#i want to squish and stretch them like they were slime to a point that they are one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ssamie · 3 years

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nine. reki?!

oikawa tooru x fem langa!reader

(hq x sk8 the infinity)

warnings: spelling mistakes, swearing, 2k+ words, u have langa’s blue hair sorry

gen masterlist. “snow” masterlist.

"Y/N I FOUND YOU!" reki exclaimed as he sprinted towards her

"man, you guys sure were fast" he said "i almost lost you guys in the trail" the redhead tripped way too many times as he struggled to avoid the random bushes and twigs sticking from the forest grounds

"Y/N!" reki grinned as he finally came to a halt before her

though she didn't respond and simply blinked as she stared at him wide-eyed as if she was seeing a ghost. "uh- y/n?" reki sweat dropped as he poked her cheek

the redhead then sighed and flicked her right in the forehead, making her yelp and gently cradle the sore spot. "y/n!" he yelled again, this time with a soft laugh of amusement

"reki?!" y/n shrieked out as she finally snapped out of whatever daydream she was in.

reki laughed and pinched her cheeks with his hands, squishing her already heating up face as she gapes up at him in disbelief "took ya long enough" reki mused "did you miss me?" he asked

"y-yeah! i missed you!" she stammered out as she placed her hands on reki's cheeks and lightly pinched them as well. she and reki chuckled, encaging each other in their arms as the boys watch their interaction.

"you did so great! i saw you do your trick again!" reki exclaimed as he shook her shoulders excitedly. "thanks! i also did stuff that you taught me!" she smiled as she let reki shake her up as he pleased

"also how are you here? adam said he didn't invite you" she asked him once he had finally calmed down. reki then scowled and let out a huff "yeah, he didn't. i had to save up for a ticket to fly here with the others" he said

"and some guy tweeted about it so i was able to find the location" he explained as he showed her the said tweet. she grinned and nodded along "im glad you're here reki" she beamed "i really missed you"

"me too" reki chuckled. he then eyes the boys behind her and sheepishly waved. "aren't ya gonna introduce me to your friends?" he mused

y/n perked up and looked back at the boys. "right!" she said. she brought up hanamaki and matsukawa first. "this is hanamaki-san and matsukawa-san. we're in the same year and they're in the volleyball team i mentioned." she said

hanamaki and matsukawa grinned at him and raised their hand to wave "hey, so you're the reki she's always talking about huh?" hanamaki mused

"she talks about me?" reki asked with a smile

y/n spluttered and shook her head "that's not true! i don't talk about you at all!" she rebutted

reki sweat dropped and scratched his head in confusion "oh.. okay then..?"

y/n then shook her head again and paled from the guilt "i mean of course i do! you're my best friend!" she shrieked out "i talk about you all the time, reki!" she rambled

reki sweat dropped and comforting patted her back. "so which one is it, really?" he chuckled as watched her distressed state. "let's.. let's move on.." y/n cleared her throat as she gestured to iwaizumi next.

"this is iwaizumi-san. he's in my class and we're also neighbors." she said. "hey man, nice to meet you" iwaizumi sent him a curt nod, to which reki responded to with a smile

"nice to meet you too, iwaizumi! im reki!" he introduced himself with a wave

as the two conversed, she looked back to find oikawa, only to find him sitting by a curb, looking at the passing cars with a bored look on his face. with a hint of confliction, she reluctantly walked away from reki and towards the brunette.

"oikawa-san?" she called out to him. "yeah?" oikawa replied as he briefly looked back to glance at her "you need something, y/n-chan?" he asked

"um." she muttered "are you okay?" she asked as she crouched down beside him. "yeah, whyd you ask?" oikawa hummed with a faint smile

"no reason.." she muttered as she scooted closer to him. "are you tired? you don't seem as lively as usual." she said

oikawa shrugged and brought his knees up to his chest, "kinda." he said. "aren't you gonna go back to reki?" he asked. he faced her with a smile and chuckled "you were so excited whenever you mentioned him." he mused "so i thought you'd have a more escalating reaction than that"

y/n raised a brow at his indifferent tone and playfully nudged him with her elbow. "you're so weird, oikawa-san. are you jealous or something?" she jokingly asked with a laugh

"ahahaha." oikawa laughed along with a staright face. "yes."

"what?" she blinked with a blank smile as she looked up at him cluelessly. "just kidding!" oikawa exclaimed with a cheeky grin. he ruffled her hair and laughed as she simply looked at him in confusion. "you're so gullible, y/n-chan! but i guess that's what makes you fun" okawa chuckled as he stood up from the ground to stretch his limbs

"cmon, let's go. i wanna meet your friend too, yaknow?" oikawa mused as he held out his hands for her to grab

she smiled and took his hands, pulling herself up as she dragged him over to the redhead. "you'll like him a lot, oikawa-san" she said "reki is nice, i swear!"

"reki!!" she called out with a grin "hey" reki waved back.

he then perked up as he recognised the brunette she was dragging around. "oh, you're that guy from a while ago!" reki exclaimed "i recognised you, haha"

oikawa smiled back and nodded. "yup, that's me.."

"im oikawa tooru. nice to meet you, reki-kun!" oikawa beamed with a charming grin. "you too!" reki grinned as he excitedly shook his hand. "hey, you guys wanna come with us? me and the others wanted to have a late night snack"

"the others?" y/n hummed in confusion "what do you mean? are they-"

"Y/N!" a loud shout was heard

y/n looked behind reki's shoulder and paled as she watched miya propell himself from a random curve and fly through the air towards her direction. "m-miya?! wait! don't jump! you'll hit--" she was cut off by miya's stomach hitting her straight in the face

"YOU SLIME! I TOLD YOU TO WAIT!" miya hissed at reki as he hugged her head with his arms while he wraps his legs around her torso

"hey, if i didn't go ahead, we would've lost them!" reki rebutted with a huff "and get off her! you're not a cat! stop it!" reki exclaimed as he tried to pry him off of her

"you don't know that" miya huffed, "also, back off, slime! we're having a moment." he said as he hugged her even tighter

"you're killing her, rather" cherry chimed in as he watched y/n clawing desperately for miya to let her head go "she's losing air" he sighed as he plucked miya off of her

y/n heaved as she held miya up by the back of his thighs, holding him as you would with a child as she gasped for air. "i've missed you, miya.." she meekly chuckled as she ruffled his hair

miya's face exploded into a concerningly bright shade of red as he huffed. "hmp. miss you too or whatever.." he muttered. "he's so stubborn." reki sweat dropped as he watched miya desperately try to keep his nonchalant façade but obviously failing

"huh? who's this?" miya raised a brow as he looked oikawa up and down "did you find a slime boyfriend while you were gone?!"

oikawa scowled and gave miya a nasty glare "hah? me? a slime?" he scoffed in offense

"who else would i be talking about, slime?" miya taunted him

he then gave him a smug smirk and laughed "well, my bad for that one."he mused "i mean you're a slime, yeah. but you'd never be her boyfriend" he sneered "she's just too good for you"

oikawa scowled once again and glared down at the boy. "who says i can't be her boyfriend?" he sneered

"why? are you?" miya gritted his teeth as he glared at oikawa

"no. but you're definitely not either" oikawa gave him an irked smile "whatever, i won't argue with kids." oikawa mused as he waved him off

miya hissed at him under his breath and reached out to claw at him, only for y/n to stop him by grasping his hands and keeping them in place. "dont argue with people you just met, shittykawa!" iwaizumi scolded the brunette

"he started it!" oikawa rebutted, earning a smack from iwaizumi. "shut up." iwaizumi scowled "be nice. you're embarrassing me."

"anyways, wanna join us?" joe asked as he flexed his arms with a grin "i could go for a drink right now"

"they're underaged!" cherry said as he slapped joe in the head

"well where else are we supposed to go?!" joe exclaimed with a groan "McDonald's?!"

"i want a happy meal.." y/n said as she and miya looked at the toys displayed by the counter

"i want that toy.." miya said as he stared longingly at the cat toy

"i want fries!" reki exclaimed as he faced cherry with an expectant look

cherry raised a brow and glared down at them "why are you looking at me like that?" he asked "im not gonna pay for you." he narrowed his eyes at them

"but we're broke!" reki exclaimed. "you have some pocket money, just use that" shadow said as he ordered himself a burger. "but its too expensive!!" reki whined dramatically as he slumped on the seat

"what're you guys gonna get?" he asked the boys. iwaizumi shrugged "just a drink that's all." he said "we'll share fries!" hanamaki said as he pointed to matsukawa beside him

"i got a happy meal too!" oikawa grinned as he laid the box on the table with a grin, chuckling as y/n and miya 'ooh'ed in amazement

"can we share?" y/n asked with sparkling eyes as she sat down beside the brunette

"are you gonna keep that? im taking it." miya said as he snatched the cat toy and pocketed it with a cat-like smirk

"hey! don't take too much!" oikawa exclaimed as he slapped her hand away "and you! cat boy! paws off my toy!" oikawa hissed as he playfully fought miya

"BACK OFF, SLIME!" miya hissed back

"well, at least they're getting along quite well" joe mused with a laugh. "and those two are having their long awaited reunion" shadow sneered as he nodded towards y/n and reki

y/n smiled as reki rambled to her about the moments she's missed in okinawa. she really couldn't understand anything with how fast he was talking but it was nice to hear his voice.

"you still make those same faces" she muttered

("reki my love🥰🏳️‍🌈... of skateboarding 😝😃💔♀️" do u guys remember that from the dub 😭)

"what? what's wrong with my face?" reki abruptly stopped rambling as he blinked at her with a confused smile. "nothing.." she smiled at him. she turned to miya and whispered, "reki's face always makes weird expressions.." to which miya agreed to with a nod

"eh?! did you just say my face is weird?!" reki shrieked out in offense

"no.. it said your face is.." she trailed off with a sheepish expression "unique." she finished off with a smile "so unique." she praised him with a smile as she petted his hair

"somehow, i feel very judged at the moment" reki sweat dropped

"no no, you're very beautiful!" she beamed at him. "i like your cute expressions"

"awe you think im cute?" reki smiled at her with a faint blush tinting his cheeks

"NO! I TAKE THAT BACK!" she panicked "you're normal." she said

reki sweat dropped and nervously rubbed the back of his neck from the sudden change of heart. "oh.. okay..?" he muttered in confusion

"never mind! reki, you're not normal!" she exclaimed in a state of distress and flusteredness.

"that's even worse!" reki exclaimed with a gasp of shock

"i meant you're perfect and amazing!" she shrieked as she covered her face which was heating up from embarrassment

the rest of the group sweat dropped as they watched the interaction play out. they knew she was bad with flirting but they didn't expect it to be to this extent. "ah, young love" joe chuckled "i was like that once too" he mused

"really?" miya raised a brow at his statement

"no. im not a loser" joe laughed "im a ladies man, girls just come to me, ya know?" he grinned as he flexed his biceps

beside him, cherry grimaced and scrunched his face in distaste. "you're getting too confident, you gorilla." he scoffed "you were like that to me back then." cherry taunted

everyone at the table's eyes widened as they eyed joe suspiciously, whistling under their breaths as they eagerly listen in on the conversation.

"i- that's not-" joe gritted his teeth and groaned in aggravation "i thought you were a girl, okay?!" he defended

"i was so clearly wearing a male uniform like you and everyone else." cherry deadpanned

"its just the hair, i swear!"

"joe.." y/n muttered "it's okay. we accept you." she smiled at him

"yeah. gay rights i guess" miya shrugged as he sipped on his coke

"i- this isn't funny anymore, i get that you wanna joke around-" joe deadpanned

"hey!" reki exclaimed, startling everyone in the table as he points an accusing finger to joe's face. "gender identity is not a joke!" he exclaimed "yeah!!" y/n cheered him on

joe sweat dropped and glared at them with dread. "im leaving you behind so you can stay and rot with your goddamn girlfriend" he said to reki

"and i'm not gay!!"

this is short and idk why gender identity suddenly came up ?? i was writing an essay for it on our health exam a while ago so maybe that's why ?? I'M NOT QUEERBAITING I SWEAR! ALSO THIS WHOLE SHOW IS FRUITY ANYWAYS ??

sorry for the spelling /grammar mistakes if there are any :<

ALSO APPARENTLY JOE LIKED ADAM AND NOT CHERRY?? IS THAT TRUE??

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hypnoticwinter · 3 years

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Down the Rabbit Hole part 26

It turns out, however, that I didn’t need to. As I cower and make a half-hearted, dog-tired attempt to throw myself to the side, the – well, the bird, I guess, whatever the hell it is – swoops just next to me, close enough to feel a better of greasy wings against my back, knocking me to the ground with one powerful downswing, and then it juts its claws forward and digs them into Marcus. He shrieks; his gun clatters squelchily to the gnarled floor and he flails in the thing’s grip; it’s holding him by the shoulder and by the hip, and for a moment, just a singular moment, it glares at us balefully, its squat, recessed head and luminous eyes swiveling over us, before it adjusts its grip on Marcus briefly and then pushes itself powerfully into the air again, winging into the darkness. Marcus’s screams recede quickly, and I am left open-mouthed on the ground, heart pounding, my entire body shaking as I come hesitantly off the adrenaline. Erica is trying to get a bead on the thing with her revolver but her hand is too unsteady, and I reach out for her and cry out for her not to shoot, and she glances down at me quickly. Her eyes are wide and panicked and I realize that this is the first time I’ve seen her lose her cool. Even in the hotel room she was completely locked down.

“Erica,” I say urgently, “if you shoot that gun everything down here is going to know exactly where we are.”

I give the murky ceiling a glance filled with trepidation then get to my feet slowly. My foot nudges against something – Marcus’ gun. I look down at it and then up at Erica; she raises the revolver again and points it at me.

“I’m just going to pick it up,” I tell her.

“Don’t.”

“Erica, I am not going around unarmed down here. You can either let me pick the gun up or we can just shoot each other right now and get it over with. What’s it going to be?”

A nice speech, I guess. Maybe it’d have more impact if I had more than about an ounce of energy to deliver it with. Whatever rest I’d managed to get has been depleted by now and my legs and arms and back are aching as before. I need to get out of this goddam place, I think to myself, but even my thoughts don’t have any energy to them, everything flits around very enervated and airy.

Erica is still staring at me and I bend down, very slowly, and pick the gun up. I hold it between thumb and forefinger, keeping my eyes locked on her, and then stick it slowly into the front pocket on the suit. “Alright?” I ask, and she swallows, then nods.

“Marcus,” she starts, and I look up again, shake my head.

“He’s gone,” I tell her. Stating the obvious.

“I didn’t think he’d –“ she starts, and then she cuts herself off. She wipes at her eyes hurriedly and then pulls out the PDA again, points down the slope. “That way,” she tells me, and I nod.

The way down becomes gradually easier, the slope levelling out into a long rough bumpy undergrowth of muck and slime. Mushrooms bud down here, great towering broad-capped things the size of small trees, and I feel a little safer, at least, knowing that any of the birds that might be circling above, glaring down and looking for prey, probably won’t be able to see us beneath their wide fleshy brims. They grow thick, too, leaving us to pick and push our way through them, struggling against their elastic, fibrous meat. Paths trail here and there but they are meandering and circuitous and dirty, piled with organic detritus – pieces of mushroom, guano from the birds above, foamy congealed blood from where sores in the Pit’s skin have rubbed open. The air is thick and sour and revolting and I can see Erica taking shallow breaths through her mouth. She wipes her eyes frequently but I can’t tell if it’s because they’re stinging or because she is mourning Marcus. After maybe fifteen minutes of pushing through mushroom stalks in silence I reach out for her and catch her by the hand lightly, and then flinch as she whips around, the pistol coming up.

“Relax,” I tell her quickly, showing her my empty hands, “it’s just me.”

“What is it?”

“I, um,” I start, wondering immediately why I’m bothering, “I just wanted to say sorry. For Marcus.”

She stares at me for a moment longer before she nods rather stiffly. “Thanks,” she says. The silence stretches onward until I look away.

“If you want to talk about it…”

Erica stays silent for about five minutes, and I assume that that is her way of turning down my offer. I don’t know why I even bothered, really, especially for her – why try and comfort the person holding you hostage? Stupid, Roan.

Then Erica turns and sags against a broad mushroom stalk and gives me a dark, hopeless glower. “Marcus was one of the first people who joined the little group I run back in town,” she says. I squat down on my haunches, shut my eyes and then unlock whatever lingering bone of resignation is running cordlike through my conscience and then lean back into the muck until I’m half-supine, propped against a stalk of my own. I can feel the fingerlength-deep layer squish and shift beneath my ass in a decidedly unpleasant way but the relief of not having to be on my feet any longer wins out in the end.

“The cult,” I nod, cracking an eye open to watch her. I see a spasm of anger flit across her face.

“It isn’t a cult,” she snaps, and then I see her relax and let it go. “It isn’t a cult,” she repeats, more calmly. “It was never a cult, we don’t fucking worship the Pit. It was just about – about having something there that was bigger than yourself. A frame of reference. You wouldn’t understand.”

I roll my eyes at her but she isn’t looking. My eyes hurt, rolling upwards like that. Closing them doesn’t help much. “Why’d you bring him down here?” I ask.

“I needed someone to help me. I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get the crystal by myself, I’d need backup of some kind at least. Of all of us I trusted Marcus the most, and I figured he was the most capable outdoorsman. The others, well, there aren’t a ton of them, and most of them have more on their plate. Marcus is – was,” she corrects, her voice growing raw, “like me, he didn’t have many attachments, didn’t have a ton to tie him down.”

Oh. That would do it.

“I’m – sorry,” I say, surprising myself with the amount of delicacy I’m able to muster. “I know it can be hard to lose someone you love, it can…”

I let myself trail off. Erica’s eyes have grown harder. “We weren’t lovers,” she tells me. “I felt…responsible for him,” she says. She pulls out a battered pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I feel myself practically salivating for one, despite my best efforts. Erica notices and tosses the pack to me, and I murmur my thanks and let her light it for me. I cough a little at first but then it comes back to me and I really do feel better. This and some more coffee, maybe…

Erica shakes her head. “Goddam it,” she mutters quietly, in a way I recognize so deeply I can feel it in my bones, and for a moment, just a moment, I’m able to feel sorry for her. Then I remember that she shot Elena and I can go back to hating her.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her again. I try not to think about what Marcus must have felt, feeling those foot-long talons sinking into him, probably dying from the instant they had gone in. It would have crippled him, that one in the shoulder, he would never have been able to use it effectively again without a lot of surgery. I wince to myself, thinking about it. And then the other one in the gut – it must have been horrible. A horrible feeling, knowing that something like that is about to do something to you that you can’t stop, can’t fight. It makes me shudder just to imagine it.

I look around warily; so far we haven’t seen any of those massive pale lizards but I can’t imagine they’d be any less aggressive than the birds. They have to eat something, after all, and if they’re that huge they have to eat a lot of something.

“Tell me the truth,” Erica says. “Are you working for the Company?”

I blow out a big sigh and open my eyes, stare at her. “You really think I am?”

“Is it the FBI, then? What is it?”

“I’m just somebody who was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I tell her. “I’m just down here to take photos.”

“Makado wouldn’t have sent you down here for that,” Erica says. She sounds very confident. “There’s some angle she’s working, there’s some reason she’s got you down here. What are you –“

“How well do you know Makado?”

Erica shrugs. “Well enough, I guess.”

“What’s her middle name?”

“Not that well.”

I toss the cigarette on the ground. “If I’m here as part of her plan, it’s as a pawn. That’s all.”

“How reassuring,” Erica says dryly. “What about that blonde commando friend of yours, what’s the deal with you and her?”

“I thought it was obvious,” I murmur, and Erica laughs.

“Is that your partner?”

“Um. Well, I guess that’s one way to describe –“

“You know, your secret FBI partner.”

“Will you just let the whole FBI thing go?” I growl. “Fuckin’ Alex-Jones-ass –“

“I know the FBI is in town,” Erica says. “I think they’re investigating Makado. Or something she had to do with.”

I stop, look at Erica. She doesn’t appear to be joking, or leading me on. Her gaze is narrow but even. This is something she believes.

“This isn’t some, like, tinfoil hat shit, is it? Because if –“

“I don’t know what shit Peter talked about me while you two were shacked up –“

“We weren’t shacked up –“

“Whatever,” Erica says, getting to her feet. She rounds on me, points an accusing finger at my slumped form. “I have it on very good authority that the FBI is here in Gumption. Peter might have talked about his sources inside the Company but I have my own, ones he didn’t know about, and they all tell me that something big is about to go down. This crystal thing, this is Makado’s Hail Mary shot.”

“What even was your plan, Erica?” I ask. The cigarette got me a little perked up at least but I can feel the fatigue lurking behind my eyeballs whenever I’m not focusing. “You come down with two people and get in a shootout with ten? What was the idea?”

Erica makes a sour face at me. “For your information,” she says, “I have a little more than just one other person on my side. And the plan was, I paid someone in security a lot of money to plot the route you guys were taking, so that it would pass through a path that has a sphincter with an exposed nerve ending right along the route you were slated to take on the return trip. We were going to hide there, wait until everybody but the one with the crystal came by, and then tickle the nerve and trap them on our side while we locked everyone else out. Then it’d have been easy to grab it.”

I frown. “Erica, how big do you think this crystal is?”

She gives me a nonplussed face. “Well, it’s –“ she starts, and then her eyes widen. I frown and then turn my head slowly, glance over at where her gaze seems to be going, and see the massive snub-nosed head of the pale, eyeless lizard that has pushed its way through the mushroom stalks and into our clearing flare its fist-sized nostrils and surge forward towards me.

I shriek and roll to the side, scrambling away from it through the muck, and to my immense surprise the lizard freezes and then takes a hesitant step backwards. It opens its mouth and a broad flat tongue flutters outward briefly. Its teeth are widely spaced, flat little enameled pegs like those of an elephant or hippopotamus. Herbivore teeth.

Wait a minute.

I look at the lizard, watch it closely. I open my mouth again, make a short hissing sound, the same kind I might make if I were trying to get a cat to go away from me, and it freezes again, mid-step, retreating backward. It has a narrow, shovel-like head, like one of those weird salamander-like lizards that live in pools in caves and have grown blind and pale and fat down there in the darkness. I don’t recall what they’re called.

“Erica,” I whisper, glancing back at her. She’s gotten to her feet, gotten her hand halfway to her holster. Her eyes flick down to mine. “They’re fucking herbivores,” I tell her. She looks at me like I’m crazy.

And then the lizard bulls its way further into the thicket and fixes its jaws around a particularly thick and succulent-looking mushroom stalk and bites it hard enough to snap it nearly in half. A froth of syrupy white sap or dew spreads over its thin lips as it eats, and then when it’s done it trundles off into the murk, leaving a trail of snapped stalks and giant flattened footprints.

“Well,” I say, getting to my feet. “Maybe not herbivores. Fungivores? Is that a word? Whoa –“

I break off. I feel utterly strange for a moment, like I’ve caught a bad headrush, but it fades after a moment.

“You alright?” she asks. I wait for a moment, probing the inside of my head like a sore spot in my mouth, but I nod.

“Yeah. I don’t think these spores are doing me many favors,” I say, rubbing my fingers together; everything down here has a fine layer of them, like a greyscaled snow, a light misting of it everywhere. It makes me a little nervous but I don’t see any way to avoid it, any way to protect myself. We’d left my helmet back in Oyster’s Shame, Erica had made me leave it so I couldn’t be tracked.

“Better hurry, then,” Erica suggests, and I nod, and then we push onwards.

It’s hard work, but we get into the groove of it eventually; it’d be easier with a machete or something, but even without it the mushrooms aren’t as bad as trees or saplings or even the kind of jungle undergrowth and brush machetes are intended for. The mushrooms are soft and pliable, at least the young ones are; you can push them aside and the only thing you have to look out for is making sure that you keep a grip on them so they don’t spring back and whack you in the face. It’s easier with two people, and as Erica and I coordinate we begin to pick up the pace, at least until we get deeper into the – let’s call it the Fungal Jungle. It’s a stupid name but it’ll do. There, though, in the depths, the mushrooms are far too large to deal with in the same manner, but they’re spaced further apart, the vast trunks hardening and crusting and thickening so that you’d need a chainsaw to make space and fit between them with any degree of comfort. We end up forced onto the beaten paths and game trails that dot here and there between the stalks. There must be something here other than the lizards – hell, there must be an entire ecosystem down here, an entire food chain with the birds perched right at the top. The lizards must be like water buffalo or something, only maybe less aggressive, more cautious; that one we’d ran into earlier certainly seemed more inclined to flee than fight, even though it knew we were there. Or perhaps the only predators it has are the birds, maybe whatever other four-legged freaks there are down here only prey on each other and not the lizards.

Olms, that’s what they’re called. Except olms have only got two legs, I think, and they’re aquatic. Maybe they’re related? Distantly so?

My mind’s wandering. I let it to keep the tedium and physicality from sinking into me, soaking into my bones. As long as I can keep daydreaming about something cerebral I can stay sane. On alternating occasions I think having to think is the worst and the best thing about life.

We take breaks, we take frequent swigs from our dwindling supply of water, and I become more and more convinced that I’m never going to make it out of here, that I’m going to die to something really fucking stupid and I’m going to end up as a skull stripped bare along with a couple of other cracked bones in an overgrown owl pellet somewhere up in the canopy, just like Marcus, just like Erica. I ask her more questions about her plan, about the FBI, about anything I can think of to try and divine whether or not she’s a lunatic, but she either refuses to answer me or gives me responses that are infuriatingly sane and reasonable. They were going to strip the tracker from the crystal – easily enough, apparently, it comes with a quick-release – and then take the same way out as they went in and then fade, take the crystal somewhere far away and hide it so that the goddam gummint couldn’t take it and break it and make things worse everywhere for everybody. Of course they could have gotten away with it, she assures me, the Company’s funding is so lax that they’d never dare mention that they let one of the crystals get away, much less by a redneck clandestine operation like that.

I want to cry. I want to talk to Elena, I want to hold her. I hope very fervently that she’s okay, that she’s making it out, that everything is going to be okay for her. I maintain a faint hope that at some point the cavalry will come charging in with guns blazing but the more I listen to Erica talk with a faint derision about the absolute state of the Company right now, the more I doubt it. They won’t waste time or money on me, just mark me down for missing, presumed deceased, and forget about me. The only person I can rely on is me.

Can I do it? I muse ponderously, in between shallow breaths, calculate my odds and fudge in my favor as much as I can. I’ve got a stitch in my side and sometimes I put my hands wrong and Erica has to wait for me to reposition my grip to the side of a fungal thicket so she can pass through. She bears it with patience; she’s tired too, I can tell. But the PDA tells us the crystal is close.

The Leechman will be there, I tell her, and Erica shakes her head, stays silent. I can tell what she thinks of the Leechman; she doesn’t believe me. But when I had said it earlier she had reacted differently, she’d gotten a little spooked – she knows of the Leechman, at least, that’s for sure, but she’s convinced herself I’m mistaken. How could I be right? The Leechman isn’t real, doesn’t exist, it’s a fairy tale.

And then, when we push past the next line of mushrooms and out into an unexpected clearing, we find the Leechman in the flesh, twelve feet tall and just as wide, carrying the crystal like an awkwardly-shaped package beneath its arm. It stomps along, a faint glutinous slopping noise coming accompanied by the crushing thuds of its writhing feet. I look over at Erica, feeling faintly triumphant, and see her staring, open-mouthed, not so much at the Leechman, but at the trunk-sized, five-hundred-pound crystal it’s lugging. She shuts her mouth eventually and looks over at me. “I guess I see why you kept asking how big I thought it was,” she says, and I nod.

“Well, you did keep saying you had a plan,” I point out, and she squats and buries her face in her hands.

“Fuck,” she groans.

Out there across the clearing I hear a high whooping shriek and watch as one of the birds stoops, wings folded, at the Leechman, which seems to raise its abraded, conical head and regard the thing diving at it, and then it drops the crystal and reaches up and plucks the bird from the sky. “Holy shit,” I murmur, and Erica sits up and comes to stand next to me.

We watch in silence as the Leechman pins the struggling bird down on the floor and then vomits a stream of leeches into the bird’s clacking beak. I swear I can see the bird bloat a little just from the sheer volume streaming into it. It goes slack finally and the Leechman lets it go and turns and picks up its crystal and then just walks away into the forest. The glossy shine of the leeches disappears and then all I can see of it is a trail of mushrooms being pushed aside and snapped like candlesticks, and then it is gone entirely. The bird, meanwhile, has staggered to its feet and after a moment of what I can only describe as confusion, spread its wings and fluttered shakily into the air.

I look over at Erica and again feel a pang of sympathy for the woman. I don’t know where it comes from or what it’s doing inside of me but I feel it anyway, and I don’t want to. I heave out a huge sigh and nudge her; she looks up at me with a glum face. “Why don’t we just go?” I ask her. “I know it isn’t what you wanted but that thing is probably going to do a good job of keeping the crystal out of the Company’s hands as well.”

She nods after a moment. “I just don’t like thinking that Marcus died for nothing.”

I don’t have anything to comfort her with, so I stay silent. After a moment I can see resolution in her face. She gets up and stretches and then points. “It’ll be useless trying to do more today. Why don’t we see if that station over there is still liveable? We can stay there tonight and make a fresh start tomorrow.”

I stare at her for a moment, trying to register the combination of words in my brain, before I turn and follow her outstretched hand and see, off on the other side of the clearing, squatting evilly like a swollen tick, an overgrown and abandoned ranger station, clearly of an older model than the similar one up in Oyster’s Shame, but even so a mark of human habitation, a mark that someone somewhere was insane enough to build down here. That, I think, is what I found most disconcerting about the entire place – that lone ranger station, the one singular piece of evidence that someone had come before…

“Wait,” I mutter, as Erica fumbles with her pack. She glances up at me, starts to ask what the matter is, and then she sees what I’m looking at and quiets as well.

There is a flickering orange glow of firelight from one of the station’s shattered windows, and as we watch a shadow, man-sized and shaped, passes heavily along the far wall and then vanishes. Erica and I stare at each other as the significance of what we’ve just seen sinks in, and then she has drawn her revolver and is stomping off towards the station without even bothering to wait for me.

* * *

We enter the station as cautiously as we can, the muzzle of Erica’s revolver advancing ahead of her as she leans around corners, checks all the darkened spots. The station is a mess – it’s clearly been abandoned for a long time. Everywhere there are tiny stalks of growing mushrooms, and things have been living and shitting and dying in here for quite a while. The fire is just in the other room; I can hear it crackling. Erica and I glance at each other and then she nods and we burst around the corner. There’s someone there in an orange suit just like mine, his back to us, but after a moment, just from his frame, from the way he holds himself, I recognize him, and it’s like lightning has struck me.

“Oh my god,” I blurt. “Peter! You’re alright!”

Peter’s head lifts and he drops the can of food he had been holding to the floor. We must have startled him. “Peter!” I say again. I’ve almost reached him by now; I didn’t even realize I had gone to him, I hadn’t even thought about it. I am so relieved I could almost cry. Peter’s alive! Peter is –

Peter turns then and what is staring at me from behind his one remaining eye is nowhere close to being Peter. I can feel my gorge rise as I stare and I hear Erica jump, hear the high, throaty beginnings of a woman’s scream as she comprehends what we’re looking at.

The Leechman has gotten Peter. About half of his head is left, and it lolls at a sickly angle; his neck is broken, clearly. Sprouting from the right side of his body like a bouquet of flowers, tucked awkwardly into the shoulder of the suit, wriggling slowly over each other like a mess of eels, are leeches, thousands and thousands of them, tiny ones, large ones, ones like snakes, ones ribbed and venous and pale and dark. I can feel myself screaming as he reaches out for me, his eye dark, dull, glazed, the leeches sprouting from his neck wriggling in anticipation, and then he has bowled into me, knocked me over onto my back, and then he is on top of me trying to force his fingers into my mouth; they taste like dirt and mold and decay and I am going to vomit –

The revolver thunders one, two, three times, and I feel him shudder with the impacts, and though they knock him around a little he is clearly far beyond the point of being able to be put down by bullets. That hole in his neck yawns wider and leeches start to pour onto me and I scream, then snap my mouth shut, close my eyes. They press against me, bite at me, and I scrape desperately at my face, trying to clear it. Their teeth are sharp and they bite in and hang on for dear life. I am making horrible strangled screams through my gritted teeth because I know they want to get inside my mouth and do – and do whatever it is they do, and I realize that some unhinged part of me is trying to beg Peter to stop, trying to do anything to get him to stop –

I hear glass shattering from the left and a strange high-pitched shrieking sound, and something thuds into Peter very fast, and it is warm, insanely warm, very near to me. I still have my eyes shut, I can’t see. He is screeching, a long, drawn-out, hissing thing, and he gets to his feet, I can feel him get off of me. I sit up and claw the leeches away, crush them between my gore-slick fingers, toss their deflated bodies aside, and then I can finally see – Peter has gotten lit on fire somehow. He is staggering around the room, a bowlegged shuffling gate probably as near a sprint as he can get, slamming into the walls. He looks as though he’s headed for Erica and she, panicking, tosses the revolver at him – it bonks into his head and snaps it back, and he changes his course, and finally trips over the makeshift firepit he – it – had made in the center of the room. He collapses over the smouldering blaze, and then writhes until the movement and that horrible noise finally stops.

There is a crunch of broken glass off to the right and I look over and nearly give myself whiplash with the doubletake – Klaus, of all people, is clambering in through the window, taking care not to cut himself. He has a bright red flaregun in his hand and I realize what must have happened. “Oh, thank god,” I blurt, and Klaus’s eyes rest on mine for a moment, but he doesn’t smile, doesn’t say anything to reassure me. I start to frown, start to ask what the matter is, but Erica is stepping out, a wide smile on her face. “Klaus,” she says, “you got here right in the nick of time.”

Klaus crouches and picks up the revolver, examines it casually. “This is yours?” he asks, glancing up at Erica. “Hi Roan,” he adds, finally, but something about this is still odd, there’s something strange. I look over at Erica.

“Do you two…know each other?”

Klaus laughs, but it’s rather mirthless. Erica offers me a hand and I take it shakily, let her haul me to my feet. She gives me a shaky grin. “I told you I had sources,” she says.

Erica reaches out for the revolver and Klaus holds it up. It looks as though he’s aiming it at her and for a moment I see a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, but it passes quickly, and she takes a step closer to him. “Klaus,” she starts, “give me the –“

He shoots her. I see the slug tear a chunk from her throat and she spins and flops to the floor. I scream, and some force of instinct made me hunker, my hands up to cover my face. I take them down, start to straighten, and then scream again as I see Klaus aim the revolver at me next. I cower there, waiting for it, before I hear the snap of a firing pin on a spent cartridge. I look up and see Klaus staring down at the revolver, a faint curl of disgust on his lips, before he tosses the gun aside. It clunks to the floor next to Erica and she shifts faintly, moaning. Her voice is thick and awful and terrified.

I get to my feet shakily. “It was you,” I say, staring at Klaus. It’s all coming together, it’s all starting to make sense. I can hear Erica choking quietly at my feet and I step around her, move closer to him. His eyes are dark and calm. The pit of my stomach is crawling and I recognize it as the same itchy feeling of anticipation that I used to feel back in Oklahoma whenever I stepped into the dojo for sparring day, two hours every Thursday. “It was you the whole time,” I tell him. “Wasn’t it? You lured her down here, fed her false information, made her think the crystal was something easily portable, told her that bullshit about a sphincter with an exposed nerve.”

Klaus spreads his hands modestly. I pull Marcus’s gun out, train it on him. His eyes flicker down, then back up again. He’s ice-cold, doesn’t even flinch. “You’re going to shoot me?” he asks.

“Erica said the FBI were in town, investigating Makado,” I tell him. “Are you with them?”

He nods after a moment. “She’s going down,” he tells me. “Hard. They finally got enough to nail her with. Letting people into the Pit, working with Peter,” he nods to the charred corpse over to the left. “Shit, I don’t know the full list of charges, I’ve been undercover here so long, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they could get the death penalty for her.”

I shake my head. “Fuck. Why did she send me down here, then? Why did she –“

“You’re an insurance policy,” he tells me, rolling his eyes like it’s obvious. “You’re somebody who’s got a strong sense of curiosity, a drive to figure out the truth. You hear what they’re going to slap her with, you’ll know it’s bull, you’ll try and get to the bottom of it. She figured we wouldn’t be able to get to you down here, but…” he grins. “She didn’t count on me.”

I swallow hard. “I’m a US citizen,” I remind him. “I’ve got rights.”

“You’re a statistic,” he corrects me gently. His hand whips out, smothering mine, and then he’s torn the pistol from my grasp. He laughs at me and then ejects the magazine, tosses it and the gun aside. It lands with a clunk near the fire.

I am, I notice, sweating. My eyes are very wide.

“You’re one of several hundred people who die every year trying to get in here,” he tells me. With exaggerated care, he takes the knife from his belt, holds it up to the light, knocks an invisible speck of dirt from its side. “Mostly indigents,” he says, taking a step towards me. I take a corresponding step backwards. “Nobody anyone would take any notice of.”

“Stop,” I tell him.

“Or what?”

Then he lunges and I am fighting for my life.

Ali told us back at the dojo once that there are no winners in a knife fight. It is such an intimately dangerous kind of fight to have that it is nearly impossible to come away from one without being hurt one way or another – the difference will be whether you’re the one who ends up in the hospital or the one who ends up in the morgue.

But if you don’t have a knife…

If you’re in a real fight, one where you need to murder the fuck out of someone with extreme prejudice before he succeeds in doing the same to you, blunt force trauma isn’t the way to go unless you can bring a lot of it to bear in a short period of time. But I have nothing, I haven’t got a brick to slam on his head, I haven’t got anything, just my fists, while he has a wickedly sharp eight-inch bowie, and if he sticks that in me, one way or another it’s game over.

Erica has died at some point; some detached portion of my brain heard her last rattling gurgle before she fell silent and took note of it, but I couldn’t say when – time has elasticized itself, stretched like taffy. I can feel my heartbeat like drums in my head, deafening, and all I can see is Klaus, his wiry frame enormous, slashing at me as I back off further and further. He’s cautious, he knows that I could still do some damage to him if we end up grappling, but he knows he has a massive advantage as well. Sooner or later I won’t be able to back up any further and then he’ll have me.

So I don’t wait. On the downswing I lunge after him and seize his wrist. He punches me in the face with his other hand and my head snaps to the side beneath his knuckles and stars burst in my eyes, but I cling to his wrist doggedly and then bring my leg up with as much force as I can muster and knee him in the balls. The air shoots out of him and he staggers but he won’t let go of the damn knife. We struggle for a moment longer before he kicks my feet out from under me and I land hard on my back. I take a few gasping breaths and try to scramble away. The gun is just there ahead of me, its polymer grip gleaming in the flickering firelight. I can see the yawning emptiness of the magazine well but even so I grab it and train it on Klaus. He has murder in his eyes. He points the knife at me.

“You stupid fucking bitch,” he says, his voice thick. “You don’t have any bullets - !”

I can see him swaying, a little like a tiger about to pounce, and then my finger finally curls inside of the trigger guard and squeezes the trigger, hoping against hope -

The roar of the pistol is like thunder, even if it’s just a little shitty nine-millimeter, and I scream with the surprise of it, with the shock of it, and then I remember – Marcus kept a round in the chamber. I had only noticed after – after Euler, and then I had completely fucking forgotten. When Klaus took it away from me he never racked the slide to clear it, he just ejected the magazine.

He’s choking on his own blood now, the knife forgotten. I shot him through the throat, just like he got Erica. He looks at me and tries to say something but just gurgles instead.

I leave him in there, leave all three of them in there, Erica and Peter and now Klaus, and sit down on the steps up to the ranger station. I leave the door open behind me in case I need to scramble back inside if a bird spots me. My cheek is still throbbing like hell and there is a mess of blood all down my front. Not all of it, I suspect, is mine. I look down at my hands and watch them shake, and then I make fists, squeeze them as hard as I can, until my nails are digging into my palms.

And then, amid the mushrooms and the lizards and the birds, who knows how many miles deep, sitting at the bottom of the rabbit hole and staring at the tiny pinprick of light above, I can think of nothing sane to do but weep.

END OF BOOK TWO

Continue with Part 27

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#mystery flesh pit #writing #writeblr #alt lit #disaster #mystery #Michael Crichton #caving #thriller

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LoL Chapter 5- Milliara

Master Post

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU belongs to @theguardiansofredland )

Arriving in Milliara, the hermits are excited to finally share what they found with the Magistrate of Lairyon. Things....don't exactly go the way they plan, however. Meanwhile, on the hermit island of Eremita, an old friend returns.

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The walls of the capitol stretch across the swampy marshes of mid-Lairyon, the only firm and permanent ground being the roads and city streets. During the winter months, when the marshes flood with snowmelt from the mountains both north and south, the walls protect the city from the rising waters as well as attacks from monsters and other enemies.

Entering through the massive Kindness Gates of the northeast wall, Scar can’t help but feel like the gates don’t reflect their names. The sharp iron teeth of the portcullis bear down over them as they walk through, just one pull of a chain and the bars would clamp down and bite him in half. He glances to the side, noting the sharp halberds each soldier stands at attention with as well- faces devoid of any emotion. It takes Scar a second to realize they aren’t real people- they’re all the multiplication of one man. Very real, but magical all the same. Clones, with the real man as the captain.

Scar scurries back to the group of hermits, looking around at the massive, sprawling city. A shadow casts over them, the pillar representing one of the eight core values set by the king. Kindness, casting it’s long shadow over the bright pennants and green canals of the streets. Wooden buildings stand on stilts, resting on the steppes and tiers of the city. From beside and beneath the houses, waterfalls pour over mossy and verdant lips of ground, water traveling through the city like blood through veins. Little boats carry messages, their fabric sails filled magically. They bob down the canals, bumping across lilypads and the flowers that live on circular islands, tipping over waterfalls but never losing it’s precious mail.

And already, the hermits can see the center of the city, the heart of Lairyon. Three large buildings, white as aged cypress trees, and just as old. The castle, with gleaming towers that stretch out like branches, home of King Sor.

In the center, a stout building with twin water wheels, spinning in their eternal race to nowhere. Moving water across all of Milliara, like a heart pumping blood. Water is the lifeblood of Lairyon, the island nation. The structure is a feat only completed through the help of all the cities. Metal from Dwarveil, flown in with cooperation from Foresta and Edenswell- their magic and animals. The mill, built by the brightest engineers from Darlon, and the water moved with the aid of Rivera and Watercrest’s magical affinity.

And to the right, the newest building. The capitol house, home of the magistrate and Council of Guilds. It’s they who make the laws, with the magistrate as the elected head of the people. Vaulting windows that spiral up the shortest building of the three, and the flag of Lairyon at every corner and trellis. That’s where the hermits are going. The capitol building, to meet with Magistrate Dolios. Some call him the People’s King- elected by the populace, but in power almost as long as the young king has been. The people just keep electing him every new season.

Doc rubs his shoulders, glancing out the corner of his eyes as they walk over a bridge, white twisted roots and pennants bearing Lairyon’s colors inviting the hermits into the city center. “Doesn’t this feel wrong, you guys?”

“What do you mean?” Jevin tilts his head, slime squishing and a lock of his blue semi-liquid hair falling into a cowlick.

“I mean...we should be more careful, man. We’re an illegal guild walking into the center of the law. Most of us have been on the wrong side of this man and his rules about guilds for years.” Doc tugs on the sleeves of his robes, the tattered ends sticking out like a sore thumb around high society.

“You’re just being paranoid, dude.” Ren snickers. “Not all of us are hardened criminals that have done time in prison. Just you, Doc.”

“Besides, the magistrate said if we investigated that mega problem in Gildara, we’d become a legal guild. Well, now here we are to claim our reward!” Iskall adds.

“Why now, is all I’m asking.” Doc picks up his pace, falling in step with Xisuma. “How many times have we been rejected to be a new guild? I mean, we tried to follow Dolios’s law and get a license, but we were always rejected for no freaking reason! It’s not a fair law, but now all of sudden he wants to give us what we were denied? And why not ask any other guild?”

Xisuma tightens his lip, though no one but him knows. His mask is on, protecting him from the sunlight. “We can’t go into this assuming anything. We did what the magistrate has asked, despite the clear violation we are in with his own laws.”

“Just...remember that.” Doc slinks back, falling into step with BDubs and Zedaph. Both of which would rather not be in the busy city center. Guilds have been restricted by law, one of Magistrate Dolios’s early orders passed. A licensed guild is moderated, inspected. Safer than an unlicensed guild. At least, according to the capitol, they are.

But unlicensed guilds have their reasons for existing. It’s expensive to run a legal guild, so missions often come with high expenses. The Hermit guild picks up work legal guilds would refuse, helping poor towns who can’t afford such high commission fees. To many of the hermits, the laws of guilds are too strict. They don’t allow for creativity, for individuality. To belong to a guild has become a status symbol few poorer or uneducated mages can attain. The knowledge stays within the guilds, and especially the Council of Guilds has become a country club of sorts. The new nobility.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve stood here.” Stress whispers, looking up the steps of the capitol building.

“Right there with ya, mate.” Mumbo runs his bottom lip over the hairs of his mustache, looking around. Hoping no one notices him. Stress ran away from the high life. Mumbo was abandoned by it. The guild walks up the steps, an odd crew seen at the crown of the kingdom. A mix of criminals and nobles, mischief makers and rule followers, quiet souls and crowd pleasers. And their magic is just as varied. Guild members and other government officials stare as they enter into the grand hall of the capitol, clean pressed robes a harsh contrast to the battle worn and road weary hermits. Grian still has hay sticking out of his hair.

The staircase, with velvety red carpet and marble steps, is blocked by giant magical swords. Guards wield the blades, keeping what they can only imagine to be riffraff out of the offices. “State your business, wizard.”

“We are here to meet with Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma states, lifting his chin proudly. The guards don’t move, only glancing at one another. X rolls back on his heels, the awkward silence prolonging until he’s popping his lips just to fill the void. He typically likes that stuff too. “I expect he knows we’re coming, right?”

“Why would the magistrate, the leader of Lairyon, want to see a bunch of mongrels off the streets?” One guard hisses, nose wrinkling. “You all reek of backwater, why don’t you return to your-” The second guard is cut off as his sword pulls away from blocking the stairs to point at the hermits.

“What do you think you’re doing to my esteemed guests?” A clear, calm voice cuts through the air. A voice that demands the attention of every single person in the hall, including every hermit. The guards turn, looking up the stairs. And standing at the top, hand resting on the stone railing, is Magistrate Dolios.

Curly brown hair, the color of fertile soil fresh from a morning rainfall, sweeps down into a tame ponytail, framing a tanned face and charismatic blue-hazel eyes. A soft smile creases between the magistrate’s beard. Purple and red robes flow down the stairs, a golden tassled belt denoting the man as the magistrate of the Council. “You put those barbaric weapons away, and let these good people of Lairyon up the steps.” Dolios looks to Xisuma, nodding his head and placing a hand over his heart. “I have been anxiously awaiting your return.”

The guards don’t hesitate to follow the magistrate’s orders, sheathing the weapons and letting the hermits pass by. Most follow Magistrate Dolios up the stairs, though Doc can’t help but give the arcane guard some trouble on his way past. For once, they can’t do anything to arrest him. The hermits follow the magistrate up into the offices, walking along the velvet carpet with awe. Most have never seen such riches in their life. Dolios’s words are just din. “I’m so glad you arrived completely unharmed. But may I ask...where is your guildmaster?”

“TFC? He went back to our compound to research a specimen he found in Gildara. He didn’t want to waste a minute, so he left alone.” X responds, stepping through the door that Dolios opens.

They’re in his office. It’s large, but the space feels tight. It’s full of artifacts and trophies, both manmade and organic. Zedaph immediately shrinks in, the head of a bakunawa mounted on the wall beside him. Impulse and Tango look around as well, all three members of team ZIT unnerved by the office. Something doesn’t feel right. But Dolios is perfectly at home, sauntering behind his desk and sitting down. His eyes run across the hermits before him, picking up a white feather from his desk as his eyes pass over Grian. “So, tell me. What did you find in the town of Gildara?”

Joe steps up, repositioning his glasses on the bridge of his nose and clearing his throat. “When we reached about five kilometers from the town of Gildara, we became aware of the earth turning grey, like ash. But not just the top layer- the entire ground was devoid of life. Crops that grew died, and wooden poles were beginning to rot. When we reached the town, it was completely uninhabited. We soon discovered a crystal deep within the well of the town, which was unaffected by any magic we threw at it.”

Dolios nods his head slowly. “So how did you take care of the problem?”

“We...We didn’t. Two people- who we can only describe as being simple husks, devoid of thought, life, or energy beyond basic magic- appeared, attacking us. The crystal then lashed out, and we were only able to make it retreat before falling back ourselves.” Joe bites his lip.

“You asked us to investigate the disturbance, Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma steps up, brushing out the top of his outfit. “We took care of the crystal, sending it into dormancy. But the people of Gildara are gone. I think this requires more researching before we can truly do something to break that crystal. Based on my albeit limited knowledge- they don’t really cover this kind of magic at the academy- I do believe this crystal was corrupted by dark magic.”

The office is silent, Dolios staring at the hermits. Finally, he sighs. “That is rather...disturbing news. Do you have any idea who could be behind this?” All of the hermits shake their heads in unison, thought team ZIT becomes distracted by something fluttering on the wall. “Unfortunate. Well, your work is valuable to my cause. I have learned a great deal from this.”

Dolios stands, hand waving. The door behind the hermits opens, allowing the harsh light of the hall into the dark office. False raises an eyebrow. “So...does that mean we’re a guild now? A legal guild?”

Mumbo steps back as he sees a dangerous glint enter Dolios’s gaze, though his lips never turn away from the charismatic smile he wears like jewelry. He closes his eyes, hand raising to cover his mouth. But it does nothing to hide the laughter, growing as his shoulders bounce and he leans back in his chair. It’s a low laugh, reverberating from the chest like a growl. “You really believed I would give you the honorable title of a licensed guild...just for that?”

Doc rips forward, hand waving across and nearly knocking half a dozen knicknacks from the Magistrate’s desk. A few papers lift up, but the magistrate places a hand over them without even looking away from the puppeteer. “We did what you contracted us to do! You said we’d be a legal guild!”

“You mean this contract?” Dolios’s fingers dance across a parchment paper, bearing the signature of the Order of Hermits’ guildmaster. TFC’s crawling, stout signature. He lifts it up, showing it to all the hermits with brazen eyes. A devious curl appears at the corner of his soft smile, and he snaps his fingers.

The contract goes up in flames. Ash sweeps past the hermits, carrying all their hopes and dreams along with it. “Why would this nation need a pack of roaches like you? I will let this unlawful congregation of...miscreants pass through Milliara for now. But you all are in direct violation of my laws, and must disband at once. You are dismissed.”

“That’s not fair!” Grian shouts, scrabbling up Mumbo to get a better view- a better place to yell from. “You contracted us to investigate Gildara, you contacted us yourself! You-”

“You need to learn to stop squawking your mouth, little bird.” Dolios cuts him off, twirling the feather in his hand. Zedaph notices red stains on the pure white barbs. “I recommend you all leave my office now, before your privilege as esteemed guests becomes the misfortune as unlawful intruders to the leader of Lairyon’s own office. I will repeat myself only once more. You are dismissed.”

Doc is the first one out. Storming through the guild, muttering “I told you so” under his breath. Zedaph races out next, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Tango and Impulse are close behind their friend. Once every last hermit is out, the door slams closed, and the same guards that met them at the bottom of the stairs have arrived to escort them out.

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

“TFC? Where is everyone?” TFC looks up, pulling the magnifying piece from his eye and setting down the black crystal. Before him, a knight in shining armor has appeared, or at least the closest version the hermits can find.

“Ahh, Wels. What took you so long?” TFC grumbles, returning to his inspection of the crystal. The short tone sets Wels aback, brows furrowing. Their guildmaster is typically overjoyed to have a hermit return from a mission. Hugging, checking them over for wounds, and asking about the job done.

“You know Alphasgard. Just a bunch of sticks in the asses.” Wels shrugs, feeling his shoulder ache where the bone and skin is still healing. Those rogues thought they could torture him for information, but they just made him mad. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Got some pretty sick scars to show off when the others return. Where are they?”

But TFC isn’t listening, back to prodding the crystal with a metal needle. Scraping at the lustrous surface. Wels steps away, setting his shield down at False’s forge before returning to his home. He glances back at TFC’s crystalline cave. Something isn’t right. TFC would be hounding Wels to take a look at his scars. He always berates the younger members for being so reckless, but then pats them on the back- quite rough- and congratulates them on another great tavern tale earned. But TFC is alone, on the empty island. How long has he been the only one here? Just him and that strange crystal?

And what happened to the other Hermits?

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yeenybeanies · 4 years

Text

Hannoyed ( Hungry-Annoyed )

this is a scenario i thought of last night & i’ve been thinkin about it all day hello. also spontaneous creation of a new oc ( yet another black snake smh ) for size context bc i know that’s important to me: reo is about 60ft/18.3m long

reader & reolzre, the calm ( oc )

1683 words

safe, soft, unwilling vore warning, & language warning

enjoy!!

Bored.

You are bored. Mind-numbingly bored. It’s been a few days now since you’ve been able to leave your home. The conditions outside are too dangerous––or so the radios and headlines say. You’ve been tempted to venture out anyway, but the boredom hasn’t gotten quite bad enough to the point where you’d risk your life. So, for the time being, you have to entertain yourself with video games, books, internet browsing, and daydreaming by the window.

All of these can only keep you occupied for so long.

You aren’t alone in this isolation though, thank the gods. Your unconventional companion has elected to stay with you through these trying times. Why are they unconventional? Well, they’re a wyrm, for starters. Yes, your good buddy is a big ol’ legless, wingless dragon. You tease them often about their lack of appendages, affectionately referring to them as a “ giant noodle dragon ” or a “ spicy danger noodle ” or . . . or usually something noodle-related. It’s all in good fun; you know they’re quite capable, and you know they take it in good humor. Hell, they tease you plenty for your own missing features, like your lack of armor scales and sharp teeth. They like to call you “ squishy, ” among other things.

You two have a good time. You enjoy each other’s company. And you’re very glad that they’re here. This isolation would be excruciating if you were actually fully isolated. Luckily for you, too, your wyrm buddy can’t be affected by the dangers that so keep you separated from the outside world, so they can go out and fetch supplies, should you find your stocks running low.

However, right now, they’re trying to snooze. Their serpentine form is balled up on top of––and around––your couch, the furniture lost completely within the coils.

“ Reo . . .. ” the familiar name rolls off of your tongue, vowels drawn out in something resembling a whine. The massive mound of black scales doesn’t move. Frowning, you nudge at a coil gently with your toes. “ Reo, you’re in–––– ”

“ If you say my name one more time, I’m going to bury you. ” Their voice is muffled through the seemingly endless and beginning-less yards of scale.

Yeesh. Touchy. You mock them silently with a sneer. “ Okay, okay, geez. I just need to get past you. ”

“ Go around. ”

Obviously you would have if you could. Maybe you have been bothering them for the past half hour or so, constantly wandering around in search for something to do. They can’t blame you! You’re bored! None of your games and books sound appealing, window-watching is just getting depressing, and they are trying to sleep. There is nothing left for you to do, save for trying to find something to clean or reorganize or otherwise mess with.

“ I can’t. You’re blocking the hallway. ” You huff and cross your arms.

“ Go over. ”

“ I didn’t want to disturb you. ”

“ And yet, here you are. ”

Maybe it sounds a little callous, but you know they’re only being cranky. You roll your eyes and shrug. Alright. If they say so. The segment of body blocking your way is only about knee high, and not much wider than it is tall. It’s by no means difficult to step over. You were just trying to be polite. Guess that didn’t work out too well, hunh?

Whatever. Obstacle cleared. Now you can go find something in the back half of the house to do.

. . ..

Or not.

Not five minutes later, you’re back at the hallway entrance. This time, you don’t even bother to ask before stepping over. Reo doesn’t stir.

Nor do they move when you cross them again after another few minutes. And then again. And then again. Man, there really is just nothing to do in this house!

Another two minutes of pacing around aimlessly in the back, and yet again you head down the hallway, approaching the scaly barrier. As is now normal for you, you step high and get your foot to the other side without issue, without suspect. What you fail to notice in time, though, is that the main mound of coils has shifted.

Before you can so much as scream, you catch a glimpse at a deep purple, and then your vision is filled with darkness. A pressure clamps down right over your head and neck and part of your chest. You squirm for a moment, shocked and confused, and feel hot, wet, fleshy surfaces push around you, quickly enveloping you. It doesn’t take but a second for your head to enter a tight, slippery chute, your shoulders quick to follow, and then you feel your feet leave the linoleum floor.

Panic.

You don’t know what’s happening, but you kick your legs and try your best to wriggle. The chute squeezes tighter around you, pulling you in further until you’re waist-deep. Your hands thrash uselessly against your thighs and feel around, trying to discern anything. You think you can feel something hard amidst the slime and the squish, but you don’t get to ponder over it much. The chute shifts around you, and you’re lifted further until you’re completely vertical and upside-down! That finally manages to force a grunt from your lungs, but not a full scream just yet. No, your world is still moving too much. The chute squeezes more, and seems to bounce up and down, each fall sending you deeper in. Not three seconds pass before your knees reach the chute opening. Now your legs are pinned together. Vainly, you try to kick while you can still feel the air on your feet, but those too slip in shortly after.

Now you have it in you to scream. The tight space makes it difficult, but you have enough air in your lungs still to manage a hoarse cry. The chute around you twists and contorts, easily forcing you along and overpowering your efforts to resist your descent. You yell for help. You yell for Reo. Someone. Anyone!

Though it feels like forever, it can’t have been more than maybe ten, fifteen––twenty tops––seconds before the winding chute narrows into an even tighter band that stretches around you, and serves as a gateway into a slightly roomier space. Slightly. Once you’ve been shoved in fully, the squeezing and contorting stop. Well . . . they don’t stop; the walls around you still move, like whatever your in is moving around, but you’re no longer being passed through it. Your movement has stopped. And, though the space around you only grants you minimal wiggle room, you fucking wiggle. It feels like a wet, slimy, wrinkly, tight sleeping bag in here, and it smells!

“ Reolzre! Can you hear me? Help! ” The air is hot and humid, but surprisingly breathable. You twist your head one way, then the other, trying and failing to see anything in the darkness.

“ Yes, I can hear you, ” hums the familiar voice. Strangely, it sounds like it’s coming from right next to you, beyond the walls of whatever gross prison you’ve been stuffed into. You wriggle and manage to turn onto your side, hands pushing against the wall. Its wrinkles squelch and pulse against your palms. It doesn’t feel quite like the outside is moving anymore, though the bag around you still churns gently. Where the hell are you?

“ Reo! Reo, I––I don’t know what happened! Where am I? Get me out of here! ” You slap at the wall, thinking it might help the wyrm better locate you.

“ I’ll let you out after I’ve had a nap, ” they say. “ Stop squirming so much. You’re fine. You can breathe, yes? ”

“ Y-yeah, I can breathe––– ” pause. Hard stop. “ Wait––‘ let ’? You will let me out after a nap? What the shit does that mean? ” Again you pound against the fleshy wall, but, this time, the walls shrink up against you, nearly as tight as the chute. You manage to choke out a strangled noise of protest.

“ You were annoying me with your constant moving about, so I swallowed you. ” The wyrm speaks so casually, like they didn’t just say something absolutely ridiculous and terrifying. “ You are going to stay there now, where you can’t move around, so I can get some sleep. ”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything. You almost don’t believe them. There’s no way they swallowed you. There’s no way you’re in theur stomach right now. But, as the bag recedes to its normal tightness, you rub your hands along the walls. The wrinkles, the sliminess, the smell, the tight chute that brought you here . . . by the gods, the wyrm fucking ate you! You are in their stomach!

“ Reolzre, the Calm, if you don’t let me out right fucking now––– ” And again, the walls tighten just as you start to thrash. Your face squishes against the wrinkly surface, and you grimace. Still, you manage to mumble, “ How could you eat me? ”

“ Stop. Gods, please stop. Relax. All that squirming isn’t going to do you any good. ” The outside starts moving again, no-doubt Reo shifting positions to be more comfortable with their unruly meal. “ I’m not going to kill you. Had I actually wanted to do that, you’d have felt my teeth and beak. I just want a nap. That’s it. Then I’ll spit you back up. ”

They have a point. You won’t admit it aloud, but they do have a point. Their teeth––now you realize what that hard thing was you felt when you were in their mouth; it was a tooth––must have been tucked and folded back so they didn’t dig into you at all. Save for the uncomfortable tightness of the chute, it was a quick and entirely painless journey. They made considerable effort not to hurt you.

You still don’t like it though.

“ I sleep better on a full stomach anyway. Get comfortable, Squishy. ” Oh, that sounded cheeky.

That’s it. “ You bastard. When I get out of here, I’m going to skin you and make armor out of your scales! Let me out, you overgrown noodle! ” To hell with their nap. You have no intentions of giving them any peace while they’ve got you stuck in here.

#soft vore #safe vore #vore writing #dragon vore #snake vore #kinda #hyena writes #hyena ocs #reolzre the calm #i realized i messed up their pronouns like 2/3 of the way tru but i fixed it now

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willow-salix · 4 years

Text

Isolation update and one of two planned offerings for @gumnut-logic 's "Touch" prompt. Enjoy!

Day 80 of Isolation on Tracy Island and it started with Alan breaking into the bedroom while we were still asleep. I woke to him rummaging around in the bedside drawer.

“Dude? Whatcha doin’?” I mumbled, it was far too early, I was far too snuggly warm and getting up was in no way on my radar for at least another few hours.

“Oh, I just wanted to borrow your contact lens solution.”

“Huh?” I groaned, having kinda half dozed off again while he had continued to search through the drawer. “What lens solution?”

“That stuff you got with those coloured lenses you wore at halloween.”

I prised one eye open again and poked the sleepy hamster in my brain that had fallen off the wheel and was far too lazy to get up again.

“Oh...that…” where was it? Where did I even put it? I tried to mentally rewind more than eight months… it wasn't easy. Hell, without this diary I wouldn’t even know what day of the week we were on or what I did two days ago…come to think of it, what did I do two days ago?

Fingers snapped in front of my face, making me jump.

“Did you drift?”

“Yeah, sorry...lens stuff...it’s in the…” where was it? I could picture it…”drinks cabinet in the lounge!” I finished triumphantly, that was it. We’d had a small party and I’d taken the lenses out half way through as they had made my eyes itch and I’d stashed them in the first place I had come across, which just so happened to be the place where I was returning to the most that night. I blame Scott, I always blame Scott, if there is ever a drinking game happening or karaoke is started, he’ll be there.

“Alan, I…where did he go?” The drawer was still open and the bedroom door was ajar, but at least it was quiet again. I yawned so wide I almost turned my face inside out and curled back up against the warm body next to me and closed my eyes…

Coffee...I smell...delicious black gold...I sat up a little without even opening my eyes and reached for the mug, taking a sip before I felt able to face the world.

Perfect. Milky, silky, smooth, sweet perfection in a mug. I opened my eyes to see that he'd put it in one of my favourite mugs, the black one shaped like a cauldron that said "witch's brew" on the side. The paleness of the milky latte was broken up by a swirl of coffee and caramel syrup that floated peacefully on the surface like a miniature galaxy. Top ten reason to marry a guy, he makes the most amazing coffee, even if he doesn't do it very often.

“Gods that's good, thank you, I so needed this.” I sipped again then put the mug down on the bedside table, I wanted to savour this...why was that drawer open and all my stuff messed up? Not that I was the tidiest person in the world but I know it wasn't that bad. My sluggish brain managed to kick up an image of the blond baby… “Did I dream Alan coming in at stupid o’clock this morning looking for something?”

“Hmm?” John stopped rummaging in the wardrobe to look at me. “I don’t know, I don’t remember anything after we started watching that film with the puppets in it.”

“They are Muppets, you heathen and I have no idea how you could fall asleep watching that, it’s amazing.”

“Because it was after two and I was tired?”

“Pathetic excuse. Anyway, back to the original question, did I dream Alan? What did he want?”

“Again, I don’t know, you’ll have to find him and ask.”

“Mm,” I agreed, picking up my coffee again. “I’ll go in a minute, it can’t be that urgent.”

An hour later I was actually up, showered, dressed and had even had breakfast, that’s how organized I was. OK, so it was technically after lunchtime but that's beside the point. I tracked the small one down to Virgil’s studio, which is never, ever a good thing. No one is allowed in there without permission on pain of death. I caught him just as he came out with a bottle of glue in his hands.

“What are you up to, Squirt?”

“Nothing!” Unfortunately he said that at the same time as he hastily tucked the glue behind his back.

“Nope, not falling for it. What’s going on?"

"Nothing!" he insisted again.

"I can see you hiding something behind your back."

“OK,” he sighed. “ But promise you won’t get mad?”

“What did you break? Because that’s only craft glue for paper, it won't fix broken things.”

“I know that! And I didn’t break anything, you always think the worst of me.”

“Sweetie, I don’t think that, I just know you.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then shut it again.

“OK, that’s fair," he admitted

“So why would I get mad if you didn’t break anything? Not that I’d get mad if you had broken anything as I’m sure it would have been an accident.”

“Thank you for your faith in me.”

“So, what are you doing?”

“Well, I was bored-”

“Understandable.”

“And I started looking around the internet and I kinda fell into a search hole-”

“Also understandable, I’ve been there myself far too many times to count.”

“Anyways, I found this post about things that kids did in the early two thousands and one of them was to make slime. Apparently everyone was obsessed with it.”

“Really? Slime?” I found that quite hard to believe.

“Yeah, there were even whole video channels dedicated to making it and playing with it.”

“People actually wanted to watch videos of people playing with slime? That’s disgusting.”

“No, it’s not like, super sticky slime, but more of a cool slime.”

“That makes zero sense, little dude.”

“I don’t understand it either, but it seemed too cool to not at least try, you know?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I get that, I’ve done many things that seemed too cool not to.”

“Really? Like what?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“It’s not anything gross with my brother, is it?”

I gave him that look that says all and nothing, it’s always fun to keep them wondering just what the heck I even meant, the puzzlement on their faces is priceless.

“Wanna make slime with me?”

“Sure,” I shrugged. “How bad can it be?”

***

“So you pour the glue in the bowl,” Alan instructed.

“Done that, what's next?”

“Then you add a… what does that symbol mean?”

I glanced at his phone. “Tablespoon.”

“One tablespoon of baking soda.” We both dumped that in the glue.

“A couple of drops of food colouring.” We both added green, him because he wanted to make fake snot, me because I wanted it to look like Slimer had been visiting.

“Now we add one or two tablespoons of the contact lens solution and mix.”

“Better add just one first,” I suggested, “if it’s anything like baking it's always better to start with less and add more.”

“Yeah, it says the more you add the sloppier it gets.”

We dumped in a spoonful each and mixed...and mixed...and mixed. I added a little more but wanted more of a thick consistency, he added a whole tablespoon more as he wanted ‘the whole slime experience’.

“No we have to knead it,” he instructed me.

“O...K” I didn't like the sound of that. I thought I'd just be mixing, not getting my hands in it. I poked the goo with a finger. “It’s cold!”

Alan, being Alan, just dived right in, sticking both hands in the bowl.

“Coool,” he grinned, squishing the gooey mixture so that it oozed out from between his fingers. “This is so weird.”

I was a little more delicate. I pushed my finger in knuckle deep and felt around. I don’t know what for or what I hoped to achieve. It was like poking barely set jelly, it left a bit of a dent and closed over my finger like it was sucking it in. “Ewwww.”

“This is great!”

“I don’t like it.” I wiggled my finger around in the slop then withdrew it, feeling the stringy strands stick to my skin. “Ewwww.”

“I love it!”

“You would, you gross little munchkin.”

“You gotta get your whole hand in there, don’t be shy.” He slapped his sticky hand down on top of mine, smaming it into the ick. I screamed. It was disgusting.

“You horrible little worm!”

“Wiggle your fingers!”

“No!”

“Do it!”

“No!”

“Dare you.”

“Dammit.” I wiggled and shuddered in revulsion. “It’s horrible.”

Alan was kneading his like he was making bread, putting in far more effort than he had that time we made pizza dough. I glanced into his bowl and yes, it was looking far better than mine was.

“Urghh I’m gonna have to do it, aren't I?” I took a deep breath and stuck both hands into the bowl. “Yuck, yuck yuck, yuck, yuck,” I chanted as I smacked and punched at the mess. Slowly but surely, it came together, becoming far less sticky and turning into a silky smooth substance that, I hated to admit, was actually quite satisfying to play with.

“You’re having fun, aren't you?” Alan grinned.

“I admit nothing,” I sniffed, though he was right and he knew it. I picked up the mess and pushed the bowl aside.

If he was treating it like dough, so would I. I dumped it on the counter and began to knuckle it, pulling and stretching with my hands, just as I would to add air to bread. Suddenly seized by the unholy urge to whip I, I grabbed hold of one end and flung my hand back, whipping it forwards to stretch out the slime and splat against the counter. OK, that was actually pretty cool.

“I wonder if this bounces?” I balled it up again and dropped it onto the counter top where it landed with a wet splat, flattening into a puddle.

“Coooool,” Alan whistled, doing the same to his, although his was a lot sloppier and spread across the counter. Mine looked more like a fried egg, his was like spilt juice.

“Oops,” he tried to pick it up but it was far too slippery, sliding between his fingers and plopping out of his hand.

I helped by grabbing a spatula from the utensils pot and trying to pick it up like it was a pancake. It didn't work. Strings of goo slid between the slats of the spatula and dripped downwards.

“Grab the bowl!” I yelped and he held it underneath to catch the run off. I scraped the spatula against the side of the bowl and peeled the last, stubborn bits off and flicked them into the bowl along with the rest.

“What are we actually going to do with this stuff?” I asked him.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve got plans,” he grinned.

“I don’t like the sound of that,” I groaned. “Just please, keep me and John out of it, he doesn’t need the extra stress, he already has to put up with me.”

***

I was sensible with my weird goo, I added a few drops of essential oil having found, much to my amazement, that it actually was quite relaxing to squish it and play with it. I found myself taking it out of it’s tub frequently that evening while we watched a movie, smoothing out the cool jelly, kneading it in my palm and squeezing it until it smushed in between my fingers. The soothing scent of lavender wafting up to fill my nose.

“OK,” John said after watching me for quarter of an hour. “I’ll bite, what do you have there?”

“Slime, I made it with Alan,” I held out my hand and dropped the ball of eww into his palm.

The look of disgust on his face was everything.

“Squish it,” I instructed.

“Squish it?”

“Yeah, like this,” I plonked my hand down on top of his and mashed the goo between our fingers.

“That is the most revolting thing I’ve ever felt in my life.”

I pulled my hand away from his, the slime clinging desperately for a few seconds, stretching between our hands before it gave way and boinged back into one mass in his palm.

"I don't like it," he poked it with one finger.

“It’s not that bad, it’s actually quite ni-”

A pained yelp and then a bellow that sounded like an enraged bull echoed around the villa.

“That sounded like Scott,” I gasped, sitting up.

Scott skidded into the lounge, face like thunder, naked apart from a towel wrapped around his waist.

“What the hell happened?” I asked in shock. “What happened to your head?” I got up to look closer, seeing that a red bump was rapidly forming between his eyebrows.

“I was going to take a shower, but no water came out. I turned the water up higher and something green oozed out of the holes and then the whole shower head popped off and clonked me on the head.”

I bit my lip, trying hard not to laugh.

“What do you have there?” Scotts eyes narrowed, zeroing in on John’s hand where he still held the slime.

“Run!” I yelped and John, pulling on his old track and field days, leapt off the couch and ran for the door, grabbing my hand as he went and towing me after him. It was safer to hide in the bedroom.

Apparently Scott wasn’t the only victim of the slime pranks. Alan had gotten rather creative. He had sneezed goo on Gordon and had mixed up a new batch that included peas and chopped up carrots and was a lovely yellow colour which he had dropped on the floor of Two’s cockpit at Virgil’s feet after making a series of increasingly violent retching noises. Jeff has yet to discover that there is blue slime in the soap dispenser in his bathroom. I dread to think where else it’s going to turn up. But what I do know is that Alan had better avoid Scott for the next few days, because that’s going to leave a bruise.

#alan tracy #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #isolation island #social isolation #isolation #self isolating #thunderbirds in isolation

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ckret2 · 4 years

Text

Klyntinder

Written for @symbruary Day 25: "finding a host". Hey look I finally wrote about someone other than the Venom symbiote! Ven symby’s still there, but just as a watchful mom.

Welcome to week four of daily symbiote speed writes, the game where the continuity's made up and canon deaths don't matter.

###

Peter shuffled out of his bedroom to make coffee.

He froze, staring at the half dozen symbiotes huddled together on his living room carpet.

The symbiotes stared back. A hulking green-and-black humanoid sitting amongst the smaller sludges said, "Hey."

"Hey." Peter turned around, went back into his bedroom, and shut the door.

He opened the door again. They were still there. Nuts. "What."

"We're just using your phone," the green one said.

Peter finally noticed his phone in the middle of the symbiote stew. "Why... why are you in my apartment using my phone."

"Because Father doesn't have a smart phone and Parent knew where you live."

"'Parent'?!" Peter scanned the slimy crowd.

There, perched on a couch to supervise the gooey brood, was a single symbiote that was pure black with white eyes. It caught Peter's gaze, then raised its "head" dismissively, as if turning its nose up at him. Oh, like Peter was the one that had spent years begging it to get back with him. "Oh, great! So you're all Venom's spawn!"

A reddish-black one and a lavender one stretched up indignantly, and ended up accidentally looking like a wiggly question mark and exclamation point. The green one corrected, "Spawn and grand-spawn."

Peter raised his hands, had no idea what to do with them, and dropped them again in defeat. "Why do you need my phone?"

"To find new hosts," the green one said.

The yellow one currently scrolling on Peter's phone started undulating excitedly. The others squished close to see the screen. The Venom symbiote on the couch stretched out a long tendril to see above the crowd. The green one bent closer. "Oh. Oh yeah, that's a nice looking spine. Very roomy."

With a dramatic whiplike motion, the yellow one slapped the screen to swipe right and then kept scrolling.

"I wish more of these profiles had back shots," the green one muttered. "And pics below the waist. Maybe I'm shallow, but sturdy-looking knee ligaments can make or break a host, you know?" Several of the others bounced in agreement.

"Hey, Swamp Thing. Why are you here? To translate?" Peter asked the green one. "You've already got a host somewhere under there, don't you?"

"Oh, yeah, technically?" The green one shrugged. "He's kinda brain dead though. I figured it's time for me to move on to a real relationship."

"Brain dead." Peter held back a hysterical chuckle. "I suppose you lobotomized him."

"Yeah."

Peter had to learn not to say things out loud that he didn't want to be true. "Okay. Okay, you know what, I—I'm gonna go make a coffee. And when I'm done with my coffee, if you things aren't finished with my phone and out of my apartment, I'm going to..." He couldn't call the police, what were they going to do, arrest a bunch of alien oozes? None of them seemed to currently be on the warpath. This was more of a get-a-cat-out-of-a-tree level emergency. "To call the fire department." How was he going to call the fire department if they had his phone?

All of the symbiotes jerked up and stared at him with wide eyes. After a moment, the green one nervously asked, "Does the fire department have flame throwers?"

Peter hesitated. "Yes. Yes it does."

They wrapped up in ten minutes.

###

"Hey, my phone's almost dead," Mary Jane said, "can I borrow yours to look up movie times?"

"Sure." Peter unlocked it and passed it across the couch.

After a moment, Mary Jane said, "Why do you have Tinder?"

Peter's blood ran cold. "Uhhh. Would you believe me if I told you a bunch of alien goos broke into my apartment to download it onto my phone?"

Mary Jane raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, yeah, that does sound like the kind of thing that would happen to you."

Peter sighed in relief.

"Can I check out their profile?"

"Sure. They put it on my phone, no privacy for them."

Mary Jane clicked the app, grinning. "Oh! They put the profile under your name."

"Oh no. Of course they did."

"Technically, it's under the name 'Peter Parker's Phone'."

Peter snorted.

"You may be interested to know that your turn-ons include bodybuilders, vigilantes, and hypothyroidism. Your turn-offs are metal heads, vegetarians, and scoliosis."

"I hate that I have to wonder why symbiotes like hypothyroidism."

Mary Jane's eyebrows raised. "Aaand among a dozen other men and women, you swiped right on Deadpool."

"Oh no."

"He's super excited about your date tonight."

"Oh no. Does he know he's talking to an alien or does he think I'm going to show up?"

"Hard to tell. There's a lot of slime-related double entendres in here. He might genuinely be super excited that an alien's going to crawl up his nose, or he might think it's a really gross euphemism."

"Ugh." With Deadpool, it could go either way. "I've gotta go warn him in case he is expecting a human. Please don't let his date be the one that's into lobotomies."

Mary Jane grimaced and started typing. "I'll message him a warning, maybe he'll see it before the date." She glanced up. "If he doesn't respond soon, what are our odds of that movie?"

"Ehh... Don't buy tickets just yet." Peter fished out his mask.

Mary Jane passed Peter's phone back to him. "Hey. If everything's fine with Deadpool and his new friend, maybe you should invite them with us to a movie double date," she joked.

Peter rolled his eyes before pulling his mask on.

###

Crossposted to AO3, link in my description. If you enjoyed the fic, I'd appreciate a comment or reblog!

#venom #sleeper #symbiote #venom symbiote #spiderman #(also featured in passing: toxin; scorn; scream; and a couple other kids of your choosing)#symbruary #fanfic #my writing

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mauserfrau · 4 years

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Eyeshine, Part 1 - Bordertober

HEY KIDS WHO WANTS TO SEE THE TWINS ON THEIR SHIP HEADED TO PANDORA.

IT’S REALLY TINY.

AND THEY’RE HAVING ENGINE TROUBLE.

...or are they?

Lots of Tyreen eating and some other general nastiness from her. Appreciably Claustrophobic.

The jump brought them to a space so empty it didn’t even seem black. No— darkness rested between other stars, far off and distant. Here was a clear nothingness, out of reach of the rest of the universe.

Tyreen drifted at his shoulder. He could feel her fuming.

Neither of them had made much sound since they’d stopped. The lights were low, the gravity still off and wherever they were now, it seemed like there hadn’t been a sound there since the galaxy formed. A word from either of them would disturb this.

Besides, this wasn’t Pandora. This wasn’t even the Pandoran system. Or any system. This was nothing.

“Stars move, you know,” Troy said, fumbling the silence apart.

“It’s only been like twenty years,” insisted Tyreen. “They can’t move that fast. We should at least be able to see it!”

He gestured a spiral with his hand. Did she even care that the star cluster where Nekrotafeyo had grown spun opposite this one, that they were blue-shifting verses each other and that had choked the navigation system? He decided to summarize. “I think the computer’s a little off and umm...”

“Umm what?”

“I might have overcompensated for stellar drift since I ended up doing it manually.”

“Troy!” She made his name sound like she’d broken something. He half-expected a slap.

“Look.” He forced calm into his voice and turned to face her as he spoke.

She was livid, her whole body tense and her hair standing on end.

“We can’t run out of power. We jumped just fine. We have water. We have food. We have a working toilet.”

“And where are we!”

“I’m gonna run an extrapolation and figure that out while the jump drive resets.”

“Can’t you math it in your head?”

“Um.” Sighing, Troy turned back to the view screen, focusing first on the blank reach where their ship rested, then letting his vision float to the stars. The blackness lived between them, but in some strands there was no between, only points of light thick enough to make mist out of each other. “I kinda don’t think so.”

Tyreen groaned and swam off towards the bed.

Tyreen moved better in zero g than he did. Troy was always twisting around to his left to push, pull, founder. Still, he hated to turn the gravity back on. There was something about watching her float above the bed with the covers billowing around her. She seemed so right like that, singular and and easy and in this case put out.

Her Coeus reader was flickering lately. She ended up groaning and setting it loose to float through the cabin where Troy caught it.

She also said— “Hey, turn the heavy back on. I gotta piss.”

“Alright. On three. Three.” Troy threw the switch. His back crunched as weight returned to his spine through the seat at the command console. His sister landed with a thump. Their foodstores yelped and howled and shed feather-forms along the floor. Tyreen caught herself with a huff and pulled herself into the water closet, giving the cage of spindly hexlings a sour look before she shut the door. One of them shrieked after her. Troy shushed it and went back to the console.

The keys pressed easier with weight back in his body. He pulled up the extrapolation program. Another likely set of coordinates failed a final round of testing and ticked away. The system was working to match the spectrographic information of visible stars to known clusters as far as he could tell. Color seemed such a tenuous way to determine place, but that might have been the emptiness intruding on his thoughts more than anything rational. Besides, he kept thinking he had somehow spied the white supergiant that held Pandora out among all the other points of light.

Troy was tempted to ask his sister to try. She was the siren. She might be able to do it if she listened across all the dark matter between them and that place.

She was still in the water closet.

Troy let the extrapolator run in the background and idly tabbed into the superstructure of the ship’s hard drive. It had been made to be piloted by someone with little skill, all of the command icons in welcoming jelly style art with three to four clicks needed to access any functions more complicated than the gravity or the sublight engine speed. He’d picked the interface up fast enough, but modifying the OS to accept a jump drive had been more hours of frustrated keystrokes than any actual handiwork.

Every system responded in good order. He’d done the same check once they’d cleared Nekrotafeyo’s gravity well and before the jump. The only difference was thousands of light years to nowhere and the bottom falling out of his stomach halfway there, not more than a heartbeat.

He even dug into the audio system. If Tyreen asked, he wanted to be able to tell her literally everything was fine.

A handful of loose example recordings bothered the top folder. Troy thought about moving them, but the system considered their poor placement de rigeur and complained when he tried.

Tempted to try, he clicked down the list, which was when he realized: one of them had a different date than the others.

He leaned over a speaker and hit play, curious what had been loaded on this particular sound test file. Since that was probably it.

Instead, he heard Dad say, “Well, if it isn’t my favorite little minx. Yeah, that’s a good girl. Let me see those eyes shine. I love it when you...”

He slammed stop.

There was somebody else on the file too. They were laughing that bubbly way he knew happened, but he barely remembered as something he’d experienced in his own life.

Troy stared at the file. He breathed again.

A thump sounded behind him and Tyreen came tripping out of the water closet, pants around her ankles and her underwear yanked up in her fist. “What the hell was that?”

“Ah, system check. Since we’re here, you know.”

She growled and she sat down right where she was and in the puddle of her pants. “Warn me next time.”

“Your intuition didn’t tip you off?”

Those words didn’t even merit an answer. She closed her eyes and turned her back to him.

The ship was so small he only would have had to lean out of the chair and he could have had his hand on her. She wasn’t in the mood though, not about that, not about anything to do with Dad and definitely not about playing siren anytime before they made planetfall.

And well, then she wouldn’t be playing anymore, would she?

Maybe that fact had settled funny someplace in her stomach. Troy just knew that after a while she stole her Coeus back and stood in the corner, smacking the screen. The extrapolation program ticked off another hundred coordinates that didn’t suit, approaching 50% complete at a crawl.

Tyreen peered over his shoulder, but said nothing about the progress bar.

It looked like half of their chances for finding themselves had been spent. Troy thought it was more of a best match situation.

He wondered what he would do if he was wrong.

The jump drive ticked down to usable quiescence. Tyreen swore and started to get back into bed. Instead she kicked her pants off and stretched out belly-down on the floor which was chalky with the bookmarks of the night they’d left.

It had only been two days. He thought. The active time on the sublight engine monitor was somewhat misleading. Startup had taken so long, but he’d been fumbling all over himself, movements thick with the shock of what he was about to do.

What Tyreen said they were doing.

Like, she just… dragged him. Now?

Now there his sister lay, looking like she’d melted into the ground.

“What’re you staring at?” she muttered without looking up from the well of her arms.

“Mm. Nothing,” Troy murmured. “I was thinking about when we were kids. That game we’d play about not getting off the bed back when we only had the one and...” Well, he thought about that a lot, even though it hadn’t been bothering his mind in that moment.

Tyreen sat up, still hunched over. Her Coeus rattled in her grasp. Eventually, she tipped it into one of the charging slots. “I’m eating now. You want in?”

“Sure.”

Food was something to do anyway. Troy hauled himself out of the chair and got himself into the cupboard after some of the stale rye bread they’d taken from the stores back at the homestead. He checked it for mold and then also took a plum.

Tyreen picked over the cages with a tongs. Did she want manta eggs? A hexling or two? A flush of air coral and sprat? One one of the lonesome baby Djira mewing in their own slime?

She took two eggs.

The two of them hunched together on a sheet of tanned air algae. Troy’s plum was sour, but he sucked the pit clean while Tyreen stared at him. As he reached for the bread, Tyreen shoved one of the eggs at him. “Open it for me.”

Troy sighed. Speaking of games from when they were children— Tyreen could have eaten the egg regardless, but he’d gotten awfully good at spinning the tops off with his knife and one hand. He smiled and he did this for her now, placing the egg on a spare sack so that his sister’s leavings would spread through the ship, get into the Instruments.

The egg squished as she pressed her fingers inside. It turned to dust and glass. “Hmm. That was fresher than I thought.”

“Good. Want me to do the other one too?”

“Sure.”

So, he sliced again. He was going to have to wash his hand before he finished his own super as much as the second egg leaked.

This time, his sister stared at her dirty knees. “Are you sure you didn’t fuck everything up?”

“If I did,” Troy said softly. “Then we’ll deal wi-...”

Tyreen sucked the other egg down, sloppy now, sand leaking between her toes. She grabbed the piece of rye and stuck it in Troy’s mouth before burrowing into the bed and covering her head with the pillow.

Troy chewed thoughtfully and then moved to clean up. The baby Djira chortled in their cages as though night had fallen. Well, it was that time by the engine clock.

#bordertober #border-tober #borderlands 3 #fanfic #fanfiction #Tyreen Calypso #Tyreen being Tyreen #Troy Calypso #Troy Calypso PoV #enclosed spaces #claustrophobia #tags will change #appreciably some shade of horror #i couldn't get a straight answer on how ships are supposed to do ship things so have this #it's a hack sci-fi author blue plate special #oh and they had plums on Nekro in Grimeverse #mostly because I was hungry for plums one day

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poisonepel · 5 years

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Halloween at Night Raven! ♡ Savanaclaw

【Halloween at Night Raven! Special ☆ Savanaclaw Booth】

[Prologue] [Heartslabyul] [Octavinelle] [Scarabia] [Pomefiore] [Ignihyde] [Diasomnia]

You decide to carve pumpkins.

As you made your way towards Savanaclaw’s Pumpkin Carving booth, you were very amused to see how cheesy and basic it all looked.

The booth consisted of three wooden tables, each set with some pumpkins and carving tools. Taped to the side of the middle table was a white banner with “Fun Pumpkin Carve with Savana!” written in messy black paint. Squished beneath Savana, the second half claw was scribbled in blue marker. One poorly drawn jack o’ lantern sat at the corner of the banner.

Your mind went back to Headmaster Crowley’s speech at the assembly, when he had said he was very impressed with each dorm’s contribution to the party, and you wondered whether or not Savanaclaw was included in that. This certainly didn’t look up to par with anything.

Also, you were the only visitor here. Three members of the dorm’s members were in charge of this booth—the dorm leader Leona, Ruggie, and Jack—and they were the only other people here, idly chatting at one of the tables together while cheesy Halloween songs played from a radio laying next to them. But the second they noticed you, they immediately leapt to attention.

“Oh, (Y/n)! Are you here to carve pumpkins?” Ruggie called.

“Why else would I be here?” you called back. “...Has no one else come by yet?”

“Nope!”

Now you were really starting to reconsider. Maybe you would’ve had much more fun at Diasomnia’s haunted house booth instead... They always had the most popular booth.

But, you knew these three very well, and you didn’t mind spending some time with them. Plus, if not for you, they would’ve been here alone the whole night. So you took a seat at the table next to Leona, deciding you wouldn’t mind spending your Halloween very casually with three of your favorite people.

“Well, I doubt anyone else is gonna show up, so... I guess we can start,” Leona said, placing a fat pumpkin in front of you. “Have fun carving or whatever.”

“‘Or whatever,’” Ruggie echoed, his voice tinged with annoyance. “Why’d you even pick this dumb kids activity anyway? Nobody wants to do it. I bet (Y/n)’s only here ‘cause they felt bad for us. Huh, (Y/n)?”

“...I-I was actually looking forward to this,” you admitted.

“Uh, Howl’s the one who thought of this, not me,” Leona clarified, brushing over you. “So if you’ve got any complaints, direct them all to him.”

Jack scowled. “We only went with this ‘cause your lame ass couldn’t think of anything better.”

“Well neither could Ruggie’s.”

You let out a small smile at the trio’s bickering, knowing that this was a very common occurrence between them. “Carving pumpkins isn’t so bad,” you insisted. “It’s a Halloween staple!”

“Well, you do you..” Jack shoved a few carving tools in front of you, as well as some paper templates in case you wanted to use those. Ruggie, for some reason, also began sawing the top off his own pumpkin, despite the blatant distaste for this activity he’d expressed just a second ago.

“Originally we were gonna have a contest,” Ruggie informed you as he worked. “Whoever carved the best pumpkin would get to take a picture with that scarecrow over there holding their pumpkin.” He pointed over to a corner, where there was a scarecrow dressed in a ragged Savanaclaw uniform, sitting atop a pile of hay. You didn’t say it out loud, but the set-up looked hideous. “And there’s also some candy in that cauldron next to it for the winner to take, too. I picked that out. It’s the good candy.”

“...”

It really looked like these three had run to the party store last-minute and just bought all the generic Halloween decorations they could find. They even had those plastic skeletal goblets set on the table, filled with some kind of fruit drink, which they would periodically drink out of. There was no theme - just, cheap plastic Halloween decor.

“Anyway, I guess to make the night interesting, we’ll just have a contest between the four of us,” Ruggie went on. “But really it’s just between me and (Y/n) ‘cause I doubt the other two will even try.”

Jack immediately got offended. “Lay off, Bucchi. You’re just mad ‘cause I’m better than you at everything else.” Then, feeling spitefully motivated, he grabbed a paper template and began tacking it to his own pumpkin, one that he was certain would look better than Ruggie’s no matter how hard Ruggie tried.

But Ruggie only stuck his nose up. “See, Howl, you’re not even doing it right—you’re supposed to scoop out all the seeds before you tack—”

“Can you mind your damn business?”

Ruggie ignored him. “And Leona—”

Leona had been busying himself drawing on another pumpkin, a messy lion monster face in Sharpie, and was just finishing coloring in a ragged scar going through its eye. “Done.”

“You didn’t even carve it! That was the whole point of this!”

“Shut up, my pumpkin is a masterpiece.” Leona hissed, before stretching back, feeling very exhausted with all the work he had put into that 2-minute drawing.

Jack’s grin reappeared on his face. “What were you expecting from the dorm leader, Bucchi? You should be surprised he even bothered to try.”

“He can’t participate in the contest if he didn’t even carve it,” Ruggie insisted, crossing his arms. “Drawing talent isn’t the same as carving talent.”

“You call that drawing talent?!”

“...Rude,” Leona huffed. “You know I’d be more motivated if there was a better incentive. Like...” His eyes trailed around the area, before they landed on (Y/n). Then he smirked. “Hey, let’s change the rules a bit. Instead of candy, the winner gets... a kiss from (Y/n).”

“...What.” You froze. Your brows creased. Then you hesitated. “...What if I win?”

“Then you can make all of us do whatever you want.”

You took a longer pause. “...For how long?��

“Uhhh,” Leona looked up, thinking for a second. “A day?”

“Deal.”

“Wait, I didn’t agree to that—” Ruggie cut in. “I don’t like that look in (Y/n)’s eyes. Also, I don’t even want some stupid kiss anyway.”

“Yeah, what the hell?” Jack agreed. “I wanted the candy.”

“Fine, you guys can have whatever you want if you win. But I’ll get a kiss.”

“If you want a kiss from me, you’ll have to get a kiss from everyone,” you clarified. “The winner gets to pick the punishment, but it has to be the same for everybody.”

“...I don’t want a kiss from Howl.”

“Really? Howl’s been wanting one from you, though,” Ruggie grinned.

The tips of Jack’s ears immediately went red. But he didn’t spare a moment in dipping his hand inside the center bowl, which was filled with pumpkin guts, and flung a handful directly at Ruggie’s face.

“...! Howl!” Ruggie cried, alarmed, as if Jack had come onto him unprompted. He retaliated by snatching up Jack’s pumpkin and chucking it at the ground—which was not something you were expecting at all. Your mouth was agape when gourd bits splattered everywhere, staining the area with stringy, gooey, orange slime.

Jack, however, couldn’t have cared less about the pumpkin.

“Pretty sure you just got disqualified for that,” he said, knowing Ruggie was literally the only one passionate about this contest.

“...!”

Leona simpered. Now neither of them were able to participate; with Jack’s pumpkin destroyed and Ruggie disqualified, Leona had less competition, which meant a better chance to win. He didn’t even have to do any work to get them out. So he was very pleased.

“Between you and me now, babe,” he winked at you, still with that lazy smirk on his face. “And I’m changing my reward. If I win, all three of you have to be my slaves for a day.”

“...‘Cause that’s nothing new,” Ruggie muttered, rolling his eyes.

“I’ll win for you, Ruggie,” you assured him.

“Please,” Ruggie replied. “I don’t care what you do to me; I just want Leona to suffer.”

So, determined, you shot Leona a glance, who looked equally as motivated to win this contest. And then you began.

It took about an hour and a half for you to complete your pumpkin monster. By the time you were done, you were smiling very triumphantly—until something dawned on you.

“...Wait, who’s even judging the contest?”

“........”

“...Well, when we thought of this...” Ruggie started, “we thought more people would show up, so us three weren’t supposed to participate... but I guess we can do a vote? Me and Howl.”

“...!” Leona let out a low hiss, knowing fully well neither of them would ever vote for him.

And so, the winner was you.

You smiled gleefully when you got to pose with that hideous DIY scarecrow the three of them had built, holding your pumpkin monster proudly at the camera. Your photo printed on a Halloween-framed film that read, “Have a SPOOK-tacular Halloween!” with cartoon bats and ghosts on it.

According to Ruggie, Leona was the one who picked the film out when they’d gone to the party store last week. Knowing that, you cherished the photo; you thought it was cute how hard they all worked to put this together—even though it wasn’t phenomenal.

But, the Savanaclaw boys didn’t care much for the photo with the scarecrow—those three were much more eager to hear your terms for your “reward.”

“Oh, the three of you will just have to accompany me on one of my busy errand days,” you told them, “and help me with anything I need help with.”

That didn’t seem so bad.

Key word: seem.

・━━━━✥◈✥━━━━・

[Halloween at Night Raven! Masterlist]

#twisted wonderland #twst fics #savanaclaw #leona #jack #ruggie #leona x gn reader #jack x gn reader #ruggie x gn reader

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the-house-of-the-nine · 4 years

Text

In Mind of Misery: Manipulation, Part 3

[Helping those who are trapped in quarantine with some writing. Please if you know someone who is lacking entertainment, send them our way. Share this and promote OC writing! Love to all of you. Be safe during this troubling time! And take care of one another! ]

[ And so the journey begins. Three Separate stories to tell here all happening Simultaneously. Attacking from three fronts, is this the beginning of the end for The Nine? Please Like, Share, and Follow us! We are hoping to get new people coming our way, and could use the love! Thank you everyone!!!!! ]

Cast:

[ L.K ] - Lazarius Kashebahl, Marseille, Raelyndia Duskhollow

[ P.K ] - Kretus Dark

[ V.D ] - Verzatea Duskflame, Pame Myl’Brin

[ J ] - Jursol, Jimba, Mawa

[ T ] - Talisin aka The Boy

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[ T ] “I-I ran away from home! My parents b-beat me!” Explained the boy with pleading eyes.

[ L. K ] Lazarius snapped his gaze from the child he was trying to talk to and back to Verzatea. He so badly wanted to lash out at her for interrupting him.

He was above doing such childish things though; and calmly ignored her question as he peered back toward the young boy. There was a demanding clearing of his throat when he did finally get the answer.

"This boy is tainted with the essence of the void; we don't have time to debate whether or not he is a threat or not."

He decreed as he pulled his fingers away from the boy and lightly traced his own brow line with them. In more of an afterthought he would speak out loud while thinking.

"If I put a small barrier around his mind; it will block the whispers from interacting with him . . .that will prevent NZoth from tailing us if the child is a threat unknowingly. . . we will have to bring him with us. Tranquillen is no place for him and returning him to Quelthalas is out of the question."

Lazarius glared back toward Verzatea once more.

"I will entrust him with you . . ."

[ V . D ] Verzatea's eyes widen slightly, taken aback by such a task assigned to her. There wasn't much to hide about Teas lack in confidence when it comes to students, and even now as she stared across the space between them and the boy currently in Mars clutches her blood pressure began to raise as her heart raced.

She grew flustered, but her eyes did soften at the sight of the mangy child, gangling and clearly abused all his life... Neglected. Perhaps there was something she could do. She wouldn't know until she tried, right? She had not only her entire book of experimental magics that became perfected and powerful over time, and she even had her great grandmothers book of shadows at her disposal.

An entire plethora of centuries of work passed down to every other woman in the family who possessed the affinity for magic. Unlike Verzas mother. Although her motherly certainly held true to the tradition her family set in place for its women; And she certainly had faith in Tea to uphold those family traditions.

It was up to Tea to determine who was worthy of such family secrets. And she knew plenty; And perhaps here one worthy candidate lay before them. She wouldn't know until their second meeting-- preferably home in the Bastille. Thus with a brilliant smile she agrees with a confident.

"I am honored to do so," and her eyes would move to inspect the Inquisitor before murmuring in a more personal remark, one which those in the distance might not hear.

"I will try."

[ L. K ] "So be it. . . boy."

Lazarius said in a snide; almost condescending manner though the malice in his voice could be cut with a knife, he was clearly not a man to trifle with.

"...it will either be a blessing and gift that you have found us. . .or a curse you will regret even in your undeath. . ."

And with that, the dark eyed Inquisitor would pluck the boys mind like a guitarist plucking a string. The two mummified fingers lightly tapped against the left side of his head; striking the temple very gently. This was all it took for the boy to immediately feel quiet.

A sense of calm and for once; if he was plagued by the whispers of the Old Gods, he would feel nothing. It was deafening quiet at this point; no more madness or torment and certainly no more voices. But as the wisps of shadowed tendrils slithered back into his fingertips the moment he pulled his fingers away; something loomed in the darkness.

Something that had no intention of allowing such magics to be done without consequence. A sense of foreboding danger soon swept across the wooded thicket they were standing in; and as the boy slowly fell into an unconscious state, Lazarius would rise from his knees and stand tall once more.

"They come. . ."

And he was not wrong. Lurking in the skies above multiple venomous tendrils began to lurch forth. They were like long spirals of black clouded madness that began shrieking through the blackened skies toward them. Three to be exact, each in a different location.

This was all because of the use of magic Lazarius had tapped into. This was why he warned them of such things, using their talents and abilities was only lighting the torch to illuminate them. And with that, it would begin.

THE FIRST OF THE BEASTS CHARGED THROUGH THE WOODS HEADING DIRECTLY TOWARD THE TREES IN WHICH PAME WAS HIDING IN. IT WAS MASSIVE, ITS TENTACLE ARMS WERE PLENTIFUL, IN FACT IT WAS CRAWLING TOWARD THE GROUP AT A BREAKNECK PACE USING NEARLY

TWO DOZEN SETS OF SLITHERING FLESHY TUBULAR ARMS TO PULL ITS HULKING BODY FORWARD. THERE WERE NO EYES AND ONLY SEVERAL SETS OF MOUTHS EACH FILLED WITH FANGS, AND SEVERAL ROWS OF THEM AS IT CHOMPED, SPAT AND HISSED ITS WAY THROUGH THE WOODS.

A SECOND BEAST WOULD BE COMING FROM THE NORTHERN WOODS, THIS ONE WAS VERY MUCH LIKE THE FIRST IN ALMOST EVERY WAY. IT HAD JURSOL IN ITS SIGHTS.

THE SLIME COVERED MUTATION WOULD BE BARRELING TOWARD THE ZANDALARI WITH GREAT SPEED, USING THOSE FLESHY ARMS TO PULL ITSELF AS QUICK AS POSSIBLE THROUGH STICKS, LEAVES AND ANYTHING ELSE IT COULD CRASH THROUGH.

THE THIRD BEAST WAS DIFFERENT. LIKE A MOUNTAIN CAT, ONLY INSTEAD OF ONE SET OF EYES, IT HAD ABOUT A DOZEN, WITH A SET OF TEETH THAT STRETCHED FROM ITS JAW NEARLY AROUND TO THE TOP OF ITS HEAD. IT WAS RACING TOWARD VERZATEA GALLOPING ON ALL FOURS WITH HER IN ITS SIGHTS.

[ L. K ] And just for good measure, As Lazarius realized what was happening, he suddenly clutched his side and fell to the ground. Several dark strands of energy began to radiate from his body where the eye was located.

He lay on the moldy, wet grass of the dead lands as the eye began to hum a loud bellow from within him. Several tendrils of dark energy were leeching into the ground.

The Inquisitor began to writhe in pain from this; he was unable to help anyone and lay beside the unconscious boy as everyone was dealing with their beasts.

"Master!"

Marseille shouted as he raced to his side and attempted to prop him up so he would not injure himself.

[ J ] Jursol heard strange movement coming fast. Right as she turned to say something the beast where rushing the group. Her eyes narrowed as she hunched down, she growled low as her clawed scaled hands stretched out like talons. A sharp whistle was heard as she charged the beast. Her raptors follows suit as they broke off to the sides.

They were flanking the beast with Jursol as the distraction. Jursol moves swiftly at the beast before she leaped, grabbing a branch that hung low. Her legs wrapped around it as Jimba leaped into the tree tops. The larger raptors she brought made high pitched sounds as they communicated.

Before the beast could even know what’s going on, the raptors were on it. Slashing at its body, their mouths lined with many sharp teeth worked to tear into the ooze. Jursol dropped down from the branch as she landed on top of the beast. Her large body likely squishing it before her talons tore into it as well.

She looked like an angry feral animal as she rip at the thing, growling and slashing at it with her raptors. Not much would be left of the beast after they were done. As she calmed down, her raptors and her backed up to check the others. Leaving the mess they made of the beast to be burned. The raptors made what seemed to be happy noises after the mess was made.

[ V . D ] The kaldorei allowed her eyes to flutter shut for a moment, absorbing the change in the atmosphere as a means to open her mind to the world on a more primal level. The shift if the wind, the rustle of the leaves and the vibrations of the branches... She focused, long and hard.

Until that increasing volume of snarls gets just close enough before the kaldoreis burning silver gaze opens up into a determined and calculated expression.

With a magnificent burst of speed in hand with her significant speed to make use of the familiar advantages of such a dense forest... Pame sprints before swiftly drawing her sword, with the built momentum of lunging toward a nearby tree to carry her body up and around, applying all her force into swinging her blade upward before striking it down into the head of the lunging monster.

Her intensity came from deep within. Like unleashing her inner panther. Sleek, but strong.

Verzatea was by far more graceful in judgement and execution. Her slim fingers broke the jewel lock before slithering the bracelet off with a single twist and roll of her hand-- This force and motion would wiggle the pliable razor sharp blade into unraveling. With a final flick the woman pushes that jewel lock above the open hole before pushing that lock back into place to solidify the reformed shape of her once cold, firm steel bracelet.

This action would have occurred in the same few seconds between Tea pulling forth her black bladed short sword from its sheath on her hip. No more wands called for a return to the old tricks. In a similar burst of energy the slimmer sindorei strikes as the beast reaches her, swinging the blade of her azurite sword into the creatures flank with a casual twist and dodge to the left.

Her hair and dress skirts twirled with the dancers graceful motion-- A tribute to her passion of ballet for sure, no matter how neglected the talent was to her duties. True, her dodging made her cut the equivalent of just a scrape. But equally effective to taking on a direct hack of her simpler short sword which remained firmly at her side.

The responsibility of preserving their mission and protecting her dear ones had broken her moral codes of avoiding bloodshed. She'd always make exceptions when those beloved to her were threatened. And nothing about the snarling feline gave Tea "harmless" vibes; Especially with the break in the skies overhead as tendrils roll forth from the darkness.

[ L. K ] The beasts both Pame and Jursol had tangled with were not nearly as formidable as they had hoped to have been. In fact this was due to the fact that probably both the Kaldorei and Zandalari were both highly proficient in their hand to hand combats. And Jursol was a cheater, she had raptors.

Verzatea on the other hand was not as skilled; having given up her sword play at the expense for her skill in her witchcraft. Choosing the wand over the sword was in fact a great benefit for her; but in this case she was not nearly as honed in as the other assassins.

As such, when the beast on four legs was struck by the ballet like Confessor, it lashed out and wailed. Its body would snarl and shriek as it felt its haunches cut; and this only angered it more. The beast would twist on his back and swipe at the lower half of the Sindoreis legs, likely striking with his long claws against her outer left thigh.

But this was its only attack. Marseille was nearby and would hurl his tomahawk toward the beast striking it in the back of the head with a great deal of force. There was a thick thud followed by a splattering noise as the bone of the beasts skull met the forged steel of the Troll axe.

The blood burst from its shattered skull and sprayed across the gown of the Confessor. With deadly accuracy he would strike it down before anyone else would be injured. His slender lanky body rose upward as he took several long strides over to where Verzatea was; his fingers equally gaunt would curl around the wooden handle of his Amani axe and pry it from the split open brain cavity of the devourer.

He turned the blade and wiped it against his pant leg as he peered toward the Confessor.

"Are you alright?"

He'd ask softly, sheathing his blade and looking her over.

[ V . D ] The scratch was enough to tear into the thick fabric of her dress and allows an open in her only armor-- Among the direct hit it would cause the felines claws to dig and scratch across the woman's leg.

This would certainly bring her to her knee with the sheer force. Of course before she registered the strike of Mars's tomahawk, Teas instinct to survive had her poising the swords in a defensive manner-- which honestly could have been a fatal mistake with little ability to protect herself from a side swipe if the beast was smart.

The scenarios that could have unfolded from that was enough to momentarily paralyze Tea once she registered the abomination was dead. It could have been her instead of the creature if she wasn't careful. Shakily her arms lower, her brows twitching as they pinch together, eyes lifting to inspect Mars before slowly rising to her feet.

"I'll certainly need to practice a bit more, when we return home,"

She murmurs, shaken certainly.

Pame shoved the beast off the tree branches, sending it straight to the forest floor with a heavy thunk. Instantly the woman returns to watching the forest canopy and floor for any further threats.

[ L. K ] Marseille nodded his head at Verzatea; the two of them never truly getting along since day one, but they had tried, he had tried. And despite that fact; he would never let her fall in battle, she was still his ally.

Lazarius on the other hand was still struggling; even though the pain had come to a relative end, his brow was still sweating, his body shaking and his eyes bleeding a bit of his blackened ichor.

Clearly this was a strike to cripple him; an effort to cause those around him more trouble with the attack so that he could not help them. Perhaps a way to get them to be killed before getting to their destination?

He lay in the wet grass writhing slightly when Marseille arrived to his side.

"Master..."

The Shaldorei had said as he knelt beside him, his knees muddy and worn as his hands came to rest on Lazarius stomach and chest. Lazarius peered toward the old elf and nodded, he was fine; didn't need to be coddled and would use the relief of his Shade to help him sit.

Marseille gave a look toward Pame and sharply whistled. A whistle that the two of them shared when hunting and tracking. Something she would know and he would as well meant retreat to my position. The two of them becoming almost completely in sync over the months of their training.

[ V . D ] The sharp cry of a hawk in the distance was only challenged by the whoosh of a sudden wind carrying through the dense trees in a magnificent echo leaves trees rustling from a strong force. The kaldorei leapt from the branches and fell from her canopy; Joining the team once more, on ground level.

With the dirt beneath the woman's boots, and a sense of calm despite the storms threatening their smooth journey, Pame lowers her hood. With her face now exposed, the maiden was able to express her general disappointment, but overall she wasn't too bent out of shape of all that had transpired.

Verzatea limped slightly-- not out of pain, but general shock and acknowledgement of how close a call this could have been. It was astounding. But it was in the past and there was plenty of travel with a multitude of possible hostile encounters that awaited this journey. They needed to keep steady and focus.

But then again... Teas worry swelled as she focuses in on those around her. First the peers toward the girls, both Jursol and Pame, reviewing them closely for wounds before nodding in delight at their superb states.

"Lazarius?"

She cranes her neck to get a look of him whilst drawing closer after sheathing her short sword before fixing her remaining sword to fit around her wrist into a bracelet again,

"We need to move, dear. If you require something to tame the pain I can help you, on the condition you can genuinely say you are well enough to continue only then we shall "

To be continued in “In Mind of Misery, Manipulation, Part 4″

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insatiablecognitohazard · 5 years

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Rage Against The Dying Of The Light Pt1

Something I've been putting off working on for a while. But here's a part 1 of the ongoing "where did Vesper go" saga. What more lays buried in the past, well that is what's coming up next.

Darkness. For one who seemed destined to live her whole life underground, far from the lights of the cities above, it was Vesper's constant companion. The lights of the caverns were enough to see by, but the gloom remained. The knowledge of being trapped in shadow deep beneath the earth set the child’s blood aflame. She may only be two sweeps old, old enough to be walking and talking only just, but she understood enough. The others looked at her differently, the matrons dreaded her presence. She didn't belong here, only kept out of courtesy.

The dark wasn't the only thing she grew to hate here, rules always rules. So many, all the things expected of her. What to do with the grubs, how to treat the lusii, how to speak to the mother grub, how to respect your elders. All things Vesper questioned and all things she was reprimanded for. Don't wander too far into the lusus caverns, keep the castes separate, don't ask where the elders go during the day.

All these things she knew. And yet Vesper being Vesper, she had chosen to ignore them. She had spotted one of the oldest matrons wandering outside of what might truly be considered the brooding caverns. Out into the darkness beyond the lights. Ignoring the eyes out in gloom watching, she decided to follow. The only light being the lamp the matron held casting dim illumination, merely giving the shadows definition. Something Vesper stuck to the very edge of. Riding the fine line between becoming lost to caverns and being seen in the lamplight.

The damp chill air didn't suit her well. Even at a young age she couldn't stand the cold. There was something unsettling about it that she couldn't stand, like it sapped her strength. And for one as fidgety as Vesper feeling slowed by the cold was a fate worse than death. And yet she continued anyways. The urge to know what was going on here outweighing her discomfort.

Almost imperceptible, the cold eased though it was some time before she really notices it. Something was changing about their surroundings. It was as if they were heading back. But the young troll knew that they hadn't turned around, she knew they were heading towards something. As the first hint a scent hits her, the foul stink of decay was unmistakable. She had come out of curiosity. But now caught between the unknown in the light and darkness behind her. Whatever beasts out there, she didn't want to face them. Not alone.

Approaching what felt like a larger open cavern, Vesper hesitates at the edge. Taking cover behind a rock. Her hand touching what she hoped would be a hard surface for only a moment.

At once she recoils. It was almost certainly not stone she touched. Her hand coming away wet after feeling something soft and slimy as she recoils. In her stumbling backwards she falls. Landing on her back with a brittle crack. Her fall broken by, she takes the time to work up courage, splinters of bone? Decayed and yellowed with time, but bone nonetheless.

It doesn't take long for the light to begin moving again. The clatter of her trip not catching the matron's attention even in the slightest. What her hand had touched. She didn't want to think about it. The subtle squish underfoot that now filled her world, well she didn't want to know what that was either. The smell of rot now threatening to overpower her. The light feeling more cage than salvation at this point. As if lowered into the sea with little but iron bars to fend off the sharks, apt given the subtle glints of light scattered back by eyes in the gloom. Their owners little more than vague shapes. She wanted to call them trolls, they didn't have the right shapes to be lusii. And yet, troll eyes don't glow like that.

It doesn't take long for the stench to have her fighting the urge to gag. The way ahead, what she could see in the light. Decaying flesh and bones. She knew the names of the colours she saw. Scattered rainbows she did her best to ignore. Hoping that the matron would turn around and take her back to the caverns. She'd learned her lesson, she would be better. But her guide didn't. She just stopped, the feeling of open space meant she was in another huge cave. Before them a mound like shape. One the older jade seemed focused intently on.

After what seemed like an age of nothing. The other jade sets down her lantern and lays down, keeping herself neat and tucked in. Hands laid across her chest. Peaceful amidst the horror down here.

Having hidden behind a rock, Vesper almost works up the courage to go look. But all that is shattered as the heap beyond the lantern light heaves up, something beneath the mass rising. The skittering sound of hard things dropping to the ground mingling with soft fleshy sounds she would rather not think about. Her world going dark as hands fly to eyes, her gaze drawn down to give a second layer of protection from the thing that had woken up.

After an eternal silence, the lumbering footsteps seem to echo throughout the caverns. Whatever was the cause of them, it was big and that was enough to terrify the young jade into silence. Her scrawny frame shivering amidst the gloom and death. The pauses between each step seemed to stretch on for eternity. For a moment she thinks it might have stopped as stillness reigns once more.

Minutes pass in what feels like hours. Her breath as shallow as she could bear, not wanting to make even the slightest of sounds. She can't see what is out there, and she wants to keep it that way.

As fear releases its grip on the young troll's limbs, she rises to a crouch. Barely visible she attempts to make her escape. All she manages to do is peek over her hiding space. Her courage instantly shattered as the monstrous shadow plagues her sight for a mere moment.

With speed she ducks again, hand clasped over her mouth to middle the sound of terrified breathing. She had managed to pick out details. It's form was vaguely troll like and yet its proportions subtly off. Limbs that are too long, even for a creature over half again as tall as the elderly jade hanging limp in a huge hand. It's face unseen behind some kind of mask. And that's when she heard it. A sonorous word that seemed to fill her mind.

“Child.” The voice seemed to echo through the caverns. Eyes that had been watching hungrily from the shadows turn and feel. The soft scraping of claws against bone and stone fades. A moment later she hears the lamp skitter across the cavern floor. Landing right next to her hiding place, within arms reach.

Vesper retrieves the lamp and stands, it was as if her limbs were working to an agenda of their own. The voice of reason in the back of her mind screaming not to. And she could she why. As she turned now was the time to get a good look at this thing.

It too stood at the edge of the lamplight. But even there she could still make out details. What perhaps had once been red cloth of some kind remained draped across this creature’s spindly frame. It's posture very troll like, but off in a way that was hard to describe. Had it once been a troll? She didn't care to speculate. Just as much as she didn't want to speculate on what was underneath the mask it wore. At first she thought it had just been stylised in the likeness of a mothergrub. Until she noticed how the plates joined together, the texture and even the colour. It wasn't just made to look like a mothergrubs, it was the exoskeleton from a mothergrub's head.

“You are not meant to be here. Child of cursed blood.” The voice boomed. Although accusatory, there wasn't a hint of anger in it. The way one might state a fact, blunt and to the point.

Her mind was a boil of conflicting emtiontions. This thing spoke as if it knew her, how did it know her? What did it mean cursed? So many things she wanted to know. But how long would she have and would it answer. She tries her best. “Why am I not suppose to be here?”

It seems the most suitable question to ask, find out what this place was and why she shouldn't be here. At least that's what her thought train had been, as now doubt begins to cloud her mind. What if she was only allowed one question? Had she just wasted her one chance.

“This is the realm of the dead. The living are not meant to dwell here for long. Your blood least of all. Now go.” The last word echoes with an eerie finality. The masked figures gaze fixed squarely on the young troll.

“But why not m-” She makes an attempt at asking another question but is cut off.

“BEGONE BROKEN ONE.” The cavern walls seem to shake, small rocks loosened rain from above. The sound filling her mind and devouring thought.

Every muscle in her body screamed to run. And so she awoke.

As far as evenings go, it was hardly a pleasant awakening. Cheap sopor slime and an even cheaper cocoon were what she found herself in as the world of the waking returned to her in panicked gasp that sees Vesper scramble out. Not that room she found herself in was all that more appealing.

It's a few minutes later, as she lays panting on the floor in the middle of a lowblood motel, that she realises the alarm on her palmhusk is going off. Time to meet with her contact.

#deep vesper lore

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debu-neko-kun · 6 years

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Annual, Part 7

A continuation of the male weight gain/stuffing/slime expansion story I did for Doom7951 over on DA. This chapter, Dorian finds out what’s behind door number one...

July 27th, Summer’s Peak Dorian heaved himself out of the tub, pulling himself up using the marble handrails he never imagined using. He leaned on the wall for a moment, certain that it was just the hot water tiring him out. That certainty was dashed with a glance to the mirror, forcing him to face the true culprit: the fat. Nearly every inch of his body bulged just out of the proper natural proportions, from his chubby toes to his soft cheeks. His once relatively flat belly (that he thought was rather average at the time) now seemed like a snapshot from a swimsuit catalog compared to the good three inches of fat that drooped and wobbled in front of him. With a little frown, he turned to give himself a better look at his rump, which was certainly not left unscathed. His near-daily jogging trips had done him no good; he sported a pair of smooth cheeks the size of frozen turkeys, only ten times as squishy. It was no wonder even his tailored underwear felt tight. Dorian’s brown eyes drifted down to his creamy thighs, their pudgy bulging conjuring thoughts of water balloons in summer, and up to the silhouette of the prominent breasts that sat like cherry-topped dollops of smooth whipped cream above the fat round scoop of melting ice cream that was his belly. He reached up and patted his cheeks; the silky flesh squished far more than he’d ever felt before. “It’s… nothing permanent…” he thought. “I still have time… I’ve just been slacking a little is all. I just have to get serious.” With renewed vigor, he picked up the underwear resting on the shelf by the door and slipped them over his legs. His resolution was tempered with embarrassment as he found his underwear covered only half of his rump, leaving a fair bit of butt fat spilling over the top like a pair of overripe peaches. With a little huff, he quickly covered it with his extra-large swimming trunks, grabbed his shirt, and a pair of pants and left for the pool. Down in the lounge, Dorian hovered near the doors to the pool. As much as he wanted to swim laps in the warm glass room, it just didn’t feel right. Not on a rainy day like this, he reasoned. There’s always tomorrow… Regardless, he needed something to do, and relegated himself to wandering the house. He might burn a few calories that way, and with Delta at the market, he’d have free reign and wouldn’t have a chance of being ambushed with more tempting treats. Although, now that he thought about it, he was a bit peckish… After tossing on his shirt, Dorian wandered to the kitchen to find a small snack. He rummaged through the cabinets and found a bag of trail mix, which was better than the dozens of pastries stored everywhere else. Snack in tow, he turned to leave, but stopped as soon as he saw the curious blue door. He’d almost forgotten about it, he’d been in here so little. And, curiously, there on the counter lay a snake-like key. His key, or at the very least a copy. Dorian slowly walked to the counter, gripping the bag tightly. ‘Should I?’ he asked himself, even as his fingers slowly grasped the key. ‘It’s his private room, after all… but it’s just a room, right? What could be so secret?’ He turned the key over in his hand once, twice. Anxiously, he brought it to the keyhole. It slipped in quietly, and clicked loudly when he turned it. Hugging the bag to his chest, the curious boy turned the knob and pushed, the door opening to a lavishly furnished study. His heart thumped: why had he done that? Delta specifically asked him not to, yet here he was, delving into his secret affairs. It felt so wrong, but the mixture of curiosity and mental boredom made his mind do flips. ‘Here goes.’ he remarked, venturing in to look around. At the back of the room sat a desk covered in writing materials. Two bookshelves stood on either side. The floor was carpeted in dark red velvet to match the couch in the corner and the lining of the cabinet. ‘No crazy dungeons in here��’ he chuckled to himself. ‘Just a regular, private study for reading and writing. Probably business stuff.’ He leaning over to read the spines of the books. Each one held a label as mundane as the rest of the study. “Sales, volume I-IX. Orders, volumes I-XLIX.” he read off, quietly. He was just about to turn away and leave when his eyes fell upon a thick dyed-leather volume sandwiched between the other receipt-crammed portfolios, simply titled “Guests”. Carefully, he slipped the book out and set it on the desk, next to the trail mix. He scooted the chair up and flopped down to a resounding *creak* from the polished wood, but he was too captivated in his little mystery to be embarrassed about it. He slowly peeled back the cover to find a photo of a slender rabbit-boy, likely not much older than himself, clad in ripped jeans and a striped shirt. He was holding a shirt that said “winner”, looking as amused as a moody goth guy could. ‘A scrapbook of people who won the challenge. That’s sort of cute…’ Dorian thought, and peeled back the page. His breath caught in his throat. There, on the second page, was the same goth guy, only with a slightly different dyed hairstyle. The source of Dorian’s surprise, however, lay in his body, or rather, what his body had become. His plump thighs bulged through the rips in his pants that not only seemed to have gone up ten sizes, but were now decorated in fashionable little chains that seemed to keep the pants from blowing off at this point. His belly hung low beneath his skull-patterned sweater, caramel-colored flab that looked creamier and more malleable than actual caramel. The expression on his face was one of exhausted victory; a stack of pie tins surrounded his chair, his lips stained red with cherry filling. Dorian touched the photo, to make sure he wasn’t just imagining the image on the page, or having a food related dream again. Fingertips touched laminate, but he refused to believe. Was this real, or was it a friendly in-joke? He quickly flipped to the next page. A cat-girl this time, slightly chubby and with a look of cocky bravado on her face. The next page, a rounded mountain of blubber even larger than the boy, laying on a couch with a cake balanced on her belly, plump lips parted between forkfuls. The next page, another woman. The next, another mountain. He randomly opened it the middle to find a photo of a white-haired catboy who looked like he was made of more fat than boy. He stood in what Dorian recognized as the entrance hall, his figure comparable to the paintings of the blobs behind him: absolutely immense in all ways. His belly dipped to the floor in a waterfall of flabby flesh, inches from the marble. Dorian flushed red thinking his immense form was naked, but after some close squinting, the thin outline of a waistband could be seen stretching hard against his rolly hips. A wolf girl was hugged against his side, her hand grasping a blubbery moob in apparent elation. “H-How…” Dorian breathed, sweat beading on his brow. “How does somebody get so fat?” “With lots of delicious food, of course.” Dorian spun in the chair, book in hand. Unused to his new size, his hip slammed into the arm rest, tipping him like a soft cow. The chair crashed to the floor and sent him sprawling onto the carpet with a surprised yelp. The book slid to Delta’s feet, still open to the picture of the half-ton catboy. “I see you’ve found my guestbook,” he sighed. “You know, I would’ve shown you if you’d only asked.” Dorian struggled to a sitting position, face red as his hands. “I-I just, I didn’t-” he stuttered, but fell silent as Delta bent down to pick up the book. “I’m very sorry if I ever appeared a monster to you, Dorian. I just keep rooms like these to preserve a meager private life,” he spoke, and slid back to the bookshelf to deposit the volume in its proper place. “I keep no dangerous secrets here. Goodness, I must’ve been appalling this whole time...” Dorian wilted. “I didn’t mean it like that…” “An utter monster!” Delta lamented, putting a hand to his forehead. “I spend so much time trying to make the food perfect, I forget about the guest…” “W-Wait, really! I’m really sorry…” Dorian tried again, down on his knees. Delta just headed back to the door. “I had such a special dinner planned for today, but I suppose you’ll just want to leave now. I’ll just shred the contract and you can be on your way.” Dorian scrambled forward to stop him, only succeeding in flopping his fat body onto Delta’s tail. Before he knew it, he was spilling out his very heart, on the verge of panic. “Please, d-don’t! I won’t go in here or any other room if you don’t want me to. I really like it here. I really like you. Please Delta, I’m sorry.” For a moment, Delta said nothing. Then, the tail curled around Dorian and gently lifted him to his feet. “Do you… really mean that?” Delta asked, fingers poised on his chin. “W-Well, yeah.” he replied bashfully. Delta’s frown quickly changed to a wide smile, and without another word, he leapt toward him and wrapped his arms around his back. Dorian felt as if he were being squeezed by a warm coil of strawberry jelly, only far less sticky and much more sweet. “Oh, wonderful! I’m so glad you’ll be staying, I’ll make these next few months twice as delicious as the last!” As relieved as Dorian was, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d agreed to something more. ‘At least he’s not mad.’ he thought. ‘And that’s the most important part.’ “Come; we celebrate with sundaes!” Deep growls emanated from Dorian’s belly as he was swept into Delta’s arms. “Double sundaes!” Lost in Delta’s renewed happiness, Dorian agreed, and the two headed for the lounge. September 5th The water rippled around Dorian’s legs as he swished them gently in the waters of the pool, listening to the whoosh of the wind that sent leaves swirling around outside while he caught his breath. He’d completed half of his massive exercise regiment for today, and it was time for a rest and a snack. Delta had left a large bowl of his favorite ice cream by the pool for when he’d gotten out, and he’d finished all ten scoops in record time. It staved off the sweats for the most part, and lately he didn’t feel like he could go half an hour without a bite to eat. ‘It’s only natural.’ he thought. ‘Mountain climbers eat tons to regain their strength. With all the moving I’ve been doing, I have to do the same.” He tugged up on his swim trunks, getting them halfway across the expanse of the two great orbs of flesh under the drooping shelf of back fat before they would go no further. He’d have to ask Delta if the tailor could come measure him again after lunch, and to give him non-cotton clothing this time. After all, why else wouldn’t they fit? The tailor hadn’t even been gone five days after giving him his last estimate—some 350 pounds, give or take, with no scale in the house to confirm it— and already they left him half exposed. It was the heat of the dryer, of course. He was getting thinner with all of his exercising, so obviously it’s the dryer! Happy with the answer in his head, he slipped— rather, dunked— back into the water, sending waves slapping across the surface of the pool. He rested on his back, belly resting against his thighs and his arms at his sides like flabby water wings. Two laps down, two to go.

#male wight gain #male stuffing #male fat #my art #weight gain fic #Fat Boy

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puddingwillbeouralways · 6 years

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T.B.T. - A Thiam fic

I don’t know what this is but it’s fun and I wrote it, so there.

Summary:

In which Liam has boobs, Theo can't stop staring and Stiles is done with them all. -- “It’s gone.” He says and looks up at everyone until his gaze lands on Theo. He looks inside his pants again, his eyes wide with fear and then looks at Theo again. “Oh my God.” Theo is going to leave him. That’s it. He’s going to lose Theo because of some stupid teenage witch. “My dick is gone, Theo!”

Or as Lydia so eloquently puts it... “Liam pissed off a witch and now his body is female on its period.”

Rating: M

Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Genderswap, Implied Sexual Content, it gets sexy at some point though, touching, description of a woman’s period, humor, crack

You know, witches, man. Witches are evil. No matter what you think, Liam doesn’t care, not after this. He had been perfectly polite to the teenage witch he had found hitting on Theo on his run in the woods! He just called her an evil witch that’d dip her claws into anything with a pulse and had thrown a squirrel at her as a better option than Theo! What?! It had a pulse. And he hadn’t known she was a witch! And Theo had no right running shirtless in the woods, but don’t worry, they will be talking about this later. Right now they had other problems.

You see, they had been playing tag as a pack bonding activity when Liam caught Theo with her hands all over his chest and Liam just snapped. The pack had no idea what had happened. The only part they had caught was the witch turning red with anger and shame, chanting something Liam couldn’t even recognize as a language and then going poof right in front of them!

“What just happened?” Stiles had asked of course. Liam wished he could turn back time, but he didn’t think he’d do anything different, so it wouldn’t matter anyway.

Which brings us to the now, the why he had had such a stupid wish.

Liam has boobs.

No. Really.

He looks down and all he can see is boobs. He can see a bit of his shoes too, they’re not that huge, but they’re there and they’re heavy and Liam is freaking out while Theo is looking at him in awe. He can smell lust coming off the bastard. Liam growls at the scent, but when he sees Theo reaching out to touch, he doesn’t stop him. Instead he moans an incredibly short lasting moan until he hisses in pain. Theo is now cupping his breast – Jesus! He can’t believe he actually has one! Not just one, two of them! – and massaging lightly, but Liam can’t take it. He pushes Theo’s hand away, “Stop,” He almost whimpers. “They’re sore.” He doesn’t know why. He looks at Malia and Lydia who are staring in shock at him. Maybe they know. So, of course, Liam asks. “Are they supposed to be this sore?” He says, rubbing them himself instinctually in a way that is soothing somehow. “Do you guys always feel like that? I thought you enjoyed touching your boobs.” Hayden did, at least as far as he knows. But these were bigger than hers. He looks down again to confirm that, and yeah… they’re definitely bigger. Maybe that makes a difference?

“Oh no,” he hears Lydia say and his head snaps up at the sound, suddenly worried something’s really, really wrong. He wants to cry. Why does he want to cry? Or maybe hit something! That’s more like it!

“Shit.” Malia adds and this doesn’t help the swirl of emotions inside Liam. He wants to run, but he wants to know what’s wrong too and Liam has never felt so confused in his entire life. What’s happening?!

“What?” He asks and when they simply look at each other, he asks again, louder this time, “What?!”

Lydia looks at him resigned, “You’re getting your period.”

Liam frowns. “What?!” That’s not true. “No, I’m not!” That’s impossible. Right?! “I don’t have a period! I’m a man!” He slaps Theo’s chest who is still looking hungrily at his damn boobs. His eyes snap up to Liam’s at that. “Theo, tell them!” he demands. He swears to God he better have been following the conversation because Liam is not stating his manhood again.

Theo smirks then, the awe still on his face, but now smugness is there too and Liam knows he’s going to say something he’ll regret. “Yeah, he’s definitely a man,” Theo says looking him up and down in a way that would have made Liam hit him if it was anybody else. “My ass can attest to that.” He kisses Liam once after that, a chaste kiss, but it makes Liam smile and the smile he gets in response… God, it wakes up those butterflies in his stomach.

The exchange is not lost by the others, who know Liam would have at least mildly punched him for the comment, but they don’t mention that. A happy Liam is a better Liam for all.

But Lydia has a point to prove and she’s not letting go. She raises an eyebrow at Liam, crosses her arms on her chest, accentuating her own boobs at the same time which makes Liam remember what’s going on around him. “Why don’t you check your pants then,” she says as if she already knows the answer. She probably does.

As Liam goes to unbutton the top of his pants, Mason jumps in, “While you’re at it, is the chest hair there too?”

Theo freezes at that. He loves Liam’s chest hair. He loves to pull at it and make Liam moan, he loves to cuddle against it, he loves to run his hand through it whenever Liam is too tense and Liam needs to relax. You guys don’t get it; Theo loves Liam’s chest hair. Theo turns to Liam in horror, who is busy looking at his own pants, but Theo doesn’t care, he doesn’t care about anything other than… “Oh, no. The chest hair. Liam, please, tell me it isn’t…” he stops unable to say the word gone. It makes him want to pout for the rest of time just thinking about it. Until Liam interrupts him with some horror of his own.

“It’s gone.” He says and looks up at everyone until his gaze lands on Theo. He looks inside his pants again, his eyes wide with fear and then looks at Theo again. “Oh my God.” Theo is going to leave him. That’s it. He’s going to lose Theo because of some stupid teenage witch. “My dick is gone, Theo!” Suddenly, Mason’s question sinks in and he turns to his best friend in confusion, “Also, I thought you hated chest hair.”

Mason just shrugs, “Mostly I do. But yours is kinda artfully there, dude,” he says pointing at Liam’s whole chest area.

Theo growls at that, pulling Liam closer by his waist and Liam smiles delighted. Until he notices that brought his breasts closer to Theo’s face and Theo’s eyes glaze over again looking at them. Immediately, his mood changes and Liam scoffs, pushing Theo away.

Meanwhile, Mason is muttering something about ‘fucking bears’ and everyone hears Corey berate him for it. “No body-shaming, baby,” Corey softens the reprimand with a kiss on his cheek.

Mason shakes his head though, “Oh, I wasn’t body shaming anybody. I was literally talking about that time I fucked a bear.”

Everyone except Corey turns to him in shock varied towards disgust and freaking out. “You what?!?!”

Stiles is gaping like a fish at everything that’s unravelling in front of him. Where is Kira’s sword?! Give it to him! He’ll open up a hole right here to fall into! “This is literally the most scarring conversation of my entire life.” He doesn’t turn to look at his best friend as he speaks next, his brain too shocked to process it all and his eyes too shocked to move from Mason, “Scott, where’s the bleach.”

Scott’s eyes are wide like saucers, his mind is barely keeping up, he’s pretty sure he’s lost something in this conversation because he’s pretty sure Mason just admitted to committing bestiary – or was it beastiality?- and that was a huge no-no for him and just, “I don’t know. But I think I might need it too.”

Mason looks at them before he understands what they’re all thinking and jumps unprompted, shivering in disgust, “Ew! Come on! I didn’t – It wasn’t – It’s a type of guy that’s really hairy, okay?!”

They all exhale a big breath in relief except Liam who does the exact opposite. “Uh, Theo,” he started with trepidation.

“Yeah, babe?”

Liam hesitates before he admits, “The chest hair’s gone.”

“What?!” Theo exclaims and lets go of Liam’s waist to push his t-shirt up, which he probably reconsidered Liam flashing everybody with his newfound boobs and just stretched the neck of the t-shirt to look in there better.

Malia is not that shocked actually. Instead, she rolls her eyes at the pair of them and says, “Of course it’s gone, you have breasts now!”

“Ow, stop touching!” Liam complains, pushing Theo’s probing fingers away. Seriously, no matter how many times he pokes them, they’re still going to stay jiggly, and they’re still going to hurt.

“But,” Theo goes to protest – he just likes touching them okay? They look so soft and squishy and so hot on Liam! – however Liam just glares at him, pointing at him and saying a simple “No!” just like you’d do to a bad dog. Theo just pouts in response and looks longingly at the balls of squish on Liam’s chest.

Stiles is so done. You got that? He’s done! “Okay, we need to fix this. I can’t take this anymore,” he says flailing around and turns to his alpha for guidance, basically begging him to do something – anything! “Scott, Scotty, how do we fix this?”

But the alpha is too shocked to respond, let alone think.

Lydia, though, has a foreboding expression on her face as she says, “We need to fix this before Liam gets his period.”

“Uh, guys?” They all turn to look at Liam. Liam has scrunched up his face in disgust, he’s wincing and grimacing at the same time as he feels something liquid drop out of him. “I think it’s too late.”

“Let’s go to Deaton.” That is the first helpful thing anyone has ever said, thank you Mason. But as Liam goes to take his first step, he freezes. There’s something… God, what is that? “I feel something.” Something’s coming out of him and it feels weird and gross and slime and Liam hates everything right now, heaven and hell and earth and the biology class that he never paid attention to though he doubts it would have told him what this thing is. “Oh. Make it stop. Please.” He stares pleadingly at the girls for any words of wisdom. He’s really freaking out here. He has no idea what’s happening, he has breasts and probably a vagina too and Liam has no idea how to deal with it all. “How do we stop it?”

Read the rest on ao3

#thiam fic #fanfiction #fluff #humor #funny #crack #theo raeken #liam dunbar

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

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Life Story - Part 27

Ava, Sarah and I used to go to the end of Kendrick and spend our early summers swimming in a swimming hole in the creek. We would get there early, and then leave in the early evening. It was one of the most pleasant and simple times of my entire life. My belly hurt from laughing just about every day I came home. Katie wouldn't step foot in that water so she didn't go with us on these trips, and now that I am an adult, I can certainly appreciate her reasons. Upstream not too far there was a cattle ranch, and the cows just freely did their thing in that squalid little area – all to be washed down into the swimming hole where us young maiden swam and splashed. When my older sister Maria had been a teenager, she had once let herself sink a little. Her foot went straight into the bloated gut of a dead animal that had sunk to the bottom. Just thinking of this, I can feel the depth of slime on my own foot somehow. In my naive, thirteen going on fourteen year old mind – things that had no human value to me at the moment could just as easily not exist. Logic meant very little to me. I found this very valid reason to not swim in the swimming hole at the end of town painfully intrusive to my personal enjoyment. I was really having quite a good summer that year, and I have always absolutely loved swimming so why would I want to ruin it on account of microscopic bacteria that I couldn't even see.

After swimming, we would go up to Sarah's house, get changed, and go downtown. We would go down there just to sit, and people watch. I tried to draw a few times, but whenever I try to draw outside on bright summer days, the paper will always hurt my eyes. We would find strange games to play. One game that Ava and I made up that I particularly remember was 'Guess their name'. Incredibly obnoxious, and fun if you are into that sort of thing. Basically, as you and your friend sit in front of the store or somewhere public where people are coming and going, when someone was getting into their car, you just started shouting out names to see which one they responded to you on. Eventually the person would look over like you were crazy. But whoever had shouted the name that they looked over at us puzzled to, that was the name that person had. If you guessed it, that was your point. If your friend guessed it, they got the point. We got really competitive, and when you do this, you will end up saying the same obscure name over and over, like Olaf or Margot. I remember my brain was stuck on the name Boris, which is not a common name. So it ended up a lot of men's names were Boris.

After that, we would all head up to Sarah's house where we would sit around the table, draw and listen to music. It was very entertaining for me, and I was never ever lonely back in those days. Carol had troubles with Ava being at the house. Ava was extremely loud, and every time she walked into Sarah's house she would knock the lamp over. Also, Ava had this undying need to drink milk. She would drink an entire gallon of milk in a single day. Both Sarah and I were asked by our parents to stop drinking so much milk, not realizing that it was almost entirely upon Ava. I just would quietly take the blame, knowing that Ava would have a meltdown of insecurity and accusations if I even suggested she not drink all the milk.

Katie was very distant with us. She was going through something very strange, and she was never really all that honest with me about what that was. I had to look for her often. Her mother worked as the receptionist at the small dental clinic. Sometimes she would be in there. She seemed depressed but like she was hiding it and saying things she didn't mean and smiling even though her eyes were unhappy. As the person I am today, I would have done more to coax her to letting me know what was wrong, but back then, I was really just wondering why she was intentionally missing out on all the fun. I didn't realize that Ava had been spoonfeeding her things that she made up that we had said. I didn't really understand why someone would do that. I think to a degree also Katie was feeling jealous. Samantha had her first boyfriend. She was the first one of us to have a boyfriend, and Katie felt this was unfair since she was older. I don't remember the chaps name that Sam was with at the time, and it doesn't really matter since there were many more to come. Samantha was dating another guy a week later. Katie was jealous, and I remember she started calling Samantha a slut. Which made me mad, because though I wasn't sex positive in those days, I wasn't that sex negative either and I didn't think it was nice.

Katie started wearing make up and when she talked she seemed to not be talking to the person who was talking to. She had this extremely fake laugh that upset me and made me feel a strange dissonance. I wanted to know what was wrong. She seemed like she was about to crack in two. I think she was feeling ugly and maybe like she didn't belong – and maybe she didn't in some ways that seem more obvious to me in retrospect. Perhaps she was comparing herself to others. I didn't really know because I was so obsessed with what I was up to. Sarah was also kind of in a funk, though a soft peaceful one that didn't really surface most of the time. It felt strange to me, because in a lot of ways it felt like Ava and I were incredibly enthusiastic about being alive, and Sarah and Katie, the people who I had been kind of trained to look up to, well they both seemed to be kind of distant and lost. Sarah wasn't full blown depressed. She just wasn't as excited as Ava and I was and I was having this blast of a time. Life felt hysterical, like a whimsical upbeat costume party with over 100 people. Sarah had given up on dating Rex. Rex had taken a popular girl named Amy to the prom, and it just hit a switch in Sarah's mind I guess. Amy went on to be one of the top ten contestants to be Miss Idaho in the Miss America pageants one year, and sometimes in the Moscow mall for years later I would see her stock photo picture. Sarah probably felt outclassed.

Sarah and I were sitting in her mom's computer room one day, and Sarah showed me that she had been talking to boys in Orofino, just like Samantha. She said she really just wanted a boyfriend. I was probably a little rude about it. After asking Sarah a bunch of questions, I think I told her that it was stupid and forced. Though I was right in a way. Sarah was just trying to fill a void and she thought she would naturally like anyone she connected with – in hopes perhaps to be like Samantha. It was wrong of me to put such a negative spin on things however. It is so easy for me to downgrade other people. I am in the gray area between sexual and asexual, and from my personal perspective, it has never dawned on me to go out looking for a boyfriend, the way you might go out looking for a car or a breakfast. It comes to you or it doesn't, and when it doesn't I don't think about it. Which isn't the way it is for other people. Other people have this void and an instinct to be in a relationship. The same goes for me and having babies. I have maybe felt the urge to procreate once, kinda. It was not very strong and seemed like a terrible idea so I ignored it and it went away. But other girls I meet, and I think guys have their own urge, will just want kids. I've learned not to judge people. I am the weird one.

The conversation she had with this 14-16 year old young male from Orofino Idaho was quite dull. He wouldn't stop sending her pictures of his chest in between dull conversation at the most inappropriate times.. They never talked about anything meaningful. Sarah went with Sam one weekend to meet this guy – it was the big day, I think his name was Phil or something, and as soon as Sarah saw him she was very sorry she had ever spoken to him. He was just terrible in every way, so I am told. She had to run away from him coldly but he just kept following her around trying to impress her the entire evening, asking for her phone number and such. But not in a romantic way. More like in an 'I want to get laid please, please, please look at my muscly chest I'm a man not a boy!' kind of way. When she came back to talk to me about it, I sort of smirked that I had told her so.

Meanwhile, Orlando Bloom got the lead role in Pirates of the Caribbean and the first movie was out for the summer. I was not convinced it was going to be any good at all, but Ava was of course ecstatic to see her beloved Orlando once more. Soon she had printed out several pictures of him in his seafaring get up and had them all over her purple walls. We went to see it together one time and I was quite right by my estimation to assume the worst. I was hoping Johnny Depp would save it, but I gotta say, I absolutely hate Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean. He grosses me out. To this day, I really do not like the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise and I have avoided them ever since. Ava took me with her to see that movie in theaters four times. And she went over ten times just by herself.

I ended up we going to Ava's house many times that summer, despite the dangers of her moods or her mother's moods and the miles and miles of pale yellow nothing that stretched on wards into the dull sky. Sometimes her mom would randomly get angry for no reason and drive me back to Kendrick. But then I would be invited back up the next day – there was never and explanation other than I think it was some kind of empty battle for control and I was but a pawn on that board. Ava and I would go swimming in her pond. It was so full of catfish they were swimming all over one another at the bottom. And the water was slimy. Honestly, I don't recommend swimming in stagnant pools of catfish in 100 degrees. The bottom was this pure fowl mush of god only knows what and it felt so gross squishing between your toes. If you stayed in one place for any length of time, the catfish would swarm all over you and just start nibbling on you. I remember one time Ava decided to just sit in the pond and see what the catfish would do to her skin. When she got out of the pond, her entire leg was red from the biting.

Certain friends I have had in my life I have gone to for some stability – instinctively as I don't consciously think about it most of the time, and there are friends that – when I am with I end up unleashing terrible things that lurk in my nature that never come out generally. Ava was the latter type of comrade. That summer, I did some unthinkably cruel to one of the catfish that we caught. To my credit, I had been told growing up that fish don't have feelings and so I had the impression that the fish was essentially not alive by my definition. Plus, I used to eat meat, so it's a slipperly slope when you look at the life of an animal's value when you are in the business of making some of them your meal. I know now that fish can feel. I am a vegan now, and when I think about this stuff, I just make a mental note that I will never tell other vegans I meet in life about my former self.

Ava and caught this catfish, and we wanted to see what it's insides looked like. We took the fish up to one of her barns. We cut open it's belly, and we named it The Colonel. Because I kept calling him a trooper, on account that, we had his entire innards on display, but he still was desperately trying to breath. The thing is about catfish, they are very hearty creatures. They can live without water for a certain period of time. They can survive in muck. We pulled out it's lungs, inspected its stomach, took out it's intestines. Absentmindedly I grabbed it's bladder in my fingers, and popped it. When I did this, yellow stuff went everywhere. It was so freaking sick. The poor thing stayed alive too. Eventually Ava and I started feeling weird about the fact that it was alive, as we took out it's beating heart and felt it in our hands. It was so strange to feel this little being heart pumping still. I freaked out and Ava and I decided to squash the poor fish, just to put it out of it's misery. We both had pushed each other into doing it – feeding off of some innate cruelty that we both possessed, and now we both felt badly. We decided not to tell anyone about what we had done.

Probably the most prominent component of that summer though, something I rarely like talking about due to embarrassment, is my complete and total adoration for bands like Good Charlotte and Simple Plan. I fucking loved Good Charlotte in particular. I owned both their albums at the time. Planned on getting a tattoo. When I turned eighteen I swore I would start a band just so our band could tour with their band, and then maybe, just maybe I could hook up with one of them. And at first, I was obsessed with the main singer - Joel. But then as the summer progressed, I realized that I was actually in love with Benji – his punkier twin brother. Both had these awful nasally voices – just thinking of it now as the person I am, I used to really feel their songs and everything and it's just cringy.

Why did anyone like Good Charlotte so much? Why was I so obsessed? They were the absolute worst. I think in a way, Joel Madden was like a surrogate to Kyle in my subconscious. Kyle vaguely looked like Joel Madden, and then I moved over to Benji at some point since he had a better smile and seemed edgier. I was convinced that I was going to marry Benji someday. I was really invested. I saw my life as a series of steps to get to that point. I seemed to overlook the fact that there were tens of thousands of girls in their own bedrooms fantasizing about the day that Benji and they would wed. So many girls named babexforxbenji and various monikers online.

I thought about Good Charlotte about half the time honestly, how awesomely attractive they were, how cool and free they were. In my limited understanding of teen rebellion, Good Charlotte was really pushin' the envelope as to how rebellious a person could be – their gimicky image was as far as my small little perspective could comprehend. In my mind, they represented everything I wanted to be. This of course, is exactly what the marketers in some board room in a sky scraper somewhere wanted me to feel. They took the elements of punk that were genuine, and they put it on a boy band – essentially – but really it was just fratboy music. I believed they stuck up for the 'me's' in the world, and I bought every single poster of Good Charlotte that was out. And I bought every single teen magazine that was available at the little grocery store downtown, just to get little clippings of them, and sometimes they sold these small posters in the teen magazines.

I covered my walls with them. Above my bed, I took the clippings of every lame pop punk band that was in these magazines, and I taped it to my wall. It was the most teenybopping wall collage there ever was and as I had moved rooms again, I took a room that had twelve foot ceilings. The early 00's teenybopper collage almost reached up that high. I wished that I had taken just one picture. It had Ashton Kutcher here and there. Blink 182. Green Day. Evanescence, All of 13 ½ year old Renee's favorites. There was one very special picture of Benji though that I kept in my pocket at all times. It was my absolute favorite. I would take it out and look at it so much that the crinkles had almost made the picture disappear. And I tell you this now, not because I am proud. But this was who I was – a necessary part of my development I suppose. Faultlessly, my father thought it was ridiculous, but since it really wasn't ruining the wall in any way, he let it be and didn't actually make me feel too bad about it.

I was staying the night at Ava's house, and she decided that we were going to go on fake dates with Benji and Orlando. She dressed me up as a pop punk school girl, and herself in something else – I don't remember what, and then she took a photograph of us in our outfits. There is a part of me that wants to talk to her on facebook and ask her if she still has that photo. Half of me wants to see it, and the other half would be relieved if it disappeared.

My father was horrible to me the summer of 03'. His relationship had not panned out as he had hoped, and he was listening to a lot of really angry conservative talk radio, Michael Savage was one of his favs and I think he was using that anger and his own personal sense of disappointment to somehow 'blame the liberals'. He talked on and on how women were what was wrong with America. He kept accusing me of being high when I would come home. I was too much in my Good Charlotte world to pay him any serious mind, but in these moments were actually really tense. He was living in some kind of hellish fury beneath the surface. He was TNT that wanted to explode and a lot of his aggression, having no one else to blame and seeing me bopping around, was aimed directly at me. If I was listening to music, he would come in and shut it off in a really aggressive manner that made me nervous. At random times, he would ground me, and there was never a clear reason for why.

He resented being used by Jodi, and so he decided that this all stemmed down to her being a woman. And he resented me because I was not a child anymore and didn't really have a lot of faith in him anymore. And now I was a woman, deserving of equal punishment. I didn't say anything out of line to him – I would have been too afraid for my well being to ever fight back at all. I was not the kind of teenager with outward mood swings. I wasn't snotty to him. I wasn't even allowed to cry in his presence, with the exception of a few things like an extreme injury or a rare occasion where it made sense to him. But he just knew I resented him and he was losing control of me, and that festered in his thoughts often. I could hear it behind the shouting of the radio when I walked passed. But I think more than anything, he had more resentment for himself. And since he had always put himself on a pedestal when I was young and impressionable, the concept that I had seen through the curtain at the confused and angry and ultimately forgivable human being that he really was made him hate himself a lot. He couldn't process his own guilt. All he knew was that I brought on a sense of self doubt that he had about himself, and without having the proper coping mechanisms, all he could think to do was smite me.

He seemed to actually hate himself a lot more than I ever did for that matter. And because I was consciously aware of him and had kept him accountable for his inconsistencies, I represented everything he hated about himself. If I could just not exist, then perhaps he could muffle out how weak and heartbroken he felt about his perceived failings. I think the idea of me forgiving him for flaws that he didn't even want me to know existed, that he had demonstrated before me made him even madder. If I am to be the forgiver, than in his eyes, I am the one in control – not him.

But honestly, I just wanted to have fun. I wasn't doing drugs. I just wanted to go swimming and read silly articles about boys in bands and tape them on my wall. I wasn't interested in his bank money, his relationship status.

And this goes to show something sort of crazy about the guy. He never has any interest in anyone around him unless they have something directly to offer him – or he can somehow relate. At his best, he is a curious person and if you peak his curiosity, he may under the right circumstances open up to a new idea to a limited degree. If he cannot, he assumes that the activities and ideas of that other person are pointless and a threat to civility in some fashion. Which is why he resented philosophers and people of that nature. If there is one or two writers that he did like, such as Steinbeck or Carl Sagan – they instantly were claimed as somehow owned by him. Me being as divergent as I am had already become a major issue for him.

One of the things that he made this really outlandishly crazy deal about were the clothes pins that held up our clothes out on the line to dry. He became obsessed with the fact that I pulled the pins violently off the line when I didn't. I put them on in a way that he thought looked like I had pulled them, but I was very delicate. In fact, I thought I was doing a good job. This was actually because I was snapping them on in a certain way (I will not go into detail about the physics behind this very mundane task), and he was insistent that I was ripping my clothes off the line nonetheless. He grounded me for a week. It ruined a bunch of plans I had with my friends. And in that time, I tried even harder to make the pins right, which only made them look in his eyes like I had pulled them. He said I would have to be grounded all summer. I cried and pleaded with him to actually go out there with me so I could show him what I was doing. I tried to be reasonable. But in his mind, I was just as bad as Maria or Roxanne. I was just as bad as my mother, or Jodi. And he was going to teach all of them a lesson by teaching me a lesson.

It took me three weeks, but I finally figured out what he was seeing that made him think I was pulling the clothing. This entire thing was pitifully stupid, because for one, he was not able to ground me when he wasn't there eighty percent of the time to enforce it. And also, wooden clothes pins are cheap. And why would I have ruined my own summer just to pull my clothes off the line? I eventually became consciously aware of how it was I was putting them on the line, and it connected to how I was kind of shorter than the line. So I was finally able to put them the way he liked, by compensating for my reach. I don't believe he ever believed me though. In the mean time, July had passed and I had spent half of it angry in my room feeling wrongly accused by the unstable psycho in the kitchen chiming on to Michael Savage on conservative talk radio.

The biggest battle was about my income. I felt incredibly used by both my dad and my mom when it came to babysitting. I had never asked for any money in return for the time I spent. Sure, Allison and David were easy to babysit – sometimes. But this still meant that I missed out on a lot of fun. There were a lot of things I could never go out and do. They both had to work and they couldn't help that. I could hardly fault them for this, but their working was ironically their excuse to not pay me one cent. This setup that had been going on for two years then meant that I really only had the freedom to go out and about twice a week and all of the days I could have gone out in July had been taken by the clothes pin deal. I felt it was unfair that I was not allowed any compensation for my time. So I formed some courage, and I asked my dad if he would pay me for babysitting. He yelled at me and told me that it was my mom's job to pay me since she had bailed on me, not him, but I reminded him that two of those days were days where I was under his custody. This made him fly into a rage. He called me disgusting and a spoiled fucking brat that he was sorry he ever had. He made it sound like my request was absurd. What was the amount I was asking for? Three dollars a week. A laughable price even then.

I just wanted to be able to buy music, or maybe a blue Pepsi (that was a drink back in those days and it tasted like cotton candy). I had never been allowed to have any money at all. I remember asking my father for five cents once, and he had turned me down. This was one of the first times that I actually talked back to him. He threw a huge fit over it which devolved into him screaming at me in the corner as I held myself crying. This was absolutely insane, which, especially as an adult now, I know it could not have been the amount I was asking for at all. I thought I was being reasonable. He spent 500$ on Jodi's Christmas present alone. His income was 18$ an hour and that was even more when you consider inflation since 03'. He could afford paying me twelve dollars a month. If I had gone through his wallet and stolen it, he would never have known. No, what he wanted was mindless subservience of a dog. He was angry that I had even developed enough self esteem to consider what I asked for and he was attempting to beat that self esteem out of me.

To give him some credit, he must have thought about what I had asked more than it had seemed initially. By the end of the summer, he bought me a box from Ross that was 20$ that he thought would fit all my drawings into. He told me that this was what he was giving me in compensation for the babysitting of the previous two years. I accepted it. I didn't ever think he was going to pay me for previous years of babysitting, so there was no harm in accepting this. He also told me, as we were in the car, that he was going to pay me 20$ every three weeks, which was a lot more than what I had asked for. I was very happy about this. And I didn't end up spending almost any of that money. It just grew over time in the credit union. So in a way, I did win. It wasn't what I deserved, but it was a huge improvement from what I had.

I will concede one thing for my dad that summer though. Later that summer, we got in another fight. I don't remember what it was about, but I remember sitting in my room feeling furious and resentful, him two rooms away in the kitchen. (Oh this is embarrassing). In order to let him know how I felt, I decided to listen to 'Perfect' by Simple Plan over and over again. It's a barely listenable tune. It's essentially a pop punk song to the singer's dad. I put it in my fancy cd changer that I had gotten as my main gift for Christmas, and I let it go on as loud as it could go, on repeat. It played twelve times in a row, ringing through the house. I honestly thought the song was that powerful I guess at the time. In that fight, I might have been right. But if my dad ever had a good reason to strangle me to death, that would have been the time. And he didn't, and he must have known. I mean, when you hear a song like that you cannot ignore it, try as you may to.

PART 26 - http://tinyurl.com/y73nvl73

PART 25 - http://tinyurl.com/y6v6pgoj

PART 24 - http://tinyurl.com/ycak5d8r

PART 23 - http://tinyurl.com/yac6sk3g

PART 22 - http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw

PART 21 - http://tinyurl.com/y783egno

PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt

PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8

PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk

PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng

PART 16 - http://tinyurl.com/yadpsv8c

PART 15 - http://tinyurl.com/yb3lt6k5

PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq

PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s

PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94

PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84

PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

#text

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faierius · 7 years

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Sunshowers Ch. 8

Noctis couldn't decide if what he was looking at was really funny or if he was just loopy from whatever the daemon sprayed in his face. Ignis had delivered the final blow of the fight, but his grace abandoned him so he misstepped upon landing a spectacular front flip. The stone under foot was slippery with some sort of green ooze that squelched with every step and made acrobatics a dangerous idea. His foot caught a glob of slime and he tumbled backward. Arms pinwheeling, Ignis landed in the shallow puddle that took up half the cave.

He decided it was definitely funny.

Fuming, Ignis pushed himself to his feet. Mud coated him from the waist down and his gray shirt, near black from water, sagged heavily. With a soggy hand, he readjusted his glasses and plodded out of the shin-deep puddle.

“How's the water?” laughed Noctis, not even trying to restrain himself.

“Cold,” Ignis grumbled, flicking droplets of moisture at the prince as he passed him.

“Hey!” Still snickering, Noctis wiped a drop from his nose. Crossing his arms, he stood back and watched Ignis try to wring excess moisture from his clothes and scrape off globules of mud.

“Too bad Prompto's not here with his camera,” he chuckled.

Ignis rolled his eyes. “Let's keep moving, shall we?”

Something about the gruff dismissal made Noctis laugh harder. Okay, maybe he was a little loopy as well. Trying to quell his giggles, Noctis fell into step beside Ignis. His amusement quickly faded when they found themselves in yet another winding stone corridor.

“How long have we been down here?” Noct asked as his stomach growled loudly.

Ignis took out his phone, the light from the screen casting a sickly glow on his face. “We've been searching about eight hours.”

It wasn't that long, really, but the worry and constant fighting had knocked the energy out of him. He was tired, sweaty, covered in dirt and bruises, and sick with fear. He could be one step from death, but he still wouldn't stop searching. Not until he saw with his own two eyes they were safe.

“Noct, look at this.”

Pulled from his thoughts, Noctis looked down at whatever caught Ignis' attention. On the pale stone was a dark stain, typical of daemons which had been recently killed.

“Think they've been through here?”

“In the last two hours at least, if this was indeed caused by them.”

“Let's see if there's more.” Splitting up, Noctis and Ignis searched the chamber for more daemon stains. They each found another oily patch on the stone, leading them toward one of the three hallways branching off the chamber. Without asking or waiting for Ignis, Noct followed the stains.

As he moved through the tunnels and small rooms, following what may end up being nothing more than a coincidence, Noctis sent silent prayers to the Gods. He wasn't yet convinced these death marks would lead anywhere helpful, and he might be getting himself hopelessly lost, so he needed all the help he could get.

“These stains are very recent. Only an hour old,” Ignis observed, standing next to a patch of greasy ooze.

“And I've seen a couple...parts which haven't entirely dissolved yet. It has to be them.”

Crossing his arms, Ignis tilted his head. “I'm inclined to agree. Shall we hurry and find them? I, for one, am rather tired of stone.”

“Couldn't agree more,” sighed Noctis. “I'm gonna sleep for a week when we get outta here.”

“I think not. I will allow a day at most.”

Brow twitching, Noctis looked back over his shoulder at Ignis. “Even that's generous coming from you.”

“Yes, well there are extenuating circumstances which may influence my decision.”

Noctis scoffed. “Oh? And what might those be?”

Ignis thought for a moment, decided if he ought to put voice to his observations. He chose not to. “The need for a bath, clean clothes, and a proper kitchen in which to cook.”

“So...purely selfish reasons.”

“Hardly. You share the backseat with Gladio, and you know he does not smell of his namesake after this many hours of physical activity. You and Prompto aren't much better.”

“Oh yeah, I'm well acquainted with Gladio's funk. But hey, you don't exactly smell like roses either. But yeah, I see where you're coming from.” Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Noctis turned away from Ignis to hide the blush creeping into his cheeks. Why now, of all times, was he remembering the many nights he found himself trying to find some excuse to lean over Prompto just so he could inhale his scent. He always felt weird about it, but after a long day of running around, fighting, sweating, Prompto smelled...amazing. At least to Noctis. The combination of his hair gel, failing deodorant, natural scent, and the smell of summer heat was intoxicating. During the times he wasn't actively ignoring his feelings, he found himself daydreaming about burying his face in Prompto's hair and just falling asleep with him.

Such a simple, yet impossible, want.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Noct exhaled a sharp breath. When he opened them again, they were exiting a short tunnel into a large, multi-tiered, uneven cavern. As they stepped into the room, cautious yet hopeful, Noctis' flashlight beam reflected off a gilded surface.

“Hey, Specs?” said Noct, nudging the man and pointing across the way.

“If I'm not mistaken, that's Gladio's shield.”

Noctis took off before the last word left Ignis' lips.

***

“What do you mean 'what'?” scoffed Gladio, smirk widening into a grin.

“B-b-b-but I'm nothing special. I'm nothing at all,” Prompto mumbled, rolling his camera around in his hands.

“You don't seriously believe that, do you?” The grin on Gladio's face dissolved into a scowl.

“How can I not? I'm not suave like Iggy or cool like you. I'm just a guy. And that's another thing! I'm a guy. Noct's getting married to Lady Lunafreya.”

“Hey pipsqueak,” growled Gladio, reaching out and grabbing Prompto's face. The younger man's cheeks squished comically in Gladio's hand. “I don't care what you think, but Noct chose you. Iggy and I were forced on him, and he had no say in the matter. He picked you, let you into his life, and for some reason decided to keep you around. You wouldn't be here with us if Noctis, future King of Lucis, thought you were nothing.”

When Gladio released him, Prompto sat back and looked at his camera again. “Yeah...King. He's important. His future with Luna is important. I'm just his bodyguard, and I'm not even very good at that.”

A snarl of frustration rumbled Gladio's chest. “If you think political marriage to a childhood friend is gonna keep Noct from his few pleasures in life, you don't know him as well as I thought.”

Prompto glanced up at the dark scowl on Gladio's face. “Why're you mad?”

“Because you don't get it.”

“What?” Wrinkling up his nose, Prompto pouted.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Gladio groaned. “I really shouldn't have to spell it out for you, Prompto.”

Prompto blinked at Gladio, tilting his head.

“I'm not gonna spell it out for you!” Grumbling, Gladio leaned his head back and closed his eyes. Though his knowledge of Prompto's attraction was fresh, I made a lot of things make sense. There was no way Noct didn't feel the same. But because of Prompto's insecurities, and Noct's need not to upset others, plus a handful of other reasons, the two could be openly pining for one another and nothing would ever happen.

Gladio knew he shouldn't encourage them for the sake of Lucis, the Royal lineage, and their own happiness in the future, but he'd be a horrible hypocrite if he didn't. Plus, why not let them have their fun? It wouldn't hurt anyone to let them seek comfort in one another.

When Gladio opened his eyes, Prompto was back to staring at his camera. The side of his mouth curved slightly as he chewed on his bottom lip. His eyes were bright, the image from the screen reflected in them. He looked younger than usual.

“He makes you happy.”

Prompto nodded, his smile sad. “Yeah.”

“What about all that talk about Cindy being your Goddess and wanting to marry her?”

“You've seen her, right? She is a Goddess. Besides, I stand a way better chance with a mechanic than a King.”

“In this case, oughta take your chances with the King.” Snorting, Gladio snatched the camera from Prompto's hands.

“Hey, give it back!” Prompto scrambled up onto his knees, bracing one hand on Gladio's shoulder as he tried to retrieve his property. He stretched, reaching across the man's torso, trying to grab it, but Gladio kept it just out of reach.

“I just wanna have a peek!” laughed Gladio.

As the men goofed around, there was a knock on Gladio's shield. Deciding a daemon wouldn't be so polite, Gladio dismissed his gear.

“Hey,” Noct greeted flatly.

“Hey,” replied Gladio, handing Prompto's camera back. The blond blushed hard, refusing to look at Noctis.

Noct's eyes flicked between the pair, raising his hand to vaguely indicate his forehead. “Is it serious?” he asked, referring to Prompto's injury.

Getting to his feet, Gladio shook his head. “Nah, he's got a hard head.” Grinning, he reached out and ruffled Prompto's dusty hair.

“Hey!”

Ignis stepped forward to dispel some of the awkward tension. “Do you require medication?”

“I'll say. My ass is mincemeat.”

“Are you guys okay?” Prompto asked, taking in their filthy, disheveled appearances.

Withdrawing two potions from his pouch, Ignis nodded. “I think our egos took the worst of it,” he joked.

“Hey,” Noct growled in warning.

“Aw, now I wanna know!” Prompto's sullen embarrassment shifted to curiosity. He accepted a potion and quickly broke the bottle in his hand. The healing essence washed over him, repairing the worst of his wounds though it wasn't quite strong enough to fix him up one hundred percent.

“A story for another time, perhaps. We can regale one another with our tales once we're back at the hotel. For now, I think we ought to head back to the surface.”

“Could not agree more.” Clapping Ignis on the shoulder, Gladio stretched and walked out into the chamber. “You remember the way back?”

“Of course.” Ignis' response was brusque, but there was warmth in his eyes as he followed Gladio.

Prompto fidgeted nervously with his belt buckle. “Hey, uh, Noct?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm glad you're okay.”

Noctis wanted to grab him, wrap his arms around him, and not let go. “Me too.”

“Are you coming?” Ignis called.

“Let's go, Prompto.” Turning on his heel, Noctis smacked his friend between the shoulder blades.

Skin still tender from his fall, he hissed a breath between his teeth, flinching.

“You okay?”

“I got pretty cut up when we dropped down that chute. The potion didn't hundred percent me,” Prompto answered.

Feeling the sudden urge to get a rise out of his abnormally blasé friend, Noctis grabbed the back of Prompto's blood and dirt stained top, yanking it up. “Lemme see.”

“Whoa! Dude, cut it out! What're you doing?” A squeak cracked his voice as he tried to escape Noctis.

Wrestling with the shirt, Noctis saw smears of blood and a few rash-like abrasions.

“Noct! Seriously, dude!”

“Hey!” barked Gladio, making the younger men freeze. “Save it for the hotel room!”

Exchanging a wide-eyed glance, Prompto and Noctis quickly stepped away from one another. Falling silent, they hurried to catch up.

Noctis was positive he saw Ignis' shoulders quake with muffled laughter.

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