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ancientstone · 3 years

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any more BofA ideas? 😊

I have literally been unable to stop thinking about this au since it first appeared in my brain! 😂 Thank you for giving me an excuse to ramble 😊❤

Recently I’ve been thinking about Five and Sebastian in the apocalypse, and how tough it must have been for Five.

By the point he summons Sebastian and makes their deal, he’s been in the apocalypse for decades. He’s been isolated and completely alone (minus Dolores), surviving off canned food and cockroaches, navigating falling ash, fires, bodies, and ruins. Everything that has come his way he has been forced to face by himself, be it injury, sickness, natural disaster, or whatever else.

It’s part of the reason why he’s able to just get on with things once he’s back, right? Five’s used to rolling up his sleeves.

He’ll stitch up his own arm, no worries.

He’ll deal with the assassins the Commission sends, no issue.

It’s probably why it takes pretty much until season 2 for him to actively seek out someone to help him.

Don’t think I didn’t notice the season 1 “I can do this by myself, you don’t need to know” vs “I need your help to stop the apocalypse” shift...

But then we fling Sebastian into the mix.

Sebastian, a demon capable, as seen in the flashback during the Campania arc (spoilers?), of turning smoldering ruins into a functioning manor and making a table filled with food appear before his master’s eyes.

Like, sweet Jesus, that’s a one-eighty.

Imagine Five taking Sebastian back to his crumbly little base at the library, for the first time realising how lonely and pathetic is it, and then Sebastian just tuts and goes, “This won’t do.” and BAM! Library is restored! Oh, and the Academy as well, because that his master’s home, right?

Do you....Do you think that when Sebastian rebuilds the academy, he includes Five’s portrait over the fireplace?

Oof, can you picture it? The proof of how your father felt about your disappearance (as a lesson to the other children never to defy him) right there, as you desperately struggle to claw your way back from your mistake. Yikes.

That’s probably why Sebastian leaves it up, the bastard.

Decades, though, most of Five’s lifetime, spent outside in the ashy remains of the apocalypse, and then suddenly he has running water, and electricity, and a bed with feather pillows and soft blankets and warmth!! All at a near flick of a demonic finger! That must mess with the head.

I watched a documentary about homelessness once, and I remember a man on there saying that after so long spent on the streets, he can no longer sleep inside because he finds it too claustrophobic. Five could easily feel the same way, like that first night he has a bath (a goddamn bath?!!) and gets settled in the bed, Dolores at his side and just...

Rests there. His eyes wide open. Acutely aware of how muffled the world suddenly sounds.

Yeah, he sleeps on the roof that night. Sebastian probably scolds him for that.

“You could get sick! Humans are weak and fragile creatures, any number of-”

“I’m literally the expert at this.” Five snips. “I built a fire, calm down.”

“A fire is no replacement for a bed-”

“Listen, asshole, I’ve spent over twenty years making a living in this shithole, I think I know a thing or two about this.”

Five then spends months just...naturally heading outside to do anything after that, much to Sebastian’s chagrin. It’s ingrained by this point, a force of habit that’s had years to develop. Unlike Ciel, who had a month of hell before returning, Five’s been scarred in a way that leaves so many behaviors that it’s honestly a wonder why Sebastian rebuilt the academy in the first place.

Need water? Go outside.

Need food? Outside.

The bathroom? Yep, outside.

The first time it rains once Sebastian is there, he finds Five having a makeshift shower in it, and has to remind him that there are showers and baths in the academy, sir!! Please use them!!

Oh boy, the showers.

Let’s face it, Five going to be one stinky man when Sebastian finds him. Much like with Ciel (again, Campania arc spoilers), Sebastian probably insists on helping him bathe the first night, because Five’s likely littered with scares and nicks and god knows what else. Whereas Ciel was somewhat able to put up with Sebastian washing him, Five?

Nope.

No.

Not an ounce of human contact in decades and then someone comes along and wants to wash your hair? No thank you, not today or any other.

It doesn’t help that, when you try and insist, your master has this unfortunate habit of disappearing, probably going outside and getting even more goddamn dirty.

I don’t think Sebastian would get his way here. Five’s a grown man, unlike Ciel, and is far more able to put his foot down. Dear old Sebby just has to put up with it and trust Five to get himself relatively clean.

He does give Five a haircut, though. And gives his beard a trim.

Dolores thinks he looks very handsome.

Five thinks he’s going to get sunburn all over his face without his beard to protect it.

Then there’s the food.

hoo boy Five’’s palate is a mess. Literally, a mess. Sebastian is beside himself half the time. Whatever Five picks at (and he’s not eating nearly enough during meals) gets swallowed whole, no chewing, no tasting, just gulped down like it would vanish if he didn’t. Anything more elaborate than butter on toast is too much flavour at once, and texture beyond soft and squidgy or the crunchy outer shells of insects makes Five uncomfortable.

Again, Ciel only spend a month in hell, so he was able to recover quicker than Five. Here, Sebastian has to learn how to take things slowwww, realising that if they’re going to achieve time travel and stop the apocalypse, he’s going to need to gradually bring Five to better health first.

I wonder if Sebastian offers warm milk with honey, and when Five accepts it, snickers at his own private joke...

The first time Five tries a coffee, he ends up experiencing such a rush that Sebastian legitimately thinks that Five might teleport six countries to the left. After that, they take their time introducing things like sugar and caffeine back into his diet.

Also, picture the interaction:

“Sir, please don’t.”

“Huh?” Five glances over at Sebastian. “What?”

“You are not an animal, sir, you are a man of considerable power, and technically considerable wealth.”

“Right, and?”

“Just...Please put the bug down, sir. If you are hungry, you need only ask.”

idk I just think it’s funny how unnerved Sebastian might be with some of Five’s habits. Whenever Ciel talked about the lengths he would go to while achieving his goals, most of the time that was theoretical, or just talking about joining a contract with Sebastian.

Five however it literally showing the lengths he would go to, and they’re gross! He’d survive off insects for his family! He’d live surrounded by rotting corpses! He’d eat canned dog food if it came his way!

Ciel would do those things, but Five actively does.

I’d better leave this here before it really turns into an essay, but lord above, these boys are giving me much to muse over!!

#asked #thank you!!#book of the apocalypse #tua #kuroshitsuji #number five #sebastian michaelis #my post #long post

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getallemeralds · 3 years

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Explorers of Arvus: uhhhh / 3.23.21

today's notes are different from usual bc. well. you'll see

LAST TIME ON EXPLORERS OF ARVUS i broke my sleep schedule and am barely existing so this is fine. we went back to camp vengeance an uhhhhhhhhhhhh we are now going to fuck off into the forest to die or prove a very important point

oh god we forgot to level up

[mgd voice] BOOSTING NYX TO MAXIMUM LEVEL

im so fuckin tired. what on earth am i doing. how do i level again

k is not here this time but instead we've got mae+nii bonking their heads together to simulate 2 braincells and so far it is not working. i might just have to like fuckin, drop out n zzz partway thru or somethin. would be fun to see how chaotic michael makes charlie in my absensce

oh wait i can do d&dbeyond i think. how do i work this again. will i ever remember i have shield

what level am i. level 6? pog. oh shit i think i have a new thing

. new spell

. 3 total 3rd level spell slots

. bend luck! i can now screw people over on purpose (and will probably use my sorcery points FINALLY)

michael is leveling charlie up bc my brain is apple sos

ASDXFKLJFH I FEEL CALLED OUT zec rb'd my most recent art of MaX with "all i know about xem is that leo likes xem a lot that's the extent of my knowledge" THANK U FOR SUPPORTIN ME ANYWAY

there will be less blaseball distractions than last time bc blaseball is now on siesta. however i will still have MaX brainrot in the background bc i was drawing xem

wyatt mason my beloved

OKAY I GOTTA MUTE THE TACO STAND FOR THE ENTIRETY OF D&D i cannot and will not get distracted. we can do this. we

nintendo wii

we havent even started yet and im already incoherent

ok i have made a decision and that decision is that i do not have the brainpower to play. however i do have the brianpower to take notes hopefully! so ill just like. vibe. this will be a first

oh man im gonan pick up Blink. charlie is gonna be a fucking menace to herself and others

oh my god its not concentration so charlie may continue teleporting while unconscious. thorne is going to hate this

[charlie gets her soul eaten by a ring] [charlie singing dragonston din tei at halvkWAIT JORB HAS A PRIZE

jorb got a thing! an evil genius thing! figure man. fugrine. figuring. help

GREEN HAS DIAGNOSED ME AS TIGREX MONSTERHUNTER i love this

my notes are a disaster. this is so sucks

serotonin is stored in the wiggly zoomy jorb camera

jorb: his pinky is the size of the rest of his fingers

leo: he has a disease

jorb: he has a disease.

jorb: that disease is male pattern baldness

leo: [reduced to tearful giggling for mysterious reasons]

LAST TIME, ON EXPLORERS OF ARVUS: we've returned to camp vengeance! taure is still unconscious, which is not very great. camp vengeance is doin better tho!

michael, as part of the recap: ingrid is getting railed by her new girlfriend,

first dice roll of the day is michael rolled a 1. good start

OH THORNE IS AN ARTIFICER NOW thorne took a level in artificer!

"...it's like figuring out the right mathematical equation to summon a gun."

group is gonna go check out the statue that we passed by now that we're not WHAT DO YOU MEAN PONK AND GEORGE CANONICALLY HAVE IBS thats it im not looking at 772 anymore

im doing a bad job of paying attention but at least im Present

SIERON LEARNED FLY AND USED IT ON CHARLIE

michael: what do you want to do with your new flying powers?

leo: how many problems can i cause in 10 minutes

guard 1: ...why is the halfling flying?

guard 2: [rolls a 3 on intelligence] i think they can just do that

groundhogs, the real scourge of the campaign

silje and sieron are gonna hunt a big elk. they got distracted and sieron is putting grass on silje's head. i think

WAIT WE'RE ON WATCH NOW FUCK

we have discovered kali's tragic backstory whoops

update i am. too sleepy for this. good nigh everyone

[ and then leo went and somewhat took a nap! solar, normally playing thorne, started playing charlie in my stead. @jorbs-palace, local hero, started taking shitpost notes in my stead. ]

jorb's ghostwritten notes for leo:

help solar is immediately doing a cursed voice for charlie. charlie can do so many crimes

congratulations, charlie is now temporarily immortal!

dwarves can hit things with their beard

kali wants to know if she's legally allowed to bail

she'd feel really bad if she had to loot our corpses for payment if we died.

we have entered the Tree Zone

one of the corpses is now a flamingo (has one leg)

silje has decided to stab the ground. take that, dirt

kali was large size for a second there but then she remembered to not be a giant

"you accidentally deleted my cat?!"

silje has learned naruto cloning jutsu

be gone, thot

oh boy, making an int check to look at a statue! 11! silje is dumb apparently.

hmm. the statue has divination magic. it's also affecting silje.

SILJE LEARNED A 6TH LEVEL SPELL? its only single use but still

you solved my statue riddllllleeeee

thorne forgot to have eyes

its a shame mac and cheese doesnt exist in the d&d universe

wizards are just math criminals (the criminal part is setting people on fire)

sieron crit fails a check but it was still a 9 because of having +8

thorne is looking for what's weird!

uh oh music got scary, never a good sign

hmm. those leaves over there weren't dead a moment ago.

UNDEAD TROLL TIME! rolling initiative

"it's ok, im a wizard, it's my duty to be correct." "wow! waow!"

woooah here he comes

IT JUST DID HALF SIERON'S HEALTH AS A PASSIVE END OF TURN EFFECT?

thorne backed up and cast eldri- oh, ray of enfeeblement. character development continues

charlie is going to just blink out of existence for a minute.

big chungus has grabbed silje and sieron. BIG CHUNGUS HAS THROWN SILJE AND SIERON.

sieron is using hit and run tactics! isn't good at his extra attack yet though

silje is activating bid bid blood blood blood

thorne uses beam of skipping your leg day. troll's legs are now skipped.

michael is trying to determine what a 'clavicle' is

"does that mean the star trek kind, or the bdsm kind?"

charlie wants to cast magic missile.

charlie has vanished back into the ethereal plane mid-taunt

silje has decided to not get bitten today

silje may or may not have stats.

oh, right, trolls are weak to fire! and also we forgot to upgrade sieron's firebolt. so it actually hurts now!

silje is full of knives and blades and does 31 damage in one turn!

charlie shouts words of encouragement from the ethereal plane. a nearby ghost vibes with this.

🎉 eldritch blast 🎉

kali remembered she hates the sun

silje is enthuasiatic about charlie saying "get him cat boy!"

charlie contemplating using fireball to nuke the troll and also the entire stonehenge

charlie has decided to use magic missile instead, probably for the best

the troll bit at charlie SO POORLY it broke some of its teeth on the ground

charlie is too small to hit

accidentally rolled advantage on a firebolt, so got to learn it WOULD have done 29 damage with a crit but instead it missed because it was not actually with advantage

silje has just sliced open its entire back and made a spray of frozen blood! radical. big boy is down!

we have burned the body because we are not stupid. well, we ARE stupid, but not stupid in the way of leaving a body full of necrotic magic around

[dr coomer voice] i think it's good that he died!

we're also doing a funeral pyre for the other corpses that were around. just to be sure.

our loot is: the satisfaction of a job well done

thorne is cosplaying as charlie

charlie has located the direction troll came from! she found the 'the way to sweet loot' sign

thorne is apparently better at survival checks than our hired guide? wack

we found a viking house! it has: mead, a shield, gravestones,

found a gold coin in the mead! maybe it was thirsty

oh theres a LOT Of coins in there actually. 60 gold and 120 silver!

have successfully pointed out a hole in the DM's logic :)

there was a raven! it cawed and left. ok bye buddy

and that's where we leave it! heading back to camp vengeance next time.

someone rated this session a 7.2 out of 10, which is very specific

good night mr coconut

#leo chirps #ttrpg #explorers of arvus #jorb #thank u based jorb

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ag-superart · 3 years

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Skeleverse!Ink: Age: around 983 Family: mom: Comet Comyet, brothers: Reaper Comyet [986] and Cross Comyet [985] partner: Error Queen, children: Gradient Errorink [14, boy] and Paper Jam (Pj) Errorink [14, boy], nieces/nephews: Grim [12, boy, Afterdeath] Closest friends (in no order): Error, Dream, Blue, Geno [985], Fresh [983], King Multiverse (Multi), Error404 (404), Fatal!Error (Fatal), Gin (dead, they were like brothers but never lovers).

Skeleverse!Error: Age: 984 (around) Family: mom: Crayon Queen (Cq), brothers: Geno Queen, Fresh Queen, partner: Ink Comyet, children: Gradient Errorink, Pj Errorink, nieces/nephews: Grim Afterdeath Closest friends (no order): Ink, Blue, Cross, Reaper, Code, Nightmare, Horror, Error404, Multi, Fatal. (both Ink and Error are friends with the other sanses just not as close and they are also close friends with some of their aus/ams but I didn’t want to list them all)

Ink and Error’s Backstory (my multiverse/au)

Both Ink and Error grew up in the au where the comic Momma Cq took place, I call this au Comictale due to other comics (ex: Undertale Green on YouTube) being able to happen there. But onto the backstory of Ink and Error, we start when Ink was 2, him and his brother’s father was the god of death before Reaper and was killed by another god in battle, it is unknown who killed him. Due to their father being killed, at the age of 6 one year after their father’s death, Reaper was sent to Reapertale to begin training to become the new god of death. Comet and Cross made shore to talk about Reaper and show Ink pictures of him so Ink would not forget about his older brother, Reaper didn’t forget about his family. All went well until six years later, Cross was 11 and Ink was 9. That year was when disaster struck. No one knows what happened to the original XTale!Sans but something happened to him leaving XTale without a sans. Unable to bring him back with overwrite or reset X!Gaster decided to get a “new” sans, so at the age of 11 Cross was kidnaped and bring to XTale, this is one of the reasons why Ink does not trust Gasters. A year after Crosses abduction Ink and Comet met the Queen family and then all the advents of the Momma Cq comic took place. When Geno was 17, Error 16 and Ink and Fresh 15 disaster struck again. X!Gaster used overwrite and unknowingly caused a glitch known as an overwrite glitch to happen. The overwrite glitch teleported Geno to the save screen, teleported Fresh to a random au and turned him into a parasite, Fresh was lucky enough to encounter someone willing to be his host, this skeleton’s name is Nyan and him and Fresh are now very close friends, no one other then Fresh knows about Nyan. Back on topic, Ink and Error were teleported to the same au, Wingtale. (Wingtale is based off of the Wings of War au)

When Ink and Error arrived in Wingtale, an au made completely of feather winged skeletons, they had also gained wings, both pares feathered, Ink’s being tan and rainbow feathers and Error’s being black and red. They were soon greeted by the Gaster of that au, Wing!Gaster, he had three pares of wings instead of the normal one pare and as soon as he saw Ink’s rainbow feathers he also looked at Error and noticed that he glitched. Wing!Gaster, without a second thought had Error’s wings ripped apart and him throne off a cliff into the shadow lands, a place where exiles are taken. “WHY DID YOU DO THAT!!!” Ink shouted with rage “It was for your own good,” Wing!Gaster replied “That glitch could have faded your beautiful rainbow feathers, and we don’t want that now do we?” Ink only stood in silence, Wing!Gaster never would care about Ink, only the rainbow feathers. A year and half later, after having to follow Wing!Gaster around like some kind of living trophy every day, Ink decided to sneak out of the golden palace and explore outside of it. He was exploring the shadow lands, which were more of just a bunch of old runes that were in the shadows of the mountains around them, Ink stopped, he had thought he heard something. Suddenly something ran out of the shadows, shouting Ink’s name, and gave him a big, glitchy, leathery winged hug. “Ink its you! Its really you!” the two continued to hug, “Error!?! I missed you so much! Are those leather wings! They are so cool!” Ink and Error would hang out every night, not that it really mattered in the shadow lands. They continued doing this for about six months, until they were discovered by a skeleton who worked for Wing!Gaster. The next day Wing!Gaster asked for Ink to come in to his throne room and before Ink could ask what was going on Wing!Gaster, SNAPPED, one of Ink’s wings off. “If you ever go to see that dirty glitch again I will take something much more valuable than a wing.” It only took about six months for Ink’s wing to grow back as a tan and rainbow leather wing. Soon after his wing grew back Ink decided to go see Error again, little did Ink know that he was followed. The two skeletons that Wing!Gaster had sent to follow Ink grabbed him as soon as Ink and Error had come in site of each other and dragged Ink to Wing!Gaster’s throne room. “I warned you Ink” Wing!Gaster said, Error had followed Ink back up into the palace this time and what happened next TRAUMATIZED Error. Wing!Gaster RIPPED out Ink’s soul and Ink, going almost emotionless as soon as his soul left his body, screamed and cried louder and more painfully then anyone had ever screamed before. Something else happened when Ink lost his soul. His rainbow feathers turned white, even on the wing that Wing!Gaster had snapped off that he kept in a case above his throne. Wing!Gaster did not like this one bit so, pulling Ink, with Error hugging his friend, Wing!Gaster took the two of them to the top of the mountain, to a ledge reserved for exacting people due to how high it was and because of how the air moved there it made it impossible to fly. Wing!Gaster then through Ink and Error off and walked away and to this day believes that they are dead. But that is not how this story ends, Ink and Error, a little more then half was down the mountain, were caught in many black strings. Thoughts were the strings of Error404 who had saved them and took them to Alphatale where King Multiverse gave Ink his vials and taught both Error and Ink how to use them properly. (you give Ink the yellow and blue vials to give him normal emotions, not pink and red that will turn him into a yandere, Ink is color blind when his vials run out) Ink and Error also became the gods of creation and destruction during their time in Alphatale, they didn’t stay there permanently though as they eventually went on their own paths but they still check in on their godly friends every so often.

Facts:

After the first overwrite (the overwrite glitch) all of Comictale other then the neighborhood that Ink and Error lived in was paused so now the only people that could move where the ones in that neighborhood at the time of the glitch.

After his mother and father got a divorce (his dad moved out of the country) and his mother killed in a shooting Uncle Asy adopted Decans and the two of them live in Cq’s house with Cq, Comet and Sour (they live there because of the overwrite glitch, see above fact)

Uncle Asy is asylum!sans, a previous overwrite glitch caused him to be teleported to Comictale and age like a normal skeleton, Guardian (asylum!Papyrus) still follows Asy around and Asy’s mental health is much better. Decans, Cq, Comet and Sour all know about Asy being a former sans and about Guardian. He told them after the first overwrite.

Sugar and Sour were having a sleepover with the Queen brothers, Ink and Decans when the first overwrite happened, Sugar was teleported to Sugartale and him and Geno still keep in touch.

It has been almost 1,000 years sense the first overwrite and the people of Comictale (who are not paused) know this and so the the Queen brothers, the Comyet and Sugar. No one has aged physically in Comictale.

Ink and Error are able to hide their wings and do so when around sanses other than Geno, Fresh, Reaper Cross or any of their friends from Alphatale, if their is anyone else around they will not show them.

Ink and Error are a part of the Multiverse Alliance, which is a group of Ink and Error aus/ams, the MA HQ is in accidentverse and they have a rule says that if you are outside of your multiverse (or in MA HQ) you are under a mandatory truce.

Ink and Error met Dream and Nightmare before the apple incident, at the time Ink had Gin’s mask on over his face and Error was wearing his mask and had his hood up, they use these as discuses when doing god work and they have their wings showing when doing this too. Dream and Nightmare don’t recognize Ink and Error as Create and Destroy. (thoughts are the names they use when doing their god work) One reason they don’t recognize Ink and Error is because it has been more than 500 years sense then, they do remember the names Create and Destroy though because of how kind they were to Nightmare.

In my multiverse Dream knew that the villagers didn’t like Nightmare but he did not know about the physical bullying, the villagers would call Nightmare names and Dream did know about that, he would stop them whenever he could.

Geno met Reaper once in Comictale one night while Geno was in the hospital, Reaper could sense that there was something different about this soul he had been sent to reap so he gave Geno a choice of if he wanted Reaper to reap him the normal way or to just touch him, which even though it is slower it is less painful. Geno picked the second choice and when he didn’t start to die both were surprised and Reaper left saying: “You are special, I hope we meet again.”

#sans aus #momma cq #skeleverse #ink!sans #error!sans

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shy-marker-pliers · 4 years

Text

High school AU thingamabob

Dark

17 year old senior

class president and is kinda high and mighty about it tbh

“yes i know student council can’t really make any changes without the input of the superintendent but IM THE PRESIDENT AND YOU’RE NOT SO SUCK MY DI-“

does sound/lights for all the shows the school puts on

dating wilford and no one knows how or why they’re together

had a deep as hell voice and a beard the second he hit puberty

takes every ethics/psychology class he can

wants to be a lawyer

that one kid that everyone fears but is actually kinda chill if not a little surly

wears a collared shirt and tie to school every day and would totally get made fun of for it if he wasn’t terrifying

listens to classical music unironically

“oh my god i’m so going to fail this test” *proceeds to get the highest grade in the class*

protector of the gays™️

person: *says something mean to a student because they’re lgbtq+*

Dark: *teleports in front of said student* omae wa mou shindeiru

Wilford

19 year old senior

Yes he still has the mustache

doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone thinks of him

deadass wore a dress to school after one of his friends got made fun of because she wore a suit to a school dance

b u f f a s h e l l

could bench press a teacher if he really tried

on the cheer team

“no i’m not wearing pants, this miniskirt makes my ass look great!”

everyone’s bodyguard

usually attracts a crowd of nervous underclassmen

has mild dyslexia

tol

gives his friends piggyback rides

president of the drama club

works hard enough in school to pass his classes but that’s pretty much it

sleeps in class

Bim

15 year old freshman

vice president of the drama club

wilfords shadow

first freshman to help run the drama club and shoves it in everyone’s face

shouts his gayness from the rooftops

secretly super insecure

loves plants and helps out in the schools greenhouse

named all of the plants but if you tell anyone he’ll stab you

gets mostly B’s and C’s

has mild ocd but not enough to affect him severely

talks like a game show host cause he thinks it makes him sound attractive

it doesn’t

Google(s)

16 year old juniors

identical quadruplets

they have to wear different colors every day or else no one knows which one is which

they’re called the googles because their backpacks match the colors of the chrome logo and they’re super smart

straight A 4.0 GPA students but Oliver has to try a little harder than his brothers

all of them are in the robotics team except for ollie

Blue works on programming and red and green are on the build team

Ollie is the sweetest day of sunshine to ever exist and everyone loves him

he’s basically adopted Eric as his lil bro

tutors people in the library every tuesday and thursday

the other googles disapprove of his relationship with bing but he makes ollie happy so they don’t do anything about it

they all work in a supermarket and they’re saving up for college

ollie wants to be a vet, red and green want to be engineers, and blue wants to be a web developer

Bing

17 year old junior

mostly A’s, a few B’s.

his full name is zachary bing but people call him bing because he’s always trying to one up the googles

dudebro

was pining after ollie for months before chase finally felt sorry for him and told ollie how he felt

they’re dating now and it’s adorable

so soft for his boyf

a really good skater and wins a lot of local competitions

doesn’t study but still gets p good grades

wears sunglasses all the time because he has light sensitivity

Has ADHD

s t r o n k

always challenges people to arm wrestle him

can sing really well and plays gitaur

shares a youtube channel with chase where they skate and to challenges and stuff

Dr. ipiler

18 year old senior

Everyone calls him doc because he helps the school nurse and takes every single biology and health class there is

all A’s

really wants to be a surgeon

best friends with Schneep

huge star trek/harry potter nerd (ravenclaw if you’re wondering)

almost always at schneep’s house studying or just chillin’

kind of a control freak

thinks he’s charismatic but he’s actually kinda annoying

but annoying in a funny way

has a pet ferret that he sneaks into school

feral

espresso and sugar flows through his veins

“i actually got a good sleep last night.” “oh really?” “yeah bro i got a whole half hour!”

super dark bags under his eyes

Host

17 year old junior

all A’s except for in gym class

he has eyes in this

his real name is Simon Charles Teller (there are specific meanings to those names btw look them up) but he’s called The Host because he does morning announcements every day.

has gold eyes and a lot of people find it unnerving

“hey i have a podcast you should totally listen to it”

nocturnal

spends all of his free time in the library

always reading in class but the teachers don’t really care bc his grades are good and he does his homework

wants to be an english/poetry teacher

crushing on the cute shy kid from his english class

doesn’t talk much but he’ll still be nice to you

that one kid who’s always correcting the teachers

Runs the D&D club (he’s the dungeon master)

Eric Derekson

16 year old junior

Mostly high B’s, a couple of A’s.

lives with his uncle mark after he ran away from his abusive dad and is living a happy life

the guy that always volunteers to take care of the class pets over the weekend

animals love him

has anxiety, mild paranoia and autism.

animals, harry potter, and pokémon are his hyperfixations.

he also really likes gardening

crushing big time on hostioli

spends his entire english class staring at him and blushing

is seriously considering joining D&D club just to be able to talk to him

he’s in the art club

wants to be a vet and maybe do some freelance art stuff on the side

Ollie keeps yelling at him to just ask host out already but he’s too nervous

my poor bb boi

Wears sweaters all the time

wears headphones to block out noise if it ever gets too loud at he goes into sensory overload

disaster bi

Yan

18 year old senior

gets C’s

non-binary

has a makeup tutorial channel on youtube and has a pretty decent following

That one weeb

dyes their hair a new color every week

also has a new crush every week

everyone knows who their newest victim is because they never stop watching them

draws anime or cute animals for every art class

wants to be a a fashion designer

does MMA

everyone kinda stears clear of them

writes their first initial along with their crush’s on every notebook they own

has gotten suspended for beating kids up on multiple occasions

doesn’t really have that many friends but they don’t mind

spends their lunches watching their crush

in the drama club and the art club

Randall Voorhees

18 year old senior

C’s and D’s

Eric’s cousin/bodyguard

they have a lot of the same classes and walk everywhere together

loves animals and has like 10 pet rats

he doesn’t really care about his grades because he knows that he wants to be a woodworker/construction guy

makes little houses out of scrap wood for his rats and Eric thinks it’s adorable

always sneaks his rats to school and lets them have play dates with dr. iplier’s ferret

“nO IM NOT RELATED TO JASON VOORHEES HES NOT EVEN REAL SO SHUT THE HELL UP-“

used to live in nyc in queens and still has a pretty strong accent

completely incomprehensible when he’s excited or angry bc of the accent

everyone is jealous of his hair

spends like 100 dollars on shampoo and conditioner and stuff but it’s worth it

acts like the straightest guy in existence but could not be more gay

his boots are always muddy

Yancy

16 year old sophomore

his name is Yancy Bird

g...get it? like jailbird? ahaha...ok i’ll stop

permanent resident of the detention room

but he gets to just chill out and read for an hour so he doesn’t really mind

mostly gets detention for beating up kids that bully others

fuck the system

always wears a leather jacket and blue jeans

“hey, the 50’s called and they want their-“ SMACK. “shut up.”

takes a lot of criminal justice and psychology classes ironically

in the botany club but if you tell anyone they’ll never find your body

everyone is surprised when they find out he’s friends with Eric and ollie

pan but in denial

“i’m not gay guys, that ain’t me, i’m just comfortable with my sexuality. so i can admit when i see a guy with a handsome face and pretty eyes-“

that song is great btw you should listen to it

anyway

always makes really dark jokes and everyone is like “are you ok?”

except for his friends they just laugh

“lmao wouldn’t it be funny if everyone like...died”

#markiplier #markiplier egos #darkiplier #eric derekson #the host #wilford warfstache #yancy iplier #randall voorhees #bim trimmer #high school

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undertalethingies · 3 years

Text

Save Me From Myself

This is a continuation of Don’t Forget Me (Please)

Also, the idea for this comes from this post.

Sans has always been determined. How could he be anything else, to be what he is and do what he does?

If he were anything else, even the smallest iota less secretly stubbornly willful, he would have broken long ago, would have shattered to pieces under the strain of the duty he places on himself.

From the outside, he doesn’t give off the impression that he’d do anything, go against time itself for those he loves. From the outside, he doesn’t give the impression that he cares at all.

In the end, though, his actions will always speak for the truth of him where his words refuse to.

A twelve year old Sans sits on the edge of a cliff, kicking his legs back and forth over the steep drop.

The forest continues, so far down below. He can see a small cottage, lit up by some unknown occupant within.

He wonders, silent, what would happen if he jumped. Would he land on a tree, the sharp points of the branches ripping his fragile body to pieces? Would he fall into the snow, his dust mixing with the snow until it became impossible to tell which is which?

What would the world look like, without him? He doesn’t have any parents to miss him if he were gone, doesn’t have any family really, aside from his brother.

And Papyrus would move on in the end, he knows. His brother has always been resilient, has always had something unbreaking at his core, for all his bluster.

What would the world look like without him?

He doesn’t really have any friends. He has associates, acquaintances, but no one in his life he lets close enough to call a friend. He doesn’t have any important contributions to the world, doesn’t have any great accomplishments.

He’s just some kid with low health and more magic than he knows what to do with, in the end.

If he jumped now, what difference would it even make, in the end?

...Well, there is one thing. Just one thing for the world that only Sans can and will provide. The encounter was months ago, now, but he can’t very well forget it.

Without Sans, there’s no one to tell Sienna’s mom that she’s dead, if monsters ever reach the surface. No one down here to remember that soul in a jar as a person with thoughts and feelings.

It’s small, but he promised her. He said he’d remember.

And it’s not like he really wants to kill himself, in the end. No matter the exhaustion and dissatisfaction he feels with his daily life, no matter that he can’t see any light at the end of the tunnel, there’s still a whole world, a whole wealth of knowledge and beauty and despite how tiring it is to exist, he wants to see it.

He wants to see tomorrow, not because he thinks it’ll be any brighter, but because he can’t experience everything the world has to offer today.

It’s this thought that’s still in his mind when the snow beneath him shifts, and he slides right off the edge of the cliff.

It’s the thought that damn it, he isn’t done yet that follows him down the side with the small avalanche.

It’s the complete and utter refusal to die here and now that he holds tight as the tip of a tree impales his ribcage, his body being prised apart by the force of gravity and the surprisingly effective wedge that is the branch beside his sternum.

His last thought as he turns to dust is that he refuses to let it end like this.

Sans comes to with a start, dropping back into awareness suddenly enough that he’d gasp, if he had lungs.

He almost falls off the bench, but he manages to grasp the back in time to stay on.

His head feels like it’s been stuffed with dynamite and blown to bits, and he struggles to remember the events that just transpired.

He’d been… talking with that human, right? Sienna? The one who was probably going to die?

...Something about that “probably” feels wrong. He presses a hand to his face, harshly digging his fingers into his skull, hoping the discomfort will clear his mind a bit.

He could swear he’d been in Snowdin a moment ago, but it made no sense. Sienna had only left an hour or so ago. And he knew he’d spent that time thinking, so why did he remember being in Snowdin too?

He presses a hand to his ribcage, just beside his sternum, without conscious thought.

The cloth is perfect and whole.

...Sans is perfect and whole.

The memories of the past three months come back in a rush, and this time he does fall off the bench.

Has he gone back in time? Is that even possible?

Without bothering to get off of the ground, he props a hand under his chin. What are the possibilities here?

Because while suddenly finding himself back on the bench he hasn’t visited in three months and having difficulty remembering what’s happened since for a few moments is extremely odd, jumping straight to time travel is more than a bit of a logical leap.

First things first: He remembers being impaled and turning to dust, and if he accepts hallucination as a possibility here he’s going to drive himself insane.

...Which kind of does rule out anything other than time travel, actually. Huh.

Ok, so how far back is he? Is he back to just a few moments before his unfortunate tumble, or the whole three months?

Thankfully, this is easy enough to test. He just has to go to somewhere populous and see if there are any monsters around, since there was a lockdown while Sienna was underground.

He teleports to Snowdin, because if someone sees him there they won’t know him to think it’s anything but some reckless teenager.

Looking around, the only footprints in the snow are his own. The shop and inn are closed, doors locked, and he can see the bar is locked up as well.

He teleports back to the bench and considers his next move.

He’s three months in the past. Nothing in particular has happened, since Sienna’s romp through the underground, so it’s not like he has any disasters to prevent or anything. (Aside from that time he told a waiter to enjoy their meal, of course)

It’s odd, he supposes, being in this situation. He’s now in a position to undo all the blunders he’d made last time, but he’s not far enough back for there to really be anything he wants to change.

Actually, that raises another question. If he’s gone back once, can he do it again? He’s not going to kill himself to test, obviously. That would probably be a bad idea, but he remembers that desperate determined feeling he’d had as he fell, and wonders if he could replicate it.

He tries as hard as he can to summon every bit of will he possesses, focusing it all on the desire to go back, to start again.

To reset.

His determination rises to a crescendo, his magic howling, and the world goes dark for a moment…

And he’s once again sitting on the bench, thankfully sans the confusion, the second time around.

Woo! Science, baby!

What’s he going to do now? Obviously this is powerful, this ability to turn time itself to his whims, so what great deeds will he undertake, now that he apparently never needs to worry about failure again?

...Holy shit.

Sans has thought of an amazing idea, one that will change the world as he knows it, irreversibly altering the status quo even more so than this revelation has already shattered it.

This is going to change everything.

Sans pulls a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, unfolding it to reveal a series of half finished math equations.

He walks to the river a few feet from where he’s sitting and yeets it in, because with this power…

Sans is never going to have to do homework ever again.

Also, he’s going to read every book in the underground and no one can stop him.

#undertale #undertale fanfic #undertale fanfiction #sans

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

Wassail

Well, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t have an idea, I wanted to write something short, but lo and behold the next story for @drawlight‘s advent challenge is the longest and most complicated yet.

I’m rather fond of the AU that I seem to have created here. It came as a pleasant surprise.

12: Caroling (3,379)

Die Hoffnung und Beständigkeit Gibt Trost und Kraft zu jeder Zeit. O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum! Das soll dein Kleid mich lehren.

Aziraphale sighed, applauding with the rest of the audience. “Oh, I do love Christmas carols,” he said, smiling towards the demon standing beside him.

“You would,” Crowley grunted, tapping at the keys of his new-fangled Blackberry. He shot a glare through his dark glasses at the dozen singers gathered under a tree coated with twinkling lights. “Du denkst du bist schlau. Singe etwas das wir alle verstehen können.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale took a step away, adjusting his lapels, hoping no one thought they were here together. “I’ve told you before, if you don’t stop heckling, I won’t bring you along.”

“Promise?” Crowley growled, bending back over the keyboard of his tiny computer.

Aziraphale tutted, turning back to the singers with an expectant smile.

The angel Gabriel from heaven came. His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame: “All hail,” said he, “thou lowly maiden Mary. Most highly favored lady.”

As soon as the song started, Aziraphale felt his smile fall, though he struggled to keep it in place lest Crowley see.

He didn’t even look up, just snorted, “There’s one I haven’t heard in a while. Let’s go. I don’t want to hear about that wanker.” He brushed past, elbowing his way through the crowd while Aziraphale hurried to catch up. “Hau kultural jabetze da,” Crowley called over his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Aziraphale reminded him as they moved back towards the busier parts of the winter festival.

“Why? He’s your boss, not mine. In fact, I’m supposed to not like him.”

“Still. I would prefer if you remained civil while we were in public.”

Crowley shrugged, brushing his long hair back out of his face, never looking up to acknowledge the carts of street food, the lights, the seasonal entertainments.

“What can possibly be so entertaining about that…that machine?” Aziraphale snapped.

“They put the internet into a phone. Genius!”

“I don’t know what that means,” the angel said, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.

“It means,” Crowley continued blithely, “that I can get into all kinds of trouble from anywhere in the city.” He finally glanced up, long enough to wiggle his eyebrows. “I am going to take spam to a whole new level.”

“Please do not explain that.”

“Well, I need to do something to keep myself entertained!”

“There’s plenty to keep you entertained.”

“What, this?” Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “Consumerism. Gluttony. Really bad music. Nothing real about any of it.”

Aziraphale tried not to look hurt. “Well, isn’t there anything about the season you like?”

The fingers paused in their dance across the keyboard. “I like wassailing, I suppose.”

“Of course you do.” Back in the Middle Ages, wassailing had always ended in gangs of drunken young men demanding food and drink at houses in the villages, causing all kinds of chaos and damage if they didn’t get it. He had been glad when the tradition had died out, and that it had revived as the much more stately and dignified caroling in the Victorian era.

“Now what is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that wassailing is exactly the sort of thing I would expect a demon to enjoy.”

“You don’t need to sound so disapproving.” The fingers typed more furiously than ever.

“I only meant…there are some holiday traditions we’re better off without.” No, that sounded worse. Aziraphale immediately wished he could call the words back.

Crowley finally shoved the blackberry into his pocket. “If that’s how you feel, I think I’m better off without this tradition.” He shot a scowl his curtain of red hair. “Enjoy your festival.”

“Crowley…” but the demon had already stormed away.

Aziraphale didn’t hear from him all though December, which really wasn’t a surprise; the demon didn’t bother to come visit on New Year’s, which was unusual, but not alarming.

As the month of January began to pass, though, he grew nervous. The last time they’d parted angrily, they’d wound up not speaking for over eighty years. This disagreement surely hadn’t been so bad, Crowley couldn’t still be upset six weeks later…and yet still, no word.

Finally, on the 17th of January, Aziraphale called Crowley’s flat.

“…you know what to do, do it with style. <beep>”

“Crowley. Crowley! I know you’re there, don’t ignore me. Crowley!”

A long pause, then…

“What is it, Angel?”

“There you are! I was beginning to think – oh never mind.” Aziraphale had promised himself to be calm and reasonable. “Where have you been?”

“Indulging in holiday traditions we’re better off without.”

“Really! Crowley, there’s no need for you to be…stand-offish.”

“I’m not being stand-offish. I’m in a great mood. Very sociable.”

“Are you.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t approve, would you?” A heavy sigh. “Look, Angel, I don’t want to argue. I have people to meet. We can talk later.”

“People?” But the line was dead. Crowley had hung up on him.

Now Aziraphale was furious. He very nearly miracled himself to Mayfair to give Crowely a piece of his mind. Then again, there was the slight possibility that something demonic was afoot, in which case the sudden arrival of an angel would cause rather a large disaster.

If that was the case, though, why wouldn’t Crowley have said something? No, he hadn’t even tried to speak in clever code. This wasn’t business, this was him giving Aziraphale the brush-off.

After pacing furiously across the book shop for five minutes, the angel reached his decision.

He opened up a map of London and concentrated on a bit of magic he’d lain down decades ago, in case Crowley ever needed to be rescued from his own foolish risks. After a moment, he was able to sense the exact location of the Bentley – nothing was visible, the trick was all in his mind, but using the map he could track it as it traveled through the city.

Except that, almost immediately, it turned onto a major road and drove southwest, crossing out of London entirely. Aziraphale fumbled until he found a larger map of southern England. This would be cruder, but with some concentration he could still detect the car racing through Surrey, Hampshire, Wiltshire, and Somerset.

When the Bentley finally came to a stop, it appeared to be in the middle of nowhere.

Where was that atlas? Aziraphale flipped through map after map. Not Bath. Not Taunton. Not Wells or Glastonbury. He finally settled on a village named Chilton Stoke, not even four hundred people. What in Heaven’s name was Crowley doing there?

The Bentley didn’t move for half an hour. Or for an hour.

After more than ninety minutes, Aziraphale decided he should investigate.

Teleporting to a strange location took ten minutes of preparation, even with the Bentley as a focus. Aziraphale arrived as subtly as possible, but there was nothing demonic going on at all.

The Bentley sat outside the village post office. There didn’t seem to be anyone about, but he could feel Crowley somewhere out among the farms, and started in that direction.

The air was chilly, but clear and crisp, the sky just starting to darken towards sunset. There were plenty of tracks across the thin layer of snow that coated the fields, grinding the pure white into a brown and grey slush. Aziraphale turned to follow that up the hill and into the orchards.

A shift in the wind brought the sound of shouting, but laced with laughter. He crept closer, moving from one tree to the next.

The crowd seemed to include every man, woman and child from the village, gathered around the largest, oldest tree in the orchard. They were shouting, jeering – a few banging pots and pans or other noisemakers. Children threw wads of snow up among the branches and there, moving from one limb to another, taunting them, catching the snowballs and throwing them back down, was Crowley.

Crowley, glasses off, golden eyes shining for all to see, garland of winter greens hanging around his neck.

“Ha! Is that the best you can do? I’m not even trying!” Another snowball sailed past his head, and he slid across the fork of the tree as easily as if he were on the ground. “I’m going to have this whole field blighted by morning, and then where are you going to be?”

The crowd booed this, but much in the way one boos the villain of a pantomime. Crowley waved his arms, encouraging it.

Then, the crowd shifted to cheers as a young lady with a wreath lain across her hair began to climb the tree. Crowley gave one of his overdramatic cries and backed further away up one of the branches.

“Evil spirit! You are not welcome in this village!”

Crowley gave a look of exaggerated shock. “Get him, Liz!” called one of the children in the crowd.

“And what, exactly, do you plan to do about it?” Crowley hooked his hands across a branch and dangled bonelessly, grinning at the young lady.

“I call upon the soul of this tree to reject you and your curse! I – oh,” she leaned down and someone handed up a large bowl, which she gripped in both hands. “I shall waken this tree, and all the trees in the orchard, and your evil will not stand!”

She pulled a piece of bread soaked in something brown and dripping and pressed it to a sharp twig so that it dangled. The people gathered below cheered again and began to sing.

Huzza, Huzza, in our good town The bread shall be white, and the liquor be brown So here my old fellow I drink to thee And the very health of each other tree. Well may ye blow, well may ye bear Blossom and fruit both apple and pear. So that every bough and every twig May bend with a burden both fair and big May ye bear us and yield us fruit such a stors That the bags and chambers and house run o’er.

All the while, the young lady moved across the tree, spearing more bits of bread on twigs. Crowley darted around, making a show of alternately hiding from and trying to scare her. But every time she nearly lost her footing on the slippery bark, his hand would reach out and steady her, just for a moment.

When the song ended, she announced, “The blessing has been made!” and climbed quickly down to the ground, where several young men were pouring more liquid at the base of the tree.

“Attack!” someone shouted.

Suddenly the air was filled with sound – everyone screamed, or banged their noisemakers, and the children threw a concentrated volley of snow at Crowley. When one struck his chest, he flung his arms out dramatically and fell from the tree.

Everyone cheered, several small children crowding close around the fallen demon.

“Alright, ALRIGHT! You got me!” The crowd parted, and Aziraphale could see Crowley sitting up, grinning like mad, snow thick in his hair. A five-year-old child appeared to be trying to put him in a chokehold, but was unable to move much in thick jacket and scarf. “Fair cop. This orchard is officially uncursed. Congratulations.”

He jumped to his feet and pointed at the large tree.

Apple-tree, apple-tree Bear good fruit, Or down with your top And up with your root!

There was another round of applause, and Crowley made a show of bending over and taking a deep breath. “Right. Who’s next?”

“You know perfectly well,” snapped an older man – at least seventy.

“Barnabas? Aren’t you dead yet?”

The old man laughed. “That’s no way to talk to your elders! I’ll outlive you.”

“That’s what your grandfather used to say, too. Fine then, you try and catch me, or you’ll have the biggest worms in your apples in all Somerset.” And Crowley turned and ran – straight towards Aziraphale.

He tried to get out of the way, but there was no place to hide. And Crowley spotted him almost immediately, stumbling to a halt under the tree. “Angel. What are you doing here?” The smile, the humor, the glint in his eyes – all gone now. He scowled.

“What am I…what are you doing?”

Crowley shrugged, looking down at his foot as he dragged his heel through the snow. “Wassailing.”

“That…” Aziraphale waved his arms, trying to indicate the drama, the apple trees, the strange songs that had nothing to do with the winter season. “That is not wassailing!”

“What? Course it is. I’ve been doing it for over five hundred years.”

“Five hundred years?” It was too much to take. “You’ve been doing this for five centuries? Why did you never say anything?”

Crowley shrugged. “Wasn’t sure you’d approve. And you didn’t.”

For a moment, the angel’s mouth just hung open. “My dear fellow, I assure you, this is not what I pictured when you said you enjoyed wassailing.”

“Oh.” He looked up, cocking his head, expression carefully blank.

“Hey! You gotta run!” came a shout from one of the children. “We can’t chase you if you don’t run!”

“Listen, I kind of have a whole…thing here. Can we talk later?”

“I suppose we must.” Aziraphale’s mind was in a whirl.

“Great. Uh. Back in the village, wait by the church. I’ll see you after.” Without waiting for a reply, he spun and ran off through the trees. The crowd followed behind, singing another song.

Here we come a wassailing Among the leaves so green, Here we come a wandering So fair to be seen. Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too, And God bless you and send you a happy New Year…

“It started, oh, 1467 or so,” Crowley began, slumping into a seat in the little reception hall next to the church. The whole village had gathered inside, talking, laughing, sharing mugs of mulled spiced cider served from a large bowl by the door. This, Aziraphale had been told, was the wassail. He’d remembered something like it from centuries ago, but this recipe was entirely different.

It had been so strange to see the crowd returning from the orchards, singing, Crowley swaggering in the middle as if he belonged. Every once in a while, someone would come by and speak to the demon, either congratulating him or making some vague threat about next year. He took it all in stride, even when a few slapped him on the shoulders.

It was incredible. Aziraphale had never seen him so relaxed. Smiling, meeting people’s eyes, letting them touch him without flinching away.

“What happened in 1467?”

Crowley took a swig of his drink. “I was sent out here to blight the farms, as you might expect. Stupid assignment. No Temptation involved. What do they even think I am?”

“Absolute waste of your talents.”

“Yes! See? Exactly. But I snuck out there and did my job. Or tried to.” He chuckled, looking around the room with something approaching fondness. “Bunch of idiot humans caught me at it, tried this ancient ritual to raise the trees against me.”

“And it worked?”

“No! Throwing bread at trees and shouting? Of course it didn’t work!” Crowley took another drink, but he couldn’t hide the way his face lit up at the memory. “But they spent the whole night chasing me around the orchards and I couldn’t do my work. So I agreed to leave them in peace.”

Aziraphale leaned against his hand, studying Crowley’s face. He knew that expression. It was the same one that lit up his own face whenever he thought of learning the gavotte with his friends at the club, a hundred years ago. “You had fun. You enjoyed it.”

“Well. I.” Crowley suddenly fumbled for his glasses, but paused with them halfway to his eyes. “I suppose…yes, I did.” He folded them back up, placed them on the table. “They weren’t afraid of me. Do you know how often I meet humans who aren’t afraid of me?”

“So you came back. Every year.”

Crowley sighed, turning to take in the people surrounding him. “Eighteen generations. I know we’re not supposed to get attached. And it’s been hard sometimes. But…one day a year…I don’t know. I need another drink.” He stood up and walked away before Aziraphale could stop him.

As he waited for Crowley to return, Aziraphale realized people were staring at him. No, glaring. He tried for a friendly smile, but that only made them scowl worse.

Suddenly, the young lady with the wreath in her hair sat beside him. “Are you here to cause trouble?” she demanded without preamble.

“I – no, I’ve never intentionally caused trouble in my life.” She seemed to believe him about as much as Crowley would have. “Let me see, was your name Liz?”

“I’m the wassail queen,” she said, as if that gave her authority over all supernatural entities. “I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s nervous. He’s unhappy. You make him unhappy.”

Aziraphale gasped, his heart clenching in his chest. “No, I…I don’t think I do.”

“Then why is he like this?” She glanced over at where Crowley stood in the corner, holding his mug of wassail, not looking at anyone. It was very much how he usually looked in crowds.

When Aziraphale didn’t respond, she looked him up and down. “You’re like him, but not. Did you threaten him? Are you going to try and take him away?”

“Goodness, no! I would never!” He tried to think how much it would be safe to tell these people, who seemed so familiar with Crowley. “I…I am in this world as a force for good, and –”

She waved her hand. “I know. That’s why I’m talking to you. We all know exactly what he is. But he’s our evil spirit. So you leave him alone or you’ll find out exactly what we’re capable of.”

Aziraphale raised his hands in alarm. “I think you have entirely the wrong idea.” He lowered his arms, rubbing his palms together. “Crowley and I…we’ve known each other a long time. A very long time. I would not…That is…I don’t wish any harm on him, either. I suppose he’s my evil spirit, too. I just never knew about any of this.” He looked again at Crowley, and found he couldn’t look away.

Liz watched for a moment, eyes darting between the angel and the demon. Suddenly she grinned. “I think I did have the wrong idea. My mistake. I was pretty nervous when I brought my girlfriend home to meet the family, too.”

“I – what?” Aziraphale turned to her in alarm. “I have no idea what you…we’re not…”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do and you are. For crying out loud, it’s the twenty-first century. No one cares about that anymore.” She stood up. “Tell him if he wants to bring you next year, we’ll find a role for you. I hope you’re good at falling out of trees.”

After a great many steadying breaths, Aziraphale picked up his mug and walked over to join Crowley.

“For five centuries, you never said anything. Until this year. You wanted me to know. You were trying to find a way to tell me and I…overreacted.”

Crowley shrugged. “I guess I knew what you thought I meant. But… I didn’t want you to disapprove of this. I shouldn’t care but –”

“My dear, of course you should care. This village is important to you. You didn’t want me to belittle it.”

“I know I always insult things you like.” His eyes were locked onto his mug.

“You do.” Aziraphale tried to meet his gaze. “But I know you don’t mean it…all of the time. And it’s so rare for you to find something meaningful.” He stepped a little closer. “I’m glad you found this place. I only wish you’d brought me here before. I would very much like to meet them.”

“You…you like them?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale glanced around the room. “I don’t know what it is, but this place, these people, suit you very well.”

The smile that had been missing from Crowley’s face started to return.

Aziraphale raised his mug. “Waes hael.”

Crowley raised his in return. “Drinc hael.”

(Translations and notes: After “O Tannenbaum,” Crowley shouts “You think you’re clever. Sing something we can all understand.” After “Gabriel’s Message,” he says “This is cultural appropriation” in Basque, the carol’s original language. Both are translated via Google Translate so I don’t know how accurate they are.

The last bit of dialogue translates to “Be in health” (Middle English) and “Drink and be healthy” (Anglo-Saxon). I’ve committed a rather egregious violation of linguistics here just to avoid typing a thorn. Mea culpa. These phrases are actually a greeting and response, not a toast – Wassail didn’t become a Yuletide toast until much, much later. Really my crimes just continue to accumulate.

I tried to include all the meanings of wassail: a rowdier version of caroling, an apple orchard ritual performed shortly after New Years, an alcoholic drink made with apples, a toast, and a greeting. Who knew it was so versatile?

Finally, I’ve never actually seen an orchard (or apple) wassail, but I had a lot of fun researching them. This one is meant to be more of a game between Crowley and the village, so I played pretty fast and loose with the traditions.

You should definitely call this an AU, one in which Crowley has a home and people he cares about long before the Apocalypse arrived. I wonder how that will affect things in the next few decades…)

#good omens fanfiction #31 days of ineffables #happy crowley #fluff #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #advent calendar #writing challenge #my writing #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley

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darkpoisonouslove · 5 years

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Valtor and Griffin parents headcanon. I love your works. The way you write is sublime😍

Oh, wow, thank you so much for the kind words and this sweet request!

Let's set this in an AU in which Valtor ran away from the Ancestral Witches with Griffin and the two are left to live in peace after they helped end the war. Now my personal headcanon is that Darcy is their daughter so I'll go with that but most of these can probably be applied in general as well:

- Valtor is worried when Griffin doesn't feel well and when he uses his magic to check up on her, he finds out she's pregnant. Griffin suspected as much but didn't really want to entertain the possibility before she could be more certain what's happening to her because she didn't want to disappoint them both.

- What is more, Griffin is worried about what kind of parent she'll be. Her mom was a very warm person and even despite that, the way the world treated her brought out the worst in her and she turned more and more to darkness, evil and mayhem until she joined the Ancestral Coven and almost helped destroy the universe. She's scared she'll make a terrible mother and that was a part of the reason why she didn't really want to confirm that she was pregnant.

- Valtor has his own doubts about being a parent. His own upbringing was a total disaster and there was nothing healthy about it. He didn't know what love is before Griffin and he has a lot of demons to battle and a lot of ingrained habits that he needs to shake off. He has to be more open and in touch with his emotions and not push upon his child any unhealthy ideas that were forced on him. He and Griffin have a conversation in which they promise each other that they'll be there for one another and keep each other in check.

- Despite having a ton of doubts about himself, Valtor is very enthusiastic about being a father and helps Griffin with everything he can during the pregnancy and after she gives birth. He's changing diapers and dressing the baby (Griffin and he agreed to use as little magic when it comes to caring about the baby as possible because they want Darcy to feel that they're there for her). He even gets up in the middle of the night instead of Griffin to let her rest when he can get the job done although Griffin is the early bird and he is usually the one who has a hard time waking up in the morning. But he’s happy to be there for both of his girls.

- Darcy has her room decorated with Dragons Lights - little sparks of dragon fire that are enchanted to light up when she’s awake so that she’s never left scared in the dark and the room always looks warm and comforting to her. The Dragon Lights stay even after she’s outgrown her fear of the dark because without them it won’t feel like home.

- Darcy displays strong magical abilities from an early age and Griffin and Valtor make it a point to include magic in their activities to help her control her powers. That also hides its risks though. Griffin and Valtor are forced to put an inhibiting spell on Darcy that keeps her from teleporting so that she doesn’t end up in the middle of a busy street or squashed in a machine. They do manage to teach her responsibility and safety when using magic in time, though, and soon she’s not teleporting away from them but uses her powers to help around the household.

- Shapeshifting is mastered from early in her childhood for it was successfully incorporated in games of tag. They start with an animal of Darcy’s choice and every time someone else becomes it, they all shift into another animal. It helps her get used to the feeling of shifting, learn to stay in control, master many different forms, and improve her speed and duration of the shapeshifting process. It’s also a lot of fun running around in a wolf or bunny form or flying as a raven or an owl.

- Hide-and-seek becomes much more intense and challenging when everyone has the power of illusions. Darcy’s illusions can’t compare to those of her parents at first and they dampen their magic to allow her to participate on an equal level and find them after all. But she soon develops her powers and it is her who needs to hit the brakes on her magic for her parents to be able to catch up. She becomes so good at illusions that it’s a good thing that they taught her to be responsible with her magic and not use it for whatnot or to hurt others and make her parents’ job harder.

- For one of Griffin’s birthdays Darcy makes an illusion that has all the known stars that have existed incorporated in it for her mom to be able to enjoy them all because she knows how much Griffin loves astronomy and the cosmos. She spent months memorizing star maps in order to be able to create the illusion and both Griffin and Valtor are left speechless by the complexity of it.

- Darcy and Valtor train with the Dragon Fire powers which she inherited from him. Griffin is a bit worried that they might hurt each other since Darcy is inexperienced and Valtor’s ego sometimes makes him forget he needs to hold back (he’s hurt her a few times when they used to spar or argue in the past) but Darcy surprises with precise control from early on and Valtor shows amazing restraint (so much so that she can see his muscles tensing with memories of him being hurt by his mothers while he’s trying to never subject his daughter to the same). Darcy becomes super good with using her Dragon Fire powers to the point where Valtor doesn’t have anything to teach her anymore and any further knowledge she needs to acquire herself.

- Darcy knows about her father’s demon form but hasn’t seen it. She wonders if she has one since she shares his DNA but Valtor assures her she doesn’t which might have been more of a disappointment in the edgy phase of her teen years but seeing how closed off he is about it convinces her that it is not something to wish for. She asks him to show it to her, though, because she wants to know all parts of her father and that includes his demon form. After a long discussion with both of her parents, Valtor finally agrees. Darcy is a bit shocked by the difference that is in him but she says she loves him nonetheless because even when he appears to be a demon, he isn’t one in his heart. He will always be the caring and present father that raised her and helped her become who she is. The one thing she does like from the demon form are the big demon wings, though.

- Darcy had a fascination with wings from an early age and would study all insects with wings she could get her hands on. Unfortunately, she was literally getting her hands on them and not all that carefully, too, so that resulted in a lot of torn off wings and dead insects in her hands which always made her cry. It did provide a good opportunity for Griffin to teach her a lot of healing spells that can be applied even to insects if you have enough control of your magic to use it on such small scale. Darcy was determined to not cause more destruction and death to the creatures that fascinated her so she learned to exercise enough control over her magic to be able to fix the smallest of injuries in the tiniest of species. That allowed her to study them without killing them.

- She also loved to study birds (especially in flight) but they were harder to come by and catch for detailed explorations (but at least that kept her from killing any of them). When she grew up a bit and learned to fly and control her magic, she befriended a crow that would always come near her and flap its wings around as if inviting her to join it in flight. She did once and the two flew around the sky like old friends with the crow even showing her some bird maneuvers that Darcy could copy when she shapeshifted into a crow herself. That later became a regular occurrence.

- The wing fascination might have started from Faragonda’s fairy wings on one of her numerous visits. She was pretty much Darcy’s fairy godmother (even if Valtor did not allow for that to become an official term) and Darcy loved to grab at her sparkly wings while she was a baby and Faragonda held her. Luckily for the fairy, her wings were much stronger than those of the insects so Darcy couldn’t rip them off or damage them. They always drew the girl’s attention, though, and she made herself “witchy wings” with her powers of illusion when she was nine or ten. They were dark purple and shimmered like starts on the night sky. Later, when she became older, she switched to flying around with dragon wings sprouting from her back. They were just an illusion, of course, but she was proud to be the bearer of the Dark Dragon Fire and her father’s daughter.

- Darcy loved all the animals and constantly dragged some stray kitten or dog home. Sometimes a squirrel, a hedgehog on occurrence, once even a snake. Neither one of her parents were very happy about it. Especially when one of the cats got three times the size of a regular cat and destroyed half of the furniture. None of them tried to inhibit Darcy’s connection with nature, though. It was a thing to be expected since she had Dragon Fire burning inside her and it was the substance of all life so all life was drawn to her (and Darcy might have helped her father reconnect a bit with nature himself since he was never allowed to explore that part of his powers and who he is). The establishment of some ground rules was necessary, though, to keep any and all incidents with wild animals to a bare minimum.

- Griffin would bake cookies or other sweets quite often when Darcy was little but she only used natural sweeteners to make sure her dabbling in the kitchen wouldn’t have negative effects on Darcy’s health. Cooking soon turned into a family exercise since Darcy was curious to learn how to make her own cookies and Valtor didn’t mind spending more time with his wife and daughter no matter what activity occupied them during that time. Griffin deemed it a great opportunity to teach them both some cooking skills so that they wouldn’t have to starve to death without her.

- Griffin and Valtor used to read and tell Darcy legends about the magical dimension and fill in some gaps with their own personal stories when they were in pursuit of some of the most powerful artifacts. That taught Darcy a great love for words and adventures and she spent quite a lot of time with her nose in a book when she learned to read.

- That happened at an early age and later on she built on that knowledge by studying magical languages that would allow her greater resources for spells. She knew a lot of languages (some of which didn’t even exist anymore) before she even turned fifteen. And all of that of her own volition. Neither Griffin, nor Valtor forced her to do anything.

- When she became a teenager, Darcy inevitably started using some teen slang that Griffin just shook her head at while Valtor was the one to find it rather distasteful and express his dislike of it. Darcy told him he was being old-fashioned which resulted in Valtor starting to use slang as well, much to Darcy and Griffin’s annoyance. They had to beg him to stop and become the old old-fashioned Valtor again.

- Darcy has a very open relationship with both of her parents that includes a lot of communication and trust. She knows she can tell them everything without being judged. Her parents are flawed people as well and know what it is to make mistakes which is something Darcy takes comfort in because she knows they're not perfect and they understand that she isn't either. She knows they will listen to her and try to help her avoid making mistakes she will regret later just as she knows that they will let her make her own decisions and allow her to find herself and be her own person.

I have to go to a lecture so I’ll have to leave it off here. Besides, I wrote down all I can think of right now. Hope this makes you smile. I sure had a lot of fun with these.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #winx darcy #griffin x valtor #parenting #headcanons #ask #darcyrocks99

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deceasedatsunrise · 5 years

Text

Killer AU Concepts

Eh, Killer!Survivor AUs may seem done to death but it's still plenty fun and I wanted to take a crack at it.

Whenever a new chapter comes out I’ll try to come up a killer au! for any new survivors and add them via reblogs.

Here's my ideas, I’ll try to give them all a Killer Alias, short backstory, an idea of what their power would be, a quick description of their appearance, and their weapon. I’m not good at perks so for now, just imagine all of their killer perks being reskins of the canon killer perks.

More below cut.

Warning for DBD typical topics: Murder, Torture, Trauma, Parental Death, Body Horror, drowning, dismemberment, car crashes

Dwight Fairfield (The Ghost) - It was meant to be an innocent prank, one where they’d laugh at Dwight’s expense once again. While the boss was still asleep they simply took advantage of the cheap inflatable mattress Dwight brought along for the retreat and simply let lake do the rest. When he woke up, he panicked, and fell off the floating mattress into the chilly water. The others laughed, but stopped when Dwight never emerged. They lied, saying that he left early, and pretended nothing was wrong. They would never know that, as his lungs filled with water, Dwight begged for help from anyone-or anything...and something answered.

The boss left for a moment, just a few minutes to call Dwight to tell him he’ll be looking at even lower pay if he leaves again without checking with him. He returned to the retreat’s site to find the bodies of his employees.��

Now as a malignant spirit, Dwight resembles a cold, bloated corpse suspended in the air as if carried by invisible puppet strings.

His Power would be called Haunting Grounds, a teleporting ability that assists in locating survivors. He can see the auras of generators in his terror radius, and may teleport to one as long as it’s not being worked on by a survivor. The teleport and recharge takes a couple of seconds, with a very small sound cue. He cannot teleport to fully charged generators, but when the gates are all powered he gains a significant speed boost. (This is based on the teleporting mechanic in Soul at Stake, so yes I am in fact stealing from a DBD Clone).

His main weapon is a large tent spike, stained with blood and rust. Useful for quickly killing those who’ve wronged you.

Meg Thomas (The Predator) - Meg Thomas never lost hope, even as her mother fell ill. Then one day, her mother collapsed suddenly after she supposedly began to feel better. Meg was in a hurry, she simply loaded her mother into their car and made her way to the hospital. No time to wait for an ambulance, no time for seatbelts, and no time to take into account that she didn’t have a license. She was reckless, believing she knew enough to save her mother, and it had cost her. She ran into a car and was sent flying, she came crashing down. She dragged herself through debris, both legs maimed by the crash alongside a useless arm, to look for her mother. She found her, she didn’t make it.

She heard the cries of the man she rammed with her mother’s car, and crawled her way to him, along the way she picked up a tire iron that had fallen out of the trunk. When police investigated they found two bodies, one was chalked up to the accident while homicide investigated the skewered driver. Meg dragged herself into the nearby woods, the only way she could escape her mistakes, as she was in no state to run. The entity had repaired her body, with grotesque, gangly limbs made in it’s own image, allowing her to hunt the survivors she could’ve ran with if she wasn’t so, so reckless. Several small spider-like legs jut out of her back and her eyes have been touched by the entity, making her vulnerable to flashlights.

Her main Power is New Instincts, her new body follows the rules of beasts when hunting her prey. Think of it as a mixture of the Pig’s Ambush ability and Fatal Frenzy. Using the power button will make her enter Stalking mode, where she’ll crouch down and lose her terror radius. Using the power button again will initiate Frenzy mode, where she’ll chase after survivors and instantly attack them if she’s close enough(this attack can also destroy dropped pallets). This will apply Deep Wound, or shorten the bleed out timer of a survivor who already has the status effect. If she attacks someone who already has Deep Wound in Frenzy mode she’ll be momentarily stunned but the survivor’s mend meter will lose a part of it’s progress as well.

Her main weapon is a her own Mangled Arm, an appendage similar to the entity’s claws, regrown after she was collected. After making a hit she’ll grip her head in agitation.

Claudette Morel (The Gardener) - Claudette Morel found happiness a rarity, none of her relationships extended beyond others taking advantage of her knowledge. Stress was killing her, in more ways than one, all because she was lucky enough to make it to a good college. Under her façade of a curious student, was a ticking time bomb waiting for a single spark. She was aiming for a great opportunity, to intern for actual botanists, as long as she kept her grades up. But she had overslept, too many all-nighters added up and she paid the price. Her strict teacher locked her out of the classroom, and she had to watch the class finish the test without her. Her grades were already in danger of falling, but this one F sealed it, so her spot went to another student. Claudette stopped coming to classes, and her chat rooms were left silent. There were five students selected for the Internship, all five and one teacher were found in the forest. The bodies were buried, but beautiful, non-native flowers were planted on top of their graves as markers. Claudette was spotted by a jogger walking into the woods, but she was never found.

The Gardener was once a human, now she’s merely a vehicle for the parasitic plants consuming her. Vines entangle her body, and flowers obscure her face. Her stomach is gruesomely torn open, thick vines spill out like intestines and have wrapped themselves around her waist and legs. The flowers are “Pustulas”, the flowers that grow from the hallowed blight cankers and produce the Putrid Serum.

Her Power is called Parasitic Saplings, giving the gardener the ability to infect survivors with nutrient draining plants. When a survivor is downed, she may use her action button to “plant” the seeds in their open wounds. The survivors are now in a short timer where the plants grow, once the time is done they can now remove the fully grown plants. However a second timer pops up, if the survivor does not “prune” themselves in time the vine growing on their bodies will bind them in place until either another survivor untangles them or the killer downs bound survivor. Pruning is a non-healing action, and being hooked or hit by the killer’s weapon will pause the timers for varying amounts of time.

Her main weapon is a Gardening Shear, half of a pair that still leaves it’s mark in bone just the same.

Jake Park (The Greenman) - When Jake Park ran away to live off the grid, only his mother bothered to keep tabs on him. When she reported him missing the police gave up their search in little time, despite her pleading. If they searched harder, perhaps they would’ve found him. He went on a hike to restock, but made a mistake while climbing. He found his leg trapped between a rock and a hard place, and his screams were swallowed up by nature. No one truly knows what it means to survive, not even Jake Park until this very moment, when he tore himself free. Even with a splint Jake’s skills only grew, his near death experience proved to him that he truly was alone in this. He fully integrated into the forest life, only interacting with humans to steal tools and food. When hunters entered his territory, he dealt with them with skill and precision.

Jake had fashioned a mask from the skull of one of his victims, the only warning sign his victims would receive before he killed them. He crafted an outfit that would blend in easily, leaves were woven together into a cloak and skins were stitched together to provide warmth. Urban Legends cropped up, of a “Greenman” who raided campsites and mauled solitary survivors with ease.

The Greenman’s Power are his Handmade Arrows, with only natural materials the Greenman had created a formidable secondary weapon. Similar to the Huntress’ hatchets, the arrows will have a charge time that allows you to aim and shoot them. Two arrows, without add-ons, will make a survivor go down one health state. However, when an arrow hits a survivor it will stay embedded in their body until the survivor pulls it out. If the arrows aren’t pulled out then the survivor will groan audibly until it is, add-ons can add status effects to his arrows.

His main weapon is a Broken Antler, taken from a moose he fell. It’s best to use every part of the animal after killing it, right?

Nea Karlsson (The Shadow) - Nea Karlsson delinquency became a downward spiral into disaster. She had grown sick of her parents and ran away, she mainly couch surfed to get by, pick pocketing to afford food. She never lost her interest in tagging, becoming more bold every time. Her skills developed, allowing her to sneak past guards and dogs with ease. She was a shadow, as that was the only thing anyone saw of her when she struck. Except one day, when she was caught. Pure chance, but she wasn’t going to jail. She tried to break free but he wouldn’t let her go, not until she struck him with the crowbar in her hands. Nea wondered if she meant to do it, or if it was an accident, but something in her gut told her that it was necessary. And something even deeper inside of her told her it was thrilling. She experimented with her crimes, violence became a norm for her. She no longer associated with others, and a string of violent assaults, and murders, began to gain media attention. Nea was never caught...by the police, anyway.

Nea is a shadow, a pitch black hole in the rough shape of a human. Bright, white eyes peer out of the darkness.

The Shadow’s Power is called Security Measures, barbed wire traps that remind her of the many gates she’d jumped. She begins the game with eight Barbed Traps that she can place on Vaults, areas where pallets were, and between doorways. They are extensions of the entity, and ensnare victims to unknowingly go through them. When caught in a Barbed Trap the survivor will have to wiggle out, doing a skill check at the end of the wiggle meter. If they fail the skill check they can still get out, but they are downed by one health state. They work similarly to the Hag’s traps, where an old one will disappear if you use another trap after placing all at your disposal. The shadow can pick them up and move them to other areas.

Her main weapon is a simple crowbar, a tool with many purposes for her lifestyle.

Laurie Strode/Cythia Myers (The Copycat) - Michael Myers was let out of the asylum without much fanfare, yet Cynthia Myers never got to meet him before a car crash left her an orphan. Michael was legally old enough to live on his own, but she went to live with the Strode family as he refused to take custody of her. Cynthia had grown to resent her brother, as his legacy followed her wherever she went. Her classmates were not kind to her loss, and she shrunk away from large crowds. Even after convincing her adoptive parents to let her change her name, any person she attempted to grow close to would find out about her brother’s crime. The bullies were one thing, but the “True Crime Freaks” were a hell of their own. Judith would be remembered as a corpse, and “Laurie” would be remembered as the sister of a murderer. A dark whisper began to grow louder, asking why she should be the one to suffer? When her brother was the killer, shouldn’t have the one to pay for what he did to his sisters?

She found him, and paid him back. Murders began to spring up in the town he lived in, the victims were the eldest daughter of families with more than one child. Laurie thought it’d be easy, they’d easily assume Michael went back to his old ways and then lock him up again. But that wasn’t enough, she had to make sure he suffered. No one knew what happened on Halloween Night, except Michael and Laurie, who both disappeared that same night.

Laurie wears a clown mask similar to the one Michael wore that fateful night, alongside a bulky jacket and grimy jeans. Every inch of skin was covered, so that it’d be easier for any escapees to confuse her for Michael.

Laurie’s Power is called Survival of the Fittest, watching the survivors from afar has led to her learning their tricks. The Copycat can do many actions that were thought to be limited to survivors only.

- She can Sabotage Gens, Chests, and Lockers. Sabotaged Gens will need to be “recharged” before they can be repaired. Sabotaged locker doors and chests are stuck and have to jimmied open, with a short sound cue after they’re unjammed. It takes forty seconds to sabotage a gen, and four seconds to jam chests and lockers.

- She’s the only killer unable to break a pallet. However, while in a chase she can jump over pallets. Outside of a chase she can lift up a pallet back in place and sabotage them as well, making it so that survivors have to do the pull down action twice to drop the pallet.

Her main weapon is a Butcher’s Knife, the tip had been broken off in her attempt to spill the blood of her kin.

Ace Visconti (The Misfortune) - Ace Visconti, was a foolish as he was confident. Too many debts with the wrong kind of people were bound to catch up to him eventually. One bet, involving some underground fighting ring, sealed his fate. He ran, and made it pretty far before the goons came to collect. What meager winnings he had on him weren’t enough, so their boss ordered them to make an example out of Ace. So they cut him into pieces, wrapped them up in plastic wrap, and dumped them all into a murky swamp. As they held him down he made one final desperate deal, the goons didn’t buy it but something did in fact take him up on the offer. The goons stuck around the swamp for a smoke break, and went missing soon after. A police investigation ten years later would lead to the swamp being drained, all the bodies found at the bottom would help send a dangerous man to the big house. Ace Visconti’s body was never found, but the goons were. Drowned in the murky waters by the looks of it.

Ace wear his water damaged, and muddy clothing, with plastic wrap obscuring his entire head. Duct tape is wrapped around some parts of his body to prevent him from falling to pieces. He lacks shoes but wears a ridiculous amount of jewelry, perhaps collected off his fellow victims in the swamp’ s depths?

His Power is called Unlucky Deck, cards that he uses as offerings for bonuses in the entity’s game. All cards are randomly generated, and more cards can be found in chests,. The Misfortune is the only killer who can loot chests but he closes them after use, he cannot use chests search by survivors without add-ons. Add-ons can increase his chances to get a certain type of card. The killer can shuffle his deck to look at his other cards, when a card is chosen he will pick it out of his deck and it will instantly burn away into ash. His deck consists of the following:

Ten of Clubs - If any of the crows are disturbed, they will flock to the survivor and follow them for ten seconds. This lasts for 30 seconds.

Jack of Clubs - The aura of survivors opening chests or lockers will be revealed for 6 seconds. This will last for 30 seconds.

Queen of Clubs - Once used, after hitting a survivor with a base attack all survivors in your terror radius will have their auras revealed for 8 seconds. This will continue until all survivors still in the game are hit at least once.

King of Clubs - When a Generator is completed after this card is used, all survivors will gain the Exposed status for 20 seconds, and their auras are revealed for 4 seconds.

Ace of Clubs(Incredibly Rare) - All survivors auras are revealed for twenty seconds regardless of distance, however the killer’s movement speed is slowed for the duration of this card’s use.

Joker Card(Tremendously Rare) - A random affliction of another card is played, lasting for thirty to forty seconds regardless of the original time limits.

The Misfortune’s main weapon is a Bloody Saw, used to make an example of him and later thrown into the water as evidence.

Bill Overbeck (The Carrier) - Left behind, left to rot. When the entity found him it knew just the way to “fix” him, after all, he was already a carrier. Becoming one of the creatures he had tried his damnedest to evade. Very similar to a Smoker(Type of Special Infected), with the bloated skin and a gross, long tongue. However his lumpy skin would be a charred black with cracks that glow like the claws of the entity(also makes his skin look like the black lungs of a cigarette smoker). When hit by a pallet or a decisive strike he will emit smoke. He no longer sees survivors the same way he used to, and now hunts them without restraint. This is due to the entity skewing his perception, making all the survivors resemble infected that attempt to escape to spread their disease, with dark thoughts urging Bill to prevent them from getting out alive.

His Power would be Ensnaring Tongue, an ability he shares with other smokers. He shoots out his elongated tongue straight forward to choke a survivor in place. Hitting the survivor or the survivor managing to wiggle out(similar to escaping a beartrap) will break the connection, resulting in tongue being torn off and a small cooldown for his ability to regrow it. A secondary ability is that survivors will cough in close proximity, and will continue coughing for a few moments even after gaining distance.

His weapon would be a combat knife, a memento of his younger years.

Feng Min (The Patient) - Taking inspiration from the controversial Dr. Yang Yongxin(Chinese Clinical Psychiatrist that likely inspired the Spark of Madness chapter), in a timeline where Feng Min is taken to a “Gamin Addiction Treatment Center“, where her parents handed her over to the “good doctors”. The head doctor’s experiments in curing their patients came crashing down when, after the electroshock treatment became to much, Feng proceeded to escape and murder the staff. She would wear the hospital gown she was given for her stay and would still be connected to electroshock equipment. Her face is heavily bandaged, and a syringe is stuck in her neck. The only hit the main doctor got in before he was snuffed out. Her Power would be similar to the Carter’s Spark, Remnants of Rewiring, driving survivors exhausted to the point of self-destruction. She afflicts survivors by creating an electric pulse that flows in a straight wave, that extends for several feet in front of her. When affected their progress may go backwards, either destroying any progress they had made before or not even getting far in the first place. Maybe at the highest tier of her pulse ability, Survivors might go into a “drowsy state” where they will have to do a skill check or two to not fall asleep, this leaves them open for attack but if the survivor falls asleep and is woken by a survivor/killer they return to tier 2. They would need to escape The Patient and “relax” to lessen the effects.

Her weapon is a chipped baton, ripped out of the hands of her main watch guard as he bled out.

David King (The Boar) - David King was meant for greatness, in this life or the next. He squandered his success, all in his search for a good fight. While out drinking he met a shady man who took interest in his fighting prowess, and offered him an experience even more thrilling than his less-than-legal underground tournaments. Two men go in, one comes out, gladiator style. It took David one night to agree. He grew notorious in the underworld fighting circuit, wealthy spectators paid extra to watch King’s own unique style of brutality. He was a bloody mess, and his victims were worse off in every aspect. His “Manager” gave him a unique reward, a boar’s skin, said it would liven up the crowd if they saw David wearing it. David couldn’t give a shit if he tried, as long as he got good competition.

He was soon more animal than man, taking extra measures to make the losers “squeal” for his own personal pleasure. He soon disappeared abruptly, his manager admitted that David King simply left and never came back. Sure, King was his best fighter, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to order the beast around.

The Boar’s Power is Beastly Brutality, when a survivor is downed the brutish man will grab their leg and break it, applying the Fractured Status effect. Until healed the afflicted survivor will be slowed and unable to vault, They will also grown audibly. If the Fractured status effect is reapplied, the grunting is less frequent, until it’s barely noticeable the next time it’s applied(The Boar’s base speed would be similar to the Huntress’ to give the survivors a fighting chance). There is also a “Struggling” action where the survivor can try to pull away from David until he gives up and carries you or wins. His secondary ability can be used after every two hits with his base weapon, where he tosses the Pig Skinner to his other hand and strikes a survivor with his balled fist after gaining a short speed burst. This will distort the survivor’s vision and make their ears ring.

He wields “The Pig Skinner”, a cleaver with a broad blade and long handle. Of all the weapons he used to mutilate his opponents, this one was his favorite, besides his own hands of course.

Quentin Smith (The Sandman) - Forever haunted by endless nightmares he set out to do the impossible by avoiding sleep all together, slowly destroying himself in futile attempts to avoid the necessary part of human life. His parents were forced to admit him to a hospital when it began to make a toll on his health, where he met familiar faces(whether he remembered them fully or not) with similar problems. When a friend took his life in front them all, he broke, and set out to escape. In a desperate attempt to “save” Nancy, the only one who believed him about the “darkness“, as well he proceeded to murder the staff that tried to restrain him. He escaped into the surrounding woods, vowing to return for Nancy. When the entity collects him he desperately searches the realms for her, hoping to save his fellow victim in this life now that he had failed in the other.

He’s severely sickly from sleep deprivation, and his eyes are permanently closed, this does not affect his eye sight. He wears the clothing the hospital provided, with noticeable burn marks leaving holes in them. His Power would be Dreamwalker, when used the survivors will experience “Micronaps” slipping into the dreamworld where the Sandman may harm them. The Sandman can only interact with survivors doing “Skill“ actions, such as healing and gen fixing, afflicting them with “Fatigue”. They are now on a timer until they “rejuvenate” themselves with a health kit(by healing to full health), every ten seconds they will enter a Micronap for ten seconds, in a continuous loop until fatigue is lifted. The Sandman can attack during the entire time you are in fatigue but is invisible outside of Micronaps, only his red stain reveals his location during these brief moments.

His main weapon is a fire axe, meant to be used for emergencies but stolen in his escape.

David Tapp (The Detective) - (The Following is based on the first Saw Videogame, where Tapp had to travel through an asylum until being given a choice at the end of the game. He could’ve chosen “Freedom”, the canon ending where he gave up his search for Jigsaw and freed all occupants of the Asylum. Or the alternate ending, which I’m following for this au, where his obsession makes him choose “Truth” which results in the death of an innocent.)

His choices made him who he is, in his obsession he had cost the deaths of many. He was as equally guilty as jigsaw, and the mastermind took advantage of this fact. Detective Tapp died that day, and whatever was left took up the dying man’s offer to join him. As an officer, he knew who deserved punishment, and became another valuable asset of Joh Kramer. During one kidnapping, where he accidently killed a victim before they could be tested, he vanished. Jigsaw was disappointed, but not surprised, he had already lost another disciple before and there were always more who could be taught.

He wears his old uniform, the bullet proof vest provides better protection than the red robes his coworkers wear. A pig mask, modified by a wire frame under the latex to give it structure. Leather straps ensure it stays in place without obscuring his vision.

The Detective’s Power is called Night Watch, he carries a large flashlight that acts as his secondary weapon. When using it, any survivor that is caught in it’ s light will be stunned for 2 seconds and have their aura highlighted in yellow for 30 seconds. The flashlight can charged to flash brightly, this blinds the Detective for a few seconds but any survivor who sees the flash will be put into the exposed state for 16 seconds. The flashlight works as long as it’s beam is in the survivors line of sight, ie. like how flashlights work for killers.

His main weapon is a Modified Bat, nails have been driven into it to increase the damage it can cause. What was once evidence is now his tool to free his victims.

Kate Denson (The Siren) - One must always be weary of the dangers of travelling alone, who knows what kind of people you could meet. Men who can’t take a hint, who do not like to be told no. It was not her fault, she simply wanted a quiet place to write. The woods nearby reminded her of home, but one must always be careful when wandering away from civilization. The man from yesterday still hadn’t let it go, this time he brought along friends to convince her. She was a fighter, but they played dirty, so she had to run when she spotted a window of opportunity. One of the men stopped her easily, and she fell as her guitar splintered into several pieces over her head. They had killed her, or so they thought. They were prepared to leave her in the river to be swept away, but she woke up kicking and screaming, they would be caught if anyone heard her voice so they silenced her with a nearby rock.

Kate Denson was reported missing after she ceased all contact with her family, her Chevy was later found abandoned in the woods. The law enforcement already had enough on their hands though, in only three days several bodies had been found in the river. There were no sign of struggle, it was as if these men jumped into the waters by choice. Anyone passing these woods would swear they heard singing from deep within, but no one had ever been brave enough to look for the source of such a beautiful voice.

Her Power is Song of Remorse, a mournful song that entrances survivors into letting their guard down. If survivors are in the radius of her song they will be “Enchanted”. Similar to madness, it applies different effects as it’s tiers increase. Survivors can snap enchanted teammates out of it, or they can “clear their thoughts”. Clearing thoughts will make the survivor’s vision blurry for 5 seconds.

Enchantment Tier One - An image of the Siren’s face will flash on screen for a second, darkening the screen for a moment until the image fades away. This will happen every 20 seconds. A quiet humming will be heard for 2 seconds after these flashes occur.

Enchantment Tier Two - Whenever a Survivor attempts to drop a pallet there will be a chance that they do the action without actually pulling it down. The flashes will now occur every 10 seconds. Quiet humming can be heard for as long as the survivor is in this tier.

Enchantment Tier Three - Nonsense singing fills the survivor’ s ears, obscuring all other noises. Survivors can no longer heal, drop pallets, or fix gens. All flashlights will point downwards.

Her main weapon is the Driftwood club, her prized guitar now acts as the handle of her makeshift weapon. Driftwood, old rope, and what remained of her guitar have been crafted together to ensure only the most devastating of blows.

Adam Francis (The Ember) - It’s difficult to break such a disciplined man, but not impossible. The crash left him in shambles, but the person he failed to safe was left as a smear. He refused to die, dragging his legless body even as flames began to spread. For the first time in his life he displayed weakness, and allowed himself to feel fear. Death, the ultimate end, or at least so he thought. Something dark loomed above him, dark whispers making offers. Even as he bled out, he chose to think of others. He had a feeling that whatever deal he made, it would not end well, the last hope he ever had was that that young woman he failed was saved. He closed his eyes as flames devoured him, dark tendrils dragging him away.

When he awoke, he’d find a fire contained in his own body, now a hollow shell of the man he used to be. Lacking legs he instead floats in place, he breaks pallets by striking them with his weapon.

The dutiful Ember uses his Power, The Onibi’s Lament, as a way to close the distance between him and far away survivors. Activating his power makes a small orb of fire containing his soul shoot out of his corpse’s midsection. His corpse stays behind as a husk, with the player now controlling the orb to bypass pallets and quickly search for survivors for a short period of time. When the power is stopped, either by cancellation or the power bar going empty, his husk disappears and he silently “reforms” from the ball of fire. As a ball of fire he can harm a survivor once by running into them, but this automatically cancels the power and the “reforming” takes a few seconds to finish(think of Wraith’s uncloaking). His secondary ability is releasing a harmless decoy Onibi, to fool survivors into thinking he’s a harmless husk. The false orb goes in a straight line until it either hits something or fizzles out.

His main weapon is the Steel Shrapnel, a jagged piece of metal from the train wreck that had embedded itself in his arm.

Jeff Johansen (The Unseeing) - Losing one’s sight is a horrifying experience, especially for an artist. One fight and he was forever changed, his shyness promptly became a need to isolate himself. Even though he attempted to adapt to his new life, dark whispers in the back of his mind never allowed him to forget what he lost. He began to dream, and as if guided by invisible hands, he began to sketch what haunted him in his mind. A dark mass of unknown shape, with hundreds of arms reaching out in search of something. He created several drawings, greatly worrying his mother. Jeff left home without a word, and seemingly fell off the earth’s radar. A series of murders began, a bloody trail from Winkler to Ormond, nicknamed the Mural Murders due to what the police assumed was the killer’s calling card. A mural, in blood, paint, or other materials, depicting a many armed creature could be found on any wall or flat surface near the bodies. The trail went cold and the murders were left unsolved.

Jeff as a killer looks similar to his Heavy Metal skin, though his clothing is covered in numerous paint stains. His eyes have been touched by the entity, making him more vulnerable to flashlights.

The Unseeing’s Power is called All-Seeing Entity, a gift from the entity that allows him to hunt and steal the sight of survivors. The Unseeing will always see the maps as a pitch black abyss, all surrounding items in his terror radius are highlighted by a white glow. Aka, this is how he can find survivors while physically blind. Holding down his power bottom will make him release a harsh yell, any survivor caught in the yell’s radius will be cursed with “Dying Sight”. A two minute time will begin, the survivor’s vision will slowly be consumed by darkness until they are fully blind by the time the timer runs out. Once blind they cannot see at all until they’re downed, which restarts the timer. Survivors can cure their Dying Sight by finding a fellow survivor and being healed to a completely healthy state by them, Dying Sight is not affected by Self-Care or medkits.

His main weapon is a sledgehammer, a tool with a surprising use in his art. It reshapes rigid materials to his liking.

Jane Romero (The Idol) - No matter how influential you get, or how famous you become, nothing will drag you out of the pit of your own creation. Stress builds, expectations become increasingly more difficult to meet, and sleep becomes a rare luxury. It all builds up, until one final straw breaks your back. Did Loretta Lawrence expect to die, by the hands of a daughter she declared not hers? Envy fuels hatred, and when all you see is red, what’s a little blood gonna do? Jane wears her mother’s dress, the beautiful gown she wore for the interview that led to her demise. When Loretta’s body was found in her dressing room, everyone searched for Jane, it was as if she vanished. Many of her loyal fans refused to believe she’d done it, leading to an increase in sales for Jane Romero sponsored products.

Her Power is called Shattered Reflection, giving her the ability to leave behind copies of herself while the true body went on the prowl. She can create a total of five "Reflections" without add-ons, if she creates a new reflection after using them all up, the oldest made reflection will disappear. Survivors with flashlights can destroy copies, however it’ll take about 10 seconds. Reflections have a simple AI that allows them to move around a bit like an NPC, if a survivor is close enough they can strike once. If they land a hit the survivor goes down one health state and the reflection disappears. Each reflection has a small terror radius. The idol will receive a notification when a reflection is destroyed, a survivor is in a reflection’s small terror radius, and if the reflection lands a hit on a survivor. The survivor’s auras are highlighted for 6 seconds.

Her main weapon is a Glass Shard, a piece collected after she smashed a mirror in frustration. It’s size and shape ensure damage equal to a knife.

Notes

- David’s Boar Skin is based of the Greek Erymanthian Boar

- Dwight is similar to the ghosts in Silent hill 4

- At least two of these powers were inspired by a DBD clone called Soul at Stake

- I tried my best to make each power fair and interesting, but I guess it’s up to your opinion to know if I succeeded

- My favorite concepts are Ace, Adam, and Quentin’s

- Ace’s backstory was inspired by a character in the movie “13 Ghosts”

- Yes there are Survivor Versions of the killers

- If it’s not clear, Adam wished to save Rin Yamaoka after failing to save her in this au. You can probably guess how the entity “saved” her

- Asks me questions about this au if you like, there’s a bunch of details I left out because it was already long as is

#dbd #dead by daylight #dbd au #deceased at sunrise aus #this post contains all survivors from Dwight to Jane #too many to list #killer au

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galivantingg · 5 years

Text

Behind Those Eyes

Chapter 1

If I hear the word essentially one more time I'm going to riot. It's my English teacher's favourite word, and she had used it three times in the past sentence. Three times. That word is ruined for me now. And it's a good word too. My teacher stood at the front of the room, the first day of class, lecturing after saying she didn't want to lecture on our first day back. She was going to briefly tell us what books we'd be reading this year, and what our theme is. Every year we get a theme, last year's was a dystopian world. We read a few books, but the main one was Brave New World. That book freaked me out a little, and I'm secretly a superhero.

About 100 years ago, an anomaly was discovered in some humans. An anomaly that gave us powers. Some could heal, some could manipulate gravity, some could even teleport. It was chaos. That's when we discovered that some people had some really terrible powers. Able to spread sickness and disease with a single touch. Things went badly. We went into what we now call the Second Dark Age. Until the remaining governments put some laws in place. Laws that dictate that nobody is allowed to use their powers outside of their homes, nobody. Not even the Queen.

We rebuilt after that. People were scared so they followed the rules. Until about fifteen years ago. Some villains came out of hiding, using their powers for bad. Heathen, he could change people's faith with a single thought. He usually went after spiritual leaders, and convinced them to condemn what they believe in. Mime, you never heard her coming, and then you'd never be able to talk or move again. She turned people into living statues, and they stayed that way either until she grew bored or they died of dehydration or starvation. Peculiar, she slowly turned people insane with a single kiss, anywhere. It would start out small, then you'd become more and more peculiar, until you turned insane. They was no cure. And the worst one of them all, Genocide. He could kill hundreds to thousands of people by way of disease, or natural disasters.

We didn't know there was a person behind the large groups of bodies, not until we realized their connection and Genocide announced himself. They all went to the same church, had the same shade of hair, were the same ethnicity, or had the same name. We don't know how to stop him. The only consolation we have is it takes him extremely long to work up a genocide. It requires more power than you can imagine. It should take more power than you can imagine, these are people's lives we're talking about. You shouldn't be able to just snap your fingers and be done with it.

Ms. Varone snapped me out of my thoughts. "Nessa," she was looking right at me. I hate that look. "Anything you'd care to add to the conversation?" She leaned her weight onto one leg, still looking at me. Uh oh, I thought. Better think of something quick. She isn't your biggest fan, not after the debacle last year.

"I was just wondering what this year's theme is, and how it relates to out culminating task," I responded smoothly, hoping she hadn't covered that when I'd been distracted by my thoughts.

"Excellent question," she said, looking around the class. "This year's theme is loss. Loss in family, in friends, in religion, loss in whatever. We'll be reading The Heart and the Bottle, Norwegian Wood, and Book of Mutter." We all groaned, they sounded like extremely emotional books and no sane seventeen year old would want to read a nonfiction book about loss.

Soon the bell rings, and I pick up my bag and head for History. One of my more interesting courses. This teacher is one of my favourites. He gets so excited about what he's talking about he starts jumping around. It helps that his projects are very easy and fun too. His class is a breeze, and he has a Powerpoint to go over what we'll be reviewing this year. The bell rings again, this time sooner than I thought, and I headed off for lunch. My friends and I always sit outside the library, our large group driving everyone further down the hall because of how loud we could get.

There were sixteen of us in total, but we all had our own mini groups. The Bio Buds: Jay, Quinn, Maria, Kiki and Miele. The Writer Worshippers: me, Roan, Kieran, and Tommy. The Engineer Squad: Penny, Elizabeth, Jake and Noel. And the Gym Gang: Dani, Oscar and Luca. Most of us have been friends since high school started, and some of us even before then. We had our middle school groups, me, Penny, Roan, Dani and Jake coming from St. Peter's, Jay, Quinn, Kieran, Tommy, Elizabeth and Noel coming from Wellington Junior High, and Maria, Kiki, Miele, Oscar and Luca coming from Manuel Public School.

We had a large group of friends, maybe the largest in the school that regularly hung out. The Bio Buds and the Engineer Squad had a lot of classes together, taking the sciences and maths. The Writer Worshippers took all the available English courses, and the Gym Gang of course took all the phys ed and health courses. There was some overlap, here and there, but those were mostly the small groups. We'd all meet at lunch, and sometimes The BBs and ES would go into the library together, comparing notes and working on assignments. I can tell you the WWs brain's melted almost every lunch whenever someone asked how our works in progress are going. Mine certainly did.

This year, however, our group is halved. The only ones left are Jay, Quinn, Roan, Penny, Dani, Kiki, Kieran and Oscar. The others had graduated and gone to university, or were taking a gap year. Some here in the city and others at different universities. Our friend group seemed so small now. It was even quieter.

. . .

Despite knowing Dani and Penny for a good decade, my best friend's name is Martha. She's tall, and has the prettiest brown hair and green eyes. She also happens to be a superhero, and my partner of three years. She had air powers, she used to tickle me with the wind, tease my hair, caress my hands. She doesn't do as often now, what with the villains making a sudden reappearance. She's known by the rest of the world as Aella, meaning whirlwind. I suggested that name. When she joined the Agency, right at the beginning, she would walk around with a bubble of air protecting her, pushing people standing too close back and lifting up everybody's hair. She's gotten friendlier over the years, and she's one of the few people I idolise. I want to be just like her when I'm older, except I won't have her powers. They're so cool.

After school I went home with Noah and Nellie, two other girls who live in the orphanage with me. I'm the oldest in the orphanage, at seventeen, with Noah at fifteen and Nellie at 13. There are thirteen of us total at the orphanage. Lucky number, I know. Not so lucky situations. Most of our parents had died, with no next of kin, or we had been abandoned at the doorstep. I wish I had been abandoned.

Memories of that night invaded my senses, making me shiver. I tried to push them back, but small glimpses of orange and black and the stars twinkling high above me. The smell of smoke invaded my lungs, and I bent over, coughing my heart out. Nell and Noah stopped beside me, pulling back my hair and rubbing my back. I felt something small and cylindrical brush my lips and I latched onto the straw, gulping down as much water as possible. I hated when I got attacks.

It took me a few minutes to calm down, and it was then I realised the smoke wasn't coming from my imagination. There was a building on fire a few blocks away, the thick black smoke billowing out and up into the sky. I stared in horror for a few seconds before Noah pushed me a little.

"Nessa go!" she said. "They need Chameleon."

I dropped my bag and sprinted off into an alleyway, looking back and forth for anyone before shifting. My legs got longer, my chest got flat and wings sprouted from my shoulder blades. My clothes shifted too, covering every inch of my face and body, with a cape unfurling and snapping behind me in the wind. I pushed off the ground, beating my wings, catching the air. I rose high above and shot off towards the fire, surveying the scene.

Out of the corner of my eye I spotted movement, and looked to the left seeing a fire truck roaring down the street and an ambulance hot on its trail. Looking closer I noticed that Aella and Waya had hitched a ride on the top of the truck. Good, I thought, not wanting to go at it alone today. I dropped beside them on top of the truck, casually dropping a "Hey" as if we weren't about to go charging into a burning building and I hadn't just dropped out of the sky.

"Okay," Waya said, ever the strategist. "Chameleon, Aella, get the people out of the building. I'm going to conjure rain to help the firefighters. I'll make you guys cold so you resist the heat for a little. Take these masks," he passed them over. Waya also had a cool power. He had the Word of Command. It was a singular word that held power, like saying rain and then it starts raining. He couldn't use more than one word, so he was also a walking thesaurus.

We nodded and Waya and Aella pressed their foreheads together for a moment. They did this every time we were on a mission. They were the cutest couple I had ever met, and I spent half my time teasing them for their cheesiness. What are friends for? Aella and I launched ourselves off the truck, heading straight for the burning apartment building. There were people streaming out of the front and side doors, and some using the fire escape on the side of the building. There were a few people leaning half out of their windows, gesturing towards my partner and I. I heard Waya say "Rain," behind us and the sky darkened, rain falling in heavy sheets. It beat heavily on my wings, dripping down the feathers and onto the ground.

The fire seemed to almost want to rage against the rain before It slowly got a bit smaller. The water helped with the smoke too, and people turned their faces upwards with their mouths open. Aella and I systematically dove towards the windows, pulling people out and dropping them next to the ambulance. The firefighters got the flames under control, and they were working on killing it completely. Aella stood on the ground with her legs planted, and created air bubbles around small parts of the fire, sucking the air out of it. The fires would go out, and stay out. Looking at the scene from high above, it was cool. I loved my job. It's hard sometimes, really hard, but I wouldn't trade it in for any other job in the world. The others at the Agency were my world, and I don't know what I'd do without them.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #original writing #writing community #new writeblr #superhero

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imagine-loki · 6 years

Text

discovery

TITLE: discovery CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: ONE SHOT AUTHOR: hiddlemediddles ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine going rock climbing by yourself and seeing Loki at the bottom of a quarry, newly landed from the bifrost. You decide to investigate the situation. Having fallen through a portal from the bifrost, Loki cannot believe that he has landed on mortal lands. He is hesitant to accept your assistance initially, however you insist upon nursing him back to health after the physical strain the landing created on his body. RATING: T+ NOTES/WARNINGS: x

After finishing your rock climbing excursion, your personal goal was to keep traversing the edges of the cliffs towards a nearby beach, concealed by overhanging rocks and crags. From high above, your heard the incessant crash of the waves against the rocks, the rushing sound heightened by the rustling of leaves beside you. The hushing sensation against your ears created a wave of tingles, which made you grin. As the grin expanded, you realised that you needed to be moving along. The loud crashing of the waves was created solely by the heavy wind.

Undoubtedly, it had been a risk in itself to have been rock climbing earlier that day. The high wind was relentless.

The path on the cliff’s edge cut sharply, leading towards the quarry which shaded the beach. You felt a surge of excitement at the prospect of climbing down the rocks to stand beside the water.

You saw the quarry, realising that your success in the journey was imperative. Over and over again, you placed your survival on the line for a rush of excitement. A rush of adrenaline which did not last half as long as you wished it would. The heat would gather on your skin, which made the outside wind merely a breeze. Your heart would pound and your mind would beg you to turn back. It was only in the face of danger did your survival instincts immediately kick in, saving you from an unholy disaster.

Approaching the quarry, the wind was beginning to quickly wash away the residue heat of your adrenaline. You mourned the loss.

When you snatched a glance down the edge, you saw how truly dangerous the path was. Only the most experienced climbers, accompanied by others, would dare take the path. Here you were, relatively experienced and most definitely alone, taking a foolish chance. You knew that you would later regret it. If your family knew, they would have been going out of their minds. Your rationality was already in that painful process.

You passed a particularly dangerous area, heading towards the beach. The quarry was in sight. Peering over the edge again, you caught sight of something, or rather someone. You thought the adrenaline was distorting your vision.

Looking again, your suspicions were confirmed. A man, dressed in robes, was lying amongst the rocks of the quarry. Your heart surged with fear. He must have fallen over the edge.

Rushing down, you grasped onto the rocks to climb down and help him. You prayed that he was alive. From the brief glances you had made, he had a mane of black hair. As you climbed down, you kept mumbling to yourself that you hoped that he was breathing. Your mumbles were drowned by the crashing noises of the waves, which became louder and louder as you approached the bottom.

“Hello? Can you hear me?” You immediately called out as you approached him. His skin was blanched, which was no surprise considering the ordeal he must have faced. You placed your hands on his arms, shaking him gently. He had no sign of injury. You scanned his body, finding no disfigurement from the fall.

As you gently shook him, you thought it was a miracle. He was gently breathing, his chest rising and falling.

Two light green orbs gently turned to look at you. They widened in horror.

“Who in the name of Odin are you?” he asked.

“I.. I just found you here.. you must have fallen down the quarry and bumped your head.. it’s remarkable that you’re still alive"

"Fallen? Quarry?” he asked. “Oh.. no - no - where am I?"

Your heart melted instantly. You prayed that he had not completely lost his memory. Perhaps he did not know who he was. How long had he been out cold?

"You’re not far from Dover - I’m phoning the air ambulance"

"No! No - there will be no need for that” he said suddenly. “Dover.. in England? No.. I’m not here - not.. here"

The man seemed to be contemplating why on Earth he was where he was. His clothes, you now noticed, were the strangest material you had ever seen. You began dialling on your phone, but the man took away the phone.

He was delusional.

"I am in no need of medical assistance” he said quickly. “I’m Loki. I didn’t fall down the quarry, no - I would have died. I came down here to rest, but I must have fallen asleep for far longer than - "

"Loki?"

Loki’s face blanched. He should have used a different name.

"Could you possibly direct me to the nearest phone station?” Loki gulped. “I have no way of contacting - ”

“Why on Earth would you come here, specifically, without a phone? You do realise that this place is one of the most dangerous places for rock climbing"

"You seem perfectly healthy” Loki said, his face contorting into confusion.

“That isn’t the point” You argued back. “You’re also clearly injured"

You said this as Loki began to move his legs, his face wincing in pain.

"Fine, mortal - have it your way. I came down here on a bifrost, thrown out of my own realm. Odin, the so-called Protector of the Nine Realms, banished me here, on the infernal rock that is Midgard, or Earth in your petty terms” he said angrily.

He was barking mad.

Loki began to move, leaving you shocked.

“You need help"

"Hm, quite clearly” Loki replied bitterly. “I have no means of teleportation on this planet, neither can I wipe what I have just revealed to you from your tiny mind"

"Tiny mind? You little - "

"Anger, my dear, does not befit a lady"

You felt anger surge within you. "So you’re an alien?”

“I am a god” Loki spat.

“Haha - Loki, as in Thor’s brother” You said. “You’re insane"

At ‘Thor’s brother’, it seemed as though Loki had truly had enough. With the pain which hindered proper movement, Loki began to climb the rocks. You heard his groans.

"It would be best if you forgot that you ever saw me, dear mortal. Thank you for your assistance in ascertaining my location"

In that bout of bitterness, Loki slipped. He fell flat onto a pile of rocks. You rushed to his side, knowing that the man was crazy.

"Please, do not contact any authorities. Kindly help me up the rocks and perhaps towards a phone line - I will seek further assistance. I have people on this planet that can help me"

Knowing you would have to help him up anyway, you did so without contacting the air ambulance as he had no other sign of physical injury. The only impediment you saw was his doubtful sanity. Did the man truly think he was a god? Did he come out, dressed in fancy clothing, only to sleep on a pile of rocks? You pitied him, knowing you needed to help the man.

"I thank you endlessly, good mortal. I will contact my own authorities, they will direct me home"

"Where is your home?” You asked, wondering if he would give you a sane answer.

“Asgard"

You didn’t speak after that. You continued to help him up the rocks, using yourself as a type of safety net.

"You place your life in danger for my own?"

"It is what humans should always do for each other"

"If anyone is in need of help, it is the mortals” Loki muttered. You wondered if his name really was Loki.

“What is your real name?”

“Loki” he replied, confused.

“Do you cosplay?"

"What?"

"Do you pretend.. to play characters?"

"You think.. I have dressed up?” Loki asked in confusion, finally reaching the top of the rocks.

“Well.. yes - you clearly need help"

"I see - you believe I need mental assistance? You think I am insane?"

"I don’t think you’re insane"

Loki, in a mist of green smoke, disappeared. Your jaw dropped in shock. Turning around, you saw a helicopter in the distance.

"Who on Earth are you?” You whispered.

“Loki” The blank space replied. “I apologise for such an inconvenience, good mortal. People must know of my presence"

"You really aren’t from this planet” You whispered again, your eyes widening in shock. The helicopter crossed over your heads. When the coast was clear, Loki appeared again. He was looking at you with what seemed to be concern.

“That is why you could not call any authorities"

The reality of the situation was beginning to truly dawn upon you. Loki was still wincing in pain. He had been on the floor the entire time, evidently unable to move his legs after the pain of climbing the rocks.

"I must begin to walk” Loki said. “You must accompany me. I cannot leave you in such a state of shock and confusion. I will alleviate your fears"

"Alleviate my fears? I’m not afraid” You said. “Not anymore. I was afraid that I would find a dead man - I would much rather find a.. ’god’"

"Hesitation is unnecessary” Loki grinned, though he still displayed a large amount of pain in the tension of his features.

Suddenly, Loki’s entire form began to shake. You saw that the source of this was a small, almost indiscernible circle placed at the side of his neck. You grasped onto him, trying to ease him. It was only when he stopped shaking that you decided to try and claw at whatever the circle was. It stung your fingers.

You realised quickly that you needed to help this man. It was only the moral qualms of knowing whether he was good or bad which hindered you.

“How can I trust you not to rob me?” You asked.

Loki chuckled, still recovering from his shock. “I have been practically electrocuted by this small device, the remote likely in the hands of my brother. I have no choice but to take the help that I am offered - do you think that I would be foolish enough to want to take any of your material objects?"

It was therefore settled.

Taking this 'god’ in your truck, you thought that your day could go no stranger. Loki was shaking incessantly on the way there.

"Who the hell is doing that?"

You got no reply until Loki stopped shaking. "My brother. He wants to ensure that I stay in one place. By electrocuting me, he thinks that it will reduce my magic. Unfortunately, he is correct”

You debated whether to drop him off at a phone box or actually taking him to your house. You decided on the latter, informing Loki that he could recover from his 'shock’ from there.

“How strange of you to offer your personal services"

"I suppose it’s my duty to another human being in need of help"

"You know that I am not human. I am further than human than my brother"

"You look human enough to me"

Taking him inside, Loki collapsed on the floor in a bout of shaking. After a long while of holding him, trying to soothe him, Loki stopped suddenly. His breath heaved out.

"Thor knows that I am moving” Loki whispered. The pain was clearly excruciating.

“Let me at least help you from here” You asked. Loki agreed.

“Your kindness is astounding” he whispered. “Especially to those who you should fear"

You told him again that you were not afraid of him. You told him that you did not fear his brother, nor any other alien that might come through your door.

"You should fear one. One man that has haunted me” he said. “But enough of him. He is barely man"

You did not ask him who it was, knowing from his expression that the thought of whoever it was began to pain him.

Loki, after a while of desperate attempts to regulate his breathing, fainted quite suddenly.

***

Nursing the man back to health was not easy. He had asked you if he could stay until he recovered, which you reluctantly agreed to do.

Loki had been staying with you for a week.

Out of the blue, you had asked him on the third day how Thor had not traced him.

"I have masked my presence with my magic. He will know that I am on Earth, however he will not know where"

"Why are you here?” You had asked.

“I told you that I had been banished by Odin. I did not lie - that is precisely what happened"

You asked him why he had been banished. He told you that he feared you would ask that question.

"I escaped from prison. Odin banished me here, thinking that this planet would be sufficient imprisonment. Thor is likely chasing me around this planet because he does not share Odin’s beliefs - Thor knows better than to allow me to reside here"

"I hadn’t realised that I had accepted a criminal into my house"

"I was imprisoned because I tried to overthrow Asgard. I believed that I could rule Asgard better than Thor or Odin combined”

“Do you still believe that?”

Loki did not answer.

“I escaped prison because my mother died. I knew I had a right to pay my respects at the funeral, yet those liberties were denied of me"

Loki sat down, continuing to claw at the small circular object which continued to electrocute him occasionally.

You had nursed him for this week, unable to believe that Thor had not found him. Loki understood your confusion and shock at the entire revelation of his true nature. He was sensitive to your bouts of confusion and your incessant questioning.

"You regret finding me at the quarry"

"Of course not. You needed help"

"You believed I needed mental assistance"

"I still believe that"

Loki chuckled. "As do I"

"What happens next?"

"I ask you if you would be so kind as to accompany me to SHIELD"

"SHIELD?"

"From there, you will never see me again"

Your stomach lurched. The simplicity of his words hit you.

"I see"

"Unless you wish.. otherwise” Loki said. “As it happens.. such an occurrence would deeply dishearten me”

“You.. don’t want to leave Earth?"

"I don’t wish to leave you” Loki replied. “In spite of the fact that I am a published criminal"

"Well..” You said slowly. Loki could not bear the anticipation. His brows were furrowed, concern etched over his face. He looked as though he were about to enter another bout of shaking.

“I suppose the part of the fun is that you are a published criminal"

Loki, needless to say, simply grinned at your form of accepting his proposal.

xxx

#Loki #Lover #Submitted one shot #submission #discovery #hiddlemediddles

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woozletania · 6 years

Text

What happened to the rabbit?

Three months after The Snap, three months after the Battle Of Wakanda, Thor finally has a moment free from responding to disasters to wonder: What happened to his furry little friend? He will not be pleased with the answer, but the God Of Thunder does not readily give up on a friend.

https://halfhumanhalfworld.tumblr.com/ kindly allowed me to reference his excellent Axe handle story in this one. http://readasaur.tumblr.com/ reminded me that there should be music involved. Huzzah!

It wasn't the first time Thor landed in New York City. For a time it had even been home. But since his disastrous failure to kill Thanos at Wakanda he'd been very busy. The loss of half the world's population - seemingly at random - created a host of disasters that demanded his attention.

Over a thousand jetliners crashed in the wake of that incident. That was only the tip of the iceberg. Literally millions of vehicles were suddenly driverless on roads around the world. Millions of high speed crashes inevitably followed. The police, fire department, hospitals, were all critically understaffed with no warning. Then there were the really big problems, like power plants without sufficient workers to keep them going - including nuclear power plants - unguided container ships larger than aircraft carriers, millions of fires from now-untended cook and campfires, and more.

Thor was now, it was commonly thought, the most powerful being on the face of the planet. The Hulk hadn't been seen in months. Even were the Green Goliath present, Thor won their last contest and his power had doubled since then. So when a volcano erupted or a dam crumbled and someone needed to respond, he did. His control of the weather - for he was more than the God of Thunder, the storm was his to call or dismiss - made his presence still more desirable. When natural disasters were absent, The Captain often called for his aid. Teleportation via the Bifrost meant he and his allies could be anywhere almost instantly...but there was only one Thor.

The many-headed hydra of disaster and near societal collapse kept him very busy. Luckily, he was indeed a god. He could go days without eating or sleeping with little impact on his health.

Three months flew by with hardly a break. Now, finally, he and the other heroes, along with various governments and civilian organizations had pruned back enough hydra heads for him to get a day off. Thor was left with one thought foremost on his mind.

What happened to the rabbit?

It nagged at him over the days and weeks. What had happened to his little comrade? The last he saw him the rabbit was shattered and grieving from the loss of his tree friend. Later, Thor learned that this was not the only casualty among the furry little warrior's moron comrades...and the rabbit knew it. The trackers he'd given each of his friends told him they were gone.

The little warrior was, if you didn't count the blue cyborg Thor heard about but never met, the sole survivor of the Guardians of the Galaxy. Every single person he knew and trusted was gone. Now his one friend on Earth had time to wonder what became of him after Wakanda.

Thor landed with great care not to crush anyone with his dramatic arrival. So softly did he land that the sidewalk barely cracked at all. Nevertheless you couldn't miss the clap of thunder that heralded his arrival and a crowd formed.

"Thor! Thor, it's Thor!" He smiled and nodded, pausing for a picture with an elderly couple who by great good fortune stayed together when The Snap killed half the world's population. Then, begging off any further photos, he made his way to the side door of Avengers Tower.

"Welcome, Point Break," Friday said, and Thor smiled as the door opened. Even in these dark days Stark was irrepressible.

A swift ride up the priority elevator - Tony warned him not to land atop the tower due to newly installed and as yet untested defense systems - and he was on the management floor.

"Mister Stark is out, sir," said the attendant. "He is not expected back until this afternoon. Problems at the geothermal plants in Iceland."

"That is all right," Thor said. He leaned on the counter, which creaked alarmingly under his weight. Asgardian flesh is denser than human flesh. "I am mainly here about the rabbit. I am told he came here after Wakanda."

'After Wakanda.' Which was to say, after the death of half the sapient beings in the universe.

"What rabbit," the attendant said, and just then Pepper Potts appeared.

"Ah, Mrs. Stark," Thor said. "I heard you survived. I'm pleased that not everyone suffered." He paused. "I apologize. That was poorly said."

Pepper smiled. The stress of the last few months, running Stark-Pott Enterprises in its ever-elaborating role as the hub of global technology disbursement - in partnership with Wakanda, of course - had turned the tips of her hair gray. She never seemed to find the time to dye it and with half the people in the world gone fringe industries like cosmetics were a lower priority for rebuilding than, say, agriculture, power production, food distribution, planetary defense....

Pepper hugged Thor. "It's all right. We're all just trying to get by. But I hear you didn't just stop by to say hello?"

"Yes. I am concerned for my rabbit friend." Thor indicated a height somewhere around his knee. "I only knew him briefly but he and his tree were valiant companions. Now I'm the only person he knows on Earth, unless he's made new friends."

"Rabbit," Pepper said thoughtfully. "You mean raccoon?"

"What's a raccoon?"

"Friday," Pepper said, but a screen was already popping up. On it was a grayish-brown animal with a ringed tail. It was busily feeling around in a stream, presumably in search of food.

"That looks like him, but that's an animal. He is not."

"I know," Pepper said, and waved the screen away. "He's here. Two floors down, south hall. See if he'll talk to you. Please. He won't talk to us. Tony wanted to get with Bruce, Shuri and Rocket - his name is Rocket by the way - about possible orbital weapons platforms, but he won't come out of his room."

"Thank you, Pepper. I'll see what I can do."

Technicians in the hall stared as he approached. A wide door stood open and a handful of men were lugging crates and cases out into the hallway, placing them on powered carts and driving away. As he rounded the corner he found a short hall behind the door with a second door at the end. Two techs were running scanners over this one.

"What goes on," Thor said, and a door tech jumped. What must be the supervisor explained.

"Every so often the raccoon lights that indicator," he said, pointing at a light outside the outer door. "To let us know there's stuff to pick up. Look at this." He opened a case. Inside were neatly racked weapons with a futuristic look. Another case held grenades. "The things he makes. These are gravity pulse grenades, they create a localized singularity that sucks everything nearby in. We're still not sure how they work. Or half of this stuff," he gestured helplessly at the crates. This tech is just...alien. impossibly advanced." No two of the weapons were quite alike but all were sleek and deadly.

"Dark elves use grenades like that," Thor noted.

"Last time the door opened there was an antimatter bomb in here. Mister Stark said it would take out a whole country. Written on it was 'For Thanos'. They stored it on the moon with the rest of the really dangerous stuff."

"What are they doing?" The two techs at the door looked up. They were still running instruments over it.

"Trying to figure out what he did to the door. It was steel. Now it's harder than diamond. Even vibranium barely scratches it."

Thor ran his hand over the door. "It feels like crystal." He shook his head. "What does he eat?"

"We put food in every time he opens the outer door," the supervisor said. He pointed to a stack of food containers and a flat of bottled water. "He never touches it."

Thor took a moment to open a couple. They contained an assortment of food and smelled good. Naturally Stark wouldn't be cheap when feeding...what? An employee? "Are you saying he's starving in there? How long has it been since he came out?"

"He doesn't come out. He won't talk to anyone. He just sends out weapons to use against Thanos and his troops."

"How long." Thor said. "Since he came out?"

The supervisor backed away as Thor loomed close. "He went in right after he got here from Wakanda. He doesn't come out and he doesn't talk to anyone."

"He'll talk to me. Out."

"We're not done -"

"Out!" The lights overhead flickered as a spark as thick as a man's finger jumped from the Asgardian axe slung across Thor's back. Seconds later he was alone in the hallway. "Shut the outer door."

This time there was no argument. As it slid shut Thor looked at the ceiling. He didn't see any cameras or microphones but he was sure they were there. "Rabbit...Rocket. Let me in. We need to talk."

Nothing. "Rocket. I know what it's like to lose family. You know this. You helped me when I needed help. Let me help you."

The silence stretched on. Stormbreaker slipped into Thor's right hand. "This door is very strong. It will not stop me, Rocket. I'm coming in whether you like it or not."

A moment later came a click and the door slid to the side.

It was dark inside, with pinpoint overhead light sources illuminated tangles of machinery, stacks of half complete weapons. The built-up animal musk of a raccoon who hadn't left the room in months filled Thor's nose. Music from unseen speakers almost drowned out the sound of machinery. Thor knew just enough about earth music to recognize Fleetwood Mac's The Chain.

To one side a series of machines hummed as they worked. Each was different, having a handmade look, but each continually dispensed shaped metal parts for weapons. Gangly mechanical arms collected the parts. Thor followed the assembly line, guessing the raccoon would be at the end doing final work on each weapon.

His path took him to the brightest spot in the room. Overhead lights cast artificial sunlight on a small table with three flower pots and a watering can. Dead, dry twigs protruded from the pots. Curiously Thor reached out.

"Don't touch that!" Out of the corner of his eye he saw a shadowy figure jerk upright. A shaking hand raised a blaster.

"Rocket," Thor said, and showed his hands. "It's me."

Slowly the blaster dropped. With a clatter it hit the table and small noises followed as the raccoon went back to his labors. Thor could just make out the tools and parts being worked.

For a moment Thor lingered by the pots. He recognized the wood, though dry and dead. Stormbreaker's handle was of the same material. When The Snap happened and the tree crumbled away, the desperate rabbit - Rocket - rushed over and demanded he bury the handle in the hopes his friend would sprout anew from this last remnant.

It did not work. Rocket thought it was because the tree broke the handle off himself some time before The Snap and that it was dead before the main plant fell. Thor wondered if it were due to the enchantment on the whole axe, handle and blades. Just the same they waited together for an entire day only to have the hoped-for green shoot not materialize.

It was the last he'd seen Rocket until now. "You're trying to grow your friend back. I'm sorry it didn't work."

"Not my friend," rasped out of the darkness. "I don't need friends. Just work."

"Rocket," Thor said. He eased closer, making no sudden moves. "I'm your friend."

"I don't have any friends," came out of the shadows. Thor was close enough to make out the skinny figure hunched over the table, hands busily assembling something. "You're just someone I know."

Rocket was ignoring him and Thor used the opportunity to move close enough to get a good look. Rocket looked bad. Threadbare, grease stained clothing covered his chest and upper legs but the fur that showed lacked the healthy sheen it'd had in the pod and on Wakanda. Thor was certain that the raccoon had lost weight, and not a healthy amount of it. So much fur had shed from his tail that the colored rings were barely visible. For the first time Thor noticed the bolts protruding from Rocket's collarbones. He didn't know the raccoon's story but he knew cybernetics when he saw them. The bolts were signs of a large, maybe even body wide augmentation.

But even a cyborg needs to eat and he could see that Rocket hadn't, or at least not nearly enough. Thor remembered the boxes in the hall. "Rocket, when did you eat last?"

The raccoon shrugged as he worked. "Dunno. Last time I was hungry." He waved at a device in the corner. Thor moved over to have a look.

He'd seen things like this before in prisons. A relief system, a self contained power cell and banks of molecular filters and assemblers. Rocket had built a recycler that turned his waste back into food. Initially horrifying until you remember that practically all food has been not-food before, most likely many times. If done properly, this was a reasonable approach.

A reasonable approach in a prison...or for a hermit. Thor hooked a food pellet out of the dispenser with a finger and crunched it between his teeth. Bland was an understatement, but you could live on it.

"They leave you food in the hall," he said as he turned back toward Rocket. "It's much better than this."

Rocket didn't look up. "I have all I need here. I don't need anything from them but materials.". He turned to a series of hovering screen set to such low intensity that even an Asgardian's keen eyes could barely make out the details. Each was covered with formulas, schematics. Weapons.

"Gravity bomb didn't work," Rocket muttered. "Shoulda known space stone would protect him. Nova bomb didn't work. Power stone absorbed the blast. I'll get him. Antimatter didn't work. Reality stone stopped it. I'll get him."

He looked up for a moment as he thought. His eyes were sunken into their sockets. His little clawed hands, so sure on the controls when Thor last saw him, trembled. "I'll get him. I just need to figure it out. Monowire? Maybe monowire."

"When did you sleep last, Rocket? Where?"

"Dunno," the raccoon muttered. His hands began snapping together parts though his eyes were vacant, distracted. "Somewhere."

The shed fur and dust bunnies under the workbench told the tale. Rocket worked until he collapsed, then rose and worked again.

He was a tough little creature. Even a cyborg has limits, though. Eating little and working until he dropped was killing Rocket. To keep from thinking about his loss he worked and worked but something had to give, and soon. Soon he would be able to work no more.

"Rocket," Thor said. "Open the door. I'm leaving."

"Good. Don't need ya anyway." Rocket waved absently and the inner door slid open. "Go kill Thanos for me, god man."

If it were that simple, the Mad Titan would be dead already. When the inner door was firmly shut the outer slid open and the waiting techs once again harvested the fruit of the raccoon's labors. Thor didn't have the heart to snarl at them.

Pepper waited outside the door. "How is he?"

"Killing himself," Thor said grimly. "Working himself to death to get at Thanos."

"I was afraid of that. Tony's like that sometimes. I've talked to Nebula when Tony brought her by. She told me about Rocket. He was an experiment, tortured into existence before he escaped. He won't talk to us and losing the Guardians destroyed him. They are the only friends he ever had."

"No," Thor said. He slid a card out of his belt. "He has one more."

"Your Avengers stipend," Pepper said when she saw the card. Avengers were allowed a thousand dollars a week for personal expenses, more if she or Tony approved it. "You hardly use it."

"Only for ale, mead, beer," Thor said. He didn't smile. "But I won't use it for that today."

Ten minutes later he was on the street. The loss of half the population meant that until society adjusted - some towns would be entirely abandoned - there were shuttered stores even here next to Stark Tower. It was still New York City and he soon found a deli.

"I have a sick friend," he told the woman behind the counter. She was wide-eyed at the sight of him but nodded professionally as he went on. "He needs food. Good, healthy food to put some meat back on his bones."

"A care package," she said. "I know how it is. We sell baskets to put it all in."

Thor watched as she assembled the package. Sliced ham, potato salad, baked beans, fresh bread. Grapes, jam, cubed watermelon, packets of condiment for sandwiches. Cooked chicken, three small cherry tarts, a thick slice of lemon cake. Dinner rolls, pretzels for snacks. More. Enough food to satisfy a small family accumulated in the basket before he told her 'enough' and paid her twice what she asked.

"Now," he told the very attentive woman. "Where would I buy a bed for a small creature, say, yay high." He indicated a point just above his knee.

In the pet store he bought a round, padded bed big enough for Rocket. He chose the most expensive and was still not satisfied with the quality. It would do, for now. With a flat of bottled water under one arm, the pet bed under the other and the basket in his hand he returned to Stark Tower, ignoring the bemused glances following the thunder god gone shopping.

"Out," he told the two technicians still taking the pulse of Rocket's inner door. He didn't need to tell them to shut the outer one this time. They did it on their own.

"Rocket," he said to the ceiling. "You know I can come through this door if I choose. Then you would have to fix it. Open it."

And it opened. In the shadows of the work room he found Rocket at the bench, from all appearances not moved from his spot two hours ago. He didn't look up. "Is Thanos dead?"

"No."

"Then why are you here?"

The raccoon let out a startled yawp as Thor's fingers closed on his collar and lifted him from the seat. He was noticeable lighter than the time he stood on Thor's shoulder and as his shirt went tight his ribs showed. "Put me down! I got work ta do!"

"You can go back to work after you eat," Thor said. He kicked the round bed under the work bench and plopped Rocket down next to the basket.

"Can't eat now," Rocket said, and looked longingly toward his floating screens. "Gotta work. I got something new, I think it'll get him."

Rocket's teeth clicked together as Thor slapped the floor hard enough to make dishes jump. The thunder god had most of the food out of the basket. "You can work," Thor said firmly, "after you eat."

"Fine," Rocket grumbled. "But just for a sec'." His little clawed hand plucked a grape out of a bowl.

As though possessed by a separate being his hand went out for another grape even as the first popped between his fangs. And then another grape, then a chunk of sliced ham, and Thor watched as the raccoon fell on the food like a demon, eating with no thought of manners or moderation. Rocket ate with his hands and tore at the bread like the starving man he was. He ate and ate until Thor wondered if he'd indeed brought enough food.

When Thor began to worry that Rocket might actually do himself an injury overeating the raccoon finally sat back, took a long drink of water from a bottle and burped.

"'Kay," he muttered as he licked the strawberry jam from his fur. He had eaten it right out of the jar. "I ate. Happy now?"

"Not yet," Thor said as he reached out. Rocket protested weakly as he was once again picked up, cradled this time in Thor's great hands and slid into the padded bed.

"No," he complained as Thor kept him from crawling back out. "I can't sleep. Gotta work. Gotta find a way."

But an iron will can only carry a man so far. With a full belly and days - at least - behind on sleep, Rocket was asleep almost before the words left his lips.

The music, always present, changed. Thor noted the little black device on the workbench, manifestly Earth-made unlike virtually anything else here. The new song was louder and Thor tapped the device. Sure enough a display popped up. The fast, jangling melody was by something called Five Jacksons. He found the pause button.

The result was immediate. With the music gone Rocket twitched and whined in his sleep, his claws scrabbling at the bed. As soon as Thor restarted the music he quieted. So. For whatever reason music gave him comfort. Music he would have. Thor leaned back against the wall and waited.

Asgardians are hardy folk, able to do without sleep for days if need be. Thor sat and watched as the raccoon lest Rocket wake and go right back to work. He needn't have worried. It was twelve hours before Rocket even stirred. Thor blinked awake from a brief nap of his own to find the raccoon had left the bed, presumably used the relief station, then crawled into the picnic basket and fallen right back to sleep. It made him smile to see the brave little warrior curled up in the basket, resting on a half eaten pie. Thor let him sleep.

Twice the raccoon shuddered in his sleep, his claws scrabbling at the wicker. Both times Thor reached into the basket and petted him until he calmed down. He knew what was happening. He'd had fifteen hundred years to learn to live with horror and death. He doubted the little raccoon had a hundredth that.

When Rocket finally woke his fur had the beginnings of its normal gloss and his hands less of a tremor than before. Apparently his augmentation allowed for fast recovery...when he ate and slept, that is. He unapologetically used the relief station again before speaking.

"Okay," he grumbled. "That food was good. Now I gotta get back to work."

"Certainly," Thor said as he stood. "I will leave you to it. But."

"But?" Rocket cast a worried look at the pet bed, afraid he'd be shoved in again.

"I am going to instruct the men to tell me if you don't take the food they leave for you, rabbit. If you don't, I will come back and we will do this all again."

"Okay," Rocket said with a suspicious lack of protest. Thor wasn't fooled for an instant.

"And the next time I visit - and I will visit, rabbit - if you haven't eaten that food I will know. And if that bed hasn't been used, I will know that too. Then we will have words."

"Why are you doing this," Rocket said. He didn't know what to do with his hands, one picking stuck-on cherry pie from his fur and the other reaching for the last few grapes in the bowl. "You're not my friend."

"Of course not," Thor replied. "How could I be your friend? We're hardly met. I just value your work." He waved at the stacks of weapons, bombs, grenades, and devices less obvious in their destructive potential.

"We need you, rabbit. We need your hands and your mind. If you starve yourself it's one less weapon we'll have when we find Thanos."

"Oh," Rocket said as he chewed a grape his hand popped into his mouth between words. "That makes sense."

"I have to go now, rabbit. I'll be back in a few days."

"Sure," Rocket said as he turned back to his work bench. "Have fun."

The inner door slid open as Thor approached. He knew what was happening. He'd done it himself a few times over the centuries. When you lose everything, you decide that the best way to never lose another friend is simply to have none. To push everyone away, to lose yourself in your work. Or you work yourself to death.

That was not going to happen. Thor had lost people, too. His family, most of his friends. He wasn't going to lose this one too. If he had to come by every night to make sure Rocket ate and slept he'd do it. And when the raccoon finally broke down and let the grief pour out, he'd be there for him too.

It would take time to coax Rocket out of his hole. It would take time to get him to accept friendship again. That was all right. Thor had all the time in the world.

#Thor Odinson #infinity war #Rocket Raccoon #Groot

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ll-again · 7 years

Text

@mariehooper said: Congratulations!!

Here’s a fluffy suggestion: Sherlock and Molly as students in a cooking school (inspired by the japanese manga Kitchen Princess)

…

Thanks for the prompt, darling! I’m still working on your other one.

I haven't read Kitchen Princess, but I do watch far too many cooking shows of the angry chef variety. So this is less shoujo fluff and a lot more swearing and a few Gordon Ramsay-esque insults (but not nearly enough; I'm a little sad about that).

"Hands off my knives unless you want to lose a finger, Holmes," Molly snapped.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Sherlock snatch his hand away from her knife case. "But Mollieee," he whined, drawing out her name into a coaxing sing-song.

"No," she said, fighting back a smile, trying to sound stern even though she could hear for herself that she was failing. "Where are yours? You had them half an hour ago."

Sherlock tilted his head, indicating the workbench on the far side of the classroom even as he opened his eyes wide in a damn good approximation of a puppy dog face.

"That's twenty feet! Just go get them!" Molly said, gesturing with the spoon she was using to make quenelles. A blob of salmon mousse flew off the spoon, landing wetly next to John at the station in front of her.

"Hey, watch it, Hooper," he said, pausing in his chopping to glance over his shoulder, shrugging off Molly's mouthed 'sorry' when he saw Sherlock standing next to her.

Sherlock was edging towards her knife case again. "Molly, can't I just…"

Molly dipped her spoon into the tub of mousse, whining low in her throat indecisively. She hated to let anybody use her knives, but at least Sherlock could be trusted with them.

"Jesus, Holmes," Sally broke in, shooting the pair of them a disgusted glare. "You don't borrow knives. What kind of shit chef are you, anyway?"

"At least he doesn't have a palette that's rammed up a cow's backside," Molly said, shaping a new quenelle with an expert hand. She lifted an eyebrow at Sally, then neatly placed the quenelle onto one of the toast points she was prepping.

John snorted. Sally sputtered and returned to her consomme, banging the pot loudly as she set it on the counter.

Catching sight of the clock, Molly smothered a curse and stopped paying attention to her peers as she worked quickly to finish her prep before Chef Lestrade came back to check their progress. Sherlock nudged her out of the way with his hip just as she was checking over her tray and started to sprinkle something aromatic over her canapes that distinctly did not smell of dill.

"Sherlock!" she hissed. "What is that? That's not in the recipe!"

He leaned down to whisper back, lips brushing her skin. "Trust me." And, ever so briefly, he pressed a kiss to the apex of her cheekbone, nearly at her temple. Molly froze, not entirely sure it had been intentional.

When she shook herself back to reality, Sherlock was wiping off her chef's knife. He winked at her as he slipped it back into her knife case, before turning to wipe down the counter.

Molly sighed and set about clearing down her own station.

…

"Service tonight. You ready?"

Molly jumped at the unexpected voice, nearly dropping her cigarette. She'd been so wrapped up in her thoughts that she hadn't heard the service door open.

Sherlock stopped a few feet from her, lighting up his own fag and taking a long drag from it. "You'll be fine."

"Why did you do that?" Molly said, stubbing out her butt before tossing it in the bin. "Chef really liked the gremolata on the canapes. You should have let me tell him it was your idea."

Sherlock flashed his teeth at her. "Proving a point," he said. "Lestrade never complains when anybody else alters a recipe."

That pulled an incredulous laugh out of her, the humor cutting through her nerves over their impending first service. "Chef only complains when you set things on fire."

Sherlock was well known at the cookery school for his habit of taking a torch to his less successful gastronomic experiments.

"'Charred' does not mean 'burnt to fuck', Holmes," they both recited, then descended into chuckles.

Sherlock fished out his phone, typing out a text with one hand while he finished his cigarette. Molly leaned against the brick wall, fiddling with her lighter and silently talking herself out of a second fag.

"About time," Sherlock said, tossing his butt and pocketing his phone. "Come on then, Hooper."

Despite the anxiety twisting her guts, when the first order came in, Molly found that she settled easily into the chaos. She would have even dared to say that she was enjoying it when disaster struck.

Even looking back on it, it was a bit of a blur. All Molly really knew is that she had stepped back to check the oven, but was bumped forward, knocking a pan filled with hot oil over her hand and a good portion of her forearm. Pain splintered through her, so sharp she couldn't do more than gasp.

Sherlock must have teleported across the kitchen, he was at her side so quickly. "Move," he snarled at Anderson, shoving the other man out of the way to wrap one hand around Molly's elbow. "Come on," he said briskly but gently, placing his other hand on her shoulder to usher her forward. "Sink. Come on."

"Hey!" Anderson said.

"Fetch a bowl, Anderson" Sherlock said acidly. "If you think you can manage to be even that useful."

Molly gasped as Sherlock put her burned hand under a stream of cool water. "I didn't hear him say he was behind," she said, biting back a whimper.

The hand on her shoulder rubbed up and down almost absently. "He didn't," Sherlock growled. "Useless sack of-" He broke off as Anderson returned with a large stainless steel bowl. "Yes, thank you Anderson. Now why don't you fuck off to the morgue. At least you can't kill anyone there."

"All right!" Chef Lestrade broke in before Anderson could retort. "Anderson, back on your station. Watson, take over for Hooper. Molly, do you need to go to A&E?"

She hissed in a breath as she submerged her hand and arm into the bowl Anderson had fetched, which Sherlock had filled with water. "No, I'm okay."

"Yes, she does," Sherlock insisted, overriding her protests. "I'll take her, Lestrade."

Chef gave Sherlock a long suffering look, but he looked at Molly and held his tongue.

"John," Molly called out suddenly. "There's a mid-well filet in the oven that needs to come out. The one on the stove is meant to be medium."

"Heard, Molls," John said, scooting over to her station and opening the oven.

Molly relaxed, convinced that her station was in good hands, and let Sherlock wrap her arm in a temporary bandage. He ushered her out and into a taxi after a quick detour to grab their things. Molly was grateful for the chance to sit down, as her head had started spinning.

Sherlock was deathly silent in the cab, mouth pressed into a thin line. His eyes kept darting to her bandaged hand, and by the time they reached the hospital, he was outright glowering.

"I'm going to murder Anderson," he muttered darkly as they settled into the waiting room. "And turn him into sausage."

"I don't think health and safety will think much of that," Molly said, rolling her head to look at him.

As she'd hoped, he finally cracked a smile. "How's your hand?"

"Hurts. That's a good thing, isn't it?" she said, trying to be positive. Of course, it had to be her dominant hand that had been injured.

"You'll be fine," Sherlock said, sounding more confident than either of them felt.

He took her uninjured hand in his, running his thumb over the ends of her fingers. The casual touch ignited a heat low in her belly which Molly tried to ignore, firmly reminding herself that this was Sherlock Holmes, who was most definitely not interested in her like that.

"You'll be working at my restaurant by the end of the year," he added. "Just like we planned."

Molly blinked. Then furrowed her brow and blinked again. "Sorry, what? You have a restaurant?"

Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes. "Well, it's Uncle Rudy's really, but it will be mine. Would've gone to Mycroft, but he can't be bothered to cook. And he's well set up as a food critic now."

"The Iceman?" Molly sputtered, finally putting that together. "That's your brother?"

Sherlock sighed and nodded almost reluctantly. He ran his hand over his curls, fluffing them up. "I, ah, forgot to ask you about the restaurant, didn't I?"

Molly pressed her lips together to hide a smile. "A bit, yeah."

His fingers tightened around hers. "I thought we could run it together."

"I'd like that," Molly said. "Hooper and Holmes. We make a good pair."

A nurse called Molly's name, and she flashed one last smile at Sherlock before heading off to the exam room.

"Holmes and Holmes," Sherlock said to himself, watching her go with warm eyes. "If I have anything to say about it."

#sherlolly #I wrote a thing #prompts #chefs AU #lots of cursing and smoking because chefs #why is Sherlock in culinary school when they've got the family restaurant #nobody knows #the Iceman is the most feared food critic in Britain #Mrs H isn't in this one but she runs front of house at the restaurant #'not your waitress dear'#because she is maitre d'

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