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mihidecet · 3 years

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Sbi&co: D&D AU: Rivals and Friendships

New chapter POG! This has been a long time coming, friends! I do hope you enjoy <3 Lemme know what you think, and as always thank you so so much for reading!! <3

If Dream had to be honest, he’d say that this team seems to be quite fun.

They appear to be very close friends, from the way they rely on each other and joke around despite the huge Cloaker trying to wrap around the bard hurling insults at him. He does also remember the kid, the one he’d seen at the training grounds, and he’s happy to say that he was wrong to doubt his place in the tournament - he can surely handle himself quite well, and on top of that he clearly has a well established supporting structure built around him.

While the tiefling makes sure to make light of the situation, no matter how much he gets thrown around, Dream still remembers how he’d stepped between the younger teammate and danger before; the half orc greatly respects that, heaven knows how many times he's stepped between something aimed at Sapnap and vice versa.

On top of being a well oiled machine, this team also knows what they’re doing, both in terms of fighting and in terms of performing; he can’t deny how he’s been at the edge of his seat ever since they first entered the stadium, despite how his body is still a bit sore from fighting a Barlgura earlier that day - who knew ape-looking demons could hit that hard?

Sapnap's voice has been turning rougher and rougher too: he had been yelling insults at their opponent all fight, and now he hasn't stopped loudly whooping once ever since he'd seen the kid swoop into the stadium looking like a bolt of fire - the two of them would probably get along, if given the chance; that or they'd murder eachother after just a handful of seconds.

The only thing that's missing from this party is their fourth member who, if memory serves him well, is a rogue - the tall hooded figure he'd seen hanging around with the (maybe?) two tieflings.

He has been seeing the Cloaker they're fighting flinch back from ranged attacks that seemingly come out of nowhere, but as of now they haven't shown themselves yet. Either that or their fourth party member is constantly invisible, which George has assured them would be a pointless waste of arcane energy - Dream and Sapnap agree that it would still be very cool, but they have a mutual agreement regarding trying to stay on the wizard's good side, since they convinced him on sticking around after their round to watch everyone else instead of going to rest.

He is in fact in the process of turning towards George - he'd seen the tiefling kid surround himself in flames ever since the start of the fight and he wanted to ask if that was a common tiefling trait - when a light blue reflection catches his eye. A figure leaps from a stone pillar and disappears mid flight, as if vanishing in thin air, and reappears over the Cloaker's body, since the beast had managed to free itself from the arcane shackles that held it firmly to the ground.

In line with the dark, hooded figure that he’d seen that day at the training grounds, the stranger lands in a crouch, surprisingly stable, cape flowing behind them in a way that almost feels too elegant for the yelling-filled dirt stadium.

One raised hand holds what seems to be a weirdly shaped dagger - it’s a bit too far away to see correctly - before it plunges into the beast’s back, tearing a furious cry from it as it shudders in pain. Its movement jostles the figure around, but they don’t seem to care that much, holding steadily their ground - it awakens old memories of afternoons spent training and refining balance with Master Calvin, because what good is a fighter if they can get knocked on their asses at the first kick in the shin, but he figures the stranger might have served on a ship. After all, that is where Master Calvin picked that important lesson from.

The Cloaker, evidently not glad to have a knife stuck to its back, decides to take matters into its own … wings? and wraps them around its body before quickly and sharply twisting on itself, probably intent on flinging the hooded figure away.

And in its defence, the figure does get thrown off, but as their body flies up towards the sky, it follows a weird trajectory - a hand suddenly grabs his bicep as Sapnap lets out a breathless “holy shit”. That’s when he notices the thick chain the stranger is holding onto, and the weird curvature of the “dagger” they used suddenly makes a lot of sense.

He can’t help but laugh as the figure folds on themselves in order to sail towards the ground, the chain wrapping itself around the Cloaker - whose wings are still wrapped around itself, leaving Dream to wonder how much preparation went into that, or if the four of them have travelled the Underdark and fought one before.

Back on the ground, the kid is hopping from one foot to the other, staring upwards as his teammate descends; he then starts running and leaps, definitely more than should be possible, and grabs the figure’s leg as the chain is starting to curl back upwards, guided by its own momentum, furtherly pushing it forward.

The two struggle for a moment as the kid climbs his teammate’s body, reaching the chain himself moments before the other lets go; then, with a sudden burst of flames, the tiefling pops out of existence, only to reappear a split second later once again over the Cloaker’s back.

But Dream misses what happens on that side of the battlefield, because his eyes follow the movement of the cloaked figure as they fall - he expects somebody to catch them, to throw a spell to prevent them from crashing to the ground, but it never happens: the stranger lands on their feet and immediately propels themselves forward, rolling on the ground and quickly standing back up, as if they hadn’t just fallen from way too high up, and unsheathing a stunning looking shortsword.

Before he can stop himself, Dream hits Sapnap’s side with his elbow, eyes wide open because he is so sure. He know that, he’s seen that move so many times it’s been seared into his brain - his ankles still ache with the phantom pain of trying to achieve that specific landing technique.

Master Calvin’s pride and joy-

“That’s him- Sap!” He whispers in a hush, urgently patting his best friend’s side, trying to catch his attention; the beast’s angry screams are loud now, the chains around its body red and flaming, constricting its movements as it slowly descends to the ground again, thrashing against its restraints, but Dream can’t find it in himself to care about it that much at that moment, eyes trained on the cloaked figure that he’s heard about for years and years of training.

Still, Sapnap doesn’t look, all of his attention focused on the actual fighting happening, giving a questioning grunt before yelling out in glee as the Cloaker crashes to the ground, its tail lashing out wildly and almost crashing against the bard’s body. So Dream insists, quickly pinching his side, instantly finding himself face to face with a very unamused monk.

“What the fuck?!” Sapnap asks indignantly, only for his brows to furrow in confusion at his friend’s elated expression, Dream leaning forward to whisper urgently:

“That’s Techno.”

He waits for him at the exit.

He doesn’t really know why he does, since they will be both tired and beaten up - he’ll still surely be high on adrenaline after his team’s quite honestly glorious win - but he doesn’t really want to wait, he can’t really find it in himself to do so.

And also, he does it simply because he can. All participants have access to the same parts of the stadium, so there is nobody trying to stop him and Sapnap as they move towards the exit. Well, of course there are guards that check their identities, and guards that watch over all corridors. But still. Nobody stops them or questions them while they wait.

Loud chatter and laughter announces their incoming arrival - a bright, almost wheezing laugh is almost completely covered by a strong and high voice quickly recounting “that absolutely badass move I pulled, they’ll be talking about it for years, you’ve got to write a song about that!” - and when they turn the corner and appear at the end of the corridor Dream can’t help but feel himself stiffen.

Either from the sight of his hooded … rival? from across the corridor - he looks definitely much taller now that he’s not so far away - or from how the druid’s eyes zero on him instantly, pinning him down with a neutral stare and a cryptic smile.

“And the jump! Why don’t you use that spell more often, I love it so very much... Ph- I mean Flinar?” The kid stumbles on his words as he notices the elf has stopped laughing, following his eyesight with a confused expression that turns even more perplexed when he sees him and Sapnap standing there, evidently waiting for them.

“Oy! You two got a problem?” The kid asks, loudly, shooting looks towards the guards - counting them, making eyesight as if to check if they’re on a specific side, the kid has evidently been through some stuff - so Dream raises his hands placatingly, displaying the lack of weapons in his hands.

“No problem at all! Just wanted to congratulate you on the fight, it was spectacular!”

Behind the kid, he sees Techno’s shoulders sag with a silent sigh before he steps forward.

Oh, so he does know him.

It’s actually quite sweet how the whole group moves as a single unit, following behind Techno despite the fact that he probably intended to be the only one getting closer to the two of them.

Dream forces himself to display a relaxed attitude as he moves to meet him halfway - which he is, relaxed, he is calm, he has nothing to worry about, there’s nothing as normal and boring as meeting one of the best fighters there is in this whole region.

Up this close, Techno is definitely taller than him, which is something that doesn’t really happen much, with Dream being a half orc; once again, that has no effect whatsoever on his mood, nor the confidence he has regarding this meeting. The positive thing is, being shorter than him allows him to have a clear view of his face under the hood - if he hadn't been sure before, the bright blue eyes, pink toned skin and tusks would have surely confirmed his suspicions.

“I’m Dream, this is Sapnap. I assume I shouldn't be naming any names, right?” He quips, a smirk on his face that gets slightly bigger when the shifter in front of him huffs out a silent laugh, apparently amused, and extends a hand towards him.

“Jerry.” He grumbles out, prompting Dream to use all of his existing willpower to avoid laughing over the clearly fake name as he grips his hand in a handshake; Sapnap has much less restraint, bursting into a wheezing laughter and doubling over - he swears he hears the bard snort a laugh too, but when he looks at him his face is blank.

“So, who is this?” The kid asks, looking puzzledly between the two of them.

“One of Calvin’s students.” Techno answers quickly, prompting an understanding “oh” from the young tiefling, before pinning Sapnap down with a calculating look.

“And I guess you trained with Fruit.” The monk nods with a grin, turning his face towards the youngest of the group.

“I loved your fire tricks, I deal with fire too.”

“Well, mines are definitely better.” The kid replies instantly, so sure of his words that Dream is immediately wheezing, leaning onto Sapnap for support as the monk gapes, shocked.

“Oh my- Oh Sap you just got destroyed by a child!” The half orc wheezes out, which is an even worse choice because the kid explodes into literal fire, flames licking at his body as anger fills his eyes.

“I am NOT a fucking child!” He yells out, furious, but what frightening factor he could have had is very much dampened by how the rest of his team is laughing about it - the bard, which at this point Dream is half convinced must be the Wilbur Soot, is vehemently agreeing, laughing as he insists that yes, that is a child, a youngster, and the two quickly lose themselves into a heated debate.

After a moment, the druid steps in - that’s gotta be the Wandering King; they’re in the presence of legends, watching them squabble with a tiefling kid, shaking hands and playfully trading quips - placing a placating hand on each of the two tieflings’ shoulders and prompting their fighting to quiet down.

“We should be going, it’s late and we need to rest. It was a pleasure to meet you two.”

“Likewise. We’ll see eachother on the battlefield, then, I assume?” Dream asks, shooting Techno a glance; the man simply raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

“If we must.”

With one last chuckle, Dream turns on his heel, him and Sapnap moving back towards the viewing stands where they had previously left Eret and George.

“We’re gonna kick your asses!” Yells the kid a moment later; when Dream turns back he’s got a daring expression on his face, but he looks excited - it reminds him of himself, and he can’t help but laugh.

“Not if we destroy you first!”

#sbi au #sbi dnd au #now sbi&co #dreamwastaken #sapnap #georgenotfound #technoblade #tommyinnit #philza #wilbur soot

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elsasolang · 3 years

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april jag har fått en övning i terapin där jag ska fokusera på tre saker jag ser tre saker jag känner i tre kroppsdelar och så tre ljud jag ser det blå känner ryggraden hör en kran rinna det lättaste är att fokusera på saker jag ser som färgkombinationer på kaklet det var havets nyanser säger jag till min psykolog att färger är lätt det är inte så konstigt du är ju en bild-människa svarar han löpningen är tung men nödvändig jag längtar efter vår i köpenhamn april det syns att han har tjej men jag skriver ändå man måste ju chansa utbrister jag slår ut med armarna skulle jag bara låta det vara frågar glatt osäkert tar en klunk vin eller så hade du bara kunnat låta det vara han ser på mig flinar vant mamma skriver en förmiddag att på tisdag ska hon få vaccinet pappa skriver en kvart senare att på fredag april ett år senare jag ser honom gåendes mot mig och tänker fortfarande på våra kroppar en jul på brunbrända armar under en rutig skjorta i juli jag undrar hur länge tre färger tre kroppsdelar tre ljud allt det blåa ryggraden en kran som rinner havets nyanser olivfärgad hud i april och strax innan nio en fredag skriver han en annan att han ibland tänker på mig jag säger att jag har druckit vin och han frågar om vi ska äta tillsammans april jag lyckas med milen det har varit tungt sen i höstas men en måndag känns det lättare april solen väcker mig lugn om morgonen blåsten sätter sig runt nacken kylan i axlar skuldror och om kvällen faller ett hagel snabbt tyst frågar inte innan april jag sitter i mitt kök drar luvan över håret försöker skilja på lusten i stunden och känslan imorgon somnar själv vaknar lugn av solen och till kvällen faller ännu ett hagel kontrollerat lätt en söndag i maj struntar jag i att kolla temperaturen drar på mig vårjackan det är inte för kallt äntligen köper tandkräm och frukt drömde hela natten om ambulanser utanför ett barndomshem två som bar bort en bår med trygghet vaknade vid noll tre var inte särskild ledsen ganska lugn orkade bara inte drömma mer, höll mig vaken till fem somnade om och vaknade av tidig förmiddagssol går på dejt dricker två glas bubbel kisar mot kvällshimlen säger att snart kan man sitta på klipporna där borta, maj

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a-sprinkle-of-geeky · 4 years

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12 Hours (Part Four)

Welcome. Part One. Part Two. Part Three.

This story contains blood, murder and quite a bit of violent angst.

This particular part contains extreme injuries, death and violence. Be cautious when reading if you are sensitive.

The atmosphere had morphed from tension to urgency in a matter of seconds. The moment Lucas’ voice was heard over the speakers, everyone in the required teams stood up before their orders were even given. Their work was abandoned, a rush of orders and feet bolting down the stairs filled the lower floors with waves of emergency.

Tyrell, the general of Team One - the front lines - was tugging on his equipment with haste as his husband, Dan, did the same. The medical team ran past them as he was strapping on his belt, their hands full of required supplies they needed to treat Clyde when they found him. The facility had never experienced such level of frenzy before yet every staff member prepared as if it were rehearsed, each step playing out in a morbid sequence that they knew by heart.

Ty was a dark-skinned and muscular demon with long, thick brown hair tied back in a ponytail. The most prominent thing about him besides his size was the scar that overtook the right side of his face, a raw pink burn with a damaged eye that he struggled to see out of. Despite that, he was a family-orientated and loving man.

His freckle covered husband, Daniel, was significantly smaller with a pair of black feathery wings and a head of fluffy purple hair. The gun he was holding looked too big for him but there was an unmistakable expression of determination and anger on his features.

Although Lucas had aggressively restricted them from entering his office or listening to the videos that Zyren had sent him, they knew for a fact that they were torturing Clyde. Dan was determined on rescuing his best friend, he didn’t care what it took.

The couple turn to each other once they had finished preparing and hugged, Ty cupping his cheek in his hand and kissing him lovingly. They never knew whether each mission would be their last and always ensured that they knew they loved one another.

Just as Dan kissed back, they were pulled apart and pushed through by Lucas, who had a dark and menacing expression on his broken face.

“Get moving,” He ordered coldly, loading his own gun before climbing into the passenger seat of a black 4x4. Tyrell glanced at Dan worriedly.

“That ain’t a good sign...” Ty said as they began jogging to their own vehicle.

“We just need to stay calm.” Dan replied, though he now looked nervous. Lucas was never this unstable - something was definitely severely wrong.

The team set out the moment they were in the car, barely having time to pull their seat belts on as Lucas had Nate - one of his drivers - speed off down the road.

“Lerman isn’t going to stick with our system,” Said Levi, who was sat next to Daniel and was not helping with his rising anxiety, “He is going to get himself or one of us killed with this recklessness - all because Jadestone wasn’t observant.”

“Levi, shut up,” Dan snapped, his hands sweating beneath his gloves, “It wasn’t his fault, can you show him sympathy for once? He’s probably been brutally tortured all day and you still tease him!”

Levi turned away without further comment, a frown furrowing on his aged features.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Ty said to him, kissing his hair reassuringly, “We’re going to make it out of this, alive, I promise.”

Dan clutched his hand, taking a deep breath. “I hope so.”

Flinar stepped back from the table, wiping his brow with his bloodied arm and grinning as he watched Clyde writhe in agony, his shredded voice barely able to scream as he stared at the bleeding stump that was now his left leg.

Zyren was looming over his head, visually recording the whole session to send to Lucas. He had reluctantly returned Clyde’s soul briefly to his body, so Flin could obtain the fear he wanted from the doctor. They had strapped him down to an old, rusted table and Flin had picked up a bone saw, mercilessly carving and tugging his leg from his body. He had toyed with it for a moment before tossing it aside, revelling in Clyde’s pain.

By now the doctor was dying. He had lost so much blood and was too dehydrated for his body to properly try and heal himself. It was three hours early, but he supposed that a broken promise wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world considering that his precious husband had allowed him to be tortured for this long.

“He’s not coming for you,” Flin told him, leaning close to his face as he sobbed with no tears and whimpered, “He’s let you suffer this long ‘cause he hates you and he’s gonna be so happy when you’re dead.”

“No..” Clyde wept, closing his eyes as his chest heaved, “Liebling...”

He didn’t even cry when Zyren plunged his hand into his chest, closing his fist around his fragile soul and pulling it from his body once again. He simply stared up at the ceiling and gawked like a fish out of water, his eyes soaking to a dull and lifeless grey as he slipped away.

“Are you happy now?” Zyren asked, dropping the soul into the jar once more, “This is the last session, he’s going to die if we do any more.”

“Good! His whining has been giving me a fucking headache,” Flin shoved at the Husk’s body and frowned when it didn’t react, “But at least I did what I wanted~ Thank you so much, baby.”

Zyren hummed, inspecting the stump of the Husk’s leg. “Being Husked slows the blood flow, he has another hour at most.”

“We should film it when he-” Flin’s suggestion was cut off by an explosion from above ground, followed by furious yelling and gunshots. Zyren cursed and snatched his gun.

“They’re here,”

“What!? How! I stopped him from texting for help!” Flinar exclaimed.

Zyren grunted and grabbed his arm, running up the stairs with him in tow and looking back at him as he shut the basement door. “Do not leave my side.”

“Zy-!”

The elf didn’t respond and instead tugged him towards safety.

With a press of a button, the explosive detonated in an instant and blew the entrance door off of its hinges. Lucas had separated his front line teams into quarters, stationing them in front of every possible entrance and sending them bursting into the building, flooding it with gunfire and seamlessly organised attacks despite the lack of preparation.

With thirty five men attacking on the front lines, they easily got the upper hand on the twenty five guardsmen within the factory - yet that didn’t mean it was an easy execution. The sheer amount of machinery and conveyor belts provided great cover for both parties and made it exceedingly difficult to progress forward.

The medical team stayed far out of the firing line and waited for commands once the coast was clear whilst the others charged onward. Lucas was on a rampage, killing anything that wasn’t his own men without hesitation. He wanted that guard’s head. The guard who defiled Clyde was going to be torn apart at his hands, he was going to make him regret every second he abused his husband.

Tyrell was getting increasingly worried about his behaviour and struggled to cover him. He and Dan were tailing behind him, firing back against anyone trying to stop him from getting to the basement and were only just able to keep up. Dan ducked out of the way of a bullet that lodged into a machine behind him and he let out an overwhelmed heave of breath. Ty held his shoulder as they knelt for cover, trying to reassure him whilst attempting to not lose sight of Lucas. Yet it was too late.

“Shit, I’ve lost track of him!” He exclaimed, desperately scanning the area.

“We need to move forward, they’re changing positions and we’re gonna be out in the open!” Dan started to crouch run behind the safety of the conveyor belts, guiding Ty along and hiding behind machines whenever the bullets changed directions.

“Flinar and Zyren are located in the upper left corner of the building! I repeat, upper left corner!” Nate’s voice uttered through their earpieces, making Ty skilfully poke his head up to catch sight of the infamous couple only thirty yards away. Their exit was blocked off by the team but they were viciously fighting back. Flinar, to Zyren’s dismay, ran recklessly away from him in pursuit of something. Ty turned and his eyes widened, seeing Lucas in the midst of murdering a guard.

Lucas had recognised his voice from the recording, hearing him yell orders to three of his comrades. There was no doubt about it, he was certain that this was the man who violated his husband - that disgusting hiss in his tone every time he spoke made the rage boil.

Though His first agenda was to rescue Clyde, he could do nothing to stop the violent outburst that suddenly consumed him. Without hesitation, he shot him in the knee the moment the other three men were out of range and leapt on him, tearing his weapon from his grasp and slamming his head into the ground.

“I KNEW YOU WERE THE ONE WHO HURT HIM! YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!” He shrieked, “I’LL TEAR YOU APART!”

The guard, although he attempted to, could not escape from Lucas’ wrath as he repeatedly beat, stabbed, shot and crushed his body in horrific ways, screaming all the while. The guard’s body was mangled beyond comprehension and a mess of horrifying wounds and injuries which Lucas knew would haunt him when this was over, but for now he could not care less. He growled in his face before throwing his dying body into the corner and loading his gun with a fresh magazine, which he promptly emptied into the guard’s skull and officially killed him.

Lucas lowered the gun, his breaths heavy and his mind foggy. Find Clyde, he told himself, I have to find Clyde.

Yet he was so overcome with shock that he didn’t realise that Flinar was running straight for him and was intent on stabbing his knife through his throat. He had ruined their chance to get away and live a new life! All because he was a coward!

By now the gunfire was beginning to cease slightly as the guardsmen were overpowered by the rescue team, but it was definitely not the end.

Tyrell was cursing continuously as he fumbled for a grenade at his hip, watching Flin vault over a conveyor belt with an angry grin on his face. His mind had no thoughts other than to stop Flin from killing his best friend and, with a deep breath, he pulled the pin.

The next moment was a blur.

He stood up and threw it directly into Flin’s path just as he leapt over another conveyor and noticed it at the very moment his feet touched the ground. His grin fell in an instant yet he had no time to respond and thus the grenade exploded at his left side, causing a pile of crates to collapse atop him and Lucas to be pushed back against the wall, knocking him from his trance.

“FLINAR!” Zyren shrieked as the explosive detonated, his glare snapping to Tyrell in an instant and in one single moment, raised his gun and set a bullet ripping straight through his chest. He began to run to his partner’s aid whilst Ty clutched his chest and collapsed backwards.

Dan stared in horror and tried desperately to catch him but it just resulted in the two of them falling together. He sat up and gasped, his stomach lurching when he saw a gaping hole through his husband’s chest and immediately pressed his hand into it to try and reduce the bleeding.

“Oh fuck! MEDIC!” He yelled, “Fuck, fuck fuck! Ty, stay with me!”

Ty stared at the wound in shock as blood trickled from his mouth, his head lolling against Dan’s knee as he stared up at his face. He breathed deeply, trying desperately to stay awake but something was already pulling him towards unconsciousness.

“No no no no, baby...” Dan held his face with his free hand as he broke down into tears, “Look at me, just look at me! You’re alright, you’re gonna be alright...God please, stay with me!”

He looked into Dan’s eyes as he cried soundlessly at him and he took a choked breath, whispering his name as the pain set in, which made him groan. He started to gasp and tremble, lifting his hand again and clutching his with fear. It hurt.

“MEDIC!!” Dan screamed and finally someone responded, moving towards them as quickly as possible. Ty started to go limp, his eyes glazing over and his gaze drifting from him to the worn ceiling above, Dan moved his head to look at him again and he was just barely seeing him. “TY! Ty please! Don’t leave me!”

The last thing Tyrell saw was Eren running towards them and Dan’s face before his vision blurred.

Lucas was too emotional to realise what had happened to Tyrell and it was a good thing he didn’t, as knowing it was his fault would have destroyed him right then and there.

Instead, he was trying to break the basement door open, yelling for Clyde and hoping for a response. When he couldn’t snap the lock off, he backed away and pulled out his shotgun, loading it and firing. With a burst of sparks and a metallic snap, the lock swung off and Lucas bolted inside; tripping down the stairs.

“Clyde!” He called, “Clyde, call out to me!”

He descended the steps and caught the shining glint of blood, his heart wrenching as he leapt down the rest of the steps. The basement was freezing, wet and reeked of blood, sweat and vomit. Yet under the flickering light bulb he saw his husband, bleeding and heavily wounded, his amputated leg thrown onto the floor.

Lucas nearly threw up, but he swallowed it down and ran up to him, shaking him pulling out his knife to cut the buckles. “Darling! Darling, I’m here!” He cried, “I’m here, you’re okay, I’ve got you!”

Clyde was in horrible shape. His body was bruised, beaten and broken and he only wore a pair of torn briefs - his hair was completely brown, signalling that he was severely dehydrated. Lucas cried as he lifted him from the table and collapsed on the ground with him. He was so, so cold... “Clyde, look at me,” He pleaded, cupping his face in his hand and looking over his body in panic. There was so much pain, so much blood... he couldn’t stop it. “Sweetheart, I’m here... It’s Lucas, you’re safe now, okay?”

The doctor didn’t respond, he just stared up at the light bulb as if it were daylight, his eyes a dull grey. He was breathing and wheezing yet he wouldn’t even look at him.

“Y-Your leg, they...they...” Lucas hurriedly shook off his coat, tearing off a strip and tying it around the stump to stop the bleeding whilst wrapping the rest of it around his freezing body, he pulled him closer and turned towards the door, “HELP!”

Lucas looked around. His leg, his smashed glasses, his clothes, a bloody tooth and ten fingernails... this was all his fault.

“Help, I-I’ve got to get you help,” He picked him up, “You just need medical help... you’re going to be alright, I promise you...y-you’re just dehydrated and hurt...”

Lucas rushed up the stairs and Clyde made a weak whimper, his gaze staying locked on the light bulb for as long as he could.

He didn’t know what was happening, whether the fight was over or who was hurt, all he could focus on was his poor husband. He was so cold and small in his arms, he should have protected him. He should have been better.

The rest of the medical team were ready for him the moment he ran outside and he had to force himself to let go, but he did not leave his side. Meanwhile Nate and Eren were carrying Tyrell out of the building and into the ambulance whilst a sobbing Dan ran behind.

By now the mission was over. The guardsmen were dead, tending to their wounded or had fled.

“Flinar!” Zyren shouted, vaulting over the conveyors and running into the drifting smoke. He looked around desperately and saw his lover’s arm beneath some rubble. He collapsed to his knees and tore the debris away, lifting a crate away and catching a view at Flin. He was lying on the ground, twitching in pain. Zyren’s gaze drifted downwards to his legs and his eyes shot wide open.

Flin’s lower left leg had been blown straight off, leaving behind a jagged wound with blood pooling around it. Zy stared in disbelief, lifting Flin into his arms and clinging to him.

Why did he ever agree to his silly little plan? He knew it would never work and yet he was a fool and played along anyway. Now he was staring at the consequences.

“Flinny,” He shook him, “Flinar!”

The wrath demon coughed and opened his eyes by a slither, his body trembling. “Zy...” He got out, “It hurts... I can’t feel my leg...”

“Don’t look,” Zyren told him, trying his best to cover his eyes but Flin peered over his arm, moving what was left of his leg and taking a hitched breath. “Flin-”

Flin stared in horror as the voices started to yell so loudly that he couldn’t think. Pain, pain, pain, pain! He let out a scream and arched his back, Zy struggling with him in his grasp and hugging him tightly as he gasped for breath.

“Calm down, deep breaths-” The elf was trying to support him but he wouldn’t stop screaming in agony, his shaking hands tugging at his flannel. “Flin... baby...l-listen to me...”

Zy had never felt so useless. There was something in his chest that he could not explain, a burning sensation that made him want to scream. He couldn’t take away his pain and it was breaking him from the inside.

Zyren blinked the wetness from his eyes and took off his flannel, going to tear it up as bandage but his partner clung to it desperately. His ears twitched and he pulled it around him, finally letting him wear it. Flin stopped screaming and stared at him with tears flooding his eyes whilst Zy removed his shirt and used that as bandage instead. He sobbed like a child as he bound up his leg and hugged his chest with shaking arms whilst he blabbered and coughed in pain. Zy shushed him and told him to calm down as he tied the knot, cupping his cheek in his hand and wiping away his tears.

This would not do, he needed to get Flin proper care.

Yet the moment he brought Flin to any hospital in the country or even worse, beg for help from the faculty, they would probably be killed on sight.

Kaito ran towards them, seeing Flin clinging to Zy’s chest. “Holy shit, what the hell happened?”

“Get him a doctor.”

“What the fuck do you mean, a doctor? Zy, no doctor is gonna wanna treat him!”

“Get him a doctor, Kaito!” Zy exclaimed, picking him up in his arms.

“How?!”

“I do not care how, just do it!”

“Fine.”

Levi knew what he saw when he was stabilising Clyde in the ambulance. The grey eyes, the lack of pain or basic response to light or voices. He was a Husk. Of course they would steal something so important, they wouldn’t let Clyde recover normally - not that he could.

Lucas was still in a state of denial, insisting that he needed a heated blanket and water to return the colour to his eyes and the warmth in his chest. Levi didn’t blame him, he was grieving and the others were not denying since they were too preoccupied with Clyde’s countless other injuries.

Levi slipped out of the ambulance at the last second before the doors were shut and they sped away. He didn’t care if he had to walk six hours back home, he was not going to let those psychopaths steal Clyde’s soul. They could murder him in a heartbeat.

The building was suddenly silent, besides the wounded chatter of the guardsmen still alive. The rescue teams were completely gone now, leaving as if it never happened. Yet there was so much blood that said otherwise.

Levi had his gun loaded in case any of the guardsmen tried to fire at him and simply walked in. The building seemed so much smaller now that it wasn’t being used as a firing range and the basement door was in his line of sight. He adjusted his glasses and walked down, stepping over a dead body and glancing at the group of wounded men in the corner. They were watching him pass, but they were too preoccupied and defeated to care.

He stepped over the pool of Tyrell’s blood and sighed, having to focus his eyes forward and also ignore the mangled body in the corner that Lucas no doubt got to first. He pushed open the door and tried flipping a light switch yet it only managed to turn the single light source further down on and off again. He descended the stairs using a small flashlight attached to his keys and looked around at the basement, spotting old sacks used to store all of the cotton the factory produced and old machinery pieces.

He gazed at the rusted table, the broken chair, blood and torture weapons and had to swallow down his horror, especially at the sight of Clyde’s leg. It reeked of almost every kind of bodily fluid and it was absolutely freezing. Levi groaned in disgust and began searching. Surely they must of left his soul behind in the mess...

He looked around as thoroughly as he could and did consider taking Clyde’s leg with him for possible replantation but it was in such bad shape that he was doubtful that they could even fuse the bone back together. Not to mention that carrying a bloodied leg through the city for six hours would not look good for his public image.

Levi turned around and his flashlight eventually caught sight of something silver gleaming within the pools of blood, so he begrudgingly knelt down and picked it up, discovering it to be Clyde’s wedding ring. It - arguably - wasn’t his soul, but he supposed it would be good to bring back, so he wiped it off and put it in his pocket with a deep sigh.

Levi turned his flashlight again and finally caught sight of the shimmering surface of a fragile soul trapped within a jar. It was set under the desk and he hurried to go retrieve it, only to feel something cold press into the back of his head.

He froze up and eventually raised his arms with a deep sigh.

“Are you going to shoot me or not?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Depends, are you a doctor?” A hard voice asked aggressively, loading the gun.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then you’re coming with me,” He ordered, “Drop your gun or I’ll put a bullet through your head.”

“I suppose I am not going to get an explanation, am I?” He huffed, yet hurried along when he felt the gun’s barrel be pushed irritably against his skull, “Alright, give me a second.”

Levi reached beneath his coat, dropping his gun and huffed once more when the man patted him down to ensure he hadn’t got an extra weapon.

“May I at least pick up that jar?” Levi asked, supposing that if this man needed a doctor so badly that he was going to kidnap a faculty one, that it was highly unlikely he was going to shoot. He did, however, tug Levi’s hands behind his back and zip-tie them before pulling one of the cotton sacks over his head. “I guess not.”

Levi did briefly sigh with relief when he heard the man pick the jar up and put it away, before swinging the doctor over his shoulder and carrying him away.

This has been in my drafts for a long while and I suddenly wanted to continue it. This was quite rushed so please excuse any mistakes, I will try to get round and fix them!

Flinar did get his karma for his actions and now it seems Levi is going to be a part of it. I love writing Levi, might I add, he has no fear when it comes to situations like these.

Hopefully I can write the next part soon. Sorry for all of the angst!

See you soon. <3

#story #oc story #oc #oc writing #writing #a sprinkle of geeky #please don't judge me I'm just a writer #geekyfox1 #angst writing #oc angst

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razildor · 7 years

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Flinar “Flint” Rivin

A shy, timid Elf who’s trying to get by in life. Yet the world keeps on tripping him up. All he needs is a blank and a hug.

@tevintermagisterium and @friendofthefugitive are enablers so I blame them.

#Flinar Flint Rivin #Da:i #Dragon Age #dragon age inquisition #elf #dai cinematic tools

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ainselgreenwood · 5 years

Text

The Blackwells - At the Valstan Club

The Blackwells – At the Valstan Club

There was great rejoicing in the Blackwell family household when Othorion returned. Brother, father, and sister embraced the youngest, hugging and kissing him and welcoming him home. Ynaselle took Othorion’s coat, Vithian his gloves, and Flinar his hat before the maid little Ulesse could step in. Instead, Flinar demanded fine wine to be served in the sitting room while Ynaselle took Ulesse aside…

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#fantasy #fiction #longread #writing #romance #adventure #ainsel greenwood #the blackwells

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oskarskriver · 3 years

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Fiskedrängen.

Det hänger en inramad ål i mitt hus. Den slingrar sig halvvägs genom ramen och vidare ut över väggen. Jag har sett den sen tioårsåldern och det är i alla fall så det känns – som om den lever sitt liv här i vardagsrummet. Den tar sig ut på dagarna när ingen är här, när alla är ute på sjön eller i trädgården, så letar den sig upp över hyllorna – mellan böcker om olika djurarter, tyska sjömansvisor, den tjocka världsatlasen – för att återvända till sin plats, osynligt och utan ett spår av slem, precis innan familjen tar sig tillbaka in i huset och slår sig till ro med ramen hängandes ovanför huvudena.

Den äldste sitter i fåtöljen under tavlan. Han välkomnar mig i tofflorna.

”Hur länge är du hemma?”

”Till söndag, tror jag.”

…

Vi möts nere i pannrummet. Den äldste sliter isär en gammal skjorta. Han virar den runt halsen och puffar till som en scarf. Jag drar yllestrumpor över knäskålarna. Vi är omringade av hängande rustningar – vadarbyxor och galonjackor hålls uppe på galgar runtom oss. Gummihandskarna sträcker ut sig på trästället. Stövlarna står uppradade intill värmepannan. Uniformerna är redo och väntar på att fyllas av sina ägare.

”Det blåser visst sydvästlig, sjutton sekundmeter.”

Det går ett par sekunder.

”Du får ta mössa på dig.”

Det är sexti år och en meter emellan oss.

Den äldste och mig.

...

Plats på jorden: Stuekrogen. Vi börjar vittja vid vikens sista avkrok. Stuekrogen ligger gömd i ett naturreservat med skogsdungar på vardera sida. I mitten sitter vi – omgivna av sjörök. Vi stänger av motorn och drar oss fram tendel för tendel, sida vid sida över relingen så att båten lutar lätt mot den övergivna herrgården. Det är hundra meter från boj till boj. Tyst som klockan fyra på morgonen.

“Hur fick den sitt namn?”, undrar jag.

“I den här avkroken är det alltid vindstilla som i en stuga – stuekrogen.”

Vi drar upp den första homman, knyter upp änden och låter innehållet rassla ut i baljan. Det är bara massa bifångst. Smörbult och hjärtmusslor och en abborre. Jag böjer mig över baljan och kastar tillbaka det mesta i vattnet. Den äldste ber mig spara abborren.

”Frukost till skrattmåsen där hemma.”

Den äldste flinar till som en pojke. Han har varit här ute så länge att han vuxit ihop med naturen; skrattmåsen är en lika viktig vän som kassörskan i matbutiken, ålakråkan en lika stor fiende som Bertil uppe i kvarteret. Vi släpper ner hommorna i djupen och fortsätter vidare till nästa ställe. Våra ansikten mitt emot varandra i den lilla farkosten.

Det är sexti år och en meter emellan oss.

Det doftar vilt av hav.

…

Plats på jorden: Utanför Lindskogs. Det är aldrig stilla som i en stuga Utanför Lindskogs. Vi båda förstod att helgens storm skulle ställa till det, men så här? Underströmmarna har fångat tag i homman och vridit den runt sin egen axel varv efter varv som en argsint gädda. Vi betraktar trasslet. Den äldste tappar tålamodet.

”Det är ett eeevigt elände!”

Vi är bara en båtlängd från Edenrydlandets åldrade kåsar. Numera förvildade och sönderslagna efter den hundraåriga stormen, med stenar liggandes huller om buller längs hela kustlinjen och nu också runt oss. Vi driver men garnet blir vår ledstång i kulingen. Den håller oss i linje. Vi följer oss fram tendel för tendel, sida vid sida över relingen. Båten lutar kraftigt. Till en mumlande klagosång löser vi ut dem hopplöst hoptrasslade hommorna. Det är sexti år och en meter emellan oss.

Den äldstes ögon vattnar sig i vinden.

”Ibland önskar man att det inte är något i.”

I den sista homman tömmer vi fjorton stora ålar i baljan. Vi tar oss vidare ut och passerar riktmärken som Kraugeskarvet,

Den gamle hamnen,

Gruarna.

Edenrydslandet är en landskapsmålning vi rör oss genom.

Tången hänger som på tvättstreck mellan pålarna i kohagen. Det ligger ett badkar omkullvält i det ångande gräset. Stenar sticker upp plötsligt och nyfiket som mullvadar ur marken. I övrigt ett par vindpinade träd. Gästgivarboden ligger nedsänkt mitt i det karga kustlandskapet.

...

Plats på jorden: Skräddarnisses kås. Här inne stillnar viken igen.

Jag hänger över fören för att se efter stenar. Den äldste står upp och söker sina bojar. Det är snårigt att navigera i det grunda vattnet. Vi flyter fram över den försvunna ålagräsängen. Det är vackert men inte som det ska. Det är slutet på våren och bottenvegetationen har inte kommit upp. Var är växterna? Var är algerna? Var är det grumliga livet? Just det huvudbryet sveper in som ett lågtryck över Den äldste, får fäste och cirkulerar runt i hans kropp som lätt obehagliga vindar för resten av turen.

“I halva maj har det vajst upp! triumferade alltid Morfar Ville…”

Det går ett par sekunder.

“Men det är tvärs emot vad det ska allting snart.”

Våra gamla familjeordspråk var satta i gungning. De hade fallit i rakt nedstigande led, som på besök från en naivare värld, innan naturen börjat röra på sig. Den äldste kunde ligga i flera nätter bland kuddar och lakan och uppfinna nya metoder, redskap, vittjeställen.

Jag ser lösningen lätta ankar i honom.

”Vi testar Krogstorp Aale istället!”

Det skiljer bara ett par hundra meter men snart börjar det självlysande, gröna ålagräset uppenbara sig under båten. Vi sätter hommorna i en spikrak linje från väst till öst. Sen tar vi oss hemåt igen och passerar riktmärken som Gruarna,

Den gamle hamnen,

Kraugeskarvet.

…

Huset välkomnar oss i morgonsol. Vi går iland på stenbryggan, hissar upp den stora sumpen och tömmer fångsten däri. Och så går vi ut på det grunda och skrubbar våra kläder med en borste, låter fjällen släppa och rinna tillbaka ut i viken. Sen lägger vi ut uniformerna – vadarbyxorna, galonjackan och handskarna – i gräsmattan för att torka. Där ligger de nu bredvid varandra. Det är sexti år och en meter emellan.

Den äldste och mig,

Fiskedrängen.

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