#I SCREAMED WHEN A MONSTER JUMPED ACROSS A CHASM AT US | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 1 year ago

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Datura Pt 6

Summary: Reeling from a confrontation with Rhys, you find yourself at the whim of one of Amarantha's power plays.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, blood and gore.

Author's Note: It gets worse so it can get better, I am so sorry for the amount of angst I just put out into the world, there will be better things coming I swear.

Pt 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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There is nothing but darkness; empty, cold, all consuming darkness. It holds you, carries you through the void as if it has a mind of it’s own. You have no desire to fight it, no will to struggle. It can move you wherever it sees fit; do whatever it desires. If it desires to consume you until you become nothing but the unceasing void, then you will allow it.

You float for hours, days, weeks, you’re unsure, time does not exist here. There are no stars, no light, no varying shades to catch your attention in the emptiness. It’s a shame you’re conscious enough to feel it, because it might have let you sleep more soundly than you ever have.

The darkness flows like a river, carrying you farther and farther away until it finally sets you down, the cold, stone floor beneath you biting through your clothes. As the mist begins to fade, shapes begin to come into view: It’s an alter, lit by thousands upon thousands of candles, their wax melting down the stone steps beneath the alter. Strange symbols have been carved into the sides, a language long forgotten, even in the history books. You manage to raise yourself onto your knees to get a better look at them, dusting your fingers over the markings. Your fingertips are claws again, your hands wreathed in darkness, like shadows, scales crawling their way up your wrists.

It’s wrong.

So wrong.

You’re not a monster! Your hands shouldn’t look like this!

“No! No!”

The symbols on the alter start to glow, spinning, the ancient stone groaning and moving as something from somewhere in the darkness starts to chant.

The scales continue to crawl up your wrists, your arms, spikes forming from your elbows. You try to scream but the sound that comes out of you is the thing of nightmares.

“Stop!” But no pleading will change what you’re becoming…

You jerk awake, screaming.

After your last interaction with Rhys you’d crawled under the covers to have a good cry and must have fallen asleep. You peel of the sheets, tangled around your limbs, and realize with horror that there are claw marks in the mattress, the stuffing scattered around your body. You jump out of it, stumbling, nearly throwing yourself onto the floor, trying to get away.

What have you done?

There are no claws at your fingertips now, no scales crawling across your body, it’s nothing but your own skin and the bandages Rhys had put there earlier. It’s normal. You’re normal. Right?

You stumble your way into the bathroom to wash your face. There is no monster starring back at you in the mirror, but you stare and stare anyway, the water turning cold as it drips off your skin into the sink. “You’ll destroy us all.” Rhys had said, the words an echo in your skull.

You can’t help yourself as you make a fist and slam it into the mirror, shattering it. The impact burns, but it can’t ease the ache in your chest, the yawning chasm you’ve been tumbling into for hours. There is no end to the fall, just nothingness for miles and miles, pulling you down into the deep, dark abyss. You have no way of knowing what’s at the bottom, if the dream is a warning of what sleeps there. You’re about to hit it again when the lock on your door slides out of place.

“What do you fucking want now?” You snarl, fully prepared to find the nearest object in reach and hurl it at Rhys’s stupid head.

But it’s not the violet eyed male you’re so used to seeing at the door this time; not the Attor either, but two shadow figures, made of mist and darkness, their features soft and feminine. Wraiths. They gently shut the door behind them.

“We’re here to get you ready for dinner,” one says in a soft voice.

The other is holding a long swatch of fabric. “The High Lord said you might need some help.”

You grit your teeth, “You’re welcome to tell Rhysand to fucking shove it up his ass.”

One of them giggles as she floats over to you, “I like you.”

The other sets the fabric, no it’s a dress, you can see that now, the fabric such a deep purple it’s almost black, on the ruined bed. She has no mouth to frown, but the way the shadows of what should be her head move makes you think she’s troubled by what she sees. “Amarantha will not be pleased if you show up wearing that to dinner.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You’d forgotten about the dinner.

“It’s an excuse to get dressed up!” Says the first, her shadowy hands reaching for the hem of your shirt. “It’ll look so pretty on you!”

The fact that Rhys had sent them is enough to put you on edge. He is either still so pissed at you that he can’t bare the thought of being in the same room as you, or Amarantha is still so pissed at you that he’s still trying to find a way to calm her down. Either way made you want to bury yourself back under the covers and never come out again.

“How’d I get into this mess?” You grumble.

The first wraith pulls your shirt over your head for you as the second says, “We must be quick. It’s best to not keep her waiting.” That’s all the warning you get before they start dressing you. They’re a bundle of activity as they move you out of your training clothes and into the dress. You can’t help but note that this fits you too, just like the others. It’s velvet, warm against the chill, with a tight bodice that accentuates your figure and then loosens around your hips and falls to your ankles. It glitters when you move in the light as if there are little stars woven into the seems.

It’s beautiful. Something from the Night Court. You want to tear it to shreds.

One of the wraiths brushes and sweeps your hair into a braid that wraps around your head, leaving a few curls loose to frame your face. The other cleans and adds a gloss to your nails. As soon as that’s done they’re swiftly applying powder to your face, coal to your eyes, and a brief swash of dark lipstick across your mouth.

“I’d show you your reflection in the mirror, but…” one of them says.

You eye the shattered glass with a wince. “Sorry.”

The other fixes a stray hair. “You look beautiful all the same.”

You find yourself blushing despite yourself. “Thank you, for all your help.”

One of them giggles and then they disappear as quickly as they’d come, back to wherever the High Lord of the Night Court keeps his, what were they, subjects? Maids? You hadn’t considered that he’d have the people of his court here, especially not after what he’d said earlier about protecting them.

When the door opens again, it’s one of Amarantha’s guards waiting for you. That can’t be a good sign either.

You draw a deep breath as you follow him out. At least it’s not the Attor.

He doesn’t lead you back to the throne room but down a several sets of stairs, past rooms where you hear screaming coming from behind closed doors, into what feels like it might be the very base of the mountain. The floor is rocky here, the walls pock marked with little caves and crevices, some filled with little fires and more armed guards. Monsters you can’t name and things with dozens of eyes peer out at you through the cracks in the walls. Some hiss and snarl. Some scream at you to run away.

You’re heart’s in your throat, the train of your skirts clutched so tightly in your hands you think you might actually rip through it. What have you done?

The guard says nothing as he walks you through the halls. He only stops when you finally come to another humongous door, carved with old and fading symbols. Pillars hold up the roof above it, carved into the shapes of snarling wyverns. This is her dinning hall?

Two more guards stand at attention between the pillars, waiting for the signal from the first to open them. But as you’re ushered inside, there is no great hall waiting to meet you. It’s more of a cave, a single torch mounted to the wall, burnt almost down to the end. At the far end, a metal grate separates you from what looks like a tunnel, but it is too dark to tell.

“What is this?” You demand but the guard is already stepping back, the doors swinging shut behind him, and to your horror, being bolted shut from the outside.

“Hey!” You bang a fist on the door. “Let me out of here!”

But the doors remain locked, no sound coming from behind them.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. You will yourself to breath, to remain calm.

The grate at the far end of the wall slowly begins to slide upward, the ancient, rusted metal groaning and creaking from disuse. It makes the walls rattle as it opens, bit by bit. To your relief, no horrible monster comes climbing out from behind it, it merely opens until there is enough room for you to walk under it. There is in fact a tunnel, the path curving in strange directions like a living thing had been burrowing through the mountain. It smells like it too.

Rhysand had given you the wrong damn thing to wear, that was for sure.

You hike your skirts up with your hands and step into the tunnel, seeing no other option, but the sinking feeling in your stomach grows bigger with each step forward you take. It was a terrible, terrible mistake to challenge Amarantha this early.

The tunnel goes on for miles, twisting and looping the expanse of the mountain, often doubling back on itself like some sort of maze. You’re about half way through, the bottom of your skirts so caked in mud that’s your having a hard time holding them, that you hear a strange, scuffling sound come from behind you. When you turn to look there’s nothing there, but you can hear the echo of footsteps squelching through the muck.

“Hello?” You call, but nothing answers.

You move a little faster, trying to find a way out, your mind imagining a dozen different possibilities of what’s behind you. The chasm in your chest widens, beckons, the thing that prowls at the bottom of it stirring to life. It’s an effort to focus, to breathe, to try and keep it at bay while simultaneously trying to not trip over your skirts.

The tunnel veers so sharp and suddenly left that you slam into the wall.

The footsteps are getting louder behind you; you can hear the heavy rasp of breath too. It doesn’t sound fae, it’s heavy almost, like a creature’s might be.

You hike your skirts back up and run, fighting the mud and the building panic in your chest. Another left, then another, and there, at the far end, light pokes through. Light, so much brighter than any you’ve seen in weeks. You barrel towards it as fast as your legs can carry you, for as fast as you are, that thing behind you is faster. It’s running now too, the walls shaking behind it.

From somewhere beyond the light you hear Amarantha’s cruel voice call out, “Oh good, the entertainment is finally here.”

Shit shit shit!

Are you the entertainment?

Does it matter in the end?

You burst out of the tunnel, the light so blinding after weeks in the dark that you slip and loose your footing trying to shield your eyes. There’s a chorus of laughter above you, as if a large crowd is starring down at you. There’s too much light! It burns.

“Having fun yet, little mouse?” Amarantha coos.

And then something with claws latches onto your shoulder and hurls you across the space.

You don’t even have time to scream, have time to register anything beyond the flash of pain in your shoulder before a wall rises up to meet you. Everything spins as you slam into it and crumple into the mud. The cold seeps through you, plasters you dress to your body. You taste blood.

Something from within the blur of colors swimming across your eyes roars at you.

There’s a crowd somewhere above you cheering.

Trying to wipe the spots out of your eyes only smears mud across your face.

"Get up!" Rhys's voice echoes like a banging gong in your head.

"Stay out of my fucking head!" You slam the door to your mind in his face. Now he suddenly wants to be helpful? Bastard!

You stumble onto your knees, the mud sinking beneath your palms.

"Move!" Rhys has barreled right through the door in your mind like it's made of toothpicks, panic edging his voice. You don't have enough presence of mind to look up to wherever he might be in the crowd. Not when a jagged set of teeth latches onto the already gaping wound in your shoulder and drags you into the center of what you’re pretty sure is a pit. It’s breath is rancid, rotting meat clinging to it’s rows and rows of jagged teeth, clamping down on your shoulder as it shakes you like a rag doll.

You’re going to die here, shaken to death like a toy if you don’t do something. Amarantha certainly isn’t going to save you, not when you’d wounded her pride so thoroughly this morning.

The thing that lives beneath your skin calls again, you can almost imagine a hand reaching out of the chasm, dark and scaled like that thing in your dreams had been. It begs you to reach out and take it.

The pain in your shoulder is blinding, you’re sure you’ll loose that arm entirely if it doesn’t stop shaking you.

You reach out and grab the hand offered, you’re only lifeline, and the chasm does in fact split open. The darkness that lives there swells and fills you so thoroughly you wonder for a moment if you are dead. But then you’re blinking against the light and things start coming into focus, even as your body shifts and morphs. You have talons again, but they’re longer now, slicing through the chest of the beast like they have a mind of it’s own until it’s terrible jaws unclench and drop you. It whimpers as it eyes the dark mist leaking from your body and when you flick a wrist in it’s direction, scattering that darkness, it slams the beast into the wall.

It’s some sort of chimera, it’s great wings flared out behind it’s scaled body. It’s got more teeth and horns than the ones you’d seen depicted in books, like it’s been modified for whatever this great pit is.

The crowd is in fact situated above you, the pit and all it’s tunnels separated by a chain-link dome high above your head, there are tables and benches, and another throne for Amarantha, around the edge, all gaping at your display.

You manage to rise, legs shaking beneath you. The bodice of your gown is in tatters, clinging to your shoulder by no more than a thread, all your exposed skin covered in blood. You can barely raise your right arm, but your left, wreathed in dark tendrils of magic and clawed is clearly visible in the light.

The chimera growls as it stalks back over to you, crouched low, ready to pounce. You’ve sprouted fangs, you can feel them poking into your lip as you snarl back at it, now more animal than girl. Maybe Rhys is right, maybe you really are a monster capable of destroying everyone. You have enough time to finally mark the section of the viewing platform where all the High Lords sit, and you can feel that assessing gaze of his more than all the others. You spare him a glance because you can't help yourself, because for all the pain he's caused you, you want the final nail in your coffin to be the look of disgust on his face when he sees that he's right about you. But it's not disgust that you see at all, but genuine, unbridled fear.

"Don't stop," he urges. "Kill it now!" Not fear of you, but for you? This isn't the time to try and make sense of what games Rhys is playing. The back and forth games, the way he pushes you away but comes back on his own is something you'll have to deal with later, when there's not a monster snarling at your feet, ready to devour you.

You reach into that darkness inside of you, where all your confusion and anger goes, pushed like some sort of sacrifice to the monster that lives within. You grab it, will it back to the surface, and when the chimera lunges, you blast all that energy out of your fingertips. The wave of darkness that flows from you turns the creature into a bloody mist, no bones or claws or teeth left in it’s wake. The mist splatters across your skin; you can taste it on your tongue.

You might have had more time to freak out over it if a second beast didn’t come hurtling out another tunnel. There is no time to think, only to move, as you throw yourself out of the way of it’s claws and back into the mud.

"Good girl."

"Shut up, Rhysand!"

The crowd cheers on the new beast. This one is quicker than the first, catching itself and spinning back to you faster than you can blink. You don’t have time to reach for any of your power, only to raise a hand and your claws tear through the thing’s belly as it flies overhead of you. Blood and gore rain down on you as it crashes into the wall, whining.

It’s in your eyes, your nose, dripping down the back of your ruined dress. Good. No more Night Court clothes for you.

You haul yourself back up and slash at it’s exposed sides, it’s wings, any part of it you can reach with your claws. There is nothing to stop you, your claws slide through it like butter, spraying blood and no matter how your mind screams at you, you can’t stop. Your powers have taken over, it demands that you keep pushing. There isn’t much left of it by the time the third chimera makes it into the pit.

There’s no telling how many Amarantha has at her disposal. Judging by the booing and screaming of the crowd, maybe there isn’t that many.

You’re aware, as you finally leave the ruined corpse of the second, that something is happening to your eyes. They feel different. Things look sharper, clearer. They’ve shifted into something else, but you’re not quite sure what.

As the beast lunges for you, you lunge right back, a flurry of claws and fangs and dark power that makes mud and blood fly. The lights from the chandeliers far above your head sway and shutter, like you’re sucking the power from them, dimming the room. The darkness of the mountain is nothing compared to the void that lives inside you.

You black out for a moment, seeing nothing but darkness and hearing only the sound of your own wild roaring, and when you come to, you’re on your knees in the mud, panting, half laughing with delirium. And the chimera is in pieces before you.

The crowd overhead is on their feet screaming and cursing in disbelief.

You manage to drag your gaze over to where Amarantha sits on her throne, her mouth hanging open. Rhys is standing behind her, stone faced. At her feet, sits that male wearing the collar.

"Get up."

It's too much effort to fight him or push him out of your head, it's clear he's capable of getting in regardless. All those lessons he'd been toying with you, probably trying to lull you into a false sense of security so you weren't prepared for the next time he needed to get something out of you. It's exhausting trying to figure out his play.

Still, there's a small piece of you that knows he's right, that Amarantha is watching, waiting to see what you'll do. If you stay here kneeling, crying in the mud, she'll still take it as a victory, she still found a way to beat you. It takes all your effort to get yourself onto your feet again. Everything feels like it’s trying to push you down into the mud. You’ve never been this exhausted in your life. It’s by sheer force of will that you manage to stand and lock your knees so you don’t crumble back into the mud.

You’re sure you look absolutely disgusting. No one is going to point you out as the daughter of the King of Hybern. There is no princess here in the pit, only this clawed thing.

So, from one monster to another, you look Amarantha in the eyes, and raise your middle finger.

Flame and ice and wind explodes from her so fast that the crowd around her has to jump out of the way to avoid being hit.

There’s another grate in the side of the pit, hidden by rocks and debris but you hear it open all the same. Two guards emerge this time to drag you out. No more beasts for you to fight.

You manage to walk yourself under the grate, but once it starts to close behind you, blocking you from the crowd's sight, you collapse against the wall. As you catch your breath, your claws slowly retract. The dark mist that wreathes your body begins to slow and settle. Your eyes readjust to the dark, to whatever they were before this all started. It feels like the chasm you split open shrinks back inside of you--a volcanic eruption suddenly bubbling back down into the mountain. It leaves you slowly, settling back beneath the surface as if it hadn’t just caused such utter chaos. Your hand shakes as you run it over your eyes, trying to clear away everything clinging to your face. What did you just do?

One of the guards grabs your arm and hauls you off the wall.

Your whole body aches, but the pain in your shoulder, your right arm useless and limp at your side is excruciating. Even the movements from the way they drag you makes it feel like your whole arm might just pop off.

You can’t focus on where they’re leading you, all your energy into staying upright. You hear doors open and see the lights shift and change as you’re lead through other rooms but none of it makes any sense to you.

“I’d like to go back to my room now,” you say, your voice raw. Were you screaming that much?

They ignore you as they continue to lead you in what feels like circles. It’s only when you see a shock of red hair beneath a glittering crown made of bones and rubies that you realize they’ve led you up to where the crowd had been watching your little display. Most of which is clear now. There are jagged icicles sprouting out of one wall, a body impaled on it, another crushed beneath it. The chain-link separating the room from the pit is partially melted, the remains of it swinging back and forth on the wind. Tables and chairs have been strewn about, some broken. There’s a few people moaning and bleeding on the floor, everyone else that could had scattered.

Amarantha remains shaking with rage in the center of the room, ice sprouting from her left hand, crackling and crawling all the way up her elbow, even as her other hand is wreathed in flames. Her eyes are so dark they’re almost wholly black.

The sight of her shakes some alertness back into your body, so at the very least you’re not about to collapse onto the floor.

Most of the High Lords are gone, save for a masked blonde who you can only assume is Tamlin. He’s wearing a collar too, the chain hooked into the floor beside her throne.

And Rhysand, half his shirt torched, is dabbing a damp cloth into a deep blister across his tattooed chest.

This damage is your fault, you realize with a sinking feeling in your gut. If you hadn’t challenged her, pushed her too far, none of this would have happened. Those people under the ice would still be alive and Rhys wouldn’t be hurt. You’re pissed at him but you don’t want to see him hurt. You don’t want to see anyone hurt. You had just been so on edge earlier, so focused on doing something to make Amarantha pay you hadn’t stopped to think about who she’d hurt in the aftermath.

“I’m sure you’re very pleased with yourself,” Amarantha snarls.

You can still taste the blood of those beasts in your mouth. “Thrilled actually,” you say because you can’t stop yourself. You can’t keep all these things at bay, it’s like they just slip out of you and no matter how much your mind reels and balks at it, it comes out anyway.

She moves so fast you barely have time to blink before she’s slapping the hand covered in ice across your face. “You stupid, little bitch!”

It burns as if it was the fire, but even if you wanted to hit her back, you can’t. You don’t have anything left in your body other than to hiss at the contact and try to retain your balance. The last thing you want is to end up on the floor at her feet.

Maybe it doesn’t matter in the end, because, despite all he’d said earlier, and despite the massive blister, Rhys manages to weasel himself in between the two of you. He’d been right about you and he still jumped between you.

“It’s not her fault,” he says.

The room shutters so hard one of the chandeliers falls from the ceiling and crashes to the floor.

“Get out of my way, Rhysand!” She screams.

“It’s my fault.”

The world stops turning for a second. He can’t be serious.

“I pushed her too hard training earlier.”

The lie makes your stomach twist, you sway on your feet trying to reach out and push him out of the way, to tell her that’s not true. But your body won’t move the way you need it to. Everything is sluggish and slow, all your energy reserves tapped. You’d overdone it.

“So you knew she could do that?” Amarantha says and her voice is so deadly quiet that you use the last little bit of your strength to grab Rhys’s wrist and try to pull him out of the line of fire.

“I suspected.”

“And yet you said nothing?”

There is no hesitation in his voice as he says, “No, I didn’t think it was necessary until we knew for sure.”

He needs to move. Maybe there is still some small chance that she can’t kill you, that she would have pulled you out of the pit at the last possible second just to save face with Hybern, but you’re not entirely sure Rhys has that same protection. New High Lords can be made. You tug on his wrist again, but he pays it no mind.

You’re only other option is to hope he can hear you as your stand at the edge of the hallway in your mind, the yawning, dark precipice beyond swirling in various shades of blue and black. “Rhys stop!” You scream. “She’ll kill you!” Damn him. As cruel as he is, as much as you want to hate him, you can’t stand here and let him do this for you. You challenged her and you had beaten her, whatever consequences came with that are yours.

If he hears you, he doesn’t acknowledge it either.

“We’re going to have a very long conversation about where your loyalties lie, Rhysand,” Amarantha snarls as she gestures towards the guards still hovering around behind you.

You’re so dizzy from he blood loss, crimson dripping off your fingers, pooling at your feet, that you’d forgotten they were there. When they move to grab him, he doesn’t fight it.

You can’t breathe again, reaching desperately for any bit of power you can reach inside yourself. He’s an asshole but you can’t let this happen, you can’t let her hurt him. But the chasm that was so readily open to you before is closed, nothing there for you to reach like you’d used every bit you had available.

This couldn’t be happening! Not now.

“It’s not his fault!” You say, but they’re already clamping irons down on his wrists, as if he’d been putting up any fight at all. “This is between you and me.”

She finally flicks her gaze off him to look at you, the corners of her mouth turning up in a grin. “Don’t worry, little mouse, you and I will be working very closely from now on to make sure something like this doesn’t happen again.”

Mother save you!

“Don’t do-”

“Stay quiet.” Rhys hisses before the door that leads to him slams shuts and locks from the inside. He'd heard you, and then he’d locked you out.

You look back and forth between them. Spots are starting to form in the corners of your eyes and there’s pressure in the base of your skull. You can’t tell if it’s from the pain radiating in your shoulder or a headache from expelling so much power at one time. Either way, it’s like a countdown has started. You only have so much left to give before you collapse.

“Get them both out of here before I change my mind about being merciful,” Amarantha hisses.

One guard grabs your busted arm and you can’t help but scream as he gives it a yank.

Rhys lunges at him, snarling something you can't make out, but the other guard grabs him by the hair and yanks him backward.

You’re going to throw up or pass out, the pain making the room spin.

“As if I don’t have enough to deal with with my mate tonight,” she hisses and you barely have enough presence of mind to hear the growl the word drags from Tamlin. Mate. Amarantha is the High Lord of Spring’s mate. “You’re lucky it was you that brought him in today, Rhysand, or things might have gone quite differently.”

The room tilts and blurs and the floor is suddenly rising up to meet you. It’s too much!

The guard yanks you up by the back of your dress, or what’s left of it, the torn fabric tearing further beneath his gloved hands, and back onto your feet. You’re pretty sure you’re crying as he drags you to the door, but there’s so much caked to your face your not entirely sure if it’s tears, blood, or mud sliding down your cheeks.

“Rhys,” you whimper because there is no one else to beg for help, your powers as illusive as ever and damn Amarantha and her stupid court, but your terrified of what will happen to you and him if you pass out right here.

A familiar brush against your mind is the only answer you get as you're dragged back down the stairs. Those stairs, the guard’s boots, it’s the last thing you remember before it all becomes too much and you black out.

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nilim · 6 years ago

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I’ve been relistening and transcribing a lot of season 4 episodes for the RQG wiki, and I’ve been thinking a lot about Hamid, about his stubbornness and recklessness - which have always been there, of course. But especially the Zolf & Hamid arguments in ep 132 and 135 caught my attention and I’ve been thinking...

Y’all ever think about how tiny Hamid is and how big his friends are, and how most of his spells are more attack-focused, and he doesn’t have a whole lot of utility spells to help others? And how often his friends have this protective instinct to save him because he is young and small and not very strong? More importantly, do you ever think about how these facts all influence the type of experiences Hamid has throughout the campaign, especially in dangerous situations, and what the long-term impact of those experiences might be on how he views himself?

Because I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

There’s quite a lot of scenes throughout the campaign where people prioritize helping Hamid over their own safety. But the problem is, frequently Hamid cannot return those acts of help for his friends? He’s literally physically incapable of performing many of the acts that others do for him. He’s not strong. He can’t carry people. He can’t shield people with his body. There’s multiple instances where Hamid just kind of has to... watch people get dragged off into danger with the full knowledge that he can’t do much to help.

And there’s multiple instances where people tell him to keep out of danger, even though they often expose themselves to way more danger by trying to protect him.

Zolf and Hamid have their first proper fight during Kew Gardens, when Zolf tells Hamid to lead. It’s all a bit of a disaster and Zolf is just so angry, and Hamid doesn’t really understand until Zolf says; Don’t throw yourself into danger so recklessly, I don’t want you to die. I feel responsible for you.

(Hamid wishes he didn’t.)

And during the channel crossing Hamid is just so seasick, and he doesn’t know how to sail, so he just desperately clutches the side of the boat as he watches Sasha dance across the deck and rigging, joyfully, helping Zolf in a way that Hamid can’t. And in the thick of the storm, Sasha sees that Hamid is barely holding on, so she asks if he’s all right. And Hamid says yes. Says that he’s fine. Doesn’t want to be a burden. But Sasha decides to go over to him anyway. And when she’s immediately washed overboard and Zolf jumps in after her, Hamid can’t do anything. He can only keep holding onto the boat in the full realization that two friends might be drowning just because one of them wanted to help him. But he doesn’t have the physical strength nor the stamina to do anything about it. He can only clutch the railing and hope.

And when they’re in the catacombs, and Zolf is buried, he’s absolutely useless because he can’t pull Zolf out from underneath the rubble, because he doesn’t have the strength. Worse. He makes it worse. Injures himself and Zolf. And Zolf’s leg is all messed up, but somehow Zolf’s concerned about him instead, because Hamid is in shock. And when Hamid crosses the bridge first, he can only watch as Zolf gets flung into the chasm and Sasha is nearly dragged off the bridge by the tentacle monster - he can’t do anything as the torch tumbles down into the void and there is only darkness. So he just cowers down and whimpers until Sasha finds him.

(And when he’s finally dragged off across jagged rocks, his instinct is to scream for Sasha, because she was right there - standing over him - protecting him. But no, there’s nothing she can do. It’s not fair. So he tells her to save herself and just curls into a ball and accepts his fate because he can’t DO anything, he’s useless, and Zolf is probably already dead and he just doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of him).

And then Zolf has lost his other leg, and Hamid cries and hugs him and tells him he is sorry. And Zolf needs help. He needs to be carried everywhere, but Hamid can’t help him because he’s too small and can’t carry anyone, so he just has to stand there and watch as Zolf starts slowly falling apart. (I can help with this at least, he thinks. But Zolf doesn’t want his help).

And Paris is doomed regardless of Hamid’s insistence that they did the right thing shutting down Mr. Ceiling. And Paris is doomed despite Hamid’s nightly escapades and attempts to help its people.

And Zolf leaves in Prague regardless of what Hamid says to him.

(He achieves absolutely nothing during the fight with Kafka and he decides just to never think about it again).

And when the Mars lot arrive, Sasha picks him up and parkours him to safety and tells him to run. But he doesn’t, because he’s not good at running, but he’s good at talking, and he wants to help Sasha. But his talking doesn’t really work.

(”Next time I tell you to run, just... run, Hamid, run!” Sasha berates him later, and he’s reminded of what Zolf said and he wishes people would stop protecting him).

And when Sasha and Grizzop and him climb the desk in Newton’s office, he’s in no position to help them at all. He can’t even climb himself. He has to rely on his friends because he’s just too weak. But he keeps failing and falling, and getting hurt. “I don’t think this will work”, he says, lying on the ledge. (Just leave me, he thinks).

(And later he learns to fly because he doesn’t want it to happen again. Not to him or anyone.)

And he messes everything up in Cairo.

And he can’t heal anyone. Can’t heal like Zolf or Grizzop or Azu can, so when people get hurt or go unconscious he rarely gets the chance to help. His magic is a different kind. But in Rome his spells don’t work, and he can’t even help protect his friends from the heat and cold. And his spells keep misfiring and he keeps getting other people hurt. (It’s ironic when the fireball misfires and he blows himself up exactly as he intended - “Oh dear” he says, but he smiles, because his fuck-up finally managed to protect his friends).

And they save the hostages, but they lose two friends, and it’s just him and Azu. And nobody will help them find Sasha and Grizzop, because the world is too fucked up to care. And they’re locked up in a cage for a week and Hamid feels useless. And they go to the village and meet Cel and he messes up their first meeting (he used to be good at the social thing). And then they built fortifications for the village and Hamid feels useless as he watches Azu and Zolf carry things and built things, and all he can do is fly. And then they built a boat, and Hamid feels useless because he can’t design things like Cel can, can’t shape stone like Zolf can, doesn’t have the strength that Azu has. (Finally, when they decide to add a sail, he feels hopeful: I can make a sail, he thinks, and feels silly for feeling proud).

But he can’t help Zolf and Cel push the boat out to sea, can’t help Zolf sail the contraption they’ve created. I know my role in this story, he thinks, and clambers inside the boat without a word, and tries to comfort Azu through the many hours of the terrifying ordeal. And when they finally arrive on Shoin’s island the cave is dark and he can’t see. So he casts Dancing Lights. And Zolf is annoyed at him, but Hamid protests, but Zolf tells him to turn off the lights. “Ok, fine”, he says “I’ll go fall in the water then shall I!”

And he’s angry, because he’s so tired of feeling useless - so many weeks of feeling useless. So tired of not being able to do anything. Having to rely on others and never being able to help. Tired of not being focused on finding a way to get Sasha and Grizzop back. Tired of not being able to see his family. Tired of all of it.

But Zolf just shouts; “Azu! Pick him up!”, and she does, and they don’t even ask what Hamid wants. And Zolf says; “Now unless Azu jumps in the water, can you please stop complaining?!”

Which is why Hamid doesn’t yell when Azu trips and they both fall into the water, and Cel and Zolf scramble over to help her get back up (he’s glad they’re there, he wouldn’t have been able to pull her up). He just clutches the pontoon and slowly, carefully climbs back onto it, and he turns over and just lies there on his back, staring into the darkness, and he doesn’t say anything.

(He casts fly on himself and on Azu, and holds her hand to guide her to the shore, but it doesn’t make him feel better).

And later, when they’re fighting the cube, he runs straight towards it and casts his most powerful spells because that’s what he’s good at. But Azu yanks him back and shields him with her body, and Zolf yells at him afterwards about his foolishness, about the mistakes he made - but Hamid yells at Zolf because he just can’t let this go, wants to make Zolf understand how useless he feels all the time and that casting spells is literally the only thing he can do.

(But when he casts fireball at the kobolds, he watches them get engulfed in flames, watches them die screaming, and he feels nauseous. And Cel hugs him before they descend the stairs, and then picks him up and carries him through the smoking corpses, and there’s a part of him that’s horrified at what he’s done, but there’s another part of him that thinks; I’m good at this at least, and; this is how I protect my friends.)

#Oh no I angsted #rusty quill gaming #rqg #rqg spoilers #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #meta #long post

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god-fucking-dammit-mizutani · 6 years ago

Note

Could you do something for kageoi please? ♡ thanks so much I love your writing!!

@yaytobio That’s so sweet thank you I’m glad you enjoy my writing!! And here you go!! I hope it came out okay :) Happy Halloween!

"Where's your boyfriend?" Hinata asks.

There is a tone on that last word Kageyama can't quite read, but it sounds like a swear coming from him. Hinata leans over towards the coffee table and grabs a handful of popcorn from the bowl placed strategically in the center of them. Kernels plummet through the space of his fingers, to be lost on the floor until one of them gets the energy to vacuum.

Kageyama pats the empty side of the couch on his right. The velvet upholstery feels scratchy under his skin, grates his nerves so much he can feel it in his teeth. He has never understood why people liked it so much, but it had been a free hand me down from Hinata's grandparents when they had settled on becoming roommates out of college.

There's enough space between where he's sat and the arm rest, Kageyama realizes, to accommodate another person. He had left it, unconsciously.

"Getting ready," Kageyama answers finally. His heart pulses in his head, terrified under the realization more than by the looping soundtrack of blood curdling screams and the minor chord composition.

Hinata squints at him. "Ready? For what? We have snacks and movies, what more does he need?"

Kageyama shrugs. "He said it was his Sunday bed routine."

"Whatever," Hinata grouses, elbowing his way back into the couch pillows, shoving his arms over his chest. On the screen a gloopy monster rolls itself through town-- it's the same little preview that's been playing for the last half hour. It will eat you, too! The narrator assures them. If the ad is enough to go off, Kageyama is more afraid his attention won't bear it.

They wait a little while longer. Kageyama feels odd, like he's missing something. His hand touches the open space again.

He and Oikawa had been together for a while now, confessing their mutual affections far too late to date when they were able to meet up all the time in person. The last few months had been limited to texting and the occasional video chat. Kageyama worries, for now that Oikawa has come to visit-- has spent evenings curled around him, legs unabashedly draped across Kageyama's lap, catching him off guard with well timed kisses along Kageyama's jaw, or his cheeks, or the side of his eyes--that he has grown too accustomed to having Oikawa near to go back. There are four more days left, he reminds himself, but the ache in his chest feels like a chasm.

Hinata huffs, tugging Kageyama back to focus. He leaves the couch only long enough to turn off the lights, dousing them in complete darkness. "I'm not waiting anymore," he tells Kageyama and clicks the button on the controller. Eerier music fills the room and Kageyama leans back into the couch. He pulls the throw blanket over himself, and it is not enough, but it will do.

*****

Hinata pauses the movie part way through. "This is so lame," he complains quietly, but Kageyama doesn't miss the shake in his voice. It's more noticeable in his hand when he reaches again for another handful of popcorn.

"You're scared," Kageyama notes. He keeps his hands under the blanket

"Am not," Hinata scoffs. His breath shudders on the way out. "I'm not scared," he doubles down. "It's just too cold! Aren't you cold?"

"No."

Hinata huffs indignantly. "It's because you're hogging the blanket!" He accuses Kageyama. But instead of wrestling for his own end, Hinata leaps off the couch and rushes to the lamp switch. "Shield your eyes," he warns, "I'm turning on the lights to see the heater!"

The warning does little help when the room is flooded with light. Kageyama still groans, squinting his eyes to see when they burn.

"Turn it back off," Kageyama grits out, but his only answer is a blood curdling scream.

In an instant Kageyama is up, too, practically standing on the couch cushions. His foot hits the console remote and the room fills back up with chords of horror and frantic whispers. Kageyama almost yells at Hinata, for frightening him unduly, but then his own scream lodges in his throat.

In the still dark hallway, a silhouette recoils. It's face is irregular, globs of something dripping down the creatures face as it recoils from them.

"Get the bat!" Hinata yowls. He's fumbled all the way back towards Kageyama, jumping up on the recliner. "It's gonna eat us, too!"

The hallway light flickers on.

"What is wrong with you two?" Oikawa huffs. It sounds like Oikawa at least, but his face is a putrid green, wet glops of something streaking all the way to his neck and staining an already soiled looking t-shirt.

"It's eating his face!" Hinata cries. "Kageyamaaa! Get the bat!"

The Oikawa-monster rolls his eyes. "It's an herbal face mask, shrimpy." For good measure he streaks a finger along his own cheek, revealing a slab of peach toned skin. Hinata screams again when Oikawa tries to fling the glob of goop at him. It's sticks to the red velvet recliner instead.

Oikawa huffs out of the room, most of his face mask on the floor, and the furniture, than on his skin. When he returns it has been washed off. Hinata still tells Kageyama to get the bat. "In case."

They decide, thankfully, to keep the lights on for the rest of the movie. Oikawa plops down beside Kageyama, right in the space he had left by the armrest. He hoists his legs immediately over Kageyama's lap and tugs him closer, just enough for Oikawa to nuzzle his way under Kageyama's jaw. His breath tickles under the shell of his ear when Oikawa asks, "Comfortable?"

Kageyama squirms. He chooses not to say anything, but lays his cheek upon the crown of Oikawa's head and let's himself revel in the time he has left.

Even if the ambiance is mostly soured by Hinata's frightened shouting whenever a minor character gets consumed by the evil gloop monster.

***

Oikawa scoffs. "That movie was ridiculous," he mutters, sprinting quickly under the covers to hide from the cold. His bare feet against Kageyama's own feel like ice.

Kageyama hums, tucking an arm around Oikawa's waist, pulling him in closer. "You both looked into it by the end."

"But I wasn't scared," Oikawa continues, hooking his leg about Kageyama's waist. His fists clench the fabric of his pajama shirt around the back. When he shivers, Oikawa blames it on the cold, too. "Shrimpy looked scared."

Kageyama nods, careful not to smack his jaw on Oikawa's forehead. He breathes in and hopes that Oikawa misses how it stutters when he catches a dark silhouette in the corner of the room. It doesn't move and Kageyama releases his breath.

Oikawa laughs. "I can almost see him knocking on our door with a little blanket in hand, asking if he can sleep here for the night. Just like a kid."

Kageyama's heart stutters. Our door. It sounds right to him. He wonders if it will feel right again, when Oikawa is no longer in his bed. If it will ever feel warm enough without him.

Something taps at the window and both of them startle. It is a tree branch, flung against the window by the wind.

"I'm not scared," Oikawa mutters into Kageyama's chest where he had hidden himself, "but it'd be nice to sleep with the lights on. Maybe."

And Kageyama is more than ready to oblige.

#kageoi #oikage #oikageoi #yaytobio #haikyuu!!#trick or treat fics #halloween 2019 #If you hate it I can try again!!

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pilot-boi · 5 years ago

Text

Fall For Me: Chapter Two

The Fall

Heroic sacrifice looks good on paper. In practice, it’s much trickier to achieve.

AO3 LINK

“Head’s up!”

Nora landed smoothly, flipping the trigger on her hammer a few moments before her boots hit the crumbling stone. She caught her weight on her hands and continued the count, as Ren dropped down next to her. A few long heartbeats later, the crystal blew out and they matched stares as the aftershock washed down.

She gritted her teeth at the extra flickers of chill memory that danced under her thoughts, in reply to the shock of it, and she focused on Ren’s reassuringly steady face. Then the pressure released again, back to the almost familiar background horribleness, and she relaxed a bit. Ren nudged her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Always,” Nora nodded, a little more shakily than she would normally have done, and grinned. “Thanks, Renny.”

He held out a hand and she grasped it gratefully. They pulled each other back upright, and Nora glanced up at the stark shape of their now-empty second pillar. To give Weiss the credit, nothing like glyphs for a little boost when push came to shove. Even when the sickening corrupted feeling of this place was playing havoc with their Semblances and Aura.

Another crack of discharging Dust broke across the plain as she turned back, to where the third figure of their squad had set up a position behind a chunk of jutting rock. She was knelt down behind it, sword stabbed deep into the cracking stone with a snow white summoning glyph spinning around her.

Little wisps of plasma rose from the giant ethereal form of the knight, and there were smears of half evaporated darkness fading away from it’s sword. Weiss wasn’t even looking up at it though, her gaze fixed firmly on the battle raging above them. And the Grimm were getting very close.

The too-angular houndlike form of a Beowulf howled into existence a few feet away from Weiss’s distracted form. Growling furiously, its pitch black fur bristling as it lunged-

And it was hit in the face almost immediately by a bright pink shape. The creature and grenade broke apart in a scream, a shower of blackened steam a few bits of falling bone. Nora gave a whoop of triumph, punching the air, as her other arm sun Magnhild back into a hammer.

“Oh yeah, take that!” She caught Ren’s gaze again, and grinned a little sheepishly. “Taking the wins we can get today.”

“I can tell,” Ren said, smiling about as calmly as could be expected. Weiss drew her rapier from the stone and the knight dissipated, even as the heiress loaded her last round of Dust bullets into the hilt.

Nora started to reply, desperate to have some of that familiar reparte in this terrible situation, but her words died on her tongue as the roar came again. She swivelled, looping up towards the distant gleam of blazing eyes that were suddenly visible against the permanently red dusk of the sky.

Icy horror poured down her neck. They weren't finished yet?! She’d been keeping track of the other explosions, and they were only halfway done.

“Oh no,” she murmured and glanced around quickly, scanning the rest of the plain for the other towers. For their other friends. Yang and Blake, Jaune and Oscar, and Ren, Weiss, and herself.

Ruby was understandably occupied.

Ren and her assigned pillars had been fairly close together. Between the combination of Weiss’s summons, her own grenades, and the occasional lime bright shot from Ren’s pistols, they’d managed to keep the massing Grimm at bay rather effectively.

It helped that the monsters seemed to be confused by the multiple sources of detonation. They flocked this way and that as different towers went off. This, she knew, had been the plan. Cause so many sources of danger for the Grimm that they didn’t know where to go. At least it was going well so far.

There was certainly less appearing just behind them going on than they’d managed before. And she could swear she had seen at least one overshoot in its charge and vanish struggling into the tar pits whence it came.

Which meant that their most defensible place was backed up against the primordial ooze itself. Which was just great, naturally, but it was technically better than nothing when they were dashing between pillars.

But the next nearest pillar was back towards where the dragon was coming in from.

“Of course it is,” Nora muttered to herself, then stopped. Weiss gave a snarl behind her and spun the chamber of her rapier, unleashing another round of fire. But that wasn’t what was suddenly hammering for focus at the edge of Nora’s attention.

She squinted in through the haze of the air here. Something else was happening, just in front of the returning behemoth.

The scene resolved, with a suddenness of realisation that wrenched down through her in horrible succession as her insides lurched violently. She couldn’t see the grapple wire, too thin at this distance, but there was definitely a distant figure hanging partway between the next pillar and its canyon edges.

And nothing else here was white. Not that pearly white that she’d recognize even with her eyes closed. Dread bloomed, even ahead of the sickening surges of old darkness prompted by the ongoing roar, and Nora’s breath came up short.

“Jaune!”

She was running before she even realised she had started to move. Followed first by the surprised cry of her partner and from their friend, then the thuds of footfall as they came after her. She heard Weiss swear, heard the crack of gunfire going off somewhere behind her, and the squawking otherworldly screech of a Nevermore.

But they were running right on the edge of the central area now, and she could feel the wrongness to the air here, even beyond everything else wrong of this place.

The ground shuddered underfoot more than it should, and a few times she had to jump over narrow chasms that plunged into bubbling nothingness. Or worse, in some cases, when there was a glimmer of Grimm-eyed brightness beneath, right at the bottom edge of her vision.

But she wasn’t going to look down, wasn’t going to look away from that distant point of incorrectly pure white. So when the dragon burst out of the horizon, all wings and smoke and the horrible violet brilliance of a gaze like an alternate spectrum hell, she was looking right at it.

The too thin breath congealed in her throat, clamping her chest down on itself and she stumbled as she saw the creature sweep forward. Saw a beam of twisting light spear into it as it passed over the pillar. Saw the huge tail slice where Jaune’s line must be without even a pause. And she couldn’t even manage a cry as the suspended figure began to fall.

No. No, not here. Not like this-

And he stopped. He swung to slam hard into the side of the pillar, but he stopped. Hands grabbed Nora’s shoulders, pulled her back. She barely had time to realise how close the edge of one of the smaller chasms she had been, as Ren’s voice blurred around her and her own heartbeat hammered deafeningly in her ears.

The grapple was still attached. At one end. It was still attached.

Gods preserve her.

She straightened up, gripping Ren’s arm tightly in reply or reassurance, she wasn’t sure which, and they started running again. Towards where Weiss had veered away from their initial direction, skirting the edge of that pillar’s splintered canyon. She had headed for where Oscar’s distinct figure was now surrounded by a closing knot of Grimm.

Reactionary brilliant shooting stars from Weiss’s rapier tore holes the staff hadn’t managed to reach yet. And by the time the pair of them caught up, the rest of the attackers had been dispatched.

Oscar nodded to them grimly. The boy was pale under his freckles, bleeding in a few places as his Aura struggled to battle the oil slick magic of this place.

“Going about as well as ever,” he said, but there was strain under his voice. “Any one of you got a way to get him down?”

“I’ll fly up,” Weiss replied firmly, twirling her rapier, preparing to cast the glyphs necessary to complete the feat. Nora didn’t miss the way the heiress’s hands were shaking though, as she glanced up at where Jaune was pulling himself awkwardly back up onto the pillar top. “I can do this, just need a minute to concentrate. I think I know-”

“Look,” Ren cut in. “Your Aura is drained, and there is no guarantee that the connection will even last long enough to-”

His interruption failed as the crystal flared again, hurling a second brilliant ray out to where the dragon had spiralled upwards over the middle of the maelstrom sky. It was snapping and twisting at the red figure that was slicing desperately at it.

Closer to it not, Nora could hear the beam. It made a tearing glass screech that set her teeth on edge, and she winced as she ineffectively tried to shield her ears, and squinted up at the crystal.

She wasn’t sure exactly what the beams did. Heal the monster that used to be Salem or something, Jaune had suggested. But getting rid of them was a good idea even just to stop that noise.

Jaune was standing up now, backlit against the shivering light, and… What the hell was he…?

“Nora,” Osacr’s voice was tight as he followed her stare, to where the distant figure had adopted a braced stance, reaching towards the sword still strapped to his side after everything. “Nora, oh this is bad-!”

#rwby #nora valkyrie #lie ren #weiss schnee #oscar pine #jaune arc #ruby rose #yang xiao long #blake belladonna #mine #my writing #fall for me #chapter 2

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zippdementia · 6 years ago

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Part 67 Alignment May Vary: Welcome to Hell

The players awaken and everything is messed up.

You all wake up to the sound of a repetitive blaring horn. Each of you is in a tube whose purpose is not immediately clear. Behind you is soft padding and in front of you is a see through cover made of some kind of hard glass. The world beyond this cover is darkness punctuated by frequent bursts of light that seem to come in time with the blaring horns. The light illuminates a large room.

It takes a moment for them to remember where they are. Once they do, they realize a very long time has passed and the spaceship is in trouble, about to crash land on a mysterious red planet and currently being bombarded by asteroids in an asteroid belt a computer tells them is “The River Styx.” Bob and Fiona are broken and rusted, and there’s no time to figure out what went wrong here. The players flee to the ship’s escape pods, only to have the hull of the ship breached and Aldric almost sucked out when he fails his saving throw. He makes it, but Blackrazor is ripped from his back and spins into space, lost.

All of you are tossed back and forth against the walls of the escape pod as it tumbles and twists and turns, spinning incessantly until you think your body will be crushed from the force of it. You can hear a roar and outside of the pod’s single window you can see heat and flame building up around the outside of your small circular craft. Then there is a mighty, sickening jolt and you are thrown one more time against the wall as everything finally goes still. The door to the pod slides open and a mechanical voice brokenly states “Thank you and have a safe journey” before an explosion of static cuts it short.

You emerge from the broken pod and clamber out onto red rock. The pod has come to rest on a high shelf overlooking a vast red landscape, a maze of dry canyons and valleys that stretches to the horizon. And on that horizon is a massive city scape, so large you cannot see where it ends. It literally encompasses the entire line of the horizon from left to right and though it is very far away, you can already see it is constructed of massive towering structures, like no city you’ve ever come across in your life or heard tell of before. A wind blasts across the landscape, stirring up red dust clouds and pulling at the fabric of your clothes.

At this point in the campaign, we are off book and running my own material. I’ve always wanted to do a planar adventure in Dungeons and Dragons. The possibilities such a campaign offers are exciting, though I have not found many official (or even unofficial) adventures set in the planes. And the ones I have always feel a little... I don’t know... standard. Like they just took the same kind of adventure you’d see in a normal campaign and themed it with different creatures.

For my planar campaign (which I am working on releasing on DMs Guild), I wanted something far more outside the box. Just as the characters are having the boundaries of their worlds stretched, I think the players need to have the boundaries of what they think of as a DND game stretched, too.

So the first thing I’ve changed is that these planes are literally planets, not planes. That lets me throw in a touch of sci fi for a nice spelljammer element. And the first of those planets to be explored is Planet Hell.

Encounter: The Hell’s Angels

The first big encounter here is against four biker devils, a Bone Devil (named Bones), a Bearded Devil (named Beards), a Barbed Devil (named... Cisco, which was supposed to be funny, but now I wish I’d just kept it Barbs, so let’s call him Barbs), and an Imp (Larry). These guys are straight out of Easy Rider, leather jackets and all, and they ride hovering jet bikes. The set up here is that they will attack the players and this will result in a jet bike chase through a maze like canyon full of dangers and driving challenges. While all this is going on, a meteor storm that hits Hell every day is about to start and the players will literally have to outrace the storm to make it to the safety of the world city of the Nine Circles (which is protected by a magic/science shield. Helping them in this endeavor is Alyss, a young blonde punk rocker looking chick who rides in on her own jetbike and warns the players that the biker gang is coming to investigate their crash site.

This encounter ends up being so much fun in so many ways.

First of all, the players don’t want to meet the biker’s head on. So Imoaza decides to use disguise self to look like a devil herself and pretend like she’s captured Carrick, who will then launch a surprise attack. She rolls a high success on her disguise and ends up looking like a classic red satan devil you’d get at a costume store, goatee and all. She also speaks Fiendish, as it happens, so she is able to really complete the disguise. It works and she doesn’t discard the disguise for the whole encounter. This ends up being absolutely ridiculous. Read on.

Beards tries to insult Carrick by peeing on him with a devil’s penis that looks like a living lobster and pisses acid and this is when Carrick launches his surprise attack, the other players joining him shortly.

Early on in the fight, Barbs and Bones escape, Bones dragging Imoaza’s red devil face along the ground until she is too dazed to fight him. He then blasts into the canyon, closely pursued by Alyss on her own personalized jet bike with Aldric riding shotgun and wielding a grenade launcher Alyss tosses him. Imoaza steals Larry’s tiny bike and rides after them, but for the life of her, she cannot roll well enough to figure out how to use the bike well. And while all this is going on, a meteor storm has begun to crash down around them. So what you end up getting is this ridiculous red satan devil (who is really Imoaza) cruising backwards on a hoverbike, screaming in terror as she races into the canyon just barely outrunning a meteor storm.

We honestly think this is the end of Imoaza. I’ve set up challenges the players must face to navigate the canyon and hers ends up being a leap over a wide chasm. With the way she’s been rolling... but then, against all odds, she rolls a critical success on this jump, and it looks a little like this...

The silence surrounding the chasm is broken suddenly by a shrill cry, like a plea for help, and rocketing into view comes a tiny hoverbike, clinged to by a tall red devil with a jet black goatee hanging beneath a mouth open in a wide scream. The Devil is ridiculously large a top the miniscule bike and Every part of his body that can grip something is gripping the bike: knees, buttucks, hands clenched on the seat of the motorcycle, his tall shape crouched low and terrified... and backwards... over the bike as it speeds its way without stopping towards the chasm. This is the end for the devil for sure. Except just before the bike takes its fatal dive, it hits a rock and is tilted upwards and suddenly the screaming devil man is flying, not falling, as the bike soars like an angel across the huge chasm, spinning around in the process, knocking the devil free from his perch, whereupon in his mad scrabbling he gets himself turned the right way around, grabs the handlebars and successfully lands on solid safe ground.

Then there’s Larry. Oh my god, Larry. I initially threw him in just so there would be an easily accessible bike for the players to use during the jet bike chase. But the minute I start voicing him and he keeps hilariously failing to injure Carrick while the Paladin (have I ever mentioned Carrick is a Paladin before?) fights Beards, using his fiery whip to smack away Beard’s attacks, Larry becomes a crowd favorite. Carrick especially loves him, finding the imp’s futile attempts to harm him more cute than anything else, to the degree that once Carrick defeats Beards, Larry takes a liking to him, calling him “Chuck” and determining they are going to be a new gang. He grabs Beard’s bike, tells Chuck to get on, and he rides him away from the Meteor Swarm, saying how cool it is that they’ve met and how they are going to be friends forever.

Well, by the time this happens, Aldric’s launching of grenades in the canyon has caused landslides and certain passages have been blocked off by piles of rock. Larry gets to one of these just in time to see Aldric and Alyss soaring over it in a marvelous display of driving skill and defying gravity, intent on continuing their chase of Bones and Barbs.

Larry looks at the rock wall and takes a deep breath. “Do you believe, Chuck?” He says in his small, hopeful, tremulous voice. Carrick slaps him on the shoulder. “I believe in you, buddy.” Larry then guns the bike, heading for the rock wall, about to perform the same stunt as Alyss. His eyes closed, his legs flailing out behind him (he’s too small for even his own bike), he drives a top speed for the wall.

And rolls a critical failure.

Carrick sees what is about to happen and does what any true friend would. He bails off the back of the bike, misty stepping off to witness Larry drive into the cliff wall, the bike upending itself to smash him into pulp against the rocks before exploding in a ball of fire.

And that’s the end of Larry, short lived favorite familiar.

The rest of the chase has too many crazy moments to list: Aldric finally catches up with Bones, jumping off his bike and impaling the devil, then stealing his leather jacket. Aldric and Alyss outrun a horrible cave monster a little bit like a gaping dragon from Dark Souls. Imoaza has to outrun the meteor storm on the way to the shielded city, and almost doesn’t make it. And Carrick finds Blackrazor in the desert.

This last moment is a defining one. Carrick initially is hesitant to retrieve the blade, knowing it is evil. But he also knows it may not be his call to make: this is Aldric’s burden to bear. The player is so torn, he literally has to toss a coin to figure out the answer. It tells him what to do... he picks up the sword, and Blackrazor is less than grateful, berating him for having let Aldric drop him in the first place. He does finally thank him and tells him that Carrick will play a nice role in his final plans, then makes a joke about eating the souls of children. This last one is too much for Carrick. Not sure whether Blackrazor is being crass or honest leads Carrick to realize he cannot trust the sword’s actual intentions. And in a moment of decision, he drops the sword back in the desert and rides away (he traded his exploded jet bike for a summoned horse... which here in Hell turns out to be a Nightmare). Blackrazor screams profanities at him as he goes, promising that one day he’ll cut off his head and drink his insides.

Eventually the party synch back up on the edge of the city, which this close up they see is actually just a ruined sprawl of ghettos. This is in fact an illusion, created by Alyss to protect them, but they won’t find that out for a while. For now, they wander the dead city with Alyss, who tells them to abandon the bikes except her own, which she hits a button on to cause it to shrink down to pocket size, and which she drops in her back pack. She explains a little about their situation while they walk.

Hell, it turns out, used to be involved in an eternal war with the Demons of the Abyss, in a conflict dubbed the Blood War that mostly took place in the River Styx, the asteroid field right outside of Hell. Some centuries ago, Asmodeus traveled to the Abyss himself at the head of a huge army to finally bring the fight back to the Demons. His plan was successful and he used a magic so powerful that the Abyss was sealed away into between reality, unable to manifest and interact with the real world. But Asmodeus himself did not survive the magic and Hell was left for the first time in its history without a leader.

With the war against the demons over, the devils turned on themselves, waging a war that began as a physical conflict but slowly became more political. Out of this war emerged the Nine Cities, a sprawling conglomerate of nine separate cities, all ruled by different Arch Devils. Hell also became a tense democracy, with the leader of Hell voted into office to serve a fifty year term. The current president is Mammon, devil of greed and pride, who rules from his vast casino-ridden city of Messmiter, the Golden City.

While different presidents have pushed different agendas and together have turned Hell into a technological leader in the universe, one thing they all agree on: Hell’s borders should remain closed, its warships destroyed and grounded. No one comes into Hell except in death. No one leaves Hell. Ever.

Alyss tells them that there are crystals here on Hell which call souls to them when those souls pass around the universe. It’s uncertain why a soul may be called by a crystal to end up reborn on Hell, but it is known that Devils used to be able to make this happen as a contract. Now with Devils forced to stay in Hell forever, the influx of new souls has slowed, leading to a lot of anger and unrest. Devils desire souls, they need them to grow in power. Without them, they feel starved and restless.

Also restless are the few unfortunates who end up being called to Hell. Not only are their souls almost always drained for a devil’s personal gain, but Hell used to operate on one basic principal: Hope. There was hope that with enough penance, one could leave for a better place. This actually used to be true. But no longer, not with the borders closed. So Alyss has joined a group known as the Hell’s Rebels, led by who she says is an incredible leader of men, a visionary. Their goal is to escape Hell.

This gives many reasons as to why the player’s presence is so disruptive and yet so important. One, they’ve broken the closed border rule, albeit unintentionally. Two, somewhere on Hell their working spaceship has landed, which could be the rebel’s ticket out of here. And three, they have fresh, living, souls. That makes them a target. And because Barbs escaped them in the canyon, she is sure word has reached Hell that they are here.

And with this set up, we enter my next planned scenario in Hell, hideout.

Rooftop Showdown

I want this part of the adventure to feel a little like Blade Runner, or Dark City. I am aiming for mystery and a touch of uncertainty and I want to create a daring escape.

So the set up becomes that Alyss brings them to a decrepit hotel room and leaves them, telling them she’ll be back in a few hours but under NO CIRCUMSTANCES are they to leave or open the door. They aren’t even to speak if someone calls to them. Alyss has her own way of getting back in. Don’t speak to anyone, she warns them again, before leaving. The players settle down for a much needed long rest, but when they finish it, Alyss hasn’t returned.

Three days pass. The players stay alive by Carrick casting “Create Food and Drink” and summoning a bunch of random Fiendish foods. They eat them all (except for a summoned plate of fried Bearded Devil Penis, which they leave in a corner of the room, where it begins to acquire a greasy acrid odor). Imoaza passes the time by reading various tomes she’s collected over the course of their adventures, especially the journals of her people taken from the Yuan Ti temple. Aldric digs through Alyss’ left behind backpack, eventually finding the shrunken motorcycle and blithely pocketing it for later study. He also finds an energy capsule which they use to recharge Carrick’s rifle. And he detoxes, not from drugs but from Blackrazor’s influence, slowly wresting his mind free from the blade’s evil influence, which he can still feel reaching for him and calling to him. Carrick finds a cellphone (of course, they don’t know this is what it is) and is able to pull out of his distant other-life memories that this is a communication device. He leaves it alone.

On the fourth day, a knock comes at the door. The players ignore it, and then Alyss’ voice calls to them, saying she lost the key and is being chased and needs to get inside. The group is nervous and anxious, not sure whether this is really her or not. As they hesitate, she becomes more desperate, saying that she will die if they don’t help her. They stay silent. Some time later, her voice returns, only this time she says she’s been caught and will be executed if they do not open the door immediately. She tells them that she will work something out with the Devils to keep them all safe, but they need to open the door now. Again, the players do nothing, and Alyss sobs and cries before there is a horrible crunching sound and her voice goes silent. Completely unnerved, Carrick uses a detection spell to try to sense anything outside the door. He senses a presence so large and evil that it almost makes him sick and he whispers to the others that he hopes they did the right thing by doing nothing.

It is not long after that the cellphone rings, jarring them all. Carrick picks it up and a male voice tells them he’s coming to get them, they have to trust him, that Alyss’ illusion is wearing off (it was never meant to last this long), that something has happened to her, and that they need to go. They decide to trust this voice and it (naming itself as “Jacobs”) instructs them to climb out of the window of the hotel and up to the roof.

Here is where things get crazy. Opening the window shatters Alyss’ illusion and for the first time, the players get a true look at the city they are in. It is not decrepit at all, but rather a bustling metropolis filled with flying vehicles, loud noises, and bright lights. It is night time right now but the city is brighter than day with all of its neon and LEDs. The players climb out of the window and Imoaza casts fly so that they can avoid a difficult climb. Just in the nick of time, too: behind them, the door to the apartment shatters and a Pit Fiend forces its bulk inside the room. But the players are already gone.

I think the sign that this section was a success was the players later asking whether that was really Alyss on the other side of the door. It wasn’t. In fact, it was the devils trying to break through her illusion and find them, but the fact that the question was left in their minds is exactly what I was trying to achieve, that uncomfortable feeling of “maybe we did the wrong thing.”

They end up having to wait on a rooftop while Jacobs makes his way to them. While they wait, they are accosted by a group of 12 Spined Devils and an Erinyes. Imoaza and Carrick face off against the devil’s in ranged combat from the roof, while Aldric flies up to meet the Erinyes, who taunts his bravery as base male bravado while ripping into him with her whip, spear, and arrows. The battle is intense, with spines falling all over the roof while Carrick and Imoaza use their eldritch blasts to fire back at the Spined Devils. Maybe the most intense moment comes when the Erinyes restrains Aldric with her whip and then throws him down into the river of traffic below them.

Damn that Larry, thought Harry as he steered his shiny new hovercraft down Risen Street, taking time to shake his fist at an old van as it puttered along in the lane he wanted to be in. If Larry would just start acting like an adult and less like a child then Harry’s life would be a lot simpler. Larry was supposed to have been back in town after the weekend to watch Harry’s kids (inexplicably, the little Implings loved their uncle Larry) but instead he was nowhere to be found. Harry wasn’t concerned, he knew Larry was most likely off with his gangster buddies and thinking of himself as much cooler than he in fact was. How many times did Harry have to tell his brother to get a real job before it was too late and no company would have him? How many times had Harry had to bail out Larry from some misadventure or another? Despite his anger, Harry couldn’t stop his lips from curling into a small smile as he thought of those misadventures. That was Larry’s one gift: no matter how much frustration Harry felt at him, his damnable brother was just so happy-go-lucky he couldn’t stay mad for long. As the frustration left him, Harry felt a sudden tinge of worry. Where was his brother? It wasn’t like him to just disappear without a trace. To be halfway around the world asking for help, yes, and inconveniencing his dutiful and responsible older brother, sure, but just disappearing was odd.

Harry didn’t have much time to consider the thought. There was a sudden jolt as a man fell from the sky and smashed against his windshield with the force of a dropped boulder. The shiny new hovercraft that Harry had spent nine years saving up for (it could fit all three of his kids and his wife besides) spun madly out of control, being ping ponged around by the other speeding traffic. Harry meanwhile, was flailing against the sudden release of the air bags, unable to see anything past their white bulk. He desperately tried to steer the car into safety, but only succeeded in pointing its nose directly at that old van that he had shook a fist at earlier. The two cars collided and Harry’s shiny new car was chucked aside into a building, Imp and vehicle alike exploding against its side in a fireball not unlike the one that had claimed his brother Larry only a few days earlier.

Eventually this battle comes to a halt. It is on a timer, with me rolling a die each round with an increasingly easy to hit goal number. When I roll that number, Jacobs arrives. There is one last mad dash as the players try to figure out what side of the roof Jacobs has pulled up to, failing all of their perception rolls, and leaping off of three different sides (all of them wrong). This results in Carrick being knocked unconscious and almost killed by traffic, Imoaza having to dodge madly through cars to save him, and Aldric (who got a haste spell from Carrick during the fight) whipping around in traffic like a car himself, madly looking for them.

They eventually all are pulled inside Jacobs’ vehicle and he flies them off to meet the leader of the Hell’s Rebels. Their hideout is a moving target, a giant airship that looks like a cross between a mighty galleon and a blimp, with a huge air bag suspended over the main deck and keeping the whole ship aloft, and giant jet engine pipes coming off the back of the ship to propel it forward.

They are taken on board the massive vessel and brought to see the commander. He stands in a long throne room, decked in an impressive robe and commander’s outfit. He turns as they arrive and eyes them all with a scrutinizing eye.

“Jacobs!” he shouts at last in a quick voice a little bit like a speeding racecar. “If I have tried to teach you one thing while being on board my ship, it is... well, it is my name. And you’ve actually done a great job of learning that. But if there was a second thing, it would be manners! And by all the devils in the nine hells, we do not leave people to bleed on our carpet. It’s not civilized! Did you even offer them something to drink? Get them a bath and a bed and whatever else they desire. Maybe a bowl of my famous cereal. That would perk them right up! Greetings, this is my ship the Jolly Roger Mark II and I’m Captain Krisp, Captain Roger Krisp, at your service. No, I won’t shake. I don’t know where you’ve been.”

And we stop there, with all of us laughing at the return of a favorite character. It’s a huge moment, actually, one I’ve been wanting to get to for a long time. Captain Krisp was one of those NPCs who became so quickly memorable that I’ve long wanted to bring him back into the campaign in a role that felt worthy of him. Being the captain of Hell’s Rebels is perfect. It also keeps alive the feeling of world-spanning that I’ve so valued in this long long long campaign. The fact that an entirely new group of adventurers is dealing with characters and plots left over from other groups of adventurers just makes the whole story feel epic. And of course, the players are the glue tying it all together.

By the way, for anyone ever wondering what Captain Krisp sounds like or how he thinks, I have taken massive inspiration from Varrick from Legend of Kora. Which is a wonderful show for many reasons, but maybe most memorably for Varrick.

Next time, we’ll get deeper into Hell and more crazy scenarios for the players to work through.

#Nine Hells #DNd 5e #Dungeons and Dragons #Campaign Journal #Spelljammer #Planar Campaign

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ko-chan-the-blueberry-donut · 7 years ago

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Quiescis Chapter 1 (Deaf!Akko AU) Little Witch Academia fanfiction

Title: Quiescis Rating: T Pairing(s): Akko-centric Genre(s): Friendship/Humor/Drama/Hurt/Comfort/Romance Summary: She remembered Shiny Chariot’s show like it was happening right in front of her at that very moment. She remembered the twinkling of the lights, the roar of the dragon, the cheers of the crowd. Then silence. Deaf Akko

Disclaimer: I don’t own Little Witch Academia.

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“Great works are performed not by strength, but by perseverance.”

—Samuel Johnson

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Chapter One:

Akko squirmed excitedly in her seat, waiting for the show to start. It was her sixth birthday, and her parents decided to take her to see someone named Shiny Chariot’s magic show. Akko could hardly wait—she wondered if Shiny Chariot would be like Mickey Mouse from Fantasia or Sailor Moon. Maybe she was like both!

Suddenly, the stars twinkled above, and a bright light sprung from the expanse of the night sky. The bright light came closer, and Akko was able to see a beautiful white bird flying towards them. She stood up in her seat, wanting to get a closer look. The bird whooshed past her, creating a strong wind. Akko clutched her witch hat close, her eyes sparkling in anticipation. The bird flew towards the stage, expanding into an orb of light, before transforming into the form of a young woman. Akko gasped—this must be was Shiny Chariot!

“Welcome to the land of magic!” Shiny Chariot exclaimed. Akko jumped, her parents giving her chuckles at her obvious display of enthusiasm. Shiny Chariot extended her hand. “Reach out…” she began, and a magic staff appeared in her awaiting hand. Trails of light swirled around her as she twirled. “And your story will begin!” the woman yelled, casting a wave of water, surfing on top of it. Akko quietly held her breath, not wanting to drown, but the water immediately vanished, and the little girl glanced above her. The entire audience was incased into a galaxy of space, with millions of stars surrounding them. Akko looked down at her feet, finding them floating in the galaxy, and she squealed happily.

Shiny Chariot continued her show, flying past the audience, circling around to the stage, diving in and out of space, lights splashing with each action. She transformed herself into a mermaid, then an angel, and then a centaur galloping across the sky. A light burst forth from Akko in the form of a pixie, and she watched it join other images of light in awe. Shiny Chariot smiled, before she gasped, the lights combining together to form a ferocious dragon. The little girl screamed but didn’t cower into her mother like some of the other kids. Shiny Chariot threw her hat, causing it to transform into the giant bird from before, and she sailed upon it towards the beast crying, “Noctu Orfei Aude Fraetor!” the staff turned into a bow and arrow. The witch pulled back the string and let it lose towards the monster. “Shiny Arc!” she shouted, letting the arrow fly into the creature’s mouth. The dragon swallowed it whole, exploding into a symphony of fireworks. Akko’s mouth dropped open at the beautiful sight. Shiny Chariot shot another arrow, opening up a huge glowing portal into the sky, sparks falling everywhere. She turned towards her audience smiling wide.

“Don’t forget.” She beseeched. “It’s your belief in yourself that makes up your magic.”

With that, she disappeared into the chasm in the sky, a pillar of light illuminating her departure. Sparkles rained down, and Akko rushed forward, catching one in her hands, and clutching it close to her chest, smiling softly. She just stood there, savoring the moment. That was Shiny Chariot…

It wasn’t until she felt her mother’s hand shaking her shoulder did she jump, turning her wide ruby eyes to the older woman. Akko squinted, watching her mother’s mouth move but no sound coming out. She shook her head, not understanding why her mother was not talking, but moving her mouth. Akko opened her mouth, preparing to tell her mother to stop teasing her, when she felt her voice come out, but stopped short when she realized she didn’t hear anything. She furrowed her brow, opening her mouth to speak again, but once more, she only felt she was using her voice, and not hearing it. Movement caught her eye and the little girl could see everyone was cheering, but she didn’t hear any sound. Fear gripped her, and she turned to her mother, trying in vain to communicate to her. Mrs. Kagari figured out something was wrong, her husband and her growing frantic when they realized something wasn’t quite right with their child. She was clutching her throat, tears coming to her eyes, and cried.

“Why can’t I hear?!” she shouted, felling her vocal chords being used, but not the sound being produced from them. Her parents immediately picked her up, taking her away from the audience and rushing to find help. Shiny Chariot’s words resonating in her mind.

She didn’t realize those words would be the last she would ever hear before being plunged into a world of silence…

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Akko grinned as she shielded her eyes from the bright sun. She clutched her suitcase in her hand and held her handbag in the other.

‘I’m finally here! This is where Shiny Chariot learned her magic!’ she thought in glee. Years have passed since that fateful performance that changed Akko’s life. Shortly after Shiny Chariot’s show, it was discovered that she had lost her hearing. Her parents demanded answers, and the doctors were as baffled as they were. Naturally, the family was devastated, not sure of what to do for their daughter, before quickly researching into ways to make it better for her. There was no solution, the doctors said, for someone who has gone completely deaf, but they could connect Akko with resources to help cope with it.

Her parents had pulled her out of school to send her to a school to help her with what they termed “her disability” and Akko was taken from everything she knew to be thrust into an unfamiliar environment and with few ways to communicate. She hated it. She fell into a depression soon after all the change, but Chariot’s performance stayed with her, Akko repeating the memories in her mind like a religion in order to not forget what noise sounded like. She hated the world she was cast into—the silence her constant companion. It wasn’t until a year later from when she lost her hearing, that she felt Shiny Chariot’s words hit her like a burst of inspiration.

“Don’t forget. It’s your belief in yourself that makes up your magic.”

It was like a fire was lit in Akko from that moment on. She had forgotten she still had power over her own life—her own magic, and Akko soon began putting effort into what her future could turn into, and not what her past was like. She began dreaming of being like Shiny Chariot, who inspired her to keep going even after she lost her hearing and wanted to be people’s source of inspiration to move on from their own troubles. She wanted to make people feel like they weren’t alone in the world like she thought she was. Like Shiny Chariot said, if she believed in it, she could make it happen. This belief caused her to force her parents to pull her out of special school, signing to them vigorously that the real world wasn’t going to treat her like glass, so neither should she or her parents. She enrolled into a regular school the following year, and while not full-proof, learned the skill of lip reading. By the time she had discovered Luna Nova, she felt more capable than ever, and told her parents her intentions.

Naturally, they were very wary of the idea of their daughter leaving Japan to be by herself in a foreign country, but Akko signed “Don’t worry! I am learning SSE!” to assuage their worries. It took a lot of convincing, but soon her parents joined in her efforts to contact Luna Nova’s headmistress, and Akko recorded a video, signing excitedly in amateur Sign Support English “I would love to go to your school! It’s my dream to make others happy with my magic!”

The headmistress had replied with her own video surprisingly, signing in Sign Supported English that she would love to have Akko enroll, making Akko squeal in excitement while her parents hugged her, signing to her how proud and happy for her they were.

And now, finally she was here in Great Britain! She was getting closer to her dream by the second! And if the headmistress knew sign, then she was excited at the prospect of the students also knowing sign. At her old school, Japanese Sign Language was shared amongst the students when Akko had joined, each wanting to understand and communicate with their classmate easier. She hoped Luna Nova was just like her old school.

Akko did a twirl in happiness, almost tittering off balance, and grabbed her bags. She hurriedly made her way across town, searching for the bus stop to take her to Luna Nova. The young teen had a bounce in her step, as she nodded a greeting to everyone she passed by. She approached an old woman sitting at a bench. She gave a bow in respect, opening her mouth to speak “Hello! Do you know where’s the bus stop to Luna Nova?”

The woman gave her a confused look, as if she didn’t understand her, and Akko blushed, realizing she spoke in her native language rather than English. She cleared her throat, trying again.

“Bus stop? Luna Nova?” she said, sure she was screwing up her English badly. She eventually had to bring out a notepad, making sure to write in English and gave it to the old woman. Reading it, the old woman shook her head, and Akko gave her a smile and left. She continued showing her notepad to residents in the town, each shaking their heads no—some had attempted to speak to her, but realizing she was deaf, didn’t really bother continuing. This didn’t deter Akko though—she would find the bus stop eventually!

However, the possibility of that happening seemed to diminish as more time passed, and Akko begrudgingly took out her map, searching for a clue.

‘How do they expect me to find this place?!’ Akko furrowed her brow in impatience. She followed the road with her eyes, coming across a tower where it listed ‘Leyline Terminal’. She glanced above the map, staring straight at a replica of the tower on the map. She double checked the drawing before grinning, ‘I found it!’

She raced towards the tower with her spirits renewed. Her eyes didn’t leave the structure, smile wide, and not looking to where she was going. A sudden collision with someone threw her off balance, causing her to fall to the ground, her stuff flying everywhere.

“S-sorry.” Akko said, unconsciously using Japanese to address the girl. A paper was on the ground, catching her attention, and she found it was the same Luna Nova brochure she had! Akko quickly turned her head, finding another girl with mauve hair, covering one of her eyes, picking up a broom from the ground. Akko’s eyes sparkled.

‘A student of Luna Nova!’ she thought, her hands moving at rapid speed, “Hello! I’m A-K-K-O! You pronounce it like this!” she demonstrated the signs for the sounds a and ko in Japanese Sign as her name. “Anyway, I’m a student at your school! Let’s go to the bus terminal together!” she signed in JSL, before realizing she was using the wrong one, and gasped, immediately switching it to Sign Supported English. “Sorry! I am still learning SSE! I’m used to using Pidgin and JSL, but I know that will only get me so far!”

The girl just stared at her blankly as she continued signing. Akko faltered. Could the girl understand her? If she was a student at Luna Nova, then she must know sign like the Headmistress! Maybe she only knew British Sign? Akko hoped not—BSL was vastly different than Sign Supported English, and often difficult to learn from JSL due to different sentence and grammar structure. An idea popped in her head and she retrieved her precious Shiny Chariot card, presenting it to the girl.

“Shiny Chariot? Luna Nova?” Akko spoke uncertainly, not being able to hear herself talking. The girl ignored her and walked towards her fallen stuff, uncapping a potion and pouring it on Akko’s stuffed bird. The plushie came to life, and Akko gasped in amazement. A squeak escaped her, and the girl glanced at her before looking back down at the animated plush. Akko held out her arms towards the plush, but it pecked her in the eye. She yelped, nursing her injured eye. The mysterious girl just walked forward, ignoring Akko’s cries. The animated bird flew on top of Akko’s head as she hastily gathered her things and chased the other girl. Akko eyed her warily, deciding just to follow her and see if maybe she could find another student who could understand her. As they walked toward the tower, Akko spotted three girls her age wearing the Luna Nova uniform. She grinned, racing past the silent girl and towards the other students, readying her free hand to start talking to them, but stopped when she got closer enough, reading their facial expressions as displeasure. What were they disgusted with?

‘Maybe I can make them feel better! It’s never too late to start my dream to make people happy!’ Akko decided, approaching them with a smile. She tapped the girl with red hair on the shoulder, causing the girls to direct their attention to her. She gulped at their critical stares but didn’t let that discourage her.

“Hello!” she greeted, making sure she was using SSE. “I’m A-K-K-O! Akko! Are you guys okay? I noticed you were—” here she struggled with a sign, sticking her tongue out in concentration, “Upset! Yes! Upset!” she congratulated herself for a good job, waiting for their reply. They narrowed their eyes at her, the black-haired girl opening her mouth to speak.

“Who are you? What is that weird thing you’re doing?” she spoke. Akko absorbed the sentence in her mind, furrowing her brow. Again? Why couldn’t anyone understand her signing?

“She can’t hear.” the girl from earlier appeared, and Akko tilted her head since she was behind her, and therefore not able to read her lips. “My roommate knows Sign, so I recognize it. Her English isn’t really that good either so who knows if she can understand you.”

“Ah Sucy!” the purple haired girl greeted. The witch, Sucy, didn’t say anything more and walked past them, going into the tower.

‘Sucy? Is that her name?’ Akko logged the information away. She began signing her question, but the three witches glared at her.

“Stop that! We can’t understand you!” the red head exclaimed, and Akko read the annoyance clear on her face, wincing. She pointed to herself.

“Akko. You seem sad. Wanted to help.” There was a moment of silence before the three witches burst out into laughter, and Akko felt the mean-spirited nature of their laughter rather than heard it.

“Wow, where did you learn English? A preschool?” the black-haired girl snickered. Akko felt shame well up within her. Her parents reassured her her English was fine, but maybe she should’ve practiced more on sounding out her words…

“Guess you’re that new student from a commoner family.” The red-haired girl said, smirking. Akko squirmed, understanding her words. “Bet she can’t even ride a broom!” Akko wanted to crawl into a hole. They readied their brooms, shouting “Tia Freyre!”

Akko’s eyes widened as they ascended from the ground, floating towards a glowing portal. They appeared to be talking to each other about something, but Akko couldn’t read their lips from the ground. They disappeared in a flash of light, leaving Akko to frown.

‘What do I do…?’

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Was this okay? I hope I did this okay. Please let me know if I messed up on anything >< Does anyone want this continued?

#akko kagari #atsuko kagari #barbara parker #hannah england #sucy manbavaran #lwa #lwa fanficiton #little witch academia #deaf character #deaf au #deaf akko #fanfiction #fanfic #ankko #dianakko #diakko #sukko

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probablyottrpgideas · 7 years ago

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Game Recap Series: EIS 3

Well, it’s been 14 weeks since I was DMing last, and I am so so happy to be back in the chair. I’ve had a great three session-long period with Av/Cleo’s player running a Norse Myth inspired game, and now the Empires Intelligence Services crew are back at it.

So we begin as we left off, in the underground tunnels beneath the lake, over the spider-filled corpse of Marzia Teresi, a village girl from Brattenhome. The crew continue forward, ever vigilant for traps, and discover the tunnel takes a turn further south at a sharp bend, and at the outside edge of the bend they find a door. Investigating, they discover the room is filled with a Darkness spell, and deeper inside they can discern a Silence spell is layered over the top, creating a total sensory deprivation chamber. Jimothy heads in to explore, but unsure as to what he might find he abruptly changes his method of exploration and hurls his sharp grappling hook forward. As he does, the spells end and he discovers that his hook was buried in the collarbone of one of the missing villagers. Stunned and horrified, the group begin to argue about what to do, but before they get a chance to do anything, thousands of tiny, white baby spiders pour out of the wound in the villager’s neck and along the rope on the grappling hook. Alketh, reacting on impulse, fires off a fireball, shaping it around Jimothy but forgetting to spare the villager. He sets most of the room on fire, and as they back out to escape Jimothy is forced to abandon his grappling hook.

They keep moving around the facility, finding a few more cells, these ones empty, and over time begin to realise that the caverns are shaped like a spiders web. After a brief diversion where Relic gets caught in an overblown pit trap that sealed shut behind him (eventually they freed him when they realised that the trap was designed to hold, not kill, and they discovered the reset switch hidden behind a camouflaged panel in the wall), they find a guard bunk room with chests of cultist robes, which they each don, and a single silver necklace shaped like a dangling spider, which Av puts on after she gets the okay from Arner and Alketh, who find nothing especially cursey about it. Celia, exploring a side corridor using her magical coatl tattoo, reports the discovery of another set of stairs leading down. They group decide to leave further explanation of the facility for later and push on to find the cult.

They head downstairs, hearing the sounds of a crowd, and exit the tunnel onto a ledge over a massive underground chasm. Over 200 cultists and 50 mutated villagers---around half of which are hulking, chitinous, fully-formed spider-men---stood arrayed in front of a stage, on which a small group stood. As they watched, a single figure with a large staff separated herself from the group and moved to the front of the stage, flanked by two huge blazing braziers. She speaks, and when she does the sound seems to come from right in front of every person, not raised in a shout but audible from everywhere in the room.

“It seems that we are to have...guests. They come to end our great work; this cannot be abided.

We came here, so long ago, to complete a great work. Those who came before us have broken, have wallowed in debasement and heresy, and we will bring them to heel.

Go now, into the town, and bring me everyone you can find. With our army a thousand strong we will spread underground, and no-one will know peace again. Go, now.”*

As the cultists move for the doors down the side of the room, the figure turns to a few of the fully completed mutations, and says;

“They’re here, now. Go and bring them to me.”

8 of the mutants rush across the room, moving blisteringly fast, but the room is over 600 feet long and so it still takes some time. Arner uses his giant Repeating Hand Ballistae (massive crossbow) and drops two feet of iron and wood into the shoulder of the figure on the dais, who turned and fled through a set of double doors behind the stage. The rest of the group readied themselves to engage in combat with the mutants.

However, in the two rounds of movement required to reach the party, the spidermen were preparing, using one-shot magic crystals to cast a modified version of Immunity to Fire and Haste on themselves. They blasted into the group and scattered them, dealing horrifying amounts of damage in short time. After two rounds, which nearly killed Relic and forced Nerra, Celia and Avoyelles to use whatever means they had to get off the edge of the cliff (rope, ninja skillz and a flying broom, respectively) and forced Relic, Arner and Alketh to flee back towards the stairs, leaving Jimothy out in the open. They managed to kill one of the mutants but six of them crowded Jimothy, and in no time at all he was on death’s door. Rather than kill him outright, however, one grabbed his body and started to flee, while the rest jostled for position to chase the others up the narrow tunnel.

Working quickly, Av casts Healing Word to bring Jimothy back to consciousness, and then when she is next able to cast a spell she uses Hold Person on the mutant, which is thankfully still classed as humanoid and not aberration (my fault). Celia Misty Steps (I love Eladrin) over to the two of them, wrenches open the mutants paralysed arms, and frees Jimothy, the two of them jumping out to a rope Celia had suspended from the broom.

In the tunnel, Alketh for the third time had the same terrible idea, and finally decided to go for it. He touched the Glutton’s Fork (I use a modified Fantasy CostCo list as a shop list for the capital city) to an Arcane Core (based on the TAZ one but far more versatile and, frankly, insanely overpowered), and ate it. In his little Dragonborn tummy terrible, terrible things began to happen, all fuelled by about five pounds of pure, undiluted crystalline magic. He fell to his hands and knees and let loose a breath weapon that was less a stream of acid and more a jet of superheated plasma, turning all six remaining spidermen in the tunnel to smoke shadows and burning through so much of Alketh’s vitality in the process that he was immediately dropped to 1 hit point and fell unconscious.

Despite their best efforts, Av, Jimothy, Celia and Nerra were unable to kill the last spider-man before he escaped through the double doors, so they instead used their stones of farspeech to warn the Mayor of Brattenhome that a small army was on its way. Worse still, Av and Jimothy were both certain they had heard the voice of the woman who spoke some time before, but they couldn’t figure out where. They regrouped, backtracked out of the facility and raced to town after as short a rest as would allow them healing, knowing that every moment wasted risked tragedy.

When they eventually made it back to the town around dusk, they found the citizens of Brattenhome were mounting a brave defence against their own families and friends and the monsters they had allied themselves with. But although initially outnumbered and overpowered, the citizens used every trick they had to corral the invaders away. The Krok stablemaster marshalled his gigantic crocodillian steeds into blocking off the North road, the barricaded Town Hall rained magical attacks on the West Road by way of office clerk and level one sorcerer Ifraan Basara and his Firebolt spells and Avoyelles and her Call Lightning. In the south, the fishermen had pulled their boats out into the centre of the river to blockade the cultists approaching from the water, and the homesteaders had overturned carts to block the bridge and were holding their barricade their. And on the East road, Sheriff James and what remained of his guard outfit were using pistol and bows to thin the approaching hordes. Alketh awoke to find the war going on around him and echo-like spasms of raw magic overload twitching through his body. For a short time, his magic was wild and unpredictable, randomly producing different variations on the spell effects and even sometimes casting from his hands without his command. While the effects of the Arcane Core were beneficial, they were too unpredictable and wild for Alketh to feel fully comfortable with them, and he instinctively knew that trying something like that again might kill him, and possibly everyone around him.

Jimothy took directly to the streets, carving swathes through the cultists with his terrifying Daedalus Blade, meeting up Celia---who had come by river using Krearshe’s water skimmer---as he did so. He saved a contingent of villagers, the three workers at the Temple of Avandra and one of the school teachers, from the chains they had been placed in by some cultists, and something nagged at his head. After a time the fighting stopped, and the town, though thankful, were more interested in picking over the dead, although the innkeeper did offer to waive their charge for their rooms.

Suddenly, as he helped the clerics and the teacher back to their respective flocks/classes, Jimothy realised; the voice of the woman on the stage, the one he knew; it was Ashe Corria, the schoolmistress. She was the leader of the cult.

Alketh went to check up on his old friend, the oddball thri-keen thaumaturgist Bakar al-Haque. He found an empty, vacant lot where Bakar’s shop had been, and an envelope on the ground where it had been. Inside was a card, which read;

“Alketh,

You were a good friend.

I’ll see you again.”

That night, everyone slept, even the elves who didn’t need it, such was their exhaustion. Alketh, still twitching from the magic overload, laid down and closed his eyes, only for bizarre dreams to invade his mind.

As follows is the exact description of the dream given to Alketh’s player:

“As you fall into a restful sleep, images and sounds clatter around your head.

You see a polar tundra, and the roaring scream of some gigantic creature

You see a mine, long abandoned, ivy growing around the supports and a pair of red glowing eyes, six feet high, deep within

You see a tower, spearing up into the sky

You see a human man and an eladrin woman, dressed in fine clothing, holding hands and looking worried

You see a beautiful elven figure, sitting on a high backed chair

You hear a maniacal laugh

You hear a terrible scream

You hear a beguiling, implacable voice, saying the words “Interesting. Very interesting. Bianca; attend…”

Tune in two weeks from now as they finally go to end Ashe Corria and destroy the Cult once and for all.

*I tried to get this out in person, but my group just cannot shut the fuck up. I hope they read this because it’s important information.

#game #EIS with OTT #long one #lots to think on for my players

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programaticallydelicious · 8 years ago

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"Captain, this is operator 379C-AP92 from monitoring station GZ-9W. There is an unauthorized FTL signature in your sector."

"Point of origin?"

"It appears to be from an ascendant species, GZ-S113."

"Status on the species?"

"This is their second detected FTL jump. The first was intercepted and inducted, per standard procedure. Initial investigation determined that the jump was intentional, and that the species is ready for full induction."

"And now that a second jump has been detected, you're contacting the nearest interceptor captain - me - to bring them into the fold."

"Correct. You have far greater than normal allowances for reinforcements, as well. The occupants of the first ship showed surprising mental fortitude, and proved to share some sort of limited, communal hivemind."

"Understood. Mind sending us on our way?"

"Control system engaged. Coordinates provided, target intercept calculated and locked. FTL jump initiating in 3... 2... 1..."

"All right crew, you have your targets?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good! Punch through and get us in. Surprising fortitude or not, a small crew like that won't compare to the mental assault of seasoned interceptors."

I stepped forward as my vision cleared, the uneven terrain crunching beneath my feet. The entire landscape seemed to be made of trash and debris, though I couldn't make out any details through the thick mist covering everything. Above me, words rushed through the air, interspersed with colors, lights, sounds, and the occasional smell. They all moved a mile a minute, though one would occasionally stop, scan around, then dive and grab something from the detritus around me.

I stilled myself, calmed my own thoughts, and prepared an attack. A simple opening salvo, really. Suggestions of passivity, commands to relinquish control. The vast majority of races fall to those alone. As I released the barrage, I checked with my crew - they were doing the same.

Then, for just a moment, everything sped up and stopped. The words turned, blinked, and glared at me.

"YOU. THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

A hand grabbed me from behind, sank into my neck and reached into my skull. Cold, hot. I was everything, nothing. When I got back up and looked around, I was in an ancient forest, surrounded by nothing but the sounds of the world.

"Is anyone there?"

A shaking, chattering sound rose up all around me, then died down again.

"Anyone?"

Eyes blinked from the shadows as the chittering, chattering surrounded me once more.

"I know you can hear me! I am your captain! Respond!"

The forest seemed darker, somehow. The eyes continued to stare at me, the chattering rattled up my spine.

"Captain! We're having trouble! They just keep throwing more stuff at us, no matter what we do!"

"Show me!"

A battle, raging across space. Small craft screaming through the void, lasers tearing through the gaps and gouging deep into ships the size of stations. A planet below, torn by the signs of the same battle happening above. A moon rising above the horizon. No - not a moon. An absolutely massive battlestation, primed for war.

"Soldiers! Sound off!"

A deep chasm, warriors fleeing across a bridge. One falling behind, easy prey for my soldier. A moment more, and he will be mine. He takes out a weapon, shouts his farewell. A blinding light, and the bridge shatters. Falling, I grasp at him before darkness covers my view.

A young boy clad in green and a girl in pink is doing battle with my man. The boy is outmatched, outclassed, and doomed to fail. My man reaches for his prize, only to see it stolen from his grasp by another. Water cascades around me from above as the sky collapses and the battle resumes.

A small fleet comes into view of my overwhelming armada, arrayed around my homeworld. Doomed to fail by numbers alone, they still attack, driven by suicidal desperation. They dive in and through, picked off one by one by my superior fleet. One deploys a weapon, straight to the surface of my planet. It begins to boil and bubble, and suddenly it explodes outward, my own world a weapon used against me, wiping my race from existence.

"No."

A single man wearing a bathrobe, in a temple to his destruction. My soldier yelling at and ridiculing him, fighting him for a goal worth nothing and everything. Destroying himself with his own mistake, the temple collapsing around them and somehow allowing the man to escape.

"This can't be right."

A man, collapsed upon the ground. My soldiers turning away, going to continue their work. The man rises, and my soldiers turn and shoot him. He raises his hand, and the bullets simply stop. He picks one out of the air and drops the rest, then charges at my soldiers.

"This isn't possible."

View after view, battle after battle, loss after loss. My soldiers fall. They have no resistance, no way to stop it.

"This can't be real!"

White faces poke out of the trees around me. The chattering resumes as the wind rushes through the trees.

"This isn't real! None of those battles are!"

More faces appear, shaking and chittering away.

"What are you? Who are you!?"

The trees turn, and the faces stop moving. The wind stills and the silence is palpable.

"Haha, he figured it out."

"Of course he did, he was the first in. Who else would?"

"He wants to know who we are!"

"Heh. He's right, though"

The trees sink into the ground, the white faces surrounding me turn faded and plastic. The ground all around is flat, covered in regular marks. Towering above me is a monster - no, a woman. My target.

"It's over! I've broken whatever defenses you weaved! Stand down or be destroyed!"

The woman rolled a large, marked object. It crashed toward me at random, before settling a distance away.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I don't think that's quite right. You're going to be stuck here for a while."

"What! No, I've won!"

"Nah, not even close. My mind, my rules."

"That's not how it works. It's neve-"

"Yes."

The word crashed into me, knocked me to the ground. Sank into my very bones.

"Yes, it is how this works."

She slithered along, her ruby scales glinting in the blinding light from above.

"See, you jumped into my head. You had some pretty pathetic protections, and you dragged your friends along for the ride. If I hadn't gone digging through your memories in return, I'd have thought it was an accident. But no-"

She raised her hand, claws pointing toward me.

"Your race has been doing this for ages. Enslaving species, taking their very wills from them. I don't even know how you managed it like that, you seem so bad at it. In return, I did myself a favor."

A glittering, dew-covered spiderweb dangled from her palm toward the floor, point after glistening point catching the light and sprouting new strands.

"I've taken your entire network - your whole race - for myself. You see, we had a fair idea of what happened to the first ship we sent out. We were prepared for the worst, and given rather impressive blanket permissions to do as we saw fit. Not quite enough to declare war, obviously."

The web shook and shimmered, held in front of her gaze as she watched it grow.

"Fortunately, you let me take the initiative. War as we see it was already delcared by you and yours. And then you handed me this truly wonderful beauty on a silver platter. You know, your people didn't even manage to do a collective properly."

A hideous cube of conglomerate metal tore through space, piloted by monsters of flesh and machine made one.

"Anyway, you've effectively given me your entire species. I even managed to draw them all in here. Every. Last. One. And since you're in no position to reject my request for an unconditional surrender, I'll just move right on ahead."

"As a duly appointed representative of humanity, I accept your surrender and charge you and your race with heinous war crimes beyond counting. You and your race, by your own memories, are hereby declared guilty. Your sentence is another matter entirely, though. It's actually pretty simple. I can even spell it out in one word."

"What word is that?"

"Die."

#science fiction #flash fiction #humans are weird #space australia #aliens #writing practice

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fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 8 years ago

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A Supernatural x Reader Story Chapter Twenty-Eight: Taxi Driver

Word count: 4580

(You can also read it on Wattpad here)

Masterlist

"No one wants to get into Hell," the reaper Ajay informs you, Sam, and Dean, pushing himself off from where he leans against his cab.

"But could a coyote like you do it?" Sam presses.

You give him a worried glance. Not at the thought of him going to Hell or even working with a reaper, both of which wring your heart with dread, but in anxiety over what this second trial will do to him. What it will take out of him.

"It's possible," Ajay nods. "But I have special skills. I have overhead. It will be pricey."

"How pricey?" Dean says.

Ajay looks between the three of you. "You are resourceful. One day, you will owe me a favor."

"You say that like you know us," Sam observes.

"Of course. You're the Winchesters," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Sorry. Have we met?" Dean says.

"I am the reaper who took Bobby Singer to Hell," Ajay states.

Only the soft padding of rain glossing over dark pavement under dim streetlights can be heard as the realization dawns upon each of you.

"Bobby's in Hell?" you breathe.

"We burned his bones," Sam says. "Once we did that, it was over – end of story."

Ajay hums. "Not necessarily."

"No," Dean says. "You see, Bobby was on the good side of things, and good guys go to the penthouse."

"Usually, mostly," Ajay agrees. "Depends on who you know, what palms get greased. If you're on the king of Hell's no-fly list, no way you cruise the friendly skies."

"Crowley," you mutter, flames of rage licking at your chest. "I'm going to kill that son of a bitch."

"Okay, let's do this," Dean says. "How much for two tickets down and three back?"

"Dean," Sam warns before the reaper can respond, and pulls Dean away from the cab.

"...Bobby's in Hell..."

"...have to do the trials solo."

"...been up to full speed lately..."

Thunder drowns out the rest of their hushed conversation, but you fixate on their words.

"I'll bring him back," Sam says with a note of finality, and turns back to Ajay.

You hold out a hand to stop him before he reaches the cab. "Not alone, you're not," you argue. "I'm going with you."

"(Y/N) –" he begins.

"Sam," you interrupt, "I was in there for centuries. I know the place inside and out. There are hundreds of thousands of souls down there, and they don't exactly have a tour guide. I'm your best chance at finding him."

He opens his mouth to argue, but studies you instead, considering, then exchanges a glance with his brother.

"She's got a point," Dean says.

You widen your eyes at him in thanks, and he nods, a silent plea. Look out for him.

"Two tickets down and three back," Sam repeats to Ajay.

"Follow me," Ajay replies.

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean says. "How does this... work?"

"Not to fret," Ajay says. "They'll be back in twenty-four hours' time. Return for them then."

After a pause, he leads you and Sam away, but you grab the angel blade from your car and give Dean's hand a reassuring squeeze before you follow Ajay into a darkened alley.

He stops where the alley ends in three brick walls covered in bright graffiti, artwork you would take more time to appreciate under less stressful circumstances.

"Take my hand," Ajay instructs, and you and Sam obey.

"And it gets creepier," Sam mumbles.

The walls seem to melt, the different colors blending into each other, all except for a painted door, which glows a light blue, then a white so bright and expansive that it swallows you. It pulls you into a state of weightlessness, as if separating your body from your consciousness.

You drop to your feet, feeling earth underneath them. As far as you can see in any direction, barren trees line the floor of the woods. You blink to rid your vision of the pale grey quality that affects the trees, your skin – everything, really – but it remains.

You elbow Ajay against the nearest tree, holding an arm against his chest and the angel blade to his neck.

"This isn't Hell," you hiss. "Where are we?"

"Whoa, whoa – detach," he says. "This is Purgatory."

"What do you mean, this is Purgatory?" Sam questions.

"It's Hell-adjacent," Ajay explains. "Been down this highway many times before."

He glances down at your blade, then back at you, brows raised.

Sighing, you release him, scraping a line into the tree bark instead before lowering your blade.

"Follow the stream to where three trees meet as one," he instructs, gesturing to a placid creek behind you. "Where they meet, there are rocks. Between the rocks is the portal."

"The portal?" you say.

"A back door to Hell. Trust me, it will work," he says.

"So, you're not coming with us?" Sam asks.

"Don't be ridiculous," Ajay scoffs. "Smuggling a mortal across the border is risky enough. But gate-crashing two humans – a Winchester, no less – into Hell seriously blows."

You meet Sam's eyes, which reflect your worry.

"I'll be back in twenty-four hours, precisely. Be here," Ajay adds, before disappearing in a wave of white light.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

The soft soil and yours and Sam's deft strides conceal the sound of your footfalls as you hike through the woods. You walk with a lightness in your step, like you could fly if this pit of anxiety had not formed in your stomach.

"Whoa, (Y/N)," Sam pants, holding a hand to your shoulder. "I mean, I know we're on a time frame, but I think we can afford to slow down a little."

Though every fiber in your body opposes it, you force yourself to decelerate, realizing you were almost running.

"Sorry," you breathe, needing more air in your lungs than you thought. "It's Hell."

"Hell?" he repeats.

You run your fingers through your hair, needing to do something with your hands, itching to move. "I think it's drawing me there."

"Why?"

"Because I belong there?" you suggest. "Or, my soul does, anyway."

"You think so?" he utters, his eyes drifting down.

You feel a presence, like eyes watching you, but the feeling leaves as suddenly as it came, and you continue walking, more alert now.

"Guess we can't all be saved by the heavenly force that is Castiel," you say, jokingly at first, but the words hang in the air, threateningly, holding the weight of Hell above your head.

Sam's eyes don't leave the ground in front of him as he takes a deep breath. "I –"

The sound of a branch snapping cuts him off.

Both of your heads shoot up, knives at the ready, each of you scanning opposite sides of the forest. You listen for another sound, but only the trickling of stream water and your slow breaths, in line with Sam's, can be heard.

When you turn back to him, a figure jumps out from behind a tree, knocking Sam to the ground.

You leap into the figure, pulling him down. You don't have the force to prevent him from rolling on top of you, but movement to your side catches your eye and you swing your fist across the monster's face, leaving its neck exposed enough for Sam to slice a blade through it.

Its head falls to the side, and you twist to push the body in the same direction before it slumps to the ground.

You peer through the tree branches to the grey sky above, breathing heavily, and take the hand Sam offers when it crosses into your vision.

Your eyes comb over him, but find no blood, no grimace of pain on his face, no sign he was hurt.

"We should move," he says.

The next few hours of the trek are spent in silence. The sky grows darker, like clouds signaling thunder storms, though the it remains dry. The air has a sort of crispness to it, like how it feels to breathe in air at the top of a mountain.

If Sam notices the uneasy glances you give him, he doesn't comment. Purgatory seems to make him stronger, more hopeful, but you suspect the greyness of the atmosphere hides the pallor of his face.

"We're close," you say.

It takes more effort to keep from running now, though the adrenaline has faded enough that your feet ache. You feel Hell pulling you toward it, as if you and the place are opposite poles of a magnet.

"You said something about Segments," Sam recalls, "when you were talking about Hell?"

You nod. "They're –" you cough once to clear the lump that has formed in your throat. "They're progressions. Once you reach a breaking point, you go onto the next Segment."

"Where do you think Bobby'll be?"

"It's been – what, a year? Year and a half, maybe?" you muse. "He's tough. Still on the Rack, if he's lucky. And if we are."

With a sharp breath, you force the memories away, keeping them at bay long enough to bring yourself out of your own head.

"Hey," he calls, pointing to a nearby tree. A closer look shows you its trunk separates at the ground, forming three trees.

You follow Sam around the tree until you reach a pile of rocks. He takes one side of the largest boulder while you take the other, and you roll it away from the tree, revealing a chasm in the earth.

"It's a rabbit hole," Sam notes over the sound of rushing air from within the pit. "This is nuts."

"We're about to cross over from one astral plane to another, and this is what's nuts?" you mumble.

The laugh it elicits from him tells you he heard the comment, but your stomach is too knotted for you to join him. Though your feet itch to move forward, you force them to remain planted on the ground until you can brace yourself, steeling your mind against the nightmares.

You take Sam's hand, step forward, and let the portal pull you in.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

The smell hits you first. Sulfur and blood. Mostly blood.

You feel Sam pressed up against you in the narrow corner where you were dropped. You force your eyes open, you blink them a few times to adjust to the darkness. Outside, a dim orange light illuminates a worn stone pillar.

Sam shifts toward the light, and you let go of his hand, realizing how hard you were clutching it in yours. All you want to do is curl up into a ball and shut your eyes, hidden from the demons and the hellhounds and the screams.

But you force your feet to follow him out of the corner toward the indistinct moans and wails, leading to the end of a hallway, a familiar one.

Heads and hands poke out of cells, reaching out toward any chance of relief, but finding themselves grasping at air.

Sam's hushed voice makes you jump. "You going to be okay?"

A distant scream echoes through the halls, piercing your eardrums. A woman covered in blood and chained to the wall, shaking, mutters claims of her innocence at you. The metallic scent of blood threatens to make you gag.

"Don't worry about me," you murmur back to him, tightening your grip on the blade. "We're in the right place. Let's move."

You lead him down the corridor, passing a man with a hook through both of his eyes, calling out to Sam. "Eddy? Eddy?"

You slip back into the habit you practiced for so long of shutting the voices out, but Sam pauses at the man, face contorted in horror. You give his arm a light touch. There's nothing you can do.

He nods in understanding and follows you to the end of the hall, where it splits into two. You motion for him to take the right while you go down the left.

You feel the loss of his presence at your side as violently as losing a lung. He was your anchor to reality, keeping you from slipping too far away from the task. You shut your eyes and open them again, steadying yourself for long enough to create another anchor. Finding Bobby, getting him out.

You peer into each of the cells, drowning out the pleas for help once you don't find Bobby. The last cell does not hold him either, but a familiar face catches your eye.

"Jill?" you breathe.

A black-haired figure turns to you from where she sits, leaning against the wall. Her eyes widen when they meet yours, glistening with tears, and she crawls to meet you.

"(Y/N)?" she croaks, taking your hand, outstretched between the bars, in both of hers.

Blood runs from a gash on her forehead and dark bruises pepper her body, but she seems no worse than when you left her.

"I th-thought you left m-me," she whimpers into your hand.

"I–"

You cut yourself off, reconsidering your words. You did leave her, the only friend you made in this place. The only person who would make the carving and burning and clawing almost bearable.

She sinks to the floor, sobbing. You recall the feeling of being trapped here, stuck in an infinite loop of torture, longing for the smallest bit of hope, even false hope. It would have been everything.

"Shh, I'm here," you whisper, stroking her matted hair until the racking ceases to pulse through her body.

Distantly, you remember that you were back for a reason, but guilt keeps you here, crouching outside of a cell. Why did you deserve to get out? It's not as if you stopped the apocalypse, or saved the world like Dean did. Why should you be able to find your family and fall in love and live on Earth while these souls are condemned here forever?

Well, you think, you will be back soon enough.

A scuffling sound snaps you back to reality, back to Sam and Bobby.

You rise, casting a final glance at Jill's still, buckled figure, and take off down the hall with muted strides so as not to alarm the souls or the demons.

At the corner where you and Sam parted, a demon pins him against the opposite wall. Its back is turned to you, allowing you to cover its mouth and drive your angel blade through its heart, sending a crackling bright orange glow through its body. As it crumples to the ground, you run your eyes over Sam, but find no blood.

A sigh of relief is leaving your lips as you look to the movement in the corner of your eye, to a sight that ceases your breath entirely.

"Bobby." Your mouth forms his name, but you can't get your throat to make a sound.

His face is pale and his eyes have a little less life to them than you remember, but it's Bobby, complete with the tattered trucker cap and leather jacket. He embraces you and you breathe him in, swearing you can still smell the faintest hint of whiskey, though the decades in Hell must have beaten it out of him. You let the scent bring tears to your eyes.

"Guys," Sam warns, an apology in his voice.

You pull away, glancing at the two other demon bodies at Bobby's feet. "Let's get out of here."

• • • • • • • • • • • •

The trek back seems ten times longer. Hell continues to lure you in, the force feeling more like a rubber band binding you to it now, making each step forward more difficult.

"They shoved me in your old cell, y'know?" Bobby says next to you.

"Yeah?" You can't help but cringe at the thought of Bobby in there, of those four walls you spent so much time praying to crumble around you.

"Hell of a wringer they put you through, ain't it?" he says with a distant look in his eyes, like he's still there.

"You're out now, Bobby," you assure him.

"And none of us have to go back that pit ever again," he adds.

You see Sam's shoulders stiffen in front of you, but he continues the hike without a pause.

"Right," you say, and Bobby doesn't question it.

The hours lengthen and the air grows thin in your lungs until you spot a mark on a tree, the mark you made with your blade.

"Sam," you call, but he looks around as well, searching for the reaper.

You both watch and listen, but not so much as a rustling of twigs on the ground can be heard.

"What's going on?" Bobby asks.

"This is the place," he says, his questioning eyes looking to yours.

You nod in confirmation.

"Where your cabbie's supposed to meet you?" Bobby says.

"Yeah, at exactly –" he checks his watch "– now."

"So, he's running a little late," Bobby suggests.

"He didn't seem the type," you say. "He was very precise about it."

"And if he doesn't show?"

The dread that strikes your heart is reflected in Sam's words. "We got no way out."

"Didn't Dean find a way out?" Bobby comments.

"Not alone," you say.

A growl from behind you makes all three heads turn to face three advancing figures.

You adjust your grip on the angel blade while one of them strides in your direction. You thrust the blade toward its chest, but it narrowly avoids the blow and grabs your arm, bending it enough to send a sharp pain shooting through your wrist. You send a knee into its abdomen before you can drop the blade, which you send through its heart.

Beside you, Sam has separated another monster's head from its body and is on his way to help Bobby, but another, dark-clothed figure is closer.

He grabs the monster from Bobby and bites its head off.

Bobby outstretches the knife toward the figure, but Sam holds him back. "Bobby, no! Wait!"

"Benny?" you breathe.

He turns to you, spitting blood and the throat of the lifeless body at his feet.

"How did you get here?" you ask. "What happened to laying low?"

"I did," he remarks, almost with a laugh on his voice. "Dean sent me."

"Dean?" Bobby repeats. "Not my Dean."

"He's a buddy of Dean's," Sam explains, his words bitter.

"A buddy?" Bobby sneers. "A friggin' vampire?"

He gives you a horrified scowl, which you meet with an apologetic look before tearing your eyes away to meet Benny's.

"Guess I owe you more than one."

• • • • • • • • • • • •

The seam glows a bright blue at the top of a hill, creating a current of air strong enough to shake the branches of nearby trees.

"When we get to Earth and I release you, it's an express straight to heaven. No time for goodbyes," Sam tells Bobby.

"Already said goodbye to you both," Bobby says. "Didn't seem to take. No reason to think I won't see you again somewhere down the road."

"See you then, Bobby," you say.

He nods at you. "But if they give me a rocking chair up there," he adds, "I'm raising hell."

He slides the demon blade across his forearm, handing it to Sam, who does the same. "Conjuncti sumus, unum sumus."

Bobby's figure reduces itself to flaming embers, which slip into Sam's arm.

"All right, come on, Benny. It's your turn," Sam says, holding the knife out to him.

You don't hear his response, only see movement in the corner of your eye.

"Benny," a voice calls from where three monsters – vamps, you think – emerge from the trees. "And still working with the Winchesters."

"Time for you two to go," Benny says, gently, before he gives both of you a final glance and trudges over to the vampires.

"Benny, don't," you call.

"You just make sure you tell Dean I said goodbye," he says over his shoulder.

"Wait," Sam calls, and tosses him the makeshift blade he picked up from the first monster to attack.

Sam tugs at your shoulder, prompting you toward the hill, but you shrug him off. "Get back and finish the trial," you say. "I've got him."

"(Y/N) –"

"Sam, go!"

You don't wait to see him leave before you charge in after Benny.

He has sliced off one of their heads by the time you arrive, letting the limp body fall to the ground. Another one races toward you, but you swing your elbow out to strike her across the jaw, stunning her enough to allow you to kick her against a tree and stab the blade through her throat and into the trunk.

Her body flails, producing a gagging sound where her throat is impaled. Her hands reach to the hilt of the blade, struggling to free it from the wood.

Forceful arms bring you to the ground from behind. A sharp burning pierce through the side of your neck makes you cry out into the dirt before you feel the weight lifted off of you.

You take one gasping breath after another through clenched teeth, your eyes catching Benny's blade on the ground, feet away from you. You push yourself off the ground, ignoring the dizziness, and reach for the handle in time to see the vamp at Benny's neck.

"No!" you shout.

The vamp lets Benny's body drop and turns to you as you swing the blade through its neck.

Behind you, the sound of metal dropping to the earth follows the snarls of the other vamp. You swing around once more, the blade cutting through her neck before lodging itself into the tree, bloody.

With the final maneuver, you feel the energy drain from your body and drop to your knees, feeling the sting of the bite subside to a throb as warm blood crawls down your chest.

You relax against the backs of your feet, watching black spots dance across your vision. You tested the tension of Hell's rubber band and failed. There you will stay for the rest of eternity.

Before your eyes close, they land on a black coat on the ground before you.

Tell Dean I said goodbye.

Dean. And Sam.

You have to get back to them.

The thought sends a surge through your body. You push yourself to your feet, swaying a bit before finding your balance. You reach down to grasp the handle of your angel blade from where it rests on the ground and use your other hand to pull the collar of your shirt up to press into your neck, feeling the pulse of hot liquid soak through to your hand.

Your eyes catch on Benny's body again, and you take wobbly steps toward him.

His head rests inches away from his neck, his eyes glassed over and his fangs protruding from his mouth.

Death brought a human look to him, showing you what he really was. The person who brought Dean back to you. Who trusted you when you were still a stranger to him. Who saved your life twice today, and died in the process.

"Thank you," you whisper, ragged breaths and choking tears strangling your words.

The welcome whooshing of the portal announces its remaining presence, to your relief. Using the trees and rocks for balance, you stagger up the hill and let the blue light swallow you.

Your knees land on packed dirt, the impact sending a jolt through your body as the blinding light relinquishes itself to the nighttime air.

A forest. Like Purgatory, but filled with thinner trees, hopeful green leaves lining the branches.

A gruff voice calls your name, then another.

Blinking through your blurred vision, you see Sam stumbling toward you, followed by Dean's watchful eye. You push off the ground slowly until you have risen to your feet.

Sam stands before you, panting, a wince on his face, as if staying upright takes as much energy as running. The trial appears to have taken even more out of him than the first one.

You raise a free hand to the side of his face, realizing you refused to consider he hadn't made it back, but the thought lingered in the back of your mind. Your eyes close in relief.

When they open again, Dean removes your hand to inspect the bite. Blood has started to run down your arm, dripping off your elbow. Looking down, you see the bright red has reached the hem of your shirt.

He digs into his pocket and hands you a wad of cloth, but not before fear flashes across his eyes.

"Benny?" he asks.

You flinch at the memory of his body on the ground in two pieces.

Dean blinks, wrapping his mind around your silence. His face falls, the hope that held it up draining as his eyes distance themselves, glistening in the moonlight.

"Dean, I'm sorry," you say, though it comes out as a plea.

His somber eyes travel up to flit between yours, his lips parted in shock before he pulls them into a tight line.

You study the ground, wanting to disappear, to tuck away in a corner and curl up into yourself. You lost someone who wasn't yours to lose.

But Dean closes the space between you and wraps his arms around you tightly.

You don't move, don't even breathe, until moments have passed and his grasp on you has not surrendered. You bring your free arm around to encircle his neck, leaning into him and letting him lean into you.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

The bumper of your Marquis comes into view where you parked it before you left. You climb out the back of the Impala and Dean follows you.

"You sure you're good to drive?" he says, glancing at the bandage hastily taped to your neck.

"I'm fine," you mumble.

He leans against the hood of his car. "We're gonna check in with prophet boy and see where he stashed that tablet. You coming?"

You peer over his shoulder through the windshield where Sam sleeps in the passenger seat, his head resting against the window.

"Why don't I go to Kevin's?" you suggest. "You two head home, call it a night."

Dean follows your gaze to his brother, worry permanently etched into his eyes as he turns them back to you.

"That's a great idea," he says.

Your eyes drift down to his hands, coated in dirt from the grave he dug for Benny, and you let them linger there.

"I really am sorry, Dean," you say.

He nods, eyeing your own hands, still tinted red. "I'm just glad you're back topside."

You drive out of the city, breathing in the familiar leather of your car, and cross the state to Warsaw, where step onto the boat and knock on the door.

"Kev, it's me. Open up," you call when he doesn't respond.

After another knock, you grasp the handle of the door, surprised when it turns and the door swings open freely.

"Kevin," you say, fumbling around the dark room for the electrical panel.

The lights flicker on, casting a dim glow on the empty room. The table in the corner, where notebooks and papers and chicken scratch layered themselves next to cups of coffee and bottles of painkillers, remains bare. New warding symbols line the windows in the same red spray paint that outlines a devil's trap on the ground before you.

You sigh, halfheartedly peering into every corner of the room, only to find nothing.

#Supernatural #Supernatural x reader #Spn fanfic #A Supernatural x Reader Story #series #writing is hard

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fangraidz · 8 years ago

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Hunted

He was weak. Starved. The force gave him strength but it didn’t fill his belly or give him sleep.

He had been running from the pair of Sith for three days. They pursued him relentlessly. He made the mistake of resting once and it had cost him his arm and his eye.

He came to a skidding halt, chest heaving with the exertions of breathing as he peered ahead of him. The forest that had been housing his mad dash abruptly ended, giving way to a large chasm. It stretched 60 feet wide and ran to the horizon on both sides. Beyond the chasm laid more of the forest and, more importantly, the temple of the Grey.

The temple was Jedi Knight Gensi Perez’s final hope of salvation. He was not scared of death, but he was determined to finish his mission. At any cost.

He slowly walked away from the chasm and took a deep breath before turning and sprinting head long towards the cliff. He waited to the last possible moment before he gathered all of his remaining energy into a force powered jump that sent him sailing over the chasm.

He was always the best at using the force to enhance his physical abilities. No one at the academy could match him. He even beat most of his masters in long jumps and endurance tests at a young age.

But that was when he was well fed. And rested. And when he had two arms.

He started losing momentum about half way through his jump. He wasn’t going to make it. He pivoted and turned from where had lept, facing away from the far side of the cliff. The Jedi Knight gathered force into his right hand and with a primal shout he sent it flying towards the way he came. The recoil sent him flying farther, effectively boosting his jump. His shoulder cried out in agony as the extra force made him slam on to the far side of the chasm, the momentum forcing him to roll to a slow stop.

His arm ached and his head screamed with protest as he made his body pick itself up from his prone position on the jungle floor.

Across the chasm he saw his hunters looking across at him, their sabers already drawn. The female Twi'lek looked as if she was about to jump across after him before the taller, calmer Zabrak put a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s right. Jump. Let the chasm do my work for me.” Gensi mumbled. He sat cross legged and looked across the chasm towards the Sith. This was a good time to rest and recover his strength. They couldn’t jump across the cliff without Gensi force pushing them back the way they came, potentially killing them. And they knew it.

The Twi'lek paced back and forth furiously, her red lightsaber sparking on the ground as she pivoted. The Zabrak took a knee and stared at Gensi. No doubt trying to probe his mind, make his enemy doubt himself.

Gensi was stronger than that. He closed his eyes, and put up a strong mental defense. He would rest for one hour. Then he would make the last leg of the race to the Grey temple. He would be welcome there. As would his opponents. But they would not allow any violence or trickery of light or dark on their territory. And it would buy Gensi enough time to call his master and deliver the holocron that was stuffed preciously in his satchel.

As the hour passed, Gensi regained his color and his strength. Bit he was at his limit. The force would not lend him anymore strength until he properly rested and ate.

He took a breath and sent his mind down, into the chasm’s abyss. Probing. Bingo. Found it.

He had another forte, besides enhancement. And he planned to use it to get a head start.

Slowly, Gensi opened his eyes and looked to his hunters and smiled. The Zabraks eyes widened as he stood up, understanding just a second too late.

Gensi turned and broke into a force powered Sprint. Almost simultaneously a cloud of winged creatures burst forth from the chasm and began to swarm over the two Sith. The Twi'lek screamed in rage and struck out, cutting down a number of the creatures before resorting to swinging blindly in a rage.

The results were better than Gensi dared to hope. “At least 5 minutes” he thought to himself. But he hadn’t known there would be so many of them. He lucked out.

A feeling in his gut made his throat catch as he jumped over a log. The force. The dark side. More powerful than he ever thought possible came from behind him and everything went quiet. “They killed them all in one push..” he thought. “Didn’t even buy me 30 seconds..” despair hit him as he sensed another small pulse of force. Then another. They had made it across the chasm.

Less than 400 feet behind him he could see them breaking through the jungle. The Twi'lek force jumping through the trees and the Zabrak following Gensi’s path like a hound.

Hope blossomed in his chest as he spotted the clearing he was looking for. Less than 100 yards to go. He could make it.

He heard their lightsabers blaze into existence and felt the force gather from behind him and he ignited his own, blue saber and braced himself.

The Twi'lek would try to cut him off as the Zabrak attacked him from behind. But he was prepared. He flung his saber at an over hanging branch and sprinted past it before it fell. This had the dual boons of forcing the Zabrak to lose a step and the Twi'lek had to change course as she leapt to a different branch.

In the clearing ahead of him he could see three robed figures descend the temple steps. A human female, a human male, a hulking monster of a man who kept his hood up. In their hands they each held the hilt of beautifully crafted ornate lightsabers which each hummed to life with orange fire.

The Sith behind him slowed to a stop and the Twi'lek shrieked once again with rage. The Zabrak looked towards Gensi and scoffed. “You live today Jedi. But what will you do when you try to leave. I have the patience of an immortal. You will never leave this planet. ”

Gensi stepped into the clearing and turned around as the three Orange Lightsabers were brought up to his neck. “Maybe that’s true. But I win. Which means you failed. We all know how Sith take failure.” With that he lifted his hands and allowed the Grey Jedi to lead him to the temple.

He would live today. And he would contact the council. His mission was a success and the holocron would prove to save hundreds of Jedi and innocent civilians. He could be proud of himself.

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fanfic-collection · 8 years ago

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In a Name: Ch 21

The people @pabegay1 @kristenscamander @hannah-caitlynn @graysonmalfoy @falltoashes @solsticestorm @bingewatchingmylifegoby @elenoranave @incadinkadoo @melanin—senpai @juuliiaa05 @sigridlaufeyson @ihaveanobsessenproblem @oneweirdfangirl

Around noon, the convoy arrived at a break in the trees. The clearing opened into a great split in the ground, as though the whole area had been cleaved with a massive battleaxe. Only a solitary bridge, about two horses wide, dared cross the gap.

Thor and Loki walked over to the ledge and knelt down, peering into the depths below. About fifteen meters below, icy rapids cut through the chasm, racing and frothing in both directions as far as the eye could see. Everyone had dismounted at this point and gathered to watch warily. Finally the brothers returned. “If anyone were to ambush us, now would be the place to do it.” You muttered quietly to Sif. “The bridge is wide enough for two people to cross at a time, but we’re not sure how strong it is.” Thor began speaking carefully. “We’ll move in the same order we’ve been traveling so as not to leave the caravan unguarded for too long a period.” “Thor and I, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, then the caravan, then the front guard, and finally the rear guard.” Loki finished for Thor. For a brief moment, while he spoke, Loki made eye contact with you. He seemed to have come to the same realization of ambush setting as you had. “Go on foot, and lead your horse.” Loki ordered. Then he and Thor began the crossing, boots struggling to find traction on the icy bridge. “Sif and Fandral!” Thor called once he and Loki had arrived at the other side. Loki backed away, looking around warily. This was the most defenseless the party had been at any one point along this excursion. Then Sif and Fandral were across. “Volstagg, Hogunn, you next.” Loki bit his lip, watching them warily, desperate to have you cross next, but he knew better than to affect the order now. “Forward guard…” Thor’s voice softened as his uncertainty and nerves grew. There were eight guards in front of the caravan, the last six after. You were part of the six. Two guards leading the caravan, two guards controlled the horses pulling it, and four walked on either side. The last six of you brought up the rear. After the first four guards crossed, things seemed promising. The next two, Loki and Thor grew hopeful. Finally, as the caravan began its own crossing, Thor smiled. “Well I guess (Y/n) was wrong.” Sif muttered to Thor. Thor gave her a confused look. “Get down!” Alfr cried out suddenly from just at the edge of the bridge; he had been preparing to receive the horses. You spun around on your side of the chasm and gasped as a volley of arrows flew down at you. You barely had time to raise your shield and duck down, only a few arrows grazing your armour. “No!” Cries from the other side of the bridge filled the air. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see arrows raining down on the group that had crossed. The warriors three rushed to move the caravan off the bridge, so it wouldn’t be overturned by the frightened horses. The princes and the guards who crossed began striking down the enemies on that side. At the same time, you and the other five remaining Einharjar worked to defend the rear. You were being attacked by a lesser number, it was the only way they had been able to evade Loki’s detection. Beside you, Henrik let out a startled gasp that quickly choked off, before collapsing to the ground and falling silent. You didn’t have much time to register before the attackers were upon you. You dipped and weaved among your attackers, using your agility to your advantage, but there were so many. Small bursts of magic struck the ground around you, causing miniature explosions. - - From the other side of the ravine, Loki watched helplessly as your fellow guards were slain around you. “Brother!” Thor yelled, pulling Loki’s focus back to his own group. “Protect the caravan!” The attackers on Loki’s side were more out matched by the warriors three and the two princes, falling faster. Seeing that Thor finally had things under control, Loki looked back to where you fought, now completely alone. “(Y/n)!” Loki screamed across the bridge, “cross over! We’ll cover you!” You jumped back several feet, boots skittering dangerously on the ice as you struggled to regain traction. Finally looking away from your attackers, you realized you were completely alone on your side. Loki’s words finally crossed over the bridge and you turned and ran. Midway across the ice bridge, a burst of magic exploded in front of you, causing you to stumble. You watched in horror as the bridge began to fracture and crumble. There was no time to slow down and choose a more meditated approach. It was risk falling or certainly be cut down. Loki ran to the other side of the bridge, ready to reach forward and pull you the rest of the way. You cried out as an arrow struck your leg, causing you to stumble; the prince’s eyes widened in shock. Without thinking, he ran forward. Another burst of magic hit the ground between you and the bridge shattered, giving away completely. You flailed your hands uselessly searching for something. ‘Don’t let the monsters touch you’ echoed once more through Loki’s mind, but he didn’t care, he couldn’t care. “I’ve got you!” He gasped, his hand clasping yours. For a moment you felt relief. And then you were falling. You and Loki rushed towards the water impossibly fast, the sharp rocks rising upwards. Plunging into the icy depths, you screamed as one of the sharp rocks cut into your legs. Still gravity pulled you down, the weight of your armour overwhelming you. Even the rushing rapids couldn’t keep you afloat. You tumbled under the water, unsure of which way was up. Fruitlessly, you fought to keep your eyes open and mouth shut, but your lungs ached for oxygen. After that first scream, water had already flooded your mouth and nose and you couldn’t think. Still you sank further downward. A dull sting of pain against your head and then all was blank. - Loki struggled to the surface of the water, miraculously avoiding all the sharp rocks. He gasped as he broke the surface, quickly being swept downstream. He knew the water was cold and it barely registered with him, but it would kill a regular Asgard in minutes. Some deep instinct reminded him that you were nearby, that he could let nothing happen to you. Breathing in as much air as he could, he sunk beneath the waves and scanned the water, looking around for you. Loki watched in horror as your head collided against a rock and your struggling ceased. With every ounce of strength in his body, he swam towards you, wrapping his arm tightly around your waist and kicking back to the surface. The two of you barely broke free, Loki struggling to aim your head above water, along with his own, as the two of you were buffeted through the water. For a brief second, the rapids stilled and Loki breathed out a sigh of relief. The water turned a sharp corner and that relief instantly vanished. At the end of the water was bright blue sky. Barely visible were the treetops below. Loki watched in horror, unable to stop, as the two of you reached the edge of the river and tumbled over the falls and down to even more water below. - - Peaceful silence. Loki’s eyes slowly drifting open as he tried to remember… Well anything. He blinked for a moment, wondering why everything was dark and murky and just generally hard to see. Some of his hair floated in front of his face and his movements were sluggish. The prince made to breathe in, as always, and stopped, finally realizing he was under water. Once more he struggled to find the surface, the panic of drowning gripping his thoughts. Breaking the surface of the water, Loki gasped out, breathing in gulps of sweet oxygen and feeling like he’d never have enough. Another thought returned to him. He had to protect someone… his brother? The other warriors? Floating face down, stuck along some rocks, Loki could make out a crumpled figure; more a ball of wet clothing than anything. “(Y/n)!” Loki’s voice cracked with exhaustion and throat burning from water. He swam over to you, quickly flipping you over and dragging you to land. It seemed the two of you had landed in a sort of lake at the bottom of the waterfall. Loki stumbled into the shallows, dragging you out and placing you on your back, turning your head to the side. He knelt close, listening for signs of breathing but found none. - - - You didn’t know where you were. It was neither warm nor cold. Perhaps more dark than light, but mostly it was just nothing. Kind of an in between feeling. Then slowly a pressure began to build in your chest, a steady pulsing beat that actually hurt. - The world came rushing back to you as you rolled over, heaving up water. What felt like gallons rushed out of your mouth. When no more water came out, you rolled back into your back and breathed in, breath upon breath, never having enough. It was as though you had never breathed in your life, you were so starved for oxygen. “(Y/n).” Loki croaked at you. “Loki.” You tried to whisper back, but your throat was still raw. You couldn’t feel any of your fingers or toes and you were soaked to the bone. Shivers started to wrack your body. “We need to get you warmed.” Loki struggled to his feet, offering you his hand. It took your body several seconds to cooperate, then sluggishly begin to move and finally you were able to sit up. Loki pulled you to your feet, once more with his surprising strength. He lifted your arm over his shoulder and started guiding you nearer the falls, over to the sheer cliffs you had come from over. “Where are we going?” You gasped out, teeth chattering violently. “There’s bound to be some sort of cave along these walls. We need to get you warmed.” You let your eyes shut and nodded weakly. “Right.” Your words came out slur. “Stay awake.” Loki growled, shaking you. With Loki’s helped, you hobbled and limped along, gasping painfully with each intake of breath. Loki eyed you with worry the whole way. He had offered to carry you, but you declined, citing that he was already laden with a pack. One of the horses had perished in the fight and ensuing water, Loki had managed to scavenge its master’s pack. Loki could tell it was a mixture of immense independence and foolhardy pride that kept you walking right now. He sighed inwardly, never quite used to dealing with others who were that way. Not that he was any different, no one in present company could dare mention that. “Up there.” Loki murmured. Heavy snow had started to fall as the two of you trudged along. You squinted your eyes to the wind but couldn’t see what he was talking about. Finally you sighed inwardly again, opting to just trust him to know where to go and focus on moving. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. Left… you winced, hissing in pain. “We’re almost there, darling.” Loki murmured, squeezing your shoulder. “What?” You gasped, looking up. Whether a gasp of pain or confusion, you couldn’t be sure. “There.” Loki nodded at a darker section of the rocks. Finally you grunted, still not seeing it but quickly running out of energy to respond. Loki glanced back at the droplets of blood following you through the snow, luckily the fresh snowfall would soon cover them from view. Mercifully, you arrived at the cave entrance, barely catching yourself from falling. Loki dropped the supplies and helped you to the farthest wall from the doorway. You were able to sit down your mind cleared some. Leaning against the cave wall, you gripped your leg tightly, trying to staunch the flow of blood. Your breath came in sharp gasps as you struggled against the overwhelming pain. Loki stood before you, nervously picking at his nails as he looked down at you. After a while, he broke the silence, “Let me see it.” “I’ll be fine.” You choked out, pressing harder on your upper thigh. Loki pursed his lips, irritation adding to his worry. “Where’d you get struck?” “It was just a light graze.” You muttered, desperately avoiding eye contact. Loki knelt down, trying to see where your hands were pressed. “It might be near the femoral artery, if that’s hit, you’ll bleed out in no time.” Nausea welled in his stomach as he thought of the consequences of that. “My prince-” “Enough with the titles.” Loki barked, cutting you off. You sighed and closed your eyes, “Fine, Loki. It’s… it’s not appropriate.” Loki stared at you in stunned silence, finally laughing weakly, “appropriate? You’re possibly bleeding to death and you’re worried about what might be appropriate?” You looked up at him finally and nodded. You knew your face was pale from blood loss. “Modesty be damned, let me see it. I have some healing magic, and if nothing else, I can properly wrap it.” “Alright…” You whispered. You tried to keep one hand still pressed to your leg as the other fumbled for the buttons of your trousers. Loki moved closer and pressed his own hands over the wound, allowing you to move better. Both hands now free, you turned your attention to your trousers. Your hands were slick with blood, as well as weak from blood loss, so your movements were clumsy and slow. Loki cleared his throat, “I… I might be able to help.” You looked up sharply, face burning. “My prince?” Loki scowled and moved one hand away to wave over you. You gasped in surprise as the cold air quickly nipped at your suddenly bare skin. Loki started murmuring softly until you felt warm and an overwhelming sense of sleepiness. Slowly you tilted your head back and your eyes drooped shut. - - What felt like seconds later, you opened your eyes back up and found that you were lying on your back. Your leg was now wrapped in light bandages, though nothing as nice as the healers at the palace managed. Loki sat against the far wall of the cave, watching you intently. A small crackling fire sat between the two of you. Loki smiled, perking up when he realized you were awake. “Oh good.” He murmured softly. Slowly, he crossed around the cave and knelt down beside you. “How are you?” You grimaced and looked back down at the cloak that covered your legs, offering you some sense of decency. “I’ve been better, but I’ve also been much worse.” You looked up at him ruefully, “thanks.” Loki smiled at you. “I’m glad I could help.” You closed your eyes and breathed out heavily. After a moment you cracked one eye open and said, “Loki?” “Yes?” “Do you use that spell often?” You felt a faint sense of amusement at seeing his embarrassment. Loki coughed and quickly looked away. “When one wears as much armour as I do, it’s a nice ability to have at one’s disposal.” You chuckled lightly, “yes, of course.” He glanced back down at you and saw that you were smiling good-naturedly. “You scared the devil out of me, you know that, right?” Groaning, you tried to sit up, only for him to gently push you back down. “Yes, well, I shouldn’t really be surprised that this sort of thing happened.” Loki sighed, “I know.” You finally stopped struggling and simply opted to lay still. It was preferable to shifting on your injury. Loki glanced towards the cave entrance where he had hung a blanket, affording more shelter from the outside wind. “It’s getting late.” He finally muttered after gazing outside in silence for a time. “You should get some sleep.” “You should too.” You replied. “Someone needs to stand watch and you’re too weak to stand, you need to rest.” You scowled but knew it was true, and that there was no sense arguing with the stubborn prince. Sighing heavily, you shifted forward so you were as close to the fire as you could bear, and waited for sleep to overtake you. - - It wasn’t long before you had fallen asleep, Loki’s watchful gazing straying over to you from time to time. He crouched down in the entrance of the cave, casting an illusion spell so it appeared to be like any other wall of the rock side. He peered past the hanging blanket, it was the cover to his tent and a more than a little convenient that he could summon it at will. Cold wind still crept past it, easily lowering the temperature of the cave. It was only marginally warmer inside than out, but that would quickly change as the sun disappeared. Also the wind outside would freeze a person to death in mere minutes. For the first time in his life, Loki was thankful for his true heritage. He was uncold, and simply aware of the weather, not affected in the least. He allowed a weak smile, Frigga would be pleased that he had found a positive in such a horrible situation. Horrible situation. Loki glanced across the cave where you lay sleeping. He frowned as he noticed how shallow your breaths were, and how little you seemed to move. The prince walked over to you and knelt down, touching your shoulder. You were chilly to the touch, far colder than his disguised form ever was. Loki’s eyes roved over your pale face and lips, noting they were exposed to the cold air. Hesitantly, he shook your shoulder but you didn’t stir. Loki’s heart skipped a beat, leaping to his throat. He shook you harder. After a couple seconds you moaned weakly and attempted to pull away. Loki whispered your name but you didn’t respond. Fear’s cold fingers gripped him like claws. “(Y/n)!” Loki hissed frantically. Your eyes fluttered briefly and you started to move lethargically, but only to try and push him away. Mustering all of his seidr, Loki forced the fire beside you to grow. Then his thoughts returned to his knowledge of hypothermia and he stopped. Bodies didn’t like to be warmed so drastically, it simply burned the skin and added future problems. The most surefire way to ease hypothermia was skin on skin contact, warmed beneath stacks of blankets. Loki quickly stripped off his shirt, and turned his focus to warming himself to a regular temperature. It was surprisingly easy, given the fact that he didn’t have any sensation of cold to fight against like most seidr wielders. Muttering apologies under his breath, Loki removed your shirt as well, then crawled underneath the blankets with you. He held you against himself, your back to his chest, and wrapped his arms around you, holding the blankets tightly. He summoned all the warm materials he could think of, blankets, cloaks, tent coverings, everything, and then simply lay there, waiting and hoping for a response. He lifted your hands, breathing on them and rubbing them between his own, trying to restore feeling to them. Trying to respect the last of your privacy, Loki kept you covered with a thinner blanket while trying to rub warmth back into your arms and legs. As he worked, you slowly became more responsive, eyes opening and no longer struggling against the warmth he provided. At long last, you seemed to happily curl into his chest, tucking your legs against yourself and falling into a deeper sleep. Your breaths were deep, slow, and even. The blood flow had returned properly within your skin and you no longer felt so cold to the touch. Loki watched with a weak, though satisfied smile, as you buried your cold nose against his chest, snuggling tight against him, a smile cracking your lips as you slept obliviously on. - - You woke up, curled against something quite warm. It smelled nice and you felt so comfortable and content, you never wanted to move. Slowly the events of the day prior returned to your mind and you forced your eyes open. You were staring at a still burning fire, clearly kept alive by means other than the charred logs beneath it. Even more slowly, you became aware of what you were actually leaning against. Your eyes widened as you realized you were held tightly against a sleeping Loki. The pair of you were covered by a pile of blankets. Loki’s arms gripped you tightly against his chest, completely preventing you from moving. It was at this point that you made another discovery. Loki wasn’t wearing a shirt. And neither, apparently, were you. Your eyes widened even further and your face burned bright red. “My-my Prince-Loki?” You stammered, trying to decide the right address for him while also being incredibly embarrassed and wishing he would let go of you so you could pull away. Loki’s eyes finally opened and for a moment, he smiled. Then he seemed to remember the situation and it faded, “(Y/n), I’m sorry, truly, and I wouldn’t have err,” he hesitated searching for the words. You were dismayed that he didn’t move. Though not too dismayed, some small part of you noted smugly. “I wouldn’t have positioned you like this if it hadn’t been absolutely necessary. I tried to wake you up earlier in the night but you wouldn’t respond and I realized you were freezing.” You bit your lip, staring up at him, trying to think of a response. “Please don’t hate me, but it was the only way to save your life. You were going to freeze to death.” You felt your emotions softening, realizing the extent he had gone to help you. “I… thanks Loki.” “You used my name.” He smiled at you, heart swelling. You sighed, “Yea, it seems appropriate, given our current situation.” You felt your cheeks burn again in a blush. Loki’s own face flushed bright red too. “Apologies, truly. I would have asked your permission, but you weren’t responding, and were in no position to think clearly.” You sighed, “Yea, that’s fair.” A moment passed as the two of you sat curled together in silence. “Why are we still like this?” “It’s still cold, and you looked comfortable.” You nodded suspiciously, “what of keeping watch?” “There’s a concealment charm on the entryway, and I have a spell there to alert me should anything cross it.” “Oh.” You glanced over at the blanket hanging over the cave opening and nodded. “Right, guess that works.” “You’re in no state to move right now, that injury is quite bad. It’s a wonder you were able to walk here from the river without me carrying you.” You shrugged, secretly enjoying the feeling of his skin brushing against yours with the movement. “Well you did help.” Loki shook his head in admiration, “not nearly as much as I could have, or really should have.” You laughed weakly, “it’s in the past, and I’m just a guard, I have to protect you, not the other way around.” Loki scowled, “nonsense, I will let nothing happen to you.” You raised an eyebrow, “nothing, eh?” “Nothing else.” Loki amended, annoyed at your cheek. You leaned your head back against his chest, allowing your hand to rest there as well, and smiled. Even if it was just for a short time, you could enjoy where you were at. Loki looked down at you, heart skipping a beat for entirely different reasons than earlier, and smiled. Carefully, he rested his hand on your shoulder and held you tight against his chest, just enjoying the close proximity of you. Unbeknownst to you, he was thinking the exact same thing.

#loki x reader #multi chapter

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blackthornings · 8 years ago

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girls your age / nessian

angsty nessian fic! because all my ships might be gone in 3 days and well, this was equal parts fun and heartbreaking to write. enjoy :)

warning: death/rape mentions ; sfw

prompt: “girls your age never mean what they say.”

She takes in a deep breath, her lungs struggling to suck in the cold night air around her as she lies on the grass. The full moon shines overhead, illuminating the night sky that stretches out like an unending song, and she can almost feel Cassian lying next to her, holding her hand, telling her how her hair shines like burnished gold. Grinning with challenge and a gleam in his eyes. The smirk that once filled her very soul with crackling fire now tears at her, shaking her and screaming the words that she has tried so hard to avoid.

Her heart aches. And so she remembers.

Each heartbeat is more wrenching than the last.

She is nine, and her mother smiles down at her, more than a little cold but reeking of elegant charm. Nine-year-old Nesta’s always admired her mother; the haughty, beautiful, cruel face, the laughter that tinkles whenever she’s entertaining one of her many friends. She flits around the chandelier-lit ballroom, trying to be like her mother; her curls are neatly pressed, her luxurious dress swishing around her as she drinks in the party. But what Nesta can’t understand is why none of the grown-ups want to talk to her about anything interesting. They want to know who Nesta will marry, what manner of lord she would like to serve for the rest of her life. When she tells them about her plans to travel the continent and make a name for herself and never, ever be tied to a man unless she loves him with her whole heart, they just shake their heads and smile faintly. That night is the first time she hears those words.

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

Nesta shivers at the memory, her face glazed. The moonlight pours down, coaxing more pain out of her already shredded heart.

In the next memory, she is seventeen and starving, the ache in her stomach only adding fuel to the rage that her father can’t work other than useless wood carvings and the little money they have left is already running out. Fire roars through her head, consuming all other thoughts or sense of self-preservation; her rage is a monster living in her chest, beating and pounding as she snaps properly for the first time. Her father doesn’t even react properly or try to argue as the screams tear themselves from her chest, accusing him, voicing all of the hate-filled thoughts that she’s harboured for so long. And when she finishes, he only says, in a voice that is broken and pathetic,

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

The next one is short and makes her want to vomit up her guts, but at least it’s not the memories of Elain or Cassian -

Tomas’ eyes shine through the gloom in the bedroom, predatory and gleaming in a way that makes Nesta sick and afraid. He leans in to kiss her, as he’s done a thousand times, but what he does next, she never saw coming.

His hands reach for her body, touching places where she does not want to be touched, every brush of his fingers like stinging nettles, and her eyes widen with panic and fear. She has to get him off her -

She tries to push him off. “Tomas, no. I’m not ready.”

But his hands become rougher, more insistent, gripping her wrist hard enough to bruise, and the fire in her threatens to burn down the world as he says in a voice that is low and ragged and makes her want to run,

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

No - she doesn’t want to remember the next one, doesn’t want to see that face she loves more than anything else in the world -

Elain frowns at Nesta softly, the expression like a whiff of smoke clouding her perfect, gentle face.

“What do you mean, you’re not finishing the season?” she says, her voice as light as a spring breeze. Nesta wants to tell her then, wants to tell her everything she knows: about Feyre being taken, but something makes her pause. She loves Elain too much, will always be protecting her. And Elain is so happy, wreathed in the light shining through the emerald-roofed manor’s windows, clothed in a luxurious cobalt dress, a bunch of flowers clasped in her hands from the garden. Nesta can’t bring herself to shatter that happiness. So she just puts on her least brooding face, and gives Elain as vague an answer as possible.

Then a sad smile from Elain, who places a dove-like hand on Nesta’s shoulder.

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

Nesta’s emotion is a chasm, and she throws herself into the abyss as the next memory comes; it’s the only way to save her from madness, because it’s so painful to see the next one. Her chest is being ripped open...

No - no. She is screaming now, and the sound echoes through the graveyard where she is lying. Don’t make me remember, she begs to nobody and everyone.

The only people to hear her are the dead, and they cannot stop the images that pour into her.

Cassian is grinning, his hair disheveled. She cups his face in her hands and kisses him thoroughly, deeply, taking in the beautiful lines of his face, the heat of his body, the gleam of challenge in his eyes.

She has loved him for a long time now, the fire in her dancing in the heat that emanates from his very soul; she has never felt happier, more alive than she does now, in Cassian’s arms. Her love is something that could make the world collapse.

So she smiles, a real, genuine smile that has Cassian looking at her in what seems like awe. And she feels the sunlight streaking through the darkness that she’s kept in her chest for so long.

No, no, no -

Anything but this -

Cassiancassiancassian

She brushes back his hair. “I love you,” she murmurs. It’s the first time he ever hears her say it.

But her heart shatters as he says,

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

He’s joking, of course, she can see that in the laughter that twinkles in his eyes. But he doesn’t know how deep and true those words strike, awakening something in her that churns like stormy waters and makes fire spring from her touch.

He jumps back, his skin singed, and looks at her with such unfathomable hurt in his eyes for a second.

“Ness,” he says quietly. “I was joking. I love you too.”

And that should be enough, but for Nesta’s tortured soul of ash and embers, it isn’t. She looks him in the eye for one second - an apology, and a confirmation, and now, she knows, lying in the graveyard, a goodbye - and runs out the door.

She’s made it as far as the Sidra river, her legs fueled by the hurt that glows within her, when the feeling hits her.

Like ink dropped in water. Her eyes rise to the horizon, and there, wings dark and gruesome against the bruised sunset sky, is a legion of Hybern soldiers. The barrage of emotions that wave over her are like terrifying, but then all-consuming as she watches.

As she watches a sole winged figure shoot into the air, Illyrian wings spread wide and shining in the sunset, siphons gleaming like portals to another world, gleaming red like fire.

And as Nesta sounds the alarm and runs towards where he is holding the shield, her feet flying over the cobbled stones, she begs for help to come, roars with all the heat inside her burning chest.

The Hybern soldiers break through Cassian’s glowing red shield, and unable to stop herself, Nesta howls as one hurtles for him. She feels heat thrum in her fingertips and shoots a bundle of fire towards them.

The Hybern soldier is decimated, the ashes of his remains falling to the ground like snow, and Nesta feels triumph as Cassian turns to her for a split second; even from the ground, she can see his grin, appraising and cocky and challenging. Her heart thunders in his chest, and she smirks back, but it’s short-lived.

Her smile is wiped off her face as, in the split second he had used to look at her, a soldier plunges an ash arrow deep in Cassian’s heart.

And then those glorious, iridescent wings go slack, and she is watching him tumble to the ground, blood spilling from his chest, far too much blood, and he can’t be dead, she just saved his life, but then he is closer and closer to the ground, his face ashen as he turns to her one last time and mouths “I love-”

Nesta’s heart stops as he hits the ground with a sickening thud.

His wings are splayed, his arms bent into an unnatural position, blood drowning his already lifeless eyes, smeared over the pretty pastel cobblestones. She knows he is gone, knows that there is no coming back.

Knows that there is no coming back for her either.

And then it doesn’t matter how old she is, or whether she is a girl or a boy or a Cauldron-damned demon as she screams at the soldier-filled sky, because she means what she says more than anything she has ever said. For all she is, all she has become, all she has lost, after losing so much.

And her power screams with her, as flame billows in the skies, replacing the brooding clouds with pillars of orange and red and yellow, roaring, illuminating the city below, the mountains around, a beacon across the whole rutting world. She doesn’t care anymore as she becomes the fire that erupts from her very soul, incinerating those soldiers in mere moments.

She sobs as she dashes through the smoky air and the black snow to Cassian, her tears mingling with the ash that litters the atmosphere and the sweat that trickles down her back. The fire still rages above her, a manifestation of the torment in her heart as she falls to her knees on the blood-soaked floor. Forgets to breathe. Pushes back the singed hair to look at the face she hates and loves so deeply and kisses his cold, dead lips one last time.

Her heat magic courses through him and for a second she is hopeful as his lips warm and move in response. But all that happens is his head flops back to the ground, limp and broken, and she is just a wailing girl surrounded by ashes and smoke as the fire above sputters out and tears not of salt water, but of crackling, scalding power, vicious as the sun that can’t pierce through the darkness in the streets of Velaris.

And now Nesta is curled up under the unforgiving moon. She turns over, that all-consuming fire finally gone, burnt out, leaving nothing but a hollow chest and a messy-haired girl lying next to the grave of her dead lover. She doesn’t even have the heat in her any more to make the world suffer as acutely ash she had. No, all she has now is these memories and a soul stained with ash.

Her voice, a rasp in the silence of the graveyard, surprises her when she speaks.

“I will never be able to live with myself. Not without you.” Her voice is hollow, defeated.

But she feels a brush on her arm, feather-light, and he is sitting next to her, a figment of the silvery light, heartbreakingly beautiful as he puts his mouth close to her ear as he whispers,

“Girls your age never mean what they say.”

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mysdrymmumbles · 8 years ago

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The Blight - An Andraste’s Witch Side Story

Another drabble of before Finley from Andraste’s Witch became Finley. It really helps if you read this one before this.

Pairing: Finley x OC

Word Count: 1997

Chapter Warning: Death (I mean, nothing named The Blight is gonna be super happy)

The Blight

The ruins they were in wouldn’t hold out for long, and one of the genlocks had seen them retreat this way.

She curled herself closely against Mathel, not daring to look across the small room to where Marcus and Yeelha sat. Yeelha leaned her head back, only to jump as her broken horns scraped against the wall behind her.

They held their breath, praying it hadn’t been noise enough to garner attention.

The world was deathly quiet as they sat there, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Just as she thought to creep up the wall and peer out to see what was going on—surely a higher vantage would keep her out of sight from most of their enemies’ view—the sound of impossibly heavy feet thundering against the ground nearly made her lose her grip on the old elven stones. The door to the small chamber they’d hidden in fractured in the middle, its ages old stone not strong enough to withstand the onslaught. Hisses and cries began on the other side, as well as a roar that they’d come to learn well the last few weeks.

Ogres.

The other three didn’t wait for her to get a view of the world outside, inside dragging themselves up the walls as well. Mathel and Marcus weren’t as adept at climbing as she and Yeelha, and so they did what they could to help the others. Marcus nearly fell back, right as the door smashed open, an ogre roaring and swiping at them, barely taking the time to even see where they were.

Yeelha yanked Marcus up as he swore, a gash running down his leg.

Yeelha cast a quick heal and they took off running. Marcus kept the floor from giving out under them as the ogre took down the wall and the second floor that had been nearest began to collapse in.

An arrow whizzed past her shoulder, and she glanced back, paling to see the darkspawn already crawling their way up to where they were, wailing and hissing.

Rather than try to wind their way through the maze of halls and broken walls in the ruins, their lot darted out the first window they came to, making a jump between the small gap between the ruin and ground that had built up over the years, half burying the ruins themselves.

Skidding to a stop, she grabbed Marcus’ staff as he stumbled past her and slammed it into the floor as hard as she could, whispering desperately.

The nearest trees came alive around them, roaring with their own bestial fury and stomping toward the half collapsed ruins.

With something between them and their pursuers, she turned back to hurry after, ducking as a fireball took out a shriek that seemed to materialize out of nowhere beside her.

The trees were screaming, tossing bodies left and right, and she winced at the violence.

Darkspawn weren’t people. It was okay to fight them like this…

It had to be.

Mathel’s hand caught hers and dragged her along, faster. She nearly dropped Marcus’ staff, though she managed to keep a good grip.

Mathel was always telling her she needed her own staff, but Donovan had said that such things just made one a target for the templars all the more.

Now…now she wished she hadn’t listened to Donovan. She could really use her own staff. Her magic wasn’t half bad on its own, but she could probably set the damned forest on those miserable monsters if she was better acquainted with a staff.

Looking back, she saw her second tree falling to flame and shuddered.

“They would have fallen to the Blight anyway,” Mathel whispered between breaths, urging her to keep up.

It wasn’t fair.

They were supposed to be safe. The Wilds had accepted them and they lived their lives quietly, away from those who feared them, away from those who wanted to hurt them.

And now they were running north, back spell interrupts and angry mobs.

It wasn’t…fair.

“Yeelha!” she called to their Qunari friend. The woman wheeled about, gaze meeting hers and then nodding quickly.

Mathel released her hand temporarily as both she and Yeelha held their staves and jerked up. Roots burst from the ground, skewering two more shrieks as they wove into a large, long wall.

Hopefully, that would keep them at bay for at least a little while.

Marcus used a burst of force energy to block another shriek that had gotten ahead of the root wall, and cursed as he darted back to her and reclaimed his staff.

They spent most of the night on the run, not daring to look back or rest for more than a few minutes. Warnings and calls for aid had already been sent, though they’d only heard back from one other mage.

Donovan.

He assured them that he was on his way, even if he was the only one coming.

Marcus had spat something less than grateful at the message, saying the old codger might as well just leave them to die, for all the good one mage would do to change their fate, but he’d shut up at a glare from her.

Donovan was a good sort, and he was true to his word. That’s why he so rarely gave it. If he was coming to help, then help he would, and it wouldn’t matter if he was alone, he’d be enough.

After all, they were managing, weren’t they?

They just needed to get ahead of the horde—or find a way to move out of its way.

When they came to a chasm, She and Yeelha made a bridge across it, again using tree roots. Before it was even finished, Marcus was racing across it, knowing it would hold and keep snaking forward before his feet hit air.

Mathel waited until they were done, again taking her hand as they three of them hurried across, with Marcus already on the other side, magic flickering around his fingertips as he looked for anything that would need to be stopped.

When they were almost to the far end of the bridge, he attacked the structure itself.

She and Yeelha withdrew their magic as Marcus and Mathel lit the thing up, tearing it apart.

As the remnants of the roots fell away into darkness, she couldn’t help but wonder if this was the break they’d been hoping for. If they could push forward just a little more, they’d be out of range of any arrows and they could rest.

She needed to rest.

Her steps faltered a moment before she felt that reassuring palm against hers and looked up to see Mathel smile at her. He kissed the back of her hand quickly, an unspoken apology in his eyes, and then they were running again.

Dawn was just piercing the clouds overhead with a dismal light—the Blight strangled everything, from the earth to the heavens overhead—when they reached a dead end.

The cliff stretched up well over forty feet, jagged and miserable. Even as she and Yeelha looked for a good away up it, and arrow thudded into the rock near Marcus.

He let out a swear, bringing up a barrier as another nearly took out his eye.

The darkspawn had kept up—or were these ones different from the ones they’d been fleeing before? They came from the west, already running as though they had no concept of what fatigue was.

Her shoulders trembled. They wouldn’t be able to climb with the ogres so close. Even if they got high enough that the beasts couldn’t reach them, the arrows would. As lightning arced into Marcus, jumping and nearly hitting both her and Mathel—Mathel shielded them both before it could—she felt her heart sink.

An emissary.

Could this be worse?

The sounds of monsters coming from the way they’d run sounded, muffled by the trees.

With only one way to go, they fled east.

She conjured more tree protectors. Mathel made walls of fire. Marcus made the earth crumble beneath their enemies and Yeelha healed, and yet it was not…

No.

It would be enough.

They just…they just had to keep going.

A chasm cut through the cliff face they’d come to, heading north. Even as they reached it, another shriek came out of nowhere, tackling Yeelha from the sheer force of impact. She shielded herself a second too late, letting out a sharp gasp as claws dug into her skin.

Even as her friend cried, Marcus knocked the monster back and she skewered it with roots, reminding herself again that it was a monster, not a person. She helped Yeelha to her feet, lending her some of her magic to heal with. Though the Qunari was shaken, she seemed fine enough, and with little in the way of thought, they started down the chasm. It was small enough that the ogres would have trouble charging, and it would make for difficult the darkspawn to follow. They could leave traps and spells and make some real headway—

Something was running down the chasm toward them, ghoulish face twisted, blade held high.

No…

They couldn’t keep going east. There was no way they could out run all of these creatures. They were already so tired and…

Mathel caught her around her waist and pulled her to him, kissing her so fiercely that she could have forgotten that they were running for their lives for a split second.

“I love you.”

The wails and hisses didn’t let her keep that moment.

An arrow whizzed past them as Mathel cupped her face in his hands, resting his forehead against hers.

“I made you a promise, remember?” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly as he kissed her nose. “I’ll keep you safe.”

She stared at him, uncomprehending as he called for Marcus and nodded his head toward her, and then…

He let go and turned back toward the oncoming darkspawn.

She tried to follow him as he ran toward them, not understanding what was going on, but Marcus caught her around the waist, tugging her back.

Mathel was barely a few feet from her before a strange, guttural roar ripped free from him. As it sounded, his body twisted into something completely unrecognizable, flesh searing to flesh and bubbling out into a hulking form that conjured fire to fall from the sky, meeting an ogre head on and not even flinching.

Before she could truly realize what had happened, the world went dark.

…-…

She jerked upright, gasping as she sat up. A small fire crackled beside her, and at first she was confused. Then, relief flooded through her.

A dream.

It has been a dream.

Taking in a few shaky breaths, she looked around for Mathel, figuring that if he wasn’t beside her, he must be on watch.

However, when she finally found the one keeping guard, her heart felt like it would stop beating.

Donovan sat near the edge of the fire, watching her. When she met his gaze, his expression wavered into something she didn’t recognize.

Pity? Sorrow?

Loss.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were so quiet that they were nearly lost to the crackle of the flames beside her.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but snapped it shut as she looked around the camp again, determined to find Mathel.

It had been a dream…

Yeelha and Marcus lay huddled together, as though they’d fallen asleep while talking, but aside from them….

There was no one.

With a hiccupped sob, she felt as though something had gripped her insides and twisted, tearing and slicing and leaving an emptiness that stretched out further than was possible.

She didn’t notice the other two wake up, or Yeelha come over and grip her in a tight hug as Donovan and Marcus kept their gazes low.

After all, nothing they could say or do would make a difference.

The Blight had already claimed the center of her world.

#dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #finley #witch of the wilds #witch!inquisitor #backstory #in case you were wondering why Finley didn't like when Cullen said he'd stand between her and certain doom and all that #angst #like angsty angst c;#death tw #and i forgot the read more #.w.

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promisedangel · 8 years ago

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Fresh Meat- Chapter 34

First

Chapter 34- Of Steel and Bone

Asriel was returned to the castle within a few hours, along with a report of the incident. Asriel and Chara decided the lay low for a day in response to the events of the day. They primarily decided to play with the camcorder. Asriel giggled, “Okay, Chara, are you ready?” Chara raised an eyebrow, “For what?” Asriel beamed with the camcorder in hand, “Do your creepy face!” Chara hesitated but shrugged before they gave a wide, menacing smile with their eyes locked onto Asriel. Asriel screamed with cheer, “Ahhhh!! Hee hee hee!” He then took a look at the camcorder and moaned, “Oh! Wait! I had the lens cap on!” Chara smirked then shrugged, “Then it is lost forever.” Asriel blinked, “What?! You’re not gonna do it again?” Chara made the face again, which made Asriel jump and giggle, “Come on, quit tricking me! Haha!”

Chara sighed with a smile, “I…” Asriel put the camcorder down, “Hmm? What’s wrong, Chara?” Chara relaxed, “I feel cooped up; I want to go out tomorrow.” Asriel shuffled his fingers nervously, “But… shouldn’t we stay here a few more days? I mean…. A lot of monsters now know you’re here.” “They know I am here at the castle, so they will not suspect me to be anywhere else.” Asriel mused, “I… guess that makes sense. Okay. Um… so, where did you want to go?” Chara mused in silence for a few seconds, “We should try Snowdin once more.” Asriel panicked slightly, “What?! Bu-but we were found right away last time!” “We went through the center of town, there must be other ways.” Asriel thought for a moment before he spoke, “I… I think there are a few other ways through town, and by the riverside.” “We will use the riverside.”

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Riverperson’s boat stopped once more at Snowdin, Asriel and Chara had not wasted any time in donning their coats and scarves on Riverperson’s boat. Chara and Asriel were quick to step off the boat, but not before they thanked Riverperson for the ride. Riverperson nodded, “Tra la la, I do hope to see you two again.” Asriel chuckled nervously, “Yeah… we had some… trouble two days ago.” Chara nodded, “We would rather leave it at that. We must be going.” Riverperson turned forward, “Understood, I shall not pry. Until next time, Chara, little Asriel.” The Riverperson’s boat gently began to float down the river until it disappeared. Asriel smiled, “Come on, I think it’s this way. Just before town.” Chara pulled up their hood before they followed in silence. In mere minutes they found the path Asriel referred to: a small, dirt path with weeds and slight overgrowth. Asriel began to walk the path, “I guess they forgot about this path, I don’t remember this many plants here.” Chara followed suit, “It will be better for us.” “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” The two continued down the path until they found a clearing, one that they were familiar with. They saw the path that led down the cliff and the town to their left. In front of them was a long bridge, which hung above a great chasm to below. Asriel paused, “I don’t see anyone.” Chara nodded, “Then let us go. Quickly.” Asriel smiled as the two exited the path, “I’m glad; I’ll finally be able to show you how good I am at making snow monsters!”

The two ran along the new path of bridges and puzzles they had seen before. Before they could arrive at their destination, Chara stopped. They widened their eyes before they pulled Asriel behind a nearby tree. Asriel yelped, “Chara? Wha-“ Chara shushed Asriel, “He’s here.” Asriel raised an eyebrow, “Who?” His eyes then widened, “Y-you don’t mean-?!” Chara covered Asriel’s mouth and whispered, “He will hear us.” Chara peaked from around the tree to see Gaster turn his gaze towards the tree. His gaze locked onto Chara before he smirked, “There you are.” Chara gasped and drew their blade as Gaster disappeared before their eyes. They put their back against the tree and darted their eyes around the area. They were quick to speak, “Asriel, call Mother.” Asriel pulled the backpack from his back and grabbed the phone. Before he could dial a single digit, another figure appeared next to Asriel. This was another skeleton, just taller than Chara. He grabbed Asriel by the arm, and the two disappeared. Chara gasped and cried out, “Asriel?!” They looked around and moved away from the tree. Their eyes widened each second as they turned around in an aimless attempt to spot Asriel. They shrieked, “ASRIEL!” They heard a voice behind them, “This could have been so simple.” Chara gasped before they turned and jumped back. They raised their knife in a defensive position. They kept their stance low, ready to move at a second’s notice. Gaster stood mere feet from Chara, an unamused frown across his face as he continued, “Such a shame; none of this would ever have happened if the king and queen had listened to me.” He chuckled darkly, “The arraignment could have been beneficial for all, even for you.” He scowled, “But you. You clouded their judgment, hiding behind them, pretending to cower. I see your true nature.” Chara tightened their grip on their blade; they hissed their words slowly, “Where is Asriel?” “Safe, for now.” Gaster began to approach Chara. Chara hissed and waved their knife towards him once, “Stay. Back!” Gaster stopped and smirked, “Do you honestly believe you could defeat me?” Chara pointed their knife towards Gaster with naught but a focused glare. Gaster closed his eyes and chuckled lightly, “Very well, I will indulge your fantasy.” He opened his eyes, they began to burn brightly, each eye equal in their radiance, “I will show you how weak you truly are!”

Chara charged towards Gaster with their blade ready to strike. Before they took ten steps, a wall of bones blocked their path. They gasped and stepped back, the bones a mere inch from their form. They felt their shoulders grasped from behind. They gasped before they swung their blade in an 180-degree spin. The two hands fell to the ground and shattered to nothingness. The bone wall dispersed to reveal Gaster. His left arm rose, and Chara rose with it. Chara growled before they threw their knife towards Gaster. Gaster instantly disappeared long before the blade could reach him. It embedded itself into a tree as Chara dropped to the ground once again, no longer bound by the magic. They recovered quickly before they dashed towards the tree. Before they could reach it, a wall of bones surrounded the tree. Gaster chuckled, “You are nothing without your weapon.” Chara took a deep breath before they punched the wall of bones with all their strength. The bone cracked, but they felt a large pain soar throughout their arm. They gritted their teeth as they decided to kick the bone at the crack. The bone broke in half and shattered to nothingness. Chara sighed in relief and reached with their left arm and managed to grab their knife. Once in their grasp, they felt themselves thrown to the base of another tree. Snow fell on top of Chara, but did not fully obscure them. They looked down at their right hand. They breathed inward with their teeth closed, a slight hiss sounded. A small wound was opened on their hand. They heard Gaster sigh, “Now look what you have done, such a waste.” Chara stood before they charged Gaster again, this time the bones obscured their path, new ones jutted out of the ground at random. Chara dodged between them but also sliced a few that were directly in their way. When they were inches from Gaster, they let loose a war cry before they felt themselves stopped and thrown back with magic. They were thrown into a snow bank. They let out an annoyed grunt before they stood. They started to pant as they shot a glare at Gaster. He narrowed his eyes, Chara’s contempt mirrored in his gaze, “You cannot win. You cannot even graze me with that knife.” Chara growled low, “Shut up.” Gaster continued, “You cannot even reach me. It is more than obvious you cannot defeat me.” Chara growl grew slightly, “Shut up.” “Surrender, and I will ensure the prince returns home safely.” Chara’s eyes shot open before they roared, “SHUT UP!”

They charged Gaster once more but felt themselves unable to move before they took a few steps. Gaster approached them with a dull gaze, despite the glow of his eyes, “I grow tired of this game. You know you cannot win, and yet you still try. Are you truly insane? I would not be surprised if humanity has dulled their instincts with its natural predators imprisoned.” Chara’s eyes widened, “Stay away.” Gaster smirked, “And what will you do if I approach?” Chara began to shake, their voice quieter, more somber, “St-stay away…” Gaster soon stood mere inches from Chara. Chara rose further from the ground, now face to face with Gaster. Gaster continued his smirk and spoke simply, “You are mine.”

Chara screamed before they closed their eyes. In that instant, they used all of their determination and force to move their left arm. They raised their arm high before swung their blade down towards Gaster’s head. Chara’s knife broke into Gaster’s skull to his right eye socket where it became embedded. Gaster howled in agony, his arms clamored to his head to remove the blade. With it, Chara was tossed behind him into a nearby tree headfirst. Chara fell onto the ground, unconscious in an instant. Gaster breathed heavily and shook slightly as he attempted to remove the blade. Each time he touched it, pain shot throughout his skull. After two attempts, he gritted his teeth and firmly grasped the knife with both hands. He removed it in one motion, he howled in pain once again in a short burst as the dust-coated blade clattered into the snow. He stood there; instinctually he kept his right eye closed, unsure if he would ever open it properly again. He took a hand to it and felt a new scar trenched into his skull from the top to his eye socket. Thankfully, it was only embedded into the front of his skull. Upon this realization, he sighed and turned toward the unconscious Chara. He frowned before he silently grabbed Chara by their coat and held them by it. He stood there a moment, a glare locked onto the unconscious human. He composed himself with a deep sigh before he teleported away from the snow-coated forest.

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Asriel appeared in a dark cave, blue gems scattered throughout the walls. He knew this was Waterfall, but did not know where. His thoughts were interrupted; his phone was ripped from his hands, “I’ll take that.” Asriel gasped, his gaze turned towards the voice. In the lowlight he saw a skeleton just taller than him with a wide, sharp smile. He wore a lab coat and pink slippers and held Asriel’s phone far way from him. Asriel vaguely recognized the skeleton as Gaster’s assistant; Sans. Asriel raised his hands towards the phone and pushed into the skeleton, “Hey! Give it back!” Sans pushed Asriel away from him, he held Asriel at bay with one hand, “Nah.” Asriel puffed his cheeks and whined, “It’s mine!” Sans rolled his eye sockets, “I know.” “So give it back!” Sans mused for a few seconds, “Nah.” Tears started to peek from Asriel’s eyes, “Please! I have to help Chara!” Sans frowned, “Why? They’re just food.” Asriel shook his head, “No they’re not! They’re my best friend! I don’t want them to get hurt! I don’t want them to suffer from-whoa!”

Asriel felt himself float up suddenly before he was slammed into a nearby wall. He fell to the floor and gasped, winded from the wall. Sans approached and growled, “The fuck do you know about suffering?!” Asriel whimpered with his eyes closed before Sans continued, his single blue eye aglow, “What the fuck does some brat that’s been in his little castle eating snails his whole life know about suffering?!” Asriel peeked one eye open before he spoke, “I… I just-“ “SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE BRAT!” Asriel felt as though they were pushed into the wall, tears dripped from his eyes as he heard a strange sound. He opened his eyes again to see his phone was crushed in the palm of Sans’ bony hand. Sans scowled at the phone for a moment before he threw it to the side. He returned his gaze to Asriel before he continued, “You think you know what suffering is? You couldn’t even imagine what it fucking is.” Asriel cried, “Please… let me go!” “No, you’re gonna stay here until the human’s in the lab.” Sans then mumbled, “Which should have happened by now.” Asriel sniffled before he spoke, “I… I’m not gonna let you take them!” Sans snorted and released his magic, he glared down at Asriel with empty eye sockets and a wide, wicked grin, “And what’s a brat like you gonna do about it?” Asriel’s hands lit up with flames, he lobbed them at Sans. Sans teleported away, the flames hit the wall behind where he was. Asriel smiled before he stood. He turned to run but he felt himself slammed against the wall again. He heard Sans behind him, “I’m not playing with you, brat.”

Suddenly, a cage of bones surrounded Asriel. Sans gave a low growl, “You’re lucky I’m not allowed to kill you.” Asriel went to hit one but pulled away soon after he hit one. He found his fur cut and his skin bruised. He summoned a flame and threw it at the corner of the cage. To his dismay, the flame evaporated with barely any damage to the bone. Asriel cried out, “Let me out!” Sans glared at Asriel, “Not gonna happen.” Asriel huffed before he started to lob flames at the bones again. One by one, he aimed at the same spot, but to little avail. He kept this up for a while; his pace slowed over time. He panted and fell to his knees, slightly dizzy. Sans chuckled, “I knew you were weak, but that was pathetic.” Asriel looked up to see the bone barely had any char on it. He tried to stand but continued to feel dizzy. He heard a loud gurgle from his stomach, his eyes widened in shock. He sat down before he dug into the backpack and dug out a container of snail pie. Sans frowned, “That’s not gonna help you.” Asriel huffed, “It does.” Sans shrugged and smirked, “Keep telling yourself that.” Asriel turned away from Sans as he began to eat slowly, a frown the whole way. Sans smirked, “It’s a struggle, isn’t it?” Asriel pouted, “No, shut it.” “Not like their blood, huh?” Asriel turned sharply, “I-I didn’t bite them!” “You still had some.” Sans scoffed and frowned, “How does some brat like you get to have a taste of the first human to fall down here while the rest of us starve?” Sans glared with a smirk, “Oh wait; you keep it for yourself.” Asriel vigorously shook their head and balled their hands into fists, “No! I’m never gonna bite them! I’m never gonna taste their blood ever again!” Sans returned to a frown, “Then you’re just wasting it. Humans are food. Period.” “No they're not!” Sans’s grin returned, “Then why is your mouth watering?” Asriel put a hand to his mouth to find drool budded. He whipped it away and shook his head, “Th-that’s from the snails!” “Then finish eating.” Asriel pouted, “I plan to!” Asriel stuck out his tongue before he sat back down and mumbled, “Stupid smiley trash bag.”

Asriel continued but slowed as he went on. His hands began to shake before he shoved the rest into his mouth. He gagged for a second before he finally swallowed. Sans snickered, “You’re starting to reject the waste of space.” Asriel covered his ears and closed his eyes, “N-No I’m not! I’m not listening to you-” Asriel’s eyes shot open, his hands went to his mouth. He leaned forward on his hands and knees and began to retch. He tried to cover his mouth, tears streamed as he desperately tried to keep himself from vomiting. He only lasted a few seconds before he expelled his meal. He breathed heavily, tears dripped into the bile he expelled. He began to weep, “No… Why is this happening?!” Sans frowned, aggravated, “Do I have to spell everything out for you? Your body is rejecting the snails; it wants human meat.” Asriel sobbed, “No! I won’t do it! You can’t make me!” “It’s not me that’s gonna make you do it.” Asriel sobbed in the silence of the cave before he heard a strange sound. Sans spoke dryly, “Finally, what took you-“ His ‘eyebrow’ raised and his eyes widened slightly, “What the hell happened?” Asriel turned his gaze towards Sans to see Gaster next to him. He held Chara by their coat, unconscious. Gaster spoke in annoyance, his other hand to the right side of his face, “A miscalculation.” Asriel gasped upon seeing Chara, “Chara!” He tried to reach through the bones, but could only pound on them. He cried out, “Let them go!” Gaster shot a glance towards Asriel, “I will ask later,” He turned his gaze back to Sans, “Knock him unconscious.” Sans smirked, “Gladly.” The cage of bones disappeared. Before Asriel could take a single step, he felt a blunt force on the back of his head. He tumbled forward and groaned, his eyes barely kept open. Gaster frowned before he turned to Sans, “We won’t have much time. Let’s go.” The two teleported away with Chara in tow before Asriel’s blurred vision. Asriel weakly reached an arm out to where Chara was, “Cha….ra….” He fell unconscious with a long breath; one last tear fell from his eye as it ended.

#undertale #undertale au #predatortale #chara #undertale chara #asriel dreemurr #w.d. gaster #Gaster #sans #undertale sans #chapter 34 #fanfic #fanfiction #undertale fresh meat

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impishnature · 8 years ago

Text

The Light Keeper (Part 3)

AO3

Part 1, Part 2,

Rating: T

Summary: A beast lurks in the waters. Stan loses Ford to the waves, the lighthouse his only point of contact and hope of ever getting him back. …He used to love the sea, now it’s taken everything from him.

Lighthouse Keeper AU

Series of One-shots.

AN: Commission and story collab with @garrulousgibberish based on their Lighthouse Keeper AU ^o^ Some of Ran’s art is included! ♥ Part 3~ This one gets a bit dark so warning for nightmares and intrusive thoughts.

Part 3: What Lies Beneath

The wind howled, loud and persistent in his ear, it tugged and clawed at his hands on the railing, yanked at his clothes and his hair, as if it could pull him off his lofty perch and drag him down into the sea far far below.

Stan frowned, head bending to look over the edge before back out to sea again, a niggling sensation that he shouldn’t be here running through his skull but not enough of a warning to truly listen to.

What was I doing?

His breath puffed out before him but it didn’t really feel all that cold, just the constant pressure of the wind, pushing him towards the edge. He could taste the salt in the sea breeze, feel it hitting his face and mingling with the rain that was beginning to hammer down on him.

Wait. It isn’t raining. And there’s no way the sea should be able to reach me from here…

He shook his head, the storm abating for a moment as the fog seemed to clear from his head. Things weren’t making sense. He was sure he was meant to be searching for something- no, someone. He was looking for someone…

“Stan…”

A voice hissed through the wind and sea spray, all thoughts of what was wrong about the scene forgotten as it spoke.

“Ford.” The word ghosted out of Stan in a gasp. Of course, that’s what he was doing. His eyes widened as his hands gripped the railing tighter, leaning over it to look out over the ocean, ignoring the way the wind seemed to try and help him further.

A small figure on a tiny toy boat stared back at him. The light of the silver moon showed the deck in sharp contrast. Everything gleamed, bright and luminescent as the boat drifted aimlessly in the sea.

“Ford!” He shouted, hearing his voice echo and ricochet off of the rock around him. The figure waved back at him, the flashlight in his hand flickering with the movement and he heaved a sigh of relief.

Ford had heard him.

Ford had seen him.

Everything’s going to be OK this time.

“This time?” Stan blinked, eyebrows furrowing. Where had all that come from? Sure he was happy Ford had seen him but there was no reason for him to be alarmed. He was just doing a bit of research at night, nothing out of the ordinary. Not that anything really was out of the ordinary when it came to Ford’s research.

He should know, he’d been trawling through it for months.

Stan sat back a bit at the thought, shaking his head. No, that wasn’t right. He’d only arrived that night…

“Stan…”

He shifted forward again, distractions brushed away as the voice came again, this time more insistent, more panicked. Clouds were partially covering the moon making it harder to see but he could still make out the boat and the light twinkling on board.

His heart fell into his stomach as he also saw what the figure was pointing at.

A dark shape below the surface was fast approaching the ship. White teeth and claws sparkled in the moonlight, multiple poisonous yellow eyes gleamed towards him, like pinprick lights hoping to ensnare and enchant someone into the depths below.

All Stan felt was horror though, dripping down his spine as he watched it close in rapidly on his brother’s boat.

Slick black scales stirred and shook as it broke the surface, its shape shifting as it appeared. No longer clawed, no longer full of teeth, a kraken emerged from the water, tendrils and tentacles popping out of the water to surround the boat, anchoring it in place.

A weird haunting laugh seemed to emanate towards him as the monster bore down on the tiny figure.

“Stan! Help me!”

“What do I do? Ford! What do I do?!”

The clouds covered the moon entirely and Stan was sure this had all happened before and yet the darkness didn’t seem to affect him. It was like a spotlight was on the boat as the creature’s tentacles ensnared it, as it wrapped around and around until he heard a sickening crunch and the boat fell apart into dust.

“Sixer!”

The small flashlight vanished below the waves, a cut off gurgling scream shook the rocks around him as he saw his brother reach out towards him one last time before he fell beneath the surface.

The monster followed him.

“Sixer!”

He reached out as far as his arm would let him, as if he could magically grab Ford out of the water and right the world again.

I have to- There’s nothing you can do- If only I had got here sooner, if I had been here just an hour earlier maybe he’d have never gotten on that boat- maybe- NO. There’s got to be something I can do this time.

Bright light beamed out behind him, encasing him in white hot heat. He hissed, his eyes squinting and full of tears as if he was staring straight into the glowing bulb. He couldn’t stop the scream as he felt himself burning all over, from head to foot, sizzling and fizzling as if his very essence was being boiled away, leaving him hollow and helpless.

His arm slipped on the railing, his body pitching forward into blissful darkness, away from the all-encompassing pain.

The water rushed up to greet him, the wind howling once again around him, yet it wasn’t as cold as he felt it should be. He could still feel himself blistering, couldn’t seem to think about the fact that he was falling to his death, the lighthouse becoming smaller and smaller as he stared up at the now dark and abandoned glass lantern room he had been in only moments before.

He turned in the air, dazed and lethargic, the sweet release of the water a welcome balm as he watched it steadily approaching.

At least I’ll be with Sixer…

He frowned as the sea became a bubbling mess, foaming and roaring as he approached.

A giant glowing eye opened below the waves, the creature rising up to greet him as he fell towards it.

Laughter filled the air again, drowning out the sounds of the wind and sea, filling up all the nooks and crannies left behind by the fires that had engulfed him. He tried to put his hands to his ears, the sound ringing through his head as a gaping maw opened up in the sea below him, sharp glistening rocks surrounding the circumference ready to break him down piece by piece.

He raised his hands to his face, a last minute defence against his descent into darkness.

“Stan!”

Stan jolted, jumping up in one swift movement, the seat he had been on clattered to the side as the floor bobbed below his feet. His heart thudded a steady beat against his chest as he heaved in gulps of the sea air, confused and startled by the sudden change in scenery as he gripped tight to the railing to stop himself from pitching over.

A snort of amusement came from nearby and he looked around, finding his brother with his back turned to him. He frowned at the image, something seeming off about the entire scenario. He was sure he’d heard his voice calling to him…

Perhaps Ford was being tactful for once, having noticed his distress and woken him up, but now for his benefit was pretending not to have seen anything.

He took a steadying breath, hand rubbing at his chest as he glanced about the small boat he was on, let the rolling waves calm him as the moon rose overhead.

Just a dream…

He chuckled to himself, running a hand through his hair as he took another glance at his brother, leaning as far as he could over the railing as he scribbled in his journal.

What on earth are you doing dreaming about things like that when you’re living the dream, you moron?

Stan sighed, leaning back against the wall as his eyes skimmed the scene, his brother hard at work, the sea beneath their feet and the world to be explored. He grinned despite himself, the remnants of the dream fading to nothingness as he stood back and watched the world go by.

His eyes flickered over the shoreline, scaling an ominous looking lighthouse until his eyes reached the glass dome at the top.

A small pulsing orange light twinkled back at him, a small spark of recognition flaring up the more he stared at it. Something was calling to him, seeking him out.

Reminding him of the truth.

Wait. I never made amends with Ford- how am I out here- I shouldn’t be here.

The nightmare burst back behind his eyelids, the creature- whatever it was looming over the boat from afar, his brother’s screams. He had to get the boat to shore.

The light vanished suddenly as if the stars themselves had gone out all at once. The boat listed to one side and he hit the deck with a solid thud, the wind knocked out of him as he found himself staring closely at wood. A loud surprised yelp and a soft thud was all he had to tell him his brother had done the same.

Not that he seemed overly perturbed by it. Stan stood up on shaking legs as Ford walked towards him, dusting himself off without a word. “Sixer, we need to get to shore-”

His words caught in his throat as his brother walked through him, completely ignoring his presence as he slipped through him unseen. His breathing hitched, a panicked bubble lodging in his airways as he fumbled for his chest, a cold chasm opening up as if Ford had taken something with him as he passed, his lungs refusing to operate through the sudden emptiness.

Am I- Did he just…Am I dead?

A hissing chuckle slipped through the wind towards him, making him shudder. He could feel the wind biting at his back, trailing feather light across the lines that crisscrossed his shoulder, toying with him as he stood there, frozen in terror.

He pulled himself out of the thought, eyes going back to Ford as they adjusted to the gloom.

Whatever happened, he had to get him out of this mess.

His eyes scanned the water, wondering how much time he had and in a moment of heart stopping dread he noticed a glistening fin slowly slink back below the surface.

It was already here.

“Sixer! Sixer, listen to me. You need to get back to shore!” He stomped forward, his hand going to slam down on his brother’s shoulder-

And passed straight through it, stumbling forward with the force he had exerted.

The laugh rang out again, bubbling like a brook, cold and sharp and painful to his ears. “Shut up, shut up! Whatever you are, shut up!”

He didn’t have time for this. His eyes skirted the water, watching as the tendrils gradually one by one rippled through the water, approaching the boat slowly, softly as if tenderly reaching for it.

Stan breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Ford take in a quick hushed breath in recognition.

He’s noticed! Thank god, he’s noticed! Now get this boat out of here, Ford!

Just as Ford seemed to grasp the predicament he’d found himself in there was a loud thunk, a dull metallic noise that rang through the cove and reverberated in the silent air around them.

And then a burst of pure blinding white light hit them.

Stan winced, raising his arm up to shield himself from the onslaught.

Through hooded eyes he saw Ford stumble, heard the flashlight hit the deck and roll with a splash off the side of the boat.

“Stan?”

Stan blinked as Ford called his name, hopeful that he had finally seen him and yet when he looked Ford was staring blearily at the lighthouse. He managed to follow his gaze, hissing painfully at the glow and saw a small dark figure right in its centre.

Is that me? No… it can’t be. How am I here and there-?

Ford groaned, shaking his head as he tried to stare back into the darkness, tried to catch sight of the large creature once more. He rubbed his eyes profusely, his expression perturbed as he struggled to see through the blindness the bright light had caused.

A terrible sinking feeling took over Stan. He could feel the cold of the waves sinking into his core, as if they were already dragging him down, pulling them into the depths of despair.

Oh god, I did this, didn’t I? I did this to you. It’s all my fault. I left you blind, you’d already seen the creature and I gave it more chance to see you instead of the other way around.

As quickly as it had appeared the light vanished, leaving them in the perpetual thick darkness once more. He could just about see Ford’s outline before him, see the boat in a half vision as the light left images dancing against his retinas.

He couldn’t see it but he could hear it slithering around, sliding ever closer, drawing ever nearer to the two lost figures on their toy boat. His entire body was tingling, oversensitive, every breath of air felt like something latching on to him, every gust seemed to wrap around him, trying to trip him up and from the small whispers he could make out Ford was feeling the same.

Blinded by light and then blinded by darkness with a creature bearing down on them.

God, what did you do to deserve this, Sixer? What did you do to deserve me ruining everything as usual?

Ford stumbled as the darkness took over, gripping the railing tightly. Stan tried to help him, his arms going through him at every interval they touched.

He growled helplessly, his fist slamming on the railing.

It’s not fair! Just let me help! Let me do something! Anything!

The boat rocked abruptly, throwing them both off course away from one another, Ford still disorientated by the blinding light. Their craft juddered to a halt a few seconds later but it became too still, too silent, as if the very waves had stopped their rocking.

Stan slowly took a step back towards his brother, the atmosphere becoming thick and oppressive and hard to move through as he reached out a hand once more, ever hopeful that this time he’d be able to help.

He flinched as the darkness became tangible, his hand hitting something cold, wet and slippery. He reeled back, his sight slowly getting accustomed to the gloom until he saw the thick tentacle that was barring his path. He gulped as it wrapped around the deck between them, Ford still unknowing of the danger as he struggled to see.

“Sixer!”

It was as if whatever held them had suddenly decided to give Stan a reprieve, Ford’s head snapping up at the shout to look him dead in the eye, his mouth falling open in shock.

“S-Stan?”

“Sixer, watch out!”

Ford finally caught sight of the thing between them, a curse rumbling out of him as he stumbled back a step, the tentacle tightening its hold on the ship.

The floor began to creak and crack beneath them, more and more tentacles joining the first to split the boat in two, effectively cutting them off from one another.

Stan glanced up, eyes drawing away from the wreckage to frantically seek out any form of escape.

Everything froze.

Stan could hear his breath whistling through his ears, growing faster and faster and yet nothing moved as if the sands of time had decided to stop falling. The roar of the wind and the waves was gone, the ship stopped creaking and groaning beneath their feet.

His heart stopped.

He couldn’t seem to move a muscle.

He couldn’t turn his head away.

His eyes focused on gleaming teeth, row upon row of sharp hooked needles ready to catch on any flesh they could grasp on to. Above them, sickly glowing eyes, teaming with revolting delight as they hovered behind Ford’s head. The gaping maw stretching around him, tendrils sliding out around it to seize him and drag him to the ocean floor.

No! Not again! I can’t lose you again!

“Ford, behind you!”

Instead of turning, Ford continued to stare at him, his hand raising towards him as Stan struggled to get closer, the barrier of scales that had formed between them impeding his lunge forward. His fingernails gouged and tore, his feet kicked and fought but it stood fast, stopping him from getting to his twin. Whenever he got footing, he seemed to slip, whenever he managed to pull himself up, the tangle would trap him, wasting time as he tried to pull away again.

“Stan! Help me!”

“Ford!”

The last image he saw was his brother’s terrified expression as the boat gave way to the barrage with a final resounding crack.

He was thrown backwards, his brother’s screams echoing through his skull as he hit the water.

He gasped, hearing Ford’s gurgling attempts at breath as he kicked out, trying to find his way to him.

Water poured into his mouth as it opened, his eyes wide and searching as he scanned the debris. But he couldn’t keep his mind on what he was searching for as he choked and spluttered, unable to draw breath, unable to get the water out of his system. Darkness was forming at the edges of his vision as he tried to stay awake, tried to move, to force himself towards the surface but his movements took him nowhere, stuck in place, his brother being dragged below and the air so tantalisingly close above him.

The water shifted around him, the laughter that he had heard before bubbling through the water.

A voice hissed in his ear, seeping in cold and cloying like the water around him as his vision tunnelled and the murky water burned down his throat.

If it was the other way around, he might have actually had a chance to save you.

What on earth makes you think you can save him?

You should just join us, rot in the sea where you belong.

…I’ll be waiting, Stan Pines.

Stan heaved as he awoke, coughing and spluttering across the age old desk. He sat for a few seconds, panting, his body wracked with tremors as sweat beaded across his brow. He blearily looked around the room, the copious notes arranged by creatures, the various exhibit materials dotted here and there for his next tour. He let the smell of leather and paper and salt that permeated the room, and had for so long that it was ingrained in his very uniform, ground him and remind him that this time, this time he was home. This time he was awake.

His hands gripped tightly to the leather seat, sighing as he leant his head back, still trying to get his breathing back under control. He found himself wincing, rubbing at the tight band of muscle that was struggling to loosen around his chest, as he tried to steady himself, centre himself.

“I am getting too old for these nightmares now. My heart’s not going to last through them much longer.”

He rubbed at his shoulder with a wince, the cold still making the old scar painful whenever it could, but he didn’t really mind. It was a constant reminder of what had happened, what he had to do.

A constant reminder that there was some truth to the nightmares even as he brushed them aside whenever dawn’s rays began to filter through to him.

He scowled, leaning forward again on to the desk, his head in his hands. He couldn’t help the small pitiful noise that left him. He hated sleeping, hated giving in to the pull even though he knew he needed the rest to get Ford back. He liked to leave it, to work and work and work until his body gave out and pulled him into blissful darkness. If he let himself sleep before that point it was always the same, his body and mind tormenting him for what had happened.

Tormented him for not getting him back yet.

How long had it been? Too long, that’s all he knew. There were grey hairs sprouting, bones growing weary as he trudged up and down stone steps. He’d watched people in the town grow up as he took over Ford’s life, trying to get him back without the town growing suspicious.

And all the while Ford was still stuck somewhere, lost and waiting to be found.

Or he could be-

“No.” Stan bit out, teeth gritting and fingernails digging into his scalp. “No, we’re not going there tonight. I will find him and he’ll be fine.”

“…He has to be fine. You have to be… right, Sixer?”

There was that odd click again, one that happened sporadically and still after all this time seemingly at random. Stan snapped his head up, watching light filter through the symbols on the ceiling as the lighthouse bulb abruptly came to life.

He stumbled up the steps towards it, hands flitting through familiar motions as he reached the bulb, trying to figure out the correct sequence to keep it burning. There was a series of panels and symbols that adorned the base of it that Stan had discovered not long after coming to that first morning, now visible at all times with the low level lights he had installed around the room so as not to ever be caught unaware again.

“Stan…”

The voice called to him, just like it did through his dreams. He glanced up at the glass, watching the light pierce through the fog outside as if it was a physical presence, watched it cut, burn a hole through it to find the waters below.

He gulped once, cursing himself for listening before ignoring the voice as he went back to his work.

It would not do well to dwell on that familiar voice.

Or any of the other myriad of voices that accompanied it.

He turned his back on the window, feeling the heat from the bulb as he leant below it, still trying to fiddle, trying to do anything that would stop it from sparking out at a moment’s notice. It was easier that way, easier to not look out of the window and see the shapes that shifted through the fog, hear the other voices that called out to him to join them.

At first he had assumed he was seeing things, when darker shadows seemed to move in the gloom that the light didn’t reach. When voices seemed to lull him, lead him to the edge of the balcony before he snapped out of it all.

Blamed it on little sleep, on paranoia and the weird creature he kept seeing in his dreams when he caved.

But their mother had always warned them about what was in the darkness, waiting patiently for any signs of weakness.

“Stan…”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first time.” Stan snapped, eyes glaring at the glass before going back to the light just as it died. He slumped back with an angry yell, eyes to the ceiling in a silent plea, the voices dying around him.

“Stan, can you hear me? I’m stuck, I need you to… please…”

“I’m trying, Ford, I promise I’m trying.”

“I know. I know you are, you’re doing great.”

Stan’s breath hitched at the praise, unable to respond as the soft consoling voice made his eyes water and a small choked noise escape him. It wasn’t fair! He so wanted it to be real but that meant that everything else had to be real too. Couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t pretend.

He’d already resigned himself to that though. He’d resigned himself to that fate years ago, no matter how hard he tried to kid himself otherwise.

And he hated it with every fibre of his being because letting the voices in, letting them entice and snare him and just outright know just as he did that he believed in their existence gave them some kind of hold over him. Granted them entrance, granted them a small semblance of shape and form that they clung hungrily to. But he couldn’t not believe in them, couldn’t not hope for their arrival every time the light flickered on.

Otherwise he wouldn’t be doing this.

Because knowing they existed, knowing they were there and that the light drew them in gave him hope that Ford could do the same.

He rubbed a hand over his face, scrubbing down as his body sunk down further.

God, I’m such a mess.

Who would ever believe him if he told them that a lighthouse could save his brother?

They’d say he’d gone mad with grief. Hearing things that weren’t there, seeing things that gave him hope to carry on.

Reckless. Pitiful. He needs help, that one.

He knew it, he always had, and that’s why he struggled on without them.

No one would believe him, so why try? Just get the job done.

Get Ford back. That’s what he had to do.

Prove to them that he wasn’t- prove to himself that he wasn’t broken.

I’m right! I have to be right!

I wouldn’t just conjure up that voice… would I?

He shuddered as his thoughts went bleak, his eyes glazing over as he stared at the bulb.

He hated the nightmares, hated that between his day job and his work on the lighthouse that his eyes would sometimes drift, his eyelids droop and his head would fill with different scenarios, each one another fruitless endeavour in which he couldn’t save his brother from his watery fate.

But there were others that he hated more.

The plausible ones. The ones where a light was just a light and a boat was just a boat on a stormy sea.

The ones that were the most impossible to him, the ones so plausible that they could never happen in the real world.

The ones where he’d never seen a monster. Where a storm had rushed in and the light of the lighthouse hadn’t been enough for Ford to steer away from the rocks.

Or times where he had never got the lantern to work in the first place.

Where he had passed out from his burns and woken in the morning, running down to the shore to try and find his brother.

Only to come across debris strewn across the beach. Shattered wood fragments and tattered sails lodged between rocks.

Where a familiar hand lay visible, cold and grey and lifeless, buried beneath the largest parts of what remained of the ship as his legs gave out beneath him.

The painful nauseating grief as he read the word Stan’O’War above his brother’s listless corpse.

Gone. Gone and there’s no hope. You can’t save him. He’s dead and gone- there’s no way he could have survived.

There’s nothing you can do.

“Stop it. Stop it! We’re not doing this!” Stan roared, snarling as he stood up, his heart racing.

It didn’t matter how plausible those dreams seemed. That had never happened.

There had been no wreckage, no body, no anything. Just the quiet sea calmly swaying as if it had never taken everything away from him that night.

Nothing to prove his brother had ever gone out to sea other than his distinct absence.

And there had been nothing since, nothing had washed up on shore, nothing to find when he had plucked up the courage to go out and search the area he had seen him disappear in, not even the monster.

Though he had never plucked up the nerve to go at night, he’d never been able to.

Besides, he always reasoned with himself, that would mean leaving the lighthouse unattended.

And he couldn’t do that.

What if it lit whilst he wasn’t there, his one chance to get Ford back gone because he was trying something else?

No, better to stay and wait and solve the puzzle here than that.

And no matter what anyone else said, he knew there was something lurking in the darkness.

Knew it wasn’t his imagination when things pitter pattered up and down the lighthouse steps.

Knew that the figures that danced across the mirrored water, pale and dainty and reflecting the light were real when he blinked and they continued to flit across his retinas.

Knew that he couldn’t dream up the way the air grew static, charged and the briny sea breeze smell vanished to sharp tangy smoke.

He knew it was all real, it had to be real.

I’m not that good. I might be able to trick gullible tourists but I’m not that imaginative.

He knew he was tempting fate, knew the world would condemn him for a madman but he’d never stop. He couldn’t let the doubts lingering at the edges of his peripheral ensnare him and drag him down into grief.

There was nothing to grieve, he’d find him. He’d find Ford and everything would be right with the world again.

Ford was alive and he’d rescue him from the clutches of the monster that held him, no matter what it took.

And even if none of it was real, he couldn’t stop.

He didn’t know what he would do if he gave in to the voices.

Didn’t know what would happen if he gave in to the grief and despair.

He glared again, out of the glass dome as he stared out to sea.

They’d always been taught the monster under the bed existed.

And he’d always promised his brother that he’d fight whatever tried to hurt them, regardless of how big and bad it seemed.

A childish promise, but then again, Stan always had held on to them.

“Stan…”

“Don’t you worry, Sixer, I’m coming for you.”

AN: RAN IS DESTROYING ME WITH THE ART AND I AM BUZZING FOR YOU ALL TO SEE ;A; SHOWER THEM WITH LOVE. ALSO I AM MEAN CAUSE I REMEMBER WHINING AT THEM ABOUT STAN’S NIGHTMARES AND THIS IS THE RESULT AND I AM NOT SORRY AT ALL.

ok ill stop but seriously nightmare fics I still have some in the woodworks.

#gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #lighthouse keeper au #bill cipher #nightmare fic #the light keeper

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