#is this a play on words of “null and void” though? since null seems to functionally be the void?

[three-bunnies-in-a-trenchcoat]

Null is honestly a sick name for a villain of a game about creating stuff

[mrfancyfoot]

Raphael x Evie (f!OC)

Fic Rating: E/Varied | Chapter 1: AO3 + Tumblr | Master List

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Chapter 19: Rose Tattoo "Due to Haarlep's despicable actions, Raphael makes a one-time special offer."

< Previous Chapter: May Not Be Prada | Next Chapter: To Be Added >

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From fucking around and finding out, to not asking all the right questions, everyone is learning something today! :D Raphael opts to use Haarlep's disobedience to entice Evie into a different kind of contract. Evie fucks with Haarlep a bit for being a sex pest.

The song bit at the end is from "Rose Tattoo" by the Dropkick Murphys. With him still trying to play nice, I figured Raphael probably wouldn't make the contract mark anything purposefully ugly/obnoxious, but is toootally the kind to go for something cheesy. Making it a rose was a very last-minute decision on my part, though, so I'm still of two minds about it.

❤️ Thanks for reading! :3 ❤️

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Rating: M / NSFW-ish

Word Count: ~5.3k

Tags: POV Evie; Raphael; Haarlep; Contracts; Avoidance as a Coping Mechanism

Warnings: Rated for Haarlep’s Potty Mouth and Problematic Views on Consent; Haarlep isn't Nice; Marking/Tattooing via Magic (Dub-Con, could be seen as Non-Con - for contract fulfillment purposes); Blood; Minor Gore; Gratuitous Liberties Taken with Infernal Law

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Read under the cut or on AO3

“Have you spoken a word of Haarlep or my having an incubus to anyone else?  Or perhaps allowed them to peruse your diary?”

“No.  I don't think anyone has since I added the pages about them,” came her easy answer.  Saying anything about them would have only concerned everyone else even more than they already were.  Until now, there hadn’t been any problems…

“You’ve written pages about me?”

Raphael's lips curled into a smile at the rim of his steaming cup of coffee—kaeth, whatever it was—as he took a sip.  “Perfect.  What I propose then, for your continued mum, is thus—”  He produced a contract upon the table and she fought back a groan, urging her brain cells to wake up faster as she slid her fingers beneath the parchment to pick it up.

It was quite short and she very quickly figured out why: it was mostly blank.  Or a ‘fill in the blank,’ rather.  

As much as she hated the taste of coffee, she was considering knocking back a cup or two over her tea purely for the additional caffeine.  Though when the servant—one of the first that she had truly seen, aside from the Archivist—poured Raphael’s, her nose hairs felt ready to burn right out of her face.  He liked it strong, for sure.

“You are free to state what you desire in return.  Consider this an open negotiation,” he explained as he sat back with all the content of an arrogant cat.

Raphael wanted her to name her terms in exchange for her silence regarding Haarlep’s existence, alongside what read as a non-disclosure agreement.  As named within, Raphael would act as witness and enforcer.  At its core, it was a contract between her and Haarlep, officiated by Raphael as Haarlep’s master.

This required exceedingly careful thought.  Accepting meant that whatever terms agreed upon would be binding by Infernal law.  She wasn’t exactly thrilled about having anything tying her to the incubus.  But they were presently part and parcel to Raphael’s world, and, if she chose to stay in it in any manner, she could need the unsaid protection he was offering.

The NDA was, for all appearances, boiler-plate.  If she spoke of Haarlep to any but the listed entities—mostly made up of Raphael’s circle it seemed, but she didn’t recognise all of the names or entities—or the existence of the contract itself, their contract and any terms within would be null and void.  She could essentially continue as-is without any further burden but have assured protection through her own terms.  Presuming they agreed to them.

“Question: is ‘Haarlep’ their actual name and-or is this fully enforceable if not?”  She had never seen the name spelled out before, and, now that she had, her brain was seeing a curious pattern of letters.  An anagram?  The incubus had a version of his skin and evidently even his name.  A dim light lit up in a tiny corner of her brain as it tinkered away with the little bits and pieces she’d gleaned over the time she’d known them both.

“How astute.”  Was she right?  “I assure you that, with the proper terms, it is fully binding as an Infernal contract.”

Evie couldn’t help but feel as though this was some kind of test.  ‘Proper terms,’ yeah…

“I don’t get it,” she huffed.  “If you actually cared about me saying anything about them, this would have come up months ago after I first met them.  Why now?”

“I’m surprised that you have never made mention of Haarlep to anyone.  Not even your vampling?”  Not an answer.

She shrugged, taking a breath to keep her patience.  “It never felt relevant.”

“Therefore, it makes for a simple exchange, no?  Haarlep’s reprehensible actions were an unfortunate oversight on my part, and I admit that I feel responsible,” Raphael said with a shake of his head and exaggerated frown, placing a hand to his chest.  He must have slept well since he was back to pulling out the theatrics.  “What better consolation than to empower you to dictate your own terms for restitution?  Consider it a gesture of… good will.”

“It’s cute how you both pretend as though I am not sitting right here.  Do I get no say in this?”

He didn’t deem the incubus worthy of a response.

Was Raphael that afraid she’d want nothing more to do with him?  That she’d blame him to that degree?  If she tried to think of it from his perspective and from what she knew and could presume of the cultures she’d come into contact with, a master was often held responsible for the actions of those that served them or fell under their rule, and making reparations to an injured party was the expectation—was there an Infernal law that stipulated as such?  He did say he felt responsible, which maybe wasn’t so out of character as it seemed for one who said they valued rules and order so highly.  While it wasn’t an apology, it might have been the closest she’d get out of a devil.  Though he wasn’t the one who should have been apologizing…

Since Haarlep had been transported to the dining room some minutes ago, beaten and bloodied and looking all-around worse for wear - though hardly acting it - she had staunchly ignored their presence after they had been commanded to sit between her and Raphael at the table.  Raphael had seen it appropriate to inflict whatever corporal punishment he believed necessary in the span of time since she last saw the incubus.

It evidently wasn’t enough with how Haarlep sprawled in the chair and leered at her with a maddening smirk the whole time.

What did Raphael stand to gain?  How did this work in his favor?  Haarlep made her way less likely to sign away her soul if she was to be condemned here in any capacity, so it was important enough to him that he was willing to take Haarlep out of the picture to ‘sweeten the deal.’  And…if she forbade Haarlep from touching her again by contract, it wasn’t just an order they were disobeying, it was breaking the terms of a contract.   If she was right, and there was something between them that prevented Raphael from acting within the full extent of his power with regards to Haarlep, then a third party contract could provide extra leeway if he needed to enforce its terms.

Raphael was Haarlep’s master…but she vaguely recalled the incubus mentioning something about his father being involved somehow.  Did Raphael fall under his father’s rule or command?  She couldn’t recall ever hearing him mentioned before.

It was so frustrating knowing she knew practically nothing—all this was, was thinking in circles and bringing back the headache from earlier.

But one thing was becoming clear: she had to properly educate herself.

Maybe Gale had some books about the Hells?  Or Wyll?  Karlach obviously knew a lot but was it to the degree that she needed?

Chin braced on her palm, Evie smiled disarmingly. “Am I able to think on this and come back?”

Raphael gestured towards the parchment with a matching smile.  “This is a one-time offer, fox.  Should you leave here without signing this contract, it will be off the table, so to speak.”  Darn it.  “Take all the time that you need, but you would be wise not to forget your other imminent obligations.”  He popped another cherry into his mouth.

So that was part of the game.  He wanted her to rush.  Write up something overly simple and clumsy.  If too clumsy, and there were holes in it that Haarlep—or he—could exploit, then the blame was later on her.

She couldn’t rush.  Though her companions would, no doubt, have noticed her missing still by now, they were unlikely to do anything drastic yet or move on without her, so she did have a little time to think this through and do it properly.  

Grabbing her journal, Evie flipped to the section she’d written about Haarlep and slid her claw down the inside edge of the pages, carefully scoring and severing them from the rest—best to destroy any mention of them if she was going through with this.  She closed and set aside the journal once more and flipped the pages to a blank area to use to write a draft.  Before she could ask, an ink pot appeared with a ‘clack’ upon the table near her hand.  She mumbled her thanks.

Time to pull out all the law and contract knowledge she had stuffed in random nooks of her brain.  Thankfully with a few law classes under her belt from her university days and being one to frequently read through such things as corporate EULAs and local bylaws and other legalese, while a bit daunting, this didn’t feel impossible even if they weren’t identical legal systems.  But like being smacked with a surprise test she didn’t know to even study for, her heart began to race in her chest.

But this kind of high pressure was what she excelled at.  With the added boost of caffeine and a bit of a fire under her ass for the adrenaline, her brain whirled away with its brainstorming and analysis.

What, exactly, did she want out of this?

Was it better to be broad or concise?  How could her words or theirs be interpreted in other ways?

Haarlep reached past her to pluck a bunch of grapes from one of the fruit bowls, very blatantly towering over her to see what she was jotting.

Evie tapped her quill.  “Do infernal contracts…have any innate properties that I should know of?”

“An Infernal contract is stridently upheld under the rule of law of the Hell’s, enforced up to the maximum extent as permitted by law…and within any constraints, allowances, or exceptions as explicitly agreed upon within any one contract,” he recited.  “Unless you are after specific details, my dear, I am afraid I could fill many a lecture with the wealth of information that makes up our rule of law.”

The very fact that he seemed willing to even humor her was…interesting.

He had shelves upon shelves of law books in his office.  Maybe he had versions in Common she could skim through?

“Must I listen to all this boring legal talk?” the incubus groaned as they slouched further in their chair.  “There are a plethora—the whole Hell’s worth—of imaginings far more stimulating that we could be taking pleasure in at this very moment.”  They drew their hand up their thigh and lewdly traced the hem of their bottoms.

“Are you required to provide this information?” she wondered aloud.

“It is prudent that all involved parties have an understanding of the contract in question.  I would never be one to leap to assumptions about another party’s extent of relevant knowledge but may impart guidance where inquired.”  That sounded like a dodgy way to say ‘yes.’

So as long as her questions were related to the contract legalese, he had some extent of obligation to answer.  Very good to know.

Haarlep hummed in a manner that could normally be considered ‘thoughtful,’ but she didn’t want to attribute such a word to them.  “I truly cannot remember the last time I heard a mortal ask.  Most never think or bother to do so.”  They cocked their head and sat up to lean on the table to watch her write.  She scowled seeing blood smeared across the surface far too close to her.  “Such fine penmanship!  An educated little foxy.  Were you a scholar?  A spoiled noble with private tutelage?  Or perhaps…a naive girl of some religious sect?”

She rolled her eyes but they read something into it.  “Ah~  Is that right?  Are you involved with a church?  A cult?  Are you a pious foxy, so flighty yet eager to be corrupted in the world of devils?  Or a deviant vi—”

“There’s a word for people like you,” she interrupted, finally addressing Haarlep but not looking up from her work.

“Oh!”  They excitedly slid closer, their tail wavering high behind them.  “Seductive?  Entic—”

“Obnoxious,” she replied dryly, then pointedly looked up at Raphael.  “May I ask you something without them present?”

Faster than Haarlep could object, there was a snap and they were gone.  “You have my attention, fox.”

“Haarlep mentioned something…before.  Is your father among the names listed here?”  She tapped the sequence of names to which she was allowed to speak freely of Haarlep.  Upon the very mention, his face scrunched in displeasure as he looked from the parchment to her.  She was right.

He stared at her calculatedly for a long moment.  “Do tell—how does my father pertain to this?” Raphael demanded with a wave of his hand towards the contract.

Evie confidently met his gaze.  “I want…a similar reciprocal clause where they are also barred from speaking of me or the contract to others minus appropriate exceptions, as well.  I’m led to believe that Haarlep has made mention of me to him.”

The simmering anger abated.  “A nuisance hardly able to control their blathering,” he seemed to confirm.

In a flurry of sparks, his own grandly-feathered quill appeared and began scrivening across the contract parchment, the ink glowing a fiery red then blackening.

“And Haarlep’s name needs to be added to the list of those that I am able to speak of them—and the contract—to.”  She wasn’t about to chance fucking up and breaking the contract within two seconds of signing it if it could at all work that way.

Raphael chuckled with a grin of mischief.  “Haarlep had bet you would not catch the omission.  I wagered the fox too perceptive to let it simply slip her by.  I shall be pleased to collect my winnings from them.”

“That—!”  Evie balked at their deliberate attempt at trickery, biting her tongue to keep from cursing.  “Is there anything you want me to add to require of them?” she whispered conspiratorially.

Skeptical, his brow raised.  “Unnecessary.  But how sweet of you to ask.”  He beckoned her to pass over the draft she’d been working on.  “However…why don’t we review what you have written thus far.”

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An indignant scoff.  “Did you help her?  I feel so betrayed—by my own master, no less!” Haarlep read over the current iteration of the contract with the terms and clauses she had requested to be added.  They slapped it down and half sprawled across the table, brazenly eyeing Raphael with a claw teasing their lips.  “Oh, your dear father was beside himself with glee upon hearing you had found another fun little novelty to spend your time chasing.  Lord Mephistopheles will be so melancholic at the lack of stories all about the cute, fluffy foxy!”  How daring.  The incubus was willing to air laundry out of some sort of retaliation.

“I’m sure he’d be downright inconsolable if he knew that it was all your fault, too,” Evie needled, deliberately responding before Raphael did as she noted the anger rising on his face.  She felt bolder in knowing that she had an upper hand in this matter, but what she didn’t want this turning into was a temperamental argument spinning out of control just because the incubus knew which of Raphael’s buttons to press.

Oddly, Mephistopheles wasn’t among the specific names that had been listed on the contract.  Which could only mean that he fell into one of the collectives.  She was vaguely familiar with the name in a biblical folklore sense, but didn’t know where he would fall here.  Somewhere in high-ranking governance, she would presume with the title ‘Lord.’  She didn’t want to ask yet and derail the conversation further, though.

Haarlep’s gaze narrowed on her and the confident smirk faltered as they silently appraised her.

“Sign, Haarlep.”  Raphael had sat back in his chair and crossed his legs with his hands steepled upon his knee, staring down his incubus.  “It is far past time for us to be done with this nonsense of your doing,” he bit.

Haarlep rolled their eyes and pouted.  “This is hardly fair!”

“Au contraire—” Evie rebutted, “—all things considered, I am being incredibly reasonable.”  Her contract terms largely boiled down to Haarlep not being able to touch her without her consent and the statement about non-disclosure to certain entities.  She was too soft to demand additional punitive measures for what had already been done, though she was hoping she wouldn’t regret not instating something more along the lines of a restraining order against their presence near her entirely.  Despite what had happened, it felt like too much to ask for in Raphael’s home.

Haarlep made like they were going to stand but thought better of it.  “Ganging up on poor me.  It is us who are to take advantage of mortal ignorance and naivety, and yet, here you are allowing her privilege.  Such special treatment for the little foxy.”  They turned back to her and leered, biting their lip.  “Did you beg the Master to give you a lesson in our laws while I was away?  I would have bent you over the table and buried my cock in you in return for my aid.”

“Sign the damn paper,” she sneered in exasperation, sick of their disrespect.

“It’s all a game, you know,” Haarlep started.  They pointed to her head, body, and then made a grasping gesture as they spoke, “Coat it all in sugar to sweeten up the fox.  Disarm her mind, disarm her body, take her soul.”  

Evie sighed with a roll of her eyes.  When would this be over?  “I’m not dumb.  Just because we might be on friendly terms doesn’t mean that I’ve forgotten I’m dealing with a devil.”

They barked out a laugh.  “How adorable for you to believe there is anything friendly about this!”  They pulled the contract back over.  “Very well.”  Raising their hand to their mouth, they bit at their thumb.  Evie watched as blood welled up and they pressed their thumb to the parchment.  “There.  Everything in this contract is void should the Master come to own you, after all.  Your consent doesn't matter when you are owned by another,” they warned, though the threat in their words was hardly veiled.

“You’re like my inbox personified,” she bemoaned and pulled the contract towards herself to write her signature near their disgusting, bloody smudge.  Though as she brought her pen to the parchment, she had the sudden realisation that she didn’t know what to sign for her signature.  She no longer used her actual full legal name and had no intention of doing so since arriving in this world.  But if Haarlep could get away with not using their actual name, then the same should apply to her, too, right?  With a few strokes of her quill, she signed the same way she signed Raphael’s guestbook—E.V.

As she then passed it along for its final signature, she requested, “Raphael, please incorporate this contract in any future Soul-Sworn contract offerings.”

A final glance over it to ensure all was in order, and with a wave of his hand, his initial appeared upon the contract.  “Consider it granted.”

Aghast at how easily he had agreed, the incubus slapped their hands down on the table and gasped with incredulity, “Master!”

Raphael spread his arms with a devilish smirk.  “She asks so politely.”

She stifled her giggle, resisting the urge to childishly stick her tongue out the incubus again.  Maybe this contract was really just meant as a ‘fuck you’ to Haarlep.  Though being the middle of a proxy war couldn’t be the best of situations to find herself in.

“Your hand, my dear,” Raphael then requested of her, extending his own and interrupting her thoughts.

When Haarlep suddenly sat back and crossed their arms with a haughty smile, she should have known something was up.  There had been a brief relief that everything was now settled between them, which—in retrospect—was immature.

But, though hesitant, she did as she was told, leaning over the table some to reach with her right.

Raphael took hold of her hand, his thumb passing over her knuckles, then turning it palm up as though inspecting it.  She could help but notice that his own were very warm, his touch and skin softer than she would have expected them to be.

She felt the sudden swell of power off of him and reflexively ducked her head to squeeze her eyes shut.  After a few moments, she peeked through her lashes to make sure the burst of light had dissipated from his transformation.

His wings stretched broadly and he readjusted himself in his chair.  The much larger hands on hers became even warmer, his skin no longer having the same softness but his palms were smooth.  Though they did not prick or cut her, the sharp edges of his claws set her on edge.  Her mind chose then to remind her of the induced dream she’d had that night.

Evie glanced over at Haarlep to shake the thoughts and found them to be watching raptly with a suspiciously silent grin.

With an alarm blaring in her skull at their change of behavior, she asked, “What’s happening?”

Raphael explained as though it were plain as day, “In order to ensure that my troublesome incubus does not breach the terms of your contract, I require a means by which to enforce them.  A mark.”   His eyes flicked up to hers from beneath his brow, peering at her with amusement at her panic.  “Clearly you are no stranger to flesh ink —consider it no different.”

“Uhm…”  She swallowed thickly.  The gremlins and dust pixies that made her brain function were calling it a day and packing it in with this new information.  Her thoughts were nothing but TV static and the screech of a dial-up tone.

He was going to tattoo her?

Teasingly, Haarlep asked, “She appears quite taken aback.  Are you having regrets now, little foxy?”

“No!” she snapped, feeling her tail lash behind her.  If that was what needed to be done, she could suck it up.  Hopefully.

There was no further warning before Raphael began.  He swiped his finger through the still-wet stamp of Haarlep’s blood on the contract and pressed it to her wrist, just above her tattoo of black lace.

She watched his hand shift, clenching her teeth together when his claw pricked her skin from the middle of the smudge and slowly slid down in a straight line through her tattoo.  A burning sensation immediately spread from the cut through her hand and radiated up her arm, causing her to slap her other hand over her mouth to contain a shriek of pain.  Her right hand closed tightly around the thumb of his that had been holding hers steady.

“There’s no need to hide, foxy,” Haarlep said as though enjoying a show.  “We would love to hear your delicious cries of pain!”

Evie wanted to bare and gnash her teeth at them but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of anything escaping.  Instead, she took a deep breath through her nose and attempted to focus purely on her breathing.

It felt like it was working to take her mind off it until she felt his claw pierce into her skin again…and again, the heat and pain flaring once more with each cut made.  Though she half watched it through her heartbeat-blurred vision, she couldn’t even feel her own blood running off her wrist and beginning to drip to the table below.

The bastard might have said to consider it like a tattoo, but no tattoo burned like this.

After he said something in what she presumed was Infernal, the carved mark glowed in fiery shades for a moment.  As the mark seemed to settle, most of the pain dulled to an aching throb.

Raphael rubbed her skin clear of blood with his thumb, lifting his hand to his mouth to lick it clean with a satisfied hum.  “The vampire may have taste, after all.”  Releasing her hand, he said, “All finished.  A fine work by my hand.  Haarlep cannot touch you without my knowing.”  He smacked away the incubus’ hand as they reached for the drops of her blood on the table.

“I want a taste, too!” Haarlep whined.  “It’s only fair—the little beast got to taste mine.”

Shooting Haarlep an incredulous glare, Evie slunk down in her seat and cradled her wrist, tilting her head to inspect the new mark.  It was…a rose.  Somehow, the blood pressed to her skin had left behind a bright red smudge.  The cuts the devil made had scarred over an inky black, giving shape to a macabre bloom of petals and a jagged, thorny stem that bisected her tattoo.

“Do you not remember?  Oh, you didn’t tell her!” the giddily exclaimed to the devil that could not have looked less interested as he propped his head in his palm.  “You, darling beast, sank those little fangs into me a number of times!  I’ve you to thank for a portion of this.”  They gestured to the wounds scattered on their body.

“Good for me,” she mumbled, wanting to go back to completely ignoring them, but they seemed determined to get a rise out of her.

“I was surprised at the amount of flesh you managed to tear from my hand.”  They held it up and a large flap of skin fell away grotesquely.

Evie quirked a brow at them and refused to be cowed.  “Noted.  I’ll do a better job of skinning you properly next time.”

Haarlep threw their head back and laughed.  “Aw, tough words from a little pup.  But all of that—” they waved their hand over where the contract had been before rolling upon itself and vanishing—“is now behind us.  Why don’t we start anew, hmm?  We could be friends.”

Evie stared blankly at the incubus.

“Do you hate me so?” they asked at her silence.

A calmness had overcome her since signing the contract—and getting actual feeling that wasn’t pain back into her hand.  Their presence no longer meant…anything.  Glancing over the foods piled on the table that she had not yet touched, she answered flatly, “You aren’t worthy of that kind of effort.”

They braced their chin on their palm with a smile she was sure they thought was some kind of alluring but it didn’t meet their eyes, leaving them instead just seeming…predatory.  “I could take a different form, if that would be more to your liking?”

Impulsive words died on her tongue as a new idea came to mind to try to shake them off.  “Ooh, yes!”  She clasped her hands together to pretend to be excited, her hungry stomach urging her on.

If her sudden change in attitude bothered them, they didn’t show it.  “And what is your preferred—”

Evie grinned wider.  “Something edible.”

They stared at her for a long moment without moving until their eyes shifted to Raphael and back.

As they started to open their mouth to say more, Evie decided to be more explicit, picking up a fillet knife from the table and testing the bend with her finger, “Like a fish, please!  I haven’t had good sushi in forever.  Or I could definitely go for some barbecued eel.“

They huffed in offense, but the haughtiness in their words told her they weren’t taking her seriously.  “Happily, I shall report that I have lain with no such lesser creature.”

“Do you have, like, a menu I could reference?” she asked.

They stood and spun around their chair, crossing their arms over the top of it.  “How about a dragon?” they offered.

She gave consideration to the offer, exaggeratedly screwing up her face in thought.  In other circumstances, she’d have so many questions—pity they were such a vile asshole.  “Is that like alligator?” she questioned, actually wanting to know now.  “So, important question…  When you die, do you retain the form that you’re in or—”

Haarlep scowled—in a manner so similar yet so different from their master’s.  “I thought your sort was against such depravities.”  She sensed a crack forming.

“First time for everything, I suppose.”  She shrugged and swayed to the side to assess if there would even be any viable meat cuts on them.  Could devils be eaten?

In a stroke of timing that couldn’t have been better, her stomach chose to growl loudly at that moment.

They fled to stand behind Raphael and dipped forward over his shoulder to hiss, “Master, do you not consider it strange that this wretched creature is sitting right there sizing up your form to mince for a platter?”

Raphael was wearing a mask of stoicism but there was humor in his eyes and desire to play along.  “I would hardly consider it odd for one of her proclivities.”

Confusion swept over Haarlep.

Sitting back and playing with the knife in her hands, Evie smiled and flirtily snapped her teeth at the incubus.  “Oh, did he not tell you?” she repeated their words back at them with a flutter of her lashes.  “I’m the camp cook and butcher.  I have several mouths to feed, after all, so I have to get a bit creative with our food resources.  Minotaur, hook horrors.  The next illithid to try anything fishy is getting turned into calamari.  I’d try devil.”

Their scowl deepened in disgust and uncertainty.

Evie dug in.  “I think your tail taste like alligator.”

“If you thought that mark was painful, ingesting a devil’s blood might burn a hole straight through you, foxy,” they quipped defensively.

“That’s what exsanguination’s for, silly!” she replied.  “Lots of things require special prep for eating.”

They blanched, curling tighter around their master.  “I’m certain there’s something around here that can be served up if you’re so Hells bent on eating a devil.”

“My appetite’s a bit more vindictive than that.  I played nice out of respect for Raphael,” she declared with more confidence than she felt.  “Don’t touch me again, and I’ll have no reason to rip your wings off and turn you into little fried devil nuggets.”

“Ugh, shoo, beastie!”  Haarlep swept their arm out at her.  “Send her back!” they angrily demanded.

She had successfully gotten under their skin.

Raphael lifted his hand and she expected to feel herself enveloped by his magic to return her to camp, but it was the incubus that disappeared instead.

An immense tension she didn’t know she had in her body left once they were gone.  Evie let out a breath and tossed the knife on the table.  Sliding down further, she stared at the ceiling.  She was gonna need another nap after this.

“I’m a little upset that you didn’t say I should add a clause about gagging them,” she grumbled.

“Much becomes obvious in hindsight,” he said with a smirk.

“Is there anything else that I should know about this mark?” she asked, sticking her arm up in the air.  She had thought she’d considered every angle she could of the contract and had still missed something.  It was best to figure out what else she may have missed before leaving.

“Those who are particularly sensitive to the properties of Infernal magic may be able to sense it, though the amount is minuscule.”  Not something that had occurred to her to worry about.  She’d have to figure out who to be cautious around…  “It will only activate at Haarlep’s touch to remove them from you and inform me of their breach of conduct.”

“Remove them, how?” she followed up.

“Forcefully,” was his simple response before he continued, “You got your desired terms through the contract but that does not mean that I am yet satisfied with Haarlep’s punishment.  They disobeyed me in their attempt to usurp my claim of your soul.  As you and I are now bound by contract, that mark will ensure that lesser devils will think twice about approaching you or accepting any pleas or bargains for help.”  It partially sounded like a threat to her ears, a reminder of what he was after and a potential narrowing of avenues for removing the tadpole but she really didn’t have any intention of making more deals with devils.

She hummed noncommittally, a catchy song taking residence in her head.  “I like the rose.”

‘In a rose tattoo, in a rose tattoo.  I’ve got your name written here in a rose tattoo…’

❤️ Thank-you for reading!! Please consider liking & reblogging.❤️

Coming up next: "So About that Soul Sworn Contract" + a lesson in etiquette

< Previous Chapter: May Not Be Prada | Next Chapter: To Be Added >

[woodchipp]

"her actions have shown [how much she cares]" not being backed up by any of her actions throughout the game aside, this summary gets even funnier if you take a closer look at what kicks off the plot of One Day Left - Sunny, Kel and Hero confronting Aubrey at her house.

I have Things to say about that scene, both in terms of how it relates to Aubrey and to the game's writing in general.

Right off the bat, the game uses a milder version of "hell" right before inexplicably making Aubrey use the word itself. Something like

AUBREY: ...! AUBREY: Wh-What are you guys doing here?! AUBREY: GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ROOM!!

would've worked just as fine, in my opinion.

This game had three editors, by the way.

When pressed, the first thing Aubrey says about the incident at the lake is a straight-up lie in an attempt to diminish the severity of her wrongdoing. No, her watery eyes aren't going to convince me she's genuinely sorry.

1) Here it is again. Instead of owning up to her behavior at the very least, she continues trying to make the incident seem less severe than it actually was.

2) You "didn't mean to" push Basil into the lake even though he was obviously standing right at the edge of the pier? And you knew he was incapable of swimming? You're a fuckwad.

Accident or no accident, he was in active danger of dying. You chose to argue with Kel on the pier since that was more of a priority to you than trying to save your close friend.

And then she tries to reduce the severity of what she did for the third time! Sure, she does seem to apologize afterwards

but then immediately falls back on deflecting blame, which makes the apology come off as insincere.

Really, I would've preferred Aubrey being upfront about being a prick. Her incessant attempts to blame everyone and everything but herself for her choices don't make her complex because the game speedruns her redemption and we don't get to see her growth, which is also why said attempts become very grating after a certain point.

Aubrey isn't the only character I take issue with here, though.

1) Hero. My dude. Your own brother accused Aubrey of nearly killing another friend of yours. Aubrey confirmed said accusation. And you still dismiss it as a harmless squabble like the ones they had in their childhood days??

Either he's also stuck in his childhood mentally or he's just - and I'm not going to mince words here - a moron.

2) I love that Hero's reaction implies he still doesn't seem to take Kel seriously. You'd think he'd try to be more mindful of his little brother following that furious outburst, but nope. He still seems to view Kel as a rash little child he has to rein in.

One could argue this is meant to show that the charscters are flawed, and in a better story, I'd actually be inclined to agree. I like the idea of Hero struggling to move on from his role as the group's "dad", and I'd have liked if the story forced him to understand he can't keep playing their dad with a situation much more complicated than a "typical Kel and Aubrey fight". Likewise, Hero's perception of Kel as an impulsive, bratty kid persisting to the present day and causing friction with Kel himself would've made for an interesting conflict.

Of course, this isn't a better story, so after Kel and Aubrey's reactions, Hero's shallow peacemaking is promptly (and conveniently) forgotten when he notices the last bunch of missing photos.

Peak writing, everyone!

This game took six years and $200,000, by the way. No, I won't stop mentioning that.

My sister in Christ you are literally wearing her fucking headband. You were also given some of her other clothes, it seems.

If Aubrey's problem was about having nothing to remember Mari by, it's null and void to me because she clearly does have more than just the photos. Not only that, but this also comes off as the game trying to use Aubrey's grief as an excuse for her treatment of Basil, which is disgusting for reasons I shouldn't need to explain.

(oh, and Sunny's just Standing There. he doesn't contribute anything to the conversation at all. he could've been removed from this scene altogether and nothing of value would be lost. the main character of all time, truly)

[silvergolddraco28]

LMK x Hazbin Hotel- part 10- Stone vs Radio

()()()()()

Wukong blinked as they appeared at the gates of the rather massive yet slightly run-down hotel where a demon dressed in deep red and black with deer-like traits stood at the gate holding a cane in the crook of his arm that was topped by an old-fashioned microphone. Wukong made a face at the scent that came from the demon. “How does she not smell the decay and rot coming from him?” Wukong deadpanned.

“Ignore it like the sweet Angel my little girl is.” Lucifer praised, not even he could fathom how such a monstrosity could latch onto his faithful daughter.

“Alastor what the actual fuck?!” Vaggie stormed already brandishing her weapon. Though the demon oddly had his back turned to them. “Charlie’s done nothing but sing your praises whilst you go out of your way to prove your the exact scum this hotel doesn’t need-” Vaggie was cut off by a burst of loud radio static coming from the microphone cane.

The demon’s head snapped all the way round as he finally met the small group. “Well! Well! Well! I see my little message was received hm?” His head cocked at an angle whilst the rest of his lower half still faced the hotel. “Now let me in~.” The demon sing-songed but there was malice laced with his words.

“No,” Wukong replied calmly but with a firm finality. “I don't trust someone that has eaten younglings to gain more power and enjoys consuming flesh for its taste instead of necessity from lack of proper food.” Wukong bluntly replied. “I might let you back in if you can beat me in a fair fight. Hand to hand and a single weapon of choice. I can even provide a spell that will make the area of the fight a null void with Lucifer acting as the provider for the magic to the spell, the spell will cut off the area from outside magic and simply leave us with any abilities that are unable to be suppressed due to their nature.” Wukong replied.

The radio demon was silent as he regarded the monkey demon. His eyes narrowed in recognition as the everlasting smile imprinted, tightened. “I don’t believe you have the authority here. Monkey.” The radio demon replied, eerily calm.

Vaggie really should condone any fighting unless it was in defense of the hotel but… this was? Surely…? She could already see Charlie’s disapproving gaze of such a method but what could be done? After all, if Alastor were to back out it would pose questions on his… intentions. As if they were not dubious enough.

“Seems fair to me unless you’re a fat fucking chicken, THEEEEN Wukong here automatically wins!” Lucifer decreed.

“I'm one of the Seven Demon Kings, Bucko. I’d give Lucifer a run for his money in combat.” Wukong stated pulling the bluff from what he currently gathered about the world.

The smile on the radio demon surprisingly relaxed, if anyone was looking closely to see. “Is that so monkey?” Alastor leered, voice distorting laced with an undertone of amusement. His body snapped, spinning fully to face them as he now approached growing in size. Whether or not the primitive fool was telling the truth a gloss over his statue the radio demon could gather he was no stranger to combat. There was more he needed to discover about this creature. But he needed to play his cards right, though the ape had pissed him off greatly.

“Why heavens me! It would be primitive to combat a fellow lord now wouldn’t it? Such an improper custom.~” Alastor sing-songed. “It would seem we have started off on the wrong footing. Monkey.~”

��No, I want to see how the competition has grown since my last visit to Lucifer’s Realm. Surely you can indulge me in that much.” Wukong countered. “Fighting shows me the potential and how the rest of the realm would measure up,” Wukong stated, not bothering to correct Alastor on what to call him. ‘From his intellect, he would know exactly who i am if he heard my full title. He looks like someone who would read foreign literature.’ Wukong deduced.

“Primitive as always monkey.” Alastor quipped, though…he supposed he did have rage to unleash. And what better way than to directly inflict pain on the source of his current problems? “And once I win?”

“We go the fuck home.” Vaggie barked

“I loosen that leash you have.” Wukong replied, his eyes glowing a fiery golden color as he looked over Alastor’s form. Wukong held out a hand as a bamboo scroll appeared in his grasp with a small crimson and gold ‘stick’ inside of it. “This is the spell for the null void.” Wukong stated handing it to Lucifer hiding a smirk as his suspicion of the male being able to lift his staff was confirmed. Wukong then held his other hand out of the ground, slowly the ground began to shift and split apart as a crystal staff rose from the very earth with Wukong spinning it in his hand to test the weight once it was fully out. “This is my weapon of choice.”

Alastor stood still. Once narrowed eyes in mockery slowly widened. ‘Primitive fool and a fucking liar… Yet…’ Doubt weaved into his decrepit skin as the radio demon prickled at the sensation. He could feel the scorching eyes of the king that stood before him. ‘He knew. And he could see his shackles too.’

“I… believe you’re mistaken.” The demon lost his composure as his voice came out more rasp then intended, the smile he wore breaking ever so slightly. He warned with his growing eyes for the king to say no more. Whatever he knew he did not need the other two catching on. Was it desperation? Alastor chose to ignore but the slither of freedom had prevented itself. He had to take it. What other chance did he have?

“Sweet!” Lucifer’s overly confident voice cut through momentarily distracting Alastor as he watched the man eagerly take the scroll. “Fancy little thing too!”

“Your weapon then?” Lucifer pointedly turned to the radio demon who spun the cane he was commonly known for. “Now I want a good clean fight boys! Dazzle Maggie and I! Put on a show like your life depends on it!” Lucifer commanded.

‘Oh, the fool had no idea.’ Alastor mussed.

“I will knock you upside the head with my staff if you get her name wrong one more time. Her name is Vaggie!” Wukong stated to Lucifer the fiery gold in his eyes vanished.

“Like it’ll hurt!” Lucifer scoffed but he would rather not be bonked by the stone monkey. After all, they were just starting to bond! “Okay! Okay! Monkey man, mag- I UH MEAN TO SAY Vaggie. My dear Vagatha.” The demon king nodded. “I should write this down.” He murmured more to himself.

Vaggie looked about ready to throw the towel in just wanting to get back to Charlie but the gesture from Wukong was appreciated. The demand for respect and to be taken seriously was…nice. It was certainly a change from the attitude of the hotel.

The golden monkey rolled his eyes. “You can head inside to your mate Vaggie. This might become a bit messy and isn't something a youngling should be watching even with your experience as a warrior.” Wukong told the woman.

“Don’t you roll your eyes at me monkey man!!!” Lucifer half scolded but descended into a fits of laughter. What exactly was so amusing was beyond the rest.

He took several steps away from Lucifer and Vaggie to make space for the fight. “Word of warning, hope you don't mind the heat of a volcano.” Wukong cryptically stated.

“Do as you please simian. I don’t see why we can’t have our fun hm?” Alastor replied though there was a clear shift in his stance.

Vaggie blinked, surprised he could even guess so easily despite showing no action. He really was in a league of his own… or he was just being considerate too. She seemed torn between staying as ordered. She too had witnessed horror from her many previous battles but such a sight she no doubt had wanted to leave in the past. Whatever these two would enact she did not really want to be part unless needed. “Should assistance be required at any moment I would be honored to be of aide Mr. King sir.” She turned to Wukong with a sincere and grateful nod, before taking her leave.

“BYEEEE M- V-VAGGIEEE! SAY HI TO MY BABY GIRL! Can I say the spell now- I wanna see some ACTION! PIZAZZ! Ya know? The fun stuff!” Lucifer moaned once he’d waved the militant demon off. He scowled at Alastor while casually inspecting the spell scroll. “Looks like our resident chicken legs over here FINALLY found the fucking nerve to fight! What’ll become of these two demons battling it out for the utmost control? Staaaaayy tuned folks!” Lucifer’s voice seemed to project to an obnoxious volume as if it were all a spectacle.

Wukong snorted at Lucifer’s excitement. “Go ahead. Simply untie the ribbon and have a clear mind of the boundary. The scroll will do the rest.” ‘Looks like my truest form will be let out.’ Wukong thought to himself.

“Ohohohoho!” Lucifer gleefully beamed at the scroll within his grasp stroking the ribbon as well as the Intricate patterns and designs. “By the way, announcing is a MUST! It’s my very being! Ya know kinda my thing anyway. I’m gonna fucking enjoy this.” The demon grinned.

Alastor twitched. He would kill this man before they would even start. But unfortunately Satan himself would have to wait too. ‘Pity.’ Alastor thought to himself itching to decapitate the bumbling blond idiot.

“Well then.” Lucifer coughed, making a point to take his sweet time unwrapping the ribbon. “Now wait just a minute folks! Any final words from our SPONSOR?” A miniature duck appeared, clearly crafted by the man himself. He feigned listening to the inanimate creation before regarding the two. “May the best fucker win.” Lucifer bellowed with a demonic undertone showing off his sharp shark like teeth. The ribbon came undone and dissolved into dark purple sparks.

A large white circle glowing with runes followed by a second circle surrounded the two as a transparent white dome lifted up and closed above the two before turning a fiery red then black as every scrap of magic inside of the dome was promptly nullified. Wukong took a deep single breath as his body began to dry out and crack like weak clay as chunks fell off revealing his actual stone flesh veined with thin golden arcane lines between the copper-gold ‘fur’ that ‘grew’ in cover the ‘skin’. The air around him was as hot as an active volcano from the very heat he was generating with each pulse of his heart. He smirked before racing forward with nearly inhuman speed. ‘No holding back.’

“AAAAAAND WOULD YA BELIEVE IT FOLKS! Turns out our very own resident stone monkey is… you FUCKING guessed it! MADE OF STONE?! A little on the nose there but a fun surprise for the viewers! And here he prepares for the attack!”

The radio demon stood eerily still. Ears twitching at the sheer velocity of speed the stone monkey exceeded. The heat grew, scorchingly as the distance closed between them. ‘No incantations? No magic? No problem. It had been a while since I had fought so… Crass yet so be it if it meant putting that primate in its place.’ With the speed the monkey had Alastor matched him in evasion. Limbs contorting as he separated the distance nimble on his feet as he continued to observe his opponent with a haunting smile.

“Your fast. But I'm much faster.” Wukong grinned as he comteley let loose ‘disappearing’ before reappearing right behind the radio demon swinging out his staff with inhuman speed completely abandoning the need to even restrain himself to human standards.

“We’ll see about that. Monkey.” The demon quipped. He was a deer demon after all. Before one of the iconic radio host. Skittish were what they were known for. Searching for danger at the slightest sound, a shifting change of wind, a whiff of an unknown smell.

“YIKES IT SEEMS OLD RADIO HEAD ALREADY LET HIS GUARD DOWN?!” Lucifer called out his eyes just barely keeping up with the speed Wukong was going at and still the pace was increasing to such a degree he might have to allow his eyes to go full demon just to keep up.

The radio demon knew he would not evade the wielded weapon. Not in time. Though he cushioned the blow as his form changed. Such a thunderous slam shook the dome’s very core. Hell, even Lucifer could feel its stark vibrations from where he was. He took the opportunity to slide into the shadows of the staff breaking free of the weapon as he stood. Though clear, the attack had left its mark. It was mere child’s play. And insulting. “Cute.” Alastor retorted as his eyes grew protruding dials. The pungent smell leaching from him earlier became stronger. Sickeningly so as he grew in size reeking of those once his meal. Not giving the monkey a recovery as he bolted in a deranged crawl closing their distance.

“Oh, are you trying to be a demented spider?” Wukong taunted waiting for the attack as the heat from his body grew even more as he got even more pumped burning away at the clothing leaving him bare and revealing he actually didn't have a gender at all at least in his truest form.

“Now, now simian. Don’t hold back.” Alastor teased, his voice distorting incredibly, enthralled with every punch.

“I’ve beaten much bigger and creepier demons than you.” Wukong stated as he stopped the claw coming to his face with two fingers before slamming his other fist into the hand hearing many bones breaking from the force.

‘Such power….’ His large dialed eyes began to swivel as his form vibrated as some sort of static. With every hit he took from the simian more appendages sprouted from different angles each lunging and evading for the stone monkey. ‘He would not be bested by a primate. Though he would bide his time.’

“Well- this just got REAL FUCKING WEIRD and kinda hot. In a respectable kinda way amiright folks?!” Lucifer seemed to watch in both disgust and yet morbid curiosity.

Wukong’s eyes had taken a slitted form much similar to a cat’s or snake’s eyes while his tail waved behind him, golden fire escaping his lips the heat having expanded to envelop the entire dome, slowly melting away at the ground making it bubble and boil like a thick molasses that didn't stop Wukong’s movements while his attacks began to leave serious burns and deep marks that were burned black from his obsidian claws ripping out swaths of flesh and cutting off extra arms with ease and grace of someone performing a deadly dance.

"Now that's more like it."vThe radio demon encouraged, seeming to join in the hellish dance as the heat began to spread throughout the battle space. The deer demon continued to evade and slash with daggered attacks when there were openings. The more the warrior cut off the hellish form the more fearsome it began to arise. The demon did have to admit however- The flames emitting from the warrior stung. He could not deny this surprised him greatly. "You wound me holding back, Monkey." Alastor roared, the grotesque smell of decay increasing tenfold and so too did the initially quiet screams being emitted from the appendages cut. The howls of the lost souls echoing across the dome as former lords and ladies cried out to a fruitless savior.

"TALK ABOUT TURNING UP THE HEAT! Monkey brings out the flames scorching his opponent! Dear ol radio boy is holding his own but for how long for? Will this be the end for radio as we know it or does he have another trick up his sleeve folks?!" Lucifer cried, announcing from above for a better view. "FUCK that smells awful." The demon practically gagged, even from his birds eye view the heat and smell -heavens above- were potent!

Wukong took in a deep breath before bright golden colored flames covered his entire body being released from the small golden veins spread throughout his ‘skin’. The flames quickly spread to the boiling ground and ignited everything in a massive ball of golden fire kept isolated in the dome.

"Child's play." Alastor spat. Though the feigned bravado tithered. Regardless of his poor methods of combat- he could not lose. ‘The cost was far too great.’ The screams of the lost souls were piercing as the radio demon began to grow tenfold. The harsh static clashing against the flames attempting to repel the areas not already covered. Though the demon remained fixed, his appendages warped by shadow as distorted body parts flung in rage appearing from all directions to latch onto the monkey. ‘He just needed one good touch to pull him under.’

“You’ve never had to deal with Divine Flames have you?” Wukong drawled as the first limb that came towards him was reduced to rich brown dirt with grass growing from said dirt unbothered by the heat or the golden flames that became a soft earthy transparent green around the plant.

Alastor blinked. His dislocated yet crudely balanced head became still as he watched his appendage fizzle away. Reduced to nothing until life sprouted from its ashes. The dome was silent.

Even as a former angel himself, Lucifer could not begin to describe what he had seen. He recognised the power. He could feel the familiar energy entwined within his own being, however… In the short time he had known the radio demon -greatly disliking him for swindling his way into his daughter’s favor- the former angel pitied the scene before him. There was a reason a hierarchy existed in the first place. Alastor would soon learn why. No amount of souls garnished and fed onto a silver platter could ever compare with those who sat at the top unscathed. Plus this battle showed the ease Wukong was having against the deer demon.

Wukong simply spun his crystal staff now coated in the same golden flames that became transparent over the pure crystal. The flame-covered weapon cut through each mangled limb reducing them to dirt just like the first with grass and flowers sprouting up with more transparent green flames mingling with the golden flames.

"Well shit folks this looks like this fight took a turn for the very worst for ol’ Radio face." Lucifer's booming voice cutting through whatever foolproof plan the trapped demon had been concocting.

The radio demon let out an indescribable cry of both rage along with entire disbelief watching as the pain rose from his severed appendages before his eyes. He tore away from the remaining limbs trapped under the weight of the blaze as he feebly wrapped into the shadows. Creating distance between the two. He needed to heal- The searing pain from the staff alone sent him down. Any attempt at regeneration was futile only met with the harsh golden flames preventing any further progress. Why couldn't he regenerate?! What the fuck was this power?

“Yield. Those flames will not stop until every last bit of unnatural energy has been purged clean from your body.” Wukong advised as he stood crouch atop the crystal staff like a cat.

"I'll kill you where you stand. Ape." The radio demon roared. His unnatural form convulsing and dislocating at every step to be rid of the relentless flames of which continued to burn. ‘He just needed to reach him. If he could just reach him and consume his flesh whole-’ Though every attempt at an attack was futile, never reaching the celestial primate as he writhed in feral anguish.

"Just throw in the towel would ya? Yeesh you're making it harder than it needs to be." Lucifer cringed, covering his poor ducky's eyes. Not that the demon didn't deserve this, after everything he had put sinners and ones in power through. Perhaps Alastor would finally learn his place.It was never meant to be amongst those on top.

“You will die before you can touch me and seeing as I am holding back the most violent flames that want to purge your very soul of all that toxic junk you can say you’ll end up fertilizer before you can blink.” Wukong deadpanned.

"Just give it a rest will ya?" The king of hell sighed. Clearly there would be no end with the behavior displayed from the demon. "All you gotta do is plead mercy." As much as he would like to see the sinner's corpse splattered adorned in the prettiest of insulting petals, Charlie came to mind as he continued to watch. Would she understand if the demon met his End?

"Never… NEVER!" Alastor shrilled. His distorted cords barely audible above the sounds of the frantic static he displayed. "I HAVE A CHANCE AT FREEDOM! IT CALLS ME! I WILL NOT BE BESTED BY AN APE!" With every attempt at reaching the monkey he fell, breaking away into nothing.

Wukong gave him a sad look. “So be it… Little Fawn.”

The dialls in the demon's eyes swiveled. Taking the celestial primate in, for all he was worth. A look he despised more than anything was pity. ‘Pity aimed at him no less was degrading.’ It was one he had not seen… in a long, long time. Past the dome he could see Lucifer, the former angel bore the same wretched expression. He had been too callous. Desperate dials swiveled in sheer panic but the demon could realize he indeed was bested. What match was he against heavenly power? He only held a fraction of his true potential. The rest sealed far beyond the dome, in the clutches of another. ‘Could he accept dying at the hands of a celestial before his true prime?’

"Oh for the love of-" Lucifer groaned knowing he would inevitably have to intervene for Charlie's sake. "Alright, radio-"

‘No... NO- NO! IF HE WAS GOING OUT THEN IT WAS GOING TO BE BY HIS OWN TERMS AND VIOLATION!’ Alastor’s mind screamed. "I yield."

“…You may not like what you turn out as at this point, Little Fawn.” Wukong sighed as the barrier broke and magic flooded back in warping and changing Alastor as he became smaller and smaller.

‘Again with that inferior name.’ Alastor would've seethed though the pain accompanied by the blazing flames was far too great. Whatever the celestial uttered fell on deaf ears. The screams of the lost souls entwining with his own soon took over just as it equally faded to static silence. Leaving whatever mercy they spared in a pile of ashes.

Wukong sighed while his body returned to flesh and blood covered up with a simple gold tunic and loose dark red pants. “And now we have a baby deer.” Wukong stated as he looked over the young fawn before him that was probably no older than four or five with a much paler red coloring and missing any clothing sitting in the pile of ashes.

"Hohoolllyyyyyy shit!" Lucifer choked as he descended. "ANNNNND THAT'S ALL FOLKS! WHAT A FUCKING FIGHT THAT WAS! Unsurprisingly my heavenly counterpart DESTROYED the competition. STAY TUNED TILLLLL NEXT TIME! Round 2 starts whenever this guy grows the fuck up I guess. Which is never." The demon deadpanned before properly taking in the sight. Large infant eyes regarded them both. "I'm gonna kick him."

“Nope! You are not doing anything.” Wukong stated as he gently picked up the little fawn getting little bleeps of a young fawn calling it's mother from the now ex-overlord. "Fiiine have it your way." The former angel playfully sighed. Would it have been morally right? No. But did the demon deserve it? Without a doubt.

He quickly covered the young one in a comfortable and warm set of pale red and gold accented tunic and pants. “This was the side effect I was talking about.” Wukong sighed, prepared to be bombarded with questions by Lucifer.

"Yeesh! No kidding." The demon regarded the crazed killer now just...a simple child. "So what is this- permanent? Does he even remember anything?*" Lucifer eyed the little fawn with both disdain and curiosity. The added tunic and pants weren't helping in its case. Given what this little creature formerly was, it was both horrifying and adorable.

“It's permanent. He will basically be forced to grow back up. It's part of my domain for being a Life and Nature God. I can't kill a soul, but I can purge it of any darkness to the point they basically regress to a simpler age to relearn everything from the ground up with some basics.” Wukong replied with a blush crossing his face. “The only souls I can truly kill are ones that are little more than mindless beasts without a scrap of humanity or morality left in them. The regression can be anywhere between one and four years old since that's where most younglings tend to observe their parents or caretaker and start building habits from observations.If the souls are under contract, then they would have been automatically transferred to you or Husk since Alastor is far too young to be making and holding onto contracts, even ones Alastor is under would be made void since he is no longer a mature adult soul.” Wukong rambled before he stopped blushing a bit darker at the unintentional info dump before looking up as Husk came flying down with Charlie running behind him.

“Well fuck me." Lucifer murmured, pretty astonished by this revelation. Before immediately clamping his mouth. He never particularly liked the use of colorful language amongst children. In the state they were in, they were the purest of souls. Regardless of nature. Angel? Demons? Mortal? All alike were pure. Perhaps heaven's influence had never really faded. He had enforced the very rules whilst raising his sweet Charl. And as Wukong rightfully said, their behaviors and response to information were all taught and learnt from the environment around them including those within that space. It certainly did put his mind at ease hearing this news. Better than watching their backs for a murderous 5 year old hellbent on revenge. The king of demons continued to listen eagerly to the ramblings of the monkey, captivated by every word. Ugh.. Souls were always such a bother to keep. Too many to keep track of, they weren't always the talkative type either. In all honesty it had been a while since Lucifer was even amongst company his social skills despite all his bravado were next to nothing. Maybe he could interest them in his craft! Not that any trapped soul could refuse. He was Lucifer Morningstar, after all. "H-Hang on just a tic! The bellhop here had SOULS! Lords of power..surely this means...-" ‘Heavens above… If those former sinners roamed free.-’

“Dead. Ended. Faded. They were far too gone and intermingled with that toxic magic for there to be anything left to save. Mihou is far more delicate with extracting souls of the dead from that kind of fate but unfortunately, I don’t have the finesse like he does. If any of the consumed souls had a shred of light left they would have appeared as a baby.” Wukong replied.

Lucifer nodded, taking all the additional information in. It certainly was a way to go out… And under a child no less? No doubt feathers would have been ruffled from such a degrading act. Though it couldn't be helped. "Wait- Who's Mihoo?" The demon asked before Wukong's second statement sent him reeling. "Fuuuuu-dge. Fudge. That little guy was under contract?! OHOHOHO I'm SO holding that over him when he grows!" Noticing his baby girl making her way towards them he frantically began waving.

“My Shadow General and my once mate... Before he met his first life’s end in an unfair fight against me…” Wukong replied, his ears falling down in deep sadness and guilt that swam in his eyes. “I can tell you the full story in private away from the younglings. Better for you to be aware of my mistakes than to be left in the dark about them, Lucifer.” Wukong added as Charlie exited the gates panting hard with Husk landing beside her. Wukong could sense that Husk was much stronger than before. ‘Ah, the contracts must have finished settling in him then. Might have to ask him to join me in spars to help him regulate his strength once again.’ Wukong thought to himself.

A saddened look seemed to cross the demon’s gaze hearing the celestial talk about his ‘once mate.’ He knew the feeling all too well as his own thoughts traveled back towards what he too had lost. The ring on his finger seemed to burn as a stark reminder as he began to twist it absentmindedly. “Hey, we’re all fuck ups down here. It’s what I’m known for especially.” Lucifer muttered with a bittersweet smile, his usual blazed confidence extinguished, leaving in its place a weakling flame the reigning king opened for Wukong to see. At Least with him he felt he could show those cracks. He wasn’t sure entirely why yet hearing a part of the monkey’s story was comforting. “I’d offer you a drink but you don’t seem like the type to wallow away in your sorrows. Offer stands though.” Lucifer winked. He was definitely intrigued as the inevitable story times shared could wait. The demon continued to beam, listening to the array of questions from his dear beloved. “CHARLIE! BABY! YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN IT LIVE! IT WAS-“ Lucifer clamped his mouth casting a glance towards the infant, before he abruptly lowered his tone with a comedic cough as Charlie used the interruption to call him out.

“Dad! What in the seven rings happened out here?!” Charlie nearly screamed as she pulled out her phone showing clips of a live stream of the fight with Lucifer watching the fight of a demonic deer against a flaming stone monkey. The only real sound was from Lucifer’s commentary nothing else could be picked up except the sounds of the fight and any bestial sounds. “This is practically viral all over the Hellnet! Why are they fighting?! Why is Mr King covered in flames?! Is that a Baby?” Charlie rapidly asked only for her eyes to land on the dozing deer toddler in Wukong’s arms.

“Fudging nuts! But yeah what the monkey said. So now we have this!” Presenting the infant fawn with jazz hands. While Charlie blinked at the cranky fawn that was swiftly handed back to Wukong when the baby began to tear up, hiding their little face in Wukong’s neck with their ears flat, a cute little tail on their bottom flicked down in distress. “Isn’t he just the cutest little ex-murderer ever?!” Lucifer pouted whilst making a face at the cranky demon child.

“Part of my powers is to purge toxic and unhealthy magics from the soul of a being, Ms. Morningstar. The process ends up causing the soul in question to basically regress to a younger age to relearn everything about the world from the ground up. Any contracts Alastor held or was under have either been given to Husk as he was the closest and must familiar to handle Alastor’s contract besides Lucifer while any contracts Alastor was under became void since his soul is no longer of a mature adult.” Wukong explained with a slight twitch of his tail at repeating himself plus he knew he would have to do it a second time when he entered the Hotel. “Can we continue this inside Meimei?” Wukong asked using the Chinese word for a younger sister to get Charlie to focus.

The princess naturally was flawed by the sudden news and could not take her eyes off of the child. Though she attempted to focus on her father’s words only static seemed to reach her as her sole gaze was drawn to the infant fawn. She reached out a hand before the celestial’s words finally made her stall. “Oh my…- R-Right! Of course!” She quickly nodded. Husk had remained silent through the whole ordeal but it was clear from his own stature and expressions he had very mixed emotions.

“Can’t have the newborn freeze now can we?!” Lucifer grinned though he knew full well Wukong’s warmth would keep the infant far from it. A familiar golden light adorned the group before the eyesore decor of the hotel greeted them.

[star-girl69]

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: short chapter again but since it’s the holidays i’m mostly just sitting around doing nothing so expect a lot of short chapters quickly i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of death, swearing, incest, tell me if i missed anything!!

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Twenty Nine- The Dragon’s Treasure

—-

“I always thought you were quite lucky.”

It was late, and outside a storm brewed. The children seemed unbothered by it as they played before you, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor.

“Why is that?” You asked her, half turning on the chaise you both shared. If you closed your eye, the sounds of laughing children sounded like your own.

It had been only a few days since Aemond had taken you. You felt like Viserys in his final days, like living was killing you. And truly, without them, you were.

Helaena told you as much as she could, and your friendship burned hot and fast. It reminded you of them, and you had no choice but to push it away lest you would break down sobbing in front of her. You liked Helaena, but you did not trust her. Not quite yet.

Helaena reached out, placed a delicate hand on your red dress. “You look so beautiful in red. I have only worn green all my life.”

“It does compliment you so well, though.” You comforted, but you knew it would not help.

“I suppose,” she sighed. Silence fell between you, rain pouring and thunder cracking.

Helaena told you the entire realm thought you to be dead. But she wasn’t trusted with much more information, only whispering she heard. The Blacks were securing alliances, Jace returning victorious with support from the Starks and the Arryns. Luke returned unscathed from Tarth, pleasantries exchanged and the confirmation of an answer you already knew.

Alicent sat in the far chair, closest to the fire, eyes flicking over a book you could tell she was not reading.

You were not content. Not happy. You were dying.

—-

Eventually, Rhaenyra had to have Y/N’s chair removed. She stared at it every council meeting, until someone raised their voice to get her attention, Daemon or Rhaenys placed a hand on her shoulder, or when her sadness became too much and she had to look away.

Rhaenyra’s promises to her father were now null and void, because each night her bed was empty and Daemon was not enough to fill the hole. Of course, she appreciated him, she loved him, but he was not her.

Her and Daemon has always been too similar, restless and chaotic, cut from the same cloth, burned from the same fire. She knew he loved her but she also knew that she was not her. Nothing could ever fill the hole she left.

While everyone talked about her in the past tense, Rhaenyra could not bring herself too. She is gone. She is lost. Not was, not were, never, never. To talk about her like that made it real, and she cannot handle it being real.

Rhaenyra misses her so much it consumes her every moment. She thinks about her in wake, in sleep, in that transitional moment after sleep before you wake. There is only twenty-four hours in a day, and it is not enough to miss her.

A soft hand upon her shoulder, and when she turns, Daemon’s signet ring shines in the light of the afternoon sun. It had been 3 days, and Rhaenyra could not take it.

“Yes?” She asked, straightening in her chair.

“Your Grace,” Corlys started, careful in his words. “There is only one option. We show the Greens what happens when you upset us.”

I am more than upset, Rhaenyra wants to say, but holds her tongue. She does not want to be here. She wants to be in her bed, sleeping with a pillow under her head wrapped in one of Y/N’s dresses.

Rhaenyra is lost. She knows it, everyone at this table knows it. Alicent knows it. Otto, too. That is precisely why they took what is most precious from her.

“My Queen,” Daemon says, stepping out from behind her and placing a hand on her face. He fills her field of vision, keeps her attention, and for a moment he is everything until she remembers her again.

“Yes?” She asks, trying to keep her voice level. He holds her so tenderly it makes her feel like a child, and she wants to sob. At her core she is just that, a child who misses her family and wants her best friend back. But the more rational part of her knows she can never get that back. But she has created a new family, filled Alicent’s spot. She will show no mercy to those who have ruined her life, her family.

“I still have contacts inside the city. Let me arrange it. They can use the tunnels, kill whoever you choose, bring us back their heads.”

She stares at him.

For a moment, she is almost disgusted that she would even suggest it. Then she remembers what she has lost, the wild, wonderful, beautiful mother of her children. Her wife, her lover, her treasure.

“Kill all of them.” She croaks, and he nods, but she thinks of her wonderful wife again, and seizes. She grabs his arm. “Don’t- don’t kill the children, or Helaena, please. She would not want that.” She watches as he clenched his jaw, gets that look in his eye where she instinctively knows who he is thinking of.

“My Queen?” Lord Corlys asks, and she suddenly realizes they had been speaking in hushed tones. But she doesn’t look at them. She looks at Daemon. When she speaks, she digs her nails into his arm, louder so the entire room can hear.

“We are dragons, and our treasure will be avenged. The realm will know the meaning of fire. Kill them all.”

—-

taglist:

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[stratiotis-nth]

Ever since Cas came back and turned human, it would seem he’s stopped giving a shit about literally everything. When Dean noticed this new aspect of Cas’ colorful personality, he had made himself paranoid that Cas would suddenly start flirting with him on the regular now that his big confession was out in the open.

So while Dean was scared shitless, he was confusingly disappointed when Cas didn’t do that at all.

No. The first thing the ex-angel did after surviving another encounter with death was start a Shotgun war with Sam.

And no, not the bang bang kinda shotgun.

“Shotgun!” Cas practically bellowed down the corridor as the three of them were getting ready to get dinner.

“That’s not fair, Cas! I’m in the bathroom!” Sam complained through the closed door. Cas ignored him completely as he strode past and ducked into the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean, who had been desperately trying to stay out of this war, just gave Cas a sideways smile.

“Y’know, the rules are you can’t call shotgun until you actually see the car, Cas.” He told him, his lips tugging up in amusement and…just happiness that Cas was close.

“Until Sam demands to implement this rule, I will abuse his ignorance.” Cas replied, smiling softly. Once again, every time Cas won the passenger seat, Dean wanted to ask what was with his sudden obsession with it. It wasn’t like Cas hadn’t been stubborn enough to claim it before he became human. He wondered what changed, why Cas suddenly cared about seating arrangements. But, as he had been doing ever since they got Cas back (again), Dean bit his tongue. He didn’t want to overwhelm the newly human with the tsunami of questions he had.

Sam griped the entire way to the diner, grumbling about being squished even though Dean knew there was more than enough space. Cas sat next to Dean, watching the trees amble by with a serene, totally unaffected smile on his face. Pleased as a pickle. Dean was fighting his own internal battle between his burning questions and undying amusement at Sam’s plight.

At the diner, Cas sat next to Dean. That much was hardly anything new. The two just naturally gravitated towards each other, and after Dean caught himself drifting mindlessly towards Cas more times than he could count, he stopped giving him grief about personal space.

Cas’ thigh brushed up against his almost the entire meal. Dean pretended not to notice, but internally, he was melting into a puddle of bi panic.

In the parking lot, Sam was quick to call shotgun when Cas got distracted by their waitress catching up to him and giving him her phone number. Dean was too busy bristling and snapping at Cas to hurry up to even notice Sam was sitting next to him.

Cas sulked the entire ride home, the waitress’ number stuffed into one of his pockets. Dean tried not to think that maybe Cas was saving her number for another time.

On Saturday, it was Dean’s turn to go on a food run. Sam was busy working a ghoul case with Eileen, so when Cas wanted to come along there was no yelling match over the front. He ducked into the passenger seat and just about blinded Dean’s poor weak heart with a smile that crinkled his nose.

They fought over eggs for about twenty minutes in the diary aisle. Dean win by threatening to give Sam exclusive access to shotgun. Cas relented with a glower that could have smote demons if he still had his grace.

Eventually, Sam did implement the rule about only calling shotgun with the car in sight, and as the weeks went by and Dean’s silent journey is self realization unfolded, the war at escalated. Now, neither of them could call shotgun without all three of them being in sights of the car. It had gotten bad enough that Sam and Cas waited impatiently for Dean in the garage, staring expectantly for him to round the corner so they could have their yelling match.

Cas nearly blew Dean’s eardrums out, bellowing “SHOTGUN!” loud enough to drown out Sam. He angrily opened his mouth to argue when his phone started ringing.

“It’s Eileen.” He said, his back snapping straight and immediately answering the video call. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Can you give me a ride?” Dean could hear Eileen’s voice over the tinny speakers. “My car broke down and the nearest shop is two hours away.”

“Where are you?”

“An hour away from you? It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Dean saw Sam’s face soften, the tension of worry falling away. He butted in, sticking his face in view of the camera so Eileen could read his lips.

“Just tow it here. I can patch your ride.” He said. “Sam can take the tow truck.”

“Are you sure?” Eileen asked.

“Course. ‘Sides, those guys won’t give you a fair price anyway.” Dean flapped his hand dismissively.

“Thanks, Dean.” Eileen beamed, and oh, Dean knew that smile. Mischievous and damnit, she had planned this from the start, hadn’t she? Just to get a free repair out of him. Dean squinted suspiciously at her, and Eileen just wiggled her eyebrows.

“Cas and I can pick up the curse box and meet you two back here in a few hours.” Dean said. He saw Cas immediately brighten, having secured the passenger seat.

Cas was looking particularly triumphant as they drove, his knees rocking back and forth in a content, mindless sort of way. Finally, Dean couldn’t hold back the question anymore.

He had done his work accepting the fact that he wasn’t as straight as he thought, that it wasn’t very heterosexual to stare at Cas’ lips or pop an awkward boner seeing him all cleaned up after Purgatory, or completely shutting down every time he died or getting all prickly when waitresses give him her phone number. He was gay for Cas, and he had just gotten around to accepting this. Cas said he loved him, right? so Dean shouldn’t be afraid or rejection or anything. Yeah, no he was terrified.

“Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He turned to him with that soft smile that Dean wanted all to himself.

“I gotta ask, man,” Dean chuckled a little awkwardly and kept his eyes firmly on the road. “Why are you so determined about sitting shotgun? You’ve never been before.”

“Ah.” Cas hummed, turning back to the road too. “I suppose now I have the freedom to pursue the things I want. Chuck is gone and my deal with the Empty is null in void. I have time to…focus my attentions on other things.”

“The things you want? What, you got a better view up here or something?”

“Well yes, the windshield does allow more viewing space.” Cas agreed. “But it’s not my main goal in doing all this.”

“Then…what is?”

“Dean.” Cas said in that ever patient, you’re-being-dumb-about-this voice. “I enjoy being up here because it allows me to be closer to you. You are the view I most admire, Dean. I’m always so helplessly drawn to you.”

Dean’s mouth had gone a little dry and his grip on the wheel was suddenly sweaty. The silence that fell was deafening. Cas didn’t even look concerned. He just sat there waiting the road as if he hadn’t just said something so…so…soft to Dean.

Helplessly drawn. Like Cas couldn’t bear being away from him. Like Dean was this perfect, magnetic thing that Cas was enchanted by, something worth having around.

With a jerk of the wheel, Dean was pulling over on the side of the empty highway in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. He threw Baby into park before twisting around and staring at Cas.

He didn’t even look vaguely concerned, the fucker. He just gave Dean a patient look.

Dean opened his mouth, and closed it. Did it again, ready to tell Cas everything. Snapped his jaw shut.

Cas watched in cool amusement. Dean felt his cheeks get hot.

“Screw this.” He grumbled to himself, before lunging across the bench, grabbing Cas’ face with both hands, and kissing him square on the lips.

He felt Cas freeze for a moment, probably in total shock, before he started moving.

Dean nearly choked on a gasp as the chapped, warm lips started pushing and devouring, Cas was suddenly the one taking charge, shoving Dean back against his window as he clambered across the seats to get on top of him.

Twelve years of pent up emotions came crashing out in a sudden burst of unstoppable passion. And as soon as it started, it seemed to have stopped. They both were panting, Dean’s jeans were tight and his entire body screamed to have Cas against him again. But Cas had made to move away, putting space between him as he looked at Dean with wide eyes.

He didn’t get very far. Dean grabbed ahold of his jacket lapels and held on tight with an iron grip, keeping Cas hovering inches above him, basically sharing air.

“Wanna hear a secret?” He whispered between heavy breathes. Cas just blinked at him. “I’ve always rooted for you getting shotgun.”

Cas’ kiss swollen lips split into a dazzling smile, and he rewarded Dean with another intense make out session. When they pulled away, Dean found the words spilling out of his mouth.

“I love you too, Cas. You can have me. God, you have had me, for years you have. Can’t believe it took me so long, I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t have me, I’m sorry it took me so long—“

Cas shut him up with another kiss, and Dean’s ramble faded into a helpless whimper that too was swallowed up by Cas.

“Does this mean I get exclusive shotgun privileges?” Cas asked a few hours later than they finally took the curse box off the poor shopkeeper’s hands. They had arrived nearly an hour late, not that Dean (or his dick for that matter) particularly cared.

“Honestly? Play it up to Sam and he might let you get away with it for a while.” Dean chuckled. Without even thinking too hard about it, his free hand slithered over the bench, grabbing Cas’ and entwining their fingers. Something so small and simple, yet made Dean light up like a sun.

If Cas didn’t manage to convince Sam, Dean sure as hell would.

[skzsauce01]

Clementia

Anniversary Request Special

Description: You’d always had a special place in your heart for Lee Minho even though he gives you countless reasons to hate him. How long will your patience last?

Warning: alcohol, sexual assault

Word Count: 2.5k

Pairing: fem!reader x Minho

“Y/N—”

“Go away, Minho.”

“Y/N, look at me.”

“I said no!”

“Well I said I’m sorry.”

You snap around to face him. “Sorry isn’t going to cut it, Lee Minho. You screwed up. You. Screwed. Up. I gave you one request, and you couldn’t even do that.”

“I had my reasons!” he protests.

“Yeah? Well let’s hear them.”

He emits a few noises but can't come up with anything. His face flushes red, but not as red as yours.

“There’s no excuse for breaking someone’s heart ever. Remember that.” You turn on your heels and begin walking away until he says something even more repulsive.

“Why do you care so much? She’s not even your real sister!” he calls after you.

You pause, unable to comprehend how such words could ever enter your ears. You then slowly walk back to him as he stiffens with every step you take.

“Not my real sister?” Your voice is soft, but it is effective.

“I mean—”

“You’re saying the girls at Epsilon Phi aren’t sisters?” Your voice begins to rise. “We’re more sisters than you and I were ever friends, Lee Minho! We love each other more than biological families do, but of course you wouldn’t know how that feels, would you? All you have in your chest is a cold, hard piece of coal!”

You turn away and break off into a run this time. Tears stream down your face from being insulted and betrayed by someone you held with high esteem.

You like Lee Minho. Of course, you’d never admit that. To the world, he is just some kid of your mom’s friend who annoyed you to no end, but through the arguments and time spent trying to prove each other wrong, your feelings grew bit by bit. When he had a relationship with your very own Little, you held in your feelings and wished them both the best. After all, you love both of them, and their happiness together was good enough for you.

That is, until Minho broke things off as nothing but a fling.

Minho has always been a huge flirt, but he’d promised to take her seriously this time. You made him swear it, and you emphasized how much your Little meant to you. Now, because you’re his family friend, your Little won’t even speak to you. Minho had ruined your and her relationship, and evidently yours and his too.

He didn’t used to be like this, all manipulative and amorous. You remember he used to follow you at the heel, caring about nothing more than sticking gum in your hair. It wasn’t until senior year of high school did he start hanging out with random girls and trying daredevilish things. You missed the old Minho, but you thought you’d accept him for all his changes since you did, after all, like him.

Until this moment, that is.

What he did was too much. What he said was too much. You know he is becoming toxic, and if he is going to continue down this path, even your love isn’t going to bring him back to your heart.

Minho watches your waning back then slams his fist against a nearby tree with a curse. You didn’t give him enough time to explain, not that he would have been able to in front of you.

You’d forgive him though, right? You have to. When he messed up before this, Minho could be sure you would. But now, he isn’t so certain. He has never seen you so angry and disappointed before, and he did that to you. Him. Minho lets out another string of curses and trudges back to his room.

He tries making it up to you the very next morning. He shows up to your 8 AM class with a cup of coffee and slides it onto your desk before sitting down himself.

You don’t even look at him. You just take the cup and slam it down in front of him, causing its contents to spill and burn your fingers. He quickly takes your hand in his and begins wiping it with his sleeve, but you recoil your arm and take out your own napkin.

The next place he tries is at your neighboring frat party. He knows you would be there, so he wears his tightest black jeans and a loose button-up. This trick has worked with other girls, so he hopes it would on you.

He takes the dance floor with his powerful dance moves and charisma. He can see you deliberately turned away from him and chatting with someone else, so he dances towards you. The cheering circle that has formed around him moves as well, engulfing you into the crowd.

You finally turn to make sure you don’t bump into anyone. Minho takes this chance to shoot you a wink which draws the crowd’s attention to you. They cheer and push you towards him despite your protests.

Minho takes your arm and leads you in the dance. You used to like dancing with him; your and his flow matches perfectly, and the two of you could revive a dying party just by dancing together. Today though, you just aren’t having it.

Minho puts a hand on your shoulder and scoops his hips low earning a cheer from the crowd. You can hear them calling your name, anticipating your response. You look down at Minho and immediately recognize his choice of clothing.

I wonder who’s going to have her heart broken tomorrow, you think with a dry laugh. Minho flinches, recognizing that sound. You take his falter as a chance to fling his arm off of you before walking away.

A chorus of oohs fills the room, and the crowd splits like the Red Sea for you.

You hear your name from his lips again. “Y/N!” It is more strained now than it was last night. Desperate. Defeated.

You gave him some thought after hearing the sincerity in his tone, but you are glad you did not turn around that night when you see him in class with some other girl on his lap. Whatever. He’s dead to you now, so why should you care what he’s doing?

Minho watches as you walk farther and farther from him. He pushes the girl off and continues to stare with narrowed eyes at you as you greet your new seat neighbors.

This isn’t how he predicted you would react. Truthfully, he kind of knew this attempt wouldn’t work. For one, it hadn’t worked once since he first tried it in high school. He thought hanging out with other girls would make him more attractive, more desirable by competition. At least, that’s what some then-college kids told him. Once he started, he just found himself unable to stop. It was a self-feeding cycle, really. Holding onto other girls and charming them numbs the void in his chest, but you ignore him whenever he acts like this which only further widens the gap. 

What is he to do though? This is the only life he knows, and so, it is the life he leads. Not all love stories can end happily.

And his sure doesn’t seem like it is going to. 

Sirens wail in the background. With the amount of girls he’s fooled around with, he kind of had it coming. Minho stares at his wrists, not daring to think, but one thought keeps recurring in his mind: you. He is going to disappoint you yet again. You already hate him, and now you are going to see him handcuffed too.

The cold wind makes him shiver when you, his emergency contact, open the door and step into the station. Your eyes immediately find him, and you make your way over.

“Y/—”

“Are you hurt?” you ask plainly.

Despite your icy tone, those three simple words fill him with a warmth he hasn’t known for a long time.

“I’m okay.” His hands reach forward, wanting to grab yours and keep you with him, but you’ve already walked away to announce your arrival to an officer.

“Miss L/Y Y/N?” a young official greets a little too enthusiastically. She looks familiar, you note.

“Yes, I am she.”

The officer looks pleased by your annoyed attitude towards the defendant. “Mister Lee is here tonight because of an accusation by Miss Choi of assault,” she informs you coyly.

You look at him. “Minho,” you said with a chilled voice. “Is it true?”

“No! Y/N, I wouldn’t—”

“It’s okay. I believe you.”

“Excuse me?” the officer sputters.

“I believe him,” you repeat. “He’s been going out with more people than I have fingers, but he never laid a finger on them.”

“But Y/N, that doesn’t mean he can’t start now,” the officer protests. “You’re his contact, but you hate him now. Surely, he’s changed”

“First of all, it’s Miss L/N to you, Officer” —you read her name tag and pieces begin to fall together from her eagerness to convict Minho to the inkling you felt the moment you saw her— “Yoo. And secondly, is it not against the law for you to be working on a case where your cousin’s the accuser?”

“How did you—!”

“Nothing escapes us Epsilon Phi sisters, even news from other sororities. Besides, Minho never plays with the same girl twice. As expected, this report is filed for an incident two months ago. You, Officer Yoo, knew I was his contact and waited for us to get into yet another fight before having your cousin put in the accusation, didn’t you?”

She scoffs in your face. “That’s a bold accusation from yourself towards law enforcement.”

“Where is the accuser right now? Shouldn’t she be here for interrogation as well?”

“Well she—” the officer looks increasingly flustered. “She needs rest after having to relive the memories of what happened. We’ll call her in tomorrow. Anyway, Mr. Lee Minho, I can hear your testimony now in room #3.”

Minho stands obediently.

“Wait. I request someone else interrogate him,” you object.

“We’re busy right now,” Officer Yoo huffs. “We can’t just let you choose who does the job.”

You cross your arms. “Sure. Interrogate him and have the entire case be nulled after I file a conflict of interest.”

Officer Yoo grits her teeth but returns to her station to call for another officer.

In the meantime, you turn to Minho. “Don’t answer anything you don’t want to, especially if they start leading you on with questions. It’s in your rights to remain silent, alright?”

Minho nods numbly at your words, still confused as to why you are so nice to him. Before he can figure it out though, an older man appears from the back and takes him to an interrogation room.

“Mr. Lee Minho?” 

“Yes.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chief Jeon. I’m just going to ask you a few questions today; is that alright?”

“Yes.”

The chief nods and pulls out some papers. “Would you mind describing what happened with Miss Choi?”

“Well I was with—” he gestures towards the papers with his accuser’s name on it— “and we were hitting it off. She bought me a couple of drinks and at some point leaned in to kiss me. I realized something at that point, and I stopped her. She got angry, saying how she spent all that cash on alcohol for me, and threatened to accuse me of assault if I didn’t do what she said, but I knew I couldn’t do it.”

“Because of what you realized?” the chief repeats.

“... Yes.”

“And what was it you realized?”

“Do I have to say it?”

“According to the law, no, but if it can help you with your case, you might want to.”

Minho fidgets with his cuffs. “They can’t hear me from outside, right?”

“No. They most certainly cannot.”

And so, Minho tells him.

Minho turns around while the metal bars clang shut behind him. The chief thinks he has a pretty good chance, but due to the gravity of the accusation, they still decided to keep Minho in holding to give the accuser more time to make her case.

You stare at him from the other side, arms crossed. Minho takes the fact that you’re still here at two in the morning as a good sign for him.

“Thanks for being here,” he tries to start a conversation.

“I didn’t really have a choice.” So cold.

“I’ll change my emergency contact.”

“Please do.”

He winces. “Look… Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for insulting your sisterhood and for hurting your Little. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?”

He looks at you with those doe-like eyes of his. For once, you don’t feel anything while looking back at them.

“That’s not why I’m mad anymore. In fact, I’m not even mad,” you tell him. “My Little told me what really happened. She told me that she was actually the one who dumped you after you adamantly refused to kiss her. I asked some other girls you’ve seen and they all said the same thing. That’s why I was so confident with the officer earlier. I guess I owe you an apology for getting angry when you weren’t at fault.”

“Then”—he holds out a hand sheepishly— “truce?”

You look at it but keep your arms crossed. “Taking a step back from you has made me see things I wasn’t able to before, Minho, and that’s made me realize how much you’ve changed. You were my friend, my rival— someone who never failed to get on my nerves but also someone I couldn’t go without. But now” —you drop your arms and shake your head— “I can’t even recognize you anymore.”

You take a step back to leave. You’ve done this many times before, like when he stuck a plastic spider down your shirt or when he called you stupid in front of your crush in fifth grade, but something about this time feels different. Something about this time tells him you aren’t turning back around once you left.

A sudden despair grips Minho and he runs into the bars. “Wait!”

You pause, offering him one last second.

“Your Little,” he gasps, “did she tell you why I wouldn’t kiss her?”

You nod. “The others I asked did too. They said you were thinking about some other girl while you were with them.”

“Not ‘some other’ girl. One other girl.”

“I know.” You begin to walk again.

“Then why are you leaving?” He reaches a hand out, trying to grab any part of you. “Stay with me. Please, Y/N, stay.”

You don’t pause a second time. Out of desperation, he cries out, “Y/N, I love you!”

That makes you stop midstep. He holds his breath as you put one foot back then the other next to it to face him. You are so beautiful when you look at him. He melts under your gaze as you focus on him and only him. He’ll cherish you this time when you give him another chance. He’ll quit this playboy lifestyle. He won’t take advantage of your patience anymore. He’ll give you all that his heart has to offer. He’ll make sure you’re the only one in his eyes. He’ll love you. He loves you.

“Minho.” You relax your shoulders and straighten your back. You tilt your head just slightly forward and erase the edge off your tone. “I loved you.”

[corrupted-starcharts]

Corrupted Starcharts

Hey, look! A fancy pinned introduction post!

-{{ URL has changed: cosmologist-entity -> corrupted-starcharts }}-

A No Man's Sky blog following a pair of Travelers, two halves, fragments of a fragment. Played on PS4/PS5 and Nintendo Switch. Some liberties taken building off of No Man's Sky's storyline and lore.

Half-Fragments

Cosmologist Entity Raskol // Iteration: Raskol

Korvax // Traveler

They/She

An incredibly old Traveler, Raskol claims to have been around since the early days, when the universe felt much emptier and quieter. They miss those days, sometimes. Things were simpler back then.

In their early life, they were convinced beyond all doubt that they were a Korvax -- claiming to be a cosmologist entity who awoke from their crash severed from the race's semi-hivemind and the Convergence. But... they were still markedly different from just about any Divergent Korvax out there. Divergent carapaces tended to be shifty, paranoid, always in hiding. Raskol wanted so desperately to be found.

They ignored and denied the words of others, increasingly distraught at the mere mention of Travelers, or the suggestion that they were, in fact, a Traveler themself. Artemis, Apollo, -null-, even Nada and Polo were a source of frustration and rage. Raskol abandoned their freighter crew and beloved friends for months at a time, overcome with anger, grief, and conflict over identities lost and found.

Months and months were spent mostly in deep space, warping from one abandoned, corrupted star system to the next, forging a path to find answers of their own. In the end, none were found - at least, not the answers they were hoping for.

Years of running, marching to and waking from one's own death many times over... Raskol was tired. They missed their work, as pointless as it now felt. The answers to the universe were already unlocked, the Travelers born, one after another, to discover it all for themselves.

These days Raskol chooses to dwell in quiet corners of the Hicanpaav galaxy, studying the looping birth and death of the universe.

-{{ Raskol is my PS4/PS5 character, and has been played on and off through multiple wiped/lost save files since August 2016. }}-

Astrocartographer Onfim // Iteration: Onfim

Gek // Traveler

They/He

A much younger Traveler, Onfim is far more friendly and social than their elder counterpart. Reckless and adventurous, they can't seem to go anywhere without getting their hands on anything and everything, causing a fair bit of trouble along the way.

For a time, Onfim lived as a Gek, mapping the systems they traveled in exquisite, intricate detail. Like Raskol, they could not imagine themself as something other than what they swore they were, but between words from their counterpart, as well as Artemis, they too eventually discovered their truth, and found a great deal more comfort in it than their elder did.

Unlike Raskol, however, Onfim is not one to hang in dark corners and quiet voids. An abundance of light, sound, and good company is where this young Traveler finds their peace, and as such find being alone stressful, if not downright frightening.

They currently sail through Eissentam's stars, but due to never settling somewhere for long and a constant need for new faces and places, they primarily dwell aboard their freighter.

-{{ Onfim is my Nintendo Switch character, played since October 2022. }}-

Apart, Together

Though the pair are unable to meet for longer than brief moments, they move and work in tandem, though their jobs and duties remain separate, and their homes throughout the stars light-years, if not dimensions apart. They find their connection strongest aboard their freighters -- DS-4//CS-4 Eden in the Void -- the working theory being their capital ships are mirrors to each other, somehow.

Their freighters share names and an internal layout, despite being completely different makes, galaxies apart, never truly meeting. Together with their respective capital ships, Raskol and Onfim meet and swap stories and discoveries, and have built and continue to maintain a grand city which travels the stars and the voids between, mapping systems and providing a comfortable, lively dwelling for their crews, loved ones and friends, and a respite for those in need of a ride, or an escape.

Tag Directory

Raskol's Travels

Onfim's Travels

Other Travelers

Planetary Records

Homes in the Void

Artwork

Memes

Filler

-{{ Note to Self: Queue tag is 'qeheu', as in 'eheu'. Love that lil Korvax phrase }}-

The Fool Running the Blog

Main Blog: @blackcr0wking

Art Blog: @blackcr0wkingart

You can call me Shy! My pronouns are they/them. All that really matters about me here is I'm a big astronomy/cosmology nerd and I draw things. I've been playing No Man's Sky since August 2016; fell off for a while and came back around 2017-2018 between the Atlas Rises and NEXT updates, fell off and came back again when Endurance dropped in 2022, and have been playing semi-regularly since. Currently playing on PS5 and Nintendo Switch. If you'd like my PSN or Friend Code, feel free to ask. I would love to get some fun shots of more Travelers together! (with the hopes that, y'know, maybe someday we'll get some form of multiplayer on the Switch, lmao)

[my-mt-heart]

TWD 11x06 “On the Inside” Review

This is the first time since Acheron: Part 1 that we’ve seen Daryl and Carol in the same episode. So…progress? Alright, but cutting to the chase, a particular story beat in here between Daryl and Leah has some feeling very disheartened, and to me, it just reinforces the importance of watching the episode in context rather than taking a written summary at face value. It’s not even a matter of picking up on the little nuances that make the difference in this case. What should come across as painfully obvious somehow just got very misconstrued from screen to text, and honestly, I can’t fathom it . After seeing and hearing everything for myself, let me tell you my friends, it’s definitely called “On the Inside” for a reason. 

If Daryl seems out of character at all, it’s because he is. However, it is completely intentional. With Psycho Pope and the Reapers being as dangerous as they are, he has no choice but to fully immerse himself into their way of life, which unfortunately means torturing Frost for information about Maggie. In a scene that mirrors Carol interrogating the whisperer in season 10,  Daryl proceeds to throw some gnarly punches and even cut off a finger while Pope, Leah, and a very suspicious (and jealous?) Carver watch. Sure, it’s a little bit jarring to see Daryl acting unhinged, but there are clues to let us know the character we love is still in the driver’s seat. He and Frost actually make a good team, giving the Reapers the neighborhood where Maggie, Negan, Elijah, and Gabriel are hiding, but not the right house. Though he remains stoic, it’s easy to imagine how much it pains Daryl to have to hurt an ally. It would take a lot for him to genuinely become that brutal, like for instance, if a whisperer threatened to rape the love of his life.  

During the raid, Daryl has his real family’s backs, sending signals to let them know the Reapers are coming, keeping his foot on the trapdoor where they’re hiding, and talking loudly enough to give them intel on the Reapers. If there are still any lingering doubts about where Daryl’s loyalty lies, I’ll spell it out. Team Family, babes. 

Now onto that “dreaded” scene where Daryl tells Leah he’s “only there for her” and “could be better this time if she’ll let him.” I think I audibly scoffed when I watched it because first of all, it doesn’t even happen in a private moment. Daryl says it with Carver in the room and it’s completely strategic, used as a way to curb Carver’s suspicions and tell Leah what she wants to hear.  Earlier, some fans raised the possibility of seeing Daryl fall back into old patterns of psychological/emotional abuse, and while it’s safe to say that does not happen here, it’s very likely that he consciously taps into his childhood and past relationship with Leah to his advantage. Equipped with all the right language, he knows how to play into Leah’s need to make everything about herself, to be chosen above all else. In other words, feeding the beast to tame the beast. 

How anyone could interpret that as a sign that Daryl still cares about Leah, I truly do not understand. That’s not necessarily to say he doesn’t, just that it in no way presents itself in this moment. Hopefully that puts a lot of minds at ease, though I have to say, when I read those spoilers, I had SO many thoughts ready to share -- and I mean deep thoughts -- that I’m actually a little disappointed they’re null and void now. I’ll keep them in my back pocket in case I need them later, but at least in this episode, Daryl’s feelings are really cut and dry. 

I know I said we’d probably see Daryl attempt to save Leah at some point, and there is a moment at the end that could potentially give way to that. After returning from the mission, Pope reveals that he killed Frost and whispers something to Carver. Daryl and Leah stare after them, suggesting a growing paranoia. Angela Kang refers to this as Daryl’s “opening,” which I take to mean he’s going to try to get Leah to turn on Pope. But again, this all feels really strategic on Daryl’s part rather than heroic, so I’m curious to see how it’s all going to progress. Either way, Daryl is truly playing with fire here, and it’s only a matter of time before his cover is blown. However that unfolds (fingers crossed it involves Carol), oh boy, hell hath no fucking fury. 

Okay. We got that out of the way. Now let’s move onto the MVP of the episode. I know  Lauren Ridloff’s schedule conflicted with filming the bonus episodes, but it is such a bummer that Connie and Virgil couldn’t have a standalone episode, because, wow. For one thing, and I swear to God I am not spite shipping, those two characters have weirdly good chemistry. In many of their scenes, they give off vibes of warm familiarity and friendship with lots of physical contact despite the fact that aside from a few tidbits, we really have no idea what they experienced together after Virgil initially found Connie in the woods. 

At one point they also have a really sweet heart to heart, beautiful score and all, where Virgil tries to convince Connie to leave him behind if it comes to it. He needs her to be safe so that the kindness Michonne once showed him doesn’t lose its meaning. Of course, Connie insists they’re going to make it out together, emphasized when she joins their hands to sign the word “together.” After one of the feral, Tarzan-looking people — creepy as fuck by the way even if they have nothing to do with the overarching story this season —stabs Virgil multiple times, Connie is true to her word. She covers herself in walker guts, shielding him while she lets the walkers into the house to eat all the Tarzans. All throughout, the horror movie suspense and thrill are incredibly strong, especially in privileged intervals of silence where we experience everything through Connie’s POV. By far my favorite storyline of the episode. Fuck, it might even be my favorite of the season. 

While all of this is going on, everyone in Alexandria is preparing to put out a search party, which frankly makes me wonder why the hell they didn’t just do this sooner, especially if, and granted it’s tough to gauge where everything is in terms of proximity, Connie and Virgil never strayed too far even while on the run. But, I digress. Out of everyone Carol and Kelly are the most determined to find her, but understandably so, there is a lot more at stake for Kelly, so she sets off on horseback without waiting for anybody else, eventually finding her sister’s camp and leafing through a notebook that has clues about what happened to her. It also includes vague information about Michonne. Now that Connie (and I guess the others too?) know that Michonne is looking for someone, I’m curious to see how Virgil will continue to serve any purpose in the story. Maybe he won’t for much longer, but again, I digress. 

Carol,  Magna, and Rosita eventually catch up to Kelly and the four of them (hurray, female camaraderie) continue the search together, relying on Kelly’s instincts to eventually lead them to the haunted house where Connie is fighting off the remaining Tarzans. I never expected anyone to find Connie or vice versa until maybe the end of the block, but THANK CHRIST it happens here. Connie’s and Kelly’s tearful reunion is everything I hoped it’d be albeit a little short. Still, the feelings of relief and joy land hard. I want to stress how grateful I am that the show got this right because we know they very easily could’ve prioritized other relationships, but instead chose to organically give the moment to the one character who deserved it. 

That being said, I do feel robbed of a moment between Connie and Carol. I’m sure they will touch base with each other later, but for someone who’s been carrying this guilt for several episodes, it would have been nice (understatement of the century) to get her immediate reaction. I have to say, as the season goes on, my frustration continues to grow due to the show’s leading lady being so underutilized. If that doesn’t change soon, I might go on a rampage. Just saying. On the bright side, Carol seems to be getting all her ducks in a row. She’s proved her worth in Alexandria, she’s helped find Connie. The only  lingering thread is her relationship with Daryl. 

If I had to pinpoint the biggest problem with this season so far, I’d say it isn’t just Carol’s minimized role, it isn’t Maggie and Negan, it isn’t Daryl, it isn’t Leah. It’s the lack of connective tissue. There are all these stories going on, but nothing bringing them together. As we go along, I keep looking for signs that they’re going to blend, and now we only have two episodes left before the hiatus with nothing in sight. Don’t get me wrong. I do think it has to happen eventually. It’s just happening way too slowly. 

But, guys, this was a great episode if not the strongest of the season. At certain points, it even felt like a classic episode from back in the day. Do not let spoilers deter you. They couldn’t be further off. Let’s keep that in mind going forward, mostly so I don’t end up writing three paragraphs of meta that apparently may not mean anything. Sigh.

11x01 “Acheron Part 1″ Review

11x02 “Acheron Part 2″ Review

11x03 “Hunted” Review

11x04 “Rendition” Review

11x05 “Out of the Ashes” Review

[novantinuum]

Tides of Renewal (SU one-shot)

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T (Mild TW for vague allusions to past suicidal thoughts.)

Words: 2500~

Summary: Now twenty years old and living on the other side of the country, Steven spends his morning relaxing on the beach, musing about his past, and having a chat with his dad.

Hi folks! This is actually my two-months-late “Happy Birthday, Steven” fic, ahah- amusingly, posted two months late to the day. I’m quite happy with how this short turned out.

If you read this and enjoy, I’d greatly appreciate your support through reblogs here, or kudos/comments on AO3 as well. AO3 link will be provided in the reblogs. Thank you! <3

____

Tides of Renewal

Steven rises alongside the sun, but not by choice.

As he abruptly stirs, jerking onto his side under his tangled blanket, he soon realizes that he has little lingering memory of the nightmare that shook him from his slumber. Nevertheless, his heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s hanging in his throat. There’s feelings, faint impressions— someone’s blood (his, or hers?), Connie’s screams, a bubble of terror boiling from within— but that’s all he’s left with. The young man clutches at his sheets, struggling to catch his breath as is the norm most mornings. Dim light sneaks in between the edges of the curtains, offering a rough estimate of the time.

Once it’s clear his chances of sleeping in have become null and void, he entices himself out of bed with the promise of buying himself a muffin at the local coffee shop later today, a birthday treat. His routine is sluggish, but precise. He uses the bathroom, throws on his swim trunks and a thin cotton shirt, downs the pills he forgot to take last night with a quick swig of water, carefully runs his fingers through his long curls to work out the tangles, and slips his feet into the flip flops he always leaves lying right at the foot of his bed.

The young adult only takes his guitar, phone, and keys with him as he walks the mile distance from his humble studio apartment to the public beach. Around him, the world is at peace. The only sound intermingling with the gentle ebb and flow of the Pacific at this hour of the morning is the chattering of puffins that nest on the large rock outcroppings in the tide pools nearby. The edge of his lip quirks up when he finally crosses that sacred boundary— the sidewalk meeting the shore— and removes his sandals, reveling in the satisfying, grainy texture of sand squishing between his toes. Hah... the beach. Funny, that. All his traveling these past years, from mountains, to prairies, to sprawling suburbs to wooded forest towns, and it only succeeded in deepening his childhood love for the familiarity of saltwater air and tourist-filled boardwalks. Still, the secluded, rustic charm of Haystack Cove is a far cry from the Beach City he grew up in. Different people, different sights, different types of seafood sold at the markets. This place feels like a home all his own, appropriately distant from the Gem influenced settlement he’d left behind.

He crosses the fine grained sands towards his favorite sitting spot, a hefty stone jutting out from the ground, its surface buffed to a glossy finish over the years by the high tides. The water’s still distant this early in the morning, glimmers of sunlight sparkling off of the foam and spray. Yawning, he plops himself down on the stone and lifts his guitar into his lap. He strums a few random chords as a warm-up before settling into an experimental melodic sequence.

As he plays, the early morning breeze teases at the ends of his shoulder-length hair, untied and let free in all its curly splendor. It’s still quite chilly, but with the sun peaking over the horizon behind him and not a cloud in sight, the air’s bound to heat up in no time. Steven inhales deeply, soaking in the salt and light and pushing away the shadows lurking at the periphery of his mind, that twitching, exhausting anxiety that never quite seems to leave him alone these days. Unfortunately, functional does not mean carefree. While far fewer in number then when he was a teen, he still runs into plenty of moments where he’s struck blind by particularly painful reminders of his past, his gem snapping into overdrive in an instant. He’s a bit better at coping in these moments now, and walking himself down from panic attacks, but deep-rooted traumas don’t simply melt away. With that in mind, at this point he suspects he’ll likely have to deal with a mixture of therapy and meds for the rest of his life. That’s fine, though. If that’s what it takes to be at peace. He’s thankfully reached a point in his recovery where he’s more than willing to work for it.

Startling him out of his roaming thoughts, his phone chimes to life, touting the same cheery ring tone he had as a kid. He gently sets his guitar down in the sand and fishes his cell phone out of his pocket, a silent bet as to who’s calling rising within his mind. Sure enough, his dad’s contact photo proudly greets him. Hah— he called it. Steven stifles a giggle as he hits accept and lifts the phone to his ear.

“Hey, Dad!”

“Hey, Schtu-ball!” his father chimes from the other side of the country, three hours ahead. He hears a faint shuffle over the line, and then the beginnings of guitar accompaniment as the man begins to sing:

“Happy birthday to you~!”

Dad ends the line with a resounding vibrato, and a few extra jazzy chords for good measure.

“Heh heh, thanks,” he says, bashfully blushing at the attention, and gazing across the loose sands as if ensuring the secret of his birth hasn’t swelled into a nauseatingly public affair like half of his birthdays had since the start of Era 3. “Gotta say, the impromptu guitar solo pushed that to a whole new level. You just get up?”

“Yep! Bright and early. Garnet said you’d probably be awake by now, so I figured I’d call and give ya’ a good greeting to start the day. Lemme guess, you’re down there at the beach already? I think I heard waves.”

Steven’s glance lifts to admire the slowly rising tides, and the promise of each tomorrow that lies beyond. “Hah, you know me,” he says softly, taking a deep lungful of that precious salt-touched air he’s always adored. “I live for the water. Might force myself to go for a swim later before all of you come. Not sure yet,” he says, shrugging as he turns and squints in the wake of the steadily rising sun. “But my therapist said I should probably keep as active as po—“

“It’s your birthday. You do whatever makes you happy, bud,” his dad promptly reminds him, slight concern sticking to his voice. And yes, it’s practically a father’s job to worry, but his chest tightens with lingering guilt for pressing that upon him anyways. Ugh, this is because he said ‘force myself,’ isn’t it?

“Doing my best to,” he lamely offers, hoping it’ll at least end that segment of conversation. He twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger as he scours his memory for something new to offer. Thankfully, his mind quickly lands on the exciting email he received last night. He grins, knowing for sure his dad’ll love this. “Oh, uh- topic change, but I got that last job I applied for, by the way.”

“Oh? The taffy shop one?”

“Yeah! I start on Tuesday.”

“Wow, that’s- that’s awesome! They responded fast, then.”

“Yup,” Steven nods, popping the ‘p.’ “Honestly, it’s nothing much, just stocking and working the register, but it’ll give me some cash to work with.”

Some cash to finally pay for his own food instead of continuously bumming money off his dad. There’s no way he can handle full month’s rent on his own with this minimum wage job, (who on Earth could in this economy), but it might be enough to cover the smaller things. Groceries, electricity, internet. That sorta stuff. Fidgeting on the edge of the stone outcropping, his bare toes dig narrow lines in the sand. He hasn’t really had this discussion with Dad yet, but the mere concept of being wholly reliant on other people steers his mind uncomfortably close to the I’m a Burden Zone. He’d far prefer to feel like he has a stake in the game.

“I know you said you don’t mind supporting me,” he continues in a hesitant tone, twirling his finger through one of his curls, “but I still feel kinda bad—“

“Don’t. I’d rather you not have to stress yourself to the bone about money like I did when I was your age.”

The line shakes for a second. He’s pretty sure he hears the faint clink of a bowl meeting the counter from his dad’s side.

“Dad...?”

“Sorry, bud. Just putting ya’ on speaker. Figured I’d make myself some instant oatmeal,” he says, his voice sounding a bit further away from the microphone. “Goodness, though. Twenty years. That still boggles the mind.”

He gives a soft laugh. “You’re telling me. Could’ve sworn I was twelve just yesterday. And to be honest, it’s... it’s kinda weird sometimes, you know?”

“What is?”

“Being another year older. ‘Cause... well, uh...”

Steven grits his teeth, searching for the most delicate manner in which he can discuss these emotions. The feelings of his past are a really hard topic to dwell on sometimes, even in therapy, and even though he and his dad have long since had scattered discussions about what a poor mental state he was in then, he doesn’t wanna upset him too much.

“There were definitely days I assumed I wouldn’t have a future, or didn’t want one to begin with,” he continues, throat thick. “Back during all the conflict, before Homeworld reformed. And even after that, when I was... you know. And things are better, now, they’re definitely a lot better. But the idea of a ‘future’... even if I’ve got a job, a home, a girlfriend... it’s still weird to think about, I guess.“

There’s a brief silence on the line as this vulnerable admission sinks in.

“Yeah,” Dad replies eventually, clear sorrow in his voice despite how careful he thought he was in phrasing these matters. “I hear ya’.”

With a quick nervous laugh, he scratches at the nape of his neck, fingertips brushing against the thin, wispy strands of hair growing back there. “Geeze, sorry for bringing the mood down so quick. Didn’t even know I had all that on my mind until it spilled right out.”

“No, no! No need for apologies, I’m always here to listen. And in any case, I’m glad you’re in a better place now.”

Steven nods his head to himself in full agreement (momentarily forgetting that his dad isn’t actually here in the flesh to see this response). Sixteen and seventeen really, really weren’t good years for him. And even though he’s put lot of work into himself since then, he can’t help but constantly fear the possibility of relapse. His therapist told him a few sessions ago when he expressed this worry that... relapses into old thinking patterns can be common for people living with C-PSTD, and that it’s important for him to be cognizant of any unusual changes in his patterns and routines so he can quickly intervene with his box of healthy coping tactics, but... geeze. The dark, traumatic destinations his wandering thoughts end up stagnating in when the concept of relapse brushes his mind aren’t fun to acknowledge. It makes him yearn with deafening hunger for a simple switch he could flip, some magic cure-all for his brain that would stop him from having to deal with any of this awful shit in the first place— but of course, cruel universe this can be at times, those don’t exist.

“Speaking of that,” Dad speaks up again after clearing his throat, “how are those new meds treating you? You said last call your doctor was gonna change them, yes?”

“Nah, not change. There’s no need to change types,” he shrugs. “It’s just a dosage shift. And it’s fine, I think. I’ve been on ‘em for a few days, and there’s no problems so far. Brain's been treating me a little better.”

Nightmares aren’t quite as bad.

His energy isn’t totally zapped by noon.

The whirling, panicked trajectory of his thought patterns is a little easier to wrest control of.

All in all, nothing’s perfect, but he certainly feels a good deal more stable than before. Now, if only he can remember to consistently take his meds before he goes to bed like he’s supposed to instead of totally forgetting like he did last night and having to scarf it down when he sees that forsaken capsule in his pill box the next morning. Tsk, tsk.

“That’s real good to hear,” his dad responds to his news.

He flexes his knuckles against his lap, gaze reflexively drifting back towards the welcomed distraction of the tides. “Yeah.”

“Anyways, I, uh...”

“So, party logistics,” he cuts in with an overly cheery tone, changing the topic from his boring mental health crap entirely. “We should probably hash this out now. I know Connie’s planning on dropping around about noon. What’s your guys’ plan? She can probably send Lion to you after she gets here, if you want.”

“Yeah, that’d be best. Pearl said there weren’t any convenient warps nearby. Well, there’s one- but apparently it empties out into an active lava tube. And that’s not exactly Dad-friendly.”

“Aww, you mean you’re not filled with the intense desire to dip your hand into molten lava and shlorp it up like it’s soup?” Steven retorts, only barely holding back his laughter as he thinks of this absurd text thread he had going with Connie a few weeks back, wherein she sent him a video of some volcanic flows and told him, verbatim, that 'despite all logic and reason sometimes I can’t help but look at super viscous lava and think... forbidden s o u p, mmmm.’

“Not particularly, no,” his dad says, sounding thoroughly confused. “I’m- why are you laughing? Is this some sort of weird internet thing I’m not familiar with again?”

He wipes tears from his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. “You, ah- you kinda had to be there, sorry. Anyways, yeah. I’ll have Connie send Lion. I’ll text you right before, how’s that?”

“Sounds great! Can’t wait to see ya’, bud. I’m gonna let you go, now, okay? I can talk your ears off later. Go enjoy your morning. Love you.”

“Love you too, Dad,” he says, grinning. “Bye.”

“Buh-bye.”

Once his dad hangs up he sets his phone beside him on the rock and takes a deep, steady breath, trying to capture the full nuance of each diverse scent in the air. He may just be imagining it, but he swears he’s able to pick out the faint scent of taffy intermingling with the ocean saltiness and the hint of cedar from the nearby state forest. In the end though, whether it’s real or not it’s a welcomed reminder of all the possibility the future holds for him.

He’s twenty now. It’s a brand new decade of life. He’s got a new job lined up, a stable and loving relationship, a supportive family, and plenty of courage in facing the shadows of his past. Sure, so maybe he’ll never know with certainty what will happen— maybe he’ll relapse a little, maybe he’ll still have some bad days sprinkled amongst the good ones— but as he watches the tides flow in to greet him, he smiles... and resolves to just take this year as a renewal of his vow to care for himself as best he can.

[luxexhomines]

How would the V3 girls react to killing someone (accident, self defense or intentionally), but they didn’t know that they didn’t completely kill the person and their s/o killed them so the girls won’t be executed?

This was the oldest ask in my inbox, and I had actually started working on this request months ago, but I never actually finished it. I don’t feel able to really complete it, but I did do a short bit for Kaede and Maki. I’m just going to leave the request like this because I don’t think I’ll be able to finish the rest of the girls (and because my rules have changed since then to only have 3 characters and under). So here we are. 

I think I struggled a bit with this request, so it’s not really at the quality I wanted it to be, but I can only leave it like this, not having the energy to work on it more.

NDRV3 Girls x S/O who takes the fall for their kill

Kaede Akamatsu

When Kaede stumbled upon the scene of the crime with Shuichi and the others, she felt immense disgust and guilt. Not because she resented the killer–or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that she did, that she hated the killer with every mite of her being. She had failed to protect everyone again, and as the perpetrator of this murder, she could feel bile rising in her throat as she stared at the result of her crime. 

Putting a hand to her mouth, she took a step away from the crime scene. Then another. She knew she had to stay calm, stay strong–and she should hardly be surprised at this point after all the killings and even more so because this one was directly related to her. But maybe it was because this one was exactly her fault that she felt such intense contempt for the crime and grief when her eyes were met with the sight of the body.

“Are you okay?” Shuichi asked, looking at her anxiously. “I know it’s always a lot to take in…” 

Oh, yes, it was a lot to take in. But in a much different way than usual. Instead of casting her suspicion elsewhere, she could only blame herself. Giving in to the urge, she asked for a reprieve.

“Is it okay if I go out for a bit? I’m not feeling too well.” 

Shuichi nods and turns back to the body, but not before telling her to take care of herself. How ironic, asking the killer to take care. Kaede staggered out of the room, nausea swirling at her core. She didn’t think she could investigate this one. It was simply too painful. There seemed to be more blood than before–but she must have been imagining it; after all, she could barely stand to look at the scene.Kaede ends up sitting out the investigation, while just about everyone looked around, including yourself. The couple hours allotted for investigation flew by, and soon enough it was time for the trial. 

Only about ten minutes into the trial, Kaede’s already feeling sick. She can’t hide this from everyone. She has to let them know the truth. Even if it causes them to hate her, or ends in her own death–after all, it’s only what a criminal deserves for their crimes. Even though she had failed to protect the victim, she could at least do her part and protecting everyone else from an undeserving fate.

“Everyone,” she says softly. 

Surprised, each student turns to her in kind. She hadn’t been around in investigation and hadn’t spoken up till now either, both of which was extremely unusual. 

“What is it, Kaede?” Shuichi questioned. He was getting a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

“I have to tell you all the truth,” Kaede says, trying to bring up her courage. “The true perpetrator of this murder is-”

You interrupted. 

“Me.” You take a breath in and then let it go slowly. “It’s me.” 

Kaede turns toward you, clearly shocked and confused. 

“No, that’s not what I was going to say! It was me. Why would you say it was you?” 

You shake your head, offering her a bittersweet smile. 

“All I can say is that the nature of this crime isn’t what it seems.” 

She can only stutter, utterly bewildered. “B-But… I did it! I killed them. Why are you doing this?” she asks. “Please don’t make this any more difficult for me than it already is,” she pleads. 

Shuichi’s gaze flickers between the two of you. 

“Why don’t you both run an account of what you believe to have happened?” he suggests cautiously. 

Kaede volunteers to go first, and she recounts it exactly as she remembers it. She went to the game room, and there she got into a fight with the victim. In a rage, the victim flew at her with a billiards stick, and she parried, hitting the victim over the head and accidentally killing them. They collapsed and did not get up. 

You tell your story next, which is almost the same–only you stabbed them at the end, too. 

Kaede’s bewildered once again. 

“I didn’t see a stab wound…” she mumbles to herself. 

Shuichi confirms your version. 

“There was a stab wound. I’d have to say that Kaede’s version is missing that.” 

But then Kaede finally understands. 

“Wait! S/O, you’re not really the killer. You just stabbed the body to make it seem like you did it,” she remarks in an epiphany. It hurts to say because it suggests that you almost got punished instead, but she realizes it must be true.

Except that it’s not the truth. The truth, as always, is much, much crueler. 

You shake your head stoically. 

“I didn’t want to say it,” you state. “But I saw it all happen when I was hiding in the game room, and the victim was still breathing when I stabbed them, which means that I killed them.” 

Kaede’s breath stops short. 

“W-What do you mean they were still breathing? You mean they were still alive?” 

You nod. 

“Yes, they were still alive. Barely.” 

She couldn’t believe her ears for once. And, by the looks of the others, neither could they. 

“What, why? Why did you do it?” 

You laugh derisively. 

“Kaede… How could I just watch you accidentally kill someone and get sent off to your death? I couldn’t let you die here. I couldn’t let someone’s death be purposeless! I need you to live,” you reply. “We all need you to live.” 

She can’t think of a response to your words. Her mind is short-circuiting, going crazy. When she only offers silence in response, all everyone can do is vote quietly and conclude the trial. 

“Congratulations! You’re right, once again!” Monokuma says cheerfully. 

Everyone is watching you. Kaede manages to meet your gaze. 

“You shouldn’t have done it,” she whispers. “You should have let me take the fall for my crimes. It’s just wrong!” 

You give her a hug, her usually strong voice wobbling and her eyes watering. She feels unbearably small in your arms right now.

“I did what I needed to do,” you answer. “I couldn’t let you go like that. You didn’t even do it on purpose.” 

She sniffs. 

“I know, but I still did it. It’s my responsibility!” She lifts her head and escapes your embrace, turning to the bear sitting above, surveying the current situation with amusement. “Monokuma, can I take s/o’s place in the execution? You saw what happened. I’m the person who killed the victim.” 

He laughs. 

“Upupupupu! Usually, I’d allow it, but it’s way more interesting to have you stay around, and they’re still the one who finished off the victim. Rules are rules, so let’s just start the execution now!” 

Kaede grabs your hands. 

“No, you can’t! It’s too early, and I’m the one who committed that crime. Don’t!” 

But you were ripped from her grasp mercilessly, and she was forced to endure watching your execution, just as painful as the previous trials. You mercifully killed for her, but you wouldn’t be killed mercifully. 

Following your death, Kaede continues to lead the remaining group to escape. There was no way she’d let a death like yours happen ever again. There was just no way. 

Maki Harukawa

Maki had never planned on revealing her identity as the killer. 

At least, not until you stepped up to divert the attention from her and claimed to be the killer yourself. And, with a start, she realized that not revealing her crime would lead to your death either way. There’s no option but for her to tell everyone the truth, even if it meant that the entire purpose of her having killed someone would be forsaken, that the whole reason for their death would be null and void. 

“Stop right there,” she interjects as you’re in the middle of a sentence explaining how it was you who killed the victim.

Everyone looks at her questioningly, as do you. 

“What is it, Maki?” you ask. What could she possibly have to say at this stage of the trial, at the closing argument?

“Don’t cover for me,” she says bluntly. “I’m the true killer. There’s no way s/o could possibly have killed someone.” 

The trial room explodes into chaos with everyone trying to talk at the same time. Somehow, Shuichi manages to calm everyone down. How he did it with as quiet of a voice he has, no one knows, but he does it, and Maki is grateful for that. 

“Why are you only coming out with this information now, Maki? Why admit it now?”

You nod, crossing your arms across your chest. 

“Yeah. It looks more like you’re trying to cover for me,” you smile infuriatingly, and Maki grits her teeth. 

“You know the truth, s/o. Why are you doing this?” 

You shake your head, meeting her gaze across the trial room, unfaltering. 

“It’s exactly because I know the truth that I’m doing this, Maki.” 

“You know that I’m the killer and want to get yourself and everyone else killed by covering for me?” she bites out. The one time she wanted to put her loved one before herself, and she was met with rejection. This was the last time she let herself show weakness in front of anyone.

“No, that’s wrong. I want to protect you and everyone else by showing them the truth of the culprit’s identity–myself.” 

She realizes that you’re not going to relent. Fine, then. Two could play at this game. The only way she’d get the truth revealed was to beat you with logic. 

“Fine. Then how did you kill them? What weapon did you use? Explain what happened from start to finish with as much detail as possible,” Maki challenges. “We both know I’ll know if you’re lying or making it up.” 

A side of your mouth quirks upward, and you nod. 

“Of course. That was what I was going to do before you interrupted me.” 

And you complete her request, flawlessly. 

Maki doesn’t know what to say. How could you have possibly known exactly how the victim was killed and where Maki even stored her weapons after the deed was done? Maki prided herself on being discreet. But somehow, you had figured her out. 

“I don’t see a problem with their logic,” Shuichi states. “What do you think, Maki?”

In frustration, she grips the trial stand before her. 

“That’s…! I know you must be lying,” she says, glaring at you. You weren’t often subject to her more deadly looks, but when you were, it was surprisingly more hurtful than it was terrifying. 

You shrug carelessly. 

“Where’s your proof, Maki?”  

Rendered speechless, she stares you down as you casually vote for yourself, and as everyone follows. There’s nothing else left to do at this point.

“And right again! You lucky bastards are just on a lucky winning streak, aren’t you,” Monokuma sweats. 

“How could this be?!” 

Maki was completely destroyed. She didn’t know how to feel about this situation. She knew- or, at least, she thought she knew the truth. She had briefly considered the possibility of Monokuma lying or not knowing the truth but quickly understood that he would always choose the truth because it would bring the most despair. 

The trial over, you walk up to her. “Hey… Could I have a hug before I go?” you say. 

She bites her lip. Maki didn’t know what you were playing at this entire time, but nonetheless, she loved you, even if it didn’t show all the time. She relented and hid her grief behind a curtain of apathy and anger. 

“Fine.” 

The two of you embrace, and although Maki is slightly stiff, you’re more than happy with this. 

“I love you,” you breathe in her ear, and she twitches. 

“...I love you too,” she says gruffly. “But I don’t understand why you would do this.” 

You separate from her, and you smile.

“Like I said, I love you.” 

Maki puts two-and-two together, and suddenly it all makes sense. You’d seen it all happen, so it was easy for you to insert yourself in the situation and for you to add on to the crime. Once the victim was finished off by you, technically you had been the perpetrator. And you’d done it so Maki wouldn’t have to be executed. 

“Wait! It’s not fair, it wasn’t you-” 

You put a finger to your lips and offer her another smile. 

“Shh,” you say as you get pulled away toward the execution site. “Don’t tell them.” 

With those last words of yours, Maki watches you disappear, and it’s the first time she’s felt so weak, standing there alone. She’d never needed anyone before. But right now, she needed you terribly. 

She was going to be careful the rest of this game, not to hurt or be hurt. She couldn’t take your sacrifice in vain. It would be too devastating, even if living on was almost as painful as dying.

[nelllraiser]

my mother’s daughter | solo

— - “there is a cord between us, not yet cut”

     It had been nearly two months since Nell had seen her mother. Nearly two months that marked the day the young witch had been cut off from the majority of her family, not a single word spoken between her and the woman that had raised her. Fifty-three days since Nisa Vural had chosen her coven, pride, and image over her own flesh and blood. That’s how it had looked to Nell when she’d been standing in the council chambers, refusing to crumble under the disapproving and disappointed looks that had painted her mother’s face. It had been even longer since she’d graced the steps of her mother’s home, the familiar and cheery paint of the porch seeming to welcome her in a way that was inversely matched to the tumultuous feelings she felt within as Nell crossed the border spell of the home. 

     She didn’t even need to knock before Nisa Vural was there in all her glory, flinging open her front door with a fluttering heart in her chest, the matriarch’s expression a mix of reluctant hope and a standoffish guard. As always, the elder witch would be the one to have the first word. “You shouldn’t be here.” Nell hadn’t been sure to expect when it came to what this encounter might bring. She’d steeled herself, of course— thought herself ready to see and even smell the familiar sight of a woman who’d held her when she was young, brushed the hair from her face and wiped her tears in the dead of night when she’d woken to nightmares. But nothing could have truly prepared her for the way she still flinched as Nisa’s words struck her like a slap to the face. Her feet felt restless, as if they were begging to run back down the drive and pretend like this had never happened. That wasn’t an option as the conversation with Ariana played fresh in her mind. Her friends were in danger. Her friends needed help, and Nell would have done whatever it was the world asked if it meant making sure those she cared about lived to see another day. But she couldn’t be what they needed with ribs that still groaned and cracked and refused to cooperate after Constance had drowned her beneath the waves that White Crest was named for. How was she meant to defend and fight with fractured ribs? It was practically asking for death— both for herself and those she was hoping to help. Her voice cracked like her ribs when she spoke, the stumble in her breath giving her away when it came to just how desperate she was in these moments.

     “I need help.” It wasn’t something that had ever come naturally to the young woman. She was more accustomed to offering a hand up as opposed to asking for one, but Nell’s pride was null and void when faced with the potential loss of loved ones. As the words balanced in the air between Nell and the older woman, Nisa’s lips pressed into a thin line, weighing her options as her youngest daughter looked up to her with battered eyes and a stubborn jaw she’d inherited from her mother. Wordlessly Nisa stepped out of the front doorway, holding it open with a single arm as an obvious invitation inside. It was all Nell needed to cross the last steps over the threshold, and the house hit her all at once.

     It hadn’t changed. Nell didn’t know what she’d expected. Perhaps she’d thought that every trace of Nisa’s three failures for daughters would have been purged from the house, family photos torn down, expunged and replaced with mindless self affirmations or simply leaving the walls bare- empty yet somehow resembling an open wound, gaping with no sign of being repaired. But the pictures had stayed preserved along with the memories, feeling more like a shrine to someone who’d died than a conscious decision. And perhaps it was. As Nisa crossed the pictures and led the way to her healing room, she mourned for what had been lost, just as she always did when she walked past the frames on the wall. Nell felt a similar sense of loss, though she quickly stuffed the cavernous hole with anger and a sense of betrayal as she always did, refusing to let the sadness consume her or acknowledge that it was there. 

     Out of habit, Nell lifted herself onto her mother’s healing table, a pained gasp slipping from her unintentionally as her ribs protested with the motion. In a moment, Nisa raised a hand that seemed to glow with a gentle light to her daughter’s chest, quickly identifying the source of the girl’s pain. “Cracked ribs.” They were the first words to break the stretched silence between them, though Nell didn’t dignify them with a response. The less she talked during this, the better. The healing would be faster in more ways than one if she managed to keep her mouth shut, no need to open physical or emotional scars by wasting her breath. It seemed that Nisa had other ideas, the coven council member and mother warring in her once more as she watched her daughter suffer. She just wanted a snippet- a glimpse into her daughter’s life to know that things were relatively okay despite having cut her off. “Do I want to know what you did?” 

     The age-old tightening of Nell’s chest was quick to take hold as her mother took on a tone she’d heard countless times. Always wondering what it was that Nell had done. Always ready to place the blame on her daughter. The defensive reply bubbled up before Nell could force it down, breaking past her wordless barrier. “Why do you have to do that? Even now? Why do you even care?” Nisa’s stern eyes were quick to find Nell’s, her steady hand still on the girl’s chest as she gently pushed her to lie down so that she might begin the healing. 

     “Yelling like that is just going to make your ribs hurt more. Are you going to tell me or not?” Again all the hurt that was knotted inside Nell picked up its arms, fortifying itself in the form of a retort.

     “Why?” she insisted again. “Are you going to kick me out of another coven? Find another way to abandon your own fucking daughters after- after-” Nell couldn’t finish the sentence, or rather didn’t trust herself to without having her voice break, tears threatening to fall loose. Everything was just so much. There was so much happening in the world that she couldn’t wholly fix or control. Nisa’s magic began to slowly restitch the broken parts of Nell’s bone, though it did little for the broken heart that lay underneath it. 

     “I wasn’t abandoning you,” Nisa replied fiercely, but her words were quickly drowned out by Nell who couldn’t seem to stop the avalanche of accusations now that they’d begun to fall.

     “Bea died, mom! I watched her die, and I had to wake up to her headless body, covered in her blood, and go home and tell everyone that she was gone. That I was the reason she was gone.” Somewhere in all her speaking the tears she’d tried to hold back had flooded over, breaths coming fast and jerky. “And you didn’t give a single shit! Not about me! Not about Luce! Not even about Bea! All you could think about was your bullshit pride and the coven!” One of her sobs turned into another wince of pain, ribs not yet permitting the full range of her emotions. “And now I just wanna be fixed and help my friends and you still don’t care. You just wanna know what I did to deserve this.” Again Nisa made her denials.

     “That’s not true! You don’t think I felt a single thing hearing that my daughter had died? That my other two had suffered alongside her? All I’ve ever wanted was to protect you, Penelope. But how am I supposed to protect you when you insist on throwing yourself in front of every freight train that comes your way? When you continue to make the decisions that hurt you?” Nisa was close now, nearly finished with her healing work. But it still seemed there was much left to mend when it came to her daughter. Her voice stabilized, though there was still the ever-present steel lacing her tone. “I banished you to protect you. Because maybe then you’d finally learn to stop doing all these things that get you into these positions.” 

     Nell’s bulldozing tirade of an accusation stopped for a long moment as she tried her best to digest. Was it possible the things her mother did that had hurt her most were truly done out of love? Did her mother’s intentions matter when they were still the one responsible for the scars on her heart? “You could have done anything-” Nell continued, her voice quieter this time, too tired to yell. “-anything else. But you took away everything.” At least her tears had stopped, though their tracks were still wet on her cheeks. For once in her life and for a long moment, Nisa was speechless, unknowing when it came to mending what had long been broken between herself and her daughter. Finally, she found the words- though they felt as if they’d already fallen flat before leaving her lips.

     “Everything I’ve ever done...was for you.” It seemed Nell’s tears were already being renewed, another wrack of her breath bringing them forth once more.

     “I just don’t know how to believe that. Not after everything- not after everything you’ve done. Not just the coven.” It had been all the years building up to that. The banishing served only as the straw to break the camel’s back. It didn’t seem like there was anything to do in these moments, no ground to be gained on either side when Nisa spoke again. 

     “Then it seems there’s nothing left to say. Your ribs are done.” It was a clear dismissal. Nisa could recognize a lost cause when it was staring her in the face, when neither of them knew how to fix what had been missing between them for as long as Nell could recall. How was she meant to rebuild something she barely remembered? It was somewhere in her, back in the nearly forgotten childhood memories of magically healed scrapes and midnight hugs. However breathing life into it seemed as fruitless as wishing on a star. Nell hopped off the table, roughly wiping the wetness from her eyes as she tested her newly whole ribs. Not so much as an ache or twinge when she moved. They were good as new. If only she could say the same for her mother. 

     “I’ll go now,” Nell uttered while heading for the door, stubbornly thrusting her chin into the air as if she could force herself into being okay. The last she heard from Nisa were words that soured Nell’s expression. “You can’t tell anyone you were here.” Not unless Nisa wanted to face the backlash that came with speaking to someone who’d been tossed from the coven. Nell’s determination was back in full-force, fastening the buckles of her emotional armor into place as she walked out the door.

     “I know. Don’t worry, I won’t.” Nell had done what she came here to do. It was time to once again lock the door against the tempestuous storm that was falling short of her mother’s love. She had friends to help. 

[ellanainthetardis]

Alright, this will be my review for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes so obviously spoilers under the cut.

Also obviously, this is my opinion, I force no one to share it and I’m happy to discuss the book with anyone who wants to. 

First off, I won’t go into all the deep themes in the books. It seems obvious to me there’s a very clever allegory for a contrat social at work here but since I am not very much interested in that, I will leave it aside. It’s well done, I think, but I am more a character driven sort of reader than theme driven and the debate over “are we the product of our environment or is man a beast at heart” is a bit null here. Surely enough, as one of the quotes at the beginning implies, the whole book more or less struggles to show Dr Gaul somehow turns Coryo into a monster to her Frankenstein… Sure, he seems to hesitate between right and wrong, the nature of the two etc etc. But, really, I have troubles relating to a character questioning the nature of man when that character is so plainly a psychopath himself.

I’m sorry. I said it.

Did I love Snow in this book? Sure. Even when he was being bad, I loved him. What’s not to love? He’s completely over-dramatic. All the time. He’s a complex character with Draco Malfoy vibes and who tries to do well by his family. But he is also sick in the head and that predates Dr Gaul’s little mind games. Can we argue it’s because of his traumatic childhood? Maybe. It doesn’t change the fact he equals love with possession, does not seem to experience remorse nor guilt – or at least not very long and he’s  very quick to rationalize it – and has a natural ability to mimic or force himself to act as is expected in any given situation. He doesn’t react  to things, you will notice, he behaves the way he thinks people expects him to.

So, he is sick. And since he is sick, the whole debate through his head about the nature of violence, men being beasts without laws, freedom versus enforcement, right and wrong, etc seems void.

Let’s leave that aside for now.

The question you will probably ask me is: did you like the book? And the answer I will give is yes I did. I did enjoy the book. At least the first two third of it.

It’s fast paced, it’s engaging, it’s easy to read…

What I like most is the worldbuilding. What a difference a 3rd pov makes… I mean we finally got all the world building we deserved. And the names. Actually, there were so many names in there I’m pretty sure she threw them as a joke. But, yeah. Everything I reproach Thg was fixed here: we have a more consistent idea of how the Games work out of the arena, we know the currency used is dollars (which we didn’t up until now), we have a  better idea of how the Capitol works as a society, about the working of Peacekeepers and Districts… I quite enjoyed learning more about the 1st war and the post war world too.

I also enjoyed the Capitol families Cameos – and I was very wary about them if you read some of my posts pre-released. They were nice nods, it wasn’t too on the nose…  I am relieved beyond measure not to have seen a mention of an Abernathy or a Trinket – or an Everdeen or a Mellark, I guess – mostly because that means we are still free to stick to our own hcs. (it’s not that important but still).

The cast of characters were all great – with two notable exceptions but I will come back to that.

I loved Snow’s family. What a surprise to find out Tigris is a Snow? But what joy she is. I really enjoyed her character but I have to say I’m a bit disappointed we didn’t get to see (or at least were told in the epilogue) how they grow apart or how she comes to have whiskers. The Grandma’am was an awesome addition too. Lucy Gray, the Coveys, the Peacekeepers, Sejanus, the other mentors…  They were great.

I will argue that maybe Lucy Gray, as a main character (second main character? She’s the yin to his yang in this book) could have been more fleshed out because when it comes down to it, she seems to float around in the story only in relation to Snow. This being said and the pov being mostly Snow’s, it’s coherent with his egocentric view of the world. And I’m sure a lot of people will argue the case that her only purpose being to die so he can get over love is a bit problematic better than I could.

The two characters that I think were disappointing were the “villains” of the tale: Dr Gaul and Highbottom. They were actually so disappointing that I spent a good portion of the book convinced that here was some kind of secret plot, that there would be a conspiracy or something. But no, they were just that… flat.

Highbottom first: the creator of the Hunger Games who, obviously, didn’t mean to and ends up doctoring himself with morphling to forget. And seems to hate Coryo (yes that’s Snow’s nickname) for no obvious reason. I was sure there must be some twist but no, it just turned out he hates Snow because his father stole his Hunger Games idea to pitch it to Gaul for a grade and now he’s responsible for the death of kids. Which, I mean, is valid. But since it’s only here to bring into contrast the “is Snow really bad or have the circumstances make him bad” when, really, he’s a psycho, it ends up being very disappointing on discovery – never mind as the final reveal of the epilogue.  

As for Gaul. Is she terrifying? I mean, for a young adult book, sure, I guess. She’s too obviously mean and crazy scientist for me though. I like my villains a little more subtle. She spent her times torturing her pet rabbit and various animals ffs. All she needed was a mustache to twirl. She’s cliché and, again, I’m sure it was like that for rhetoric purposes but… She’s Frankenstein and Snow is her creature, we get it. Why though? She takes a shine to him and proceeds to groom him so he can deliver the world she wants? So he’s her legacy? Because she’s a psycho too and she needs an apprentice? I thought that part was a little fishy because, at the end of the day… I don’t know, it seems a bit random.

But, I suppose, yet again, everything has to revolve around Snow in the book and in Panem.

And we’re touching to the part that annoyed me to death, that really really angered me and that, right now as we speak, I am a little disgusted by.

A short word first about the fan service. And there was plenty of that to go around. All the little wink wink, nudge nudge made me smile at first (like the grandma saying it only takes a spark for fire to catch, that sort of things), it was subtle so it worked. But as the book goes on, all the references built to the point I was sort of terrified Katniss would end up being related to Snow. And while she is not, I am fairly convinced she’s descended from the Coveys, it makes a lot of sense.

Ok… Where to start with that part and be coherent…

The less offensive (yes, I am using that word because it was offending to me) thing was Snow’s recurring reflection about the mockingjays. On hindsight, of course, it has so much more meaning than what is going on on paper, so it made sense and while it was a bit sold too thick, it was also interesting. That’s something I’m willing to grant was good.

I also liked the “it’s not over until the Mockingjay sings” saying. To be honest, I was 100% confident the epilogue would be a flashforward to the end of MJ and that quote would somehow come back into play but apparently not, that’s for us to fanfic instead.  

Now, as for the rest… I am going to speak as someone who loves Haymitch Abernathy an unhealthy amount, and while I speak as someone who loves Haymitch, I also feel it is only minorly about Haymitch and a lot about Katniss, Peeta and the rest of the victors. But Haymitch is my favorite character in the series, Haymitch is a big part of why I have dedicated so much time writing fanfics and contributing to the fandom, I am very protective of Haymitch. And, on his behalf, I am so deeply, deeply offended.

In this book, Suzanne Collins makes Snow a victor.

We can argue the semantics. Naturally, he didn’t actually win the Hunger Games.

Or does he?

Because there are no winners, only survivors and by that very definition Coriolanus Snow is a victor.

Coriolanus Snow walked into an arena, was forced into the arena.

Coriolanus Snow fought in the arena.

Coriolanus Snow killed someone in the arena.

Coriolanus Snow walked back out of the arena.

He survived.

It makes him a de facto victor. He is actually literally called that a couple of times throughout the book. It’s reinforced by the idea that mentor and tribute are a team, even.

And this very idea that Snow is a victor, has been a victor all along, is so deeply, deeply upsetting to me. The bond between victors, it’s something very special, I feel. Victors share something nobody else can understand – my very favorite part of the whole series is in Catching Fire when they hold hands, it is such a strong emotional moment, it always moves me, always. And Snow being a part of that defiles it. Worse, that means a victor was actually the one imposing such horrors on other victors all along.

And that’s… I mean, probably in terms of themes and the story as an independent object, it’s all very ironic and dark and full of great meaning about man and it’s condition. But for someone who loves Haymitch, it is very deeply offending to learn the man who has taken everything from him went through the same experience he did, that they share that bond, that they have so many similarities.

Too many similarities actually. And here we are going to branch out on TBOSAS in relation to Katniss more specifically.

That’s another thing I am not sure I liked: how similar Snow’s conditions were to our beloved characters. The starvation, the very similar experience they had growing up.

At first, I didn’t mind it. I thought, even, that it was quite fitting. But the problem came when so much of Katniss’ story was being… stolen, turned around. It started feeling like this book was subverting the powerful story in THG, not just the main plot, but everlark, and the character building. So, of course, here again, it’s probably a matter of questioning if, stemming from the same conditions, you become a hero or a villain. Nature or nurture. That sort of things. And, again, it depends if you look at the big picture and analyze it calmly or if you react with your guts as a fan, I guess. Yeah, no surprise, I’m going the fan route.

So there were a lot of parallels to Katniss.

The starvation. The strong sense of family. Lucy and the singing…

And it wasn’t limited to Katniss, it touched to everlark too.

The star-crossed lovers thing comes to mind obviously (and I want to talk about the ship too but after). Then, there was the bread thing that was both Snow’s and Lucy’s favorite and the fact that Snow brings her food all the time.  The poison in the arena we can land at snow’s door since it’s his weapon of choice, but still poison in the arena, my mind goes straight to the berries… (I will tackle the hanging tree song after)

At this point (before she goes in the arena), I was still mostly okay with it because I thought it would somehow have a reason later. Like either Katniss would turn out to be related to Lucy or it would remain light enough to turn out to be foreshadowing for THG.

Then came part 3. And that’s where the book mostly lost me.

There are eleven other Districts in Panem. So why Twelve? And if it had to be Twelve why pollute everything Katniss loves? How are we supposed to see those things the same way again when we know what we now know?

The meadow? The meadow where the toastbabies are dancing and running? Where so many people are laid to rest? Snow has been there, kissed his girl there. And let me tell you, as a Haymitch fan, knowing that Haymitch never gets to reunite with his girl in the meadow because of Snow, it’s a special kind of pain to read Coryo frolicking there in the grass “with his girl”.

And then, of course, I don’t know what is worse… The lake or the song?

Let’s start with the lake. Where do I begin? The lake that is so special to Katniss? The little shack where she stocks everything? The lake that features into so many fanfictions and that, if some people feel the same way I do, can never be used again the same way? So, that lake was where Snow murdered (possibly) his “love”. The lake, thus, becomes a part of Snow’s narrative.

It’s stolen away from Katniss.

And to better stress that point? The scene with the Mockingjays taking up the hanging tree when Lucy is about to get murdered. (let’s make a digression to say oh boy how fun it must have been for Snow during mj, I’m very tempted to fanfic THAT). It’s all very full of symbolism, of course, but with the hindsight? It’s another great important moment stolen away from Katniss. Highjacked. Not unlike a mutt, actually. This book is a mutt XD

Which brings me to what really, really made me angry: the hanging tree song.

That song is so symbolic of MJ and everlark. I mean, there’s one thing I will give MJ the movie and that’s this scene with the song. The people attacking the dam and getting butchered while humming that song? Iconic. But more prosaically, book based, that song is such such a powerful moment. It’s special. And not only because of all the thing with everlark and the tree and midnight.

And suuuuure there might be a lot of symbolism in that song being not strictly about but still intimately related to Snow. Sure. But you know? It’s also another thing that now is about Snow. So even as Katniss was singing that song, getting the Districts to rebel, showing Peeta that District 12 was gone, letting the Mockingjays by the lake take up the chorus… It isn’t just about hope or freedom anymore. Now, it’s about Snow and about how terribly ironic it is this particular song comes to be his demise, how it’s fate or karma or whatever you want to call it. Because now, we can’t unread this book, we can’t unknown what we know.

And I hate that.

Because Katniss’ journey in THG? It’s now so deeply linked to Snow’s story that if you take a step back and think, it’s more all about Snow than it is about her, or her sister or the Districts. Snow lands on top, right?

And you know what really irks me?

The book is actually good as a character study book (not really so much as dystopia because in terms of actual plot, I feel there was really little) but it didn’t have to taint so many elements of THG the way it does.

Let’s say for a moment Snow isn’t Snow. Let’s say he is a wealthy Capitol fallen from grace and that character who is not going to be the President of Panem has the same journey Coryo does. Let’s say at the end of the story, he moves on to become a famous Head Gamemaker or a close advisor to the President?

Well, the themes explored then remained the same, the conclusions remained the same. We lose the visceral signification of his connection to the mockingjays but is that really important? The Hanging Tree now has a resonance for another character in that world, the meadow has probably seen countless lovers reunions and someone killed someone else at the lake, those things happen. The problem is they happen to Coriolanus Snow.

And baring that, let’s say we keep Snow as a main, why did it have to be Twelve? Again, there are eleven other Districts in Panem. He could have come to the very same conclusions in any other place.

Twelve is only relevant in relation to what happens in THG, to Katniss, to Peeta, to Haymitch.

Lucy and the Covey could have ended up stuck in any other Districts. It didn’t have to be Twelve. It didn’t have to spoil the Meadow, or the lake or even the Hanging Tree song.

Is that why Snow hates Twelve so much? Is that why he kills Haymitch’s family even if it’s completely stupid and leaves him without a leash around a Quell’s victor’s neck? Is that why he bombs the Districts into complete oblivion ? Not to punish its victors but because he so intimately hates the place? Because he walked in their very shoes? Because, for a brief time, from his Frankenstein’s experiment, he played in the mud?

For that matter, is that why he has this weird relationship with Katniss? Because she reminds him of Lucy? The similarities are there if you look…  Is Katniss a sort of ghost to him? Come back to haunt him after all those decades? Is that why it feels so personal between them?

I will say a quick word about the ship: I was into it at first. Then there was this scene at the zoo after the snake attack on Clemmie and I felt everything started going downhill from there. The ship is rushed. They go from attraction to love in ten seconds FLAT. I know it’s YA and concessions have to be made (although I will argue I read plenty of YA and some ships don’t seem this juvenile), I made them on account of the fact they’re both young and prone to being drama queens.

(I’m making a brief parenthesis because, rereading this, I realized I did say when the book announcement came out and we all very obviously predicted the romance, that as a hayffie fan I hated the thought Snow would have a Capitol/District romance, but on that account, I have to say after reading I don’t even care because it felt so immature and so not actual love, that I don’t feel it really counts? But at the same time, it’s definitely something I have to think upon in terms of hayffie and Snow because would his own experience play in the way he sees them/manipulates/threatens them?)

All in all, though, that ship didn’t convince me. I couldn’t believe it was real. On either part. On Snow’s part because I’m  not certain he’s capable of love. He equals love with possession,  “his” girl, she “belongs” to him, he liked her better locked in the zoo because he knew where to find her, he constantly questions Lucy’s loyalties… Every  time she sings something, he’s like “is it about me? Is it about me? It’s not about me? Who is it about? I hate her. She’s dead to me. Oh but now she’s singing she’s over him. So I love her again”. Being in his head is a journey, let me tell you.

As for Lucy, it’s frustrating. But with Collins, I learned long ago to be frustrated (hey, hayffie fan here XD. You know the two characters you need to build your own hc about if you want to use them with some depths). You can feel there’s this whole backstory about her but we never get to really touch that and so we’re treated to this very strange scene with the ex-lover but we don’t really care because there is  no passion, nowhere… In fact, as a character, outside of her singing, her being a show girl, and her little discourse about how man should be free, live and let live yada yada yada, Lucy’s character is very flat in the third part of the book. She’s here only to allow Coryo’s character development.

I would argue that Sejanus actually makes more of an impact on Snow and the general plot than she does in part 3 – or, if you think about it, in the book in general. Lucy is the trigger that gets Coryo’s reflection starting about the hunger games but it’s really Sejanus that challenges it and keeps it going. Sejanus is, in fact, the District character since Snow keeps telling himself the Covey aren’t really Twelve.

I  also want to say, on a completely unrelated note, that the constant mansplaying of songs by Snow was unbearable. And that’s not his fault. So, Mrs Collins, I know how to interpret a text thank you. And I’m sure everyone else does to. It broke the pace and the emotion so much for me when he started randomly explaining. The Lucy Gray ballad was the worst. “she’s dead.” NO KIDDING SHERLOCK.

And while we’re in that Lucy Gray thing: very subtle foreshadowing here, btw. Didn’t see it coming at all.

Ah and also something that made me cringe and that I felt was very out of place: the livestock cars and the cages at the zoo. Not to go all social justice warrior but when I read, it immediately hit home and not in the right way. It felt like a prop to stress how inhumane and racist the Capitol was being, they were easy references to loaded terrible horrifying history events and I truly, truly thought it was borderline because, like I said, it was used as a prop.

To conclude.

Is this book great? Yes and No.

I think if you take it independently of THG, it’s a very good book. It’s interesting, the characters are compelling, there is a moral for you to reflect on… It’s not the best dystopian book I’ve read in recent years, it’s not the best young adult book I’ve read in this lockdown (Hi, do yourself a facor, check out the Shadow of the Fox trilogy and then come shout at me in my ask box) but it was still a good read. And I forgot to say but the first half of the novel is actual crack. It was hillarious. Might not have been the intent but come on. It was funny. (and I’m satly they sent him in the arena but they sent him with a can of pepper spray and that will make me laugh forever) I had  a good time and, at the end of the day, that’s what you ask of novels.

However, in the general context of the series, loving thg as much as I do, it tainted some of the iconic things, twisted them, insulted some of my most favorites characters, and that really dampened my joy and made me angry. So as a fan… I’m not sure I can say it was great, no.

It certainly didn’t let me indifferent though and that’s already something.

And, I mean, it is so much better than the cursed child I feel I cannot complain too much.

 It also does leave the door rather open to a sequel, doesn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s another announcement soon.  

[thanksjro]

Last Stand of the Wreckers, Issue #5: I Sure Hope You Didn’t Go and Get Attached to Any of These Characters…

We ended on a cliffhanger last issue, so let’s see what the lads are up to now.

Hm. That’s not great.

Overlord’s just ripped Guzzle in half for the fun of it. If you’re wondering why everyone’s outside now, it’s because he exploded the torture chamber so hard when he came in, it no longer exists. Kup doesn’t appreciate having one half of the Big Gulp duo torn in two, so he goes in for the attack. This doesn’t work out very well for him, as he has his head crushed between Guzzle’s upper and lower halves. This whole situation is a non-issue for Overlord, and barely distracts him from his goal of having Megatron show up to kick his ass. Impactor tries to have a big hero moment by shooting Overlord in the eye with his harpoon hand-attachment. Again, very little effect on Overlord; it doesn’t even seem to register on the same level as getting a little soap in your eye.

Back over with Ironfist and the Big Conundrum, Verity’s arguing that killing Impactor will kill the Wreckers- as a team, not in the literal sense. However, time’s running out, and Perceptor really doesn’t seem to be bothered by the idea of not having Impactor around.

She gets smaller every issue, I swear.

Verity makes her case to Ironfist, trying to play off of his fanboy status; the Wreckers are a symbol of hope, one that Ironfist himself created with his datalogs as Fisitron. Killing Impactor to make things easier for themselves destroys the illusion of a cohesive unit who can always be counted on when the chips are down. Too bad ol’ Ironfist knows Things™, and it’s actually Perceptor who’s swayed by her argument, which is interesting, given that he was about to vote Impactor into an early grave a minute ago.

Perceptor wasn’t always the cool, efficient sniper we see him to be in Last Stand of the Wreckers. He used to be a regular old science nerd, and a relatively talkative one at that. He wasn’t really built for a four million year war.

Then all that talking got him shot and he was left for dead.

He made some changes after that, both in body and personality.

Could his own experience with being forsaken by his peers for his flaws perhaps be influencing him here? Or am I, a reader and giant dork, just trying to justify a very quick backtracking on the narrative’s part, most likely due to page number limitations?

So they decide to fight. Then Pyro suggests they run. The “they” in this case doesn’t include himself. You remember how Optimus Prime’s big character quirk in every continuity is self-sacrifice? Yeah, we’re hitting on THAT portion of Pyro’s hero worship. It’s not exactly what he was hoping for in death, but it’s what’s got to be done at this point.

The others run off, and Pyro shoots the control to the door, bracing for one hell of a fight.

Holy shit, I forgot they had Fort Max with them! That scared the crap outta me.

There’s one last look at our hero before we go, and it…

Well, it sure is something.

Yikes. That’s a series wrap on Pyro!

Now it’s time for us to learn about what really happened on Pova. Turns out the files Ironfist had access to weren’t exactly virginal.

First things first, it was raining, and Impactor is kind of a dick. I mean, we already kind of knew that from what we’ve seen of the guy in the present day story, but this little scene really takes the cake. Springer had to basically beg him to stay with him; none of that “I’m not leaving you behind” nonsense. And the whole “shoot Springer through the midsection” idea? That was all Impactor. Springer doesn’t have a way to dampen the pain the way Impactor suggests, and doesn’t even get a moment to brace himself as he’s blasted more or less in half.

When Springer regains consciousness, he’s treated to the sight of Impactor and Prowl having a little chat. It turns out there’s a problem, and that problem’s name is bureaucracy. Pova is a protected planet, declared off-limits by the Neutrality Agreement, so any Cybertronian war business is pretty much null and void there. The fact that the Wreckers are there at all could have disastrous repercussions if the Decepticons catch wind of this and tell the Povians. They’ll have to let Squadron X go.

But it looks like Prowl forgot that Impactor’s a bad boy who doesn’t play by your daddy’s rules.

He walks into where they’re holding Squadron X, chained together into a circle on their knees, with their arms pinned behind their backs, locks the door behind himself, and executes every last one of them as Springer bangs on the door trying to get him to stop. This, obviously, puts a bit of a damper on everyone’s mood.

Even Whirl’s bummed out, and you just know that guy loves a good ‘Con-killing spree.

I guess the moral of the story here is Impactor kinda sucks.

Speaking of Impactor, Overlord’s currently stomping him to death as he holds Springer by the face. It’s honestly almost tender, the delicate placement of his fingers. It also reminds you that Overlord is literally twice the size of Springer, who, as a triple-changer, should already be on the tall side. Overlord is a big dude.

Springer’s still doing okay, because he knows that even if he doesn’t make it, the rest of his team will, and they’ll save the day and get all those Autobot prisoners off Garrus-9.

Ha. Haha. Oh, Springer, you naïve fool. You forgot that this was hell, didn’t you? Overlord already took care of the Autobot prisoners.

Someone really took their gun to that hanging guy on the left and said “fuck this dude in particular.”

Then the calvary arrives! With guns! And art tangents!

Surely things are looking up now!

Ironfist throws Springer a gun that’s about as big as he is- where did he get that?- and Springer proceeds to light Overlord the fuck up.

You don’t get the B-word pass at IDW unless you’ve already had your series truncated and the entire universe is about to get ended for a reboot. That’s just how it goes.

Of course, even the big boy gun isn’t enough to do much to Overlord outside of annoy him, and Springer gets his face ripped off for his troubles.

Now it’s just Ironfist and Verity left, and Overlord is very much looking forward to doing very bad things to both of them. Ironfist has a gambit though! That gun Springer had was actually firing deterrence chips into Overlord’s body, and now he’s just chock-full of the things. And since Ironfist has all of Aequitas in his head now- including the detonation codes- he can do this:

He blew Overlord’s lips clean off! The evil truly is defeated.

However, using this newfound power has costs- Ironfist is knocked clean out by a sudden pain in his head, eyes flaring and fizzing as he hits the ground, leaving Verity alone with Overlord’s flaming, animated endoskeleton.

Yeah no, he’s still not dead, and he’s still not fucking over Megatron, lamenting on how he just isn’t sure how he’ll fight him, now that he’s little more than robot bones. Verity has to be the one to break it to the guy that Megatron’s dead, and Overlord takes it about as well as he can.

I’m sorry Overlord, but at what friggin’ point were you promised ANYTHING from Megatron “Peace Through Tyranny” of Tarn? You were threatened, but that’s a little different than a vow to get revenge. Hell, that’s not even on the same level as as pinky-promise. What a baby.

Impactor ends the pity party by shooting Overlord with his alt-mode’s weaponry and then does a little something for Springer… by not ending Overlord. Nope, looks like the death of Springer finally let him see the error of his ways, and they’re going to bring Overlord in to stand trial, because while the guy deserves to die, Impactor doesn’t deserve to kill him. Maybe if more Transformers took this little idea to heart, they wouldn’t still be at war four million years and counting.

Impactor goes to radio for a ride, and Ironfist wakes up. It looks like everything’s going to be okay now.

Or not.

Yep, those weird brain-seeking bullets Ironfist had loaded into all the guns he brought on the trip were perfected after a disastrous prototype testing accident. THE accident, if you will. Prowl knew about this, and used it to his advantage, throwing Ironfist on the mission, with the intent that he’d be used to unlock Aequitas. Topspin, of course, caused the plan to change a bit, but it all worked out in the end.

Also, Springer isn’t dead. He’s pretty messed up, but he’s not dead. They’ve got Ratchet on it, it’ll be fine.

And thus we arrive at the debriefing, between Prowl and Ultra Magnus. Magnus is questioning just why Prowl had this mission sanctioned in the first place, if he was so very against the Aequitas trials while they were happening. The answer is simple: propaganda. If the Decepticons were to find out that the trials involved nothing but Autobot war crimes, and lots of ‘em, it would be the ultimate blow to the Autobot forces.

Ultra Magnus thinks that they should go public with the information, but Prowl disagrees. The only copy of Aequitas is left with Prowl, and while Ultra Magnus would like to trust that he wouldn’t destroy this info, the end result is left a mystery.

But you’ll have to read the sequel series to see just how that all turns out.

If Ironfist is dead, just who is writing up this narrative framing device for the issue? Why, it’s none other than Verity Carlo, using the power of the internet. I guess she has access to the Cybertronian internet now. Wonder who hooked her up with that. Probably not Ultra Magnus. Maybe Percy did her a solid as a thanks for surgically removing Overlord’s will to live.

Whether you want it to or not, I suppose.

This miniseries is a little dark, ain’t it?

Verity went to all the trouble to leave Earth and hide in the escape pods so she wouldn’t be abandoned, only to end up right where she started, with a heaping spoonful of PTSD to pair off with all the disappointment and lack of friends in her life. She watched a lot of people die on Garrus-9, and she’s in no way battle-hardened like one could argue the other surviving Wreckers are. All she has at this point is a blog she inherited from a nerd who accidentally committed a slow-burn suicide. I hope Perceptor will keep in touch with her, at least, seeing as he’s the only one who was also there and isn’t dead.

That’s the end of the miniseries proper, but not the entirety of the story. Up next, we’ll be looking at all the fun little extras Last Stand of the Wreckers came with.

[littlemisssquiggles]

👑About what u said to the anon,about oscar doing more on his own,I think that's true as well,Iv seen the joke oscar going missing each volume is his thing,

It was said the hero's would take a detour be for going to vacuo,an I now strongly believe,there going to Becan not for the crown but to get oscar,

Either Salem will take him there to get the crown or he'll get there by him self some how

…Yeahhh, the whole Oscar disappearing each season has become a running gag with him since V6 since it is a repetitive thing that the showrunners like to do with him as part of his story. I don’t mind Oscar disappearing or going missing from the story, my one issue with this gag is that often more times than none, it does little to nothing for Oscar’s development as a character.

Even now with him becoming Salem’s prisoner and the showrunners thinking it’d be a brainiac idea to have Salem physically torture Oscar, it’s a tad overdone at this point. As a matter of fact, allow me to rant here for bit anon-chan because this squiggly Pinehead needs to get something off her chest regarding Oscar’s current predicament in the show.

I think it’s obvious to say that as a Pinehead, I really didn’t “enjoy” the Oscar torture scene from the fourth episode. My rationale for my disdain of that scene doesn’t just stem from a place of that scene making me feel very, very uncomfortable to watch but…I also didn’t like it for the context of it. 

Why would Salem physically torture Oscar? While I understand that Oscar is the current incarnation of Ozma and Salem has her beef with Ozma---I get that part yet I still find myself asking the same question. Why would Salem physically harm Oscar…despite the fact that physical torture of any kind stands the risk of potentially killing him in the process?

As the observant audience member as I try to be, I was of the opinion that Salem…y’know needs Oscar alive in order to get the answers for the relics that she so desperately seeks.

That being said, why use a torture method that could kill your captive who you know is immortal and you just implied in the same scene that you spent years trying to find him...

“...My long lost Ozma...found at last...”

...Even though…Salem knew that Ozma was Professor Ozpin and she knew that he was at Beacon Academy and...she also ordered Cinder Fall to kill Ozpin back at Beacon and even egged the Fall Maiden to confirm that she did in fact kill Oz back in V4...

I mean....Salem didn’t really do anything to capture Ozma when Professor Ozpin was alive but there she is going after him as Oscar so....yeah...?

This is one of the core reasons why I utterly despise the fact that Eddy Rivas---the credited writer for V8CH4--- wrote Salem torturing Oscar physically. It seems so…odd (for use of a lighter word) of her to do especially when you consider the angle that she needs Oscar alive and if Oscar dies from a physical injury that he sustained while being tortured then Salem would have to start from square negative zero with finding Ozma’s next reincarnation, granted that he even returns within the same timeline.

So…yeah the whole physical torture of Oscar to me now feels like it was thrown in purely for “shock value”. Like if Salem were to actively torture Oscar, I always imagined it would be sparingly while her main means of torture would be mentally torturing Oscar cause at least with the mind, Salem can get what she needs without the risk of killing Oscar as her victim. Not to mention that mental torture is a nice way to prove Oscar’s strength since we know that mentally Oscar is more vulnerable given his strained relationship with Oz. Salem mentally torturing Oscar fit more for his character than physical torture. Same for Salem since I always figured Salem was able to keep her pawns on such a tight lease due to her playing off of their emotional vulnerability.

This is what I pegged from her back in V4 with Tyrian Callows. With Tyrian, Salem didn’t need to resort to physical punishment to hurt Tyrian. All she simply had to say was that she was “disappointed” in Tyrian and that was enough hurt the Scorpion Faunus more than any physical pain could. Salem played into a torture method that’s fitting for whoever is in front of her.

So…why use physical torture on a kid who you know is the reincarnation of your “greatest adversary” who you are fully aware is as immortal as you and any attempt at killing him could render your entire scheme of using him to gain knowledge on the Relics null and void. Especially when you also consider the fact that Oscar was weak in that moment and his aura is broken. So he is going to feel every hit and blow that is dealt to him now which adds onto the point that he could potentially die from any injuries he gets while captive.

So again, I ask the obvious sensible question here---Salem needs Oscar alive so she could get him to disclose the information she needs about the Relic which is within his mind. So why the fudge would you NOT use mental or psychological torture means instead which can get you the information you need without the risk of ever killing Oscar.

The more I think about the Oscar torture scene from RWBY V8CH4, the more I hate it. At first it just deeply upset me because it’s my favourite character being hurt onscreen before my eyes in a moment that could be potentially triggering to certain folks given the circumstance---but now I just hate it because of how nonsensical it feels when you consider the characters involved. But as always, this is just my opinion on the matter.

Bottom-line, I’m not looking forward to any other Oscar torture scenes to come from the upcoming two episodes because my immediate reaction is that I’m going to strongly despise them all and I’m going to despise the writers even more for subjecting Oscar to this kind of ordeal yet again for “shock value”.

As if they haven’t put him through the ringer enough as it is. My only saving grace is that Oscar walks away from his imprisonment with a stronger relationship between him and Oz than previous seasons. 

Either that or…Oscar’s captivity ultimately lends to Ruby Rose being captured by Salem too (since she was a person of interest to the Wicked Witch from since V4 as a Silver Eyed Warrior) and what’s worse is that Oscar’s victimization by the villains is even used as bait to lure out Ruby despite the little prince’s efforts to endure the pain at the expense of never giving Salem the satisfaction of knowing that she can break him.

I’ll discuss more on this headcanon in an upcoming Pinehead Headcanon. But for now, that’s it for my rant on that. Sorry for the small tangent there anon-chan. Regarding your point about the group taking a detour for Vacuo, where was that mentioned?

The only thing about Vacuo I got wind of was when Eddy Rivas mentioned that the group will be in Vacuo briefly. Not sure if that was referring to V9 or the small glimpse of the Vacuo Desert that we glimpsed in last week’s episode, but that’s as much as I know about that.

I can definitely gleam that at some point the group will need to return to Beacon---especially since the Crown of Choice seems to be more important to Salem currently than the Sword of Destruction locked away underneath Shade Academy. But I’m not sure if this means that Salem will have Oscar held prisoner for that long. I’m still hoping for the assumption that Oscar is either saved or escapes Salem by the end of V8.

I would rather it be a case where Oscar returns to our heroes and they end up splitting up again---with one group heading for Vacuo to join their allies at Shade Academy to safeguard the Sword of Destruction while another group heads back to Beacon to join their allies there in securing the Crown. And since Oscar---as Ozma’s current incarnate---is the only one with knowledge of the crown’s true location due to his memories, he would need to be present in Vale.

It wouldn’t surprise me if part of V9 will be spent between Vacuo and Vale. Then again, this is all just speculation.

But for now, that’s how I’m seeing it since, as I’ll stress again, I REALLY, REALLY DON’T WANT V8 TO END WITH OSCAR STILL AS SALEM’S PRISONER. 

Not unless Ruby joins him and V9 is about the two smaller, more honest souls surviving imprisonment together before escaping and trying to journey to Vale on their own to meet up with their friends.

Since V8 showed a division in leadership with Yang going off on her own against Ruby’s direction, imagine if…this volume ends with Yang being forced to take up leadership in Ruby’s place since Ruby got taken by Salem and the heroes have no choice but to leave Ruby (and Oscar) behind as they’re forced to make the tough decision on protecting the remaining relics from Salem a opposed to saving their friends. Or…something like that.

Doubt something like this would come to fruition in the canon but…it would be interesting if it did. Seeing Ruby as Salem’s prisoner too and seeing how the little red rose would handle a predicament like that---being far away from her friends in the witch’s tower, forced to behave herself out of fear that Salem would do more harm to Oscar whose life Salem is still using as collateral against Ruby.

Watching a storyline where a lone Ruby Rose is stuck at the mercy of the main series’ villain and forced to use her wits and trust in her own judgement (which was challenged for this season, mind you) to manoeuvre her way through the villain’s labyrinth of a lair as a means of finding Oscar and figuring out a way for them both to escape captivity together and make their way back to their friends in Vale…I think that would be an absolutely fascinating story to watch play out. Like imagine if that was the narrative for the second half of V8 or even V9? Wouldn’t that be interesting?

I mean…I doubt it’ll be canon but…still it’s worth mentioning here cause…what if…y’know what I mean?

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

[divineluce]

An Overdue Encounter || Rio & Luce

Location: Scribe HQ

Timing: Early July 2nd

Tagging: @3starsquinn & @divineluce

Summary: Both a little battered and broken, Rio and Luce do a some digging to figure out what exactly is up with Remmy’s strange necklace.

Orion always felt weird showing the Scribrary off to people for the first time. Though, technically since Luce had been here before with Winston part of those nerves should technically be null and void, right? Well any normal human without anxiety would certainly think that made sense. Unfortunately, Rio wasn’t one of those normal humans. Instead, he was a bucket of nerves around Luce. Both because he didn’t know her and because he had never been instead of the building with her before. Plus, it didn’t help that he was still sporting the black eye, split cheek and wrist brace following his encounter with the trolls. The pain in his ribs had settled a bit at least. It was no longer the main source of his pain, a subtle pain surrounding his torso in its place. The bruising around his stomach and back from the tree and subsequent fall to the ground had done a number on him. But the ribs really only hurt if he took too deep of a breath. Or laughed too loudly. Or moved. “Hey there. So uh- Winston showed you the place already, I know. Did they take you to the main library area?” 

For about the twentieth time this week, Luce was thankful that she drove a big ass 4x4. It could handle the rough terrain outside of town easily and meant that, instead of hauling ass through the woods, she was able to drive at least a good chunk of the way. Still, the effort reminded her that her ribs were still very much broken. And no amount of human medicine could fix this particular problem. No, only time could heal her broken ribs. Time, or her mother finding out what they’d done. Nope. She could suffer through the pain. As the Scribe building came into view she saw that Rio the Pink Haired Kid, as she’d been thinking of them, was now Rio the Blue Haired Kid. The really fucking beat up blue haired kid, what the fuck? Taking in his appearance, Luce let out a low whistle. “You look about as good as I feel and I was in the hospital all last weekend. Fuck. What happened to you?” She asked. “And yeah, they did. We mostly stayed in the area about real fexted up shit.” Luce joked. 

Orion was willing to admit that he was very intimidated by Luce. She seemed confident and social and way too cool to hang out around someone like Rio. Not that the two were necessarily hanging out. This was business, of sorts. Rio and Winston were Scribes, for lack of a better word at least. Helping people like this was supposed to be what they did. So Rio was here to help Luce in spite of how awkward it may be. “Ah, uh accident.” Rio shrugged, trying to downplay the total breakdowns he had been having the entire week. “Or well, I got attacked. Which was sort of an accident. But it looks worse than it actually is.” That probably wasn’t true, considering his ribs, but it was mostly true. He healed quickly. “Great! Well then we’re off to a good start. We can head in and start figuring out which sections we need to pull.” Rio motioned Luce to follow him. He paused by the tree to that he used to open the barrier and slipped inside the building once it had revealed itself. “So what information are you looking for?”

“An accident. I call bullshit on that. What attacked you?” Luce asked as she followed Rio inside the library and immediately sneezed as she entered the dusty building. The reaction sent a wave of pain through her ribs and she let out a strangled groan of pain, clutching her ribs. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” She muttered, shaking her head as she leaned against one of the nearby bookshelves. Pain ran up the entire right side of her body and she took a few deep breaths to steady herself. It took longer than she wanted, but eventually the pain subsided and she was able to stand on her own. “Uh…” She said, brain buffering in the aftermath. There was so much that she wanted to know. Needed to know. About her magic, why the flames still felt low. About Bea, and why she had come back so different. But, the first thing that came to mind was the way that Remmy had writhed on the ground of Bea’s house, clutching at the necklace. At the way she’d felt magic coursing through them. Familiar magic, that she couldn’t quite place. “Do you know if there’d be a book about… magical items that can hurt people? Like… fucked up necklaces or anything like that?”

 Clearly, Luce didn’t believe Orion. Not that he could blame her. Rio’s face looked pretty intentionally damaged. But Rio liked to stick to it that something had gone wrong during their encounter. If only he could have figured out a way to stop the trolls from attacking. “Trolls attacked me. But it was sort of an accident. Or like a misunderstanding. It shouldn’t have gone down the way it did.” Rio didn’t know how much to tell Luce. Didn’t even know if she cared to hear about Rio’s personal life. Rio certainly didn’t need to relive that moment over and over again. Not that he could help it much, when his brain refused to do anything but play it over and over again every time he closed eyes. Speaking of that, what was hurting Luce? She was cursing up a storm and gripping at her side in pain. It looked exactly like Rio had done a few days ago. “Hey uh- you okay there?” She certainly didn’t seem okay for a minute, until she rested against the bookshelf long enough to reclaim herself. “I uh-” Rio paused, considering the topic before answering again, “Maybe magical artifacts? Either that or it’s worth checking the section on hunting. Could be some kind of gross, screwed up hunter’s tool.” He groaned. He had been avoiding the section written for and by hunters since he got here. He knew enough about that twisted world. He didn’t need any other knowledge. Until maybe now it seemed. “How were they hurt? Like physically harmed? Mentally?”    Rio turned a corner, sharp and walked down the rows, cutting into an aisle and pausing near a stack of books talking about magical artifacts, “There’s a couple of Scribe stories in here specifically about tools and artifacts local to White Crest. May be a good start assuming your friend lives in town?”

Still recovering from the bout of pain, Luce did her best to focus on Rio’s weird ass words. An accident with trolls? A misunderstanding? What the fuck? “A mix up with trolls? You know? Sure. That makes about as much sense as anything else in this town.” She said with a grimace and a shake of her head. If that was what he said happened, that was what happened. Waving their concern away with a hand, Luce nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just some fucked up ribs, that’s all.” She dismissed his concern. She didn’t really want his pity-- or anyones. She just wanted to get some information and get out of here. “A hunter tool… What do you mean by that?” She asked as she followed Rio through the winding bookshelves of the library. Yeah, she knew about Hunters, knew that there were different people who specialized in different things. But she always just thought they ran around with guns or swords or stakes. Nothing fancy or anything like that. “Uh… Physically, I think. I’m not sure.” She said, flexing her hand as she trailed behind him. Even though it was just a memory now, Luce could feel the flow of magic, still tingling across her fingers. “They’re not my friend.” She said, the words coming out as a knee jerk reaction. “They’re just someone I know. And they don’t,” She paused, trying to sift through the words buzzing in her head, “They shouldn’t be hurt like that. But yeah. They live in White Crest.”

Considering Luce had just brought her sister back from the dead, Orion knew that she knew about the supernatural. At least when it came to magic stuff. So he nodded, “Yeah that’s uh- sorta my philosophy when I learn new things now too. Just try to go with the flow.” Refusing to go with the flow could get people killed in this town. What a coincidence, Luce’s ribs were injured too?” Oh really? That’s so weird I-” He trailed off, considering that maybe he shouldn’t finish that sentence. If he came clean about his ribs being broken, then Luce might rightfully wonder why Rio wasn’t in more pain. He was honestly, but the hunter healing had already started working and the pain was more of a constant, but dull stinging. Way more manageable than it had been the first few days after he had been attacked. “The troll uh, punched me. In my side. So I’m pretty sore too. But yours sounds… more serious. Did you break anything?” Rio asked Luce. Were the injuries from the spell? He couldn’t be sure, but it made him nervous. If something like that had happened, how did Winston escape with just a scar and weird magic?

“Uh- hunters that specifically go after the supernatural? There’s sort of a… code that a lot of them follow, but not everyone. Some will kill indiscriminately. And some like to… play with their victims. With magic and some other torture devices. From what I’ve read. It could be something like that.” He certainly hoped that wasn’t the case. Especially for Luce’s friend. Or her not friend. Whoever it was that Luce knew. “But I agree, nobody deserves to be treated like that.” Rio settled on the books that he pulled and made his way through more aisles until he got to the hunter section. It was the dustiest section, one that Rio very rarely pulled from and mostly ignored. He had spent so little time over here that he wasn’t even sure what he should be looking for, so he studied the books carefully as he spoke, “So… You seem to know a lot about magic.” Rio began, eyes trained on the book titles so he didn’t have to meet Luce’s eyes. “Can you do magic too? That spell… that Winston helped with. The books don’t make it sound like a one person job. Actually even with multiple people it still usually fails from the sounds of it. So they had to have help from other magic users, yeah?”

“A troll punched you. Well, how about that.” Luce said, casting a look of surprise at the kid. As beat up as he was, he definitely didn’t look like he’d been beat to shit by a troll. Must have gotten lucky? The troll must have whiffed the punch. Rio wasn’t exactly a bulky, Dwayne the Rock Johnson looking guy. He honestly looked like a stiff breeze might knock him over. But, she really didn’t care to know about his situation. If he said it was an accident, it was an accident. She had more important things to worry about and so did he. “Doesn’t matter, it’s healing.” She said with a dismissive wave as they continued to walk between shelves and rows of books. 

At his explanation, Luce resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She knew what hunters were, yeah. She just didn’t think that they would ever torture people. Weren’t they just meant to keep people safe? But, as he continued speaking, her eyes narrowed. “Play with their victims? Torture devices? Fuck.” She said shaking her head. Was Remmy being hunted? Had someone figured out they were a zombie and wasn’t satisfied with just killing them? Was that what was going on there? As Rio began to scrutinize the various books, Luce trailed behind him, not sure what she was meant to be looking for. None of the titles made much sense to her-- there weren’t any books called “Fucked Up Cursed Necklaces And How To Destroy Them.” At his question, Luce reached for the magic within her, but came back with nothing but barely glowing embers amidst ash. Her jaw clenched at that. It had been a week since they’d brought her back. And yet, her magic was still burning low. She had to get it back, had to make sure it came back. “Yeah. I can.” She answered, not bothering to say more than that. “What about that book?” She asked, pointing to what looked like an old hunter manual.

One thing Orion noticed about Luce was that she didn’t seem to ask a lot of questions. He appreciated it right now. The last thing he wanted to do was try to explain how he got away from them or what he did to it. She seemed to move on from the topic pretty quickly too. Flippantly disregarding any concern for her injuries and trying to focus back on the subject at hand. Rio didn’t have much choice but to oblige. Not that he’d try to dig any deeper regardless. He had already learned the repercussions of trying to dig too deeply into someone’s life. “Yeah uh- some hunters aren’t all about that sense of duty or honor or whatever. There are some sick, sick people out there.” Rio shivered at the thought, his mind jumping to the basement of his parent’s house. He wished that memory magic wasn’t as dangerous as Luce said it was. Maybe he could make himself forget the basement. 

So Luce was a spell-caster too? Did that run in families? The hunter gene was not necessarily genetic though it did some to be more prevalent in parents that were hunters. Maybe magic was similar? But it certainly helped explain how something like necromancy could be accomplished. Rio shook the thought away and grabbed the book that Luce had pointed out, “Definitely worth a try.” He added it to the ever growing stuck tucked beneath his arm. “We can set up at one of the tables around the corner here. We’ve got a lot of reading to do.”

“You can say that again,” Luce murmured, her mind going back to Montgomery’s home and how it stood as a tribute to cruelty and death. She’d seen the wings of pixies and Fae pinned up in boxes, she’d seen the jars full of the heads of Montgomery’s victims, had seen her own sister’s held in one herself. She knew just how cruel hunters could be. How vicious they could be. The idea that Remmy might be facing someone who would toy with them until they died… She swallowed. “Yeah, people do some really fucking sick things just because they can. I don’t want that to happen to anyone else.” 

“Sounds good to me.” She said and followed him towards one of the tables. Brushing off a layer of dust with her hand, Luce immediately sat down at one of the chairs and began to flick through the pages. Studying. Reading. This sort of shit had never been her forte. Not in school, not during the coven tutoring sessions, not at home when her mother had tried to drill into her brain the nuances of how their magic could be expanded beyond just the flame. But, she needed to figure shit out. She needed to find out why Remmy was wearing that fucked up necklace, how she could get it off, and make sure that they were safe. As the minutes ticked away, Luce looked over at Rio. “How did you and Winston find this place anyways?”

Orion has studying down pat now. He was becoming surprisingly good at picking out keywords by now. He can scan through multiple pages a minute, sometimes multiple books if he was hyped up enough on energy drinks. Today, he stuck with the one and flipped through page after page trying to find something that stuck out to him. He was starting with magical artifacts. He was afraid reading the hunter manual would mess with his mind too much. “Well, long story uh- There used to be these people that called themselves Scribes. Not sure if you would’ve heard of them they’ve been mostly defunct since the late 80’s.” Rio began explaining, unsure how much information someone may have on the subject. He figured most people around their age had never heard of the Scribes before. “But my uncle knew of them. He was one of them for a little bit before it shut down. He showed this building to me once when I was a kid and a few months ago I... found myself back” That was a simple explanation, but the truth of it. There wasn’t much more to it than that. “As for Winston, well I don’t know how they did it, but they sleepwalked in here one night out of nowhere. I was... sleeping here at the time and happened to run into them. We had only met once before that but well I guess the rest is history.” He couldn’t stop himself from grinning at the thought. How lucky Rio had been, to be sleeping here that night. 

Rio got back to studying, abandoning a book in favor of a new one. This one was written by a hunter, who happened to also be a scribe. So much for neutrality. He dove into the book, searching for anything that may stick out. “I don’t want to... ask too much about your acquaintance because it’s none of my business. But are they something other than a normal human? Like would they have abilities that needed suppressed? It may help narrow down the search.”

Listening to Rio speak, Luce looked at some of the diagrams drawn in the book she had selected. It was some kind of fucked up trap, some monstrous combination of jagged silver teeth and springs. No doubt it was meant to capture werewolves in the most painful way possible. The thought of a hunter going after Ulfric, or Ariana, trapping them in something like that? It put a bitter taste in her throat. But, this wasn’t what she was looking for. She needed to focus. “Scribes. Seems like they took the title seriously, this place is like a fucking warehouse of books.” She said gesturing around them. As Rio explained the circumstances of how Winston came to find the massive library,  “Hm. Sounds like the two of you were at the right place at the right time. Worked out well.” She nodded before shutting the book. This was just all about how to trap things, not how to keep them controlled.

Luce let out a quick puff of air, blowing a few strands of hair from her eyes. She didn’t really want to go spilling Remmy’s secrets to someone, but… She didn’t really have a choice. And besides, it’s not like Rio knew who they were. She hadn’t even told him their name. “They’re a zombie. They’ve been wearing this necklace for a couple weeks-- I didn’t even really pay attention to it. But, something happened the other day and it… brought them to the ground. They were screaming. In pain.” Luce grimaced at the memory, her fingers clenching into a fist against the table. “I need to know what that thing is and how to destroy it.”

Orion nodded, “They did. A little too serious sometimes, probably.” It had to be one of the reasons why they eventually fell. “They kept records of hundreds of years of supernatural history. Maybe more. They had chapters all over the world. But they were a little... stubborn.” Rio tried to think of the easiest way to sum up their collapse, “They didn’t want to modernize. So they died out.” 

A zombie? Maybe this friend was Morgan. Or maybe it was connected to Morgan or Ashley or whoever was turning others into zombies in this town. It didn’t matter at this point, all that mattered was that something was torturing zombies. “I’ve actually been trying to do some readings about zombies recently. I don’t know a ton about them, but I bet whatever it is they use to suppress their abilities.” Rio hopped off of the table where he had been resting and turned to Luce, “I’m going to go try to find some books specifically about Slayers. We may have better luck finding something specific to the undead.”

“Makes sense. Gotta change with the times, or you’ll get left in the dust.” Luce brushed her hand over the cover of one of the leather bound books, nose wrinkling. “Literally.” A part of her wondered if that was what Rio was doing here, trying to bring the Scribes into the modern day. But, a much larger part of her just didn’t care. Maybe another time, under different circumstances, she would have been interested to figure out just how he knew about this, how his uncle was aware of the Scribes to begin with. But, she shelved that thought. She had more important things to worry about.

“I know… a bit.” Luce said, the words seeming to stick in the back of her throat. She could still remember what it felt like, waking up as a zombie through Morgan’s memories. She could still remember how incapable of feeling anything at all, she had been. “Their sense of touch, it’s muted. Really, really muted. It’s like being underwater, but it’s like… it’s like there’s an ocean of distance between you and your skin.” She shuddered, forcing the memory from her mind. Was that how Remmy felt? All the time? “Yeah. Slayer shit. That might be the place to look.” Luce said, grabbing a random book from the stack. As she did, she noticed a small section in the book about ghosts… As she stared at the scribblings, note in the margin from a human exorcist, she swallowed. Ghosts. They had a way of making their way back to those they’d developed a… fondness for. A shiver went down her spine as she stared at the looping handwriting. “Slayers, they deal with, vampires, zombies, that sort of thing, right? They wouldn’t come after someone who… was brought back?” She asked as she thumbed through the pages. 

Orion chuckled at Luce’s  joke, “Exactly.” But despite all the flaws that the old scribes had, they still had the ability to help a lot of people through their text. If Rio could turn that into something modern and useful, maybe he’d be able to make something of the life his parents had tried to force on him.

“Muted” Rio repeated the phrase back to himself, latching onto the words that Luce spoke. “I was told once that they don’t feel pain like humans do. So it must be something like you described. Muted.” Rio searched through the hunter catalogue again until finding some information regarding slayers. It was the only branch of hunters that Rio wasn’t very familiar with. Growing up in a household of beast hunters and wardens, they knew about vampires and zombies but had never been appropriately taught about them. As he passed Luce to head back to the table he noticed the book she was holding and paused. “I- don’t know honestly. I think it depends on the hunter.” He wished he had a better answer for Luce. He could only assume that this had to do with her sister. “As long as everything went right... she should technically be alive, y’know? The undead don’t have heartbeats and they can only survive on blood or flesh from the living. Those are totally different.” He didn’t know if that helped or not. He couldn’t be sure because he didn’t know all of Bea’s situation. Rio crawled back onto the table and rested his feet against one of the old chairs. “I know a slayer. He’s not.... I don’t know if I can trust him fully. He seems like a good person, but I don’t know his philosophy on the undead. I could ask if he knows anything about the necklaces?”

“Yeah. It’s nothing like being human at all.” Luce replied, her fingers flexing, as though to remind herself that she was still here. She was still human. She was still alive. Swallowing, she listened to Rio intently. The last thing she wanted was for their efforts to have only put Bea in further danger. She was aware of the consequences that came with going against nature, knew that everything had a price that must be paid. But, she wasn’t going to let her sister pay it again. “Fair enough.” She murmured, scanning the pages with ever growing dismay. Just as she was about to shut the book in frustration, her finger came to rest on a picture of a… large armband? Something used to cripple creatures. To keep them malleable, easy to work with. “No-- no, Rio. Look. This. Do you think this might be what someone’s using on them?”

It’s nothing like being human at all. Orion had always been so sure that despite the differences, supernatural species were still human. Even though werewolves changed form and vampires had previously died, at their core they were still human beings. But was that fair of Rio to determine? Morgan was adamant that she was a zombie now. Not a human, but a person. Ariana seemed content identifying as a werewolf instead of a human being. Was it fair for him to thrust that upon them if they didn’t even want to be human? Could he blame them? He furrowed his brow, pondering this along with Luce’s statement. Maybe they really weren’t like humans at all. It didn’t change Rio’s point of view or his morals. They still didn’t deserve to die. Or worse, live through the torture that some humans put them through. When Luce found something, Rio perked up from his position and practically crawled across the table to take a look. “Interesting. How the heck did they build something that helps neutralize the undead like that? Some kind of magic or drug maybe? Either way, they would have to have a way to refuel the magic or resupply the drug. That means someone in town would have to know about it.” Rio guessed. This was nothing more than a hypothesis, and one without much backing either. His expertise wasn’t within magic or supernatural drugs. “Hey if you want to like... borrow a couple of these books to do your own research you can. I just need to log which ones you take. And uh- I’ll sorta need them back. Eventually at least.”

“It’s gotta be magic. If it was a drug, there’d have to be some kind of like… needle or something attached to it right?” Luce said, her brow furrowing as she tried to figure out the diagram that sat before her. “Yeah… They’d need a source or some kind of like, transmitter at the very least.” She said, pushing the book away in disgust. The fact that someone, anyone, would ever make a device like that was horrifying. Not that she had any room to talk. She’d done some terrible things herself. Swallowing, she pushed the images of August from her mind. No. That had been different. August had deserved every last ounce of his suffering. Remmy… they’d never done anything to warrant the kind of pain she’d seen them in. At Rio’s words, Luce blinked in surprise. “Are you sure? I… Yeah. I’d appreciate that.”

Knowing nothing about supernatural drugs (or real drugs for that matter), Orion was going to take Luce’s word on that. It made sense. Unless there was a drug that could slip in through pores to enter the blood system. That wasn’t completely outside of the realm of possibility, but magic certainly seemed more likely. It wouldn’t have been the first time that hunters and magic had teamed up for some mutually beneficial cause. “That would imply that whoever is doing either must either know magic or has connections with someone that can do it, right? I don’t know if that narrows things down at all.” How many spell casters were in this town? The number was probably higher than Rio thought it was. “And yeah- totally serious. Winston and I are working on trying to digitize the information here. So that it’s more easily accessible to those that need it. But uh- as you can probably see, we have our work cut out for us on that. So, I don’t think we will be pressed if you borrow some stuff for a while. I’ll just want it back eventually so I can start to move it over.” Rio pulled his laptop from his book bag and pulled up the tracker that he had created when Blanche started stealing books. If people would be coming in and out with different books, Rio wanted a way to keep track of it. “I’ll just log anything you end up taking in here. So I know which ones are gone right now? If that’s okay.”

“It does, yeah.” Luce said, her troubled expression only growing even more. If there was some kind of magic user who was out here, making these kind of torture devices, they had to be stopped. They were a danger to the community, to everyone. If they could cripple Remmy like that, they could kill anyone in an instant. She had to make sure that whoever was responsible for these things got dealt with. Ideally, in a permanent way. Luce regarded Rio in a new light. He really was just a… good kid, wasn’t he? Trying to do his best or whatever. “Yeah. Sure, okay.” She said, grabbing her phone and typing down the name of the book she was currently looking at. Luce skimmed through one of the other books and her fingers fell on a section on ghosts, poltergeists, something called kinterwibs and other kinds of hauntings. Jaw tightening, she added it to the pile. “I’m gonna be taking these two. But, uh… I think I found out about as much as I can here.” She said, awkwardly shifting as best as she could without jarring her ribs. “Thanks, Rio.”

Orion was a bit relieved that Luce seemed ready to leave. He had been trying to hide how much pain he had been in since he forced himself out of bed to head over towards the forest. Rio hadn’t even really wanted to come, but whatever Luce was looking into had seemed pretty important. “Thanks. For logging that. I know it seems stupid being a mostly abandoned library and all. But.. I just want to make sure to get as much information as I can.” Rio added the books to his list and slowly crawled down from the table and began gathering his things. “Of course. Happy to help. Winston’s super important to me. So all of their friends are too.” Rio shrugged, slowly pulling his arms through the book bag. “And I’m happy to help with anything else you may need to. Anything you tell me is strictly confidential, cool?”

Grabbing the two books from the table, Luce did her best to rise from the chair without twinging her ribs. She grimaced at Rio’s words. What the fuck was up with people in this town saying that the things they did was stupid? First Remmy, now Rio. Christ. “It’s not stupid, it’s clearly important to you. Don’t discount what you’re doing like that.” She muttered, with a shake of her head. “But yeah. Thanks. I’ll make sure to get these back to you when I’m done.” Luce said with a nod. She bristled a little at the sound of friends, but did her best to push that feeling down. Winston was… yeah. She guessed they were a friend. More family than friend at this point, but Rio didn’t need to know that. That said, he didn’t need to know any more about her than he already did. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She said before heading out of the library, shoulders squared as she pushed through the doorway. Sweet kid, naive, a little too trusting, a little too kind. She hoped nothing else happened to him. As she walked out to her 4x4, Luce looked down at the books in her hands, at the thick leather-bound volumes. She had a lot of reading ahead of her. But, if it meant stopping Remmy’s pain, she’d do it.