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olet-lucernam · 4 months

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A Hollow Promise [16] chapter iii, part iv

main tags : loki x original character, post-avengers 2012, canon divergence - post-thor: the dark world, canon-typical violence, mentions of torture

summary: In the aftermath of the Battle of New York, the Avengers need a few days to build a transport device for the Tesseract. With the Helicarrier damaged and surveillance offline, SHIELD sends an asset to guard Loki in the interim: a young woman who sees the truth in all things, and cannot lie.

Even long presumed dead, her memories lost to her, Loki would know her anywhere.

And this changes things.

Some things last beyond infinity. And the universe is in love with chaos.

(Loki was never looking for redemption. It came as an unexpected side-effect.)

chapter summary : loki's return to asgard becomes imminent, and his guard shows her hand.

recommended listening : bones, imagine dragons

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Loki caught her against the glass wall as her body buckled, collapsing into him, the lights above them flickering violently. He retained enough presence of mind to throw up a hasty illusion, veiling them from the cameras.

“Astra-”

“You know me-”

“Darling stop, stop, you have to stop-”

“You know me,” she pressed out past the agony, shuddering, clawing at his bicep, “you know me like I know you, how do you know me, how do I- why do I-”

“Hush, my heart, you need to stop,” Loki hissed, seizing her upper arms in a bruising, grounding grip.

The backlash was so powerful that he didn’t even need to consciously pull forward his magic to identify its source. He could feel the shards of an old, broken spell, not hers or his, corroded over decades by the proximity to her overwhelming magical core, and having shattered like rusted iron- becoming the equivalent to shrapnel in a wound, surrounded by scar tissue, shredding her open as she tried to rip it out of her.

“Why,” she gasped out, “why can’t I remember-”

“The seal upon your memories is caused by corrupted magic,” Loki explained coolly, brisk and clinical, hoping that unambiguous truth would give her an anchor. “Damaged by and now feeding off your mana. The more you try to destroy it, the more it draws from your core to protect itself. And the worse the pain will become. You cannot purge it alone. And I do not have time to pull it apart.”

“But you can.” Her voice was trembling, but honing in on him- distracting her from her near self-mutilating attempts to rip it out of her. The lights blinked, slowly stabilising. “You can break it.”

“I can break it.” Loki confirmed calmly.

She shivered violently.

Loki raised his hand to her cheek, his thumb soothing across her skin. He made his magic gentle, a cool mist, settling and seeping in to leech and neutralise the pain.

“Loki-”

“I have you, beloved,” he murmured, letting her lean her forehead against his shoulder, feeling her melt into him without a thought. “Now hold still for me.”

As she relaxed under his touch, sinking into a trusting ease that left Loki aching, he shifted, his middle finger tracing a serpentine loop against her carotid artery- like a love knot, like an ouroboros, like a net- closing into itself.

His mana trailed the motion, anchoring a spell as strong as spider’s silk, intricate and entrapping.

She held still for him, letting him etch his magic into her, holding her own mana at bay like the tide, only letting fine rivulets through to forge his spell deeper into her, drawing it down past the surface and into her meridians.

His spell settled into her, delicately wrought as filigree.

It was a long moment before she spoke again.

“Astrid.” It was murmured almost flush against his heart, her lips skimming leather and her breath clouding gold plate. “Astrid North Strange. That is my name.”

Names had power. She would know that.

And she had given him hers in full.

“Astrid,” Loki echoed softly. “A Norse name.”

His thumb stroked her jaw, absently.

“It means beautiful and beloved of the gods.”

Her body started with a soft huff of unvoiced laughter.

“Mm. How lofty.”

Loki hummed in lighthearted agreement. He had always liked the way the name fell- the weight of it like a chant, like a soaring stride alighting into a thudding footstep, like a sigh that dropped into a snarl through gritted teeth- As-trid, As-strid, As-trid.

The meaning was stately, as was its natural carriage, but Loki liked to think he could hear something far more visceral in it- the sound of a heartbeat.

“Wait for me?” He said, in quiet entreaty.

She hummed sweetly.

“The alternative being?” She wondered wryly, lifting her head into his touch with a sated sigh, absently caressing his sleeve. “Yes. Yes, I’ll wait for you. I’ll take your deal.”

Loki closed his eyes, leaning in and pressing his mouth into her hair, hoarding away this last moment- to seal into his memory like candied flowers in a glass jar, to ration out when he would need them, in coming days.

She pulled away gently, her hand remaining on his arm- lingering within the boundary of the illusion he had set, not yet disturbing and dispelling the veil of magic.

She- Astrid- breathed deep, looking up at him calmly, the mass of her blonde curls falling back over her shoulders.

“Thanos is going to lose,” she announced.

For anyone else, it would mean almost nothing. It was an empty affirmation, closer to a reassurance.

At least, in anyone’s mouth but hers.

She looked almost surprised that the words had come out, reaching up to tap a finger against her lips.

“Oh,” she said, quietly delighted. “Well. Look at that.”

Loki shook his head, faintly desperate. “Astra-”

He cut himself off.

Loki didn’t know what he wanted to tell her, or how he wanted to react.

She smiled serenely.

“Haven’t I made it clear?” She said, exhaling into a surrendering laugh. “I don’t know if I’m capable of loving in moderation. For my father, I went through hell and made a deal with the devil.”

She reached up, and touched his cheek tenderly.

“For you, Loki- how far do you think I’ll go?”

It sunk in slowly, the weight of it grounding him, binding him like satin ties.

Something within him that Loki had long thought dead- something that he thought had been killed partway by Odin’s lie, in greater part by the Black Order, and taken its last gasps at his own hands- returned to life, demanding space inside him, shoving aside scar tissue and jagged wreckage to breathe anew.

Necromancer, he thought, eyes watering, fondly accusing.

Loki grasped for her hand, turning his face into her palm, his lashes lowered.

Her expression tightened, even as her hand remained pliant in his.

“We’re out of time,” she announced quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Loki said, lips moving against the base of his thumb, reluctantly loosening his fingers from around her wrist. “And do not apologise to me for being right.”

Loki caught the gleam in her eyes, as though she wanted to argue.

Instead, she gave a short, firm nod, her hand slipping out of his.

“Alright. Let’s get to work, beloved.”

He had no time to react to the endearment as she briskly stepped around him, breaking the illusion and reaching for the case she had dropped.

Loki swivelled halfway to watch her. Sinking to one knee, she unlatched the case and lifted the lid with a hook of her finger, rising with its contents in her hands.

In one hand, she held a set of manacles, gripping through the rings of the shackles deftly- the restraints hastily manufactured to hold Asgardian strength, Loki deduced from the uneven edges and poorly distributed bulk. As light skimmed the flat of the cuffs, Loki caught sight of a set of runes shallowly etched into the metal, forming a rudimentary magic-supressing seal.

Hm. It must have been an instruction from his brother- smart, Loki couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. Thor would possess just enough knowledge to instruct the array, but not quite enough to realise that Loki had worked out how to unlock most rudimentary arrays centuries ago- despite the fact that Loki had utilised such skills during their many misadventures.

In her other hand, she was holding a strange curve of pewter metal. It looked as though it had been cobbled together from scrap, the shape of it reminiscent of a lower jawbone-

“Ah,” Loki said lightly, “is that the muzzle?”

She was examining it with an expression of utter disdain.

In one motion, she tossed it over her shoulder, sending it clattering against the back wall of the cell.

Loki grinned, carefully crafting it to read as taunting to the cameras.

“Well. I can’t imagine Director Fury will be terribly pleased about that.”

“In which case he can come down here and muzzle you himself,” she replied shortly, walking towards him, casting a judgemental look over the manacles and their deficient craftsmanship. “I’m not doing it.”

Laughing, Loki offered his wrists up to her placidly.

“I imagine that he is more likely to send his pet superheroes to complete the task,” he commented, tilting his head at her, as she snapped the first cuff closed around his wrist, her fingertips lingering to trace along the ridges of his hand.

“Given that Fury is a baseline unenhanced human, that seems pragmatic.” She commented neutrally, unlocking the second cuff and widening its hinge. “And as the director of SHIELD, pragmatism is a prerequisite.”

Loki leaned down until his breath skimmed her cheekbone, close enough to feel the heat exuded from her skin and bask in it.

“And yet here you are, darling,” he murmured against her cheek.

Her eyes flicked to his as he pulled back a few scant inches, alight and glinting like gold thread in sunlight.

“Here I am, prince.”

She closed the shackle around his wrist, letting its internal gears grind into place. Loki let his gaze flit down, contemplating the rings of metal and the rope-chain connecting them- which offered far too much slack, he thought, but he deigned not to mention it.

“I suppose this is goodbye.”

She tilted her head. “Mn. Don’t tell me you’ll miss me?”

Loki smirked at the mockery steepling her eyebrows, knowing it wasn’t intended for him.

He lifted her hand in his, his touch delicate, every inch the Asgardian prince who had learned courtly manners and courtesy at his mother’s hand.

“I am rather tempted to keep you, songbird,” he murmured. Loki saw her swallow, and the shadow of longing that crossed her features like a cloud, and Loki’s fingers twitched against hers.

It was only the memory of the Black Order- of the Other- of him- that kept him from seizing her against him and running.

If you fail- if the Tesseract is kept from us- there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can’t find you-

A moment of weakness and selfishness would see her dead. They could never know. Loki could never give them a whisper of a reason to realise that she was somehow important- not until it was too late for them to stop what they had already set in motion.

A game of patience it is, then.

“Next time, perhaps.”

The parting words risked being a few shades too sweet, too much softness from the remorseless villain who thought mortals little better than insects. But Loki had confidence in his calculating mask, and it wouldn’t be so implausible for him to consider her a pretty amusement- like an enamelled music box, or a sun-charm that scattered rainbows through its prism. Surely, a would-be conqueror would dwell on what should have been amongst his trophies of war.

In tales from both Midgard and Asgard, monsters were well known to covet beautiful things, stealing them away to hoard in their strongholds.

The narrative made sense, Loki decided- and allowed himself to raise her hand to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles, darkly possessive.

“Farewell, Alethia.”

He released her hand.

Her own hand hovered in the air, her expression guarded and easily misread as the watchfulness of those first hours.

After a moment, she pulled it back to herself, gaze dropping and her lashes shielding her eyes, her head remaining high and poised.

Loki saw the stuttering hitch on her careful inhale, as she took a step back, pivoting smoothly and walking to the cell door.

After a few seconds, the door opened remotely, allowing her to step out.

So they were watching, after all.

And had done nothing when he had wrapped his hand around her throat.

Duly noted.

Loki remained perfectly still, watch the door close in front of her, separating them once more.

The tension he recognised in her was less like grief, and more like rage. It burned, quiet and ominous as a fire.

Before he could say anything else, she abruptly turned him and cupped a hand across her mouth, shielding her lips from view.

“I do love nothing in the world so much as you,” she quoted, voice muffled, eyes crushingly wanting above the screen of her fingers. “Is not that strange?”

It felt like a final, desperate entreaty, the last thing that she could give, a final resort to make sure he understood.

Loki drew his shoulders back, and mirrored her motion, covering his mouth with his palm.

“I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest.”

The sentiment contained was pulled from the deepest and truest part of him, wrung out of his soul, the discomfort of its earnestness pressing against his edges.

Loki watched her take it in, wordlessly devouring his declaration as though it was the last drink before crossing a desert.

It took nine heartbeats for her to walk away, taking Loki’s heart with her.

Her footsteps echoed through the passageway- constructed through a hollow vertebrae of coolant pipes and electrical cords, a maintenance spine than ran the length of the Helicarrier- reverberating off the raw metal, rinsing through the crevices and hollows like currents of a rising tide.

She moved at a quick clip, brisk enough to send her hair whisking back from her face, mind running hot as blood.

Astrid North Strange prided herself on being smart. Her father did not raise an idiot- a superior, self-interested, materialistic, prideful, wilful smart-aleck who had absolutely no moderation when she wanted something, yes, but not an idiot- and she had no intention of becoming one. He had impressed upon her that the brain was an organ, and should be treated as one, maintained and rested and exercised. He had taught her to think, sharpening her willingness to question like a scalpel at a whetstone, until he could trust her to make up her own mind and defend her position against anyone. And he had taught her not to think too hard, sometimes- to embrace bursts of dopamine and serotonin just because, to say no or yes and feel no need to justify herself, to be selfish and take sometimes.

It had grounded her, strangely. She couldn’t be detached, or a passive observer, or a voyeur to life, once she realised that she wanted things. Once she wanted and felt, she found herself bound to the universe, invested, breaking the limitations of the apathy that she had drifted within.

Pain and love are symbiotic, he had told her once, with that wry, self-deprecating twist in his smile. And both are fuel. Motive. Don’t hold yourself too far above them. It- it’s not worth it.

For all that, he still hadn’t liked her plan. Even at the time, Astrid had acknowledged that it was less than ideal. But he had understood that it was important to her, and that she could no longer be at ease in ignorance, and that any argument he made against it would be hypocritical, to say the least, considering how he had raised her. Instead, he had helped make arrangements, set up a place for her to retreat to if ever she needed it, and let her go with a kiss to the temple- trusting her to be smart.

And, presumably, not to steal an Infinity Stone on sheer impulse, allow herself to be captured by SHIELD, become enamoured at first sight with the demigod who had attacked New York with an alien army and become a fixture on the list of dangerous entities maintained by the sorcerers of Kamar Taj, and within less than twenty-four hours decide to conspire with him to prevent an exponentially worse entity from obtaining the most powerful artifacts in existence.

In her defence, the context was extraordinarily exonerating.

He wouldn’t- couldn’t- be that upset with her, once he heard the facts.

Right?

She halted, the residual momentum almost swaying her forward.

Astrid gritted her teeth against a sigh, pressing into her browbone.

Yeah. Daddy is going to lose his goddamn mind.

She hated the idea of disappointing him. Frustration, worry, exasperation, even his rare anger would be tolerable- but disappointing him-

But-

Astrid glanced down at her hand, rubbing her fingertips together absently.

Beautiful and beloved of the gods.

It made sense now.

Astrid was incapable of lying. However, she was perfectly capable of being imprecise, as all truths could be.

When she told Loki that her name was one of the few things she remembered, from whatever had come before, it was the truth.

What she had omitted was that she remembered a plethora of names, all of them equally hers.

Seraph. Zhan. Sol. Lihn. Sigyn. Könül. Alwari. Æsanna. Astrilde. Astrid.

Later, she would gain more- North. Strange. Sweetheart. Doctor. Stephenson. Stephensdottir. Alethia.

And now she had his names for her.

Darling. Beloved. Sweet thing. Songbird. My lady. Dove. My heart. Astra.

Her heart fluttered.

Yet when Stephen Vincent Strange had pulled her from oblivion, steadied her through the rush of sensory overload, and tentatively asked if she had a name, Astrid was the one that she had chosen to give. She hadn’t given it much thought at the time, and it hadn’t been questioned; it was not an unusual name in the far north of Scandinavia, no matter the circumstances under which she had been found.

It was Astrid, and Astrid alone, that had any reason to wonder why that name.

And now she knew.

That was how he knew her.

Her fingers closed into her palm.

Astrid was not an idiot.

It took finesse to deceive when you couldn’t lie, and even more to convince someone of the truth when you were prohibited from speaking it explicitly. While it was rare that Astrid held all the cards, she usually knew the hands of everybody else sitting at the table, and therefore how best to play her own.

And so, as much as she wanted to turn back, to reclaim everything that she had been looking for-

Forward. The only way out was through.

Alright. Time to get to work.

Closing her eyes, Astrid drew a measured breath.

On the exhale, she sank away from her surface, and cracked herself open.

Captivity had provided her with plenty of time to hone the technique, meditating out of her corporeal form and into the astral plane, settling her frayed nerves each day like smoothing ruffled feathers. But this time, the transition was almost effortless, smooth as a gloss of olive oil.

Her awareness haemorrhaged out of her flesh- and within seconds, she could sense every living presence aboard the Helicarrier.

Each soul was a pinprick of energy, like stars dispersed amidst the black of empty space. On the periphery of her awareness, the densely clustered populations of Manhattan, Queens, the Bronx, Brooklyn and Hudson County were an unresolved blur, like a smudge of light from the Wintergaten on a clear night in the mountains.

Astrid kept her focus within the confines of the airborne aircraft carrier, sifting through them like grains of sand in a rockpool-

Her attention was wrenched in an unexpected direction, an abrupt swing of a compass needle as it was tossed upright.

Loki.

The seal that he had etched into her neck was like a lingering kiss, cooling against her skin. It was a chain- forged with her consent, binding a tether between them, rippling like a livewire.

The link was woven as delicate as spun ice, strong as spider silk, a net as fine as a mesh of gossamer lace. She could feel its gentle tug at her meridians, his living magic an endothermic reaction against her, soaking in her warmth and leaving her trembling and breathless, like morning light breaking upon fern frost. Her own mana thrummed against his, molten gold and rich as fresh blood.

She could feel her heartbeat in her mouth, her head light as champagne swirling into a drain, tipping her perspective as gently as the sway of a waltz.

Loki, alderliefest, beloved, my infinity, mineminemine-

Swallowing, Astrid breathed slow, tamping down on the power bleeding out from her core, quaking with the sheer force of it, compressing it into something solid and malleable.

The excess power that shimmered, omnipresent, at her surface was already enough to cause a power surge in a modest lowrise. Unlatching her core could take down a few city blocks, if directed effectively.

But in that instant- her mana leapt like liquor tossed on open flame, her bones nothing more than kindling to make it catch, as though half of its potency had laid dormant until now.

It only proved her instincts right.

The moment that she had seen him- seen him- sculpted and vicious and wrenchingly beautiful, blunt and snarling as snapping jaws, blazing like an aurora, misrule and placidity and rage, quiet contemplation and haughty sangfroid and wicked humour and wounded tenderness, perfected imperfection, the line of his mouth begging for the sweep of her fingertip, the clarity of his eyes holding her captive, the timbre of his voice melting away the rest of the world-

It had slotted something into place for her, leaving her devolving into maddening certainty, feeling something in her break against the contours of his existence.

Her soul could have shattered apart.

For the first time, Astrid realised bitterly, she finally understood why Orpheus had failed, and turned to face his beloved Eurydice.

It was bad enough, to lose him so soon- but to leave him, to abandon him now, alone and knowing that he wanted to keep her-

Even knowing the consequences- even knowing that this temporary loss was the compromise for a future gain, delayed gratification taken to a logical extreme- she still wanted to turn back. The intensity of it was enough to make her want to gouge out her own heart and press it into his hands, to make him truly understand that there was nothing beyond him, nothing that could aspire to be more, that this was what she had been searching for, that she couldn’t-

But Astrid was not Orpheus.

She had proven it, in hundreds of agonising steps, sulphur smoking out her lungs and brimstone staining her eyes, hardening herself against the pleading cries at her back and her heart shrieking in protest.

Fidelity.

Astrid scoffed softly.

This was the form of her faithfulness. This was what he had asked of her.

Alright.

Turning away, she refocused, and searched.

There.

She snagged upon one particular presence- one that Astrid had encountered often enough in the past months to isolate with relative ease- located a few decks above her.

They were at a fair enough distance for it to work.

Without pause, Astrid filtered out from their precise location, tapping at the ambient currents of energy to resonate back to her like vibrations through a taut wire, chasing along their routes.

Hydraulically-controlled doors. Digitally-secured security access points. Voice-activated elevators.

All easily sabotaged in order to force someone to take the long way around, and with little suspicion arising from it, given that the Helicarrier was still recovering from the recent assault on its electronic systems.

And buying her time.

Astrid opened her eyes.

Raising her hand, she sliced two fingers through her hair, sectioning off a skein at the front, just above the arch of her right eyebrow. Splitting it into three, she began braiding it back with practiced efficiency, falling into step, weaving a verse of sour-tongued, irreverent spellsong.

“Show me how to lie You’re getting better all the time, And turning all against the one Is an art that’s hard to teach

Another clever word Sets off an unsuspecting herd, And as you step back into line A mob jumps to their feet…”

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lil-demi-boy · 2 months

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OMG your mw sketches are so good! especially beebs love shrike jojo pose and i would love to hear your theories : 3

Aaaa thank you!! I love drawing them both a whole lot, but I definitely need to draw more Beebs <3

But yeah as for theories, they'll be under the cut Big shout out to my friend CL for helping me like, break the show down and get ideas going and thinking of a few of these first

(Also heads up, I just finished typing out Shrike's theories and it's long as hell so big read ahead)

Okay so some Shrike thoughts

He's canonically the last of his species, but he doesn't seem too torn up about it like Beebs seems to be about his own past, so is he just really good at hiding that pain or does he genuinely have no regrets?

If he is hiding his pain, the Terran obsession could be his coping mechanism, he hides in El Bandito cartoons so he doesn't have to face the truth that once he's gone, his whole species is

On the flipside, in the show, he seems to sleep just fine, dreams about normal things, never seems to have anything bothering him consciously or subconsciously, so I actually think he's genuinely fine over being the last of his species

I'll get back to that in a minute though, for now I'd like to look at his style: we know he wears a suit he got from being a member of LAW, and his guns match his suit/shoes, so I imagine he got the guns with the suit and was trained by LAW how to use them

He also claims "this is all I know!" when Beebs tells him to stop shooting in ep 3 so it's not hard to imagine he went straight from knowing little about fighting into LAW (unlike Beebs, who I'll get to)

With his LAW history in mind and seeming lack of care about the eradication of his species, it makes me wonder if the two could be connected

There's the Hunted theory, the Superman theory, and the Bad Alien theory, two of which involve the storage crystal in the back of his head

Said crystal appears to be very important; it's limited, but it is hammer space, it could have a ton of practical uses, and would likely be something that bad people wanna get ahold of, plus in ep 2 (which is HEAVY with foreshadowing, even with stuff that happens in the episode itself) they point out Shrike's crystal several times, calling him the Mother Crystal, showing Beebs looking between Punti's crystal and Shrike's, even Dr. Agnes tried to pull it out of his head at one point, so I'm thinking someone's gonna want it

In comes the Hunted theory: Shrike's species is born with these crystals, or they're at least given at birth/a young age (with Shrike saying he's had his since forever in ep 2), but since they're so useful, other aliens started hunting his species down to kill them and take the crystals. Shrike was taken on to LAW bc he was one of the last few of his kind n they wanna keep an eye on them

Literally as I was typing I thought of another theory, the Foreshadowing theory: The way Shrike talks about what happened to him (LAW setting him up with a dumb job after) makes me think it was actually more like a mass extinction, much like how Punti is the last of his kind after a mass extinction, one that LAW showed up afterwards to find and take the last one into custody, though in this theory, I think Shrike's crystal and the multiple comparisons between Shrike and Punti may point to Shrike being the only one of his kind with that crystal in his head

Which is also the case in the Superman Theory, where his family knew they were all gonna die, so they put Shrike in a pod (either being born with or given the crystal) and sent him off to protect him as they all die (which yeah isn't original but come on, baby Shrike)

Finally there's my favorite theory (NOT the one I believe in the most, just the one I think is the most fun to write for), the Bad Alien theory: why would Shrike be so carefree about his whole species being dead? Well what if they were actually a horrible species, like the Krill in Orville? They're blood-thirsty conquerors responsible for wiping out plenty of other species, and something about Shrike (maybe the crystal?) made him different and decide this wasn't okay, so he finds a way to work for LAW and be their spy on the inside, helping his species get captured and killed as punishment for all the pain and destruction they've caused while Shrike gets a job for helping them out so he can stay on his feet

Also not a theory or anything, I just love the detail that Shrike's chair in the Bucket has a spot on the headrest that's been scratched out by Shrike's gem, idk how they thought of that but that's so smart

Anyway that's enough about Shrike, let's get on to Beebs

Beebs oh man, sweetie, my baby boy, he has got to have a sad fuckin backstory. He's missing 3 of his 4 limbs, he implies he's lost at least one loved one, he's just so iudhfishuis I love him

Anyway, in episode 3 when he's talking to Us, he mentions he's been through losing someone "once or twice", which to me points to the possibility that he lost his partner or his family, but tbh I think he lost his wife (or whatever gender partner you prefer to think of him with) and child

He's very fatherly, taking the lead and being gentle and patient and understanding, plus in ep 2 when the Lythop that went in Shrike's head was crying, Beebs was already bent on a knee and ready to hold the lil guy like a dad comforting his crying kid, and in ep 3 he sits in with Shrike and lets him talk about El Bandito like a kid showing off their favorite cartoon to their dad (plus it makes him a dilf)

There's also another character we've seen in promo art, Champion Ajax, who looks like a Walrinian like Beebs is, and his name being Champion Ajax (among other things I'll get to) gives me the impression that maybe this species is battle-heavy and loves to throw down

They're physically imposing and tall, plus Beebs is shown to be a skilled fighter with both his close range hammer and long range grenades; I wouldn't be surprised if he could use every weapon in his light stick thing tbh

With champions and a proficiency in mixed weapons, what if Beebs' species takes part in gladiator type sports? Fighting each other for the fun and glory with the biggest and strongest of them all being the champion

If this is the case, I do think Beebs might've been a champ at one point, but he finally lost or quit

I don't have fancy names for these theories, n they're more like thoughts anyway but like

It's possible he lost his limbs during his run as Champion and that led him to quit (he didn't seem interested in getting any more parts of him made mechanical, as evidenced by his response to Shrike telling him to get an internal translator)

But the way sadder option is that whatever took his limbs is also what took his family, like some kind of explosion or something, or even worse, something that he did caused it

If you'll notice, sometimes when he opens his mouth wide, you can see two weird, round "teeth" in the corners of his mouth, which come to find out are actually where his tusks should be (side note: BLESS the artist who drew him with his tusks that one time, I love it)

So why doesn't he have his tusks? Were they cut off because he quit being Champion? Maybe he was blamed for the death of his family n cutting off tusks is a sign of shame/exile

Him being exiled may count for why he's in Monkey Wrench right now, like in ep 3 he clearly wasn't sure he was cut out for merc work so I highly doubt this was his idea, he likely needed a job to keep himself afloat, and here came Shrike

On that note, I wonder about Shrike and Beebs' relationship, cause when talking to Us, Beebs said that Shrike is his friend "or something"; have they just not known each other long enough to really call each other friends, or does Shrike just annoy him n that was a joke? How long have they known each other? Maybe they met through LAW at some point?

That's about all I got, but yeee thank you for asking, and apologies if it's a lil too long

#ask #monkey wrench #shrike sanchez #bulldog browns #zeurel

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honeysmokedham · 24 days

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ilomilo || Declan & Hamstring

When: 4/4/2024 Where: Saol Eile Who: Declan (TBA) & @honeysmokedham What: Cliodhna arranges for a spare tour guide to show Hamstring around her new home of Saol Eile, the two meet and Declan decides to show her his favorite spot.

The goal of each of the 49 levels is to unite Ilo and Milo, who are on separate sides of the level and must work together to meet.

A quartet of banshee women stood in a semi-circle around Nora - or Hamstring as she was beginning to be known here. They spoke in the speedy ease of women in charge. Hamstring was under no illusions on who the topic at hand was, despite the language barrier. Every now and then she would recognize a word. Regan. Hamstring. And that was it. Eventually, after being regarded forever, a length of time that would have been made easier with the use of scrolling on her cellphone, Cliodhna spoke. To paraphrase everything, since Hamstring was barely paying attention, a spare tour guide named Declan Diggory and that she was going to spend time with him every day until some word Hamstring didn’t understand but assumed meant she was comfortable with getting around Saol Eile.

That was why Hamstring got out of bed before 2 pm, her normal time of waking, and made it outside of Cliodhna’s house in the early hours of eleven am. “Declan?” Hamstring stopped in front of the guy standing outside. Fear leaked out of him, it leaked out of most of the humans that lived here. If Hamstring had even stopped to consider that, she may have thought it was weird. But humans were fearful creatures, and them being scared of anything just made sense. “Hamstring.” Hamstring pointed at herself as she stifled a yawn. She was really doing a good job at falling into the role of banshee. “Where are we going?”

The arrival of Regan Kavanagh had brought an onslaught of whispers onto the community. Declan was used to being on the outskirts– too far removed from what it meant to be respected within the aos sí, but a part of it all the same. Still, he knew what would come next. It was obvious in the way his mother spoke. His purpose– a shred of who he was meant for something important; something that he’d known would be his downfall his entire life. He was nothing but a lamb for the slaughter, and he’d been so used to that thought; that it would end this way, his neck cut with the blade of his mother’s choosing. But with Regan Kavanagh’s arrival, something changed.

With her arrival, something changed. Exhaustion and worry etched itself into Declan’s features as he waited nervously outside of Cliodhna’s house. Finally, Hamstring emerged and his expression blistered. He shouldn’t be here; shouldn’t pour his indecision and fear into her hands. It wasn’t hers to bear. Perhaps he’d save it for later, when he was sure he could trust her. She was different from the women he’d grown up around; less vicious, less vindictive. “Was told to show you around.” He offered her a warm smile before gesturing ahead of himself, “and so I will.” He fell into step next to her. “There’s the base of the falls that I’d like to show you. I spent a lot of my childhood skipping rocks there.” Would that be boring to her? All he knew was that he was supposed to keep her busy; entertained to a degree. “Thought that perhaps I could give you a glimpse of our home.” Your new home, he didn’t care to add.

Jet Lag tugged at Hamstring’s existence, warping her down to her very soul. An old tiredness that wasn’t kind enough to greet her like the old friends they were. It didn’t help that her body was still stiff from the unconventional travel. Her physical hamstring was in pain from being curled up tightly, what she really needed was a banana. Hamstring tried to ignore the pain, focusing on Declan’s words. His accent framed the words beautifully, drawing Hamstring into the conversation, making her want to ask him more questions so she could hear his musical tones fill the silence between them.

“A waterfall? That’s sick.” A pause as Hamstring considered that her American zoomerisms might not translate well to someone whose first language wasn’t English. Was his first language English? There was, perhaps, a lot of research Hamstring could have done on Ireland beyond googling which snakes were native to Ireland - none - and what bears she could see in Ireland - also none. The two creatures that made her feel most at home were also two creatures that didn’t exist here. “Cool, I mean cool.” Hamstring murmured. He mentioned wanting to show her around our home, and all of a sudden it dawned on Hamstring. Everyone here truly believed she was Hamstring, the pre-banshee that would one day be a full banshee, staying forever. The cramp in her hamstring suddenly tightened and Hamstring sprawled face first into Declan.

With a raised brow, Declan gave a small nod. “I don’t believe it’s sick, we take care of the waters especially well here.” To a degree; maybe not as much as an actual nereid or nyx would, but they were still caretakers of the world around them. We and they had separated themselves from him, as there wasn’t much he could give to the world around him– apart from his life, for the girl that stood in front of him now. He observed her for a moment longer before gesturing ahead, willing Hamstring to take the first few steps for their tour. After a moment of brief silence, she corrected herself. That did make much more sense. “Ah, it is quite cool.” There was something he noticed within moments of meeting Hamstring; it was easy to smile around her. Effortless, even.

Before they could get started on their trek, Hamstring was falling face-first towards him. Unable to hold himself upright in the time it took her to fall, he tried his best to support her weight as they both crashed down to the ground. Now, with her on top of him, he blinked up at her, nose twitching as strands of her hair tickled his face. “Are you alright?” He asked, a small laugh parting from between his lips as he looked up at her from the ground. She was much prettier up close, he realized. Though extremely tired; he could see the bags beneath her eyes almost as if they were a permanent fixture. He wondered if she would look different once activated; eyes liquid black, erasing the natural brown… it was a shame he wouldn’t be there to see it.

Fuck. This was like one of those videos. The lame ones that would start with a voice-over. ‘So this is me, and I bet you’re wondering how I ended up on top of one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen, his eyes staring into mine, my heart beating faster than it should.’ Then it would record scratch and time would go back. But this wasn’t a lame video, and Hamstring would say any of the words, even if she noticed her heart beating a bit faster if she also noticed his laugh sounded sweet, and most of all, that the fear that had been casually draped over him, like most humans here, dissipated the moment of the fall as they laid there looking at each other. “C-cramp.” Hamstring stammered out the world, failing every bit of cool girl standard she’d ever held herself to. “That was my bad.” But it took her a moment longer than it should have to extricate herself from him and stand back up, offering a hand to help him as well.

“The airplane ride here wasn’t great for my legs.” She continued, in way of apology, suddenly deciding to look anywhere but at Declan. “Are you okay?” Hamstring was shoving her hands in her pockets, remiss that there were no snakes in there to distract him from how awkwardly this was going. The temptation to defuse the situation with an illusion washed over her. It would be easy. She would scare him, he’d cry or maybe pass out, and then she could forget how embarrassing this was. Except she couldn’t cast an illusion or someone would find out she wasn’t who she was claiming to be. Worst of all, she didn’t want to scare him. She wanted him to keep talking about the waterfall that he used to skip rocks at. “Should we keep going? I mean, we can cancel. If I crushed your legs, or something.” Give him an out to take, because no one likes spending time with a monster.

“Don’ worry, it’s no problem.” Declan waited for Hamstring to rise before he stuck out his own hand, allowing her to pull him back up onto his feet. He dusted his backside once upright, listening to her reasoning for why it had happened in the first place. “I’ve never been on a plane. Didn’t know it could cramp you up.” He crossed his arms over his chest, noticing the way she would look anywhere but at him. Had he done something wrong? “Oh, I’m right as rain. A fall can’t really take me out, don’t worry your head about it.” He flashed her a grin before gesturing forward again at her insistence.

“Aye, it’s not that long of a walk, and I think my legs are perfectly fine. Let’s go.”

True to his word, the walk did not take long, though he felt the need to slow down in case Hamstring’s leg decided to cramp up again. He could hear the rush of water before he could see it, and the chill to the air draped over them like a second skin the further they pushed onward. “You can feel it, right?” He leaned down at the base of the trail that’d lead further down to the bank of where the falls met the river, picking up a few solidly shaped rocks before popping back up.

“It doesn’t if you have a seat,” Hamstring mumbled. If he hadn’t been on a plane did he know planes had seats? As much fun as she’d been having around Saol Eile, it did give off extreme cult vibes. She had no idea how much outside influence was allowed in. Wynne’s cult seemed like it did a good job of keeping everything modern and pop culture out, lending to interesting conversations. Was it the same here? Did banshees care what their humans got up to? “Do you want to go on a plane?” Was it too soon to ask him about how horrible these banshees are supposed to be? That was the one thing she was hearing repeated over and over again from everyone. Banshees are horrible and not to be trusted. What about their human tour guides? “I mean, it seems nice here.”

“Right. Let’s go.” In place of words that should have been, I’m glad you’re okay. Or maybe, sorry again, haha, should have worn my hiking boots. That last one was a lie though, because her giant combat boots, laced securely around her ankles, made for great hiking boots. She’d hiked the forests around Wicked’s Rest in them continuously. Hell, she’d walked across America in them, and today of all days was the day she fell in them. That, she decided, was why her heart had been racing.

“Feel what?” The only thing Hamstring could feel was the awkwardness of existing in her own skin. The itch of her illusions tugging at her to create a monster. The want to look at his smile again. No, wait scratch off that last one. She did not feel that last one. Hamstring devoted herself to looking around, trying to feel what it was he felt. She could smell the rolling water, the fresh foliage, the crisp cool air. It felt nice and quiet, far enough away from Saol Eile that the sounds and smells of civilization were lost. She watched him pick up some rocks, she picked up her own. Right, skipping stones. That was what they were going to do. Hamstring had never skipped rocks before, she reflected mildly that Cass would know which rocks were the best, but to her untrained eye she picked up a handful of whatever, shoving them in her pocket and hoping it would work.

“Can’t imagine that I’ll get the chance. No airport here.” Not to mention he had very little time left, if fate had its way (it always did). Declan hummed under his breath as he continued, “reckon I’ve seen a plane on the telly once or twice, looked a bit… I’m not sure how they keep it up in the air.” Everything in his life concerning fae made sense, but the idea of a metal contraption being suspended in air was where he drew the line. Then again, he’d been raised with nothing else.

“The air. It’s much cooler here, isn’t it?” He could feel the mist dotting the skin of his forearms as they rounded the corner, the spoils of rocks drying his hands with their caked mud.

The base of the falls was grand; foliage wrapped around the bank, both dried and live vines wrapping themselves around the neighboring trees. The water was a clear blue, pebbles and stones visible at the bottom, algae scraping along the floor of the river. “There’s a path that leads beneath it, you can feel the water even better from there. Would you like to go?” He looked at Hamstring, same smile intact, eyes glinting with something akin to hope, maybe. Hope that she wouldn’t turn him down, that he would show her her new home, that she wouldn’t be afraid of it, but instead fall in love with it the way he had. Though, he assumed there would be many differences in the way either of them approached the aos sí.

There was an airport here somewhere, but not someplace Hamstring had any context for. Her travel here was a blur of cramped sitting, being jostled against things, muffled talking, and a lot of waiting. The airport could have been in the town or five towns over, for all that Hamstring was aware of. However, she did assume it was the cult activities of the aos sí that made him assume he’d never leave. It was taking everything in her power to convince Regan to leave, she couldn’t imagine how hard it’d be to convince people who never had a taste of freedom. But that was sad, wasn’t it? To only know one life. How would he know if this was the life he wanted? He’d never get to test another one on to see how it fit. “Maybe one day.” Hamstring threw out there. Just to get the idea out there. “I think they keep them up with engines, aerodynamics, and physics. I’d have to google it, to know more. What kinds of things do you guys have on television here?”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” Hamstring looked down at her arms, covered in goosebumps from the chill. She’d been too distracted to notice. “It’s nice.” It was nice. Hamstring loved being in nature. She wouldn’t spend so much time in the forests around Wicked’s Rest if she didn’t. It was nice, she reflected, that she’d be able to spend time here, by the waterfall, during her time here.

The water was beautiful. The kind of thing people put on a postcard with the caption ‘Wish You Were Here.’ Perhaps she would send that postcard to the entirety of the bears and snakes race, to get them to come visit. Hamstring was watching a spider crawl over a rock when Declan asked her a question, she looked up and was greeted by his smile. A welcoming and hopeful smile. How could she say no? “I’d like that.” She’d like that a lot. Hamstring moved closer, “Lead the way.”

“Ah, so you’re smart and pretty.” Declan didn’t bother shying away from the compliment– he’d been taught to speak his mind in the same way he’d been told to keep his grievances to himself. It was an odd combination. At her question, he thought for a moment. “Well, I’ve seen Grease 1 and 2 about thirty times on an old VHS tape that somebody smuggled in. It’s in my closet to this day.” He didn’t bother mentioning it’d been his sister who’d done the smuggling. She wasn’t a needed topic at this moment, as she had been forced from his mind the moment she chose to abandon activation and leave with the one who was supposed to spill their blood. “There are other things, too… but it’s usually fae media. We have actors too, you know. Muses, actually.” It was said with a light chuckle as he shifted the rocks around in his palm, the sound of them knocking together bringing back a sense of childhood when he’d come here with both his sister and mom.

Those days had since past, and he was here with somebody new– somebody who didn’t look at him as though he were nothing but a sacrifice. Declan watched Hamstring’s expression change as she looked at the water. “Beauty, isn’t she?” His gaze lingered for a moment before he cleared his throat, stuffing his own rocks into his pockets as the skipping would come later. Declan did as he was asked, leading the way towards the trail that’d take them to the back of the falls. It was narrow and slippery, and maybe a bad idea given how she’d fallen earlier, but if she did so again, he’d do his best to catch her once more. “Give me your hand, this bit is a little rocky.” He held out his hand for her to take, smile still intact. “C’mon, you can trust me. I won’ let you fall.”

The words slapped Hamstring, but not in an unpleasant hand burning your face way, but in a way that made her pause. A deer in the headlights. The illusions twitched inside her, ready to come out, to deflect away from her, to scare him and change the topic. It was easy to keep people at arm's length when you could scare them into changing a topic. How did someone deal with moments like these without scaring someone? But she couldn’t scare him. She was a pre-banshee. Not a bugbear. Hamstring would be good, so something new happened. A blush crossed against her features. Breaking the mask of blank emotionless calm that she’d spent years perfecting. Instantly she looked away, hoping her hair would hide her shame.

“My dads love Grease. They told me it was a gay staple. Grease Lightning and all that.” Fae only shows? Did they play in fae-only towns only? Or were humans allowed to watch them too? “Muses.” Hamstring repeated. “To be honest, this is the most fae I’ve been around my whole life. I know a few, I mean. Regan and some others. But I didn’t know there were whole towns dedicated to fae and fae stuff. Does any of the muse stuff play on human television, or is it for fae only?” “Yeah. It’s beautiful here. I would never go back into town if I could choose to be here all the time.” He cleared his throat, and Hamstring was looking at Declan again. That charming smile intact, and Hamstring knew she could trust him. Emilio could call her reckless, and maybe it was, to trust someone from the banshee town when she’d been told repeatedly not to do that. But in that moment, his hand reaching out to her, she knew he was better than all of this. “I trust you.” Because words can mean something when they fight their way past the anvil in her throat. Hamstring reached out and placed her hand into his and followed him down the narrow path.

#chatzy #chatzy: declan #ilomilo

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sadruru · 2 months

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"Captivity begins with one's own mind."

A story about Melissa with an old illustration (old, yep, from last year!). As it turns out, Baphomet has played a cruel trick on her. This is a very important part in her story. Later I will illustrate this moment in the comic strip. Doesn't everyone in Baphomet's lineage like to play with nerves???? HAHAHAHAHA ;D I love how it turned out anyway! Why not post it here? I just wanted to reveal a bit of her character back when I wasn't drawing comics yet. I'm a not good writer. I tried very carefully to translate (maybe). That's a lot of reading to do, hehehe. Enjoy the despair ~ ...

The heart of demon lord Baphomet's domain - the Inevitability Prison. Another room. Another torture chamber. This place is part of an eternal labyrinth, littered with suffering souls and their torturers.

The labyrinth was the property of Baphomet, and once again the commander felt the call of the Abyss. The call of destruction and murder confused the thoughts in her head. The commander could hardly contain herself, venting her anger at the servants of the Father of the Minotaurs. A weary glance fell on the cracked mirror in the corner. The commander saw her reflection and - vaguely and briefly - the master of this prison glimpsed in it

No one noticed how Melissa had fallen behind the squad. Does no one see it but her? Does no one hear it?

- How long you gonna hide from us, goat?! I've had enough of these stupid riddles! Give me back the Hand of the Inheritor, or I'll gladly find you again and gut you! - a cheeky grin touched her face. Her eyes lit up with scarlet fire.

Baphomet let such a brazen insult pass his ears. He grinned, glaring intently at his enemy.

His eyes reflected… victory?

- An empty boast, mortal. But I see our last conversation has borne results,- he pointed a finger at his forehead with a bloody, burning star, repeating what he had once said: - "Captivity begins with your own mind". There was that phrase again. From the first few seconds it had been lingering in the commander's mind. Melissa didn't understand why those words were so irritating to her.

- Are you showing off again? Threats don't scare me.

- I'm not threatening you. Rather, I'm reminding you that I've studied you, your thoughts and feelings. There's no need to get rid of you myself. I wonder what will happen first - will your mind destroy itself now or afterward, if you close the Abyss? I've met your kind before. It doesn't always take physical strength to defeat you. - every word was infused with arrogance and poison.

- What the hell are you...

- A world-abused, terrified, unhappy tiefling-child. You know what I mean? You're in my domain. Your mind is like an open book. Still remembering all your hurts? - in the shards of the mirror there are pictures of the past and faces of familiar people, - Do you remember the face of your dear mother that day? No... But that look! So cold, unfamiliar, empty... You admired her so much.

The smug grin quickly disappeared from Melissa's face.

Everything came into view as if it had happened yesterday, when her happy childhood had begun to crack.

- And your beloved father? What did he do to you? Do you remember the mad fear for your life, the pleas for mercy? Which gods did you turn to then? A poor kitten, tied up, thrown into the raging river in a dirty, cramped sack, without the slightest hope of rescue...

- Stop it!

The wounds never healed, even after many years. The pain always returned, coming in waves, and each time it was worse. It became hard to breathe. Blood boiled with rage. A drop of cold sweat rolled down her cheek.

Trying to break free of the illusion was futile.

The commander realized that this was nothing more than another trick… But her soul was still torn apart.

The demon lord's words hurt like knives.

- What about old friends? A friend who deemed you useless and betrayed you for the sake of her freedom and safety. The laughter in her eyes. The cracked skull of a dear comrade who died because of you. And you only escaped and survived because of him!

- I said enough! Stay out of my head! - Melissa's voice trembled, her legs shaking under the weight of her past. Her chest was squeezing painfully.

- Have you ever thought about what will happen when the crusade is over? Will your "faithful" companions, all those people, still need you? What about that boy, who fell in love with someone like you? Have you wondered: are they not using you because you are useful?

The demon lord's voice changed. It became almost affectionate:

- They will quickly forget your existence and get rid of you. They will look at you the same way, like the dirt beneath their feet, tiefling. That's the way it was, is, and always will be. No one will be there for you like the day you died. It was scary to die helplessly, slowly, alone, with your neck cut, wasn't it? Once again, the world condemned you to die.

- Shut your fucking mouth, asshole!!!!

A cry of pure anger echoed through the dark corridors. Her fist struck the fragile mirror with all its force, ending its existence.

And only in her ears could she still hear the laughter of the Lord of the Labyrinth.

A hellish pain brought her back to her senses: the shards were embedded in her arm. The companions found Melissa quickly enough. The leopard led them to his mistress. She was sitting on her knees. As soon as she raised her head, she could read the shock and worry on her companions' faces.

It seemed like an eternity had passed, not a couple minutes.

Something was wrong.

Something had changed in the commander - everyone understood it from the first second. Melissa looked at her companions. In the red eyes read a lot of things… Doubt? Distrust? Despair? Like a wild animal trapped in a cage, surrounded by enemies.

From that moment on, nightmares and insomnia began to plague her more and more often, almost every night. In Drezen, many people noticed the change in Melissa. The fun, cheerful girl was turning into a walking corpse, repelling any attempt to speak or care for her. Periodically she repeated the same thing quietly, barely noticeable, like a curse:

- Captivity begins with one's own mind… She's broken like the shards of a mirror.

#pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #pathfinder wotr #artists on tumblr #pathfinder wrath of the righteous #wotr commander #Melissa #oc

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pink-green-guts · 5 months

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The Great Escape

Warnings: Lots of gore, death, child death, detailed description of gore, and sensitive themes

Toyhouse

Author's Note: Finally trying to write again and I finally wrote something, kinda long, but I say pretty good. I hope I am really rusty at writing stories, so I apologize if it's a bit crappy.

Word Count: 2810 (11 pages on my google doc ._.)

Story below ⬇

Zah’ke POV:

The creature known as Zah’ke sat in the middle of its room. It blended in with the dark around it. Everything was dark. The only visible light was through the cracks of the door. That darkness however was immediately shunned when the door opened. Showing the walls that were covered in scratches and the bed that was given to Zah’ke torn to shreds.

A scientist walked into the room, only holding a plate with some meat on it. Zah’ke looked up at the scientist, it only let out a low growl as she set the plate down in front of it.

It was quick to grab the meat and shove it into its mouth.

“Be careful.”

The scientist whispered.

“I don’t want you to choke on your food, sweety.”

Her voice was soothing to Zah’ke, so it listened. Starting to take smaller bites and chewing.

“Good. Now I know we said we would do no more tests, but we just have one more to do.”

She goes to pet Zah’ke’s hair, but Zah’ke lets out a growl. “No!”

Zah’ke hissed

The scientist jerked away as Zah’ke raised its claw at her.

“You said no more!”

The scientist sharply inhaled before leaving. She clearly wasn't in the mood for arguing.

Zah'ke hissed before continuing to eat the rest of the food. After eating, it crawled over the torn up bed and laid in it. Zah'ke suddenly felt very fatigued, so it rested its head and closed its eyes for rest.

…

When Zah'ke opened its eyes again it felt dizzy, like it was drugged. It tried to get up but it was quick to realize its arms and legs were strapped down to a table.

It pulled on the restraints and cursed in frustration as it was stuck in the table.

Two scientists walked into the room, one carrying a tray with different sharp objects. Zah'ke hissed at both of them as they walked closer, but they didn't fear it.

“Testing testing.”

A loud voice boomed in Zah'ke's ears.

“There we go. Subject X-657, or Zah'ke, please remain calm throughout this procedure. It will be over before you know it, I promise.”

It was the scientist from before.

Zah'ke didn't want to stay calm, it wanted to scream at all of them. As Zah'ke was distracted with hissing at an unseen target the scientist, the one that was holding the tray, drew lines across Zah'ke's chest. One straight down and an oval shape over where its heart would be.

Zah'ke was quick to try and bite the scientist's hand, even if he was further away than it expected.

The other scientist collected a small knife and pressed it into Zah'ke's skin. Blood immediately pooled to the surface as the knife dug deeper, but it would then stop after it was melted. The scientist tilted his head, surprised to figure out that Zah'ke's blood was acidic. Not as acidic as a xenomorph's blood, but enough to burn through metal.

Zah'ke snarked at the scientist as cutting its skin wasn't going to work. It didn't think of the fact that the scientist would have a stronger blade. The knife dug itself into Zah'ke chest, drawing more blood. Zah'ke hissed in pain and annoyance. Before the scientist could even bring the knife halfway Zah'ke started to thrash around violently. The other scientist was quick to press Zah'ke's head down into the table below it. It protested by hisses and squirming, which would be useless. It start to claw and scratch at the restraintment on its right wrist.

The knife was quick to finish cutting Zah'ke's skin as the scientist then started the next line to cut. Zah'ke hissed louder as the knife finished the last lines needed. Its skin was peeled away to open its chest to see inside.

Zah'ke's insides were green, normal for yautjas, and it had thick bones for its ribs. The scientist examined Zah'ke's ribs to try and find its heart, but it was like it was buried. The scientist pressed down on one of the lungs to look past it, but his finger then felt a sharp pain like it was stabbed by needles. He jerked his hand away and groaned in pain. He grabbed a small tool and went back to look. He pressed the tool on Zah'ke's lung only to see the tool get attacked by a small black snake, or what looked to be. The scientist grabbed tweezers from the tray to try and catch the small creature, but it slithered back down.

After multiple poking and prodding the scientist was finally able to catch the creature hiding in Zah'ke's chest.

It was a xenomorph. It screeched loudly as it was removed. It was dark and slimy and had mandibles like the yautjas. The abomination. It was quickly put in a glass box to contain it. The scientist quickly started to close up Zah'ke by using a heated metal rod and pressing it into its skin. Zah'ke hissed in agony as the rod made a sizzling sound when closing the wound.

When the rod was removed Zah'ke was back to thrashing around and hissing violently. It managed to bite onto the scientist's arm, which was holding its face down.

He yelled out in pain as his arm was being crushed by the alien's teeth. He pulled as the other tried to pry open Zah'ke's mouth. It only bit down harder until…

Loud screams and cracks came out of the scientist whose arm was being destroyed. He fell back when his arm was torn off. His forearm locked into the mouth of the creature. He screamed out in pain and horror as his arm was now gone.

Zah'ke stared at the scientist before pulling on its arm restraints another time, the sound of metal chains snapping in two made Zah'ke's eyes widen. It looked at its claws to see it free, it darted its attention to the scientist it had attacked before. It crawled off the table and towards the injured scientist, who was now shivering.

Before he could even scream Zah'ke pounced onto the scientist and tore him open. Ripping out his lung and organs all before biting down on his guts. The taste was disgusting to Zah'ke, but it still continued. It stabbed its claws into the ribs and pulled them away, shattered bones fell to the side, now left his heart beating fast. Zah'ke slowly grabbed his heart, watching it twitch and beat fast in its hands. It looked up at the scientist, its cold green eyes stared at the terrified scientist’s. He opened his mouth, but his heart was torn out. The sounds of his veins and arteries making a snapping noise as it was violently ripped away. The heart was then displayed to him in Zah'ke's claws. The life of the scientist fading away.

…

Cyye's POV:

Loud sirens blared across the halls, waking Cyye and their sister out of their nap.

“what's happening?”

Cried Cyye's little sister.

“I don't know, but stay close to me ok?”

Cyye replied, patting their sister's head.

The whole room was covered in red lights, making it hard to see as they tried to find their clothes and sister’s plushie. The door hissing opened made them both jump when the door that locked them in their room suddenly opened. Fear rose in them as they saw a yautja covered in blood and in armor entered the room.

“Hybrids, you need to-”

Before he could finish what he was saying he was grabbed by a claw and thrown away. Screams and hisses echoed back into their room as they only saw a silhouette of a shadow of what was attacking the guard.

Cyye slowly crept to the door to look outside. Cries and screams yelled back at Cyye as they saw a giant creature standing over the scientist. It broke his bones and stabbed him over and over again, making blood splash on the floor and walls.

Cyye gasped which got the attention of the creature who spun around to then look at Cyye. It let out a long hiss as it approached Cyye, meeting eye to eye. It was only inches away from Cyye’s face as it stared them down, it felt like Cyye was being choked as air refused to enter their lungs. They were finally able to breathe once the creature had rushed past Cyye and down the hall, attacking more guards.

Cyye take a few moments to breathe before grabbing little sister and running the opposite way of the creature.

“Where are we going?!”

She yelled. She was being half dragged as she was too small to catch up with Cyye.

“We’re going home!”

Cyye looked down at little sister as they replied.

Unfortunately, they rammed into another kid that had gotten out of their room as well. Their skulls bashed together and Cyye fell back from impact. Now dizzy Cyye stayed on the limp as the other kids rushed to pull Cyye back up.

“Cyye”

They screamed, but it was so muffled and distorting for Cyye to understand.

The kids decide to carry Cyye out, running and finding other kids on the way to an exit they hope to find.

Cyye managed to fade back into reality, just in time as one of the kids that were escaping had found an elevator to use for escaping. It took multiple tries to guess the right password, all the kids screaming different combinations that could work. Once the doors opened, kids rushed and pushed past each other trying to squeeze their way in. Cyye being the last to enter.

A thunderous roar echoed down the hall. The creature was at the end of the hall staring down the elevator. Many kids screamed and cried as they saw the creature’s eyes in the shadows, approaching fast.

Everything started to feel like it was slowing down as the creature jumped and aimed its claws at Cyye, but before the creature could get close enough the downs of the elevator slammed shut. A kid had pressed a button to start the elevator, which started its ascent.

The elevator doors open with a rusty squeak. The kids were greeted with rain falling on grass and the new smells with it. One by one the kids stepped out. Some fell into the grass, others looked in every direction. Cyye looked up at the sky, rain running down their face. Every kid was happy in one way or another. Some kids screamed out in joy, many of them played in the mud, but all were happy.

All good things do come to an end.

A loud bang came from the elevator. All the kids turned to look, one being brave enough to walk closer to it. A giant claw pierced through the bottom of the elevator and pulled the rusty metal away that left a hole. The kid looked down the hole, seeing nothing at first but then being grabbed and pulled down. Everyone screamed when the kid disappeared. The giant creature from before bursted through the floor and roared at the others. All started to run away, Cyye immediately picked up little sister and carried her as they ran.

The creature was quick behind them, some kids that didn’t know how to run were pinned and stabbed. One kid was particularly unlucky when the creature rammed its head into her face, breaking her jaw and forcing blood to gush out of her. The few that were left frantically stopped when faced with a cliff. The drop would’ve been too long to survive if there wasn’t water at the bottom.

“W-We need to jump!!”

Cyye yelled out before hugging on tight to little sister, in return she grabbed on as best she could.

Cyye was the first to jump which gave the others the courage to as well. The ones that were too slow were caught by the creature.

Cyye fell straight into the water, diving deep, and was immediately forced by the current. They did their best to hold little sister above the water, so she could breathe before trying their best to swim up. Panic took over Cyye which made it harder to breathe. Cyye looked back to see the other kids also trying to swim and panicking as they failed. Cyye started to get severely dizzy as they couldn’t breathe. Their grip on little sister failed and she started to struggle to swim as Cyye fell unconscious.

…

Zah’ke POV:

The taste of blood filled their mouth. It was disgusting, so they quickly spat it out. They then saw the bodies covered in blood next to them. Realization hit them, they felt the blood dripping down their body. Zah’ke looked down at their claws that were now covered in bright neon green blood. Tears started to fade their vision. Zah’ke couldn’t remember anything that had happened.

The next thing Zah’ke knew was being trapped in a net, their claws and limbs getting stuck as the net started to enclose. Zah’ke hissed as the net cut their skin leaving trails of blood. A yautja stood in front of Zah’ke as they struggled in the net.

“I’ll kill you, I’ll- I’LL KILL YOU! I SWEAR!”

Zah’ke screeched.

The face of the yautja moved close to Zah’ke’s. The yautja was wearing a bone mask, the eyes being the only visible part for Zah’ke to see. They looked worried, as if they felt pity.

Suddenly the net fell off of Zah’ke to the side. Freed, they took the chance and jumped at the bone masked yautja. Quick to dodge Zah’ke’s attack. Zah’ke tried over and over again to get a hit on the yautja before eventually collapsing to fatigue.

“You let rage control you, young one”

The bone masked yautja kneeled down next to Zah’ke. His bone accessories clunk together as he moved.

“And you are too young to have any of this rage.” He tilted his head. “Why are you in a rage young one?��

Zah’ke hissed, but then dropped their head on the ground.

The bone masked yautja picked Zah’ke up to their feet.

“I will help you with your rage.”

Zah’ke rose up their claws at the bone masked yautja. “I’m an abomination. Why are you not killing me?”

They looked up at him.

“You are only a kid, and this-” He grabbed Zah’ke’s wrist and held up their claws “-this! Changes none of that.”

Zah’ke looked at their claws, the rain slowly washing off the blood.

“But I-”

“Nothing. You are a child, you are young, naive, stupid, you will let your rage control you.” He lowered to eye level with Zah’ke, “and I will help with your rage. I will teach like my own pup.” He cupped a hand on Zah’ke face. Zah’ke was quick to lean into it.

…

Cyye's POV:

Muffled noises surrounded Cyye. It started to become overwhelming as they started to wake up.

“Hey, hey there kid, are you ok?”

An unknown yautja was sitting next to Cyye, she had her hand on their neck. Checking for a pulse.

Cyye groaned as they sat up. Coughing up water and gasping for air. They were met with a hand on their back as they finished coughing up the rest of the water.

“Stay here ok.”

She commanded Cyye as she ran off to help others.

Cyye looked around. They saw another kid also coughing up water. Then they realized. “Little sister!”

Cyye called out. “Little sister!”

Nothing Cyye stood up, limping as they started to search for little sister. It felt like their knees were about to snap in half. They saw a few adult yautjas surrounding a kid, so they limped over. The kid had a rock lodged in his eye socket. Cyye almost threw up, so they turned around, but they only saw more.

The few kids that had escaped were in brutal positions. One was pierced through the chest by a large tree branch, another had their head split open, and the rest had drowned. Cyye looked at all the bodies, hoping none of them were..

“Little sister?”

Cyye cried.

Her lifeless body floated in the water, her head facing down, and her body still. They rushed over to her, collapsing next to her as they flipped her over on her back. Her face was cut in shreds from debris in the water.

Cyye felt their heart stop, their chest felt as if it was tightening in on itself, and it felt like their throat had closed again. Tears rolled down Cyye’s cheeks as they stared at her face. A grating scream came out of Cyye as they curled in on themselves, knowing they had led their sister to her death. Cyye had to be pulled away from her body.

The last hug they ever got from her.

#yautja #yautja oc #artists on tumblr #alien vs predator #predator franchise #cw: gore #Xyro's art #oc lore #we got some dark lore #cyye #Zah'ke #oc story #angst #writing

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fruit-salad-ship · 1 year

Note

Witcher au: group is out on a hunt, get into a bit of a rough fight, Plum ends up in a corner and calls out for aid, Peach decides to toss her a tonic, only realizing after she’s drunk it that it was the wrong one, either an effect that would be actively detrimental (the drunkenness one seems fun) or one of the not so well made ones that Peach had been saving for herself because she knew she could handle the side effects, Peach goes into overdrive to makes sure the fight ends, Peach and Grey have to take care of Plum until she can get to feeling better

I wanted to draw but brain wrote instead, so be it, maybe if people pick their fav bits I’ll draw some illustrations for this stuff.

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Bones of travellers started to show up, this wasn’t adding up. The three started to muse the details, how many had been attacked, what had been seen, hitching the horses and venturing closer on foot. Tracks soon appeared, Plum felt uneasy, these prints were WAY bigger than your average troll. Twice as wide, and not nearly as blocky in form. She took a steady pace around them and continued to follow Greys lead deeper into the location. Peach has slunk away into the shrubs, coming into contact with a path of destruction, trees and shrubs torn apart, a well trodden route in and out of the area. More remains, animal and human alike. It was a shout that broke her focus, forcing her to bolt back to the group, sword drawn and ready.

Grey had expected a troll, shield readied, he wanted to talk, not fight, but his eyes locked onto something in the back of the cave they approached, the thing seemed troll height, watching him, but the eyes reflecting what little light was around got higher, it was…standing. And was in no way squat and built like any troll he’d seen. Plum saw this, saw its form take two strides, coming into the light, and managed to stop herself audibly gasping. “Its not a troll at all-“ The towering form now exited the cave, and stood even taller, broad, built like a mountain. “It’s a giant!” One mighty swing of its arms lamed into grey and sent him skidding back, luckily prepared for blunt force. His shout in surprise was what peach heard, and soon the duo confronted with this monster saw her emerge from the shrubs, bolting at it, eyes wide in surprise. All of them assumed giants to be extinct.

The brawl was brutality at its finest, the giant had wielded an entire log of a fallen tree, swinging wildly as the three dodged and tried to get in for more precise attacks. Plum was the first to get in close and sink a sword into its torso, but the pain caught the creatures attention, its head snapping to look down at her, sweeping her off her feet with a backhand, the smallest of the three being swatted to the ground. She hurt it, badly, a good strike, her accuracy and patience for the critical shot better than the others, but it earned her its dedicated attention. Plum heard something in her chest snap from the impact, scrambling up in time to dodge the tree log being swung once more, each step agony. In the chaos she reaches for a potion, something to bypass the pain, give her an adrenalin spike to finish this, ducking behind a rock. Her cover however was ripped from the earth. As the giant threw the boulder, it found itself bombarded by the other two. Grey was quick to try to down it, bring its vital points lower to the ground, striking the knees from behind to buckle them. It worked, giving peach the perfect opportunity to vault from a rock above it, coming down heavily with her sword to sink it into the creatures shoulder.

Plum found her potion stash lacking, she didn’t even have Ogroid oil on her person, this wasn’t suppose to be such a problematic fight. She bolts back, the giant throwing peach off itself, picking grey up and tossing him hard to the ground, its eyes locking back onto the smallest and most injured. Plum bolts, her raspy breath, hearing it catch up with her, thunderous steps on her heels. Its swing and her well timed Quen sign collided, a moment where it didn’t know what happened, make shift weapon bouncing off.  “Guys! I’m out of Swallow!” The potion responsible for speedy regeneration in mutated creatures, her belt usually had two but one was used in a previous fight, and the other was shattered and lost to the dirt in her collision with the ground earlier. She saw Grey feel around for one, but it was Peach, her quick choice to throw the bottle across while blasting the giant with Igni to distract it, that gave Plum some hope. She caught the vial, uncorked it, and threw it back.

Peach was now its temporary focus, she’d grown quite skilled with Igni over the years, its sustained blast heating the metal on the giants person, she had to hope it was enough to but plum time. Grey was the one to see the unfortunate events unfold first, peaking from behind his shield while there was fiery cover, to make sure plum was ok. She however, hadn’t taken any other potions, yet her toxicity was suddenly through the roof. The dark marks of overuse of Witcher tonics was immediate, she had stumbled to her knees, grasping at her chest as if she’d been struck hard, hands shaking, eyes completely black, unfocused on anything in particular. This was all wrong, swallow shouldn’t do that.

“Peach, What the fuck did you throw her?!” The Witcher heard, dodging a swing from their huge opponent, between the legs to get behind it, closer to their smallest companion. The obvious overdose made peach feel in the front of her gear, pulling the three vials she had left on her person, one between each of her fingers with clear differences, the swallow she was suppose to throw plum was still there. The tonic that was missing however was an experimental version of Maribor Forest, to boost adrenalin to a tightened state, past anything she’d seen in the books. The balance to that potion was way off base. Looking at how plum was reacting to it, it was putting her body into a state of shock from so much adrenalin. Before peach could reach her to try and help the giant returned.

Grey saw this unfold, fear creeping in, ditching the shield, it was slowing him down. “Go! Help her!” He drew all attacks, jumping between the girls and this monster, silver sword already bloodied, ready to cast a defensive sign. This gave peach time to bolt back, almost skidding to a stop next to this crumpled heap of a woman, still struggling to breathe, as if something was stood on her chest.  “Hey- hey c’mon-“ what else could she do? Plum got picked up, they had to get to cover, placing her down while eyeing Grey taking the brunt of this fight. Peach never carried White honey tonics on her person, she never had to bring down her toxicity, checking through plums stash. Nothing useful. Swearing under her breath, seeing grey get knocked down once more, back up in a swift motion, another block with Quen. He was running out of time, they all were. Plum slipped into unconsciousness, a worrying lack of movement to her form, slumping to one side, breathing, chest almost hyperventilating. What could be done?! This had to end now, Grey was battered, and finally, even he fell. She had to move.

In one swift motion peach pulled a tonic, one of her three remaining brews, lunging forward, greys defence was faltering, he was casting Quen but he was exhausted, needed to rest. As his shield failed, he spotted his companion dive in front of him, her defence did not give. The giants heavy swing hit the glittering magical barrier, the light picking out the glass vial between her lips, now empty, Quen shifted to Igni once more, this time intense, so hot the flames came out white. Even this temperature would push back a giant, her guttural shout at the monster as it caught light, its hair and ragged clothes becoming engulfed, hurting it, its attention on putting it out. Grey was able to take a breath, scrambling back to get to plum, grabbing his shield in the process. He watched peach dart around at the base of this thing, taking chunks from its legs, so fast, using an ungodly amount of fire not to do damage as such, but blind it. The fire was so bright it couldn’t get a lock on her. Soon the giant fell, a ground shaking slam as it had to take a knee. Her opportunity arose, one good clean shot at the back of the neck.

Grey bundled up plum, ready to move with her if needed. He’d never seen her this far gone, the dark marks on her skin were so prominent, was peach going to…use a potion like that on herself? Surely not… He looked up in time to see her land the final blow, silver blade sinking so far through into this monsters neck, it grasped for the pained area in a futile attempt to stop the injury becoming worse. Peach now showed very weak signs of even her toxicity rising, feint, the fire light around her picking it out more than normal. She stayed there until the giant stopped moving, before staggering back, wiping her brow of sweat, remembering the actual issue at hand, not stopping, not handling her own injuries, instead coming to Greys side.

“What did she drink?” Peach didn’t ask before rummaging in greys satchel, looking through his tonics, nothing useful to hand.

“It was a experimental Maribor Forest, it wasn’t suppose to do this, fuck-“ she desperately needed to make something to clear the toxicity. “We’ve got to get back to the horses, I’ve got something that’ll help stabilise this, give me her, you grab the head.” He didn’t argue, this was a level of sensibility and urgency he never saw in peach, she was jovial, often making idiotic comments or jokes, but now, you could truly see her fear.

Back at the horses plum was placed down gently, a folded blanket under her head as peach pulled items, started a fire, ignoring the shake in her own hand, and the acidic feeling in her gut from the tonic she herself ingested. There was no time for her own issues, they didn’t matter, not now. Her horse stood alert with the others, keeping their eyes out for danger, all looking towards grey as he returned, one giant head in hand. He watched peach with mortar and pestle, trying to heat ingredients carefully, not letting her impatience get the better of her in this one task. This level of focus scared Grey, he sat beside them both, moving strands of hair from plums face, she wasn’t awake, burning up something fierce, still shaking, sweating, as if her body was rejecting what she consumed.

Peach couldn’t do anything but curse herself, she should have left that tonic on her horse, she should have looked more carefully before throwing her loved one anything she brewed herself. Her experiments were not safe, not in the slightest. Eventually a concoction was created, swilled in a metal mug of sorts to check its consistency, cooled enough and from what peach could tell, and finally ready for use. Getting plum to drink it wasn’t hard, she was out cold, and as they waited, watched, kept checking her vitals, eventually the toxicity started to recede. Her temperature stabilised a little more, there was a notable reduction of her tremors. Both Witchers breathed a sign of relief.

“It’ll help, we need to get to more functional equipment, this won’t last long.” Greys horse held the giants head, a hefty item, and peach’s was by far the bigger mount of the three, so she sat up in her saddle, carefully taking plum from greys arms, pulling her to sit up against her, holding her close to make sure she didn’t slip and fall. It was a quiet, contemplative ride back to town. Peach immediately went back to the inn and started to rummage through the supplies she’d left there, knowing they’d return, while Grey went to claim the bounty, and demand better compensation seeing as this was no troll.

It gave peach a quiet moment to brew while in the little rented room, plum lay in the bed, a cold compress upon her head, now free of her Witcher gear. It pained the larger woman to see her like this, trying to focus on improving the situation, pulling herbs from her bags as she checked her notes on this particular creation. Her eyes wandered, watched the little Witcher sleep, guilt creeping in once more. In the quiet, away from judging eyes, she had a moment to face this. It felt stupid, but also, kind of right, to go back to work, and mindlessly talk to her fallen partner.

“Sorry, I should have paid more attention, you could have died…you still might…” she ground up a root in a mortar, taking her frustration out on the task. “When you wake up, I’ll make it up to you. We can go back to that little town across the marsh, get those sweet pastries you liked so much.” Said in hope, maybe she’d hear and answer back, give her some sass, tell her that now she’s said it, she’s got to keep the promise…what if she didn’t recover from this well? What if the potion was so toxic it did permanent damage? Peach couldn’t help it, her hand was gripping her notes so tightly, knuckles white, staring off into nothingness, overthinking, starting to panic a little. “It’ll be ok.” Self soothing, breathing once more. “I can fix this, you’re going to be fine.”

No one heard this conversation, it was between her and sleeping beauty. She returned to her quiet state when Grey returned, working intently through the night, refusing to rest, so caught up in a fix for this mess she’d made. Grey brought her breakfast which she hardly touched.

“You need to eat, youre not going to help her if you get sick too. Whatever tonic you took back there was enough to tip even you into a state of high toxicity….I’ve never seen you fight like that, it must have been quite the effect.” His finger brushed past her face gently which caught her attention, the dark lines presented like subtle cracks on her skin. She wanted to lean into it, but it was distracting, forcing her hand to shoo him away, trying to focus.

“I’m fine, it’s not important right now.” Nothing would stop her working on this. “This is trivial compared to what she’s going through right now. I have no room to complain, and no time to stop.” He huffed, sat, stayed with her, offered help when possible, and showed nothing but his usual patience. Ever the calm presence.

Three days passed. The multitude of ingredients needed were scavenged by grey, who was happy to do the leg work while peach continued to brew, cautiously measuring and mixing. The final product was no more than three table spoons worth of liquid, a vibrant yellow colour, thick like tree sap. Peach held it up in the glass vial and watched the light glint off it, grey peering over her shoulder.

“You sure this will work?” Truth be told, peach didn’t know, it was countering a level of toxicity that she’d never seen before, certainly never dealt with either.  “it has to work.” The pair turn to plum, grey had redone her hair in a much neater state while she slept, the way she liked it, a tidy braid, cleaned up the scrapes she’d gained during the fight, he did his best while peach agonised over the fix. Finally the time came, mixing the tonic with water and honey, making this easier, it was less than palatable. The drink went down, all that was left was waiting. The pair sat, neither daring to speak, waiting for any sign of improvement.

First was a twitch, the hand shifted. Then a small groan, a sound that brought the other two to her side in an instance. Before too long, plum opened her eyes, a sight that brought grey to his knees beside her, and drove peach to stand and pace over to the window, rubbing her eyes to stave back tears.

“ugh…” plums glance around was hazy, feeling her hand be scooped up in greys. “feel like…feel like I got trampled by a herd of cows.” Her voice was so groggy, catching sight of her companions smiles, too sore to focus on details, just aware of how tired they both looked.

“we thought we’d lost you.” Plum gave a weak cough as she struggled, body still so tired, managing to push herself up to a seated position.  “feels like you nearly did.” The little witcher revelled in the gentle hold of her hand, grey handing her fresh cool water, an actual delight to her, a terrible taste in her mouth. Peach had said nothing, very unlike her, stood with her arms crossed, leant on the desk that had a myriad of ingredients and equipment still out on it. “what was in that tonic?” Plum looked to her fellow fighter, referencing the hideously imbalanced mix she’d been tossed back with the giant, trying to make light of this situation with a smirk and a chuckle. The only words peach could think of, could manage to say, to even find in the hideous mess of thoughts stuck in her brain were a pair.

“I’m sorry.” Was uttered. Plum held her free hand out after a moment of registering her words, a gesture that beckoned peach closer, an invitation to hold it, one that was not ignored. She couldn’t bare to say no to that.

“its ok.” Nothing about this felt ok. Grey and peach sat with her, got her some stew from downstairs, and helped her start to pick up the pieces.

#Witcher au #fruit salad #they take that trip the the town past the marsh #it’s a delightful two weeks

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watchinglikeafangirl · 2 years

Text

VegasPete had two intense scenes this time so what does that mean for me and you? Yess, each gets its own analysis!

So, enjoy part one since it's too hot here and a migrane is coming.

VegasPete - captured and hostage 1/2

To understand why this particular scene feels so intense, we have to revisit the very first one of this episode.

"Do you know how sexy you are?"

Many people referred to the meaning of this scene as an equivalent to the forest episode with KinnPorsche because VegasPete is as isolated from the world as they were. This isolation is in reach of our hands in this scene, we can taste it. They just had sex, they share some thoughts, they stare into each other's eyes.

"I just live in the present. What I'm feeling, that's all I think about."

I am not quite sure if it's really the truth because it seems more like a vague answer to Vegas' question if Pete just accepted himself or not. It's more like an idea we all have, we all wish would one day happen to us. Blending the real life out, not caring about what other people do or say or care about seems like a hard thing to do and certain people's opinions will always affect us. I don't think we can just shut it all off.

But that's what this scene is about. They wish to be carefree, Vegas wishes to be carefree. In the end, it's just that: a wish. A wish that can only exist in an isolated mind far from reality because it's something ideal that will never happen. The scene is tragic in this matter but it's just a little talk between them. There are no windows, there's no outside, no reality, so it's a save space to share those thoughts.

This scene is very important as it draws a line, colors the difference between them sharing little thoughts and reality hitting hard. They live there alone. Vegas can actually feel appreciation, cooks for Pete but then his father hits him and the world hasn't changed one bit. The bubble he himself created, let him believe his own lie and disappointment is what he gets in return. Yes, Pete is there, Pete didn't run, Pete helps him but no, feelings don't change the world.

Moving on to the scene I call "aggressive knife-grabbing"

We start with a sequence of an angry, sad and disapponted Vegas and a Pete that's lost in thoughts.

"I don't like it. Then why didn't I say no?"

But Pete isn't alone all the time. Vegas brings him food, though it's again just instant noodles. Since Vegas is suddenly very distant, hides his face and was gone for a long while, Pete figured the father showed himself again. Before, Vegas was open, calm and smiling but there is always a change in attitude when he got hit. The change from last scene to this one is fatal and it's rather painful because Vegas takes ten steps back again. He is again a kid that's angry at his father. This anger comes from disappointment though he should have learned by now, there's nothing to expect. But well, in our role as kids, we never learn to expect to get no love but harm as a reward for our existence. Vegas stays in his mindset, so the mental abuse can never stop.

Pete tries to reach Vegas again, tries to touch his face but Vegas acts all cold towards him. He doesn't want to talk about it, doesn't want to deal with it. His response to Pete's concern is more like a: don't try to fix me when I can't fix myself. He doesn't accept the fact someone could care. Like I said, ten steps backwards because he doesn't feel appreciated any longer. But Pete being there is not a dream nor pity, it's care.

This comes from Vegas' very dominant character trait: selfishness.

"It's up to you Vegas. It's your choice."

This is when things start to get out of hand because Vegas starts choking Pete. For Vegas, Pete's words imply he is too weak to cut ties with his family and run. But what Pete means is Vegas chooses to let his father have that effect on him. He once overcame it and the hitting didn't hurt as much any more. But here, he wasn't prepared, caught off guard and robbed of his happiness. The scene itself was different, so is Vegas' way of dealing with it. But Pete still tries to remind him of the power he has over his father. Vegas still has the power to decide it's not gonna hurt any longer the way it does now. It also implies he always had that power, just didn't know about it or how to use it.

"Anyhow, you're just my pet."

Pete is once again the prisoner, the pet. He is not allowed to have an opinion on his own. Vegas threatens him, telling him he shouldn't get too ahead of himself. From the mere second on Vegas puts his hands on Pete's throat, an old mask reappears. I'm not saying, he's not angry, his emotions are halfway true, but it's not true he only granted Pete to share so many of his thoughts, that he was waiting for Pete to stop, that Pete should stop being himself. This is clearly something he only says to protect himself. Like I said, he's saying "I'm not fixable" though he knows deep down that's not what Pete was trying to do. There's no pity here, it's far more complicated and deeper. So Vegas is just saying all that bullshit to push Pete away.

But then things get out of hand and suddenly there's a knife pressed to Pete's neck. None of them is moving, both confused what led to this moment. They went too far. This image of the other changes the whole perspective of things. Vegas is in shock that he is threatening Pete with a knife, that his anger is strong enough to randomly kill anyone who provoces him, even if that anyone is Pete. Pete on the other hand is just truly devastated since Vegas doesn't seem to understand a word he says, that it doesn't have to be like this and that Pete has feelings as well. Vegas' face shows regret while Pete is breaking, starts to cry.

Pete insists Vegas should kill him, but Vegas doesn't. He can't. He doesn' have a reason to. For him, he calmed down the second that knife went to Pete's neck. It shook him awake. But Pete is now breaking down since Vegas was so gentle with him before but then turned into the scary kidnapper from episode 10.

And then follows the most intense line of this scene:

"I got nothing left. Not even my hunmanity."

Vegas' expression changes immediatly. His eyes are wet, his face regrets, his body is restless. He realises what he'd done. He did the same as his father, he made Pete feel like shit because Vegas himself does. The parallel to Pete's line "they don't do this because we suck but because they themselves suck" is too obvious here and it hits Vegas. He's in this context and in this scene right here, no better than his father. The abused turned into the abuser.

It's not like he didn't abuse anyone before, we see Tawan was extremely manipulated, but none of the people before have said so. They never let him feel their pain.

Then again, it was Pete's humanity that helped Vegas but he took that humanity by force. Pete didn't give it to him willingly, so Vegas drained him. He broke Pete by ignoring his needs and by just thinking about himself because he feels like he's the only person on earth who suffers.

"I've always been useless."

Pete just drops these heavy lines, aiming right to where it hurts Vegas. By saying "you're my pet", Vegas gave Pete a purpose - in a way. He told him his worth and what role he plays in Vegas' life. But in doing so, he gave Pete something to feel pathetic and even worse. All his life comes crashing down on him because Vegas treats him no different than all the other people before. In my notes I wrote: Vegas drove Pete to the edge of the cliff where his entire life comes back to him, all the aweful days he did nothing, didn't talk back, was never respected.

This is not about the time with Vegas, it's about the raw side of Pete because he shows Vegas how much he kept hidden because he was just the pet. he hoped to be treated differently after a while but Vegas just proved he won't, so this disappointment and regret of ever hoping and anger against himself, lead Pete to not see any purpose in his life any longer when this is all he ever gets and seems to deserve.

"I never exist. I have no feelings."

Because he's always been used, became useless to himself.

"I don't freaking have anything left within me."

Because Vegas took his humanity by force.

"I can't take myself anymore, Vegas."

"If you don't kill me today, I'll do it myself."

And this is where the tables turn because Pete actively harms himself. He grabs the knife, it cuts deep through his hand and he lets out a noise of pain, because hurting yourself, even when you feel like you're ready to die, still hurts, doesn't make you numb.

Vegas wants to save Pete from himself but stumbles backwards when Pete tells him to let go.

"Pete, I'm sorry. Okay? I give up, Pete. I'm sorry."

This is obviously too much for Vegas to bear. It's all so messy and an overload of information. This scene holds so many emotions, one is unable to name them all. Regret is not enough and love is too much. So I'm not even trying to word this. Just watch the frustration, disappointment, anger and self-pity run over Vegas' face when he sees he damaged more than he ever wanted. We know Pete is not the only one he held as a pet, so Vegas is probably thinking what horrible human being he is, having done such severe harm to a person's confidence and will. He knows he went to far after the incident with his father. His impulses are too strong from being mistreated all his life. He snaps so easily and it led him to where he is now. With a man he kinda has feelings for, standing in front of him, ready to take his own life in order to escape his fangs.

"Don't leave me, I'm begging you."

Here we see his selfishness once again. He may not mean it as selfish as it sounds but Vegas has always been someone to believe the world turns around him, like he is the centre of everyone's attention when in fact he's not. His idiology fights against the rest of the world. It's him against it all. With Pete, he is willing to make an exception and let him be by his side. But then it will be an "us against the world" which is not what Pete wants. The world doesn't care about him, so why cry about it when nobody's gonna listen?

"I'm a human, Vegas. I have feelings."

Pete is once again stating his point that he is not an emotionless wreck. At this point, I think Vegas never asked Pete about his thoughts because he thought Pete would come around eventually. Those lines show a completely different side. It's the side of a desperate prisoner who wants to flee whereas Vegas only knew the calm and balanced side of Pete until now. So it didn't occur to him that Pete was not okay with this situation at all. Because Vegas can't see things from the other's perspective. He doesn't have (much) empathy.

I think it's still pretty unclear how long VegasPete are on their little vacation but judging by the way Pete's wounds have recovered, I would say a long time. So Pete was coping with all of this for like three weeks or something while Vegas thought it would be okay to keep someone in a room without windows. So yes, Pete can't believe Vegas when he implies he will free him from handcuffs. He just can't trust Vegas. It totally makes sense to knock Vegas out and flee because this was the only way to escape at all, because this was not a relationship. It was the captured and the hostage. Pete was captured and would have never been freed because Vegas was his own hostage, because he was too caught up in his head.

#kinnporsche #kinnporsche the series #vegaspete #didn't check for mistakes sorry #but i need to sleeep

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ruki--mukami · 2 years

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What if ruki had a s/o that was really afraid of his fangs? Not only fangs but abything sharp. Kind of person who would close her eyes, whine and try not to cry when theyre getting a blood sample, so with rukis teeth that are wider and dug deeper than a needle, she literally trembles and cries at the thought and her heartbeat becomes faster than ever. Even if it doesnt hurt that much, her fear makes her think it hurts like crazy. And she just cant get over this fear of sharp stuff. Anytime he tries to bite her, she begs her to stop, and if he goes ahead, she trembles and sobs.

"Calm down, Livestock. Everything will be fine. You'll have me by your side throughout every bite, needless to say. No matter how much you beg, shiver, or bawl for me, that'll only entice me further, you know. And the more frequently I bare my fangs into you, the more you shall succumb to the pleasure, rather than pain, of the whole experience in due course. Trust me, it can be delightful too. I would never treat you in such a vulgar manner, draining your blood any further than necessary. Why don't you let me show you? Hold steady, now. It'll be over before you know it."

Despite the intense trepidation over the very thought of her own skin, punctured over and over again by his pair of sharp fangs, Ruki encroached her until they came chest to chest, his head near the round of her shoulder as he gently tugged down on the garment obscuring his beloved's exquisite flesh. Strands of his atramentous hair black as the midnight sky brushed against her skin as his lips followed suit, kissing an unmarred spot where he wished to bite with the lightness of a feather. A trail of kisses led to her collarbone, then to the base of her throat, and finally her chest.

"Ah, you smell lovely. I can already tell you'll taste absolutely divine."

When he returned to the lush curve of her shoulder, Ruki very lightly raked his fangs over the site, careful not to inflict anything more than an almost imperceptible poke, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

"Hold on tight to me, Livestock."

With those words, little by little he sank his fangs halfway in, drawing small pinpricks of crimson at first. Using his hands to prevent his beloved from struggling and recoiling, the immediate flavor of fear coated his tongue, fueling a sadistic desire left untapped from how slowly he inserted his sharp ivories inside. A sonorous moan left him, exulting in the cloying sensation with a smirk against the adipose.

"Haah... Just as I had anticipated, you taste like heaven. No, it doesn't even taste like blood anymore. It's as though I'm drinking ambrosia itself," he chuckled to assuage the pain. "Wrap your arms around me if you must, bellow my name out, do whatever you must if it will help. You're already doing well by enduring this. See, it's not as bad as you thought, right? I sure hope so... Let's stay like this a bit longer."

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #ask #react #diabolik lovers rp

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fangirlwriting-stories · 2 years

Text

By Any Other Name

Chapter One

Chapter Eighteen:

Anxiety had forgotten about how small the shack was, and how few places there were to hide.

As soon as they walked through the door, the rage that had caused him to leave with It had started to fade, and he’d started to wonder if maybe this had been a bad idea. But by the time the thought crossed his mind It had turned to face him, and he shoved the thought down like he used to.

It took a form that looked as close to human as Anxiety had ever seen, and moved closer to him. Anxiety tensed.

“So, Doll,” It said. “Obviously we can’t start up right where we left off.”

Anxiety’s chest loosened. That had been the main thing he was worried about. He still didn’t want to do what had been done to him to others. If they weren’t starting there, he’d find ways to continue to put the plan off. And then he’d just… stay with It. For the rest of his life.

“First of all, I’m going to need an explanation as to why you possibly thought it was okay to leave in the first place.”

“I hate you,” Anxiety said plainly.

It stood up and almost seemed to walk normally the rest of the way across the room, stopping in front of him. “Doll,” It said. “Since when has saying things like that to me ever been acceptable?”

It sent out a band of magic to pin Anxiety’s arms to his sides, but Anxiety had learned all about magic like this from Logan, and he’d also spent a couple months building up his will to fight against It, so he dissolved the magic as easily as breathing.

It didn’t seem to like that very much. “You had best watch yourself, Doll,” It said, forming another band of magic. “I don’t take kindly to my playthings assuming that they’re stronger than I am.”

“I said I was coming back with you,” Anxiety growled. “I did not say I was going back to being your fucking plaything.”

It seemed to raise itself higher and Anxiety tried not to be intimidated.

“And since when,” It said in a pleasant tone that only ever meant trouble. “Has that ever been your decision, Doll?”

Anxiety clenched his hands into fists at his sides and tried to breathe easily. “I’m not your doll,” he said firmly. “And I’m not going to let you treat me like one anymore.”

“You think you deserve better?” It asked lightly. “I wasn’t wrong. No one cared about you for any other reason than a way to get back at me.”

Anxiety bit his lip. He was not going to show how much that hurt.

“I kept you fed and safe,” It said. “And I will continue to do so, despite your betrayal, but only if you drop this foolish notion. You belong to me. You are mine to do with what I see fit.”

“You shouldn’t treat me like something so disposable,” Anxiety hissed. “I left once, I can do it again. I lived with Deceit and Duke when they hated me before, what makes you think I would be so opposed to doing so a second time?”

It shifted, and Anxiety got the sense that It was amused again. “Oh, Doll,” It said. “You can’t go back to them now. You already ruined any chance of that.”

“If you think you get to decide that—”

“The name, Doll,” It said, and Anxiety blinked. That wasn’t what he expected It to say.

“What are you talking about?”

“The name that you called Deceit,” It said lightly. “He cursed it. When you said the name, it started acting as a barrier. Deceit cursed the name so no one who uses it can be around him. He doesn’t want to hear it anymore, after all.”

Anxiety felt something in him grow cold. “You’re lying.”

“Am I? I know more about name magic than you do, Doll. The name felt warm when you said it, right? That was the curse.”

Janus had called it a painful nickname. Anxiety knew he didn’t want to hear it again. He said it because he thought it would hurt. But how badly had Janus not wanted to hear it again? Would he go so far as to curse a nickname? Was that even something you could do?

Why hadn’t he studied name magic more than he had?

“You know,” It said, drawing Anxiety from his thoughts. “I could simply erase your memories of everything again.”

Anxiety instantly took a step back and started building up defense magic around himself. How had he not considered that? Had he honestly thought he would just be able to say “Treat me better” to It and It would listen?

“But that would take a lot of effort, and I’m not particularly inclined to the idea of having to teach you everything over again from scratch. So I’ll make you a deal.”

It flew across the room and took a huge form, towering over Anxiety. Anxiety tried to glare at It, though he doubted the glare came across as angrily as he meant.

“You have nowhere else to go,” It said. “You’ve ruined all of your chances with the people who might have somehow grown to care for you by shouting them down or magically pushing yourself away from them. I can, make no mistake, take all of your memories again and start all over with you, with everything that would entail. Or,” It pulled back slightly, seeming almost casual. “You could help me find a way to have the form I want, and then I will let you go.”

That took Anxiety by surprise. Let him go? It couldn’t possibly mean that, could it? And wouldn’t that still require doing things to other people? He didn’t want to do that. But then, if he really had nowhere else to go…

If Janus wasn’t an option anymore, and there was no way Remus would leave Janus, and he’d just yelled all of Patton and Roman and Logan’s flaws in their faces in a way that wouldn’t make them likely to be charitable to him, what other option did he have?

“Well, Doll?” It said. “This is a limited time offer, you know. I think I could much more easily find another person at this point and start over with them instead.”

Anxiety looked up in a panic. He couldn’t let It hurt someone else. Not before he had a chance to find a way to stop It, or protect them. Was that even something he could do? He could help whoever it was get control of their magic faster and be there for them after experiments and… would the other person, whoever they were, even let him? It would be better than having to deal with It all alone like he had. And if those were the only two options, well, the choice was rather obvious.

He’d have to find a way to stop It from going after someone else then. Either through stopping him before then or finding a way to be useful on his own. And all of that required staying here.

He swallowed and looked back at It. “Okay. I’ll stay here. But you’re not allowed to hurt anyone else.”

“Well, you’ll have to prove yourself useful then, Doll,” It said. “But we’ll see.” It shot another magical band around him again, and this time Anxiety didn’t dissipate it. A second later, It dove for him, and Anxiety braced himself.

…

He’d forgotten how awful it was to have his emotions played with, but It had seemed to decide that since Anxiety wasn’t willing to do anything It said anymore, It had to resort to more primitive ways to mess with him. He could normally resist attempts to make him anxious well enough at this point, but it was a little more difficult when It woke him up in the middle of the night and made him anxious naturally first. It still didn’t seem satisfied with the results, thankfully. Probably due to the fact that Anxiety had learned how to turn the nerves and adrenaline It gave him back into rage and just beat It across the shack. He blew It straight through a wall once, not that it was difficult to fix.

It seemed to know it needed to try something else, but It also knew better than to try making him angry, and It wasn’t going to be able to make him happy enough to cause any desired effects. Anxiety didn’t particularly like It’s solution.

He woke up one morning feeling more exhausted than he had many other days, and it didn’t take him long to figure that It was trying to sap his energy away. Something about It doing so felt familiar, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to try and figure out why.

“What’re you doing,” Anxiety muttered, trying to push It away, but he found pretty quickly that he didn’t have the strength to.

“Making a point,” It said simply. “That you can only outsmart me for so long. Stay here. You can have some breakfast when I’ve decided you’ve earned it.” It flew over to the other side of the shack and left Anxiety to try and push himself up.

“Now, Doll,” It said, flying back over to him. It formed into a large weight and sat itself down on Anxiety’s chest. “What part about ‘stay here’ did you not understand?”

“Get off of me,” Anxiety said weakly, but It didn’t budge. He tried for a little longer, but It was heavier than the strength he currently had, and eventually he collapsed back against the bed just to get a chance to rest.

As soon as he did so, It lifted off of him again, but when Anxiety only reacted by trying to move again, It just sat back down on top of him.

This wasn’t going to work, was it. Anxiety collapsed back much faster the second time, but when It moved again he didn’t have the energy to try and get up again.

“That’s more like it,” It said, and reached out to grab an apple that It dropped on his chest. “Go on, then. Eat.”

Anxiety grabbed the apple and started eating probably faster than he should have. The apple wasn’t going to do much in terms of protein, but he doubted It knew that, and an apple was still better than nothing.

Unfortunately, all of that had just proved to It that trying things that way worked, so Anxiety often woke up exhausted and was forbidden to eat until It decided he’d earned food. The first couple times, he actually fought It, but after several consecutive days in a row of this, he didn’t have the energy at all anymore. He felt like he was giving in like a coward, but what else was he supposed to do? He had to eat. And it’s not like he was going to give in to It in other ways.

…

Once It realized how successful taking away basic necessities was in getting Anxiety to listen, he stopped letting him sleep. Anxiety threatened to leave only once, and then It just asked him where he’d go, and shut him up pretty quickly.

“You know no one else wants you, after all,” It said, like Anxiety hadn’t agreed and stopped talking. “There’s nowhere you’d be welcome other than here.”

“I get it,” Anxiety snapped with what energy he had left.

“How foolish you were to try and leave in the first place,” It said. “You had to have known they wouldn’t want you.”

Anxiety briefly considered protesting that he hadn’t known that, but that would just result in him losing another night of sleep and probably another breakfast tomorrow, and he wasn’t sure It knew how much of either humans needed to survive.

“No one wants you but me,” It said, forming a hand to stroke Anxiety’s face like he was precious in some way. Anxiety managed to lean away. “No one’s going to love you but me.”

If you love me so much could you let me go to sleep? Anxiety didn’t say, because it wouldn’t help.

For the rest of the night, he sat across the table from It and got jolted awake every time he actually managed to nod off.

By the time morning came he was exhausted, and hungry, and considering actually telling It what the baseline was that he needed to survive, despite how ludicrously stupid such a thing would be. He supposed he could always lie. He didn’t really want to give It an actual tool that It could be certain about how to use, but if he had to go another night without sleep he might have to.

And because It was so terrible at knowing what he needed to survive, It often made him work on no food or sleep. Anxiety had managed not to collapse so far, but it had been a close thing. At least It hadn’t forced him to leave the shack yet.

“Do you know why I’m doing this?” It asked as It dropped a crust of bread in his lap that Anxiety practically pounced on.

Because you hate me and you want to see me suffer?

“Because I’m trying to teach you a lesson, Doll,” It said. “This is what happens when you try and go against me. And I could always do worse. Know I’m being merciful. I don’t have to be this kind. You have nowhere else to go, no one else will want you.”

Anxiety nearly spoke up, because he knew that already, did It have to keep saying that over and over? He knew he wasn’t going to get anything better than this, whether he deserved it or not. That had certainly been made clear recently.

“If you just admit that you’re not going to win and agree to do what I ask,” It said. “I’ll stop.”

Anxiety pushed past his exhaustion and hunger and kept his mouth shut. The longer he refused, the longer it would take before It decided to go after someone else, the longer it gave him to stop that from happening.

It sighed. “Pity. I suppose no sleep for you tonight, then.”

Anxiety nearly gave in right then and there.

…

The thing about being sleep deprived and bordering on starving was that it made it harder to use magic. Most magic required you to not be on the brink of collapse all the time, and Anxiety was finding it harder to check that box as the days went on. Obviously It knew this, which is why by the time It took Anxiety out into the real world for a night, he didn’t even have enough energy to nudge away the stormclouds above him, much less run away. It knew that too, or It wouldn’t have felt comfortable bringing him there, though of course It stayed nearby.

Anxiety laid there most of the night, getting soaked through and eventually adding freezing to the exhaustion and hunger. Any time he almost fell asleep It moved him around until he woke up again before he dropped him back on the ground. By the time the rain stopped and It took him home, Anxiety could barely move.

“I can keep going, Doll,” It said. “If you don’t yet understand the consequences for betraying me. Do you understand yet?”

Anxiety would have spoken up if he could, but he was using all his energy up on shivering.

It hoisted him up in the air and dropped him on the floor. Anxiety curled into a ball and tried to at least stop shaking. He didn’t manage, and after a second It started a familiar experiment, and suddenly Anxiety curled tighter in a ball as every part of him erupted in pain.

He was going to have to gather the energy to speak. He could try if It would just stop for one minute. How was he supposed to agree if It used up all his energy to talk? He was going to have to find energy somewhere else.

An idea struck Anxiety, and with what scraps of strength he had left, he pulled enough of the pain inward to turn it into energy to speak.

“Stop,” he croaked, and miraculously, It did, mostly because It seemed surprised at what Anxiety had done.

“You win,” Anxiety said before It could realize what had happened and just start up again. “You win, just… just let me…” And that was the remains of his improvised energy reserves.

There was a pause, and then Anxiety felt himself being picked up by incorporeal hands and carried over to the bed.

“See, I knew you’d come around,” It said lightly, pleasantly, in a way that likely still meant trouble, but Anxiety was too drained to care. “This never had to be so difficult, Doll. Sleep well. We’ll talk when you wake.”

That was all that Anxiety heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.

Chapter Nineteen

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #tw sleep deprivation #tw starvation #tw torture #anxceit #my fic

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perexcri · 1 year

Note

Perexcri, my beloved perexcri, it’s time to talk about aftry…

So first off i’m just gonna say i absolutely LOVE when authors and artists use light as a metaphor. Idk why but it always hits me so hard. This is probably the most obvious thing ever so i’m sure this is no grounbreaking observation but I took the light vs shadows metaphor as a stand in for depression. The voices that whisper to you that nothing but bad is coming for you but the light of hope that breaks through when you can share things with those you care about perfectly sums up how i personally feel when mine flares up bad. It was haunting, thoughtful and beautiful

As for the story itself, while yeah the action of thaba might have been missing here i definitely feel aftry was more of a ride. I love a good action piece as much as the next person but i also love the more character study driven stories like aftry just as much, probably a little more so because i tend to be a pretty emotional person in general so stories like these tend to get me a little more. The way relationships are explored here was also truly special. Getting to grow with them with all their ups and downs was so fun

As a musician i am always looking for new inspiration and you definitely provided! I wrote two pieces based on byler fics I absolutely loved and i think i feel one coming on for this one! I’ll keep you updated!

As always lovely i thank you so much for your gifts and sharing your stories with us! They are such a bright spot on my shittiest days and i appreciate you so much! Wishing you gentle days and nothing but love and light 💜💙💚

Jon i need you to know i read this message and couldn't stop smiling, so thank you for that :]

now *cracks knuckles* onto my beloved aftry. again, i cannot thank you enough for reading it. tbh, if i was forced to delete all but one of my fics from ao3, this is the one i would keep up. which is all to say it makes me overwhelmingly happy when people read it :')

ahhh yes, the depression metaphor!! listen, i am also a sucker for light metaphors. it's such a simple one but always so lovely to draw out and think about.

and now it's time for me to be personal on main, though i know i wrote about some of this in the author's notes in some of the chapters in aftry. basically i felt horrible when i wrote most of aftry; all of the first three parts and a few sections of the fourth part were all written in the span of about 3 weeks, but leading up to those weeks, during those weeks, and for several weeks afterwards, i felt horrible, but i couldn't really place what was wrong. i'd actually started feeling that way around posting the last ~10 chapters of thaba, and it just got worse and worse. in a weird way, i couldn't articulate what i was feeling to myself, but what i ended up writing (especially with Will's own thoughts and emotions) were very much what i was going through at the time. it's like i couldn't see how much pain i was in until i'd written 70k words of the fic, and even at that, i still couldn't really understand? it wasn't until i took some steps in my own life to get better that i was able to start looking back and realize how much pain i was going through

so, here's a fun easter egg for you: this actually kinda shows up in the story itself! i had originally intended for Will's interaction with the mindflayer-esque shadows to give him prophetic visions or something of the like, but by the time i got around to writing that third part where they're kids, i started describing the shadows in a way that i would typically reserve for mental health matters, and i genuinely couldn't get myself to stop no matter how much i wanted to go with the prophetic visions route. so, i think there's a conversation between those two in one of the earlier chapters where Will asks about an uncle who tried to kill the king? yeah, that's what was originally gonna happen: Will was gonna predict the uncle's betrayal, and then the king would exile him for treason or whatever. i had already changed the story by the time i posted that chapter, but i was so miserable that i couldn't think of a way to change it and just kept it lol

wow okay!! sorry for the rambles about light and dark and depression lol. onto the next things!

i'll just be straight up with you: nothing makes me happier than hearing you say aftry was more of a ride than thaba because of its emotional ups and downs. it's like i beat myself in a competition or something lol. but seriously, i'm glad you enjoyed it!! i am also a huge fan of character-driven stories and emotional studies of our dearly beloved blorbos. i'll take a story where nothing but a conversation or thinking happens for 20k words over an action-packed 5k words

and this is a small thing, but i like that you said you enjoyed growing together with them, because that ended up being such a big theme of this fic for me: growth. i wanted a story that was really emotionally messy and showed both of them failing and having to try and reconcile their differences, and i'm really proud of the end product and how it incorporated those things :D

also i know you're super talented musically, and if you write a piece for aftry, i think i'll be forced to retire from writing tbh. like that would be the peak for me. but seriously, no pressure whatsoever to do so!! it does make me happy when something i've made inspires other people to make things, though, mostly because i think the world is a better place when people are making things they care about :D

which is a really circular way of saying create if you so desire, but if you end up not wanting to, no worries at all!! i expect nothing and this ask alone is enough to have made me feel the happiness of a cat happy-rolling in a patch of sunlight on the floor

and how am i supposed to top your ending paragraph :') you're always so sweet and nice, and are a genuinely bright spot in this fandom. i know i appreciate your presence because i know you're a positive force in a world where it's very easy to not be so. i'm grateful for these little interactions via shared blorbo brainrot (lol) and for everything that is to come! i wish you flowers and light :] 💐

#ask #sorry for the word vomit Jon lol #a flower that resembles you #unhinged communist knight #guilt ridden flower boy

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dimonds456 · 2 years

Text

I may have not always been honest Though now I speak in earnest To live, to die, is a natural cycle Though dying young has always hurt us.

My body stops and stutters The cogs rusty and battered There has been no replacement For my machines predicament.

I shake and stumble and cough And fall to a floor not so soft This blood on my hands is my own From this internal battle I've been thrown

I wave my flag high and stand my ground Though the fights namesake is underground For I fight below the dirt under the Graves Of those who fought this war and never gave.

Blood, sweat, and tears have all been shed The blood on me knee as I kissed pavement Sweat as I tried to lift a plate over my head All I've yet to shed are teads, but my soul cries instead.

I wave my flag high though my arm grows tired And the thing keeping it up is a very small fire This flame of fame and courage and valor Determination keeps me tough and towered.

I see you, Death, with hand outstreched But I think it'd be pretty far fetched To think I would take it so easily If so I'd have gone with you early.

As the Valkyries fly and before the sun dies I will hold my ground. I see you, my Graves, with distance falling. No surrender can be found.

This hardened potion in my veins Perseverance through the pains I will keep fighting until the end No matter how much my own body wants me dead.

I'm not usually one to focus on the negative side of things, but Graves is kicking my ass. I'm becoming more and more convinced it's gonna win.

If you don't know, Graves Disease is a chronic illness I've had for years. It means my metabolism doesn't exist, my heart rate is always too high, I'm constantly off balance, my hands shake, and I cant exercise very long or I'll hyperventilate or faint.

I don't have a doctor's appointment for another month.

If I die, I want to let you all know that I love everyone of you. I love Tumblr, I love my friends, and I love the huge amount of support I've gotten. I will never take that for granted.

I've always tried to be nice, kind, supportive, and loving. If I ever failed this, I am so sorry. That was never my intention.

Thank you to @/joyflameball for pulling me from the dark and being my partner in crime for these past few months. I wish I could do more for you.

Thank you to @/artsycooky13 for giving me so much inspiration and being such a good friend. I'll never forget you.

Thank you to @/hugthesquids for sticking it out and being the voice of reason when the world came crashing down, who was able to show me the way several times.

Thank you to @/doodlegirl for being one of my best mutuals. Your support has had an impact on me I'll never forget.

Thank you to @/mudwingprince for also being a great mutual. Your support has meant so much. You were the first person to ever draw Follychromatic fanart, and I cherish it every day.

Thank you @/mouseinabucket for your unconditional support and love when I needed it the most.

Thank you @/axolotluv for being a wonderful mutual and friend for a short time. I wish we'd gotten to know each other better.

Thank you to my mom, who may not have completely understood me, but tried her hardest to support me anyway.

Thank you to my brother, who I love more than life itself. I'm sorry if I wasn't there enough, or if I didn't give you the support you needed. If I live, you better believe I'm going to fix that.

Thank you to everyone ever that has supported me and my wild dreams. Each positive word has only boosted me up, pulling me from the dark and adding to my reasons to push on.

I'm not done fighting- not yet. But I fear that fight may be nearing it's climax. When that happens, I'll know I have a ton many amazing people behind me. You guys give me courage.

Either I live with Graves, or I live in a grave. Well see what happens.

Come on out, Graves, and FIGHT.

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parcequecestnotreprojeeeet · 1 year

Note

Hi. It’s me again, Fanfic Anon #2. Like I said, I wrote a lot this weekend, and now that I know I’m not bothering you, EMT, here’s another one for you all. Hope you enjoy.

(PS - Lovely Strawberry, as the author of the last trinity ring piece, I loved yours. As I do all your work! Can’t wait for the next one! 🤗)

He noticed his wife had started to toss and turn next to him in bed.

She went to sleep hours ago. As always, she waited until he walked into their bedroom, stripping down into his sleep ware and sliding under the covers with her, to do so, staying up to see him, to debrief with him, to kiss him soundly and wish him sweet dreams, even as she knew she was leaving him in the land of the awake behind her, on his phone texting yet another aide or parliamentarian (who she knew was secretly hating his guts for tonight’s wake up call).

He knows she hasn’t been sleeping well lately, and he feels quite guilty for it. After all, it’s been a very busy and stressful few months - a lot of travel, a lot of events and meetings she’s had to attend, dinners for guests and dignitaries she’s had to plan, host, attend.

It’s been a long year, a hard year, harder in different ways than the full pandemic years (knowing the pandemic has still never really gone away but the world has opened up again a little). He feels it when he sees more grey appear at his temples, in the deeper lines in his forehead when he looks in the mirror. No matter how many times, and in how many ways, his wife tells him, shows him just how handsome, sexy she finds him, how strong he is, how smart, how capable, how much she loves him and believes in him, he still feels the weight of the decisions, of the struggles, of the responsibilities that he faces every day. He knows she feels the weight of her role too, knows it’s harder for her, especially under the gaze of a world wide media who has never been the kindest to her. She never asked for any of this, she’s just wanted him, and he thanks her endlessly, constantly for agreeing to accompany him on this crazy path.

He had hoped their little respite in Honfleur, a very lovely and loving long weekend, relaxing hand in hand, arm in arm, side by side, along the beach, down small side streets, in their favorite cafe, in bed would help. (It certainly has helped him, he feels like he’s been glowing these last few days, as if her love was the ultimate tonic.)

‘Maybe,’ he thought squinting back at his bright phone screen as the phone vibrated in his hand to draw his attention back to the incoming message from the minister he had been speaking with for the last few minutes, ‘the ambient light is disturbing her?’ He dimmed the screen and scratched the back of his neck guiltily as he noticed the room got noticeably darker.

His attention was drawn away from his message a few minutes later and back to his wife when he heard a noticeable whimper.

“Chérie?” He whispered, trying to gauge if she was awake.

“No!” He heard her call out, clearly still asleep. “Please! No! I’ll do anything. Not him!”

She was clearly having a nightmare, begging whoever the villain her mind made up to stop whatever torture it had created for itself. As she started to get louder and more disturbed, he realized he needed to wake her.

“Chérie,” he gently began to shake her, trying to wake her without hurting her, “chérie, you need to wake up. It’s just a dream, okay? But you need to wake up now.”

She woke up suddenly, startling awake and sitting straight up, almost knocking him over from where he had positioned himself. She was heaving for air, tears gently falling from her eyes.

“It’s okay, Brigitte,” he started to whisper, consoling her, rubbing his hand in soothing circles on her back. “It was just a bad dream -“

“They had taken you from me.”

“Oh, mon cœur,” his voice breaking in sympathy in response to her obvious pain. “You know that is never going to happen right? Nothing is going to take me or keep me from you. My parents tried, your siblings tried, hell, it feels like all of Amiens tried, and look where we are. Still together, and I would dare say, stronger and more in love than ever, right?”

“I’m sorry. This is so silly, I don’t know what’s come over me -“

“You’ve been under a lot of stress lately, and it’s not like there isn’t enough nightmare fuel going on in the world. What you feel, even in your subconscious dream level state, is never going to be silly. Not to me. Never to me.”

“Hold me?” She asked, turning to look him in the eyes, desperate for the comfort and security they provide.

He carefully laid her back down and arranged himself around her, surrounding her with his strength, his warmth, his love.

“Feeling better?” he checked in after a few minutes, as he felt her breathing evening out slowly, her chest expanding against his hands with each inhale.

“Hmm,” she answered non-verbally, already slipping back to sleep.

He chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to the back of her head, mere inches from where his rested behind her on the pillow, his nose buried in her soft hair, enjoying the smell that was the perfect combination of her shampoo, her left over perfume, and her, whispering her a final, “sleep now, chérie. I’ll keep you safe” before he followed, falling asleep quickly, dreaming of her.

Helloooo fanfic Anon #2! ❤️

Oh but you could never bother me and I adore reading what you write 🥰

And this is just another beautiful and touchy piece from you 🤧 Poor Brigitte with her nightmare but bless Emmanuel for being an absolute sweetheart with her 🥺🥰

And Manu feeling the weight of the stressing job on his appearance... Yes, honey, you definitely aged a lot faster this past 5 years hahaha but you aged quite well too, don’t worry hehe 🤭🥰

Thank you so much again for this piece! ❤️❤️❤️

#fanfic #fanfic anon 2

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slightlywarmeroolong · 2 years

Text

A slightly longer piece than previously, under a cut

“All Mine”

London, 1966

Her boots barely touched the pavement as she hurried home, the bottles clinking against each other in the bag.

“Shit, shit, shit” she muttered steadily, sidestepping the other fashionable young people, who strolled and posed along the street. The butcher’s shop had closed early, and finding another in a rush had been a pain, but there was still time.

She unlocked the front door, and bounded up the stairs, finally back in the little flat. Time to prepare. Off went the boots, and the paisley suit jacket followed, as her back prickled with a little cooling sweat. She unbuttoned her shirt with one hand as she reached for the book with the other.

The book. The one that she’d spent two years working towards stealing. The old man in the cottage outside of Oxford had had a voluminous library, but she was only interested in one thing. She’d had to make him think she knew nothing, that she was just a dull, domestic country girl who was happy to cook his meals, make his tea, and dust his collection, while never asking any questions. She’d worn dresses and kept her hair long and curled for that. Nothing too fashionable, that would rouse suspicions, she was banking on his biases. And just like she thought, eventually, she knew his library like the back of her hand. And, more importantly, where the locked cupboard that held her prize was kept. It was nothing after that to slip a few sleeping pills into the teapot, gently slide the key on its chain from around his neck, and to head to London. With her hair cut short and angular, and her mod suits, she didn’t even look like the meek girl she’d used a false name (and a bit of her own magic) to pretend to be.

The flat itself was small, and more sparse and tidy than one would expect of a fashionable young thing. The living room was mostly bare, which was by design. Less to move, after all. She grabbed for the chalk as she unbuttoned her trousers with the other hand, stepping out of the rather violently patterned garment and kicking them toward the bedroom, underwear following closely. Following the design in the book, she began drawing the circle on the floor, carefully detailing every symbol. Bowls were grabbed hastily from the kitchen, with a sigh of relief that she’d remembered to wash the dishes, and the blood from the bottles poured into each. Finally, she went to the bedroom, to the box hidden under the bed, and grabbed the various items needed. The glyph-covered blade on the shelf joined the small pile next to her in the living room.

She turned the page, and began to read aloud. The room began to feel colder at once, and the shadows deepened, strange purple swirls flickering in their depths. Her voice grew steadily more certain as the purple swirls began to coalesce within the circle. A shape began to slowly emerge as the syllables, written for an inhuman tongue, fell from hers. She’d been working toward this, planning. She knew the ancient language, older and stranger than any mortal one, and the power it held.

The shape was humanoid, but the violet skin, double set of horns, one short and straight, the other curved, and the long, twitching tail showed it to not be human. Presently, the demon was lying on its side, breasts rising and falling as they panted. Suddenly, they rose, and tried to take a step, but were stopped by the glyphs on the floor, which let out a crackle.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” the demon hissed through a mouth of fangs.

“You know exactly what I brought you here for. And you know that I’m well equipped to do it. And, most importantly, you know that I’ve got you bound.” The sorcerer smiled coldly as the demon glared. A few more words were intoned, and spectral chains emerged from some of the markings on the floor, wrapping them around the demon’s arms, legs and neck with the speed of a viper’s strike, dragging them to their hands and knees. Another chain snaked up, pulling the tail they’d tried to cover themself with aside. Seeing them totally exposed and unable to move, the sorcerer laughed, and crouched down in front of the face that bared its fangs even as it flushed a surprising lavender.

“Modesty? For a being like you? You astound me. Here I thought you were all about the pleasures of the flesh. Or are you just surprised to be on the other side? Or,” she said, mockingly solicitous, walking around behind the bound infernal and running her hands around the bonds “are the chains too tight?”

A single low growl answered her as she dipped her hand into the bowl of blood, and she crossed around again, forcing them into the fanged mouth.

“Good.” She purred, feeling the forked tongue wrapping itself hungrily around her fingers.

The fingers were removed, as the sorcerer walked behind, the demon trying to turn their head, but unable to move more than a fraction.

The soft clinking of buckles being fastened, of something metal being picked up from the floor.

Suddenly, a rune-carved blade was held against that violet throat, just above where the ghostly chains bit, and something hard was pushing below the tail that had been desperately trying to thrash.

“Careful, now. Don’t want the knife to slip, do you, succubus? I do hope you’re prepared for what’s next.”

The low growl in response was quickly followed by a deep moan as the magician thrust in.

It was for the best that the apartment had had some combination of soundproofing, magical and otherwise, even the fairly relaxed neighbours would have raised an eyebrow at least at the snarls, gasps, and curses, human and otherwise that filled the air. The captive let out low, deep moans, and the sorcerer could swear she felt their flesh rippling in infernal lust around her, even though it wasn’t her flesh.

The sorcerer was deep in her own ecstasy, driving into the bound demon, that she was hardly paying attention to the circle. Just as she threw her own head back, shuddering, she slipped backwards, just a little.

Just enough for her sole to

wipe away the chalk on the floor

And that was all it took. The chains vanished, and the knife was dropped in shock. A blow from the lashing tail sent her sprawled backwards as the sorcerer’s former captive stood over her, planting a taloned foot on her chest.

“I do hope that was good for you,” the demon said, grinning, their

fangs glinting in the candlelight “because it’s definitely my turn now.”

The magician’s wrists were held over her head in one hand, which ground the bones against each other, just a little.

“Please…” she whimpered.

“Please, what? “Please don’t tear me apart ?”, “please don’t fuck me so well I’ll spend the rest of my pathetic life aching for it just once more? Both? Something else? Silly little witch, you don’t get to make any decisions at all, actually.”

The demon unbuckled the straps, as the sorcerer lightly kicked, missing.

“Broke your own wards, it’s almost like you were hoping for this, I’d say.” Claws extended from the demon’s fingertips, as shining and inky as obsidian, and parted skin the same way, as they traced along the sorcerer’s breast, barely grazing the nipple. They were rewarded with a gasp followed by a glare.

The demon slid a muscled thigh between the magician’s, grinding against the heat between them.

“Huh, looks like my guesses might have been right.”

The two entangled, the sorcerer was helpless and unable to resist the demon, who alternated mocking the shameless little witch who thought she was very clever, wasn’t she, and doing something astonishing with her whole hand, its claws retracted again, and a thick, tapering tail that could reach quite deeply elsewhere. It was a lesson that the magician was to learn thoroughly.

The candles burned low.

“You were late.”

“I’m really sorry about that, the butcher shop I’d been using closed down, and I needed to find another one that wouldn’t ask questions in a rush.” The sorcerer brushed a lock of sweaty hair from her forehead.

“The problems of living in a swinging neighbourhood. Let me guess, it’s a record store now?” The demon grinned at her.

“Some of them are clothing stores. This one was both.” The magician laughed, and gently stroked the demon’s cheek, the horned head resting against her shoulder, and passed the bowl of fresh blood.

“I’m just glad we still have time to cuddle and talk a bit before the stars shift too much.” The demon’s tail wrapped itself around the sorcerer’s thigh like a large, lazy, though feverishly warm snake.

“I like to think that we’d do that anyway, even if we lacked time for anything else.”

“You?” The demon stuck out that forked tongue. “You’ve got a positively infernal appetite, I don’t know if you could hold back.”

The magician kissed them, gently. “You know I love this part just as much. Maybe...there’s a conjunction in a few months, if I’ve calculated correctly-“

“I know you have.”

“...it should be possible for you to stay the entire night and day?”

A nervous silence hung for a second.

“I think I’d actually like that a lot. The moon is setting now, though. Until next time, my little witch.”

“Until next time, my...sweetheart?”

The demon faded away into those purple swirls as their lips brushed her cheek.

#sometimes I write stuff!#actually wrote this a while back and will revisit these two eventually

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