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lillaxtrigger · 2 years

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Street Smarts: Chapter 5

The midnight’s gibbous moon shines its opulent lunar rays through the clear blue skies and lends its pale white light throughout the foreboding graveyard; glistening on the top of the gang’s van as they park right along the side of the front gates. The van’s passenger side slide out as the doors creak open, Satette and the rest of the crew beholding the modestly small yard of buried cadavers. “Uh...It’s a graveyard? That’s where our little key is hidden?” Sat questions. “Yep, Scions said that the spare key leading to the cults hideaway is stowed underneath this graveyard.” claims Monty. “But, its so small. How do those guys expect to hide something so important well here?” Thursotte then wonders. “There’s probably more to this place than it seems.” warns Frida. “Back in my teens, a bunch of guys and I would hang around here doing all sorts of weird shit. One of them wound up knocking this tombstone over and found a way leading underground, found whole ass catacombs down there.” Wedsle explains. “You guys just toppled them over for fun?” Sat scorns. “Yeah, didn’t really hang with the best crowd back then.” “As apposed to the one you got yourself into now?” Frida then retorts. “That’s a double edged sword there your swinging around, Frids. None of us here our exactly saints.” their lightly leader reminds. “Yeah, but we practically belong together.” “Aww.” Sats coo’s. “I mean what kind of freaks in their right minds would be caught in our little cavalcade of horrors besides people like us.” the dimensional psychic iterates. “Oh…” the lively young lady deflates.

“Weds, do you even remember which of these tombstones you wound up knocking over?” Thurs then questions. “Not really. All I remember from that night is that when we went down and ventured not to deep into the tunnels, the boys and I wound up running into, and I fucking kid you not, a decomposed rotting corpse walkin to us.” “A zombie!? Like a real ass zombie!?” Sat exclaims. “Pretty much.” “Was it the Walking dead kind of zombie or was just brain dead?” Monty further asks. “Did it talk?” Frida then joins in to questions. “We didn’t stick around long enough to find out. We ran sharting pants screaming and bolting straight back up and outta the whole graveyard.” “You...actually crapped yourself?” concerns Thursotte. “My one friend did. Had some strange bowel problems.” “How much you willing to bet he was that one friend.” Frida whispers to Sat. “Fuck off.” Weds ends it with.

“Breaking into a graveyard? I...Fine, fine. Long as we don’t have to dig up any caskets. Feels wrong in the pit of my stomach.” Satette state. “You know those are scams, right?” Thurs then speaks up about. “Coffins?” “Graveyards?” “Funerals?” “All if it, the whole thing. Our bodies aren’t meant to be embalmed and stowed away underground in a box when we die. We’re supposed to decompose into stuff for other things to feed off, like flies, maggots, birds, the soils; all that return to Earth business like nature intended. But some pieces of shit went off to try and capitalize on the sorrow of losing our loved ones and convinced everyone at large to just stuff’em in a box and bury them with all this expensive prep work; making them spend fat stacks of cash on all that fancy stuff cause they’re convinced it’ll give those that pass on they respect they deserve. It’s borderline evil if I’m being honest.” “I don’t think they convinced everyone. There’s still cultures today that dispose of their dead in different ways.” Monty rebukes. “Yeah, vikings doing that whole thing with the burning boat. The Philippines leaving the bodies on top of mountains. Hell, in the Madagascar, some people fucking dance around them.” Wedsle details. “Some tribes even eat the bodies of their people when they die and use their bones as décor.” Frida then brings up. “Doesn’t cannibalism make people contract diseases?” Satette then questions. “Only if you eat the brain. Pretty sure everything else is free game.” “How and why do you know that?”

Entering through the graveyards main gate shifts the lunar light shining above them from a welcoming glow into a turning melancholic uneasiness, like all of them were feeling an unspoken warning given by the grounds that make up the inner city graveyard; all accompanied by a barely noticeable thin line of dark green fog grazing the grass. “Hey Weds. That zombie you guys ran into back then, you think that might’ve been a psychic’s handiwork?” Thursotte then questions. “I don’t think there’d be much else that would explain it in retrospect.” “Then we need to keep our eyes peeled in a place like this. If it is a psychic, the extent of their powers could reach through this entire graveyard.” “Good Call there, Frida. Think our best bet here is to split into teams to watch each other’s backs. You and Weds head out’n look through the west part of the yard. I’ll take the kids over out to the east.” Monty orders. “Kay.” Frida affirms. “Aye, aye boss.” Wedsle adds as both he and the dimensional psychic split from the pack towards where their leader had told them to venture out.

“Whoa, wait, kids?” Thurs utters. “Yeah, I mean, we’re in our twenties.” Sat adds. “Whelp, time to relive my disorderly high school days and go tip over some tombstone.” states Monty. “Please don’t tell me you used to desecrate graves too.” groans Sat. “Well, guess not tip over graves. More often than not, the gang I was in would run around near bars and knock over people that were plastered drunk. We’d make bets to see which of them would vomit when they hit the ground. Just good old teenage shenanigans, am I right?” “I-No! What!?” Thurs exclaims.

Earthly soil, soften by the insects and worms burrowing underneath, is exposed to the cool midnight air when knocking the hefty tombstone off its bottom; a soft groan leaves Wedsle when peering down to the flattened dirt to find not a single open space hidden under the carved rock. Glancing over to the massive tombstone sitting right beside him, the purple psychic sees his partner in crime slide up an out from the bottom of the grave and emerge from the flat plane that makes up its rocky surface. “Nothing?” he asks Frida. “Nope.” “Alright.”

In fully returning to the 3rd dimension, a disappointed sigh seeps out from Frida’s mouth as she watches her violet partner kick over a couple more tombstones next to him; some of them left chipped up when falling right onto one another. “Ahhg. I know were doing this for the mission, but I still can’t get over how you used to just defile people’s graves for shits and giggles when you were a shitty teenager. Like I didn’t even go out to do that when I was a kid.” she claims. “Well, what kind of hormonal driven shenanigan did you get up to before the sense of dreadful unimportant and depressing realization started to seep its way into your adolescent brains.” Weds then asks her. “Just normal teenage stuff. That’s it.” “What, like wondering if the crush you had on that girl from English class was just you being curious or what?” “Oh yeah, cause I’d just up and blurt out what turned me on, right?”

“Noticed you don’t real delve into much else when it comes to yourself either. We’ve been working under Monty for about what, 1½ years now; and you barely ever said damn a thing about yourself. Not favorite color, not your birthday, not to even what happened before we met.” “So what? Do I got some kind of obligation to talk about myself? Was that part of the deal?” “I’m just thinking you might be a little cautious to open up to people.” “You don’t know anything about me.” “I know when your pissed. Don’t need my powers to tell me that.” “Ugh, whatever.” Frida dismisses as she starts to head over to the next set of graves, all while her purple partner is left concerned over her reservation.

The rough thud made by the toppling tombstones reverberates across the eastern side of the graveyard as its face smacks upon the grass; Monty letting out swift sigh while stretching out and cracking his fingers; going: “Ooh, man. About to hit forty, but this man’s still got more lift than a shorty. But…” The lightly leader’s optimism over barely any lose of his youthful vigor slightly melts when gazing underneath the tombstone he had just tipped over, finding not a sign of a secret way down among the dirt. “Putting the spotlight on the soil might take more time. What about you two, bring anything to light yet?” questions Monty, gazing over to both his subordinates searching through the neighboring row of graves.

Though tilting over the sign of a grave proved little problem for the lightly leader, Thursotte on the other hand shows far more struggle in lifting the tombstone even an inch off the ground; the psychic of accidents letting out grunts and growls as he strangles his thinly arms in pulling at the rock plate. Thurs ultimately fails to uproot even an inch of the gravestone out from the dirt; his grip slipping off the smooth rock before he falls flat onto the dewy grass behind him. In pulling himself back off the slippery wet grass, Thurs peers over to find his lively partner in crime simply staring to one of the tombstone before her, refusing to lay even a single hand on the stone as she looks to the face with forlorn. “Hey Sat, um...If your not to busy questioning the ethical morals of lightly tampering with the burial sites of the dead, you think you can help me get these stones out the ground? That’d be nice thanks.” “No…” “Huh.” “I can’t just go defiling people’s graves like this, it’s just disrespectful.” “Oh come on there, Sats.” Monty speaks up with as he leans onto the tombstone she faces. “These dead guys are about 6 feet under us. You heard what Weds said, that tunnel into the catacombs is just hidden underneath the stones. We ain’t gotta dig anybody up or nothin, just pluck these oversized plaques like solid hard turnips and look for the prize.” “Yeah, come on. It ain’t like were digging these guys up and peeing in their coffins. We just need to look under the stones; I’d hardly call that being disrespectful. Would you?” “Um…” “Oy!” all of them suddenly hear shouted at them.

Out towards the small mausoleum do all of them behold a hunched over figure looming over the shadow cast, wielding a pair of massive hedge clippers; this person steps into the moonlight to reveal themselves to be an elderly woman donning a groundskeeper uniform than comes hobbling out to them and screams: “The hell are you doing?” “Uhhh. Ma’am, I-I can explain, we-” “Oh yeah, cause I’d love to hear the excuse of a little girl prowling through the graveyard on her own in the middle of the night!” “Well, you see there, I was just...Wait, on my own?” the lively young lady then questions, glancing to her sides to find not a soul beside her. But its in lightly peeking behind one of the gravestones next to her than she finds her lightly leader hiding on the other side; refracting the light across his and Thursotte’s body as he gives Sat a single finger over his lips; a clear sign to keep quiet about their escapades. God damn you.

“Well, you got anything to say for yourself, or do you just wanna stare out into space like some dumb bimbo?” the old woman snaps at her to draw her attention back. “Ah, uh, uh, you see, uh, I...was actually out here looking for a shoe I wound up leaving behind. See, I wound up getting a little too tipsy last night and didn’t wanna risk driving back home; so, I decides to just walk back instead. But when I got back, I realized that one of my shoes was missing, so I thought “Okay, must’ve fell of as I was trekking back.” and waiting til tomorrow to retrace my steps, see if I could find it. I-I know what your gonna say “Taking a shortcut through a graveyard?” I know, b-b-but its New York, in the middle of the night, while I’m plastered. Just seemed like the safest option compared to taking a chance through the streets. You get it.” “Hmmmm…” “I practically checked everywhere else but here, and I was just trying to figure out where the hell my shoe went, that’s it, I swear.” “Mmm, and the tombstone?” the old woman questions pointing over to the toppled gravestone. “Oh, oh no. Oh god. So-so that’s what I wound up tripping over...I’m so sorry.” Satette falsely apologizes for, wondering over the knocked over tombstone and lifting it back onto its base where it had stood.

The nearly detailed false story that Sat had cobbled together on the spot draws out a soft sigh from the groundskeeper as she shakes her head before responding with: “Gah, you damn kids, I swear. What’s this shoe look like?” “Um...They have a navy blue pattern with a yellow gold heel. A little fancy, sure. But my friend wound up landing a promotion at work and wanted to bust them out for an occasion.” “Ugh...Just...don’t take too long. If I wind up coming across it, I’ll shout for ya.” the old woman offers as she starts to head back. “Th-thank you.” “Don’t mention...But just keep something in mind for me, will ya.” “Uh, sure.” “Don’t disrespect the dead; cause if you do, they won’t respect you.” These being the last words that Satette hears out from the old woman before she slithers back into the shadows of the night, the lively young woman left utterly somewhat frightened and confused as she simply utters: “O...O-Ookay…”

As soon as the elderly groundskeeper was out of site, the light controlling leader of the crew and the chaos controlling psychic come rising out from the other side of the gravestones behind her, Monty giving the young girl a pat on the shoulder as he compliment: “Smooooooth there, Sats, real smooth.” “Yeah, I didn’t think you had it in you to lie so well like that. I took as more of the unflinchingly honest type.” adds Thursotte. “Believe me, I’m not proud of it. It just comes with years of unwarranted experience...I-I just still can’t believe I blatantly lied to an old woman like that.” the lively lady laments. “Relax. What she doesn’t know won’t make her die any faster. Now, come on, you and Thurs gimme a hand here with this couple’s tombstone. The big heart there’s pretty damn heavy.” Monty requests out from her, leaving Satette to ponder over the old woman’s words of warning about respecting the dead, all the while she pulls out her phone to send out a quick text.

“Ran into the groundskeeper, told her I was looking for my shoe, play along if she asks.” A fair warning sent by his teammate when Wedsle checks the messages on his phone, then glancing over to see the dimensional psychic sliding underneath more of the tombstones; stepping out from one grave and moving right into the next. “Remind me again why you can’t just move across the ground to check under the tombstones.” “Cause flat, and bare surfaces are easier to move through. You ever trying moving across grass in the 2nd dimension?” Frida explains. “Not really, you never bother to relate to anybody, much less tell us about what’s going through that head of yours.” “I don’t gotta tell you shit about myself.” “See, its that kind of recluse demeanor that we in the business like to call bottom energy.” “Fuck off. Also, nobody calls it that.” “Well, maybe you’d know more people that do if you weren’t so closed off. Maybe open up a little.” “No thanks. Been there, done that. Didn’t work out to well.” “Okay, now where getting somewhere.” “You wish. Looked underneath about 15 of these rocks and haven’t found a damn thing under them.” “Meant more over your insecurities but go on, I guess.” Weds retorts. “Yeah, cuss I definitely need therapeutic help from the guy who has the power to emotionally manipulate people.” “Wouldn’t that make me more qualified?”

In the midst of their little back and forth over talking about her reluctantly connective mindset, Frida slips right into the plane of the last tombstone along the row and slides right underneath like the rest; the dimensional psychic stops halfway under the gravestone before crawling back up and popping out from the surface to inform that she: “Found something.” “Did you now?” Wedsle questions as his partner in crime as she slips out from the surface of the stone. Putting nothing but one foot onto the tombstone about half his size, Wedsle uproots the grave with just a single kick, toppling the polished flat plaque right onto the grass with a soft thud. Rather than the usual softened soil that they have been uncovering under the grave stones thus far, the purple psychic gives a grin when they finally discover a hole lined with ancient brick leading deeper underground. “Be it from the ground or a person, there is no hole that can hide from my penetrative influence and rock hard resolve.” “...Was that a suppose to be a dick joke?” “...What’s this dick you speak of?” Wedsle asks with a playful jest smile. “Dah, shut up and get in the fucking hole.” While the two mobsters take their decent the open hole and into the underground, neither of them notice the hunched figure gazing to them from the shadows; the dark green power that pours out from their body seeping through the graveyards very soil.

A chilling shutter suddenly crawls across Satette’s body in their search through the graveyard, all the while both the boys accompanying her work to pull one of the heavier tombstone up from their roots; Monty lifting the grave stone off the ground as Thursotte takes a peeks underneath. “You see anything?” the light leader grunts out. “Uh…” Thurs utters, peeking under where the hefty stone once stood, finding nothing but rocks and works waiting underneath. “I don’t think so...” “Did either of you get the worst kind of chill just now?” Sat asks the two of them. “No.” “Not...a jolt!” Monty grunts as he struggles to keep the weighty stone grave up. “Oh...uh, I’m gonna take a peek in that Mausoleum, see if there’s anything in there.” “Kay.” Thursotte passingly leaves her with, continuing to gaze to the soil that was under the hefty statue. “I think there might be something in the dirt here.” Alas does the last of their light manipulating leader physical strength fade in holding the hefty tombstone, both Monty and the statue falling back as the polished stones weight tumbles down on top of him. “Jesus, Monty!”

A cloud of dust flutters through the inside of the Mausoleum as the doors leading inside slowly creak open; Sat pushing only pushing her way in so far before realizing the decades worth of flora and ivy having locked the place from the inside. Satette squeeze her hand through the open crack to brush her fingertips across the foliage leaves, letting her psychic influence seep into the collection of gathered ivy. The lively young woman commands the years worth of greens to slither out through the crack and wrap themselves around her arm like a natural sleeve; Sat looking to the plants enveloping her arm with a curious pondering. Huh, kind of itchy.

Having unraveled decades gathered foliage inside the Mausoleum, Sat has no trouble letting herself inside as years worth of dust whip around from the fresh night breeze that bellows in; the light of the midnight moon flooding through the darkness. Little else but the tombs of the dead are all that await her within the small graveyard building, all of the surrounding a statue of a towering man donned in 17th century attire; the sort of clothing you would find somebody of importance wearing back there. Like a mayoral candidate, or a corrupt businessman looking to exploit immigrants for cheap labor cost. Sat on the other hand is still left curious over the strange chill she had felt across her body not to long ago as she strolls her way in towards the statue.

Seriously, what did I feel back there? It was like something in the pit of my head made my whole body quiver. What I felt wasn’t just a sense of fright either, every fiber in my body was screaming out that something was very wrong. But what could have made me feel like that? Did it have something to do with my powers? Am I just still a little creeped out from Wedsle story about that zombie? I don’t know, but that feeling is still lingering, so something is definitely wrong here.

Upon coming up to the statue set in the middle of the small mausoleum, Sat immediately notices something off about the statue’s arm, a hollow sleeve left where its hand would typically be. Curiosity gets the better of the young girl as she reaches up to the hollowed out arm and slithers her own limb deeper into the statues crevices, shoving practically her whole arm through the hole as she reaches deep up the statue sleeve. But she then feels something squirming along the end of the hollow hole and swiftly pulls her arm out from the depths of the statue, the unexpected finding making her fall off the statues pedestal and onto the rough stone floor.

Before the young lady could ponder over what the end of her fingers had brushed upon, Satette witnesses something slink out from the hole she just had her arm through; the flooding moonlight letting her bare witness to what seemed like mold ridden flesh come squeezing out from the hole. There’s little time for Satette to run out the doors however as this rotting meat comes reaching at her; its flesh forming into the shape of several hands. No you fucking don’t!

The collection of gathered ivy around Sat’s arm glows with her signiture lively green light as she commands the plants to intercept the reaching hand of decomposing meat; thrusting its roots into the arms of the elongated limb. Among the meeting of rotting flesh and ivy, that same sensation of dread she had felt before jolts throughout her body, cause the young lady to reflexively pull herself back; the swift retreat rending the molding and decomposed meat in her ivy’s grasp to chunky beef. This tearing of the flesh causing the statue to swiftly start breaking apart into hefty stone pieces, their weight breaking apart the floor of the mausoleum and plunging into the darkness underneath. The stone under her feet crumbling, Satette bolts straight back towards the door, but is stopped short when just at finger’s length from the handle. She glances back with shuddering terror when discovering the tendrils of the arm she had cut to ribbons reconstituting back together wrapping itself around her leg as the chunks of stone it was attached to descends into the void. Like somebody tied to a cinder block and dumped into the lake, the fleshy rope that had entangled itself around the woman’s leg drags her down into the shadows; her screams drowned out by the crumbling stone.

Thursotte’s ears perk up in hearing the distinct crumbling rock and gazes out to the mausoleum, having just heaved the hefty tombstone off of his lightly leader; the chaotic psychic letting out a worried groan as he gazes towards the Mausoleum while wondering: “Hey, didn’t Sat say something about checking out the Mausoleum?” “Yeah...Why?” Monty questions as he catches his breath. “I-I thought I heard something, like rock breaking off.” “Thurs, this graveyards pretty damn old for being so small. Probably just some coffins collapsing or something.” “Eesh, this place makes my skin crawl more the longer we hang around here.” “Yeah, we should’ve brought shovels; finding a way under here’s taking way too long...Maybe our little search wouldn’t be in so much of a rut if a little accident were to happen, don’t ya think?” the leader claims, giving his subordinate a sly grin. “Oh no, Abso-fricking-ulity not. You know I hate using my powers that carelessly, Monty.” “Come on, most of the people that you could wind up hurting here are already dead; what’s the big deal?” “Yeah, but in a graveyard, in the middle of the city; you know how much attention that alone would attract? Plus it ain’t even a guarantee that we’d find a way down the tunnels. Not to mention how easily I could see a cave in happening? Face it, there’s way too many factors here that could wind up hindering us more than helping.” “Alright, alright. I’ll just text Weds and see if they found anything.” the light controlling leader concedes as he pulls out his phone.

While his commander was in the midst of sending the message out to the other team, Thursotte’s eyes are drawn to the fresh patch of soil that had been hidden underneath the weighty tombstone he had just finshed prying off of Monty; the young man concerned over the small pieces of white sticking out from the dirt. When kneeling down to the soil for a closer inspection, he realizes that these pieces seemed far too thinly to be so naturally carved; Monty digging a little ways into the dirt to realize that this was no mere stone, but parts of a finger connected to a skeletal human hand with some skin still attached. What the hell?...Why under… Before his mind could fire off another question over the misplaced burial, the hand juts right out from the ground and clutches its boney fingers tightly to his wrist; Thurs letting out a sharp yelp as this hand starts to drag him into the ground.

“Gah! Monty!” the lightly leader hears his subordinate scream out, swiftly glancing back and is alarmed when finding Thursotte’s arm dragged down into the dirt. “Oh shit!” Monty immediately rushes to the young man’s and wraps his arms around Thurs’s shoulders in an effort to pull him out from the clutches of doom; the strength of the skeletal arm proving far more stronger than either of them could predict as it drags the two of them deeper into the graveyard soil. “Let go, you’re gonna get pulled in!” Thursotte exclaims. “Hell no. I ain’t gonna let any member of my team get taken from me!” Try with every ounce of their combined might to uproot themselves from the skeletal arms deathly clutches, the two of them sink into the dirt as swiftly as quicksand, leaving not even a single trace of them anywhere above ground. Alongside where the two had been plunged down into the dirt, Monty’s cellphone lays right side up on the freshly dewed graveyard grass; the device letting out a light chime when the text he had sent gets a reply from the purple psychic.

With nothing but the glowing screen of their cellphones to light the way through the underground, Weds and Frida journey through the halls of the graveyards catacombs; the ancient tunnels boasting a design unlike which seemed unconventional. Dirt ridden marble lines the floor of the tunnels rather than uncut rock; the walls lined with the still remains of those that have passed, propped up more like they were holding the ceiling up. The roof meanwhile seemed to be made from arched stone brick carved with Christian iconography, depicting figures such as Samuel, Moses, Mary, and of course Jesus Christ; their figures stretched along the bottom of the arches. “This don’t feel right?” “Yeah, all this seems way too fancy just to be any normal catacombs. Just how long had something like this been down here?” Frida wonders. “No, I meant with Monty. Glitzy bastard usually texts back right away. Something’s up.” Wedsle claims, staring to the text messages on his phone. “You think they might’ve found away down here like we did?” “Doubt it. He wouldn’t be asking us if we did then.”

“Right, uh…” Her eyes drawn to the corpses positioned like statues lining the walls, Frida notices some strange details about them that catch her eyes; primarily their heads. All that made up their faces be nothing but three same sized holes where the eyes and mouth would normally be, their hollow gaze staring to the two as they proceed through the tunnels. Something else that stands out to her be the hands and feet of these partially decomposed figures, their fingers and toe’s fused together much like those of a plastic doll. And not all of their bodies were made of rotting meat, as some parts of them had clumps of hardened dirt holding them together making up what flesh had been lost. They seemed like actual dead bodies, the unmistakable stench of death made that fact certain, but the bizzare details in these cadavers and the way they stand raises too many questions for Frida to completely think such; asking her purple partner.

“Weds, that zombie. You notice something off about theme before you guys shat your pants and ran.” “I didn’t shit myself, okay. That was my friend. And honestly...none of us really took a real good look at them to see anything like that. Best we spotted was its torn body and mud festering skin before we bailed.” “Cause these things along the walls are seriously creeping me the fuck out. I don’t wanna be in here longer than we need to. Soon as one of us finds that key, we’re getting the hell outta here.”

“Getting a little claustrophobic, huh? “Why the hell would I be scared of tight space, I cross the 2 dimensional plane on a daily bases.” “I can tell something about all this is making you on edge. You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” Weds offers. “Will you stop trying to relate to me. I told already I’m not in the mood for your shit.” “Come on Frida, you can’t expect keep yourself closed off forever if you wanna make it far in this business. I mean, seriously, you don’t do this kind of cock tease bull with Thursotte...Unless…” “It ain’t like that dumbass. He’s a decade young than me.” “He could be into older women, you never know.” “It’s just that...I know what that kid went through, okay. The kind of shitty hand he had been dealt just when his life was turning for the better. Left to rot by people you thought you could count on.” “Ooh, now where getting somewhere.” “Well that’s as far as your gonna get. We got a job to do, and I’m not gonna let your bullshit praddling get in the way of that.” Frida reminds him. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” Wedsle jests. Dammit. Just...why did you even talk to me that day. Least then I could wallowed in my sorrows in peace.

In walking through the darkened shadows held in the catacombs, Frida emerges into the light of a backroom held in the dim glow of a lone overhanging lamp; this light shining down to a table holding building blueprints depicting a manor, several pictures of people hanging around the property, and piece of paper holding passwords and number codes. Frida takes a seat at this table at this table along side several others, their CIA badges glistening in the lamp light. It was like any other big sting operation for her in this line of work, all like the ones she had performed with this very stealth unit.

Yet to be seen in the public eye as a threat; she would serve as the sniper on top of the neighboring building to shoot out guards and muscle that stood in the way of the rest of the team so they could sneak their way in. The operation proceeded like clockwork, she sniped away the guards, the rest of her team would hide the bodies as they snuck their way in. Be it from outside or straight through the window, Frida vantage point let her act as the teams guardian angel as they made their way up to the boss’s chamber; where they successfully extracted the evidence needed to bring the Kingpin down.

Their finished assignments usually ended with them grabbing dinner, mingling among themselves as they jest and talk the night away with drinks. While on most nights would one of her other team members take care of the bill, it was her turn this time to pay for their expenses; Frida taking out her navy blue purse and slipping out her wallet. After handing her card to the waiter, she peers back to her purse to find one of her teammates brushing her gloved fingers against the golden frame; a concern brushed aside as she thought it was nothing but simple admiration for her newly purchased handbag.

Yet come the day to prosecute the hidden kingpin posing as a mayoral candidate, they’re shocked to discover there having not been enough evidence to warrant blame for the man in his shady dealings and dubious political temperament. A terrible defeat for sure, one that had made the CIA stationed at the county an utter laughing stock. Yet despite their overwhelming set backs, this department had attempted to proceed with their duties as normal; but judgment had come when the monthly inspection had rolled around and a small notebook had been found in Frida’s own purse. This tiny notebook held numerous contacts and numbers connected to international criminal rings and dates depicting trades among them, the last of which was the very night they had done their stealthy intrusion of the secret kingpin.

Though the notebook had been confirmed to be the very same notebook they had plucked from the manor on that same night, questions and persecution still arose when this critical piece of evidence had been found within Frida’s own bag. She claims to have no idea how something so crucial had found their way in her purse and how that her team were the only people that could have had it. Its then that she remembers her team member brushing her fingers against her purse that night, realizing that very same woman had planted the notebook in her purse. But with little eye witness or fingerprints to back this up, her accusation had been cast aside; leaving her being the only one among them to hold responsibility for the downfall of their operation’s failure and making the New York CIA department into a laughing stock.

Even with years of service had spared her of being thrown straight into the slammer, Frida had been ultimately stripped of her rank and thrown out into the streets, jobless. Her expertise in the hands of firearms could only take her so far in the cities business focused job market; the policing refusing to take her in when having heard of her pinned treachery. Her living conditions quickly declined from then on, from a two story home to nothing but a one room apartment. From night of home cooked and healthy meals, to simple tasteless ramen. From a lovely and beautiful neighborhood to a dark corner of the city; the threat of being mugged being a constant threat every morning and night in her commute.

But fateful night do several gunshots ring out across the dark city blocks, Frida fighting off a several people that had attempted to mug her. Yet even with the advantage of numbers by her side, she nonetheless handles all of them with fire arm expertise and CIA training; taking cover from her foe’s frantic shooting as she waste not a single bullet on any of them, nailing each one of them right in the head. She finds the last one however not having succumbed to her wounds and hears her pleading for her to take mercy upon her, a request she abides by as she starts to make her retreat. Yet this mugger dares tempt fate as she picks up a pistol from one of her dead members, the cock of the weapon being enough of a warning for Frida to immediately turn around and fire another bullet right into her brains.

When all had been said and done, when the concrete streets had been left stained in the blood of her muggers, the applause of a single person echoes from behind as she hears somebody compliments: “Nice shooting there, Tex.” this man donned in a blazer that matches his violet locks. Alarmed by this mans unexpected appearance, Frida immediately turns about and aims her gun out to his head; the violet man putting both of his arms up as he claims that: “Whoa, take it easy there, sharp shooter; I ain’t armed, kay.” “The hell do you want?” “Nothing, just fancied a little peek of your gunplay. And I gotta say, can’t believe those pompous dicks at the CIA threw out someone as quick to the draw as you.” “That...That information was supposed to be confidential. How did you-” “Get my hands on it? Lets just say that those kingpin sons of bitches weren’t the only people you’ve met with a web of dubious connections. It’s unfair, the way this world treats people at the bottom. Be it having been born into it, or kicked right down, were all the same to them. Seen as nothing but bottom scrapping scum, no matter who we are, or what we can do, we’re deemed worthless before we can even say a single word or move a muscle. But thankfully, there’s some people in this world that can appreciate the talents of those that society at large had cast aside.”

“Cut the details. Just spit it out and tell me what you want out of me.” “Shit, okay. Just take the fun out of it, why don’t ya. I’m here to offer you a line of work that might be best for somebody in your position to take, a little dirtier than what your probably used to, but pays pretty well all the same.” “...And if I say no?” “Then you simply go about the rest of your life scraping against the harsh grind in an endeavor of survival; bitterly reminiscing of better days when your world didn’t crumble and all the hard work you put in going straight down the shitter. Or...You can turn to people who see the value in the skills you possess and wish for such talent to not be wasted.” Such promise of her years worth of gun expertise being no longer an unfortunate leftover of the past that had put her down causes her to lower the aim of her pistol down to the puddles of red staining the pavement; Frida gazing to the reflection held in the crimson pool at her feet, thinking of what could be wait for her in life if she declines this fateful meeting. “Hehe, ahh...You know what, why not. What else do I have to lose?”

A harsh groan seeps out from the lively young woman as she opens her eyes; her vision adjusting to the dark as she starts to push away the concrete debris that had fallen in her descent down from the Mausoleum. When her eyes finally pierce through into the shadows that surrounds her does Sat find herself standing within the middle of the marble maze, a section of which splits off into eight different directions. Beyond the piles of rubble and decayed meat, the numerous still figures made from flesh and soil almost immediately catches her eye; their odd structure and uncanny appearance lending her to a sort of unease, like they could break away from their posts and lunge at her any second.

Yet before Satette could ponder over which direction of the eight way split she should take, the sound of footsteps draw her gaze out to the eastern wing as she transforms the collection of foliage wrapped around her arm into a set of sharp grass claws. Sat slowly backs away as this newcomer stumbles out from the crypt shadows, coming into the leaking moonlight above to reveal one of the figures of dirt and meat clade in light leather armor; their hollow eye sockets holding strange glowing balls of ivory that lock to the young woman standing in path. “S-stay back!” she warns the approaching corpse, the living cadaver failing to listen as it continues to shamble at her. “I’m warning you!” But when this terrible malformation of soil and flesh refuses to stop on her command, Sat slashes out against the shambling doll and runs the claws of her grassy ivy weapon straight across its stomach; discolored blood and loose dirt spilling from its wound. The living cadaver peers up from its freshly inflicted gash and stares up to the woman that had just attacked it; a shivering shriek bellows out from the pits of its lungs and echoes throughout the eight way corridor, an outcry of which shakes Satette to her very core. Upon this painful outcry do the rows of cadaver like statues turn each of their heads out to the young woman that had struck its fellow undead; their differently colored pupils staring down to her as Sat covers her ears from the scream. Holy shit!

Angered from the unprovoked assault, the arm of the living corpse shifts its soil and flesh around to that of a nine tails whip of fleshly tendrils and lashes them all out the woman that had attacked it; the lively young woman leaping away from the lashing whips to witness it tear apart the hard marble floor on impact. Sat peers back to her undead foe just in time to see it transform its other arm into a set of terrible teeth made from fractured bones; the zombie dashing out to her as its set of hideous chompers opens wide. When the living cadaver was but seconds from sinking its mouth of an arm into her skin; Satette warps her collection of foliage around her arm just as the monstrous corpse bites its massive teeth against her; the sleeve of greens keeping the mouths rows of fracture bone shards from so much as scratching her skin. Before her undead foe could make another attempt to strike, the young woman slaps the palm of her hand upon the rotting flesh of its hand runs her lively power through its body.

But something unexpected happened when Satette tries to control the zombies unsavory meat, the glow of her aura clashing with one of dark green that seeps out from underneath the undeads skin; both pressure between the fighting powers quickly rising as they push each other back. Psychic aura!? The building pressure is unleashed in a violent burst of energy that blows them both away, the overwhelming force sending the lively young lady slamming into the column against in the corner; the unexpected explosion of force briefly throwing her for a loop. After shaking off the swift daze, Sat peek over to her flora covered arm and finds that part of of the sleeve had thankfully tanked the brunt of the blast and suffers only mild scraps; but with over half of her collection of ivy and plants having been shredded to bits. Glancing back to her undead foe is she left utterly astonished to find not just its entire arm having been blown off, but missing entire chunks of its upper torso; the zombie struggling to stand with its entire upper half having been destroyed. What the fuck!? How...

Before Satette could even begin question the sequence of events that had just transpired, she bares witness as slivers of fleshy growth that was hidden underneath the mausoleum rubble slither out from the pile of rock and attach themselves to the freshly exploded corpse; this collection of dirt covered meat fusing together with what remained of the living cadaver and recreating its missing half in but moments. Oh...shit. Having witnessed the undead corpse having reconstituted to its former form, the lively young lady makes a break down one of the intersection’s halls and races away from her reformed foe as fast as she could; all with the rows of standing cadavers staring at her as she passes by them.

There’s no mistaking it, that stuff that came out from the zombie when I tried to use my powers on it was definitely psychic aura; somebody around here is controlling these corpses like some twisted puppets. But when I tried to take control of its body for myself, that dark green power didn’t just stop me, it made the damn thing explode. I though psychic shields only supposed to stop another psychic’s influence, not just spontaneously burst like that. Something’s telling me that wasn’t part of its script, though; it could’ve used its other arm to lash out at me; but it just blew up instead. Just what the hell made it go off like some kind of biological firecracker?

“Mon...Mon...Monty…” A soft whimper starts to slowly be heard in his ears as the lightly leader starts to come out from the depths of unconsciousness; Monty cracks his eyes open among the darkness to find Thursotte trembling next to him, the fright in his voice clear to hear as he begs: “Please for the love of god, wake up.” “Thurs...Uh...What happened? Where are we?” “Ju-jus-jus-just don’t move. Don’t do anything.” “The hell is it so dark down here for? Hang on, Lemme just…” “Monty, don’t.”

Yet do Thursotte’s words of warning falls of deaf ears as his boss conjures an orb of light to illuminate through the curtain of darkness surrounding them, unveiling the room they sat within be a part of the maze with what seemed to be decomposing limbs breaking through the marble floor, some of these limbs twitching from intruding luminescence. “Ew! Yeah, no wonder you wanted me to keep the lights off.” remarks Monty. “That ain’t the only reason. Up-up above us.” Thurs tells him. “Huh...Ahhh…”

Shock and awe crashes against Monty like an overwhelming wave when glancing to what hangs above, beholding the roof of the catacombs plastered with fleshy growths fused with stretching plant roots and soil; branching off from the rest of the plastered meat are what seemed to be humanoid figures hang down from the growths. Some of these bodies wriggle about as the glowing orb shines its light against their tissue. “Oh…” “The hell do we do?” Thursotte whispers. “Alright; don’t panic. Uh...” the light controlling leader advises as he peers around the marble hall, catching a part of the room branching out deeper into the hallway. “I see an exit right there. We just gotta carefully tip toe our way through and we should be alright. Just follow my lead.” Slowly do the two rise up from the corner of the room and start to make their way over towards the hallway on the other side; tip toeing carefully around each of the fleshly arms and legs that wriggle along the crimson and dirt stained marble floor.

When Monty’s subordinate lets out a frightened shutter, he aims his light back towards the chaos causing psychic to discover an elongated limb softly brushing its fingers along Thursotte’s body; the young man paralyzed with dreadful fright as he seemed to be on the verge of bursting into tears at any minute. “Easy. Just let it cop a feel and it’ll wander off.” Monty warns. “Don’t frame it like that. That makes this feel 10 times worse.” “Right, sorry. Just don’t move.” A frightened moan escapes from Thursotte as he lets the arm of decomposed flesh brushes its fingers along his side, putting every once or will he can muster into keeping completely still. Thankfully does the arm soon bore of feeling the young man up and wanders off the other way, Thurs tip toeing as fast as he could away as soon as the limb is off of him.

“Almost there.” whispers Thursotte, the hallway leading out of this den of growing flesh but a few more feet away. Yet with their escape but a few more moments away, a dreading terror creeps into the two when they hear the sound of bone snapping beneath them; the light psychic glancing down to his feet find himself having stepped and broken an arm laying across the corridor. “Well dammit.” the light psychic sighs out.

Like a single flame spreading out, the lone fractured limb causes the rest of the flesh throughout the chamber to start violently trembling; the bodies hanging above dropping from the ceiling as the arms jut out from the marble tile and conjoin together to form whole standing cadavers. As soon as a dozen of these bodies are formed together from flesh and soil, their hollow eye sockets stare down to the two of them; a sparkling glow forming in the middle of their sockets as they all let out stomach churning moan. Both Monty and Thursotte make a break away from the pack of undead of dirt and meat before any more of them could sprout out from the ceiling, the cadavers racing after them in turn like an angry mob. “What part of hell did we get dragged down to!?” Thurs screams. “Don’t know! Don’t care! All I know is if we don’t wanna wind up as the after midnight special, we gotta keep moving!” Monty shouts as they sprint through the marble catacombs for their very lives.

Joining the light of their phones, the hollow eye sockets off the stationed bodies lining the hall walls that both Weds and Frida stand in let out a small glow; their sockets dispelling a soul like glow as they aim their eyes directly to the two psychic’s they surround. The two of them stand back to back as they stand guard for whatever action the collection of statue like cadavers plan to take; yet despite their initial alarm to their unexpected movement, the bodies of flesh and soil raise not even a finger against them as they all simply continue to stare the pair of catacomb spelunkers. “They’re not making any moves, they’re just staring at us.” Frida reviews. “Yeah, almost like they’re waiting for us to give them the excuse.” claims Wedsle. “But what’s the excuse I wonder? Think they’ll try something as soon as we turn our backs on them?” “Like those angel statues in that one over hyped British show? Don’t know, don’t wanna risk it.” “I don’t think I brought enough ammo to handle this many of them. They decide to come at us, we might be screwed.” Frida warns. “Let’s not try anything then, we keep going and stay back to back.” Weds plans. Keeping their backs glued to one another, both the psychics continue to make their way through the darkened corridor as the row of doll like cadavers stare them down; the numerous colors of their glowing pupils staring straight into their very souls.

A sense of unease and worry courses through their heads as the 2 proceed through the hall of the catacombs; the dozens of undead bodies making not even a peep as they just simply glare to the two, all the while Frida and Wedsle remain on guard for any of them to make a move. “So, still think this might be the work of a psychic?” the dimension medium wonders. “A psychic that can reanimate the dead? Just saying that makes me shiver. But I’m not seeing any aura on these things, just the glint in their creepy ass eye sockets.” the purple psychic reviews. “What if they don’t need one?” “Huh?” “What if after this piece of shit necromancer is finished making them, whatever they left in these things are all that they need to move?” “Like...a-a soul?” “Whatever it is makes them autonomous. My question is if we can even use our own powers on these things?” “Might be better not to risk finding out with us still surrounded. Better for us to grab the key and book it out of this shit hole.”

A spirit shivering outcry pierces through her ears as Satette sprints through the marble catacomb tunnels, the young lady hearing the stamping footsteps slowly nearing as she races from the agitated undead hot on her tail. I don’t got much else to work with on this damn thing; this tiny line of vines can’t make anything strong enough to hold my ground against it. Not to mention what might happen if I try and manipulate it with my powers, lucky I didn’t loose my arm after it blew up like that. Still don’t know what caused that to happen, but I’m not in the mood to stick around and find out.

But her galloping sprint through the underground corridor is abruptly cut short when the tunnels before her continue to a broken off part of the catacombs; a widened lobby branching out into paths of four with the marble floor having been left fractured. All that remained of the looby was nothing but a massive hole leading straight down into a running river, the terrible odor of the running water causing the young lady to wince horribly and nearly vomit. Oh god! That’s so damn foul! Is that-are those the sewers!? The sewers run right underneath these catacombs. Ju-just how ancient are these tunnels? A blood curdling growl echoes out from the tunnels behind her, Sat glancing back to find more and more of the fleshy pile of a cadaver pursuing her emerging our from the shadows; the approaching corpse pushing her to swiftly peer across the pits walls. Looks like I don’t got time to think about any of that. Need to find a way on the other side to one of those corridors or my skull might wind up being the bowl of brains for a zombie’s balanced breakfast.

Among peering through the bottomless lobby, a grin starts to run across Sat’s face as she begins to plan out the route that will lead her to one of the corridors on the other side; taking note of the fractured ledges and pieces of rock jutting out from the cavern wall. But her swift path planning comes to an abrupt end when the footsteps behind her grow their loudest; the lively young lady peering back to discover the body of meat and dirt right behind her, ready to claw at her with its sharp fractured fingers. Sat then and there is forced to take the dive, the undead cadaver failing to grasp the girl as she leaps out from the corridor and drop down through the watery pit. The living corpse of soil and flesh peers down into the pit that its prey had leaped down and discover that the young woman has yet to take the plunge down into the rapid sewer river; Sat hanging onto the broken rock wall by some of the brick and steel piping that sticks out from when the floor had collapsed. Like to see this decomposing dick try the kind of parkour stuff I do. Yet the lively young woman is made to eat her own thoughts when peering back to the corridor she had jumped down from, astonished to witness the body of flesh and soil stick to the wall and slither across the caves broken rock; the corpse leaving behind a trail of bloody puss like a snail. You gotta be fucking kidding me.

Realizing her undead pursuer refusing to give up the chase, Satette immediately starts to scale her way up towards one of the broken lobbies corridors; the woman clutching every crack and piece of fractured brickwork that had once seperated the catacombs and sewers. I’m not dead yet. I can still climb faster than this thing. Yet its in checking the slinking corpse that she realizes that it wasn’t directly coming after her, but slithers towards the very corridor that she climbs up to. What the hell!? Is it trying to cut me off? Meh, ain’t a problem. I’ll just take one of the other hallways. Sat alters her climbing course away from the nearest doorway and instead scales her way out towards the one on the other side of the crumbled intersection, yet makes a horrifying discovering on her way up to the corridor; the sluggish cadaver slithering across the much closer ceiling instead of on the wall to reach the other hall faster. Dammit! It’s sliding across the roof to try cut me off again! Just how intelligent is this sack of decomposing fertilizer!?

Desperate to reach over the hallway before the living corpse could, Sat tries to cast what greens she has left along her arm up to the corridor’s ledge; unfortunately finding her string of green failing to reach even halfway across the chasm. Shit! I burnt through most of my ammo when defending myself against it earlier, and there’s nothing else around I could use to replenish. What else can I even do? This undead piece of shit’s got all the bases covered and can slither over to any of these corridor’s faster from the ceiling then I can climb up, I’m completely pinned in here. Unless…

A little idea springs to mind as Sat retracts the small length of greens she has and starts to reform the plant matter, all the while the undead cadaver slinks down to her; its blood ridden trail dripping along the catacombs brickwork wherever slithers. The lively young lady transforms what foliage she has left in her possession into a sharp and sturdy dart; infused with as much of her psychic power she can pack into it, Satette hurdles the plant bolt right up towards the corpse coming down at her; the tip of the dart piercing straight into its rotting skin. Her natural green aura seeping out from the dart and the dark forest aura holding the cadaver together clashes together like last time, its body bubbling over before the psychic reaction comes to a boil and results in a hefty explosion of power. This boom shatters both part of the lobby ceiling and the sluggish corpse into wet sopping pieces that rain down into the running river below; Sat hugging the pit wall as she watches the parts of the zombie that had chased her plummet into the sewers.

After the slithering undead had finally been vanquished, Satette returns to scaling the broken catacomb lobby and finally pulls herself up to the corridor; the young lady letting out a breath as she stands back on solid ground. She takes a peek back down to the bottom of the chasm for any sign of her undead pursuer and is glad to see not even a trace of rotting flesh among the running sewer river; shouting down into the pit: “Like to see ya come back from that, you sack of decomposing sack of shit!” Relieved to see her undead foe having been swept away into the rushing rapids, Sat strolls down into the corridor leading down into the rest of the catacombs; unaware however of the tiny pieces of flesh slithering down from along the ceiling and slowly slinking her way.

A terrible collection of screeches and moans echoes out from the collection of undead corpses that crawl through the hall like a scuttling insect crawling across the dank catacombs; the malformation of half way finished bodies leaving behind driplets of puss as it makes its way to a three way intersection. The dozen or so living cadavers peer across both directions before splitting up to head down both ways, their ringing groans slowly fading as the mass of corpses scamper away; the last of this horde fading into the catacombs darkness as one of the walls beside the fork in the road fades away in a soft glimmer, uncovering Monty and Thursotte having hid from the pack behind the illusion.

Peering down both of the corridors that the horde had scuttled through, the lightly leader lets out a quiet breath as he sees not a single sign of the pack among the shadows, claiming: “Thank god. We lost’em.” “I-I-I can’t do this.” he hears Thurs shutter. “Huh?” “I-I can’t do this anymore. We can’t stay down here. I can-” the psychic of chaos hyperventilates as he tries to take his leave. “Whoa, put the breaks on there, pally?” urges Monty, grabbing his shoulder before he could leave. “We still gotta go out and find that key before we can pop out of this grave hole.” “The key!? Are you out of your mind!? We’ll be devoured before we can even figure out where it’s stashed, the alone nab it! Fuck that! I’m getting the hell outta here while I have my skin intact!” Thurs declares, again attempting to leave.

“Alright, suit yourself. Just don’t come screaming at me when you run into a whole ass pack of undead after you wind up getting lost.” “Yeah, like you know where the way out is any more than I do.” “Not really, but you seen yourself how easy it is for me to fool those rotting sons of bitches. You wanna get out of this mud pit of decomposing compost alive, your best bet is sticking with me.” “Gah, I can’t win. I can’t win in this, can I?” “Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey. Thurs, Thurs. I promise you we’ll get out of this, trust me. Relax.” “I...I don’t even...How the hell are you so calm about this? You just seen actually walking corpses burst out from fleshy growths before your eyes and you act like its just a Monday for you! How, why?” “I’m been in this business for half a decade now and, would you believe if I said I’ve seen worse, much worse. Like I still remember the first time I joined somebody to interrogate a guy. Watch the torturer gouge the poor bastards eye out and force feed back to him.”

“This is too much! This is way too much for me to...I-I mean I knew we’d be doing some weird and dangerous stuff, but this just borders on...overwheling dread. If we wind up getting lost and caught, would they just kill us? Would we even be able to die!? I-” “Thursotte, listen. We can get through this together, okay. We’ll get the key and then we’ll be gone, I promise.” “How do you even know…” “I don’t, really...Which is why if things do wind up going south, I’ll order you to bail. Don’t worry about me and save your own hide.” “But, the others, they’ll-” “Understand. Weds known me long enough to understand how bad things got. So don’t worry, okay?” “Mmm…” “Now come on. That key won’t just find itself.” Monty claims as he is about to head down one of the halls. “Monty.” Thursotte then utters, causing his lightly leader to briefly stop right in his tracks. “Yeah?” “Thank you.” “No problem.”

Though tension lingers between the two, Wedsle and Frida relax their guard when coming upon a whole ass tomb filled with countless stone graves and memorials of figures from the past; the widening room giving both of the mobsters more room to breath without the gaze of the watching undead in the hall behind them. A brief relieving breath seeps out from the purple psychic as he remarks how: “It’s about time we got all those eyes off our backs. Seriously felt like that one kid in the school play that just finds out that he has stage fright in the middle of “Of Mice and Men” and violently shit himself, so hard that the front row feels the urge to stand back and get out from the splash zone.” “You know, with the kind of weirdly specific remarks you just spew out from your mouth without thinking, it makes me wonder if you were dropped on your head as a baby.” “Well, not on my head. Landed my big baby booty when I was 2, right onto the edge of a trash can when they were throwing out weeks old display pizza. I still remember getting tomato sauce in my eyes as I was crying.” “Just how in gods name are you so comfortable saying stuff like that out loud? You give me shit for being so closed of, meanwhile your going on about how you had a caterpillar living in your nose and watched as it turned into a butterfly.” “Pfft, what? Don’t be dumb. I didn’t have a butterfly fly out from my nose...pretty sure it was my ear.”

“See, its that kind of crap any sane person would keep to themselves. Not all of us are as uncomfortably open and brutally honest about ourselves as you.” “Well, maybe that should be something you should work on.” “Yeah, right. To your worrying degree?” Frida doubtfully questions. “Don’t gotta be that far. Just enough to let people in; let them know a part of yourself they can relate, like a favorite color or something.” “And if I don’’t wanna?” “Well, then I’d say your a lot more emotionally vulnerable than I am.” remarks Weds. “This coming from the same asshat that makes explicit remarks to his coworkers.”

“Hey, I never claimed to be a clean and stand up guy. I show it as I sees it. Letting it all hang out in the open. If they don’t like it, they can go fuck themselves; just means the people that do or don’t mind are all the more worth keeping around.” “Yeah, well count me out.” “God...the hell is with you? I’m trying over here and you ain’t even extending out so much as a pinkie, much less a hand. You really think I’m just the kind of manipulative dick that see’s people as objects?” Wedsle questions, his patients running thin. “What? No! I-” “Then what even is it that makes it so hard to talk to people about yourself?” “Maybe I don’t wanna wind up hurting myself again!”

The dimensional psychic’s outburst dispels any further words between the two as a deafening silence wafts through the tomb hallway, dribbling water echoing across the hall being all that breaks the quietness. Wedsle and Frida calm themselves among this brief silence reprise; their upset tension against each other draining away as Weds withdraws his argumentative demeanor before attempting to say that: “Frida...I’m-” “Lets just keep moving.” the dimensional psychic suggests as she turns back to the way ahead. “Ah...dammit…” Weds curses as he metaphorically starts kicking himself for pushing too far.

Out not to far from where the pair of psychic mobsters stand, Satette emerges from the shadows of the catacomb corridor to enter a different part of the tombs; the young woman carefully tip toeing through the darkened hall in case of any other undead attempting to ambush her. I can’t afford to get into any more scraps this deep down in enemy territory, not having just spent the last of my natural greens on getting that mess of flesh off my back. Doubt there’s gonna be much growing this deep in these parts, maybe a bug crawling around and a spider hanging in the corner; but any of that ain’t gonna be nowhere near enough fire power to work with. If I wanna live to see the sun again, I gotta play it safe. Not getting into any more brawls til I at least meet up with the others.

But despite planning on keeping herself out of trouble, she already feels it come straight to her when feeling a sharp sting run against the side of her leg; Sat flinching from the pain before peering down to discover a soft laceration along her thigh. The hell? Where’d this fucking cut come from? There isn’t even anything sharp enough near me I could’ve brushed past that can make a slit that clean.

Yet before she could question what could’ve made the unexpected cut, she feel a swift stinging slash brush this time along the her left; gazing over to find a gash of similar size having shot through her clothes and draw blood on the top of her shoulder. I didn’t even see what went past me. Whatever this thing that’s cutting me is pretty small and pretty damn fast.

In her struggle against her unseen assaulter, Satette hurries over to the corner of the chamber and nestles herself between a standing stone grave and the wall. She keeps the open side of her neck covered as she peels her eyes for even a swish that could pass her by. Whatever was cutting me did it in a complete straight line, meaning they can only come at me like such. Standing in a corner like this might not protect me completely, but at least I can catch what’s zipping by.

Among keeping a close watch out for whatever could be leaving its mark on her, Sat looks out to the corner of her eye to see something zipping right towards her; the lively young woman acting fast and clasping the thing in her hands with a swift clap, feeling it squirm in between her palms. Gotcha, you little bastard. Now lets see just what the hell you are. Astonishing shock and terror overwhelm her as she cracks open her hands and discover what she had just caught, beholding what seemed like an arachnid made from decomposed muscle tissue with a mouth line with a couple of sharp fangs; its single eye staring at her from between her hands. Ahhggh! What the fuck!? Just what in gods name is this thing!?

As she attempt to wrap her head around whatever the hell she had just caught in her hands, something swiftly brushes past her wrist and leaves behind a nasty cut; the unexpected slash making her grip slip enough for the spider of bare muscle to escape. Satette glares down to where the little pest had dropped down to discover not just one, but two of them scuttling along the cold rock floor. More of them? Where are they coming from?

Hearing a familiar slithering noise down the way she had came in from, Sat peers back towards the same corridor to witness pieces of slug like melted flesh slinking out from the shadows and across the hall; these lines of pustule littered meat sliding their way into the stone coffins that line the tomb. And what emerges out from the inside of these coffins be the same sort of arachnid like creatures of rotting muscle tissue and teeth like the one she had caught. It isn’t long before dozens of these disgusting spiders all come out from the coffins and ready to leap out and sink their teeth into her. Oh shit. Sat jumps out from around the corner and makes a break down the corridor closest to her, running as fast as her legs could carry as the swarm of muscle woven spiders jump and scuttle after her; the panic in her voice ringing throughout the tombs inner sanctum.

Her screams manage to echo all the way out towards another part of the sanctum; particularly throughout a part of the tomb where the walking malformed cadavers wander around, searching around the countless stone coffins with their protruding, crust ridden eyes. Unbeknownst to the undead combing this very chamber, there eyes prove little help in tracking their intruders as Monty had erected a barrier of reformed light which hides both Thursotte and his own presence; leaving both of them invisible on one side while letting them watch the searching undead from plain site. “There’s so many of them here. They’re gonna stumble onto us eventually if we don’t move.” Thursotte whispers. “Right, but we still need to be discreet about it. I ain’t sure if any of these guys still have their ears or noses left intact. We can’t risk making a peep.” his light leader whispers back. “Gotcha.”

The two slowly rise up from the corner of the chamber and slowly begin to make their way towards the other side, taking the utmost caution when tip toeing around the stone coffins and searching cadavers while Monty cloaks them both in his manipulated light. Both of them crawl right over some of the stone coffins in attempting to steer clear of the undead prowling through the chamber, slowly sliding along the top to not shake their loose stone lids. But its when sneaking over some of the coffins that one of the nearby zombies suddenly swings its decaying grasps in their direction for seemingly no reason, its fingertips nearly brushing past the side of Thurs’s pants. Despite his panic growing from the extraordinarily close call, the young man keeps his breathing steady as he and his boss sneak across the chamber; Monty helping the guy down as they climb down from the top of the coffins.

When upon coming to the other end of the tomb chamber, both are left worried over a couple of the undead gathered around and barricading their only way out; Thursotte cursing under his breath as he whispers: “Damn. They gathered around the exit just so we don’t escape.” “That shit don’t make sense. Their brains should be decomposed mush, how could they be smart enough to count for that?” Monty worries. “I don’t know. But we need another plan so we can slip past.” Pondering over how to break up the seemingly planned gathering of undead away from their exit, Thurs picks off a loose piece of fractured stone off the side of a coffin lid and chucks it out towards the other side of the chamber; the sound that the thrown piece alone being enough to bait about every zombie in the chamber over to where it landed. A small grin cracks across the light leaders face when seeing the undead gathered to the corridor moving with the rest of their fellow cadavers; praising his subordinate with: “Nice thinking there, Thurs.”

With their way out clear, both of the boys sneak their way over as quietly as they could; making not a peep among one another. When just mere inches to the exit however, a wayward hand suddenly emerges out from the side and break through the light illusion to clutch at Thursotte’s ankle; the young man letting out a quiet yelp before glancing down to the hand that grasps him and discovers attached to this hand the top half of an undead. “Ah, Monty!” Thurs alerts his leader. Peering back to see the zombie tightly clutching his partners leg, the light controlling psychic turns over and stamps down on the cadavers wrist hard enough to sever its hand from its arm; the undead letting out a pained shriek which alerts the others towards them. “Shit. Run!” Monty demands, both he and Thursotte sprinting down the hallway as the pack of cadavers chase after.

“It doesn’t make sense! We didn’t make a single peep! How the hell did that one zombie know where we were!?” Thurs questions while they bolt through the tunnels. As Monty wonders the same thing, he brushes away the puffs of dust that get in his eyes; realizing what went wrong then and there and claims that it was: “The dust.” “What?” “All the years worth of dust in these tombs. It must have started wafting through the air with all the commotion. The clouds of it we passed through must’ve given us away; that’s how it could tell we were right in front of it.” the light leader deduces. “It paid attention to details that small!? I thought zombies were all supposed to be too brain dead to do that.” “Guess all those horror flicks and late night TV specials got the details wrong.”

A single beam of moonlight shines through a grate in the roof and down to a tombstone of monumental size resting in the middle of the labyrinthine catacombs, glistening against the water lines from the sewers lend the soil surrounding the stone to prosper Out from one of the many corridors leading into the chamber, a pair of figures step into the descending light to let their purple and chestnut luster locks respectively glimmer in its glow. “Yep, this part is practically screaming dead center. It’d be like your lover on the bed by candlelight, its obvious. You get it, and you wanna go in hard. But not too hard. Not hard enough to fracture your pelvis and dick. It’d be like at back of the Wendy’s all over again, except without all the blood semen everywhere and painful shame when explaining to the paramedics what happened.” Weds proclaims. “Wha...What the fuck are you talking a-” Frida question with worry.

“Yep, seems like a pretty good place to stow away yer wears and treasures away from the prying public eye, and maybe a few other things. Might take hours or days just to figure out where they stowed the key in this whole, spending all that time combing through the dirt and walls til we wind up starving and would have to resort to cannibalism. I wonder which one of us would-” “Me.” Frida quickly concludes. “Why, just cause your packing all the heat?” “Yeah.” “...Alright, fair enough.”

“Your right about one thing, though. Who know’s how long it’ll take before we end up finding that damn-” “Found it.” Wedsle suddenly claims, staring up to the ceiling. “The fu- Where’d you even…” Peering up in the same direction her purple partner gazes up to, the dimensional psychic discovers the key they seek hanging on a string tied to the grate above. “J-just dangling up in middle of- Okay.”

“Now we just gotta find a way to get the damn thing down. That tombstone don’t look high enough for the both of us to reach. Maybe standing on our shoulders, but-” Among gazing to the dangling key above, a sudden shot cracks off as a bullet zips upwards and streaks right through the thin string holding it up; the small key bouncing off the top of the tombstone with a loud ding before falling onto the dirt. As the sound of the shot echoes through the catacombs, Wedlse glances back over to his partner to find a smoking glock in her hands. “Yeah, nice job. That won’t nab any unwanted attention.” the purple psychic sarcastically praises as he makes his way to where the key had fallen.

Wedsle picks the key out from the soil and brushes away the dirt on its face, admiring its bronze finish shimmering against the moon’s glow above; the psychic peering to the engravings detailed with Christian iconography and remarking on how: “Damn. This key here’s hella fancy. Wonder when it was made?” His inspection of the finely molded key is abrupt as a frightened shriek rings throughout the chamber; the purple psychic jumping back as he peeks to his partner and claims that: “Holy hell! I know we’re in the middle of a haunted dead ass crypt, but relax woman.” “Bitch, do you seriously think I scream like that?” Frida snaps back. “Then where did that-”

Towards the east end of the crypt chamber do the two witness a figure bolt out from the darkness; Frida aiming her gun at them until realizing it to be their fellow mobster, Satette sprinting out from the hallway darkness and towards the two. “Sat? Where the hell’d you come from?” Weds questions her as he approaches. “Where’re the others?” “Don’t know...But we have bigger problems.” the lively young woman warns, pointing out towards the corridor she emerged from. From the eastern way do the three witness numerous arachnids made from the muscle of the dead crawl and leap out from the shadows; Wedsle shuttering from the mere site of them as he exclaims. “Shit! The fuck are those things!?” “Don’t know, but they’ve been following me non stop.” “They ain’t gonna follow us much longer.” proclaims Frida, delving her hand into the sleeve of her jacket.

Satette is completely taken aback as out from the inside of that same sleeve does she pull out a whole grenade, watching as Frida pulls the pin out with her teeth and hucks it out to the cluster of spiders. All of them watch as the resulting explosion rends and burns the muscle tissue they’re made from into burning flesh; some of the arachnids that had survived the explosion scuttling through the chamber while still on fire. “Jesus, grenades!? How big of an arsenal do you got stashed under that jacket!?” Satette exclaims. “Would you believe me if I said she got a whole ass bazooka in there. Saw her pull it right out of her ass.” Wedsle jests. “Xcuse me!?” “Not my actual ass, just the back of my pants.” Frida corrects. “There much of a difference?”

Despite the overwhelming explosion having taken out a good chunk of the swarm, several more of these fleshy spiders leap out at them from the smokey shroud; the dimensional psychic reaching into her other sleeve as she going: “Oop, still some left.” “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Two grenades might be excessive. Don’t wanna make the whole place fall down on us.” Sat warns. “Yeah. There’s only a few more of them anyway.” the purple psychic adds before he lunges out towards the rest. “Weds, wait!”

Yet does the lively woman’s words fall of deaf ears as her purple partner charges to the oncoming swarm, watching as the cluster of muscle tissue spider leap out to him with their sharp protruding bones brandished to him. The violet psychic manages to pluck one right out from the air before he could even lay its hands on him and starts to spread his influence through it; Sat bracing for when the fleshy arachnid would explode in the palm of his hands. To her surprise however, Wedsle’s emotional power spreads itself through the malformed spider just fine; the violet psychic throwing the creature back to its own kind as his aura flows through it. His influence seeps into the other spiders just as fine when the one he throws hits the others like a bowling ball flung straight into pins. The horde of fleshy arachnids scuttle away from them in overwhelming fear rather than violently exploding into messy pieces. “Oh…” Sat utters. “What?” Weds turns to ask. “Uh...Nevermind.”

The purple psychic’s bravado shifts to distress when glancing back towards the two woman,; Wedsle shouting out to them to warn that: “Girls! Spiders on your 180!” “What?” In the swift moment of pondering her partners urgent warning, Sat hears shots pop off from right behind her and looks back to find Frida firing her pistols out to another incoming swarm of fleshy arachnids; their bodies bursting into puss and blood when the bullets pierce through their little bodies. “Oh, 180 degree turn.” Yet Frida fails to nail all of the incoming spiders as a couple of them leap right past and brush their fracture protruding bones against her, leaving behind cuts that slash right through her jacket and right into her skin. “Shit!”

After flying right past her, the muscle made arachnids lunge out and aim their sharp bone fragments straight out to Satette; the lively young woman evading their incoming swipes rather than trying to nab them, remembering what happened last time she tried to control these deformed corpses. “The hell’s the matter Sat? These things would be literal putty in our hands if you nabbed them!” wanders Wedsle, struggling to keep a pair of them in his clutches. “I...I can’t!” “The hell you mean you can’t?” Frida questions to her. “I don’t know what it is, but when I try and transform these zombies, they just wind up exploding. The moment I try and use my powers, they just violently burst apart; I nearly got my arm blown off cause of that.” “You gotta fucking kidding! What the hell do we do then?” the purple psychic exclaims. Questioning their next move herself, Sat’s attention is drawn over to the patch of soil surrounding the catacomb statue resting in the middle of the chamber; glimmers of hope coming to her in the form of some blades of grass poking out and shimmering against the moonlight. “Think I know a way out of this. Both of you cover me!”

Satette plunges her hands into the graves very soil, using her psychic influence to gather as much plant life that remains among the dirt; all the while some of muscle made spiders leap out towards her with their sharp protruding bones. Yet when just moments away from rending the woman’s flesh apart with their fracture calcium, a spread of bullets slide across the flat plain of the floor and erupt out underneath the arachnids; the shotgun spread tearing the entire swarm to bloody shreds. Beyond that swarm having been torn asunder does another emerge out from the darkness and lunge out against the rooted young lady; their advancing assault halting dead in its tracks when one of its own kind is flung its way and break apart the pack like a queue ball breaking billiards. From the spider that had been smacked against the crowd, a layer of violet spreads across the swarm and urges them all to scurry away.

A plume of dirt erupts out from the dirt as Sat finally pulls her arms out from its depths, unveiling them to be covered in long buried plants and flowers that had remained hidden in the soil; the young woman going: “Hah, here we go! Time for the real show to start!” “Nah, it’s over.” she hears Weds claims. “...What?” “We did it. We beat them all back.” adds Frida, the middle chamber left with the puss littered remains of muscle tissue. “...Oh...Well...That’s a little...anticlimactic. Kinda wanted to have some of the spotlight there. Had all this cool shit planned with our powers working in tandem together and all.” “Hey, don’t sweat it, I’m sure we’ll need some of that thinking yet.” the dimensional psychic concers. “Yeah, all that matter’s now is that we got our key and we can get out of this rotten shit hole.” their purple partner concludes. “Eh, fine. But aren’t we forgetting something.”

As if right on queue to answer the young woman, the three shutter when hearing a frightened and panicked scream sound out from the southern corridor; glancing over in that very direction to witness the last two of their team race out from the shadows of the hallway. “Oh yeah, them.” “The hell does that mean!?” Monty shouts as they approach. “Yeah, you just forget we were down here too!?” Thursotte questions alongside him.

“The hell are you two even doing coming in here like your seconds away from pissing yourselves for?” asks Frida. “We have no time to explain. We need to dig our way out from these graves this instant.” Thurs claim. “Where’s the nearest exit?” their lightly leader demands to know. Its on this question that all three of them give their answer in pointing up towards the ceiling, both of the other’s peering up to see the only grate above the chamber letting in moonlight; its overall width seemingly to be just big enough for an infant to squeeze its way through. “Oh dammit.”

Right out from the corridor that they had bolted into from do they all witness the terrible horde of undead corpses walking out from the shadowy depths; the glowing pupils in their hollow eye sockets aimed at them all. “Oh shit!” swears Frida. “We need to beat it, now!” Monty demands, all of them sprinting out towards the opposite direction. Yet in nearing the hallway do they then realize their only means of escape was denied as fused together amalgamations of cadavers comes crawling out from the darkness; the encroaching mob forcing the five back to the middle of the chamber as zombies near them in every direction. “We didn’t run into any of this sort of bull while we were down here. The hell happened?” the dimensional psychic questions. “I don’t know. We got dragged down and wound up stepping on some arm. Next thing we knew, our living asses were being chased all throughout every which way.” Thurs explains. “Pretty damn strange there. Saw a bunch of zombies on our way down and none of them tried so much as approach us, much less try and chew our cocks off.” Weds then tells them. “Your-your kidding. The hell went through their rotting brains that made them go aggro on us and not you two.” Monty questions.

Pondering these notions herself, Satette wonders of the hostile interactions she had with the undead among her time spent down in these crypts, taking an overview of the point that it had all began; the destruction of the mausoleum. The line of mold ridden flesh that had appeared when she had slid her arm through the sleeve of the statue; remembering when she had plunged the thorns of her plants into its body and rend it apart. It all started going down hill right then and there. But what could’ve… In that moment do the words of warning that the graveyard groundskeeper ring in her head, making her realize the error that her and her friends had made while down here.

“Guys...I got an idea. One that can get us out of this mess.” “You sure about that.” Weds wonders. “Positive. Just don’t any of you act until I say so.” Satette plans, peeking behind the giant tombstone standing behind them all. “Got any objections, boss?” Frida asks their leader. “At this, I’ll try anything, just go for it.” he gives the go to.

“Gotcha!” The surrounding mob of the living dead was but moments away from overwhelming the five and rending them to pieces, when the young woman of life among them clasps her hands together and commands the plantlife set through her sleeves to come forth and gather in her hands in a bright light of lively green. The aura from the girl so bright, her allies and enemies avert their gaze. When the light of lively green finally fades away, friends and foe’s alike return their eyes and are left perplexed by what she had transformed the gathered greens in her possession.

Laying in her hands, made from the remains of plants long buried down in this crypt, be not weapons made from their matter, but a collection of freshly picked flowers; their petals rejuvenated with the splendor of life. Every soul within the chamber stands silent as this young woman turns away from them all and faces the tombstone standing from behind; kneeling down to the earth that surrounds the grave and helping the flowers take root in its ancient soil. As she sits on her knees facing the giant grave, the young lady brings her hands together once more and bows her head, paying respect for all those who remained buried within these tombs. The mixture of worry and doubt that were brewing in the woman’s friends drain away as they turn back to the mob of undead that surround them, the four left at a loss for words as each of the malformed cadavers slink back through the corridors without so much as a moan or growl; returning into the darkness from whence they came. “Thank you…” all of them hear whispered.

When the last of the zombies finally retreat from the labyrinth's middle chamber, Satette stands back on her feet to let out calming breath as she turns to face her friends, finding all of them left completely dumbfounded by the events that had just transpired. “Okay...You mind telling us what kind of dues ex bullshit you did there?” Weds questions. “Yeah, I mean we were screwed. What’d you do to make all of them back off?” Monty asks as well. “Don’t disrespect the dead, else they won’t respect you?” she reminds. “Wait, what the groundskeeper warned you about?” Thursotte wonders. “Its what we were told of before coming down in here. It wasn’t a warning, it was the answer. All we needed to do was just that and they wouldn’t hurt us.” “That would explain why those zombies lining the wall didn’t try anything back there.” Frida thinks back to. “Well, ain’t that just a fucking wholesome bowtie left on top of this gross body horror-esqe B movie rated plotline. Got the key, got our skin intact, lets get the hell outta here.” “Yep, it all wraps itself up nice and tighty...except…”Sat then proclaims.

The pale light of the gibbous glistens across the graveyard as it starts to delve down towards the city’s western horizon; Monty and Thursotte listening to Sat recounting her own escapades through the underground catacombs, all the while Wedsle and Frida follow silently in the back. After several moments of disheartening quiet comes to pass, the purple psychic finally decides to dissolve the silence between them and starts by stating that: “Listen, about all that back down there.” “It’s fine. I got where you were coming from. It’s just that I wasn’t really in the mood to just put myself out there.” “I know. Really shouldn’t have tried to push you as much as I did. You don’t gotta say a damn thing about yourself if you don’t wanna. I get it.”

“...Yellow.” the dimensional psychic states with a soft grin. “Huh?” “My favorite color. It’s yellow.” “Really?” “I know. Don’t have a spot of yellow anywhere on me. It just makes me think back to better times, before I got kicked out of my dream job...and lost the trust of my colleges” “Oh...Hey, since were at that, you think your comfy enough to answer something that I’ve been wondering since we met?” “Yeah?”

“The hell went through your mind when you accepted my offer back then? With the kind of gunplay you got stashed in your barbed wire coochie, you could’ve gone to much better places then hanging around our sorry little crew, much more than the mob probably. What made you wanna stick around?” “Just don’t...don’t fucking laugh, kay.” “Hmm?” “Really, the only reason was cause I missed being part of a team. Taking solace in the fact that people got your back just as much as you got there’s. Wanted that reassurance again, made things feel right.” “And you thought the best place for that was in the mob?” “I wasn’t in the best place when we met.” “Whelp. Seems you got lucky on that, your definitely in a better one now.” Wedsle claims, both he and Frida looking to the rest of their team walking ahead of them. “Yeah, guess I am.”

“So, they just blew up.” Thursotte questions. “Yep, the moment I tried my psychic powers on them, a dark green aura would flare up before they exploded. Still don’t know what made those zombies blow up when I tried that.” Sat finishes describing. “I’ll be damn, never thought all those whispers and rumors were true.” remarks Monty. “You know something about all this?” “Kind of. In all my years working under the mob though, I only ever heard it from word of mouth. But from what I remember is that some psychic powers don’t really play nice with each other, particularly those that control naturally opposing forces.” “Like a magnet?” Sat wonders. “More like an atom bomb, really. When those kinds of powers are forced to clash, they violently deny each other’s presence and go off in a psychic induced explosion. Try it with anything kind of opposites, happy and sad, space and time…” “Or life and death.” Thursotte finishes. “Then that proves it. What we bare witnessed to tonight was definitely the work of a psychic, and that very psychic holds dominion over the dead.”

#lillaxtrigger #original writing

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lexacoolfox · 3 years

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Hi I really liked the nagito x clingy s/o hcs! Can you di him but with an s/o who’s like Zenitsu from demon slayer?

I love this idea! Luckily I’ve watched demon slayer.

Nagito with an S/O like Zenitsu from demon slayer

just like zenitsu anytime you saw a guy you thought was cute, hot, or something. You would always grab their hands and say “please! Marry me!” And they almost always rejected you.

Until you meet Nagito, you two meet in the main course class. The moment you laid your eyes on him, you felt your heart explode I wouldn’t be surprised if your eyes had hearts in them. Nobody was actually in their besides you two. He saw you and greeted you with a smile and you dashed over to him and grabbed one of his hands with both of yours. Got down on both knees and said “I don’t know who you are! but! please! marry me!”

Like anybody he was quite surprised but then gave a little chuckle and said “I would love too!-“ your eyes light up “but I think you could find somebody much better, than trash like me.”

At that moment you gave him a blank face look like you didn’t understand a thing he just said.

“Excuse me?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry. I think I just misheard you can you repeat that?”

“I said you can probably find somebody much better than trash like me.”

You started thinking a bunch of things ‘is he joking?’ ‘When was the last time this guy saw a mirror?’ ‘He’s looks like the definition of an angel!’ ‘Wait is this just a lie cause he doesn’t want to date me or he already has a girlfriend?’ You thought that the last one made the most sense.

“Listen if you weren’t into dating me or you had a girlfriend already you could’ve just told me. You didn’t have to lie.” You said irritated

“What made you think I lied!?” He said shocked

“Cause nobody as cute as you would call themselves trash!”

“Y-you think I-I’m c-cute?!?”

“Yeah, you look like an angel! That’s why I want you to marry me!”

“Well were to young to get married and we just met. How about we go on a date first?”

“Really! Sure! How about we go see a movie?”

“Yeah that’s sounds great!”

“Oh also my name is S/O!”

“What a wonderful name! I’m Nagito Komaeda!”

Inside you were so excited you were going on your first date with a super cute boy!

When you guys went to the movies he suggested a scary movie. Now you were a big baby when it came to scary things but you didn’t want to look lame to him. So you agreed and thought about how you have to stay brave during the movie.

30 minutes in the movie…

You were screaming at every jump scare even when they weren’t that scary. At the end you were crying. You were so embarrassed

“I’m sorry Nagito. I probably ruined that movie for you with all my screaming and crying. I can’t help it I scare very easily. I’ll just go home, thanks for the chance to go on a date.”

Before you walked away, he grabbed your wrist

“I really don’t mind, I found it adorable when you got scared and would cling onto my arm. Also letting yourself cry and trying not hold back your emotions must mean you are pretty honest and not one to hide your feelings. I can appreciate that about someone.”

You felt your face heat up! He just too cute

“T-then you wouldn’t mind going another date right?”

“Yeah!”

You jumped and and celebrated

Not long you guys officially became each others significant other.

Though one thing plagued both of your minds

“S/O I’ve never seen your ultimate talent. I also don’t know what it is. when I did research about our class and your name came up it was just question marks?”

“As weird as it may sound I don’t know but people thought I have one cause I get into trouble a lot and I get scared so much I pass out. But when I wake up I’m home.”

“Hhm that’s very interesti-mph!”

Both you guys were grabbed and pushed into a van and both of your hand were behind your back with handcuffs!

“Oh my god! What’s going on! We are going to DIE! NO NO NO NO NO NO! I can’t Die! I’m to young! I-I-I…” you pass out

“S/O!!”

“Wow what a scaredy-cat!”

“How pathetic.”

Suddenly you standed up. Which shocked everbody in the back of the van

“S/o…?”

Then you kicked one of them in the face. That one happened to have the key which you grabbed unlocked your handcuffs with. Then one by one in a blink of an eye you knocked them out.

“Don’t worry Nagito. I will protect and save you.”

You picked him up and opened the back of the van and jumped out. Thank goodness they were at a red light. The van drove off.

You then unlocked Nagito handcuffs. You then started waving back and forth. You landed on his shoulder mad a few snore noises and then woke up

“Ah! Oh Nagito! I had the most terrible dream! I dreamt that we were kidnapped!”

Nagito was still to process everything that just happened. Then he realize that must be your ultimate talent.

“Hey S/O did you ever learn how to fight?”

“Thats quite funny you ask me that…I did take a kung fu class and somehow I got into expert and pro. Why do you ask?”

“Oh I’m just curious.”

He thought it was quite the amazing and unusual talent but never the less he loved it!

Your classmates asked Nagito what your talent is! Since yourself didn’t know it. He would say he didn’t know even thought he did. because he thought nobody would believe him even if they told him.

It all came to light one day. when fuyuhiko knocked you out with a punch that was meant for Nagito cause he wouldn’t stop talking about Hope. But you jumped infront of him.

Everybody was watching.

“Ugh This time I’m going to get you!”

But before he could hit Nagito you grabbed his arm

“Wha-oof!”

You kicked him in the stomach and then punched him in the face.

Peko then tried to hit you with her bamboo sword. But you dodged and dodged until you found an opening and did not hold back on your attacks. Both of them were on the floor not able to get up.

“None of you will ever hurt Nagito.”

Everbody was really surprised cause that’s the most confident they ever heard you. Cause you were either crying or yelling.

Then you fell back into Nagito’s arms. Then you woke up.

“Did I fall asleep in class! Am I in trouble with our teacher! Nagitoooooo! Am I in trouble!”

You were back to normal.

From that day forward nobody messes with Nagito when you were asleep. Even Akane and Nekomaru

Sometime even when you weren’t asleep you could be very scary

For example some kids were making fun of Nagito calling him a hope obsessed freak and making fun of his looks.

”HUH! HOW DARE YOU MAKE FUN OF HIM!! YOU ALL ARE PROBABLY JUST JEALOUS!! YEAH JEALOUS!!! CAUSE HE’S SUPER CUTE AND IN THE MAIN COURSE AT HOPES PEAK ACADEMY!! BUZZ OFF!! LEAVE MY BOYFRIEND ALONE!! OR YOU WILL REGRET IIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTT!!!”

A mad Zenitsu for people who don’t watch demon slayer. To give them an idea.

Nagito was a little considered about you after that little display.

“My hope do you really think that was necessary?”

You look back at him and noticed the nervousness on his face.

“Why do you think that was weird?!? I’m sorry I won’t do it again! ʷᵉˡˡ ⁿᵒᵗ ⁱⁿ ᶠʳᵒⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ʸᵒᵘ. Please don’t break up with me!!”

He comforted you promising he wasn’t going to break up with you over it.

You love Nagito probably more than he loves you and everybody’s talent and hope! And let me tell you that’s a lot. Like a lot!

Your just counting the days until you guys are old enough to get married. That’s how much you love him.

He never finds your crying or yelling annoying which can’t be said for a lot of people.

“Nagito I don’t know how you put up with me. But I really appreciate how you haven’t left me. I hope you don’t ever leave me. I love you a lot!”

“I know you think the way you act and the things you do are annoying, and to other people it is but not to me. It’s just who you are and I love who you are. I won’t leave you. I also know your waiting until we’re old enough to get married. I promise one day I’ll marry you.”

“OH MY GOSH REALLY! I LOVE YOU NAGITO! YOUR JUST THE BE-NO! THE GREATEST BOYFRIEND EVER! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!”

Then you started kissing him all over his face, hugging him, and nuzzling your faces together. All the while he was smiling, chuckling, and laughing

You two just have a really good relationship. It’s so cute and interesting!

Thank you komaeda_simp37 again! With another story idea! I hope you all enjoyed this little story and hope you consider following me! Please don’t be scared to ask me idea’s. Considering what it is I’ll think about writing it. I don’t do you know $exu@l stuff and I won’t write stuff like kidn@pping, or @bu$e! I am kinda of a yandere fan though so I might do that! Hope you have a wonderful day bye!

-Lexacoolfox

#anime #demon slayer #zenitsu #nagito komaeda #nagito x reader #s/o x danganronpa characters #danganronpa 2 #danganronpa goodbye despair

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crystalas · 3 years

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Junk Yard Talks

A continuation of the Demon Bull Divorce AU. I’ve never done anything like this before so if you have any questions or prompts by all means go for it.

Takes place after Hindsight.

MK, Mei and Red Son are scrap hunting in the junk yard for stuff to upgrade the tuk-tuk and truck, they run into a certain pair of demons.

Junk yard talks

Mei had never thought of exploring the city’s Junk Yard because if she needed any parts for her bike, she could always buy them brand new from the shop but according to Red Son it was a treasure trove of finds. For her it was a treasure trove of smells.

“Especially for prototypes and if you’re on a budget!” he had explained giving MK and a side long glance, “For me at least if a prototype blows up then at least I don’t have to worry about costs!”

“So, what are we looking for?” MK demanded as he inspected a rusted-out van.

“I don’t know that’s the beauty of looking!” Red Son exclaimed “You never know when inspiration will hit you!”

“Hopefully inspiration will hit us without us needing tetanus jabs afterwards” Mei muttered as she navigated around some sharp looking scraps and then glared at MK.

“Don’t give me that look it was his turn to choose what we did for the day!” MK whispered back at her. “I thought you’d be into this being a motor head yourself!”

“When he said we were going to be looking at machine parts I thought he meant shopping not dumpster diving!” she hissed back. And Red Son had begun to rummage through what looked to be a car that had been hit a train, MK kept his hands in his pockets as he looked around. It was weirdly giving him an idea to draw a monster made of junk maybe with an old digger spade for a jaw and rusty chains for hair…he took out his little note book he always kept on him when such idea struck him and began to sketch down the parts he wanted to use.

Huh maybe Red Son was right about inspiration hitting you here.

“Monkie Kid!” a voice demanded “It’s your worst nightmare!”

“Yin!”

“Jin!”

“The gold and silver demons!” the two voices sang before mimicking a rock solo, only then did MK look up and saw the two demons glaring at him crossly as they perched on top of nearby junk pile obviously hoping for more of a reaction that dumb confusion.

“Oi mate!” the gold one growled “It’s considered common courtesy to at least look at your demise!”

“Sorry I was in the zone!” MK apologized as he took out his staff to fight.

“Yeah, well you’re being very rude!” Yin declared.

“Barging into our home, not even acknowledging our sweet introduction; downright disrespectful I’d call it!” Jin cried.

“Hey MK did you find anything?” Mei asked and MK waved her off. “Hey weren’t those the guys who tried to run Pigsy out of business?”

“Yeah, I gotta fight them so give me a minute”

“A MINUTE??!” the two demons roared “You got some nerve!”

“Need a hand?”

“Don’t ignore us!” Yin shouted and MK looked up to see the two demons leaping down prepared to fight and MK prepared to do battle.

“What’s going on Noodle boy?” Red Son demanded as he turned a corner just to see everyone in mid fight pause and stare at him before Yin and Jin took a step back.

“Monkie Kid! Not Monkey King!” Yin grumbled and smacked his brother around the head “Told you we should have written that down!”

“Kid, King it’s kinda easy to mix up!”

“Hey are we fighting or what?” MK demanded “You wanted this!”

“Nah we’re good!” Jin exclaimed “Hey Red Boy how are things?”

“Not bad all things considered” Red Son said “How are you two doing? Last I saw you were on TV trying to out cook Pigsy”

“Yeah, to be fair that was one of our more thought out plans we had…” Jin muttered.

“You know these guys?!” Mei demanded reminding the demons of the humans in the group. Red Son turned around to face his friends.

“Oh yeah we go waaaay back!” Jin laughed and patted Red Son on the back.

“We are probably the first demons to start mixing Tech and magic, these two are great to bounce ideas off with. Speaking of which, how did that improved calabash idea go? Did you managed to get pass that whole melting the victim problem?” Red Son asked and MK perked up at that last bit and saw the two metallic demons giving him an interesting look that was a mix of “don’t you dare tell him about that” and “Please don’t tell him about that”.

“Nah it kinda went belly-up we had to go back to the drawing board ya know?” Yin exclaimed and hustled Red Son away from MK in case the Monkie Kid decided to remind the two that the calabash did indeed work and he broke it when they tried to kidnap him with it.

“Pity” Red Son muttered “The idea of having an entire illusionary world that you can carry on you sounded like a fun idea. To be able to recreate places from memories or even create new locations entirely… you could have made it like a vacation spot for demons!”

“That’s a way better idea than using it as a holding cell for our enemies!” Jin moaned out loud to which everyone except MK turned to stare at him confused, Yin just face palmed.

“Anyway, you looking for anything in particular?” Yin interjected before anyone could question that statement Red Son pulled out a blue print.

“I’m looking to improve this, which needs better suspension…” he began and Yin looked at the blueprint nodded sagely, before scanning the junk yard.

“Yeah, I think I saw a quad bike over there, the engine is totally buggared but everything else is good to go!” he exclaimed Red Son grinned and trotted over with Yin leading the way. Jin watched the two go before glancing back at Mei and MK who were still on guard, sword and staff in hand just in case.

“So…how’s Red Boy been lately?” the demon asked quietly.

“Huh?!” Mei spluttered.

“I mean what with the whole divorce thing going on…”

“DIVORCE!?” MK cried out before being shushed by Jin loudly, he shot a look over to where his brother and Red Son had gone. “Sorry…but divorce? Red Son said his parents were going through a rough patch not ending it entirely!”

“That’s not what we heard on the ol’ demon grapevine, DBK going the whole nine yard on it. that’s practically unheard of in our community especially royalty. If you’re a king and you didn’t like your wife you just got a consort or something…”

“What did they say about Red Son?” MK asked concerned.

“Yeah, I heard you guys saying about mixing up Monkie Kid with Monkey King” Mei asked, all three scanned the area in case Red Son was in ear shot before returning to the huddle.

“We were told that until the whole thing was sorted out Red Son now belong to Monkey King’s court, turns out they meant YOUR court” Jin explained.

“Court sounds so uptight and fancy, I prefer the word team…” MK muttered before getting back on the topic. “Wait so why did DBK do that?” he demanded to which Jin just shrugged.

“No clue…” he muttered.

“How come he never told us? Does he even know himself?” Mei wondered but Jin couldn’t answer as Red Son and Yin came back easily dragging a quad bike that looked like someone had tried to drive it through a boulder and failed.

“Hey look these are practically brand new and we can use the fourth as a spare!” he chirped happily.

“Good find mate!” Jin beamed, “Why don’t you guys stay for lunch? We’re having toad in the hole!”

MK and Mei blanched at the idea of eating roasted toads or something and the demon brothers grinned.

“Oh, come on we’ll be having some spotted dick for afters!” he chuckled Mei nearly gagged at the idea and Red Son gave a sigh.

“Relax Toad in the hole is an English dish of sausage in batter, and spotted dick is a steamed current pudding” Yin and Jin gave a groan.

“Spoil our fun why don’t you?” Yin growled.

“You know how to cook English dishes?” MK asked.

“We travelled to London during the whole industrial revolution, very informative on the top-of-the-line tech at the time and what can we say? The accent stuck!” Jin explained “you found it fun too didn’t you Red?”

“You went too?” Mei asked and Red Son crossed his arms and looked annoyed.

“He didn’t stick around like we did, not after the Spring Heel Jack incident” Yin chuckled and playfully punched Red Son’s shoulder who gave a half-hearted growl.

“In my defence it was the one time and that old bat deserved getting her eye brows singed off, ‘filthy savage’ indeed!” he grumbled “all the other spring heeled jack sightings were not me!”

Notes: I love the head canon that Yin, Jin and Red Son hang out and helped each other with their projects. Also, Spring Heel Jack was a Victorian creepy pasta of a being who could breathe fire, leap inhumanly high and vanish in an instant…sound familiar huh?

#red son #LMK Yin #lmk Jin #monkie kid mk #monkie kid red son #monkie kid mei

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duskandstarlight · 3 years

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 28)

Notes: Happy Sunday every one. Thanks for last week's comments. They were so lovely and I love to hear from you all!This chapter is the one lots of you have been waiting for... not smut, but THE conversation. I hope you enjoy it... And sorry about the typos in this chapter, I can't look at this chapter any more! I'll try and scan over it tomorrow...Lastly, just a head's up that I might not be able to post next Sunday. Work is super busy this coming week and I haven't yet started the chapter. I'll try my best, though :)

Oh, and for those of you who ask every week, I post Sunday evening UK time between 7-10PM. I will rarely change and if it’s late, it’s because I’m still working on it :)

Also, sorry, there should be italics in some places but I am done editing so Tumblr will get what copy and paste has done!

Twenty-Eight Cassian POV

Lorrian and Cassian walked silently down the hall, following the servant who was scurrying in front of them. The sound of their footsteps rang around the hallway in an echo that was almost haunting, and if it wasn't for the meeting that has just adjourned—the Rite meeting which that was whirring around in his mind—Cassian would be contemplating how quickly he could organise their departure despite the wishes of his High Lord.

As distracted as Cassian was, he had still committed every corridor to memory. Every twist and turn as the house tunnelled into mountain rock. Up the wide staircase, right, second left, first right, next left…

Deeper and deeper they moved into the mountain. No doubt to ensure that the General and Colonel felt as uneasy as possible. No Illyrian liked being unable to escape through a window and step straight into the skies, and from what Cassian could tell, there would be no windows or doors that led them straight out into the heavens. Only endless crystalline rock and shadow.

Lord Marsh’s property always had been unusual in that way. Even though it was positioned on the wide ledge of the mountain pass, suspended high in the sky above the rest of the Ironcrest camp, the house did not stop when it hit the mountain wall. Instead, it tunnelled inside of it, providing a lodgings that was a vast, confusing labyrinth that was too easy to get lost in.

It was why Cassian had been so loathe to stay the night. To stay any longer than necessary.

Cassian could only thank the Cauldron that Rhys and Feyre’s presence had not been required. Neither of them deserved to be trapped inside a mountain again. Cassian supposed he could count his lucky stars that their presence had not been necessary. Would not be able to bear their anguish, even if they did their best to conceal it.

“Your rooms,” the servant announced suddenly, with a bow that was so deep Cassian wouldn’t have been surprised if the male’s nose had scraped the floor.

They had reached the end of the hallway, and in front of them was a heavy wooden door set into an arch.

Even through rock and stone, Cassian could sense Nesta. Knew she was located somewhere to the left with Frawley, thanks to that magnetic pull which never seemed to cease, even just for a moment. That was the one thing Nesta hadn’t been able to stop. She could constrict their bond as much as she liked—could freeze him out so nothing could travel up and down their twisted tether—but it didn’t stop him from being able to sense her. It was as if he was hyper alert to where she was. His body moved when hers did. His heart did its best to beat in tandem with hers. And when they were near, everything in him had a tendency to relax, as if he no longer had to worry.

Cassian didn’t know if Nesta felt the same. Would never know, given that they did not discuss their fate at all.

Lorrian bid goodbye to the servant as Cassian stepped through the door and into a hallway that was equally as dark. Two doors flanked the short, cramped hallway and Cassian took the immediate left, pushing the door that was ajar so it creaked wide open.

Unlike the rest of Marsh’s residence, the room was cast in a light that was almost unforgiving, betraying the dark ominous furniture and the gloomy crystalline rock thanks to bobbing faelights which Frawley had magicked to illuminate the room. To his left, fire raged silently in the grate, and ahead of him, in a huge stone bay straight ahead of him, sat Nesta.

The carved out rock was fashioned as if it were a window—an irony, given how deep underground they were—and Nesta’s back rested against the far left-hand wall. Her knees were bent, and her long legs, which were hidden beneath her skirts, stretched across expanse of the ledge. She was facing Frawley, who was sitting on the huge Illyrian bed which took up most of the floor space.

Cassian just had time to catch Nesta’s unfettered expression—the tight, bracketed mouth and the downward pull of her brows— before it was wiped clean.

“What happened?” she demanded, as Cassian cast a shield which threw the whole suite into an impenetrable sound bubble.

Her eyes bore into his, and across the surface, silver roiled like liquid mercury. Despite her careful expression, he felt her worry and Cassian wondered just how much he had accidentally hurtled down their shared bond whilst he sat in that meeting to have her so concerned.

“They’ve cancelled the Blood Rite,” Lorrian announced grimly, from where he had entered the room behind Cassian.

Nesta’s eyes snapped to Lorrian. Confusion twisted across her features, but she did not say anything.

“That,” Frawley said after a moment’s pause, “is very clever.”

Begrudgingly, Cassian nodded. Because it had been clever. None of them had seen it coming. The Solstice luncheon, which invited all of the nobility across Illyria, had been enough to ward away any suspicion when it came to the lordlings presence. Rite representatives were chosen privately by each camp, so there was no way that Cassian could have known that the lordlings who had recently met with Kallon planned to fill many of the positions. Nor had it crossed Cassian’s mind that the Rite meeting might have been pulled forward only for it to be cancelled, especially given how steadfast and stubborn Illyrians were when it came to tradition.

But, even if Cassian had asked Az to find out what representatives had been chosen for the Rite that year, they never could have predicted that Kallon intended to instate a hiatus on the most important ritual in Illyria’s long history—a political manoeuvre that would make the Night Court look even worse than it already did.

“How did he get the lords to agree to it?” Frawley asked, as she watched her husband sink down into a chair that sat in the right hand corner of the room next to a dark, looming wardrobe that only served to make the room feel even more cramped. “Those princes will usually be damned if they listen to a word the other says.”

“The Rite representatives,” Cassian announced with a heavy sigh, wishing he too would give in to the temptation to sink down and sit somewhere. Next to Nesta, ideally. “All of them were lordlings who met with Kallon all those months ago. And the worst thing about it all is that Lorrian and I swayed the vote in Kallon’s favour. He played us and we walked straight into his damn den. It made us look as if we were agreeing with him for the sake of politics, rather than because we thought it ourselves.”

Which was the irony of the situation, Cassian thought to himself grimly. Cassian had been worried for a long time about the unnecessary loss of further lives due to the Blood Rite. Had been losing sleep over it, just as his nightmares continued to plague him whenever he did succumb to the clutches of the unconscious. There was already so much ash of flesh and bone on Cassian’s hands from when he had deserted his legion for desperate screams. And now… he was existing on stolen time—a time which had been bought by a female who at the end of it all, had not accepted his heart.

“Every word of Kallon’s appeal resonated with the Lords,” Lorrian told Nesta and Frawley as he ran his hands over his face… over his dark, close-cropped hair and the nicked scars on his scalp. “He played upon the sentiment that is already festering inside so many of the Fae in Illyria. That the Night Court uses our warriors for their own gain in war but does not care about them in the interim.”

“And then Kallon presented them with the damn sword,” Cassian growled, clenching his fists at the memory.

Frawley’s eyes gleamed so brightly her irises turned glacial blue and amber. “You saw it up close?” she asked, leaning forward so eagerly from where she was sitting on the mattress that she near folded in half. “And what did you feel?”

“Ancient magic,” Lorrian replied grimly, even as his wife continue to stare at Cassian. “My own magic spiked at the sight of it. It was…” he broke off and shook his head, “It was odd. All of the lords could feel it, I am sure of it. Not one of them disputed that it was Enalius’s.”

Cassian remembered the way his siphons had throbbed and the ruby star over his chest had pulsed so fiercely it felt like a second heart—as if it were answering a silent call that even he couldn't hear. Only Nesta’s power had made Cassian feel like that before. It didn’t matter if it was silver fire or healing light, Nesta’s magic called to him, chanting and moaning until he thought he might combust from it.

But Cassian did not say any of that. Had barely dared to admit it to himself, let alone voice it out loud. So, instead, he flared his siphons and rummaged through the travel bag which appeared on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

His fingers found the book without having to search for it, his callouses brushing against soft brown leather. He pulled out Heroicis, the gold-lettering on the cover shimmering as he flipped it open to peel back the delicate pages.

It was easy to find the illustration of the sword. Cassian had stared at the drawing so many times the book wanted to be opened to that page.

He placed the book down on the vanity. “It looked exactly like that,” he announced wearily, waving a hand to the illustration. “Except the jewel is missing.”

The rustle of clothing sounded as three Fae moved towards him. Cassian did not turn but he scented all three of them. Lorrian’s gentle rush of heat and sandalwood. Frawley’s damp forest earth after rain and air streaked with fire smoke. And then Nesta. She had drawn up to his left, but he would have known where she was in a room without scent or sight. Yet, he allowed himself the privilege of scenting her all the same, as that rush of her became sharper and more focussed, like a blade narrowing to an essential point: jasmine and vanilla and Nesta.

Rivalling most Fae in height, Nesta’s head barely reached his shoulder. Cassian desperately wanted to wind his arm around her and pull her close, but out of the public eye they were no longer pretending. He didn’t want to push the boundaries that were already so brittle. Would not disrespect Nesta by overstepping the mark. Not unless she indicated she wanted it otherwise.

So, Cassian pushed away the stark vision of him moulding her to his body, or the way he had bowed earlier to press his lips to her knuckles. Tried not to ponder over the temptation of brushing his lips over her cheek by the end of their visit…

“I did not expect a General to carry epic poetry,” Frawley drawled in amusement, but there was an edge to her voice that told Cassian she was holding something back.

Lorrian snickered at his wife and did what Cassian had yearned to do to Nesta—he dropped a kiss to the top of her white head. The Colonel had used his siphons to peel back his armour as soon as the door had closed behind them. With it, his arm had disappeared, and the Colonel looked more like himself.

“Well, witch,” Cassian demanded with forced lightness, “is this an accurate depiction?”

“It is the only illustration I have ever seen that is correct,” Frawley said simply, her head cocked to the side so the white of her hair fell in an impossibly straight stream. The strands shimmered pearlescent in the light. The colour was almost otherworldly.

“Did you find anything out from the females?” Lorrian asked. He was rubbing over the stub of his limp, as if it was causing him phantom pain, his expression drawn tight.

The change of subject wasn’t as abrupt as it seemed. Cassian knew why Lorrian was asking. If they found anything incriminating against Kallon or the Ironcrest clan, it would aid them in stifling the rebellion that at this point seemed inevitable.

A fierce flare of pain wrangled through Cassian’s gut and his head snapped to Nesta, but she was staring fixedly at the book.

Lorrian had also turned sharply to Nesta, his eyes wide. His hand dropped from where he had been trying to ease the pain from his arm and his expression, although surprised, was free of any discomfort.

“Thank you,” Lorrian said quietly.

There was a pause that stretched out too long. All of them were silent, but Nesta dipped her chin without turning her head.

“The females didn’t speak beyond polite conversation,” Frawley began, steering all of their attention from Nesta. “But I did mention the kerit attacks on the widows camps.”

“Did you pick up any emotion?” Cassian asked Nesta.

“Yes,” Nesta replied, but her shrug dismissed the notion that she may have felt anything prominent. “Fear, disgust, anger towards the attacks. Most of it low level.”

Cassian frowned. “I suppose the attacks have not hit Ironcrest. They have not experienced the damage first hand.”

“There was a spike of horror and despair,” Nesta told him. “From someone. But I couldn't place it. It came from behind me and by the time I had turned the emotion had gone.”

Cassian stared down at Nesta. “Did you scent it? The insignia behind the emotion?”

Nesta shook her head. “All of the scents were jumbled. I got a flash of something, but I couldn’t—” Nesta stopped abruptly and her beautiful face twisted into a dissatisfied grimace. “If I sensed it again, I might recognise it, but—”

Already Cassian knew she was punishing herself. He refrained from putting a hand on her shoulder in silent reassurance.

“Even a Fae with years of practice would find it difficult to associate the source of an emotion in a crowded room,” Frawley said with a dismissive wave of her hand, as if she too knew that Nesta would not stop the self-blame. That it would rage internally until it consumed her. “You do not have eyes in the back of your head.”

“And from Kallon?” Cassian asked, even though he suspected he already knew the answer, and that he wasn’t going to like it.

They all watched Nesta’s lips tighten into a thin line. Eventually, she said, “He likes my power.”

Cassian knew that expression. Knew from the way everything had gone very quiet that she had frozen him out so he would not know how the promise in those yellow eyes had turned triggered Nesta’s trauma.

But the problem was that Cassian had learnt to notice the slightest change in Nesta’s expression. Had catalogued every movement in the four months they had lived together, even when he didn’t know what it meant.

Frawley’s brown eye flicked to Cassian. Even behind the brisk facade, Cassian could tell she was worried about Nesta. Cassian wondered what they had spoken about whilst he and Lorrian had been gone. “What time is this dreaded dinner?” she asked.

“In an hour,” Cassian grimaced.

“And do you think the princeling will be carrying the sword with him, now he has confirmed the rumours?”

Lorrian grunted a laugh. Cassian wondered if he, too, was thinking of the way Kallon’s eyes had gleamed triumphant. How tempting it had been to smack the princeling around the face. “I think we can count on it.”

***

An hour later, the same servant escorted the four of them down the warren corridors to dinner.

Both Lorrian and Cassian had discarded their full-scaled armour for tunics layered with a stainless steel cuirass over the top. That, coupled with plates and fingerless leather gauntlets on both of their hands, allowed Cassian and Lorrian to showcase their siphons. The light-weight pieces of armour were made of the usual Illyrian scales, and whilst the armour was more ornamental than for the purpose of fighting, Rhys had worked his magic so it was as indestructible as carbon steel, if not more.

Lorrian’s right arm was back and glowing. Cassian understood why his friend wanted to face the vultures with all of his limbs, but he wished he could take Lorrian’s shame away. He supposed there was nothing to be done but to hope that time led to acceptance. Already Lorrian had come a long way. Had even started training with Cassian without his arm, learning to wield a sword with his left-hand should the occasion every call for it.

It was that willingness to adapt that reminded Cassian why Lorrian was an exceptional warrior. Why he would conquer where others would fail. The Colonel would be prepared for every scenario. Would know how to balance his body with and without a limb.

Opponents would not expect it. It would give Lorrian the upper hand in battle, rather than showcasing a weakness that anyone who knew about his limb would expect.

It meant that if Lorrian’s siphons ever became drained, that he could still fight.

Nesta and Frawley had also changed for dinner, even though the witch had grumbled at having to dress up for company she would rather obliterate from Prythian. Unsurprisingly, Nesta had only grown more divine with a change of clothes, but she had barely spared him a glance as she looped her hand through his arm.

Which, Cassian thought, had been just as well, because he had not been able to stop his eyes from darkening and his wings from rustling at the sheer sight of her.

Now, Nesta held onto him as they followed the backs of Lorrian and Frawley from where they walked in front of them. The two of them had fallen slightly behind, most likely because of their hesitancy to fling themselves back in the path of the vultures that were Marsh and Kallon.

And, Cassian admitted, because he had purposefully shortened his stride so he could glance surreptitiously at Nesta—at the dark, deep forest green of her long-sleeved dress, which had actually stopped Cassian’s heart and made his breath catch in his throat. Something which he knew Lorrian had clocked but had decided not to mention— thank the Cauldron.

The top half of the velvet material wrapped around Nesta’s every curve, before it billowed out softly at the hips into an A-line skirt. At her chest—which was bared rather than hidden away—the silver chain of the pyrite necklace fell tauntingly below the v-neckline.

Cassian thanked his lucky stars and the Gods combined that he could not glimpse her cleavage.

“Want to go home yet?” Cassian murmured, breaking their silence.

They had barely spoken since the luncheon and certainly not alone. Nesta had not commented when she had emerged from their bedroom. Had not mentioned the single bed that had taunted him when he had first entered to change.

Cassian had ensured they were not in the room at the same time. Was actually terrified to close himself into such a small and cramped space with her.

The way in which Nesta did not look up at him as he spoke told Cassian that she was very far away. Her huffed breath was practically inaudible, and she had an almost unreachable air about her that told him that for some reason, her trauma had caught up with her.

So, Cassian did what he did best. He decided to rile her.

“You’re going to have to lower your shields,” he warned her.

The slightest of frowns graced Nesta’s expression as they came to the end of a corridor and entered the vast landing that graced the first floor. Here, the flagstone floor was layered with a carpet runner that was dappled in brown and white, like the feathers of a hawk-crested eagle. “I’m aware,” Nesta clipped, that chin of hers raising as her back straightened.

Cassian brought a hand up to cover hers. Anything to get her to look at him. “You can stay in the room if you’d prefer,” he said quietly.

Those tempting lips thinned into a straight line. She turned her head away from him, so he could only see the intricate braid that weaved a halo around her head. “No, I can’t,” Nesta replied shortly.

She was not wrong. Cassian would not leave her deep in the mountain where he could not protect her. Even if that meant taking her to a place where her trauma would intensify.

He hated himself for it.

“I won’t let him harm you. I won’t let them touch you.” The words came out fiercer than he had intended, even if his voice was a low rumble.

There must have been enough urgency in his voice, because finally Nesta twisted her head to look up at him. Those eyes were a little less hollow. “I know,” she replied simply. Her eyes slid to a spot past his head. “I might harm them, though.”

A dark, please laugh issued from his throat, even as he wished that mercury would slide over the frosty blue of her irises. Nesta had issues summoning her magic when she succumbed to the numbness, and Cassian did not want her in this Gods damned awful place without her power at her disposable.

“I look forward to seeing it,” he responded smoothly, but his heart fell as she turned away from him again.

Desperation clawed at his insides—at the bond which was constricted by ice—that the next words left him without contemplating the gravity of them. “Are you wearing that dress to taunt me, Nesta?”

Nesta’s eyes snapped to his so quickly that everything in him jolted. A dim light throbbed in the depth of her gaze. “Excuse me?”

“This dress,” he said in a low confession, “has become my favourite thing.”

An unamused snort, even as a glimmer of embarrassment forced its way down their bond. It was fleeting and barely there, but Cassian felt it. Grasped for it. “Your favourite thing is chocolate.”

“My favourite thing is you,” he corrected, scarcely believing his loose tongue. He made his eyes glint playfully. “Chocolate is a close second.”

“In fact,” he mused after a moment’s pause. “The two together—”

“In your dreams,” Nesta snapped, her words coming out so sharply and with such aggression that both Frawley and Lorrian’s heads whipped round to stare at them.

Cassian grinned wolfishly, watching Lorrian shake his head at the obvious fire in Nesta’s eyes. The fire that Cassian was doing everything to rally.

Both of his friends had noticed Nesta turn silent in the hour before dinner, but neither of them had uttered a word. They understood the peaks and troughs—the challenges of life when things became too hard.

“That comeback again, sweetheart? I’d have thought you’d have something more original by now.”

“You are insufferable,” Nesta clipped. And at her hands… a wisp of that mist.

“Do you not like being complimented” Cassian taunted, stifling the way his blood soared at the faint pink that stained her cheeks—another blessed reaction.

Together they descended the elaborately wide staircase, moving slowly to accommodate for Nesta’s skirts. Usually, Cassian had no time for impractical attire, but he had long learnt that Nesta could wear whatever she liked and he would accommodate it, no matter how ill-thought-out.

Nesta’s grip on his arm tightened into a death grip.

She was not looking at him again. Deliberately avoiding his gaze, even as his eyes did not once stray from her face, his legs carrying him blindly as he furiously scanned her for expression.

Finally, Nesta said with a quiet that did not lack in intensity, “A compliment isn’t true if it’s designed to be a distraction.”

Cassian huffed a breath of laughter. Of course, she had seen right through him. Yet…

He dared to lean towards her, to close the distance between them so he could murmur into her elegantly tipped ear. “It was a distraction,” he confessed honestly as they turned down the corridor that led off to the right-hand side of the foyer, “but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true, does it?”

Blue, smoky eyes latched onto his, Nesta’s chin tilting upwards to meet his gaze. It was a torturous form of bliss, the movement bringing her face far too close to his. She stared at him and he stared right back, even as his heart thumped hard against his ribcage.

He lowered his head further. Watched Nesta’s eyes widen ever so slightly as he closed the distance between them. She had stilled completely, halting them just outside of the dining room.

This time he allowed his lips to ghost her ear. Let the Illyrian roll of his tongue and savoured her suppressed shiver. The spark of something which wound itself around his ribcage. “After you, amore.”

Cassian made himself wink as he straightened up, as if he were entirely unaffected by her proximity.

And then he steered her into the dining room.

***

Dinner was worse than Cassian had anticipated, and by the time the four of them arrived back at their suite, none of them were bothering to hide their exhaustion. The door had barely shut behind them when Frawley brusquely announced that the sword which had been showcased at the dinner was undoubtedly Enalius’s, before she disappeared into her room with Lorrian following closely behind.

The first thing Cassian had done upon entering he and Nesta’s shared room was to flop onto the bed. Dealing with Lord Marsh was trying at the best of times, but tackling Lord Marsh, Kallon and the other arrogant lords, as well as the drama that came with it… Cassian had been fighting a headache all day and the pressure was now a keen, insistent throb behind his eyes.

That, coupled with a tense dinner that had slowly chipped away at his pain threshold, had Cassian desperately wanting to slide beneath the sheets and succumb to sleep.

To Cassian’s surprise, Marsh had not been present at dinner, and from the way that Kallon sat unfazed at the head of the table, Cassian gathered that it was not an unusual occurrence.

Kallon had held audience with an ease that had rivalled Rhys when he was playing cruel High Lord during a visit to the Hewn City, and apart from the shadows of servants lining the walls, no other lords and ladies had been present at dinner. It had been a surprising move. Cassian had expected Kallon to parade and taunt in front of the watchful eyes of the Illyrian nobility, who would no doubt disappear later to whisper into others ears…

But, instead, it had only been the five of them. That had been enough to tell Cassian that whilst Kallon might have no qualms in wielding words as vicious as Nesta’s, he also did not believe he could control the tongues of those he was dining with. That he knew that despite the sword that lay gleaming on the gilded cushion further down the table, that they his company had the capability of maiming him if they saw fit. Something which Kallon could not afford given his victory earlier that afternoon.

This fear came to a conclusion halfway through their main course, when Kallon deigned to insinuate that females were not designed to wield a sword.

“Are you saying,” Nesta asked with a deathly sort of calm that had Cassian tensing, “that you do not deem females worthy of protecting themselves?”

“I think that the Night Court should protect the entirety of its court so the females don’t have to worry about protecting themselves,” Kallon had responded swiftly, his sharp knife slicing into his bloody steak as if it were nothing but butter.

“What you are saying,” Frawley corrected, her voice brusque and hard, “is that you do not see females as having any other purpose than bearing younglings.”

“Is that not their purpose?” Kallon had challenged. He paused, surveying all of their faces with a grim sort of satisfaction, before he had pressed on, “Is that not what is needed for a race who has lost more males in this war than it has seen in hundreds of years?”

“A female’s worth is not found in their ability to reproduce,” Nesta had responded coolly. Her voice, Cassian had noticed, had dipped into the deathly sort of calm that usually preceded an outburst of flame. “In fact, I have not met one male in Illyria who is more worthy of learning how to wield a weapon than the females in Illyria’s camps.”

“And does that sense of worth extend to the males around this table?” Kallon had replied, his yellow eyes gleaming at a sudden opportunity. Like the rest of the residence, the dining room had been dimly lit, illuminated by faint faelight and the fire that raged in the hearth. It meant that shadows had crept across the walls and table as Kallon leant forward to where Nesta was sitting at his right. “I assume not, given your tendency to fuck anything that moves.”

The sentence was as abrupt as a slap to the face, but Nesta did not move. Did not give any indication that the princeling’s words had hit home, even as Cassian’s gut had wrenched.

“It is funny,” Nesta had mused icily, her voice as cold as the fiercest Illyrian winter, “that you should try to shame me, especially given that if I was a male, I am sure you would be praising me for such a consistent pursuit of pleasure.”

Carefully, Nesta had set down her goblet, her eyes boring into the princeling’s with such intensity that Cassian had been surprised that the male hadn’t burst into flame.

Other than Frawley’s snort of agreement, nobody had dared to move. Time had passed. Time in which Cassian vowed to remain steadfast to his silent promise that he should not interference unless it was absolutely necessary. Even as Kallon did not back down.

Together, they had all watched the princeling settle back into his chair with the relaxed sort of ease that had Cassian wanting to castrate him. “Perhaps then, I should surprise you by showing you my room in case you fancy pursuing some real pleasure later—”

“That is —” Cassian had started to snarled, banging a fist on the table just as Lorrian had growled, the sound a low, deep warning—

And that was when the entire room had glowed silver, the magic snapping around the room with such ferocity that it was like a whip cracking against bare skin.

When Nesta’s magic dropped—when Cassian’s blood had reduced to a simmer rather than boiling—Cassian realised that exercising her magic had been the perfect excuse for Nesta to silence the fire that had been crackling fiercely in the grate behind them. The fire from which Cassian had spent the entirety of the meal trying to shield her from as best as possible, his wing curled protectively around the back of her chair.

Even so, the showcase of Nesta’s power had been startling and undeniably effective. As Nesta’s temper had flared, that silver fire had ignited in the grate, swallowing the orange flames as mist wreathed up her arms, eddying around her at such speed that it began to seep across the table towards Kallon.

And the whole time Kallon’s eyes had gleamed. Not with fear, but with the kind of awe that Cassian felt when he’d first witnessed how magnificent Nesta was.

It had taken everything in Cassian not to leap across the table and rip the princeling’s head from his body. From the way Frawley was gripping Lorrian, it had seemed as if his friend felt the exact same way.

But to Cassian’s surprise, Nesta had only let out a low, cruel laugh which had sliced through any of Cassian’s intention to intervene.

Instead, he had watched, riveted as those eyes of pure mercury raked up and down Kallon’s body with a look of unbridled disgust. And when Nesta had spoken, her voice was as terrifying as the promise of death, “I would never deign to lower myself by sharing a bed with you,” she told Kallon, “and I certainly hope that no other female has been forced to endure it.”

Infuriatingly, Kallon had only let out a musical laugh rather than a snarled retort. “And I suppose you would rather pair yourself with a male who has nothing to give you—not a title or a name, only the promise of a cheap necklace. Perhaps that is why you seem to have no true inclination to secure your future with him.”

Then, Kallon had slowly dragged his eyes to Cassian. “I would have thought your role in leading the Night Court’s armies would pay better than that, General. But I suppose you can’t take the bastard out of the slums.”

It had been at that point that Nesta had found Cassian’s hand under the table. It had been the most careful of movements—unnoticeable to anybody but them. The clasp of her fingers around his and the easing of the pain and fury in his gut had been the only thing that had stopped him from either beating Kallon to a pulp or leaving the meal in a rage.

Both of which would only have allowed Kallon to emerge triumphant… So, they had eaten in the sort of tense silence, speared sporadically with the odd ferocious comment. And at the end of the table, that damned sword had lain on the gilded cushion, gleaming magnificently in the firelight, calling to Cassian’s power in a way that pulled at his skin…

Now, recollecting the monstrosity of the evening, Cassian wanted to ward away the feeling of unworthiness that still lay bitter on his tongue. There was also a sense of foreboding that he could not shake. A terrible knowledge that whatever he and Nesta had constructed between them was something false rather than true.

There were so many cracks they had hastily tried to ignore. So many past actions that had been pushed to the background rather than being acknowledged.

Cassian didn’t know what would happen if they were addressed. If it would fling the two of them so far back into the past that it would shatter the present.

Yet… it seemed inevitable. A hulking, looming presence that clung to them like a shadow.

But for now… Cassian wanted lightness. He wanted to know that he and Nesta were ok. So he waved a hand tiredly at the room, and said, “Sorry we have to share.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta replied finally, as if she had been so far away it had taken her a while to rope herself back to reality.

Cracking open an eye, Cassian watched her close the bedroom door behind her. She had closed their bond as soon as they had left the dinner table. Cassian did not know if it was a deliberate move to shut him out, or just an attempt to sever any emotion. He knew she must be feeling raw. Lowering one’s shields did that, especially for Nesta, who felt more than everyone else. Azriel had warned him of that. Had confirmed what Cassian and Feyre had always thought. That Nesta’s gift expanded outside of the power she had clawed from the Cauldron. Something which had always existed inside of her but which had been magnified further when she was Made.

“I wouldn’t want my own room here,” Nesta elaborated when she caught him studying her.

Cassian watched Nesta’s ever perceptive eyes scan the room: the simple, whitewashed walls and the pine furniture. The room was of moderate size, although Cassian would wager that it wasn’t Lord Marsh’s biggest guest room. That silent rebuff hadn't gone unnoticed — not that Cassian cared. He had endured far worse conditions, after all.

Most of the floor space was taken up by the Illyrian bed, which was big enough for two sets of wings. Now, Nesta hovered beside it as if she were unsure what to do next. It was the most awkward he had ever seen her.

“By all means,” he drawled tiredly, waving to the other side of the mattress. He folded the wing that he had spread onto the other side—her side—of the bed, “I can sleep on the floor. Just...give me a moment.”

Ignoring his invitation, Nesta floated over to the dressing table instead. Propping his head under a bent arm, Cassian watched her as she started to slowly take the pins out of her hair.

For a long while, the clink of metal on wood was the only noise that filled the room, and Cassian was just about to ask Nesta how many gods damned pins she used, when she started to slowly unspool the hair from the top of her head. Jaw slightly slack, Cassian watched in awe as Nesta parted the thick strands of the braid with well-practiced hands. When she was finished, she began to brush it out, until the light brown strands shimmered gold in the faelight and the teeth no longer snagged on knows.

Cassian wondered if any male had ever seen her do this: the simple act of getting ready for bed. He hoped not. There was something intimate about watching Nesta let her hair down, as if every pin that came out of her head removed a little bit of that mask, revealing a younger, softer version of the hot-headed hellcat he usually had to contend with.

“You’re staring.”

The words clipped through the silence, as sharp as a cutting knife.

Well, perhaps she wasn’t a softer version, after all.

Cassian’s eyes slid to Nesta’s in the mirror. In the dim faelight, the blue of her irises had given way to a stormy, mesmerising grey. He made his lips pout, even as he imagined running his fingers through the soft strands. “Your hair looks prettier than mine.”

The faintest of smiles tugged at Nesta’s lips. It was slightly wicked, the only warning she gave him before she tossed him the ivory-handled brush.

Cassian’s hand snapped up, catching the brush inches from his face, his eyes never straying from hers.

His grin was triumphant and when Nesta rolled her eyes at him, the gesture so uncharacteristically playful, satisfaction burned through every pore, every fibre of his being.

How far they had come.

“Then brush it, you stupid brute. I won’t deny that it needs it.”

Cassian laughed throatily—the first true laugh he had let loose that day. “I thought you liked my rugged looks?”

A soft, unimpressed snort. “A wholly made up notion.”

He watched Nesta rummage through her travel bag and pull out a white cotton nightdress and some toiletries, before disappearing into the adjoining bathroom. He brushed his hair whilst the water ran and then peeled off his clothes, baring his skin to the chill air.

The glare Nesta sent him when she reemerged would have sent a lesser male scarpering. It made him wonder how any of the males she had bedded had even made it home with her in the first place. She crossed her arms defiantly over her chest, which only emphasised the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton. She was still wearing the pyrite, and the metal shone mockingly against her creamy skin—silver flecked with gold.

The sight of it so close to her cleavage had him biting back a groan.

Mother Above, he had to get a grip if they were going to sharing a room all night.

“You can’t wear night clothes like a normal person?” Nesta hissed at him.

With a taunting grin, Cassian rested a hand on a hip, highlighting his tight undershorts. He refrained from flaring his wings—largely because the space did not accommodate for it. “I usually sleep nude sweetheart, which would you prefer?”

And then, not waiting for her to start on him, he headed straight for the bathroom, making sure their skin brushed as he passed.

To his delight, Nesta’s angry snarl chased him until he closed the bathroom door firmly behind him.

When he reappeared five minutes later, Nesta was already under the covers with her nose buried in a book. Silent, silver flames licking fiercely up the chimney from the open fire grate. The heat was fiercely warm and very welcome, especially given that this deep underground, there was little warmth to be found. The heat sunk deliciously into his skin, and Cassian flared his wings slightly to fight the goosebumps that were scattered across the sensitive membrane.

Since Nesta had lit the torch at the widows funeral, she had taken to lighting the fires throughout the house, and Cassian had become so used to the glow of silver flames in every fire grate around the house that he barely bat an eyelid.

It warmed him, though, to see the house alight with silver and warmth. To see Nesta unafraid and relaxed. To see her sit near the fire, rather than as far away from it as possible.

“I didn’t see you sneak a book into the bag,” Cassian commented, as he pulled a blanket from the wardrobe and pulled on some loose pants. He had been teasing her before about sleeping in his undershorts. He’d mainly wanted to pull a reaction from her, to see how she would respond to his bare skin.

Her hiss had been satisfying enough. Not that Cassian hadn’t hoped for more. A too long glance, or even better, a blush.

Nesta didn’t glance up at Cassian as she turned the page. “You should know better than to think I’d travel without a book.”

He watched her eyes move across the page, utterly absorbed. Her long hair fell over her face and unconsciously she tucked the strand behind an elegantly arched ear. A signature move of hers, however unconscious, that he had yet to name. It was fast becoming one of his favourites.

Nodding, Cassian reached for the pillows on his side of the bed to distract himself from looking at her. Her next words made him pause.

“Just stick to your side.”

Nesta did not look up. She gave none of her focus to him yet she must have been watching him out of the corner of her eye.

“I don’t mind,” he reassured her after a moment.

A flip of a page. “There’s no room for your wings down there.”

She was right. It was a tight enough squeeze for his body let alone the wings on his back, and the blanket would do little to protect him from the cold flagstone floor. Cassian had endured far worse of course, but the thought of tucking his wings in that tight all night... well, he’d suffer for it tomorrow. And even though he knew sleeping an arms length away from her would be torture of a different kind...

“Thank you,” he conceded softly.

No acknowledgement, yet… this was progress. Only months ago, Nesta would have made him sleep on the cold just to watch him suffer.

A contented groan escaped him as the mattress moulded to his sore back. He rolled onto his side, flaring his wings to settle behind him and examined her.

The faded paperback Nesta was reading was well-worn. Many of the pages were dog-eared and Cassian knew that he’d seen her curled up with it before. He craned his neck in an attempt to try and read the title on the spine. He would bet good money it was a love story. No, he would bet his entire wealth that it was a love story.

It was quick, but he caught Nesta’s darting glance. It was enough for him to break the silence.

“Why do you read romance novels?”

A burning question Cassian had wanted to ask her more times than he could count. On both hands.

Not that he didn’t have his own theory on that.

“Why do you read books about war?” Nesta countered.

A slow, taunting smile. “I asked you first, sweetheart.”

Nesta rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Why can’t I read them?”

Cassian bit back a growl of frustration. “You can read whatever you like. What I mean is why do you enjoy reading romance novels so much?”

Nesta bookmarked her page with a scarlet ribbon—a gesture at odds with the earmarked pages—and placed it on the nightstand with a sigh. “I revoke my offer, you can sleep on the floor.”

“But what about my poor wings,” he whined.

“Feyre’s right, you really are Illyrian babies.”

Cassian scowled. “I’m full of testosterone, thank you very much.”

Nesta snorted. “Rumour has it that Azriel has the largest wingspan.”

The soft snarl that tore out of Cassian’s mouth surprised even him. He hadn’t made the noise deliberately, it had been completely unconscious, just as much as the next words out of his mouth. “Would you like me to prove you wrong, Nesta?”

His voice had turned low and husky without his bidding, as if it had done so purely on instinct. Maybe allowing himself to get in the same bed as Nesta had been a mistake. The scent of her was enough to cloud his judgement and this close... He could have his mouth on hers in seconds.

“I’d like anything but, actually,” Nesta clipped, completely unfazed by his act of dominance. “Besides, males seem to forget that it’s style over substance.”

Propping himself up on an elbow, Cassian leant towards her. He arched an eyebrow at her, his expression cocksure. Somehow, his headache had completely vanished. “Lucky for you, I have both.”

Nesta’s groan was one of long suffering. She reached to undo the clasp of the chain around her neck.

“Don’t take it off.”

Nesta’s head snapped round to his, his sudden command at odds with their banter. He held up his hands, the two ruby siphons glinting from where they sat firmly on the leather straps.

“We’re in that much danger?” she asked.

Cassian sunk back down onto his side, “I’m not taking any chances, and... I won’t be able to sleep if I know you’re not wearing it.”

Nesta’s lips parted slightly but her hands slowly withdrew from her neck. The stone glinted briefly against Nesta’s skin and then she extinguished the lights.

The soft flicker of silver that glowed from the hearth was the only reprieve from the darkness that fell across the room. Cassian wondered if flames would go out when Nesta fell asleep or if they would keep on burning.

The sheets rustled as Nesta got comfortable. In the following silence, Cassian could make out the reassuring thump of her heart. It wrapped around his own, the feeling a comfort until his breathing slowed and his muscles relaxed.

“He’s horrible,” Nesta said suddenly into the darkness.

“Marsh?” Cassian asked, but he knew who she meant. Wasn’t sure why he didn’t say it out loud.

“Him too, but I meant Kallon.”

Cassian grunted in agreement. Then, he dared to say, “He’s taken a liking to you.”

Revulsion forced its way down their constricted bond and into his gut.

Cassian didn’t need to look at Nesta to know her expression was hard. “He’s a pig-headed Illyrian brute.”

A flicker of a smile tugged at Cassian’s mouth, despite the subject. “I thought I was a pig-headed Illyrian brute?”

“Then I’ll have to rework my insults for you in light of recent events.”

Cassian barked another true laugh. Would Nesta ever stop surprising him? He suspected that if they were to spend a lifetime together, he would never grow bored. Would never be tempted to look in another female’s direction.

“I feel both triumphant and expectant,” he confided, before he sobered. “You didn’t have to defend me, earlier. I’m used to the comments. It doesn’t matter what I do, but my race will always see me as a bastard first and a General second. Being coupled with you is not something they will ever believe I deserve.”

More rustling of the sheets as Nesta turned onto her side to face him. Through the shadows, Cassian’s Fae eyesight could make out Nesta’s eyes staring directly at him. Even in the muted light, they were mesmerising. “I had a pretence to upkeep,” she replied shortly, as if that explained everything. But then her voice became so quiet that his ears strained to hear her. “You’re worth more than them.”

Usually, Cassian would have teased Nesta for voicing something so groundbreaking, but in this room—in this shared bed—the words dissolved on his tongue. He was momentarily speechless, so much so that the silence became awkward and weighted. His family had attempted to address his insecurities before, but it had never been enough to quash the beliefs that had been drummed into him from a young age. Cassian, too proud to succumb to the seriousness of the conversation, had brushed his family off until they left him well alone.

Azriel was the only one who truly understood; it was why he had never seen himself worthy enough to pursue Mor.

By the time Cassian summoned the courage to open his mouth, Nesta was already speaking, “How do they know about the war?”

The question made his heart stop. Not just because Nesta had mentioned a subject they usually stayed well clear of, but because, for the first time, she was addressing what had happened between them on the battlefield.

“I don’t know,” he admitted softly, ignoring the way his heart had begun to hammer in his chest. “By the time the healer had mended my wings everyone was talking about it. I think a conversation must have been overhead by a healer.” He paused, hoping Nesta might speak again. When she didn't, he added, “I was… very angry when I found out.” He palmed a hand over his face to try and soothe away the nerves that were humming agitatedly inside of him. He had done his best to ignore the whisperings behind his back.

It hadn’t been hard at first. The aftermath of the war had taken all of his attention. He had barely had time to eat and sleep, let alone digest the gravity of what others had found out. Not that he had gotten the gist of it in drabs: the entirety of the Night Court knew of how they had defended one another; how Nesta had been willing to die with Cassian when she could have run.

They did not know what he had promised. That he had kissed her, even though they were calling it the greatest love story in centuries. Cassian would never forget how Nesta had lain over him when she’d had the chance to run, and the urgency to her voice—the way it had cracked—as she had said; I can’t.

It was those two words which hounded Cassian the most, because even now, he did not know whether Nesta had said that because she hadn’t wanted to leave him, or because she had no choice.

“I assumed it was my sister and her loose mouth.”

Nesta’s words startled Cassian, bringing him back to the dark room rather than the muddy battlefield where his body was broken but his heart was full and aching. And in truth, Cassian had expected Nesta to draw a line under the conversation by ignoring him and feigning sleep, the next morning a fresh page where they need not bring up the previous night’s discussion.

Despite the dark, Cassian nodded, even though he was unsure as to whether Nesta could see it.

He had considered the same about Feyre. Not on purpose, of course, but by mistake. Feyre had been a witness. The original witness. “One thing I’ve learnt growing up Fae is that there are eyes and ears everywhere,” Cassian said eventually. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t prefer having my business kept to myself.”

Cassian knew Nesta was fiercely private, far more than him. Was it that invasion coupled with the monumental pressure that came with being spoken about by Fae and humans alike, as they whispered about the greatest love story in Prythian—the lowly bastard and the human Made Fae—that had been the final straw for her? Or had it been the death and destruction which had slammed the door shut on something as naive and fanciful as love?

The desperation to know—to understand—was so fierce that Cassian could not stop himself from asking what he had never dared, “Is that why you wanted nothing to do with me?”

A long, stony silence that eventually began to simmer with anger. Cassian did not know if it was the audacity of him having asked or for bringing unwanted memories to the surface.

Finally, Nesta clipped, “I wanted nothing to do with someone who treated me as second best.”

The icy dismissal in Nesta’s tone had goosebumps rising on Cassian’s bare arms. Recently their conversations had been a torturous, delicious heat rather than frosty, but this delivery… it made Cassian feel as if he had stepped back into the past.

They were going there then. A conversation Cassian never dreamed they would have. Yet here they were... and suddenly he was so terrified it would ruin everything he wished it would stop, even as he asked in a low voice, “In what capacity?”

Snapped words like the crack of a whip. “In every capacity. Let me go to sleep.”

“Nesta,” Cassian pressed, not caring that it was dangerous. Desperate to try and understand why they were not together when his entire body was begging him to close the distance. He knew she must feel it too. Hoped that she did. That it was not just a wishful fantasy on his part. Cassian had always thought their chemistry undeniable. It was what scared him.

It never went away, the wanting.

“What do you mean second best?” he urged.

“The fact that you do not know shows how stupid you are,” Nesta replied coldly, turning away from him, signalling that the conversation was over. Through the shadowy dark, Cassian could make out the slope of her shoulder and the outline of her curvaceous side. The spill of her hair, a tempting drape across the pillow.

He curbed most of the desperation that wanted to creep into his voice. “You are speaking of Mor.”

An abrupt snort of confirmation.

“Mor is my family,” Cassian said carefully, even though he knew his words would not convince Nesta.

“Your dynamic is not familial.”

“Not at the start, no,” Cassian admitted, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. To give himself distance. Because he could not bear to stare at her turned back as she tried to shut him out. “We slept together once when we were very young. It has never been repeated.” He blew out a long breath as he ran a hand over his face, trying to smooth over his pained expression. “She used me to lose her maidenhead. I don’t know how much you know, but Mor was mutilated by her family for it—she was dumped in the Autumn court with a note nailed to her womb for her betrothed to find her. It collapsed her marriage proposal and I have been responsible for that mutilation every day since, not least for driving a wedge between me and my brother.”

As he trailed off, the blankets moved and to his surprise, Nesta’s shoulder dipped slightly towards him. He’d clearly piqued her interest. “You mean Azriel.”

“Yes,” Cassian admitted bitterly. “I slept with Mor because I was a jealous prick and Az was besotted with her. His diverted attention made me feel like I had lost my brother and I thought it would make him move on.” Loosing another sigh, Cassian rubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his palms. “I grew up alone, so when I moved in with Rhysand’s mother and Azriel joined us… he and Rhys were the closest I had ever had to a real family. When we were a three, it was the first time I remembered being truly happy. Mor threatened that, so I did what I thought would remedy it. I was a naive, arrogant prick and bedding Mor is a regret that I have lived with ever since.”

Pausing, Cassian took in a deep breath. He’d never voiced any of this out loud before. It had always been something he and his family did not discuss out in the open, not until recently with Mor, anyway. And he had not gone into so much depth.

He hoped that Nesta understood what it had meant for him to be happy for the first time, when before that he had been miserable and alone. Nesta herself had confessed to Frawley that she did not know when she had last felt joy, but then Cassian had felt it the other day, the sensation so wonderful in her stomach he felt as if he had been knocked of breath. He had flown to find her, followed that tether between them that was more visceral than he had ever felt it, before he realised that this was not his moment to experience. So he had turned around in the skies, headed back home, waited to see Nesta later. Her face had been flushed and she was dirty from a day of helping in the widows camp… but her face, it was free of that mask. With it, her expression was less severe and the light in her eyes made her irises a shade lighter. It was the most beautiful thing Cassian had ever seen. And when she had seen him, she had smiled without thinking. As if he, too, brought her joy.

It had been a quiet smile. Secret. His.

But where could Cassian even start to begin explaining the mess of the love triangle between Mor, Az and himself? Of the guilt he felt for a few minutes of pleasure which nearly costed Mor her life.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “I felt so much guilt over what I had done—over what happened to Mor and for betraying Azriel like that—I spent the next five hundred years doing everything I could to make things easier between them. Azriel doesn’t think he is worthy of Mor and Mor isn’t interested. So I stepped in when I could… I eased the tension. I let Mor use me as a buffer and it just… it became a bad habit. We fell into an unusual friendship. Mor can be very protective of me.” He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “I can see how things were misconstrued. I think about it a lot, Nesta. I think about it all the time.”

Only silence met his confession.

“Things won’t be like that anymore,” he pressed on. Because he needed Nesta to understand that Mor was not in the equation—that she never had been—even though he was sure he and Nesta would never be anything but two Fae forced into close quarters. “Mor has finally been honest with Azriel.”

No reply. Nesta had turned preternaturally still again, as if she weren’t breathing.

“Nesta?"

“What.”

It was only one word but it was more vicious than anything she had said to him in months.

He felt his blood heat as he propped himself up onto an elbow. “Are you going to say anything or are you going to ignore me and pretend this conversation never happened?”

Nesta’s body moved slightly beneath the sheets as her muscles seized up. “I don’t think any of it matters now, so it’s not relevant.”

“It has always been relevant to me.” Cassian’s voice came out as a low hiss, his self-control snapping as his vulnerability became too much to bear. He threw a protective bubble around the room, sound proofing them inside. For the sake of their pretence, he couldn't have Fae ears overhearing their conversation. And… he could not bear Lorrian and Frawley overhearing something so painful. “You terrify me, Nesta, because I have never been so fucking captivated by anyone in the whole five hundred years I have been alive. From the very start you were different and it scared the shit out of me. My entire family knew it, too. I’m not a fan of everyone knowing my business, either, believe it or not, and they witnessed you putting me down at every step.”

Nesta’s snort was so cold that his entire blood heated fire. He was thankful for the dark to conceal how red his face has turned. He wanted to throttle her at the same time as he wanted to press her into the mattress and slant his mouth on hers. To show her that even now he only wanted her. That Mor meant nothing. Hadn’t for centuries. That he’d royally fucked up in so many ways that he didn’t even know how to start apologising.

“If you cared so much, perhaps you would not drop my hand when your friend enters the scene or gift her lingerie whilst I am in the same room. You are disgusting,” she spat.

Then, Nesta was facing him again with such sudden speed that Cassian braced himself for an attack, but Nesta only propped herself up onto an elbow. Her hair fell like a curtain over her shoulder, the flare of silver from her fingertips lighting the room with a sudden brightness.

“You asked why I read romance novels,” Nesta said, her voice having dropped suddenly into a quiet fervour that was no less chilling. “I read them because I was engaged to a boy who turned out to be cruel and I have watched a five hundred year old male discard and ignore me as he pleased. I would rather read about love than be in it. After all, I recall you saying that I was not worthy of love.”

“Sweetheart—” Cassian croaked. The blood had drained from his face and he knew that if he were to look in the mirror all he would see was a haunted ghost of himself. “I’m sorry. It was wrong of me to say that. You were so empty. I couldn’t reach you and so I lied. I thought you’d get angry at me, but instead you just walked away.”

“You are not unloveable,” he told her fiercely, when she remained silent and so fiercely sad his heart clenched. He had not known that she was engaged to that human filth. “You are the exact opposite. If anything—”

He stopped abruptly. Took stock. Her light was still glowing around them, illuminating the room in an ethereal mist which he would have considered beautiful if the two of them hadn’t been consumed by such agony.

“You’re not unloveable,” he insisted vehemently, after a moment’s pause. “And love doesn’t work like that. You can’t choose not to love, sweetheart. You know—”

“We decide how we act on it, that’s what matters,” Nesta interrupted, that mist sparking momentarily into flame before it was eaten by shadow.

And that was the crux of it. The truth behind the words—the calculated response that told Cassian that Nesta had thought of this over and over again. He would not change her mind when it came to him, because it all boiled down to her ability to choose. And he was not a choice. He had been thrust upon her. They were history rather than present. Would always be that way, it seemed.

Cassian fell onto his back as the gravity of the realisation crushed him with such force that for a moment, he felt as if he was choking.

“It was wrong of me to do those things,” Cassian said quietly, forcing out the hoarse words through the tightness in his windpipes as a result of the crushing disappointment. “All of it was wrong of me. I know that, Nesta. You may think I’m old but around you I find myself a teenager. On Solstice last year I didn’t know how to deal with the situation so I ignored you before you could do it to me and then regretted it later. I hoped you would speak to me. I hoped—”

That you would change your mind. That you would want to be with me. That you would stop fucking all those males. That you would forgive me.

But Cassian did not say those things. Instead, he said, “Look, we just need to pretend to be together for one more day and then you don’t have to think about being tied to anyone ever again.”

Silence.

That as all he needed to move. Logic told him that he should stay put—that he should remain calm and rational rather than affected—but the pain was too much and he found himself sitting up and pushing off the covers. He needed distance. In this room all he could scent was her—jasmine and vanilla—and it hurt, to be so close and know that he could not comfort her without the knowledge that she’d set him alight.

Cassian had thought he’d drawn a line under it all. Thought he’d accepted that he was content to co-habit with her and resist the undeniable pull between them for the rest of his days. But they had taken such big steps forward recently. Had thought things had continually shifted until all it boiled down to was their connection, which ran far deeper than twists of rope and a damn Cauldron.

At times, Cassian had even thought Nesta had wanted him to touch her. Had almost leant in to him. Walked close, stayed close.

Snorting, he discarded the memories, angry at himself for having wished for something that he had tried to put to rest.

“Where are you going?” Nesta’s words were sharp. The fanciful part of him detected alarm, but Cassian pushed it away. He knew better.

“To sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Again, Nesta moved with that extraordinary speed that Cassian should have accounted for. He had seen her in the sparring ring, had witnessed her move so fast that she was almost a blur. Only he could move that fast.

A mist-wreathed hand closed around his wrist with a strength that had his heart beating in his mouth and his siphons flaring. “Stay.”

Cassian ran a shaking palm over his face, pressing the heel of it to his eyes, hoping the pain of it would ground him. “I can’t,” he lied.

“You can,” Nesta said shortly, but there was a quiet plea lacing her voice. “You will.”

When Cassian didn’t move, Nesta tugged on his arm, urging him to join her back on the mattress. “Please,” she breathed, and this time Cassian did detect panic, as if Nesta had not bothered to conceal it. “I don’t want to fight with you. You’re the only—”

To Cassian’s dismay, Nesta broke off as her eyes filled with tears. When she spoke, her words were barely audible—small, “I like my life at the moment. I’ve never liked it before.”

Something cracked inside of Cassian, the sound internal and akin to the smashing of china.

“I don’t want anything to change,” Nesta continued. “I don’t want to have to move back to Velaris. I want to stay with you where I feel safe.”

Her expression cracked. The tight line to her mouth trembled and a frown twisted across her features. A tear slid down her cheek. “I said awful things to you,” she admitted.

“Yes,” Cassian conceded with a sad, tremulous smile, because even now he did not want her to hurt. “And I said awful things to you.”

“I wanted you to leave me alone. You scared me.”

“I know,” he replied. Because he understood what she meant. How even though his blood sang when she was near, he was equal parts terrified. “You scared me, too.”

“I needed to make you leave.”

“I know,” he repeated again. Because he knew that, too. Knew she had purposefully driven him away. She had wanted to hurt and be consumed with trauma. To finally feel nothing. To make sure the those she cared for were safe from her.

A broken sob had Cassian cupping Nesta’s face before he could help himself. Her skin was unbelievably soft against his calloused palms. He brushed a thumb over the arch of her cheekbone. “Nesta,” he breathed, waiting until she looked at him, until blue and hazel clicked into place. “I want you to stay with me. You never have to move back to Velaris, not if you don’t want to.”

Nesta did not reply. Did not move away. He bowed his head until his forehead was resting against hers, wanting her to know that he was sincere. That he wanted her to stay not because that’s what she needed to hear, but because he didn’t know what life would be like without her in it.

“I like living with you,” he told her again, because he knew somehow that she didn’t believe it. “I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Then he pulled her to him. She didn’t resist, her body pliant as he wrapped his arms around her. Cassian could feel Nesta’s heart, the sound pattering to meet his, as she wound her arms around his bare waist.

Her furled fists rested lightly against his skin, the pressure welcome and wonderful as she finally held him back.

“So, you won’t sleep on the floor?”

Such a small voice. Vulnerable and trusting. A voice she didn’t use with anyone but him.

“No,” Cassian assured her, knowing that staying was something he would never refuse. Something he couldn’t. “I won’t sleep on the floor.”

When he lay on the edge of his pillow closest to hers, Nesta settled beside him. She found his hand beneath the blankets, her fingers threading through his.

The initiated contact had his blood thrumming and he resisted the urge to pull Nesta back to him and wrap her in his arms.

An indeterminate amount of time passed.

Cassian listened to Nesta’s breathing as it became even; the slow, relaxed beat of her heart. The sound of his, thumping in tandem. Watched her eyelids flutter shut and her features soften. Felt how her fingers remained entwined with his.

“We would have crashed and burned. I would have dragged you down.”

Quiet, sleepy words. A confession, really, and Cassian stilled in surprise at the honesty that was not spat or wringing with deadly venom, but level. And if Cassian allowed himself to be rational, he knew that Nesta was right. Despite the thorny, overgrown path they were trampling down, it had all been necessary. Trauma, internal conflicts, self-doubt, complicated relationships… there were so many things that the both of them had needed to face before they could be truly content. What was it Cassian had said to Rhys when his brother had asked about his happiness? I’m working on it. He still was, but with Nesta beside him, still holding tight to his hand, Cassian found the world a little brighter, despite the shadowy future that lay ahead of them—a shape that had not yet taken form.

So, Cassian allowed a small smile to creep onto his face. “Maybe I’d like to be set alight.”

A soft snort. “That doesn’t mean you should.”

Then, Nesta’s fingers squeezed his. Soft breath travelled across the pillow to caress his cheek. “Goodnight, Cassian.”

He wondered how many times Nesta had actually said his name without being in mortal danger or when she had needed to get his attention. His name sounded intimate on her lips, a whisper of a prayer across the void that he hoped was narrowing between them.

In his mind, Cassian raised her hand again to press a kiss to her knuckles, even as he merely tightened his hold on hers.

It was in that moment of calm that Cassian vowed that he would change Nesta’s mind. That he would spend this gifted time showing Nesta that they might be strung together but that he had chosen her, if she would have him.

In the flickering silver light, Cassian felt Nesta began to slip into unconscious. Felt her fingers loosen their grip on his, but he held on tight, and said, “Goodnight, Nesta.”

Tags: @arin1030 @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @lovelynesta @melphss @nestalytical @darkshadowqueensrule @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @champanheandluxxury @swankii-art-teacher @princessconsuela02 @lavendergoomsltd @little-diyosa @princessofmerchants-reads @jeakat @sjm-things @imwritingthesewords @nestable @inejbrekkxr @silvernesta @inyourmindeye @amelie775 @iwastoowildinthe70s @helen-the-weirdo @pizzaneverdisappoints @san-y-a-blog

#embersandlightfic #nessianfic #nessian #nesta x cassian #acotar fanfic #acotar #acosf

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renegadewangs · 3 years

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Van Zieks - the Examination, part 7

Warnings: SPOILERS for The Great Ace Attorney: Chronicles. Additional warning for racist sentiments uttered by fictional characters (and screencaps to show these sentiments).

Disclaimer: (see Part 1 for the more detailed disclaimer.) - These posts are not meant to be taken as fact. Everything I’m outlining stems from my own views and experiences. If you believe that I’ve missed or misinterpreted something, please let me know so I can edit the post accordingly. -The purpose of these posts is an analysis, nothing more. Please do not come into these posts expecting me to either defend Barok van Zieks from haters, nor expecting me to encourage the hatred. - I’m using the Western release of The Great Ace Attorney Chronicles for these posts, but may refer to the original Japanese dialogue of Dai Gyakuten Saiban if needed to compare what’s said. This also means I’m using the localized names and localized romanization of the names to stay consistent. -It doesn’t matter one bit to me whether you like Barok van Zieks or dislike him. However, I will ask that everyone who comments refrains from attacking real, actual people.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Back to the second game we go for The Return of the Great Departed Soul! (Part one, this is another two-parter case)

Episode 2-3: The Return of the Great Departed Soul

So now, chronologically, six months have passed since The Unspeakable Story. Susato returned to Japan at the end of the first game and hasn't returned yet. Ryu was reprimanded for all the perjury and the questionable McGilded defense, so he had his right to stand in court revoked for now and instead had to focus on studying English law some more. He's done so quite patiently and now he feels he's ready to return. He just needs to get Stronghart's permission first. Meanwhile, the Great Exhibition is happening in Hyde Park, pulling in visitors and scientists from all over the world. Exciting! (S)Holmes hands Ryu a newspaper with an article on the exhibition, talking about how the brighter things shine, the darker the shadows cast behind them. By now, Ryu is fluent enough in (S)Holmes speak to know this means he should flip over the newspaper. There, we find an article of an entirely different sort.

So not only was Van Zieks apparently attacked, Ryu shows horror and concern at the notion. No hard feelings from our wholesome boy! (S)Holmes explains that London's finest criminals often find ways to get acquittals from trials through bribery, threats, sham witnesses... We saw this in McGilded, of course, so we know all too well how dangerous that can get. But since the Reaper and his curse are immune to such tactics, when a ringleader or fellow ends up being 'taken' by the curse, retaliation can occur. So it's established that this isn't the first time Van Zieks has been attacked by a group of thugs. Fortunately, Van Zieks is an “accomplished combatant” who doesn't take these attacks lying down. Unfortunately, the thugs were carrying guns this time. Uhoh.

This warms my heart, it really does. Van Zieks has been a terrible scumbag, but Ryu doesn't think he's gotten his comeuppance at all. He's genuinely concerned for this man and intends to find out more about his condition. So since he was planning to meet with Stronghart and ask for attorney permission anyway, it's the perfect opportunity to also ask about Van Zieks! Iris decides to tag along because she wants to visit the Great Exhibition. Let's shove the newspaper in Stronghart's face as soon as the game allows it.

The phrasing of “number one prosecutor” is interesting, but then... We never learn of any other (living) veteran prosecutors in this country, so of course Van Zieks would be number one. Stronghart says there's no need for concern; Van Zieks would not be so easily dispatched. Street ruffians are no match for him, since he's a very capable fighter. Seems like that sword he carries around isn't just for show after all. As for why he was attacked this time... Well, a month ago Van Zieks prosecuted a leader of a criminal organization. Nice to know he didn't just return to retirement and instead got back to work like a normal person without cherrypicking his cases based on what Ryu's doing. The defendant was acquitted, no doubt thanks to large sums of money being shifted around behind the scenes, but he still met a dramatic end just yesterday during an accident at the Great Exhibition. The man in question was Odie Asman, and the one now being detained on suspicion of murder without a defense attorney is Professor Albert Harebrayne. Albert's case has just been assigned to Ryu, so we're sure to find out more about Asman as we go. As as final touch, Ryu asks Stronghart why he continues to use Van Zieks as a prosecutor. Since the criminals are becoming fearful of the curse and attacking him, it's dangerous to Van Zieks himself. Stronghart explains that he has two reasons: Firstly, Van Zieks is the best prosecutor in the capital, bar none. And secondly, any deaths that have occurred outside the courtrooms after his trials have nothing to do with him. (S)Holmes alluded to the same thing, saying that Van Zieks had a rock-hard alibi for each and every mysterious death.

“So he will continue to prosecute on behalf of the Crown. ...Unless he wishes otherwise, of course.” With that, Stronghart admits he needs to get going since he's already 11 hours late to his next appointment (fsdkjfls). Ryu asks where he might be able to find Van Zieks and is told to head to his office. So even after being told that Van Zieks is just fine, Ryu is still concerned and wants to discuss the matter with the man himself. Let's gooo! Naturally, the first thing out of Van Zieks's mouth when he catches Ryu and Iris in his office is to wonder what the heck they're doing here.

So there's several things of interest in the office, with the game automatically addressing the biggest one: Van Zieks has an apprentice now! It's a mysterious, rigid dude wearing a hood and a mask who is absolutely not familiar to us, nope. We don't know him. Gosh, what a mystery. Van Zieks doesn't seem to know who he is either, instead just referring to him as his apprentice and nothing more.

Ryu sees this as an opening to ask about the attack on the Reaper that was in the newspaper. Van Zieks admits that he too is very interested in the true identity of the Reaper. “Assuming, that is, such a fabled fiend genuinely inhabits our great courtrooms.” The conversation halts for a moment so we can examine the office and this is the best opportunity for humanizing traits we've gotten so far, so LET'S DO IT! The enormous portrait in the back is the first thing to peek at.

Iris says whoever painted it exaggerated the subject's handsomeness, which in turn is reminiscent of Napoleon ordering the painter to make him look more attractive. That's super vain and not an attractive quality in a person at all. I laughed the whole way through that bit of dialogue and Van Zieks, who was in earshot the entire time, gets his feathers ruffled.

When Ryu asks who it is then, Van Zieks doesn't reply. BACKSTORY ALERT! Examining the chalices and bottles on the left leads to Van Zieks explaining the hallowed bottles are filled with the finest grapes from the finest vineyards he visits (so it is grape juice!!!) and he personally oversees the chalices being made by the finest crystal craftsmen in the world. Right, so not only is he filthy stinkin' rich, he's a perfectionist. Iris points out that Van Zieks throws the chalices and bottles around like they're worthless, to which Van Zieks says:

“Before you open your mouth next time, you should consider the poor artisans whose work you defile.”

As it turns out, passive aggression is contagious now. Ryu replies with a “So it's my fault? Silly me! How could I ever have thought otherwise?” and honestly I love that he's got enough guts to say this out loud. Our boy is growing a spine. Examining the wine casks has Ryu and Iris theorize about how there might be dead bodies in there, which once again ruffles Van Zieks's feathers.

Snrk. Examining the big diorama in the middle of the room has Ryu and Iris wonder whether Van Zieks can't go to the Exhibition in person and this is his way of dealing with that, which has Van Zieks snap that it's obviously an investigative aid. He even has pets of sorts in his office, in the form of a couple of bats hanging from the curtains. Alright, so the game's definitely humanizing this poor man now. No matter how many crazy stories Iris and Ryu come up with about him, there's usually a very innocent explanation to debunk the eerie myths. Something particularly interesting happens when Ryu shows Van Zieks his defense attorney armband. Van Zieks asks what the reason is for showing it to a British prosecutor, to which Ryu admits that he doesn't quite know. Van Zieks is silent for a bit, then says that he understands. “There's merit in reminding yourself of who helped you become what you are today.”

As he says it, he reaches for his prosecutor's badge and if you're aware of the backstory, you'll know he's thinking of Klint. More importantly, this conversation puts Ryu and Van Zieks on the same level. Ryu is always thinking of Kazuma, who 'helped him become who he is today' and the armband signifies this, along with the sword. Similarly, Van Zieks lost someone very close to him and he's walking the path of prosecutor in his brother's memory. Ryu thanks Van Zieks for understanding and it's very significant that Van Zieks understands in the first place. Remember, in the first game he was under the impression that a Japanese person could never understand a British person and vice versa.

Showing Van Zieks the newspaper article has him looking a bit embarrassed, pointing out that a reporter must've been nearby and he'd been careless to let himself get photographed. Either way, all the thugs responsible have already been apprehended. The investigation into Odie Asman's activities meant that their arrests were already imminent anyway, and some hoped to kill Van Zieks before that happened. Much like McGilded, Asman used his wealth to buy his way towards an acquittal in court, but “he got his comeuppance in the end.” Which is strange, right? Very suspicious. Van Zieks asks whether Ryu believes he has some sort of divine ability to make an accident like that happen. Ryu admits that would be far-fetched, and thinks to himself that even if Van Zieks were the Reaper, he'd have to be innocent of this particular death. We also learn that Van Zieks is familiar with Professor Harebrayne, the suspect in the Asman incident. When told that Ryu will be taking on the defense, Van Zieks is shocked.

Van Zieks goes on to explain that he knows Albert quite well. They were at university together. While he's lived in Germany for quite a few years, Albert is actually from a respectable British family. And despite Albert being in the science faculty and Van Zieks in law, they got along quite well. Now he's in pretty hot water for that Asman accident.

Hm. I don't quite know what to make of this reaction. I think what's going on here isn't that Van Zieks is rattled because Albert is being defended by a Japanese person, but because he's being defended by a rookie attorney who was just disbarred for six months for accidentally encouraging perjury, false witness and crime scene tampering in a court of law. Yes, Ryu has won his trials every single time, but it came at a price. Aside from this, there's one other thing Van Zieks knows about Ryu: he'll pursue the truth, no matter what. This means that if Albert indeed didn't succeed at inventing teleportation, it'll be revealed in court because exposing shams is Ryu's whole deal.

We learn that Van Zieks will be the one to prosecute Albert tomorrow, which is curious to say the least. Ryu wants to know why he'd do something like that, with Iris pointing out that so long as the Reaper is the prosecutor, Albert is doomed. Van Zieks replies that he's a Crown prosecutor and a mortal like any other; he's no demigod. In other words, he doesn't believe the curse to be a real curse. Iris points out that everyone who's been prosecuted by Van Zieks has died (which is already objectively wrong), to which Van Zieks replies that he usually prosecutes the vilest wretches of society.

… Harsh. Ryu points out that Soseki wasn't a vile wretch though, with Iris chiming in that Gina's also turned her life around and she's working very hard now. Van Zieks admits that things have changed ever since meeting Ryu- which of course has to do with Van Zieks's need to face Ryu in court even in mediocre trials rather than pursue his usual corrupted targets- but the point is that if any of those vile wretches died in mysterious circumstances, it was “at the hand of their own kind”, not Van Zieks's. So basically, he believes that they were killed because they were dubious people engaged with dubious activities, not because of the Reaper's curse. Not only that, but ever since the rumors of the Reaper began, the number of serious crimes in London has decreased significantly. Even the most hardened criminals can be made fearful of their lives. Therefore, if his pseudonym of the Reaper can serve a useful purpose, he'll “adopt it gladly and with honour”. Ryu repeats that which he already told Stronghart; that it's putting Van Zieks in danger.

He really is a prosecutor on the edge with nothing to lose, huh. So what Van Zieks is basically saying is that he doesn't care if he dies, so long as he spends the rest of his life serving the 'useful purpose' of carrying the Reaper moniker to intimidate the vilest of society. But is that really all there is to it? (Spoilers: It's not)

There's a bit more talk about the mysterious apprentice here, with Van Zieks explaining the man was placed in his care under Stronghart's orders. He's wearing a mask on Stronghart's orders and also doesn't speak to anyone from outside the office on Stronghart's orders. HM. Van Zieks claims that Stronghart isn't one for “meaningless follies”, therefore he must have a good reason. This implies that Van Zieks believes in Stronghart's judgment almost blindly. To round up the conversation, Van Zieks asks about “that Nipponese man. The one arrested twice in succession six months ago. With the stoop. And the moustache. And the jitters.” Looks super offensive at first glance, but I gotta admit, after six months I wouldn't remember Soseki's name either. Better to describe him than to guess the name and get it wrong. Still though, just because it's not super offensive doesn't mean it's not offensive. Just saying “the one you defended six months ago” would've done the trick. Either way, Ryu says he's doing just fine and a letter from him arrived by post just the other day.

So this is interesting. Earlier, Van Zieks claimed in his own words that he doesn't believe in the curse and those who died had it coming to them, but he's still inquiring after Soseki. Perhaps not so much because he's worried about Soseki himself, but because he's curious whether this man has successfully escaped the curse so far. He would know that for a fact about Gina, but the only way to verify Soseki's status is to ask Ryu about it.

Time to leave this glass cage of exposition and meet the defendant in person! Albert spouts a whole lot of dialogue about how his machine is treated differently depending on whether the case is treated as an accident or as murder. If it's murder, it can be examined up close and that's what Albert doesn't want. It has to be treated as an accident so that it'll be protected from prying eyes through The Special Dispensation for Scientific Equipment Act (wow that's a mouthful). Of course, that's not entirely what we're interested in. Let's ask about his friendship with Van Zieks! Ryu asks what he was like back in his university days and the answer surprises him.

HAH, wonderfully written exchange, this one. Albert goes to describe him as “the little darling of the Van Zieks family, with all its great aristocratic origins”. So Van Zieks has some very noble blood in him. We could've already guessed this from his title of Lord, but apparently it's a bit more serious. I could derail here with wild theories about his family originating from the Netherlands and having migrated to the UK around the time the first king of the Netherlands, Willem I van Oranje Nassau, rose to power in 1813. Willem changed the way nobility works to some degree in the country and not all noble families would've agreed with his way of doing things. But anyway, point is, Van Zieks is a big shot. Albert says that it was kind of a shock to him when he came back to Britain and discovered 'what Van Zieks had become'. He heard that there was 'a very big event' that completely changed Van Zieks after his graduation, but doesn't know what it was because he was already in Germany at the time. So here we have some more traces of that backstory and we have enough pieces to start sticking some things together. We know Van Zieks was once betrayed by a friend and we now know he was a very modest, pleasant gentleman when he was young. Whatever happened must've been very harsh indeed to turn him into such a sour lemon. Either way, Albert doesn't seem to know yet that Van Zieks will be the prosecutor and Ryu doesn't have the heart to tell him.

So let's investigate the crime scene! Here, it's confirmed that Gina Lestrade is indeed just fine and now in training to become a detective with Gregson. Cute! So eventually we get to talk to Gregson about Van Zieks and how he's acquainted with Albert. Gregson is overdramatically shocked to find out that the two of them are old buddies.

Remember when Van Zieks took a five year hiatus and nobody had to mysteriously die from the Reaper's curse? Those were the days, eh Gregson? Now he's even prosecuting his own friends willy-nilly. Gregson states he has no idea what goes on in Van Zieks's head (a sentiment we've heard before in 1-4) and goes on to bring up the newspaper article about Van Zieks being attacked. When told that our good old pal the Reaper is just fine, Gregson utters a very uncomfortable “glad to hear it” which honestly had me wondering whether he'd preferred Van Zieks to die.

Up until a certain someone gets killed and stuffed into a suitcase, I'd reckon. Gregson says that Van Zieks is a top class prosecutor, but not even he can always push the right verdict through. “Sometimes justice can't win.” Gregson explains that naturally, Scotland Yard suspected Van Zieks at first and assumed he was taking matters into his own hands. There was a very thorough investigation and the outcome was that Van Zieks was in no way related to the mysterious deaths. So that's three people now who all insist Van Zieks couldn't possibly have committed the murders. Gregson says he's willing to stake his reputation on it, even. Of course, Gregson would know for sure, wouldn't he? But the narrative is telling us over and over that Van Zieks himself isn't the Reaper, with even Van Zieks himself implying he'd like to know just who the Reaper is. There's a conspiracy happening that Van Zieks is the centerpiece of, with the narrative really pushing the mystery aspect of it. The writers want us to care about the truth of the Reaper for sure.

OOOH that's meta! Ryu, being nosy and overly invested in Van Zieks's life, asks Gregson whether he knows about the 'incident' which changed Van Zieks after graduation.

Okay he clearly knows. Even a first time player can tell from this single reaction that Gregson's lying. The mystery thickens! At the end of the conversation, when Gregson's gone off, Iris recommends asking (S)Holmes about it instead. Safe bet, since (S)Holmes continuously knows more than he's letting on. To the house of wax we go! When asked about it, it's clear that he does know something (and is described as suddenly clamming up), but before he can explain there's a distraction in the form of Madam Tusspells and we have to sit through a mostly-unrelated Joint Reasoning segment. It leads into a conversation about a mass murderer known as the Professor. Ten years ago, there was a series of murders which rocked the capital right around the time Van Zieks graduated from university. Five people were killed before the man was caught and executed. This fifth victim was Klint van Zieks, Barok's older brother.

I really, really dislike this phrasing because Van Zieks was already studying law to begin with. He'd just graduated as a prosecutor; his brother's death had nothing to do with him pursuing that path. Anyway...

OOOH that's meta! So remember way back in the first essay when I said the backstory is optional? Well, here it is. The Great Ace Attorney is going all in for it. It's being tied to the ongoing plot, just as pretty much all the main prosecutor backstories are. Edgeworth's backstory is tied to Von Karma being the final boss, Godot's backstory is tied to the Fey lineage, Klavier's backstory (I say this lightly) is tied to Phoenix's disgrace... Now Van Zieks's story is tied to the serial killer who ruined so many lives a decade ago. And technically, we already have all the puzzle pieces we need for the next twist; we know Van Zieks was betrayed by a Japanese person who was his friend. So really, we can now say with absolutely certainty that the man arrested and executed back then was a Japanese buddy of Van Zieks.

The investigation segment is pretty much over, but the game has one more scene for us. This is something Ryunosuke won't witness, but the scriptwriters deemed it so important that we're ignoring Ryu to focus solely on the two characters involved. And cutting away from our main character is something that usually doesn't happen in Ace Attorney. Even when characters like Phoenix or Ryu are out of commission for whatever reason, a new 'main character' takes over for a second and we see everything from their point of view. I can think of only one other scene viewed without Ryu there, which happened in 1-5 just before Susato had to leave London. So what we have here is a very private moment between Van Zieks and Albert.

AWWW... The scenes in the office were great and all, but this right here is perhaps the most humanizing exchange we'll ever see with Barok. The reason for that, I think, is precisely because Ryu isn't there. He's alone with an old friend now, which means he can let his guard down more than he usually would. Even so, it's worth noting here that he doesn't look directly at Albert. He stands with his back to him the entire time and I'm certain this is intentional, because they could just as easily have rotated him into that sideways view that's often used in dialogue and courtroom scenes. He made his way down to the gaol to speak with his friend after ten long years, but is reluctant to look right at him. The conversation itself feels rather distant as well. Albert is delighted to see Van Zieks, but the sentiment isn't returned vocally. Van Zieks points out that they're meeting again “in prison of all places” and that the court will decide Albert's fate tomorrow. When Van Zieks raises a warning, Albert says he already knows his friend will be prosecuting and doesn't appear bothered at all at first. He does try to raise a question in the form of “Are you really...?”, but ultimately drops it and says that he knows Van Zieks has his best interests at heart. Van Zieks says he wouldn't entrust the trial of his friend to anyone else, and Albert thanks him for that. So my first guess upon taking in that dialogue is that Albert wonders for a brief moment whether Van Zieks really is the Reaper/really is cursed, only to shake it off because he considers the man his friend. Van Zieks seems to know it's risky to prosecute Albert, but deems it more important to handle the case himself than to let someone else do it. This, as we learn later, has to do with the Special Dispensation for Scientific Equipment Act and the protection of Albert's scientific secrets.

Next day, we're at the Old Bailey! In the defendant lobby, Ryu is once again told by Albert that the true goal to aim for in this trial is to protect his scientific hypothesis. So hypothetically speaking, the ideal outcome here would be to prove the death was accidental and that the kinesis was a success at the same time. (S)Holmes and Iris don't believe Albert's theory to be sound though, instead saying it couldn't possibly be done. In the courtroom, Ryu faces off against Van Zieks once more for the first time in six months! The judge is quick to point out that Odie Asman is a name familiar to him; a man who was prosecuted only a month ago by Van Zieks. When he asks whether this death is the work of the Reaper, Van Zieks instead describes it as “divine retribution”, but also “a direct result of the actions of the accused, Professor Albert Harebrayne”. The prosecution asserts that the instantaneous kinesis demonstration was a success. He himself can't say for certain whether it's a sound theory, but it's being investigated by the British government since it was deemed to have potential and the prosecution's case aligns with the notion that there was indeed instantaneous- You know what? Let's just call it teleportation. That's easier to type.

Unfortunately, Van Zieks doesn't want to follow the accident angle. Instead, he outright accuses his old friend of murdering Asman using the totally-functional-teleportation-machine-which-totally-worked to be the sole benefactor of a scientific grant. Harsh. Very harsh. I don't entirely understand why he didn't pursue the accident angle instead, but then, I don't quite know enough about law. My guess is that as the prosecution, he's not allowed to. Scotland Yard found enough evidence at the scene to substantiate a murder plot, especially that damning screwdriver that Ryu so graciously handed to Gregson, so that's what the prosecution has to go with, maybe? It's up to the defense attorney to debunk that down to an accident, then, so in essence Van Zieks is counting on Ryu to 'defeat him' and prove the murder aspect wrong. It would align with the conversation Albert had with Van Zieks in prison, where he said that 'it was a terrible accident and the young Eastern man acting as his defence assured him that he can prove it'.

So speaking of that screwdriver, Albert tries to discredit it himself by saying that if he had stabbed Asman on the stage, there would've been a whole lot of blood. Van Zieks pours himself a glass of wine and 'congratulates' his friend on a good rebuttal.

“Here's to you, Albert!”

Albert laughs it off sheepishly, saying he's nothing compared to “Barok” (awww, first name basis), but a chalice is immediately flung. Van Zieks says Albert neglected to mention one crucial possibility, which is that the lack of blood is explained by the notion that the screwdriver remained in the victim's chest to plug the wound. Therefore, since the demonstration was totally a success, the screwdriver was teleported along with the victim. Ryu thinks to himself that he had no idea the victim had been stabbed and wonders whether Van Zieks kept that information to himself to keep the upper hand on purpose. This whole thing jars me a little, because the screwdriver is brought up relatively early in the trial during the very first cross-examination. Is not mentioning it during the opening statement and waiting for Gregson to bring it up three minutes later really the same as 'keeping it to himself to gain the upper hand'?

Either way, Ryu counters, saying that the screwdriver was found at the stage and therefore didn't teleport at all, with Gregson serving as an official witness to this location. It's pretty clear from the next dialogue that Gregson never told Van Zieks where that screwdriver was found.

“That you contravened the Special Dispensation for Scientific Equipment Act?”

Gregson is immediately up in arms, but it's fine. There was no investigation needed to find a screwdriver lying in plain sight. So now Ryu decides to tighten the screws. He claims that if the prosecution can't explain the inconsistency (the screwdriver being found on the stage but no blood being there so clearly it must've plugged the wound), the testimony is unreliable. Van Zieks doesn't reply and Ryu thinks to himself that he looks stumped, but uh...

He just looks annoyed to me. The person to object next is not Van Zieks, it's Albert. He says that metal can't be teleported with the machine, so it only makes sense the screwdriver stayed behind and there's no inconsistency at all. Van Zieks suggests: “Clearly we should hear the accused's explanation. … Or should I say, this brilliant scientist's explanation?” And I think here in these two sentences we have the crux of the issue. Albert wants to be treated as a legitimate scientist above all else. Even if that means he's branded a murderer, so long as his hypothesis is protected and the confidentiality stands, it makes no difference to him. This was likely discussed with Van Zieks the night before as well. Albert is apparently willing to die for the sake of his scientific principles and... Well. I'm sure Van Zieks can understand. He's willing to die for the sake of serving the Reaper purpose. In a way, this means the defendant and the prosecution are in cahoots together, which is another first in Ace Attorney history. The two of them are fighting to keep the hypothesis of teleportation intact and if Ryu manages to prove that it was an accidental death, then great! Unfortunately, the second that screwdriver was discovered, the chances of that became slim to none. It was murder, plain and simple. On a sidenote, I found this little gem:

I'm counting this as humanization, because the underlying sentiment here is that despite his haughty better-than-thou attitude, Van Zieks is still friends with someone so very scatterbrained, his name is forgotten sometimes. Even Ryu is taken aback by the purity of the friendship.

Heh heh... Time to cause some more havoc by informing the court that Asman's metal-rimmed glasses were still on his face and since Albert already said metal can't be teleported, his hypothesis is a load of tosh. The jurors go up in arms about it, saying the machine should be stripped down and examined. The game gives Ryu the option to either raise an objection or 'wait and see', but this is another one of those fake choices. Waiting and seeing just leads to a bit more dialogue between the jurors before Ryu steps in of his own accord. He says Albert would have no reason to build such an elaborate fake machine and put on a public display for murder, but Van Zieks counters with the very good reason: Money. The jurors are even more outraged, calling him a fake scientist who's only in it for the guineas, and Albert begs them to believe that his science is built upon a sound hypothesis. Van Zieks comes in to 'save the day' (sort of).

“The fact remains that the victim was transported instantly to the Crystal Tower. Which means that the experiment... was a success.”

And I gotta say, this next bit is just very enjoyable to me. The way it's written is so great.

HEH HEH.... Van Zieks has some more witnesses to summon who saw the incident from some 'very special seats', but let's end the essay here for now and pick it back up next time!

#dgs #dgs spoilers #tgaa #tgaa spoilers #barok van zieks

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salenakingston · 3 years

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Mystery March Day 21 - One of Us

(This is by far the most involved prompt I have done for Mystery March, and so I hope it turned out alright. There will be some more detailed author’s notes at the end of the writing, as there’s no possible way I can fit them all here before it. Just let me express how much of an inspiration you all have been! ENJOY!)

I said, even if I told ya

It all started with an idea, as most every work of art does. Concepts were put in place, branching off from that one base idea. From there, others came together to help get this little project off the ground. Characters were fleshed out, just as the world they lived in where. The team worked hard on everything planned, a true passion project.

When the first video dropped, we were all invested. We fell in love with the characters, story, and music. We couldn’t wait to see more, and despite all the time having to wait, it has always been worth it. Great works take time, and even with a team as dedicated as this one is, they fueled our own passions with previews, updates, character and worldbuilding, merch, and as of the most recent video, a branch into another medium to further tell their story. Their group continued to grow, bringing on more talented individuals, including voice actors.

Fours videos under the belt and one more still to come, they pour their heart and soul into this series, though they are not the only ones who do so. There’s a theory in our world known as the ‘multiverse.’ It is said that all these universes living side by side with one another create everything that exists. Can the same not be said for this team and all the fascinating works of art that came out of this one little series of four videos?

They've been looking for you and only you

It’s a tale of three friends and their dog, all stemming from a terrifying incident inside a cave. One lost their life, one lost their memory, and one lost their arm. What of the last member of their group? He lost his identity. Karma for his trickery would come back to haunt him. Guilt came to consume another, and the last to make it out alive was left wondering what was even going on.

Revenge fueled the one that came back, determined to get back at the one ‘friend’ that managed to cut his life short, and reunite with the love of his life. What started with a chase through a mansion led to the appearance of a tree woman searching for the trickster. The ghost refueled hijacks a truck, gunning down for the familiar van he once drove for all of them.

The woman catches up, shattering the glass wall protecting those in the front seat. The ghost blows the back tire that causes the van to crash. Two encounters branch from this point, one shrouded in the past, and another in the pursuit of revenge. Blonde and blue-haired humans nearly falling at the hands of their captors.

But they survive.

The dog’s true form revealed, the battle commences, blood spilling. As one disintegrates, an opening is left over for a familiar evil to take hold. White became black, demonic nature taking over the once noble being. The three friends left being the ones to bring him free of this grip. What are they to do? It’s all left to be seen...

Darkness is my signal

Not too much is known about this blonde, though despite the change to his physical appearance, there are parts of what defined him that have not changed. He’s had to adjust his lifestyle, but seems to have made the most of his new life. He may have even found some comfort in a bit of an unusual source. Anything to keep him from the self-isolation he seemed content to bring upon himself because of his condition.

So what are you to me, what are we to you?

The cave incident plays out like normal, there is one major change in the timeline of events. The blonde is sent tossed over the cliff along with his best friend, the entity that caused all their problems still trapped inside his body. When the ghost reformed, his anger was washed away at the sight of his friend suffering the same fate, or so he believed. Once free, it was nothing but a rough struggle to hold onto sanity, not just for one of them, but both.

One to keep calm, helping his friend to try and stay lucid.

The other fighting the terrifying entity inside him for control, while changing his body to fit the demon’s needs.

The blonde won, but at what a cost? Green skin covering his body, feet and hands sporting yellow-tinted claws. The posture of his own feet changed, causing him to have to learn how to walk all over again. A tail with a tuft of orange hair, and two large wings attached to his back. Last of course, were the horns on his head, and the blacked out eyes with amber pupils. He was in despair over the turn of events.

At least he had his best friend to help him. He wouldn’t have been able to do this without him. Well, this, and the series of events that came to follow. The two were eventually united with their final friend, but their not-dog wasn’t convinced of the blonde’s mind. It didn’t matter that he didn’t act like a demon, as he still looked like one, accepting the pain brought on him.

Drastic measures were taken to ensure freedom of the ghost, no matter how unnecessary it was. Adjustment takes time, and a good talk was what the four of them needed.

But are you one of us?

Are you one of us?

What seemed like a simple task, well maybe not simple, but one that was plausible spiraled into a long drive across the country in search of a cure for the ghost’s condition. All it took was one ingredient: werewolf blood. Seven weeks after the start of their trip, two were starting to lose hope, the last of their trio determined as always. A blur running across the front of their van was enough to bring their hopes back up, chasing down what looked like a big wolf.

To just miss it. It seemed like another dead end for their search.

Until the blonde was all alone.

The wolf jumped out of the shadows, teeth sinking down into flesh. Were it not for the arrival of the kitsune, who knows what would have happened. The injured one was brought back to his friends, patched up, and taken in for proper treatment. A headache marks the night of the full moon, a night when werewolves are said to be forced to transform. What will happen for them? Most left to the whim of try blue ghosts deemed as blueberries. We shall see where their questions and actions take this new werewolf and his friends.

Tell me, are you one of us?

Said, are you one of us?

Tales of legends are passed down, but come from a place of truth. Those that speak of a king gifted a sword with a beautiful, glowing, purple gem just before the silver of the blade. This is a gift from the Lady of the Lake, and one not to be taken lightly. It comes as a surprise when the weapon turns out to be sentient, and the two not always getting along.

Sometimes the king can be a little harsh on his partner.

And sometimes the sword can refuse to work in situations where his help would be greatly appreciated.

They must learn to work with one another if they hope to overcome the obstacles placed in front of them. The question is can this be done, or will they continue to bicker with one another?

I know that this sounds crazy

An unfortunate case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time causes the members of the separate mystery solving groups to be body swapped with one another. A kid stuck with adult hunters that deal with magic, as well as otherworldly dangers, and an adult stuck with a bunch of kids that seem like they may be in way over their heads. The ultimate goal is for the two groups to come together, and find a way to swap the souls in each body back to their original home.

Easier said than done.

One gets to learn the truth of a horrifying incident, something that tore friends apart, and damaged the people of their group beyond some repair. A kind heart is offered to them despite all this, helping to try and ease the burden even if he has nothing to do with them.

The other sees first hand what kind of trouble a group of kids can get themselves in. His own problems arise, and in typical fashion, does not wish to push them onto anyone he’s been stuck with. It’s a little harder to convince some of this new group of the world he has seen, and learned from; but, if there’s one thing he can do, it’s to still help those around him, and lend a hand when a mystery comes along their way.

Two outsider perspectives looking in, and it’s a matter of what adventures they will have before and after they come together again.

Waiting for this moment, can you see me?

A whirlwind of emotions, pushed only further at the hands of abuse, a blonde is left to flee from his own home to try and preserve himself. He fled through the states, ending up at another corner of the US. His mind might have been broken, but that didn’t stop one person from becoming the most important in his life, nor the three that came to follow from their union. The haunts of old were constantly clinging to him, no matter how careful he was so that none could find him, and even when those fears returned, he never let them get in the way of his family. There was an understanding between them.

But all that fear came crashing back when one single letter was hand passed to him by his former friend’s father.

Even terrified out of his wits, he found the courage to pack up some of his family to return to his old home. The past came back in full force, as well as the reveal of a curse that only seemed to have the power to vanquish. The people that treated him the worst came back to him for help. The same blue-haired girl who’s father delivered the father nearly brought the end of three children with her partner in crime. The wraith that made his life a living hell came back trying to act as if there was something he could do to make up for what he had done.

And the demon that caused all this to happen in the first place was now roaming free...

'Cause I know that you're out there

Almost as if the reset button had been hit, the blonde wakes up thrown into the past, a time when his best friend was still alive, but… it wasn’t the same. The blonde was still the same one from the future, and new friends that his past friends would know nothing about showed themselves. How was he meant to be like his old self when anytime he looked at the purple wearing man, all he saw was the vengeful ghost out for his life?

Events aren’t meant to play out the same way, and they don’t. Despite this, some things can not be changed. The demon still found his way to the same host, though what he chose to do was different. Even with all the chaos, at least the one man didn’t lose his life.

And he gets a front row seat to what his blonde friend had to go through in the future he once came from. It hurt. Emotions still rang high, even if the circumstances are not the same.

This darkness is my signal, come and find me

Sometimes the past can be changed and have one new timeline play out, but what if that same man from the future was now thrown into multiple iterations of the same events, each one spent trying to make it a perfect outcome for all four of them? Well… after a few rounds it didn’t matter if he got to be part of their ending. All that mattered was fixing things for the other three. That was his assigned duty.

Death ended each try, waking the man back up in his bed, whether that be at the hands of someone else, or himself. He just needed more time, plan, and make sure he got it right. He could do it, he was determined to do so.

No matter how much it was tearing him apart.

And when enough was finally enough, it was up to the three left to try and convince him that even with pain, they could continue on with their lives. He didn’t have to keep fighting anymore. He could take an ending that hurt, but one they could heal from, rather than spending so many years trying and trying, all to end with a repeat.

As having to remember all of that hurt.

Are you one of us?

What started out as just another night of sleepwalking led the blonde to the steps of a very familiar mansion. Fleeing from an unseen threat caused him to swallow his fear, taking the first step inside. There was no greeting this time, save for the slamming of doors behind him. The only light provided was a light purple of three candles, lifted by the only hand he had. A journey up a flight of stairs and down the hall, coming to a plaque with his name on it.

Entrance strangely granted to him with the twist of a knob from a hand that wasn't there.

The night spent in a bed, waking up to find he had become a prisoner. It seemed death was what would come to him, whether it be at the hands of his former best friend, or by his own. After all, there was a reason his room was on the second floor. Revelations come to light with the appearance of a certain green arm… wearing a familiar, black wristband.

Friendships ruined, for another reason than before. Another friend found searching for him. Both started for selfish means, but it was selflessness that sent him back into the house, even though an evil from the past threatened them once more.

Tell me, are you one of us?

Said, are you one of us?

It’s not everyday that some dive into the past of these character’s lives, but what would happen if one young, scared blonde came across an ancient tree? One that was alive in more ways than one. A strange feeling washed between the two of them, a bond made from the day the blond fled into her woods to hide from the one hunting him. He came to her more than once, and yet every time he did, she sought to rest his soul.

And soon, the tables had turned. Now she was the one in need of rest, though she did not realize it yet until she got the same comfort she once gave to the blonde. His pack adopted her, and he took care of her rot. Names of a powerful thing to these beings, and they knew each other by that power word.

This was not the end of their story. The three friends and dog were reunited, of course the blonde being the one to decide to choose the home where his wooden friend resided. There’s no denying that he was still healing, but he found the courage to try and seek it for himself. The bluenette grew curious about the tree in their backyard, and the final finds an outside source to try and round his curious status.

Are you one of us?

The once ghost only turned out to be half deceased, but the hatred still remained. Whether he liked it or not, the blond was at fault; but, he had a plan. One that was sure to fix everything. Find the true cause of their misery, proof that he was just as much a victim.

It was a plan that split their group apart. The dog chose to go with the man on his search, while the bluenette stayed with their half dead friend. The hunt is on, but who’s to tell how the story is to go on from here. Will they each succeed with their goals? We shall see.

Are you one of us?

Said, are you one of us?

The ghost finds himself in the company of others like him. Not ghosts, but skeletons from various worlds. The logistics of how this came to pass is a mystery, though he does not seem to find these details too important. Separated from his ‘friends,’ he finds new ones in this strange group of individuals. They seem to naturally bounce off one another, though some still have trouble catching the ghost’s triggers to his anger. Thankfully, most situations involving this aren’t left to fester.

Their local hang out at Manny’s place is full of stories, interactions between these liked characters. Some funny, some more serious. Whatever the case may be, even if he’s not in the same place as most other ghosts like him, he’s found a place where he can fit in.

Are you one of us?

A prince and a noble of green came together, an unholy union that was meant to lead to a prosperous life. Perhaps, but only for one half of that pair. Concerns were dismissed, comfort was sought by an evil man from the one he supposedly loved, and the other tried to find what little comfort there was in his constricting hold. It took the support of two outside his kingdom, and two strangers that wormed into his life to stand up to the terror in his life.

And yet… even with their help… and his desire to lend his help in return…

It wasn’t enough.

A life ended, but the king came back. He was not about to give up on the kingdom he always poured his heart and soul into. Years he seemed to be alone, though one by one, four beings came into his company. He still had those that aided him in life, but now he had more to add to his family. A pink rabbit, golem, a purple imp, and a dark girl with a skull marking. Each had their own story, and a place with him.

And he would see to their safety as much as anyone else in his kingdom.

Tell me, are you one of us?

Said, are you one of us?

Some characters are unique to the world, not all always branching off the main four. Of course, that doesn’t mean there aren’t some made with connections to them in mind. Each is special, and built with as much care as anyone else…

Whether it be a cousin to the blonde, gray with orange highlights rather than the way around, a darker aesthetic, but still similar style to his cousin. A tattoo pattern along his left arm.

A green haired ghost, one met when the group of friends were out together. Something seemed about ready to suck her inside, the ghost reaching out to save her. She seemed to stick with them since.

A young woman dressed in red, blue, and brown. Golden pearls hang from her neck, and a black shawl wrapped around one shoulder. A brown cat accompanying her and group at times, and one that seems to have a power of her own hidden just underneath.

Are you one of us?

Some characters branching off the core four, and even some of those that were created as their own entity for this series chose to build their stories and characters with one another. Their worlds cross over to one another, relationships naturally build, and so too do the special elements and plots to separate them from one another. Each one of them is equally unique.

Whether it be from the multitude of different colored ghosts, each of them centered around their own story and emotions.

A blue-haired girl with one strand that is lighter than the other. A snowflake twinkled in her left eye, and a roller derby team she has been dedicated to for years counting on her.

The same mechanic, though with more visible scars to the incident in the cave. So much love and care to give, even to those in other worlds, even if the gray faes take a little too much pleasure in bringing him grief.

A black robed king, living far beyond the grave, glowing locks of hair flowing through the air. He’s been seen before, but this one on another plane, a chance to interact with others outside his grown family.

Are you one of us?

This amazing group of people, as well as many others come together over a series we all love and cherish. We create our own works of art, but not without credit to the original source. From this point and on, we only seem to grow as a collective, continuing to create as we wait, and surely even after the series comes to a close, it will hold a special place in our hearts. So long as we are all here, we shall continue to spread our joy over mystery skulls animated, supporting one another, no matter how small or big someone may be.

We extend our open arms to one another, and to those new to this fandom...

“Said, are you one of us?”

-----

(Author’s Notes: Seriously, this fandom has been an amazing inspiration, and I’m so happy to be able to take part in Mystery March. There was no other good prompt to really do this for, and I thought this would be a clever way to give tribute to the many amazing people and ideas/stories they have come up with. I tried to keep things short and vague for some, as there are some things I don’t want to give away, so you can check them out if you haven’t. I know there’s no possible way I could get everyone, but I tried to get as many as I’ve fallen in love with and not repeat anyone twice (even though I think I broke that rule twice). Again, thank you all so much, and I hope you enjoyed this.

Credits: (In order of appearance)

@mysterybensmysteryblog, @heilos, @artsyfeathersartsyblog, and the rest of the amazing team!

@lottafandoms (Vampire Arthur)

@ectoimp (Demon!Arthur) / @providentially-demonic (The Devil and the Dead Fic)

@askmysteryskullswerewolfarthur (Werewolf Arthur)

@heilos (King Arthur)

@phantoms-lair (Mirror’s Gaze Fic)

@braveskyered (Knights Fic)

@pi-cat000 (Time Travel Idea Fic)

@thefandomcassandra (The Future Fic)

@tyigra (House of Strays Fic)

@hecallsmehischild (Rest Nestling/Explain it like I’m a Tree Fics)

@neversleepagainau

@atomi-cat (Boneheads)

@ask-twoyearsafter / @kanaiekla (The Cruel Irony of a Prophetic Love Fic)

OC’s: @nerv0usm3chanic (Lucan), @binaconfusa (Frog), @lauritanaomystery (Laurel)

RP Blogs: @splatterlewis, @lamentinglewis, @frenzys-furnace, @bluescarfvivi, @punsandfuturekingsmen, @diviinc)

#MysteryMarch2021 #mystery skulls animated #msa au #my writing #my submission #long post

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dumbbitchenergy17 · 4 years

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I am Iron Man

Main Masterlist

Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader and Avengers x Stark!Reader

Word Count: 2.7K

Notes: I know it has been a while since I have posted but hooray! I’m not dead, I’ve have been really busy with moving and school work but I will try to start working on more fics. I hope you enjoy this as this was originally an quick imagine but I felt that there should be more. So any request or comments my door is always open.

No one’s POV

Steve stumbled to his feet staring out at the army, one man all on his own

“ap-...-comin-...-ot” A voice crackles out of the comms Steve shakes his head, trying to focus on the voice. Slowly, the sound returns the words ringing out clearly.

“Cap. On your left.” Sam calls out as a portal opens behind Cap causing him to turn and T’challa, Shuri, and Okoye walk on the field while Sam flys out of the portal circling the group. More portals open up as more familiar faces walk out.

Now with men and women ready to fight to save the universe Thanos stares back at them.

Mjolnir is called into Steve’s hand

“Avengers...assemble.”

Across the field as the gauntlet get farther away from Thanos as he is thrown into the air and slammed back down by Wanda

“Rain fire.” Thanos groans outmatched by the witch Corvus Glaive pushes Groot off of him glancing at his leader “But, sire, our troops”

“Just do it!” Thanos yells having his armor destroyed by Wanda. The sanctuary guns aim down onto the battlefield as hell rains down. Wanda looks up quickly building a force field but still getting knocked off her feet. Sakaarans and Jabari and many other heroes go flying.

One of the cannon blast hits the riverbank water now gushing as the bank threatens to collapse “Um, is anyone else seeing this?” Pepper calls out.

Tony, Brue, and Gamora turn to see the bank spilling over. Strange conjure a rune to keep the water from bay of the fight. As the battle continues Peter holds the gauntlet as he is surrounded by outriders

“Activate instant kill!” Peter yells out causing his suit to sprout out legs killing the monsters attacking him. As more attack Peter slowly gets overrun Steve notices throwing Mjolnir “Hey, Queens! Heads up!” Peter latches onto it with his webs getting thrown into the sky but the web is blasted off.

“Hang on, kid. I’ve got you.” Pepper grabs onto him passing him off to Valkyrie

Peter lands onto the Pegasus back as they ride closer to the van “Hey, nice to meet yo-aaaaah!“ They are hit by a blast sending Peter to the ground more explosions keep Peter stuck in the same place as more debris rains down onto the heroes.

Rocket and Groot dive for cover quickly Groot wraps his branches around them both. Suddenly the fire stops as the cannons aim towards the sky and begin firing.

“What the hell is this?” Sam calls out flying over the field. “Friday, what are they firing at?” Tony asks hovering over look up

“Something just entered the upper atmosphere.” The A.I. replies

A comet heads straight for Earth as many fear for what it is. It suddenly veers towards the ships splitting into two as one goes through the bottom and the other goes through side it blowing up the ship. Appearing from the top is Carol Danvers and Y/n Stark the face of her own suit coming up “Hell Yeah!” she cries out throwing her hand up.

“Is that..” Steve calls out looking at Tony as he begins to smile. “That’s my girl.”

Reader’s POV

Both of you and Carol land in front of Steve and Tony

“Dad!” you rush into his arms hugging him. Tony pulls you in pressing a kiss onto you head. “Sunshine I’ve missed you.” You smile stepping back looking at Steve “Cap.” You give him a mock salute.

“Stark, how did you even get here.” Steve looked between you two. “Kree technology is far more advance mix that and a little Stark magic, a boom Space traveling Iron suit. Pretty cool right.” You smile, Tony ruffling your hair.

“I’m not gonna try and comprehend that but we are gonna need an assist.” Steve said

You and Carol look at each other “Roger Roger.” You smirk flying up and landing in front of Peter.

Both you and Carol land in front of a dazed Peter clutching the gauntlet “Uh, hey. I’m Peter Parker.”

“Hey, Peter Parker. You got something for me?” Carol smirks Peter hands it over, staring out at the approaching horde. "I don’t know how you’re gonna get it through all that”

Wanda lands next to you guys “Don’t worry, kid” Peter turns to see Okoye “She’s got help” As you fire up your suit you begin walking out towards the ridge with Carol leading the group Shuri, Gamora, and Nebula appear joining the group. Valkyrie lands next to the group leading her horse towards battle, Pepper lands next to you as Hope sizes up and now all the women make their way towards Thanos’ army.

Wanda and Valkyrie fly up taking out the chitarui leviathan, while Gamora and Nebula stabbing and killing a chitarui gorilla, while the rest of you fight of upcoming aliens and creatures to get close to the van.

Firing at outriders you get thrown back causing Carol to turn back and shoot at the one about to grab you. “Go Carol get to the Van!” You yell waving her to go as you and Pepper turn back to back taking down outriders.

Scott kicks the doors of the van open as the portal comes to life motivating Carol as she tears the army apart as she flies closer. Right about as she is about to reach it Thanos throws his sword at the portal causing it to explode throwing Carol, Thanos, and everyone by it back.

You get up from the blast seeing Tony, Steve, and Thor fight for the gauntlet. Thanos squeezes the crushed gauntlet on him but Thor and Steve grab onto him trying to pull it off, but get thrown off, Tony rushes over but gets thrown off as well. Quickly flying over to Thanos before he can snap Carol grabs his hand as you blast him in the leg causing him to fall down.

Thanos throws you back causing you to scrap against the ground. “Carol!” you cry out seeing her get thrown back by the power stone. Rushing over you fire at him causing him to stumble. Thanos throws a punch which makes you dodge blasting at him with your repulsors and firing missile after missile.

Thanos finally gets the upper hand grabbing you by the neck slamming you into the ground, ripping off your faceplate before pounding his fist into your face.

“No!” Tony yells out trying to get over to you but is thrown back

Trying to defend yourself was useless as you are slammed further into the ground. You get lifted up blood spilling down your face as you struggle to keep your eyes open “I admire you, you are just like your father.” Thanos says before throwing you off to the side. Steve rushing over to you as you try to push yourself up but fall back down.

Leaning on Steve you look and see your father rush towards him grabbing onto the gauntlet before getting thrown off.

“Dad...” You wheeze out trying to get up but are pushed back down “Stand down Y/n” Steve tells you.

Thanos lifts his hand in the air to deliver everyone's fate “I am...inevitable.” he snaps his fingers but nothing happens. Everyone watches as Thanos turns the glove over and see that the stones are gone.

You look over and see your father sitting up as the gems slide up his arm to his hand making his own gauntlet. Tony flinches as the power surges through him “Dad.” You try to get up but are held back

Tony looks smiles at you before looking at Thanos

“And I...am Iron Man.”

The tidal wave turns to mists as everyone is overwhelmed from the blast of power. Sitting up next to Steve and seeing Sakaarans, Outriders, and Chitauri turn to ash. Thanos army beginning to fall down and fade away like many of you did five years ago.

You watch as Thanos turn and see his army fade away. He sits on a pile of stone and then fades to ash. Looking back you find your father missing “Dad?” You call out Steve helping you up as you both try to look for Tony

“Y/n” You hear Pepper call out she you look and see she has tears in her eyes

“Pep” you whisper as she ushers you over where Peter is getting pulled away by Rhodey. You gasp looking over at him his entire right side was burned as he wheezes, his eyes dazed.

You sit down next to him “Hey, Friday, what’ve we got?” You mumble “Life functions critical.” You look down as a tear slide downs you face. A hand wipes it away

“Hey Sunshine.” Tony rasp “Please don’t go.” You cry into his chest his hand petting your hair “I’m sorry.” he whispers tears sliding down his face. Pepper comes over and sits next to you.

Pepper grabs Tony’s free hand “Tony, look at me. We’re going to be okay...” He stares at her, tears welling. She touches his face, then leans in to kiss him.

“You can rest now.” When Pepper pulls back, she sees his eyes, fixed and glassy.

“I love you dad.” You hold onto him as his hand on your head becomes lightly until it falls of your head onto the ground. You cry when his hand falls off letting you know the worse has happen. Your sobs flood the battlefield as you cling to your father’s body.

Slowly you were pulled away by Pepper and you turn to cry into her chest. Pepper holds onto you struggling to be strong in front of you. Everything goes quiet. All around, the heroes drop to a knee the full weight of what’s happened dawning on them.

Tony Stark is gone.

“Everybody wants a happy ending. But it doesn’t always roll that way. Maybe this time. I’m hoping if you play this back, it’s in celebration. I hope families are reunited, I hope we get it back and something like a normal version of the planet has been restored. If there ever was such a thing. God, what a world. Universe, now. If you’d told me ten years ago that we weren’t alone, let alone to this extent, I probably wouldn’t have been surprised. But come on... Who knew what epic forces of dark and light would come into play? For better or worse, that’s the reality our children get to grow up in. They throw themselves into his arms.”

This was your first time you had be home and it didn’t feel like home anymore, you, and many of Tony’s close friends and family were sat in the living watching a hologram that was filmed prior to his death.

“That’s why I thought I’d probably better record a little greeting, in the case of…an untimely death on my part. I mean, death at any time is untimely, but...this “time travel” thing we’re going to try to pull off tomorrow has me scratching my head about the “survivability” of it all. But that’s the hero gig, right? Part of the journey is the end and I know that Y/n is out there helping people out in space which I couldn’t be more proud of.” hearing your name causes you to look up and smile. Tony continues running a hand through his hair before standing up and moving closer

“What am I even tripping for? Everything is going to work out exactly the way it’s supposed to.” Tony looks out at the his family “I love you 3000,” directed towards Morgan before somehow looking straight at you, “and I love you Sunshine.” He switches off the camera, vanishing. Looking straight at the Iron Man helmet and you feel nothing, Pepper kisses Morgan’s forehead and grabbing your hand as you both trying to process everything.

You hold Morgan hand as you, Pepper, and Morgan descend down the porch stairs. Pepper holds a wreath of flower as your fellow avengers follow behind you. Standing at the edge of the deck Pepper kneels down and rest the flower in the water resting on top of it was Tony’s first arc reactor with “Proof That Tony Stark Has A Heart” a gift Tony got from Pepper when you were eight.

Pepper stands up and her and Morgan make their way back inside people given there condolences. Most of the guest had went back inside but some stay as you are still frozen in place and numb by everything. Carol gives you a hug while T’Challa, Scott, and Hope give you their condolences before walking back. The guardians each give their sorrows before leaving. Sam, Bucky, and Wanda each give you a hug but you stay still they give a frown to each other before walking back.

“I’m sorry Y/n it was the only way.” Strange says placing a hand onto your shoulder before walking back. Peter and his aunt come up to you Peter squeezing you hand “I’m sorry Y/n” he mumbles before following his aunt.

Rhodey, Clint, and the rest of the avengers left realizing that there was not use to get you to talk. Until there was only Steve left, he walks over to the edge of the deck as Tony’s wreath slowly drifting further into the lake.

“Y/n, I know that Tony wouldn’t want you to become like this now that he is gone and you are going to have to move on sometime.” he goes to grab your hand but you whip around causing him to see your sunken eyes and bloodshot with how much crying you have done.

“You of all people Steve do not get to tell me I’m gonna to have to move, when you caused a civil war over you not-dead best friend. I don’t hate Bucky but you of all people should understand what I’m going through.” You spat out each time you spoke you shoved him back until he is at end of the deck closer to the house.

“I will never be able to move on. He was my main supporter and was always there for me and now he’s gone and I will never be the same.” You choke out, Steve frowns pulling you into a hug as you cry more into his shirt as it slowly gets wet.

After a few minutes you are all out of tears you step away rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Sorry I ruined your shirt.” You sniffled pointing at ruined shirt. He shrugs buttoning up his blazer “It’s fine.” flashing you smile that makes you feel better about it

“Soo... is this the end for the great Captain America?” you smile nudge him causing Steve to laugh.

“Yeah, I think it’s time for this old man to get his dance,” He confesses and then he sniffles “Oh my god are you crying.” You laugh causing him to quickly wipe his tears.

“No it’s just allergies.” he clears his throat all choked up You smile both of you looking out at the water “You know since you’re stepping down Sam would make a pretty good Cap.” you said

Steve nods before smoothing his jacket “Maybe, so you ready to head inside,” he nods towards the house, “Uh yeah just give me a minute and I’ll be in.” You say straighten out your shirt.

Steve squeezes you hand before turning and heading inside leaving you alone on the dock. You walk further to the edge of the deck and look out onto the lake the sun slowly setting casting a glow on the water

“I’m gonna miss you.” You say out loud. “He knows,” A voice replies making you turn and see Nick Fury standing a bit away from you. “When I asked him to join the Avengers the only reason he joined was you,” You look down at your shoes hearing his footsteps get closer, “He joined to protect the people but also to protect you, you were his everything and he knew when he was gone that you would be able to make the right decision.” He placed a hand on your shoulder before holding out a folder with Shield printed across it,

“And I know that if anyone else were to have this title it would be you.” You flip reading the subject ‘Avengers: Next Gen’ with names listen ‘Kamala Khan, Marc Spector, Jennifer Walters, Yelena Belova, and Shang-Chi’ “And what does this mean with?” you ask Nick smirked

“You tell me Y/n or should I say Iron Man.” You looked back and the file, “Wait bu-” you turn back and see that Fury is gone, “He always does that.” you smile

The Next Avengers,

New Hope...

And you were Iron Man.

#avengers masterlist #avengers x reader #x stark!reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #steve rogers x stark!reader #avengers x stark!reader #iron man #avengers endgame

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Text

The Worries of a Mother

A/N: I neeeeeeeeed dad!Geralt in my life okay. Also don’t give me shit because Geralt is sterile. I know he is, I just chose to ignore it for this. You can fight me if you don’t like it. Requests are open:)

You hummed softly to yourself as you moved about the kitchen. You looked up to gaze out of the window in the kitchen. You could see your son, Bram, playing in the front yard with a few other kids.

He was adjusting well to the new village. You’d just recently moved in to your home after being forced out of your previous town by angry villagers. They believed your husband, a witcher, had stolen from them.

Something rubbed against your legs. You looked down to see your house cat rubbing against you, purring loudly. You knelt down to pet the cat. Just as you made contact with its fur, there was a loud knock at the front door.

You stood up and looked back to the window you’d seen your son through just a few moments ago. He was nowhere to be seen.

You went to the door and pulled it open to see a group of men. A few of them were looking across your yard. You followed his gaze and found that they were looking at Bram playing with the other kids. You immediately felt uneasy.

“Hello, gentlemen. What can I do for you?” You put on a friendly smile.

“Lars Van Dijick.” The man closest to you held his hand out. “I own the tavern just down the road. You are?”

“Y/N.” You shook his hand.

“Y/N. What a stunning name for such a beautiful woman.” Lars looked pass you, eyeing the inside of your home. “Is there a mister that I could speak to?”

“He’s busy at the moment. You can speak with me though.” You offered a little stiffly.

Lars looked at you, obviously a little shocked that you’d decline his desire to speak to your husband. He cleared his throat and nodded his head.

“Very well. Your boy….” He trailed off, turning to look at your son. “Has he got something wrong with him?”

You locked your jaw and fought the urge to immediately curse the man out. Bram did stand out in a crowd. Even if he was the normal size of a child his age, he had hair so blonde it was nearly white. But being that his hair was oddly colored and he was smaller than every other child his age, he was often subjected to bullying.

“I am surprised you’d ask me that so bluntly, good sir. You don’t know me.”

“He’s just asking ‘cause we don’t want our kids effected by your offspring.” A second man spoke.

The heat in your veins rose and bubbled. Your fingers curled into right fists by your sides.

The sound of a floorboard behind you creaking told you that your husband was making himself known. You could feel his presence behind you, massive and towering.

“Is everything alright, dove?” His low, husky voice calmed you down a little. You turned your head to look up at Geralt of Rivia. His hand slipped around your shoulders, comforting you. He could feel your distress and frustration rolling off of you in waves.

“We were just having a conversation with her.” Lars clearly was uncomfortable at the sight of the witcher.

“I believe I heard you say you’d like to speak to me.” Geralt gently ushered you to the side. You got the hint and moved to stand behind him, peaking around his large bicep so you could watch the men. “Now’s your chance.”

Lars fell silent, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“We don’t welcome your kind here.” One of the men towards the back spoke up. Geralt’s darkened amber eyes flickered to that man. “You’re nothing but bad news.”

“I will be if you insult my son once more.” He practically spoke through his teeth. “If you don’t want your bastard children playing with him, then keep them the fuck away from my home.”

The group disbanded, clearly losing whatever courage they thought they had.

Your husband glared at the men until they were out of your yard, closing the fence behind themselves.

You placed your hand on his bicep, rubbing his arm.

“You think they’ll do anything?” You asked him quietly.

“If they know what’s best for them, they wouldn’t.” Geralt let out a soft sigh. You rested your cheek against his arm, your fingers brushing over his bare forearm. The sleeves to the tunic he wore were pushed up to his elbows.

You looked to your son, who was happy and content playing with the other children.

“I only hope that the locals warm up to him.”

You said nothing in reply.

“It’s me they should be repulsed by.”

“They aren’t repulsed by him, love.” You shook your head softly. “They’re just curious. He…. He is different but different isn’t bad. He’s just like his father.” You kissed his arm. He hummed. “You’ll keep an eye on him while I finish up in the kitchen?”

He nodded once. You moved around to stand in front of him. You cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb across the corner of his lips. This took his attention away from your son for a moment. He looked down at you, a warm smile coming to his lips.

You could sense his agitation. He was irritated with everyone, with how they treated his son. He carried such an immense amount of guilt just because he thought he was the reason Bram was different.

You placed your free hand on his chest, rubbing soothing circles against the material of his shirt with your thumb.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.” He dipped his head down to seal a kiss on your lips.

You softly patted his chest, glancing over your shoulder to look at your son one last time before you disappeared into the house.

***

The sun was beginning to go down. It was time for Bram to come inside for dinner.

You made your way towards the front door. Geralt had gone to the barn out in the backyard where your horses were kept. You knew he liked to spend time with Roach when negative thoughts brewed inside his head.

You stepped out of the house, pulling the door shut behind you. Your eyes flickered around the front yard in search of your son and the kids he’d been playing with. The sticks they were using as swords were on the ground, almost as if they’d dropped them.

Your heart started to beat a little faster as you flooded with concern. Every time Bram was out of your sight, you could feel the butterflies in your stomach, tormenting you. The thought of anything happening to your precious child made you sick.

“Bram!” You called his name, taking a few steps down the cobble path that led to the main road resting just across the front yard.

He didn’t respond. That was very unlike him. He always answered you when you called. It was also very unlike him to leave the front yard without letting you know.

Maybe he was around back with Geralt.

***

You moved quickly, needing reassurance that your son was safe. The barn door was open.

“Geralt!” You didn’t mean to sound so frantic.

Sensing your panic, he left Roach’s side and moved towards you.

“Have you seen Bram?”

He didn’t answer you but a look of concern washed over his features.

“Oh gods-,”

“Don’t do that.” He cut you off, closing the space between you two. His hand cradled the side of your head while he looked behind you out into the field that rested outside of the barn doors. “He’s going to be okay.”

Tears were already forming in your eyes, blurring your vision. You brought your hand up to hold Geralt’s bicep, your fingers unintentionally digging into his arm.

“What if those men-What if they did something to him?”

Geralt said nothing to you at first. He just gazed down at you with those golden eyes you loved so much. He dipped his head down to kiss your forehead firmly.

“Go back to the house. I’ll find him.”

“I want to help you.”

“No, you need to stay home in case he returns.” He let you go and moved to fetch Roach.

Just as you were leaving the barn, you heard a scream come from the woods that rested beyond your backyard.

You looked over your shoulder to your husband. He took off in a sprint out of the barn, heading in the direction of the noise. You followed, though you were slower than him.

***

When you caught up to Geralt, he was leaning against a tree, his eyes focused on something ahead. Breathing heavy, you moved to stand next to him.

There was a creek not too far from where Geralt stood. On the other side of the creek was your son. He and the other children he’d been playing with were playing in the mud. Your son’s white hair was patched dark brown with mud and his clothes were covered in the same substance.

Bram was the first to look up. A bright smile crossed his lips as he saw you two looking down at him.

“Hi!” He waved his dirty fingers at you two.

Geralt gave him a soft smile and nodded.

“Come along, Bram.” You called for him, needing him closer to you. Worry and anxiety still swirled in your stomach. You always carried a fear that someone would do something to your boy simply because he was different or for who his father was. “You need to get washed up before dinner.”

Bram stood from the mud puddle he’d been playing in and moved carefully through the creek. He slipped on a rock and stumbled a little but he managed to catch his footing.

You saw Geralt flinch like he’d fly to your son’s side and rescue him from the gentle waters of the creek should he fall. You placed your hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze.

As Bram approached you, you held your hands out to pick him up.

“But mommy! I’m dirty!”

“I don’t mind, love.” You smiled at him. You picked him up and hugged him tightly.

“Mommy! You’re squeezing me!”

You released him and settled with holding him on your hip. Geralt followed behind you as you made your way back through the woods towards the house.

“Did you have fun today?” Geralt asked Bram.

“Yes! The kids are nicer here than the ones at our other home.”

You smiled, content with having your messy son in your arms and your husband walking alongside you.

Geralt placed his hand on your back. You turned your head to look at him. The corners of his lips turned up in a smile.

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#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #the witcher netflix #oneshot #dad!geralt #dad geralt

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szccvdv · 3 years

Text

he went to the slave and said

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When Prince Quentyn told them that the other Westerosi had come over to the Stormcrows at the command of the Tattered Prince, only the intercession of Grey Worm and his Unsullied prevented Daario from killing them all. I keep picturing her to myself now. She must be very clever, serious, truthful, and beautiful. “He was our king! He was brave and good, and the Freys murdered him.

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arsnovacadenza · 4 years

Text

Jeanpoleon fic- Punch-Drunk Love

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Characters: Jean, Napoleon, Mozart, mentions of Sebas, Theo, & Yukari (MC)

Pairings: Jean x Napoleon

Word count: 2388

Rating: T (because drinking)

Napoleon strode in the direction of the dining room. He had just returned from the thermae.

For once, he was completely awake and wasn't drawn into getting back to bed. Perhaps he could pass the night away in the company of wine? Sebastian just talked to him this morning about a possible new batch of wine they've never gotten before.

A new wine to taste? Curious. Napoleon thought. Too bad I have no one to share it with tonight.

But before his thoughts went any further, he began picking up faint, echoing voices as he walked nearer to the banquet hall.

"....I think you're a little too close."

"I think you're imagining things."

Did Napoleon just hear right?

Someone's in the dining room, and from the sounds of it, they seem drunk.

This early in the evening, no less.

So he picked up his pace, his curiosity growing as the voices became clearer.

"Jean, I really do think you're too close."

"I think you're imagining things."

Jean? Slurred? Napoleon unconsciously sped up his power walk, He knew Jean couldn't hold his liquor. Last time, he nearly climbed all over Theo for God's sake!

Back then it was amusing. But for some reason, Napoleon felt that this time he needed to check on Jean and whoever he's drinking with. Without realizing it, the former officer had broken into a sprint.

"It's completely abnormal for our cheeks to be smushed together like this," Mozart muttered as he pushed futilely against Jean’s chest.

"Aren't you the one who's being abnormal?" Jean's lashes brushed against the corner of Mozart's eye.

"Why?" Mozart slurred back.

"Well," a part of Jean's thigh almost rested on top of Mozart's. "Why are you grinning like that?"

"I don't think," the white-haired man tried to break away from Jean's wine-scented breath. "I'm any different than norma-"

"What is going on?"

Mozart's eyes immediately flew to the entrance of the dining room, where Napoleon stood with a hand on his hip. Good God, that hideous cape of him is looking more and more like a curtain with each passing day.

"Mozart? So it was you?" the former emperor's voice boomed oddly against the composer's ears. He tried to dislodge Jean since this scene was getting ridiculous, especially now that's somebody walked in on them."

"I what? There's Jean here if you can't tell," Mozart snapped back. Jean seemed to be lost in his haze, not even realizing that Napoleon had arrived on his scene.

Napoleon, on the other hand, was thoroughly stunned by the scene before him.

They were both sitting with their chairs pulled up against each other, Jean slinging an arm over Mozart's shoulder and pressing one side of his body against him. Mozart himself was apparently too intoxicated to put Jean back onto his seat. Even stranger, the man was smiling ear to ear despite his previous irritable reaction towards both Jean and Napoleon.

As he approached the couple, however, Napoleon's eyes fixed on Jean in a mix of fascination and astonishment.

Napoleon knew he had always been beautiful, but he'd never seen his pale skin stained with a red so rich. The soldier's head was tilted, displaying the curve of his slender neck. The underside of his sharp chin was all bared for the former emperor to see.

Napoleon stared at Jean's lips, lush and glistening from the alcohol. He often wondered why God would grace such features on a man.

Jean's otherworldly beauty betrayed his vigorous physique and excellent combat abilities. Napoleon himself would have to admit defeat if Jean were to utilize all of his vampire strength to fight.

Napoleon shook himself free from those thoughts as he addressed the drunken couple. "Mozart, why did you invite Jean to drink? You know how he responds to alcohol."

Mozart stared up at him defiantly, his grin only making him look more mischievous.

"He asked for it. I agreed so long as he'll keep me company," he answered almost smugly. "Are friends not allowed to drink wine together?"

Napoleon regarded Jean, who detached his face from Mozart's in favor of sitting himself fully on the latter's lap. Isn't this a little too far for even friends?

Napoleon had been the first to react when Jean clambered on Theo. Back then, he was embarrassed and apologized to the brothers afterward (Vincent only laughed and assured that it was fine). While he had watched the scene with amusement at first, his instincts won over when Jean started pressing younger Van Gogh’s face onto his chest.

Even Mozart wasn't as reactionary. What was he, a substitute parent to Jean?

But his reception towards what was happening now made him beg to differ.

He should've been alright with Jean drinking under Mozart's watch. He trusted the man. Jean might come across as naive, but he always kept to himself and never let his trouble burden others. Having a figure like Mozart around was an added safety net, much to Napoleon's relief.

Mozart was helping Jean explore his curiosity as a good friend would. There was no fault in that. He remained docile even when drunk, turned more amicable even. So, where was even the harm?

The problem didn't lie on Mozart. It was Jean.

It had already been borderline frightening when the reserved beauty suddenly let himself loose and ran his hands over another person. Moreover, even a man as sturdy as Theo couldn't free himself from Jean's death grip. The sight could've turned obscene if Jean launched himself on Yukari instead. Napoleon winced at the prospect.

Only now was he able to see the true extent of Jean's drunken behavior. Snuggling up to people, completely letting his guard down, and unknowingly flaunting his allure at unsuspecting spectators.

Jean settled himself back down, now with both legs dangling from Mozart's lap. His hand was now smoothing over Mozart's chest. All while nearly burying himself in Mozart's hair.

Napoleon's free hand gripped the handle of his sword rigidly. This can't be right.

He didn't realize that he was awash with a completely different sort of haze. Yes, it had been Jean's unknown side that caught him off guard, but it was something else entirely that tugged viciously at his heart.

There was just something in the way Mozart grinned right at him as he let Jean climb on his lap, cheeks almost rubbing together.

Are you jealous, Napoleon? his eyes seemed to speak. I bet you are.

Napoleon was appalled by his own reaction. Who's the drunk one here?

Without thinking, he bent over the two and scooped Jean right from on top of Mozart, unsurprised by the latter's lack of response. He secured Jean's position into a bridal carry.

Mozart lazily leaned back on his chair and eyed Napoleon coolly. "What gives you the right," he muttered.

Napoleon looked down at him with a stern look on his face. "Nothing," he answered briskly. "Just decency."

With Jean safely tucked in his arms, he turned away with a swish of his cape.

Napoleon was in a panic as he strode down the hallway, his hands full of Jean.

Napoleon was in a panic as he strode down the hallway, his hands full of Jean. The man kept rubbing his head against Napoleon's jacket, which made the walk even more awkward.

I have to deposit him somewhere quickly. Napoleon's brain whirred. But where? I don't want to climb up his tower, or we'll both fall.

Without thinking, he returned to his room. With much difficulty, he managed to turn the knob and opened his door without displacing Jean from his position.

After shutting the door with a foot, Napoleon fumbled his way to the bed and gently deposited Jean on his unmade covers. He let the man's feet dangle from the edge of the bed to prevent the boots from dirtying the sheets.

Beside the man, Napoleon sat down in a slump.

How did my evening turn out to be like this? He buried his face in his palm. When I thought about heading out to drink, this wasn't at all what I had in mind.

He snapped from his reverie when he heard a groan from the man next to him. Jean was curling up, obviously comfortable in a bed that's not even his.

Sighing, Napoleon moved over so he could remove Jean's long boots. His previous exasperation melted away as he smiled at Jean's face, still unaware of his surroundings.

Right, I'll spend the night in the attic, then. Napoleon mused. For once, he should sleep in a comfortable bed.

But just as he prepared to turn away, Jean's voice called out to him softly.

"S-stay." He slurred hoarsely.

Napoleon looked back at his vulnerable form. So Jean had been mindful this whole time.

"No worries," Napoleon replied. "I'll call Mozart here. Just wait."

But Jean's still gloved hand was already pawing at the air. "No need... Napoleon, come. Here."

How did he know it was Napoleon?!

Nonplussed, the man whom Jean called stood rigidly and returned to the bedside. Not knowing what to do, he grabbed the beckoning hand with his own.

"You realized it was me?" he whispered, face hovering over the man's prone body. "Jean, I thought you were too delirious to notice."'

Jean's eye gazed up at him. "Your voice...Napoleon." He slowly pulled the hand even closer.

And laid it on his chest, keeping it there. "I heard it...in the dining room."

Napoleon wasn't even sure which was more awkward: his hand on Jean's chest or knowing that Jean was aware of being carried in his arms into his room and laid on his bed. How did this withdrawn ex-soldier become so sticky?

"You!" Napoleon exclaimed. "Never mind. Let me take off my boots first."

If he were to spend the night this way, he'd better make himself as comfy as he could. After kicking his boots away, he hoisted Jean's body so his head would rest on the pillows.

Not knowing what to do, Napoleon sat back against the headboard. He was so overwhelmed with the whole situation it made him dizzy.

Jean tugged on his pants. Napoleon peeked at the man through his fingers. "What do you need?" he asked tiredly.

Without answering, Jean grabbed at the collar of Napoleon's shirt and attempted to drag him down. "Beside... me."

Napoleon, at any other time, would've relented and given him what he wanted without much fuss. But unexpected emotions had racked him tonight, and Jean’s simple request made his face burn hotter than ever.

"Y-you should take that cape off, first." Napoleon never stammered, but he just did. "Your overcoat too. Else you'll be sweating."

With Napoleon's assistance, they managed to take off Jean's cape and outer shirt. It soon joined with Napoleon's outer garments on the floor. The pair also discarded their belts at Napoleon's suggestion.

Now comfortable, Napoleon allowed himself to sink on the bed beside Jean. He hadn't been planning on sleeping, but he was in no mood to talk to the drunken soldier either. He laid on his back, feeling not at all sleepy (though he wished that he was).

Meanwhile, Jean was inching closer to him, completely abandoning the concept of personal space. His arm flailed around, not quite decided on whether it should cling to Napoleon's shoulder or his waist.

Eventually, it rested on the skin of Napoleon's exposed chest. Humming with satisfaction, Jean nuzzled into the side of Napoleon's neck. His silken hair felt soft and ticklish at the same time.

"Mmmm....." Jean breathed against the shell of his companion's ear. "So warm."

"I just got back from the thermae," Napoleon whispered back. "Now, go to sleep. Don't try anything funny."

Grunting, Jean propped himself of before falling on top of Napoleon. This time, he draped his legs over Napoleon's, encasing them in a hook. The man underneath him questioned whether the open palm over his chest could feel the mad drumming of his heart.

He struggled to free his arm from getting crushed under Jean's body in vain. Defeated, Napoleon tried embracing the other man instead, making it so that Jean's weight rested entirely on his body.

It didn't feel all that bad, having somebody else sleep on top of you.

And this is Jean, of all people. Never in my lifetime have I ever imagined that I'd be sharing a bed with Jean fucking d'Arc. And he —it’s a he! Who would have thought! —turned out to be this gorgeous too. Just what is wrong with my life?

What is wrong with me?

Before long, he could hear Jean's soft snore. He'd calmed down, at least for now. Napoleon allowed himself to card his fingers through Jean's hair. "What an evening," He huffed. "Looks like there's no other choice but to join you."

Napoleon shuffled so both were lying on their sides. Gritting his teeth, Napoleon pulled Jean closer, fully aware of the warm breath that’s caressing his jaw.

“See you in the morning, Jean.” Napoleon whispered. “Bonne nuit.”

And so, the French soldiers bid farewell to the night and rested quietly within each other’s arms.

But that’s a secret we’ll keep between us, right?

The next morning, Sebastian came to check up on Napoleon and went “HoLy SHiT”.

#ikevam jean #ikevam napoleon #jeanpoleon #ikemen vampire #drunk on your love story event #riri tries ikevam #I'm so dizzy I need to lay down

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lobster-tales · 3 years

Text

Falling Back in Love With You

Chapter 3 Summary: Link and Mipha travel to Rito House, intending to pick up their representative from the archery club. Revali, however, proves to be a problem.

This work is available here on AO3. Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Link switched on the radio, not to disrupt the comfortable silence between Mipha and him, but to enhance it. Rhoam always left a blues album in the CD player. The van rolled past empty halls and dormitories, vacant fields and courts. Very few students stayed at the university through the weekend.

When they reached the edge of campus, Mipha asked, “Did you have fun last night?”

Link shrugged, casting her a clueless look.

“You don’t know?” Her eyes widened. “Oh, you don’t remember?”

He shook his head.

Concern entered Mipha’s voice. “I didn’t realize you drank that much… Do you even remember when I was there?”

Link pinched his fingers together, a small gap between.

“How much? Do you remember that game we played? With the cards?”

He nodded.

“Do you remember…” She let out a slight chuckle. “When we got the card where everyone has to drink while holding hands?”

Link smiled to himself, recalling the group’s laughter, someone spilling soda on their shirt.

“And… After everyone else put their hands down, you still held my hand?”

His blood froze. Link kept his eyes forward, tracing the details in his mind. He hoped to find something else, something easier to explain. Now that she mentioned it, though, he did remember. Mipha’s hands were small and cold, and he was warm from the punch.

She sensed the change and bit back her disappointment. Mipha gazed out the window instead, watching the neighborhood pass by. The van turned into Rito Street, and she knew she was running out of private time.

“I know… I’m not sure…” Mipha tried to put her feelings into words. “I just wanted you to know that I… I liked it. I liked holding your hand. Whatever it meant, or even if it meant nothing at all.”

Link tried not to react, but he knew his uncertainty was on full display.

Mipha steeled herself. “I guess… if it’s not too much, I wanted to ask you something?”

His curiosity got the better of him, and Link glanced her way.

“I’ve… wanted to ask you for a while now.”

The navigation app beeped on Link’s phone, alerting that they were at their destination. He pulled alongside a blue house, putting the van in park. The action startled Mipha.

“Oh, we’re here.” She straightened in her seat, reminded of the task at hand. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up now. I’ll wait until after the budget proposal.” Her thin red lips pulled into a smile. “Come on; let’s go find Revali.”

A broad-shouldered man perched on the front step of the blue house. His intimidating presence was offset by the accordion in his hands, his bright blue mohawk, and the easy look he gave the two of them. “Hey Link, hey Mipha,” he said, the instrument sighing between his fingers.

Before Link could wonder if this was Revali, Mipha said, “Good morning, Kass. How was your show last night?”

“It was great, thanks for asking. Blew the roof off of ole Rito House.” He indicated the blue building behind him.

Link felt memories flicker. He remembered how the building’s facade looked at night. The front door was opened only for performers, while the rest of the crowd gathered in the backyard.

Kass’s heavy eyeliner crinkled as he smiled. “What can I do for you?”.

“We’re looking for Revali,” Mipha said. “It’s a sports club thing.”

“On a Saturday?” Kass lifted his chin towards Link. “Aren’t you hungover?”

Link nodded bashfully, then pointed his index and middle fingers forward. He pivoted them up and down towards Kass.

“And you’re in a rush?” Kass shook his head. “What a day. Well, come on. I doubt he’s awake. Hang out while I check his room.”

Footprints from the night before were still visible on the ancient wooden floor, tacky where drinks had spilled. Link’s gaze traveled over the furniture, decorated by stains and red plastic cups.

“He’s not in his bed,” Kass said, reappearing at a hallway’s entrance.

“What?” Mipha asked, frowning. “Like he’s not here?”

“Well, not in the house,” said Kass, unbothered. He made for the back door, waving them through.

The backyard was similarly dirty. In one corner of the yard, an abandoned workshed sat with rusty tools inside. The other corner held an unused child’s playset, the wood just beginning to rot. The structure had a plastic yellow slide, two low swings, and a ladder that led to the covered platform in the center. Inside the playset, a body slept soundly, obscured from view by a pile of blankets.

“There he is!” Kass was the first to step forward, clearing his throat. “Revali?” He took hold of one of Revali’s legs, sticking out over the edge of the wood.

Like a snail, Revali withdrew the limb, curling into the fetal position as he growled, “Go away.”

Kass shook his head fondly. “Your friends are here to pick you up.”

Mipha asked, “Did you get Zelda’s texts?”

“Her what?” he grumbled, still hidden from view.

“We have to go to the school.”

“But it’s Saturday.”

“Yes, I know,” Mipha said patiently. “But Ganon changed the meeting. We have to go today.”

Revali rolled over to face them, his dramatic eyebrows and angular nose visible beneath the blanket. “And that’s my problem?”

At the sight of Revali’s features, memories flooded back to Link.

Link and Zelda joined the throng of students in the backyard of Rito House. They lingered on the outskirts of the group, apprehensive. Link’s mind was still fuzzy from the punch at the lifeguard apartment, and Zelda felt out of her comfort zone amongst the partygoers. A few people waved and some even approached her to talk. Link discovered that several were in the student council under Zelda’s leadership, and others knew her from classes or from the sports clubs.

“Princess, welcome!”

Zelda winced and turned to face a student wearing a light blue scarf, his navy hair wind blown on top and gathered into short braids at the nape of his neck. “Please don’t call me that, Revali,” she said.

Revali cocked an eyebrow. “My apologies, but you are the student council president, not to mention the daughter of the dean, therefore-”

“Ex-dean,” Zelda corrected sharply, her fists clenching.

Sensing he had gone too far, Revali backed off. “Very well, then I shall stick to ‘my lady’.” His green eyes settled on Link, mouth curling. “And I see you brought your bodyguard.”

“Link is my friend,” Zelda said. “You remember him from the fencing club?”

“Of course,” Revali said, circling them with one hand on his chin. “You know, some would argue that fencers are the natural rivals of archers such as myself.”

“What?” Zelda asked, exasperated. “Who would argue that?”

“Like I said, my lady,” Revali took his place in front of them, peering over his shoulder. He lifted his arms to each side, showing off his muscles beneath his sleeveless turtleneck. “Some.”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “We’re all part of the sports club program, Revali. None of us are rivals.”

“Indeed,” he sighed. “However, it’s no secret that anyone can swing a little sword around. But it takes true skill and precision to fire an arrow, to pierce a target directly in the center.”

Link huffed, insulted by Revali’s coarse description of fencing. Zelda saw his expression change and said, “Fencing takes skill and precision too.”

“Oh please,” Revali scoffed. “Fencing is a brutish and violent sport. All of their members just want an excuse to beat on each other with weapons for hours at a time.” He raised his head high. “But archery is only for those with a refined taste, my lady. In fact, I wouldn’t debase it so much as to call it a sport; it’s more of an art.” He smirked at Zelda. “You know, my lady, we could use an elegant palette such as yours among our ranks.”

Zelda’s annoyance melted away, and she smirked at Revali. “Actually, I’m already a member of a club.”

Revali froze, looking between the two of them. “Oh? Perhaps volleyball, with Lady Urbosa?”

“Nope.” Zelda crossed her arms, triumphant. “Something more brutish and violent.”

Link stifled a laugh, but Revali was unamused. He pursed his lips, bowing his head in surrender. “Well perhaps… not every fencer is…”

A voice interrupted from the back porch, saving Revali from further embarrassment. “Kass is on in five!”

Zelda took Link’s hand and led him towards the back door, calling back to Revali, “See you after the show!”

They entered the crowded living room, one side of which had been cleared out to make space for the stage. Once they had picked a spot along the wall, Zelda collapsed into giggles. “Oh, that was priceless! What a-” She stopped, and found more tactful words. “I mean… Don’t get me wrong, he can be cool, but he’s just so... eccentric.”

Link grinned. He knew her well enough to understand her real meaning, and he agreed. Zelda stifled another laugh and said, “I’m going to find a restroom. Wait here for me?”

He nodded, and she disappeared into the crowd. Link stood alone against the edge of the room, watching Kass tune his accordion through the wall of bodies.

A voice hissed in Link’s ear. “You think you’re so clever, swordsman.”

Link jolted and met Revali’s piercing gaze. The archer narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you strut about, acting like you’re better than me. You may have Lady Zelda fooled, but I see right through you.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “So, what do you say we settle this? Once and for all? I have a bottle of rum in the cabinet; I can secure us some shot glasses from the house owners.” Revali stuck out his hand. “How about it, swordsman? Do you accept my challenge?”

Link paused. He had never competed in a drinking contest before, and was unsure of how much alcohol he could handle. The other, and perhaps the most pressing concern, was how Zelda would react once she found out.

Revali sneered at his indecision. “Ah, so you are a coward. I figured as much.”

Then again, Revali had relentlessly insulted his passion, and Link found that he couldn’t turn down an opportunity to put him in his place. Just as Kass began the first song, Link grasped Revali’s hand.

“Yes, Revali, because it affects your club,” Mipha said.

Link blinked back the thoughts, focusing on their exchange.

“Just like it affects the fencing club,” she said, indicating Link. “And the swimming club,” she pointed to herself. “And all of us. If Zelda doesn’t have any sport club members there, then the budget proposal gets rejected. That means no new bows, arrows, gear, anything. The practice gyms-”

“The archery club doesn’t use the practice gyms,” Revali scoffed. “We have to go off campus. Our gear still works, and if anyone wants something new, they can buy it themselves.”

Mipha’s mouth curled into a rare sneer. “Revali, this is important. Just come with us.”

“Nope.” Revali rolled over once more, pulling the blanket tight around his body.

Link, Mipha, and Kass exchanged glances. Kass shrugged helplessly. “Maybe you can ask someone from a different club?”

“On such short notice?” Mipha’s shoulders lowered in defeat, and she pulled out her cellphone. “I could ask my friend from the sailing club… If she left now, then maybe she’d make it on time.”

Time. Link removed his own phone to check. 11:20.

Whoa. How did that happen? He glanced at Mipha, who was still scrolling through her contacts. We don’t have time for this.

Link examined the playset. He nudged Kass, pointing to the slide. A grin spread across Kass’s features and he nodded in approval. He moved into position as Link climbed onto the playset, standing over Revali.

Still wrapped in blankets, Revali glared up at Link. “What do you think you’re- Aahh!”

Link shoved Revali’s body through the opening that led to the slide. Unable to stop his descent, Revali fell into Kass’s arms. Kass hoisted him over his shoulder, shooting Link a thumbs up with his free hand.

Revali protested loudly and without dignity. Kass hauled him through the fence gate, then tossed him into the backseat of the van. Suppressing a chuckle, Kass winked at Link and Mipha. “Just bring him back here when you’re done. My kids are at a sleepover, so I’ll still be around.” He moved back to his position on the front porch step, picking up his accordion once more as he called, “Oh, and good luck!”

#loz #botw #loz fic #link #zelda #mipha #revali #my fic #commission

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worryinglyinnocent · 3 years

Text

Fic: Forged Through Fire (12/13)

Summary: Amestris. Once democratic, now a military dictatorship. Prohibition is strict; personal freedoms curtailed. All alchemists must be state-licensed or face imprisonment. Foreigners are met with suspicion. It’s a grim place and a grim time, but there are some people able to bring a little light to the world. Behind an innocent-looking bookshop, speakeasy proprietor Chris Mustang has formed an unlikely alliance with unlicensed alchemist Van Hohenheim to provide alcohol to those who want it and medical care to those who need it. When Riza’s newly complete tattoo becomes infected, Roy brings her into this underworld, little knowing the way it will change their lives in the future – uncovering the secrets of the mythical Philosopher’s Stone and the schemes of a Fuhrer hell-bent on achieving immortality, all whilst navigating what they mean to each other.

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Rated: T

[One] [Two] [Three] [Four] [Five] [Six] [Seven] [Eight] [Nine] [Ten] [Eleven] [AO3]

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Content warning for this chapter: Moderate blood and gore.

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Forged Through Fire

Twelve

“Is that so, Mustang?”

Riza’s immediate reaction to hearing Bradley’s voice behind her was to grab a pistol, turn, aim and fire. It was a clean shot in his shoulder and it should have at least slowed him down, but he didn’t even break stride, and her heart started to pound in her ears as she saw the telltale red crackle of alchemy at the bullet hole. Whatever the doctor had done with Hohenheim’s blood, it had already started to work.

Roy snapped, a column of fire shooting down the corridor towards the Fuhrer, who simply reached up with his sword and slashed at the water pipes in the ceiling, dousing the flame and drenching Roy’s spark cloth, rendering his alchemy useless.

On instinct, Riza fired again, trying to slow him down if nothing else, but it had no effect save seeming to anger him as he raised his sword again, and Roy grabbed her hand, pulling her along down the corridor at a breakneck pace. All they could hope to do was to try and outrun him, but these corridors seemed to be interminable. She hadn’t realised just how deep Marcoh had brought them into the building when they had first come in; she had been trying to memorise the route back if they’d ended up needing it, at the same time as keeping an eye out for anything that might have caused them a problem. She hoped that Marcoh had made it back to the car after he’d met up with Havoc.

Riza forced herself to keep moving on burning legs, racing down the corridors beside Roy. They were almost at the entrance that they had come through with Marcoh, and Roy slammed the door open. She didn’t know what would happen once they were out in the open, but whatever it was, surely it would be better than being trapped in a building about to collapse in a flaming heap with a completely insane and apparently immortal Fuhrer chasing them. She knew that it was too much to ask for the others to have got out in the car and come screeching around the block to rescue them at the last minute, but she could always hope for a miracle.

The lights on the staircase had gone out and they stumbled up blindly in pitch dark, still very aware of Bradley’s footsteps behind them. Riza didn’t dare to turn and see, but something in the back of her mind was telling her that Bradley was slowing down. Maybe he wasn’t as fit as they’d thought he was; or maybe the initial boost he’d got from the immortality had worn off.

Riza flung the top door open, squinting in the sudden bright full moonlight. They’d made it outside, and now it was a race towards the gates and the road and the prayer for deliverance.

There was a garbled shout from behind her, and the thud of someone falling to the ground.

“Roy!”

She turned, but Roy was only a step behind her, perfectly safe, also looking behind him in horror as Bradley picked himself up off the ground. Riza had to stop in her tracks at the sight of him.

He was bleeding heavily, not just from the bullet wounds she had inflicted in his chest that had healed immediately at the time; it was pouring from his mouth and nose as well, dripping down his face from the corners of his eyes; dark red and sparkling with alchemic energy that seemed almost angry in its intensity.

He tried to put on a final burst of speed towards them now that they had both come to a dead halt, but it only made it a couple of steps before falling onto his knees, spewing a fountain of blood and landing face down on the ground.

Riza looked at Roy.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I think his body must have rejected Hohenheim’s blood after it started to heal him up.” Roy’s face wrinkled up with disgust as he made his way over to the body. “Either that or the blood rejected the body.”

“Roy! Be careful! Don’t make this into a horror novel scene where he’s not dead and he grabs your ankles!”

Roy picked up Bradley’s dropped sword and poked at the man a couple of times before bending to take a pulse, shaking his head.

“He’s dead.”

“Good. Now let’s get out of here before the entire building goes down!”

Smoke was billowing up from the subterranean levels now, and Roy didn’t need further encouragement. They both started running towards the gates, grateful that Marcoh had not locked them again after they’d come through earlier. They kept pounding down the street until they stopped in alarm when a car screeched to a halt in front of them and Riza had to double take when Hughes leaned out of the driver’s seat.

“Need a ride?”

They threw themselves into the back as Hughes floored it away from the laboratory.

“How on earth did you manage to sneak out of the shop and where did you get this car?” Roy asked.

“Well, Gracia helped with the sneaking and Falman’s going to make a career out of forging car requisition orders.” Hughes grinned at him in the rear-view. “Don’t I get a ‘thank you for saving our asses’?”

“Thank you for saving our asses, although I don’t know who’s going to save yours once we get back and Madam Christmas gets hold of you.”

Hughes laughed. “I shall simply remind her that I brought her darling nephew back to her in one piece.”

“Hmm.” Roy raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how much mileage you’ll get out of that.”

In spite of everything that had happened over the course of the last several minutes, Riza had to laugh. It felt good to laugh. They weren’t out of the woods by any stretch of the imagination. Bradley may have been dead, but there were a bunch of generals under him who would not be so easily unseated - although, if Roy’s description of the chaos unfolding at Central Command was anything to go by, perhaps that wasn’t a foregone conclusion. There was the small matter of Kimblee shoved in the ammo closet back in the armoury (although surely someone would have found him by now), and all of the destruction that had been wreaked through the Fifth Laboratory.

Right now, though, that wasn’t a problem. That was something that they could think about later. The most immediate problem had been rescuing Hohenheim, and Riza could only hope that he and Havoc had managed to get out with the rest of the exodus in the fire alarm. Her mind was set at ease as they rounded the corner a few blocks from the laboratory and Armstrong came into sight, their original car parked up next to the phone booth he was in.

Hughes leaned out as they pulled up alongside, and Riza could see the others in the car. Hohenheim appeared to have passed out again, covered in Marcoh’s coat like a blanket, but since the doctor didn’t seem to be too concerned by this, Riza decided she wouldn’t be either.

“It’s ok, the cavalry’s already here,” Hughes called. Armstrong stared at him for several seconds.

“Not to worry, false alarm,” he said into the phone and hung up, getting back into the driver’s seat of the car. Beside him, Havoc was killing himself laughing.

The rest of the journey back to the shop was made in relieved silence - Hughes asked what had gone on but accepted Roy’s wish to leave the tale until they were all together in one place to avoid having to repeat the details several times. It did not take them long to reach the shop; most of the traffic was going in the other direction towards the laboratory, and the two cars parked up in convoy a couple of blocks away. They could return them tomorrow; with all the commotion, Riza was sure that no one would notice them missing for a while.

The adrenaline was beginning to wear off now, and Riza could feel the tiredness beginning to settle into her limbs as they all made their way inside and down the stairs into the bar. She hadn’t realised just how physically demanding that trip through the vents and all the subsequent excitement had been until now.

“Van!”

Trisha was across the room in the blink of an eye, throwing her arms around her husband and burying her face in his shoulder as she burst into tears of relief.

“I’m all right,” he murmured. “I’m all right, my love. It’s all going to be all right.”

The rest of the group moved away towards the bar counter, letting them have their moment. Madam Christmas was already pouring out generous measures of spirits for the returning rescuers.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” she said to Hughes. “For now though, I’ll let it slide.”

Riza just managed to make it over to a booth before her knees gave out, the weight of what had just happened finally coming down on her. She couldn’t quite believe it; if anyone had told her it second hand she would never have believed them. Secret laboratories, immortality experiments, the Fuhrer now dead. It didn’t seem real.

“Hey.” Roy slid into the booth beside her. “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, I just…” She leaned in and kissed him. If there was more hunger and desperation in it, then it was out of sheer gratitude at not having lost him despite the dangers they had faced.

“Yes,” Roy said softly as she finally released him. “Yes, I think that sums it up.”

Before anything more could be said, there was a joyous bark as Fuery came down into the bar with Hayate, who bounded towards Riza, tail wagging so hard it was in danger of falling off.

“Someone could have told me they were all back!” Fuery exclaimed. “Why am I always the last to know these things?”

“We knew you’d be back inside soon enough.” Hughes waved away his affront. “Come on. We need to hear all about the daring rescue, and also how come the Fifth Laboratory is now even more in ruins than it was before. It was smoking when I drove past it, so I think Roy probably has some explaining to do.”

Roy sighed; the moment was over, and they weren’t going to get any peace until the story was told. Hayate took advantage of the confusion to jump up onto Riza’s lap and start licking her face. She had to laugh.

“Hayate, I was only gone for a few hours.”

“He must have known you were going into the lion’s den,” Roy remarked, scratching Hayate’s ears and receiving grateful licks of his own.

“It’s ok, Puppy, I’m home. We’re all safe and sound.”

Hughes and Madam Christmas brought the drinks over as everyone began to gather around for the tale of what had happened in the laboratory. A few refills later, the entire room was speechless.

“Well.” Hughes was the first one to speak. “I think I speak for everyone when I say let’s never do that again ever. And I think we definitely dodged a bullet when it comes to Bradley. That man was all kinds of creepy I want nothing to do with, thank you.”

“Amen to that.” Breda raised his glass. It was a mark of how much the story had gripped him since he hadn’t noticed that Hayate had got down from Riza’s lap and was now snoring happily on his feet.

Riza looked around at the people around the table; a scrappy, rag-tag bunch on the face of it, with nothing in common between all of them except the bar that they were sitting in, but they had grown into a strange kind of family nonetheless. These were the people that Riza truly considered to be her family. She would always miss her mother, that went without saying. Her memories of her father would always be sour. But this family she had found and made for herself would always pick her up and have her back, no matter what. Just as she would always have theirs.

“To the future.” Roy held up his glass in a toast. “Whatever the hell that might be. Here’s hoping it’s better than the present.”

The sentiment echoed around the table, and Riza glanced sideways at Roy, knowing that now he had the opportunity, he would make that future as better as it possibly could be.

Gradually, with the excitement and horror of the day slowly catching up to everyone, people began to make their way back to their own homes in dribs and drabs. Breda and Fuery were staying to man the radios in case anything horrifically unforeseen happened overnight as a result of the Fuhrer’s death, and it was unanimously decided that Hohenheim and Trisha should lay low at the bar for their own safety, but soon enough, it was just Riza and Roy left at their table.

“I guess I should go as well.” Roy sighed, but he made no move to leave, his arm still tight around Riza’s shoulders.

“You sound like you can’t think of anything you’d like to do less.”

He chuckled. “No. I’m enjoying this moment. I don’t want it to be over.”

“Me neither.” Riza paused, thinking back to the previous night. “You know, you don’t have to leave. You can come up. And… maybe not sleep on the couch this time?”

He looked at her. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m way too exhausted – physically and emotionally – to do anything that’s not sleeping. But I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want you to stop holding me.”

A few years ago, Riza didn’t think she would ever be in a position like this, where she would want to stay in someone’s arms forever, and moreover, that she would be comfortable admitting that to them. Now though, she had Roy. She had always trusted him, and he had proved himself worthy of that trust over and over again, but there had always been a part of her that had shied away a little, trying to remain aloof and not admit to herself just how much she wanted and needed him. She was so used to having to be self-sufficient that it had taken her a long time to accept help, and an even longer time to accept love.

Roy kissed her softly, warm hands cupping her face.

“I would love to stay.”

To say that the few days following the Fuhrer’s death had been frantic would be an understatement. Although the city had not quite descended into complete anarchy, Riza had been convinced that it was heading that way at times, to the point where she and Madam Christmas had boarded up the shop windows just in case. The government was flailing in chaos without the leader who had run it with an iron fist for so long, and the few more competent and logistically minded generals were scrambling to pick up the pieces with what they had available. Roy and the others were rushed off their feet with contradictory orders, and as such, it was only Riza and Rebecca who were around at the bar to see Trisha and Hohenheim off with Marcoh.

“As much as we’re really going to miss you, I think that you’re making the right decision,” Rebecca said. “Let us know when you’ve got yourselves sorted out with a place to live and we’ll box up all the stuff from your apartment and get it sent on.”

“We will. It shouldn’t be too hard. I grew up in Resembool and I haven’t been gone long enough for it to have changed much. The people there know me, and they know Van. We’ll be safe there; it’s the kind of place that bands together to protect its own, no matter who they are or what they might do.” Trisha smiled. “Besides, we were always going to make the move back there at some point. I don’t want the little one growing up in a big city.”

“Congratulations, by the way. I guess you probably didn’t intend for everyone to find out via Madam Christmas banning you from going on rescue missions, but you can take to heart that half of them probably didn’t twig what she meant.”

Trisha laughed. “Thank you.”

“Thank you for everything,” Hohenheim said. Physically he was back to his usual self again, but Riza didn’t want to think about the mental scars.

“We’re family. It’s what we do.”

They got into the car with Marcoh – Falman had conveniently mislaid the requisition paperwork and in the confusion no one was likely to miss it for a while – and Rebecca and Riza waved them off.

“I think there’s something inspiring about that relationship,” Rebecca said as they made their way back towards the shop. “It can’t exactly be easy for them with Hohenheim being, well, Hohenheim, but they love each other so much that they make it work.” She paused, turning towards Riza with a wicked grin. “Speaking of relationships though… Don’t think I don’t know that Roy’s been staying over rather a lot recently.”

Riza rolled her eyes. “The shop is closer to Central Command than his apartment. It’s just practical.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Rebecca!”

“Hey, I’m the last person to judge. I’m just happy that you two are on the same page and you’ve got your act together and decided to go for it. I’ve been watching the mutual pining ever since I’ve known you both; it’s been painful and hilarious in equal measure.”

“Yeah. I think that we decided that life’s too short not to try and be happy in it. Especially given everything that’s been going on lately.”

As they rounded the corner towards the shop, Riza saw Roy standing outside with a bunch of flowers. He knew very well that she didn’t own a vase, but she liked the sentiment anyway.

She had decided to take that chance on love, and on the prospect of a better future, and she couldn’t be happier that she had.

#FMA:Brotherhood #FMA Fanfiction #Royai #Riza Hawkeye #Roy Mustang #Fic: Forged Through Fire

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missblissy · 4 years

Text

Rebirth (Chapter Six)

Alastor X Human!Reader ((Reincarnation!AU))

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

((THE TAG LIST IS CURRENTLY DOWN UNTIL I CAN FIX IT!! PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT I AM TRYING TO DO EVERYTHING I CAN! I PROMISE TO HAVE THE TAGGED LIST BACK UP FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER)) ((HERE IS THE SONG THAT ALASTOR SINGS))

“You want to summon... A demon? You do know that goes against literally everything I stand by?” Sage stared at you with narrow eyes. She didn’t seem too pleased that you had asked.

And you weren’t too pleased that three years of friendship turned out to be a twisted lie, “I don’t think I know anything about you,” You said with a little to much attitude, “I thought you were a chemist that traveled a lot for work. Turns out my best friend is actually a magical witch that kills demons for a living!”

Sage knew she had hurt you, you could see it on her face. You expected her to snap back like she normally would. But she showed complete control, she took a breath in and then out, “I am under an oath to not to share this information with anyone outside my bloodline. I’ve have broken that one and only rule twice. For Van, and for you. I’m supposed to kill you now,” Her words were so cold you almost thought she would. Sage did nothing but give you a stern look. You felt like a child under that gaze, she was only four years older than, but she had the energy of 100-year-old pagan, “I’d rather die for it than let either of you be harmed in any way shape or form. Sharing this information with you has put our lives at risk. So long as you play dumb when you need to, everything will hopefully be fine, but I can’t promise that. So you can see why I kept this from you for so long. I hope you understand it wasn’t to lie or deceive you. It was to protect you. But now the only way for me to protect you is to tell you everything you need to know.”

You suddenly felt immature and bratty. She was right. You were blind to the bigger picture and you felt a little dumb, “I’m sorry,” You said, “I just felt... I don’t know. All of this is so crazy. I feel like the who universe is lying to me and you were apart of that. I know your intentions were in the right place,”

There was a moment of silence between the two of you. There was a mutual understanding and you both silently agreed to move on, “Why do you want to summon a demon? I need to know your reasoning before I share this information with you.”

You could understand her concerns, “Well, what if I were to learn how to summon Alastor? Maybe for a trap?” You told her with a warry voice.

“Well, I wouldn’t doubt it if he had this place tapped in any way. He’s probably listening to us right now. I doubt he’d dare to step out though.”

“Why?” You were curious to see why she was so confident.

“Because I can kill him. And he knows that. He’s too proud and important to let something like that happen. Because if I kill him, Eon will die too. I have a divine weapon that my father passed down to me and his father before him. The Morning Sword, the same sword Lucifer lifted towards God in his rebellion and the same sword he lost when he fell from grace.”

Holy shit. You had to see this sword, “Where is?” You asked, “Can I see?”

Sage smirked slightly, her blue eyes sparkled a little. She nodded, “Sure,” With a quick wave of her hand, a sword started to manifest before your eyes. It was made of silver and gold, with its own source of blue light leaking between the designs. It fell quickly into Sage’s hand and she swiftly turned it and placed it before you. The blade rested in her open palms, “This sword destroys any soul it comes in contact with,”

“Why isn’t it hurting you then?” You asked, not sure if you wanted to touch it or not.

“Souls are protected deep within our bodies,” Sage explained.

You reached out and placed a finger on the glowing blade. A little zap of electricity pricked your finger. You were just about to take the sword in your own hands when a little buzz went off. Sage pulled out her phone, gave it one look, then sighed heavily.

“I have to go,” She said while the sword fizzled out of existence. She opened her mouth to explain but you cut her off.

“I understand. Demon stuff.”

Sage’s smile was small but wholesome, “Everything you need is in this bag,” You had almost forgotten that it was sitting next to you, “I’ll text you, okay?” She quickly got up to her feet and soon she was at the door, “Let Van know if you need anything too. I’ll see you late, (Y/n),”

You waved at your friend and watched her go. You were alone again and you felt a chill. You remembered what Sage said, about Alastor having this place tapped.

You wanted to see him, and you hated admitting that to yourself. The book had answered some questions. Things like who you were when you were a demon. You were called The Crybaby Demon, and you were the Gate Keeper of Hell. You married Alastor seven or eight years after meeting him. Eon technically owned your soul but since you were reincarnated, he lost his power over it. And even how you met and fell in love with Alastor.

It was hard to see him as the same demon who was trying to trick you into going to hell. It was more like... someone desperately trying to get back to their life. Or afterlife in this case.

You stood up from the couch. You looked around slowly then felt stupid as you called out, “Alastor...?” Nothing happened. Maybe he really left for good?

Suddenly Buck came out from hiding. He slowly walked from your bedroom and his tiger eyes watched your every move. That's when you remembered that... Buck had something to do with all of this.

You felt silly as you reached your hand out. Buck rubbed his cheek against your fingers and purred loudly, “Can you bring Alastor here?” You asked quietly.

And that’s when you felt it. That energy that caused your hairs to rise. The soft stale static fizzled in and out of your ear. He was here. What happened to that big screaming portal? Or could he hide that from your eyes too? You looked around and followed the waves as they pulsed from where ever Alastor was hiding. You faced the windows between your kitchen and living room.

You saw the curtains flutter slightly, then you saw a shadow flash across the floor, “Alastor?” You called out with a weak voice. You weren’t sure where he went.

As you started to take a few steps back, you felt a cold chill on the back of your neck, “You called~?” His voice was loud and muffled at the same time. He spoke through that filter, that old microphone voice. You spun around and saw Alastor grinning at you, “Hello, my darling dear.”

You were frozen for a second. You almost forgot that he was a demon. A murderer. And if you could remember correctly... a cannibal. You gulped, then spoke weakly, “Hi,” You started, “I... I wanted to see you,” As you admitted that you saw Alastor’s smile grow, “I’ve been reading the book you left. And... I want to know more about who I was. Parts of the book won’t appear for me- even with my blood! They just stay blank,”

Alastor chuckled then began to walk in a circle around you, “I’m aware,” He grinned loosely, “I can’t get all the pages to show for me, either, so I can’t help you there,”

“I thought it wouldn’t work for you?” Didn’t the book say it was cursed or something so Alastor couldn’t read it?

“I found a way in. But the book only shows me what it wants me to see, the same for you, darling, what did it show you?”

That didn’t make sense... The book only showed you passages about Alastor. If it showed him something different than what he saw... “It only showed me things about you,”

Something sparkled in his eyes and he took a step towards you. Leaning down into your sights, “What could you ever want to know about me?” His eyes were wide and wild as they flashed an emotion in them that you could barely pick out.

Your heart raced and you felt a little frightened, “You... were my husband?”

“I was,” He hummed lowly.

“You loved me?” You had to hear him say it. You didn’t know why, but you just had to.

“I did,” Alastor took a step away from you, a smaller smile on his face, “I still do,” You felt something twitch in your chest. Something old and unknown to your mind yet familiar to your soul, “And I know you don’t love me,” Alastor when on, “But I want to change that!” He rocked on his heels then snapped his finger. Suddenly he wasn’t a demon anymore. He was a human, a young man in casual attire, “If you’ll let me, that is, my dear. I want a chance at being in your life again. I’ll do whatever it takes to make you happy,”

He peered at you through his round glasses. A natural smile rested on his face. He held a hand out towards you. A part of you wanted to take his hand in yours and see what would happen. Another part tould you to run. He was still a demon. Weren’t they supposed to trick you with pretty words?

You shook that thought away because you knew Alastor loved you. The book showed you that he loved your soul more than anything in this world. When you looked up at Alastor’s face, you could even see a small flash of pleading in his eyes. You lifted your hand and barely graced your fingers on his.

As soon as your skin touched his, Alastor grabbed your hand quickly and pulled you to him. You were brought close to his embrace. Warmth radiated off his body and soon you were swept away into a magical place. Music started to play, you realized it came from Alastor.

Alastor was dressed in a dark deep crimson red suit and matching bowtie. His glasses were gone and you were dressed in matching a long and elegant dress, the same shade of red as Alastor’s suit. He hummed lowly then you watched him sing. His voice was staticky again as if he was singing on an old radio show, “Alooooone~.... At the edge of a universe humming a tuunnee..... For merely dreaming we were snow...Mhmmm..” He leaned in close and you felt something spark in your heart and travel to your cheeks. Alastor was face to face with you, only inches away, “A siren sooouunds!!! Like the goddess who promises endless apologies of paradise... And only she can make it riiight~” He gave you this look, still inching closer, he sucked in a breath and sang on “So things are different tonight!”

Pianos and music leaked from an unknown source, Alastor pulled you through a portal that you didn’t even see open and suddenly as an orchestra of music played you found yourself in a city you had never seen before, “We’ll go toogeetheerr... In flight!”

It was as if you were in a magical movie. Stars began to fly around you as you realized you were in a graveyard in a hot and muggy city. Alone. With Alastor. He sung away every problem and worry that came to your troubled mind. His voice was so hypnotic and beautiful. It was like you were under a spell as he grabbed your hand in his and began to dance with you. You watched little ghosts appear from behind gravestones that rose above the ground. Gaves were stacked into each other, with statues and cross decorating them. Little ghosts of all kinds fluttered around as little sparkly stars flustered to life.

“It's Now & Never!” He began to sing again, a smile on Alastor’s face, “A reverie endeavor... awaits somnambulant directives to take the helm!” Suddenly the two of you spun so quickly that everything faded into a blur, “Believe me, darling! !The stars were made for falling!” And like that all the little stars he made began to fall, “Like melting obelisks as tall as another realm~!”

You were still in the graveyard, mesmerized the galaxies that started to form out of seemingly nothing. Music still played and Alastor was dancing some kind of tango with you. A smile grew on your face, you couldn’t stop it. You didn’t know he could be so whimsical and magical. He even started to sing in French (or that’s what you thought) and you had no idea what he was saying but it made your heart race in your chest.

Suddenly he was singing in English again, “It feels like flying~!” You saw his demonic face flash for only a second, “But maybe we're dyyiiing~! A cosmic confluence of Pyramids hologrammed!! She knows you heard her, staging music murder in line before the show began to be where I am!”

The music changed it’s beat and once again Alastor was leading you through the graveyard. Trees grew all over, most of them were weeping willows. Fireflies began to come out of hiding and they were soon spinning into a swarm, obviously, it was Alastor’s doing. The fireflies shot up into the sky and blew up like fireworks. You could hear the voice of a woman softly singing in the background of the music as jingle bells chimed away. You could barely even understand what the voice was singing. Alastor’s voice drifted into the background but his mouth never opened beside the flash of a toothy grin here and there.

As the music slowed down, Alastor had brought you to a large weeping willow tree that protected a gazebo under its long viny branches. It sounded like you could hear the ocean but you knew it was just a trick.

Alastor quickly brought you close to him, close enough that your chests were touching, his arm snaked around your waist while the other held your hand up in the air. He started to waltz with you, looking down with dark brown eyes and a loving smile on his face, “You look quite divine tonight~!” The fireflies were back, flickering away as they spun around the both of you as you waltzed together, “Here among these vibrant lights! Pure delights surround us as we sail! Signed, yours truly, the whale! Joy mirage's kingdom come...No one left at stake~! Now that existence is on the wake, let's see what we can make!”

The two of you slowed down, only swaying now. You barely even forgot that Alastor wasn’t a human, he was a stranger to you. But the way it felt to have your hand in his was totally intoxicating. There was a wave of energy that flowed from him and straight into your heart.

Is this what love felt like? To have someone love you unconditionally and for all of eternity? You couldn’t tell and you weren’t sure if you were ready to know. You just couldn’t stop that little smile on your face as you looked up at him. Alastor was only humming a tune now while giving you the softest smile you had ever seen on his face.

You had no idea, but this was everything Alastor had been waiting for. A moment like this was priceless, it was almost like he had you back for real this time. He knew not to rush this though, he knew that he had to do this right if he was to ever get you to come back to him.

The fireflies started to fly away save for a few dozen that flickered away under the gazebo roof. Alastor’s body against yours was warm and beating with a pulse of life. His radio heart swelled with love and you could have sworn that he was more human than demon.

You looked up to him with questions in your eyes, “Where are we?” You finally asked.

Soft music was still playing, you could hear it coming from Alastor’s body. He hummed and gave you a little spin then brought you back to him, “New Orleans,” He said quietly as if this wasn’t freaking huge.

You gave him a look, a raised brow, “Didn’t you say you were from here?”

He nodded his head, “I’m actually buried a few rows over,” Why was he so casual about this?

You nearly shook your head as you took a double-take on what he said, “Wait.. like... your body?” He nodded his head again and that soft smile was still on his face, “Can... Can we see?”

The two of you were standing still now. Alastor let go of your hand only to snake his arm under yours, linking you together by the elbow, “Sure, I don’t see why not,” His voice was low and sounded like the purr of a cat... or demon.

You walked with him, still linked by the arm. This graveyard was so beautiful. It was filled with old statues with patches of moss and dirt scattered across them. It was dark and the sun had set but it’s enchanting colors still scattered across the sky. It made a painting of blues and pinks and purples. You could smell the heavy scent of roses drifting in the wind.

As you neared a tomb at the end of a road, Alastor slowly came to a stop. The headstone was destroyed on top of the grave liner, shattered and broken into rubble. It even looked like someone cracked open the concert vault and had stolen the bones inside. The second grave next to it was also broken apart and vandalized. You looked at him with worried eyes but he didn’t seem fazed.

“I-... I’m sorry,” You started to mumble.

Alastor quickly waved his free hand back and forth, ushering your to stop your worrying, “I’ve already killed the fools who desecrated mine and my mother’s graves. Worry not, my little doe, it’s what one gets for being a serial killer,”

You had almost forgotten about that. It was hard to imagine that Alastor was an infamous serial killer, cannibal and radio show host.

Lucky for you, google existed and you had done a little research on Alastor. You looked at him as you brought a finger to your chin, “It was.. La-...Lafloor?” You tried to remember what that damn google search said.

Alastor chuckled and suddenly his voice took this deep, southern creole accent, “Alastor Narcisse LaFleur,” It sounded like he was speaking a totally different language, but it was his name. He gazed down at you fondly, amused at your lack of understanding, “I was a radio show host most of my adult life while murdering 51 people in the course of seven years,” He spoke fondly of his life, a look of pride on his face, “However one day I got a tip from a dear old friend that my cover was blown. I ran from the police,” He started to chuckle, “They almost got me, but I got pretty far and POW!,” Then he pretended to shoot himself in the head with a smile, “I did it before they could.”

What a cruel and ironic way to go. Life had a funny sense of humor. You could not understand why you felt so bad for him. You reached out and dared to touch his arm, but you stopped just short. He had noticed your advancement and gave you a look, “Do not feel sorry for me, my dear, I’m already dead!” At least he made you chuckle, “Please, I’d love to leave this place and take you somewhere nice.”

The idea didn’t sound half bad, “Sure!” You wanted to see where this would go. You couldn’t stop craving the attention he gave you. Something wild and unknown to you called out to be by Alastor’s side and you gave into that call. Perhaps it had something to do with your soul, you guessed, maybe it was because your soul knew Alastor better than you did. That gut feeling you normally ignored grew larger and more apparent.

You were curious to see what Alastor had instore, you were still linked with him by the arm as the two of your quietly strode out of the graveyard. You couldn’t stop the smile that crawled into your face as you happily gave into the magic and wonder that was Alastor. What else could he possibly have in store? Well, you’d just have to wait and see~

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