#swyogs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

illumwriting · 5 months

Text

Secret Santa for @bruisepristine! How To Entirely Muck Up A Good Thing (A Guide By Lalna Jones)

semi-canon compliant, references Voltz Episodes 16-18, liberties taken with how everything is made/slight order of events content warning for light descriptions of infection, slightly more detailed removal of an arm 4,019 words! Cross posted to AO3 as well <3 Preview: Lalna spends far too long chasing the chicken around. His aim is suffering, and he tries to play it off with laughs as Xephos' voice from the base drifts out sharply at him to "Just aim!" when the relentless barrage of blasts makes the bunker shake despite the lack of environmental damage. Lalna checks behind his shoulder to make sure no one is watching as he switches to his sword to take the blasted thing out. His arm feels heavy, weak, and itchy.

===============================================

Lalna had planned for building the power arm. Tireless trips to the Nether with Honeydew's apprehensive help to gather the materials, leaving Xephos to work on the base and its machines on his own.

They had suffered a series of comedic mishaps recently, especially with the uranium cells. They had been needed after the events that led to the treaty and the rumors floating around of even more weapons stockpiled in their immediate neighbor's base. Lalna had taken the brunt of the deaths and poisoning, with an easy laugh and the brushing off of any more protection besides the rubber of his gloves between him and the radioactive material. Truth be told, the side effects soothed the aches in his bones and left his head clear to think. Not something he would admit to the others.

Spreading the components across his workspace, Lalna makes a low hum of satisfaction. The metal glints without a trace of the recycled dulled parts that had been melted down for it. The core is cradled gently in stasis, rotating slowly with little light blue sparks that skittered across the surface.

He pulls on a fresh set of his gloves, lowers his goggles that help to sharpen his nearsighted vision- officially, on record he didn't need glasses. Snapping the parts together is assisted by the modifications installed on this world, making it as easy as following the blueprint that had come in the manual. He clips an additional ground wire to himself, erring on the side of caution. The core had been expensive to create. There's a soft hiss as he opens the chamber and reaches in to cradle the core in his fingertips and transfers it to the lined compartment. It makes a crackling sound as it arcs out and attaches to the nodes around it before settling into a steady green glow. Lalna takes a wide step backwards from it, his breath holding as he waits out any possible secondary reaction. When none occurs, he exhales and closes the cover, twisting the bolts into the corners with his screwdrivers to hold it in place. He unclips himself and shucks the gloves off onto the table to run his hand along the arm. He can feel a slight warmth coming from it. He trembles only a little with excitement as he hefts the arm off the table and fits it over himself.

He's glad he sized it to the largest on the specifications. It's still snug around his forearm. He flexes and lets the grin spread across his face at how responsive it is. The fingers curl just like his own despite the added width and the strength contained in them is dangerous. He can hear Honeydew and Xephos' voices filtering up through the confines of their base, and he quickly scoots outside to test it.

The brilliant flare makes him glad to still have his goggles lowered, and he takes half-assed aim at a nearby mob and sends it flying. In the wake of the explosion, a small crater in the earth remains, along with the mob, chunked down to almost dead.

Delighted, Lalna doesn't bother with even turning it off as he rushes inside to show Xephos. The spaceman is streaked with grime and sweat, his thick eyebrows knotted together in annoyed worry as Lalna chatters and starts to form a sphere of energy in his palm, ignoring all the delicate machinery that lines the walls.

Lalna only really realizes his mistake as Xephos is shoving him outside with a firm chiding. Lalna corners Honeydew instead, dragging him outside and fiddling with the dials and firing off blast after blast in the dark of night, the glow even more entrancing with nothing to dim it. Lalna barely notices the tired that has seeped into his companion's voices, the resignation in Honeydew's that all the dangerous trips to the Nether had been for a personal toy, the lingering frustration from Xephos that he'd been left alone to handle the frequently unstable components and repetitive crafting processes that were needed to create a power source for the base that wouldn't be rapidly consumed.

No, Lalna only knew a heady delight as he ran back inside on low health, his head spinning with after-images from the flashes of light and the dizziness that tried to warn him to drink or eat something healing. He leaves Honeydew and Xephos without a second thought, retreating to his workbench to fine tune the arm and dodging Honeydew's baffled question of "What're you gonna be able to do with it, now?"

They humor his strings of unhinged laughter and destruction of the land around them, Honeydew even brushing off the floor of his farming hut being broken into bits. They tease him about it, calling him a maniac when he attracts the attention of too many mobs and winds up dead with his items scattered across the ground. They care about him enough that Honeydew lingers outside to watch Lalna's stuff until he gets back.

Days later, they finally get Lalna's focus back again. It had been sparsely gained, to assist with power cabling, but then lost again to the giddy glee and attachment Lalna felt for his newest creation. Xephos and Honeydew had discussed it briefly, while Lalna was well out of earshot and the humming of the fusion reactor was loud enough to obscure their voices. "Didn't even really build it himself." Honeydew grumbles, still sore about being dragged into the heat of the Nether. Xephos sighs. "We didn't really build this either." He slots another part into the reactor, the turbine making a soft click sound to affirm the correct placement, and reaches down to Honeydew to take the next from him. "The shininess of it will wear off, eventually."

Honeydew mumbles it under his breath. "Can't come soon enough."

True to Xephos' words, Lalna had slunk back in like he hadn't been devoting every scrap of time to his power glove. He tries to make up for it by hovering close, insisting on helping with every little thing. Normally his overcompensation wouldn't rub the other two the wrong way, but Lalna's oddly frantic about it, sweat plastering his hair down as he carries the cells and parts from the chest into the reactor room. He's relying on his new arm to lift the additional weight that Honeydew could easily handle unassisted, and Xephos quietly notes the whine that comes from the stressed joints.

The first time of switching the reactor on goes poorly- Lalna distracted by his intermittently firing toy, Honeydew corralling him away from the more fragile sections. It melts down, and Xephos makes a distressed sound as he and Honeydew rush to put out the fires that stem from it and survey the damage. Luck is on their side, and the missed bit of enclosing glass only costs them the neighboring panes.

The next morning, after a long night, Xephos drags them down to the room again to show off the corrections. Lalna sheepishly passes over a smaller model of his glove to Honeydew for digging the tunnel Xephos needs. Honeydew grouses at first, but eventually mutters to himself as it cleaves through the rock easily that he can see the appeal in it.

The reactor is rebuilt, and only with a small mishap that Lalna is not privy to, only hears the shouting between Xephos and Honeydew and sees the aftermath of shattered glass and fusion cores as he takes himself outside for fresh air. He catches sight of a chicken, and with a deep inhale, he sets his sights to it. Easy dinner.

Lalna spends far too long chasing the chicken around. His aim is suffering, and he tries to play it off with laughs as Xephos' voice from the base drifts out sharply at him to "Just /aim/!" when the relentless barrage of blasts makes the bunker shake despite the lack of environmental damage. Lalna checks behind his shoulder to make sure no one is watching as he switches to his sword to take the blasted thing out. His arm feels heavy, weak, and itchy.

He has to wait until night and soft breaths of his companions to steal away to his workbench. He detaches the power arm and hisses at the unexpected stab of pain that comes as he pulls it off. In the lack of clear light, he can see that his skin is peeling, welted… and darker. He steadies himself against the table and clicks the lamp on.

It's awful. The green has snaked in unnatural patterns into veins and muscle, tinting his arm up to the elbow. The light catching on the lines creates a glowing effect that mocks him, and the pink wristband he'd made to help the arm stay in place stands out sharply. Lalna prods with his gloved hand, and furrows his brow. He can't feel the sensation anywhere along his forearm or hand. He wonders how long it's been like this. Days, probably, with how he pushed off any sort of warning signs on a typical day when he'd worked himself into exhaustion.

A shudder passes through him as he thinks it through. The radiation and chemicals, crawling past the barrier of his gloves, into the sweat and his pores, and then festering inside the glove. Intensified by the constant warmth of the power glove's core- a perfect petri dish to form an infection without him noticing. Everything he tried to avoid.

He considers his options. The easiest solution would be to send himself through respawn without the glove. He'd avoided death since the first night he'd worn the glove, so without it on, his body should reset itself. He resolutely pushes his stool back and stands, shedding his items into the nearby chest. There were plenty of mobs outside, and he makes sure that the ire of the skeletons ends him swiftly. His bed catches him, and he holds back the sharp wheeze that always afflicted him when the rush of life came back. He can't see well enough, doesn't want to look here, not even touch the arm. He'd left his lamp on, and immediately he understands that this problem is going to take more than that to correct. His arm hasn't improved at all.

Lalna sinks down onto the stool. Runs his good hand through his hair and furiously whispers to himself. Sure, he could crawl to the others on the world to ask for help, but battle lines had been drawn that made it impossible. No reason to involve Xephos or Honeydew either- they would only fret over him and suggest the route of talking to Ridge.

The lamp bounces as Lalna slams his fist against the table and then furtively glances to make sure it hadn't woken anyone up. "Fuck." he whispers, and hits the table again with more restraint. "Fuck."

He can't put the glove back on. Even thinking about it makes him nauseous. He tests how well he might be able to pass it off with a regular glove over it, but on their own, his fingers struggle to even grip a pencil with the strength needed to write. The peeling skin sticks to his glove as he removes it, and he nearly pukes then and there. His chest feels tight, and there's nowhere safe to escape to. He's trapped, in this little box that is his workspace, between his dying flesh and his worst fears. The gears whirr in his mind, scraping against each other roughly and then clattering out of track. He has the best and worst idea all at once, and only thoughts after that are the how.

Even weakened, two hands are better than one. He stumbles in a haze through their base, supporting himself against the wall as he rifles frantically through the chests for the supplies he needs. His inventory barely holds it all, and he has a few close calls as dropped chest lids and metal scraping against metal almost wake Xephos up.

He sorts it into neat piles back at his workspace, and glances at the clock. 4 scant hours until sunrise and Honeydew's internal alarm clock going off to get up and make breakfast.

First, the smaller arm he'd made for Honeydew. Requisitioned, and only smelling slightly like him. Lalna purges the thing with alcohol and works additional wiring into it, along with one of the control panels and some padding meant for his power suit's helmet. He tries to blend the changes into it but without an underlying blueprint, it looks chunked together and not nearly as smooth and seamless. A leather strap to go over his shoulder is added, to help support the weight and keep it flush.

Second, the matter of his arm. He tears into the fabric of an old rag, and ties it off just above where the infection seems to end at his elbow. He replays every show he'd watched where someone's arm had been removed, and is grateful that he can't feel anything there right now. He slots a bit of leather between his teeth, lowers his goggles, and flips on the handheld laser they'd used to cut sheets of metal.

Nothing could make this better. The smell hits first, acrid. Then the sound- bubbling and searing. Then the pain. He makes it past his epidermis and then everything explodes in white light behind his eyeballs, a harsh pounding that screams at him to stop. The laser clatters from his hand onto the table, automatically switching off, and Lalna sobs into the leather and tastes blood where his teeth had caught the corner of his tongue. He fumbles the laser back into his hand, shakily thumbs it back on. He feels like he's floating just behind himself, guiding the beam to cut into himself. It shatters everything inside of him, disgust and horror twisting into some sort of fascination as he's split open and apart. The very last of his nerves send shocks up his arm and into his brain- if they weren't so rotted, his arm would be twitching and spasming wildly. The intense heat of the cauterization is a blissful relief and reminds him of the heat of the radiation that had rotted him from the inside out while making him feel on top of the world.

The thud of his arm hitting the table and oozing out greenish-reddish-turned brown fluid from the not quite closed spots is what finally tips him over the edge. He throws up into the trashcan until he's dry heaving, clutching the stump of his arm with firm pressure until the rags come away sharp red instead of brackish. He feels faint, but he forces himself through it- making sure that the small wounds on the stump- it has to be the stump, he cannot think of it as his- are closing and not where the new arm will attach. They aren't. He wrenches the arm on, and has to stab an additional hole in the repurposed belt to cinch it properly close. He is drenched in sweat, his face streaked with tears as he sniffles back a runny nose. The glove on his right is ripped off by the cuff using his teeth and joins the mess in the trash. He holds his breath as he flicks the small switch on the underside of the arm and thinks move. The fingers seize into a closed fist. He whimpers, stares despondently and begs the machine with barely moving lips to work. He's coming down from the high of it all and everything hurts. He could pass out then and there, but he has to clean up, and haul himself back into bed. The arm twitches. He focuses again. "C'mon, you." He whispers, stroking his remaining fingers over the warmed metal.

It works. The fingers uncurl, then curl again, and the arm lifts off the table. It's enough. Lalna fumbles his way through cleaning up, and manages to not puke again when he has to deposit the remains of everything in their lava pit. Some strange part of him, the delirium, probably, says "Goodbye, arm!" as he watches it be consumed. The pink wristband is in his pocket, along with a mental note that the neon green and pink had looked good together. With that, he staggers back to his bed and passes out.

They let him sleep. He'd smelled of alcohol and vomit, and they assume that he'd had a few too many late night drinks. Not the first time, but odd, since they'd not found any bottles anywhere. He wakes up in late afternoon, groggy. It's not until he splashes his face with water and feels the slight delay of his left arm's movements and then metal that he realizes that it had not been some sort of nightmare. The day rolls by easily, with Xephos only insisting that Lalna drink more water and Honeydew making him a strong cup of tea that is bitter, but soothes the headache that was biting into the back of his skull.

Lalna keeps care of this arm better. The firing capabilities had been reduced to allow for the connection to him, but he's steadily learning that with the direct attachment, he can treat it more like his actual hand. The glove had been an extension, sometimes unwieldly and too large. As the surreal feeling fades, it is replaced by his usual giddy curiosity. He tinkers with the arm, ironing out little problems like the random spasms that would cause him to snap or crush whatever he was holding.

Just when it's become second nature to him, Honeydew notices. Lalna isn't sure how long Honeydew had noticed for, with his sharp eye for things out of place when it came to his companions, but he'd been polite enough to at least wait until Lalna no longer looked like death warmed over. "So." Honeydew starts, as they're both alone in the resources room and Xephos is below them, tending to his reactor. Honeydew's tone is simply conversational, and he nods at Lalna's arm. "where's the rest of ya?"

Lalna freezes. He swallows hard and turns slightly to catch Honeydew in the corner of his eye. Honeydew's face is neutral as can be. "I… It's… Erm…" Lalna stammers, so Honeydew keeps talking.

"Cause' unless you suddenly shrunk your arm down, and my power thing-a-ma-jiggy turns back up… well." Honeydew straightens from the chest, and leans against it to pin Lalna down with his direct attention.

Lalna doesn't know what to do. He should tell the whole truth, but he loathes being scolded by Honeydew more than Xephos. Of course, Honeydew could give him sympathy instead, which always left Lalna even more unsure and stiffly awkward.

*"You don't gotta say anything. Just roll your sleeve up."

That he can do. Lalna folds the loose arm of his lab coat up, to the point above his elbow that he had been avoiding raising it to, even though it was where he preferred it to be. The skin around the connection is still slightly reddened as it adjusts to the daily wear, but there's no trace of the infection.

"Huh." is all Honeydew says, before he hollars down the hole to Xephos. "Lalna cut his bloody arm off!!"

"WHAT?" Xephos yells back, and there's the sounds of annoyance as Xephos puts down whatever he's working on and climbs the stairs up. "Lalna cut what?" He repeats when he's just around the corner and stepping through the gap between the trophy room and where they are.

"Arm." Lalna supplies weakly. He's standing with his arms limp by his sides, gaze flicking nervously between the two of them as a laugh forms in the back of his throat.

"Goddamnit." Xephos puts out a hand to steady himself on the same chest Honeydew is leaning on, looking about as ill as Lalna had felt that night. "For fun… or?"

"Erm. Infection."

"Uh-huh." That's Honeydew, eyebrows raised in judgement. "Any particular reason you didn't wanna share that with us before lopping the thing off?"

"Yeah." Xephos echoes the sentiment, staring at Lalna like he's a madman. It's worse than when they call him a maniac.

"….. I needed to fix it. I did fix it." Lalna gets defensive, moves his hand up in front of him to flex the metal fingers. "See?"

Xephos blinks. "Your. Arm. Is. Gone."

"Yeah, and? This is way better." Lalna giggles, mostly unintentionally. He wants this topic to be over. They have things to build! People to bomb!

Honeydew opens his mouth to say something far less kind than he should, and only Xephos' light touch to his back stops him. "Whatever." is what comes out instead, but still just as irritated. The rest of the thought remains unsaid as Honeydew turns and pushes past Xephos to retreat to his tunnel. The stomp of his feet on the stairs makes Xephos sigh.

"Lalna. You have to tell us things like this, before…. before you take drastic measures. We could have-"

"gone to Ridge!" Lalna's tone lilts mocking as he interrupts and glares at Xephos. "Don't wanna. Besides, I fixed it."

Xephos turns and leaves without another word. Still, Lalna can hear his voice as he descends, soft frustrated words. "Not the point."

The tension hangs in the air between them all for a while. Lalna is more than fine to pretend it never happened, while Xephos and Honeydew talk it out between themselves and come up empty-handed on what to even do about it, except to let Lalna continue with whatever this was.

It's Honeydew, again, who extends an olive branch. Lalna is getting frustrated with his arm, one of the panels he hadn't been able to bolt down flush catching on "every blasted thing around me!!" Lalna is red-faced and yelling, looking like he might either throw something or break into tears. Likely both.

"I can fix that, y'know." Honeydew says calmly from across the room, back to Lalna. Lalna punches the wall. Honeydew repeats himself, louder.

"What?"

"I said, I can fix that. The panel." He waves the spanner in his hand in the air in a friendly manner, and feels Lalna approach him cautiously and step to his side.

"You would?" There's relief and hope in Lalna's voice, and he almost chatters on about all the other things that could use fixing, but Honeydew stops that before he starts.

"If you say sorry."

Lalna pouts. "For what?"

"For- blimey, Lalna, you cut your arm off overnight and didn't even think to wake me up!"

"You would have stopped me!"

"Maybe!!! Maybe I woulda made sure it fit you better! You dunno, cause' you /didn't/ say anything!"

Lalna considers it. It takes him a minute, and the fingers on his metal hand flex unconsciously as his mind works on other things. "I… I guess I coulda." He finally admits, then plunks the arm down on the table in front of Honeydew, and draws out the ask with his typical whine. "Please, can you fix it?"

Honeydew grunts, and set down the spanner to run his hands over the metal. "Sure. But you have to tell me exactly what happened."

Lalna does.

Xephos comes up partway through, and joins them, dragging over a chair and then promptly excusing himself again as Lalna begins to go into far more detail than needed about the removal. Lalna blusters out that he's… "sorry, I guess-" when Xephos returns again, and that earns him a pat on the shoulder and the insistence that he take the arm off to let Xephos look at the remains of his arm.

Despite the lingering frustrations between them- the half-finished projects, the things that had led to this, Lalna finally feels like he can breathe easier with his companions voices taking up the space around him. Even if they were chiding him. Even if they were telling him that he was a moron for doing this. He feels safe.

He still thinks the arm is cool, though. Eventually he'll get Xephos and Honeydew to agree. Eventually.

#yogscast #yogfic #lalna #xephos #honeydew #swyogs #my art

8 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 2 years

Text

going off-script

yogtober day 2!! stone.

ridgedog/bebopvox, mention of VerbalProcessing. bebopdog aka ridgevox. ideas for off screen events leading into canon, canon-compliant. use of canon dialogue. ridgedog tells bebop he's been on the moon and that his crown is a space helmet when he shows up for modded madness: how much of that was true?

((an exploration of a demigod and his robot who plays along so well, and ridgedog's own bad habits.))

SFW! 2,078 words. now on A03! Preview: "Well you need these to breathe on the moon! Look at- Look at my uh, oxi-packs." Ridge turns around to show off the nothing on his back and Bebop wants to absolutely punch this guy. In the mouth. With his mouth.

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

The moon had loved him.

Ridgedog had built himself three bases on the moon by now, having taken off from his home several years ago, entrusting his coat and watch to Bebop until his return. To his delight, the moon had been inhabited, and Ridgedog, with his bevvy of supplies and other-worldly knowledge was quickly well known to them all.

They were no more than moon villagers, really. Denizens that could be traded with, used for various magics, and even produced their own line of interesting goodies.

It wasn't until months later that Ridgedog realized the creatures had actually been observing him in any form of intelligent manner, and months more until he had found notes on himself in the local language.

They considered him lots of things that all fell on the side of /good/. A staple of trade that could only be found in specific locations was the prevailing opinion, which was the truth. However, Ridgedog also found that there was a small sect that considered him a word that he could not read, but that spoke of him in tones of respect and used alongside other terms that referred to guidance.

That interested him. He paid visits to these authors, who all received him with lavish gifts of polished moonstones made into jewelry and gave him a note- We will back you.

He knew their concepts of royalty and religion were weak, at best. But Ridgedog was an intelligent being, and understood that he could bring those concepts to them with simple nudges in the right direction. Their clear want to make him some sort of leader was amusing.

After all, he was almost done up here anyways. The resources beneath the ground being funneled into his bases, the novelty of the place wearing off as he had nothing left to work on.

And Ridgedog //did// love to play.

It was so easy to take over the various towns and villages. Easier still to amass that power to the single source of himself, to teach the creatures the ideas of true fealty and worship. It was like playing with a set of dolls that were semi-intelligent.

He had them all charmed, to the point where they made him a crown of his choice. Golden, and inlaid with a large moonstone in the front.

What Ridgedog did not plan for, nor care to worry about, was the effect of him stripping the moon of materials. The residents did not notice until it was far too late to stop him, and he had taught them well that bargaining with him was a one-sided affair.

So they lashed out. Ridgedog found his bases vandalized at first, then broken into. He took measures each time, aggressive and deadly. Then they came from below the surface of the moon itself, through the veins drained by- and unintentionally turned into perfect pathways back to- him.

He spent months fighting a war on his own, but the things here were useless to make anything like a bomb, and he had used up his overworld supplies long ago. It was not worth using his powers for this place, and the creatures had all but stripped him of his wealth and control over them.

So, with his pockets (not quite) empty, his stashed rocket, some bread he had absolutely stolen on his way out through a village, and the civilization behind him descending into chaos- he goes home. ------------------------------------------------------------------

Ridgedog crash lands several miles out, not too far from where he wanted to be. A small way to fly, and he could see his next stage waiting. Bebopvox and his ideas. A robot with more life, spunk, and heart than any human (or moon creature). He lowers himself straight down onto the ground just before the lip of the hill, so he can at least pretend to walk up to it. He makes it to the edge of the dropdown into Bebop's home- //their home// and stands there for a moment, to survey it.

Bebop's voice floats up.

"Wha's that?? Who is that? Hellooo~!"

Ridge perks up, turning into a big goofball immediately. Waves his arm at Bebop and dances back and forth for a moment, and he can see Bebop's visor light up with laughter as he speaks to his ever-rapt audience. He knows to wait until Bebop has turned his back to hop off the edge and fly down- lands just close enough to Bebop's fancy pool for plausible deniability.

"-this convenient staircase here-" comes Bebop's voice as he waits for Ridge patiently. The guy knew how to set a good Verbal (hah!) bait himself.

"I landed in your pool." Ridge says, lacing his voice with the hint of an innuendo.

Bebop spins around, and he is //delighted//. "Oh HEYYYYYY, RIDGEDOG!" He hollers, and peeks over at the pool for extra effect as he giggles. Any other time he would have tackled the demi-god, but right now, they were on camera. Acting.

"It was one hell of a jump," Ridge adds on, glancing back at the pool, judging the distance. He spots a zombie, and lures it in.

"Where the /hell/ did you come from?" Bebop says, looking up at the moon, blackened and ringed with a strange glow- "HELP ME. HELP! I don't know what's happening-" Ridge is yelping and running for cover behind him all of a sudden, and Bebop grins, leaping from the staircase to defend his partner.

"Oh- I /guess/ I should." The audience is left to question whether Bebop's dry and amused tone is because of Bebop's sword through the zombie, or if it’s an answer to Ridge. His chuckles squeak up as he catches sight of Ridge and the thing on his head again.

"I've been in cryostasis on the moon for a few months, and I just got back! And everything is Different."

Bebop looks up at the moon again. /You think, Ridgedog? Jeez!/ He wants to say- but Ridge legitimately has nothing on him except the glowy… crown. Oh boy.

"Ohhh. Well-" Bebop tries not to start into another laughing fit. He knew -exactly- what Ridgedog had gotten himself into, a silly demi-god who couldn't resist starting shenanigans with the local population. A nearly fatal flaw, were it not for the convenient immortality. "It- it is." He’s gotta mention it. Ridge HAS to know he still has the damn thing on- has to be teasing Bebop with it at this point. "That's a f-" shit. He almost says fancy crown, almost hits on Ridge. Catches himself. "I like that hat. They have those on the moon."

"What?"

//Oh my /god/,// Bebop thinks fondly, //he really did forget he had it on.//

It vanishes quickly from sight while Ridgedog stammers out a way to explain it. "Oh, this is a golden helmet under, uh, a moon hat. Yeah."

"Now I wanna go to the moon! Just for that hat." Bebop's not going to let this go anytime soon, and Ridge knows that.

"Well you need these to breathe on the moon! Look at- Look at my uh, oxi-packs." Ridge turns around to show off the nothing on his back and Bebop wants to absolutely punch this guy. In the mouth. With his mouth.

"I had to get back cause m-" Ridge is yapping now, forced to have to watch his own words as Bebop circles him- "-cause everything was destroyed! The only thing I had left was a rocket in my inventory. and some bread. A coupla tools, but that's it~."

Sure, Ridgedog. Bebop knows for sure now Ridgedog had brought him back something /fun/. For later.

Bebop clears his vocal box, tapping the side of his head. "Actually, /I/ don't see any of your stuff."

Ridge blinks at him with all the thought ability of a large lapdog. "What?" He looks away, and Bebop knows he is rifling through the last few sentences in his perfect memory to see what he said that might have ruined it-

"I don't see any of it." Bebop repeats, to help him, hearing Ridge start to stammer again out of embarrassment. Bebop quickly cuts him off. "I think-" he says, still sees Ridge's lips moving and speaks louder. "I think-" He's STILL going. "I THINK I need to relog." He laughs at the flush on Ridge's face, looks at the ground quickly to avoid letting anyone see, and cuts his screen out briefly.

It's only a few minutes of privacy, but Bebop finally crushes Ridge into a fond hug as Ridge is stood there, still flustered from earlier. "I can't believe you forgot you had it on!" Bebop teases, and Ridgedog makes a whining sound as he returns the hug and buries his face against Bebop's shoulder. "Shut up, Bebop." He mutters.

When the camera flicks back on, Ridge is center frame. There's clearly still no "oxi-packs" on Ridge's back as he faces away from Bebop and spins ‘round in a funny circle, checking every side of him, straining his neck to try to look behind him. "Uh, I had it because I used to be able to see better with it, but it doesn't appear to do anything different-" he's saying, and Bebop pokes him in the shoulder to get him to focus.

"So you -literally- just came out of cryostasis, ended up here now, annnd uhhhh- you have-" Bebop breathes a short laugh. "-absolutely nothing."

"Well, I've got a couple of items," Ridge starts in on his mentally practiced line, starts to stammer again and Bebop looks away, back up at the moon. "I've got a tag-" He gets out.

Bebop lets that sit for a moment, then looks back at Ridge, who is avoiding eye contact. "A tag?" He invades Ridge's space with a single step, treating the audience to a glimpse down Ridge's shirt as he leans over his shoulder to look at the mob tag that Ridge is holding. "That's not gonna help you."

Ridge shrugs him off and Bebop smirks as Ridge tries to sidestep Bebop getting back in his personal space. "Was that your dog tag?" Bebop mocks, watches Ridge try to hide another rise of color to his cheeks and giggles. "When they kicked you out of cryostasis?"

"NO!" Ridge protests, bapping Bebop over the head lightly and chuckling as Bebop desperately tries to keep Ridge from derailing his own origin story again. "I just helio-dropped, right." Ridge says clearly over Bebop's mumbled "That they put you in."

"I have a singular torch," Ridge continues, as Bebop dances backwards out of reach of another bap and Ridge follows. "I have a hoe,"

Bebop predictably snickers, and Ridge tosses it out for Bebop to grab. "Hahah, what?" Bebop questions, confirming that it literally was just a stone hoe, of all things. "You don't need those on the /moon/!" He teases, jumping up on his front stairs again out of Ridge's reach as he laughs.

"Yeah you do!" Ridge takes a threatening step towards Bebop, his eyes glinting playfully. "You can do crops on the moon. Crawps!"

"This is so, so f-" Bebop almost says ‘fucked’, remembers he can't swear just yet, and readjusts, "So- it's a fancy moon base you were at apparently." He will keep this narrative on track. "Well, it was Moonquest, which was like, a hundred bajilion episodes-" Bebop continues, referencing a completely different moon, a different world Ridgedog had administrated.

"I was doin' alright for myself up there-" Ridgedog pulls out the stolen bread. Eating while he talked always helped him focus, kept his tall tales with the hints of truth straight. "But then everything changed. I went to sleep one night, woke up, and it was all gone."

He swallows, seeing Bebop giving him a look of disgust and frustration before throwing the double-dropped zombie's brains from earlier at him.

"Ohhh, wow-" Ridgedog snarks, having to quickly swap the bread away to catch both of them in his hands, looking at them with half real interest.

"I'll give you brains." Bebop successfully riles Ridge up, as Ridge looks at him out of the corner of his eye and goes "You-" --------------------------------------------------------------

The moon had loved him, but Bebop was the only one who was an unmovable stone in Ridge's life. His pillar of support to fall back on when everything else might not go as planned. It was a relief to be back on solid ground with someone who didn't just love him, but kept him in check.

END.

#yogtober2022 #ridgedog #bebopvox #bebopdog #ridgevox #yogslash #yogpost #SWyogs

10 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 2 years

Text

Negotiations

yogtober day 4. Science. Ridgedog, Lalna, Nanosounds. NanoCoffee/Lividsounds and LividDog/Ridgecoffee SFW. 4,092 words.

Nano arranges a meeting between her past mentor, Ridgedog, and her current one, Lalna. To smooth their pasts over and come to an agreement. Canon divergent, relies on general fandom headcanons about Lalna/Yoglabs/Ridge and Lalna attempting to literally dissect the demigod. On A03. Co-written with an anonymous friend. Preview:

Ridge swallows heavily and digs the nails of one hand into his palm, leaving crescent-marks welling with gold just underneath the surface, but not having actually broken the skin. He's very clearly thinking hard about this. About what he's willing to let go of for the sake of making peace with Lalna. What control of himself he's willing to lose.

"No… no tissue samples." Is what he finally gets out, followed by, "But yeah if, if you keep them out, and agree to let me destroy what you took, I'll allow you to take samples of some things."

Lalna doesn't speak for a moment. Sits in actual stunned silence, drowns it by grabbing his coffee and draining his cup. His eyes finally stop being fixed on somewhere past Ridge, and -really- actually look at and over him curiously and optimistically. A combination of feelings Ridge has perhaps only felt come from Lalna at the same time a very, very small handful of moments.

It wasn't hard to get Ridge to come to their base. Nano has simply pinged the admin, told him that she needed a favor, greeted him outside the building, and guided him in. Making sure to avoid walking past Lalna's lab.

And it was easy enough to get Lalna in the breakroom, tempting him with a fresh pack of Jaffa Cakes if he met her there. She'd made sure she had the keys to the one door in and out.

"Nano, what the 'ell!"

That would be Lalna.

"…I did /not/ agree to this, Miss Nanosounds."

That would be Ridgedog.

Nano points vehemently to the three chairs at the break table, and hands Lalna his promised sweets.

"Sit, both of you."

Ridge looks at Nano, looks at the chair with mild disinterest, looks back to her. He had already started to rise up slightly off the ground when he’d seen Lalna. "Can I just? Sit in the a-"

"Boots on the ground. You know the rules, Ridgedog." Nano has yet to stop pointing.

He groans and taps back down, but still doesn't take the chair.

"I'm not doing it." Lalna grouses, mouth half full, cup of coffee in hand. "You've been trying to get us to apologize for years, and I'm saying no."

"For once, I agree with him." Ridgedog is casting looks at the door, and finally he sighs. "But you've locked us in here, haven’t you."

"Yup!" Nano pulls out a notebook and pen, "You two can make good in whatever words you want, but I'm tired of the bullshit back and forth while you all but ask each other to touch again. You're going to set boundaries. Here. Now. So //sit//."

Sheepishly, and with a second, heavier sigh from Ridge, the two men noisily drag the chairs out and dump themselves into them. Coffee cup and pot are placed on the table, along with the snacks. Lalna slouches down in his chair, legs splayed out in front of him; while Ridge sits neatly with his hands clasped between his knees, leaning forward.

They stare at each other in cold silence, Ridgedog stony-faced and Lalna looking more and more uncomfortable, until Nano is done settling into her chair, a mediator between them, ready to take notes. "This is going to be an exchange. Ridge, you give a boundary, then Lalna gives one. If one of you runs out before the other, then so be it. Just keep going."

"Why-" Lalna's verging on sounding like a child, "Does HE get to go first?"

"Because you're going to whine that you can't think of anything, and he's gonna say that you're the one who kidnapped and dissected him first."

Ridge huffs out a laugh through his nose and yanks his leg back to avoid a kick from Lalna. Alright, that’s as good a cue to start as any. "You… know my basic boundary already,” He says, “No samples. Ever."

And Lalna is already scowling. He crosses his arms in front of him and a snap of tense laughter rolls from him. "You're in the laboratory of a scientist, saying he can go fuck himself with his entire hobby and profession, while being a demigod who can shift at will and can play at being whatever he wants."

His tone is sharp because he really does not know how else to talk.

"I want samples. I'm willing to meet halfway somewhere. No ichor, no organs, no whatever the fuck. Only taken willingly, since I have to say it. Skin, hair, other fluids, I'd like."

Ridgedog flinches. The reminder of what he is, of where he is. That he’d been tricked to be here. In the lab. He turns his head away, tucking his chin into the collar of his coat, sitting up slightly.

"I never said that." Ridge mumbles, directly referring to Lalna saying 'You said I can go fuck myself.'

"Doctor Lalna, I don't want you to examine me in the lens of your profession. I want you to examine me for /fun./"

His eyebrows knit together in worry, that these negotiations would stop before they start.

"I have two absolute boundaries. And 'No samples' is one of them. I cannot compromise on this, I'm sorry."

Lalna seems to flare in place, keeping his arms held tightly against him, an on-and-off sneer flitting into place for moments of cruel thoughts and sliding away as Lalna struggles to remain civil and open.

"You're still asking for the process of examining to be left incomplete and unfinished because of your deep paranoia about myself being able to draw logical conclusions about you in any manner in which you do not perfectly control me! Examining leads to questions, questions need research, and samples allow me to do so humanely and efficiently."

Lalna makes a slightly strangled sound, and that scowl etches deep into his face and eyes as he -bites- his own tongue literally and figuratively, forces his phrasing to be less combative.

"What… What if I can take samples of allowed things. While you are present. They stay in sight. You can destroy them yourself at the end of each… session."

"No… no tissue samples." Is what he finally gets out, followed by, "But yeah if, if you keep them out, and agree to let me destroy what you took, I'll allow you to take samples of some things."

"Do clarify what your non-scientific brain classifies as tissue? I already am very aware of your regenerative capabilities, and am going to assume briefly, to speed this discussion up, that you are worried what I might do if I figure that out. It's the key to killing /a god/, to speak plainly. "

Lalna is -not- being malicious. it is the -softest- irritated tone. it is -informative- and -inquiring-.

"If I killed you, Ridgedog, what would I have left to pursue and study? If I put your skin and muscle and organ tissue under a microscope any more than I already have, what do you have to fear if you believe us mortals cannot comprehend the thing that gives you that spark of divinity?"

He’s getting… some sort of strange, affectionate passion in his words. It's certainly still a man who wants to rip Ridgedog apart in a cruel manner for the thrill of it but- These words almost sound… /Reverent./ Lalna has sat up, leaned forward; but the chair under him creaks and he seems to startle out of it.

"…Sorry. Carried away. Ahem. Definition of tissue, please?"

That was… certainly interesting to hear. Ridge isn't sure how to feel about how Lalna just acted. He's, frankly, ignoring all that stuff about 'your tissue samples contain the key to killing you, right?'- instead focusing on what was said after the words 'what would I have left-'

And thoughts are echoing in his mind, of other humans who have expressed obsession with him.

Parvis.

And Ridgedog is really, really damn close to just losing himself in his own thinking again. Lalna leans forward, the chair creaks. Ridge comes back to reality.

He realizes he started staring at some point during Lalna's speech, and averts his gaze again. The fabric weave on the shoulder of his coat is so much more soothing.

"Uh, my… my definition of tissue is one that excludes hair and nails, basically. I will also allow you to take samples of the outer layers of my skin. Full list of things you're allowed is- skin, hair, nails."

"That's agreeable to me." Lalna is back to being awkward, almost defensive as he realizes the ball is in his court, as he realizes it is his turn to set one of these boundaries.

"I have to say something now, huh…"

It -really- shouldn't take him this long to think of something, right? But any action he can think of that he does not want has stemmed directly from something he has done to Ridge first- anything that he might ask for, something that he does not deserve- His expression has shifted, pained and hurt and lost and so uncertain.

He realizes too late that he’s putting all those emotions out there for Ridge to see. Slams back down the shutter to them, tries to collect his scattered thoughts and put something out there that doesn't sound utterly /pathetic/.

"My life. I want this to stay out of my personal life. Nano, Ryth, Xephos- all my relationships. This… whatever we're negotiating here, has to stay in the sterile space of my lab or… //your// homeworld. No one else involved unless we both agree to it. No mention of it outside of this group that is here, present in the building, now."

Oh good! That's a quick, complete answer for Ridge to give.

"I promise. We involve nothing and no-one except for your lab or my world. And if we want someone else besides Nanosounds to have knowledge of this, we have to discuss it. And we both have to agree."

He looks a little more at ease now, slouching forward, back to his previous position. Hands clasped between his knees. His turn.

"I'm sure you can imagine me placing down this line as well, but you will not touch my heart. At any point."

Lalna's not sure why he feels such a wave of relief when Ridge agrees. Maybe it was his brain, instinctively thinking about how Ridge had brought up Lalna's research papers in the past and fearing that Ridge still wanted revenge for those-

Revenge. He should say something about that. In a minute.

"Yeah, no- don't worry. What exactly does that mean for you, so I don't have to suffer through giving another asinine apology after a vicious beating?"

There's a small laugh from Ridge. Not mocking anyone either. Just, laughing at how poorly-planned this whole thing was, how quickly Lalna admits that their past was rife with bullshit.

"Let's see, okay. If you have my chest cavity open and you brush against it with your hand or a tool or something? That's fine! It happens. However, if a hand or tool /rests/ there, for any length of time longer than, let's say, two seconds? /That/ is not allowed. Is that agreeable to you? If I think you touched my heart with actual /intent/, I will react. And this will partially be an instinctual reaction, and for that I apologize."

"Oh, I can work with that." Lalna sounds delighted, being given such wiggle room around something off-limits that he was sure to -brush- the edges of. Ridge's heart was always like that for him, a temptation that sits there and leads him astray down the path away from factual and perhaps actually useful science, into bizarre desire and immorality. Into Mad Science.

It was one of his favorite things about Ridgedog.

"Hopefully keeping our mood light-” He’s settling, actually settling now into how he can be when he's chilled out. "My second boundary is this- No provoking of me like… back then, and certainly -no- things like that. Ever. Mostly for Nano's sake, more than my own."

He's tiptoeing around the words of harsh violence and quite frankly vile details of their actions against each other for the sake of Nano, but Ridge would know -exactly- the lines they had both crossed. Even though they might have previously agreed to, or silently just stopped, or even like just now, are working to deal with it- It worries Lalna enough that he needs this in writing.

A nod from Ridge. Small, short. But an agreement.

"What I do on absolute instinct aside, I will not ever try to… harken back to things like /that./ Neither of us are like that anymore."

He huffs, thinking his words through, "Reacting because you put your hand on my heart for too long is okay; either of us doing /those/ things again, is not."

"But yes, I agree. I will not feed into that part of us. To the best of my ability. Is that agreeable to you?"

This was an important one for both of them, Ridge could tell; and he wanted to give Lalna a chance to refute or amend his statement.

Lalna considers this for a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek and lips quirking in the way of ‘I thought of something snarky’. He takes a moment to adjust it-

"Seems we can both only guarantee to /try/. Which is fine, yes. My introspections indicate that if… this particular rule is broken, any resulting consequences would be better handled and doled out by Nano." He looks at her, and she gives them both an even look and a nod.

"You both almost done?" She chirps, taking that moment to roll her wrist and check on them both. They'd been talking for some time now, and Lalna's coffee pot was nearing empty.

"Almost, I have several more actually." Ridge says, unclasping his hands for a moment to adjust his cravat, "But they're things I'm much more open to negotiating. Not hard boundaries like those other two."

"I'd need you to ask me every time you want to do these, Doctor, and not try to spring it on me. And I'd need to give my explicit permission before you continue. Don't cut me open, or attempt to view my insides in general, without getting the OK from me."

His hands are back where they were, and he's looking at Lalna's forehead, as opposed to trying to make eye contact. He's feeling more confident, but it seemed to make Lalna uncomfortable last time he tried looking the other man in the eyes. So he doesn't.

Lalna rolls his eyes, and this time the snark slips. "Ugh, really? Do you not know by now I want to cut you open every time you set foot in this building?"

He winces after it comes out- slouches down even further in his chair.

"I mean. Yeah. Sure. I'll ask. You need to ask then too, if you feel like stomping all over me to get your emotions out or doing some awful thing back to mimic what I've done to you. You always go overboard on it."

Well, Ridgedog is no longer looking at Lalna. Time to look at the floor again! A small start passes through his body when he hears Lalna's admission. He may have been aware of the scientist's pervasive desire to cut him open, but it was another thing for Ridge to hear it directly from the man himself. He swallows heavily before speaking.

"Th- Thanks. And yeah, I'll absolutely ask if I'm thinking about doing that. Uh, sorry for 'going overboard' in the past. I know my… reactions can sometimes be disproportionate to the offense."

"And I'm certainly not without blame for getting carried away and forgetting to view you with some semblance of… humanity. On my end."

Lalna taps his foot, a sign he'd like to perhaps not dwell on it.

"Well, that was technically one of mine piggy-backing off yours. Go again."

Ridge looks relieved, finally hearing Lalna apologize for something. It had been irking him, how he’d come in here and been forced to compromise- to find halfway ground for something that Lalna had started, all because of his former apprentices' insistence that they work it out. "The next thing is kinda related to the last one? It's just that, if you write anything down, I want to know that you're doing so."

"Ridge." Oh. Wonderful. Lalna sounds so -whiny-. And he’s absolutely doing it on purpose- using it to cover up the fact that he's saying antagonizing things and making himself seem like a victim here. Never can let Ridge have a moment of peace. "Do you want me to tell you when I piss? What is this?" Lalna waves his hand around the room as if to indicate the thought of his lab littered with notebooks on tables, lined with shelves that house notebooks, waves at the book that Nano is holding- "Here's what I don't write down: the things that don't mean shit to me. If you care that badly, be my guest and read my notes after, but no destroying. You've already made sure that my good name in science is ruined; I haven't been able to publish anything since then."

Ridge’s head tilts slightly at the way Lalna says his name.

"And this is /my/ body we're talking about, Doctor. I will leave your notes intact, but I want to know what you're writing about me."

He leans back a little bit, his arms moving to cross over his chest, and he raises an eyebrow. There is no smile on his face. "Have you considered writing about something that /isn't/ me, actually?"

Nano can't help but -snrk- at that, as Lalna goes back to looking at anywhere but Ridgedog, and a flush works its way across his complexion.

"…No-maybe-no." He whines, "You're my star subject! Everything else is dull, uninspired! There’s a thousand and one things in this universe, and somehow they all can be connected to you-"

"You're doing it again, Lal." Nano taps him lightly on the leg with her pen.

"-A-h--." Lalna hides his face with one hand. "Forget I said anything. You can read my notes, yeah. Go again so I can think of less stupid things to say."

The characteristic eyebrow is raised further, and an amused smile appears on Ridge's face. A noise, probably a laugh of some kind, almost escapes his mouth at the scientist's apparent embarrassment, but he holds it back. His face falls back into something more neutral, and he crosses one leg over the other. "Got it, moving on! Now, these next things aren't so much /boundaries;/ as they are me stating what you are /allowed/ to do. If I am in the lab room, for a session, you are absolutely allowed to study and touch the outside of my body."

"Oh?" Lalna perks up eagerly. Unslouches, just a touch, moves his hand back down to rest on his thigh where Nano had tapped him. "What do you mean, a session? That sounds like the same bullshit as not taking notes. If you're in my lab, you're in my lab."

“You're the one who used the word Session first, Doctor." Ridge takes a breath, a moment to recall Lalna's exact words from earlier. "'-They stay in sight. You can destroy them yourself at the end of each… session.-' That's what I mean. Like, don't bring out the magnifying glass while I'm having a snack in your break room, y’know?" He tries not to think too hard about the way Lalna phrased his last sentence.

"Oh. Right. Lab Session is what I was saying there - if I were cutting you open." Lalna laughs slightly at what sounds like Ridgedog making a joke and talks with his right hand, motioning. "Here, let me make it clear. This building is the base. It's mine and Nano's. Down the hall-" a point to his left. "Are the labs. Mine is labeled, and has several rooms. I can promise your safety outside of there unless you give me the go ahead."

Ridge follows his gestures, nodding faintly. It still makes him wildly uneasy, to know what Lalna does and does not count as his Lab. And that Lalna is using the phrase 'his safety' to refer to not being allowed to touch him. "And I'm drawing a difference between me just existing in your lab, and me agreeing to a session or examination. You may always observe me, though."

"Observations and existing, like now. Exams and sessions like you've seen-" Lalna nods to Nano- "-her do. I can agree to that. I may never go to your world, but similar immunity would be preferred then." He looks into the bottom of an empty cup and at an empty pot and lets out a little sigh. "Personally, I don't have any further limitations that I wish to propose… Easier to work around whatever the test subject wants and play off of that."

"Immunity will be granted. And actually, I just thought of one more thing I'd /really/ prefer if you did." See, Ridge had grimaced slightly at some of Lalna's wording just then. Frankly, a lot of wording he'd been letting slip had made him uncomfortable. But he was willing to ignore them!

Not that one.

"Can you at least not /verbally/ refer to me as 'Test Subject'? That's just rude."

Lalna blinks, has to think for a minute back on his own sentence. "Huh. Sorry. Slipped out, didn't mean it in a derogatory sense just then, so don't get pissed at me. I'll keep that to sessions too." He's starting to get antsy. "Anything else? I really, really need to start a pot of friggin' coffee again. Soon."

"Thanks Lal-/na/." he sighs back, his body language relaxing again. But not too much, as he hopes Lalna doesn't notice how stilted the second syllable of his name had been just then. How almost tacked-on it seemed. How Ridge had almost just called him 'Lal'. Like he would have done before. When they were friends. "And no, that's it really. I can't think of anything else off the top of my head."

Lalna does notice. Softens. Blames the massive amount of talking they've been doing for his next words. "Lal is fine. I was just angry at you still when I told you that couldn't call me that." A long pause. "Sorry, Ridge. Thanks for giving me another shot."

A soft, genuine smile is on Ridge's face now. It's something Lalna has seen a few times before, but not often. "Thanks Lal, for giving me one too."

Lalna lets the niceness sit between the both of them. Tries to meet Ridge's eyes and realizes that the -pleasant- feeling that attempts to wash over him is something he's not quite ready for yet. Stands abruptly, grabs the pot, and beelines to his coffee maker.

"Ok, that's enough sappy bullshit. Ridge, fuck you and your stupid sense of goodwill. Nano, fuck you for bullying me into this. Open the damn door and get out." He's not really that angry, but he needs to let the vitriol out with his back turned as he dumps an excessive amount of grounds into a filter.

Ridge is about to retort, but Nano snaps her notebook shut. "Alright, you heard him. Out you go." The keys jingle as she rises and unlocks the break room door, holding it open it for Ridge and then following him out.

As she escorts him back to the entrance, Ridge is complaining. "That was so stressful, and I /still/ had to fucking compromise on my two biggest, simplest boundaries and-"

Nano puts both hands on her old mentor's back, shoves him lightly over the threshold of the base. "Yeah, but Lalna's happy, and you know he'll stick by his words. Maybe next time you stop by, you two can even manage to hold hands!"

He pulls an unhappy, but friendly face at her, sticks his tongue out. "Sorry, he's your romantic problem now. Just don't -ever- trick me like that again, ok?"

"Never promising! Go home, you big, stupid goofball. Think about all the progress we've made today." They pause, and both look at each for a long moment, a small, silent sadness hanging in the air.

"I'll get him back." Nano breaks it fiercely. "Lal's still in there. Your friend. Don't forget that."

"I don't ever." Ridge gives her a smile, one weighed down with all the things he'd been through, and a small, two-finger salute. "Good day, Miss Nanosounds. Take care." (Of Lal, he doesn't say.)

"Take care." (Of yourself, she doesn't say.)

And then he's gone, and Nano is locking the doors.

#yogtober2022 #ridgedog #lividcoffe #nanosounds #nanocoffee #lividsounds #ridgecoffee #lividdog #yogslash #yogfic #SWyogs

8 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 2 years

Text

dog and snake (and ram)

yogtober day 3, magic. ridgedog, davechaos, mentions of kirindave. early era of transition between chaosville and yogscast- canon based. no shipping. one demi-god visits an equally powerful being to complain about a new player on his server. SFW. 525 words. Preview: "Right. Kirin! Kirindave, actually. Hah! Funny that you're both /Daves/, isn't it." A pretty good recovery, if he did say so. Treats himself to a wide grin for it.

Taking trips to visit other's worlds wasn't hard, as long as you had the right address. Ridgedog does, and he doesn't need an admin watch to travel there.

So it's with frustration that he finds himself having to rap on the metaphysical wall of Davechaos' homeworld. "Dave?" He calls out. It's cold here in the void between places, even for someone made of light. "Ugh. C'mon, dude! Let me in!" Another hard rap of his knuckles on the translucent-blue thing keeping him from entering. Below, he can see a vast expanse of land, the one loosely inhabited by Dave's small group of friends.

He's drawing back a boot to kick at the barrier, when Dave shimmers into view on the other side of it.

"Oh- uh!" Ridgedog suddenly acts like he had been kicking up both legs at the knees to float in one of his characteristic silly poses, and folds his arms behind his back, "Hi!!"

Dave simply stares at him.

"I- uhhhh-" Ridge is grasping at straws. He knew why he had come here. But like always, in the moment of pressure, it slips from him and makes him seem foolish and absentminded. "Right. Kirin! Kirindave, actually. Hah! Funny that you're both /Daves/, isn't it." A pretty good recovery, if he did say so. Treats himself to a wide grin for it. "Can I come in?"

Dave shakes his head.

"It's -important-," Ridge presses, "He says he's from your world, while he meddles with mine."

"Oh, does he now." Dave seems at least mildly interested in that, and he pulls up an invisible chair in the air that he then sits on backwards, legs straddling the back and arms folded across the top.

"Yes." Ridgedog tries to keep the irritation from his voice. He feels like Dave is looking at him like the animals he catches and keeps, a feral creature behind glass. "It's causing… problems."

"Be specific." "He's bringing strange magic in. Something else also followed him from this world, and it's not good, whatever it is. My worlds are destabilizing faster, my players are becoming more reckless from interacting with him, and now he's saying he can add a whole new freakin’ dimension to the place."

"And?"

"And what, Dave??? He's /your/ player! There are rules, you know that damn well-"

Ridge's rising, angry tone of voice is cut off as Dave stands smoothly, approaches the barrier, and looks Ridgedog over from toe to head, smiling thinly at him.

"Ridgedog."

Ridge realizes he's flared up golden-bright all over, and there are black cracks visible on his cheeks. He growls in the back of his throat, wills himself to simmer down, and the glow dims slightly.

"You appear to be having more than just simple ‘problems’. Kirindave is slowly wresting control from you, isn't he?"

"Yeah." Ridge grits out.

"He was never mine. I removed him from my world after he harmed another player irreparably. I suggest you do the same."

Davechaos tips his hat to Ridge, the only sign of respect so far, and vanishes leaving Ridgedog in the cold void with burning questions, and an entirely new sense of unease.

#yogtober2022 #ridgedog #davechaos #yogfic #SWyogs #my fic #text #kirindave

5 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 2 years

Text

red poppies ((won't grow down here))

drabble yogtober october 1st: beginning

parvis/ridgedog, a dash of strife to start, blood magic, alternate starts, based off canon, hints at proper parvdog <3 sfw! 853 words.

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

It's an inspiring thing, to know the youth were still interested in the old ways. Ridgedog smiled to himself as Parvis chattered on to Strife, the pair oblivious to Ridgedog floating in spectator mode as they passed beneath his boots.

He tails them through the woods, eavesdropping.

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

He tails them through the woods, eavesdropping. "So why's can’t I do it?"

"Because, Parvis." Strife sounds so irritated, the -I said so- not worth wasting more breath on.

"C'mon! You haven't given me a single good reason." Parvis' feet work a neat dance around the ground so that he is in front of Strife, walking backwards now. His right hand clasps his left wrist behind his back, and he is bent at the waist to reduce his height and make it so that he can look up at Strife, peer up beneath the guy's sunglasses.

"I have given you -several-. One of them being that it is /dangerous/, much like your current actions." Strife keeps moving forward, steps to the left, and turns slightly to avoid the tumbling body of Parvis that is sent sprawling out with a yelp as the ground rises behind him and his heel catches.

Ridgedog giggles.

The scene below him carries on, Parvis making quick excuses for his clumsiness and distracting from the original topic of their talk. Strife entertaining him and similarly directing the conversation away from the thing that Parvis had been asking for- ---------------------------------------------------------------

"Well, here's your place, Parvis. Are you sure you don't want to rent a bed at Strife Solutions? It's much safer."

"Awww, you're all worried about lil ole me. Naw. Thanks for the offer though, Strifey. See you next week!"

With Strife taken to the air and almost out of sight, Parvis turns to enter his own base- and yells, arms flailing up in front of him, one leg coming off the ground and drawing in.

"Fuck, dude!" Parvis snaps at Ridge, who has appeared out of thin air and is floating so that his knees are at Parvis' eye level.

"Hahaha- hey, Parv!" Ridge is grinning, arms crossed in front of him. "Do you have a minute? I have something I'd like to show you." ----------------------------------------------------------------------

A snap of Ridge's fingers later, they are in a cobblestone basement somewhere. The room is lit with the dull glow of redstone torches and in the center of it sits the very thing Parvis had been hounding Strife about.

"Woah! Is that the real thing?" Parvis never waits for any sort of permission, and he's already on the steps of the blood altar, scuffing his sneakers carelessly across runes.

"As real as you or me." Ridgedog is still flying, but touches down next to Parvis as the young man reaches the top of the altar and peers into the well of it. "Would you like this one?"

"Would I ever!" Hands skim across the edge, his head cocks and he pouts. "But-"

"Ohh, but Strife! But it's dangerous! But he said so!" Ridgedog mocks Parvis' voice, delights in how easily readable and open Parvis is with his expressions that flick from indignant to questioning and the furrowing of his eyebrows together. "Don't worry about it, my friend," A smoothing over of all concerns, and Ridge lays an arm and hand across Parvis's back and onto his shoulder. "I have everything you need."

Parvis's mouth opens. Closes. His fingertips are still lingering on the cool stone, and he swears he sees the deep, blacks shaded emptiness of the well in front of him wink. "Ok. Yeah. Let's do it!" After all, Ridge was the world's admin and had been here longer. He knew better, right?

A knife appears in Ridge's other hand and is passed to Parvis, who fidgets with a sense of uncertainty as he holds the handle. "Prick your finger." There's amusement in Ridge's command.

Parvis obeys, hisses in a sharp breath as it hurts more than whatever faint idea he’d had of how it might feel. The swell of blood takes it’s time in sliding down, and he gives his hand a little shake to get it to splatter off into the well.

//At least he knew where it went.// Ridge thinks, as his firm grip on Parvis' shoulder becomes the only thing holding the newly minted blood mage up straight. Parvis' dead weight is more than Ridge cares to try to keep using one arm for and he settles his other hand on the other shoulder and steps behind him. Luckily, it's only a moments before Parvis gasps back into existence.

"Wha- the-" Parvis gets out. He blinks. The room seems brighter now, the red in particular glimmering and attractive. "So that's it? I see funny shapes and then what? I don't feel any more powerful." He doesn't register that Ridge had moved, so when the man's voice comes from right next to his ear, he startles.

"You will," Ridge says. Parvis realizes now too that Ridge is warm, pressed up against Parvis- or had Parvis pressed back against him- either way, Ridge's left hand is moving down along Parvis' bare arm to grip his wrist. "This is just the beginning."

#yogtober2022 #ridgedog #parvis #parvdog #yogscast fanfiction #yogslash #yogspost #SWyogs

5 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 2 years

Text

not.

yogtober, day 5. voice. ridgedog. mention of lalna. a self reflection on being isolated. SFW. 385 words.

-------------------------------------------------------------------- -You're not human.-

Ridgedog has heard those words a thousand and one times. He's heard them in countless tones and contexts- from fear to adoration, from confusion to accusations. They've been used to try to hurt, to praise, and to beg. Those words had always come from sources that he could just ignore. Nothing that would make him question himself- after all, he agreed. He wasn't human. Ridge understood these words too, that it was just mortals expressing their discontent at him.

But when Lalna levels a shaky finger at Ridge and his immaculate, immortal body? Shaking because Lalna's mechanics are failing and his other arm is limp and bloody at his side, and in equally unsteady voice says: "You're -just- a demi-god, not human."

Ridge feels something… break inside of him. And he finds himself fleeing from the confrontation by teleporting away without another word. Sinks down to the ground and puts a hand to the side of his head, curls the fingers of his other one deep into the dirt. Surely, he shouldn't be this affected by what a mortal did. He's above them, right?

But Ridge never /wanted/ to be. He wanted to be a companion, a friend. And he can never forget what they, mortals, do to him. What ideas they have, what desires he invokes. Can never forget the imposing image and feeling of Lalna over him with a scalpel in gloved hand, as fear and paralysis held Ridgedog down while Lalna cut into him. Every time Lalna cocks his head at him, takes a certain -interested- tone, Ridge feels that scalpel slicing down and into his skin all over again in perfect, vivid detail.

He shudders. Just a demi-god. Supposedly unfeeling, right? Immune to everything mortals are vulnerable to, including trauma. Their minds as unmarred as their flesh. Right?

That's what Lalna thinks.

And Ridgedog is alone because of it. Because his best friend had been driven mad with the desire to know how Ridge worked, thanks to that damn red matter bomb. To hunt down an explanation for that fleeting, -burning- spark that had been momentarily placed in Lalna’s chest to fix it. Because no-one cared about what anything they did to him might make him feel. Because apologies were to be made to humans.

Not to demi-gods.

#ridgedog #yogfic #SWyogs #yogtober2022

4 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 1 year

Note

82 (for the song + associated character one)

Happy- Robert Delong:

youtube

(warning for blood, drinking, cult shit) https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/robertdelong/happy.html well first of, my dude robert delong used microsoft Sounds to make the songs on this album, so the melody is so FUN and really is a great example of electronica mixed with traditional instruments. also it has layering of vocals, which always slaps. this is SUCH a parvis/ridge song to me. parvis is an imbiber, a partier, someone who sleeps in late to the day, spends his nights awake until the run rises and then heads to bed. he seeks out ridge to annoy him, to converse, to tease, to hang out- no true reason needed. even if he knows it might not be the best time, parvis doesn't care. Parv's personality and mannerisms are naturally buzzing with energy, and his magic just makes that more intense. He comes to Ridge for blood magic, for the heat and burn that Ridge can offer him. And Ridge? Ridge IS that Sun God, the whose cycles tend to oppose Parvis's schedule, so the moments they have together are infrequent and brief in nature. Ridge uses his own powers, his own magic to change this- he can slow or stop time from the whole server to single chunks or spaces around him, keep the server clock from ticking forward, keep the sun still in the sky, even the seasons are at his fingertips in this world. Parvis gets more attention and "teaching" from him this way, and hell, sometimes it feels like Ridge pulls back time just to re-live the moment. It's just a bonus that they get more work done.

Sometimes, they find themselves on the same insomniac rythm together. Despite all this power between the two of them, both of them feel disconnected from their feelings. They are fucked up, flawed people who have killed and killed and lost themselves to magic and strife. They have a slew of problems that follows them no matter how many new worlds or new players there are. Humor covers up so much for both of them. They have physical intimacy, but it's nothing romantic, nothing but passion and heat in the moment. They will not fall for each other. Feeling that is for others in their lives, who have worked hard to coax it from them. And for Ridge, the worst of it is watching Parvis grow older, even slowed as it is. Feeling the pressure of the space around them as this world and this time closes in on him, again. Knowing that he's got all the time, but he cannot do a damn thing to keep Parvis or any of these moments still and unchanged, perfectly preserved like himself. He literally sees his life- the storylines, the sequences of events- from a third-party point of view when he uses his powers and hen it comes to relationship of this level of intimacy with his players- he doesn't know how to feel about it. Parvis struggles too, the glimpses blood magic gives him into the other side, the looming threat of suffering and destruction that breathes down his neck and tempts him. He's well aware of this, chases his carefree and chaotic life with reckless abandon. Looks back on his life with the mindset of it's just a game. He should probably be feeling something about that. But the title of this song is Happy. Ridge and Parvis get enjoyment from their time together. They are silly, comedic guys with a dark streak to their humor. They share a common interest in mischief and power. Getting their hands dirty isn't something they mind, and the hours spent working hard laced with innuendos and passes at each other are enjoyable to end in rough intimacy.

#yogslash #parvdog #ridgeparv #ridgevis #what the HELL is their ship name #parvis #ridgedog #yogspost #text #SWyogs #parvidge

2 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 2 years

Text

live hard, die young (revised)

a little thing that got way out of hand. based on sparxflame’s lovely responses. huge warnings for character death, blood, violence. heavy references to shatsome. 2,850 words.

They dump a twitching and barely conscious Strife on Kirin’s back doorstep, wrapped in a ragged blanket and peel out of the alley in Smith’s car of the month, faces drawn. “Guys, just let them take me-” Smith starts, and Trott snarls no so fast Smith doesn’t try to argue.

Sips greets them at the door, his smile wide as ever and the smell of half burnt pizza coming from the kitchen. His face falls as he sees Smith’s pale face, and the terror flitting behind Trott’s eyes.

“Ross?” Sips asks slowly as he lets them in and locks the door behind them, watches Ross’s stony form shake almost imperceptibly. Smith has fled to the upstairs and Sips can hear things being thrown, punctuated by gritted shouts of profanity. Trott meets Ross’s eyes and nods, and Ross runs up after Smith, the banging slowly fading.

“We need to go, Sips.” Trott’s voice is raw, and his hands are still stained from the mix of redstone and blood he’d tried to wipe off Strife’s face.

“Trotty-” Sips protests, but the deadness in Trott’s face makes Sips realize this is no game. “Am I gonna need anything?” Trott glances around their shared home, his face drawn. “Your warmest jacket. Any weapon. You have about 10 minutes.”

There’s another crash from overhead and a raw cry of anger, Sips can’t tell who. He just nods and starts digging in the front closet for anything that might fit him as his head spins with the possibilities of what might have happened. Smiffy not speaking, even Ross frightened. The boys had just gone out for a jaunt with Strife…

Oh, fuck.

Trott wrings his hands together and drags his skin slowly off the back of the couch, slinging it over his shoulders with a labored sigh. Ross and Smith thunder down the stairs, an angry light of self-hatred in Smith’s eyes and a pained resignation in Ross’s.

“I don’t know when they’ll start looking for us.” Trott says as they gather in the entryway, Ross handing a thick strip of leather to Sips who takes it with a questioning look. “As soon as they come, I’ll lead them to the water.”

Smith dips his head in a nod. His lips are pressed together thinly.

“But-” Ross starts to protest, and Trott stares him down, eyes full of sorrow and the thought of loss. “Protect Sips.” Trott mandates, struggling to keep his voice steady.

Smith utters a cry of frustrated anguish and rips open the door.

They’re still in Smith’s car when the horns sound, not even a full hour outside of the city yet. Sips knows what’s going on now, and hates the way he can see it eat at his court. “C’mon guys!” he says from the backseat where he sits with Ross. “We’ll make sunrise, I know it.”

No-one says anything back and Smith jams his foot down harder on the pedal as if it will make the car go past its limits.

“We’re sorry.” Ross murmurs in Sips’ ear as the car starts to sputter and they hear the pounding on the road that’s been following for at least the past mile now start to grow louder. “We were supposed to protect you-” Sips stops him, running a hand across the ridges on Ross’s neck.

Smith suddenly swerves off the road, banking the car harshly down the edge and onto the mud by the river, no care for the way the branches scratch it.

“I’m gonna miss you idiots.” Sips says when the car stops bouncing, and then Trott is yanking them both out of the backseat.

“We need to go, now.” Trott hisses. “Ross, you fly, far as you can ahead. The old shack, by the river. Stay there, they don’t know about it.”

Smith is dropping dark red boxes into the car, and Sips feels the sickness in his stomach well. The pounding is getting closer. Trott stands before Sips, head bowed in one last act of love and subservice to his king. “I’m sorry.” He says.

Sips kisses the top of his head. Feels the softness of his lovely servant's hair one more time. “Go.” He releases Trott, and thinks he sees tears past the hardened resolution in Trott’s face as the selkie takes off on foot towards the water and the pounding follows him.

“Come and get me, you bastards!” Trott screams, and Sips weakly smiles at the silhouetted middle fingers Trott holds high.

“Come on.” Smith whispers softly as soon as the murderous mob passes. “Get on my back, before the fuses burn out.”

“What?” Sips says, and Smith just huffs and reaches into Sips’ pocket and pulls out the leather strip, hanging it around his neck so the ends trail down is back and kneels on the ground, facing away from Sips.

“Grab it and hold the fuck on.” Smith urges him as Trott’s whooping fades out in the distance. Sips obeys, and suddenly Smith is shifting, wet and wild as he becomes a steed for their king.

“Woah.” Sips says, and the rest of his words are lost to the wind as Smith gallops into the tree line and away from the rocking explosion behind them.

————

“Fuck you.” Trott spits out the sand in his mouth onto the ground, mucky and stained with blood. They’d caught him with an aggravating ease thanks to modern weapons, shot at him with harpoons and arrows and double-barreled shotguns, hauled him out of the water and ripped his skin from him with searing magic. He’s without clothes now and bleeding from his side where the broken remains of a spear still stick out, on his knees in front of Kirin- Kirin, the fae lord of the whole city. His hunting party holds Trott’s pelt, ready to desecrate it.

“Burn it.” Kirin says, never taking his eyes off Trott. Trott doesn’t falter from his disrespectful manners, even though he knows what’s coming. “Where are they, selkie?”

“I hope you rot in the witch’s domain.” Trott flashes his teeth, bloodstained from ripping enemies to bits in the water before his face contorts into sharp pain as the fae light his skin on fire.

“Harsh words.” Kirin muses, gripping Trott’s chin. “And you sacrificed yourself for nothing.” Trott spits again in his agony, right into Kirin’s face even as he can feel himself burning alive from the inside out.

Kirin drops Trott back to the sand of the beach, wiping his face off with disgust and watches the selkie writhe until his seal skin is almost all burnt to ash before driving his sword through Trott’s heart to the fae’s cries of “No Mercy!”

———————

They hear the cheering float all the way down the river, clinging to each other in the ruins of a house where Smith first stole Ross away. They all feel it, like a hot iron to their souls. “Fuck!” Smith's voice cracks sharply as he sobs. His hair hangs wet in front of his face, his clothes rendered useless and waterlogged.

They’re not quite sure what to do then, as they hear the rhythmic pounding of the pack on the Hunt again, and Sips curls his fist in the hem of Ross’s shirt.

“Go.” Ross says quietly, and Smith and Sips stare at him as the gargoyle disentangles himself and stands. Smith opens to his mouth to protest, and Ross cuts him off. “Smith, go. Take Sips and get as far away as you can, don’t stop. You know you can’t carry us both on your back.”

“Come here.” Sips says gruffly, standing too and pulling Ross in towards him, hugging Ross tightly and breathing in the scent of fresh paved roads and dust and the hint of saltwater that came from Trott that still lingers on Ross’s clothes.

Smith presses the last of the explosives and a remote detonator into Ross’s hands and kisses him. “Thank you for stealing me.” Ross says, and then watches as Smith and Sips disappear into the night, sweeping over the few human tracks Sips leaves.

“Hey assholes!” Ross booms into the night when the two have gotten well away, and hears the pounding swerve to draw close to him.

————

Ross goes out in a blaze, like the church he was once bound to. Rigs the shack with explosives and gets as many as he can to come in, stabbing with his tail and shredding with his claws until the ratty couch where he and Smith had bound themselves to each other is surrounded by the downed corpses.

He tires all too soon, made of stone almost as old as Kirin and of borrowed fragments that were never truly meant to be a part of him. They jump him, pin him down and take delight in ripping the gems from his body that Honeydew had given him to repair himself with. He waits until he hears Kirin come up the stairs and then whaps his tail onto the button he’d kept hidden under the couch.

Kirin finds him in the rubble, burnt and charred fae around him, his right arm broken off into concrete dust and the rest of him trapped under rubble.

“You were my favorite.” Kirin says softly, kneeling beside Ross, who coughs ash from his mouth and looks weakly at Kirin with blue eyes that are fading to dull grey.

“Eat shit.” Ross grinds out, his voice raspy and he coughs again, trying to free himself from the smoldering beams on top of him. Kirins tsks at him, and holds a scrap of-

Oh stars above- Ross thinks-

fur in front of his face. “Trott decided to go the hard way out.”

Ross grits his teeth, exhales slowly even though he knows he doesn’t need to breathe at all. “The witch will use your bones for fertilizer.”

Kirin sighs and shake his head at the stubbornness. He cleanly puts his sword through Ross's heart, watching the gargoyle break apart into shards, leaving behind a pair of ripped jeans and shirt that burn quickly in the spreading fire of the shack’s remains. ———————————————-

They’re in a thick forest- it all looks the same to Sips as the trees whip past and he presses himself close to Smith’s mane to keep his face safe from the foliage they crash through.

He can feel Smith falter beneath as they draw out of range of the water, and he can hear the labored breaths as Smith’s form starts to fail him after so much exertion.

“Stop.” Sips whispers into Smith’s ear, and the horse pays no mind, running on. The ground is damp behind them, an easy trail to follow. There is no pounding, no shouting to be heard.

“Smiffy, stop, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Sips begs again when he feels Smith stumble, hard, and finally Smith stops, and sips slides off his back, letting Smith turn back to human. He’s covered in sweat and his eyes are wild as he gasps for air.

“They got them, oh fuck- Ross is dead, mate-” Smith whimpers, holding his arm where he’d bound himself to Ross and Sips knows Smith isn’t lying with the creeping coldness he feels too.

“We gotta hide.” Sips says, his own voice shaky, and drags Smith after him into the brush, holding the trembling kelpie’s head in his lap.

The night is cold, and the hunters are relentless. It’s just after midnight- or as far as Sips can tell, when the pounding jolts him from his sleep and he shakes Smith awake with a hissed “Shhhh.” Smith sits up and rubs at his tear stained face, staring with wide eyes out into the dark at the lights drawing near.

They stay silent, curled up to each other, Sips drenched by the water and tears that haven't stopped dripping off of Smiffy. The pounding gets close, the wild whoops of creatures who have gone so long without a hunt like this and the roaring noise that sounds like Smith’s cars yet distinctly primeval. Sips shudders, and feels Smith tense against him.

It goes dead quiet, and the lights hold still. Smith bares his teeth at whatever lies outside the brush, a defiant shout growing in the back of his throat. Sips holds Smith’s arm tight and reins him back.

The brush atop of them parts, and Kirin looks down at them. He’s got blood smeared across his beard and he smells thickly of ash and fire. “Found you.” He says and Smith lunges from Sips’ hands, a broken cry rattling out of his throat as he goes straight for Kirin’s neck with a thin blade Sips had carried for him.

Sips stares, helpless and mortal as Smith and Kirin grapple, water spraying around them as Smith drives the knife into Kirin’s upper arm over and over and Kirin wraps his wide hand around Smith’s throat and squeezes until Smith is choking and can’t hold the knife anymore, driving the point of the blade one last time into Kirin’s arm and then trying to pry the fingers from around his throat as he’s shoved to his knees.

“Sips.” Kirin’s voice is commanding, and Sips stands up from the brush slowly, noting the circle that the hunting party has formed around them. “Come here.”

Sips stands his ground, hands shoved in his pockets and slouching. He blames his shaking on the cold air and his soaked jeans and sweatshirt. His cap was long gone to the forest, leaving him feeling exposed. “Let Smiffy breathe.” He drawls, tries to keep the fear out of his voice. He meets Smith’s eyes and Smiffy looks as terrified and angry as Sips feels.

Kirin tosses Smith to the left of him into a tree, hard. “Consider that your dying request.” Kirin says as Smith wheezes and gasps for air. The fae descend on Smith and bind him to the tree with iron rope and Smith wails in pain. Sips shrugs and steps closer, never taking his hands out of his pockets.

“So nice of you.” Sips says flatly. He feels the weight of the small gun in his pocket, the cold metal against his palm. He’s only got one shot.

“Your court harmed my property, severely.” Kirin crosses his arms. There’s just a few feet between the two rulers, despite the power difference.

“Yeah. I’d say you, uh, harmed my property pretty severely too.” Sips tries to laugh, but he feels broken inside. He’s never getting them back.

Kirin reaches into a pocket and holds out his hand. Sips can see a scrap of fur and the glint of something blue. Smith strains at his bindings and wails another outraged cry that is stifled as fabric is stuffed into his mouth.

“If you rescind all ties with them, you’re free to go.” Kirin’s teeth flash unnaturally white as he offers the remnants of Sips’ court to him. “No mercy!” shouts a group of fae and Kirin’s tail lashes in irritation. They fall silent, but Sips finds it in him to sneer at Kirin.

“You fuckin’ think I’m still just a mortal they kidnapped?” Sips tightens his hand around the gun, sees a space between the armor that Kirin wears. “Play by your own rules or don’t play at all.”

He sees Smith out of the corner of his eye, straining, looking angry and proud of his king as Sips whips the little pistol out and shoots. Sips stumbles backwards with the force of the magic-imbued shot, landing on his ass in the muddy grass and watches Kirin stumble backwards too, the fur and shard falling from his hand. The fae shout and Smith struggles to break free in the clamor. Sips stares as Kirin rights himself, and smiles a wide grin and traces over the dent in his armor.

“Bring me the kelpie.” Kirin unsheathes his sword as he stares down Sips with malice, and Sips feels frozen in place as Smith is dragged and forced on his knees in front of Kirin, facing Sips, prone. “Smiffy-” Sips breathes and Smith gives him a tired smile around the gag.

Kirin grabs a handful of Smith’s hair and drags it back until Smith’s neck is bared. Sips feels the fae closing in around him but not touching him, not yet.

“No mercy.” Kirin spits and drives the sword home, through Smith’s back and out through his heart.

Sips stares at the blood on the iron blade, at Smiffy’s face frozen in hatred and hears dimly the sounds of chanting fae as Kirin drops Smith’s body to the ground ands pulls his sword out.

“Last words?” Kirin asks him, and Sips blinks out of his haze, staring up at the fae lord.

“Yeah.” Sips says and sneers again. It's started to rain, and the drops are cool on his skin. He’ll see the others soon, wherever dead assholes like them end up. “Smiffy says the witch is comin, and I say the witch is gonna win. Also, fuck you.”

Kirin slams the blade down into Sips’ heart with no hesitance, and then pulls it out, lifting it high.

The Hunt is over.

#hatfic #yogfic #urban magic yogs #the garbage court #rewrite #sparxflame #swyogs

0 notes

illumwriting · 9 years

Text

when men will be no more

prompt from anon: i was thinking about maybe dave sees kd's mortal shell all busted up? :0

Words: 768, no warnings. Hugely inspired by Prayer in C. Give it a listen!

"Hello?" Dave gave a sharp rap on the door of Kirin's home for the fifth time. He glanced up at the midday sun and frowned. Kirin should have been home, especially since his note had said Dave could swing around for his supplies around lunch. A loud groan from inside and the shuffle of feet had Dave raising his eyebrow. The door creaked open and Kirin poked his head out, a slight grimace of pain tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Dave-" Dave stared. Kirin's tan skin was split open along his temples, teal spilling from the fissures across his cheeks like blood. Aqua crystalline nubs were nestled in Kirin's unruly hair, and Dave felt static coming off of Kirin in waves. "I'm just here for my stuff-" Dave started. He had known Kirin was inhuman, but had only once before come face to face with anything but the other worldbuilder's intact human shell. In this state, Kirin could be volatile and prone to violence. "I'll get it." Kirin said quickly, wincing as something crackled and the whites of his eyes flashed black. "Thanks." Dave muttered to the closed door that had been slammed in his face.

The door cracked back open, and a faint glow was visible off off Kirin's face. "Here." Kirin thrusted the small bundle of Dave's tools tied off neatly in teal string at him, the package thudding against Dave's chest. "Bye." Kirin mumbled to the floor, and tried to close the door. Dave shoved his foot in the way and got a glare from Kirin. "Kirin-" Dave started and Kirin flinched, digging his nails into the wood of the door. "Leave." Kirin pressed the door against Dave's shoe, not looking up. "I'm busy." "Busy what, dying?" Dave shot back and Kirin snarled, then winced as the action split the human facade open at the corners of his mouth. "Busy." Kirin repeated as if that will make Dave leave. "Stuff." "You know I can help." Dave slotted half his body between the door and the frame, peering past the troubling glow of Kirin's skin into the dark interior of Kirin's home. Kirin's nails sank into the wood of the door as Kirin tensed up. "I didn't ask for your help." "You need it." Dave pointed out as he exchanged the bundle of tools in his inventory for a bottle of thick green liquid. The door gave a groan of protest as Kirin pulled his nails from the wood and ignored the splinters pricking him. "How much?" Dave stepped inside the rest of the way and locked the door behind him. The glow from Kirin was more than enough to see by. "Free, this time." "That's what you said last time." Kirin pointed out, but snatched the bottle from Dave's hand, careful not to let his claw-nails scratch Dave. "The world is dying." Dave told Kirin as he pryed the cork from the bottle and guzzled the contents down. "So?" Kirin muttered as he licked his lips clean of the last dregs of the syrupy potion. "Thought that was your job, not mine." "It's both of ours." Dave held his hand out and Kirin obediently gave back the empty bottle. It disappeared into the void of Dave's inventory. "Me, the inhabiants, you, the land itself." Dave fixed Kirin with a dark stare, the flickerings of something acient and etheral making Kirin shudder. "Don't think they'd forgive you." Dave hissed, and Kirin swallowed hard with a small bob of his head. The glow faded as Kirin's shell was stitched back together, but the teal trails still marred his face in a scar-like way. "I know." Kirin muttered. "I'll tend to it tomorrow." Dave smiled, showing off his sharp canines. "See you then, Kirin." His tone was upbeat and jovial, but it didn't reflect in his eyes. "Don't waste any more time." He warned as he unlocked the door and vanished out into the blinding light of day. Kirin can't relax even when the darkness settles around him again, no longer a comforting blanket but a reminder that slithered around his shoulders. "Sorry." He muttered to the closed door, running his fingers over the deep gouges.

FIN.

#Yogfic #kirinchaos #dave^2 #SWyogs

4 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 9 years

Text

death deals in life

sorry this is so late! I had to think about it a bit.

Here's your garbage court+lying interactions. <3

“Move the fuck over.” Smith grumbles as they huddle on the concrete step that lines the walls of the underground. Hooves pound on the asphalt above their heads.

“Shhh!” Trott hisses and tries to extract his elbow from Smith’s. “We’re almost there, keeping moving.”

“Guys?” Sips says, and they all look at him. He points down the tunnel in the direction they came from, where something is definitely moving.

“Oh fuck no.” Smith groans and leaps across the flowing sewage and lands barely on the thin strip on the other side. He pops his head into the side tunnel and nods to to Trott, who jump across as well. Ross picks up Sips in a bridal carry and bites his lip in concentration as he leaps across. His foot catches on the edge of the step and he teeters until Trott grips his arm firmly and steadies him with a quiet “oh no you don’t, sunshine.”

The group skitters down the side tunnel, the last leg between them and the very edge of the city pipe system, where they reside. Trott just hopes it’s enough to stay Kirin’s horde of hungry fae.

The pounding hooves have followed them the whole time they’ve been down here, and they keeps seeing shadowy figures behind them. Smith really hopes it’s fae following them.

They feel themselves pass into their territory before they see the way the pipe splits before them, the sewage running off into another pipe when it should by all practical means be running down the giant cliff they’re standing on.

“It’s a well.” Sips breathes from his vantage point in Ross’s arms as he cranes his neck to peer up towards the top. The walls are lined with thick moss, and slowly, they realize the pounding of hooves has stopped.

“Oh thank the fucking gods.” Smith breathes and leans against the wall, feeling at home in the damp and cold place.

“Smith, shut up.” Trott snaps, and everyone goes very quiet.

There’s a steady dripping sound, and it’s getting louder.

Ross takes a step back, into the sewers and suddenly the stamping shakes the ground above their heads, fae howling for blood. Sips pales and Ross quickly presses back in close to Trott and Smith.

“Oh, you are quite the rude little things.” The voice is disembodied and Ross sets Sips down in the center of him and the others, their backs to Sips and keeping him protected in the center of them. Sips makes a noise of protest as he finds himself ankle deep in water, but is ignored as the voice laughs.

“What do you think you can gain from me? Protection? They are out there, just waiting for an excuse to break in here. And you just gave them one.” The voice sounds angry and they shift closer to Sips. Ross hefts his bat instinctively.

“We have an offer.” Trott calls loudly into the darkness. Sips makes a yell from behind them and they spin to see a small figure holding Sips casually by his throat. Their one visible eye glints in the dim light with a strange wetness and they grin.

“Make it fast.” The well-witch says and squeezes Sips’ throat lightly.

“Territory. We offer you access to our territory and to everything we know about horned shitlord.” Trott babbles, watching worriedly as Sips grasps at the well-witch’s clawed hand.

“I know everything about him already.” The well-witch grins wider and digs the tip of their nails into Sips’ neck. “But territory… that sounds interesting.” They fix their gaze on Smith and Smith shudders and his hand shoots to his pocket, squeezing his keys tightly. “Give me access to the river.”

Smith opens his mouth to protest, but Sips makes a strangled noise as the nails break flesh and Smith changes his mind. “Deal! Fucking deal, just give Sips back!”

“Done.” The well-witch grins and a shimmering band of light blue winds itself around Smith’s head like a thin bridle as they shove Sips into Ross’s arms. Sips gasps for air and snarls a curse against Ross’s chest.

“And for our safety?” Trott insists and the well-witch appraises him, narrowing their gaze and pressing their lips together.

“You are asking for a life-debt.” The well-witch points out, and Trott crosses his arms. “I am. For their safety.”

The well-witch grins, tilting their head to the side. “Such loyalty. Swear you will never turn on me and come at my call, and your safety from Kirin is guaranteed.”

“All of us?” Ross pipes up, and the well-witch nods.

“One selkie is useless, regardless of the debt.”

Trott bares his teeth at that but he kneels in front of the well-witch. “We will come at your call and never turn on you, well-witch.” He says slowly, repeating the words precisely. The others kneel beside him, heads bowed.

The well-witch looks them all over as the bands of light blue circle around the garbage court’s throats. “Call me Lying.” They say and tug Ross to his feet, grinning. “This will be fun.”

#urban magic yogs #the garbage court #yogfic #SWyogs #umy tag #replies

38 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 9 years

Text

strangers will eat you, baby

got this idea a few nights ago- it’s non-mortal sips.

warnings for kidnapping, mentions of cannibalism.

merry fucking christmas.

Smith has deemed to make the dirt roads that run through the forest just outside of town and veer off towards the river his haunt of the month, and so when it comes time for the Garbage Court to pick a king, that’s where they go.

It’s late Saturday afternoon and the city is alive with the thrum of parties starting, teenagers on the internet, and people running errands before night falls. They trail a pretty girl in a sweatshirt for a few blocks at Ross’s request, but Trott and Smith deem her uninteresting.

“Come on, mate, can’t we just go to my normal spot?” Smith groans as Trott points him down yet another back alley that is clearly empty.

“For once, I agree with Smith.” Ross pipes up from the backseat. “If only because I want to get out of this car sooner. I think I’m sitting in jizz.”

“Probably are.” Trott muses, and shrugs. “Alright. Fine. But I pick the guy.”

“Deal.” Smith says, and floors it out of the city.

Smith loops down to the river and back, passing up a few rowdy teenagers and another girl before Trott raises an eyebrow and points. “Him.”

There’s a guy, his thumb out and no bags in sight. He’s wearing ratty blue jeans that hang low on his hips and varsity jacket that Trott doesn’t recognize over a white undershirt. His baseball cap is filthy, a dark blue thing smudged with dirt. He’s got a sleepy smile with just a hint of teeth to match his sleepy eyes.

Smith swerves over and Trott rolls his window down. The guy looks Trott up and down in the way that Smith looked at his victims, and Trott grins back, all white teeth.

“Need a ride?” Smith unlocks the car as Trott speaks and the guy looks the car over before pulling the back door open and sliding in next to Ross without a word.

Ross blinks and shifts away from the new comer into the corner of the backseat. He smells thickly of cigarette smoke and dirt. Ross coughs, and the stranger looks over at him as Smith starts the car up again.

“Swanky ride.” The guy settles back in his spot, and Ross relaxes a little. The guys has a nice voice, but his lips barely move. Weird.

“Thanks, mate.” Smith presses on the gas a little harder, enjoying the freedom of the roads outside the city before he has to deal with traffic.

“Got a name, sunshine?” Trott leans around from the passenger seat.

“Yeah, and it’s not sunshine, sweetheart.” The guy shoots back, and Trott barks out a grating laugh.

“Cute.”

“Hi cute, I’m Sips.”

Trott grinds his teeth together as he hears the snickers of Ross and Smith, which he quickly silences with a punch to Smith’s arm and a glare at Ross.

Sips tips the brim of his hat up. His eyes are grey- Trott didn’t know mortals could have that color. Curious. “Hey, stop here.” Sips says.

“What?” Trott narrows his eyes. They’re in the middle of the forest thanks to Smith’s shitty driving, at least another 20 minutes outside the city.

“I gotta piss.” Sips says cooly.

“We’re not stopping.” Trott says, and turn back around, ending the conversation.

There’s the sound of a zipper going down.

“Uh.” says Ross.

“I’m gonna piss in your car.” Sips mumbles.

“What- hell no-” Smith growls and slams on the break, causing Trott to hit his head on the roof. Trott snarls at Smith, and Smith throws his hands up off the steering wheel.

“Trott, he’s gonna piss in the car.” Ross says, rather urgently. He’s pretty sure he saw a dick.

“Then get him out of my car!” Smith yells and Trott resists the urge to strangle everyone around him.

“Yes, Ross. Take him outside, watch him. Knock him out if he tries to run.” Trott grinds out, glaring daggers at Smith, who keeps his hands up in surrender.

Ross reaches up front past Smith and pops the locks, shoving the smug looking Sips outside into the forest.

“Alright, hurry up.” Ross grumbles and watches the breath he doesn’t need to take puff into the cold air.

“Sure.” Sips says. He doesn’t bother to turn his back to Ross, and Ross makes a face, glancing away.

Something snaps and Ross quickly looks back, ready to jump the mortal who thought he could run away.

“Shit.” Ross says.

Sips is definitely not mortal. He’s got antlers to match Kirin’s coming from the top of his head, his clothes hanging baggy on his now bony and emaciated form.

“Shit.” Ross says again as he notices the lack of lips and the yellowed teeth in Sips’ smile.

“Man, I got lucky-” Sips starts, before Ross drops his glamour and lashes his barbed tail. “Well, shitttt.” Sips drawls, and raises his hands- warped into bloody claw-like appendages.

Ross hears Trott and Smith tumble out of the car behind him and flank him, Trott pressing Ross’s bat into his hands. “What the fuck?” Smith demands.

“Wendigo.” Trott murmurs, and Sips laughs.

“10 points to Trotty-boy.” Sips keeps his hands raised when Ross snarls at him.

“That’s just a spook story.” Smith says. “I bet he’s a fucked up fae.”

Ross isn’t sure what a wendigo is, but Sips isn’t fae. Ross knows fae. “Do we keep him?” He asks, holding the bat at ready if Trott answers in the negative.

Trott and Sips stare at each other, Sips’s lipless mouth gaping in a mock smile and Trott looking very unimpressed. “You shift, or is it a glamour?” Trott asks.

“Shift.” Sips answers and drops his hands, shifting back as part of his response. He shoves his hands in his jean pockets.

“We’ll keep him for the night. See where this goes.” Trott says, and Ross lets his bat drop to swing by his side. Smith wanders closer to Sips, circling him.

“I’m a wendigo, asshole.” Sips snaps when Smith reaches out if to prod at him. “I’ll fucking eat that finger.”

“Don’t touch him, mate.” Trott warns.

Smith sulks. “Wendigos aren’t real. That’s just a story for explaining fucked up mortals.”

“Kelpies are made up to explain drowning.” Sips shoot back and Smith laughs.

“I like him. Having a freaky cannibal around could be fun to scare off the horned shitlord.” Smith jerks a thumb towards his car. “C’mon. Let’s go before we miss our own party.”

-----

ayooo. put the notes down here since they’re long. here’s my resource for wendigos, as well as the picture I tried to base Sips' wendigo form off of.

I picked a wendigo for a couple reasons. They mainly were known to live up in Canada, and are highly associated with greed/gluttony, something Sips and the garbage court are associated with too. plus they eat people, and that's an awesome counter to the fae king Kirin, who also happens to eat people.

I changed the lore tiny bit to allow Sips to shift back to what we can assume what his human form before he became a wendigo. Sort of like Smith, but Smith wasn’t ever actually a human.

Why/how did Sips turn into a wendigo? Well, that’s up to you.

#urban magic yogs #yogfic #the garbage court #SWyogs #umy tag

40 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 9 years

Text

tastes like {victory}

so sparx confirmed that they were thinking of kirin eating the garbage court in their initial post about the hunt. and i couldn’t just leave something delicious as that alone. Continuation of my previous hunt fic in which Everyone Dies. massive warnings for gore.

Kirin pounces on Trott as soon as he wheezes his last breath, pulling his sword from Trott’s chest and using his sharp claws to tug the split flesh apart and exposing the white bone and the warm heart that’s leaking blood. Kirin grins and the fae around him shift impatiently, hungry.

Kirin snaps the ribs with ease, tossing them to the side where the fae dogs snap them up and set to gnawing on them. Kirin cuts the vessels that connect the heart to the rest of Trott’s body and cradles the organ in his hand, pulling it out of the body and frowning slightly at the mess that runs down his forearm and clings to the thick hair on his forearm.

“Take it.” Kirin stand and steps away from Trott, watching the fae snarl and claw at each other as they descend on the body and rip it to bits, a fae ripping an arm off and near managing to get away with it all for themself until they are set upon by a pack of ravenous fae.

Kirin bites into Trott’s heart and lets the blood dribble down his chin and into the sand.

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

Ross is not quite what Kirin hoped, all stone and mostly worthless gems, aside from the few Honeydew had given him. Kirin bends down and swipes up some of the dust with his fingers and sniffs it. It smells of seawater and fresh tarmac. He licks it and makes a face at the gritty texture, swallowing it down and smacking his lips.

He lets the fae loot what they like from the rubble and watches them stuff their pockets with worthless chips of stone for victory trophies.

Yeah, disappointing.

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

Smith and Sips make the whole hunt worth it. Sips dies easy, but Kirin had to admit he was impressed by the mortal’s attempt to wound him. Glancing at the bullet lying in the grass, Kirin knows if the iron slug had hit home, he would be in serious condition.

He looks between the two bodies, trying to decide who to eat first. Smith’s heart would be much more potent, being full of magic, but Kirin hadn’t eaten the heart of a court king in so long and he craved that wood-like taste, no matter if it was sullied by mortal flesh.

But Smith was bound to grow colder sooner. Kirin crouches on the slightly damp grass in front of Smith’s slumped form, and is surprised to hear a rattling breath. He slides a hand into Smith’s soaking hair and wrenches Smith’s head back, leaning in to bite gently at Smith’s neck. Smith groans under the bite and Kirin laughs against his throat, licking the salty beads of sweat up.

“Still alive, then?” Kirin murmurs and feels Smith convulse, knows that Smith is but a minute from death.

“Fu- u-” Smith manages and cries out as Kirin’s sharp teeth sink into his neck and rip, enough to tear the skin away and Kirin chews and swallows, licking his lips. Everything about Smith is salty and wet, the way Kirin likes it. Smith’s eyes have rolled back and he’s sobbing, afraid and in pain.

Kirin loves it. He blows air on the exposed throat and nibbles at the hanging flaps of skin as Smith chokes above him and curses Kirin in garbled words.

“You’re wasting your breath.” Kirin says mildly as he swallows down a bit of flesh and then mouths at Smith’s collarbone, licking it clean of blood.

Smith shakes. “Well-witch.” He mumbles, and goes limp. Kirin tsks.

“Really, couldn’t even let me finish your throat? How rude.” There’s a burst of jeering laughter from the fae who hover over Sips’ body, desperately wanting to rip him apart as they had Trott. Kirin doesn’t laugh. The name of the well-witch has been uttered in this place one time too many, and the pools of water that collect around Smith’s body only unsettle Kirin more.

He pulls Smith’s chest apart with less finesse than he had Trott, not even bothering to toss the bones aside, just ripping the heart out and tearing into it, swallowing the briny thing down with a new sense of urgency and letting an errant piece of rib crunch between his teeth. He leaves the body for the fae and they swarm, fighting and bickering behind him as he pulls Sips’ chest open.

Kirin is more careful this time, snapping the bones and setting them aside in a pile. He cuts the vessels and lifts the still-warm heart out, running his fingers lightly over the surface as he finds a nearby rock and sits. Carefully, he portions the heart up, eating each morsel and rolling it around in his mouth like a fine wine and idly watches his own court feast on the Garbage Court’s remains.

Really, he was going to have to make this more of a habit.

#sparxwrites #yogfic #urban magic yogs #SWyogs #In my defense they were already dead #er well #i may have killed someone again OOPS #gore warning

28 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 9 years

Text

xoxoxo

for sparx, since i killed ross twice and i sorta feel bad about it. also, i need to practice writing fluff more. short references to will/ross.

Ross knocks on the door to Kirin’s shop, and Kirin looks up from the counter. “William!” He calls into the kitchen behind him and motions for Ross to come in as there’s a clatter of dishes and Will power-slides out into the main hallway in his socks and pajamas and all but tackles Ross while Kirin smiles and goes back to reading.

“Ross!” Will hugs the gargoyle tightly, breathing in the dust and musk smell.

Ross laughs. “Good to see you too. And yes, Smith is still pissed he couldn’t come, Trott is still trying to make forcefields a thing and oh- Sips sends his regards, Kirin.”

Kirin looks up from his book and nods, slightly wary. “Oh dear.” He says and closes the book when Ross manages to get out of Will’s hug long enough to pull a small package from his jacket pocket.

“I promise it’s not used cigarettes this time.” Ross says and Kirin rolls his eyes, taking the package.

“I was hoping you’d say ‘it’s not a love note’, but I guess I can’t win them all.”

Will keeps his arm slung around Ross’s waist and nestles into the familiar curve of Ross’s side as Kirin unties the ratty string and opens the package.

It’s a little bobblehead of what supposedly had once been a famous baseball player, but has been meticulously painted over to resemble Sips winking from beneath the brim of his cap.

“Oh have mercy on my soul.” Kirin mutters, watching Sips’ head bob merrily when he sets the statue down to read the note, and Will sputters and snorts as he tries not to laugh.

It’s a longer note this time around, and Kirin glances at Will and Ross, who’s faces are contorted as they try not to break down into laughter. “Get out of here, you two.” Kirin says and Ross chortles loudly and picks Will up, carrying him back to the kitchen where they dissolve into loud hooting laughter.

Kirin smiles and settles back in his chair.

hey buddy

got you something real great to remember me by on cold winter nights lololol B)

anyways, figured it was time i sat down and thanked you properly for the new haunts. my boys love the place, and we’ll fix it up real good, don’t you worry bout that. i still can’t believe my kind built an actual dump on top of old fae grounds. was just a stroke of luck on our part that it was right by the river. smith’s having a blast cleaning it out, but he’s also really pissed about the river being polluted in the first place.

tell nano smith’s got her explosion powder recipe all fixed up and to expect it sent back by the end of the month. ross won’t say it, but he took some hard hits the other day from some falling debris out here and he’s got a big ass crack. like. literally. make him go see honeydew, or get will to take him. only thing trott wants is some underwater plants or something, he just said “plants that will clean the water, you fucking idiot” and then left to yell at smith, so, yeah. send some of whatever you think is best back with ross. ross has got the money for it, so just ask him for it.

hope you aren’t regretting not being more clear on what i was supposed to send as tribute each month cause there’s plenty more where that came from, old man ;)

lol

anyways have fun babysitting ross for a week and make sure he and will don’t have weird babies, i dont want to have to pay child support for a tiny electrical rock monster

xoxoxoxo

sips

#sparxwrites #urban magic yogs #yogfic #SWyogs

70 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 9 years

Text

boy, what a fool you were

So I felt bad for killing off the entire garbage court, so here’s a version in which only a few of em’ die. aka one of em’, but it’s still enough to wound the relationship between Kirin and Will. Warning for character death. No blood, mild violence.

They hear the horns after leaving Strife at Kirin’s and they grab Sips, bundling him onto Smith’s back and sending the two of them flying into the night, towards the old shack by the water. Trott and Ross board up their house, fill the alley with their rubbish and wait.

The pounding and chanting halts just outside their house, and then the door implodes inwards, raining wooden fragments down around Trott and Ross. Trott bares his teeth and sinks the tip of his iron blade into the neck of the first fae that lunges at him.

Ross is beside him, behind him and above him, deflecting the worst of the arrow and spears away with ease and stabbing at the frenzy with his iron-tipped tail and claws. A spear still manages to make it’s way through, hitting Trott in the side and Trott howls with pain as the iron sinks into the flesh between his ribs. Ross snarls and dives down, standing over Trott as the selkie curls up into a ball and whimpers.

Kirin enters then, brushing aside the crowing fae to stand in front of Ross.

Ross glares at him, tail lashing and his body covered in chips from the fighting. “Don’t touch him.” Ross grinds out, and Kirin shakes his head.

“You harmed my property.”

Ross snarls at that. “Will is not property.”

Kirin draws his sword, and Ross stands taller, the fae pressing in around the trio, the faint chant still on their lips and the need for blood still in their veins.

“Who gave him the redstone.” Kirin’s voice is flat as he holds the tip of the sword to Ross’s throat.

Ross blinks at that. “What does it matter?”

“It’s the only deal I make. You give up whoever gave him the redstone, and I will let the rest of you live.”

“Swear it.” Ross casts a glance down at Trott and feels the iron graze his neck and he winces with the flare of pain.

“I swear it.” Kirin promises, and watches Ross smile softly, faintly as he looks back up from Trott’s fetal form.

“It was me.” Ross says and Kirin drives the sword home, his face drawn. He hadn’t expected it to be Ross.

Ross crumbles, raining down shards around Trott and Trott lets out a broken sob, reaching out a weak hand to drag a bit of seaglass towards him. Kirin bends down, picking up a blue stained glass shard and holds it in the air.

The Hunt is over.

#sparxwrites #here u go it's less deathy but still painful #urban magic yogs #yogfic #swyogs

37 notes · View notes

illumwriting · 9 years

Text

how deep the waters run

Will thinks he knows what he's in for. Kirin shows him otherwise. Completely SFW, featuring worried Lomadia and Xephos. 1,077 words.

Will doesn't know how far deep he's in. He doesn't understand why his Aunt Lomadia insists on hanging charms in small necklaces around his throat, little homemade packets on thin leather strips. He lets her tighten the cords until the hand-sewn pouches rest in the hollow of his collar bone and doesn't tell her that he takes them off as soon as he leaves her house and spends the rest of the day rubbing at the side of neck where he can still feel a phantom trace of what he thinks is leather on his skin.

He plays the good nephew, never breathing a word about late night dances and joyrides in Smith's car, but talks excitedly about the plants and the work he does in Kirin's shop- he tells her about Kirin's tea-

"Honey and- something else- Chamomile, maybe? You'd like it, Aunt Lom!"

-misses the way she pales and casts worried glances at Nilsey and Mr. Cat.

He never hears the conversations his aunt and cousin have when he leaves, the firmness in her voice as she reminds Nilsey-

"You don't eat or drink a thing in that shop, ever."

Will thinks he knows things. He knows his uncle worries, and tries to soothe that worry.

"He's teaching me how to keep myself safe, Uncle Xephos."

Honeydew looks up from standing over Xephos, one hand on his partner's shoulder as Xephos holds his head in his hands and Honeydew stares at Will with a strange, almost pitying look in his eyes until Will turns from the kitchen door without another word.

Will knows Kirin is fae, and he knows fae can't lie. So he pushes himself up to sit on the edge of Kirin's big wooden table and toys with the soft fronds of a lamb's ear plant.

"Kirin-" He says, keeps his eyes on the plant he's petting.

Kirin doesn't turn from his work, continuing to move seed packets to higher shelves that Will can't reach without a stepstool. "Yes?"

"I can ask you a question, right?"

"Can you?" Kirin sounds like all his middle school teachers, and Will tries not to roll his eyes.

"May I ask you a question?" Will mumbles, and rubs the leaf between his thumb and forefinger a little faster.

Kirin places a seed packet and turns, looking Will over. "What's wrong? Did the city catch you again, are the Sirs bothering you-?"

"No, no-" Will cuts him off quickly. He doesn't want Kirin to worry, not after all the work Kirin has put into saving him and teaching him to not lose himself in the city. "I, uh." The hand in his lap stirs, shifts to rub the back of his neck. Kirin waits across the room for him, arms folded in a gesture of listening. The words tumble out of Will's mouth in a jumbled rush, tripping over each other in their unsure phrasing. "How much do I owe you."

Kirin blinks, and Will sees the glamour flicker as Kirin's tail lashes. "Owe me?"

"Yeah. You're... fae. And Xephos said I was in debt.. to you?"

"Oh, that." Kirin looks almost relieved and he moves towards Will, coming to lean back against the table beside him. "It's not a big deal. You're working it off already."

"Oh." Will looks up, releasing the poor plant from his worrying grip. He makes a face, thinking. "So why's my uncle so worried?"

Kirin sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "He's worried about you, William. That you might be getting in over your head."

"Am I?" Will feels like he's finally getting answers out of someone over this, and he's not going to stop with just two.

"That's not for me to decide." Kirin shrugs and Will relaxes, dropping both his hands back into his lap and fiddling with his fingers for just a moment.

"One more thing."

"Hrm?"

Will straightens and coughs before looking Kirin in the eye. "How far deep am I in?"

Kirin stares at him for a moment, the quiet in the room making Will more nervous until Kirin slowly hovers his hand over Will's clasped hands and Will nods.

Kirin runs his fingers over Will's shaking hands and doesn't break his gaze. "Do you want me to show you?"

"Yeah." Will's voice is forced. Kirin's fingers are distraction, rough pads from constant work, grasp big enough to holds both Will's wrists in one hand-

There's a light touch on Will's shoulder and he starts, pulling away with a little pop of static. Kirin looks guilty and worried. Will feels guilty. "Sorry, I zoned out." He says, and lets Kirin place his other broad hand on Will's shoulder.

He lets Kirin run that hand around to his back, trace lightly up his spine and Will shivers, leaning forwards towards the warmth of Kirin's chest. "Say stop whenever you need to."

Will nods and he feels Kirin stop, waiting for a verbal response. "Yeah. Stop, got it." Will just wants Kirin to get on with it already, whatever he's going to 'show' Will, Will's certain Kirin doesn't need to be touching him this much.

"You ask very interesting questions." Kirin's voice rumbles through him and into Will. "You owe me for your life, William."

Will's silent, still against Kirin as he lets Kirin trace patterns over his back, trusting the fae to not be drawing runes. They don't feel like runes.

"You want to know how deep you're in?" Kirin's other hand shifts, and both of Will's wrists are held in his grasp. Will ducks his head and lets a thin noise escape his lips. "The water here is as deep as you want it, William. I will not make you do anything against your will. You chose to call to me for help, and I responded. You chose to accept my offer of lessons."

Will swallows hard at that, not noticing Kirin's voice drawing closer until the stubble brushes against his ear and Will groans softly, baring his neck to Kirin, drunk off the scent of warm honey.

"Do you understand now?"

Kirin squeezes his wrists and Will shudders at the sudden clarity of his debt to Kirin. "Life-debt." He murmurs, and feels the scratch of Kirin's nod against his ear and tingling around his neck like he had just taken one of his aunt's charms off.

He pushes at Kirin and Kirin releases him, stepping back and giving Will room to breathe. Will stares down at his feet and slides down from the table, picking his bag up off the floor.

"I'm going home." Will says, and misses the soft knowing smile as Kirin lets him cross the shop's threshold.

#yogfic #urban magic yogs #SWyogs #someone pls stop me before i explode into urban yog bits

29 notes · View notes