#We get to see his Colossal again and we get to see something akin to his little s2 outfit. *Loses my mind* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blossomingimagines · 3 years

Text

Salvation

Lady Dimitrescu x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2,134

Summary:

Notes: I hope you enjoy this. (For @yukinechan021)

The ground beneath your feet was crumbling. Giving way due to your manic pace as you flew through the underbrush. Your hands barely have enough time to raise up to protect yourself. The small twinges of pain that appeared because of the brambles and low-hanging branches barely making an impact on you. You had only one goal in mind. Only one purpose as you took another sharp turn around a bend.

Run.

You could still hear the screams from your village. Hear the distorted voices in the distance calling out for help. Hear the horrid sound being interjected with the ravenous howls of hungry beasts.

The smell of blood and decay reaching you before the first animal ever did. Your father taking hold of you and shoving you towards the wood. His gaze desperate as he said his last words to you. “Go, Y/N. Run like you’ve never run before. They’re here now. Mother Miranda isn’t going to protect us any longer.”

You had hesitated. You didn't want to leave your father but he hadn’t let you. His gentle nudges becoming incessant shoves towards the foliage. “You need to run, iepuraș. Don’t look back no matter what you hear. Just keep running.”

With his words, you had done just as he told you. Trying to not let the screaming or the howls stop you. Trying to not let the fear shining in his eyes stop you. You didn’t want to think about what it meant for your father when the beasts finally did reach him.

Skidding to a stop, your chest heaves as you take in your surroundings. You knew that you had to begin moving soon. It was only a matter of time before the beasts caught your scent. You had only a small window of opportunity before you’d be captured too.

The sight of rustic stone work causes you to blanche. Fear shooting through your body as the knowledge of where you were came rushing to you. Castle Dimitrescu; the one place you had always been warned to never venture near. The tales of bloodshed and twisted horrors doing little to persuade you to try. Its foreboding presence is always looming over your village for as long as you’ve been alive. You never thought you would ever see it up close.

The intricate stonework winding up towards grand towers in the sky. Its color is a rich black in the setting light of day. You could tell that the castle was old, even barring the tales you had heard about it, from the weathered quality to its structure. Even though it was no doubt still taken care of. Standing the test of time despite everything.

A chilling feeling works its way up your spine. Causing the hairs on the back of your neck to stand on end. Your body stiffening as a cold cackle reverberates through the air. A sharp breath catching in your throat at the faint shifting of metal against the ground.

“Well, well, well.” The gruff voice purrs. “What do we have here? I don’t believe my dear sister let you out of your cage. So you must be a village girl.”

Flinching away from the strong grip suddenly on your face, your head is unceremoniously jerked towards the speaker. To a man with dark glasses and a cruel smirk on his face. Amusement clearly dancing through the expression. A twisted sense of glee lighting up his face even more when he saw your fear. “It’s a pity the doggies didn’t get to you too.” He pauses before a broad smile pulls his lips up. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun with you. Oh, Mother Miranda is going to love you.”

Your brow furrows. “Mother Miranda?”

At your words a bark-like laugh falls from his lips. “Yes, child, Mother Miranda. I do hope she’ll let me have you. You’d make the most interesting tool in my games. I’m certain we’d have a blast. Well,” His head tilts to the side. “I know I would.”

Trying to jerk your head away from his hold, you couldn’t stop the pleas from leaving your mouth. “I don’t have anything worth giving you. No money to my name or family that would be willing to pay it. I have nothing of value that you’d want to take.”

“Oh that’s not true child. You shouldn’t sell yourself so short.” His hand loosens ever-so-slightly but it does little to abate your nerves. Especially as his other hand shifts his hammer.

“I don’t have anything. Please.”

He grins. “While I do love to hear a beautiful maiden such as yourself beg, I must decline. As you do have something very special you can give me.”

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes. Fear began to run through your body as the man grew closer. “What?”

His face once again twists into a dark sense of amusement. “Your life.”

You didn’t see his other hand move. Didn’t hear or feel anything except for the sharp crack of pain against your skull. Your world is immediately consumed by darkness.

Only the sound of his maniacal laughter following you.

-----

The rough stone scraping along your back is what roused you next. Your eyes blearily blinking open as you’re unceremoniously left against the hard ground. The basic stone ceiling being all that kept your attention for the moment. You could tell already, without even having to move too much, that you were restrained. The heavy presence of metal feeling like a sentence.

To what? You weren’t sure.

“Why did you bring her here, Heisenberg? She’s of no use to me.”

The female voice that spoke was familiar to you. You couldn’t quite grasp from where but you knew that you had heard it before. Lifting your head off the ground, you’re finally met with the sight of your captors.

A sight that quickly causes a chill to run down your spine.

Your original captor, Heisenberg, was lounged against a couch. A calm nonchalance surrounding him as a gleeful smile took over his features. His cruel intent still being as palpable even from the distance you were now at.

A hunched over figure standing just behind him. A crown of bones situated atop its head as heavy breathing reached your ears. The grotesque form causes your stomach to churn at the very sight. You had to turn your head away from it.

The other was in the form of a doll. Your body flinched away ever-so-slightly as it drew nearer. Its lifeless staring at you with something akin to interest before it scampers away. The clear barking order for it to do so coming from the woman who had spoken.

A woman that was standing in the middle of them all. Her black dress and veil obscuring the majority of her features from you. Though you could still feel the tangible power that radiated off of her body. The command she clearly held over the people in the room.

Mother Miranda-- through and through. No one but her held that type of power. The pull that she had on people.

It was a spell that was only broken by the arrival of the fifth person.

A heavy, yet graceful, gait announcing their presence before they even appeared. The faint clicking of heels against the stone floor telling you where they were. That they were growing closer and closer towards you by the second. Your body is already tensing at what monstrosity you would be subjected to at their arrival.

Nothing would have ever prepared you for what you saw.

A woman stops just within your field of vision. Glowing golden eyes taking in the room with a vague sense of interest. Painted red lips pulled into a small smirk as she finally settled her gaze on you. Raven black locks standing out against her pallid skin. Her clear beauty stands out even through the darkness. But that wasn’t what caused your breath to catch.

It wasn’t the way an exotic tinge of danger exuded from her.

It wasn’t because of the way she gracefully moved through the room. Her white dress shifted against her form with every minute movement.

It wasn’t even because of the way the dress looked on her body.

No. It all had to do with her height. She stood taller than any person you had ever seen; man or woman. Her imposing height did little to detract from natural elegance that seemed to lace itself within her movements. In fact it only seemed to enhance it.

Mother Miranda’s voice interrupted your thoughts. Your gaze being torn from her form towards Miranda’s. “You’re late, Alcina. I expect better from you.”

The woman, Alicna, offers an almost apologetic smile towards Mother Miranda. Her colossal from resting easily against the backrest of the couch. Her ankles crossing in the manner that only seemed to come from habit.

“I apologize, Mother Miranda. I got caught up with affairs at the castle.” She dips her head towards the black-cloaked woman. “It won’t happen again.”

Miranda sneers. “Make sure it doesn’t.” Pausing for a brief moment, Mother Miranda seemed to observe the room. Clear contemplation taking up most of her concentration-- until her gaze once again landed on you. “Now it’s time to figure out what we’re going to do with our little friend.”

Almost immediately Alcina and Heisenberg speak up.

“I found her. It should be I that gets to keep her.” No. Anything but that.

“I would have the most use of her. She does look quite appetizing.” I don’t think I want to know what that means.

At Alcina’s words, Heisenberg scoffs. “I’ll have the most use of her, dear sister. You’ll just hide her away in the private rooms of your castle. In the dark. Playing games with her that would end like it started; boringly.” He turns towards Mother Miranda. “Let me have her. I know exactly what I wish to do.”

“And you’ll just toy with her for only a few moments before she’s crushed by one of your contraptions. There’s no finesse to what you do, dear brother.” Her golden gaze flickers towards you for a moment. An almost contemplative look flashing across her beautiful features. “I’ll make sure I have something spectacular planned for her.”

Mother Miranda speaks before they can argue any further. And by the tone of slight agitation in her voice you can tell that this was a common occurrence. Your body shifted away from her ire even as you were restrained, almost painfully, from moving any further.

“Enough. Alcina you will get the girl.” At Heisenberg’s whine, she snaps at him. “There will not be any more complaints regarding this issue. You’re dismissed.”

The next time you blinked she was gone.

Your head is already plopping down against the ground. Despite the harsh greeting it got in response. You couldn't believe that this was your life now. You had just been sold to a woman, while undeniably attractive, that would sooner rip out your spine then let you walk free.

At least it wasn’t Heisenberg.

The thought only brings you a modicum of comfort.

The sudden looming shadow around doing quick work to wipe out what was left. Your eyes trailing up well muscled legs, across a white-clad torso, an elegant neck, to finally reach her amused gaze. Even if her amusement was tinged with a darker entity that you truly didn’t want to think about.

“Well, darling, it looks like you’re all mine,” she purrs as she leans towards you. Her hand coming up to brush against your cheek. Whether it be a way for her to maintain control or for her to know what you felt like; you hadn’t the slightest idea. “Aren’t you going to say anything to me? I did just save you from my brother.”

You still weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Raising your gaze to meet hers, you clench your jaw. Trying to prepare a biting retort to her clear teasing. Hoping that you’d be able to get even with her in some small way. If you were going to die you were going to die your way.

However, the moment you opened your mouth, another two words appeared. “You’re beautiful.”

The moment that words slipped from your lips, you could feel your face heat up. Your body automatically tensing at the knowledge of you had just said to her. Fortunately she seemed to be just as floored as you. Shock clearly showing itself across her elegant features before an almost feral smile takes its place. Her arms wrapping around to hoist you in the air.

But, before she did, she whispered one last thing towards you.

“I’m going to have so much fun with you, pet.”

#lady dimitrescu x female reader #lady dimistrescu x reader #lady dimistrescu #resident evil 8 #resident evil viii #resident evil village #resident evil imagine #salvation

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bae-roman · 3 years

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I know it’s a bit early but I remember you saying you love Christmas so I hope this is fine but can I get a holiday themed [if they don’t celebrate actual Christmas] bunni and roman drabble that’s on the more mature side and maybe before they have kids [other than Nadia oviously but maybe she’s not involved] thank you!!!! 😁

Ahh! Thanks for the request babe! I LOOOOOOOVE Christmas SO MUCH. Honestly You could send me Christmas prompts in like April and I’d still be down.

I actually have a drabble I was working on last year so I’m just going to add onto that! Nadia may be involved a tad in the beginning but I’ll make it more mature at the end!

Putting some under the cut bc it gets smutty towards the end!

This would be their first Christmas together after bunny moved in. She had told Roman many times before about her love of everything Christmas related and he’d seen how perfectly decorated her old home had been. Hell, even the year before bunny bought piles of decorations to Roman’s house after discovering all he had was a tree and a wreath which was “completely and utterly unacceptable” and “akin to child abuse” as bunny had said.

Roman was definitely not the most into Christmas, and had Nadia not been a factor, he would likely ignore the holiday altogether.

When Bunny cared about something she really throws herself into it and what Roman didn’t know is that Bunny had actually been toning down her Christmas spirit in the previous years. Since she had never lived alone, she always had to compromise on her decor. Even though her previous roomies were her friends and had a bit more tolerance for her antics, she still wanted to be respectful of common living areas and not shove her decorations down their throats, even if that meant having only 1 Christmas tree.

So, now living with Roman in what she considered her home as well, she was finally able to go all out, and let me tell you - she did. Roman went to work on December 1st to his house looking normal and came back that night to something like this

(Of course their house doesn’t look like this, but it’s how bunny hung their lights)

Like Roman is practically blinded by it while driving down the street.

Additionally, all the trees on their property were also lit up and decorated just as extravagantly. Even if Roman wasn’t a bit of a grinch, he’d still consider this too much. When he entered the house things only got worse. While aesthetically it looked good, Roman couldn’t get over the fact that his home now closely resembled the inside of a Christmas store.

He was greeted by Nadia running up to him, like she always did when he come home, “Don’t you like it Daddy? Bunny said I didn’t have to go to school if I helped! Isn’t it pretty?”

Nadia was obviously very excited about the state of the house and as much as Roman loathed it, the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint his little girl so, he hid his disdain behind a fake smile and said the house looked lovely.

When Nadia dragged him away to show him the Christmas tree in her room he caught Bunny’s eye and sent her a quick scowl, but Bunny only laughed.

After seeing the pink Christmas explosion that occurred in Nadia’s room, he took a quick look through the rest of the house, discovering every room had their own tree and separate theme. If he wasn’t so horrified that he had to live here for the next month, he’d be somewhat impressed.

The one thing he actually did like was the main Christmas tree in the living room. Bunny had moved things around (or rather, had paid many people to move things around) so that it was centered around this colossal tree. The thing was huge but beautiful all the same. It reminded Roman of one he’d seen as a child on a trip with his father to Time’s square.

While he didn’t love the rest of the house, he appreciated that bunny had left his office alone and kept their bedroom decor to a minimum. He bitched about the decorations all month long but ultimately, didn’t order her to remove them.

This would come to bite him in the ass the following year, though, because Bunny went even harder the next year.

Now, let’s skip to the evening of Christmas day...

After they had put Nadia down for bed Roman and Bunny went back to the living room for a drink.

The two of them were talking about nothing in particular for a while before roman started wandering around the tree. It was large enough that Bunny couldn’t see him on the other side but she heard some shuffling so she called out, asking what he was doing.

Roman re-emerged holding a present, “There was one left, it says it’s for you”

“Ooh! Does it say who it’s from? I don’t recognize the wrapping paper” Bunny was too excited about the prospect of another gift that she didn’t even notice the odd way Roman was holding the box. His arms were hanging low and he was holing it on both sides, right below his waist.

Just as bunny was about to snatch it out of his hands, he stopped her. She looked up at him and pouted, “hey!”

“It’s uh really heavy. I guess whatever’s in here is pretty huge. Maybe just open the lid?”

“Fine, just give it to me”

When it came to presents, bunny was almost like a child. She loved gifts and surprise ones were even better.

Once again, ignoring Roman’s odd behavior, she opened the lid of her gift and found ... Roman’s dick.

Bunny looked up at Roman, a shit eating grin plastered on his face, and looked back down at the contents of the box again before bursting into laughter.

“Wow, just what I needed!”, Bunny played along, “no wonder it was so heavy, maybe you should put it down...”

Bunny took Roman’s hand and led him to the couch. He stood by the side as she got on her knees, resting her elbows on the arm of the loveseat, facing him. She carefully took off the box, freeing his member and taking it in her hands. Roman undid the buttons of his pants and let them fall down while Bunny took the tip of his length into her mouth. Roman pushed her hair out of her face and gripped it at the back of her head, nudging her head to take more of him in. She obeyed and slowly took more and more of him in until she was at the base, Roman let out a soft groan and leaned over to pull her top down to expose her chest. He licked his thumb and forefinger before reaching down and playing with her nipples.

Bunny continued to increase her pace until she felt Roman beginning to twitch inside her. She let him fall out of her mouth and got up to give him a kiss. She felt his tongue battle against hers as their bodies pushed against eachother.

Bunny ran her hands down from Roman’s neck to the collar of his shirt and tugged at the buttons until they ripped off. Roman slid his hands down her body, stopping to grip her bunched up top and dragging it down over her ass. Once he let the fabric go, he cupped Bunny’s ass in his hands and lifted her so that her legs were wrapped around him.

The fabric of her tights on his bare cock hardened him further and when the pair broke apart, he set bunny down on her feet and quickly removed the rest of her clothing so that they were both naked.

Bunny went back to the couch, this time sitting on it normally and widened her legs. Roman licked his lips and knelt down, putting a hand on each of her knees.

He spread her legs even further and pushed her back before bringing his plump lips to her core. He teased her at first, nipping at her thighs and licking her all over, except for her clit. He knew how crazy that drove her. When he heard her let out a little whine, he smirked to himself before giving her clit his full attention. Bunny arched her back and tried to move her thighs together but Roman’s firm grip stopped her from being able to interrupt his work. Roman felt her walls begin to tighten around his fingers and, just as she did to him, stopped his actions.

They both had a hate-love relationship with edging eachother. On one hand, being so close to your climax and then not reaching it was almost unbearable however, they knew that the sex to come would be 10 times more wild.

Almost like she could read his mind, Bunny flipped herself over on the couch so that she was again on her knees but this time her upper body leant against the back of it.

Roman ran his member across her slit, coating it in her juices before sliding it inside her. He took full control of Bunny’s hips and made achingly slow movements. He began to quicken his pace and it wasn’t long before he was bottoming out inside of her. They were both moaning fairly loudly. Roman ran one of his hands down from her ass to her clit and played with it while he fucked her. It wasn’t long before he once again felt her walls constrict around him but this time he let her reach her high. He followed not long after and rested on top of her.

When they were finished, bunny made sure to pick up their clothes and head upstairs. Roman, who had followed her into their room, lay on their bed while she went into the closet. Roman assumed that she was putting the laundry away or something since she was in there for a while but was pleasantly surprised when she came back out in... this

“So, I guess we had the same idea ...”, Bunny said as she posed in the doorway, showing off her little outfit. She looked at him over her shoulder and asked, “You ready to open your gift?”

#roman godfrey imagine #Roman Godfrey #christmas themed #christmas #smut #hemlock grove imagine #hemlock grove #request #Bill Skarsgård

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skvaderarts · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth Chapter 58: Infernal

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Infernal

Notes: I love writing fighting scenes! It's always such a blast to write the motions and the momentum of a fight! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

(-~-)

In truth, the only thing comparable to the creature's horrendous appearance was its sheer size and magnitude. Standing at a size comparable to that of a small building, its stature was domineering. And with wings that dared blot out the very night sky around them, the creature before them was undoubtedly a demon, although unlike anything they'd previously seen.

Well, that was partially a misnomer. The color scheme matched almost perfectly with that of the devil they had battled against in the subway station with that summoner, both of his devils being very similar in thematic coloration. No doubt they hailed from the same origin point, whatever dark abyss in the underworld they hailed from being one and the same. But even still it was no part of the underworld that either of them was familiar with. Belial and his cronies must have dug deep to locate such foul creatures.

Towering over them and admitting a menacing aura, the gigantic demonic beast was more akin to some sort of sabertooth tiger crossed with a dog than anything else. It snarled and was clearly less than pleased with their presence, but there was a sort of intelligence to the creature that made them wary of simply rushing in and attacking like they normally would. His body was shrouded in a layer of black pulsating darkness that seemed to consist of some sort of flesh, but it was entirely too difficult to tell in these lighting conditions. The same magenta markings marred most of its flesh and wings, and two additional heads sprouted from what appeared to be the shoulders of the beast. A pair of compressed black and magenta wings adorned its back that, if straightened, were probably taller than the building they had just been standing near. All in all, entirely too big of a demon to have accidentally stumbled into the human world. And neither of them needed to wonder if it had been brought there on purpose.

They weren't entirely sure how they had missed something so large initially. Had the devil been laying stomach down on the ground before they had arrived? That was the only feasible explanation considering the fact that they had seen aircrafts smaller than that. Its claws were practically as big as they were, each paw the size of a small family car. And it had four of them. And it had to be said that this was probably the first time either of them had fought a devil with more heads than opponents. If they failed there would be quite the fight between each of the heads to decide who's actually going to eat them.

"So am I safe to assume that you have no idea what this creature is?" V said, putting some room between himself and the creature as it bore down on them. He had no idea what they were up against now, but he was absolutely certain that he was going to need Griffon. He would just wait for the proper time. Perhaps if they were lucky he could use his avian companion to distract the beast while they moved in to fight it. As outmatched as he suddenly felt, he knew that he couldn't leave this creature to roam the city in good conscience. There was self-preservation, and then there was negligence.

A slightly amused look across the face of the man with the red hair as he glanced over his shoulder with a sort of sarcastic flare, seemingly calm and composed and otherwise unworried about their opponent but not quite to the degree that would imply that he considered it an easy fight. He wasn't vain enough to believe that this creature would actually be simple to take down, but he felt somewhat secure in the knowledge that he was able to beat it. He had fought much more dangerous foes in the past, and none of them had managed to overpower him. Perhaps if he was lucky this would be the boost to V's confidence that he needed at a time like this.

"You would be correct in that assumption. I have quite literally no idea what this creature could be. I mean, it's quite obviously a devil for a demon of some sort, but in regards to its place of origin, I couldn't be less knowledgeable. It seems to be something akin to the illustrations and stories that I've heard of the Infernal Devils, but without going through the bestiary that the Ludwig family possesses, I would have no way of being sure." Sirrus seems slightly put off by his lack of knowledge and as to what the creature might be, but he drew his blade regardless, unwilling to even consider the idea of allowing his companion to face such a large and potentially deadly opponent alone. He was not without honor. "I took the liberty of looking into possible demonic species while I was there yesterday, and this seems to be what this might be, but unfortunately, none of those books are exactly in color. Just descriptions of them next to vaguely drawn illustrations, and trying to decipher both the handwriting and translate the language is quite the hassle. You might be worth taking a look at it yourself after we get out of this situation."

"Okay then, so what happens now, genius? Are we just going to run in guns blazing, or do you have a better idea?" The small voice from within his head spoke, clearly realizing just how far and over their heads they might be. It took the young summoner a moment to register that his familiar with speaking to him, but although he didn't outwardly show it, he did consider the statement.

"By any chance, do you recognize this species?" V asked his familiar, cognizant of the fact that a demon might be able to recognize a demon than he did. Griffon's knowledge into some of these matters was foggy at best, what it was still more than he tended to know. He simply didn't have the first-hand experience in most cases.

A long pause settled between the pair of them before he finally got his response. "Hmmm… I think our red-haired buddy might be onto something. I can't say I know much about the Infernal Devils since they're basically legends, but this might be one. Makes you wonder how they opened a gate big enough to let something like this out, though. We better figure that out and quick, or we'll have bigger problems. If this is an Infernal Devil, this isn't even one of the biggest ones I've heard of. Might be one of their more common devils, but again, I can't be sure.

"Do you have a plan of any sort?" V said calmly as they stared down the devil, content in the knowledge that they would quickly become demonic dog chow if they didn't do something about this soon. They were actually somewhat surprised that it hadn't attempted to eat them yet. Perhaps it'd been left here as some sort of century?

Sirrus shook his head. "Not one that I can say that I have much confidence in, but I do have something. Do you have access to your familiar? That bird?"

V felt Griffon stir within the confines of his mind, somewhat miffed it being referred to as a simple bird. He smirked in spite of himself and his circumstances. "Settle down. Be thankful he didn't call you a chicken. That's a change of pace at the very least."

The young summoner could feel his summons ire as he said that, resisting the urge to chuckle to himself. This wasn't the time, and it certainly wasn't the place, but it seemed that their hand had been forced, and they had to do what they had to do to not only survive but to protect the city. They were going to have to battle against this devil whether they were prepared or not.

As he considered this, the devil lunged forward, sinking its paw into the asphalt in front of them and pulling it up in large swaths. The gash it left in its wake was as wide as he was, something that didn't escape his notice. The last thing he wanted was to be nicked by one of those colossal claws, or worse, to be caught in the maw of such a fearsome beast. He would no doubt meet his end swiftly if it were to succeed in that endeavor.

"Let's go with your plan, then. I'm perfectly capable of improvising."

Noticing that it had most certainly been the threatening gesture of the devil that had coaxed him into such an immediate response, Sirrus took the bold step of going closer to the devil, his blade drawn. Naturally, the creature was not at all pleased by his challenging move and swiped at him, its grip coming up empty. In the wake of its confusion, V managed to slip to the side of it, the devil clearly more fixated on its inability to find its received target than it was with keeping up with the other individual that had accompanied them.

Realizing that Sirrus had probably ducked behind a nearby tree, the devil let out a bellowing roar that shook the ruined ground beneath it, its paw crushing the small sapling under its unyielding weight. Sirrus flanked it from the left, charging in and managing to land a decent slash that pierced its ear and caught the side of his neck. It recoiled back in discomfort, causing it to open its wings and blow debris all around them. Caught off guard by the suddenness of his movement, the red-haired man tumbled backward, his back hitting a tree. The wind had been sufficiently knocked out of him, but from what V could see he had been otherwise unharmed. But that meant that it was now his time to step in and turn the tide of battle. Sirrus's selfless distraction had given him the time needed to charge up a more powerful attack, and he was going to use it.

As the devil flew into a rage, V made the decision to focus his attention on the creature's head, coming to the astute conclusion that perhaps causing it massive cranial damage might be enough to bring it down swifter. Under his command, Shadow leaped forward, cutting a swath up the back of the devil and using her full body tooth attack to clamp onto the back of the devil's neck. It immediately lunged up into the air, attempting to shake the demonic panther off of his back to no avail. The second that it opened its wings, Sirrus clamber to his feet and rushed forward, his aim clear. He leaped forward and, with a strong downward streak, pierced the demonic creature's wing, using his body weight to tear a large cut into it. Sufficiently thrown off balance by the lack of aerodynamics it now possessed, it toppled over, shaking him off and slamming him into the pavement with enough force to shatter the bones of a normal mortal. It was clear to both of them that now the devil was incredibly angry.

Astutely aware of the fact that they were rapidly running out of options, V summoned Griffon and directed him to charge his full strength, manifesting in the form of a barrage of waves of electricity that slammed into the devil and charged it with a powerful surge of right electrical power that toppled it onto its side. Shadow released the devil's neck and returned to her master's side just in time to grab him and snatch him out of the way of its flailing tail. Wood and concrete shrapnel flew everywhere, managing to nick him in a few exposed places, but he was otherwise unharmed. Mud and construction materials flew everywhere as the devil thrashed about in a combination of agony and malice, willing and ready to manifest its true power to decimate them in any way that it could.

Just as Sirrus managed to clamber to his feet, he immediately was set upon by the devil again, being forced to run and dive out of the path of one of his furious swipes, nearly being crushed in the process. As V attempted to mitigate the situation, the tail swung back around and managed to knock him across the parking lot and into the street, sufficiently putting him out of commission for the time being. Shadow ran to his aid, and Griffin attempted to do battle solo against the beast, hitting it with another electrical attack, this one manifesting in the form of a crisscrossing pair of lines that originated from a spherical orb. He then dived in and attempted to pester the beast, trying his best to draw its attention away from his host, but to little avail. It seemed that this particular devil would not be so easily tricked a second time. It stood up and tucked its injured wing in, clearly searching for its prey. And considering the fact that V was still attempting to pull himself to his feet and regain his bearings after hitting the back of his head against the curb, he was in no condition to attempt to defend himself. If Shadow could not stop the beast, then it would be far too late for him.

"Quick! We're going to need an assist on this one! Can you get the string bean out of here? At least long enough for me to subdue the big bad doggy here? My guess is that he hasn't been let out for walkies in a while!" Griffin shouted as he flew higher and higher up into the air, leading the devil to stand up on his back legs and attempt to be able to swipe at him more efficiently. One well-placed swing would be all it would take to put him out of commission, and he knew as much. The only advantage he had in this situation was the devil's inability to actually fly after him, but that didn't mean that it couldn't attempt to. This was a dire situation for the entire group, and if they didn't manage to gain the upper hand quickly, they would not only lose the battle, but they would more than likely lose their lives.

"No worries there, I've got him! Sirrus called over, rushing towards the devil from behind in an attempt to waylay it. He had not managed to make it to his feet again quite yet, but he had faced the devil, and it seemed that he had some sort of plan in mind. With the fierce determination that only someone facing down certain death could muster, V held his hand out towards the devil, indicating for Shadow to do her work. Muttering a phrase under his breath that Sirrus had not quite caught from the distance he stood away, Shadow melded into the very ground beneath her and manifested a wall of crushing spikes just as the devil got within stabbing distance. It slammed to a stop, tearing up the street along with it as the spikes pierced its chest and back. It let out a screeching, barking roar of pain and flailed ineffectually with both of his paws toward V as he recalled his avian companion to his side and was pulled back out of the way.

Realizing that this was his best and only chance to end the fight before things became any more destructive, the red-haired adjudicator jumped forward and leaped into the air, using his right hand to brush the edge of his blade. A sort of black flame coated it momentarily before he put both hands onto the hilt of the blade and used his full body force and the momentum of his jump to bear down on his opponent, piercing its skull with one destructive blow. It let out a single agonized cry before its head slammed down into the pavement, causing V to lose his balance but not fall as the shock wave shattered the street several dozen feet in both directions. It let out a sort of raspy, breathless groan before becoming still, blood pooling through the streets and down into the drains as its mouth flopped open and its colossal teeth we came easier to see. They were longer than both of them were tall, put almost together, but they were now no longer a threat. With that pair of decisive blows, they had managed to bring an end to the devil before it had managed to do any further damage, even if it had come at the cost of much exertion and a fair bit of discomfort and physical harm at their expense. But what was most important was that they were no longer in any form of immediate danger, and that neither was the city.

"Well… that was a bit more than I had initially signed on for," V said with a humorous tent to his voice, breathing heavily from the amount of exertion he had just endured. He wasn't so much tired as he was out of breath and seemingly unable to regain it. But he was just glad that they had managed to actually defeat the creature. Once he'd seen how large it had been, he'd had suffered an immediate momentary lapse in confidence in regards to their ability to actually finish it off alone. But they had done it. And there was a part of him that was quite impressed by that. Perhaps it was best that they had done battle against it after all. "But I think the bigger question is where did it come from? It clearly isn't a familiar. I see no core to destroy, and it hasn't been recalled to its master. Was this creature simply allowed to run streets?"

"And if that is the case, what benefit would there be in causing such needless destruction to private and public property? What is our opponent hoping to gain by orchestrating a situation like this?" Sirrus I said as he approached the young summoner, extending his hand and offered to help him up. V allowed him to help him up off of the pavement, shaking his head in minor disbelief at how quickly that situation had escalated.

Griffon fluttered over to join them, lighting on what remained of the street post that set almost coiled around a leaking fire hydrant on the ground, an unfortunate casualty of the battle that had just taken place. He was just as flabbergasted by the sequence of events that it just played out as they were, but distinctly, had some sort of idea as to why this might have occurred. "That's a good point you two just made. The only thing that comes to mind is that maybe that summoner from the train station is trying to flush us out. You know, get us to fight these demons so he could figure out where we are. Maybe triangulate our location? Tire us out, maybe? He's after you, isn't he? I mean, he did try to drag you off at the train station. Maybe he's summoning these demons and letting him run amok so they'll catch our attention and he can swoop in and take you. Underworld's got an awful lot of demons with nothing better to do than run the streets and eat cars and buildings. I don't think he's going to run out of kindling to throw at the flame any time soon."

Both of the young men looked at one another and nodded. Yes, that seemed like a perfectly reasonable explanation as to what had just happened. If the summoner was indeed working for Belial, then he more than likely had the means and the motive to unleash a few demons on the city in the hopes of flushing them out. That sounded exactly like something a deranged maniac would do, and no human who was in the service of a devil prince could be saying anything but. After all, what did they have to gain by assisting with the takeover of the world? A leadership position? What would there be left to lead or to own if the earth was ruled by devils? Something as outlandish as allowing a human to rule anything in a world owned by demons surely would never fly. He would be snuffed out in an instant, nothing more than another meaningless mortal and no more meaningful to the devils that would be in charge than the legions of demonic foot soldiers that would take over the world in Belial's wake.

"If that's the case, then perhaps we should be wondering where that seminar might be able to watch a battle like this from. Perhaps one of the rooftops?"

Sirrus nodded in agreement, looking around at the futile buildings that surrounded them. If he was going to orchestrate a battle between his enemies and a large demon, then a high point would be the best place to view it from. "I think you may be on to something there, V. I think it might be best that we do some reconnaissance. Griffon, might I ask you a favor?"

The wild bird shook his head. "Nah, but you can ask V and he can ask me."

V shot his avian companion a disapproving look, clearly unamused considering the circumstances. This is far from the time to start being particular about who he obeyed and who he didn't. Well, it was technically true that he did obey V's commands and only V's, he had more than enough fruit will to be able to choose who he would and wouldn't listen to. And as long as his master's will allowed for it, he was perfectly able to carry out the task that had just been requested of him. "Griffon…"

Realizing that he had struck a nerve, the bird fluttered up into the air and flew off down the street. He knew that he was going to do what he was asked to do, but it seemed that he wasn't in the mood for jokes today. Considering the fact that he had just almost been eaten alive by a giant demonic panther dog bat devil thing, he was capable of understanding why he might not be exactly amused by his commentary. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know V. Lighten up, would you ya? I got it. No need to threaten to skin me alive and boil me. I'll go check it out. Hang tight, I'll be right back."

(-~-)

Fun fact: I used text to speech to write this chapter, and editing and writing it only took an hour and 20 minutes as a result! And it's almost a thousand words longer than normal! This is going to be a total game changer! And, I managed to do it on my phone! I have no idea why I never tried that until now, but it was amazing! Anyway, see you on Friday! If it's this quick, I might start spending like 4 hours a day every 2 weeks to knock out several chapters at once! That would be a great way to get ahead!

Let me know if I missed any glaring mistakes. I went over it with an editing program after, but voice-to-speech has this amazing way of messing up things like unusual names, so I wouldn’t be surprised if I missed something. I hoped you liked this chapter! See you all in the comments section, and again on Friday!

#Hiraeth #V #Sirrus #My Devil May Cry OC #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU OC's #My Post Devil May Cry V AU Fanfiction #My Post Devil May Cry 5 OC #DMC #DMCV #DMC5 #Devil May Cry #Fic

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massensterben · 3 years

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@mcwscollective:

‘Don’t tense up…’ easy for him to say. Bertholdt had his titan. He knew what it was like to be chosen; to show that he was capable of something that the others weren’t. He was looked up to, smart, and decisive. Not to mention, he was just far enough out of the center of the fight that he (logically speaking,) had it easy.

Who in their right mind would have tried to take on the Colossal? People were nothing but insects to him.

He pulled in a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves before another tremor shook through his limbs from fear or frustration. There had been no other explanation for the last time; he’d been ready to give up the same moment he had claimed to be ready to put his memory skills to the test… and had promptly forgotten where to start.

Udo promised himself not to be left with white knuckles and a shaking weapon within his grasp a second time. It didn’t matter how ‘harmless’ his mistake had been. Freezing when someone desperately needed him to act would be fatal (quite possibly for both of them.) Even while knowing that, though, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something could go wrong all over again.

“Shit—“ he swore, dropping the pieces to the ground with a hollow clatter. Hollow because he’d failed. Hollow because he hadn’t been capable of reloading without any pressure on him. What was he thinking?! “We both know all eyes are on Gabi, so what difference does it make what I can do?”

The weapon drops to the ground, tossed carelessly at his feet in childish frustration. Bertholdt’s muscles tighten. A large boot comes down on the barrel of the rifle to keep it from spinning away. It is empty, sure, enough. It is, essentially, useless without the rounds of ammunition Udo failed to properly load into it. But that is no excuse. The warrior turned instructor stares back down at the candidate in something akin to disbelief.

“My eyes are on you, cadet. And I don’t like what I’m seeing right now.” He remarks. Bertholdt’s heart contracts in his chest at the sharp tone of voice that snaps out of him. The last thing he cares to do is become an enemy to these children. But if that is a sacrifice he must make, then so be it. Bertholdt doesn’t need them to like him. He needs them to survive. This is not the way to do it. Not for Udo who is so blinded by his own frustration that he forgets form. Not for any Eldian child that dares to speak when not spoken to. They are all unwanted pups, one whim away from getting drowned in the river. Failure can be chalked up to incompetence, but disrespect is a birth defect. One is more dangerous than the other.

And Udo does not think ahead. Smart boy, though he is. Gabi is the loudest and therefore gets attention. She outshines the others in sheer prowess. That is why she is considered a first pick for the Armor. Fair enough. But the Armor is not the only titan that needs passing on. Zofia is in talks for the Cart. He knows Pieck has expressed her support for her. And Udo... —Well, there is a reason Bertholdt has taken time out of his schedule to tutor him.

“Pick it up.” He orders and removes his foot from the rifle. He is towering over Udo, looming like some harbinger. Perhaps he is so far up that the boy can’t see the cold, panic-tinged worry that darkens Bertholdt’s gaze. Either way, win or lose, it is a death warrant. All of this is survival. They barter for days, not decades. The chant of every Eldian in the face of death: not today, not today, not today. You cannot plan long-term with a knife sitting at your throat. Bertholdt plans for the next two years.

“You must be prepared to work tirelessly without applause. No matter if anybody sees or if anybody cares, you have to be capable of defending yourself and your comrades. You were at Fort Slava, correct? Then you know. Whether you win out over Gabi or not, you will be going to war. Warrior or not. And you will not leave here without being able to survive it.” Bertholdt’s shoulders sag a little after this ill-fitted speech. He’s no lecturer. As if he knows what he’s doing!

Bertholdt kneels down, now at eye level with Udo, and readjusts his grip on the gun as gently as he can. “Look. Like this. I know you know what to do. You’re worried you’ll freeze, right? Good. Then you’ll practice the motions so often that I can wake you up at 2 AM and you know what to do. It has to become second nature, until you no longer think about it. Like breathing. Do it again, come on.”

#mcwscollective #;;v. god of destruction

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jenovahh · 3 years

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The Honey Pot - Ch. 16 - A New Home

“Again.”

You groan as you peel yourself off the floor, after unceremoniously crashing down hard on your back. “Why are we even doing this?” You growl, picking yourself up once more. “What is this even teaching me? If you’re trying to show you’re a colossal asshole trust me; I know that already.”

Zenos stands nearby, arms crossed, eyes somehow colder than usual. “What other reason do I need aside from because I said so?” Something about him has changed; has become more rigid, more closed off. Not that he was ever necessarily open with his feelings, just…

Something has changed.

It is especially noticeable on the weekends, because those have now been freed up for you. Zenos remains at home to do work while you head over to the Garlond estate.

He was mad about it, you were sure. His father was making him share his toys. You thought he'd at least get over it like three weeks ago. Instead, he refused to rise up to your banter, and he no longer fought to get a rise out of you. He had become cold and unfeeling, apathetic, barely treating you any better than any of his other lackeys.

Sighing, you wearily shake your hands in an effort to limber them up again. Carefully, you handstand, abs flexing with the effort to find your balance. Keeping your center was proving oddly difficult, your body working itself in ways it had not previously. Your arms shook momentarily as you fought to keep steady, slowly willing yourself to control your breaths. Shutting your eyes, you find your center, muscles stabilizing as you hold yourself in place. The world slowly melts away until all you can feel is the whisper of air conditioning across your stomach, hear the thrum of the mini fridge in the corner of the room…

See Zenos’ fist make a beeline straight for your abdomen…

You choke out a wheezing breath as his fist still makes a solid hit on your stomach, having made your arms go lax to drop you to the floor. The momentum of your fall has you drop onto your back, barely having the breath to roll out of the way as Zenos’ foot comes down where your head once was. “Zenos, what the fuck,” you snarl, quickly hopping to your feet, bringing your arms up in defense. He looks apathetic still, face emotionless and for a moment you feel something akin to dread as your stance weakens ever so slightly. “Zenos,”

“Do you think in a fight that an opponent won’t take the chance to strike at your most vulnerable part?” He asks in that condescending manner, sounding entirely too much like his father.

Entirely too much like when you first met.

“I thought we weren’t working on combat,”

“We are always working on combat.” He drones, and though his voice is without feeling, the weight of his words is oppressive all the same.

“Then you should be a little more fucking clear before we start!” You snap back, dropping your fighting stance. “Fuck this. I’m through here.” You don’t even bother looking him in the eye as you move to walk past him and out the door. Before you can even make it an ilm behind him his hand has whipped out and snagged your arm in a nigh deathgrip, slowing your circulation. Your eyes drop to where his hand has encircled your arm, veins sticking out in some places, before sliding up to meet ice blue eyes. “Let. Me. Go.”

“You will leave when I allow it.” He states, as if you had no choice in the matter.

“Zenos yae Galvus,” you begin as calmly as possible, “If you do not let me go within the next three seconds I will have you on your ass so fast you’d think it impossible.”

A spark flashes in his eyes; it's not fear, but something else. It's gone as fast as it came though, replaced by underlying stubbornness and sheer loftiness. “I’d like to see you try.” He scoffs, to which you narrow your eyes at him.

“You and I both know I am the better fighter. Do you want me to kick your ass?” You question with a smirk, flexing your arm in his hand. “Does the sadistic psychopath have a thing for powerful women?”

“You flatter yourself. I would--” He scoffs, but his three seconds are up and you twist yourself out of his grip to sure enough knock him flat on his back with your foot on his chest.

“I do flatter myself. Because I’m worth flattering.” Stepping off him, you make your way to the door. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a pointy eared bastard.”

The door clicks softly behind you as you make your way back to your room to shower. If Zenos wanted to act like a jealous cunt, that was good as well as long as he didn’t take it out on you like some sort of child who didn’t learn how to properly communicate his feelings.

Showering, you make sure to use that same floral scent you started using over a month ago; the bottle is nearly empty now. And even though its effects don’t last long due to you immediately going into a heavy training session not even an hour after, it's still worth the few seconds you see Estinien’s nostrils flare and his eyes glaze over with muted desire. Pouring a generous amount on the loofah, you rub it along your body, focusing on the sensation of it gliding across your skin. Your sight focuses and unfocuses as you clean yourself up, gazing at old wounds, old cuts and tears.

Such ugly, ugly skin.

You were not without your own insecurities. Who would love such imperfection? Who would ever turn your way with all the scars you have? How would he ever--

Grunting, you turn the water as cold as it will go, shocking your system as your teeth begin to chatter. It scatters your thoughts enough that you can turn off the spray and step out, yanking the towel to wrap around your chilled body. Your thoughts are formless as you dress in fresh workout clothes. Some snug yoga pants and a tank top to go over your sports bra. Picking the choker up from your dresser, you fasten it around your neck, quickly forgetting its presence. Grabbing your bag, you head to walk out the door.

Your Lalafellin driver assigned to you awaits you outside, and you give him a wave as he holds open the backseat door for you. Stepping inside, you finally relax as he starts the car and pulls off from the estate.

The ride across town is not nearly as boring anymore, or at least it feels shorter now that you have been enough times. You usually text Ardbert during these rides, where you can chat about anything and you know your conversations aren't being monitored as closely. He's been incredibly supportive besides, happy to see you hanging out with someone much nicer, even if it wasn't fully your choice to do so. You had questioned why Varis actually agreed to continue your visits, but Ardbert advised you to not look a gift horse in the mouth and be happy he let you leave at all.

That made enough sense you supposed, though a small, inner voice told you to heed Zenos' words, that his father was a man with ulterior motives…but what were they?

I'll think about it later, you thought, seeing the Garlond estate come into view. The gate was already rolling open for you to come inside, the driver pulling up beneath the awning as usual. Your car had become a familiar sight at the estate, the security guard waving with a smile as you roll by. Grabbing your bag, you step out of the car and wave to your driver who waves in return and pulls away to leave until you call for him.

Walking through the front, you feel almost like you’re here on a friendly visit, not spying on the enemy. Sweet air conditioning welcomes you as you toe your shoes off at the door, slipping into your designated guest slippers. You had been given your own personal pair, which you had refused at first, but Cid had insisted. It was weird because he acted almost fatherly, but had no known children of his own, or even siblings, nieces, nephews to spoil.

“Ah, Honey, you’ve come a bit early!”

Turning around, you halt your trek to the backyard that leads to Estinien’s quarters to instead greet Cid. Just seeing him somehow brings a smile to your face. “Good morning, Cid.” You beam, giving him a small wave. He’s dressed semi-casual, sporting some simple khaki slacks and a powder blue button down. His goggles are present as usual, situated perfectly over his third eye.

“I had to send Estinien on a bit of an errand earlier; he might be a bit. I hope you don’t have any other business and mind a little bit of a wait?” He asks, already turning down the hall. After spending enough weekends coming over, you know that is an invitation to walk and talk with him.

“No, no other plans for today. I surprisingly have a pretty free day for once.” You laugh, following just behind him. He slows his pace to match yours, walking side by side with you.

“Good, good. Otherwise I would’ve prepared lunch for nothing!” He chortles, giving you good smack on the back. You wince only slightly; while incredibly rich, Cid is a man who still isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty and as a result he’s got some mean arms.

Walking into the kitchen, the smell of what seems to be pork wafts toward you. Sure enough, you watch as he makes his way to a nearby oven in the wall and pulls out two plates of perfectly, pan seared pork chops. Your mouth waters immediately, and even though you had already eaten breakfast before your training session with Zenos, you suddenly found yourself starving.

“Please, please, take a seat.” He offers, setting the plates down on the nearby island which seems to also serve as a makeshift bar-style table. Pulling a stool out, you take a seat as you watch him pull out two wine glasses from the rack overhead. Like the rest of his home, it is very modern in design, all light, powdery colors and big windows. “I hope you can hold your liquor enough that a little wine to go with our meal won’t affect your sparring later?” he asks, reaching for what is an obviously expensive bottle of red wine.

“No, I can hold my own well enough.” You laugh, setting your change of clothes down on the kitchen floor nearby. The food looks and smells delicious. The porkchop is paired with what looks to be oven roasted popotoes and sauteed greens. Just before you can grab a fork and knife and dig in, Cid is pouring you an almost generous glass of wine and drizzling your porkchop with, “Gravy?” you fail to hide the disbelief in your voice.

“Yes of course. Tell me, why the face?”

“I haven’t had gravy in so long,” It takes great care for you not to dig into your meal like some sort of barbarian, though you are on the edge of your seat as you wait for Cid to sit down so he too may eat. “I am kept on a very...limited diet.”

His brows furrow concerningly at that. “You are not starved are you?”

“No sir, I don’t mean limited like that.” You assure him, giving a nervous laugh. “What I mean is I don’t get to eat a lot of fatty foods; my meals are strictly nutritional. However, even my chef will occasionally risk his job to sneak some extra salt or cheese into my meals even at the risk of being found out by his employers.” You giggle, already imagining Lyngsath’s boisterous laugh in your mind’s eye.

You miss the split second Cid’s expression remains worried for one second longer before easing into something more neutral. “Yes, well...tell me Honey...do you enjoy your time at Galvus enterprises? Are they a good employer?”

You prepare to open your mouth but suddenly the weight of your choker feels heavy on your neck. Unconsciously, your fingers reach up to press against the cool metal, fingering the ruby of the Garlean logo betwixt two fingers. “I enjoy my time there. Some days are harder than others--”

“Honey.”

Looking up, Cid stares back with a serious expression, sapphire eyes gazing at you deeply. “I have known for a long time Varis has sent you to spy on me, and I have long since pinpointed that your choker records our every word. It is why I have worked to formulate this device actually,” he reaches under the table and pulls out what looks to be some sort of strange, robotic beetle. “It took a lot of tinkering, but it is capable of taking the words we are saying at this very moment and fabricating them into some arbitrary nonsense. Varis has some wonderful technicians in his employ sure, but I think it's safe to say that even ten of his best could hardly hold a candle to me.” Placing the small beetle on the table, you watch as it scampers around cutely. With a smirk, he cuts into his porkchop. “You are safe here, Honey.”

You are safe here, Honey. The light of the Mother Crystal will watch over you.

Tears well up in your eyes almost immediately, your hands dropping your utensils to quickly wipe at them. “Oh bother, I hadn’t meant to make you cry,” Cid grumbles, standing immediately to grab a cloth napkin from a nearby counter.

“No, no, it's not your fault,” your voice cracks as the dam finally breaks, your shoulders sinking as you finally release months worth of unshed tears. Suddenly, the weight of your sins comes bearing down upon you in this moment, your body jolting as one of Cid’s strong arms comes to wrap around your back in a comforting embrace.

How long has it been since someone had hugged you…?

After a minute or so, you manage to get yourself together enough that you can finish your meal. “I’m so sorry,”

“No, no, it seems you needed the cry.” He assures you, chewing on a piece of his food.

“I just...I can’t even remember the last time I’ve been able to talk without worry that someone was monitoring me. Without fearing that anything I could say, be it good or bad could be used against me. It’s so...freeing.” You sniffle, once again picking up your knife and fork.

“Then I have achieved my goal.” Cid replies, giving you a warm smile. “After all, you know the Ironworks slogan don’t you?”

Meeting his smile, you think for a moment. “...Freedom through technology?”

“Thatta girl.” He resumes eating his food. “Now tell me. Just how do they treat you over there?”

“It is...less so about the way they treat me and more so what I am made to do…” You trail off, cringing as horrid memories enter your mind.

“If you do not wish to elaborate, I will understand. It would not do to dredge up anything uncomfortable for you.” He urges, quickly refilling your glass. Paying no mind, you take a large swig of it, enjoying the light burn of alcohol going down your throat.

“They are...dark things. Horrid things.” Is all you say, deciding you need another sip of your wine. “This porkchop…”

“Made it myself.” Cid beams proudly, taking a bite of his own.

“You cook?” You ask, genuinely surprised. The meat is flavorful and juicy, well seasoned though you would prefer it a little saltier for your own tastes. The potatoes are well roasted, though some have a few overly crisp edges. The greens are that little bit of extra salt you were looking for, tying the meal together.

“As a hobby. I would say even I get tired of tinkering and making gadgets, but somehow I can never stop myself from optimizing my cookware when I'm making a good roast." He laughs, pouring himself a second glass of wine. "Besides, it is much more impressive to guests."

"I'm impressed just from the fact you deign to cook your own food. Varis would never do something like this; he sees work such as this for the help…" you trail off, finishing off your popotoes.

"I'm not surprised. Varis has always looked down his nose not just at people who were not Garlean, but those in a different tax bracket as well…" Cid sighs. "I've known Varis for quite some time, when we were both younger than we are now. My father was already a renowned engineer in Garlemald; it is not as if I had more humble beginnings. No, it is because of my father I was able to meet Varis."

"You make him sound...important." You say slowly, swallowing down a piece of pork.

"That's because he is." His tone is serious now. "He couldn't hide his money, his affluence, but he could hide his lineage." He sets his fork and knife down, gently dabbing at his lips with his napkin. "He is royalty."

You nearly drop your own at that. "Royalty?"

Cid nods gravely, taking a sip of his wine. "My father was a personal engineer for the Galvus family. Varis, however, was only the third son, and therefore not entitled to the throne even if it was posturing with no real power in congress. This gave him the opportunity to play himself off as a mere distant relative despite bearing the Galvus name."

You let that sink in, staring emptily at your plate. You knew so little of foreign affairs that you never put two and two together that he shared the name of the Garlean royal family. "But why,"

"On the surface, I'm sure it is to be his own person, and also to distance himself from his homeland to pursue his ambitions." He refills your glass, but you barely take note of it, knowing another glass will edge you towards tipsy. "I understand it, in a way. I too, wanted to separate my own ambitions from my father; from the cruelty he committed in the name of the royal family."

"But how was he able to leave an entire royal legacy behind?"

"The family simply denounced him back." Cid shrugged.

You mull over that for a few seconds, thinking on his words. "And what do you mean… by...cruelty?"

Cid fixes you with a stern look, silent for many moments. "I have never shared this with anyone aside from a close circle of friends; I trust you understand the need for confidentiality?"

You nod solemnly, your mouth suddenly feeling dry, the wine feeling appealing once again.

"I will not unload a lot of information on you at once...but Varis is far crueler than you could possibly imagine." He whispers. "The majority of my fathers experiments were at Varis’ behest. I could no longer support my father's endeavors and left to start my own company." Standing to his feet he grabs your plate and moves to place it in the sink. "Somedays still, it pains me that I could never reconcile with my father…"

"Can you still not? Is he no longer in Garlemald?" you ask, fisting your hands in your lap.

Reaching for the faucet, he runs water over the dishes, staring at the water as it goes down the drain. "He was killed by one of his experiments about three years ago now."

Your heart aches for him; you never would have known. You don’t even remember seeing it on the news at all. "Cid...I'm so,"

"No, no...no need to apologize." he chuckles lamely, picking the bones from the sink to toss in the trash and activating the garbage disposal for the rest. "I have long since made my peace with my regret." Grabbing the plates, he opens the dishwasher door and stores them inside. "I know not what horrors that tyrant puts you through Honey, but know this…"

Rounding the island, he pulls your hands from your lap, and cradles them in his own. "You will always have a home here."

The sincerity of his words makes you tear up again, fresh tracks running down your face as you giggle miserably. "I have not thought of having a home for some time..." You warble, wiping your tears on your arms. Cid reaches to grab you another napkin, smiling at your small murmur of thanks. “Thank you,”

"Hey, I thought hosts were supposed to be courteous to their guests."

Both of you turn to the furthest kitchen entrance, finding Estinien standing there in a rather nice suit instead of his usual training gear. He has his usual scowl, but you can see evident concern as he stares down Cid.

"Now, now, don't look at me like that. She is crying now, but if I wanted to woo her, Hydaelyn knows you wouldn't stand a chance with your prickly self." Cid teases, seemingly unable to help himself.

"Who said I was--" Estinien bursts before taking a calming breath. "Don't you have...I don't know a company to run?" he sighs, clearly knowing that getting riled up will only serve for Cid to tease him more.

"Yes, yes, I can see when I'm unwanted. I will whisk myself away. What is the furthest place in my home, I wonder? Perhaps the sun room, or the home theater…" Cid drawls, listing off the many rooms in his large home. “Also make sure you take the omega device with you Estinien!”

Snarling, Estinien grabs your bag from the floor (and swipes the poor beetle from the counter) and storms off. Giving a quick bow and a shy wave, you leave a laughing Cid behind.

Estinien takes a minute to catch up to with his long, Elezen stride, but you are now familiar enough with the grounds that you don't have to worry about getting lost if you fall behind. "Silly man, oof," You titter to yourself, only somewhat paying attention to where you’re going.

You hit a warm and hard surface, a hand snatching you by the wrist to steady you. "Silly?" Estinien echoes, arching a winter dusted brow.

Face heating, you give him a teasing look. "Of course. Have you seen yourself?" you snort, trying not to shiver as his thumb rubs small circles on your inner wrist.

"You've been drinking." He states, gently releasing your hand. Though his tone is disproving, you’ve learned to read the truth beneath the truth and spot a hint of mirth twinkling in his eyes.

“Or...Cid is a rather generous host, you should say.” You huff, moving past him to continue down the hall. Hearing him sigh behind you, his footfalls follow your own as you exit the main house and cross the grounds to his little corner of the estate.

“In that case I think it would be fair to say you are in no state to do any kind of sparring.” He says with a click of his tongue, watching as you toe off your guest shoes at the door. Dropping your bag to the floor he does the same with his own, placing them in a nearby cubby. Despite his gruff appearance, it never ceases to amaze how homely and welcoming his place is, all warm lighting, and soft edges. There’s a slight rustic feel to it, possibly caused by how a lot of the furniture is wooden and the walls covered in stone accents, hailing to his Coerthan heritage.

“How did you come to be here? From Coerthas I mean.” You blurt out, running your hand along the wall as you follow him through to the living room.

He’s stopped moving, his hand hooked around his tie. His expression is unreadable even to you for a few moments, before it eases into veiled pain. “I wanted a fresh start.” He tugs forcefully, loosening it from around his neck.

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t apologize.” He cuts you off, throwing you a biting look. “Stay here, I’ll change.”

Reaching out for him, you stop him in his tracks, meeting his blue eyes with your own. “Are you changing to spar?”

“Is that not what you came here for?” he questions, arching a strong brow. His hand feels so much warmer in your own, but you do not feel a chill. In fact, you feel so warm yourself, and perhaps that wine Cid gave you was a little stronger than you thought. You suppose you should’ve expected as much from rich people alcohol...

“I...don’t know.” you murmur, releasing his hand slowly. You plop down on the couch, head full of so many thoughts; too many. Why were you here? If you came to spar, by all means you should’ve never drank at all. You were no lightweight, but that didn’t mean your body was immune to the slowing effects of alcohol. It's why even if you did grab a flute of champagne or two at an event where you were escorting Zenos, you paid careful attention to how much you were consuming. Your mind was still very clear, though. You never got drunk or even tipsy if you could help it.

Why did you feel so at ease here?

“What did the old man talk to you about?” Estinien asks, seeing that you are clearly lost in thought. He starts to undo his cufflinks, placing them on the coffee table just in front of you. He shrugs out his blazer, draping it gently over the back of the couch. The distance he sits away from you brings a giggle out of you; it is just far enough to be deemed respectable, but just close enough to push the boundaries of friendship.

“Old man?” You question, throwing him a smirk, to which Estinien gives one in return.

“He hates being called that. Told him if he just went clean shaven he’d age down about a decade.” He snickers, laying his right arm on the back of the couch. You watch as he fully relaxes into it, even going as far to kick his feet up on the table.

“He...told me about how Varis is a lot worse than he seems on the surface.” You admit quietly, fiddling with your hands in your lap. A sense of foreboding came with that knowledge; you felt it in your very bones. Something much bigger than you was heading your way, and you had to wonder if you were too late to stop it. “Funnily enough, Zenos had warned me too. Said that his father is worth fearing, even if I do not fear Zenos himself. That if I ever wanted to be free of this hell, that even leaving country might not be enough.” The exhale you give is weighed down by how defeated you feel. “It's been just over a year now...I’ve not seen my friends, I have no clue if they know I’m all right. I’ve not been able to contact...my old coworkers at all. Its like I’m living a totally new life.”

You gasp as Estinien’s warm touch glances just beneath your eye, wiping at a tear before it could fall. You freeze in place as the waterworks start again, except you find you cannot sob. Both for the strange reason in that you feel unable to blubber and wail once again, and also because you could never weep openly in front of him. “I-I’m fine,”

“Like hells you are.” Estinien snarls, fixing you with a hot glare despite his cool eyes. “You’re obviously bursting at the seams, Honey, you’re hardly keeping yourself together.” His voice is soft but still harsh, his body leaning toward you more as both hands try to futilely stop your tears.

“I’m sorry,”

“Stop apologizing, idiot.” He grunts, shifting to make himself a bit more comfortable. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“But I’ve hurt so many people,” you insist, whimpering as his hands move to clutch at your face fiercely, but not painfully.

“Did you want to?” he asks, staring deep into your eyes.

“...N-No,” you stutter, lip trembling.

“Then you’ve done nothing wrong.” He sighs, the sound incredibly pained. “Gods woman-- it's a wonder you’re holding yourself together as is.” His thumbs gently swipe at still flowing tears, and the motion is soothing, your eyes drifting closed. You allow yourself this small comfort, leaning into his touch, his warmth. It is silent, nothing but white noise in the background. The light hum of his refrigerator in the kitchen nearby, the chirping of birds outside. The sound of his nearing breath.

“Honey,”

You’ve leaned forward before you’ve realized it, able to feel his breath on your face. Opening your eyes, for once the Elezen man looks a bit unsure, teeth worrying his bottom lip in a uncharacteristic show of anxiety. “Estinien.” You breathe, pushing yourself closer, but he pulls away, just barely. Frowning, you lean back slowly, looking more dejected than you feel. “I’m sorry. I thought,”

“No...it was I who made the first move was it not?” He groans, running a hand roughly through his long hair. The two of you sit in strained silence, neither one of you wanting to break it. The clock on the far wall ticks loudly, thudding in your ears until Estinien heaves a heavy sigh. “I just...not like this, Honey.” he murmurs softly. “I want you sober and willing. Not drunk and depressed.”

“I’m not drunk.” You snap back immediately, with more venom than you intend. “I will admit that the wine Cid served me certainly had more alcohol than I was expecting, but I am of a clear mind. I want to be here, I…” you swallow down a gulp of air, turning to face him slowly. “I want you.”

Estinien regards you in silence, studying you carefully. “How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“A-About wanting you?” you stammer, not resisting as he slowly takes you by your wrists and pulls you toward him. You raise to your knees with the movement, being pulled to straddle his lap as he leans back against the couch, allowing you to rest your hands where you wish.

“No. About you being sober.” He responds, his gaze turning ravenous.

Pursing your lips together, you give him the most serious look you can muster. “When have I ever lied to you Estinien?”

He opens his lips for a moment as if there’s something he wants to say, but decides against it. “Your breath smells like expensive wine.” He chooses instead.

“Blame your boss,”

And you fall into him, pressing your lips to his own and by the Twelve does it feel wonderful. He groans into your kiss, tongue skimming along your bottom lip and you take it upon yourself to deepen your kiss, but Estinien wrestles back control immediately. He sees fit to remain in control and you are fine to let him, being okay with giving up the reins for a while. His hands shift to cradle your hips, smoothing up and down your sides before resting on your behind and giving a firm squeeze.

“Halone have mercy,” he gasps for air, breaking your kiss, giving another good squeeze before bringing your hips down to grind against his own, his bulge settled right where you need most and the two of you groan in unison. Your hands get greedy, yanking his tie off him as you continue your kiss, fingers fiddling to quickly undo his buttons.

“The one time,” you huff as he trails kisses to your jawline, to your neck. “You come home wearing something I can’t just pull over your head,”

“We can worry about that later,” he growls, stopping your movements by flipping you beneath him onto the couch, hitching your legs on his hips. “Much later,” He continues ravishing your neck and you let him, raising your arms so he can get you out of your shirt. Estinien undresses you like a man possessed, reason too far gone as you do the same to him. Both of your pants are shoved downward in a rush, hands down the other’s as if you were two teenagers locked away in a closet. And in a way, aren’t you? You’re not supposed to be fraternizing with the enemy at all. You’re here to weasel information out of the Ironworks CEO and his idiot bodyguard, or at least those were your orders.

Following orders doesn't’ feel nearly as good as this though.

It doesn’t feel as good as Estinien’s long, nimble fingers stretching your core, preparing you for him, because from what you’ve felt he is certainly proportionate, and you hope he can not just feel but see how ready you are for him. His lips unexpectedly press to your lower lips hotly, his tongue delving inside to taste your sweetness that has you sobbing into the couch. He groans so wantonly, finding you ready enough to flip you over, your back to his front, both of your pants around your ankles respectively. As he looms over you you feel the tip of his cock press against your core, a tingle shooting down your spine, a trickle of anticipation racing through your veins.

Slowly, he takes his time filling you, ilm by torturous ilm. He is patient, surprisingly gentle, though that isn’t to say you thought he would take you like some sort of brute.

Like the savages you were.

Fully hilted within you, he lets you adjust to his length, his breath hot even though you both are sweating. When you finally wiggle your ass against him does he begin to slowly thrust, groaning your name into your hair, clutching your hips as if it is in the only thing grounding him in the moment. One hand of yours clutches at a stray throw pillow, the other reaches between you to feel how he fills you; to feel the glide of his cock reaching so deeply within you that you can focus on naught else.

“Estinien,” you moan, back arching like a bow beneath him, his eyes screwed shut as he increases the force of his thrusts.

“You feel…” he rasps, slamming hard into you, pulling a cry from your throat. “There are no words,”

And from then on there is no need for there to be. You come on his cock more times than you dare count, your clothes strewn all over the living room, the kitchen. Each release is as great as the last, a welcome distraction from the mess your life has become. Time does not pass as you are bent over every flat surface in his home, fucked against every wall. Each orgasm sets you free as much as it weighs you down, until you find yourself weeping silent tears as Estinien spends himself inside you one last time.

“Honey...what’s wrong?” Estinien asks, cradling your naked body to his, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I don’t,” you hiccup, feeling so small and helpless in his arms. “I don’t know. I feel so...guilty.”

You feel him frown against your head, but do not take note of it as you continue to weep. He carries you up the stairs to his bathroom, where he manages to get you both showered and clean. Too spent to bother getting dressed, he simply deposits you in his bed and tucks you under the covers, closing the blinds to block out the afternoon sun. You watch him with drowsy eyes, feeling a pain in your heart. “Estinien,”

He’s just about to leave the room but stops at the sound of his name. “Yes?” he asks, not turning around.

“Thank you.”

Saying nothing, he walks out the bedroom and closes the door behind him,

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #FFXIV #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #THP

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tonyotter-blog · 3 years

Text

A freezing warm reception

Large paws gently patted the soil around the heavy roots of a Sequoia tree. They grew tall in this part of the forest. Something about the mushrooms here, thought the owner of the paws. One large claw carefully lifted some leaves off the ground revealing a small collection of brown capped fungus. These too will grow larger!

The bear straightened, taking a paw to his lower back and let out a growl. So many hours crouching… That can’t be good. He looked up at the sky, noticing the daylight getting dimmer. It was time to go home. Wiping his paws together to brush off the dirt, he set off at a brisk pace. He didn’t want to be late to cook his newly acquired puffballs. They took years to become just right, and added to that freshly caught salmon, he was in for a treat! Already his mouth was salivating a little at the thought of a tasty dinner.

He walked through a maze of trees, bushes, and small glades. No noticeable directions were in sight, even the sun was hard to see now that it was setting, somewhere beyond a distant hillside. Yet the bear moved on with the quasi-confidence of a cartographical elephant, updated to the most recent maps from Albania to Zimbabwe. The confidence was quasi, for something gnawed at the back of his mind. Summer was supposed to arrive soon and the days were certainly getting pleasant and warm. Still, the evening breezes were getting colder; the kind of cold that says “You might want to bring a scarf tomorrow”. Something wasn’t quite right.

And there, just beyond a large centennial oak tree, a sign greeted him. “Bernard’s place”. He was home. Opening the door and lowering his head to allow his magical antlers through, he was glad to be back indoors. The chill was starting to make his fur stand. He hardly had time to close the door and make his way to the kitchen that the door slammed open, letting a freezing wind rush through.

Papers, mushroom charts, pots, herbs went flying across the living room. A motivational poster for mycophagists with a caption “Be a fungi!” gained a new vocation as an airline poster, spiralling over the dinner table before crashing on the couch.

Bernard rushed to the door. He managed to push it closed, leaning on it and using his considerable weight, and still the wind could be felt pushing against it.

“What in Pudding’s twisted mind is all this about?” He growled. “I’m not imagining this! I’m sure of it!”

Indeed, Bernard hadn’t eaten a single mushroom since yesterday, choosing to keep his delicacies for dinner instead.

Looking outside from the window, the little crepuscular light available allowed him to see the trees struggling, leaning Eastwards, leaves rushing between them in a green haze. A deep fear gripped his heart, as he considered the very real possibility that some of those trees might be torn off and taken with this infernal wind. With his strength, he might help keep one rooted. But he could only help a single tree. So many others could be torn away.

Then just as suddenly as it all began, the wind stopped. Leaves gradually lost speed and fell to the ground. The trees regained their upright positions, branches dropping slightly, though much more naked now.

“I’m going to have a word with that crazy gerbil!” Said Bernard, putting on his favourite orange scarf, and walking back outside. He went Westwards, moving quickly between the chaos of fallen leaves and broken branches. The wind came from there, and Pudding must surely be there too.

This path led to the edge of the forest. It made sense. Pudding was never fully part of Bernard’s forest, and yet had a very felt presence at times. He was a strange gerbil - and this coming from a bear who collected and ate mushrooms by the whale-load! Pudding was known to solve quadratic equations without a square root, use the power of quantum physics to revive kittens - then name them all Shrödinger - and use aluminium foil hats to build a communications network to rival AT&T. Whatever he was planning now was akin to a colossal wind tunnel for planetary aerodynamic testing.

It was getting dark and difficult the see, but Bernard could navigate his way around the forest blindfolded. He knew exactly where he was going. He could visualise the entire region in his mind with infra-red precision and place his paws with laser accuracy, whatever those words meant. Pudding used them a lot when building his giant telescope. He found the moon at night with it, so it must work!

As he got to the edge of the forest, he felt that cold breeze rise again. It struck him that it wasn’t coming from outside the forest, but the rocky hillside that led to the mountains farther beyond. He approached carefully, sniffing the air for anything interesting. The large Hypmyces lactifluorum certainly was interesting, and his rumbling stomach agreed, but he had to focus. Now was not the time to think of food. Still a little nibble would do no harm…

Bernard pulled away with all his might. No. The mushroom would have to wait. This was urgent! Well, more urgent than his hunger for mushrooms - which come to think of it was constantly urgent.

Coming closer to the hillside, the breeze got colder and colder, until it reached that chilly scarf-requiring point at the very entrance of a dark cave. He had seen this place many times before, and never had it felt so dreary. Something strange was afoot. It wasn’t fear that he felt, but a deep sense of foreboding. Steeling himself, he stepped inside slowly, letting each paw settle down quietly on the floor.

The air was still in the complete darkness, yet arctically cold. He pressed on, one paw at a time, his senses heightened. In the distance, he heard skittering sounds.

And very faint squeals.

“Who goes there?” He demanded, with a faint edge of uncertainty lingering in his voice.

No answer came, but the skittering seemed to draw closer.

Bernard instinctively took a step back before reminding himself this would only show fear. Instead, he stood on his hind legs and tried that magic spell his old friend Crème Brulée had taught him.

“Flambé!” He shouted holding his paw up. The edge of his paw lit up like million candles. Well, a million cheap candles from the dollar store, that is. He hadn’t used that spell in a long while, and besides, bears weren’t natural magical creatures. It lit like a banged up flashlight with a broken glass and slightly misconnecting wires. It flickered. A lot. But gave enough light to see a million dusty eyes looking up at him from the floor of the cavern, very round, wide open, staring out from dusty round bodies with little floppy ears.

Bernard was astonished. He had never seen such creatures.

One of the smaller ones rolled forward toward him, craned it’s neck (if it had a neck in its anatomy), glowing eyes meeting the bears’. With a tiny squeaky voice it asked “hug?”

Bernard blinked. The cavern was silent.

“Hi! I’m Speckles. I’ve been gathering for five years!” The little ball of dust said, as if it carried all the importance in the world.

A larger ball of dust rolled forward and grabbed it, pulling it away, back into the pack of dust. It seemed to whisper something to the other, but Bernard couldn’t make out what it was.

Another rolled forward, leaving a trail of cookie crumbs behind. Its squeaky voice had more timbre. Despite its high pitch, there was no doubt to anyone it spoke with the assurance and confidence of many dusty years of wisdom collected on a library shelf.

“Forgive us, master bear. We’re dust bunnies. We’ve travelled all the way here to your forest. We heard it would shelter us.” What Bernard could only describe as nods and hums of agreement came from all the other dust bunnies. “You see, we’ve been faced with a terrible foe. A new machination that invaded our homes. They call it the Hoover! We only seek to settle in peace.”

The bear looked around. Little eyes filled the depths of the cave. There must be thousands of them, all huddled within. Bernard could only nod, still shocked at this revelation. “Of course you can stay here! My forest protects all!”

And for the first time in many years, the dust bounced, filling the cave in a gigantic chilly cloud of happiness. Never had cold felt so warm in Bernard’s life.

#writing #short story #shippochistudio #twitch #creative #katony

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weispy · 3 years

Text

a buncha unpublished wips

(would they be technically considered a single wip rehashed several times? since they were all intended to be the same story...)

anyways. since i never they’re not gonna see the light of the day ever again and i got reminded of them, why not. have some unfinished first chapters of the naruto si i had been talking about.

warning for dubious quality of writing and extremely long post under cut :v

written in 2016/03

The first thing I felt were droplets of water hitting my face and realization hit me that my clothes were soaking wet. I opened my eyes, and as most of you certainly guessed, it was raining. More like pouring, I would say. But my point was said: it was raining pretty hard. I was also probably going to get hypothermia if I stayed outside any longer. The fact that I was laying on the ground with only a short-sleeved shirt and some shorts did not help.

Talking about the outside…

This place had weird looking skyscrapers (Were they even skyscrapers?) just about everywhere. Really tall, kind of ugly, has external waterworks sort of skyscraper. I would have said this place was deserted, if not for the occasional screams.

‘This doesn’t really look like the afterlife,’ I idly commented to myself.

I then completely stopped that train of thought. Why would I say (think) that? Am I dead? Am I supposed to be dead? If so, why can’t I recall any past moment that ultimately resulted in my said death?

I hadn’t noticed that my breathing was becoming erratic, and I couldn’t care less. I had other thoughts to attend to, like…

Where the hell am I?

I don’t remember travelling anywhere. I don’t remember leaving my home. Come to think about it, I couldn’t actually think of anything involving the time before I awoke here.

…

Not a single memory was clear. I couldn’t recall anything in particular, yet I was aware that I knew the answer. Just like the feeling of having a word on the tip of your tongue, but you just can’t get it out.

Anyways, I should probably find out where this is. No need to dwell on events which you cannot help or change.

(This place looks awfully familiar. Not the ‘I’ve been here before’ familiar, but more of the ‘I have already seen this place in a book’ familiar.)

Standing up from my laying position, I noticed yet another thing off. I had pudgy limbs, akin to a child’s and I’m pretty sure I was taller than this. And I have a distinct feeling that I have already lived past my young childhood. Judging from my arms, my body seems to be around 10 years old.

Talk about inconvenient. And strange.

In fact, I don’t think any of this should be happening on a normal basis, but hey, life happens.

Is that a person I see? Is that… a kid and a dog…? Though I guess help from a random kid is better than no help at all.

I padded on the damp soil towards the two of them, hoping if they could offer any form of guidance. If he can’t, I could always follow them. The boy (at least, I think it’s a boy) has a dog accompanying him. Dogs are loyal and adorable, though I do prefer cats. Cats are a lot more laid-back than dogs.

And again, this déjà vu feeling is back. I really hope my memory will clear up soon, because that feeling is extremely irritating.

The kid –oh my, he has really, and I mean REALLY bright red hair (not ginger, red) – did not seem to acknowledge my presence as I reached him, but the brown canine certainly did. Looking closer (it’s not creepy, right?), the red-haired boy looked like he recently cried. Not that it was that noticeable in the rain.

I wonder, is it normal for people here to ignore strangers? Or is it because he just had a break down and he doesn’t want people to see his tear-stricken face? Oh, and the dog is now growling at me.

He still gave no sign that he noticed me, so I decided to make the first move.

“Er, hello? Can I ask you something?”

---

written in 2016/04

Someone sobbing, pleading for something. A parting sigh, a fading light, and then darkness. Spiralling down a pitch-black abyss, and nothing to grasp on.

The last and only memories about myself I possess.

I awoke in a dark location, somewhere unpleasantly humid. My eyesight slightly cleared out and I realized that I was surrounded by colossal trees. A wandering thought is telling me that they are way taller than any plant I have seen.

Which doesn’t mean much, since I have apparently lost a good percentage of my memories.

Also, did I say that I didn’t have any legs? Or arms? Actually, it doesn’t seem that I have a body at all. Though I’m positive I’m supposed to have one. ‘Why?’ one might ask. Just a hunch. That annoying feeling that you have when you know something, but just can’t get a clear grip on the thought.

So I’m currently just a floating… thing. Or object. Or soul. Actually, I have no idea what I was.

Just a few minutes in, and I spotted something that sent chills up my spine. Something that even if I had my memories, even if I had a body, even if I was as tall as those trees, would still scare the living daylights out of me.

A giant ass spider.

I was pretty sure spiders weren’t meant to be that big. I was also pretty sure that they were not supposed to have 12 legs. And they absolutely were not supposed to be eating a tiger.

It didn’t seem to notice me at first, completely oblivious to my presence as it continued feasting on the giant feline’s carcass. So listen here: curiosity is a good thing, but it can also lead to certain doom.

And guess what I decided to do.

Yeah, I certainly wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed.

So I decided to approach the arachnid, and to my greatest relief, it still hasn’t taken notice to me. That’s when I started feeling an attraction–not the romantic sort, but gravitational sort–to the twelve-legged beast. I started panicking, because just like any rational person, my line of though was going something like ‘OH DEAR LORD I’M GOING TO GET SUCKED IN BY A GIANT SPIDER AND–‘

Then I realized I could resist the pull. Silly me, huh? All that terror for nothing.

And again, I’ll say that I’m not the brightest lightbulb out there.

Because curiosity is a wonderful thing, I continued my path towards the unnaturally giant twelve-legged possibly highly venomous and definitely carnivorous spider. Nothing could go wrong there, right? Yeah, fat chance with that.

There, I found what caused the pull: an inky black fissure at the base of its head. And still, that didn’t stop me from going nearer and nearer the creature.

As most of you guessed, that fissure got ahold of my whatever-I-was and sucked me in. We could compare it to a black hole, I guess.

‘I guess this the end of the line for me. Such a laughable way to go. Wait, no. It’s actually pretty original. No one ever died because they got sucked in by a mini black hole from a spider’s head. You bet I’m going to brag about it in the afterlife.’

And then I blinked my eyes. All eight of them. I should probably finish my meal now.

‘Wait, WHAT?’

I looked down to see my many appendages, some still plunged deep in the would-be meal, while some others were in the midst of tearing flesh apart. I was positively grossed out by this, and even maybe on the verge of puking what this spider belly’s content, while another part of me didn’t mind at all and just wanted to resume eating.

Wait, scratch that. That part was definitely not me. Maybe a remnant of the arachnid’s feeling? Better not dwell on that thought. Possessing a giant spider’s body is nasty enough for me.

‘Eat first. Think later.’

Even though I really don’t want to touch the carcass, I probably should listen to its thought. This body was feeling hungry, and since it has already hunted down a prey to eat, why not just eat it now?

‘Or maybe we could eat AND think at the same time.’

And before I could do whatsoever, the body moved on its own and went on eating. Looks like I don’t have full control over the body. So while the spider is eating, I’ll have to do the thinking. Because apparently, spiders can’t multitask. Learning new things every day!

Anyways, back to my current issue.

Correction: back to my current issues.

For one, I have no idea where I was. I don’t think knowing that you’re in a giant messed up forest in the middle of nowhere counts as knowing where you are. Two, I have no idea who I am. The memories I currently am in possession of doesn’t help at all. Three, I have no idea WHAT I am. Maybe I’m a ghost hungry for revenge. Maybe I’m a bodiless soul doomed to wander the earth for eternity. Maybe I’m a figment of this spider’s imagination.

‘Urg. How uncool would it be to discover that you were actually not real and just the result of some random someone’s half-assed idea?’

And finally, I have no idea what to do. Maybe I could walk around, question of getting used to this body. Should I call it my vessel? It sounds rather evil. But yeah, I should probably accustom myself with the motor controls if I’m stuck as a spider for the rest of its life. But what happens after? Do I need to find a new vessel after this one withers away? At least I now know how to take partial control of one.

Wow, I sound like an evil overlord. I might just be able to apply for a part-time job for a super villain.

…

What’s an evil overlord? What’s a super villain? They both sound rather evil and villainous.

And better yet, what’s a part time job?

…

‘Humans nearby. Still hungry.’

Looks like it finished eating the tiger, seeing as a pile of bones with still some bits of flesh attached to them on the ground. And now, I have a new goal set for myself.

‘Step one on maintaining a giant spider healthy: make sure it gets enough food.’

I guess it’s hunting time now! What better way to exercise myself to control this body is there apart from hunting? Onwards we go!

Though it certainly went less smoother than I would have wanted. I kept tripping over my own limbs, and don’t even get me started on climbing trees! Controlling twelve legs at once sure is no easy task. You lift one up, and you have to place it so that it wouldn’t interfere with the other’s movements, and dear Lord it’s frustrating.

I got the hang of skittering across the land in a few minutes, and I had this suspicious feeling that the spider was getting more impatient by the second. Better find those humans then. I managed to clamber up a tree without falling down, and from a high up branch, I spotted the group the arachnid mentioned afore.

I must say, they were a bunch of fashionable humans.

One dressed in a trench coat, stick in mouth. Another one wearing overalls and black glasses. Third and final one, wearing a skin tight green jumpsuit and sporting a– whoa, look at that haircut.

‘Though I guess the first one isn’t dressed so bad. On another note, a good self-pat on the back for being able to vomit out some incomprehensible words that seem to match their clothing.’

They looked slightly familiar.

And again, that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, as if I should be able to remember them. Have I met them before? Would they know who I am?

‘EAT.’

Oh great, look at what I then decided to do.

I jumped down from my perch intending to land on one of the humans, and being the big klutz I am, I instead tripped on my own legs (again) and gracefully face planted no further than a few meters away from my intended targets.

‘Don’t I just make the greatest entrances?’

---

written in 2016/06

Death.

Have you ever thought about it at random moments?

Some would characterize it as beautiful, others, not so much. But what comes after death? Are there a heaven and hell? Is there a wheel of suffering waiting at the end? Will there be the nirvana? Questions, questions. No one had a definite answer to that since… well, people aren’t supposed to come back from the dead, whoever they would be.

And I’m apparently unlucky enough to experience it at a young age. Not having even entered university yet and I got a metal construction beam plummet smack dab on my head, more or less reducing it into paste. Fun, huh? At least it wasn’t all that painful. None of my senses were able to register anything about it from the sudden abruptness of the situation. Though I certainly remember hearing a scream, or were they many? Was it my voice, or someone else’s?

And I still had so many objectives to accomplish, so many unfinished tasks left with open ends.

But none of that matters anymore, seeing that I’m dead myself. Shame, I haven’t even gotten the time to wish my sister a happy birthday. And to say that she was going to come back from overseas on the weekend of my own demise.

It was way too early for my end to come, but what had to come came. Somewhat earlier than I had expected, if I would comment. Half a life was behind me, and as sorrowful I had been moments following my death, I progressively learnt to cope with it. I never actually got over it, only accepting that I was now dead and I wouldn’t be able to change anything in the world of living. And maybe bury it deep in your mind to avoid thinking about it excessively.

How unfortunate.

Now would come the question I would ask myself; what comes after death?

The answer, I would respond, is quite simple. Nothing comes after death. It is solely the cessation of being, the end of an individual’s existence. And to confirm that, it is pretty much what I am currently undergoing through.

Nothing, that is. Well, it wasn’t actually the cessation of one’s existence, since I’m still well aware of myself and still able to form coherent thoughts. Just…

A pitch black abyss that I do not even know if it had any color, no odor, no touch, no taste, no sounds. No nothing. I’m not even sure if I have any shape or form, let alone a physical body.

I had no eyes to open, no limbs to struggle with, no mouth to scream with, no nose to smell with and no ears to eavesdrop with.

And wasn’t that boring. There wasn’t even anyone to pass time with here. Here being the Void, the nothingness. Or maybe there was, but I had no way of perceiving them.

But hey, we shouldn’t think of such depressing thing now, shouldn’t we? Such dark thoughts wouldn’t do any good to relieve my boredom. And on the bright side, I get to conserve my ability to think! And isn’t that an awesome skill. Would it be considered as a genetic trait? To be able to think and have self-awareness?

Bah. Life. Moving onto another livelier and less dull topic. Let’s say… the fact that I’m currently being pulled by something and that was the first sensation I have felt for who knows how long.

At first, I was ecstatic about being able to feel again, but as the impression of the touch continued and gradually augmented its pressure every second, I started worrying. Was it dragging me somewhere? If so where? Is the thing having hold of me dangerous?

The Void might have been an awfully mundane and dreary place, but it was safe; nothing could come in, nothing could come out. Just me and my thoughts, aimlessly wandering about. It was almost… comforting. Almost. The loneliness was still painful, and the urge of just screaming your lungs raw and ripping something to shreds was still there. It took a lot of me to remain sane in this darn forsaken barren Void with no ways of movements. Like being constantly in stasis with freedom of thought.

In a single moment, everything snaps back into place and a pair of eyes can be seen hovering in the nothingness. They aren’t exactly glowing, but they gave off a slight shine, reminding me of a silver ring reflecting off the moonlight. How eerie.

After what seemed like an eternity, the eyes finally focus on me, sending a chill through whatever the equivalent of a spine I had.

Whoa.

That was… I have my sight back! This calls for a celebration! Though that would have to wait, seeing that the being positioned in front of me looks to be one to not mess with. First impressions are important, remember that.

“I have a task for you,” it says, its voice being an amalgamate of thousand other voices, grave and shrill as well as rumbling and hissing all at once. I let out an unintentional squeak, the distorted voice seemingly belonging to a beast having ingested the souls of the damned topped with an oppressive, bordering suffocating, presence a tad too much for me to take in in the span of only a few seconds.

“Silence, child.” As I’m about to retort that I wasn’t all that young despite my premature death, a heated glare sent my way shuts me up, and from the look of it, nothing good could come if I tried to interrupt him again.

“I have lost my influence on the human population since my long slumber. Only a few followers are left, and my name has been lost in the past centuries. The sound of it no longer strikes fear deep into the heart of the humans. Eons ago, that same name made the blood of warriors and peasants alike run cold, made them quiver on the spot. I laughed in the face of death time upon time, I drove whole continents into war. I inspired fear and chaos. Now I am but an old myth, left in the dust. My current circumstance is laughable compared to my former glory.

“Here will be where you come in. Your mission is to restore my reputation to as it was, make them run like headless chickens at my name once again. Understood?” The slight narrowing of its eyes dares me to add anything else, as if the simple thought of it would land me with a death wish.

Unfortunately of fortunately, depending on your view of your situation, I am already dead. Figuratively and literally. I muster up as much courage as I could and raise my voice just loud enough to be heard. “But sir…” I start off, voice quivering. I had assumed it as a male, and as he shows no sign of objection, I continue on. “How am I supposed to do that? And why did you choose me for it?”

The creature stares, just as though it is peering deep into my supposed soul. I had to avert my eyes in fear that whatever composes my head would explode from the sheer intensity of the look.

“Ha. Ha-ha.” It sucks in a breath and howls in laughter not even a second later, the eyes curving up to form an upward crescent shape. “You think I chose you?” the being hissed. I can just imagine a face sneering, the nose crinkling in disgust. “Do not think so high of yourself. I had merely happened to come across your pitiful, withering essence while seeking for an envoy. I, regrettably, had already had my energy drained from being imprisoned here, and couldn’t risk depleting it further. You are not obligated to follow my request, but unless you wish to spend the eternity rotting in my insides, you might be inclined to. As for the other matter, you shall find out soon enough.”

It then closes its eyes and draws out a deep, long sigh, as if simply talking has drained him to the point of exhaustion. “Enough time wasted. Go. Failure is not an option.”

Faster than one could blink, the world starts crumbling away at full tilt, replacing the once inky space with stark white, all the while the eyes of the creature not leaving my form.

Just as the last shred of darkness falls, it utters out a few last words, its voice as uncanny as it always was.

“Name’s Jashin. And don’t wear it out.”

And everything drowns in a pure, colorless landscape.

The milky surroundings crack in their turn with vivid colors bursting from the seams, as one could compare them to the fireworks on a first of July. The ceiling took on a light blue hue and various pigments splattered across the scenery, fluorescent lighting dancing around. I shut my eyes close to avoid being blinded by the inordinately bright colors. Spending an excessive amount of time in a colorless environment will do that to you.

Or more like I would have if I had any eyes to begin with. Which I apparently don’t.

On the bright side, I have no need to blink and yet, I can still see. Maybe I just have eye holes and can somehow peer out of them without the organ in place. Or I don’t have any body at all and am defying every law of life about how the dead cannot come to the realm of living.

I guess I could also be in a coma and I’m dreaming this awesome plot line that might get super intense later on. Hell, that would be so rad! Not the coma part, of course, but the other part! Getting myself into a story revolving around the main character—namely me—and kicking butts all around!

But if I die here… Would it also mean I die on the other side too?

And I’m also pretty much certain I have kicked the bucket some time ago. So coma is out of the possibilities.

Another one of the possibility would be that my soul, who was supposed to do whatever a dead soul was supposed to do, got ripped out of that cycle by a scary as hell demon lord that got sealed away by an old wizard to never roam the land again and has been tasked to spread terror in its name so it gets enough spiritual energy to make a giant comeback to the mortal plane to take the throne and proclaim itself as the overlord of the world.

Yeah, that seems about it.

Since I have already bit the dust quite a while ago, why not enjoy myself in the meantime? It’s not like it would hurt to do so, and whatever its name was—Jashin, was it?—gave me a time limit to accomplish my so called ‘mission’.

As I finally adjust myself to the brightness of all this mess, I finally realize how alive everything here feels. From the peacefully growing trees, standing tall and proud, to the occasional small animals that would scurry about, everything nearby was thrumming with vitality. Everything was so lively, so colorful, so… existing. If that could even be said. Not sure if it can, but it gets the point across.

Looking down, I can make out a faint contrast—just a minute distortion in the space—around what I suppose would be my hands, as well as my arms… and well, my body too. Looks like someone even went all the way to procuring me a human-shaped sort of anti-void body. How very thoughtful of… it? him? whatever gender Jashin would qualify as?

And just to test out a certain thing…

I swing my arms around and stretch myself, basic warm up and whatnot. I know there are alternate ways to find it out, but one thing I’ll say is that curiosity can sometimes get the best of us. I placed myself in a standard three-point stance and took a deep breath.

This might hurt a bit. Or a lot. Actually, I have no idea. That’s why I’ll be testing, remember?

Just before sprinting, I raise my eyes up one last time to make sure I was facing the right direction.

And I push myself forward, dashing forward and making a beeline for my intended target: a hollow trunk that might have once been part of a quite sturdy tree. Still not rash enough to take on a still living tree, seeing that most of them looked quite robust. I could have gone for a sapling, but you know… just to not needlessly kill a tree. Life is important, so treasure it and don’t just throw it away carelessly. You only get one of those, you know?

Just milliseconds from hitting the bark, thoughts of regret and why in all the holiness of the underdepths of hell did I think this was a good idea wash over me. Seriously, who in their right mind would run around in a forest smashing trees?

To my pleasant surprise, I simply phase through the dead tree, before tripping over myself and tumbling on the ground. I turn around and sit up to look at the tree somewhat suspiciously. So either I’m not material, or that tree is a made up hallucination of my mind.

I think I’ll just stick with the former one and not ask myself too many questions about my mental health. But would it matter now that I’m presumably a ghost? I guess not.

But what had attracted my attention was that although the trunk had offered no physical resistance while I crossed with it, there was a strange pull at the core of it.

A most curious little thing, no?

And me, being the curious cat I was, I decide to investigate it. We might say curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back. And it’s not like the undead could be killed. Revived then killed, yes, but not killed while dead.

Makes sense?

And that also confirms I regained two and a half of my senses back! How I manage that without a central nervous system, I have no idea. Go figure.

Anyhow. Back to situation at hand, I hoist myself up and pat off the non-existent dust off and gingerly reached my hand to the middle of the hollow trunk. As my arm phases through the trunk, I can’t help but suppress a shudder, seeing the action up close just strikes me as disconcerting. Like seeing part of your arm getting chopped off, yet you can still freely move your hand and fingers.

And then there’s this gaping hole, a vacuum I feel at my fingertips, the small area of it definitely a few degrees colder than the ambient temperature. I curl my fingers around it, and it YANKS—

And suddenly, things change.

---

written on 2016/06

Screams of terror, the laughter of a madman, a searing pain across the torso, and—

Nothing.

oOo

If someone were to ask me “If given the chance, would you relive your life?” I wouldn’t miss a beat and respond without delay.

“No. No, I wouldn’t,” would be my obvious reply.

Now don’t jump right up to the conclusion that I’m a conceited edgelord or I have deep issues with myself or others, and ask that question to yourself. Ask yourself if you could stand replaying every single moment of your existence without a single alteration of the course.

Would that thought change one’s perception on the question?

My life was… well, not worth of any special mention. An ordinary one, paired up with a decent education, a decent family and more than just decent friends. Good friends, great friends, best friends, fake friends, you get gist of it.

Then came death. I’ll be frank, my death, or rather the moments preceding right before my death, was the most exhilarating experience I had faced. From the pure adrenaline rush to the unadulterated fear at the absurd situation I had found myself in, none of the past event I have ever lived through, and insist on none of them, not even all stacked one on top of each other, could compare to the sheer excitement I had felt.

Truly, death by ferris wheel wasn’t a common run-of-the-mill occurrence.

oOo

Death is… it’s not exactly silent, it’s not just stillness either, it’s… void, for the lack of better words.

Void from any restraints. Peaceful, free from everything, eternally sleeping in a cradle of nothingness. Nothing to weigh you down, no guilt or regrets, just a companionable mess of nothing to keep me entertained.

Feelings start to dwindle, memories start to crack, everything starts to fade away to non-existence.

With a final resigned sigh, I decide that maybe vegetating in a colorless realm of emptiness wouldn’t bring me much amusement. Not much here would, to be honest. Being dead is boring. Being dead and alone with no one to be around with is even more boring.

Ah, to say that I simply wanted to have some fun in my life.

I let go.

oOo

I drift aimlessly with no particular intention. Pieces break off, and I do nothing to stop myself from degrading into nullity.

oOo

It’s only after a bout of time (but time cannot exist without space, space cannot exist without time, and nothing exists here) that I realize.

‘I don’t want to disappear.’

In a desperate attempt to keep myself as me, I reach out everywhere possible and greedily hoard any fragment of memory, mind and notion salvageable, and fervently organize them. I can’t lose any more, and do not plan to. Make sure to not forget. Repeat everything until you can recite it from the tip of your fingers. Realize that I have lost my corporeal body, but still have a faint feeling when attempting to move limbs.

oOo

The void echoed with half remembered poems and stories, and bits of names, locations and forgotten sentiments.

I continue rehearsing and recounting various broken memories found here and there.

‘Do not forget.’

oOo

‘...first to score 50 goals in one season, played 18 of ‘em, nicely combed hair, great guy-’

I repeat again and again, counting off with a twitch of a finger for every fragment for the umpteen time, and—

Krrrrrk.

Something is pulling. Something is pulling on me.

Something or someone exist in this nonexistent plane aside from me. Excitement rushes in me, thought of ‘Ah! I can physically feel again! I still exist, and now someone else does too!’ runs amok.

Anticipation tingles through my entire being and I curiously await for an entity to pop out from nowhere.

A beat, then two, and nothing. I wait in bated breath, still full of hope. Maybe they’re hiding? Perhaps they’re shy, or are too afraid to show up? Should I call out for them? But if I do, it might scare them away.

‘Anyone hear me?!’ I shout. Or think. Frankly, I have lost the ability differentiate between the two long ago. It is a bit difficult, not being sure if you’re either hearing your own thoughts or voice in here.

Another beat passes.

No one replies.

I let out a sigh in disappointment.

For all that I know, it might have just been wishful thinking, my desire for company acting up.

Back to my typical routine, then.

‘...Praying mantis’ actually have 5 eyes. The central nervous system is composed of…’

oOo

The sensation of the pull didn’t quite leave even as time ticked by and stories had been recounted endlessly.

It was nice at first, as a reassurance that another might have come wandering here, but now it’s just irritating. It is somewhat difficult to concentrate on tasks at hand when some part of you is being perpetually pulled at short intervals.

Then suddenly, the pull increases tenfold in its intensity, and it feels like I’m being violently ripped apart and ohithurtssomeonemakeitstop—

Everything snaps back in place at once and the pain disappears just as swiftly as it came.

I take a quick peek around and find out that instead of the colorless background I became accustomed to over time, the surroundings are now of a dull gray, stretching out until the eye can’t see.

Maybe the afterlife thingy is different depending on the person? Though whoever inhabits this place, they must have some lousy aesthetic taste, I must say. Even mine, a vast emptiness of nothing (plus moi), looks way better than this plane of commonplaceness.

“I can hear you, you filthy disgraceful half-soul. Show some respect to the one who pulled you out of those… repulsive grounds. It would be in your best interest to not insult me,” a low voice drawls from behind me.

And by voice, I mean an amalgamate of thousand whispers of the damned who came crawling out from the depths of the fiery hells, grave and shrill as well as rumbling and whistling all at once.

Talk about disconcerting.

I turn around to the source of the voice, mostly eager and maybe also slightly anxious to meet the mind-reading condescending might-be remnant of a dead esper. That’s what people call psychics, right?

Now face to face with the mysterious creature of esoteric origins and, lo and behold, who I meet isn’t an actual person, and possesses much less a humanoid figure.

I am presented to a pair of tiny eyes, narrowed in probable annoyance.

---

written on 2017/05

The first time Nagato meets him, he’s grossly sobbing and vainly trying to wipe away the unending stream of tears cascading down his face like a waterfall and mourning the death of his parents.

Amidst the sound of heavy pelting of the constant rainfall, a high-pitched voice cut through the pitter-patter of the raindrops.

“Hello! What are you doing?”

Nagato falls down on his rear in shock at the sudden appearance.

In front of him is a stranger no older than himself, his skin pasty white — even paler than his own — almost like the wax of a candle and radiating an unhealthy glow. The child smiles widely, showing a dentition missing over half of its teeth.

Long washed-out blue hair lazily droops over one side of his head to cover part of his face, and Nagato was shortly reminded of the images of the horses he once saw in picture books.

Looking at the half-naked body, Nagato briefly wonders if he ever got cold from only wearing a ragged piece of clothing around the waist and nothing else.

“What’s your name? Where are we? Do you know when it’ll stop raining?” the boy continues, and Nagato scrambles backwards when the child leans in to loom over him.

Nagato tries to crawl even further away from him, but his hands slip from underneath him and he falls flat into the mud. By then, the mystery boy has his face over his, and for an unending second, they stare silently into each other’s eyes, despite Nagato wanting desperately to avert his gaze.

Faced with Nagato’s lack of response — barring the near silent sobs escaping his mouth — the child leans back, finally giving him some breathing space.

“Do you not know then?”

Nagato hears a soft, disappointed sigh. He sits up, rubbing away his tears in the process, and bleary eyes see the boy’s small frown forming, and eyebrows knitting together.

“Looks like it can’t be helped then.” The boy swivels on his heel and turns around, and starts walking away from Nagato. “Be seeing you somewhere, then,” he offers with a wave, not bothering to face him.

But before he can help himself, Nagato clumsily pushes himself up and rushed to catch up with the blue-haired child.

“W-wait up!” he shouts, then reflexively covers his mouth in embarrassment.

He shouldn’t have shouted. Mother had said it was rude, and maybe the boy finds it rude and won’t want to have him around. Maybe he just lost his chance to find a companion in this mess.

“Eh? What’s wrong?”

The next thing Nagato knows, the stranger is in his face and gazing directly into his ringed eyes, despite having hidden them behind his red bangs.

He stutters out a quiet “hieeee” and stumbles back a few steps.

The boy crosses his arms over his chest, patiently waiting for Nagato to regain his bearings.

Taking a few shaky breaths, Nagato forces himself to calm down. He shouldn’t lower his image any more than this. He can’t.

Just as Nagato is about to ask, he finally notices the eyes boring into his own. Dull and grey, devoid of life, yet somehow still terrifyingly piercing.

Regardless of his own insecurities, Nagato forces himself to speak up.

“What’s your name?”

That seems to take the boy by surprise, eyes blinking confusedly and mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out.

A scowl starts pulling down at the boy’s lips, and Nagato worriedly wonders if he has somehow offended him. He really hopes not.

“I don’t… I don’t think I remember,” the blue-haired boy eventually confesses, words gritted out from clenched teeth. He then huffs, hands going to rest on his waist. “Though I thought I was the one asking the questions?”

Nagato pointedly ignored the last statement. “We could find you a new one, if you like,” he offers quietly instead. “A new name.”

The stranger shoots him with an odd look.

Nagato feels his face flush despite the weather and only manages to stammer a few words of excuse before the boy cuts him off.

“I don’t mind.”

“Bwuh?” is his intelligent reply.

“I don’t mind getting a new name,” the boy repeats airily. “In fact, it would be really appreciated. Makes it easier to introduce myself to others, right?”

The boy then lets out a light laugh, almost too soft to be heard amongst the falling rain around them, a stark contrast to the gloomy weather.

Nagato likes the sound of it.

Just then, an idea sparks through his mind.

“What’s your favourite animal?”

The stranger looks to him, then up to the sky, brows furrowed.

“Favourite animal…” He pauses, a look of confusion crossing his face.

For a moment, Nagato wonders if he too has only seen rats and the occasional dogs in his life. Maybe even frogs and salamanders? He has heard there were a few living around the corners.

Or maybe… maybe the boy comes from outside Ame and has seen a lot more. That might be why he didn’t know where he was.

His thoughts stall.

A boy from outside…! If he has been able to come in, he should also be able to leave too, and maybe also bring Nagato with him!

Then maybe, maybe he could finally—

“Capybara,” the boy suddenly announces proudly. “That’s my favourite animal. Capybara.” Another pause. “At least, I think it is.”

“Kapi… bara?” Nagato parrots back the foreign word slowly.

The incredulous expression crossing the unnamed boy’s face, however brief it was, is enough to make him flush slightly.

Despite the embarrassment, he voices out his suggestion.

“Would K-Kapi work as a n-name?” he stutters towards the end, seeing the features of the boy screw up at it.

Expectant eyes shyly meet the unnaturally grey ones, and a small sliver hope wells up in his chest—

“That’s kinda lame.”

—before quickly deflating.

“I-is that so…” Nagato mutters, dejected and head bowed down in embarrassment. He shouldn’t have proposed something as stupid as that. Of course he wouldn’t—

“But I like anyways!”

Nagato’s head whips around so fast he’s still amazed it was still attached to his body.

“R-really? You really think so?” He’s openly gaping at him now, all trace of previous shame disappeared.

“It’s pretty catchy,” the boy — Kapi — admits with a shrug. “I guess it has a nice ring to it too.”

Kapi stands up and Nagato follows the action — when have they even sat down? — hesitantly.

Now what?

Suddenly remembering why he came up to him, Nagato makes a small gesture of his hand at the overcast skies.

“We’re in Amegakure,” he says, answering Kapi’s previous question, “and I don’t know if the rain ever stops.”

“Huh.”

The boy tilts his head sideways, straightens it up again, and tilts the other way.

“Amegakure…?” he mutters, crossing and uncrossing his arms over and over again. “Now where have I heard that…”

A small thought pops up in the back of his mind, and he tries to dismiss it.

But he can’t.

So he tries to think about something else, anything but it, because it was starting to hurt his head from how much he kept thinking about it.

It’s a scary thought, Nagato thinks, so he’d rather not think about it too much.

By the time he actually comes back to, a pale face inches closer to his.

Nagato squeaks weakly and stumbles back a few steps once again, surprised by Kapi’s sudden closeness.

“Hey, you were spacing out, are you—?”

“Did you forget everything about yourself?” Nagato blurts out, rudely interrupting Kapi.

Because he knew there were dangerous people who could enter minds and erase memories, and Kapi doesn’t remember anything and looked really confused about a lot of things, so Nagato just assumes.

He knows he shouldn’t assume things because it’s rude, but he’s also worried. Because maybe Kapi also lost his parents too, and he doesn’t want him to be sad.

The boy hums lightly and shrugs.

“Perhaps,” he replied, taking a few steps back and letting Nagato have some breathing space again. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”

As Nagato opens his mouth to ask how he couldn’t know,

---

written on 2018/04

I shuffle my transparent feet around the seemingly invisible floor.

Yep, there’s a solid ground underneath. Nice to know.

I peer at the black surrounding. An endless inky sea with a few specks of light littered here and there, some bigger than others, but none close enough to touch. My bed sits a few steps away, pillow, blankets and some miscellaneous trinkets arranged on top of it.

Walking over to the single bed, I gingerly clear out a small spot to sit on, careful to not damage any of the fragile items.

I sat there for a few minutes, waiting for something to happen. Usually my dreams are a lot more eventful, not to mention I usually have an opaque body of some sort.

At least the view’s nice. Someone could probably meditate here, or have a philosophical debate with oneself. Or take a smoke and ascend to the sixth dimension, whatever rocks your boat.

Just as I start contemplating on the possibility to sleep within a dream, something pings inside my mind. A mind within a dreaming mind. Whoa.

{Harder than expected…} eventually grumbles a silky voice. {In any case, yadda yadda yadda, you are dead and I am here to employ you for the entirety of the afterlife and exchange you get some boons. You know, the usual. Now sign the paper.}

Wait, what?

A stapled document pops into existence before me, as well as a red pen.

I take both into my hands, leafing through the papers and distractedly spinning the pen. Sure is a strange dream, this one. Was it due to the last finance exam? Who knows.

{This isn’t a dream, child.}

“I’m not that young,” I mutter on reflex, reading the contract closely. What else could it be? Terms, length of agreement, compensations, benefits, risks, responsibilities… This is too early for all of this. Couldn’t I just get some good old fantasy nonsense at least?

{You still think of this as a dream.} At my hum of confirmation, the voice released a long-suffering sigh. {Always the same with you humans, it seems. As long as you take the job seriously and are not actively seeking an early demise, I could overlook it.}

“No worries, I take my dreams very seriously,” I attempt to reassure the voice. Dream or no dream, near death experience is something I never wish to reproduce. That shit’s scarring on the mental.

Reading over the ‘Risks and compensations’ part, I frown minutely.

“Hey, Void Voice,” I call out, squinting at the printed text to make sure I read right, “what’s that about the ‘selling my soul’ thing and ‘physical body not provided’? And what about all those dubious work conditions?” I slowly lower the document and gaze at the absolute nothingness in front of me. “I don’t think you’d make a good employer, Void Voice.”

{Void Voice…? I do suppose I have been called worse.}

I raise an eyebrow at the non-answer to my unspoken question, prompting the voice to continue.

{Well, what are you waiting for? All relevant information has been included in the contract.}

I try to convey my dissatisfaction through my passively disappointed face. When that doesn’t work, I release a sigh and stop spinning the pen.

“At least give me a black or blue pen to sign.” I wave the red one by its cap. “I have no intention of cursing my name on my first day of my dreamverse job.”

A vague feeling of exasperation ripples through the air, accompanied by some mutterings about strange human customs.

---

currently, the 2017/05 one is the closest to the current draft i have :’v

#mentions of death #aaaaaaaaa rereading them makes me feel so embarrassed #sometimes it's 'i wish i could sink into the earth' sometimes it's 'oh this is p neat did the author write any more?'#(i'm the author)#current plan is to make the fic a collection of interconnected snippets #'very little plot mostly vibes' kinda fic #can't have plot holes if there's no plot :^)#it's just gonna be the daily life of three orphans and a ghost #prob gonna try to seriously restart writing this once i get my uni applications done #my writing

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punkandsnacks · 4 years

Text

Between Wolves & Doves, Chapter Six; Hopes.

Author: @punk-in-docs & @adamsnackdriver

Also on AO3-

Trigger Warnings: !!! Brief mentions of violence and gore in this chapter !!!

Synopsis: Vampire!Kylo x OC love story. Inspired by BBC’s Dracula. Also inspired by Austen’s Pride & Prejudice.

He’s been stalking this earth long since civilizations can possibly fathom. Before records even began. He sneers at the fact that this pitiful young world has only just begun to see his reign of it.

He’s dined with moguls, emperors, princes. He’s consorted with bloodthirsty ruthless Queens in their courts, and whispered into the ears of powerful King’s, whose names still echo through millennia.

In his myriad of centuries gifted to his immortal self he’s been many many things. He’s been a lowly pauper. A crusading knight. An assassin. A sell sword. A soldier. A wanderer. A simpering suitor and a voracious unyielding lover. Aimlessly lost in time- besieging this earth. Ripping it apart and drinking what’s left.

He was made in the hinterland between snow and dirt and pine trees. Crusted with ash and blood and gouged from battle. Born anew. Sired from the hell-mouth of war. He was made in 789 AD.

He’ll come undone, one bitter winter night, in England, in 1816.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

Hellford park was a domineering house. It was as proud as it was beautiful.

A high and grand edifice of squared buff sandstone with the very same in all its trimmings. The roof is welsh slate. And the front of the house echoed it’s Palladian and baroque design. The Doric order pillars out front hold up a looming triangular outset to the building. There are three floors. Three towering floors all full of windows.

The house sits vast in its horizon. Dominating. She had walked up through the woods from Pembleton. A good twenty minutes of walking down the front drive merely to get to the place. Through a resplendent wrought iron black gate that looked nearly eerie in the morning fog. The cawing of throaty crows echoed around the tall dark trees that nearly eclipsed the sun. She opened that creaking gate and slipped on through. Feeling like a doomed trespasser on Lord Ren’s land.

When the walk along the paved road clears of the governing country nature, each side of her not now lined with massive oaks, and the dark wood thinned out, the sun shone down on her in speckles through the spreading tree tops.

She listens to the cooing call of wood pigeons in the far off trees. The sizzle of wind ruffling the dead leaves on their branches. Sizzling and spitting and rattling in the air. And the cold bitter landscape seems buttery warm, the colour of dandelion sunshine lifts every facet of nature. Melts the snow. Makes the countryside all merry again. Thaws it from the unfeeling and cruel fingers of frosty winter.

Though she can still see wisps of her breath flutter the air. And she tugs her rabbit lined gloves up her wrists to keep warm. Her soles crackle along the road in the misty frost.

She’s on yet another errand this morning. In her battered blue wool coat, her quite hopeless brown boots. She hadn’t seen the need for a bonnet, and now her ears are feeling the price of such a poor decision. Tipped with icy pink.

The dappling sun tangled in her hair. Where it’s scooped back off her face in a semi braided coiffure. She had her plain wool dress on. It was a boring shade of chowder grey pinstriped with white. But it did it’s occupation of keeping her warm better than her old pelisse did.

She comes up to the view of the house. Admiring how vast and proudly it stands. Resolute even under the strong sun. The sky behind its roof is a net of crepe cotton blue splashed with smeared white clouds.

From the vantage point on the road, where she is, far far far down below the humongous beast, the vast wall of windowpanes wink icy in the sunlight across at her. The huge pond to the front of Hellford Manor, is deep glass green, and navy skipped with gold from the mirrored reflection of the sky.

Her steps rap sharply on the hard road, clapping off the house and bouncing back to her. Mingled in with sounds of the woods, of the birds and the trees and the wind ruffling through it all.

She steps up to the cavernous entryway and the door that’s eight feet taller than she is. Doesn’t know if she’ll get a reply knocking here- she hopes she does.

She knocks her gloved hand loud and clear on the door. Taps her knuckles loudly three times. Hears it ricochet off the house behind and in front of her. Probably drifting through that elegantly extensive marble foyer that was bound to be inside. Manor this grand was bound to have a colossal foyer for entertaining.

She stares up at the great big white painted door in fervent hope. A few seconds pass. Nothing but the silence of her own anticipation.

She’d brought Lord Ren some welcoming gifts that high society hereabouts has decided to bestow on him. The ladies and matrons of prominence are thankful for his mentioning he’d keep an eye open for the terrorising wolf on his land.

Mrs Phillips sent him a box of Turkish dried fruits and sticky figs drowned in honey. Miss Smith sent a bottle of port and a selection of sweet meats. Her own mother had declined to send him anything.

Iris was affronted at her sudden distant behaviour when days before she’d been clamouring for her daughter to prostrate herself at his mighty feet. So she snuck to the kitchen earlier and secreted away two dead partridge’s when she wasn’t looking.

Cook was on her side covering for her. She’d spin Mrs Ashton a cunning tale that the cat got into them and she had to discard them. Let’s hope Iris’ mother didn’t decide to take action against the innocent tabby.

She’d also put in some of cooks chutney and her famous jam. She was a crass red faced, battle axe Irish woman of stout size and many years. But she liked making sure the people around her were well fed. She was a kindly woman to Iris.

Many times as a scolded young girl, belittled for improper behaviour, or something petty Caroline nitpicked over, she’d find herself hiding from mama in the kitchen. Wedged between the stove and the butchers block. Red faced and sobbing tears.

Cook - Mrs Murphy as she doesn’t like to be commonly known as - would crossly stop whatever she was doing. Whatever soup or sauce she was preparing, whatever un-plucked game bird awaited stripping by her hands, or whatever haunch of meat needed seasoning, she would stop.

Wiping her hands on her grubby apron. She’d pour Iris a cup of chocolate, sit her by the open stove and put a warm rug around her shoulders. Tell her to dry her eyes on her handkerchief. She always had one to hand. “There now. Dry your eyes. Pet.” In her soothing County Kildare, Irish brogue.

“Here’s to hoping the road rises up to meet you yet.” She’d always say. Her way of wishing all the pain and obstacles to her happiness be plucked free right out of her life. Mrs Murphy knew, even back then, what strain Iris was being put under to be the perfect daughter. Drowning under expectations at such a bonny young age.

So when Iris went to her this morning, interrupting her making her brown onion soup and scotch collops ready for supper, she asked for some donations to a man whose been kind to her, and to the scared flustered hens of matrons in the village. Cook raised a brow. “I see.” She said cannily. With an all-knowing understanding to her tone.

Steered Iris into the cold larder and gave the game, the jam and some other goods. “This wouldn’t be that infamous Lord I’ve been hearing whispers about, now, would it?” She asks with a hand on her hip. Iris blushes.

“He’s- merely an acquaintance.” Iris insists sweetly.

“Aye. And I’m the goddess queen of the upper Nile.” She smarts flatly.

“Be off with ya now pet. Before your mother gives you what for.” She says gruffly. Plonking two rosy pink apples in her hands for her journey to Hellford park. Before jabbing her thumb the back door over her own shoulder. Continuing rolling out her pastry with sticky-flour and buttery hands. She watches Iris head out with the baskets. One on each arm as usual. She smiles when she leaves.

A good girl she was- much rounder temper than her silly sisters. Cook loves Iris like a daughter. And in damn sure more of a maternal way than her dragon of a mother ever did.

Surprisingly, Iris didn’t have to wait too long at Hellford’s grand oak door before it is shuddered open with a whine from the other side.

The very pleasant face of Kylo’s butler greets her. A red dastar turban covering his head. His arrowhead shaped goatee was black shot through with silver. Straight as a yardstick. And oiled finely. He appears very well groomed and meticulous. A fine warm scent of lime blossom and something like citrus or oranges woven into his cologne.

She smiles warmly at him. Hands across her calling card through the gap of the door. “Good Morning. I’m so sorry to disturb you- but I’m just paying a call to deliver some-”

His warm face breaks into a warm beam. One of honesty and recognition. “He told me we should be expecting you, Miss Ashton.” He smiles gladly. Already apprised of her being here. Widening the door for her.

“Please do come in...” He urges. Iris likes the warm cadence to his voice. The distinctive accent of his sounds like honey syrup or spiced cloves. Comforting and rich. A voice that promises nothing but warmth and friendliness in its offering.

Where he widens the door, Iris catches a glimpse of the exotic threads of his clothing. Something akin to a silk coat covers his top half. Indigo ink silk with buttons that glimmered like raindrops in rain. It’s almost military style in its fashion. He is a lean, towering man with broad shoulders. Though not as powerfully foreboding as the man he serves. His coat covers most of his legs. His knees are clad in loose fitting black trousers of thin substance. Puffy at the knees. Tucked into impressively shiny black boots.

The sun catches on a bangle on his right wrist when he moves. Hitting against the silk of his peacock blue sleeve. When she stopped in, she sees the coat is embroidered with twirls of silver thread stitched into vines. It was such a beautiful garment. She’s in awe of it.

She steps in from the cold, thanking him, and the huge house engulfs her. It’s warm for such a colossal place. And she was right. The foyer is entirely marble.

Marble pointed tile floor. Walnut panelled walls and wainscoting coat the house. Set with gilded gold frames resting on them, surrounding impressive paintings. Black votives of candles stand lit and flickering amber flame. A gigantic mouth of a limestone fireplace is directly ahead on the wall. It’s twice as big as her bedchamber, that one hearth alone. Roaring flames lit within. Around the neatest pile of logs that blazed. Not even a spec of ash was out of place. There’s no decoration. Hardly any vases or relics. That’s strikes her as odd.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Ashton.” He bows his head respectfully and tucks his hands behind his back. “I am Raajaa Jomar. Lord Ren’s butler.” He introduces himself.

“Pleasure to meet you. Mr. Jomar. I only called by to give Lord Ren a few tokens of gratitude from some local families.”

He smiles and accepts the baskets from her. “Of course. How kind. Do follow me to wait in the parlour. I will see to finding his lordship.”

He leads her through the impressive house. Walking her deeper into the expensive bowels of the place. She walks demurely behind him. Aghast at the display of wealth that lines every wall. It hangs in the dripping crystal and spotless chandeliers. The way the tiles underfoot gleam like they’ve been scrubbed mercilessly.

Paintings ooze oil and grandeur dour wealth from their spots on the walls. Ancient portraits of powdered wigs and styles of the 1700’s. Robes a la Francaise and beauty spots on powdered faces and craggy noses, casting a disapproving eye out at her.

He brings her to a double door entrance of a richly furnished parlour. Decorated with red and white. Fire roars in the pearl marble of the hearth. She steps onto the fine cushion of a scarlet Aubusson rug. Sees her reflection in the huge antique mirror above the mantel. The room is trimmed in old French antiques. Side tables and end tables around the garnet red settees that bleed gold gild at their tops.

“Do please make yourself comfortable Miss Ashton. I will arrange for a tray of tea and refreshments be brought to you.” He bows his head politely again.

She feels like calling out to stop him. She was only here to pay call delivering a basket after all. Which she now sets both things down on the immaculately polished low table, set before her. She sinks into the luxuriously soft settee. Plump velvet feather cushions catch her back and prop her up.

She feels rather nervous. Here, in this grand place in her shabby coat and ragged boots.

She’s looking out the white glass of the terrace doors into the finely trimmed dutch gardens. Neat shrubs arranged in symmetrical patterns with paths cutting through to the lawn. A fountain crowns the central spoke of the flowerbeds. Blooming waxy tulips in summer spring up there. In punching reds and fierce oranges.

In no time whatsoever, a waify scurrying maid appears in the doorway. Thin arms laden with a silver tray of a tea service. She smiles a beaming polite grin over at Iris. Who bids her a good afternoon. She sets the tea and a plate of warm jam tartlets before her, and they discuss the weather. She bobs a cute curtsey when she’s done and nods a parting and a good afternoon at Iris.

She found it slightly odd to have someone curtsey to her. Sat here in her shabby boots and too-small-pelisse. She almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it. Not in cruel jest to the sweet maid’s behaviour- just that in her household, she barely outranked their maids. She helped out with the cooking, the cleaning, as did her sisters.

That didn’t seem to place her worthy of a curtsey. She had no title after all. Was likely never to bare a title or be among nobility.

She drinks some of the excellent tea. A fine rich blend no doubt. She nibbles the corner of a sticky jam tartlet and listens as the carriage clock on the mantel strikes twelve. Dinging softly around the opulent room. Along with the crackling of the fire spitting spewing out embers and ash in the hearth.

She idly awaits company- drains another cup of tea. And stands to better admire the frosted gardens from the big windows. Lifting the scarlet red curtain out of her sight as she admires.

A different maid enters across the room. Clunking the heavy door. “If you please, Miss. I’ll take you to his Lordship. Mr Jomar says he’d do it himself only on account of him getting caught up chatting to the cook.” She explains.

Iris leaves her baskets in the parlour on the table. She goes directly with the girl. Who leads her through the house and out across a courtyard, and points to a little track road down to the working stables. She apologised that she had to skip back to the kitchens to attend to some errands. Iris says it’s quite alright. She can find her way from here.

She walks up the pea-shingle paved road. Seeing the U shaped courtyard ahead, under the stone arch of the gates leading into the stables. Stalls surround the shape of it. Running around the perimeter. She can smell hay and animal sweat and the stench of hops. As she walks closer a repetitive clunking noise rings in her ears. The clatter of wood tumbling onto stone. Coming from the direction she’s intended toward.

She passes under the arch, cool shade of it tickles the back of her neck. She comes into the clearing of the cobblestoned courtyard. Horses stamp and shift in their stalls surrounding the walls. She spies Erland in his stall. Munching on something he’d recently been fed. Carrots most likely.

She comes into plain view of the whole stable- and then she lurches right to a sudden stop. A gasp punched out her lungs. Chest seizing up.

She’s now stood facing a very shirtless Lord.

Chopping logs with a heavy axe. Blade of it glints wicked sharp in the sun as his thick arms swing it over, crossing it over his body to strike sharp down the centre of the log before him on the stand. The wood tumbled and clunked to the ground.

Chest gleaming slipping shimmering with sweat from his exertions. Stood in his obsidian breeches and boots to match, even in the winter cool of the courtyard. His shirt lay discarded on the nearest stall door. Folded cotton crumpled there.

She idly wonders as her eyes take all of his naked state in, why he was doing this himself when he probably had tens of hundreds of servants who could do it for him. She knows she not supposed to look. But she’s seen the bare beauty of him now and her eyes don’t wish to be rid of it-

She didn’t have any concerns that his frame was in any way unimpressive. But seeing him in such a bare manner merely reconfirmed what she already knew. He is broad in the shoulder, wide at the waist.

His chest doesn’t taper it remains a solid stack of muscle. His thick thick build of his arms flex. The trapezius lines slipping outwards from either side of his neck are intimidatingly big. As is the reach from his shoulders down over his pectorals.

He is a hugely broad warrior of a man. Crude. Monumental.

A few seconds have passed since she stumbled onto the sight of him. Though it felt longer. He raises his eyes to the movement of her. Though he hadn’t needed too. He could sense her walking up the front drive to come to him. Felt her presence here ever since she set foot on his land.

He unsticks the heavy axe from where it lodged chipping into the wood block stand below the logs he’s cutting up. He lets it hang down by his side. Grins wickedly across at his guest. Wall of muscular chest panting. Abdominal muscles flexing. His breath spirits silver out his smile up into the bitter air.

His smile is sinful and his eyes are shady with promiscuous motive. “Miss Ashton...” He greets her rakishly.

Fully aware of what the sight of him will do to her. How much it will stir her blood, get her blushing. The potent effect of him enchanting her lust. Dazzling her weak mortal senses.

“Your lordship. Do forgive me. I’d no idea you were-um. So-“ Her eyes flicker across to his chest again, darting away quick. But he saw her snatch a look through blushing hot cheeks.

“Informally attired?” He finishes for her confidently.

She gulps and nods. “Yes- I do beg your pardon.” She’s now turned three quarters away from him. Giving him a ample view of her profile. Looking rather like she wants to scamper back to the safety of the house. Those pink cheeks and her flustered breathing that pulses out her neck in a sudden unexpected rush of lust... It gets his temper straining at its hold when he senses it.

It’s captured the side of him that she should absolutely not want to rouse.

He lays the axe down. Standing it against the brick wall near the log shed. Shifts closer. She can hear his boots scrape on the cobbles. Dusted with hay and splintered wood chipping’s from his laborious work. His fine booted soles crackle and shift with it. He brings his shirt into his free hand. Leaves it folded down by his side.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” He seeks smugly.

Her brain malfunctions. Caught on his choice of word. Pleasure. Pleasure. Pleasure-

She wills the impertinent thought away.

Feels him coming closer. The way his eyes stab into her coat. Rake along the back of her neck like dragging flint knives being drawn along her skin. She tries not to shiver too much at the not-entirely-unpleasant sensation.

“I just paid a call to deliver some tokens of gratitude from obliged Pembleton residents.” She offers.

“There’s um. Port and figs in honey. Some partridges. And some very excellent jam... Miss Smith, The Phillips and us Ashton’s all send our compliments.” She babbles.

He chuckles warmly. Stepping ever closer. Sparing her blushes and gazes. He slips the rumpled cotton of his shirt over his head and lets it fall, untucked, down to his thighs.

The open v neck tips to hang between his nipples. Dusky bronze discs of them. And the coarse smattering of dark hair brushes his chest too. She shouldn’t know that about a man.

“That’s very generous of you. I’m very fond of partridge. Do be sure to thank your family for me. For such a thoughtful offering.” He insists in a drawl that gets her smile increasing.

She chuckles. Feeling safer about meeting his eyes now. “Miss Smith was delighted. With your assurance of looking out for the murdering beast. She has decided to forgo the extra bolt on her bedroom door.” Iris explains.

“I fear she’s now quite enamoured with you. She said she means invite you over to take tea, very soon.”

Kylo raises a brow that instantly told Iris how very ridiculous and inconsequential her found the always-flustered Miss Smith.

“I might accept the invitation on the provisory condition that you accompany me. To keep me from beating my head against the wall in sheer desperation.” He smarts.

Iris chuckles lightly. She tries to swallow it down but she can’t.

“She is a little trying.” She confesses. She was a harmless woman. Just admired the sound of her own voice rabbiting on too much. And she fretted about every beast, man, and creature put on this earth. Everything was cause for suspicion with Miss Smith.

“She’s the most trying woman in all of the British Empire.” He declares lowly. His smile crooks up on one side.

Iris thinks for a second. Looking down at her shoes. “I do so hate to disagree with you, your lordship. But I fear that title must instead be awarded to my mother.” She smarts.

He chuckles rightfully loud. It’s warmer than all the winter sunshine that slopes down on them. Crinkles form near his eyes and his divots beside his mouth.

“Anyway-“ She begins. “I should take my leave. I’ve lingered far too long. You must have matters to attend...” She smiles. Dipping into a short curtsey. Flicking her eyes back up to him after she does.

“Nothing so urgent could possibly draw me away the honour of your visit.” He insists. Making unabashed eye contact with her. Face so open and genial. Eyes all melting honey and granite.

“I wouldn’t wish to importune you.” She says crossing her hands and holding them in front of her.

One ink brow curves up. “From my incredibly laborious and eventful morning of, chopping firewood?” He lets her infer her own conclusions.

“Well. I do have errands to take heed of. Back at Westwell.”

He smiles like the devil. Like he knew how Satan himself leers- which he very truly almost does. He’s seen the closest thing this earth knows to a demon, grin at him. White pearly smile so savage and handsome.

“Defer them.” He presses nicely. “I promised you a tour did I not? Come take a ride of Hellford Park with me and Erland.”

Iris swallows. “You wish me to- spend time with you, alone? unchaperoned?” She checks.

His eyes glow with that savage glimmer once more. The one that makes his eyes look like the most melting shade of black imaginable. Oh yes he did.

“I promise to be the very saintly soul of propriety.” He pledges. Cupping a hand over the black vacuum where his mortal heart once laid in his big chest.

“I won’t stand for indulging in any behaviour on my part if it severely discomforts you.” He vows seriously. She believes him. He was respectful enough to let her truly escape this endeavour if she wanted. He would never inopportune a woman for the benefit his own comforts.

Even if she stirs him up so violently like the way this woman does-

She tries not to follow where his hand lay on his body with her eyes. Tries not to look at that divine sticky chest again. Her head swims with comparisons of marble Greek gods swimming in salty tepid seas. Emerging dripping from the cobalt ocean.

She blushes. Yet again her silly female heart betrays her. She hesitates for a second- she should say no. A polite girl would be a shrinking violet and scurry away at such a bold suggestion.

She should turn her back and apologise profusely, head on back toward the house. She should walk home, the cool air stinging at her hot cheeks. She should go and think about scrubbing their curtains back home. Or arranging flowers. Or donning her apron and helping cook on with peeling the maris pipers in preparation for supper.

She looks at his eyes again. Words fly from her mouth before her brain comprehends how it came to an answer. He truly was an enchanting creature.

“I’d be delighted.” She nods bravely.

It wasn’t what should be done. But it’s what she so desperately wanted to do.

Westwell has had 23 years of her looking after everyone and everything in it. They can miss her for a meagre few hours whilst she finally puts herself first.

“Allow me to briefly adjourn and attire myself correctly. Then I’ll see to having the horses tacked up.” He excuses himself. Smiles all wicked, and turns to head for the doorway in the brick wall near the logs he was cutting up.

She flushed and almost fell faint to a dizzy spell. Seeing his finely muscled back as it lumbered away from her. Slicked with sweat.

She watched the savage blades of his shoulders, as sharp as that axe blade he’d been swinging. Her eyes stuck on the three slashes of scars that rake deep over the left jutting bone hill of his scapula. Where an animals claws had long ago cut and torn into his skin.

If she knew just precisely how long ago- she’d faint.

A time she can’t even comprehend. An age away. An age she’s only studied in books. An age he can moderately remember anymore. It was several centuries past him now.

He remembers towering pine tree tops scraping at the sky. How bitter bitter snow blazed and churned between the tips. The ruddy tang of houses back then cast solidly out of timber and roofed with straw. The smell of the sticky sap bleeding out the wood. The ash from the open fires and the clog of acrid woodsmoke sunk into the fur pelt he wore around his shoulders. The beast that had scarred him on his back and left him to rot away with fever of the wound. Left Kylo clinging desperately onto life by his dirty fingernails.

He found that creature. He sunk his knife into that brutes belly and gutted it. He wore that black pelt with savagely earned pride. The gloom of longhouse where feasts, battles, births and politics were celebrated. The place that reeked of ash, the stench of smoking meat and the sour reek of stale urine from the odiferous tannery, when the frigid wind blew and shuddered into the village in the right direction.

Back breaking labour was crucial for survival. Farming and hunting and warring. Truer dignity in hard work than any of these perfumed dandies of the fashionable ton knew about.

He’d been brought up in those freezing acetous lands. He’d farmed for oats and barley and rye in the summers. Then one winter, he trained as a soldier. Upholding the honour of his family and willing to go and to defend his people.

Then he went to war- His fate was violently and horribly rearranged.

He’d marched right on in to fight a battle from which he’d never return home. Never would he be the same man. He was offered instead, a sweet mercy of a deathless death. And he greedily snatched it with both hands- glutted himself on its chance.

It was all so different back then. Life was so brutal. Compared to the pomp and ridiculous circumstances the narrow minded people in this village are governed ruthlessly by, by things they think matter.

When he thinks of the contrasts to the two societies it makes him sick. All the stuffy airs and graces and endless bowing and scraping. Veiled insults cloaked as compliments. Velvet draped over daggers.

He vastly preferred this world back when it was a more feral one. Atleast then he knew where he stood.

When there were no falsehoods or lies floating out sugared words from simpering sickening smiles. Here, when one thing was said to his face, quite another was hissed behind his back when he turned. Maybe he was just a relic of a time long since over-maybe maybe maybe.

He goes into the stable rooms, where he left his jacket and other attire earlier. Luckily there’s a washroom out here that was used on hunts if the work got bloody. He washes himself down from the basin and jug of cold water, and clears away the salt of his sweat. Pats himself dry and redressed in his fine jacket, white shirt and white cravat. Atop a burgundy waistcoat.

When he steps back out, buttoning his thick wool jacket. Silver buttons blazing proud in the sun, he sees Miss Ashton at Erland’s stall. The stubborn animal nudged into her shoulder again as she strokes his handsome velveteen forehead. Remembering her. Thinking she had more treats to bestow.

He comes across and chides his horse in the Bavarian tongue he was trained by. “Nett Sein. Erland.” Kylo barks across low at his horse as he walks over. Be kind.

He then adds, chiding him, that he shouldn’t be disrespectful to ladies. Croons to him. Speaking fluently in his own language. Stroking his nose as the horse turns and nibbles at his masters coat shoulder and snuffles his hair with his hot, hay scented breath. Kylo pats the chunky meat of his solid corded neck.

She strokes a hand over his silken mane. Hair harshly stiff and bushy under her gloves. Parted to one side over his neck and shoulders as the animal bows his head down for the handful of oats Kylo held out for him. Erland snuffles them up in a mere matter of seconds. Chews on the cud’s and almost headbutts his master for more.

Miss Ashton laughs. “You were right about his stubborn blood. So I see.”

“One of the most obstinate beasts on four legs.” Kylo promises with a grin.

“Would you mind riding one of our mares, Miss Ashton? They are generally easier of temper.”

“Not at all.” She accepts.

He steps back and urges her over to the next stall. Here, a shimmering white horse awaits them. Brushed coat glistening the way untarnished snow lays sparkling in the sun. Bright and pure.

This horses mane and snout is an ash grey. The same colour bleeds up past her fetlocks. There’s some dappled patches of pebble grey also on her flanks and rear. She was the sweetest mare with the softest temperament. She stays in her stall but gently cautiously seeks Kylo’s hand to eat the food her offered her. He strokes her neck fondly.

“This is Kana. Shortened from the old Norse word for Birch tree.” Kylo’s introducing her. The mares ears twitch with her mentioned name. “So named, if I recall because her coat resembles the colours of the trunk.”

“She’s beautiful.” Iris insists. Rubbing up the flag bone between her eyes. Kana appreciates the caress with an equine little snort.

Across from them. The stable boy has brought Erland out his stable to tack him for their ride. Kylo and Iris stay stroking the sweet white mare. Stood at her stall.

“Do you ride them out often?” She asks.

“Every morning with Erland if I can manage it. Sometimes at night too. If sleep evades me.” He tells. Sleep always evades him. The one curse of immortality.

“This poor old girl deserves as good a chance as any to stretch her legs.” He smiles.

Another stable hand comes out and gently leads the white mare from her stall. She stands quietly as she’s tacked. Erland however? He pounded the cobbled floor with a scraping hoof and was twitching with excitement to be ridden. He bays and snorts and huffs until he gets his way.

When his bridle and bit are slipped on, Kylo steps over and soothingly rubs his shoulder. “You, are an intemperate old beast.” He chides to his horse, as the stable boy lifts the fender to secure the cinch strap around Erland’s strong belly.

After they’ve tacked her mare, the stable boys see to their other work. Bidding them a good ride. Kylo leaves Erland for a moment and steps around Kana to help Miss Ashton safe into the saddle.

He takes her hand as she holds her skirts decently and levies herself up to her horses height via a handy wooden footstool. There is still a shimmering spark of contact when his hand closes around hers to hold. Even though they are both wearing gloves. The thrill of it is wilder and more potent than ever.

She sets herself side-saddle. Takes the reins in her gloved hands. Gets used to the sturdy solid weight of the animal beneath her.

Lord Ren heads back to Erland and hoists himself onto his strong back. In all his tall glory he didn’t need assistance into the saddle.

He leads their walk out under the stone arch of the stables, and into the winter sunshine. He pulls Erland up flush to her and Kana’s side when the path widens out.

They walk a to a slow paced trot through the dewy grass, that follows along the merry ash and taupe brown of the silver and white of birch winter woodland to their right. He was entirely correct about Kana. The sweet horse was gentle and unassuming in her nature.

Iris sighs happily as she sees the sunlight cast an enchanting amber through all those pale trees. The waxy nectar of tulips drifting in the air from the Dutch gardens nearby. It was like something beautiful out of a dream.

“You were right about the beauty of the ride. Your Lordship.” Iris remarks as she watches the amber stripes slope through the birches.

He turns his head and catches that very same view she’d remarked on. He’d seen a million woodlands in his life. Over numerous centuries. And the place he spawned from was between tall pines and a ground eaten up thick with snow. He’s seen every copse of nature on every continent that exists. This view was stale to him. But he appreciates her admiration of it.

“I suppose it is.” He says offhand.

“What made you choose to settle at Hellford Park?” She asks him. “If that’s not an impertinence.” She adds. Smoothing her grey gloved hand over Kana’s neck.

He smiles. “The house seemed of a decent size. The land holdings were vast. And I appreciate having my own space away from society. My worst nightmare is being wedged into a modern townhouse in London. With all the smog and the ton being rammed down my neck. I far prefer the country. The quieter pace of life.” He tells her.

“Easier for hunting and sport...” He adds.

“I feel easier knowing nature is on my doorstep. I need only walk out and be in it.” He explained.

“I can’t bear the thought of a town life. I bless every year that my family haven’t the capital to rent a place in town.” Iris tells him. Probably not something she should admit. But she felt like her honesty was safe with him.

“The most of town I’ve ever seen is a season in Bath when I debuted at sixteen. We managed to stay with my aunt and cousins. I thank heavens we’ve never repeated the experience.” He makes a firm sound of fond agreement.

“I’ve seen the way you take to country life.” Kylo smiles at her. She nods across at him.

“Same as you. Your Lordship. I appreciate the peace and quiet. Able to go and walk in the woods and be where my thoughts and wishes are my own. No one else’s expectations get forced upon me.” She says.

“Nothing I like better to soothe my mind than walking around the Hampshire wilderness...” She comments as they head along a lane under a glade of golden elm trees.

“I hope you don’t going adventuring out after dark, Miss Ashton. Even such tame country places can grow afoul after nightfall.” He warns her. Even in this genial little village he’s glimpsed the vile echelons of scum hereabouts.

“Oh. I never run errands outside Westwell after dark.” She puts his mind at ease. “Mother thinks my evenings are best spent extensively reading of the Mirror of the graces and better improving my embroidery.” She tells him.

He’s honest in his answering remark. Where most men she associated with would call her fine and sensible for indulging in etiquette novels. Kylo can’t think of anything more intrepid.

“I can think of a million better ways in which I’d rather indulge my evenings.” He offers sincerely.

“I don’t tell her that I often escape to my room to read my Johnathan Swift novel and to get a bit of peace away from her and my sisters.” She says with glad derision.

Kylo smiles at her. “A far better use of your time, I’m certain.” He tells her.

“Do you have any family?” She asks. And then she winces. “Sorry if I’m irritating you with nagging questions-“

He smiles. He’ll answer any question she aims his way.

“I did. A long time ago. It’s just me left now.” He imparts.

She glances back at the gigantic house of Hellford. Save for staff, he had no one in it.

“Doesn’t that ever get lonely?” She’s asking.

“Don’t you?” He questions back nicely. Melting eyes catching hers. Sunlight spun them to amber glowing off dark walnut.

She can’t help but nod. She doesn’t have many friends in this world. She has a greek harpy for a mother - talons, scales forked tongue and all. Her sisters were about as dense to understand as a Chelsea boot. Air headed and with no substance. And her father, loving though he is, is usually preoccupied in his study or being bullied down by mother. She doesn’t really have anyone.

“I’ve never been left alone a day in my life. I’m permanently surrounded by noise and people yet- I’ve always felt... lonely.” She admits. Looking down to her hands where she held Kana’s reins.

“It’s a privilege to finally have liberty to be able to express that to another living creature.” She smiles gladly at him.

Kylo looks over at her. Brow furrowed. She does so many things for other people. She cares after every member of her dratted family. And she’s got this two tonne grey weight of sadness pressing down on her shoulders.

It’s no secret he doesn’t care for the piddling and idle emotions of fleeting mere humans. But he so cares for her.

“You never have to feel lonely if you don’t wish too.” He offers.

“You have my confidence. And all that my acquaintance and friendship can offer to you. Miss Ashton.” Whether she likes it or not- she does. She has it. He firmly and fondly tells her so.

“I’m very thankful for it. Vastly thankful.” She promises. “I could use a friend just now. With all the terrible circumstances happening in Pembleton.” She relays with a note of grimness.

Erland snorts. Kylo pats his neck to sooth him. “Yes. The uh- madman Miss Smith raves about.” He recalls. “I’m sure it is the imaginings of her overworked mind.” He tells.

Iris supposed that was a very accurate statement. Kylo had only met the awful woman once, too. And he already had sussed her flighty panicked character. That spoke volumes of her temperament.

“Not to make mention of the supposed wolf thats said to be stalking these parts...” She adds.

“An exaggerated tale, do you think?” He asks.

“Well. I do subscribe to my fathers notion that wolves did die out centuries ago- but who knows? An animal that big and vicious, I’m all astonishment it hasn’t been spotted before now. This is a farming county. There’s poultry and livestock for the taking. Why would it bother with drunkards in the middle of the forest.”

“Easier to stalk. And pick out- I imagine.” He smiles just a little. His gleaming eyes hold back his many dark secrets.

He hears her inhale a shaky breath. He hears her throat pulsing next to him.

“You know, you shouldn’t be afraid.” He starts. “Of the alleged wolf. If, heaven forfend, there is one.” He surmised.

“Why ever not?” She searches. Face pulled back. A little shocked.

“Because wolves are not just blood thirsty beasts. They are intelligent and sociable animals. They are more likely to be spooked by a human than want to kill them. The reason those men were attacked? They were half clumsy, gone on drink and weakly vulnerable.” He tells.

Iris swallows. Brings Kana to a stop. “Lord Ren...” She gulps. “You talk as if you-“

She takes a deep breath to fortify herself. “As if you know of such a thing...” She finally remarks.

He stops Erland and doesn’t shy - from her glance or her question.

“I know merely how wolves operate. Miss Ashton. Nothing more.” He says openly.

Of course he does. She thinks stupidly. His home. Back in Bavaria. He said it was surrounded by wolves. He’s no doubt seen some people succumb to the packs of them.

There’s silence for a minute as Kana and Erland chew at their bits. Clacking and shifting its crunch in the air. Erland leans his head over and snuffles Kanas snout. The creak of leather eases out in a squeak from The reins in Kylo’s hands.

She nods. Cheeks beating. The shame of foolishness slithering up her spine. “Forgive me-“

“I would if there was something to forgive.” He smiles.

She ducks her head. Cheeks pink as she tips her chin to her chest. She sighs in bliss as she looks out at the open field before them. Before she gets a niggling flare of a brilliant yet stubborn idea in her head.

“For once in my life...” She insists, almost angrily, Kylo’s eyes shift to how she shoves herself, adjusting on Kana’s saddle. She bunches her skirts. Leans back and he sees a flash of a white cotton chemise and pearly wool stockings as she swings her legs over, the both of them now astride the saddle.

“I intend to do something completely and utterly dishonourable and unfeminine.” She says.

Kylo’s smiling at the sight of her skirts draped up almost over her calves where she’s sat on the horse. He watches her adjust the reins in her hands and skip her feet into the solid stirrups.

With a gentle kick into Kana’s flank she braces herself on the horse, as the mare proceeds to lurch into a gallop, breaking into the frosty meadow in front of them. Her blue coat flaps behind her. Kylo smiles after her lead. Adjusts Erland’s reins and spurs him on after her.

For just that afternoon, for just those heart pumping minutes of uninterrupted bliss- Iris feels the sun bleaching onto her face, and the wind stinging and ripping at her hair. She feels her body and her soul stirring. For just those few minutes, she doesn’t feel like a trapped suffocating girl. Like a toy being manoeuvred in the dolls house that was her strict life.

They gallop up the field and through another one. Coming up a trail that rises onto a hill in the sunny wood. She slows down when she gets to the top. Lord Ren catches up behind her. Erland could really get up a speed when he got going.

She comes to a stop where the hill levels out. Looking across all the acres of Hellford park. She’s still winded from the ride. Sun and wind having kissed her cheeks a bright pink. Where she ducked past low branches in the forest, Kylo spies a green leaf nestled captured in her hair. Making her comparable to some frolicking wood nymph.

He draws Erland up by her and Kana’s side. Listens to her panting as they take in the view of Hellford together.

“Truly is a beautiful house, your lordship. I hope you’ll be very happy here.”

“A truly fine prospect.” He agrees. Looking out at all his wealth. All his grandeur and land.

“Finest land holding in all of England I expect.” She smiles. Still panting for breath. He can hear how her blood beats like sweet syrup around her body. He can smell her skin and he is just- a man whose found heaven on earth.

“Indeed it is. Nothing quite like it.” He admits. Iris doesn’t see how he turned to look and admire her rather than the view. Intoxicated by the tug and pulse of the artery her throat. It thunders her neck and it’s all he can hear or think about.

Kissing her. Tasting her neck. Her skin. The subtle perfume of her body. Her caresses.

He might aswell be a man half starved-wild at this point.

They ride back to the stables. Slowly together. Conversing along the way. She changes back to side saddle as they get closer - didn’t wish for his stable hands to catch sight of her and remark on how unladylike she’d been.

Kylo slips off Erland and hands him across to be untracked. He marches up to Kana’s side and takes Iris’s hand to help her slip down from the mares saddle.

Only, fate seems determined to drive them into each other’s arms at every foreseeable opportunity. Her skirts snag on the pommel and this makes her fall onto her feet too fast.

Kylo’s there to catch her. She’s once again, wedged now between Kana’s back and his chest. She thuds down to the ground with a soft “oof.” Escaping her lungs.

That escalated when she looked up and found him so, brilliantly close. He towers over her, he’s twice her width in his shoulders alone. But he’s gazing at her so tenderly. His hand had shot to her waist to steady her outside her coat. The span of it reaches from her ribs almost to her hip.

It’s somehow more dizzying to be nearer him now she’s seen what form lies under those clothes. The sheer immensity of this man.

He looks up into her hair and smiles a tipped up curl of a crooked grin. His fingers reach up and skim away the leaf caught in her hair. She blushes and laughs a little when he shows her.

She touched over the spot his fingers had skimmed. The skin still burned with heat and cold from the leather of his gloves.

“I had the most pleasant afternoon.” She encourages. Swallowing nervously again. He can smell her hot throat. Her hot bare throat and it’s addictive- to be so close as this to his biggest temptation.

“Thankyou very much for your hospitality, Your Lordship.” She adds.

“And you for yours.” He thanks her for the baskets she’d bought. He breaks the trance. Turns back and calls to one of the stable boys to ready the carriage to take Miss Ashton home.

“Oh, please. You needn’t bother. I don’t mind the walk.” She tries to fuss

“I insist on seeing a lady safely home. It is all of five miles from here to Westwell.” He announces. She smiles in gratitude.

He parts with her at the coach door, after it’s brought around. He holds her spare hand as her other clutches at her skirts and she steps up into the scarlet black box of it- to think on all that had passed between them since she first saw this coach mere days ago.

If only she knew how much-

He kisses her hand in parting. “A delight as ever, Miss Ashton. I do hope you visit Hellford again.” He urges.

“As do I.” She beams back. Leaning forwards to look at him through the carriage door. He smiles before he steps away. Hands behind his back again. He nods to the driver, who cracks the whip on the horses and the coach lurches away. Takes her home. Safe away from him.

She passes the ride to Westwell in his comfortable carriage, remarking with a sly smile to herself about the pleasantness of the afternoon. Looking out the window as the carriage shakes and cracks and tumbled speedily along the road, she noticed how the sun is dipping low into a evening sky. Misty purple and burnt peach copper. She wonders if she’s been missed at all.

As soon and she alights the coach, thank’s the driver and slips inside Westwell’s front door. No sooner than she pushes the door shut, flat to her back on the wood to close it. And she is ambushed by her mother.

The foyer is dark save for the amber fire. Daylight dies in the window frames. Here there is gloom waiting for her. Her crushing boa of a life wraps around her neck again.

She is greeted with a pursed thin lipped glare of displeasure. Mother rips herself up to a stand from the armchair by the fire and snaps her book to slam shut. Loudly. Like a slap. Looking across at her daughter.

Happiness shatters in her chest like a glass vase being dropped. The splinters and shards clog up her once happy heart.

“Where in the devil’s name have you been?” She demands to know.

“Paying call to Lord Ren.” Iris says. Moving into the house. Intending for the stairs. She doesn’t wish to be bitten by this poisonous viper. Not tonight. She’s had such a wonderful day to reflect on.

“I beg your pardon?” Her mother remarks.

“You heard me perfectly well.” Iris says flatly.

“I dropped off the basket Mrs Phillips and Miss Smith sent to him in gratitude.” She adds in explanation.

“I can’t think what gratitude they could possibly owe to that man.” She curses.

“Why do you think so ill of him? What possible vexation has he caused you?” Iris accuses.

“Pray tell why do you praise him so?” Her mother narrows her eyes.

“He is a kind man. And he has the phenomenal benefit of having a working brain unlike all the preening idiots I usually have to comport myself in front of.” Iris explains.

“I will not tolerate anymore stupidity. Think of our reputation to uphold. You were gone half of the afternoon. And I’d no clue as to where. And now you’re telling me you were in the company of a man, unchaperoned?” She shrills.

“Yes I was.” Iris spits out plainly. “And there was no impropriety in it. Before you start accusing me of that.” She adds.

Lifting her skirts and beginning to stomp away up the stairs. Mouth bitter and full of anger dashed with sadness. Mourning her beautiful day.

“Do you have any idea what this could do to us? To our family name? Running around unsupervised with a man like that-”

Iris turns back. Fuming. Hair wild. Eyes bright with rage. Glittering spitfire red from the hearth.

“For once in my life, mother. I did not think! And I was glad of it! I did not need reminding of the fact you use me as a chess piece for this family’s hopes. Seizing my skirts and dragging me from square to square to make sure I catch a man of fortune and hale breeding.” Iris fairly yells. Voice scraping hoarse through her throat.

Her mother stands in the foyer like some grim harbinger of doom in her plum muslin dress that looks black in the gloom. Her face sternly cross and icy at her daughters outburst. Her pale claw of a bony hand gripping the banister.

“You will not associate with him again.” She tells stonily.

“I wrote to Armitage Hux today. He travels back from London tomorrow and I’ve stated he is excessively welcome to come to tea.” She explains.

“You will put on your best dress and make him welcome. And let him entertain the idea of a marriage match. Don’t be a fool Iris. A man like Lord Ren would never wish for your hand. Learn that now and be done with it. It’s time you took our family situation seriously.” She comments with finality.

She takes her hand off the banister and walks away. Words ringing in her ears like knives stabbing at her brain.

Iris’ pounding heart hardens over with grey nausea and glass shards that stab her lungs. Her eyes flood with quivering and filling up of silvery tears.

She slips up the wooden stairs to her room and collapses into great fits of tears. Muffling her sobs with her hand. She wipes off her face and her stinging eyes.

Kylo felt her dread, all those miles away at Hellford Park. He felt it like a punch to the gut.

~ ~ 🥀 ~ ~

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chainofbeing · 4 years

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Adam is forced to re-evaluate his intentions Epicurosa: Laura Rodgers Harpy: Maxwell James Ginn ([email protected]) Surveyor: Lance Chapman, Nerys Howell, Mary-anne Stanek and Jesus r Carbo Ovig Nadal: Glyn Pritchard Score: Bethany Porter Lewis Sound design, Writing, and Adam Delta 5: Cai Gwilym Pritchard An Extra Special thanks to our patrons Theresa Shiban Anthony Hyde Zachary Fortais-Gomm email us at [email protected] follow the podcast on twitter @chainofbeing Subscribe to the patreon for exclusive content and rewards! 170119_hydrophone_river_3.wav by Leonsptvx

We stand on a great and sweeping mountain, a strange fog covers the landscape and movements of large obscured creatures and just about be made out. The wind shrieks in my ears, as if ordering me to leave this place, no oxygen, no protection from the harsh radiation of the sun, If I weren’t in the shadow of the tall eight armed god, Epicruosa, I imagine I would be having a much harder time standing here. Epicurosa puts on the onyx skull of a crow of some kind, decorated in banded white silver. They place a large hand on my back and push me toward the large circular chasm that lays open in front of us. It drops down, I lean over and see no bottom. They gesture toward it. “You want me to jump in?” I ask

[with each new mask epicurosas voice changes, the crow has a similar but more exaggerated quality to adams, and there is a hypnotic tone underneath that winds and and down as she speaks]

“What’s the issue? You’ll survive,”

“Yea but will I be intact?”

“I did not funnel myself into a physical form and bring you all the way out here just to watch you splatter at the bottom of a vast abyss. If I wished to do that I would have just thrown you from the top of that mesa where I rescued you from that... infected woman,”

“Oh fuck, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I shuffle toward the edge and turn before jumping off “What’s down there?” I’ve never seen Epicurosa’s face without a mask, I see her gray textured skin, glowing yellow eyes and black teeth. Completely unobscured I imagine the sight of her bare face would destroy some part of me. Despite the skull mask I can see her frustration. “Think of the universe as a body, mortals live their entire life on the skin, maybe they’ll cut through the epidermis every so often but that,” she gestures to the open maw of the mountain “Is a place where the skin has been pierced and reaches the flesh and bone,”

“Oh,” I turn back to the chasm “And why do you want me to-”

Epicurosa sighs angrily and shoves me over the edge and I get the sense that something watches me fall, the stone sides of the huge hole that start as rough, natural looking stone soon gives way an impossibly smooth and flawless texture, too smooth even to seem mortal made, something approaches and I hit a layer of water, I sink through for a second, carried by my momentum, before I pass and continue falling, strangely though, it seems as if I am falling up, a circle or orange light approaches and I sail up into the air and back down again, landing on my feet on a wide square, white stone platform. The space is incredibly vast, there is a roof and sides to it, made of the same white stone of the pyramid, the sides go straight up for miles and then begin to slope inwards until they reach the wide flat ceiling which so far away that I can only just make it out through the atmosphere that sits, trapped in this impossible place. Huge pillars are carved into the walls that stretch high above me. Multiple balconies protrude out from the sides on which stand colossal figures, obscured by robe and fire, they look down upon me, vigilant guards holding flaming golden spears. The roof leads to an open octagonal hole through which a warm light shines through, thin trails of sand cascade down and land in a large garden whose borders are entirely defined by where the light falls. Four huge walls stretch the whole height of this space evenly around the octagon, partially barring my full vision of the garden, and even the whole space as the walls prevent me from seeing the side directly opposite. This place I’m stood in is so incredibly huge that the minimal light just barely illuminates the vast cavern. The floor at the bottom of the pyramid is covered in a variety of landscapes: rocky heaths, tors, promontories, and various other rock formations that jut into the air, forming long bridges, platforms and canyons, far off in the distance I see pools of some molten substance of various sizes dotted sporadically here and there, with long thin rivulets trailing around the landscape. At the bottom of the long staircase that trails along the side of the pyramid I see that the rock is actually something akin to glass, unrefined and opaque but still clearly glass. I look up at the angels in their flaming shrouds, their gaze still fixed on me. From Behind a pillar of glass a creature of some kind swiftly rushes up into the air, rising into the air far, far above me. I watch it sail out of sight toward the ceiling, and begin to walk, heading for the garden at the center. I take a step and hear something rushing toward me from above, I look up and see the creature headed straight for me, I draw my sword and ready myself, it moves so quickly that I can just barely discern its form. It descends in a blur of glistening black feather, and pale skeletal claw. It deftly avoids my blade and tears a gash in my arm. The thing lands on the sloping wall of the inverse pyramid behind my and skitters around. A thick oily substance drips from its feathers which stand in a show of active hostility, it turns it’s head toward me and I get a look at it’s face. For that is what it possesses. I can call it nothing but human in nature. A genderless and sickly face the black sludge oozes from it’s pale eyes and seeps from its snarling teeth. It’s features are sharp and cruel.

[the harpy’s voice is harsh and gravelly]

“This is a place of knowledge and discovery, you sully the ground on which you walk, what say you, intruder?”

“Epicurosa, she sent me here,” The beast shivers as I say their name, as it speaks globules of the black liquid splatter and drip from its thin sickly lips

“If you were indeed placed here, and you didn’t intrude where you should not, as you are known to do, then you have been placed here to die!” the creature pushes away from the pyramid wall and spins as it goes for another attack. I hold my sword up in a defensive stance, it grabs the sword with its bone-like claws and shatters the metal. I go to grab it but the oil that soaks it’s feathers causes it to slip from my grasp. “All you know is to destroy! Even in your non-violent pursuits, you hurt those around you,”

“You think I don't know?” I say, gesturing toward the bird which hovers in the air with my shattered sword “do you not think the thought crosses my mind everyday?”

“And what have you done to atone? Promises to ‘be better’? The damage has been done, the collapse of Eden is your burden, the death of the others is on you, your plan to simply not repeat your crimes is meaningless,” I gesture around me, my clothes soaked in black sludge and my arm bleeding freely “what do you think this is? My immortality, letting myself get dragged around by gods and bureaucrats and fucking fascists. Being thrown into bottomless pits, pursuing incomprehensible extra universal entities. Why do you think I do this?”

“You pursue Ovig Nadal in the hopes that you will understand the information that was forced into your mind, do not posture about duty and morals, your pursuits were as selfish as they ever were. Understanding what it is you have in your mind will not bring Eve back, it will not uncorrupt your realm in Eden,”

“Do not presume to know me, why can it not be both? Why can I not stop Ovig Nadal for the benefit of the universe and its inhabitants and for my own ‘selfish’ justification? Why must I ignore my own needs? I am all I have in this world, I am the only one who is there to help me,” I ready my firearm and raise it to the creature, whose face is almost entirely covered in the black oily sheen

“And that is why you shall fail” it says as it explodes in a fountain of black oil. I look down at my now shattered sword, the shards lay scattered around me, some submerged in the black sludge, “What the fuck?” The sludge reeks of spent electrics and leaking batteries. I check the clip in my Sub-machine gun. 18 rounds. Thank the stars for high capacity magazines. I affix it to my hip and start to navigate the maze of glass pillars and strange formations. My arm starts to sting, I didn’t have enough time to restock on bandages, my last two got used up patching the wound created by the Rolder. I go through a small thin trench constantly adjusting my way to try and head in the direction of the garden at the centre of this strange vast place. I look at my reflection in the sheen of the dark glass wall, covered in blood and filth, “something has turned it’s benevolent gaze upon you,” I usually don’t think too hard into what the gods say, their words often hold more meaning than I could ever hope to know. That, combined with the fact that language and communication are based on experience, and the experience of a god is so infinitely different to any non-divine that they have to, essentially, dumb it down and feed it through the filter of what they know to be the non-divine experience means I tend let the general malaise of meaning and intent wash over me, but those words stuck out, they feel so out of place coming from the mouth of a god, usually so impassive and calculating. The trench begins to widen and the ground beneath my feet gradually changes from hard opaque glass to a coarse grey sand which stretches ahead of me shifting to a deep rich brown earth. The trench widens out further and I realise I have reached the centre. I turn and look behind me, the landscape now entirely different. The trench has been replaced with a short sloping escarpment, the pyramid on which I arrived now absent, however the resplendent golden glow of the ever observant angels, now mere spots illuminating the balconies on which they stand, remains consistent. I have no doubt that they watch me now through their shrouds aflame, I begin to march over the rough sand, headed towards the illuminated garden, before I hear a muffled voice. “Hey!” I stop in my tracks and my hand goes to my gun, “Woah” the voice responds to my initial act of hostility “Do you always pull a gun to calls for help?”

“Sorry,” I say to the general area, unsure of who I am addressing, “Recently everything I’ve come across has tried to kill me, or absorb me,”

“Yeah but every star emits light, you don’t see planets orbiting a lightbulb do you?”

“Huh?”

“A sun emits light, a lightbulb also emits light, but a lightbulb is not a star. In the same way, there are things here that will try to kill you, I am a thing that is here, but I do not want to kill you. You gotta take each interaction case by case man. I get it, you’re human, you like to see patterns, it’s in your nature,”

“Who am I speaking to?”

“Aw man, this is gonna take forever,” a second voice chimes in

“Bah, ça fait aussi une éternité qu'on attend, hein” a third voice says in an old human tongue

“No we haven’t! we’ve only been here a few weeks,”

“the clock says 9567 years 3 months and 5 days,”

a fourth voice points out

“Oh yeah because time totally acts like normal down here doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” I say, “at least let me know what direction to look in when I’m talking to you,”

“Turn left, bit more, bit more. Right, now forward a bit, look down,”

I look down and see what I had subconsciously registered as a rock buried in the sand surrounded by many others, the worn metal holds a remarkably similar colour to the glass rocks that peek out of the coarse sand,

“You might need to do a bit of digging to get to us,” I begin to scrape and dig around and reveal a glowing blue eye of some kind

“Oh mon dieu, il a une sale tronche!”

“Tell me about it- what's up with the horns?”

I sigh, “It’s a long story,”

“Looks kinda like the landscape of this place,”

“It’s not lost on me,” I say as I excavate the side of what becomes increasingly clear to be a space probe of human design. And an old one. After a few minutes I finally manage to get a good portion of the body of this thing exposed. I lean against the side of the small crater I’ve dug out, foot resting against the probe itself.

“Better?” I ask

“Much, so what brings you to this angel infested hellhole?,”

“I was going to ask you the same thing actually, I was brought here by a god, got pushed down a big hole in a mountain and then I ended up here. She said this was a place where she could ‘find out some things about me’,”

“How deliciously vague,”

“My name is Adam, by the way. As in, like the Adam. The first human. Just feel like I should let you know,”

The eye stares at me in what I assume to be disbelieving silence

“I mean is it as crazy as anything else you’ve seen here? You obviously have accepted the existence of the angels,”

“You make a good point, how much have we missed?”

“Aw man, I’m guessing you were sent from earth?”

“Yeah,”

“Right so, that’s gone,”

“Was it what I think it was?,”

“I don’t know what you think it was but probably, they put up a good fight if it’s any consolation, launched a bunch of conservation stations, made some good preparations. Wasn’t quite enough in the end but you know, at least they tried,”

[an awkward silence]

“so uh… what’s your deal?”

“We are Surveyor 14,”

“How did you get here?” I ask

“On faisait partie d'une mission pour découvrir à quoi ressemble/ressemblait l'intérieur d'un trou noir. On est équipés d'une technologie très puissante qui nous permet d'échapper à l'attraction gravitationnelle, avec les données toujours intactes, et rentrer au bercail, (bah...)dans un chassis détruit, c'est vrai, mais bon. Bon, le fait est qu'on a été envoyés en mission, puis qu'on a été absorbés et qu'on s'est retrouvés... ici. Pour une raison qui m'échappe, on s'est divisés en quatre personnalités différentes... et voilà où on en est,”

[adam pauses] “ah… I see”

“We’ve had a lot of time to think here, or maybe we haven’t, it’s kind of hard to tell,”

“Hey, I’m not really sure what I’m doing here so if you need someone to bounce ideas off of,”

The AI turns it’s one glowing eye toward me and focuses. “Are we alone in the universe adam?”

“You mean are there aliens? I probably should have mentioned this, so there’s this council-”

“Not aliens, we mean, do you stand alone? An Island surrounded by multitudes of other Islands, or are we all intrinsically one collective? A continent that lessens with each death and grows with each birth,”

“I don’t know,”

“In the hundreds of thousands of years you’ve had to be alive, you’re telling me you haven’t thought of it once?”

“I feel empathy, if that’s what you’re asking, I feel the need to help others. If that drive comes from a place of real altruism (if such a thing truly exists) or some kind of need to atone for all the wrong I’ve done I cannot say,”

“(Bah) ça, c'est pas ce qu'on a demandé”

“My actions have an effect, as much as I wish they didn’t, I still am a part of the collective, I still am a cog in the great cosmic machine. At the most minute level I displace the air around me, my feet shake the ground ever so slightly with each step. Butterfly wings and typhoons. At the same time, it’s hard for me to feel a part of a population whose experience is so totally different to mine,"

“You think you’ve got a monopoly on isolation? On guilt?”

“Hé! Redescends un peu!”

“You’re not the only one who feels guilt for what they’ve done, it’s an age-old feeling, and yes, there are certain circumstances of your life that are specific to you, but your experience is not as unique as you may think. You yourself admit you are part of the ‘comic machine’ as you put it. You are not the mouse to the man, You are the elder that tries to relate to their grandchild, the child speaks as a child, the elder speaks as an elder, and yet there is no sense of lost community within the tribe. So why not you? Even if you cannot find common experience in your past life, can you not find commonality in being in a harsh and uncaring universe? Are you so detached, that you relate more to gods than mortals? There are threats beyond even divine comprehension at play, and yet you still manage to separate yourself from the rest,”

“Wait, how do you know about-”

“Deep down I believe you truly care for others, but until you believe that you are a part of the continent, you cannot truly enact a beneficial change in any meaningful way.”

I lean back against the side of the crater and look up the ceiling obscured by distance and darkness,

“So, uh, you know how to get out of here?”

“I was hoping you’d know actually, you’ve been here longer than me, have you seen anyone or anything else enter and leave this place?”

“Occasionally the angels will blink out and then return, but other than that it’s been pretty quiet here,”

“I’m thinking we should at least head into the light, now I don’t think I’ll be able to carry you, is there a data core or something I could remove?”

“Data core?”

“Wouh, regardez s'il est chic celui-là avec ses data cores!,”

“We’ve got a hard drive, just pop open the chassis and then have a root around,”

I pry open a door on the outside of the probe and start searching for a harddrive amongst the instruments and circuits, I feel something with a handle on it

“Is this it?” I ask

“How the fuck am I supposed to know? If I squeezed your liver would you be able to tell me if I’d got the right organ?”

“It’s not quite the same but I see your point,” I grab a hold of the handle “See you on the other side,” I unlock the hard drive and pull it out from the machine. The glowing eye goes dim and I hold up the hard drive to the light coming from the octagonal opening in the ceiling to this place. I scramble out of the hole and dust myself off with one hand, the hard drive is heavy but I still manage to carry it in one hand toward the edge of the light, the gap between the two huge walls on either side of me is wide and sits perfectly at the barrier between the golden light and the dark. I stand at the edge and peer into the garden, twisting old trees bearing fruit, both alien and yet painfully familiar, thin leafed bushes and pale grass, the sand that tumbles down doesn’t seem to drown the garden and instead pushes outwards to the rest of this place. At this distance I’m finally able to clearly see what's on the inside of the walls. All along an intricate diagram is embossed in gold, strange shapes and symbols stretch the entire length of each wall. No words, not in any language a non-divine could comprehend, each wall is different. Perhaps they display, perhaps they praise. Maybe a bit of both. They display a scale of some kind, from what I can discern it represents a gradation, all flowing from a single source, each wall represents a different aspect or group of aspects and how they relate to said source. I pass the barrier between the dim cold of the glass fields and enter the warm garden. The light soaks through my skin. Ragged and bleeding I stand for a moment in the resplendent light.

[he simply breathes for a few seconds]

“Alright let’s get the fuck of here,” The garden rises ever so slightly, a shrine sits atop this small hill, smooth white stone, it encircles a hexagonal basin, golden light plays off of the surfaces like sunlight off of water. It’s perfectly geometric, angles and simple shapes fused with each other in 3 dimensional symmetry, spiralling and tumbling down, too complex to be aesthetically pleasing but it’s not there for me. I approach the wide basin, at least my height in width, I kneel at it’s edge and peer into the golden liquid, it’s thin and only carries a slight luster and it’s deep, the edges on the outside curve inward down maybe half a metre, but looking into the deep liquid it seems to go outwards and much further down, some bright light dances around down there.

“Now what?” I say to the silent hard drive that leans against the side of the basin. I stand and brush myself off.

Suddenly, as if they had been stood there this entire time behind some curtain which now, upon my being here is dropped to reveal their presence, I see several angels, one hovers above the shrine it’s wings of golden shards extended outward, I take a step back, with the hard drive of surveyor-14 still in hand, it floats to the ground It has in its hand a long spear of gold, at the tip of the blade a small fire blazes white hot. It lowers the spear to my chest, and slowly pushes it into my heart, not with any malice or intent to damage, but with a conviction akin to a sculptor using a chisel or a carpenter using a plane. The world, or at least my perception of it, begins to wobble and convulse as if seen through weeping eyes. This effect recedes and I see the world through the eyes of something else, through a veil of golden fire and white robe I watch a battle between two forces, one I recognise, the form of Ovig Nadal, who causes such an entropic effect on the universe and one I do not, the common form of a god, for sure, but not one that has deigned to make its presence known to me. Beyond this physical interpretation I get the sense something much grander takes place between vast formless things and that this display is simply the tip of the iceberg poking out from the great depths of the cosmic ocean, my perception of these events begins to wobble again as Ovig Nadal grabs the angel whose vision I borrow and brings it close to his face. He peers into its eyes, his multitudes of teeth thick with the molten glass that fills the angels and his pale eyeless head bleeding that polychrome matter, damaged and cut all over. I can only assume this is a form he manifested or grew from some pre-existing entity he possessed. He holds the angel close to him and says “You watch one step toward a better universe Adam, a step forward in the progression of this universe to a state in which it never will have been as it is now,” and as his opponent readies another attack, Ovig Nadal crushes the angel and the vision finally begins to falter too much for me to see anything clearly.

I arise and pull back from the golden spear that intersects with my heart, I look up to see it now being wielded by Epicurosa wearing a wolf skull on her hooded head.

“We have deemed you ready, I will send you to the aftermath of that battle and-,”

“I still don’t understand, why me? Not why me. Why not you? You are the most powerful thing I have ever seen, you formed humanity and the Veatorians from nothing. You Shift cosmic forces with no effort or exertion. Why are you, or any of your peers unable to do this? I want to, I really do, it used to be that I wanted to understand what it is I learned, to make what I did worth it, but I have realised that it is not about making it worth it but is instead atoning, the intent has changed but my action remains the same. But I must know, why?”

She exchanges her wolf skull for that of some kind of large fish, not an animal I have ever seen.

“I could force your understanding, I could initiate a vision. It would torment you, as it does Might-Upon-Serenity, unable to convey or sufficiently re-create in your memory. Instead I will try to explain, in language. Gods are not physical beings, I believe a Veatorian philosopher once referred to us as “concepts with will” and while ‘concept’ carries certain connotations she had the right idea. Ovig Nadal is unlike anything this universe has ever seen, I do not know his origins, I simply know he is other and that we cannot affect him, you saw through that angel's eyes, there was nothing that Aratheau could do to destroy him. Our common forms can cause harm to each other: matter touches matter, but celestially, we cannot influence him, but he can us. I believe that you will be able to do affect him in a significant way, and the fact that there is something beyond even divinity that surrounds you and guides us to help you, proves that I am right,”

[with relief]

“Thank you,”

“I am going to send you to that place within the vision, follow him. And whatever he intends to do, stop him,”

“I know his intentions, Might upon serenity, in a moment of clarity as we shared a vision corrupted by Ovig Nadal, she told me he seeks Eden,”

Epicurosas whole demeanour shifts, if I were to assign emotions to a divine being of pure though I would have called it… fear

“If that is indeed the case, then our situation is far more dire than previously anticipated. Let us hope you will be able to stop him before this happens”

A portal manifests behind me. “Could I ask something of you?”

“You may ask,” I hold up the hard drive

“Would you construct a body for them? Make them whole please, they’ve helped me on my journey, I think they deserve it,”

“That I can do,” she takes it from me and I walk through the portal, leaving behind the divine setting of glass landscapes and perfect stone, I step through into my new setting, a collapsed city aflame...

#audio drama #audiodrama #podcast #transcript #podcast transcript #scifi #sci-fi

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acediian · 5 years

Text

—𝓉𝑜𝓋𝒶𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓃'𝓈 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 (𝒾𝒾𝒾.)

thanos x original character fanfiction | pre-infinity war | 2.3k words +

a/n: several thousand words in and - finally - enter purple hubby-to-be!!! hope you enjoy c:

chapters i. ii. iii.

Aerendis closed her eyes, lips parting to breathe in the soft breeze that swept over the hill and through her hair. Her steed, a majestic Tovari Faraax, shifted underneath her, its broad, paw-like feet padding loudly against the silvery grass. Fingers moved gently through the creature’s soft mop of grey fur, feeling the warmth of its body and the ebbing motion of its slow breaths.

“Cassiopeia, it’s alright,” she cooed to the beast, which responded with a hearty grunt. But as her eyes turned upward to once again regard the great warship hovering above Tovarion’s capital city, her words turned acrid in her mouth.

The Faraax shifted again, turning its large, deer-like head towards her. Those eyes, dark as midnight, conveyed their usual kindness, but disclosed something else as well. Worry. The princess was akin to a mother, having hand-reared and cared directly for the creature since its birth many centuries ago. The two shared a certain bond, so undoubtedly it sensed her own trepidation.

“It will be alright.”

From astride the Faraax’s large back, Aerendis could behold the valley in its entirety. The smoke rising out of chimneys in the city streets. The people, appearing as small as grains of rice from their place atop the hill. Ship after ship whizzed past, converging on the palace, where hordes of foreign soldiers stood toe-to-toe with the guards that protected the queen.

Aerendis knew. He was already there. She was out of time.

Tugging at her Faraax’s reigns, she breathed in the cool morning air one last time. “Come on, girl.” The creature took off, its muscular, elongated legs carrying them both across the grass at tremendous speed.

---

“Where is your sister?” Queen Aredhyn asked under her breath, a furrowed brow meeting her son’s gaze.

“I do not know,” Erodhil replied, leaning down to whisper into his mother’s ear as she sat, awaiting their guest’s imminent arrival. “I have not seen her all morning.”

The princess’ absence did not sit well with the queen. She never knew Aerendis to be tardy, least of all on such a significant occasion as this. But there was no time to send someone after her, and no one to spare.

Every guard in the palace and every soldier from all corners of Tovarion had been called to the capital city. None ignored their queen’s request. Fighters encircled the throne, stood watch outside of the palace, and lined every street in the city - and yet, it became clear quickly enough that they were far outnumbered by the Mad Titan’s forces. Not only were there hordes of ghastly footsoldiers, but also countless numbers of flying beasts and other ships at his command. And all waited for the signal to attack should his demands go unmet.

The queen sat motionless, expressionless, in waiting. On the outside, she was the embodiment of a strong leader, an adept warrior. Her dark hair, intricately plaited away from her face and flecked with grey streaks, revealed the silvery-white skin that bore lines of age. Her silver armor, gleamed in the morning light that flooded into the hall from above.

Only her son could see the turmoil boiling underneath. White knuckles grasped the armrest of her throne. Her eyes watched everything, yet seemed to see nothing.

Aredhyn breathed in sharply as a figure appeared in the doorway to the throne room. A broad silhouette gave way to a tall figure cloaked in golden armor. The Mad Titan, as promised. Four other figures soon followed behind him, two of which the queen recognized from just two days prior. They approached the throne with haste, stopping just shy of the guards they so easily towered over.

There were no niceties, no formality shown before the queen of Tovarion. Not even so much as a bow. She prickled at the heavy silence that followed, lips downturned as she looked her guest up and down.

“Welcome to Tovarion, Thanos of Titan.” Her attempt at a smile came off as more of a grimace.

The Mad Titan glanced around the throne room with incredulity before meeting the queen’s gaze from underneath his helm. “Your people have an interesting way of welcoming guests, your highness.”

Aredhyn didn’t much care for his mockery. Her hand balled into a fist against the cold stone beneath her arm. Still, she remembered the warship hovering just over the city and bit her tongue.

With a passing smirk, Thanos began to pace in front of the queen’s guard, formidable fighters who now looked so puny in comparison. He towered over each one by nearly two feet. As he walked, each one tightened their grasp on their weapon. Honorable, the queen knew, but it would be folly should this meeting end badly.

“I don’t see the power stone.” He turned to the skulking creature from before. “Was the Maw not clear enough when communicating my expectations?”

“He was perfectly clear,” the queen replied, her jaw tightening. “But it is safe... in the vault.”

Thanos’ calm, calculated expression faltered for a moment. His scowl fell away just as quickly, but his displeasure was all too evident. “I have given you a choice, your highness. Out of my own generosity, I offered to spare your world in exchange for the stone.” The Titan’s gaze pierced into hers, is voice lowering to a more threatening tone. “It would take… seconds… to wipe your ancient culture from the cosmos and I would still pluck the stone from the rubble.”

Queen Aredhyn raised a hand, unwilling to indulge him any longer. “You will have the stone, Thanos of Titan. Do not waste any more breath threatening me and my people.”

“Your people,” he repeated, now with a glint in his eye. “I know the Maw conveyed the other half of my demands.”

“In so many words, yes. He did.” Aredhyn rose from her throne, moving down a few of the glimmering steps. Her pale grey eyes never left those of the Mad Titan. In her daughter’s absence, her following statement would carry far less weight. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears amidst the utter silence in the throne room. “I have consulted my Council. Prayed to our gods.” She turned to the prince. “Consulted my children. We cannot ally by giving you Tovarion’s armies.”

Thanos’ expression soured. “That is unfortunate.”

“We cannot eschew our existing alliances by supplying soldiers to their enemies. On my honor, I will not break faith with millennia-old allies.”

“You are just that, your highness. Honorable. But tell me - will honor save you? Will your gods save you?”

“Spare me,” the queen mused, staring down her nose at him from where she stood, bathed in sunlight on the steps to her throne.

“Tovarion is one of the universe’s very few remaining ancient civilizations. I have given you the opportunity to save it. An opportunity I only extend to you one last time.”

Aredhyn threw a passing glance at her son before continuing. “We have another offer.” She watched as the Titan’s brow creased in surprise and interest. “One that we hope you will consider.”

The Mad Titan heaved a sigh - the queen could only hope that he would indulge her for a few moments more. “Go on.”

But as she drew in a breath, a commotion just outside the throne room doors caused the queen to pause before sharing their proposal. It was a moment of immense confusion - the Mad Titan’s forces all turned, weapons drawn, to face what they believed was an approaching threat. But the queen’s guard were quick to react, preparing to counter the opposing forces.

“Make way!” a voice called from the rampart outside. “Make way for the princess.”

Aredhyn sighed in relief for more than one reason, loosening her grip on her own sword. “Stand down! Stand down, all of you!” she called to her own soldiers. “Have your men stand down, Thanos of Titan. It is only my daughter.”

The energy in the room quickly dissipated as a new figure appeared in the colossal doorway. The silhouette of a Faraax came lumbering in, its short, floppy ears swaying with each step. As it moved closer, the Mad Titan’s forces parted to let it pass. Until the creature dipped its head, no one would have expected it to be carrying a rider. But in its saddle sat the princess, hair windswept and overcoat draped elegantly across its back.

Aerendis sat proudly astride her steed, her torso moving back and forth with each one of its strides. The Faraax vocalized confusedly at the strange creatures that flanked it on either side, which elicited a soft hush from the princess’ lips. After the long walk to the throne, the creature’s feet thudded to a stop just before the Mad Titan himself, who seemed utterly unfazed. From where she sat, more than twelve feet above the ground, Aerendis looked down to meet his gaze.

Whatever she had expected him to look like, this was not it. Even do, he had the appearance of a conqueror, no doubt, with his intricate golden armor, broad frame, and formidable stature. She would have to get accustomed to the sight of him should he accept their offer and spare Tovarion from the fate of so many worlds before it.

The Faraax knelt to give the princess an easier dismount, grunting once again as it beheld the strange being before it. Aerendis’ hand patted her steed’s side as she passed, briefly meeting the gaze of her potential betrothed once more before approaching her mother.

“I apologize for the delay, Ama,” she said, bowing before her queen. Her voice lowered. “Tovarion still stands.”

Aredhyn reached out to take her daughter’s hands, her own shoulders relaxing in relief at the mere sight of her. “For now,” she uttered in their mother tongue. The pair touched foreheads, a usual greeting among Tovari who were very close.

Aerendis glanced over her shoulder at the Mad Titan, still standing impatiently on the other side of the guards. “You command quite the army. I would say you outnumber us... ten to one? And I am sure there are forces still aboard your ship.”

“Forces that will answer my call at a moment’s notice.”

“Yes, I am sure.” She was truly her mother’s daughter, choosing to ignore his threats and simply continue as she began to pace back and forth. “We have but a few thousand elite fighters at our own call. Tovarion has not needed a great army since -” With a tsk, she looked to her mother and shrugged. “- oh, the time of my great great grandmother, I believe?”

Thanos’ eyes narrowed. She knew he was already aware of what she would say next.

“Our army would not add much in the end, I am afraid. You are already so well equipped.” A sleepless night had given way to a wave of arguments against supplying their soldiers to the Mad Titan’s army. Arguments that now came spilling forth. In a way, she was delaying their final proposal. Now that the moment was here, the words did not seem to want to leave her lips. “And, of course, pledging our best fighters to your cause would leave us defenseless. What sort of an alliance is it if your allies should bear the brunt of an attack - from, say, other allies who are displeased with our support of your cause - with no means of protecting themselves?”

Before he could interject, she continued.

“That is a short-lived alliance, indeed.” All her nerves caught in her throat suddenly, choking the very air form her lungs. There was so much sorrow in the thought of the Mad Titan refusing their offer, which would bring the prompt decimation of her people. The thought of him accepting elicited immense trepidation of its own. But she was assured in her faith that the gods had laid a path for her millennia ago, and she was ready to take it if this was the way.

“Alliances need not be between armies,” she went on, turning fully to face the Titan. “If you wish for a lasting alliance with Tovarion, then you should do so through marriage.” Her words clearly caught even him off guard. Aerendis watched as his brow lifted in surprise. “In exchange for the lives of my people, I extend my hand… to you. I will go with you as not only a… wife, but also as an envoy of the Tovari people. You will have the stone you seek as well as any resources, weapons, and armor that you require.”

“I have no need of a princess on my ship,” he retorted.

The queen was quick to step in. “Aerendis has not seen war herself, but she is an adept fighter and even more effective diplomat. She has handled our affairs with other worlds for more than a thousand years. I trust you could benefit from her presence.”

“You give yourself away for the sake of your people,” Thanos addressed the princess, who showed no signs of fear in her steely exterior. “A noble sentiment.”

“Thank you. I have meant every word.”

“I do not doubt it.” A long, slow breath left him. “Very well, princess. Your people can rest easy tonight.”

It was as though Aerendis could breathe once again, yet that same fear as before came over her all the same. Arranged marriages (or whatever one called such a situation as this) were unheard of on Tovarion. As a girl, she had hoped to one day fall in love with the one that she would spend her fifteen thousand years with. She had hoped for a marriage as loving as the one that her parents had shared. Those hopes were dashed. But, she reminded herself, her people were safe. They were safe. Perhaps this was what the gods had intended for her, after all.

“Your generosity is much appreciated,” Aerendis replied, meeting the pale blue of his eyes with the soft grey of her own. “Thanos.”

#thanos #thanos imagine #thanos fic #thanos x oc #thanos x original character #marvel imagine #marvel fic #marvel #mcu #original character #f: tovarion

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journalxxx · 5 years

Text

No Rest for the Wicked (3)

"Hey. Higgsbury."

Wilson woke with a gasp, heart racing and chest heaving as something touched his shoulder. His overwhelmed brain took in his surroundings in a frenzy of disconnected bits: the setting sun, the rough table he was napping on, the spilled ink on his half-finished blueprint, the blood rumbling in his own head, the tiny pins and needles tickling his left arm, the gaunt harasser standing beside him.

"Say, pal. You don't look so good."

Wilson blinked at Maxwell, wondering why he was still alive. Oh, right. Not a dream, this one. Not a dream. He wondered if the other man could hear the gears furiously turning in Wilson's brain to sort through real memories and fleeting visions in an effort to make sense of his current situation. He probably could, it felt like they were very rusty and grind-y.

"Can you please. Never say those specific words to me again. Please."

"Have I caught you at a bad time? It didn't seem like there was much inventing going on at the moment."

Wilson drummed his fingers on the table nervously, still dizzy with adrenaline. He focussed very, very hard on eliminating all thoughts of sadism and murder and assorted violence from his brain, but the sight of Maxwell's nonchalant mug made it exceedingly difficult.

"You always catch me at a bad time. When you want to disturb me, just assume it's a bad time. And then don't do it. What do you want?"

Maxwell regarded him with something unpleasantly akin to amusement. He glanced at the ruined sketch on the table.

"Strange dreams, eh? What was this one about?"

"...You don't want to know."

"I beg to differ."

Wilson squinted at him, rubbing his arm to restore the circulation. Well, if he insisted.

"...I wanted to observe the effects of prolonged consumption of raw monster meat on humans. You were the test subject, but you refused to eat it, so I made an incision in your epigastrium-" He poked at the exact spot on Maxwell's abdomen as he explained, "and created a fistula large enough to introduce the minced meat directly in your stomach from the outside. It made you turn into that half-beast thing you used to scare me with when I was travelling to the throne-" He illustrated that passage too, hunching his back and mimicking claws and fangs with his hands and mouth, "and, since you behaved like a rabid dog, I had to put you down. Via decapitation. Then I dismembered you and put your organs in jars with formalin for later study. I think I was doing something with your liver when you woke me, but I can't remember what."

It was rare for Wilson to manage to reduce Maxwell to silence, but those precious few times were always so deeply worth it.

"...I'll say." He eventually commented, scratching his chin pensively. "I never thought there could be any decent material in that hairy nogging of yours, but it looks like you may have turned out not too disappointing a King, after all."

Wilson groaned, rubbing his hands on his face.

"What do you want, Maxwell?"

"Why do you keep asking me? You said you needed my help with some project of yours, remember?"

"Uh... yes, yes, I do. Give me just a moment." Wilson quickly gathered his tools and cleaned up the mess on the table. "You always have such impeccable timing. I've been sitting here all afternoon, but of course you show up the moment I put my head down for five minutes."

"You said I could come when I was free. Well, I'm free now." Maxwell crossed his arms condescendingly. "If your beauty sleep has the priority, I can come back next week or so."

"You've got a busy schedule, haven't you? I suppose that standing around doing nothing and glancing judgementally at people who are actually working does eat up time." Maxwell was about to reply, but Wilson opted for a strategic retreat. "I'll be right back."

"So, what do you need me for?" Maxwell asked when Wilson came back with an armful of equipment. He watched with silent disapproval as Wilson dropped the items messily on the table, save for one vial filled with transparent liquid, which he carefully placed in a roughly-crafted canister. Wilson didn't miss the brief glimpse of concern that crossed Maxwell's eyes when he opened the case containing the syringe. "...I'm just realizing I should have asked this much sooner."

"You know that weird feeling you get after being revived - the feeling that you are indeed very much alive and well, but not quite as healthy as you were before? And no matter how much you eat or rest or heal, you never seem to regain your top shape?"

"Yes."

"Good. I was sure you would, given how vocally you complained about it when you burst out of my meat statue two months ago." Wilson paused to observe the content of the vial against the light: no suspicious discolorations or sediments. "As it turns out, it's a shared affliction. It happened to me too before... before, and others in the camp have confirmed experiencing the same problem. So I decided to see if anything could be done about it."

"I take that you are concocting some sort of serum. Do you need some specific ingredient or magic boost you think I can provide?"

"A fair assumption, but no. I believe I've already hit on a promising formula, and now I only need a suitable subject to test it."

"Ah. You see, that was my second guess, only because I gave you enough credit to reach on your own the obvious conclusion that I would never agree to that."

"Come on, don't be difficult. I promise you it's perfectly safe."

"Says the man who thought that powdercakes were safe for consumption." Maxwell squinted at the vial, hands clasped behind his back. "What's in there?"

"Oh just, you know... some minerals and... organic material. You needn't concern yourself with the technical details-"

"If you had said snake oil, it would have sounded less fishy. Which minerals? What organic material?"

"Well..." Wilson scratched his chin, pointedly avoiding Maxwell's inquisitive gaze. "Some nitre and ground bee stings. And- you know those funny-looking hyphae that were growing on the eggplants we forgot we had? Well, I thought-"

"You must be joking." Maxwell's face contorted into the most comically over-the-top expression of affronted disgust Wilson had ever seen. "Dirt and mold. You mixed dirt and mold into a bottle and you called that a cure? How did you even come up with such a ridiculous idea?"

"Exactly like I come up with every ridiculous idea I've ever had in this wretched place: by using our ridiculous machines, that's how. Or are you going to claim that there's more scientific merit to grinding flower petals to make dream gasoline, or whatever that foul thing is supposed to be?"

"Well, at least that foul thing isn't supposed to go straight into my veins! Your 'cure' is going to give me lockjaw or bubonic plague, if not both at the same time."

Wilson decided to dedicate a single moment of his life to envisioning how risus sardonicus might look on Maxwell's already grotesque set of facial features. He found that his imagination wasn't yet capable of producing such horrors, and he was ultimately grateful for it.

"I told you it's safe. I've already administered samples to some rabbits and pigmen, and they're all perfectly healthy. I've even had a dose of it myself, and as you can see-"

"You took it yourself?" Maxwell gaped at the scientist in utter shock. "Are you out of your mind?"

"Well, rabbits and pigmen aren't humans. Results obtained on them are only partially reliable to predict the effect the serum might have on actual people. And I didn't think it wise to use a potentially flawed drug on an already debilitated patient. I haven't died yet since we met, so I figured I would be the perfect subject to take note of any relevant side effects or issues. There haven't been any, by the way."

"You're a lunatic." Maxwell's bewilderment almost made Wilson laugh. It seemed like such a simple and straightforward process to him. "A complete, raving madman. That thing could have killed you more painfully than I ever did."

"That's extremely debatable, but let's not get sidetracked." Wilson joined the tips of his fingers, flashing his best ingratiating smile at Maxwell. "Care to assist?"

"No, not really. Besides, I've just finished recovering from that accident with the spider queen, so I may still be a tad too 'debilitated' for-"

"You've been 'just finishing recovering' from those two glorified scratches for at least a week. I don't doubt that that is due to the aforementioned post-resurrection weakness, and it is not even remotely just an excuse for you to be even less productive than usual. However, as the resident physician, I am positive you're at least well enough to withstand a harmless drug trial. Does this quell your fears?"

Maxwell pursed his lips, surprisingly giving some serious thought to the matter. "...Wolfgang has died too, once. And he's certainly fitter than me at any given moment. Why didn't you choose him?"

"To be fair, I did ask him first. But..." Wilson considered his fingertips. The memory of that colossal man mewling in horror and backing away from the raised syringe like a cornered animal would haunt him for the rest of his days. "I think he has a phobia of needles. Among the other things."

"Hm. Hard to blame him on that one. The needle of that syringe is barely smaller than an organ pipe."

"It's the best I could put together with the materials I found. Just be thankful I was able to craft one or I would have to resort to scarification."

"I don't like the sound of that."

"You wouldn't like the feel of that either."

Maxwell scrutinized him and his whole apparatus with blatant hostility. He didn't speak, and eventually Wilson sighed in defeat.

"...I can't force you, of course. But I do mean it when I say it's safe. It has given me no side effects whatsoever, I just need to establish if it's actually effective or not." Wilson tapped his fingers on the table, pensively. "I guess I could try again with Wolfgang. Wickerbottom could help me talk him into it, she’s good at that. After keeping him on a light diet for while. If he threw a fit in his best shape, he'd probably break my neck with an accidental flicker of his-"

"Oh, fine! Stop whining!" Maxwell burst out, throwing his hands to the sky. "And don't you dare say that I never do anything helpful. I'm literally throwing my own health to the wolves for your divertissement here."

"Splendid!" Wilson grinned, immediately filling the syringe with the precious liquid. "Uncover your shoulder. You don't have any allergies, do you?"

"If I said yes, would you reconsider my involvement?"

"I guess that's a no. Sit." Wilson stood up, politely leaving the chair free for his unhappy subject. Who didn't sit. Nor uncovered his shoulder. Wilson rolled his eyes. "What is it now? I swear, all this fussing for a single prick. Next time I'll just knock you out beforehands and save myself half an hour of pointless arguments."

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking that I can simply refuse to sit to foil your brilliant plan altogether. There's little you can do to my shoulder from down there."

"...Wow, a height joke. Haven't heard one of those in a while. You're just desperate to buy time at this point. Sit before I stab this in your rear."

Wilson patiently waited as Maxwell begrudgingly complied and took as long as humanly possible to remove the several layers of clothing hiding his shoulder. Wilson also merrily ignored the constant muttering as he applied some antiseptic on the area.

"Mankind owes me a lot for confining you here and saving any possible future patient of yours from your misguided attempts at- Ow!"

"Yes, I'm sure such a charitable deed completely outweighs the God-knows-how-many unexplained kidnappings you've perpetrated in your whole life."

"Not as many as- Ow! This thing burns!"

"Hardly. I'd like to say you deserve a statue for your past and present heroism, but I think there are already far too many around here."

One last completely unwarranted 'ow' marked the end of the unbearable torture as Wilson pulled out the needle and pressed a patch of silk gauze on Maxwell's shoulder.

"Done. It's going to be just a little sore for-"

"You literally just said no side effects whatsoever!"

"That's not a side effect, it's a completely normal local reaction. It won't last more than a few days anyway."

Wilson put away his tools while Maxwell nursed his achy joint with a scowl. "Fine print and shady semantics are more tools of my trade rather than yours, you know?"

"Maybe, but at least I make a point of rewarding blind faith instead of squashing it. Your contribution towards scientific advancement is highly appreciated." Wilson smiled, producing a life-giving amulet from his pocket and handing it to Maxwell with a flourish and a small bow. "Please accept this for your trouble."

Maxwell froze in the middle of buttoning up his shirt, gaping at the item with sheer horror.

"...Oh God, I am going to die."

"No, no no no, this is just for... extra precaution. Just in case. Just in the remote eventuality that the serum might have some utterly unexpected and yet unobserved contraindication. Which it won't, I'm sure. Do feel free to bring to my attention any malaise that may bother you though."

"I hate you."

"Oh come on, I'm joking. Mostly." Wilson chuckled as Maxwell motioned to take the amulet. He instinctively gripped it harder though, suddenly struck by an unpleasant thought. He met Maxwell's puzzled glance with firm eyes. "By the way, I would dearly appreciate it if you used it as intended, this time."

"...I believe I should be granted the freedom to decide how to employ my payment, shouldn't I?" Maxwell's expression changed as well, subtly but unmistakably. Wilson already regretted breaching the subject, but he had no intention of backing down from his request.

"I'm serious. If this ends up like the last one, I'm not going to trust you with another again. They're far too precious to be wasted."

"Wasted, uh?" Maxwell scoffed, letting go of the amulet and standing fully straight to look down on Wilson. Wilson hated how easy it was for the man to look effectively imposing. "Maybe you should give this to someone else then. God forbid I should ever use it to look after myself in the way I see fit."

"You did nothing of the sort. You broke it. You took a resurrection tool, a literal life-saver, and disassembled it.” Wilson clenched his fists without even noticing, the argument from a few months before still fresh in his mind. Sometimes Maxwell’s behavior was truly unjustifiable. “And for what? To make another goddamn nightmare amulet!”

“That is what I’d call ‘looking after myself’’, yes. All this time you’ve spent around me, and you still don’t get how my powers work. You’re dreadfully unobservant for a scientist.”

“Look, I know what you’re driving at, but how can you possibly not understand that there’s nothing more important than resurrection items here?! They’re our only lifeline! They literally avoid death! We should scavenge for parts to craft them, not the other way around!”

“You’re astoundingly wrong. The smartest thing we can do is to avoid dying in the first place. We don’t build meat effigies during a famine, do we?”

“That’s not the same thing-”

“Maybe not for you, but it is for me!” Maxwell burst out suddenly. “I need nightmare fuel, don’t you get it? Suppose I get slaughtered against some unholy monster with no fuel and a resurrection amulet. I get brought back to life, and then what? If the monster wakes too early, it may very well slaughter me again before I can make a run for it! And even if I manage to get away, do you really think I can gather all the materials I need to survive quickly enough on my own? If I have fuel though, my duelists can lure the enemy away or maybe even kill it, and my gatherers can collect resources for me even if I’m injured. So yes, Higgsbury, having a functional nightmare amulet and therefore decent fuel reserves does qualify as safeguarding my life, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I- wait, wait a minute.” Wilson shook his head, momentarily stunned. For whatever reason, Maxwell hadn’t bothered to explain his reasons in such detail before, and the scientist had to admit there was a logic in them. Still, the remaining flaw was glaring. “You’re talking as if you had to survive completely on your own. There’s no need for you to be so obsessed about the fuel when you have plenty of other people to rely on. Anyone can help you find food or gather materials or get out of a tricky situation, you don’t need to have puppets ready all the time. No one can bring you back if you get killed though.”

“A brilliant reasoning. One, however, that is based on the certainty that you won’t be left behind, if things took a turn for the worse. In case you haven’t noticed, my puppets take care of almost all the heaviest and most time-consuming tasks around here, which is surely a great encouragement for my former captives not to lynch me. But if I run out of fuel, who’s to say they won’t suddenly remember their grudges?”

“Oh come on, that’s ridiculous. We’ve been camping together for months, you can’t possibly still believe the others to be so untrustworthy. We’ve had each other’s backs dozens of times by now, you must see that they’ve let bygones be bygones. No one would hold it against you if couldn’t provide materials for a while. We could easily split the work among ourselves.”

“Do you really trust them that much?”

“Of course I do! They’re all perfectly respectable-”

“Then why haven’t you told anyone about the throne?” Maxwell’s smirk was sharp, contrasting strongly with his eerily soft tone. Wilson was caught off guard.

“...I… It’s not the same-”

“Again, it’s exactly the same thing. You haven’t because you’re not sure how they’d react. And you’re not even the King who brought them here. Consider my position for one moment and you’ll see that I have excellent reasons to be unsure how they’d react to anything I may do or not do. Hence my interest in having my own backup always ready at hand.”

“...You’re looking at this all wrong.” Wilson shook his head again. “You have more backup than ever, or at least you would if you bothered to acknowledge it as such, and yet you still stick to your paranoid schtick. Hell, you’d rather stroll on your own among spider nests instead of honestly asking for help. Anyone would have come with you if you had asked. I would have come with you if you had asked.”

“I did ask you!” Maxwell retorted venomously. “Last month! Or have you conveniently forgotten?”

“What- You didn’t ask me for help! You asked- no, you demanded a red gem! Without even explaining why. A red gem I couldn’t give you because I needed it for an amulet!”

“Oh, right! The amulet you then gave to the robot. The goddamn robot, of all people! It doesn’t even live here! It shows up only when there are giants around, drops gratuitous threats against all things organic, and then vanishes again. Why would you even bother to craft an amulet for it? I’m sure it just wants to see us all dead-”

“You mean like you did?!” Wilson’s voice raised without him really noticing, too caught up in the discussion. “Do you even hear yourself? If there is one person here who shouldn’t ever dare question other people’s honesty, that’s you! At least WX has never actually done anything to hurt us, which automatically makes them more trustworthy than you!”

Maxwell didn’t reply immediately. He waited, hands clasped behind his back and a strange, unreadable scowl on his face, until Wilson properly registered the meaning of his own words.

“...That. That is exactly it. That’s what everyone thinks, that a perfect stranger would be easily more trustworthy than me, no matter the circumstances. That’s what would make anyone hesitate to help, even just for a second. And a second of hesitation can mean a lot when I’m about to be mauled by a hound. That is why I need my own backup.”

There were times, many times, when Wilson genuinely thought that Maxwell was hopeless. That he would ultimately seal his own fate through the sheer stubbornness of his own self-absorbed idiocy, no matter how much effort Wilson put into trying to avoid that. And yet.

“...I have never hesitated.” Maxwell didn’t meet Wilson’s eyes as the scientist spoke, apparently too busy with fixing his tie and waistcoat. “Not once.”

“...You needed backup too. And I was the only one around to provide it. You have a wide choice now, though.”

“Do you really think that?” Wilson asked bitterly, his gaze dropping to the ground. “Do you really think that’s all there was to it?”

Even though Maxwell’s attire had long since been freed from any wrinkles or unsightly folds, he was still messing with it. Nevertheless, Wilson patiently waited for his answer, as one waited for a bully to decide whether he felt like dedicating ten seconds of his life to stomp on the elaborate sand castle one took two hours to build.

“...No.” Maxwell didn’t elaborate any further. It was a fortunate decision, for Wilson was already nearing his limit of tolerance for the day, and the umpteenth gratuitous jab or tirade against his stupidity, his morality, his naivety may have just convinced him to never spare another glance at Maxwell’s mug again. Or so he liked to think.

“...Good.” Wilson nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you can consider me your backup then.”

That finally tore Maxwell’s attention off his goddamn suit. Wilson shrugged in response to his befuddled glance.

“Honestly it’s ridiculous that I even have to say it aloud after I’ve effectively been your backup for God knows how long, but I guess you might benefit from hearing it. I’m not going to leave you behind, or ignore a request for materials or assistance, if only you can find it in yourself to spare two minutes to motivate it. You have my word on it. And if you were to leave the group for any reason that doesn’t involve egregious misbehavings on your part, like trying to murder people in their sleep or something of the kind, I’ll leave as well. How does that sound?”

Wilson may as well have turned into a turnip halfway through his speech, judging by the sheer bewilderment of Maxwell’s expression.

“What the devil is this about, now?”

“This is about making you stop wasting resources on problems that aren’t there. You can go without fuel for a few days or even weeks, if you need to, even if you can’t take care of the foraging. Just ask me, if you don’t feel like asking the others. And for heaven’s sake, take this and wear it!” Wilson outright slipped the amulet around Maxwell’s neck, pressing it firmly against his chest to drive the point more clearly. “Don’t break it. Don’t repurpose it. Just wear it.”

For the second time that day, Maxwell was shocked into silence, his eyes darting between Wilson’s face and his hand. The amulet pulsed under Wilson's palm, instantly warming up as the protective magic activated, and started to beat faintly, like a second heart perfectly in synch with the wearer's. It was a refreshing change to feel its natural, regular beat, without the rush and unsteadiness that blood loss and such distressing circumstances caused. The rhythm was pleasantly familiar, and distracting enough for Wilson to suddenly realize that he had been idly standing before Maxwell for a little too long, a little too close. He let go of the amulet and took a few steps back, until he bumped against the edge of the desk, his mind oddly blank.

“Why are you so obsessed with these things, anyway?” Maxwell asked, his tone somewhat subdued as he took the pendant in his hand and rubbed some invisible dust off the red gem. “We have meat statues and even a couple of touch stones. I could die three times within the next hour and I’d still be able to come back without an amulet.”

“Statues can be destroyed and the closest stone is almost a day away from the camp. Amulets are always the safest option.” In truth, Wilson couldn’t quite explain it. Maxwell was perfectly right, living in a large group had allowed them to secure plenty of materials for more resurrection items than Wilson himself had ever hoped for. But, as irrational as it may be, Wilson only felt truly safe when he and everyone around him were wearing a life-giving amulet around their neck. “I just don’t like taking any chances.”

“Mh. If I didn’t know you to be so scientifically inclined, I’d be tempted to call you superstitious. I guess it’s only anxiety then.”

“You can call it however you like, but it’s the reason I’ve managed to survive this long. Always having a backup plan is what allowed me to best the oh-so-dreadful King of the Shadows.”

“Ah! That’s precious.” Maxwell laughed, without any real bite. Unexpectedly, he leaned against the table too, beside Wilson. He regarded him with a conspiratorial smile, all traces of the previous argument gone from his demeanor. “No need to embellish the truth, pal, I was watching too. Remember the first time you jumped into a wormhole without amulets and the like and without having any idea what would happen? Where was your backup plan then?”

“Ah, but you forget that at the time I was being cornered by a tallbird at the edge of a cliff, without proper armor and at dusk. Jumping in the wormhole was the backup plan, you see.”

“...God, you really are the one who bested me. Why. How.” Maxwell lamented as he covered his face. “Did They really wish to humiliate me so? Why couldn’t it be Wickerbottom? Surrendering the throne to her would have been immensely more dignified. Honourable, even.”

“Maybe you just weren’t as good at your job as you thought. Or I am a genius survivalist. Take your pick.”

“Neither.” Maxwell rubbed his shoulder absently. “Are you planning to study the effects of whatever filth you poisoned me with watching me as I slowly shuffle off this mortal coil, or may I retreat to meet my end privately?”

“You’re free to go. Many thanks for your unwavering trust and enthusiasm.” Wilson simply watched as Maxwell shrugged on his coat. He tried his very best to sound as casual as possible with his next question. “Oh, by the way. Have you been experimenting with your puppets again?”

“Hm? No, not lately. Why?”

“Oh, never mind. I was just wondering.”

“...You were just wondering.” A single glance from Maxwell was enough for Wilson to know that he was simply hopeless at sounding casual. “And why were you wondering, may I ask?”

“I was just wondering! You do that sometimes! They used to work differently when I met you, and now they’re more specialized or something-”

“I only ever revised them that one time, because they were giving me troubles. You wouldn’t be asking if you didn’t think there was something wrong with them. Why?”

“I, uh… well… to be honest, they did a strange thing yesterday. And I was wondering if it may be because you were, I don’t know, trying out a new spell or-”

“Did they try to attack you? Because that would be your fault. I told you you’d eventually get on their nerves if you kept getting in their way while they’re working.”

“No, no no. In fact, it’s… it’s the exact opposite.” Wilson stopped for a moment. “You know how they always pretend I don’t exist, right? They don’t communicate, they don’t listen, they walk through me, they don’t even look at me, and all that-”

“Yes. I am aware of how my own puppets work. Get to the point.”

“Yes, right- by the way, why do they do that? I remember you said they behave exactly like you, but you don’t-”

“They behave like I would behave if I were an entity of pure shadow with no need or obligation to interact with other people in order to survive. Thus, they ignore you. The point, Higgsbury.”

“Right, right. So, the other day I was following a koalefant track up north, between the forest and the swamp. Your puppets were there too, chopping and mining and the like. They didn’t acknowledge me, as usual, and I ignored them too.” Maxwell crossed his arms and threw his head backwards with deliberate slowness, staring stolidly at the sky with a groan. “I guess, uh… I guess I must have been a bit distracted. The next track was very close to the edge of the swamp, but I thought I was far enough from- are you listening?”

“Regrettably.”

“...Right. Anyway, I must have gotten too close to the swamp and I didn’t notice the tentacle springing from the ground until too late. I was- it was about to hit me, but… one of your puppets pushed me out of the way.” Maxwell didn’t move, nor he replied. Wilson continued. “The tentacle actually struck it. It vanished. The other two had stopped working too, they were watching the whole thing, but then they resumed their job as if nothing happened as soon as I got far enough from the tentacle.”

“...Mh.” Maxwell eloquently commented.

“...I thought it was odd. Even in battle your duelists tend to let me get slaughtered if I don’t stick close enough to you. And your harvesters are even more passive. So I was wondering if you had changed them.”

“I haven’t.”

“...Doesn’t your neck hurt?”

“No.” Maxwell finally directed his scowl at Wilson instead of at the murky sky of the Constant. “Is this the conundrum? The puppet probably just tripped. You can add this to the long list of strokes of luck that have spared you yet another painful death. Rejoice.”

“It didn’t look like it just tripped. I don’t think it was even near me when I knelt down to examine the track. And the other two were staring too-”

“Look, I’d understand your perplexity if they had tried to skewer you, but they actually helped you for once. All the better, yes? Why does this concern you so much?”

“Why doesn’t it concern you?” Wilson insisted. “Your puppets are behaving abnormally without your direct input. What if something or someone else was influencing them?”

“Where the hell did you get that idea?” Maxwell scoffed. “There are no other shadow magic users around here. And They certainly wouldn’t hijack my puppets to save your neck.”

“Well, maybe there’s another possibility.” Wilson hesitated. Discussing the matter with Maxwell had seemed like a good move the previous night, while disturbing thoughts were keeping him awake long past the sunset. In that moment, not quite as much. “What if there was someone else with the same powers you have?”

“Bollocks. I’m sure there are only two human beings who ever became acquainted with shadow magic, and the other one is the current Queen. Not to mention I would have already noticed. I keep a keen eye on the invisible forces at work in the area, you know?”

“Maybe it’s someone you haven’t noticed because… they haven’t used their powers yet. Maybe because they don’t know they have them…”

“...I’m not sure I’m quite following you, although you seem to be heading in a very specific direction.” Maxwell frowned. Wilson felt like he was melting under that stern scrutiny. All right, there was no point in beating around the bush.

“...Listen. I sat on the throne, right? I’ve been King. Maybe while I was there, I did absorb a bit of shadow magic. Maybe the puppet responded to that, and therefore defended me. Or maybe- maybe I made it defend me without noticing-”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Maxwell raised a hand to stop him as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this what it’s all about? Are you still being paranoid about the throne? I told you you’re fine, stop overanalyzing every trifling thing that happens to you.”

“But how can you be so sure?” Wilson insisted. “What if I did take control of your puppet for a moment, without noticing? I was about to be killed, I asked for help! Maybe not vocally, but surely subconsciously. And help I did get, from shadow slaves that barely even bothered to acknowledge my presence before! Don’t you find it weird?”

“...Oh my God, you’re-” Maxwell muttered through his teeth, and then stopped abruptly. For a moment, he seemed on the verge of literally biting Wilson’s head off, flushed and irate as he looked. However, he reined himself in with uncharacteristic grace. He rubbed a hand on his face, then he sighed and drew the Codex from the inner pocket of his coat. He held it before Wilson’s eyes. “Listen, and listen well. Shadow magic isn’t something you just ‘absorb’ because you sat somewhere for a while. Even if They allowed you to tap into its power freely, without proper study and willing sacrifice, you couldn’t use it for anything more than cheap parlor tricks. I’ve been honing my own skills for decades, at great personal costs, and I’ve barely scraped the surface of what this book has to offer. Now, ingrain this simple concept into your brain: the mere thought that someone like you, without an ounce of talent or knowledge or training about magic, could overturn my own spells, even for a second, even by accident, is utterly ludicrous.”

Wilson wrung his hands nervously. “...Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” Maxwell did sound as sure as one could possible get, but his stern demeanour deflated into a discouraged sigh before Wilson’s unresponsiveness. “But you won’t be convinced that easily, I guess.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust your expertise on the matter, mind you.” Wilson offered. “It’s just that… I keep thinking about it, and I can’t help but feel that I can’t just have left the throne room unscathed. And all these weird things that have been happening-”

“Are definitely not weird at all. I thought we’d been over this. Why have you been fixating on this so much?” Wilson shrugged, not knowing how to reply. Maxwell considered him for a moment, scratching his chin. “Have you tried doing it again?”

“Doing what?”

“Controlling a puppet.”

“No, of course not! I-”

“Well, shame on you then. What good can your harebrained hypotheses be without repeatable evidence?” Maxwell suddenly grabbed Wilson by his arm and dragged him in a seemingly random direction. “Come. Maybe some good old scientific method will convince you.”

“Wha- wait, where are you going?” Wilson stammered, stumbling along.

“To test your theory. Or rather, to make you fail at it as many times as you need to be convinced that it’s impossible.”

“Why are you suddenly so invested in this? I thought you were busy.”

“I’m always invested in watching you make a fool of yourself. Ah, there’s one.”

Maxwell pointed at the farm just outside the camp, where one of his puppets was filling his third- no, fourth basket of berries, freshly picked from the neat rows of bushes. They stopped to the side of the field, and Wilson watched the puppet accomplish its task with methodic precision for a few moments.

“Well, have at it.” Maxwell plopped heavily on the ground and popped a few berries into his mouth from the closest basket as he opened his book and idly started flipping through it. Wilson gaped at him.

“I have no idea how to do it!”

“Do whatever you think you did before. See what happens.”

“You aren’t being very helpful, you know?”

“Because there’s nothing to help you with. It’s impossible. We’re only here to establish that.”

Wilson muttered unrepeatable words under his breath. He tried his best to forget about Maxwell and focussed on the puppet. He stared at it, took in its featureless silhouette, a seemingly two-dimensional Maxwell-shaped smudge of inky blackness. He tried to take in its very essence, its unthinking, unfeeling existence, created for the sole purpose of going through a limited and established set of motions. If there was really any power in him, it couldn’t be too difficult to steer such an empty vessel towards his own desires. He decided he wanted to make it drop the basket. Easy enough. He focussed on that thought. He visualized it. He imagined the exact gesture, he imagined the puppet’s grasp on the basket loosening, his hand opening, the item dropping on the ground, spilling its contents all over. He ordered it. He willed it into reality. He put every ounce of his mental faculties into that specific wish. He wanted it.

Nothing happened.

“Your face is redder than your waistcoat. Try not to get yourself a stroke, I’d certainly be blamed for that.”

Wilson found himself slightly short on breath. Had he been holding it without noticing? “How am I supposed to command these things? How do you command them?”

“I don’t. They don’t need orders, they’re autonomous and smart enough to know what they have to do.”

“Do you really think there’s no chance I did that?”

“Let’s put it this way. The day you’ll manage to take control of any of my puppets for half a second will be the day I’ll entrust the Codex to you as the legitimate owner and superior user of its dark arts, and I’ll also humbly prostrate myself at your feet begging for your teachings. How likely does that sound to you?”

“Not much, but it’s certainly an excellent motivation to keep trying.” Wilson grumbled. He tried again. He stared at the puppet hard enough to bore a hole in it, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists with the sheer effort. He absolutely, positively, unmistakingly bid it to drop the basket. He even outstretched his hand towards it, as if to transmit his order through his very own body, and- and then Maxwell snorted loudly and he got completely distracted.

“What? What?” Wilson burst out, his cheeks burning. “You gesticulate all the time when you’re channeling your magic!”

“Yes, because I have magic to channel. What are you channeling?” Maxwell cackled. Unhelpful bastard. Wilson groaned in defeat.

“I can’t do it. Not like this, at least. Maybe it happens only in very specific circumstances, like if I’m very stressed or in mortal danger.”

“A brilliant hypothesis. Let’s test that too.” Maxwell sprang to his feet, radiating the most unsettling merriment. “Give me a minute to fetch my sword.”

“Quit it.” Wilson grabbed his jacket to stop him. “All right, you win. I must have been wrong. That still doesn’t explain your puppet’s behaviour though.”

“Maybe he just wanted to end it.” Maxwell shrugged, putting away his book.

“End what?”

“Its life.”

Wilson blinked. “Is that a thing that they do? Do they get… depressed?”

“You’d get depressed too if you were a somewhat sentient, disposable tool forced to chop trees for the entirety of your fleeting existence.”

Wilson considered the silent worker for a long moment, before Maxwell stretched his back with a showy yawn.

“Well, as entertaining as watching you achieve absolutely nothing for the last fifteen minutes has been, I think I’ll head off. Feel free to keep trying if you think that you may have better luck without me interfering with your blooming powers.”

“...Right. I think I’ll head off as well.” Wilson murmured. He turned on his heels and took a step towards the camp, and found itself right before- no, within the puppet, as it was passing by to put down another full basket. The puppet seamlessly phased through him, as they oft did, but the basket could not. It bumped against Wilson’s chest and fell on the ground, berries rolling everywhere. The puppet stopped. It looked down at the basket, somewhat dejectedly. Then, its eyeless face turned towards Wilson. Straight towards him.

Maxwell clicked his tongue, shaking his head. Wilson’s blood froze in his veins.

“...Uh, sorry.” He found himself saying as he knelt down and started gathering the scattered fruits. “Here, I’ll just…”

The puppet observed him for almost a full minute. Then, when Wilson was almost done cleaning up the mess, it grabbed two full baskets and walked off towards the camp.

“...When you say that one of these days getting in their way will get me killed, you’re clearly joking, right?”

“Not really. A duelist could definitely do it, with enough motivation. But foragers don’t have much violence in them.” Maxwell stopped for a moment. “Although, if I were them, and I am, I wouldn’t be above ganging up on you, tying you to a tree and chopping off a few of those luxuriant locks of yours.”

Wilson instinctively run a hand through his hair. “That’s not funny.”

“That wasn’t a joke either.” Maxwell smiled one of those creepy smiles of his. “Good afternoon, pal.”

Wilson silently tried his hand at an improvised hex centered around broken ankles, bees and Glommer’s goop. Just in case. He shook his head as he finished gathering the spilled berries. He put the basket near the remaining one, wondering if carrying them to the camp himself would be enough of an apology for-

He blinked, his thoughts finally connecting. It had dropped the basket. The puppet had dropped the basket.

“Maxwell, wait!” Wilson called out, but Maxwell had already disappeared. Should he find him, tell him? It may have been an accident. Maxwell- he would almost certainly deem it an accident, wouldn’t he? And yet, the puppets were always so very precise with their movements, and so very aware of their surroundings… Could Wilson have…?

He stared at the baskets, more confused than ever.

#don't starve #maxwil #maxwell #Wilson P. Higgsbury

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