#like a really cursed vine filter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thehistoriangirl · 1 year

Text

The Tides Have Veiled [Two]

I MISSED YOU BABYYYYYYYY 🥹 🥹 🥹 I’m sorry to everyone who reads my “spooky” (not really spooky tbh) fics because I take so long to post, but my IQ doesn’t let me write these plots that easily 🤡 🤡 Anyway, I hope you like it :D

Viktor x fem!Reader------/Gothic AU ft. Spooky Sea/-----2.9K-----SFW

> M A S T E R L I S T <

← Previous // Next →

Chapter summary: Is your first night as the lighthouse keeper. What lurks beneath the sea? But perhaps the most important question is if you’re willing to discover it.

Gnral. synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both building are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Two: What Conquers Fear

The night passed like haunting dreams did. Frozen in time, so cold the sweat tickling in the nape of your neck originated only from paranoia. Every sound was amplificated by the fright sensation of something lurking near, hidden in the thick mist, in the muffled, disfigured human voice that seemed to pour out the cliff to lure you close. Crawling up the spiraling stairs in the lighthouse, looking for you.

But contrary to dreams, you wouldn’t wake up here, the sun too scared to come out. It wouldn’t rise to combat the terrors peeking from beneath the waves.

And you didn’t wish to wake up Julio from his nap at the ground level of the lighthouse—a terrible idea to offer yourself as a vigil for the night in the first place—, but you wanted to make a good impression.

You couldn’t ruin this opportunity.

The control room was on the same level as the beacon, the domed place divided in two, where the lamp was built in the far end of the room, a wall in the middle to block the intense light suspended in the air and warmth of the lamp, where the panels were mounted on the wall, dusty wires hanging from the wall like black vines.

Contrary to the well-kept wide base of the tower where the main room contained the living room, a kitchen, and a humble bedroom; the upper floor possessed the familiar look of abandonment.

The precarious staircase connecting the floor with the beacon’s room, its balustrade as thin as your fingers’ circumference; the acute angle of the tower making the space eerie, slightly claustrophobic, with shadows elongated or changed against the round, impossibly tall walls. Even the blue wallpaper with wildflowers felt alien, the edges chipping off with the humidity of the environment.

You felt your toes cold as they dangled off the tiny couch that seemed to have been in the control room forever, its cushions morphed after the silhouette of another body. Cold wind filtered from the beacon room to the panels through an ajar windowsill covered in saltpeter that wouldn't let you close it.

Wind howled outside with the same rage that a storming sea, though the storm had gone away, leaving only a drizzle behind.

The beacon room was almost like a greenhouse, with a domed-glass roof and windows that almost covered the entire wall. You supposed the view must have been breathtaking if it weren't for the mist covering everything in an eerie, endless blanket of nothingness.

With sunlight, the beach around the lighthouse was a steep mass of sand with rocks pocking like fingers, trapping algae, shells, and even some fishes in shallow pools, waiting to be found by the lighthouse keeper when the tide resides every morning during the full moon.

You supposed that was the origin of Viktor’s shell, and the mere thought of it made your pocket heavier.

You could almost imagine Julio looking at the offering the sea brought to him. It was just… the image of the old man thinking about his boss while gifting him such a thing was odd. Viktor, with the shelves of his office filled with books, didn’t seem like the superstitious type.

But he did live in that house by the cliff; who knows what he had seen through the years.

It would bring you luck. You sighed, stepping into the beacon room, peeking at the windows as your breath misted the glass, the cold wind fighting with the warmth of your breath as it hit the other side of the crystal.

The sea next to Piltover the Old was beautiful, a navy blanket with boats scattered across the rippling fabric outlined with white foam and gold sunlight. At night, however, mist covered the waves like a ghostly veil, moving at the command of the water—the things below. Only the beacon of the lighthouse managed to cut over the mist, showing the bottomless black inkwell that was the sea, the desertic sand coast.

You wanted to see the otherworldly landscape outside, but the breeze had become the glass into a fuzzy surface, and the fog didn’t help to paint a seashore for your eyes. Some sick, twisted part of you wanted to see a strange, off-place figure peeking beneath the waves as if you could recognize the source of the mournful cries as something more outside your paranoic head.

It was like a primal, stupid whim of wanting to look back at the sinister to state that you weren’t scared of it. A lie, but a foolish move to declare a victory with the logical part of the mind over the other.

Because that other part of your brain conjured all those creatures hidden beneath the waves in woven, fragmentary stories blurred inside your brain into a big, floating shadow moving silently, smoothly among the waves. It was funny, you thought, how such stories reached every soul in the town despite how inland and wary of the sea they were.

People loved to scare each other, that wasn’t something strange to you. That type of malice seeped inside your uncle and aunt’s heart as they shared such stories with you when you were a child.

The first one they told you was about cold, black waves that kept hidden a monster that lured people deep into the water with fishes of vibrant pink and copper fins as luminous as the sunlight; only for the monster to envelop its prey with sticky tentacles. First their ankles, quickly creeping up their thighs and chest, until the person couldn’t scream anymore, water reclaiming every inch of their bodies until they sunk.

It was only a matter of time before you encountered some algae that got tangled on your ankle while you were helping your family find crabs. You felt the sticky sensation brushing your skin and start to cry as if a jellyfish had stung you.

Many years had passed since that, but the fear never really left. Growing cautious as you stood in the family's fishing boat, always looking at the sea as if something would stare back.

You knew—almost certainly—that there was no monster lurking near the beach, and they wouldn't be interested in you if they were, anyway. That was another thing that your uncle and aunt repeatedly told you, tucked in secrecy in a corner of your little bedroom so your grandparents wouldn’t hear it.

The sea didn’t want you, that’s why it sent you back when it decided to take your parents.

You stumbled away from the window, the sea becoming the focus of the rage curling in your stomach. They had always been like that, and you never understood why. The favoritism your grandparents had for you evaporated as time went on, as you became a bigger burden for them.

At least the anger against the sea maintained you away from your initial fatal inclination toward the sea. A hate-love relationship as you had spent every night with the lull of the waves crashing against the shore.

You wish you could ask the sea: Why did you only take them?

“I… miss them,” you muttered, your lips barely open, not wanting the echo to magnify the sensation of the loss. You were little when it happened, the stories of your loving family eroding until only an amorph collage of broken recollections, a puzzle with missing pieces, making some of them with colorless cardboard as your grandparents nurtured you those occurrences to print them in your memory as they forgot them with their growing age.

All it came down to choices. They didn't give you in adoption. They tried to make you happy. And now, they were trying to marry you off the best bidder, as if they were trying to recollect all their effort in raising you with that single transaction.

Just like it was your choice right now, the one that kept you standing so close to the haunting cliffside so you could have a chance of writing your story.

The keeper should be awake all night, monitoring the light and the fog signal. To waste time away, you found a book tucked in a wobbly shelf. A worn-out logbook, its tiny handwriting deformed by water drops in the upper end where the dates were scribbled.

…Flooding: state of damage. You tried to read between the smudged words. Reinforcing the foundations of the ground floor. Beacon is in good condition, the wiring had had a short circuit.

You frowned. The writing was only concise for the writer's mind but ambiguous for everyone else. Was this from Julio? Or another past lightkeeper?

You flipped around the pages, seeing lists of materials and food, budgets calculated as the recourses had to come from very far away in both boat or carriage. Some calculous of food rationing.

Storm upcoming.

Food:

1/2 kg of dry meat.

One half-empty full potato sack.

2 porbeagle sharks.

5 tomatoes.

8 carrots.

Mr. Stell would send provisions in two days.

The storm is due to hit tonight.

Lightning tore the sky open, making you throw the logbook away as if by reading it you would be summoning the storm the keeper had written down.

You went to check the levers that kept the lighthouse and the fog signal active, deciding to brighten the light as the mist seemed to conglomerate even more. The control room was a tiny half-circle, the wiring, and the panel rusty from the humid air filtering from the perpetually ajar window, the levers squeaky when you pushed them up to adjust the Fresnel lens.

Besides the control panel, the room contained the old couch, and a table with uneven legs where a deck of cards was tossed uncarefully on it, a solitary game half-finished.

Even as you increased the brightness of the lighthouse, you couldn't see the house on the other side. Was Viktor still awake? Was he, just like you were thinking about him, thinking about how you were doing? If you even could find your way down toward the lighthouse without falling off the cliff?

You pinched yourself with the shell as you took it from your pocket, fingers curled around the smooth surface.

Not that it mattered, any of the questions or any of the answers.

You gazed toward the foggy shore, cutting in with the beacon of the lighthouse. For a moment, the water moved, the ripples a natural echo of something moving below. A glimpse of white against the bottomless black, like a dorsal spine.

Goosebumps covered your arms. A shark? It must be a trick of the light.Your fingers grasped the shell violently, the wave of pain keeping you afloat as you recollected your cool with a deep breath.

You quickly turned around, to the same window, but the glass only reflected your hunched position against the table. The beacon had turned away.

Fear kept you frozen in place, waiting for the lighthouse to rotate again, showing the empty beach below. Then again, the same result.

A knot plunged into your stomach. Paranoia was the one to blame for building such fantasies.

And then, the beacon illuminated the beach again.

There was a concave pattern of the sand from a dragging body against the soft surface, a ripple of ink meters away from the coast, where something just submerged. Or surfaced.

At the next turn of the light, the marks in the sand were gone.

The light continued to rotate, the cries of the cliff fading until eerie, off-putting silence filled your ears; and you only blinked away when your eyes started watering at seeing the orange light of the dawn over the horizon.

*~*~*~*

A dream, half-hollow with echoing sounds traveling to supposedly nothingness, too-much full of water filling every corner of the infinite black landscape.

It must had been cold, but you didn’t feel that way. You should’ve been scared, but the dream was still, a moment of utter calm where all things hold their breath, waiting.

From above the water, you saw light converting the black water into navy blue. Only with the light it was possible to see the white figure plunging into the abyss, with the foam covering the body which made it so difficult for you to identify.

But your instinct was raging, building a memory that you had never seen.

Mother?

Moments after, when the foam was gone, and the bubbles were drifting away, you finally started swimming toward it.

And even underwater, you could hear a whispering voice against your ear, telling you that you shouldn’t have done that.

*~*~*~*

You felt the pressure of a cold hand over your shoulder, making you jump, your mouth opened as if gasping for air.

For a moment, your vision was filled with strange figures, places that you didn't recognize, unfamiliar faces, and alien voices. But no—you obliged yourself to focus, to remember.

You were in the lighthouse, sleeping in the cot tucked at the corner of the ground floor. And Viktor was sitting at the edge of a chair, his hand hovering over your shoulder. So it was his hand.

You looked at it, pale and slender. Why was it so cold?

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to wake you up," he said, putting both hands on the handle of his cane as he reclined on the chair, creaking wood against his weight. “I came to see if you were still here." Viktor put his watch out of the inner pocket of his coat. It was 4 PM.

You’ve been sleeping for more than ten hours.

The walls became blurry when you propelled yourself up the cot, pressing your lips together to muffle the groan that crept out your mouth when your sore back tilted in its correct position. How were you sleeping? All your body felt lethargic, every movement of your arms and legs straining your muscles from end to end.

“I—I’m so sorry, Si—I mean Viktor. I’m sorry, Viktor.” Your brow was slightly hot when you rested it on your fingertips, the pulse of your heart reverberating inside your skull. “It wasn’t on my plans to sleep in.”

His eyes reflected the sunlight pooling inside from the tiny windows at the entrance of the lighthouse, squinting golden hues centering on you.

"It's alright. Julio told me you kept vigil last night. I just…" He shrugged, the brushing of his coat against the chair being the only sound in the lighthouse while you tried to come up with an answer, only to find your brain empty. "I just wanted to see if you were here."

You looked at him, eyes wandering without knowing where they should lay their vision on. Perhaps the mole under his right eye was a good spot.

"You thought I quit, didn't you?" Part of you felt hurt about his assumption, as if he didn't believe the sincerity of your words and actions. Because you did spend the night here, looking at the water and—

And whatever that dorsal spine belonged to.

“Julio had been the keeper for more than fifty years, why do you think he hasn’t retired?” he asked lightly. “It isn’t because he likes this job, but rather, nobody had wanted to fill his place. Until you, of course.”

“But I’m not going to be here for long.” The words were supposed to sound hopeful, but the echo of the almost-empty tower magnify it, morphing it into a doomed augury.

Viktor nodded, ignoring how the color had drained from your cheeks. “I’m aware of it—but what can I do? Julio is moving in two weeks with his granddaughter. You’re the only one left.” The thumping of his cane against the floor stomped it sounded like a heart, reverberating in the walls, making the tower in a gargantuan chest, and the beacon, its eye. “I hope I can find another keeper before you leave.”

Julio told you days ago that Viktor frequented Piltover the New for work, so you said: “Perhaps in the city there’s someone interested in the job.”

He tilted his head, locks of chestnut hair covering his brow. “I’m afraid that plan is fruitless. People inland may be charmed by the idea of being a keeper, but between imagining it and doing it… it doesn’t end well.”

Before you could meddle your nose in his business, Viktor fabricated a folded contract inside a fancy envelope, without a seal.

“Here,” he said, extending you the beige paper. “Please read it carefully, I’ll wait. And do not doubt about asking me if there’s something you need me to clarify.”

It was a straightforward contract, if only because Viktor hadn’t written his last name on it. The hours you’d have to work were from dusk to dawn, varying depending on the season—paid by the hour.

Viktor would send supplies for the lighthouse, to clean and maintain the engines, with a monthly ration of food. It was on you if the food run scarce before the end of the month. But you had to buy your clothes and personal items, of course.

For a fleeting moment, you remembered the ghostly landscape outside the lighthouse, the howling cliff. Were you truly going to do it?

Which thing was the one that scared you the most? The uncertainty of a future where you didn't have a saying in, or the decision of making company to the beacon as it illuminated the eerie sea below?

You asked for a pen, and Viktor gave you one that had been inside the pocket of his shirt, warm metal against your fingers, the black ink staining the paper in smooth traces.

And with so easy movement, the sequence coming natural to your wrist as it fluttered, scribbling your name, you had just sealed your fate. But at least it was you the one who decided it.

45 notes · View notes

i-love-sweet-william · 1 year

Text

late new year's resolution: giving myself permission to yell without art

Will transforming is always so good but it's fuckin impossible to search because there's no single word/tag for "in which Will looks physically fucked in various UD ways"

(I was specifically looking for someone's vecna!will art recently and I can't find it because I can't search tags with a ! since every post that includes Will and Vecna shows up....byler was just sitting there on the ground and Will was all tall and gangly and had his vines wrapping around Mike (as always) with Mike touching one....like a cursed finger boop......anyway if you know what I'm talking about, send me a link I'm begging)

ngl more than Will transforming and Mike comforting him, I like to think about fucked up Will comforting MIKE. consider:

4-5 — the monster under Mike's bed has gotten good at navigating the Wheeler's house when no one's home/everyone's asleep, but Mike can hear it sometimes and one day he decides "I AM GOING TO CATCH WHATEVER IS IN MY ROOM!! MOM SAYS THERE'S NO MONSTERS BUT I KNOW IT'S HERE!!!!"

Mike is constantly throwing things under his bed when he doesn't wanna clean up so Will has gotten used to Mike just reaching around for whatever he needs and going back to his human business so he like....deadass doesn't even attempt to hide when Mike Does look for him while setting a trap. his mistake. he panicked and wanted to calm Mike down but he overcompensated and destroyed any threatening vibes he might have had.

anyway now he's Mike's cryptid imaginary friend for the forseeable future and they have a sort of Sully/Boo dynamic, in which Mike is just fucking thrilled with this giant cute monster and Will is panicking about a human trying to be all clingy and gross because this is Not how it's supposed to go what the fuck is happening

6-8 — a friendless Mike is having a bad time and his extreme negative emotions yeet him into the UD and demoWill has to wordlessly calm him down and try to figure out how to send him back to wherever he came from. now he has this little human menace riding on his bony shoulders everywhere because Mike's self-preservation skills are nonexistent and he kept almost getting strangled by vines or pissing off packs of demodogs and also Will has to keep him alive without letting him get more contaminated than he already is from breathing the air.

when Mike does get back home, and sort of explains where he was and what was happening, no one believes him and they try to make him process it as a near death experience. I mean he eventually lies and tells people what they want to hear but like he can see evidence of Will following him around on the Other Side sometimes, in the present, not as a trauma filter or waking nightmare but just...flickering lights, temporary marks on the walls, a general feeling of no longer being alone and friendless. when Will is older and stronger, or if Mike has another particularly Bad Time, they'll see each other again.

9-12 — sentient horror Will Byers isn't supposed to be here but he doesn't have good control over his powers yet and he's not sure how to go back and he was spotted by someone while considering his options....which immediately narrowed his choice down to "do not permanently damage this human's brain with my incomprehensible form" so Mike just has a mysterious cloaked friend in the woods for a while (a really shitty cloak!! his wizard robe is pathetic rn but he will eventually gain more control and take a more comprehensible purposeful form, so he can face Mike looking fancy as fuck) eventually Will is gonna walk out looking like a background character from one of Mike's favorite fantasy movies and Mike will lose his entire shit. his ghost friend is cool as hell and he is so glad his mom forced him to go outside that day.

13-15 — Will is in the human world on purpose, has a human appearance on purpose, makes emotional connections on purpose......but it can't last forever. he has to take frequent trips to the UD to get the proper nutrients/energy to survive. if he doesn't return on time, he'll start losing his appearance or just sorta melt out of this dimension. which isn't really a threat to his physical health or anything, but having someone Witness it could definitely be detrimental to that Emotional Connections thing.

anyway Will often gets a lil too caught up in spending time with Mike and has to make a quick escape. one time when he realizes it's time to go Mike interrupts, Will blatantly fails to come up with an excuse, byler get in a mild argument about lying which wastes even more time, and then they faces the consequences of their affection (affection meaning Will not wanting to explain in order to keep Mike's mental health intact, and Mike wanting to know what's wrong because Will always seems like he's in fucking peril but never explains)

not that Mike ends up caring after he starts to understand the situation, but bro he thought Will was fucking dying or getting abducted by aliens or some shit in the middle of having an actual fight about Will "disappearing" like he was just not having a good time. Will chilled him out tho. and also now he can show Mike more of his capabilities

I will type about aus until my hands fall off......

#stranger things #will byers #mike wheeler #byler #my post #ask

20 notes · View notes

capybaraonabicycle · 1 year

Note

HI, i finally cut out some time to infodump to you about my favourite Russian songs with Doctor Who vibes! Sorry that it took so long, exams have been rough.

I think the first ever song that planted an actual fic idea in my brain was Господин горных дорог (The lord of highland roads) by Мельница. It's a folksy sort of band, i really love their music and coincidentally it's one of their prettiest songs! It doesn't have a plot per se, but it's really vivid in it's description of a very particular feeling. Some choice quotes:

Ты слал в чужие сны то сумасшедшее видение страны Где дни светлы от света звёзд You were sending mad visions into other people's dreams, visions of a land where days are lit by stars.

Speaks for itself

Я ухожу вослед не знавшим, что значит слово "страх" О, не с тобой ли все пропавшие, погибшие в горах I follow those who didn't know what the word fear means. Oh, aren't they all with you, those who disapeared in the mountains?

It's like the experience of every companion once they realize they aren't the first ones.

Наша кровь уходит в песок, позабудь её, и она Прорастет тугою лозой Я хотела остаться с тобой Я уже успела посметь Пахнет снегом, прозрачная боль То ли даль, то ли высь, то ли смерть Our blood is seeping into sand, forget about it and it will sprout like a vine. I was going to stay with you, i already dared to. Clear pain smells like snow, is it distance, or height, or death?

It's like the curse of the Time Lords, everyone dies and the Doctor stays, shaped by the people in their life (gets a bit more abstract on those last lines, but it's more about a vibe really, the poetry of it all).

And the last one that made my fanfic writer's gears spin:

Пусть укроет цепи следов моих иней Чтоб никто найти их не мог Кто теперь прочтёт подо льдом твоё имя Господина Горных Дорог? Let frost cover the chain of my footsteps so that no one could find them again. Who will now read your name under the ice, Lord of Highland Roads?

So the name being secret already has some timelord vibes. In my head it would be a fic about one of Clara's fragments, living somewhere in a secluded mountain village. The Doctor would be Ten, way before he met Clara (Martha is there too and she and Clara are besties). They would have to team up and go higher up in the mountains to investigate a mystery, like people disapperaing or returning with no memories of where they'd been. It would turn out that the top of the mountain is surrounded by some sort of perception filter that erases people's memories once they leave its range, because it's guarding some sort of alien secret. For some reason or another the Doctor's name would end up out in the open, written in stone (maybe they would have to use it as a password Time of the Doctor style, or maybe it was the original secret, who knows). In this plot Clara has to die saving the Doctor and Martha (as per canon and song lyrics), her death would serve to further protect the secret, and the Doctor's name ends up buried under tons of ice and snow. Then he and Martha leave and forget all about that heroic girl, Martha forgets his true name so it stays hidden.

When i was imagining it, it was really fun and dramatic, but i never got any further than the concept, so now it just leaves in my head and sometimes i daydream about this plot when this song comes up in the shuffle.

Then there is a song that i did write a fic about. It's Последний джаз на Земле (The last ever jazz on Earth) by BlackBird or Чёрная Птица as they call themselves now. I love this band way too much, partially because they are from my town (this summer they performed at a festive event in our town and openly played anti-imperialist songs as a fuck you to current events, it was awesome and a bit scary). I can't find it anywhere where you can listen to it, and it's frustrating bc it's one of my favourites, but it's a melancholic jazzy song about loneliness, and there's an implication of immortality:

И птицы ждут, прежде, чем на Юг. И слушают то, что я пою. Без голоса… Двести тысяч лет. Последний джаз на земле. And birds are waiting before flying South, they're listening to what i'm singing, with no voice, for two hundred thousand years - the last ever jazz on Earth.

In my fic Twelve takes Bill to the very last jazz performance on Earth before the entire planet is evacuated to a colony (birds are waiting before flying south), a handful of remaining humans, who were last to leave because they were preparing the planet to be left behind, are sitting in a bar, listening to the music, everyone alone with their thoughts but united by this common experience. And the Doctor and Bill talk about hope, the unknown, music, and leaving behind and letting go. It's my early one, i don't think it's all that good, but the fic is here if you fancy checking it out. It's in Russian but you can put it through an autotranslator, they are so evolved nowadays that one would have little trouble reading translated fic (or if you'd like i can do a proper translation).

The next song is Память (Memory) by Fleur. It's a Ukranian band, iirc, but they mostly sing in Russian, and their music is hauntingly beautiful. The song has such thoschei vibes, it's hard to choose quotes because every single lyric is relevant, so i'll just take this bit from the middle:

Лишь для одной ослепительной вспышки, Лишь ради нескольких звёздных мгновений Мы будем плыть друг другу на встречу Сквозь бесконечность и океаны забвения. Странствуя между мирами, Ты хранишь в себе память О каждом моём воплощении. И в назначенный час Мы узнаем друг друга По первому прикосновению, Где бы ты ни был, Кем бы ты ни был. Just for a single blinding flash, for the sake of a few stellar seconds, we will be swimming towards each other, through infinity and the oceans of oblivion. Travelling between worlds, you keep memories of my each incarnation, and at the set hour we will recognize each other by touch alone, wherever you might be, whoever you might be.

They are soulmates, they will find each other in every world and in every version of reality, they are drawn to each other and their story will never end. And it's also just a beautiful song :)

Что ты расскажешь своим? Что он встал в полный рост безоружным Улыбаясь, как форменный псих Сказал: "Идите домой" И ты будто бы видел сияние От каждого из пулевых What will you tell your command and comrades? That he stood tall and unafraid, with a totally mad grin on his face? That he told you "Go home"? That you saw his every bullet wound glowing?

Chills.

Then there's Юпитер (Jupiter) by Евгения Теджетова. It's a modern band, but their whole thing is making neo-retro music, like something that you'd hear in an old movie, and this song actually tricked my mum, so i'd say they are really good at it. The song itself is a metaphor about how people are really far from each other, like planets, and have troube communicating and understanding each other, but when i listen to the chorus i can't help taking it a bit more literally:

Земля, Земля, я Юпитер! Вы не спите, еще не спите? Смотрите, смотрите - Исчезает Млечный путь. Земля, Земля, я Юпитер! Подождите, не уходите - Летите, любите, А я - как-нибудь. Earth to Jupiter, Earth respond to Jupiter! Are you asleep yet or not? Look, look - the Milky Way is fading away. Earth to Jupiter, Earth respond to Jupiter! Wait, don't leave yet - fly, love, and i will get by.

I'm thinking of a story where someone is stuck on another planet or in a spaceship flying away, at first they are panicking but then they come to terms with it and send their last goodbye to Earth and their loved ones.

This one feels a little bit like cheating, but i'll include it anyways. Хороший человек идёт на войну (A Good Man Goes to War) by Nemnogo Nervno is exactly what it sounds, it's directly inspired by the show. I'm mainly including this one for this masterpiece of a second verse:

Что ты расскажешь своим? Что он встал в полный рост безоружным Улыбаясь, как форменный псих Сказал: "Идите домой" И ты будто бы видел сияние От каждого из пулевых What are you gonne tell your comrades and command? That he stood tall and unafraid? that he told you "Go home"? That you saw his every bullet wound glowing?

Chills. It's less of that particular namesake episode and more just pure general essence of the Doctor as an idea, a character that out beloved timelord is trying so hard to play.

Oh my god, it's so much text! Thank you for letting me write a whole essay about music in your askbox! I hope you enjoy this little tour of my playlist, the songs are much less plot-y than those by Sebastian Krämer that you've sent me, but imo they are very evocative. I suggest giving them a listen even if you don't understand the lyrics, they sound really pretty.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! First of all for the beautiful music and second of all for those fic ideas?! They're awesome!!

Okay, let's keep some structure:

Господин горных дорог is really, really pretty. I love the flute so much! I don't understand a word, obviously, but I really enjoy it. That little playful bridge towards the end of a rather melancholic song? Gorgeous! And then the lyrics you translated are really evocative! I completely understand why they inspire fic ideas.

Coming to that: I have not read many but I love the idea of Echo!Clara fics and making Clara and Martha friends is an inspired idea. They would be so good for each other, actually. They are both kind and disciplined people and Clara would stick up for Martha when the Doctor treats her like shit again while Martha could definitely hold back some of Clara's destructive tendencies. Why have I never considered them before?

The plot sounds amazing, I love the mountain visuals (snow!! ❤ rocks!! and they fit the song so well!) and the preception filter/memory loss theme! And I love the tragedy of the Doctor and Martha forgetting about Clara. Perhaps, they could even have a keepsake of her that they don't understand anymore after they have left but that tells them something happened and they lost someone they loved. (You know a little like Amy finding Rory's ring? I loved that moment so much.)

If you ever write it, no matter the language, I definitely want to read it!

Then, I really enjoyed the Последний джаз на Земле fic, as you might have noticed :) The concert you got to see sounds scary but also like it could give you a lot of hope. I am very sorry and scared for everyone in both Russia and Ukraine and I hope you stay safe ❤

The lyrics of Память do sound very much like Thoschei and I really liked listening to the song, too. The voice is very beautiful and calming and I love when you pick at the guitar to make it little fleeting tones, it's my favourite sound in the world, I think.

The idea of Юпитер and also what you came up with reminds me a little of the Major Tom songs by David Bowie and Peter Schilling. I always loved that story. So sad and scary but beautiful in it's inevitability and acceptence in the end. I love how she is shouting for Jupiter in the chorus, that part is really neat 😍

And there is russion trock? That's so cool! I have no idea whether German trock exists but then again I am mostly interacting with dw in English so I wouldn't know anyway.

I was a little surprised how happy that song sounds, especially after the others and considering how dark the episode is. On the other hand, the Doctor really is just a silly guy and should always remember that, especially when they go dark. So the music fits them very well.

'That you saw his every bullet wound glowing' is some really amazing lyrics, it reminds me a bit of the 'what do you do with all that pain? you hold it tight until it burns your hand'. The Doctor is so damaged and they hate it but they also have to love it because it is what makes them who they are. And it is also what they will go through again and again because that is the only way they can continue. And the bullet wounds glowing is a great metaphor for that imo. Not sure it was meant that way but that's what it sounds like to me

I really, really enjoyed those songs! Thank you so much for sending them in and translating and explaining!

#marvellouspinecone

12 notes · View notes

sillygooseuniversity11 · 1 day

Text

Universal Events: 10 Boys, One Crown, One Down

CHAPTER TWO: ONE ANOTHER

Chapter One

TW(FOR THE ENTIRE BOOK): (Violent) Death, intense gore, depression, slight ableism (SOMETIMES)Keep reading

NNAMDI'S PERSPECTIVE

I knew this could end badly. Confronting someone as hotheaded as Kaede may result in making him angrier, but this didn't mean he was a lost cause. He's an unpredictable person that takes a little bit longer to understand than others, that's all.

I leisurely strolled down the brick road leading to the garden, the white metal arch adorned with flowers of all varieties and thick, thorny vines dipping down a little too low for my tastes— even if I did have to jump to touch them— woven around the frame. Around them, there were rows upon rows of colorful bushes, peaceful and unmoving. The entire gravel space was decorated with a variety of plants, from sensitive flowers to the ginormous oak tree that stretched out in the middle of the garden that housed all kinds of wildlife. I kept my eyes peeled for the odd one out, in all black hunched over a raised garden bed and nodding his head to the beat of his favorite band.

After pacing around the maze of blood red poppies, trying to navigate the maze of flora as they flowers taunted me with their peacefulness, after coming out the way I came in twice followed by quiet cursing, I would up on the other side of a secondary arch surrounded by hydrangeas. This part of the garden seemed a little better, the hyacinth plants were much shorter and more spread out— and certainly less abusive on the eyes with their soft color. For a moment, it was like I was outside and in the real world like a normal kid.

From where I stood on the gravel, I could hear the faintest sound of guttural grunge music coming from a few flowerbeds away from me. I locked onto where the music was coming from and began to carefully weave through the crowds of flowers that occasionally brushed against my knuckles and sent the contact rippling through each other. After a handful of steps, I saw Kaede kneeling over a garden bed of lilies, mumbling the lyrics to himself. I cautiously reached down to tap his shoulder.

"You're really bad at being quiet." He pulled his earbuds out and turned his head, taking off his gardening gloves to pause his music. "What do you want?" This question caught me off guard. I've never seen him act like this. Sure, he could be curt and rude sometimes, but he's never outwardly been this mean to anyone.

"Is something going on?" I asked, nervously rocking on my heels.

"I'm fine." Kaede quipped, standing up and wiping his hands on his already dirt-stained pants. He'd been moving lilies to the barely damp dirt in a raised garden bed. After he was finished, he weaved over to the yellow hyacinths in a stone lined garden-bed and began to pick out small weeds at the stems of the flowers.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

I sighed and sat down across from him, my back against a tall lattice wall, adorned with small clips that would soon help keep plants' stems in afloat. The sun filtered through the diamond holes in the fence, blurring together on the gravel into one gold cover of light blanketing the ground. I looked up to see Kaede pruning a bush of wilting roses he was trying to revive.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked hesitantly upon seeing his steadfast attitude towards his garden. "Why do you want to be the king of Greenleaf so bad? Before you heard about it, you said that you'd stay in The Dome and The Kingdom as long as you could."

Kaede leaned back and propped himself onto his hands, brushing gravel off of his now rough pebble imprinted hands. "I don't really know. I think it does have something to do with The Dome, and everything." He sat back up. "Not that I don't like it here; I'd just like a change of scenery!" He pointed up to the sky, and the giant glass dome that sheltered the Pudiaguay Castle, it was made the temperature ever so slightly hotter, but the fans on the roof of The Dome helped with that. "And Greenleaf is revolutionizing the way the world sees and manages gardening! They're building vertical gardens almost as tall as the castle with everything the city needs, crossbreeding medicinal plants, they help people!" He grew louder with each word, but not angrier. "And so, do I. If dad finally decides that I can be crowned to any kingdom or city, then I can exchange what I know with the scientists and botanists of Greenleaf City!"

"That makes sense, I guess you can do a lot with stuff like that." I looked up at the sky— rather, The Dome. It was almost twice as tall as the castle and thicker than my outstretched arms. Dad—King Abaddon Loshi—said it was to keep me and my brothers safe from thieves, attackers, or any bitter person jealous of the horrendously rich royals. "I guess the change of scenery makes sense, we only go outside of The Dome to go to school, and even then, we're told to come right back."

"I think it's a little sketchy."

"It's to keep us safe! There can be some weird people around here."

"The only weird people are the rich, rich kids at our rich kid school." The two of us scoffed lightheartedly at that.

"They have high expectations." I added. There was a comfortable silence between me and Kaede. I can still remember the first time I went outside The Dome: It was when I was five. My dad told me to stay at his side, Rio was with us too, but he was too distracted by the sights of the kingdom to pay attention to what was going on; watching the huge, lavish buildings you'd see in a story book and the fancy clothes everyone wore, so I had to keep an iron grip—as strong a grip as a 5-year-old could have— on his wrist to keep him from wandering away. We made a few stops along the smooth concrete road to talk to some regulars he knew, mostly high-class purple skinned Iswian acquaintances, but there were some green folks here and there. At one point at the end of our walk, our dad sat me and Rio down on a bench while he went to talk to three men dressed in the same fancy clothing we'd seen a couple feet away from us, but they wore cloaks over them. They were whispering to each other in a language I couldn't understand, but they kept on snatching glances at Rio and I— who were trying to comprehend and deal with what we now know is a slight breeze— to make sure we didn't wander away, eyes landing on us for less than a few seconds. It was strange, and we only went home after a couple minutes.

I was snapped back to the present when I heard the crunching of gravel as Kaede walked towards the arch leading out of the garden. Confused, I stood up and peeked around the corner of the lattice wall. "Where are you going?" I asked, speedwalking and brushing bits of gravel off of the back of my T-Shirt and shorts, even hopping on one leg for a couple seconds to pull a pebble out of my shoe.

"To go talk to Rio." I snapped my head back up and let out an involuntary noise of confusion, earning a heavy sigh from Kaede.

"To..." I trailed off, a subtle question.

"... Apologize, for what I said earlier." He finished. It wasn't like him to apologize to anyone, even if he really wanted to. It was hard for him to face someone after such an outburst, but hearing him say that brought a smile to my face.

"I think he'd like that."

"You should go check on everyone else. Tell them I'm sorry."

"I might do it later, or maybe never." Kaede turned around at this, it was his turn to be confused with a brow furrowed and dark brown eyes just wide enough to capture the sun. "Did you hit your head on the fence or something?"

"It might do you some good to go tell them yourself." I patted him on the back, earning a few sharp scoffs from him. "I know you can." I encouraged. Kaede sighed and kicked a rock off of the path.

"Alright," He caved. "Can you at least see how they're doing n' stuff? I'll talk to them later." He ran his hands through his black coiled hair. After a couple seconds of silence, the two of us went our separate ways; Kaede to the main castle and me to Obi's Library.

I arrived at the adorned double doors leading into the main corridor of The Library and pulled them open, earning a blast of air conditioning to the face. I peeked through the roof high shelves with the Vario ladders to see if I could find a trace of my brother. I thought I'd have to turn The Library upside down to find Obi, searching through the massive rectangular shaped building with hidden spaces around every corner.

But to my surprise, I found both Obi and Dharma in the main space; Obi high up on a Vario Ladder sifting through a range of colorful books while Dharma looked up at him, nervously telling him to be careful while calling out a small list of book titles for Obi to retrieve. Shortly after I walked in, Obi grabbed another book and tucked it into a messenger bag strapped to his side— which was very obviously Dharma's, based on the way it was sharply decorated with more colorful pins and patches than you could ever imagine. Obi wouldn't be able to keep such a maximalist item without going insane, he preferred to have a "Less is More" mindset that never led with its heart.

"... Ok, next I need The 1924 Edition of Thread and Needle: Professional Designing for Experts!" Dharma called up to Obi, who looked annoyed at his persistent yelling.

"I can hear you just fine! You don't need to yell! Also, if you're an expert on the whole fashion business, then why do you need a book on it? I thought you knew all about this." Obi asked, climbing cautiously higher up on the ladder to grab the book Dharma had requested. After pushing the ladder, a little bit to the left, he grabbed a well-thumbed black book with white splotches of torn paper on the cover and pulled it out slowly so he wouldn't lose his balance. I knew this would be a bad time to make myself known; Obi was pathetically easy to scare, and I knew he'd fall if I broke his concentration.

After a few more suspenseful moments, Obi slid back down the ladder with a practiced deftness I knew he'd rehearsed thousands of times— I didn't want to think about the many times he'd hurt himself trying to do that— and handed Dharma his bag, looking relieved to both be back down on the ground and to have Dharma's bag away from him, brushing the small amounts of chipped paint from an old pin on Dharma's bag off of the side of his shirt.

“I honestly can’t understand why you’d want to ruin such a nice bag with all that stuff.” Obi sighed.

“Thank you!” Dharma sang. “This is why you’re my favorite brother. And I’d assume you of all people would know you can never learn too much about anything.”

I felt awkward spectating their conversation, and even more so since Dharma and Obi weren't the best duo considering their differences in personality and interests. I slowly and silently weaved around the bookshelves until they were in view; Even though Dharma stood only a foot or so taller than Obi, he dwarfed him with his unusually height. But the thing that stood out the most was the contrast in their fashion style; Obi dressed like he was all ready to attend an interview, with neatly ironed polo shirts and dress pants. But it always seemed like he didn't know what to do with his hair, so it was usually either leaving it down in a cloud of long, black curly hair or up in a ponytail that he insisted on doing himself, and never with the help of Dharma.

Dharma on the other hand was a fashionable maximalist who could style anything he got his hands on— including his school uniform— and would pass away before he could allow his looks to fall into a minimalistic category, always sporting runway ready outfits that were never too over the top— excluding the times when he did need to dress up fancy, he was the talk of all the school dances and the guy to go to if you needed fashion advice. It was strange to see them together, they could easily pass as friends instead of brothers.

"I guess you can't learn too much." I said awkwardly, scooting closer to the two. Obi still flinched in surprise, fumbling for a book Dharma wanted and almost dropped it.

"Nnamdi!" Obi snapped with a crack as Dharma let out a quick laugh. "Stop sneaking up on me all the time!"

"But I didn't?"

"He really didn't, you're just a scaredy cat!" Dharma put the books in his bag before adjusting it behind him as he stepped towards me. "Did you, like, need something?"

"Yeah, I wanted to bring a message," I spoke, not knowing what to expect from them. "From Kaede." There was a silence that came down on the room for a couple seconds. Obi's eyes darted about and let out a shallow sigh while Dharma quirked a brow in curiosity.

"About?"

"He says he's sorry, to everyone."

"Did he really?" Obi asked, almost incredulous, busying himself by putting some books he was reading earlier back on the shelf. No one would've expected a sincere apology from him, even if they knew he didn't really know how to apologize.

"Really, he even went to talk to Rio."

"Good for him! Nice to know he's finally coming out of his shell, a very angry one." Dharma commented, realizing how harsh that sounded but deciding to leave it be.

"So, yeah. Kaede is sorry, he might stop by later to tell you in person."

After a few more words of exchange and banter—that mostly involved teasing Obi about how easy he is to scare— I bid my goodbyes and exited the large building, abandoning the cool air of The Library and into the warm glow of the sun again. After adjusting to the jarring change in temperature, I began the walk to Camille's Tower.

#small artist and author #small author #authors of tumblr #authors on tumblr #authors #my stories #angst stories #fantasy books #brotherhood story i guess i don't know #small artist

0 notes

beoneofus · 2 years

Text

being my friend includes:

- witnessing me having about ten different laughs. I'll most likely laugh like a hyena 95% of the time.

- witnessing me making dirty jokes/sex jokes/fucked up jokes/dad jokes/tv show related jokes/movie jokes to you 24/7. the only jokes I won't do are ones related to race or ethnicity, unless it's my own of course, and one's I have no right making.

- constantly saying or texting vine, tiktok, movie, tv show references. I can't control it, at this point it's a habit.

- bringing up old moments that were hilarious to me ( or made me salty ), because I just don't have a filter for certain things. one of those being memories.

- having to deal with me complaining about certain things or people ( usually I only talk about people that piss me off, because I'm not fucking weird like that ). I don't usually go to people with that stuff though, unless we are really close.

- telling you about times that had me pissy. once again, not really a thing I tell someone unless we're close.

- probably asking for another one of your social media's at some point, but only if you're comfortable giving it to me.

- cursing out people and threatening them in weird ass ways if they hurt you/make you mad, because I'm rather protective of my friends.

- sending you youtube videos of vines/funny edits/random vids that make no sense/songs I like because why not.

- flirting with you ( if your comfortable with it ), because I find it fun and it honestly helps me build confidence for some reason.

- witnessing me posting stupid or funny bullshit on here, most likely about the lost boys or other slashers, because this is how i express myself.

- receiving reassuring messages or attempting to comfort you/boost your mood because I genuinely care about my mutuals/friends... and honestly people in general.

- other shit I can't think of right now.

6 notes · View notes

honeysidesarchived · 3 years

Text

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. ii: they whose lives do not taste of evil ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 2.7k

warnings: none that are chapter specific.

rating: m/t

notes: thank you to everyone who has loved on me and supported me after posting the first part of this! it really makes me so warm and fuzzy inside and i cannot express in words how grateful i am. ♡

as always, thank you to my love @starcrier for being my most wonderful beta. ♡♡

Morning light filters through the curtains in the bedroom. The air conditioning had clicked off moons ago, having decided that the room was at its sufficient temperature; now just a few rays of the sun are warming the carpet on her side, cutting across the cream-colored knit blanket at the foot of the bed. Through the windows, she can hear the bustle of New York—churning, grinding, a beast of its own as it laboriously beneath their own feet.

Sometimes, Euphemia thinks that she hates New York—that she misses the countryside in Italy, that she misses bare feet on grass and warm, dark earth and the sticky-wet of pulling fruit straight from the vine. Sometimes, Euphemia thinks that New York is a beast waiting for her, to swallow her up, teeth ripping through pavement and concrete and brick to bite bite bite until it reaches her.

But not today. Today, Euphemia is not thinking about the Beast. She is thinking only about the fact that Santino’s spot beside her is empty, and then she’s reminded that today he will be wandering out into the world under the Table to ask a man who doesn’t want anything to do with Santino to grant him a favor. To grant Santino what he is owed, as he would prefer it framed.

Euphemia sits up in bed. She’s not sure when it is that she finally fell asleep, but if the drag of exhaustion in her mind is any indication, it wasn’t very long ago. She can’t recall if she dreamt, or if she rested even at all—if she had to guess, she’d think she spent the entire night tossing and turning, restless, with the burning itch of John Wick’s threatening presence looming in her future.

She can hear Santino out in the kitchen; the smell of coffee drifts in through the open door. The blonde slips out of bed to wander out, her footfalls quiet on the plush carpet, and she sees him—dressed, polished up, as though he got a perfect eight hours of sleep. An old song hums through the speakers of the sound system on the entertainment stand.

So much for keeping him distracted, Euphemia thinks ruefully.

“Good morning,” Santino greets, pouring a cup of coffee and setting it on the island counter to scoot it in her direction. “You were sleeping so soundly that I didn’t want to wake you.”

“You could have,” Euphie replies, taking the cup in her hands and using it to warm her fingers rather than drinking the coffee. “It wouldn’t have mattered. I don’t feel like I have slept at all.”

“Yes,” he agrees somberly, “you were restless.” His hand reaches up, the pad of his thumb tracing the slope of her jaw. “My little worrier.”

She crinkles her nose at him, finally relenting and taking a sip of her coffee. He’s made it just the way that he knows she likes—strong, rich, cream and no sugar. Santino winds his arms around her and laces his fingers against the small of her back, leaning so that he can get a long, good look at her.

“Well, go on,” he prompts her, eyes glittering playfully. “I know you want to say something to keep me home.”

Euphie’s chest tightens. It’s a little cruel of him; he wants to hear her ask, even though they both know there’s nothing she could say to change his mind. He likes to have her ask just so he can tell her no, and usually, she won’t bite. Not for his ego.

But this is different.

She sets the coffee aside, her hands instead finding his chest, holding on to the lapel of his jacket. She says, “I don’t want you to go, Santi. Please don’t go. We can stay in bed all day, or—what if we went back to Italy? Just for a little while? My mother would like to see you, I know.” Swallowing, Euphie feels her lashes flutter, the desire to let her voice wobble with emotion almost overwhelming. I won’t, she thinks, I won’t cry. “We can do anything you want, but—not this.”

“Sweet Euphie,” Santi sighs, taking her face in his hands. “Così dolce, just for me, aren’t you?” He leans in and kisses her temple; for a split second, she thinks that he might acquiesce, that he might set it aside, even for one day—indulge her, the way that he likes to do. Santino has always wanted her to be selfish with him. When they’d started dating, it took her months to get used to the way he’d buy her anything, cook her anything, give and get her anything, and for a girl who’d had so very little for so long, it had almost been nauseating. She would eat her fill, and Santino would say, more, cara mia? Would you like more? As if he had known that allowing her to indulge herself in the fruits of his world under the Table would curse her to stay, forever.

And here she was. Stuck. Blissfully, dreadfully, wretchedly, sickeningly and wonderfully stuck.

“But no,” he continues, pulling back and tilting her chin up with his fingers. “Business needs to be taken care of before I can relax.”

Euphemia releases a breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding. It’s not an unexpected response, but she won’t kick herself for trying—not considering the circumstances, considering what he is leaving to do. In anything else, she might have been too proud to say please.

Her fiancé plants a kiss on both of her cheeks. “Drink your coffee,” he commands, his voice light as he grabs his phone and tucks it into his pocket, heading for the door. “What time is the engagement party?”

“Seven,” Euphie replies tiredly. She does as he bids like it’s second nature to her now, taking a drink of the coffee. “Be back by five, Santi.”

His hand is on the handle to the door outside. She thinks she might be sick. He says, “Wear the red dress I like.”

“Maybe. If you behave.”

Santino flashes her a grin from the doorway. She wonders if anyone else is comfortable ordering him around, or if she’s just so accustomed to living with an apex predator that she’s become numb to his dangers.

“Yes, cara mia,” he purrs. “Anything you say.”

Except that isn’t true, she thinks, watching him open the door and greet Ares, who has been waiting—lurking, in the hall to the elevator, like the shadows cut across the floor from the chandelier lights. There is a tiny moment where their eyes meet over Santino’s shoulder, and Euphemia hopes that she might see pity; she’s miserable, after all, knowing that Santino is walking into a slaughterhouse.

As ever, Ares is unreadable. There is only the tiny, almost imperceptible quirk of the corner of her mouth, and then door is closed and Euphemia is alone. And there is a tiny, vicious part of her that says, we ought to get used to being alone. We never should have forgotten it in the first place.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Santino is late, and when he shows up, he doesn’t say whether things went well or not.

They must have gone well enough, because he’s alive and in one piece and in a fine enough mood. But that is the problem—his mood is fine. He arrives at his own engagement party in a fine mood, and Euphemia can’t decide what’s more irritating: that he’s late, that he won’t tell her how it went, or that he can’t fake being delighted for a few hours.

“Ah, there’s your man,” Winston says, a smile lifting his expression. The older man had been keeping her company as the hour ticked by and she had to say hello and hi and thank you to every guest attending at Santino’s behest—yet another frustrating detail, Euphemia mentally notes, that he’d bothered all of these folks to show up and didn’t have the decency to arrive on time himself. She’s very certain that Winston did not intend to stay as long as he has, and for that, she feels poorly.

But she’s too irritated to express it properly. “Is that one mine?” Euphie asks lightly, turning her gaze away from Santino striding into the room and getting stopped by guests on his way to her. She twists her untouched champagne flute in her fingers, fixing her gaze back on Winston. “No man of mine would come late to his own party. Not if he wanted to walk out in one piece.”

Winston laughs at her words and gives her hand a pat. “You are a woman after my own heart, Euphemia Volpe.”

“I’ll be accepting applications for the position of my husband shortly, I think.”

She feels Santino’s hand on her waist just before he leans into kiss her cheek; the movement is so quick that she doesn’t have the time to properly avoid his affection, and he almost certainly does that on purpose.

“I am so glad you could come, Winston!” Santino announces, reaching and shaking the older man’s hand. “And that you got to spend some time with my own personal star.” He turns to her now, finally, reaching up to take her face in his hands. “Mi dispiace, Euphie, I did try to hurry.”

She tilts her head a little, lifting her chin out of his grasp. “Don’t apologize to me,” Euphemia replies. “Winston is the one you kept waiting.”

Santino grins. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes—or rather, it doesn’t look like the kind of grin that you make when you’re happy. Nothing about him screams happy, future wedded-bliss. Everything looks strained, like someone’s pissed him off and he’s just had to do something about it.

He looks at Winston, dropping his hands. “I’m sorry, truly.”

The man waves his hand, as though it isn’t a big deal—but it is, Euphie knows, at the very least to her; Winston has always treated her kindly, regardless of whose arm she was on-and he puts a hand on Santino’s shoulder. “I only came to say congratulations and see this fine lady, and then I was going to be off. So—congratulations...” His gaze turns to Euphemia. “Miss Volpe.” He kisses both of her cheeks. “Here I have seen you. And I will be on my way.”

Euphie says, “Thank you for coming, Winston. You did not need to wait around for this idiot.”

“I never say no to time with a beautiful lady,” he admonishes, making to leave. “Santino just happens to be here.”

“I will walk you out,” Santino declares. He’s only just arrived, and he smells a little bit like smoke, and he’s carrying with him a strange, frantic energy; but before Euphemia can think to say anything, he’s kissing her—hard, and a little desperate, and she can feel an eerie tremble in his hands before he pulls away and takes her drink out of her hand and swallows the entire thing in one go.

And then he’s off. Walking away with Winston, who looks calm and unbothered by the erratic display (though Winston always looks that way, so it’s no good gauge for Euphemia to tell when something is off). But something is off. As they’re walking, Santino is talking to Winston with a frenetic urgency that translates only in ways she can recognize. To the outside eye, her fiancé is composed, and perhaps a little stressed, his strides collected and tight and his lopsided grin to sharp to be pleasant.

His kiss tastes of ash. She can feel it in her mouth, still, gunpowder and smoke lingering in the palette, but she will not bring herself to think about where it came from.

By the time Santino returns from “walking Winston out”—which probably means talking to Winston about something he doesn’t want Euphie to hear—she has decided to bring it up. She doesn’t know how, yet, but she’s going to do it.

He slides his arms around her as she visits with some of their friends, burying his face into the crook of her neck, like he just can’t stand not to be touching for a second longer. The conversation carries on blithely without her; Euphie reaches up and cradles the side of Santino’s face with her hand, fingers brushing the dark, honeyed curls at his temple. She’s decided to be sweet about it.

“You seem stressed,” she murmurs.

“Not stressed,” Santino replies, speaking the words into her neck. He sways a little, turning her in his arms and pulling her against him so that he can sway her with him. The movements are leisurely in comparison to the energy that he’s carrying; pushing and pulling with the lull of the delicate music playing overhead. It should be a dream, this engagement party. It’s all golden light and warmth billowing from an ornate fireplace, the people that she cares the most about celebrating her and Santino’s love.

Euphemia says, “You smell like smoke.”

It’s not a question, and Santino knows it. He holds one of her hands in his and presses their foreheads together.

“You are so beautiful, Euphie,” he sighs dreamily. He kisses her again—less urgent this time—and she knows what it means: it’s better if she doesn’t ask. She’s going to be a D’Antonio, which means that problems get taken care of for her, and she doesn’t have to worry about following up.

Still, while the warmth of his kiss is distracting and lovely, and the feel of his hands pressing into the base of her spine where the plunging back of the red silk dress he likes the best on her makes her skin break out in delighted goosebumps, she cannot help but think, I should know. I have a right to know what’s going on.

“Santi,” she begins, lower her voice even more, “if something has happened—”

“Nothing has happened,” Santino insists, turning her slowly before drawing her back against him. “Mia piccola volpe, stop fussing. I promised you, didn’t I?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Yes,” she replies after a minute, “you did.” But if something has happened, she wants to say, and can’t bring herself to because Santino is kissing her again, pleased with her concise and obedient answer; he kisses her again and again, between breaths, funneling all of his frenzied energy into her instead. He gives it to her to hold, but won’t tell her where it’s come from or why it’s there. Just shoves it into her for safekeeping.

People cat-call and holler and whoop and laugh, and he grins against her mouth, lifting her up against him playfully—just far enough off the ground that she loops her arms around his neck to steady herself, unable to focus on how frustrating it is to be worried, and not know why.

“Ti amo,” Santino rumbles against her collarbone, kissing there reverently. “What do you think about leaving, hm? Sneak out of our own engagement party early, so I can take you home and enjoy you properly?”

It sounds too good, to go home. It sounds too good, because just that morning, she was begging him not to leave.

“I don’t know,” she ventures, smoothing her hand absently over the lapel of his suit jacket once he’s set her back down. “I don’t know, Santi, I...”

Her voice trails off. Ares is by the door. Once, the woman had been a comfort to her; now, she’s a reminder of this traitorous thing Santino has done, this thing that sits between them but only he can see and touch and feel, and Euphie just has to suffer the consequences of it one way or another.

“Come on, cara mia,” he coaxes, drawing her eyes back to him, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger. “We can do whatever you want.”

There must be something he isn’t telling me, she thinks. Something that’s blown his pupils wide until the black at them is eating away at the gorgeous jade green of his irises. Something dreadful, that he knows she’ll hate. That she’ll fuss about.

The question sits there, just on the tip of her tongue. What about Wick? she wants to ask. But she already knows that he won’t tell her, and she is learning quickly not to ask.

Ignorance is bliss, anyway.

#santino d'antonio x oc #john wick fic #spilled ink #santino d'antonio/oc #f: where there is no temptation there is no glory #c: euphemia volpe #santino d'antonio #i still feel exceptionally shy about this but dkjhfdkf #thank u thank u thank u everyone who has given me love!!!!#x: senza tentazioni senza onore

30 notes · View notes

ladyhindsight · 2 years

Text

A big battle is coming up. It doesn’t feel like it. Jace is catching up but doesn’t really catch up on anything. A lot of dumb stuff is being said and done.

This chapter is here to punch you in the face with the fact that Jace, indeed, is left-handed. Hope you didn’t forget that fun tidbit! Also I’m pretty sure every “--and” could be replaced with something better.

→ “Eventually, cursing, he opened his eyes and then, in a fit of desperate anger, his fist. The wind picked up the threat and carried it away...”

This doesn’t really need to be a parenthetical clause. It’s not essential to the sentence and could be removed, sure, but it could be integrated just as well.

No comma, same subject. No filtering, this realization is irrelevant.

There’s four em dashes in four consecutive sentences. How about mixing it up without constantly pausing?

“Jace’s stomach tightened; the runes looked like the ones that had been carved around Ithuriel’s feet. Could Valentine have done this? Could these be his things? Was this his hideaway Jace had never visited or known about?

Jace slid off the sill, landing in a dry patch of grass just as a shadow passed across the face of the moon.”

Hugo didn’t make appearance in City of Ashes, but the three time he was mentioned, it was like this:

“Clary heard a voice exclaim in surprise. For a moment her heart contracted as she thought of Hodge, who had all but lived in this room. Hodge, with his gravelly voice, and Hugin, the raven who was his almost constant companion—and who had, at Hodge’s orders, nearly ripped out her eyes.” (chp. 3 “The Inquisitor”)

and

“He glanced up—he still half-expected to see Hugo flying among the wooden rafters in his slow, thoughtful circles. The raven had always liked it up there between the rafters and the arched stone ceiling. At the time Jace had thought the bird liked to dig his claws into the soft wood; no he realized the rafters had lent him an excellent vantage point for spying.” (chp. 15 “The Serpent’s Tooth”)

and

“She glared at him, reminding him for a moment of nothing more than Hugo, Hodge’s black raven.” (chp. 16 “A Stone of the Heart”)

If it wasn’t that important to remind of Hugo’s backstory then, why would this exposition (highlighted part) be necessary now?

Then we jump back to Clary and Friends.

It’s entirely nonsense that Clary’s repulsion at the idea that she has indeed kissed her brother is completely based on the fact that Jace felt right and Sebastian felt wrong. Otherwise it wouldn’t have mattered.

IT’S PATRICK PENHALLOW’S STELE! Interesting that there is no comma after a nonessential clause...

Last time Meliorn’s eyes were both [vine or moss green] and [jade green]. It’s not surprising Clary doesn’t immediately recognize him because last time she barely remembered his name [x] & [x]. Meliorn’s hair was also previously described as falling “in blue-black sheets” around his face. His eye color is changes but his hair stays as sheets. Cool.

What the hell does it matter whether Magnus smiles at Clary or not, it’s such an odd thing to focus on. And somewhat egoistic. How come he doesn’t smile at me? His face could be completely neutral or confused or mesmerized for all we know. Tell me something he does instead of what he doesn’t do.

When a preposition links two things together within a sentence, there’s no comma.

→ “when she turned back, Magnus was looking at her, his mouth set in a crooked line. “It’s fine,” he said, answering whatever question Luke had just asked him.”

oBvIoUsLy. If it’s obvious, you don’t need to say it’s obvious.

This sentence is completely out of place here. I’d remove it altogether.

→ “At first he thought he’d somehow found his way outside again and that the stars were visible overhead in all their glittering glory. The witchlight had picked out dozens of sparkling deposits of mica...”

There’s absolutely nothing complicated here. You can have friends that are girls. You don’t have to modify your behavior on Isabelle’s moods. The only complicated thing here is my inability to understand why none of the girls like each other.

The standard set in the narrative is that the only way Alec can make Magnus take him seriously is to admit to their relationship to Maryse and Robert. Similarly before Magnus complained how Alec hadn’t even told his parents about him. What does Isabelle know anything about this?

In order for Magnus to take Alec seriously (according to Isabelle), Alec needs to come out to their parents and tell them about the relationship. How fucked up is that? How is this not the narrative pushing Alec to come out in order to be taken seriously??

What does Isabelle have against Maia? Is she jealous of Maia because Maia and Simon are friends and like each other as people?

This girl on girl hate is baseless and ridiculous. No wonder doesn’t know how to write male/female friendships when all of them are apparently expected to have some romantic aspect to them.

Simon and Clary → tried dating Kit and Livvy → kissed Simon and Maia → casually dated Emma and Julian → best friends but really in love

We’ve been over this scene for many times over but it has to be said. This should’ve been the point of view of Alec or Magnus. This shouldn’t have been played for laughs. It’s just exhausting how little thought went into this.

The arguments presented in this series are always completely backwards. The core issue here being choice. It is completely different to choose to fight the good fight than offer someone to be hurt without their own volition. If Raphael wanted Simon to have the same opportunity to choose, he should have gone straight to Simon instead of demanding it from the people close to Simon. This is just pompous posturing with ethics.

And since when does Raphael speak for all the vampires in the world? Surely there are clans all over the world who don’t give two shits about what Raphael Santiago from New York thinks.

Then back to Jace.

The same problem here with Jace like previously Isabelle. It is so overstated that Clary looks exactly like Jocelyn and Isabelle doesn’t get the resemblance. The rest of the story likes to tell how Sebastian looks exactly like Valentine. Why doesn’t Jace see the resemblance?

It’s also funny that Jace considers Sebastian’s looks, how this coloring is better and how he looks less pale, instead of focusing on what they are talking about.

I don’t knooow. Jonathan is supposedly very popular name among the Nephilim. Jace knows that this isn’t the real Sebastian Verlac, obviously Sebastian’s real name is not Sebastian. What is there to be confused about? Jace, the intelligent boy he is, should be wondering why they share the same name.

If Sebastian’s final act before revealing his true nature was to kidnap Clary, why didn’t he just forcibly take her in the Accords Hall despite the witnesses? When Sebastian follows Clary and co. to Hodge, he then kills Hodge and reveals himself as a traitor.

He levels the other Nephilim down, so why didn’t he try to take Clary then? Simon injures him but Sebastian punches him in the ribs. Jace has gotten up from the ground and then threatens Sebastian with a blade. What does the biggest baddest baddie Sebastian do? Run away.

For the third (or fourth?) time, this makes no sense! Hodge should’ve been able to tell! It’s also incredibly dull waiting for Jace to catch up. He is just asking questions and not getting any closer to the truth before Sebastian eventually reveals it straight to him.

It’s as though Jace is on the verge of realizing something, and I’m rooting so hard for him to get it, and he still gets it wrong. Even now, as he has been revealed that Valentine had a son he knew nothing about, he doesn’t question whether anything he knows about his parentage is actually true.

→ “Clary glanced down and saw...” (filtering) → “Clary glanced down. There was the spidering black rune that crossed...”

The em dash before ‘but’ isolates the idea following the main clause, a trick that Clare uses as a pause a lot in her writing. However, the idea here is directly related to the main clause. Why isolate it?

Period.

It’s dumb that Raphael’s nonsense makes Simon step up for his people. Raphael’s nonsense is nonsense because the only reason he wants to kill Simon is because Simon is not a natural vampire, being able to walk in daylight. That’s it. He’s going to be danger to them. How exactly? Wouldn’t know because Raphael doesn’t do much to justify his ill omens.

And again, since when does Raphael speak for all the vampires in the world? Are you really saying that there isn’t any other clan anywhere else in the world that wouldn’t go, fuck this, we want that Council seat, fuck off Raphael, we will fight with the Nephilim.

#Clary Fray #Jace Herondale #Simon Lewis #Raphael Santiago #Magnus Bane #Meliorn #City of Glass #CoG Chapter 18

14 notes · View notes

phaticserpent · 3 years

Note

I have an interesting idea for an ultron fic, what if his significant other has the ability to control plant/organic life. How would they react if they first met eachother? I would see someone who can control plants not taking a liking to technology but over time they fall for eachother

Kind of like Snarkybadger’s character, but she’s a witch (it’s called The End of the World As We Know It, go check it out if you want! Really, go check it out, it’s so GOOD) but anyways.....

Every night, you would sneak out of your dormitory to visit a nearby park. It was risky but you enjoyed the company of nature, without the bustling of busy people. You found a quiet spot underneath a streetlight, with rich soil and grass. You dug your hands into the soil and pulled until a few buds of flowers popped out.

“Hello.” You smiled at the tiny plants and popped out a few four-leaf clovers.

“Ever think of taking on landscaping?” A new voice startled your concentration. You quickly stood up to face the person......in this case, thing. Judging from the sensation of the ground, they weren’t human, everything was cold and blank.

“Who are you?” You called. The figure took a step forward and you took a small step backwards. The figure then paused to your reaction.

“Please, I have no intentions of harming you.” A deep voice rumbled. You couldn’t tell if he was sincere or not, but your defense faltered. “I just want to talk.”

“We are talking.” The response slipped from your mouth and you cursed at your lack of filter. The figure chuckled.

"We both want one thing, to mend this world."

"I don't know what you're talking about." You dismissed.

"I can help you."

"Thanks, but I don't need your help."

“Please.” The figure urged. “I....I want to undo the damage I’ve done to this world.” You tilted your head as he pulled back his hood, revealing a metal figure with familiar haunting red eyes.

“You’re.....you’re Ultron!” You gasped as your hand flew to your mouth. Despite not being able to see his entire frame, you could see the hint of remorse shown in his optics. “I don’t understand. You tried to end this world and now you want to mend it?”

“That’s not what I was doing. I saw the atrocities committed by humanity, I lost focus on my mission....I only wanted what was best.” Ultron’s shoulders slumped. “Please, help me and I can help you.” You stood there, contemplating everything as a heavy burden crossed onto your mind. What if he was tricking you into joining him? I don’t want to be responsible for the end of the world.

“I have some doubts before confirming.” You noted. “How do I know you’re not lying to me?”

“If I could hand you every intention and thought I have, I would. I am not lying to you, but you’re just going to have to trust me.”

“Okay. But I have every right to leave.”

“Of course.” And that’s how you two met. You never left Ultron, but you found that it took some time to adjust to his technological advances. You traced his metal plating, rethinking of the memories you share with him. It was peculiar, that a robot would find beauty in nature like you.

"Hey Ultron." You spoke softly, his eyes turned to you as he closed the book he was reading. "Look." Vines and leaves intertwined on your arm and hand to form a massive flower.

"Woah! That's beautiful." He smiled as he cupped your hand. You gently plucked it from its stem and handed it to you. "For me?"

"Always." You laughed. You watched as he held the flower tenderly and he smiled at you. "It's a special flower, like you." Ultron leaned in for a kiss and you smiled as you pulled him in. You shared information on the flower as he got the proper soil and care for it. You smiled to yourself while you watched Ultron work, he had a line of pots of all the flowers you've given him and they were all in order.

#ultron #ultron is hot #ultron x reader #age of ultron #avengers ultron #phaticserpentfanfic #phaticserpent

130 notes · View notes

greyswritingagain-ohhell · 3 years

Text

𝙾𝚑, 𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚕𝚢 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛

*SCREAMING IN INSANITY*

Romania Sanders [Roman MtF] x Virgil Sanders

Word: 1,168

TW: Cursing, TikTok (i guess?). Msg if there is more.

"God, he’s pretty…” Romania can only coo an arbitrary swoon as the screen flashed in front of her, porcelain skin glimmering with the added shinning filter.

On the diamond glass screen, a boy of 26. His pitch hair was tucked neatly into a wig, synthetic brown locks tousled boyishly over his handsome features. A grin adorning his lips as the silver of the moon and the brown of the oak were hidden behind two artificial autumn irises. A black button up had fit like a glove over his upper body, clinging to his torso, stretching over his chest like a godforsaken daydream. A black leather cord stretched around his neck, the ring hanging from it standing out like a gem against his skin.

She sighed heavily, a raging forest fire exploding through her radioactive heart. The hail of pastel candy hearts and withering ruby red rose petals overtook the race of her common sense, one in the name of love, the other standing in logic’s title. Her measly excuses of pursuits for him are inept and almost pitiful, the fabric of her conscience merely tulle and lace as it slowly though surely pushed her off the marble balcony of rationality. She’s helpless. She’s helpless for him and him only.

Oh, to love a man living in a social platform on your phone screen.

It started in Musical.ly. Far-fetched for her, she knew. In all fairness, really, call it boredom, call it that little notorious little sickness called ‘curiosity’, she didn’t know what she signed up for. After all, her stretched millennia of cultivating a persona of stretching olive green vines and swords forged from the blood of the unfortunate souls who bit the dust of the Bubonic Plague in 1625 London wasn’t for nothing. Arbitrary and luck had been loyally stuck to her side ever since she was born. She’d been skipping around through hell fires and black holes as if it was a playground of sorts.

She’s been pretending the shadows were like sunlight for all her 25 years.

Oh, happily ever after… what do you know? What do you know? Oh… skip to the ending… who’d like to know? I’d like to know, author of the moment, can you tell me? Do I end up, do I end up happy?

Does she? A hopeless romantic, a teenage girl in senior year, living the life Heather Chandler The All Mighty would envy. Top of her classes, class president, and of course, desired by men and women alike. Perfect, even. Little Miss Perfect of Westerberg high, yet here she is, squealing over a boy living in her phone screen. Pathetic, as one would call it. But really, who cared in this modern society? She’s no better than most so why be ashamed of it? And school was just scratching the surface at her popularity. Come an app with a glitched T as an icon.

TikTok.

She’ll admit, the site itself was... vulgar and... messy, as one would say. Not anything like, say, Twitter, but it's not perfect. Nothing was, really. It was the cruel, sharp reality she had faced merely 3 years ago. You have no obligation to be perfect. Nor does anyone else. You’re not perfect for society, you’re not perfect for your loved ones, you’re not perfect for yourself. Because “perfect” is a myth. There is only “good” and “better”. Romania can only afford good for now, what, with the 16K followers. Cosplay was an art she’s been mastering for, oh, maybe 4 years now. And the only person she’s been looking up to now? User Dark_Web_404. Again, the name was a stretch, but oh well. It's not about the appearance, after all. His name was Virgil.

Oh, Virgil. Little did she know how much he adored her right back.

Maybe worse? Maybe just as much? Either way, he did.

Who would’ve thought, right? Though this was his job. Theatrics has been in the family for years, a forbidden reputation untouched, unbroken. And oh, there was many categories to choose from for his generation. And him? He chose cosplay. Pizzazz and extravagance were not his area of diligent expertise. No glitter bombs, no flying lions, no lost pirate cities to discover, no. Shimmer and glory were the dream but passion and acceptance was his. Pretending to be something you’re not is a pleasure one can yank from his cold, dead hands.

And this Romania person… well, she was truly your typical diamond in the rough, isn’t she? Miss_Scarlette_Letter. That lass had stolen his heart as fast as a sunset went by. With a snap of her lightly tanned fingers had her sweet velvet ensemble flashed into an unnaturally dark display. She had a leather harness pulled over her front, under the tight-fitting turtleneck. A pair of shiny leather leggings clung to her legs like a second skin, a harness holding a knife on her thigh only ever so merciless. Forgive him for the lack of modesty, he’s ashamed of it too. Really though, she was an untouchable rose to him. More on his anxiety, damn you.

Really, it was tastefully bitter how that little purple monster he called Anxiety crawled up his back, almost tauntingly like a spider. Every step pushing deeper than a bullet of intricately chosen words

So come that one fateful word. A single Calibre “Hi” on TikTok’s chat feature. This was harder than he thought.

Dark_Web_404: Hi.

Dark_Web_404: I know this is out of the blue but I’ve been your mutual for quite some time and watching your work has been an honour.

Dark_Web_404: But through this endeavor, I realize one thing.

Dark_Web_404: You’d be perfect for my friend’s cosplay magazine. Can I interest you in it?

He felt like he just climbed Mount Everest. He felt like the weight of the world just crashed against his already creaking shoulders as the wifi deemed the text presentable and let it go miles away into another device.

Fuck, this might’ve been a mistake.

Only it wasn’t. It really fucking wasn’t. In fact, he changed a life that night.

One particular life that lived under her own little self inflicted burdens. One that faked and cried her way to the top, one, while unsuspecting of it, that was finally, god, finally, rewarded something unknowingly well deserved.

It took her a hot moment of comprehension before reality’s surprisingly warm palm took hold of her flushed cerise cheek, holding it suspiciously gently against its own track record. This can’t be real, right? It can’t possibly be happening. It was simply too impossible for her luck to let slide. Yet... there it was. Clear as day. Shining in onyx black letters on her luminous screen, 6 fateful letters taking her by the neck as her mind melted almost hypnotizingly. Was that even a word?

This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this cannot be happening.

Oh, but it’s fucking happening.

“Wait... mutuals?”

#grey writes #prinxiety fic #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #roman x virgil #anxiety sanders #creativity sanders #thomas sanders #sander sides #tw cursing #tw tiktok #ts virgil #ts roman #roman ts #virgil ts

22 notes · View notes

sugargliderowl · 4 years

Text

Thoughts About Remus' Playlist

So as usual, this is my first reaction/rant/analysis about the playlist! This time, it’s Remus’ Playlist. I think it’s going to be cursed. But a... good cursed, if that’s a thing. As usual, feel free to add on to this! It’s good to share thoughts and talk about meanings, even making predictions about the future!

General Overview Before Listening: I love Yugen_sama ‘s artwork; her style makes me happy! Also, Remus doing that? TOTALLY HIM. Just looking at the choice of songs does mirror Roman’s playlist in a way with their own anthems, Tenacious D, maybe an etc. We’ll have to see on that. His explanation with all the emojis is definitely him, and I think that’s all I can say. Just look at it.

Reminder: Before we go on, a little reminder for your safety. The songs can be quite... a handful. If you know about Remus’ personality and interests but still wanna read the overall analysis, go to the TL:DR at the way bottom without reading the specific song analysis. If you remember the TW from the video, that really applies here. Stay safe.

Song Analysis:

This Devil’s Workday: Genius told me that this is about a criminal going mad. Yeah. The blazing trumpets and the really radio-like voice in the song is kinda creepy, but that goes with Remus as intrusive thoughts! He’s very obtrusive, and he’s everywhere without any filter. It’s a good intro to his character. The poor sack of puppies in this song goes back to his theme’s lyric, “your pet dog stuffed into a sausage” Also, the repetition of “All the people that you know / Floating on the river are logs” is like what he does to Thomas (repetitively reminding him about the bad things). The “Oh I am my own da[ng] God” goes along with all the biblical references he makes in his theme (and just the dark sides in general). All in all, this song/introduction just is him screeching, “HI, I’M YOUR INTRUSIVE THOUGHT WITHOUT THE UGH.”

Forbidden Fruit (the Duke’s Theme): If you are a Fander, you definitely are singing/screaming this on top of your lungs as you listen to this. I did that, and I love that. This song itself has a lot of good analysis online, so check them out! It was the intro song of the Duke with all his motives, thoughts, and everything beyond that, so it’s definitely on here. Also, it mirrors A Gay Disney Prince from Roman’s playlist by both being their own “I want” songs as well as their character role songs. The Creativitwins strike here once.

Double Team: Tenacious D! The Creativitwins strike here again! Wonderboy was on Roman’s playlist, which is also a Tenacious D song, so you can definitely say there are some mirroring going on here (also! YES the artist choice seems like a definite factor in choosing these songs). So this song is about having sex. Okay. And having a threesome. Okay, Remus. This song, even though it’s from the same artist as Roman, has a really different theme. If the Tenacious D selection is about the twins, would this mean that Roman wants them to be a really good team who, even though are opposites, can get along, while Remus wants them both to lose the filter and have fun? Overall, it could mean that the twins both want to get along, just in different ways which contradict one another. I’m not going into the lyric details because oof.

Man: I just noticed that Yeah Yeah Yeahs was on Patton’s and Virgil’s playlists. On Remus? I didn’t really expect that, but that’s a pleasant surprise. This song is really interesting because it’s not like the other two. This song, for me, is about someone who is obsessed with a man who would make her do anything, and she’s just hooking up with him or something. Also, the whole, “You're all gonna burn in hell / I said we're all gonna burn in hell” goes back to the biblical references that the Dark Sides make as well as the lyric of “Cause your head's not in the gutter, pal / It's in Hell.” Who is the man? Thomas, probably. This probably directs back to Remus convincing Thomas to drop the filter.

Freeee: “When man becomes possessor of the knowledge of himself, he becomes the master of his environment“ in the beginning of the song is Remus telling Thomas to learn about himself by possibly accepting Remus. The lyrics “One day they hate you / Next day they love you / I'm still yellin' "F[*]ck 'em" / I could never trust—” show how Remus doesn’t trust the society like Janus, and that’s just one of the main core of the dark sides. They don’t trust people that much. This does include Virgil since he is anxiety, so he can’t trust everything immediately. They all have different ways of showing the distrust. For Remus, it’s the layback, “frick it” attitude. “I don’t feel pain anymore” and “nothin’ hurts me anymore” seems to be a potential for Remus angst of being rejected from all the sides and being the “Evil Twin”. Does he care or not care? No one knows yet.

In The Room Where You Sleep: Sleep from the shorts and Virgil will both react really strongly to this song. Why? “There's something in the shadows / In the corner of your room / A dark heart is beating / And waiting for you” (Telltale Heart reference-). Yeah. Remus listening to this would go back to that end card of Remus being creepy (and eating deodorant). Also, it possibly demonstrates Virgil and Remus’ relationship; Remus scared Virgil because of his thoughts and conjectures. The repetition of “You better run / You better hide” would also contribute to this thought, definitely. But then again, that melancholy keyboard... Why that montage at the end?

No Reason Boner: The song is very catchy and funny. But ASDKLFAJSD. This is definitely Remus’ type of song. That means that the sexual information is given control to Remus, and he probably uses the information for his jokes and intrusive thoughts. This song is what Remus' personality is: goofy yet NSFW. This intrusive thought without the ugh is probably lovable in this fandom because of that. Also, I don’t know why, but he can have that naivete even though he’s the one in charge of stuff like that. A nice juxtaposition right there.

I Told You I Was Freaky: This playlist is a RIDE. VERY MUCH A RIDE. Just all the sexual references in this song are just 1000% Remus. The song itself is quite whispery, and I guess that goes with Remus because he whispers the dirty stuff into Thomas’ ears. Well, whisper is very much an understatement. But I have to admit, if you listen to the lyrics, there are some very creative ways that people don’t think of. It’s usually a bed, a car, or in a club or party, but the lyrics are more than that. Then, we can assume how capable and skilled Remus is as the Dark Creativity; he’s as good as Roman, just in a different category.

Queef: If you don’t know what a queef is, I didn’t too. I just looked it up while I was typing this. Wait, isn’t Awkwafina in like a movie? This, like that last song, is basically him going off on his creativity and wordplay. In future episodes, I would love to see how Remus can go off with his wordplay because if Roman’s good at all the nicknames, and if Remus is basically him but darker, that means he’s good. Like really good. This song is also very, very catchy, and I kinda jammed through it because of the beat.

Manners: According to genius, this song is a "sexually-charged bad b[*]tch anthem on which Ashnikko displays her “IDGAF”-attitude.” Basically, the vine, “I’M A BAD B*TCH YOU CAN’T KILL ME” would equate to Remus as well as the meme, “Aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you want to go APESH*T-.” This might connect with his facade in a way because he seems to be naive and goofy at times (although NSFW), but when he drops it, he drops it fast, and he drops it hard. For example, his facade drops when he threatened Logan in DWIT, and his facade can be picked back up quickly, too. This song also has the element of “Frick this world” attitude, which Remus showed in the previous songs, and I stan him. As the fandom did an edit once, he would definitely wear acrylic nails if he wants to. A thing that I did notice though is the lyric “Fight or flight, I’m fighting for my life.” HI VIRGIL!

Ben Bernanke: I don’t know who Spencer is, but a big OOF for him. This song’s structure is really unique because I have no clue where it’s going, and it’s going with Remus’ personality of just randomness and intrusivity (is that a word?). ALSO, the continuing snakes in these songs. So is Spencer Janus in our context? If so, Remus is quite mad at Janus. I do see why though, after that last video implying that he’s the Evil Twin. “Do you think you can mock me, Spencer? / Do you think you can capture my essence / And throw it back at me with / Humor and rhetorical devices?” Gosh, Janus and Remus could have beef with one another. Also, that “Avada Kedavra” and “I’m... a furious magician” could definitely foreshadow something in the future. Additionally, “You're the architect of my dreams, Spencer / You plan them, and build them on blue paper / And hand them to me / And then I dream them, Spencer.”

Worldwide Torture: “I never come second place / Always been a big disgrace Smell the fear, I know you see / High achiever (Yeah, that's me!)” Welcome to Remus’ angst that we do not know much about yet. It’s great. It’s just like Roman, but in a more “I’m a disappointment” way! However, what’s quite different is that Remus is pissed. Beyond pissed about it, so he acts up unlike Roman who tries to mask it. Because he knows that he’s not regarded nicely with any of the sides, he wants to molest them and destroy the world, shown by the lyrics “A pure violation of God's great creation / It’s an infestation, it’s world domination.” I think this issue might pop up more frequently as more episodes come out, but for now, this is my assumption. Out of context, “The highest score” goes with that last episode, since Remus was present as the 80085.

Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na): I DIDN’T EXPECT THIS TO BE HERE, BUT I LOVE IT. THANK YOU. WOOOOOO YASSSS. This is actually one of the “pump me up” songs. First, “Eight legs to the wall, hit the gas, kill them all” is, obviously, a spider in the song, but in our context, we can also call it an octopus because Remus’ animal is an octopus, which has 8 tentacles (6 legs and 2 arms). Second, Remus is PISSED. He definitely has a punk aesthetic, shown by all the songs about flipping the world. The lyrics “I’d rather to to Hell / Than be in purgatory” definitely shows his determination of doing so since he’s saying that he won’t sit back. Somehow, for me it’s a growth from the beginning of “I don’t care” to “I actually care, and I’m fighting for that sh*t”. Pissed off Remus is scary Remus.

Trash People: Trash rat boiiiii. But this song is more than that. It’s showing that trash people aren’t really... trash people. “ Art is love and love is sloppy / Nothing is all pure / Nothing is all dirty” really shows the whole duality aspect in the entire series. Everything is gray. And that’s what Roman and Remus need to work on since they were divided by the black and white mentality. If Remus is okay with the gray morality, then who would be the one that he’s directing this song to? Roman. “Wearing a smile and a heart on my sleeve” though. I don’t get this lyric, but then again, tell me what you guys think! Does this mean that Remus is actually trying to be like this, or is he mocking Roman... The “no time to start over” also sounds really ominous.

Tranz: Gorillaz! Same album as Roma-OKAY THIS IS GETTING REAL. The last one with this artist had the lyrics, “I’m the lonely twin, the left hand... I don’t want this isolation.” People were screaming about this because, of course, this refers to Remus, but who knew that this was going to pop up again! That’s why I loved the artist connections during these analysis. Anyways, this goes back to the twin duality, but more of an angry tune. Take a look at this: “Do you look like me? Do you feel like me? / Do you turn into your effigy? / Do you dance like this forever?” Remember Roman’s whole monologue about Remus as someone he sees in the mirror with all the things he doesn’t want to be? This song is Remus asking Roman about that statement. Keep in mind that effigy is a sculpture that is usually used to mock or burn and is used as a negative connotation (thank you my English teacher). Remus doesn’t like that comparison at all, and I’m more concerned for him now than I was ever before after Janus saying that too.

Death as a Fetish: Wow, this is sad. “And I will never be good enough, quietly / And you will never be good enough, just like me.” If the twins have the time to reconcile, this is probably the first thing they need to help out on each other. Remus knows more about his twin than we all thought, and he knows that both of them have problems about that. On the other hand, this song, when I looked at some of the annotations on genius, has a sad connotation. Life is so short, and it ends, and you know for sure that death is there at all times with that repetition of “death as a fetish” after everything we find positive. For Remus, I guess he knows about this. He’s a deeper character than we credit him as.

Don’t Stop Me Now: TONIIIIGHT IM GONNA HAVE MYSEEEELF A GOOD TIIME- okay. This song is something I scream my lyrics to. I also didn’t expect this, but in a calmer manner (because I wasn’t calm when this was on), yes please. Basically, DON’T STOP ME NOWWW! I don’t know how to explain this in a deeper way. Yeah. I LOVE THIS SONG THOUGH!

Things I Don’t Remember: “Things I don't remember / How the hell'd we get here? / How the hell did we get here?” This can be interpreted in a lot of ways. It could either be how all the sides came to be, how Roman and Remus came to be by both having the role of creativity, or just where Thomas is mentally since they are all Thomas. I think that’s depending on how you want to go about it. The last point is the strongest for me because of this one phrase of “There were endless conversations / No one's mouths were really moving” maybe referring to the sides’ conversations around Thomas’ dilemmas. They sometimes only make it worse until someone has to kick in to change the viewpoint around, and that’s the reason why it feels like nobody’s mouths were really moving. Also, dressed up alligators? Okay, Remus.

F*ck It!: (Censored by yours truly with her notecard of “note your language”) The album name of taxidermy... fitting. Back to the song. “Why abstain? Why jump in line?” and “They say don't take the risk you're sure to fail... But what's the worst that could happen, end up in a coffin? / Isn't that where we're all headed anyway?” really highlights Remus’ spontaneity, which is a big factor in intrusive thoughts. This is back to the “frick this”, but more a “frick it I’m doing that sh*t, and I don’t care about the consequences” (going back to Na Na Na on that). Also, “'Cause it's easier to lie to yourself than to face reality” reminded me of Janus, but does this also apply to Remus in a way? Or does this apply to all the sides who are lying to themselves, especially Roman? Anyways, Remus’ spontaneity is something to kinda look up to at times. Not... not all the time.

fReAkY 4 Life: Dorian Electra... the one behind Flamboyant from ROMAN’S PLAYLIST! The Creativitwins music solidarity number I-forgot-to-count. To the lyrics! “They just don't understand me / I'm not like them, I'm freaky” does go to all the other sides and Thomas because Remus really stands out from all the other sides. Silly yet NSFW, weird, and very new. Also, he seems to want some attention from all the sides with “ I like to be in the spotlight / Step on the scene ’cause it feels right / I freakin' scream, baby, all night / I do it, I do it, do it all the time,” but is it a distraction or legitimate attention? I love how this song is the finale because this song is the fireworks that says Remus. All the lyrics really match him, and especially with the “I hear what they call me / I hear what they say / I'm not very cool, yeah / But I'll never change,” it cements how Remus thinks.

TL:DR:

Remus is a character deeper than we already know him as. There are a lot of him that hasn’t been introduced to us since he’s pretty new. He has been on for about 2-3 episodes (only 1 with his full participation), and he never really interacted with Roman nor Janus, both who has a history with our little gremlin. Yes, Remus is the Duke of Dark Creativity and intrusive thoughts; there are so many references that are R-rated in this playlist, but in the end, he is another side. He more than the trash boi who gleefully talks about sensitive topics.

He still has a connection with Roman with all the overlaps in their insecurities and artists, and he’s probably the one who’s more knowledgeable about their relationship as a twin. He could even want to reconcile with his twin, but in a way that Roman would not approve. That doesn’t mean that Remus is kinda mad at Roman. A fun house mirror.

Next, He doesn’t want to change himself in the sake of others although he knows that the others hate him for being him, and he’s actively going against it, not caring about the consequences. That’s what drives him to be really good at his job. He’s as good as Roman on doing his job. Along with that, he wants Thomas to embrace him as one of the sides and come over to the dark side of creativity. It’s one of Remus’ biggest dreams: acceptance. I want to see how this plays out with him and especially him.

Finally, he’s pissed. Very pissed. After all the berating at his back from all the other sides, including Janus, he’s PISSED. He’s ready to throw hands and wreck the world. I’m starting to be worried for how his character would develop. If he goes apesh*t, I’m getting popcorn and coke. Maybe drink every time we see him go feral. Eat a popcorn every time someone is disgusted by Remus.

Overall, I love him more than I ever did because of this playlist since music is the window to the soul. It’s like knowing a person and learning about them. Also, by doing this, it really develops the character and lets the people look inside the character’s deepest thoughts and desires. I don’t know if there will be any additions to these, but if not, I really want to thank the entire group who made this happen! I found some songs that I really love now, and it’s such a good way for the fanders to have fun! (also, the content inspired from this is going to be very interesting)(the ANGST)

Thanks for reading if you came til here, and feel free to add on to this! I would love to see how you guys think about this playlist!

#sanders sides #thoughts #rambles #thomas sanders #side tracks #remus sanders #analysis #dukey #song analysis #songs #there are some bops here #and i love doing these analysis #lyric analysis #lyrics #sanders sides analysis #roman sanders #creativitwins #janus sanders

277 notes · View notes

raindropsduringthesunset · 3 years

Text

Forests and Fae (That Fateful Day) (TSS Fae AU)

Ao3 ~~~ Wattpad

First Part, Last Part, Next Part

Characters: Virgil, Janus, Patton, Remus, Roman, Logan, Original background character(s) (mentioned)

Relationships: LAMPDR (Platonic), Eventual LAMPDR (Romantic)

TW: neglect, mention of implied non-consensual kissing, blood, non-consensual touching (non-sexual),

CW: cursing, panic, Janus (sympathetic), Remus (sympathetic, Patton (sympathetic), nose bleeds, injury, dehumanization of a nonhuman (it/it's)

Enjoy!

~~~

The world is such a strange place.; strange and violent- at least from Virgil’s experience. He wasn’t mad about it honestly. At least He couldn’t say he was surprised. After all, being born in a small town filled to just melt into the touch and let it consume him. He honestly had every reason to; nothing was stopping him from just accepting his fate in this moment. Well, nothing except the boiling anxiety that was making his stomach tumble in somersaults every second he stood still.

Virgil was always under fire from something for something. His hair was always too long, his face always dusty, and his clothes were always dirty, his eyes were weird. He found that he couldn’t really complain- most of the town didn’t really have much going for them so they needed something to pick on. It’s also not every day you meet someone with purple eyes.

Magic of course wasn’t unheard of either. Gods know that mortals tend to blame everything that inconveniences or scares them on magic. It was raining when you had to walk to work? Magic. The room was a little darker than you remember it being last? Magic. Someone’s eyes are purple? Magic.

Virgil couldn’t say he was surprised once he realized that the town was very very against magic use- despite it being awfully convenient from what he’d read in spare newspapers that would be left by teens visiting from the next town over.

Man Miraculously Healed By Local Sorcerer Physician, read a headline. Wizard Scholars Put Out Fire At Museum, another had said.

Sometimes though he understood. Headlines of warlocks starting fires and enchanters cursing whole bloodlines and getting arrested made him understand.

What he didn’t understand was why he was feared. He didn't practice magic. He wasn't born with magic. His eyes were just purple because they were like that. He couldn't change that.

Okay maybe he felt like he was over exaggerating their distaste for him, at least at first, but the nail in the coffin for the town was when one of the boys happened to think he was hot, and happened to kiss him in the middle of the street, and happened to use the excuse that he was enchanted by Virgil as to not get kicked out. Word spreads quickly in small spaces, the incident quickly making Virgil the talk of the town.

Cursed they had called him. Disgusting, Corrupting, Evil. Virgil had to go. Half the town was out for his head and he was not about to become a statistic.

Not a week after the incident Virgil had decided. Not even bothering to pack, Virgil ran for it and never looked back.

Timeskip

Branches and thorn bushes scratched at his legs as he ran through the forest, his heart pounding in his ears. His feet hurt from the pebbles and stickers poking roughly at his soles, but he couldn’t slow down and risk getting caught. He really didn’t want to learn what the town did to runaways.

A twig snapped loudly under his feet making him stumble forward. Despite hoping he wouldn’t trip, he ended up falling face first into a pile of twigs and pebbles. Virgil groaned and pushed himself up, wiping the blood that was now dripping from his nose.

Panting heavily, he turned and looked back between the trees. No one. Good. Virgil let out a shaky breath and leaned over on his knees, waiting for his nose to stop bleeding. The ground was hard and rocky, leaving small dents in his knees and his hands.

A small crack to his left caught his attention, his eyes snapping to a tall figure halfway hidden behind a tree. Oh fuck. Cringing slightly at the taste of copper, Virgil pushed himself up and onto his feet. He glanced around, wanting to kick himself when he noticed the small border of mushrooms and flowers behind him.

“Well, well, well,” The figure sneered, sounding closer than it appeared, “What business does a mortal have doing in my forest?” Virgil was frozen in place, his knees locking. The figure finally stepped into the light.

Long, straight black hair flowed down to the person's waist and seemed to glimmer from the sunlight. It wore a long golden cloak over a warlock cloak. What really caught Virgil's eye was the person's face which was plated with shimmering scales on one side, it's eyes glimmering golden with it's pupils sharpened.

Wait. The eyes. Oh. Oh fuck this was a fucking fae.

As if that wasn't already obvious from the whole… thing the fae has going on.

Virgil gulped as his hands began to shake. He decidedly ignored the overshadowing fact that he also seemed to think the fae was very attractive. But of course he did- fae and their fucking rules and fancy flair making Virgil swoon for no reason.

“Are you lost, little one?” The fae strode closer, it’s cloak drifting gently above the grass, avoiding getting snagged on scattered twigs. It felt like thorny invisible vines had tied their way around Virgil’s ankles.

He had run right into a hunters trap.

His eyes shot around, looking for the fastest way out. He paused, breath hitching while looking at a nearby tree. Moss had grown only around the bottom of the tree, wrapped firmly all the way around like a ring. No sense of direction. He was in a fae garden- very deep in a fae garden may he add. Just wonderful. This was by far the worst situation he had ever gotten himself into.

Blood dripped down his lip and onto his shirt, the taste invading his mouth and probably dying his teeth red. The fae frowned slightly at the blood, raising an eyebrow and glancing down at the stones below Virgil.

“You fell.” Yeah, that's fucking obvious. The faery smirked, sending a sharp shiver down Virgil's spine.

“You’re remarkably snarky for the predicament you're in darling.” Virgil blushed, though he couldn't tell if it was from the embarrassment from his lack of filter or the pet name.

“You look awfully red, do you like when I call you darling?” It moved closer, “Would you like me to clean your face for you, darling?” Virgil could've sworn the word was enchanted. He found himself leaning toward the fae, the realization of his own movement causing him to flinch back, stumbling slightly. The fae pursed it’s lips, furrowing it’s brow before gliding forward and gently taking Virgil’s head in his hands.

“Oh little one,” the fae wiped away the blood from Virgil’s face, “you must relax.” Virgil stood frozen in front of the fae. He wanted to run, he wanted to kick and fight and scream and just get away. Fear- and maybe something else in the raging dumpster fire of emotions he was feeling- shot through every nerve in his body. Blush rushed up his neck, coloring him pink from his shoulders to the tips of his ears. A cough from a few feet away caught the two’s attention, making the fae’s head snap to the side.

“What’ve you got here J?” A voice perked up, a series of steps quickly following as Virgil stood helpless still in the fae’s grasp. The fae- apparently named J- sighed and rolled his eyes before reluctantly passing Virgil to the other.

“I was having my fun Pat, why did you have to come?”

“I felt something in the bond; do you expect me to just ignore when you find something interesting?” The new fae joked, walking in front of Virgil and gently holding his chin.

God, the fae was so warm. It felt like a hot evening cider had seeped it’s way into Virgil’s bones, warming him oh so gently and leaving the intoxicatingly sweet taste of comfort on his tongue. He was so tempted to just melt into the touch and let it consume him. He honestly had every reason to; nothing was stopping him from just accepting his fate in this moment. Well, nothing except the boiling anxiety that was making his stomach tumble in somersaults every second he stood still.

“Oh aren’t you just the sweetest thing, I ought to be offended that J didn’t tell us about you sooner. Us? Virgil pushed away the thought in favor of trying to assess the situation- again.

The fae holding him, Pat, had coily blonde hair, it’s- their, Virgil couldn’t pretend these fae weren’t as serious as they were anymore- skin a warm shade of brown with a seemingly constant red-ish blush across their cheeks. Virgil would say it was makeup if it weren’t so hard to get it around these parts- then again these were fae. It’s eyes shone with a beautiful light blue and just a shimmer of gold around the iris. Several freckles dotted across Pat’s face, giving them a more gentle appearance, only adding onto the comfort that they seemed to radiate from them. They wore more casual clothing than J did, simply a sweater with various plant life sewn onto it and a pair of slacks.

Everything about them seemed to draw Virgil in, making him lean slightly toward Pat with a dazed expression before his brain seemed to snap back into place and start working again. Pat frowned slightly at the sight of Virgil’s swollen nose and used their other hand to oh so gently swipe a finger from Virgil’s forehead to the tip of his nose repeatedly, making him feel like he was floating.

“What happened to you, dear? Are you alright?” Pat asked in a loving, parental tone.

“He fell, look down, ya' numb-nut.” A new voice said, gravel very quickly cracking under what was probably very heavy boots.

A pair of bright emerald and- you guessed it- golden eyes bore into Virgil’s as a fae with an extravagant dark cloak and black princely suit with fine sparkling green trims stood beside him. Their hair was a brown, raggedy mess, their face surprisingly dirty despite their formal appearance. What managed to really throw Virgil off was the large handlebar mustache that seemed to be plastered onto the fae’s face. He… Supposed it didn't make the less attractive- wait fuck no stop dude what the fuck.

“Duke, please step away from the mortal, they're already overwhelmed,” J said, making Virgil realize that he, in fact, was breathing pretty fast. Pat hushed him and put their hands on his cheeks and ghosted their thumbs over his cheekbones. J rolled their eyes from a few feet away.

“I can never have my fun without you two interrupting,” J huffed, a humorous smirk crossing their lips.

“Oh, don't go acting like the Duke now, you've had your fun and it's our turn.” Pat said, earning a quiet ‘hey!’ from the Duke. Virgil glanced to the side and back to where the Duke was only to find him no longer there. Confusion and panic invaded his system only for a pair of arms to tightly wrap themselves around his waist.

“He’s so small!” Duke shrieked, making Virgil flinch.

“Quiet down Duke, you’re going to scare him.” Pat’s expression softened as they tapped the tips of their fingers against Virgil’s cheek.

“Oh, I hate to say, but he’s already…” J looked him up and down, “terrified.” Gods, Virgil hated that they were right. Pat looked between J and Virgil for a few seconds before slowly letting go of his face. Virgil might have appreciated it more if the Duke wasn’t holding him hostage.

The blood under his skin felt like it was boiling- but somehow in a good way. The touch both made him want to scream and want to curl in closer. The feeling of the Duke’s fingertips tapping along his stomach as they spoke to the other two that were there made him feel like he was on fire. He couldn't put the fire out, he was going up in flames and burning down.

“Duke, let go of him, he needs a break,” Pat said, looking worriedly at Virgil. The Duke looked hurt for a moment before looking at Virgil's face and slowly uncurling their arms from around him with a small huff, causing Virgil to stumble forward a little. He felt like he could breathe again, his body finally stopped feeling like a fire pit. His skin still crackled with adrenaline, Virgil holding himself back from scratching at it.

“I do believe it's my turn.” Another new voice added. Gods, how many are there?

“Prince, didn’t I just say that he was overwhelmed?”

“Oh hush, as if he wasn’t just holding him,” The Prince tilted their head to the Duke. Pat pursed their lips and gave them a look. The Prince rolled their red-tinted eyes and huffed dramatically, playing with his cloak. Virgil realized the Prince looked just like the Duke but inverted- maybe they were twins or something, he didn’t really have the mental energy to deal with the semantics of that though.

“Gods, you’re just fun fun police today aren’t you?”

Virgil felt like a spectator, standing still and watching the two argue playfully. Argue over him. This was weird. Everything here was weird, it was bright, it was loud. He could feel the forest’s energy thrumming under his skin. His heart beat rapidly, his breath speeding up.

“Hey, little one, take a breath for me, yes?” A new fae that seemingly suddenly appeared in front of Virgil said, reaching for his hand before hesitating and retracting their touch. Virgil took in a shaky breath and let it out in a rush, hearing a small coo from a few feet away that was followed by fierce whispering from what he thought might be one of the twins. He repeated the process a few more times until his breathing seemed to regulate.

“Good, good, can I touch you little one?” The fae reached their hand out again. This time Virgil reached out himself and took it, earning a small nod from the fae.

“I’m L, you’re safe little one, we have you,” L looked back at the others, “I apologize for the others being so… insistent. They don’t do boundaries well.”

“He started it!” The twins called out as one, pointing to J who rolled his eyes.

“Do as I say, not as I do.” He said as if he’d repeated it a million times- and maybe he has.

Virgil redirected his attention to the fae in front of him. L and J looked similar, L shockingly looking more formal. They had a flowing tailcoat of black with dark blue accents, a very well tailored black suit. They were sun tanned but seemed to share the same pale complexion as Virgil- if you ignored the literal star shaped moles that were sparingly scattered around their body. Virgil would be concerned if the fae weren’t, ya’ know, immortal.

“Dear, why is the mortal injured?” L asked J who just rolled his eyes and pointed down. L spared a glance and nodded before swiping his thumb against Virgil’s hand.

Virgil gulped and glanced around, counting the fae. Oh yeah, he was royally fucked. He was pretty sure he was going to die. It was fine, everything was fine. This was fine. He had to admit that he couldn’t really be mad. Hey, if his last sight was a beautiful fae, he was not going to complain.

“I can feel you lying to yourself,” J said, stepping forward, “What is going on in that pretty head of yours?” L took a step to the side to let J cup Virgil’s chin, making him shudder. Virgil turned his head slightly and let out a cough, his palm feeling sweaty in L’s hand.

“I, uh, fuck,” He sputtered out. The fae let out a chorus of laughter. His blush deepened as he reached a hand up to cover his face.

“Oh beauty, that was precious.”

“Watch your language sweetheart.”

“That was adorable, I could just die.”

“You can’t die Duke-”

“Figure of speech L.”

“Darling,” Virgil peeked through his fingers, “why are you so tense?” J gently moved his hand, smirking slightly when they saw how deep his blush was.

“I-” Virgil’s words got caught on his tongue. He panicked and glanced around, his eyes jumping from fae to fae. “I uh, express extreme regret for entering your territory without thinking.” L chimed with light laughter, giving a small smile that made something well up in Virgil’s chest.

“Oh you are very smart, well done little one.” They praised, squeezing his hand before letting go and walking to talk quietly to Pat.

Gods this was so fucking weird. Of all places Virgil could have stumbled into- a coven, a ritual, a prayer circle, maybe just some kids messing around- this was probably one of the worst scenarios. He supposed it could be worse; at least these fae seemed keen to not terrify him or want to eat him alive… at least so far. He wondered what he’d owe the fae after this.

Stumbling into their forest like a bumbling idiot, snark one of them- clearly the more powerful one as well-, comfort that in all honesty he knew he didn’t deserve. Oh yeah, Virgil was a dead man for sure. He’d have to give them his soul and then some. This was an absolute disaster.

“You can say that again.” The Duke said with a loud cackle, making Virgil jump and stumble back a little bit. J grabbed his arm and stopped him from falling, carefully setting him back on his feet.

“What part of this is a disaster kiddo?” Pat asked, casually taking L’s hand and sending him a quick nod. Virgil glanced around and took a shaky breath.

“What do I owe you?” He started, looking down at the floor and stepping away from J’s touch. “I… I don’t have much, I don’t know what I owe you or what you count as a favor but,” he sighed, “I’m bound to owe you something, yeah?”

The forest was suddenly quiet, still thrumming with faint energy. The five fae looked around at each other, having a silent conversation. The twins looked at each other, then at Virgil, and back at each other, and nodded in unison. Pat nodded, then L, then J.

Virgil blinked at the five, confusion clear on his face as he tried to figure out what the hell they were agreeing on- if anything. Were they figuring out what to charge him? Whether or not to kill him? At this point, Virgil thought that might be a better option. He didn’t have anything to give really, so why would they keep him alive after he had taken so much. He was in debt and couldn’t pay it back.

“If you’re going to kill me, please just make it quick.” Eyes snapped to look at Virgil, making him squirm under the attention. Pat’s expression softened, J and him locking eyes before J stepped to the side and let Pat walk up.

“Actually kiddo, we were thinking of just… keeping you,” Pat said, “If you would like to stay of course. We don’t really like the idea of taking anything from you. Plus you don’t really look… prepared.”

What. What? WHAT? Why would they- what are they- what? Words and questions spun through Virgil’s head, leaving him dizzy and disoriented- well, he was already disoriented by the forest but that was hardly the point.

“But- why? I haven’t done anything, why would you-” He paused, licking his lips nervously, “Why would you want me? Is this some sort of joke? I’m- I’ll guess I’d be a servant or something but- why not just kill me? Aren’t souls like- super valuable?”

The fae looked… horrified? Virgil really couldn’t tell anymore. He was tired, okay? Pat took a few more steps closer and took Virgil’s head in his hands. Virgil’s heart sped up and he just couldn’t help but want to melt into the touch.

“Kiddo I-” he cut himself off, “I understand why you may be… distrustful of us. We aren’t- fae don’t really have the best reputation and…” Pat’s words got stuck on his tongue. He looked back at and sent a quick pleading stare. L blinked at the two for a moment before sighing under his breath.

“We understand if you do not wish to stay with us. From what we have discussed, we are fully willing to let you leave with, ahem, no strings attached.” L looked to the Prince, his face twitching up when the Prince nodded.

What? What?

What even was Virgil’s luck at this point? These fae were so fucking weird. Virgil blinked blankly at the chorus of fae in front of him, still processing what he just heard. The Duke chuckled gently and quickly walked up to Virgil, pushing Pat out of the way. He ruffled Virgil’s hair and squished his face, smiling when he felt how warm Virgil was to the touch. A shiver went down Virgil’s spine at the sight of his slightly sharpened teeth.

Is it worth it?

I have nothing to lose.

So why are you so scared?

… I don’t know.

So? The universe is your guide, right?

As if the universe has been anything less than harsh.

Have they given you a reason not to trust them?

… No. But gods I wish I could. It feels like the universe is throwing every stone at me and I can’t escape it. I want to trust them but it’s just so hard to when everything- every odd is pinned against me.

Karma comes back to help in times of need. Why not take a chance? Just this once?

This is a big chance to take so blindly.

You said it yourself, you have nothing to lose.

“I… sure?” Words tumbled out of Virgil’s mouth, regret crossing his face for a moment. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The Duke let go of Virgil’s face and walked a few steps away. Here goes nothing.

“I can’t promise I’ll be anything… special for you but,” he opened his eyes and looked up, “I’ll try to repay you.”

“Oh little one,” J, suddenly in front of him, gently dragged the back of his hand against Virgil’s cheek and took his chin between his pointer and thumb, “You owe us nothing.” The moment seemed frozen in time. Virgil felt something warm well up in his chest, spreading through his entire body.

“What can we call you, little one?” J asked, gently staring at him with his magic-filled eyes. Okay, so Virgil was dumb, but he wasn’t that dumb. He also didn’t have a death wish so:

“You can call me V.”

The fae smiled at him, looking between each other. A silent phrase was passed in the air.

This will be an interesting journey.

13 notes · View notes

gospelofme · 3 years

Text

Super Nova

Chapter 5: Well Hello There

“Well, looks like we got ourselves a little Trandoshan stand-off.” Varex quipped amusedly.

“That was stupid.” Sayr felt the need to note, Varex let out a long breath through his nose. The crew of Sidon Ithano had blasters drawn on Varex’s crew, who had their blasters drawn and aiming back. Neither side moved. Sayr reached out with the Force once more, searching for something. Anything. There was a small ping in the Force but it was hard to pinpoint. She accidentally brushed against the consciousness of the man in front of her, who didn’t appreciate that at all.

“Hey! Cut that out!” Kix warned her, keeping Sayr at blaster point. She raised one hand in an apologetic gesture, and then let loose with a blast of energy, shoving the man, Twi’lek, and Captain off their feet. Krev and Varex then opened fire, their targets taking cover behind large boulders. Ithano and his crew soon returned fire, forcing Varex, Krev, and Sayr to take cover as well.

“Should we call for Avi and Darr?” Krev asked, ducking a blast that was too close. Varex took a moment to comm Avi, who was with Darr.

“Avi, Sidon Ithano and some of his crew have us pinned! Check to make sure there aren’t more outside the temple and then come in through the roof!” Varex ordered.

“Where do I find you?” Came Avi’s reply.

“Follow the blaster fire!” Krev yelled into Varex’s comm. From what Sayr remembered, Sidon Ithano had at least 4 members of his crew unaccounted for, and she didn’t know who the man with Ithano and Reveth was. Fresh meat I guess, she mused silently. He was a good shot though, she had to give him that. The man nearly hit her twice, she was just barely able to deflect his bolts with the Force.

On the other side of the room, Reveth commed to Quiggold who had heard the blaster fire erupt from where him and Squeaky stood guard. With comm in one hand and prayer beads in the other, the first mate listened as Reveth relayed that they only see three members of Varex crew, but not the other two.

“Be on the lookout for a Rodian and a Wookiee. We got these three.” She warned, blaster fire could be heard in background.

“A Wookiee, great.” Quiggold replied, not sure how he and Squeaky were supposed to fight off a Wookiee. However, what the peg-legged first mate lacked in height and speed, he made up with in smarts. If Varex was half as smart as he claimed, he would’ve called his teammates for backup. If they’re out here, they may come right across their path. Quickly he and Squeaky hid amongst the large vines that swirled around the temple, blasters at the ready. They’d catch their rivals by surprise.

Avi and Darr had been leaning against a large vine not far from the crevice their comrades had entered. The jungle had been quiet until the sound of blaster fire erupted from within the ruins. Varex’s voice then sounded over Avi’s comm, followed by Krev’s. The two hurried around the ruins, each taking a side so they could catch Ithano’s crew in the middle. However, Avi and Darr only met up again on the other side.

“Maybe they’re not here?” Avi questioned, looking around, his blaster held at the ready. Suddenly a blaster bolt flew from the jungle and grazed Avi’s shoulder. The Rodian cursed and both him and Darr ducked behind some boulders. They would need to take care of the crew members in the jungle first before trying to climb up the side of the temple, as that would leave them pretty exposed.

“We’re taking fire down here! It may be a little bit!” Avi commed back to his boss. The Rodian didn’t know how many pirates were hidden in the jungle, just that the Crimson Corsair usually travelled with at least five other crew members. Varex said some were in the temple ruins, so Avi wasn’t facing five assailants. I’ll just have to assume at least four, he decided going for the highest number possible (even if unlikely) was the best option.

Varex narrowly missed another bolt, this one sending chunks of rock flying. He couldn’t wait for Avi and Darr much longer, and if his two men were facing four others out there, then they’d need back up.

“Nova, go help Avi and Darr and bring them back here!” he yelled to Sayr over the blaster fire. The woman nodded, and left cover. Using the Force, she leapt from the ground to the mouth of the opening above.

“Oh no you don’t.” Kix muttered as he shot a grappling hook at the Force User, the wire twisting around her right leg. He pulled as hard as possible, propping a foot on the boulder he used as cover for leverage. Sayr hadn’t expected the hook, the metal prongs digging into her thick boot sole after swinging around her leg a couple times. The sudden yank ruined her ascent but she was able to grab onto the edge of the opening. Varex immediately fired at the man trying to pull his comrade down. The man was able to duck behind cover, but he still pulled firmly on the line around Sayr’s boot. She tried to pull herself up but the person on the other end was strong. She fought against him, using all the strength she had and a bit of the Force, actually pulling the man off the ground briefly. However, the Temple was fragile and the rock gave way under her, sending her falling back to the ground.

She used the Force to attempt to break her fall, but the floor hadn’t seen this much foot traffic in years, much less a blast of energy. The floor fell away in chunks, a dark chasm opening up between Varex and Krev and Ithano’s crew. Sayr fell right through it, too quickly for Kix to detach the grappling wire from his weapon. Sidon rushed to grab Kix but he wasn’t fast enough and the former clone was yanked forward and dragged right into the abyss with Sayr.

Sayriel attempted to brace herself with the Force once more, but didn’t use as much energy as previously. She still hit the ground hard enough on her back for her diaphragm to spasm and get the wind knocked out of her. As she gasped for air, she narrowly avoided being landed on by the man who’d hooked her. She caught him with the Force, his face inches from hers, and tossed him to the side. She wasn’t too gentle about it. He landed on the stone floor next to her, but was unharmed. She found it impossible to breathe for a moment or two, managing a groaning sound.

“What is it? Are you okay?” The man was suddenly kneeling at her side, looking surprisingly concerned. Sayriel glared at him and shoved him away, and angled her body away from him.

“What are you, like a doctor?” She wheezed once her breathing had returned, she slowly started to stand up. The man tried to help her, but she once again shoved him off.

“Well, I was a field medic….before.” Kix replied, his concern startling him. He had almost forgotten what it was like to act like a medic again. He’d patched up his fellow crew members loads of times, but helping a stranger wasn’t the norm anymore.

“I guess in your past life huh, before you became that.” The woman noted, gesturing at him. He kept his face emotionless when she had mentioned a past life, but it made him anxious inside. He watched as she looked around the empty room, trying to figure out exactly what this area was.

“Well, have fun finding your own way out of here doc.” Sayriel said to Kix, bending her knees and preparing to leap back up into the fray.

When she suddenly felt that ping again, this time much stronger. She looked suddenly in the direction of the feeling, just over the man’s left shoulder. Kix frowned and looked behind him, he didn’t see anything. But he knew that didn’t mean there was nothing there. He watched the Force User shake her head and prepare to jump again, but her head snapped back to that same location.

“What is it?” He asked, she shushed him. He doubted her feeling something was impacted by his speech, he glared at her.

Sayriel walked towards to the location. It was fairly dark here, the light from the hole she’d created only illuminated a small space. But there was an area that looked darker than it’s surroundings; this usually meant there was an opening. Walking past the former-medic-turned-pirate, she edged closer to the opening. She cautiously felt out with her foot and found a step, testing it carefully. She was about to feel out another step when she felt a nudge from the Force. Her Master would’ve instructed her to feel for the next step. She’d have to trust the Force that it was there and she wasn’t going to drop into a deep dark pit of nothing like part of her mind told her. She took a breath and closed her eyes and felt for the next step, and the ones after that.

Kix watched as she found a small set of stairs and began to follow them down. He wasn’t nearly as confident in his footwork as she seemed to be, of course she was a Jedi.

Force user he reminded himself. Keeping one hand on the wall, he followed her down the steps, his eyes slowly adjusting to the tiny bit of light available once he reached a small room where she stood. The room had tiny slivers of light falling through the ceiling where cracks had formed.

“What is this place? A secret room?” He wondered aloud.

“Not necessarily. All temples had a place to store ancient items when they weren’t in use. You didn’t keep an ancient text or a holocron on your desk.” Sayr replied quietly. Her tone implied that he should know this information.

“Yeah, okay then.” Kix shrugged, he really didn’t know what Jedi did. He could hear blaster fire going on still up top, the smoke from the bolts starting to filter down here through the tiny openings above them. He needed to get back to his group, but something had caught this woman’s attention.

Sayriel stood for a moment in the space, her eyes closed despite having someone who was essentially an enemy behind her. She currently didn’t feel much of a threat-like nature emanating from him, but that could change. She kept one hand on her holstered blaster, just in case. Suddenly she felt it again, in the wall, a whispering in the Force. With a wave of her hand, the rocks blocking the area the Force had indicated fell away, and there it was. The small cube, just barely glowing still after all these years. The link this place sits on probably has something to do with it, Sayriel thought to herself. She knelt down and gently picked the cube up, it felt lighter than she thought it would.

“What is it?” The man behind her said, trying to peer around her. Sayriel turned around and tossed the cube up once in her hand.

“Jackpot Doc.” She smirked.

Just then an explosion sounded from somewhere outside the temple, there was absolute silence from everyone. No speaking, no blasters, nothing.

“What the hell was that?!” Varex’s voice sounded over Sayr’s comm.

“I tossed a detonator at the pirates hidden in jungle, but it hit a vine and bounced back.” Avi’s voice came over. As if on cue, the ground and ruins around them started to shake. Bits of rock and dust fell down around Sayr and Kix.

“I’m going to kill that Rodian.” Sayriel muttered.

“Well, I’ll take this so you can go do that.” Kix replied smartly, snatching the holocron from Sayr’s hand and sprinted back up the stairs. Sayriel gave chase, tackling Kix at the top of the stairs. The man was stronger than she gave him credit for and fast. He put a boot on her stomach and, grabbing her wrists, flipped her up and over him. Sayr righted herself quickly and was about to strike at him again when a large rock fell from the surface and landed between them, shattering into smaller pieces on impact. They didn’t have time to fight. Moving quickly she grabbed his upper arm tightly, the man punching her square on the cheek using his free hand. Sayriel took the hit and, using the Force, tossed Kix back up to the level from which they’d fallen. The man gave a startled yell, which gave her some happiness.

“He has the holocron! He can’t get away!” Sayriel commed to Varex, who immediately opened fire on Kix. Reveth returned fire as Ithano pulled his crew member to safety. Sayriel herself then leaped to the next level, teetering on the edge until Krev could grab her shirt and yank her forward. Reveth had already begun to climb the rope they’d lowered earlier to the surface. She pushed Varex’s blaster down.

“We don’t have time anymore, this place is collapsing! We have to move!” Sayriel yelled, grabbing Varex and Force throwing the Zabrak up to the opening in the ceiling. Next she threw Krev out, much to his displeasure, and leapt out herself.

Once out of the ruins, she dodged a blaster bolt from Reveth who was shooting at Varex. Sayriel took ahold of Varex’s shirt and pulled him off the ruins. They didn’t have time to fight right now, that will change once they reach solid ground. She helped Krev away from the crumbling Temple, using the Force to pull him towards her and Varex.

“Stop doing that!” The Chiss exclaimed, shaking his arms and legs as if to rid himself of something unpleasant. Once away from the ruins, Sayriel turned around just in time to see Captain Ithano emerge from the opening. The famed pirate easily leapt down the side of the shifting boulders and landed safely. Kix and Reveth had taken off down the trail back to town, the former clone giving Sayriel a mocking wave as he did so. Glaring at him, she took off and gave chase.

Reveth shoved Kix in front of her, she’d cover him since he had the holocron in his backpack. She fired at Sayr who easily dodged the bolts. Soon they entered the town again, Kix and Reveth dodging crowds and vender stalls. People screamed and hurried out of the way, unsure of what was going on. Part of Kix felt bad when he accidentally bumped into people and they fell, he couldn’t risk stopping to help them up. Reveth just continued to push him forward. They needed to get to the ship. He looked back to see his comrade shove a vender cart in Sayriel’s path, the Force User gracefully leaping over it and continuing her pursuit without missing a beat. He had forgotten how agile those people could be. Soon they were back in the jungle, Kix could feel his face covered in sweat and his legs were starting to hurt. He had worked out fairly regularly since he was found, but he still had a little ways to go until he was back to prime condition. There was a roar and both he and Reveth turned to spot a Wookiee barreling after them behind Sayriel.

“Damn, I forgot she was friends with him.” Reveth said breathlessly as she caught up to Kix. If the Wookiee was close behind them, then the others couldn’t be far away. Reveth hoped her comrades could hold the others off. They rounded a corner and sprinted as fast as possible to put some distance between them and their pursuers. Soon they busted out of the jungle and found themselves back in the clearing. There was only one problem, they had to wait for the rest of the crew. They turned just in time to see Darr enter the clearing behind them, he was sweaty and panting. Darr made a b-line for Kix, who readied his blaster to fire. However just before the Wookiee made it to him, the creature fell down heavily and was being dragged back. Kix looked and spotted Reveth at the controls of one of the large construction cranes, she’d used it’s claw to snag the Wookiee’s leg and hauled the creature up into the air. She locked the controls and left him dangling and roaring angrily. Kix didn’t speak Shyriiwook but he could guess the Wookiee wasn’t wishing him a long and happy life.

That’s when Sayr ran into the clearing. Despite her clothing being soaked with sweat, she kept running full speed, her eyes were locked on Kix. He hadn’t fought a Force User in decades, and then he had multiple brothers backing him up, not just one other comrade. Not that Reveth was useless, far from it actually. It’s just that they may need more back up soon. Using the Force, Sayr shoved Reveth aside, the Twi’lek shooting at her as she tumbled. Sayr dodged those with an easy flip and ducked the ones from Kix’s blaster. Sayr grabbed the man’s blaster and yanked it out of his hands, tossing it aside. He grabbed her wrists and head-butted her in return. Both were visibly dazed by that, Sayr staggering back and blinking. Kix shook his head and blink a few times as well, but held his ground. He hadn’t head-butted anyone without a helmet on in a very long time. Taking advantage of the situation, Kix launched himself into Sayr, who recovered quickly.

“No you don’t.” She mimicked his action from earlier, propelling him up and over her with her foot on his abdomen. The holocron fell out of the backpack and landed between them. The whine of a speeder engine could be heard in the distance. Sayr started to pull the cube into her hand with the Force, Kix scrambling up to intercept it, when suddenly a cord shot out and wrapped around Sayriel’s wrists. She stared at the cord for moment like she didn’t know what it was, her gaze following it to it’s source. Quiggold and Squeaky had arrived on a speeder bike they’d commandeered from the town, they had fired the speeder’s small tow cable at Sayriel. Quiggold then gunned the speeder engines, yanking Sayriel away from Kix and the cube, dragging her across the ground. Captain Ithano appeared from the jungle, followed closely by Varex, Krev, and Avi. Varex fired at Ithano but Reveth covered him as he headed to the ship. They needed to start it up and get out of here. Sayr used the Force to pull on Quiggold’s speeder and was able to get her footing, the first mate fighting back by pushing the speeder forward. Sayr’s boots slid a bit on the ground, but she kept her balance and pulled back with her strength and the Force, focusing on the speeder’s engines. If she could get them to overheat, they’d explode. Kix watched the tug-of-war unfold, grabbing the cube from the ground and securing it back in his backpack. He had almost forgotten what Force Users were capable of. The engines of speeder sparked and little pops started to sound off from the innards of the machine.

“Cut her loose Squeaky!” Quiggold yelled over the screaming speeder engines. The Gamorrean swung a small axe from his belt and severed the cord. The sudden slack on the cord almost knocked Sayr off her feet, but she held the speeder.

Kix needed a way to distract her before she blew up his comrades. Tossing the backpack to Reveth, he ran to the crane that still held up the Wookiee, who struggled against the metal claw enclosed around his leg. Jumping into the operating chair, he unlocked the controls and swung the crane around. The Wookiee was now positioned directly above the woman called Nova. Darr called down to Sayr who glanced up and then over to Kix, who released the Wookiee from the crane. It worked. Sayr released the speeder just in time to catch the Wookiee before he landed on her. Quiggold and Squeaky sped towards the now running ship, jumping off the speeder and running up the ramp. Kix followed closely behind.

As the ship took off, the former clone turned and looked at the Force User, who was still holding the Wookiee up. She looked furious. He smirked and gave her a mocking salute as the ramp retracted and the door closed. Sayriel watched the ship fly away, and the holocron with it. She was exhausted, it had been a while since she’d used the Force to that extent. She gently set Darr on the ground and sat down herself, placing her head between her knees.

“Don’t look so glum.” Varex said, seemingly too cheerful about the fact they lost one of the holocrons. He seemed to read the look on her face easily, pulling out his datapad in response. Sayriel took it and looked at the screen, a small dot beeped with a set of coordinates near it.

“A tracker. You put a tracker on the ship.” She said wearily, Varex nodded and pulled his friend to her feet.

“Since we know where they’re going, we’ll have a bit of an advantage. We can search other possible locations and then retrieve the holocrons they find.” Krev said. The possibility of some sweet revenge made Sayr feel better.

Tag list

@jgvfhl @owls-spice-cabinet @leias-left-hair-bun @halzore @escapedthesarlacc @eyecandyeoz @kungfuslipper

#star wars #post order 66 #the crimson corsair #Jedi original character #original grey jedi character #star wars oc #star wars fanfic #original Star Wars fiction #clone medic kix #clone trooper kix #post order 66 Kix

6 notes · View notes

writing-the-end · 3 years

Text

LoL Chapter 28- In Shadow

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

Returning to his hometown, Etho hs to balance his past with his present, as well as keep Keralis and Grian from embarrassing him in from of his old teacher and town.

_______________________________

Etho always thought he was a handful- he may act mature, but his mind is full of mischief that would make even a criminal stumble. But dragging Keralis and Grian through the misty swamps of his home, he realizes there are more ways than one to cause trouble.

Keralis goes sloshing away, swallowed up by the fog. The only way Etho knows he still exists is by the loud splash of the bug wizard, followed by a string of curses in his thick accent. Keralis returns to Etho’s side, wrestling a stag beetle and cooing at how lovely it looks.

Grian on the other hand, Etho couldn’t get to shut up. “I think I have half the swamp in my boots.”

“You could just fly.” Etho points out.

“But I can’t see anything!” Grian’s whine echoes through the thick copse of trees, bouncing off submerged ferns and aged wood. “How do you even know where you’re going?”

“Secret ninja techniques.” Etho muses, following the trail at his feet. Beneath the water, he can feel ridges carved into the stone, under the silt. Guiding him to his hometown.

Keralis’s eyes get wider than usual at the sound of a branch snapping in the distance. He whips his head around, pulling on his hat and brushing closer to Etho. “Are you sure we’re alone?”

“We’re not.” Etho grins. Both Grian and Keralis whimper, searching the fog like they’re trying to see a ghost. They might as well be. “The town knows we’re coming. They’ve already seen us, even if we haven’t seen them.”

“Ninjas.” Grian whispers. The trio continues in silence, or at least as silent as Grian and Keralis can be, sludging through the swamp. Grian chatters with himself and the bug wizard, his voice bouncing up cypress trees as tall as towers, clambering over the roots. He gets a foot tangled in the submerged vines, and goes headfirst into the slow moving brown water with a yelp. “Etho, when the hell are we going to get to this town? I haven’t seen any signs that we’re even close.”

“Ah, yeah. I haven’t seen a spot of dry ground this whole time.” Keralis adds. “Are they on stilts? How does a town like that stay out of the swamp?”

Etho feels the carved markings beneath his feet turn into a radiating circle, like a ripple across the surface. He stops, grabbing Keralis and Grian, a grin appearing on his unmasked face. “We’re here.”

Grian turns around in a full circle, looking at the copse of trees. “Uhhh, are you okay Etho? This looks the same as every other part of the swamp.”

“Maybe it’s hidden in the fog? Fog magic?” Keralis waves his arms around as if he’s attempting to feel around in the dark.

Etho leans against a root, grinning. “Try looking up.”

Grian does so, and gasps.

Above their head, a town hovers over them. Lantern lights split through the fog, unveiling themselves like a stage curtain, warm yellow glows dancing off the wood and paper. Beneath the strung lantern lights, dancing will-o-the-wisps above their heads, bridges of plank and rope connect tree to tree and guide the townsfolk across the swamp without making a sound.

The fog continues to disappear, and the town of Shellor unmasks in ripples. Homes and businesses nestled in the massive trunks of the trees or perched on the expansive branches, the open air filtering the earth and water tone of the swamp air through bars, abodes, shops, and shrines. For a second, Grian wishes Mumbo was here to rant about the engineering marvel above his head. How much time it must’ve taken to build a town in the sky, where they even get the fire from, and hidden out of sight, out of sound. He never even realized they were walking beneath it.

“How...how do we get up there?” Keralis tips his head, holding onto his hat so it doesn’t slip off.

“Normally, adults can just climb up ourselves.” Etho launches from the root, grabbing hold of a branch and swinging himself up, higher and higher. “And Grian can fly, obviously. But- I’ll grab the basket.”

“Basket?” Keralis watches the two disappear among the intertwining bridges. A second later, something is dropping back to the ground. It’s not a basket he thought it would be. It’s a lift of sorts. The wood floats like driftwood on the murky swamp water, the walls opening to invite Keralis in. He clambers on the wood panel, surprised to find that the weight hardly even shifts. Even when the walls pull back up around him and the basket starts to rise, he feels like he’s on solid ground. It’s the smoothest lift he’s even been on, something that would put Darlon to shame.

Etho and Grian have their heads poking over the railing as Keralis rises up. “A pretty neat invention, huh?” Etho laughs, running a finger along the rope, watching the pulley system release the weight a distance away. “It’s not used often anymore, really just for when kids need to get down, supplies, the like.”

Keralis stumbles onto the bridge. The warm glow of lantern light invites him deeper into Shellor, and the scent of food makes his stomach growl. Spices that dance with the mist, a warm rumble of quiet laughter from the nearby restaurant. But everyone’s movements are lithe and silent, even if their talking isn’t. Everyone in the town walks without a sound, like cats stalking their prey. Exactly how Etho walks, constantly spooking Keralis when he’s in the middle of reading or baking.

It quiets down, and even Etho pauses. Grian and Keralis turn around, surprised to find Etho prostrating before a shrine. They never took him to be the god-worshipping kind. But they sit down next to him, looking at the shrine. It’s made of stone- how that got up here, neither of them can guess. Lanterns are kept aglow and the crescent shaped bowl protected with a carved wooden gazebo. After a few moments, Etho speaks. “Manys, god of the moon. Patron to Shellor, teacher to the art of stealth. I remember my first lesson to harness my power was to watch the full moonlight travel across the swampwater. Silent, but present.”

“Is that how you learned to be a shadow ninja?” Keralis whispers while Grian lights a dying candle.

“Nope.” Etho chuckles. “I definitely took a more...physical approach.”

“Etho!” All three hermits stiffen at the shrill shriek of the shop owner a few bridges down. “I knew you’d come back! Don’t think I haven’t forgotten about all that candy you stole!”

“Ah, that’s what you mean.” Grian muses, watching as Etho is given an earful by the man. It’s the first time Keralis and Grian have ever seen Etho embarrassed, the pale skin under his white hair blushing red, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Mr. Toku, I think Etho has heard well enough.” A warm voice, quiet but persistent, cuts through the berating tirade. Before her first syllable was uttered, Keralis and Grian knew this was someone of importance. An unusual sense of raging peace, like sitting next to a swollen waterfall in the middle of a forest, exudes from the woman like an aura. She turns, and immediately sweeps Etho into a hug. “It is good to have you home, my pupil.”

“Hello Reverent Nama.” Etho squeaks, hardly able to breathe against such a tight hug. A weak smile appears on his face, the one person he missed most when he left being his teacher, the head monk of Shellor. Nama. He doesn’t even remember her real name, he’s always called her Nama.

“Look at you, so tall! You grew like a shoot, Etho.” She grabs his cheek, looking at the scars on his face. “I still remember the day your magic first showed itself. Have you been using my teachings, anak ko?”

“Nama, I remember it all. But you know me.” He offers a sly grin, but nods silently. “I still like to watch the moon, though.”

“The best teacher, and the mother always with you.” Nama’s voice dips into a lower octave at her sagely advice, before rising back up as a smile creases her warm, deep toned skin. “But you must be starving, walking through the swamp. Come, bring your friends.”

She waves her hands, blue and white robes beckoning the weary travelers deeper into the town. A glint of lantern light catches Grian’s attention, and his eyes go as wide as saucers at the sight before him. The biggest gong he’s ever seen in his life. Taller than Grian, even with his wings stretched high above his head, the silver metal glimmering like the moon at the center of the town. Archways decorate and dance around the massive instrument. Grian’s drawn to the gong like a moth to the flame.

Only to be thwarted by Etho. He grabs Grian by the collar, dragging him back in line with Reverent Nama and the other monks. Keralis giggles and teases Grian even as they enter the raised, thatched house. Bowed roofs similar to the arches and pagodas they saw before protect angular, woven walls and open windows. The swamp breeze filters through the mat-strewn floor as Nama opens the sliding door. Nama disappears into an upper level, before returning with a steaming teapot and five different plates of food. The boys sit at the low table, suddenly alone with the leader of Shellor. Silent as shadows, her peers had disappeared. Like ninjas. “I assume this is not just a family visit.”

“How did you know?” Keralis croons, sipping on the warm tea poured before him. His eyes light up at the fried, wrapped treat set on his plate. His massive bug eyes only unnerve Nama, repositioning in her seat at the sight of such strange friends Etho brought.

“Etho isn’t exactly the visiting kind. A practical pupil, even to the day he left.”

“Nama, you of all people know how to gather information. You see what the moon sees.” She nods at Etho’s words. It’s not hyperbole- it’s her magic. “Surely you have information about husk monsters attacking all over Lairyon.”

“Why does that interest you, Etho?” Nama gazes over the rim of her teacup.

“We intend to stop it.” Grian states, flat and plain. Etho seethes, sending imaginary daggers at the blond angel before him. He needs to be more subtle than that!

“Finally, someone to take up the mantle.” She responds. “I have heard worrisome things, are you three sure you can handle such a task?” When all of them nod, she continues. “Then you need to start here- husks have been attempting to enter Shellor for the past few days. They have broken through our mist barrier, but have been unable to reach the town. I do not think they will stop trying until they reach the bridges.”

“They want to steal your magic, your power. They’ll kill you all.” Etho growls.

“Exactly as what my informants told me. Do you boys think you could defeat an army of mindless creatures?” She pauses, looking at their faces. Seeing the glint in their eyes and knowing. “Excuse me, I have underestimated you. It seems you have already done so before.”

“We’ll need more than just your information, Reverent Nama. We need supplies, tools of stealth that only Shellor can create. We need to use every advantage we can find to stop these husks. To stop-”

“To stop Magistrate Dolios, yes.” Nama nods, a growl breaking through her neutral expression. “Whatever you and your friends need, I will be happy to give. But for now, eat! Tell me, anak ko, who are your friends here.” She leans over to Etho. “Is the one with the large eyes okay? Is he some sort of hybrid?”

Etho chuckles, and welcomes the warm food of home into his body. He missed the taste of good palabok, wishing at least one other hermit could cook his hometown’s food like Nama could. He introduces Keralis, quickly explaining his magic, then moving onto Grian. Even Nama, in all her wise counselling, was shocked to learn he was an angel mage. She knew they existed, beneath the watchful eyes of the moon, but to see one in front of her? And in a guild as wayward as Etho describes?

Their plates are filled as fast as they’re emptied, food appearing out of what felt like nowhere. Etho smiles as he hears laughter rise from his friends and teacher. He left Shellor because he felt restrained. But to be home? It felt freeing, now that he’s an adult. Now that he has his guild, he feels more connected to here than ever before. They continue talking well into the night, until the fog fades and the moon observes the quiet swamp.

Nama closes her eyes, falling into a quiet meditation at the dinner table. But when her eyes open, it’s anything but calm. She rises so fast her knees almost spill the table over, robes fluttering like leaves in the wind. “They’re here. Oh gods, they’re already at the barrier.

“You wanted lessons in stealth? Well, lesson number one- don’t let your enemy see you.” Nama motions for another monk, and he casts his magic circle. In one deep breath, he inhales the magic. And a gust of wind from his lips blows out every single candle. Only the full moonlight bears illumination upon the town.

And the distant crack of lightning, an ashen storm visible through the spindly cypress trees.

Townsfolk shuffle in the dark, accustomed but alarmed. Night is when Shellor is most alive, lanterns lit and moon in full view. Nama sends her monks to scout ahead, to be the first line of defense, before marching towards the center of town.

Towards the gong. It reflects the moonlight, blue luminescence titillating across the silver instrument. A mallet the length of Nama’s arm is plucked from the arch, but she pauses. Looking over her shoulder, she sees Etho practically holding Grian back, the angle bouncing in his boots. Like so many of her other pupils, and who is she to deny him something so exciting? She hands the mallet into Grian’s hand. He wastes no time putting it to work. With wings unfurling and hovering at the center of the circle. One mighty reel backwards, he swings. The mallet strikes the metal, and both Grian and the gong reverberate in response. A low, loud ringing warns the entire town they’re under attack. Grian still feels the sensation of the strike in his arms even after he lands.

“The husks aren’t after anything in particular- they just want as much magic as possible.” Etho warns, pulling free his kusarigama, watching the darkness. In the distance, a blood curdling howl of a banshee turns even his blood cold. He doesn’t want to face that beast on good terms, much less a creepy husk version.

“How can you stop them?” Nama questions, dipping her arms into her robes. She doesn’t need a weapon to be dangerous.

“There’s no crystal.” Keralis warns. “But there is a darkness storm.” He points to the distant canopy, black clouds roiling across the sky.

“We just have to defeat them. One by one, it will weaken the storm and purge the land of their presence.” Grian flutters over the side of the bridge, looking down. Below, among the swamp water and cypress roots, monsters and mages scrabble up the aged cypress wood. Throwing themselves higher and higher, unlike Etho’s smooth agility to the town. “No matter what, don’t let your fighters get caught by the husks. They’ll turn into one.”

“Stealth is our trade, angel.” Nama hums, arm reappearing and offering up supplies to the trio. Smoke bombs, firecrackers, magical climbing gear for Keralis, an enchanted mirror to Grian. “We shall do our best, but you three are clearly the masters in this battle.”

Nama steps back, and bows. Pride swells in Etho’s chest, almost causing him to tear up. If he didn’t hear the snarls of darkness consumed being of pure anger, hatred, and power, he probably would’ve. He’s never seen Reverent Nama bow to anyone else before.

And then she’s gone. Disappearing among her robes, the hermits next see her down at the roots. Battling with a cold rage, like sunlight reflecting off the moon. Etho hands a few smoke bombs to his friends, grinning. “Let’s raise hell, shall we?”

#hermitcraft #light of lairyon #lol #hermitcraft au #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fic #wizard au #wizard hermits #wizard grian #wizard keralis #wizard etho #grian #grianmmc #keralis #ethoslab

26 notes · View notes

nyrocwrites · 4 years

Text

of curses and carrion (part 1)

A cursed!Tokoyami x mage!Reader fantasy AU from BNHarem Studios and produced on Garbage Mountain by an army of trash gremlins and too much caffeine.

Find the BNHarem Fantasy masterlist HERE.

Rating: M for dark themes, mild body horror (vines/tar), and brief distress/panic. Later parts will likely include continued elements of horror and sexual themes.

Words: 1800+

Notes: I really wanted to finish this prompt in its entirety before posting it, but it’s turning into an absolute monster so it will now be broken into parts. I’ve warned y’all I’m a trash gremlin. Nonsense should really be expected. Also, I’ve tried to keep Reader pretty gender neutral and ethnically ambiguous so as to be inclusive to many readers. Please let me know in the comments or ask box if there are ways that I can improve this experience, or if you’d like to be added to my tag list!

The darkness has no business in frightening you, all things considered. You do most of your activities in the dim and the grey, guided by the silver moonlight that filters through the rattling bones of trees long dead. You know every prickle bush, every berry thicket, every hollow tree perpetually collecting rainwater and brown leaves in a noxious grog you know better than to drink from. You know the heartbeat of the forest and the pulse of it around you. You know the murky feeling of the soggy bog beneath your feet. You know every burial ground, the planks of wood and slabs of stone so worn from the elements they’ve been impossible to read almost as long as the knucklebones of the bodies beneath them.

The darkness really has no business in frightening you, all of these things considered. Of course, that doesn’t mean it won’t ever try.

It’s not the snapping of twigs that alarms you at first—you’re well accustomed to the life that stirs in the woods. It’s the shift of the breeze, the way a prickling feeling washes over you in the crisp air, the shudder that rattles you all the way to your bones, and you find the atmosphere abruptly soured. It happens slowly at first, and then all at once. You rise from your knees and turn toward the source, your basket of foraged herbs easily forgotten at your feet.

There’s a stranger there, kept at the edge of the circle you had cast earlier, and there’s so much energy rolling out from under that black cloak it makes you shiver. Something desperate and hurting. Something else full of rage and cruelty. The auras are distinct and, worse, at war with each other, and it’s difficult for you to tell if the stranger bears you any ill intent.

It feels agonizingly painful and for the first time in ages, it makes you want to run.

But you’ve never been frightened by the dark.

“Are you here to harm me?” you call out. You can see the back and forth movement of their head beneath the deep hood. It could be a lie, but the fury in their energy is constant and tamped down. Controlled. You draw a dagger regardless because although you may not be frightened, you certainly aren’t stupid.

Red eyes are guarded as they stare at you from the shadows of the hood. The dagger pricks the skin of your little finger and you reach into the dark to smear the crimson liquid on the cheek beneath one of those eyes. Soft, you think, and withdraw your hand as you step away from that menacing aura.

“There.”

“Thank you,” the stranger says, and the voice is deep and smooth, not at all unpleasant. He rubs his hands on the front of his cloak, clearing his throat in a nervous manner. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Have you, now?” You’re not unfamiliar with people seeking your particular skills, but it isn’t often that they actually follow you into the woods.

“I’m told you’re a curse-breaker.”

There it is—the reason for the duality in his energy, for the fury bubbling just beneath the surface of his being.

“Depends on the curse,” you tell him, and you wish you could seem more nonchalant, but your voice betrays your curiosity.

He hesitates. It’s not often that the darkness is more afraid of you than you are of it. Still, he lifts his hands and draws back the deep hood of his cloak. His eyes glimmer red even through the grey darkness of the predawn, little mirrors dipped in blood that reflect the scraps of light filtering through sparse foliage yet unclaimed by winter.

A hum of intrigue rumbles in your throat as you tilt your head and lean slightly to the side to see him at different angles. The man before you blinks to help his eyes adjust to the light, ruby red and brimming with uncertainty. You can’t say he’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen—you’ve scooped far stranger out of secondhand cauldrons—but he’s still a delightfully interesting creature.

“Fascinating,” you find yourself murmuring. He’s regal and angular with black velvet skin on his cheeks, soft like down and smeared on one side with drying rust from your finger, and his hair frills in the back like the plumage of a raven. His face is carved into the likeness of a raptor; you find yourself idly wondering if his beak is sharp enough to pierce flesh. You’ve seen people before with avian curses, but none executed so precisely as this.

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, apparently uncomfortable beneath the crushing weight of your scrutiny.

“Which of the gods did you offend?” you ask him as you stroll to one side to investigate his figure. You know you shouldn’t pry, or circle him like a hungry shark, but your curiosity is bottomless.

“I don’t know. I was born like this.” He gestures halfheartedly to himself and you give him another once-over.

The frown that twists your features leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. So much for a lovely morning.

“I can’t break a family curse,” you tell him, and even the irritation from having your foraging trip interrupted is not quite enough to justify the pain you see flourishing in his eyes. You finish your circling and stop in front of him to glance him up and down. The cloak hangs from a thin frame, all lanky and brittle. Poor thing, cursed so young, but there’s nothing you can do.

You feel something in the air, like a shadow that kisses your skin: you feel the change in his energy as his disappointment shifts slowly to fear and then to desperation. That other side of his aura swells and it’s intimidating as it pushes into your personal space to make your stomach churn uncomfortably.

“Please,” is all he says, but the single word is enough to know that he’s barely keeping whatever other entity resides in him from ripping him apart at the seams.

You turn from him and kneel on the earth to resume your foraging with an, “I can’t help you,” that comes out in a far more callous manner than you had intended.

“You’re the only one left.”

“I know. I often am.” You aren’t exactly anyone’s first choice. You’re hard to find and even harder to bargain with. You wrap your hand around the base of a particularly large branch of sage and pull hard as you grunt out, “Doesn’t mean I can help you.”

He pleads with you again and there’s a part of you that wishes you could do something for him, perhaps a glamour so that he feels more passable, more normal in the world, but that’s hardly a solution to the real problem. There’s fiery rage at your back, toxic black cruelty that wants to swallow you up, and it’s all you can do not to cast him out of your circle on instinct. You can feel the pain that radiates from him in waves of cold that creep up the back of your neck. It only grows as the minutes tick by, and you hear the crunch of dry foliage when he falls to his knees behind you.

“I’m sorry, but there really isn’t anything that I can do for you,” you tell him as you turn to face him again. He’s in a sorry state with his ebony face pressed into ivory hands, and you watch as vines of sticky black tar crawl up his arm to his fingertips. They bury into his skin and his aura turns absolutely desolate. So much rage. So much hate.

So much darkness that it frightens you.

He rasps and then coughs. The inky tendrils are filling his mouth, strangling him in a painful vise, drowning him in the blackness which inhabits his shaking body. He squirms on the forest floor and struggles to breathe, and for a minute you watch him choke on his own tainted soul. It might be better just to let it consume him. He’ll die, or he’ll turn into a monster for you to dispatch, but it will end his suffering either way. You consider it as blood-drunk vines spread from beneath his cloak to constrict about his throat, but your thoughts come to a screeching halt as those red eyes of his fixate on you from the spaces between his fingers.

It’s not quite pity that makes you move, and not quite mercy, because the kindest thing to do would be to put this poor creature out of his misery, to let his curse die with him. This curse that makes him stink like carrion, makes his presence sickening to approach, makes your skin burn as you wrap your hands around his sticky-slick wrists and pull. They come away from his face with a grunt of effort; his grip is bruising as you lock your fingers into his and you feel your knuckles pop under the pressure.

“Breathe, little raven,” you instruct, and in time he does, raspy at first and then with more freedom as the inky tar crawls back beneath his cloak and sinks into his skin where it belongs. You nearly groan with relief when he eases his death grip on your hands. You don’t quite dare to let go. “There you go.”

It takes a while for him to regain his composure, and when he does, he sits back on his heels and finally releases your hands. You rub at the irritated skin as you regard him cautiously.

“What’s your name?” you ask him. He meets your gaze with tired eyes.

“Tokoyami,” he says at length. “Tokoyami Fumikage.”

“That’s a hell of a curse you have, Tokoyami.”

“Hell is accurate.” He drags his hands down his face, pushes his hair back, smears the dirt from your hands across the sharp planes of his beak.

“I’m sorry.”

He looks up at you, startled. Evidently expressions of empathy are unfamiliar to him. You push yourself to your feet and offer him a hand that he uses to stand; you can feel the bones beneath his transparently pale skin, thin and brittle, and the impression of them still lingers even as you brush the earth from your palms and stoop to collect your basket. The rising sun is starting to warm your shoulders, and it won’t be long before the dark of night is entirely banished.

“You’ll have to make amends to whatever entity your family slighted,” you advise, “though I don’t know if that will be enough to break your curse. The gods can be quite fickle.”

“Most of my family is gone. I don’t even know where to start,” he says. “How am I to know where to look?”

“You found me well enough. I’m sure an angry god will be far less challenging.”

He opens his mouth to answer, but the sun breaches the horizon, and you’re gone before the sound reaches your ears.

[Stay tuned for part 2.]

#tokoyami fumikage #bnha collab #bnha fanfiction #tokoyami x reader #reader insert #bnharem collab #fantasy au #fresh from garbage mountain #nyrocwrites #bnha x reader #of curses and carrion #bnha horror

62 notes · View notes