided yet," (Y/n) said, tightening her grip on the front of his shirt.

"I hope so, too." Deacon took off down the dirt trail of O'Leary Mountain, leaving the safehouse and Boozer behind.

The beautiful scenery of the mountain was plagued with the occasional dead corpse on the side of the trail and the groans of Freaks echoing through the trees.

Through the dark tunnel connecting Cascade to Belknap, a few Swarmers had chased them as Deacon carefully weaved the motorcycle between the vehicles.

Safely through the tunnel, they passed a NERO checkpoint as they made their way to Marion Forks. (Y/n) looked around and spotted a small glint. Before she could question what it was, they both were knocked off the bike. The motorcycle scraped against the asphalt, creating sparks.

"Get 'em!" A man shouted. Several men and women emerged from the shrubbery aligned on the side of the highway with melee weapons raised in the air.

(Y/n) struggled as she tried to get to her feet and defend herself from the approaching marauders. A little ways down the road, she saw a truck heading straight for them. "Deacon," she called out weakly to her husband.

At the sound of her feeble voice, Deacon managed to get to his feet just as four marauders surrounded him. He whipped out his pistol, killing three of them in a flash. He turned to take out the last man, but a rush of pain in his gut knocked the air out of his lungs. Hunched over in pain and desperately gasping for air, he watched as the rustic truck pulled to a stop in between him and (Y/n).

Four more marauders jumped out of the rickety vehicle. (Y/n) grabbed the knife concealed in her boot and swung it, but one man grabbed her arm and knocked the blade out of her hand. She tried to punch him, but another adversary grabbed her other arm. She struggled against them as they dragged her to the truck while cackling at the top of their lungs. "Let go of me, you bastards!" Swinging her legs, (Y/n) desperately tried to kick them.

"Knock 'er out, Ben!" One of the men restraining her demanded.

A younger man walked over with a wooden bat in his grasp. He didn't hesitate to swing the weapon and knock (Y/n) unconscious. The two men hauled her body into the backseat of the truck with a victorious chant. The remaining marauders hopped into the vehicle, but one had managed to strike Deacon in the spine with a metal pipe before hopping into the bed.

The drifter's entire body ached and he could barely move from the abuse. He managed to lift his head from the ground as the man behind the wheel lowered the window and grinned down at him menacingly. "This is what you fucking get for killing my friends, drifter. You want your girl back? Just try. You'll be dead before you can set foot in our camp. Sayonara, ya bastard!"

Deacon helplessly watched the truck disappear in the same direction it came from. With slightly shaky limbs, he pushed himself off the ground and to his bike. The engine was smoking, but he had just enough scrap to repair it. "You sons of bitches just wait. I'll kill every last one of you," he growled under his breath as he hauled his aching body onto the motorcycle.

Not wasting a single minute, Deacon pursued the marauders. Once leaving Marion Forks, he easily spotted the fresh tire tracks in the dirt and followed as fast as his bike could go. Unfortunately, his pursuit was halted when he spotted a horde making its way down the road. Confused as to why the large group of Swarmers were out during the day, he turned his bike around and searched for a place to hide. He was ill-equipped to take down a horde and had no other choice but to wait until they passed by.

Deacon found some foliage to hide in and parked his bike on the side of the road. He hid in the shrubbery and watched as the horde slowly made its way past him.

It felt like an entire hour crawled by before every last Swarmer passed him and headed further down the road. With an annoyed sigh, Deacon returned to his bike and searched for the tire tracks. However, all traces of the vehicle had been cleansed from the ground by the footprints of the horde. Desperate to save his wife, he searched for anything that could help him track the marauders who took her. Morosely, there was nothing. Gritting his teeth, he shouted at the top of his lungs. "Dammit!"

<————————————<<<<<<<<<<<<<

It had been a few hours since (Y/n) was captured by marauders. She recognized the area as Bear Creek Hot Springs, which wasn't very far from Marion Forks, but it was hidden along the base of the northern mountain range. They had tossed her in a small, makeshift prison beside a house. She had regained consciousness a few minutes ago with a splitting headache and a thick, dried streak of blood down the side of her face where the bat made contact with her skull. Now, she was pacing around in circles like a caged tiger.

None of the marauders had come to check on (Y/n), which made her happy to some extent. By what she could hear from a few women chatting just a few feet from the prison, Deacon was the intended target. Their laughter filled the air before their voices grew distant.

Suddenly, the door to the prison was unlocked and a smirking man stood on the other side as it swung open. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. His eyes raked across her body and a disgusted look appeared on (Y/n)'s face. She backed away from him, glaring sharply. "The hell do you want?"

"Nothing. Just sizing up the goods," he chuckled darkly. When his eyes spotted the diamond ring on her left hand, he guffawed in amusement. "You're married to that bastard? Ha! You're married to a murderer, you know that, sweetheart?"

"First of all," (Y/n) snarled. "Don't you fucking dare call me "sweetheart". And second, he's not a murderer. Last I checked, the only murderers here are you morons. Guess idiots of a feather really do flock together."

"You're the moron for not knowing the definition of murder," he scoffed. "Let me tell you about all the shit that fucking drifter has done."

(Y/n) patted the back of her head as she listened to the marauder insult Deacon. She discovered a hairpin in her (h/c) hair and gripped it between her fingers tightly. She waited for the perfect moment, pretending to listen to the man as he ranted. The second he stepped towards her with his hands resting by his sides, she lunges forward and plunges the hairpin into his eye. He let out a bloodcurdling scream before losing his balance and falling to the ground, curling up into a ball. "Look at the bright side—you can start wearing an eyepatch. Heard they kinda look badass."

(Y/n) stepped over the marauder's body and exited the prison. Fortunately for her, there were no men or women around to hear his painful wails. She snuck around the camp, searching for a way to escape. The dirt muffled her footsteps as she stealthily made her way out of the camp. Knowing exactly where she was, the woman headed back to Marion Forks in hopes to find some shelter from the approaching darkness of the night and a safe place away from Freakers. She even prayed she would reunite with Deacon, but she had no idea her husband was heading in the opposite direction.

<———————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"C'mon, Tuck. Someone must've seen something!" Deacon stalked after the old woman.

"Listen, Deek. I'm sorry for what happened to your wife, but no one knows where these assholes are camping out," Ada replied with a sigh. "You should know by now that people who are captured by marauders never return."

"If you think I'm gonna give up on (Y/n), you're fucking mistaken. She's my wife and I would do everything in my power to protect her. Someone in this damn camp must know something." Deacon left before Ada could respond and asked around the Hot Springs.

After stalking around the camp and asking around, Deacon stumbled upon Alkai. He placed his hands on the counter of the man's stall and leaned forward. "Problems aside, I know you've been on plenty of supply runs. And I know—"

Alkai interrupted the man before he could finish his sentence. "A few drifters arrived a couple days ago and reported spotting an ambush camp at Bear Creek Hot Springs. They said they were going to try and wipe them out, but they have yet to return."

"'Bout damn time someone told me something," Deacon sneered.

"You've got enough ammo to take down an entire camp of marauders?"

"Always do."

Deacon departed from the Hot Springs and headed north to Bear Creek as the moon rose into the sky, taking the place of the sun. It was dangerous at night, but the darkness would provide more cover for him to move through the ambush camp without being spotted.

Arriving at the camp, the drifter was shocked to find it was empty all except for two men. He crept closer to them, listening closely.

"Goddammit, Ben!" The man on the ground shouted as he covered his left eye.

"How the hell am I supposed to get it out?!" Ben yelled back. "Your eye is fucked!"

"No shit, Sherlock," the unnamed man grumbled.

Seeing as either man wasn't armed, Deacon grabbed his handgun and emerged from his hiding spot. He shoved the muzzle of the pistol into the back of Ben's head. "So you're Ben, huh? Heard your buddies shouting your name during the ambush."

Slowly, Ben stood up and stepped aside with his hands in the air. "H-Hey, listen, man. None of that shit was my idea! It was this asshole's plan!"

"I don't give a shit who's plan it was." Deacon pulled the trigger, a single bullet whizzing through the man's skull. "All I care about is killing you bunch of murderers and finding (Y/n)."

Stepping over the corpse, Deacon kneeled beside the man crumpled up on the ground. The object protruding from his eyes caused the drifter to smirk in amusement. "Pretty sure those don't go in your eye."

"Fuck off, drifter. That damn bitch of yours did this to me," he hissed.

"Never thought I would ever see someone use a hairpin as a weapon," Deacon guffawed. "(Y/n)'s just that resourceful."

The marauder on the ground grinned. "That fucking broad is gonna get what's coming to her. The entire camp went after her once they found out what she did."

Deacon's smirk morphed into a fierce glare. He grabbed the tip of the hairpin and tugged harshly, the marauder shrieking loudly form the rush of unbearable pain. "You gonna tell me where they went or am I gonna have to tear this hairpin out of your damn eye first?"

"M-Marion Forks!" The man wailed, his voice raspy from all the yelling.

The drifter released the hairpin and stood up. The man on the ground lifted his body slightly with a painful and confused expression. "You're not gonna shoot me?"

"No." Deacon holstered his firearm, stepping closer to the assailant. "I'm gonna slam that hairpin further into your skull." He stomped his foot directly on the hairpin, pushing it further into the marauder's eye. His shrill cries echoed throughout the camp, but he suddenly fell silent. The drifter didn't bother to check to see if the man was still alive, but he would succumb to his injury soon and perish.

When Deacon arrived in Marion Forks, he spotted the familiar white truck parked by the church. The center of town was crawling with marauders as they searched the buildings. He armed himself with his boot knife and crept around the town, taking down any marauders he could while searching for (Y/n).

"Come on out! We know you're here!" One woman yelled as she searched the gas station alongside a couple of her companions. Deacon circled around around the gas station, avoiding their line of sight and making his way across the street to Hungry Jim's. He jumped through a broken window and landed on the shards of glass. The small noise caused him to freeze and he heard something skittering behind the counter. Gripping his knife tightly, he snuck further into the restaurant, keeping his head low.

Rounding the counter, he spotted droplets of blood leading to the kitchen. Deacon followed the trail out the rear entrance of the restaurant and to a car located in the parking lot. Peering through the foggy window and into the backseat, he saw a figure laying down. Opening the door, he realized it was (Y/n). His heart raced as the sudden click of the door opening startled her and she bolted out the other door thinking he was a marauder. She fell out of the car and on the asphalt, small pebbles digging into her palms.

Deacon swiftly maneuvered to the other side of the vehicle to stop her from running. "Hey, hey, it's me." He squatted down in front of her, obscuring the only escape route she had. He grabbed her wrists in his hands and whispered gently to calm her down. "It's me, sweetheart."

(Y/n) inhaled a shaky breath as she registered Deacon's voice. "Oh, god, Deacon." The moment he released her wrists, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. "I thought you were one of them."

"You... stabbed a guy in the eye with a hairpin?" He questioned as he held her body flush against his his.

"Uh, yeah." (Y/n) pulled away slightly to meet Deacon's gaze. "A little gruesome, but it gave me the chance I needed to escape."

The sound of approaching footsteps startled the couple. Deacon was the first to act and dragged (Y/n) down to the ground to hide from the marauder. He held her in his arms, taking cover behind the car. They listened to the marauder approach the vehicle, but their footsteps suddenly stopped on the other side. "There's no one fucking here!" The marauder suddenly shouted.

"Keep lookin'! There's no way in hell she could've made it far," a woman yelled back.

The second the man turned and headed back towards the rear entrance of Hungry Jim's, (Y/n) wiggles out of Deacon's arms and pilfers the knife from his boot. She crept after the man and followed him into the kitchen where she rammed the blade into the enemy's back, causing him to scream out as he fell to the floor. He turned his head to look over his shoulder. "You bitch!"

(Y/n) leaned down and yanked the blade from his back with a smirk. "It's a shame I don't have another hairpin. Enjoy bleeding out."

The man screamed as loud as he could, luring all the marauders to the restaurant. The (h/c)-haired woman rushed back to where she left her husband. Deacon was still crouched behind the car, watching the marauders storm into Hungry Jim's. "Let's get the hell outta here," he mumbled to her.

"Lead the way."

<———————————————<<<<<<<<<<<

"You both look like shit," Boozer commented when they arrived back at the safehouse the next morning.

"Nice to see you, too, buddy," (Y/n) snorts with laughter.

"What happened out there? I thought you'd be back before nightfall."

"One word—marauders," Deacon replied. "Bastards ambushed us on the highway. Remind me to return later on this week to kill the rest of 'em."

"Do we have anything for a headache?" The woman inquired, placing a hand against her pulsating head.

"There's some in the watchtower," Boozer responds before turning towards his bike. "I'm heading out to trade with Cope. Maybe we can get our hands on some more fish."

"Alright, Boozeman. Be careful," Deacon said. He looked over his shoulder to ask (Y/n) a question, but he saw she was making her way up the watchtower and followed. At the top, he watched her scrounge around for the medicine.

A dizzy spell caused (Y/n) to lose her footing, but she managed to catch herself before she fell. "Ugh, dammit..." Lowering her hand from her forehead, the blood on her fingertips caused her to grimace. "Why did it have to be a baseball bat?"

Deacon quickly rushed to her aid and caught her before she fell to the floor. He supported her body and guided her towards the small bed they shared. "You need to sit down and relax." He placed her on the bed gently before bending down to examine the wound on her head. Blood trickled down the side of her face, adding to the blood that had dried hours ago. He searched for a clean rag, medicine, and water.

Dabbing the cut along her hairline, he gripped the bottle of pills tightly. The plastic bent in his grasp, the top threatening to pop off from the pressure. "What else did they do?"

(Y/n) couldn't help but smirk at the question she thought he would've asked her hours ago. "And here comes the worrywart." She placed a hand against his cheek once he was done cleaning the wound. Her smirk transformed into a gentle smile. "Besides a bat to the head, nothing." She dropped her hand and patted the space next to her.

Deacon sat beside (Y/n) on the bed and handed over the medicine. "You're out of commission until I say you aren't."

She swallowed the pill with a raised brow. Once the medicine slid down her throat, she spoke. "We've been married for five years, Deek. Haven't you learned anything?"

"Even if you beg me with those damn puppy dog eyes, I'm not changing my mind," he declared.

"I've more control over you than you know. I can change your mind. It's like flipping a coin—easy and simple," (Y/n) grinned.

A smug grin etched across the man's face. "Whatever you say." When Deacon saw she was about to stand up, he snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her onto the bed. She gasped in surprise when the world around her spun and when her vision steadied, she was laying beside him. "For now, we're gonna get some rest."

The bed was small, but it provided enough room for them both. (Y/n) rested her head on Deacon's chest, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. "Didn't realize how tired I was until now."

Deacon combed his fingers through her soft, (h/c) locks. He continued his ministrations, glancing down at her face and watching her blink tiredly. "We're taking the entire day off."

"Agreed," (Y/n) smiled, closing her eyes and welcoming slumber with open arms.

#days gone #days gone x reader #deacon st john x reader #deacon x reader #female reader

74 notes · View notes

gingerpailwriting · 4 years

Text

A new short story I wrote called “The Challenge”. Hope you enjoy it!

Waking up in the dark was not how I imagined starting my day. I felt around me and felt the cool metal around my ankle. I pulled at it and felt the metal close in. I followed the iron to a wall and pulled at it. Nothing. I pulled at the metal again and the lights flickered to life. I squinted at the harsh light and looked around. I noticed the shackle around my ankle and the metal that was connected to the wall. The room was a clean white and the floor was a dull grey. I pulled myself up along the wall and made myself stand up. My head throbbed and my stomach hurt. I felt my head and felt a giant bump on the back of my skull. Touching it made the spot feel worse. Suddenly, a wall flickered to life and a man with grey hair appeared on the screen.

“Prisoner 109 I am here to inform you of your chance at freedom,” he said, “You have been chosen to participate in a security check. For every checkpoint you pass one person from your party will go free. You have the choice on whether it is a friend or family member. However, you must note that anyone you do not choose must stay and serve their life sentence. Remember, it is your crime that put them here and your good actions can get them out. If you do not complete the course you will be brought back to finish your life sentence, no matter how injured you are. Good luck prisoner 109.”

The screen died and the wall returned. My shackle suddenly came off and the door opened. On my wrist a tattoo counted down from thirty counting the minutes and seconds. I ran towards the darkness outside of the door and waited for the lights to turn on. I heard ticking in the distance and I hesitantly walked forward. Nothing happened as I walked.

“Is anyone in here!” a voice yelled.

“I am!” I responded, “Where are you?”

“I’m up ah-” the voice suddenly stopped and in the distance I saw a burst of orange and a magnificent heat.

A loud bang filled the air and I flew to the start. Soon the room was engulfed by what I can only assume were bombs going off. The ticking in the room dulled and I could only hear a few small ticks. I got back up and walked forward again. The clock on my wrist said 29:20 and I could tell that this was far from being over. The ticking became louder as I walked forward and soon there was ticking all around me. I got down on my knees and tried to hear where the ticking was coming from. I could tell it was very close to me and I wanted to beg for them to let me go back to my cell. I just uttered a quiet prayer and stepped forward. Nothing happened and I continued to move. Clink. My foot hit something and I could feel my stomach drop. I carefully lifted my foot back up and continued to walk. Finally, I stopped hearing ticking and I saw a light come up. I reached a platform and waited for the door to open.

“Thank you for finding that bug, 109,” the man said, “You finished with twenty-eight minutes remaining. You may choose who to save.” Suddenly two women appeared, and my stomach dropped when I saw who it was, “Your grandmother or your sister. Only one can be saved. Do you really want dear old Grandma to die in prison? Do you want your sister to live the life of a prisoner? It’s all up to you.”

He gave me a twisted smile before the screen turned off. I looked at my sweet little sister and my wise grandmother. Tears were streaming down my sisters face and my grandmother pointed a shaking finger at my sister. I knew what I had to do. My grandmother didn’t deserve to die here just because I made a mistake. My sister didn’t deserve to live in prison though. Sure, sometimes my sister was annoying but I still loved her. My grandmother had always been there for me though, meanwhile my sister had tried to stop me from commiting my crime. That’s when I noticed that the clock was still ticking. I now had twenty-seven minutes. I could stand here all day and fight for both of these important women.

“I’ve made my decision,” I said.

“And?” the man responded.

“My grandmother,” I said.

“Good decision,” the man said, both women were screaming for me to reconsider but I had already made my choice, “You may proceed when you are ready.”

I gave my sister an apology before her screen turned off. My grandmother’s screen was still on and she was staring at me.

“How could you?” she asked, “Why didn’t you choose your sister?”

“She might have a chance someday,” I said, not looking her in the eye, “I want you to die in peace. You don’t deserve to die in a prison.”

My grandmother went to say something but I walked through the door to the next challenge, I couldn’t stand to look her in the eye anymore. This room was dark and I started walking. After my first step the lights came on and the floor began to flood with sand. The sand rose to my ankles quickly and I wasn’t able to move. I tried in vain to move and I only succeeded in sliding forward a little bit. I was going to drown if I wasn’t careful.

“Turn it off,” I screamed, “You're going to kill me!”

Nothing happened and the sand continued rising. It was up to my throat and I was sure I was going to drown. Sand began to fill my mouth when it finally began receding. I could feel myself being pulled down with it. Suddenly, something slid past my leg. I grabbed my leg and looked into the sand. It was nothing, just a figment of my imagination. I began walking backwards in the sand and found that it helped me get out. When I was nearly out something grabbed my leg and pulled me down. I kicked at it and it slowly showed itself. The top of its head was white and it had three large red eyes. It had webbed fingers and it had long fingernails. It screamed at me and pulled me back down. I kicked it in the eye and it let me go. Finally I ran through the room to the safety of the platform.

The sand had finished receding and all there was was a gap in the floor. I heard the thing scream as it drowned in sand. The screen flickered for a few moments before it turned on. The man seemed surprised that I had made it out of the room. I looked at my arm, 23:20 was written in red. Had it really been that long? It felt like the time had flown by.

“109,” he said, “I’m surprised to see you. I was hoping that that would be the end of our little game. Maybe we can have a proper chat when you get up here, hm?” He laughed. “Although this next room isn’t close to as fair as the other two. Now for your prize.” Two screens lit up. “Your mother or your wife. Your mother who gave you life or your wife who gives you the reason to continue life. Both of them deserve to go free but only one can. You choose who stays and who goes so take your time thinking.”

I looked at my beautiful wife who had tears streaming down her face. Had she not been good and faithful all these years? Didn’t she deserve to go free? Then I looked at my mother, the one person who completely understood me. She looked terrified and was holding up her hand. I could feel the weight of the world on my shoulders as I was forced to choose between the two of them. What would happen if I set my wife free? If I lost then she would move on without me, I would just be another bad part of her past. If I won and left her behind then she would be the only person that could take care of our baby girl. What about my mom? Either way she wouldn’t talk to me. She’d be disappointed in me whichever way I went. I wasn’t sure what to do and time was running out. The only thing that made me choose was my wife pointing to my mother. My mother shook her head but I pointed to her.

“No!” she said, “She needs to go free, not me. You’re making a huge mistake!”

My wife nodded her head and the screen died. My mother’s disappointed face came through clearly on the screen. It looked like she wanted to call me an idiot but she was holding it back. She knew she was going free so there was no need to be mean to me. Eventually, she nodded to me and told me to go through the door. I checked my wrist and it said 20:00. I can’t believe I wasted three minutes making my decision.

I walked through the door and entered the new room. This room was bathed in red light and there were multiple machines humming in the room. I waited to see if the man would give me more insight before stepping forward. The machines aimed at me and I heard them give off a click. I began to run and the machines shot bullets at me. My heart pounded as my feet hit the ground and the bullets whizzed by my head. This was easy enough, just avoid the bullets and make it to the end. That’s when I noticed the mud traps that were coming up. It was impossible to avoid them and I ran right into them. I tried to pull my feet out of the trap but to no avail. I tried to pull myself out and I finally freed myself. I felt a sting on my arm and noticed the amount of blood pouring out. I didn’t pay any attention to it and continued running. I almost made it to the door before a mist surrounded me. The mist smelled like burnt flour and it made my muscles buzz. Soon enough I was on the floor and I couldn’t feel my limbs. I found myself unable to move and laid uselessly on the floor. When the ability to move returned to my limbs, I dragged myself to the door.

The door didn’t open immediately though and I stood confused as the machines powered off. The screen buzzed to life and I saw the man with his head in his hands. He looked aggravated that I had passed three of his tests.

“Didn’t last long enough,” he said, “I thought we had it this time. You’re lucky 109, not many people found that bug in time. Now for your prize, the choice between two babies. Either your own flesh and blood or your friend's child. Choose carefully.”

The two screens came alive and I saw the two babies being held by guards. The problem was that they were both my flesh and blood. That was why I was in prison anyway, because of my infidelity. The only reason they put my wife in here was because she wouldn’t leave me. Both of my babies were quietly sleeping, content in the arms of the guards. I wanted to free them both so badly, but I could only help one. Growing up in prison would be the worst thing for them. I guess I had to take into account which one I thought would grow up best out of here. I pointed to my wife’s baby and watched the guard take my friend’s baby. Tears started streaming down my face as the man returned to the screen.

“Good choice 109,” he said, “The baby will be given to your mother. Now then, this is the last room, but it’s also the most perilous. Here you will be surrounded by your greatest enemies. Here your fears become reality. Rest assured 109, this will not be an easy challenge.”

“I’m ready,” I said, “No matter what the challenge.”

“That’s what you think,” he said, “Keep in mind everything in here will try to kill you, no matter how innocent it looks. Good luck 109.”

He nodded his head at me and the screen shut off. I headed into the next room and immediately felt hot. It appeared that this room hid a jungle. In the middle of the large room was a stack of weapons and a few provisions. I checked my arm and saw that I had ten minutes. I hoped that that would be enough time to navigate to the next room. I heard birds whistling in the distance and looked to see where they were. That’s when I saw the little purple birds flying around the room.

I took my first step and attempted to see where the door was. This jungle was so thick that I soon became lost. I kept going forward and looked around. Other than being lost in the jungle this room wasn’t too difficult. That’s when I saw a flash of yellow. I looked around and noticed the bushes seemed to be getting closer to me. No, they were definitely getting closer. I saw eyes peering out of slits in the costume and I didn’t stick around long enough to see what it was. I ran into the dense jungle and went towards the middle of the room.

In the middle of the room I grabbed two spears and prepared myself in case anything snuck up on me. Suddenly, I heard crying. I recognized the cries to be that of my baby and I screamed for them to stop.

“Where are you?” a woman screamed.

“In the middle,” I screamed back, “Are you hurt?”

“No I’m not,” she screamed, “But you better watch out for those bushes!”

“Okay,” I said, “Tell me when you're close.”

“Okay,” she said.

Soon I was joined by a blonde woman who was wearing a brown sweater and skinny jeans. She was wearing combat boots, and her nails were painted blood red. She grabbed a bow and arrow and aimed at the bushes.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Damien,” I said, “What’s yours?”

“Rebecca,” she responded, “Do you know the way out of here?”

“No,” I admitted, "I’m lost. Do you have any idea which way is north?”

“No,” she said, “How long do you have left?”

I looked at my arm and saw that I had five minutes left. I screamed the number to her and she told me that she had two minutes left. We decided to just start walking the way we thought was north. Rebecca pointed at the screen when we could see it and we walked towards it. We kept an eye on all of the bushes as we walked. Suddenly, I lost sight of Rebecca. I looked around for her and screamed her name. She didn’t respond to me and I assumed that she had been taken by the bushes. I looked down at my arm and saw that I had four minutes, which meant that Rebecca had a minute. I made one last call before continuing on my own.

“You left me,” Rebecca’s voice said, “Why did you leave me?”

“Rebecca?” I said, “Where are you?”

“I’m out of time anyway,” she said, “Go on without me.”

“I’m not leaving you,” I said, “We’ll get out of this.”

I looked for Rebecca and found her crying behind a tree. I grabbed her arm and dragged her towards the screen. We were so close to the end and I had one minute left. I felt a cut on my arm and looked back to see Rebecca holding up her bow and aiming at my heart. I gave her a confused look before running towards the door. Had she been what the man had warned me about? I looked back to see the crazed look in her eyes and raised my spear. I threw one at her and it stuck into her chest. She didn’t stop though, and she continued aiming at me. I threw my other spear and it stuck into her leg but she limped on. I screamed and ran to the door. I banged on it for them to open it but the damn thing wouldn’t open. Rebecca shot an arrow at me and missed so I ran towards her. I grabbed the spear from her chest and stabbed her. Warm blood sprayed my face as I stabbed and stabbed. Eventually she fell to the ground and the door opened.

On the other side of the door was a white room which reminded me of my cell. A screen came to life and the man stared at me incredulously and clapped slowly. My mother, grandmother and baby were all waiting for me. I took my child into my arms and cradled her.

“Well done 109,” the man said, “You may leave with your family now.”

“What will happen to everyone else?” I asked.

“That reminds me 109,” the man suddenly remembered something, “Your whole family gets to leave because you stopped that other woman from coming through. Her family was surprised when you killed her. They will be joining you on the way out by the way. But when I say your family is coming with you, I mean everybody that came in with you. Even your friends. Congratulations 109.”

A door opened and my family stepped out. My wife hugged my neck and my other baby smiled up at me. Then I noticed the other people, there were two women both in their 90’s. They appeared to be sad but told me congratulations as they waited to be released. They reminded me of Rebecca and I didn’t say anything to them as we left. What could I say? I could say that I was sorry that Rebecca was a traitor, although that wouldn't have been appropriate given the situation. All I did was grab my wife's hand and walk out into the warm sunlight.

#short story #challenge #escape #my story #story time #writing #my writing

0 notes

isakthedragon · 7 years

Text

A Dragon Sized Adventure Chapter 32

(I dedicate this Chapter to @kaotickanine, you are such a good help. Thank you for the help in this Chapter.)

Chapter 32: Family Feudal

*Crash and the gang make their way into the East Empire Terrarium. This place seems to Tropy’s personal favorite, much to the dismay of what should actually be there. Some parts of Japan have the Great Wall of China running in them for no reason other than as a paradox while China has an overabundance of temples. The terrarium reflects this since it’s hard to tell the difference of what is for Japan and what is for China. The only thing that looks proper here is the Palace at the far end of the terrarium.*Rouge is the first to notice the mishmash of the Terrarium. "Someone seems to have disrespect for history. I can't tell what's for China and what's for Japan. It's just a big mess."

Crunch: "That's Tropy for you. He loves making paradoxes."

Tails: "We better get those crystals."

Coco: "Hey, big bro. Can I lead for a bit?"

Crash: "Of course, sister! And same for you, brother (Crunch). Feel free to jump in."

Coco and Crunch: “We will.”

*A note for this Terrarium is that you need to find a key in a level to move on to the next since Tropy has set up checkpoints to lock you out.*

-----

Level 31: Mountain Mayhem

Tropy appears. "Hmm… maybe it’s time to change things up! Let’s see if you can survive my version of the Far East!“

Crates: 139

Time Trial

Sapphire: 2:30.00

Gold: 2:25.00

Platinum: 2:20.00

PMV,TCP… Things to Save: 6

Helping Partner: Rouge

Badniks: Skiing Lab Assistant Pawns: They tend to ski across a set area, trying to trip you up.

Mutants: Praying Monkey Viper, Tiger Crane Panda… Thing: A Praying Mantis + Monkey + Tiger + Crane + Panda + Viper. Cortex has been watching Kung Fu Panda a bit too much. At least he has the deadly and furious thing down. Whether it looks good is another story.

KaoticKanine says: Starting off, our heroes have to make their way down the tall, freezing mountains of Japan and China: Mt. Fuji and Mt. Everest, which have now been combined into one big super mountain that’s even more frigid. Not only do you have to brave the intense cold alongside the usual enemies, but the air is thin and so you have to replenish your oxygen with oxygen tanks scattered throughout the level.

As Kaotic said, Coco and Rouge need to find a way down the huge mountain that Tropy has made to scare them. He even named it Mt. Tropy. Yuck. They have to follow the mountain path they are on, pass through an icy cave, and down another path to the valley below. The snow at least lightens closer to the bottom as does your need to keep refilling for oxygen.

Achievement Unlocked: Feeling Cold as Ice

—–

Level 32: Stone Soldier Statues

Crates: 106

Time Trial

Sapphire: 1:50.00

Gold: 1:45.00

Platinum: 1:40.00

PMV,TCP… Things to Save: 6

Helping Partner: Cream

Badniks: Shield Lab Assistant Pawns (Orient): They carry heavy paper shields that can’t be broken. They mostly aim to push you off into the trenches and into a statue. Ninja Lab Assistant Pawns: Some throw ninja stars at you while donned in purple ninja garb. Others carry ninja swords, trying to swing at you. Terracotta Army Lab Assistant Pawns: Odd pawns in that they are completely frozen like rock… until you smash one. Then they come alive and will attack you with spears, bows and arrows, swords, axes and even with horse chariots. Since they are made of stone, they take quite a few hits to destroy. It’s best to leave them alone at all costs. Terracotta Horses: Stone horses that will try to kick you if they are awoken.

KaoticKanine notes: After escaping the bone-chilling climate of the high mountains, now our heroes must navigate through a rocky valley filled with countless statues of soldiers, filled with equally countless enemies that won’t hesitate to attack. Extreme caution must be made, for your attacks can easily destroy any of the statues. Should that happen, all of the statues will come to life and they will not show you any mercy for destroying their comrade.

Indeed, Kaotic, those statues are in trenches that you must avoid falling in or you will most certainly break one of them as well. This is probably Eggman’s deadliest trap yet since they have a Borg-like mentality. Destroy one, and expect to be gained up on. At least, to keep it fair, hitting a checkpoint will quiet the Terracotta army, but exactly where they were. So if you made them block the path, you’re gonna have to awaken them again. But Coco and Cream are light footed, so they should be able to get past safely to the other end of the valley.

Achievement Unlocked: Cold Stoned Killers

—–

Level 33: The Great Wall Race

Crates: 55

Time Trial

Sapphire: 1:25.00

Gold: 1:20.00

Platinum: 1:15.00

Helping Partner: Amy

Badniks: Cinder Block Lifting Lab Assistant Pawns: It lifts cinderblocks mostly in an attempt to block your path. Bucket Carrying Lab Assistant Pawns: They run down the wall carrying buckets to try to block your path. Staff Lab Assistant Pawns: Also trying to block your path, these try to swing their staves at you.

*Coco and Amy find themselves on a section of the Great Wall being worked on.*

Coco: “Ah, i remember coming here with Crash during the last Time Twister escapade.”

Amy: “That’s so cool!” *Amy gives a wide smile.*

Coco: “I wonder…” *Just then, an orange speck appears from a warp orb and comes from a distant portion of the wall. The orange speck runs up to Coco, showing itself to be none other than Pura, a tiger she met on the wall before. He licks Coco’s face in happiness.*

Amy: “D’aw! A friend?”

Coco: “Yeah. Pura helped me get across the wall. He’s so fast.”

Amy: “Fast, eh? Care to test that?”

Coco: “With a race across the Wall?”

Amy: “Yeah. It’s what Sonic would do.”

Coco: “You’re on! But first…” *She grabs the Chaos Emeralds Crash gave her and makes herself, Pura and Amy super. Pura became an adult tiger with the Emeralds* “For a fair race, of course.

Amy: “Right.”

This race course is of the Great Wall while it’s being constructed, so there are pits here and there. Lab Assistant Pawns tend to crowd the path lifting cinderblocks or swinging bamboo sticks. There are also a few racks of barrels taking up the path too. But luckily, they aren’t too crowding, so it shouldn’t slow you down too much. It’s a little harder than the race with Shadow, but not by much. It should still be easy to win the 2nd gem, which just so happens to be the Green Gem. Just dodge the obstacles and keep charging to win.

(If Coco wins) Coco: “Yes, I won. Thanks Pura.” *She pets Pura and he meows.*

Amy: “That was fun. You were good.” *She smiles.*

(If Amy wins) Amy: “Hooray, I won! Sonic would be proud.”

Coco: “Yeah. It was a good race.” *She pets Pura and he meows.*

(The next line) Amy: “I wonder if Sonic would love to race with you guys?”

Coco: “I bet Crash would want that. Think i have a chance too?”

Amy: “I think so!” *She smiles and they exit the level. Pura comes with them.*

Achievement Unlocked: Follow Me (In this Race :) )

—–

Level 34: Temple Trouble

Crates: 146

Time Trial

Sapphire: 2:35.00

Gold: 2:30.00

Platinum: 2:25.00

PMV,TCP… Things to Save: 7

Helping Partner: Blaze

Badniks: Slicers: The name says it all. Shellcracker: *Screams internally, then externally.* :P Judo / Karate Lab Assistant Pawns: They are trained in the art of Judo and Karate. Watch those flying fists!

KaoticKanine’s words of wisdom: Our heroes have now made it to civilization! But in order to get into the city to confront N. Tropy, they must make it through the dozens of temples that are filled with unwelcoming martial arts masters and all sorts of obstacles reserved for training. Think you can best the masters and get to the city in one piece?

Kaotic warning is well founded, the badniks here aren’t playing games. And the stage hazards are just as deadly. Earlier temples have spiked dummies spinning about like Crash while some of the later temples have flaming coal pits that rarely spit out a flying coal. Others have large axes and other sharp relatives swinging about to make you a cut up, literally. And our favorite f(r)iends Slicers and Shellcrackers inhabit a temple or two as well.

Achievement Unlocked: Kung Fu Fighting

—–

Level 35: Palace Panic

Crates: 168

Time Trial

Sapphire: 1:45.00

Gold: 1:40.00

Platinum: 1:35.00

PMV,TCP… Things to Save: 6

Helping Partner: Charmy

Badniks: Cart Riding Lab Assistant Pawns: They mostly ride little orange carts around, trying to run you over. Imperial Soldier Lab Assistant Pawns: They actively chase you with their swords, trying to slice you. Imperial Guard Lab Assistant Pawns: Other than carrying shorter swords, they carry small shields to protect frontal, mid height attacks. Perhaps a low attack will dispel them easily?

KaoticKanine: At last, we make it to the city. And at its heart is the palace of the empire, where N. Tropy awaits on the throne. Our heroes must now navigate the busy streets of the city and enter the palace in order to confront N. Tropy. However, you really have to rush as Tropy has sent imperial soldiers and guards after Crash and Co and they will give chase throughout the entire level.

Yes, Kaotic, we have made it into the city, but Tropy is not rolling out the red carpet for you. Badniks are attacking at every intersection you get to. And the city is a little bit of a maze itself with its closed streets here and there. At least you can see the large palace ahead, so you can see your end goal. Hurry on, so you can deal with Tropy.

Achievement Unlocked: City of the Sun

—–

*Warping out of Palace Panic drops Coco and Charmy inside the palace in the Terrarium.*

Charmy: ♪ “Hey, where are we? This isn’t where we entered from.” ♫

Tropy gets up from his throne. “Indeed so. I brought you here since I doubt you would have searched actively for me. This is my city.”

Coco: “Not according to actual history, you time screwer! Why have you really brought us here?”

Tropy: “Only because I thought it was time for you to meet me again.” *He chuckles.*

Charmy: ♪ “Dude, that sucked.” ♫

Tropy: “Does it look like I care? The actual reason is because it only took me a second to capture the other heroes.”

Coco: “No… You don’t mean…”

Tropy: “Oh, I mean.” *He bangs his trident, making the heroes, frozen in groups in 4 time bubbles, appear.*

Coco: “How dare you take my brother!”

Charmy: ♪ “Give us back our friends!” ♫

Tropy: “You want them back, hmmm? I doubt you can deal with these!” *He bangs his trident again, making 4 Pawns appear from lightning bolts (Which is a cover for the transporter beam).*

Charmy: ♪ “Regular Pawns? How weak!” ♫

Tropy: “Oh, they aren’t regular at all. Transform, Pawns! Into the the Dragon Kings of the 4 Seas!”

*The Pawns transform into anthropomorphic dragons, one carrying a sword, another with a bo-staff, the third with nunchucks and the 4th with a bow and arrows. They have dragon heads and are dressed in king’s clothes. They gain a tail, wings, and a human+dragon like body. Each of them are a different color: Azure, Red, White and Black. Tropy sends the heroes to the 4 corners of the room, which represent the different seasons: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter.*

Tropy: “You want them back? Destroy these Pawns!” *He smiles as the Pawns make clouds appear in the palace, making rain and lightning come down in the room.*

Charmy: ♪ “They look so tough! Think we can defeat them?” ♫

Coco: “Of course we can. Come on, let’s destroy them.”

Boss: 4 Dragon King Pawns

(Hang on, need appropriate music.)

These pawns are quite tough, as they cannot be taken down normally. Simply spinning into them with Coco and stinging them with Charmy ends up being blocked by the Pawns. They all start off by flying into the air, only coming down to attack for a short while, save for the bow and arrow one which will stay in the air (we will get to him). It’s not easy to dodge them, since they like to fly in and out of the storm clouds above, but they do give you some warning still that they are going to attack you by making the sound of thunder.

The (Azure) Swordsman Pawn will come down every so often to take a swing at you, which must be dodged or blocked. Sooner or later, it will attack and its sword will get stuck in the wet ground, making it faceplant in front of it. Attack it while it’s weaponless to destroy the Pawn.

The (Red) Bo-staff Pawn will hover above the ground, just high enough to avoid your attacks but still attack you with the long reach of its bo-staff. Your only choice is to run away from this guy as he takes swipes at you. Soon enough, he’ll get frustrated and dive down toward you, slamming the bo-staff in a downward strike that can only be dodged by running to the left or right at the last second. Normally, after doing this, the Pawn would just ascend back into the air and continue the chase. But there are “metal domes”, meant to attract lightning from the storm clouds above, in the arena that, should you trick the Pawn into striking them with the diving attack, will burn the bo-staff to ashes, leaving the Pawn defenseless for a spin/sting.

The (White) Nunchuck Pawn spends much less time in the air compared to his comrades, but it’s no easier to attack thanks to its skills with the nunchucks making it difficult to approach. To defeat this foe, you have to evade its attacks until it eventually gets frustrated and performs a sudden, downward swing onto you. Should you manage to dodge this attack, the nunchuck will rebound from the ground and strike the Pawn’s head, dazing it. That is your time to break it apart with a spin.

The (Black) Bow and Arrow Pawn is the one that will stay in the air the longest, firing arrows at you. It will run out of arrows eventually, which is when it will come down to the ground to collect them. It’s the easiest to deal with since you can just collect its arrows, leaving it mostly defenseless as it decides to stay grounded. Go and break it to finish this fight and release your friends. (A thing to note is that he changes the rain to snow.

Achievement Unlocked: Time and Time Again...

*Tropy growls in anger as the heroes break free of their time bubbles and and run to Coco and Charmy.* “You little vermin! I thought you were too weak to handle those Pawns!”

Crash: “Don’t underestimate my sister, Tropy.”

Crunch: “She’s stronger than she looks.”

Sonic: “How dare you try to hurt Charmy and the others.” *Sonic attempts to hit Tropy with a homing attack, but Tropy stops time just before it would connect.*

Tropy: “You’re too slow, Sonic. It’s a wonder how Eggman has such trouble with you if you are this predictable. I see I shouldn’t have assumed that you guys were weak. Which is fine for me, since i don’t have to hold back. See you guys at the end of the next terrarium.”

*Tropy chuckles, then laughs as he opens the gate behind the throne, exiting and moving on to the next terrarium. His leave unfreezes time again and Sonic home attacks the chair, faceplanting into it.*

Espio: “Are you okay, Charmy? We could see what was happening and were worried for you.”

Charmy: ♪ “I’m okay, but that was so much fun!” ♫

Vector: “Yeah, he’s okay.”

Big: “Hmm, we better hurry on. I don’t like the way Tropy was acting.”

*Our heroes leave and move on to the next terrarium.*

Next Time: It’s a whole new world in the Arabian Terrarium

#Isakthedragon's fanfiction #A Dragon Sized Adventure #Thanks KaoticKanine!#ADSA #ADSA: Chapter 32

2 notes · View notes

a-table-of-fics · 3 years

Text

Cull to Adventure, Chapter 7, Draft 1

A drink of tea and a change of clothes later, Cull was standing at the third kettle he had found. This one was on a ledge, and he at least had a fantastic view while he waited. It was strange, with stone tentacles and floating rocks, but that sunset! The way the red sun peeked over that mountain range in the distance was awe-inspiring.

It almost reminded him of some of his best days as a kid, except he was wearing uncomfortably attention-grabbing clothes and listening to muffled commotion between Marie and Sheldon through his headset. Both of those sort of spoiled the mood, but the cool air did help make up for it. He wondered how cold it would be now if he dove into the ink he covered almost the entire outpost with. Thankfully, it seemed this was the last kettle here, so it hopefully had Miffens hidden somewhere on the other side.

There were still more Zapfish to save, of course, but he hoped Marie had an idea of where those could be. Maybe that Launchpad behind the lightbulb fence? It was burning brightly and quite hotly, and it was clear to Agent 4 that someone didn’t want him over there.

“Agent 4, we now have visual on the… looks like a place made for cleaning something, but a Zapfish is definitely hanging around there.”

“I-I got it,” Cull nodded, before diving into the grate.

He landed in another respawner, instinctively changing his color to yellow to match the ink there. He looked up to see that it was sunset underground, too. He could see hexagonal screens on the walls of the enormous cavern, with pinks, oranges, and deep purples giving an illusion of sky that, while convincing, couldn’t hope to match the real deal that he was admiring just a minute ago. Other than that, the floating stones and storage crates weren’t too out of the ordinary at this point, but they still added to the novelty of this place.

He walked forward as normal (that is to say, with excess care), but he needn’t have worried. Other than a few crates, there was nothing to see but a ramp with a conveyor belt in it. Curiously, there were what looked like squid symbols all over the belt, but Cull soon realized that wasn’t it; they were simply arrows.

“Hey,” Marie said, excitedly, “you should step on that Dash Track.”

Agent 4 felt his mouth go a bit dry.

“W-what?” he asked, suddenly realizing just how fast this so-called Dash Track was spinning. It reminded him of some videos he saw, with young Inklings getting flung off of treadmills after trying to stay on.

“Just trust me on this one,” Marie said, her voice barely concealing her anticipation.

He swallowed, shuffling closer to the deathtrap. He inched his shoe closer to the edge, pulling back every so often. Finally, he inched just a little too far, and—Schwuph! – his foot was dragged forward, and Cull barely had time to yelp before he instinctively squidformed. His head bounced harmlessly against the Dash Pad, but he was thrown screaming onto the platform further ahead, landing with a splat sound. After a moment, he kidformed again, holding his head. Even if bouncing against the hard rubber didn’t do much, bouncing against the harder concrete smarted.

“You okay, Agent 4?” Marie asked. “Gotta be careful to land on your feet there…”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m…I’m f-fine.”

Cull shook himself a little, before standing back up. He was hardly the worse for wear anymore; in fact, he gave a laugh in spite of himself!

“Gets your ink pumpin’, huh?” Marie said, her smile clear over the radio.

“Yeah!” Cull said, beaming.

“Cool; you should be able to get the Zapfish in no time, then. Go, go, go!”

With newfound vigor, Agent four ran forward, hopping over the tall steps…and dove behind a large inflatable bumper when he saw a new Octarian. They looked like an upside-down Octotrooper with a propeller cap, and they were firing gobs of ink from a nozzle attached to it.

“That’s an Octocopter,” Marie explained. “Shouldn’t be too bad, let’s be real.”

“Right…”

“May want to look up, though…”

He did, just in time to see the Octocopter fly over him, their body wiggling loosely in the wind. He kept crouching, and he had to bend his back in a weird way, but that was easy for an invertebrate. The hard part was keeping his weapon grip close to his chest while bending that way, like Marie taught him to, but it only took a few shots to take that foe out, as opposed to the barrage it took before. He wasn’t sure if his aim actually improved or if this was a weaker foe, but he couldn’t focus on that right now; even without a spine getting in the way, bending backwards like that was pretty painful.

He stood up, stretching and twisting until the ink inside settled back. He could see another Copter hovering around a good distance away, unaware of his presence. Deciding to practice the better part of valor, Agent 4 crept slowly around behind this Copter’s back. When the Octarian stopped, hovering in place, he panicked, firing at his own feet and squidforming. He waited in his own ink, with bated breath, while the Octocopter flew over him in blissful ignorance. Moving quickly, he made it to a dead end, with a black glassy sphere sitting near the edge.

“So, wh-what’s this, Mar- Agent 2?”

“Oh! A ride rail! Ink it up, and I think you can ride it to that spot over there!”

Once he shot the globe, a powered ink hose emerged from the other side. It twisted and moved in a pre-programmed motion, stretching all the way to the nearby platform before coming to a complete stop. Ink could be seen flowing through, sprinkling out at high pressure at the other end.

Cull wasn’t sure how he could use this. Wouldn’t he just fall off? And how could he even “ride” this rail without wheels? He bent down to get a better feel for this, and found that his hand easily merged with the surface of the globe.

Unfortunately, it also dragged him screaming onto the rail itself. He rode along the top of it, being propelled forward even as he got his hand unstuck. It wasn’t long before he landed on his belly, onto another checkpoint.

He could hear Marie sucking through her beak as he picked himself up.

“Yeah, you can just jump on those next time. It’s a lot less painful.”

He nodded, and was about to run to the next Dash Pad, but stopped. An Octocopter ahead had apparently heard him yelling, to say nothing of the one who was behind him. Of course they’d open fire, and of course he’d get his armor damaged again. That stinging sensation, along with the urgency of his situation, made him not even think about returning fire. Instead he ran straight for the Dash Pad, launching him right at one of the Octocopters. They tried to get out of the way, but it was too late, and the other Copter winced. The helmet was sent flying, and the two of them fell onto the ground with a plap noise.

Cull groaned, rubbing his head, to find the disarmed Octocopter on top of him. They got up, and started to kick him. The little guy had a weak kick, but it was strong for how tiny their legs were. Cull winced in pain before getting up and shoving them back. To say he was feeling unsteady would be an understatement, but he was still able to take out the Octocopter who was still in the air with a few shots.

“Ouch,” was all Marie could manage after that.

The grounded Copter was still at it, kicking Cull’s shins with their little landing-gear-clad feet. They gave him a steely glare, daring him to strike back. Surely an enemy of the Octarians wouldn’t just take this! They were preparing any moment for a good ol’ melee. They were relishing the thought, already taunting in Octo.

Cull, oblivious to this challenge, simply splatted them.

“You okay, kid?”

“I-I’ll be fine…”

He walked over to the Dash Pad again, and was able to stick the landing unimpeded this time. He didn’t see any enemies after him, so he took a moment to rest while his armor recharged. That alone made him feel a little better, though he was still a bit bruised. He looked ahead to find that he’d have to make a few running leaps. That was fine; nothing he didn’t do when tagging hard-to-reach spots of Inkopolis.

“You might wanna try squidfo—” Marie started, before seeing him leap from platform to platform in about ten seconds – something most Inklings couldn’t do without being a squid. “…Oh wow. Not bad, Agent 4!”

“Um, thanks?” Cull said, not understanding. Wasn’t that just what he was supposed to do?

Anyway, he saw another Ride Rail in front of him, this one already activated. Not wanting to have another hard landing, he thought about this. Marie said jumping on this would be better, but keeping his balance on an inky propulsion rail didn’t sound easy.

“Don’t trust those, huh?” Marie asked. “I get that. You can trust me, though. Just hop on and enjoy the ride!”

Cull swallowed. He didn’t make the running leap he was sure Marie was hoping for, but he did hop onto the globe. Much to his surprise, balancing wasn’t an issue at all. Even as he was pulled forward, he remained standing, his boots grinding against the rail like he was a skater. He naturally started to lean into a more balanced position like a skater would, then. He wasn’t clumsily staggering or anything, but it felt more natural. The wind batting against his face, making his two shortened tentacles flow behind him, and the rush of doing this made him feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time. This was cool! He was being cool, if only for a fleeting moment!

And then, just like that, it was over. He had to jump off, and continue pressing forward. At least there was another Dash Pad to give him another quick rush before he saw large pistons of purple ink shoot out from some walls in front of him, before retracting back in regular intervals. It was hard to see the purpose of these, other than as traps, but steam hissing out of the tops of the platforms and the rumbling sound of something below suggested that the hazardous part was more just a happy byproduct of a necessary purpose.

“Best not to touch those ink pistons,” Marie remarked.

What kind of idiot did she think he was? Of course he wasn’t going to touch the purple-inked death cylinders! Then again, he had just learned yesterday about things everyone knew by the time they were 12, so he just sighed in resignation before proceeding. He deserved to be patronized, he well knew.

Neither the pistons nor the Octocopter gave much issue. In fact, Cull found it was pretty easy going for a while. Even when the pistons were blocking some jumps, it caused more panic than pain for him as he took frantic running leaps at any opening he saw. And he had found some more Sardinium to boot, though he had no idea why Marie wanted him to find that stuff.

He smashed past a wall of boxes, and his swift progress came to a halt. A huge wall, regularly being scrubbed by two enormous pistons. He swallowed, not seeing any way around this no matter how hard he looked.

“Y-you wouldn’t know what to do here, would you?” he asked, finally.

There was a pregnant pause. He could hear clicking through his headset, and a few hums.

“Sorry Agent 4,” she finally said, “but this looks like the only way. I don’t see anything else around. You gotta ink and go.”

He stared at the pistons as they kept the wall well-coated in pink. He took a deep breath, and started coating the wall in yellow. He had a quick and dirty trail to the top, but he knew climbing it would be another matter.

He made a slight whimpering noise before he dove into the ink. Marie got a good view of the scene, and the frantic splashes as he tried to make it to the top. Slowly, slowly, he was climbing up. Too slowly; he was halfway there and the pistons were already coming in.

“Agent 4!” she cried out.

He froze, just in time, as the two pistons closed in around him. Marie could hear him hyperventilating, stuck on a scant splatter of his remaining ink. He stayed there while the pistons pulled back again, and stayed there for two more cycles.

“Agent 4!” Marie called out, nearly shouting. “You gotta let go! There’s no way you’ll be able to—”

“AGENT 4!” she shouted, as he started swimming up again at the next opening.

She was privy to every grunt and whimper as he climbed up the pink ink, and she could see the frantic ripples through it. Anything he was saying was getting incoherent, and Marie wondered how he was staying in enemy ink as a squid for so long. Instincts should have kicked in by now.

And there, she could see his armor shatter. Still he insisted on pressing forward; against all odds, he had almost made it to the top before the piston sprang back out again. Marie couldn’t watch.

Miraculously, she didn’t hear the sounds of Agent 4 getting splatted, or the sounds of the respawner. Instead, she heard him panting and gagging. She looked back to see that he was at the top, in his shorts and undershirt, covered from head to toe in pink ink. He shivered, occasionally spitting out more Octarian ink.

“I…I can’t believe you made it!” Marie finally exclaimed. “I… can’t believe you did that! You could’ve just tried again, but… why?”

“A-and be a failure again?” he stammered, between coughs.

“A what?” Marie exclaimed. “You are not – why would you – how are – “

She sighed as she saw Cull crawl over to a respawn, using the green ink there to recover a little faster.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay? For now, just… you’re – you’re fine, all right?”

What else could Marie say to something like that? The middle of enemy territory was not the place to beat yourself up, even if there was such a place.

Finally, Cull recovered enough to start worrying about getting his armor back. He still had purple on him, but it no longer made Marie scared that it had reached him through his inky shell. She wouldn’t have wished that kind of pain on anyone.

“You all right, kid?” she asked, once his suit regenerated.

He nodded, slowly, but something caught his attention. Marie couldn’t see where he ran off to, but he was soon back with another scroll He took a look at it and shook his head before pocketing it. Apparently, it wasn’t as interesting as the other two.

“Onwards, Agent 4!” Marie said, with forced bravado.

There wasn’t much else of note; Cull even ran past his first encounter with a Twintacle Octotrooper, completely ignoring them in favor of a trail of Dash Pads. Those led him to one final gauntlet of ink pistons with Dash Pads in between. Cull sighed. He could see the Zapfish on the other side, but he was not looking forward to more of this.

He watched carefully, wiping sweat from his brow. He took a few false starts, but finally ran onto the first Dash Pad.

“HO-“ Marie started.

He made it to the second Pad, immediately launching again.

“-LY-“ Marie continued.

Last one, and he flew right onto a Ride Rail, feet first.

“CAAAARP!” Marie yelled, watching proudly as he zipped his way over to the Zapfish. A third one down already; she’d find Callie and save Inkopolis in no time!

#cull goes to octo canyon #cull to adventure #Splatoon #splatoon 2 #splatoon 2 fic #chapter 7 #draft 1 #cull to adventure full chapter

0 notes