#edit one of them is the void tendrils i think

[malwarechips]

good lird

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Armageddon

https://www.patreon.com/empyreaniris?fan_landing=true

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/182501791735/master-post

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jzEIdDAB4omdO2JcQVMObfrhLJ5kX4ONmSsLypM1ks0/edit?usp=sharing

Ramirez’s execution of their escape had been possible, but not particularly pretty. He could fly a shuttle sure, but when they were all used to Adam taking the joystick, to have anyone else do it was a bit of an ordeal.

“Should have seen that coming.” Sunny snarled, “Should have known she was going to backstab us like that.”

Lanus, busy scrolling through baby pictures, looked up at his daughter from where he sat next to his son in law. The expression on his face was one of deep sadness. Sunny had had plenty of time to get over whatever lingering feelings she might have had for her mother, and move straight on into hatred, but Lanus had died before really experiencing what she had become.

The wounds were still fresh.

Out the front windscreen, things were not looking much better.

Shots were yet to be fired, but the two standing armadas bristled with waiting action, slowly forming into more cohesive attack formations. On their left was the Maker army, with the Empyrean at the center of a wide formation done in ever decreasing concentric circles.

On the right, was the void armada, and they were doing something…

Odd.

Adam stood rom his seat, walking forward to rest his hands on the back of the copilot’s chair, “What are they doing?”

Behind him, the others crowded inward. Adham rested an absent had on his shoulder squinting out towards the flurry of motion baced by the blackness of space. The ship were difficult to see, but the orange light emanating from their engines gave them away enough to watch as the armada retreated, forming a vast sphere around the Necritorium.

As they watched, a russet grid of orange polygons began to erupt around the planet, forming some sort of defensive shield. Ship engines glowed orange as their energy stores were expended.

The russet shield pulsed.

And the planet began to turn, rotating vertically even as it continued to spin on its axis.

“I don't like the look of this .” Adham muttered 

The rest of the crew couldn’t help but agree, but all they could do was watch in helpless confusion as the entire planet was rotated into place. Behind it the black hole pulsed with many waving tendrils of blackness stretching out from its center and out into the black reaches of space, Apollyon defying the very laws of nature.

“Where’s the architect?” Ramirez said 

The question was very sudden, almost out of the blue, but when he asked Adam realized that he had been thinking the same thing this whole time. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the architect, probably not a matching tentacle mass but in white instead of black, that would have been a bit too obvious, but the man stepping up to take hold of the empyrean and lead their armies might have made more sense.

Adham was silent for a long time, and Adam was surprised when it was Lanus who spoke next, “We don’t know.”

Adam frowned, “What do you mean you don’t know.”

Lanus shrugged, “The architect is…. Surprisingly unobtrusive. The few times he shows himself he takes a new form every time. He likes to disguise himself as common soldiers until he is needed and tends to communicate telepathically when something needs to be done…. his … presence is all around us. It is just simply not as tangible as some might prefer.”

Adam sighed, “Well that is incredibly helpful.”

Lanus shrugged

Adham sighed, “Either way, what matters now is figuring out what they are trying to do wi-”

He was cut off as the ships comms buzzed.

“Who?” Adam asked.

“Empyrean, patching them through.” Ramirez said 

They were close enough to the empyrean now that the people on board could probably have waited, but whatever the empyrean needed to say, they needed to say it fast. “Adham sir, the empyrean is detecting massive energy readings of the necrotorium. We have stealth shuttle images of the surface of the planet. They’re uncovering some sort of massive hole reaching down towards the center of the planet. Our calculations figure its aimed right at the center of the black hole if that means anything.

Adam shifted nervously and glanced at Sunny, “I really don;t like the sound of that.”

“That makes two of us.” She said, reaching out a hand to rest on his arm.

“What else do we know?” Adham asked

The radio was partially silent for a moment before the voice continued“The energy buildup, as soon as the hole was uncovered we detected massive energy readings, and I mean massive. Something never before seen is kind of massive.”

“I don't like the sound of that.” The sentiment was voiced by multiple people inside the shuttle as they approached the docking bay.

“Yes sir, if they were to reverse the directionality of their funnel and use all the energy they have collected from the Necritorium….. Well, they would essentially be feeding Maker souls directly into the black hole…. Directly to Apollyon.”

Adham went very rigid and very silent. The rest of the shuttle took a little longer to understand what that meant before Ramirez finally caught on whispering, “He’d eat all the energy….. Destroy the maker souls….. Destroy all of that energy.”

Who knew, the black hole could get bigger.

He could destroy everything 

Make it so that nothing existed…..

Again.

“Holy shit.” Adam muttered

Lanus squeezed Sunny by the shoulder, his face grim.

“We have to do something.”Adam said, just as Ramirez touched them down upon the ship’s deck inside the safety of the Empyrean’s belly. He slammed his fist against the release catch on the shuttle hatch and stepped out onto the frantic landing bay. All around them, ships were being outfitted for war, but he ignored them as he turned to look at his companions, sweeping his eyes over each and every last one of them until his eyes landed on Adham, “We have to stop them. The necritorium, we have to shut it down before they are able to open that beam.”

Adham nodded, ‘That is at least something we can agree on. If that beam goes off, if they do what it looks like they are planning to do, trillions of lives, trillions upon trillions will be lost. Apollyon will grow in power and begin to consume the universe as we know it. Everything will be destroyed. This is the first step in that plan.”

Adam nodded, “Only option is to go down there, dismantle everything, free the trapped souls if we can.”

“Kill Kazna.” Sunny growled.

Lanus paused, “I am not sure if that is a  good idea…. She might be more powerful dead.”

Sunny frowned, “We will burn that bridge when we get to it.

Adam nodded, “This is it, it's going to take us a battle to get to that planet, to make it through that shield. We are going to have to put together a strike team with the best chance of getting things done,”  He looked at Adham, “You make a team, and I make a team. Hopefully one of us is going to make it through.”

“You have someone in mind?” Adham wondered.

Adam smiled only slightly, “In fact, I have an army.”

***

He wasn’t kidding about the army, at least not really. Adam had been expecting something like this, and aside from the armada he had legions of foot soldiers to follow along, and many others had offered their services to the cause including plenty of familiar faces.

Of course there was Celex, Sunny, Ramirez and Conn serving most commonly at his side since the early days, then there were others, people like Kanan, Dzara, Etium,  King James, Queen Xanthia, Sgt Kimball, Steel Eye soldiers Jane and Lindsay, Hijan, who insisted on coming despite her age, she wished to die in glorious battle and this may be her last chance to do so despite the risk at which she put her soul. 

There were hundreds more, thousands more, Thousands of eager drev warriors, including the clans headed by Hizad and Ranasash, Neospartans, UNSC soldiers under the command of President kelly. There was lord Avex and millions of Celzex soldiers all ready for battle, entire swarms of Burg ships. All of these supported by Finnari and Vrul  eager but terrified to be involved.

But his only goal now was to make it to the surface of that planet.

That was the plan.

A full orbital assault, like nothing that had ever been coordinated in the history of the GA.

He spoke with Adham, they would attack from all sides, and hopefully one of them would manage to make it in.

This was it 

This was the day he would go to die.

It was the one horrible thought he kept in his mind as he prepared his jet, an F-90 Darkfire, an old model now but one he was familiar with. If he was going to go down it would be here, now in something familiar. He certainly didn’t expect the tap on the shoulder that nearly startled him out of his flight suit.

He turned, Surprised to find Krill standing at his back, not in his human form just then, but followed by a rather winded looking soldier who  huffed and puffed against a cart upon which he pushed a steel eye suit.

“Krill, is everything alright.”

The little alien buzzed his antenna.

“I will be coming with you.”

His proclamation was enough to floor adam for a brief moment, until he found himself confused and sputtering.

“No, I need you back on this ship, to take care of the injured.”

“You are taking an army into enemy terretory, and the consequence of you dying is getting your soul sucked into a torture funnel. I do not wish to let that happen.” 

Adam shook his head, “Krill I can’t allow.”

“This was not me asking for permission, Human.” Been a while since Krill had called him that.

“I will help you, I will see this through to the end.”

“But…. your body, the G forces of something like this WILL kill your normal body.”

Krill shook his head, “I have thought of this, and I have a plan.” 

[chaos-le-mieux]

Error Flowey: Profile 1

Well, considering he's somewhat part of the Error Chara's story, I figured I'd shed some info on him. And since his role in the main story is somewhat minor, I'll be giving more information on what he can do, since there's a good chance I'll never need to use any of it. Just for reference sake, if anyone is curious. Back Story: He comes from a Classic Universe, one of the Undertale Game worlds. As Omega Flowey, the Player in control of Frisk was never able to free the six souls, and they gave up. And Never Came Back! But Nobody Came... (This actually happened to one of my IRL friends a few years ago). Being stuck in a sub void of nothingness, in a game where he cannot interact with anything, he got desperate. Since he was able to create a dimension with a dummy save file and save states, he figured he could modify and edit values of his world. After six months of solitude, of messing around with the games code, he began to mess with his own. And after some trial and error Error ErRoR ERROR... his world... was no more. Emerging in the void, all his memories in tact and a new colour pallet, he would wonder. Looking for anything to hold his interest, to perhaps give purpose to his uncaring existence. Appearance: He has near Black skin, rich Blue petals, Purple stem and leaves, and White floaty "Error" messages that hovers around him. His eye sockets are White and Hollow, unless he closes them around his pupils. His pupils are Magenta, though he can hide them making his eyes look Hollow and White. Stats: ATK: 66? DEF: 6? LV: 20     EXP: 99999Error Attack strength is high due to two factors, High LV and being an "Error" (what ever that means) Defense is still technically high compared to regular monsters, but not ground breaking. Though, with strong attack stat, and high HP pool, plus glitchiness, I don't think it matters to much. Level of Violence is 20, a.k.a. Max due to not caring. He's incredibly distant from anyone and everyone (almost) that he can easily bring himself to harm others. Execution Points are overclocked because of all the AU's he's destroyed on a whim. Special Abilities: Substrate Burrow: Can burrow into any surface (unless a coder, hacker, or creator puts barriers in place), including the void floor. This is how he's able to get information across the void. He's able to spy on any target and stay out of sight. And he's a curious one, remember, he's read every book, he's burned every book. Plant Tendrils: These operate similar to the coding strings of other Errors, but are vines instead Friendliness Pellets: They're bullets, let's not kid ourselves Transformations: Depending on how many Human Souls, or Monster Souls Equivalents, will determine what level he can transform into. Soul Level: 0: Error Flowey 1: Error Asriel (Young - similar to how he looked in flashbacks) 2: Error Asriel (Pre Teen) 3: Error Asriel (Teen) 4: Error Asriel (Young Adult Similar to how he looked during phase 1 of the final battle) 5: Error Asriel (Adult) 6: Error Omega Flowey 7: Error of HyperDeath As Error Asriel he will also don a Golden Heart Locket. He also hates being in his Asriel forms, while much stronger, his compassion and emotions eventually start flooding back in. And lets just say he has a lot of baggage he wishes not to have emotions for. Error Flowey's Goal!? Aside from battling boredom, he does have a personal goal, that's more or less a curse on him. Whenever he see's a Chara that reminds him of his own, he feels obligated to help them achieve their goal. The reason for this is in his mind he has failed his Chara three times. First time is the buttercup incident. Second time is letting them both die at the hands of Humans. Third time is destroying his home world, making His Chara's sacrifices all in vain, as monsters can never be set free in a destroy and erased world Relationships: 6 Human Souls: In his travels though the void he encountered 6 souls that reside within his inventory. Bravery, Justice, Kindness, Patients, Integrity, Perseverance. These souls all come from corrupted worlds where they felt cheated and wanted a second chance to set things right. They act as a council of sorts. Guiding Flowey to help him make informed decisions as to not just destroy everything he sees as an inconvenience. Though most of the time they just sleep. Error Chara: Even though he knows this Chara is not His Chara, he still feels something familiar about them. To the point where he can track them down no matter where they are. He knows their plan involves uniting Sans's and Chara's across the multiverse, and despite also thinking the plan is stupid and destined to fail, he will provide as much information as they need. He will also try to keep distractions away from Error Chara so they can stay focused on their goal. Enjoy~

[aommatoskannin]

To anyone who reads this, IM SO FUCKING SORRY YOU HAD TO READ MY CRACKPOT THOUGHTS.

I’ve wanted to say this for a few days now. When thinking back to the times I was a part of the Creepypasta fanon fandom I always headcanon Slenderman as a parental figure. When I had an original character related to him because well everyone usually does with pastas, Slenderman was not considered the best parental figure. Literally in all edits of my original character, Slenderman was never seen as a good parental figure.

And I mean someone could point it out by saying stuff like , well duh that’s obvious, doesn’t the dude abduct kids and forces people to become proxies? Normally I would say yeah but like I gotta blame the parents on this because who doesn’t watch their young kids when going outside? The fuck is wrong with you? When looking into Slender’s origins that crowd of people image with the photoshopped Slender comes up. A bunch of those people are young adults or adults in general. The implication is that Slender has manipulated their minds to murder them, but who is them? Well based on general knowledge of Slenderman presumably children. I honestly feel as though Slender did this as a lesson. Because if Slender has retractable tendrils, able to teleport, possible telepathy, and causes static to occur near technology what is to say that Slender can’t be able to manipulate people’s memories or brainwash people? Hell Slender is probably “abducting kids” because letting a kid wander on their own without supervision is neglectful. Hell the people in that first image could’ve been neglecting their kids and Slender brain washed them to make it seem like they did a terrible deed because they neglected their fucking kids. Is that terrible? Yes. Could some of these parents been able to change themselves? Probably. Honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if Slender basically cared for these kids and then when they grew up let them go off to better families. Honestly I feel like that would be a cool narrative.

So I made a Slenderman based idea where they in my headcanon is a German man who had turned into an eldritch horror. The man likely had lost a child and made multiple attempts to find the child and thus resulting in attempting to fill the void by taking in abandoned children and abducting them to likely replace Slender’s original kid. Why is Slender German? In a roleplay I was in Slenderman was implied to be German which I just thought as interesting and kind of neat. I also had an weird idea that the kid could’ve had like an octopus like white plushy it just some sort of white plush that ended up fusing with him when he turned into the horror. They likely has had some partners prior in attempts to have kids. Slenderman definitely knows something about carpentry because how the fuck would this fanon mansion of theirs exist and Slender definitely doesn’t have a job unless they robs their victims.

My overall thoughts are that unless you’re a minor Slenderman gives off the illusion of a good caregiver, while with much older children such a teenagers or anyone in the proxy range Slender is fucking manipulative. Slender’s like one of the most manipulative parents. Slender would keep you sheltered and provide for you but you gotta do shit in return. Like oh, you thought you were living here for free? As long as you live under my roof you do what I fucking say. Though Slender is most definitely toxic I don’t think Slender is bigoted considering a majority of the pastas in fanon are queer especially Slender themselves.

Despite the ridiculous nature of this talk, I do believe there is a reason for Slender to be presumably toxic. The reason being that although we wish for a perfect parental figure what we consider as perfect is usually flawed and seen through rose-colored glasses. Also, the fact that if Slender has had a child with a lover the child would usually resent him. Though I did this for my canon where my original character has resentment towards Slender. Slender is easy to resent as Slender is simply an archetype of an overprotective strict father in fanon. Not only that but does make teenagers work for him which he wouldn’t need as he could simply do work himself. I dunno how to end this off properly so… Stan splendor man.

[zhonglishrine]

Can i have a oneshot for gogol comforting his crying s/o?

Pairing: Nikolai Gogol x Reader Word Counts: 2.3k Note: Hello anon! Please forgive me for taking a long time to do your request! Since it was the first request on my blog, I thought I wanted to make it special. But I was stuck with writer’s block. So I used my old work before and re-edit it instead so it will be slightly different to match with the request! I’m sorry and I hope you will enjoy it and special big thanks to @soukokuwu​ for helping me proofread this one! Really, thank you so muchhhh <3!!!

It was empty.

In this dark cold continent, there was nothing but void and darkness inside. You either existed or your mind was playing a trick on you. It felt like a grand illusion - that nothing was real. What you were searching for was not there. Nothing you did would ever make you feel complete in any sense. There was always this feeling that haunted you, always reminding you of how miserable and disgusting you were. Gnawed and woven to your very soul like wild ivy tendrils wrapping around your empty heart and kept whispering down to the deepest recesses of your mind.

You were a monster.

You were a demon.

You were a human with no heart.

You were no different than a dead soul.

Then, why were you still alive?

For what purpose were you even here?

You shut your eyes tightly. You wanted to scream and block every deafening sound that suffocated you in this insufferable world. It exacerbated and tightened in your chest the more you struggled. Had it not been your sanity that kept you sane, you would already be consumed by madness. But would it be better if you just let yourself loose? Let it take over and become nothing but a shell of a living monster? Would it be better just to let what remains of you and burn it into a fire of anguish and let it turn to ash? Let it destroy you with the spite and hatred you harbor towards everything?

You were desperate to reach for something.

Anything.

And that was when he came along, when you were at a loss, as though he knew.

"Would you like to join the Decay of Angels?" He had said, with eyes as vacant as yours, but his hypnotizing violet eyes beneath that moonlight was much deeper and darker. It feels like you would lose yourself and drown in it if you were to stare any longer. Yet without exchanging any further words, he seemed to understand the unspoken pain that has festered through your being at that very moment. You looked exactly like a lost child that desperately needed guidance, that needed to cling onto something.

"...What will I get if I join you?"

"You will be free. From your sins."

That was what he had offered. His soothing, saintly voice was like a remedy that could mend your broken soul that needed salvation, which had been beyond redemption at that point. You had nothing to lose and thus accepted his invitation back then, with a little hope thinking something might change. But after so many years, it still remained the same. You were still the same old you. No matter how much you wanted to pretend, you could never fake a smile and pretend to be happy. It felt like it would be hypocritical- like it would only make you lose sight of yourself even more.

Then, what is it that you were searching for, actually?

Why were you still here?

A soft sigh escaped your chapped lips as you stared long at the night sky above. The stars twinkled, a million light-years away from the orbit. Yet you still reached out your hand, as if attempting to pick one and keep it in your pocket in a futile endeavor.

"A beautiful night, isn't it?" a familiar voice chirped, interrupting your time alone. You were never one that liked the companionship of others, but even so, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, he'd just pester you even more and pop out randomly, much to your distaste. He was the last member of the Decay of Angels that you would want to interact with.

"Why are you here?"

"Aww, don't be so cold with me~! I merely passed by and just wanted to say hello to you~" Gogol winked and gave you a finger gun, as though his intentions weren't obvious.

"Bother someone else."

"Ah, are you upset that I'm not Dos?" He smirked as he guessed that.

You felt that he could easily read right through you and you didn’t like it - the feeling of being exposed. Fyodor was a man of mystery, a puzzle that you couldn't solve. You thought of him as someone who understood you and despite the terror associated with his name, he was still someone that you respected profoundly. Not out of fear, but maybe, admiration. But you hated that Gogol was right. You wished you were talking to Fyodor instead of the clown, and Gogol had gotten it right on the nose. And yet here you two were, with different circumstances that bring you two to join the association, even with different goals.

"Shut up. Just leave me alone, will you?"

"Aw... but no one wants to play with me. Even Sigma is busy. But you have been doing nothing but stargazing~ Don't you get tired doing that every night? If it were me, I'd die of boredom!" He flailed his arms in an attempt to get your attention. You cursed under your breath. This clown was too energetic for you to handle.

"None of your business what I do." You replied back to him crudely. But he took a seat beside you anyway, sitting by the edge of the building and swinging his legs back and forth with those comical pointy shoes of his. For someone his age, he acted rather childishly. Though, maybe that's just one of his antics as a clown. But he was the epitome of someone you could never understand. Since you can ever be two-faced like he is.

Gogol hummed. "You always come here, why is that?"

"I told you; it's none of your business."

"Aw. Here I thought that we were friends~" Gogol made it sound like he was hurt by your words.

You ruefully snorted at that, "Funny hearing that coming from you." Did he think you were that naive? Naive enough to think that you two were friends in this organization that was solely established with terrorists that can backstab you at any given moment?

"Is it not right? You've been with us for years, yet you seem so distant. Just like the stars." He remarked while spreading out his left arm to the sky.

"Is that so?" You looked up at it again, attempting to count the innumerable stars, albeit knowing how futile it was.

"Say... why did you join the Decay of Angels?" You posed the question to him, though you weren’t really curious. You just needed something to fill the awkward silence.

"Why, indeed. If I must answer that, why don't you tell me your reason first?"

Reason. You were still unsure about it yet. Why? You had killed so many just for that answer alone but the book that was your mind still drew a blank. Nothing was written on it yet. Was it because you were drawn to Fyodor's words at that time? Had he lured you in with nothing but empty promises?

"Perhaps… I was searching for the meaning of my existence." You curtly answered, but your mind still pondered on it.

"Then, have you found it?" Gogol asked, evincing interest to know as he turned to look at you sideways. There was something between you, something that somehow made you feel connected to him. Both of you were pawns that would soon be disposed of once you have served your purpose. It didn’t scare you, though. You would do what you had to, even if that meant dying in the end. The only thing you were scared of is regret - of not finding what you were searching for in the first place.

"...I don't know. Maybe not yet. Maybe I never will." You said, feigning nonchalance. "Then, what about you?" Now it was your turn to look into his molten gold eye, the one scarred with a vertical cut. Was there a story behind it? You wonder inwardly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to ask Gogol about it. In the Decay of Angels, every member came from a different background and it was unknown what they did before. If you asked him he might tell, either in a jesting manner or make it overly complicated, like another riddle you had to solve.

"I search for my freedom. Just like a bird that soars the skies without being bound by anything," he replied with a wistful tone and his expression softened, "I am seeking for a perfect freedom, like that."

"Freedom, huh..." You repeated, "you're one strange guy." Indeed, he was. Nikolai Gogol was an enigma himself, just as Fyodor was. As though he was standing between the bridge of psychosis and rationality that he wants to get rid of. You failed at understanding his essence, but you could empathize with his pursuit.

"Funny hearing that coming from you~" He retorted with your earlier words. "But birds and stars, are they not so different?"

"How so? They are two different entities, to start with."

"Because both are up far in the sky, seemingly unreachable for a mortal like us. Even so, we still gaze at them longingly, wishing upon the star, wishing to fly, wishing to escape from this warm, wet hell."

You couldn’t refute that. Technically, he wasn’t wrong.

"Then, have you found it?"

Gogol looked at you again, his eye reflecting every little light in the world that you see. He softened his countenance as if he actually understood what lay within your heart that you tried to conceal.

"Maybe I do. Now that I met you."

Within the span of a second that felt like an eternity, your heart thumped loudly in your ribcage, like he took your breath away at that moment with his gaze alone.

No...

Don't fall for it.

Don't fall for it again.

It would be the same. He would just be like the others. He too, would leave once he saw what was inside - that which was hiding and cloaking you in the darkness, that which enshrouded and imprisoned you inside.

And just like he said, you were exactly like the stars.

You were in front of him, and yet you felt so distant and too far away to reach.

"...It's nice talking to you. But I must take my leave now..." You wanted to withdraw yourself before you started to harbor hope and belief in someone again. Before you fell for it again, only to be tripped afterward. Only to be deceived, left broken, and uncared for years.

But he held you back by your wrist.

"Won't you stay a little while longer, my dove? A star will one day perish, and I would feel so lonely if you are truly gone." His voice somehow pulls the strings of your heart. But you know better than to fall for him.

"Wouldn't it be better? You don't know who I am..." You tried to break free, yet he was stubborn, he didn’t want to let you go. "I am not what you think I am... I'm just another monster who has no heart. You shouldn't get close to me..." Your eyes were already starting to well up with hot tears. The stinging pain in your chest throbbed, each passing second with him made you feel suffocated, as though causing you to drown in your own misery. Inevitable it was that you would bring him down with you as well.

"...Or else, you would destroy yourself too," you warned him,

"You’re either human or you are not, either you are a monster with no heart or not, what difference does it make?" He questioned you back, "Be whatever you want to be. It's your freedom, it’s your life, it’s your call."

"It's easy for you to say that... I'm not like you."

"Then tell me, what do you wish for every time you look at the stars? Have you no will for yourself? Have you not wished to break free from your cage as well?"

"I..." Stumped with his questions, you gazed into his eye once again, tears blurring your vision. Everything that was pent up inside you until this moment felt like it was crumbling, disintegrating into dust. Like waves crashing against the sand, such brittle was your resolution now when faced with his raw, naked, and pure emotions when he took off his clown mask.

"I want to... I just want to escape from this place... from my demons..." You said with a trembling, shaky voice, all the remaining strength in you threatening to leave the more you looked into his eyes. What kind of pain does he hide behind them? Why did it hurt you as much as well? As ironic as it sounded, in this moment, he looked more human than you were.

"Then, I will be the one that frees you from it now, my dove. Go, fly to the stars as you wish." He said and held you near, and contrary to his words that coached you to be free, he actually looked like he never wanted to let you go, yet you felt strangely safe and found warmth in his arms. You felt like you were finally being liberated from that which imprisoned you in that bottomless darkness. Even if what you see is just a glimpse of light. Then, that should be enough rather than nothing at all.

"You are beautiful when you soar free that way."

Two humans. Two monsters. Two beating broken hearts.

Under that starry night that illuminated the sky with constellations, it's like your fate entwined and mirrored each other on how almost tragically similar it was, with the demons that were trapped inside the both of you, seeking solace in each other's existence to remind you that you two were still human beings that just wished to be free.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

The Rose

Summary: “She’s fifty today, and in Dean’s opinion, there’s never been anyone more beautiful.” An alternate Dean reflects on the life he’s led. 

Warnings: SEASON 15 SPOILERS, bit of angst. 

Author’s Note: A follow-up to “Dear Mr. Fantasy,” which introduces this Alternate Dean. Beautiful header by @there-must-be-a-lock , editing and general flailing by @there-must-be-a-lock​, @thoughtslikeaminefield , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls .

Word Count: 1573

ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

The Rose

She’s fifty today, and in Dean’s opinion, there’s never been anyone more beautiful. The day is pleasantly warm for this far into autumn, and she basks on the flannel blanket he spread out in the (more or less) exact spot of their first date some thirty years earlier. Thirty of the best years, he believes to his bones, that he doesn’t and could never deserve, and yet here they still are. 

And he just can’t keep his eyes off her.

“Any regrets?” she asks. She tilts her head back, eyes closed, soaking in the afternoon sun with a carefree abandon that never fails to steal his breath. She’s not talking about their afternoon off (he only closes the shop this one day a year, outside of Sundays and holidays). 

She means everything.

He knows his answer already, but still, he stops to think it over before saying anything. He’s getting more thoughtful in his older age, but even so, she always deserves his full consideration.

The wind shifts, a breeze ruffling the dark tendrils of hair that have escaped her braid. She cracks an eye open, glancing over as she waits for him to speak. She’s always been so patient with him, giving him time to gather his thoughts, knowing when he needs a push and when he just needs room to think.

Dean doesn’t tend to regret, in general. Sure, there are some things he planned on turning out a little different. When he was a teenager, he always dreamed of traveling around, maybe taking Sam on a coast-to-coast road trip when the younger Winchester graduated high school. 

But then Dean got it into his head he needed to learn bikes, John Winchester talked to his friend Danny Elkins, and Dean got started at Danny’s motorcycle shop. Four months later, she showed up with her dad’s forgotten lunch. 

He wouldn’t call it a life-changing moment so much as finding the north for his internal compass.

Kids were always on Dean’s radar, a big raucous family to drive the two of them wild and leave them exhausted but content (at least, he always figured his mom and dad were content), but for whatever reason, offspring just wasn’t in the cards for them. 

They’d spoken occasionally of adopting, but the shop needed more attention when Danny had his heart attack, and then Mary needed extra help around the house when John had his own. And though both men pulled through, Dean always felt obligated to stick around a little more, give a little more of his time and himself. 

After all, Sam had his wife and kids and college classes to teach. And once a month, when they were still young enough, Dean got full custody of his twin nephews and their younger sister while Sam and his wife went off to whatever getaway they could find within driving distance.

Dean’s always suspected they simply holed up at the house, turned off their phones, and slept, but he could never find any hard evidence.

And now even Sam’s kids are more or less grown and working on their own lives. The twins diverged from their childhood inseparability, with one working for an environmental non-profit while the other makes more than a decent living as an electrician. And though Dean’s niece is still in high school, she works in the shop on weekends (as long as she keeps her grades up) and is showing a clear affinity for the family business. 

So, yeah, once upon a time, he’d figured he’d wanted kids, but when it didn’t happen, they made the best of what was given, and neither of them was irrevocably torn up. She’s it for him, always has been, even when he didn’t know it. He’s never needed anything else. 

“None big enough to mean anything,” he murmurs, turning and squinting towards the setting sun. 

The breeze picks up again, sending a cold thrill down his spine. He can’t keep the crease from between his eyebrows, so maybe he can hide it for just a little while longer. He hears the rustle of grass, feels the blanket shift, and then she’s lifting his arm to drape it over her shoulder.

Yeah, there’s no hiding anything from her.

“Then what’s eatin’ at you, baby?”

He pulls her closer reflexively, tucking her against him in that spot that he swears was made to fit her. She smells of apples and nutmeg, and he knows that, even though it’s her birthday, there will be a hand-made pie waiting for him when they get home. 

He can see her perfectly in his mind, slicing up apples or rolling out pastry while she sings whatever song is stuck in her head that day. Bette Middler has been big for her lately, and while he’s definitely had his fill of Beaches, he’s pretty damn fond of hearing “The Rose” in that particular, melancholy way she sings when she’s distracted.

“God, I love you.” The words just spill out sometimes, and Dean stopped feeling embarrassed long ago. 

She takes his free hand, twining their fingers together, and waits.

“It’s the dreams again,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

He’s not scared (Dean Winchester doesn’t get scared by something as immaterial as a nightmare), but something akin to worry gnaws his gut too often recently. 

Dark dreams, dreams of hunting and being hunted, but by nothing of this world; dreams of blood and loss and a cold, cruel creator with no thought for anyone’s wants except his own. 

For as long as he can remember, Dean has dreamed of other lives, other hims, adventures and dangers, and life and death. Sam is always there, always by his side, sometimes for the good of them both, but sometimes for the detriment of... well, everything.

Time runs differently in those other lives: sometimes he’s a kid again, sometimes he’s middle-aged. He never dreams of older selves anymore, though, not since he hit his forties.

But in all those other lives, all those other worlds, all those other Sams and Deans, there’s never another her.

And that’s enough to have him thankful to wake with her in his arms every goddamn day of his mundane, adventureless, utterly perfect life.

In the last few years, the last few months especially, the dreams have changed. Some have gotten worse: the monsters are bigger, faster, more vicious. Sometimes the other Deans have lost too much, lost their Sam, lost their family, lost everything. Sometimes they’ve given in to the drink, to the despair, to the siren call of the darkness and become monsters themselves. 

But the worst ones are the empty dreams. He’ll spend what feels like hours staring into starless voids, places he knows used to be teeming with life. Sometimes he’ll get an echo of which Dean, which dream used to exist there. A flash of a memory, a laugh, a scream, but mostly it’s just vast, empty stretches where everything is…

Gone. 

Dean shivers again as the wind picks up, creeping through his denim jacket with the thrill of the inevitable. She rubs the knuckles of his right hand just as the usual ache begins, and his lips curl up slowly as he meets her eyes.

Dreams are exactly that, whether they’re the day or night kind: ephemeral ideas that mean nothing unless you let them.

And she’s the only dream he’s ever found that can stand up to the light of day.

“Same dreams. Just need to shake ‘em off, get my head back on my shoulders where it belongs.”

“Well, Mr. Winchester,” she says, turning in his embrace and trailing very real, very warm fingers over his cheeks, “I can think of another place you can put that pretty head of yours, if you like.”

He lingers in their kiss, takes the time to trace the fine lines next to her eyes, to soak in the sight of her, golden and radiant and absolutely his. His calloused fingers brush over her cheekbones, tuck a stray hair behind her ear, tilt her chin up just so. 

He drinks her in slowly, savoring rather than submerging, no matter how the seed of desperation in his gut sprouts and grows. 

He can feel the change in the wind, not just here in the meadow, but in his bones. Something is changing, has changed already, but hasn’t quite caught up to them, and it’s not going to be good. Dean knows it with the same certainty that he knows there’s nothing he can do to stop it. 

But here, in this field, with the love of his existence in his arms, that dread seems too massive to comprehend, too immaterial to give consideration.

“I’m here, baby,” she murmurs. 

She can’t hear what he’s thinking (god, he hopes not), but she knows him, knows when his mind isn’t all in, and she deserves better. 

He shuts the door on his nightmares, one and all, stuffs the dread down deep in a place where it will stay until he falls asleep. 

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispers gruffly against the crown of her head, his heart and throat tight. 

He takes in a breath that only shakes once before forcing the last bit of shadow from his thoughts. This is her day, and she deserves so much more than half his attention. She deserves everything he’s got to give and more.

For however much time they have left.

[girlofmanyfandoms]

Kiss It Better

A/n: It’s like two or three days late (under the prompt of cuddles), but it has a decent word count so I’m not too upset with myself! It kinda accidentally turned into a hurt/comfort thing but that helped with ✨plot✨ So it’s okay! Also @titzweek here ya go-

Word count: 3000

Trigger warnings: mention of mild aggression (throwing plates), blood mention (nothing too graphic)

Warnings: it’s not the greatest and also i edited it at like 1 or 2am in the dark so like, maybe errors? Idk

Writing taglist: @everyonehasthoughts @imaramennoodle @bookwyrminspiration  @percabetn @an-absolute-travesty  @linhamon-roll  @a-lonely-tatertot @loverofallthingssmart @vibing-in-the-void @clearlykeefitz @callas-starkflower-stew @enbies-and-felonies

The morning mist held strong, reinforcing gravity and making it even more difficult for Tam to drag himself out of his makeshift bed by the lake. Leaning over the fogged up waters, he wrung out his bangs, combing them back into place with his hands. The water here could hardly be trusted.

“Well,” he grunted as he stood up, patting an old dying tree with a gloved hand. “It was nice seeing you, Wildwood. You take it easy, alright?”

The trees groaned in response, both from age and from the weight of all that it had undergone and seen from the hazy backgrounds of the world. Maybe that was why he cared for Wildwood. It was like him. From the shadows. Ignored until needed. Cast aside when they differ from the norm. To him, he and Wildwood were one and the same. Or at least, they used to be. In the past months, Tam had found what Wildwood could only hope to receive: love.

And as the colors of the sunrise faded into blue, Tam was comforted by that one constant he had in his life. His perfect golden boy there to bring light into his world.

————

As soon as Tam walked into the Vackers’ territory, he was yanked to the side, knocking the breath from his chest. He prepared for a fight, but upon seeing a stylized sparkling fabric blinking in and out of sight, he relaxed just a bit.

“What the hell, B? I thought you were trying to attack me.”

“Quiet,” Biana scolded, finally coming into view. Her annoyed expression quickly changed to fear and dread as a shattering sound echoes across the stone walls of the extensive landscape. Biana shut her eyes and winced noticeably. “He’s been at that ever since Dad stormed off.”

“Rough day?”

“I guess you could say that.” Biana bit her lip. “Mom went after Dad after he yelled at us.”

“But the two of you are okay, right?”

“I’m alright. It’s Fitz I’m worried about,” she admitted. “I’ve been too scared to go up to him because of… well, you know.” Biana’s thumb traced over her scars absentmindedly.

Tam squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “Hey, you did what you could. It’s not your job to stop him from doing something irrational, and you’re not expected to do something that’ll trigger you. I’ll go after him.”

“Tam, it’s fine, I’ll do it-”

“I’ll go after him, you get some rest.”

“Only if you promise to be careful,” she warned. “Use your cloak as a shield, so that you don’t get caught in the crossfire of his throws. And put your gloves back on!”

Tam slipped off his gloves and tossed them behind his back without a second thought. He dropped his cloak in a similar fashion, only going back to fold it neatly and add it to the pile. “I’ll be fine.”

“Tam, you know how he gets when he’s upset. The rage, it blinds him, it blurs anything and everything around him to the point where the only he knows is that fire of hate. He’s not going to register that it’s you approaching him.”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Tam pointed out in an exasperated manner. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Well, you thought wrong.”

“Isn’t that a shame.”

Biana huffed, rubbing the crease between her brows. “You’re just as stubborn as he is.”

“Don’t they say that birds of a feather flock together?” Tam asked, walking backwards and opening his arms in a gesture that said That’s just how it is.

“Yeah, until the cat comes,” she shot back.

“Then let’s hope that cat doesn’t arrive.”

“You two idiots deserve each other!” she cried in one last attempt to get him to turn back.

“Thank you!” he called back, already headed towards the horizon.

Biana sank to the floor, scowling as she dragged Tam’s belongings closer to her for protection. “Dense fool,” she muttered. But Tam was already out of sight.

--------

Tam approached the area in a calm stroll, but as he drew nearer, the cold dread that Biana had described filled him and dragged him back, just like the familiar, addictive pull of the shadows. They gathered at his feet, shadowflux begging to be called on, but Tam was far too busy trying to calculate a way to coax his boyfriend into putting the crystal dishes down.

He was like a rampant bull, hurling plate after plate at the wall. His hands had small cuts, but overall he seemed to be unscathed despite the several hours this had clearly been going on. Tam avoided clumps of shattered pieces so as not to startle him. While his movements proved to make him a berserker, it was also an art. One slight decibel off might send him on the attacking side.

“Fitz!” Tam shouted. He didn’t even glance his way. “FITZ!” Still no response. He just kept on launching silverware as far as he could. Tam sighed. He didn’t want it to come down to this, but if Biana had waited hours just for him to show up and put an end to this, he was not going to let her down. He seized the tendrils of shadows that had been itching to be used and directed all of his focus towards the cup about to be thrown with the hope that if he used his ability instead of telekinesis, he would recognize his beloved.

Shiiiing!

Fitz immediately put his hands over his mouth in shock and guilt, rushing over to check the damage.

Tam cupped his hand, blood gushing from the wound like a river. “Guess you ran out of throwing stars, huh?” he joked halfheartedly, wincing as he applied pressure to the cut.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so dumb.” Fitz ripped off a sleeve from his shirt to wrap around the slice in his partner’s hand. He cupped Tam’s cheek, the boy gladly moving towards the physical affection. “I’m so sorry, Tammy.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t mean to do it,” he replied nonchalantly. Upon seeing the great panic spreading through Fitz’s person, he took a more gentle approach. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ve had a bad day and you just made a mistake, and I forgive you.”

“I hurt you.” Fitz’s voice cracked, and it became evident that Tam’s words had gone over his head. Fitz scooped Tam up in his arms and raced into the house.

“Relax, golden boy.” Tam rolled his eyes, but even he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed the attentiveness he was being given. “It’s just a little cut, it’ll heal.”

Fitz scrambled through the drawers until he found the bandages, a Bottle of Youth, and the antibiotic ointment. From there, his panic switched to precision, first rinsing the wound, then applying the ointment, then wrapping the gauze bandage. It was a completely different side of him, one that would sacrifice the world for the ones that he loved. And despite Tam’s rough exterior, he couldn’t help but lean his head on his other hand in admiration.

Once he had finished, Fitz sat on the bar stool next to Tam’s and combed through his rosy pink locks in distress. Tam nudged his shoulder with his nose several times, earning him a side hug and a kiss to the cheek, but no words other than the repeated apologies and self-deprecating phrases.

“Babe,” Tam said helplessly. “Let’s go upstairs at least, so we can talk about this privately.”

Fitz nodded, letting him lead the way. He was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he didn’t notice when Tam had tucked him into bed and wrapped an arm around him, burying his face in his neck.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Fitz mumbled again. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Tam used his abled hand to wipe them.

“I told you it’s forgiven,” Tam gently reminded him. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Not the Vackers,” he countered, sniffling. “We always have to keep up our reputation, keep on smiling and charming everyone just to go to the store. I can’t go anywhere without people expecting me to be the perfect golden boy.”

“No one is perfect. We’re all flawed and traumatized and hurt, and we make stupid decisions because of them. You’re a kid, Fitz, it’s not your job to hold your family together.”

“I guess. But Biana…” he sighed, pulling Tam closer as he facepalmed in guilt. “I shouldn’t have done that with her here. And how am I supposed to clean up the yard before Mom gets back?”

“Don’t worry about that, the gnomes are already on it,” he coaxed. “And Biana understands. You can talk to her later. For now, the golden boy needs to rest.”

“I can’t,” Fitz protested, trying to get up. Tam flipped himself over him, ending up besides Fitzroy once more. “Tam, I have to take care of you, and help the gnomes, and apologize to Biana, and-”

“And all of that can wait until tomorrow,” Tam finished for him. “Except me, of course.”

Fitz laughed, a real, rich laugh, and he could tell that it was the first time he had done that in a while. “I’m guessing you want me to stay here all day, all night?”

“Well, I do need medical and physical attention you know.”

He kissed Tam’s nose, making him blush furiously. “Well then, I guess I’ve got to cancel my plans. But seriously, is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“You could kiss it better,” Tam suggested cheekily.

Fitz said no more, gingerly taking his wrapped hand and peppering kisses around where he knew the injury to be. He trailed them up his arms and neck until he finally met his lips.

“I am really sorry, babe. That got all out of control. My father, he… he’s done some messed up things to this family, and as the proclaimed ‘Gifted Child,’ I felt responsible for stepping in. And like everything else, I ruined it.”

“You don’t realize that the good you do purposely outweighs the slip-ups you make along the way.”

“This was more than a slip-up, Tam. I became a monster, something I’ve never seen before. I was a violent beast that lost control, all because my Dad yelled at me for being a ‘disgrace to the Vackers’ for being gay. And because of that stupidity, I hurt you, and scared Biana outside of that.”

Tam’s eyes widened with shock. “Wait, you got angry because you were protecting me?”

“Well, yeah, of course. My father can drag me down all he wants, but he’s not touching the people that I love.”

“Love?”

“I-I’m sorry, I should’ve known you weren’t ready-”

“I love you too.”

“I- Wait, really?”

“Duh,” Tam chuckled, before his expression grew shadowed and weary. “Besides… we all have a dark side. I know I’d do anything for the people I care about.”

“What does yours look like?” Fitz asked. “Your dark side, I mean.”

He smiled bitterly, shadows of his past trauma flashes before his eyes in a relentless, rough grip. “You don’t want to know that part of me.”

“Babe, I want to know every side of you.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Of course,” Fitz grinned eagerly. “I want to know everything you’re willing to share.”

“Then cuddle with me. Get to know another part of me.”

Fitzroy rested his chin on Tam’s chest and brushed his bangs away from his eyes, just as his own were dancing with glee. “Gladly.”

—————

Tam woke up to a loud series of sharp knocks on the bedroom door.

“Your breakfast is gonna get cold,” a feminine voice told him.

He inhaled sharply and ruffled his hair, using his tunic to rub his eyes, all in an attempt to focus on the figure leaning against the doorframe.

“C’mon, it’s past noon.”

Tam bolted upright, rushing to the bedside to pull his boots on. It could’ve been Fitz calling to him, but his mind was cloudy, warping any and all audio that reached his ears.

“I knew that would get you up,” the voice snickered. “Fitz told me to get you up in time for breakfast in bed.”

Tam chanced a glance up to see if his vision had finally cleared. Yup, definitely not Fitz. “Oh hey, B. I take it you and your brother talked?”

She nodded, arms still crossed tightly around her lilac fleece-like pullover for warmth. “Came running to me and went on his whole apology speech once you passed out. It was dorky, but it was also very… him. If that makes any sense.”

“It does.” He took a moment to inspect the tray and found a neatly folded piece of paper. A note from him. He read through it as Biana kept talking.

Good morning dearest, I just wanted to leave you this note to remind you that I love you and to apologize once again.

“When I saw him rush outside a few minutes after Mom left with an armful of tupperware, I was confused, but when he started throwing them in the yard, I was terrified for him. He’s lost control, but never like that. I felt powerless.”

“You did what you could, no one can ask you for more,” he mumbled.

“I stood to the side and waited for his boyfriend to come and stop him, and he wound up getting hurt. Real brave on my end.”

“It’s not being brave you should be aiming for, it’s doing what you need to do in order to protect the people you live for.”

I’m sorry. I know you’ll probably tell me not to apologize, but I really needed to get that out there in ink. Thank you for being there for Biana, I don’t know how I would live with myself if I had traumatized her or made her feel unsafe around me, but we talked for a bit and she helped me find better coping mechanisms, so all is forgiven. Well, as long as I give her my desserts for this month.

“I don’t think I did that yesterday. I chose the coward’s path.”

“You took the wise path, and you protected number one,” Tam corrected. “You know your brother better than anyone, and you knew the right choice was to let him blow off some steam until someone who wasn’t present when everything went down could talk him out of it. That was brave, and I think it’s quite admirable, too.”

“I guess you’re right.” She sighed, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail to give her hands something to do. “Still, I’m sorry about your hand.”

Tam waved it off. “I’ve gotten enough Vacker apologies over that. There’s no need.”

“If you say so.”

You were completely understanding last night, even while I was breaking down. You guided me through everything, and you were there for me, even when I couldn’t be there for myself. Thank you for being there. For letting me shadow you until I could be whole and healed again.

“You’re good for him,” Biana blurted out abruptly.

Tam furrowed his brows, sure he heard that wrong. “I’m what?”

“I said that you’re good for him. Fitz. I meant what I said when I told you that you two idiots deserve each other.”

“Thank you,” he breathed in shock.

“Remember the idiot part and don’t let it get to your head.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You are my healing darkness. No, not light. Darkness. Because I never understood why darkness was so demonized. Shadows are what keep you cool on a hot summer’s evening, what provides cover from the rain, and what puts you to sleep at night. The color black is as natural as the air flowing into our lungs, the blood circulating through our bodies, and the dirt under our feet. So when I think of darkness, I don’t think of fear; I think of hope. I think of you.

“You better not hurt him.”

“I won’t.”

“I’m serious, Tam. I know it sounds hypocritical considering what happened to you yesterday, but I’m just as protective of Fitz as you are of Linh. Understood?”

“Yes, Ms. Vacker.”

Biana relaxed a bit at the confirmation. “You promise to look after him?”

“I promise,” he agreed.

Y’know, when you called me golden boy, it got me thinking. Gold is the weakest metal, and for a while I thought the nickname fit me perfectly. A boy who was seen as the perfect, charming, valuable golden boy who could break in the blink of an eye. But the more I was with you, the more I thought about it. If shadows were misunderstood, maybe gold was too. And here’s the thing: gold doesn’t rust. You can break it and bend it and try all you want to ruin its life, but no matter what, you can’t make it rust. And second to you, that is the strongest thing I can imagine. So for you, I’ll stay strong. I won’t give up. I won’t rust.

“One last thing before I leave you alone.”

“Go right ahead.” Tam let himself free fall onto the mountain of pillows behind him, note still in hand.

“Don’t take advantage of him. He may be a pain in my neck, but he’s valuable,” Biana mentioned, clearly having so much more to say. “You’re… incredibly lucky to have him.”

So let’s work jointly on this. On healing. I’ll be your gold, strong when you’re weak. And you’ll be my darkness, always there for me. But we have to do this together. I’m willing to take a leap of faith if you are. All of my trust lies in you, and I hope you’ll pay me the same honor. So what do you say? Circle yes or no and meet me by Moonglade with your response. Last I remember, I still have to kiss it better.

With love,

Fitzroy

Tam picked up the pen tied to the tray and circled yes without hesitation. “I must be the luckiest man in the world.”

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb: Ch 2 - Someone Like You

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Previous Chapter

Summary:  “You need someone in the middle—not dead, not alive.” You arched upwards, trying to get even a bit of slack, just enough to speak. “Someone like me.”

C/N:  Look - If you’re new here, this is adult shit. If you’re not new here, you know what my C/Ns are about. Be warned. 

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Did I ever think I would be writing about Kylo and babies? No. No, I did not.  Am I writing about Kylo and babies? Maybe.  Its a crazy, crazy world, y'all.

Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump for helping me edit this asshole of a chapter.

***

“Retribution.” 

The word sounded ludicrous on his lips, infantile and irresponsible. Abruptly, you had a clearer picture of what was happening. In this mesmerizing nirvana, his encapsulated kingdom, you were a child, stumbling into an adult’s arena to demand attention.

Your senselessness laid bare, you stared at him, adrift in the gleam of irises that never settled on one color. The pregnant moon overhead framed him, adorning his breathtaking face with a perfect, glowing halo. He was unnaturally beautiful, the kind of king women wept for. 

“Father...”

He met your whisper with a sneer, and you recoiled. He, too, thought your trek here was juvenile; you were just a witless woman wrestling with her emotions. Your heart sank at his judgment, disappointed that he thought you naïve.

Ashamed, you fixed your eyes upon a creeping succulent. You traced thick, tear-shaped leaves and winced at inch-long thorns. You could all but feel the phantom pinpricks. The red and pink blooms made for a variegated shroud to decorate the otherwise plain shrine.

It was lovely in its lethality, a fitting summation of this place.

“The Resistance slaughtered my planet, my ENTIRE family.”

You licked your lips and tugged at his sleeve, pulling yourself up to sit. Recognizing what you had just done, you wrung your hands, as though he was a walking electric current. Even so, he was the only bit of warmth in this melancholy vale, and you subconsciously leaned into it.

“You’re a fool.” He rose to an obscene height and moved away. “I care less than a whit for your holy wars. You murder on fantasy, not truth.”

The absence of his body was nearly as painful as his lack of understanding, and the resultant shout erupted before you could stop it.

“IT WAS NOT OUR WAR!”

Your exclamation bounced off shedding trees to die away in spongy, mossy hills. Sniffling, you pressed the heels of your hands into exhausted eyes. Yelling at men was an awful idea; yelling at this specific man was the epitome of lunacy.

How were you going to explain the hole in your soul to a creature who had none? To Ren, your mourning and loss were just specks in eternity, but he didn’t spend his days loving the living only to lose them. If your grandmother's stories were true, he had been this walking void since his creation.

And the brothers made themselves a land with a great vault separating light from dark. In their wisdom, they decreed the living would gather under golden sun, and the dead would gather under silver moon.  Grandfather Sky Walker gave his blessing: Let them rule over these lands through all ages. Let there be day and night, and let them usher in The Balance.

He was here. It was true.

That cast his indifference into an unusual shade of acceptance. Like this place, he existed outside of the universe’s organic stream. It wasn’t a lack of feeling; it was one colored by millennia of demise.

You were struck by the understanding that he made everything here in his image, all of it immaculate, alluring, and fatal. Just as he was.

“The Resistance decimated my planet on a rumor—a rumor that we were a First Order cult.”  Your voice was steadier than you expected. “But my family, my friends and everybody I knew...We were just ordinary people.”

You lifted your eyes and found him examining you, a curious look playing across his striking features. You huffed a pained breath and looked away again, fearing you would shatter under his scrutiny.

“My grandmother believed in the Balance, not in some notion of wiping the Galaxy clean of Soloists.”

His silence was deliberate, aimed to unnerve, and you crumpled forward, bending as though you could implore his aid into reality. When he moved, it was to stalk a circle around the altar.  His head cocked to assess your every angle.  Captured prey, you could do nothing but watch, wait, wonder.

“Belief in the Balance will not return your family. Nor will I.”

His glorious voice had bite; but where there should be an echo, there was none. Every lilting tree, every swaying vine, even the very air enveloped him, moved with him, absorbed his energy.  

Hugging yourself, you fought down your apprehension.

“No, it won’t.”

You looked past him to fat carmine leaves and marveled at how they turned their faces towards The Ren, their master. 

He only understood in terms of the absolute. 

“I came to ask you to kill them—the people who murdered my family. The Resistance.”

His circuitous pacing ended at your front, and he speared you with such a look you felt conquered. If he was the next crusade, the holy war renewed, you would fight for him, lay down and die for him. 

His long fingers slid you to the altar's precarious edge. So near to him, your comatose heartbeat increased, thudding against ribs his knuckles skimmed.

“All of them?”

You nodded, meek and uncertain. He stepped in, spreading your legs wide just by his body’s substantial design. He was the epitome of domineering, his shape meant to terrorize the weak, to endure immortality. 

Uncertain if you were allowed to put your hands on him, you braced against the slab, leaning slightly away.

The scent of this place, misty and piny and richly floral, was powerful, distilled to purity in his body. It seeped from his pores, the sumptuous belladonna curling around you like tainted tendrils.  He obscured what scant light there was and blotted out your senses, filling your light head with dread and longing.

With one finger under your chin, he lifted your face and beckoned you into such a trance you didn’t notice how he lazily caressed your outer thigh. One by one, he tugged upon the plum, plump bows keeping the rest of you hidden. 

“What price are you willing to pay for genocide, lost lamb?”

It was hypnotic—the timbre of his voice, the delicate dance of his fingertips, the starry shine of his eyes.  You blinked at his question, too caught up in the slow drag of his knuckles along your sternum and down between your breasts.

Your lips worked feebly, discarding every suggestion your brain made. What could you offer a being such as this? Prayers? He would condemn them. Offerings? Paltry trinkets. Blood? You’d already given it. Pleasure? You weren’t sure he was capable. 

It was a cruel game, and the realization burst over you like icy water, flooding your addled mind and shocking you back from stupidity.

You had nothing. Purposefully divested of everything, you sojourned here a destitute fool. 

“There it is.” He brushed a thumb across your lips, smirking. “She understands now that she has nothing, is nothing, of value with which to bargain.”

He collected your silent tears and fed them to you, salt in the wound. Chidingly, he wrapped stiff fingers around your quivering neck and squeezed until you felt your supernaturally sustained pulse drumming in your ears. 

“It is as I said. The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.”

Fear licked at your nape, clamoring into the rational parts of you. Your mind whirred, desperately trying to unearth some kernel that would serve your purpose. There had to be something.

The memory struck you suddenly and at full velocity.  Careening, your breath stopped. The lineage of Soloists was a pastime for your brother, who made you sit through innumerable sessions and lectures.

And Solo took himself a wife, making her flesh of his flesh and bone of his bone. Their union was prosperous, and she begat him many sons, the first being...

Your body shot into motion, vacating all self-preservation. You grasped his hand and pulled it to your chest. You were even so bold as to thread your smaller fingers through his. On instinct, both legs wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his legs in a feeble hold. 

You were unwilling to renounce your argument without a fight. Hastily, the words spilled out, a wishful wine you weren’t sure he would drink.

“NowaitIcanbeyourvessel!”

A perfectly sculpted black brow rose over his eye. He untangled his fingers from yours, scoffing. Your face burned, impossible beads of sweat forming at your pounding temples. Not knowing what to do with your hands, you pressed them to your flaming cheeks and tried to calm yourself.

“Choose your next words carefully.” 

Entertained by the toddler, he was indulging your delusions, but there was a limit to his patience. Sturdy hands slid beneath your thighs, parting and lifting them so he could draw your hips further into his. You couldn’t argue; you were the one who stopped him from leaving. 

Was that an erection you felt there? Was this proof to your curiosity? The possibility sent goose flesh tingling to every inch of your skin.

“Your brother... Ah!” 

Athame in hand, he gouged the tip into your unblemished thigh, raising a lone drop of blood. 

“Your brother has many children; does he not? There are stories about his prolific family.”

Out sized, you spiraled into anxious desire. When he tired of your nonsense, pulverizing your bones would be little more than a snap of his fingers. Yet, here he was, still wedged between your thighs and feeling a lot like a man who could make you forget your name. 

“Reminding me of my brother is not the way to make your case, lamb.”

He dragged warm lips over your pulse, lathing it with his tongue. His wide palm wrapped around your generous hip, and every single thought fled on bated breath. He was woefully seductive, a wolf in shepherd's clothing.

You licked your lips and shook your head, trying to agree and clear away cobwebs, but his hands and nipping kisses befuddled you so much you could only sputter half-formed words. Switching your concentration to the blade, you valiantly tried to keep track of it and tied yourself to it's path like a lifeline. 

“But you don’t.” You splayed your fingers out wide, palms flat on the altar. "Your seed will kill a living woman, yes? But a woman already crossed over cannot carry a child."

You were about to launch yourself from the proverbial cliff. Regardless of what came next, you would be a splatter at its bottom.

“I- I can.” You begged the endless midnight sky to strengthen your resolve. “You can have me.”

He had been rubbing you up and down his rigid length, your body no more than an instrument to appease his ardor; but at your declaration, he gripped your hips painfully tight and bit your shoulder. 

Attuned to his mood, the stars dimmed to a faint radiance. It was the one detail your brain could latch onto, the way even the greatest of them conformed to his will. 

“You think that’s a novel gesture? That you’ll be the first person I’ve fucked here?” His voice was low but no less edgy. “How many would you wager have died screaming at the end of my dick?”

A pathetic whimper escaped your open mouth, and hunger set it to watering. The idea of him fucking you here, in this open clearing under his meticulously curated twilight, was salacious, tantalizing.

“Countless.” You couldn’t stop yourself from rolling your hips, trying to jump start his back into rhythm. “But I would wager very few of them have been willing to bear your children.”

He growled, a vicious, threatening promise. His soft touch turned angry, coiling into your hair and yanking your head back. Your throat seized, elongated by his grip and fully bared for execution. What had been a grazing scratch of your blade turned again to a harsh point dug into the skin. 

You could hardly speak, reduced to gaping at his flashing onyx eyes. They blazed with a fiery hatred, and you knew it was because you were right. It wasn’t easy for him like it was his brother. He had spent eons alone whereas his brother wanted for nothing.

It infuriated him.

“You need someone in the middle—not dead, not alive.” You arched upwards, trying to get even a bit of slack, just enough to speak. “Someone like me.”

He curved around you so tight you could smell the deadly nightshade on his breath, every single part of him designed to snuff out life. You chewed the inside of your cheek, wondering how each part of him tasted. 

“Someone like you?” He spat the words, fingernails digging into your scalp. “Impure? Spoiled by how many men in your lifetime? Cowed by a little death and stupid enough to make demands of me?”

He was so close to snapping your neck, and you itched for it. You would gladly die at his hand, reunite with your family. All of these morose colors blended with the sorrow in your heart, and you pictured your bones rotting to dust, anchoring you here forever.

But he held off, glaring down at you in barely-checked contempt. 

Caught between wanting to die and wanting to murder, your breathing tilted into erratic, skirting panic so closely a fallen eyelash would detonate the bomb in your chest. 

He looked at you in such a way, though, that your apprehension settled. He was angry because he didn’t know how to feel things. He was intended, to his very marrow, to only ever take. Anything else was uncomfortable and worthy of destruction. 

You nudged his nose with yours, a mirror to his earlier gesture.

“Someone willing.” It was less than a whisper, barely a breath. 

His calculating gaze roamed your face, judging the depth of your commitment. In seconds, the pointed extension of his anger sliced down your supple thigh, cutting open a large gash.  

But pain wasn’t his target.

His aim was true. The rogue missile was expertly guided. And when the thing forced into your cunt, you screamed in unmitigated horror.

“I’m no gentle lover, and this is not your marriage bed. Willing or not, the lamb is meant to be slaughtered.”

You splintered into a wrecked and blubbering mess, heaving and howling. You clung to his shoulders, gouging little crescents into his neck. You had expected to die today but not by the blade cleaving apart your pussy. Offering him your womb seemed to make him only want to carve it from your body, a trophy to mark your idiocy.

“You should not offer things that don’t belong to you, lamb.” The vibration tickled your earlobe, drawing you down from your mania. “Your body was mine the moment you crossed into my land.”

You felt it then, the shift and nudge inside your cunt. Where you were certain there had been a sharp edge, there was only an ornately ridged column, handcrafted and safe.

It was the hilt. 

The wave of frenzy crested, and you opened puffy, red eyes onto a lucent, luminous moon.

He had buried the knife’s handle into your cunt and was pumping it slowly. He held the traitorous blade without even a single red cell shed. 

You wailed a halfhearted objection because this was a profane corruption of a consecrated relic. A particularly long drag of the makeshift phallus countered and shook loose a vulgar moan, and you squeezed tight around it.

It was shameless and sacrilegious.

And it felt so, so good.

You whimpered when he licked your lower lip, barely making contact. Your thighs splayed wide, eager, and an appreciative noise rumbled in his throat. He rewarded your responsiveness with another slow, deep plunge of the weapon, and your head lolled back.

“How is your religion serving you now, lamb?”

He shoved the handle as far into you as the guard would allow and worked it back and forth, rubbing the ridges and pommel against the sensitive spots inside. You moaned sinfully loud, and grasped at him. 

He was ruthless, prodding the elusive bumpy patch until you bucked against his hand and watching you float through this immoral delirium.

You wished it was him. His mouth, his fingers, his cock. Anything but this false idol ramming into your pussy.

Your whimpers turned to pleasured cries. Your calves tensed and shook. Looking down on his blasphemous claim, you yelped and pushed at his arms, the torrent of blood splashed over your thighs and sex wrenching you from your high.

In your hysteria, you’d forgotten that he’d sliced open your leg. 

“Father, please…”

He dug his thumb firmly into the wound, gripping nearly your entire thigh in the one tremendous hand. For a moment, the throb in your pussy traveled up to swirl around the intrusion, and you writhed to get away.

“If you call me that again,” he bit your jaw, raising a welt, “I will slit you open from cunt to crown.”

He played in the plasma, coating his fingers with it. You whined and grimaced, caught between salvation at your cunt and persecution at your leg. When his tacky thumb connected with your clit, you shouted, wracked with tremors. Like a savage, he masturbated you with your own blood, rubbing fast circles.

Rapture barreled down the length of your spine, working its way through every extremity. You were going to cum for him, at the end of your family's treasured athame, and there was nothing you could do to stop it. 

It was indecent, and you drowned in it. You collapsed back onto the altar, arching up into a delicious bow. Your knees drew up higher, and your hips worked for him, chasing what he dangled but never quite delivered. Your fingers scrambled against the uneven stone and fisted the velvet garment.

Your insides coiled, churning terror and thirst together until you couldn’t tell one from the other. Inching closer and closer to that crack of lightning, your cries built, a tumultuous, hoarse crescendo.  You thought he would make you tow that line forever, so close to bliss but never allowed to feel it.

But finally, mercifully, it came.

A blistering exaltation slid over your every nerve. Your cunt clenched and quaked, gushing a lewd prayer. The knife in his hand was the center of all gravity, and every part of you swiveled around it, rolling and bucking and shaking. You hurled a string of curses no priestess should ever know, earning a derisive chuckle.

“Such filth from that pretty mouth.”

Spent, your back finally met the slab beneath, and you fought for breath, chest stinging and throat crackly. A pained whine escaped when his torture implement departed from your slick center, but he gave you only a brief reprieve. 

He climbed above you, dropped his heavy knee onto your sensitive mound, and shoved the sullied hilt into your mouth. Your eyes flew open, but he captured your jaw and kept it in place, ensuring that you held the thing upright. 

Copper tang pooled on your tongue and wafted under your nose. On a muffled whinge, your eyes rolled back into your head. Automatically, obediently, you rocked your hips under his trap. 

“No less than you deserve.” He was all spite and venom. “Swallow.”

You couldn’t look at him, the stars in his eyes daunting and demonic.  Your tongue moved around the hilt, licking away the remnants of your vulgar display. You curled your fingers into the hem of his shirt, exhaled slowly through your nose, and complied, gulping the taste down. 

A timid glance found him studying you, but you didn’t know what he was seeking. Obedience? Passion? Reverence? The gravity of the moment was inescapable. He was deciding if you died here and now, and he gagged you from making any further entreaty.

Lithe for his size, he slid from the perch and pulled the athame from your mouth. Silently, he lifted you from the slab and dropped you on the ground. Not knowing if any of the flora was poisonous, you squealed, shot to your feet, and clutched the abused blade to your heart. A second later, you nearly impaled yourself with it when he threw the hefty book at you. 

Grateful that he didn’t destroy your remaining link to your family, you sunk to the ground and dug aching fingers into the dirt. It was cool and soothing, and you wanted nothing more than to lie down in it and die. 

Instead, you watched, benumbed and mute, as he punched a large hole straight through the center of the altar.  It should have been alarming; the crash of rubble should have scared you, but your senses were far past overstimulated.

Silently, he manipulated a chunk of the altar into a slender loop. 

It was astonishing. He was literally creating something from stone that should have been unyielding. Crouching beside you, he pushed your chin up to lengthen your neck. It was then you understood what was happening.  The thing he was fashioning out of the imbrued marble was for you.

Without a word, he molded it around your neck, cementing it with a pinch of his mighty fingers.

His masquerade as a man fell away. That shrine had stood for a thousand years, likely more, and he demolished it as though it was parchment. He had desecrated the altar to enslave you, spinning an infinite bondage into existence with his very will alone. 

The strength, the unfathomable power unleashed a yearning you weren't prepared to address. He was something wholly beyond what you'd been taught. He was profound, unknowable.

You ran your fingertips along the jagged edges and discovered his collar was perfectly measured to your size.  His fingers would fit between it and your skin, but nothing more.

Every story you ever heard about this place rang in your ears, a raucous chorus of warnings. The living could not stay here, nor could they take anything from here. 

But it was too late.

By your own hand, you now existed between life and death, trapped here by this pillaged, obsidian tether and it's king.

You didn’t know if he would do as you asked or if he would make you bear his children.

You did know that you would never be leaving.

[fly-sky-high-bug-games]

About vessels...

(this is turning out to be longer lol)

I'm just thinking of overall concept of vessels

They don't have husks but they do have shells, being the masks they wear. I like that their heads seem to be the crucial parts of their existence, the shell mask only giving them uniquer form than just void.

Meanwhile, their bodies seem to have a chance to be amorphous or shapeshifting. Of course, the default look is "resembling other bugs" like described in the game but thanks to Shade, they can change their just about anything bellow their heads.

So these shell/masks take priority over anything else. The fact that they are all birthed for one roll but still look different in those shells makes me think if uniqueness of the vessels was on purpose, to see which one would be most pure in king's eyes (it would be awkward if they all turn out to be the same but none is pure lol). However, boosting the chances by giving them also backfired quite a bit for his plan.

Now, if I can banter about this for a bit for story and roleplay sake...

I'd like to rely on this fact about their heads being very crucial for what and how they are. I imagine the void bodies can take the three physical states of liquid, solid and gas by necessity but stay solid for convenience.

If the head loses it's shell, you're left with gassy, ghostly form but holds core of the being (kind of like certain jellyfish like critters hmm). If head it damaged, it turns to liquid and loses it's form and supposedly dies.

This not being strict but gassy forms and discharges usually means the vessel is weak, injured and needs healing to regain the solidity, shell or not. They don't bleed, they do discharge void particles into the air and tired or badly hurt vessels will lose a lot of energy trying to "keep it together". They can suffer wounds and alike but have amazing ability to recover with their unique use of Focus which is a move I believe all vessels are born with (as long as they remember they can use it, as memory wiped Ghost had to be reminded), as long as they contain enough collected soul within their form to do so.

Losing limbs is hard for them specifically for the reason of their bellow head body being amorphous void that can shift, unless injury comes from something that's complimentary to void (Radiance and THK, maybe nightmares).

Liquid form void isn't necessary from injury but it's definitely not good. I have to think about this a bit more but dripping into pools of void usually means something is very off with the core that is the head.

Losing the core and dripping away I'd think is death. Not in a sense of being gone forever though, as all dead vessels seem to remain in the abyss (unless overwhelmed and eaten up by infection), but the very core of who they were would be lost forever. They "die" in spiritual sense but void remains, just not within the shell and shape they use to be.

And as addition, since I've been think of this too, vessels eat and drink by absorbing components into their bodies, kind of like Focus but imagine Ghost making a whole donut disappear within their body, use of tendrils or not xD

Edit: On additional note, I do think they need air but not necessarily food, just soul and sleep. Lots of sleep. As for air, they mainly need it to breath in for focus and Focus (think of meditation and how important breathing is) so they can keep their forms, not for the same biological reason as normal bugs. I don't think they can easily drown or choke but that's still super freaking traumatic to go through, feeling of suffocation is dreadful...

[elk-and-thearchivist]

The (Mis)Adventures of Two Children and an Irresponsible Chaperone, Ch. 2: The Guardian

The second chapter of my RP with @heart-the-vessel / @zykaben ! Our trio bites off a little more than they can chew. (And both are Not Great with fighting :’3)

This chapter’s artwork is, as per usual, a collab! Zyka did the composition and sketch, and I did the rest. You can see a process gif here.

The streamlined, edited version is on AO3 here.

Words: 2553 Characters: Wiki, Elk, Heart Regular is me, indented is @heart-the-vessel​

Heart is... a very affectionate individual. Elk couldn't help but think about it, their cheerful disposition, their many, many hugs.

They thought about the hugs a lot. They felt nice. Wiki was nice too, and gave hugs sometimes, but they were practically the same being sometimes so that was a little different.

They followed closely behind Heart, the crimson of their scarf easily visible amongst the vibrant pink of the crystals and the muted gray of the surrounding stone. So far, they haven't encountered too much trouble, skirting around the infected bugs before they could be spotted. Elk was very good at that. Heart often checked back to make sure they were following - giving an enthusiastic wave to them if they were fairly far, as they were now.

Elk used a tendril to wave back, before hopping down a ledge to make their way over. Heart had so much energy, Elk wondered where they got it all.

Wiki's amusement was a familiar tickle in their mind. It's excellent. Their excitement is infectious! I'm enjoying this exploration much more than usual. Or perhaps it's just my anticipation at finding the old mining golems.

Elk gave a mental laugh at that. You get excited about a lot of things, though.

True! But now we have a very interesting companion! And we both know we both like them.

Of course. Elk needed no words to confirm that.

They made it to where Heart was waiting for them, climbing up the ledge and giving them a little wave. "Well, where to next?"

Heart gave a small hop before trotting towards the opening of a tunnel before them. They stopped to glance back at Elk and, upon seeing that they were following, continued forwards with a little more energy.

It only took a few moments before the tunnel widened to reveal a large cavern with several, stone shacks lining the leftmost wall. Barrels full of crystals were scattered about the area, occasionally catching the sparse amount of light in the room and glinting at them. In the center of the cavern was a black metal bench, a lone figure with crystals on its head slumped against its backing.

Heart's pace slowed to a stop, their gaze locked onto the unmoving bug. Their head slowly fell to one side as they stared at it.

"What is that?" Elk muttered. "Is it.... alive? Or undead, as they are a lot around here?" It certainly didn't look it. And plenty of bug corpses were littered around Hallownest.

"I can't tell from here..." Wiki emerged from Elk, drawing closer to the bug. "It looks a bit like those crystallized miners, but this one is completely overcome. I can try reading the remnants to its mind to see what's happened to it."

Elk felt a sense of apprehension, somehow. "Heart, have you seen this bug before? Or one like it?" They slowly walked towards the bug, allowing Wiki to pull closer it.

Heart slowly shook their head, trailing hesitantly behind Wiki as they drew closer. After hesitating for a bit, they grabbed one of Wiki’s straying tendrils and squeezed it against their chest. They continued staring at the bug.

"Hm?" Wiki looked at Heart. Their tendril curled around Heart gently. "Are you worried? It... it should be fine. I..."

Wiki's mind seemed to become muffled from Elk for a moment. Wiki? Their companion blinked. "Hm? Ah, yes, I was going to... Yes. The information it has will be very helpful, I'm sure..." Wiki extended a tendril, lightly touching the crystallized bug's face.

Tired...

The thoughts filtered into them from their connection to Wiki.

Light... more...

Vague memories sprouted in their mind. Digging, digging. Crystals everywhere.

A golem towering before them. It was never enough. The whirr of machinery, the sounds of breaking stone. The clink of crystals, wealth unearthed from the mountain.

Mine...

More golems. Their progress into the depths of the mountain's caverns were unmatched. But they needed more, more of the strange light shining from within the crystals.

Falling. Trapped. Burning. Light. Elk could see the barest tip of all the information Wiki was absorbing, fragmented memories flashing by.

A sense of confusion suddenly began to fill their mental landscape, the images falling away.

The bug wasn't dead. It was waking up. They needed to-

A screech jerked Elk out of their mind. Wiki recoiled harshly, the sudden disconnect jarring them, freezing them in place.

The bug on the bench now stood, eyes glowing with the sickly orange of the infection, the light refracting through the crystals that encased its head. The echo of its screams still lingered in the air as it settled into a balanced stance. The crystals on its arms crackled as it turned to lock its beacon-like gaze onto the three of them.

No sooner had it done so then Elk saw a flash of crimson from their peripherals—Heart had latched onto one of Wiki’s tendrils before they grabbed Elk by the cloak and dragged them away from the miner, moving faster than Elk would have thought possible. After what could have only been two or three seconds, Elk found themself stumbling backwards as Heart let go of their cloak, a petrified Wiki at their side. Heart had planted themself before the two of them, shaking from mask to foot as they stared down the miner.

"How-" They tried to say, but it came out as a staticky, distorted sound. Elk couldn't use their voice with Wiki like this.

They looked to their friend - they were still dazed, gazing at nothing in particular. They gave a light pat to Heart's shoulder, in reassurance, in apology - and then grabbed one of Wiki's tendrils. Not-safe-come-back, they urged. Feelings, rather than words. Those were easier to get across in times like these.

They felt Wiki's muted acknowledgement, and in moments they flowed back into Elk's void. Elk looked back to the miner - it seemed to be getting its bearings, just as they were, but they doubted it would remain idle much longer. Not to mention that it stood between them and the exit.

They reached forward to grab Heart's hand, half in hopes to reassure themself and half in hopes to reassure them. What do they do now?

Elk could feel Heart trembling like a leaf when they grabbed their hand. Heart gave a quick squeeze to their hand while they used their free arm to reach under their cloak, the limb moving frantically and haphazardly. When Heart’s hand came back out, they were clutching one of the gaudiest nails that Elk had ever seen—the weapon’s hilt was covered in gemstones and intricate silver etchings covered the blade itself. It looked more ceremonial than anything else. Heart stuck the nail into the ground in front of Elk before they rummaged around produced a simple shield that was somehow even gaudier than the nail. Pieces of jewelry, shiny stones, and sharp, glinting metal bits adorned its surface.

Heart hefted the shield in front of them, moving it to provide Elk with some amount of cover. They turned to look at Elk before they jerked their head towards the nail. Elk felt Heart give a second squeeze, a little more firm and a little longer than the first.

Elk gripped back - harder than they probably thought they were. They met Heart's gaze, and followed it to the nail.

D.... did they... did Heart want them to...

No, no, they don't have a choice here.

It would be fine. This... this is different. This time, maybe, they could protect their sibling instead of...

...

They picked up the nail, sparing a moment to admire its artistry. But no more than that. With the fluidity of a knight - more a knight-in-training, really - the took their stance to face the miner.

It screeched, the sound reverberating throughout the cavern, and took aim at them.

A slim ray of light streaked towards Elk and Heart, gleaming menacingly. Elk found themself being dragged out of the line of light by Heart and, just as they had seen with the crystal crawlers, the light turned into a massive beam of energy, scorching the wall it collided with with a deceptively-soft sizzling noise.

Heart turned to Elk, quickly tapped their mask against Elk's, and let go of their hand, rushing towards the miner with their shield held before them. It was hardly subtle, but the miner simply stood there as Heart rammed their shield against it before jumping back away from it. The miner just stared. Then it leaped into the air—far higher than a bug its size should be able to—and crashed back down further away from Heart and Elk. That was when faint lines of light began emitting from the ceiling of the cavern.

Now, that did not look good. Elk trained their eyes on the faint paths. Judging by what they've seen, they only had a few moments to respond. Seeing one of them near Heart, they ran towards them and pulled them close.

The soft sound of the beams passed, and Elk let go of Heart, looking for the miner. Heart's shield bash hardly did any damage at all, they have to...

They spotted the crystalline husk not too far away. It jumped closer, and Elk leaped towards it, swinging their nail with trained precision towards what they knew to be a vulnerable point in the bug's shell—

Darkness spilled over  their nail, their hands—

No, no! It was the orange stain of the infection that sprayed from their strike as the miner staggered backwards.

They faltered for a moment. Long enough for the miner to recover from Elk's attack.

The miner threw its head back and screeched, swinging its arm to point directly at Elk. Before Elk could properly process the situation and react, Heart was streaking past them, shield held high as they bashed the shield repeatedly against the miner, leaning their full weight behind each hit. With each strike of the shield, the miner had to take a step back, unable to take the brunt of the attack while standing sturdy.

On the third strike, orange blobs of infection spewed from its body, some of the adornments on the shield obviously catching something on the miner's body. The miner had apparently had enough because the next time Heart went to drive it back it skirted to the side, the shield only managing to graze its left side. Heart, not expecting the move, was caught off-balance as the miner swung its arm at them, the crystal-covered limb slamming into Heart's body with a dull, crack-like sound. Heart's body went flying halfway across the cavern before hitting the ground, shield clattering beside them.

For a few, precious moments, Heart remained still. Then they were scrambling back to their feet and picking up their shield, doing their best to close the distance between themself and Elk.

The miner's gaze shifted from Heart to Elk.

They couldn't defeat this, they realized - looking into the eyes shining from the crystal. At least, they won't be walking away unscathed.

Running was the better option. Especially now that- Elk glanced at Heart. Were they hurt? It didn't sound good, but they couldn't see anything from here. Then again - that throw landed them on the side of the exit. Ell locked eyes with Heart, and jerked their head towards the passageway.

They didn't have time to see their response, as the miner jumped away from Elk and took aim once more. They sidestepped the beam and went in for another calculated strike, ignoring the terror that rose within them. Empty, be empty for now. For now.

Their strike landed cleanly, as expected. They slid around the momentarily stunned husk, running towards where they last saw Heart. Did they leave yet?

Elk quickly realized that Heart was still very much there, the other racing towards them and covering their back with their shield. Once Heart reached Elk, they jabbed their free arm towards the exit and continued to run backwards, keeping their eyes locked onto the miner and their shield up. Elk could hear it screech once again, another beam streaking past them, far too close for comfort.

Another faint ray of light.

Elk glanced back just in time to see the blast of light make contact with Heart's shield.

A loud boom filled the cavern as the energy from the blast threw Elk and Heart into the air. For what felt like an eternity, Elk was terrifyingly weightless. Then they crashed into the ground.

Elk rushed back onto their feet and whipped their mask around, Heart doing the same in short order. The ceiling was considerably lower than earlier, there was more light, and the distant sounds of the infected miners could be heard once more. The bug they had been fighting was a distance away now—far enough that Elk couldn't clearly make out any details. It shrieked again, but it didn't approach or try to fire at them. After a little longer, it shambled back to the bench and slumped onto it, eyes going dim.

And, just like that, it was over.

Elk watched the miner for a few more moments. They could see their nail shaking, minute tremors made more apparent from the length of the blade.

Then, the tension bled out of them in a rush, and they vaguely felt the nail slide out of their hands.

They were on the floor, they realized. Did they sit down?

Wait, not yet, they couldn't relax just yet - was Heart hurt? Their head shot up, looking for the other vessel.

Heart was standing right beside them, rummaging for something underneath their cloak again. Elk noticed that there were a few fractures along Heart's mask—nothing fatal from what they could tell, but Heart obviously hadn't gotten away from the hit they took unscathed.

Before Elk could manage to say or do anything, Heart found what they had been looking for and pulled it out: a worn, faded green blanket. Heart grabbed the blanket by one of its edges and quickly wrapped it around Elk's shoulders, the material soft and warm. Heart wasted no time in throwing their arms around Elk, hugging them for dear life.

Elk took no more than a second to squeeze back, just as tightly.

That could have been... a lot worse. They felt their nerves settle, cocooned in the softness of the blanket, of Heart's embrace. They allowed their mind to empty itself of their worries, if just for this moment. Savoring the feeling of safety, the belief that they'd be fine.

They weren't sure how long they stayed like that, but the sounds of a pick hitting stone pulled them out of their haze. Right. They should find somewhere a little more isolated from the other denizens of the caverns. They pulled back a bit, and lightly tugged Heart's cloak. They looked around, and then to Heart, tilting their head.

Heart stared at them for a few moments before nodding. They went to adjust the blanket around Elk, making sure that it would stay secure around them. They grabbed the nail Elk had dropped along with their shield, stowing the items away.

Once they had, Heart gingerly took Elk's hand into their own and began to make their way further down the tunnel and away from the crystal-encased miner.

[mxdberries]

[Anonymous asked:

Aiya! Hey nc Anon, don’t end that brilliance with “idk”! Own that shit. Really picture Yiling Laozu abusing the corpses! (1/6) (edit: this morphs into a ship at the very end and isn’t really nc unless you think the corpse got taken advantage of idk how this happened sorry nc Anon)

Wei Wuxian plays his dizi as he's pressed flat against the rock slab,robes open and splayed around him, trousers hanging off one leg. He shivers, he's too thin, too tired, too filled with resentful energy. Emotional malnourishment has nearly extinguished his fire.

Tendrils of agony drift through him like lotus roots, only pushed aside by the heat coiling low and heavy in his gut, slowly blooming like lush summer petals on the surface of the water. He opens his bleary eyes, blinking through his mental haze. He's sick of feeling nothing so he plays on, trembling fingers nimbly working the length of Chenqing.

He commands the corpse to play with him - pinch him, stroke him, finger him. He gasps at the frigid intrusion, back bent in a perfect bow as he arches into the touch, neck bared at the motion. Teeth graze his throat, somehow warmer than he is. It takes all his willpower to not ask them to bite harder, with enough power to end all this.

Barely keeping the instrument to his lips, Wei Wuxian blows instructions with raspy breath. He's flipped, knees harshly hitting the stone, as his empty palm scrapes against it. He isn't sure when he stopped noticing pain. With a rough jerk of his hips backwards as fingers scorch his hips, he is entered with one swift thrust. The ache shoots up his spine like lightning.

He shakes his head to clear it of a sudden sharp purple energy, it's ferocity crackling inside his head. He longs for it - the heat, the sting, the familiarity of its hatred. He pretends it is someone else behind him, ruthlessly punishing him for all his errors. A fraternal bond twists into something else, something darker but more natural. The void in his chest pulses with phantom energy. 'Finally,' Wei Wuxian thinks, 'I feel something.']

[beantrice-the-healing-brownie]

Alright, someone does want to see my writing (thanks @dragonflyfaunus ). I’m posting chapter 3 of my novel then. I do not edit in any major way until I have a finished product, so this is rough. One is messy, and two has some dark themes, and the plot really doesn’t hit until four.

Context: the story follows the four siblings from an unconventional family. Three have broken away to start their own lives and one stays. An accident resulting in the death of the three main adults forces all the siblings to return, make peace, re-evaluate and eventually build something new.

The first four show the siblings and their lives with a call to return. Chapter 3 focuses on Sabrina, a performer who has some issues and (SPOILER: is at least gender fluid but doesn’t know it yet). 75% of the main cast is queer in some way btw. I did not even intend that.

And now...

Quartet

Chapter 3: Sabrina

***

Diamonds...Diamonds...Diamonds are a girl’s best friend!

The audience cheered and hooted, the spotlight bathed her in warmth before the curtain descended. Her heels softly clicked as she marched down the steps towards backstage and swept to her dressing room. Sabrina closed the flimsy, over decorated door, and slumped to the floor, scooping up the glittery dress one of the stylists had talked her into wearing.

It was time to take the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune right in her damn face; it was time to face real life again.

“Hey, Sib! You okay?”

Sabrina rolled her eyes dramatically as Archer Thompson (known to all as Archie) tried to poke his nose into her business again.

What does he think I am, his child?

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Do you need me?” Sabrina put on her humoring voice, as she had done many times.

Archie had started out as just her agent, helping her get both dance and acting gigs. He always started out as just an agent. But then he would be so reassuring and help you so much that you would start to confide in him, and once you started confiding in him you were basically adopted. Archie now bugged you to make sure you had socks, and inevitably mumbled something about his will over dinner.

From most people, this would seem a warning sign, but not Archie. Archie was not only good and took no advantage, but he had a complete inability to lie about anything, something Sabrina envied.

“No, just checking and wondered if you wanted some chicken pot pie?”

“Yes, Archie, I would love some,” Sabrina smiled, relieved that she wasn’t about to be interrogated about her happiness percentage. She stood up and with needless flare removed her dress, dropped her hair and wiped off the claustrophobic feel of the makeup. She stepped into her contraband tee and jeans at the speed of sound, and opened the door.

“Ready to go when you are!”

She was aware she was straining a bit tonight. All morning she had been on edge as if there were hundreds of ants under her skin, and that was just the last twenty-four hours. For months, Sabrina had been having...issues. It sounded better than popping pills to deal with being deranged.

Archie had found out recently, and insisted that she get help, in the form of therapy. She wasn’t addicted or anything, it was just that she wanted to sleep until she was out of the woods.

What woods? Sabrina barely knew herself. Why did her body feel wrong? Why did the world seem nonsensical? Why did she feel so sick of her glittery image and want to do something to call out all the pain that no one was acknowledging - perhaps pirouette through glass? Why did a dark lodestar pull her inexorably to the past?

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She buckled her seatbelt tidily as she always did.

“You seem scared,” Archie remarked, a grim expression on his face.

“Okay, well to be blunt my brain feels like a war zone. But I’m functioning!” Sabrina laughed. “Dr. Lawerence has been helpful though.”

“Well, not to add anything but someone called me looking for you. Claimed to be your brother. Jon Egilsson, is that familiar name to you?”

“Wait, what? Yes!” Sabrina leapt forward. She refused to conform to family ideals, as she did with all ideals, and so after a few fights she had taken off into the void. This didn’t prevent her from wondering what was happening with them. Ironically, in her moment of wanting to break from everything, any contact from her old tribe was a relief. Something new anyway.

“I thought you didn’t talk to family anymore,” Archie raised a sceptical brow.

“Well, not as a matter of course, but I don’t not talk to them.” She wasn’t sure why she lied. A bubble of shame materialized at the thought of explaining her unwantedness.

“Let’s get you inside and eat.” Archie shook his head as he pulled up in front of their apartment block. That’s how they’d met, running into the hallway as next door neighbors.

All through dinner, Sabrina was atypically lost in thought. A call from her brother? What could that mean? It frightened her deeply.

A seductive tendril wrapped through her mind. Think about it tomorrow.

Thinking was painful. Confrontation was painful. Real life was bleak and cold and ruthless. That’s why she had drug issues, why she perfected a fake smile, why fiction and glamor and song won her heart. You couldn’t fix the darkness, but you could escape it.

You could also defy and defeat it, but Sabrina didn’t feel strong enough.

“You know Archie, I feel really tired. I think I should work on fixing those sleeping patterns,” she said, as she helped scrape the leftover pie into its dish.

“You’ve been very quiet. Are you quite sure you’re okay, kid?” Archie’s mousy face was scrunched with concern. “What should I do about the call?”

“Leave it be. It’s probably not important.”

“Okay, I don’t like it but I trust you. Go to bed and sleep in. Nothing’s happening tomorrow.” Sabrina teared up as Archie hugged her.

Papa, I’m scared!

I’ve got you, skip. You’re okay. Where are you hurt?

My leg is all scratched. They aren’t going to get me, papa?

No. Not while I’m around.

Sabrina snapped out of her memories. “I should be off now. Can you send me the schedule for this week?”

“Of course.”

And Sabrina walked two doors down, looking for oblivion to suffocate her tears.

[ramblesanddragons]

Of Monsters and Memories

An idea based on this comic by @artsymeeshee that I just ran with.

It has been years since I’ve written anything. I’m so rusty but I’m trying to get back into it. I have no editor and I am terrible at grammar so please let me know what I missed. I’m writing more fan fiction to get back into figuring out how to write.

EDIT: Now with Ao3 link!

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, angst. (Also please let me know if I missed one.)

Ford had told Stan about some of the dangers they would run into in the arctic. Krakens, selkies, freezing cold. Some sort of thing that was the unholy offspring of nightmares and a squid wasn’t one of those things. The problem was the thing seemed to made out of smoke and they were having the damnest time pinning it down but it had to have some sort of physical form. It sure as hell was holding on to Stan tight enough.

Stan was wrapped around the mast of the boat as the arctic wind howled or maybe it was the creature, he had no idea.

“Hey anytime with that fancy space gun Sixer!”  

“Aiming is proving to be difficult give me a moment!” Ford yelled back.  

Stan did his best to wiggle out of the tentacles that had him but stopped the struggle when he noticed that Ford had all but been swallowed by a plume of smoke. Only his head was visible in the cloud of darkness. Ford’s eyes were tense with pain and tears were streaming down his cheek.  

“Ford, snap out of it. Whatever you see ain’t real!”

Ford had been looking forward to taking notes of the creature made of smoke that floated above the ice. He had never even seen something like this before. It had to be some sort of life form as it weaved around the boat almost playfully. Things had taken a sharp turn for the worst when Stan tried to take a picture of it for the kids. It screeched and started to climb up the side of the boat with long tendrils extending. Stan grimaced and slide on his old pair of brass knuckles.

“Want to bet I can punch smoke?” Stan yelled leaping at it with full force.  

In a flurry of shouts, punches, and missed shots Ford found himself trying to save his knuckleheaded brother who was wrapped around the mast. Aiming was proving to be a problem as the smoke wouldn’t stay together into a shape. It had spread itself thin onto the deck of the boat only forming parts of itself it to tentacles to hold Stan.

Ford could feel panic rising into him. He cursed himself for thinking that it had been playful earlier when it had clearly been looking for the best time to strike. He had let his enthusiasm get to him again and now Stan was in danger again.  

Chastise yourself later Stan needs help! Ford tried to find a target but froze as the hairs on the back of his neck rose.

A dark malevolence engulfed him in a plume of smoke. The chill it brought to Ford’s body made the cold of the arctic seem like a walk in the park. He physically shook himself to clear it away and focused again on his brother but Stan was gone. He was alone in some sort of inky void. He looked around and realized with horror his clothes had changed. He was wearing Stan’s old suit. In his hand’s was the wretched memory gun.  

Seeing it again made Ford’s stomach clinch tight. The urge to drop it to the ground and smash it was strong but he had to...to do something with it. He looked up again to see he was no longer alone in the void, Stan had appeared, on his knees and unconscious. Just like the last time. Tears started to burn at the corners of Ford’s eyes as his arm moved on some sort of autopilot pointing the gun at Stan’s head.

“Please...I can’t...not again...” Ford’s body shook as whispered to the void. His vision blurred with tears as the world started to become dark.

“Hey Poindexter! Did you know the world was flat?”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’m one of those flat earth people.” It was Stan’s voice coming from somewhere. Not the body before Ford kneeling and awaiting its fate at his hands, but outside of the void.

“Stan...the world isn’t flat?”  

I’ve gone mad, Ford thought completely lost.

“Oh yeah it is. I kept meaning to ask when we were going to hit the edge. Also, you know we didn’t go to the moon in ‘69 right?”

“S-Stan we watched it on the damn TV together!” Ford’s voice echoed and for a moment the sounds of the sea seemed to reach his ears.

“I mean yeah we did but it was faked. Although that was a good day, right? Ma let us stay home to watch it. Remember?” Almost at Stan’s beckoning the void changed around him and the image of two small boys watching a small TV formed in front of Ford. It wasn’t as clear as the one of Stan awaiting his doom and it disappeared as fast as it had appeared. It was one of Ford’s favorite memories besides the two of them finding the original Stan of War.

“Yeah I do.” Ford whispered softly. He could now feel ocean spray on his face. The cold in his soul was being melted by the warmth in his chest growing. The creature shrieked and withdrew from around Ford. He was now fully back to the deck of the ship and before him was Stan still tied to the mast by smoky tendrils.

“Oh yeah and uh did you know that the government is putting chemicals in the water to brain wash us? Or that the government is actually a bunch of lizard people actually hold on you might believe that one let’s see...”

“Stan.” Ford wanted to both hug and smack his brother at the same time.

“What? Oh hey welcome back now can you shoot this fuckin’ thing?”

“Gladly.” Ford growled.  

The thing had gathered back into a smoke ball but it seemed to Ford less intimidating now, slightly smaller, weaker. There was no way to really tell where the thing’s body was so Ford just started to fire on the thickest gathering of grey and black he could see. There was going to be a few holes in the deck of the ship but it was worth it to hear the thing let out one last scream before collapsing into a pile of goo. Stan was freed from the mast as the smoky tendrils disintegrated. Ford ran into the hull of the ship and returned with gloves, a scraper and a container.  

Dinner was sandwiches that night as Stan was too tried to cook. He eyed Ford as he ate and let out a heavy sigh as he realized he had only taken a bite of his dinner. Ford’s forehead was knit together like it did when he was thinking too hard.

“Wanna talk about it?” Stan’s voice seemed to shake Ford out of his thoughts.  

“Well we do need to talk if you believe the world is flat. I have failed as a scientist if my own brother believes that.” Ford let out a weak chuckle.

“Nah I’m not the brightest but I’m not that dumb. Look, I was just thinking of the craziest things I could to snap you out of whatever trance that the smoke thing had you under. Nothing pisses you off more than bad science.”

“Stan, I want to apologize. I feel like I wasn’t paying close enough attention and let my curiosity get in the way of your safety. I will aim to do better.”

“Sixer it’s okay you...”

“No, it’s not okay!” Ford cut Stan off. “My mistakes keep getting you hurt.”

“Look I was getting myself hurt plenty before coming out here with you.” Stan had recently gotten a lovely memory of spraining his ankle while running from some dogs when he was about 25 back a couple of weeks ago which could be good proof of that but he knew that wouldn’t exactly make his brother feel better. Ford pushed his plate away and leaned his head into his hands.

“What exactly did that thing do to ya?”  

“My running theory is that whatever it was prays on a victim's memories. Their worst moments causing them to freeze up. I was about to...I was about to erase you again.” The tears were coming back into Ford’s eyes. Stan slid him over a napkin.

“That’s you’re worst moment?”

“O-of course. I’ve faced plenty of horrible things but that was my mistakes coming back to bite me in the ass. I’m fine with that. But when my arrogance and stupidity hurts other people, people I care about...first there was Fidds and then you were the one who could have lost everything for my carelessness and...”

Stan slammed his fist onto the table and that startled Ford enough to break him out of his rant. “I pushed you into that hell portal I...”

“A hell portal I built!” Ford interjected loudly.  

“You were conned. Manipulated. Ford you’re stubborn and yeah maybe a little arrogant but so am I.” Stan got out of his chair and kneeled by his brother.

“If there was an award for who could hold on to guilt the longest, I could probably win the gold medal. So, listen to me here. Please don’t let this mind erasing thing eat you alive. I know I’m the poster child for healthy coping but please don’t be so hard on yourself. I have enough self-loathing for both of us.”

“Stanley.”

“Look being out here with you watching you get all excited and doing nerd stuff has been the happiest I’ve been in years. I don’t need you to be worrying about what might happen so much that you stop enjoying it ‘cus then I’ll stop enjoying it and so what the hell else do we do huh? Soos is in charge of the Shack and I wouldn’t really want to go back. So, what, do we spend our next few years playing bingo in an old folks' home?”

“Hell no.” Ford responded somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

“Right. So, relax. There is no where I’d rather be.” Stan grinned when a small smile placed itself on Ford’s face.

“What are the qualities of a Pines man? Braveness, boldness, curiosity, creativity, stubbornness, and deep self-loathing.” Ford said counting on his fingers.

“Let’s hope Dipper skips out on that one.” Stan got back up and poured himself and Ford a drink of the good stuff they kept for special occasions. He figured dealing with a smoke monster was occasion enough.

Ford looked at the amber liquid and drained it in one gulp. “Stanley has is ever occurred to you that perhaps we could use a little therapy in our lives?”

“No shrink is so understanding that they would believe half the shit that’s happened to us.”  

“Perhaps we should look. Even if we have to go a more supernatural route to get an adequate one I-I think we should.” Ford began to scribble what Stan guessed to be a list of idea candidates. He smiled as he watched the wheels in his brother’s mind whirl.

“Yeah. Sure, I’ll talk to a fairy about my problems.” Stan spent the rest of his night listening to Ford tell him why it was an awful idea to let the Fae know your problems and enjoyed every minute of it.  

[bookwormscififan]

Enjoy Your Time Here

Here’s the next part of my swap AU fic. Let’s see if we can save Henrik von Schnapple yet.

“Hey, uh, it’s Jared here. I don’t know how to run a vlog, but Henrik’s gone somewhere, and we can’t find him. So, uh, I’ll entertain you guys until I find him!” Jared peered into the camera, smiling nervously and tilting his head.

          He walked into the living room, and was greeted by the gravelly, glitchy sound of Alto singing. The actor stopped when he spotted the magician, and ran a hand through his dark green, greased back hair.

“Hello, Jared. Is there a problem?” Jared shook his head slightly.

          “Not really, Alto. Just that Henrik’s most likely been taken by Juxta, and his fans need entertainment. I was just going to-” He was interrupted as the camera was taken off him and held up to Alto’s face.

“I can entertain, you go help Hen.” Jared smiled at the actor’s suggestion, then walked up the stairs. As he reached his room, he heard Alto’s voice drifting up the stairs:

“Hi everyone. My name is Alto Septicie, and I would love to entertain you all with my musical rehearsal…”

Jared entered his room, looking for specific items. As he looked around his drawers, he heard footsteps pass his room. Chase.

“Hey, Chase! Can I have a word with you?” Jared smiled as the doctor turned and walked toward him.

          “Of course you can, Jared my friend. What ails you, medically or casually?” Jared took Chase’s proffered hand and scratched an itch under his mask.

“Henrik got taken by Juxta and I’m looking for someone to help me find him. Do you think you can help?”

          Chase scratched his head, the raising of his arm revealing a flask tucked into his belt. He looked around the house, considering his options. Then he smiled.

“I’d be glad to, my friend. I need to have a word with our Juxta friend as well. He stole a few of my items.” Jared grinned, slapping Chase on the back in joy.

          “Meet me again in twenty minutes, we’ll go find Hen.” Chase nodded, turning on his heel and waling back to his room.

Twenty minutes later, Chase knocked on Jared’s door. Packing a few supplies into his bag, he opened the door. The doctor was prepared with a bag of medical supplies and a fresh flask of alcohol in his belt.

          “Ready to talk to Juxta, Jared?” The magician nodded his head, then followed Chase out the door.

As they walked, Chase thought about why he was asked to help, and decided to ask Jared.

“Where is Malvern, Jared? Why did you ask me?” Jared looked at Chase, then pulled Henrik’s camera out of his bag.

          “Juxta’s lions took him. Between you and Alto, I figured you were the stronger assistant. Alto’s figuring out how to edit some of the footage in the camera.” Chase looked at the camera, taking it into his hands and flicking through the frozen images of Henrik being taken and Malvern being attacked.

          “My God… Jared, how will we talk to him?”

“Using the one thing he doesn’t have: our voice. Come on, let’s go help Henrik.” With a nod, Chase walked with Jared down the hall to Juxta’s door.

Together, they opened the door and peered in.

“Guys, what are you doing here? If Juxta finds you-” Malvern’s pleas were cut off as Jared helped him off a chair. He wiped the dark wisps from his arms and legs and looked into the hero’s eyes.

          “Malvern… What did he do to you?” The hero’s eyes were wide in fear, and he was whimpering, clutching Jared’s arms for support.

“Darkness… The lions… Cold… Ropes and fastenings… Torment… Go away… Get out… Leave me-” Jared held on to Malvern as he fell limp with fear. He paused as he tried to decode the hero’s whimpers.

          “Torment? Malvern, did Juxta torture you? Have you seen Henrik?” He sighed as Jared shook his head, trauma making him mute.

“JARED!” The magician turned around as Chase yelled to him. Gently putting Malvern down, he ran to the doctor, who was being dragged away by darkness.

“Chase, how can I help? Tell me what to do!” He watched helplessly as Chase entered the void, joining Henrik in fear and cold.

Having put salve on Malvern, Jared handed the hero a mug of coffee and sat beside him. He put a blanket over his shoulders and patted his back.

“Tell me what happened. We’re missing two people now. We need a way to get them back, or a lot of people will get injured. Chase’s patients, Schapp’s audience. We won’t be able to keep an act for long.” Malvern closed his eyes and sighed.

          “It was cold. Juxta would come in every so often and torture me with his darkness. He’d put tendrils of black around me and tighten them to see how much I could handle. The lions would come in and scratch the tendrils to see how scared I could be. He got into my head, Jared. How can I be a good hero if he’s always messing up my brain? I don’t have another career…” He faded off as he began to weep. Jared patted his back and thought.

          “It’s ok, Malvern. We’ll be ok. I need to find a way to save them. You need to help me. Be a hero. Save your cousins. I trust you.” Malvern managed a small smile and nodded.

“I’ll help you.”

Meanwhile, Chase and Henrik’s screams could be heard from the void in Juxta’s room. He walked into the void, lions following closely behind. With an impossibly larger smirk, he waved his hands. The lions walked to a separate man and began to tug at their clothes.

          Slowly, shadows began to crawl over the men and tighten. Juxta laughed silently at their cries of pain and ran a hand through his hair. He pulled a board out of the darkness and began to write on it. When he finished, he held it out to them.

Enjoy your time here, Malvern sure did.

[fuzzhugs]

Broken Wings - Redwall/FMA Crossover - by Fuzzhugs

Welcome to Part 1 of my Redwall + Fullmetal Alchemist crossover.

Special thanks to @thegoldensoundtwice for inspiring to actually write all of this down and to @theredwallrecorder for editing assistance. 

If anyone prefers reading in a GoogleDoc format, follow the link here.

Part 1 - Ingredients

Beastkind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost. That is alchemy's first law of Equivalent Exchange. In those days, I really believed that to be the world's one, and only truth.

Water, 35 liters.

Martin obsessively checked his notes and calculations. His haggard appearance and frenzied behavior showed the result of days without sleep.

Carbon, 20 kilograms.

The walls of his spacious yet decrepit shack were covered with hundreds of pages. Renderings of transmutation circles intersected and covered each other. Pages torn from books were pinned to the wall alongside his own handwritten notes. Strings stretched between walls, connecting one set of information to another.

Ammonia, 4 liters.

The shack had not been Martin’s first choice of a laboratory, but the Noonvale mice had told him if he planned to continue with his blasphemous experiments, he would have to do it elsewhere. More than happy to be rid of him, the mice helped him build the shack a league away from their sanctuary.

Calcium-lime, 1.5 kilograms.

Martin had reappeared at Noonvale several seasons after the Battle of Marshank, begging to be taught their ways. Chief Voh had been reluctant to give one so emotionally unhinged further power to manipulate the world, but Brome had persuaded him that learning healing arts would be a way to help Martin.

Phosphorus, 800 grams.

His thirst for knowledge did not remain confined to the alchemic healing practice they called Alkahestry. He poured over texts for days at a time, rarely stopping to eat or sleep. His first experiments delving into the nature of life and death had dire consequences for the Alkahestry library. Martin’s attempt to resurrect a deceased fish resulted in an alchemic backlash blasting several of the main support beams to splinters. Martin himself was only mildly injured from the explosion.

Salt, 250 grams.

While Martin was recuperating from his injuries, Chief Voh took a closer look at the notes he had been keeping and learned the true depths of Martin’s desire. When Martin was well enough to walk again, he was cast out of the central village and told to settle farther away from the main settlement, hence the shack.

Saltpeter, 100 grams.

Brome had ceased visiting several fortnights ago, tired of trying to convince Martin to give up on his impossible ambitions. The arguments between the two mice had grown heated, escalating almost to the point of violence.

Sulfur, 80 grams.

He had spent ages collecting all of the ingredients. He had managed to convince Brome to bring him some from Noonvale’s stores, but the rest he had to find himself, either through wandering the countryside or bartering with traveling merchants. The only thing that mattered was his work. Everything else could wait. His father’s sword was leaning against the wall, long neglected and seldom used.

Fluorine, 7.5 grams.

Every component had been carefully measured and weighed according to the exact specifications Martin had written out. They had been stored in jars and locked in a chest until he was ready to use them.

Iron, 5 grams.

The mix of elements now freely blended together in the metal basin he had placed in the center of his shack. Retrieving a piece of chalk, he began to draw out his own variant of a Beastfolk Transmutation Circle. The complex design branched across the room like a spider’s web. Circles, triangles, and hexagons merged and split with each other. Bizarre, arcane runes filled the empty spaces.

Silicon, 3 grams.

Everything he had spent seasons planning for would finally come to fruition.

Trace amounts of 15 other elements.

He would have her back again. His greatest mistake would be undone.

Blood, as a bridge for the soul to cross.

Martin pulled out a knife and slashed the blade across his paw, letting the crimson rain fall onto the mix of powder and liquid. The blood would link the transmutation target to him, pulling Rose’s soul back from the place beyond life.

He knelt down at the edge of his circle and calmed his mind. Reaching out, he could feel the energy that flowed beneath the earth rising to his will, powering his alchemic formula. Slamming his paws onto the circle, he released the energy in one large burst.

The chalk-lines began to glow as the transmutation started. An eerie red light filled the room as shadows began to leak out from the circle. The shadows formed into tendrils, ending with small, grasping claws. In the center of the circle, a crack appeared and opened to reveal the form of a gigantic eye. Something was very wrong.

The tendrils shot across the room and clung to him, pulling him toward the circle. Martin struggled to remain outside the boundary. As he fought, a brilliant burst of white light filled the room.

Martin was standing in an endless white void. There was no wind, no sound, no horizon. Behind him, a massive stone door carved with alchemic symbols floated above the featureless ground. Ahead of him, a figure sat crouched on the floor, surrounded by a black haze. Like Martin’s surroundings, it was featureless, save for the prominent grin plastered to its face.

“Where is she!?” Martin demanded, too determined to be awed by the strange place.

The figure continued to grin and tilted its head to the side.

“I don’t know who you are, but tell me where she-”

“The world.”

Martin fell silent, unprepared to hear several voices at once come from the figure’s mouth. “What did you-?”

“I am the existence that you call ‘the world’. In other words, the universe. In other words, truth. In other words, all. In other words, one.” The figure paused for a moment. “I am also you. Welcome.”

The stone door behind Martin burst open and the black tendrils reached out to pull him in. Fighting against their grasp, Martin tried to force his way toward the figure, managing to take several steps forward, but never gaining any ground.

“You are a determined one, aren’t you?” The figure grinned as the tendrils pulled Martin into the darkness of the void behind the door. “Most of those who get here are just screaming at this point.”

The stone door slammed shut and Martin fell away through darkness. Bright lights began rushing by him as everything he had seen and would see, known and would know flew through his head, too fast to understand and too fast to contain. His head felt like it would burst open. Before his eyes, his body began to fall apart. Then he realized what he was seeing was truth. Pure, unadulterated, universal truth.

In an instant, he was back in the white space. The figure was still there with its ominous grin. “How was it?”

Martin turned to look at the door. So many new ideas filled his mind. He knew where he had gone wrong, he just needed something more. “Show it to me again. I need to see it all again.”

“No, no, no. You only get that much for the toll you’ve paid.”

“Toll?”

As if on cue, tendrils lashed out and grabbed his face. A burning pain seared through Martin’s mind and he fell to the floor, screaming. The figure knelt over him, still grinning.

“Now, if someone is dumb enough to come and meet me, I usually end up taking their arms, or their legs, or their sight. They can see plainly what my services have cost them and I don’t need to tell them what price they’ve paid. You, little alchemist, you’re a special case. You wanted your only love back, right? Well, I’ve taken that from you now. Every feeling of love is being erased from your mind. Oh, your memories will stay intact, but that delectable flavor you call love is no longer yours. You cannot remember love and you cannot feel love, but I am not without mercy. I’ve left a little speck of it in there just for you, enough of it for you to remember what you’re missing. I have also generously thrown in another gift. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. Equivalent exchange, is it not?”

The real world rushed back in an instant and Martin found himself on the floor of his shack, screaming and clutching his head. Pain blocked out most of his immediate memories, and the next thing he was aware of was waking up in a bed in the Noonvale Infirmary. Brome was looking down at him, scowling.

“Brome,” Martin gasped as he came to his senses. “I know what I need to do. I just need…”

“You need to leave,” Brome commanded without an ounce of pity in his voice. “Can you walk?”

Martin stood up and walked with Brome, thinking only of his work. “The transmutation…”

“Whatever that thing was that you made was not natural. It didn’t live long, in any case. We’ve already buried it.”

The two mice arrived at the outskirts of Noonvale. “Brome, I need to-”

“Whatever you need, you’ll have to find it far from here. Bringing you here was the last kindness we will do for you. You will receive no more help here. If we find you within a day’s walk of Noonvale, you will be forced out. Now go, Martin.”

“If you just let me-”

Without a word, Brome slammed his gauntlet-clad fist into the ground. Martin caught a brief glimpse of the transmutation circle etched upon it before earthen spikes shot up out of the ground, stopping a hair’s-breadth from his face.

“Out, Martin. Don’t come back.”

Martin turned and left without another word. There was no sense of loss accompanying his forced departure. The brotherly affection he had once had for Brome was gone, utterly absent. There was nothing left attaching him to Brome, so there was nothing lost for him to mourn.  

“Yes…yes. I had the right idea,” Martin said to himself as he walked without a particular direction in mind. “The right idea, but the wrong power source.”

He thought of one of the few comprehensible things his brush with truth had given him: the alchemic theory known as the Philosopher’s Stone. “Yes, a Stone. Infinite power. Anything should be possible with that. A Stone can bring her back, and all the others too. Felldoh, Gramma, Mum. ” In his excitement, Martin clapped his paws together. He felt a rush of power and watched as a perfect reproduction of Rose built itself out of the dirt.

“Interesting,” he commented to himself. “My arms form the circle, my thoughts form the array.

Looking at the statue, he could feel he was missing something inside. He knew he should have felt something, responded in some way, but there was only emptiness. The emptiness angered him.

“Dammit,” Martin cursed. “You may have taken my love from me, truth, but don’t expect to hold onto it for too long. Once I have the stone, nothing can stop me from taking it back.”

Walking a little further, Martin experimented with his newfound ability, transmuting rocks and trees with little more than a clap and a mental picture of what he wanted to happen. “You were right though, truth. I do enjoy this gift.”

Stopping by his now partially-destroyed shack, Martin collected some of his notes that he felt would come in handy. As he prepared to leave, a spur of the moment decision prompted him to take his father’s sword with him. Shouldering the blade, he left his shack and began his trek southward. Alchemy  and Alkahestry had come from the south. He would find answers in the south.

End Part 1

[littlelightshilly]

Broken Staff Part 4

(Woooooo!! Almost done! This one’s more edited.)

It was quiet.

Still.

Peaceful.

Shilly just lay there, or really, existed there, in thought only. But thinking was so hard, and she was so tired. There was nothing around her, darkness that really was just an absence of Light. Nothing scary, no yelling, no pain, no demands. She was just there. She knew there was more to her then the emptiness around her but for now, this was good. Restful. Eventually the concern of going back to where-ever-she-was-from would bubble up but for now she could sleep. Rest. Peace.

As the staff shattered, shards of the holy weapon speared through the demons around her, Shilly dropped down to hands and knees next to Von. The worgen was conscious enough to move a hand to brush hers, the touch feather-light with a trail of blood left behind on her pale skin. It was enough though. Her skin was ice cold and the contact seemed to jolt her awake. Sitting back, hands over her face, Shilly began to laugh. Not the usual bright laugh, but something cold. Something dangerous. Her hands lowered and the hordes of demons saw not the defiant gold eyes from before but black empty pits. Streams of shadow fell from her eyes and mouth, wrapping the slender form before burrowing under the ground.

“I EXIST. ALL WILL BE CONSUMED.” The voice that crawled out of her was -wrong-. Several voices in discord were blended together, Shilly’s body moving like a puppet to stand. Tendrils of darkness and void squirmed around her and the ground nearest her, wiggling beneath her skin as a collection of them began wrapping around Von. For a brief moment, possibly just his imagination, Von heard the whisper of Shilly’s true voice Not this one and felt the brush of her fingers on his muzzle. Instead of strangling him like they had intended, the tendrils spread out and surrounded him in a protective bubble.

From where he floated, his body held in place by void, he could see as the entity controlling Shilly’s body ripped and shredded through enemies. Whole infernals were thrown back off the cliffs and eredar casters were devoured by hideous mouths opening in the ground. “ALL WILL BE CONSUMED.” Mouths opened up and several comrades were swallowed up as well, their screams echoing from the open chasms she created as she walked. Fires were put out by overwhelming shadows, the void creature that had once been their healer laughing as those she protected were absorbed.

Von struggled against the tendrils that held him still, re-opening the wound that Shilly had tried so desperately to close. There was no breaking free though and as the blood soaked down his front his vision began to blur. The void whispered to him soothingly, crawling under his armor toward the gash that went from right shoulder to nearly his left hip. Spears of darkness stitched his skin together, icy cold and burning him all at the same time. Between the pain and blood loss Von passed out, his last conscious moment spent hearing his Shilly whisper softly. I won’t let you die.