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takerfoxx · 3 years

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Blood Island, Chapter Eight

Friend or Foe?

Peeling off her shirt, Nuriel held it up to regard with a critical eye.

It was a total loss. The back, shoulders, and sleeves had all been ripped to ribbons, and the front had a few large holes where the crocomonster’s teeth had gone through. Most of it was now brown with bloodstains. Shit, she must have been gushing.

Perhaps it could be repaired? But with what, though? Nuriel had no thread or needle, and while she knew her way around both due to the many voyages in which she was made to mend rips and tears in the clothing of whatever crew she happened to be sailing with, this was far beyond her modest skill.

Wrinkling her nose, Nuriel looked up at the towering cliff face and the rest of the island beyond. She didn’t care for the idea of walking around while being so…exposed. Not necessarily for modesty’s sake, as who would see her? But because she hated the thought of leaving herself vulnerable like that.

To whom?

Well, to no one, actually. Save perhaps for her mysterious, red-eyed friend. But even so! It was the principle that mattered!

Why?

Well, it just did!

Why?

Because they did! Because she shouldn’t allow herself to get complacent! Because she had to remain vigilant and not let anything slip, despite being all alone on an unknown island filled with monsters and spirits, and-

Then with a sigh, Nuriel balled the shredded shirt up and tossed it into the open hatch to the cargo hold. Oh, what did it matter? She wasn’t eking out a living in a crowded metropolis or shrouding her identity on a ship, she was marooned on a fantastical island full of monsters and mysteries. The rules were different now.

That decided, Nuriel turned her attention to the Carmilla’s Fancy itself. It didn’t seem to have taken much damage during the rain, if any at all. Which made sense, as it had probably weathered rainstorms before.

She walked around the deck, inspecting each and every hole, crack, and knot. If she had some sort of binding agent, something to plug them up with, she could probably fix those. It would mean she could store stuff in the cargo hold and not worry about it being ruined when it next rained.

Then she glanced over to the captain’s quarters. She probably ought to focus on fixing that up first. It was the place best suited for her to live, after all.

Thinking of settling in?

Nuriel winced. Though it existed only in the back of her mind, Father’s voice was quite loud.

Ought you not be planning how to escape? Or have you resigned yourself to being a prisoner of this island?

No of course not! she replied inside of her head. But finding a means of escape might take some time, and until then I need a home base, so until then…

The thought trailed off. Her face screwing up, Nuriel turned to stare out over the network of canals and tiny islands, out to sea.

Even if she were to escape, where would she go? She didn’t have a home, didn’t have a family, didn’t have any sort of trade beyond thieving, didn’t have anything. She didn’t even have any friends worth speaking of. Her life was one of a constant struggle to survive, fighting to keep herself fed and out of jail. And yes, it was fine, but how much longer would that last? She had been caught more than once, and this last time had nearly cost Nuriel her life. It was pure happenstance that she wasn’t a rotting skeleton at the bottom of the sea, her bones picked clean by fish.

Then Nuriel turned around, facing toward the island itself. Yes, it was in many ways just as dangerous as her previous life had been, perhaps even moreso. An angry man could be outrun, guards could be evaded, but these monsters were like nothing she had to face back in the world of people. She had nearly been torn to pieces by the birds alone. The birds!

No, wait, scratch that. there was no “nearly” about it. The birds had torn her to pieces, and it was only by the grace of her new red-eyed friend that she was even alive.

Then Nuriel frowned. She lifted her right arm and ran the fingers of her left hand up and down its length. Then she reached up over her shoulders to probe her upper back. Come to think of it, how exactly did the red-eyed one heal her? Did it have some strange demon medicine it had given her? Did it invoke hellish magics? She had never heard of the power of Hell being used to heal someone. Usually the stories had it going in the opposite direction.

Furthermore, she was reasonably certain that the green-eyed sea-creature was also involved. Did the two know each other? Were they friends?

Just the thought made Nuriel feel strange. Troubled, but in a way that was unfamiliar. Monsters…with friends? Could that even be a thing?

And here you are, said Papa’s voice. Wanting to make friends with them as well.

Gritting her teeth, Nuriel responded with, I do what I must to survive. What else would you have me do?

To this, there was no answer.

Nuriel shook her head and turned her attention back to the ship. Well, if it was to be her home for the time being, the first thing she ought to do is give it a careful inspection to see what needed fixing and judge what she even could fix. At the very least, it would keep her busy.

…

All told, the condition of the Carmilla’s Fancy was…not good. It definitely would never be seaworthy again. And yet, it wasn’t that bad either.

The worst was the deck. Apparently the birds had tried and fortunately failed to claw through to get in even before Nuriel had taken up residence. It was solid for the most part, but there were still several cracks and holes to deal with.

As for the hull itself, it also was in a state of disrepair, including one particularly large cracked area where it had struck the trunk of one of the trees. But it didn’t look to be in danger of falling apart anytime soon.

But her main attention was with the captain’s cabin, which she wished to turn into her living quarters. For some reason the overpowering stench of bird had faded considerably, perhaps due to the red-eyed monster having cleaned out all trace of its nest, but also perhaps due to the heavy rain.

She walked around the empty space, kicking at the floor with the heels of her boots at times and rapping her knuckles against the wall at others. The beams seemed to be good. A little creaky in places, but they felt like they would hold. Whoever had constructed this ship had known what they were doing. Given the ornate trappings on the hull, it had been someone with money, so the materials were probably of very high quality. It did seem to be some rich wanker’s pleasure craft, but not the flimsy sort never intended to leave the sight of land. This craft had been built for the open sea.

Interesting.

Then she turned her attention to the window, which was smashed and crusted with gunk and mold. The glass was a loss, so she probably should smash out the rest of the way and cover the hole with something a little more substantial, something to keep the creatures out. She wasn’t sure what, but there had to be something on hand.

In the meantime, the interior could be dressed up a bit. The cot could be made more comfortable with grasses and tree fronds, and she supposed she could even make some furniture. Out of what, she still didn’t know, but she could learn. She was good at learning.

Nuriel looked around one more time and then put her hands on her hips with a satisfied nod. Yes, this should do nicely.

…

Now that she had an idea of what she wanted to do with the ship, it was time for Nuriel to assess the area surrounding it.

The Carmilla’s Fancy sat in a small grove of trees on a tiny island that was part of a network chain. To its back was a hill of solid rock topped with moss. And behind that, just across a small channel that wound around her island, was the main island itself, with a beach bordering the channel and the sheer cliff walls rising up beyond that.

Nuriel surveyed the area, doing calculations in her head. Okay, she could probably set up some kind of barrier to seal off the beach right in front of the grove on both ends. A fence, perhaps. Maybe even a wall, one with swinging doors.

As for the hill, its top wasn’t exactly flat. Still, if she could get some kind of platform up on there, it would be an ideal place for a watchtower.

A platform? A watchtower? Made from what? And made from with what labor?

Mine, came the response. It’s not like I don’t have the time.

And when have you ever built anything?

Nuriel shrugged. Good time to start.

The island that the Carmilla’s Fancy sat upon, which she was now thinking of as her island, lay nestled near the back of a large gulf, with the cliffs curving around it like a pincer. The other tiny islands and the canals that split them filled the rest of the space, with the last ones spread out just beyond the shore.

Nuriel looked out over the archipelago. She hadn’t encountered many of the local monsters out on the islands, chirpers aside. Still, she couldn’t afford to not be sure.

Nuriel looked out at the network chain, memorizing its layout the best she could. She ought to ask her new friend for some blank pieces of parchment. A map would be invaluable.

When she was sure that she had a fairly good idea, she climbed down from the ship to the beach. And she started to walk.

Exploring the archipelago turned up little of any value. Few things had made their nest in the islands themselves. Here and there were a few gulls pecking about, she found some pretty big crabs, as well as a few free-standing pools that many spiny and squishy bits of sealife had made their home, but little she could use.

Still, there was also little that could threaten her as well. That was good as well.

There were a few things of note, though. One island was large enough to have a few plants take root, which included a trio of coconut trees! That was good to know. And if there were a few out there, there were probably others.

In fact, now that she thought of it, if her new friend had been able to gather so many kinds of fruit, there was probably plenty of edible plants nearby. Another thing to ask about.

The gulf was large, and there were many islands sitting within, but not so many that Nuriel wasn’t about to get through all of them in under a couple hours, and before long, she was standing on the shore, again looking out to sea.

The surf was calmer during the day, and the tide lower. It sure seemed peaceful enough, and if Nuriel were anyplace else, she would think it a good place to lay down in the sand and take a nap. As it was, she just wanted to take stock of her surroundings.

There didn’t seem to be much out there immediately beyond the island, no seafaring monsters or anything of the sort. But further out there was something.

Nuriel pulled out her spyglass and took a look.

It was as she had thought. Several sharp and jagged spikes of rock were protruding just out of the water’s surface. There were quite a lot of them too, and from where she was, it seemed that they stretched far in either direction.

Nuriel shivered. They probably surrounded the whole island. No wonder it seemed that nobody had visited in a long time. If the tide were higher, the spikes would be hidden from the naked eye, and yet would still rip the hulls out of any approaching vessel, something to keep in mind should the opportunity to escape ever present itself.

Then Nuriel looked down the coast to her left, where she had fled. Her new friend had said that the birds hunted at night, but she wasn’t really interested in pushing her luck just yet.

Then she looked to her right.

Nuriel paused.

There was something there, further down the beach. Actually, there was a lot of somethings. And Nuriel had a pretty good idea what they were.

Swallowing, she cautiously made her way down the coast, keeping her eyes on the objects as they came nearer and nearer. It did not take long to confirm what she had thought upon her first look.

She had come across a graveyard for ships.

Littered all over the shoals and reefs were the decaying carcasses of watercraft, from brigs like her own to smaller schooners. They had been broken and smashed to pieces, some partially intact but clearly never to take sail again, while others had been shattered so thoroughly that it was impossible to tell what kind of boat they once had been. Splintered masts rose into the air like the headstones of an abandoned cemetery, noting to all that might come across them that this was where the dead were kept.

But most impressive was the devastated remains of a Navy frigate, or half of one anyway. It was thrust partially up on the beach itself, one entire side ripped off, exposing what remained of the crew quarters.

Nuriel felt a strange shiver looking out on the skeletal remains of all those ships. At least the Carmilla’s Fancy had been mostly intact. But it was harder to look deader than these things.

Or more haunted.

The smart thing to do would to be to turn around and head right back to her island. She had enough troubles with monsters and spirits of the night to risk disturbing the sleep of the dead. There had to be dozens, if not hundreds of corpses of sailors out in those shoals, their bones picked clean by gulls and sea creatures. That would make one restless enough without some foolish girl poking about their graves.

And yet…

She did have at least one creature of the night on her side, and her new friend had not warned her away from any wrecked ships. It was sort of odd that she would find that comforting.

Besides, with so many wrecks to choose from, there had to be plenty of useful items she could salvage.

Taking a deep breath, Nuriel started to walk toward the remains of the beached frigate. But as she rounded a splintered mast complete with a crow’s nest that was jutting out of the sand, she saw something that made her stop in her tracks.

There was something reclining across the beach, the tip of its tail dangling in the surf. Something alive.

All the stories Nuriel had heard of merfolk had painted them as ethereally beautiful creatures with the bodies and faces of human women and the tails of massive fish where their legs ought to be. They would swim around seafaring vessels or recline sensuously upon reefs and rocks, tempting sailors to their watery deaths with the sound of their songs and their enchanting beauty. Those tales had served as a warning, to not allow one’s heart to be beguiled no matter how lonely you might be, but Nuriel had often come away from those stories not fearful of the sirens of the deep, but envious of them. How much better her life would be if she had the tail of a great fish and could swim wherever she pleased! Hell, there were a few sailors of her acquaintance that she wouldn’t mind leading to their deaths.

But now that she saw one in the flesh, she realized how wrong those descriptions had been, and yet how right.

The mermaid did in fact have a tail that she obviously used for swimming, but it was not the scaled tail of a cold-blooded fish, but a the long and sinuous tail, one that was finned, yes, but not with a split flipper at the end. Instead, it was more like the tail of a great serpent…no, not a serpent, as it had no scales. More like a giant eel, one with greenish-blue skin and stripes of a blue so dark that they were almost black.

As for the mermaid’s body, it was human…ish, and definitely feminine, but no one would mistake it for that of a human. The skin was the same greenish-blue as the tail, with no clear divide between the two parts like mermaids had been described having. Aside from the coloring, her torso was…mostly human in shape, trimmer in the middle and flaring out a bit where her hips extended down to her trail. She even had a navel, so she probably had not hatched from an egg. Her breasts were small, with two tiny, dark-blue nipples. Her arms, which were laid in the sand at her side, were long and slender, and her fingers, six of them on each hand, were likewise longer and more delicate-looking than they had any right to be, with a thin membrane stretching between her fingers. Short black claws protruded from the ends of her fingers.

The mermaid’s face was perhaps the most human-looking, with two eyes, a nose, and mouth all were it ought to be. Long, silky hair of a blue so dark that it was almost black flowed down her back as well. But the teeth in her mouth were obviously sharp and predatory, her eyes glowing a faint green even in the afternoon sun, and the lobe of each ear was a large, fin-like membrane, one that reminded Nuriel of the wings of a bat. Three horizontal black strips slashed their way across her nose.

There was no doubt about it. This was the green-eyed sea monster that Nuriel had seen on her first night on the island.

The mermaid was propped up on her elbows and looking out upon the wreckage all around her, the tip of her tail lazily flicking at the surf. And as Nuriel stared at her, she found herself realizing that while the mermaid clearly did not look like the fishy women from the sailors’ tales, she was still quite beautiful, and Nuriel could understand well the desire to leap in after her after a long and lonely voyage.

Though Nuriel didn’t make a sound, the mermaid must have sensed her anyway, as it suddenly jerked her head to one side and then flipped around onto her belly, hands splayed in the sand, eyes wide and watching warily. Nuriel stiffened.

Then the mermaid saw her. She blinked her green eyes once, head tilted in a manner that reminded Nuriel of that of a curious dog.

Or a wolf.

Then the mermaid seemed to relax. She rolled onto one side, propped up on her arm, and smiled warmly at Nuriel.

Then she raised one webbed hand and waved.

Nuriel was unsure of how to respond. She had spent her whole life fearing the unknown and the inhuman. She had shivered at tales of creatures that looked human but…weren’t, that preyed upon children, that drank blood and devoured souls. And ever since arriving on the island, she had been running from two monsters in particular, one with glowing red eyes that stalked the jungle and one with glowing green eyes that prowled the depths. She had been convinced that if either got their hands or claws on her, it would be all over for her.

But now one was leaving her notes and gifts while the other was waving to her in a friendly manner.

That was odd.

Nuriel waved back. What else could she do?

Satisfied with her response, the mermaid then beckoned at her, indicating for her to come closer.

Now this presented a conundrum. Did she acquiesce and trust that the inhuman creature of the deep, of which many terrifying tales had been told, truly did mean her no harm, or did she play it safe and keep her distance?

Seeing her hesitation, the mermaid sighed in exasperation and beckoned at her again, more insistently this time.

Well, if the mermaid did truly mean her harm, she could have done whatever she wanted to her after plucking her from the crocomonster’s grasp. And Nuriel truly could not see what the mermaid could possibly do now that they were on land.

Nuriel approached, walking through the sand until she was only a few feet away. Then she sat down on her haunches. There, that ought to be close enough.

The mermaid glanced her over, and as she did, Nuriel found herself staring fascinated at her face. Everything about the girl from the sea seemed more monster than woman, from the color of her eyes and skin to the length of her arms. And yet there definitely was a humanlike quality to her, not just because the shape of her body had a resemblance to a woman, but in how she moved, how she looked at Nuriel. As otherworldly as she was, there was a calm intelligence in her eyes, one that didn’t seem alien at all.

Then the mermaid’s brow furrowed. She lifted one webbed hand to her wing-like ear and let out a strange clicking sound.

Confused, Nuriel lifted a hand to her own ear, and found her fingers touching the ragged flesh of her lobe.

The mermaid made that clicking sound again, made a point of looking to the jungle, and then lunged her head forward, her sharp-teethed jaws biting at the air. Nuriel jumped a little, but it wasn’t a threat, it was a question.

What happened to your ear?

Right. Of course a maiden of the deep wouldn’t speak any human language. Actually, a speech made up of clicks and other similar vocalizations made perfect sense, given the environment. It was just bloody useless for Nuriel.

A girl who can’t speak and a girl who can only click, Nuriel thought despondently. This is going to make for a very trying conversation.

Still, at least the mermaid was making an effort to communicate. Nuriel touched her ear again, and then mimed biting onto something with her teeth, her neck twisting as she tore off an imaginary piece of flesh.

The mermaid blinked twice. And by that, it wasn’t that she shuttered her eyelids two times in a row, but that a thin, transparent membrane passed sideways over her eyes before her eyelids closed normally before opening again, with the membrane opening a second later.

And then her face contorted in anger.

The mermaid looked to the jungle again and pointed. She made another clicking sound, this one harsher sounding.

Nuriel stared blankly.

Hissing, the mermaid leaned over and rubbed her palm over a section of the sand, smoothing out an area. She lifted one hand, her index-finger extended.

The black claw at the end suddenly shot out, revealing itself to be long and needlelike.

Nuriel jerked a little. Oh. Retractable claws. Swell.

But the mermaid still didn’t mean her harm. Hunching over, she starting drawing in the sand with her claw.

Still apprehensive but now very curious, Nuriel leaned in to see what the mermaid was drawing. It was a very rough stick-figure of a long-haired woman wearing a dress. The jagged line that the mermaid used for the woman’s mouth indicated sharp teeth.

The mermaid again made a biting motion and indicated the jungle.

Then Nuriel understood. The mermaid wanted to know if the red-eyed monster had been the one to rip part of her ear off, and was angry about the possibility.

Interesting. So, the two did know each other, or at least of each other, but it seemed that they might not be on friendly terms.

Nuriel empathetically shook her head. Then she thought. All right, how could she explain this?

She entwined her thumbs and spread her fingers to imitated the wingspan of a bird. Then she fluttered it around before making her hand-bird dive at her own ear. Then she imitated the mermaid’s biting motion.

The anger cooled on the mermaid’s face, but she still looked horrified. She then pointed to the shoals, where a group of gulls were resting on a piece of railing.

Nuriel couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. Honestly, she wouldn’t be surprised if gulls turned out to be that vicious on this island.

She shook her head again and did her best to use her rarely-employed voice imitate the hoarse, cackling cries of the deadly birds that had twice almost ended her life.

The mermaid’s brow rose in understanding. Her shoulder slumped and the gills in her neck fluttered in a manner that Nuriel took for a sigh.

Nuriel was struck then at the strangeness of it all. Here were two girls from completely different worlds and even completely different species, both incapable of human speech for their own reasons, still managing to have a conversation. Still, she couldn’t say that the experience was unpleasant.

The mermaid wiped away the sketch of the red-eyed monster from the sand. Then she began drawing again.

First she drew a wavy line. Then beneath it she drew another stick-figure, this one of a person falling backwards, limbs flailing. She pointed at the falling person, and then at Nuriel.

That part was easy enough to understand. It was a picture of Nuriel herself, after she had been thrown overboard into the sea.

Then the mermaid sketched out a person with a long tail instead of legs, clearly herself. She drew a line between herself and the depiction of Nuriel, and then drew a hump on top of the wavy line. This she connected to the sketches of herself and Nuriel with an arrow.

Nuriel slowly nodded in understanding. The mermaid was the reason she was still alive. She had found Nuriel drowning in the sea and brought her to the island. If so, then when she had first appeared to Nuriel on the beach, she had probably just been coming by to check up on her, which was much more

Then she nodded again and held her hands to her chest, as if clutching her heart. Thank you, she mouthed. She didn’t know if the mermaid could read lips or even understand English, but hopefully the sentiment would be conveyed.

The mermaid smiled, so at least some things were universal. And then her expression turned dour.

She wiped away the sketches in the sand. Then she drew the figure of the red-eyed monster again and jabbed a finger at it while shaking her head.

Nuriel frowned. What was the mermaid trying to communicate?

The mermaid again jabbed a claw at the stick-figure. Then she tilted her head to one side, exposing her neck. She tapped the side of her neck, pointed at the stick-figure, and made that biting motion again.

Nuriel still stared blankly at her. Did the mermaid want to eat the red-eyed monster? She really hoped that wasn’t the case. The last thing she needed was to be stuck in the middle of some kind-

And then she got it. The mermaid wasn’t saying that she wanted to eat the red-eyed monster, she was saying that the red-eyed monster had tried to eat her!

Seeing the look on Nuriel’s face, the mermaid nodded once, clicked her teeth together again, and pointed to the sketch of the red-eyed monster with an empathic shake of her head.

Nuriel cast a wary eye over to the jungle, where the red-eyed monster dwelled. Being stalked by inhuman creatures had been bad enough. She had not expected to be caught in the middle of a feud between two of them.

Then the mermaid suddenly stiffened. She looked up at the island, eyes flitting this way and that. Nuriel tilted her head and frowned, silently asking her what was wrong.

The mermaid glanced back at Nuriel, unease in her eyes. She pointed at the marooned girl and let out a low, repeating click. Though the gesture didn’t come with an illustration, Nuriel felt that she had caught the gist.

Be careful.

Moving with the smooth grace of a slithering snake, the mermaid turned herself around and slid back into the sea, her long tail swaying in the sand. A moment later she had disappeared among the flotsam and jetsam.

Nuriel stared after her, out over the partially sunken wreckage. All this time she had assumed that the monster that prowled the night and the monster that prowled the deep had been in cahoots, that there had been some kind of alliance between them. But now, just as she was starting to perhaps trust them both, she learned that such was not the case.

But they had both saved her life! Nuriel would be dead at least three times over if it weren’t for them. And they had both ample opportunity to do her harm had they wanted to.

There was something else going on.

…

The next morning, Nuriel found that her new “friend” had once again returned.

The note Nuriel had written thanking it was gone, and in its place was yet another long letter. There was also yet another basket of fruit and a basket of fish, along with a jug of clean water.

Nuriel ate cautiously, wishing that she could taste the food, if for no other reason than to tell if it had been tampered with. But when it failed to kill her, she turned her attention to her other gifts.

In addition to the note, several sheets of blank parchment had also been left. So her new friend intended to keep communicating from afar as well.

As for the note, Nuriel again had to work to decipher it, but it was shorter this time.

I am so glad! Now, I know this must be very (st…string…strange!) strange to you, so I shall keep my (dictan? No, distance!) distance for now. However, should you need or want anything, do not (oh damn, there was no way she was going to get this one. It started with a “He,” but the next was a jumble of letters) to ask.

And again she had signed her name. And again, Nuriel couldn’t read it.

Once she was done, Nuriel sat back to contemplate what she ought to do.

The red-eyed monster had basically told her to ask for anything, and Nuriel had no doubt that she could provide. But what she really wanted was information.

But should she ask it? Would doing so anger her new benefactor?

Well, only one way to find out.

Nuriel knelt down over a piece parchment, charcoal stick in one hand, the note that the red-eyed monster had left for her in the other.

Writing was not her strong suit. She read well enough to get by, and she could write a little bit, but mostly short phrases she had memorized in order to get by. Complex questions such as the one she wanted took some work.

Fortunately, while hurried, the red-eyed monster’s penmanship was neat and readable, so Nuriel was about to use it as something of a cross-reference to get the words right. Unfortunately, the two words she needed to use weren’t anywhere to be found. Damn it.

Then she sighed. Oh, who cared about spelling? The point would be made regardless.

Sticking the charcoal against the parchment, she carefully etched out the words, HU IS MURMAD?

Hopefully the red-eyed monster would glean her meaning, but just to be sure, Nuriel also took a page from the mermaid’s book and sketched out a person with a fish’s tail beneath her question.

That done, she picked up the hammer and nailed her question to the mast. Now all she had to do was wait. And pray.

#original writing #my wriitng #blood island #vampires #dinosaurs #pirates #mermaids #happy mermay everybody!

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owlheartt · 3 years

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Star Sanses Extended, Chapter 2: Underfell

Dream continues training Papyrus until Ink prompts them to stop for lunch. And then do not end up at the timeline Dream and Papyrus wanted to. (link to Chapter 1 on AO3)

Dream continued coaching Papyrus for the next few hours, with Ink interrupting at random moments. Sometimes he gave good advice, like stick with the group no matter what lure-tactics are used. But most of the time, Ink just prattled on about random things. Dream, on the other hand, was focused. He had a set mind and layed out goals and lists. He showed Papyrus how his magic worked and even prompted Ink to give an example. Ink just drew a tree. Admittedly, Ink’s tree came to life, and it was identical to a real one (the neon coloring being an exception).

Dream’s magic was the embodiment of joy, and it enchanted Papyrus.

“IT’S SO BRIGHT!” Papyrus exclaimed. He couldn’t help gushing over the glowing gold. The magic itself made Papyrus happy, and he wanted to be near it forever.

“Yea. My… Nightmare hates it.” Dream said. He looked a little distant.

“NIGHTMARE IS THE LEADER OF THE BAD SANSES, CORRECT?” Papyrus had been working very hard on memorizing what Dream had been explaining, and it felt good to be able to connect the dots like that.

“Yes! He’s my opposite, and his magic embodies negativity.” Dream said. Papyrus didn’t like how sad the yellow skeleton looked. Despite the joy Dream represented, he hardly ever looked happy himself. At least, he hadn’t in the few hours Papyrus had known him. Maybe today was just long. It must be stressful to switch out one of his team mates. Maybe he was worried that Papyrus would trip them up.

“HAVE NO FEAR! I CAN HANDLE IT. ESPECIALLY WITH THE JOY YOU BRING!” Papyrus placed his hands on his hips, and stood boldly. It was his hero pose that he practiced every morning in the mirror. Sans didn’t know that of course, and just thought that Papyrus came that great.

“I-” Dream cut himself off and squinted a little at Papyrus. “Thanks. This feels a lot like when I met Blue for the first time.” Dream smiled (genuinely, this time), and Papyrus got a taste of how much Dream loved his friends. It felt a lot like how much he loved Sans and Undyne. Maybe… maybe someday Dream would love him the same way.

“YOU’RE WELCOME! NOW, YOU WERE SAYING ABOUT YOUR MAGIC?” Papyrus said.

“Oh, right! I can also spread-” Dream began.

“Hiiiiiss HAPPY BUBBLE!!!” Ink exclaimed, slamming into Dream and wrapping an arm around him. Dream yelped as he was squashed against his considerably smaller friend.

“HAPPY BUBBLE?” Papyrus loved listening to all of Dream’s carefully worded explanations. None of it was ever condescending or confusing, and as the day had gone on it became easier and easier to ask questions.

“I have an aura I can spread.” Dream sat down, forcing the still-attached Ink to plop down with him. Papyrus followed, hitting the soft ground. The grass bent beneath him, and it felt itchy even through his clothes. “It makes the beings near me feel better. Ink calls it my Happy Bubble. The larger the bubble, the more effort it takes to upkeep. Mine tend to extend 7 feet, tops. It makes me nervous to use more magic than that.”

“AH, I SEE. CAN NIGHTMARE DO THE SAME?” Papyrus asked. Dream nodded.

“He doesn’t do it often though, it doesn’t benefit him. We both draw magic from nearby emotions, and artificially made ones don’t do anything for us.”

“Hey, I’m hungry!” Ink said, drawing away from Dream.

“Not now, Ink. Paper and I are busy.” Dream said, sighing.

“No like, it’s past noon. We haven’t had lunch.” Ink said, frowning. He switched to a playful grin and threw his hand over his head dramatically before adding, “We’re going to waste away!!”

“I INVITE YOU ALL TO MY HOUSE. I’M SURE THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE FRIDGE WE COULD HAVE!!” Papyrus said, standing right back up. He didn’t like sitting for long. Or, sitting at all, really. Felt… lazy. “OR IF WE NEED TO STAY HERE..?”

“No, not at all! We can keep tabs on the Multiverse from wherever. Ink, if you wouldn’t mind,” Dream turned toward Ink who had already splashed, well, ink all over the ground. Oddly enough, it looked more like a slab. It didn’t have single pieces of grass sticking up and out of it, and the surface was flat. Ink snached Papyrus and Dream’s hands with a little more urgency than Papyrus thought necessary. Of course, with how unpredictable Ink was, there was the chance it was just him being him.

Traveling through one of Ink’s shortcuts was different from Dream’s. The yellow magic was more like a snap, quick and efficient. Ink’s was… more leisurely. Just by a little bit, but it was still noticeable. Rather than the distinct tug on his SOUL, when he transitioned from the orange place to the new timeline it felt more like he had slid down a slide. He was pulled, but in a rather inviting way.

Looking up and around, Papyrus noticed that they were standing in Hotland, not far from Alphys’s lab. Except it felt as off-putting as when he had met Blueberry for the first time. It was Hotland… but not quite. Papyrus decided to give it the benefit of the doubt though, especially as it looked roughly the same as his Hotland, and he didn’t want to be rude.

“...AH, MY HOME IS THIS WAY.” Papyrus said, and began to march off toward Waterfell.

“Your home? Why does that matter?” Ink said. Papyrus turned around to see him tilting his head.

“Ink, don’t tell me you took us to the wrong timeline.” Dream said. From his expression, Papyrus could guess that this had happened before.

“Wrong timeline? For what?” The most frustrating part about this (in Papyrus’s fantastic opinion), was that it was impossible to tell if Ink was genuinely asking.

“FOR LUNCH. I WAS BRINGING YOU ALL TO MY HOUSE.” Papyrus said, as calmly as he could muster. Ink thought a bit before responding.

“Oh cool! Lunch sounds good. If we could take care of Error first though that’d be great.” Ink said it nonchalantly, but Dream’s eye sockets went wide open.

“...Error?” Dream said.

“Yea why?”

“WHO’S ERROR?” Papyrus didn’t like being kept in the dark.

“Error... is another destroyer of timelines.” Dream said slowly, and Papyrus could see how much effort he was putting into keeping a level tone. “He’s Ink’s nemesis, you could say. He doesn’t really work with the Bad Sanses, but he poses roughly the same threat.” Between the gritted teeth and the vibrating eye lights Papyrus got the general sense that Dream was Not Ok. So he took the one obvious solution and scooped his two new friends up.

“WHERE TO?” Papyrus said, determined. He was going to go and make sure that Error didn’t hurt anyone.

“Why, did you, pick us, up?!?” Dream said breathily, sounding enormously alarmed.

“WOO!! Free ride!” Ink said over him. He wiggled out of Papyrus’s grip and scrambled up him, clinging onto Papyrus like a baby Koala. “That way!!” Ink pointed directly to Alphys’s lab, where Papyrus could hear some banging and clashing now that he was focusing on it.

Papyrus ran straight for the lab, throwing out a foot to smash open the door. Quite a grand entrance if he could say so himself. The room he had burst into, on the other hand, was a mess. There was an assortment of computer bits strewn across the floor, and there was a big computer that had fallen over. Papyrus believed that his Alphys had a similar computer. Undyne had mentioned it once or twice. Of course, it was safe to assume Alphys’s was upright, but he had never been in Alphys’s lab before.

Speaking of Alphys, she was standing in a crouched position near the computer. She had her hands thrown out, as if she had hoped to stop the chaos happening but couldn’t figure out how. Her head was flipping from side to side, looking all around the room desperately, throwing her glasses half off her face. Papyrus had seen a picture of Alphys and Undyne together, and was sure that Alphys looked nothing like this. This Alphys had foggy, spiral glasses, and her outfit under the lab coat was a vibrant red and black.

There were three other monsters in the room, having a stand off in the middle of the debris. Undyne, Mettaton, and… oh dear goodness, was that Sans? Undyne and Mettaton were styled similarly to Alphys, in bright reds and pitch blacks, and they both looked… well, a lot edgier. And stronger. Then there was this Sans. He was a lot more committed to the, ah, black look. His bones themselves were a solid black, to the point that the dim, flickering lights in the lab were just absorbed into him, like a black hole. His eyelights were different sizes and colors, and he looked like he needed someone to talk to. There were glitches all along him, some just as rectangles, others saying ERROR. This Sans felt… surreal. And like he was hurting.

It took all of Papyrus’s willpower to focus on what Dream had been telling him, and not prepare a speech for this Sans. He had to trust that Blueberry knew what he was doing, and had already tried. Well, maybe not for this Sans. Maybe Dream would let him-

Ink launched himself off of Papyrus, rolling along the floor before leaping up and skidding to a halt in front of the glitching Sans.

“Ink?!” Even this Sans’s voice was glitching.

“Heya Glitchy!! Aww, come on! Were you seriously attacking these poor monsters?” Ink sounded completely unphased, barely throwing a glance at said ‘poor monsters.’

“WHAT?” The Undyne roared. She looked mean, and mad. “He killed Papyrus, so this damn fight is mine, I already need robotics over here to leave, don’t make me force you out too!” Killed… him? Papyrus? No wonder Undyne was mad. Oh, what about Sans? Papyrus knew that Sans was going through things, and he needed Papyrus to help make sure he kept going. Had this Papyrus made it into the guard? Or were his life long dreams gone? Maybe he didn’t dream of being a Royal Guardsman. What had he dreamed of? Did he ever make it? What was he leaving behind? As if sensing his thoughts, Dream snapped in front of his face, bringing him back.

“Hey- Paper! If we can stop this fight and convince Error to leave, then we can RESET the timeline! I can’t explain right now, but just know that we can undo what Error has done.” Dream said. “Also please-put-me-down-I-have-to-go-help-Ink-because-he-will-get-himself-killed,” the golden skeleton added in a rush. Papyrus set Dream down before glancing around the room again. The angry triad of monsters all seemed to be getting more aggressive with Ink himself, but Alphys just looked conflicted. With Dream heading to Ink, Papyrus felt inclined to go help Alphys. She was having a smaller problem, but smaller problems tend to get overlooked. If the Great Papyrus didn’t help her, then who would? Undyne might, but she was busy right then.

“ALPHYS?” Papyrus asked her, as gently as he could. “ARE YOU HURT?” Alphys jerked, finally sending her glasses flying. She glared at Papyrus, with small, squinting eyes.

“I’m f-fine, th-tha-thank you-ou. F-fuck o-off.” She growled. Did she just- no matter. Papyrus was ok being the bigger monster (especially because he literally was), and he could move past it. When Alphys turned to start feeling through the debri for her glasses, Papyrus took one big step and picked them up, calmly and maturely handing them to her. “I d-d-don’t need-d h-help!!! I t-t-told y-you, fuck. Off.” She said, adjusting her glasses so that she could see again. Then her jaw dropped open.

“IS THAT BETTER, FRIEND?” Papyrus tried placing an emphasis on ‘friend,’ hoping that Alphys would understand that he only wanted to help.

“P-P-Pap-Papyrus?” Alphys’s stutter only seemed to be getting worse.

“YES, THAT’S ME!! BUT YOU CAN CALL ME PAPER.” Papyrus added, remembering that this timeline had a Papyrus already… it also began to dawn on him that this timeline’s Papyrus had died. Died, what an unsettling concept.

“B-b-b-but,” Alphys said, her eyes wide. “B-b-but y-you-you’re d-d-dust..?”

“I’M… NOT YOUR PAPYRUS.” Papyrus smiled gently. “I’M SORRY.” He added.

“I- th-then wh-wh-who a-are y-you?” Alphys tried to organize herself, her eyes flitting around the room nervously.

“CALL ME PAPER. I’M HERE TO HELP! I’M STILL LEARNING WHAT TO DO THOUGH, SO MY FRIENDS ARE THE ONES WHO ARE REALLY GOING TO HELP!” Papyrus was really good at admitting when he didn’t know enough. Not knowing was frustrating, but no one could know everything. And if you can’t admit that you need help, how could you get better?

“W-we d-d-don’t n-need he-help.” Alphys said, her voice regaining the steely tone she had used earlier. She narrowed her eyes at Papyrus, and the only hint that she was nervous was the way she fiddled with her hands.

“EVERYONE NEEDS HELP, IT’S OK TO ACCEPT IT.” Papyrus said, trying his hardest to sound the exact opposite of the red Alphys. It was hard to figure out if this was just what Alphys was like, or if it was the whole Universe. If Undyne’s stories were anything to go off of, it was the Universe.

“Y-you r-really ar-aren’t P-P-Papyrus.” Alphys said with an accusatory tone. Her words helped solidify the idea that it was the Universe itself.

“ARE YOU OK?” Papyrus decided to skip over all the bickering. He was sure Dream and Ink could use his help, but no matter how Alphys was acting it was important not to leave her hanging.

“I-I-I’m fine.” She said, scowling.

“JUST IN CASE, MAY I CHECK YOUR SOUL?” Papyrus said, almost certain of her answer.

“N-no, g-g-go a-away.” Alphys said.

“AH, ALRIGHT. PLEASE STAY BACK HERE, I DON’T WANT YOU GETTING HURT.” Papyrus said, turning. Alphys seemed even more offended by his statement, but Papyrus couldn’t figure out why. He was just caring for her, after all.

“I-I’m st-staying b-b-back here b-but o-only because I w-want to!!!” Alphys said, raising her voice a little and scrunching up her eyes. Papyrus nodded absently, turning himself towards the battle he had been ignoring.

Undyne’s spears littered the wall and floor, one with it’s sharp point missing. Ink was tied up in blue strings high above the floor, his brush hanging precariously. Papyrus would go and help, but Ink was too high up to reach. Dream’s clothes were a little torn, and he had a bow with a yellow arrow nocked. His aim was switching around the circle, which gave Papyrus the impression that everyone was a threat. Maybe… maybe if he talked to Undyne she would be willing to step back.

“Where’s your blue friend, dreamy?” Error said. His words were as glitchy as his body, and they seemed to have a background noise of static. He had an edge to his voice not unlike the Alphys of this timeline, but it sounded cockier. Error’s eyelights flitted to Papyrus, and his superior grin swapped to a frown before he smiled cruelly again. “What, is this your replacement?” Error cackled, throwing his head back.

Dream stole a quick glance at Papyrus, seemingly involuntary. Undyne and Mettaton stayed focused on the others. Papyrus crept up to Undyne, and tapped her shoulder just as she seemed to brace herself to throw another spear. She whipped around, her irritation etched across her face.

“WHA-” Undyne stopped half-turn, seeing who had tapped her. Her half-formed spear dropped, shattering on the tiled floor. Sounding a lot smaller and a bit sad, she whispered. “Papyrus?”

“HELLO FRIEND. I AM NOT YOUR PAPYRUS.” Papyrus said, reaching up to wrap his hand around her shoulder, trying to be as comforting as he could. Papyrus caught Dream’s eye socket, and saw him smile gratefully before shifting back to Error. Undyne, on the other hand, quickly switched her expression. Her face snapped into a snarl, and she reached up to smack Papyrus’s hand away.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!” She yelled at him, spears forming above her head. At first glance, they looked strong and dangerous. But when Papyrus looked closer, he could see how thin the magic looked. Undyne didn’t want to fight him. “YOU’RE NOT PAPYRUS, AND PAPYRUS WOULD NEVER BE WEAK ENOUGH TO SHOW AFFECTION.” Undyne put emphasis on ‘affection’ like it was something evil, unwanted. How wrong that felt.

“LOVE IS NOT WEAK. AND I’M NOT YOUR PAPYRUS. PLEASE WAIT FOR ME TO EXPLAIN.” Papyrus kept his voice level, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. Undyne just made more spears.

“Not my Papyrus?! HA!! How dumb do you think I AM?!?! There’s only ONE Papyrus, and you sure as hell aren’t him!” Undyne sneered. The spears came down, and Papyrus had to throw up a bone shield. More spears missed his shield than he would’ve expected to, although he knew Undyne’s control was never as good as Papyrus’s (his was far too good to live up to).

“PLEASE WAIT FOR AN EXPLANATION!!” Papyrus turned his bones blue so that he could see Undyne. She was still growling, her brow deeply furrowed.

“Why should I speak to you?! It doesn’t matter who you are, just that you’re IMPERSONATING MY-” Undyne cut herself off. She hesitated, spears pausing and angry mask barely breaking.

“YOUR FRIEND?” Papyrus offered. Friends were important. Just like family. Papyrus knew that Undyne was important to him and vice versa in his universe, so it would make sense that it would be the same in this one, despite everyone’s bizarre personality.

“NO!!! Friends are WEAK and PATHETIC. I was GOING TO SAY my BEST GUARD!” Undyne shouted, squeezing her eyes shut. Papyrus removed his shield, and brought up blue bones around Undyne, close enough that she couldn’t use her hands to help her summon magic. Papyrus saw her eyes shoot open with shock and he saw her reach to move.

“BLUE MEANS STOP.” He said calmly. “LET ME HELP FIX WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE, AND WE CAN MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER.”

#mmm yea I have no idea what I'm doing #I'm a lot less happy w/ this chapter but I don't want to spend more time on it #and I wanna post it before things start getting crazy for me irl #Anyways. please let me know what parts of it you liked to boost my serotonin because my ego is delicate #owl's writing #my writing #classic papyrus #papyrus undertale #star sanses extended #star sanses #writblr #undertale fanfiction #utmv #underfell #underfell alphys #underfell undyne #I probably butchered those characters I'm really sorry

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dragonrajafanfiction · 3 years

Text

The Red Well (Part 3) Hearts and Minds

This is it folks! The MC is EMPOWERED! @rurifangirl

The smoke of liquid nitrogen was gone and people finally saw the true appearance of the holy skeleton. It looked like a crippled embryo. Its swollen head had a large single eye. What looked like a tail was actually a flesh-wrapped spine. Its ribs protrude outside the flesh layer, so it must have used these sharp ribs to insert into the host's spine and manipulate the body when it was parasitic. The holy skeleton did not die under the blade of Gathering Clouds. It twisted and made a "hissing" sound. The golden eyes flash at you, but in the glass capture chamber it could not touch any host that could be parasitized. Without the power of a body it was so weak it couldn’t escape through glass.

King General used a strong flashlight and peered through the outer layer of flesh of the skeleton. Inside the half-developed organs were faintly visible.

You could still feel yourself shaking, not only in fear of this thing and its hunger for you, but in fear of Ruri Kazama who was even stronger. Now you finally understood why Ruri Kazama offered to take you here, rob Herzog of the fetal blood and give it to you. It wasn’t just about saving your life. When you stared into his swirling pupils of red and gold, you finally grasped that this was about more than just survival. He wouldn’t stop at Herzog and Chisei.

World Domination.

With you.

You have a nightmare vision of this unstoppable hybrid, killing everyone you know, piling them up like hay. Z understood his true nature. He warned you several times and each time you felt you had a reason to ignore him. His last words were “This one’s on you.”

You thought you were smart, strong, and quick enough to change and control your situation. But you were nothing compared to Ruri Kazama. Nothing!

There was only one way to free yourself...

"Look at it, how beautiful it is! What a perfect way to evolve! Before it was executed by the Black King, it actively evolved to live in parasitic form! It perpetuated its existence in this way!" The king pressed his hands on the capture pod and glorified the ugly parasite.

"Ah Excuse me!.” A voice from somewhere in this massive cave spoke up. “..if the god is a parasite ...... then how does it help us evolve?''

"It's not enough to find a parasite, you also have to find a host and food for it." The King smiled, "Only a very few hosts in this world can be parasitized by the god, such as Izanagi and Susanoo, but unfortunately the ancient descendants did not understand the great meaning of this parasitism and killed the god before it completely evolved into the new white king. It is not the god in this form that can give us the path of evolution, but the White King after the evolution is complete! We will see the new king ascend the throne and open a new chapter in the world!''

Pillars of light descended from the sky, enveloping you, the King General and Ruri Kazama in them. The helicopter's rotor blades cut through the rain curtain, a loud roar echoing through the well. It was a black helicopter with the cabin door open, and Gen Chisei sitting in the cabin, his long black trench coat whipping and flying.

At the last moment, Hydra arrived on the scene.

Ruri Kazama, who had been silent, seemed to wake up from a deep sleep. His eyes lit up, and golden mandala-like patterns seemed to turn under them. He slowly lifted his head and looked up at the black shadow that had fallen from the sky, the gale blowing away the fringes of his Kimono to reveal his ribbed chest.

"Brother! Brother! You've come to see me? Are you here for my graduation?" He laughed wildly in the wind.

"Or have you come for my enthronement ceremony?" His smile tightened into a malicious grimace, leaving only biting ferocity, "With your blood to stain my vestments with your sacrificial red?"

Just like that, Ruri seemed to have forgotten about you. But he already told you what to do.

Hide.

The ancient and stern language descended from the sky, just like the language of God echoing in the sky. The field of “Majesty" enveloped the Red Well, and tens of thousands of stainless steel wall panels fell off the well walls, pressing the king's wrath on everyone's head. The rules of gravity were forcibly changed. Everyone felt ten times their weight on their bones.

You flee. You flee like you fled the soldiers in Black Swan Bay. The huge metal plates smashed down on the helpless Devil Clan elites. But you were not affected and you had the Sword of the Gathering Clouds to aid you. The super sharp master blade cut through the thick steal plates like paper as you headed for the safety cabins. You didn’t understand why you were spared Majesty’s influence. Was this payback for rescuing Sakura on the Tokyo Tower? Or did Chisei understand that you weren't exactly a willing participant in all this?

All around you the moans of the members of the Devil Clan were echoing. They were like souls trapped in hell. You pause in your flight.

A young man had managed to grab your heel. His tears were pooling under his eyes. They were tears mixed with blood. His jaw looked distorted and broken. His chest was whistling with blood. He couldn’t have been older than you were, but he struggled. “Help… me…”

Before you could answer a massive shadow loomed over you and a steel plate came down and smashed through his neck like a guillotine, sending his head flying clear off the platform into the well below.

This wasn’t fair. These were people. They didn’t know Herzog was bad any more than you did as a Black Swan Bay orphan. Again, your mind superimposes Black Swan Bay onto the Red Well. If Herzog had taken you to the capitol as promised, wouldn’t he still be your beloved father? Would he not have infected you with his distorted visions of evolution? These people were just trying to survive! They were all that was left of the Devil Clan. Everyone else was in prison!

What was the difference between them and you? They were just like you! They were being slaughtered like animals and they were just like you!

The Red Well suddenly echoed with a mighty roar that came from your wide open throat. It was plaintive and piercing like the cry of a lonely wolf or a mourning mother over her fallen child. It was full of sorrow but also fierce frustration that this shit keeps happening and you want it to fucking stop! Your throat stretched and rattled painfully. If you could stop the world with your voice, you would roar until your voice gave out!

Your eyes explode into a kaleidoscope pattern of black red and gold as the blood in your body finally takes full hold. Ruri’s blood has replaced your own. That blood was yours now and all the power that came with it!

Ruri was laughing wildly from somewhere in the cave. “Do you hear that brother! It’s just as it’s written! A rib was taken from a man and from it was formed into a woman! See! I can quote fairy tales too!”

Your hands seize a firm hold of Gathering Clouds and you spin and a dazzling horizontal arc! The secret of this mighty sword is that it could control the wind. One of the first emperor hybrids wielded it to push a wildfire set by his enemies back into them, burning them to ash. In this case, the sword produced a wind so powerful it knocked back all the massive steel plates. Even though they were heavy in normal gravity and ten times heavier under the influence of Majesty, this dragon-tail sword blew those plates away like they weighed no more than feathers! They scattered like dandelion tufts blown by a child!

There was nothing in your mind other than stopping this mindless slaughter. You didn’t care about the Devil Clan versus Hydra. In this matter, you had to agree with Ruri Kazama. There were no good guys versus bad guys. There were good guys in Hydra like Sakura Yabuki and there were good people in the Devil Clan, like Chime and Chance. The only evil that led both astray were Herzog and Bondarev. They should be turning those weapons on them!

Chisei did not come alone. The heavily armed Hydra members followed Gen Chisei out of the cabin of the helicopters. They fired at the shaft wall with grapple guns and hung high from them, but Chisei Gen fell straight down. Kazama Ruri stretched the fuchsia-red sword in the air, Chisei’s twin blades made a dazzling ray of more than ten meters long, and the three blades fought against each other. The violent sparks illuminate the faces of the estranged brothers. Chisei’s face is indifferent like a stone carving, but Kazama Ruri’s is like a bloodthirsty evil spirit.

Around them, gunfire and explosions continued. The Hydra Elites hung in the air by their grapple guns and pulled the trigger before they had even completed their fall. A hailstorm of bullets fell from the sky. The moment Chisei jumped out of the cabin, “Majesty” was lifted, but the engineering team and gunmen of the Devil Clan were cut down and suppressed by gunfire before they could get up and dodge. The Hydra elites were not going to spare anyone in the well. They were thugs among thugs, and now, even though they dangled from ropes, they hold their weapons as still and stable as professional assassins.

A hurricane of violence had erupted in the Well of Bones. Ruri and Chisei’s blades were like lightning, the gun battles were like thunder, and you were howling like the wind.

You ran straight towards the wall, and then straight up the wall. Your face is like the mask of Medusa and your hair quivered like black snakes. You didn’t care how fast you were running, it wasn’t fast enough! People were still dying! If this were just up to you and just about you, you probably could have killed everyone in this well much more easily. That was how you were taught in Black Swan Bay. But now you’d been infected with a new philosophy.

The righteous philosophy of Caesar Gattuso! What was right mattered more than what was efficient. Human lives were worth more than the blood of gods! Your whole body felt like it was on fire as you cut through all the weapons of the Hydra members hanging on the walls. You were just as fast as Ruri was. Hydra leaders took aim at the Devil clan only for the muzzles of their guns to fall off and a strong breeze to shake them from the wall. You were able to easily outrun the bullets that strafed after you as you cut heavy weapons to pieces and cut them from their wires so that they would fall to the maintenance platform.

The surviving Devil clan members cheered as they crawled out from cover and picked up weapons to counterattack, and they aimed at the vital parts of the Hydra assassins, giving them fatal injuries while they were hanging in the air. But then those cheers changed to fearful confusion as this whirlwind of a woman descended on them and their weapons split in half even though they never saw you cut them.. “Stop fighting! Don’t you realize who the real enemy is?!” Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It sounds like a mix of Ruri Kazama’s voice and yours, speaking double toned, like someone possessed.

“Traitor! She’s a traitor!” Someone yelled among the Devil Clan ranks

“Kill that Devil woman!” Came shouts from the Hydra elites on the wall.

Yelling erupted from every side of the well from both the Devil Clan and the Hydra elites. You’re suddenly enveloped by a hail of bullets from both sides who now viewed you as a dangerous enemy and united to fight against you. A rueful bitter voice echoed in your head. “Well, at least they answered your question. Their real enemy is you… apparently.” A strong wind burst out and the bullets of the Hydra and the Devil Clan shot back into their faces. Dozens of men on both sides on the conflict fell dead or seriously wounded in an instant.

You put one hand over your eyes. You cackled at your own despair. You couldn’t stop yourself laughing uproariously. Your laugh rose to an insane screaming pitch as you rose above the floor of the maintenance platform on a gale of wind like some sort of evil witch. “Fine… Fine! Have it your way. Tear each other’s throats and die here with no one to mourn you!” While you felt the evil of Herzog and the justice of Gattuso, you still had little patience for idiots.

“Leave her to me! I’ll take care of the rest!” A man darted forward. You could tell by his speed and the ferociousness in his eyes that this one was different. The sword he carried glow brilliantly as though it had been superheated. But to you he was just running like a child with a toy light saber. What mattered more was that he was a leader. He had influence.

You met him, but not blade for blade so as not to smash his weapon by accident. Instead you dodged while he struck at you again and again but you were like a ghost in the air. “Tell your men to stop fighting!” You say.

“I will not let you resurrect the god!” His blade suddenly burst into flames, extending its reach and sending a wave of fire at you. The fire ignites your dress, turning the white fabric to soot and exposing your midriff. Delicate white scales sparkled on your abdomen in the rain as though you were made of diamond. The man’s eyes widened in horror as you just absorbed what should have been a devastating blow.

“The god is already resurrected.” You tell him, your voice is shaking, pleading. The rain drops run down your face in a torrent. “You don’t understand its nature. I don’t think you can control it. If you don’t work together with the Devil Clan, you’ll never-”

Now it was the senior member’s turn to laugh. “Ha! Work together? Work with the greedy people who got us into this mess in the first place?!” He pointed the sword at you. His eyes blazing gold. “You’re just a child. We’ve been fighting this war for all our lives. Our sides were determined on the day we were born and I have sworn to follow my righteous path until I die!”

“These people are your family!” You scream desperately. “Chance’s real name was Ichirou Inuyama! He was Inuyama!”

You suddenly see his whole body glow like fire and his clothes burned away. Under his combat suit he was strapped head to toe in layers of plastic explosive! He’d prepared to meet a super-Devil like you or Ruri.

He howled against the wind. “DIE! DEVIL SCUM!”

Time seemed to slow as the raging ball of flame burned his body to ash and came towards you, and the roaring gale of Gathering Clouds bubbled outward to meet it. The force of the suicide vest was so powerful, the flames licked around your body, surrounding you in fire. But eventually, just as in the legend, the wind won out. The full force of the suicide blast flew away from you. Not only that, the blast was fed and accelerated by your ferocious wind until that fire expanded into a fireball a hundred meters wide and heated up to nearly 2,000 degrees. It engulfed men and women who had thrown away their broken guns and pulled out knives and swords. If they didn’t have knives and swords, they fought with fists, feet, and bits of debris. They didn’t even look up when the ball of fire took them over and snuffed out their lives. The massive fireball left corpses and flames and devastation in its wake.

But you didn’t mean it. You were just defending yourself.

A loud crash interrupted you before you could panic. You jerked your head around and saw Chisei Gen standing under a shower of burning wreckage from a helicopter that was rolling down the wall. Gen Chisei did not dodge and it was too late to warn him.

You run forward a few steps but the whirling blade that had broken off from the wreckage already chopped into Chisei’s shoulder, crushing the man flat to the ground as the rest of the blades cut in turn. Immediately afterwards, the crumpled black fuselage hit him and slid across the ground before finally crashing into the tall steel liquid nitrogen tank. Huge amounts of liquid nitrogen poured over the wreckage of the helicopter, frost spreading along the surface of the wreckage and rising up as a thick mist.

The fuel tanks ruptured and the fallen wreckage was ignited. Electric sparks flashed and buzzed as if a thousand suns were burning at the bottom of the well, a wave of gas forcing everyone still alive apart. Columns of light swept across the bottom of the storage well with columns of dust, fiery air currents and flying debris blew across the area.

The Hydra and engineering teams of the Devil Clan were still fighting. They didn't even realize that the leader of the Hydra group had been killed in action. All of them were immersed in a great sense of mission and anger. No matter what the outcome of this fight was, no one could stop anymore. Even though you had the blood, the power, and the faith in justice, you felt lost and without any hope of victory.

You’re not even sure you wanted Chime to come back any more. Maybe this is for the best that he sleeps forever with his brother.

This was not Black Swan Bay. These weren’t little children running from explosions or cold-blooded men. These were adults. These people were choosing to kill each other. Even if they were deceived, they truly believed the deception. Even if you took all their weapons and tied them all up, they would still move and crawl on the ground in an attempt to tear at each other with their teeth.

The trap that Herzog had set was not this well. The burning man was right. The trap had been set and carefully laid in their minds and cultivated from the day of their birth. Just like the trap of the suicide pills. These people had to, not only choose to live and not seek death, but also choose to let others live and not seek the death of other people.

"So sad the end, ah... the family line that stretched for thousands of years, the guardian of Japan, just ended its mission.'' Herzog stands by the burning wreckage and laments in a poetic voice, "From now on in the world, there will no longer be any such thing as Emperor.”

"But no matter," he smiled faintly again, "Emperors were outdated anyway."

Ruri was strangely silent. With his brother gone, shouldn’t he be attacking Herzog?

Herzog hoisted the carrying case in his hand, the glass capture capsule is contained in that case. He has got what he dreamed of all his life. It is time to leave this well. You huff. What a magnificent bastard. He didn’t have to do anything to kill anyone here. Everyone was happy to do it for him, yourself included.

You stare at the sword in your hand. What a poisoned pill that sword turned out to be!

At that moment, a loud heartbeat came from behind him, like a sudden booming death knell, like something returning from hell! Hands covered in white scales pierced the metal skin of the wreckage of the helicopter, and crystal clear claws snapped around the head of the King General!

The flames in the wreckage sucked in and out, getting more and more fiery, as though something huge was breathing in the cockpit. Each time it inhaled a huge amount of air from within the wreck, it exhaled a gushing fire from it.

The suitcase fell to the ground. The King kicked and struggled. Not only is the pressure on that sharp claw increasing, but the sound of breathing was taking on a threatening aura. Kazama Ruri didn't move. Those dull, soulless eyes lit up again, and he watched with interest as the claw slowly tightened. The king's mask was crumbling, blood dripping down from the cracks.

The wreckage suddenly burst apart! The few people who approached the wreckage were immediately killed by the flying flames and debris.

Out of the firelight came the dazzling white shadow, someone who could no longer be called human. He was such a beautiful and hideous creature. He possessed gnarled muscles and rippling sinews that proclaimed what power was in this incredible body. The surface of the scales of his skin were like golden-red brocade in the firelight. The skin on his back split open. Slender bones opened up. Bloody wings stretched themselves out for the first time He was drenched in blood from this wing beat but the wounds on his back healed at a speed visible to the naked eye, after which the fierce and savage back muscles bulged.

The exoskeleton-encircled face could no longer smile or frown, and the newborn Chisei breathed up into the sky with a windy roar in his throat.

He was something between an angel and a devil, a mistake that should not have been made in this world.

"Dragon's blood! You ...... you used dragon's blood?!" The General exclaimed.

Chisei’s voice was deep and echoing. "Yes, as an emperor, I can't kill you, but as a ghost, I can surpass the limits of an emperor." He said softly, "I've been a ghost slayer all my life, yet I didn't understand until this moment why those ghosts crave for power.''

He looked up at the dark night sky, rain pattering on that hard face: "When there is already boundless darkness where you are, how can you not fly to the flame?"

You gasp. Those words. Not those words! Those are Herzog’s words! Why was Chisei quoting the words of the dying Devil Clan? You reach out your hand. And then stop. With a slight popping sound, the skull of Herzog broke like a water pipe. He threw the King's body on the ground and lowered his emperor-like golden eyes to observe. The corpse never moved a single bit.

The King surprisingly just died. And suddenly everything made sense. You were too occupied to think about it before. Didn’t Chisei fall helplessly before Ruri Kazama just hours ago? Didn’t Chisei always save Majesty to the end of the battle as an escape plan because it rendered him as helpless as a newborn kitten? In this instance, he’d thrown it out at the beginning! But he suffered no side effects. He wanted to kill Ruri Kazama so badly that he went against his own morals and principles.

Morals and principals were so troublesome. You think to yourself bitterly. They get in the way of efficiency.

After what you’d seen of Ruri Kazama and after what you’d seen of the god. You didn’t believe you could survive here much longer and you didn’t think Chisei would win. It was best to escape while these two musclebound idiots solved their differences. Knowing them… they’d kill each other and you never got in the way of that before, and bitterly decide not to get in the way of that again.

Since Chisei didn’t suffer any from using his Soul Skill you decide to use your own Soul Skill. You press your foot to the ground and let the spiritual roots take hold without reservation. Mental filaments spread like vines and touch every part of the Red Well until you feel like you wear it as a second skin. You needed a way out. Then you could bury this place in magma. The magma wasn’t far from here. After all, it fed the god that caused all this. You would simply return it to its place.

A strange signature, like three footsteps, catches your attention. Someone had walked up near the rim of the well close to the machinery lift platform. You can’t see anyone, but they’re there. Who could be up there?

Your heart suddenly leaps into your throat and your memory throws up the scene on Tokyo Tower of Ruri beheading and then severing the body of the King in two only for it to pop up again in a second place! The person standing up on the platform was likely the real King! This body is a fake!

“Ha!” You snarl and take the Heavenly Cloud blade and strike the ground. It summons a huge tornado that lifts you off like a rocket. You really did have wings and you were going to pounce on this King creature like and eagle and kill him for real.

But this man was always prepared. What would he have for you? Bombs? Hah. Deadpool? Hah! There was nothing that could save him!

When you approach the rim of the well, it’s too late that you see the fine nano-fiber mesh that surrounds it. It wraps around you like a spiderweb, and clings tight as you collide with it and push with forward momentum. The Sword of Gathering Clouds slips from your grasp and goes falling back towards the well. Immediately your upward momentum comes crashing down onto the flat land that surrounds the Red Well and you roll several feet before coming to a stop next to an armored boot. Your hands are bound, your legs are bound. The nanofibers are crushing into your skin.

You stare up into the sky and a pistol is pointed right at your forehead. Herzog’s masked face comes into view. He waggles his fingers in greeting. “Hello.”

#Dragon Raja

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

Text

Strangers [18+]

Toshinori x Female Reader

Did someone say “traumatize poor Toshi”? Hello, I am here to make All Might hate himself for losing control of his pent-up sexual urges. Feral sex and angst! Mmmm

Warning: Dub-con (sex pollen/”fuck-or-die” fic)

Summary: Your neighborhood gets blasted by a new quirk-based drug that makes you irresistibly, painfully, potentially lethally horny. Your libido won’t stop growing until you fuck someone - but you haven’t completely lost your mind! There’s no way you’re going to bone a friend. It has to be someone you don’t know so you never have to talk to them ever ever again.

That blond scarecrow over there will do!

6,264 words | NSFW

You never worried much about getting caught in a love dust attack. It wasn’t that hard to just not have sex with someone, no matter how horny you were.

It was all over the headlines for the past month. An unsolvable string of crimes with this stuff at the center. The media was calling it “love dust” because, well, it was dust, and you can’t say “orgy-riot fuck dust” on the evening news. Think of the children.

After the first attack, authorities thought they were looking for a villain with natural quirk, but a new synthetic drug soon surfaced as the culprit—a concentrated, fine-tuned derivation of a seduction quirk, sold under the street name “Hathor.” Anyone with the right underground connections could get their hands on it, and criminals were getting creative. Release it into the air at a bank, and the guards will open up the vault on the promise of a handjob. Assassinate a CEO and walk out the front door as the heroes sent to stop you turn into a quivering mess on the floor. There have already been a dozen scandals with big-name heroes caught sleeping with civilians at love dust crime scenes.

Kind of pathetic, honestly. Considering how important their reputations are, you’d think they could manage to keep their pants on. Have some self-control.

Although… The effects only last until you do the nasty, so maybe heroes should have a quickie with the nearest volunteer and get back on their feet before the criminals escape.

Or, you know, wear a damned mask.

Of course, it wasn’t as simple as that. There were physical symptoms, too. They say those who are unable to find anyone to “satisfy their urges” with experience increasingly severe libido, elevated heart rate, capillary damage, and all sorts of hormonal spikes that sometimes last days. One guy actually died of a heart attack. But you were young and healthy. It couldn’t be that bad.

If you don’t want to fuck someone, just don’t do it.

The night the dust rains down on your neighborhood, you finally understand.

You are sitting at the outdoor café in front of your apartment complex with a few friends when there is a loud pop, like an engine backfiring. The sky fills with a pink haze that glimmers with iridescence in the street lights. It’s beautiful. A few wiser residents scream, cover their faces, and run, but you watch the glittery powder in awe, not making the connection until you’ve breathed it in.

It has a cloyingly sweet scent, like cherry blossoms and bubble gum. Your throat tightens, and your mouth begins to water. A warm tingle spreads under your skin and you start to feel the urge to go home and watch porn.

There is a change in your companions, too. The conversation abruptly stops. Someone next to you moans, and it sends shivers racing straight down between your legs. Your thighs clench together trying to satisfy the growing need as you try not to moan yourself. Hot… it is getting so hot. Your breathing is starting to come out shamefully hard as your arousal rapidly builds, and suddenly watching porn doesn’t sound like nearly enough. You want to fuck someone—anyone, honestly.

Shit.

It finally hits you what you’ve been caught up in. And now you realize why this drug is so dangerous.

It’s the feeling of being on the cusp of an orgasm, where nothing feels more important, more urgent. Rational thought gives way to the singular focus on finishing. You’re so close, oh god… Your walls clench around the nothingness inside you. So empty. Fuck… you want to come, but you need to be filled. You need it.

You could resist the physical symptoms, but the problem you never accounted for is, you don’t want to resist.

All around the street, people are falling on each other, mouths smashing together in wet, sloppy, passion. Your next-door neighbor is dry humping the waitress at the café as she works to undo her uniform. The florist is already fucking a customer’s mouth. Their wet noises and grunting rise into a sexual cacophony that has your cunt dripping, aching. You need to find someone.

Your friend Ren grabs your arm, eyes heavily lidded, a crazed look in their eyes. “Do… you wanna?” they slur, voice thick with the same lust you are drunk on. Your cunt spasms painfully at the offer, and a throaty vibration rumbles deep within your chest. A primal part of you almost starts ripping off your clothes, but the small voice in your head that is still rational forces you to pull your arm out of their grasp. This isn’t right.

Not with a friend. Things would be too weird later. It can't be someone you know.

You mumble something that was meant to be words, and run from the table. Mei grabs Ren’s shoulder and their bodies instantly intertwine in a mess of limbs and sultry moans. She was just starting to get over them. That’ll be trouble tomorrow. That’s why it can’t be a friend—no ruined relationships or awkward next days for you!

The small rational voice says you should go back and pull Mei away—stop her—but if you did that, you’d definitely end up in a threesome. It's all you can do to keep your feet moving away.

You need a stranger.

A spontaneous orgy breaks out around you, bodies tangled and undressing right in the road, cars honking at them, people stumbling out of cars and joining the fray. You pick your way through them. No, no, your inner voice scoffs. None of this is right. As much as you’re burning to be filled, none of this was right.

The musky smell of sex is overpowering. Your walls expand wide as if expecting to be filled, yawning open until the muscles burn, then crashing shut and clenching down hard against nothing. The contractions rock your body so hard it’s difficult to walk, and it isn’t long before the muscles start cramping with overexertion.

Why didn’t you just join one of the writhing piles on the sidewalk? Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you’re deafened by all the blood pounding in your ears. Your eyes dart between faces and exposed body parts, frantically searching, but none of them click whatever primitive part of you is hunting for a mate. With every breath, it feels like you can’t get enough oxygen. You’re drowning.

A convulsing ache rips through your body again. It hurts. It hurts being so empty. What are you waiting for?

Something slips into the front of your pants and starts rubbing your clit—you realize it’s your own hand. It feels good, but doesn’t help. Rational voice reminds you that it won’t help. Skin-to-skin contact was a necessary condition of the quirk; something about pheromones or something? You stagger on, rubbing and fingering yourself, not even caring who sees, none of it bringing you over the edge of the climax that feels like it’s almost there—just a little more! Please!

You turn into the alleyway behind the apartment building. A short passage leading nowhere with a 90-degree crook that serves to hide unsightly utility boxes and storage containers for the complex. It’s quiet here, away from the chaos in the street. Except you hear it… breathing. Deep, half-stifled grunts of a man trying to keep quiet, labored breathing, and a soft, rhythmic slapping emanate from behind the corner.

Struggling toward the source, you see a tall yellow-haired man doubled over. He braces one hand on a metal box set against the wall with wires snaking out of it, while the other hand furiously works his cock. Slap. Slap. Slap. It’s glistening with precum, but his teeth are grit in distress at an orgasm that will never come.

A scarecrow of a man, he looks to be middle-aged, and has a face like a skeleton, with sunken cheeks and eyes lost in deep shadows—all bones and sinew. Definitely a stranger. You would’ve remembered a guy like that.

Something primal thrums within you. Blood surges red-hot in your veins.

Him.

He is perfect.

“Help!” you call out, voice shaky and fevered.

He startles and tries to hide what he was doing, shoving his dick back under his waistband and crossing his legs before turning to you. As if everyone else on the entire block isn't doing the same thing.

When he sees you, desire clouds his eyes. They’re a shocking vibrant blue, though watering with frustration, and they linger on you for what would have been an uncomfortable length of time under normal circumstances, but right now his overt desire is exactly what you hoped to see.

Encouraged, you close the space between you, but he takes a quick step back, staying just out of your reach. At this distance, you realize “tall” was an understatement. He towers above you.

At your close proximity, his hips start rocking of their own accord, his cock striving for relief against the fabric of his pants. You are too close. You smell so good, he wants to devour you. He has to squeeze his legs together and bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to regain his composure.

“I... I can help you, young lady. E-everything will be fine... Are you hurt?” With every ounce of willpower in his narrow body, he forces his voice to sound normal and helpful, and not like he wants to tear all your clothes off. No damned pink dust is going to make him—

He doubles over not in pain, but arousal—a spasm pulsing through his frame—and has to fight to shove it down again. He bites his thin lower lip, but the gesture only makes him aware of the string of saliva dripping out.

“Yes, it hurts.” You’ve still got your hand between your legs and must look as much of a mess as he does. He can’t pretend not to know what you’re asking. “Please… help me,” you ask again, this time dropping your voice into a husky whisper. You lean into him, splaying your hands out on his chest, running them down the rippled bones and muscle beneath his white t-shirt. His hands place themselves instinctively around your hips.

“Do you have a boyfriend? A partner? I’ll h-help you find them.”

Would he really take you to someone you’d be more comfortable having sex with when he could have you for himself? It’s obvious how much he wants you—how much his body is screaming for you just like yours screams for his.

You shake your head. “There’s no one else.”

“I… I can bring you to the hospital…”

He trembles, his breathing is hard and fast, fanning in hot bursts across your neck. You get lost in the smell of him, the salty smell of his precum driving you wild. Your core twitches painfully again, but you’re so close to relief, you let yourself moan with it, and reach for the hard erection in his pants. The outline through the fabric is massive. Beyond massive. You shudder and stroke it greedily.

He draws in a sharp breath at the contact, and the warmth of him spreads out under your palm, spreading through your whole body. His muscles tense, still trying to fight it, but his cock pulses under your touch, betraying his desire.

“Let me feel it,” you beg, slipping your hand through the fly of the pants he was too distracted to zip back up. Your fingertips find it, hot and velvety, and hard as steel.

Even though he’s just as deep under the spell of the dust as you are, he manages to pull away again, another step back, trapping his back against the alley wall.

“N-no, you don’t have to… to do this. I’ll take you to the hospital!”

Not, I don’t want this, you note his phrasing. You don’t have to. How can he be flustered with this need overpowering his every sense? Your entire life is narrowed into a tunnel where all there is and all that matters is being fucked.

Without warning, he doubles over, coughing. Coughing up blood. A lot of it.

He wipes his mouth, grimacing, in obvious pain. A convulsion wracks his body, and he squeezes his thighs together, moaning.

You put your arms out—an honest, compassionate instinct to help him stay upright, but then you’re touching him again, and suddenly you’re pulling at his tall, scarecrow shoulders to bring his body close again.

He’s so strained, blood trickling through grit teeth. Maybe coughing blood is a symptom of resisting the effects for too long. Your own lungs are starting to burn with such intense continual use. Why is he trying so hard to fight it?

“Don’t want… a hospital. Just… fuck me. Please. I want you. So empty... it hurts. I need you to fill me… please,” you pant, desperate to convince him. To talk him out of his shy, moral rigidity.

He swallows, prominent Adam's apple bobbing in his thin neck. He's cute, too, a small, still-conscious voice says, though you barely notice through the pounding, driving urge between your legs. Your clit is so hot it burns, and your pussy is dripping, soaking through your panties so much it’s made a wet spot through your pants. You grind against his leg. It doesn’t give you any relief, but makes you want to fuck him even more desperately.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you...” He looks so sad, so protective when he says those words in his soft, deep voice. Then he cringes as another convulsion hits him, and his hips drive themselves into you as if acting on their own. He’s horrified. A wave of pleasure surges through you, leaving you a babbling mess.

You whimper, desperate for more. “I’m going to die if you don’t fuck me! Help me. I want it, I swear. I want you, please… please.” You're like an animal, mindlessly humping his thigh, grasping at his shirt. “I’ll find someone else if you won’t. Please, it’s the only way to make this stop!”

It’s too much. The urge was so strong even when he was alone, and your body is all over him, awakening things in him.

You’re drugged!

His cock won’t stop throbbing until it finds a warm body to fuck, and your pussy is grinding his thigh, inches away. Relief is so close. It’s unbearable. You’re so cute and helpless—

He shouldn’t!

—disheveled, begging for him to take you. You’re so lewd. It has been so long since he felt desirable, and here you are, begging like the sluttiest of his fans without even knowing who he is, without his power. Driving him wild. Every second like this is torture—his heart pounding so hard, his single lung can’t take it much longer. You want him… You want him as much as he wants you. Why was he refusing, again? All the reasons seem to fall away…

A dam within him breaks.

He lets out a long, shaking breath as if he had thrown open a valve shut off half a lifetime ago, and all the pressure repressed and denied was finally being released. He crumples around you, lanky arms closing around your back, his face burying into your neck with a sob. A line of teeth bite down on you hard enough to bruise.

Your body responds, hips bucking into his, your nails digging into his back, as you scream out in pleasure and pain, “Yes!”

He snarls into your skin, leaving a trail of bruises claiming the length of your neck.

“Fuck, I need this,” he growls between bites, sounding like a completely different person. Sounding starved. With the last pretense of control given up, he is a beast freed from its cage.

His hands slide under your shirt to roughly palm your breasts. You unclasp your bra, and he artlessly pushes it up out of the way, too hurried to remove it.

“I want you so bad...” He kneads your breasts, pushing them together and rolling them apart, thumbs abusing your hard tits while his teeth sink into your shoulder. He is ravenous.

Fuck, he feels so good. You can only helplessly cry out as your body spasms with warmth, pulses of electricity running down your back, your cunt dripping and clenching, but still so empty.

Your lips clash together, wet and eager, nearly missing his mouth as you part and smash together again, but you don’t care. His tongue sloppily reaches for yours, and you open for him eagerly, saliva mingling, his taste entering your mouth—coppery and sweet. This is right, your body tells you. He is just right.

Another torturous spasm rips through your body. This isn’t the time for foreplay. You already feel like someone has been eating you out for five days straight—it’s time to fuck him. You tug your pants and underwear down and let them hang around your calves, not bothering to take them all the way off.

Now. You need him now.

His cock is back out of his pants, slick with precum, and rubbing your entrance. It’s so huge, you wonder how it will ever fit inside you. You would never expect something with that much girth from a guy so narrow. How does he have enough blood to support this thing?

Normally, you wouldn’t actually want a dick that big, but your sex-crazed brain starts drooling. You want to lick it from head to balls, to worship it. The size doesn’t intimidate you. All your muscles are loose and stretched and aching for something to fill them, and only his cock could fill you enough to satisfy this artificially-heightened need.

Rubbing the blunt, throbbing head over your opening, his intense eyes study the way your folds part and twitch around him, and the adorable way you struggle to open your legs wider with your ankles still shackled in your pants.

“Look at you... fuck, you’re perfect.”

So small and cute. So breathless and needy and whining for him.

Before he pushes inside like every muscle in his body is urging him to do, he checks in with you one last time. His sharp blue eyes meet yours, and, sweating and trembling with the effort of holding back, he asks, “You’re sure?”

“Please!” you cry, voice cracking. You jerk your hips to help push the swollen head inside, gasping as you feel the pressure of it spreading your opening.

He needs no more encouragement.

Releasing control over his inflamed libido that took every ounce of his willpower to wrestle down, he thrusts sharply inside you. It knocks the air out of your lungs. A scream tears from your throat at the intense pleasure and discomfort of being finally, finally filled all at once by something so large. He grunts into your shoulder, large fingers digging into your skin as his body shudders and trembles. He pulls back out a little, and thrusts in again.

You clutch at his shirt and his yellow hair, balling them in white-knuckled fists as you sob out, “Thank you. Th-thank you.”

It’s almost too much pressure—almost. Your walls twitch and contract happily around the thick shaft. Satisfaction. This is what your body has been demanding. The pain stops, but the need urges you on stronger than ever.

It won’t let you go until you come.

After a few rough, choppy thrusts, he can’t get enough leverage standing facing you. He pulls out, and your entire body sets off alarm bells in protest, your hands clutch at him, trying to pull him back in. Empty! So empty! It hurts. The fevered look in his eye tells you he’s still as desperate for this as you are. Strong hands flip you around and bend you over the metal utility box, your ass in the air, presented to him.

“There you are,” he purrs.

He meant to enter you again right away, but the view triggers something voyeuristic in his brain. He grabs your whole pussy possessively, rubbing circles over your bare skin with his thumb, spreading your lips apart.

“Look at you. So beautiful.” His voice is thick and husky—drunk. His whole body shudders as you moan for him, pussy twitching around his thumb, hips writhing, whining for him to enter you. “You'll look so beautiful wrapped around my cock…”

Why is he looking at it? If you had any shame right now, you’d be dying of it, but your whole face is already flushed and sweating. Just put it in already!

A low chuckle. “Be patient.” Did you say that out loud? “Fuck, I want you… I need this,” he growls.

“Need it... need you…” you echo, drooling.

His warm chest leans over your back, soft bangs hanging down next to your cheek, his hot breath in your ear. “I deserve a reward, don’t I? Something for myself for once,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you, barely audible even with his lips so close. His cockhead rubs against your drenched slit without pushing inside, the pressure of it maddening, teasing.

His muscles tense suddenly, and you brace yourself against the cold steel surface, fingers curling as he penetrates you from behind and sets a relentless pace.

The aphrodisiac already had you dripping and ready, so you feel deliciously split open and stuffed, and not torn by the sudden invasion. The friction and pressure drive you insane, mewling and whimpering as you reach between your legs to stoke your clit. The heat that’s been building up and pooling between your legs without getting any closer to relief is building toward a crescendo now that he’s inside you.

“More,” you whine, even though you’re already past your limit, “Give me everything!”

He starts thrusting wildly, uncontrolled, eager to obey you. His movements are unrestrained and so fast—inhumanly fast. “So good, you feel so good,” he praises, words hitched and slurring. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” A moment of hesitation breaks through the fog, “Am I hurting you?”

“Don’t stop,” you snap, “don’t you dare slow down!”

His sharp hip bones collide with your ass, leaving bruises with every hard thrust, his balls swinging against you, slapping your fingers working your clit, as he frantically jackhammers into you. He’s completely feral, head thrown back, not holding back his strength as he hits you so deep and hard you could break, but it’s exactly what your body wants right now—to be animals.

“Harder!” you urge, trying to jerk your hips up to meet his thrusts, and spread your legs farther apart—but your efforts weren’t enough. However hard he's going, you want even more. Deeper. You want him to rip you in half.

Obeying, his bony hands grip the soft fat of your thighs, yanking you down onto his cock as he thrusts into you. You yelp as he hits something deep and sensitive, and your muscles quiver and melt with gratitude.

It could be minutes or hours that he has been pumping into you with forceful abandon, turning you into a sweaty, quaking mess, sobbing into your arm for his frail body and powerful cock. You’ve lost all sense of time, all sense of sense—of anything besides the sinful friction and being stuffed full to bursting. You may as well be stray cats rutting in the alley. The dark echoes with the steady percussion of flesh smacking into flesh, and a harmony of your own whimpering cries melding into his hard, ragged breathing.

“Don’t stop! Don’t ever stop! It’s so good,” you sing out for him. It must be the effect of the drug, but you have never felt so complete.

He growls low in return, “Mine, you’re mine.”

His arms cross around your chest and he leans his body over you, pressing himself closer and closer to you as his thrusts hit you deeper and longer. Beads of sweat drip from his body, wetting your clothes and your neck. His strong hands serve the dual purpose of holding you firm against him and grasping your breasts, roughly pinching the hard peaks, twisting and pulling.

The sensation is overwhelming—jolts of pleasure ripping through you, shooting through your spine, winding you tighter and driving you closer to the crest. Your fingers work your clit faster until he forces them away with his own hand, taking over, abusing your sex with long, calloused fingers with the same reckless abandon as his fucking you. His erratic breath is humid against your ear. Something breaks inside him, and he starts grunting loudly with every wild buck of his hips like an unhinged beast. Every forceful thrust throws your body forward, thighs striking the edge of the metal container.

“More,” you urge. “More!” You’re so close.

The muscles of his lower abs twitch and contract against your ass, and he bites you hard on the shoulder, bearing down until it draws blood. He lets out a helpless, unrestrained noise that is almost a roar and almost a sob as he empties himself into you, filling you up with so much hot seed you can feel the pressure of it inside you, his release trapped tight against your cervix by the nudging head of his thick cock stuffed as deep as possible.

His fingers circle powerfully over your clit, and it drives you over the edge after him. Your hips jerk, riding his cock as he comes down from his climax, walls clenching around him, milking every drop from his twitching, overstimulated cock.

“Thank you,” you mutter, breathless and slurring, cum dripping down your thigh. “Thank you…”

It's over.

Like a veil being lifted, your brain function returns to normal. The fog of lust evaporates and you're back to rational, non-horny you.

What. The fuck. Are you doing?

Oh my god.

An alley. You're in some filthy alley with a total stranger and no condom. Fuck. What the fuck. You're going to have so many diseases.

Your “partner” pulls out, and a flood of semen gushes out from between your legs. Oh, god. How is there so much? Does this guy have some kind of disorder, or is it the love dust’s effect? Either way, it's gross, and starts to feel chilly as cool air hits it and it runs down your thigh.

Purse.

That's right, you have a purse. It's somehow, by pure luck, still attached to your body. You rummage through it, pushing aside keys, and—oh, look, a condom. You roll your eyes. Where—aha, there it is! You knew you had a little pack of tissues. You wad up a few sheets and catch the copious glob of cum before it can run all the way down your leg and sully your pants.

“Uhhh, here,” you offer tersely, really not looking forward to making eye contact now that you’re remembering your actions through the eyes of a sober person. So embarrassing! He probably thinks you’re a slut. Worse—what if he’s some weirdo who thinks you’re his girlfriend now?

You hold out a few tissues so he can clean his sticky red cock, still impressively large even as it softens and begins to droop downward.

Why are you looking at his dick stop looking at his dick!

He doesn’t seem to notice you peeking.

He’s struggling to catch his breath, bangs stringy and clinging to his face and neck with sweat. More than that, he’s vacantly staring at his hands like they might not be his own. Like he hopes they’re not. His eyes snap to the source of movement, and he tentatively takes the tissues you’re holding out to him. The action brings him back to reality somewhat. He blushes and turns his back to you, and gets to work wiping himself off.

Good. He’s not trying to talk to you or anything. He’s embarrassed too. That’s good.

When you’re both dressed and as decent as you’re going to look (though it’s impossible to hide that just-been-ravished glow), you turn to him, lips pressed tightly together.

“Well, that’s that, I guess. Um. Are there any STDs I should know about?”

He jolts out of the quiet stupor he was in, face growing redder at the implication. “Oh! N-no.”

“OK, good. Me neither. Though we should both get tested again anyway.”

It’s unclear whether he processed that, eyes unfocused, only giving a slight nod. “Oh! Oh god!” He lurches backward against the wall, remembering something even more devastating. “We didn't... I didn't use—”

“I’m on the pill. No babies.”

His shoulders relax by a few millimeters, at least that weight off of them, but he's far from relieved.

“Alright, well…” you back away, making finger guns out of nervous, idiotic reflex, eager for this embarrassing scenario to be over with and forgotten. “Thanks for helping me out with… a medical emergency, let’s call it. Hopefully we never see each other again, and never think about what happened today. Ever again!” Yup, that’s about that. “Bye.”

He nods weakly as you walk away. The adorably oversized Adam’s apple bobs in his skinny neck as if he’s trying to say something, but only a small, choked noise comes out. He’s still too dazed to give any other acknowledgment.

No contact. No reminders. You did what you had to do, and that’s it. He agrees that this is for the best, right? At least he will once he… processes what happened.

You sigh.

Pausing at the mouth of the alley, you chance a look back. He’s slowly sliding down the stained wall, and coming to rest on the ground with his head between his knees. He looks devastated.

He isn’t processing, is he?

This is your fault, you know. He was trying to avoid people until you found him in his little hiding place. How many times did he offer to take you to the hospital, to tell you that you didn’t have to have sex with him? You could have fucked anyone else tonight, but you chose a sensitive old man.

You broke him. So, go fix him.

You lean back against the concrete wall beside him and lower yourself to the ground by his side. Eyes forward. You wrap your arms around the top of your knees, mimicking his pose. Your eyes flick to the side to observe him.

“Hey. Are you OK?”

He doesn’t look up or acknowledge that he heard you, but a low, wavering voice emerges from his hidden face: “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I lost control. I took advantage of you. Violated you. I should turn myself in to the police…”

Despite how somber he sounds, you snort a laugh. “Is that what you’re so worried about? I asked you to, remember? I literally begged you.”

His hands clamp down over the back of his head, pulling at his messy yellow hair. “No. You were being controlled by a synthesized quirk. You had no way to consent, but I did it anyway.”

You wouldn’t have guessed he was such an anxious guy when he was pounding your insides into oblivion, or from the bruises you were going to be covered in by tomorrow. He’s falling apart. Well, you’re here, and there’s no way you’re going to let him beat himself up over this.

“By that logic, I’m as guilty as you. We were both hit with the same stuff, completely out of our minds. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I should have been able to resist,” he says firmly, voice rising. “I’m…” he makes a noise from his throat and trails off.

“Even heroes have trouble with this stuff—that’s why it’s, like, the cover of Villain’s Digest, you know? At least you tried, which is more than I can say.”

“I have to be better than that!” he snaps. What will the world do when it comes out that Japan’s number-one hero is a rapist? That even All Might was helpless against a simple aphrodisiac? He sets his jaw. “I was the one who ultimately went through with it. It was my fault. I failed to protect you.”

You rest the back of your head against the wall, letting out a long, pitying sigh. “Do you want me to punish you? Are you just going to keep saying it’s your fault until I agree? Because that’s not going to happen.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You don’t have to better than everyone else in the world, you know. I thought I’d be able to resist, too, but there’s a reason nobody ever does. That stuff rewires your priorities so you don’t want to resist. It… all felt really good in the moment…” You blush and suddenly look anywhere else. Why’d you say that last thing? “The point is… it was stupid to think I was somehow above the hundreds of people who’ve been victims before. So, stop holding yourself to some higher standard. If you want to blame someone, blame me. You… you should blame me.”

His head shoots up from his lap to lock eyes with you, his gaze protective and firm, horrified that you would feel at all culpable. “I don’t blame you.” Just as quickly, he looks away—down, to the side, anywhere else—hand gripping the back of his neck.

“Then why do think it’s your fau—oh my god, you’re married aren’t you?!”

Blood sprays from his mouth as he coughs and sputters denials. “I wasn’t cheating on anyone! I just… shouldn’t have.”

At this point, you’re more interested in the coughing-blood thing. Since the dust wore off, your breathing has gone back to normal, so it seems it wasn’t a side effect after all. Does he have Ebola? Can you catch Ebola from sex?

“Is that… something I should be worried about?”

He gapes in confusion before following your gestures to a blood stain on his shirt. “Ah! No, it isn’t contagious. It’s from an old injury…”

He pulls up his shirt to show you a scar disfiguring the entire left side of his body. It’s not just marring the surface of his skin—it looks like a whole chunk of his chest was removed, with pink arms of surgically reconstructed flesh spiraling over his torso, as if the center of it were a black hole slowly pulling the rest of his body inside.

You forget to not stare.

He shakes his head and chuckles darkly, misinterpreting your stunned silence. “Of all the people you could have come to your senses with… must be disappointing to find yourself with a sickly old man.” He stops laughing. In a quiet but biting tone, he adds, “You must be disgusted.”

Maybe it’s a bad idea, considering how much trauma you’ve already caused him today, but you can’t help it. You lean against him and let your head rest on his shoulder. “I’m not. I’m glad it was someone sweet, and not some gross perv.”

A touch of warmth comes to your cheeks, feeling the pressure of his body against yours again. It’s comforting. You can only hope it’s comforting to him, too.

He doesn’t push you away, at least.

“You shouldn’t have to try to cheer me up,” he sighs after a long pause. “It must be hard to be near me, after what I did.”

“It isn’t, really.”

Strangely, that's true. You had wanted to get as far from him as possible and avoid any reminders of the humiliating act, but oddly, being close to him is nice.

“As far as I’m concerned, I was suffering, and you helped me. Have you read the articles about this stuff? Those symptoms only get worse the longer you don’t… you know.” Why are you blushing like a virgin to the guy whose dick you came on five minutes ago? His cum is still leaking out onto your panties. “I was in agony, so I’m glad we got it over with instead of spending days in the hospital. ‘Met the conditions of the quirk,’ as they say. It was the best possible option.”

“That’s a very practical way of looking at it.”

“What can I say, I’m a pragmatist!” you grin.

He nearly returns your smile out of reflex, but his face falls again. “But I wasn’t thinking about helping you… I was being completely selfish.” I enjoyed it. How could he tell you he enjoyed it?

“I don’t care.” You give a pointed look at his bony frame and flecks of blood clinging to his lips, and raise an eyebrow. “No offense, but I don't think you’d have lasted 48 hours under that kind of stress.”

He grumbles and lets out a sigh, but he doesn’t have any argument. You were probably right. There was no antidote but to wait, usually sedated. That would have been a long time to not be able to do any hero work. This was the best way… But not at your expense.

“I’m sorry, you were trying to leave earlier. You don’t have to stay any longer because you’re worried about me. I’ll be fine.” He smiles like the wounded soldier in a movie telling his brother-in-arms to leave him behind and finish the mission, while the violin soundtrack hits a dramatic crescendo in a minor key.

Should you take the opportunity to escape?

Your plan was to get the drug out of your system with a stranger. Getting to know him any better will throw a wrench in that plan, but the thought of leaving his side makes your throat tighten.

This guy… he’s sweet. He carries so much sorrow inside of him, you want to stay and help him with his burden. A primal instinct urges you to throw a blanket around him and feed him soup. He’s handsome, too. He doesn’t seem to think so, but you understand why your drug-soaked brain latched onto him over anyone else. Excessively tall, with sharp features, and electric eyes. If it had to be anyone, you made the right choice picking him.

You want to get to know him better. You want to learn everything about him.

“It’s OK,” you coo softly, like you were approaching an abused dog. “If you want me to go, I will. If it’s hard for you to be around me. But I’d rather stay with you for awhile.”

He looks up from his own lap at last. Two blue halos study you from within broken, dark-shadowed eyes, finally really seeing you. He looks like he’s about to cry, but does not. He glances down again, but tugs the corners of his mouth into the best effort of a smile he can manage, and this time, it doesn’t suggest he’s going to die in the next scene. “Thank you.”

You sit with him for awhile, talking. Reassuring him, while mentally kicking yourself for hurting the sweetest man on the planet.

“Yagi Toshinori,” he introduces himself.

So much for staying strangers, you think, smiling as you tell him your name in return.

#Toshinori Yagi #toshinori x reader #all might x reader #bnha #all might #small might #hurt/comfort #lemon #my writing

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the-hoarse-bard · 3 years

Text

Just up the road from where I'd left Hod's corpse, I heard a strange chanting coming from atop a small hill just off the side of the road. Sensing trouble, I ducked into the bushes and crept up the mound quietly. At the top, I spotted the source of the chanting, a young woman in dark robes, chanting some kind of spell over a few skeletons. I stayed hidden, and just as I wondered what she was doing up here, some kind of magic wrapped around the skeletons and they stood up. She was a necromancer.

The young woman clapped excitedly at her foul magic. Suddenly, one of the skeletons stared right at where I was hidden and let out a screech! The woman whipped around, dagger drawn. I leapt from my hiding place, crashing into one of the skeletons and scattering it's bones with a palm strike, as the necromancer readied a firebolt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the skeleton I'd smashed re-forming. The necromancer launched her firebolt, causing me to back right into a clawing attack from the second skeleton, opening a huge gash on my left arm.

I had to think of something. I retreated down the hill, ducking another firebolt while holding a healing spell to my wound. Then, I had an idea. If the skeletons were animated by that woman's magic, then I only had to beat her. The skeletons were running after me, but the woman maintained her position at the top. I took a breath and charged up the hill, past the skeletons before any of them could grab me. The woman looked shocked at my maneuver, losing concentration on her spell and quickly bringing her dagger up as I tackled her to the ground! She slashed at my face, but her skill with the blade was clearly clumsy at best as I clawed at her chest, soaking us both in blood! I heard the skeletons approaching from behind us, and I resolved that I had to finish her. I brought up my right hand, and inhaled before I jabbed my fingers into her throat. She gasped and gurgled up blood, still trying weakly to fend me off with her knife. I stood up and backed off as she drowned in her own lifeblood, and the skeletons all crumbled as she first lost consciousness and then died.

I stood on top of the hill alone, somewhat in shock at what had just happened, catching my breath. In the middle of a breath, I suddenly felt my stomach heave, and I vomited on the steps of the dais and began to feel the sting of the woman's dagger slashes on my face as the adrenaline wore off. I stood up straight and recited a short mantra to focus myself, "Va do, va tsin'ra, va sarefi. Va do, va tsin'ra, va sarefi." I took another breath and turned my attention to the rest of the hill.

There was another standing stone up here. The star sign on this one was the sign of The Ritual. Perhaps the young woman had come up here hoping to use the sign's power in her necromancy. A sudden worry sprung up in the back of my mind, and I cautiously placed a hand to the stone. The stone remained cold and dull, and I let out a sigh of relief. At least these dark stars didn't mark my fate. The woman's pack was lying off to the side of the platform, and I helped myself to it's contents. Not much was in her belongings. An extra set of clothes, some bread and cheese, and a scroll I could barely make out to summon some kind of powerful Oblivion mage. I had to wonder what had brought this woman to the point she'd be doing this kind of thing. Suddenly, I was shaken from my musing as I retched again, realizing I reeked of blood, but nothing came up this time. I hurried down the hill and down to the river to wash the viscera off me.

#story post #shirazzha #skyrim special edition #khajiit #ta'agra #gore cw

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sirspud · 3 years

Text

The Daring Ducks: The Living Bones

Previous, Next

Built into the side of a small hill, at the bottom of the Serpent Gorge, lies the Crypt of the Everflame. An archway of stone forms a tunnel leading towards the Crypt's entrance, one of its massive wooden doors slightly ajar. Though much of the archstone is covered in moss, it is clear that the keystone of the arch is carved with a flame symbol, a stylised rune in its centre.

Before the archway lies the site of a massacre. A pair of horses and a trio of ponies lie slaughtered in the small field before it, each corpse still tied to wooden posts, set into the ground beside them. A swarm of flies hangs lazily overhead, and a light stench of decay pervades the area.

The young ducks stand on the edge of the scene for a while in horror, Louie retching at the stench. Was this part of the test? They didn't think so. It wouldn't make sense to slaughter pack animals for the sake of a trial.

Warily, everyone but Louie approach the scene. Huey immediately inspects one of the bodies (Heal Check = 25). Quickly analysing the wounds, he tells everyone that the beasts were slain approximately two days ago, the wounds on their bodies indicating that they were killed with crude, slightly rusted blades.

...or, he adds hesitantly, perhaps claws.

(Perception Check = Huey 10, Dewey 15, Louie natural 20, Webby 19)

Engrossed in analysing the body, Huey doesn't notice the scattered bones underneath one of the other animals. The others do, and they cautiously move up to the scene. Dewey gets down and lifts up the horse's carcass to get a better look at the skeleton underneath (Strength Check = 17). He winces at touching the disgusting, half-rotted body, but he manages to just push it up.

The bones are that of a duck. But the cracks and the fragility of the body indicate that the bones are ancient. The ducks look at one another, unable to come to a conclusion. Dewey quickly lets go of the body and lets it fall, quickly going off to wipe his hand on the stone arch.

The team spends a while searching the area, but no answers seem to present themselves. The only other things they find are a set of backpacks, only one of which is still full. Within its confines are ten arrows, each with a blunted tip, two days' worth of rations, two pillows that look reasonably comfy, and 2 pints of lamp oil. Dewey and Webby both take one of the rations, Huey takes the oil, while Louie puts the arrows into his quiver.

They approach the entrance to the crypt, stopping just before the entrance to look at each other fearfully. Then, they each unstrap their backpacks and put them to the side. Whatever was going on in this tomb, they needed to be as unencumbered and light on their feet as they could be. Once everyone's satisfied that they're only taking what they need, Webby and Dewey move up to the doors and slowly push them open.

As the doors swing open, the faint light from outside reveals a long chamber with risen platforms on either side. On the far side of the wall is a large, faded mural of Silas McDuck, his fearsome, bearded form holding a large waraxe and looking down at the room brusquely, as if to judge them. Two bodies, a duck and a hound, are piled into the centre of the room, and ancient bones litter the floor. As they party enters nervously, the feathers on the back of their necks stand up in fright as they hear the faint sound of an echoing wail.

Louie, at this point, suggests shakily that the party turn back, go home, get the adults to have a better look at this. They all look at each other, considering following Louie's suggestion for a moment.

Then, the air goes cold. Almost clammy.

And the bones start to rise.

Frozen with fear, the young ducks just watch as the bones float up into the air, re-attaching themselves into six animated duck skeletons, each donning a rusty chain shirt, and each moving with unnatural, jerky movements. Three appear to be wielding ancient scimitars, while the other three have only wicked claws.

Their soulless eye sockets turn as one to look at the party.

Then, they advance.

The skeletons move faster than the party can react (Initiative Checks = 26, 25, 24, 21, 18, 14), immediately launching into a full-scale assault with blade and claw. The two skeletons at the far end of the hall can't do much more than approach Louie and Huey in the first few seconds of the fight, while the other four rattling menaces make their way towards the two fighters in the front. A flurry of claws and swords come towards the two ducks, and while Webby manages to deflect the blows that come towards her, Dewey isn't as well prepared, and takes two light cuts from the swords of the skeletons.

Huey quickly tries to compose himself (Initiative Check = 13), attempting to analyse the hollow monster before him (Knowledge [religion] Check = 10). These things are undead - obviously - and he realises that the hardened bone and gaps in the skeletal structure will reduce the damage from slashing or piercing damage. He instructs the party to use bludgeoning weapons, then he takes the symbol of Athena dangling from his neck and he calls forth the goddess's divine power.

Celestial energy erupts from the symbol in a flash of golden light, searing the undead monsters before them (DC 10 Will Save = 5, 5, 16, 19, 15, 4). The skeletons recoil from the golden light in pain, reducing the skeleton facing him and one of the creatures fighting Webby to dust.

The rest of the party try to fight back (Initiative Checks = Louie 9, Webby 6, Dewey 4), but to no avail. Louie swings his club, Webby her greatsword, and Dewey tries to hit one of the nearby skeletons with the pommel of his longsword, but the agile fiends manage to evade their attacks.

The next few seconds are frantic, marked by the two fighters at the front rapidly deflecting blows left and right. One of the skeletons catches Webby across the cheek with the tip of its scimitar, and another stumbles as it attacks, narrowly dodging two attacks made by Huey and Dewey. The skeleton in front of Louie tries to swing at him and Webby with its claws, but ends up tripping on the uneven flagstone of the crypt's entrance. Both Webby and Louie immediately retaliate. Louie starts to swing his club, but takes too long, leaving himself open and narrowly dodging a claw swipe from another one of the skeletons. Webby, meanwhile, swings her greatsword square onto the head of the skeletal beast, smashing the creature underneath the blade's mighty weight and reducing the skeletal horde to three.

Noticing that both the front-liners are looking a bit scuffed, Huey channels divine energy once more, this time channelling it into his allies and closing a few of their wounds. Louie moves behind one of the skeletons, trying to flank the skeleton, but missing with his club regardless. Webby and Dewey each make another attack, Webby attacking with all her might and Dewey trying again with his pommel, but neither blow lands.

The skeletons continue to try and shred the ducks to pieces, Dewey taking another claw right across the face as two of the skeletons move to flank him. The single skeleton facing Webby and Louie makes two more attacks with its claw, one of which rakes across Louie's face, causing him to cry out in pain.

Huey cries out in alarm and starts to move, only for Louie to shout at him to focus on destroying the things. Reluctant, but determined, Huey raises the symbol of Athena once more and calls forth a burst of light. One of the skeletons appears to resist the brunt of the blast, while the other two are sent stumbling backwards. One of the skeletons near Dewey is blasted into a thousand tiny pieces by the divine wrath.

Louie hesitates, waiting for Webby to move before making an action. The barbarian girl circles around the skeleton in front of them, yelling a battle cry as she swings her sword. And although the skeleton dodges out of the way, in doing so, it exposes itself to Louie. Taking his club, he swings it as hard as he can into the skeleton's skull, smashing apart the flimsy bone and sending the monster down to the ground in a pile of white shrapnel.

Dewey leaps up onto one of the upraised platforms, only to miss another attack against the skeleton. In retaliation, the skeleton slashes him through his waist with its scimitar and carves its claw across Huey's face, leaving both with a cut. Huey swings his mace once more, only for the blow to miss, and then Webby comes screaming from behind, swinging her sword into the creature's chest and sending its bones flying across the chamber.

The party take a moment to recover their breath, panting, fearful. No more bones rise to fight. They look at each other, as Dewey asks the important question - what on Earth was that?

Huey instantly begins rambling off facts about undead, saying that they can only be created by powerful, horrifically dark magic, they shouldn't be here! Was the tomb invaded by a necromancer? There's not enough information!

They spend another moment to recover before they investigate the room. The walls of this part of the tomb are covered with murals of Silas McDuck leading the villages to battle against a horde of men in dark green armour. The man in front of them, an obese old duck with a scar across his eye, leads the green warriors - presumably the mercenaries. It's clear that mildew and mould has taken its toll on the crypt, as the stench of rot is heavy in the air.

Staying well away from the two bodies, Louie investigates a pair of nearby packs, leaning against the wall. Another twenty blunted arrows are retrieved from within, as well as a pair of smokesticks, alchemical cylindrical blocks that are used to create smoke signals, and two days worth rations, which are taken by Huey and Louie. The smokesticks are handed over to Dewey.

Webby kneels beside the two bodies, both badly mauled and of two ducks. They look familiar to her, and she asks the other three if they recognise them. The boys approach, though they still keep a good five feet distance from them. Louie studies the faces of the bodies, unease written across his face (Knowledge [local] Check, taking 10 = 16).

Louie's heart catches in his throat. He does recognise them. Marcus Thinfeather and Adrian Gagglequack. A cobbler and a trapper from back in town.

Louie promptly turns around and head back outside, feeling sick. The party chase after him, asking where he's going. When he announces his intention to go home, Huey and Dewey try to stop him. The green sibling whirls around, tears in his eyes, and he just shouts them down. Between illusions that felt real, wolves, crappy weather and now freaking undead monsters, the past couple of days have been horrible, and whatever they'll get from going through that tomb cannot possibly be worth it. He's done.

Huey suddenly snaps at him, telling him that he's being selfish. There are five horses, and only two bodies. When Louie asks so what, Huey poses the question - "Where are the other three?"

Louie stares at him for a moment. Then, his shoulders slump in realisation. Dewey adds onto what Huey's saying, telling the younger sibling that they have to explore the place, if only to find the others. Even if they're... he hesitates, then continues. Even if they're dead, they owe to the village to find the bodies.

Louie looks down for a moment, silent. Then, quietly, he says, "Fine."

He walks back towards the brothers, and they return to the archway back into the crypt, in front of which Webby is standing, awkwardly watching the whole argument. Asking if everything's alright, the boys reassure here that they're fine.

Huey gets to work. He channels energy once more, wincing as it saps at his stamina, healing most of the party's wounds. Unsatisfied, he sacrifices his divine favour spell to cast a weak cure wounds spell on Webby, before telling Dewey to drink the healing potion. Back in a fighting state, the team move back into the entry hall. They decide to investigate the wailing sound, coming from the eastern halls of the crypt, opening the eastern door towards the back and delving into the Crypt of the Everflame.

+202 XP.

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dark-imagine-robots · 4 years

Note

So Bob, what exactly is your backstory?

Oh boi, here I go.

Okay, so every oc of mine has deep backstories. Some more in depth than others, but they are all generally SUPER long, even for support characters.

Bob would be considered a support character for the 3 main TOTC stories, but he objectively becomes an important character in the last main story, and then a main character for the TOTC story "A Wonder You Are" and the epilogue story ((still deciding if the epilogue story is officially canon of not though.))

Bob's backstory will be one of those long character backstories because I have to also explain some Skeleton Demon culture and stuff in the process.

Bob was born October 13, 1792 in the city of Divera that is in at a slightly close elevation to the surface. Due to his birthplace being close to the surface, he was born a Overworld Skeleton, rather than a Underworld Skeleton.

His full name is Bilhelm Viperanova Boney, Bob has two mothers and had one brother. His blue mother's is named Zitramai, Mia/Mai for short, his red mother's is Gladfiphines, Glad, and his brother's name was Sinxpara, Spar.

Bob's mothers are a part of the Skeleton Demon magic Knights that protect both the Overworld and Underworld Skeleton Demons from other world and/or other dimensional/universal harm. As a lot of things tend to come to the Underground rather than the surface more often than not. Glad was part of the offensive military of the magic Knights, so she had her duties outside the city. Mia is part of defense of the magic Knights, so she stayed more inside the city and she owns a bakery because of her stay at the city. They would soon cross paths during a "Dream Night of Death's Lullaby" celebration, which Glad meets Mia when Mia was shooting stars for the celebration. Soon after, they are now soul mates.

Mia gave birth to Spar first! Spar was Bob's older brother whom he looked up to for many years. More so since Spar is 5 years older than Bob. Spar was born as a Overworld Skeleton as well, but he did not have high levels of magic. In turn, he instead became more eye appealing than magical. Overworld Skeletons can attach item to their bones, as Underworld Skeletons attach other bones to their own. However, Overworld Skeletons have more soul selectivity than Underworld Skeleton Demon souls due to more relativity in genes and magic. So Spar attached items to his bones, but the items his soul was very compatible with were sewing and knitting related items. In that, Spar mostly put pins and needles to his bones, along with a pin cushion at the end of his tail.

Since Bob's mother, Mia, is the one who carried out the Boney Family name to her family of four, they followed tradition!

The Boney Family is the Underground's renown family that owns top business that helps the Underground run smoothly, along it being one of the Overworld Skeleton Demon family's to have the highest levels of magic. Now, the Boney Family, and its business, have a tradition. This tradition is that every first born of a generation of Boneys are selected to become a salesman, but not just any normal salesman, but a salesman that would operate under the Boney Family Business in the surface!!

In this case, Spar would have been selected to become a salesman, however he did not. The tradition itself is not a "destiny" or "set fate" tradition, as the selected family member can either reject or give this opportunity to another Boney family member that were sibling related. Spar did not want to become a salesman for his own reasons, he wanted to be a free Explorer of the surface world and his brother wanted to become a salesman with all his passion. So Spar gave the opportunity to Bon instead! If it weren't for Spar, and the fact that Bob was born with an extreme level of magic, Bob would have become a magic knight and not a salesman.

Bob had to word twice as hard due to now being destined to be a salesman and his high magic level. Overworld Skeletons have rigorous training for those with high magic levels, the reason why is because they have to understand more about themselves and learn how to control the radiating magic from their souls more so than any other Overworld Skeletons. With the addition of being a Boney, every selected Boney salesman has to also go through a extraordinary rooted learning course, not only to learn about business, but to learn about the universe in depth and precisely. All they learn isn't just standard things, but these things can also go as far as learning emotions of customers to the laws of instinctual Making behavior and how Black Matter works. As Skeleton Demons have the truth and books that tell the truth, unlike human books and philosophies.

Bob was set of be a salesman at age 9, so Bob went through through both training and learning from there moreover the next 101 years of his life. Then for the next 9 years were simply preparations for Bob until he was finally set to go up in the surface in 1902.

From there, Bob settled his shop, and home, in the deep depths of untouched woods of the Yosemite National park. But the location was more of a home than a shop since Bob needed to get more items than he was given to set his business in stone. Bob had to get out from his comfort zone and actually enter human society to get what he needs. As a Boney salesman, the law of Making separation from human makings did not apply, and Bob became the first supernatural making to go into human society without discourse. They barely noticed he was in the crowd because of how the humans use to surround and drown out the stranger things with how their century was in a boom back then, and the fact Bob's soul radiated calming magic consistently. Very few found Bob to be strange and/or frightening, mostly either didn't care, or they thought he had a very good costume on constantly. Weird and odd, but never too strange and frightening.

In 1911, Bob meets a man who was part of a Mafia group. A man named Vissel Vice, he was the first human pal Bob had. Vice was the one to get Bob a part of the mafia group, as he thought it would help Bob gather a better verity of supplies for his shop. Oh, and it did!! And in the fist few years of being a part of the group, Bob was given both his business suit and "Good Fella" suit.

From there in, Bob's bro also went for his dreams the some 4 years before Bob was sent into the surface. Spar loved to be an explorer very much, as Bob loved to be a salesman. Every so often, Spar would come to Bob's shop/home to visit, exchange items, and even share the new discoveries and experience the two brothers had in hand. That is until 1918, Bob's brother's soul was corrupted by an item that was not compatible with his soul for attachment, turning Spar into a savage/beastly Skeleton Demon. In this catastrophe, Bob and his family tried for so long to fix him, until they stopped after the final attempt and that attempt is how Bob got the scar fractures in the back of his skull. His brother smashed in Bob's skull during the attempt, but Bob lived by luck. ((As Skeleton Demon bones can only be broken usually by other skeleton demons, and their souls can be forced to "pass on" by other skeleton demons as well.))

Ever since that, Bob's senses were heightened more than usual. Things were seeming to be out of place for Bob since these senses were making Bob see more into other people's souls. Over time with these senses, he began to see the souls of his fellow members, of the mafia group he was a part of, grow more rotten and foul. It was on 1929 that Vice was shot in cold blood by his fellow members because he was seeing the turn in the group as well, he just was verbal about it. After that day, Bob snapped and killed the entire group in one fell swoop, no one survived. From there, Bob grew to hate anything really relating to mafias, his love for guns stayed and that was the source of why he loves them so much, but he hates the "good fella" outfit that he killed the group in.

There onward, Bob had a steady business, it grew more in its stocks, and he found out how to universe/dimension jump with a project he has been working on for so long. Thus, his store items grew more and more diverse and plentiful.

In 1990, Bob soon met Dr. Wonder.

Which this kinda explains their bit, and the fact that Bob and Dr. Wonder was the start of the TOTC story A Wonder You Are:

https://the-quiet-kid-dark.tumblr.com/post/190872600468/premise-of-the-wonder-you-are

Unfortunately, their relationship did not last long, but it wasn't all devastation.

As Bob moved on, he grew with the wonder that his dear loved one left behind in Bob's heart. Filled with wonder, Bob is now more passionate with his work than anything. With his wonder, personality, perseverance, kindness, moralities, and passions, Bob is who he is now and why he is still even here today!

REBLOGS are accepted for this one, PLEASE!

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songfell-ut · 4 years

Text

Chapter 8, sponsored by ADHD

Not being flippant, I absolutely have ADHD and can’t take any medications without getting heart palpitations. Hyperfocus, whoo!

Yeah, I enjoyed writing this one way too much. Chapter is here. I remain extremely grateful to @lostmypotatoes for not only the concept, but letting me jerk the characters around on her behalf. Enjoy!

The streetlights were starting to flicker on as the sun drifted below the horizon. Despite the chill wind, the crowds were shoulder-to-shoulder at the booths lining the street, and the glow from open doors illuminated a continuous flow of people moving in and out of shops and taverns.

One of the busiest establishments was a large inn not far from the castle. Standing patiently outside it was a lone, black-haired young woman; several passers-by waiting to join the line paused for a second look at her. She was dressed simply enough in a dark gown and white shawl, but her skin shone pale and flawless in the streetlamp, eyes lined in black and lips a dark crimson—very striking, even among the other women and a few young men wearing high-contrast makeup for the holiday. She'd done her best to achieve that effect, and found she rather enjoyed the attention; it was a relief that no one had—

"Heyyy, young lady," slurred a voice in her ear. "You lost?"

—hit on her yet. Frisk sighed and shifted her weight away from the beery stranger. "My husband will be out in a moment, thank you. Goodbye."

The man scoffed and leaned in closer, trapping her against the people standing in line. "Aw, darlin', don't try to pull that on me. Where's your weddin' ring?"

Frisk blinked. She hadn't accounted for anyone being drunk and observant. "Really, sir, I'm asking you nicely. Go away, or my husband will probably break your arm."

"Pffft! Right, right." The man made a grab at her shoulder. "C'mon, let's—"

Something large, swift, and angry loomed behind him. The bones of the stranger's hand went grch as a bigger hand grabbed it. Before the man could react, a glass mug smashed into the back of his head, bouncing him off the brick wall and sending him sprawling. "'Scuse you, asswipe," the newcomer said conversationally.

"Sa—honey," Frisk reproved him, accepting a mug. "You promised not to make a mess."

"'m not makin' a mess, kitten. I'm cleanin' it up." Even in his disguise, Sans towered over most of the people in the street, especially the one moaning on the cobblestones. The human-shaped boss monster draped a long arm around Frisk's shoulders, glaring down. "Ya wanna fill me in on yer conversation, pal? Sounded pretty interestin'."

The man scrambled to his feet and hobbled off into the crowd. Sans watched him go, as if debating whether to follow, then checked the people around them. No one seemed fazed; the few paying attention were pleased to see justice served, and at least one man indicated Frisk and made congratulatory gestures at him.

Sans was more than content to stay like that, but Frisk elbowed his side, wiggling her shoulder. "Sorry," he muttered, removing his arm. "Just tryin' ta stay in character."

"It's fine. You were just pulling on me a little." The High Priestess discreetly adjusted her long black wig, one of many from her predecessor's collection. She took a sip of spiced cider, impressed that he hadn't spilled any. "This is fantastic! Thank you for standing in line. This isn't too much for you, is it?" She gestured at the crowds. "Do you want to go somewhere quiet for a bit?"

"'m doin' okay," he said, but he hadn't figured out how to lie yet with a human face: he kept twitching and wrinkling his nose at strange smells or touches, and every time he scratched his neck or ear, he visibly startled himself. "'s not like I couldn' feel anythin' at all before. This is just...more." The wind picked up, and his eye twitched again.

It would have been funny if she hadn't felt so guilty. "Here." Frisk took his free hand to guide him toward a side street, marveling at how different a human hand felt than a ten-foot skeleton's—smaller, of course, but rougher, and somehow a little colder. She felt his fingers tighten and just as quickly relax, trying not to squash her. She squeezed back, and had another pang of guilt as he twitched yet again. The poor thing must have felt so overwhelmed!

The alley was cold and dimly lit, but almost silent. She released him and wrapped both hands around her mug, examining the little spices floating in the amber liquid. "Have you ever tried cider before?" she asked over the rim of the glass.

"Nope." Sans took too deep a sniff and recoiled, then brought it up more cautiously. "I had some dried apple slices once, but nothin' like this." He took the tiniest sip, smacking his lips the way she'd specifically told him not to. "Huh. Not bad." Another, bigger sip. "This's pretty good. Ya sure I can't try one of the drink-drinks they had?"

"No alcohol, Sans. We don't need you getting drunk and taking us the wrong place by accident at the end of the night."

He made an eloquently disgruntled sound, and gulped down more cider.

Frisk leaned against the wall, shivering in the breeze. Sans moved to block the wind for her, and she murmured thanks as he hunched his shoulders. The collar of his overcoat was trimmed with white fur, his shirt a bright red; his borrowed face wasn't handsome, Frisk thought, but the rough features, light hair, and blue-gray eyes made an intense and interesting picture. She liked it.

"Man, that's good stuff," the boss monster remarked, tipping the last few drops out of the mug. He glanced at hers, still half full. "Ya gonna finish that? I don't wanna wait in line again."

This was a far cry from when he'd complained about her germs on that stupid fork, but he was being good – better than good – so Frisk handed him her mug, taking his empty one to the receptacle standing on the nearest street corner for that very purpose.

As she deposited the glass, a sound at the other end of the alley brought her up short. "What's up?" Sans asked at her shoulder.

"Uh..." Frisk listened, and felt her cheeks grow hot. "We should go. We should go back right now." She pointed to the brightly lit street behind them.

Sans wasn't paying attention. "What're they doin'?" To her mortification, he downed the rest of the cider, handed the glass to her, and started ambling toward the source of the noise.

"Sans!" The priestess grabbed his arm. "I said—"

They both froze as a small, motion-activated floodlight clicked on and fully answered his question. "Huh," he said distantly.

"Sorry!" Frisk half shouted at the couple, who...why were they still going?! She dropped the mug and yanked back to the street, wondering how anyone could be that drunk already!

When she risked a glance at Sans, he looked thoughtful. "So...what was that? How were they not freezin' their butts off? You'd think they'd at least find someplace they could sit down and keep their clo—"

"Yes, you'd think!" For the first time, she wished the wind was colder on her face. The priestess stepped over to the first booth she saw. "Excuse me, ma'am. Where is the ferryman?" she asked hurriedly.

"The ferryman?" The woman behind the counter looked up and frowned in thought. "I don't know that he's here yet, dear. If he is, you'll find him near the old well on the far side of the square."

"Thank you very much." Frisk retrieved a two-dinar piece from the pockets of the dress she'd been sure to wear because it had pockets, and set it on the counter. "This way, S—honey."

"The hell are you guys talkin' about?" Sans asked as they waded back into the street, Frisk hanging on to his arm and ducking against him as crowd physics required.

"Remember, I wanted my fortune told? On All Souls Night, you're supposed to bob for apples and use the peels to tell the future, so actual fortune-tellers like to set up here. For years, I've been hearing about a man who uses some sort of card deck and is never, ever wrong. He always shows up near the river, so everyone calls him the ferryman. The problem is that he's never here at consistent times. He also charges anywhere from two hundred to a few thousand per fortune."

Sans was gaining sufficient knowledge of human society to say, "Holy shit, that's a lot. Are ya seriously gonna waste that much cash on some random guy playin' with picture cards?"

"No, I've spent all my money," Frisk said loudly, glancing around in case someone was listening, and he got the hint. The festival was fairly safe, but anything could happen in a large crowd; she was more glad than ever to have Sans with her.

They battled their way forward, the boss monster going first to carve out a path and the priestess steering him with a hand on his arm or back. "Let's stop for a minute," she said, on tiptoe, as they paused to let someone to cross the street the wrong way. "See over there?" Down a nearby side street was an avenue full of tables set with white cloths, portraits, and tiny candles. "Those are all the altars for departed rulers and other public figures. Can we take a look?"

Sans waded them across and, when they were clear of the worst foot traffic, said to her, "Never seen one before. When we have a funeral, yer loved ones spread yer dust on somethin' that meant a lot t'you, 'n that's it. They don't need ta be reminded what ya looked like every single year after that."

Frisk shrugged as they turned a corner. "There's nothing wrong with rememberi—"

The words died as they faced the other side of the street. "Oh, damn," Sans said, surprised. "Look who it is, Fr—honeypie."

The priestess numbly followed him to join several other people around a large, opulent table, boasting golden candles, a lacy cloth, fresh flowers, and a huge portrait in a gilt frame. It showed a lovely woman standing on what looked like an opera stage and waving to the audience. Her white gown almost glowed in the stagelights, as did her crown of golden flowers; more flowers lay at her feet, as if thrown by the audience, matching the bouquet cradled in her arm. She was looking up, probably smiling at someone in the balcony.

A cold hand seemed to have closed around Frisk's throat. Why hadn't she realized this would be here? "Yes?" she croaked.

"Dunno if you heard about her when you were a kid, but her name's gotta be in yer history books." Sans was tapping on the brass plate under the portrait. "I'll be damned. They actually spelled it right." He traced the engraved letters by candlelight: CHARA DREEMURR. "You know the story?" Frisk shook her head blindly. "Seriously? Welp, she fell into the Underground as a kid, and the royals adopted her. She was basically our princess till she grew up an' went back t'the humans...I wanna say it was a little over twenty years ago. Then she came back with that last delegation as a goodwill ambassador, just in time ta get blown up. Poor Tori didn't stop cryin' fer weeks."

Frisk made a politely sympathetic noise and turned away. Sans leaned in to squint at the picture, poking the canvas the way people were not supposed to. "That's messed up. Ya know what this is? This's the way her last performance shoulda ended. That's the stage they set up for her, and that's what she was wearin' that day. It was right in the middle of her last song when the thing that was supposed t'do the lights expl—"

"Are you all right, miss?" someone asked nearby. To his horror, when Sans turned around, Frisk was sitting on the curb with her head between her knees. An older man and his wife were standing over her; the woman looked up as Sans zipped over. "Is she with you?" the latter inquired.

"Yeah. Hey, sweetheart. What's wrong? Ya feelin' sick?" Sans crouched to look into her face, but she didn't move.

The older woman clucked at him like a misbehaving horse. "Look at her shaking! Get her inside and warmed up, young man!"

"Okay, okay." At a loss, Sans stood up, and crouched again. "C'mon, hon, let's go. D'you need a piggyback ride?"

Frisk was quiet, but after a moment, he received a faint nod. The boss monster turned and knelt, and the older couple helped settle Frisk on his back. "Thanks," he said as they moved away, and set off in the direction they'd been heading before their detour. At least there were some nice humans, he mused. It was a better thought than wondering what was wrong with Frisk, or how weirdly easy it was to pet-name her.

He held on tight, but not too tight, as he rejoined the crowd. Frisk was too short to hold onto his neck without throttling him, so they'd tucked her arms under his for warmth and security. She was shivering, and he could feel her heart thundering like she'd just run a mile. Everything about her was as impossibly soft as he remembered from...was it really just this morning that she'd hugged him? It felt like a year ago.

Someone jostled them, pushing her leg into him. Sans instinctively turned and snarled, "Watch where yer goin'!"

The erstwhile skeleton hadn't meant to raise his voice so much, but he didn't regret it: the crowd hastily gave way as he stomped towards the nearest building. He'd kept such a tight rein on himself since they left the castle that as long as she was acting as though this was all normal, he found that he could, too; it was actually kind of fun. But now he found himself glaring around them, almost hoping someone else would bother her. He didn't know whether it was a normal body-guarding mindset or if he'd simply gone too long without killing something.

They entered a candy shop with displays of sugar skulls, candied apples, and bottled cider. Sans found a chair against the wall and set her down, making sure she could sit up. "Heya. You okay?" he asked as she raised her head.

"I'm...I'm fine." It was as lying a lie as he'd ever heard, but Frisk did look better. She rubbed her arms and glanced around. "I'm sorry about that. ...Can I please have a caramel apple?"

Sans would have given her the entire display case – the entire store – if she wanted. He still had some "allowance," as he called the portion of his salary she'd given him before they left, and procured two apples and a bottle of cheap cider for them. She tried a sip of the latter, didn't quite make a face, and tore a huge bite out of her apple instead. "Better?" he asked.

Frisk nodded blissfully. "I didn't think I was that hungry," she said around her mouthful. "We should get a turkey leg on our way through the square."

He had no objection to that, especially when he tried a nibble of caramel apple and got his teeth stuck. Frisk held in her laughter fairly well, and nobly volunteered to eat the rest for him.

She did seem better, so he allowed her to walk, ignoring the little whine in his SOUL that wanted her closer. The festival was in even fuller swing now, but he plowed his way through to a turkey leg stand and got one for them to pass back and forth as they walked. It tasted as good as it smelled, which was amazing.

Sans was on the verge of stopping to ask if she knew where they were going when she tugged at his sleeve. "There's the old well. See the river? Let's start there."

As it happened, they didn't need to start there. No sooner had they looked at the wharf than a streetlight switched on to reveal a heap of black robes smack in the middle of the street, seated behind an oddly carved table. Both the robes and the table turned in their direction as Frisk jumped and Sans held out a protective arm. "Tra la la," said the robes.

People behind them had noticed and were starting to surge forward, fumbling in their pockets. "The lady first," the fortune-teller ordered, stopping them in their tracks.

Feeling unusually self-conscious, Frisk stepped around Sans and stood in front of the table. She had a feeling that she didn't want to look too hard under that hood; its whole figure was disquieting. "I have two questions," she said. A glance behind them confirmed a growing, impatient press of people standing a few feet away, kept at bay by Sans' glare. "Er...can I ask you privately?"

"You can't." The otherworldly voice was very matter-of-fact. "More detail, more money." There was an impressive pause. "Tra la la," it added helpfully.

"I...see." Frisk dug into her pocket and flipped the lining inside out. "I saved all year for this," she said, in case someone saw that she had placed a thousand-dinar piece on a shadowed part of the table.

"Tra la no, you didn't. Ask."

The priestess cleared her throat. Fortune-telling was all in the phrasing, so she had to be very careful. "Why did the thing from my nightmares want me to hurt him?"

A tiny flash of blue under the hood. She expected to see cards or some other divination tool, but it merely said, "He does not belong here. The child has unfinished business with him, and you are its strongest connection." The figure seemed to look at the coin for a moment. "If you want to know more, don't ask me. Beware the man who speaks in hands—he won't charge you. Tra la la."

The people waiting behind them were unimpressed, and Frisk was lost, but Sans made an incoherent sound. She looked at him, but no explanation was forthcoming, just a strange expression.

Well, if there was a chance Sans could tell her something, she wasn't going to try to get more on that subject out of the strange fortune-teller. "Second question," she said, trying not to let her voice wobble. This was the big one, so she fished another coin out and slid it next to the first.

The robed head tilted, probably because she'd just put down another five thousand. "Ask."

She swallowed. "What will be the principal differences in my life should I choose to open it, versus leaving it alone?"

There was a hissing sound, as if the figure was breathing out, or in. "An excellent question, Your Eminence." Frisk winced as the crowd whispered among itself, but the voice from under the robes went on, "You're very lucky. Most changes in life result from a thousand tiny decisions snowballing into major events, and there is no telling which of them nudged you in what direction. But you, my lady, are at a crossroads. You have two distinct futures, depending on a single choice."

The people behind them were quiet now, listening in keen interest. Frisk was half-consciously holding her breath.

"If you throw the box away, your life will be much as you expect. You will have a kind, wealthy husband who will take an interest in your happiness and be a loving father to your four children." Frisk's eyes widened, but she didn't dare interrupt him. "Your current efforts will not bear fruit, but they will be baby steps towards your mutual goal, to be possibly realized by your descendants. Your life will be like that of many others, full of little triumphs and large regrets. You will have much, and you will die of old age, surrounded by caring in-laws and adoring grandchildren, able to look back on a life that was...adequate."

"Holy fuck," Sans muttered, and Frisk felt light-headed.

"Should you open the box..." The robes were silent for a long moment. "Tra la la."

Frisk could have killed him, or her, or it. But then:

"Should you open the box, my lady, your worst fears will be confirmed. You will regain more than you ever suspected you've lost. The pain of that sorrow and regret will be unbearable for a time, and they will not be yours alone. But...neither will the joy, or the love, or the power."

Another pause. Was that it?

"Tra la la. You will lose and gain one father, discard and gain one mother, and be richer for it. Your family will be innumerable, though you will bear only one child...who you will attempt to bring to see me at this very festival next year. I will not be here, and you will in fact never see me again, but your child's father will be unable to stop you from coming to check."

Frisk's mouth fell open as the crowd tittered behind them. "Next—"

"You will change the entire world, largely for the better, though you will have to work tirelessly to achieve your goal and maintain peace. You will not die an old woman, but you will have lived five times as much. Your triumphs will be great and your regrets...manageable." The figure sat back. "You may choose only one future. To attempt otherwise will grant you neither."

There was a deeply impressed silence. The crowd would probably have applauded if Sans hadn't slammed his hands on the table and demanded, "Who's the father gonna be?"

More silence. Then the crowd started snickering, then laughing, and then nearly rolling on the ground after the look Frisk gave him. It took Sans a moment to remember that they were posing as a couple, and that casting doubt on her potentially-soon-to-be child's parentage might not reflect well on either of them, and his expression made the people laugh even harder.

The robed figure didn't move, except to look at the coins sitting on the table, then at him. Sans had just enough presence of mind to fumble in his overcoat and randomly toss out two hundred. "There! Also, what happened to Kris? How's my brother doing? Was that lord guy telling the truth?!"

The robes rose and fell in a great sigh. "Don't kill anyone."

They waited, breathless. Sans gestured impatiently. "Yeah? And?"

"And..." The fortune-teller turned to the crowd. "Next, please."

#songfell #this was so fun to write omg sans

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jusauria · 4 years

Text

Hotcattale (basic storyline)

Like every Story we have to start from the beginning of all.

Long time ago. In an AU of undertale there were monsters and humans. Both creatures needed the same kind of food to survive. The soul powers of the monsters scared The humans. The monsters were afraid of the soul energy of the humans. The fear turned into hate and a war began. In this war many lost their lives and both sides capitulated. The monsters were aware of the humans hate and so they moved out of all human villages to start a new life in peace. The only problem for the monsters in the mountains is the lacking source of food. Some of the best guards are hunting animals. The others are going to the cities to get other needed food supplies.

In these awful times of hate and rebuilding the life story of Sans and Papyrus begin. When the little skeleton opened his eyes he saw two taller skeletons in front of him. A huge smile were on their faces. They pick up the little skeleton and tell him: “My child. You made it. Of all the dead children's bodies, you made it to become a skeleton. We are so proud of you.” The surprised child looked around and saw something moving in the ashes. He started to move uncontrollable in the arms of the huge skeleton, only to tell them there was something. The female looking adult stuck her hand in the ashes and got out another little skeleton. The ashes made his bones look black and he sneezed a few times. The adults looked pleased. They grabbed their stuff and went to the forest where all the skeletons live.

Both kids grew up there and learned many new things. Even so they learned that skeletons can’t make kids like other monsters can. They need dead children in the age between 5-10 and have to put soulpower in them. Unfortunately not all kids become skeletons. That’s why the population of skeletons is looked over very careful. The two young skeletons knew they were from now on brothers and so they treated each other like. The smaller one got the name Sans, in the meaning of a calmness of the Ocean and the Sand. While the other one got the name Papyrus, in the meaning for the Power and Kindness from his soul. Sans was always the weaker skeleton of the both. He almost died of an unknown sickness and so his Heal Points (HP) went down to 1.

Papyrus and Sans often went outside to see others of their kind. But they never felt welcomed near them. When both got 15 they moved out. On that day all the skeletons in their villages said to them goodbye and wished them a ‘skeleton’ of luck. The brothers left the villages and walked many days to finally see the mountain they wanted to start a new life. They tardy walked in the entrance and asked other monsters where the king and queen were. On their way they met ,a bit younger as them, Asriel who showed them his parents. The royal family allowed the skelebrothers to live in the Underground. Toriel asked them kindly with a caring voice where they both want to live. Sans said: “I don’t mind any place. My bro should choose. He is the coolest in this stuff” Papyrus looked at the huge map on the walls of the gigantic room and pointed at Snowdin. He yelled: “There! This place should be as calm as Sans and as cool as me. Nyahaha.” Toriel looked at Asgore and both agreed. In snowdin was an old house where nobody lived. So the brother took this opportunity and made it their own.

Many years passed and the brothers grew in knowledge and happiness. While Sans found a job as scientist assistant in the labor from hotland. Papyrus made his hobby of cooking to his job in “Grillby’s”. But Papyrus' dream is to become a part of the royal guards. He wants to go outside and buy food for the monsters who need it. Sans and Papyrus are the only skeletons in the Underground. They always get from the town people rotten or spoiled food to eat and to cook with. They give this to the brothers not because they hate them. Generally because they don’t want to waste food. Even so skeletons can eat all kinds of food without getting sick.

One day the brother's knowledge about human and monster relationships broke apart.

Sans was in his room. All dressed in black and in front of his door was Papyrus in black too. He stared at the door wanting to knock but couldn't make him do it. He broke into tears.

Both had come home from the funeral of Asriel and his best human friend Chara. The brothers, Asriel and the twin sibling Chara and Frisk always have been very close to each other. One day when they were in a restaurant of all kinds Asriel and Chara got poisoned by the golden flower poison. The brothers ate the same dish. But because they are skeletons it had no effect on them. If Frisk had been there too, he would have gotten poisoned like his sister and the prince.

Sans was sitting in his room corner thinking why they couldn’t save them. Why they didn’t notice something was wrong. Papyrus otherwise was thinking how sad Frisk must be. Lost his twin sister and wasn’t able to be at the funeral because he is still ill.

A month later Sans and Papyrus are fine again. Of course they are still sad about the lost, but they need to work to earn money. Else they will lose the house and that’s what both don’t want to happen.

Sans walks nervous around in the labor and Dr. Gaster looks at him and asks kindly: “Sans. Do you think a maschine could produce all kinds of food, with water and the key atoms?” Sans stopped walking. He thinks about all possibilities and replies with yes. Gaster smiles and shows him a room which was always locked up. On the walls were plans for a food making maschine to solve the hunger of the monsters. The sketches and files amaze Sans . The doctor put his hand on his shoulder and whispered to him: “This will be your work from now on. Work on this machine and save the monsters. I will work on the core power machine in the meanwhile.” This is a huge job opportunity for Sans. After work he takes a shortcut to his home door and jumps into Papyrus arms. Both brothers walk inside the house. Walk to the kitchen, make tea and sit down on the table to talk about what happened on this day. They have no secrets from each other and speak open to each other. Papyrus tells Sans that people like the food he makes. The royal guard Undyne wants to teach him more cooking tricks. She was very impressed by his skills. Sans is happy for his brother and lets him talk for a while more until he tells him his news. At the moment Papyrus finished talking he tells him his whole day in detail. What a huge responsibility he has now. Even so he informs him that he will stay at the labor for a while. Papyrus stands up and hugs his brother.

The next day Sans walks to Papyrus and says: “Listen. I know you can stay alone for a while. Please be safe bro. I will be gone for about 2 or 3 months.” Papyrus looks at Sans and replies: “You don’t have to worry at all. The brilliant Papyrus will make sure everything is ok and safe! Be careful of your heavy bones”. With a last hug their paths split.

Stress is for Sans a foreigner word. He has never known stress until he sees the deadline for the machine to work and be ready to use. Sans calculations have to be all correct. Every mistake will take too much time to fix. So he worked fast but meticulous. Skeletons don’t necessari need sleep, so he had only 2 hours of sleep everyday. Gaster looks like a skeleton but isn’t so every night Sans is working alone in the labor. Often he gets scared that something will pop up out of the darkness. But this wasn’t a reason for him to stop working.

Day after day was hard work on his plan but 2 months later he finished the first machine of his kind.

In the 2 months Gaster hired a new assistant named Alphys. She is shy but it isn’t that bad to work with her. Sans invites Gaster for seeing and testing the prototype. Gaster sets up the maschine and pour the special liquid in the maschine. He starts the maschine and walks a few steps away from it. First all looks good but then Sans notices that the machine starts to form some cracks. He yelled at Gaster to walk farther away. But he was too late. A huge explosion is the result and Sans gets smashed to the wall behind him. He hits his head on the wall and his whole body gets covered in a strange hot liquid. He stands up and some of the liquid gets inside of his skull. The pain of the heat, how it burns through his skull and cracks it makes him faint.

When he opens his eyes he sees Papyrus and Alphys talking. He sits up and asks: “How long was I out.” Papyrus' face shows that he was sleeping for longer than 1 day. His brother jumps on his bed and gives him a strong hug. He cries in relief and Alphys goes outside to let both of them have some time for themselves. As soon as Papyrus finished crying himself out, Sans stands up. He sees in a mirror two cracks on each cheek and the almost full healed hole in the back of his skull. They go outside the room and Alphys asks Sans to do some task.

All monster kinds can use magic. Not all the same kind of magic, Skeleton uses bone magic.

She asked him to spawn some bones. Sans focuses and sees the bone in front of his spiritual eye. But at the moment he releases the power he spawns a hotdog which looks more cat-like. A hotcat? Sans tries again to make a bone but all he does is make hotcats. All in the living room are in shock. Sans runs upstairs in his room to do some more tests by himself. Papyrus walked behind him but he couldn’t enter the room in time. The still hurt skeleton tries harder than usual to make a bone but it doesn’t work. Only hotcats. He takes one and bite a piece off. It doesn’t look spoiled or anything. Warm is it too. All a sudden his back skull hole starts to heal up. Only a crack left. But cracks on his cheeks are still there. Sans calmed down and continued to test his other abilities. He still can do shortcuts and the telekinetic stuff. He can’t make bones and he is able to spawn two gaster blasters at the same time. To Sans' surprise the blasters can turn into Skelecats. He opens the door and Papyrus gets scared by the skelecats running out of Sans room. Alphys is already gone and both brothers walk downstairs in the living room to talk. Papyrus tells Sans that Gaster must have died. Not long ago a talking flower appeared after this bad event. Sans tells him that he not being able to make bowns isn’t as bad as he first thought. He can make food for other monsters and make them less starving and that he is more happier to be alive than dust.

A few weeks later Sans and Papyrus start to work together for Grillby and have a nice time. But then Sans got the idea to make his own little restaurant with papyrus. Papyrus agrees. With the help of their friends they build a little eating place which can move around hassle-free. The skeleton brother wants to become a travel food bistro. When they both are about to leave the underground, the royal family give them both a little present. A red scarf for papyrus and Sans gets a book full of jokes, to make them both laugh hard. This is a heartbreaking moment but the two boys know that this isn’t a goodbye forever. They walk away with the little bistro. Sans uses his telekinetic powers to move it around while papyrus is looking at the map where to go first. They decide fast where a good spot is to begin to earn money and a reputation. Sans walks around the small town offering humans and some monsters his hotcats. First they didn’t know what to think about this but soon everyone fell in love with these. It looks like the taste of hotcats varies from person to person. Some say it tastes sweet, some spicy and some salty. It depends on the person's preferences. The two make good money from them. Papyrus buys some food to cook healthy and taste food. Many humans and monsters love the taste of his dishes. The skeleton’s little restaurant becomes downright famous overnight. A few days later they closed the shop for the first time to get a small break. They walk around the town and talk a lot about what to improve and fix. In an alley Papyrus notices the talking flower he saw once in Snowdin and walks to him. The flower monster looks confused and a bit scared. Papyrus sits down in front of him and says in a kindly voice:”Hello little golden flower, why are you here in town? Are you following us?” He gets more confidence and replies to him:”Maybe. But I am here to see if you and the potato are doing fine.” The eye sockets from the huge skeleton become bigger and you can see sparkles in it. He hugs the flower and offers him to go on his shoulder so they can walk together around. The golden flower agrees and introduces himself to them as Flowey. Flowey tells them how he came to life and how confused he was first. Sans notices that the soul of the flower is awful similar to Asriel’s and asks him if he knew him. The bright yellow color from his blooms turns minor darker and he replies with a sad face: “ Yes and no. I somehow have his soul and heard his voice a few times. He told me one day that I am my own person and since then I haven’t heard of him.” Papyrus puts his hand on his head to make him feel a bit more comfortable. Sans starts to think and comes to the conclusion that the flower must be a by-product of the explosion he caused.

The sky went from a light blue to a red, violet color. The brothers arrive at their restaurant. Papyrus makes a movement to flowey to say that he can stay with them as long as he wants to. In Flowey’s face is happiness. Flowey became the mascot of the shop and is the first waiter too.

The next day the shop is booming. Many customers want to eat the special hotcat from Sans. Others some fresh made dishes from Papyrus. A human with brown hair and a yellowish skin comes to Sans and asks for the manager of this shop. He responds that he and his brother are the owner of this all. The human asks kindly if he can work there. Sans walks to Papyrus in the kitchen and asks if they should hire the human. Papyrus goes with Sans to the front and looks at the human diligent. He gasps and says that the human is Frisk. Frisk smiles and says: “Hehe. Long time not see you two. Sans to be honest, what happened to you? Did you fight with a dog and lost? hehe.” Sans explains all and both skeletons decide to hire Frisk in their small business. The not so tall human is already 19 and so he can legal work for them. At the end of the day all 3 monsters and Frisk help to clean the shop and set up a sleep area for Frisk.

They stayed 2 months in the small town and then continued their journey to another town.

After a year Flowey and Frisk discovered the other AUs. They told the skelebrothers about this. Since that day they are known as AU travel Restaurant “Hotcattale”. Which stays in every AU at least 1 week.

The end.

(I know. The story is not good. but it gives a good view about this AU and what makes it unique ^^)

#undertale au #undertale au story #story #storyline

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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OK K.O.! Let’s Be Heroes!: You’re Everybody’s Sidekick Review

OK KO was easily one of the best animated series of the 2010′s and i’ll stand by those words. The brainchild of Ian Jones Quartlery, voice of Wallow in Bravest Warriors and more importantly former head writer for Steven Universe, and current longtime romantic partner of that series creator Rebecca Sugar. That part isn’t AS important, but I still find it sweet. Anyways OK KO was the story of K.O., a 6-11, not my own laziness for once but the show’s own way of doing age, year old boy who wants to be the best like no one ever was. In this case i’ts being a hero in a world that’s basically like if someone took the marvel universe and smashed a retro game collection and a pile of manga on top of it and then blended up the result and shot it full of gamma rays. Full of heroes of all kinds ranging from those fighitng crime to those who just want to loiter outside strip malls or cut hair. To achieve this goal KO gets a job at Gar’s Bodega, the combination of your average bodega (for those unfamiliar with the term, i’ts a convience store) and a video game item shop, so the slurpee machine is right next to the power ups and ninja stars, and everything from skateboard polish to Spread Guns is avaliable. The bodega is owned by Mr.Gar, a mustachiosed muscle man whose basically a shoutier mexican version of MIke Haggar but with shades and a mustache. So a somehow better version of him, though with him being busy watching over the plaza itself, doing secret hero missions and what not the day to day operations are left to two teens: Rad, a muscle bound dude bro alien with telekenisis and a secret heart of gold and Enid, a cynical, slacker ninja whose also bilogically a witch because her parents are a vampire and a werewolf. So the series follows these three as they run the boedega, grow as people and fight the robots that frequently attack the plaza sent by the evil Lord Boxman who hates the place literally because it’s there and it’s existance annoys him. This is the canon explination and it is utterly hilarious. The series was funny, had great character work, decent ongoing stories, great jokes and a fun tone that could go from meaningful and well thorught ot utterly batshit from episode to episode and was sadly canceled after 3 seasons because Cartoon Network is kinda stupid right now and dosen’t know how to handle a superhero show that still makes action a priority, but it did get a solid ending, a slew of great crossovers and a decent amount of representation under i’ts belt. WHich brings us to today and the start of RED ACTION WEEK: A week dedicated to the series most prominent gay character and the bisexual ninja witch who loves her. I’m covering all 5 of Red’s more prominent apperances... I was just going to do the red/enid episodes but decided this was a better introduction to the series itself, as well as the fact it allows her character arc to better tie together by her final episode, which directly uses this one as a major plot point. I also threw Plaza Prom in there since, even if she’s only a supporting character, it’s still one of her few major apperances, is part of her final major episode, is one of my faviorites, and the climactic dance fights is one of the most intentionally homoerotic fight scenes i’ve seen in some time. With all that out of the way, let’s do this after the cut.

We start at Gar’s Bodega, just after the opening two parter, with KO starting his first day of work, part of the reason this episode is a fairly smooth introduction into the show. Not even in the door he accidently shoryukyn’s joe cuppa, a stand up comedian with a cup of coffee in the big time for a head... I told you anything goes and I meants it. After that accident, we find Enid at the counter, ignoring the customers before shooing them away and when KO asks for work, plays along with his enthusasim and tells him to clean the store.. which he does in minutes, before being told to sort the penny dish, and while he does the two discuss KO’s love of helping people: KO just genuinely thinks that’s part of his job, the right thing to do and feels good while Enid.. dosen’t feel it’s worth the effort and people are just generally ungreatful and not worth it. I really like this scene for showing off their character dynamic beautifully: It starts showing that while at this stage Enid is largely an asshole, she does care about K.O. and while he’s cleaning, despite usually turning customers away, still let’s Ginger, an elderly patron and one of KO’s mom’s dojo customers, not only check out but pay in freaking pennies. It shows that try as she might, Enid really isn’t a cyncial or heartlesss as she claims. It’s also nice setup for later in the season as, and as i’m sure Ian Jones Quartlery and crew were preparing for, we later DO see why Enid hates people so much: her best friend, possibly more, Elodie, who i’ll certainly be covering eventually, betrayed her for a spot at Point Prep, basically UHA or Xavier’s for this world and claimed their friendship was just a ploy (It wasn’t, but again, story for another time), while her one date with Rad went terribly due to him acting like a huge jackass at the advice of his even bigger jackasses of friends. It’s easy to see why she stopped carring: When she opened up in the past it only lead to her being hurt and alone. K.O.... is the opposite. He genuinely belivies in everyone and tries to help them because, as said above, it’s just what he does and what he belivies a hero should be... he hasn’t been hurt or influenced by assholes like his friends, and thus is able to get them to open up. It’s a wonderful dynamic and I love it. And naturally, KO is determined to help Enid see the light, with Enid responding with the wonderful line “You’ll never melt my icy heart”... give him a few more episodes Enid, give him a few more episodes. So K.O. Decides to set out helping people, shouting about it to enid back at the store as he does because he’s 6-11 and kids in that age range are many things, but subtle is not one of them. He starts with Geoff and Nick Army, a monk and gay duke nukem reflectivity who despite having polar oppositie personalities, are both a couple, as confirmed by the creative team and then the finale, and a crime fighting duo who are having a dispute over opening a pickle jar with the good old ultra violence or non violence, which KO solves by letting both do it once, which results in a pickle jar explosion, both men in their underwear and everyone happy, especially the shippers. KO continues his quest, going to Logical Cuts where we meet Mr.Logic, a robot who has a rather moving and well done backstory we’ll certainly get to, and is voice by James Urabanik, aka the voice of Rusty Venture on the venture bros, to my utter delight. And yes i’ll be covering the venture bros eventually, and might be this month. His customer, another one of KO’s mom’s regulars, is upset because her haircut isn’t right while Mr.Logic is upset, well as upset as a monotone robot can convey, that his usually 100% mathmatically perfect haircuts are off. KO pitches in and the new result is perfect, with both being greatful.

KO’s next stop on his good will help people crying for help tour, after the above bit of wonderful art shift as that version of ko moveds like a south park character for some reason. Anyways, it turns out best friends, co workers and the dante and randal of this show, i.e.two best friends working a dead end job who despite arguing a lot need each other, A Real Magical Skeleton, self explaintory and Greg, a bear, are having an argument because RMS is trying to do their job and frame a baseball for a guy while Greg is being a dickhead and playing the drums constantly. As you can probably wager, I do not like Greg, probably more than rusty, partly because a future episode has him making KO doubt his macaroni art gift for his mom so he can eat it, yes really,and partly because he’s less intresting than his buddy and yet the two are shipped frequently despite my honest assumption they’d kill each other.. much like if dante and randall finally banged. However if you do ship them, I have no hostility with you. Unlike say loudcest or shipping sam with lincoln over at the loud hosue, there's nothing wrong with RMS X Brandon, it’s just not for me. Anywho KO solves it in the hilarious and awesome manner of just putting Brandon inside one of those baseball cube things... it’s a shame he apparently gave him air holes but whatever. Proud of himself, K.O. plans to head back when he runs into the Ally Teens: Red Action, rude teen warrior from the future who just had a bad haircut, Drupe, a sentient strawberry because of course, and Greg, Drupe’s nonbinary best friend and combination of one of the bone cousins and Woodstock. K.O. offers to help and , with the trio being huge steaming bowls of elephant piss at this point, they instead trick him into waiting in a lava flow and then have drupe whip him every time the lava causes him to cartoonishily jump in the air. Yeah despite both Red Action and Drupe going on to having supporting roles, like our good pal tom, who I will get back to this month, there isn’t nearly as much wiggle room in their first apperance. With Tom Lucitor, he was a dick.. but you could make the case, even just off that ep that he genuinely dosen’t know HOW to be a good person or that what he’s doing is sketchy at best. Here, it’s fairly obvious the ally teens know setting a child on fire and using vine whip on him super effectively is wrong, that’s why their doing it. Red, being that special brand of asshole, posts it on social media. I mean posting a video of yourself hurting a child, that’s Tucker Carlson level’s of dickery right there. Stone cold. Enid sees it and is understandably concerned, and goes over to see if KO’s allright when he returns and is forced to explain to him that no they weren’t laughing with him, they were laughing at him and were just being dicks. Also he wasn’t in lava, it was magma. It was above ground.

K.O. glumly wonders why and Enid reitrates this kind of shit is why she dosen’t help people. K.O. also wonders how she saw it and we find out Enid is basically facebook stalking red action on her social media, as you do, and that Red’s been on a bit of a tear lately, smashing up shit and farting in Geoff’s face all because she got a bad haircut, with K.O. , likely going thorugh more of her posts, realizing theirs a pattern: When bad things happen to her she lashes out at others.. just like Enid. I do like the parallel there: Enid likely has a crush on her because the two are fairly similar.. but Enid runs cold and tens to be standoffish as a result of her past, while Red tens to take out her anger and frustration on everyone else and runs red hot. But they come together because opposities attract... it’s what noble laurite MC Scat Kat taaught us after all. K.O. however, having Steven Universe level’s of empahty and an equal sense of wanting to help, and just as few boundries as he had as a tween, decides that it’s clear the ally teens have underlying issues to adress and gets Enid help to look at their social media. Returning to the ally,and seemingly unphased by earlier, K.O. sets out helping them, starting by helping red get her haircut fixed by Mr. Logic. Red is adorably delighted. Moving on K.O. notes that Drupe basically just follows Red’s lead but has a fashion blog and clearly an identiy of her own and we soon learn she believes no one reads it. K.O. showed it to the not at all ambigiously gay duo and Geoff and Nick thank her> That’s two blushes and two wins in K.O.’s court. Finishing up, K.O. realizes Gregg stays quiet because they have low self esteem and feel they have nothing to be proud of. K.O. however found lots to be proud of and framed Gregg’s valdectorian certificate for him, again with some help from earlier. Instead of graditude red just calls him weird and leaves and KO slumps back depressed. I’ts a good lesson though: people DON’T change just because you did one weirdly kind thing for them. That takes time.. as we’ll see with Red and as we see with Drupe, who has less of an ons creen journey but is far nicer after her next apperance. While Enid is grossed out over having helped someone, Gregg comes in.. and after some great deranged animation thanks K.O. and Enid admits after some prodding that it does feel good to help, and K.O. is happy to have helped her int he process. The two playfully mess around as the episode ends. Final Thoughts: This was a really good one. Reaching back this far into the series, I didn’t think it’d would be nearly as good as it ended up: It serves both as a good proper introduction for a lot of the plaza regulars, a good setup for Enid’s character arc, and was also really funny with great animation. LIke Tom, I don’t think the creators knew exactly what they were going to do with the Alley Teens and thus take the two they end up focusing on in opposite directon: Red keeps her assholishness for her next apperance and grows from it, while Drupe’s drops off by the end of this season, likely due to her fashion blog taking off, but we’ll get into Red more in a review or so and Drupe more later this month.For now this episode was good and next up we have their next apperance in Plaza Prom. Until then, follow this blog for more reviews and nonsense, like and reblog it if you enjoyed this, hit me up with asks for review suggestions or comssions and until next time, later days!

#ok ko let's be heroes #you're everybody's sidekick #enid #red action #rednid #drupe #gregg #ko #geoff #nick army #mr.logic #ginger #lbgtq+#pride month #happy pride

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ghosthunthq · 4 years

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The Bones in the Acid 1

By: @sprghosthunter

Prompt: crime investigation AU

“Oh God…” Mai muttered as she snapped her head back. She waved for her field assistant to approach. “Hey Yasu, we need baking soda, stat!” Setting her gaze on the decomposing body, Mai clenched her teeth and held her breath.

“Huh?!” Yasu peered over the young agent’s shoulder. As he eyed the wisps of smoke rising over Mai’s crouched form, he began to smell it. “Oh God!” He smashed his hand over his nose, the pungent scent was nearly enough to knock him over. Turning away, Yasu rushed to the van. He gasped for fresh air the moment the human stick bomb was out of range.

After throwing open the back door of the black vehicle, Yasu plunged himself inside. He reached for the clear bin Naru had packed for Mai. The scientist always insisted Mai keep a few basic things, baking soda included, when investigating crime scenes.

“Hurry! We’re losing evidence!”

Fumbling, Yasu grabbed onto a large orange box. He then sprinted from the van at full speed. Mai was waiting for him with an outstretched hand. The moment it was within reach, Mai yanked the box of baking soda from Yasu and proceeded to dump it onto the rapidly disintegrating remains. Yasu stepped back as the starch white powder mixed with the acid coated bones. The solution bubbled over top loose dirt and dead leaves, further obscuring his view of their latest crime scene.

“We should get Naru’s team out here…” Yasu suggested while pinching his nose. “I don’t think our coroner is going to want to come and fetch this one…”

Mai grumbled, “As much as I can’t stand working with that ass, I think you’re right… After all…if it weren’t for his…previous insistence….we wouldn’t have anything left.”

“Well…he’s also one of the best anthropologists out there. Bones are like…his specialty,” Yasu added. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “I’ll call him now. Ah, why don’t you go take a seat in the van? I’ll keep an eye on everything out here.”

Arms crossed, Mai sighed, “No. I think I’m going to have a look around. That body hasn’t been here long. Surely whoever tried getting rid of it is still around.” Her hand hovered over the holster on her hip. As Yasu nodded, Mai stepped over the neutralized remains. She headed into the thickening treeline in search of more clues.

…line break…

The famed anthropologist, Oliver Davis, gazed at the pile of damaged bones. Upon first glance, he assumed at least half of the skeleton was missing. Perhaps more. The skull itself wasn’t even fully intact. Then again, he had no reason to be surprised. The body had been doused in acid…

“How strange…” Oliver knelt down, pointing a gloved finger at the remainder of the mandible. “There are no teeth, and judging that the majority of the damage was done by hydrofluoric acid, it’s likely they were removed prior to disposal.”

“Great, seems like we’ve got ourselves a cautious killer.” Mai rolled her eyes. “We can’t get an i.d. without dentals.”

Oliver raised a brow, “Don’t worry. It may take me a day or two, but I’m certain I have enough to work with to provide useful information pertaining to identify the victim. For instance, based on the size and shape of the mastoid process,” he reached out to touch the side of the skull, “this is a male.”

Mai blinked. She then crouched beside Oliver.

“Okay. That’s…helpful…” Her shoulder brushed against his as she steadied herself.

Oliver huffed, “It’s more information than your forensics team could have provided.” Before Mai could retort, he continued. “This man is also of Asian descent, most likely, given the shape of the occipitals. He was likely between 173 and 178 centimeters tall.” Directing Mai’s attention to the partial femur, Oliver smirked.

“What?! But more than half of it is missing! There is no way you can tell!” Mai huffed.

“Look,” he pointed to the bottom portion of the remaining bone, “we have the bottom, and here,” he moved his hand, “we have a section of the pelvis. We can make an educated guess as to the length of the femur, and therefore, we can estimate his height.”

Scoffing, Mai jotted down the details in her notepad, “Anything else, Dr. Narcissist?”

Shrugging, Oliver took a look at the skull again. He tilted his head as he brushed away debris.

“I would estimate the age of this man to be between nineteen and twenty-five.”

Mai frowned, “Huh? Wait a minute, didn’t you just describe yourself?” She nearly threw her hands up, “Naru! This is serious! I’m not one of your interns you play head games with!”

Oliver shook his head, “I have given you accurate information pertaining to this set of remains. It is purely a coincidence I am a match to the description I have offered.”

“Naru…”

He sighed, “What reason would I have to lie?”

Rising to full height, Mai turned away. She clenched her pen, until her knuckles were turning white.

She uttered to herself, “You’re the one that likes screwing around with my emotions…why not screw with my work while you’re at it…?”

Deaf to Mai’s comment, Oliver craned his neck back and spoke, “I’m going to have these transported back to the lab. I’ll have someone try and run a DNA sample. It’s also possible that this man’s DNA is on your database.”

Mai curtly replied, “Fine.”

“In the meantime,” Oliver stood, removing his gloves, “I suggest you begin searching through missing persons, and see if you can find any matches with the description you have.”

Eye twitching, Mai snarked, “When did you become my boss?

Frowning, Oliver gestured for his team to come forward. He then returned his attention to Mai. As she moved away from him, he caught a glimpse of her face. It was red, and he was able to spot a wet, shiny streak.

…line break…

“So, I need to clean the bones for Dr. Davis. Since you’re new, I’ll give you the task. Just be careful not to destroy any evidence,” said one of Oliver’s interns, Takigawa. He offered a box to the latest recruit, John. The younger man accepted the box and glanced inside. He furrowed his brows while observing the goop covered bones.

“I’ve already got the bath you need to soak them in ready,” Takigawa smiled, gesturing towards the room furthest down the hall. “Just keep an eye on them, and let us know if anything unusual happens.”

“Alright…” John cleared his throat, but Takigawa was already halfway across the lab. “Lord have mercy on this poor soul…”

Shifting his gaze up, John peered at the room Takigawa had prepared. Exhaling loudly, John took his first steps down the hallway. As he passed open doors, he caught sight of other interns working on artifacts that looked to be prehistoric. Someone with black, shoulder length hair was taking samples from one of the artifacts, muttering about isotopes.

Looking to his right, John peered into another room. It was dimly lit. The only distinguishable light came from a single monitor, and all John could hear was some man’s relentless typing. Perhaps he cataloged everything? John had not received an official tour, so he wasn’t too sure.

Another door down was open. He could hear a one-sided conversation. As John glanced inside he saw Dr. Oliver Davis with his back turned. His phone was pressed against his cheek, and the projection on the wall before him rotated between images of a crime scene.

Swiftly glancing into the box again, John confirmed the remains in his arms matched those depicted in the images holding Oliver’s attention.

John shook his head and continued on towards the last room on the left of the corridor. As he stood in the doorway he studied the room’s orientation. It very much reminded John of his university chemistry lab, but rather than twelve stations, there were only four. At the back of the room, sitting on a table, as Takigawa had said, was a bath ready for the bones.

Carefully, John set the box beside the tank. He reached for the tongs laying nearby and inspected them. Certain they were sterile, he began to transfer the remains from the box to the tank. Each bone fizzed as they were submerged in the clear solution. The residue once clinging to them washed away, leaving them multiple shades whiter than John’s own teeth. Once all bones were in the tank, John stepped to the shelves on the other side of the table in search of a tray.

Below his field of vision sat a stool. As John moved his legs tangled with it, and he yelped. Crashing to the floor, John reached for the shelf to stable himself. The shelf did nothing to halt his momentum. Instead, it tipped, toppling over top of him, and the glass tank.

Chemicals and other liquid solutions splashed on the floor as glass vials shattered. John shouted out as he covered his eyes, expecting to be crushed by the metal frame. The table on which the tank sat prevented the shelf from reaching the floor, as well as John’s body, however, a few open containers splashed into the bone cleansing bath. The new compound sloshed from the tank and coated John’s wrist and sleeve.

Shortly after John yelled for help, Oliver was standing in the room, lost for words. Never had he seen such a disaster in his own lab.

“What happened here?” He observed a distressed John on the floor before sighting the tank. Oliver inhaled and stepped further into the room. Once close enough to see each item in the tank Oliver brought a hand to his head and cursed.

Bleach….among other things.

“Mr. Brown… Go and get yourself cleaned up…” Oliver kept his tone level. He wanted to be upset and tear into his new intern for ruining his chances of DNA analysis, but Oliver remained calm. He gazed over the table, noticing that a patch of skin on John’s hand was discolored. The stains on his coat were quickly changing in color as well. Oliver hesitated to reach for the young man, but when he saw that the stains were beginning to dissolve the fabric of John’s coat he gasped.

With no time to explain, Oliver yanked the new intern to his feet by the collar of his coat and rushed him off the emergency shower.

#Ghost Hunt #GHW2020 #GHHQ #crime investigation AU #sprghosthunter #submission

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kangaracha · 4 years

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I RAISED A STONE, TO END ITS PAIN

for @keepswingin

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Don’t go into the valley, they always say. Monsters live down in the valley. And isn’t it funny, he thinks as he climbs down between the skeletons of the trees, their leaves all dried and fallen in preparation for winter, that wolves can have monsters just as they are monsters to the humans.

He shouldn’t be here, lost in the fog on a full moon’s night, walking down and down into the depths of a valley where no wolf goes. Just because the elders are gone, doesn’t mean their warnings should be ignored. But he’s looking for his sister, and even though she would never come down here, he’d heard a noise and he had to be sure-

He rounds a corner, steps between two trees with trunks thicker than his abdomen, and finds a deer crumpled on the ground in the centre of the valley.

It struggles in the midst of a clearing, its leg broken, its blood pooling a brilliant red in the dirt around it, staining its soft pelt with a sticky mess of mud and leaves. He walks up to it, and wonders how this came to be.

It is a wolf’s kill, that much is certain. Claws have ripped at its shoulder, creating deep tears through the muscle and sinew. A rock has been discarded at the edge of the clearing, splattered with blood – the deer’s bone, exposed by the rock, is white and clean in comparison, the end of it smashed into a thousand pieces. The thing still struggles blindly, trying to raise itself onto limbs it doesn’t have.

If it is a wolf (and it is), it is not a wolf from his pack. They do not kill like this, so slow and savage. Take the life, the elders always say, but take it quickly. There is enough suffering in the world already.

He presses a claw to the vein of its neck, intending to give it the quicker death it deserves, and then pauses, the back of his neck prickling with the sensation that something is watching him.

A shadow falls across him, a flicker of movement at the edge of his vision.

He flinches and falls backwards, scrambling through the leaf litter as the deer kicks its last. The…thing that stands over him is silhouetted by the moon, a dark figure except for a set of flashing teeth and bright yellow eyes. A shiver runs down his spine at the sight of it, at the thought of all the stories of monsters in the valley the elders would tell to them when he was a pup – he wants to get to his feet, to fight or flee, but he is frozen in fear…and then in wonder, as it shifts and circles, and the moon catches on its face instead.

It is not a beast or a ghost or any kind of monster. It is a wolf, a werewolf, just like him; a girl with a head of silver hair, and a face of sunken, sallow lines, all hard edges and twisted muscle, toughened and tempered by the hardships of the valley she haunts. She snarls, claws sharp and teeth bare, and the brightest blue he’s ever seen flashes upon the soft skin of her neck.

“Mine,” she hisses, stepping softly end over end, so that he has to turn and turn and turn to keep her from getting behind him. Her eyes flicker between him and the deer, the hot blood that grows cold upon the ground.

“Yours!” he yields and half-rises to move further away from it, not intending any harm.

She is quicker than lightning, swift as the current of the river as she pounces on him. They roll through the dirt, her teeth and claws slashing at his skin, his hands shoving uselessly at her, trying to throw her off. When they come to a rest, she has him pinned to the ground, one hand curled around his throat. Blood flows freely from the deep gouges in his arm and shoulder, the wounds where her teeth and claws have ripped at his skin. There is blood in her mouth; she spits it out to one side, and then turns to him with wild, angry eyes.

“What are you doing-” he begins to ask, confused (who is this wolf? Why is she in this valley, alone? Where has she come from?), but she isn’t listening. Her grip shifts on his neck, and her palm presses against his moonstone – with a yelp, she pulls back like she’s been burnt, cradling her hand and staring at him.

“Wolf?” she whispers, and his own hand comes up to clutch at his moonstone, fearful that she might try to take it.

“Yes,” he tells her, his voice low and soothing. She sits back, her weight settling on his stomach, and stares at him like she’s never seen anything like him before.

“Your power…” she says, and reaches down to tap his fingers, unable to reach the moonstone itself. “You will die.”

He shivers, afraid – not of her, but of the way she whispers the words to him, so sure of herself, reverent like anything she says can be made true. Even the fog is listening, swirling and rising to obscure the moon as she speaks.

“No,” he says, as if to correct her, though even he can’t bring himself to believe the things he says. “My pack are going to find the moonstone. We’re going to live.”

“Pack,” she spits and laughs, mocking him. She leans down, close enough that he can feel her warm breath on his cheek, her eyes the only thing he can see. “No pack,” she whispers in his ear. “Only you.”

She kisses him, short and soft and sweeter than he would have imagined she would be. Her lips taste like the forest, like blood and unripened blackberries and the wild mint that grows around the banks of the river, and as they press against his, they tell him a secret no other has ever known.

When she pulls away, smiling down at him with sharp teeth and otherworldly eyes, he blinks up at her and realises he knows where the moonstone is hidden, and how he can get it back.

“Wyatt!” a voice calls from the top of the valley, the place he has come from. The smile disappears from the girl’s face and she growls, rolling off him to rise back to her feet, crouched defensively between him and the still form of the deer.

“Wyatt,” she says, like she’s tasting the name, rolling it around on her tongue to see if she likes it. When she’s satisfied, she bares her teeth at him anew and says, “Go.”

He does as he’s told, scrambling to his feet and bolting through the trees, back the way he came. His heart pounds and his legs ache and as he climbs the hill and leaves the valley, not once does he look behind him to see if she is giving chase.

Back in the forest, in the place where wolves should be, he stops to catch his breath and to turn and look back at the swirling mists, and the downward curve of the damp earth. His sister calls his name again, closer than before, just a few steps through the trees now. He swallows his fear, and his wonder. He goes.

#disney zombies #zombies 2 #wyatt lykensen #wyatt zombies #addison zombies #addison wells #great alpha addison #werewolves #zombies fic #some more dark shit for you #keeps asked what this was about and I said 'monter tales' and 'a dead deer'

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

Text

It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like... (part two)

A/N: Back to Benjamin. No golden rings for Day 5 of the 12 Days of Christmas Fics, sorry. Have some golden biscuits instead. And a dose of sweetness. And also some truth.

Word Count: 3,144

Prompt from: @malionnes

"Flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

Benjamin had been watching you from the doorway to the kitchen as you pressed hard into the dough you were working, the wooden rolling pin flattening it out over the flour-sprinkled counter top. A few strands of your hair had fallen free of the loose ponytail you’d gathered it in, framing your face and catching the sunlight through the window. Stunning. “Flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

With a smudge of flour streaked across your nose, you looked up at the sound of his voice. You blew the hair away from your eyes and it fluttered gently back down as you smirked at him. “Oh come off it, I’m a mess.” You rolled your eyes as he stepped away from the door frame, unable to keep himself from filling his hands with you any longer. Letting go of the rolling pin, you allowed him to pull you away from the counter, revealing more flour smears and streaks running down your thighs. You used the back of one powder caked hand to swat your hair away, leaving a new smudge on your forehead.

You are a mess. Benjamin reached for your hip with one hand, slowly bringing the other up to wipe the newest mark away from your hairline with his thumb. He let his fingers comb through your hair, brushing the strays back behind your ear and out of your face. “Not to me.” He’d seen you with plaster in your hair, with paint stains on your jeans, with ink and dye and bronze polish underneath your fingernails after a long day of work. “I’ll take you dunked in flour and rolled in sugar any day.”

You let out a loud burst of laughter, your eyes warm atop your rosy cheeks as you fell against his chest and wrapped your arms around him, surely leaving white hand prints on the back of his sweater. I don’t care. “Well, you’re in luck then,” you said, your words slightly muffled as you spoke into the soft green fabric. I sure am. He pressed you closer, smiling at the way it felt to have you in his arms as his lips found a sugary spot near your eyebrow.

It was different, holding you, than it had been with anyone before, even Julia. Especially Julia. He’d never felt so sure in his bones as he had with you, never felt like he had to be anyone other than himself. With his ex-wife, he was constantly challenged to prove himself- prove that he was more than his shortcomings and less than the malicious intentions that Julia’s oldest son Patrick refused to let go of. With Allie there was a never ending race to prove that he’d be able to give her more. What next, what else, what then- she was never happy enough with him to spend a single minute in the moment, always looking for more, which she eventually found in someone else. But with you, he felt relaxed for the first time in decades. With you, he thought that maybe there was a chance that he could tell you everything, open up all the closets and free the skeletons he’d conditioned himself to hide. Right after the holidays. No need to ruin Christmas.

You sighed, giving him a squeeze before unwinding yourself from around him. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold on you, palms sliding down your arms to stay connected as long as possible. You rose on your toes to press a quick kiss to the birthmark beneath his eye, a habit you’d formed that made him feel known on a level he’d never felt before. Flattening your feet back out, you returned to your normal height before turning back to your biscuit making, moving the pin aside and picking up a snowflake shaped cutter. “Did you finish what you needed to?” You asked, pushing the metal form into the gingerbread dough.

“I did.” Benjamin leaned back against the counter, crossing his ankles and gripping the edge of the granite. “I’m all yours until after Christmas.” He’d been waking up early to get his work done so that he’d have the day free to help you with the cooking, baking, wrapping and everything else that comes with hosting family members for the holidays. Classes had finished the week prior, but Benjamin had been given a work-study position with the head of the History department. Dr. Kesting was writing a new book on the Russian Revolution, and he was in need of a research assistant to fact check and compile lists of dates and references. Benjamin had been all too eager to accept the position, as it was the only way he had been able to resume work towards his Masters degree once the Julia Day Scholarship was no more. He’d taken two semesters off following the divorce, and was starting to lose hope of ever being able to continue his education and the subsequent debt that it would put him further into. He admired Dr. Kesting, and though he didn’t talk about it much, he hoped to continue on the path to his Doctorate, so getting to work closely with his mentor was a gift in more ways than one.

“That’s great,” you paused halfway through pressing the snowflake into the last inch of usable dough and looked up at him. “You should be proud of yourself, I hope you are.” You finished cutting the shape and then worked your fingertips beneath the excess dough to lift it away, leaving a dozen or so perfectly cut snowflakes behind. With the same careful precision that he’d seen you use to peel back layers of paint or plaster with a spade, you slid a thin spatula under each shape and gingerly transferred them onto a waiting parchment lined tray “I am.”

Before his heart could swell at your words of encouragement, he felt his insides twist. Will you still be proud when you know everything? Do I deserve you to be? He tried to assure himself that you would understand, that you wouldn’t blame him for the cards that he kept close to the vest. Hi, I’m Benjamin. I did time in a juvenile detention center for a murder that I covered up for my older brother, and then I changed my name, moved away and pretended that I had no family. Not exactly the greatest conversation starter. He tried to tell himself that it wouldn’t make you love him less, and perhaps more importantly, that it wouldn’t make you trust him less. But despite the fact that he was sure that he wanted- no, needed- you to know everything, he found himself afraid to actually bring it all up. His phone vibrated in his pocket and brought him back to the kitchen and back to your flour streaked cheeks and the smile you were treating him to.

You smashed the excess dough between your hands, combining it all to be rolled out again for another round of snowflakes, your brow furrowed at his lack of a response. “Benjamin?” You smacked the ball of dough again before dropping it back on the counter and wiping your hands on your pants. “What’s wrong?” Your frown took the light right out of your eyes.

He shook his head and pushed off from the counter, reaching for your forehead to smooth the worry lines back out. “Nothing. Nothing at all, love.” Yet. “I’m... sorry, I was distracted.” He felt you relax under his touch, your lips falling into a more neutral set. “My phone went off and I was thinking about…” He shook his head again. “Never mind.” Picking up the ball of dough and the rolling pin, he turned to face the counter top where you’d been working. “Should I..?”

You nodded. “Yeah, sure, if you want.”

“I want to help you,” He insisted, leaning in to kiss your nose. When he pulled back, all the signs of worry were gone from your face, and you smiled again.

“Alright then, roll away.” You grabbed the full tray of unbaked cookies and turned your back to him to open the pre-heated oven. “I’ll get this batch in, and then we can-” When you turned back around, he was leaning on the counter again, his phone in his hand. “Benjamin.” You let the oven snap closed, the sound drawing his attention to you. “What’s going on? You’re...something’s up.”

Shit. He gaped at the screen in his hand and then back up at you. Shit, shit, shit. “It’s…” he pointed to the phone. “It was an email from Dr. Kesting...I figured it was just him thanking me for the notes that I sent over this morning.”

“But it wasn’t?” You asked. He shook his head. “Okay...well, what was it about then?” You set the timer on the oven before swiveling to face him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Benjamin took three deep breaths through his nose to combat the dizzy, tingling sensation that was creeping into his brain. He rubbed his fingers against his sweaty palms, thinking about how to answer you. It had been an email from Kesting, that was true. And he had thanked Benjamin for the notes, as he always did. But he’d also let Benjamin know that he’d gotten a phone call from a man claiming to be his brother, asking how to get in contact with him. Goddamnit Kieran, can’t you let me have a life? He hadn’t noticed that his hands had started to shake, but you had. You took them between yours and he looked down at you, wide-eyed.

“Benjamin,” you said his name softly, trying to coax some words out of him. “Hey, come on, you’re scaring me here. Spit it out, what happened?”

Okay. Now or never. He recalled the way that Julia looked at him when she found out the truth about Kieran, about him; utter distrust and a hint of betrayal. No, she’s not like Julia. It will be different. Closing his eyes he swallowed the dry lump that had formed in his throat, blowing out a breath when he opened them again. You were waiting patiently, your hands still around his, your thumbs caressing the cup of his palm soothingly. “I really didn’t want you to find out this way, I-” He pulled one of his hands free from yours to drag it over his mouth and chin leaving his beard dusted with white from the flour. “Have you ever had a secret that just...that just got so big it became a part of you?”

You pressed your lips together, confusion etched into your face again. “Sure, I mean, everyone has secrets…” You shrugged. “But what-”

“I need to tell you something. Now. Right now. Because I should have told you already, and now I…” That dizzy feeling was coming back, but he fought it by focusing on your eyes. “Just promise me it isn’t too late. It can’t be…”

“Benjamin...it’s not. Whatever it is, it’s not too late.”

“I just… I don’t want you to...Look. There are things that you don’t know about me. Bad things. Things I don’t...like to think about, or...or tell people, because it’s better for everyone if I don’t.” Shit, this is not how I… “I waited too long to tell Julia these things, and it made me look like I was lying to her, that I was purposely keeping things from her, and with her son already in her ear about me, it almost...we almost didn’t go through with the wedding because of it...and we shouldn’t have, because she never really trusted me afterwards and I just…” He paused, taking a breath and reaching for you, pulling you tightly to his chest without warning. “I can’t let that happen again. Not with you. I can’t lose you for him, I won’t.” He stroked your hair and spoke quietly into your ear before leaving a kiss there and pulling back just as abruptly as he’d gathered you up.

“Who, Benjamin? What are you..?”

“I have a brother. Half-brother, really, our mum she… well she wasn’t around much, she’d rather be out with her,” his lip curled as he thought about the men his mother used to bring home, and you moved to sit on the counter while he continued. “Her boyfriends. And she’d leave Kieran and I alone alot. We grew up looking after each other and… and, well I guess that was a good thing because she…” He sniffed, looking away for the briefest of moments. “She died young, left us on our own. We were hard, but we were just kids. Couldn’t stay fed off Kieran’s job at the petrol station, so he had this...this idea that we could knock over a corner store. You know, grab all the cash and run. He’d staked it out, checked, made sure there weren’t cameras. It was before everyone’s mobile could record, so he figured what could go wrong, right?”

He looked at you, quietly sitting amongst the mess, Christmas lights twinkling from the next room and the smell of baking gingerbread wafting through the air. This is not at all how I saw the day going. You looked sympathetic, concerned, saddened for the lost little boys in the story he was telling, but you kept listening, you didn’t run, didn’t tell him to get out or start throwing things around the room. You sat there, waiting for the rest.

With a sigh, he continued. “Keiran told me he’d take care of the shop owner and that I should wait outside, keep an eye out for the police or...or anyone. He said he was just going to knock the guy out and that he’d wake back up before we got home. He said…” Chest going hollow, he remembered the look of fear on his brother’s face when he ran out of the store, wads of quid stuffed in his pockets, grabbing him by the arm and urging him to run. He looked up at you to see that your mouth had fallen open, one hand suspended midway to covering it. You know where this is going, don’t you. He knew you did. You were smart. “The man...the shop owner...he didn’t wake up. He...Keiran didn’t mean to...but he…”

“He killed him.” Your voice was paper thin.

Benjamin nodded, trying with everything in him to keep tears from his eyes. “He killed him.” He echoed your words, their truth scratching at his throat on the way out of his mouth. “He was already 19, but I was a few years younger...young enough just to get juvenile punishment, so…” He let the sentence trail off with the lift of one hand.

“Oh, Benjamin...you…”

“Yeah… so…” He rid his lungs of air with a huff. “So when I got out, I…” He stepped closer to you. “I changed my name. My name’s not really Benjamin it’s...It’s Sean. Or it was...I” It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know if Sean still existed, if there was any piece of that person left inside of him. “I changed my name and moved...put all of that behind me and...and I just… I invented a life for myself. One that I would have wanted if I could have it...and…” He looked at you again, a wave of nausea rolling through his belly. “Can you say something, please?”

You sighed, sliding from the countertop and taking a few steps toward him. Your arms came around his neck and you pulled him against your body. “I’m so sorry, Benjamin.” Your fingers threaded through his hair, nails slowly scratching his scalp. He closed his eyes and finally lost his battle, tears slipping silently from under his lids. “I wish I could take that from you.” Your other hand came behind his neck as you pressed your lips to the exposed skin above the collar of his sweater. “I understand why you didn’t tell me sooner, I do…” You do? “But I’m glad you told me now.” You...are? Pulling back, you used the bent crook of your finger to rid his cheek of the single salty drop that was falling down. “I want you to be able to tell me anything, Benjamin. I love you,” his heart stopped as you said the word, starting back up again with a different rhythm. You still… “I love you, and I want us to be a team.”

He surged forward and kissed you then, taking your face between his palms and pouring every ounce of himself into that kiss, tilting your face to get a better angle and feeling like he could fly from the soft little moan that you let out against his lips. When he broke apart you were both gasping. “I love you.” He nodded, swiping his thumb over your bottom lip. “So much.”

You let out a burst of air that took the form of an emotional laugh. “So much.”

“I wanted to tell you...I was going to, after Christmas. I didn’t want to keep this from you...but I also…” He breathed your name. “I didn’t want this… Keiran, my past… I didn’t want any of that near you. Near us. But now…” he gestured at his phone and the email that Kesting had sent. “Now I guess he’s found me again… I couldn’t...I...you needed to know. I couldn’t risk him coming here or...or looking for you. Kesting didn’t give him my number or our address or anything, but...when Keiran wants to find someone, he does, and I didn’t want you to be caught off guard or...and I don’t want you to think I’m...It was starting to look like I was lying and...I’m not...there’s nothing else that you don’t know, now and…” he sighed. “Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Now?” You asked. Yes, please, I… “Right now?” He nodded. “Right now, Benjamin Greene, I think that I love you. I think that you’ve been through so many unfair situations. I think that you’ve come out on top of all of them, and I think…” You scooped up some powdered sugar from the bowl behind you before wiping both hands down the front of his shirt, pulling a genuine laugh of surprise from his heart. “I think that flour and sugar is a good look for you.”

How did I get so lucky? The thought melted into thin air as he held you down and rubbed his hands all through your hair, turning it white from the flour, turning your face red from your squirming laughter. By the time the day was done, the kitchen was a disaster, the biscuits had all been baked, and you knew the truth about him. And you loved him anyway.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @malionnes @becs-bunker @warriorqueenofnarnia @elanor-of-imladris @traeumerinwitzhelden @songtoyou @michellemybelles-world @obscurilicious please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the tags!

#benjamin greene #gold digger #gold digger fanfic #benjamin greene x you #benjamin greene x reader #the sugarplum gets sugary #12 days of christmas #12 days of christmas fics #it's beginning to look a lot like...#part 2 of 3

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