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naturaldaisaster · 5 years ago

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This may be a sacrilegious question for a static quake blog, but what are your thoughts on Sousa and Daisy?

You know what? I will always love Daisy and Lincoln, but y'all know I’m Daisy’s girl through and through, and only want the best for her. That was why I liked Lincoln. Here is why I like Sousa, and why I suppose Daisy likes him, too.

(I’m a bit rusty on writing Daisy, forgive me)

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She thinks about Lincoln sometimes, but it is far from anything happy, or romantic, or nostalgic. She thinks mostly about the empty gravesite. About the call she had to make to his family, and about standing behind a distant tree as his father, and his mother, and his older sister (she never knew he had a sister. She never knew his mothers name) watched the empty casket lowered into the ground. She thinks even more often of his body. If any of it survived. If things decompose in space, like they do on earth.

She has a reoccurring nightmare, that she wakes up in his arms. She knows it is him because he always buzzes, just slightly. No one but she could sense it — he thought it was because of her ability to control molecular structure. She usually tuned out when he tried to reason through it all for her — a bit too much science for her taste. Regardless, she can feel his buzzing body curled around her spine, his arms wrapped lightly around her middle, his fingers tangled through hers.

Calling it a nightmare is perhaps overkill, as that is all it is. She, in her bed, tangled up in him. Warm, safe, and home.

The nightmare is when she wakes up alone.

In fact, most all of her worst nightmares have been the waking. It was better, for a while, when she joined the team. When she could wake up in her little cot and know Fitz was right next door, that Jemma was just a bit down the way.

It is a silly fear she learned in foster care — that even if the adults want to comfort you, when you wake screaming in terror, they won’t be there forever. They may not even be there twice. That people do not reliably come for you, when you scream, when you are vulnerable. That it is better not to expect them to at all. And she is okay with that. It has made her strong.

She still feels it, a wrenching ache in the hollow of her gut, every time she wakes up alone. Her aloneness is an affirmation, a ritual sacrifice to her own strength — or she tells herself so, anyway.

It was hard to get used to waking up with Lincoln. It wasn’t that she hadn’t woken up with other people before him. But it was different, with him. She knew right from the beginning that he loved her. She even knew, without acknowledging the sheer danger of it, that he would do anything for her. Lincoln was hers, in a way no one had been before. He would be there through every nightmare.

Then he wasn’t, and the cocoon of safe, warm, home that they built in her bed crumbled away, piece by piece. All that remains is her memory of his skin against hers, and the way wakefulness tears him from her, and now more than ever before she thinks whatever fates there are out there, prefer her alone.

These are all things that race through her mind as sleep, that constant nemesis, holds her just on the edge of utter helplessness as Malick and his goons circle her with needles and scalpels and worse. She gets flashes of the doctor, and as she balances on the edge of consciousness, she feels Lincoln there, holding her. And gone. There, and gone. And the doctor, at the edge of her vision, isn’t the doctor at all - but Fitz, and then even he is gone, too. Jiaying peers over Malick’s shoulder with disappointment, a “didn’t I warn you?” clear on the tip of her tongue.

She knows there is no way out of this. Her powers are muffled in her core — she is numb and lightheaded and can’t even find an edge of strength to grasp to, to tear them up out of her.

The room and the uninvited guests in it are starting to spin, now, and all she can do is squeeze her eyes closed tight and wait for the movement to stop. It doesn’t and she drops her head sideways, pressing her hot cheek into the ice cold table. It grounds her, and she inhales slow and deep, savoring the momentary stillness, even if pain crowns in her spine. Pain is real and manageable and physical. She needs physical. She needs real.

But the table where she has pressed her cheek is warming, and her body isn’t her ally right now— longing to give into the addling drugs to relieve the pain. The wall is just beginning to move when she catches the slightest glimpse of something soft and brown peering at her. Then, the wall blinks, and all of a sudden the picture becomes clear. Sousa is behind it. He is there. He is keeping an eye on her.

All she can see is that warm brown eye, but when he catches her looking, the wild concern melts into something softer, something that feels like him coming up behind her and pressing his hand firm and polite to the small of her back as he shot the (shockingly, less psychotic) Malick brother the most piercing of warning glares. He is feet away, but she is wide awake and she feels his drive still intact. She feels the ghost of his steady hand against her back.

She feels Sousa’s presence there even as the drugs wash her back out into unconsciousness.

Then someone is smoothing her hair, and her head isn’t pressing uncomfortably against cold metal anymore. Sousa is talking to her— she can feel his voice vibrating in the pit of his stomach, near where she is pressed up against him. She is having some trouble processing his words — her head is too muddled. But his fingertips just keep stroking her hair from her face, gentle and soothing and constant, comfort and warmth thwarted only just by the steel handcuffs at his wrists, rattling in her ear.

A sob threatens to tear through her at the ease and insistence of the touch. At how desperately she wants to tell him to stop, to run, to get as far away from her as possible. That things that hold onto her get broken.

“Stay awake,” he coaxes her, and he leans in a bit as his jangling hands travel down her spine, barely there, brushing over a particular white hot core of pain mid-back. She can feel blood seeping from under the half-assed bandage slapped over the intrusion, creeping down her waist and certainly seeping into her shirt. And he lays there, just a moment, close enough she can feel the heat off of his body, his deep words still reverberating against her.

He says the same thing again, she thinks, but all she really hears is a pleading, “stay.”

She hears herself in the word.

But he seems to decide against holding any pressure to the sensitive spot on her back, hesitating just barely before his fingers are back in her hair. He has her blood on his fingertips now, and she feels the red trail he leaves on her forehead.

“We’re going home,” she makes out as he cradles her head now, definite and insistent. “But you have got to fight.”

His grip is something fierce, and his thumb is calloused. The callousing of his thumb is so rough that it scrapes along her forehead as he strokes her hair. She is going to introduce him to lotion, when they get out of here. She lets the hum of his voice wash over her and engulf her, breathes in and out with the gentle, insistent tempo of his fingers — keeping her awake. Assuring her he hasn’t left.

She clenches her fists, reaching inside of herself as piercing pain shoots up her arm. She hasn’t been silenced, exactly. Muffled is a better description. When she breathes in slow and deep, she can still feel the barest hum of her powers at her core. It is a smoldering coal in an ice-land, and there is nothing to let it catch on to. Nothing to encourage herself to burn.

It is burning, after all, this thing she is. Time has made it better, has given her greater control at least. But control requires focus, and focus requires energy, and with no energy, with all the synapses in her nerves dulled and tangled, she can’t pull it out of her. She can’t coax the powers to life.

She lifts her arm with all the energy she has left, instead. Opens her palm, wet and warm with her own blood. He stops stroking her hair to pry the glass from where it has embedded into her skin without hesitation or preamble — and that is more comforting even than his hands in her hair.

When she wakes up on the Zephyr, the first thing she sees is Sousa.

“Thought you were staying in the 70’s,” she tries to tease, but her heart isn’t quite in it. The hard surface she is laying on makes her uneasy, draws her back to Malick’s barn. She can feel her powers tingling beneath her skin now, at least. “If you thought they were bad, you really shouldn’t see the 2010’s.”

He smiles crookedly, but she can see the barn in the darkened edges of his gaze still, too.

“Tried on some of those…. floppy bottom jeans. Looked in a mirror. Never got on a plane faster than I did trying to get away from ‘em.”

“I feel like it is probably a bad time to tell you about skinny jeans, then.”

His brow furrows and his head cocks ever so slightly, in a look of confusion that makes her grin. Momentarily, an image of him in well fitted jeans does cross her mind, and… that is less funny, so much less funny that she can’t help but bite her lip. Just barely.

She has been so distracted by him that her pains are only beginning to catch up with her now. She is still distracted enough not to care too intensely, but he mistakes the change in her expression for pain, and concern creases into his brow. He reaches for a nearby crutch — not his own, though. A fuzzy memory of him carrying her suddenly snaps into focus and her cheeks burn. He moves stiffly.

“Agent Simmons said she had some painkillers,” he mutters hurriedly, “to get her when you woke. I can —“

“No, don’t,” she says, too quickly, as he pivots slightly for the door. He stops immediately short, glancing back over his shoulder at her. She swallows, taking her next words more slowly. “I… just am not excited about getting any more drugs pumped into me right now.”

He doesn’t push her. Doesn’t question her. He is still a moment anyway, just staring back at her. It is understanding there, hovering between them. He still doesn’t move.

“I should tell her you’re awake,” he finally says with finality, but he doesn’t move. He is waiting for her approval.

She doesn’t want him to go.

“Don’t,” she repeats. “Please. Stay. I want you to stay with me.”

(He stiffly moves his chair closer to the head of her bed and asks her about skinny jeans. She tells him they are made to make asses look good, and he only looks scandalized for the briefest flicker of a moment, before he laughs warm and full.

She falls asleep talking to him, her body still taxed and worn.

There are warm fingers tangled in her own as she drifts back to consciousness, and she braces herself for cold to overcome her, as reality strips him away.

When her eyes blink open, Sousa has drifted into what looks like a very uncomfortable sleep in the seat beside her. His calloused fingers are woven through hers.)

#fucking fuck there is a fic under that read more i swear tumblr is just being a dick about it #aos #agents of shield #daisy johnson #daniel sousa #do they have a ship name?#i am so out of the loop lol #tbh this could be a friendship!fic with mild attraction too if that is what you prefer #idk i just am happy about them and daisy fucking deserves the world #dousy #sousy

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sasorikigai · 4 years ago

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12 ( any Hanryou verse cos couldn't resist lol )

SOFT(ish) ANGST PROMPTS || @sonxflight || accepting

12) our muses are in a fight, but cuddle anyway because they don’t like sleeping alone.

▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || From love to anger to this cold marrow, how the stifling simmer of Hanzo Hasashi’s infuriation could manifest hotter than hellfire itself. He wishes to slow down, avoid the curled, serrated edge of every shortcomings and incapability as a mortal warrior. The once warm, rubicund glow of his façade relinquished beneath the blistering heat. This wasn’t his supposed fates or destiny. The pang of longing may be a human privilege Scorpion is blessed to feel nonetheless, but this indescribable hurt and defeat he has to remind himself continues to pierce and twist deep in his ribs and ruptures his heart. His love may have brought forth a momentary destruction; a combustion that threatens the pure creature Hanzo Hasashi used to be, the one who had been irreversibly wounded in Nether’s fire. How in his heart’s desperation, did scorpion wish for another sunrise, without the fire and brimstone of charred blackness and the onslaught of eternal screams of the suffering innocents. He still ruthlessly begs for another earthly sunrise, for immortality is a curse and death is all Scorpion would ask, and yet all he may not have.

This specific ‘Scorpion’ born against his will had only been made of anger. It cracks him open. It tears him apart. He lives in it. It lives in him. He carries rage and sorrow everywhere, the last bits of his laugh makes him more miserable than he could ever be. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so he has made this fury his abode. This is how he would live, death will just be a long sleep because when he is no longer living, death doesn't scare him in the slightest. The demons he was composed off ran away, its been a long time, they poked their eyeballs, dodged bullets in their heads, grabbed their throat and pull it off of them, they feared him more than they can terrify anyone else. The untold stories will be the ghost in disguise after his departure. A wanna be traumatized state of the world. The gates of hell are desperately waiting, and yet, Scorpion could do nothing, beneath the impasse of decomposing unwillingness to fight, because his withered resolve was the merest flesh that hung freely by a severing thread, and he would simply elude himself so that he could face his own supposed death that won’t ever come.

So how Scorpion had become red with anger, red with rage. Red with love, and red with pain. How he had made himself blind to Ryou Sakai’s exponential torment and despair, failing to reflect and empathize as his own thousand suns threatened to immolate ablaze and whole. Yet, in his defense, this was the unapologetic, most vulnerable and intimate honesty that oozed from the heart, bleeding freely, his flesh tender, but firm, the grip of the hand, the knot in the throat tightening hastily melted by the fire that rumbles beneath, fuelled and never forgotten. Lest in darkness and withdrawal Scorpion lingers as every heated argument will render him beneath the shadow of ephemerality, wasting away and pretending to feel numb beneath the stifled surge trauma devouring his entirety as a new, fervent inferno hellfire would submerge him whole. Loneliness creeping its way to plunge him back into the abyss, as path of his mind will continue to be stained with deep violets and blued, and reds that forever bleed him dry with the glance of an eye. The very key that had been nestled in the deepest core of his heart as he will become the catalyst in merging all the realms to annihilation.

“You will never know the full scope of my horrors,” that especially stem from my flaws and fears. Despite the harsh vitriol words still thrown at his beloved, Scorpion begins to see the pain behind Ryou Sakai’s eyes, bleeding from tear ducts and stained cheeks. Two different lives; two different worlds, one coalesced living that would proverbially and permanently suffocate the fathomless darkness with the combined helical flames. Anguish seems like such a strong world, but as the torrential flood of feverous heat mitigates by the familiar slip of Sakai’s arm, as all the tension melts, and tautness dissipates with what was lost in the unfettered dark of his blindness that plunged him towards the abysmal depth of tenebrous darkness. “I will always be the desert flower waiting for quenching rain, like a riverbank thirsting for the touch of pitchers, like the dawn longing for light, and like a house - like a house in ruins for want of a woman. The exhausted ones of our times need a moment to breathe, need a moment to sleep, in the arms of peace, in the arms of unperturbed tranquility.”

The climbing vines of Ryou’s arms deeply root him, and fills once empty, voided sun of his vessel with resplendent light that will emanate tender hearthfire. He is now left unspoken; to his ever-silence that carelessly falls from his breath. Lest he bleeds glacier winds from his veins, Scorpion’s heartbreak will melt away temporarily, as a million suns betwixt the sky. As Ryou Sakai’s sun promises to come again in torrents, in patient winds of tender gossamer caress. ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||

#✗ the ineffable testimony of spawned hellfire (scorpion)#✗ hellfire fibrillating beneath his skin (iv)#✗ epitome of sunlight (ryou sakai || sonxflight)#(heliac flames)#sonxflight

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butterflyinthewell · 6 years ago

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LEGACY OF GOJIRA

My headcanon for the Heisei era timeline pre- and post-Godzilla vs King Ghidorah, and where my stuff fits in.

***

Blacklist “long post” if you don’t want this hogging up your dash. Tumblr mobile doesn’t have an option to use cuts and I just discovered desktop doesn’t let you edit posts created in mobile to insert a cut. Do not leave comments on this post complaining that it’s long or whatever, I already know that and tagged for it.

***

Now, some terminology to avoid confusion.

I will use Gojira when I’m speaking about the creature who appeared in 1954. He is the father of Godzilla.

And I will say Godzilla when speaking about the creature who appeared in 1984 onward. He is Gojira’s son. (His look changes movie to movie a bit, but in canon he has always looked however he looks in that given movie, with the exception of burning Godzilla, jsyk.)

Pre-Futurians:

A young adult godzillasaur charges into a battle between American and Japanese soldiers on Lagos island. It’s WW2. He chases the Americans away, but is wounded in the process and collapses on the forest floor. Shindo and his Japanese troops thank him, apologize for not being able to carry him and leave.

An elderly godzillasaur comes onshore with a whale in his mouth and finds his wounded son. He runs to the younger dinosaur’s side, manages to get him to eat the whale meat and tries to lick his wounds clean. Days go by. Infection sets in and becomes sepsis. The younger godzillasaur is definitely dying.

Then a morning arrives where a blinding flash goes off in the sky. Both dinosaurs have the scales melted off their bodies and they are soon covered in fallout ash. The younger dinosaur convulses and screams in pain. The older one holds his hand and conceals his agony behind a stoic visage. He stays by his son’s side until they both black out from the pain.

Gojira awakens weeks later aware that he is different. He looks to his son, who is breathing and unresponsive. Godzilla only moves to writhe, convulse and shriek in pain. Unimaginable anguish fills Gojira because this bright light made him and his only child suffer.

Weeks pass. He waits for his son to open his eyes and tells him to stay on the island. Godzilla always listens when told to stay somewhere. He is too sick and weak to move anyway. Gojira tells Godzilla he loves him and heads out to sea.

Fall arrives. It’s November 3, 1954, and Gojira crashes across Odo island. When he pops his head over the hill, he is telling the humans he will destroy them. He heads into Tokyo not long after. His rampage is an act of pure, spiteful revenge. Days later, he is killed by the Oxygen Destroyer. As he dies, he curses at the humans for the suffering they caused him.

Godzilla spends more time exposed to the radioactive fallout, so he grows a bit larger than his father although not by much. He wanders around Lagos island until the chill of winter arrives. He spends days calling for his father, but gets no answer. So he finally swims out to sea and spends the next several decades alternating between hibernating and absorbing radioactive waste in and around the island.

Finally, he had consumed all the radiation nearby and has to venture out to find more. He also hoped to find his father. So, in December of 1984, Godzilla made his presence known by attacking submarines, a nuclear power plant and finally coming ashore.

(My inserted headcanon) A young 13 year old Miki Saegusa was in the train car Godzilla picked up and dropped. She was the only survivor because her parents shielded her with their bodies.

Steven Martin was correct when he said Godzilla was looking for something. Unfortunately, what Godzilla sought could never be found because his dad is dead. Only Miki knows who he’s looking for.

The situation escalated, ultimately ending with the Super X destroyed and Godzilla plunging into Mt Mihara.

Godzilla was released from the volcano in 1989. He encounters Miki again, gets infected with the anti-nuclear energy bacteria and battles Biollante. After defeating her, he heads out to sea where he proceeds to be ravaged by the ANEB.

Enter the Futurians... Miki Saegusa is among the people from the 90s to go back in time...and here comes the fun part.

🌀🌀🌀🌀

Post-Futurians:

Godzilla is teleported off Lagos island and into the Bering sea at a randomly chosen time (1970s), where he lands on a bunch of nuclear waste and undergoes his painful mutation utterly alone. It’s more violent because the nuclear waste is more concentrated and toxic.

(My inserted headcanon) Miki returns to the present with the others. She feels a weird fracture in her memory, as if aspects of her past happened twice, but she doesn’t tell anyone because it’s too confusing to explain.

Behind her, history is repairing itself...

Gojira comes ashore on Lagos and can’t find his son. The nuclear bomb test happens as planned (which also created King Ghidorah from the abandoned Dorats, but it took a long time for him to grow up to size), and Gojira suffered through his mutation alone, too.

But he no longer had a reason to wait around, so he left the island as soon as he was strong enough to move without screaming in pain. He crosses Odo island and makes landfall in Japan in August instead of November.

When he pops his head over the hill, he is asking the humans if they saw his son or know where he is. They don’t understand, so he gets pissed and trashes Tokyo. He is killed by the Oxygen Destroyer. As he dies, he calls out for his son.

Far away in another time in the Bering sea, Godzilla wanders between unconsciousness and seizures and misery because his surroundings are so toxic. When the mutation process is complete, he is twice the size of his father. He wanders the seafloor, absorbing stray radioactive waste between long stretches of sleep.

The events of 1984 and 1989 play out the same, but people remember Godzilla as being 100 meters tall (328 feet).

(My inserted headcanon) Miki’s younger 1984 self is picked up in the train car as before, but now she senses Godzilla recognizing her and being confused as to why. He shows her images of herself as an adult in a jungle. Her 1989 encounter with him on the helipad dredges up the same confusion.

She lives her life up to the Futurians again, which closes the loop, and now she understands what happened and why she feels like she has lived her life up to that point twice. Past Miki and present Miki are now one and her feeling of fracture goes away.

Shindo sends a sub out to recreate Godzilla to fight King Ghidorah, but he doesn’t know Godzilla already exists until it’s too late.

Godzilla is gravely sick with the ANEB, but Shindo’s nuclear submarine powers him up enough to overcome the illness. He comes ashore in Japan and takes down King Ghidorah and kills the malicious Futurians who created King Ghidorah.

In typical Godzilla fashion, he goes stomping into Tokyo. He encounters Shindo in one of the skyscrapers he is about to knock down. Shindo, the man Godzilla sees as the person who deserted him to suffer through his mutation. He kills Shindo with his breath and comes face to face with Mecha-King Ghidorah. The battle ends with Mecha-King Ghidorah destroyed and Godzilla is plunged back into the sea.

Time has been rewritten, but Godzilla’s existence is a fixed point and cannot be overwritten. No matter what anyone does in the past, the universe will ensure Godzilla exists.

Shezilla happens in 1994 (movie year with inserted headcanon), a year after Godzilla battles Mothra and Battra.

Time splits 2 ways from the moment of her conception in a Petri dish. If the Doctor was flying the TARDIS through here, they will see a timeline split here, and the future they see depends on which branch in the timeline they follow after Shezilla enters the picture.

🌀🌀🌀🌀

BRANCH 1– ‘Canon’ timeline: Shezilla’s mutation overtakes her due to an underdeveloped nuclear gland. She dies. She and Godzilla had conceived a baby, but Shezilla was too sick to survive having it.

Godzilla takes her body to Challenger Deep because he doesn’t want predators to eat her. It’s a massive scientific loss, but there was no way to tend to her body with him hovering around.

He still thinks she will wake up because his heart stops and starts a lot due to his heart defect, and he doesn’t realize it’s an abnormality. Over the next month he tries feeding Shezilla from his own radioactive stores. Shezilla has what is essentially a coffin birth since Godzilla’s radiation was feeding the embryo instead of Shezilla. But the egg can’t survive the intense pressures and it is crushed instantly. Godzilla is totally crestfallen. He nuzzles Shezilla’s nose and the flesh sloughs off. She is decomposing.

Now Godzilla accepts that his mate and their baby are gone to the Stars. He leaves the seafloor in a state of mourning.

The Shrinking Project happens that same day. The man behind it has a vendetta against Gojira, so he’s taking it out on Godzilla.

Shezilla’s spirit possesses Miki Saegusa and tells her Godzilla must live. He has work to do. It takes time for her and Miki to understand each other, but once they do they work together to ensure Godzilla stays alive.

The same group of people behind the Shezilla project rescue Godzilla from the nasty person who only wants to torture him.

Godzilla isn’t doing well while tiny. He begins showing all the signs of acute heart failure. The Shezilla team figures out how to keep him alive by doing something dangerous and unprecedented. They patch the hole in his heart and ablate the underdeveloped nerve bundles that cause his arrhythmias, and he slowly returns to his normal size in short bursts after the shrink ray wears off. A confrontation between him and the nasty vendetta guy happens while he’s man-sized, and it doesn’t go well for vendetta guy.

Shezilla’s spirit can finally rest, so she departs into eternity after a moving goodbye to her mate.

History carries on through BabyGodzilla being found, Mechagodzilla, Fire Rodan, SpaceGodzilla and Destroyah.

BabyGodzilla grows up into LittleGodzilla and then Junior. Godzilla raises the little one as his own. He tells him all the stories his own father told him and imparts the knowledge of his kind’s history. Everything Gojira told Godzilla becomes known to Junior.

After battling Destroyah, Godzilla dies of a nuclear meltdown and his soul ascends to the Stars where Shezilla and a daughter are waiting. All that is left of his physical presence is a lump of corium.

Junior finishes his mutation into an adult godzillasaur. He takes the corium out to sea and lays it in next to Shezilla’s skeleton in Challenger Deep and grieves over them both for a long while.

Then he has to feed again, so he ascends to the surface and takes down an aircraft carrier transporting nukes. From that day on, Junior carries the legacy of Gojira alone.

🌀🌀🌀🌀

BRANCH 2– ‘Survival’ timeline: Shezilla gets very weak and sick because of an underdeveloped nuclear gland, but Godzilla is able to feed her massive, concentrated doses of radiation that allow the gland to achieve critical mass and keep her alive.

A small island becomes a dumping ground for radioactive waste, so the Godzilla family is more apt to go there. Their rampages into cities become extremely rare. Humanity is slowly learning to coexist with kaiju.

MechaGodzilla isn’t necessary and is never built. The metal from Mecha-King Ghidorah is used instead to reverse engineer its technology into things like quantum computers, medical devices, vehicles for space travel and safer nuclear power plants. The Shrinking Project doesn’t happen either because the tech is kept under lock and key and only a few people know where.

Shezilla nests and lays an egg. She and Godzilla are awakened awhile later by the sound of cracking. The egg hatches. It’s a girl with brown eyes. A kaijuologist who speaks Latin nicknames her Filia, which is Latin for daughter.

Junior’s egg is discovered while Rodan is away, so he is taken into human custody without incident. He hatches under Azusa Gojo’s watch and will grow up into a typical unmutated godzillasaur in a safe enclosure.

SpaceGodzilla happens in (movie time) 1995. He tangles with Rodan in the upper atmosphere and sends him crashing into Pripyat, Ukraine. His body falls into the Chernobyl power plant. He appears dead. Nobody will move him until because he is laying on the damage he caused and preventing radiation from leaking out.

When SpaceGodzilla lands, it’s Filia who curiously wanders over to check him out. She gets kidnapped and imprisoned in a crystal cage. Shezilla confronts SpaceGodzilla after hearing her daughter scream for help, and he utterly insults her mate by insisting he would be a better one. She gets enraged and fights him, but he overpowers her and leaves her seriously injured. Godzilla comes ashore after hearing Shezilla’s distress calls. Unfortunately, SpaceGodzilla is already gone. Godzilla. Is. Pissed. Off.

Shezilla recovers quickly. She and Godzilla both go on a rampage towards SpaceGodzilla. It’s a violent, bloody, nasty battle. SpaceGodzilla propositions Shezilla again. This time she says yes, and she seduces him as a trick. She gets SpaceGodzilla all the way to the point of climbing on top of her...and that’s when Godzilla knocks down the tower SpaceGodzilla is using as a power source. Shezilla flashes a grin at SpaceGodzilla and point blank trashes his shoulder crystals with her atomic breath. She kicks him off her, and her and Godzilla both kill him with their atomic breath. Filia is set free and all is well.

In 1996, reports indicate the radioactivity caused by Chernobyl has dropped to safe levels, safe enough that people can move back in.

Then a fireball is tracked over Hong Kong. It’s Fire Rodan, and he is burning up from too much nuclear energy. He decimates large parts of Hong Kong with his radioactivity and the sonic booms of flying by. At the same time, Destroyah is emerging from the water in Japan and causing havoc.

Filia, now the godzillasaur equivalent of a preteen, is awakened from her sleep by a telepathic call from Miki Saegusa and another girl, Meru. They lure her in to fight Destroyah. She’s up for the challenge.

Along the way, she meets Rodan, who mistakes her as the baby taken from his island a few years ago. She has no idea what he’s talking about and figures the runaway radiation is scrambling his brain. She tells him to hang back and off she goes to take on Destroyah.

Then her parents awaken to find her gone and set out in search of her. They end up tangling with Rodan, demanding to know what he did with their daughter. Rodan leads them to where Filia and Destroyah are duking it out at Haneda airport. Seeing her parents arrive distracts her just long enough for Destroyah to stab her in the chest and inject micro-oxygen directly into her nuclear gland. Destroyah throws Filia at her parents.

Filia is mortally wounded. Godzilla tries to feed her from his own radioactivity, but it doesn’t work. She’s too young and injured.

Shezilla goes berserk when she sees her daughter hurt like that. She charges Destroyah while Godzilla tries to save Filia. Rodan rages as well even though the exertion is raising his temperature to dangerous levels. He helps Shezilla battle Destroyah.

Filia apologizes to her dad for running off and stops breathing before he can tell her it’s okay. Godzilla screams when his little girl dies. He charges into the fray with tears pouring down his face and tells Destroyah he is going to wipe him off the earth.

Destroyah manages to cleave Rodan’s chest open with his horn. Now mortally wounded himself, Rodan glides towards Filia’s body and lands on top of her. He doesn’t realize she is dead and vows to guard her. His melting body pumps a massive dose of radiation into Filia’s corpse. She starts to breathe again and opens her eyes as the flesh melts off Rodan’s face. All that is left of him is his skeleton and a cloud of radioactive ash.

Destroyah is about to overpower Godzilla and Shezilla when the radioactive ash cloud surrounds them all. The radiation seeps into Godzilla and Shezilla, filling them with power.

A spiraling red atomic beam blasts in from one side. It’s Filia. Godzilla and Shezilla turn to Destroyah, who is now triangulated between an angry godzillasaur family. All 3 unleash simultaneous spiral red beams and Destroyah is reduced to nothing.

Godzilla and Shezilla are all over Filia, loving on her and crying when asking what happened. Filia answers that Rodan saved her and turns to indicate his empty skeleton. They all share a moment of silence for their unwitting fallen ally and return to the sea, leaving Tokyo to clean up the mess.

Things are uneventfully quiet. Filia grows up into a lovely adult godzillasaur. She separates from her parents by creating a den on the north side of the island. (Her parents are on the east side).

EarthCam sets up a few webcams on the island, playfully named Monster Island, in 2009. People all over the internet can log on and see the Godzilla family go about their lives.

The peaceful times break in 2011, when a massive 9.0 earthquake strikes Japan. A tsunami follows, and the destruction and fires are more massive than anything Godzilla or his family could do in that short period of time.

The earthquake damages an enclosure where the only living dinosaur, Junior, is kept. The enclosure is large and as close as possible to his natural habitat. Azusa Gojo is dragged kicking and screaming to evacuate before the tsunami arrives. When it does, it destroys the rest of the enclosure and the dinosaur stumbles free. He’s at home with the water and staggers towards the glow of a towering fire.

It’s Fukushima, and the reactors have melted down.

Junior gets hungry. He eats plants and fish around the burning nuclear power plant. He is exposed externally and internally to the radioactivity leaking out into the air, water and soil. His presence prevents helicopters from stopping a massive explosion of radioactive steam. Junior is right in the middle of it. His outer scales are burned off. Now in pain, he staggers away and falls unconscious into the receding tsunami waves. Humanity loses sight of him and assumes he perished.

Azusa tries to pull resources to search for Junior, but all efforts are focused on recovering from the disaster. She agrees despite how it hurts and accepts that the dinosaur she raised by hand is gone from her. Miki Saegusa senses what is going on. She keeps it to herself because humanity has meddled enough with the monsters and she wants them to live in peace. She focuses her powers on detecting and locating anyone missing after the disaster.

Weeks go by. Junior awakens to somebody nudging his shoulder. He is no longer a dinosaur. The mutation manifests differently on him because of the chemicals he ingested and came in contact with. His greenish-gray pitted skin and spiky dorsal spines are quite a sight, but it’s not his reflection in the water that he’s looking at.

The first thing Junior sees is a beautiful girl with brown eyes. Filia smiles and asks him if he’s okay. It’s love at first sight.

Ancient godzillasaurs has a tradition when it came to potential mates. Her dad told her all about it and she wants to uphold it, so she takes Junior to meet her parents.

Junior meets Shezilla first. He’s nervous and charming. She likes him immediately! Then Godzilla comes out to have a look. He’s huge and imposing even though his movements are jerky and stiff.

The moment they lock eyes is a tense one.

Godzilla asks Junior if he promises to treat his daughter’s heart like the treasure that it is. Junior swears on his life that he will. Godzilla tells Junior he better be impressive when he makes his move. Again, Junior swears that he will.

Godzilla nods his approval. He takes Junior’s hand, he takes Filia’s hand and clasps them together. Filia grins up at her dad. He tells her he’s happy for her. Then Godzilla and Shezilla stand together, watching their daughter and her future mate walk off.

Junior tells Filia his story of where he was all this time, and he mentions relating to how Shezilla feels like a young outsider. Filia says not to worry about it. Her dad didn’t worry about her mom’s mysteriously absent past, so she decided not worry so much about Junior’s.

Junior asks Filia to tell her story. She does. It’s a long tale stretching back millions of years. The sun goes down and the Milky Way is bright in the night sky. Junior is falling into her eyes. Filia is falling into his. He makes his move. Filia consents. They conceive.

Junior can’t stop thinking about the humans who took care of him and doesn’t know what happened to them after the ground shook. He slips away in the middle of the night, but he doesn’t recognize the disaster-ridden coastline when he arrives. He has a soft spot for humans because they were kind to him, so he locates a bunch of people swept away by the tsunami. Living and dead alike are gathered and placed on dry land where rescuers can reach them.

Junior finds Azusa on a balcony far inland. She recognizes him despite his mutated appearance, but she doesn’t understand his roar is telling her that he’s fine and about to be a dad. She cries instead, so he leaves and that is the last time they see each other.

A year later, Filia and Junior crouch by their nest and watch their egg hatch. It’s a boy with heterochromia. One eye is yellow, the other is brown. He has Junior’s facial features and Filia’s elegant long tail. He’s smaller than Filia was when she hatched. Kaijuologists nickname him Kage(kah-geh), which is Japanese for shadow, because his hide is black like one.

Kage falls out of his eggshell in a curled up position. It takes him a few days to walk and his hands are tight fists. The way he moves reminds Filia of her dad. And she is right, he inherited Godzilla’s heart issues and the subsequent neurological issues.

Kage is a grumpy little baby at first because he hatched in the winter and it’s cold. His parents keep him warm in their cave for the first few days until he’s able to shuffle around. His legs are much more affected than Godzilla’s, but he can walk if he goes slow and he’ll get a little better at it with time. He falls over a lot because he’s pigeon toed.

Filia and Junior are overwhelmed with joy because their baby didn’t keel over dead like they feared he might. They take Kage to meet his grandparents. Shezilla dotes on him immediately, and Godzilla is totally amazed to see another godzillasaur who Moves Like Him. He looks down at the baby godzillasaur and sees both his mother and father looking back at him through his grandson’s eyes.

Kage squawks a challenge because he can’t roar yet. Godzilla belly laughs as he comes to understand what his own father saw in him when he was little. Then he gets a goofy grin on his face because teaching Kage all the tricks to managing his Palsy will be so much fun! Kage will grow up surrounded by a loving family with a legacy as old as the sky.

And from his unseen place in the Stars, Gojira smiles proudly at all his son has achieved.

youtube

#godzilla #heisei godzilla #shodaigoji #miregoji #headcanon #futurians #timeline silliness #long post #disability headcanon

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pineappleguardian · 5 years ago

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Nightmares

Warning: upcoming gore, mention of suicide, as well as blood and vomit towards the end. Also my first time writing horror. This might be triggering to some people, so read with caution, please and thank you.

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

Red.

It’s on the walls, it’s splattered on his clothes, and it covers the floor. He can still hear the sound of a gunshot, the ringing threatening to tear his ears apart. He can still see the bullet pierce through his mother’s head, splattering her brain matter across the living room wall. He can still hear himself screaming for her to wake up, to not leave him alone. He doesn’t want to be alone.

There’s a strange silence before the sound of static vibrates through the air. A metallic scent filters through the room, before he turns around to stare at his mother’s body. Only it’s no longer a body, or his mom. The thing crawling along the floor is not his mom. So why does it look exactly like her? It has her skin, her eyes, her hair. But his mom is dead. He stares at it more, wishing for it to go away, to bring his mom back. The static gets louder, and the thing that isn’t his mom begins to scratch itself. Red leaks from the pores on its skin, and he watches in horror as it reaches up shoves its fingers into its eye sockets. More red spurts out, and it forcefully removes its eyes. It screams are horrible, rocking the foundations of the room. It brings out his fight or flight instinct, and he frantically starts to look around the room for an exit.

Red, red, red, red, red, red, red.

He hates the color red. It covers the walls, the ceiling, his hands,and the thing that’s supposed to be his mom’s body. It’s closing in on him, mouth open and leaking more red, while dragging its horrid body across the floor. It trails red on the floor in its wake like a monstrous slug. A large gash forms across its midsection and its intestines spill out, coated in a horrid shade of brown. A rancid stench fills his nostrils. Is something rotting? He goes to cover his nose with his red hands, as the thing continues to move closer. Soon it’s on him, and he wants to puke. It pours red onto him as it grips his face with its cold hands and screams. Tears leak from his eyes as the smell of decomposition gets stronger.

He hears a voice. “Koutarou? Is that you, my lovely boy?”

He looks at the thing in confusion. Its rotten flesh and leaking pores don’t look like his mom. So why is it speaking with her voice? The thing pukes more red onto his shaking body, as it moves its jaw to speak again.

“Why didn’t you save me, darling boy? Why did you let me pull that trigger?”

The thing laughs and dislocates its jaw, the snapping of bones making him shiver. His cries become sobs as he wallows in his self pity. Why didn’t he save her? He loved herIt laughs harder, delighted by his cries of sorrow. Its face begins to bubble and fizz, as it starts to dissolve. He watches as its face slowly morphs into his mom’s. It smiles at him, stroking his face softly.

“Mom?”

He says it so softly, he barely hears himself. It nods its head before leaning in and licking his neck. Its tongue burns as it traces his jugular and he can smell his flesh scorching. He ignores it, blinded by what feels like his mother’s warm touch. He almost forgets that he’s in a room full of blood, almost forgets that his mother is dead. He knows, of course he knows. He watched her pull the trigger when he was seven. His mom, no, it smiles at him again, and he wishes his mom were here to alleviate his pain. He wishes his mom was here instead of the gross pile of flesh occupying his lap.

If his mom were here, she’d protect him from the world. The mean, mean world that didn’t care about him like she did. He thinks about the gun, sometimes. How would his mom feel if he blew his brains out like she did? Would she be happy to see him again? He almost tried once, before Kuroo stopped him. He realized then that he couldn’t leave his friends alone like that. What would Akaashi say if he saw his body? What about Hinata and Kuroo and everyone else? He couldn’t leave them. But then he remembers how his mom left him and thinks that maybe he’s allowed to be selfish, too. What if....

His mom’s face melts away along with the monsters body. The liquid gets into his mouth and he feels nauseous. His eyes start to leak red, and he proceeds to vomit. Chunks of decomposed flesh spew out of his mouth, and splatter along the floor. He feels his insides churning, melting along with his soul. The room fills with red and he feels caged in. It pools at his feet and then rises, overtaking everything in its path. He realizes that he doesn’t mind being swallowed by the red tide coming his way. So he lets the red juice envelop his body and enter his lungs before slipping away.....

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

In case you didn’t understand it, Bokuto’s mom committed suicide when he was seven and this is a nightmare. The endings kind of weird, but this was an experiment anyway. Peace out.

#haikyuu #bokuto koutarou #oof #horror I guess #I dont know how to tag this #writing #took me a week to write 800 words wowza

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princessamericachavez · 6 years ago

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sunlight | fjorester

Fjord goes to Jester after his last nightmare.

They have been staying in this new house for three days only but some things are beginning to feel like routine: Beau uses the training room before anyone else is awake and then greets them for breakfast, Caleb stays up in the library until ungodly hours, the house fills with the smell of tea every afternoon and the room to Jester’s room is always wide open. Fjord thinks it makes sense since she picked a spot high in a tower where no one usually passes by anyway, but there is something else about the gesture that seems oddly fitting to him. Still, he always tries to knock when he comes by to summon her for dinner or a group meeting, trying to respect her privacy.

Not today, though. Today, his knuckles stop inches shy from the door frame and he freezes there, looking at her. It’s not like he’s purposely spying on her, and it definitely has nothing to do with how pretty she looks with paint smudged on her face and the soft morning sun that comes in through her big windows framing her figure (today is one of the odd days that the Kyrnn allow light to reach the city, later they will go join their celebration of the Luxon to learn more about it), or because she just looks pretty like this. It’s not that at all, really. He just- He just doesn’t want to interrupt.

She’s clearly busy, buzzing around from one wall to another, adding images to her new spaces, making it her own as she does with every room she steps into. She’s talking, too, chatting cheerfully with her god despite no one else being in the room. He’s only caught her talking to the Traveler a couple times before, this feels different. Fjord can’t quite put into words what it is about the whole scene that strikes a chord in him —that feels so different like he’s witnessing something no one else has had the privilege of seeing before. So he just leans against the doorframe and lets his eyes follow her around, as a fond smile tugs at his lips.

“Yes, yes, this will look so great, you’re gonna love it!” Jester says as she jumps over the bed to reach the opposite wall of the room. “I mean, I know we are probably not going to stay here, like, forever, you know? Because we have so many other things to do, but it’s kinda cool that we have a house again, don’t you think? And you can come to visit me more often and it will be just like old times. Well, almost, but better because we have more friends now. And also- oh, hi, Fjord!”

A smile shines across Jester’s face when her eyes land on him. He wonders if he should tell her about the strike of yellow across her cheek, but it looks nice on her so he decides against it.

“Have you been watching me paint?” She asks, tilting her head, and he could almost swear she sounds excited by the idea of him staring at her.

“No. I-I mean, yeah, but I just didn’t wanna interrupt,” he fumbles a little. “It was just for a couple minutes, really, not like I was trying to creep or anything, just-”

“It’s okay if you were,” she cuts him off, and he thinks she sounds breathless. Her eyes meet his for a longer moment than usual before a playful smirk takes over her features. “Though that wall was still fresh so you probably got your armor dirty.”

“What?” Fjord straightens and sees a pink smudge where his shoulder pad was touching the wall. “Oh, fuck.”

“You look like Caduceus, now,” Jester giggles.

Fjord rolls his eyes but can’t help but laugh with her.

“Did you want to see me?”

“Uh, yes, actually,” Fjord’s expression sobers up entirely as he remembers the reason for his coming here in the first place. “I was hoping we could have a word, in private.”

“Oh?” Jester, still smiling, wiggles her eyebrows at him. “You wanted to have a talk with me in my room all alone?”

He can feel his face burn at the implied suggestion in her tone. “Y-yeah, I guess. Or anywhere else really. I just- it’s something important.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Jester skips towards him, pulls him in with that unbelievable strength of hers, and closes the door shut. For a second, Fjord panics wondering if she might’ve gotten the wrong idea about his visit, but she only guides him towards a small table by the window and makes him sit down. “So, is this a secret?”

“Yeah, it is,” he nods, gathering courage. “I- I had another nightmare, the other day.”

“You had a new wet dream?!”

Fjord closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. There we go again with the jokes. He should really be used to it by now with her. When he opens his eyes again, though, Jester’s face is scrunched up into a frown. When she speaks, her voice is unusually quiet.

“Did he- did he kill you again in your dream?”

Fjord nods. “Drowned me,” he deadpans and keeps the more gory details for himself because Jester doesn’t need to worry about that more than necessary.

“Maybe we can talk with Mister Clay about giving you some special sleeping tea,” she says quickly. “Or maybe Caleb or Nott have a spell against bad dreams? Or we could try to make like, something that keeps him out of your head? Maybe like a lead hat, like the box where we were keeping the Luxon thingy?”

He shakes his head through all of her ideas but lets her go on until she runs out of them.

“Thanks, Jester, but it’s not the dreams I’m worried about. It’s what happened after.”

“What... what happened after?” Jester leans over the table slightly, face twist with so much worry that he almost bails. Almost. But this is Jester, and not once has she judged him or made him feel like the sad little lost boy that he still feels like some days. She watches him intently and any lies his silver tongue might have woven melt away on the spot.

“I woke up and my sword was out on the floor. I couldn’t poof it back in or out like usual, and I- I didn’t have my powers. Nothing. Nada.”

He can see horror spread through her face.

“Oh, no, Fjord! Did you lose your magic?!”

“For a while, but it’s back now, I think,” he says, and invokes some eldritch energy to his hand to reassure her. To reassure himself. “But I don’t know how long it’ll last. If I don’t do what he wants, I think Uk’otoa can just take it all away, leave me with nothing.”

“So... do you want to open the third temple?” Jester asks.

Fjord is taken aback by her suggestion. He hasn’t even considered the possibility, knows all too well what is at risk and even in his worst moments of panic he wouldn’t trade the world’s safety for his hearts deepest desires. What shocks him is the way that she asks, honestly, and that he can read clear as day in her eyes that she would do it, she would come with him and doom the world if he asked. The realization almost terrifies him, but he can’t tell if it’s the possibility of them ending the world or the unmeasurable size of her loyalty.

“No, Jester,” he rolls his eyes as if she’d said something ridiculous. “I’m not going to end the world to save my powers.”

Her shoulders relax.

“That’s good... but what are we going to do, then, Fjord? I mean, technically, I guess, if you run out of magic you could learn how to fight. Like, Beau and Yasha don’t really have magic, you know? And Nott, does, a little, but she also uses a lot of her bows and stuff. Or maybe you could learn new magic! Like Caleb’s! Or maybe you can find a different god or-”

“Jester,” this time he cuts her off, voice heavy and resigned to reality, “I can’t do that to y’all. Without my powers I’m- I’m just a sailor. That’s it. I would be a liability, put y’all at risk. I’d just get in the way.”

“Fjord!” Jester drags his name and he pauses when he recognizes a dash of indignation in her tone. Her hand reaches out and grabs his over the table, blue paint-covered fingers squeezing his with reassurance. He looks down at their intertwined hands, and back at her. Her violet eyes are firm and her expression gentle. “You are our friend! We are not going to just leave you somewhere because you have a little problem with your god. And we don’t hang out together just because we can kick ass, even though that’s pretty darn cool, really. We are a family, right? We are the Mighty Nein! And you are one of us, powers or not.”

Fjord can feel hot tears knotting in his throat, choking out his voice. He can feel the fear that has been eating at his heart for the past three days twist inside him. He’s not worthy of her trust, of these friends, of this place. Anything he has he owes to the powers of a capricious god that could take it all away in a blink. As his mask falls apart and his face decomposes, he ducks his head to hide the emotions burning through him.

All he sees now is Jester’s hand covering his. He turns inside her grasp to hold on to her too and she responds with a squeeze.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says. “I promise, okay?”

He nods, still not looking up.

“I’ll ask the Traveler about it, too. He’s a god, right? So he probably knows a lot about this kind of stuff, probably, or maybe he could help you somehow.”

“I’d appreciate that,” he admits. He’s still unsure about her deity, but at this point, nothing could be worse than the tightrope he’s walking with his own.

It’s the second time she asks her god to intercede for him, too. Something about it, about her going to her own god for his sake, warms him... and having seen the miracles she can perform with the Traveler’s help, he’s not about to reject any kind of help.

“Jester,” he says, unsure of how long he’s been silent, “would you mind not-”

“Not telling the others?” She says at the same time.

Fjord finally looks up and finds her looking at him intensely, one eyebrow arched. He nods.

“Sure, Fjord... though I’m sure they would want to help too.”

“I don’t want to worry them for now. Not until I know more about this, at least.”

“Okay,” Jester whispers with a smile tainted by sadness.

“Thank you, Jester.”

“Of course, Fjord. Thank you for telling me.”

“I’ll- I’ll let you get back to your painting. Your room is looking great, by the way. It’s very nice.”

“Thanks!” She cheers up. “I could also paint your room later, if you want! I could add a lot of seamen and swords and balls to it!”

He barks a laugh, standing up. She’s messing with him, he knows it, and appreciates it —if anything because it breaks the tension that’s been building inside him through this whole conversation.

“Tell you what, I’ll think about it and I might take you up on your offer,” he chuckles. He’s mostly kidding, but part of him thinks it might be harder to wake up terrified of his god if Jester’s mark is all around his bedroom when he does.

He waves a quick goodbye and makes his way out of the room. As he opens the door, Jester calls for him one more time.

“Fjord!”

He turns around to look at her. She’s standing in the middle of the room as if she’d been about to follow him out and stopped midway through.

“Everything will be alright,” she says, “I promise.”

She gives him a reassuring smile. Fjord takes it all in, the sunflower-yellow smudge across her left cheek, the confidence in her voice, the brightness of the room bathing her with sunlight, and he believes her. The horror clawing at his heart disappears like the shadows of the Xhorhasian eternal night did this morning under the power of the sun. It feels like he’s filled with clear blue skies and hope again. He trusts Jester Lavorre more than anyone in this world, after all. If she says things will turn out okay, he believes her wholeheartedly.

#fjorester #critical role #fjord #jester lavorre #sofia's nonsense #cr spoilers

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gold-from-straw · 6 years ago

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Spectres - ch7

Loki brings everyone back to his cavern, and Tony starts trying to heal Barnes... until they're interrupted.

THANK YOU SO MUCH to all of you who’ve supported this story, it’s completely insane and I’ve had SO MUCH fun writing it! Special thanks to @salamanderink who prompted it in the first place over a year ago oops!

Read from the beginning on AO3 if you like!

Tony was getting used to travelling by Spectre teleportation. He only had to gulp air three or four times before he was able to take in the scene around him.

And what a scene it was. Loki’s cavern seemed larger, Tony thought as he looked around. Hela started dancing, shooting Spectral power at the roof so garlands of light hung themselves and cast a warm white glow. Jormungandr shifted into his human form as the last kid slipped off his back into Peter’s arms. “Injuries over here,” Jor called. “I can heal you.”

Loki nodded to him, the pride clear in his eyes. He lay Barnes on a table that rose out of the ground at his gesture. “I think,” he said, cocking his head to look at Barnes’ face, contorted in pain. “That you should heal him. He has had too much Spectral interference.”

Tony nodded, and took a deep breath. “Healing’s not much my thing,” he admitted.

Loki smiled softly, his bone mask turning to mist and floating away. “I have faith.”

Tony looked down to hide his smile, and cast a diagnostic spell over him. “OK, so he’s got a bunch of broken ribs, a - jeez, a skull fracture, bruised kidneys and a fuck-ton of scars.” He breathed deeply again and rubbed his hands together.

“Can I help?” asked Hela from right by his elbow.

Tony startled so hard he nearly yelped. “Holy sh- uh, yeah, OK, kid.” He glanced at Loki. “You can’t use your magic, but you can fetch and carry, yeah?” She nodded, a wide grin spreading over her sweet little face. Really, the moving wounds weren’t that creepy, not when you knew what a cutie she was.

Tony laid out herbs and stones from his pockets, chatting constantly to her to keep himself calm and on target, telling her all about the associations and powers of all the ingredients. “Oh, here’s a piece of gold, huh, forgot I had that. That’s for riches, obviously. Then linden root, for strength. And that’s pansy petals, they’re for premonition, but I don’t really like the way they feel, it’s not quite right, you know?” Hela smiled up at him and nodded. He grinned and patted her head. “Yeah, of course you know. Anyway, I’ll work out what to do with them some day, but we definitely don’t need them for this.” He took another deep breath. “Right, pass me the weeping moss, the willowbark and the bloodstone.”

She passed him two tupperware pots and a small earthenware jar and he set about mixing a pinch of this, a dash of that, following the tug in his fingers that took him to the next right thing.

“What about this?” she asked, holding out a slim root.

He spared her a quick glance, still mixing the reagents, golden sparks flying up as his mortar struck. “What about that?”

“Linden root,” she said. “You said it was good for strength and bones are the strong parts of a human, are they not? We do need to fix the bones, right?”

He blinked down at her, a slow grin spreading over his face. “Hey, Pete! You’ve got competition for apprentice duties!”

Peter grinned and used his Spectral powers to thunk Tony in the back of the head. Tony flipped him the bird and took the linden root. “I think this is just what we’ll need,” he said to Hela, who grinned so hard her eyes almost closed.

The linden root started hissing as soon as Tony crushed it, and white smoke poured from the mixture. Tony held it over Barnes’ face, blowing gently so the smoke coated him, clinging to his skin in certain places, sliding off him in others. He started moving slowly downwards, rationing the potion so it could cover his whole body.

The first warning that something was wrong was Loki suddenly going rigid and turning, his bone mask appearing and his feather cloak rising into fierce wings. And then the room was full of roaring, raging Spectre.

“Leave him alone!” the very air screamed.

Tony dropped his mortar and pestle, hunching down and covering his ears, the terror vibrating in his very bones. He heard children all around him wailing in terror, but it was little Hela’s whimper that penetrated the fog of fear.

He forced himself up to stand, heart pounding, hands shaking. A great eagle Spectre slashed at Loki, whose raven form shrieked and whirled around him. Feathers filled the air, and as one of the ravens screamed and fell, turning to dust, Tony felt the fury fill him.

“Enough!” he roared, hurling a force bomb onto the floor between them. The powder inside the delicate glass vial blew everywhere, forcing all the Spectres nearby into their human form. Loki tumbled to the side, clutching at his arm, and Tony raced over to him, propping him up. “Are you OK?” he asked, voice low. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do, are you--”

“I’m fine,” he said, voice strained. “It was the best…” he trailed off, frowning. “Is that not…”

Tony turned and stared at the furious human-form Spectre, crouching on the floor. “Steve Rogers?” he gaped.

“Give him back,” Rogers snarled, his face nothing like the wholesome, blue-eyed human form he showed to the public. “What are you doing to him? Give him back!”

Tony blinked, then looked at Romanov. “What?”

“Why have you got Barnes?” she asked, her eyes darting around the room, always gathering data.

“Uh, because we found him? He was… well, he was kinda acting as a jailer for these kids. We got into a fight, but Loki pulled all Hydra’s soul away from him so he’s got his own mind back, at least, and then I was using linden root which was Hela’s idea really, but it was a good one, and--”

“Stark,” Romanov said, frowning. “Shut up. Wait. You found him?”

“Where was he?” Rogers demanded, standing straight, surging forwards, stopping as Loki rose, snarling in front of him.

“Steve?” croaked a voice. Tony turned to see Barnes pushing himself up.

“Hey, no, wait, I haven’t finished healing you, I--” But Hela stood behind, waving, the mortar and pestle in her hands. “Huh,” Tony said. “That… that actually shouldn’t work without a Monk…”

“Bucky?” Rogers said, and Tony’s head whipped back, because that… he’d never heard Rogers sound so small, so lost. His mouth was hanging open, his entire soul visibly pulled towards Barnes.

Barnes climbed, wincing, off the table, and Rogers rushed towards him, catching him as he stumbled, his hands cupping his face like he was looking at a religious relic. “You’re here,” Rogers said, barely audible. “You’re really here, Buck… everyone thought you were gone, but I wouldn’t… I couldn’t believe it, I would have felt it… the world… life wouldn’t have been worth living.”

“Wait,” said Tony, gaping. “You know Barnes? Like… the Howling Bucky Barnes?”

Rogers didn’t even look at him, but as Tony watched he shifted into another form, a muscular blonde man, vast shoulders and a blue and red suit. “You’re Captain America?” Tony squeaked. “You didn’t… but you’re a Spectre! Captain America was a Monk, he and Barnes, they were The monks!”

“That’s what everyone had to believe,” Barnes said, his eyes still fixed on Rogers, his hand clinging to Rogers’ hip. “There was a war on, people wouldn’t have accepted a Spectre in their ranks.”

“The world’s different now, Buck,” Rogers said, stroking Barnes’ hair back from his face. “Spectres, Monks and baseline humans, we all live and work together… there’s still a bit of bad blood with the Monks but… we can…” he gulped. “We can be together, if you… if you still--”

“Oh god, Steve,” Barnes said, pressing closer, tears leaking from his eyes as they fluttered shut. “I was trapped in my own head, watching my body do all these terrible things, I never dreamed… I never even hoped I’d find you again.” He whimpered and pulled back. “I’ve done terrible things, Steve, I’ve… you won’t want me, not like--”

But Rogers held his face in both hands and kissed him. Barnes melted into the kiss, pressing closer, wrapping his arm tightly around Rogers’ back and clenching his fingers into the fabric over his back.

“Well,” said a voice in Tony’s ear, and he looked up to see Loki smiling down at him. “Perhaps we are not quite so strange. A Monk and a Spectre together?”

Tony looked around at the abandoned human children being comforted by the young Spectres. At the Spectre child poking around Tony’s Monk equipment. At the young Monk, his soul fused with that of a Spectre, learning the Spectral healing methods, and teaching some Monk methods to anyone who’d listen. He looked at the Spectre standing at his own shoulder and leaned up to kiss him.

“What about the Hydra?” he asked, leaning against Loki’s chest as the kiss broke.

Loki wrapped his arms around his back. “You cannot kill it,” he said. “It is a mindless decomposer, as long as there are those who allow their souls to die in their own living bodies, it will thrive. There is still work to do, though. The Hydra would not think to capture children, to fuse humans with its own soul.”

“Yeah, honestly that sounds a human thing to do,” Tony admitted. “Trying to get Spectral powers without the work that goes into becoming a Monk.”

“There have always been those who worship power, in all its forms,” Loki nodded.

Tony sighed and leaned into Loki, watching Barnes and Rogers reunite, Romanoff joining Jormungandr and Peter, Teddy hover by Billy as he stretched his healed ills. “We’ll fight, then,” Tony said. “But for now, we’ve got a lot of kids to look after.”

Loki looked at him, his head cocked to one side. Tony rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t look like that. It’s your fault. You called them my children. ‘What becomes of the children, Monk?’” he said, mimicking Loki’s voice.

Loki grinned, bent down and kissed him again. Tony smiled into the kiss, and felt his heart glow.

That’s it!! It’s all finished ;_; Thank you so much to everyone who supported this <3 Tagging everyone who interacted with the last chapter! @theonewhowandered01, @redramzi, @the-smoke-machine, @zanydragonshepherddean, @glitternotgold73, @kit-kat57, @aformingsiren, @kalimav6, @letitdevour, @averageotaku, @dracusfyre, @frost-iron, @mxvampirepunk <3

#My writing #Spectres #frostiron #loki #tony stark #stucky #steve x bucky #irondad and spiderson #peter parker #magic AU #loki's kids #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers

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mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 3 years ago

Note

It is never quiet around him. There are always voices, whispers, screams - and Lan Wangji is fine with them. Welcomes them. They are better than silence. He's had enough of it in that cave, breaths away from Wei Ying's body, watching the last embers of life fade away from his hauntingly beautiful eyes, feeling the heat escape from his body. Wei Ying hadn't cried, he'd smiled painfully at Lan Wangji and apologized before he went still and quiet and unresponsive. Wangji had wanted to scream back then, but he couldn't, he had to be silent, or the monster would awaken and kill him too.

He had wanted it to, almost - but he promised Wei Ying he wouldn't. In the few hours before death filled his veins, Wei Ying had made Wangji promise, otherwise Wei Ying said he would never rest peacefully.

And so, Wangji kept quiet, held Wei Ying like he was still there- like he should have done when Wei Ying was still there - and waited.

And when the silence rang too harshly in his ears, he would hum a song.

The song he played for Wei Ying.

Wangxian, he named it then.

They came after three days. Wangji didn't know if he wanted them to, he would have been fine spending eternity with Wei Ying there - but they came to take them away and there were tears and screams and questions Wangji couldn't hear, nor could he care to.

But they tried to take Wei Ying away, they said he was gone, lifeless, beginning to decompose - and Wangji wouldn't let them. His hands wouldn't budge, like he had melted into his beloved's body, never to be separated again - and they had to knock him out to take him and Wei Ying out of the cave.

Wangji doesn't remember much from the time after, just that they wouldn't leave him alone at all. There was war, and it took long to win - Wangji had not been allowed to fight much (not after what had come of Wen Chao, Wen Zhuliu and Wang Lingjao, little more than piles of bloody flesh after Wangji had finished with them), instead being involved in other things, including the budding plans to restore the burnt Lan library.

And that is where he found those books. There were songs for everything, like qi deviations or mind control - which Wangji had found uninteresting and distasteful - however, there was one melody that caught his eye. A song to bring the dead back to life.

Months of numbness had vanished into something almost like excitement. Wangji knew what he had to do now.

He needed to find a willing participant, draw a special array with his blood and learn how to play the revival song on his guqin.

The war ended, and Wangji fled the Cloud Recesses to do just that.

They would come after him, so he hid in the Burial Mounds in Yiling, where he knew few dared to enter. He spent days and nights studying the song and the ritual, observing all sorts of peculiar things and fixing them, honing the ritual to perfection.

He needed volunteers.

The first one had been Wen Ning. The Dafan Wen had sought Wangji's help, and, sensing the opportunity to test the ritual, Wangji had agreed. He had stopped caring about what the rest of the world had to say and didn't care about the opprobrium.

Regardless. Wen Ning hadn't been a well-suited candidate, and he died before the ritual was completed. Wangji had tried to summon his soul back into his body with near-success, but what resulted was Wen Ning turning into some form of sentient corpse and not reviving as Wangji had wanted.

Anyway, there was no more room for experimentation because the cultivators had decided to storm the Burial Mounds and kill the remaining Wens - a result of some Jin machinations to cover up their shadiness.

Wangji didn't stay to defend them. He had to yet bring Wei Ying back, not to mention he did not want to be taken back into the Cloud Recesses either.

And so, he fled, again.

For thirteen years, Wangji experimented. It was hard to find willing participants - or at least manipulate them into consenting anyway (the text had emphasized the need for the receiving body's consent, unfortunately) - or their bodies were unable to take the strain... but most often, Wei Ying's soul never responded.

There had to be something wrong with the ritual, then. Or maybe Wangji had learned the song wrong. Or he needed to work on it more.

Wangji had stopped searching for sacrifices for some time to do just that.

And then he met Mo Xuanyu.

He looked so much like Wei Ying that Wangji had to do a double-take. Of course, he wore some outlandish makeup, but Wangji could see his features underneath anyway - and he was beautiful.

He was beautiful like Wei Ying used to be.

Wangji had bought Mo Xuanyu a drink, or two, or ten, asked him if he wanted to do the ritual - and Mo Xuanyu had said yes (it doesn't matter that Wangji asked him in a backhanded, double entendre way and Mo Xuanyu had probably thought Wangji was asking about... something else).

And then, after Mo Xuanyu had screamed and begged and cried himself to death until his soul was expelled - the eyes that opened were no longer Mo Xuanyu's.

But instead of being happy, grateful - Wei Ying looked horrified around the room, with blood painting the floor, in a new body that still ached in an awful, unfamiliar way, with Lan Zhan smiling a lovesick but wicked smile at him.

"Lan...Lan Zhan... what-what did you do? What's going on here?"

Wangji had not responded, instead enveloping his long lost love in a tight embrace. "Never leave again."

And Wei Ying had a feeling he wouldn't, even if tried.

LWJ who is the only one who leaves the Xuanwu cave alive and he can't be pried from WWX's body. He either

a) goes catatonic (who can blame him, he was stuck in a cave with the body of his dead crush/love for days, but he truly is a jade statue now)

b) quietly, calmly vows not to rest until WWX's ancestral tablet is drenched in the blood of his killers and he can lay the heads of Wen Chao, Wang Lingjiao, and Wen Zhuliu in front of it in offering. Whether the Dafan Wens are fully exempt is... a question. He may or may not ghost-marry WWX. He succeeds, but by the end of it he's covered in so much blood he's no longer the LWJ that WWX loved.

c) somehow brings back WWX as basically a puppet. Remember, WWX was the one to invent fierce corpses with sentience, to invent the soul-summoning technique. LWJ isn't quite at that level of creativity, but this is enough for him. Doesn't matter that it's just his body, his face. He can pretend.

D) All of the above because I love some dark LWJ :)

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #long post #writing attempts #sorry if the writing is shitty #but i loved this idea

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sunset-wishes-upon-hill · 7 years ago

Text

Name (Kuroshitsuji - Sebastian x Yuri) (Christmas one-shot)

Spin-off to The Liars and The Soothsayer: FF I Wattpad

The whole London was cloaked in pure white, excitement tangible in the air as the Christmas bell rang throughout the bustling, crowded city street. The smell of the turkey, trimmings and sweet desserts lingered in the air. Eager children accompanied their parents, wrapped presents held under their arms. London thrived in festive mood; the usually dark, grey city has never been livelier and more colourful.

He’s unnerved, Yuri noted scrutinising his stiff, mechanical movements shifting through the company documents that needed to be approved and signed. She wanted to believe he was simply stressed and exhausted by the sheer workload he had to inspect and review – after all, no company will be more busier than a toy company during Christmas. Despite her own logical speculation, certain part of her nagging mind was prompting otherwise. Even with the lavishly decorated Christmas tree, umpteen wrapped gifts of all size and shapes, and the ménage’s anticipation of year’s end and start of brand new beginning, the air he carried was awful, tense and full of resentment.

21st century London never snowed. The wintery scenes was breathtakingly beautiful; she imagined filling the frozen pond with skating woodland creatures, a magical winter ball with dancing mice and a sleigh ride with polar bears. Everything that made Christmas the magical day people made it out to be seemed to be there. It was the first time Christmas day felt like Christmas rather than just a 25th December on the calendar. Had she been back in her time, she wouldn’t have been able to spend it the way she would have liked. Christmas weeks paid double the amount than she received and it was money she couldn’t afford to pass her and that went for her mum too. Christmas was never a special day for her. There was no gift exchanged, no putting up Christmas tree, no Christmas dinner except for maybe a nice dessert she might splash out on – it was always a 25th December.

“You’ll catch a cold.” A voice said beside her.

Yuri jumped, startled by Sebastian’s sudden appearance. She hadn’t heard him approach. His eyes remained on her bare feet, part submerged in the snow.

“I always wanted to do this.” She sheepishly admitted. How comical it must be for a nearly adult woman wanting to do something as childish as going bare foot in snow.

“Is this…beautiful to you?” He suddenly asked to her surprise.

“Yes. I don’t see snow often.” She said, “You don’t think so?”

“I’ve seen countless snows in my lifetime. In the end, it will melt and change into dirty mud; what’s so beautiful about it?” Sebastian stated, watching the tiny snowflakes fall and seep into the mass on the ground.

That was then she decided to turn her gaze to him. Her reflection held in his dark, pitless eyes yet she wondered if he truly were looking at her. He breathed, moved, bled and his heart beat in his chest like her and many would, without suspicion, accept him as anything but a man. His character as a butler was flawless – perfect, deserving of standing ovation, although his façade as a man was horribly inept and forced. His speech, truly appropriate in any given situations; gestures that would label him as ideal gentleman of the era turned into a fiasco by his mismatching expressions and stoic tone as though an actor impeccably reciting a script and simply believing it was good enough without understanding the power of words weren’t a straightforward notion of conveying those words in the right time and place and the people.

He reminded her of a child. A baby. A tabula rasa*. Experienced and inexperienced. Knew and not understood. Alive but not lived.

“For someone who’s been alive for a long time, experienced and witnessed things beyond what anyone could imagine – none of it was ever reflected in your eyes.” Yuri summed. A semi chastise and semi disappointment.

She didn’t know what to feel for this..man. This demon. It was likely he won’t see her reason for sadness, this empathetic pity. He won’t understand why she spoke of it as if he was missing something as vital as his life and he was blind to it. He won’t know why the snow should be beautiful. Why his privation was something to be so heart-rending. But that’s why it was so tragic, wasn’t it? A man could have a taste of something blissful and lose it and be equally tragic. What soothed it was the fact he knew it was tragic and would probably try to gain it back somehow whether it was through revenge or forgiveness. The man who never had it and could not see his own tragic existence, would always feel empty, she supposed. Always thirsty and hungry for something they could not fill with tedious things like money.

“Dirty things can be beautiful.” Yuri told him.

“…Then do you think I’m beautiful?” He cautiously asked her. The question surprised her. Surprised him. An impromptu. He was rarely so impulsive. More so on seeking out others’ sentiment of him. He has never once cared for such trivial sort.

“You think you’re ugly?” Yuri blinked, unable to understand how someone who could clearly distinguish and know – at least – physical aesthetic would consider himself unsightly.

“My original form is hideous.” He revealed blatantly, his voice flat as though he was reading out a list on the menu.

“I think you’re alright.” Yuri said after a thoughtful pause.

Darkness. The white world defiled in suffocating, icy darkness. She could feel something crawling on her skin. Underneath it. The spine chilling sound vibrated in the air; sound of million insects chewing at her skin, bones and flesh and quivering their wings. There was no pain yet she couldn’t help but scratch and claw her body to thwart it off her. Her mouth gaped in silent scream. She could imagine beetles and maggots chewing down her body, magnified chittery background grinding, merging into a drone that rose and fell.

A footstep. The staccato beat of heel echoing in the darkness to the rhythm of insects buzz. It was accompanied by a foul, rotting smell that made her want to retch. Something was decomposing. She couldn’t quite describe what she saw of Sebastian’s true form.

Black feathers. Nails like eagles talons. Glowing red eyes. Cold. So cold. So so cold. A living decay.

She was not so naïve to believe in the romanticised vision of demons as some tragically beautiful fallen angels – if Sebastian were even an angel in the first place. After all, the belief fall from grace could be, even at slightest, merciful as to spare angelic beauty was almost laughable; the fall signified shame and perversion of something so sacred and holy, one could only imagine how hideous to see it tainted.

White returned with her voice. Numbing coldness crept up from her bare feet, purple patches forming. She could breathe again. He smelled sweet again. He was beautiful. The only colour in the colourless.

He had given her a glimpse of his true self. The grotesque freak in a circus show behind the glitzy glamorous mask he donned. But just as he intended, this had been a scant coup d'œil. He wanted her to know, if he was dreadfully abhorrent even from this short brief moment, how disgusting would he be wholly bared to the world.

But at least…at least..at the very least, you don’t do what he does. She couldn’t help but ponder. To her, the true demon in her life was her father. He had stolen from her. Her money. Her life. A loving family. Her chance of being a normal teenage girl. Fucked her up.

“..I’ve seen worse.”

Sebastian face remained vacant, emotionless. Her word didn’t seem to have any impact on his belief. He wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t understand the working of her thought. It didn’t matter anyway.

Sebastian, unmoving for a minute then strode across, closing the distance she had made between them before swooping her up to his body. One arm on her back, another underneath the crook of her knees.

“You’re feet are blue.” He commented, nodding toward her exposed legs that had now turned cyanotic from cold. His body radiated usual warmth she didn’t expect.

“You’re really warm for a demon, well at least when you look human.” She noted. His body temperature was higher than an average human, almost feverish to touch, while she was always cold. She liked that about him – the ironic warmth that emitted from the demon.

Something shuffled in her chest, the abrupt movement startling the pair from the serene silence stretched between them. It bopped up and down, slinking up her body before the mystery mound popped out from her décolletage and made itself known to the curious demon.

Its large, sharp eyes blinked up to Sebastian’s stunned gaze and let out a piping meow.

“Oh, seems like she’s not cold anymore.” Yuri smiled, stroking its small head.

Looking up to see his response, she was pleasantly surprised by the red hues in his cheeks as he regarded the tiny little kitten. Who knew a demon had a soft spot for a cat?

“I found her shivering in the snow without its mother around so I think she was abandoned.” Yuri said sadly, “Do you like cats?”

“Yes, I think they are the most beautiful creatures on Earth.” He said with adoration.

“Does Hell have…well animals?”

“We have creatures kept as pets but..” Sebastian hummed, “They are not as..pleasant.”

“How do they look like?” Yuri asked and the more she listened to Sebastian’s in-depth description of the so-called pets, she couldn’t help but imagine the very alien from the movie. She reckoned it was equivalent to a dangerous exotic pet people kept either as living exhibition or status symbol.

They arrived inside the manor and he gently released her from his hold. Yuri quickly caught the kitten before it slipped down her dress.

Stretching out her kitten held arms to him, she offered, “..Do you want to name her?”

Her little trifling suggestion thrown off his guard, while the kitten’s innocent, twinkling eyes stared, waiting.

“You’ve not named her.”

She nodded, “I’ve only just found her. Besides, I’m terrible with names.”

“I’ve never named anything before.” He muttered, perplexed.

“How come?” Yuri frowned, puzzled as to why someone, who lived as long as he did, never came across an opportunity to name anything.

And even he, rare as it may be, seemed at lost in moment such as this. How laughable it was to be dumbstruck to such petty question yet it seemed more baffling than any questions or tasks he had been given in his years of servitude.

“They were the ones who have named me.” He revealed, “And neither of us cared little for other things than what they desired.”

“Ah…” Yuri realised. He was just like a baby. “Then…think of it as a Christmas gift from me. I wasn’t sure what a demon would want for Christmas present seeing you lived for a long time but I guess this is perfect – something you never had.”

He was silent, eyes darting back and forth between the kitten and her, all the while his face never betraying his thought.

“Yuri.”

“Yeah?”

“The kitten’s name is Yuri.”

She stared at him, agape, bewildered by his choice of name. “Are you serious?! Should I bring out a name dictionary? Does the library even have that kind of book?”

“I think it’s a beautiful name.”

Yuri bit down her lip to hold a grin from spreading, albeit horribly and instead forming a crooked smile.

“It’s an alright name,” She shrugged, “But really? Out of all names in the world, you choose that?”

He took the kitten into his arm, holding it close to his chest and cooed, “You like that name, don’t you?”

The kitten meowed in response, receiving a tickle under the chin as reward.

“Gee..and I thought I was terrible with names.”

“Unfortunately, so am I.”

“I can see that.” Yuri grinned, “Merry Christmas, Sebastian.”

“Merry Christmas.” He returned then added, “Yuri.”

The kitten purred, snuggling into Sebastian’s warmth.

*tabula rasa- an absence of preconceived ideas or predetermined goals; a clean slate.

#sebastian michaelis #sebastian x yuri #sebastian michaelis x yuri park #kuroshitsuji fanfiction #kuroshitsuji #black butler #black butler fanfiction

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charliewykes · 8 years ago

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plastique decadence

Stress decomposed To beauty marks Upon the skin. When does it begin? Where? If any place at all Falling apart Were the next of kin. News pressed the chosen few Structured with authentic steel Meant for blunt protection Advertising dancers in pairs Endearing each other for hours Breaking and entering For a deeper connection Combine the two Conception or resurrection? Passionate to their knees Lacking proper contraception He strove for some affection. Newspapers unevenly lined Dry on glossy paper Printed with big lipped images He touched them With yearning when Sunday came And he didn’t want to touch her at all. Conscious of her assumptions He went with presumptions Tied up in leather shoes Bound to be the frozen man With frozen feet He never got up To make her anything Starved from his words That were starved of meaning She still served him However she could. "Take me!" Said the boundless child Religion set in digital Locked into their cathedrals Fit for acceptable usage No longer accepting the abuse They had long been receiving. Hot on paper Wet in the mouth Satisfied appetites were met With melted cheese bitten Off dried yellow paper. He swallowed it anyways. Wet lips and smooth skin Lathered up with recycled paper Placing his hands on protective glass Reaching for brightly colored food Cannibals going out to dine Chewing off meat with quiet dedication While staring at brightly colored toys From old man's past as a boy His son wouldn’t last Would he? Plastic decadence was the root Canal of his mass-produced crown Rotting slowly to be replaced From newly invented plastic All sold as ‘all-natural’

#scribbling #spilled ink #spilled thoughts #poets on tumblr #rejectscorner #lit #alt lit #creative #creative writing #creative thoughts #poems #poetry

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rosengoddess · 8 years ago

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Life

To: @star-tear

MERRY CHRISTMAS STAR-SENSEI ! Like the star that you are, gracing me with your divine presence, I offer you this on this wondrous christmas day and may you enjoy this supposed fluff that I made. Or at least I think It’s fluff... I tried.

Regardless, ENJOY~

Do you ever sit before a laptop or a computer, eyes straining as your eyes stay glued to the screen even as the sun rises and falls behind you, as the night shrouds the city in its dark embrace, as the cold sent chills up your bone? He used to endure that but he doesn’t now.

Do you ever just stare up at the sky, watching clouds drift pass and as the sun slowly move five centimetres per second, almost like a snail whilst the season’s breeze rushes pass and cools you even for a moment? He used to do it but now, he has someone to accompany him.

Do you ever look at someone in the eye and see life brimming and bubbling; choking in its own dark shadows before it slowly dies out? He used to watch those eyes with disgust but now, it is the norm.

This was his life, a little mirror of reality in another mirror called virtual fantasy, where what he sees is just a figment of his imagination. Nothing is real, at least that is what he thinks, nothing is reality and nothing can be called reality until it is proven. Everything he sees always fades, like fallen snow they melt into puddles of water before evaporating as if they were never there. One by one, people melty away like snow, they aren’t real, and they aren’t there. It takes a hundred seconds for him to imagine the others and another hundred for them to dissipate and disappear from sight, disappear from the mind.

Tender as the night may be, it is when demons come out to play, desperate to feast on people’s fears, their nightmares and guilt, eating them up from inside and through it all, they still live with those regrets, slowly rotting away. This fantasy, his virtual reality of his is his own prison, his cage of nightmares he had concocted to punish himself lest he makes any more mistakes than necessary. Amplified by the touches of the person he once knew and love, it is a dark forest where he is lost, where he knows he can never get out. Nor does he want to anyways.

The sky burns grey when he loses him, flames burning brighter than anything he has ever seen, lights flashing and sounds blaring yet it doesn’t concern him, he has been in far more dangerous situations but this memory of his takes him back to days he wishes to forget and to think, another scenario of similar likeness and appeared and chosen him as their little plaything to toy around and force him to play. He is twenty-three when he loses everything, glass shards breaking his heart and he bleeds from within, making his taste the bitterness he has tried so hard to keep away from ‘him’. He is like an apple, so delectably sweet, so perfect, and now he is black, rotten till no one recognises him, no one except him and perhaps his mentor who dotes on his so dearly.

It was a December as well, so close to Christmas and just when they were beginning to cement their relationship, years of bonds torn away at its roots but death once more. How ironic, is he doomed to suffer this till fate and destiny decides to release him from their grasps? What does he even have to offer any more?

He has esteem but not love within himself as he cradles that limp body in his arms as he did once ago, tears falling as floodgates open, as if it is raining and when it rains, it pours. Dear December, he cries, how can you be so cold. It soon becomes quiet as everything turns to ashes, thick smoke and dust, clouding the ground, the air and the two of them in their dark disgrace. It’s quiet when he looks up at the open sky, as the festival of stars that twinkles and shines. How many have died for so many stars to appear, how many have to die before everything would be resolved. He stares at one star alone, shining so bright like a silver lining, like the metaphorical light at the end of the tunnel. That must be ‘him’ who died so valiantly to protect, who sacrificed himself for all of this. What a pity he can’t join ‘him’ yet, not now at least. The most he can hope for is that ‘he’ would wait for him.

He doesn’t turn his eyes away, rather he can’t. From this mess, this chaotic mess bloomed beauty unimaginable for someone like him, something that would undoubtedly be tainted just like corruption taints and destroys everything it holds and touches, everything within it grasp dissipates like dust.

With the days gone by and those still yet to come, he endures year after year, season after seasons, two years of watching the sky, staring at computer screen and breathing in the death in the air without ‘him’. He could almost have told ‘him’ years back, shouting to the high heavens with all his voice had he chose to believe.

“A SPRING WITHOUT YOU IS COMING.”

Maybe then, there would be a slightly later chance of his survival, maybe then, he wouldn’t spend hours awake staring at the ceiling and watching as time ticked by. Insomnia didn’t keep him up anymore did his guilt did, living every waking moment with loneliness. Perhaps it is his just deserves his silent judgement. It is a still a hard knock life.

This is my haunted prison, my cage of torment, he reminds himself everyday yet he still finds himself crying for neither rhyme nor reason. He soon begins to understand what ‘he’ once meant when he said the less ‘he’ loved him, the more ‘he’ actually does.

Dear December, he finds himself saying, with your fallen snow, holly and mistletoe abound, why do you force me to celebrate such a festive season with the anniversary of a loved ones death. Memoria of the morte haunts him, like a swirling sea with its silent plea and all for what? For what exactly?

A book. A single book that should have been burned and tossed into the sea. It is that entire forsaken thing’s fault that his life is now a complete mess, a ruined piece of rubble, irreparable.

Sometimes, he tries to forget about of this, getting drunk and poisoned on a jug of moonshine, lost in a sea of haze and delusions, seeing what shouldn’t be there, seeing the smiling faces of the dead staring down at him, goading him to take their hands and follow. He wants to, he desperately wants to but he can’t. Every time he tries, they dissipate into mist at first touch. Even death doesn’t want him.

This just tells him something he should have known long ago, when he was tutored the three fundamental truth of life by his mentor.

Life. It is short, complicated and messy, there is nothing permanent about it, no matter how long someone or something may stay by your side, it will always fade away one day, gone with the wind like some dream, a fantasy or hope that every single human being tries to keep by their side till the day they die.

Death. It is almost permanent, it takes everyone one day without sound, without alarm. A silent killer who laughs and dances in puddles of tears, uncaring of the grieve it causes. Death are like the dead leaves of a plant, slowly rotting and decomposing, turning from vibrant green to brown and then, to black, curling before becoming something else entirely. That is death, nothing more or less to be said about it. A real pain in the ass. At least, the only beauty in it is the red spider lilies that accompany a person to death. Lycoris Radiata.

Reality. Reality is not real, free will is an illusion, everything you see or hear is a fantastical fantasy that your mind dreams up to perceive the heinous sins being committed, to safeguard the naïve and weak from the harshness of truly living. There is no reality, never has been. He knows that too well by now, it haunts him after all.

Beneath the bereavement that clouds his eyes and mind, beneath those amber eyes and burned into his retinas is the scene that he will remember evermore, a scene of ‘him’ plucking a flower, a thoughtful gaze in his eyes as he murmurs, voice sweet like an intoxicating melody as he breathed.

“Mysotis Arvensis, forget-me-not. A beauty with a dreadful tale by its side.”

Did he know, was that a clue? A hint? Foreshadowing his potential death. Did he know all along yet was too soft-hearted to tell him? That thought broke him more than any memory could. Was he so weak that ‘he’ would do this? It just hurt him more than anything. A hidden truth hurts more than a spoken truth; it was akin to a lie. There was no second chance to give, not that he can give if he could. He was long dead, leaving him behind.

An Encounter that seared itself in his heart, how dearly he missed the life they once shared, under a bed of camellias he may sleep, to hell with any character development fostered between them. Slowly he smiles, a broken gaze in his eyes and he looks up at the twinkling stars once more, body tilting as air rushes up against him, a single words on his lips as he knows, he will finally be free.

A single word.

Goodbye.

This was a fortunate stroke of serendipity that would finally bring him to where he truly belongs. Luck finally looks upon him favourably. To ‘his’ side.

#Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #Bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanfic #dachuu #skk #soukoku

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fruityfang · 8 years ago

Text

Fang

chapter six.

witch pulls the trigger.

trigger warnings: graphic descriptions of gore

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

“He’s truly the love of my life.” She sighs happily. “Mercy’s eyes, I have never loved another like I loved him.” Steaming tea falls from the teapot’s nose, she fills two cups up to the top. “He’s the love of my life.” Alyson repeats. “Next to Gale of course. But, Gale two things that made me love him. This blood of a god, and little Elisif.”

She sets the white cups painted with silver leaves on a silver platter and walks out to the livingroom, setting the platter down on the table that sat in the middle of two couches. “Little Elisif…” Her hands clasp over her heart, squeezing as she fondly spoke of her baby. “She was such a perfect baby. Never cried, always slept on time, she was perfect. She looked so much like Gale, which made her perfect.” At the time.

Her guest sits there. “But of course… nothing that is mine ever stays mine.” Alyson’s smile suddenly wiped off her face, she sighed and looked to the mirror on the wall. Her smile fades. “Elisif had disappeared one night while the two of us slept, the next day I found her pink blanket painted with blood splatters staining it.

Where is she?

Did Gale come get her?

Did he live?

Did a hunter come and kill her?

Her thoughts are silenced when a sound of rustling bushes intrude them. She disappears in a flash and climbs a tree within a second, kneeling on a branch as she examines the forest floors.

The rustles continue,

And out pops a wolf, holding a pink blanket in between its teeth.

Without thinking, the young mother jumps down from the tree and in a flash, runs to the wolf, her hands grip its fur as she throws it down and yanks the blanket from its mouth. The wolf reacts with aggression and sinks both sets of its sharp teeth into her arm. A scream leaves her and she uses the inhumane strength she possessed and held the wolf up with one arm, throwing the wolf at a thick tree trunk. It whelps, then it stops.

She picks up the blanket, looks at it. It was Elisif’s, covered in splatters of blood and soaked with drool from that venomous creature.

Alyson brings her hand to her guest’s cheek and begins to let her fingers gently stroke over the boney surface. Alyson’s fingers stroke a cold land, as if they had been outside in the harsh winter cold for hours. “You never say anything, do you? Such a rude guest, no?” Still no response. “After all I’ve done for you… after all you’ve heard me speak of… you’re going to just ignore me?” Her patience wore thin, as a result she quickly grabs the cup, droplets of the hot tea splatter against the table and her arm. She turns the cup over, letting the scolding hot tea pour over her guest’s head.

No agonizing screams left, just further silence lingered. “I dig you from your grave… I give you a home and this is how you treat me.” The guest was pale, their teeth ripped viciously from the inside of their mouth, their skin slowly decomposing. Their casket was clearly an expensive one, a beautiful silver painted with white horizontal lines. “Fine, I’ll go see my other guest.”

Alyson drops the cup to the corpse’s lap and shoves their body against the couch in anger and strolls across the livingroom and down a long hallway that led to her bedroom. On the side wall was a silver door, that was sealed with a silver door. She put her hand on the gold painted knob and turned it, the darkness and coldness greet her as she into the dark. “Ah… mon lornas, I must’ve left you in here for so long.”

Sounds of protest came from her other “guest,” signaling they were alive. Alyson grins and places her hand over the tape covering her guest’s mouth. “I suppose I should take this off, you must have lots to say.” She hears a grunt of protest, shrugging as she rips off the tape over her guest’s mouth, she was rewarded with a small hiss of pain. “You could be fuckin’ gentle, psycho bitch.” Alyson giggles, and with amusement – shakes her head.

“Now, now…” Her tone was gentle, but behind it – a threat waiting to be acted on hid. Alyson places a hand on the hostage’s cheek, gently grazing her nail over the pale skin. “Do not be so hostile, mm? Why not simply cooperate, ma lornas?”

Lips pucker together, and spit flies on Alyson’s shirt. “I would not forget your place here, scum.” Alyson bawls a fist in the angered hostage’s blonde hair and yanks it back, bending over to meet her face to face. “I could simply snap your neck right here, drown you in poisons that make you the most vulnerable, or I could simply harvest all of your organs as you are alive.” Shivers went down the hostage’s spine, legs almost on the brim of shaking. “I can watch you squirm as I drag your lungs out from out of your back, your ribs moving back, would you like that?” She speaks nonchalantly, beads of sweat form at the hostage’s forehead.

“I said,” Alyson yanks the blonde rougher then the first time. “Would you like that, Nyx?” Nyx shakes his head despite the tight grip Alyson has on his hair. “I don’t even know what you want.”

“Oh but I believe you do… Do you recall Whitebridge?”

Whitebridge… Whitebridge…. The name runs through Nyx’s head repeatedly, sounds of screams resurface, familiar voices, voices he wanted to escape.

The concrete rubs his head un-soothingly, not to comfort but to deliver ache.

Fingertips of a stranger melt into his skin like rocks into lava.

Bruises are birthed, grunts are heard, tears threaten to fall.

He remains quiet, does not want to give the bear more satisfaction then it has already ripping her body apart.

“Such a good little vampire.”

His head is shoved into a tub full of Alarna manipulated to be liquid. She screams while her head is held under the poison, only to be yanked out and shoved back after a quick, desperate inhale.

He gasps when his head is yanked out of the Alarna for the last time, sucking in as much air as he could and quickly exhaling.

Hands grab at the grass, one grabs a rock and grips it.

To prove he was here, to prove that this was not some nightmare cursed by Namira, it was indeed real and he was paying a price for something he had done.

“We will be heading back now.”

His head turns. Heavy bags from sleepless nights are evident, skin burnt and cuts blooming from his pale face, cheeks sunken in from the lack of blood.

“I will piss on your corpse when I fucking kill you.”

“The hell do you want to know about Whitebridge? You were never there.”

Alyson shakes her head.

“No, but Elise Fenedril was.”

Nyx’s eyebrow raises at the confession, Elise? The witch? What did this psycho want with her?

A soft yellow ghosts off the witch’s fingers, seeking the fresh scars that burnt into his face.

“This… may not heal all of it and for that I apologize-“

Eyes shoot open and he crawls into a lonely in the cell that was home.

“Don’t fucking come near me with that magic.” Those were the first clear words anyone had heard Nyx speak throughout the whole evening.

Elise looked at the wounded vampire with a worried look. “Close your fucking hand right now or I swear to Namira I will break it.” The threat was bold, convincing even. But anyone who saw Nyx’s current position knew he was in no position to act on the threat.

Even though Elise knew that, she still respected the demand and curled her fingers into a fist, closing her hand and the magic disappearing. “If that is what you want.”

“I know you were at Whitebridge, Nyx. I know you’re a terrible liar, so lets not try that.”

“I wasn’t going to try anything.”

“Good. So, tell me.”

Nyx raises an eyebrow. “Tell you what?”

“Tell me about Elise.”

“He’s been brutalized and you won’t heal him?”

“He doesn’t want to be healed.”

“You – you should still do it anyway.”

Elise scoffs. “Consent is one thing he doesn’t have outside of this cell, let him have it in here.”

Nyx shrugs. “She values basic humanity – wouldn’t heal me against my will even when my face was bashed in. If I said no, she understood.”

“So you’re telling me, she’s weak.”

Nyx raises a brow at the observation. “Weak? How did you get that from consent?”

“She backs down easily, crawls up into a little submissive ball. She’s afraid you’ll hurt her like the human hurt you. Consent has nothing to do with it.”

“My heart swells with the free show for amusement, but for the love of Mercy’s eyes – please, shut up.” Another prisoner groans, his body turns so his eyes flash at the others. as he turned his body, looking up at the window that was on the wall. “Have some compassion, Vincent, the man just had his face bashed in.”

“You want to have compassion in a place where that’s the bottom of their list?

Elise argues. “We lose that, are we really any better than any of them?” Vincent scoffs. “Not sure I’m using any of them for my own experiments.”

“Have you spoken to her since the days of Whitebridge?” The simple question had Nyx’s hands curling into fists. “No.”

“And why is that? You speak of her almost fondly.” He shakes his head and scoffs. “She was a cellmate and nothing more.”

“So tell me, why do you sound so bitter, Nyx?” She presses for details, leans her face closer to his. Her finger runs across his cheek gently. “Don’t think you are sly by keeping secrets.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Take it however you’d like, darling. Perhaps its just concern about your mental health, keeping a grudge is – very – unhealthy.”

“0009.” Elise lifts her head, yawning quietly as she sat up and let her body hit the concrete wall. “Yes?” Strands of dark brown hair that was cut all off a year ago stuck to the sweat that coated her forehead, there were no bags under her eyes. She looked ready for something – almost energetic.

“Her voice was zombie like.”

“Is it one you’ll never forget?”

“I don’t count on it.”

“Get up, 0009. You’re being transferred.”

Nyx’s head shot up, eyebrows raised at the sudden announcement. In Whitebridge, you were only transferred to one place –a professor far up north who would experiment on Supernatural creatures for five days, at the end – they’re begging for the professor to end their lives.

It was rare who would get transferred, Nyx found. The people who kept them captive here must’ve found something rare in Elise, but what? He thought.

She was a witch, that was all.

“She was transferred, to this professor.” Nyx shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. Didn’t see her ever again after that except for some quick glimpse.”

Alyson rose her brow. “A quick glimpse? When was this? When you escaped?”

Nyx shakes his head. “It was… when the prison came crumbling down, when they threw gas into the room I and others were being held in.”

“Why were you being held in there?”

“We were supposed to put on a show.”

Alyson cocks her head slightly. “I thought you were there to merely be experimented on.”

“We were.” Nyx confirms. “This show, was for us to be experimented on, fucked, anything they wanted to do with us. Many people have different desires, it was up to us to carry them out. We were artists, creating for the most demanding customers.”

Bodies fell, some stopped their rough pants – the gas had gotten to them before help could. Nyx covers his mouth with his hands – hesitating, because he hadn’t been instructed to. His eyes dart left to right, the people who had brutalized him for years now laid at his feet, coughing and struggling to breathe.

Not seeing his master or any of his ‘helpers,’ he stands there. His knees buckle and he falls to the floor. The gas makes his eyes burn and water. But he can’t move, he won’t move. Not until his master or any of his helpers approve.

He would die here, next to his master if that was what was commanded of him. A minute later, he feels a force against his face. It wasn’t a hand, more of an invisible mask. A tap on his shoulder, he turns his head – and the person standing there, his master.

His face is kind, a small smile pulls on his lips. “Go, run out of here while you can.”

“You’ll die here.”

“Yes, but you will not.” His hands rest at the sides of Nyx’s face. “Go, you have a choice now.”

Alyson shakes her head, laughing. “You said you saw a glimpse of her. Where was she?”

“I saw her in my master, the familiar kindness. The one who gave me a choice.” Alyson groans out of frustration and stands up. “So what, you haven’t seen her since she was transferred?”

“That’s right.”

Luciel shoves another fork full of spaghetti into his mouth, looking up when Jack chuckles. “You – look like somebody who’s having their first meal in a long time.”

“I’m starving.” Luciel admits. “I guess eating my ass wasn’t enough.” Jack sighs, shaking his head in fake disappointment. Then silently slurps his noodles when he hears Luciel choking on his water, followed by a nervous laughter. “I’m eating dinner!”

“Consider it payback. How does your headache feel?” Luciel fills his mouth with more spaghetti. He had ignored the intense headache that had him whimpering in a ball on his bed just an hour before. Now that he paid attention, his head had a feeling that it was floating almost. There was a small ache, not nearly as paralyzing as before.

“It’s fine.” He nods, smiling to assure his love that he was okay.

“You’re Vincent’s sister, aren’t you?”

Aria doesn’t answer, instead picks up a scrap from the plate and holds it in front of Nyx’s face. “Eat it.” Nyx sniffs, then shakes his head. “That’s chicken, I don’t hurt animals.”

Aria rolls her eyes. “Then you aren’t getting anything. What, you want a cabbage to eat?”

“Yep, Vincent’s sister all right. You have his sarcasm. Always wanted to punch his face in.” Seconds later an ache struck at his head and through his hair when his head was yanked by a strand of it. “Listen to me here, compare me to my brother one more time.”

Nyx’s curiosity grew. “Do I smell bad blood? What did your brother do?” She silently debates with herself, should she tell Nyx about the ruthless murder Vincent had committed that sent her in a spiral of a change she didn’t want. She debates telling him how she held her lover’s mud-covered corpse left to never be found against her chest. But she remains silent. “Because I am my own person. My brother is another.”

“Do you think you’re better than your brother?”

Ashes fly out the window, flowing through the wind to end up on the gravel road. Saine takes one final inhale then flicks the cigarette out the window. Smoke fills the backseat. Elise waves her hand in the smoke, sending it away from her. “I apologize.” Saine apologizes. Elise nods. “It’s okay.” She then turns her head, notices his pale skin was covered with more ink from the last time she had seen him.

“When did you get new tattoos?” She asks, his eyes flash towards his shoulder, awkwardly attempting to look at his neck. “Collected them over the years I guess.” He shrugs, Elise continues to look at them.

On his neck, was a skeleton that held a blanket close to its chest. A baby, she thought. Up his neck, closer to his jawline was a concept of what the Veleka used to be like – what they could be. Teeth turned to sharp fangs with two sets of mouths transformed from one, ears shoved back into their head, two eyes quadrupled. It sent fear down anyone who looked at his neck’s spines.

“You are admiring?”

“I enjoy artwork.”

“Do you have any tattoos of your own?” Elise hesitates for a moment, ponders whether to answer. Until she nods her head. “I have three, one I’ll never speak of, one on my hand and another I got while drunk.” Saine turns his head from the window, the wind blows through his long raven locks. “What’s the one on your hand?” The witch raises her left hand, raises her coat sleeve and Saine traces his finger over the small female symbol inked on the back of Elise’s hand, on the thread of skin between her thumb and index finger.

“This is small and simple.” Saine observes, eventually looks up and meets Elise’s eyes. “Forgive my dumb question – but what does it mean? I want to hear it from you.”

A smile pulls at the witch’s lips. “It’s to represent who I am and who I love. I’m a woman and proud, wasn’t born in the wrong body or anything. And I love women, if I were to settle down after all this shit, I’d want to be with a woman.” She finishes, the smile is still present. “Your turn.” She says softly.

“Tell me about the skeleton with the blanket, on your neck.”

Tension grows in the air – Saine gasps as softly as he could, pulls his hand away and shoves it in his pocket. “You would not wish to know.

So I do not wish to tell it.”

A sudden splash of black paints a peach painted wall, the black sizzles and leaves its mark upon the wall and pieces of the wall crumble from the wall and fall to the floor. “You need to work on your aim, you can’t allow the malika to overcome you. If you let it become you, then you aren’t any better than one of the cult witches.”

“The difference is, I’m not in a cult. I don’t believe in a god or some witch more powerful than us. I can do this.” The elderly woman, also known as her aunt just shook her head and showed a small smile. “Religion is what saved me after Genevieve died, Molly. Don’t be so quick to shut it out.” Molly’s head cocks slightly, a sudden pang of remorse hits her. “I…I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, lornas. It just increases my worry for you, that one day you may lose yourself or you’ll die.” Under her breath, she laughs nervously. “I’ll confess. I’m not sure which scares me more.”

“Both are terrible ways of living.” Molly confesses. “But if you die, you’re suddenly free from everything –“ Molly interrupts. “But if you’re free from bad things, you are also free from wonderful things. Things that outweigh the bad, Nova.” Nova chuckles softly. “And once again, you teach me lots about life.”

“Goodnight, Molly. I’ll be away in the morning – but I’ve left your spellbook out. I want you to master at least Flameyes and Flave today.”

Molly nods, a soft yawn crawls out of her mouth. “I’ll do my best.” Nova shakes her head, unimpressed with the answer. She brings her hand to the top of her niece’s head and she runs her fingers through the silver hair, then bends and presses a soft kiss in her hair. “No. You will succeed.”

A smile manipulates Molly’s lips. “I will succeed.” She promises.

“Good. It is a shame that Elise hasn’t been here to teach you though, have you heard from her at all?” The young witch shakes her head. “Whatever messages I get, you look at them.”

“I need to make sure nobody’s going to come after you, Molly.” Nova sighs, tired of the constant explanation. “I know.” Molly then shifts the subject. “Elise mentioned last lesson she had a personal emergency to deal with, I didn’t know if it’d take up our lessons but now – I assume it does.”

Nova nods. “Perfect.” Molly notes the sarcasm with the infamous eye roll.

“Stay here.” Elise instructs, giving Saine a hard look. It was familiar to him; the same one his father would give or one of his many instructors. He nods. “I’ll be here.”

“At this point, you don’t have a choice!”

“I have say of where my niece goes, and with who.”

The loud argument wakes Molly up, who slowly opens her eyes and yawns quietly. She listens for anymore arguing, in case it was a dream she had – but her suspicions were confirmed. Her aunt was arguing with a voice that sounded like Elise’s. The young witch sat up in her bed, and walked over to her door, leaning her ear against it.

“I’m sorry I missed this week’s lesson –“

“You should be! She’s at a critical period with her malika.”

“How do you mean?” Elise assumes it’s Nova’s paranoia once again. “Her magic has become more aggressive, she burnt a hole in the wall. It burnt her hand as well – completely, she claims it doesn’t hurt. Elise, its becoming aggressive but she isn’t becoming aggressive.” Molly’s eyebrow raise at the statement and she glances down to her hand, her hand was almost like ash – crumbs of skin would fall. It didn’t hurt, it truly didn’t.

“Let me have her. She will be safe with me, I can help control her magic. I will make her into an aggressive witch with aggressive powers to match.”

It might have sounded appealing for other witches who were eager to learn, but it made Molly’s stomach turn. She didn’t want to be aggressive, she wanted to be gentle and remain that way. “I will not have you turn my niece into a weapon just for your personal gain!”

“It wouldn’t be for my gain, it would be for hers. So, she could one day save her behind should she need it. If both of you ignore this, then she could slip into the malika’s conscious and it would possess her mind.”

Nova scoffs. “I wouldn’t allow that to happen, you know this.”

“And you know that this exactly the reason you were stripped of your powers, because you neglected to train them to match you. You neglected to train yourself to match them. You are walking down a dangerous path, Nova. But I can’t allow you to hurt Molly.”

That shuts her up, and Molly almost chokes on air from her tutor’s rebuttal. “You… Why should she come with you?”

Elise cuts to the chase. “I… There is somebody after me and my friend. They came into my building and slaughtered everybody, it won’t be long until they find out my association with Molly and come to harm her too.”

A loud laugh, Molly hears. “Amazing! And you’d like me to send my fucking niece with you? A target of some hit? Have you gone mad, Elise?”

“If you let her come with me I can teach her the violet arts which will protect her from present and future harms that come her way, I can promise that. But if you refuse, both of you will die and I can’t protect you from that.”

“No way with Mercy’s grace will I allow my niece to be in even more danger, and I cannot trust you with her life-“ Molly steps out of her room, walks down the hall and interrupts.

“Is Elise being truthful? Am I in danger?” Nervously, Nova laughs. She turns around to give her niece a comforting hug. “No, no, Elise was just leaving, dear. She’s – drunk, doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“We could all use a drink right now, but I’m soberer than ever.” Elise walks past Nova, goes closer to Molly. Nova’s hand clenches into a fist, a warning glare shoots from her eyes to the back of Elise’s head. “If you do not come with me, you will die within a week or less. I promise that.”

“I also promise to protect you if you come with me, to teach you the Violet arts, but you need to trust me.” Elise adds on.

Molly’s eyes widen at the blunt announcement – and the promises, she turns her head to her aunt who has disappeared.

“Aunt Nova?” She calls out, looking at the opposite side of the room. Elise shakes her head. “Nova –“ Nova’s presence interrupts her, in her hand she held a sharp knife and walks straight over to Elise.

Molly’s eyes widen. “Nova?! What are you doing?!” Elise stands there, looking at the knife then back to Nova. “I understand you’re upset, believe me I do. But –“

The paranoid aunt lifts the knife and brings it down – with intent to harm Elise, but she holds her arm out and the knife ends up slitting a long slit down her forearm. Ache runs through the witch, but she attempts to ignore it even with blood running down her skin. “You act on impulse; therefore, you wouldn’t be good at protecting Molly.”

Both Molly and Nova wore looks of shock. To them, if was as if Elise had been planning this. Nova exploding, her arm being cut open, her point being proven.

“I’ll take her now.”

Steam brews from two beige mugs. Vincent picks up one mug and sniffs. “Tea, hm. I was never really a tea kind of person.” He sits back. “What kind of person are you then? And be careful you don’t spill it, wouldn’t want to wreck your suit.” Vincent looks down at the white tuxedo that hugged his body, then his eyes dart glances around the large room. It was a ballroom. The vampire then shrugs. “I’m the type AB blood or alcohol kinda person.” A vision sits across from him, the same vision who has haunted his dreams for months now. It chuckles. “I’m not into blood or tea, I can hold alcohol well. I only drink tea because my best friend loves it, never see them without a cup of it.”

“My brother loved it too, not sure if the bastard still does or not-“

“He does.” The vision assures and sips the blueberry tea. Vincent can’t read it’s expression and sighs out of frustration. “And how do you know? Are you fucking my brother or something?”

It laughs. “No, No! No! He’s in love with my best friend, I saw him drinking it all the time when they were together. Vincent nods. “Savine, yeah I remember them. I didn’t think Ian was still alive though.”

“You don’t have much faith in your brother?” It’s curious.

Vincent shrugs. “Not sure if I want to, I know he’s smart as all hell. If he was normal, probably would’ve went to one of the best universities and graduated with honors or whatever that bullshit is.”

“Do you remember Savine?” It asks. Vincent nods. “I remember their mother more, what a huge bitch.”

“They still live together, Savine always keeps me away from there. Thinks I’ll end up like them.”

“They always had a habit of keeping everyone away, hell they were even convinced I was in danger.” Vincent snorts. “Tried to keep the bad vampire away from having his feelings hurt.”

“That just means they cared about you.” It assures. “Yeah, and I’m the queen of fuckin’ Pennel.”

“You guys were friends at one point-“ Vincent interrupts. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we are now. We stopped right before Ian’s great idea.” They both stay silent. “He was convinced it was for their own protection, puts all the blame on himself.”

Vincent rolls his eyes and replies with sarcasm. “Yes, because to protect someone from a blood thirsty abuser – you erase their memories of the only good thing that happened to them. That makes a lot of sense.”

“In a way, you guys kind of have something in common though. You tend to blame things that aren’t your fault onto you.” Vincent snorts. “You’re a funny little ghostie, the only thing I will take the blame for is the multiple dead bodies on the floor of Elise’s bar.” He stops and looks up at the blurry vision once more. “Who the hell even are you?”

“How come you wanna’ know?”

“I don’t like mysteries. I like knowing who I’m talking to.” It laughs again. “But you yourself are a mystery, and nobody ever knows who they’re speaking to when they talk to you.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m a bloody thirsty vampire who’s looking to kill to have an early dinner, not sure if I’d walk up to someone and be like “Hi, I’m Vincent Caslova and I’m going to seduce you, bite into your neck and suck you dry like a tampon sucks up blood. Nice to meet you.””

“Leave out the tampon bit! That’s –“

A loud crash wakes the sleeping vampire, his eyes slowly open and he yawns. Shaking his head, he sits up and heads downstairs, trying to forget the odd figure who haunted his dreams.

“…Disgusting.”

Saine scoffs. “Well, fuck you too then, princess.” Molly’s head shoots up and instantly has an apologetic look upon her face. “No, no – I didn’t mean you, sorry – I’m just talking to myself.”

Saine’s eyebrow raises at the explanation, turning his head away slowly. “Right…”

#original story #ocs #vampire #fang

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cosmosogler · 8 years ago

Text

last night i had a dumb dream. it made me really angry.

i was back in the theater i used to take acting classes in. we were putting on a production of... something i recognized that my sister had acted in the other year in college. except not only was i in the same theater from years ago, the dream couldn’t remember what time period it was taking place in. i often switched from being normal sized to small child proportions between scenes.

the beginning of the dream was on a road. i think i was at villanova but i’m not sure. i was singing a song but i had trouble remembering the words so i was just kinda half humming. people stared at me. i thiiiink the song was “worst day since yesterday” but the words were pretty garbled.

i ended up wandering into the theater. i don’t think there were any other buildings around it. i was very unhappy with the situation, considering they were asking me to play the narrator and i didn’t know anything about cabaret. that’s what the play was. a musical. it’s always a musical.

come to think of it, i don’t know if cabaret is even supposed to have a narrator. i really don’t know anything about it.

i was also supposed to sit on the stage with a bunch of toddlers in fancy doll dresses, except i was 24 and three times their size. and i was wearing an orange shirt and, i think, sweatpants, which i don’t usually wear. the point is that i was not dressed appropriately for the situation, as i did not expect to be thrown into a main role in a play with songs i knew nothing about when i wandered in to look at the theater.

also there were sprinklers installed in the ceiling and they would go off every few seconds and i got soaked and i could not figure out why they were there. i felt like i was covered in nickelodeon slime. eventually when nobody knew what was going on any more i went backstage and fell into a desolated resort thing with a buffet with the worst looking food i’ve ever seen. i’ve been there before, once or twice. i knew not to touch the salad bar. i felt bad though. there were people making, like, pot stickers behind a fogged-up bar and i was asking for vegetables and they did not speak english and i felt bad for hassling them and not knowing the local language.

describing the building is really hard. it’s, like, off-white, but made of adobe, which is not that color. there is what looks like it’s supposed to be a rainforest crowding around the walls and the courtyards, but it’s moldy and decomposed. you can only walk along the tops of the walls (not quite made into bridges, they really are just walls) to get between buildings. the buffet’s floor is covered in a layer of, bog? and it’s hot and humid and there are vines hanging from the ceiling, and all the bars at the buffet are fogged up and it’s hard to see what you’re trying to order or communicate with the chefs.

while i was making my way around the bar i stumbled into a car with a small child in the back. i noticed that the steering wheel was on the wrong side of the car. i don’t know how i got into the now-passenger seat when i got in from the other side. dreams, man. anyway i sat there uncomfortably, trying to figure out why the song on the radio was in english, when the mother of the child got into the car and looked at me. she was tall and dark and had the largest eyes i’ve ever seen. i stammered about trying to order food and the radio and she drove me in a lap around the buffet and then dropped me off right where i had fallen in. i scratched my head and went around to get a drink and saw some people i knew, but they weren’t looking at me.

i somehow ended up in my backyard. i started throwing up into the pool but it was just clear stuff like what the sprinklers at the beginning had spit out. it just kept going. when i closed my mouth it filled up my throat and choked me. there was something about the dogs... jim was on the patio and he grabbed me. i yanked my arm away and said “don’t touch me,” so he poked me, and i yelled. i got super mad and went inside, but instead of my house it was someone else’s house, and they were playing “mario kart.” (it was not mario kart, nor was it even my usual brand of dream mario kart.) after a really disorienting race i was looking at the results screen and i noticed it did not tell you what place you came in. it just eliminated the bottom three players and sent the other five to the next race.

but instead of a race it was the top of a building where it was snowing and dark. i was looking at a brightly-lit glass building on the nearby mountainside. the supply box next to us turned into a transformer and introduced itself and started telling us something. missiles launched out of the glass building and shattered the roof and flew toward us in a really unnatural way. the transformer turned into a shield and four of us jumped behind it and the person who didn’t get there in time melted in the explosion. the transformer was dead and we had no information so we ran into the building before the other missile could get to us. we were in a service hallway, and i found a little side room that had a microwave and was stuffed with doritos and cans of soup. the others were just standing around so i turned and tried to lock the door behind us. i was struggling with the lock and the door was rattling and there was something outside that was screaming.

and then i woke up startled with my ears ringing! then i got a charley horse. my alarm hadn’t gone off yet. i took a shower. i am super tired, and also angry about jim.

i don’t know if there was a point to me writing down this dream honestly. i don’t see a thematic thread linking them together other than that mood of dull confusion and frustration. i guess the point is to show that i still have these dreams? i’ve had dreams this long and weird since i was, i guess, 4. i don’t hate them, but i do wish i understood them better. and that they were less intensely negative.

my friends and doctors keep asking me if i want them to go away. and... that’s not what i want. i mean, sleeping would be awful boring if i didn’t have anything to look at. i don’t know if i can get what i want without also getting things i don’t want though.

jim always asked if i wanted to be different. he meant sexual orientation wise, but i thought about it a little more broadly. and... i don’t want to be different necessarily. i like the values i have and the things i want to work toward. what i want is to reach those goals and maybe refine myself. i don’t need a fundamental change in what i do or don’t find attractive (in life). i just need to, you know, learn to work with or around my depression. and continue trying to be less racist/ableist/etc and more understanding.

and i definitely do not want to not be asexual. i don’t know what i’d do with myself if i suddenly wasn’t.

#dreams #you dont need to read this really #it was just gonna bother me all day if i didnt write it down somewhere

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hannahallcrofthicks · 4 years ago

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FAS3001 resubmission blog only:

Beginning this module I was tasked with creating a look book, this is very important as even though I want to become a fashion designer, I should understand and have experience with trend forecasting and presentation.

What is a trend and what jobs are related?

A trend is a subject that is changing and developing into a direction (forward).

The role of a trend forecaster: Identifying and predicting trends and how they can change a certain industry along with analysing and collection of consumer data (purchases, searches and reviews). They use this for marketing purposes along with recommendations within the industry.

I have used the trend forecasting platform WGSN to pick a trend for my look book, my choice was Connected -Peak Performance-S/S 2022 womenswear. -Joining future technologies and past insights to create a united and more intelligent world.-

I decided to choose this concept as the pandemic is still a massive problem and the fact that people are fearing for their lives because of this, we are all effected and all have the same fear and responsibility to protect yourself and those around you. I want to look into the design and function of fashion to see if there is anything I can create or share that can help the prevention/protection from the virus.

Peak performance is the trend I will be focusing on, the concept is centred around the aftermath of the pandemic and the need for performance and protection. This would mean that lightweight silhouettes would be ideal with detachable accessories and full body protection will be integrated. Antimicrobial and thermoregulating fashion along with sustainability is also to be considered when thinking about protection. These are essential as we are in the middle of a pandemic, a deadly one. We need this protection, you need this protection.

My choice of colours that I will be mainly representing in this look book will be: Fiery orange, pink amethyst, black, turquoise tonic and rabbits paw brown. My reasons for choosing these colours is to represent the danger of this pandemic. The turquoise is to hint towards the hospitals that people have to check into because of the virus, the orange is to enhance the sense of danger that lingers in the air and the brown and black represents the death that has been spreading across the world. But the pink is there as a buffer to create a soothing and relaxing elemeent.

My choice of fabrics: PCM (phase-change material) would be really good to use as it allows the fabric to become thermo-regulating creating thermal energy storage and allowing the wearer to be comfortable in different environments. Dyeing fabrics can be done with bacteria, Faber Futures are developing a way in which bacteria (like streptomyces coelicolor) can be directly applied to the fabric reducing the amount of water needed (proven to reduce water use by 500x than with normal dyeing processes) and no chemicals are used. Mycelium textiles are also very good to be looking into, Aniela Haitink (founder of NEFFA) has developed a fabric that is grown from mycelia (roots of mushrooms). This not only skips the need for spinning yarn, weaving and cutting patterns which reduces waste, but, reduces waste of resources like water, land and transport. These fabrics don’t need to be thrown out either, all you need to do is just bury it and it decomposes. There is also insulation properties to this fabric along with being fire resistant and naturally anti-microbial and it’s even lightweight!

Juun j -fall /winter 2020. The use of leather and full body protection definitely influenced me with my designs and how I wanted integrated accessories like a face mask or gloves. The models almost look like martial arts masters and it made my mind think of protection and defensive qualities of clothes and how the body moves, making me consider 4-way stretch fabrics.

SWOTO- Mercedes-Benz fashion week. Protection and camouflage plays a big role in the designs within this show, motorcycle suits and jumpsuits look like that have been combined and it was an interesting concept to me. I also love the ‘stormtrooper’ type look that has been presented and I felt that it could be a very good way to incorporate lightweight frame with heavy duty protection.

Christopher raeburn - turning waste into fashion Raeburn produced a line of protective style clothing made from recycled materials and using that to help the advertisement of the products. Not only does the concept overlap with mine but the colours pallet also does, the collaborations with Timberland also made an impression on me. I thought the craftsmanship and aesthetic of this designers products are breathtaking and I was very influenced by him. However, I wanted a more feminine look so with my designs and look book I wanted a skintight yet defensive sort of vibe.

Sustainability: steps taken to try and avoid the depletion of natural resources and to maintain environmental balance for not only our generations but for the future as-well so they have the same opportunities and resources that we have. The three principles of sustainability are the economy (profit), society (people) and the environment (planet). However, interest in sustainable fashion is not as high as it needs to be. People opt for fast fashion and don’t really consider the lifespan or the environmental impact of these products. Manufacturers need to be ensuring that all parts of the production chain are in acceptable and fair working conditions, efforts need to be made to put a stop to sweatshops and unfair treatment of the workers. But this raises prices, and people aren’t quite ready to swap the cheap fast fashion with the more expensive sustainable fashion, even if the lifespan of the products last far longer. Social advertising could also be a way of improving sustainability by not using billboard advertisements or newspaper/magazine advertising. Recycled packaging should also be used as it can be recycled again and again eliminating the need for more unnecessary pollution.

Circular design is also a good way to help ensure that designs are as sustainable as they can be. There are four processes that go into circular design, Understanding: we must understand not only the consumer and their needs and wants but also the needs of the environment. Define: we need to define our wants and needs. What the designer wants and needs for the design, what the consumer wants and needs and the economical and environmental needs, we need to see what we can trade in and out in wants and needs to create the most sustainable product. Make: Ideas, designs and prototypes will be created in this section so that the designer can alter and change the product. And finally release: the product is released and this is where customer and business relationships can be built.

Evaluation: my look book is not the best, I wasn’t able to use InDesign which is a shame but I left it too late and realised that I couldn’t actually use it as the device I was supposed to use didn’t have a creative cloud downloaded and no room to download anything else anyway, however, this is now irrelevant. I messed up and left it too late but that’s what mental health can do. I try to push at the best work as I possibly can but I feel like my downfall is my mind, and this pandemic certainly doesn’t help. I chose to go the direction I did because I want us to be free, I want us to be able to use the amazing technologies and discoveries with one of the first things you see when you wake up, fashion. I want you all to know I tried, really hard with this project. I combined my own designs with other designers work that compliments mine. I wanted the pages of my look book to be what you’d imagine a post apocalyptic world to look like. The way that the women are posed and even what they’re wearing, however, I feel like I should have limited the amount of colours I used as I feel like there may be one too many colours being used and the continuity is muddied a little. I also neglected to add emotive text!There may not be many pages but I hope that the quality can outweigh the quantity.

I felt like my idea of a post-pandemic apocalypse would be a fun way of showing how people created mass panic thinking the world was going to end, ever since the year 2000 there has been groups of people saying the world would end in various ways.

The ‘Y2K bug’ caused mass panic when people thought that computers from around the globe would malfunction and fail and cause the end for the population. 2001 had been predicted to end because of The war in Armageddon, a huge battle in Israel. 2003 was thought to be the end when Earth would supposedly crash into Planet X! 2006 held a fear of nuclear war that would end us all. 2008 there were concerns over the Large Hadron Collider would create a black hole which would destroy the world. 2014 was predicted to be the start of World War III, 2015 was said to host a particularly bad solar flare that would melt through our ozone and leave us with horrible consequences. 2020 caused mass panic when the corona virus was thought to mutate people into zombie like creatures along with a second prediction of World War III being instigated by Donald Trump. I wanted to showcase what it would have looked like had the 2020 doomsday prediction come true.

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