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takami-takami · 9 months

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A Dog Unfed.

includes— hawks x reader. angst. hurt/comfort.

warnings— animal abuse analogy. discussion of drugs and cravings. be warned and avoid this if you need. sorry for spoiling the subtext lol, but it needs a tw. though, i encourage you to apply this however you feel it apply.

perhaps we all have a dog.

Did you ever tell him?

The fullest extent of it all, the thorny vines that adorn your past— more bondage than decoration, a dragging weight against your throat and up your nasal cavity. A growth, an infestation, a plague on your subconscious.

It is a dog you unwittingly adopted— a drooling rottweiler that smacks its jaws and begs and paws at your thighs, pleading to you each night: "I'm hungry, I'm hungry, I'm hungry. Please feed me, I'm hungry."

Everyone who has ever seen your dog has mistaken you for it.

Everyone who has seen your dog has peered down their pudgy little noses, muttered "mutt", spit it and clinked their heels away; or perhaps they simply looked on in sneers of smiling horror, down past their clutching pearls.

"This is you? By god, my goodness! An animal, an animal!"

You used to hate your dog.

You used to lock it in chains outside, let its fleshy paws burn and blister against the cement in the heat of the blaring sun. You grew tired of feeding it, of crushing up its kibble, of leaving it out to dry then quenching its bottomless thirst.

Now you just sit with it.

You sit by its side with your knees to your chest, listening to the cicadas chirp their prayers. Some days, you even let your back burn against the molten floor, a grounding heat while you lie down flat; but every day, every position, your eyes always remain locked on it.

You stare as it rests on its side, fusing to the glistening cement. You listen to its keening whines and dying breaths with a familiar pity and an unbearable disgust.

You blink, unfeeling again now.

You're sure it will never die, no matter how many hours it spends dying.

You never wanted to show Keigo your dog; even though a part of you is screaming and begging to present it to him, a gift from your innards, dirty in the palms of your blistering hands.

Keigo is just like everyone else, you assume. He is kind, he is gentle, he is an angel among men and he is the exact same as everyone else.

You've come to realize a person's good qualities— openmindedness, kindness, empathy— mean nothing in the face of what one is taught. No one is immune to propaganda, and there is no shortage of that nowadays against people with dogs.

The part that makes you doubt your assumptions is this: Keigo has honey in his eyes; flicks of gold specks dusted along the amber of his irises, a sticky kind of love swimming in them that drips down to his lopsided and infuriatingly safe smile.

You could never fathom his nose upturned, as he has been on the ground too many times to do that to another; nor could you picture a sneer from a mouth as sweet as his, honeysuckle and gentle, bright yellow.

So one night, you allow it to spill, hoping for him to soak up your blue one last time.

It's not uncommon for you to spend the dim of your nights at Keigo's home— his real home, the one the commission has never barged themselves in, the one he keeps hidden from every soul in this world but one.

It is uncommon for him to listen to the water of his shower run for several hours.

If you had feathers as sharply perceptive as his, you'd detect the nervous pacing of his leather boots against the carpet of his bedroom floor, even through the sheetrock that separates the two of you. The patter of the showerhead is far too consistent for his liking, very little movement being detected at all and his mind is bouncing off countless possibilities while sticking to none.

Those worries overflow from the cup of his bleating heart, bleeding when he turns sharply toward the bathoom door, resolute.

With a barely audible thud, his forehead traps golden strands between it and the wooden door it rests against.

He doesn't ask you if you're okay. Keigo never bothers with questions he already knows the answer to.

"Baby, open the door. Please," he begs. "I promise, it's okay— just need to be with you. Please."

The song of your sobs muffled through the door causes his feathers to sting an unbearable itch.

How his heart is just as red as those wings. It begins to drip, the string connecting him to you pulled too far for him to take. It— he needs to be with you right now.

A palm slides up the plane, resting firm by his cheek. The air of his breath hits the wood, fogging back against his lips.

"Please, let me in?"

His hopes blossom in the heavy pause that follows.

"...The door's unlocked."

Keigo knows. He could have pried it open in a heartbeat with a single feather even if it was locked, but trust and respect are precious commodities. They are irreplaceable, yet entirely and easily breakable.

Slowly, the knob creaks open, the careful movement still startling your spine stiff. The heels of your feet gently propel you backwards, firmer against the icy wall at the furthermost corner of the shower. The expanse is wide enough to accomodate fierce wings, wide enough to swallow your comparitively puny body in its open jaws.

Curled in on yourself, soaked, and trembling; this is what Keigo sees when he enters the room. This is what he sees when he dashes over, mumbling words you don't quite catch— some are familiar. "Dove", "sweetheart", "oh, my baby."

Down, he kneels by your side under the pour of the synthetic rain. The fabric of his shirt clings to his skin now, hair soaked just like yours; a wet dog all the same.

And with your tears plopping down against the flat tile, scratched knees held to your chest, you allow it to spill.

It spills through the hiccups, it spills through the wet of your cheeks; and above all, it finally spills through your confession, nose upturned to look up at his shaky gaze.

"Oh, angel..."

You can hear the palpable crack of his beating heart in that voice; but even if you didn't, the rustle of scarlet feathers that puff out in protection give his wounds away.

Keigo busies himself with a racing thought: how could he not notice the signs? He knew there were secrets nestled in the cavity of your ribcage, tandrils of some sort of ivy even he couldn't quite recognize.

You have a weight, shackles chaining you to be left out in the midday sun.

He could tell— it's not the same as his; it's another flavor, another disease, another beast of its own, but in the most abstract of ways, he could see it: you're just like him.

"Why didn't you tell me," he rasps, cupping your cheeks with shaky palms. They tap and squish like they're searching for signs— distress, hurt, anything.

You smile a mimicry of his, pulled from your most precious memories, and silently beg for that wobbly smile back; but it does not come. Instead, his eyes begin to shine, glassy and wet.

You've never seen him cry before.

You've never felt as desperate for his yellow as you do now, but you have felt this pathetic and small, once. You have felt like an animal, desperate to be domesticated— a synonym for loved.

"Y-You don't need to worry! I'm good, I'm still clean, see? See?"

As if that's the only thing that matters, you tip your chin towards him to offer your pupils as proof.

Such a gesture may shatter hearts, and Keigo is but a man. Despite it all, he is but a man.

He declines the offer, your words more than enough for him— his body opts to tackle you in an embrace instead, clutching your skull close to his hammering chest.

With each wide-eyed blink, the droplets resting on your lashes flick onto his chest. The soaked strands of your hair cling to him, both bodies drenched now by the roaring downpour above.

Water cascades in heaps onto the floor below. It never stops.

With your cheek pressed against his sternum, his scent invades your senses. He smells like cedarwood cologne and thickets of the forest, a warm signature. It matches his labored breaths: sturdy and weighty and masculine.

"I thought you wouldn't see me as a person anymore," you confess.

He hushes your worries as your eyes flutter shut, kissing the crown of your head with unwavering pride.

"Dove... You're my person."

Keigo thumbs away your tears and pulls back to offer you a wobbly smile.

You offer your own in return— a real one, too, this time.

---

The greatest advice you've ever been told was "don't start". The words felt feeble at the time, like a joke passed down through unproductive seminars in high school out the mouths of stuffy men in suits, men who spoke of the boogeyman and jumped out behind chairs.

It meant nothing at the time.

It means everything now.

It helps you explain a little better to people who've never had a dog.

The words "don't start" are a language they do not speak; and yet, it helps to say it to their mirrored face, to imagine the breadth of your world could be pressed compact into those two tidy little words.

Talking to yourself helps you pretend you're understood.

Even though it is not necessary to be understood before you can be loved:

Don't start.

#block me if ur gonna clown on the topic here. I love you people who can relate you are safe here i am kissing you i hope this reaches you #uhhhhhh this one is a little. Um. Anyway be mindful if u read 👍#🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #tw substance use #mha x reader #angst #hurt/comfort

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radiomurdeer · 2 months

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Starter for @xxx-angeldust-xxx

The sun, or what passed for it in Hell, had long since set, letting the shadows lengthen and eat away at every corner. Though dimmed, the light in the lobby of the hotel was still on, a sign of Charlie’s ever-present hope that someone may show up in the wee hours of the day. And a sign for their wayward resident that someone was waiting up for him. Often the self-imposed task fell to Charlie. Worry ate at her, mind conjuring one improbable scenario after another until Vaggie finally dragged her off to bed after volunteering Alastor of all people to wait up for Angel Dust. Ridiculous all around, really, when that was what Husk was for. The man had passed out some time ago, however, leaving Alastor alone to sit comfortably on one of the chairs in the parlor. It was less bothersome than he’d made it seem when Vaggie told him to wait up for Angel Dust. Oh he’d hemmed and hawed just because he loved riling her up. Had he really minded he’d have simply left them to their own devices while she screamed at shadows. Instead he was here, pondering his next steps. Sleep often eluded him anyway so the locale didn’t much matter. For now he was taking the solitude to plan his next broadcast. Toying with Vox was as fun as ever, but he’d need to do more than just that if only for appearances. Charlie would probably dislike it but for someone born here she certainly didn’t understand how to to play the Game in the slightest.

Any further planning was put on hold at the sound of the hotel door opening. There was only one guess as to who had finally crawled in at a truly ungodly hour. If Angel Dust was even attempting to be quiet it was difficult to tell. Or maybe Alastor was simply too paranoid and giving him less credit than he deserved. There was a soft hum of a radio changing frequencies as he dissolved into shadow, reforming right next to Angel Dust in his habitual violation and disregard of personal space.

“Well well! Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence,” his tone was his usual manic cheer, belying the sarcasm of his words. It wasn’t as if it mattered to him if Angel Dust showed up or not. Charlie may hope, but there was no hiding that Angel Dust was just using the hotel as a safe place to stay. The price of rent was just the low low cost of his dignity and group therapy. “Oh, and using again? Just what will Charlie say?”

He tsked playfully, splaying a hand across where his heart should be as though clutching at pearls. A hungry cat toying with its prey. Normally he didn’t get Angel Dust alone like this, there was usually a buffer of another person. Charlie usually, but even Husk knew how to handle his boss’s games and redirect Alastor’s attention. Sometimes Alastor even let him! But for now it was just the two of them, and Alastor was bored.

#xxx-angeldust-xxx #//whoops got long

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ceruleancattail · 11 months

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You know, Ceru, I got a lil bit 🤏 carried away when writing my character's concept for your The Faded Moon Event 👁️👄👁️

***

Shieri is a siren who exudes cheerfulness, an easygoing nature, and a friendly demeanor that draws others in. With face always adorned with various kind of smiles, all depending on the situation at hand, she effortlessly charms those around her.

Yet, lurking beneath that ever-smiling face of hers, she possesses a cunning intelligence, capable of manipulating situations and people to her advantage.

As one of the creatures left behind at the circus, Shieri is anything but normal.

To the visitor who were scared and confused about what was happening, Shieri pretends to be a kind siren who's willing to help them get out from this crazy place. But of course, it's all just a lie.

***

Ceru, if you don't mind, can you make my OC and Azul work together to hunt down the visitor 🥹👉👈

I love you getting carried away- thank you for this!

It’s eerie, having a place fall into disrepair.

With every step, you see another deserted ride. Lights blinking feebly, bulbs smashed into smithereens, glass shards gleaming with the moonlight. Rusted seats, cobwebs stretching across control panels.

Treading through the wild grass, you clutch at your flashlight. The light weakens, now a dim spot of light, barely illuminating the way ahead. Biting into your lip, you take a right.

Hoping that somehow, you’ll stumble out of these accursed grounds, free from this horrible circus.

A soft note was sung. A woman’s voice, angelic and gentle. It rang through the air like the piercing cry of a church bell. Something holy. Something to be worshipped. The voice of a saviour.

All you could do was to follow.

Wandering through the grounds, you find yourself in front of a ride. The entrance was sculpted to resemble a cave. The faint trickle of water could be heard, a steady drip, drip, drip. A barrel bobbed lazily towards you, bumping against your thigh.

For a moment, your thoughts were clear. Snapping back into reality, like a camera’s lens focusing.

This was a bad idea.

Yet the voice curled it’s way into your ears, purring seductively. Gently encasing your brain, reducing your thoughts to nothing but mush. All you could think of was her beautiful voice.

Her.

You were all hers.

Slowly, you strap yourself into the barrel, before plunging into the depths of this thrill ride.

————————————————————————

Shieri laughs, clapping her hands together. Bangles jiggling on her wrist, a pleasant chime. Her delicate lips curled up into a small smile, the very image of approachable.

Her fingers dip into the water, wiggling ever so slightly. A tentacle reaches out, slowly wrapping around her wrist. Purple suction cups pressing deep into her skin, leaving dark bruises behind.

A head of silver peered out, combed towards the side in an elegant curl. Rising out of the water, Azul crossed his arms, leaning onto Shieri’s rock.

“What brings you here, Mr Ashengrotto?”

She coos, poking at his cheeks. Azul only frowns, before reaching for her hand, lacing his fingers through hers. A light pink dusted Shieri’s cheeks, before she lowers her hand, still tightly intertwined with his.

“I heard you singing.”

A twinkling laugh, before she leans into Azul. Her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, nuzzling into the man. A finger reaches for a tentacle, before slowly curling it around like a lock of hair.

“So, how was it? I’ll hate to disappoint.”

A dark chuckle, before Azul’s arm wraps around her waist, pulling her closer. His pulse drums through her skin, a steady beat thumping against her.

“Simply wonderful, my pearl.

Have I ever said otherwise?”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #azul Ashengrotto #Azul #the faded moon #thank you for participating!!!!

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writeblrfantasy · 3 years

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pax said he liked my clothing descriptions and i haven't been able stop thinking about that so i put together this compilation!! from acogs, brenin, oots, a short from gkbk i'm working on, and the farlingverse. i hope you love all of these because i'm super proud of all of them <3<3

taglists and ts under the cut

Katya is dressed in a brilliant red velvet gown whose floor length skirt trails behind her. Gold is embroidered onto the hem of the skirt and the bodice, supported by a thin red strap that curves around her neck. Her orange hair covers her shoulders in loose curls, two parts on either side pulled back from her face and secured with a ribbon on her head like always. She wears no jewelry on her pale, freckled skin, and the neckline of the gown teases her breasts.

In a few minutes, one huge golden ring will sit on her right middle finger. Nikolai pictures it now.

Beautiful and mighty, she’s sitting on the old throne of the temple, from when this was the palace and Aspiania was the capital. The fingers of her left hand curl over the white armrests, and she leans her head back onto the red cushion there. Green eyes dulled behind the wire frames of her spectacles have the power to freeze an empire, a whole world.

Nikolai is more interested in the drawn golden sword in her right hand.

Esme is wearing custom made robes in a beautiful mix of red, dark blue, and purple, with a sash and hems of shimmering gold. Embroidery of the sun and moon decorate patches in tiny patterns, stars covering every inch of them.

In traditional Tan style, they wrap around his shoulders and tie at his waist with the knot in the back, the sleeves loose and flared out at the wrists. They go down to his feet, covered in polished black boots. His black hair is sparkled with gold dust, but it’s forever too long and strands fall into his eyes.

He grins when he sees Laurent across the temple for the first time, dopey eyed, as Laurent’s soul evaporates from his body. It’s a remarkable testament to his self-restraint that he doesn’t cross the temple in three strides and tackle Esme to the ground.

Feryn looks truly like an angel, or a god, or grace incarnate. No veil covers her head, but her white hair hangs loose round her face. Cygnus was expecting curls, or a braid with flowers, or an updo with a diamond circlet wrapping her hair. But the reality is plain. And it’s beautiful.

She’s wearing cosmetics, he’s sure, but he can’t see them well. Her brown eyes just look a little brighter than normal, her lashes a little longer, her cheeks a little fuller. She smiles at him with warm eyes and pink lips.

Her gown is something he’s been looking forward to seeing and endlessly imagining ever since she and Lian got engaged. Like her hair, it’s much simpler than expected. The fabric is shiny like satin, the straps thin and the bodice plain like the gown Evan wore to her bridal shower.

Unlike Evan’s, the neckline dips, and the skirt of Feryn’s dress is slim. Feryn must be wearing shoes with tall heels, because Cygnus knows she isn’t naturally this tall. Or perhaps it’s just her posture, the straight back, the easy, content way she holds herself.

Feryn, who asked Cygnus to trust her when he asked what he would be wearing at the play, dresses him in bright red silk robes with drapes over the shoulders that blow out behind him. She says she had them made especially for tonight. Cygnus is rendered speechless, reminded of the luxury he lives as king. Feryn seems only pleased.

The shoulders and collar are decorated in sapphires and embroidered in gold. The robes don’t allow trousers to show that much, so he wears plain black. Feryn chooses polished black shoes with gold trim, and a red and gold clip for his hair.

When he looks in the mirror, he thinks he’s dressed for the most pristine play in the whole country, not Cherie’s little central company.

“Valerie—” Ruby begins, words dying in her throat as Cygnus holds up a hand. A rich sapphire ring adorns on his hand, and that’s not the only finery he’s wearing. His silk jacket of dark green is bejeweled with glittering gems and delicate piping. His boots are shinier than she’s ever seen them, and with his purple cloak and combed hair, he’s obviously going to meet someone important.

Like every other lady in the castle, Ruby allows Feryn to force her into nice clothes. She refuses the robes Feryn brought out, heavy red velvet, and chooses instead black breeches, a fine shirt, and an ornate jacket. The jacket is dull green, trimmed in gold and fastened with gleaming buttons. Ruby pulls on a new pair of black boots and actually gives some thought to her hair, after a moment permitting Feryn to braid it down her back. It’s all tedious to her, but she’ll endure it to keep poor Cygnus company.

“Come in,” came Alea’s voice at my first knock. I opened the door, watching Moureen muttering and fussing over Alea’s dress. The mix of sea greens and blues complimented her beautiful hair, some curls braided into a crown around her head, the rest lying around her shoulders. I couldn’t hold back a grin.

“What?” she asked.

“You look beautiful. I have something for you,” I said, bringing forth the box from behind my back and thrusting it into her hands. I motioned for her to open it.

“Oh, Bren, you didn’t have to—” She opened it, her mouth falling open. “Oh, my—” Alea turned and set the box down, picking up the jade and sapphire teardrop earrings that I’d bought her in the shop. It must’ve been the gods’ will for the dress and earrings to match perfectly, making her green eyes stand out. She looked every bit the duchess, every bit a queen.

Alea was in a stunning gold ballgown that glittered and shone when she moved. The skirt was embellished with pearls and diamonds, dripping and glittering. Her hair was up, a white flower hairpin keeping it out of her eyes. She smiled, and her green eyes looked even more beautiful than ever. I told her so. She laughed like she didn’t believe me.

More footsteps came to the door. I glanced up at Moureen, who was coming in with my freshly shined shoes. Thales hovered in the doorway in front of Lakus. I looked him over, taking in his bright blue jacket, adorned with gold trim and beading. The finished jacket looked much better now than it had during yesterday’s boring afternoon in the store. I found myself catching my breath.

He gave me a small smile. “You look good. The green, uh, looks good.”

I did something with my hands. “Thanks, I guess.” My jacket was well done. Light green and silver, pearl buttons and dark stitching. I chose the silver just to get on Lakus’s nerves, since I knew Danda couldn’t care less about whether people wore gold or not.

Lakus, by contrast, had bright, gaudy orange on. There was so much gold on him I could feel the money, and I grimaced, looking away from him after a glance.

Cerrick doesn’t recognize anyone else in the purples, reds, yellows, but he sees his man in the center of the pack in bright blue and green armor, cloak fluttering out behind him. his horse is gray, mottled with black spots, shorter than the rest. His sword is gleaming in his right hand, black gloves clutching the hilt like one born to it. His braid sticks out of his polished blue helmet, shining in the sun. Cerrick doesn’t care if Olin laughs at him for his reaction, he still curses softly under his breath.

Njord is beautiful.

The knights run a few casual circles around the stadium, waving to the crowd. Cerrick watches the crowd hand their knight of choice bracelets, charms, wreaths with fresh flowers braided into them.

acogs taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @inkflight @spencer-nyx @writing-is-a-martial-art @ashen-crest @wisteria-eventide @nikkywrites @denkis-phone-charger @myhusbandsasemni @lynolord @ettawritesnstudies @golden-apple-s-blog @chazzawrites @pen-of-roses @47crayons @wickerring @sleepy-night-child @florraisons @faithfire @croctears @inkovert @kait-writes

fv taglist (lmk to be added/removed): @mel-writes-with-her-dragons @magic-is-something-we-create @47crayons @idk-bout-tonight

oots taglist (lmk to be added/removed) @willowiswriting @ninazeniks @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @ren-c-leyn @justwriteyoudummy @47crayons @yejidoesthings @ettawritesnstudies @faithfire @a-forgotten-dusk @talesfromaurea @ashen-crest

general taglist: @magic-is-something-we-create @myhusbandsasemni @wickerring @directionoftime @47crayons @familiarvillain

gkbk taglist: (lmk to be added/removed) @magic-is-something-we-create @idk-bout-tonight @ren-c-leyn @crystallized-ink @hysteriwah @denkis-boyfriend @ashen-crest @aconfusedomni @myhusbandsasemni @oshaaru @metanoiamorii @47crayons

#writing #writeblr #wips #my wip #fantasy #fantasy writeblr #fiction #original fiction #lila's wips: fv #lila's wips: oots #lila's wips: acogs #lila's wips: gkbk #wip: brenin #bean's excerpts #lila's excerpts

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alouispo · 3 years

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nondescript

“Phil‌ ‌this‌ ‌really‌ ‌doesn’t‌ ‌seem‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌a‌ ‌good‌ ‌idea.”‌ ‌ ‌

“It’ll‌ ‌be‌ ‌fine,‌ ‌mate,‌ ‌just‌ ‌gotta‌ ‌not‌ ‌get‌ ‌caught‌ ‌and‌ ‌we’ll‌ ‌be‌ ‌good.”‌ ‌ ‌

Techno‌ ‌rolled‌ ‌his‌ ‌eyes,‌ ‌biting‌ ‌into‌ ‌an‌ ‌apple‌ ‌and‌ ‌leaning‌ ‌against‌ ‌the‌ ‌stone‌ ‌wall‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌Syndicate.‌ ‌He‌ ‌had‌ ‌warned‌ ‌Philza‌ ‌of‌ ‌what‌ ‌was‌ ‌going‌ ‌to‌ ‌happen‌ ‌if‌ ‌he‌ ‌attempted‌ ‌to‌ ‌experiment‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌table‌ ‌pieces,‌ ‌but‌ ‌for‌ ‌once‌, the elder man ‌wouldn’t‌ ‌listen‌ ‌to‌ ‌him.‌ ‌ ‌

Phil‌ ‌had‌ ‌always‌ ‌been‌ ‌someone ‌of‌ ‌knowledge,‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌opportunity‌ ‌to‌ ‌find‌ ‌out‌ ‌more‌ ‌about‌ ‌the‌ ‌ancients‌ ‌was‌ ‌too‌ ‌good‌ ‌to‌ ‌pass‌ ‌up.‌ ‌The‌ ‌piglin‌ ‌hybrid‌ ‌was‌ ‌sure‌ ‌that‌ ‌they‌ ‌were‌ ‌going‌ ‌to‌ ‌get‌ ‌into‌ ‌some‌ ‌deep‌ ‌trouble‌ ‌with‌ ‌Dream‌ ‌XD.‌ ‌He‌ ‌wasn’t‌ ‌sure‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌foretold‌ ‌God‌ ‌of‌ ‌this‌ ‌server‌ ‌was‌ ‌actually‌ ‌real,‌ ‌but‌ ‌the‌ ‌stuff‌ ‌he‌ ‌learned‌ ‌from‌ ‌meeting‌ ‌Drista‌ ‌and‌ ‌her‌ ‌hold‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌members‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌SMP‌ ‌was‌ ‌enough‌ ‌to‌ ‌convince‌ ‌him‌ ‌that‌ ‌he‌ ‌did‌ ‌exist.‌ ‌ ‌

Now‌ ‌that‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌thought‌ ‌about‌ ‌it,‌ ‌how‌ ‌did‌ ‌Drista‌ ‌manage‌ ‌to‌ ‌get‌ ‌onto‌ ‌the‌ ‌server?‌ ‌He‌ ‌was‌ ‌sure‌ ‌that‌ ‌Tommy‌ ‌hadn’t‌ ‌summoned‌ ‌her‌ ‌or‌ ‌anything.‌ ‌The‌ ‌kid‌ ‌wasn’t‌ ‌smart‌ ‌enough‌ ‌for‌ ‌that.‌ ‌Had‌ ‌she‌ ‌just‌ ‌magically‌ ‌appeared‌ ‌at‌ ‌one‌ ‌point‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌nowhere?‌ ‌

He‌ ‌frowned‌ ‌and‌ ‌shook‌ ‌his‌ ‌head.‌ ‌Not‌ ‌important‌ ‌to‌ ‌think‌ ‌about‌ ‌right‌ ‌now.‌

‌Technoblade‌ ‌watched‌ ‌as‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌examined‌ ‌the‌ ‌table,‌ ‌putting‌ ‌a‌ ‌bunch‌ ‌of‌ ‌items‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌holes‌ ‌of‌ ‌what‌ ‌looked‌ ‌like‌ ‌sandstone‌ ‌blocks‌ ‌with‌ ‌green‌ ‌on‌ ‌it.‌ ‌He‌ ‌blinked‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌blaze‌ ‌dust‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌placed‌ ‌into‌ ‌the‌ ‌whole‌ ‌evaporated‌ ‌the‌ ‌moment‌ ‌it‌ ‌touched‌ ‌the‌ ‌center.‌ ‌ ‌

“It’s‌ ‌so‌ ‌strange‌ ‌isn’t‌ ‌it‌ ‌Tech?‌ ‌I‌ ‌don’t‌ ‌think‌ ‌in‌ ‌any‌ ‌of‌ ‌my‌ ‌long‌ ‌years‌ ‌of‌ ‌living‌ ‌have‌ ‌I‌ ‌ever‌ ‌seen‌ ‌anything‌ ‌like‌ ‌this,”‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌said,‌ ‌crossing‌ ‌his‌ ‌arms‌ ‌and‌ ‌slouching‌ ‌backward.‌ ‌

“I‌ ‌would‌ ‌say‌ ‌so.‌ ‌I’ve‌ ‌never‌ ‌seen‌ ‌anything‌ ‌like‌ ‌this‌ ‌either,”‌ ‌he‌ ‌replied,‌ ‌finishing‌ ‌his‌ ‌apple‌ ‌and‌ ‌going‌ ‌over‌ ‌to‌ ‌his‌ ‌oldest‌ ‌friend.‌ ‌“Cshat‌ ‌keeps‌ ‌saying‌ ‌that‌ ‌it’s‌ ‌some‌ ‌sort‌ ‌of‌ ‌portal,‌ ‌although‌ ‌I‌ ‌don’t‌ ‌know‌ ‌what‌ ‌they‌ ‌mean‌ ‌by‌ ‌that.”‌ ‌

“It‌ ‌could‌ ‌be‌ ‌a‌ ‌portal,‌ ‌but‌ ‌we‌ ‌would‌ ‌need‌ ‌something‌ ‌to‌ ‌activate‌ ‌it‌ ‌and‌ ‌I‌ ‌don’t‌ ‌think‌ ‌that‌ ‌we‌ ‌have‌ ‌anything.‌ ‌For‌ ‌all‌ ‌we‌ ‌know‌ ‌all‌ ‌the‌ ‌materials‌ ‌to‌ ‌activate‌ ‌it‌ ‌has‌ ‌disappeared‌ ‌along‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌ancients,”‌ ‌the‌ ‌formerly‌ ‌winged‌ ‌man‌ ‌paused,‌ ‌tapping‌ ‌his‌ ‌cheek‌ ‌lightly‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌thought.‌ ‌ ‌

“What‌ ‌are‌ ‌you‌ ‌thinking?”‌ ‌ ‌

“What‌ ‌if‌ ‌we‌ ‌tried‌ ‌something‌ ‌like‌ ‌pearls?”‌ ‌As‌ ‌if‌ ‌on‌ ‌cue,‌ ‌a‌ ‌rumble‌ ‌emanated‌ ‌from‌ ‌under‌ ‌the‌ ‌Syndicate‌ ‌room,‌ ‌making‌ ‌both‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌and‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌jump.‌ ‌They‌ ‌pulled‌ ‌out‌ ‌their‌ ‌weapons‌ ‌in‌ ‌sync,‌ ‌looking‌ ‌around‌ ‌frantically‌ ‌to‌ ‌find‌ ‌the‌ ‌source.‌ ‌ ‌

“I‌ ‌think‌ ‌it’s‌ ‌an‌ ‌earthquake!”‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌called,‌ ‌pointing‌ ‌towards‌ ‌the‌ ‌stone‌ ‌door.‌ ‌They‌ ‌were‌ ‌underground‌ ‌so‌ ‌it’s‌ ‌potentially‌ ‌more‌ ‌dangerous‌ ‌for‌ ‌them‌ ‌to‌ ‌get‌ ‌caught‌ ‌by‌ ‌rubble.‌ ‌ ‌

Both‌ ‌hybrids‌ ‌ran‌ ‌towards‌ ‌the‌ ‌door,‌ ‌only‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌flung‌ ‌back‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌other‌ ‌edge‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌meeting‌ ‌room.‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌groaned‌ ‌and‌ ‌grabbed‌ ‌his‌ ‌head,‌ ‌the‌ ‌voices‌ ‌starting‌ ‌to‌ ‌scream‌ ‌too‌ ‌many‌ ‌things‌ ‌at‌ ‌once.‌ ‌ ‌

‌

“Danger!‌ ‌Danger!‌ ‌Danger!”‌ ‌ ‌

‌

“Run!‌ ‌Get‌ ‌out‌ ‌of‌ ‌there!”‌ ‌ ‌

‌

“Blood‌ ‌for‌ ‌the‌ ‌Blood‌ ‌God!”‌ ‌ ‌

‌

“It’s‌ ‌him!‌ ‌We’re‌ ‌screwed!”‌ ‌ ‌

‌

“Phil,‌ ‌what’s‌ ‌going‌ ‌on?”‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌questioned‌ ‌as‌ ‌the‌ ‌shaking‌ ‌stopped,‌ ‌giving‌ ‌the‌ ‌piglin‌ ‌hybrid‌ ‌leisure‌ ‌way‌ ‌to‌ ‌stand‌ ‌and‌ ‌eye‌ ‌the‌ ‌culprit.‌ ‌He‌ ‌blinked‌ ‌at‌ ‌a‌ ‌similarly-looking‌ ‌mask‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌one‌ ‌that‌ ‌an‌ ‌old‌ ‌partner‌ ‌would‌ ‌wear,‌ ‌except‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌sideways‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌symbol‌ ‌of‌ ‌“XD.”‌ ‌ ‌

‘There‌ ‌is‌ ‌no‌ ‌way‌ ‌that’s‌ ‌him,’‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌thought,‌ ‌trying‌ ‌subconsciously‌ ‌to‌ ‌drown‌ ‌out‌ ‌the‌ ‌voices‌ ‌in‌ ‌order‌ ‌to‌ ‌think‌ ‌straight.‌ ‌ ‌

“‌You‌ ‌aren’t‌ ‌supposed‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌doing‌ ‌that‌,”‌ ‌a‌ ‌voice‌ ‌he‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌recognize‌ ‌said,‌ ‌making‌ ‌him‌ ‌wince‌ ‌as‌ ‌Cshat‌ ‌started‌ ‌shouting‌ ‌at‌ ‌him‌ ‌incoherent‌ ‌phrases.‌ ‌The‌ ‌hybrid‌ ‌glared‌ ‌at‌ ‌the‌ ‌new‌ ‌being‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌widening‌ ‌when‌ ‌he‌ ‌realized‌ ‌the‌ ‌guy‌ ‌was‌ ‌floating.‌ ‌ ‌

“Heh?”‌ ‌he‌ ‌replied,‌ ‌tilting‌ ‌his‌ ‌head‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌side‌ ‌in‌ ‌confusion.‌ ‌ ‌

“Tech-‌ ‌Uh-‌ ‌A‌ ‌little‌ ‌help‌ ‌here‌ ‌mate?”‌ ‌he‌ ‌heard‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌call,‌ ‌making‌ ‌him‌ ‌realized‌ ‌that‌ ‌in‌ ‌fact,‌ ‌the‌ ‌new‌ ‌guy‌ ‌was‌ ‌holding‌ ‌Philza‌ ‌in‌ ‌his‌ ‌hand‌ ‌above‌ ‌the‌ ‌floor.‌ ‌

“‌THere‌ ‌are‌ ‌few‌ ‌rules‌ ‌that‌ ‌I‌ ‌enforce‌ ‌on‌ ‌this‌ ‌server‌,”‌ ‌The‌ ‌floating‌ ‌man‌ ‌said,‌ ‌going‌ ‌towards‌ ‌Technoblade‌ ‌while‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌struggled‌ ‌in‌ ‌his‌ ‌hands.‌ ‌ ‌

“‌No‌ ‌breeding‌ ‌the‌ ‌natural‌ ‌residents,‌ ‌No‌ ‌creating‌ ‌farms‌ ‌that‌ ‌can‌ ‌give‌ ‌you‌ ‌items‌ ‌without‌ ‌manual‌ ‌labor,‌ ‌and‌ ‌No‌ ‌messing‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌things‌ ‌that‌ ‌are‌ ‌from‌ ‌places‌ ‌like‌ ‌this.‌ ‌You‌ ‌have‌ ‌both‌ ‌broken‌ ‌one‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌rules‌ ‌that‌ ‌I‌ ‌have‌ ‌in‌ ‌place‌ ‌to‌ ‌keep‌ ‌the‌ ‌functionality‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌SMP‌,”‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌gripped‌ ‌his‌ ‌pickaxe‌ ‌and‌ ‌prepared‌ ‌to‌ ‌fight,‌ ‌trying‌ ‌to‌ ‌think‌ ‌of‌ ‌what‌ ‌to‌ ‌do‌ ‌in‌ ‌order‌ ‌to‌ ‌save‌ ‌his‌ ‌friend.‌ ‌ ‌

“Let‌ ‌me‌ ‌go‌ ‌you‌ ‌oversized,‌ ‌blanket-wearing‌ ‌piece‌ ‌of‌ ‌shit!”‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌shouted,‌ ‌kicking‌ ‌the‌ ‌man‌ ‌-if‌ ‌you‌ ‌could‌ ‌even‌ ‌say‌ ‌that-‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌side.‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌winced;‌ ‌he‌ ‌knew‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌Angel‌ ‌packed‌ ‌a‌ ‌huge‌ ‌punch‌ ‌when‌ ‌it‌ ‌came‌ ‌to‌ ‌kicking.‌ ‌You‌ ‌could‌ ‌say‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌from‌ ‌his‌ ‌bird‌ ‌genetics‌ ‌but‌ ‌still.‌ ‌

The‌ ‌God‌ ‌didn’t‌ ‌even‌ ‌seem‌ ‌phased.‌ ‌Just‌ ‌annoyed.‌ ‌He‌ ‌scoffed‌ ‌and‌ ‌half-heartedly‌ ‌tossed‌ ‌the‌ ‌bird‌ ‌hybrid‌ ‌towards‌ ‌the‌ ‌piglin,‌ ‌both‌ ‌of‌ ‌them‌ ‌crashing‌ ‌into‌ ‌each‌ ‌other‌ ‌harsher‌ ‌than‌ ‌expected‌ ‌before‌ ‌falling.‌ ‌ ‌

Wait,‌ ‌falling?‌ ‌

Techno‌ ‌made‌ ‌a‌ ‌shout‌ ‌of‌ ‌confusion‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌suddenly‌ ‌enveloped‌ ‌in‌ ‌black,‌ ‌accidentally‌ ‌letting‌ ‌go‌ ‌of‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌as‌ ‌they‌ ‌fell‌ ‌at‌ ‌a‌ ‌faster‌ ‌than‌ ‌normal‌ ‌speed in the dark abyss.‌ ‌How‌ ‌were‌ ‌they‌ ‌even‌ ‌falling‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌first‌ ‌place?‌ ‌Wait,‌ ‌of‌ ‌course.‌ ‌They‌ ‌were‌ ‌facing‌ ‌what‌ ‌appeared‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌Dream‌ ‌XD.‌ ‌Practically‌ ‌the‌ ‌God‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌SMP.‌ ‌It‌ ‌was‌ ‌called‌ ‌the‌ ‌Dream‌ ‌SMP‌ ‌for‌ ‌a‌ ‌reason.‌ ‌ ‌

He‌ ‌whipped‌ ‌his‌ ‌head‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌right‌ ‌of‌ ‌him,‌ ‌sensing‌ ‌the‌ ‌God’s‌ ‌presence‌ ‌once‌ ‌again.‌ ‌Instinctually,‌ ‌he‌ ‌reached‌ ‌out‌ ‌to‌ ‌Phil,‌ ‌grabbing‌ ‌the‌ ‌man’s‌ ‌sleeve‌ ‌in‌ ‌case‌ ‌he‌ ‌got‌ ‌grabbed‌ ‌again.‌ ‌ ‌

“‌You‌ ‌are‌ ‌now‌ ‌banished‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌SMP‌ ‌temporarily,‌ ‌as‌ ‌punishment‌ ‌for‌ ‌breaking‌ ‌the‌ ‌rules‌ ‌that‌ ‌you‌ ‌are‌ ‌very‌ ‌aware‌ ‌of‌,”‌ ‌the‌ ‌God‌ ‌floated‌ ‌next‌ ‌to‌ ‌them‌ ‌leisurely,‌ ‌not‌ ‌affected‌ ‌at‌ ‌all‌ ‌by‌ ‌the‌ ‌massive‌ ‌wind‌ ‌pushing‌ ‌past‌ ‌them.‌ ‌ ‌

“‌You’re‌ ‌welcome‌ ‌to‌ ‌come‌ ‌back‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌Dream‌ ‌SMP,‌ ‌that‌ ‌is,‌ ‌if‌ ‌you‌ ‌find‌ ‌a‌ ‌way‌ ‌to‌ ‌get‌ ‌back‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌first‌ ‌place‌,”‌ ‌Before‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌could‌ ‌even‌ ‌comprehend‌ ‌what‌ ‌that‌ ‌meant,‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌suddenly‌ ‌flashed‌ ‌with‌ ‌a‌ ‌bright‌ ‌light‌ ‌and‌ ‌a‌ ‌blue‌ ‌sky.‌ ‌

“Shit,‌ ‌shit,‌ ‌shit,‌ ‌shit,‌ ‌shit!”‌ ‌he‌ ‌heard‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌shout,‌ ‌although‌ ‌just‌ ‌barely‌ ‌since‌ ‌the‌ ‌wind‌ ‌was‌ ‌whistling‌ ‌past‌ ‌his‌ ‌ears‌ ‌too‌ ‌loudly‌ ‌to‌ ‌understand‌ ‌anything‌ ‌else‌ ‌that‌ ‌he‌ ‌said.‌ ‌ ‌

Red‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌looked‌ ‌behind‌ ‌him,‌ ‌towards‌ ‌the‌ ‌rapidly‌ ‌approaching‌ ‌floor.‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌winced‌ ‌as‌ ‌they‌ ‌burst‌ ‌through‌ ‌the‌ ‌clouds,‌ ‌grabbing‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌and‌ ‌pulling‌ ‌him‌ ‌closer‌ ‌as‌ ‌to‌ ‌shield‌ ‌him‌ ‌from‌ ‌the‌ ‌impending‌ ‌crash‌ ‌they‌ ‌were‌ ‌about‌ ‌to‌ ‌endure.‌ ‌He‌ ‌watched‌ ‌as‌ ‌Philza‌ ‌searched‌ ‌through‌ ‌his‌ ‌inventory,‌ ‌looking‌ ‌to‌ ‌find‌ ‌a‌ ‌water‌ ‌bucket‌ ‌or‌ ‌a‌ ‌boat‌ ‌that‌ ‌they‌ ‌could‌ ‌use‌ ‌to‌ ‌ease‌ ‌the‌ ‌fall.‌ ‌ ‌

They‌ ‌would‌ ‌surely‌ ‌die‌ ‌if‌ ‌they‌ ‌hit‌ ‌the‌ ‌ground‌ ‌from‌ ‌that‌ ‌height‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌air.‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌fine‌ ‌since‌ ‌he‌ ‌had‌ ‌extra‌ ‌lives‌ ‌to‌ ‌spare,‌ ‌but‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌wouldn’t.‌ ‌He‌ ‌was‌ ‌certain‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌older‌ ‌man‌ ‌had‌ ‌something‌ ‌called‌ ‌Hardcore,‌ ‌which‌ ‌meant‌ ‌that‌ ‌he‌ ‌was‌ ‌only‌ ‌born‌ ‌with‌ ‌one‌ ‌life‌ ‌and‌ ‌after‌ ‌he‌ ‌lost‌ ‌it,‌ ‌that‌ ‌was‌ ‌the‌ ‌end.‌ ‌ ‌

“I‌ ‌can’t‌ ‌find‌ ‌a‌ ‌water‌ ‌bucket!”‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌shouted,‌ ‌closing‌ ‌his‌ ‌inventory‌ ‌and‌ ‌involuntarily‌ ‌flaring‌ ‌out‌ ‌his‌ ‌wings.‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌couldn’t‌ ‌help‌ ‌but‌ ‌feel‌ ‌bad‌ ‌every‌ ‌time‌ ‌he‌ ‌looked‌ ‌at‌ ‌them,‌ ‌remembering‌ ‌how‌ ‌nice‌ ‌they‌ ‌used‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌before‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌joined‌ ‌the‌ ‌Dream‌ ‌SMP.‌ ‌

“Techno‌ ‌you‌ ‌have‌ ‌to‌ ‌check‌ ‌your‌ ‌stuff‌ ‌for‌ ‌it!��‌ ‌He‌ ‌shouted,‌ ‌gripping‌ ‌onto‌ ‌the‌ ‌piglins‌ ‌cape.‌ ‌ ‌

‌Muttering‌ ‌swears‌ ‌under‌ ‌his‌ ‌breath,‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌released‌ ‌one‌ ‌hand‌ ‌off‌ ‌of‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌and‌ ‌looked‌ ‌through‌ ‌his‌ ‌inventory,‌ ‌immediately‌ ‌finding‌ ‌a‌ ‌water‌ ‌bucket‌ ‌and‌ ‌tossing‌ ‌it‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌bird‌ ‌hybrid.‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌was‌ ‌admittedly‌ ‌not‌ ‌as‌ ‌good‌ ‌at‌ ‌clutches‌ ‌as‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌was,‌ ‌mainly‌ ‌because‌ ‌of‌ ‌his‌ ‌lack‌ ‌of‌ ‌needing‌ ‌to‌ ‌do‌ ‌any.‌ ‌He‌ ‌could‌ ‌only‌ ‌hope‌ ‌that‌ ‌Phil‌ ‌was‌ ‌able‌ ‌to‌ ‌make‌ ‌it.‌ ‌Techno‌ ‌stared‌ ‌at‌ ‌the‌ ‌ground‌ ‌that‌ ‌was‌ ‌getting‌ ‌ever‌ ‌so‌ ‌closer,‌ ‌feeling‌ ‌his‌ ‌old‌ ‌friend‌ ‌tense‌ ‌up‌ ‌as‌ ‌he‌ ‌waited‌ ‌to‌ ‌place‌ ‌the‌ ‌water.‌ ‌ ‌

The‌ ‌piglin‌ ‌hybrid‌ ‌closed‌ ‌his‌ ‌eyes‌ ‌and‌ ‌gripped‌ ‌tightly‌ ‌onto‌ ‌Phil,‌ ‌trusting‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌winged‌ ‌hybrid‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌able‌ ‌to‌ ‌save the both of them from the fall.

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the grass of a forest floor, drenched in water with Phil shaking him awake.

“Techno! Techno wake up!” he shouted, shaking him a lot harder than necessary.

“I’m up, I’m up,” he groaned groggily, sitting up and shaking his head to get the water out of his hair and adjust his crown.

Red eyes scanned the area, not recognizing where they were. It was strange not recognizing the terrain of where you were, Techno was exceptional at memorizing the entire area of where he was, even if it wasn’t for battle purposes. He wasn’t exactly sure when he started doing it, but it was useful so he really didn’t mind.

“Do you have any idea of where we are? I don’t recognize this place at all,” Phil said, holding out his hand to help the taller hybrid up on his feet.

“No clue. And you know it’s not good when I don’t recognize where I am,” Techno replied.

“Yeah, yeah, you and your whole human compass shabiz,” Phil said, looking up to the sky.

“That’s not a word Phil.”

“Whatever mate,” he laughed, giving the piglin back the water bucket.

They both went silent, listening to the sounds of the wildlife and examining the trees.

“We must be really far from the SMP for this place to be completely untouched,” Techno noted, pulling out his communicator and opening coordinates.

“You’re right about that. I wonder if we could come back here to live one day,” Phil muttered to himself, crossing his arms and hiding his damaged wings back under his cloak. Techno paused as his head filled up with multiple ‘Aww’s’ making him unsure whether or not to reply back or cringe indefinitely.

“Uh, Phil?” Techno said, electing to ignore what Phil said and focus on getting back. “Let’s go, the comms say that spawn is over this way,” the bird hybrid nodded, both of them going towards the spawn area.

As they continued walking, Techno couldn’t help but feel that something is off. He glanced back at the coords, realizing that they were only two thousand blocks away from spawn.

“Phil?” Techno asked, pausing as his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Yeah mate?” his friend replied, pausing at the same time. “What’s wrong?”

“The communicator says that we are only two-thousand blocks away from spawn,” he said, looking around at the still very unfamiliar terrain.

“There’s no way. This looks nothing like the area around spawn. It’s not even the same biome!” Phil exclaimed, gesturing around the area wildly, making the obvious even more obvious.

“Come on, lets get to zero, zero quickly, I think some things really off Phil,” Techno decided, pushing through the trees with Phil trailing right behind him.

“What do you think is happening?” the shorter male called, catching up so they were running side by side.

“I don’t know,” he called back, frowning and checking to make sure they were still going in the right direction. “I think it has something to do with Dream XD and us falling through that weird black abyss thing,” he added.

“Do you think we could be in a completely different server?” Phil huffed, holding his hat on the top of his head as it threatened to fall off.

‘It’s unlikely, but still possible. I don’t think Dream XD would have the power to send people to other servers. Especially if they need a whitelist to be able to get into it,” Techno replied, taking out his axe and breaking off a branch that got in his way.

Techno watched as the biome changed into a flower forest, making him slow down a bit as the gap between them and spawn closed exceptionally.

“What if there are people here mate? What do we do then?” Phil asked, adjusting his tunic under his cloak.

“Since when did I have to answer all of the questions?” the piglin joked, switching his axe for his battle pickaxe.

The older man laughed,” That’s a good point Techno, you know, maybe I should start-”

He trailed off, confusing Techno as he tried to see what Phil was looking at. When he looked up he noticed something in the sky.

“Is that a flying island?”

part one :D

#tommyinnit #philza #technoblade #DREAM xD #origins smp #dream smp #dream smp fanfiction

30 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 30

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, vomiting

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

Things were quiet, much to quiet. It was so quiet you could only hear your single heartbeat, beating forcefully in your brain. The house layout itself seemed to match the lack of sound in the room with most objects being covered by dark slumber pieces of heavy curtain like fabric. Most of the decorative accessories like pantings and plants were gone and if one were to come into the house, they would believe it to be only inhabited by the dust and somber darkness that lingered around like a lost seashell in a stormy sea.

Every once in a while, steps would break through the quiet atmosphere floor leaving him to only look around at the place where his mother once used to live in. After what seemed like a decade of waiting, his father had finally managed to free himself from everything that belonged to his late wife, even his son’s memories which with age seemed to falter every day. Next to the door however, was a very heavily pregnant woman. She couldn’t be anywhere below seven to nine months pregnant however she seemed to carry this hidden glow and love that inevitably seemed intertwined with the funereal in a ying/yang like atmosphere which led to a simply comfortable quietness.

However, Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes out from the pregnant woman. She couldn’t be much taller than the people around them, with long hair pushed back with a small, delicate pearl pin that matched the pearl-like button of her long blue flowy dress, probably the most comfortable thing a heavily pregnant woman could wear. She was makeup free and mostly jewelled-free expect for a small thin silver band on her fourth finger and the golden bird charm necklace.

Noticing the blue eyes of the young mob boss to-be on her bump, the woman smiled softly at the boy before softly walking the wood floors with her soft ballerina shoes before taking a small seat next to the boy who had a walkman on his lap, with some headphones on yet slightly placed so that one of his ears were uncovered.

- I saw you looking. - she had a princess-like tone to her voice, a sort of lively force that always permeated her voice. The colour drained for his voice, his mother’s words echoing in his mind about how staring was inherently rude and how he should always be an icon of mannerism. - Don’t be scared, I do look rather huge with this little peanut.

- Sorry. - he sheepishly hide his gaze from her, defences collapsing which greatly reminded Robin of his late mother. - When are you due?

- Shouldn’t be too long. It’s a girl. Everyone wants her to be named Genevieve after the patron saint of Paris, however ... I rather enjoy Ella. It means beautiful or goddess depending on who you ask. - she spoke of her unborn child with an endless amount of love, almost as if she had already held the baby in her arms and looked into her eyes. - What do you like better?

- Ella sounds like Cinderella.

- You think she should be named after a princess?

- Sounds better. - he shrugged, not wanting to offend any of the names the woman had told them.

- I will keep your opinion in mind, then.

Y/N couldn’t exactly bare look at herself in the mirror anymore dressed in her friend’s wedding dress. It was almost like a cruel joke and she wondered if Gwen suspected anything as she would have to be extremely bad at picking tasks if it wasn’t. Nevertheless, there she was, dressed in white in front of the man who had taken her innocence, dressed in the white belonging to the wife that he was to take either he wanted it or not.

Truth be told, it was rather complicated to explain which one of them had their heart imprisoned and clenched yet if asked, one would probably guess it was Sebastian. He felt like an hypocrite, like someone who kept waving this promise of a peaceful place for the two of them, of a solution that he just couldn’t find. How was he to find the solution for a problem which he had been bound to since he was 13? He hadn’t even gotten his opinion heard, merely hearing from his father he would one day marry someone in order to strength an already strong family. Documents were signed, money was transferred yet he couldn’t help but spend sleepless nights wondering if he could just ... leave. There was always leaving. Several times he thought about knocking on her room at long hours of the night and just ... flee. Just go in the middle of the night, away from the constant danger that came with his position, away from the lousy lights of New York and the deadlines in between. However, he had no money to him if he were to escape. He couldn’t just withdrawal all his money from the banks and whatever he had stored in off-shores would never last for more than two years and he wanted nothing but to provide her with adventures in various far away frontiers.

No, he couldn’t run away and so he would just spend more and more sleepless nights wondering what to do. He had promised her, Sebastian had promised her she wouldn’t be just a mistress and the mere thought, that being conscious or unconscious, of her being even mentioned as a possible mistress brought disgust and shivers. She would never be a mistress, no, Y/N was nothing like a mob mistress and he would be damned if she got called anything remotely related to it.

Y/N on the other hand felt like Alice falling down a hole which she was too deep into to climb out. All she could do was wait until the laws of gravity pushed her onto her fate; crashing. One cannot deny the force of gravity even if their head was in the clouds and her head surely went to the clouds whenever she was with him.

- Can we talk? - he questioned, almost too softly for someone his rank in public. Somehow, between all the pins and needles carrying women surrounding her, Y/N managed to hear him, softly nodding her head afraid any of the pins would stab her.

- Could I please be excused? - Y/N asked one of the women surrounding her dress whom mumbled something under their breathe before stripping her off the expensive fabric, offering her a white satin robe to cover herself but not before Sebastian got a small peak of her dusky pink set. Out of the dress and veil, she followed the mob boss down the aisle until they reached an empty room which he locked, not wanting anyone to really talk to them.

She stood in front of him, unsure of how to start the conversation and still a bit drunk on the lack of sleep that had been hunting for the past days. The constant ever evolving mystery that was her parents and the information she had found about the Deschamps also did not allow her to be comfortable. Maybe she should tell him, after all he had been nothing than helpful towards her but the tenseness in his face convinced her not to do so. She loved him as as such she would never want to be a weight on his back, or on anyone’s back for that matter.

- I didn’t get to check on you after last night. I was worried. - he confessed, mostly curious about rumours about how she’d spent the night speaking with Jude Dubois. - I’m sorry we get interrupted.

- It’s alright, the night was about you, not me. - she smiled softly, yet anyone and everyone could see the pain that lingered behind the summery smile which almost brought back childhood memories Sebastian tended to hide away, much away from the child he once was. - Did you enjoy yourself?

- Festivities aren’t my thing. - his hand mindlessly found itself to her forearm, feeling the silky smooth fabric of her robe. - I heard some rather nasty rumours about you and Mr. Dubois.

- We just talked, Sebastian. - her hands rested on top of his shoulders, a little grin forming behind the sad smile. Could the mob boss be jealous? Now, Y/N was always thought that jealousy was an ugly emotions but being jealous meant he was afraid of losing, something she surely hoped he shared as she felt it constantly. - It’s nothing but talking.

- Just needed to make sure. - his touch on her forearm became a grip as he softly pulled her towards him, feeling her chest collide with his. Merely having her in his embrace calmed him down, or maybe put him under a spell that made them both forget the place they certainly were in. They were in no place to be playing Romeo and Juliet, less they were both ready to die and while Sebastian would willing do so for her, he wouldn’t allow her to perish.

She would ever so often just lose herself to sleep in his embrace, every once in a while kissing his shoulder. As she seemed to regain her consciousness, she just looked up to him about to say something before her mouth forcefully shut and she felt a heat creep up her stomach, a pain that made her hands fly to her middle abdomen. She clutched her stomach and covered her mouth. Her mouth had a horrible taste and it was as if someone had shoved something down her throat time and time again, making her stomach revolt and turn on itself. The stomach acidic liquids had started to make their way up her system and quickly she spotted the bathroom, running to the door and straight to the toilet.

She clutched the bowl fiercely and let out the contents of her stomach which was but nothing but whatever she hadn’t digested from last night’s food and the liquids of her stomach. Even if she wanted to take more things off her system, which she desperately needed to, she just seemed to be unable and soon enough there was nothing left in her stomach.

- Are you alright, angel? - Sebastian had followed her once she had rushed into the bathroom. Grabbing a towel and wetting it under the faucet, he got closer to her in order to clean her face. With a calloused finger he wiped a stray tear from the force she made to push what her stomach had out through her mouth.

- I guess meat jelly didn’t sit well with me.

- Meat jelly doesn’t sit well with anyone. - before she could laugh at his joke, the urge to to vomit came again and she held onto the bowl once again, getting the rest of what was left in her system but, again, nothing but water and acid which left her in a bit of a coughing fit, her throat rash from the acid. - You sure you don’t need a doctor? I’m sure there must be one in the hotel.

- You worry too much. - she leaned her head against his shoulder. - Besides, you have more to deal with than me being sick due to terrifying meat jelly.

- No more meat jelly for you then.

- No more meat jelly.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen @nsfwsebbie @strangerliaa @emzd34 @everything-is-awesomesauce @dreams-in-blxck

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #mob!sebastian stan #mobster!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan #mafia boss!sebastian stan #mafia!sebastian stan #au!sebastian stan #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfic

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0nair · 3 years

Text

𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥𝐬

"Why is it so hard?" Silence seeps through the crevices of the void; not a space left untouched. The surroundings speak of the sky: pure white and hues of blue. Words spoken shatter the glass of a deafening quiet, permeating like a choir of angels harmonizing hymns. Oddly beautiful. "Why do I try so hard to lead an honest life if people are going to break me down anyway. Is it worth it? Is it worth fighting? Should I give up?"

Each direction her head turns toward, her body follows. What way was left? What was right? Up or down? Everything was identical. There were no doors, no portals, no giant exit sign, no ledge. Just open space. Is this what being trapped in your own mind feels like? "Someone answer me...please. I'm lost...I'm so lost..." The tremble in her voice wasn't the only thing slowly breaking, as were she. The steadiness in her knees gives way and Woori finds herself falling to them. Onto, something pillow-y, something like a cloud. Head hung and confidence depleted, sounds of suppressed sobs replace the lightness of the voice that once spoke. The air whistles in the form of a breeze, caressing the chocolate locks that cascade the pearl-esque tears streaming down flesh of ivory "Up." A familiar voice envelopes the woman whose adversities weigh so heavy on shoulders it had finally brought her to her knees. "Get up, Choi Woori." Familiarity embraces Woori further and to her feet, it moves her. Frantic, her eyes dart about in search of her-- "Grandma? Grandma, where are you?" The tone of her voice expresses plead; begging, if you will. Desperate pools of mocha search for a figure that wasn't present or obvious enough to catch. "Stop and listen." It was unbelievable how much nothing had change. She sounded exactly as the young woman remembered her; shaky yet lilting. A voice that wraps arms around and squeezes you into a tender, loving hug. Delightful. Recalling the relatives existence constricts her lungs, choking back cries. "Listen to me. You were given a tough battle because you are a tough soldier. Our Daffodil. Our flower that appears gentle but bares petals of steel. A stalk as strong as metal and leaves that guard a heart of gold. Woori, you are stronger than you think you are. I understand things get hard. I know. I watch you. I've seen you fall but every, single time, I have witnessed you get back up stronger than you were before. Giving up is not something you are capable of....because you are special. Because you're as bright as a daffodil. You equate to the sun and the world needs you like they need the sun, Daff. The world needs that brightness you exude. The world needs you to conquer your obstacles and persevere. You don't realize the many, many daffodils that you've spawned just because of you being you. Woori, hang in there. You are strong and you are not alone." Her chest heaves as words of reassurance penetrate an aching heart. She clutches a fist at her bosom not wanting to lose the chance to communicate with the late, loved one. "I want to see you. Please. I need to see you, Grandma." The short haired girl never ceases combing the area with anxious eyes and urges for more time. "I'm always with you, Daff. Always." The crisp scent of magazine pages flipping, lingers beneath Woori's nose, stirring the napping girl from the unplanned slumber. A cupped hand rubs against damp eyes assisting with the adjustment back to reality. "Ah...I fell asleep." A casual afternoon on the balcony somehow ended with dozing off. The wind whistle. Turning the papers, yet again, of the gazette settled in her lap. The hiss from the breeze resonates with the brunette, compelling her to look down at the sheets. An amused scoff parts her lips as her eyes are met with an ad of what appeared to be an elderly woman gifting a young girl daffodils at a graduation. Fingers lightly dust the cover and a tear stains her skin. "I won't give up, Grandma. I promise. I love you." Sighing heavily, the book is set aside and arms line the spine of the sofa as the wind lightly kisses her cheek.

#p.ara

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jaeyleo · 4 years

Note

"nobody's coming for you" with Anti and Jameson!!! but whether or not someone actually comes is up to you you talented little writer thank you you're the best

pfff this made me smile, ty bee 💞💞

tw: check tags

———

Puddles of ebony and silver star dust decorate a golden blade, clutched in the shaking hands of a man, whose mind dies with every drip of black onto the ground.

Jameson stands with his back to the wall, a hand extended with his knife. His eyes, turning to milky white water with rose petals in the bath, stare at his enemy. The source of all his pain.

“No more,” Anti says, inching closer to his prey. There is a hunger in his eyes, so thick and vile it could be grasped within the air. “Put down your toy, puppy.”

A little trail of black, the same as the ebony stardust concoction on the blade, drips from the monster’s white shirt. It rains from between his fingers, where his hand sits clutched at his stomach. His shirt collar is black, the skin on his cheek and upper right arm, is black, is ebony, and silver star dust.

“Put it down.” Anti commands, taking a closer step. Jameson’s hand falters for a moment, and black tears begin to cut lines into his cheeks and from his nose, mouth, and ears.

“Danger,” signs Jameson.

The monster stalks too close now, getting the tip of the blade slashing at his already cut throat. The gold burns his skin, bubbling and sizzling as it touches his blood.

Jameson slashes again, this time using half the blade to cut inside the monster’s chest. Hands grab each of his wrists, shoving the puppet’s body into the wall. His head hits the surface, and hits the surface, and hits the surface and hits the surface, until that golden blade comes crashing into the ground, clanging against the floor.

Milky white eyes, bathed in rose petals and black tears, stare dead into an endless abyss of a void, a dream, a hazing sky with no stars. Stare dead into Anti’s eyes, a demon, an angel, a king, a bad trip.

“Enough, puppy.” Anti seethes, gripping tight his puppet’s wrists as he thrashes inside his hold. “No one is coming for you. No one will save you, no one is here, I’ve had enough!”

Again Jameson’s head is slammed into the wall, eliciting a silent cry from the man’s mouth. Shrill whistles and twitching fingers begging to sign blanket his breathless whimpers and final attempts to stay sane, but it is useless. He is a dying mind, and a worthless man, bathed in ebony stardust, dying rose petals, milk, and water.

“Stop fighting!” The monster hollers, but his prey ignores him, still trashing. He hits the man square in the nose, still keeping a grip on his wrist.

Silent cries and shaking shoulders of the puppet dance with the hunger in Anti’s eyes, stepping along with the mouthed prayers and little taps of morse pleads from the sinking puppet. Soon he calms down, shutting his eyes and falling further down into the warm, safe waters of pain, heartache, and corruption.

Jameson opens his eyes, revealing shining pearls. Completely white, completely numb. Dying and hazed, corrupted, faded.

It stands completely still, letting its tears be wiped away and gentle words flow into its ears. It stands, staring into nothing. Staring into a broken daydream in the reflection of the water he drowns in within his mind, sinking, forever down.

No one is coming.

#hhhhhhhhh #i tried being poetic again can yall tell #the ending is wack but like???#lets go fighter jameson #writing requests #tw blood #tw violence #tw distress #tw manipulation #corrupted jameson #puppet jameson #its a fic #jameson jackson #antisepticeye #my egos #my hcs #writersofjack

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luna-almighty-god · 4 years

Text

Guardian Angel N°9 [No passion could be greater than mine]

Hello everyone, this is chapter nine !

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

Lingering in the darkness, not thinking. Not to think about his growing terror, his suffocating spirit. Forget the pain, the long, nagging suffering that gripped his heart. Not to think anymore, to close himself off. To no longer exist.

To push away his horror.

The nightmare suited him so well though. Wasn't it his symbol, his whole being? That darkness that had consumed him from within for years? The latent darkness of his soul, his emotions he couldn't allow to escape.

For he was made only of darkness. The same darkness that frightened him. And as the death knell of silence struck him, he searched in vain for air, a way out, a way to heal his wounds. A way to heal his distorted mind that screamed at him... screamed... screamed...!

[ Screaming at him to wake up.]

His eyes widened in fright, bringing him back to reality. The coldness of the room hit him hard, his bones cracking brutally, vibrating with a rage that threatened to explode.

Bile rose up his throat. He became livid, he straightened himself up and threw himself on his sack. Without understanding, without trying to know, without paying attention to what was around him, he could only feel his salty and burning pearls that escaped his gaze, which moistened his face in half-stifled sobs.

His fits were becoming more and more present, too, much too present. And the mere thought that time was running out for him, without knowing exactly how much time he had left, once again failed to make him implode, to destroy the barrier he had erected around his soul.

He chewed the apple with force. The taste never seemed as vile as that day, giving him only one more reason to regurgitate what he had in his stomach.

But he remained of marble, partly in control of his body. His physical suffering didn't matter too much to him at that moment. There was another element that worried him much more than that.

He was asleep. He fell asleep more and more often, for only a few minutes, but ...

It was still abnormal.

[ Nyx wasn't supposed to sleep ]

*** ***

Ink was stamping his feet, mad with joy and impatience, while a huge smile had taken place on his face. Sitting on Nyx's bed, he forced himself to remain calm but his excitement was far too great: the secret club was open again and started again its ultra-secret meetings ! Well ok, he was getting a little bit excited by himself since this 'secret club' only existed in his mind.

But in any case, being there in the presence of Nyx and Nightmare brought back wonderful memories - well, it was all relative.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” grunted the impatient nightmare master. He'd been pulled from his important files and was hoping to expedite this 'meeting' and get back to work.

Nyx, scribbling at his desk, laughed again:

“Cross must also comes.

- What? Why? Nightmare wondered.

- He could be useful to us.”

At the same time, the door opened to reveal the swordsman, who blew with difficulty and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve:

“S... sorry...have to sow... Horror ...”

This time, Nyx allowed himself to puff. It was true that he had asked the monochrome to come here without being seen, but he didn't expect the other one to take such precautions.

“No problem, thank you for being so careful!”

Cross gave him a smile before collapsing on the bed, exhausted, trying to ignore the gaze of his superior. Ink clapped his hands, overexcited:

“So, tell us everything! How are we going to help these new lovebirds?”

Nyx took a new sheet of paper to draw up the plan:

“The first step would be for each of us to admit that we love the other. Horror seems to be in full denial and refuses the idea of loving Dust, while Dust seems unwilling to think about love.

- Maybe they don't love each other, Nightmare grunts. Love isn't a necessary part of life, you can be happy without going out with anyone.

- I don't doubt it and I agree with what you're saying. Maybe deep down, they're just very good friends. But I have to admit that I have doubts when I see them doing their movie night from time to time, or when I see how well they know each other and can guess the state of the other with a simple glance. The other day Horror wasn't on his plate and Dust noticed it immediately, unlike us. Afterwards, as I said, they may only be very good friends.

- They say that a perfect couple makes two best friends.” commented Cross.

Nyx's smile widens:

“I've heard about it, yes. Look, I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable, nor do I want to force Dust and Horror to be a couple. Maybe we can just put them in situations that will demonstrate whether or not they love each other? Then we'll see what happens.

- And what kind of situation?" Nightmare asked, sensing the trick coming.

- Jealousy!” Ink exclaimed.

The master of the house grunted:

“Is this a joke?

- No! Think about it, if they really are best friends, they'll support each other in going out with their loved ones. But if they're in love, they'll be jealous and won't let each other date!

- That's stupid.

- In what way is it stupid? You'd let Killer go out with someone else, wouldn't you?”

The air suddenly vibrated under the charge of a violent negative aura. The eye of Nightmare began to glow with an icy light as it shot the artist in the eye:

“No way.”

Ink chuckles:

“Ah, you see!

- Tch, shut up!”

Cross sighed while casting a jaded look at Nyx, looking for some support in the drawer's gaze. But his blasé look turned to surprise when he saw Nyx's face. Nyx was watching Ink and Nightmare with a broad smile, as if their childishness made him crazy with joy.

Cross held back any comment, but it goes without saying that the situation left him forbidden.

It was Ink who ended up bringing back the lack of seriousness of this meeting:

“Well, how can I make them jealous? The two of us should get closer to them, shouldn't we?

- Indeed," Nyx confirmed by becoming neutral again. One person will have to hang out with Dust, especially when Horror is around. Physical contact is preferable. As for Horror, it will be better to encourage discussion and laughter. Thus, I think the most qualified will be ...

- ...you.” cut off Nightmare.

Nyx was startled and had great difficulty in regaining his usual neutrality. His gaze struck that of the prince of nightmares as the latter approached with a sly smile:

“You're always being clever without doing anything direct. It's time for you to participate in your plans. Especially since there's no way I'm going to intervene.

- But, you know...

- Killer's going to freak out on me, and I didn't have a hard time proving my feelings to him just to lose him to some bullshit plan. So, you get off your ass and deal with it yourself.”

[Alone]

Nyx used violence to keep himself from flinching.

[Alone]

His faint smile returned as he ignored the pressure on his soul:

“All right, I could probably handle Horror.

- And I Dust.”

Nyx was astonished, as were Ink and Nightmare, who turned their heads to Cross. He had straightened up, massaging his neck with embarrassment:

“Ink is also in a relationship”, he justified himself. “I don't really want Error to come back and blow us up.”

The Creator went into a frenzy of laughter:

“Ahah, it's true that Ruru is terribly jealous!

- Ruru ? relieved Nightmare. What a nickname for...

- Oh, stop being such a grumpy Nighty!

- Nighty?!”

And they left in a squabble, under the jaded and amused gaze of the other two. They finally decided to separate, just to go back to their activities so as not to attract attention.

But when Cross last came out of the room, he was apostrophized by Nyx:

“Thank you”, he said.

The monochrome tilted his head to the side:

“Why, he said.

- For devotion to you.

- Well, you weren't going to handle it by yourself anyway!”

They exchanged smiles, but Cross couldn't help but shudder. Shivering at the strange look in Nyx's eyes, a warm and grateful look. Yet he hadn't done much, had he? He had only offered to help him!

“W-well, I'll go!” the swordsman let go with embarrassment before moving away quickly.

Nyx just nodded his head and watched him turn into another corridor. His smile became painful, he lowered his eyes, clutching his coat where his soul lay:

“... Cross ... why do you always have to protect me ...?”

***

He collapsed to the ground, his skull smashing against the concrete in a terrible, morbid crack. His soul twisted, twisted so violently that he felt his stomach compress, and before he could realize it, he vomited unidentifiable contents, a black and viscous liquid that came to form a vile pool. His face was undone, marked by tears and wounds, and painfully straightened as he struggled with a coughing fit.

“L-Leave him! I beg of you, let him go!” he sobbed, unable to get up, only being able to observe Ink holding Plum by the collar.

The Creator cast an impenetrable gaze upon him, empty of all life, observing him the same way he always does: as if he were nothing. Nothing but the accumulation of his mistakes.

Nyx leaned on his hands and yelped in pain without turning away his tear-fogged gaze:

“He-He didn't do anything! I forced him! He had nothing to do with it!”

Plum was livid with terror, trembling on all sides without daring to intervene, holding his breath miserably in the face of growing apprehension.

Ink took a step towards his son while strengthening his grip on Plum:

“You're going to make me believe that you, who is at the mercy of everyone, who is mostly chained up in a cell, who is worthless... You forced Plum, one of Nightmare's subordinates, to have a relationship with you?”

Nyx remained silent, his throat tying itself in front of his father's gaze, his pupils turning slowly red:

“Hilarious... Really, really...”

A grin appeared on Ink's face and he gently sneered:

“So... So hilarious...!”

His laughter grew louder and more terrifying as his pupils began to alternate between red and yellow, more and more rapidly and uncontrollably:

“Do you think I'm a jerk?!”

Plum coughed as he felt more pressure on his throat, while Nyx petrified in horror. And Ink, who laughed like crazy as his pupils turned an icy blue, used his foot to crush his son's skull against the ground.

“YOU ARE STUPID! STUPID STUPID STUPID STUPID! YOU STILL DON'T GET IT, DO YOU? THIS RELATIONSHIP IS NOTHING BECAUSE YOU ARE NOTHING! YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE EXISTED, YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN BORN!”

Plum widened his eyes, suffocated, searched in vain for air as his body tried to struggle, to free itself from this monstrous hold. Nyx felt a twitch, tried to get up, but his father's foot struck him violently in the skull, holding him down in a state of semi-consciousness.

And Ink, whose pupils had now disappeared, reaped the joy of his son's distress:

“Ah... ahah ... Pathetic and miserable... so that is what you have inherited from me.... ?”

The fracture sounded like a mirage, a distant sound. A distant sound but yet so close, too close, too violent.

Nyx's soul seemed to shatter. For a split second, he saw the neck of his soul mate break.

Then there was nothing but dust.

Nyx opened his eyes, his mouth open in a scream without the slightest sound escaping him.

[Plum was dead]

It was just a nightmare.

[Plum was dead]

He wasn't supposed to.

[Plum was dead]

He couldn't sleep.

[Plum was dead]

Why... ?

[Plum was dead because of him]

WHY WAS HE SLEEPING AGAIN?!

Nyx stuck his teeth directly into his wrist, ignoring the creak that echoed against the walls, narrowly choking a new scream that escaped him, choking the storm that roared in his lair, choking his rage and sorrow, his anguish and guilt, ignoring his pupils that shot between red and blue, ignoring ... ignoring ... ignoring ... ignorant ...

He sobbed, closed his eyes...

...and cowered a little more in his sheets.

[He wouldn't sleep.]

*** ***

The noise of the hotplates filled the kitchen like every morning, and like every morning Horror thought he was the first one up and had started breakfast for the whole castle. And like every morning for several weeks now, Nyx came quietly to join him at the table, watching him with attention and curiosity.

Aren't you fed up with it?" Horror growled as he did every time. Seriously, do you find it so hard to sleep in the morning?"

[If he knew...]

Nyx smiles:

“And you? You don't have to get up so early either.

- I always go to bed very early, so I wake up early. That makes sense.

- Yes, it makes sense.”

Horror was uncomfortable. He could feel Nyx's gaze on the back of his neck and it was destabilizing him, as always. He grunted, concentrating on his pancakes:

“Don't you want to doodle instead of looking at me?

- My apologies, I just admire your work.”

The cannibal stopped moving, blinking in amazement. His head turned towards Nyx, without him daring to believe what he had just said:

“...you? Are you in admiration?”

Had he known Nyx a little better, he might have detected the embarrassment that had taken hold of him.

Holding his gaze with embarrassment, the cartoonist nodded:

“Yes. You're hardworking and talented.

- ... Well, I just get up and cook, that's all.

- You're the only one in the castle to do so. Not to mention your dishes, which are a delight! Really, I never get tired of tasting them!”

Horror raised an archway:

“Yet it's nothing too complicated. The basis of the basis what. Here, make some pancakes yourself, I'm sure no one will see the difference between yours and mine!”

But Nyx's suddenly discombobulated mine silenced him, and even though the black-boned one quickly regained an impenetrable air, it was too late, Horror had understood:

“Nyx ... Can't you cook?”

The drawer hiccupped, his face suddenly taking on a soft mauve color, a sign of intense embarrassment. He sharply averted his eyes, hiding part of his face in his scarf:

“Indeed, I've never tried it...”

Which made Horror laugh. A bright and frank laugh that bothered poor Nyx a little more:

“I know it's ridiculous, but please don't laugh ...

- Ahah, sorry, really! But admit it's funny! You, who spends your time looking perfect and giving advice, now I learn that you don't even know the basics! How were you raised? By overly loving parents who didn't teach you independence?”

[If only he knew]

Horror's laughter died at the sight of a tense Nyx, trembling, as if the words spoken had violently shaken him.

Horror suddenly realized that he had probably said something stupid, and anxiety took hold of him. Damn it... When he said that Nyx looked perfect, it wasn't a joke. Nyx really seemed perfect, leaving the impression that he was always in control and that he excelled in everything he did. So why did... why did he suddenly seem on the verge of tears?

“N-Nyx...?”

The cartoonist was startled, as if from his own thoughts. He loosened his scarf and turned back to Horror, returning to his usual expression. An expression that suddenly seemed quite false to the cannibal.

“Excuse me, I was thinking!” Nyx replied with a slight smile.

Horror felt his soul squeeze. How many times had his comrade found himself playing the comedian, to appear so sincere in his lies?

“... okay. You want me to teach you how to cook this time?”

Nyx tilted his head to the side:

“.... Doesn't that bother you?”

The cook had a smile on his face:

“Of course he didn't.”

The black-boned one hesitated for a long time, then laughed:

“Well, why not? It might be fun!

- Yeah. Let's do it tonight?

- Yeah, perfect!”

Yes, the evening was fine. That would give him time to... do what he had to do.

*** ***

Maybe he was paranoid. No, not "maybe"... Nyx knew he was paranoid. He was always, every moment, despite his apparent calm. But it was stupid, he didn't have to be anymore. He didn't have to be, did he?

[There was no longer any danger.]

Of course you had to be suspicious. But from there to watching everyone at all times?

No, no, that was stupid. He had to stop. The others were right: he paid too much attention to their private lives. He was getting too involved in lives that no longer concerned him.

But, um... (Sighs)

He watched with a keen eye the breach he'd opened up in front of him. A breach that allowed him to see the whole world of UnderLust, especially a familiar skeleton that was walking around the streets looking like nothing, a shopping bag in hand.

Sugar Plum was still as beautiful as ever. No, it wasn't. No, it wasn't. He was even more beautiful than before. Nyx could not help but melt in front of his resplendent smile, his joy of life that emanated from his whole being. Because Plum had now blossomed: freed from his hated work, he had dared to confess his feelings to Grillby only to discover that they were mutual, and so he fell in perfect love with the fireman while finding a quieter job to earn a living without selling his body.

A sweet victory for Nyx, who enjoyed seeing the other skeleton finally live a life he liked.

[A life he wasn't a part of]

His smile cracked as his soul cracked.

Yes... Here, Plum didn't know him. At least he only knew him by sight, if he hadn't already forgotten him.

“... Ahah... What I expected... ?”

Nyx had a nervous laugh, passed a hand over his undone face. He had prepared himself from the beginning, knowing that he would go from disillusionment to disappointment, but each bad surprise managed to make him feverish, to weaken him a little more.

It was silly, wasn't it?

He knew the consequences. He had decided on his own to change the course of events, and each of his choices had led him to a painful conclusion. Seeing the way that timeline had unfolded, he realized the sad truth: everyone was much happier... without him.

[And ironically, thanks to him]

He's still laughing, a bitter laugh. You'd think his life would never stop being ironic.

His gaze returned to Plum as he entered an alleyway, probably with the intention of going home. Silent, Nyx continued to follow him with his eyes, moved by the vision of the one he had loved so much, and still loved so much ... before he frowned at the sight of three monsters.

Plum seemed to have been ambushed. Oh, it wasn't the first time. Many monsters had a hard time swallowing the fact that 'their' fetish prostitute had run away, but usually they would attack when the skeleton was in the company of his brother or boyfriend, or simply when he was in full control of his magical abilities.

But this time it was different. Plum had spent an exhausting day and found himself alone on his way home, surrounded by monsters greedy for violence and sex, in a dark and deserted alleyway...

Nyx's blood only made one turn, he didn't ask himself the slightest question: a gate had already opened in front of him and he rushed in without waiting, to land directly on one of the assailants, smashing his face against the asphalt with gentle violence, without killing him.

Plum widened his eyes, surprised by the sudden appearance of his saviour, while the other two monsters retreated in fright.

Nyx offered them a mischievous smile:

“Gentlemen, if you'll allow me to attend the party...”

The monsters simultaneously grunted, threw themselves on the black-boned skeleton who quietly dodged them, moving with ease as if dancing, only to end up turning on himself and making a mocking curtsy to his opponents.

It was not his purpose to kill them. Only to scare them away.

The humanoid dog that he had put down got up grunting, his nose bleeding. He was the quickest to return to the charge, but Nyx only had to step aside for his opponent to explode his fist against the wall, screaming in pain at his visibly broken hand.

It was simple. These opponents were no match for him.

The other two monsters were a giant religious mint with sharp fangs and a humanoid rabbit that came and attacked him with a metal bar. Nyx dodged for the umpteenth time before suddenly disappearing into the shadows of the alley, leaving his enemies panicked and watched around them with apprehension.

Neither thought to look at their feet, and it was only too late that they saw their own shadows move to make Nyx appear to be grabbing their ankles, before firing a sharp blow to knock them to the ground. The skeleton disappeared again, leaving the three oddballs moaning in pain and incomprehension, and crawled out of the shadows near Plum :

“Are you all right?” he hastened to ask, madly worried.

Plum was startled and turned sharply back to him, stunned:

“Y-Yes! But are you all right?”

A lovable question that brought a tender smile to Nyx's face:

“I feel much better when I see you in one piece... Be careful when you go home alone.

- Yes, I'm sorry...”

Plum sighed before smiling shyly at him:

“Thank you very much. I didn't think ... I didn't think I would ever see you again.”

[ "Neither do I." ]

Nyx remembered this answer which reminded him of the horrible night he had spent.

But you can't erase the past.

“I've come to believe you're a guardian angel!” Plum laughed softly.

Plum used to visit him in his cell

“I love you, little angel...” he whispered to him.

Nyx stopped breathing, assaulted his memories once again, frozen, disconnected from time.

A poor mistake.

[He should have remained suspicious]

He perceived the attack far too late, had just enough time to push Plum before he suffered a violent pain, shuddering when the religious mint stuck its fangs in his wrist.

[The wrist he bit in the night, which he hadn't thought to treat]

Nyx vrilla. This suffering awakened a deaf terror, an impulse that seemed to break the limit he had set for himself.

His pupils disappeared.

Shadows metamorphosed... ...into black, slimy tentacles. Tentacles that skewered the mint with a sharp blow, making it scream in horror before it fell into a pile of dust.

The other two froze in horror at the sight. Fearing they might be the next targets, they ran away without asking for the rest, horrified.

Nyx returned to him.

A cold sweat ran down his face.

He turned his head, feverishly, to Plum, who sat on the floor and watched him in amazement and confusion, his face livid:

“N-Nyx... you...”

The black-boned one retreated, terrified of his own reaction, terrified of the dust he had caused, terrified of his pupils, which he knew had turned blue.

He swallowed.

He threw himself into a new portal.

His body fell heavily on the floor of his room. His erratic breathing, unable to control his jolts, he rolled himself into a ball against the wall, could not choke the sob that escaped him. He brought his broken wrist against his chest, trembling all over, the pain making him want to vomit.

[Pathetic and miserable]

He closed his eyes, clenched his teeth, his soul beating far too hard.

[He shouldn't have existed]

He needed it. He needed it more and more, more and more.

His able-bodied hand grabbed his bag blindly.

The touch of the apple seemed to him more painful than ever.

He bites into it once. Just once.

The pressure was too much.

He burst into tears.

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale-> Joku

Error -> LoverOfPiggies

Ink -> Myebi

Killer -> Rahafwabas

Cross -> Jakei

Dust -> Ask DustTale

#Guardian Angel #undertale fanfiction #undertale #fanfiction #errink #nightkiller #horrordust #horror #dust #killer #nightmare #cross #bad sanses #nyx #vantablack #inkmare #sugar plum #sans

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 5 years

Text

The White Peacock Princess

So I had this idea of a selkie but with feathers and wings instead of a seal skin. The term I was able to find to fit that was a swan maiden but I have other ideas so I’m inventing Mouras. People who can take on a human form, an angel form or a bird form who wear a feather cloak instead of a seal skin when in their human form. They can be all kinds of birds with wing colors from the whole color spectrum. @waiting4inspiration wanted me to tag her so here you go! Enjoy!

You were indulging in a solo night flight, managing to shake your guardians with help from your sister. With an upcoming promised engagement, you felt you were getting suffocated.

Because your "potential" inlaws, the current Emperor and Empress of Wahjah, the skies over the far east, seemed to have the perfect vision of who their son, the Crown Prince, Hongyen, should marry and be the crown jewel of his harem and be his Empress and you fit their vision perfectly, and with them being the most powerful family of phoenixes in the world, competition was fierce just to get into the harem and you had been chosen by your in laws because of your spectacular plumage and sweet, caring demeanor along with your purity. And with as much work as you put into yourself and your plumage, you felt it was finally paying off, all you needed to do is actually meet him and "enchant him" according to your parents prodding because while the Emperor and Empress chose the prospects, it was up to him to make the final decision and choose who got to be in the harem itself and he had put off choosing a crown jewel who would be his Empress when he assumed the throne. It was absolutely exhausting.

You needed a break and some space to decompress so you did the most natural thing, fly, in and out of the clouds and diving low before pulling up at the last second to soar again and making hair pin turns, loops and twists, no small feat, considering what your bird form was, a peacock. You were a Moura. A being who could take a human form, an angel form and a bird form if you so chose. And you were not just any peacock, you were a white one. You weren't albino because your eyes were a magnificent turquoise instead of pink. Your white feathers were opalescent, iridescent with flashes of spectacular pinks, purples, violets, blues, turquoises and greens depending on the angle of the light, with an additional glittering gold spine and dot in the middle of all the feathers. Your feathers were also sparkling like they had diamond dust encrusted onto each fiber of each feather, shimmering and pearlized like you also had crushed pearls rubbed into your plumage and skin when in human form so that it glowed even in very low light, with a rainbow holographic sheen to them, throwing halos and auras of rainbows all around you in the sunshine. It was that that was so coveted and special. And you were the only one like you in the whole world. Being of royal blood yourself, your family taking up the skies over the northern half of Europe, you were naturally white but all the sparkling, shimmering effects on your feathers- that reflected your personality, attributes, talents, accomplishments and emotional makeup and it took a dozen attendants to preen you everyday and your family spared no expense in keeping you in the best shape possible.

But quite frankly, you just loved to fly, and feel free while doing so. The smells of the earth and the ground and soil and flowers and vegetation were a welcome respite from the fresh but really rather odorless scent of the clouds in that altitude. It was a welcome change of pace. So you were flying low, enjoying the moonlit scenery below you when you heard a baby crying in the forest beneath you. That was odd, babies shouldn’t be in the middle of a forest, there wasn’t a house for miles around. You circled back around and heard the baby crying hysterically which pulled on every heart string you had. You searched the woods with your night vision and only saw a lone figure, a man, crawling away on his belly which was even more strange.

Normally humans should be walking and walking towards the baby crying, most humans that you observed and interacted with tended to ferociously protect their young, even young that didn't belong to them. You swooped down and landed a few paces away from the baby and looked around and didn’t see anyone else and didn’t see any traps, especially around the baby. That man must have abandoned it. Your wings folded in and you transformed into your human form, your wings laid down on your back, becoming a feather cloak.

You walked towards the baby and found it covered in a blanket inside what you understood to be a carrier of some kind and reached inside to uncover the baby’s face and gasped before you covered your mouth with your hand as your heart broke. Now you saw why the baby was being abandoned. The poor thing.

“Oh no, shhh, shh, it’s ok little one, it’s ok.” You cooed as you reached in and picked the baby up to look it over and inspect it. It was badly deformed. Not even the advanced doctors humans had in the far east or the middle east could ever fix this babe. But luckily you could. It was still a baby, not even a couple of days old, so it’s bones were still soft and bendy and it’s fresh new and full of potential. You could heal this babe relatively easily and pluck feathers from your own feather cloak and give this baby wings, your feathers could grow back. Your heart went out to this little one and you were going to adopt it, change it into one of your kind and it would live in your palace with you in the clouds themselves which only looked like clouds from below, but they hid massive palaces that floated on the breeze so that you could travel the whole world without ever having to leave home but your family's territory stayed yours.

“It’s ok little one, I’m here, I’m here,” you cooed as you took your breast out of your dress and accessed more magic from your core which caused your whole body to glow as if you were the moon itself as your breasts magically produced milk and you nursed the babe, because of how it was deformed it was difficult for it to suckle but once you sat down on a nearby log, you squeezed your breast until milk dribbled out, the milk itself glowing and shimmering too and once it got into the babe’s mouth, the magic began to work and change the little one, turning the deformity into perfection, it’s mouth was the first to change and once it did, it was able to latch and suckle and nurse with ferocity and you established a connection to it and found the baby to be a boy. Your first little prince, you knew of others who had children previous to their being chosen for the harem so that wasn't a problem, he just could never be Emperor and that was fine too. He would have an amazing life regardless. Surely this could be seen as something heroic and a positive that your mother instincts were as strong as they were. Your connection to him became stronger the more milk he drank, also, the more he drank, the more he glowed and changed until he had transformed into the perfect baby and once that was done, you no longer needed to pour magic into him, your glow subsided and you simply nursed him until he was no longer hungry all while you sung the healing incantation to him which sealed in the magic and made the changes permanent.

“There we go, what shall I name you hmm?” You cooed to him as he pulled away and used your breast as a pillow before you adjusted your dress and change your hold on him so that he was resting on your chest as you continued to rock him gently.

Meanwhile Ivar had looked back when his son had stopped crying and saw a glow in the woods, like the moon had come down to the earth. Or maybe a piece of the sun. He felt compelled and had crawled back, careful not to make too much noise and when he caught sight of a glowing woman nursing his son, the breath crashed from his lungs. She must have been a valkyrie. He watched as the light from her went into his son who was nursing her and the glow showed his body healing and mending and changing and then slowly the glow faded until a woman in white clothing was left holding his son in the moonlight, lightly rocking his son to sleep and singing the most ethereal song with the most enchanting voice. But he could not make out the words she was saying.

He saw her wearing a cloak out of what looked like white, shimmering feathers he deduced- the closer he got - as he wondered if she was perhaps a selkie but with… wings and feathers instead of a seal coat. If he could take it from her, perhaps she would stay with him and continue to care for his son, she was clearly a magical being and had healed his son maybe she could heal him too?

So he managed to as stealthily as possible sneak up on her since she was still sitting on the log and once he was close enough he grabbed her and pulled her backwards as she screamed in surprise until she flipped and fell back and flipped again until she was on her hand and knees, keeping his son clutched to her chest with one arm.

You had screamed when you felt someone grab you and pull you backwards until you were on your back and out of instinct you flipped backwards again until you were on your knees in a crouching position, keeping your new son clutched securely to your chest even though the sudden movement had woken him and he was crying again but because of the way you rolled backwards, your feather cloak came off and before you could scramble to take it back, the man who had grabbed you managed to put it on with lightning fast speed.

“NO!!” You screamed as you tried to stand to take it off but it had already done it’s transference within a heart beat of time and you watched in horror as the white opalescent feathers changed to black, starting from the shoulders down the length of it.

“No, no, no, no!” You cried as you stood and watched as your dress changed from white opalescent peacock feathers suddenly had a black bar encircling each feather which meant, you now belonged to him, the outside edge always changed when you were bound to someone, his color was clearly black, you were bound to him now. You watched in horror as your hair changed from white to black starting from the roots down to the tips. You didn’t know what that meant though.

“What have you done?! Do you have any idea what you’ve done you stupid human?!” You screamed which only made your baby scream and cry harder as you pulled your blade from your skirt and pointed it at the man who seemed to realize what he had done because the magic of the cloak itself had an effect on him as he stood on his feet and stared at himself in awe.

Oh hell no! You were not going to bound to this asshole who dared to take your feather cloak as you took your blade and swung it at him because you were going to take his head off. But alas, your cloak’s feathers turned to leather and metal and deflected your blow before he ducked and evaded your blows too.

“Fuck you, you piece of shit! Give me my cloak back!” You demanded as you were undeterred and continued to try to strike at him but the cloak itself protected him as if it had a life all its own. Fucking transference! You were not going to be enslaved to whoever was wearing it and tried to take your own life but your own feathered dress protected you before he managed to take the blade itself from you and point it at you as you pulled a second from your dress and started circling him as he circled you.

“Who are you?” He demanded.

"None of your business!" You snapped.

“Just answer the question woman!” He demanded.

“Woman?! How dare you refer to me as such. I am a Princess so you will refer to me as Your Majesty or Your Highness or Your Excellency.” You sneered defiantly.

“Well what’s your name then Princess?” He returned with an albeit- sarcastic bow. While you didn't know what offended you more, his attitude or his tone of voice. If he knew who you were, he should be quaking in fear and giving your cloak back and begging for forgiveness. But it was forbidden he know it lest you forfeit your position and your family and your subjects renounce you and you lose everything.

“You are unworthy to speak my name.” You growled as you began to duel with him, getting disheartened when he was actually a good swordsman while your dress grew over your son until he was wrapped in a sling around you so you could use both hands to fight this...this...this stupidly handsome and robust fighter.

“But I am a king and a king is higher than a princess, so I am worthy to speak it.” He argued as he seemed to actually enjoy dueling with you. The bastard.

“Human king, still below me, I am a Princess of Heaven, still above you.” You sassed.

“Then what the hell is a princess of heaven doing here on the ground?” He asked as he was finding he was quite impressed with your own fighting skills, even with his son strapped to your chest you were still fighting with supreme grace, speed and agility. It was like you were dancing and twirling but with a sword.

"You abandoned your son, I was saving him and you took advantage of me." You answered.

“Then what are you?” He asked as he managed to block your blows but could not land any of his own either. Your skill was greater than his but he was stronger than you but you were equal in speed so it evened out.

“I just told you what I am.” You argued as you began to pant. You haven’t fought this vigorously in forever and he was starting to wear you out.

“You call me human, I take it you are not human.” He pointed out.

“If you must know, Christians, Jews and Muslims call me and my kind angels, Hindus and Buddists call us devas. I don’t know what religion you follow so I don’t know what you would call me.” You explained.

“So are you like a selkie but with wings instead of a sealcoat?” Ivar asked and you narrowed your eyes because you didn’t want to tell him the truth. Because the truth was, you were actually very closely related to selkies, you were simply the selkies of the sky instead of the sea and all rules that applied to selkies applied to you also with a few minor and major differences.

But his grin just grew even more smug! How was that possible?! -When you narrowed your eyes and didn’t answer.

“I take your silence as a ‘yes’.” He practically sang, the smug piece of shit. Damn him!

“So I take it since I have this you are bound to me?” He ventured as he gestured to the cloak.

“For now.” You allowed before he simply lowered his sword.

"If you are bound to me than it's of no use to fight with you." He said as he put your sword into his belt as your shoulders sagged in defeat before you put your sword away and stood up to your full height, taking on your regal posture.

“What do you want then?” You asked.

"What can you offer me?" He asked, a pleased smirk on his lips.

“I’ve seen humans be particularly fond of gold. Would a pile of gold weighing ten of me induce you to give me my cloak back?” You asked, trying to bargain with him now.

“No, not even a pile of gold weighing a hundred of you would satisfy me, what I want from you can not be satisfied with gold or silver or jewels.” Ivar answered. As you opened your mouth to offer jewels before he supplied it and you closed your mouth again.

“What then?” You asked.

“I am normally a cripple, but with this cloak on- I’m not, why?” Ivar asked.

“If I tell you, will you give it back?” You asked hopefully.

“No, but it might induce me to try to understand you so you can understand me, and once we understand each other, we can begin to trust each other, and once we trust each other, you might be able to earn it back then.” Ivar offered, like dangling a carrot in front of a horse. He was clever. Damn it.

“If I heal you so that you are not a cripple, would you give it to me then?” You asked.

“It would be a start, but still I would ask more than just that.” he taunted. You used your connection to the cloak and sensed how much magic it would take to heal him. It would take a while to recharge from the magic used to heal his son. And it would take almost all of the magic you had right now to heal him and it would take over a year to recharge from that feat. That was time you didn’t have. Hongyen was coming next week. You realized you were screwed either way.

You huffed and studied the colors that the cloak changed into, it was not just any old black, even in the moonlight with your night vision you could see the other color sheens over the black. pretty well, there was purple, green, red and blue and you used the colors and where they were placed and the patterns they made to gauge what kind of man he was because the cloak revealed personality, emotional makeup and mood if one did not learn to shield themselves from the cloak or simply learn to control the color to suit the occasion or whim. You seemed to weigh and measure the man standing before you wearing your cloak, the crafty son of a bitch. He wasn’t great, he had major flaws, but he had potential. So it wasn’t a total loss, at least you weren’t bound to a moron.

“The simplest answer is I’m magic, so my feather cloak is also magic. It’s meant to always protect me and support me. You no doubt noticed that even my own weapons are no match for it’s protection, the feathers change into a special metal, it’s stronger than iron or steel, yet shinier than silver or gold and just as precious while the cloth changes into a special leather. No weapon can hurt it or the wearer.” You explained as Ivar appraised the cloak he was wearing and took note of its unique features.

“Is it tied to your dress?” Ivar asked as he gestured to it, having noticed it changed.

“Yes, this though is a part of me and can not be taken off, the feathers will simply recede into my skin and look like I’m covered in tattooed feathers.” You answered before you noticed the way he was looking at you and you could tell he was envisioning you naked which made you scowl again as you tried to calm the baby by bouncing and swaying in place.

“Is this truly your son?” You asked as you noticed his gaze go back up to the baby in your arms.

“Yes.” Ivar answered.

“And you left him to the forest because he was deformed?” You questioned as he looked down guiltily.

“I take your silence as a ‘yes’.” You threw back at him which made him cut his eyes at you too.

“He is lucky I was close, I was flying overhead when I heard him cry. No human doctor could have helped him. I have been all over the world and mingled with others. Even if you were in the far east or the middle east, there would be no doctor to save him and he would have starved to death before you could even get halfway there. You were doing the kindest thing. It’s cold enough tonight that he would have simply gone to sleep and never wake up again, dying in his sleep.” You ventured as he seemed to be comforted by your words. “What’s his name?” You asked.

“Baldur.” He answered.

“Do you swear not to harm me in any way?” You asked warily.

“Only if you will swear the same.” Ivar returned.

“The cloak has transferred to you, there is nothing anyone can do to harm you or separate us now. Even if poison were to try to pass your lips, the feathers on the cloak will become like knives and point to it. There is no way I can hurt you.” You revealed as you closed the distance between you.

“What do you think of your son now?” You asked as you showed him to his father who began to shed a few tears at recognizing his son and realizing that he was exactly as he had envisioned him all along as he took him back.

“He’s perfect.” He smiled as he held his son in his arms again. “Thank you, Princess for healing him.” He thanked you graciously.

“It’s...Sasha, my name is Sasha,” you allowed, if you were going to be bound to him, might as well learn your nick name. Because your full name was prohibited.

“Ivar the Boneless, King of Norseman and Kettegat.” He revealed as you nodded in understanding.

“Well lead the way home then King Ivar the Boneless.” You invited as your dress grew another cloak for you. It wasn’t feathers, but fur, like white chinchilla with black tips on the ends of the fibers, to keep you warm from the cold as Ivar began walking home, his son securely in his arms, able to walk just like anyone else with ease and without pain, for the first time in his life, he was without any pain at all with you walking beside him all the way back.

#ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless imagines #ivar the boneless x reader #White Peacock Princess chapter 1 #White Peacock Princess

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onewaigu · 4 years

Text

Memory (pt.2)

Genre : short story

Theme : angst

Pairing : Kanghyun(Onewe) X Reader

Description : time had stopped once you caught his eyes. this was the very first time you guys met in a very long time. were you friends? who knows. you did ruin a perfectly normal friendship with him. Question was, why were your eyes filled with regret when you saw Kang Hyungu in front of you?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

youtube

Smiling with a drink in hand, I can talk about it now.

“That'll be-”, you choked on your own words.

You couldn't believe it. Out of all the people in the world, your first ever customer had to be him. Kang Hyungu. Maybe it wasn't him, maybe your eyes were just playing tricks on you. You tried to convince yourself.

“..free-of-charge?”, he cocked his eyebrow questioningly. He was probably amused at your sudden daze.

You snapped out of it.

“2000 Won please”, you avoided his gaze looking at only the money in his outstretched hand.

Once he took the change you gave him, you let out a deep sigh of relief. An air of awkwardness was clouding your consciousness that you weren't even aware you were holding your breath for quite some time.

Finally, he was about to leave.

Except he didn't though. Instead, he paused right in front of the store's entrance with his hand clutching the door's handle, head bowed.

From your peripheral vision, you stared at him quizzically. Slowly in that short period of time, questions started to flood your head only to be interrupted.

Scoff.

“Did you really think I wouldn't recognise you, Y/N?”

He chuckled but it was different than before. Your heart clenched upon hearing the once familiar sound, now coated with an essence of melancholy.

Time seemed to miraculously slow down. The silence in between was almost deafening. Your heart was pounding against your chest. No.

“And here I thought I'd gotten the wrong person but no, it is you isn't it?”, he humoured sarcastically. Ah, that hurt.

Before you could muster up the courage to reply him, you found his fingers curled around your wrist before gently yet firmly dragging you around the counter and out of the store.

You couldn't care less about leaving the store unsupervised. Besides, there weren't many people around.

Thunk.

The sound of the banana milk bottles hitting the table outside brought you out of your thoughts. “You never changed, huh?”, he asked, a faint glimmer of jest in his eyes.

“Still the same Y/N who loves daydreaming”

Now both of you were facing each other, sitting at the table outside the store. The LED lights behind you were illuminating softly onto Hyungu's face. It made him look like an angel almost. Anyone who saw him at this moment would have described him with one word — ethereal. Your eyes unconsciously wandered around his features. Blond suited him well.

“There you go, again”

“So do you”

“Hm?”

You repeated yourself, “I mean, you changed too”. Specks of red dusted your cheeks.

“We have something in common then”, you caught him lifting the corners of his mouth slightly.

I wanna go back, back, back, back, back.

Fitting. Cause you wanted to go back to how it was before with the banana-haired boy in front of you.

“Hm, nice song”, Hyungu hummed.

“..yeah”, your voice trailed.

“It makes me wanna ask, do you ever wanna go back?”, he asked knowing you knew what he meant by 'going back'.

There it was. The kind smile that you always saw whenever you were with him. With your friend, Hyungu.

He nodded understandingly at your silence, he knew. Of course he would.

“If only he hadn't existed in our lives, huh?”

Both of you knew who he meant. Kim Youngjo.

Seemingly perfect to anyone who knew of him, he was a year above you in school. Raven-coloured hair, alluring dark orbs, pearl-white teeth. Juniors idolised him while seniors wanted to be friends with him.

Everything happened when he crossed paths with you.

Ring!

It was lunchtime but you and Hyungu decided to skip it for the school library instead.

Miss Lee, the school's librarian, had told the both of you that the library was going to be restocked with newly-released manhwas. You guys were manhwa addicts so it wasn't surprising that you wanted to be the first two to grab ahold of them.

A few manhwas in, your eyes were starting to droop involuntaringly. Glancing to your right, you saw Hyungu's black fluff of hair touching the pages of a manhwa he was reading. Idiot fell asleep.

You tried to tug the manhwa from under him so he wouldn't drool all over it but you accidentally tugged too hard Hyungu's head hit the table with a low thud.

Oops.

Someone stiffled a laugh.

Your head shot up to see Kim Youngjo-sunbaenim standing near a bookshelf not to far from a still-sleeping Hyungu, trying hard to hide his laughter.

You smiled gingerly in his direction.

That was the very first interaction.

Spicy food should be dubbed as the devil's food in your honest opinion. It tempted and it tortured people. Too bad, your love for it had blinded any signs of rationality in you. You kept eating it then regretting after.

One day, you had bought spicy tteokbokki for lunch. Normally whenever you were having a spicy food crisis, Hyungu would immediately get you some fruits to cool down the spice.

However, he was on sick leave that day so you were forced to suffer silently in your seat. The spiciness was too much you couldn't even stand up.

Luckily for you, a bottle of banana milk appeared in front of your eyes. You didn't even care who gave it to you, you immediately downed the whole bottle.

Later you found out that it was Youngjo-sunbaenim who had given you the banana milk. Blush creeped up your cheeks out of embarrassment. How kind of him.

After that, both you and Youngjo-oppa kept crossing paths with each other. Every time you did, he'd always give you a bottle of banana milk. You found it cute. Days passed and the two of you slowly got closer each day. People were waiting and expecting you two to date.

Eventually on your birthday, he met you after school with two bottles of banana milk in hand.

“Aw, two for me? Tell me, Youngjo-oppa..do you maybe have a crush on me?”, you nudged his shoulders teasingly.

He scratched his red ears, “Actually Y/N, yeah I do”.

You stopped in your tracks. His blunt honesty caught you off guard. Yeah you always thought he was cute and kind but never did you imagine the two of you being more than friends. It made you curious.

“D-do you maybe wanna be more than friends with me?”, he stammered while he fidgeted with his hands behind his back.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do you..wanna be my girlfriend?”

For the rest of your school years, you and Youngjo-oppa paraded the hallways as an item. It began with him joining you and Hyungu during lunch. Then he was practically there with the two of you anytime and anywhere. You found it quite endearing..in the past.

Blind love took ahold of you that even when Hyungu would always excuse himself everytime Youngjo-oppa appeared, you didn't even think twice as to why he did it.

The more you were with Youngjo-oppa, the more you were drifting apart from Hyungu. You didn't even notice.

Dating Youngjo-oppa was a thrill. You skipped lessons with him, hanging out under the bleachers. You would sneak out of the apartment at 2 in the morning to go to noraebangs with him. Being with him made you rebellious and you thought that it made you happy.

Until one day, Hyungu approached you after you had avoided him for a few weeks straight.

“Y/N”, he called out.

You tried to avoid him but he was too fast. He then led you under an empty staircase. His face devoid of any humour. “What's happening to you, Y/N?”, he asked looking at your eyes that were avoiding his gaze.

You shrugged him off, “Absolutely nothing's happening to me, Hyungu”.

Just as you were about to leave, he'd caught ahold of your wrist before replying to you in his most gentlest voice, “This isn't funny anymore, Y/N. You know you've changed ever since that guy entered our lives”. He sounded like a defeated puppy.

“That guy is my boyfriend, Hyungu and if you can't accept that then maybe you're much better off without me!”, your voice started to raise, anger boiled in your veins. The nerve of him insulting your boyfriend.

“No I'm not, Y/N..because I care about you”, his voice cracked saying those last words.

“Well, if you cared about me you would understand my feelings”

With that, you just left him alone under the staircase without even daring to look back. Little did you know with slumped shoulders, Hyungu was trying hard not to let his tears fall as your back became smaller in his blurry vision.

From then on, both of you didn't talk to each other even until Hyungu graduated. Unfortunately for you, you had to stay back a year because your grades were failing. So after a few long years of friendship..that was eventually ruined, the two of you were finally not going to see each other everyday.

You always thought to yourself about how stupid you were for trusting Kim Youngjo more than your bestfriend. Now you were alone without a trusted friend or a cheating snake by your side. If you could, you wished to go back to how things were before.

Whoever heard your prayers, you couldn't thank them enough. You had been wondering if fate ever decided to make the two of you cross paths again.

Finally, you were there sipping banana milk with him.

Looking back then, I would've called myself a fool.

[a/n]

this one really took a long time to write heh, anyways here's the angsty part two of Memory ^ ^ Part three's gonna be them talking it out with each other~

enjoy reading and stan Onewe

(video credit : Onewe - Reminisce About All)

#onewe #oneweangst #kanghyun #kang hyunggu #mas0094 #onewefic

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gem-quest · 4 years

Text

[ M O R N I N G S T A R . . . ]

Real Name: [Mary Michaels]

Age: 17

FC: Yana Shmaylova

Species & Class: half-elven mage-knight [half-elven healer]

Guild: Obsidian

"Who are these like stars appearing these before God's throne who stand? Each a golden crown is wearing; who are all this glorious band?" - 1719 hymn

Description of In-Game Powers: It frustrates her to no end, how paltry her strength is even in a world of fantasy. Morningstar had jumped into Gem Quest so quickly and frantically that she picked her attributes by some fallible combination of instinct and random misfortune, and thus she first found herself in the game as a healer. A weasely, timid mouse of a creature, who could only stand on the sidelines and wait to help others, which only fueled the rage that sent her into the game in the first place. There is very little she can actually do, in terms of magical abilities. She can brew elixirs to heal and potions to strengthen. Her presence is calming, soothing, and her touch can put others at ease. Herbs and flowers blossom at her touch. She is nothing save a tool for others to use on their quests, a pretty gardener who makes the flowers grow.

But soon, she realized she could put these skills to other uses.

She sought out potioneering texts, bribed and bartered and threatened her way into sanctums of learning to glean knowledge of how to brew potions which would make her stronger, faster, more agile, better with weapons and armor. She discovered formulae that let her trap magical energy in her bottles, storing others' offensive spells for her own benefit. Her calming presence could be used to lure her enemies into a sense of ease. She cycled through weapons and armor until she found something that fit her hands at first--not potion alleviated how awful she was at swords, and staves and knives lack panache, but when she took the scythe from a knight she killed, she felt an immediate connection to the weapon. Maybe it was how icily pretty it looked. Maybe it was how dramatic the sheer fact of carrying around a scythe was. Maybe it was how she felt when she swung it, like she could cleave the earth in two.

She can now fight as a mage-knight, a fearsome one who taunts non-believers with the lightness of her lacy dresses and flower crowns before she razes them. Her name is Morningstar, and her name is feared--so long as no one finds out the true reason for the scores of vials in her inventory, so long as she can find victims for her magic theft, so long as she takes the potions every day to keep the shaking and the migraines down, so long as they never see her break.

And rest assured--she will never break.

Place of Birth: [Burnettesville, Indiana]

Appearance: Small, willowy, with paper-white skin, eyes the color of tarnished metal, and hair shining like pale gold. She always wears long white dresses which flow in the wind and a crown of red flowers and berries. Except for her hair and her clothing, Morningstar looks much as she did in life. She can't get rid of her old face through her potions, no matter how many times she tries. She would have to leave the game to make a new character for that, and she--

She can't go back home. Not after all that.

Places most likely to be found in the game: Her base is a grotto in the Descend, where she brews the potions that let her maintain her illusion. The Euphoria helps dull the near-constant headaches and shakiness she experiences from using strength and speed potions so often. She can also be found walking through the alleys of the City of Magic and training in the Valley of Monsters, with a ferocity that borders on obsession.

Current Inventory:

Crystal scythe x1

Iron knives x3

Fresh apples x5

Silver dust x2

Throttle dust x3

Medi-elixir x1

Ictuium x3

Dusting x1

[Second page inventory:

Silver cauldron x1

Pewter cauldron x1

Mortar and pestle x1

Pruning knife x2

Firewood x6

Flint and steel x1

De Artibus Virtutis x1 (c-level scroll about combat potions)

De Potestate x1 (b-level scroll about potions that can manipulate XP and magical abilities)

Fortissime Potion x21 (c-level strength potion)

Celerrime Potion x21 (c-level speed and agility potion)

Vampira Acuta x16 (b-level potion that steals and stores the spells of others)

A plethora of potion ingredients, including a jar of what looks like fresh bone dust.]

Strongest Character Trait: Determination

"Brightest and best of the stars of the morning Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid." - 1811 hymn

Strengths: Morningstar is almost frighteningly single-minded. When she decides to do something, she will stand by it until the bitter end. She can be highly strategic and plans for the long run. With regards to her in-game abilities, she might not be willing to admit to it on most days, but she's currently one of the most experienced potioneers and healers in Gem Quest. Given proper time and resources, she can heal just about any injury on herself.

Weaknesses: She is fueled partially by resentment, anger, and desperation, partially by vanity and pride. Her loyalties lie with no one except herself, and even then, she sometimes seems like she's working against her own interests. She is self-destructive to the extreme. She rarely makes friends and even more rarely keeps them, and she lies out of habit, having kept so much of herself secret in life that she cannot help but do it in the game. Despite her capacity for careful strategy, she is often rash and impulsive with her own safety. She is reckless, belligerent, and often destructive. Many of her own Guild fear and resent her, some tolerate her, but none actually like her, and she is more than content with that.

Aside from her abrasive personality, she is simply not the best combatant the game. Gem Quest is the game of its type she's ever played, and it took her ages to get used to the commands for actions as simple as accessing her inventory. Moreover, no matter how many potions she takes, she will never have the full abilities of a mage-knight. Her strength is dependent on her regularly taking potions which were never meant for long term use, and her combative magical abilities are essentially the fragments of spells stolen from the players she defeats in battle.

Player Stats: All of Morningstar's stats factor in the impact of her strength and speed potions (which also, due to aggressive and repeated use, have started to negatively impact her luck). The numbers have drastically warped from her original stats as a healer.

STRENGTH: 6

DEFENCE: 5

CHARISMA: 6

PSYCHE: 4

WILLPOWER: 9

CAUTIOUSNESS: 3

AGILITY: 4

ENDURANCE: 3

INTELLIGENCE: 7

LUCK: 2

Personality: A proud and fiercely bitter young woman who has absolutely nothing to lose--is there anyone else more glorious? is there anything else more dangerous?

"Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven." - John Milton, Paradise Lost

Biography:

Her name is Morningstar.

She has no other name. She picked it for a reason, you know, and the reason is so that she will never be forgotten. She relishes how it resounds with all the gibberish fear of long-dead saints clutching at their unbeating hearts. She relishes its incongruity.

Morningstar knows how people see her. From when she was young, from before she was trapped, or freed, inside a world of lost children with pointy objects, she's always been seen as the pretty one, the dainty one, the little china teacup, so easily broken--and if you have ever thought that about her with that exact metaphor, as a china doll, or a china teacup, or as some other breakable thing with a foreign name. She knows how people saw her back in the town that is no longer her home, a tiny place on a map surrounded by potato farms with a grand population total of 1,346.

Morningstar is fearsome, somewhere between an angel and a monster. Mary Michaels--was the preacher's daughter. A good girl, a dutiful daughter to her parents, a dutiful sister to her parents' son, pretty as a picture and quiet as one, inoffensive as a still life of pristine white roses. Look at that girl. So pretty. So quiet and composed, all dressed in pastel A-line dresses, strand of pearls like a chain at her neck. Her father is a holy man, which almost makes up for the fact that he married a woman who isn't white, and she knows she's lucky, because she grew up in America, the land of freedom and opportunity and God, and she never knew the sin of a motherland that wasn't God's own country.

What a good girl. Her parents must have read her the Good Book for her bedtime stories.

Which they did. They read her the parables and psalms throughout elementary school, the gospels throughout middle school, and Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained when they thought her mature enough to see something a little darker. She remembers reading Paradise Lost and feeling stunned--at the idea of a rebellion against God, that God could be so fallible. She remembers her mouth going dry and clumsy when she read about the serpent's seduction of Eve, and how the rebel angel loved something that he should not have loved. She saw it in her mind's eye, Morningstar, Light-Bearer, watching and loving the first woman from the branches of the trees, rising up against the heavens themselves, and she thought with a start that Lucifer should have been a woman, and she looked down at her own hands and wept. There was nothing else that she could do. Everyone thought that she was too pretty and quiet, too frighteningly dainty to even think of thinking against her parents' wishes, and back in that little town of 1,346, where everyone went to church and believed so much in damnation, they were right.

She read Paradise Lost when she was thirteen, and she's known since then that she would go to hell. But it wasn't until her seventeenth birthday that she knew that she deserved it, that she was rotten with sin, down to her core, because that was the day Emily moved away. She knew she would never be free from sin, but she had never wanted to hurt Emily, who was beautiful and kind and wholly good, who made her laugh and never, ever screamed at her when she said she didn't believe in any God. Emily, who was so different from the other girls in her school, who had been her best friend for as long as she could remember--

--who had to move to a city hundreds of miles away because someone saw the two of them kissing in the bathrooms, and the next day, Emily's locker was covered in graffiti and the homeowners' association kicked her family out of their neighborhood, because that seventeen-year-old girl with frizzy hair and stars in her honeyed eyes was the devil, the devil for corrupting the preacher's daughter.

And on the day Emily moved away, Mary was called to the principal's office, and her father the preacher was in there waiting for her, thunderously, hideously angry.

He sent her home to wait for him. When she got home, her mother and brother wouldn't look her in the eyes. She knew something was about to happen to her, something she did not want to endure, and though she knew that such wanting made her disobedient and even more rotten, she ran upstairs and locked herself into her brother's room, which had a door that locked from the inside, unlike hers. He had a VR headset, running some game called Gem Quest. Emily had liked that game too. She tried to get Mary to play it with her before--

None of that matters anymore. What matters is that Morningstar is here, and she doesn't know any Mary Michaels. No, more than that, Morningstar hates the girl that was Mary, so quiet she was afraid to stand up for the only other girl who understood her, who might have seen stars in her eyes in return, so quiet that her only rebellion in seventeen years had been sneaking into her brother's room and running away from everything she ever knew, wanting to be anyone, anything other than Mary.

When the announcement came, she thought for moment that she might believe in God after all. She doesn't want to leave the Guilds. She can't. It would be the cruelest of cruelties, to make her go back, returning to a family who are wanting to beat the sin from her, to a life of endless A-line dresses and pearl necklaces at church socials, of no future outside of hating her parents and herself and the people she loves and the people she'll be forced to love, a future of nothing? She can't leave. If Obsidian wins and they try to make her leave with the victors, she will slice them down with her own hands. She can't leave from here. There are dragons here, and swords and scythes. She can have power here. She can scream and shout and love and destroy. She can call herself the Morningstar and rise up against Heaven. Lucifer is a woman, and Lucifer will win.

Her name is Morningstar. She knows no other name.

Relationships:

ENTHRONED

INFERNA

Playlist:

"Ophelia" by Marika Hackman

“Born to Die” by Lana Del Rey (Woodkid and the Shoes Remix)

"Hope in the Air" by Laura Marling

"Delilah" by Florence and the Machine

"Devil Inside" by London Grammar (INXS cover)

"Chasing Twisters" by Delta Rae

"The One That Got Away" by The Civil Wars

"home with you" by FKA twigs

"We Have It All" by Pim Stones

"So Human of You" by Shireen

#morningstar #mary #character info

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