#mentioned death

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NEVER THE DARK

CHAPTER 13

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Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12

!WARNING: refrences to ancient, non graphic child loss!

NO ONE HAS EVER BEEN LOST. // ALL IS TRUTH AND WAY.

“Gravis, Griffin, and I just arrived on scene, Pix.” Skylors voice crackles through her radio, “The civilian reports weren’t exaggerating- there’s a giant, er, slug-like animal here. In fact, ‘giant’ might even be an understatement.” Her girlfriend sounds openly bewildered.

Pix frowns, “Is it hostile?”

“Not on purpose. It keeps picking up cars and uprooting traffic lights, but it doesn't seem aware it’s doing it. It’s just bumping into things and they’re sticking.” Skylor reports, “The trail of slime it’s leaving is smoking, though, but it doesn’t look like it’s eating at the road.”

“Have Gravis move it to a less densely populated area- out of town completely would be best if at all possible.”

“Already on it. I’ll call Warden Nobel and have him bring us another containment cell.”

Skylor was always on the ball in the field, and Pixal was grateful she was by her side, “Thank you, Sky. Can you alert Commissioner McLane to the possible hazardous materials and have him block off the street until we can have Tox examine it?”

“I’ll send speedster over now.”

At Skylors affirmative, Pixal sets her radio to the side and continues looking through her extensive set of videos pulled from all over Ninjago city. She trusted her father had done what he could to get a hit on Dixie with his facial recognition software, but she wanted to be extra certain she couldn’t find the other woman the same way. She’d started with the cameras around the museum in an attempt to find the escape route the other thief had taken after defeating the ninja, but had come up with nothing. Despite having the technology to feed these videos into and get results in a matter of seconds, Pixal chose to go through the cameras with her own eyes. Her pattern and facial recognition was leagues above any of the market value programs, and if anyone was going to catch the woman’s face in the background of a walmart CCTV feed it would be her. The woman was incredibly skilled at avoiding cameras, apparently, because Pixal was coming up with nothing, nothing, and more nothing. She even had video archives open from years and years ago, hoping to comb through them all and find a facial match for her, to at least give her something to go off of. No luck there, either.

The last set of camera feeds on her upper set of screens is current security footage from several different vantage points throughout Ninjago- these weren’t monitoring for the thief. She’d tapped these in order to monitor the streets of Ninjago which were quickly becoming overrun with monsters she’d never seen before. The slug incident today was the latest in a long line of beasts that seemed to just… appear and begin wrecking havoc. The other elemental masters had been up to their ears in emergency situations, evacuations, and damage control. Today, it was a slug, a skittering weevil-like creature that crashed into several storefronts before dying in downtown Ninjago with no warning, and a flock of birds with bony protrusions on their back and acid spit. The past week has been much the same.

It was sheer good luck that Kryptarium prisons' deeper, more fortified cells were able to contain these animals.

As Pixal flicks through the camera feeds, there’s a familiar chime from her phone. She snatches it up and punches the answer button before the second ring, “Ronin.” She greets briskly, keeping her eyes on the screen as she leans back and crosses her arms.

“You called?” He drawls through the phone, and she can clearly envision him leaned back with his feet propped upon his desk. The very picture of relaxed.

“I need you in Ninjago yesterday. Your expertise is required.” She says immediately, not bothering to beat around the bush.

“Yeah, Yeah, I got your voicemail.” There’s a shuffle on his end, as if he’ sitting up in interest at the topic, “What’s in it for me?”

“You will have a hand in saving Ninjago.” She says flatly. He makes a noncommittal grunt and she barely resists rolling her eyes, “Fine.” She slaps her keyboard and pulls up his criminal record, “You have three unpaid fines here that have put out a warrant for your arrest for- really? Those are huge fines for… illegal parking?”

“I know!”

“Consider them paid off… if you come to Borg tower.” She bargains.

There’s another grunt, this time a winded cough of exertion as he gets to his feet. “What do you need me for anyway?” He grumbles, yawning into the phone.

Pixal slumps a little, “There is a new villain in town- he is working with bounty hunters. I need your help identifying one of the girls working for him.”

“You know not every bounty hunter knows each other, right?”

“I am aware that you and her have spent several years in this profession at the same time.” She says coolly, “If anyone were to know her, it would be you. Will you come?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming to Borg tower. It’ll be a few hours.” She hears the jangle of keys on the other line, “Don’t forget to take care of my fines.”

With one hand, Pixal infiltrates the police database and erases the marks off his criminal record entirely. There was no hint that he’d ever so much as looked at an illegal parking space. It takes ten seconds at most,  “Done.” She says simply, and hangs up the phone.

Another hour of nothing passes by, with a brief update from Skylor about the slug and no further activity on the cameras to be concerned about. She checks her email a few times and shoots Wu another text that he doesn’t respond to- he’d gone out to Misakos current archeological dig site to discuss the gauntlet with her, and was completely off the grid because of it. Or he was ignoring her texts. Pixal has a niggling feeling in the back of her mind that he was hiding something, but there’s no proof other than her gut feeling. She wouldn't start anything over a bad vibe.

She does another useless search for the gauntlet and once again comes up empty- there was nothing about the artifact on the internet or in any digitized academic databases she checked. There were mentions of gauntlets or sets of armor, but nothing that matched up with the powers they’d seen so far. The longer Wu went without checking in, the more certain Pixal became that he’d hit a wall too. All Misakos encyclopedic history knowledge, and even she hadn't heard of this thing… Where were they supposed to go from here?

She’s so lost in thought that the sudden screech of the red panic alarm above her head causes her to launch up out of her chair and to her feet, staggering with the surge of pseudo-adrenaline that floods her processor. She scrambles for her radio and flips it to the correct frequency just in time to hear Dareth's panicked voice shouting from the line, “-taking him to the roof!”

“Dareth! What’s going on?” Pixal demands, reaching out and turning off the alarm with the keypad next to the wall before taking off towards the elevator.

“The thief is back, and she’s stealing your father!” Dareth wails through the radio.

Pixal punches the elevator call button four times in a panic despite the fact the extra pushes won’t will it to get here any faster. This is exactly why she advocated for stairs in the ninja's private penthouse- a project the others continually put off. (“We can just jump out the window and airjitzu down. No big deal!” Well what about if you need to go up!) Stupid! “What?” She demands, squeezing through the elevator doors before they’ve fully opened.

“I’ll explain later- right now you need to get to the roof!” He says urgently, his cartoony voice uncharacteristically serious.

“I am headed that way now. I will meet you there-”

“Sorry, Pix, but you’re on your own here.” His voice comes through with a wince, “I’m down for the count.”

She feels a cold chill sweep over her body, “Are you okay?”

“I’m not dying. Get to the roof, save your father, and we’ll worry about me later.” His voice comes through firm and gentle- there’d been a time where Pixal had written Dareth off as someone she’d always need to protect, but moments like this remind Pixal that Dareth was steady and solid. He’d been training ever since her Father asked him to stay by his side, his skills had grown and he’d become a formidable opponent. It had to have been someone strong to put him down- and he definitely didn't get benched without putting up a fight.

She had to be ready when these doors opened.

“Call Skylor.” She orders, the act of taking control offering her a calm she desperately needed, “She was on her way back to the tower, she can get to you quicker than I can. Do not die.”

“Ten-four, Boss.”

There’s no more time to talk. The elevator doors open up to the roof with a ding! And immediately Pixal is assaulted by whipping wind and the loud roar of helicopter blades slicing the air into pieces. She rushes out onto the tarmac, sprinting straight for the group of people loading her struggling father into the helicopter. Standing out from the black clad ensemble is a shock of bright pink hair. The thief, the woman who took her friends away, looks back at her with a bored, neutral expression. Pixels coolant feels like it’s boiling. The other woman turns towards another member of her crew and says something Pixal can’t hear through all the noise and motions to the sky as if to say shoo!

Then, without a second of hesitation, she spins around and charges at Pixal in return. She’s fast, putting a significant amount of space between Pixal and her father when the two women meet in a clash of fists on the middle of the roof. Pixal has to keep her head on straight, but she can feel her calm, controlled mask rapidly deteriorating each time she catches a glimpse of her father getting strapped into the Helicopters back seat.

He’s looking at her with fear in his eyes, but there’s a calm reassurance there- he knows she won’t get to him in time. It’s okay, Pixal.

A pang of heartbreak bruises her power core. She feels her fighting turn vicious, jabs and punches hitting and hitting hard, until she finally slams the woman face down against the roof. She whips out a set of cuffs from her jumpsuit and slaps them on her wrists- They activate with a hum and Pixal jabs the power button frantically. The cuff link beeps and Pixal slams the woman's wrists down on the rooftop beneath her, the cuffs latching onto the roof and rendering her immobile.

Pixal leaps to her feet and spins around- the helicopter is off the roof, probably has been for a while, and it’s flying across Ninjago faster than Pixal could feasibly catch. She’d have to race down the stairs to the sub basement, gear up, and then give chase- they’d be gone by then. They were already gone.

Her chest feels like it’s caving in. Why? Why can’t she save the people she loves? Why is she always on the sidelines, just a second too late?

Pull yourself together. She takes a deep, shuddering breath just to move air through her circuits. The thick smell of asphalt brings her mind back to the current issue- she turns around to find the thief still cuffed to the roof, her mouth and nose covered with blood and that infuriating bored expression on her face.

A ringing fills Pixal head and she feels disconnected from her body, pushing away her despair so hard she distances herself from her own processor.

Pixal hauls her up and takes her down the stairs to the ninjas level, not caring when she stumbles to keep up with Pixals rapid pace. She can’t care about anything right now. They rarely use the actual interrogation room, but Pixal fishes out the key for it now. On one side is the classic one-way glass and a few metal chairs seated at a metal table securely fastened to the floor. Pixal uncuffs the restrictive suppression bonds and switches them out for classic metal cuffs, weaving the chain through another padlock and chain attached to the table so she doesn’t get any funny ideas. She’s moving on autopilot, clicking locks together with practiced, robotic movements. She has to keep herself together, everyone is relying on her. Once she’s secure, Pixal washes her hands. After that she politely hands her a box of tissues so she can mop up her bloody face and gets her a glass of water and an ice pack.

She doesn’t say anything to the thief, who matches her silence quietly. Pixal observes her behind the one-way glass for several long minutes.

The bubble around her pops, and reality rushes back in. She sucks in a sharp breath and turns away, whipping her radio out and hitting the button frantically, “Dareth?” She questions. No response, “Dareth, status report.”

A long pause.

The radio crackles, “He’s alright, Pix.” Skylor’s voice comes through from Dareths radio, “He’s with the medic now. A few broken bones, but nothing life threatening.”

Pixal closes her eyes and presses the radio to her forehead, relief so deep she can almost feel it in her circuits. “Stay with him, please, and ask him what happened once he is cleared for visitors.” She glances over at the pink haired woman, who looks completely at ease as she balls up a blood soaked tissue and sets it on a clean tissue to avoid getting blood on the table top, “I caught our mystery thief from the museum break in.” Two mismatched eyes glance up and seem to meet Pixals green ones before skating away to look around the empty room, “I’m going to see what I can find out.”

The woman smiles serenely and settles back, unconcerned.

“Good luck. Call me if you need me, okay?”

“I will.”

The room is still deafeningly quiet when Pixal goes back inside. The click of the door closing behind her feels harsh on her audio processor. It’s sterile, with gray floors and white walls and fluorescent lights strung across the ceiling. Pixal sits at one of the available chairs on the other side of the table,  “My name is Pixal borg. I have a few questions for you.”

The woman smiles wider.

“Hello, Miss Borg. Ask whatever you like.”

She spends the next hour asking questions to a brick wall. The thief is listening and attentive to every one of Pixar’s words, but at the end of each question or statement is pointed and resolute silence. She doesn’t rise to any bait Pixal sets out- she doesn’t get angry or scoff when Pixal slips in subtle insults, she doesn’t preen over praise, she doesn’t even look tired or annoyed as the questioning continues on and on. She’s the picture perfect image of poise, and Pixal can’t gain an inch.

Her phone rings at the hour and fifteen minute mark. She answers it with a palpable relief to have something else to do other than fail at questioning her only lead about this kidnapping, “Pixal speaking.” She greets briskly, stepping out of the room and rolling imaginary soreness from her shoulders.

“What’s with all the blood on the roof?” Ronin asks curiously.

Pixal winces- she’d handed out a few good left hooks during their scuffle, “The thief I needed you to identify made an appearance today. I caught her.”

“Damn, did you break her nose or something?”

“Her employer kidnapped my father.” She reveals bluntly.

Ronin sucks a hiss of air through his teeth at that, “…Okay, well, send me up the elevator and I’ll come down.”

Pixal calls the elevator and once it arrives she steps inside and rides it back up to the roof. She’s beginning to hate this thing. She clicks her radio just to be doing something, “Any news, Sky?”

“Dareth is sleeping off anesthesia right now, sorry.”

“Thank you. Ronin has just arrived, I believe he will be able to help.”

“Keep me updated.” Skylor says pointedly.

“I will.” Pixal holsters her radio, staring at the closed doors in front of her. She felt so useless- she couldn’t get a peep out of either of their two leads, she was stuck inside doing futile research while random monsters were running wild through Ninjago, and she couldn’t stop her father from getting kidnapped from right under her nose.

The doors open to Ronin leaning casually against the wall waiting for it. He whistles low, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline, “You look like shit.” Are the first words out of his mouth.

“It has been a rough week.” She says tightly.

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Get in the elevator.”

He obliges and she takes them back down to the Ninjas floor, filing him in on the situation as they ride down. He’s rubbing his scruff in thought as the doors open up and they step out, thinking hard, “There are two possible options I’m thinking of, Maybe Milena or Raven. Both of them color their hair regularly, and they’re sloppy enough to get caught like that.” He muses, “I’ve never heard of a Dixie Samson though, which makes sense if she’s a rookie.”

Pixal heads straight towards the interrogation room, feeling an inkling of dread- part of her is convinced the woman would have vanished in the time it took her to bring Ronin back here. She feels a line of tension leave her shoulders when she walks back inside to see her still sitting there casually on the other side of the glass.

Ronin stops dead in his tracks, “By the first master- You have got to be kidding me.” He groans, reaching up to run a hand down his face. He looks back up at the woman and does a full body wince.

“Do you know her?” Pixal cant help the amused curve of her lips at Ronins dramatics.

“Do I know her…” He grumbles darkly, dragging his feet up to the window, “She’s my ex sister in law.”

Pixals checklist of questions on the woman is immediately derailed in surprise, “You were married?”

“Everyone makes mistakes.” He defends.

“Who would agree to- no, it is not important right now. What can you tell me about her?”

“I can tell you she’s only in those cuffs because she wants to be.” He grimaces, “Her name is Stella and I doubt there's a set of restraints good enough to hold her short of strapping her down like Hannibal Lecter, and I’m skeptical if even that would work. If she’s still here, she has ulterior motives. She wants something from you, or she wants something in this building.”

“She already took everything.” Pixal barely resists baring her teeth. She sighs, “I need to get information from her.”

“Sorry, but you’re out of luck there. I can promise you she won't speak a word of her employer. You couldn’t waterboard info out of her if she doesn’t want to tell you.” He delivers the bad news bluntly.

“So this is another dead end.”

“Not exactly.” Ronin crosses his arms over his chest and leans back against the glass, “Stella isn’t cheap to hire and if we throw in who exactly she’s dealing with- Borg, the ninja, you- that’ll only make this job that much more expensive. So we can confidently narrow down her employer to Ninjagos one percent.” He grins at Pixals shocked expression, “She does damn good work- the best work- but it’ll cost ya. That big paycheck is what ensures her loyalty. As long as her employer is supplementing her bank account, her lips are sealed- even in the face of torture.”

“She’s all about money…” Pixal turns that over in her mind, looking for the piece she needs to unravel Stella's loyalty.

Ronin shrugs, “All mercenaries are, Stella just has the status and reputation to be bought out by the richest of the rich. With that amount of cash backing her up, You wouldn't be able to even threaten anything out of her.”

Pixal holds up her hand, stopping Ronins words as she carefully considers his words. “I don’t need to threaten her.” As if she’d had an epiphany, Pixal immediately takes off around the corner. Ronin ends up scrambling after her, Following her into Stella's interrogation room just barely before the door closes.

Stella looks relaxed and unconcerned, that same bored expression she's always wearing on her face. She’s got her chair kicked back and her feet on the table, her cuffed hands folded over her belly as she observed them come inside. She raises a brow at Ronin and opens her mouth to speak but Pixal beats her to it.

Pixal yanks out a leather wallet from her jumpsuit and grabs a pen from her from breast pocket, “I am aware you will not speak against your employer, and I am also aware he is paying you a lot of money to keep his secrets.” She sits down in front of Stella, slamming her pocket book and pen to the table, “But I’m Pixal fucking Borg.”

She opens the book and pulls out a stack of checks, signing one and sliding it across the table blank, “Are you interested in new employment?”

Heartbeats pass. Ronin is staring at the check so hard Pixals half sure his eyes are about to pop out of his head, but Stella looks as cool and collected as ever. If Pixal had to breathe she’d be holding it, praying that the gamble works. Stella carefully takes each foot off the table and sits up straight, scooting her chair forward and resting her elbows on the table. She studies the check for a long moment before her lips twitch, the scar at the corner of her mouth pulling her lips into a pleased smile.

“I don’t want your money, Pixal Borg.” She gently, strangely respectfully, tears the check in half and slides the pieces across the table towards the two. Ronin makes a sound like a wounded animal at the action.

Pixals heart plummets.

“But there is something I do want.” Stella continues before Pixal can feel the full weight of failure. Stella looks at Pixal with a firm, intense furrow to her brow. “I will tell you everything I know if you do me a favor. I don’t know what or when that will be. This is what I do know: You are the most powerful woman in Ninjago, Pixal Borg, and I want you to owe me.”

“Deal.” Pixal hold out her hand for Stella to shake without a second of hesitation. Her friends, her family, her father- everyone was relying on her, and she needed this information because right now they had nothing.

But as Stella takes her hand in a firm grip, Pixal can’t help but feel like she’s made a deal with the devil.

Sella sits back, bored expression sinking over her features once more, “His name is Broden Voss, the CEO of Voss Technologies.” She gets right down to business. Pixal recognizes the name in flashes of memory- a place card at a table during a charity event, investors threats to take their money elsewhere when her fathers quarterly review is lower than expected, a flash of red hair and a shark-like smile as a towering man shakes her hand at a high brow cocktail party, “He hired me to infiltrate Ninjago Citys Museum of History after his previous hire, Dixie Samson, failed. I was tasked with finding and retrieving a gauntlet forged by one of Voss’s ancestors, a warlord by the name of Utano whose armor had mystical powers. I was paid to do whatever possible to return this gauntlet to him, and as such I used one of the abilities in the gauntlet to send the ninja to another Realm. The only other ability I've seen... I have witnessed Voss change the gauntlet configuration with a thought. Essentially shapeshifting, though I can't be certain how far that particular gift goes.

“Voss’s plan always centered around Cyrus Borg. Ever since Voss Technology was usurped as Ninjagos main technology company by Borg Industries, he’s felt cheated and wronged. Now that he has this powerful artifact, he intends on using it to tear Ninjago apart and rebuild it with Voss tech, installing himself back in the forefront of tech manufacturing,” She pins Pixal with a pointed look, “He’s obsessed with defeating Cyrus Borg- but your father is not in any immediate danger.”

Pixal feels a bit of tension leave her shoulders, “I have time to save him?”

“Voss wants Borg to have a front row seat to the fall of his empire. He wants Cyrus alive to see the rubble of Borg Tower and after that, I don’t know. Now that he has Borg, though, his plan will be entering the final phase. He will use the power of the gauntlet to open portals throughout downtown ninjago- I know several of the locations he’s planning on placing them that I can pass along. He’s targeting centralized, high traffic areas so he can flood the streets with monsters as quickly and effectively as possible. He is aiming for the absolute maximum amount of destruction in every inch of the city.” She steeples her fingers, “Evacuate the city. Now.”

She doesn’t hesitate on this, raising her Borg radio to her mouth, “Sky, I am officially ordering a full evacuation of the city. I will explain everything later, but right now I need you and the others mobilized.” At Skylors confirmation, Pixal turns her attention back to Stella, “Monsters from where, exactly? Where do these portal lead?”

Where did you send my friends?

Stella pauses on this question, aware the answer will not be one Pixal is thrilled to hear, “The Realm of Madness.” She reveals. “What’s going to come through that portal are some of the most terrifying monsters Ninjago has ever seen, and if I’m any good at reading people- and I am the very best- I can tell you that Broden Voss will not be able to control the chaos he creates. If you can’t stop this, it could lead to more destruction than Ninjago has ever seen.”

“Well,” Pixal says tersely, “Maybe I would have a better chance stopping him if the ninja had not been sent to the Realm of madness and unable to help.”

“Yeah, my bad.”

Ronin trails Pixal as she goes back to the computers, sitting down roughly and opening up a new tab to start another bout of research. Now she had a name- Utano, a great warlord. Pixal could work with that. She pauses and glances at Ronin, curiosity picking at her, “Your sister in law, eh?”

He lets out a put upon sigh and crosses his arms, “Ex sister in law, I’ll remind you.”

“Who became a bounty hunter first?”

“...She was,” He admits grudgingly, “She’s been in the game longer than most.”

Pixal frowns, “I went through countless security feeds and crime reports- That long and she hasn’t gotten caught on camera anywhere? Not even during a trip to the grocery store?”

“Oh, she definitely has. You just don’t know where to look.” He sits down next to her, “She changes her appearance just as seamlessly as Chamille- hair dye, prosthetics, contacts… her eyes aren’t actually blue and brown, you know. She’s evaded any and all facial recognition with clever makeup and smoke-and-mirror tricks.” Pixal opens her mouth, “-And no, I am not going to tell you what to look for. Even if I wasn't a fellow mercenary following the mercenary code, Stella is not an enemy anyone wants to have.”

“Okay.” Pixal relents, “Do you know what this favor could be?”

“No clue.” He shrugs and peeks over her shoulder, “You looking up that warlord guy?”

“Girl.” Pixal corrects as she scans over the basic wikipedia page she’d pulled up. There was… little here, “No parents listed, no spouse. She had one child later in life, but there is no information on them, Not even a name. She was married to a powerful lord in her twenties, but he died a year after they wed. She rose to power through extremist political lobbying and strategic battles with her personal militia until she had conquered over half of ninjago.”

Ronin quirks a brow, “No mention of her magic armor?”

“None here. All it says is she was killed by the elemental masters of creation during her final battle.” Pixal goes back to her original search, “But that was just wikipedia, I’m sure there’s more information somewhere.”

Spoiler alert: There was not more information anywhere.

Pixal scours the internet, following dead end academic papers and documentaries- she even got desperate and checked reddit, of all places. Even after using her status to get into parts of the internet usually barred from the general public, she still came up with nothing. “There are scrolls referenced in all of these papers, but I cannot find the scrolls. They were never digitalized, and apparently no one knows where they went.” She sits back roughly, pushing herself away from the monitor so she doesn’t have to look at it anymore.

Ronin startles awake where he’d fallen asleep on the couch after he got bored, peeking up at her over the arm of it, “Maybe Stella is lying about Utano.”

It’s at that moment that the elevator door dings open and Misako comes striding out with Wu trailing slowly behind her. She’s dressed in thick pants and a button up covered in a thin layer of sand and dirt, her hair much the same in its bun sitting on top of her head, “Did I hear you say Utano?” She asks, shrugging off her satchel and tossing it aside with a cloud of dust, “I came straight from the dig site once Wu informed me of the situation. If you already know about Utano, then we’re on the right track.”

“Misako!” Pixal stands with a smile, moving to hug the woman, “It is good to see you. We know the name, but there’s not much else on the internet to go off of.” She admits.

“I know.” Misako says with a wince, “When Wu told me about the gauntlet, I had a feeling I knew what it was. The scrolls that had any record of Utano were all under the Explorers Club’s lock and key- When I called Cecil and asked about them, he confessed that several artifacts in the clubs collection went missing the day they were all transferred to the museum's custody, apparently lost in the shuffle.”

Pixal feels her expression darken, “He is saying the explorers club lost artifacts? I find that difficult to believe.”

“I looked into it on the way here. Underhill sticks out as the most suspicious- he took off to the other side of the country and bought himself a nice, expensive house on the beach, but the rest of the club members all seem to have come into some money with similar luxury purchases as well.” Misako confirms grimly. “That doesn’t matter right now. What do you know about Utano?”

Pixal relays all the information Stella had told them and what little else she’d gleaned from the internet. Misako nods thoughtfully, “Her reign over Ninjago started hundreds and hundreds of years ago, before we were even aware the sixteen realms existed- She was part of Ninjago and the Cloud Kingdom, a parent from either realm. We refer to her armor in modern times as the Allied Armor of Azure, said to call on different realms to aid its wearer, and scholars presume she received a gift from her Cloud Kingdom parent that allowed this type of enchantment. The only pieces that were meant to survive the armor's destruction were the Helmet that we passed on to the Cloud Kingdom, and the chest plate, which we studied.”

“Is there a way to neutralize its abilities?”

“If there was a way, it would be in the stolen scrolls. As I see it, there is none.” Misako says apologetically, wincing. “Even the Elemental Masters were not able to defeat her at her most powerful.”

Pixal frowns, “The elemental masters did defeat her.”

There’s a pause, “Yes… they did, but it… wasn’t a fair fight.”

“What does that mean?” Ronin pipes up, “Did they get her while she was sleeping or something?”

Misako sighs, “You said you read she had one child, yes?” Pixal nods and Misako shakes her head, “She had three. We have private scrolls written by Utano detailing her three children and how much she loved them. The Elemental Masters of the time made a decision. They needed leverage- They needed bargaining chips. Only one child survived, and Utano was defeated.”

a heartbeat passes.

Pixal swallows down her horror, “The only way they stopped her was by going after something she cared about.”

“And from what Stella is saying, it sounds like Broden Voss doesn’t care about anything-” Ronin snorts, “Except maybe killing your dad.”

“You are not helpful.” Pixal snaps immediately.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any good news.” Misako bows her head.

“Thank you for coming, Misako, but this has been a huge waste of time.” Pixal says bitterly, turning away.

Misako doesn’t flinch at the words, knowing what stress Pixal must be under. She almost doesn’t want to say what she needs to say next. She takes a step forward and opens her mouth anyway, “I didn’t come here to tell you about Utano. Wu could have passed along that message for me.” She says softly.

Pixal looks back at her with a questioning frown, “What did you come here for?” She asks.

Misako steps to the side so Wu is standing in front of Pixal now. He looks miserable and ashamed, staring down at the floor, “I came to make sure he told you.”

Pixal feels a lightning flash of alarm go through her, “Told me what?” she swallows roughly. From where he’s laying on the couch, Ronin sits up in curiosity. There’s a pregnant pause, “I do not have time for this.” She says sharply, refusing to let her voice shake. She turns back to the computers, moving away from them. The tension in the room feels different and wrong- She doesn’t want him to say anything.

“It’s about Zane.” Wu manages to whisper, still looking at the floor.

Pixal freezes in her tracks. Her core seems to tighten painfully, icy fingers wrapping around her insides and tangling her carefully sorted wiring into knots. She slowly spins on her heel to face him again, “What about him?” She asks carefully. The question is laced with grief.

He’s going to break her heart.

Misako makes a go on gesture with her head that Wu sees out of the corner of his eye. He takes another moment to build up his nerve and looks up, meeting Pixal eye for the first time since he’d walked through that door, “Three years ago-'' He begins.

“Master Wu, I don’t need a recap,” She says tightly.

“Three years ago,” He presses on, “After we caught Aspheera, I went to see her in Kryptarium. There were questions I needed answered. When I saw her, I asked why she chose to kill him when I was the one-” He swallows and pauses for a moment, “She told me he was not dead.”

Pixal stares at him, “She did not kill him?”

Wu takes a tentative step forward, “No, she merely banished him… To the Never Realm, a realm impossible to return from.”

“He is… alive?” She breathes softly, shock rendering her dumb for several long moments. Joy and hope bubbles up her chest, “Zane is alive. We can bring him home. We just need to figure out a way to get back to Ninjago- there has to be some way to make it back.”

“Pixal…” Misako’s voice is heavy with sadness.

“Why did you keep this from us, Master Wu?” She’s trying to be angry, but the happiness spreading through her fights the frown on her face, “We could have figured it out together, all of us, and brought him home!”

Wu looks at her with wet, sorrowful eyes. Pixels smile dims.

“There is a way back from the Never Realm,” He says gravely, “The fruit of the travelers tree, high in the mountains.” Her circuits tie themselves together, she can tell another shoe is about to drop, “I discovered it three years ago, when I traveled to the Never Realm to get him.”

She’s not smiling anymore. The room is silent. The glow from the computer monitors illuminates Wu’s robe in pale blue light. It’s so, so quiet.

Her voice is steady, “Why is he not home?”

“Pixal…” He begins.

“Do not patronize me!” She shouts, tears springing to her eyes, “Why tell me this? Why bring up the past and get my hopes up just to crush them again? I have already accepted that he is dead, I did not need you to yank my feelings around like-”

“He’s not dead.” Wu cuts in, and Pixal stops mid-rant, her hands loosening from the fists she’d balled them into.

“I do not understand.” She says blankly, slumping into herself. She tries to put the pieces together, to fit the tragedy into a story that makes sense in the absence of an explaination, “He… chose to stay there?”

“No,” Wu says sadly, and then proceeds to tell her about the worst moment of his life. He tells her about coming to a land unnaturally cold and barren, snow drifts and ice that suffocated the crops and froze people whole. He tells her about the handful of towns still alive who lived under constant fear of their supernaturally powerful emperor, a man who controlled every snowflake in the land. He tells her about making the trek across the mountain and stumbling upon a species of beast hunted to near extinction by the Emperor's samurai, and finding the travelers tree. He tells her about finally coming upon the palace gates, through the Emperor's throne room doors, and who he’d found sitting atop the dais.

“It was Zane, his body, but the man we know and loved was gone.” He tells her, voice thick with pain, “He was violent and angry, and passive to the struggle and pain of others. He did not respond to my voice, he did not react to reminders of who he once was, and he did not hesitate to attempt to strike me down.”

Pixal is silent, leaning against the communications console as if her legs had no strength. She says nothing, face twisted up in aching raw grief and sadness.

“Zane… I believe he was gone, truly. He would have been horrified at what he’d become… You must understand, I did what I did to respect the man I loved as my own son.”

“What did you do?” Pixals voice cracks.

“I could not kill him,” Wu closes his eyes, “I used the fruit of the travelers tree to open a portal to the Realm of Madness… where I banished the Ice Emperor, and freed the Never Realm from his grasp.”

She bows her head, hiding her face in shadows.

“I told you all of that to tell you this… the longer the Ninja haven't returned, the more I fear there is something… or someone keeping them there. They should have made it to the Mountain of madness by now. I have the utmost faith in them, but not only am I afraid of what they might find there, I am afraid of what- or who- may find them. The Ice Emperor was a formidable foe-”

“Stop talking.” Pixal interrupts him icily, voice hard as steel.

He goes silent, staring at her.

“Master Wu… for all of your age… for every ounce of wisdom you have… you are still one of the most foolish people I have ever met.” She looks up at him and her eyes burn, hot pinpricks of fire and pain and rage. “You should have dragged him home. We would have helped him- we would have helped him! We could have saved him-! And- and you better hope the ninja run into him, and do what you failed to do and bring him back to Ninjago- or else when this blows over I am dragging you to the Realm of Madness myself and we are combing every inch of that realm until we find him ourselves!”

He shrinks with shame and guilt under her ire as she advances upon him, rage making her fans kick into high gear, “You knew he was there, you knew the- the Ice Emperor was in the Realm of Madness and you knew he could have posed a serious threat to the ninja, yet you told me they would be okay! That there was nothing to worry about! And now- I cannot go after them! I have to stay here and protect Ninjago, I cannot leave these innocent people behind like I could have a few days ago when my friends first vanished-!” She chokes on a sob, swiping hot tears out of her eyes.

“Pixal, I didn't know-" He looks gutted, "… I’m so sorry-” He starts, reaching out, but she takes a step away from him and bares her teeth.

“Do not-” She snaps, jerking a hand down to keep him away from her, “-Apologize to me. Apologize to Zane when we get him back, apologize to the ninja for keeping this from them, and then never speak to me again. That’s the only thing you can do for me, Master Wu. We’ll work together now because the city needs everyone it can get, but after that... “ She shakes her head, condemnation in her eyes.

He nods, cowed, “If that is what you want… I understand.”

She takes a deep breath, centers herself, and picks up the communicator again. She needs to talk to Skylor, Her face is grim as she raises it to her lips.

“Pixal?” He hesitantly says, before she can speak, “What are we going to do about the ninja?”

“We are going to trust they can make it home,” She says, “And we are going to do our best to make sure there is still a home to come back to.”

The first thing Cyrus smells is the thick scent of designer perfume- he was born into money, raised in the lap of luxury, expensive colognes have always been a part of his life. With the blindfold wrapped around his eyes, the smell becomes stronger and sharper. He narrows the other occupant in the room to a handful of other high society socialites. If he were in the upscale, posh parfumerie in downtown Ninjago he could appreciate the sweet earthy scent of tahitian vanilla, ylang-ylang, rosa centerfoils, italian cinnamon, jasmine, osiris root, and rose oil. An expensive bottle worn only for special occasions- he might even recognize it. As a recently kidnapped prisoner trying to figure out how to untie his wrists from the railings on his wheelchair, some of the intricacies of the scent are lost on him.

“You’ll won’t get away with this.” It feels cliche the moment it comes out of his mouth, but he can’t help but break the silence. The other person in the room is just… staring at him. Cyrus can feel the satisfied, smug gaze weighing on his shoulders. He knows he’s being watched.

“Yes, I will.” The voice is deep and smooth, effortlessly confident.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Shifting sounds in front of him, then the soft click of a wooden box closing. The sharp flick of a lighter. The smell of burning tobacco and whiskey seeps into the air.

“Would you like a cigar, Cyrus?”

“I never acquired a taste for them.” He responds stiffly. He knows that voice, doesn’t he? From where?

“Oh, I’m sure you’d like these if you tried it. Two thousand dollars, retail.” He pauses to taste the smoke, probably. Cyrus can’t see him to tell, “Could I offer you a drink, then? What’s a man of your status’s drink of choice?” He humms in thought, gravely and low, and taps his fingers on a table (desk?) in front of him. It’s more for show than any actual thinking, “Louis XIII cognac? Chateau Cheval Blanc, 1947? Or maybe you go for something a bit pricier, hm? D’Amalfi Limoncello Supreme?”

“I’m not thirsty.” 

“I recommend the cognac, personally. It’s a celebration, after all.”

The hair raises on the back of Cyrus’s neck, “A celebration of what?”

“My victory, of course.” He laughs like that was a silly question, “I won.”

Swallowing thickly, Cyrus tries again to wiggle his wrists out from his bindings. “The ninja-”

“-are gone.” The man responds and Cyrus freezes. The voice was no longer across the room, but right in front of him. He’d move silently across the floor, crouching down to speak directly to Cyrus, “The ninja are gone. No one will be able to save you.”

He leans in, his breath hot on the shell of Cyrus’s ear, “I suggest you have a glass, Cyrus. It will be the last drink you ever have.” He promises.

Cyrus jerks back and slams his head forward before he can think about it. There’s a sharp crack and something warm and wet splatters on his cheek. The man swears loudly and he can hear him stumble away.

“You son of a-” He snarls, smooth confidence immediately bleeding into red hot rage.

“That- ow- Well, that hurts.” Cyrus winced, head pounding.

“I am going to enjoy destroying you!” His voice is thick with hatred.

Cyrus doesn’t know what to think. Who are you?

His wheelchair is kicked roughly and he tips over. He falls hard and he could have braced himself and been just fine if not for the edge of a coffee table sitting perfectly at concussion height.

The world turns black.

#ninjago #ninjago never the dark #ninjago au #mentioned death #pixal borg #skylor chen #ronin ninjago #wu ninjago #misako montgomery garmadon #ninjago dareth #dareth ninjago #ninjago oc broden voss #spinchip fic #ns11

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Please Don't Kill the Messenger

(The Watcher and the Thief, Chapter 1 Scene 3)

Whumpril Day 15 (Mind Games)

Whumpril Prompts List

Tales from Valaria Masterpost

previous part

TW: gradual loss of senses, magic whump, mentioned death, mentioned injuries, creepy whumper

Context: Octavian has been sent from the elven blockade to the Draigo stronghold with an urgent message. Unfortunately, he doesn't get very far.

-----

Octavian moved quickly through the forest, following an old deer path south. He’d been across the Fells so many times, moving between the blockade and the Draigo stronghold near Valdove, that he knew its paths and trees like no one else.

He would have gone faster in his other form, but Iason had given him two messages. One was verbal, the other in a scroll tucked into his pack. The scroll was for the eyes of the Draigo Council only, and the verbal message was for the person who oversaw the justice division. For Marcella. Or Maelyn, if the Council was meeting when he arrived.

A rogue magician has struck in the Fells.

Simple, easy to remember, and Octavian had more information if they requested it. She had brutally killed two sang who had slipped past the blockade and almost murdered the Caenum Watcher’s apprentice. The attack occurred between Zariya and the blockade. And Octavian could sketch the runes he’d glimpsed on the boy’s body with near-perfect accuracy.

But he wouldn’t. They were too dangerous to risk the wrong eyes seeing them. But he was sure Marcella would understand. The rest of the Council might not, so it was best he pass along the scroll and get back to the blockade as soon as possible before they asked too many questions.

A twig cracked nearby. Octavian placed his hands on his knives but did not slow his pace. Like it or not, that magician was still wandering around the Fells. She was injured, sure, but she would know healing runes and—

The stench of blood hit him all at once. He stopped in his tracks and glanced around wildly, trying to locate the source. 

It was strong, too strong, there was so much of it, how did he not notice it before? Surely he would have caught some of the scent, the wind—

No. There had been no wind.

As Octavian came to this realization, the Fells plunged into darkness. He cursed, drawing his knives and backing up the trail. It had to be the magician, but how? Hector said he’d shot her twice, and it had been only a matter of hours since!

She was clever. Blinding both sight and smell would place him at a severe disadvantage. How she’d known Octavian would come this way, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t have time to dwell on that. Sound and touch were his remaining senses, and he couldn’t afford to let himself get—

Everything went silent. Completely silent. Since when could magicians—

“Well! So you’re the messenger!” The voice had no source, as if it had been projected into his head.

Octavian continued moving back, relying solely on the ground beneath his feet to navigate. He raised his knives, trying to sense the world around him through the soles of his boots.

“A little bird told me you’re on your way to the Draigo,” the magician said in a sweet, perky tone. “I’m willing to bet it’s because of me, isn’t it?”

“Your skills of observation are uncanny,” Octavian muttered, “considering you brutally murdered two sang and nearly did the same to the boy.”

The magician laughed, a harsh, bemused sound that echoed throughout his skull. “They’re sending you over that?! Ha! After I took care of the sang for them? Ungrateful, much!”

Octavian turned into a slow circle. “And the young Watcher?”

“He simply got in my way,” the magician dismissed. Air displaced behind Octavian, and he whirled around, slashing blindly. The only thing they sliced through was air. She must have ducked away.

The magician tsked softly. “Can’t have that, now. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

“Enough with this game!” Octavian snapped, backtracking in a random direction until he hit a tree. “Are you going to kill me or not?!”

Silence. The magician hummed softly in thought. “Hm, no. I don’t want you dead.”

Octavian’s hands suddenly went completely numb, the knives slipping out of his fingers and landing somewhere on the ground, unseen and unheard. The strange sensation spread up his arms with terrifying speed. “How are you doing this?” He demanded, voice shaking as he stumbled, trying and failing to maintain control.

“Oh…” the magician said mockingly, “has the devar gotten used to his rune resistance? Don’t worry, love, when I’m done with you, there will be no need for such fear any longer.”

The last thing Octavian felt before his entire body went completely numb was cold fingers closing around his throat.

@fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @whumpril @phoenixradiant

#this is such a whumpy fic isn't it #first outlines of this story were from before i knew what whump even was #and yet... #my writing #whump writing #whumpril2024 #whumprilday15 #mind games #gradual loss of senses #magic whump #mentioned death #mentioned injuries #creepy whumper #whump #octavian de silv #tales from valaria #tfv #the watcher and the thief

[drinkinboilingcoffee]

Serious FNAF movie thing again, hear me out: individual movie for each Afton WITH completely unique cinematography styles and framing based on the characters POVs. Examples (incoherent drabble warning):

-Michael: Mike’s movie would be the most traditional. It would have a classic slasher horror kind of vibe (maybe a bit more character centric); gore, creepy music, jumpscares, etc. Until it’s just… not. When the most horrific scenes happen (Bite of 83, scooper, finding out William is the killer, etc.), the music goes silent. The framing gets more jittery and broken. In the moments where it hits Mike hardest, the idea that he can pretend this is all a game or joke or his imagination vanishes and the world becomes as realistic as possible. -Evan/CC: The important thing about Evan’s POV is blurring how much is real and how much is his imagination. A multi-media effect would look amazing; imagine when he looks at his toys and the animatronics, they’re covered over by cartoonified drawings or claymation. The world itself could maybe distort more when he’s scared- look at artist like Jack Stauber for inspiration for the sorts of styles that look like they should be cute but turn out creepy instead (actually, if we could get Jack to voice act the dolls-) -Charlie & Henry: If these two had a movie I think it should be a conjoined one for a few reasons. For one, one of the bigger complaints people have about both characters is that their characters and arcs end up being nothing but projections of the other, that their characters are too dependent on each other. But what if we actually leaned into that? I’m kind of thinking Wes Anderson style symmetry in the shots- put the two side by side as much as possible until it becomes a signature. Then break that. Once Charlie dies, have Henry keep standing to his side in the shots, only Charlie is no longer there to fill hers. Maybe even do some reprises of the shots and songs with the Puppet in Charlie’s place. -Elizabeth: Elizabeth’s filming is unique in that it doesn’t use any filming techniques to look more frightening. It uses them to look less. The thing about Elizabeth is that I don’t think she’d ever admit or acknowledge how messed up everything is until it was too late. She tries as hard as she can to make her situation seem perfect and that spills over into her perception of reality. The lighting is bright, the colors are vivid, the music is calming. This almost never changes. Not when she’s being abused by William, not when Evan gets chomped, not at Charlies funeral, never. Whatever triumphant track plays when she finally gets to see CB? It keeps playing when she gets scooped by her, not fully cutting off until even after the screen goes dark. Maybe use lighting and focus tricks to make things seem hazy or like they’re in a dream, then if at some point Liz actually has a breakdown and the gravity of everything finally hits her, the world becomes entirely clear for the first time. -William: The best way I can think to describe this film is dissociated. The colors should be monochrome and diluted, the lighting hazy, any music used in a way that gives the distinct feeling it only exists in the scene’s background. Only a few objects (and people), the ones that fill William’s attention, should have their colors normal (the animatronics, remnant, Elizabeth, Henry (definitely Henry), etc.). Maybe when William is in the suit and in character as Bonnie, the background and music become more clear? If I had to give one piece of media to draw inspiration from, look at Joker. The camerawork should also be jittery, and if we could bring in the blood-hits-the-camera effect, that would look perfect.

ABSOLUTELY reblog with additional ideas I want to know if there’s any other serious fnaf movie angst stans out there

#fnaf #fnaf movie #text #text post #fnaf au #movie concept #cinematography #mentioned death #Mentioned blood #Kinda a psychoanalysis

[ninja-go-to-therapy]

Monster? I Hardly Know Her!

The Pearce Joza obsession lives on im afraid 😔

ao3

Prompt: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Fandom: Mech-X4

Characters: Spyder, Harris, and Veracity

Summary: Spyder wakes up, delirious and injured after a monster attack. Harris plays severely unqualified nurse.

Trigger Warnings: injury, mentioned vomit, mentioned death

809 words

Something was screeching. High pitched and whiny, kinda reminding him of a school bell… was he at school right now? No, that didn’t sound right. If not there, then where was he?

He groaned, blinking his eyes open. The screeching didn’t go away. In fact, it only somehow got even worse. He couldn’t see that well, vision all… blurred. Did he normally wear glasses? He couldn’t remember. He was pretty sure he didn’t, but then why else would his eyes be so… messed up?

A dark shape loomed over him. His first thought: dad? His second: please not dad.

The screeching (which he was now beginning to realize was just a ringing in his ears) was polite enough to quiet down some. A win was a win.

“Spyder?” the shape called, sounding like it had come from underwater. Or maybe he was underwater… he really couldn’t tell. “Can you hear me?”

“Harris?” he attempted, throat so scratchy it was painful. He coughed, his lungs burning at the action. “Wh’s goin’ on?”

“Oh, thank god. You took a real bad hit… or, a couple, more accurately. Do you remember the fight?”

His brain felt like it was full of soup, so… probably not. Was that why everything sounded so far away? “Did I win?” he croaked, squinting at the Harris-shaped blob.

“You were sort of… unconscious for most of it. Veracity had to hop on weapons, it was… quite the experience. But yeah, we won.”

He moved to sit up, immediately regretting the attempt. His body curled in on itself on pure instinct, raw pain sprouting in his chest like a… plant or something. 

“Oh, shit, yeah, don’t move!” Harris said, words stumbling over themselves. “We still need to check you out. Leo went to get some supplies… um, on a scale of one to ten, how are you feeling?”

“Mmm, ‘ve had worse,” he slurred. “‘nt hear good…”

“You can’t hear good?” Harris clarified, getting a low groan in response. “Okay, okay, I’ll forgive the grammar this one time on that. Uhhh… how many fingers am I holding up?”

Spyder squinted at the shape of his friend, trying to focus on his where his hands probably were. “Mmm… twelve?” he guessed.

“Yeah, that’s… definitely not right. I’m gonna need to scan you, hold still, okay?”

It wasn’t like he had much choice. If he moved, he was half convinced he’d disintegrate on the spot. God, everything hurt. He’d been knocked around plenty in his life, and he’d definitely had worse, but jesus. It was like his insides were on fire.

But he couldn’t stay down. He couldn’t afford to be dead weight on the team, not even for a minute. Not when he was constantly teetering on the edge of their collective patience. Not after the day Harris had been infected with ooze, had screamed at him that he was always in the way. 

He needed to show them that he wasn’t just the useless fool who didn’t add anything to the team other than plain annoyance. Quickly. Before they realized that it really was all he was and kicked him to the curb. 

“Wh—stop trying to get up!” Harris ordered, pushing him back down. Spyder’s head spun violently, and he had to give himself a moment to swallow down a bit of puke. 

“I’m good,” he hissed through his teeth, doing his best to filter the pain out of his voice. “All good. We’re good.” He still couldn’t actually focus his eyes enough to see the expression on his friend/severely unqualified doctor’s face. 

“I will strap you down, I swear,” he insisted, obviously annoyed. 

“Kinky,” came the unexpected voice of Veracity from somewhere near the door. 

“Wh-that’s not what I — no!” Harris stammered. Spyder wished he could see how red he probably was. He bet it’d be cute. Harris always somehow was.

“Relax, dumbass,” she said with a half-laugh. “Anyway, how are you feeling, kid?” She asked, her voice closer, now. 

“Mmm…” he managed, re-assessing his body to check for pain. To his faint surprise, though it was still definitely there, it felt so… detached from him, now. He felt like he was dreaming. “I think ‘m dying.”

“What?” they both cried in deeply concerned unison. 

Spyder grinned in what he assumed was Harris’s direction. “Cause you look like an angel.”

“I hate gay people,” Veracity mumbled under her breath. 

“I assume,” he continued, “'cause I can’t actually like… see you.”

“That’s… a problem. What can you see?”

“Shapes’n colors,” he slurred, giggling slightly. His head felt like it was going to explode. To be perfectly honest, that did sound pretty sick, though. Not as sick considering it hurt like a bitch. “G’nigh… sweet prince…” he mumbled, hoping his friends would still be there when he woke up again. 

They probably wouldn’t be, but he could dream.

#whumptober 2023 #no.1 #“how many fingers am i holding up?” #mech-x4 #mech x4 #fic #injury tw #death tw #vomit tw #mentioned death #mentioned vomit #kat writes #fanfiction #mech-x4 fanfiction #hurt/comfort #whump #angst #whump writing #whumpblr #spyder mech x-4 #spyder johnson #harris harris jr #veracity campbell #harris mech-x4 #veracity mech-x4 #disney xd #disney channel #i could NOT think of a better title I'm so sorry to the <5 mech x4 fans that will read this

[owlsnesttree]

Dead but not

The idea about what happens after death is something that is up for discussion quite often, but in stories, you either die, or you don't.

But imagine you have a character who has something that keeps them alive, but also that something will turn them into something chthonic because that power holds on so tightly that it keeps that person alive.

Imagine a character injured on the battle field, badly injured and they start this horrific transformation that ends with their heart stopping and their body no longer their's. They are trapped in a state of suspended animation and their weakness is hard to come by due to the power scaling that puts them into a different bracket.

Imagine a character having to sacrifice themself to get the changed character back and nearly dying/ dead from doing so.

#mentioned death #resurrection #ancient powers #magic #story ideas #whump #what happens if a character can't die?

[yusuke-of-valla]

throw away your mask (and then what's left?)

Or:

Ren: My girlfriend took my other girlfriend in the divorce

AO3

Despite it supposedly being nearly spring, Ren’s cold when he gets back to Leblanc. When he’s there, Sojiro is nowhere to be seen, and Haru and Kasumi are sitting in a booth together, holding coffees.

“Oh? Is it just going to be all three of us tonight?” Ren asks. “Am I going to beat the cold with some curry and cuddling with my two lovely girlfriends?”

Instantly he knows something is wrong. Haru’s face is completely neutral, and Kasumi won’t look him in the eyes.

“What? Too cheesy?” He asks, trying to break the tension that’s got the cafe in a vice grip.

“Do you remember when I told you about my nightmares about my father?” Haru asks.

“Yeah, ‘course. Did you have another one?”

“Something like that.”

“Seriously, what’s going on?” Ren asks.

“Haru-chan and I were talking,” Kasumi says, “about how, you know, growing up I used to think it would be so much better if my sister wasn’t around.” She chuckles. “Awful, right?”

“I don’t think that’s–”

“I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, I just thought if I could match someone without being a matched set, people wouldn’t decide they wanted her all the time instead of me. Guess they were right to be disappointed with me, since apparently I'm the stupid one, since even my boyfriend prefers her over me, and he’s never even met her!”

“Kasumi–” 

“My name is Sumire,” she snaps. 

Huh. It’s been so long since aren't experienced genuine dread he doesn’t immediately recognize the twisting sensation in his stomach.

Haru’s glaring daggers at him too.

“How’d you find out?” He asks.

“We all thought something was wrong,” Haru says. “We talked it out, then we remembered. Then Akechi told us about the deal. We wanted to hear it out of your mouth.”

“...is it really so bad living in Maruki’s reality?” Ren asks. “I mean, Sumi, you got what you wanted anyway.”

“You will call me Sumire,” she says. “And you were there when I changed my mind and wanted to live as myself.”

“Did you really? Or did you just think you had to?” Ren says. “Maybe we were wrong! Society’s always telling us that we have to suffer to learn lessons, that it’s the proper way to do things, but that’s bullshit! Haru it wasn’t fair that your father died, he was just collateral damage of someone else’s scheme! And Sumire you killed your sister! Do you really want to live with that?”

Sumire flinches, and Haru puts a hand over hers. 

“No one wants to live with pain, Ren,” Haru says. “But it’s preferable to this.“

“Why? Is that fair to everyone else in Tokyo? Or the people who were brought back, they’re the same as if they never died, you’d just be killing them again!” 

“I’ve already lived my life under the control of my father, I don’t want anyone else to have the power to decide what’s going to make me happy but me,”

“Maruki is not your dad,” Ren says, “he’s a good person, he means well, he’s not—”

“WE’RE NOT TALKING ABOUT MARUKI!” Sumire shouts suddenly. “We’re not talking about him, or this reality, or if it’s fair to everyone else! We’re talking about the fact that you made this decision without talking to us!”

Haru nods. “We already rejected this reality, and without consulting us you tossed us back in and made us forget that anything was wrong. And I know you think Maruki means well, and he probably thinks he means well, but how well-meaning can he be if he opted to continue condemning Sumire-chan to play act as Kasumi instead of bring her back?!“ Haru adds, getting more and more worked up. “Oh but even then I’m reading too much into it, aren’t I? Well I’m not as stupid as you think I am. If you actually cared about us or any of the things you were talking about you would have discussed it with us before taking the deal or even brought it up throughout Maruki’s Palace but you didn’t because you agreed, all the way up until something that affected you personally came up right?”

Haru’s gripping her mug so tightly that Ren thinks it’s about to crack. “I’d yell at you for choosing my father’s murderer over me, but that’s not fair is it? Because Akechi is just as angry as I am, so you really didn’t choose him either? You chose yourself.”

“I mean, it fits, doesn’t it?” Sumire adds. “You did teach me to be more selfish, senpai, so I guess I’ll have to give you points for consistency! But you know, the thing is just because it’s alright to be selfish doesn’t mean there aren’t consequences.”

If Ren were in their shoes, he wouldn’t take a hollow apology, especially now that they’re so far gone.

“So what will you do now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Sumire says, “we’re going to finish what we started. If you like it so much, we’ll see if there’s a way we can leave and you can stay here. We won’t force you to fight him if you really prefer… all this.”

“It won’t work,” Ren says. “It’s been too long, he’s too powerful now. You’ll die.”

“I’ve already died once resisting the will of a self-proclaimed god, I don’t mind doing it again,” Haru says. “Besides isn’t that the best outcome for you? He’ll kill us and bring us back with no memories and you can continue on like none of this ever happened.”

“Haru, I don’t want that!”

“Why not? Didn’t you just say the versions of dead people are exactly the same as they were in our reality beyond being alive? So you shouldn't have anything to worry about!”

“That’s not–”

“Is killing us and replacing us a step too far? You’ll let him wipe our memories after we poured our hearts out to you explaining why we wanted to go back, but that’s where you draw the line?”

“I–” Ren doesn’t know what to say. “I didn’t want any of you to suffer.”

“We were already suffering,” Sumire says. “God these past few months, I thought I was crazy. Feeling wrong, looking at myself in the mirror and thinking my face is different. The others have too. We all felt like we were forgetting something. But we didn't say anything because ‘Ren said it was probably fine, just finals anxiety. Obviously Ren wouldn’t lie. Obviously Ren cares about us.’ Can you really care about someone if you don’t trust them to decide what would make them happy? If you don’t listen to them when they say this isn't what they want?”

Ren’s silent. He usually has a million and one ideas for things to say, but now? Nothing.

“I don’t particularly care if someone promises they’ll wield that power well,” Haru says, “you’ve made it abundantly clear that one person can not be trusted to have control over the lives of everyone in Tokyo.” She gets up and hands Sumire her coat, all in one elegant motion.

“...you know what’s worst?” Haru asks as they reach the door. “Despite it all, I can’t truly wish harm on you.”

And they disappear into the cold.

#alto writes #p5r spoilers #p5r bad ending #whumptober 2023 #i've been waiting all month for this one lol #I feel like i shouldn't tag the ships tho idk if people looking for the tags will want to see it #angst #break ups #mentioned death

[andywinter16]

Okay okay okay hear me out, luche, Nyx, and drautos having to saying goodbye to their lover because things are getting too dangerous or an even more heartbreaking scenario…. Saying goodbye because their love is dying from a terrible injury!

OMG! You want to make me cry, don´t ya? .... I absolutely know what you mean, let me get to it! It will be mix of both kind of, I just need to decided who I want to break with what plot. ... I hope you have a tissues, anonie?

Okay, gn!reader as always :)

WARNING!!! Lots of angst, mentioned death, betrayel, injury, fatal illness, kinda toxic relationship

If anything of the things mentioned above triggers you, do not read it , please!

--

Luche Lazarus:

"Luche, you´re alive!" you run into his arms at full speed, both of you fell hard on the floor. He seemed genuinely suprised, until his eyebrows knitted together and his lips were pursued just in thin line. You knew what this gesture meant. Displeased.

"What are you doing here!? I send you investigate to Leide. Fuck, this can´t be really happening." he pushed you away from him, making space between you two. You didn´t understand it at all. "Luche, I came back, because I discovered that some of our comrades want to betray Insomnia. So listen to me!" the distress in your voice was palpable.

Luche abruptly stood up. His usually soft features are now graced with sorrowful look . " It´s true, Y/N. Most of us betrayed the king." your jaw dropped. You shook your head in disbelief at that revelation. Luche wouldn't do this, he wasn't like that. Yet you knew him perhaps too well. Luche as any other refugee was despised by Insomnians, and no matter how many people they saved or how many battles they won in the king´s name, Insomnians never accepted them among themselves. Many times you have defended them against rude Insomnians with their snark remarks. But you were just one kind spirit among many assholes. Luche´s intesive stare locked you in place.

" I didn´t wanted you to be caught in this crossfire Y/N. That´s why I send you away on that mission. " he smiled ruefully at you, " But you and your unsatisfied curiosity, always causing trouble." You struggled to get up, it felt like a bad dream that came from the worst nightmare. It's like your mind stopped working, only thing that spinned your mind was betrayl. Luche continued to speak in his soothing voice, giving you a false hope.

" Hide somewhere away from Insomnia, and I will find you Y/N. You´re after all too precious for me to lost." He pulls his gun out, pointing it straight at you. Stunned. Confused. You just stood here frozen in place. Until you finally found the strength to answer him.

" Please, Luche. Stop this madness, this isn´t you! Come with me, we can hide together before the Empire!" you pleaded. He was tempted, but abandoning his cause and be runaway with you, still at cost turning his back toward his people and home? Luche knew it woudn´t go smoothly with you. " It´s too late Y/N. I made up my mind long time ago."

" I am not doing that! Come with me." Luche shakes his head, the gun was still pointed at you. If It can't be the easy way, then you can do it the hard way. " Luche!" you lunged to grab him by the arm in which he holds the gun.

" Go away Y/N!" the trigger was pulled and the bullet bit into your shoulder. Pained scream leaved your lips. It's like time has stopped all of a sudden. You started slowly backing away from him. This is not the Luche you knew and loved. Before you was a cold-blooded man capable of doing anything to succeed in his plan. Tears streamed down your face like a river. Fear possessed you, you heard yourself spoke but it felt like it weren´t your words or even your body.

"You´re not the man that I once loved. You´re just a fucking cruel monster! I wish I would never met you " you throw at him the last thing of your searing bond, the unspoked goodbye. Turning your back at him, you ran as far as possible to safety . Adrenaline coursed through your veins. Even though the injury awfully throbbed, you wanted to be away from such heartless man.

You didn´t turn your back to see those shivering hands which picked your engagement ring. Or how his face was twisted in stabbing pain and cheeks were wet from tears. In that moment you took Luche´s heart with you, and he knew he would never be whole again. Luche became an empty shell, a broken shadow of his formel self.

Nyx Ulric:

Nyx rushes from HQ to the hospital as fast as he could, when he heard the bad news from your doctor. He was so worried for you, yet pissed at why you didn´t told him about your health problem. You dated for five years for Astral´s sake! The recepcionist welcomed him and asked what he needed. " I need to know the room of Y/N S/N. I am their partner, Nyx Ulric." said hastily. She typed something in her to small computer. "It´s room 237 on the six floor, sir." answered the kind woman behind the counter. Nyx went straight to the elevator. Oh, how he hated hospitals.

Finally after some searching, he´s got in to your room. Which was so sterile and white, ugh! Nyx internally cringed. Next to the window was your bed. You were hooked to some beeping machines, your lower half covered in blanket. When your gazes met across a room, a weak smile barely made it on your lips.

" Why didn´t you tell me!?" his outburst suprised you, but it was not unexpected. "Nyx, I don´t want you to see me like that." suddenly your hands looked more interesting that this conversation, "You had already so much on your plate with the Kingsglaive. I didn´t wanted you to be worried for me too." Nyx frowned. " Are you kidding me? Is that why you were distant these few months?! I could have been there for you, by your side. Together we could have endure it. But it seems to me, you chose for both of us." you didn´t miss the bitter tone in his voice. With all your might in your body left, you sharply answered. "If somebody wasn´t always holed in his work or on party with their friends and flirting with everybody there. And then avoiding me like a plague! That is the reason I didn´t tell you, I am not sure I can´t trust anymore." you looked him deeply into eyes at your last sentence. That was the last straw for Nyx. After everything you´ve been through. The anger took better of him.

" Fine! You want it that way, then so be it! I am leaving you, if you can´t trust me enough Y/N! It´´s over, I hope you´re happy!" Nyx stormed off your room, slamming the door shut. " Nyx, wait!" you yelled after him in vain, tears threatened to spill. The pain in your chest intensified, you couldn´t breathe.

The anger made him see bloody red. Nyx slumps to the ground, his palm was balled into a fist, it drawed a blood. He felt so miserable and helpless, just like when Selene died. Nyx lost her and then he´s supposed to lost you too?! He couldn´t stop crying even if he wanted. It was too much.

--

Libertus found him a hours later, on the same spot where Nyx dropped. He had an absent look on his face, usually his stormy blue eyes full of energy were now hollow and puffy. His chin rested on his knees, which he hugged losely to his chest. Nyx looked so defeated, just like when his sister died. Libertus heart broke with grief, at the condition of his almost brother when Nyx uttered his way a single line.

" They´re gone, Libertus."

Titus Drautos:

The blown thrown him harshly at the remnants of concrete wall. Nyx reflexes were too slow from exhaustion, so when his head hit the wall Nyx vision went instantly black. Glauca saw his body slide to the ground, unmoving. Cautiously he went closer to finish his enemy off, while Nyx was still unconscious. Glauca yanked him roughly by his hair, maneuvering him into a semi-sitting position, preparing him for an execution. He let the sword rest on his shoulder, in pose of final victory.

" I commend you for standing by your word, Ulric. But this fight comes to an end."He raised his sword in a final strike. Glauca´s voice sounded somehow strained through his helmet. " Goodbye, Nyx Ulric."

" ARGHH!" a kukri was tossed precisely at Glauca´s head. He at last second ducked and rolled from the way, leaving poor Nyx abandoned on the ground. Glauca quickly scrambled to his feet, eyes frantically searching surounded area for the attacker. His mind quickly analyzed the situation. The kukri came from the right side of that debris. The attacker´s probably light on their feet, so someone from glaives was probably still alive. A shadow flashed in the right corner of his eye. There! So the attack comes from ... A figure dressed in glaive´s battle armor emerged from shadows on his left. Guided by his honned reflexes, he stabbed without remorse. But it was too late when his brain registred who did he stabbed. Y/N fell down on their knees, blood gushed from the stab wound like a waterfall. Glauca horiffied by his own action, took down the helmet. And in his place was Titus Drautos, the trusted captain of the glaives and your lover. He was the traitor, you were looking for among your ranks.

"Titus ... Why?" you tiredly managed to say. The blood loss started to take a heavy tool on your body. Breathing became raspy and beads of sweat were forming on your forehead.

" NO, NO no! Don´t talk Y/N, fuck! I need you to preserve your strenght, okay!" he tried to steady himself to appear calm. Shit, he didn´t have a flask of healing potion on him. Titus managed to apply the first aid, in a vain attempt to keep you alive. He saw too much wounds to knew the outcome, but he will try to do his damn best.

"You´re idiot, you know that? I'd hit you for that kind of stupidity...." You briefly paused. The strength in your body was rapidly dwindling." I would have followed you through a hell, if you asked me." The cold began to spread across your whole body. Titus gave a disheartening smile. " I know you would, love. But this was too much even for you. I had to bear it alone." He squeezed your hand soothingly. You could feel the inevitable coming, yet you weren´t ready to say goodbye.

" I love you, my silly captain ..." was the last thing you said, when Lady Etros took you in her land.

"No, stay with me Y/N! Fuck! Precious, don´t do this to me!" Your eyes became glassy and lifeless, when you took your last breath. Meanwhile Nyx has shaken himself out of the injury, rage boiled in his veins at the sight of your corpse. Titus touched affectionately your cheek, while teary - eyed he whispered his last goodbye.

"I will meet with you on the other side, dearest."

#ANGST #mentioned death #mentioned injury #ffxv kingsglaive #ffxv #final fantasy xv #luche lazarus x reader #nyx ulric x reader #titus drautos x reader #btw I still can´t with that gif of Nyx and Lib ignoring each other #and you can tell that Lib saw him #silly boys #Crowe really was the negotiator in their bullshits #Also unhealthy obssesion with Luche´s gif #why so pretty #gender neutral s/o #I am actually proud of this #no beta readers we die like regis #nyx ulric #titus drautos #luche lazarus

[whatiswhump]

Silas Sevieller

I have probably posted snippets of this before. But now doing it in one fell swoop.

CW: Mention of past child death, psychiatric whump, needles, manhandling, possessive whumper.

-

A grin flickered across his smug face, begging the question, how was he enjoying this?

Sydney adjusted the grip on his gun, no less determined but ever so slightly unnerved.

“What’s the matter Syd? Had enough?”

“Just give up, back up is almost here. You’ve done enough.”

There was that smile again, “Ohhhh, enough? I was only getting started before you interrupted me.” The young man, lackadaisically threw a knife so that the simple flick of his wrist sent it hurtling towards Sydney. 

If Sydney were any slower he would be on the concrete with a serrated dagger in his forehead.

“Jesus, Silas, what gets you off?” This was the end game, now Sydney just needed to distract. Silas Sevieller had narrowly escaped already four times this year and it was only March. He had made it to the top of nearly every list.

Silas betrayed no emotion to the question, he also knew Sydney’s game… yet it seemed he was interested in playing, “the day you figure out why I do what I do, I’ll admit that you win.”

Silas himself didn’t know why he did what he did. He hadn’t known for a very long time. Maybe Syd didn’t know him as well as he thought he did…

Suddenly the room was flooded with noise, there was yelling from every direction. Black armored figures trained rifles all on one target.

The target only grinned a toothy grin and kneeled with his hands behind his head, he knew the drill, “I am sorry our fun has ended so early.” Sydney narrowed his eyes at the young man, where was the fear behind that vicious facade? Irritatingly, he saw no spark or inkling of anything resembling fear. So he looked at the men holding him and gruffly ordered, “Go ahead, get him out of here.”

-

The first time he caught him it was out of brute force, Silas fought the fight but Silas won. Silas had never been much for physical prowess. As a child he would orchestrate the fights in the orphanage yard rather than engage in them.

The second time Silas escaped, Sydney caught him by wits. He realized Silas was so delighted by, so caught up in the game, that he could be lured in more easily than someone of his intellect would expect. Silas wasn’t entirely surprised this time, he had seen the signs, the telltale queues but Sydney was right, he was having too much fun. In the moment he couldn’t help himself. And anyway he had slipped out of their prison once, what would stop him from doing it again? Surely not the imbeciles that ran it.

But those same imbeciles weren’t very pleased with him when he was dragged back in chains. They cut his rations and put him in solitary. Guards started looking for excuses to force him back into place. The blood spilt hardly deterred him at first. And anyway he had spent most of his life alone, he savoured the time to think and formulate. Being alone was comfort, not being forced to rely on someone else, being alone was safe. He could trust himself and no one else, he had known this for a very long time.

But the third time it wasn’t so easy, he had become ragged and thinner, more desperate with every bruise until at last he stole away in the night, leaving chaos in his wake. Sydney had caught up to him a few weeks later… on that awful day. Almost the whole city block was levelled, Silas hadn’t wanted that. God, that was the last thing he wanted. Sydney found Silas standing alone in the wreckage, horrified.

“Silas, it’s done. You’ve done enough.” Silas rested a hand on his hip, poised over his weapon.

Silas whipped around, instantly disguising his expression into a coy smile, “Sydney! I missed you! You never came to visit.”

Silas couldn’t help but smirk, “Yeah well I knew they were taking pretty good care of you there, they held onto you for over a year this time!”

“Did they? Huh, didn’t get to have a calendar in solitary, figured it had only been a couple of weeks.”

“What did you think about in all that time?” Sydney was stalling for back up and Silas knew it. Sydney didn’t want to pummel him again like the first time. Something about it had felt… wrong? If that made sense. It was better this way, to outmaneuver him, mitigate damage.

Silas glanced around himself quickly, almost imperceptibly, scanning for others. He didn’t spot anyone, it wasn’t too late.

“Well I guess I’ll just have to tell you next time we meet won’t I?” Silas wiped some of the blood of his forehead with the back of his sleeve and winced, “Until next time.” He turned to leave.

“SEVEILLER HANDS UP!” The order rang through the smoldering air and caught Silas in his tracks, damn they really were faster this time.

Men in tactical suits emerged from different directions, all equipped with rifles trained on Silas. Sydney glanced back at Silas and flashed a grin.

“Silas, No!” Silas realized then what he was going to do.

But the gun had already been pulled out of his back waistband, he was holding it up, trained on Sydney.

“Don’t shoot! Or I’ll take him with me!” Silas yelled.

Did Sydney see a quiver in Silas’s hands? He wouldn’t actually shoot him would he? Sydney didn’t have time to debate this, this had to end, before someone got hurt, or worse, they shot Silas.

“Silas, what would Julie say?” He had recently uncovered it in a file, in an interview someone had mentioned someone named Julie and that she had died. He was grasping at straws but he hoped it might distract him.

Silas’s face devolved into horror as he stared at Sydney, he immediately lowered the gun and then dropped it like an afterthought. The SWAT team members surged in and tackled him to the ground, he didn’t even fight. When they pulled him back up, wasting no time in getting him to a more secure location, his eyes were empty, like he had seen a ghost, his face was utterly blank. He went away with them quietly without ever looking back at Sydney, now lost somewhere else.

Who was Julie? Another victim?

-

The coffee was shit today. Did anyone else agree? Sydney didn’t even feel like making a joke about it though, he was too distracted with his previous night’s dream. Not one to overanalyze the weird shit that his subconscious made a hobby of coming up with, he didn’t normally let his nightmares take over his days but last night’s still tugged at his mind. 

He had had this hair-raising vivid vision of Silas Seveiller in his bedroom... to murder him. But right when Silas raised his knife, he stopped and whispered, This isn’t what I want.

Sydney didn’t understand it but it kept playing on a loop in his head throughout the whole morning. By noon he decided the only way to prove to his subconscious that the maniac hadn’t escaped to murder him was to go see him. Seeing Silas locked up would put him at ease again.

But Silas wasn’t in prison this time. They had finally decided that he wasn’t mentally fit to be kept there... Syd wondered if it’s because the Powers that Be thought the prison guards might actually kill him this time. 

Now Sydney would have to go to a very different place to see his nemesis.. one that he did not look forward to.

-

“Rise and shine Seveiller. You gonna take your meds today?”

The young man squinted to see two men towering above him, instantly making him feel nauseous. One pulled his sheet back while the other pressed a paper cup into his periphery.

“Because of your little meltdown yesterday, this is your only chance.”

“Well I don’t want it,” he croaked with a voice still heavy under the sedation of the previous night’s dose.

And then they were gone. He curled back into a miserable ball not bothering to pull the sheet back up.

A door far away buzzed. The sheet was gone again. The sheet was already gone? There were hands on him. Strong grips pulling him off the bed, he struggled. He even tried to land an elbow but he wasn’t strong enough and they too easily pinned him down. His face was forced into the mattress and his backside suddenly felt colder. Then there was a prick of a needle and he felt the elastic waistband of his pants being pulled back up. Someone was guiding him back onto the bed.

“This is for your own good,” he heard.

--

Time passed... he thought.

“Won’t you eat?”

--

“Time for meds. Are you gonna take them?”

No, he thought.

--

Where was he?

--

“Silas?”

Who was that?

--

“Well he’s been amazinigly uncooperative, worse than most. Most patients start to behave and submit to treatment after a few weeks, once they learn the alternatives if they don’t. But not Mr. Sevieller, however you would probably know that better than anyone since you are the one that caught him.” The doctor spoke over his shoulder as he strode down the blue linoleum hall.

Sydney picked up his pace to keep up, “In what ways? -not cooperating, I mean.”

The doctor looked back at him for a moment, Sydney suddenly felt as if he were another specimen under the microscope before the doctor returned his attention in front of him again.

“Well the boy is very sick. He used to attack the staff often at first when he came into our care. Before we started to learn how to uh- take care of him properly. He’s broken multiple noses and plenty of other bones of the orderlies. He refuses medication, thinks he doesn’t need it. Consistently refuses food out of insubordination, attempts pithy escapes… won’t engage in therapy nor submit himself willingly to any kind of treatment.. The list goes on and on. However, recently, I’d say the rules seem to be breaking through to him.”

Fitz wasn’t surprised, it all sounded like the young man he had worked so hard to bring in. He still wasn’t sure if psychiatric care was what Silas needed but he felt relief every time he had thought of Silas in here rather than out on the streets…. But the one thing that gave him pause was the word attack… Silas could through a punch but normally not unwarranted, he might’ve fought them but he found it hard to believe that he was the physical instigator…

He pushed down this puzzlement though as they buzzed through yet another door and reached the end of a hallway. The doctor peered through the window in the door first and then moved for Sydney to see for himself.

What he saw was not what he anticipated. There was a young man in there alright but he barely recognized it as Silas, the only indicator being that shock of dark hair. A much thinner version lay curled into himself and lifeless in the thin iron bed nailed fastened to the floor. His pale eyes were open but his gaze didn’t move from where it was trained on the floor. Silas’s unruly hair had been shaven which made the hollows in his cheeks and eye sockets stand out that much more. A fresh looking bruise bloomed over his right eye creating a sickly mirage of yellows and blues. His arms were folded into his chest and his mouth hung slightly open. 

“What the hell happened to him?”

The doctor looked slightly offended for a moment, “Were you listening? He is on heavy sedation while we train him to willingly take his medication. A lot of our patients require …  proper motivation.”

Heavy-handed then. Sydney didn’t try to probe any further nor apologize for his harsh tone, he just turned away from the window.

“His responses will be delayed or he may not respond at all. It’s nothing to be worried about.”

“Well, I’m not worried about him.” Sydney shot back a little too quickly, bordering on defensive, “This is just a visit to ensure that he was still here- no offense. Er just a peace of mind thing. We both know what he is capable of.”

“Yes, sure, well if you have any trouble knock on the window. The orderlies are close by,” The doctor instructed curtly and took his leave.

“Silas?” No movement.

Sydney stared a for a moment before suddenly feeling like he shouldn’t be there. He was raising his hand to knock and to be let back out when Silas spoke.

“I don’t want it.”

“...Want what?”

His eyes pressed tightly together, “Please- I don’t want anymore.”

His voice was so small, such a stark contrast to the last time Sydney had seen him. Visions of that grin flashed in his head.

“Silas, it’s Sydney Fitz, do you recognize me?”

His eyes opened and he slowly looked up, his eyes were so red, it looked like he had been crying. Silas... crying?

“Syd? What are you doing here?” There was recognition but it was subtle and it looked as though he was having trouble focusing on him. He tried shifting to sit up but it was a poor effort.

“Here in an official capacity. Sent to make sure you’re still here. I’ve heard about your escape attempts, you forget that we know you too.”

His eyebrows came together but he didn’t say anything at first, then at last he muttered weakly, “Ya, I’m still here.”

“They treating you alright?” Sydney didn’t know what else to say.

Silas shrank back and looked up at the window of the door like he expected someone to be looking through it. He ignored the question though and instead responded with, “Why am I here?” Again.. So small.

“You’re sick, Silas. You’ve committed countless crimes that you were convicted for, you need treatment and care.”

“... Do you believe that?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist, but I do know you did what you did and now people are dead.”

Silence.

“Where did you get that bruise?”

He stared back with no response.

Fitz pointed to his own eye in explanation.

After a prolonged moment Silas seemed to comprehend, he reached up to his own and winced when he found it with his fingertips, “.... You know me, I can’t help but fight it.” An attempt at a smile flickered across his lips but his tone lay flat.

Then the lock turned over and two very large men strode in. Silas shrunk back into himself, again. It was the quickest reaction Sydney had seen out of him yet. He pulled his sheet up further, a barrier.

“Please, please no. I don’t need any more.”

“Sorry sir, but he is on a strict medication schedule.” the nurse or orderly was addressing Sydney to apologize for barging in the middle of the visit. 

“Silas, are you going to take it or are we going to have to give you another shot?”

“No- no I won’t. I don’t need it.”

“Alright get up.”

He didn’t move except to flinch when the orderly stepped towards him and pulled him off the bed and in one move deftly pinned him down so his face was pressed up against the hospital linens.

One of the orderlies looked back at Sydney, “Sorry sir.”

Silas was struggling and doing a poor job of it. “No! Please don’t!”. It was almost too easy for the single man to hold him down as the other one uncapped the syringe that had been in his pocket. Then the first pulled down Silas’ thin hospital trousers. The other quickly injected the medication. Silas watched with considerable horror. And before he knew it the pants were back up, Silas was being lifted back on the bed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Consider taking your pills next time.”

Then to Sydney, “Sir, let us know if you need anything.”

“Uh sure, yes”.

Silas looked back up at him with tears welling but he didn’t say anything. Rather he just pulled up his sheet a few centimeters and then trained his eyes down.

Silas stood speechless for a few more moments, unable to reconcile the brute force so deftly performed with a man he considered so impervious.

“...Silas, why don’t you just take it? It would be easier for you.”

“I won’t- I can’t give in.” his eyelids began to flutter weakly, “I can’t give- I can’t-”. They slowed and stopped, almost peaceful… but not quite.

--

Sydney couldn’t get rid of the feeling in his stomach all week. The fear of that grin had collapsed into images of a small frame in a small bed breaking down into itself, eyelids fluttering. It was sickening.

Against his better judgement, he found himself back at the institution the next week. That pit he was feeling in his stomach, he couldn’t decipher it. At last he decided that it was intuition, that maybe Silas had been faking it, planning another escape of some sort. To visit him again was the only foolproof way to keep an eye on him. 

“We’ve had to start force-feeding him this week, it is not our ideal course of action but while he refuses to eat, it is the only way. Maybe you can knock some sense into him.” The doctor seemed like he couldn’t care less as he was once again briskly leading Sydney down the hall. 

This time Silas was asleep when Sydney was buzzed in. His face was peaceful again, almost innocent if it didn’t have all the bruises.

Unused to approaching sleeping people, he lived alone after all, he cleared his throat first in an attempt to wake him. When it had no affect, Sydney uncomfortably muttered his name.

“Hey, Silas, you there? It’s me again,”

He only stirred slightly, so he tried again. This week, there were no sheets on the bed, instead it was bare and Silas donned only a straight jacket and thin cotton pants.

After the third time, Silas opened his eyes, he looked like he was trying to rouse himself from the grave. What the hell did they have him on?

“Syd?” he whispered as he found Sydney with his dazed eyes.

“Ya it’s me again, I came back.”

If Sydney didn’t know any better he could’ve sworn that tears welled in the corner of Silas’ eyes, after a few more moments he said, “It’s good to see you.”

Sydney scoffed, Silas would never say that without dripping with sarcasm, “Haha, I bet.”

At this moment, Silas seemed to become more aware of himself and remember the straight jacket he wore, he shifted uncomfortably.

Sydney gestured at it, “They’re really giving you the all-exclusive vacation package huh?”

Silas grimaced at first but found a bit of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “Yeah, they treat me like royalty here. They love me so much they don’t want me to leave.” 

“Now that’s the Silas I know,” Sydney chided back.

Silas shifted himself to sit up on the bed, it took longer than it should have and Sydney could swear there was an almost imperceptible groan at one point. How did struggling create so many bruises? He wondered.

“I heard you’re not eating?” Sydney had meant to interrogate his arch enemy on escape tactics, etc. but now that he was here, for some unexplained reason, he just couldn’t bring himself to. 

Silas wilted a bit, but then breathed in again and responded while cracking another smirk, “The food is shit, worse than what they make over at the prison.” 

“Silas, you never stayed there for more than a week before you escaped every time,” Archie chided back.

His grin curled a little tighter, “Oh ya, almost forgot,”

“Well don’t go killing yourself so soon, otherwise who am I going to fight every goddamn day?”

Silas didn’t respond as quickly, “I don’t know but hopefully the next fella has better aim.”

“Yeah maybe make it a little more interesting,”.

Silas had a coughing fit, it was deep and heavy, it sounded painful. The pallor on skin greyed significantly by the time he finished. 

“...You okay? That sounds nasty.” He straightened himself up a bit, “It’s nothing, the doctor already saw me, just some bug they said.”

Sydney wasn’t convinced but Silas was getting more drawn by the moment, clearly he was getting tired. His eyelids drooped further.

Sydney inched towards the door, unsure why he was feeling something foreign and uncomfortable in his own chest, “You seem like you’re getting tired so I am going to head out, let you get your rest.”

Silas’s eyes opened fully again, “Are you going to come back?” that small, small voice again.

“Um, yeah, sure, I’ll stop by again soon if you want.”

Silas nodded forward a bit and then slowly lowered back down to the mattress, his eyes were closed before the door had locked behind Silas again.

-

“Um, Silas. I have to ask you something. That day… when I caught you-”

Silas wearily smiled and flicked his eyes up to the man standing above him, “Which one? You’ve got a few lucky breaks under your belt.”

“The day you threatened me with a gun.”

The small quirk of a smile dissolved as his face paled.

“I didn’t know who- it was just a blind attempt to save them from shooting you… Who is Julie?”

Silas looked back up at Syd revealing glassy eyes with a grief torn expression, “Was- you mean was.”

Sydney watched his... enemy- deflate, his shoulders caved in and head hung low.

He blinked the heavy welling tears out of his eyes, not bothering to wipe them away, “She-” He closed his eyes for a moment, flushed with emotion, “She was my little sister.”

He looked back up to Syd with large dull eyes. 

Something panged deep within Sydney, jesus. All of the blood had drained out of him, “Oh god, Silas, I’m-” 

“I -I was supposed to protect her. I was all she had.”

Silas choked on his tears that started to come quickly, “But I couldn’t- I couldn’t- save her.”

Blind grief consumed his face. He had never- Never- spoken about it. Not to anyone.

“She believed in me. She never doubted that I would keep her safe. I was ten and she was seven, we were sent to a new foster family. We were just happy to stay together. The father.. He was a monster. He would lock us in the basement for days at time, beat us. One night he came down and he didn’t want to hurt me like he normally did- he went after her-” Another involuntary sob tore its way out of him, “I tried to fight him off- but he was too big. He beat me until I couldn’t stand- She was so small- all it took was one hit in the wrong place. She suffocated slowly- I couldn’t save her, I held her down in that basement for all night- He didn’t come back down until the next morning. By then she had-” been dead for hours.

Sydney listened in horror as his arch enemy broke down in front of him. Before it occurred to him what he was doing, he sat down on the bed and pulled the agonized man into his arms. Another sob escaped him but he didn’t fight it, he went limp into the strong hold, sobbing into his chest in anguish.

Then the door buzzed, Silas jerked away from Sydney, a panic and crazed look on his tear soaked face.

Two orderlies and a nurse came stampeding in. Silas bolted to the further corner of the bed holding out an open palm, “Please no-” with a strangled sob.

“Silas, you are overwhelmed. You know how this goes, it’s for your own good.”

The nurse looked at Sydney who had jumped up, “Sir, please get behind us- he’s unstable- not safe like this.”

Sydney’s confusion fell into anger, “He wasn’t going to hurt me- he-”

Another strangled sobbed escaped Silas as the two men grabbed him, forcing him down onto the bed. A third orderly appeared out of nowhere, he immediately began fastening the five point restraints that were previously tucked under the thin mattress.

Silas struggled like a trapped animal, tears still streaming down his face. When each limb was tethered, the nurse approached with a syringe held aloft as the men held his arm still.

“Shhh- it’s okay Silas, this will make you feel better.”

She administered the syringe quickly and the men stepped away. 

Silas turned his head, “Syd-” his expression crumbled again into raw desperation when his gaze landed on his face. But just as quickly as they had tackled him down, his expression began to soften and his eyes emptied.

Sydney was left standing there feeling like someone had wrenched his heart out of his chest.

-

Sydney found himself back at the gates of the hospital with a lump in his throat the next week.

“Mr. Seveiller requests that he receive no visitors at the moment, unless this is official business?”

By the time he got back into his car he thought he might throw up.

Against his better judgement, he went back the next week and was met with the same response. It became a ritual, showing up only to be denied. If he had really wanted to see Silas he could easily feign some official matter and force his way in to see him…. But Silas didn’t want to see him anymore. And could he fault him for that?

And then those tapes landed on his desk one morning, a few months after that awful day. Sydney hadn’t bothered to stop by the hospital in over a month. It didn’t stop him from thinking about Silas. He felt a pang in his stomach when he read the name on the file.

“Hey, Fitz? The loony bin sent over copies of the reports on Sevieller. You wanna see them?”

“Isn’t there patient doctor confidentiality?”

“Not when the patient is a real threat to national security, no. Although I doubt he’s much of a threat anymore… Someone finally figured out how to put that psycho in their place.”

“I’m surprised he talked to the doctors,” Fitz responded in a trained tone of apathy.

“Yeah, I guess they gave him something to get him going.”

A jab of… was it guilt? hit Sydney. They were drugging him defenseless? Even when dealing with someone as dangerous as Silas… it didn’t seem right.

“Sure. I’ll give them a look.” He sighed and tossed the flash drive on his desk, attempting to seem disinterested still. 

“The bastard’s really a wreck, crying like a baby.” The cop gave one last imperious chuckle and picked his coffee mug back to sidle up to another desk.

Syd’s eyebrows creased slightly as he plugged the flash drive in, nervous about what he would see.

First file was a video.

Two men were guiding a drowsy looking Silas into a small plain room. He stumbled clumsily and they pushed him into chair and cuffed his hands to the table in front of him and his ankles to the floor. It struck Sydney as a bit excessive.

“Mr. Seveiller, are you ready to cooperate with therapy today?” A voice from out of frame addressed Silas.

He resolutely shook his head no once, a fire burning in his eyes. Sydney recognized the smoldering flicker, he had seen it so many times before.

“If you don’t begin to cooperate, it means the medicine is not helping your condition and we will have to up the doses.”

Silas glanced at the camera before responding, “The drugs aren’t doing anything but giving me side effects. You and I both know that’s because I didn’t need them to begin with.”

“We’ve been over this Mr. Sevieller, you are in denial, we are only helping you here. If you can’t begin to see that, then your condition is worse than we  thought.”

“I am not in denial, I am not sick, I am just a very bad person.”

The voice hummed slightly and Syd could hear pen scratching.

“Write as many notes as you want, you won’t figure me out and I won’t bend.”

Silas stared down the anonymous man on the other side of the camera with unreserved confidence. He wouldn’t be tamed quite so easily.

The next tape was dated a week later. The men were guiding him back in but they walked more slowly. This time Silas held out his wrists to be fastened down. Then he regarded the other side of the camera with an annoyed grimace.

“Good morning, Mr. Sevieller. How are you feeling?”

He subtly rolled his eyes but elected to hold his tongue settling for, “Peachy, doc.”

“Have the new levels done anything to change your mindset?”

“Other than sleeping through meals? No. But you know, I enjoyed being showered by two burly men this week. An unexpected new perk,” Silas smiled saccharinely, daring the doctor to press further.

“I am afraid you can’t be trusted in the showers after… Monday’s incident.”

-

Two men were dragging him into a bare room kick and screaming. The wrestled him into a chair and attached his wrists and ankles to it like a goddamn animal.

“Do you want to be a good boy today?”

Silas wearily picked up his gaze to look across the table, a solid “fuck you” written over his expression, but he didn’t speak back.

“Well I have something to help you do that. Lucky you.” For the first time, Sydney could hear amusement in the voice behind the camera.

Silas’ expression wasn’t mirthful and ready to strike back like Syd had come to expect, there was frustration and exhaustion instead. 

Someone else came out from behind the camera, they held a syringe aloft as they approached they tethered patient. 

“No no no, get away from me. Don’t come near me with that-” Silas looked… scared?

“You don’t even know what it does yet,” the voice said from behind the camera, “If we agree not to use it, will you behave and talk with us?”

Silas aimed a look of pure hatred bore through the camera lens and to the person owning the voice. It looked like it took strength to shake his head no, just a millimeter. But it was enough.

A sigh, “Okay, inject him. And remember you had an option.”

Silas began to writhe in his restraints, desperately trying to create space from the syringe bearer. More people came in and attempted to hold him down to the table. Silas violently resisted throwing himself aas far within the restraints as he could, likely seriously injury his wrists and ankles in the struggle. At one point he managed to bite an arm and the headless body jumped out of the shot. Another nurse? Orderly? Slammed his head against the table then, temporarily stunning him.

“Do it! Now!” A voice rang out.

Whatever it was didn’t take long to begin working, Silas stayed limp on the table no longer moving, a stark contrast from the scene moments ago. 

“Okay, rouse him now.”

Someone took smelling salts for fainting victims and cracked them under his nose, a faint flinch was visible from his now still body. A strong set of hands then manhandled him back into sitting, pressing him against his chair again. And then checked his eyes with a pocket light. 

The kid squinted in annoyance but didn’t resist.

“Silas, are you feeling more agreeable now?”

Silas looked back across the table as if just seeing the speaker for the first time. 

“Yes sir?” He answered uncertainly, quietly. Even through the camera the dazed look in his eyes was visible. 

“Will you answer my questions and be a good boy?”

Silas remained locked on him, his eyes wide, “ Yes- yes.” He spilled out with uncertainty, as if part of him still knew he didn’t want to do this.

“We just gave you a special medicine that releases inhibitions, forces you to tell the truth, a truth serum if you will. You’ve been a bad boy but I think you can behave better now.”

Silas just stared at him.

“I want to start from the beginning. You had a drunken father and a promiscuous mother who didn’t take care of you, yes?”

“She tried to-”

“Yes?”

Silas nodded with his eyes wide, “Yes, she was out a lot. They both died by the time I was eight though.”

“And that’s how you and your little sister ended up in foster care?”

Silas suddenly looked confused as if he didn’t know how this man knew these things. 

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No- yes, the state took our custody. No other family.”

“And that’s how your sister died, in foster care. Did you do it? So angry at the world you had to take it out on someone else?”

Horror made the tenuous expression on Silas’s face drop, “No- no. I didn’t- I couldn’t- I couldn’t protect her-”

“From yourself you mean?”

Tears began to roll down his cheeks but he seemed to not perceive them.

“No, I didn’t- he did it- he-” He was tripping over his words, clearly horrified but mysteriously stuck in a dream where he couldn’t reason, couldn’t fight back and couldn’t stay silent instead of engage.

“You seem to not even understand yourself- sometimes the brain locks away trauma, things it doesn’t want to believe… maybe you need a higher dose next session to get the real truth.”

“He killed her- I didn’t- I didn’t-”

Sydney’s heart clenched so deeply or gut wrenchingly that he didn’t know if he could keep watching. He knew for a fact that he had never discussed with any one else other than him. Now to have it torn out of him… but worse… accused? It was sickening.

“It sounds like it could have been the beginning of your antisocial and anti-societal ways, after that you went to the Pelham Boys’ School, where you spent most of your time in solitary confinement for infractions.”

Silas was full on sobbing now, well beyond wondering how a childhood file could be unsealed, beyond the injustice of the forced interrogation they were trying to call psychotherapy… now in a completely detached state of agony.

“Silas, stop it. We are not done. Listen to me-”

But Silas wouldn’t stop, he was completely departed, sobbing and unreachable. 

“Fuck, you dosed him too high for the first time. Fucking waste of time. Take him away, sedate him and let him sleep it off.”

By the time the staff members were around him again, Silas’s tears had stopped but his head was at an odd tilt downwards and his eyes were hauntingly vacant. He didn’t notice when his wrist were unlatched, or his ankles (although Syd could see the angry red welts around each limb) he didn’t even respond when they began to drag him out. 

The voice swore a few more times and then the camera switched off.

#New ish OC #OC #Silas Sevieller #sydney fitz #Hero Villain #psychiatric whump #grey area whumpee #psych whump #mine #cw needles #forced sedation #forced medication #solitary #damaged childhood #mentioned death #cw mentioned death #The last scene I just wrote and I can't bother to look it over so its being posted in all #its unedited stream of conscious glory #have fun! #I love these two babies #I want them to fall in love #maybe they will?

[dinonuggiestuesday]

Tdp s5 reactions part 3

#tdp season 5 spoilers #tdp spoilers #tdp #tdp s5 #the dragon prince season 5 #the dragon prince spoilers #the dragon prince #suicide mention #cannibalism mention #mentioned death #mentioned suicide #suicide

[megsiepoo]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48500776

Ao3 seems to be back? It worked long enough for me to get that fic posted, anyway.

Kind of just wanted to write something between Kallamar and the Lamb. Despite being a vain coward, I think Kallamar is still kind at heart. He's also my favorite so I might be biased. Potential Kallamar/Lamb ship also? Let me know if I should dig into it more.

Anyway, hope you guys enjoy and feedback appreciated as always!

#cult of the lamb #cotl #fan fiction #Kallamar #cotl kallamar #kallamar cotl #kallamar cult of the lamb #the Lamb #the lamb cotl #cotl the Lamb #the Lamb cult of the lamb #apologies #mentioned death #healing #learning to trust #no beta read we die like the bishops

[silkling]

Of Lessons and Losses

Of Moments of Life AU

———————————————————————————————————

Arguing drew Dreadwing’s attention away from the datapad he was reading–which contained an uncomfortable degree of Autobot propaganda and censoring about the start of the War–and to the doorway of the lounge area, where Blades and Dani were entering from the smaller room that contained the elevators.

“We’ve done that maneuver a hundred times, Blades! You shouldn’t still be messing it up! It’s easy !” Dani scolded the rotary, her tone frustrated and stiff.

“No it’s not !” Blades argued, the faintest note of hysteria underlying his voice that Dreadwing doubted human ears were able to pick up on. “I know you think it is, Dani, and that’s you’ve done it with Earth copters before, but you’re not the one doing the actual flying!”

“So what? You’re even better than an Earth copter, it should be a cakewalk for you!”

“I’m not a sparked flyer!” The mechling all but wailed. “There’s so much sensory data to take in when you’re that high up, especially above the ocean, and it’s hard to process it all and pull of complicated maneuvers at the same time!”

“Blades, I don’t know what that means, and I don’t know what it has to do with-“

Dreadwing moved in, cutting off the argument before it could devolve. “That’s enough.” he stated.

Dani snapped her head over to him, blinking rapidly. “Dreadwing! What do you mean?”

“It does no good to berate Blades for something he cannot help. He is right, regardless. Flyers have a much more advanced sensor-net. For one who was not sparked for the skies, the learning curve to understand such data would be immense.”

Dani just blinked, looking more confused. He sighed. “Go ask Boulder about a Cybertronian sensor suite, and ask him to explain the difference between the sensors of a grounder and those of a flyer. Once you understand, perhaps it will be easier for you to comprehend Blades’s difficulties in the air.” he paused. “Also, be sure to ask Boulder about grounders and sky-terror.” When he didn’t elaborate, the human sighed and nodded, trudging off and grumbling to herself.

The seeker turned to the young rotary, humming. Blades was looking at him, and shifted on his pedes. “…sky-terror?” He asked.

The larger bot nodded. “Yes. It is very common for ground frames to have an innate fear of the sky. It is in their very coding, and difficult to ignore. Grounders are meant to be on the ground, after all. They are not meant to be in the air, and thus it makes them more nervous when they cannot put wheels or pedes to the floor.”

“So…it’s not weird that I’m scared of flying?”

“Not at all. Your frame and processor remember that only a short time ago, you possessed wheels rather than rotors. Even with the fear coding no longer present in your systems, your processor still is not yet used to flight. Give it time. You are doing remarkably well, little one.” he soothed.

Blades looked up from where he was twisting his digits together, servos pressed tight to his canopy. “…really?”

“Really.” He assured. “You will overcome the instinctive fear in time. Until then, you must work on the technical aspects of flight. Improve upon your foundations, and when the time comes that you no longer fear the open skies you can begin more complicated maneuvers.”

Blades sighed. “That’s just it, Dreadwing. I don’t know the foundations. Dani does, but she doesn’t really explain. She learned them ages ago, and I think she expects me to already know them cause I’m well…I’m a flyer.” he said helplessly.

Ah. Now he understood the problem. The young rotary needed to learn the most basic principles of flight, but his partner was an experienced pilot and assumed the young bot already knew them when he in fact did not. She was not cruel in her actions then, but it seemed she simply did not understand the full scope of the young mech’s unique position.

“In that case,” he tilted his helm, gaze sharp. “Perhaps you would like some lessons? I am not a rotary , but I have known many. And even if I did not, many of the basic principles are the same. I can at the very least help in that regard.”

Blades looked up, grinning. “Really?” he said eagerly.

“Indeed. Let us go to the nearby island, then, so we will not be seen by locals.”

“Wayward Island?” Blades blinked, then shrugged. “Okay. Sure.” he agreed, though he looked nervous.

“Is…there a problem, youngling?”

“Well, no. It’s just. Weird stuff happens on that island.” He explained.

Dreadwing hummed. “Would you prefer to practice elsewhere?” He did not care where, as long as it was out of sight.

“No, Wayward Island is fine.” Blades said hurriedly. “It’s the best place, really.” There was a pause, and he looked down at his pedes. “Even if it is terrifying.” He mumbled under his breath.

Dreadwing nodded, deciding not to comment on the last statement. Blades would learn, and he would adjust. The Seeker would not let anything happen to him besides. He strode to the platform lift that would take them to the room. “Then let us be on our way.” he heard the soft scuff of smaller pedes following him, and when they were both on the lift he activated it to bring them up.

Blades transformed and took off first, and then Dreadwing followed suit, and soon they were on their way. They stayed low enough to not get caught in the bigger drafts of wind, and it wasn’t long before they arrived on the shore. As Blades went to land, Dreadwing swooped under him to cut him off.

“Stay in the air, youngling. These are flying lessons.” he reminded.

The young helo whined a complaint, but didn’t try to land again. “So…what’s lesson one?” he asked, seemingly nervous.

Dreadwing hummed. “Gaining altitude. I want you to fly as high as you can, straight up. Concentrate on how the air changes around your frame as you climb higher.” he instructed.

“What good does that do?” Blades squeaked, clearly nervous.

“Spatial awareness. You focus too much on your nerves and fear when you fly. If you wish to improve, you must start understanding how the air and wind moves around you when you are in the sky.” Dreadwing explained patiently. His voice softened marginally for his next words. “Worry not, young one. I will be right below you. If you fall, I am more than capable of catching you.”

Blades gulped audibly, and after a moment he nodded and started to climb higher.

“Talk to me.” Dreadwing instructed. “Tell me what you’re feeling, and what your sensors are telling you.” He said, following the youngling up.

Blades hummed, sounding nervous. “Um….pressure is decreasing as I get higher. Temperature too.” He came to a sudden stop as he broke the cloud layer, a nervous sound leaving him. “I…don’t think I should go higher.”

“Explain.” Dreadwing said patiently. He knew why, but he wanted the youngling to grasp the answer on his own.

“I have a bad feeling. It’s pretty cold up here, and I’m not sure my rotors can take it if I go too high. They’re already starting to feel numb at the tips.”

“Good.” Dreadwing said, prompting a noise of surprise from the youngling. “You’re in tune enough with your new frame and coding to understand its limits. You are correct. If a rotary such as yourself flies too high, you risk causing your rotors to freeze and you will drop from the sky.” he said bluntly. His words made Blades squeak and drop a few feet before he caught himself.

“You need not worry about that. You are a strong flyer for such a new one. You have good instincts.”

That seemed to surprise the youngling. “I….do? But I can’t ever seem to fly right.”

The Seeker hummed with amusement. “Allow me to rephrase. You have good instincts, when you use them. ” he said, a hint of a tease in his tone.

It was enough to make Blades laugh softly, as the youngling seemingly began to calm. “Thanks, I think.”

“You are welcome.” Dreadwing said dryly. “But keep talking. Tell me what you are feeling and sensing.”

“Oh.” Blades hummed. “Um…the air is chilly on my rotors here. And the pressure difference is weird, but not uncomfortable. I feel the wind moving the most over my tail…” he trailed off, making a soft noise.

“Youngling?” Dreadwing prompted.

“It changed. The wind, I mean. It’s flowing differently. What does that mean?”

“It could mean many things. Let us go below the clouds.” he said, moving down and hearing the copter follow. “Wind changes are common in the air. If you wish to master flight, you must always be aware of the changes. Sometimes, the changes occur for no reason. Other times, because it signifies an oncoming change in weather. Cast out with your sensors. What are they telling you?”

Blades hummed and then made a surprised noise. “Oh. There’s something on the edge of my sensors. It feels…like a charge of some sort?”

Oh?

Dreading cast out with his own sensors, picking up on what Blades was talking about. He huffed through his vents. “What do you think that is?” He asked.

The youngling hummed again, obviously in thought. “Well…it feels…like a strong static charge. It’s chilly, but like… wet chilly. So….a storm?” He guessed.

“You’d be correct.” Dreadwing stated. “And it is coming fast. Come. I saw a cave on the island. The storm is approaching quicker, being pushed by a headwind. We will not have time to return to Griffin Rock, and you are not ready for a flying lesson on storm flight.”

Blades squeaked with fear, and hurried to follow as the Seeker let the way to the cave he’d seen in the cliff face. They landed just as the first rain drops started to fall, and the youngling darted to the back of the cave at the first clap of thunder. Dreadwing followed more sedately, setting next to the Rescue Bot where he was tucked into the back corner of the cave.

They sat in silence, staring towards the entrance of the cave as the storm began to pick up. After a moment, Dreadwing heard Blades reset his vocalizer.

“…Dreadwing?”

“Hm?” He looked to the smaller mech out of the corner of his optic.

“Does it ever stop hurting?” he said softly.

“Pardon?” He suspected he knew what the mechling was talking about, but he didn’t want to assume.

His suspicion was proven correct when Blades pressed a servo to his chest, over the Rescue Bot emblem where his spark pulsed beneath the metal. “The bond.” he whispered. “Does…does it ever get better?”

And Primus, but the pained, aching hope in the youngling’s voice made Dreadwing’s own spark ache with something sharp and visceral. “…no.” He admitted, and made no protest when Blades released a wounded noise and abruptly threw himself self into the Seeker’s lap.

Instead, he wrapped his arms around him, extending his EM field to blanket the shaking frame and try to soothe the raw pain in the immature field meeting his own. His optics went dim and distant, remembering the agony and grief he’d experienced in the wake of Skyquake’s death. The pain that had very nearly dragged him after his brother to the Well. Some days, even now, he wished it had.

“The pain never fades, Blades. It will remain sharp and clear and agonizing, every day for the rest of your existence. It gets easier to manage in time, it’s weight easier to bear, but it never fades.” A wounded keen was released against his cockpit, and Dreadwing sighed heavily, tightening his grip around the youngling in his arms.

“But you must not give up hope.” he said gently, moving one of his servos to instead tip Blades’s face up to his. “Your brothers may yet still live. I know the bond aches, I know your spark reaches desperately for connections that are faded, for other sparks that it cannot find. I know it is painful, that sometimes it hurts enough to make getting out of the berth in the morning feel as daunting as facing a Predacon. I know how it feels like a burn in your spark, sharp enough to send you to your knees at its worst. I know there is a part of you, buried somewhere deep and dark, that wants to give in, that wishes the pain would overwhelm you so you can join the Well and be reunited with the sparks that sing the same song as your own.” There was an aching tone to his voice, his armor shaking faintly with grief and longing and pain.

His words made Blades sob, pulling back enough to free his face before he shoved back against his cockpit. Dreadwing could feel the cool, wet tears of coolant that spilled from Blades’s optics, an attempt by his frame to cool him in addition to heaving vents as the grief and stress made him run the risk of overheating. He didn’t tell him to stop, or try to get the young rotary to calm down. There were no words he could say, no assurances he could give that would soothe the pain and the fear. Instead, he raised a servo and gently cupped the back of his helm, one large thumb rubbing a twitching audial fin. His action had Blades freezing for a moment, and then the youngling was sobbing harder, his grip growing tighter as he pressed desperately in the warmth and comfort his newly acquired caretaker was giving.

It made Dreadwing’s spark ache anew, but he let Blades weep into his chest. Outside, the storm raged on, the winds howling and thunder crashing, but even that wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of the mechling’s grief. Lightning lit up the mouth of the cave in one brief flash, but then they were cast back into semi-darkness.

Dreadwing did not speak for several minutes, not until the sound of Blades’s sobs died down, though the shaking of his frame never ceased. When he was more sure he’d be heard, he spoke again. “I know you are scared.” he murmured. “But you have hope, little one.” At that, Blades’s helm tilted just enough to bare one dim, watery optic. “Your brothers are separated from you, but they may very well still live. I know the uncertainty is an entirely different form of frightening to you, but in that uncertainty there is also hope. You must not give up that hope, Blades. As bleak as it may seem, you may one day see them again. If you lose hope, then you lose everything.” he said somberly. “As long as you still have hope, your spark will burn strong for long enough to learn the fates of your brothers. I cannot promise that news will be good, but if Primus is watching over you, then you will see them again.”

“And is He?”

“Hm?”

He looked down, two ruby optics needing a dull emerald one.

“Is He watching over me? Over us?”

Dreadwing sighed. “Maybe.” he said softly. “His reach is far lessened, so far from His frame. His influence was already weak before the war, when all His children called Cybertron home. Now, with our planet in ruins and our people scattered to the stars, He has even less influence. But He loves us, for all I believe He may loathe our conflict. I do not think He ever stopped watching, even if He cannot influence our paths how He once could.” The Seeker rumbled.

Blades swallowed. “Do you….do you think He’ll guide my brothers to me? Or me to them?”

“I think He will try, little one. I think He will try his very hardest to see you reunited with those your spark longs for. Whether He succeeds, we can leave up only to time.”

“So…we can only hope.” Blades rasped softly, frame shaking as he continued to cry even now.

“We can only hope.” Dreadwing agreed somberly.

Blades released a massive, shuddering ex-vent of air. His optics dimmed further, and he turned his face back into Dreadwing’s chest. The Seeker sighed, his thumb still rubbing a twitching finial, and his over servo pressing the youngling further into his chest and rubbing his back between his rotor blades.

“Rest, little one. You’ve had a stressful day. You’re young yet, and this much excitement will exhaust you. I will stay here. When the storm breaks, I will wake you and we will return to the firehouse.” he rumbled.

He heard an assenting mumble from his chest, and soon enough the whirring of Blades’s systems quieted as he slipped into recharge. Dreadwing sighed heavily, and looked back out at the storm.

Thunder crashed, and the youngling in his hold shifted, but a gentle stroke down his back settled and stilled him once more. The sky had grown dim and overcast with the storm by now, and the lack of light meant that the rain stood stark against the black clouds that cast shadows and darkness on the earth below. In the distance, his sensitive audials picked up the sound of the ocean, the waves crashing into the shore of the island as the winds screamed above the surface of the roiling water.

His processor wandered, optics unseeing as he stared at the mouth of the cave let himself think about his brother for the first time since he’d learned of Skyquake’s true fate.

Dreadwing knew that Primus did indeed love all His creations, but the Seeker could not help but think that fate, perhaps, was cruel. Their Creator would not have allowed such a sacred bond to be severed so horribly, had He the power to influence the matter. He was sure of that. So he could only determine that He had not had the power to do anything about it. It made him wonder if He had to power to return Blades’s brothers to him, if the other younglings were indeed even still alive.

His gaze slid down to the recharging flier in his lap, his face wet with drying tears, and for the first time since before Vos fell Dreadwing found himself praying to a Creator he was not even sure could still hear him.

And for the first time since the bond in his spark snapped and shattered like the finest filigree, coolant slid down his own faceplates as he wept and allowed himself to grieve over a loss he had not yet had the chance the mourn.

———————————————————————————————————

So that was that! How’d you all like it? Let me know what you thought. This piece was pretty personal too, so it’d really mean a lot to hear your thoughts on it and the rest of the series.

But the good news! Next time it’s time for Blades to start on the path towards proper closure. What that means precisely, I will not say.

Anyway, I’m out for now!

Until next time, folks!

#of moments in life au #tw; grief #tfrb blades #tfp dreadwing #transformers prime #tfp #transformers rescue bots #rescue bots #dreadwing lives #discussions of loss #mentioned death #Primus and Cybertronian faith are briefly discussed #crying #blades and Dreadwing bond #blades is very very scared #blades is a protectobot #Dreadwing finally gets a chance to mourn #transformers #Mac #maccadam

[spinchip]

NEVER THE DARK

Chapter 12

Read on Ao3

Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11

Warnings: Body horror, mentioned violence, incredible guilt and self hatred

WE CARRY OUR OWN// LONELINESS// WITH US

Lloyd doesn’t panic. He’s the green ninja of prophecy, he’s the leader, and he most certainly doesn’t look to Honeysuckle for advice.

“What do I do?” He asks the horse after he finishes refreshing the trench he’d dug with all his pacing, “What would he consider morning? Do I give him more time, or start pulling him out by the rope now?”

She whinnies at him and whuffs hot air directly into his face.

“Of course,” He says with a derisive nod, “You’re right, i’m no help if i keep spiraling. I’ve got to pull myself together. Thank you.” He turns back to the rope that disappears into the mist, thinking.

He picks it up with an air of determination- he’ll pull it taught and give it a firm tug. If Birdy tugs back, he’s fine and Lloyd will leave him to it. If he doesn’t, he’ll start to pull him out. With his plan laid, he picks up the rope and starts to drag it out of the mist- the more he drags out, the more he’s made aware of a tingling, buzzing feeling on his palms. He stops pulling to fish his gloves out of his gi where he’s stowed them, returning to the task once he was safe guarded against the mist saturated into the rope. Birdy had taken a significant amount of slack with him which Lloyd was churning out at this point.

Finally, the rope pulls tight. He gives it a good, strong yank- something Birdy wouldn’t be able to ignore.

Nothing happens.

Heart in his throat, he tries again. This time he yanks in a rhythm, hoping maybe Birdy didn’t realize it was him trying to signal the man and that he’d respond in a rhythm of his own.

Again, the rope remains still.

He still hesitates- getting these flowers was of the utmost importance. Maybe the rope was too heavy and his tugs weren’t transferring through. If he pulled Birdy out now and he wasn’t done, that could mean the trip was for nothing. They’d have to do it all over again.

The sun moves higher behind the clouds.

He takes the rope in each hand and begins to drag.

Hand over hand, for what feels like eons. His arms start to burn but there’s still no sign of Birdy. How far did he go? Would Lloyd be able to pull him out in time? The lack of movement, of fight, from the other end of the line is making Lloyds mind assume the worst more and more. What if he was wrong, and the mist affected him just as quickly as everyone else? What if something changed, the mist changed, and Lloyd was dragging out a corpse?

The rope comes to an abrupt stop and Lloyd stumbles at the sudden resistance, frowning into the thick mist. He tugs again, but it doesn’t budge. There is no pulling in return… Was Birdy caught on something? Or caught by something?

He squares his shoulders, lowers his stance like Cole taught him to do, and pulls with all his might. He has to get Birdy out of the mist no matter what, that sinking dread in the pit of his stomach is sure that he doesn't have time to waste. He leans backwards, throwing all his strength and all his weight into this pull- please work, please get Birdy unstuck!

Something gives and Lloyd falls backwards flat, wheezing as the air is knocked from his lungs. He rolls over onto his side to catch his breath, smiling at the worried Suncup, “I got him!” He reassures him with a laugh, dragging himself back to his feet to pull Birdy out the last bit of the way. The homestretch!

Except when he goes for the rope again, it comes too easily. There is no resistance on the other end at all, it simply slides over earth and sand easily. Lloyd stops immediately, accomplished joy turning to lead in his chest, sinking down to sit sick in his belly. He tugs it again, and it's the same feeling. Again.

There’s no weight at the end of this rope.

He stares down at the length he has in his hands. He runs his thumb over the strands, noting how- with a little force- they tear. With enough force, he could snap the line. With enough force, he did snap the line.

He stares at the rope in his hand and then back up to the mist. He couldn’t keep pulling, it was a fruitless endeavor- he had to go in. He had to go get him. He drops the rope to the ground and doesn't tug another inch- he would leave the rope where it lays now and follow it to where he’d lost him. “Like the yellow brick road,” He mutters to himself softly. He looks over at Honeysuckle, “I’m off to see the wizard!” He tries for a smile, feeling a grim worry settle over him in the wake of what he might find in the mist.

Honeysuckles knickers at him.

“Stay here.” He orders, before he takes a deep breath in. He’ll run as far as he can with the rope under him and when he reaches the breaking point, he’ll stop and begin a more thorough search. The evershift moves under him. He’ll just have to keep his bearings. He can do this.

Deep breath out, back in again. Hold it.

He breaks into a sprint, disappearing into the mist to the horses alarmed dismay. The rope is a dark line along the ground under his toes and he keeps his head down, staring at the guide without so much as blinking so that he doesn’t lose himself in the mist. The horizon in all directions fades into a solid, disorienting white wall. It takes a moment for the mist to fully penetrate his clothes, but when it does he feels a jittery tingling sensation settle over his skin. Not painful, not yet. He has to hold his breath as long as possible- keep the mist out.

He crosses over patches of thick greenery, the color muted due to the way the mist de-saturates the world around him, but he can see the trampled grass and torn up earth. This must be a former patch of funeral flowers, the earth gouged out and ruined. He keeps going, more plants growing up around his feet. This place is lush with strange flora, he passes by flowers that stink of rotting meat and tube-like cactuses that ooze instead of poke. He doesn’t allow himself to get distracted, just keeps himself aware enough to follow the rope and not run entirely into a poisonous plant or twist his ankle.

He can’t hold his breath forever, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut until his lungs start to spasm. His chest hurts with the need to breathe, but he still persists until his legs falter and starbursts of darkness ping across his vision. The shuddering exhale is a relief, the first lungful of the thick mist is… strange.

It’s harder to breathe, almost like being on top of a mountain, but the air is thick here. He has to work to draw in a full breath, like breathing through a straw, his lungs aching with the force of it. After only a few inhales, the tingling feeling on his skin spreads under it too, and his mind grows loose along the edges. Not enough to make him forget his mission, but… noticeable. He’s more relaxed. He can immediately understand how dangerous this is- if he’s here too long, if he grows too calm and accepting… he could fall asleep so easily, and never wake up. He can’t hold his sprint so he slows into a brisk run, using all his ninja training to keep his body going. He is the green ninja, he can handle this.

The rope ends abruptly and he stumbles, startled. He’s not too deep into the mist, he’d been running for what he would assume is an hour and a half. He jogs a few steps before his brain catches up with him and he doubles back to grab the end of the rope, carrying it with him while he searches so he knows which direction is the way out. The mist is so thick that there’s very little area Lloyd has to go off of, and he doesn’t see any shadows indicating something that Birdy might have gotten caught on.

Walking straight out from the rope, Lloyd hopes that he’ll stumble upon Birdy sooner rather than later. He keeps his eyes peeled, staring hard into pure white mist, looking for dark shapes in the paleness stretching eerily in front of him.

Which is why he doesn’t realize what he’s looking at until he runs directly into it.

He bounces off a pure white wall, startled enough that he falls straight on his butt. He groans, looking up in front of him- the mist is so thick that the white wall in front of him was invisible, blending in seamlessly to the air around it. He climbs back to his feet, running a hand down one side smoothly. He tries to go the other way but yelps, the wall suddenly sharp and textured- he jerks back, stepping away to shake out his finger. It got him through his gloves with that sharp prick! He frowns at the obstacle.

He’s about to take a closer look when something catches his eye. A dark spot right over him, hanging from the top of the wall- the rope!

Lloyd gasps, this must be where the rope snapped! Possible because of the texture of the wall? His head swims with fog, so he doesn’t take the time to wonder what the wall is for, and who could have erected it in the first place. He ties his half of the rope to his waistband and steps back, hyping himself up to leap up the side of the wall, scaling it quickly and efficiently. Oh yeah, he’s definitely still got it. When he gets to the top, he finds it’s strangely curved and natural, like an arch. He walks over the ground slowly- for some reason he can especially feel what use be the ever shift here, a strange swelling beneath his feet. As he reaches the apex, he comes across a thick band of… something that stretches as far as the eye can see in either direction. It’s so pale it's almost translucent, thick fleshy plants that mimic some type of branching coral he’s certain Nya had shown him a picture of before. The rope weaves between it. Lloyd touches one carefully and to his surprise, it waves softly at his brush. The plant isn't hard like elkhorn coral typically is, it’s soft and malleable and if there were a breeze Lloyd thinks it would be fluttering gently like tall grass in a prairie. He gingerly parts the fronds and slips between to the other side. When he comes to the curve of the wall, he Carefully sits and- going with the grain- slides down to the ground.

Almost immediately he’s aware of the lump collapsed against the wall, unmoving.

He gasps, “Birdy!” He darts over to his ally, kneeling on the ground next to him.

Birdy moves his head in a slow, bobbing manner, “Lloyd?” He mutters, head jittering as if he can’t quite get his body to respond like it should, “What…? You have to get out of here.”

“Not without you.” Lloyd says firmly, hauling Birdy up by the front of his tunic and throwing an arm over his shoulder. “Can you stand?” He asks, fully prepared to shoulder the man's full weight if he needed to. His first priority was getting them both out.

Birdy takes a long moment to fortify himself before he attempts to rise. His knees are shaky and he’s clearly struggling to stay coherent. His knees buckle for a moment and he sags onto Lloyd before he can get his legs under him again.

Lloyd nearly hits the dirt. Birdy was heavy- much, much heavier than he looked. It was like trying to pick up half a car! He doesn’t collapse under the weight, but there’s a rising sense of dread. He was confident in his ability to leap up the side of the wall with Birdy before he realized how dense he was. Now… Maybe under different circumstances, when it wasn’t so hard to breathe, when his muscles weren’t so fuzzy and loose from the mist. He wasn’t sure he could take him up with him.

“We have to walk around,” He says grimly. “I don’t think I can lift you.”

Birdy nods, head sagging, and slowly begins to walk alongside Lloyd. They keep close to the wall, Lloyd following Birdy's lead since the man had immediately headed right along the wall, waiting for the end.

It’s only here that it clicks, when they come upon the leg.

At first it’s a massive formless lump coming out of the wall that they have to walk around, and as they pass by and mist becomes less opaque, Lloyd can truly see the fine details of a beastly clawed dragon foot. The strange sharp-smooth texture registers as scales too late. One claw is the size of Lloyds torso and completely bone white- The dragon has no markings, it’s just one solid pale color that blends seamlessly into the mist and makes it impossible to spot. A hunter made for this place. The coral he’d seen along its spine is some type of fin.

Birdy comes to a stop and shakily turns towards the leg, stepping over to the claw and hiking his foot up to step onto it.

Lloyd nearly has a heart attack as Birdy hops up, “What are you doing?” He demands, whispering is some sort of attempt to not wake the sleeping beast.

“I can make it… we have to get over this soon before I can no longer walk…” Birdy takes a long moment to process Lloyd's furious whisper and why exactly the man was keeping his voice so quiet, “It won’t…wake up.” He says unsteadily, before turning back to crawl up the leg to the hip, making his way over top.

Lloyd feels crazy, but he moves to follow him with purposefully light, hesitant steps. He catches up with Birdy on the apex of the dragon's body, collapsed just past the flat of its spine with his head between his knees. He puts a hand on his shoulder to steady him and offer him strength.

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly.

Birdy processes, “Yes… as soon as we are out of the mist… and my… mind… has time to reconnect… I will be fine.”

Lloyd draws in a rough breath, “Okay. I’ll get you out.” He crouches down and takes Birdy by the arm again, bringing them both to their feet, “I got you from here.” He says firmly.

With that, he slides the two of them down the dragon's other leg and he carries Birdy alongside him. He pulls his half of the rope easily free from the spines along the dragons back and they follow the guide back towards fresh air. The extra exertion is slowing Lloyd down immensely, and he finds himself breathing harder which introduces more of the mist to his body. The tingling over his skin has turned to a buzz that rubs his nerves raw, over sensory flooding his body with every second.

Birdy stumbles again and falls to his knees. Lloyd grunts and tries to haul him up, but his strength fails him too. Attempting to stand is futile for Birdy, his legs trembling like a newborn deer, “The flowers were too deep.” He says softly, “I went… too far. I am not sure I will make it out…”

“Don’t say something like that.” Lloyd says stubbornly, arms shaking where they’re wrapped around Birdy's chest.

Birdys head lolls to the side before he jerks himself back awake, “Lloyd… take my things and leave me.”

Lloyd stares at him, disbelieving, “You’re not being serious.”

“I’m slowing you down and I cannot walk any further. I’m sorry.” He uses the last of his strength to gently pat Lloyd's hand, the one wrapped around his chest and resting over his heart. Almost a hug, “Thank you…” There’s something else there, in those words. Thank you for coming back for me, even if it is futile. Thank you for caring. “It will be okay… Honeysuckle will… take you back… You will find the… the mountain without me.”

“I’m not leaving you.” He says firmly.

Birdy doesn’t say anything more, slumping over to the side and going still where he’s leaned against Lloyd. Ninja never quit. Gritting his teeth, Lloyd tangles his hands in Birdy's shirt and hauls him along, dragging him through the mist with single minded determination. He stumbles, his hands slip, it’s getting harder to breathe- but Lloyd wont stop, and he won’t give up. He closes his eyes and he pushes himself to keep moving. His skin hurts like he’s been out in the sun too long. His lips are numb.

“I’m not-“ He wheezes, drawing up every ounce of strength he has, “I’m not going to lose you again.”

He keeps moving mindlessly, one foot in front of the other. The sounds of Birdys body dragging behind him turns to white noise, the numbness in his fingers spreading up his arms and over his throat.

He forgets why he’s walking. He forgets everything. His mind is a series of disconnected thoughts, loose and liquid, sloshing around his head with no direction. There is no intention in his steps- he keeps moving, keeps dragging, but he doesn’t know what he’s trying to achieve. He wants to sleep. Numbness turns to warmth, his body swaddled in heat. He’s vaguely aware of blood dripping from his nose, splattering on green grass below him. Why do his hands hurt again? What is he holding?

He’s tired. He’s sleepy. He could sleep forever.

His skin is hot now, tingling and raw. When he swallows his throat hurts.

There’s a faint buzzing in his head, the sound of something dragging. How long have his eyes been closed- he didn’t mean to close them, did he?He doesn’t need to open them. He’s too tired to open them.

His hands hurt. His muscles ache. There’s the sound of something dragging.

Keep walking.

His lungs hurt. Everything hurts. His mind is quiet.

why is he walking?

There's the sound of something dragging.

One foot in front of the other, keep moving, Why? keep-

Fresh air floods his lungs and his eyes snap open to familiar, pooling fog and a purple-red sky.  No more wall of mist as far as the eye can see. Several yards down, Honeysuckle and Suncup startle and rush over to greet them. The fog over his mind snaps clear, like surfacing from underwater- his mind rushes and roars and screams at him. Latent panic and bone deep fear flood his body with enough adrenaline to drag the two of them several yards clear of the mist. Finally, his exhausted, aching legs fold under him and he goes crashing to the dirt. He needs to get them underground, somewhere safe-

Everything goes black.

“-old! Lloyd?” Coming back to the land of the living after that is like swimming through a sea of molasses. Every inch of him felt frayed and worn, his skin hypersensitive like he’d taken steel wool with him in the shower and scrubbed the top layers of his flesh off. He groans and peels his eyes open- his eyelids feel like sandpaper, and his vision swims- blinking up at the hovering masked figure above him. He credits his weird life as a ninja as to why this doesn’t alarm him.

“Can you hear me?” Birdy asks, hands skating over Lloyds shoulders as if afraid to touch.

“Yes-“ He coughs and clears his throat, “Yes, Birdy. I can hear you-“ He rolls over on his side and hacks, spitting up mist-tainted globs of saliva that leave his lips burning. Birdy doesn’t touch him, which Lloyd is eternally grateful for. He doesn’t vomit, which he’s even more grateful for.

Birdy visibly relaxes, sitting back on his legs in the corner of Lloyds eyes. When Lloyd finally manages to drag himself to a sitting position and really looks at Birdy again, he’s relieved to see the man looks fine. The mask is still intact, his outer tunic is messed up and open due to Lloyd dragging him around by it but his shirt under doesn’t have any tears or burned out holes in it.

That relief turns to ice in his veins as soon as he realizes what he’s looking at. He can’t speak for a long moment. He’s so stupid- so so gullible-

Birdy misinterprets his silence, “Lloyd,” He starts gently, “There is no need to worry, we do not have to return to the mist.” He rummages around in his bag, pulling out a bundle wrapped completely in wax paper. He holds them out with an obvious smile in his voice, “I got the flowers. We have exactly what we need.” He says, offering the prize to him.

Lloyd takes the flowers with a shaking hand. He should be happy- this should bring him that wonderful, satisfying feeling of a successful mission. He can’t stop staring at Birdy's chest. How pathetic is it- with just a few well-placed words and Lloyd will listen to anyone, will lend credence to any sob story- first Harumi and Now Birdy playing him like a fool-

“Lloyd?” Birdys voice grows nervous, worried, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

He doesn’t even realize it. Doesn’t even know the jig is up, that Lloyd can see the evidence of who exactly Birdy is splattered all over the front of his shirt.

“I know what my last question is.” He says hollowly, a creeping sense of scared dread crawling up his spine. He stands, tossing the flowers aside and reaching for his sword. He motions to Birdy chest. The dark blue tunic he kept tightly wrapped over his body had been tugged away from him by Lloyd's hands as he’d dragged him from the graveyard. Underneath was a pristine, white robe- what would have been a pristine, white robe, if not for the- “Whose blood is that?”

Birdy turns to stone, so still Lloyd can’t even tell if he’s breathing.

He looks down slowly, staring directly at old dried blood that went from ribs splattered up to neck. He’d been completely drenched in blood- Lloyd was certain it must have been all over his mask too, if he’d been wearing it. He was painted in gore. Stained with it. A badge of shame, hidden under his chest wrap.

“Lloyd-“ He starts, scrambling to his feet. He wraps his outer tunic around himself frantically to hide his transgressions, a desperate attempt to keep up the act.

“Whose blood is it, Birdy?” He demands, unsheathing his sword.

Birdy looks lost, unable to form words.

Lloyd wants to look away, wants to scream and shout and punch something, “I am such an idiot. I believed you, I thought- You’re just like Harumi.” He says bitterly, and maybe he’s not being entirely fair but he’s strung out and in pain and the mist had messed with his mind and everything just felt so awful. All that blood- He would have died for Birdy not two hours ago, now the gulf between them couldn’t be wider. He hoped it was an animal, a fight Birdy won against one of the beasts of the realm. Birdy shaking hands promises him it is not.

Birdy flinches like he was struck and Lloyd doesn't care to ruminate on why Harumi's name affects someone who would have never met her, too swept up in the betrayal.

“I will tell you.” Birdy whispers, “I will tell you please, just let me… let me gather my thoughts.”

“Okay.” Lloyd says, clutching his sword in a hand that doesn’t shake. The soft, purple glow from the night sky has turned sinister and evil with the blood staining Birdy revealed.

Birdy ties his tunic tighter over his body to hide the blood once more. He stays quiet after that too, kneading his fingers together just to do something with his hands. He twitches as if he wants to reach for their rations bag, do something silly like make lunch. He needed to be providing something, taking care of Lloyd so that whatever he says next will not be such a cruel blow.

Birdy spits out jerkily, “It’s Farleys blood.” He says, stunted. Lloyd remembers the name instantly, the man who’d traveled with Birdy before.

“Farley.” Lloyd echoes, suddenly understanding Birdy words from the day before. A messy breakup. Lloyd feels dizzy, “You said you went your separate ways…” The words make him feel cold.

A pause, too thick for Lloyd to think around.

“I killed him.” Birdy forces out in a broken whisper.

Lloyd's fingers tighten around the handle of his sword. Despite it all, the pain and betrayal and the overwhelming desire to scream, Lloyd can’t bring himself to rage against Birdy. He can’t bring himself to spit out Murderer. “What happened?” He says instead, because in the deepest pit of his heart he hopes there’s an explanation. There has to be. Birdy helped them.

Birdy bows his head, “He chose to accompany me as I traveled through the land. I refused, but he insisted and I could not make him leave me alone. Over time I found myself enjoying his company… he was charming and clever, and I had been alone for so long. He did things for me without asking anything in return. He was kind- he was good at making me believe he was kind. I thought I could trust him, I thought he cared about me-“ His voice grows so thick with emotion he cuts himself off, swallowing down his feelings. He takes a breath, “I showed him my deepest secret and he accepted me- he acted like he accepted me. The next morning I woke up to his knife trying to sever my spine.”

He goes silent and still, reliving a horrible moment behind that mask. Lloyd's heart twinges but he doesn’t allow himself to feel any sympathy, not yet, “And then?”

“I defended myself. We fought and he…” He stops again and seems to bow even lower, as if weighed down by that day. His shoulders stoop and there’s a certain desperation in his voice when he speaks next, “I did not mean to kill him. I wanted to believe we could talk, that we could make a deal and we could both walk away from it unscathed. There was no way out, no escape route I could take that wouldn’t leave me a life on the run, a life as a hunted thing. I just needed him to stop long enough to listen to me. It was an accident but I…” His voice shakes, “I… I watched him bleed out. There was nothing I could do to help him- he was too far gone.”

Lloyd Searches his body language, desperately wishes he could see his face so he could scrutinize every micro expression for the truth. Does he believe him? His heart had twisted during Birdy's confession, an ache settling in his ribs as Birdys voice trembled with grief. His head feels clearer, the lingering effects of the mist finally releasing his mind as he turns over the man's words. There have been many people in his life who manipulated his favor with lies and deceit. He should have his guard up, should be putting as much distance between them as possible… But Birdy woke up early to make them all breakfast. Birdy saved him from the Fizz tree. Birdy brought Deacon those painkillers. Birdy helps these people and asks for no favors in return.

Birdy shakes his head, “There was another way, there is always another way, Lloyd. I will never forgive myself for Farley- for any blood I have shed.” He still bows in on himself, and if he’d been sitting Lloyd knows he’d be prostrate in his grief over the death of someone he considered a friend. Even when Farley attempted to take his head, Birdy still wanted him to live.

Lloyd takes a step closer and hesitantly reaches out a hand and rests it on Birdy's shoulder, who jerks up to look at him, “It… was an accident. You were protecting yourself.” He says quietly, firmly, sounding out the words as he says them. Finding the truth there, “I don’t believe you’re a bad person.”

“You don’t know everything I have done.” Birdy whispers immediately, the grip on his staff tightening.

“Then tell me.” He squeezes his shoulder, offering strength.

To his surprise, Birdy does.

“I was a powerful warrior, years ago. Formidable. I was traveling between… kingdoms when my transport failed and I was stranded alone, unable to reach out for help.” He starts slowly, but his voice takes on a desperate edge, like all he wanted was to confess his crimes and face judgment for them, “I took shelter in a cave and attempted to find a way home, be that fixing the issue keeping me stranded or finding a way to reach my family so they could extract me. I was a stranger in this land, I did not know their customs, I did not know their evils. Such an evil found me in that cave.”

He begins to shake at this, body trembling as he recounts a depth of trauma Lloyd can’t understand. An evil found him vulnerable and alone. He trembles for a long moment before he speaks again, “I stormed the Emperor's palace and used my power as a warrior and the evil in my heart to lead a successful coup, where I installed myself as a tyrant dictator. I killed-“

“What happened in that cave?” Lloyd interrupts, feeling like he’d missed a chapter. Birdy hated himself so deeply that he would omit any piece of the story that might offer him clemency. Lloyd knows that with a sudden certainty he didn’t expect.

Birdy looks at him, perplexed, “It doesn’t matter, Lloyd, did you hear me? I became a tyrant. I was the hand of death, I committed war crimes and acts of terror like the land had never seen before, I eradicated whole species.”

He keeps his hand squeezed around Birdy's shoulder, “I think it matters. I think what happened in that cave was important.”

“I hurt those people, Lloyd! That is what is important!” Birdy argues, yanking himself from Lloyds hand. He presses a trembling hand to his chest to emphasize his words, digging his fingers painfully into his shirt.

“…It doesn’t change anything,” Lloyd agrees quietly, “But it’s important.”

Birdy goes still with disbelief, “I did not want to hurt anyone, but I did. My intentions do not matter i- I killed the krag. I murdered Farley. I am a monster, Lloyd, you should be scared of me. You should be raising your sword to me now, as we speak!”

Lloyd purposefully sheaths his sword, hands empty.

“What happened in the cave?” Lloyd presses, approaching Birdy like he would a spooked animal. His voice is gentle but firm.

Birdy is trembling again, shaking his head, “It does not matter what happened to me, there is no excuse-“

“What happened, Birdy?”

He stares at Lloyd, working up the nerve to say it, “He… hurt me.” He says haltingly, “He damaged my mind and I… He lied to me, manipulated me for power so that I would… I thought it was my right. I trusted him. I could not remember love or what it looked like and I thought- he was my friend.” Birdys voice bleeds with pain, and Lloyd wonders just how much betrayal Birdy has lived through too.

“You’re not a monster.” He says firmly. Some part of Birdy, some desperate part, wanted Lloyd to say that. Needed him to say that. The way he slides his hands under his mask to cup his eyes is proof enough, fighting back tears, “That man took advantage of you, twisted your heart to follow his plans…”

“It was my strength, my hands, that killed those people.” Birdy chokes out. “It was my master, the man I saw as a father, who banished me here. He was right to do it. Even he could no longer see the good in me.”

“You were a tool used for destruction,” Lloyd reaches out to take Birdy's wrists, drawing his hands away from his face so Birdy can look him in the face and see the truth, “If you had been in your right mind, you wouldn’t have drawn a drop of blood.”

“Never.” He confirms breathlessly.

“You’re a good person, Birdy. I believe that.” He pulls him into a hug that Birdy freezes in. He can’t reciprocate, still beating himself down so hard his hands won’t accept that kindness. He leans into Lloyd, and it’s all he can hope to get.

“Thank you, Lloyd.” He whispers, voice soft and light, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re not a monster.” Lloyd promises again as they pull away, “I’m on your side, and I’m sure the others would be too.”

“You truly believe so?”

“I’m certain of it.” He says with an tired grin, the excitement of the day catching up with him and leaving him exhausted. Passing out never really counted for any substantial rest. They walk slowly back over towards the horses, with Birdy considering the rope in his hands. He leaves it in the mist. It’s too fragile now. There’s no camp to breakdown, but they prepare their horses for the ride back in comfortable silence. After a quick feed and water of their respective steeds, they both hop onto their rides to make the return trip.

As they begin to trek back Birdy speaks up, “Maybe… I will tell you my name. All of you.” He suggests quietly, “When we see the other again I could remove my mask. Show you who I am.”

“I’d like that,” Lloyd says honestly, “But only if you want to.”

The horses are tired from the excitement of the trip so they decide not to push them for the first leg of the trip. They end up trekking through the redwood forest again, through a part that is not so infested with those white spore pods along the trees. At the reminder of the first scaled beast they’d encountered in the realm, Lloyd remembers what they’d seen in the mist.

“Was that a dragon in the mist?” He asks as Honeysuckles trots alongside Suncup.

Birdy hums, “It is what we would consider a dragon, yes. It is believed to be what the people here call an ancient, which is one of the first beings to ever be sent to this place. Most ancients are fully lost to their transformation, and the unique qualities of that dragon indicate it is not a natural species. It’s specifically theorized to be an eagle from Chima.”

“It was huge. It’s a deep sleeper too… we were climbing all over it.” He thinks to himself, “It wasn’t in any distress… Does it breathe the mist like the Undertakers do-“ Something seems to occur to him suddenly, “Oh, is it dead?”

Birdy shakes his head, “You are correct on your first guess, it breathes the mist. It is not dead, simply asleep. No one knows why it has been asleep all this time, or why it cannot be woken. Possibly a side effect of its mutation that it will not rouse unless under specific circumstances. The original Birdy spoke to me about the dragon once, in passing. She somewhat implied it was not a natural sleep.”

“What else did she say?”

“Not much,” Birdy admits, “She was not a kind woman, even if she did save me.”

“She saved you?”

“I was not in good shape when I arrived here, mentally. If not for her, I’m sure I would have fallen into someone like Maurices clutches quickly.”

They keep moving, going through the land quietly. Eventually Birdy motions to Lloyd for them to start a loping gallop, their horses rested well enough to comfortably jog. Again, Lloyd is struck by the strange beauty of this place as they fly through unique and weird scenery. He wouldn’t call it beautiful at first glance, but as he feels the wind whipping through his hair he can admit it has a sense of charm to it that he’s growing to appreciate. The trees are beginning to thin as they approach the island where Oasis’s land begins, in the final stretch. The reddish glow from the sky seeps into the forest deeper here, making the red of the bark simply glow in the afternoon sun. There is simply nothing like this in Ninjago.

Especially horses. He’s pondering on if he can convince Ila to let him sneak Honeysuckle out with them when both horses skid to an abrupt halt.

Six figures dart out from the trees in front of them. The first thing that catches Lloyd attention is the glint of silver and bronze, curved blades and metal pipes wielded like clubs in experienced hands. The group isn’t ragtag- they’re organized and alert, perfectly executing the ambush to the point where the four of them are surrounded half a second after their horses panic and stop. Suncup is upset, knickering as nervously stomping his hooves. Honeysuckle is still and wary.

“Welcome back, boys.” A woman saunters up, almost completely unaffected by the chaos of the realm. The only indication of mutation is the way her arms are split down the middle, holes that show off her bones gaping open as she twirls her metal pipe. She’s got a curtain of hair hiding half her face, but as the breeze brushes her hair aside Lloyd can see more holes in her skin revealing teeth and eye socket. None of it is as severe as the other mutations he’d seen in the realm, “You have something I want.” She says smoothly, motioning to Birdy's bag.

“Morrigan.” Birdy greets coldly. “She and her gang are well known for attacking people over the Cure.”

“I love it when you say my name.” She teases, biting her lip at him and fluttering her lashes. She is beautiful, and maybe that flirty tactic would disarm others, but Birdy doesn’t seem phased by her teasing, “Now hand over the flowers, Lover, or I’ll take them off your corpse.”

Lloyd snorts, “No way.  We need these to free our friends.”

“Do I care, little boy?” She looks annoyed suddenly, like a switch flipped the moment they didn’t give her exactly what she wanted, “This is too much talk. Give me the flowers or I’ll use your intestines to knit a fucking sweater.”

Birdy swings his leg over and hops down off of Suncup. The other people in her posse seem to immediately lose a significant amount of bravado as his feet hit the ground. His cape swishes down after him, kicking up a cloud of dust so that when he stands to his full intimidating height he rises through the debris in a shroud of darkness. “Lloyd,” He says quietly, shifting his staff so that the blade faces outwards, “We will have to fight our way out of this.”

“You’ve always complied before, Birdy. No need to show out for your new friend- Farley 2.0? I think he has more reason to be scared of you than I do.” Morrigan taunts cruelly, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll cut you a deal. You give me all three flowers and I let you keep your skin. How about it?”

Lloyd hops off Honeysuckle and draws his sword, “Counteroffer: We don’t give you anything and you will allow us to pass safely, with the flowers.”

“No deal.” Morrigan lunges the moment she finishes her sentence.

The rest of her little bandit squad leaps into action. Both horses are spooked by the fight, breaking into a startled sprint back into Oasis and straight to the palace at the first clash of metal. Credit where credit is due, however, because Honeysuckle did haul back and donkey kick the outlaw that rushes up behind her, knocking him out cold on the ground before the fight really even began.

The fight is brutal.  Outlaws, Lloyd reminds himself, criminals of the highest degree. Criminals in a world full of criminals. They’re not going to play fair. Lloyd is barely surviving, moving just quick enough to avoid a metal pole cracking open his skull. Birdy has landed a few hits here and there, striking a crocodile with the flat of the blade from his staff so hard Lloyd heard a rib break. The Chima native had stumbled away from the fight after that, giving up with a slump against a tree. The rest of the crew is not so easily deterred.

There’s too many of them.

He leaps away from them, somersaulting away to give himself enough space to get his breath. One inhale to center himself before he moves- Jump up, kick back, whip around-

Birdy falls in step beside him, keeping up with each move until they both break out into picture perfect spinjitzu spirals.

“What the Hell?” Morrigan asks hysterically before she’s pummeled by the move, thrown across the small clearing to lay in a groaning pile on the ground. The other three remaining members of her little gang dont fare much better, the battleground full of pain-filled moans once Lloyd and Birdy come to a steady stop.

“You know spinjitzu!?” Lloyd asks at the same time Birdy grabs his arm and hauls him towards the tree line with an urgent come on!

“Morrigan will not stay down long, we need to get back to town!” They take off in a sprint.

“That was amazing!” Lloyd shouts against the wind, “Your spinjitzu- it was perfect form! You learned?”

“I studied it, yes!” Birdy shouts back, cape flapping in the wind as they cross the living grass field and barrel into the outskirts of town.

Behind them, Morrigan roars in anger.

As they barrel past Elona, Birdy calls out, “Deacon says he adores you! He’s doing better!” They can’t stop long enough for Birdy to watch her hands for a response, but they hear Morrigan cry out and when Lloyd risks a glance back, he can see that Elona had tripped her for them.

They dart through the city streets without stopping, Birdy calling out to the palace guards to allow them into the inner garden so she can’t chase them any further. They raise the iron wrought door just enough so that Lloyd and Birdy both have to drop down and skid underneath it, leaving a cloud of dust in their wake. It slams down behind them and Morrigan finally catches up to them, screeching at the obstacle. She bangs her pipe against the metal with a petulant cry, “You jerk! No fair!”

“Go!” Birdy ushers Lloyd forward, but Lloyd is giggling too hard to rush. Birdy ends up laughing too as they stumble through the maze of the back garden.

“-and when you swung your staff and hit them in the ribs!” Lloyd mimes swinging a bat, “Home run!”

“What about you, avoiding all of Morrigan's swings? She was so angry!” Birdy snickers as they enter the stables.

“Birdy!” Ila darts forward, tentacles reaching out to poke at him and Lloyd, “You’re safe! When The horses returned without you I thought- it doesn’t matter, thank goodness you’re okay!” She throws her arms around Birdy, squeezing him tight.

It feels different than a normal hug- Desperate, almost like an apology, like she’s trying to make up for a transgression that Lloyd can’t pin down yet. That they don’t know about yet. The atmosphere tanks immediately, air growing heavy and sick. The laughter dies on his lips as Birdy returns the hugs gingerly, more for Ila than for himself.

“You know I care about you, don’t you?” Ila asks, squeezing Birdy tight.

The mood is strangely somber, “I care about you too, Ila. I am okay.” But she holds on a moment longer, like she knows she won’t be able to do this again for a very long time.

She lets him go, “Do you have the flowers?”

“Yes.” Lloyd confirms.

“Good, good…” She steps back, studying Birdy for a long moment, “You should go to the throne room. Samira and the others are up there.” Her lower lip trembles for a moment before she fortifies herself, “They’re waiting on you two.”

“Are you okay?” Birdy asks quietly, stepping closer to give the two of them the illusion of privacy in this open space.

“Samira expected you back hours ago. You should go.” Ila deflects, closing her eyes and turning her face away.

Birdy looks like he wants to ask more but Lloyd takes his arm and shakes his head at him, “C’mon, lets go.” Ila isn’t going to say anything more, that’s clear. After another moment's hesitation, Birdy nods and follows Lloyd towards the exit.

Dread settles in Lloyd's stomach. Something didn’t feel right.

He can’t shake it even as they enter the dim firelight in Samira throne room.

There's a moment of calm before all hell breaks loose.

#ninjago #zane julien #lloyd garmadon #ninjago never the dark #ninjago au #spinchip fic #body horror #mentioned death #death #murder #violence #guilt #poor zane #zangst

[hannahhook7744]

Badun Detective Agency Random Headcanon number 1;

The B.D.A doesn't just document the dead and the missing.

They document the living too and have ever since they realized just how much they didn't know about the victims they were documenting.

Sometimes they just write down things they observe.

And others, people hand them the information.

They made a template (that i can make if anyone is interested) for it that is taped to their treehouse.

If you turn it in, they'll file it and never mention it to anyone.

It's not for blackmail but so nobody else on the isle is forgotten (because no one knows how many people may have already been forgotten by the time they were born or by the time they founded the agency).

It is also filed separately from the B.D.A missing person cases, death reports, Getting to know the dead files, pet files, and incident report files.

#descendants #disney descendants #dark descendants #melissa de la cruz #disney #descendants au #wicked world #disney descendants au #sad descendants headcanons #dark headcanons #disappearances #mentioned death

[i-love-you-all]

Whumptober 2022 Day 22: Pick Your Poison

Angsty Reyna hours. This fic references the first one shot of this event I wrote.

Also, as a heads up, in case you haven’t seen my prev announcement, I’ve accepted I won’t be a completionist this year bc I don’t wanna force myself to finish all the prompts in time for tomorrow. So, gonna try to get the prompts done today on stream published, then I’ll work on the 31st one to be published on time at least :))

~1.3k words. Viper, Reyna, Mentions Brimstone, mentions Viper/Omen. Alcoholism, withdrawal, mentioned death.

“Have… Have you been alright?”

This was one of those quiet nights at the HQ. Viper sipped her coffee, studying Reyna who was sitting across from her, a drink of some sort in her hand as well, though untouched. There was rarely a feeling of peace around here. If it wasn’t the world ending events, it was the mirror group of agents driving them faster towards disaster, and if it wasn’t them, it was the agents themselves, trying to entertain themselves in the most dangerous ways possible. But hey, if it kept them focused for their next mission, it shouldn’t matter. Still, for once, there was nothing around them that would burn, or explode, or kill if they sat back for just an hour to enjoy their evening.

Their lives had been so quiet recently, that Viper was caught off guard when Reyna sought her out. She sipped again at her coffee before setting it down. The only time they met like this was when something was wrong with her sister. When the stasis machine was failing, or when there wasn’t enough energy to feed her life. But with the recent mission resulting in almost a surplus of this soul energy Reyna harnessed, her sister was doing just fine. That made this call for a meeting even stranger. Neither of them liked small talk, and there was nothing to discuss.

Nothing that they hadn’t discussed a hundred times before at least.

But this seemed new.

As she waited for some explanation, or even just a greeting, Viper caught the slightest of trembles when the glass was set on the coffee table.

“Alright? When was the last time things have been… alright?”

Viper almost rolled her eyes. Almost, because in truth, she remembered that she wanted this peace, and that meant that she just had to hold on a little longer.

“Look, I already assured you. Her vitals are stable. This is the best she’s been for some time now…” Viper crossed her legs and her arms as she waited for some other reason why Reyna was behaving this way.

“IT’S NOT GOOD ENOUGH.”

Viper raised an eyebrow, just slightly at the outburst. Reyna habitually dipped into her anger and frustration for strength and renewed will, but this was still unexpected. There was no need for her borderline emotional state now – certainly not while things were just fine. They both knew that progress would be slow, but with the recent bump in energy, there were already signs of progress.

Then she heard a familiar sigh. One that showed the fatigue of sleepless nights and inescapable memories. How many times had that feeling escaped her own lips? And all at once, she read Reyna’s posture a different way. There were slumped shoulders, not a sign of bitter determination, but of exhaustion. The tremble that she caught earlier was likely not a sign of barely contained rage, there were times that a human body couldn’t keep going, and while Reyna liked to call herself a radiant, she was human first. Then, she caught the spasm, a small twitch that she didn’t seem to control in her leg. Lack of energy? Too much tensing? A sign of barely contained nausea? Viper couldn’t confirm, and she certainly wouldn’t ask.

But she remembered. In the nights after the accident, she remembered laying down on the empty bed meant for two and staring up at the ceiling just… wondering. It was the curse of the what if. The only two words that were always guaranteed to ruin a persona’s psyche, with the power only growing stronger the more they wanted it. She often begged for one of her what if thoughts to come true, so that she would wake up to his face again. She wouldn’t have had to walk past the same wing every morning and feel something that reminded her of him, only for her to press her nose to the glass window and watch as the shadows whirled and shook around a barely corporeal body that was wrapped in bandages that fell apart too quickly.

She blinked, and all of a sudden, she wasn’t staring at Omen, hoping he would be someone else, and she was looking instead at Reyna, someone who was desperately hoping, wishing for something, though she hesitated to guess what that could be. But more than her own sorrow and insomnia and fatigue, the way Reyna stared at the cup in front of her reminded Viper of Brimstone and all his vices that he struggled to give up.

She’s seen him at the point of a mental breakdown, eyes wide, with pupils nearly completely blown out while he whispered to himself. Names. That’s what she caught the last time she had been there to witness him reach one too many times for the bottle. There were so many names, people who would never be forgotten due to the crazed mutterings of an old man at the very edge of insanity. But if it helped him come back the next morning and put a smile on his face as he addressed the agents, who was she to stop him? Still, she sometimes wondered just how many people he lost to force him to act like this when he got too in his own head. One too many ghosts perhaps, or just one that meant too much.

She sighed in return as she tried to shake these thoughts out of her head. To imagine Reyna mourning someone who wasn’t gone yet, or as another victim of the liquid in her glass would be to assume too much.

“I… I can feel the call for more.”

Viper let her head tilt to the side a little. “More?”

“It lives and breathes inside of me. A call for more. Always more.”

Viper stilled. There was only one thing Reyna ‘consumed’ regularly. Only one thing she sometimes had trouble controlling.

“It’s always the same hunger that drives me. Never satisfied.” The tremble that started in her hands, then travelled to her shoulders, was now in her voice as well.

She took a deep breath in, and when she opened them again, Viper was looking into the magenta, blood-crazed, soul-fueled hunger that made Reyna so terrifying on the field. She uncrossed her legs and shifted, now acutely aware of how careful she had to be going forward in this conversation.

“Reign it in. You kill me, your sister dies as well.”

The words had an immediate effect. The eyes dimmed and an almost inhumane sound escaped her before she curled her hand into a fist and slammed the table hard enough for the liquid in her glass to slosh out. But it still worked, and that hunger faded for just a moment longer. Viper was now certain of what was going on.

“You should go get some food. It won’t help your… hunger, but at least, it’ll keep you standing.”

Each word and thought had to be perfectly crafted. She knew how volatile Reyna’s desire could be, and with her already barely able to control her instincts…

Reyna swallowed, then quickly, lifted the glass to her lips and tipped her head back, downing the alcohol in one gulp. She bared her teeth at the empty glass for a moment while the burn faded. Then, she looked at Viper again and nodded.

“I came here to tell you to tell Brimstone to hurry up and send me somewhere. I can’t keep waiting.”

Then, Viper was in the room alone. She let out a slow, long exhale, and then she lifted her own drink to her lips again. It was always a little morally grey when they let her loose like that, but what other choice did they have other than to keep feeding her addiction, which was, in turn, feeding the only thing that truly kept Reyna on their side?

#whumptobter 2022 #no.22 #pick your poison #withdrawal #valorant #valorant fanfiction #valorant viper #viper #valorant reyna #reyna #brimstone #alcoholism #mentioned death #my writing

[sunset-peril]

Successors - Chapter Two - The Songbird Warrior

*One Year Later*

~~~

"Oh, Mama! It's trembling again!" A blue and pink Rito peeped as she called her mother to the egg-filled nest. "That's the second time this hour!" 

"But of course! It's been a year since you laid." A pink and brown bird raised her head from the hammock.

"Oh, what would Revali be saying now?"

"That you should not be such a worrywart, Khosha!" She flapped her wings wide. "A hatching egg shall tremble, and that is nothing to concern over." Her talons clicked on the floor. "Specially, he would say you are being asinine." She sighed. "But that is not of concern. He's been gone a year, Khosha, and it's time for your egg to hatch. Please do not live in the past, he isn't there either." 

But Khosha's focus did not turn to her egg, but to Hyrule Castle in the distance. "The closer we've gotten, Mama, the more I've thought about her."

"Oh. How so?"

She sighed loudly. "It's been a year, Mama… she should have already had her baby; a beautiful, healthy, golden baby." Khosha glanced backwards. "I don't even know if she got out of that dangerous place, much less delivered a child as healthy as her effort deserved." Her egg rolled back and forth in her talons. "I guess it doesn't seem fair that I only lost my husband, but she lost so much more: her home, kingdom, husband, and quite possibly her child."

"The dead do not wish for you to mourn over their uncertainties."

"Oh, she was so little, Mama… so so little…" She poured over the words like a serenade. "but she had an ancient soul." 

The older woman's beak curved up slightly. "She sounds lovely."

"Did you ever see her? She came to the village several times." 

"A few. None as well as the last. I saw her when she came by just before the Calamity." She cooed out a chuckle. "Oh, she was so little… but that stomach of hers… hmm, that was a sight to behold. I don't think her husband appreciated my amusement though. He gave me the ugliest look." She imitated Link's steely glare. 

"He was not in a good mood that day. He was upset she was traveling instead of resting, and she'd been hurting earlier that morning."

"He had a good heart in him. Part of what made him the incarnation of protective, my theory. Hylia always takes the best sooner than we hope." 

"I bet the Princess is still missing him painfully."

"If she even survived. She might be up there with him, reunited with her dear mother."

"Mama, I know she's alive. I saw her."

"Oh, and where?" 

"The Castle. I… needed some closure soon after the Calamity, and flew there. I saw her in the throne room, Mama, just the way I saw her last, sitting on the throne with a great red Lynel at her feet that was streaked in black and purple like Malice. She didn't look like she'd aged a day, nor did her baby seem a day closer to coming, but she was cloaked in holy light." 

"Then she does seem alive, and in no need of our concern in this very moment." Khosha's mother gestured towards the egg rattling beneath Khosha's right foot. "Someone both alive and in our world would like your attention."

Finally, Khosha lowered her head from the window to focus on the hatching egg. "Hello? Is there a little Rito in there?"

A startlingly familiar beak pierced through the shell, sending cracks throughout the remaining areas before retracting. After that, the egg stopped moving, causing the two women to lower their beaks in curiosity.

"It just… stopped, Mama."

The shell split apart like an explosion, scattering fragments and revealing a tiny Rito with its wings outstretched.

"Revali?"

…

"It's like the Champion had a chick with himself!" The Elder exclaimed upon further examination.

"I've never seen this outside of the Hylian Royal Family!" 

The chick had since dried off from his egg into a noisy little poofball. To the amazement of the entire tribe, he was almost an exact copy of Champion Revali, except for the teal tips of his wings where his father had white.  

"His name is Revali the Second." His mother declared, bringing him closer to her chest. 

"Ah, what a joyous day is this!" The elder hooted. "To be gifted once again with our Champion just a year after his passing!" 

While the tribe gathered in celebration, heading to the Flight Range, Khosha and her mother lingered at the nest.

"He will lead a burdened life, that is for sure. His father's silhouette lies before him, and the world will try and get him to match it instead of casting his own, even if it is similar." 

Revali the Second glanced up from his mother's wings. Peep! Peep! 

"It's so strange…" 

"Perhaps Hylia knew you needed him to stay with you, even though he had to go with her. That is what she did for Zelda, is it not?"

"Yes." She wandered out to Revali's Landing, looking out towards the Flight Range. "And we'll make our mark, won't we, Revali?" She held the baby to the sky, whispering 'Look at your son…' before fastening him into a restraint, clasping the Great Eagle Bow and taking off. As she neared the Range, she prepared three bomb arrows and shot them into some of the targets her husband left behind, then landed with the same degree and style of fanfare he always had. And when she opened her beak to welcome the tribe in a way that he would, she could have sworn it was his voice and not her own.

"Impressive, I know."

Edited - 04/14/2024

#oc x canon #botw oc #rito oc #oc lore #fanfiction #booksivewritten #legend of zelda #breath of the wild #successors hfs #successors #hyrule's final stand #zelink #zelda botw #mentioned revali #mentioned pregnancy #pre botw #pregnancy #mentioned death #tw death mention #khosha #revali the second

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 13: Cant Make an Omlette without Breaking a few Legs

Fandom: Steven Universe

Prompts;

Fracture

Dislocation

"Are you here to break me out?"

Amethyst has definetly said this (title) at some point.

Anyway, anyone who knows my archive knows I have a WIP SU fanfic and I can hear the screams of readers as I write this after not updating in... who knows how long.

So enjoy this AU 😬 its a little less... uh whumpy...

Pearls were property. It was the first thing they knew when they were formed, and no one let them forget it.

This particular Pearl was pretty old, she doesnt know if there were Pearls before her or not, just knows the ones that came after. She was created by and for White Diamond, the oldest diamond and main ruler of the courts. So this Pearl was knows as 'White Pearl', just as the Diamonds that came after White got their own pearls and identified them also as 'Yellow Pearl', 'Blue Pearl', and eventually, 'Pink Pearl'.

Other pearls of course came after, with facets and jobs, serving under gems who served under the Diamonds.

This Pearl, White Pearl, was currently in jail.

Where she'd been for quite some time.

She stayed in a cell, in isolation, simply dubbed dangerous with no interaction whatsoever. She supposes she should be honored to be called "dangerous" as a pearl, but if anyone said it aloud itd be followed by laughter. A pearl? Dangerous? It did seem laughable, to everyone but pearls perhaps

And the gems shes poofed, or worse.

But even in Isolation, Pearl has learned things. Between the chatty pebbles and the gossiping guards, she knows of the rebellion, of Pinks shattering and all that led up to it. She knows that poor Pink Pearl was taken by White Diamond, sometime after Pearls imprisonment. The thought makes her boil, that little Pink Pearl was with that cruel eye sore, controlled like a puppet no doubt, the young Pearl was not made for a diamond like White.

Then again... Pearl wondered if any gem was made for a diamond like White. If they should be made for anyone.

She certainly wasnt.

She served for a long time, was perfect, and loved and hated in equal measures by other gems. But she protected her fellow pearls, and she served her Diamond, and in secret well... in secret she saved. She saved discarded gems, she saved the mistreated, she saved the defective and off color.

She supposes, she may have been the first rebel. But she couldnt know for sure.

But the rebellion has grown great, since her imprisonment. She thinks many of the ones she freed may have joined, the way they know things, the inner workings, it makes sense. She hopes they have saved others as well, that her efforts were not in vain, and she hopes one day for her fellow diamond Pearls to be free.

Her head tilts towards the door from where it rests on her knees, hearing a commotion of sorts outside and hoping for some more intel. Anything to interupt the ever present silence of her cell.

"You're lost arent you."

"No! This is just a... detour..."

"Uh huh."

"I've never been here before! Leave me alone!"

Pearl shakes her head at the poor souls,

"Turn left then right at the end of the hallway and you'll be back on track for an exit." She calls, turning her face just enough to be heard but not bothering to sit up or remove her head from her knees.

"Who said that!?"

She doesnt bother to answer, they'll follow the directions eventually, and Pearl will be left alone once again.

"Is, someone in there?"

"Oh so you arent here to break me out?" She says sarcastically, "the guards will be by any moment now, I suggest you leave before you lose your chance."

"Cant, I have a... leg dislocation... that can only be cured by you answering our questions."

"We're manifestations of light, I doubt your... leg is dislocated." Not the type of conversation Pearl assumed shed be having anytime soon, but its noise at least.

"Am, this cell is marked 'dangerous', I think we should go..."

"If shes a danger to homeworld dont you think we should take her with us?"

"Dangerous is dangerous!"

"Guys, nows not the time to argue, just ask. Hey! Ms.Dangerous, why are you in jail?"

From what Pearl can tell, theres three gems outside her door. They dont sound like court gems, at least not really, they're obviously running, and she knows what their running from wont be far behind. If she remains silent long enough, perhaps they'll take the hint and leave.

"You broke her L. Hey! My dislocation is worsening!"

Or not, why is 'Am' so stubborn.

"Its like you three want to get captured."

"... theres way more than three of us..." the voice changes slightly, "yeah! Theres... an army of us."

"Very convincing. Though, as an Amethyst you could be considered an army in some cases I suppose." Pearl muses, amused by the stuttering and furious whispers that come after.

"We should leave! This gem could be serious trouble!"

"Yeah, that was kinda spooky..."

"...why do the Diamonds consider you Dangerous?"

"Havent you heard? No, youre probably much too young... Im a treasonous gem, a threat to homeworld and all it stands for, a shatterer too good for shattering. I think they hope to recondition me someday, when they remember im here." Pearl chuckles without humor, "now, I can hear the guards coming, I do suggest you go. They will shatter you on spot at best, torture you for information at worst."

Theres some more whispering, then perhaps silent conversation as theres no movement, she presses her face further into her legs as the silence bears down once more. Perhaps they were cunning, and tricked her, perhaps they werent running at all, perhaps now she would be shattered or worse. She couldnt care really. Most gems have probably forgotten her anyway, she had no more use.

The lock on her door clicks, but she doesnt move, she doesnt need to show them dignaty, she will die how she likes thank you. Light creeps in from the hall as the door opens slowly, itd been a long while since shed seen light. Theres a gasp and she turns her face ever so slightly to see a Lapis, Peridot and a small Amethyst in the doorway. They are not dressed in diamonds regalia, nor do they look like part of the courts shed seen so long ago.

They bore stars.

"Youre the Pearl arent you? The one they all talk about but pretend not to talk about up here. The one all those off colors and stuff mention!"

"Oh they call me 'the' Pearl now. I suppose thats better than what the Diamonds call me." She stays where she sits, staring with one eye, curiously at the three gems.

"Wait, you mean this is the Pearl that was fighting the good fight like all those years ago?" Amethyst questions with a raised brow.

"Id say there was one fight really." Pearl mumbles, thinking of the events that led to her being in this cell. The pain still lingers sometime, in the long silences. Of punishments and fights and failure. Of never being good enough, even when you tried so hard to be.

"So you are! I cant believe White D didnt shatter you..."

"Oh dear, there are worse things than shattering." Pearl says sadly, pressing the hidden side of her face further into her leg with a grimance, "give a purpose and take it away. Give a reason to live, then destroy that, and let them stay to watch their world crumble. There are worse things than rejoining the dust of the universe."

"You can still have a reason... you obviously still want to help. So... join the Rebellion." Lapis says it a little awkwardly, like she hasnt asked before. She must be newer.

"Yeah, pretty sure G already got the other pearls, you can come too." Amethyst says.

"Whatever you decide, hurry, I hear them coming!" The Peridot looks nervously over her shoulder, frame trembling slightly.

Pearl lifts her head then, looking at the three fully, she ignores their gasps,

"The other Pearls. You mean the diamonds Pearls?? Theyre free?"

"Uh, yeah. We were the distraction. G and the others should have them..."

But little Pink, they'd need her help to free her from Whites control. It may be the last thing she does, but she will not leave little Pink in torture any longer. Even if Blue and Yellow hate her now, even if they dont remember her, they were free, and Pearl would protect them.

"We better hurry then."

Pearl is up, leaping over their heads and pulling a bow from her gem, she shoots the two guards, poofing them. She turns back to the rebels, light no doubt glinting off the fractured cracks that travel from her temple all the way to her thigh, most hidden beneath clothes, but her face is a mess shes sure. She knows they stare, but they have no time.

"I may be old, but I'll fight for freedom, if you'll have me."

"Yeah dude, youre awesome."

#whumptober2022 #no.13 #fracture #imprisonment #steven universe #fic #corrupt government #mentioned death #abuse #steven universe au #white diamond pearl as main Pearl #pink diamond may actually be dead idk #Pearl is bamf