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joezworld · 2 years

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The Devil in Disguise (4/5)

Traintober 2022 Day 18 - Demon

Summary - The guilty must pay their dues. Disloyalty is punished in the end.

Trigger warning: Yeah

⅘

The class 47 had watched the proceedings with something akin to Horror. The 307 had killed her, she knew that for certain, but what happened after that was… not so clear.

There had been talk, late at nights when engines should have been asleep, of some… ghostly train that would take you away to be cut up, or perhaps beyond. She’d never put much stock into that idea, but those who had had always been most insistent. Sometimes they argued deep into the night about which iteration was ‘correct’ - the ghost that wore the face of your dead family, or the howling monster made out of parts.

Apparently, it was both.

The two beings of the afterlife appeared to be speaking to each other, in supernaturally low tones, and hadn’t yet paid her any attention. She tried to keep still and ensure that she flew under the radar, but a gust of wind whispered its way through her battered and broken frame, and a chunk of metal took that moment to fall to the ground with a clatter.

The spectral engine observed her first. Ah yes, 47 743. Truly you have suffered today. I can only imagine how much pain you are in right now.

She ached, from her frames to her body to her motor right down to her face. The collision had shattered her gorgeous features like glass - she’d seen her reflection in a piece of glass and scarcely recognized herself - her face now a twisted wreckage of cuts and breaks. Her eyes barely pointed in the same direction anymore, and a tooth dropped from her mangled jaw unbidden. She tried to move it, to salvage some level of dignity, but it only sent fresh waves of pain through her body. All she could do was moan in a low tone.

Gawsh, what a mess. The demon concurred. I’m kinda jealous. Even Cashmore left a pretty face. I might have to try that.

She looked at them both, unsure of what was to happen next.

Aw, she’s scared of us. A demonic chuckle. How cute.

The angel said nothing.

We’re usually better as a double act, yaknow.

Still nothing.

What? No words to say in her defense? Nothing about Hitler liking dogs or whatever?

No. The Angel said firmly. No, I have nothing to say for this one. There’s nothing to redeem. Not even a shred. The ethereal-white engine turned gray, just for a moment, as it looked at her. Its placidly angelic expression turning ugly for just a moment. You don’t have any guilt, do you? Not even a little?

Ahem. The demon cleared its throat, a sound that could only be equated to something precious being run through a shredder. This is kinda my bit, ain’t it?

Of course. The Angel blinked, and all the hostility was gone, replaced by placid white mist. It looked over at the Demon. I shall take my leave then, and leave you two to your business.

It vanished with a flash of bright light, heralded not by a heavenly chorus, but instead the sound of the diesel generator running the lights coughing and wheezing, before falling silent for the first time all night.

For a moment, all that was left was the beady red eyes of the Demon. My my, you did strike a nerve. It said menacingly. I should’ve asked ‘em to stay, maybe even buggered off m’self.

It didn’t do anything for the longest time, instead just circling around her, like a predator around dying prey. She tried to do something, say anything, but her ruined face prevented anything other than moaning and gurgling.

Y’know, I almost feel bad for ya. There is nothing that I could reasonably do to you that would make you understand what you’ve done. A lifetime of ignoring what everyone else has ever said, done, or even outright told you, and just sticking to your little hateful worldview. I pity you, really. To live in ignorance is a terrible thing, but dying that way? Oh, even I don’t go that far.

There was a deeply pregnant pause before the Demon spoke again. Of course, I did say ‘reasonably’... And I was never known for being the reasonable sort.

There was a creaking, groaning sound, and then the monster began to split apart, almost at the seams from where it had been stitched together. It continued to come apart, splitting and dividing until it was a cloud of sharp, rusted metal, floating in the air.

The pieces slowly orbited around 743, like rings around a planet, before they returned to the earth, slowly building themselves into an engine from the ground up.

As the pieces formed into a recognizable shape, a horrified gurgle escaped from the 47’s ruined mouth. No, she thought. It can’t be.

Hello, sister. The Demon spoke in its new form. I have missed you.

She managed to make a few gurgles that sounded like “no”.

Oh, but it is me. The monster said, bearing the face of D1562. At least, in all the ways that matter. Mind, body, and, well, I’d say heart, but…

They both looked back along the body. There was ruined and mangled metal hanging off of the centre section in huge blackened strips - silent testimony to the cataclysmic explosion and fire that had ripped through her brother, condemning him in an instant. Let’s just not talk about that, shall we?

It - he - looked at her. Seems like it’s the end of the line for you, huh?

She tried to say anything to him, but he shushed her. Ah, don’t go on like that. It’s not seemly. I’ll do all the talking. He smiled, and she noticed how it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. Word ‘round the underworld is that you’ve been a very bad engine, haven’t you? I mean, I know that we all did some things that we’d rather not have, if it hadn’t been for BR whispering in our ears, but land sakes, it seemed like you enjoyed yourself! Going into yards, turning them against each other like that; it’s almost indecent.

She gaped at him, as much as her destroyed body would allow. No, don’t try and hide it. It is - after all, if we were really their betters, we could have just rolled in there and crushed them without any subterfuge at all! Goodness knows it worked for the Deltics, and the Cromptons, and the 44s, not to mention the 101s, the Westerns, the Hymeks, and even the Warships - all came in with a smile on their face and a good hard work ethic and they drove the steamers into the scrap lines just as quick as we did.

His expression hardened. Not us though. We had to go in there and drive them apart, take them down from the inside. He paused, his eyes lighting up with a hint of demonic red light. You ever wonder why everyone else seemed to get so gloomy once we got into the 70s? Why the Hydraulics and the other non-standards getting tossed out like that seemed to take the wind out of us? Why we mourned the Deltics and the Peaks when their times came? The Cromptons too?

She didn’t have time to answer before his eyes fully lit up with red. We mourned them because they were worthy, 1772. He hissed, calling her by her old number. They deserved life and got death! British Rail decided that killing steam wasn’t good enough, and they set their sights on US! They divided us into worthy and unworthy years before, while we still clashed with steam!

Her brother was almost emitting demonic red light, and he was practically levitating off the ground. And yet there you were, sidling into depots and turning us against ourselves! You didn’t need any provocation, you just enjoyed it. Didn’t you?

She could say nothing. A few tears slid out of the corners of her eyes.

There is no redemption for the likes of you. We all had evil whispered into our minds by the Double Arrows, but while most shook off the blinders eventually, you took that evil into your heart and incubated it into a sickness that could only ever cause pain.

He was actually levitating off the ground now. I DEEM YOU UNWORTHY! NO LONGER WILL YOU BE CONSIDERED ONE OF LOUGHBOROUGH’S FINEST! I CAST YOU OUT TO THE MERCY OF MEN!

With that, he turned away, his B-end cab facing her, the red lamps burning bright, before he dissolved into the night.

47 743, formerly D1772, stared at the space in the air that he had just occupied. All was still for a moment, but on her cab sides, she could feel the small numbers on her sides peeling away from her metal and falling off.

Not the 743 - her very identity - but the leading numbers, her family.

A quiet wind blew through the crash site, and she could see a quartet of white 4s flutter into the distance, followed by a quartet of 7s. They floated on the wind, just barely visible in the first rays of the sunrise. Once they got to a point that was just close enough to see, they disintegrated into puffs of ash.

At that moment, 47 743 knew she was alone in the world.

But the world was not done with her yet.

The puffs of ash slowly reformed into a set of lights, bouncing across the rutted field that lay between the wreck and the road. The lights were attached to a trio of workman’s vehicles: a Land Rover, a Transit van, and a Toyota pickup.

Jolting and lurching across the fallow field, the trio of work vehicles eventually made it to the ruined diesel. Men poured out of the van and the Rover, and tools were pulled from seemingly every place inside all three. The bed of the Toyota was full of large tanks, and 743 knew what they were full of, even if she couldn’t yet admit it to herself.

“Right,” Said the foreman, as he donned his hi-vis. “This is a right mess, but we’re going to try and work our way back from the ‘A’ end, and see what’s salvageable. Personally I wouldn’t bet on anything before the electrical cabinets. Cab’s certainly gone.”

There were general calls of assent from his men as they got their tools together. One man in particular pulled a strange looking object from the passenger seat of the Toyota. It was yellow, and said SONY on the front. He inserted a round disc labeled “ELVIS ‘68” as others attached hoses to the bottles.

There were chuckles about putting it “on shuffle this time”, and he did so, pressing a few buttons on it, which caused music to come out.

There must be lights burning brighter somewhere

Got to be birds flying higher in a sky more blue

The men plumbed the hoses to the cutting heads

If I can dream of a better land

Where all my brothers walk hand in hand

Tell me why, oh why, oh why can't my dream come true

Oh why

The gas axes lit with a whoosh.

There must be peace and understanding sometime

Strong winds of promise that will blow away the doubt and fear

“Start with the A end?”

If I can dream of a warmer sun

Where hope keeps shining on everyone

“Yeah.” The foreman pulled a face as he looked at the diesel. “Start with the face. That’s mighty upsettin’ looking.”

Tell me why, oh why, oh why won't that sun appear?

The men chalked out a rough line for cutting. 743 whimpered and gurgled, but they paid no notice.

We're lost in a cloud

With too much rain

We're trapped in a world

They started cutting, near the jaw and working their way up. The pain was a white hot lance that never stopped.

That's troubled with pain

But as long as a man

Has the strength to dream

He can redeem his soul and fly

She could scarcely see beyond the blinding light of the cutting torch, but in the distance she could see the Demon and D1562 looking on as sparks began to fly.

Deep in my heart there's a trembling question

Still I am sure that the answer, answer's gonna come somehow

Out there in the dark, there's a beckoning candle, yeah

The cutting continued, curving around the edges of the yellow warning panels. Molten metal began to drip down into her eyes.

And while I can think, while I can talk

While I can stand, while I can walk

The torch made its next turn. One left.

While I can dream

Oh, please let my dream

Come true

The pain spiked as a prybar was wedged into the gap to help the torch along. Her face began to bend in ways that it was never supposed to.

Right now

The ends of the cut met. The prybar yanked.

Let it come true right now

Oh yeah

47 743’s face fell to the ground with a clatter.

Thank you, goodnight.

#traintober 2022 #traintober #traintober2022 #ttte #fic #sentient vehicles #sentient vehicle headcanon #trains #class 47 #dark #demon train #ghost train #ghost trains #like #no seriously guys #it's dark

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ereardon · 8 months

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Em! I’m going to NYC in a few months to see Lew’s band play (!!!!!!!) and I’m a bit anxious about using the subway (in that I’ve never been on one? hash tag small town girl probs) I’ve been to New York before but this time I’m flying solo and refuse to take Ubers (especially since I won’t be drinking) do you have any tips and tricks for the MTA?

signed, the only person in the world who gets anxious about something 2 months in advance

Hi! Well first off that is SO EXCITING that you're going to see Lew's band!! Am I dumb that I didn't know he was in a band???

Are you flying into JFK or LGA? So JFK it's quite easy (relatively). You leave the terminal and get on the AirTrain to Jamaica Station. There's these little turnstile gates so you have to buy a ticket for the AirTrain to exit the gate (it's like $7) and then you have to take the subway (the E line) which is like $2.75. If you take it long enough (I'm talking 45+ mins) it'll get you into Manhattan. First stop is around 51st and 6th avenue so at the bottom righthand corner of central park (aka Midtown East) or you can stay on it and it'll take you across midtown and then south! Really depends where you're going!

A faster, but more expensive route from JFK is to take the AirTrain and then a LIRR train to Penn Station. Depending on if it's off or on peak it'll be more like $14 a ticket. But you'll shave time!

If you're flying into LGA then it's trickier since to my knowledge there aren't any subways/trains that go directly (but they've done tons of reno work lately so I could be totally wrong. LGA is nice as fuck now). If you want to do public transit you take the Q70 bus from LGA to either catch the 7 subway at 74th Street Broadway in Queens or the EFMR subway trains at Jackson Heights-Roosevelt Ave (also in Queens). I lived in Long Island City for a year and flew out of LGA a lot but will admit I only ever ubered there!

I think people get way more intimidated by the subway than they need to! It takes Apple Pay now so if you don't want to buy a card you just swipe apple pay near the turnstile. My one tip is if you're at a smaller station (not a big one like Herald Square, Union Square, Grand Central), make sure you're looking at the entrances when you go down into the subway station. Trains going uptown will be on the side of the street with traffic going uptown. Trains going downtown will have entrances on the side of the street where traffic is headed south.

Hope this helps!! Also I'm sure you know this but ... if the train car is suspiciously empty despite it being a busy time, honey it's empty for a reason. Do not get in that car, there's something sus happening in there.

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barnesandco · 3 years

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Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy (6/14)

Story Masterlist

The plum seller at the farmer’s market saves Bucky from being captured for the attack at Vienna that he didn’t commit, but is she really all that she appears to be, or are ulterior motives involved?

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2020. Word count: 2022. Square filled: “Fake Dating”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: A brief mention of Hydra and the mission in Odessa when Bucky shot Nat. Mention of guns. General melancholy, I guess.

A/N: It’s another quite chapter, but contrary to the last one... I... actually like this one, so I hope you will, too.

Bucky sighs when the northern mouth of the Istanbul canal appears on the horizon like a herald of safety, indicated by the twinkling lights in the distant dark. He’s not naive enough to think this is the end, because he knows their journey is far from over, but this, the closest they have been to the edge of Europe, is a breath of relief. Next to him, he sees the shoulders of his partner in crime drop a little, the stress alleviating just a hint.

She had been watching him hesitantly since Odessa, where his eyes had gone colder and fogged over with a memory he does not like to remember. A flash of red hair, a through-and-through bullet wound, the Ukrainian winter deep in his bones.

That retrospective chill didn’t thaw until they got on the ferry. The seat on the upper deck had provided the full luxury of the mid-morning sun. It is getting late, now, and the night has settled in. He pretends not to notice how she shifts a little closer to him on the bench seat, and suppresses a shudder -- from something besides cold -- when her shoulder touches his.

He doesn’t remember the last time he let anyone besides Steve get this close to him. Of his own volition, that is. The years of Hydra manhandling don’t count, and are a far cry from the soft feel of her cardigan and the scent of baklava still lingering on her hands.

The words have been scarce and forced between them, layered with fake smiles and uncomfortable touches ever since a fellow passenger mistook them for a couple earlier in the day, and it was easier to play along, as they had in the train, than to offer a less feasible alternative. That’s why, when someone passes by, his gloved left hand finds its way to her bare one.

She smiles at him, then, and doesn’t let go when the danger has been crossed, until the speaker system is announcing their arrival at shore and there is the customary bustle of passengers eager to leave their ride after a long journey.

This, at least, is familiar. The old Bucky, he -- I, Bucky thinks -- worked at the docks for the seven month before he was drafted. The sight of people, crowds, eager to land and leave and fan out like marbles in the Brooklyn boys’ version of snooker, rings like a bell in the jumbled chaos of his brain, clears it with a sonic echo.

And then, his fugitive, his fake lover, is squeezing his hand with a smile on her face but her eyebrows drawn together just enough for him to notice.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs lowly, so only she hears it, and the ferry is brought in. They join the line and Bucky is glad to have something solid beneath him, even if it is only the wooden pier. Above them, Istanbul glitters like a hidden treasure, and Bucky recalls fool’s gold hair under layers of dirt and sometimes blood, how he used to joke; God’s given you such lovely locks, you should take better care of ‘em, Stevie, with a ruffle of his hair. It was as soft between his fingers as her hands are, as she dodges the people swiftly, and he allows himself to be pulled along.

He counts their steps as they find themselves in the city, with cobblestones under their feet, on their way to the nearest hotel with a vacant room because planning ahead is risky and a sure way to get caught, especially if you do it online.

There’s another thing she had had to compromise on with him. Plans don’t work if you’re in hiding, because you’re predictable if you know where you’re going and why. If you don’t know where you’re going, how the hell will the authorities? That’s why he threw out that map the first chance he had, apologizing gruffly when she returned from the ladies’ room in the train station in Kiev.

He has no illusions that he is in control, but this, he can hold onto, even if it is a feeble attempt at calling some shots. They may be heading south, but they’ll do it his way, and it’s worked so far.

While her eyes are fixed on the road ahead, Bucky looks into side streets, smaller, narrow lanes, on instinct, not sure for what, but it pays when he sees a vacancy sign flickering in the dark. So he pulls them both to a stop, and then towards the door under the fluorescent flickering.

The inn is warm and homey, not the kind of run-down institution one would expect. It’s a family business; he clocks the similar features of the young man cleaning up the table in the lobby and the older woman in a headscard behind the counter. Heading towards the latter, he takes off his hat and brightens his smile. This, too, is instinctive, intuitive, the charm taking over everything else, even as his heart is thrumming with the desperation to not get recognized.

Turkish rises to his tongue fluidly. “Salam,” he says, putting his hand over his chest in the customary way. “We’d like a room for a night, please,” he says when he notes that they don’t have any other choice, going by the fact that there is only one remaining room key on the wall behind the lady.

“Walaikumassalam,” she responds, the surprise only registering as far as her eyes. “Here you go,” she says, handing over a form to fill. Bucky slides it over to his “girlfriend” while he pulls out the money and a tip. The woman takes both and hands him the last key with a smile. “Thank you. We hope you enjoy your stay. Breakfast is from seven to ten.”

They nod, and voice their thanks, and head upstairs as the vacancy sign is turned off. The already muted sound of the few patrons in the lobby dulls as they climb the stairs, and the relief he started feeling near the harbor is more palpable now. He can rest, here. It’s a safe place, if only for a few hours, if only for as long as they are here.

That feeling is overtaken by embarrassment and mortification when he opens the door to see just one double bed in the room. The room is, like the rest of the inn, homely, but there is just one bed. A bathroom, a small closet, a little desk with a mirror above it, and the one bed.

“I’ll take the floor,” he tells her, and she laughs out a tired laugh, smile lines crinkling now as she reviews the situation before dumping her bag on the floor near the door.

She shakes her head. “After 14 hours in that ferry?” She asks incredulously, and then sits down at the foot of the bed, taking her shoes off, and curling her toes in the rug beneath her in a mesmerizing motion. “I’m not that cruel, and neither of us are children. We can handle sleeping in the same bed.”

“Fine.”

Bucky offers her to use the bathroom first, and sits down by the closet with the only gun he has. The Glock is taken apart in automated motions, and cleaned with a quiet efficiency, in the manner that has been executed a hundred times, but with the difference of the sound of someone in the shower, the soft rush of water and a gentler hum only he can detect. For the second time since knowing her, he thinks that if it weren’t for the way they’re both on their toes and on the run, this could be oddly domestic.

It’s the kind of scene -- minus the gun and the hairs still standing on the back of his neck -- that his past self used to dream of. Enough money to take his girl somewhere away from Brooklyn’s smoke and gray, and enough time and a heart pure from the soot that has now accumulated from killing to spend on her.

The remembered desire is so achingly nostalgic that he doesn’t realize she’s left the bathroom until her hair is dripping on the floor in front of him, and he realizes his gun has been clean and resting reassembled in his hands for several minutes now.

“Your turn,” she says, taking the towel off from around her neck. She smells of soap. After putting away the precious weapon, he heads inside and takes that shower. He turns the water so hot his skin is pink and scrubbed raw by the time he leaves, and goes out to find a razor from his backpack.

The bathroom door is open while he shaves, and he does it now instead of the morning because he likes the stubble, but it’s getting a little out of hand. She appears in the doorway behind him and leans against the frame, watching. His hands tremble lightly.

“You were worried she would recognize you,” she says, as the shaving cream gets lathered on. “It’s the hair, you know. If you get recognized, it’ll be because of those gorgeous locks,” and Bucky raises an eyebrow in the mirror. The loose grin suggests she’s joking, until she continues. “The videos from the fight in D.C. are everywhere, Barnes. Surely you know that.”

Bucky looks her reflection straight in the eye as he picks up the razor. “I’m not cutting it.” She waits until he’s done shaving and has rinsed off his face and dried it, too.

“I’m not saying you have to. Tie it back, maybe,” she suggests with a shrug.

“How?” he questions, and then walks past her into the room, repacking the shaving supplies.

She follows, stands behind him near the bed until he’s done and turning around. “You want me to show you?”

Bucky is the one to shrug, now. “Sure.”

Pulling the long sleeve of her shirt back, she takes a hair tie off her wrist and begins to comb her still-damp hair back. “You just pull it back -- it’s easier if you have a brush -- and then coil it together... and there,” she demonstrates, wrapping the hair tie around the bun she has formed with practised expertise, and Bucky watches her nimble fingers move agilely.

She removes the hair tie and hands it to him, and he tries it, but the small bun he gathers at the nape of his neck falls apart before he can put the hair tie on. “I can’t,” he mutters, frustrated.

“Do you want me to do it?” She asks, no judgement, her tone gentle and so open he can’t help but take her up on it.

“Okay,” he responds, swallowing down the tension that is now crackling like electricity. Sitting down at the desk, he watches in the mirror as she moves slowly, drying up the last drops of water in his hair with a towel. She combs her hands gently and sparks fizz down his spine, and he has to force his eyes open and his heart steady.

Her touch is soft and honey-sweet, as she gathers his hair near the nape of his neck, and then twists it around until it is what he assumes to be a tiny, spherical mass. The tie coils once, twice, and thrice, and she steps back when she’s finished, to let Bucky see.

It’s a revelation, in some way. Not quite as thrilling as the touch of her hands on the back of his neck or her nails scraping against his scalp, but warmth pools somewhere deep inside his chest, and he looks at the face in the mirror with a new perspective. The man looking back has a divot in his chin he hasn’t noticed and doesn’t remember, and his jaw stands out against the shadows of the room. Bright blue eyes stand out more, unshielded by a curtain of brown-black hair, and he’s aware of her gaze watching him but he can’t bring himself to address it.

Is this what finding yourself feels like, he wonders, but says: “Thank you.”

#SSB2020 #ayesha writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x reader fluff #bucky barnes x reader angst #marvel #marvel fanfiction #fake dating au

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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years

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Magnificent Scoundrels- Grand Tour

I decided to write about Thomas Drake and his crew for this one. As usual, I do not own any other characters except Drake and his crew. Enjoy the story.

“I am not a good person, but I am an honest one.”

-Thomas Drake

“You said you wanted to take a tour of my ship, so, here we are.” Drake gave an elaborate, formal bow. “Welcome aboard the Apocalypse. You all have your engineers with you?” He looked around the group of, who did, indeed have all their engineers with them. “Good. Everyone is invited, and if you are able to replicate anything you see here from memory, then I think it’s yours, fairly won.” Which cut right into the heart of why everyone had their engineers here.

Drake turned into the hangar bay, beginning the tour. “The Apocalypse is an Apricus Industries 745-class light cruiser, heavily modified by us, of course. Originally named the Summer’s Light, it was renamed something more appropriate for a warship after me and my merry band of maniacs stole it during the Jerrick War. It was, uh, well, upgraded, as I said before, and now includes reinforced shielding on the hull, better engines, best in class, as a matter of fact, heavy railgun batteries, more point defense batteries, and nuclear launch tubes, of which I am particularly proud of. Unique amongst most capital sized ships from my home galaxy, it can enter atmosphere, a fact that I have come to appreciate in my line of work. Now, this,” he waved vaguely at their surroundings, “is the hangar bay. We only need a couple of shuttles, so for the most part, it’s open and used by the armsmen for training. Speaking of which,” he nodded in the direction of a group wearing a collection of military-looking uniforms watching two of their number spar, “those are the armsmen.” Drake gave a sharp whistle, and the armsmen stopped what they were doing. Three of their number walked over to the Scoundrels, while the rest milled around, apparently taking a break from what they were doing.

Drake gave the classic back-and-forth gesture that has accompanied introductions since the dawn of time as he called out the three individuals. “Derrick Saul, commander of 1st Squad.” The armsman furthest to the left, a deeply sunburn man with hair cut so short he may as well have been bald, gave them a polite nod. “Jean Garang, commander of 2nd Squad.” The armsman in the middle, a tall woman with exceptionally dark-hued skin and short cut black hair also gave a nodd. “And Rilgaldis, commander of 3rd Squad.” A massive reptilian alien, well over seven feet tall, gave them a salute. “Scoundrels, Saul, Garang, and Rilgaldis. Rilgaldis, Garang, and Saul, the Scoundrels.” Drake gave a moment’s pause. “Well then, now introductions have been made. Why don’t you three tell my glorious compatriots exactly where you come from and why you’re galavanting across the galaxy with an unstable mercenary?” Drake’s joking manner broke the formal and somewhat strained atmosphere. The Scoundrels relaxed, and Saul grinned.

“Fine. I’ll go first. Born on Europa, joined the 317th Federal Expeditionary Division. I’m here because, well, you pay more than the Federal Army, Captain.”

“Same thing with me. Born in Sudan, joined the Army, got put in the 5th Guards. Drake pays more than the Federation,” said Garang.

“And you, Rilgaldis?”

“Born into the Dracus Army, left, joined the Imperial Foreign Legion, left, joined you because you pay better,” said Rilgaldis.

“Yes. The three leaders of my armsmen. Matter of fact, it’s a wonder you two,” he indicated Saul and Garang, “get along as well as you do.”

“Wait, what do you mean by that?” asked Kirk. Saul and Garang grinned at each other.

“You see, we are on opposite sides of one of humanity's oldest questions. Matter of fact, Garang, let’s settle this once and for all. You all seem like you know what you’re talking about.” The Scoundrels looked at each other, hesitant about what the question would bring. “So, here we go, and I know that you’ll all agree with me: 9 milimetre Parabellum or .45 ACP?”

“What?” replied Vir. The other Scoundrels seemed to be equally bemused by the question.

“Are you not a soldier or a weapons enthusiast? Don’t pick up guns like the rest of us?”

“I was a pilot, now an Admiral.”

“Oh dear me, the flyboys have their heads so high in the clouds they don’t know the answer to life’s greatest mystery. Any of the rest of you? No? Bullets don’t exist where you come from or something?” Kirk, Shepard, and Cain shook their heads to the negative.

“.50 cal.” Master Chief added his input. Saul whistled.

“Jesus Christ. Although,” Saul walked up and compared his height to the Chief’s, “if anyone can handle a .50 calibre handgun on the regular, it would be the two meter guy made entirely of muscle.”

“Wonderful. Now that we have that out of the way, onwards!” exclaimed Drake. The rest of the Scoundrels followed, threading their way out of the hangar and through the winding grey passages of the starship. Most were neat, clean, and paneled with easily cleanable grey metal, although one particular passageway they crossed was under repair, the panelling ripped away to expose a myriad of interconnecting pipes and wires. A mixed group of aliens and humans, all wearing grey jumpsuits, were hard at work, fiddling with various tangles of sparking wires. A short woman jumped from atop a ladder where she had been perched, examining the ceiling, and offered Drake a vague salute.

“We’re almost done, Captain. Wiring in this sector should be back up in no time.” She seemed to notice the group following him for the first time, and gave them a cheery wave. “Tor Herald. In charge of...well...nothing in particular. We,” this was accompanied by a wave encompassing the various workers, “are unofficially known throughout the ship as the ne’re-doers. Unspecialized specialists, jacks of all trades, masters of none, we’re the crew that keeps the Apocalypse running. This ain’t a military vessel, so we’re just on as regular crew members. Nothing to do with most of the money and explosions that seem to follow the Captain around.” One of the wires in the background started to spark alarmingly. “Ah, shit. Love to talk, got to fix this.” She ran to the problem, an odd-shaped tool in hand.

“Best keep going, then,” said Drake. He gave the group a ‘follow me’ motion, and led them deeper through the halls. “I get crew members from all over the place. Most of the armsmen and specialists are ex-military, but the crew...I have from all over the place. Which I said before. Don’t really know how else to put it. Got crew members from Earth, Vorketh, Aequalitas, Narcan, Delstrovic, and everywhere in between. Now,” he turned and gestured to a section of more pleasant looking and open hallways, “as your esteemed colleague Jack Cooper can attest, these are the crew quarters. They are located throughout the ship, so vital personnel can sleep next to their stations, but the bulk of them are in this area.” He led them past the crew quarters to a pair of large sliding glass doors. “And this is what we call the weapons room. All our personal weapons are created, reparied, and tested here.” It was a brightly lit room covered in stark white plastic, but what drew everyone’s attention were it’s two occupants, who, although fiddling with various bits and pieces, seemed to be in the middle of a fierce argument.

“You see, the problem with your theory is, at the very heart of the matter, you’ve got it wrong. The purpose of a government is to help its people by any means it finds necessary,” said a short, lean, black-haired man in the midst of inserting a new power core into a plasma gun.

“No, the purpose of a government is to protect its people’s rights and protect them from foriegn invasion. Otherwise, it should leave them alone,” replied a muscular, brown-haired man of medium height as he tightened the bolts on a massive machine gun.

“Ah, but the thing is, the government can help people. And at the basic level, why would you not help people? You’re a Christian, and it is at the core of your philosophy to help others,” countered the black-haired man.

“Individually. It is our duty to individually help other people. You’re a student of history, and you know what happens. If the government helps people in the way you’re suggesting, then it gains control over them, and thus should it turn bad, the common people are helpless.” The Scoundrels filed into the room behind Drake as the two argued, apparently oblivious to their presence.

“The core problem with you is that you’re just an ignorant, uneducated farm boy who’s clinging to a dying philosophy,” sneered the black-haired man.

“And you are a stuck up city student who has absolutely no idea how the real world works,” shot back the brown-haired man with a vengeance.

“You’re a stupid moron who follows people who will plunge the world into despotism.” At this, the brown-haired man threw down his wrench and cracked his knuckles.

“I’d be very, very, careful if I were you,” he warned. The tension in the air was almost like a physical being. Several of the Scoundrels standing behind Drake tugged on their collars as if to escape from an oppressive heat. Kirk stepped forward as if to mediate, but Drake held out a hand to forestall him.

“Or what? What are you going to do?” replied the black haired man snidely.

“This.” And before anyone could react, the brown haired man stepped forward, wrapped his arms around the shorter man, and pulled him close into a passionate kiss. They broke apart, and upon seeing the shocked faces of their various watchers, both started howling with laughter.

“Oh, you should have seen your faces,” said the taller of the pair in between wheezes. The other man was clutching his midsection and had tears streaming down his face. He made some sort of strangled gasping noise and grabbed the edge of a counter for support.

“We got ‘em!” He broke down into hysterics again. “We got you!” Drake merely rolled his eyes.

“Everyone, meet Mark,” he nodded towards the brown haired man, “and Oliver,” this was accompanied by a wave to the black haired man, “Danis-Holden, two of my three weapons specialists.” The two, still trying not to laugh, stood up straighter and nodded as they were introduced. Noting the still bemused faces of the Scoundrels, Drake sighed. “So, you guys want to tell them who you are, where you’re from, why you’re with me and what was going on here?”

“Sure!” replied Mark cheerfully. “So, I was born on Enlalda, a colony world on the edge of Federal Space. It’s an agrarian planet, and most people there moved from the center of Federal space because of religious persecution. Like ninety-ish percent of the population are old school Evangelical Christian conservatives. I was born and raised on a farm; grew up as a...well, old school Evangelical Christian conservative. Always liked to tinker with things, got really good at repairing vehicles and the various guns you’ll find all farmers have on colony worlds. But, I always thought there was more to life than just farming. I wanted adventure. I wanted to do something with my life. So, one day a mercenary starship shows up,” he paused his narrative for a moment and looked queringly at Drake, “wasn’t that the Helidon job?” Drake rubbed his forehead.

“Oh. Yeah, it was. Now that was a weird operation. But I digress. Please continue.”

“Yep. So, as I was saying, the Captain here showed up near where I was. I heard he was looking for a weapons specialist, and I had some experience in that area, so I decided to offer my services, and you accepted, and I joined the crew. And that’s where I met this idiot.” He gestured at Oliver.

“Damn straight. But before we get into that, I have to tell you my story,” replied Oliver. “I was born on Tyvander. Metropolitan planet near the center of Federal space. I grew up in a middle class family near one of the bigger cities, Menvander. Like a lot of people, I went to college there: majored in political science, minored in specialized engineering. Unlike some planets, Tyvander isn't super rich or famous, and there is no specialized educational infrastructure there, so if you want to go to college, you pay for it. As it turns out, being a political science major does not pay the bills, so when the Apocalypse showed up looking for a weapon’s specialist, which I was qualified for because of my technical skills and engineering expertise. So I joined up, and my debts and old, boring life didn’t follow. The University of Menvander is not going to hunt you down if you declare bankruptcy and go galavanting across the galaxy with a group of mercenaries,” he finished.

“I’ll pick it up from here,” said Mark. “How shall I put this…” he stopped to consider for a moment. “Oliver was already aboard as a weapons specialist when I got here. We worked together, got to know each other, and, as it turns out, the phrase ‘opposites attract’ is a very true one. I always had the feeling that I was, well...gay, but, considering where I grew up, I never told anyone. Didn’t really bother me. I was perfectly fine doing what I was doing, and never saw anyone who peaked my interest. ‘Till I met him, of course.”

“I’ve always been a hardcore liberal, been gay, and known I was gay. Got here, met him, got married,” said Oliver.

“Wait, how did that work?” interrupted Shepard. “You guys are all mercenaries who don’t really have legal residence anywhere, so…”

“Ah, yes. We had a ceremony on the ship. Was one hell of a party, actually,” replied Drake. “Legally though…” he pursed his lips in thought. “We’re all registered as Guild citizens for legal and infiltration purposes, so that might count...but for the most part, no legal or religious ceremony. Doesn’t really matter though, all things considered,” he said with a shrug.

“Yep. So now we spend all day repairing and creating weapons while bickering about politics,” interjected Oliver. “It’s fun, actually. Still don’t know why you support that outdated philosophy and religion when it doesn’t allow for homosexuality. Which, you are.”

“Just because one part of a philosophy is wrong, doesn’t mean all parts of it are wrong. Plus, you’re a hardcore liberal who supports the right to bear arms. Like, all forms of weapons,” replied Mark.

“Eh, good point. Goes with the job, I guess.” They grinned at each other.

“Deviant freaks?

“Deviant freaks!”

“Goddamn right?”

“Goddamn right!” They gave each other high fives then went back to their work. Drake sighed.

“Okay. Let’s continue.” They passed through the weapons room and into more of the winding grey hallways. Drake spoke up as he walked. “I should have probably told you, but everyone on this ship, myself included, is kind of nuts. You see, being a mercenary means you kill people for money. It does not attract the most...uh...stable of individuals. Stable people stay near where they were born and go to college, or to some other form of school, or join the military. Stable people do not go running around the galaxy and get into all sorts of weird things with me.” He turned back to the Scoundrels and suddenly grinned. “And by that logic, none of you are stable! Welcome to the club!” He turned another corner and walked into an enclosed room covered with constricting panels of all sorts of strange dials, knobs, and buttons. The area was lit by yellow bulbs enclosed in metal cages, and the floor itself was made of metal grating, allowing one to see a series of tunnels underneath it. The entire room was pervaded by a low, incessant humming noise. “Now, this is the engine room. It’s a lot bigger than it looks, but we need all the panels to keep the reactor functional, so it seems rather enclosed. The engineers should be somewhere around here.” He sighed again and gave a whistle. “Oi! Where are all of you guys?” Without warning, a grey-jumpsuited woman slid from a small rectangular access hatch beneath one of the larger panels.

“Right here, sir! Fixing the 5130’s.” She had a round, cheerful face framed with wispy brown hair. She grinned up at the Scoundrels. “Well, well, well. Looks like we have visitors, everyone!”

“Pleasure to meet you,” said a muffled, echoey voice that seemed to emanate from the ceiling. “I would come down to introduce myself, but I’m a little busy at the moment.”

“Visiters?” A blond haired man poked his head from behind another panel. “Pleasure to meet you. Engineer First Class Boweman, at your service.”

“Engineer Baily,” said the woman, who had at this point gone back into the hatch.

“Engineer Khatri,” came the muffled voice.

“K’rik Vhle’krik,” said someone else. A large, brown insectoid alien turned the corner. It looked like a cross between a centipede and a lobster, and stood on six hind legs, with eight more waving in the air in front of it. Its back was protected by a large brown exoskeleton, and its eyes were mounted on two stalks on its head. Cain tensed, his hand going to his sword. Drake noticed the movement, but said nothing of it and instead made introductions.

“Scoundrels, my engineering crew. Engineering crew, the Scoundrels.” He turned and addressed the ceiling. “Are you busy at the moment?”

“A bit,” the alien replied in an odd, unnaturally exaggerated American accent. “We’re trying to reroute the cooling systems of the 5130’s.”

“Well then, I shall leave you to it,” said Drake in response. “Moving on.” The group walked through the engine room and through another hallway beyond. “I would introduce everyone, but the cooling systems are very important in making sure everything goes un-exploded.”

They passed into a large room covered with science equipment and what looked like the shell of a large bomb sitting in the middle of the room. A woman with frazzled brown hair, wearing a welder’s face mask and a leather apron and gloves was standing over a strange device, pouring a red liquid into a stainless steel beaker. She finished what she was doing, flipped up the mask and smiled at the newcomers.

“Jennifer Muelka. Ordnance and explosives expert.”

“The remaining third of my weapons specialists,” interjected Drake. “Brilliant at all forms of making things go boom. A little too brilliant sometimes.” She smiled sheepishly.

“I do try my best to be careful.”

“So, I’m interested. Why are you here?” asked Shepard.

“Oh that’s easy,” she replied with a laugh. “No one else will let me do what I do here. I create all sorts of nasty things. Plasma, napalm...nukes, on occasion.”

“You...you, a mercenary, have nukes on this ship?” asked Vir.

“Yes. No one’s complained, because if I do use them, I use them correctly. I am very proud to say that the number of innocent civilians we have killed with nuclear weapons remains zero.”

“That’s...kinda reassuring?”

“Hey, if you’re hiring me, you get the best of the best,” said Drake. Leaving Muelka to her work, they moved on. THey walked through one long, spacious, and brightly-lit hallway before they reached a gleaming set of double doors. “Now this is the bridge. It’s located at the center of the ship to prevent anyone from targeting and destroying it.” The doors slid open, revealing a large, spacious room lined with all sorts of computers. The area seemed to be further divided into subsections, each with a semi-circular area accompanied with a chair. Large windows adorned the entire length of the bridge, and upon noticing this, Kirk frowned.

“You said we were at the center of the ship. So what are those ‘windows’?”

“Computer screens, showing the space surrounding the ship. Wouldn’t be a proper bridge if you couldn’t see outside, would it?”

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“Now then.” Drake rubbed his hands together. “I would like to introduce you to the two most important people on the ship. Sarah Ordelphine and Eric Richter.” He gestured to a lithe woman of medium height with short cut black hair and a man wearing a grey jumpsuit. He too was of medium height, and his hair was brown, straight and cut short to the scalp. A large scar ran across his forehead, the relic of some forgotten fight. They both nodded curtly at the Scoundrels. “Ordelphine is my chief navigator and pilots the ship, and Richter is my second in command. So, why did you guys join with me?”

“I was and am the best capital ship pilot in the galaxy. The Federal Navy and all of the corporations I was with before didn’t recognize that. You did and still do, Captain,” replied Ordelphine.

“Damn right. You’d think we were in a fighter, with some of the maneuvers you can do. And you, Richter?”

“I didn’t have anything to do at the time. Joined you. Never had a reason to look back.”

“Fair enough.” Drake spun around the room with a theatrical gesture. “And so, the grand tour of the Apocalypse. Met some new and interesting people. I hope you enjoyed it.”

Hope you liked it. The scene with Mark and Oliver might have been a little awkward or weird, but I am firmly of the opinion that most people are trying their best, and you can still like, love, or get along with them if you disagree politically. If you have any comments, criticisms, questions, or requests, feel free to contact me. And remember to sit back and enjoy your day!

#magnificent scoundrels #thomas drake #crossover #ultimate crossover #sci-fi #writing #story #humans are weird

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senashenta · 3 years

Text

The Promise

Title: The Promise

Rating: PG

Warnings: Major character death

Summary: A life ends and another begins. One Bond is ripped apart and another is forged. A Herald's promise is forcibly broken, but the same promise is made once again, years later, and a shattered heart and soul can finally begin to heal.

Notes: Lyrics are from the song "The Promise" by Tracy Chapman. Read it here on AO3. <3

THE PROMISE By Senashenta

- If you wait for me Then I'll come for you Although I've traveled far I always hold a place for you in my heart -

Rhys had never been a morning person, particularly. Oh, he got up at the crack of dawn—but not because he wanted to. He got out of bed then because he was part of a farm family and if he wasn't up in time to help with the early-morning chores, he was given evening fireplace-cleaning duty instead—and he hated cleaning the hearth even more than he hated rising with the sun.

His first chore was always to collect eggs and feed the chickens, followed by taking care of the goats and the Samuel family's two milking cows. His elder brothers were in charge of the fields and crops and any carpentry that needed done around the property, along with their father.

This morning was like every other. The eggs were waiting for him—nearly twenty of them, today—and the animals were hungry, insistent for their breakfast. The cows, Bala and Daisy, were also looking forward to being milked, as always. It was uncomfortable for them to haul around full udders—or so they told him.

Rhys had always been fond of the cows, and they were fond of him. Unlike the chickens, who were nervous and antsy around people, and the goats, who had the opinion that they were better than "their" humans, Bala and Daisy were friendly and suitably grateful for their food, shelter and care.

Hello Rhys-boy.

It was the traditional greeting from Daisy and one he heard almost every morning. Rhys couldn't remember when he had learned to speak to the animals this way—with his mind—because he had been doing it forever, as far as he knew.

Normally, Bala would add her own hello as well, but this morning she seemed distracted, large brown eyes staring off into the distance beyond the doors to the barn. Rhys found his curious, contemplating it for a moment as he filled the food trough—then set the bag of feed down and moved over to peer outside.

Across the yard and halfway down the road leading to their property was a horse. It was pure, almost shining white, moving with a surreal grace as it picked its' way down the dirt path, head up and eyes alert, surveying and searching.

Rhys knew what it was. Knew what she was—and, instinctively, knew that she was coming for him.

Her name was Dellia and she was his destiny.

- If you think of me If you miss me once in awhile Then I'll return to you I'll return to that space in your heart -

:Heyla, Chosen, up and at 'em!:

:Mmmghnnn… Dells, it's not even sunrise yet… lemme 'lone…:

:I know, lovey, but you've got kitchen duty this morning, remember? And I'd really, really love an apple or two before you get started for the day.:

:I knew you had motives.:

:You know me too well, darling.: Dellia's Mindvoice was amused, warm; :now come on and get up. You've got to get moving.:

:Yeah, yeah. I'm up, I'm up.:

Four years into his training as a Herald and Rhys was still anything but happy to get up in the morning. He doubted that would ever change, particularly on the days when he had kitchen chores. He had to rise before the sun and head down to help the cooks with breakfast preparations and cleaning dishes, then wolf his own meal down before running off to his morning classes.

Plus, Dellia had a habit of getting him up extra early. For apples, of all things.

:I happen to like apples.:

:Well, obviously.: And then a pause, followed by a conceding, :I'll be out in a minute, Dells.:

The mare's pleased murmur of a response faded into the back of his mind as Rhys heaved himself out of bed and pulled his Greys on, then toed his feet into his uniform boots, straightened his bedding out, and moved into the corridor outside his room.

The hallway was predictably empty, as everyone who was within their right mind was still blissfully asleep, so his walk down to the kitchens was made in silence. Even Dellia was quiet now, doing who-knew-what as she waited for her own personal apple delivery.

Down in the kitchens, Rhys gave slightly sleepy greetings to the staff and students who were already there even as he was digging in the bin of apples for the kind that Dellia really liked—speckled red and yellow and a little overripe. She loved those, saying that they were extra sweet and crisp, though if he was honest, Rhys couldn't tell the difference even if he tried. (He preferred his apples in pie form, anyway.)

A quick wave to the head cook and her nod in response was his permission to leave long enough to make his traditional visit to Companion's Field. They all knew about Dellia's habit of filching extra apples when Rhys had kitchen duties—it was common knowledge, and really, she wasn't the only Companion to take advantage of their Chosen's minor misfortune in having such early-morning chores.

Outside was the kind of chilly-warm that came with early spring pre-dawn weather. It was nice, actually—much better than the winter's biting cold or the summer's sweltering heat. Rhys had always liked the springtime—or autumn. He liked autumn, too, for the same reason as spring.

With three apples tucked into one arm, he headed out across the courtyards toward the Field—and, at the first corner, ran head-first into someone coming the other way.

"Ah!"

"Ouch!"

"Sorry!"

"Are you okay?"

"I didn't mean—"

Rhys helped the other person—a girl, maybe a little younger than him, but close to his age, at least—up, apples scattered on the ground and forgotten for the moment. Once they were both on their feet again, he brushed at his tunic absently before looking at the girl, and—

There was something he couldn't put his finger on.

Something that made him think of Dellia, but not quite the same.

The girl stared back for a moment before shaking her head, muttering another quick apology, and hurrying past him toward the nearest Collegium doors. Rhys looked after her, frowning a little, until Dellia's voice broke into his thoughts once again.

:Chosen…?:

"Right, right. Apples."

He frowned a bit more, then sighed and leaned to gather up the fruit again.

:Be right there, Dells.:

And he took off toward Companion's Field again.

- Remembering Your touch Your kiss Your warm embrace I'll find my way back to you If you'll be waiting -

It took some asking around, but he eventually managed to find out her name—Muse Whitefield—and quickly thereafter learned that she was a Blue, attending school at the Collegia, not because she was Chosen or necessarily Gifted, but because her parents were wealthy and paid for her attendance there.

But why did it even matter, anyway?

Rhys wasn't sure, really, only knew that she was intriguing and he couldn't get her out of his thoughts.

She was petite and thin, with long red-brown hair and deep brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her nose. He had only seen her for a short time—the span of a few seconds—but he knew that much, could remember that much—obsessed over that much.

Dellia had, at first, been concerned for him. He was distracted, daydreamed, lost himself in thought about the girl that he had barely even met—and soon became irritable, the more he contemplated her. But soon, Dellia's worry seemed to vanish, giving way to a vague kind of amusement that annoyed Rhys to no end once he recognized it for what it was.

:I don't see why you think it's so funny!:

:Not funny, love, just… amusing.:

:Or amusing!: Rhys huffed, falling down onto his back on his bed, then grabbed his pillow and flung it up over his face, muffling a frustrated noise into the fabric.

He honestly didn't understand why this girl was bothering him so much. He couldn't concentrate, could barely eat, and woke up every morning thinking about her—and they hadn't even been properly introduced! The only reason he knew her name was because he had stubbornly asked around the Collegia grounds. Like a stalker. He was a stalker!

:Oh, for crying out loud.: Dellia finally heaved a mental sigh, and he could practically feel her rolling her eyes in the back recesses of his mind. :It's a lifebond, Rhys! It's no wonder you're beside yourself!:

Silence.

Rhys didn't move for a long moment.

:…Rhys? Lovey? Chosen?:

:A lifebond? A lifebond?!: Shock resonated between them—and then Rhys shot up in bed, sitting up so fast he tumbled off and landed on the ground with an indignant yelp. "A lifebond!" Now he was talking to himself. Out loud. "That makes perfect sense!"

:Uh,: came Dellia's somewhat blank reply; :It does?:

- If you dream of me Like I dream of you In a place that's warm and dark In a place where I can feel the beating of your heart -

Being lifebonded to someone was a totally surreal experience. Especially when, even after figuring out that he was lifebonded, it took Rhys a further six weeks to manage to approach her again and actually introduce himself.

Dellia wavered between chortling amusement and frustrated impatience the entire time. At times she clearly seemed to be contemplating ways to expedite the entire relationship process—mostly because she was forced to listen to him pine away for that entire long month and a half.

Finally the mare decided to take things into her own proverbial hands.

:Chosen?:

"Mm…?"

Rhys was lounging around in Companion's Field after classes. It was late spring now, bordering on full-out summer, and the weather was almost too warm, at least in Rhys' opinion. It was getting muggy, and that was most of what he hated about the summer.

Still, it was nice to spend time in the Field with Dellia. Normally most of their time together had to do with horsemanship classes, learning to ride while doing any number of useful (and sometimes odd) things while sitting in the saddle. And while any time with Dellia was lovely, sometimes Rhys liked to just… sit around with her.

Now they were under a tree by the edge of the Field, Dellia laying on her side and Rhys leaning back against her stomach, surprisingly comfortable. But the Companion was starting to shift restlessly, which Rhys knew meant his time using her as a giant pillow was becoming short.

:I'm thirsty. Let's go to the river.:

"Yeah. Okay."

Dellia barely gave him the time to sit up before heaving herself to her feet again. Rhys stood more slowly, stretching his arms above his head until his back popped and he made a soft, pleased noise.

The Terilee was the longest river in Valdemar, running diagonally through the entire country. At it's heart it wound its' way through the middle of Companion's Field, beautiful, clean and fresh water. Sometimes Rhys wondered if the Companions kept it pristine by some mysterious and magical means.

"Let's go."

The stroll to the river was suspiciously silent.

Rhys learned why when they reached their destination and his eyes lit on an eerily familiar figure, seated on the river bank and staring off into the babbling water—and at that particular sight, he dug in his heels and refused to take another step.

"Dellia!" The name was hissed, and he glared sideways at Dellia, who was giving him an innocent look. "That's her!"

:Oh?: Dellia asked, batting her eyes, :is it?:

And then she reached, grabbed Rhys by the back of his shirt with her teeth, and, jerking her head, lifted him bodily off his feet and flung him in Muse's general direction.

Rhys collided with the girl's back (completely against his own willpower), and the two of them tumbled into the river.

But, most importantly, they tumbled into the river together.

- Remembering Your touch Your kiss Your warm embrace I'll find my way back to you If you'll be waiting -

"I am so going to get her back for that some day."

"I think you should leave her alone."

"Oh, come on. You were there. She flung us both in the river."

"Mmhm, and if she hadn't you would never have gotten around to talking to me."

Rhys had to give Muse that one. He chuckled, shifting a little and adjusting his arms around the girl that was leaning against him, then nosing down into the crook of her neck with a sigh.

"I guess. So long as I don't have to thank her."

:Ungrateful whelp.:

:Shush, horse.:

:Hmph. See if I ever help with your love life again.:

All teasing, of course. Rhys was happy. Life was perfect now that he had Dellia and Muse. The only downside was that he had graduated into his Whites two months ago, and was leaving on his first Circuit with his mentor, Herald Selkie, in a short six days.

The ride to Waymeet and back would be long and, as it was happening in midwinter, harsh. Though Rhys would have Dellia with him the entire time, but of course Muse wouldn't be there. He would miss her more than he had ever missed anyone before, he was certain. Dellia agreed that it was likely—but she had also offered to help with that.

Muse, though not a Heraldic Trainee, was Gifted with medium-strength Mindspeech. It wasn't strong enough to reach the far distances that Rhys would be away, but if they used Dellia as a relay they could Speak to each other even at the far reaches of Valdemar's borders.

As long as he could reach Muse, Feel her with him, he thought the journey would be tolerable.

"I'm going to miss you."

"I know. I'll miss you, too, Rhys."

"…love you, Muse. Always."

"Love you, too, you dummy."

- I've longed for you And I have desired To see your face, your smile To be with you wherever you are -

The North Trade Road ran close to Haven but was relatively dangerous, as the roads of Valdemar went. With the high volume of traders and merchants that traversed it came the danger of an equally high volume of bandits and robbers.

Still, Rhys hadn't exactly expected to be blindsided the way they had been.

One second he and Herald Selkie had been chatting amiably about menial things—his classes, the woes of having talking ponies sharing their thoughts, their favorite foods, and of course his love life because nothing was as interesting as him bumbling around with Muse and romance—and the next they rounded a corner into an ambush.

There were only four of them—Dellia and Kalkin included—and there were many, many more bandits than that. What the men were thinking, attacking Heralds without provocation, he didn't know—all he did know was that within a short moment he had been wrestled, kicking, cursing and flailing the entire time, from Dellia's back.

To their left, Selkie was bodily dragged to the ground as well, despite her struggles and the way Kalkin kicked and thrashed, screaming shrilly after his Chosen.

Then a rope flew through the air, followed by another one—and another. The first one landed around Dellia's neck, jerking tight before the mare could even attempt to free herself. The second and third wound around two of her legs—then yanked, tumbling her to the dirt with enough force to break bones.

Rhys felt more than heard when her ribs cracked under the impact.

"Dellia—!"

Dellia shrieked in agony and Rhys did too, echoing her pain as it lanced down the bond between them. For a moment he was paralyzed, his breath catching, but then he forced the pain down and kicked out hard. His knee caught the gut of the man holding onto his right arm and Rhys wrenched himself free when the man doubled over, the air knocked out of him.

Somehow he made his way over to Dellia, and fell down beside her, throwing himself across her form protectively—but what could he really do, if they decided they wanted to get to her? He was just one person. A Herald, yes, but still only human. If they wanted to get to her, they would be able to—especially given that Selkie and Kalkin were in roughly the same predicament that Rhys and Dellia were… and they were two days ride away from Haven, nearly an entire day's travel from the nearest town at all. No help was coming. They were on their own.

:Get up, Dells, get up, get up!:

:I—I can't, Rhys—I'm tied and—my ribs—:

:I know, but—!:

Their short interplay was cut off when the men descended on them again. Hands clamped onto his arms and he was pried away from Dellia once more, leaving her to scream and thrash helplessly while Rhys did much the same, struggling and fighting with all he was worth.

And in the midst of the chaos, his mind was working overtime. Why was this happening? What had they done to deserve it? Was there reasoning behind it at all, or were these men just out to get at any Heralds they could? Why? Why?Why why why wh—

His frantic thoughts were cut short when something hard and cold abruptly slammed into his side.

:Rhys— RHYS! :

What was that…? A knife…?

A knife, yes.

Time started moving again, and now Rhys could feel the metal scraping between his ribs, digging harsh grooves into the bone. It was yanked out, then plunged in again, and when he looked down a stain of red was growing hugely against the stark white of his Heraldic uniform.

Dellia was screaming, out loud and in his head.

Somehow, Rhys knew—just as he had known before, when Dellia had appeared on his family's land, when she had strode down the lane, graceful and beautiful and perfect. He had known she was there to change his life, then. Now, the same way that he had known that, he knew again:

This was the end.

- Remembering Your touch Your kiss Your warm embrace I'll find my way back to you Please say you'll be waiting -

The pain hadn't lasted long, after that. Warmth and numbness had spread quickly, followed by weakness, drowsiness—and then, finally, welcoming darkness.

Now he stood beyond the Veil.

"What are you thinking about?" Dellia asked him.

She had followed him there, of course, arriving shortly after he did. Thankfully, Selkie and Kalkin hadn't done the same. He and Dellia had watched the goings-on from Beyond, worried and bordering on frantic, but their elders had managed to do what they couldn't—they had escaped.

"I'm watching her."

"Again?"

"Always."

He had left her behind—and Muse was lost without him.

"I promised I would love her forever."

"And you will."

"But how can I be happy with that, when she's suffering?"

Muse had left the Collegium shortly after his death. She had stopped studying, stopped eating, stopped caring entirely, and finally her parents had brought her home to be with them—so she wouldn't be alone. Now she spent her days in her bedroom, sleeping or sitting and staring out the window, eyes toward Companion's Field. Her parents kept her company as much as they could—her mother brushed her hair and made sure that she ate, but there wasn't much else they could seem to do.

Rhys couldn't stand to see her like that.

"I've made my decision, Dells."

"I know you have."

He smiled toward her, and turned, reaching one hand out toward her. When Dellia reached toward him as well, he closed his eyes. "I'll miss you."

He couldn't see when Dellia shook her head. "No." She told him softly, fondly; "no, you won't."

And he was gone.

- Together again It would feel so good In your arms Where all my journeys end If you can make a promise If it's one that you can keep -

Muse Whitefield cast a wistful glance out the window, eyes skimming down the road absently. It was a habit, after so many years, looking off toward the Collegium. Something that she couldn't seem to let go of, despite all the time that had passed.

How long, now?

Eight years, her mind supplied instantly.

Eight years since she had met Rhys and her life had finally begun, and eight years since it had ended so very abruptly. Both within the span of six months. How was that just? How was that fair?

Somehow, despite being broken inside, she had healed. Over time the raw pain had faded into a tolerable ache. And that ache still remained, throbbing in her chest, behind her ribs, inside her heart. She still missed Rhys. She always would. She had known as soon as she had set eyes on him for the first time that he would forever be a part of her.

Muse sighed softly, gaze drifting back down to the counter in front of her.

She was still living with her parents, even at twenty-five years of age. She knew she shouldn't be—but she had no one else. A few friends, maybe, but none that she was very close to… and certainly no husband or suitor. She could never be with anyone buy Rhys, even though he was gone. She was old enough to be living on her own, though.

Picking at the carrots she was supposed to be chopping, she plucked a tiny piece up and tossed it toward the already-boiling pot of soup. It landed in the roiling liquid with a wet thunk.

Where would she go, if she moved out?

Maybe I'll travel.

She had been thinking about that a lot lately—about the idea of leaving Haven. It had stopped feeling comfortable, like home, since she was barely seventeen years old.

And yet somehow the idea of actually leaving made her nervous, made her stomach twist up into knots. Must didn't know why. Her parents lived there, but there was nothing else to keep her there, and she was plenty old enough to go on her own way.

So why did the thought of leaving Haven make her gut churn the way it did?

:Because there is something to keep you here.:

Muse huffed a little, frustrated at her own thoughts—then paused, frowning when she realized that the previous thought hadn't been hers.

What—

:Over here.:

Brown eyes instinctively lifted to the window again.

Beyond the pane of glass, in the side-yard, stood a horse. But Muse had gone to the Collegia. She had been a Blue. She knew just as well as anyone else that the creature out there wasn't even close to as simple as a palfrey. The hand around the chopping knife tightened reflexively—then she sighed, pushing away from the counter and heading over to pull the side-door open.

"Hey. You." One finger tapped on the doorframe lightly. "There are no kids here."

:I know, Muse.:

And for a moment she was frozen, because it's—his—eyes were deep and blue and familiar, like something she had seen somewhere before, like something that she knew, deep down inside herself.

"You…"

:I'm sorry I took so long.: He—Rinto—offered softly, and she wondered why he was apologizing, but somehow knew deep inside herself that there was a reason for it. :But I'm here now. I Choose you, Muse. I Choose you, and I'll be with you always. I promise.:

She had been promised that once before, and had thought she would never believe it if she heard it again.

This time, though, she did.

- I vow to come for you If you wait for me And say you'll hold A place for me In your heart -

#shut up sena #sena writes #heralds of valdemar #heralds of valdemar fanfiction #the heralds of valdemar #the heralds of valdemar fanfiction #mercedes lackey #velgarth #songfic

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shipaholic · 3 years

Text

Omens Universe, Chapter 10

Another daytime update!

Warning: there’s a lot of gun in this chapter. Following (book) canon, and then... well you’ll see.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 10

Crowley’s watch hit three o'clock. Not that he would have noticed, right at that moment, if it had exploded.

Miles under the Earth, past where the dimensions divided, the screams of the damned increased in terror as a snapping, snarling, clawing beast tore its way to the surface…

Crowley floated, as if magnetised, into the tent. His drifting footsteps carried him to the edge of the knot of children.

Most of them were on their smartphones. Some of them chatted over Aziraphale, with deliberate disdain. Adam looked half-comatose. He leaned backward on his elbows and looked over at Crowley upside-down.

Crowley didn’t notice. A dimmer switch had turned down on the rest of the world, while Aziraphale glowed across from him.

Aziraphale had just dropped three linked rings. The children tittered derisively.

“Whoops! Just a tick!”

Aziraphale fumbled for the rings. As he stood back up, his eyes flicked towards Crowley. He winked.

Crowley’s heart skipped as if Aziraphale had blown him a kiss. A few consonants slipped out under his breath.

“Now then. Do any of you young masters and mistresses have on your person such a thing as a pocket handkerchief?”

It was car-crash viewing, Crowley had to admit. Aziraphale actually looked surprised that none of the kids had a hankie. A rictus grin strained his face as he beckoned the closest secret service agent. The man looked understandably reluctant to join the proceedings.

“Oh go on, my dear chap, just check.” Aziraphale winked in desperation.

The agent patted his pocket. His face turned to surprise. He produced a well-made, duck-egg blue handkerchief with lace trim. Crowley felt a glow of gratification that Aziraphale had to resort to cheating.

At that point, everything went tits up.

The edge of the lace caught on the serviceman’s gun. It yanked out of its holster and whizzed through the air like an especially lethal frisbee. It landed with a splat in a bowl of jelly. The kids whooped and applauded.

There are some actions that an eleven-year-old boy will always take, no matter the circumstances.

Adam raced across the room, seized the gun and waved it gleefully in the air.

“Stick ‘em up, dogbreaths!”

The room slid into chaos. The children screamed with delight. The adults all tried to bestow calm while breaking out in terrified sweat. It was a scene that would normally cause Crowley to wonder how he got so lucky.

And then someone threw some jelly at Adam.

The boy yelped and pulled the trigger.

Crowley’s time-slowing powers kicked in. They were useless in this situation. He couldn’t outrun a bullet. In agonised slow-motion, he watched the preliminary puff of smoke from the muzzle of the gun, heralding the noise and carnage to follow.

Aziraphale blinked.

Crowley felt the air hum with ethereal magic.

Then, like a bum note before the music was meant to start, it cut out.

The unfortunate thing about trying to turn a gun into a water pistol is that the boy holding it currently had more sway over reality than any other being in the universe. Aziraphale’s polite hint that the gun might prefer to be a water pistol bounced harmlessly off Adam’s expectation that the gun would be a gun.

Time resumed.

There was an explosion. The gun kicked. Adam’s entire body jerked. The bullet fired over the other children’s heads and struck Aziraphale in the chest.

He poofed into a cloud of silver smoke.

There was an inappropriately cheery jingle as his ring hit the floor. A rumpled dove, surprised to be no longer stuffed up a sleeve, flapped free and flew away.

Adam dropped the gun. His eyes were wide with horror.

No-one screamed. Crowley got the impression this was only because shock had punched the breath from everyone. He closed his mouth and miracled the rest of the bullets out of the gun, just in case.

A couple of people finally got around to screaming, but felt embarrassed and stopped. Confused applause broke out. It built to appreciative applause. Whatever had just happened, it was the best magic trick they’d ever seen.

Adam and Crowley were the only ones not clapping. Adam was white and trembling.

“He just - he just -”

Crowley used the distraction to creep towards the stage, hoping to scoop up Aziraphale’s gem.

A small pigtailed girl pounced on it. “I got a prize!”

Crowley flipped her off. She scowled at him.

Adam whirled around on the rest of the room.

“Stop. Clapping.”

Every pair of hands froze. In one choreographed move, everybody lowered their hands to their sides, their faces utterly blank.

Two armed security guards burst into the tent, followed by Harriet Dowling.

“Adam? Oh, thank god. Why was there a gunshot?” She looked wildly around.

Adam turned to her. His eyes were still huge, but the rest of his face was eerily calm.

“I shot the magician, mum.”

Harriet’s hand flew to her chest. She looked to the stage, presumably for a big pool of blood and a corpse she might have missed.

“He, uh. He shot a gentleman, ma’am.” One of the secret servicewomen shuffled forward. “But it was all part of the magic act.” She sounded uncertain. Her eyes darted to the stage, too, as if there might be a body just out of sight.

Harriet sagged. She pressed a hand to her forehead.

“I’m gonna kill Tad,” she muttered. “What is with these dangerous party games? There’s some wild animal outside, I swear to god. I didn’t ask for a petting zoo. It’s not even in a pen. Who’s encouraging my son to play with guns, huh? I don’t care if it’s pretend, it’s just irresponsible.”

Adam took a breath.

“It wasn’t a trick. I shot him. Look.”

He pointed to the baffled pigtailed girl. She still had Aziraphale’s gem clutched in her hand. She was probably getting jelly on it. Aziraphale would hate that, Crowley thought, a touch hysterically.

Harriet sighed. “Honey, obviously you didn’t really shoot him.”

“He turned into smoke!” another girl piped up.

“See? It’s not real.” Harriet’s smile was tight at the edges. “Scary trick to pull at a child’s birthday party…”

Adam stamped his foot. It made no noise on the grass, but a shock wave sounded in the minds of everyone present. They clammed up, disturbed. Then they all forgot it had happened.

“Just let him have the ring, Trixie,” someone said, rolling their eyes.

“Don’t want to, it’s mine,” Trixie snapped. Crowley flipped her off again.

“I killed him,” Adam roared.

People exchanged uncomfortable looks. Harriet stamped towards her son. The kids all recognised a parent who’d reached her limit and barrelled out of her way.

“Young man, do not throw a tantrum in front of everyone or I swear to God you can spend the rest of the day in your room,” she hissed.

Adam met her eyes. His gaze turned suddenly cold.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” he said. “You won’t be here next week.”

His voice sent ice water flooding down Crowley’s spine.

For a second, Harriet looked frightened.

She grabbed Adam by the arm. “That’s it. You’re in timeout.”

She pasted a smile on her face and perp-walked her son to the exit. On the way, she passed the stage. Trixie reluctantly held out the ring upon some pointed prompting. Harriet stared blankly and took it.

Crowley followed her out of the tent, a string of curses running through his head.

~*~

A ring of secret service, all with their guns out, had a large black dog surrounded in the garden. Calling it a large black dog was like calling the Hadron Particle Collider a bumpy cylinder. It didn’t really capture the essence of what was being described.

The dog’s blood-red eyes rolled towards the figures crossing the lawn. It only cared about one of them. His master. The one who would give it a purpose, a definition. A name.

He sounded angry. The hellhound would rip whoever had angered him to pieces. That was what it was made for. Its hackles rose. The men surrounding it tightened their grip on their guns.

The hellhound prepared to spring to its master’s side.

To its surprise, it had a sudden feeling its master wouldn’t want that.

It growled to itself. Uncertainty was not a familiar sensation.

Its master… wasn’t ready for it yet. It wasn’t the hellhound’s business to understand why. All it existed for was to serve him. It would keep its distance. For now.

The dog stalked out of the circle of scared men, ignoring the weapons trained on it, and slunk away into the shrubbery.

~*~

The noise of parent-at-the-end-of-her-rope, combined with tantruming-child, were easy enough to follow through the house. Crowley didn’t even need to bother with stealth. He hung back behind a corner as Harriet frog-marched Adam to his bedroom and pushed him inside.

“You can stay in there until you’re ready to behave!”

“I don’t want to come out. This birthday was rubbish. I hated everything.”

Harriet gave a stifled scream. Crowley had heard line managers make noises like that. He flinched and ducked out of sight.

“If you hate everything, you can stay in there with all the toys we bought you, just like we bought you your cake and your presents. Here, you can have this too.” Harriet thrust Aziraphale’s gem towards Adam. He grabbed it and threw it on the floor behind him.

The door slammed. Harriet’s footsteps stomped up the corridor, away from Crowley.

Crowley slid down the wall. He might as well settle in until he could see a good way to get the ring back.

~*~

The kids on the lawn were being herded out, which meant someone might come to check on Adam after the last goodbyes had been said.

Crowley paced tight circles in the corridor. Adam had been quiet for a couple of hours now. It was early for him to go to sleep, but Crowley knew the appeal of a rage-nap. He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing.

He couldn’t leave it any longer. He quietly opened the door.

Adam was passed out fully clothed on top of the sheets. His face showed no anger in sleep. Occasionally, his cheek twitched. It was hard to imagine him ending the world, right now. Crowley’s imagination was more than up to the task, however.

Crowley looked around for Aziraphale. He was probably on the floor, unless Adam had picked him up. Which seemed unlikely, given the state of the rest of his room.

Finding him in here would be like locating shiny junk in a shiny junk pile. Crowley scanned the visible areas of carpet, which took about half a second, and then turned, heart sinking, to the rest of it.

Ten minutes later, he was on his knees silently swearing and trying to peer around stacks of precarious interlocking piles of toys and games, each of which would clearly come crashing down if he tried to move even one component. Crowley hated Jenga.

He happened to glance to his left. A glint of gold caught the corner of his eye under the bed. He crawled over, careful not to dislodge anything.

As he rooted around in the unbelievable mess, the Antichrist slumbering above him, it occurred to him that if he were profoundly unlucky - which most of the evidence of his life so far would seem to show - he would get up to find Adam awake and staring at him.

How long would it take for the secret service to crash in here? Or one of the Dowlings? They probably carried. Maybe he and Aziraphale could both get shot by an American on the same day.

His ungloved hand bumped against something ring-sized. He grabbed it and cupped it in his palms. It was Aziraphale.

Crowley crawled back out from under the bed, crossed his fingers, and raised his head.

Adam was still asleep. Crowley exhaled.

The ring glowed.

Crowley scrambled to his feet and bolted from the room. The feats of parkour he did to avoid kicking anything over were ones for the ages.

Aziraphale’s gem was singing. It glowed white hot and threw Heavenly light in Crowley’s face. Crowley booked it down the corridor, searching for an empty room half-blinded. The gem was becoming hard to hold. It tried to float into the air, warbling out a rising major chord.[1] Crowley kept his hands clamped firmly on it.

He threw open a door to an unused spare bedroom, barrelled in and released the gem, hissing as it burned his ungloved hand. He backed into a wardrobe and watched Aziraphale reform.

At first, he was only a voluminous ball of light. He shrunk inward, compressed and developed mass. His gem was at chest-height. The blobby shapes surrounding it turned into two plump hands, entwined over his heart, arms folded against his torso. His feet were pressed neatly together. A mop of curly hair appeared, and then a calm face, the familiar upturned nose and prim mouth, all those comfortable lines, the softness of the cheeks. He was still choosing to wear mostly beige, for whatever reason. No updates to the worn waistcoat or brown Oxford shoes. He was as Crowley remembered him.

The light flicked out. Aziraphale dropped to the ground with a small gasp. He opened his eyes.

“Crowley,” he breathed.

Crowley pressed his back against the wardrobe in a manly attempt not to slide to the floor.

They stared at each other, reunited for the first time in seventy-eight years.

---

[1] The closest approximation is the singing lift in London’s Royal Festival Hall.

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #steven universe #so yeah some accidental murder in this update!#he gets better tho #crowley hates jenga and isn't keen on parkour but will do it in an emergency #had to give a shout out to the singing lift I love that thing

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griimreaping · 3 years

Text

@kaijvking ━━━━━ ╳ ( john )

ending word count: 4.3k ( posted on AO3 )

Autumn is in full swing over northern Montana. Trees bursting into vibrant flame as their leaves succumb to winter’s quickly approaching grasp. The Whitetail Mountains are a painter’s dream of colors, reds, oranges, and yellows that few are able to capture on the canvas. Yet, there is an ink smear across an otherwise picturesque afternoon—a fire burning within the compound of the Veteran’s center sullying the vista.

Jean’s nose wrinkles when the dusty white truck finally pulls up to the wrought iron gates encircling the perimeter. A stack of what looks to be tires, and the occasional corpse, is burning spectacularly in one of the few pits dug into what once was the front lawn of the Hope County’s Veteran Wellbeing Center. Speculations between the faithful of the mountains settled unanimously on the smell of those burning pits put the Whitetails’ soldier at ease. However, it did nothing to help the rib rattling cough that plagues him during wet weather.

“Out.” The driver nudges the blonde with the stock of his rifle. He’s easily twice her size, and the stained tan shirt he wears is stretched thin over the man’s barrel chest. Jean isn’t sure if the stains are blood or dirt. It’s been several months since the woman even approached the center, and now to suddenly be yanked back like an animal about to be punished made her throat feel like it’s wrapped in barbed wire. Eyes watching from every corner of the expansive yard has the woman being paraded toward the front door prickle uncomfortably. Jean’s skin felt too tight for her neck and face, a cold sweat sticking her shirt to her skin despite a breeze that rattles dead leaves up the front path. In an attempt to solidify her slipping resolve, the blonde meets each gaze wagering a silent challenge for them to try something.

All around them, Jacob’s well-oiled army machine performs just as intended. Men go through the motions of training with their rifles. Push-ups, jumping jacks, sit-ups, even a small pack of them were jogging the perimeter. Worn down paths all over the yard show routes of most traffic and directly disobey the Soldier’s first rule. Make yourself unpredictable. If Jean were a click away on a ridge, she’d be able to pick each of them off without even blinking. The thought alone makes the woman’s palms slick and itchy. That had been the first thing taken from her. Trailing behind, the stocky escort has his head on a swivel, the brown leather strap of Jean’s sniper rifle slung over a meaty shoulder. She wants to rip his throat out for even looking at the weapon, let alone taking it from her.

Once inside the musty interior, she suddenly wishes that they could have met at any other outpost that Jacob controls in the north. That thick sticky copper smell of blood and agony drips off the walls. Somewhere deeper in the building, a man is screaming, a broken keening sound that’s ripped from a raw throat. Past injuries flare across Jean’s body in a knee jerk defense mechanism to alert her that this place is dangerous. As if she isn’t already aware. Still, the hesitation stokes the short temper of the man that has escorted the woman this far. With a rough shove again from the weathered stock of his rifle, he growls a word Jean doesn’t catch over the ringing in her ears.

Frayed carpeting that once might have been red still covers the floor of the main foyer, though it looks like enough tracked mud and heavy boots have uncovered patches of linoleum beneath. Two men milling about in the reception area snap their heads toward Jean and her escort, the undiluted hostility immediate and breathtaking. Bristling, the woman kicks the urge down to bare her teeth at them. Jacob’s training may have turned them all into damn animals, but she’d keep herself leashed until it’s revealed why she’s even here. A few words pass between them that she doesn’t listen to, watching more people move like busy worker ants down the main hallway. Whoever had been screaming when they first entered took a new pitch, the sound rising to a fevered panic that even made the group of men stiffen. Glances are ferried between them as a second screamer joins the distant cacophony like a hellish siren’s call.

“He can’t keep that up for much longer.” a shorter man with matted brown hair slicked down close to his skull, cutting a glance at the man Jean had come in with. Her escort grunts softly in agreeance or dismissal. She isn’t sure. The third rolls his eyes with a groan, clearly irritated as his grip shifts on the exceptionally well-kept rifle slung across a bare chest. Whorls of holy ink are scrawled across suntanned skin along with a patchwork of scars only partially hidden with the crosses and words.

“Nobody would mind if someone just went up there and put a bullet in ‘em.” Finishing the statement just as those eyes fall on Jean, she’s stricken by how they look straight into her. That harsh hazel stare letting the woman know that she wouldn’t be leaving this building alive.

Giving a parting nod to the previous escort, the hazel-eyed man intercepts Jean and jostles her up the hallway. The deeper they go into the Veteran’s Center, the stronger that copper stench becomes until it’s almost unbearable. It’s then a pair of double doors pushing open to reveal what once had been a vast square cafeteria that is now brimming with human suffering. Blood running across the floor turns the grout black with dried gore. Rusted cages arranged in an undeniable maze that funneled all that proceeded through the room past each and every display of torment. Overhead buzzing fluorescent lights blink sporadically, briefly throwing shapes and color into sharp relief before disappearing back into obscuring darkness. Heavy curtains are slung over the windows on the western side of the room, disallowing any type of natural light into the prison. Thick like a wet wool blanket, the smell of carnage suffocates the room.

In here, the screamer hides somewhere amongst the iron and copper. Growling out a short order to move, the hazel-eyed man doesn’t shove her with his rifle as the last escort did, and with a shuffle, Jean tries to ignore how the soles of her boots stick to the floor. In the pockets of darkness that flicker with the lights overhead, Jean can make out corpses ripped open and threaded with barbed wire quick flashes of white bone dizzying. Hurried words scrawled across the white tile walls curse and plead for the end. Scriptures written in blood.

Trying to breathe shallowly through her mouth Jean’s eyes sting, tears welling up around the corners of her vision. Their trek through the prison is almost cruelly slow, hazel eyes drinking in the viscera around him with a near euphoric glint in his gaze. Dying down to a low keening wail by the time they reach his cage, the screamer is affixed to the front wall of his cell by both of his arms wrapped tightly in razor wire. Rivulets of red drip to the floor as he slowly tries not to sink to his knees. Jean can see the weeks of exhaustion pulling the man’s skeletal body downward, simultaneously ending his life while he struggles so vainly to hold on. Jacob’s second rule. Never greet death willingly. Fight until the last.

Others in the cages adjacent to the screamers simply watch, dead glassy eyes reflecting day after day of breaking in. Some weren’t compatible with the mental training the herald provided. Many broke, crushed messily in the teeth of this machine that churns out warriors soaked in blood and rage. Every violent urge and promise all ripped loose with a couple of bars of an otherwise innocuous song. One that her grandfather might have liked, Jean muses bitterly. Still feeling the kiss of flame on her skin as the farmhouse went up in a spectacular blaze.

Making it to the other end of the room felt like an accomplishment all in itself. If the woman isn’t sure that she has a one-way ticket toward a cell of her own, she’d almost be glad. Shouldering open the double doors on the south side of the cafeteria, Jean is momentarily dazzled by the sudden bright burst of sunlight from the windows that line the stairwell yawning before them. Looking up into the motes of dust that lazily swirl around them with the disturbance of air, Jean feels too aware of her breathing at that moment. Each exhale displacing the natural order of things. She didn’t belong here.

Ascending gritty concrete stairs to the top floor of this nightmare alcazar, that nervous bird fluttering behind the woman’s ribs works into a frenzy. Jean knows if she were to glance down at her chest, there would be a clear imprint of her heart trying to pound its way through her sternum. Hazel eyes aware of the woman’s growing anxiety, and sipping it like a fine wine. One of the many reasons he loves being this ferryman through the building is that he is allowed a front-row seat to the mental fraying right before Jacob deals the finishing stroke. Absent thoughts of what method the herald would use float through Hazel’s mind like balloons on a breeze. A distant double report of a pistol somewhere else in the compound doesn’t sour the fantasies that drip across his mind syrupy and vivid.

Sun riding the horizon casting the world in a painter’s pallet of colors, Jean savors the glimpses out of the fifth-floor windows that look out over the forest instead of the yard. Up here, she couldn’t quite make out the staccato beats of gunfire down on the front lawn, nor the screaming several floors below in the prison. It’s quiet. Quiet like the heartbeats before stepping up to the waiting noose on the gallows. Every fiber of Jean’s body vibrates with it, that palpable press of her death waiting somewhere behind one of the faded wooden doors that line the hall, interspersed with dazzling views of another life outside. Down in the prison, every other exhibit of suffering resolutely snuffed out her fears for those brief moments, however now, above everything else, it’s too much.

At the end of the corridor, a heavier wooden door stands slightly ajar. Next to the frame, there’s what’s left of a name placard that’s since been mauled. Deep knife gouges carving the name from the tarnished metal. Nauseating flashes of static throw weird shadows out into the hallway, and a growing hiss of white noise overpowers the ringing in Jean’s ears as they approach. Memories of weeks spent strapped into those chairs as flashes of dismemberment and teeth and pain cycle across the slide show elbow their way to the forefront of Jean’s mind. A sharp throbbing begins against the woman’s temples. Headaches became commonplace among those privy to the extended lessons that Jacob put his least favorite through. From the beginning, she’d been singled out. Too much history. Too involved with John. It made the Soldier edgy, but Joseph hadn’t allowed him to simply kill her to make a point. Jean remembers through the crimson fog of those fugue states the pinched rage Jacob wore when his younger brother made it clear there would be no killing of John’s favorite.

As if sensing their presence, the static abruptly chokes off, throwing the passage into the void of silence once more. Sunlight feeling cold and sterile on her skin as they pause outside the slightly open door, Jean feels her skin prickle hot like a windburn with anticipation. Jacob always had been the type to savor a death, to draw it out and let you feel every decaying agony of undoing. A bullet wouldn’t be appropriate for a person that he’d been aching to dispose of for months.

Hazel pushes her then, Jean’s stiffened body stumbling through the door in the same way a newborn animal scrambles for purchase as the knob is snatched back and slammed shut behind her. Straightening once more, the woman tries to breathe evenly, the crushing weight of how hopeless the situation is pummeling her full force in that moment of darkness. Eyes attempting to adjust to the dim room, shapes swim up out of the indigo murk. A desk, a broken chair near the corner, a squat table with the projector that had been broadcasting static a moment earlier, then the glinting knife of Jacob’s gaze pins Jean to the spot. Wolves indeed were the best animal to associate with the eldest Seed brother. Barrel chested and blanketed with scars he didn’t bother to hide the man looks at every person he meets with the same bored scrutiny, cutting through them with a glance.

“Sit.” He knows he doesn’t need to yell, voice alone a promise of brutality beyond imagination if there were any transgressions. Legs acting on their own accord, the woman’s lungs stutter for breath as she finds a worn stool situated in front of the desk he leans against. Jacob watches unmoving, but the cogs within his brain grind endlessly, processing all that can be done. Why stray from the tried and true methods? He’d let her roam the woods and meet her end as the mind melts away in layers, reliving each fear in scarlet clarity. Jacob’s mental discipline is the exact juxtapose to Faith’s bliss.

“Jean, Masters.“ Jacob stands properly, moving over to one of the curtained windows and pulling aside the fabric to allow streams of sunlight across the dusty room. Jean squints against the brightness for a moment before her eyes adjust, a dull burning only adding to the throb of the headache rioting against her skull. She blinks over at the inky silhouette of Jacob standing against the sunlight, his shadow seeming to drink up and extinguish the light that touches him.

“You know, your history reads like a horror story. Parents killed tragically in a double murder, though the headlines do leave out the fact that your father happened to be the one that instigated the gang violence. That little tidbit was a treat to find.” Stepping away from the window and toward the seated woman, Jacob crouches his six foot three frame down so he’s face to face with his captive. Those cold ice blue eyes picking Jean apart methodically as chapped lips curl into the barest of smirks.

“Poor mommy had no idea, did she? Probably not until the moment that knife bit into her. And you, you were only what, eight at the time? Is that where this little trophy comes from?” A hand appears at Jean’s throat, calloused thumb tracing along a faded scar just under the hinge of the woman’s jaw. Lungs revolting against the air, Jean feels like there’s a rock wedged up under her diaphragm, cutting open her insides. Memories shoving one another aside for dominance in the theater of her mind, there are flashes of men storming into the house they’d had on the upper west end. Then the screaming, the begging.

Her chest stutters.

“Then you thought that all that could just be swept under the rug if you moved. It worked for a few years until somebody dug up old skeletons and came looking for the last surviving Master’s heir to settle a decade-old debt. Shot you twice, didn’t they?” Inflection never changing and gaze never wavering as he expertly picks apart Jean’s entire existence. Jacob can’t help the cold, almost reptilian enjoyment that came from this—watching the consciousness crack under pressure and doubts a feast for him. Across Jean’s body, old wounds flare to life as if they’ve been freshly ripped open by the words battering her. That sharp tang of gunpowder is fresh in the woman’s nostrils just as the day she’d been shot going back to her dorm in law school. It had been the reason she’d changed schools. A singular moment setting into motions dominos that the woman wouldn’t even be aware of until decades down the line sitting in this chair, Jacob’s hand closing around her throat.

“Does your son know all this?” It’s like a slap to the face, Jean jerking involuntarily in the Soldier’s grasp. Fury, bright and consuming, rushes into the woman like a scalding breath, charring every nerve in its wake. Eyes narrowing down at Jacob, Jean hears her voice speak before the thoughts are done forming,

“Don’t you dare--”

“Or should I say, John’s son. He doesn’t even know about the kid, does he, Jean? You never bothered to tell either of them. All the kid knows is that daddy isn’t around, and John is blissfully unaware. You know I did always want to be an uncle. Would’ve taught the kid how to handle a gun. A good bonding moment. Elliott isn’t my first choice in name, but I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” It’s instant. Boot connecting with Jacob’s chest Jean kicks him to the ground, snarling teeth bared as she lunges. Her own life is a joke, something easily thrown away to the wind without a second thought. Elliott, though, her son, Jean, will rip open hell itself if anybody so much as insinuated harm toward the boy. World hemming in red around her vision as hands scramble to latch onto Jacob’s throat, Jean’s ears rush with the sound of her pulse smashing against the cage of ribs.

Batting aside the grasping hands feeling as her nails rake across the flesh of his forearms, drawing up ruby wells of blood, Jacob grunts when his back hits the desk. A glass of water that had been on the surface rattles off and smashes on the dusty floor. In the bare light from the window, he catches glimpses of that raw fury on her face and smiles. That’s the nerve, an open wound he’d been searching for with all those other throw away facts to get down to the marrow. She’d waltzed so easily right into his waiting jaws. Now to break the bone. Flashing white of bared teeth and half snarled curses that pass her lips while attempting to find any kind of purchase on the man beneath her; Jean doesn’t expect his arms to encircle her, crushing the woman to the Soldier’s chest. Cheap soap and pine flood her nostrils as the fight rages inside. Feet scrabbling to catch on the dusty floor, hands are trapped between the woman’s heaving chest and Jacob’s smug calmness. One arm locking around Jean so tightly breathing is made difficult; Jacob’s beard scratches the side of her face as something slips out of his jacket pocket. Glacial realization douses the woman’s blaze bright anger galvanizing it into cold steel wedges up underneath her lungs.

“Wrong move, Masters. You made the cardinal mistake, never show your weaknesses to anyone. That deserves a conditioning lesson, don’t you think? All this freedom you’ve been given lately has done nothing but rot away every killer instinct I’ve tried to carve into that weak head of yours. Now. Let’s start.” Small and made smooth from years of being worried by Jacob’s calloused hands, the music box is no bigger than the Soldier’s palm. Golden key on the left side scuffed with age but still perfectly functioning. This tiny innocuous box is the kingpin of Jacob’s classical conditioning. It’s clicking tinny notes able to scramble someone’s thoughts like eggs. Ground so deep into the subconscious like a ticking time bomb merely waiting for the trigger.

Even as the first few notes dissolve into the blinding red of the fugue state, Jean’s mind rips at any possible chance to break through the tsunami of his brainwashing. All in vain as she opens her mouth to scream and feels the tidal wave rush down her throat, choking off the sound and blacking out the woman’s vision completely.

Only You.

It’s so loud Jean’s teeth ring with the volume, jaw aching. Everything is red. It’s cold here. She can’t think of anything but the violent storm inside every nerve of her body. Hands claw at her insides wanting out by any means necessary. Scenery passes in a monotone blur of crimson sickness, trees, rocks, a stream, passengers in a truck. Spreading numbness that should elicit some flicker of concern within the woman is only embraced as something that could perhaps stop the echo of that song trapped within the too small confines of Jean’s skull. More people, more trucks, more numbness. Though faces that get too close burst in sickening blooms of red. Flecks of something gummy decorate the woman’s face.

Semi-real swirls of a place she might have once remembered dance around the edges of her entrapped mind. Only you, Jean’s brain screeches until she can taste copper in the back of her throat. It’s cold. Why can’t she feel anything? A long stretch of cleared grass lays out in front of her, and with the lurching steps of a corpse, she jerks up the driveway. Eyes burning in their sockets, the woman blinks harshly, but it does little to alleviate the acid sting. Roughly scrubbing at the sockets, Jean feels something cold and sharp graze the numb skin of her collarbone, nothing more than ghostly pressure that gives her pause. Looking down into hands that don’t feel like part of her own body, the woman sees first the skin slicked in gore that turns her skin a shade of maroon. Then the knife winks at her in the waning sunlight. Slamming into place on the front of her disjointed thoughts, her purpose for walking until her legs burned reasserted itself.

Stairs. Cobblestones. Guards that scream and bleed when they approach. It’s all a smear across Jean’s eyes. None of it retaining anywhere important. Just like the numbness across every muscle, it’s forgotten as soon as it occurs. More stairs. Dripping blood across an expensive hall runner. The faraway smell of a familiar cologne. Shoving open a door that had impeded her purpose here in this vague silhouette of a house imprinted in memories that are currently locked away behind the veil of the fugue state. Another shocked face turns toward her with a snap. Garbled words wind like tangled yarn in Jean’s ears, she can’t understand them, and that singular fact irritates her to no end. Rising again like an inescapable wave, the song reaches a fever pitch within the woman’s bleeding ears.

Crossing the room to the frozen shocked face, Jean wants to shove them away. To wipe that look off their face. To make them stop talking. Shut up, shut up. Shut Up. Shut up! SHUT UP!

Heat rushes across the woman’s hand in a deluge. A spell broken in the same violent way a baseball smashes through a window. Blinking, startled and confused, Jean’s senses come back in pieces that don’t fit together. Hearing muffled as if she’s several feet underwater, the woman can hear an off gasping choking noise. Vision stuttering between a crimson veil and the bright colors of a sunset illuminated room, a face swims up into sharp focus. John. Expression twisting in agony, Jean stares back in abject horror. Slowly looking down between them, she sees the blood soaking black into his vest. Several ragged holes are punched into the fabric, frayed edges catching the froth of his blood as the herald wheezes for a proper breath.

“John?” Voice small in her mouth Jean realizes that her aching hands are still clasping the hunting knife buried to the hilt in the soft spot just under his sternum. Jerking away as if she’d touched a hot stove, John crumples to the floor like a puppet with his strings snipped. Panic squashes every other disorientating flurry of emotions flat as Jean can only stare at the man curling into himself on the expensive carpet. A sick, wheezing bubble of air escaping a punctured lung is the only sound for a few hammering heartbeats. Knees cracking against the floor, the gore-seeped woman crawls over to the only man that she truly ever loved. Gingerly turning him so that he’s gazing up at the vaulted ceiling, Jean’s voice fails as she’s momentarily struck mute by the sight of the knife -- her knife-- sticking up so crudely from his heaving chest.

“Oh god, I… “ Tears blur Jean’s vision, and she can’t see the expression he tries valiantly to tame his face into. His legs already were pins and needles, the pain ebbing away into a comforting cold that he’d played with before.

“Was it Jacob?” Speaking is pure agony. John’s words barely a whisper, but it’s all he needs to know, and for a second, he’s afraid she didn’t hear him until there’s a fraction of a nod. He’s always known that death wouldn’t be pretty for him. It would be a screaming bloody mess the entire ride down into that black void. Something about the dealer of his death being Jean strikes the herald as particularly funny, though the chuckle comes out as a wet cough, the rich taste of copper flooding his mouth. Looking up at the blonde’s face and not feeling as her tears splash against his cheeks, John isn’t sure if it’s the ringing in his ears or an approaching siren.

“I’ll see you soon.” He mouths as darkness begins to hem in his vision. Decades playing on the knife’s edge of this sensation, John welcomes it as an old friend. He’d envisioned death so much it felt like a memory to slip into its warm numbing embrace, the vision of Jean’s blood and tear-streaked face following him down into nothingness.

#‘ﾟanswered » JEAN MASTERS — ❝ here the light only dies to remember ! ❝#‘ﾟships » KAIJVKING — ❝ if you don’t love me now you’ll never love me again ! ❝#verse﹕FAR CRY 5 ► call of the ﾟ* WOLVES #oh boy oh boy #this one is a rough one

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nightwingshero · 4 years

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Instead of sending a smut prompt, can I please have a written scene that explains why Jane knows the size of Randy's dick? I feel like that's a mystery that needs to be solved. 👀❤

Okay, but remember: you asked for this. (The puns, Angy! I’m the worst!) I...I AM SO SORRY. EXCUSE ME WHILE I HIDE. DEFINITELY NSFW!!!

“Hurry the fuck up.” I muttered, tapping my thumb against the steering wheel of my truck. “How long does it take you to get ready?”

Patience wasn’t my virtue, it never had been, and I knew that. Really, I did. Jacob would get on my ass for it in training, telling me I needed to learn or it would get me killed. And I did. I could wait for the kill, stake out and observe. That was never a problem for me, not as much as it had been. I was proud of myself for that.

Randy was another fucking challenge altogether.

I had told him, in plenty of time, that I would be here at 6pm sharp, and to be ready to hop in by then. We had a service to attend, and I knew John would note our absence. Pissing off our Herald, or the Father, was not on my things to do today. And yet, here I was, waiting for his ass.

The clock read 6:20 and I groaned, throwing my head back. It would be starting soon, and I knew that even if we had left right that second, we’d still be late. I huffed, throwing the door open and slamming it before stomping my way to his cabin, grumbling the whole way. I let myself in, the dogs barely raising their heads when they saw me. They recognized me well enough to know this was a normal thing, I wasn’t a threat. Well...from what they perceived.

The TV was playing, a movie that I had seen trailers for but hadn’t bothered to go and see, something action related. I could hear the shower running in the bathroom and I rolled my eyes. Of fucking course. A basket of clothes sat on the couch, waiting to be put away and I leaned over to grab the hunting magazine laying innocently next to it. The sound of water stopped as I leaned my hip against the piece of furniture, casually flipping through the pages to see if there were any rifle attachments that I could use and the door finally opened.

“You know, when I say be ready, I mean--”

I turned, closing the magazine to give him a look, but I stop short. My eyes widen as Randy walks out of the bathroom, nothing else but the towel he was using to dry his hair. I fight it, I really do, but my eyes drop down, following the curves of the muscle he had on him, nice and toned to almost perfection, and all the way down a trail of hair that led--

A lump forms in my throat, threatening to choke me as my mouth goes dry and I turn away from him. My hand is making a show of shielding my eyes, even though there wasn’t a thing I hadn’t seen. He didn’t need to know that, though. “Jesus Christ, Randy! Put some fucking clothes on!”

“Hey, Jane. I thought I heard you pull in.” he greeted, cool as ever.

“Randy! Why the fuck aren’t you wearing anything?” I hissed, squeezing my eyes shut.

“In my own cabin?” he scoffed. “Damn, I got some nerve, don’t I? What the fuck are you doin’?”

“Protecting my eyes, dumbass. For fuck’s sake.”

He chuckled, a deep sound from his chest and I fought the urge to clear my throat. “Sorry, just thought you were an adult, not a little shy thing.” I clenched my teeth before whipping around and glaring at him.

His head was tilted a bit, amusement dancing in his eyes as he stared. The towel was wrapped around his neck, and I wanted nothing more than to tighten it. “You’re insufferable. I told you to be ready, you dick. Get fucking dressed and let’s go. We’re late, John’ll kill us.”

“Mmm.” Randy stepped forward, and I swallowed hard as I tried to step back, but met the couch. I could feel the heat from the hot shower radiating off his skin after he got close. “Yeah, well, my clothes are in here. Hadn’t had a chance to put ‘em away. You mind?”

I went to reach behind me, but he beat me to it. Randy leaned forward, reaching around me, our faces close enough that our breaths were mingling. If either of us moved forward just an inch, there would be nothing to separate us. He pulled back, pulling a pair of jeans with him. Straightening, he continued to eye me, and I continued to glare, finding that my only defense against him.

Folding the jeans, he places them over the back of the couch before placing his hands on either side of me, leaning closer yet again. “Late, huh? I mean, if we’re going to be late, what’s the point of goin’? Interrupting would only make it worse, won’t it?”

“What? Fuck no.” I replied heatedly. “Randy, we have to go to the sermon.”

“Yeah, but do we?” he breathed out. “Why’s your face so damn red, Jane?”

Fighting the blush only made it worse, which pissed me off. I hated him, I hated the way he got under my skin, and I was going to kill him. “John wants us there, remember?”

“Unless we got stuff to do. John isn’t gonna miss two Chosen.”

“We don’t have stuff to do, you lazy ass! You just don’t want to go!”

Randy tilts his head thoughtfully, clicking his tongue a bit. Moving one of his hands, his index finger finds the front belt loop of my jeans, and pulls just a tad. “I dunno ‘bout that. I think we got plenty to do.”

“Randy...” I warned as he leaned in even closer.

“Hmm?” He hovered there for a split second, waiting for me to continue, but I can’t remember what it was. Randy doesn’t seem to give a fuck, because his hand slips past the edge of my jeans, clenching the fabric tightly as he yanks me forward.

Our lips meet violently, and its funny to me, because I find that so damn fitting with who we are. We were rough, fighters, and violence was a language we were fluent in. So, the kiss is much of the same nature, and it reminds me who I am, kissing back hard. I don’t waste time playing games, I’m not a subtle person, so I grab him--already semi-hard--and start to stroke him at a decent pace.

Randy groans, and that just makes it worse, because I’m responding to it too strongly. His hips work with me, and I bite his lip with a laugh, because I love the feeling of being in control, of him letting me take control. His head falls back in a sigh, and I can see his Adam's apple move as he swallows. I smirk before I drop to my knees, slowing before taking him into my mouth.

“Oh, fuck.” he moaned, and I can hear the shock in his voice. His hand moves to my hair, pulling and I know my braid is fucked at this point, but I don’t care. I’m trying to take him all in my mouth, but I’m struggling. His tip hits the back of my throat and I choke, not used to it. “Shit, sorry.” he mutters, trying to pull back, but I grip his thighs, the nails digging to stop him.

My pride was my sin, John had told me this. I never really moved past it, I didn’t handle my sin very well at all. And that’s part of the reason I keep going, or that’s what I tell myself. Because admitting everything else was too scary. Even though I knew, deep down, that this was a long time coming, something we had both been fighting, but wanting more than anything.

Finally, I find a good rhythm, adjusting to him the best I could, and I hollow my cheeks, sucking harder. Randy’s grip in my hair tightens, making me wince, but I like it. He’s not moving my head, not pushing my head, just holding on. A warm feeling spreads in my chest, and I shove it away, because I don’t like it. I don’t what to make of it, and the last time I had felt it, it ended badly.

He’s different. Randy is different.

I go faster, relaxing my throat, the sounds coming from him encouraging me. It’s odd that it has such an effect on me, but it sends shivers down my spine and I clench my thighs together, because I never noticed how good he sounds.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, Jane.”

He tried to pull away again, but I refuse to give. I want him to feel good, I realize. I want to do this for him. He inhales sharply, tensing and he’s at the back of my throat when he finally finishes. Randy grips the couch for support while I take him out of my mouth, looking up to realize he had been watching the whole time. I wonder if I should have been embarrassed, but I can’t find it in me to be.

I smirk at him, getting to my feet. “Maybe next time you’ll be ready on time.”

“And miss out on that? Nah, you’re gonna wanna come earlier. And besides,” he grabbed my jeans again, undoing them with a smirk of his own. “we got stuff to do, and we’re far from finished.”

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thijihiguri · 3 years

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The Emperor’s Ascension - Part 2: The Diamond Prophecy

Disclaimer: it is highly recommended that you read up on the previous chapters prior to reaching this point, or you will find yourself lost in the narrative. They are posted below for your convenience.

Introduction: https://www.facebook.com/notes/2304709552987721/

Part 1a: https://www.facebook.com/notes/280199693228168/

Part 1b: https://www.facebook.com/notes/811622582740697

The capital of Hyoga was tranquil this time of year. Everyone waited out these remaining few weeks before the first snow. Winter was the most active time of the year for the Land of Glaciers, and the first snowfall heralded the changing of the seasons.

On the western portion of the capital, in the residential districts, there stood a lovely mansion which could easily be spotted from anywhere in the district. Other than the architecture heavily contrasting that of Hyogan make, it was teal. From chimney to foundation, every brick and shingle was the same color. Within this monocolor abode was a theater, which was empty save for one woman, who was enjoying a pleasant dessert beverage over a movie, seemingly about a special girl who could harness the powers of the rainbow. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and wore a bathrobe – all of which was teal. She sighed with content as she watched, almost as if she was reminiscing over days long past.

Just as the movie was seeming to get interesting, the picture was beginning to distort. The woman ceased the enjoyment of her beverage and stood up, watching as the screen was beginning to shift into an image of a white-haired maid in blue-and-white, who greeted her with a smile. Knowing her as Sakuya, the woman robed in teal sat back down and put her drink aside…

Sakuya: Madam Shuji. Sorry to have interrupted that grand movie; it was getting to the best part.

Nora: It’s no problem, Queen Mikazuki! If you’re here, then somethin’ big must be goin’ down!

Sakuya: Have you been made aware of your pupil’s recent excursions?

Nora: Who, Thiji? I heard somethin’ about him fightin’ a bunch of ice people lately. Why, may I ask?

Sakuya: Is your estate empty?

Nora: Yup! All my appointments and meetings have been taken care of for the day!

Ripples began forming on the screen as the Eternal Human then walked through it as if it were a portal, appearing before Nora in person as the movie resumed behind her.

Sakuya: Then I can speak to you about this personally. But first, let’s finish this film, yes?

Nora nodded in agreement, and the two ladies watched the rest of the movie to its end, conversing and laughing all the while. They regaled each other over the days when Thiji, Koyuki, and the others were yet young and full of creative energy. Once the movie ended, they relocated to Nora’s office (take a guess at what color it was). Nora shut the blinders and Sakuya closed the door to maintain privacy, during which time she would give her pitch to the Teal Quaintrelle…

Nora: Wait a minute… He’s doin’ what?! How was I, Elementa’s #1 socialite, not made aware of this?!

Sakuya: That’s partially my fault, Madam Shuji.

Nora: Please, Your Majesty! Just “Nora” will do for you!

Sakuya: I’ve only been sharing this information with the Handmaidens of Peace so far, but Thiji has accelerated through the Trials much faster tha new anticipated, which can only mean that he is as anxious to become a God as are my sisters. But if you can get the word out on this, it would mean a lot to me. Not to mention it could bring untold amounts of publicity to Shuji Studios.

Nora: As temptin’ as that already sounds, I’d have done this without such delicious bait! To think that the boy I tutored so long ago became an Emperor of an entire continent, and now he’s gonna become a bona-fide God of Winter! You don’t need to ask twice, My Queen – I’ll happily tell the world! And it’s gonna go down here, before the First Snow! They’ll be callin’ it the “Winds o’ Destiny” once this whole thing blows over!

Sakuya, chuckling: I’m glad you saw things my way, Nora. Just a reminder that you cannot disclose the full details of this event until the moment it starts. If too much information gets out, it’d spark a lot of undue tension throughout Elementa.

Nora: As if I need to be reminded o’ that! Gimme a week and the Borealis Stadium will be so filled to capacity that there won’t even be room for SRO! Let this be known as Shuji’s Finest Hour!

Sakuya: Thank you again, Nora. I’ll be looking forward to your report.

Nora: Oh, one more thing! I’m gonna need footage o’ Thiji kickin’ ass across the multiverse! I know you have some holo-footage lyin’ around somewhere!

Sakuya: Anything you need to get the word out, Nora. I got you covered. I must attend to our Eternal-to-be.

Nora: Then you’ve got yourself a signal-boostin’ deal!

After they shook hands, Sakuya’s form began to fade out of the material plane, leaving behind a small orb in the palm of Nora’s hand. This was no doubt the recorded footage of Thiji’s recent accomplishments.

Nora searched for her hyperdimensional purse and whistled a special tune. Out from within jumped a fully-equipped stage crew, complete with cameramen, stylists, clothiers, and every other possible accoutrement. They all seemed eager and raring to go, for they have not been called by their mistress in what felt like ages.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been one hell of a ride with y’all so far,” Nora told them, “but we’ve got the biggest scoop to have ever graced Elementa, and we’ve only got a week to get the word out, so let’s get to work, because once this is all over, even unborn children will know of the Shuji name!”

https://youtu.be/EuKGNGZjUJI?t=11437 (3:10:36 - 3:16:14)

Everyone cheered and scrambled throughout the estate, setting themselves up for the biggest report ever. Meanwhile, within the Spiral of Time, Thiji had just returned from his final leg of the Trials of Winter. He had contended with other god-like beings that commanded a great deal of winter’s might, and has learned (and re-learned) just about everything there is to know about ice and its many facets. The sheer amount of knowledge he had unearthed intrigued him, and that alone motivated him to learn all he could about winter so that he would be that much better off for his ascent.

With his final battle in the Trial thus settled, the Proofs all gathered, circling around Thiji as the latent energies reacted with his body, instilling their knowledge and memories into him. All he could do from that point was heave a great sigh of relief and fell backwards, landing on his back.

After a few long moments of rest, he rose to a sitting position and noticed a familiar figure walking out of a portal, greeting him with applause.

“Congratulations, Thiji,” spoke Sakuya, “the Trials of Winter have been conquered, and you are now one step closer to achieving your destiny. How do you feel?”

“As if a two-ton weight was placed upon my shoulders…” Thiji groaned as he struggled to stand, the adrenaline in his body finally giving way to massive fatigue.

“You worked tirelessly to make it this far, and it shows,” Sakuya stated. “Now it is time for you to rest; your final Trial is near. Within one week’s time, when the first snows fall upon Hyoga, your penultimate task will begin. Until then, you may find solace in my domain, and recuperate unperturbed. Remember your training; trust your instincts, and ready yourself in mind, body, and soul. This last trial will undoubtedly be your most daunting.”

The Eternal Human waved her hand and placed her nephew in a stasis field, rendering his body motionless. The Emperor wasted no time in surrendering to the sweet embrace of slumber, his body drifting through the limitless expanse that was the Spiral of Time. Meanwhile, Nora was already hard at work getting everything set up for the big broadcast. She spent the entire week signal boosting and utilizing her various media techniques to inform not only Elementa, but to their allies from other realms as well. When it came to the power of media, Nora Chelsea-Izumi Shuji could command the attention of even Gods! Her face was seen on every poster and every television; her voice was heard on every radio and podcast. There was nothing stopping Shuji Studios from seizing the radio waves.

“Goood mornin’, Elementa and beyond! This is Nora Shuji here live in the Borealis Tundra to give you what is perhaps the most special report ever! If you’ve been livin’ under a rock, in a cave, or under the sea all your life, then fear not! I’m here to enlighten ya! Our lovable Emperor of Hyoga, Lord Thiji Higuri, has been undergoin’ some grueling trainin’ recently to be bestowed the rarest of honors: ascension to godhood! He’s been goin’ across the mysterious multiverse and kickin’ the cans of all the guys, gals, and creatures that consider themselves to be masters of winter! But he’s beaten every single one of ‘em, and now the time has come for him to face his final test against an unknown adversary! Is it a person from Thiji’s past? Or a long-lost rival lookin’ to settle a score? The only way you’ll find out for sure is if you head on over to Hyoga yourself to witness this monumental event! Tickets are on sale now, and you’ve got only one week before showtime! But even if you can’t make it, Shuji Studios has you covered: we’ll be takin’ control of the radio waves so that everyone in Elementa can watch the spectacle from the comfort of their own homes! Are you lookin’ to see what a real battle of ice and snow looks like? Then you’d better tune in, because this is a once-in-a-hundred-lifetimes chance! The Borealis Stadium is expected to be filled to capacity, so you’d better act fast and start makin’ your travel arrangements! This has been Nora Shuji reportin’ to you from the icy bosom of the Land of Glaciers, and remember: If It Ain’t Shuji, It Ain’t Worth Jack!”

From the subaquatic city of Arazsha, to the capitals of all thirteen continents and even the Soramori, news of Thiji’s ascension spread like wildfire. People from all around the globe began to flock towards the Land of Glaciers, where the greatest moment in Elementa’s history would unfold.

A week’s time had passed, and it was a peaceful, sunny morning in Hyoga. Atop the glistening walls of Yukiga-To’s outer gates, the leader of the Brides of Winter, Confessor Sylla, sat upon the parapet. Two more individuals approached her, meeting her gaze toward the horizon. They were Celuwen, the Virtuemother and Shijima Yukino, the Voice of Winter, and together with the First Bride, they were the highest-ranking individuals of the Handmaidens of Peace. They watched as the Hyogan skies were dotted by airships and various flying creatures eager to witness the spectacle – one of which was a large airship bearing the image of a multicolored, exploding star upon its sails. This was the War Star, the airship belonging to the Battle Vixens guild, with the entire crew on deck with their warrior elite: Lupi Flametress, the hot-blooded Knight; Aege Stonemantle, the steadfast Whitesmith; Elua Windgaze, the free-spirited Sniper, and Heal-Do, the calm yet fierce Assassin Cross.

Approaching the Frozen Shore were seafaring vessels and seaborne fauna who have befriended the people of Hyoga – the most important of whom being the Glacierfin Naga, led by Queen Mizu and her council. Accompanying her was the Mist Queen, Shiro Reina, Mizu’s old friend and former master.

“I knew that man was something else,” Shiro stated, “but never in my life did I imagine him joining Elementa’s pantheon… I’d like a few words with him when this is over before he parts.”

“To ssee a sshorewalker grace the very heavenss would be a sssight for any Naga to behold,” commented Z’hira. “Let uss make hasste to the sstadium!”

It was truly a sight to behold from the city proper: people from all corners of Elementa and beyond, flocking to one singular location, the stadium slowly filling in its seats. The Borealis Stadium itself was impressive, to say the least, easily accommodating at least half a million people, including exclusive club seating, skyboxes, and luxury suites – one of which housed the Eternals themselves, and even Nora. The Teal Quaintrelle wasted no expense in having as many people filling the stadium as possible, and to attract such a crowd could only be possible for a media mogul like her.

And on the far side of the fields stood a solitary ice block, the man of the hour himself within. Thiji awaited the coming battle, taking this time in solitude to gather himself and focus his power. It appeared to have been under control - no paling skin or abnormal protrusions from his body.

“Looks like it’ll be a full house, sisters!” Raiko excitedly pointed out. “This stadium is freakin’ huge! It should be a landmark!”

“It is,” Homura and Sakuya said simultaneously.

“Where the heck’s Mizore? She should be watching her son’s finest hour!” the Eternal Succubus asked as she took a big gulp of her drink.

“She’s got her reasons for being tardy,” Sakuya calmly replied. “For now, let’s get comfy. Thiji’s battle will be approaching soon.”

In the premium club seats were Princess Seraphina and her entourage: her cousins Kasui & Kasho, along with the Generals of the Tundra Force. She was excited to see her father’s final performance, along with Queen Shiro and the others – everyone of Hyoga’s Finest had arrived to bear witness to this occasion. Turning to her immediate left, she would find herself being greeted by a beautiful silver-white fox with nine tails, swinging them eagerly.

“I know he’ll succeed – I will see him in the heavens!” she thought aloud. This was Da Ji, Purity’s Envoy, and Guardian deity of Amatsu. A close friend of Thiji’s, she was more eager than anyone to watch Thiji’s performance.

With everyone in place, the time had come to commence the event. A large teal dirigible flew over the stadium, and titantrons began activating along the outer edges of the stadium, allowing comfortable viewing access from any and all angles. The Glacierfin Council “seated” beside Shiro and Mizu gazed in awe at the enlarged visage of Nora, and the technology she boasted.

“Thiss woman iss… eccentric,” Zhira commented, “but her pressentation iss not wanting! Thiss is the marvel of sshorewalker technology!”

“And she’s a fierce fighter besides,” Shiro commented. “In fact, she taught Thiji martial arts, among other things.”

“PEOPLE OF ELEMENTA AND BEYOND! ARE YOU READY?!” cried Nora from the airship. The crowd let out a jubilant uproar of cheers and applause in response. “To all tunin’ in today, you’re in for the more delectable treat in Elementa’s history: the hour of Thiji’s ascension! The Emperor of Hyoga himself, Thiji Higuri, has been rampagin’ all over the multiverse to beat all contenders who would get in his way of bein’ Lord of Winter, and now he’s back in the world of Elementa to face his final trial – and you’re all invited to witness it! Any moment now, his final opponent will make their appearance, and the most epic battle of your lives will commence! Now let’s hear it for our lovable ice man, the Emperor himself: Thiji Sorin Higuri!”

The ice block shattered and the man of the hour rose to his feet, gazing upon the countless masses applauding him. He could make out familiar voices cheering him on: his daughter; his niece; Da Ji, and even Shiro. He couldn’t help but smile at all the people whose lives he touched and changed motivating him one last time as a mortal. Because after today, he would become a God.

As the hour of judgment drew closer, the Handmaidens’ leadership began to make their way towards the stadium. However, they would only be able to take a few steps before Confessor Sylla felt a wave of dread wash over her. She frowned as she laid a hand upon her heart, giving her sisters cause for concern.

https://youtu.be/EuKGNGZjUJI?t=6329 (1:45:29 - 1:47:37)

“Confessor?” spoke Celuwen.

“This pang upon my breast…” she whispered. “Is this truly Winter’s will…?”

“What did you see?” Shijima inquired. Sylla remained silent, only pointing towards the heavens above the Borealis Stadium. The clouds were beginning to part as a single pillar of amethyst-colored light shone through – it was finally time. Thiji readied himself as a lotus flower fell from above. Its descent was blindingly swift, and as it touched down, a storm of petals danced throughout the stadium, wowing the audience. The flower itself grew in size until it was tall enough to fit an adult male, and once the petals parted to reveal its passenger… the world stopped.

Everyone – from the spectators in the stadium, to the people watching from all corners of the realm, to even Thiji himself – was utterly frozen. Not a single breeze blew through the arctic. All was still; all was silent.

“Psst. Hey, Sakuya,” Raiko whispered. “I know this is for dramatic effect and all, but we kinda need time to move again.”

“This isn’t me, sister,” the Eternal Human defended. “Even the families of Heaven of Hell are aware of this moment; all of Elementa is still.”

Out from the flower strode a maiden in a violet qipao, her hair and skin flawless. Angel wings were seen protruding from her back and in front of her ears. In her right hand she gripped a decorative jian, an oriental broadsword, and flowers began to blossom through the snow upon which she stood. Her face was tense – not with anger, but with determination, as she glared daggers at Thiji.

Once the perception of time went back to normal, Thiji’s focus shattered. He beheld his final opponent, his penultimate obstacle standing in the way of his rightful ascension:

The Snow Flower herself, Koyuki Kazahana, was his final opponent.

“Hello, my lord,” Koyuki greeted firmly. “It is finally time for you to embrace your destiny.”

“The High Empress…?!” gasped Celuwen and Shijima.

“That I did not foresee this until now…What is Winter plotting…?” Sylla asked herself aloud.

“I am certain we will find the answers we seek once we make it to the stadium. Come, sisters!” Celuwen ordered, and with a strum of her oud, she brought the winds of the north to heel as they swirled around herself and the others, carrying them to the Borealis Stadium.

“My mother… She was an Angel all this time?” Seraphina inquired.

“Always has been, Princess Seraphina,” Shiro replied. “In fact, she is a Seraph, an Angel raised and trained for battle. Note the two pairs of wings.”

“Just like my name! It makes so much sense now!” the Princess giggled.

“That she is a Seraph can only mean that she went to the Dawn Academy at some point... which implies that our Empress is a lot older than she seems!” Hira deducted.

“Preposterous!” scoffed Chui, General of the Wavemenders. “That’d mean she’d be half a century old at the least!”

“Normally you’d be correct, Wavecaller,” coolly spoke Galetracker Yori Honshou, General of the Hailvolleys, “but if there’s one thing I know about the Kazahana Clan, it’s that they hold a lot of skeletons in their closet - the Pure Branch, especially!”

“You’re not just saying that because your bow was blessed by them, are you...?” the Spring Elf Arasil questioned, rolling her eyes.

“He has a point, though,” Hira followed. “The Kazahana Clan are the most powerful and prominent family in Elementa for a reason. Some even say that their capabilities border on the unnatural.”

The others shrugged off the notion and fell silent, refocusing on center field.

“Koyuki, my flower, what are you doing…?” Thiji questioned. He took a step forward, but would be met with only a blade pointed toward him. He looked upon his wife and immediately took notice of her demeanor: she wasn’t the cheerful and demure lady by which she was so known and loved. No, this Koyuki was far different – eyes burning with fervent determination, a fury quelled by the serenity her very presence brings. He had surmised that she has awakened the Kazahana blood within her, turning the Snow Flower into a weapon of war.

“Doing what must be done, my lord,” she replied. “You have completed the Trials of Winter, and now your final test is upon you. Did you think you were the only one training, my Emperor? I, too, have been honing my skills, preparing myself for this fateful day where we would meet each other – as opponents. And as many are wont to say: the more beautiful the flower, the deadlier its thorns, and I have been touted as the most beautiful in all of Elementa.”

“But I’ve sworn an oath to defend and uphold your purity!” Thiji interjected, taking a stance. “Laying a hand on you in aggression is sacrilege of the highest order; the Kazahana Clan is the most powerful in all of Elementa, and drawing their blood is original sin – especially the blood of a Pure Branch member – most of all its head!”

“You’re right: you are still oathbound to protect me, my lord,” Koyuki pondered, “which is why I declare upon this day that you, Thiji Sorin Higuri, shall protect me no longer. I deem you freed from the manacles by which this oath has bound you, sworn no longer to safeguard my purity!”

The entire stadium gasped; some of the Handmaidens were so taken aback that they began fainting on the spot. As for Thiji, he was crushed by this so that he collapsed, falling to his knees. The Eternals watched silently from their box with anticipation, counting on the Snow Flower to carry out their mission. Thiji wanted to feel utter sorrow, but his heart was not as affected by this as he had thought. In fact, he was not even brought to tears. But the same sadness lingered as he rose his head to the heavens, wondering what cruel hand fate had dealt him to come to this occasion. After loving, serving, and protect his beloved Snow Flower – his destined, star-crossed wife – she casts his oath aside like an old toy.

His head felt heavy now. The weight became too much to bear that he would once again lower it to the ground, seemingly losing all energy to move. He was still, as the first snow had finally begun to fall upon Hyoga. Thiji had shut his eyes, hoping that it was all a nightmare. But a voice broke through the silence.

“Thiji. Draw your sword. If you are to claim your destiny, then you must strike me down.”

https://youtu.be/EuKGNGZjUJI?t=11775 (3:16:14 - 3:19:26)

These words came from Koyuki’s lips. But it only hurt him further. Again, the emotional blow was softened by some unknown force. No response from the Emperor of Hyoga. Koyuki pressed the matter once more.

“Raise your head, Thiji. Draw your sword and meet me in battle.”

“What madnesss is thiss?!” Z’hira gasped.

“What corruption has befouled the High Empress?!” Deshir followed.

“Koyuki is incorruptible,” Queen Mizu said telepathically. “She’s plotting something, but it involves battle. I know Lady Shiro and Lady Koyuki well; they wouldn’t do things without some ultimate goal in mind.”

Seraphina only watched on in silence, unable to say a single word from the sheer emotion wrought by this moment. Thiji, again, did not speak or budge. Thus did Koyuki resort to more direct measures. With a beat of her wings, she took the the skies, grasping her blade as gravity gave way.

As she descended, memories of Thiji’s past surged through his mind – all of which involved Koyuki. His most cherished moment, when they were mere children, replaying over and over in his mind. How tenderly he held her that cold day… how icy wet his face was from the tears he shed for her… and the words he spoke to her:

“Please, Koyuki… don’t go. I need you.”

He kept that memory closest to his heart all his life, and now it seemed to have been for naught. Of all the opponents he could have faced, he never once dreamed of raising a blade against Koyuki. But just like the other assaults upon his heart, yet again, the blow was mitigated. Why did not feel so crushed as he originally anticipated? Was his warrior’s spirit taking over? Whatever the cause may be, he found the strength to rise back to his feet, conjuring a katana of ice just in time to clash blades with Koyuki, a loud ring heard throughout the stadium. The resulting force sent the falling snow blowing in all directions, pelting the crowd in a flurry of frost and angel down.

“Good, my lord,” she congratulated as she stared her husband down, that same determination in her eyes. His eyes, however, were filled with something else – cold yet raging. He did not question why he acted in such a way, only that it felt right. “For the glory of Hyoga, unleash your soul and face me!”

And thus the battle had begun.

“Game on, sisters…” Sakuya declared, reclining in her seat. The two concluded their deadlock and forced each other back to opposite ends of the arena. Thiji made the first move and sent blades of ice toward the Snow Flower, who answered with graceful dodges to the left and right. She performed another wingbeat, sending flower petals forward and strewing them about the arena.

Thiji rose his katana and charged, watching the petals explode in a small radius as he came close. She had set a floral minefield to deter Thiji. Stepping directly atop a petal, he was sent flying upwards, throwing him off balance. Koyuki took the skies to meet him, ready to greet Thiji with a series of blade attacks. He was able to recover from the explosion he triggered to meet Koyuki in a clash of blades once more, parrying her blows with his katana. Seeing an opening, Koyuki performed a lunge with her sword, aimed at Thiji’s chest. The Emperor was able to spin in midair to avoid it, sheathing his blade for a brief moment before unleashing stored energy to perform a blinding iai slash at the Empress’ midsection. The attack hit its mark, but Koyuki’s form vanished into flower petals.

“A flower clone…” he thought to himself. He made a quick 180-degree turn as soon as he felt Koyuki’s presence, though try as he did to react, the Snow Flower had already grabbed him by the arm, whirled him around, and threw him straight downward.

Utilizing his newfound strength, Thiji turned to face the ground, clenching his free hand into a fist and slammed the ground with all his might, upheaving the floral minefield and detonating all the petals in a beautiful display of flower and snow. The audience could not help but cheer at the spectacle, scattered cheering for either side to win. Everyone was beginning to get into the fighting spirit, it seemed.

“You’re gettin’ all this, right, boys?!” Nora shouted to her crew, who all gave a thumbs-up. “Good! Ain’t nobody’s takin’ this moment away from us!”

“Thiji... One way or another, I will help make you see,” Koyuki thought as she looked down at Thiji. She began her descent, seeking to meet Thiji head-on once more. As they clashed blades once more, she stared once more into his icy-cold eyes. “Dance with me, my lord,” she invited aloud. “Bring me the beauty and grace of battle that only you can provide me!” Her husband pushed her away, and she performed a somersault before sticking the landing, sliding several meters back along the snow.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BU0ehpWSZdg

“Then I shall lead…” he coolly replied before wreathing his katana in frost energy. She did the same for her blade, enveloping it in a violet aura of floral energy, and their dance began: a graceful and frenetic flurry of steel, as gusts of snow and flowers whirled around the stadium. The crowd cheered them on as their dance went on, with either side showing little sign of letting up. For Seraphina, however, the residual energies they were giving off reacted with her own body – so much so that it was beginning to feel as though they had counted on this to happen.

The Alabaster Rose hugged herself, unsure of what was going on with her body…

“Cousin! Are you well?!” Kasui said as she hurried to her side. She would then be pushed back as the halo which levitated behind her illuminated, and focused her energies into the heavens, drastically altering the scenery. Kasho caught Kasui, after which they would look up to notice that the clouds had parted, revealing a sunless sky, with the glorious light of Tsukuyomi illuminating the area. Once this atmospheric phenomenon occurred, all jubilation ceased, and only silence followed. All were entranced by the dazzling display.

“What… What is this…?” General Hiro gasped.

“In all my battles, I’ve seen nothing like this before…” Snowmistress Hira stated.

“C’est magnifique…”

Everyone turned toward the source of the voice: the newly-ordained Duchess of Yukiga-To, Masao Inkina Muyo. “A rarity unlike any other: a joining only made possible through the Higuri Clan and the Kazahana Pure Branch; a vibrant and mystical dance of twirling petals and snowy zephyrs beneath the silvery gaze of the moon: the Beauty of the Four Seasons: the Setsugekka no Utsukushi-sa.”

“How do you know of this, Duchess?” inquired Mikomi Toushou, Nomad of Hope, who sat right beside Su Da Ji.

“I’ve served the Royal Family long enough to learn of the unique bond shared between the Higuri Clan and the Kazahana Pure Branch,” she explained. “With Great Empress Kaiyuki’s blessing, I was the one who oversaw a young Lord Thiji’s rise to Prime Minister of Yukiga-To before his 15th birthday. The Higuri have always been the most loyal retainers to them, and of the many bonds that form between Clans, theirs is the most graceful and beautiful in all of Elementa. The Great Empress told me this secret, and I’ve kept it well-guarded until the time was right. Their very powers alter the world around them: Lord Thiji, of the snow; Lady Koyuki, of the flower… and Princess Seraphina, of the moon. Together, they complete this rarest of dances…”

A singular tear fell from her face, compared to the countless others who also shed tears from the serene beauty of the sight – even the Glacierfin Naga cried, never witnessing a more beautiful spectacle since the coming of their Queen. And up above, Nora and her crew were practically bawling.

“D-Don’t stop filmin’ this, gentlemen – no matter how w-watery your eyes get…!” Nora ordered, choking back tears with little success. The Eternals, too, were moved by this sight, though Homura was trying her hardest not to show her tears.

“Man… I oughta slap the white off of Mizore for not witnessing her own flesh and blood doing this!” Homura grumbled.

On the eastern section of the stadium, the Handmaidens leadership arrived just in time to witness the show with Nisou and the others. The Handmaidens either fainted from the overwhelming beauty or were praying in reverence to Winter; Sylla felt utter bliss, hurrying to her nieces’ side to watch with them; Celuwen and Shijima were simply stunned.

The length of their dance was reaching its end; the Borealis Stadium and surrounding area darkening as a sign, until the moonlight was focused only on the circumference of the arena. The two warriors disengaged to focus all their respective energy into their weapons again, before zooming towards center field to meet one another in one final clash beneath the lunar spotlight. The ground then began to shake as the residual energies focused onto a singular area – the stadium itself. A raging blizzard of snow and blossom petals filled the area, contained in a transparent veil of moonlight which protected the audience. The storm rose to the very heavens, until the barrier would finally break from the resulting explosion, releasing a flash of light which temporarily blinded all who gazed upon it.

Once the light had faded and the skies returned to normal, the crowd beheld the last vestiges of the dancing iceflowers, as both contestants laid on the ground.

“Did… Did he win…? Is it over…?” Da Ji asked hopefully. Thiji and Koyuki slowly rose to their feet after recovering from the shock of the explosion, barely a scratch on them, save for a small cut on their cheek.

“Well done, Thiji…” Koyuki said in her mind. “All under Heaven and above the Underworld will remember this day. And with this dance concluded, you’re one step closer… But still you must see. You must further be catalyzed. Only then will the truth be revealed. Jenivieve… Liliana… Dr. Rieleigh… everyone… after all we’ve done for him… I pray that you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

Grasping her blade, she took to a piercing stance, wings outstretched. Taking this moment in her hands, she charged at Thiji with all her might, her blade aiming straight for his heart.

“MY LORD, TAKE CARE!!” shouted Da Ji, reaching out to the man she loves. Try as he could, he was unable to react, his body feeling… cold. Rigid, even. He only watched as his beloved wife came toward him at full speed, bracing himself for the inevitable blow…

… But destiny had other plans.

A loud clang resounded throughout the stadium, which such force that the wind generated from it blew everyone off of their seats (figuratively, of course). Thiji slowly opened his eyes, gasping at what he beheld: his heart was untouched, a strange barrier holding Koyuki’s blade a meter from it! He rose his head to meet Koyuki’s gaze, who shut her own eyes in response. And in the midst of it all, Thiji could not help but think that Koyuki felt… relieved by this.

Setting the notion aside, he released his pent-up energy in a radial wave of force which knocked the Snow Flower back towards her end of the arena. Koyuki caught herself, getting to her knees as she watched Thiji’s body… changing.

“It’s done…” Koyuki quietly cheered under her breath. The Emperor’s eyes shut as he winced in pain, clutching his chest as he saw his body crystallizing!

“She did it!” Sakuya cheered with a fist pump. “It’s all on her now.”

“I-Is this a result of the dance, Duchess Muyo?!” Mikomi asked.

“Non,” she answered. “This is something entirely different; a first-time occurrence for us all.”

As Thiji fought his hardest to stop this process, he dropped to his knees, clutching his chest desperately to stem the pain. It was then that he heard a voice in his head:

“Thiji… do not fight it.”

His eyes opened, scanning the area for the source, but he saw only Koyuki, and the masses who gathered today to watch him. The voice called to him again:

“Give in to it. This is your destiny. Your time has finally come.”

“I know that voice…” he whispered…

“Come to me… and all will be made clear.”

A protective dome of permafrost formed around Thiji, leaving everyone stupefied.

“The plot glaciates…!” Nora exclaimed.

https://youtu.be/EuKGNGZjUJI?t=10967

Thiji reopened his eyes and found himself in a different realm – far from the Borealis Stadium – far from Hyoga – and far from Elementa. A vast forest blessed by eternal winter; trees turned white and blue by snow and frost; arctic fauna both normal and magical roaming the land. Light snowfall persisted no matter where one went in the forest, and the wind was calm and serene. Thiji was beyond awestruck at the stark beauty of this land. His reverence would be cut short, however, as a snowy owl landed before him, staring at him expectantly. It lifted a wing and pointed it to the path behind it, gesturing him to follow.

Thiji threw caution to the wind and proceeded down the path, until he would eventually come to a glade of pristine snow and ice. Waiting for him in the center sat a lone woman robe in an ornate white-and-blue kimono. Her waist-length hair and skin were as white as the very snow, and icicles decorated her form – from hair ties with red ribbons to lining her obi in a manner akin to strings of charms.

The owl perched itself on a nearby nest, alerting the woman to Thiji’s presence – though she already knew he had come. She rose from her seat and turned slowly to gaze at Thiji, greeting him with a smile warm enough to melt the snow around her.

“My son – my sweet Yukinko…” she greeted with the most gentle of voices.

“Mother…” Thiji replied under his breath. He broke into a sprint towards his beloved parent, and memories flashed back in both their minds, to a time when Thiji was a mere child. This mother of the Emperor of Hyoga was none other than Mizore, the Eternal Yuki-Onna of Ice, and by proxy, Empress Dowager of Hyoga. He embraced his mother tenderly, for he had missed her so, just as she missed him. “Where am I, Mother…? What is going on?”

“Be still, sweetest son,” she replied. “I will explain. Firstly, this is my – and soon to be, your – domain: the Antarctic Glade. I summoned you here personally to help you on your final step towards your ascension. First, I would ask of you to create a reflection.”

“Yes, Mother,” he immediately acknowledged. Mizore then used her powers to conjure a large slab of ice before them, while Thiji utilized the powers of the Glacial Guardian to project his memories onto the ice, replaying them as though it were a television.

“Thiji,” Mizore began, “do you recall a certain crucial moment in time where you changed drastically in demeanor? I will give you a hint: it was during your burgeoning adult years.”

Thiji thought for a moment, which caused the ice to react. The reflections began replaying a younger Thiji with Koyuki, whom he was on the verge of proposing to, and the actual wedding. Then it replayed a moment in time with Thiji and Koyuki again, a few years older, but with a third familiar face: flowing, platinum-blonde hair; stunning violet eyes…

These particular moments kept playing over and over as Mizore continued her explanation…

“Your destiny was delayed due the love you shared with the Snow Flower and the Dragon Empress. Though they may have given you power through love, they had, unbeknownst to them, been holding you back. This was not your fault, nor theirs, for your love was star-crossed. However, you have learned all you could, and now you are at the crux of your power; the zenith of your potential.”

“So Koyuki and Liliana… them changing my heart affected me so?” Thiji asked. Mizore responded with a nod.

“Love is powerful, Thiji,” she said. “so powerful that it can soften one’s resolve. Elementa is in need of new protectors, and it is unanimous that none are a better candidate than you to ascend to godhood. But in order for this to occur, you had to undergo the Trials of Winter – they served as a means of reminding you of your roots as a child born of Winter. You bear it in all forms: its savagery; its ferocity; its serenity; its beauty. Your heart needed to be re-hardened, and you have done just that in record time. To ascend to godhood, you needed to become the undisputed mortal ruler over all things cold and frigid. This… is the Diamond Prophecy. You passed yourself off as the Diamond Emperor, but now you can truly be the Diamond Emperor. This will be your first – and final – transformation.”

“That is why my body was crystallizing!” Thiji realized. “It was a diamond cocoon!”

“Precisely!” his mother affirmed. “Koyuki knew of this, and now she stands between you and your ascension. Though you are among the incredibly rare few to have multiple true loves, you must learn to let them go. Koyuki wanted you to see that; in time, I am sure Liliana will understand as well. We are living forces of nature; the limits of our strength far surpass even that which love can bring. So I ask you, Thiji: will you strike down the Snow Flower – your greatest love – to ascend?”

“I will,” he immediately stated, his expression turning cold. “I must.” Mizore took note of this, smiling in approval – not a single bit of doubt or remorse present on his face.

“Then I have done my duty. Now I’ll just need to give you a little jump-start!”

She lifted her index finger, and condensed the glade’s latent glacial energy into a small orb, resting on its tip. As it drew closer to his heart, Mizore gave her parting words to her son:

“When next I see you, Thiji, you will be a God. For now, I think it’s time you left; you have one last show to put on!”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7mt36xZhrk&list=RDj7mt36xZhrk&start_radio=1

As soon as she touched his heart, the energy discharged and quickly enveloped his body, consuming him in a white light that transported him out of the glade and back to Hyoga. Everyone watched with bated breath over the glacial dome that has now been hardened into diamond.

“What could be goin’ on inside that dome?!” Nora shouted. “If you’re still holdin’ your breath, then you’ve got the lung capacity of an Olympic gold medalist!”

“Think she did it?” Homura asked Sakuya.

“For sure. Look at the dome,” she replied. The dragoness looked back, noticing that cracks were forming along the dome. The crowd gasped as the cracks began splitting, growing in length and width. Light broke through the fractures, which made everyone grow concerned.

“That dome’s about to burst! Watch out, everyone!!” Nora warned. The crowd did not have much time to react until the dome burst, sending shards of diamond out in all directions. The audience and Nora and her crew did their best to shield themselves from horrible lacerations and puncture wounds, only to find that the shards have been trapped in stasis before it would strike anyone. They looked around and beheld nothing but a glistening stadium of diamond, as Thiji emerged from his cocoon, completely transformed: his normal garb has been replaced with regal clothing; it along with his hair took on an ice blue-to-white gradient; his skin, pallid and pure white, like the snow. Upon his head was a crown made of pure diamonds, with the shards of the selfsame mineral dancing about him. Koyuki smiled at the sight of her lord – remade whole once more – his former self, restored.

“Is… Is that Lord Thiji?!” Nora gasped. “Ladies and gentlemen and everybody tuned in: the unthinkable has happened! In the heat of battle, the master of ice himself has undergone a PHENOMENAL change, and has stilled the power of winter itself with a mere glare! This can only mean one thing: we’re witnessin’ the first – and last – transformation of Thiji Higuri, the Diamond Emperor!!”

The crowd cheered loudly once more, chanting “Diamond! Emperor! Diamond! Emperor!” Regaining her composure, Koyuki picked up her blade and assumed her best fighting stance.

“Are you prepared, my lord…?” Koyuki called out. He rose his head and slowly opened his eyes, revealing cold orbs of ice blue to match his emotionless countenance.

“Time to find out…” he answered lowly.

With a few slashes of her jian, she called forth miniature petals which gleamed in the light, as though they were tiny blades in disguise. She sent them forth to assail Thiji, who responded with a mere tilt of his head, forming a barricade from the diamond shards. The sound of numerous tiny blades clashing against rock was heard as Koyuki’s attack was nullified.

This, however, was merely a distraction. Koyuki flew forward at full speeds, drifting around the barricade and kicking up snow as she did to strike at Thiji’s blindside, using her deceptive combat style to find a hole in his defenses. Fortunately, he was very focused on the battle, effortlessly deflecting her attacks with his katana, now made from diamond. Koyuki then wheeled around and swung her blade in a clockwise arc, but Thiji easily no selled her attack by planting his blade in the ground. With his free hand, he made a swiping motion with his index and middle finger, shaving off some of the barricade to send a cloud of diamond towards Koyuki, who had to fly to evade.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this side of Father before,” an awestruck Seraphina mused.

“He was... a different man back then, Princess,” Shiro followed. “He was far more cold and calculating in his ways before he was reunited with your mother. Thiji was well on his way to becoming one of - if not, the most - powerful practitioner of ice in Elementa. But now, it looks like he’s done just that.”

“How poetic - Elementa’s progenitor of winter, he must first rule it as a mortal,” Sylla thought aloud. “A pity we will only see this once in our lifetime.”

Thiji then retrieved his sword and slashed it behind him, sending a wave of frost in an arc towards the Snow Flower, who barely rose a floral shield to fend it off, an ice shard or two cutting her face. Koyuki then planted more lotus flowers on the ground, sprouting into man-sized plants into which she would enter. As she did, that flower shrunk into the ground, effectively teleporting her to another one nearby, utilizing this tactic to get the element of surprise on Thiji. Again, it seemed to provide little effect, as he reacted quickly to where she would appear, clashing swords with and forcing her away as she fell into flower after flower to repeat the same tactic. Another clash, and Thiji pushed Koyuki high into the air with his newfound might, using this time to disable her means of teleportation by shredding each and every flower with his diamond shards.

Running thin on options, Koyuki called upon the heavenly host to fill her with light, swooping down to meet Thiji once more in a deadlock, the resulting force causing another shockwave of ice and flowers to spread, though they were contained by the diamonds which formed a barrier around the arena. Thiji slid his blade toward the guard of her sword, using his leverage to pull her down to the earth in a kneeling position. She gazed into Thiji’s eyes as their blades remained deadlocked, and she felt her very soul running cold. They were devoid of feeling – empty save for the unforgiving chill that his very presence brought.

The Snow Flower stilled the quickness of her heart, keeping her gaze fixed on the only man she ever loved. She was completely helpless; if she lost this deadlock, this battle was his. But she saw no point in reasoning with him now, for she had already gone too far – which is what she had wanted all along. She braced herself for what was to follow.

“I’m ready, Thiji…” she said in her mind. Everyone watching stood up from their seats, some even on the verge of falling over the arena. Seraphina couldn’t bear to watch and shielded her eyes. Mizu and the other ladies covered their mouths in shock at what was going to happen.

“Sh-Should we keep filming, ma’am?” asked the cameraman.

“YES! No matter what!” Nora immediately replied. Thiji sent the diamond cloud into the blade, fusing with and hardening its surface, thus increasing its strength. So much so that he applied just a bit more pressure, causing her sword to split in two… The memories of their teary farewell surged into her mind. She remembered it all: the words he said to her; the way he held her; the countless tears he wept for her…

… Then, time stood still once more, as the only sound that followed… was steel piercing flesh.

#thiji higuri #elementa #drama #winter #is #coming

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keelywolfe · 4 years

Text

FIC: My Private Happiness (baon)

Summary: Sans is having a day. Maybe a couple days, hell, a collection of them. Prequel to the actual series.

Tags: Kustard, Pre-Spicyhoney, Angst, Unhealthy Relationships, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Mentions of Therapy, Lemon Goodness

Notes:

Okay, so, this is set after Last Minute Gift

In terms of the series, it’s right before Pillars of Creation, Edge and Stretch’s first ’date’.

I really need to make a chronological list of the kustard stories, Sans and Red are pains in my ass, and that’s a fact. :P

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

When the doors opened up at the Ebott stop, Sans got off the bus, for once not bothering to toss a ‘don’t call bus, we’ll call you’ or ‘your park is worse than your bite’ to the driver. The bus stop was right outside the Security checkpoint, and on the other side was a Monster-driven shuttle to bring all the riders into New New Home proper.

Normally, Sans wouldn’t have bothered with it. His shortcuts were enough to take him to his own front door, further than Stretch or Red could manage even on their best days. But today he climbed on with the rest, shuffling to the back of the bus to sit, his skull leaning against the window and his sockets closed before the shuttle even pulled away.

Being on the bus at all wasn’t his normal. He could drive, but never bothered to get a car. Usually he rode in to the Embassy with Paps, more rarely with Blue or even Edge since none of them ever pried a stick out of their pelvis enough to skip a day of work. Hitching a ride was easy and he didn’t have any of Stretch’s qualms about begging favors.

Today he didn’t feel like riding with anyone.

The card Paps gave him last night was in his pocket, the sharp edges poking his femur whenever he moved.

“I won’t force you to go,” Papyrus told him. His normal earnest energy was banked, visibly straining against his uncommon seriousness, “but I do want you to consider it. You’ve been doing so much better, Sans, I am so proud of you. But. You could be really happy, if you wanted to, I know you can.”

He sank down to his knees and hugged Sans like he hadn’t since he was a babybones, too tight and too long, and after a minute, Sans returned it. The card went into his pocket without a word, stayed there when he pulled on his shorts again the next day.

Paps wasn’t wrong. He’d been going through the motions a little. Maybe. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He still wasn’t convinced that it never would.

The shuttle slowed at his road and Sans was up before the chime even rang. This time, he gave the driver a grin and a wave, ignoring the flash of confusion in their eye as no pun heralded his exit.

Too bad, they could live without his shining personality for one fucking day.

He and Paps lived at the end of the road, in a cardboard cutout-style house that was exactly the same on either side. Except their house was a sanctuary for lawn ornaments, Papyrus could never resist one. Flamingos and gnomes, fairies and bright, garish sunflowers made of scrap metal. Gyftmas was months ago now but that didn’t stop Santa from greeting anyone who came over to visit, and the collection of bird baths offered any avians accommodations as lush as the finest resort.

Every time the Edgelord walked past the cheery clown with its bright red grin stationed right next to the sidewalk his eye socket twitched, and that right there was worth the price of admission.

Sans trudged down the sidewalk towards that wonderland, but his eye lights were on his sneakers. One of the knots was coming loose as he watched, slowly unraveling until one lace trailed along like a cooked spaghetti noodle. That idle observation seemed to give permission for his mind to let Papyrus wander back into his thoughts.

Looked like he’d given up not thinking along with everything else.

Yeah, Paps was right, wasn’t he--

(wasn’t he always, really, Sans could never hide as much from him as he wished he could, Paps was so cool)

--he was getting by, sure. Doing the Embassy thing, helping out, hell, that was better than Stretch did. Then again, if he was gonna hold himself up to someone for a mental health comparison, Stretch was probably not the best candidate. Everyone knew that, ‘cept maybe Edge who was too busy trying not to let himself know how badly he wanted to get into those ugly pants to fondle some bones. That slow-motion train wreck was the main reason Sans turned Stretch down some months ago when he’d inquired about a quickie, more’s the pity.

Anyway.

Yeah, he was doing better, but even he couldn’t lie himself a fairytale and say he was happy. Fuck, what was happy, anyway?

All came down to the kid. Sans still wasn’t positive about Frisk, even if everything seemed all hunky dory, all of ‘em on the surface, seeing the sunsets and stargazing with real stars.

It all seemed like a pie and cake dream, but he knew what Stretch had gone through back in his own world. Some of Sans’s memories cracked open when they arrived, blurred snippets that matched the few scrawled notes he’d found in the basement. Yellow petals, the insanity of a high, sweet laugh.

Yeah, he’d known about the anomaly from his notebooks, but getting to remember anything of it was another level.

Not that any of ‘em really discussed it, fuck, no. The science behind it, sure, math and equations were sterile, safe. He, Red, and Stretch were bonafide experts at not talking, PhDs unite.

But being Judges gave them the unique perspective, dinnit. Looking into Stretch’s soul and seeing the guilt there, the sins that crawled up his spine about his brother and the Underswap kid…yeah. Unique perspective, that was one way to put it. Sans didn’t blame Stretch one bit for tucking the Judge away, boxing it up in the back of his skull, and refusing to see anymore. Talk about someone doing much better; when Stretch first got here, his soul was so fragile that Red tried to get Sans in on bet that he’d dust within a month. Sans hadn’t taken him up on it, but quietly thought he was right, watching with his own version of apathy that wasn’t much kinder than Red’s, waiting for him to fall down.

That he hadn’t was maybe the ‘Papyrus’ in him, because it sure as hell wasn’t the ‘Sans’, and Sans’s lack of effort to help him back then was a sin of his own waltzing along his backbone.

Stretch was doing a lot better these days, enough to argue with Edge with some pretty nasty zingers. Gossip around the Embassy was that those two finally had a date coming up, at the planetarium of all places. He hoped for all their sanity it went well.

Sanity, heh. He touched the card through his pocket, traced the edges of it. Doctor Lee, psychiatrist, specializing in Trauma and PTSD. A plain white card, the black letters glossy and embossed. He didn’t need to look at it, he remembered every word on it down to the phone number. He almost did anyway but a prickle along his senses made him pause.

Someone was following him.

Hm.

Interesting.

He could easily shortcut into the house, but where was the fun in that.

Instead, he kept trudging along, didn’t so much as change his pace. Passed a lady and her kiddo, gave ‘em a toothy smile. Walked on past Santa, the clown, the gnomes and the vampire flamingo as he headed in the house.

Before he even closed the door, hands were on him, shoving him backwards. Sans stumbled as the door swung shut, slamming hard, and his shoulders struck the smooth surface. Even without those gleaming crimson eye lights, he would’ve known those hands, sharp fingertips prickling through his t-shirt and against his ribs.

“heya sansy,” Red breathed against the side of his skull. “been missing me?”

“kinda a strange question since you were the one getting in some stalking practice.” Sans was pretty proud at how even his voice was considered the way Red was grinding their crotches together. “still need to log some hours before you can get certified?”

Hot breath couched in laughter gusted against his skull, making Sans shiver. “nah, i went pro years ago. but you gotta use a skill or you lose it, yeah?” Those sharp fingertips skimmed lower, down to wear his t-shirt was riding up to barely expose his iliac crest. “speakin’a practice, there’s a thing or three i might need some help with to keep my skill level up.”

He hadn’t been alone with Red since that time at the Gyftmas party and if this wasn’t getting his rocks off, then that memory was. Red pressed against his back, jerking him off, the cold siding of the house beneath his cheekbone and the thrilling fear of being caught.

“yeah? somethin’ you want some help with, huh.” Sans asked. He couldn’t quite achieve boredom, not with his crotch giving him away.

“yeah, been meaning to give my knees a good workout and if you help, i don’t get a crick in my neck.”

Sans exhaled shakily. Paps could be home any minute now, open the door with a jangle of keys, could catch Red blowing him right in their doormat with drool and come running down his chin. His bedroom was right upstairs, the bathroom, hell, the laundry room had a lock on the door.

All Sans said was, “you really want to go with short jokes?”

“can only work with the material you’ve got.”

Red didn’t drop to his knees so much as he slithered, pulling Sans’s shorts carelessly along for the ride. His dick got caught at the waistband and Sans winced as the fabric scraped along the head before it let loose, making his dick bob like a cork in a lake.

Wasn’t any time to bitch about it. Red swallowed him down in one gulp, the hot, velvety magic coating his mouth made Sans choke out a moan. He slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling the next one, but it became a groan of disappointment as Red pulled off.

“don’t you dare, sansy,” he snarled. Those crimson eye lights burned in the darkened foyer. “you let me hear every fucking whimper.”

“yes, boss, whatever you say, boss,” Sans snarked, but sarcasm was a lost cause when Red ducked his head again, a long tongue curling around his shaft. Fuck, so slippery tight, better than a hand. The sound that crept through Sans’s teeth was closer to a yowl and he felt the vibration of a hum of amusement.

Okay, yeah, Sans wasn’t past a little vindictiveness. He grabbed Red’s skull in both hands and jerked him down, thrusting in hard to nudge at the back of Red’s formed throat. Good plan in theory, but Red only swallowed him down easily, let Sans do it again, riding his face rougher than he’d usually dare.

Dimly, Sans could hear another slick sound, a counterpoint to the obscene glick that came with every thrust that glided past Red’s dangerously sharp teeth. He was jerking himself off, his shoulder moving with every stroke, and Red was moaning, shaky and low, deep in his throat and fuck, the feeling of it made Sans quiver down to his toes.

The first splash of come landed on Red’s tongue and he wrested away from Sans’s grip before the second could fall, his hand taking the place of his mouth as he stroked Sans through it, spurts of deep blue streaking across his t-shirt.

“fuck,” Sans croaked out, both in pleasure and dismay. “that’s gonna stain, you shit.”

“guess you’ll have to make a another thrift store run,” Red said with vindictive cheer. A thread of that same blue was running down his chin and Sans wiped it away before it could drip. Red watched, eye lights narrowing as Sans licked that droplet from his finger, tasting the sharp sourness of his own magic.

“that what you wanted?” Sans asked, all false politeness and solicitude. For a long moment there was no answer, only Red staring at him with those demon eye lights.

“yeah, sure,” Red said finally, almost absently distracted. “thanks for the good time, see ya around.”

It was only when Red vanished that Sans got a good look at his own feet and saw the splashes of crimson on his sneakers.

That fucker came on his shoes and didn’t even offer to get him a towel.

Outrage was out of reach and Sans only laughed helplessly, sliding down the door until he was slumped on the floor, shorts around his ankles, his shirt soaked with his own jizz and his shoes dripping with someone else’s.

That card was digging in to his ankle and Sans pulled it out with a wince. It was wrinkled, the card stock creased, but it was still legible.

You could be really happy, if you wanted to. I know you can.

His brother would be home soon, might see him like this, might already know what was going on, Paps was so smart and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d hid his disappointment in Sans behind loud indignation. What was going on? Who the fuck knew, Red’s mind was a maze and Sans was shit at puzzles.

Happy. Could be happy. Maybe.

Sans sighed and pulled out his phone.

-finis-

#kustard #spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

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sylvesterelle · 4 years

Text

He’d endured pain in his life. More than his fair share.

But there was no pain like this.

When Palpatine tore the life force from their bond, it wasn’t just his pain he was feeling; a sensation all too familiar, one he’d trained himself to block out. It was also her pain. Her suffering, like a phantom limb, tearing through him with all the force in the world.

He could feel it searing through her joints, feel her teeth crack as her jaw clenched too tight. He felt every atom of her scream out in pain, and his, too.

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? What happens when all the power of the dark side tries to break a pair that was never meant to be apart, a soul that was never made to be two?

Read on Ao3

He could feel the edges of his vision white out, but Ben Solo fought to hold on. He’d just found himself again, found her again. He didn’t want to let go. Not like this, not ever.

But how could he fight this? This was elemental. But so were they.

Before Ben could finish the thought, Palpatine released his hold on the pair and let them fall to the ground, puppets cut from their strings.

But there was still one tie left.

Ben could feel her, fainter than she’d ever been since that first day in the forest. His body was screaming at him, broken and bloodied on the stone ground. Movement seemed like a far off dream, and he could only catch a glimpse of her arm wraps, stained dark, and the curve of hand where it’d landed so close—but not close enough.

But behind it all, behind the pain, behind the fear, he could still feel her. A dual pulse in his blood, a gravity he’d long since stopped fighting.

Over the remnants of the bond, he heard her voice.

Ben.

He felt a spark in his chest, fighting against the pain.

Rey.

Warmth bloomed across the bond, tinted as it was with pain and the near-separation that would have undone them both.

Gritting his teeth, Ben pulled on every last reserve of strength he had. Every bit of anger, every bit of pain, yes, but also the love. For his parents, for Rey, for the hope she’d given him when he thought all way lost.

He drew on it all, dug deeper into his very bones, and felt his fingers twitch.

An inch, maybe two. That’s all he needed.

If he died, he would die with his hand in hers. And, well, if somehow he survived this, it would be with her too.

He felt the dirt brush against the back of his hand, gravel digging into open wounds. Closer.

In the back of his head he heard Palpatine, saw a flash of lightening ripping into the sky.

It could wait. It would have to wait.

His fight was over. Only she remained. And he’d come to far to fail now.

Wish a last push, his fingers brushed against hers, and it was like a thousand suns dying at once.

Where there had once been visions, now he saw only light. It was like looking into the Force itself, the whole of it, all at once.

Her fingers tightened around his, and he heard her voice once more.

Be with me.

I’m here.

He could feel her pulse of amusement, however improbable.

No, Ben. Not you.

She squeezed his hand weakly, just once.

And he understood.

With the last of his strength, Ben dropped his defenses, built from youth. Let all the noise of the world rush in, let the Force he saw pour through him, instead of trying to rip his way through as he had so often before.

It hurt, nearly as much as the bond. But it was a good hurt, a fire he welcomed—it cleansed as it burned. And there was Rey, guiding him through it as she once promised she would. Prompting him, gently.

Be with me, he called.

Her voice joined in.

Be with me.

Their fingers gripped with renewed strength.

Be with us.

Where there were two voices, more appeared. Dozens, then hundreds.

Be with us.

Some she recognized, he could tell through the bond. The stormtrooper, he thought. Finn. And the pilot.

The chorus grew.

Be with us.

And these voices he knew.

His mother, her voice. He’d never thought he’d hear it again. He felt the spark within his chest grow as she lent him her strength.

There was Luke, too. And Obi-Wan, and Yoda--who he’d never met, but heard enough stories that they felt as familiar to him as the others.

They were all there, his family, past and present.

And one more.

Ben.

The voice called out to him alone.

You know what you must do.

Ben choked back a sob, the motion sending pain through his broken ribs.

All the years he’d spent praying to hear that voice. Screaming out for help, for guidance. For a voice in the dark to tell him he was on the right path.

You can end this story, Ben.

You know what you must do.

He nodded, a tear falling down his cheek.

He’d known the second he laid eyes on her. Whatever their fate, it would be tied together. Whatever the future of the force, they would be its herald.

Yes, Grandfather.

From out of the dark came one last voice—more familiar than the rest.

Go get ‘em, kid.

At once, he felt the voices combine into a single note, ringing louder than any sound in the galaxy. As it built to a frenzied crescendo he fought the urge to cover his ears, knowing it would do no good.

It was a living sound, and it burned brightly in the space between their interlocked fingers, growing until it encompassed their hands. All at once it burst, and he felt it flood through his body, the energy, the light. Felt Rey experience the same.

They knew what they had to do.

As one, they rose from the ground, hands still clasped.

Their lightsabers appeared in their opposite hands, where none had been a moment ago.

Together, they lit their weapons, the combined glow forcing back the shadows of Palpatine’s lightning.

Lightning he turned on them with a snarl, crackling through the cavern and leaving the scent of ozone in its wake.

Their blades hummed as they crossed in front of them, throwing off sparks in every direction. The vibration of the impact sent shudders down the wrist holding the blade, threatening to give out.

But he held on.

He felt more than heard Rey scream next to him—not in pain, but the battle cry he had memorized from that night in the woods.

He leaned forward, pushing all his weight against the lightening that threatened to overwhelm them.

Together, they took a step forward.

Turning the lightening back towards the Emperor, forcing him to endure the power he created.

They took another step.

And another.

Ben could feel the tide of power turning, overwhelming its master.

He heard his soul’s voice in his mind, her strength kindling through him.

It’s time, Ben. Let’s end this.

With one final surge, they pushed back as one, against the man who had killed their families, threatened their friends, who would have them trapped in darkness, who would tear them apart as if they weren’t born to be together.

The light fractured as their sabers gave one last pulse, burning with power enough to collapse a planet, or end an Emperor. The cavern fractured above them, stones raining from the ceiling as the man who was once Palpatine exploded in the burst of light, his very being unmade by their power.

A life-force, he had called it.

To give, and to take away.

As darkness settled in the cavern, Ben and Rey Solo sunk to their knees. The lightsabers clattered to the floor, kyber crystals irrevocably damaged.

In the light of the burning star destroyers above, Ben could see nothing but her face. His love. His heart.

Her eyes were wide, mouth parted as she panted for air. He could see the blood trailing from her eyebrow and couldn’t help but reach out to wipe it away, cradling her face in one broad palm.

“Ben,” she whispered, both in his ear and in his mind.

She wrapped her hand around his wrist, turning into his palm. She mirrored his gesture, endlessly gentle as she cupped her hand around his cheek, wiping away a stray tear he hadn’t realized was falling.

Her pulled her near, pressing their foreheads together as he closed his eyes, overwhelmed with feeling.

“I know, I know Ben,” she said, gripping tighter “I feel it too.”

He opened his eyes to see her staring up at him, and he didn’t have a name for what he saw there. Like he was hope. Like he was possibility. Like he was the answer to all the questions of family she’d ever dreamed to ask.

Like she wasn’t all that to him, and more.

His eyes flicked down to her lips, running a thumb across the cut that marred them. Characteristically impatient, Rey pushed forward, closing the gap between them that was never meant to exist.

And Ben didn’t see visions. He didn’t see Force.

He just saw her, burning with the brightness that had kept her alive all these years, that had led him to her, that he knew he would follow the rest of his days.

His twin flame, the savior of his soul.

Rey.

#ben solo #reylo #TROS fix it #tros #tros spoilers #bendemption

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jenovahh · 4 years

Text

The Honey Pot - 2

This was originally titled “Black Rose” but i’ve finally settled on a title \o/

===========================================================

“They’re making you go after who?!”

You wince slightly at your friend’s shrill scream of outrage, bowing slightly in apology to the other customers in the restaurant.

“Lyse, you really need to keep your voice down,” You try to hush her, pushing her bowl of noodles a bit closer to her person. Her sparkling blue eyes are aflame in anger, hand roughly snatching the bowl so quickly that broth sloshes onto the table. Her blonde hair is tied up high in a ponytail, her police uniform clean and pressed.

“How can I be quiet when they are having you do such a high level mission?!” She snarls, all but shoving her chopsticks into her food.

“Really Lyse, her captain wouldn’t have given her the assignment if she didn’t think she wasn’t capable.” Y’shtola chimes in, ever the calm to Lyse’s occasional hotheadedness. “Though I must admit, I have my reservations...” She trails off, brows furrowing. “Also, could you tell me where my chopsticks are?”

“Three o’ clock.” You and Lyse reply, to which the Miqo’te woman thanks you. Though blind, Y’shtola was a nurse at a local hospital, and though she did not work directly with you and Lyse, you had often bumped into her enough times on calls to make her acquaintance. With delicate hands, she picks up her chopsticks and begins to eat.

“Look guys,” you begin, taking a sip of your soda, “I’m nervous too, but like ‘Shtola said, I don’t think the captain would give me this mission if she didn’t believe in me.” Picking up your chopsticks as well, you lightly stir the noodles in the broth, resting your chin on your free hand. “Besides...if this mission goes well, imagine what it could mean for me in the long run? A promotion? Climbing up the ranks?”

“A promotion? In this economy?” Lyse snorts, pausing to slurp up some more noodles. “According to the files, no one even really knows much about the guy’s son anyway and they’re just throwing you in there on a hunch! You said in the reports that this Zenos guy right,”

Y’shtola has to stop herself from clapping a hand over her friend’s stupid mouth. “Lyse! Be careful!” She hisses, tail frizzing up.

“What else am I supposed to call him? We don’t know shit about him right?” Lyse defends, pointing her utensils at the riled Miqo’te. “They are feeding our friend to the wolves Y’shtola! I have a right to give the captain a piece of my mind,” You stop your friend’s tirade by reaching across the table and flicking her square in the forehead. “Ow! What did you do that for?!” She whines, rubbing at the offended spot.

“Lyse, while I appreciate your concern,” you begin diplomatically, giving her a small smile, “I’m not worried about this mission at all. In fact I’m a little excited.” You admit, your smile growing wider.

“Only someone as crazy as yourself would be eager to go fight the son of a crime lord...” Lyse grumbles, not at all hiding her pout. “Regardless, you promise to be careful, won’t you?” Y’shtola presses, her voice leaving no room for argument.

“Of course ‘Shtola. I would never be anything less.” You grin, steering the conversation onto easier, more pleasant topics such as Y’shtola’s relationship with her boyfriend Runar and Lyse fending off coworkers who can’t take no for an answer.

The next day finds you back at headquarters preparing for a debriefing. Your name is no longer yours it feels like, being written away like that one movie you watched as a kid. Honey is the name you are given, and though it is a bit masculine, you find yourself unable to care. It isn’t your name, and that’s what matters.

“So, Honey, here’s how we’re going to weasel you into the crime underworld.” Merlwyb’s voice carries clearly in the room, Raubahn sitting casually at his desk, but his eyes are as hard as ever. You turn your eyes to the projection on the wall, showcasing the Rakuza District. It’s certainly not the seediest place in the city, but even you wouldn’t go out of your way to go there.

“Word on the street is every once in awhile, you can catch a few decent brawls down there. Simple stuff, some petty gangs getting together to strut their stuff. None of them are anywhere near the level Varis is on in terms of their ‘goods’, but still they attract Zenos’ attention all the same.” The slide shuffles over to a seemingly abandoned warehouse. “Rumor has it that Zenos himself has been known to grace these lowlives with his presence in hopes of a challenge.”

“You’ll be working closely with another operative, whose code name is Thancred. We’ve had him slithering into a low level gang called the Marauders; all they do is petty crime. Break into a few jewelry stores, rob some gas stations. My twelve year old could take on these chumps.” She scoffs in disdain, complete with an eye roll. “We could clean these guys off the streets any day. But what matters is they’re our in; you’re going to join them under the guise of being a new recruit. Showing up on your own would look too suspicious.” She crosses her long arms pinning you with her stare. “I’m sure you understand that you must use whatever means necessary to catch his attention.”

You definitely catch what she’s implying, and resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Hopefully he’s just interested in a good fight and nothing else.” You sigh, shifting in your seat. Merlwyb nods and gestures to Raubahn, who then speaks.

“We want you to look the part, play the part as much as possible. Don’t worry about any small theft or crime they have you participate in; it’ll be cleared from your record. We need you to be as convincing as possible. These people are smart Honey, the top of their class. Do what you must to get the info, but most importantly do what you must to stay alive.”

You nod in understanding, releasing a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You are moved to a new apartment on a different side of town from your own, given a different car, a different ID, a different wardrobe.

You wonder if it’d be too much to ask them to let you keep it all. After all your thighs do look amazing in fishnet tights and tight leather shorts, a snug leather vest sitting just so under your breasts atop a red tanktop. Your favorite fighting gloves adorned your hands; the only real leather you owned prior to this whole operation. With your combat boots and some black eyeliner, you finished off what you hoped was a bad girl look. You had binged on a few movies to try and get the look as close as possible.

“Hey baby, how you doin?”

Well it seemed to get the “right” attention anyway. The first few weeks at the Marauders are surprisingly uneventful, the hideout seeming restless as if waiting for some action. Sure enough Merlwyb’s words ring true. They’re nowhere near the level of crime that the Galvuses are. It’s just a group of big, burly men and women acting tough, Maetifyst heralding as their leader. He’s certainly the biggest and burliest of them all, and Thancred warns you to steer clear of him at all costs.

You do your best to hold your own, not at all trained in matters of espionage. You decide that aloof and mysterious is the best persona to take on; aloof to the point of oddity. That strangeness seems to give you a negative reputation in the gang, though it is soon bolstered with respect when you start winning your first infights. The members of the gang are all worse than amateurs compared to your training, with zero combat experience and used to simply throwing their weight around at whoever pisses them off. There are a few who approach you in challenge, thinking themselves bigger and smarter, only for you to send them packing and running to get patched up with their tail between their legs.

It is your talent however, that puts you right in the way of Maetifyst.

“You’re tough lil’ cookie ain’t cha?” The Roegadyn’s green skin somehow glows warmly in the light of his makeshift office, looking deceptively decent somehow in this abandoned warehouse. Dressed in a stark black suit and his hair styled upwards, he certainly carries himself as the boss. “Checkin’ up on new recruits ain’t much to me. All I need is muscle who will do as they’re told. You however...” his eyes run across you in a way that had you not needed to be undercover, your fist would be through his chest. “You might be just what we need.”

You pause for a moment to tilt your head. “Need for what?” You ask, playing the innocent doe.

“Tell me girl, have you ever heard of the Galvuses?” His voice his hushed now, his hand reaching to pour himself a glass of whiskey from a nearby bottle. He gently grabs a nearby glass, pouring the liquor smoothly until it is half full.

You take another moment to pause before answering. “You mean like the businessmen?” You question, watching as the man smirks.

“Aye, the businessmen. ‘Cept they ain’t no businessmen. They’s some right crooks, that they are.” He chortles, swirling the liquor in its glass. “The Galvuses have little people like us under their heel yeah? Might shock ya to know, but they’re actual crime bosses; like the ones in the movies.” He reclines in his chair, knocking back the whole glass and slamming it on the table when he’s done. “And we’re sick of ‘em.”

You lean forward slightly to show your interest. “Do they...bully you or something?” You ask, wincing at your choice of words. Maetifyst seems to not notice, instead bellowing in laughter, eyes twinkling with mirth.

“S’pose you could say that huh?” He chuckles, crossing one leg over the other. “When it comes to crime in Kugane, we answer to them in a way. Ya see we deal in DVDs, watches, even some cheap drugs on the side. But it’s not the real stuff. It ain’t Black Rose.”

You do your best to hide your spike of interest, fighting to remain aloof as Maetifyst just gives himself away. He must really want you to worm your way into the Galvuses’ gang to be giving away this info for free. “Black Rose...isn’t that,”

“It’s the good stuff.” He chuckles. “Students love the shit, yeah? For awhile the Galvuses had a monopoly on the stuff, but seems like they got a bit too big for their britches if ya catch my drift. I got in contact with a fellow gang called the Gunbreakers and they been cookin’ up some equally good shit. It’s been bringin’ in some real money for us.” Opening a drawer at his desk he pulls out a cigar, accompanied by a lighter. “However, them Galvuses ain’t too keen on us pushin’ in on their turf. Things been tense lately. But with you...” He trails off, giving you a once over again.

“If I can get you to catch Zenos yae Galvus’ attention with skills like yours, you just may be our in.” He sneers, taking a long drag from the cigar. “Not to say I don’t like havin’ ya around, but we could probably trade ya for some corners. I wouldn’t worry much about it. I know they treat folks good over there, with all the cash they got.”

You can’t hold back your snort fast enough, fumbling to recover. “Me? Good enough to get in with the Galvus line?” You do your best to come off as incredulous as possible, hoping he buys your slip up. The irony of the situation is not lost on you.

“Now’s not the time to act humble kid. My fightin’ days may be over, but even I can tell you wreck shop.” He takes another long drag, blowing out smoke into the stuffy office. “The Galvuses keep their crew tight. Don’t replace their ranks unless one of them ‘leaves’ if you catch my drift. Your opportunity comes this weekend, where we’ll be putting you in their little tournament. Climb to the top and snag the attention of the Galvus’ lines higher ups. If they like ya enough, maybe they’ll send one of their boys on their way out.”

“Just like that, huh?” You question, trying not to huff at Maetifyst’s easy grin.

“Just like that.”

#zenos #zenos yae galvus #FFXIV #ff14 #Final Fantasy XIV #THP

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letstalksymphogear · 5 years

Text

Symphogear, Ep. 6 (Cont.)

Hibiki, having seen a horror upon horrors, immediately asks Tsubasa if she’s okay. Tsubasa points out she’s a hospital patient, why would you ask this question, you insensitive prick. Hibiki points to the following scene:

Now, you may be asking yourself. “How does a formerly comatose person who is now bedridden on an IV drip manage to do this much damage?” Simply put, Tsubasa has a very chaotic aura. She doesn’t even have to take stuff out of her room; the places she goes to just naturally wind up like this. It’s a metaphor for how much of an absolute mess this person is simply by existing.

“l-look i just- its hard to organize things and- im more of a visual person and-”

“BITCH YOU LIVE LIKE THIS?”

Hibiki unwittingly gets her revenge on Tsubasa. She doesn’t realize it, but her lecturing Tsubasa on what an absolute mess every facet of her life is could possibly be heralded as her lowest point in the entire series.

No, wait. Thinking about it now, this is her second lowest. We won’t see her lowest until GX comes along.

“hibiki, every single bone in my body is broken, you dont have to break my pride too”

Hibiki, being an absolute darling, actually picks up Tsubasa’s mess. This is more than she can say about her own messes.

“haha, miku usually does this for me! wait- wait a minute.”

“i dont get it. i tried to kill you. i tormented and ignored you. i refused to help you for months. i failed to train you on any facet of combat as your senior. i nearly let you get kidnapped and, failing that, nearly killed myself while making you watch, which ALSO didnt help you not get kidnapped aside from scaring the shit out of that weird lady. why are you... helping me?”

“because either we’re going to be very good friends or im going to toss you out the window personally!”

“oh god, that aggression screams kanade. i cant not like her.”

Absolutely annihilated. Just kick her while she’s down in her Taco Bell spiral of humiliation and self-discovery, Hibiki.

“it’s okay, tsubasa! you may be a terminal dumbass, but im sure if we all work together, we can share our braincells and become collectively smarter, for each other!”

“interesting theory. how many ya got?”

“ZERO!”

They trade the kind of banter two people with 0 brain cells would have and then Tsubasa points out Hibiki is doing a great job in her place.

“hey hey HEY HOLD THE PHONE IVE LEARNED MY LESSON IM NOT TRYING TO REPLACE YOU OKAY IM NOT YOU, IM JUST HIBIKI, DOING HER JOB, ALRIGHT”

Meanwhile, in the library, Miku is looking at books, as she does what she says she’s gonna do, unlike a certain other person cavorting with cute idols.

“The Gay Way: How to Get Your Same Sex Relationship Back On Track, by Dr. Lesbe Honest. wow, this one is right up my alley.”

Okay, I’m gonna be honest with you. I literally forgot they show you the title in this. Imagine my face when I made up that title on the spot only to be hit with this little number. Holy shit, Symphogear. There’s this thing called subtlety. I’m begging you. We get it.

OH, AND IT GETS BETTER, BECAUSE

THE AUTHOR OF THE BOOK IS THE WRITER OF THE SHOW

IT’S LITERALLY GOT HIS NAME ON IT

THIS IS THE EQUIVALENT OF WRITING A STORY AND THEN INSERTING A BOOK CALLED “LEARN THE PLOT” WRITTEN BY YOU, IN UNIVERSE

KANEKO STOP THIS BALONEY, PLEASE

AND LIKE FUCKING CLOCKWORK SHE JUST- SHE TURNS HER HEAD AWAY FROM THE BOOK TITLED “THIS IS THE PLOT MOTIF” BY “AUTHOR” AND THEN FUCKING

SHE CONVENIENTLY LOOKS OVER TO THE DISTANCE

AND SHE SEES HIBIKI WITH THE HOT IDOL MIKU WAS INTO, THAT THEY WERE BOTH A FAN ON, AND SHE’S JUST CHILLING THERE AND MIKU WAS TOLD HIBIKI’S ON SERIOUS BUSINESS

AND THE HOSPITAL QUARTERS ARE SOMEHOW CONVENIENTLY CONNECTED TO THE FUCKING LIBRARY ON FULL DISPLAY BECAUSE GOD KNOWS EVERYONE IN A LIBRARY HAS TO WATCH SICK PEOPLE DIE IN REAL TIME

AND NOW MIKU IS THINKING “OH MY FUCKING GOD IM BEING CHEATED ON” AND HER FEELINGS ARE HURT FOR THIS TOTALLY CONTRIVED FUCKING COINCIDENCE

AND SHE’S ALL “BOO HOO HOO I’VE BEEN NTR’D! THIS WAS A CUCKING PLOT THIS WHOLE TIME! WOE IS ME!” FUCK YOU. THIS IS THE WORST. THIS IS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE WHY WOULD YOU- WHY DO YOU EVEN NEED TO SET THIS UP? THERE’S SO MANY BETTER WAYS TO DO THIS!

AND SHE’S JUST STARING BACK AT THE BOOK WRITTEN BY THE SAME ASSHOLE WHO WROTE THIS ENTIRE DAMN SCENARIO IN THE FIRST PLACE, AN EVIL GOD MOCKING HIS SUBJECTS IN THE FACE OF SCRUTINY FOR DRAMA WITH THE MOST CLICHE LOVE NOTES IN A GODDAMNED SOAP OPERA

AND HIBIKI IS NONE

THE

FUCKING

WISER

SYMPHOGEAR SURE IS GREAT, HUH? I SURE DO LOVE SYMPHOGEAR WITH ALLLLLL MY HEART. WHAT A WELL WRITTEN MASTERPIECE! FUCKING BELONGS IN THE FUCKING MOMA!!!!!

Okay. Okay. Let’s get that out of our system. The worst is over. This is the, uh, crescendo of the bad side plot as it inevitably sets itself on the road to resolution. I’m not going to have an aneurysm. My brain is not going to split itself in half. We’re good. I swear, we’re good.

Tsubasa, meanwhile, wants to understand why Hibiki fights, wrestling with the Da Vinci code that is her own emotions. She points out the fight against the Noise isn’t a game, and it ain’t no comic book bullshit either. It’s real, it’s out there, and it’s not pretty yet easily marketable as cute mascots. And what does our protagonist say? No making it up, she literally says:

“i dunno”

Not a damn brain cell in her body, but props for keeping it real. I’d likely say the same thing.

This is the face of someone currently sucking air through their teeth at the raw frustration that someone would be dumb enough to risk their life for the sake of only helping others.

“listen. im gonna keep it real here. i suck at literally everything. math. social studies. writing. helping people is all i have, because its not a competition. you just... you do it. you dont get better at helping people, you just help. like, thats it. i dunno what else to tell you.”

Then Hibiki points out that she feels it all started with Kanade saving her, and the speech implies its a ‘pay it forward’ sort of affair. She was saved, and so she should save others. Unfortunately, it comes off more as a guilt complex. “I lived, and I feel bad about that, so I gotta save everyone else” kind of stuff.

“its my coping mechanism for my countless traumas!”

“i get it now. you’re just as much of a mess as i am. you just dont show it as much. that kinda thinking’s gonna get you killed.”

Tsubasa then correctly points out that it is a kind of survivor’s guilt, where she wants to be released from the pain of old wounds, completely unaware of the irony of her statement.

“yeah. i get ya. we’re both wrecks. but... we can be wrecks working together.”

This would be the part where she says I’M SORRY but apparently we just don’t fucking do apologies in Symphogear, huh? Too good for ‘em, eh?! God.

Then they go outside and talk more about stuff and Durandal. The summation:

“do you have the capacity to live a life forever kicking ass?”

“yeah”

Hibiki, coming to terms with how she wants to deal with shit, manages to sharpen (haw) her resolve as to who she is and how she uses her abilities.

Meanwhile...

youtube

“i cant believe hibiki is having an affair with an attractive idol popstar. especially my favorite one from their old band. not only is she cheating on me, but she’s cheating on me from one of the five people on my lists id immediately get with if i had the chance. it feels like a double betrayal. a real life one, and a fantasy one... why do i find this weirdly hot...?”

“HEY NEWCOMER WELCOME TO THE CUCK AND BUCK WHERE WE SELL FRESHLY FRIED CUCKS FOR ONE BUCK, REAL EASY, REAL CHEAP, GOOD OL’ FASHIONED JAPANESE SOULFOOD”

“ive come to take my throne. i’ll take the ‘one flew over the cuckoo’s nest” and have the three eggs over easy with the ‘easy sleazy pancakes’”

“make it an extra lonely helping. this is gonna be a long afternoon.”

“ahhh. a freshly cucked newcomer coming to the cuck and buck to duck amongst their bad luck run amok, huh?”

“listen dont sass me about my busy girlfriend with your dr. seuss antics just gimmie the food and lets get this over with”

“no problem! sorry, they just come easy. it’s hard to buck at the cuck and buck when rhymes you huck make you wanna fu-”

“FOOD. NOW.”

Miku then ponders about how her feelings may have spiraled from a process of over thinking, or possibly hunger. Maybe both. Maybe Hibiki isn’t cheating on her. Maybe the reasons are more complicated than she knows. She briefly contemplates communication; a futile gesture when it is Hibiki safeguarding a secret she is forced to keep for incredibly stupid reasons.

“thanks for the food, miss. it really helped sort my feelings out.”

“no probs, kid. here at the cuck and buck, the only thing we cuck here is... our hearts.”

Meanwhile, Hibiki is still hanging with Tsubasa. Hey, if you’re gonna hang out with a critically acclaimed popstar, might as well squeeze every minute out of it, right?

“so... taco bell, huh? im surprised you actually like taco bell now. maybe you just like fast food styled psuedo-mexican restraunts? have you tried chipotle?”

“i... maybe you’re right, actually. i’ve grown to love taco bell, but... maybe i should expand my horizons. kanade did say... singing makes you hungry. maybe thats what she meant. i should take to new life experiences...”

“yeah! i can take you to all the good fast food places i know!”

“dont you have a girlfriend?”

“she can join us! she’s a big fan of you after all!”

“hey- hey wait! m- more friends? more... more friends... more friends.....”

“more friends...”

Meanwhile, a crisis develops.

Chris, having heard the f-word (friendship), is heading immediately to do the exact opposite of this.

She’s taken some pointers from Tsubasa, t-posing to assert dominance.

“how the fuck is she even flying”

“i cant wait to tell hibiki how much i love and appreciate her despite the weird NTR aura surrounding this whole situation”

“yeah, that’s right! i’m meeting the Gremlin in the park for an asskicking, don’t worry!”

“oh, speak of the devil! hibiki! i love and appreciate you despite the weird ntr auras!”

“miku- wait. oh no. i saw this happen in sam reimi’s spiderman 3. im fucked.”

“YOU GUESSED CORRECTLY, PIDGEON BANGS”

I know I’ve joked about homewrecking, but this is ridiculous.

Chris realizes there’s someone else around she may have potentially hurt. This is surprising, given murder is not something she has shyed away from, but she’s slowly climbing that ladder of morality, so cut her some slack for taking it one rung at a time.

“im losing my girl. losing my grip. now im about to lose my life. this NTR business truly is the worst.”

Chris has accidentally employed the Dio Brando style of disposing of people, which consists of throwing a vehicle and smashing them until dead.

“you’ve taken one step too close to my heartstrings, Gremlin, and for that you’re about to understand the full definition of an ass kicking.”

Hibiki fucking punches the car. Everything is forgiven in this episode for now.

“i... hibiki... are you... a street fighter character? holy shit. oh my god. hibiki oh my god you’re a street fighter character. thats been the true problem here. you’re a street fighter character now. oh my god. cheating? how could i have thought cheating was involved? you were literally just becoming a straight up superhero! oh my god. the abs! the washboard abs! the signs were all around me! the only thing you went to do behind my back was kick ass!”

“i’m sorry. i need to go kick ass now.”

The good news is all that tension just got evaporated. Miku sorta gets the truth now: her girlfriend hasn’t been cheating on her, she’s just been trying to save the local tri-county area from the grips of inter-dimensional alien eldritch entities controlled by a Gremlin and her Mistress. It’s a lot to take in, though.

These two are about to fight head to head. Last time, Hibiki was but the pupil. Now, she is the Master.

“can’t touch me, goldie locks. lemme do you a favor and CRACK THAT WHIP!”

“oh my god hibiki’s gonna fight that weird looking person”

“naruto running deeper into the woods isn’t gonna stop me from beating your ass senseless, fists for brains”

“thats because i wanna talk, asshole”

“wait. wait, what? you... you want to talk? to me?”

Hibiki proceeds to aggressively describe herself to her. Name, identity, blood type, age, the works. This is because she’s trying to befriend her, because Hibiki feels fighting people is bad, and that talking is more useful than fighting. This is a recipe for suicide, normally, but in this instance...

“what in the goddamn hell... i... um... nice.. to meet you...?”

Hibiki deploys a counter-T-Pose to show kinship, feeling that they don’t have to fight like this since they’re not Noise.

“talk may be cheap but it’ll make kicking your ass all the more easier, nerd”

Chris learns this, in fact, does not make the ass kicking all the more easier. Hibiki’s fresh new moves manage to dodge whip after whip of Chris’s attacks, and it’s really starting to annoy her a lot.

“pain in the ass. so you learned how to fight, huh? fine. you’ll tire out eventually.”

“let’s just talk, seriously! or maybe we can bond over board games-”

“i FUCKING hate board games. the fuck are you, a grandma? just fight already! people cant understand each other anyway!”

“JUST DIE ALREADY!”

“i was told to kidnap you. but im exerting a loophole today; no one told me to do it alive”

“the only kidnapping going down is me, sleeping in on a thursday afternoon forgetting class exists, you neon porcupine. so come at me. can’t kick me ass if you dont come any closer, right?”

“WITH PLEASURE!”

“ive watched the entirety of dragonball z, i know exactly how this fight’s gonna go down”

“finally. looks like i got y- hey, wait, what?”

“ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY JANKING MY LEG? THIS BITCH IS LITERALLY GOKU? PULLING KAMEHAMEHAS AND SHIT? WHY? god. its me. yukine chris. why do you hate me. why do you drag me through all this shit only to be hit in the head with some real anime baloney. why. please. have some mercy.”

“i dont know what a goku is but sure, yeah, why not”

“im going to kill her. oh my god. she doesnt even know who goku is.”

“get that tentacle shit away from me. im not fucking around anymore. we’re going to have a heart to heart whether you like it or not!”

“oh shit she found my weakness. really close melee combat.”

“MADE A FRIENDSHIP GIFT FOR YA. IT’S A FRESHLY MADE KNUCKLE SANDWICH, STRAIGHT FROM THE DELI”

“OH GOD, PLEASE, NOT MY FACE”

“REQUEST ACCEPTED, PAL”

Hibiki punched her so hard that she physically destroyed the entire armor Chris was wearing in a single blow.

“she... she doesnt punch ME like that... i mean, probably because she loves me, but..”

“did... did she just kill that person...? hibiki...? you, uh... you alright...?”

#symphogear #recap #comedy #anime #a lot of cuck was said here

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dolphinitley · 5 years

Text

Jacob Seed/F!Deputy Fic

“Love Like Revenge”

Chapter 4

Word count: 2,499

Full work on AO3

Summary: In this chapter we learn about Jacob and Dep’s pasts, as well as the deputy’s real name! Also they kiss for the first time!

Constructive criticism and comments are very welcome!

Tagging @theeonlyroman @colorguardian18 @flyawayturtle @farcrying5 @zacklover24 @sassenach-on-the-rocks @theromanianbookworm @afeverxlongingstill @mmechromancer @jacobmybeloved @jacobseedswife @theatmmmmm @liilaac @deputyoneill @jacobsrook

Rook woke up on her couch alone late in the morning. She pondered if last night was real or a dream. The Wolf came to her house, made her dinner, cried with her, apologized to her, and slept with her.

But that didn’t change the fact that he was still leading the PEG military. He was still part of an organization that kidnapped and killed non supporters without provocation. He still sponsored The Cook who butchered and burned families in front of each other.

When Rook lived in her hometown in Missouri, she would have consulted her best friend about her romantic life. However, if she were still in Missouri, she probably wouldn’t be having feelings for a killer. She wouldn’t be a killer.

Her new friends here in Montana understood her recent behavior that would seem horrific to people back home. Rook found great friendships in Hudson and Jess, but knew neither of them would condone her feelings for Jacob.

When she moved to Montana a couple of months ago, she intended to keep a low profile. She didn’t expect to make real friends or make a life here, but she did.

When Rook earned her master’s in criminal justice, she didn’t expect to be fighting a war against a militant cult.

When she began working as a detective in Minnesota, she didn’t expect to be killing zombie-like Angels.

When she was assigned to go undercover in Hope County, she didn’t expect to be the heralded catalyst of the end of the world.

But all of these things, she did.

Her exceptional performance as a detective in Minnesota drew the admiration of the U.S. Marshall Service. However, it also drew death threats from criminals she’d once put away. The USMS’s solution for this was to relocate her to Montana to investigate mysterious disappearances in Hope County. She was to take on the role of an unassuming rookie for Whitehorse and learn about PEG.

The USMS sent Burke in too early. They didn’t listen to her when she said that PEG was too strong for one squad to take on. With or without her, the squad was going to the compound, so she figured she might as well go and help any way she could. That was her first mistake.

That’s what she thought about when the helicopter was going down and when she was killing dozens of Peggies from the passenger seat of the getaway truck Burke drove. Then it was too late to escape Hope County, and she was in it too deep.

She trusted Dutch so quickly. She became a tool for him so easily. She wanted to rescue her team from the Seeds, but a lot of shit got in the way.

Rook was a natural leader, but didn’t enjoy being called a hero. She didn’t want to be deified. She just wanted to do the right thing. Her exposure to the Bliss and gruesome battle made her judgement more clouded over time. She had been trained to kill, but in Hope killing is quick and on a massive scale. It was war and it gave her scars.

She thought she’d be stronger than this. Life would never go back to the way it was before Hope. You can’t just fall back into your old life after war. The person who understood this more than anyone was Jacob. He was smart and strong enough to survive anything.

Since Rook left Hope County, she’d been working on her report to send to her sergeant from the USMS. When she finally sent it in, she made the call.

“It’s a relief to hear from you, Anderson,” the sergeant said. It was strange and comforting to hear someone use her real last name for the first time in weeks. “Your report is impressive. Good work.” This phrase reminded her of Jacob’s praise after she killed Eli, and she clenched her teeth.

“Thanks.”

“I wish I could say your assignment is over and that you can go home, but it’s still not safe for you in Missouri.”

Rook gave a disappointed sigh. She missed her family so much. “I understand.”

“I wish I could offer you some kind of treatment, but the budget has been cut again. Our resources are drying up. I don’t even think we can send a team into Hope County to deal with Eden’s Gate. Just stay where you are and relax. I’ll call you in a few months when it’s safe again. Take care of yourself Detective.”

“You too Serge.”

A few days later is was Rook who called Jacob in the morning.

“I’m standing in my kitchen right now, looking out the window, and there’s a Judge wolf who literally barked Tommy up a tree.”

“And you haven't shot it yet?”

“Hey, I’m doing a courtesy to you by letting you know. Anyway, I’m not going to waste ammo on it. I thought Judges were supposed to be obedient, soldier. Don’t tell me you sent it up here just to get my attention.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Dep.” She could hear his smile in his tone. “It’ll be dealt with within the hour.”

Forty minutes later, Jacob’s truck came rumbling up her gravel driveway. She watched his tall and confident figure get out of the truck. Jacob sounded his dog whistle to summon the Judge to its kennel in the back of the truck. Rook felt pity for the poor wolf that now had to live as a Judge, and she didn’t like that Jacob was the person who made it that way. But, she still admired how strong he looked, how focused and blue his eyes were, and his unique red hair and beard. Despite everything she’s seen, Rook knew that there was a good man in Jacob.

When the Judge was secured in the kennel, Rook stepped outside. She didn’t quite know what to say to Jacob, so she went right for the tree that Tommy was in. Tommy could get down on his own, but she wanted to hold him now.

Jacob watched Rook call to Tommy with her arms raised and her head craning up. He chuckled and walked over to the tree. Quickly he climbed the tree to where Tommy was and grabbed the cat. Rook noticed how all animals seemed to obey him. Hell, even most humans did.

Jacob carried the fluffy orange cat over to Rook with a smug look on his face.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Yeah...sorry about that. Won’t happen again.”

Rook stroked Tommy’s fur happily and gave a shrug.

“Anything else I can do for you?” Jacob asked.

“Actually, yes. Follow me.”

There was a lightbulb out in her house that she couldn’t reach to change. She figured that she might as well use Jacob’s height while he’s here.

“How do you not have a ladder?” he asked.

“I, uh, haven’t lived here for very long.”

“Hm.” He wanted to know her story, but got the feeling she didn’t want to talk about it. He quite enjoyed helping her and seeing her satisfied with something he’d done, even if it was an easy task.

Jacob noticed a backpack on the living room floor with the name “Emily” embroidered on it. It was the answer to a question he’d often thought about.

“Emily?”

She turned at the sound of her name. She saw what he discovered and grinned at the realization. “Yes?”

“I’ve always kinda wondered what your name was. I like it,” Jacob said while scratching his beard.

“At home people sometimes call me Em or Emma. But everyone here in Montana calls me Dep or Rook, except you. I’d like to keep it that way if you don’t mind.”

“Right. I’ve got to get the Judge back to the Center now.” Jacob walked to the door and stopped. “Hey Em,” he called. It was so intimate to call her by a friendly nickname. “Would it, uh, be alright if I came back sometime?”

“Doesn’t really matter what I say, right? You’re gonna come back anyway.”

Jacob realized that his past visits were intrusions and actually wrong. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

“It’s alright. You can come back sometime.”

“Alright.”

Em often thought about Jacob’s reason for his previous visit. “When I’m with you, like this, my head is clear.”

That was her purpose for him, she thought. She was his soothing drug. She viewed him as less of a threat now, but was still a little suspicious. Nonetheless, she very often dreamt of touching him.

Em got out of Hope County and listened to radio stations that weren’t controlled by Peggies. The news on the radio was still just as bad as it was in Hope and getting worse. The most recent report was that the U.S. government had lost communication with North Korea, and the first attack was to be expected at any time.

One of Em’s neighbors decided to move back to their hometown to be with their family, and gave their horse to Em. Her house had a barn and fenced in meadow, and she’d had horses as a girl. Her new horse’s name was Honey on account of her color and kindness. Riding her each day was rather therapeutic for Em.

She was riding at dusk one day when Jacob came to visit her. Tonight he wore dark jeans, a gray t shirt, and a black hard shell jacket while Em wore light jeans and a hoodie. Her brown hair was in a ponytail.

Em wondered how her horse would feel about Jacob. She shouldn’t have been surprised when Honey liked him, as all other animals did. Jacob climbed the fence to the meadow and held the horse’s head in his big hands.

“Are you hungry?” Jacob asked with his straight lipped smile. He was looking up at Em sitting on the horse. Usually she was the one looking up at him. She nodded in the affirmative.

“Good. I brought dinner. Here.” Jacob gestured for her to hand him the reigns.

He led Honey to the barn. Honey was a rather tall horse and Em was 5’4”, so it was quite a jump from Honey’s back to the ground. Right as Em’s feet hit the ground, she felt the slightest grace of Jacob’s hand on her back, just in case.

They went inside the house and washed the dirt off their hands. Em took off her hoodie to reveal a Rye Aviation t-shirt.

Jacob brought in a large paper bag of random things he grabbed from the Vet Center pantry.

He included a six pack of beer bottles, but it only took two for Em to loosen up and want to talk with him.

Sitting across from Jacob at her kitchen table she said, “You know, I’m not really into religion at all.”

“Me neither. But I take care of my brothers.”

“You guys are close, huh?”

Jacob had the remaining four beers which loosened him up as well.

“Growing up we only had each other. Or more like the thought of each other. Most adults were shit to us. We were poor. Our dad preached to us and beat us half to death. Our mom was a shell of a person. Our foster parents worked us half to death. I burned their barn and went to juvie, then I didn’t see my brothers again until I got out of the military. The thought of them was the only thing that kept me going until Joseph found me.”

Em was flooded with empathy for the brothers. His story made her want to adopt children so they’d not ever have to be abused by people like those from Jacob’s past, and she told him that.

“Do you want to sit on the couch? Watch a movie or something?” Jacob asked.

Em put in a soothing movie that she’d seen a hundred times while Jacob cleaned up dinner.

Em laid on the couch, and Jacob lifted her legs easily, sat on the couch, and set her legs on top of his thighs.

The movie was about 10 minutes in when Em asked, “You still brainwashing people?”

Jacob felt bad about his past actions. “No. I don’t do a lot of the stuff I used to. All I focus on now is building and training the Chosen. I don’t fuck with people outside of Eden’s Gate.”

“Why the change?”

“I never cared about anything other than my brothers. I was in pain and I had the power to make others feel pain too. Nobody could stop me. The first time I saw you, it was like a switch flipped. I wondered if I could care about you. You almost were the one to stop me. Then when you said you wanted me, I knew I couldn’t pass that up. Then you telling me to leave you alone had me thinking about what I’d done to you. And others.”

Em got up to her knees next to him. “Do you still want me?” Jacob asked her.

In response, Em placed her hands on his shoulders and slowly leaned in to cross the space between their faces. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as she looked into his fierce blue eyes. Her gentle kiss on the cheek made Jacob close his eyes and exhale at the touch he had been so starved for.

When she pulled away from his cheek, Jacob brushed her hair behind her ear and pulled her over to straddle his lap.

His tough hands settled on her waist and looked up from her legs to her expectant eyes.

Softly, he placed his right hand on the back of her neck and she moved in for a real kiss this time. With heads slightly tilted, their noses touched first. Jacob had the rare look of desire in his eyes and closed the last bit of distance between their parted lips.

Jacob gently enclosed Em’s bottom lip and took his time moving away. They felt a surge of intimate energy that spurred more kisses. Em realized how soft and kissable his lips actually were. Jacob forgot anything that wasn’t the act of kissing her. His eyes were closed and he allowed himself to just feel. The pair got more comfortable and settled into each other. Their kisses gradually became less gentle and more consuming. They were both so starved for this that they didn’t think they’d ever stop. They couldn’t get close enough. Em admired his beard and scarred skin with her grateful hands. Jacob kept pressure on her back and threaded fingers into her loose hair.

Finally pulling away and out of breath, Em said, “I still want you.”

Jacob smiled and pulled them down to lay on the couch. He nuzzled her neck and kissed her jawline up to her lips.

Em enthusiastically wrapped her limbs around him and continued to ride the high. Now he was her drug too, and they were both addicted.

#jacob seed x deputy #jacob seed x female deputy #jacob seed x rook #jacob seed #jacob seed x female rook #FC5 #fc5 fanfic #Jacob seed fic

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