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sp00kworm · 3 years

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Thorny Beginnings

Pairing: Kurora (Human Female) x Gethrow (Orc Male)

A/N: This was a commission piece for the lovely @calamityismyspecialty who kindly asked for their two OCs and the beginnings of their relationship together. It was a pleasure to write and so I thought I would share! Adult content under the cut.

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Kurora slammed the door to the Sherriff’s office with a resounding bang. The wood shook in its hole and drew the attention of Gethrow from where he was leaned against the wall outside, watching the townspeople go back and forth about their day. The women lead children, their hands wrapped around their mother’s baskets as they headed home from the morning markets. Gethrow’s dark eyes turned on the door curiously as Kurora stormed out, her dark boots grinding at the cobbles before she huffed and kicked a pebble, feeling a small sense of satisfaction when it bounced against the wall and skittered away down the alley.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Gethrow asked as uncrossed his arms from his chest. The orc was covered in the leather jerkin armour of his clan, the emblems cut out and replaced long ago, but the heavy straps and metal sheets over his legs remained. The panels clicked as he turned, baring his teeth gruffly before he smiled brightly as her, tossing his dreadlocks over his shoulder.

Kurora looked at him through the sides of her eyes, “The Sherriff wants to talk to a man.” She hissed before flicking a knife from her belt and leaning in the spot he was curled against previously, “He won’t give me the bounty. A knife in his desk didn’t seem like a good option.”

Kurora span her blade once more before sliding it back into its sheath at the base of her back before she reached up to adjust the heavy mask covering the bottom half of her face.

Gethrow laughed as though she had just told a joke, “No, a knife won’t get us that bounty.” He stroked his chin before moving towards the door, ducking his six-foot seven frame into the doorway before entering like a giant shadow. Kurora tried to prevent herself from smiling as she listened to the hushed whispers inside and occupied herself by checking her travel bag. She’d enough food for rations before they both went to collect the contract, but it now seemed like not enough. She hoped their hunting skills could fill in the rest of the food requirements, especially considering Gethrow’s appetite. A few moments later, the door slammed open once again, and Gethrow ducked out of the building with a scroll in his hand. With a smile that exposed his shorn tusks, he unfurled the thing and tapped the bottom where the Sherriff had penned their names.

“Good. Let’s go.” Kurora huffed as she tied her bag back shut by her side.

“Come on. You’ll be glad to know I gave him a nice little talking to.” Gethrow assured her as he followed in her footsteps.

She tried not to be angry, especially with Gethrow. After getting back into the main market area, she managed to take a breath and calm herself down.

“What did you tell him?” Kurora mumbled through the cotton covering her face.

Gethrow looked down at her, smiling at the fading anger in her brown eyes. If she were another woman, he might have taken her hand, but he knew all too well her reaction to such touches. She was scarred and scared, emotionally, and physically. It would take time for Kurora to come around to his touches. He huffed a laugh before leaning down to her ear and grinning.

“I told him to fuck himself with his own cock if he thought so little of women.” The orc leaned back and reached to tie his dreadlocks back more tightly, ensuring the thick, leather tie was tight around the hair before he flicked away the heavy beads and bones from his shoulders. Kurora’s eyebrows softened and the edges of her eyes crinkled.

“Is that a smile?” Gethrow teased her gently, “My stoic little crow is smiling?”

“Not on your life.” Kurora joked before reaching for her knife and tapping the hilt, “Do they want them dead?” She was far too quick to swap into business talk.

Gethrow tried not to look too annoyed by the brash change in conversation tone, “The Sherriff wants one to face trial. The rest…well, he’s left that up to us.” He offered with a shrug, “I don’t have a preference, but we don’t have the wagon to take ‘em all back. Best to just bring a few for the townspeople to try at the stand.”

Kurora nodded her head, “Kill the bandits it is then. Well…” She took a knife from her belt and flipped it around before humming, “We kill all but two.”

“All but two.” Gethrow confirmed aloud before looking down at Kurora, “Are you sure we can do this?” He asked, concern lacing his voice as he gently pushed the knife down from Kurora’s front.

“What do you mean?” She asked, venom lacing her tone, “I’m fine. The scars barely hurt and I’m…” She caught herself before she could start. One too many times recently she’d unleashed hell upon her partner. They were supposed to be courting she reminded herself often. They didn’t need to quarrel and argue about things when Gethrow was simply looking out for her.

“You know I’m worried, little crow.” Gethrow rumbled, “You’re…stiff and I would rather you not get hurt.”

Kurora snapped her knife back into its sheath, “I’m fine, Gethrow.” She laid a hand on his heavily muscled arm, “I have you there, and that means nothing bad will happen. We’ve dealt with worse than a little band of half-wit bandits before.” She rubbed softly at his olive skin with her thumb before taking her hand away again, unsure of what she was really doing.

“Let me know if you…” Gethrow rolled his eyes as she held up her hand and snapped it like a beak at him, “Put that sass away.” He teased her as he checked his curved cleavers and snapped them back to his belt, “I don’t want any of it while we’re away, alright?” He took hold of her hips gently as they came to the treeline, but his hands were pushed away as Kurora made a dash for the shadows of the woods.

The journey to find the bandits took several days. Their camp was high in the mountains to the east of the settlement. Gethrow weighted his axe in his hands as the two of them huddled by the entrance to the main cave. Kurora slid her blades free from her waist, testing the sharpness of them against each other as they watched the group drink themselves into stupors around a campfire.

“How many are there?” Gethrow asked as he pinned his hair back behind his head.

Kurora pointed the tip of her knife over the edge, “Ten in total.” She said nothing else as she flashed the flat of the blade and watched the bandit stationed by the door scowl at the light flash. He turned from his position, his pipe held between his lips as he scrubbed at his hair and headed towards the flashing blade. Kurora watched, breathing evenly before she looked over at the other side of the entrance, watching Gethrow breathe evenly and quietly for a moment. His chest moved, the hair covering his body standing on end as the guard drew closer and closer to the entrance. Suddenly, for a moment, she realised just how handsome Gethrow was. The moment was over as she grappled the guard around the neck, hauling him to the side before she slid her blade into his neck and forwards, silencing him with a gurgle.

“Two for the stocks, big guy.” Kurora whispered as she let the man fall over the side of the mountain, blood pouring from his neck.

Gethrow frowned before rolling his shoulders, “Two for the stocks.” He confirmed before he swung his axe, slicing open the other rogue that had come to investigate. The people inside quickly bolted into action and Kurora watched Gethrow’s broad back as he stormed in himself, hefting a blood laced axe at the first two men that headed towards him. Kurora dashed in underneath his arm as the axe’s double blade clashed with two swords. A woman reached for her bow and met the hilt of Kurora’s blade. Kurora smashed her fist against the woman’s nose before slamming her other blade into the woman’s stomach, twisting before she made a dash for the next two. Gethrow gave a great bellow as he dealt with two more. Kurora was alone in the fight as she faced the two men before her, perhaps twice her weight and seemingly much heavier hitters. She looked at the heavy club and sword before she made a dash around the two of them.

Her dodge failed. A club clattered against her ankle mid roll and Kurora struggled back to her feet after a strangled cry. Gethrow’s eyes rushed to her as she struggled back to her feet and lashed at her attacker’s knees. She impaled her knife through the sword wielder’s knee before kicking at the socket again, grinning beneath her mask as he collapsed, his leg spurting blood. The second man struck at her again before grabbing for her hair. He caught the ends of her black hair, snatching it tight before he laughed and pulled the cloth from her face. Kurora struggled as her scarred chin and cheeks were revealed, the skin raw, pink and aggravated. The man grinned. His mistake was letting go of her hair. Kurora snatched his fingers between her teeth. The taste of blood hit her tongue as she ground her teeth deeper into the wound and spat the spit and blood into the bandit’s eyes. He howled in fury, but she was quicker on her feet and grabbed her knife from its place on the floor. She slashed at his eyes, grinning as blood splashed up her face. Gethrow was quick to look at her again, anger turning his face into a picture of perfect fury. Kurora grinned again as she smashed her knife into the bandit’s throat and slashed the other over his soft skin, splitting his neck open.

“Kurora!” Gethrow called for her as he slammed a woman into a tent and bedroll, effectively tangling her in the sheets, “Two alive!” He reminded her before gently pointing to his chin. Kurora reached for her chin and swiped at the blood covering her scarred and torn skin. With a scowl, she grabbed her covering from the floor and tied it tightly before she grabbed the woman from her entanglement in the bedroll, slamming her against the floor again, her knee pressed viciously into the muscles at the base of her back.

“How’re you holding up?” Kurora glanced up, her face and hair matted with blood.

Gethrow grappled a male and tied his unconscious form tightly with rope before he dragged him over to tie his female companion as well. She spat and hissed until Kurora smacked her with the handle of her blade, knocking her unconscious.

“Could be better. Tired and covered in…well guts.” He scoffed before reaching and swiping his finger over her cheek, looking at the blood and spit on her face, “Come here.” Gethrow pulled his water-skin free, “You need to wash before you get ill again.”

Kurora snatched the skin a little more harshly than she intended, “I…Thank you.” She whispered before she made her way out of the cave to wash her face over the side of the mountain, cursing herself for being so foul.

They returned the bandits and evidence of the deed being done to the Sherriff and received the full payment for their services. They had one more night in the small town in their room above the baker’s shop. It was simple and clean enough. Kurora peered at herself in the small mirror mounted to the cold stone wall. Gethrow was behind her, tending to the fire in the fireplace to keep them both warm. The orc was quiet ever since they had finished the job and Kurora knew her silence and brattish behaviour was responsible for it in part. She touched the scars on the bottom of her face once again. Ugly. The accident had left her ugly. With a grumble to herself, she reached for her cotton mask, only for a large green hand to cover her own, pushing the cotton back onto the table. Gethrow’s hairy chest pressed to her back and she pushed back against his warmth instinctually. There was a noise of appreciation from the orc’s chest as he carefully turned her and tilted her chin upwards.

Kurora scowled, “I know they’re ugly, Gethrow. You don’t have to look at me like I’m some…” She stopped herself, “I…” Lamely, she let her hands fall to her side before he took hold of the small jar of ointment from the small bag of toiletries she had. He opened the top and the heavy smell of mint and lavender invaded their nostrils. Gethrow tilted her chin up again before silently rubbing the ointment over the thick, puckered scars with one large finger, tracing their lengths gently. Carefully he made sure to get under her nose before he took a cloth and wiped at the end of her nose with a smile.

“You don’t need to worry about them.” He promised, his voice just loud enough for only her to hear, “I think you’re beautiful. I did since I first saw you, and some scarring doesn’t change that.” Gethrow leaned down and placed a heavy kiss to her forehead, “I know you need some time to figure this out.” The orc cupped her jaw but didn’t place a kiss to her lips. He turned and moved to go back to the fire.

“Wait!” Kurora took hold of his wrist as he turned and pushed her fingers underneath the leather and bead bracelet around Gethrow’s wrist, holding him in place.

“What is it?” He asked, turning his dark eyes on her once again.

Kurora had once compared his eyes to coal, but now she saw them more as onyx gems, “I wanted to…say I’m sorry.” She confessed as she wrapped her arms around his middle again, “I’m no good at this and you could have chosen so many better women than me. And…”

“And?” He asked, gentle as he tilted her head up again, “You have something weighing on your mind. I can tell. My crow doesn’t bow her head for anyone.”

“I’ve never done this before, Gethrow. I’ve never even been with a man, let alone done anything couples would do.” Kurora confessed, her cheeks burning in embarrassment, “I thought for so long that you were just playing with me…trying to get the ugly girl to make a move so you could leave me and laugh.” She spat.

“Never.” Gethrow gently took hold of her hips, “I love you, Kurora. I wouldn’t be courting you otherwise.” He placed his hand at the back of her neck and swiped his fingers into her black hair, gently playing with the ends.

Kurora didn’t remember crying, but she rubbed the tears away quickly before taking a deep breath and leaning up to place a soft kiss to his lips. The orc responded gently, his short tusks rubbing against her bottom lip. She pulled away but before she could say anything Gethrow sealed their lips together again, taking the lead as he gently coaxed her to follow his rhythm, his tongue tapping forwards before Kurora hummed and parted her lips. They remained lip locked until Gethrow pulled away. Kurora giggled at the wet ointment smeared on his lips. Gethrow grinned and wiped it away before he carefully took hold of Kurora under her thighs and lifted her up. He slotted the slight woman against him before he turned to the bed and laid her back against the furs, leaning to catch her lips again as he softly stroked at her sides, his rough fingers tracing obscure patterns over her ribcage.

“Can we go slow?” Kurora asked softly as Gethrow settled himself between her legs.

“Of course.” Gethrow kissed at her cheek before he slid his hands down. On reflex Kurora bucked her hips upwards as his fingers dipped under the large shirt she was in, teasing the soft skin of the bottom of her belly, “Ah. After your sulking, I think you better behave.” He rumbled.

Kurora felt her spine go hot as she moved her hips again, driving her hips towards Gethrows. The orc grinned at her before he snapped his hand against her stomach and pinned her down to the bed.

“Are you going to be good, little crow?” Gethrow hummed as he traced the outline of her breasts, “Keep yourself still and I’ll rewards you, okay?” He pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of her tummy before he dragged her shirt up and off, admiring the scars that littered her skin, kissing each one on his way to her chest. Kurora raised her hands to let him drag the oversized shirt free and she shuddered as she was bared to him in nothing but her underwear. Her breasts rose and fell as Gethrow eased his way back to her underwear, kissing the scars and rubbing his tusks into the sensitive skin before he dragged them down her legs.

“Beautiful.” Gethrow praised before he dragged his hands over her thighs and watched her spread her legs. He was caught in a trance as her fingers dipped between the puffy lips of her sex and spread it wide for him to see the flushed pink flesh inside.

Her snickering broke him from his trance, and Gethrow was quick to reassert his dominance, grabbing her wrists in one of his hands before he placed them firmly over her head again. The orc gave her a glower before he kissed her again and teased his fingers over her opening, back and forth. When she bucked her hips, he pushed his palm to her pelvis and watched her writhe, her legs pinned wide with his thighs. Kurora whined behind her teeth as she was held in place. Gethrow’s tusks dragged over her stomach again before he pushed a single finger against her.

“Have you ever…”

Kurora looked at him with a frown, her cheeks red, “Of course I’ve touched myself before!” She yelped before letting out another whine as he pushed his finger inside of her for the snide remark. It pressed against her walls for a moment before Gethrow slowly plunged it in and out and then settled into a gentle rhythm, working her open as he settled her nerves with soft, warm kisses against her scarred skin. Slowly, the feeling grew closer and closer to an end, and Kurora writhed against her lover’s strong grip, her fingers twisting in his grip, stroking at the skin of his fingers, trying to weasel her way into touching him as well.

“Please, can I touch you?” She asked meekly. Gethrow’s dark eyes met hers before he kissed her lips again and released her hands. Kurora moaned softly as he pressed another finger into her, scissoring them before he touched his thumb to her clit. Her hands flew to his chest, kneading at the strong muscles, dragging her finger through the hair on his body as he pressed one more finger inside her. She huffed at the fullness, wiggling backwards until Gethrow pinned her and watched her eyes go wide as pleasure pulsed down her spine. He let her breathe and pressed a kiss to each of her breasts before he sucked a nipple into his mouth. She started at the sensation, tugging at his dreadlocks, whining in overstimulation.

“Did that feel good?” Gethrow kissed her lips again before he reached and tugged his cotton trousers down, the laces dragging over his thighs as he revealed what was between his legs.

“Mmm. It did.” Kurora’s eyes widened at the sight of Gethrow’s erect member, “By the gods…Will that even fit?” She gasped softly as Gethrow spread her legs again, holding her knees open as he settled himself back over her. His cock nudged at Kurora’s entrance and she melted back against the bed, “I trust you.” She promised.

Gethrow leaned down to kiss her, “Tell me if it hurts.” He whispered by her ear as he held her softly, lining himself up with her entrance before they took a breath together and he slid forwards slowly inside of her. Kurora felt her eyes go bleary as Gethrow held her and kissed at her skin, easing himself inside of her wet heat with ease.

“That’s… enough.” She huffed into his ear, “I can’t…” She sniffled as he thrust but kissed him again, clutching at his shoulders as he set a steady rocking rhythm, thrusting in and out of her with whispered praises.

“I love you.” Gethrow uttered after a kiss before he groaned and stuttered.

Kurora lifted her hips and stroked her fingers against his pointed ears, “I love you too, Gethrow. I do.” She felt herself plunge over the edge and moaned hotly against his shoulder before she felt Gethrow twitch inside of her.

“You’re amazing, beautiful…I love you.” He rumbled as he captured her chin and kissed her again, his hips coming to a stop as he moaned into her mouth.

The two parted after panting against each other, but Kurora made sure to push herself into Gethrow’s side, her fingers tracing the muscles around his ribcage as she laid back and soaked in the heat he kicked out.

“Did you mean it?” She whispered to him, “You love me?”

Gethrow kissed her hair tenderly, “More than anything.” He promised against her skin.

“I love you too.” She murmured into his chest, “Thank you…For everything Gethrow. For putting up with me too.”

Sleepily, he tucked her under his arm, “Shh then. Let’s rest. We have to leave tomorrow.”

Kurora nodded against him tiredly, tears drying on her cheeks as she smiled and held her lover closer.

#human x orc #female human x male orc #orc x human #monster x human #commission piece #writing commission #fantasy #high fantasy #original works #writing #my writing #monster bf #human x monster #orc #orcs #ocs #other's ocs

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poptod · 4 years

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Aren’t We Monumental? (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: His reality is splitting at the seams - you’re in his dreams, a comfort as he loses his grip on what makes him happy.

Prompt: Fishing

Notes: I’m all for historical accuracy so I’ve decided that from now on, in my Ahk fics that take place in Ancient Egypt, the reader is going to have dark skin. I myself have incredibly pale skin and I have no problem reading about it so @ any pale people reading these, you shouldn’t either. Also, your name is Meryt! It means beloved :) The songs in this are written by me, because I didn’t want a recognizable modern song and I’m not sure how to write ancient egyptian song lyrics. Gender neutral again. Warnings: Ahk is PRETTY depressed in here and develops some major symptoms of anxiety.

Word Count: 12.4k AO3 Link: Aren't We Monumental?

In the distance he sees the unapproachable, casting a net to the water. Every dream he’s had as of recent is plagued by you, far away and unreachable. With every step closer he grows further away, till tonight he sees the futility of his actions, and sits on cold ground, staring at your blurry form. For the first time you turn to him, watching over every breath he takes. With a wave, he finds himself beside you, staring up at you. You’re distinct, clear against a backwash of a dark, unseeable background. Aimlessly you stare forward, pulling the net from the water and back into your hands; it drips freezing water onto his hands.

“There’s a love in simplicity that cannot be achieved in any gluttony,” you say, still staring ahead at nothing. Casting the net back into the water you drop down, sitting cross legged next to him on the wooden dock.

“What?” He asks, his brow furrowed. Now that he’s met you, the first thing you say makes absolutely no sense. He tries to not let it irritate him.

“Work with your hands, good fellow,” you tell him, and for the rest of his dream you don’t say another word. Silence encompasses the both of you, only broken by your net dragging back up to shore. Again, no fish, but there is a rock inside that looks rather beautiful. There isn’t anything particularly special about it, no swirls of color, no skeletal shape inside, but it’s very smooth, and very dark - in his hands it shines in dim moonlight, the shadow of his reflection staring back at him.

“Can I keep this?” He asks, holding the rock up to the moon and admiring the odd shape of it. You don’t reply, you don’t even move, so he, perhaps incorrectly, assumes it’s alright and holds the stone tight in his grip.

His awakening late in the morning is slow, rays of sunlight prodding him gently to consciousness. As always his servants dress him, and as he stares dully ahead they push a crown atop his head. In the mirror he spots it, the gold catching his eye.

“I haven’t seen this before. What is it?” He asks his servants, taking the crown off his head to examine it. A braid of gold encircles its entirety, a cobra with fangs unsheathed sits at the front. It’s well made, he notes, though he’s not quite sure as to its purpose.

“It’s a gift from your father,” Naguib, his personal servant, tells him, head bowed politely as always. Ahkmen sniffs, setting the crown back on his head - it doesn’t look bad, he decides, and for another moment he admires himself in the mirror. Yellow isn’t his favorite color, but status is enshrouded in gold, and status is of the utmost importance to his father. Thus, the only cloth he wears has gold sewn into it, and gold is somehow assigned to him. Blue is Kahmuh’s color, which is unfortunate - he favors blue over gold, while Kahmuh envies the amount of gold Ahkmen is constantly surrounded with.

His day continues as it usually does; there’s the daily fight at breakfast as Kahmuh inevitably has another outbreak about how much he hates Ahkmen. This time, it’s about the gifted crown, and how he doesn’t get a crown. His father just rolls his eyes, shakes his head with a sigh, and ignores his eldest son, while their mother attempts feebly to calm him down. Kahmuh storms out of the room, and the rest of the morning is spent in silence. In Merenkahre’s meetings Ahkmen stands by his side, opposite of Shepseheret like a mirror image. They’re a perfect family without Kahmuh, who watches the court from the shadows of the archways leading into halls.

By afternoon Ahkmen is back in his room, his head hanging off the bed, staring listlessly up at the ceiling and trying to remember what exactly happened in his dream. As important as it was to him, he always has trouble with his memory, an unfortunate genetic trait. Caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice Naguib enter his room, tapping his shoulder.

“Um, my prince?”

He perks up, staring upside down at his servant, who is carrying a basket in his arms, his shoulders tight with nervousness.

“Yes?”

“You told me to tell you when I was going into the city again… you didn’t tell me why, though,” Naguib says quietly, unsure of every word. With a deep breath Ahkmen gathers himself, standing up and brushing out the folds in his clothes.

“Will I draw much attention like this?” He asks him, opening his arms for observation of his outfit.

“Quite a bit of attention,” Naguib tells him honestly. Nodding, he changes quickly into something more inconspicuous - a simple skirt and necklace.

Distantly he recalls asking Naguib to tell him, and though the exact reason escapes him he assumes it was for fun. He and everyone close to him knows he doesn’t get out much, and certainly not without being noticed and paraded as a prince. He loathes the attention, always self-effacing and hesitant to think of himself as above anybody else, even though it’s what he’s been told all his life. But Naguib knows the streets well, helps him not to be noticed, taking him through lesser known paths filled with fewer people than the main markets.

“What are we looking for anyway?” He asks as Naguib grips his wrist and pulls him into an alley as a large group of nobles pass by.

“The physician’s assistant is off on some adventure, so I’ve been filling in for them. Adom needs herbs of some sort… I don’t remember the name, only what they look like,” Naguib explains, glancing around the new street the two of them find themselves on. Ahkmen hums his acknowledgement, trailing after Naguib when he leaves suddenly into the rush of the crowd.

Amongst a mass of people he sees a variety of things he’d consider odd - though, when mentioning these things to Naguib later, he doesn’t react the same way. Apparently carrying live fish in a water basket isn’t strange, and neither is snakes in pockets. There is one thing he hesitates to mention, back in the safety of his room; something he is convinced didn’t really happen, but the memory is so clear that he’s at war with himself.

In the end he doesn’t tell Naguib what he saw. Instead he lets it haunt his memory, the image of a black jackal baring its’ teeth lucid like nothing else he’s seen. It jumped at him, or at least he thought it jumped at him, as by the time it should’ve landed on him the mirage dissipated. Luckily, in the crowded market no one noticed one man flinching away from nothing.

By evening time his parents are berating Kahmuh for reckless behavior again. According to them, he wandered out into the desert, but according to Kahmuh, he was hunting for a specific animal. Though, considering he can’t seem to name the animal, Ahkmen doesn’t particularly believe his story. As he does during most dinners, he eats in silence, blocking out the arguing and yelling. Quietly as he possibly can he slips away, tucking his chair back underneath the table and heading off to what he hopes is a good nights’ sleep.

When he opens his eyes to his dreams his hand is heavy. Looking down, he finds the rock, and in sudden clarity he remembered what had happened - now, he’s lying down in a hut, a fire burning beside him. The cot he’s laying in is soft, softer than it should be, and out the open door he sees you’re on the dock again. Slowly he moves to his feet, leaving the rock behind on the bed as his eyes never leave you. The echo of his feet against the wood is loud, making you turn and smile when you see him approaching.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” you say, fixing his messy, sleepy hair with your free hand. The other hand holds the line connecting the net back to land.

“How long?” He asks, unsure of why he’s asking it.

“I’m still waiting,” you tell him, softer and regretfully forlorn - with half lidded eyes you stare back out to the wide river. The other side, which last night he saw so easily is so far away all he sees in the distance is fog.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his conscious self still confused, but something inside him speaks without his permission. You just nod, a gentle, homesick smile growing slow on your face.

As conversation quiets you pull your net back, finding nothing in it. Sniffing, you reel the rest of it in and with a mighty throw, it’s back in the water.

“I…” he starts, thinking back to the jackal he saw in the market, wondering if you’d have anything to say on the subject. “I saw something today. Something I’m not sure I should’ve seen.”

You respond with silence, no nod or any acknowledgement that you heard him, but nonetheless he continues - you’re dangerously easy to talk to, he notes.

“I was in the marketplace with my servant, and when we reached this crowded area… I turned, and there was a jackal, a black jackal staring at me. He was growling, ready to lunge at me, but when he did.. he disappeared.”

“What comes from nothing becomes nothing itself,” you finally respond, the words useless to him. Exasperated he sighs, wondering why he thought it was a good idea to tell you in the first place. “Don’t worry on what can’t hurt you. Anything that can cause worry can bring peace… if you can fix it, there’s no need to worry, and if you can’t fix it, find solace in your helplessness.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, the exclamation coming out involuntarily. He stares at you, his brow knitted together as he tries to figure you out - unlike anything he’s seen before, and so painfully familiar, like a cosmos he’s admired for too long. “What if it happens again?”

“If it frightens you, tell someone who may help you, good fellow,” you say, and with a short glance to the water and back to you, you’re gone.

“Where did -“ he starts, but realizes before he’s through that it’s fruitless to call for you. He doesn’t know your name, or anything you might respond to, and you seem like the type of person who wouldn’t reply anyway. Disappointed, he wanders back into the hut, slipping away into nonsensical dreams that he can’t care to remember.

Your words calm his thoughts, but only temporarily - by morning he’s forgotten exactly what you said to him, only recalling you told him not to worry. With a sigh he curses himself and his horrid memory, going about his day in a thought-heavy wander that brings his health to question.

It isn’t for another three days that something odd happens to him again, though this particular version of odd is different from the jackal. In the palace, there’s an absurdly long corridor that leads to the water gardens - it’s empty, barren of torch or painting, and it’s an unsettling sight one must go through to see the beauty of the outdoors. Ahkmen has asked his father three times to put something in the hall, but there’s always been something more important, and thus nothing has ever happened to the absurdly long corridor. When he turns down it, he sees the end as usual, a small rushlight set on the single shelf at the end. But, as he walks nearer, a fog rushes in from the corner - a sick scent fills his head, and the world turns dizzy. The smog draws closer and closer, growing thicker till he can’t see. He can’t feel his heartbeat, can barely feel anything, but the shaking of his fingers is a telltale sign of his anxiety returning to him. Swallowing thick and shutting his eyes he crouches, trying to find a wall to ground himself against but he can barely see the floor he stands upon.

No one finds him. No wise words are imparted upon him, and anxiously he waits for night to receive any answer. You’re the only person - can he call you that? a person? - that he’s trusted thus far; no one else knows of the visions he has. The smog, the jackal, it’s something he’s heard of before, though accounts vary on what exactly it is. He can’t remember what exactly they’re called, or what they may mean, and he doesn’t bother to search for answers before talking to you. He goes to bed early that evening, and finds himself sitting on the edge of a very familiar dock.

This time, you’ve already caught a fish - out of the side of his eye he spots you, tending a small fire, a fish impaled and roasting slowly over the heat. Stumbling to his feet he makes his way to you, his steps slowing as he nears.

“It’s happened again,” he says, desperate for any answer you could give. Anything nonsensical, even - he hasn’t heard you speak in a long while, it feels. Yet you give him nothing, carefully watching your catch cook. With a half-groan he kneels on the ground, watching the fish with you, and wondering if he copies you, you’ll finally talk to him. “Fog, this time,” he continues. “I felt like I was suffocating, and I hated it. I mean, obviously I hated it. I don’t know why I said that.”

Still nothing.

“I also had an orgy with seventeen people,” he says, a shocking lie to get you to respond, but still you say nothing.

For a good while he just watches, irritated at your silence and coming up with ways to get you to talk. When the fish is done and safely set on a plate too fancy for your home, you finally turn to him, staring him direct in the eye. Digging into your pocket you pull out the rock, and vaguely he remembers the beauty he’d admired so indefatigably only four evenings ago.

“You forgot this,” you say, almost stern, but still more caring than what fits the relationship you have with him. Extending your hand to him, you wait for him to close the gap, which he hesitantly does - his hand hangs open, palm upwards and below yours. Your grip loosens and the rock falls too heavy into his hand. He almost loses his grip, watching with a quick panic as his hand drops with the weight of the rock.

“That’s… heavy,” he says, the words instant and he regrets saying it the moment you look up. With one short glare that almost says as if I didn’t know, you turn back to the cooked fish.

“I used to dream of you. Since then I have never known peace,” you tell him, doing nothing but confusing him further. Heaving a tired sigh he sits on the ground, watching the flames of your fire reach lower and lower, till they dim to glowing embers.

When he closes his eyes he expects to wake to his bedroom, but he doesn’t - the cloth of the bed is a dark red, darker than blood, the bed floating lazily down a slow-running stream. He evens his breath, takes a look at his surroundings, glancing twice at the empty space beside him. By the third time he looks you’re lying there, not sleeping, not quite alive and not yet dead, horribly pale and still.

“Are you alright?” He asks quietly, setting a hand on your shoulder. Your touch freezes his fingers, spreading up his arm till he grows as pale as you, like a white paint coating every inch of his skin. Somehow he manages to not panic, simply lying down next to your unmoving body, waiting for something to happen. Wishing for you to speak again. In the entirety of the dream you haven’t said a single thing that could help him, only words that add to a story he can’t understand. He turns his head to you, your eyes open and dripping a steady flow of tears. A shiver runs through him; the sight is unsettling in a way he wishes he couldn’t know.

By the next morn he’s up earlier than usual. Dreams bring him no solace, so he turns to books and whatever knowledge they may store. He knows he’s heard of his condition before, these images that feel so real, so real he can’t know they aren’t until they’ve disappeared. Ta’i, the bookkeeper, leads him down rows of scrolls and clay tablets till they reach the medical section, where Ta’i leaves him. He can’t trust anyone with what’s been happening to him, not when he’s got the status he has - if it slips out to the general populace that their prince is unwell, it welcomes invaders and those who would dare to usurp power from the rightful family.

Most scripts don’t mention his condition, thus leading to a search that spans much longer than he originally intended. Without the help of Ta’i telling him exactly where specific books are, he’s left to what little knowledge he has of the organization of the library. It isn’t until afternoon that he finds anything that even mentions it, and it isn’t till evening comes that he finds any actual information on it.

Some scholars say visions are prophetic, and a gift - others say it’s a curse, that Gods vowed their hate upon the victim. Others say it’s magic. All he can feel is hunger, and he remembers, dusting off older parchments that he hasn’t eaten all day. Leaving the papers open upon the desk he leaves, wandering down crowded halls to the kitchen, barren of people.

When he emerges, date bowl in hand, the halls are empty save for Naguib, carrying a massive basket of lotus flowers. Curious, he stops him, asking what the flowers are for - when Naguib answers, nothing comes out but silence, and he continues on down the hall towards the physician’s room. A little shaken from the encounter, though not deterred, Ahkmen resumes his research, and comes up with little comfort besides the fact that he’s not the only one.

During dinner his parents coddle him, asking where he was all day - apparently he missed the unveiling of some sort of garden temple, and his mother tells him he’ll have to go see how beautiful it is at some point. He registers the words, knows what they mean, but it doesn’t process in his head; he’s far too lost in the information he’s read.

He resumes his search after dinner, and as night grows long he falls asleep at the desk - Ta’i doesn’t have the heart to wake him and kick him out, so they leave him there, a blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape.

Back on the dock, he opens his eyes to see you wading in the deep waters of the nile. He almost stops you, anxious that you’ll drift away in the current, but you seem perfectly fine - calm, even. More welcoming than ever before you smile at him, waving in a friendly-stranger sort of way.

“Still looking for answers?” You ask, your voice raised to be heard across the distance. He laughs, though he doesn’t know why, and sits on the edge of the wooden dock, his feet dipping into the warm water.

“I’m still at a loss for answers, if that’s what you’re asking,” he replies, watching you drag fish traps out of the nile.

“Perhaps you’re asking the wrong questions,” you say, huffing with the effort you give. Hair falls in front of your face despite the fact that it’s brushed back, and you tuck the stray strands behind your ear. At the simple motion he feels his heart quicken, careful to observe the way you smile, and the way you express your exhaustion. In all the time he’s known of you, you’ve only ever caught one fish, and it wasn’t exactly a very big one. Watching you set the traps up, he wonders how you get by, the fact that you’re a dream escaping his mind - all that’s left is the fact that you’re standing before him, moonlight reflecting off the sheen of sweat on your dark skin. And in that moment, he finds you’re very beautiful, and he wonders how he never noticed before.

There isn’t anything grand about your stature, the way you carry yourself, or the way you dress and look - your words are are the only unearthly thing about you, but still he finds himself staring at you.

“What do you think I should do?” He asks you when you begin wading to shore. You don’t answer till you reach the sand.

“Look at the causes. Not the symptoms,” you tell him with a soft smile, patting his shoulder with a wet hand. “Know you are loved. Wake up.”

“What?” He says, furrowing his brow. Wake up?

“Wake up,” you say again, and he wakes with startling clarity - his father has a hand on his shoulder and is shaking him awake.

“My son, what are you doing here? It’s so late,” his father says, quiet and worried.

“Oh, uh… fell asleep. Sorry,” Ahkmen mumbles, his eyelids still heavy with exhaustion.

“No need for apologies. Get yourself to bed,” he instructs him, patting his shoulder once more. Without another word he drags himself to his room, forgetting about the open scrolls on the desk, and falls asleep on top of the blankets of his bed.

He doesn’t dream, not of anything, and not of you.

Come morning time he hears voices outside his door, whispering their woes in hushed voices, ones he barely recognizes. Blearily he comes to his feet, padding over to the door to open it - on the other side stand his parents, who halt their speech at his appearance.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his voice still rough from sleep.

“Ahkmen, we’ve been… discussing something. Father found you last night amongst a lot of our medical scrolls, and we’re worried you’ve been hiding a condition or illness from us,” his mother says, pinching her lip with her fingers as she speaks. A wave of anxiousness shocks his body, his shoulders and hands tensing. His fingers shake as he tries to come up with some sort of excuse.

“I - I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he says, a half truth. “I’m trying to figure it out.”

“You could at least tell us what’s wrong, your symptoms. Adom might be able to help you,” his father says, his arms crossed as his weight switches from foot to foot.

“I’ve - can we talk about this later?” He only asks to gather a semblance of a good excuse for not telling them, and the fact that he just woke up. “Breakfast maybe?”

“Alright. We’ll see you there,” his mother murmurs, kissing his forehead, and leaving with his father when he closes the door. Heaving a sigh he groans, clutching his head and rubbing his temples as he tries to reckon with the fact that his little issue isn’t a secret anymore. Muttering excuses to himself, he doesn’t notice Naguib enter, carrying his usual day clothing.

He doesn’t say anything, only directing Ahkmen to the right positions to set the clothes round his body. Ahkmen hardly pays attention, doesn’t look at himself in the mirror - the last time he looked, he didn’t have much skin on his body, and a fear seizes his heart whenever he catches his reflection in any object. When he’s done, Naguib bows and leaves the room, and Ahkmen makes his slow way to breakfast. There’s still no excuse, at least no valid one in his arsenal of excuses that would explain his reluctance to talk about his condition. As he sits at the table, he decides the truth is the only thing left to say.

His parents, sitting next to each other, stare expectantly at him, while Kahmuh at the far end of the table is glaring at him as per usual. He hates to show weakness in front of his brother, and can feel that hatred physical halting his speech, but he tries to get words out.

“I’ve been seeing things,” he finally gets out, a weak explanation that doesn’t clarify anything.

“Like… with your eyes?” His father asks, promptly hit by his mother. No one says anything more, so he tries his best to continue.

“Little things, sometimes. Like I’ll see a light in the corner of my eye, but when I turn it’s not there. But sometimes it’s…” he eyes Kahmuh, who is watching him intensely, “bigger things. The other day I saw a spider crawl up my arm, but when i went to get it off it wasn’t there anymore.”

“When did these visions start?” His mother asks, always the first to comfort and pretend as though nothing’s wrong with him.

“A good while ago. I was in… the garden,” he lies, “and I saw a jackal.”

His mother and father share a look of concern, and don’t reply - breakfast continues as normal, just much quieter. By the end they direct him to Adom’s study, following him to make sure he really goes, which is fair enough - the thick atmosphere of the room is sickening to him, let alone the stench.

It isn’t for another several weeks that Adom really comes to a conclusion as to what’s really wrong with Ahkmen. During that time, he doesn’t see you quite as much in his dreams; you’ve wandered past that, into another apparition that wanders the palace in silence. The urge to chase after you grows stronger with each day, and with each incorrect prognosis his vision of you becomes clearer. You don’t talk to him in this real-life form, you hardly even interact with the world, but you’re there, leaning over his shoulder and listening to Adom. The night before Adom’s final diagnoses he finally has his first coherent dream in weeks.

“I’ve seen the roots, and seen the skies,” you sing when he opens his eyes to the roof of your hut, the sight a familiar comfort. Sitting up, he sees you tending the fire - you toss in a couple of twigs, continuing to sing. “But I’ll see you again, my love…”

“What.. what are you singing?” He mumbles, deep and warm in a way he doesn’t expect. The melody isn’t anything he’s familiar with, nor is it similar to anything he’s heard before. You keep humming till you turn to him, a knowing smile on your face as you stand. Sauntering over to him, he lets his legs hang off the cot, and you kneel before him, one hand on each knee.

“I haven’t forgotten you, you know,” you say, your smile growing into a giddy grin. As usual when it comes to you, he’s left with many questions, but you stay knelt before him, unlike your usual ‘speak-and-leave’ method. “I kept your rock.”

“My what? Oh, oh. Right,” he mumbles, remembering the smooth pebble from long ago. “You didn’t need to. It’s not that important.”

“You thought it was important once. Eventually, anything that was once important will become so again.”

“I thought I was important, once. I’m still not important,” he says, and the words don’t weigh heavy in his heart. He’s already fully convinced himself that it’s the truth, but you tut, reaching for his hand and tracing veins it with your fingers.

“Perhaps now you think you’re unimportant…” your eyes dart across every feature his face has, every imperfection and mark, every impeccability. “But the feeling will come and go, just like every other feeling. One day you will know you’re special.”

“… special?”

“Incredibly. Have you met anyone that looks like you? A person who walks with your stride, or smiles in the way you do? I’ve never known a soul who thinks the way you do. Not one.”

“You aren’t real, though,” he says, for once remembering he’s only dreaming.

“How do you know?”

“You’re just in my head, like those damned visions I have,” he says with a biting hatred, his throat tightening along with his hand, fingers curling to dig his nails into his palm.

“Have you met every person on earth? There’s no proving I don’t exist somewhere. But… for now, breathe,” you murmur, reaching up to rest your hand against his cheek. He sniffs, and you wipe away the single tear the escapes him, smiling softly in a way he wishes you wouldn’t. The care evident in your eyes isn’t something he’s equipped to handle, a love he hardly ever gets is unbearably strong in your hold. His parents’ coddling can hardly count as love, and outside the palace he hasn’t got any friends - and to be fair, he hasn’t really got any friends in the palace, either. The closest he has is Naguib, but he can’t exactly count him.

Only then does it hit him how incredibly distressing his life is. He doesn’t have a single outlet for stress except for dreams he can barely remember, and the constant arguing between his parents and his brother has to have some sort of toll on him, even minor, though at this point it’s safe to say the effect is major. The only real happiness he finds is in sleep, either in the nonexistence of his consciousness or your presence, which is comforting even though it really shouldn’t be. When he finally sees out his own eyes again, you’re still kneeling before him, gazing into his soul and knowing what he’s thinking. With a sigh, he melts into your touch for the first time, letting you hold him.

“Oh, my dear. How long you have yearned for a warmth you’ve never known,” you say, smiling sadly at him.

His parents stand beside him, one at each shoulder as they collectively listen to Adom’s deductions and explanations. The study isn’t quite as smoke-filled in the afternoon sun, and the smell is down to a tolerable level, not that he wants to tolerate it. Adom prattles on for a good while, discussing the different symptoms Ahkmen is experiencing, and is astoundingly correct on most accounts, before moving onto the many conclusions he came to, before the final one, which is more conceivable than previous ones. At least, conceivable for Ahkmen - prophecies of the future didn’t seem quite right, but stress-induced hallucinations sounds much more plausible.

“What could be stressing him out?” His mother asks, worried if not scared.

“A number of things. He’s a prince, for one. But Ahkmen could tell you more about it himself than I can,” Adom tells them, and all eyes fall to Ahkmen, who is starting to wish he hadn’t attended this meeting.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbles, barely hearable but the message gets across. Neither of his parents are satisfied with that answer.

“Well we can’t just let it be, you said these visions are disturbing, so you want them to end, right?”

“Of course I do,” he retorts at his mother, “I don’t want to talk about what’s stressing me out, is all.”

“Ahkmen, if it’s a girl, we’re fine with that. We aren’t going to punish you for anything,” his father says, but it only works to irk him further.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” He snaps, his fists clenching tightly as he storms out of the room. They watch him leave, hesitant to follow after, for which he’s grateful, though the emotion is blurred by his anger. First he thinks to go to his room, before quickly remembering that that’d be the first place they’d look to find him, so instead he heads towards the kitchens. The people there are kind, quiet, and tend to avoid talking to him, which is exactly what he needs.

As expected, he finds the kitchens mostly empty save for a few servants, dutifully preparing for his family’s next meal. Pulling aside the head chef, he instructs her to tell no one of his whereabouts, and doesn’t wait to see if she agrees or not - instead, he goes direct for the wine cellar, where it’s dark enough he doesn’t have to think about anything too hard. Without thought for anything except that he doesn’t want to fully exist anymore, he grabs a pitcher, filling it with wine before chugging it. He’s never drunk this much at once, and a sick feeling swells in his heart that makes him nearly choke on the drink. His world is crashing in on itself and he feels no need to keep experiencing whatever life has to offer - but perhaps it’s all his fault.

Tucked away in the dark corners of the wine cell, tears burning their way down his cheeks, he wonders if maybe it’s all his fault. Maybe he should open up to his parents, and get a grasp on his life, make some real connections, but when the thought occurs to him an anxious shiver runs down his spine.

I’m not ready, he repeats to himself in his head, over and over until he drinks himself into a blackout.

“My dear, good fellow,” you murmur, running your fingers down his cheek. Blearily he opens his eyes, seeing a sky holding so many stars it might as well be daytime, though the earth he lies on is dark.

“What…” he rasps out, slowly coming into his senses as his consciousness slips fully into his dream.

“Panic attacks take a heavy toll on the soul, especially one as gentle as yours,” you say with a doleful smile.

“Panic attack?” He repeats, trying to sit up, but you hush him and tell him to lie back down.

“Don’t think on it, don’t worry, we’re taking you somewhere you’ll be happy,” you tell him, your voice strange and not fully yours.

“What? Where - don’t take me anywhere,” he begs, gripping tight at your shirt, his voice cracking with the force of his speech.

“Shh, don’t worry,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

With a sigh he realizes reality is seeping into his dreams again, and there’s little to do about it. The last time he tried to force himself to wake up, he had a dream about waking up, which led to an even worse dream. So he lets you stroke his hair, comfort him with your touch while knowing all the while that it’s most likely his mother.

They’re probably taking me somewhere where I can be someone elses’ problem, he thinks to himself bitterly, finding it harder and harder to just lie there. Still, he manages it, trying to enjoy ‘your’ affections to pass the time.

I wish I wasn’t alive.

“Ahkmen, we’re here,” his mother says in her usual, soothing voice, though it does little for his anxiety as of late. He opens his eyes to white sails tied to a mast, the smell of salt thick in the humid air, and he safely assumes he’s near the ocean. His mother hangs over him, his head in her lap as she runs her fingers comfortingly through his hair.

“Where are we?” He asks, his voice hoarse. When she halts for a reply he slowly sits himself up, looking around at the land brightly lit by a blazing sun overhead. Squinting, he realizes he’s still in the Aur, surrounded by palm and date trees - a relieved sigh leaves him at the idea that he hasn’t really left home. The nile still flows, and he can still live beside it. He glances at the other side of the nile, the sight making his breath catch in his throat, his heart beating too fast against his chest.

He knows this place. The riverside hut is too familiar, the bonfire circle to the left of it something he’s known for a long while, and with wide eyes he watches his father speaking to someone he can’t see. They’re standing half inside the hut and half outside, but his father is much bigger than they are, so the little he does catch of them isn’t helpful. Fingers shaking, he tries to get a different angle, anything to try and confirm his creeping suspicion. Turning back to his mother, he gestures his confusion, attempting to get an answer out of her, any answer.

“Your father thought it’d be a good idea for you to get away from whatever is stressing you out. I suppose it is a little presumptuous, to assume being a prince is the thing stressing you so terribly -“ he’s astounded their guess was correct - “but I think time away will be good for you either way.”

With a nod from his father, his mother helps him to his feet and leads him off the boat, and down the wooden deck he’s known but only now felt - an impending dread fills up his head and heart as he grows closer to the entrance of the little hut, thickening his blood and slowing his thoughts. At long last his father steps to the side to make room for him and his mother, and he sees you - smiling politely at him, your hand outstretched to shake his.

Gingerly he clasps his hand in yours, the short touch electrifying his nerves, but he manages to keep himself under control as his father introduces you to him.

“This is Meryt,” he says with a smile, “and you’ll be staying with them until you think you’re well enough to come back home.”

I don’t think I’ll ever want to come back home, he thinks to himself distantly, feeling out of place in his own body. How, exactly, a real person becomes a character in his dreams, complete with the right house and job escapes him - all he can see is the gold pattern of the sun shining through the thin canopy and onto your skin. Your eyes glitter a brilliant color, staring into his soul without a care in the world. As his father continues talking, muted into the background, he wonders if you already know how important you are to him.

It’s a few hours before his parents leave, sailing up the nile in the royal barge, leaving him with you. Behind the little house, the sun is beginning to set, and you pull a net out from a box on the dock, pulling it to the edge and throwing it out into the water. Looking up at him, you pat the wood beside you, and he sits carefully down beside you.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ahkmen,” you say with a pleasant smile, your head drifting from side to side gently to music you hear in your head. “As your father said, my name is Meryt. My friends call me Merry.”

“Merry?” He asks, surprising himself with how quiet he speaks.

“Yeah, you can call me that if you’d like,” you say, and when a silence spans between you, you start humming. He sits beside you for a good long while, wondering how to bring any subject up - his dreams, the reason he’s here, the fact that he’s probably a damper on your daily routine. Before he can think of anything to say, you tie the net line to the dock, and head inside. He almost follows you, but you remerge a second later with two cups. Handing one to him, you sip from the other, sitting back down next to him, your legs dangling off the edge.

“So, um,” he stares down at the gold liquid in his cup, “what is it you do here?”

“Various things,” you answer vaguely, giggling when you see his confusion. “I fancy myself a fisher, though I’m not very good at it. It was really more my fathers’ thing. I’m a brewer, sort of.”

Glancing at you, and back down at his cup, he takes a sip - it’s beer, which he usually doesn’t have, but it’s certainly sweeter and kinder to taste than the brews he’s had in the past. When he looks back up you’re watching him, gauging his reaction, so he smiles, thanking you for the drink.

“I’m glad you like it. It’s what I sell in town, but the beer itself I buy from Umut, who’s the actual brewer. I just add some special ingredients, but other than this, I don’t get around much. Most everything I need can be supplied by what I already have.”

“Probably why I’m here,” he mutters to himself, the simplistic lifestyle a clear reason as to why his parents would bring him here of all places.

“I heard you’ve been having visions,” you say, quiet and sincere. He looks away, a blush crawling to his cheeks as he scowls. “I have a friend that used to have those. Though, I don’t think they were as bad as yours are… is it alright to talk to you about this?”

He nods, slow and shy, but a definite yes.

“She used to see these lights, like stars but close by… this mage from the East said they were fairies. Your parents didn’t tell me much, but I don’t think yours are like hers, are they?”

“Not really,” he mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest and hugging them close.

“Mm. You can talk about it, if you’d like, or we can do something to get to know each other a little better,” you suggest easily, and it almost annoys him how kind and down-to-earth you are. You’re nothing like his dream, at least not thus far, but he doesn’t know what he expected anyway - you aren’t a dream, you aren’t solely his, at least not anymore. He retracts the thought a second later, but for a single moment he wishes you were entirely his own, a secret safe from a world he’s started to fear.

“Do you have any advice?” He asks weakly, flinching when he hears his voice crack.

“Advice…?” You think for a moment, staring out into the nile before looking back at him. “There’s… there’s no way to tell if you’re doing the right thing, or if the path you’re on is the one for you - but there’s comfort in the inevitable, and in the unchangeable, just as there is love in the ever-changing.”

“Oh,” he gets out in a whisper, staring at you as you watch the water ripple with the breeze. The way you smile strikes an uncommon warmth in his heart, welcoming and anxious all at once - in this moment, watching your lips turn up at the sight of turtles at the shore, more than anything he wants to be close to you in a way he knows he can’t. People have boundaries, he warns himself, though the ache to know the softness of your hair and the blush of your cheek against his fingertips is more enduring than anything, and for a fleeting moment he thinks maybe it’d help him. Maybe you could help him. But when he breaks from the trance, he’s far too terrified of poisoning your innocence with his brokenness to do anything of the sort. Instead he watches you, the dying light of the sun casting shadows across your skin, dipping around the creases your smile makes.

“I’m sorry,” you say, pulling him away from his thoughts. “I’m not very good at giving advice.”

“No, no… it’s good. I think it’s good,” he mumbles, his nails digging into the wood of the dock.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

For dinner you make an assortment of fruits and vegetables, and though it’s not exactly the cuisine he’s used to it isn’t bad. Sitting at the fireside, the hut sheltering you from the wind growing stronger as night grows, the two of you eat in silence. Afterwards, you share another cup of beer, and you tell him a little bit more about your life and what you do.

“You know quite a bit about me now,” you say after sharing the basic information about yourself. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m - I’m not very interesting, I’m afraid,” he blurts out, almost choking on his drink when you ask.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“… what?”

“Your favorite color,” you repeat. His mouth hangs open, confused as his eyes dart from side to side.

“Uhh… blue,” he answers slowly.

“There you go, that’s something interesting,” you say with a brilliant smile. For the first time in months he laughs, shaking his head.

“That counts as interesting?”

“Of course it does. Everyone has interesting things about them. There’s a story in everyone… why’s blue your favorite?”

“Oh, I don’t know, um… I just like it, I guess,” he mumbles, thinking just how I like you as the words come out.

“It’s a nice color,” you say with a kindly smile.

“So does my favorite color tell you anything about me?” He asks, taking another swallow from his cup.

“Just what type of things to get you. Now if I see something blue that I think you might like, you’ll like it even more.”

“That’s…” he wants to say dumb, because it’s really such a childish gesture, but what instead comes out is, “… really nice of you, actually.”

“Well, you deserve kindness.”

He begs to differ, but instead of pursuing that, he changes the subject.

“How do you know my father? I’m sure he didn’t just drop me off here without knowing you,” he asks, and in a few aspects he’d be right.

“My father knew yours when they were young. Unfortunately, my father was a very solitary man, never told much about himself… I think the only person he ever opened up to was maybe my mother.”

“That explains why your home is sort of in the middle of nowhere.”

“Do you believe in soul bonds?” You ask out of nowhere, taking him by surprise. Furrowing his brow, he shifts uncomfortably.

“Um… I - I don’t know what that is,” he tells you honestly, setting his cup down and fidgeting with his fingers, staring into the low flames of the fire.

“People who are meant to meet, connected beyond status and distance,” you try to explain, and he understands for the most part.

“I’m not sure,” he answers, thinking of how he dreamt of you, wondering for a moment as his eyes flicker to you if he’ll dream of you again tonight.

“Fair enough answer,” you say. “I just thought you might, because when you looked at me, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.”

“I did?” He says, his voice tight.

“A little - are you alright?” A concerned look grows quick on your face as you shift to be on your knees, scooting closer to him, looking over his face.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” He says, but his voice is still cracking and far too high. I’ve forgotten how terrible a liar I am, he thinks as your hand brushes against his. Swallowing thick, he tries to ignore your attention, staring into the fire.

“Ahkmen, if you’re seeing something you can tell me. I won’t think any differently of you, I’m here to help you after all,” you say with a weak chuckle, clearly too worried to fully comfort him.

“It’s - can I tell you later?” He gets out in a rush, unable to catch his breath long enough to speak a full sentence. You back away, sitting back down on the floor as you watch him, curious and concerned.

“Of course. Take your time,” you tell him, gently patting his hand curled into a tight fist. You take his cup and plate and your own, cleaning and putting them away. By the time you get back, he still can’t breathe right, his chest strained and heavy with anxious weight.

When you sit next to him, you place your fingers on the side of his face, turning him to look at you. His eyes flit across each of your features, clear as day without the muddling of his dream-state, and he nearly cries at the care in your half smile.

“Breathe with me,” you murmur, taking his hand in your own and pressing it upon your chest. Slowly he feels you, your heat, and the even movement of your breath. He tries desperately to match, watching with a frightened intensity as his fingers shake against you. Every second moves embarrassingly slow as he notices every detail of you, watching every move you make, but he’s in your bed before he knows it.

“Wait, where are you going to sleep?” He asks, already drowsy from his panic as he holds your wrist.

“I have a blanket,” you tell him, and for hm, the answer is hardly satisfactory.

“I can sleep on the floor,” he mumbles, barely able to keep awake.

“Go to sleep,” you say, kneeling before him and petting his hair. With an undignified hum, wishing you’d just take your own bed, he falls into sleep.

The following couple of days he tries to distance himself from you, and though it’s clear you don’t understand why, he thinks his reasoning is obvious. When you cast your line out to fish, you ask for him to sit next to you, but he often refuses - he doesn’t want to be a hindrance to your life. When you prepare food, he eats as little as he can - he knows you’re not exactly rich, and food can be hard to come by, even if it is a plentiful summer. Still you push him to eat more, saying the portion you give is what you can afford, often noting his noisy stomach.

“I don’t -“ he tries to get out how he feels, attempts feebly to tell you what he means, but the words clog his throat till he can’t speak anymore.

“You’re not a bother. Your basic needs physically cannot be a burden, not on me. Not on anyone. Certainly not on yourself,” you tell him, pulling his hands away from hiding his face. “Hey,” you murmur. “I know you’re hungry. Eat.”

Staring into your worried eyes he relents, sighing as you smile, pushing a plate into his lap.

By the fifth day you’re fully comfortable with him - the same can’t be said for him. He’s still a nervous wreck in your presence, complete with sweaty palms and weak knees, and a variety of reasons for this go through his head. It could be that he simply doesn’t know you very well, or it could be that you’re still in his dreams, kissing and touching him where he’s rarely ever touched, or it could be that you’re more strikingly handsome than any foreign princess. Eccentric and classic, you’re a succor he’s desperately needed for so long a time.

The more comfortable you grow with him, the more you begin to act like you do in his dreams. Quiet, thoughtful, and never one for direct answers; it gets to the point where the only way he can tell the difference is that in his dreams you touch him incessantly. In real life you always ask, uncertain of his wishes and hesitant to comfort.

“Looks like there might be a storm,” you say, gathering up the net from the water to put away.

“What?” He asks, pulled out of the memories of his dreams, looking up at you. As usual, you’re to the left of him, though this time you’re standing as he sits, his feet just barely touching the warm water below the dock. Your clothes are beginning to soak with the net gathered in your arms, sticking tight to your skin.

“The wind comes from the north, which,” you point to the gathering clouds, “is where the clouds are coming from. I’ve been expecting it for a while now.”

“Really? You didn’t say anything,” he says, hurrying to his feet to help you.

“Wasn’t sure until now. Either way, I’ve been stocking up food, so if it’s bad, we’ll be okay,” you say with a charmingly positive smile. He doesn’t understand your unending optimism, and doubts he ever will, but he most definitely appreciates it.

After helping you pull the rest of the traps out of the water, the wind growing steadily harsher, he follows you inside and shuts the door. By the time he turns around you’re already working on starting a fire, sparking your flint against the wood. All around the outer walls the wind begins to howl, growing louder as rain begins to fall down. Once the fire is fully started, the rain pelts down on the roof, a far too loud white noise, but luckily quiet enough that he can still hear you talk.

“Did I tell you my mother built this home?” You say, sighing when you finally relax into your makeshift seat on the floor, a bundle of pillows and blankets set out in front of the stone hearth. “Except for the fireplace. That was my father.”

“It’s well made,” he says, unsure of what response is appropriate. Often, you’ll talk without any meaning, not expecting a word from him though appreciative when he does add his input.

“Yes…” you breathe out, glancing up at the ceiling, then back down at the fire. “Well made. Like you.”

“… Like me?”

“You were made with love in mind. We’re all creatures of hopeless regard and admiration, dedication and loyalty,” you say, poking him right where his heart sits.

“Not everyone,” he points out, remembering court stories of rape and abuse.

“The Gods have a story in mind for every one of us. In the heavens each of us are crafted from nothing… isn’t that beautiful?”

“One time you said what comes from nothing becomes nothing,” he says, growing quieter as he remembers that’s something you said in his dreams. But you just go with it, your mouth parted slightly as you try to think of answer, shifting in your seat.

“That’s true. But until then, we exist as love incarnate,” you murmur, smiling soft and hesitant at him in a way that far too often makes his heart stop. “Don’t forget our world came from nothing. Ptah came from nothing.”

Technically, you weren’t wrong, but it didn’t settle well in his stomach anyway - you’re pure, wonderfully positive and endlessly loving. He feels like he’s nothing, he knows he’s nothing, his life can’t mean anything, and it shouldn’t mean anything to you. He must’ve had a look about him, because you scoot closer, tracing the soft skin of your fingers down from his temple to his jawline, and at the motion he lets out a shaky sigh and closes his eyes.

“Every king and kingdom, every emperor that claimed to live forever came from nothing. We are all equal. Your father has as much power as a peasant - if they switched positions, no one would know the difference.”

“That’s treasonous talk, you know. I could have you stoned,” he jokes weakly.

“You could,” you say as though it doesn’t matter. It does, it matters a great deal to him - you should feel fear at the thought of your death, but you’re at peace with death just as much as he’s at discord with living.

“Merry, you can’t… you can’t just agree with me,” he gets out in a whisper, squinting as though it’ll help him understand you.

“But you’re not wrong,” you point out, and he grumbles, irritated.

“No, but aren’t you afraid of death?”

“A little. Fear is natural. I don’t wish myself to be in pain, but… death is just the next step and it’s necessary. It’s something we all go through in the end. Fortunately we have a little leeway on how we die,” you say with a curt smile, patting his knee.

“To be honest,” he says, interrupting you from almost standing, “I’m not sure if I believe in Gods anyway. Even if they did exist, I don’t think my father would be one.”

“I think of Gods more as magic. The beauty in the world,” you say, nodding your head distantly before meeting his eye again.

“Well, yes, there are little bits of magic in our world, but… nothing absolute. I’ve never seen any god, nor any trick to warrant belief… but.. I want to believe. Have you ever seen magic? Actual, true magic?”

“I saw you.”

He scoffs, almost rolling his eyes as he looks away from you. It’s such a corny answer he can’t decide if you’re joking or not, but by the way you scoot closer, it’s safe to assume you’re being completely serious.

“Hey,” you say softly, resting your hand against his cheek to push him to look at you. “Look at me. If you think about it, you’re phenomenal. Gods can number many, and the stars are innumerable but there’s only one of you. Ahkmen, galaxies are more commonplace than you! A unique being, capable of complex thought - isn’t that wonderful? Aren’t you monumental?”

Stunned into silence he can’t respond, his mouth barely parted as you stroke his cheek with your thumb. Smiling soft and sweet, so commonplace he’s almost used to the sincerity, you stand.

He watches you pull ingredients from your various cabinets, throwing them together in a mix and placing it inside the fireplace. As you pull down a loaf of bread to slice, he intervenes without word, cutting for you. In your appreciation you peck his cheek quickly - you’re not tall enough to reach his temple, but the affection still leaves him blushing bright red nonetheless.

“You’re such a sweetheart,” you tell him, still smiling brightly - he can’t find it in himself to respond, but he tries to smile without meeting your eye. Instead he concentrates on the bread, trying to pick out the smell or think of the ingredients as you handle your own task behind him.

As he finishes, pulling the honey down from the cabinet, he hears music, and he halts - he hasn’t heard music since being in the palace. You usually don’t sing, at least not in front of him, and he doesn’t play any instruments. Turning around, honey pot still in hand, he sees you standing with your eyes closed, swaying back and forth to the music you play on the lute. You don’t notice him staring as you start to sing, melodic and breathtaking; he nearly drops the pot.

“… and in the dust, you are saccharine sweet to the endless you seek… You spoke to me, whispered in my ear, ‘lets live forever!’ But we chase the lust of living for creations’ dissever…”

He swallows thick as you continue.

“I didn’t know you could sing,” he rasps out, throat dry by the time you finish.

“I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. But I’m good enough for children, and for birds,” you tell him, setting the lute down behind a chest.

“… birds?”

“That’s usually who I sing to,” you tell him, taking the pot from his hands and drizzling it over the bread, taking a pinch of your spice mixture to sprinkle over it.

“Did you write that song?” He asks quietly, frozen in place.

“Yes, actually… it’s a hobby of mine.”

“I.. I never learned any instruments,” he says, kneeling in front of the fire.

“I’m self taught, but I could help you start if you’d like,” you say, sitting beside him and handing his plate to him, a row of small slices on one side as you pour the vegetables from the fire on the other side.

“No, I, um… I like hearing you,” he mumbles, pinching his skin as his anxiety spikes up at his own sincerity.

“Thank you,” you giggle, ruffling his hair.

The rain creates a nice ambience, he decides, the muted pattering on the roof working in tandem with the crackling the fire. Like a melody he can’t decipher, completed by your presence beside him, comforting and nerve-racking all at once - sparing a glance at you, you’re still off in your own world. He wants to hear your voice, wants to hear you sing again but has no idea how to bring it up again, so he decides he’ll settle for just hearing you talk.

“How does the chimney stop the rain from coming in?”

“Hm? Oh, the chimney has a hat,” you tell him, quickly returning to your meal.

Damn, he thinks at the short conversation that could barely qualify as a conversation. The rest of dinner he tries to think of another topic, of anything to get you to talk, but before he can think of anything you’re cleaning up the dishes and he’s tending the fire to continue burning as the two of you sleep. When you finish with your task, you sit beside him again, a little closer than usual, and you breathe a little harsher than normal - absently he wonders the cause.

“Ready to sleep yet?” You ask, watching him for any reaction. He doesn’t turn to you.

“Can you play another song?” He asks weakly, still not facing you.

“Of course,” you say with a smile, patting his shoulder as you stand to fetch the lute.

I’ve known you from a distance, longed for the sweetest shame,

But it’s been far too long since I’ve felt the embrace of someone dear to me,

so cling to me, the sweet ambition, cradled in innocence’s swath -

Though I may know you for a century, I’d give myself for a minute more.

The dearest touch of what is known -

I beg to gently press my kiss to your chest,

to hold your tender heart as my own.

You’re much closer to him as you sing, knelt beside him as you strum. He almost wants to sing along, but it’s finished much faster than your last song, and he lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Do you have these written down somewhere?”

“Not everyone can write, Ahkmen,” you say with a soft laugh, once more putting the lute away, hidden from sight. He nods as he remembers where he is, and who he’s talking to - perhaps I’m still too used to palace life, he thinks, and not for the first time that day.

With a small yawn, you undress, and as usual Ahkmen does a full turn to avoid staring at you. Once you’re dressed in night clothes, you make yourself comfortable on the cot, wrapping the thick blanket over your shoulders and pulling your knees to your chest.

“I made this bed big enough for three people,” you tell him, and when he looks it doesn’t really seem it. Then again, his bed is about the size of your entire house, so he assumes his doubt has to do with his status once again. He wonders why you bring it up, but you take his hand, pull him to his feet and sit him down next to you on the cot. With drooping eyes you lean against him, yawning again. “We can sleep together tonight.”

He freezes, nearly choking on his own spit.

“What?”

“It’s gonna be cold,” you mumble, not bothering to elaborate as you lie down, your head on the pillow and the blanket fully wrapped around your own body. Still finding it hard to breathe, all he can do is watch you, your little hums of comfortable pleasure pulling him deeper into his consternation. Slowly, his eyes never leaving you, he leans down till his head is beside yours, staring at your tired face.

“You… want me to sleep… with you..?”

“Mhm,” you hum, surprising him - he’d asked the question, yes, but he thought you were already asleep. Without opening your eyes, you pull another blanket out from a nearby basket, handing it to him with very little grace.

“Why?” He asks, but at that point you’re asleep, your breathing even and slow. To calm himself he tries to match his breathing to yours, watching your lips just barely part in your sleep.

“You need to do something about me, you know,” you say as he wakes in his dreams, the sky above clear and blazoned with an eternity of stars. You’re sitting cross legged on the soft grass near the waters’ edge, his head in your lap as you run your fingers through his hair.

“What do you mean?”

“Love is an unsure thing, naturally it cannot be hindered or birthed… it’s a choice as much as it is unavoidable. Though you have loved me for so long, choosing to keep loving me… you say nothing,” you murmur, and when he meets your eye they’re sparkling with tears barely there. He sighs, knowing you’re right.

“I’ve really only known you for five days though,” he says, and though he’s right you shake your head.

“A soul may know another from the beginning of time and past the end of it. Sometimes these souls meet each other in the physical realm, but memories are fickle - don’t take our chance meeting for granted. Tell me of your dreams, I’d love to hear it, even if you don’t think I do. I care so deeply for you,” you say with such honesty he can’t help but believe, the ache of your heart reaching through your words and into his mind - maybe you do care for him.

When he wakes in the morning, the feeling is gone with the storm; you’re lying on top of him, hair tussled with sleep as your breath tickles the bare skin of his chest. For a moment he cherishes, you stay asleep as he brushes his fingers against your face, working his way up to your hair that he combs till it’s untangled, though it takes a good long while.

He doesn’t say anything about his dreams, about his infatuation for the entirety of the day as he helps you clean up the mess the storm left in its’ wake. In fact he doesn’t even bother to think of it for months until it’s staring him in the face, too clear that even the blind would see and the deaf would hear - in the middle of the village market he feels as though every person in a hundred mile radius would know all his doubts and fears were proven wrong. He’s known you for months know, stayed with you what seems like forever, but you still surprise him.

It was very simple, really; a gesture anyone could give. People had done it to him before, always looking to gain his favor or coerce his opinion, in fact most people had gone a level above. But you’re different, he’s convinced you’re special in a way no one can never be.

In the middle of the bustling trade market, he’d lost sight of you for a moment - you left him on a bench with a pastry you’d bought a few minutes earlier, telling him you’d be back soon. Trying his best to believe you he sits quietly, watching people flit past in their busy lives and keeping a lookout for you. Eventually you return, bag in hand and a smile on your face as you sit beside him.

“I got something for you,” you say, handing the bag to him.

Eyeing you nervously, he looks down into the bag. There’s paper in the way, blocking the gift from view, so he looks back up at you.

“What is it?” He asks slowly.

“Check for yourself,” you reply, your smile growing as you tear off a piece of the pastry to eat.

Once more he looks to you, then removes the paper. Underneath is a blue scarf - the edges are lined with gold fabric and down the center are sewn white flowers. Holding it in his hands he feels its’ softness, nearly as soft as his own royal robes, and he wonders, astounded, how you managed to afford it.

“How… how did you get this…?” He asks in a quiet, confounded voice, his brow furrowed as he examines each stitch and its material.

“Over there. Traders from Persia, I know them well. I know you don’t really have much to your name right now, so I asked them to keep an eye out for something that you might like… something blue,” you murmur, your smile fading slightly as you get quieter. For a moment you allow him to admire it, answering any question he has with answers that leave him adoring you even further.

“You asked them to get this? How long ago?”

“The trek to Persia and back is long, but not too long, fortunately. I asked them the day after you told me your favorite color.”

“That long ago?”

“Something like that, yes,” you say with a giggle, leaning closer to inspect the scarf with him. “I think it’s pretty.”

“Yeah…” he mumbles, caught up and enraptured in your smile. Your eyes drift over the material, delicate and detailed, humming to yourself when you find nothing wrong. “Um, yeah. It’s pretty. Can I - can I tell you something?”

“Of course,” you say, leaning back to see him fully.

“I think I’m in love with you,” is what blurts out of his mouth, and while he originally planned to go for a much less direct approach, you’re still blushing dark red.

“Oh, um…”

When you don’t answer immediately he can already feel the stinging of his eyes, anticipating tears before they form. I shouldn’t’ve said anything, he thinks to himself, repeating the phrase over and over again as he’s shocked into paralysis. Staring at you, waiting for your reply, he can’t move, can’t run away as he desperately wants to.

“No one’s… no one’s ever said that to me before,” you mumble, half embarrassed and half surprised.

“Seriously?” He asks, finding his own surprise in your statement. “I thought you would’ve heard it quite a bit.”

“Well I don’t know that many people to start off with, so…” you trail off, finding your words again a moment later. “Ahk, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to love me.”

His heart could’ve stopped beating and he wouldn’t have noticed - all he can feel is the ache in his chest, the numbness of his arms, and his thoughts repeating that he shouldn’t’ve said anything.

“I do adore you, more than anything I’ve known, but my place is here. Your place is with your family. Sometimes love isn’t enough,” you say, your voice cracking with the tears you’re trying to hide.

“I’d stay with you forever if it meant you’d love me,” he replies, dropping the bag to the ground to take your hands, holding them in his lap against the silk of the scarf.

“You can’t give up everything for one person. It’s not healthy and -“

“Meryt, we are fated to be together -“ you try to interrupt him - “just listen to me… please?”

Slowly, you nod.

“I dreamt of you. Long before I knew you, before I even thought I needed help, I dreamt of you nearly every night. You’d tell me these wonderful things, you’d hold me close and whisper to me, and I don’t know how it’s possible but I’ve known your love for so long I think I would surely waste away without it,” he pleads with you, searching glassy eyes for your gaze.

“That’s why you looked the way you did, when we first met, isn’t it?”

He nods.

“Will you let me stay with you?” He asks soon after, desperate for an answer.

“I… your father will look for you, he loves you very dearly,” you say, your fingers trilling soft pressure into his palm.

“Then we’ll run away, join those Persian traders,” he says, smiling wide when you giggle at the idea.

“They aren’t Persian, they just go there to trade,” you say, still laughing as a tear runs down your cheek.

“Is that a yes then?” He asks, holding you closer than before, still searching for any sign of an answer.

“… yes.”

The traders welcome you happily, mostly thanks to your previous connections to them - they know you’d never steal or cheat them, and by extension they trust Ahkmen. As grueling as the travel is, the people you meet always spark your interest. More often than not a simple hello turns to a long, drawn-out conversation about birthplaces and life stories, to the point where Ahkmen usually has to drag you away, still smiling to himself the entire time.

Though you kiss him often, and did it far before the prospect of a romantic relationship was ever a thought, you don’t really kiss him until you’re sitting in a desert oasis, far away from the nile that used to comfort him so deeply. You and Ahkmen have the habit of staying up the latest, watching the stars swarm the sky, sometimes shooting across the darkness as your campfire dies out.

“My mother says she makes a wish when she sees a shooting star,” Ahkmen murmurs, not breaking his stare into the endless sky. You hum, nodding distantly as you silently make your own wish.

After a moment, he asks, “what did you wish for?”

“I’m not telling you,” you say, laughing. “That’s bad luck.”

Caught up in the golden swirl of his eyes, you lean in, eyes half lidded as you come close enough to feel the heat of his breath against your skin. When he leans in the rest of the way, he feels the softness of your lips for the first time - endearing and forever his.

I like that, he thinks to himself, melting further into your touch as you move to be closer to him. Your chest against his you trace your fingers down his face, temple to jawline, before cupping his chin and pulling him in deeper.

Forever his.

End Notes: hope y’all enjoyed Ahk’s trip to Ye Olde Mental Hospital. I gave it an AU ending because it was the only way to make everyone happy and I’m tired of the sadness. We all deserve love.

#ahkmenrah x reader #ahkmenrah #rami malek #rami malek x reader #night at the museum #male reader #female reader

128 notes · View notes

delimeful · 4 years

Text

sheer atrocity (3)

sequel to day 17: roasted & day 26: doll! ao3 link

commissioned by chaebe on kofi! tysm!

warnings: captivity, mention of abusive parent, fear, death mention

Roman sighed, listening to the bustle of the market without being able to see a single thing. It felt like the giant had been walking around for hours at this point, and despite the liveliness going on all around him, Roman was stuck looking at the inside of a pocket.

Being kidnapped by a possibly-man-eating giant was boring.

He sighed, shifting to lay flat on the bottom of the jar and kicking his legs up against the glass. No matter how loud he yelled for aid, the glass and the ruckus of the town made it impossible for anyone but the giant to hear him.

The giant ignored his cries too, which he supposed was better than being punished, but still left him with nothing to focus on but his dry throat and rumbling stomach. Was the giant planning on letting him starve to death in this accursed jar?

The swaying rhythm of the giant’s gait slowed to a halt, making the jar bump against its chest. It had stopped at another market stall, no doubt. Roman shifted to sit up, straining his ears for anything that could help him escape, or at least figure out what the giant was doing there.

“Did you hear?” The gossipy tone caught Roman’s attention immediately, muffled as it was through the jar. “The Smithson child ran off yesterday, hasn’t been heard from since!”

“I heard the poor thing was lost to the creatures of the woods. I can only imagine how their parents are managing...” A pitying voice replied. Roman winced in sympathy from where he sat, ear pressed against the glass, and wondered if the giant was listening to the tragedy it and other monsters caused. He hoped so.

“According to the eldest, they ran into the woods on purpose, wouldn’t come back out no matter how he called.” A delicate sniff of disapproval. “At least he had the sense not to go in after them- it would have been too much for the Smiths to bear, losing two children at once right before the harvest.”

“Are they going to at least form a search party?” the second voice asked.

Before he could catch an answer, his surroundings began to jolt into motion again, and he toppled over with a shout of frustration. The giant was moving again, quickly now.

After a moment, the light from outside the pocket grew dimmer, and then giant fingers were pulling the jar up by the lid. Roman fixed his face into a glower by the time he was high enough to meet the giant’s eyes.

“Still alive in there?” It asked, lips twitching up in a slight smirk.

Roman glanced around at the empty alley they were in and crossed his arms. “No thanks to you. Though, if you’re planning on killing me through dehydration, you’re doing a wonderful job of it so far.”

A troubled look crossed the giant’s face for a moment, and then vanished as quick as it had come. “Yeah, yeah, complain to me about it later, Princey. For now, quiet down. I’ve got one more stop on my list, and then it’ll just be me and you again.”

“Joy,” Roman muttered, shifting his feet to keep balance as the jar was lowered back into the giant’s pocket. “Can’t wait to be alone with a giant, scourge of this land and enemy of my people. Hooray.”

He wasted a few minutes grumbling to himself as the giant strode through the town with a purpose in his step, and then perked up when the hollow ring of a doorway bell announced the giant’s entry into a store.

“Hello, how can I- oh dear.” A friendly voice went high and nervous. “What are you doing here?”

“Get your father, would you?” The giant’s voice rumbled, close enough to roll through Roman like thunder. “We need to have a chat.”

Surprisingly, the other person didn’t leave right away. “Vee… don’t do anything rash-”

“This isn’t rash. It’s carefully calculated.” The giant- Vee?- cut him off. “You know where to meet me if this works.” Roman frowned in consternation. How did this stranger know the giant? Did he even know ‘Vee’ was a giant?

“Trust me,” Vee implored after another long moment of silence, and to Roman’s surprise, he heard the sound of footsteps walking away, presumably into the back of the store. This stranger must not know Vee’s true nature, if he actually trusted the giant.

In the resulting silence, Roman realized suddenly how quiet it was. The store must have been empty, and the walls insulated it from the clamor of the outdoors. The giant had even reminded him to keep quiet before entering.

In other words, if he called out now, he would finally be heard.

Roman swallowed down the automatic impulse to shout, reminding himself that he probably only had one shot at this. He had to wait for the perfect moment if he wanted to finally be freed.

Outside the pocket, a new, older voice spoke in a harsh tone. “I told you before, the answer is no.”

The giant took a step forward, the heart behind Roman racing. What was it so worried about?

“I’m not here to play nice anymore,” the giant said, voice dropped low to a growl. “You’ll hand it over or suffer the consequences.”

There was a scoff, more distinguishable now that the giant was stalking closer. Roman barely paid any mind to the conversation going on above him, his attention riveted on figuring out the perfect moment to make his move.

“I’ve got my ways.” The giant took another step closer, and Roman steeled himself, taking a deep breath.

“HEY! SOMEONE HELP!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

There was a beat of silence.

“What- what was that?” the older voice asked, nervously.

Roman wanted to grab the man by the shoulders and berate him for his inaction. He settled for thumping his fists against the glass. “Here, I’m here! Please, help!”

A dark chuckle vibrated the glass around him, and then he was being lifted into the light of the store, a slight shake of the jar knocking him off his feet. Vee held the jar up to eye level, and a shudder ran through Roman at the sight of two giant faces looking in at him, warped by the glass.

“This,” the giant said, tapping the jar with his free hand and making Roman flinch, “is what happened to the last person who wronged me. Cursed to live at the size of a doll forever.”

Roman’s breath caught in his throat. Forever? No, this wasn’t permanent! Was it?

Outside the jar, the elderly man was staring at him with a face as pale as milk. Vee shifted impatiently.

“Well? Are you going to give it up or not? … If not, I’m sure Princey here could use some company.”

“Fine, fine!” the man finally answered, voice shaking. He vanished behind the counter for a moment before reappearing with a small, antique chest. It was shoved towards Vee. “Take it and begone, you witch!”

“Wait, hold on! Come back! You have to help me!” Roman called, but the man retreated into the back without another glance. Roman groaned, sinking back down to his knees.

“Nice try, pipsqueak,” Vee said, tone amused as he pulled the jar closer to him. Roman scowled at the giant, though he was grateful that at least it didn’t seem he would be punished for his outburst.

Wait. Now that he thought about it, his shouting had worked rather well in Vee’s favor, hadn’t it? He gaped.

“Wait a second. You tricked me!”

Vee snorted, unscrewing the lid of the jar. “Took you long enough.” He dropped something large into the jar, making Roman duck and raise his arms for cover. “Here, for all your hard work.”

Roman peeked out from behind his arms, and blinked in surprise. A chunk of bread and a small wedge of cheese now sat on the floor of the jar next to him. They were small portions to a human, but compared to his current size, they were huge.

Roman fumed. He hadn’t helped the beast steal from some poor shopkeep for food! He had more honor than that! And more importantly…

“Wait!” he cried before Vee could screw the lid back into place. “Was what you said true? Am I… Am I really stuck like this forever?”

“What?” Vee said, confused. “No, I was bluffing. You wouldn’t stay small forever unless I kept this enchantment running forever, and trust me, I am not doing that. Now shut it, we’re getting out of this dump.”

Roman made a vague sound of protest, but his jar was resealed and dropped back into the pocket with little fanfare. He sighed in relief, hope for possible escape returning to him. He couldn’t imagine how hard life would be living at this size forever. Above him, Vee gathered the chest in his arms and strode out of the store, weaving through crowds with the hood of his cloak up.

Roman managed a truly impressive few minutes before caving and tearing into the bread and cheese. He needed to keep his strength up if he was going to escape, after all.

Surprisingly, the food was soft and fresh in his hands. He’d half-expected the giant to feed him stale prison rations. ...He hoped this wasn’t a way of fattening him up like the old tales. He still wasn’t quite sure he believed that Vee wasn’t going to eat him once he outlived his usefulness.

He was still a giant, after all.

The light outside had faded to the dimness of twilight, and the sounds of people grew fainter as dirt and brush crunched underfoot. They were back in the woods.

“What was even in that fancy chest?” Roman asked, growing bored with the silence.

“None of your business.”

“I think it rather is my business, since you went and used me as a threat against that man!” Roman huffed. “Honestly, how dare you-“

“Shhh,” Vee suddenly hushed, pressing a palm over the holes in the jar’s lid to quiet him. Roman cut off, curious despite himself about the giant’s sudden silence.

“Vee?” A familiar voice called out in a low tone, and Vee breathed a sigh of relief.

“Over here, Pat.”

Soft, rustling footsteps grew closer, and Roman realized this must be the stranger who had first greeted them in the store. The one who definitely didn’t know ‘Vee’ was a giant. And now was alone in the woods with said giant.

Roman was seized with a sudden fear that the giant was planning to abduct Pat as well, and he shouted with all his might. “RUN AWAY! HE’S A GIANT!”

There was a beat of silence, and then the sound of a palm against flesh as Vee slapped his palm to his face in resignation.

“Is that a fairy?” Pat asked, with far too little alarm for Roman’s tastes.

“If only I was that lucky,” Vee muttered, yanking the jar out of his pocket. “Pat, meet Princey. He’s a very unfortunate giant slayer.”

“My name is Roman!” Roman scowled, feeling put out that he kept yelling with no results. His throat hurt.

“Aww, he’s so cute at this size!” Pat took the jar carefully, peering at him with huge silver eyes. “Hi there, I’m Patton!”

“I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but you seem to already know you’re consorting with a monster and I’m still stuck in a jar, so it’s really not,” Roman grumbled.

“Hey, don’t be mean! Virgil isn’t a monster, he’s a very kind giant!” Patton frowned at him in disapproval. Roman stared at him flatly.

“I. Am in. A jar.”

“Leave the guy alone, Pat, he’s a slayer,” Virgil said, as though that explained everything. “Here, I’ll trade you.”

He took Roman’s jar out of Patton’s hands and carefully replaced it with the small chest. The man looked down at the chest as though he’d been handed a block of solid gold. For all Roman knew, he had.

“You… you really managed to get it,” he said, voice soft with awe. He looked up, eyes shiny with unshed tears. “And you’re just… giving it to me?”

Virgil shifted uncomfortably, averting his eyes. “Of course I am. It’s yours.”

“Are you sure? Because I’m pretty sure I watched you extort it from the guy running that store,” Roman chimed in, feeling lost. “Did you really help this guy steal from his own father?”

“Shut it,” Virgil growled in warning, looking like he wanted nothing more than to give Roman a good shake.

“No, it’s okay,” Patton placed a hand on Virgil’s arm, the chest carefully tucked into his other elbow. He turned those eerie eyes to Roman, but there was no malice in them. “I did ask Virgil to help me take this. My father took it from me after I was born, and he used it as leverage against my mother until the day she passed away. I tried to love my father, I really did, but… my mother spent the rest of her life forced to serve him. I don’t want to live that way ever again.”

Roman looked away, confused and feeling an odd sense of shame. He was starting to suspect that this wasn’t just some expensive heirloom.

Patton carefully undid the latch on the chest, prying it open and pulling a thick, glimmering fur coat from it. The chest dropped from his grip with a thud as he stared at it, tears finally bubbling over. In one swift movement, he pulled the fur over his shoulders.

In the next moment, a snow-white stag stood in his place. It- he?- kicked his legs up in joy, and became a wolf, a fox, a rabbit, a bear, a duck, each transformation flowing sinuously into the next.

Roman’s jaw dropped. “You’re a shapeshifter?”

“Yes!” Patton cried, returned to his human form. He looked healthier, somehow, his skin less pallid and his eyes brighter. He rushed forwards, wrapping Virgil in a hug with Roman caught in the middle. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

To Roman’s surprise, Virgil returned the hug for a heartbeat, what looked like an almost-smile on his face. After a minute, he gently pushed Patton away. “You should go. Get used to being whole again. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah! Yeah.” Patton gave him another grin, and then stepped away, glancing down. “Bye, Roman! Be nice to Virgil!”

Roman squawked. “I’m the one who has to be nice?”

Patton’s laugh shifted to birdsong, and Roman watched as a snow white dove fluttered out of sight. The two of them lingered like that for a moment, and then Virgil flicked the lid of the jar, peering in casually as he began to walk again.

“I’m going to get a drink. Still thirsty, Princey?”

Roman hesitated, but… if Virgil wanted to play gentle giant, who was he to not take advantage of it? He nodded, lifting a hand to his parched throat.

“Anything to get out of this jar.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #sanders sides #shapeshifter #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #writing #my writing #sheer atrocity #sa

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newmoonyue · 3 years

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Prompt #46- Mako Aladdin!AU (Angsty-ish)

46. Requester’s Choice! ( For @princeasimdiya12 )

This AU is based on Aladdin, Disney's 1992 film. Some text is actually an excerpt from the transcript! I do not own Aladdin, nor the text from the film. Enjoy!

Pairing: N/A

Word Count: 1.8K

Nobody ever saw his face. He was careful not to let anyone get that close, not even his friends. He always wore a tattered red cloak; it was almost like a calling card. If you saw a blur of red and the slender shadow of a man disappearing into the alley, you would know it was Mako.

Mako had lived on the streets all his life, first living in and out of dilapidated orphanages with his brother Bolin. Then roaming the streets, trying to survive on what they could steal. They had never known their parents. Maybe that lack of parental affection was what drove Mako to become a pickpocket, or maybe it was the desire to have something for himself, to call his own (even if it wasn't actually his).

"Mako!" Bolin called happily. Pabu, his fire ferret rested on his shoulder. Mako had just returned home from a day scavenging in the local market, his bag filled with stale bread and lopsided fruit. He had even managed to snatch a shiny gold bangle, and he knew it could be sold for a pretty penny.

"Yes Bolin?" He tossed his younger brother a stale loaf of bread, Bolin caught it and smiled, breaking off a chunk for his little pet.

"I saw her again, Princess Asami! She's gorgeous." Bolin looked star struck. He always had an affinity for the royalty of the kingdom, even if they could give a crap about the lowly people living in poverty.

"Yeah whatever. The Sato's don't care for us. If they did don't you think they'd try and use even a small part of their endless fortune to help build up this end of the city? Or maybe even just help feed the orphans?" Bolin looked down at the bread in his hand. Mako's shoulders slumped.

"I'm sorry Bolin." He walked over and sat down next to his brother, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "I shouldn't take my frustration out on you, you just know how much I hate the royalty of this damn city." His brother nodded, but still seemed sad. Mako sighed.

"Tell me about her." Bolin's eyes gleamed with pure happiness.

"Oh my gosh! She's so pretty! Her perfect green eyes are so kind! And her dress just seemed to flow in the wind!" If it were possible, Mako knew that Bolin would have hearts in his eyes. He's only seen the princess from behind, so he took his brother's word for it. He smiled lightly.

"I'm gonna go sell this and see how much I can get for it." Bolin nodded. Mako pulled his hood up, ducking out of the rooftop shack they found for shelter. He grabbed the rope and swung down onto the next building over, being careful to tie the rope up so he could climb back up. The tall slender teenage boy peaked over the edges, taking care none of the royal guards were patrolling. Once he knew he was safe, he quickly climbed onto the ledge and hopped down into the alley, making sure nobody was around. He couldn't let anyone know who he was. He could see the black cloth that hung above the fence.* Once he swung down to the side door, he knocked three times, the sign that he was outside.

"Ah, Hello Mako!" The old man opened the door and let him inside. There were a few older men roaming around, browsing the many stolen treasures laid out. One man, a tall man with long hair glanced over at him and looked him up and down.

"What can I help you with?" Mako held out the gold bangle.

"Ah what a gorgeous piece, whoever lost it must miss it dearly." Mako nodded, he didn't want to speak, especially with the strange man looming nearby.

"This I'm sure is worth a lot, but I can only give you 10 gold pieces for it. Mako nodded, glad he received anything. The old man dropped the gold in his hand.

"Pleasure doing business with you!" He dropped the coins into the pouch tied to his hip, each making a satisfying clink. He nodded again, ducked into the dark alley to return home.

Mako made it a few yards before he realized that there was footsteps echoing behind him. He turned quickly and saw the same tall man behind him. He clutched the money bag tightly.

"Who are you? What do you want!" Mako said sternly. The tall man slowly advanced forward, as soon as he was close enough he noticed it was Tarrlok, the Sato's trusted advisor.

"Hello street rat." I scowled at him as he smirked at me.

"What do you want Tarrlok?"

"Oh you know just your ass in jail, but as of now I'm going to put that behind us, because I have a little deal to make with you." Mako didn't trust Tarrlok at all. This man was known for manipulating the poor folks to do his dirty work.

"What kind of deal?" Tarrlok's smirk widened, as if he knew he had a poor little rat in a corner.

"I've been doing some research, and I'd like to explore the Cave of Wonders." The older man's voice was like velvet, but Mako could tell he was as slippery as a snake.

"And why are you telling me this?" Tarrlok raised his brow.

"Well of course, I being the trusted advisor of King Sato I must remain here to aid him, you will be going with a few of my trusted guards to the Cave of Wonders to collect this prized object, return it to me and I will pay you a handsome fee!" Mako's eyes widened. It couldn't be this easy, there had to be a catch.

"No, no catch." Mako's eyes widened. A chill ran down his spine. "I can also easily persuade the king to allow a fund to be distributed to the orphanage if that pleases you." Mako rolled his eyes, as if he had to persuade the king to do anything. Tarrlok seemed to make all the laws and rules, the bumbling king just signed the papers. Nobody had even seen the king outside of the palace since Princess Asami was born and the Queen died.

"I swear on my life that I will uphold our end of the deal, as long as you uphold yours. You must bring me back treasure without disturbing it, and I will make you and your little brother as rich as kings." Mako's eyes widened. Bolin! What would he tell his brother? Should he just leave, and not say a word?

"Deal?"

"Deal."

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°

"Are we there yet?" Mako asked the burly guard holding the map.

"A few more yards. It should be just over this hi-" The guard stopped as they reached the top of the hill. Below was the cave, it seemed as if a giant tiger was frozen in time, it's mouth suspended open. It's eyes glowed an eerie white color, a yellow glow coming from inside its mouth.

"It's nothing like I've ever seen before." Mako said sliding down the hill, and standing back from the glowing entrance.

"Stay on task street rat. Here's the treasure. Make sure you get it. Don't! And I repeat don't, rub it." Mako grabbed the parchment and saw a beautiful golden lamp. He turned and stood in front of the mouth. As he got closer, the mouth sprung alive, shocking the three men.

"Who disturbs my slumber?" Mako stumbled back.

"It is I, Mako." The cave eyed the young man for a moment.

"Proceed. Touch nothing but the lamp." The mouth of the cave opened wide.

"Remember boy, the lamp!" Mako nodded, beginning to descend the long winding staircase. Once he reached the bottom he entered a room filled floor to ceiling with glittering gold and gemstones. He followed the path taking care not to step on or touch anything. As he advanced through the cave he felt as if something was following him. He quickly turned and saw a beautiful magic carpet peaking out from behind a pile of gold.

"A magic carpet! C'mon. I'm not gonna hurt you." The carpet slowly crept out.

"Wow, you're amazing! Do you think you can help me?" Mako reached for the parchment and showed it to the carpet. It flew up and danced around in the air.

"I take it, you know where it is?" The carpet flew forward as Mako followed. The pair reached a long tunnel. There seemed to be a bright light. Mako, excited that he was almost finished with his mission, found a long cavern with a tall pillar with a beam shining down from above.

"That must be the lamp!" Mako hurried forward, taking a walk up the steep staircase. While Mako climbed the staircase to the lamp, the curious carpet noticed a monkey statue with a glittering, giant ruby. Entranced in it's beauty the carpet wrapped around the jewel just as Mako grabbed the lamp. The ground around the two began to rumble.

"You have touched the forbidden treasure." Mako looked around in a panic. He began to rush down the stairs, but halfway down they disappeared, turning the once steep stairway into a slide. Mako's eyes widened as he noticed the water that was once surrounding the pillar turned into boiling hot lava.

"Carpet!" The blue carpet rushed towards him, catching him midair before he landed in the lava.

"Oh carpet what did you do!" As the ceiling began to crumble Mako and the carpet dodged and weaved through the Cave of Wonders until they reached an opening. Just as they were finally about to be free, a giant boulder the size of an elephant fell from the opening. Mako drove for the wall, but the carpet wasn't so lucky.

"Help me!" Mako yelled to the guards. They both began to laugh at Mako's misfortune.

"Give us the lamp!"

"Please! I can't hold on much longer! I'm gonna fall!" All the while Mako was struggling to pull himself up, carpet was being surrounded by lava. It tugged and pulled until finally it was free!

"Just pass the lamp and we'll grab your hand!" Mako reluctantly reached into his cloak and passed the two guards the lamp.

"Hahaha! I finally have the lamp!" The two guards began to fade away as Tarrlok appeared.

"You tricked me!"

"Yes! And I'm going to give you your reward now! Death!" Mako's mind flashed to Bolin. He had to survive for him. Just as Tarrlok went to push Mako from the wall, carpet soared out and knocked Tarrlok to the group, scooping up Mako and the lamp that had been discarded on the ground.

"Now, let's go home buddy!" Mako said, cheering at his victory.

This took me so much longer than I hoped! I'm so sorry to @princeasimdiya12 for the wait! Please let me know what you think! Thank you all for reading!

~Grace

*- Fence is used to refer to the dealings in stolen goods

#atla #tlok #the legends of korra #avatar the last airbender #avatar #aladdin au #caveofwonders #one-shots #drabbleau #mako #bolin #makoau #makoaladdinau #princess asami #mako oneshot #masterlist

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space-blue · 3 years

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The Hound of Arnas

My ports disengage, returning me to consciousness. I stay on my back for a while, gaze turned inward, browsing through the nets. While my body warms I review the datafeeds I requested before going to sleep. Soon there is nothing for me to do but roll out of my dingy alcove, one in many in this shabby plug-a-night for cyborgs and droids. No one pays me any mind as I amble through what passes as a lobby and step into the already busy street.

"Please, parts!" A hand grabs my coat. "Any parts you can spare, I beg you, for my child, all his ports are outdated, he can't link, ple–"

The beggar clamps her mouth shut the moment she realises what she is talking to, her dull eyes already hunting for more pliable targets. Smart woman. She will sooner convince an AI to donate parts off its droid body than the likes of me, and she knows it. Shells don't have parts to give. We're bio-engineered integral cyborgs. Expensive models like mine are even grown with full DNA print. Parts tailored for me in a body as perfect as one can dream. If I chopped my right hand and gave it away, no one else could use it.

However, getting this close to godhood comes with a sixty years binding contract, which is why I'm walking the trash ridden streets of an off-grids slum doing a bloodhound's job. Looking for a human here like a needle in a smelly haystack.

The first two days I spent along the dark sea and the beach–the rocky expense that once held sand, that we still call beach–where workers on long rafts poled their way through the mass of seaweeds they turn into fuel. I could have been done in half a day, talking to supervisors, or the AIs that regulate our dead ocean's shallows. But unlike its simulations, the sea has a smell and a taste, almost a presence. It fascinated me, so I took my time.

Today I walk away from the shore. I've decided to talk to locals or else I'll be here until I catch the carbon plague.

My legs take me past triage factories, down streets smelling of rancid grease, where mechanics bend over patrons' cybernetic limbs, bartering their services, weaving through cables like jungle creepers, children running past yelling the names of parts they sell; ports, encrypted 9G cards, 5D sticks, or accessory mods. Soon the street dissolves in a wider field. I scramble partway up a metal gangway that wraps around a building to the roofs. From there I can see, sprawled at my feet, the buzzing activity of the Mud-Market. Cyborg modders with four arms selling flatbreads faster than they can turn them. People sitting on crates half sunk in the eponymous mud, tearing at steamed bug-buns, furiously betting on some game only them can see. Others haggling over second-hand garments and scraps of food. Even a few ADroids weave through the crowds, projecting bright holos and loud slogans.

I sigh and sit heavily, my legs dangling over the tin roof of a partmonger. This wreathing mass of bodies discourages me, somehow. Resting my back to the wall, I turn inwards to log into official networks. I find a few agents in the area, and summon the closest, Agt. Edenton, an ID officer.

Before long, three kids come running out of the market, out of breath with laugher. I look down. One of them, a little blond fellow, doesn't register to my eyes. Unchipped. Or, more likely, never chipped: someone's illegal brood. Another has a cybernetic arm made of scraps. Both wave at the third, a black haired runt not possibly past seven, who leaves them to enter the street. The gangway quivers under me, heralding the kid's approach. He sits not far, flashes his credentials–this is indeed Edenton– and opens a private channel for us to discuss away from prying eyes or ears, for all the world just two strangers enjoying the view before them.

'What's a pricey Shell like you doin' here?'

I stifle a laugh. The voice that popped in my head is a deep man's bass, completely out of place coming from the scrawny boy. Edenton gives me a withering look, and I sober up as I realise what an ID officer's job would be, shelled as a kid. Hunt unchipped children like the one I'd seen, gain their trust, follow them home, have it tagged, maybe chip them himself. The kind of job you got because someone thought you deserved it...

I poke his arm, surprised to find him made out of regular flesh.

'Is this a BioShell? Aren't those pretty rare and pricey as well? Incubation is hard to do.'

Edenton's frail shoulders shrug. 'They make kids like me easily, they don't try for perfection. The body decays after a year, so we swap regularly. It's just a pain to be in a tube for two months while a new body grows around you.'

I'd shiver, if my body could.

To answer Edenton's own question, I display my working seals and credentials, and watch his eyes widen. A military Shell in the direct employ of Arnas CEO, wielding seals that give her unlimited power is a scary sight, I'm sure.

'This is Halena Tesselandottir,' I say, flashing pictures of a young woman. 'Used to live in the grids, legal as you please and pretty bigwigged. Took her chip off, came to those slums.' I wave my hand, letting Edenton imagine the sort of drama that could push someone to such extremes. 'Back then she was a modder.' Lists of parts and softwares join the pictures. 'Augmentations, but no cybernetic replacements. I'm pretty sure she downgraded, since many mods are trackable. She was spotted in this slum, so I was sent to find her. I'd like some help.'

An order dressed as a request that Edenton accepts with good graces. In no time he comes up with a cunning plan that won't damage his cover, and I mentally pat myself on the back for involving him.

We weave our way through narrow streets, continuing our secret dialogue. I learn that Edenton has been undercover in this slum for four years, and soon guess that he got there by asking too many questions. He's fourty-two, single, grumpy. We spend some time polishing our plot in a back alley. We'll need our public feeds to display some action to look credible.

Finally ready, I step into a wider street, Edenton's weightless body cradled in my arms, and stumble towards an older woman, busy smoking in front of a brothel. Edenton's notion being that such Madams know everything, and everyone.

"Seima," I call, picking her name from her public feed, "this kid just crashed into me. He banged his head hard..."

Seima rushes up to us with a face like Edenton is her own grandchild. She looks at me with narrowed eyes. Can't blame her for mistrusting a Shell in a muddy coat, but my public feed has a record of the entire "incident" we orchestrated, and Edenton moans, the voice passing his lips a mewling so pitiful that I stare as well. His feed flashes with one of the pictures of Halena I gave him.

"He's been showing that image the whole time, could it be his mother? If you know her, maybe I could leave him to you..."

It's the magical words. Trying to shirk my responsibilities, am I? She'll find the boy's mom in no time, she swears, and furiously propagates Halena's picture through her personal network. Finding where Halena (or Hena, as she now goes by) works is a matter of minutes. The hardest part of the job is to pry Madam Seima off Edenton.

Out of sight I put him back on his legs, and we hurry to intercept Halena before someone warns her that we've been asking after her.

It's almost too easy. She's exactly where we were told. Unchipped, so nearly impossible to track, she was betrayed by the simplest of human drives, everyone's inherent need to network and socialise.

Edenton's bass vibrates in my skull. 'What are you gonna do?'

He follows me over crumbled walls and up stairwells that lead us to a rooftop. Lying down, we can spy on Halena and her companions, sorting garbage, probably paid by the amount of recyclable they can sift.

I scan her face, still young, but scarred by the mods she took off her temples and neck, as I'd guessed. I extend my arm, fingers splayed, lock, breathe out, and fire. My shoulder joint shifts, swallows the recoil. People scream, run to cover. Edenton jumps, grabs me with his little hands. In the street her blood flows, joining the streams of dark fluids down the gutter. Half her head is gone.

"Why," Edenton cries. "What did she do to deserve that?!"

"I never asked," I reply, "and neither should you."

~~ April 2016 – Theme : Dystopia – Don't want to toot my own horn, but this story marks one year and one month of writing, and the progress is rather evident. It is my favourite of my older pieces.

#original work #original story #competition #scifi #dystopia #cyberpunk

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peggysousfan · 4 years

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Agent Carter Series: Discovering True Love

Redo, redo! LOL I made a few changes for this chapter. I have FINALLY gotten chapter 4 done! Seeing as the plot is getting more complicated its taking longer to write. This is the longest chapter for the series, but there is a lot of peggysous development Note: As a reminder, if you ship steggy or like Steve Rogers, you will not be happy with this fic and I advise you to not read this, as it will make you upset. This was a specific requested fic and I am following what they asked.

Its been several days since Kresminski's death, but things at the office still seem different. There's a shift in the atmosphere, one that is constantly on edge; waiting for the slightest thing to tip it over and shatter. Not even Daniel has been in a light hearted mood, its as if everything has changed; and nothing seems to be giving any hope. The only thing that can be done is prove Howard's innocence and avenge all the wrong that has happened. Not just for Kresminski, but for Colleen as well.

As I look at the clock I notice its time to leave, so I slip a note to Daniel and he meets me in the file room again.

"Hey," He says with a smile.

"Hello," I reply. He takes my hand and I can't keep the blush at bay. Quickly I clear my throat and squeeze his hand in return. "So I got a call from Jarvis earlier...and you may not like it."

"What's going on?"

"Well, uhm.." I look around to make sure no one is near before I explain. "Its about Howard. He's... he's coming back. We're going to go get him and find somewhere to keep him safe for now."

"Where can you take him where the SSR won't find him? Peg, they've uncovered every single one of his houses and accounts. Even the dummy corporations that own them."

"I know, but he may have a residence they aren't aware of and he may be able to go there for the time being." Daniel nods and looks over his shoulder, luckily there's still no one there. A sigh leaves my lungs, hopefully all goes well. He reaches out and takes my hand reassuringly. "Be careful, Peg."

"I would say I will but you could always come with us."

"Peggy..." He hesitates. "I-I don't know."

"Daniel, if you come with us then its more back up then if you were not to." He shakes his head and glances at his leg.

"I'm not sure what kind of back up I can give you, Peg. I'm-"

"The best man for the job? The only person I can trust? Or maybe you're-"

"Okay Okay, I get you point." He laughs. That sound has become music to my ears.

"You are more than capable of helping, Daniel. I know that. I think its time you saw it too." He smiles brightly and I catch on with one of my own. For what seems like a frozen moment is only broken by the time sensitive reality.

"So, uh, when are we leaving?"

"As a matter of fact, right now." I smile at him before going upstairs and collecting my things.

Daniel and I have developed a routine when we meet in secret. One goes upstairs first, then several minutes later, so does the other. Before I leave the SSR, I manage to slip him another note to meet across the street in the alley; an alley where Mr. Jarvis and I will be at in the car.

For several minutes all is quiet as we wait for him. At first Jarvis was confused on why I asked for the delay, but it wasn't until Daniel appeared that he understood.

"It would seem backup has arrived."

"Indeed it has." I smile. He glances at me with an odd look, and I'm unsure what it could mean. Its a bit hard to read in the dark.

"Jarvis. Peg." I glance at him before we head to the docks. Jarvis has that odd look on his face still, and dare a say a smug smirk as well; but it doesn't last for long so I ignore it.

The plan is simple: Hand off the money for Howard to the smuggler and be on our way; if things go south, Jarvis has a backup gas in the case and then Daniel and I can fight off any others that will be there. When we get there, Daniel and I hide away in the shadows while waiting for Jarvis.

The man bouncing the ball comes our way when I grab it from the wall, so Daniel hits his calf with his crutch and I knock him out with one punch to the head; but reinforcements come. I look over at Daniel and he looks at me, and we both know what to do- fight. We knock down each man and head towards Jarvis. Daniel and I stick by the wall side by side and listen in. As we do our hands graze each others and I feel a shock. He looks down at our hands and then at me, and an odd shift moves in the air.

Apparently Jarvis had some trouble with Mink, so Daniel knocks him down. After a few moments of walking, we go to retrieve Howard.

"My favorite foreigners." Howard says whilst standing straighter from the pool table. "Took you long enough."

"A thank you would be nice." I bite my lower lip to try and hide a smile from what Daniel says, but it doesn't work."

"Uh...who's this guy?"

"He's the man that saved your arse. I'd be grateful if I were you." I say, and he glares in my direction.

"Did Mr. Mink have his guys black mail you?"

"Indeed, sir."

"You certainly know how to pick your partners." I remark, and I can feel as well as hear Daniel start laughing. When had he moved so close? I glance at him and we both freeze, but Howard speaks and time begins to move again.

"Well Mr. Mink is a black market smuggler, but he got me back into the country. And he's predictable in his greed. I like predictable and I like greedy." As he says this he takes an 8 ball and tosses it across the room. Daniel and I dodge it and it hits Mink in the forehead, causing him to drop immediately and pass out.

"Well that's a relief. Now may we go?"

"Well someones in a hurry." Howard smirks and pats his shoulder. "Gotta tend to the ol' wife, eh Jarvis?"

Daniel moves around and tries to cover up his smirk, but he doesn't hide it very well. I nudge him and he chuckles, making my lips turn up in a smile. Have we moved closer? As we look at one another, Howard says something and we jump.

"What's going on with you two?"

"Nothing!" We say at once.

"Right...cause that wasn't-"

"Perhaps we should leave. That is before Mr. Mink awakens and finds we did not pay him what he requested." Jarvis interrupts Howard, and all but saves us from an awkward conversation.

Although I don't understand why it should be awkward. Daniel and I are only friends, right? I glance at him and catch his eye, but he quickly glances away. Were we thinking the same thing? But I don't ask that question aloud, instead I walk beside him as we head towards the car. Jarvis is behind the wheel, Howard in the passenger side, and Daniel and I are in the back. Howard gives Jarvis directions to a placement where he may be able to stay, but unfortunately the SSR knows about it.

"Well where else can I go?" That's a good question. I look over at Daniel and he looks at me, and I don't know what to do; until an idea pops in my mind. Bloody hell.

"Take a right turn on the corner up ahead." I tell Jarvis.

"Why? Where are we going?" Daniel asks. I bite my lower lip and look away until we get there. "Wait isn't this...?"

"My apartment building? Yes, unfortunately."

"The Griffith. Tell me, how's Miriam." Of course he's been here before, why am I not surprised.

We devise a plan for the time being. I will keep Howard in my flat until we can find something more permanent, and Jarvis will take Daniel home so we can work tomorrow. I sneak Howard through the back and up the shaft, but Miriam catches me. Quickly I come up with a lie of doing laundry, but she still has suspicion.

As if I'm some child, she walks me upstairs to me apartment door and gives a lecture about being a young woman. Terrible argument of not being able to govern our own impulses, which is why she plays mother hen to us all; perfect. Because I don't have one mother already to yell in my ear when needed. Miriam then points to the shaft where my 'laundry' awaits. Luckily Howard already beat us here and left. Thank God. I grab my bag and walk back towards my door.

"Good night, Miss Fry."

"It's nearly 6 am Miss Carter," Bloody hell! That early already??

Miss Fry walks down stairs as I enter my flat, but with a quick search I don't see Howard. Damn, where'd he go? As I walk back into the hall, I hear a woman giggle and a man chuckle. Oh dear lord, does this man have no common decency?? Irritated, I bang on the door and Lauren answers.

"Sorry, you just woke me." She lies. Hmm, and that explains how she's got a hold of Howard's jacket.

"Oh that's okay, Lauren, my cousin Peggy. Peggy, Lauren." He glances between us nervously and looks down as I glare.

"Don't you think your cousin looks just like Howard Stark?" She asks as I shove Howard along.

"My cousin's a lot shorter." I proclaim before shoving him again in the room. He turns around as if offended. "You are disgusting."

"Oh come on, Peg! I was just having little bit of fun."

"Howard there is no time for 'fun'. We need a plan and a solid one at that. And it better include when you're leaving my apartment." I say whilst getting ready for work.

He explains he's here to give me a camera pen to take with me to the SSR. Once I have it I'll be able to use it and take photographs of the invention's we've found. Sounds easy enough. I take it from him and get changed, then head to the office.

When I get there I see Daniel already hard at work. How is he here already? He amazes me at his incredible work effort. If only he was doing it for the right reasons. Sighing, I continue walking past him and hang my coat, only for Thompson to emerge from Dooley's office and give a speech. He's in charge while Chief is away. Great, because that's exactly what we need right now. As I listen to this unimportant drag on, I feel someone come up behind me and grab around my waist. Bloody hell.

"You look tired. Long night?" He whispers in my ear. Oddly a shiver runs down my spine, and its not a very good one either. I ignore his question and cross my arms as I continue to look at Jack, but Steve keeps insisting. "Peggy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm listening. Now hush." I snap. With one glance I can see an unhappy expression, and he steps away from me; but only slightly to my dismay.

Thompson finishes his speech and everyone starts to line up for their assignments, but knowing Jack , I won't be getting to do anything except the lunch order.

"Not in a hurry to see what job Thompson has in store for you?" Daniel jokes as he walks over to us. I smirk and shake my head.

"You mean the lunch order?" Daniel chuckles in turn and shakes his head.

"Very funny, Peg." I hum in confirmation and look at him, really look at him.

I thing the product in his hair isn't put in as much as normal because I can see a small curl on his forehead. I wonder how curly it really is...

"Its not all that funny, actually." Steve intrudes as he grabs his jacket. "Besides there isn't any assignments for Peggy to take right now. Grabbing the orders is useful for everyone."

"How's that? She's the one doing all the work for us to eat and its not exactly real work. She's taking your lunch like an errand girl rather than getting to be in the field," Daniel replies with a raise brow. I chuckle and turn away to hide it.

"There's nothing in the field for her."

"Right, if you say so... But I'm pretty sure she can speak for herself."

Steve sneers and shakes his head whilst looking down. Why is he being so rude? I roll my eyes and nudge Daniel, giving him a look; luckily he knows what I mean- Its not worth it. Steve starts to speak up but Thompson interjects and orders me to fetch lunch. Surprise surprise...I look back at Steve, who's walked by my side, and realize he's planning on leaving.

"Where are you headed?" I ask.

"There was an anonymous call that lead to the Stark weapons. There has to be finger prints of some kind we can trace. Find the guy who tipped in."

"What if you don't find anything?" Daniel chimes in.

Steve glares but keeps any rude comments to himself. "Then it'll be another dead end. But we have to do something and catch Stark." At this I can't keep my sneer to myself. How Steve can be okay with arresting one of his closest friends from the War is beyond me.

"It was a public phone, Rogers. The only thing your liable to catch is a bacterial infection." I retort, making Daniel duck his head in laughter. I glance at him and smile, which makes Steve glare at me.

"Yeah well its worth a try, Peggy. Unlike others I'm going to actually do some work around here."

As he says the word 'others' he looks at Daniel, which makes my blood boil. Daniel does more work than half of the ninnies in this office. He storms off and Thompson doesn't question his absence. Why would he, they're thick as thieves. As Steve walks away I glance at Daniel who's head is turned down. I hate seeing him so degraded.

"Just ignore him. He's an arse." He looks up at me and laughs.

"Yeah, sometimes." I roll my eyes at this and grab my notebook and the camera pen Howard gave me.

"No, not 'sometimes'. All the bloody time." I sigh and glance away. "It drives me up a damn wall at times. He's not the man I thought he was." Daniel nods with a slump in his demeanor. What's this about? "Daniel? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. You should probably... you know. Before Jack has something to say." That was a quick response. Too quick to be honest.

I don't like this change, it seems distant- cold. I like Daniel, I really do. I hate when he does this. For a moment we simply stand in awkward silence, until an idea comes to mind.

"You're right, I should. But when I'm done collecting the orders, perhaps you can come with me and get them. It'll be faster if there's two of us."

For a moment he's silent, probably from shock. I normally don't ask for help in anything, even if its as simple as lunch orders. But nonetheless he agrees and I smile at him before walking away. Its odd how how I feel like this when I'm around Daniel. I can feel my stomach flutter in knots and my heart beat faster. I shouldn't feel like this, but I can't stop it. I need to distract myself, and luckily I can.

I walk into the lab and pass Mr. Doobin the notebook for his and the other lab technicians their orders, as well as ask about Howard's inventions so far. They've been tampering with them to discover what they do. Doobin falls for the distraction and goes on talking about one of them while I use the pen to snap photos of the crates and devices in the room. Once done I disappear quickly out of the lab and go to my desk for the reports I need to do. After several dragging minutes, Doobin comes out and hands me the notebook. I quickly take the rest of the orders and go to Daniel's desk.

"Hey," He greets, but not in his usual polite or excitement. Hmm, I don't like this.

"You're coming with me, so come on. Off you pop. We have a lot to get done."

"'Off you pop'? Really Peg." He smirks. There he is! The Daniel I know and adore.

"Oh haha, have your laugh. Cultural differences, Daniel." He mumbles but smiles anyway and meets me at the coat rack.

"Yeah sure, 'cultural differences'" I can see the cheek he has and I get that fluttering feeling again. Dammit.

"You know what, Sousa. You will find that I am not someone to be trifled with."

"As if I didn't know that already."

He smirks and all I can think is how to get it off of his face. But soon I realize what I'm thinking and try to fight off the flush of heat in my cheeks and the dazzling thought from my mind. We walk out of the SSR and take a cab. I give the driver directions but Daniel turns to me with a confused expression.

"Uh...where are we going?"

"I have to give this to Howard before I forget. Then we can handle the lunch for those twats." He chuckles at me and shakes his head.

"Twats?" There's that smirk again. God how does he keep doing this to me?

"Daniel don't you dare."

"Dare...what?" I look at him and see a challenge glisten in his eyes, oh is that how he wants to play it?

"You are in a very sassy mood today." I state, which only makes the grin on his face widen.

"Is that right? I hadn't noticed."

"Daniel!" I laugh, as does he, and for a while I forget all of the trouble we are getting ourselves into.

All of this work for Howard, helping him clear his name, its suppose to be a good thing. But maybe its helping more than just him; maybe its helping Daniel and I get closer. We've never really had this much time together before, and now looking back, I regret letting Steve dictate that. I should never have let his childish jealousy prevent me from spending time with Daniel; innocent or not, its my life and I can do whatever I damn well please. As I'm lost in thought again, Daniel speaks up.

"Wait, Peg. How exactly am I able to go with you if men can't go past the lobby? I mean I don't look like a woman so..." He squints his eyes in thought and I can't help but smile, confusion is quite adorable on him I must admit.

"Well I could sneak you in the same way I snuck in Howard," But a quickly as I think of this I realize my mistake. Being scrunched in a dumbwaiter would be uncomfortable for Daniel's leg. Dammit I hadn't thought this through. "But then again that would prove to have complications."

"Why's that?" I feel horrible for even thinking it, but I don't want him to be uncomfortable or in any pain.

"I snuck him in through the dumbwaiter, which is in fact rather small, so..."

"Yeah that's gonna be complicated," He chuckles. He doesn't seem to be offended, but I still apologize for it. "Its not your fault, Peg. You're just being a good friend."

I should be happy about this, but oddly enough my heart sinks in my chest. We are just friends, but for some reason I feel as if we shouldn't be only that.

"Right, yes, o-of course," I stutter. Get yourself together Peggy. "Well I could always go and give these to Howard while you grab the lunches, then we meet back here and walk back together?"

I really wanted him there. I know we've already spent a lot of time together lately, but it doesn't seem like enough.

"Yeah we could do that." He smiles at me and looks back out the window of the cab. If only I could read his mind. I nudge his shoulder lightly, then look away. "What?"

"Hm?" Innocently I look back at him, but he just knits his brow and looks confused.

"You just- Didn't you just nudge me?" I shake my head as a no, but I don't think he believes me. He squints at me and frowns. "You sure?"

"Would I ever lie to you?"

"No..."

"Well then its settled." Curiously he peers at me, but looks away with suspicious. I look in the opposite direction and bite my lip to contain a laugh, but it doesn't work.

"I knew it! You did!" He laughs with triumph. And his eyes sparkle in amusement.

"Why does it matter? It was only a small nudge."

"But why do it, though?"

"Because I felt like it." He nudges back and I do the same. "Daniel!" We both laugh only to stop when the cab driver tells us we've arrived. "This isn't over, Sousa."

"I don't doubt that, Carter." Ugh, that damn smirk again. This man will be the utter death of me and never know it.

I smile at him before heading into the Griffith to look for Howard. And of course he's not in my apartment. I swear I'm going to kill him one day. I find him in Helen's room and lecture him, but he simply brushes it away. I give him the camera pen and he sets up a red room in my bathroom to develop the pictures.

"Here, you take care of them while I head back out." I say as I leave the bathroom and grab my overcoat.

"Wait, where are you going?" He follows.

"I have to head out and meet with Daniel then-"

"Daniel? Is it that one guy you were with when you got me from Mink?" I nod in confirmation and he smiles, and not a good one at that.

"What now?" I ask annoyed.

"Nothin', just...You seem pretty close with this Daniel guy. What about Steve?"

"Howard, I swear on my Nana's grave-"

"Not like that! I'm just asking. Are you happy?" At first I don't know how to answer his question, then I realize he's being serious. He actually cares. "Peg. Are you happy with Rogers?"

"I-," With a groan of frustration I look away, "That's none of your concern, Howard." And with that I leave the building and find the man I needed to see.

"Hey, you okay? You look... annoyed."

"Well I did just speak with the irritating wanker known as Howard Stark." He chuckles and its music to my ears. No matter how down hearted I can feel, Daniel always cheers me up.

"I got the lunches, so we should probably get going."

"Agreed. Lets go." I nudge him again and he simply smiles.

When we arrive back at the office, everyone is as busy as always, but there is something new. Steve walks around with a homeless man beside him. Odd... I look over at Daniel and he give me the same curious look.

Steve takes the man into the interrogation room while Thompson goes to observe; however, it appears Steve hasn't been able to get anything out of him. Nearly 30 minutes have gone by and no one emerges from either room.

Eventually Jack comes out and walks over to Daniel's desk, and I can over hear the conversation.

"Me? How the hell am I gonna convince him to talk?"

"I don't know, Sousa. But you need to think of something. Quick."

"Why me?" He asks while reaching for his crutch.

"Because everyone else is on break and its not like I'm gonna ask Carter."

Ugh, wanker. Daniel sighs and walks over to me as Thompson goes back into the room. He asks me what he should do and I shrug my shoulders.

"The only thing I can think of is making a war connection. But the guy isn't like me, Peg."

"You could try connecting in another way."

"How? There is no-wait. I got it." He smiles at whatever it is he's thinking, but then it turns into a frown. "Please don't be mad at me."

"Why would I do that?" He looks away sheepishly and sighs again.

"Can you grab a bottle of scotch or something, maybe some food? The guy's been through the ringer, seen some bad things according to the file I read earlier."

"So your strategy is to give him a drink?"

"Not exactly." He smirks. And then it hits me. He's going to use it as a reward for talking and giving us anything he may know. While this is a dangerous field to tread in, Daniel can always twist any report he gives on the answer the man gives him.

"You're brilliant. I'll go and get what I can and have Jack bring it to you."

After I grab the scotch and burgers for Daniel, I give them over to Thompson and Steve comes over with an unhappy expression. Ironically lunch break is over for most and the office begins to fill up again.

"What's that for?"

"Sousa requested it for the interrogation."

"And how is that gonna help?" He sneers. What I wouldn't do to put him in his place. Daniel is worth a lot more than Steve thinks.

After a few minutes of waiting, Daniel comes out of the room with a look that can only be described as a victory. The man talked and said described what he saw, luckily it wasn't much.

"The guy saw a well dressed man and a dark haired woman get on the boat. That's it." I love that smile on him. He looks so young and happy.

"You're lying" Steve says accusingly.

"No I'm not. You can even ask Thompson. The guy gave us what we needed easily. " At this he gets stiff and angry, and I don't like it. I stand up straighter and watch Steve with caution.

"That's bull shit!" But before I know it, he shoves Daniel and he fall back into my desk.

"Daniel!" I rush over around the desk and over to him. Once I'm sure he's okay I turn to Steve and push against his chest- Hard.

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

"So you're standing up for the gimp that took over my interrogation?" I can already feel my limbs shake in anger at his vile words. He walks closer to he and speaks in disgust. "Now why would you do that unless you were sleeping with him."

I've had enough of this. I reach up and slap him across the face, the sound echoing though the office. Everyone stops and turns towards us.

"Go to hell Rogers! You still don't know a bloody thing about me!" I can't be in this office any longer, I need some air. I walk all the back to Griffith and not bothering to looks back.

When I return I go straight to my room and find Howard still in the bathroom. The pictures finish developing within a few minutes, then they're ready to be viewed; but unfortunately the inventions aren't the first ones on the film.

Howard is more and more repulsive. He takes it from me and tears off several to spare my eyes, as if I want to see what he's done with those woman. Ugh! I take them back with a disgusted look and peer at the photos left. All of his inventions -Perfect. Finally a win. Even if it is a small one. Angie hollers from outside and reminds me its time for dinner.

"Go, I'll look through these You work too much, Peg."

With a roll of the eyes I walk out of the room and go downstairs with Angie. She talks about her day and I listen while we wait in line. As we pass though, I take a few rolls for Howard's to eat. I lie to the girls and say I'm going to eat in my room to read the last pages of Agatha Christi, when really I'll be going over the photographs with Stark. As I enter the room he has a grim and serious expression, one I don't like. He says all of them are in fact at the SSR, but he doesn't seem thrilled about it.

"Why is your mustache so sad?" I joke, but he doesn't give in. "Howard?"

"I need you to steal one of them back."

He explains its practically a glorified light switch in a ball that shuts off the power grid and can never be turned on. Splendid. So much for a win. Apparently he is the only one who can deactivate it, so now I need to head back to the office, sneak into the lab, steal the device whilst replacing it with an exact inactive replica, and come back without destroying New York's power grid. Just another simple day for me I suppose.

I go out to the hall and ring in Jarvis for a ride. But he acts strange, and one clue leads to another I can tell Howard was lying. If he is then what exactly does this device do? We go to the SSR and I go with the plan, find my way onto the lab and switch them out. It was easy enough but now I'm curious as to what this invention is. I go to hide in a storage room and press the button. When I do, the lid opens and a vile pops out, but what's inside has me at a complete loss of words. This can't be real. Angry, I storm out of the room and head out, but I'm caught off guard by someone from the office coming my way, so I hide in the interrogation room.

"Peggy? What are you doing here? Jack said only men had to work overtime." I turn around and am greeted with an unpleasant sight. Steve.

"Didn't mean to disturb your....self loathing." He's grabbing the bottle of scotch the homeless man never finished and takes a swig.

"Self loathing?" He scoff and drinks the rest. "Why are you here, Peg? Not just at night. Why are you at the SSR."

"If you're asking why I work here then I would be quite offended by such a question." He squints at me and walks closer. "I work here to uphold democracy. Do you really need a reminder of that?"

"But the rest of us do more than take lunch orders. And that's all you do here." I clench the bag I have that contains the device I stole. Hopefully he doesn't get too curious and try to take it. Then again its as rightfully his as anyone's, but the last thing we need is more men like Steve Rogers.

"You'll never know the thrill of wondering if Thompson is in the mood for a club sandwich," I retort. Please just stop talking so I can leave already.

"What are you hiding, Peg?" I glance away at look at the door, backing towards it.

"I'm not hiding anything, Steve." He walks closer and reaches his hand out to my cheek, and before I can respond he wraps the other hand behind my waist while presses his lips against mine. For a moment I'm stunned and don't move, but then he pulls away.

"I know you're still mad at me for earlier. How about dinner, tomorrow. I'll make today up to you." I start to protest and say no, but his hand glides lower and he hovers over me. "Please? I was a real jerk and I wanted to apologize."

"The one person you really should apologize to is Agent Sousa. All he did was his job and help you with your case. Not only did you treated him unfairly, you shoved him unprovoked because of jealousy. And I won't stand for that." Before he can respond, I turn the nob on the door and rush out. Does he really think a kiss will make everything better? He's more out of his mind that I thought he was.

As I leave the SSR, I head to the car and Jarvis drives me back to the Griffith. Once there, I go back upstairs and confront Howard. The vial is exactly what I though it was; a container for Steve's blood. I tried to contain my anger but it spills out any way and my fist hits him in his eye.

"You used me. You lied to me." I try to calm my nerves by pacing, but it doesn't help

"You hit me!"

"You don't get to use my reaction to your lies as a reason for your lies! Why do you even need this in the first place?! Steve is alive and well. What good is this when you already have the source?"

"Because that is the original vial! Steve going into the ice changed his blood. Its tainted. I don't know how or why, but it is. That is the only original sample we have before Steve went down."

I question why he lied to me, and he explains its an instinct. He didn't get to be so high up in American society without picking up several bad habits; lying being one of them. Howard thinks that this last vial contain the serum from the blood could help cure many medical illnesses.

"And what will happen if its used for non-medical purposes? It can create more of the serum, Howard." Just the thought of more egotistical bastards getting the serum is enough to make my blood run hot as fire. I'll be damned if I let anyone else receive it if they don't deserve it. Erskine was wrong about Rogers, and I won't let his mistake take hold again.

"I know, that's why I don't want it in the SSR's hands."

"You still lied to me, Howard. Knowing damn well you could have told me the truth. You can't stay here. You have to leave."

"Where can I go? I'll get caught." I shake my head in frustration and walk towards the door

"You're the genius you figure it out."

I shut it behind me and head towards the stairs, but then think it over and go to the hall phone. There's only one person I want to be near right now. I call him and tell him to meet me at the Automatt, and he does.

"Hey, you okay?" I sigh and explain everything that happened with Howard. Once I finish, he huffs a deep breath and leans back in the booth. "Damn."

"I just don't understand why he didn't tell me. Its not as if it matters or not. I would have switched them either way. But what makes me angry, Daniel is the fact that he' was only thinking of himself. If the contents are used for recreating the serum... It would be catastrophic. It doesn't make sense."

Daniel sighs and stakes another drink of his coffee. "I don't know, Peg. Maybe...maybe he was trying to keep you from the truth. To protect you somehow. But I do see your point on the serum being recreated. If the wrong person gets it...it could be all bad."

"I don't need protecting, you know that." He smiles shyly and glances away, and that's when it hits me. What if Daniel received it? But I shake off that thought, it can't happen, not right now. "But yes it would be bad. Enormously so."

"I know. But he's your friend, Peggy. He cares about you. ANd as for the serum? I don't think we need to worry about it, at least not right now." Silence fills our booth and I don't know what to say.

He takes my hand in his and rubs his thumb over my knuckles; its very soothing I must admit. I then turn my hand over and grasp his in mine, a silent gesture with a much bigger meaning. Our eyes meet and my chest tightens while my heart pounds. There's that feeling again. The fluttering in my belly and the tingle in my hands. It always happens when we're close or touching; its rather exciting actually. I quite like this.

For several moments we just sit there across from one another before he pulls away with an apologetic smile.

"I should get home, its kind of late. We have to be at the office bright and early."

"Sadly." I sigh. He takes my hand again and gives it a quick squeeze before standing and grabbing his crutch. I should just say goodbye and leave, but something's telling me not to. I follow him outside and stop him. "Wait! Daniel."

He stops and turns around to face me. Quickly I catch up to him and press a kiss to his cheek. Probably lingering longer than appropriate.

"Goodnight." I whisper, afraid of disturbing the quiet. Even in the dark I can see him turning a bright red.

"Goodnight, Peggy."

We go our separate ways and all I feel is a buzzing sensation throughout my body, my lips tingling the most. No matter how hard I fight it, a grin blossoms across my face. When I return to the Griffith, Howard's long gone. I know what he did was wrong, but I do feel upset for shouting. What's done is done I suppose.

The next day when I'm on lunch duty again, Jarvis sneaks up behind me and tries to match my pace. I ask him if he knew about the vial Howard wanted me to steal, and he all but confirms my suspicion. He tries to convince me to forgive him, but I won't hear it.

As I get into the office, I go about dropping off everyone's orders then sitting down at my desk. As I do I see Steve standing looking at the board with all of the evidence against Stark. He's talking with Thompson about it, but Jack walks away to talk to the newly returned Chief Dooley; and yet Steve continues to stare. He takes the photograph of me at the Spider Raymond club and goes to his desk. Oh no, I fear he's figuring it out.

Thankfully a quick idea pops into mind. I write a note to Daniel and slip it to him. 'Steve is on my trail. Need to do something.' -PC. Once I'm back at my desk and he reads the note, he looks back at me with a subtle nod. We have to keep Steve from figuring it out.

Throughout the day we continue to pass notes on what to do and come up with a plan. The one way to keep him from discovering I was at the docks is to hide my personal file.

"You're sure this can be the only thing connecting me to the woman described?"

"I'm sure." Daniel says in confidence before looking back at the stair case. We've snuck away to the file room so he could give me my file. In doing so there is no connections whatsoever to me and the dark haired witness the homeless man spoke of to Daniel.

"I have bullet scars on my shoulder that are mentioned in the diagram. If Steve were to analyze the photograph from the club close enough-"

"Then he'd be able to figure out it was you." He finishes my sentence. I should hate that but I rather enjoy it. Its nice to have someone understand how I think.

The rest of the day goes by quickly and I go back to the Griffith hotel. As I do, I try to think of a way to keep this vial of blood a secret and away from being discovered. I set it down on my bed and blast the radio to cover the noise I make with the hammer. I create a hole in the wall behind a painting and hide the vial there. Hopefully it'll be safe and never turned back to what it was; if it ever is I'll make sure the right person gets it. No more sexist arses will have such power.

#peggysous #peggysous fic #peggy carter #daniel sousa #Peggy x Daniel #anti steve rogers #anti steggy

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mdelpin · 5 years

Text

To Kill A Dragon - Chapter 1

Previously: Prologue | Ch 1 | Next: Ch 2

Warning: There is a mature scene towards the middle of the chapter, it is between two consenting adults (StingxMinerva). I have marked it so you can skip it if it does not interest/bothers you.

Chapter 1: The White Dragon

Sting Eucliffe, the current guild master of the Sabertooth Guild, found himself at a very dull Magic Council meeting, along with the other guild masters from Fiore. Aside from all the paperwork, this was the part of his job he hated the most.

At least, he could usually count on Rogue to take care of the paperwork for him, but there was nothing he could do about these monthly get-togethers the Council forced on all the guild masters. To make matters worse, Rogue was away on a mission with Orga and had not been able to accompany him.

He supposed it could be worse. He could be Makarov Dreyar, the enduring guild master of the Fairy Tail guild. For the last thirty minutes, the poor man had been listening to complaint after complaint from the Council about the amount of destruction caused by his mages on several jobs.

Sting covered his mouth discreetly, trying to hide his grin as he realized most of the complaints centered around his fellow dragon slayer and friend, Natsu Dragneel, and his team. He'd experienced first hand how quickly Natsu raged out of control and was secretly glad that very few mages in his guild caused him trouble.

After several apologies from Makarov, most of which sounded halfhearted at best, the council members finally moved on to Goldmine, the guild master for Quattro Cerberus, who was on the receiving end of yet another long list of complaints. Sting dozed off as the council members droned on and on with no end in sight.

He was awakened by Makarov when the meeting finally came to an end. The old man motioned for him to follow. Sting rose from his seat and stretched his limbs, starting to feel some of his enthusiasm for life return. He followed Makarov out of the meeting room and to a nearby bar.

The Fairy Tail guild master went straight to the bartender and ordered a drink, which he quickly downed. He ordered a second and headed to a table at the back of the establishment. Sting ordered his own drink and joined him. He was curious about what Fairy Tail's master wanted to talk to him about.

"So, how are you holding up as Master?" Makarov inquired politely.

"Fine so far, I just didn't expect it to be quite so...boring," Sting replied honestly.

Makarov held a wistful expression on his face, probably wishing he could claim the same.

"Trust me, you should hope it stays that way," Makarov grumbled, "Those brats are going to be the death of me!"

Sting snickered. The old man had a point. With pleasantries now out of the way, he waited for Makarov to tell him what was on his mind.

"I'd like to keep an open channel of communication between our two guilds," Makarov stated, looking at him seriously, "We're the only ones that have dragon slayers in our ranks and with everything that went on with the Eclipse Gate, it just seems like a good idea to share any information that we come across."

Sting thought about the request and decided that there was really nothing to lose, especially since Fairy Tail had more dragon slayers than Sabertooth. It would probably benefit Sabertooth more in the long run.

"I'm not opposed to the idea," Sting replied. While the request didn't seem unusual, he couldn't help but feel that there was more to it than simple caution. "Any particular reason you bring it up now?"

"Have you heard of the Penta Dragons?"

Sting thought about it for a while but shook his head when he couldn't come up with anything. Once again, he wished Rogue were there.

"The Penta Dragons are a cult that has existed for a long time. Their members wear dark cloaks with a picture of five connected dragon heads forming a circle on the back. It's the symbol of the dragon goddess Tiamat, whom they worship," Makarov paused for a moment to see if the name meant anything to Sting, but when the dragon slayer remained impassive, he continued.

"We don't know much about her either, not much beyond the fact that she has something to do with dragons, but the cult has been very active lately. They've apparently stolen several books on dragons and rituals from the Magic Library," Makarov shared.

"What do they want?" Sting decided he would ask Rufus to look into both the Penta Dragons and Tiamat when he returned to Sabertooth.

"We don't know that yet, but Natsu and Laxus both claim they've noticed men dressed in these cloaks following them. They've tried to confront them on several occasions with no success. More interestingly, neither has been able to track them down." Makarov let that information sink in, knowing just how unusual that was. He could almost see the gears turning in Sting's brain as the Sabertooth Master stared at him in disbelief.

"I fear that if this cult is watching *our* dragon slayers, there is a chance they might be doing the same to you and Rogue. Have you noticed anything like that?", Makarov asked.

"No, I haven't. I think Rogue would have mentioned something if he had, but I'll ask him when I return."

"It may very well be nothing, but I'd rather not be blindsided again. I'll send any information we acquire your way, and I hope you'll do the same."

As Makarov bid him farewell, determined to catch the next train to Magnolia, he offered these words, "As you know, I've been doing this for a long time now, so if you ever need any help or pointers, I'm always available to you."

Sting nodded, thanking him as he shook the older man's hand and sent his greetings to his Fairy Tail friends. He remained behind to finish his drink.

Sting decided to stay at the bar a bit longer to think about what the old man had said. He continued drinking until he was feeling pleasantly buzzed. He was dreading going on the train, and he figured this was as good a distraction as any.

Sting was getting ready to head to the train station when he was distracted by a familiar scent. He was puzzled, not sure why that person would be in Era. He looked around trying to find her. He caught a glimpse of long, straight black hair exiting the bar and chased after. The woman was walking faster, almost like she knew she was being followed but he was in no hurry, he could track her scent easily. He didn't notice the cloaked man that was following him at a distance.

Sting went through dark alleys and winding streets until he entered a street market. He stopped briefly, trying to catch her scent again amidst all of the different smells. Sting sniffed the air around him and after a few false starts was able to find her. He followed her to a small bar in a seedy part of town. He entered the bar and found her sitting on a stool.

He'd been right. It was Minerva Orland, his former guildmate.

"Master Sting," she greeted him breathily.

"M'lady, I haven't seen you in a while," Sting greeted her warmly.

"Yes, I've been away. I needed to do some thinking after..." Minerva gestured vaguely.

Sting nodded in understanding, the Grand Magic Games had taken its toll on the Sabertooth guild. Minerva moved her hand to touch his face gently, her finger tracing the outline of his cheek down to his lips. She motioned to the seat next to her and looked at him invitingly. Sting sat down next to her. If he didn't know any better, he'd think she was flirting with him.

He ordered them a round of drinks and Minerva smiled at him seductively. Sting returned her smile with enthusiasm. He knew that women considered him attractive, but he hadn't been expecting such a reaction from Minerva. She'd never shown any interest in him before.

Beginning of Lemon

'What would Rogue do?' He asked himself. All rational thoughts ceased as Minerva placed her hand on his lap, her fingers moving ever closer to his dick, making it stir with interest.

He stopped caring about Rogue altogether and started thinking about what *he'd* like to do, and he was getting some rather good ideas. Minerva leaned in to kiss him, and Sting found himself unable to resist. He responded by placing his arm behind her head and pulling her closer, returning the kiss and craving more.

"How about we go somewhere more private?" Minerva suggested in his ear, "I know a place nearby."

Sting nodded eagerly and let her lead him outside. They stopped for a moment to let Minerva get her bearings. Sting was feeling impatient, Minerva was gorgeous, and he wanted to taste her again.

He pinned her against the wall and kissed her hard. She moaned against him as his hands began to explore her body. The smell of her perfume was overwhelming his dragon senses, making him want to ravage her where he stood. They were both panting, their desire etched on their faces. Sting heard voices behind him and managed to get himself under control, it wouldn't do to be caught like this, he had a reputation to consider now.

Minerva led them to a hotel about three blocks from the bar. They quickly checked into a room and closed the door behind them. Sting had already thrown his vest on the floor and was working on taking off Minerva's dress. It too fell in the general direction of his vest. He stopped, admiring her voluptuous body, clad only in a white strapless bra and lace panties. He felt his pants becoming uncomfortably tighter, so he discarded them as well. He now stood wearing only his boxers.

Sting closed the distance between them and pulled her body against his. He kissed her, gaining access to her mouth, his tongue seeking hers hungrily. Minerva quickly wrapped her tongue around his and sucked roughly.

Sting had never been kissed with such vigor, and it turned him on. He ran his hands down her back until he reached her perfect, tight ass. Sting squeezed it with both hands pulling her ever closer, his control slipping as his enhanced senses picked up the smell of her growing arousal. It was distracting him to where he could barely think.

Sting moaned, the friction of her body moving against him was sending jolts of pleasure to his cock, and he fumbled with her bra wanting to feel her breasts against his bare chest. It felt so good, but it was also frustrating. He ached to do so much more, and this position they were in wouldn't do. He picked her up and threw her on the bed none too gently. Minerva looked amused.

Sting climbed on top of her and started kissing her neck, leaving love marks as he went. His canines aching to bite her, but he'd be careful not to. This was definitely not mating in the dragon sense. He moved his kisses further down until he reached her hardened nipples. She moaned louder as he darted his tongue around one of her tightened buds before catching it between his lips and sucking gently. He gave it a small bite while his hand teased her other nipple between his thumb and index finger. Minerva was writhing beneath him and mewling, her hands moving to his waistband and inside his boxers. She gripped him, wrapping her delicate hand around his hardness and stroking him.

Sting was thoroughly enjoying the feel of Minerva's hand jerking him off. He groaned with pleasure as his cock grew even harder. He stopped his ministrations long enough to take his boxers off and give her better access. As the pace of her hand increased, he began to buck his hips wanting to feel more.

When Sting realized how close he was, he held himself back. He didn't want to come like this, he needed to fuck Minerva, to feel himself deep inside her, nothing else would do. Sting removed her panties and lined himself up to enter her. She was so wet by this point he wouldn't need to prep her.

Minerva surprised him by changing their positions so that he was lying on the bed and she was on top of him. She took control, immediately impaling herself on his cock, grasping the headboard for better control as she screamed out in pleasure.

Sting did not mind in the slightest, enjoying the view as she rode him roughly, just the way he liked. Through his pleasure filled haze he realized he wasn't surprised in the slightest, this was Minerva Orland after all, she wasn't exactly the type to be clingy or gentle.

She was aggressive and loud in her pleasure, and that gave Sting the freedom to be loud as well. They urged each other on with grunts and pants, both too far gone to be able to utter any words. Their bodies were already covered in a thin sheen of sweat as they ground together, faster and faster until Minerva finally screamed out his name. She came hard, squeezing his cock until he couldn't hold back any longer reaching his climax just as noisily as his partner.

As he finished riding out his orgasm, a bright light surrounded Minerva, temporarily blinding him. Confused, he began to feel his magic being drained out of him. He passed out, unable to grasp what was happening as the pleasure he had so recently enjoyed was suddenly replaced with pain.

End of Lemon

xxx

The dragon slayer had been easy to fool, and she'd acquired her white magic, the first of the five elements she would need to restore her powers in her current form.

Tiamat looked at the naked man on the bed with barely contained greed, having to remind herself there was no time for another go. She'd already gotten what she needed out of him, and she needed to withdraw.

It had been a long time since she'd been able to lose herself in carnal pleasure and it had proved far more enjoyable than she'd anticipated. She was used to bedding dragons, often having multiple consorts at a time, but the dragons had all been gone for hundreds of years.

Tiamat put her clothes back on and left the room, hurriedly changing back to her Dark Lady avatar once she was outside. She was immediately met by one of her cloaked handlers who teleported them back to the cult's headquarters.

Now that she knew their plan would work she was much more willing to play their game for a little longer.

xxx

Sting woke up the next morning, naked and alone. Although some of the details from the previous night were a bit hazy, he felt exhausted, like he'd used up all of his magic.

Sting looked around for Minerva, but she was already gone. He took a shower, his face breaking into a grin at the thought of his encounter with the territory mage. He couldn't wait to tell Rogue what had happened.

A/N Revised and edited April 26, 2019

#fairy tail #gratsu #fanfiction #ftlgbtales #sting eucliffe #makarov dreyar #minerva orland #tiamat #lemon #update #dragon slayers #post gmg #tkad

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falloutdialogue · 5 years

Text

Codsworth Dialogue (Long Post

In the Chinese Submarine

[Doesn't like the idea of helping a Chinese Ghoul] Sir/Mum, I do hope you know what you're doing helping this... captain.

[impressed, but not too happy about it] An impressive bit of machinery... for communist wankers.

Hmph. I suppose the red bastards deserve some credit for the state of this submarine.

Cleaning

I can hardly believe a place like this actually exists. I don't even feel the urge to clean.

Watch your step, sir/mum. So much dirt and debris. I can't imagine how long it'd take to sweep this place out.

[Seeing an office with chairs arranged in a circle] I've the most incredible urge to rearrange those chairs in a more perfect circle.

This room's a sight for sore sensors. I wonder who's been keeping it up all this time.

Can it be? A residence untouched by time?

Hubris Comics

Looking for the next issue of Grognak, sir/mum?

[excited at first. Then a little less impressed - Finding the Silver Shroud sound stage] Why, it's the Silver Shroud sound stage. My, but it's... low budget.

USS Constitution

[USS Constitution] This ship looks quite the mystery. Run aground on a bank and not a scratch on her!

Oh yes. Nothing to see here but a ship stuck in a skyscraper.

Trinity Towers/Height

[At the top] Please tell me we're heading back down.

[At the top] Oh my. Mum, please tell me we're heading back down.

[Looking up at a tall building] Please tell me we aren't going to the top. I can't imagine what the years have done to this building's stability.

[Quarry is drained to reveal it’s very deep] Oh my, that was really quite deep.

[Looking up at a tall building] Please don't tell me we're going all the way up there, sir/mum? I can already feel my acrophobia taking hold.

I do hope this overpass holds out long enough for us to get back down... safely, I should say.

Have I mentioned I'm afraid of heights? Especially ones with ramshackle crumbly bits?

Seeing the Player’s Dead Spouse

Sir/Mum, I'm... I'm so sorry.

[Worried at first... Then realizes it's the body of the player's spouse] Oh dear, is that... sir/mum?

Combat Zone

[Behind the scenes in the combat zone] Quite the theatrical set up back here. I can only imagine the elaborate plays that were performed here.

A cage? How uncivilized.

Gwinnet Brewery

[Disgusted] I'd be very dubious of the quality here. Sanitation looks to be at an all time low.

[Jokingly at first, trails off into a bit of worry at the end] Up for a tour of the ol' brewery, sir/mum? I can't imagine they charge... although I can't vouch for the safety either.

Miscellaneous Nervous/Disgusted/Cautioning

I can't imagine anything friendly is hiding down here.

Quite disturbing down here, is it not?

By Jove!

[Looking at a pool filled with radioactive waste and spewing up small geysers] That's an unfortunate water feature for you.

Sir/Mum, I'm picking up the sounds of a fairly... large creature taking a snooze. Best be on the quiet side.

I'm guessing we won't find a welcome mat here.

What is it about empty tourist attractions that can be so haunting?

Moments like this make me thankful I've no stomach.

Looks like the "mystery meat" mystery has been solved... Just goes to show, some things are better left unanswered.

I say, Vault-Tec really does enjoy crossing the line, don't they? Watching these poor souls like animals in a lab.

[concerned more for himself then the player, near water] Heading in, are we, sir? Just... try not to fall overboard.

Sir/Mum, I'm picking up dangerously high levels of radiation. Best not linger here if you value your health.

[Seeing a raider stronghold at the end of a tunnel] Oh, this is where we turn around, right, sir/mum?

[Seeing a large crater] Watch your step, sir/mum. Don't want to topple in unexpectedly.

[Inside an old water turbine] Sir/Mum, I do hope you're certain this turbine is no longer functional. The implications if it were to turn on are... not good.

Quite a novel idea, building a ramshackle town on an overpass. Especially if you hate yard work.

[Hearing a voice from a fridge] Sir/Mum, I do believe that fridge requires your attention.

Sir/Mum, no matter what may befall us, I hope suicide is never an answer you seek.

Sarcastic/Joking

Ah, another fine mess of a parking garage. I wonder what awaits us this time.

If I'm not mistaken, and my database says I'm not, that's a pyramid.

Just another welcoming and friendly neighborhood in the Commonwealth.

Are we going in there, sir/mum? You know how much I love water.

[In a hospital] Look, sir/mum, no wait. Medical miracles do exist.

[Looking at a settlement built in a nuke crater] Ah yes, the moment I see a nuclear crater, I think, "Home, sweet home."

Ah yes, nothing like cozying up to a barrel of nuclear waste for the night.

This place is just full of charm, isn't it?

[In an old bowling alley] Fancy a game, sir/mum? Something tells me the bumpers are no longer available.

[Seeing a crane you could walk on to reach an above highway] Feel like taking the high road? It appears that crane can get us there.

[In a sniper’s nest after killing the sniper.] With a view like this, it's a wonder we're still alive. Either that or our late friend here shouldn't have quit his day job.

Ah nothing like the warm glow of a fusion reactor, wouldn't you agree, sir/mum?

[Watching raiders and synths fight in a subway] Never a dull moment in the subway stations.

[Finding a lighthouse lit up by glowing ones] That's one way to light up your lighthouse.

At least radio is still alive these days. I wonder if they'll ever manage to revive the telly.

[At the bottom of an irradiated crater filled with feral ghouls] And of course the crater comes with its own welcoming party of Feral Ghouls.

Looks like these Raiders became quite the Feral feast.

[In the storage room of a blood bank] This must be the clinic's storage. Bloody impressive, wouldn't you say, sir/mum.

An ideal spot for some light camping, I'd say. Minus the mirelurks, of course.

[In a hidden room where a bomb was being made] That's one "do it yourself" project I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole.

Up for a bit of sport, sir/mum? I could give you quite the run for your money.

[Looking up at a giant Mister Handy Statue] Ah General Atomics. Only the topmost quality in consumer robotics.

Ah a secret, underground base! Right out of the ol' spy novel, wouldn't you say, sir/mum?

[At an old car factory] Ah the Corvega. I like to think of it as a distant cousin.

[Encountering Super Mutants wearing sailor hats.] Who'd have thought Super Mutants fancied a bit of dress up.

Robot Racing

Ah the nerve center of this charade. Sir/Mum, I beg you to shut this place down.

I say! General Atomics' finest, reprogrammed as simple... race horses for bloody Raiders? Appalling!

#fallout #fallout 4 #codsworth #fallout dialogue

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megamanmodelaaa-fanstories · 5 years

Text

The Squidbeak Splatoon - Third Time’s the Charm Chapter 1: The Great Squidnapping

In the far flung future, centuries from our time…

The world is nothing but vast & endless oceans, as far as the eye can see. Aside from the deep-sea world, there was no life to be seen. However, if you look just a little bit further into the horizon… land!

At first glance, this bit of land looks unremarkable as monochrome colours dominate everything in sight. But it’s when you take a deeper look into this land that you see something different, something not at all what it appears to be on the outside.

Welcome to Inkopolis… to the City of Colour!

The streets, the markets, the residence, the city center, everywhere you look, there is a new colour to gaze upon. Bright or Dark, Plain or Mixed, Singular or Combined, every colour in the collective Palette is there to enjoy! This gives the residence of Inkopolis a sense of energy & enthusiasm all day long. At night, these same colours along with the city’s beautiful lighting give way to a dazzling view that invoke feelings of imagination & serenity.

The people of Inkopolis are full of various races that have evolved beyond their Cephalopod roots to live freely on land. Jellyfish, Horseshoe Crabs, Urchins, Prawns & most dominantly, the Inklings. Inklings are a unique Species of Inkopolis because they’re half human & half Squid who can change between the two forms at will.

Also compared to normal Squids, their Ink Production is faster & much more potent. They need to be for them to participate in Inkopolis’ most famous sport: Turf War.

2 Teams of 4 Inklings battle each other in a game of Territorial Control, where players must paint as much area as possible using special weapons that utilize their natural ink as ammunition. The more turf inked, the more points that team gets, with the winner being the team with the most turf controlled when time runs out.

Certainly, the City of Inkopolis is a land that embodies enthusiasm, energy, competition & interaction. A perfect blend for a peaceful & prosperous community! But that same peace & prosperity would soon come under threat…

One day, sometime before a special Turf War Event called a “Splatfest” was scheduled to begin, people on the streets were surprised by a breaking citywide broadcast. Callie & Marie, Inkopolis’ Top Pop Idol Duo, take the stage…

Callie: “We interrupt this program to bring you important news!”

Marie: “The Great Zapfish, source of all power for Inkopolis… has mysteriously vanished.”

Callie: “City Officials have released this picture showing a crashed UFO, which was taken around the estimated time of our Zapfish’s disappearance!”

Marie: “We encourage everyone to share any information about this UFO & others that may lead to the missing Zapfish.”

Callie: “Until the Great Zapfish is recovered, we advise Turf War Veterans to expect restrictions & limitations on battle scheduling, public or private… That includes the upcoming Splatfest, which is -as of now- on hold indefinitely.”

Marie: “Our sincere apologies for any inconveniences…”

Callie: “That’s all for now. Thank you everyone & until next time…”

Callie & Marie: “Stay Fresh.”

But the public was feeling anything BUT “Fresh”. Everyone was sent into a silent panic. Who could’ve done that? How did we not notice? What’s going to happen to us?!

The Great Zapfish is an entity as big as an observatory tower that is the main source of energy for the entire city. Even in its absence, Inkopolis can still run on reserve power, but that will only last for about 2-3 months at best. People throughout the city, for the next few weeks, would live in fear & hopelessness of having to leave in the near future…

Over a Month Later…

Inkopolis still runs, but it’s clear that the dwindling power has robbed it of its enthusiasm. There aren’t as many lights bathing the city as it used to, most have resorted to staying at home out of fear & a select few fled the city to find a new place to live. What was once a city of energy, is now slowly losing all signs of life. But somewhere within the center of Inkopolis, a small group of teenagers are still kicking hard in Turf War.

Day 1, Arowana Mall, 12:50-

8 Inklings are swapping ink against each other, one side Blue & the other Orange. 2 Blue Inklings holding an N-Zap & a Splat Roller push forward, jumping off the central hill in an attempt to claim more turf as the battle enters its final minute. Suddenly, one of them gets splatted out of nowhere, while the other gets echolocated as she attempts to escape. She gets splatted by an Aerospray on her way forward.

Aerospray Inkling: “Nice going, Miwa!”

Miwa: “You can thank me later, let’s push!”

Miwa is a 14 year old Inkling who’s considered of the most skilled on the turf; one of very few who reached the coveted S+ Ranking. She’s proficient with most weapons, prefers Chargers & despises Blasters.

The battle ends with a score of 57-39 for Team Orange. The winning team jumps for joy & exchanges high fives in celebration as a member of the losing team steps forward.

N-Zap Inkling: “Y-You all got lucky because you had a Charger on your side!”

Miwa: “(Ho boy, here we go again…)”

Aerospray Inkling: “Is that so? Wanna trade & see how it ends?”

Splat Roller Inkling: “Yes! Let’s rematch!”

But just as they were about to start, an official of the Turf War Management approaches them, saying they’ve reached the maximum allowed number of matches & they’re to leave immediately.

Splat Roller Inkling: “But… But that’s not fair; we’ve only had 2 matches. Isn’t the maximum limit supposed to be 5?”

Official: “New rules have been placed: 2 per group only, regardless of arrangements.”

& just like that, everyone packs their things in misery & returns to the City Center…

Inkopolis Plaza, 13:15-

Miwa sits on a bench drinking here favourite juice as she relaxes after being forced to stop battling on such short notice. As she throws her empty bottle in the bin, 2 friends arrive to join her.

Green Inkling: “Yo! Reached your threshold already?”

Miwa: “Let me guess: Reduced Turf War Capacity?”

Purple Inkling: “Yeeeah, what a pain…”

Miwa: “Relax guys, I’m sure it’ll all be fine. Can’t let those smiles turn upside down, right?”

Both of her friends look at her speechlessly, their expressions arched in worry…

Ever since the Great Zapfish’s disappearance, Miwa & several others have been trying to get some energy back into everyone by engaging in Turf Wars as much as possible, creating enthusiasm through tense competition & distracting the public from the crisis. But as the days went by with no sign of the Great Zapfish returning, their efforts soon fell to deaf ears & now, they’re slowly losing their battling privileges.

Purple Inkling: “Listen, maybe… we should go plan our move out & get it over with. I’m sure there’s plenty of land outsi—“

Miwa: “& give up on everything we have here?! Like it’s all worth NOTHING to us?!”

Green Inkling: “Girl, there’s not much else we CAN do. We gotta move on…”

Miwa: “I can’t… I WON’T allow…..”

A cold silence descends upon the 3 companions, as if to look for a way to challenge each other’s arguments, to challenge the very desperate situation they find themselves in. Yet sadly, quietness…

Then…

Green Inkling: “Gals look, it’s HIM again! Haha!”

Miwa’s green friend points towards the Vending Machines Corner, an old man sits under a manhole cover looking around as if seeking something.

Miwa: “*Again*??”

Purple Inkling: “Oh you’ve never seen him? He always shows up here between 13-14 o’clock for some reason. What is this bum doing? Hehehe!”

Miwa: “Heh beats me, I don’t live in the sewers myself!”

The 3 continue laughing as Miwa decides to take a picture of this peculiar man. Moments after she’d put her phone down, the old man starts looking directly at her, exchanging such a sharp gaze. Miwa stares in confusion.

Miwa: “(Why’s he looking at me like that? Did he catch me taking his picture? What’s wi—)”

Miwa’s friends tap her shoulder to say goodbye in a hurry. As soon as she turns to face the old man however, he was no longer there. She waits a little longer hoping to see him again, but he never does & Miwa decides to return to her apartment for the day.

Flounder Heights, 18:45-

Miwa sits on her desk working on whatever homework she has to finish, however little there was to complete due to the crisis. She couldn’t help but think about the old man she saw in the Plaza. With her curiosity soaring high & an idea for a gag in mind, Miwa puts her pen down & starts surfing the web for something similar to his outfit.

Suddenly, she comes across a startling discovery. While the old man’s outfit was nothing to write home about, the hat was EXTREMELY valuable: The Legendary Cap. A very special & rare headgear that only the best of Inklings were awarded with it for their services & bravery in the Great Turf War, 100 years ago.

A cap like this is IMPOSSIBLE to get, even with the help of the back alley dealers like Spyke!

Miwa: “(What was he doing with a hat like that! He couldn’t have stolen it… Is it a fake perhaps? &…) Why was he looking at me?”

One question lead to another, each without an answer. So, Miwa decides there was only one way to solve this mystery…

Day 2, Inkopolis Plaza, 13:40-

For the first time in over a month, Miwa didn’t take part in any Turf Wars. Rather, she spent her time waiting around in the plaza for the Cap wearing man. They look at each other from a distance for minutes on end, with Miwa waiting for the right opportunity to face him.

With each passing minute, she grows more tense. The old man was still looking at her & her alone.

Miwa: “(He’s not going to look anywhere else, isn’t he?... I need to find a way to distra—!!)”

& just like that, the old man vanished while she was looking around.

Miwa: “But it’s still 13:50 o’clock!”

She makes a mad dash for the manhole to investigate. No sign of him. There was only one way he could’ve escaped her sight…

Miwa: “Yuck… (Am I really doing this?...)”

Hesitation holds her in place, but not for long as her curiosity becomes too strong to bear.

She jumps into the manhole cover, unaware of what fate has in store for her…..

Unknown Area, 14:00-

After a unexpectedly long journey in the dark depths, Miwa finally emerges to find that she’s now FAR outside the city limits, tall cliffs & waterfalls encircle a bowl shaped area full of small islands, each with its own theming. The most distinct landmark is a giant sculpture of an Octopus at the highest peak.

Miwa continues to admire the scenery, until she finds the old man beside a small shack.

Miwa: “Hello, sir?... W-What am I saying?! Listen, I need to know whe—“

Old Man: “That look in your eyes…”

Miwa: “Wha??”

Old Man: “I’ve been waiting for someone like you! You’re just who we need to defeat the Octarians!”

Miwa: “Octarians? You mean the ones Inklings fought in the Great Turf War? Wait, are you some sort of military general?”

Old Man: “Absolutely! I’m Captain Cuttlefish, Leader of the Legendary Squidbeak Splatoon! A pleasure to make your acquaintance, welcome to Octo Valley.”

After exchanging introductions, the Captain moves on to explain what’s going on. It seems that he’s been investigating the Great Zapfish’s disappearance alone & has concluded that it was the Octarians’ who stole it, as revenge for their defeat in the Great Turf War 100 years ago.

Despite his best attempts, he wasn’t able to get anyone to believe his findings & is currently understaffed to do the job. This led him to try & find a capable Inkling from the streets of Inkopolis to help return the lost Zapfish, which is where Miwa comes in.

Miwa: “So, you want ME to help you recover the Great Zapfish?”

Cpt. Cuttlefish: “I won’t lie: It won’t be easy. We’re alone against an army. The best I can do to help you is provide telecommunication support & hide Mini Spawn Points around the valley, they will only save you so many times.

So, what will you do young one? Will you join me as my 3rd Agent on this covert mission?”

Most would take a step back to consider, but Miwa didn’t as she saw an opportunity. If she can do this, everything will be back to normal. She’ll take back her home, Turf Wars & bring back the Inkopolis she loves! Miwa turns to the Captain to give her answer, when…

Cpt. Cuttlefish: “I’ll take your silence as ‘Yes, of course I’ll help!’”

Miwa: “Wait What?!”

Cpt. Cuttlefish: “I’ll make the necessary preparations for you, so meet me again tomorrow at 12 o’clock!”

Miwa: “Wait a second!”

It was settled: Miwa will be the Squidbeak Splatoon’s Agent 3, on a quest to explore Octo Valley, stop the Octarian menace & retrieve the stolen Great Zapfish!

Will she succeed? What obstacles await her? Tune in next time for Chapter 2: Krak on, Agent!

Thank you for reading & have a good day! 👋🏻😄

#Fan Story #Splatoon #Agent 3 #Miwa #Captain Cuttlefish #Callie #Marie #Chapter 1

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paladin-andric · 5 years

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Blackheart, Chapter 16: The Insurmountable

It was a curious request, to be sure. One strange enough Razorwing couldn’t help but ask as they walked through the streets.

“Why on earth do you wish to return to the gates? Surely you aren’t running from this, after all we’ve been through?”

“Of course not,” the knight responded, “I want to see what the fuss is all about.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve heard there’s some...invincible monster guarding the gate.”

“That’s right,” Senci said, speeding up to walk beside the two, “We would have evacuated by now if it wasn’t for that horrible thing!”

“First I’m hearing about it,” Charles offered.

Alexander shrugged. “Nothing was there when I came. Just walked on through. Looked like a massacre happened there, though…”

“Well I just flew on over,” Razorwing said simply, “Never been to the gates.”

“It’s there, you’ll see!” Senci insisted, “A-and if I’m wrong, well...we can finally evacuate the Citadel!”

“Not us, though,” Alexander stated, “The world still hangs in the balance. We COULD have the other survivors finally send for reinforcements, though…”

“There has to be SOME way to defeat it,” Charles said matter-of-factly, “Nothing’s just invincible! Not dragons, not demons, not anything!”

“I guess we’ll see,” the knight said quietly.

The group continued their trip, the knight occasionally recalling certain landmarks and buildings from when he tore through the city trying to keep up with Senci.

The closer they got, the more he recalled. Walking through one of the alleyways, Alexander stopped short of the exit.

“Something wrong?” Razorwing asked with concern.

“No, I just realized...this is where I bumped into you, Senci.”

The kobold perked up as he looked around. “Ah, you’re right! Wow, to think that was only a few days ago...with everything going on, it feels like it’s been forever!” he said with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah...not far now.”

The knight continued marching back to the gate, eventually coming across that first sight that angered him, after the massacre at the gates...the derelict, abandoned market stall, still full of rotten fruits.

A perfect symbol of what the city had become.

Shaking his head, Alexander continued. Just one block away, was where he had entered the city…

As they came to the plaza, all sorts of stalls and stores along the streets the whole way there, Alexander stopped and took cover behind the building on the corner.

All right...moment of truth.

The knight peeked around the corner...and couldn’t believe his eyes.

A massive, near-indescribable horror stood in the plaza, flanked by roads, buildings, and in front of the gates. All around the thing, corpses still lay rotted and forgotten.

The creature was massive, not quite the size of Tourthun altogether, but certainly taller as it stood upright on two legs…

The beast had four arms, ending in long, thin fingers that resembled sword blades.

Its face was a mass of eyes and sharp, jutted teeth, and misshapen flesh.

Its body was bizarre, being large and round but coated in grayish, contorted skin that seemed to be...moving, constantly shifting, twisting and pulling about.

On the...thing’s back, there were...jutting spikes? It looked at though the creature’s spine burst out its own back, and split off into many different directions, in what appeared to be a mockery of the framework of a set of wings.

There was no leather or flesh to be found around the gangly bone though, likely meaning this monstrosity was not granted the gift of flight.

Alexander, for a moment, froze.

His heart beat against his chest. The air in his lungs left him. Sweat began to form all over him. The hair on his arms stood up straight, pressing against his clothes and armor.

He had not felt the fear of death within him for many years. But now?

Just staring as this parody of life made him feel like his sanity was burning away.

This creature should not live. It should not exist within the same reality as the rest of the world.

Finally getting a hold of himself, the knight stepped backwards, shoving against whoever stood behind him.

As his hands pushed against feathers, it became apparent the other man was Razorwing.

The bird seemed to follow the knight’s frantic movements, also beginning to back up. The rest of the group followed as Alexander turned and moved down several blocks before ducking into the back alleys of tightly packed houses.

Alexander moved next to the wooden house and kneeled down, the others quickly huddling beside him.

“W-what...WAS that?” Charles asked, shaking and shivering.

“The...m-most vile thing I’ve ever seen!” Razorwing answered, an audible quiver in his voice, something Alexander couldn’t ever recall hearing.

“It’s invincible!” Senci whispered, “We...lost a lot of people trying to take it down. Arrows, bolts, axe, blade, magic...it never even flinched! It CAN’T die!”

The dragonoid shook his head, clutching the brim of his hat and pulling it down over his face. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening...”

“Get a hold of yourself!” the archer announced, still sounding less than confident, “You cannot give up hope!”

“Did you hear Senci?! It’s immortal! Even if we climbed the walls, what’s to stop that thing from just walking out of the city and slaughtering everything in Geralthin?!”

“There MUST be a way!”

“There isn’t,” Senci said sadly, “We tried.”

“There’s ALWAYS a way!” the hero stated, beginning to sound like himself again, “No matter what ends we must go to, that abomination MUST fall! I will not rest until it lies DEAD! Do you hear me, Charles?! We WILL uncover its secrets!”

The magician flinched as Razorwing grabbed and shook him.

“I said; DO you HEAR me, Charles?! Snap OUT of it! You’re a HERO! We ALL are! ACT like one!”

The dragonoid blinked as he stared into the archer’s eyes.

“We’re in this together. As hopeless as you may think it, we can’t give up. This isn’t about us...this is about the world. Like you said, it could just up and leave, and begin to slaughter everything and everyone. What about your father, Charles?! Are you just going to let it kill him?!”

“N-no!” the magician cried in horror.

“Than FIGHT!”

Charles tensed up, clenching his clawed hands and taking short breaths.

“O-okay...okay, fine! Fine, I’ll FIGHT! Alright, Razorwing?!” the dragonoid yelled, clutching onto the man currently grabbing him.

“That’s the Charles I know!” the koutu said with a grin, “The one who helps his friends, who does what’s right!”

“Does what’s right…” Charles took a deep breath. “Alright...we can do this…”

“Mister Alexander?” Senci moved over to the knight, who was still sitting against the house, silent. “Umm...what do you think?”

A deafening silence filled the air.

“Alexander…?”

The knight looked up, his face hidden behind his helmet.

“...why?”

Senci frowned. “Huh?”

“Why does it...exist?”

“I-I don’t know,” the kobold answered honestly.

“That thing...my God...why…”

Razorwing kneeled in front of Alexander at stared straight into his visor. “Courage, sir knight. Every here is counting on you.”

The human shook his head. “I-I just…it had to know. It let me in, then came back. It must want me to die here. It must want to doom me to these streets…”

The koutu surged forward, grasping the plates on the knight’s shoulders tightly.

“Stay with me!” he barked, causing Alexander to jolt a bit. “Remember the mission!”

“Hey, that thing’ll hear us,” Charles said nervously. Razorwing took a breath and lowered his voice.

“Alexander...you’ve been a tower of resolve, a rock, for this group. You CAN’T give up now! What would that do to the others? They need your assurance, sir knight! You’ve been keeping their spirits up this far! Break now and this alliance will crumble! Think of what’s at stake!”

The knight was quiet for a moment.

“...I know.” he looked up and met Razorwing’s eyes. “I know. I just...needed a moment. I’ve...never seen anything like that before. I just...needed a moment to compose myself. I’m not giving up.”

The hero nodded and smiled, patting Alexander on the shoulder. “Didn’t think so. Just making sure. You’ve brought us this far...let’s keep going!”

“The question is...what next?” Charles muttered, arms crossed and leg foot tapping anxiously.

“That...THING must die,” Alexander said plainly, “There is no other option.”

“What?! But-”

“We’ll find a way,” Alexander spoke, cutting Senci off, “This is now our priority.”

“But the Blackheart, our mission…”

The knight looked over to Charles. “That’s true. That’s still our ultimate goal...but right now, this beast must die.”

“Might I ask why this takes priority, sir knight?” Razorwing asked, hands folded behind his back. He seemed to be trying to be as respectful as possible.

“The end of the world, in my opinion, cannot be ignored.”

Alexander sighed. “I said that’s still our ultimate goal. That thing can’t die. If we leave an IMMORTAL DEMON at its post...it could waltz outside at any point and...God knows how many would die.”

“A fair point,” Razorwing answered, “But...can do we do? We haven’t the foggiest idea, no leads...we’d be chasing ghosts.”

“Charles.”

The dragonoid jumped at bit at the knight’s mention of his name.

“Y-yes?”

“You said you went to a university here, correct?”

“The ONLY university here. The Palethorn Academy, sir...wait,” the magician’s eyes widened, as if he too was putting it together. “You’re about to inquire as to our research on demonology.”

“Sharp,” the knight noted.

“Well, it’s good you brought it up. Demonology is loathed, and normally banned all across the kingdom, but...I just remembered. The Order started an initiative between the Church and the academy.”

“Regarding demons?”

The dragonoid nodded. “Right. A sort of...collaborative effort. Combining the holy magic of the church and the warding knowledge of the sorcerers, the higher-ups worked together with priests and paladins to gain a deeper understanding of demonkind, and how to combat them. They had their own secret meetups at the top floor, restricted access to the rest of us, of course.”

“And so if we go there…”

“...it’s a long shot, but we might find SOMETHING,” Charles finished.

The knight nodded and stood up. “Right, well I think we’ve discovered our next target. Any objections?”

“Then what?” Senci asked innocently.

“If we discover that thing’s weakness...we kill it. With nothing guarding the gates, we can evacuate the Citadel and send for reinforcements. With the Royal Army at our side, this entire battle for the Blackheart just might be possible.”

“I see…!” Razorwing looked pleasantly surprised. “You had a good reason for going with this plan of yours. You have a very...strategic mindset, Alexander.”

“A few years leading armies’ll do that,” the knight answered with a shrug.

“A good plan...I’m in support of it,” the koutu said with a smile, offering Alexander a short bow.

“Good to hear it. Charles? Senci?”

“It’s worth a try!” the kobold said happily.

The magician frowned. “I suppose it’s better than nothing...letting that invincible thing go about its business DOES sound like a terrible idea...and the armies of mankind...very well. I’ll lead, I know the way.”

“Excellent,” Alexander answered, sounding satisfied.

Preparing themselves, the group began to move, following the magician as he began to lead the way to the academy.

“So where exactly is this place?” Alexander probed, “How far?”

“All the way to the North, in the center of the city. It’s atop a large hill, you’ll see when we get there.”

“Could be worse...could be on the opposite end of the city,” Razorwing muttered.

“This is true,” the knight replied, “If this works...I’d like us to take care of that dragon next.”

“Quite a list of targets we’re picking up,” Razorwing noted.

The human looked back at the koutu with a serious expression. “I want them deprived of trump cards, unable to overwhelm us during the final assault. Pick off their strongest assets before they’re able to fully utilize them. Defeat in detail, friend. It wins wars.”

“A fair point…”

The group became silent for some time, moving back up north as they followed the dragonoid’s lead.

He seemed aware that the main streets were death traps, taking side roads and alleyways just like everyone else had.

He HAD survived here since the initial invasion, after all.

Walking through the streets, the area desolate around them, Alexander decided to learn a bit more about their destination.

“So, Charles...any information you have about this academy of yours? Anything that might help?”

The dragon scratched his chin. “Well, went there as a student. Lived in the dorms. Got my own little room. It’s uh...split into different sections. There’s the dorms in the west wing, got some classrooms in the middle...the cafeteria is in the east wing. More classes on the second floor...the central area has classrooms on every floor, you see. Recreation area is in the west wing on the second floor...clubs are in the east wing. Third floor has staff offices in the west wing, artifact containment in the east...and then the fourth floor is mostly training grounds.”

“Training grounds?” the knight raised a brow.

“Yes. For practicing spells and the like. Rooms are mostly empty to minimize destruction. The walls, floors and ceilings are are warded with sigils, so when a student inevitably messes up a spell, they don’t bring the whole building down.”

“I see…”

“And finally the top floor,” the magician continued, “Where those priests were making visits to. Off limits to nearly everyone, even the staff. No idea what’s up there.”

“And that is where the research on demons lies.”

“Correct.”

“Very well...I’m interested to see how the place held up,” Alexander admitted.

“Everyone ran there and to the church during the first attack…” Charles sounded like he was having a difficult time continuing. “It was the first place I checked after the guild. Alexander, and all of you...it’s...a massacre in there. I’d recommend you cover your noses when we enter.”

The knight grimaced. “Damn. I thought...maybe a few wise magicians had holed up in there.”

“There’s nothing left,” the dragonoid said sadly.

“Alright than...say, what’s this about a guild?”

“The Guild of Dragonoids!” Charles said, a smile tugging at the sides of his muzzle.

“A...guild of dragonoids?”

“For the betterment of our kind!” the magician answered, “Surely you know how we’re viewed by society at large.”

“As menaces,” the knight answered.

“Correct. Well, the guild decided that if we were going to be treated like villains, the best way to combat that was to band together and show everyone that we just want to live normal lives, like everyone else!”

The human raised a brow. “And, uh...what did that entail, exactly?” “Self-sufficiency, charity, and kindness! We had this lovely hall with all sorts of stuff. Music classes, cooking classes, tailoring, a library, book readings and discussion groups...it was...like a second family.”

Alexander noticed the sudden souring of the dragonoid’s attitude. “You said you went there first, during the attack. Your friends, did they…?”

Charles winced. “T-they...when I got there, they were…”

He swallowed, seeming unable to continue.

“...they’re all gone.”

It was spoken in a whisper, quivering and full of pain.

“God...Charles, I’m sorry.”

“L-like animals, they were just...it’s not right…”

The young magician was breathing quick, shallow breaths now. “Theodon...my friend...he was...in a heap in the library. I-I went into the tailoring room, and Merjim, s-she...she…”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Alexander assured, “I understand.”

“We made this robe together,” the dragonoid said tearfully, tugging at his own outfit, “All that time ago. W-we did it in that very room...a-and when I went in...she was still sitting in her favorite chair...slumped over the table!”

Alexander put a hand on the magician’s shoulder, stopping his walk.

“You should sit down for a minute. Collect yourself.”

The dragonoid turned, tears flowing down his muzzle and wiping at his nose. “B-but-”

“Relax. Just relax.”

The dragonoid slumped against the wall, his wings splayed against the stone as he slid to the ground.

Sitting now, he shook his head. “M-my friends...m-maybe if I had been there, I could have...done something.”

The knight kneeled down and put his hand on the half-dragon’s shoulder again. “You did all you could.”

“B-but if I had only been there-”

“You can’t predict the future...well, maybe once you’re a sorcerer. But it’s not your fault.”

“Your friends are in heaven, now,” Razorwing offered, “At least they haven’t become one of THEM.”

“It’s true,” Alexander continued, “They’re in a better place. Theodon and Merjim, I’m sure they were great people, and I’m sure they’re watching from above, right this second, cheering you on. Hoping for you to make it through this.”

“You’re brave, mister Charles!” Senci offered, “Everyone here respects you! We know you’re doing your best!”

The dragonoid, unable to hold back, began to cry. The group huddled around him, and he wrapped his arms around them all as he continued to weep.

He thought about it. About his friends in the guild. The people who, almost as much as his father, felt like family.

He loved them like brothers and sisters...and now they were gone.

Were the knight’s words true? Were they really watching him from up above, their spirits praying for his safety?

He took a deep, shaky breath and collected himself.

Looking up, the blackness of the fog was blocking any view of the sun or stars he could have had, but still...he could FEEL it. Just behind that veil...heaven sat, watching. His friends, passed on, still there. Watching him carefully. Seeing what was happening, even after their own journeys had ended.

Tears rolling down his face, Charles stared into the sky, feeling something looking back at him.

“I won’t let you down. I promise.”

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lillaxtrigger · 5 years

Text

Faded land: Chapter: 5

Walking through the shadows of the wastes, Clara looks up to see the clouds darkening. Droplets of rain began to pour down on the cracked ground. Walking past the rubble of buildings, something in her sites began to take shape out in the distance. As she gets closer, she began to see a bridge that was barely holding together, moments away from crumbling. On the other side was the city of Louisville. Even from afar, she could see its tall towers cracked and broken. The river circling the city was nothing but a wide, deep, and dried out chasm that looked like if dropped down into, there’d be no way out. The only way she could see to enter the city was over the giant decaying bridge. “Oh boy.”. Beginning to cross over through the teetering highway, she took her time, know that one careless step could lead her to plummet to her doom. She was wary enough to not step on a single crack, tiptoeing through the countless ones that spread across the road. She eventually came to a point where the path ahead way blocked by wreckage of cars. Looking around, the wreck seemed to stretch out to both sides. Clara began to slowly climb up the pile of wrecked vehicles that towered over the concrete. She took her time climbing down, watching every step she took so not to risk making the pile fall apart. The scientist came to a total still when the wreckage started to shake, trying not to upset it anymore. When the pile stopped moving, she continued all the way down. Clara was relieved to be back on the cracked ground, but that sigh when back in when she saw the wreck topple over, crashing into the brittle pavement. The whole pack of cars sunk through the bridge and plummeted down into the dry chasm below. She sees the rest of the bridge following suit, its wires on the side snapping off. The once careful scientist throws caution into the wind and makes a break for it as the road beneath her was crumbling down. Jumping over whatever is in her way, she looks back to see the collapsing road beneath her swallowing the obstacles. She manages to make it to more solid ground and watches as the mighty bridge she just crossed fell, breaking into countless pieces in the dry river below. Walking down into the city itself, the first thing she witnesses was a couple of armored fighters with a lion emblem making a man kneel down on the streets. One of them pulls out a gun and shoots the man square in the head, incentivising Clara to back away. “That takes care of that. So who are you taking for tonight game?” one of them asks his partner. “Well, I thought about taking Micheal, but I think he might be on watch duty with...What...What’s that?”. Looking over, they see Clara run towards the nearby ally. “Aw, dammit. Looks like we missed one. Come on.”. The running scientist bolts through the alley, looking back and sees both armored guard about to fire. She snatches up a nearby trash can lid and uses it as a shield against the oncoming fire. Coming to a chain link fence, she couldn’t climb it without letting go of the lid. Seeing their target cornered, the goons start walking towards her, still firing. Looking up, she sees both of them under an unstable set of metal stairs, only a single screw keeping it from collapsing. Clara tilts the lid in the direction of the stairway, one of the bullets ricocheting into the screw and bringing the structure down on her pursuers. She sees both of them quickly digging their way out of the crashed metal stairs and starts climbing. After jumping to the other side, she runs out of the alley and into a parking lot full of wrecked cars. Exhausted, her only option is to try and hide from her pursuers in the one of the destroyed automobile. The two armored goons come out of alley and skulk in search of their target One of the goons walks towards one of the cars and begins searching through the inside, only to find torn up leather seats. The other looks inside and doesn’t even see that much, as everything on the inside was striped down. One pry's the back trunk open, thinking that their target might be hiding inside. Prying it open revealed a guy, who tried to run as soon as the trunk opened. The armored goon shoots him in the leg, making him fall to the ground. The pair, then start to drag the poor man down the street, with their victim screaming for help as his blood trails the concrete. “Ah! Help! I can’t go to the arena! Please! I don’t wanna die!”. “Hey, didn’t the person we were chasing look more...Feminine.” one grunt said. “Who cares? One more volunteer for the arena either way When they were out of site, the scientist crawls out of the hollowed out hood of a truck and starts to sneak away. As she walks around, Clara managed to actually get a good look at her surroundings, the ruins of the streets, the cracked roads and broken buildings, all giving the sense of time and decay. Her stroll along the forlorn streets take her to a wide, crowded plaza, where a big sign overhead had words spray painted on, reading: “Master Malcolm’s Metropolis”. Surfing through the bottle necks of people, she looks back and sees some of them pursuing her with a contemptuous glare in their eyes With followers in her midst, she hurries through the crowd hoping to lose her pursuers. In a desperate bid, she squeezes her way out of the crowd and into a wayward road. Clara runs as fast as she can to loose them, but with no energy left after her last two endeavors, it isn’t long before she collapses to the ground in exhaustion On her knees, her pursuers soon surrounds her, staring down as she catches her breath. “What...do you want...from me?” she tries to question in between her takes. One of them bends down, face to face with their target and questions: “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”. “No...What?”. The group looks at one another, one of them suggesting out loud: “I think we should just kill her and take her stuff.”. “Yeah, that should justify taking our last hope from us?”. “No no no. I want her to see what she’s done.” the one bent down said to the other’s. He then looks at Clara, telling her: “You’re coming with us.”. They take Clara to a wrecked supermarket building, where inside, she saw a countless number of people in rags, some laying down in coughing fits, others bored or depressed as they wander about the store. “Where are we?” she asked. “You’re in our hideout. A haven that shelters the lost, starving, tired, and sick from the cruelty of the monarch.”. “You won’t be one of them, though. You are gonna have a word with our boss.”. At the back of the market, they stood before a door labeled “Manager”. One of them was about to walk in, telling the others: “Alright. Gonna give the boss the word. Make sure our guest doesn’t go anywhere.”. The man walks through the door, shutting it from behind. Incoherent mumbling could be heard coming through. Clara turns to her captors, wondering what exactly what she done to upset them, and what they were gonna do to her. The man comes out moments later, saying to the scientist: “Boss wants to see ya.”. Clara walks in, the room is dark, say for the light shining down on a turned swivel chair, two guards stand by in the back of the room She sits down on the chair in front of the desk, nervously wonders aloud: “Um...You…You wanted to see me?”. The swivel chair turns, revealing a big muscular woman in its seat. “Yeah. Deral said that he saw you crossing the bridge as it broke. That true?”. “Y-yeah. I-I came here to try and find a friend of mine. Do you maybe know where-”. “If you’re looking for somebody, they might have had the common sense to escape by now. This city’s gone to hell, all thanks to Malcolm. Ever since he powered his way into Louisville, he’s been trafficking the rations drop off by the Canadians. Only giving them to those who do his bidding and fight for him. He says it all for the sake of survival, I say he’s full of shit. He abducts the unnoticed part of the populous and makes them fight with meals being the prize. People like me have fought back against the bastards tyranny. Together, we’ve formed a resistance that plans to bring down his rule and shelter all it threatens. We call ourselves: Les Coliques. Meaning colleagues in a long forgotten language.”. The leader then hears Clara burst out in a fit of laughter, unable to stay in her seat as she falls over. The boss leans in, threatening with: “You find our plight funny?”. “No. No, it’s your name. It’s french for collywobbles.”. The boss looses her grizzled composure when she find out what her team name meant, with the two guards beside her struggling not to laugh as they snicker. When she looks at them, they immediately stop, collecting themselves. Looking back at Clara, she continues with: “My point being is that with Malcolm in charge, nobody goes in and out of the city on his watch. Most of the bridges that he has on guards on won’t let anyone through. Only exception being an old, broken bridge nearby that looked like it could have collapsed any minute. He barely bothered with it, figuring only suicidal idiots would dare to cross. Which made it perfect for smuggling people out of town. See, as long as we were careful, the bridge wouldn’t break. It was the only way out of this hovel. Until this morning when you arrived.”. The boss looked at Clara with an intimidating glare, making her nervously gulf as any laughter that was left sinks out. “I...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make the bridge fall.” she stuttered. “Oh. You didn’t mean it. Well I guess that makes everything all better doesn’t it?” the boss sarcastically responds. Clara could feel the tension radiating from the boss as she laughed. “Still I don’t think the people outside this office are gonna be as forgiving as I am when they hear you took away their only hope of escape from this hell hole. That is, unless your willing to make up for it.”. Clara’s shaking starts to slowly be replaced with curiosity “The name’s Barley, but you can call me boss.”. “Boss? Bu...But I’m not a fighter. A can barely throw a punch.” “We’ll if you can’t fight, what else can you do?”. “Well, I have a PH.D in nuclear physiology and-”. “Ooh, scientist are ya. Always did have a thing for smart chicks.” Barley added with a smile, making Clara blush. “We never had a brainiac on the team before. Sure we’ll have plenty of uses for you.”. Clara was about to leave, until the boss tells her to: “By the way, drop the pack.”. “What?”. “You’re backpack. Hand it over.”. “Why?”. “Can’t have you ditching us without warning. Bet you can’t get far without your supplies. Not that you could.”. “I can’t give you my stuff.”. “I’m sorry, did I stutter?” Barley says, getting up from her seat, towering over Clara as her shadow blankets the scientists entire figure. She quickly discards her backpack in a frantic pass, setting it down on the desk before her. The boss takes the backpack, reassuring Clara with: “Don’t worry. You’ll get this back when you’ve earned it. In the meantime. Why don’t you help hand out rations. Til we find something you can do in the field.”. One of the soldiers takes her to the storage room, where she saw very little goods stacked in rows. “This is it?”. “Yep. With Malcolm trafficking all the food. It’s a nightmare just to smuggle some in.”. “And how many people are you housing?”. “Um...uh...You know, I don’t think we ever kept track. We just always gave everyone one can a piece.”. “Well go and count. Can’t split them up evenly if I don’t know how many people were serving.”. “Alright, sheesh.”. As the soldier leaves to count their occupance, leaving Clara to stare at the cans and wonder. In a one of the aisle, the scientist digs through junk in between the shelves. Out from the countless junk, she pulls out a big pot. “Finally, one that’s clean.” she happily remarks. “Now I just have to find a ladle.”. Just then, something falls on the scientist head, clonking her in the noggin. “Ah!”. Rubbing her head, she looks down at what dropped on her and saw a ladle. “Hey, there’s one.”. She grabs the big spoon and starts to walk out of the aisle, not seeing the little girl in rags staring at her atop the shelves. Clara could be seen by the sheltered dragging a cinder block across the store, her grunts echo through the aisle. She quickly tires from dragging the heavy brick through the floor and drops it to catch her breathe. As she takes a breather, she sees the concrete block rising, seeing a skinny man lifting the other side of the concrete block. The scientist smiles and as she gets back up and both of them carry the cinder block through the store. In the outdoors section, the scientist looks over a giant rack as tall as the building itself. Clara spots a grill grid atop the massive structure among a pile of outdoor tools and bags full of feed. Taking a deep breath, she jumps up and starts climbing the set of big shelves. Ascending the pile of junk, she sees a set of hedge cutters dropping down towards her. She jumps to the side and avoids the sharp scissors. Some of the sheltered gather around and watch as Clara climbs the tall shelves. Getting to the second shelf, Clara sees that the pile on it wasn’t big enough to reach the next shelf. Reaching into the mess, she digs up an axe and looks up towards the next shelf. Wielding the woodcutter, she jumps up and hooks the axe onto the grid above She pulls herself up and starts to climb towards the edge. The scientist manages to reach the top, where upon she spots the grill grid. Trying to pull the grid out of the pile, shes that it won’t budge. She starts to pull harder, feeling it unhinge from its nest of junk. Clara breaks her prize free, but not without stumbling off the shelf. Seeing the scientist plummet down, the watchers swiftly gather to catch her. When they put her down, she turns to her saviors and says with a smile: “Thanks.”. Though that smile quickly fades as she sees the pile of junk at the beginning to fall. All off them start to run, but Clara sees the falling debris closing in. Knowing they won’t make it, she pushes the people out of harms way. The scientist was buried under an avalanche of countless tools and bags. The crash echoes through the store, several of the onlookers stare at the pile, thinking the poor girl met her end. Suddenly, a single arm burst out from the wreckage, grasping the grill grid in hand. Clara places the grid atop two standing cinder blocks and sat the pot above. Underneath it all was a metal tin, which she dumped a bag of wood chippings into. The soldier that Clara told to count the people came back and notices the setup. “You setting up a kitchen here.”. “Yep. Figure like this, we can serve the food while keeping track of how much rations we use.”. “Mmm, haven’t had soup in a while.”. “By the way, how many people are we serving?” Clara asks as she lights a match and throws it in the chippings. “Oh! Um...I counted about...60.”. “There’s only 60 people here? Huh thought there’d be more.”. Both of them look at the fire from underneath the pot as it start to grow. “So when we cook the food, are we still gonna eat out of the cans or-”. Clara gasps and realizes: “Bowls! I completely forgot about bowls! I need to find utensils too.”. Clara begins to run, but not before saying to the soldier: “I need you to take some cans and pour food into the pot. Make sure to stir the mix every so often.”. The soldier looks at the pot and admits: “But, I ain’t no cook.”. But his confession falls on deaf ears as he sees the scientist run out off earshot. Looking through the aisles, the scientist eyes wonder across the nearly empty shelves. “Bowls, bowls, bowls. Where are the bowls?”. Even after scanning through the shelves countless times, she didn’t find a single sign of a bowl or silverware, making her loudly grip. “Silverware I get, you can use those as weapons. Even with a spoon, you can jam it in someones eye. But who in their right mind steal bowls in a nuclear apocalypses. Honestly”. She slouches on the floor, a depressed sigh leaving her lungs. The scientist looks over to find the same little girl from before. “Hey kid. Wouldn’t happen to know where I can find some bowls and spoons, do ya? Just then, the girl swiped Clara’s glasses right of her face and scampered away. “Hey!” the scientist said as she quickly got up. She start to chase the girl out of the aisle. With her blurred vision, she could barely make out the brat in her pursuit. “Give those back! I can barely see without them.” The little girl runs into an aisle full of people. As the girl weaved around the grown ups, Clara was bumping into countless survivors. The scientist eventually trips and falls flat on her face on the dirty marble tile. Getting up, she saw the blur of the girl run away. The soldier that Clara told to start the food was dumping soup into the pot. He turns to sees Clara chasing the girl across the store. “Hey! I just got the soup in!” he shouts to her. “Great! Start mixing!”. Clara looses her in an aisle with seemingly empty shelves. Releasing a frustrated moan, Clara grabs onto the shelf to guide her way. “Great. Now what do I do? Doubt they have optometrists in the wastelands?”. As she guided her way through the aisle, she felt something on the shelf she was grabbing onto. Starting to feel around the object, she recognized them to be her glasses. With hopeful relief, she quickly puts her specs back on her vision clearing to. “Ah. That was scary.”. With her vision restored, the first thing she sees is a bag full of paper bowl. “Hey. Some bowls. Sweet.” Clara cheers as she grabs the bag. She looks over and sees the girl pointing to a bag of plastic spoons. “Oh. I get it.”. Back at the setup, Clara and the soldier were pouring out bowls of soup for the people awaiting in a straight line. As the soldier was pouring into the bowl, Clara mentions: “Remember, the bigger people get more soup, while the smaller ones get less. That way, we can save on rations.”. “Wondered why you were running around, causing a racket.” a familiar voice rang out. The scientist turns around and sees Barley right behind them with a bowl of soup. “B-Boss!?” the soldier blurted out. The leader took a sip of her soup and goes: “Mmm. Hadn’t had good chicken noodle like this in a while.”. She looks to Clara and says: “You didn’t mention you could cook.”. “Oh, um. I-I didn’t cook this. I just put together the setup. This guy right here’s the chef.” Clara confesses, grasping the soldiers shoulder. “Hank? You made this?” the boss asks. “Well, yeah. I guess I did.”. The leader gives her soldier a smile, complimenting him with: “Soups pretty good. Maybe if you get into an accident and can’t fight, you can be our cook.”. “Uh, thanks.” Hank says with a smile. Clara sees the soldier turn back to the people, happily serving them the hearty brew. Barley leans over to the scientist and adds: “Once your done eating. Meet me in my office. We got something else cooking.”. After eating, Clara returns to her bosses office, the leader finishing her bowl of soup, slurping down the chicken noodles via tilting her bowl. “Ahh...” the boss sighs. Throwing the bowl away, she turns to Clara and continues with: “Right. Now, before we start, tell me something. How good are you with computers?”. “Uh, not bad. Not the best, but I can find my way around a hard drive.”. “Good. Cause you’re gonna be going with a squad behind enemy lines.”. “Um...Pardon?”. Barely pulls down a big chart from behind her seat, picturing an old map of the entire city. “You see, we just found out about a communications hub that Malcolm and his lackey use to talk to each other throughout the city.” the leader said as she pointed to a building on the map. “And how am I a part of this?”. “You are going with a squad to raid the hub and find out where the bastard is hiding. After which we destroy it to get the element of surprise when we bust in his headquarters.”. “You want me to hack into it?”. “Precisely. Better get ready, cause your squad leaves in 10 minutes.”. On the way to the hub via an old truck, Clara nervously sat down with a group of armed soldiers, who looked have seen plenty of action. “So...What’s the plan?” she meekly asks them. “We’re gonna bust in, start firing, and get you to that hub.” one of them pipes up. “That’s it?”. “That ain’t all. The boss told us to keep you alive as we’re breaking in. You’re the only one supposedly smart enough to even operate a computer.”. “Yeah, how did you know how to work one?”. “Uh, well...” Clara nervously stammered as she tried to think of an excuse. “Get ready guys. We’re coming up to the hub. Get ready for impact.”. “Wait. Impact!?”. Out from the front of the station, two guards were stationed to take watch. “So, I said to him that if you want in my pants. You gotta by me a drink first. I ain’t no Broadway whore. Then he started going on about these mutant giraffes he saw once and I was just clocked out by that point.”. “So what’dya do? Leave.”. “Not before I shot him in the head. God, people that drone on like that just piss me off. I thought I’d never hear the end of...What...What is that?” the guard wonders while looking out. “What’s what?” the other guard asks, looking in his partners general direction. Both of them see the speeding vehicle closing in near the station gates. “Look about like a tru-”. The truck crashes straight through the gates, speeding through the vacant parking lot. “Ah shit!” The two armored guards outside start to fire at the runaway vehicle. “Everybody get down.” the driver shouts. Everyone in the trunk ducks down before the truck drives straight into the guards and crashes through the front door. They plow their way through the station, running over whatever was in their way. The truck then screeches to a halt, the driver looking at everyone in the back. “Alright, people move it. Won’t be long until reinforcements get here. We gotta get to that hub, fast.”. The soldier quickly get out of the back, with Clara shaking in a fluster as she climbs out. They run through the halls of the station, shooting at whatever guards were in their way. One of the guards ambushes them from a side door, grabbing Clara and holding the scientist in front as a shield. The armored guard swiftly draws his gun and opens fire on the squad. The soldiers get behind different doorways to avoid the gunfire. Using their escort as a shield, they can’t fight back without risk killing the scientist. As the guard holds her, Clara sees a door behind them, creaking close. She looks down and sees them standing right in the door way. The scientist uses her leg to grab hold of the door and slams it on the guard, making him loose his grip his hostage. Clara takes the moment to push the armored goon right in the line of sights, giving the soldiers the opportunity to down heavy fire on their adversary. After dispatching their foe, one of the soldiers announce: “The hub ain’t can’t be too far now. Let’s move it people.”. Kicking through a set of doors, they sets of technicians manning the panels. They look towards the squad as the guy in front shouts: “Alright! Anybody who doesn’t want to be stuffed with led storm out now!”. The group of people race out of the computer room, screaming as they pass through the small army. The sqaud makes Clara get in front of them, one of the soldiers queuing with: “Alright, science wizard. Do your thing. We’ll hold the line for ya.”. “Kay...” Clara weakly affirmed. A closer look at the console showed a dizzying multitude of buttons before her, nothing like the simple desktops she was used to. “Oh...oh no.”. The scientist head spun as she tried to make sense of the machine. “Okay, Clara. You worked with computers before. How’s this any different?” the scientist thinks to reassure herself. She then starts pressing random to try and make the console work. One of the soldiers in front sees some armored guards on the approach. “We got lion guards.” one of them announces. The soldiers start the shootout to try and fend off encroaching guards. One of them shoots at the lights, dimming the hallway. With the gunfire blaring out, Clara hurries and presses every button she can. One of them makes the screen light up, showing a menu of sorts. “Okay. Got it on. Now how do I find this Malcolm guy?”. She scrolls around in the menu, trying to find out which option would show her where the hideout might be. The scientist brings up a command prompt “No.”. Pressing another brings up a settings menu. “Nope.”. Pressing another brings up a photo set with men in provocative attire. “Definitely not that.”. One of the soldiers gets his head shot at, which makes one turn to Clara, screaming: “Come on! What’s taking so long!?”. “Uh, give me a second!” Clara shouts back. She nervously stares at the panel, pleading to the computer: “Come on. Giving me something useful.”. She highlights one of the options, bring up a map of the city. “A map! Yes!” She quickly scans over the map to try and see if it can show what she’s looking for. The soldier see the guards beginning to close in as their numbers thicken. “Can’t hold them off for much longer. We need to make a break for it now.”. Clara rapidly looks around the map, finding a red mark titled: “Malcolm’s HQ.”. It was near an address labeled: “E Muhammad Ali Blvd. The mark was on a big building beside the hospital. “A found the address!” she announces. “Good!”. one of the soldier says as he takes out a grenade. Taking the pin out with his teeth, he chucks it toward the console. “Fire in the hole!”. Clara dives away from the oncoming explosive as it hurls towards her direction. The grenade explodes, destroying the computer and making a massive hole in the wall. “Sheesh! Think you can warn a girl first.” she barked. “I said fire in the hole.”. All of them begin to run out of the shootout through the hole in the wall. As they run through the hallway, one of the soldiers asks: “What about the truck?”. “Leave it! Probably swarming with lion guards anyway!”. They then see an emergency exit coming up, hurrying to the fire escape as fast as they can. “There’s our ticket out. Once we’re outside, we run as fast as we can.”. Bursting the door open, they see the light flood through the door. Once their eyes adjust, they find themselves surrounded by countless guard, the lights of their vehicles shining on the squad. One weilding a megaphone demanded: “We have you surrounded. Put you’re weapons down, or we’ll open fire on ya ass’s.”. Doing as instructed, the soldiers throw their weapons on the ground. The guard tells his men: “Load them in.”. “You’re not gonna shoot us?” Clara questions. “Naw. We got something much worse for ya. Whole lot of ya just earned a one way trip to...the Arena.” After being forced into the back of a repainted police van with their arms tied up, Clara looks out the window as they drive away from the TV station. She looks back at the soldiers in the van with her, who looked like they were on death row. “Guys. What’s this arena?” “It’s the old old baseball stadium. They’re gonna dump us in with several gladiators and madmen and make us fight to the death.”. “What!?”. “Its how Malcolm distributes rations. Either by working for him or fighting for his pleasure. The strongest gets to live another day. We’ll be lucky if we make it through the first round.”. The van races through the cracked streets as it drives towards the ruins of the baseball stadium.

#faded land #lillaxtrigger

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halfhumanscribe · 6 years

Text

Mana Fog

Synopsis: Elementals make for great bouncers when having to deal with a less than legal dance party and magical substance. RATING: T - Teen - Some light sexual content ORIGINAL PUBLISHING DATE: 2018

WORD COUNT: 2807

Forgive any formatting issues. Review and critiques are appreciated.

Mana Fog by Inganno

There was something intoxicating about the smell of mana - that smoky, sweet, almost perfume-like scent that tasted almost metallic in the air. In its purest form, it had strange affects on people. For some it was like a wakeup call, forcing them to zigzag from one place to another in an effort to be productive. For others, and in small doses, it was as simple as a cup of coffee, entering into a split-second dream before waking up refreshed. Though, when mixed with the right potions and elixirs, becomes a powerful panacea.

Most states had banned the use of mana as a recreational drug, only offering it as a watered down aperitif meant to replenish the body’s natural daily loss. The miniscule alcohol helped to stifle the effect of the drug, allowing it work as intended. Too much alcohol mixed with mana, however, could be deadly, making it both easy and difficult to regulate on the market. As such, pure mana was always difficult to come by.

Though, if one were to go to the dark alleys, black markets, or say… a dance club hidden away by illusionary magic, one might find an ample supply of the stuff. It was never a surprise to go to a dance club, or “alternative” bar, and find even a small amount of mana wafting in the air. But some places, it hung like a fog. And for these places, it was never surprising to find special kinds of bouncers employed for the night.

“It’s like fuckin’ candy, man,” the water elemental hummed as he soaked in the air around him. He floated above the crowd, circling the room, keeping an eye on anything troubling or questionable. “I could be here all year…”

“You’d get mana sickness, Soa,” the fire elemental said, also above the crowd, but leaning against the wall, with his feet planted firmly in the air, as if there was something flat and hard to balance on. “That shit sucks.”

“Would totally be worth it though, Myto,” Soa giggled.

He let out a contented sigh. Water vapors escaped his mouth, showering those beneath him in a cool mist of water and diluted mana.

Elementals thrived on mana, but much like mortal beings, were subject to the laws of the land. Luckily, they were given large discounts at the markets to help them cope. It was their life essence, and without it, they would surely die. It also had the same effect on them as it did on mortals – though, not quite as strong.

Myto took in a deep breath, absorbing the mana in the air. His vision blurred for a moment as he assessed how strong the fog was. The flames underneath his clothes turned out a sharp blue before fading into a mild green. Like Soa, he was swept away into the mana’s embrace, but was coherent enough to do his job.

“Something wrong?” Soa asked as he floated toward his friend.

Myto nodded. “There’s definitely more than one color in the air.”

He looked past Soa at a wood elemental, dressed in a tank top, stationed by the door. Myto flickered his flame green three times, alerting the other bouncers to the danger. The wood elemental sighed in the distance and consulted a wind one next to him.

“Go watch the door while Udr blows all this crap away,” Myto said, pointing to the door. “The host is gonna go ballistic.”

Soa lazily flew over to the door, helping the wood elemental with his bouncer duties, as the wind gust and whirled around the dance floor, sweeping skirts and shirts upward, collecting the fog into a typhoon that was jettisoned out the door.

The scent of mana was extremely disguisable, so they could only hope no one outside would call them on it. The last thing any of them needed was a raid. It was only meant to be a night job for the four of them; it didn’t need to be anything else.

The owner, a tall tan man with slicked back raven hair and sunglasses (“In a nightclub? Really?”) appeared from behind the bar and approached Myto.

“I saw the lights,” he groaned. “Somebody been adding to the soup?”

Myto nodded.

The human host groaned and pushed his sunglasses up, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Just fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned. He didn’t say much else to Myto, pushing past him and heading toward the DJ on stage.

Within moments, the music was pulled and the lights were drawn up. The patrons and dancers looked up to see the owner, Grecko staring down at them with a disappointed expression.

“Somebody out there fucked up and decided to bring something extra to the party,” he announced over a mic. “The rules were clear from the bouncers as you walked in. Party’s over. Get out.”

He threw the mic over his shoulder, which the DJ caught.

Within moments, the elementals had begun rounding up people and pushing them towards the door. Angry dancers and threats erupted from the usual trouble makers, which were subdued with the usual methods.

“They knew what to expect when they came in,” Grecko sighed.

After a quick ten minutes, the room was empty, and left the usual sty after a busy Saturday night. Grecko took a look around and shook his head. He walked over to the spare closet in the corner of the room, kicking out the two teens making out in it, before grabbing the broom and dustbin.

Soa followed behind and got the mop. Udr was still outside, trying to get as many loiterers away from the building, while the wind elemental, Murin assisted. Myto helped to pick up any large garbage lying around, as well as help the DJ get his equipment to his car.

“Sucks about tonight,” the DJ said as he closed the back of his van.

Myto shrugged and added, “We’re getting paid either way.”

“I hear that!” He walked over to the driver’s side and hopped on in. “Wanna ditch a little early and come hang with me? I’m starving. Going to get some pancakes or some shit. What do you say?”

Myto smiled, giving a breath chuckle as he folded his arms.

“You’re sweet, but I really gotta finish cleaning up. Grecko has his hands full already. Besides, I have a feeling your wanting more than just a midnight snack from me.”

“You think so?” the DJ laughed. “Well, I am actually hungry. Whatever else happens would have been up to you, not me. But I am playing at the Tree Root on Wednesday. You change your mind, I’ll be there.” He ended it with a wink before heading off.

Myto watched him drive away, his smile spreading a bit further, before heading back inside.

The room had been almost cleaned up by then, with Murin and Soa handling the rest of the cleaning duties, and Udr and Grecko discussing their pay for the night. Myto rubbed the goofy smile off his face and approached Murin and Soa to help them clean. About an hour later, the room was clean again, with Grecko smiling that he’d get his rental deposit back.

“We’re heading back to the apartment,” Murin said as he sat perched on Udr’s broad shoulders.

“Hold on, I’ll come with!” Soa exclaimed as he closed the cleaning closet and sprinted to meet up with them. “You can finish with the legalities right, Myto?”

The fire elemental shrugged. “Don’t I always?”

“Great! We’ll see you at home!”

The three left after saying their goodbyes to Grecko, off to their home a good hour away from where they were. Luckily, elementals could fly at low altitudes legally, so it made it easier to get home across the next state over.

“Four men, living together under one apartment?” Grecko interjected. “Doesn’t that get cramped?”

“Most of us are always wandering around doing something. It helps we’re all binded elementals, so we’re used to being around each other all the time,” Myto explained as he sat next to Grecko on the stage.

Papers and such were spread out, with Myto acting as a witness to make sure Grecko didn’t do anything iffy with the usual paper work. Iffier, anyways. The party was technically classified as a high-volume birthday party. The renters didn’t need to know anything else.

“And we’re not men.”

“Hm?”

Grecko looked up from tax forms.

“You’re not men?” he said with a cocked eyebrow.

“Not men per say. We just assume the form of men. Whatever is most comfortable for us, you know? I mean, we’re just floating fire, and water, and whatever when we don’t have a form, so why not, you know?”

Grecko nodded, half interested.

“Must make getting lucky kind of difficult then,” he said, trying to make conversation.

“Not at all,” Myto laughed. “I can make genitals if I want. Just depends on what my partner has in mind. I can even adjust the temperature of my fire. See?”

He put his hand under Grecko’s cheek, causing the man to jump away for a moment. Though, he didn’t feel any heat coming from it.

“Try not to do that over the paperwork, okay?”

“I can control it, don’t worry. I’ve had a good two centuries of practice.”

“Well… see that you do,” Grecko sighed before following it with a grin.

The two passed what little time they had, chatting about the paperwork, the party, and the little odd jobs they both did. Grecko working on lots of nightly club jobs, but never having a steady one; Myto and his friends running all over the country finding any sort of work that paid decently.

“Why do you keep these mana parties blue?” Myto asked as he looked out onto the empty dance floor.

The explicit instructions at the start of the night were that the mana in the air was to remain blue, and not be mixed with any other color. Somebody in the room released something else into the air, causing the party to bust.

“Blue is the most calming and least reactive of the bunch,” Grecko explained. “Yellow just makes people jittery and angry sometimes, and green has been known to cause hallucinations, even in small doses. Red, well… red is just an aphrodisiac and used mostly for cure spells in the absolute smallest doses. Blue is just easier to manage, and it’s the cheapest one to deal with if we get busted. Last time I got busted, I think I got hit with around $14,000 altogether?”

That was still a lot of money, Myto thought to himself. He was about to inquire further, but Grecko already beat him to the punch.

“Before you ask – Red is over $30,000 usually, and green is around the $70,000 range, and yellow is without a fine. Yellow will get you in jail in an instant. So yeah, blue is the way to go. And it’s such a negligible footprint in the bloodstream, most cops don’t even care.”

That explained it. Myto hummed, impressed. Grecko knew his mana, which definitely showed in his professionalism. Most other mana parties, non-magic using humans had no idea what to expect with the substance. This one did his research.

“Hey, check this out, though,” Grecko said as he reached into a backpack behind him. He pulled out a small oblong, corked vial with a clear substance inside.

“What is it?” Myto asked, gently shaking the substance.

“Beats me. A dealer up north sold it to me cheap. Said he was working on deluding some for another buyer, and for some reason, this one turned all clear. It’s kind of neat, right?”

Myto wouldn’t go as far as to call it neat, but it was curious. The colors were there due to the mixing process. Science, alchemy, and wizardry had no way of turning mana different colors. If they did, he had no doubt it would have already been weaponized for war efforts.

“How do you think they did it?” Myto asked.

Grecko just shrugged, putting his pencil down and putting all of his attention on the elemental.

“Want to do me favor and try a drop so you can tell me which one it is?”

Myto looked over at Grecko, gauging his face from the request. At first, he wondered if this was some sort of trick. But Grecko looked honest – or at least more honest than other employers he had worked with. Besides, it was a drop. Just enough to test, and not enough to doing outside of give him a headache if it was bad.

He uncorked the bottle, and gentle tilted in toward his open mouth, just enough to let a drop hit his tongue. He plugged the vial back up and passed it back to Grecko, who put it away, and strangely, pulled out a small yellow pill.

“Anything yet?”

Myto sat there, shaking his head.

“Nothing. Maybe you got played?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me.”

Myto was going to offer his condolences for the lost money, but was immediately hit with a heat that enveloped him far more than his fire ever did. It swept over him, changing him to a deep and powerful red, causing smoke of the same color to escape.

“Uh oh,” Grecko said under his breath, putting the yellow pill between both thumbs and index fingers. He readied to break it, but was immediately tackled by the elemental, and pinned to the ground.

He didn’t get the chance to resist before the elemental placed his firey lips on his, breaking them for a second later as the red smoke from within Myto was passed onto Grecko.

Grecko felt his body erupt into a seismic flurry of lust. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than be enveloped by flame and filled with fire. He rushed into more kisses, their tongue invading each other’s mouths, hands feeling and caressing at their necks and face.

Myto slid his hand under Grecko’s shirt, feeling his skin with a summer warmth. Grecko moaned and stuttered between breaths. He kept one hand on the back of Myto’s head and another on the floor, sweeping away the papers.

At least, that was what Myto thought. He didn’t notice Grecko bring his fist up high above the too of them and slam it on the ground.

A disgusting scent filled their nostrils, and all the lustful energy they had escaped into a flurry of yellow and red mist from out their mouths. Myto rolled to the side, clutching his mouth and nose, eyes wide, barely able to keep his own form. Grecko gritted his teeth as he laid on his back, taking in large breaths, cringing at each one he took.

“What the fuck was that?” Myto yelled into his palms.

Grecko tried to pick himself up, but felt all the energy drain out of his body. He was able to look at the side of his fist to see the crushed cap of the yellow pill still stuck to it.

“Sulpher,” he said as he flicked it off. “Smells like rotten eggs don’t it? They use it for mana draining. You’re anywhere nearby that has that stuff in the air, you’re going to have every drop of mana sapped out of you.” He then remembered what Myto was. “Are you okay?”

“Ugh…” the elemental painfully groaned.

Grecko sighed and eventually was able to get off the floor. Though, the mana was drained from his body, and he had become weak from it. He ended up having to drag Myto out of the room and put himself outside by the door. He stepped away for a moment, collecting his thoughts before heading back inside to grab all the papers that had been thrown aside, as well as throw down a potion that filled the air with a pleasant smell.

“I don’t have to mail this stuff off until Monday, anyways,” he sighed as he placed all the papers into his bag. He then headed back outside to meet up with Myto. “C’mon, I’ll get you home. What state do you guys live in now?”

“Wyoming,” Myto sputtered.

A good four-hour journey via his pickup. How Grecko envied the archetypes who could fly.

“Sorry about that,” Myto groaned as he suddenly felt wind hit his face. How long had they been on the road. When did he pass out? Last thing he remembered was being dragged out of the dance room. “That’s never happened before with a drop of mana.”

Grecko glanced at him for a moment and then back to the road.

“Don’t sweat it.”

The vial with the clear mana was then chucked out the window. It shattered and spilled onto the road. Without enough room to breath, it faded into the air, becoming nothing before it could find someone to spread its love.

End

#writing #short story #fantasy #Ing's stories #contemporary fantasy

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rimarzaarts · 6 years

Note

1-6 for apprentice meme

This is very long, Under a cut!

1) Your apprentice was brought along to one of the masquerades with a friend, who promptly ditched them ten minutes into it. What happened? How do they react?

Chances are the person Cerys went with asked her as a last resort, one of her classmates, maybe. She’s used to that sort of treatment. Of course, she’s excited she even has someone to go with, so she’s all smiles up until they slip out of her arm and find someone more interesting to be with.

She makes excuses at first as to why they’re gone. Maybe they went to the toilet and she didn’t hear them mention it. Maybe they needed some fresh air after being in the humid ballroom for too long.

That all would change after she see’s them leaning into the touch of another. The dull sting of betrayal sits between her shoulders, aching. She would make sure they knew what they’ve done. Standing directly in their view she makes her presence known without saying a word.

If my night is going to be ruined, so is yours.

2) Does your apprentice get flustered over anything? What make them flustered? Do they turn red? Stumble over words?

She’s hanging herbs on a drying rack when Asra returns from a brief trip to the market. her shoulders tense as the drag of a long stem cuts into her hair and settles behind her right ear.

“What’s this?” her hand shoots up to brush against satin petals.

“I saw this and thought of you.” he snaps his long fingers and presents her with a white peony, identical to the one he just placed behind her ear.

Suddenly, everything but his eyes deserve attention. “How um, ni- uh, no- thoughtful” she steals a glance at his wicked grin and her face begins to burn. “of you, that is- um thanks.”

He takes her hand and plants a small kiss on the back of it before wrapping her fingers around the stem. “Anytime.”

3) How would your apprentice handle being so close to something that they desperately want, only to have it ripped away? What was it?

Denial. She wasn’t trying hard enough. She pushes harder on the magic hiding the face of someone dear. It pulls away.

Again. Sharp pains prick behind her ears as she tries to close the distance between herself and the memory.

“I’m closer now.” The small pricks of pain become pails of agonizing pressure, sure to make her head split in two.

But something shifts and suddenly she’s falling back down. The spell is broken.

Screeching fills her ears and suddenly she’s back in reality. Tilly is shrieking in her crossed legs, wings flapping erratically. The chalk circle drawn around her is disrupted, likely destroyed in Tilly’s fit.

She would have scolded her had it been any other spell, but the desperate look in the white owl’s onyx eyes spill with tears shed of fear. Tilly had been protecting her, despite how badly she had wanted to see that memory.

Shaking shoulders fall forward to cradle the bird into a tight embrace. She presses her face into her feathers and sobs until sleep overtakes them both.

4) Talk about your Apprentices’ self-esteem

(this is soon after she got ditched at the masquerade.)

She ignored the stares of the partons as she made her way past their incredulous stares. It was too far to walk home after the disaster that was her exit from the masquerade, so she holed up in the bathroom at an empty pub.

“Pathetic.” She breathes as she glimpsed at her disheveled self in the mirror above a brass sink. Her cheeks were flush and her eyes puffy.

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did.” she whispers to herself. “I must’ve embarrassed them.”

She recalls their responses from the night. The way they practically had to drag themselves beside her. “But… they were being a poor date.”

Her mind returns to when they entered together, how tightly she clinged to their arm, practically suffocating them in her excitement. “Maybe it was me. I must’ve been too forward,”

Or… she remembers how easily they drifted so easily into another’s arms, how easily they could disregard her existence. “Or maybe, I just didn’t matter.”

(Yeah, her self esteem is shit.)

5) What’s one physical flaw about themselves that they hate? Do they have a reason for hating it?

“The sun is blazing hot today,” Wipes his brow with his free hand, the other shifts over one of the heavy curtains letting the light breeze filter into the shop. “Yet you insist on wearing a cardigan.”

“It doesn’t bother me.” Cerys doesn’t meet his gaze as she presses the cool flask against her cheek, her eyes closing as she savors the chill. Her breath is shallow.

Asra’s eyebrows raise. “Really?” he deadpans. Shaking his head lightheartedly, he makes his way over to her and playfully tugs a bit at her cardigan, the fabric falls away, revealing stark lines of silver scars. Her hand immediately pulls it back in place. He huffs at her response. “Cerys, come on. You look like you’re going to faint.”

“I’m fine, quit slacking.” She swats him away before turning to reorganize one of the cabinets.

She never makes it to the cabinet, though. A surge overtakes her and she is suddenly seeing the floor rush up to her. Before she can react, strong arms reach around her waist and cradle her as she and Asra sink down to the floor together. He quickly takes the nearest flat item and begins fanning her.

“Cerys!” Asra’s eyes are wide, filled with a fear that she feels is familiar. “Are you okay?”

She doesn’t answer. Responding only with the weak attempt to remove the cardigan. Asra takes the fabric and slides it away. A cold breeze forms as he blows an ice spell onto the makeshift fan. They fall into a tense silence.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” she whispers, almost inaudibly.

Asra reels his head back in confusion. “What is?”

“The scars. I didn’t want you to see them.” his eyes fell to the silver veins creeping along the top of her shoulders and down her inner arm. He already knew that these stretch marks were there, he’d seen them before but she doesn’t remember that.

He traces them with a long finger then leans down to kiss her shoulder where one of the veins ends. “They’re beautiful, they’re part of you.”

6) Do they have a personality shift depending upon certain people? Who does it change for and how so?

Nadia and Portia had been brilliant company during the lunch Nadia had organized for the three of them. Cerys couldn’t help but maintain a bounce in her step as she and Portia made their way back to the library to continue her research. The two exchanged silly stories about their animal companions all the way back.

Just as Portia reached the gag in her tale of Pepi vs. Camio a short blue feathered chamberlain cleared his throat “Lady Vinatia.” Cerys winced at the title but nodded for him to continue. “Consul Valerius wishes to speak with you.”

Her face scrunches up and she lets out a long heavy sigh that almost sounded like a hiss. “What is it that he wants and can it be guaranteed that he won’t spill wine on it?” Portia lets out a muffled chuckle before covering it up with a convincing cough.

The chamberlain grins, amused. “I cannot guarantee the lack of wine, but I can tell you that he wishes to discuss guard rotations, he wants your input to sooner catch the doctor.”

Subconsciously, she glances over to Portia whose face is a perfect mask of tranquility. Yet the dull, unseeing haze clouding her eyes and clenched jaw is all too revealing of her concern.

“I’ll go, thank you for telling me.” she excuses him briskly and turns to see Portia standing with her hands clasped and eyes threatening to spill.

“Valerius won’t find Julian, not if I can help it.” Cerys sets her hand on her upper arm, comforting the handmaiden.

She sniffles a bit. “Is that not what you’re here for?”

“I’m here to find the person who killed the count. I’ve yet to find sustainable evidence that says “Julian did it.”” the magician pats her arm once more, then sets off to find Valerius.

“Don’t waste your time getting guards to patrol that area.” Cerys bites at Valerius as he downs the last of his glass.

He stands to pour more wine for himself. “Why not? The area is filled with abandoned buildings, dark alleys, and that pub, the Rowdy Raven, it’s filled with criminals. I say he’d been right at home there.”

Cerys moves to the opposite side of the table, ensuring there is always a structure between the two of them. “Jul- The Doctor, has a bounty on his head, no?” she turns a document around on the desk and reads the list of guard rotations, all of them are poorly assigned.

“Yes.” he draws out the word as if recalling its merit.

“Would an area filled with criminals who’d do anything for money be the best place for a man with a royal bounty to go?” she challenges him, her mouth turned down in an irritated frown.

He takes a long drink from his glass and stops to let it sit in his mouth before he swallows. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

Cerys perks up. “Perfect! Then we’re done here.” She rushes to the door. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Consul. I hope this collaboration was informational enough so that we never have to speak again.” with a loud thud from the door she leaves Valerius confused and slightly offended.

#long post #the arcana #apprentice asks #oc: cerys #asra #asra x apprentice #asra x mc #julain devorak #portia devorak #countess nadia #consul valerius #rimarza #rimarza writes #heyyo i did drabbles but honestly what is a word count #everything is either too long or too short

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bluewolfstudios · 7 years

Text

The Killing Machine

The morning light shined through the windows of a massive size bedroom. There was a large, round bed against the far wall with a mess of tangled sheets and covers on it. Hanging off the bed was a handsome young man with short blonde hair, with the exception of two long bangs that framed the side of his handsome face. There was small tufts of hair on his chin, forming a goatee, but his eyebrows, were by far his most interesting feature. The eyebrows curled upward on each end facing out. The sleeping man was Vinsmoke Niji, a prince of the Germa Kingdom and a lethal assassin of the Vinsmoke family. The family was feared and respected—but Niji wasn’t like most of his family because he was more concerned with having a good time and making his brother laugh by coming up with stupid schemes, though most of the time his stunts only got his brother to groan and roll his eye.

Right at this moment Niji was asleep long past when he should have woken up. Another blonde man, this one with an eye patch over his right eye, entered the room.

“Of course you’re sleeping the day away.”

Ichiji, one of Niji’s brothers, yanked the covers off Niji’s sleeping form.

“Wake up,” Ichiji said and Niji only replied with a moan. Ichiji walked to the other side of the bed and firmly took hold of the mattress and unceremoniously dumped his younger brother on the floor. There was a shout of surprise and a hard thump on the floor. Satisfied that his brother was now up, he let the mattress fall back on the bed frame and walked back around to watch Niji struggle to free himself from the tangle of sheets and blankets.

Ichiji was amused at the sight and allowed a small smile.

“Are you awake now?” Ichiji asked.

“Yeah, like I could sleep after that,” Niji grumbled.

“You should have been up hours ago. We are due in the training area, so you best go and eat a good breakfast, I don’t want you slowing me down today.”

Niji groaned.

“We can start without breakfast, if you’d like.” Ichiji suggested.

“No, no! Breakfast sounds great!”

Training—it was one of the things that Niji hated the most. He always ended up bruised and bloodied. Slowly he got dressed in sweats and a t-shirt. There was no point in dressing nicely if the first thing of the day was training. Ichiji was wearing a long sleeved red shirt and jeans, about the same thing he wore everyday.

Once Niji was dressed he went down the hall to the large dining area. The servants had already set the table for them and Niji took a seat, his stomach beginning to growl at the sight of food. The two brother’s always ate breakfast together, it was their tradition. Ichiji and Niji were actually from a set of triplets, but their younger brother Sanji was out being a pirate—much to the displeasure of their father. The two of them were actually very proud of Sanji and would raise a glass to an empty seat, their way of wishing their baby brother a good morning, because they were still brothers.

Breakfast went on as usual, their father rarely joined them so they didn’t usually have to worry about him. Niji would stuff his face, playfully flirting with a young servant girl, while Ichiji read the morning newspaper, drinking a cup of coffee. It was one of the few peaceful moments that they were ever allowed. Niji loved spending time with his brother, and although Ichiji was serious and sometimes down right grumpy, he accepted Niji and even helped keep Niji’s relationship with a servant, named Taysir, a secret. Niji didn’t dare imagine what would happen if their father ever found out about Taysir. The thought sent a shiver down Niji’s spine and he quickly forced the thought from his mind. Instead he shoveled more eggs and bacon onto his plate from a serving dish when Niji noticed a troubled look on Ichiji’s face as he was reading the paper.

“There’s to be a public demonstration,” Ichiji read aloud. “Of an invention to replace human soldiers.”

Replace human soldiers—that was an idea that Niji could get behind.

At that moment their father entered the dining area, his face as hard as ever.

The two brother’s quickly stood when their father entered the room. Reiji had neatly combed salt n’ pepper colored hair with a deep frown forever on his handsome face. Niji looked like their father but Ichiji had inherited the cold, hard stare. Reiji stood taller than his two sons, and was of a stronger build—which he used to keep his sons in line.

“Finally decided to stop sleeping your life away?” He demanded from Niji.

Niji was always tense when his father entered the room because he was always being judged for weakness. Their father had experimented on them when they were in the womb, having wanted to create super soldiers with no emotion, the perfect killing machines. The experiment worked, to an extent. The triplets had indeed gained inhuman strength and speed—but they retained their emotions.

Niji watched his father approach his own seat, which was at the head of the table. When he took his seat, Ichiji and Niji were allowed to take theirs.

“I’m sure you heard,” their father said simply. “Of the man claiming to have invented the ‘perfect’ soldier?”

“I had just finished reading about it in the newspaper, father.”

“You two will be going to that demonstration,” their father commanded. Niji couldn’t deny that he was relieved not to have to train, but he was certain this would be more than just going down and seeing what was going on with this claim.

Ichiji nodded his head, also sensing that more would be required of the two of them.

“Do you want us to bring him in and question him about his research?”

Their father nodded, sipping a cup of coffee a servant had brought him.

“Yes…and if he fights…”

“Bring him in wounded but alive,” Ichiji finished their father’s sentence.

“Right,” their father nodded to Ichiji at that and then turned to Niji. “Do you think you can handle that?”

Niji quickly nodded his head.

“Good, I would hate to waste anymore time on you then I already have,” his father said coldly.

Ichiji cleared his throat as the dining room was filled with silent tension. Niji looked down at his plate, having lost much of his appetite. Niji knew his father hated him, that was a fact that was made clear every single day. Niji wanted to make his father proud, just once. When Sanji had run away their father became even more severe, especially when it came to Niji.

“Father,” Ichiji’s voice broke the tension. “We should be heading to the town square.” He said as he stood.

Their father nodded in agreement and Niji had to be mindful how fast he got up, so not to look eager about getting as far away from his father as possible. Niji went to his room and changed into his usual clothes, as appearance also mattered to their father. Niji made sure that everything was in place and he stared at himself, long and had in the mirror, hating who he saw staring back at him before going to join Ichiji.

“Let’s get going,” Ichiji said when he saw his brother approaching and the two of them walked out of the mansion towards the town that was sprawled out before them. The town was a contrast from life in the mansion, it was bright and colorful, with many smiling faces and the smell of freshly baked goods and varying spices as people shouted from their market stalls.

“Feeling better?” Ichiji asked.

“Great, as long as I’m away from that asshole.”

Niji was grateful for any time away from his father, and he didn’t care what he was doing—a lot of times this had involved drinking and sleeping around, at least before he had met Taysir. That was a slap in their father’s face, but it also had the added benefit of making Niji feel better about himself.

“Just remember why we’re here—to bring Dr. Mordred in alive, if possible. Killing should only be a last resort if he fights back instead of coming with us peacefully.”

“Whose Dr. Mordred?” Niji asked.

“The man who invented and is presenting the soldier,” Ichiji sighed.

The two brothers came into view of the edge of a large crowd.

“How do we get up front?” Ichiji asked aloud.

“We could take to the rooftops?” Niji suggested, gesturing to the empty roofs around the square.

“Not a bad idea,” Ichiji said as he headed to a nearby alleyway and used his leg strength, speed and agility to reach the roof by jumping from wall to wall between the alley. “Let’s go Niji!”

“Showing off now?”

Ichiji rolled his eye in response—he rarely cracked a smile about anything—Niji effortlessly leapt after his brother, though he tended to use more flare on his landing. Out of the two of them he was the bigger show off.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to show off anymore, yet you continue to prove me wrong.” Ichiji said with a sigh.

“Come one, come all! Come and see what will end all wars!” a man’s voice shouted above the crowd. “Meet the Guardian!” A short man dressed in a white doctor’s lab coat stood next to something tall that was draped in a white sheet. He grabbed the sheet with both hands and gave it a hard yank to reveal what had been hidden beneath it. There were loud gasps from the crowd.

The brothers crept forward.

“I don’t believe what I’m seeing,” whispered Ichiji as they stared down from the roof—the golden machine, built to resemble a man, stood on a platform in the center of town. It was as tall as an average man, with joints designed to mimic human motion and a golden sphere in the stomach to allow it to spin around. Instead of a face there was a camera lens, an eerie red color.

Niji was amazed by the sleek machine, he had seen nothing like it even in the Vinsmoke labs. There was a hissing noise as steam came off its back. Niji then noticed that it had turned its head to face them and that’s when Niji noticed the smaller man standing next to the machine, grinning at them in almost a sinister way.

“Ah, the young Vinsmokes!” the man said, his face was badly scarred and his black hair was slicked back. “I have a great idea—you two arrived in time—a demonstration is certainly in order. Your family is the cause of so many people’s suffering!”

“A demonstration?” Niji repeated. “What are you…?”

The Guardian leapt at the brothers.

The brother’s jumped in separate directions as the Guardian slammed its fist into the roof, leaving an indent. It stood up slowly and turned its head towards Niji.

The people down below thought it was an act and was watching with awe and wonderment. Niji brushed himself off and smirked a little at the machine. If the people wanted a show who was he to deny them? He was a Vinsmoke, “a perfect soldier” as his father always claimed so this fight would be nothing. Niji cracked his knuckles and charged towards the machine and swung his fist, expecting to send the machine flying. When his fist made contact with the metal, pain raced up his arm. Niji’s eyes widened and his smile vanished. The metal where his fist hit looked fine and, in his moment of being caught off guard, the Guardian upper cut Niji with such force his head jerked back as he went flying onto the next buildings roof.

Niji was momentarily dazed as the Guardian leapt after him to continue the fight. Down below, in the crowd, it was beginning to dawn on them that this was not staged and people began shouting and shoving each other as they tried to get away from the fighting. The crowd was beginning to go into a panic as the fighting above them continued, the fight and the panic were growing in intensity. Ichiji attacked it from behind, delivering a powerful kick to its side, sending the Guardian flying. Ichiji helped his brother up and before Niji could make a comment the Guardian flew at them again, forcing them to dodge. The Guardian caught Niji’s leg as the younger brother was jumping away and spun him around and slammed him into Ichiji.

The two brother’s crashed into the ground and the Guardian, moving quicker than one would anticipate a man made of metal would, and was on top of them before they had a chance to recover. The Guardian grabbed their shirts, throwing them into the ground and almost hitting the panicked people trying desperately to get away from the fighting. People were running in any direction through the streets, screaming for lost family members or friends.

Niji groaned and leapt out of the way of the counter attack. Ichiji charged at the machine and began to rapidly deliver punches and kicks in succession, not allowing an opening until a punch sent the golden machine flying into a nearby building. Niji stood up and hurried to stand by his brother’s side as the Guardian pulled itself out of the hole. People were running and screaming, many getting struck by debris from the buildings that were hit by the brothers or the Guardian. Ichiji and Niji were trying to avoid hitting innocent people, by luring the Guardian from the town square, but it would keep grabbing them and throwing them back, as if making sure its creator could see the fight in its entirety.

The Guardian slowly stood up, its left arm made a hissing noise as the metal lifted open and shifted back as the arm was changed into a blade, steam hissing from the new weapon as it glinted in the sun. The Guardian charged forward and swung its blade, driving the two brother’s backwards, cutting Niji’s black shirt, causing him to swear beneath his breath.

Dr. Mordred was watching them fight with the biggest smile on his face. He looked like a child who had been waiting to get a present all year. Niji felt like he knew the man, but it was hard to concentrate on anything when you were trying not to get stabbed.

When they drew close enough to hear him speak, Dr. Mordred pointed a finger at them.

“I have worked hard to build this machine, studying your fighting techniques, studying your family and how you fight. I’ve been working hard to get my revenge since that day you killed my son!” the doctor shouted at them.

“Killed your son?” Niji repeated, dodging the blade and landing a blow on its chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

The smile on the man’s face faded, replaced by a deep hatred and anger as he was trembling with his rage and jabbed a finger towards Niji and screamed.

“YOU SHOT HIM IN COLD BLOOD THREE YEARS AGO!”

Ichiji crouched down low in front of the Guardian and then shot up, upper cutting the machine so hard that it went flying up and back into a nearby building. As the Guardian slowly climbed out of the building, a woman screaming behind it as it had crashed into her living room, Ichiji had drawn the machine’s attention, for it seemed angry, if that was possible, from being hit like that.

“Three years ago?” Niji repeated. “We’ve done a lot of missions, I don’t remember your son or shooting him!”

“My son was part of a group of people trying to over throw our corrupt government! All they do is hurt my boy, and people like him! We’re fighting to stop them! Our little winter island was suffering but my boy was going to make it prosper again, and you shot him and stained the snow red forever!”

Niji remembered that mission, the Vinsmokes had been contracted to eliminate a, quite large, criminal organization that had been plaguing a small kingdom. Niji and Ichiji had worked together on that one. They worked their way up the ranks—but it had been Niji who had pulled the trigger to kill the group leader.

Niji had thought they had gotten everyone, his brother was usually really thorough about that. Clearly someone who had worked for the organization and had been in that building when the assassination went down and had survived to tell someone what had happened, well their version of it anyway. Now they had an angry father and a machine that had obviously been made to kill them in turn. Niji charged Dr. Mordred, who was still standing on the platform. While the Guardian was distracted by his brother Niji thought this would be a good time to get rid of its creator. If he was gone the machine should stop then. That was Niji’s hope anyway, he really didn’t have time to think of a better plan.

Dr. Mordred let out a cry of alarm and before Niji could grab him, he felt a sharp pain in the center of his back as the Guardian’s powerful leg was landing a blow. Niji was certain that if he hadn’t been superhuman his back would have been broken. He went flying sideways and crashed through a window. Slowly Niji stood back up, his chest was heaving and he was trying to catch his breath. He was bruised and bloodied but still ready to fight.

Niji was now even more certain that stopping the Guardian meant killing Dr. Mordred.

Niji leapt through the window he crashed through just a few moments before and charged at Dr. Mordred. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion for Niji, making him aware of everything that was going on. Niji could hear the gears of the machine as he leapt towards it. In Niji’s hand was a jagged piece of glass he had picked up off the ground from where he had crashed through the window, it was cutting into the palm of Niji’s hand but he paid no attention to it, his mind entirely focused on his plan on being rid of this miserable little man. One quick strike and the entire fight would finally be over. Niji almost reached Dr. Mordred when the doctor broke into a big smile.

It was like the Guardian teleported between them, thrusting its blade towards Niji.

“This is for my son!” Dr. Mordred shouted, Niji was too committed to the attack to stop, knowing full well he was leaving himself open to attack from the Guardian. Niji had to stop this man and his killing machine before it killed himself, his brother or the innocent people who were peeking out from their windows to watch the fight.

“Niji, look out!” Ichiji’s voice shouted off from the side, a flash of red caught Niji’s eyes as Ichiji placed himself between his brother and the attacking machine.

“What an interesting turn of events,” Dr. Mordred chuckled.

Ichiji was there between them, arms out stretched at his sides as the blade of the Guardian was thrust through his chest. Niji could see the blood dripping off the blade as Ichiji spit up some blood, gripping the blade firmly. Ichiji was holding it into his chest and no matter how the Guardian pulled on its arm, it could not free itself from Ichiji’s strong grip. Even with the blade cutting into Ichiji’s hands, he would not let go, holding on tight with gritted teeth.

Dr. Mordred was jumping up and down, like a child throwing a temper tantrum.

He is exposed.

The thought hit Niji hard and he couldn’t waste the opening his brother had given him. Niji charged past the machine and his brother, reaching for the doctor.

Dr. Mordred jerked straight and tried to pull a gun from his belt, but Niji knocked it aside and grabbed the shorter man by the front of his shirt and punched him.

“You sacrifice your own brother to get to me?!”

“Shut up!” Niji said through clenched teeth, trying not to focus on the meaning of those words. “Call that contraption off!”

Dr. Mordred shook his head and then laughed.

“What’s so damn funny?” Niji demanded.

The doctor stopped laughing, and smiled coldly at Niji, before resuming his insane laughter.

“Make the damn machine stop!”

The man suddenly reached for the glass Niji held, causing him to throw the man onto the ground.

“Just sit there—I know there’s got to be a way to shut it down!”

The Guardian was still fighting against Ichiji, but his brother’s strength was giving out.

“YOU WILL NEVER STOP IT! I’VE DESIGNED THE PERFECT KILLING MACHINE THAT WILL RID THE WORLD OF YOU MURDEROUS VINSMOKES!”

Ichiji’s eye narrowed, but he held fast.

“Find an opening!” Ichiji said with gritted teeth and that’s when Niji noticed a small gap between the neck and the shoulders that exposed the inner workings of the machine, the one part not covered in metal, he could see the gears moving and the small wires, like blood vessels, that gave the machine strength and the ability to move. Slicing those small wires open would put it out of commission, or so Niji hoped.

Niji, still gripping the piece of glass, leapt forward and shoved the glass into the small hole, severing many small wires, jamming the gears. This created a spark and a blast of hot steam to hit Niji in the face, causing him to stumble back. The Guardian jerked and spazzed around, throwing Ichiji.

The doctor began swearing as the machine collapsed, smoke coming from its body.

“No…my revenge can’t end like this!”

Guards came running into the town square.

“Stop right there!” the head guard shouted. “In the name of Germa!”

Ichiji had managed to prop himself against a wall, his hand over his wound as blood seeped through his fingers. Niji felt his mind racing as he couldn’t remember any of the first aide training he received. He dropped to his knees next to his brother. Quickly he took off his brown aviator jacket and went to press it on the wound. Niji hadn’t noticed how bad his hands were shaking until he had taken the jacket off. Ichiji grabbed his brother’s wrist gently, stopping Niji from putting the jacket on him. Niji couldn’t help but notice Ichiji’s hands were like ice.

“At least you’re OK. You’re always the first to charge, aren’t you?” Ichiji said quietly, his voice pained as he spoke. Niji shook his head, feeling tears starting to fall down his face. Ichiji weakly took his brothers hand in his, blood running down his mouth as he forced himself to speak steady. “Niji—I’m proud—of you—know that.” He said with a painful gasp and he closed his eye, his hand going limp in Niji’s hand.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Niji sat in the front row of the funeral.

There was a giant picture of Ichiji that stood behind his father as he gave a speech on how Ichiji was a hero and had given his life to save the town from a mad man and his creation.

Niji was dressed in his nicest clothes, his own wounds cleaned and bandaged. The casket they had picked for his brother was white with gold embellishments and gold handles, the inside was lined with the softest red satin. Niji was positive his brother would have hated it. Ichiji had been a practical and simple man, who wouldn’t had wanted this big funeral but their father wouldn’t listen to Niji. When Niji had returned home his father had blamed him for Ichiji’s death, the one thing they agreed on, and proceeded to beat Niji until he was so bloody and bruised that he couldn’t pull himself up. He had laid there for hours, staring blankly at the ceiling, until servants had come to clean him up. Once they left he went to his secret stash of alcohol and tried to drink his pain away.

Niji approached the casket and looked down at his brother, who looked like he was just sleeping. This felt like some terrible dream, but no matter how many times he pinched himself, he didn’t wake from this nightmare. They had picked a nice suit for Ichiji and Niji thought it would be the only thing his brother would approve of. People approached the casket to say their goodbyes, but Niji paid no mind to them. None of them knew Ichiji like he did. No one knew about how Ichiji use to have nightmares and would climb into Niji’s bed for comfort. No one knew about the one time Ichiji drank wine and how it was the funniest thing of Niji’s life or how Ichiji had been his best friend. No one knew how warm his brother could be, in his own way, when no one was around. Niji was struggling so hard to keep himself composed but the bitter realization he was alone hit him hard and the tears began to fall down his face faster than he could wipe them away.

Dr. Mordred had gotten his revenge, in a sense. Niji had killed his son and Mordred had killed his brother, and in turn had killed Niji’s spirit.

Because I love putting characters I love through misery, here is my final submission in @ask-the-vinsmokes 3k follower contest. I’m going to stop here before Niji uses his special skills to find me and kill me…of course now all I can think of is Niji as Liam Neeson, now THAT would have been a fun movie to watch.

#ask-the-vinsmokes #one piece #ichiji #niji #vinsmoke #killing machine #loss #death #revenge #niji now has liam neeson #i regret nothing #3k follower special #fanfcition #he will find me and he will kill me #brotherhoodau

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