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ricksroaches · 3 years

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Y/N part 1 - Dysphoria ch. 5

pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)

summary: Y/N has an accident at a Halloween party that sends her further down the wrong path.

notes: Occasionally I'll make some grammatical errors on purpose for emotional emphasis so that's why. Also sorry this took so long I'm kinda going through some stuff right now.

word count: 16.9k

warnings: language, drugs, self harm, mental hospitalization, shitty parents, near drowning, anxiety attack, overdose, hospitalization, miscarriage, sedation

“Do you know why you’re here, Y/N?”

“Spare me. I’ve done this before.”

“I know you have. I’m simply asking if you understand that you need this.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t understand?”

“No, I mean that I don’t need this.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because I’ve already accepted that this is how I feel, and how I’ll keep feeling ‘til I die. No amount of talking it out and coping skills will change that.”

“Well, that’s not a very healthy way to look at it.”

“Yeah, no shit, but it works for me and I’d appreciate it if people didn’t waste their time trying to fix me so they can feel better about themselves.”

“I understand.”

“Obviously, you don’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I do. I’m not here to tell you what you're doing wrong. I’m here to figure out how and why you got to where you are.”

“What, you gonna pick apart my life and tell me where everything went wrong?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then what?”

“Well first, I’d like to go back and discuss your experience at St. Joseph’s.”

“I don’t really feel like talking about that.”

“Y/N, these sessions are mandatory. No matter how much you resist, we’re still stuck here, so you might as well take advantage of the time we still have.”

“…”

“Or, we could just here in silen-”

“Fine. Anything but that.”

~~~

8TH GRADE

The cold classroom was silent except for the steady tick of the clock on the wall. It was only third hour and Y/N already wanted to jump out a window. She’d long finished her classwork and homework, so she buried herself in her sketchbook. Drawing was always her safe place. She found it meditative being able to just turn off her brain and let the pencil map out her mind.

Everyone jumped a little when the intercom released its usual loud beep. “I need to see Y/N L/N in the office.” Her stomach fluttered at the chance to get out of class. “And tell her to bring her things.” She halted. What? She didn’t have any appointments that she knew of, and her parents weren’t the type to check her out for minor things. Her head pounded while she stuffed everything in her backpack with everyone, including her teacher, watching her.

Backpack slung over one shoulder, she made her way down the bland cream and blue hallway that she’d spent the last three miserable years in. Jimin was her best friend all through elementary school, but he switched to a private school, leaving her to fend for herself in a new school of unfamiliar faces. He didn’t want to leave her, but the school she was going to didn’t have a dance department, and his mom had convinced him to go. By the time she found out that the school in question had the best arts program in the district, it was too late. There was no way her parents could afford to send her there anyway.

She’d be lying if she said she was happy he was pursuing his dream. Making friends wasn’t an easy task, Jimin was always the one that did the talking. So she settled for whoever cared enough to give her the time of day. There was only one person she was actually close enough with to hang out outside of school, Abigail. To say she was the dominant one in their relationship would be an understatement. Whatever Abi said, went. Whatever Abi wanted, she got. Whatever she wanted to do, Y/N was dragged along whether she liked it or not. She didn’t mind that much. It was better than no one.

The office door came into view, and she ran over every possible circumstance in her head before opening it. Her parents stood by the front desk. Her dad was clutching her mom’s trembling hand. “Mom? Dad? What’s going on? Did somebody die??”

“No, everything’s fine. We’ll explain on the way.” Her dad took it upon himself to answer.

“Uh...o-kay?”

The second her dad pulled the car onto the road, her mom turned around to face her. “I don’t really know how to start this, so I’m just going to say it. I was cleaning your room last week and found something.”

“What?” She pulled an old DVD case from the glove box and set it in Y/N’s lap. Every single defense mechanism in her body went off at once as she gawked at the image of a black bobbed Uma Thurman laying on a bed with racey magazines, puffing on a cigarette. Her favorite movie. But she knew it wasn’t the inappropriate film that her parents were concerned about. She slid the plastic sheath off to reveal-. They weren’t there.

“Looking for these?” Her mom held up her palm stacked with the razor blades she’d tucked behind the cover. Y/N’s face turned a sickly white, her mouth opening and closing to think of something to say. Her mind was moving so fast her words couldn’t keep up. She had nothing.

“Really? You have nothing to say for yourself?” She subconsciously pulled down her sweater sleeves. Her mom snatched her wrist and yanked the knit fabric back. “How could you do this to yourself?” She turned her arm to make her look at the pale pink and red lines that peppered all the way up her arm. “This is going to stay on you forever. What do you expect people to think when summer comes?”

Y/N dropped her head against the headrest and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head. Of all the scenarios she thought of, this wasn't one of them. This had to be a dream. It had to be. She tried to pull her arm away and her mom let go, letting it fall to her side. She turned to her dad with a look that screamed, Say something! He simply shook his head in disappointment.

The car was silent for a long time before she finally mustered the strength to open her mouth. “W-where are we going...?”

“A Catholic youth center.”

“A youth center?”

“Yes. They offer great adolescent counseling.”

“But I don't want to.” She crossed her arms defensively.

“Y/N, we just want to get you help, but we can’t do this on our own.” Her dad finally spoke up.

“It’s a nice place. Sister Adrianne from church volunteers there.” Her mom added.

They turned into the parking lot of an old fashioned brick building decorated with stained glass and white molding. She could smell the Catholicism from here. A black suit, white collared man was waiting for them at the entrance once they’d found a parking space. His wire rimmed glasses caught the late morning sun, shining it right in Y/N’s eyes. That alone was enough to make her scowl. “Hello, I’m Father McCarthy, you must be the L/Ns.” Her parents exchanged pleasantries with him before he led them into the lobby.

Sitting smack dab in the middle of the room was a marble statue of St. Joseph, patron saint of children. Y/N scoffed to herself. She hated this place already. The priest spun on his heels to face the family. “If you don’t mind, I was hoping to have a word with Miss Y/N before the tour.” They looked at each other, shrugged, and nudged the poor girl out to him. “It won’t take but a minute.” He said before cupping her shoulder and steering her through the lobby to a set of backdoors.

Outside was a meditation garden that spanned farther than she could see. Cobblestone paths twisted and turned around rose bushes and vines of ivy. The steady flow of the fountain at the center gave the air a calming ambience. Y/N was anything but calm. “Why are we here?”

“I thought maybe a look at the garden would suit your nerves.” He caught her confused stare and laughed lightly. “Your mask is thick, strong, but I can see deeper than most.”

“I appreciate the effort, but it takes more than some pretty flowers to make me feel better. Are we done?” He sighed and checked his watch.

“I suppose. Right this way.” He placed a guiding hand on her back and steered them to the path out of the garden and inside. Her stride slowed when she saw her parents standing in the lobby, a suitcase in her dad’s hand. Her suitcase. A man in white scrubs took it from him and carried it in the other direction. Everything clicked.

¨No…” She breathed, her head mindlessly shaking. She stepped back and bumped into something firm and whipped around. Another man in the same white uniform towered over her. His face was gentle but his jacked body told a completely different story. His hand clamped onto her bicep. “No, no, no, nonoNONO!” She frantically looked to her parents, who were standing at the exit with pain stricken faces. Her mom buried her head into him while she heard her daughter being dragged away kicking and screaming by two nurses. She’d never forget the final words she caught before she disappeared behind a set of swinging doors.

“I’LL NEVER FORGIVE YOU!”

~~~

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Did you ever forgive your parents?”

“I tried, but she ruined it.”

“How?”

~~~

Y/N followed her screaming, cussing mom through the house as she took trips from her room to the porch, tossing her belongings out onto the lawn.

She’d found her stash.

“Mom! Stop it! This is childish!” she stopped in her tracks and whipped around to face her daughter.

“CHILDISH?!” She took an aggressive step forward. “I’LL TELL YOU WHAT”S CHILDISH! STEALING FROM YOUR OWN PARENTS TO BY DRUGS!” Y/N threw her hands into her hair and tugged at her scalp.

“It’s just weed! And I bought it with my own money! It’s not like I’m doing crack!” She looked to her dad sitting in his chair in the corner of the living room, observing the whole debacle. “Dad? Help?” He gave her a look of surrender. Not my call. Her mom disappeared back into her room.

“IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU’RE DOING!” Her mom shouted as she threw another handful of clothes out the door. “AFTER ALL THE MONEY WE SPENT ON YOU AND YOU GO AND BUY DRUGS?! IT’S LIKE YOU CHOOSE TO BE MISERABLE!” Y/N pounded across the floorboards and got nose to nose with her.

“OH, I’M SO SORRY YOU HAD TO PAY TO THROW YOUR OWN DAUGHTER IN A PSYCH WARD BECAUSE NOT HAVING A NORMAL KID WAS TOO HARD FOR YOU! AND I’M SORRY YOUR HUSBAND WAS TOO PUSSY TO STOP YOU! AND YOU KNOW WHAT’S MAKING ME MISERABLE?! YOU!”

“THEN GET THE FUCK OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Her mom shoved her by the shoulders into the wall.

“FINE!” Y/N stomped to her room and grabbed her backpack, stuffing in as many necessities as she could. She threw it over her shoulder and blew past her still fuming (and still cussing) mom. “Good fucking riddance!” she shouted over her shoulder. She swiped her car keys from the bowl and slammed the front door behind her so hard she heard a line of books topple to the floor inside. The lock on the door clicked and the curtains at the front of the house were hastily drawn.

She lividly gathered her clothes and suitcase strewn about the grass and crammed them into her shitty grey Corolla wherever they could fit. She dropped into the driver's seat and ripped the car out of the driveway and down the dimly lit street.

She crashed at Jimin’s for a bit while she looked for a place. Abi was long gone by then. Back when she was at St. Joseph’s, she’d called Abi for comfort, but what she didn’t know was that she happened to be at a sleepover, and that she’d put her on speaker. It didn’t take long for Y/N to hear a muffled giggle from the other end, and it was safe to say their friendship died the second she slammed the hospital phone receiver back onto its hook.

She didn’t need her anymore. Not with Jimin coming back for high school. He begged his mom to let him go to public school so he could be with Y/N again. What managed to convince her was the impressive dance team the school boasted.

Within the first week away from home, a packet of government documents for her emancipation arrived in her parents’ mail. She was surprised to receive a phone call from her attorney the next day, saying he already received the pettily signed forms and that they’d been filed with the district court. That was it. In a few months, she would be legally on her own. Sixteen years old and on her own.

~~~

“Good. That was good. I know that wasn’t the easiest thing to say, just know that it’s a step in the right direction.”

“Whatever. Are we done?”

“I suppose.”

~~~

Y/N sat on Yoongi’s lap while she painted his hairline into a V and thickened his sideburns into a more boxy shape. His hair was slicked back and he sported a suit and bolo tie. It didn’t take much to convince him to dress as Vincent and Mia from Pulp Fiction for Halloween. She bit the inside of her red painted lips while she cleaned up the edges of his widow’s peak with a steady hand.

It was a lot weirder than Yoongi expected to see her in a wig. The silky black bob made it feel like a complete stranger was parked on his thighs. Her unbuttoned white blouse and wide-bottomed slacks the complete opposite of her usual style. The only thing about her that was the same as he always loved were her eyes. He admired the e/c orbs that flicked back and forth in concentration, oblivious of his gaze.

“I think I’m done.” She leaned back and moved his face side to side to make sure his sideburns were even. “Yeah, you're good to go.” She gave his cheek two solid pats and climbed off his lap to get her shoes. He stood from her bed and checked himself out in her full length mirror. His hair had grown out quite a bit. Long enough to brush the back of his neck when he turned his head. He didn’t think he’d like how he looked with this hair, but it was quickly growing on him.

Y/N came up from behind and wrapped her arms around his torso. She peaked her head around his shoulder to admire his look put together. “If I didn’t know a better word, I’d say you look hot right now.” He caught her eye in the mirror with a smirk as he smoothed back his hair once last time.

“I think,” He pulled her in front of him to see her reflection, “I should be the one saying that.” He slid his hands up her shirt and adjusted the black bralette hidden underneath that had been wrinkled from her hunching over him. Her skin tingled under his large, warm hands. That asshole. He did that on purpose. He dipped his head to be even with hers. “Now, we should go before I mess up that lipstick of yours.”

~~~

Jin leaned against the kitchen counter and surveyed the frat house filled with college and high school students alike. Cobwebs stretched over every corner and fog machines gave the air a dark, heavy look. He always loved throwing his annual Halloween party. It was his favorite holiday other than his birthday. Couples cutely matching, friends coordinating costumes, comedians in gag outfits, and almost every girl wearing a sexy version of what we all dressed as kids. He loved any excuse to dress up.

He wore a loose white tunic and black slacks, his defining piece was the pink and blue diamond printed coat hanging from his shoulders. Howl from, only his favorite movie ever, Howl’s Moving Castle. He watched that shit like it was his job.

“Damn, do you need a maid? I’m not an old lady, but I can cook and clean.” He spun and met a smirking Jimin. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned, black tie loosened, hair tousled, and red lipstick marks trailed from his chest all the way to his cheeks. Jin eyed the scene with visible concern. “Relax, this is my costume. I have a little class.”

“Oh, thank God.” Jin laughed.

“Although some of these are courtesy of some lovely ladies here tonight.” He turned to show the words “KISS ME” written on his back in big letters.

“How did you even get them to agree to do that?” Jimin flashed a proud smile.

“It was easy. Girls aren’t threatened by me. Being part gay is great, you get the best of both worlds!” Jins phone buzzed in his pocket.

Thing 1: Me and Yoongi are about to pull up

Jin smiled at his screen and typed a quick response.

“Who’s Thing 2?” He turned to the younger looking over his shoulder.

“You.” Before Jimin could offer a rebuttal, Jungkook squeezed out of the crowd and nested at his side, beer in hand.

“There’s my Ponyboy!” Jimin gave him a slap on the back. Jungkook's hair was greased back with a single curl hanging on his forehead. His white t-shirt and jeans matched well with Yoongi’s leather jacket that he lended for the occasion. “Doesn’t he scream Ponyboy vibes?”

“I’ll admit it,” Jin added, “he does.” Jungkook took a sip of his beer to hide his embarrassment. He never liked being the center of attention.

The front door burst open to reveal Taehyung, clad in a full face of clown makeup, green hair, and a purple and yellow suit. “WHAT’S POPPIN’ ASS WIPES!!!” He marched inside and made a beeline to the three with Jiwoo in tow. Her skunk stripes were in pink and blue pigtails and her black and red corset top and tights hugged her slim figure. “GUESS WHO HAS A FUCKING GIRLFRIEND!” He laced his fingers with hers and lifted her arm triumphantly in the air. She hid her face bashfully with her free hand. Jimin gasped.

“Shut. Up. You're joking!” Tae flashed a boxy grin.

“No, I’m Joker.” Jiwoo slapped him in the arm.

“Yes, he’s for real.” She answered on his behalf. Jimin and Jin exchanged dramatic, wide-eyed looks and threw their arms around the new couple.

“We did it! He’s off the streets!”

“He’s off the streets!”

“I’m off the streets!”

Jiwoo watched the three jump in circles with their arms linked like a bunch of kids who were told they’re going to McDonald’s. Yeah, she made the right choice.

The front door opened again, not flying off the hinges this time, and Y/N stepped in with Yoongi flush against her back. She spotted the group in the kitchen and threw her arms up. “Heyyyyy!!!!” Taehyung turned with an ecstatic smile and bounded over, pulling her off the ground in a big bear hug.

“Y/N GUESS WHAT! GUESS WHAT! GUESS WHAT!”

“What?” she gasped under his grip. He dropped her and gripped her shoulders.

“I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!” Both Yoongi and Y/N’s faces lit up.

“WHAT?! TAE, OH MY GOD YOU'RE OFF THE STREETS!” She clapped her hands together giddily and threw her arms back around his neck.

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHAT EVERYONE ELSE SAID!”

“Okay, okay, break it up.” Yoongi pried the two children apart and steered them to the kitchen. On the way, he leaned into Tae’s ear and whispered, “I trust you, but I’ll say this anyway. You hurt her, I hurt you.” He snapped out of his scary tone when Jimin came and pulled Y/N into a hug and kissed both her cheeks.

“Ahh! You two look so hot together! Best couple costume ever!” Yoongi never minded how close they were. He knew about their brief fling before he came along, but he trusted her when she said it was all in the past.

Y/N’s excited squeal broke through his thoughts. She booked it for Jungkook to gush over his costume. “Kookie! You look so friggin’ cute!!” She played with the piece of hair hanging on his forehead and fixed a few loose strands. He smiled at his feet and fiddled with his jacket zipper. “Come on, gimme a spin!” He sheepishly did a 360 to give her a full look at his outfit.

“I’ll be damned,” Yoongi added, “you almost look better in that jacket than I do.” Jungkook hid his face behind his hands. He couldn’t control the big ass grin plastered on his face.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him all night!” Jimin cut in, fists on his hips. She squeezed past him and Jungkook to say hi to Jiwoo and Jin.

The eldest boy pulled her into a sweet hug, his coat draping partially over her back. He leaned back to catch her eye. “How are you? You doing okay?” Jin, ever the mom.

The truth was, she wasn’t. Her situation with the pills was getting out of hand. What started out as a party topper, became a full blown addiction. She hated the person she had become. If she didn’t get her fix, she’d turn into a monster, snapping at anyone and everyone if they rubbed her the wrong way.

The moment she realized she had a problem was when Jungkook tried to approach her at school on one of her bad days. She ended up punching her locker with enough force to turn heads. The cold, unsympathetic eyes of the complete stranger that took her place bore into him before storming off. Tears welled in his eyes and he was frozen in place. All he asked was if he could help.

She scared him, and she'd never forgive herself for it. Even after he did.

She put on her best convincing smile and patted Jin’s chest. “I’m fine, you shouldn’t be worrying about me.” He searched her eyes for a crack in the facade, but he saw none. A warm smile played on his lips and he gave her a kiss on the head before turning her loose. She immediately pivoted to Jiwoo, trying to change the subject.

“Now I’m no DC expert, but I’m pretty sure you two are from different movies.” She gestured to the couple. “Tae, I know you’re from the Dark Knight, but I've never seen Harley in this hot ass outfit before.” Jiwoo chuckled and shuffled in her knee length boots.

“I’m actually Harley from Arkham Knight, a video game. It’s my favorite look of hers.” Y/N gave her another up and down, nodding her head.

“It’s great ‘cus Harley wasn’t in The Dark Knight, so she could be any version she wanted.” Tae commented.

“Except Suicide Squad.” Jiwoo added.

“Except Suicide Squad.” He echoed. “That movie was a disgrace.”

“Hey,” Y/N slapped Jimin on the arm, “Is Hobi here yet? I need a little...” She tapped the side of her nose. He giggled and pointed to the loft on the second floor.

“He was up there last I saw him. Have at it.” She made her way back to Yoongi and went on her tiptoes to give him a quick peck.

“Go ahead and make yourself a drink. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” She said seductively in her best Mia Wallace voice. Her index and middle fingers walked up his chest and dragged across his shoulder as she walked past him.

The loft was surprisingly hard to get to being that it was clogged with partygoers. She finally managed to squeeze through and fall to the floor, her face inches from a pair of sharp-toed dress shoes. She followed the white suit up to the face peering down at her. “The floor is no place for you, Mrs. Wallace.” A hand gripped her forearm and hoisted her to her feet with ease. At the other end of the arm holding her, was Hoseok’s beaming smile. The pointed collar of his black dress shirt was folded over the lapel of his suit.

“Saturday Night Fever?” He nodded. “Yay, now I have two John Travolta’s.” She took her arm from his hold and fixed her bangs.

“I think I might know why you’re here.” He inquired

“You would be correct, sir.” He chuckled.

“Follow me.”

He led her to a couch at the edge of the loft that overlooked the sea of costumes below. There was so much smoke in the air it was impossible to tell if it came from the fog machines or someone’s lungs. They plopped onto the cushions and he went to work cutting lines on a mirror laid on the coffee table. “So how’s life?”

“Eh, I've been better.” She let herself slip a little. Talking to Hoseok was easy. She liked being able to tell him some heavier things because he never pressed for more information. He accepted what he was given and took it in stride. She leaned forward and grabbed an almost empty bottle of cherry vodka and finished it off.

“I feel ‘ya. Soccer practice is really starting to get to me. Just gotta take it day by day, my friend.” He slid the mirror to her side and handed her a rolled up bill. “Here.”

“Thank you, good sir.” She plucked the makeshift tube from his fingers and dipped her head to sniff up the pristine white line. The feeling hit her instantly. A huge smile spread across her face and her whole body felt like it was floating among the smoke clouds.

“Good?” She couldn’t find the words, so she gave him a simple thumbs up. Their moment was cut short when Taehyung’s booming voice cut through the music and conversation.

“EVERYONE! OUR BELOVED QUARTERBACK, NAMJOON KIM, IS OFFICIALLY OFF THE MARKET!”

“WHAT?!” They shouted in unison. With a quick shared look, they scrambled down the stairs and through the cheering crowd. Taehyung was standing, red cup in hand, on the thick mantle of the fireplace at the head of the room. “Jesus fucking Christ.” She mumbled as they watched Jiwoo weave through the mob to pull him down.

“There he is!” Hoseok pointed to the head of brown hair that poked above everyone else. He pulled her along behind him, using his strength to cut through the congestion. When they broke through the wall of bodies, the entire friend group was gathered on the massive sectional couch at the center of the room. She picked the couple from the cluster and her jaw dropped.

“No fucking way. Cheyenne?!”

“Yes way.” Jimin chimed. The girl in question was perched on the arm of the couch next to Namjoon. Her amber eyes lit up when she recognized Y/N standing there.

“Y/N?!” She jumped up and crashed her body into hers with a crushing embrace. “Oh my God you grew up so much!! You’re not a little shrimp anymore!”

“I haven’t seen you since what? Fifth grade?” Cheyenne’s smile flashed white against her sepia skin. They were rather close in elementary until she moved away before middle school. She was the extrovert that found her and acted almost like a mother to her. Cheyenne was the one that cracked Y/N’s shell.

“I know, girl! We moved back and I’m going to Westview!”

“Westview?! I go to Westview!” Her eyes widened.

“What?! How come I haven’t seen you at school?” Y/N chuckled.

“I make myself very hard to spot.”

“She’s right,” Yoongi added, coming to stand beside her, “took me forever to track her down to talk to her for the first time.” He handed her a solo cup of vodka cranberry and she gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. Cheyenne’s hand flew to her chest.

“I’m gonna cry. My baby’s all glown up and she got herself a man!” She dramatically fanned her eyes. Her long false lashes almost reached her brows when she looked to the ceiling. Her box braids were twisted into space buns on either side of her head and her long, flowing white dress cinched at the waist and had a slit running up to reveal her muscular leg.

Y/N peaked over her shoulder at Namjoon. His long sleeved, tan v-neck and black vest made everything click. “Oh my god! Han Solo and Leia! That’s so fucking cute!”

“Can you guess whose idea it was?” Cheyenne cocked an eyebrow and looked over her shoulder at him, who blushed and gave a little finger wave. What a man baby. She took her seat back by him and Y/N and Yoongi sat on the couch across from them.

“So how did you guys meet?” The couple shared a humored look.

“Remember that bloody nose I said I got in P.E. a couple weeks ago?” Namjoon asked.

“Yeah?” Cheyenne proudly raised her hand.

“That was me. It was girls vs boys in dodgeball and I nailed him in the face.” Y/N would expect nothing less from her. Even in elementary, Cheyenne was the best softball player she’d ever seen. That girl had an arm like a cannon.

“She walked with me to get ice and we kinda just got to know each other along the way.”

“Awwww~” Jimin and Taehyung swooned.

“As much as I hate to break up the moment, I'm trying to get fucked up tonight.” Y/N finally said once the conversation died down. “Chey, do you,” She put her thumb and index finger to her lips and puffed on an imaginary joint, “partake?”

Cheyenne raised an eyebrow at her. She wasn’t surprised Y/N had turned to drugs. That girl had issues from the very start. “Of course I do, who the fuck do you think I am?” Smirks cracked the pair’s lips and they shared a mischievous look for the first time in a long time.

~~~

Y/N, Yoongi, Cheyenne, Namjoon and Jimin gathered on the sofa by the swimming pool filled with splashing guys and girls stripped down to their underwear. Which was insane given that it was basically November and the water was 70 degrees at most. Yoongi placed a thick blunt between his lips and flicked his Zippo lighter, casting a brief warm glow on his face. He expertly cupped his hand against the flame and got a good burn going, then snapped the lighter closed against his thigh. The blunt cherried bright orange when he took a colossal hit, letting the smoke roll out of his nose in plumes before passing it to Y/N. She gathered a thick cloud in her mouth and let it float out to inhale through her nose. The milky reverse waterfall flowed into her nostrils like a yellow tinted nebula. The THC hit her already intoxicated brain, sending her further into the couch.

Jimin took his two puffs quickly and passed it on. On her turn, Cheyenne blew a single smoke ring and ran her finger down the middle to make it a heart, sending it floating into Namjoon’s face.

“Cute.” He said sarcastically as he took the blunt from her manicured nails and drew a long hit. “I don’t know any tricks so you’re just gonna have to deal with my boring ass.”

“We’ve been dealing with your boring ass for years.” Y/N deadpanned, earning a series of laughs from the group.

The blunt made its way around the circle back to Yoongi for the third time, and it was starting to reach its end. “Have you two smoked together before?” He questioned the new couple. They looked at each other and shook their heads. “Well then,” he clapped his hands together and plucked the blunt from his lip, “it’s customary that new couples christen the relationship by shotgunning.”

“What?” Namjoon’s brows knit together in confusion.

“Come on Joon, you’ve hung around us this long and you still don’t know what shotgunning is?” Y/N spoke up. He threw his hands up in defense.

“Hey! I’ve only ever heard it mentioned. No one ever told me what it actually was!” Yoongi huffed a chuckle.

“Watch and learn.” He puffed on the blunt and trapped the smoke in his mouth. His hand went to the back of Y/N’s neck and pulled her into a kiss, slowly delivering the cloud to her lungs. They parted, and white fog poured from her lips. “Now you try.” He handed him the blunt. Namjoon pocketed a good bit in his cheeks and cupped Cheyenne’s jaw. He pressed a light kiss on her full lips, transferring the smoke to her.

“Like that?” Yoongi and Y/N gave him an approving nod with a shared smirk.

“Consider us properly christened.” Cheyenne quipped. Before anything else could be said, a guy popped out from the sliding doors leading inside.

“AYE! WE GOT JELLO SHOTS IN HERE!”

“Oh fuck yes!” Y/N lept up, not giving herself time to ride out the head-rush that blacked out her senses and made a beeline inside. Yoongi watched her stumble through the glass doors and disappear in the crowd with visible torment.

“You good?” Cheyenne’s robust voice broke through his inner turmoil.

“Yeah.” He kept his gaze on the spot he lost sight of her in, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

~~~

Six Jello shots, two shotgunned beers with Taehyung, another rip from Hoseok, and a bonus sniff of crushed oxy in the bathroom later, Y/N was completely, totally, and utterly wrecked. She had to hold onto the walls and furniture for dear life to make her way outside. It had been almost an hour since she left Yoongi, so it was about time she found him.

The pool was a little less crowded and she could see her reflection on the surface. It’s hair was wild, clothes wrinkled, lipstick faded. Stars twinkled across the ripples, drawing her gaze up to the sky. She walked along the edge of the pool as she admired the lights that dotted the heavens. Her feet stopped their ambling to match the two sets of pictures in her vision back in place. The luring abyss of the sky gave a sharp contrast to the glimmering lights. Everything in her peripheral melted into the darkness that blanketed her view, and the frigid water rushed up to meet her.

It sounded like any other splash. Yoongi didn’t think anything of it. People had been jumping in and out of the pool all night.

“Hey, wasn’t that your girlfriend?” He turned to see a random girl standing behind his seat. His brows furrowed.

“What?” She pointed behind her to the steady bubbles that rose to the surface of the water.

“She was walking on the edge and just keeled-” He rocketed out of his chair and shoved her out of the way. He stripped off his coat mid sprint and dove head first into the jarring water without a second thought.

The water blurred his vision, but he could make out Y/N’s body steadily sinking to the bottom of the pool. He kicked as hard as he could and propelled himself deeper and deeper until he could reach her. His hand gripped her fuzzy wrist and pulled her up to him. Arm around her waist, he swam towards the light with powerful strokes from his three free limbs.

They broke the surface and he swung his head side to side to rid the hair from his eyes. He hooked an elbow over the edge for support while he lugged her unconscious figure out of the water.

“What the fuck?” Taehyung stood dumbly at the sliding door looking out, joint hanging between his lips.

“Get her, get her!” Yoongi grunted. Taehyung rushed over and hooked his hands under her shoulders. With one big tug, he dragged her onto the cement. Her upper body rested in his lap while Yoongi hauled himself out of the pool and scrambled to her side. He pressed his ear to her chest, listening for a pulse in agonizing suspense. The breath he was holding exploded out of his chest when he heard the familiar beats. Taehyung held his finger under her nose.

“She’s breathing.” The adrenaline left Yoongi’s system, taking every ounce of his energy along with it. He collapsed onto his back next to her, gasping for air. The sliding door opened and closed.

“Tae? Why’d you- holy fuck!” Jiwoo came rushing to his side and looked over Y/N’s soaked frame. The black wig was long gone, leaving her h/c mane splayed on the wet cement. The water turned them into a dark mass of limp waves, dulling their natural brilliance. “What happened?!”

“Fell…” Yoongi huffed, “…didn't hear...splash.” His heaving breaths spaced out his words into incoherent fragments. By now, a few heads turned to watch the scene, but most everyone else was too drunk to notice there was even a problem. Jiwoo jumped up.

“I'll go find some towels.” She disappeared back inside and came out not long after with Jin and Jimin carrying thick, blue towels in their arms. Jin immediately dropped to his knees, wrapping it around her soaked body and hugged her to his chest like an infant.

“Is she okay?” He asked apprehensively.

“Yeah. I think so.” Taehyung answered for Yoongi, who was tweaking and on the verge of an anxiety attack. The first one in nearly two years. His heart clamped in his chest and despite the biting cold, his trembling body was drenched in sweat.

Switching to mom mode, Jin snapped his fingers at Jimin, who was staring at the scene before his wasted eyes. “Jimin, wrap Yoongi up and try to calm him down. You,” he pointed to Taehyung, “go find Jungkook. He’s the only one who’ll know if she’s actually okay.” The three, Jiwoo following Taehyung, jumped to work on their tasks.

Jimin draped the towel over his figure as best he could given he was laying flat on his back and there was no getting him to sit up. Yoongi’s eyes darted back and forth, pinballing against his peripheral in all different directions. “Yoongi? Yoongi, I need you to look at me okay?” He sandwiched his face between his hands and tried to catch his eyes. Yoongi shook his head rapidly, eyes still all over the place. “I need you to listen to me. If you can’t look at me then close your eyes.” He squeezed them shut in hopes the roaring panic in his system wouldn’t be able to find him. “I’m gonna press on your chest, and I need you to push back, okay?” He didn't show any kind of response, so Jimin went ahead. He placed both palms against his hyperventilating chest and applied a gentle pressure that compelled him to take longer breaths. “You can breathe, it's okay. Feel that pressure? That’s air filling up your chest. You’re not suffocating, you have plenty of air. You’re okay.” He repeated the affirmations like a mantra. “Deep breaths. Push against my hands for as long as you can.” His chest pressed against his hands again and again, each breath growing deeper and longer. “There you go.”

The sliding door ripped open and Taehyung had Jungkook by the elbow, all but dragging him across the ground. Jungkook yanked his arm free. “What the hell is happening?!”

“You didn’t tell him?!” Jin shouted. Jungkook’s frustration disintegrated when his eyes landed on Y/N wrapped in Jin’s arms and Jimin bent over Yoongi splayed out on the ground.

“I was in a hurry, okay?! I couldn’t think of the words!” Taehyung retorted. Jungkook pointed a shaky finger at her, flashes of a life without her sent his anxiety through the roof.

“Is...is she?”

“No, she’s not dead.” Jin answered his unasked question. “We need you to check her and see if anything’s wrong that we didn’t catch.” Thank God. He could live again.

“Why me?” A stupid question, honestly.

“Because you’re the closest thing we have to a doctor, now get your ass down there and do your thing!” Taehyung gave him an urgent nudge. Jungkook hesitantly knelt by Jin’s side. It almost felt wrong seeing her in such a vulnerable state.

“U-uh...okay. You found a good pulse, right?”

“Yeah, but you need to be the judge of that.” He swallowed hard and pressed two fingers to her neck. “Well?”

“Her pulse is fine, and from the looks of it, her brain is getting enough oxygen.” He pointed at her lips, which were coming back to a healthy peach. “If she wasn’t, her lips and fingernails would be blue.”

“Is she okay?” Yoongi’s raspy voice was barely audible over the din of the party. Jimin managed to wrap the towel around him and his breath was nearing back to normal. The occasional twitch jolted his muscles from the lingering bad high.

“Yeah, just keep her warm and she’ll be fine.” Yoongi’s head fell back against the ground in relief. “Just make sure she stays on her side all night so she doesn’t aspirate.”

“Aspirate?” Jimin inquired.

“Suffocate on her own vomit.”

“Christ. That doesn’t happen a lot does it?” Taehyung asked.

“Enough to have a word for it.”

The door slid open yet again and out came Namjoon, Cheyenne, and Hoseok. “Jiwoo told us what happened. Are you sure she’s okay?” Hoseok spoke first.

“Jungkook said she should be.” Jin replied. “I’m gonna take her home and watch her for the night. Just in case.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Namjoon carried Y/N in his arms to Jin’s car and laid her down in the backseat, taking care that she was propped on her side. Yoongi and Jin came to the car soon after, the latter carrying a hastily packed duffle bag.

“Yoongi, sit with her in the back and keep her from rolling over.” Jin ordered. The younger gladly climbed into the backseat and readjusted her head on his lap. Jin dropped into the driver's seat and hooked an elbow over his rolled down window. “Joon, I trust you can handle things while I’m gone. I might not live here, but it’s still my party so make sure everyone gets the fuck out by 6.” Namjoon gave him two thumbs up and headed inside when Jin started the car.

~~~

Jin slid his copy of Y/N’s house key into the lock, and the deadbolt snapped open. He pushed the door in for Yoongi, who was carrying her up the steps. The clock on the microwave read 3:45. Surprisingly early for leaving a frat party. “I’m gonna change her into some dry clothes.” Yoongi said.

“Okay, make sure you guy’s hair is dry so you don’t catch a cold.” Yoongi rolled his eyes and disappeared into her bedroom. Jin helped himself to the closet of sheets and blankets and grabbed a pillow from the bottom shelf. Once he was happy with the nest he made on the couch, he slipped in the tiny guest bathroom to wash his face, change, and take his meds. High blood pressure. His mom always said it ran in the family.

A few minutes later, he emerged in a pair of Totoro pajama pants and a grey t-shirt. He eyed the kitchen cabinet that was always stocked with ramen. Yoongi’s gonna be starving when he’s done with her. He set out a pot on the stove and grabbed three packages from the cabinet. “Hey Yoongs,” he padded to her doorway, “I’m making ramen do you want beef or-” His voice quieted when he peeked inside and saw them both in bed. He’d changed her into one of his hoodies and tied her hair in a bun. He laid behind her, arms seatbelting her to his torso, fast asleep. Without context, it was a heartwarming scene. Jin's lips formed a small smile and he eased the door shut, careful not to wake him. “Goodnight guys~”

He plopped onto the couch and plugged his phone into the charger that ran across the floor to reach the coffee table. The second his head hit the pillow he felt himself being pulled under by the current of sleep. He wondered to himself, what was going on in Y/N’s head that was so bad she nearly died just to get away from. She’d never lost control like that before. At least not bad enough for Yoongi to have a whole anxiety attack over. Whatever it was, he prayed it was nothing too horrible because he knew no matter how much he’d try to help, there was no getting anything out of her. That scared him. Hell, it terrified him not two hours ago. He pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind for the time being, and let his lids droop until sleep overtook him.

~~~

NOVEMBER 9TH

“Haaaaappy Biiiirthdayyyy tooo youu~! Haaappy Birthdaaayy tooooo youuuuu~! Happy Biiirthday dear Yoongiiiiiiii~!” The birthday boy buried his face in his hands out of sheer embarrassment while the group drunkenly sang around the cake in front of him. “Happy Birthdayyy toooooo yooouuuuuuuuuu~!” A birthday party, his worst nightmare. He was never one for birthdays, his family didn’t have the money for that kind of luxury. Every year, his dad would just gift him a pack of cigarettes, grab him by the collar, and give the same drunken speech about how he needs to toughen up if he’s gonna survive in the real world. Y/N carded her fingers through his hair to get it out of his face.

“Make a wish, Yoongi.” Her gentle touch was enough to coax him back to reality. He lifted his face from his hands and studied the three joints stuck into the frosting as candles. He thought for a minute then leaned in and blew the tiny flames out in one breath. Their cheers bounced off the old, bare walls of the abandoned house. Everyone was there, even Cheyenne.

“Finally!” Taehyung and Hoseok pounced on the cake and plucked off the “candles” before ash fell on the frosting. The cake was white with colorful piping on the edges and pink flowers dotting the sides. It was obviously for a kid, which was most likely the reason Y/N and Jiwoo chose it. The room quickly filled with wispy clouds of smoke courtesy of Tae, Hobi, Jimin, and Cheyenne.

“Holy shit!” Cheyenne’s hand flew to her mouth to cover her grin and pointed at Yoongi and Y/N.

“What?” She asked.

“Yoongi’s 18 now! You guys can’t fuck!” Y/N turned bright red and hid her face behind her hands.

“2 months, 17 days and...” Yoongi checked the time on his phone, “10 hours.” He sighed. The time until her 18th birthday. She got held back a year in kindergarten after a nasty case of pneumonia. So, technically, she should’ve been a senior by now. But then she never would’ve met Jimin. Or Cheyenne for that matter.

Y/N leaned her cheek on her fist and observed the spectacle. Her natural smile slowly faded, and corners of her lips grew heavier and heavier. She could feel the curtain of despair lowering over her, suffocating the enjoyment out of the otherwise jubilant moment. The all too familiar mentality settled in her mind that she’d never be happy again, or see life as anything more than some sick joke. Not now. Not now, not now please… She tried to keep it together for everyone’s sake, but the tears were coming any second now.

Under the cover of the noise, she slipped away and into the bathroom on the other side of the house. She eased the door shut with a tiny click. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. The harder she pressed her lips together, the wetter her eyes became. She leaned against the sink, staring into the abyss of the rusty drain. Five hours. Five hours of sobriety and she was already a sobbing mess. She tried. She really did. She wanted to be sober for Yoongi’s birthday so she’d have the memories and not need to rely on pictures and stories the next day. Her and what little self preservation she had left were fighting a war against her demons. And she was losing. Five hours would soon turn to four, then three, then... She stopped from scaring herself any further.

She hurriedly fished out two Zoloft tablets from her black skinny jeans pocket. The bulge of the baggie was covered by her oversized, snow white sweater. Using her phone case to crush them and credit card to scrape the dust into a neat line, she bent down and snorted the powder in one quick sniff. Her head jerked up and she stared at the person in the mirror. Slowly but surely, her face relaxed, her smile returned, and everything felt okay again. She wiped the runny mascara from under her eyes and stepped out to return to the joyful madness.

~~~

DECEMBER

The heated architect’s office provided a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. Y/N sat behind the receptionist desk, filing the last of a client’s paperwork so she could finally leave. Everyone else had left for the day, leaving her the task of locking everything up. After her emancipation, Jimin’s mom couldn’t have offered her a job at her office fast enough. Hell, she even offered for her to live with them permanently. The work was boring, but it paid better than any other part-time job ever would.

“Y/N!” Jimin quacked from the employee lounge down the hall. He’d tagged along after school to study for midterms with her in the downtime.

“WHAT!”

“ARE YOU DONE YET?!”

“ALMOST!” Were they yelling louder than necessary? Probably, their dynamic accepted nothing less. He popped his head around the corner, his body following suit. There wasn’t anything good to raid from the fridge, so he had nothing else to do but watch her lock up.

The phone on her desk rang, breaking the silence. “Fuck a duck! Do people not pay attention to business hours?!” She huffed aggressively and ripped the receiver off the hook. “Mijeong Park’s office, this is Y/N, how can I help you?” Her voice took a hard right to a bright, singsongy tone, and he had to bite his lip to not laugh. Hearing her speak in such a way he knew she hated brought him pure joy. On busy days it was like watching two personalities fight over their host. “Oh, I’m sorry she just left. Would you like to leave a message?” She grabbed a pen and jotted something down on a sticky note. “Uh-huh. Mhm...Alright, thank you!” She hung up and her face immediately fell back to its usual resting bitch face. She slipped on her coat and threw her messenger bag on her shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.”

~~~

The euphoric ring of the bell signaling that school was over washed over Y/N’s senses. She did it. Midterms were over. Granted, she didn’t study that hard, so she wasn’t expecting the best results. Oh well. C’est la vie. Now all she had was another week before winter break and she was home free.

Yoongi had work, Jimin had dance, Namjoon had football, Jungkook was with his family, and pretty much everyone else seemed to be busy when she texted each one to hang out. Whatever. She’d treat herself to something special.

The clock on her nightstand read 8:50 by the time Y/N stepped out of the steamy bathroom. She did everything; shave, exfoliate, lotion, face mask, hair mask. She scrunched her hair with a t-shirt until the curls were almost dry, leaving the rest of the water to soak into her roots. Yoongi’s Kendrick Lamar hoodie with the word “DAMN.” across the chest in big red letters kept her warm in the chilly apartment. She never used the heat system. It was cheaper and more comfortable to just bundle up. Her black sweatpants had the RIPNDIP cat giving the one finger salute on the side of one of the legs. There was no contest. They were her favorite pair.

The only light that filled her room was from the moon that poured through her open blinds. Long black shadows were projected over the space, giving it a strange yet aesthetically pleasing contrast. She shimmied under her bed to grab the shoe box shoved to the very back against the wall and tossed it on the bed. She climbed onto the mattress and sat legs crossed. The box was full of various paraphernalia she’d collected over the years. Digging to the very bottom, she pulled out a tiny baggie with two white tablets. They were bought a few weeks ago, but had been saved for a special occasion such as this.

She’d always been interested in trying Fentanyl. Just once. To satiate her curiosity. The pills crushed into power nicely. She cut and scraped a small line -- much smaller than the usual line of coke -- on her makeup mirror. This stuff was fifty times stronger than heroin. She wasn’t a complete idiot. Come on.

The line stared back up at her with a silent urgency. Now or never. She put the straw to her nose and snorted up the dust.

She waited.

Nothing.

She waited some more.

Still nothing.

A frustrated huff left her and she reached for her phone to cuss out the plug who had the audacity to sell her fake shit.

She reached for the phone.

The phone.

Get the phone.

Get the fucking phone.

Her mind completed the action time and time again but her body moved at a snail's pace. The last of her strength gave out and she collapsed onto the bed, only to realize, she’d been laying down the whole time. Woah.

A sedated smile spread ear to ear and a string of lazy, incoherent giggles made her diaphragm flutter. At that moment, the entire world shut the fuck up, and she was alone. Truly alone. It was just her inside her head. No depression, no anxiety, no trauma, no mommy issues. Nothing. Just her. It was like walking around in an empty mall. She had the entire world to herself. You know what would be great right now? Music.

She inched for her headphones.

Didn’t move.

She tried to focus on that singular action as hard as she could.

Didn’t move.

Okay...this isn’t really funny anymore.

She tried again.

Her muscles didn’t even flinch.

Tears pricked her eyes and her back broke into a cold sweat. Panic began to make its entrance as her eyes darted around the room for something, anything, that could help her. Her lungs struggled to replenish her oxygen leaving her chest in agony. She regressed back to the terrified, helpless little girl that she ran so far to lose.

She almost didn’t hear the knock at her door over the internal cacophony. She tried to listen for it to happen again. Maybe she was just hearing things. Sure enough, another knock split through the roaring static in her ears. Help! Please Dear God! I'm here! I’M IN HERE!

“Y/N?”

Jungkook.

Oh shit. No. No, no, no, no! Anyone but him!

“Y/N?” Every emotion that she’d freed herself from was dumped over her head like a bucket of ice water when, out of the corner of her eye, the door eased open. Jungkook’s silky head of black hair reflected the moonlight streaming through her window. He almost didn’t spot her from the glare. “Y/N? Are you okay? I felt bad that you were alone today, so I thought I’d stop by and check on you...” She made a barely audible, unintelligible sound. Attempting to raise her voice above a teensy whisper was an exercise in futility. His heart sank at her response. “Oh, you’re in the middle of something. I-I’ll just come back tomorrow.” He turned back around. Wait! No! Please don’t go! Forget what I said earlier! Help me please!

“..d-n’t g-o…” She scraped all the energy left in her body — from the top of her head to the tips of her toes — to say those two words.

Jungkook turned and stared at her stagnant figure. Wow. She must be really high. “Alright, come here.” He sat on the bed next to her and helped her sit up. Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm was the sole thing keeping her upright. He took a deep breath and thought about what he planned on telling her when he got there. He might as well practice now since she wouldn’t remember anyway.

“So uh...about me being with my family… That was a lie.”

“Mmm..?”

“I went on a date. Well, not really, but I really like her and I think she might like me too..” His cheeks blushed a little at the thought. “She’s a great friend, so if it doesn’t work out I hope we still have that.” He grew more confident with his words the more he talked about her. “I think you’d like her. She smokes weed and stuff for pain, but she does it recreationally too.” Her silence finally caught his attention after the mention of weed. He giggled a little. “Did you fall asleep?” When he turned to look down at her, she slipped past his shoulder and slumped onto the bed. The impact of the mattress didn’t stir her in the slightest. “Y/N?”

He shook her shoulder.

Nothing.

He shook harder, the familiar fear germinating in the pit of his stomach.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

Fear festered into horror as each attempt failed. Tears blinded him while he turned her on her back and roughly patted her cheeks. “Y/N?! Y/N, wake up!” His heart dropped past his stomach and onto the floor. Her lips and fingernails had turned an unhealthy shade of indigo and her breathing was dangerously shallow. No. This wasn’t real. It had to be a nightmare. It had to be. “Please wake up!!” He couldn’t stop saying her name in hopes that it would somehow magically awaken her. Her declining state said otherwise.

“Don’t leave me!” He pulled her onto the floor and straddled her hips, pulling his phone out to dial 911 in the process. His hands lined up with one another over her heart and jumped into action pumping her heart for her.

“Just stay with me! Please!”

“Blood oxygen at 60%!”

Jungkook had to be ripped from Y/N’s body as the team of EMTs swarmed around her. One of them lifted her lid with a gloved finger and flashed a penlight in her eye.

“Pupils are constricted! I need 2mg of Narcan!”

He was shoved out of her room and forced to watch from the doorway while the first responders stuck her with needle after needle. They slipped an oxygen mask over her lifeless face. The world seemed to slow with every jagged breath he took. His eyes unfocused and his hearing grew fuzzy except for the faint sound of his hammering heart. All was quiet in the eye of the storm. Then, the air left. Every atom of oxygen was sucked from the world with no regard for his existence. He fell to his knees gripping his throat and chest, his lungs screaming for air.

“..........d!……..id!……..Hey, kid!” He was snapped back to reality when large hands pressed into his shoulders. He darted his red, watery eyes to the paramedic restraining him to the floor. “You need to calm down!” His kicking, screaming and crying had been silenced by the ringing in his ears. A sharp pinch pricked his side and before long, he stilled as a wave of serenity washed over him. It was like someone flipped his off switch.

“What… what did you give me..?”

“Just some Valium to help you relax.” He felt his body sink into the floor, being pulled further into the abyss of slumber. He fought his lids open despite their growing weight, but it was no use. They drooped closed and all the chaos and fear gave way to darkness.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the hospital pierced Jungkook’s lids pulling him back into consciousness. He was stretched out on a firm sofa with a simple heart monitor clipped to his fingertip in what looked like an ICU room. The soft beeping of an EKG drew his attention to the bed next to him. He got to his feet as fast as he could with the Valium still lingering in his system and raced to Y/N’s bedside. The bittersweet excitement of getting to see her went completely sour when he took in her state. She’d never looked so frail and delicate before. Dark circles sunk in her eyes with rings of yellow on their border giving the illusion of two black eyes. Her lips were chapped and bleeding. Countless tubes and IVs protruded from her body which only stressed the severity of her condition further. Yet, despite her broken appearance, she never looked so peaceful.

“Good. You’re up.” He spun around. The voice came from a doctor standing in the doorway clipboard in hand. “I’m Dr. Lobrano, I’m the one in charge of your friend’s case.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s stable, but the stress overload caused her to slip into a coma so her body can heal itself to its full extent.” Jungkook’s face paled. “Now, I’m not saying it’s 100%, but most opioid coma patients wake up and make a full recovery. Physically, that is.” “How long will that take?” He took in a calculating breath.

“It’s hard to say. It could take three days or three weeks. Every case is different” His heart sank for the nth time that night. He looked over his shoulder at her motionless figure under the sheets. The only thing that told she was even alive was the soft, steady beep of the EKG. He could hardly bear to look at her. It was like seeing Superman fall from the sky. She was his Superman. Whether she believed it or not didn’t matter because it was true. “I hate to bother you during such a stressful time,” he pulled a pen out of his pocket protector, “but I need you to answer a few questions about our friend over there.” He pointed the end of the pen at her.

“U-um, okay.” Dr. Lobrano took a seat in the chair facing the sofa which Jungkook had retaken his seat on. He clicked the pen against his knee and held it at the ready.

“Next of kin?”

“Her parents, but she’s emancipated.” He nodded and silently jotted something on his clipboard.

“Siblings?”

“No.” He looked up.

“Extended family?” Jungkook opened mouth to answer when he realized -- she didn’t. She had no one. From what he’d caught over the years he knew her mom was an only child and her dad’s only brother died when he was in college. No aunts, no uncles, no cousins. No one.

“Not that I can think of. No.”

“Okay...any other significant relationships? We need someone to sign off on her paperwork and consent forms in case anything happens.”

“But it won’t, right?” He clicked his pen.

“As a medical professional, I’m legally obligated to tell my patients and their loved ones the truth. And the truth is, your friend over there took an almost lethal dose of Fentanyl. And with her age and weight? I consider myself a man of science, but that’s a miracle if I ever saw one. However, just because she made it past those first critical hours doesn’t mean there’s zero risk of other complications that may arise later on.” Jungkook nodded, trying to take in the information as stoically as possible. He didn’t want the doctor to see how he really felt on the inside.

“How old are you?”

“I’m sixteen, sir.”

“Do you have anyone you can call who’s at least eighteen that can sign for her?”

“Yeah, her…boyfriend” The weight of his circumstances hit him like a bus. The thought of anyone else hadn’t even crossed his mind until now. How the hell was he supposed to tell Yoongi that the only person keeping his life together was in a coma from almost killing herself?

“Then I suggest you give him a call as soon as possible, and if you don’t have any other questions I should finish making my rounds.” He gave a distant nod and was left alone with Y/N once again. His eyes were drawn back to the subtle rise and fall of her chest. A long sigh of anguish left his lips and he buried his face in his hands.

“What am I gonna do?”

~~~

Jungkook stared at Yoongi’s contact in his phone. His thumb hovered over the call button. He knew he was about to hurt him worse than anyone ever has in his life. It was going to kill him. He forced his thumb down on the screen. The dial tone counted down the seconds before the heartbreak. It stopped after three rings.

“Hello?”

“....”

“Kook?”

“Yoongi…” His voice began to quiver, “Yoongi, something bad happened.”

~~~

Jiwoo laid in bed on her stomach with her feet swishing in the air. She held her phone to her ear with her shoulder while she painted her nails their usual black chrome. “You should listen to Never Know by Bad Omens. I bet you’d like it.”

“You think?” Taehyung’s voice came from the other end. Before she could answer, she heard Yoongi in the living room on the phone.

“Woah, woah, calm down. What happened?” Silence.

“Jiwo-?”

“Sh!” The silence stretched for a good four seconds. She jumped when Yoongi came barreling down the hall to his room like a bat out of Hell and came back out with his jacket slung over his arm. The front door opened and slammed shut. Within seconds, his car peeled out of the driveway. The roar of his engine quickly dissipated in the distance.

~~~

Jungkook bounced his knee in anticipation. It had been almost ten minutes since he called Yoongi and there was still no sign of him. He was beginning to worry something might’ve happened to him on the way when the door swung open sending the doorknob colliding into the wall. Jungkook shot up and immediately broke down in tears when he laid eyes on Yoongi’s familiar face. Yoongi rushed to catch his crumpling body and hugged his head to his chest. Jungkook sobbed like he never sobbed before. Every emotion he’d kept bottled up since the moment he found her in her room spilled out onto Yoongi’s grey hoodie.

His heart — along with every other function in his body — stopped when he saw Y/N. She’d never looked so broken and it tore at his insides to even look at her. It didn’t feel natural. It didn’t feel real. There was no way this was the girl he loved.

When Jungkook’s cries diminished to a sniffle, Yoongi gingerly took him off his chest and approached her bedside. He tentatively placed his hand over her cold one. IV needles were sunken into each of her wrists and one on the back of her hand. He drew a shuddery breath. “What-....what did she take?”

“Fentanyl.” Yoongi squeezed his eyes shut trying not to dwell on it.

“Is she gonna be okay?” He knew it was a stupid question. Of course Jungkook couldn’t answer that.

“I don’t know.” Jungkook muttered.

“Did they say when she’d wake up?” Jungkook winced at his question. He must’ve been in shock to assume she even would.

“Yoongi,” the older turned to face him, “Y/N’s in a coma.”

~~~

Yoongi and Jungkook stayed the night in the spacious ICU room with Jungkook passed out on his little couch and Yoongi pulled up a chair next to Y/N’s bedside. He stayed awake all night watching her. It wasn’t that he thought something would happen if he fell asleep, he just couldn’t bring himself to leave her. Even if he may have still physically been there.

Breaking the news to everyone the next day was hard. Hearing their reactions over the phone was harder. ICU patients were only allowed to have three visitors per day —excluding Yoongi—so he was forced to decide who would get to see her first. He decided to just go by age.

Jimin and Taehyung arrived within five minutes of getting the call. Yoongi was waiting outside her room when the two came flying down the hall. They skidded to a stop and Yoongi had to hold them back with his palms against their chests. “Hold on, hold on. You can’t see her just yet.”

“Fucking why not?!” Taehyung shouted.

“Yeah, what the hell?” Jimin added.

“The doctor said that it helps to talk to coma patients, so we’re taking turns visiting her alone. Jungkook’s in there right now.”

~~~

Jungkook sat in Yoongi’s chair beside the hospital bed. His fists balled against his knees trying to think of something to say.

“Y/N…..I’m…. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I took your pills. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I watched this happen and didn’t get you help.” Tears pooled in his eyes. “I’m so sorry...You're my hero Y/N….You probably don’t think so, but if I never met you...” He choked, “I don’t-...I don’t think I’d be alive right now.” His lips quivered trying to form the words. He’d never said anything like that out loud before. “You’re the only person who makes me feel like I’m not alone. I’ve never felt more loved and wanted than when I’m with you. You’re the strongest person I know. You always make sure I get all of my work done and eat right even when you can barely take care of yourself. It sounds useless, but it’s those reminders that reassure me that someone actually cares. If you go I-...I don’t know what I’m gonna do. But it’s not gonna be anything good.” He put his head down on her thigh and cried. “I need you, Y/N. I need you so much it hurts.”

~~~

The three in the hall jumped to their feet when the door finally opened, and Jungkook stepped out. His eyes and nose were puffy and red from hours of stop and start tears. Jimin pulled him into a soft hug which he gratefully accepted. “Okay Tae, you’re next.” Yoongi said. Taehyung thought for a second.

“No. Jimin should go. He’s known her longer than I have.” Yoongi looked from Taehyung to Jimin who looked up in surprise.

“That’s fine.” He said. Jimin gave Taehyung a thankful look and entered the room.

He drew a hard breath when he saw her. Her hospital gown washed away the color of her cheeks that once gave her a youthful glow. “Oh, Y/N…” He put his hand to his heart and sat down. “What happened to you?” The dark circles under her eyes popped against the blank canvas of her face. He slipped his hand under hers and rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You can’t be doing this to yourself. You scared me. You scared us.”

He spent a long time just looking at her in silence. He couldn’t find a way to put his emotions into words. “God, you’re so gorgeous. Even when you're wearing a paper gown with bags that rival a panda’s.” He reached and twirled a piece of her hair in his fingers — something he did a lot when they relaxed together. Her usual bouncy coils laid in dull, limp waves against her shoulders. “You almost left me. You can’t do that, because you’re stuck with me. And there’s nothing you can do to change that. Wherever you go, I’ll follow, whatever you do, I’ll copy. We’re in this together, so your ass better wake up so we can fuck shit up until we’re old and grey, scaring kids on Halloween together.” He giggled, but it slowly turned to whimpers. He wiped tears from his cheeks with his sleeves. “You’re my best friend, N/N. I don’t know if I can handle it if you go.” He took a sniffly breath. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you. Even if it was in different ways, but I always have.” He sniffed and his voice cracked under the emotion. “You deserve the world, you deserve someone who loves you the way I know you should be loved. That’s why I was so happy when you met Yoongi, because I knew he was perfect for you. He worships you, Y/N, kisses the ground you walk on. And I can rest easy knowing you’re in the best possible hands. Don’t worry about me though, I’m happy loving you in any way I can.” Tears patted on the bed sheets when he leaned in to give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. “Please come back to us.”

~~~

An hour passed, and Jimin emerged from the room. “Finally! I was starting to regret giving up my turn.” Taehyung stood. Jimin and Jungkook held hands and Yoongi stripped his leather jacket off. The extra layers were starting to get to him. He looked up and saw Taehyung still standing there.

“What are you lookin’ at me for?”

“C-can I go now?” Yoongi chuckled a little.

“Of course you can.”

~~~

It took a while for Taehyung to eventually gravitate to the chair beside her. He mainly stood near the door and stared at her for the first five minutes. Another twenty went by of him just sitting in the chair with his hands clasped between his knees. “Listen uh...I’m not good at this whole sentimental thing, so if it’s true that coma patients remember what they hear, don’t judge. I know I get on your nerves a lot and tease you, but I do it ‘cus that’s just how I show love.” He looked down. “Truth is, you’re like a sister to me, Y/N. I always wanted an older sister to annoy, and when I met you it felt like I’d found my missing piece. Nobody in my life ever stays long, but you’re the one constant that I could hang on to. No matter which girl left me or friends I lost, I knew I could always count on you to be there, ready to go along with whatever I wanted.” He chuckled at the tears brimming in his eyes. “Look at this shit. You got me cryin’.” He roughly wiped his eyes with the collar of his hoodie. “Well, that’s my spiel. Wake up soon. I need somebody to roll their eyes at my jokes again.” He stood and wiped his palms on his sweats. His fingers twitched at his side as he peered down at her. Hesitantly, he leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “Get better, sis.”

~~~

The next day was Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jin’s turn. Namjoon, unsurprisingly, got there at the exact time Yoongi texted him to. He came in carrying a to-go cup of coffee with the Starbucks logo on the sleeve. Immediately, he pulled Yoongi into a quick hug before he could protest. “Here, I know you’re not sleeping.”

“Thanks.” Yoongi took it with a small smile. Namjoon wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t slept a wink since he got there, and it was starting to show. His raven hair hung in glossy clumps and he was starting to develop his own set of dark circles. “You can go in whenever you’re ready.”

Namjoon stepped in and closed the door gently behind him. “Hey, N/N.” He sighed and took a seat in the chair that he dwarfed with his long legs. “I know you probably could care less, but I’m gonna take care of your homework for you until you get out of this. That is, if you don’t wake up by Monday. Anyway, uh, Cheyenne couldn’t make it. She’s at a tournament in Las Vegas, but she sends her love. Maybe when you wake up, you can FaceTime her. She’s really worried about you, y’know. Even if you guys haven’t seen each other for years.” He gazed at her almost as if he was waiting for her to respond. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Normally, I always know what to say, but….with you there’s just so much to be said I can’t think straight, so I thought,” he fished a small book out of his coat pocket, “I’d read you some poetry instead. I know the guys have probably talked your ear off, so it should be a nice break from it all.” He cracked open the book to one of the pages he’d marked with a sticky note. “I’ll start with this one, since I know it’s your favorite.”

Life is unpredictable,

It changes with the seasons,

Even your coldest winter,

Happens for the best of reasons,

And though it feels eternal,

Like all you’ll ever do is freeze,

I promise spring is coming,

And with it, brand new leaves.

- Erin Hanson

~~~

Hoseok was already in the hallway when Namjoon finished up. “How’d it go?” He showed him the book in his hand.

“Just some reading. She always likes that.” Hoseok gave him a nod and circled around him to take his place.

He took a seat and rested his elbows on the mattress. “Hey...God, I don’t even know how I’m supposed to do this. I’m not used to one sided conversations.” He gave a tiny chuckle. “I was a mess when I heard about your accident...I mean, Fentanyl, Y/N? Fentanyl?? I know how bad that shit’s reputation is and when I heard you ODed on it, I was certain you were dead. It took five minutes for Yoongi to calm me down and say you were alive.” He eyed all the tubes and machines she was hooked up to. “Although it doesn’t really look like it….Fuck you scared me, Y/N. Don’t you ever do that again.” He grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You hear me? You’re the only one who knows how bad my coke problem really is. In fact, no one else even knows I’m bipolar. Only you. Because you’re the only person I feel comfortable talking about it with. So please, don’t scare me like that again. I don’t expect you to come out of this clean as a whistle. Hell, I don’t even expect you to stop snorting your prescriptions. That’s why we need each other. We can work on ourselves together. I know you’ll wake up. I just know it. And I’ll be waiting with a big ass bag of all your favorite candy and movies when you do. So, you just focus on healing that body of yours and get back to us as soon as you can.” He gave her a kiss on the hand and another on her forehead. “Love ‘ya.”

~~~

Yoongi eyed the book Namjoon had set on one of the chairs lining the hall. He picked it up and leafed through it. “Hey, Joon?”

“Yeah?”

“You think I can borrow this for a bit?” He looked over to see what he was talking about.

“Yeah, of course.” Yoongi continued to flip through the pages when Hoseok stepped out and shut the door behind him. His eyes were misty and his voice was a little nasally.

“That was a lot harder than I thought it was gonna be.” He scanned the hallway. “Is Jin coming?”

“He’s coming around six after he gets off work.” Yoongi said, not looking up from the poem he was in the middle of.

“Oh, okay. Well, I have practice later so I’ll try to come visit again as soon as I can.” Hoseok gave each of them a hug and took his leave.

“I can stick around if you want, Yoongi.” Namjoon offered.

“No, no. I’m okay. There’s really not much you can do here. I’ll call you if anything comes up.” He stood again and Namjoon gave him another parting hug. “Thanks for the book, by the way.”

“No problem. I’ll see you later.”

Yoongi took his spot in the chair by Y/N’s bed and delved back into his book. As he went along, he wrote poems that reminded him of her on the hospital stationary from the bedside table. He didn’t read them aloud. He found it hard to believe that talking would actually help. His life hadn’t been fortunate enough for him to believe in anything more than cold, hard facts. He wasn’t one for talking anyway, and he knew neither was she.

He didn’t realize how much time had passed until Jin came knocking with a duffel bag in his hand. “Who’s that for?” Yoongi asked.

“You.” Jin said as he tossed it at him. He dropped the book and caught it against his chest. “Now go shower while I talk to my baby because I know you haven’t. You don’t want Y/N to wake up and have you smelling like ass.” He had him there. He stood up with a sigh and took the duffel to the connecting bathroom.

Jin turned and felt his heart sink at the sight of her. It hurt to see her like this and not be able to do anything to help. “I hope you’re feeling okay in there.” He sat on the edge of the bed by her thigh. “I can’t stay as long as I’d hoped, so I’ll have to make this quick. I know you probably don’t want me boo-hooing over you, so I’ll try to keep the tears to a minimum.” He rubbed the smooth tape securing the IV in her hand. “I’ll never forget that time I found you curled up on the floor, in the middle of your living room, so depressed you couldn't walk. I had to bathe you and tuck you in bed. I even fed you soup even though you said you could do it yourself.” He smiled softly. “I know I have to take care of you sometimes when you can’t do it yourself. And that’s okay. It’s okay to ask for help every once in a while. That’s my job. We always joke about how I’m your guys’ momma, but it’s true. You’re the reason I realized how much I want to be a dad one day. Believe me, if I could take care of you for the rest of my life I would, but I don’t think you’d care for that too much.” A small tear slipped past his guard and dripped down his cheek. “Sorry,” he wiped it away, “but you can’t blame me. I’m worried about you, Y/N. I don’t know what drove you to do this, but I know you tried your hardest to fight it.” He squeezed her hand. “I want you to know that I’m not mad, I’m not disappointed. You were trying to take your pain away. I just wish you could’ve told me how much you were suffering. Even if you want to spare me the stress and heartbreak of it all, I’d rather know you're in pain so maybe I can help you. Please don’t hide like that again. I need my little gremlin around to give me grey hairs before I hit thirty.” He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head. “And you’re worth every single one.”

The door to the bathroom opened and Yoongi stepped out rubbing a towel over his hair. “Sorry, I tried to take as long as possible.”

“It’s fine, I need to be going anyway.” Jin stood and gave Y/N one last glance. “I’ll be waiting for you, kiddo.” He turned to Yoongi. “You gonna be okay here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

“Have you talked to her yet?” Yoongi paused. “You should. Even if you think it doesn’t do anything, you’d be surprised what comes out.” With that, he took his jacket off the chair and closed the door behind him.

~~~

The clock read 11:50 by the time Yoongi finished his book. He set it on the bedside table with a sigh. Over a dozen notes were taped to the railing in a long line of comforting messages. It was surprising how much it helped him take his mind off the worst. But now, he had nothing to do but wait. He let out another long sigh. “I’m sorry I haven’t talked much. It’s just hard not being able to hear your voice...I figured if I tried to say anything I’d fucking lose it, but it feels like I already am.” He rested his forehead in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. “Jesus...what am I gonna do? If you go, I don’t know what I’m gonna do to myself. It scares me...One of the nurses told me you’d be going to a better place, but I don’t care if you’re going to a better place, I need you here.” He sniffed. “And I know that’s wrong, but I need you in this shitty ass world because I can’t survive without you.” He tried to blink the brimming tears out of his eyes, but it was no use. “There’s no one else in the world I’d rather be with than you. I don’t know how you made me like this, but I don’t ever want to change. I love you. I love you so fucking much I don’t know what to do with myself. I love the little things about you the most. I love that one curl that you hate because it goes the wrong way, how you’re not afraid to eat twice as much as me, how you grab my shirt in your sleep, how you walk in the grass with a flashlight during the summer so you don’t step on any frogs.”

The steady beep of the EKG was the only response he got. “Please don’t leave me. Please? No one’s ever made me feel this good before. And if you leave...if you-...” His head sank as he tried to hold back his tears. “It’s just- It’s easier to smile with you because when I look at you, I can feel it. And I-I look at you and I-....I’m home….Please, I don’t want that to go away.”

~~~

Yoongi didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up with his head resting against Y/N’s hip. He blinked away his sleepiness and tried to read the clock. 6:20. He groaned. Stayed awake two nights in a row and didn’t even get so much as six hours. Despite his suspicions, he did feel a lot better having talked to her. It seemed to bring her a little closer to him in these God awful times.

She was looking better. The dark circles were fading and the color was returning to her lips. It lifted his spirits to see she was visibly healing. He called Namjoon to bring him another poetry book. The stuff was really starting to grow on him. Of all people.

Other than a visit from Jungkook, Jiwoo, and Jimin, the day was pretty uneventful. A few nurses came in to take her vitals and stretch her joints, but he wouldn’t necessarily consider that an event.

“Here’s a good one.” Yoongi leaned forward in his chair for her to hear.

I don’t think you will

Ever fully understand

How you touched my life

And made me who I am.

You are the keeper of my dreams,

The man who holds my heart,

The one I want to spend my life with,

The one with whom I will always stand.

Stand beside through thick and thin

Through all that life throws our way

Knowing that this special love we share

Will guide us each and every day.

I don’t think you could ever feel

All the love I have to give,

And I’m sure you never realize

You’ve been my will to live.

- Stephanie Schiavone

~~~

The light of dawn shone through the thin curtains that billowed in the breeze coming from the open balcony door, casting the spacious bedroom in a golden glow. Yoongi shifted under the white, linen sheets and stretched out his spine like a cat. He cracked an eye open and took in the view of Y/N’s bare back on the other side of the bed. The fabric only came up to her hips and was pulled around to her chest with her sleeping hands. Her hair swept over the entire pillow scattering her curls every which way.

He ghosted his knuckle down her spine and back up again, repeating the action until her slender shoulders stirred. She let out a small, airy groan and dug herself further into the mattress. Birds chirped in the lush trees swaying outside with the coming morning. Yoongi scooted closer until her back was flush against his chest. The heat between their skin was a welcome sensation that seemed to fill his heart with even more love. If that was possible. He slipped his arms around her waist and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She wriggled again when he started peppering her with kisses up and down her neck and cheek. He finally brought his lips to her ear. “Wake up.”

~~~

Y/N’s eyes drifted open and fluttered against the cold lights of the ICU room. She looked down at her IVs and around the room groggily. Yoongi was asleep on the edge of the bed with his head resting on his folded arms. It broke her heart to see how tired he looked. Dark bags marked his red, puffy eyes from hours of vigil. Tears welled in her eyes and her lips drew into a pained frown as the memories of her night flashed in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to silence her hiccups. Her head sank back into the pillow and hoped it would just swallow her whole. There was no way she’d be able to face anyone after what she did. Oh God. Jungkook. Instant guilt and shame washed over her when she realized what she put that poor boy through.

When her eyes cleared enough to see, she noticed the dozens of messages littering her bed and side table. She took one off the railing with a shaky hand. It was in Yoongi’s handwriting.

When I first met you

I remembered you

From a hundred different dreams

And there you were

For me to love

All over again

For the very first time

- Atticus

A smile crept onto her lips as she read each one.

Your eyes.

Your eyes hold everything

My soul thirsts for.

- Paul Perry

She read another.

You gave light to my soul

You helped me to be whole

I have felt love for you before

And it will be more and more,

You are mine, my dear

You are the angel from above

Who taught me how to love.

Please, forever keep me near.

- Anonymous

~~~

The feeling of his hair being carded through slowly coaxed Yoongi out of his dream. He peeked an eye open. Y/N was mindlessly playing with his hair while she intently read one of his notes. “Oh my God!” He jumped onto the bed and cupped her head in his hands as he attacked her with kisses wherever he could land them. “You’re awake! Holy shit, you’re awake!” He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. “I thought I lost you.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Her hoarse voice was like music to his ears. He let himself laugh for the first time in the longest three days of his life. She looked up at him and he finally got to see those e/c eyes that he missed so much. Another wave of kisses washed over her that concluded with a final long, heated kiss on her lips.

“I’ve been waiting to be able to do that again.” She giggled and pushed against his chest.

“Get off, creepo. If the nurses saw you like this you’d get kicked out so fucking fast.”

“Oh shit,” he jumped off, “I need to tell them you’re up!” She watched in amusement as he ran out the door, then frantically popped back in.

“I’ll be right back!”

~~~

Everything that happened next flew by in a blur. She nearly suffocated under the hugs and kisses and gifts she was bombarded with. She was transferred to a standard room where she was allowed to have as many visitors as she wanted. Her entire day consisted of catching up with everyone, watching movies, and lots, and lots of Jello. Most of her IVs were removed which allowed Yoongi to curl up beside her that night.

The next evening, Jungkook was visiting her when Dr. Lobrano stepped in with his usual clipboard and pen. “Hey you two. If you don’t mind, I need to speak with Miss Y/N for a few minutes in private.”

“Oh..okay.” Jungkook reluctantly got up and left the room, stealing a glance on his way out.

“So?” She asked. The doctor folded his hands in front of him and looked down for a bit.

“I’m afraid there’s one thing about your condition that I’ve yet to mention.” She sat up straighter, her stomach churning.

“What is it?”

“When you first arrived at the ER you had major vaginal bleeding, so we did some tests...” Her heart stopped. “You were pregnant, but I’m afraid the shock of your overdose also caused you to miscarry.” It felt like she got punched in the stomach by Mike Tyson. All the air was sucked out of her lungs.

“P-pregnant..?”

“I’m sorry. I wanted to give you some time to catch up with loved ones before I informed you.” Hot tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes darted back and forth trying to make sense of it all.

“H-how far along was I?”

“About three weeks.”

“Does...does Yoongi know?”

“I’m leaving you the choice to decide that. Once again, my deepest condolences.” He left her to process the news in privacy.

She collapsed onto the bed, her sobs coming out in hiccupy squeaks. Her hands gravitated to her stomach and tried to imagine the little being that used to be there. Three soft knocks sounded from the other side of the door. It slowly opened and Jungkook peaked his head in. “Y/N? Are you okay?” She only stared up at the ceiling. He approached her bedside. “....Y/N?” Her eyes eventually found him and filled with more tears.

“Can you hug me?” He immediately sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her up into a hug. Her shoulders quivered and she gripped desperately at his shirt.

“Hey, it's okay. It’s okay…” He stroked her hair and rested his chin on the top of her head. She cried, and cried, and cried until nothing else came out. Jungkook held her until her sobs faded, and her body leaned against his chest. He gently laid her down, taking care not to wake her up. Her peaceful face was a stark contrast to the tears that wet her cheeks and reddened her nose. Whatever the doctor told her must’ve been pretty damn bad to have her asking for a hug, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

Y/N was still asleep when Yoongi stepped out of the shower. Moonlight that came from a small window lit his path to her bed. She stirred when he climbed in. “It’s me. Go back to sleep.” He whispered. The sheets were pulled over their bodies and she rolled onto her side with her back to him. He took the opportunity to pull her closer. His face nestled on her shoulder and he let out a long sigh of contentment. She clenched her muscles to suppress her whimpers, but it was no use. He lifted his head to look down at her. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?” Her eyes clamped shut and a choked sob escaped her chest.

“I killed our baby.”

~~~

It took a long time for Yoongi to wrap his head around what she told him the night before. When he finally put two and two together, he immediately turned her around so she was facing his chest and pulled her in as close as he possibly could. He was absolutely distraught, but only a few silent tears of shock came out as she sobbed into his shoulder all over again.

They slept late into the afternoon until they were woken up by a beaming Jimin. “Wake up, sleepyheads! It’s your discharge day!” Yoongi scowled at the unwelcome noise and lazily swatted at him. Jimin grabbed his wrist and pulled him to sit up straight. “Come on! Don’t you wanna get out of here?”

“Gimme a minute before I punch you.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. Jimin circled around to Y/N’s side and played with her hair.

“Y/Naaa, wake uuuup~” She cracked an eye and glared at him. “Oh, don’t give me that look too. It’s noon, and you’re supposed to check out at two. Let's get a move on.”

They spent the better half of an hour watching TV while Yoongi packed up the duffel Jin brought him. Y/N brushed her teeth in bed and spat the toothpaste in a cup when she was done. “Here.” She handed it to Jimin who took it and rinsed it out in the sink.

There was a knock at the door and Dr. Lobrano stepped inside. “How’re we feeling today?”

“Fine, I guess.” she shrugged. “I’m just ready to go home.”

“About that. It’s come to my attention that you have a history of suicidal behavior, and while it’s not my position to judge, I also can’t rule your overdose out as a suicide attempt.” “What?” She was dumbfounded. How could that be any of his business? “I wasn’t trying to kill myself!”

“But did you or did you not have any concern for your safety when you took that Fentanyl?” She pressed her lips into an angry thin line. She was angry because she knew he was right. She knew the risk and she did it anyway.

“What are you getting at?” Yoongi stepped in.

“According to California law, overdose victims are required to participate in a mandatory 28 days of rehabilitation. And since you’re also a danger to yourself, your treatment will have to be in a psychiatric facility.”

Y/N, Yoongi, and Jimin’s jaws dropped. There was no way he was serious. Right? Her heart beat faster, and faster, and faster with every memory of St. Joseph’s that flashed in her mind. “No….no, no, no!” She clawed at her IV and yanked it out of her hand. She threw the sheets up and made a mad dash for the door, but two male nurses stood ready to catch her. “NO! NO! NO! I’M NOT GOING BACK!” They hauled her back on the bed and tried to pin her kicking legs down. Her screams brought another team of nurses rushing in with a set of bed restraints.

“What the hell are you doing to her?!” Yoongi shouted. One of the nurses turned and put her hand to the boys’ chests.

“You two need to leave, right now.” They were shoved outside the room and forced to watch the crowd of people struggle to hold Y/N’s thrashing body to the mattress so the restraints could be slipped on. Jimin held his hands to his mouth and stared through wide, teary eyes.

“NO! NO! NO! NO! I CAN’T GO BACK! YOONGI!” It felt like someone stabbed him in the heart when she desperately called out to him. He could hear the terror in her voice.

“YOONGI!”

Pain filled his entire body and he bit the inside of his lip, visibly restraining himself from lunging forward and ripping her from the restraints that she jerked so furiously against. “YOONGI! PLEASE DON’T LET-'' A nurse sank a syringe into her hip and her legs quickly ceased their kicking. Y/N fell silent.

Yoongi stood like a statue and stared at the only half of her that he could see. “Yoongi, I-” he ripped his shoulder away when Jimin placed a hand on it and stormed away. He didn’t stop until he got all the way to his car in the parking lot. The door slammed shut behind him and he was left in silence. His forehead fell against the steering wheel and he let out a long breath.

A single whimper escaped his chest.

Then another.

And another.

Loud, hiccupy sobs wracked his whole body as he white-knuckled the leather wrapped wheel. One especially aggressive wave had him hugging himself in a bawling heap. He hadn’t cried like this since he was little, hiding in the closet from his dad’s drunken rage. It was scary how quickly he lost control, and he knew there was nothing he could do to get it back.

#bts x reader #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi x reader #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #namjoon #bts seokjin #yoongi #jimin #taehyung #jungkook #bts sad

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innittowinit · 4 years

Text

Abandoned amusement parks are the best place for young children (chapter 9)

Fic summary:

Techno, Tommy, Wilbur and Phil have been hanging out at the abandoned amusement park in the woods since they moved in. Techno likes knowing he's definitely alone with his brothers Tommy likes climbing on the old rides Wilbur likes having a place to play his music Phil likes spending time with his younger brothers

That is, until a group of brothers calling themselves the 'dream team' move in down the road. Will the sleepy boys give in and share the park or will they succeed in scaring the new kids off?

Chapter summary:

Wilbur and Techno make a new friend.

word count: 2064

AO3

School lunch was probably the worst part about having to go to school.

Now don't get him wrong, Wilbur understood that the vast majority of students didn’t have lives like theirs and wouldn’t get their dynamics. What he didn’t understand was why it should be okay to bully people for doing things they were ignorant of.

No, bullying was too strong of a word to use here, they had been bullied before and this was a step up from that, it was slightly closer to being able to fit in with social groups. If Wilbur had to describe how they were treated, he’d say they were simply treated like they were invisible.

Yes, they were still part of the group that got shoulder barged in crowded hallways, but it wasn’t because anyone had any substantial reason to hate them, they were just not noticed. They were invisible. How could you blame anyone for barging into someone when you didn’t even know they were there to begin with?

No, they weren’t part of the list of people who got their trays smacked, anymore, but being the only two with their trays still intact whilst everyone around them panicked in a mountain of spoiled lunches was terrifying in it’s only way.

How was it possible to be invisible and have all eyes on them at the same time?

The result of this ‘silent treatment’ was an overwhelming feeling of isolation while they were at school. While he and Techno did have a few friends, some from their class and some from clubs their parents had made them go to over the years in a desperate attempt to get them to socialise; the ones from their class, however, almost never spoke to them during school time though. Wilbur decided that they couldn’t be blamed for that. Who would want to hang out with the ‘clingy kid’ and the ‘quiet kid’ anyways?

While all the lunches and breaks alone never outwardly bothered Techno, Wilbur knew that deep down he wished for a group of close friends just as much as Wilbur did, he was just a lot more introverted so he didn’t really have the intense crave for it that he, himself, had. You see, Techno had a bad habit of pushing people away while Wilbur needed as many people as possible, while both stemmed from a fear of being abandoned, this situation wasn’t good for either.

“Hey can I sit here?”

Wilbur was pulled out of his sulk as he heard the distinct sound of a British accent, he looked up and sure enough, the new boy was standing at their table. Only once Techno had given a passive shrug, Wilbur nodded and gestured to a chair.

“You guys looked nice, my old school got shut down so I had to transfer here, is it nice? Everyone seems very...unique”

The twins shrugged, they weren’t really the best couple to ask if this new kid just wanted to hear about the school. As Wilbur watched the boy he took mental notes of a few things: One, his voice was super deep, a little like Techno’s, and he seemed to pronounce everything perfectly, he seemed very smart. Two, He had a little flag pin on his backpack, Wilbur guessed he must be foreign, even if he did have a British accent, or maybe the flag meant something else. And Three, he had a burger king crown placed Triumphantly upon his head. Looking down at his lunch explained where he had got the crown from, seriously who’s parents bought their kid’s burger king for lunch?!

Wilbur thought he looked stupid and he was only slightly jealous of his lunch.

“My name’s Eret, by the way!”

The boy smiled and shook both Techno and Wilbur’s hands, he seemed very calm and mature, Wilbur noted. He also seemed wealthy but maybe he just had Burger king with him because it was his first day at a new school and his parents wanted to give him something nice, all Wil knew was that his family wouldn’t be able to afford that for lunch every day.

“Yeah uh..” Wilbur cleared his throat as he spoke for the first time “Yeah I’m Wilbur, call me Wil though, and this is Techno-Blade but only call him Techno”

“Okay well hello Wil and Techno, I’m happy to meet you! Why are you sitting alone by the way? You’re nice enough”

Wilbur practically rolled his eyes into the back of his head, this guy seemed so righteous, like he was going to be yet another popular kid who wanted to treat him and his brother like they were animals, like he was going to coo and aww at them and baby them whenever there was something one of them couldn’t deal with. It had happened so many times and Wilbur felt horrible because he knew that every time those kids were just misinformed, they were good but ignorant people. They were always the ones who noticed they were alone but the lack of education about these kinds of problems caused a lot of them to think they were like scared little puppies who needed protection.

“Well you see, Eret” Wilbur sighed, his voice condescending as he suddenly decided they didn’t need him as a friend. “Nobody wants to be seen being friends with the clingy kid and the quiet kid. So if you want any chance at all to make some friends here you shouldn’t sit with us”

Eret seemed a little taken aback by that, he clearly hadn’t been expecting the hostility but he supposed he had struck a nerve with his question, looking back in hindsight he should have known not to ask it.

“..okay..well I don’t really care about Popularity, a few good friends are better than a hundred fake ones right?” The boy shoved the last of his burger in his mouth and finished chewing before he spoke “If it means anything, I don’t see any problem with being quiet or being clingy. And.. I’m guessing if nobody wants to hang out with you that’s pretty lonely right? Well I’m lonely too. I have no friends here. So what do you say? If friends is too much right now, we can just be lunch buddies”

Wilbur scans the boy with his eyes. Eret’s been nice to them, he didn’t question why Techno wasn’t talking even once, he didn’t gloat about having a burger king lunch. After a cautionary glance to his brother, Wilbur nods “Okay. Lunch buddies”

-------- --------

So maybe school wasn’t so bad, he had been able to understand all the work during the final two periods and the weather wasn’t bad either. It was like they’d got ten times luckier after meeting Eren? Eret? They’d only met him once! How was he supposed to remember his name?

Approaching L’manburg, the first thing they saw was Phil very carefully helping Tommy down off a roof. Wilbur consciously decided that he wouldn’t ask how he got up there.

“How was school?”

Phil sighed as he tried to clean all the mud off the youngest brother’s uniform, it was no use though, it would need to be cleaned as soon as they got home.

“We made a friend Phil, one that’ll actually talk to us in school” Placing his hands on his hips, Techno gloated about this great achievement, even though he hadn’t really been the one to do any of the talking. Even so, it was an achievement, they were making progress.

“Wait for real?” Phil grinned and ran over to the two, giving them a big hug, which was quickly joined in on by Tommy who followed Phil towards them and cuddled into them as well.

To keep him from running off while they were all distracted, Phil picked up Tommy and carried him on his hip, thankfully the boy always seemed to love being carried so he just seemed to giggle and chatter about random things, trying to tell Wil and Techno every single thing he had done that day in a single breath. Phil honestly wondered whether Tommy would grow out of being about to be picked up or if he’d realise he was only being carried to stop him running off first, either way when that day finally comes he’d need a new solution to the boys everlasting energy.

“Tell me about it! Are they nice? You should have them over for dinner one of the days” Phil grinned as they walked towards a drained fountain, sitting on the edge like a fence, Tommy happily atop Phil’s lap.

“If they’re not nice, tell me and I can stab them!”

“Tommy! Who did you learn that from?”

“...Okay anyway, he’s called Eret, he’s a bit weird but he seems nice. I think he’s like foreign or something because he had a pin with some flag on-”

“Wilbur- Oh my god you Idiot, that was a bi pin”

Phil watched as the twins made a shared recount of what had happened, butting in every five minutes to correct each other about how it had really happened. Proud was an understatement, Phil could physically feel his heart swell as he listened to them talk about this kid. All he had ever wanted for them was a happy life, school life had always been something they were extremely passive about, it made him so glad the two had someone at school they could look forward to seeing.

“You know I’m really pleased with you two, you’re doing so well. Make sure you’re nice to that boy though”

“Hey Phil did you know that I have lots of friends too?” Tommy had propped himself up onto his knees and was looking around his older brothers, clearly not liking that the attention wasn’t on him anymore now that Wil and Techno were back.

“Tommy! Vice president of L’Manburg, Of course you are super popular! You’re the greatest ever!” Techno chuckled as he bent forwards and tickled Tommy's arms, making him squirm all about.

It was becoming an awfully common occurrence now, the dream team were back and they weren’t even trying to be sneaky this time.

Wilbur gave George a death glare, who was holding the hand of another boy who he hadn’t seen before, he looked about Phil’s age honestly. Wondering if they had brought their big brother to try and fight, Wilbur pulled Tommy into his lap and gestured for Phil to deal with the ‘dream team’.

He hated that he was actually getting used to calling them by their team name.

“Yeah no, What’s going on?”

Phil was quick to get up, walking towards the others. The younger ones -eg. Everyone except from this new boy- seemed to know him as ‘the responsible one’ by now and so they scowled when they saw him. Looking at them, Phil was sure it was them being little brats because he wouldn’t let them fight his brothers but really they just didn’t like that Phil so often ended their ‘game’.

“Hey! You must be Phil!”

Despite his immediate intimidating stature, this guy seemed overwhelmingly positive, he even pulled Phil into a hug upon greeting him.

Phil didn’t trust him, not one bit.

Nobody was this happy.

“Hey so my brothers have been talking about how they’ve been playing with your bunch recently, I just wanted to talk to you about why George has a scar on his face now”

He gestured to the boy beside him, presumably why he had been holding his hand. It had been meant as a friendly way to ask about what had been going on, as his family he deserved to know if his brother got into a fight right?

That’s not the way Phil took it though, he had already been distrusting of this weird overly intimidating, yet very positive, guy from the start. He didn’t even know his name and yet he had already been hugged by him. No doubt this was him trying to start a fight about the scar, he had every right to be concerned, he would be incredibly concerned if one of his brothers came home with a bloody cheek.

What this guy didn’t know though, was that Phil had every intention of defending his brothers.

Even the rock, while it was wrong to throw it, Wilbur had been provoked.

These kids were definitely rotten.

#fanfic #fanfiction #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #philza #ph1lza #badboyhalo #eret #theeret #dream #georgenotfound #sbi #sleepy bois inc #dt #dream team #dtblr #sleepyblr

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pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer · 3 years

Text

Right of Law, Section XXX

(Faced with top operatives from Odina, the Makuta have difficult tasks set before them. Zaekura has it far worse, however, as she finally comes face to face with Ekimu.)

Shadows clung to Bitil, weighing him down as he narrowly threw himself clear of Eliminator’s next bolt. Swinging his arm up, he lobbed a ball of Light at his foe, but the Odinan moved under it to kick Bitil into the pavement.

“I can’t stand it,” Eliminator said. “You Makuta and Toa command the Elements like soldiers, draw them through your body and bend them to your will. With the Keeper’s help, I’ve learned a better way.”

Bitil phased half-way into the ground and backed up a few feet before surfacing. “Please, by all means, continue.”

The darkness of the alleyway twisted as Eliminator slowly moved his arm. “The shadows always liked me. In my...past life, I took their assistance for granted--used the advantage they offered to kill as I pleased. The Great Beings quit tolerating that after I killed General Certavus. But then the Keeper took me to Odina, taught me to listen to the shadows and become true allies with them. Now, we fight together to repay that lesson.”

Essentially, Bitil thought, he’s able to control Shadow without actually channeling it through himself. That’s why my Light attacks don’t bother him all that much. So, now I know why he has such an advantage against me...but I’m not sure I see a way to overcome it.

“And the shadows hate you much more than I do,” Eliminator said, the darkness around him deepening. “You’ve totally rejected them for your precious Light. Thousands and thousands of years might’ve passed...but the shadows will always remember.”

The darkness surged towards Bitil. He turned invulnerable, hoping he could hold on until he spotted an opening. Mid-way through the assault, however, Eliminator struck him with another bolt, and Bitil could feel his strength drop sharply. He couldn’t hold his invulnerability, and the tide of shadows slammed him into the wall. Dazed, Bitil tried to call upon any of his powers to defend himself, but none came.

“Your arrogance ends here,” Eliminator said. “There’s no one left for you to command.”

His talons sparked as he took aim. Bitil pulled on his errant focus, preparing to dodge as best he could, when Eliminator turned his head sharply. A second later, he leaned to one side, and Azin lashed out from the darkness, swiping a dagger through Eliminator’s aura of shadow.

“Azin?!” Bitil exclaimed, now finding the strength to drive himself to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

Azin gave a short hiss as he leapt back, avoiding Eliminator’s talons. Eliminator launched a bolt at him, but it swerved before reaching him, instead striking the street about a yard away. While Azin moved back in, Bitil realized that the alleyway was beginning to brighten--the process was slow, but he could soon see three more Rahkshi on the battlefield.

“What--I said I would handle this! He’s a dangerous foe!”

Azin’s daggers locked against Eliminator’s talons. The Odinan’s whole body could be seen now, a towering, ebon-armored giant with four appendages on his back holding Kanoka disks. Straining, Azin shouted to Bitil.

“Well…” The Makuta paused a moment. Then, remembering he was still in a fight, he sent Eliminator sprawling with a burst of electricity. “...Thank you.”

Eliminator was up immediately, only a few faint shadows wisping around him now. “Hmph...more soldiers at your disposal? Are you going to leave them to fight your battle while you retreat?”

Bitil took a few steps forward, using one of the strips of fabric hanging from his armor to polish his sword. “Odinan, you gravely misunderstand who you are dealing with. Firstly, my children came to aid me of their own free will, not because I ordered them here. And second...I’m offended you would so much as imply that I would ever abandon them.”

Eliminator fired a bolt. Again, it flew wide.

“Oh, you needn’t bother with that.” Bitil motioned to a blue and purple Rahkshi. “Meet Imis. They are a Rahkshi of Accuracy with inverted powers, meaning that they can force all of their target’s attacks to miss.”

Imis twirled their staff with a chuckle.

“You’re already acquainted with Azin. He’s a Rahkshi of Chameleon, so skilled in stealth that it seems even your friends the shadows couldn’t detect him until he was right upon you.”

Azin stayed low, his eyes fixed on Eliminator. The Odinan rushed forward, but Bitil parried him and held him in place as Azin darted to the side to strike at his back.

“Tsk, tsk, I haven’t finished introductions yet. If you’re wondering about the abrupt change in lighting, that would be the handiwork of Daleer.”

Standing at the edge of the alleyway was a black and red Rahkshi. He trembled subtly, but kept a firm grip on his staff as he held it upright.

“He’s a Rahkshi of Darkness...but that’s never been the most accurate term for the power. Put more precisely, he can control how much light is in a given area, usually by reducing it...but also by increasing it.”

Eliminator backed off, projecting another force field to block Bitil’s follow-up attack. Shifting his weight, one of the appendages on his back moved, throwing the disk it carried right at Daleer. The final Rahkshi intercepted the projectile. White-hot sparks crackled over xyr light blue armor as xe reached out, and the disk broke into hundreds of tiny pieces on contact with xyr hand.

“And xe,” Bitil said, “is Kerba. One of the first power inversions I attempted: a Rahkshi of Regeneration turned to a Rahkshi of Molecular Disruption. There’s nothing in this world xe can’t break.”

“I almost pity them all,” Eliminator said. “Mutant freaks, because you had to force your will on them before they were even born.”

Bitil stabbed Eliminator’s shield. His blade may not have pierced it, but his glare easily did. “Gross misinterpretation is one thing. But insulting my children is another altogether. Accuse me of subjugating them if you wish--I know for a fact I have not. Ones such as yourself, leveling baseless disdain at them, are the ones seeking to bind them by your selfish will! Yet you say you ‘pity’ them, you repugnant worm? What makes you think you are worth enough to bestow pity upon them?!”

Eliminator dared not break eye contact, his instincts convinced that it was the only thing stopping that glare from smiting him where he stood. The shadows whispered something, but he couldn’t make out what. He realized Azin was behind him only as the Rahkshi tackled him to the ground. Bitil used his Slow powers to give Kerba enough time to get close, destroying Eliminator’s remaining disks, and Azin locked his limbs around the Odinan in a tight hold. The shadows tried to push him off, but they were far too weak.

“Rrrgh...impossible!” Eliminator said as he struggled. “I’ve never failed the Keeper before, and I won’t start now!”

Bitil crouched down in front of his prone foe. “No one likes a sore loser, Odinan. Accept your failure.”

“No...the Keeper doesn’t accept failure…”

Bitil scoffed. “Listen to you, going on and on about how much you hate us for ‘commanding’ the elements, when you’re a slave to the will of your beloved Keeper.”

Eliminator said nothing.

“I’ve always been curious: what is it about this mysterious Keeper that drives you all to follow him so fervently? What sort of being commands such sheer devotion from those who previously couldn’t devote themselves to anything?”

Still, Eliminator said nothing. Bitil began wondering what to do with him when he noticed the shadows swirling.

“Azin, get--”

The shadows swelled into a fountain of darkness, flinging Azin across the alleyway as they enveloped Eliminator’s body. Bitil thought he could hear a faint shout, but if it was truly there, it didn’t last for long. Daleer grunted. The fountain grew just a bit larger before steadily fading away, leaving not a single trace--neither of it, nor Eliminator.

Bitil tapped a finger against the hilt of his sword. “Azin, are you alright?”

The Rahkshi hissed as he climbed to his feet.

“Good.” Bitil turned to look over him and the others. “Thank you all again--I’m in your debt. While I’m not...entirely sure what’s become of our foe...suffice to say this particular skirmish is over, and we’d best be moving on. Has anyone received word from Zaekura?”

The Rahkshi shook their heads.

“Then we must assume she’s still headed for the stadium--I’ll head there. If any of you need to rest, you should withdraw.”

Bitil made for the end of the alley, the four Rahkshi hissing as they followed him. He sheathed his sword, allowed himself a brief chuckle, and then turned all his focus on his goal.

***

Brutaka kicked Ehlek aside, barely feeling his electric counterattack, and then locked swords with Nocturn and pushed against him. Pridak stood behind them, shaking slightly as he mended a wound in his armor.

“So now you realize you cannot win,” Brutaka said, sending Nocturn sprawling with a jab. “I possess the ability to absorb antidermis to increase my own power. It isn’t permanent, but it lasts long enough for a single fight, at least.”

Pridak growled, clutching his wound.

“It is hopeless. With every injury you sustain, I grow even stronger. Heheh...I see it’s enough to make even a Makuta tremble in fear!”

“You think this is fear?” Pridak mumbled. “You are mistaken, Odinan…”

Pridak looked up. His eyes were ablaze, face twisted into a scowl so hideous his Kanohi became unrecognizable.

“I am simply unable to contain my fury.”

Pridak made a reckless dash towards the object of his ire. Brutaka stabbed his sword out--an easy move to dodge, but one that would allow him to guide Pridak into a deadlier follow-up. But Pridak did not dodge. Allowing himself to be run through, Pridak pressed forward without flinching, leaving Brutaka too shocked to avoid the Makuta’s own swords and earning him a tremendous gash running from his shoulder down over his chest. He could still see Pridak’s hideous scowl burning through the rising plume of antidermis, the blood from his wound painting one side of his mask.

“You…‘born to defeat Makuta’. Your existence alone is defiance of our holy will. How dare you? How dare you exist?”

Brutaka stumbled back. After making it only a few steps, Nocturn grabbed hold of his ankle, making him trip over backward. Ehlek pounced instantly, gouging Brutaka with his talons. Despite the sharp and sudden pain, Brutaka refused to cry out.

“Taking my essence for your own…” Pridak ripped Ehlek off of Brutaka. “What makes you think you could ever be worthy?!”

Brutaka made a gateway just in time, escaping as Pridak plunged one sword into the sand he had laid upon. He re-emerged behind the Makuta, taking in the cloud of antidermis there, and then moved a considerable distance away. “Haven’t you put it together? The Great Beings gave me this ability. They knew a day might come when you Makuta would become a threat, so they set about crafting a countermeasure. If you Makuta are ‘holy’ for the gifts they’ve given you, then am I not as well?”

He retreated into a gateway as a huge stream of plasma came his way. Opening another above Pridak, he fired a beam of his own, only for Pridak to turn invulnerable, spring up through it, and grab Brutaka by the neck. “When did I say the Great Beings bestowed our holiness upon us?”

Brutaka pulled back in an attempt to escape Pridak’s grip. Pridak yanked him out just the same, pressing his mask against Brutaka’s and activating a Power Scream.

“IT IS OURS, AND OURS ALONE!”

The shriek left Brutaka’s ears ringing. He took in more of Pridak’s antidermis, hoping to use its power to break free. This time, however, something else came with the rush of strength. It was a voice. A voice he could hear all too clearly despite his damaged eardrums.

Retribution...retribution...retribution...

He quickly realized it was Pridak’s voice. And it was growing louder.

Retribution...retribution!

Pridak punched Brutaka in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. “You have committed a grave offense against me, Odinan. There will be no mercy for you.”

Brutaka managed to push free, falling into a gateway and trying to clear his thoughts. “What is this...it’s like he’s inside my head!”

Retribution! Retribution! Retribution! Retribution!

It was then Brutaka remembered something he had forgotten a long time ago. Visions of his earliest days came to him, days when the Great Beings watched him experiment with his powers, absorbing vast quantities of antidermis.

“That’s right...if I take in too much at once…”

RETRIBUTION! RETRIBUTION!

He clutched his head. It was too late to do anything about it now, and his wounds needed serious attention to boot. Much as he hated the idea, he knew retreat was his best option, and so he opened up a gateway.

“I’ll come back. This isn’t over…”

As he crawled out of the gateway, something grabbed him. Looking up, he realized with horror that it was Pridak, still burning with rage.

“What?! But I should be--gaah!”

RETRIBUTION!

Pridak hoisted him up. He realized his mistake: forming gateways required a great deal of focus, and that was something he had virtually none of at this point.

RETRIBUTION!

His thoughts were no longer his own, with Pridak’s essence within him now taking reign of them. Given that was where his thoughts lay, it was no wonder he had only been able to deposit himself directly at the Makuta’s feet.

RETRIBUTION!

Pridak stabbed Brutaka once more for good measure before dropping him in a crumpled heap. “You cannot possibly suffer enough for trying to consume me, Odinan.”

RETRIBUTION!

“However...I think I know a punishment that at least seems fitting.”

RETRIBUTION!

Brutaka couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. All he could do was watch as Pridak stepped back and threw his arms apart. Light erupted from his chest, molding into a long, tentacle-like arm that wrapped its fingers around Brutaka and immediately began to pull. In what fraction of his mind was still his own, Brutaka realized what was happening.

RETRIBUTION!

As his last act, he finally screamed.

RETRIBUTION!

Energy filled Pridak as he finished absorbing Brutaka, immediately using it to restore his armor and replenish his lost antidermis. He flexed his claws, then his arms, and then reared back to shout into the sky.

“Are you watching, O Great Beings? This is the fate of any who would try to deny me! I don’t care if the foe was made to kill me, or even if they made me! Stand against me...and perish!”

He exhaled loudly. Holding out his arms, he waited as servants came to take his swords. Then, he gestured to Nocturn and Ehlek, turned towards the city, and marched.

***

Brandishing a fragment of a railing she had found on the side of the road, Zaekura beat her way into what remained of the stadium, fighting with more than she realized she had against the current of Skull Spiders in relentless pursuit of its source. A group of Toa controlled by the creatures came into view. Even as they raised their weapons, Zaekura was too furious to slow down.

“Move!”

She acted without thinking. Elemental powers came flying towards her, but the compromised faculties of their wielders slowed them considerably. Zaekura tumbled through an opening, stayed low as she knocked the Toa’s feet out from under them, and then sprang forward without a second thought, knowing the Rahkshi were already incapacitating them. Soon she reached the room where the spiders’ pen was kept, and finally she stopped. Up ahead, back to her as he surveyed the ruined arena, stood Ekimu.

“You.”

Zaekura stalked forward. Ahkmou, still under the thrall of a Skull Spider, stepped towards her, but she batted him aside without missing a beat. Halfway across the room, she collided with something--an invisible wall keeping Ekimu safe. She began to bash her makeshift weapon against it.

“C’mere you coward! I’m gonna make you pay for this mess!”

Ekimu slowly turned to face her. “You aren’t getting through.”

Zaekura swung harder.

“Look at you. You think emotions are going to win this? Pathetic. Here we thought you were evolving, and you’re still nowhere near us.”

“Shut up! You call giving up your sense of decency ‘evolution’? What idiot would actually think that’s an improvement?!”

With her next swing, the metal rod she was carrying snapped in two. The broken piece smacked into her head, opening a small wound. Adjusting her grip, she continued with the part she still had, jamming the broken end into the barrier.

“You’re bleeding,” Ekimu said.

“I know!”

He shook his head. “See? You’re getting carried away, raging against me instead of trying to solve the problem. How stupid.”

Must as she hated to admit it, he had a point. Reluctantly, Zaekura tore herself away from the barrier, examining the pen as thoroughly as her rage would allow. “...Well? Great Beings love talking about their work, right?”

Ekimu took a few steps closer. “What’s there to tell? You’ve seen what they can do.”

Zaekura crouched next to the pen. “Right, hyper-aggressive mind control bugs. But like, why? Why specifically that?”

“I like masks. Always trying to do something new with them. Heard about masks that could be used to control others, so I wanted to put a spin on it.”

“...Okay, not sure what I expected. The heck kind of stasis field is this--how did they all fit? Does it distort space?”

Ekimu didn’t say anything.

“...There’s got to be a failsafe. A recall signal. How do I trigger it…”

Hearing Ekimu’s tools jangling, she looked over her shoulder to see him drawing a switch from his apron pocket.

“...Right. That makes sense. Cool.” Zaekura ran her hands over her face. “Ugh, so that’s no good. Rahkshi already tried Rahi Control and that didn’t work. How am I gonna do this…”

She flinched as a sudden headache came on. After watching her a moment more, Ekimu said, “How about this. I’ll make a deal with you.”

Zaekura rose to her feet. “What?”

“Do what I tell you, and I’ll recall the Skull Spiders. It’s one thing, something easy.”

“...And that would be?”

Ekimu gestured. Zaekura followed to see Ahkmou, the Toa of Stone still laying where she had sent him flying.

“...I don’t--”

“Kill him.”

Zaekura’s eyes widened. “W...what?”

“Kill the Toa, and I’ll recall the spiders.”

“No way! I’m not a killer, you sicko!”

“It’s the only way to save the people of Civitas Magna. You have to pick one.”

Zaekura clenched her teeth. “Why? What do you get out of this?”

Ekimu shrugged. “Curious, I guess. Want to see if you can make this kind of decision. That should tell me exactly where you are in your evolution.”

Zaekura walked up to the barrier, jamming the broken railing into it once more. She then turned to Ahkmou. After a long, long pause, she walked over to him. Stopping just over the Toa, Zaekura glared down at him and tightened her grip on her weapon. Ekimu craned his neck as she stooped, her back blocking his view.

“...There,” she said after a moment.

Ekimu came closer. Zaekura stood, leaving his view unobstructed--as far as he could tell, Ahkmou was unchanged. He turned back to Zaekura, seeing she held a tablet in her hand. It was the same tablet Ahkmou had used to release the spiders in the first place.

“This has loads of information on the spiders,” Zaekura said as she began typing. “And it’s connected to the pen! There must be a way to…” She shut her eyes tight, putting one hand to her forehead. “Not now...not now…”

Ekimu crossed his arms and watched in silence.

Trying to ignore the pain, Zaekura dug through the tablet’s files in search of something she could use. She could only skim over the vast quantities of information--Skull Spider physiology, dimensional calculations for the holding pen, records of behavioral patterns--but there was no time to waste. She paused once more as her headache grew, but pressed on until she had seen every bit of data stored. Lowering the tablet, she stared ahead blankly, and Ekimu waited to hear her say it.

“...There’s nothing,” she murmured. “Nothing here for recalling them. There’s nothing I can use to stop them…”

Ekimu held up his switch. Zaekura turned and stepped away, dropping the piece of railing so she could clutch her head.

“No, I’m not...that isn’t...I...can’t…”

“Those headaches are terrible, aren’t they?” Ekimu said. “That’s the price of accelerating evolution, though. I’d say it’s worth it.”

Zaekura faced him. The rage was all but gone from her eyes, replaced with a curiosity. “...That’s really what they are? We thought so, but…”

Ekimu nodded. “Mm-hm. Surprised to see it’s happening to you, though. I thought it was just that ugly creature that made it happen. Guess it’s something a little different after all.”

“Creature? What are you--” She grunted as the pain grew even worse. Looking at the tablet in her hand, she remembered what she was here to do--how had she forgotten? She lamented again the fact that the device was useless to her, full of nothing but page after page of raw data. Zaekura looked up. “...Huh. I only took a glance, but...I...”

Skull Spiders were omnivorous. They could adapt to any climate, though they thrived in temperate conditions. A handful of specimens possessed enhanced senses--the remnants of an abandoned feature Ekimu planned to reimplement in the next generation. They were aggressive even towards their own kind, hence why they had to be stored in stasis, though in the presence of other creatures they would put all in-fighting on hold. And for some reason, despite how quickly she had skimmed over all of this, Zaekura could recall it all perfectly.

“Their mind control ability...it’s a targeted link psionic function, with the framework doubling as a way to coordinate the swarm. Interesting…”

Ekimu raised an eyebrow.

“Hang on. Doesn’t that mean--” The next flash of pain brought her to her knees. Zaekura shouted through her teeth, “No, no! I’ve got it! I just...just need...haah!”

She turned the tablet over. Using the broken end of the railing, she was able to pry off the outer casing, and took a moment to note the placement of all its components. To Ekimu’s horror, she then ripped them out.

“This’ll work...this will work!”

The pain in her head was constant now, but she worked anyway. Leaving only a few wires directly connected to the tablet, she began to arrange the components on the ground and made her way over to the pen, feeling down one of the metal posts at its corners until she found a removable panel.

“Yes, perfect!”

She yanked a small gadget out of the post. The field sparked, wavered, and blinked out, leaving only the skeleton of a box behind. Zaekura tossed the gadget alongside the rest, and then jumped up and grabbed the top of the post with both hands. It bent as gravity pulled her back to the ground, and with the help of a kick at its center, she snapped it in two. She felt like her skull was being ground into dust. Dropping down on all fours, Zaekura disassembled a few of the components she had laid out in a flash before reassembling them in a new configuration. Arranging it alongside the remaining components, she grabbed the wiring and linked them all together, finally picking up the broken post and taking it back to where the tablet lay.

“Almost there...almost there…”

The pain intensified. Zaekura curled up, digging her fingers into her head, and whimpered. Her brain was a boiling puddle, and the fire that had melted it was starting to spread down her spinal cord. She extended one shaking hand, clawing at the floor, dragging herself over to the tablet.

“Al...most...there…!”

Zaekura pushed herself onto her knees, then onto her feet. She thrust the piece of post into the ceiling, waiting a moment to be sure it would stay, and then breathed deeply and reactivated the tablet.

“I see,” Ekimu said. “Those parts will do what you’re aiming for, but you’d need to--”

“Shut up!” Zaekura yelled. “Just...shut up...already!”

The screen lit up. Zaekura adjusted one of the wires. Static briefly covered the screen, and once it stabilized, she opened a window and began typing.

“This...needs to do that...and then...this...to that...and...uh…”

She shuddered violently as the pain continued to spread.

“Th-this...uh...do...that…and...”

She could barely see the screen right in front of her eyes, but she was sure of what she had typed. Zaekura took another deep breath as she fought to stay on her feet. Keeping her finger as steady as possible, she reached for the button to execute her new program.

“Done!”

Power surged through the web of components, ultimately erupting in a bolt that shot from the tablet casing up to the post in the ceiling. With a high-pitched whine, the energy shot outward in a quick-moving pulse, passing through the walls and spreading out over the city. Then, for a moment, all was silent. Ahkmou stirred. The legs of the Skull Spider controlling him snapped open, and the creature peeled itself off of the Toa’s face.

Zaekura grinned. “Yes…”

The spider then scuttled off, leaving the room and heading down the arena wall. Ekimu asked, “Where is it going?”

“The Maze,” Zaekura said. “I changed the...recall coordinates...they’re all headed...for the Maze…”

Ekimu blinked. Turning to look out the balcony, he saw hundreds more Skull Spiders rushing in the same direction, leaving behind any Toa or Matoran they might have held. “...Huh.”

Zaekura fell back to her knees. “Ha...haha...I did it…”

Looking at her, Ekimu said, “That...shouldn’t have been possible. You can’t be that evolved.”

Zaekura said nothing--she was panting too hard to form a single word.

“...Well, you’ve made a more pressing issue for me. Heremus won’t be happy if those things show up at the Maze in force.”

She glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her collapse.

“Too many disloyal Makuta here, and the Odinans are down...alright. You win.” He paused to snap his fingers. “I’m leaving. But on my way, I’m razing Artidax to the ground for sheltering you.”

His words were distant, muffled. Zaekura watched as a winged figure materialized next to Ekimu, and in the next instant, they were both gone. She waited a few more seconds to be sure of it. Then, her consciousness finally succumbed to the pain.

“Zaekura!”

She started awake. A dull throbbing still filled her head, but compared to what she had felt earlier it was nothing. Blinking a few times, she started to process what she was seeing: Bitil and a handful of his Rahkshi were standing over her.

“Lady Zaekura,” Bitil said, “are you alright?”

“Y...yeah,” Zaekura mumbled, gradually sitting up. “Sorry to worry you. I’m alive.”

The group collectively breathed a sigh of relief. Gently grabbing her shoulder, Bitil said, “Are you sure you should move? It may be better if you rest until we can get a doctor here.”

“It’s okay, really. Uh, how long was I out?”

“Can’t have been more than ten minutes.”

“Really? I wouldn’t expect to feel so well-rested after just that.” She let Bitil help her up. “I got rid of the Skull Spiders. What’s our status otherwise?”

Bitil nodded towards the wall. A cracked viewscreen was hung there, the damage minor enough that it still functioned. Displayed on it was Gaaki, the Ga-Matoran standing behind a short desk as she spoke to the camera, doing her best to keep her voice clear despite her audible fatigue.

“I repeat,” she said. “Lord Ekimu unleashed a swarm of some strange creature upon the city, one capable of taking control of the minds of beings who wear Kanohi! At this moment, they seem to be retreating, but exercise caution! From what we’ve seen, control is absolute: you will be unable to protect yourself from danger if one claims you! We will provide updates as they become available. Until then, I implore Lord Ekimu to take control of this situation he has caused! This--”

As she continued, Zaekura turned back to Bitil. “That seems good. Assuming people believe her, I guess…”

“Many already do,” Bitil said. “All resistance has stopped. If the spiders are truly taken care of, then we should be able to leave here unimpeded.”

“Oh. Great! Let’s go, then, we…”

She faced the exit and stopped. Krika and Yarion both stood waiting for her.

“Uh...hi.”

“No need to worry,” Krika said. “Yarion, this is Zaekura. Zaekura, this is Makuta Yarion, Guardian of Civitas Magna.”

Yarion bowed. “It’s an honor to meet you, Miss Zaekura. I’m afraid I have much to apologize for.”

Krika glanced about. “May I ask what happened to Ekimu?”

Zaekura grinned and gave a thumbs-up. “Kicked him out. He’s running home to the Maze right now.”

“Ah, that must be why Vamprah left in such a hurry.”

“Probably. Anyway, Yarion...we don’t want any trouble.”

They shook their head. “Nor do I. I’ve had quite enough of carrying out the Great Beings’ dreadful orders. If at all possible...I was actually hoping to negotiate terms of surrender.”

Zaekura inclined her head. “...Huh? Really?”

“Yes. It’s quite clear to me--and perhaps most of Civitas Magna now--that the Great Beings do not have our best interests at heart. You, on the other hand, have given us every reason to trust you. As Guardian of this city, I declare Civitas Magna to be yours, if you will have it.”

Zaekura stared at them. After a gentle nudge from Bitil, she said, “Oh, uh...yeah. Sure. Or, um, I accept. We’ll, uh, discuss terms shortly--I want to round everyone up first, if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I think I could also use some time to…” Their eyes fell to the blasters attached to their arms. “...ah, compose myself…shall I await you at my office?”

“Sounds great.”

Yarion excused themself then. Zaekura said, “Hey can someone get in touch with Pridak? Immediately?”

“I took the liberty of dispatching a messenger while you were still unconscious,” Bitil said.

“Thanks.” She let out a breath as she sat down on the ground. “I’m gonna take, like...five minutes, if that’s alright?”

“Worry not, Lady Zaekura. I’ll gather everyone together while you recuperate.”

“I appreciate it.”

As Bitil departed, Krika said, “Well. Things took quite a turn, but you indisputably came out on top.”

Zaekura chuckled. “It’s still processing...but, yeah. We control Civitas Magna now. Huh.”

“And we’re allied with those controlling most of Bota Magna, as well as Aqua Magna. Not to mention the powerful claim we’ve staked on Bara Magna.”

Zaekura nodded, then rested her head in one hand. I can’t believe we’ve come this far. I mean, there’s still a lot more to do, but...man. We actually came this far.

#Bionicle #fanfiction #Right of Law #Melding Universe

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miracul0us-multishipper · 5 years

Text

Welcome to the back (Part 9)

First Chapter Previous Chapter Next Chapter

- - -

I know, I said the next Chapter would go up on Monday but it’s getting really long and I had to split it up. Also, I really wanted you to know how Sentiquill’s costume looks like, I spent hours mulling over that! (When I say he’s wearing tails, I mean the evening dress. Does the English language seriously not have a better word for that?!) So here’s the first part, three days earlier than planned:

- - -

Marinette had been witness to more Akuma’s than she could count. As Ladybug, she had a place in the first row guaranteed. She‘d never seen the transformation itself, but the outcome was always the same: disaster, and a villain she had to defeat. Akumas consisted of negative emotion blown to their extreme, concentrated until the person underneath all but vanished. They weren’t the people they had been anymore. These people were simply the host of what had possessed them. As far as she knew, there was no way to stop it once it had begun.

She clung to Felix anyway. Logic and reason didn’t matter anymore, only that this was her friend, her most trusted confidant, and she couldn’t lose him.

“Don’t listen to him!”, she begged and buried her face in the curve of his neck. He was trembling, his eyes unfocused. “Please, don’t listen to him!”

Her fault, this was her fault! He’d been fine just seconds ago, but she just couldn’t keep her mouth shut, could she?

“I’m fine, you see? We don’t need him, we can d-do this on our own!”

A sob escaped her and she tightened her grip, as if she could keep him here with sheer strength alone.

“Please, Felix, stay with me!”

His arms closed around her, and a quivering “Yes” tumbled from his lips. A cold feeling washed over her.

She pressed her eyes shut, imagining it had worked. She’d succeeded. The Akuma had given up, and when she opened her eyes, it would be Felix’ cool grey eyes she’d look into. It would be his voice that told her not to worry, it would be him.

“Marinette.”

She stiffened and took a shaky breath. He still smelled the same. Of ink and fresh paper and coffee. It was easy to pretend nothing had happened.

“Please, look at me.”

She shook her head and Felix sighed. His hands grasped her shoulders and he freed himself from her - supposedly - iron grip to stand up. Even though he made sure to be gentle, the superhuman strength in his arms was still palpable and only confirmed her fears. When she looked at him, she knew she had lost.

“Felix”, she breathed hopelessly.

But it wasn’t Felix, was it? His skin was even paler than before, almost paper white. An inky black mask covered the skin around his ruby red eyes, and his usually combed back hair framed his face freely. She’d never noticed how long it actually was.

A red beret sat on his head, it’s brim decorated with feathers. It was the same color as the uniform jacket that hugged his torso, reminiscent of the British Royal guards. On second look though, it looked like he was wearing tails.

The arms ended in white cuffs that looked more like the nibs of a fountain pen than uniform cuffs.

And in the hand that had held his pen - this goddamn pen - he held a huge... something. It’s hilt was formed like the nib of a quill, and it’s blade looked like a feather, complete with a hollow shaft, downy barbs... There was no use talking around it.

It was a sword. A giant sword. A very sharp looking sword as well.

Oh fuck.

“Sentiquill.”, he introduced himself. Or maybe he was correcting how she’d called him earlier. “Don’t be afraid.” Says the guy with the giant weapon! “It will be alright, now.”

The same words he had used to comfort her earlier now filled her with dread.

“I’m sorry!”, she blurted out. “I’m so sorry! Please, just turn... turn back. We can expose Lila on our own, I’ll think of something! A really good revenge plan, with all kinds of strategies a-and traps!”

Fe- Sentiquill smiled and shook his head.

“I’m not out for revenge. I couldn’t care less about Lila.”

Was that a good thing? Or something even worse?

“Marinette, you mean so much to me.”, he said softly and kneeled down in front of her, since she was still sitting on the ground. “More than you know. Why would I care about something as petty as revenge when I could use my power to protect you? To...”, he pulled a grimace at the pun, “...stand sentinel over you?”

That sounded too good to be true. Too pacifist. She knew Hawkmoth, and he would never create an Akuma with this mindset.

No.

He twisted his victims motivations until they fit his own goals. They were means to an end, and that end surely wasn’t Marinette’s safety.

“And how do you want to do that?”, she whispered, almost afraid to ask. The grimness in his face said everything.

“You’ll go after them.”, she derived. “You’re going to hurt my friends.”

“They’re not your friends!”, he spat and jumped up. “They failed you, betrayed you! But this was the last time they made that mistake, I’ll make sure of that.”

His face turned pleading.

“They have to be punished. For you! So you won’t be hurt anymore.”

His eyes were eerily red, but the look in his eyes was sincere. Genuine conviction that he was doing the right thing.

“You don’t have to worry about a thing, Marinette. Just... just stay here and let me take care of everything. And after that, we can do whatever we want! Wait here. Okay?”

No. I am Ladybug, and I have to stop you.

But first, she needed to transform, and that required solitude. So she nodded. As soon as he was gone, she’d run away and hide to change into her spotted costume.

But Felix knew her too well. And that meant, Sentiquill did too. The look on his face made clear that he saw right through her.

“Of course you won’t.”, he sighed. “You’re you, after all.”

He raised his sword and Marinette backed away. They were in the corner of the yard, behind the stairs. Right above them was the walkway to the classrooms on the second floor, if she managed to dodge the first blow, she could run up and-

Before she could fully form a plan, Sentiquill’s sword was between them. But... he didn’t strike her. Instead, he pointed the tip of the hilt - the one that was formed like a nib - at himself until it rested directly on his chest. Black swirls of color appeared on his body, spreading over his jacket as if they were being sucked into the sword.

“I’m scared of becoming like my father.”, he admitted out of the blue and the ink like darkness intensified as it filled the hollow shaft of his quill. “I hate loud voices because he used to yell so much. Being around people drains me and I’m more ashamed for that than I’d like to admit. I’m afraid you won’t want to be around me anymore if I tell you how I really feel.”

The ink only filled up a quarter of the length of his sword, but it seemed to be enough. He lowered the sword again and the black swirls vanished from his body like smoke.

“What... What are you doing?”, she asked and took another step back. Why had he told her this? And what was it about the ink that had appeared out of nowhere?

“Don’t worry, Marinette.”, he said gently as he raised the blade again. “I’ll come back for you as soon as I’m done. I promise.”

With that, the quill sliced through the air and released the ink it had gathered in a powerful torrent. She screamed, but the black fluid didn’t seem to be bound by any law of physics. It spread through the air weightlessly and formed an opaque barrier between her and Sentiquill; a wall that surrounded her like a prison. She jumped up and tried to escape, but as soon as the ink had reached its intended shape, it dried and solidified.

“It won’t be for long!”, Sentiquill’s voice promised from the other side of the wall. She couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything. The only source of light was the opening of her cylindrical prison, at least three meters above her head.

“No, wait!”, she shouted back. “Don’t go! We can... We can find another way. Come on, don’t leave me here!”

There was only silence from the other side. Then:

“I’m sorry.”

His footsteps receded quickly, likely towards their classroom. Lessons must have begun at least fifteen minutes ago, everybody would be in there. She had to do something!

“I messed up, Tikki!”, she whispered horrified when her Kwami zoomed out of her purse. “It all happened so fast, I-I couldn’t react.”

“This is not your fault!”, Tikki hurried to assure her. “You’ve had enough troubles to begin with. Right now, we need to take care of this particular trouble.”

The tiny creature smiled and patted Marinette’s shoulder.

“We’ll talk about Adrien later. Let’s just hope Chat Noir arrives soon and get to work!”

She nodded. She’d get her best friend back, and if she had to claw him out of Hawkmoth’s cold, dead hands - then so be it!

“Tikki, Spots on!”

Alya yawned. She loved Madame Bustier’s lessons, she really did. And she wanted to pay attention. But she was simply so tired! Staying up late again probably hadn’t been a good idea, but if Lila needed her help... the poor girl had so many problems to deal with already, it was only right to do some of her homework for her. And it was not like Lila was simply foisting her work off on her, like Chloé used to do with Sabrina. Nah, Alya had offered it herself when Lila had told her how busy she was organizing the Journalism Junior contest. In return, she’d promised to talk to the hosts about Alya’s report, and she’d even given her another interview.

It was the right thing to help Lila out. But god, it sure got draining after a while.

She looked up when Nino elbowed her lightly.

“You okay?”, he mouthed quietly and she gave him a wobbly smile.

“Yeah, just tired.”

They’d barely had the time to talk, the past weeks. Not that Alya didn’t want to! But every time she tried, something got in the way. Either an Akuma, her blog, Lila’s stories or the ongoing drama between Felix and Lila... there just wasn’t a calm second anymore. And now...

She looked to the back, where Marinette and Felix usually sat. Felix had stormed off after he had yelled at Lila some more - this guy had nerves! - and she didn’t care whether he returned or not.

But where was Marinette?

Her girl had acted so weirdly since she sat in the back. No, ever since Lila had arrived! Alya just didn’t get it. Marinette was awesome, and so was Lila. If that girl would just get over her jealousy, she’d see that too. And damn, someone with Marinette’s talents combined with Lila’s contacts and experience... They’d be a power duo! And they could all hang out at once, which would make Alya’s time management a lot easier. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been alone with Marinette.

A groan formed in her throat. She was still mad Marinette would choose Felix over her, Alya, first with the seating and then this morning. But... god, she missed her.

Sure, Marinette’s chaotic, clumsy and bubbly personality were a handful from time to time. Lila was right about that. But it was also what made her so charming! She was always genuine, naturally positive and her dramatic humor was just endearing. Being around her always made Alya lighten up, stop her brain for a moment to just... be. Have fun a little. Get down from all her passions and work.

Yep. She really missed that. The more she thought about it, the more absurd Lila’s theory sounded. Marinette wasn’t turning into a bully. It just... wasn’t in her nature. And once everything had settled down a bit, Lila would see that too. Not that she was accusing Marinette of anything. She was just concerned.

“Adrien”, she hissed under her breath, not capable of staying quiet for any longer. The blonde turned around, careful that Mme Bustier didn’t notice. “Where’s Marinette?”

His face darkened all of a sudden, which was so unusual for sunshine boy that Alya had to take off her glasses to clean them for a second. Adrien merely shrugged and turned around, which Lila didn’t miss. She scribbled something on a note and gave it to Alya.

Marinette confessed and got rejected by Adrien, that’s why she’s not here. Poor girl!, it said. Alya gasped. Oh no! Why would Marinette confess all of a sudden when she hadn’t even been on a proper date with him yet? And why hadn’t she told her best friend? Jeez, she was probably heartbroken right now...

She sighed.

Alya might be biased in Marinette’s favor, but she knew that Adrien wasn’t obligated to return her feelings. Still. This sucked.

As soon as she saw her, Alya would tell Marinette to forget Adrien. Wait, no, that was probably too direct. Maybe... gently nudge her away from Adrien? Towards Nathaniel maybe, he was cute! Or that Luka she had told her about? She’d have to be discreet about it, so she wouldn’t upset her any further. Maybe-

A loud crash ripped her out of her thoughts. The door to the classroom was ripped out of its hinges and thrown at the opposite side of the room; her classmates screamed. Alya jumped and hurried out of her seat, pulling Nino and Lila with her to the back. It had been so many attacks the past year, at this point she knew exactly what to do.

“Akuma!”, she warned the class with a shout, just when a tall figure entered the room. Despite the mask, the strange color scheme and the guard-like evening dress it was absolutely clear who he was. Felix’ stern look was unmistakable.

“I apologize for the late arrival.”, he deadpanned and raised what looked like an oversized quill. “But Agreste caused a lot of trouble that I will have to correct.”

Adrien? Trouble? Was he referring to Marinette’s rejected confession? Her eyes widened. Marinette! Had she been with Felix when he was akumatized? Had he hurt her?!

She forced herself to breathe. No, she had to be safe. Felix might be a prick, but everyone could see he had a soft spot for the cheerful designer. She couldn’t exactly fault him for that.

His eery red gaze roamed over the students that had fled to the back and fixed on Lila, who swallowed hard. Alya paled when his face contorted into a malicious grin.

“I think I’ll start with you!”

He pounced and time seemed to slow down. Logic told her to stand back, to escape. What if Ladybug needed Rena Rouge? She couldn’t afford to get taken out of commission! But the emotional side of her mind screamed Lila and Friend and Protect. So she stepped forwards and gave Lila a shove out of the way. Felix’ sword hit Alya instead, directly in the chest. An icy sensation washed over her as the rest of the class watched in horror. But to her surprise, it wasn’t the blade that had stabbed her, but the nib-like hilt. She didn’t feel any pain. Just numbing, terrifying coldness.

“How sweet, a volunteer!”, he mocked her and she trembled. A vague, undirected fear rose in her chest and formed a lump in her throat.

“Felix”, she whimpered, surprised by her own, scared voice. He shook his head.

“It’s Sentiquill. Now how about you show your friends what dark places you hide from them?”

His face darkened.

“Not that you know much about friendship. Why would you abandon Marinette for someone like Rossi?”

She didn’t plan to answer, wanted to scream at him to buzz off, but her mouth didn’t comply her.

“I feel so boring next to Lila’s adventures, so small.”

What?! No, no, no! She didn’t mean to say that!

But she couldn’t stop, not even as black swirls of ink appeared around her, aiming for the sword. She felt as if her greatest fears and demons were sucked out into the open.

“I’m scared to be forgotten, to never reach my dreams. But Lila helps me with that.”

Lila hid behind Madame Bustier, eyeing the door. Was she searching for an escape? Wasn’t she interested in what Alya was forced to admit?

No, of course not. Alya wasn’t important, after all. Just some girl that clung to Lila. She was no one.

“Is that why you leave Marinette to herself?”, Sentiquill snarled gleefully. “Because you’re a pathetic nobody?”

“Marinette thinks Lila is lying. She’s acting so aggressive all the time.”, Alya was forced to say. Sentiquill leaned in, as if he planned to whisper. But when he spoke, it was loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Let me tell you a secret, Césaire. Lila is lying, and you are wrong.”

The darkness around her amplified as she looked at him in horror. If she’d been in her right mind, she could have denied his words easily. But whatever spell he had her under made her vulnerable to his influence, as if he were forcing the words directly into her brain, making her doubt herself.

“But she’s done so much for me and my blog.”, Alya whispered shakily, trying to fight his magic. “If she lied, all of that would be for nothing. She can’t be lying. She can’t.”

He lowered his sword and Alya broke down, feeling empty. She was no one, she was useless. She had given up everything for a lie. She was a monster to the people she cared about. What had she done?

Her muscles didn’t work, her body didn’t obey her as she fell to her knees, hugging herself. She couldn’t move. Guilt and terror weighing her down like chains.

The only thing she could do was watch as Sentiquill raised his sword, it’s hollow shaft filled halfway up with the ink he’d created from her confessions. A single strike released enough of it to block the door, trapping everyone inside. Everyone? No, Adrien wasn’t here anymore. Must have slipped out when the rest of the class had been frozen in terror. Maybe he’d get help.

Not that she deserved it.

With dull eyes she watched the Akuma walk towards Lila, raising his blade again. This time it was Mme Bustier that sacrificed herself.

“I don’t know how to handle conflict. I don’t care enough to learn.”, he dragged one secret after the other out of her. “I try to make my students clear trouble out themselves because I’m scared they won’t like me anymore if I get too strict.”

Alya heard her, but didn’t really understand her words. The pain in her head was too great, the hopelessness in her stomach too heavy. Only when Lila hid behind Nino - brave, kind Nino - as Sentiquill went after her again she managed to look up.

He’d attack her boyfriend next.

He’d make him just as miserable as her.

She couldn’t let that happen.

Her body slumped, ignoring her wishes. She couldn’t do anything. She was nothing.

The last thing she saw before breaking down for good was a red yo-yo breaking through the window, just in time to knock the quill away. She sighed as the world faded to black.

Nino would be save.

That was all that mattered.

Adrien had hid beneath his desk when the door had been kicked in, and slipped out of the room the second Sentiquill had spotted Lila.

Typical for Felix.

Once he had made an enemy, he couldn’t think of anything beyond petty revenge. And now this idiot had gotten himself akumatized.

“I hope Marinette’s alright.”, he told his Kwami as he hid behind a locker. “If she was with Felix when the Akuma possessed him, she was probably his first victim.”

Plagg raced around him before giving him the dirtiest glare Adrien had ever seen.

“If anything, she was your victim first!”, the tiny cat snarled. “What were you thinking?! You were acting like an ass!”

Adrien scowled.

“It’s not my fault she’s so obsessed with Felix that she can’t see reason anymore. If she’d listened to me in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“Gah!”, Plagg groaned. “You’re so incredibly dense, kiddo! Transform already, before I forget myself and claw your blind little eyes out!”

Adrien pouted.

“Hmph! You’re being ridiculous. Plagg, claws out!”

As soon as the transformation was complete, he went back to the classroom. The door was sealed shut by a solid black substance, but luckily for him, the classroom had windows to the yard he could see through. Ducking so he wouldn’t be noticed, he glanced inside. Alya was on the floor, holding herself as if she might fall apart. Lila was hiding behind Nino, and Sentiquill stood in front of Bustier, who said something he couldn’t hear. Black ink floated around her before streaming up the quill’s nib. When Sentiquill stepped back, Bustier fell to the ground and wrapped her arms around herself, mumbling incoherent words. So that was how Sentiquill’s power worked. He made inkwells out of people, turned their secrets into ink to fill up his sword, then used it to create barriers and walls or whatever. Kind of stupid, just like his costume design.

This would be too easy.

He froze, an idea creeping up on him. Sentiquill’s power wasn’t very challenging for him and Ladybug, that was true. But... Ladybug wasn’t here yet. And if he took out the Akuma on his own, his Lady would only be here to purify the Akuma and disappear again. He hadn’t spoken with her since their last disastrous patrol.

Slowly, he started to retreat, then broke out running and jumped on the roof. There was no need to rush things. He would wait for Ladybug and use the chance to be around her for as long as possible. There were still a lot of other people ready to sacrifice themselves for Lila, so revealing her lies was no immediate threat. A smile appeared on his face when he spotted something red, just before Ladybug’s yo-yo broke through the window.

He’d been right! Now they could talk about why she’d freaked out at him the last time.

Or... he could wait some more. To make his entrance as dramatic as possible, and to remind her how great he was as her partner.

Chat Noir sighed.

He truly was brilliant, from time to time.

#miramu writes #welcome to the back #wttb #felinette fanfic #ml felinette #miraculous ladybug #mlb #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #ml felix #felix leanne #ladybug #chat noir

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queenmuzz · 4 years

Text

Three Sparda’s and a Baby.... Part II

I’m sorry if you were expecting a cute fluffy story about three grown men attempting to take care of a baby....

Devils Never...

Ao3 link here.

Devils never feel pain. Well, not in this way, they can feel the pain of flesh burning, tearing, ripping, but not the deep cutting pain in his chest, scouring through his nerves like acid, through his shoulder and down his arm, ending at his ring finger…. Or did the pain originate from his finger, and then into his chest? Because on that finger was a slender gold band, a ring connecting him something he valued above nearly everything. Sparda freezes at the sensation. It’s a warning, but of what?

The answer may lay in what he holds in his other hand, dangling, choking, and yet still cackling. He’s heard rumours of hell gates opening up bearing a familiar three pronged symbol, and demons bearing the same sigil. And now, after weeks of searching, he’s finally gotten the culprit in his grasp. But why is there pain?

The three headed demon is down to one functioning head, the left snake one has been decapitated, the right lion one has had his jaw shattered, leaving the central goat one practically giggling in the Dark Slayer’s face.

“Heheheh” it wheezes before it coughs up black ichor, “It seems the Master’s plan has come to fruition, and I” another cough “am honoured to have played my part in your destruction” “Enough with your riddles!” Sparda barks, “Where is he!”

“Your betrayal was enough to keep Him contained, but thanks to your laxness, His servants have found out your greatest weakness.” Its eyes close in pleasure, “I will die knowing that you will lose everything….” it lets a final neighing shriek of delight, before Sparda dispatches the wretch.

Devils never value anything other than their own lives. In the Underworld, each demon looks out for what is most important, themselves. Even when they submit to another demon, it is in order to preserve their own safety, or to gain an advantage against another.

But Sparda knows exactly what this abomination is speaking of, and as the fetid corpse dissolves into ash, he realizes he’s walked into a trap. He’s been led on a wild goose chase (humanity has always found charming turn of phrases, he’s realized), and unfortunately, he’s not going to be the one to pay the price. He needs to get home as fast as possible. But he’s been led so far, that even by flying at supersonic speeds will take him a few hours. If only he had Yamato….but alas, he had given it to his eldest on his eighth birthday, as well as Rebellion to his brother (and of course, they had begged to take it to show-and-tell the next day, much to their mothers exasperation.) So as he reforms into his true state, and unfurls his wings, all he can do is pray to any Divinity that is willing to listen, to keep what he treasures most safe…

The burning pain continues until he’s around halfway the way home, and then the pain abruptly stops, replaced by ice cold. This doesn’t make Sparda feel any better.

*****

Devils never panic. When faced with unexpected circumstances, they automatically react in set patterns, analyzing their opponents and situations, and how to maximize it to their own advantage. No emotion is used, it is all instincts.

He arrives, in the middle of a destructive thunderstorm, to a home that is ablaze, despite the rain. Winds howl and thunder roars, but it’s not enough to drown out his screams of rage. There are a few remaining demons scuttling about, and he slaughters them with the finesse of two millennia of skill. But what of his wife, his children?

He braves the flames and rushes inside, screaming his wife’s name, his sons’ names, but the crackling fire obscures even his sight… surely they must be safe, surely they must have escaped…

And there he sees her, surrounded by runes of protection, keeping the flames at bay. Red and black and gold cloth, cascading like a fountain… except she’s not moving. He rushes forward, to find her collapsed, her eyes open in fear, her mouth open in a silent scream. Her long slender neck, something he used to find beautiful about her, where he placed the perfect amulet of silver and gold and ruby, is at an unnatural angle. Even so, he turns back into his human form, and places two trembling fingers on her jugular, hoping for some movement… There. Is. Nothing.

Devils never value their mates. To a demon, a mate is just a necessary inconvenience to reproduce. Thus, they choose their mates based on who is the strongest, (but not too strong, one does not want to submit to a mate, but not too weak, for the progeny will inherit that weakness). And after the deed is done, both go their separate ways, although sometimes, a last battle, often to the death, happens.

Sparda cradles his beloved wife in his arms, rocking her lifeless body back and forth. She was the light in his life, a beautiful sunbeam that scattered the clouds of his soul. Her voice, clear and sweet, could lull even the insomniac Dark Slayer into a deep slumber.

And now, she was gone, never to smile at him, nor to comb her long fingers through his hair, nor to kiss his nose, nor even to tell him how much she loved him. It was all his fault. He had sworn on the day of his marriage to love and protect her, and he had failed. He’d become too confident, too relaxed, and she had paid the price…

All he could do now was avenge her death. Perhaps it was in Mundus’s plans, but Sparda knew what he must do; rip open the barrier between the worlds and take his revenge against the so called ‘God-Emperor’. He’d either cast him down, or die in the attempt. His demon blood demanded it.

But there was still a matter that stopped him from going on a rampage….his sons. He looked around, terrified he’d find their bodies, but all he could see were the shades of corpses of lower level demons. Each smelled of magic, or gunpowder, signifying that however she had died, she had made it as hard as possible for her enemies. But one corpse, located at the doorway didn’t have the smell of either...it smelled of the blade of Rebellion. That could only mean that little Dante had been here, hopefully attempting an escape And as Sparda attempted to follow the trail, he could only hope that his youngest son had escaped.

Devils never feel terror. They can inflict terror on humans, and in some circumstances, they can feel dread in the presence of particularly strong demons, (Sparda has caused that to infinite numbers of lesser demons) But fear, or terror? No, a demon cannot feel it.

Sparda runs through the driving rain, torn between screaming for his sons, and keeping silent, afraid that it will lure them out, easy pickings for the demons. He’s terrified that they’ve already been killed, or worse, captured. He knows the lengths Mundus has gone to subjugate anyone who has defied him (the Nobodies were once somebodies, before Mundus performed his tortures on them), and what better way to punish his former second in command, if he could not take him himself?

Lightning illuminates the muddy path, showing the corpses of yet more demons, these ones fresher, and not cut by Rebellion. These ones were cut cleaner, if still a bit amateurish….obvious work of Yamato. He stills, straining to hear over the wind, rain, and thunder, and his ears pick up three sounds.

First, Dante’s terrified voice, “How much farther to the safe house?”

Secondly, Vergil’s, hissed “Shhhhh, you idiot! They’ll hear us!”

And thirdly, to Sparda’s horror, the soft sound of what seemed to be blades being sharpened. He takes his true form, striking from the shadows to find the Death Scissor at the base of a tree, skulking for what had to be the twins. It doesn’t even have a chance to fight back, as he dispatches it with one swift slice. All it could do was shriek in protest as it dissipates into mist, its mask all that remains, before it is crushed under his heel. He faces the tree (an old oak that he planted nearly a century and a half ago, when he first built the now burnt out manor), and in the flash of lightning, he sees his boys, both soaked to the bone, flattening their distinctive hairstyles to the point that they’re no longer distinguishable. Although, Sparda can tell it’s Vergil, simply because he attempts to wield Yamato confidently.

“S-stay back!” his eldest says to him, obviously terrified. Dante, equally petrified, clutches his brother’s shoulder. It breaks the Demon’s heart...his sons, while aware of their father’s identity, have only seen his true form rarely. So he retakes his human manifestation, and calls to them.

Dad!

Father!

Both sons run towards him, and he holds them close. They are both safe and unharmed, praise be, and he picks them up, to take them to the safe house, a place that will, be a sanctuary, if only temporarily.

“What about mother?” Vergil questions, and for once, the proud and eloquent Sparda is left speechless. How to tell his sons that their beloved mother will never sing to them, never kiss them goodnight, never tell them how much she loves them?

“Vergil…” Dante says, and their father knows that the younger boy was there when his mother fell, perhaps in order to save him. Does Dante feel guilty? He should not… It is his father who is to blame.

“We have no time, we must move” he says, clutching both sons as he speeds through the forest, leaving the hellscape behind.

Devils never care for their offspring . The males usually leave after mating, and the females almost always abandon their young as soon as possible. If they perish? Then they were weak, and not worth worrying about. That is the way of the Underworld, the weak are winnowed and the strong are considered rivals.

Sparda sits in the cushioned chair in the small cabin, Vergil leans on his left side, Dante, his right. Both have been changed out of their cold wet clothes, toweled off, and now, hours after midnight, they’ve both finally passed out, clutching their swords, as if they are teddy bears. Their father remains awake, alert to any dangers. But, as the storm finally subsides, he senses no danger and allows himself to relax, and to think of the future. Obviously, it is too dangerous to stay here, they must flee. But to where? Sparda has accumulated residences and properties over the centuries, in various states of repair (Fortuna sounds tempting, but he has always been uncomfortable about living in an area that reveres him as a god) He needs to find a place with a good school, yet large enough where he and his boys can live in comfortable anonymity. His sons need new sets of clothing, footwear, books (for Vergil), and toys (for Dante). And Eva….

He needs to go back in the morning, no matter the danger, to retrieve what he can, and to give her an honest burial. She deserves that at least. She’d deserved so, so much more, but he’s failed her. He will have to bring her sons with him, to keep them safe from danger. They would never leave his protection ever again. He must keep her legacy safe, to honour her memory, to give himself a purpose.

Despite the rain finally stopping, he feels wetness on his cheeks. A leak on the roof? Or maybe he had forgotten to dry off his own hair….

Because as everyone knows…

Devils never Cry.

#Devil May Cry #Three Spardas and a Babby #Sparda #dante #vergil #Here be Angst

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chainofbeing · 4 years

Link

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

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

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

“What’s the issue? You’ll survive,”

“Yea but will I be intact?”

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

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

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

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

[the harpy’s voice is harsh and gravelly]

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

“Epicurosa, she sent me here,” The beast shivers as I say their name, as it speaks globules of the black liquid splatter and drip from its thin sickly lips

“If you were indeed placed here, and you didn’t intrude where you should not, as you are known to do, then you have been placed here to die!” the creature pushes away from the pyramid wall and spins as it goes for another attack. I hold my sword up in a defensive stance, it grabs the sword with its bone-like claws and shatters the metal. I go to grab it but the oil that soaks it’s feathers causes it to slip from my grasp. “All you know is to destroy! Even in your non-violent pursuits, you hurt those around you,”

“You think I don't know?” I say, gesturing toward the bird which hovers in the air with my shattered sword “do you not think the thought crosses my mind everyday?”

“And what have you done to atone? Promises to ‘be better’? The damage has been done, the collapse of Eden is your burden, the death of the others is on you, your plan to simply not repeat your crimes is meaningless,” I gesture around me, my clothes soaked in black sludge and my arm bleeding freely “what do you think this is? My immortality, letting myself get dragged around by gods and bureaucrats and fucking fascists. Being thrown into bottomless pits, pursuing incomprehensible extra universal entities. Why do you think I do this?”

“You pursue Ovig Nadal in the hopes that you will understand the information that was forced into your mind, do not posture about duty and morals, your pursuits were as selfish as they ever were. Understanding what it is you have in your mind will not bring Eve back, it will not uncorrupt your realm in Eden,”

“Do not presume to know me, why can it not be both? Why can I not stop Ovig Nadal for the benefit of the universe and its inhabitants and for my own ‘selfish’ justification? Why must I ignore my own needs? I am all I have in this world, I am the only one who is there to help me,” I ready my firearm and raise it to the creature, whose face is almost entirely covered in the black oily sheen

“And that is why you shall fail” it says as it explodes in a fountain of black oil. I look down at my now shattered sword, the shards lay scattered around me, some submerged in the black sludge, “What the fuck?” The sludge reeks of spent electrics and leaking batteries. I check the clip in my Sub-machine gun. 18 rounds. Thank the stars for high capacity magazines. I affix it to my hip and start to navigate the maze of glass pillars and strange formations. My arm starts to sting, I didn’t have enough time to restock on bandages, my last two got used up patching the wound created by the Rolder. I go through a small thin trench constantly adjusting my way to try and head in the direction of the garden at the centre of this strange vast place. I look at my reflection in the sheen of the dark glass wall, covered in blood and filth, “something has turned it’s benevolent gaze upon you,” I usually don’t think too hard into what the gods say, their words often hold more meaning than I could ever hope to know. That, combined with the fact that language and communication are based on experience, and the experience of a god is so infinitely different to any non-divine that they have to, essentially, dumb it down and feed it through the filter of what they know to be the non-divine experience means I tend let the general malaise of meaning and intent wash over me, but those words stuck out, they feel so out of place coming from the mouth of a god, usually so impassive and calculating. The trench begins to widen and the ground beneath my feet gradually changes from hard opaque glass to a coarse grey sand which stretches ahead of me shifting to a deep rich brown earth. The trench widens out further and I realise I have reached the centre. I turn and look behind me, the landscape now entirely different. The trench has been replaced with a short sloping escarpment, the pyramid on which I arrived now absent, however the resplendent golden glow of the ever observant angels, now mere spots illuminating the balconies on which they stand, remains consistent. I have no doubt that they watch me now through their shrouds aflame, I begin to march over the rough sand, headed towards the illuminated garden, before I hear a muffled voice. “Hey!” I stop in my tracks and my hand goes to my gun, “Woah” the voice responds to my initial act of hostility “Do you always pull a gun to calls for help?”

“Sorry,” I say to the general area, unsure of who I am addressing, “Recently everything I’ve come across has tried to kill me, or absorb me,”

“Yeah but every star emits light, you don’t see planets orbiting a lightbulb do you?”

“Huh?”

“A sun emits light, a lightbulb also emits light, but a lightbulb is not a star. In the same way, there are things here that will try to kill you, I am a thing that is here, but I do not want to kill you. You gotta take each interaction case by case man. I get it, you’re human, you like to see patterns, it’s in your nature,”

“Who am I speaking to?”

“Aw man, this is gonna take forever,” a second voice chimes in

“Bah, ça fait aussi une éternité qu'on attend, hein” a third voice says in an old human tongue

“No we haven’t! we’ve only been here a few weeks,”

“the clock says 9567 years 3 months and 5 days,”

a fourth voice points out

“Oh yeah because time totally acts like normal down here doesn’t it?”

“Hey!” I say, “at least let me know what direction to look in when I’m talking to you,”

“Turn left, bit more, bit more. Right, now forward a bit, look down,”

I look down and see what I had subconsciously registered as a rock buried in the sand surrounded by many others, the worn metal holds a remarkably similar colour to the glass rocks that peek out of the coarse sand,

“You might need to do a bit of digging to get to us,” I begin to scrape and dig around and reveal a glowing blue eye of some kind

“Oh mon dieu, il a une sale tronche!”

“Tell me about it- what's up with the horns?”

I sigh, “It’s a long story,”

“Looks kinda like the landscape of this place,”

“It’s not lost on me,” I say as I excavate the side of what becomes increasingly clear to be a space probe of human design. And an old one. After a few minutes I finally manage to get a good portion of the body of this thing exposed. I lean against the side of the small crater I’ve dug out, foot resting against the probe itself.

“Better?” I ask

“Much, so what brings you to this angel infested hellhole?,”

“I was going to ask you the same thing actually, I was brought here by a god, got pushed down a big hole in a mountain and then I ended up here. She said this was a place where she could ‘find out some things about me’,”

“How deliciously vague,”

“My name is Adam, by the way. As in, like the Adam. The first human. Just feel like I should let you know,”

The eye stares at me in what I assume to be disbelieving silence

“I mean is it as crazy as anything else you’ve seen here? You obviously have accepted the existence of the angels,”

“You make a good point, how much have we missed?”

“Aw man, I’m guessing you were sent from earth?”

“Yeah,”

“Right so, that’s gone,”

“Was it what I think it was?,”

“I don’t know what you think it was but probably, they put up a good fight if it’s any consolation, launched a bunch of conservation stations, made some good preparations. Wasn’t quite enough in the end but you know, at least they tried,”

[an awkward silence]

“so uh… what’s your deal?”

“We are Surveyor 14,”

“How did you get here?” I ask

“On faisait partie d'une mission pour découvrir à quoi ressemble/ressemblait l'intérieur d'un trou noir. On est équipés d'une technologie très puissante qui nous permet d'échapper à l'attraction gravitationnelle, avec les données toujours intactes, et rentrer au bercail, (bah...)dans un chassis détruit, c'est vrai, mais bon. Bon, le fait est qu'on a été envoyés en mission, puis qu'on a été absorbés et qu'on s'est retrouvés... ici. Pour une raison qui m'échappe, on s'est divisés en quatre personnalités différentes... et voilà où on en est,”

[adam pauses] “ah… I see”

“We’ve had a lot of time to think here, or maybe we haven’t, it’s kind of hard to tell,”

“Hey, I’m not really sure what I’m doing here so if you need someone to bounce ideas off of,”

The AI turns it’s one glowing eye toward me and focuses. “Are we alone in the universe adam?”

“You mean are there aliens? I probably should have mentioned this, so there’s this council-”

“Not aliens, we mean, do you stand alone? An Island surrounded by multitudes of other Islands, or are we all intrinsically one collective? A continent that lessens with each death and grows with each birth,”

“I don’t know,”

“In the hundreds of thousands of years you’ve had to be alive, you’re telling me you haven’t thought of it once?”

“I feel empathy, if that’s what you’re asking, I feel the need to help others. If that drive comes from a place of real altruism (if such a thing truly exists) or some kind of need to atone for all the wrong I’ve done I cannot say,”

“(Bah) ça, c'est pas ce qu'on a demandé”

“My actions have an effect, as much as I wish they didn’t, I still am a part of the collective, I still am a cog in the great cosmic machine. At the most minute level I displace the air around me, my feet shake the ground ever so slightly with each step. Butterfly wings and typhoons. At the same time, it’s hard for me to feel a part of a population whose experience is so totally different to mine,"

“You think you’ve got a monopoly on isolation? On guilt?”

“Hé! Redescends un peu!”

“You’re not the only one who feels guilt for what they’ve done, it’s an age-old feeling, and yes, there are certain circumstances of your life that are specific to you, but your experience is not as unique as you may think. You yourself admit you are part of the ‘comic machine’ as you put it. You are not the mouse to the man, You are the elder that tries to relate to their grandchild, the child speaks as a child, the elder speaks as an elder, and yet there is no sense of lost community within the tribe. So why not you? Even if you cannot find common experience in your past life, can you not find commonality in being in a harsh and uncaring universe? Are you so detached, that you relate more to gods than mortals? There are threats beyond even divine comprehension at play, and yet you still manage to separate yourself from the rest,”

“Wait, how do you know about-”

“Deep down I believe you truly care for others, but until you believe that you are a part of the continent, you cannot truly enact a beneficial change in any meaningful way.”

I lean back against the side of the crater and look up the ceiling obscured by distance and darkness,

“So, uh, you know how to get out of here?”

“I was hoping you’d know actually, you’ve been here longer than me, have you seen anyone or anything else enter and leave this place?”

“Occasionally the angels will blink out and then return, but other than that it’s been pretty quiet here,”

“I’m thinking we should at least head into the light, now I don’t think I’ll be able to carry you, is there a data core or something I could remove?”

“Data core?”

“Wouh, regardez s'il est chic celui-là avec ses data cores!,”

“We’ve got a hard drive, just pop open the chassis and then have a root around,”

I pry open a door on the outside of the probe and start searching for a harddrive amongst the instruments and circuits, I feel something with a handle on it

“Is this it?” I ask

“How the fuck am I supposed to know? If I squeezed your liver would you be able to tell me if I’d got the right organ?”

“It’s not quite the same but I see your point,” I grab a hold of the handle “See you on the other side,” I unlock the hard drive and pull it out from the machine. The glowing eye goes dim and I hold up the hard drive to the light coming from the octagonal opening in the ceiling to this place. I scramble out of the hole and dust myself off with one hand, the hard drive is heavy but I still manage to carry it in one hand toward the edge of the light, the gap between the two huge walls on either side of me is wide and sits perfectly at the barrier between the golden light and the dark. I stand at the edge and peer into the garden, twisting old trees bearing fruit, both alien and yet painfully familiar, thin leafed bushes and pale grass, the sand that tumbles down doesn’t seem to drown the garden and instead pushes outwards to the rest of this place. At this distance I’m finally able to clearly see what's on the inside of the walls. All along an intricate diagram is embossed in gold, strange shapes and symbols stretch the entire length of each wall. No words, not in any language a non-divine could comprehend, each wall is different. Perhaps they display, perhaps they praise. Maybe a bit of both. They display a scale of some kind, from what I can discern it represents a gradation, all flowing from a single source, each wall represents a different aspect or group of aspects and how they relate to said source. I pass the barrier between the dim cold of the glass fields and enter the warm garden. The light soaks through my skin. Ragged and bleeding I stand for a moment in the resplendent light.

[he simply breathes for a few seconds]

“Alright let’s get the fuck of here,” The garden rises ever so slightly, a shrine sits atop this small hill, smooth white stone, it encircles a hexagonal basin, golden light plays off of the surfaces like sunlight off of water. It’s perfectly geometric, angles and simple shapes fused with each other in 3 dimensional symmetry, spiralling and tumbling down, too complex to be aesthetically pleasing but it’s not there for me. I approach the wide basin, at least my height in width, I kneel at it’s edge and peer into the golden liquid, it’s thin and only carries a slight luster and it’s deep, the edges on the outside curve inward down maybe half a metre, but looking into the deep liquid it seems to go outwards and much further down, some bright light dances around down there.

“Now what?” I say to the silent hard drive that leans against the side of the basin. I stand and brush myself off.

Suddenly, as if they had been stood there this entire time behind some curtain which now, upon my being here is dropped to reveal their presence, I see several angels, one hovers above the shrine it’s wings of golden shards extended outward, I take a step back, with the hard drive of surveyor-14 still in hand, it floats to the ground It has in its hand a long spear of gold, at the tip of the blade a small fire blazes white hot. It lowers the spear to my chest, and slowly pushes it into my heart, not with any malice or intent to damage, but with a conviction akin to a sculptor using a chisel or a carpenter using a plane. The world, or at least my perception of it, begins to wobble and convulse as if seen through weeping eyes. This effect recedes and I see the world through the eyes of something else, through a veil of golden fire and white robe I watch a battle between two forces, one I recognise, the form of Ovig Nadal, who causes such an entropic effect on the universe and one I do not, the common form of a god, for sure, but not one that has deigned to make its presence known to me. Beyond this physical interpretation I get the sense something much grander takes place between vast formless things and that this display is simply the tip of the iceberg poking out from the great depths of the cosmic ocean, my perception of these events begins to wobble again as Ovig Nadal grabs the angel whose vision I borrow and brings it close to his face. He peers into its eyes, his multitudes of teeth thick with the molten glass that fills the angels and his pale eyeless head bleeding that polychrome matter, damaged and cut all over. I can only assume this is a form he manifested or grew from some pre-existing entity he possessed. He holds the angel close to him and says “You watch one step toward a better universe Adam, a step forward in the progression of this universe to a state in which it never will have been as it is now,” and as his opponent readies another attack, Ovig Nadal crushes the angel and the vision finally begins to falter too much for me to see anything clearly.

I arise and pull back from the golden spear that intersects with my heart, I look up to see it now being wielded by Epicurosa wearing a wolf skull on her hooded head.

“We have deemed you ready, I will send you to the aftermath of that battle and-,”

“I still don’t understand, why me? Not why me. Why not you? You are the most powerful thing I have ever seen, you formed humanity and the Veatorians from nothing. You Shift cosmic forces with no effort or exertion. Why are you, or any of your peers unable to do this? I want to, I really do, it used to be that I wanted to understand what it is I learned, to make what I did worth it, but I have realised that it is not about making it worth it but is instead atoning, the intent has changed but my action remains the same. But I must know, why?”

She exchanges her wolf skull for that of some kind of large fish, not an animal I have ever seen.

“I could force your understanding, I could initiate a vision. It would torment you, as it does Might-Upon-Serenity, unable to convey or sufficiently re-create in your memory. Instead I will try to explain, in language. Gods are not physical beings, I believe a Veatorian philosopher once referred to us as “concepts with will” and while ‘concept’ carries certain connotations she had the right idea. Ovig Nadal is unlike anything this universe has ever seen, I do not know his origins, I simply know he is other and that we cannot affect him, you saw through that angel's eyes, there was nothing that Aratheau could do to destroy him. Our common forms can cause harm to each other: matter touches matter, but celestially, we cannot influence him, but he can us. I believe that you will be able to do affect him in a significant way, and the fact that there is something beyond even divinity that surrounds you and guides us to help you, proves that I am right,”

[with relief]

“Thank you,”

“I am going to send you to that place within the vision, follow him. And whatever he intends to do, stop him,”

“I know his intentions, Might upon serenity, in a moment of clarity as we shared a vision corrupted by Ovig Nadal, she told me he seeks Eden,”

Epicurosas whole demeanour shifts, if I were to assign emotions to a divine being of pure though I would have called it… fear

“If that is indeed the case, then our situation is far more dire than previously anticipated. Let us hope you will be able to stop him before this happens”

A portal manifests behind me. “Could I ask something of you?”

“You may ask,” I hold up the hard drive

“Would you construct a body for them? Make them whole please, they’ve helped me on my journey, I think they deserve it,”

“That I can do,” she takes it from me and I walk through the portal, leaving behind the divine setting of glass landscapes and perfect stone, I step through into my new setting, a collapsed city aflame...

#audio drama #audiodrama #podcast #transcript #podcast transcript #scifi #sci-fi

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kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

home | l.l.

Summary: “Come home to me, my love. Please, bring him home.” You’re a youthful little creature, but anyone who knows that life’s most vibrant gifts are the ones most dangerous, knows to stay away.

WARNINGS: ANGST, but happy ending, blood, death, sacrificial rituals, mentions of suicide bc loki :( Pairing: pre-Thor to postTDW!Loki x sorceress!Reader Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Okay, so months ago, I entered a certain writing challenge, and forgot about it. Layla was kind enough to tell me to take my time, and now I have it completed! My prompt was: “Excuse my tantrum, can’t you see I’ve got my hands full.”

@wxntersoldiers, enjoy bb!! You deserve it :)

They've hidden you away on this war-hungry realm, where the blades are sharp and the shields are sharper. Shoved books and herbs and tutors every which way they think you will intercept them, so that they can mold you into a lady worthy of Asgard’s standards. Placed your blades out of reach, because Vanaheim is the peace to Asgard’s war. The country to Asgard’s city. Farmers to their rich.

They call you simple. You are your father’s daughter, after all, and he was merely a farmer before he was a king.

So, yes, you are the farmer’s daughter, who just happened to be lucky to marry the Prince of Asgard. The simple girl who is well-spoken, and polite, and trusting without a fault. The pretty, simple girl from a peaceful realm who doesn’t understand that their Prince will never love an idiot like you.

What you know as the truth is all that matters.

Your father is Freyr of Two Kingdoms. Of Vanaheim and Alfheim and you are to lead both. Your father reads aloud strategy instead of bedtime stories, and you paint with a sword instead of a brush. You grow up a battle-hardened warrior who has not yet lost a battle, and your father’s father sends his blessings to you. He tells you the ocean sings in your veins and the winds rest in your heart. He tells you that you are the tsunami’s rage and the torrential rains of fall.

But all the courtiers call you is farmer’s girl. Little peach.

A farmer’s girl who wields a scythe like a second arm, who’ll cut someone in two if it means it’ll make your father proud. A sweet little thing who has knives hidden in a smile. A fountain of limitless potential without a leash, a witch, if anyone’s ever seen one, without a master.

Your father’s sister amends that immediately.

She bleeds you over the fire, and teaches you things your father does not dare to speak of. Sorcery, and spells, and little tiny tricks that’ll tip the balance to your side. Black magic, they call it. You say it’s making use of what you are born with.

Little peach. Dark princess.

A little peach who is her mother’s daughter, shimmering and beautiful.

You’re a youthful little creature, but anyone who knows that life’s most vibrant gifts are the ones most dangerous, knows to stay away.

It’s a shame, you realize, that an arranged marriage was made.

You’re quite sure that if you’d met Loki in any other circumstance, you’d love him and he’d love you. He’s quiet and polite, and not hard on the eyes at all. In fact, you’re quite sure he’s attracted to you, too. After all, there are worse brides in the nine realms.

But, then he listens to what the court says, and you keep up the pretense that you’re nothing but the clouds in your head. Not that it’s hard. You simply don’t fight it, and let the people do the rest. You have no interest in defending yourself against opinions that don’t matter. You only care about one.

Your mother’s whispers tell you to paste that smile on your face. It’s not worth the trouble to fight what they think of you.

Your father’s glare demands you to show them who you are. You are my heir, and you will earn their respect.

Your lady aunt Freyja takes no side, but you can imagine her voice perfectly. My autumn child, you know what men do for a woman’s love.

You smile and open up a book as your betrothed enters the library. His eyes rake over you for a moment as you let out a soft hum, face turned away. The sun shines through the window, illuminating the dust that flickers through the air and you flip a page deliberately to catch his attention again.

“What are you reading?” he asks two shelves over.

“Some odd book about seiðr,” you respond and your gaze rises to see him pausing. He grabs the book he has floating somewhere between him and the shelf, and turns around, meeting your eyes. He searches for something deeper. You drop your eyes back to the book you’ve read countless times before.

He sits down on the opposite end of the window sill bench and you tuck your knees to your chest. You hold the book open, and his eyes flicker across your face, drinking you in.

“Interesting?” he inquires. You send him a smile.

“Enough.”

No more words are said. He simply cracks open his book and you return to yours. You cannot help the smile that spreads across your face.

Many things, Aunt Freyja. People do many, many things for love.

That is your little hideaway, the library. Only Loki knows when to find you and where — that spot on the window sill bench, after dinner and before breakfast — and he comes to join you often.

Mostly, he asks questions. You smile and answer all of them willingly. You’ve let him come to you, and now you have him in your grasp, and you in his. The moment he finds out you also know how to use magic, know how to do things that not many on this war-hungry realm can, you feel something in your chest lurch at the very sight of him. Perhaps it’s the way his eyes spark when he reads something new, or the gentle way in which he smiles at you.

No matter. You enjoy the games you play together.

You watch the way the sunlight hits the smooth apples of his cheeks and brow bones as you play with the magic at your fingertips. The two of you play a game where you must get pieces through hoops the other positions. It can be as outrageous as one’d like, but in the lazy setting sun and the fullness of supper, neither of you go farther than the distance between the two.

He holds a hoop between the two of you and your lips twist as you telekinetically toss a piece through it. It lands in his lap and you smirk victoriously.

“Now, I get a question,” you announce. Loki leans back against the wall, a satisfied smile upon his face. “Lemon tarts or berry tarts?”

“You know I don’t like sweet things,” Loki deadpans and you smile, tucking your knees to your chest. You flick your fingers and retrieve the piece still in his lap as his own wooden blocks float around his fingers. “Lemon tarts.”

Taking your own hoop and holding it up above your head with a wave of your fingers, you feel the warm gush of power flow down your fingers. The wooden hoop shimmers with blue magic as you look up, making the final adjustments to its position.

“I’m ready,” you announce and Loki picks up a piece with his fingers. It soars through the air with a flick of his fingers and through the hoop, and he catches it before it can drop on your head. He smiles with a little ‘ahah’ and holds the little wooden piece in his fist as you lower the hoop onto your finger with an amused smile.

It seems only in the sanctuary that is the library does Loki smile like he does. You’ve been here quite a while to know that he’s not the favourite son. The Allfather tries his best not to make it so painstakingly obvious, but you can see it plain as day.

He wears his smile in the court like a courtesy. Whilst you float around, a butterfly searching for nectar, he is the crow perched on leaves, wondering when he can return home to his murder — his flock. You’ve tried to draw that smile you know lurks within him out, but fail every time.

Here though, he blooms like the sweetest flower and you reach over to skim your fingertips over his knuckles. His eyes flicker down before meeting yours.

“Why do you act like that in court?” he asks softly, and you tilt your head.

“Like what?”

“You know what I mean, my lady.”

“I know what they think of me,” you say with a cunning smile. “You can’t make people change their minds, and an advantage can only be used once. But why should I care about silly little opinions when only one truly matters?” Your magic dances across your fingertips and over Loki’s hand as he slowly turns it over to grasp your palm. His fingers slide over your wrist, feeling your pulse that beats in your ears.

“And whose opinion is that?” he asks, tone bemused. You roll your eyes, draw back, and gesture to one of the hoops he has floating around his head.

“One question per point,” you remind him, drawing your hand away. Pink stains his cheeks and you send him another sly smile. “Come on. A few more rounds before bed.”

“Bed?” he repeats with a glint of mischief. You fling a block at his nose which he deflects easily, and his smirk causes your lips to press into a flustered smile. “Too early for bed, isn’t it, my lady?”

“The night is still young.”

“Ah, you know that wasn’t what I meant.”

“If you’re so eager, a request could be made to my father to move the wedding up a fortnight,” you chuckle. With the wedding only a month away, everything is falling into place. The few things you have left to deal with is the final fittings for the dress, and the final draft of the menu.

“I’ll resist the temptation, little witch. The wait will make it sweeter.”

Your heart beats a little faster. By his little self-satisfied smirk, you know he knows, and you curse Loki for being able to turn the tides of your little battle against you.

The day of the wedding is scheduled for the first day of autumn, and gentle wind kisses your cheeks as you walk through the gardens. A spiral of orange and yellow, red and brown, follow your steps as your father walks you through one last time.

“You’ll return home, then? Once the wedding is over?” you ask softly. The sparrows chirp overhead, flitting from one branch to another. You smile at the sweet songs, leaning against your battle-worn father. He wears a handsome grey pelt around his shoulders, his cape dragging behind on the cobblestone road as you tilt your head to the grey-blue sky.

“Yes. Once I’m sure you’ve settled in, and you’re comfortable here.” Autumn blossoms sprinkle the pathway as you ascend the steps to the Great Hall and you turn to your father with a smile reserved only for him.

“I am happy here. If they’d let me bring out my sword once in a while, then it’ll be perfect.”

He nods, cupping your face and tilting your chin up towards him. His dark eyes flicker over your face, thumb stroking your jaw and you smile bittersweetly. You know what he sees — his little girl.

“Thank you, Father.”

And at last, he smiles. It vanishes a second later, but the love that swells in your chest does not as he sends the guards a nod.

The doors open, and you are presented to the people who are to be yours.

Loki wears his ceremonial armor, golden horns glinting in the morning sunlight that streams through the open ceiling. Rich green spills from his shoulders, his cape pooling around his leather boots as he turns to look at you. A reverent silence hangs in the air, filled by the soft lull of harps and choir voices, and you lower your eyes to avoid the evident smile that’ll occupy your face as soon as you see him.

When you reach the altar, you turn to gather up your dress that tumbles on for miles to see attendants already holding onto it, adjusting it so it flows prettily down the golden stairs. Your father watches with a hard stare, making sure you look as beautiful as you can be and you place your hands on your father’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Papa. For everything.”

He nods once, and then takes hold of your hands with his rough ones. His thumbs brush over your knuckles as he turns to Loki, who holds out his own hands.

You look at the man who is to be your husband in mere moments, and he hides a smile beneath that helmet of his. Your father places your hands in Loki’s, giving you away, before descending down the steps and standing next to your Aunt Freyja who hides a clever smile behind her hands.

Marital bliss lasts for centuries. The both of you are in no rush for children, still young and eager to learn about the world and each other.

“If it comes, then we let it come,” Loki whispers into your neck one night before bed. You press your whole body against his, wrapping him in a tight hug as his arm drapes over your waist. He kisses your jaw and brushes hair away from your face, eyes dark in the shadows of your shared rooms. “But in the meantime, I’d like to get in a lot of practice.”

“Practice, hm?” Your face is flush against his chest, and you press soft, tiny kisses against the bare skin you find there, fingers tracing shapes along his back. He sighs, his hand trailing up and down your side as he takes you in. Your eyes peer up at him modestly, and you reach up to touch his face. You feel his smile warm against your palm, and you wonder how it is that you’ve fallen in love with the man when he’s the one who is supposed under your spell.

You suppose it isn’t hard to wonder why.

“Oh, yes. Lots and lots of practice.” His nose wrinkles against your cheek and your laughter is silenced by his kisses as you wrap your arms around his neck. The sheets twist around your body as you slide a leg between his. The burn of his skin spreads delightfully into your bones as you sigh, brushing fingers over his cheeks.

“I adore you, you know that?”

“Of course I do,” he whispers, and he seals that promise with a kiss.

Your first is a daughter, and the birth is difficult. You think it’s the stress — the whole ordeal has been a hellish year, and the fact that Thor has been banished such a short time ago.

Loki has been exiled to pace outside your room to let the midwives work as you let out a torrential scream. Outside, Asgard faces a storm, bullet rain that dents metal with every one of your pained shouts as wet wind carries the fate of your child to all corners of the realm. There is blood, so much blood that they have to change the towels beneath your waist twice.

And even then, it’s a struggle.

Frigga brings you sustenance — filling soup and water — as well as updates on your husband.

“He’s going positively mad,” your mother-by-law whispers and you let out a breathless laugh as another contraction rips through you. Something tears and you grip onto whatever is closest, clamping down with all your might. The midwives murmur amongst themselves but you cannot see through your tears to bother asking what’s wrong.

The labour continues on for another day and a half before you can rest. Frigga departs your bedside to go look and you raise your head blearily. You’re quite light-headed, and you wonder why there is such a silence. You can hear the gurgles of a child, the tiny little wails but otherwise, nothing.

“What’s wrong?” you croak, blinking. You need to see your baby. You gave your life and soul to this child and now they won’t even tell you what’s wrong. “Is it a boy, or a girl?” Nothing. “Answer me!”

“We… we don’t know, Princess.”

Your whole world shatters. You try to sit up but Frigga stops you as agony rips between your legs mercilessly. Groaning, you slide back down as she cups your face. Your blown eyes search hers, and you feel the tears coming before you can stop them. Hair sticks to the sweat on your skin as you let out a quivering breath, trying to stop yourself from sobbing.

“What’s wrong with my child?” you ask weakly, closing your eyes as tears burn hotter than the flames surrounding you. Frigga shushes you and you feel the shift of the bed as she turns to the midwives.

“You do not speak of this moment. You do so, and you will not wake up from your sleep. Leave.”

The door opens and closes. A soft bundle is pressed into your arms. Frigga stuffs pillows beneath your head and urges you to open your eyes.

“There’s a secret we’ve been hiding from Loki his whole life,” the Queen whispers as your eyes peel open. Tears blur your vision instantly but you blink them away. With a weak finger, you pull the towel away from your child’s face. “Something we should’ve told him long before he met you.”

“Boy or girl?” you ask quietly. The child turns in your arms, eyes squeezed shut and a closed fist hitting your finger softly.

“You have a sweet little daughter.”

Nodding to yourself, you feel your fingers go numb as you stare at your tiny little daughter. She’s so small, so gentle, and yet she already has such a climb in front of her. Your heart swells for your firstborn child, and you hold her to your forehead, breathing in her scent as you stroke her tiny chest.

You kiss her blue, marked cheek, and her tiny blue knuckles, play with her creamy little fingers and brush a knuckle down the unmarked side of her face. You watch as your half-blue daughter searches for food, and you swallow a hard knot. Bearing your breast, you let her feed and try not to cry once again.

“When will you tell him?” you ask. Frigga looks on with guilt, with shame. Your eyes stare frostily at her, and you wonder if this is why the Allfather favours Thor over him. “I won’t hide this from him.” The Queen has no answer, and a wave of nausea crashes over your head as you turn to look at your daughter. The birthing pains have faded, replaced by new, deeper cuts on your heart. “Please bring him in.”

When Loki meets his tiny little daughter, blue and cream, frost giant markings along her face and body, he confesses that he knows. Knows he’s a monster.

You tell him with every ounce of yourself that he is not even though you know he won’t believe you. So you tell him you love him instead, because he knows that that will never change.

“Thor! You’re back!” You rush to him, pulling him into your rooms as you admire your brother. His golden hair shines in the candlelight and he wears a fatigued smile as you go to pour him some tea.

“There’s no need for that,” he says with a wave and you send him a strange look. Something about him seems off. He’s no longer the jovial man you know, or perhaps, something has happened. Before you can entertain that thought, though, a shrill cry pierces the air and you go to the cradle beside your bed.

Your daughter squirms and wiggles, and you pick her up, shushing her quietly as you turn to look at Thor. He stares at your daughter for half a moment, and you smile sadly.

“They hid the secret from you, too,” you begin and he rips his gaze to you. “Sweet brother, Loki has been raised in a lie.”

And that is what makes the next bit of news so utterly horrible.

“Where is he, anyhow?” you ask. You gently rock your daughter in your arms, hoping that’ll soothe her to sleep but with a newborn, you’re only learning more and more everyday. Thor grimaces, fingers slotting together as if he’s trying to figure out the right words to say. You go to your balcony, looking at where the bridge has shattered. You arch an eyebrow, tilting your head and absently stroking your daughter’s cheek. “The Bifrost was glowing awfully bright before you returned.”

“Autumn sister,” he whispers, and his voice has grown thick. You turn to him, the wind tugging at the skirts around your ankles as he steps onto the balcony with you. The moon casts you both in silver, and you swallow.

“Bad news?” Your voice shakes and you try to pretend it’s from the cold that does not bother you, not the fear that seizes your heart and threatens to crush it into tiny pieces of dust. When Thor does not answer, you shake your head and whip around, holding your child to your face. Yours and Loki’s. Our daughter.

“I’m sorry—”

“No. No, please don’t tell me,” you whisper. Kissing her cheek, you hold the child close to you in hopes that it’ll fend off whatever words Thor will say. “Don’t tell me, please.”

“He let go of my hand,” Thor whispers and you close your eyes, breath rattling in your throat. “He let go, and he fell.”

“No. He wouldn’t.”

“He did.”

A myriad of emotions digs into your heart, splitting it with a chisel and hammer, carving it into something that resembles a broken heart. You wilt, sinking to your knees and holding your daughter close. The last pieces of Loki you have left.

“Was I not enough?” you ask to the winds. Thor drapes his cloak around your shoulders, gently touches your daughter’s cheek who meets her uncle for the first time, and shakes his head. “Was our daughter not enough?”

“It was never anything you did,” he whispers, hugging you tight. You close your eyes, and tears trace over onyx armor as he presses a tight kiss to your temple. “Some secrets never should have been secrets.”

“You’re sending Thor to Midgard, but not me?” You throw open the doors with a slam, storming into the throne room. Odin Allfather sits up in his chair, his conversation with his wife all but broken as you stop. Blue autumn winds follow after you, brushing against your skirts, your hands, curling around your fingers. “I’m his wife, if you don’t remember.”

“You have a daughter. I don’t want young Hela to lose two parents,” he replies, an easy response, a trained one. You sneer, hands curling into knuckle-white fists. Magic rushes to your fingertips, but before you can protest, he slams Gungnir into the floor. “My decision is final.”

Frigga’s, however, is not. With a promise to take care of your daughter, she sneaks you into the Observatory. Thor flies you in, and the two of you hold on tight to each other as Frigga waves farewell.

“I need to return before he thinks anything’s amiss,” the Queen Mother explains with a slight smile. “Bring him home.”

“We will,” the two of you promise.

When Odin’s dark magic powers the Observatory for the first time in centuries, he sends not one but two warriors down to Midgard.

“Loki?” you whisper, and he wilts under your stare. Something flickers in your eyes as you press your hands against the glass. He’s trapped in some sort of cage, and you paste on that smile of yours as he walks towards the thick walls.

He places his hands deliberately to cover yours, and you lean forward, your forehead touching his. The soft thunk tells you he does the same and you close your eyes. You can nearly feel the heat of him. Almost, not quite, maybe.

“What have they done to you?” you ask as your heart tries to touch his. It wrenches out of your chest, and you open your eyes to meet his, smokey blue, a gaze you don’t know. “Who did this to you?”

There is no answer. He merely backs away into the end of the glass container like you’d shocked him.

“I’ll kill them. I’ll kill whoever did this to you,” you promise. The glass begins to bend under your burning hands and the blue magic under your fingertips phases through the glass. The rest of you follows, and you are in the cell with him. He watches you like an injured dog, and your heart cracks as you open your arms.

“Stay back, wife,” he spits, but you don’t care. His poison has never touched you. You continue towards him.

“I’ll kill them all,” you repeat as the uncertainty in Loki’s eyes grows. “I promise you. I promise I will do whatever they’ve done to you to them tenfold. I will bring you home to our daughter.” You think of little Hela back home, and you smile. “She’s missed you. She’s your little girl.”

“She’s a monster,” he whispers harshly. You falter and your arms drop to your sides. “Don’t you see?”

“I’ve never cared much for monsters.” Blue mist spills into the air, tasting like cold starlight and warm spices as you reach out one hand to him. “And I know how to love one with everything I have.”

Tendrils of magic weave from your fingers out to Loki, who has half-turned away from you. It caresses his face and whispers over his jaws, taking hold and turning his cheek towards you. His eyes meet yours and you smile.

“Come home to me, Loki.”

He takes a step towards you and your heart swells in your chest. Your fingers strain for his cheek and your smile grows as he walks into your reach. Your hand cups his face, and you let out a relieved laugh. You absorb every inch of him, the sunken quality of his eyes, the hollowness in his cheeks. My husband.

Your arms wrap around his neck and suddenly, he’s embracing you back desperately. His arms clutch at the leather that binds your armor together and you kiss his neck softly.

“She looks so much like you,” you whisper, tracing shapes on the plane of his shoulder. “Come home to me.”

“I will. When the work is done, I will.”

“What?” Your head raises off the crook of his neck and shoulder, and you stare into his eyes. Swallowing, you open your mouth to speak but then he pushes you hard, blasting you through the glass and onto the metal floor. “Loki—”

“Trust me, wife,” he says with a sly smirk. In between the lines of his face, you can read him like any book in the library. “It won't take long.” Dusting yourself off, you nod and swallow the hard knot of fear in your throat.

Safe in his chains and muzzle, he presses his forehead against your cheek and in your mind you can hear one name.

Thanos.

The frost that crawls down your spine is not from the cold. You hold your husband tight against you as Thor twists the glass cylinder containing the Tesseract. Blue cosmic energy washes over you and you return home to your daughter, who cries when she sees her father.

You bring your daughter to his cell, sit on the lip of the stone and hold her up in your lap as he sits on the other side of the golden barrier. A tiny grin encompasses his face and makes him glow as Hela reaches forward.

“Hello, darling,” he whispers as you pull her back from the barrier. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, Loki.” You sigh, fingers scratching the stone you sit upon as you wrap an arm around your daughter. “She took her first steps today.”

“Really? She’s a quick learner, then,” Loki praises and you smile sadly. You press your hand against the barrier despite the tingling electricity burning beneath your palm as a blue shockwave ripples over the gold.

“You should have been there to see it,” you whisper over your blistering skin and Loki’s eyes widen. Tears burn into your eyes as your burning hand curls into a fist. “Loki, I can’t do this. You should be here—”

“Hold fast, my love.”

“This is no way for us to live.”

He places a hand against the burning barrier, and you close your eyes the tears race down your face. Hela’s soft hand wipes them away unknowingly and you open your eyes to gaze at your daughter. You see so much of your husband in her that it makes everything ache.

“No one ever said this was fair.” You look up again to see his palm, black and white instead of cream. There is no wince or flinch at the blood that pours down his wrist and you glance down at your own hand. The burns have already begun to fade, but the ones on your heart will forever remain raw.

“I need your help,” Thor whispers, tugging you away from the harbour. You’re torn away from Frigga’s funeral jarringly, blinking as you collide with people although Thor makes a clear enough path as you reach a small archway in an alley of some street. You thrash your arm out of his grip, backing to the opposite end of the archway. He stands there, stung, but all you can muster is a glare. The candlelight illuminates half of his face, the other cast in shadow, and your fist clenches.

The fires heighten, burn blue.

“What do you want from me?”

“We need to end this threat. We need to find Malekith and destroy him before he comes for the Aether.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” You cross your arms, jaw stiff as you take another step back to his step forward.

“Promise me you’ll help me. I need you.”

“Why should I?” you snarl, poison biting at your words. “Have you ever gone to see your brother? He rots in a cell whilst you come bringing you little lady love to Asgard.” Thor’s mouth opens and you raise a hand to silence him. “Save it. I want to hear nothing from you.”

“I told you I wouldn’t help you.”

“You’re being childish.” Thor enters your rooms. You spin around from where you’re holding your daughter, mouth open in protest. “You act like some simple girl who doesn’t understand the consequences. If Malekith gets his hands on the Aether—”

“Excuse me if I’m having a bit of a tantrum. Can’t you see I’ve got my hands full?” you snap. You send a wicked glare at your brother-by-law who seems to wilt underneath your stare and you inhale sharply. “What do you want, Thor?”

“Convince him to help me.”

Your eyebrows furrow together, and you frown deeply. “Why should either of us help you?” you ask breathlessly and Thor looks away. “You imprison your brother who was tortured, manipulated—”

“You want revenge for Frigga?”

Your heart breaks into shatters at the mention of her, and your breath catches in your throat. “You know I do.”

“Then, what other reason do you have to help me?” Thor’s eyebrows raise in sympathy and he extends a hand to you. “Your daughter will be cared for, I promise you.” You kiss your daughter’s cheek, gaze into her red and blue eyes, before nodding.

“Fine.”

“Move!” You run away from Jane whom you’d been protecting and scream, blue magic flaring around your fingertips as you push Thor away. No, no, no. “Let me see him.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers painfully and you let out a horrified breath as he clutches as your sleeves. Blood spills over the soil as you bow your head, pressing your face against Loki’s. “I’m sorry, wife.”

“Loki, no. Hold on, sweetheart,” you tell him, placing a hand over the wound, fingers bending as you search for the source of blood. A poisoned blade, cursed with something dark. You can fix this — you can fix this if you have time—

Loki’s fingers let go of your sleeve, slip off your hands as the pale blue of his heritage overtakes every part of him.

“No. Loki, no!” You cup his face, but his head rolls away at the force and you let out an outraged scream. “No, no, no!” Slamming a fist against the dirt, pure cosmic energy flares between the cracks of the dirt as a pair of hands reach for your shoulders. With one hand holding Loki’s body towards you, you twist to slap Thor away. “Stay away from me!”

“We need to find him,” Thor whispers through a thick, tear-ridden voice. “Malekith is still out there.”

“You killed him! Why should I help you?” you scream, skirting towards your husband’s body, holding his head in your lap. You brush the hair away from his face and sniff through your blurring vision. Hot tears drop to the soil and onto Loki’s pale face as you bow your head. Agony rips your heart to shreds as it collapses in your chest, and you struggle to breathe through your clogged throat. You tear your gaze wretchedly to him.

“Y/N—”

“Go! Leave!” What little air you can breathe rattles between your teeth as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to cleanse the image of your husband from your mind as you run stiff fingers through his hair. “Leave me!”

“I’m sorry.” The words whisper at your ears, but you shake your head. Forcing your eyes open, you reach a hand to the wound. And here you thought you’d never need what you’ve been taught ever again.

Dragonsroot, heartsbane. You’ll need a warm fire, fresh, young blood.

For the first time in so long, Freyja’s voice sings in your mind and you press your lips together. The magic tendrils stitch Loki back together from within and you use your other hand to pull the poison from his blood as you pray to your father. You haven’t in so long, that you wonder if he’ll still hear you. Vile, black magic stains your blue and you toss it aside, letting it curl and sink into the dirt.

Take me home, Father. Grant me safe winds, Grandfather, and blessed waves. Bring me home.

There is movement under Loki’s eyes, so quick that you think you must have hallucinated it and you blink the tears from your eyes. “Loki?” you whisper, brushing your hands over his tear-stained cheeks.

“Is that any way to greet your father?”

Whipping around, you let out a breathless laugh upon seeing your father. How long has it been? Decades? Centuries? He looks older now than he did before, but no less strong. The mere image of him grants you strength and your heart mends momentarily with sticky sap and pure spite.

His flintstone eyes widen upon seeing his child on this foreign realm, holding onto the dead prince of Asgard and he walks to you, falling to his knees. Trying to hold back your tears, your throat blooms in pain as you throw your arms around him.

“Please, help me,” you sob, your forehead pressing against your father’s broad shoulder. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Little one,” he whispers, holding you tight, “we know someone who does.”

In a pyre built by you and you alone, Loki burns.

The smell of burnt leather and hair fills the air, no matter how many flowers and sweet fruits loiter in the clearing you do this in.

Your aunt’s instructions echo in your ears and you turn back to look at the castle over your shoulder where your daughter awaits. She’d been rescued by your father earlier that day whilst your aunt aided you in gathering what you need.

She stands on the edge of the clearing now, waiting, watching.

“This is your last chance,” Freyja calls softly and you shake your head. You need to do this, even if you aren’t sure it’ll work, even if it might kill you. Holding out a hand, you close your eyes and blow out a breath between your lips. The wooden handle of your knife is pressed firmly into your palm and you drag the silver tip over your fingers, not cutting the skin.

You toss a glance to your lady aunt, who nods and gathers the two bowls. In them, grinded heartsbane and chopped dragonsroot you’d prepared yourself. She walks to the back of the pyre, throwing them into the flames.

Immediately, it bursts white, flickers of other colours you’d never seen before burning into your eyes as you walk up the pyre. The wood trembles beneath your bare feet and the fire licks at your skin greedily as you close your eyes. As your skin begins to blister, you stuff down the mortal throes that make you want to scream until you bleed and walk deeper into the fire.

You can barely see through the white flames and you fall to your knees, blood clotting in your throat as you reach blindly for his body. He is yet untouched, covered in oils and blessings, and his skin is smooth and cold to your touch as you reaffirm your grip on the knife.

Say his name, then your wish. Give your blood, your sweat, your tears. Show them you are worthy. Spirits more powerful than us will decide.

“Loki,” you whisper and the flames twist and flicker. You trail your hand down his shoulder to his chest to the scar on his abdomen you’d tried your hardest to heal. “Come back to me, my love.” A rush of magic, threads of sorcery, run down your arms and flows down the knife, burning orange in the fire. “Come home.” Your teeth clench together and you peel open your eyes.

You are all ash and bones, black peeling skin, blood and tears, and what is left of your strength is visible in the magic that whispers over your skin. Bringing the knife to your stomach, you inhale flames and ash.

Please, bring him home.

And you sheathe the knife in your stomach, in the exact placement as the scar on Loki’s body. Blood rushes forward as you yank the knife out breathlessly. You drop the knife, and it slips between the wood of the pyre.

“It’s not his time,” you whisper through the blood rising in your throat. It bubbles between your lips, burning blue under your skin and you bow your head. Closing your eyes, you let the fire wash over your blackened body and lay down next to your husband. Your hands touch his cool skin, and you sigh blissfully. The air is thick, humid, and a wave of exhaustion hits you.

The simple princess, you think as you fall asleep. There is movement beside you, but you hold Loki closer, eyes shut against the bright white flames that purr against your skin. You think you can feel cold hands touch your waist where silk has burned away, and the fire begin to die. The only one that burns now is the one inside your heart.

Little peach.

Farmer’s girl.

Yes, that is all I am.

#fic: home #loki #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x you #loki laufeyson x yn #loki laufeyson x y/n #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x yn #loki x y/n #loki laufeyson fanfic #loki laufeyson fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #laylas4kriot #my writing

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trash-bin-throwaway · 4 years

Text

•Ghirahim has a Chat™️ with Impa•

(Shortly after setting up base camp in the desert to plan their attack on Gdorf at the castle)

Impa: You there. Come with me, I want to speak with you.

Ghirahim: Ah, yes, of course. I was wondering when one of you was finally going to come and see me.

Impa (while walking): So you knew I planned to have a word with you?

Ghira: Of course I did. I couldn’t predict wether I’d be confronted by you or the Goddess Sword, but I’m not some half-witted, guileless, flower-brained fool to think we’d be accepted wholeheartedly by everyone here, least of all you two, because I know exactly what you think of me. And I know you’re ever so leery of how I deduced this, and so I’ll be completely, utterly, and perhaps even excessively honest with you. I thought the same things of myself at first. “However could you bring yourself to do this? You would turn against the very master you were created to serve, protect and kill for? Is there no limit to the trust you will betray, the things you will turn your back on? If you will betray your master, your very life’s purpose... who can you ever be loyal to?” ...Does that sound like an apt summary of your concerns?

Impa: Hm... Quite apt. Forgive me for my suspicion, but I can’t help but be wary of you, if not for my own sake, then for Princess Zelda’s. I simply cannot have you here if you pose a threat to her, despite her wish to give you a chance. As of right now I simply can’t see how you’d have a strong enough motive to join us now of all times, when you seemed to be on the side with the advantage...

Ghirahim: Pah, no I wasn’t. The hero still lives and breathes, and he still holds blade of the Goddess. If we can glean anything from all these people from all these different eras meeting here and now, it’s that no matter how soul-crushingly and horrifically grim the hero’s chances seem to be... the Demon King will fail. It’s always been that way, and I’m rather confident it always will be.

Impa: You fail to comfort me. How is that supposed to convince me you don’t plan to win Link’s trust in order to stab him in the back, or kill him as he sleeps?

Ghirahim: Well, that specific point wasn’t exactly meant for comfort or convincing. I was simply pointing out a trend. One I of all people should know about, as... unfortunately... the first victim of said trend...

Impa: What do you mean?

Ghirahim: We all know that the first incarnation of the hero was he who fought the first Demon King. The Demon King who cursed them both to be reincarnated over and over and over again in an endless war? Am I mistaken?

Impa: No, that’s right. The hero who forged the master sword, using it to save the first reincarnation of the Goddess Hylia from Demise. Your master.

Ghirahim: Exactly. Dying in that conflict once was for more than enough for me... *brings his hand up to his chest, where the gem would be* Heh... nothing that lives should know what that feels like... but I, of course, am positively extraordinary.

Impa: I’m sorry, am I understanding you correctly? Are you trying to tell me that you remember everything that happened in that time?

Ghirahim: I am, and I do. Ganondorf is powerful, but he lacks the patience to rip his old servants from a random point in time as opposed to reviving them. This proved to be a horrible, and if I may be so optimistic, perhaps even fatal mistake on his part, as he seems to not know what he did to us then... and as such has no reason to believe we could tell he planned to do it over once again.

Impa: What he did to you? I’m unfamiliar with that side of the events... by all means, do tell.

Ghira: I wish I didn’t remember it as clearly as I do. But some things are just too... immense... to truly and completely rid yourself of... After centuries wandering the surface world aimlessly, with no purpose, no drive, and no way to bring back my master in sight, I finally found that girl, the first vessel of the Goddess’ soul. I painstakingly chased her around the entire wretched world, that absolute, infuriating nuisance of a boy at my heels and that ancient roadblock of a woman in my way at every step... ah. I suppose I should add that I mean no offence to you here and now... (Impa looks confused) ...Oh, whatever. I’ll explain it all later if I must, but for now I must finish telling you my tale... I worked day and night to complete my goals, to take the chance I’d been given and finally bring back my master, and I did it! As far as I was concerned, I had won. Demise had returned, and all that was between us and our conquest was a child with a sacred, glowing toy. Overjoyed, euphoric, and a heart full of rainbows hardly even begins to describe how I felt, as the victory that had long evaded us was finally within reach. My master was back. I finally had my true purpose returned to me. Now surely things could only get better from there, right? Well, unfortunately for me, it seems my fantasies were so, so far too grandiose, because what happened next was as far from better as anything could ever possibly be. He had not even stood in his true form for a single, measly minute before he turned to me, and with hardly a moment’s hesitation and an utter, desolate silence, struck me down, ripped the blade from my core and... shattered me... to absorb my power into his sword. He said nothing to me! Not a sound as he ended the life of his most loyal servant! He... he didn’t even thank me for freeing him from eons of imprisonment and giving him the ability to return to his true form! Nothing! Nothing at all! Not even the tiniest twinge of remorse or the slightest hint of regret in his face, and you simply must trust me when I tell you that if there was any such thing there in those empty pits I’d have been the one to see it. And I- I... I laughed in my final moments. I laughed because I had absolutely no precious idea what was going on. ‘Surely he wouldn’t harm me after all I’ve done for him! I trust my master to know what he’s doing. This must just be means to an end, and soon enough we will destroy these humans together and build a new world’, I told myself as the pain only grew worse. Then suddenly... nothing. There was nothing. Absolutely, utterly... nothing. And the next thing I really knew for complete certainty was when this era’s reincarnation resurrected me in the desert. So needless to say... I had a lot to think about. Perhaps that will clear some things up...

Impa: I... had no idea. It’s a shock to me that even you, his most devoted follower, would be counted among his victims... Near unbelievable...

Ghira: Well, it’s certainly nice we agree on something.

Impa: But there are things I’m still confused about. You were given another chance in being revived like that; why did you throw that chance away to join us? And where does Zant fit into all of this?

Ghira: Ah, I suppose I only told you my life’s story and not his... well, honestly a lot of it I don’t consider to be my story to tell, but I’ll disclose that the end of his story is rather similar to mine. The Demon King had the power to keep him alive but selfishly refused to. As for where he fits here, we’re two sides of the same coin. A coin Ganondorf tried to absentmindedly toss into a dark fountain for good luck, as he wished for a distraction to hold his enemies away from him long enough for him to become unstoppable and completely dominate the world. But in his absentmindedness, he failed to realize that the coin’s two heads had minds of their own... that the coin’s heads had believed they held value to him...! And that they would not simply fall into the endless, crushing shadows together without a word! Without him... they simply had each other to remain for! And... and... (sigh) honestly? In that fateful moment when we realized he planned to discard us once more, we only had each other to live for. And truly... we were okay with that. That feeling of being wanted? Being enough for someone... it was nice. I was unaccustomed to someone truly valuing me as an individual as opposed to a tool, and yet... he truly cares for me and I can hardly describe how happy that makes me. Not enough words exist, I’d be rambling for eternity. I may be quite... expressive... especially compared to my sacred counterpart, but for a Sword Spirit to truly feel something unrelated to their purpose is not an easy feat. Yet somehow, he does it easily. Hehe... perhaps serving Demise was not my true purpose after all? Ha ha ha! Well... I... I mustn’t get ahead of myself.

Impa: I... I feel as though I’m beginning to understand. Yet at the same time I feel like I’m even more lost. You are a strange being, Ghirahim. And I’m still not convinced that you aren’t attempting to lie about your turning against Ganondorf. Perhaps that is partly my own shortcoming, as I’ve devoted nearly every moment of my life to Her Highness, but-

Ghirahim: Argh, fine! I didn’t want to have to put this image in your head because I did not want the thought of it to disturb you, to haunt you as it does me, but you leave me no choice, as it seems you can’t see past your own nose or your pure and lovely little Goddess of a liege! Envision this for me, Impa, if you will. (Impa reluctantly nods and closes her eyes) Your dear Zelda is captured, and magically imprisoned in the midst of a desolate land that you are forced to wander alone with seemingly no way to free her. It takes nearly a lifetime of searching every horrid, purposeless, bleak, empty day, but you see an opportunity finally arise! You chase whatever lead you could find and you pay little mind to any that would stand in your way in favour of fervently chasing after the opportunity to finally have a purpose again, to finally bring back the one that made your life matter...! And it takes long, hard effort, but you succeed in the very face of your biggest foe. Your precious Zelda is returned to you in all her glory, looking just as immaculately untouched as the day you lost her. You are revelling in the joy, the triumph! The knowledge that with her beside you now, your battle is as good as won! She turns to you... and without a word, she snatches your sword away from you and stabs you in the chest with it, with not even a second’s hesitation. You see her staring at you unflinchingly as you die painfully. Then the next thing you see is her next incarnation, looking oh-so-similar... ready to have you serve her again as if nothing at all had ever happened. And eventually, you can see the same look in this new Zelda’s eyes as you did in the first as she killed you... and you know this is your last chance to save yourself.

Impa: (opens her eyes, disturbed) I... I see. I... understand now. Wether or not I trust the two of you entirely yet, that is something I still have yet to decide. But I can see now that you have more than enough reason to defect. Very well. Prove you’re no threat to us as you assist us in casting Ganondorf back to the abyss he emerged from.

Ghirahim: I will do so with extravagant pleasure. That I swear to you on my very soul.

Impa: See to it that this is a promise you do not break. (She turns to leave)

Ghirahim: Simply make sure I don’t have any overtly horrid, glaring reason to. That’s all it will take.

(Impa turns back just long enough to nod)

#fic snippet~~~

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jenovahh · 5 years

Text

KYKM - 14 Months, 7 Days

The city of Eulmore is about what he expected, able to get a rough idea from a distance. He had heard a tale here, a rumor there, of it’s marble walls where those within may live out the rest of their days in paradise, free from the worries of their world dying around them.

Savagery could be found even across worlds.

It mattered little though, as he strolled through the town without a care, shoving weak citizens off of him, arriving at the gates with minimum effort. This Vauthry’s military was laughable at best; trained to only subdue the weaker people, without any real power to stop a being such as he.

“Ugh...I can feel it...a dark presence in my domain!” a man shouts over an intercom, making him pause outside the gates to the city. “It is different...not the villains who have tormented me so! But stop them! Stop all those who would sow chaos in my perfect paradise!” he cries.

Tutting, Zenos continues, barging past the guards at the gate with total ease. The two women waiting for him inside are as equally pitiful as the so called military, cutting them down without so much as a second glance.

This place is a lot taller than it looks like from the outside but it is of no matter. There is only one place a coward such as this Vauthry character would hide, and naturally be protected by his guard dog.

Reaching the top, a lavish square sprawls out before him, flower petals floating in crystal clear waters, their scent filling the room even with it’s open areas. While it seems it would be a place where there would plenty of people buzzing about, but is instead completely abandoned.

“You are not the Warrior of Darkness.”

Behind him there are footsteps, a masculine voice he is unfamiliar with. Turning, a silver haired man stands before him, scythe in hand. His armor looks as if it made from the skin of a dragon, red scales lining him from head to toe. He frowns as he’s distantly reminded of the dragoon back on the first.

“Warrior of Darkness?” he questions, tilting his head. “No. I am merely here to seek someone out. Might you be the one I am looking for?”

The man seems to study him, sizing him up. “You are no average man, to have made it here.” He acknowledges, still holding his scythe. “I doubt you are here to see Lord Vauthry.”

“Quite the opposite. I am here for his guard dog.” Zenos purrs, watching as man scowls even further. “Might you be Ran’jit, his general?”

Ran’jit wields his scythe with practiced hands, stepping closer toward him. “What business do you have here?” he growls, to which Zenos smiles.

“Excellent. Then my search is over.” drawing his sword he feels his power flow through him, the buzz of battle coursing through his veins. “I was made aware that a man by the name Ran’jit had been terrorizing the Warrior of Light. Though I suppose on this world you call them the Warrior of Darkness.” Wielding his blade at his side, he stares the older man down. “I have come to correct your grave error.”

Without warning Ran’jit darts forward, swinging his scythe. It takes minimal effort to bring his sword up to block the blow, barely exerting strength to resist the man before him. “Do me a favor will you?” Zenos drawls, knocking the man onto his back. “Try to make this entertaining.”

Ran’jit is quick to recover, looking slightly stunned. “Who...what are you?” he roars, charging for a bigger attack.

“You would not recognize me if I told you.” Zenos answers, not bothering to even dodge the lightning Ran’jit throws at him. He stands there as the smoke clears, taking in Ran’jit’s shocked expression. “All you must know is I do not let anyone interfere with my hunt.”

Ran’jit says nothing, throwing himself at him again, to which Zenos makes little effort to move. The man contained some form of power it was true, seeming to rely on cheap parlor tricks and overwhelming his opponents with sheer strength. Perhaps this was the first time in his life he had ever met his match.

Funny that it would also be the last.

“I can understand how you could give the Warrior some struggle, if you have a few tricks up your sleeve.” Zenos hums, taking delight in watching the general struggle to stay on his feet. “Though you might also have the benefit of their mercy; they always were a bit soft.”

“What is the Warrior of Darkness to you?” Ran’jit grunts out, chest heaving from exhaustion. “Who are they that you would hunt only me down?”

Zenos says nothing for several beats, thinking on his answer. You certainly were a lot of things to him. His enemy. His friend. His lover if he could find you. He had never felt so strongly about a person, about anyone other than himself. To cross an entire realm, to leave his home behind, to wander a world where no one knows where he is...you are the only person he would ever go to such length for.

“They are mine.”

Shoving his sword in the ground, the familiar power of Concentravity flows through him, sending Ran’jit into the closest wall. The impact is enough to leave a dent, the general slumping to the ground in a heap. “You could not have known this of course, being a creature of this world.” Zenos begins, slowly stepping toward him. “Which is why I came to inform you, so that it won’t happen again.”

“You mean to show me mercy?” Ran’jit asks, coughing up blood as he does.

“Mercy...” the word feels strange and foreign on his tongue, as if he had never said it before. “No, not mercy. Your death will simply guarantee your discontinued interference.” Giving him no time to answer Zenos plunges his sword through his chest, frowning at the resulting spray of blood. Yanking his sword out, he sheathes the blade with a smooth click. While he did not necessarily mind the blood of his enemies upon him, it did make it considerably more difficult to commune with townsfolk.

Stepping over to the decorative fountain at the bar, he kneels to slowly begin washing blood away. He idly wonders where the Lord that the general had spoken of was hiding; probably tucked away in some secret cave no doubt. He wasn’t here for him though, and with Ran’jit dead, he could return to his hunt. Hopefully this little excursion didn’t let you get too far...

“Zenos?”

Not too far at all.

#zenos yae galvus #zenos #FFXIV #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #fanfic #fanfiction #my writings #kykm

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wrinkledparchment · 5 years

Text

[ play pretend ]

Summary: A rose garden, a free spirit, and a pathway leading to where they need to be; if only it didn’t vanish so quickly.

Word Count: 1,414

A/N: Probably mega shitty since I wrote this really quickly and didn’t really edit all that much but I haven’t been posting lately since I’ve been working a lot on fall from grace; and I’ve been busy with wintery shenanigans. Hope you enjoy anyway! Have a lovely day :)

Warnings: Ends in soft angst, nothing really else to worry about <3

Taglist: @dogsandrocketsocks @shishterfackisback @reginawashere15 @perfectlybalancedtears @stranger-marvel @onl-you @deviantsupporter @now-imagine @evas-wig-is-happily-touring (cause y’all like DBH and wanted to be on the indigo taglist so)

It’s beautiful, this place. Unlike Detroit, it’s edges were soft, it’s wildlife colorful. Cherry blossoms littered the stone pathway and flowers grew between the cracks. Nothing here had to fight for life, it simply was. It simply did without retaliation.

Peaceful. Harmonic. Unrealistic.

That should have been your first clue. You looked down as you raised your hands, watching the skin glisten in the dying sun. The lines in your palms were contoured by the shadows, each vein visible. You followed the lines to your wrist.

It was so silent you were able to hone in every sense on your heartbeat. You could feel it pulsating through your arteries and vessels. It stung, being self-aware. It was painful to know that one day the blood in your veins would spill.

It would rot and seep back into the earth, and it would be recycled over and over. There was no final salvation, no afterlife. You would simply decompose and be composed into something new. Life would continue steadily without you.

Every death of a star, every creation, had led up to you being created. Everything in the universe worked both together and against each other, each battle and each reconciliation would create a new thing, whether it was unique or not.

Every event in the universe led to your creation and once you had vanished, it would continue on to make more beautiful, complex things. It was simply so. The universe would not stop ticking without you, the universe did not rely on a single soul. It stopped for nobody, it started for nobody; it existed because it did. There was no stopping that.

You might as well take the little time you had to see the beauty, to create the beauty. Whether it was real or not, whether anyone else would see it, it didn’t matter. It was beautiful.

You lifted up your gaze to stare at the cloudless horizon, the clear sky that began to get dark and the distant lights that began to gleam. Time passed quickly. That was alright.

You smiled up at the shining stars, wondering what was happening to them now. The light took so long to travel to Earth that it was possible the stars might be dead now. Looking around you, the wind spun in accordance with your movements.

There were too many stars in the sky, too many for where you should be, but nevertheless, they were glorious; they shone down on you with might, and no matter how insignificant people regarded them, you would always be jealous.

You wished to be as enchanting as them, you wished to take someone’s breath away with a single glance. You wished to inspire as many people as they did, you wished people would look to you with the same reverence as if you were their guiding light.

You wished not to be worshipped like a god, but rather to be stared back at, to look at your reflection in someone’s eyes and see every constellation, as if you were the sum of their universe. You wished that someone would love you as deeply as the cosmos itself.

And just like that, you faded into a new chapter of your story. You watched as a small wooden bridge slowly constructed itself, waiting idly. You played around with your hands, a deep frown settling on your face when you realized your calloused fingertips’ touch was coarse, rather than soft and delicate.

Your bare feet lifted, one by one, to come in contact with the stones. They were freezing and rough against your soles, but you carried on nonetheless. Each step brought you further from your origin, closer and closer to your destination.

You weren’t wandering, your tale was leading you where you must go. Finally, your feet brushed against the dewy grass, which, unfortunately, was equally as cold. Another path cleared, this time made of soft, dry soil. You didn’t have to be careful with your steps this time, so you opted to look around.

The new area you’d just rendered was quite wooded, large oak trees towering over the evergreen grasses, flowers, and the newly-treaded dirt path. The wind was calm, just enough to set off a wind chime hanging from a branch, to cause the leaves of trees and blades of grass to brush against each other.

A ring of trees stood around a clearing, with a stone fountain in the middle, and a fleeting thought passed by (unrealistic, fantasy . . . fake). A figure sat on the ledge of the water feature. The burble of the stream behind you and the fountain in front mixed, each traveling and trickling along the bed it (or someone) had carved.

The sky remained dark, starlight and moonlight being your only sources of luminescence. You weren’t scared of the figure; they wouldn’t be in [your world] if they were harmful. So, instead, you approached mindfully, watching closely, trying to get clues as to who, why, how . . .

They looked towards you, gently and robotically, terrifying but graceful. “W-Who are you?” you questioned, and they stood up, taking slow, tentative steps towards you.

“I know what you want,” the person (or was it?) curtly stated, avoiding your question. The voice sent chills down your spine, though it was tender and softly-spoken. The voice alone was enough to make you freeze up, even on the warmest of nights, but oh lord . . . the touch.

The very light of the stars you so admire was plucked from the sky in between this being’s fingertips, and he allowed them to flow through your veins, igniting a fire on every inch of your skin, setting ablaze your very soul.

“You want to be stared at as thoroughly and curiously as the stars; You want to be loved, as never-ending and as intensely as the very universe. You want to be someone’s everything. I can do that for you, [Name], all of it and more.

“If only you’d let me love you, you wouldn’t have to [ play pretend ] .”

You dipped your head down, though your forehead didn’t make contact with his jacket. The air in between you was weighing, but comfy. His words echoed in your mind, seeped in and stuck there.

“You’d have worlds at your fingertips, [Name]. You could create the beauty you so choose; you could destroy it with a few words. Just, come with me.”

His index and middle finger brought your chin up, and though you could not see his expression, though you did not know his name nor were you familiar with him, it was serene. It felt right.

Your breath hitched and caught in your throat. “We don’t have much time, [Name]. Come with me.”

Suddenly, a light hit your eyes and groggily, you sat up. “What is it?” you grumbled, annoyed. Your android walked towards you, analyzing your bedroom.

“You’ve been daydreaming again, haven’t you?” From the sigh that escapes your lips, she knows. She closes her eyes, seemingly in disappointment before walking briskly over to your curtains and drawing them.

“[Name], you need to stop hiding in the darkness and let yourself see the daylight. You’ll find someone, someday, but hiding in the sheets isn’t going to get you anywhere. You’ve got to stop relishing in a fantasy.”

“I see him, Chloe. I see him there. His touch is exactly like the romance novels describe it, his voice is perfect and-“ you begin, but Chloe has heard it all before. She shakes her head viciously and tears sting at your eyes.

You want to – no, you need to go back to your world. You need to see him again, feel his touch again. Maybe on the next try, you wouldn’t be rudely interrupted, maybe you could put a name to the feeling of him, put a face to that as well.

The sinking feeling in your stomach was back, the desperate pit of loneliness that called and dragged your head back to the pillow. You just wanted to feel like you weren’t missing something. And when he was with you, when he touched you, when he spoke, you were whole.

“Perhaps, [Name], if you got out of bed, and you found him, you’d really be able to feel it. Feel everything you feel in your ‘dream’ and more; you’d find out what it is to be truly in love with someone.

“Maybe, just maybe, you could stop playing pretend.”

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fanesavin · 5 years

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Tensions come to a head with killers abound in the city both inside and outside of its walls. Masks begin to crack and the truth begins to filter through.

@cassiegermaine / @thatwhichbindsus / @danisavin / @ianncardero / @faye-andrews / @thisbrutalbelle / @thisdaringdanny

Cassie heels clicked against the marble floors that shifted to stone as she followed the staircases down to the castles dungeons. After yesterday's skirmish with the Kesley's they had been rightly siezed and thrown into captivity. She would have waited for the Iquistor for better formality's, but he was well distracted with the death of the Raj, so Cassandra took the Kesley's fate into her own hands. The gaurds outside the cell looked a little weary at the well-born lady's arrival, but she easily explained, "Lord Fane requested I deal with the Kesley scum. Please, allow me access." The pair tilted their head quietly in aknowledgement and left after unlocking the iron door, but only because the High Lady had another cloaked figure with her. Cassie stepped inside, nose wrinkling at the smell before she stared down at the Kesley Lord crumpled on the floor, "You fool. Did you really think you could get away with it?"

A Kesley looked up sullenly, but once he saw that it was Grand Lady Cassandra, he clambered to his feet. "You..." he sneered, gripping the rusty cell bars with scraped, red-tinged hands. "How did you get past the guards? I am under their protection, as per the command of that bastard Inquisitor of the North." He looked smug in the fact that his justice would be served later. "Whatever you've come to say, say it now. You stupid woman." He insulted her, but there was a slight thin taut string of fear in his voice that he tried to mask with disdain.

Cassie scowled at the man as he seemed to clearly doubt her, and then he went as far as to blatantly insult her? Did he not realize where he was? "That's hardly a way to speak to a Queen." She folded her hands in front of her body and let out a dramatized sigh, "I've simply come to informm you I no longer require your services. You've failed them, as far as I'm concerned landing behind these bars. These pathetic crumbling walls are the last thing you'll see Kesley. I hope you've come to terms with that."

A Kesley "Know that I hate you, vile woman. I curse you, and you will pay for what you've done to my men. But I did do exactly as you said--" he rattled the bars then, spittle flying from his mouth in his rage. "- and you must keep your end of the bargain. Send the ravens to your pathetic Summerset. Release my nephew, as you promised!"

Cassie If Cassandra was bothered by the Kesley's rage, she didn't let it show on her placid face and instead just quietly flicked away some of the spittle that landed on her cheek. When she spoke though, her voice was dark and sharp, and she stepped just a bit closer, "You stupid, stupid, man-" She let out a laugh, "Do you think I'd really let that bastard nephew of yours live? He's dead. Has been dead. All the Kesley's are dead. Do you think I'd risk my plan getting out?" She raised her hand to motion the cloaked figure forward as she turned slightly. The blade caught a glint of firelight before it slashed into the Kesley across the way.

A Kesley Too late the Kesley saw the cloaked figure and he tried to step back from the bars, but something seemed to hold him there. "Guard! Guard, please! The G--" but his words cut off in a gurgle, and a fountain of blood that spilled across the bars and the stone floor. He slumped ungracefully across the bars, then slid down in a sodden, wet heap of blood and urine.

Ciara stalked the halls in a hurry, running her hand through her hair anxiously as she did. There were things she knew, that others did not. A missing spy, a venomous snake, and whispers about the Kesleys. So many whispers about the Kesleys. And here were some, locked away, perfect for her to speak to. Ciara made her way down the hall, a shawl covering her hair, an appropriate rite of mourning. She slowed suddenly at the sight of a shadow coming up from the stairs of the dungeon, cleared her face of any concern, and turned her attention to a letter from her father as she walked more idly. It was Lady Cassandra coming up the stairs. There were other places those stairs led, of course, but most of them were no places for a Grand Lady. It was too late. They had already seen eachother.

Cassie As Cassandra was coming up the stairs she was concentrating on not tripping over her heels or skirts, so when she saw the darker figure of someone looming about, she was taken off guard. Seeing it was Ciara of course made the Summerset heir straighten, and silently thank the gods she had paid off the assassin in private. Her blue eyes blinked for a moment before Cassandra smiled softly and continued down the hall towards Ciara, "My dear, you look absolutely flustered, I think even royal informants deserve a break in the Grand Hall, don't you?"

"Do I?" Ciara asked, smiling just as softly, keeping her gaze kind and easily on Cassie's expression. Looking around now would only be suspicious. "I must admit I find all the people in the hall a little overwhelming at times. I am not used to such crowds." She glanced down at her own hands, gloved and clasping the letter from her father. "And sometimes there isn't even privacy in one's own room." She looked back up at Lady Cassandra. "I hope I am not disturbing you."

Cassie couldn't help but laugh some at the comment about the others in attendace currently at the castle, "No, I don't think I could blame you for that. Everyone is especially on short fuse and patcience these days. If I could eat in private without causing some sort of alarm. I would." She waved her hand as if in dismissal, "Even in a palace such as this we are bound to cross paths, it's hardly a bother." Her eyes flicked down to the letter, "Are we any closer to finding the High Raj's killer then?"

"That I understand," Ciara chuckled, "But I fear the prince and lord Cardero might revolt to be denied time with their niece." She followed Cassandra's gaze. "Oh, this is merely from my father. Regaling me with tales of my own nephews. I miss them, but my duty is here. In truth, I do not know. The Inquisitor does not share with me." Not intentionally. The Eagle Commander had left a meeting with the Inquisitor looking green around the gills, and had started chasing his captains. Ciara's mice had felt his urgence in their whiskers, nervous that blame might be assigned the wrong person in all this, and audible relief when his hurry passed them by. And now one of them was dead, by his own hand, reportedly. A man who believed himself acting for Juan Carlos. Ciara had assumed the Prince Cardero was to blame, but this was perhaps to coincidental a meeting. "Part of me wonders if he is not sharing because he is not truly looking. He has benefited greatly from this." Deflect, mislead.

"Indeed." Cassandra nodded, "They do enjoy to dote on her so." Which was validating and comforting enough for Cassie. "Ah-that's kind of him to write." She commented about Ciara's father. She wondered if the girl was really telling the truth, but it wasn't as if she'd command to see the letter. She frowned though at the information that she Ciara was suspicious of the Iquisitor. "Do you think? He seemed pretty enraged by the Kesley's out in the courtyard the other day. Imagine, a never ending Inquisition." She wrinkled her nose, "I don't think the Kingdom could withstand it."

"It is. He wishes he were here instead, but I do not think he would feel that if he were." She folded the letter between his hands and tucked it away within her robe. It was cold, this deep in the castle, the rocks cool to the touch. One could catch one's death in here. "I do not know," Ciara replied instead. "Or perhaps he serves another cause." Her voice dropped low, looking right in Cassie's eyes. "The kingdom could not stand another war, and yet here we are. We need a new ruler, and soon."

Maya sat in the Great Hall at the long wooden table. Taking a break from investigating she was eating dinner. A dinner which, of course, had been tested for poison before she started eating. It was better to be safe than sorry. One of the doors opened, drawing her attention. She had to resist the urge to stand, curtsey and make excuses for her presence. Instead, she asked, "Have they called another meeting?"

Faye had finally had to come out of her rooms to find something to eat. She was starving, and after the events of earlier, she found herself still feeling slightly ill. So she went to the Great Hall, hoping to find someone that could tell her where the kitchens were. When she entered, she didn't expect to find anyone (thought why she hadn't expected it, she didn't know), but instead found the girl who's name she knew to be Maya. "Oh. No. I'm just... a bit too hungry to wander around for ages in search of the kitchen. Pardon the intrusion."4

Maya turned her head towards one of the side doors in the hall, "Hey Annabella!" After a moment a young servant women appeared. "There's some extra of this in a pot downstairs, can you please grab a bowl for Lady Lacroy?" Maya asked. The young woman nodded and curtsied. Maya couldn't help, but shake her head, "No need for that Annabella." The servant nodded again before disappearing. "It's just stew, but it's better than nothing to eat at all," she said, turning back to Lady Lacroy and gesturing for her to sit.

Faye glanced at the girl who ran off to get more stew. "That's kind of you," she said to Maya, coming to sit. She appeared a bit more pale than usual, her countenance slightly unsettled. "I haven't had a good stew in ages. I'm sure it's wonderful." She adjusted her skirts, looking around the hall. "You're of Lord Savin's House, are you not?"

Maya shrugged, "There was extra and I know it won't kill anyone." She took another sip of her wine. "Plus, I was a servant up until last night. Old habits die hard and all." She nodded to Lady Lacroy's question. As far as Maya was concerned she was still part of Lord Savin's household although her title had changed. At the very least, she was not of House Parker anymore. "Are you all well?" she asked, "I imagine that scuffle earlier was quite trying."

"Not dying is always preferable." A small smile turned the corner of her mouth. "They do," she said of habits. Faye knew that all too well. Having been virtually a recluse for so long left her uncertain of the world at times. "I'm no less well than I've ever been," she nodded. The mention of the events of earlier had Faye taking a deep breath. "I haven't witnessed violence like that... in some time. It was... shocking, yes. I didn't get a chance to thank you for what you did, by the way. With a frying pan no less."

Danny had departed from the door of the Queen's chambers when one of her men relieved him, hungry he came downstairs in the hopes of grabbing something to eat while royalty was not in the room, and he was lucky. Perhaps not entirely since Lady Lacroy still held a very high position but no one who would imagine he could not eat with them. "Do you mind if I join?" he asked the ladies, not having heard a lick of what they had been saying.

Maya had her own curiosities about her lord and Lady Lacroy, but they were probably best kept to herself for the moment. After all there was a much more important investigation to focus on. She did raise an eyebrow when Lady Lacroy claimed to be well. She didn't entirely look well. Maya chose not to comment on that though. "Hmm...I wish I were more surprised by it," she replied. She shook her head though at the Lady's thanks. "I think you'll agree that enough innocent blood has been shed already. As for the frying pan, you learn a few things down in the kitchens." Her attention was drawn to the great door again by its opening. At the knight's question, she shook her head. Still, she looked to Lady Lacroy who had the final say in the matter.

Faye nodded at Maya's lack of surprise. Faye had been waiting for it in all honesty. For fear and uncertainty to evolve into violence and outrage. It had happened a bit sooner than she'd expected, but otherwise it was par for the course. "I do. The innocent always pay the price for men's fear. Or their greed." She turned her head as someone else came in, and greeted the knight with a nod. "By all means, join us." Faye gestured to the table. "How fare you, sir knight?"

Their conversation seemed to halt when he came in so Danny looked behind him, wondering if perhaps he should just eat in the kitchen but they invited him in. "Tired," he admitted to the women. "I suspect we all are, but having to stay awake a lot longer than the rolls has me falling asleep at my post, I figured some food might help me survive the night." Danny wandered over, looking at the tables food and picking at some meet with his fingers.

"I think everyone pays, eventually," Maya replied. Of course for some that payment was long time coming. As they turned their attention to the knight, Annabella returned and set a bowl of stew in front of Lady Lacroy without a word. The knight explained his troubles. "Perhaps we should ask one of the servants to brew some coffee for you and your fellows? I saw a bit in the kitchens yesterday morning."

Danian shuffled into the Great Hall, rubbing their eye. They didn't look to be in the best shape -- shadows under their eyes, hair messier than usual, clock not sitting quite right on their shoulders. They looked like hell. Fortunately, that hell had nothing to do with too many drinks at the tavern. No, this was all work. They weren't made for staring at books and scrolls through the night. Candles made harsh light for reading. But, they had wanted to get things and here they were now. The hand that wasn't wiping the haze from their eye held a bowl with a few scraps of venison dropped inside. They didn't want to bother anyone to make them a meal when they knew it would be easier and quicker on all parties involved if they simply walked into the kitchen and asked what they had left over. It earned them a couple of stares, but the young lord was used to that by now. Besides, they could do with a reminder of home and a simple hunter's meal was perfect for that. "M'Ladies. Ser." They nodded in greeting to the party as they sat down, a light huff escaping them. "Hope it's alright if I join you."

Faye gave a small nod to the girl who brought her stew, and then turned back to the conversation. "I'd chance to say that being to exhausted to stand upright hardly makes for a good watchman, does it?" The comment was curious, and slightly concerned for who he was supposed to be protecting.

Maya struggled not to raise an eyebrow again, surprised that a knight would know how to brew their own coffee. Then again he had claimed the understand the commoner's point of the view the night before so perhaps he had come from more humble background than most nights. She nodded to Danian as they burst into the room. "Please do," she said to them. "I'm well thank you, if a bit tired as well," she replied as far as the knight's question. It wasn't entirely true, but it would suffice for present company.

She turned to her stew, contemplating it as Maya spoke to the knight as well. Coffee sounded absolutely wonderful. Faye couldn't remember the last time she'd had any. Her eyes rose again as someone else joined the growing part. Danian she knew, having met them in the library. Faye nodded in greeting, and that it was certainly fine for them to join, before turning back to the knight. "Nothing that wasn't handled," Faye said, glancing at Maya, who had been there too.

"Handled?" Danny asked with a rise of his brows before his eyes flickered to the new addition, someone of stature he looked down, deciding it best that he not sit. "Perhaps I should go make everyone some coffee?" he offered.

Maya gave non committal shrug, "There may have been a frying pan, some light stabbing and House Kelsey ruffians involved. As Lady Lacroy said though, it's handled." She nodded, "That may be a good idea. I fear we all have long nights ahead of us."

"Have I missed anything exciting yet?" Danian asked of the conversation, putting on a slight grin. It was more meant to be a cheerful sort of amusing ask. Not entirely a serious question. They could all do with a bit less excitement anyhow. When the knight looked down at them and rose to his feet, their brows raised and they blinked, not quite sure why he felt compelled to do so. They certainly weren't the sort of nobility that demanded formality. "Aye, I'd bet Maya's right. Might as well prepare ourselves as best we can. Thank you." Danian gave him a smile.

Faye wasn't sure if spreading the word of what had actually gone on during the 'scuffle' would do any good. Rumors were no doubt already spreading like wildfire. Though if this knight hadn't heard anything, perhaps it hadn't got too far. She was about to reiterate that it yes, things had been 'handled,' when Maya beat her to it. "Coffee would be much appreciated," she said instead to the knight as he offered to fetch coffee. "And no, nothing overly exciting. Though I think we've all had enough excitement, haven't we?" She gave Danian a small smile before turning to her stew.

Danian nodded at Faye and sighed. "Maybe we have," their head tilted aside, "or perhaps..." as they spoke a mischievous gleam sparked in the corner of their eye -- the liveliest thing about them yet, "...perhaps we just haven't been having the right sort of excitement." But then they shrugged, which dimmed that glimmer in their eye. "I need to get out of here. Even for one hour in the city. I don't think I stand being trapped in here much longer. I was never made for cities in the first place. Now I'm being held in one like a prisoner."

Maya considered the offer for a moment. She could use a break. The last two days had been more stressful than she'd like. Still, she wasn't one to abandon a problem before it was finished. Then again it might be useful to know what the city's population were thinking of the last few days events. If someone had leaked the secret of the Raj's death, it might point to a suspect who wished to reignite the war. She couldn't help but snort a laugh though when Danian mentioned feeling like a prisoner in the keep. "You're telling me," she said before thinking better of it.

"I don't like cities either," Faye said quietly. "It's so... busy. All the time. There's never any real quiet."

Danian didn't see much into Maya's outburst. They chuckled at it, actually. "Maya, if anyone deserves a break, it's you." They hadn't forgotten how the Red Priestess had called her out at the Quiver of Houses. It was cruel and unfair, even if the woman thought her actions were just. That revelation, true or not, hardly changed Maya in their eyes. Danian had always enjoyed her company. She was sharp-witted and bold and was one of the few servants at Blackspire actually willing to loosen formalities around them. The lord leaned forward slightly, looking between the two ladies, "I say we go out. If we're not able today, then as soon as we've got the chance. I've been meaning to explore the Lower City myself. I've heard it's been rather chaotic recently. Why not have a look ourselves?"

Faye glanced at Danian. The thought of getting out of the keep was... enticing. But being out there in the open, with people that had already seen her attacked. With people that had - as Danian said - been a bit chaotic, only made Faye feel ill at ease. "I don't think I should venture out. I was asked to stay nearby." Fan- Lord Savin had asked her not to stray too far, lest another incident occur.

Maya huffed a laugh, "You're too good to me." She liked Danian. They tended to see the servants more as people than most nobles she knew. She turned to Lady Lacroy as the woman expressed hesitation at venturing out of the castle. "I don't know, if I escort you," she replied, "Plus I know a thing or two about disguising one's true identity."

"You can't change the color of my eyes, no matter what else you do." Anyone who looked at her would be able to see them, and it was her eye color that was her distinguishing feature. But Faye was grateful for Maya's offer, even if going against the advice of the Inquisitor seemed... unwise. Especially considering the trouble she'd already caused him. His ire wasn't something she wanted to provoke.

Danian looked at Faye with a slight frown. "Are you sure?" They understood why she was asked not to venture too far. She had been attacked upon her arrival. And with the way everything seemed to be going... They sighed, but of course Maya brought their spirits back up in an instant and they grinned. "I do try, m'lady." They might have given a mock bow if they had been standing. Then, they looked back to Faye. "Maya is right. You would have the both of us with you. A guard would be too obvious, but we don't need to worry about that." Glancing down, they patted the sword at their hip. Not to mention, Danian knew a thing or two about wielding knives and, in their own way, concealing identities. It was Faye's eye color that was the issue. "No, we can't change the color, but we could find a way to hide them. We would just have to get inventive."

"I don't know..." Faye said to Danian. "It would be good to get out of here, I'll admit that much. But... I don't wish to put anyone in any danger because of me. What reason do I have to venture out besides?"

Danian gave Faye a light smile. "I'm used to danger, but I understand. My only thought would be to offer you a bit of fresh air and some time to stretch your legs, if you wish." The woman had more stress surrounding her than most of those gathered in the keep. "Of course, if there is something else you'd like to do to relax a wee bit, I'm willing to help if I can."

"I'm not sure I should be that adventurous just yet. But... a walk possibly? Around the upper balconies might be enough to clear my head." Faye appreciated the offer, just as she had Maya's, but it felt selfish to break an order just to get some air. Though Danian and Maya weren't under the same scrutiny as she had recently been.

"I think I can manage a walk," the Northerner grinned. "The city isn't going anywhere. I could always head out later today or tomorrow." Danian crossed their arms on the surface of the table. "Is there anything you need to get to prior? Wrap up any investigative business? I know the whole point is to avoid it for a time, but I'd hate to take you away from something important."

"Thank you." Faye gave Danian a nod. "I won't keep you long." She shook her head that there was nothing pressing. Having already met with Lady Florent, and done enough reading in her room to burn down an entire candle, Faye needed a bit of time with nothing swirling through her mind. "I still have books in my room that I'm looking over, but I can come back to those afterwards."

"Alright then. And it's my pleasure." They could say the same in regards to books. Both of them had been drowning in literature for days. A necessary evil. "Would you like to head that way now?"

Bella felt the fur of her wolf beneath her fingers. Others had been summoned and distributed about the city, mostly in areas of unrest and crime. It had been a long walk to the edge of Bluesprings to direct them and felt like an even longer walk back, even with the short rest she had taken in the Inn. The closer she drew back to where the rest of the nobles were still kept under more stringent guard the more Bella felt as though eyes were on her, bare feet leaving bloody marks on the stone from the cuts of her jewels on her feet and the cuts from various rubble she had walked over but Bella was used to such pain and ignored it, far more concerned with whispered words she couldn't hear, especially in the daylight, her darkness not around to bring her comfort. "We're close, Bastian," she said to the wolf that snarled at anyone who gazed too long at her.

Commonfolk cringed and fled at the sight of the strange monstrous woman and her giant wolf. She was so small, but she radiated a permanent darkness around her that may not have been visible, but was certainly felt. It felt like being cold and alone and lost in deep woods that had no goal other than to hurt you. People were terrified of her - and they watched as she walked through them, and they wondered how the Inquisition could allow this devil-thing a seat in the Quiver of Houses. Some knew she hailed from the Dark Woods, a place renowned among the commonfolk as a place one did not enter, at the risk of their lives. And now she was here, and the rumours flew about what she was doing here, and why she was allowed a space in the Inquisition. Still, they were looking forward to the High Raj's Funeral, if only for the pomp and ceremony, and a way to feel a penultimate closure to the shocking event of his death.

When the Queen of the Dark Woods made it to the gate between the Lower City and the Upper City though, a person swathed in all-white appeared in front of Bellamy. Everything was wrapped in white, obscuring their face, even their gender. "Queen Bellamy, of the Dark Woods." The person pulled out two wicked-looking swords, made of an ancient metal that shone bright light, and repelled dark things like werewolves. "It is time to die."

Bella frowned in irritation, the wolf snapping at the air and growling feverishly as the light of the person's sword started to disrupt the magic in them that was keeping their human form at bay. Bella barely knew what to say, human threats not laid against her since she was in her family home, and they weren't for death but for something far worse, a life of chastity and constricting human attire. Fortunately human attire allowed for weapons and from the long sleeves of her dress came daggers, slicing her skin as she pulled them from the bands at her arms. "Bastian," she summoned but his head was twitching as his mouth began to pull back in and his shoulders shrank.

Some people fled at the scene that seemed to lay out before them; but at the same time, others remained to watch - terrified, curious, desperate for something new and exciting to happen to dispel the thrum of constant anxiety that lay over the commonfolk like a blanket more oppressive than any new ruler. This being the Lower City, some savvy old foxes even started trying to take bets: the dark witch against the white angel, et cetera. The white-wrapped assassin ignored all of it, but one might say that they wanted this to happen in plain daylight, in front of a crowd. The assassin pointed a sunsword at Queen Bellamy. In the name of the one True Church, and the Chevaliers," the assassin announced, before they flew towards Bellamy with a terrifying speed and nimbleness.

( tw self harm, blood, etc ) As the person attacked Bella's wolf fell to their human form, naked on the street still on all fours, snarling and biting but not strong enough to draw near the woman he was meant to be protecting. If he did not die that day the King of the Dead Woods would kill Bastian on his return, whether Bella survived or not. Bella herself was terrified, out in the light like this she had no help, no way to summon her Lord and beg his protection, so even with her daggers at her hand she ran, searching for any place hidden from the sun's high light. Bloody footprints stained the ground, no way to hide her direction, but she was fast, used to running over roots and bones that moved as her lord's energy flowed through them. "Octavia!" she called but it did nothing, and the people did even less. Bella finally shoved one aside to enter their home, shadows casted from the walls allowing Bella to fall to her knees, thrusting daggers into her thighs as she screamed to summon the darkness she worshipped.

The Assassin darted effortlessly through the crowd, their focus on the Queen alone. As they stepped under and through shadows, it was almost as if the Assassin glowed, bright as the angel that the bookies and other toothless lollygaggers dubbed the white-wrapped creature. How could they not? All their mythologies and tales in the Capital centred around the idea that dark was bad, and white was good. That the Dark Woods meant death and wolves and dark magic, and this white-wrapped creature was some summoning of the Cloverry, or perhaps even the Red Priestess's God of Light. Whatever it was, some people ducked and screamed, others followed to watch. The scream from the Queen was terrifying, but the Assassin was not deterred. The Assassin struck to attack the wolf-man first, knowing that the wolf-man was weakened against the imbued power of their werewolf-killer swords.

Perhaps it was her darkness, perhaps it was the scent of her blood, perhaps it was her scream of agony, but as Bella withdrew the daggers from her legs, blood pooling around her legs, soaking into the human attire she wore for the sake of decency in the city. They didn't know what the church of her home was, they didn't know it was suppression and self-loathing, that while perhaps her beliefs weren't good they were nowhere near as cruel as the ones in the Kingdom of Chevalier. What all would know, was the sound of dozens of wolves descending upon what they called their home. The rumble was loud as wooden carts were knocked over, windows were shattered, even walls fell as the werewolves bounced off them in an attempt to get to their Queen. This sound was far louder than the Assassin's blade piercing Bastian's form, burning him as it past through his core, even his growl was undermined by the growling of his sisters and brothers. Upon the small home Bella had hidden herself in the wolves came, claws shattering the stone pathways, broad shoulders knocking out commonfolk. Once there they leapt upon the one clothed in white bearing his sword, others snarling and sneering at any commonfolk that remained, insisting they keep their distance.

People fled screaming, and other Guards rushed forward - some from various Houses, others Capital Guards and Knights. They tried to get people under control as well, get the out of the way - but it was difficult to know (or remember) who to fight, at the sight of the growling werewolves collected in the tight space of the Lower City's cramped bowels. They'd been brief that the werewolves were on their side, but that didn't mean the Guards didn't find them fearsome and untrustworthy. They were beasts after all, not men. It was chaos all around: commonfolk running around, some hiding and watching, some breaking into looting and fighting the Guards. The commonfolk at least didn't dare to attack the werewolves, keeping their distance from those as instructed. The white-wrapped assassin spun so quickly it was almost like a dance. Their swords spun as well, like blades that chopped off anything that tried to come close - ears, noses, paws. "Hiding behind your werewolves will not do you any good, Queen," the assassin said, leaping nimbly up the walls of the building until they reached the rooftop. Immediately they produced a bauble from their wrappings and cast it downwards. The burst into a bright glowing white powder that obscured and brightened everything - which of course only added to the chaos, Guards and werewolves and people crashing into each other, into buildings, destruction abound. Through it, the Assassin managed to get a sword close against Bellamy skin - possibly close enough to cut Bellamy - but the Assassin was unable to complete the task, as werewolves leapt onto them, knocking the Assassin so hard that they Assassin went through at least five buildings away in a loud, destructive crash.

The light hurt but the wolves were determined to protect their Queen. Loyalty to her meant the protection of their home. If she fell then there was no human representative of their land, it would be taken and over run. It was her who kept Kingdom's at bay through her own actions, her worship of the darkness or her direction of them. Bella could barely react, blood loss taking over as she muttered blessings to save herself, the light blade cut her, burning her flesh as it had Bastian's but fortunately not going deep enough to kill her before her wolves descended, tear tearing the assassin into small pieces, devouring him like they would a squirrel or deer. The journey to Bluesprings had been long, they needed to feed. As they did however Bella fell into the pool of her own blood, muttering blessings still.

And just like that, it was over. The white powder dissipated bu the sounds of slavering and crunching of flesh and bone echoed through the twisting side roads of the Lower City. The powdery smoke cleared, and the destruction was everywhere - not just from the Assassin, but the werewolves as well as they rushed to protect their Queen. The smell of blood permeated everything. Injured people groaned and moaned for help along a stretch of space from the Gates of the Upper City down to the clutch of houses where the Queen of the Dark Words herself knelt, muttering words. Words that to the commonfolk, sounded like spells and chants, rather than prayers, because they couldn't imagine prayers coming from the mouth of a creature so unholy. And this....thing, and her werewolves - this Dead Queen was a part of the right and just Inquisition?

Bella's eyes began to roll back into her head, mutterings fading away the more blood fell from her. She had hit her arteries, as it was easy to do when hitting such a major area, so for all the blessings she summoned it couldn't mend something like that. Her wolves who did not identify as being even remotely human, did not even conceive of switching back to their human forms to help her, but fortunately guards were duty bound and whatever had happened she was a guest of the High Raj, before his passing, and a member of the Council, so they mustered up the courage to venture in the direction of her and the wolves that were scattered about to grab the woman. She would need whatever physician was available in the keep.

Iann stalked through the Great Hall, catching sight of Danian as he passed. "Have you looked outside, son? Something's happening at the gates of the Upper and Lower City..." Iann walked past, heading up some curving stairway to take him up to a higher balcony, to get a better vantage.

Danian "Wha--?" Danian was caught off guard when Iann suddenly stalked through the Hall and grabbed their attention. They took one look at Faye, a quick 'I'll be back.' Though, of course, there was nothing to keep her from joining. "Something's happening? What kind of something?" They asked the prince as they hurried up after him.

Iann hadn't seen Lady Faye there, or else he would've addressed her as well. But once he reached the balcony, he squinted, and efficiently opened his spyglass, raising it to his eye. "....There--!" he handed the spyglass to Danian, but his own gaze was affixed on the white glowing powder floating up into the sky, his gaze like a hawk. "Werewolves, it looks like? But something else as well..."

Faye was just about to rise to follow Danian for their walk, but then the prince was there and they were speaking and leaving the hall in a rush. Faye frowned, the urgency in the princes voice and the look on Danians face enough to make her follow.

The wolves cleared whatever path was needed for the guards to make their way to the keep as quickly as possible, less destruction than they had initially caused but not none by any means, the stone pathways and a few windows were torn up or broken. When they finally reached the gates the wolves stopped, all bar one with greying fur that tore a guards sword from his hands with snouth and threw it to the ground, insisting entry. Unable to stop him the guards allowed the lone aging wolf to follow, rushing the Dead Woods Queen inside.

There was smoke rising over the lower city as Faye reaches the balcony. At least it looked like smoke. The call of werewolves - gods above - had her heart skipping a beat as it leapt into he throat. Faye couldn’t see them, but she watched regardless, a feeling of dread in her chest.

Danian had been scanning over the city from the balcony as they reached it, but Iann's spyglass was far more effective than their own eyesight. Werewolves. He was right. They had seen Queen Bellamy's one at the Quiver of Houses, but there were so many! Like Iann, however, it was the white powder that caught their eye. "That's strange..." they mumbled, partly to themself as they squinted even through the instrument. "It doesn't seem natural to me. Clearly not snow. Doesn't seem like ash..." Pausing, they handed the spyglass to Faye and pointed out the mysterious feature for her to inspect. "Any thoughts?"

"No thoughts needed - look," Iann pointed grimly directly below them, at the Gates that opened into the Keep itself. Guards marched in at a rapid clip, and on their shoulders they bore none other than the Queen of the Dead Woods herself, who looked almost completely black-red with blood. "Kraken deep," he cursed, as the maesther scurried out, looking at the Queen before calling for his apprentices to guide the Guards to his physician's temple. One wolf stood outside the gate, grey fur matted with blood.

His expression cold and unfathomable as the ocean, the Prince pressed his lips together. "I have to go." Iann took his spyglass first, swiftly pivoting on his heel and leaving the young Ward and the Lady alone once more.

Faye took the glass and after a moment of adjustment took a look at the rising smoke. “It’s... shimmering. Could be... some sort of alchemical reaction. The wind is taking it out to sea though.” She turned as the prince took his spyglass back, frowning before glancing down at the creature at the gates. Faye’s blood ran cold, but it just stood there, watching the bloody body of its queen pass through into the city.

The wolf did not snarl or bite once inside, keeping his jaw shut firmly, eyes moving with more clarity than the previous one to watch over her had shown. He would remain at her side as Prince Cardero's physician's worked on her throughout the day and into the evening, stoic and strong. It was at the stroke of midnight the Queen arose, weak and bloody, the old wolf crawling onto the wooden table she rested upon and gifting her comfort so she knew she was safe to rest. "My King," she let out hoarsely, falling almost immediately back to sleep.

Danian tore their eyes away from the white powder to look below them, leaning partially over the railing as they did so. Their eyes widened at the sight. "By the Gods, Bellamy??" The shock on their face was clear, but shifted in an instant. One second, shock; the next, a withheld, though not invisible, fear. "If Her Majesty is there, then where's... I don't see Octavia with her." Danian suddenly felt a twist in their gut, bolting back down the stairs on instinct. They may not have known the knight extremely well, but she was a fellow Northerner, and one Danian felt compelled to protect, in some capacity. They guarded her secret. A secret that called for vengeance, rightfully so. Danian hoped for her to regain what she had lost. But if she had been in the midst of the fray below, her chances of having survived it didn't seem very high. With the Queen injured, they weren't able to inquire the knight's whereabouts from her at the moment. It seemed Danian would be exploring the Lower City today after all-- only the atmosphere was far from that of the escape they had planned.

#got scene

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sasukes-one-and-only · 5 years

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Lies

Fic where the sides can’t lie because Deceit plays a game

Warnings: minor mentions of self hate, that’s about all I see

The meeting was going like any other. They were going through Thomas’ problems like any other time. They were almost through, when Thomas asked about the dark sides.

We were hesitant to answer, when Deceit popped up. I hate guy, but he’s always so nice.

“You called?”

Virgil was having none of this; “no one had called you here, Deceit.”

“Well, if my presence isn’t requested, ta-taa,” and with that, Deceit just left.

It seemed easy, to vanquish a foe that easily, without battle. “That was... awfully peculiar.”

“Of course it was you infinitesimally sized brain royal mess, it’s Deceit, what do you expect, bread and butter?”

I must have looked awful in response, Logan’s face instantly softened.

Still straight-faced, he said “I... I meant that, but, I didn’t want to say it.”

With some language unfit for a prince such as myself, I said something along the lines of what else do you have to say? He responded with “a lot,” but he didn’t elaborate.

In stead, he stated stating ideas about what happened, when Virgil stepped in: “remember when I opted out, you felt no anxiety. Do you think, we can’t lie?”

“Why didn’t I think of that, while hair-brained Virgil did? You all are nitwit-“

“Just stop talking Logan” I had forgotten Patton was here. He had been quiet thus far. “You seem to have a lot of negative things to say, so just don’t say anything.” This was very upfront from Patton. He didn’t seem his usual, cheerful self. This may be effecting him more than I thought. I would have to capture and return our foe as soon as possible.

“Well, I guess we should all just not talk, as not to reveal stuff about ourselves such as my self loathing.” I covered my mouth as Patton sobbed. “Pat, are you alright?” All he could do was shake his head. I ran over as fast as I could, and Logan, Virgil, Thomas, and I hugged Patton and pulled Patton onto the couch. I heard him mumble something, and so I asked him to repeat it.

“I hate myself.”

“But Pat, there’s so much to love about yourself, you’re simply wonderful. I wish I could be close to how amazing you were,” I hadn’t known Virgil cared this much. At first I thought he was lying, and evidentially, so did Patton. He voiced his concern, and Logan brought up the point that he couldn’t physically be lying. Patton pulled himself closer to Virgil, which I thought was a bit unfair, why would he not want to be next to me? I decided not to speak, for once, I didn’t want the others to hear my voice.

We later like this for the rest of the night, though Thomas had to leave. There was very little conversation, I guessed it was due to the reason no one wanted anything to slip.

Eventually, after Patton reassured us everything was fine, we each went to our rooms.

I didn’t want to go out the next day, but surprisingly, I was the first outside. I thought I was the only one awake. But then, I heard a quiet, unsteady voice coming from Logan’s room: “Please don’t leave, please, stay,” and I had no clue who he was talking to. It couldn’t have been me, could it? I slowly opened the door, and stepped inside.

Logan seemed to have just woken from a dream. He was sitting up, and didn’t have his glasses on. “Hey Lo, I heard your voice. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright, do you need anything, or was it just a dream?”

“It was a nightmare, and stay, please Roman. I don’t feel safe, I feel unworthy.” At first, I thought this was unusual of Logan, then I realized everyone was being unusual. I made up my mind, and so I got in the bed next to him.

We talked a bit, and I asked him what he meant unworthy. At first, he was hesitant to respond, but eventually he started talking. I tried to pay attention, but all I gathered was he felt like he wasn’t smart enough, wasn’t good enough. And what surprised me the most? It was much similar I felt. I felt none in the group loved me, none of them appreciated me. I wish I could take off my mask, be myself, and they would love me. But I could never, they would never.

I held him for a few more minutes until eventually, he fell asleep in my arms.

I woke up, and Logan was gone. I went outside, to see him with the others, who were with Virgil. While they were helping him with his difficulties, I decided to venture out on my own to find the foul villain responsible.

I headed to the door of that awful snake’s room, and ripped it open. I stepped inside, without taking a glance around. I felt myself plummeting downwards, unable to stop.

I was not after this villain just to stop the others from their truth fountains, but so my faucet wouldn’t be turned on. I couldn’t say all that to any of them. This was my burden, and mine alone. No one could help me, except myself.

After much more waiting, I hit the floor. I got up, and marched down the narrow pathway. There was constant movement in my peripheral vision, teasing at me, deceiving me. It was a foresty area, but not the ones I generally went on adventures. This is a forest the dragon-witch would have her summer hut.

I arrived at a clearing, where I see a throne, facing the opposite direction. All I see of the person sitting on it is a yellow glove holding a wine glass with... chocolate milk in it? That was villain enough to me. I charged the criminal, and grabbed him by the neck. I poked the tip of my sword into his side.

He seemed calm in his response: “oh, but you can’t kill me. The others will find out, they’ll crumble under the burden you put on them.”

So it was Deceit! Damn the scoundrel. I couldn’t kill him, but I could harm him; I used the flat of my blade to knock him unconscious. I dragged him around for what seemed like hours, but I couldn’t find a way to escape the wretched room. There was no close, only forest after forest, tree after tree.

Deceit wakes up, and I ask him the way out. He teases the answer, calls it a ‘simple task really.’ Eventually, he tells me all I have to do is tell the truth about myself.

There was no one here, it shouldn’t be difficult. Should it? SHOULD IT?! Then why can’t I do it? I’m a failure. I always set high goals for myself, impossible goals. Yet I always complete them. I always prove myself. And yet I don’t, it’s not enough. That means there’s something harder to do, something to prove me more worthy. I always do such difficult tasks, yet I can’t do a simple one such as this. Oh god I’m crying. I can’t cry. I can’t show weakness. I have to be the strongest, the best, no one can see me. I fall onto the floor, and it’s smooth. I look up, and see my face, three times. I see a couch, and I’m wearing glasses. Or, I’m back in the mind palace. Oh god, I’m crying, being weak in the mind palace, being weak in front of the others. I get up, and wipe the tears from my eyes.

“I brought Deceit. You can lie now,” and with this, I throw him on the floor, and land right next to him.

Got this idea from @alaughingfreak’s art of Deceit leaving

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pocketseizure · 6 years

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The Legend of the Princess, Chapter 24

Rivers Running Underground

In which Zelda witnesses a number of things she’d rather not see in the darkness below Hyrule Castle.

(Chapter 24 on AO3) (Story Tag on Tumblr) (Cover Illustration)

* * * * *

When Zelda stepped into the corridor to join Impa, the first thing she noticed was a fervid magenta light approaching rapidly from the opposite direction.

Nabooru noticed it as well. “Get back!” she commanded, thrusting her spear in front of her.

Ganondorf grabbed Zelda’s arm and pulled her toward him just as a blazing golden comet of flame jetted from the outstretched line of Nabooru’s spear. A second later there was a high-pitched wail and the sound of glass shattering.

“It must have been a poe,” Ganondorf whispered into Zelda’s ear. “I’ve seen them going back and forth along the corridor while I’ve been down here. They infest the ruins in the desert too.”

Zelda had dealt with her fair share of poes, and she didn’t need Ganondorf to explain this to her. In that moment he was the last thing on her mind.

“That was amazing!” she exclaimed.

Nabooru winked at her. “Telma’s not around to tell me not to use magic.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Zelda continued, thoroughly impressed. “Do you think you could teach me how to use magic?”

“And while you’re at it, teach me too,” Impa joined in, laughing.

“If you’re going to show off your tricks, why did you even bother bringing a spear?” Ganondorf grumbled as he emerged into the corridor behind them.

“She needs it,” Zelda and Impa said at the same time, sharing a look. After all, there were far worse things than ghosts in these underground passageways.

“Right,” Nabooru said, tapping the blunt end of her spear against the stone floor. “Let’s get a move on. You two stay behind us. Cover us if you can, but let us do the heavy fighting if we encounter anything nasty. Your battle is still ahead of you.”

“Speaking of which,” Impa added, “you’re not doing to get anywhere with those daggers, dear apprentice of mine.” She removed a short reflex bow and a quiver of arrows from the small arsenal strapped to her back and handed them to Zelda.

“You knew I would come here,” Zelda said softly to Impa as she took the bow.

Impa only smiled in response, but Zelda could see the glint of excitement in her eyes. Despite her sense of foreboding, she understood Impa’s mood perfectly. She had always enjoyed training with Impa in the northern forest, and in the caverns in nearby Kakariko Village, and even in the more neglected corners of the castle dungeon. Zelda knew that she would never be a real warrior, at least not in the same way Impa was, but she still enjoyed the dynamic tension of a bow in her hand and the sharp assurance of an arrow between her fingers. Her earlier trepidation concerning how to handle Ganondorf had vanished, and it pleased her that he would be able to see what she could do with a proper set of weapons. She hoped he would keep her prowess in mind when – if – they found the Triforce.

If Zelda’s suspicions were correct, then they were headed for the Temple of Time on the edge of the woods to the north of the castle. Although she knew that the abandoned temple was connected to the castle grounds through the underground waterways, she didn’t know the exact route to get there. Impa did, however, and Zelda was a little jealous of her, as she always had been. She wished, not for the first time, that someone else could be a princess so that she could join the Sheikah. If her parents had other children, or if there had been a more suitable candidate for the throne of Hyrule, then she might have had that option. But no, her mother and Ganondorf’s mother had made some sort of pact, and in any case it was the royal family’s custom that there could only be one Zelda every few generations. She sympathized with Ganondorf, truly she did – it wasn’t easy to be bound to one’s fate from the very moment of one’s birth.

The small party set off with Impa in the lead. Nabooru and Zelda followed her closely, their weapons at the ready. Ganondorf lagged behind, still unarmed. Zelda was annoyed with his apparent nonchalance at first, but gradually she realized that he was concentrating deeply on the path that Impa was navigating. Every so often he would touch the tips of his fingers to the stones of the wall, whisper something unintelligible, and send out a pulse of magic that she could feel on her skin.

Zelda tried to keep track of the twists and turns of their route, but eventually she lost count and simply followed Impa, figuring that it would be more useful if she kept an eye out for any of the various creatures that lived and hunted and ate in the darkness. After a while the moldy air of the stone passages began to grow fresher and was replaced by the slightly alkaline smell of running water. Before long Zelda could hear the sound of the water rushing through the tunnels ahead of them, and after Impa unlocked a series of rusty iron gates with a mere touch of her hands they were in the castle sewers.

“Be on your guard,” Impa said in a muted voice. “The path we’ve taken has been safe so far, but there are no Sheikah wards to protect us here. I hope we won’t run into anything too dangerous, but it’s probably going to get messy at some point.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Nabooru replied, patting Impa on the shoulder.

Impa nodded in response. “We need to move quickly. The longer we linger, the more likely something unpleasant will notice us.”

Unlike the bare walls and floors of the dungeon corridors, the sewers were clogged with hanging strands of gray moss and the dangling tips of pale and unhealthy roots. Rats as big as dogs skittered across the slippery walkways, and keese with viciously sharp teeth swooped down at them from the ceiling. As she promised, Nabooru made proficient use of her spear, and Impa struck anything that came close to her with the glowing blade she held in her hand like a torch. Zelda conserved her energy and arrows, keenly aware that her arsenal was limited.

Ganondorf focused his attention behind them, presumably to ensure that they weren’t blindsided by an attack from the rear, and it was he who saw the skulltulas first.

“My dear cousin,” he said in Gerudo, the resonant tones of his voice echoing through the vaulted stone corridors, “I do believe this Sheikah friend of yours has led us directly into a den of monsters. If you would be so kind as to look up, you’ll witness something quite disturbing. But no sudden movements, if you please.”

Zelda was so amazed by the cultured politesse of Ganondorf’s language that it took her a moment to process his words and do as he suggested. As soon as she looked above her, she wished she hadn’t. Hundreds of beady red eyes formed pinpricks of light in the shadowy mass of webbing attached to the ceiling. Nothing moved until a skulltula plopped to the ground in front of them with a sickeningly heavy thud. It was young, only as wide around as a paving stone, but it demonstrated no signs of fear, only looking at them with its eight horrible eyes.

“Well, cousin,” Nabooru muttered, “I would never claim that you’re one for theatrics, but if you wanted to show off for the princess then now’s the time.”

Ganondorf clicked his tongue in annoyance, a sound that was swiftly followed by a terrible rustling above their heads.

“To me!” he shouted, and Nabooru dashed toward him. Impa followed suit, grabbing Zelda and dragging her along so that they were all pressed against Ganondorf.

“Shut your eyes,” he commanded. Zelda did so, and a split second later her ears were filled with the roar of an incredible rush of wind. The air crackled and buzzed with magic, and Zelda squinted her eyes open enough to see that they were surrounded by a tempest of flames. The inferno was so bright that she once again screwed her eyes tightly shut.

After perhaps half a minute, Impa loosened her grip on Zelda’s arm, and she opened her eyes. It took her vision a moment to clear, but there were no skulltulas to be seen, nor any of their webs. There was, however, a peculiar odor.

“Did you really have to vaporize the sewer water?” Nabooru said to Ganondorf, waving her hand in front of her nose.

“How about that,” Impa remarked, whistling in admiration. “I’m impressed. Is everyone from that desert of yours some sort of wizard?”

“Oh goodness no,” Nabooru responded, laughing as she began following Impa, who once again took the lead. “A few of our elders specialize in that sort of thing, and some of us take a class or two during basic training, but this one is special. He always had his head in the books when he was a kid, and then he got into the habit of exploring ruins. He calls this spell ‘Din’s Fire,’ and he claims he learned it from a fairy in some sort of secret fountain out in the sand wastes.”

“So the Great Fairies are real, then?” Impa interjected, turning to face Ganondorf. “You lucky bastard! I’d love to meet one myself.”

Ganondorf merely grunted in response, and Impa shrugged and continued on her way.

Zelda did her best to keep walking, putting one foot in front of the other, but her earlier sense of going on a grand adventure had vanished. Ganondorf’s casual display of such powerful destructive magic filled her with dread. It had been difficult – almost impossible – for her to reconcile the warlords she saw in her visions with the Ganondorf she had once played with as a child, but it had finally come home to her that this man was capable of hideous acts of violence. Scenes from her visions looped through her mind: the enemy general decimating the soldiers at the front gate of Hyrule Castle, the warlock king striking a burning tower as tall as the heavens with a jagged streak of lightning, the demonic face of the young prince after the Gerudo camp was attacked, the black-scaled deity looking down on a decimated kingdom with its callous golden eyes. Even if their cause was just – no, especially if their cause was just – the ends these men used to justify their means were unspeakable.

When Zelda told Ganondorf that she still hadn’t decided whether to save him or to kill him when she came to him in the dungeon, she wasn’t being facetious. She owed it to herself and her kingdom to find out what he truly wanted, but she could not afford to spare him if he did become a monster – if he did become the “Ganon” whose name was being chanted by roving mobs in the streets high above their heads. She had not seen any of the princesses in her visions kill the men who had become their nemeses, but of course they had. She did not want to kill Ganondorf, the man she had danced with in the sky above a crumbling castle that not even the stars could see, but of course she would.

May the goddess grant me wisdom, she prayed, hoping against hope that she could find another way.

The quartet continued on without further incident. The line of Impa’s mouth grew thinner as her facial features solidified into a stony blankness. It was clear to Zelda that something was bothering her.

“It’s been a while since we passed the skulltula nest,” Nabooru remarked, apparently picking up on Impa’s shift in mood, “but I haven’t seen so much as a single keese since then. Did those spiders manage to eat everything down here?”

Impa didn’t answer, but she quickened her pace. They all followed her in silence.

There was no sound aside from the flow of water churning alongside the raised walkways, but Zelda gradually became aware of a quiet but discordant noise.

“Impa…?” she whispered, wondering if she were the only one who heard it.

“We’re very close” was Impa’s curt reply. “But we need to move quickly.”

They passed through a tunnel with a low overhang and into a chamber so vast that its dimensions were lost in shadow. Perhaps it might once have been used as a reservoir, but its uneven floor was dry and dusty. Zelda couldn’t see far into the darkness, but the odd sound had grown louder.

“Okay, we need to stop now,” Nabooru announced, plunking the end of her spear onto the floor. “I can hear something out there, and it’s giving me the creeps. I have a bad feeling about this. Is there another way we can go?”

“I think… I think we better,” Impa muttered. Zelda was shocked by the sudden uncertainty in Impa’s voice, and she immediately realized what they had inadvertently wandered into. The underground passageways they had been traversing eventually connected to the temple in the forest, but along the way they passed under the castle graveyard. Zelda strongly suspected that they had found themselves in something far more disturbing than an empty reservoir.

“It might be too late to return the way we came,” Ganondorf said. He raised his hand and sent a glowing ball of light upwards, illuminating the chamber and revealing that they were surrounded by hideous creatures that had once been human but were now nothing of the sort. The broken figures shambled toward them, blocking the way forward – and the way back.

To her credit, Nabooru didn’t panic. “What are these things?” she asked Impa. “And, more importantly, how to we get rid of them?”

Impa shook her head in response as she scanned the room. Zelda could tell that she was searching for grappling targets, but the ceiling was much too high.

Not wanting to interrupt whatever plan Impa might be in the process of forming, Zelda answered Nabooru’s question. “We call these things ReDeads, and we can’t kill them. They’re already dead, or… or something like it.”

“Is it possible to hold them off?” Nabooru asked.

“I’m not sure,” Zelda replied. “I’ve never fought one. They don’t respond to being attacked. It’s easy enough to avoid them, but I’ve never seen more than one or two at a time. They’re generally guarding something, and it’s best just to leave them to it. They’re usually not so aggressive, unless…” Zelda realized that she was rambling, and she shut her mouth abruptly. Nothing she was saying was helping. The only thing she could do was to fit an arrow to the string of her bow and hope that she would be able to momentarily slow down any of the creatures that came too close.

“All right, so physical attacks won’t work,” Nabooru responded calmly. “How about fire? Din knows we have enough of that to go around.”

“That won’t stop them,” Ganondorf muttered.

“What?” Zelda turned to him. How would he know?

“We don’t actually need to fight them,” Ganondorf continued. “They’re animated by Sheikah magic, so we can use Sheikah magic to command them.”

He glanced at Impa. “By your leave,” he said. She responded with a look of horror.

This didn’t seem to bother Ganondorf. He began chanting in an oddly accented language that Zelda had never heard before. The curiously asymmetric structure of its tones bothered her, and she thought to herself that she would prefer never to hear it again. As Ganondorf’s words rang out through the vast room, the creeping monstrosities stopped in their tracks and began to sway in time to the irregular rhythm of the cadence of his voice. Zelda was shocked when it occurred to her that they were actually listening to him, something that she didn’t think was possible with these creatures. It chilled her to her core to realize that they still possessed some semblance of consciousness and will, and that they were capable of more than mindlessly crouching and lunging at anything that made the mistake of crossing the lines of the spellwork that bound them.

Nabooru and Impa watched Ganondorf with identical expressions of disgust. Zelda had no idea what they were thinking, but she was filled with terror. It was bad enough that Ganondorf knew it was possible to communicate with the undead, and it was worse that he had not only learned how this was done but was apparently skilled at doing so. And yet Zelda wasn’t surprised; she felt as if she had known this all along somewhere in the farthest recesses of her mind. A warlord needs an army, after all, but there were never enough Darknuts or Moblins or even Gerudo to attack Hyrule, not even if they combined their forces. Was this what “Ganon” was, the legendary Demon King? Could he truly control creatures like this? Could he force them to do his bidding? Is that what made him such an object of fear and hatred?

To Zelda, however, the most troubling realization was that Ganondorf was using Sheikah magic, and he was proficient at a level far above anything Impa could command. He clearly knew Sheikah herbal lore as well, so he must have known that it was the Sheikah who created ReDeads, normal humans who were tortured to the point of mindless madness but denied the release of death, forever cursed to guard the tombs and secrets of the royal family. The ReDeads, as awful as they were, were bound to Zelda just as the Sheikah themselves were. Impa had taught Zelda, deep in the training grounds underneath the Sheikah village of Kakariko, that one day she would inherit this legacy of darkness. It was something she didn’t like to think about, something she wished she could dissociate herself from. One day, when she was queen, she would do away with these sorts of foul practices, she told herself, even as she knew that it would become her job as a monarch to use any means at her disposal to maintain the peace of the world above this subterranean nightmare. After all, the dead had never rested easy in Hyrule, and the good of the many far outweighed the fate of a few unlucky souls.

Zelda hated this aspect of the monarchy and was grateful for the services of the Sheikah, who shielded the light of the royal family from the shadows of their kingdom, but Ganondorf had known about this darkness all along. How many of the unsavory secrets of the queens and kings of Hyrule did he know? What had he learned in the ruins of the temples and factories and castles and prisons that her ancestors had abandoned? What did he know that she didn’t?

Zelda was paralyzed by loathing – loathing of the ReDeads that swayed in place according to a hellish rhythm but did not retreat, loathing of Ganondorf who felt no shame at exerting his will over them, and loathing of herself for her powerlessness. Perhaps she could use her ocarina to amplify the effect of Ganondorf’s chanting, but she was so overcome by queasiness and doubt that she could barely bring herself to move.

Suddenly there was a bright flash of light in the distance. It was as if someone had uncovered the lens of a gas-powered torch pointed directly at the ceiling. As the beam of light drew closer, the ReDeads shrank away into the shadows at the edges of the chamber, and a hooded figure walked slowly into the void they left, holding a glowing sword aloft.

“Link?” Zelda recognized him immediately, but she couldn’t begin to understand why he was here or what he was doing.

“That’s right, Princess, it’s me,” he called out to her from across the expanse of the dirty tiled floor. “Can you get that idiot to shut up? What he’s doing isn’t the least bit useful, and his voice is bothering me.”

Ganondorf scowled but fell silent. His eerie chanting had set Zelda’s nerves on edge, and she sighed with relief now that he had finally stopped.

“What is that child doing here?” Nabooru asked Impa. “Does someone want to explain what’s going on? Is he really holding what I think he is? Farore save us all.”

“I don’t believe it,” Impa muttered, shaking her head as Link continued to walk toward them, the ReDeads cowering away from him. “He’s done it. He’s drawn the Master Sword.”

Zelda glanced at Ganondorf, but his expression was unreadable. The light he had cast was fading, and his face was obscured by the sharp shadows thrown by the bright illumination of Link’s sword. Zelda was well aware that Ganondorf was the most dangerous thing in this room, and she didn’t want to turn her back on him. Still, the best way to extricate all of them from the tension of this situation was to get Link talking. Once they’d all gotten it through their heads that no one was in any immediate danger, then hopefully they could get out of this crypt.

Zelda marched straight to Link, ignoring the dry shuffling and mulchy odor to either side of her, and pointed her finger at him, still holding an arrow in her fist.

“What in the blessed name of Hylia are you doing here?”

“Is this not a reasonable place to take an evening stroll?” Link asked in return.

“Well, it sure does look like everyone’s doing it, doesn’t it?” Zelda countered, annoyed at his levity. “You, me, two trained assassins, the man who’s supposed to destroy Hyrule, and several dozen of the walking dead. Is this some kind of surprise party for my coronation? Because I for one am not enjoying myself.”

“Zelda, listen… ” Link made a pained face and an awkward gesture.

This only added to Zelda’s aggravation. “That’s right, Link, I’m listening, so you better start explaining, right now.”

“I was sent here,” Link responded.

“To save us?”

“Saving you was a happy accident, if you can call any sort of encounter with these things happy. What I meant is that I was sent to guard the entrance to the Temple of Time.”

“To guard it against monsters.”

“Well, no… Not precisely. I was told to stop anyone who tried to approach the temple through the underground passageways.”

“Specifically me,” Ganondorf interjected, pushing his way forward.

“Specifically you.” Link nodded.

“Is that the Master Sword, then?” Ganondorf asked, not wasting words.

“You look different,” Link said, not meeting his eyes. “Is it the beard? It must be the beard.”

“Do you understand what you’ve done by drawing that sword?” Ganondorf growled.

“Don’t act like you’re not involved in this,” Link responded, losing his temper. “I just did what I was ordered to do, and those orders wouldn’t have been necessary if it weren’t for you.”

Ganondorf tensed, startling Zelda. She put a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him.

“Some hero you are,” Ganondorf muttered in a voice so low that only Zelda could hear it.

“I don’t care what my father ordered you to do,” Zelda said, raising her own voice so that it echoed across the chamber. In the brief silence that followed, she could hear the choked groaning of the ReDeads lurking in the shadows. She raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and met Link’s eyes with a fierce gaze. “I am Princess Zelda, Hylia’s descendant, and I am going to the Temple of Time. This man is coming with me, and you are going to escort us there. Do I make myself clear?”

Link grimaced, but he nodded.

Zelda turned to Impa and Nabooru. “You’ve both done well to bring me this far, but you don’t need to go any farther. I absolve you from all responsibility for what happens next. Go back to the castle. I’m sure there are people there who are going to need your skills before the sun rises.”

Impa shook her head. “I wish we could, Princess, but we can’t. It’s started. The sword has been drawn, and the cycle has begun. None of us can go back now.”

Zelda had never seen Impa look so defeated, and Nabooru hung her head at her friend’s side. What Zelda felt at that moment was not courage, and it certainly wasn’t wisdom. She’d gotten caught up in something that she seemed to have no control over, and it made her furious. She glanced at Ganondorf and saw her own anger and frustration reflected in his eyes. A moment of understanding passed between them, and that’s when she found what she was looking for – power.

She faced Link once again, her eyes blazing. “War is breaking out on the eve of my coronation, and I am not wasting another second standing around chatting in the sewer under a graveyard. If we can’t go back, we can only go forward. Take us to the Temple of Time, now.”

( Link to Chapter 25: The Power of the Gods )

#Princess Zelda #Ganondorf #Zelgan #The Legend of the Princess #Zelda fic #my fic

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