#one of the bugs chanted ‘kill’ like it was the only word it knew. all Takayama ever did was fight and kill the trauma inside of him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

2018-01-20 · 4 months

Note

if you still have your 1k words of kissing satoru pls bestow it to me 🧎🏽‍♀️i’m grabbing him by the back of his blindfold and making out with him fr

pairing. high schooler!gojo satoru × gn!reader

content. fluff + one kiss, implied that reader is shorter than gojo, somewhat proofread (i hate everything) read slowly!!

sticky-note. IM CRYING the way u worded this ask made me want to write an entirely new thing of making out w gojo 😭 ty for sending this in leeee 🫶

it is no secret that gojo satoru looks like a good kisser.

he’s attentive; one large hand on the small of your back to hold you steady while the other rests on your hip, eyes on you to see if you’ll make the first move. to both his and your dismay, you don’t move a single inch.

“i can’t do it,” you finally say, exasperated, pulling away to quickly hide your face in your hands. you awkwardly twist away from his figure, unable to stand the way that you’re able to see his stupidly pretty eyes through his sunglasses. it infuriates you to no end. “i give up. this is too embarrassing.”

“that’s so mean of you to say,” gojo whines not unsimilar to a toddler, but there is only amusement in his tone as he lightly tugs on the waistband of your pants, trying to get you to turn back around. “shouldn’t you be honored to kiss the one and only gojo satoru?”

“shutupshutupshutup,” you chant, mostly to yourself than to the obnoxious boy behind you. you swat weakly at his hand while trying to ignore the demonic voices in your head.

it is no secret that you’ve liked your classmate for a long while now. as cute and funny (and hot) as gojo is, he is twice as annoying and unpleasant. you swear he makes it his daily goal to get your blood boiling every chance he gets. that is the sole reason why you don’t plan on professing your love anytime soon: due to the fact that shoko will forever be disappointed in you and will never let you live it down if she knew. you don’t even want to think about what utahime would ultimately think of you.

he continues to bug you, “c’mo-on...” you can practically hear him sporting his signature smug grin. “do you really wanna go back to jujutsu high like that and kiss suguru instead?”

at that, you spin around in an instant—a mortified look on your face that further urges you to stab an accusatory finger at his chest. “y-you’re a damn liar! there is no way that there is an actual curse who’s goddamn antidote requires you to kiss someone when you get hit.”

sneakily, he wraps a palm around your wrist but makes no move to push your hand away. “but you just got touched by that cursed spirit, right? doesn’t your skin feel all sticky and itchy, like i mentioned?”

as much as you hate to admit it, you know that he’s right. before the two of you had gotten into the fight in the first place, he warned you not to get hit and the symptoms you would have to face if you did. your skin does feel like you just took a swim in poison ivy, and your head feels dizzy with a sudden migraine that should not be there, since gojo had instantly caught you the moment you faced a hit from the cursed spirit.

“b-but it doesn’t make any sense,” you sputter out, a weak last-minute resort. you really do not want to kiss gojo satoru—at least, not because of a measly curse—and have to hear him blab about it later on to your friends. you rant on, “if such a technique exists, then why didn’t you just kill the thing right away? aren’t you the strongest? why am i even on this mission with you?”

“hey!” he feigns an offended gasp, “are you saying that you don’t like hanging out with me?” he groans and dramatically lays an arm on his forehead, reminding you of a mistress in distress. you stare blankly. “how cruel of you. and besides, just because i’m the strongest doesn’t mean i can kill a first-grade so quickly.”

you keep staring at him with a disapproving look, but he only looks back at you with a joyous glint in his eyes. “...you’re insufferable,” you finally huff out, your hand still in his. but the both of you can hear the undertone of surrounder in your voice.

you stand awkwardly still in front of him for a few solid seconds, narrowing your eyes as he returns your defeated glare with a sheepish smile. you can’t help but sigh to yourself—you’re going to have to prepare yourself for a mouthful from shoko when you both head back.

you let him pull you closer when he tugs at your hand, your other palm moving to rest on his chest to steady yourself. but even then, you don’t get to kiss him until he leans down from that freakishly tall height of his— gently meeting his lips with yours.

it isn’t a quick peck. in fact, it’s a sweet and slow kind of kiss that makes your heart skip a concerningly amount of beats. a free hand of satoru’s moves up to softly cup the back of your head to deepen the kiss. nothing about his movements show that he’s in a rush to get the whole ordeal over with—and as much as you would like to lie and say that you hate it, you can’t help but step forwards to reach him better too.

your mind is in so much of a daze that you don’t even realize that satoru turned his limitless infinity just for you.

when you finally step back into reality and—reluctantly—pull away, gojo is grinning brightly with his sunglasses tucked into his hair. you didn’t even notice that he pushed them up to make the kiss more comfortable for you. however, you do notice that your skin still very much feels uncomfortable on your body and your head is pounding (whether it be from the symptoms or the kiss, you don’t really wanna know).

“you’re so cute,” gojo chuckles unabashedly, laughing again when you avert your gaze with another huff and a warm face. you are more than used to his flirty remarks and his more-than-platonic habits, but somehow it feels more... genuine this time around.

“and gullible,” he suddenly adds, the out of blue comment making you turn back towards him with a raised eyebrow. you squeak out a sound of surprise when he unexpectedly, but gently, pushes your head downwards, his other hand now in your line of sight. you feel more confusion swirling in your head when you see him holding a small vial with some clear, greenish liquid inside of it.

“here’s the real antidote,” gojo casually cheers, and he does not have a single shame in the world. a whole minute seems to pass by until you connect the dots, and when you do, the first thing that pops up in your mind is the thought of absolute murder.

“are you serious?” you practically screech. “you made that whole kiss thing up?”

#i hate him (he deserves to be happy and have everything nice in the world)#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo drabble #im gonna cry #gege when i find you #🤬

452 notes · View notes

strawberry-jammers · 3 years

Text

child reader (Pt.4)

tommy x child!reader || whys he here??

someone comes to the tundra to fight the blade (also some cute fluff)

pt1 pt 2 pt3 pt4 pt5

masterlist

this took so long lmao, part 5 coming soon

This story will diverge from the cannon. Since i cant remember it well im just gonna do my own thing.

------

The three of them, techno tommy and little (y/n), lived together peacefully for a bit. Techno and tommy would occasionally spar and commit minor terrorism, while (y/n) got to play with tommy and uncle techno.

(y/n) has grown a bit sense they had arrived there, being a happy kid like they should be.

On calm nights, techno would read to the little kid, stories of gods who ruled over the lands. Stories of himself in his times of adventure. They enjoyed all his stories, for they held a sort of unreachable curiosity that they loved oh so much.

“Im not reading you a story.” techno says. Sitting in his usual arm chair. He had come back from the nether not long before, just wanting to rest after a long day of fighting withers. He didnt expect the kid to want to hang out with him. “Pwease uncle tech!” they said. He shook his head. “I said no.” (y/n) huffed, getting off the arm of the chair, walking to the pile of books that stood in the coroner of the room.

They looked through it, trying to find the one they wanted. Once they did, they let out a happy ‘aha!’ and stumbled to the grumpy piglin, book in hand. “This one this one! Pleaaaase!!” they said. Showing techno the book. He examined it, realizing that it was the story about himself that philza had given to him as a joke gift. His eyes widened. ‘Why would the brat wanna read about me?’ he pondered. He just sighed, gently grabbing the book from the small hands it was being held in. “Fine, fine, I'll read you the story.”

(y/n) smiled, climbing up to sit on the piglins lap, wanting to try and read the book along with him. He huffed, not really agreeing to them sitting on him. None the less he opened the book, reading the unfinished tale to the child sitting before him.

“Once centuries ago, there was a young lad cursed to hear ungodly voices…”

Those were nights (y/n) enjoyed the most. They couldn't read, but having techno read to them was much better than reading a book all alone.

On most days Tommy would play with (y/n) outside. Neither of them got bored of the snow, being used to the sunny weather that was logstedshire. It was a nice change of pace that (y/n) enjoyed.

The two of them usually had snow ball fights, or tried to build towers and mini houses out of the snow. Tommy would build them snowmen, ones that looked like the people they knew. Others were sometimes ones they hadn't seen before, that Tommy would tell stories of when they would go to bed.

“Papa look!” tommy turned to his kid, who was happily standing next to a snow version of himself. It was small and barely looked like himself, but he easily recognized it. He came up to the small child, picking them up happily. “That's me!? It's amazing little (f/i)! You did so well!!” he said, ruffling the young ones hair. They giggled at the action.

“Wanna see mine?” (y/n) nodded. He walked over to the snowman he had built, showing them to his kid.

They looked familiar, (y/n) thought. These were the people in the storys (y/n) was told, the man with words of wisdom and guitar playing skills that calmed every citizen, who had tragically died in their last battle. The boy who was by papas side, who loved bees and everyone he knew. The young baker who had a kind heart and a smile that could put anyone at ease. Jack manifold.

Tommy spemnt a very long time creating this, purely so he could show (y/n) his old friends at least once. “Whos that one??” (y/n) asked, pointing to the the fox looking one, standing tall next to the leader, wilbur. “That's fundy. He didn't do much in the war, but he was an amazing fighter, and also a furry.`` Tommy replied, setting the child down. They ran up to the snowman. “Furry furry furry!!” they chanted, making the young boy laugh. “Yes furry!”

Most days now were spent with all three of them playing games inside till the late hours. After (y/n) had gotten sick from being outside so much, Tommy decided to just stay inside the warm cabin. They would bug techno alot, but he enjoyed the company some days. It was better than staying inside alone with an enderman who didn't really like him.

Today however, was different. For they had an unexpecting visitor who was very friendly.

Techno was making breakfast, as usual. He had learned that if he didnt, neither of the innits would eat till dinner when their bodys couldn't handle it anymore. It wasn't good for a young baby like that. Not that techno cared tho.

He was putting the dirty pots and pans in the sink, knowing he'd try and force Tommy to do it later. He started to put the food onto plates when he heard shouting coming from outside. "TECHNOBLADE GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE!!!"

Techno stops for a second. No one could possibly have the balls to fight him, let alone twice. Technoblade put the stuff in his hands down, walking over to the window to try and see who was out there. As he thought, it was none other than Quackity trying to pick a fight with him once more.

"I CAN SEE YOU PIGMAN! COME OUT HERE AND GET WHAT YOU DESERVE!!!" The duck man was actually prepared this time, with enchanted netherite armor and an axe to go with it. It seemed he upped his game sense last time.

Techno chuckled, going upstairs to grab his things real fast. There's no way someone can try and beat technoblade like that. He came back down to see Quackity opening his door. "Heh!? Why are you inside my house!?" Quackity stood there, axe gripped tightly. Techno reached the floor, grabbing his sword. "Why can't I be in your house techno? Hiding something?"

Ah shit he's onto us

Kill him

Haha he looks funny

Techno shook his head. "Just thought you'd play fair duck man. That's what you government people love to try and do." Quackity stepped forward. "Why would I play fair with the man whos supposed to be dead? This has been a long time coming," Quackity readied his axe, "get ready blade, cause i'm finally killing you." Techno readied his sword as well. "I'd like to see you try."

Just as they said this, someone came up from the floorboards. "*yawn* techno are you done with breakfast yet- HOLY FUCK QUACKITY!?" a tired Tommy says, holding a nearly sleeping (y/n). The two men turn to Tommy, seeing him and his child. "Oh? So this is what you were hiding. Haven't seen you sense the exile!" Quackity says, getting closer. Tommy got up from the ladder, shrinking behind technoblade, trying to protect his kid.

"What are you doing here big q?" Tommy says, hiding his kid. “I could ask you the same thing. What's that you've got there? Technos kid or something?”

“Well no-” “quackity leave them alone.” techno cuts off tommy, moving more so in front of him. He cant let the baby die, he knows phil would pumble him if he does. “This is between you and me quackity. Leave them alone.” quackity shook his head, pointing his axe at tommy. “Anyone alined with you is an enemy of mine. Even if he's an old friend.” quackity lunged at techno, who blocked the attack swiftly. Quackity tried to get around the man, so he could grab the child from tommys arms. (y/n) was now awake however, and they weren't very happy.

“Papa?” they ask, realizing there was an axe lunging towards them. Quackity got around the blade, and was already trying to get to them. Tommy noticed the axe coming their way, completely ready to take the hit for his kid.

Techno blocked the attack however. “Tommy get them to safety! I can handle this.” tommy nodded, running as quackity and techno dueld. Wuackity tried to run after tommy, but techno blocked him. “Not interesting enough for you q?” he smirks, swinging his sword at the duck man. Quackity blocks, scolding. “You're really full of yourself aren't you?”

Tommy ran outside, running to the only place he knew big q wouldn't find them, (y/n)s old hut. He ran and ran for so long, it had reached past mid day when he reached the small home he had made so many months prier. He sighed, closing the door behind him. (y/n) had long since woken up, and was very agitated. They had not eaten yet and it's been hours. “Shit shit sorry (y/n).'' Tommy says, laying the child in their old bed. He looked around the old home for anything he had left behind. He found some stuff, but he still had to go out to get food.

When he was done, he quickly fed the crying child. “I'm sorry kiddo, I didn't think this would happen. I didn't think quackity would wanna harm you. Sh shhh im sorry.” he picks up the crying child, kinda like how they first met. A crying (y/n) and a terrified tommy.

“Pappa- '' Tommy cuts them off, shushing them. “Just rest, Just rest…” the kid nodded, calming down slightly.

The two of them stayed like that till the sun rose the next day.

The next day Tommy got a message on his communicator by techno. Apparently quackity had won the fight, having threatened to chase after them and kill them. Techno begrudgingly went to get executed a second time. Thankfully he lived however, thanks to ranboo and tubbo stopping it. The two of them were currently at the blades house.

Tommy didnt wanna deal with seeing tubbo, but he knew he couldn't stay out here for more than an hour. He sighed. “Hey (y/n), how would you like it if you might get to meet new friends?” (y/n) looked at him, smiling. “Yeah new friends!!” he smiled, picking up the excited child. “Let's go back to uncle technos!” “uncle techy!!!” Tommy and (y/n) laughed. Tommy got ready and left for the tundra.

Hopefully tubbo wouldn't be there when he got there.

#tommyinnit x child reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #tommyinnit #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit x y/n #technoblade #technoblade x reader #dreamsmp x reader #x reader #child reader

374 notes · View notes

stalksbyakuyatogami · 3 years

Note

Oh my god, successfully summoning an ancestor with the V3 boys was amazing! Thank you so much! Could you do the same thing with the V3 Girls (exept Kaede because she is in your Blacklist)?

Summoning An Ancestor With V3 Girls!

aaaaaaaaaaa!! thank you anon!! im glad you liked it :))

warning: might be a long read

Himiko Yumeno

•You thought you'd excite her? The opposite. Sure, she always bragged about her magic, but she's actually all bark no bite. Just when you thought her magic would finally be put into use. She even refused doing it when she heard the ancestor part. There's no way in hell that she'd want to witness a phantom in this school. Especially at the third floor. But by some miracle and bribery, you managed to drag her in.

•She was slightly quivering just by the ambience of the room. It was a bit dark, just lit up by a few candles that barely even did their job. Although, she was curious of all the things that you had laid out. She would take a few glances on it every second, not sure if to feel fear or curiousity.

•When the spirit appeared, all she could do was tearfully and fearfully watch the ascending spirit. She was frozen in place. She might be fearing it, but she also thought that it was awesome. If she was a mage, she could do this all the time.

•She just stood there the whole time you talked to your ancestor. She ahd questions of her own, but she's just trying to bottle them all up, hoping that you'd miraculously ask them. As if channeling her thoughts you.

•After you were done, she was speechless. She was trying to process everything that just happened. She asked you if she can ask some questions too next time. Let her ask please xD.

Kirumi Tojo

•She's intrigued. It's the first time that she's having this request... but it's more like a favor. Same thing right? She'd like to see a spirit too. She might use this information someday, who knows. She agreed.

•She looked at all the things you had on the floor. Very dangerous. So she would guide you on how to use it properly. You might mess something up, but she's there to help.

•She was on alert when you started chanting unfamiliar words, but she remained calm and rational. Her hand will be ready to grab yours in case you had to flee. Your ancestor appeared earlier than you expected. She took just a step back when the spirit emerged. Intimidated by the spirit, she suggested that you two get out. But when the spirit spoke that you two can stay, she calmed down, but of course she's still on guard.

•While you conversed with your ancestor, she was observing it. Trying to identify which century they came from. She was trying to figure out if she would know how to serve them if they were still alive. Disregarding that, she's behaved and formal towards the spirit. She kept quiet the whole time and had her hands on top of the other, listening to the whole conversation.

•When you ended the session, she exhaled a breath of relief and congratulated you for doing a great job handling the spirit. There was something bugging her mind and you couldn't figure out what that was. But she reassured you that it was nothing. She agreed to come again the next time you perform another summoning.

Angie Yonaga

•This actually piqued her interest. She might be an artist, but she also takes interest in occult. So obviously, she's agree with you right away. She's excited, to be honest. But first, you'd hold a prayer to Atua. Pray for it to be successful. You couldn't escape her, so you just joined her, or you waited until she finished.

•She was humming while you two were heading for the room. When she saw your materials, her interest shot up. She even asked you if you needed a pint of blood because she'll get it right away. You tell her that a pint is not needed. In fact, you didn't need anything that was out of this room. Everything necessary is already here.

•She was a bit disappointed when no spirit appeared 8 seconds after you called it. And she presumed that maybe Atua didn't like this time and day fir the summoning. She would take her words back when it finally appeared. Amazement was glossing her eyes. How amazing Atua is.

•She was the one to ask questions first. What can you do? She's hella curious! The phantom was overwhelmed with the questions and eventually stopped answering them. She promised to keep quiet while you asked for advice but only if you'll let her ask more questions when you finish. She hummed while you communicated so it was kinda distracting. She's just excited give her a break xD.

•When you two were finished, she gave you her insight and told you that it was an amazing experience! She would love to do it with you again. She might just summon Atua next time!

Maki Harukawa

•Maki gave you a questioning look. What? A summoning? You seriously believe in that? That's nothing but a wishful thinking. But seeing that you insist so bad, she had no choice but to come with you. She just wants your mouth to shut up, so she agreed.

•The materials you had were pretty unfamiliar to her considering she's an assassin. She thinks this is all just bullshitry, nothing more. She has to put up with it though. She actually helped you do the methods, correcting whenever you get something wrong.

•Maki got tired of waiting after 10 seconds. "I already told you. This is not working." Which she'd immediately take back. The phantom loomed over you two. She creased her eyebrows. She still can't believe. But she had no choice but to suck it up. She nervously swallowed and grabbed something that wasn't there; a weapon.

•She stood there, despising the phantom a bit, but still listened to what it said. She didn't have her personal questions; regarding the killing game that is. She had all the questions on her mind. Who? What? Why? How? HOW?! She was making a weird face that slightly disturbed the spirit.

•When you finished the session, she told you how weird that experience was. But she's relieved that you got some advice from them. Might not go with you the next time. Not because she's terrified of the ghost. She thinks it's hella weird and it sends a shiver up her spine.

Tenko Chabashira

•"S-s-summoning?! Thats kinda... new..." She's a bit creeped out. Just the thought of seeing a ghost is enough to make her cringe. She asks you if you're sure. Just in case you change your mind, she'd still be supporting you.

•You led her up to the third floor of the school. She was a bit fidgety and she always asks you if you'd change your mind right now. She was shocked of all thr items in the room. She was alarmed and posed defensively. She had no idea how all of these work, so she read the instructions on the book and helped you even just a little bit.

•She was actually relieved that your ancestor didn't appear... yet. The relief immediately went away when the translucent spirit came to... life. How ironic. She was actually terrified of the spirit now. She hidea behind your back, promising to defend you if anything happens.

•She was behind you the whole time you talked. She wouldn't dare utter a word. But maybe she'll sneak her catchphrase in when your ancestor is male. She watched the spirit with anxious and confused eyes.

•She was extremely relieved when you were done. It was like getting rid of the thorn on her side. She felt easy again. I doubt that she'd go with you the next time... That was terrifying. Who knew spirits were real?

Miu Iruma

•She's quite disgusted of the thought. You still believe in those things at your age? Pathetic. Believe in technology instead! Now come here and let me test this new invention of mine! Its functions are—! She agreed to join you. But just for research purposes and future references. Decided to make an impromptu camera to tape the summoned spirit. That might just be a breakthrough.

•She was full of complaints during your trip. She held her camera to where all the necessary objects for the ritual was placed. Istg she might be doing a documentary. Bad commentator I would say. She dissed all the objects that you had laid out. What the hell, man? She didn't help you. She just picked these up and observed it through the camera. She filmed your process.

•She was impatiently waiting for the ghost to appear. She was about to turn her camera off when she heard the phantom's booming voice. She cowered in fear, almost dropping her camera. She hid behind your back, whimpering.

•She watched your ancestor fearfully while you asked questions. She would mutter unholy things under her breath and you would be distracted by that. Like, do souls have pps or something of the sort.

•She only filmed half of the thing. Let's just hope that that ghost and the audio show up in the recordings. She wouldn't accompany you ever again. That shit was terrifying.

Tsumugi Shirogane

•She was excited. But of vourse, she evaluated everything before she agreed with you. Summoning was both heart-throbbing and curious for her. So obviously, she wouldn't back out.

•She was quiet during the trip to the third floor. But she certainly had a smile on her face and stars for eyes. She was intrigued with all thr object you had laid out. She even grabbed one and tried to run it across her skin. But for safety purposes, yo told her to stop as it would ruin the ritual. She gladly obliged. She still observed the objects very closely though.

•She was starting to sigh as 8 seconds rolled by and nothing came out of your ritual. Just as she was about to leave, she squeaked at the spirit's frightening voice. She went back to her place and quietly apologized while she had her head down.

•She was just there... with her sparkling eyes boring into the summoned soul. She had all sorts of questions, and her face was turning pink. Probably from excitement. She had to bottle up all those questions too.

•After the session, she was too awestruck to utter a single word. She had sparkles in her eyes and her hands were merged together. She grabbed yours and enthusiastically said, "Let's do it again next time, S/O!"

I'll fix the errors later. Thank you for requesting, anon.

-Mod Toko [Maki Shift]♡

66 notes · View notes

chipper-smol · 3 years

Text

Vanilla 1 Chain

Prompt: The Aftermath of Ghost banishing the Grimm Troupe from the Troupe’s perspective.

lAST ONE!

( https://twitter.com/BerryCannibal )

Grimm let out a hum as he danced with himself, going through yet another imaginary routine as he allowed his thoughts to drift. The tent was unusually quiet without Brumm around - he was still surprised that his worried conduit had offered to take up a torch and pass out some of the scarlet flame this time around, perhaps he was finally warming up to the ritual? - allowing the perfect space for him to practice his final audience with The Pale King’s vessel.

He chuckled to himself at the memory of that wyrm... Always so frazzled, with his thoughts scattered all about, never in one place. He never did get to teach that fool how to relax before he up and disappeared, leaving this kingdom to be ravaged by Her incurable sickness. What a shame...

He was just coming out of a twirl when he felt a sharp pain in his chest. His knees buckled. He fell. Where were the Grimmkin when he needed them?

Letting out a faint growl, he tried to get back onto his feet as he clutched his- His... He looked down to where his hand was supposed to be touching the smooth, red carapace of his chest, horrified at the sight that greeted him. An open wound, leaking with bright, scarlet flame where the heart of any normal bug was supposed to be located. It was only after that first moment of shock that the pain set in.

Collapsing to the ground once more, Grimm let out a roar of misery and shock and anguish and pure, unfiltered agony. It felt as if the fires that once kept him fed and warm as a child was now burning him up from the inside, taking every part of his body with them. Under his claws he felt his body coming apart, leaving less and less shell to grip on to as he was consumed by what once kept him alive. What was happening? This was not how the ritual went. This was not supposed to happen-

~ Curtains closed. Lights out. Our lead actor has disappeared. ~

Grimm jerked up into a sitting position, breath laboured and raspy as he clutched his chest. It was solid now. Ok. He wasn’t dead, at least. The legacy didn’t end with him as he had feared when... Wait.

He glanced around the room, feeling his metaphorical heart sink when he saw the stitched-together crimson and plum and wine-coloured fabrics that covered the floor, the ever-gently pulsing veins, the scarlet, firelit lanterns... He wasn’t in the physical realm anymore, he quickly realized.

Rolling over, he grabbed a small hand mirror from beside the bed, frantically checking his physical appearance. The ritual hadn’t failed, had it? No. It was still going if the coal colouring of his crescent-shaped horns was anything to go by. Then that must’ve meant...

Oh. Oh, that traitor.

Grimm could feel a growl bubbling up from his chest as he considered what might’ve happened. He must’ve tried to stop the ritual early, perhaps even tried to kill the troupe as a whole by banishing them back to the dream realm. He must’ve manipulated Grimms poor co-actor in this important play into following him, they seemed so glad to help out with the ritual, after all...

Wait. The ritual. The child. Where was the child? Why hadn’t it called out to him yet? Where was the child?

Frantically, and yet gently, he began searching through the satin sheets of the bed he had woken up in. If the child wasn’t dead, it had to be there somewhere, right? Right? Ri- Ah. There it was...

He carefully picked up the limp grimmchild, studying it for a moment. It worried him how he could only barely see it’s chest move, and it wasn’t chirping or making any other kind of noise at him like it usually would, even in its sleep. Not that one could truly sleep in the dream realm.

“My child...” He rasped, quietly, holding it close to his chest, still feeling the gentle pulse of fire inside it. It was still alive, that much was true, but it would not remain that way for long at this stage of the ritual. It would need more flame, and quickly, but finding it could be difficult without his grimmkin to scour the vast wastelands between kingdoms for something worthy of the presence of the troupe in its entirety. Sighing, he cradled his child close as he sat for a long moment in hopelessness, considering his options.

“Marintide...” A voice murmured in his mind, the rasp undoubtedly belonging to The Nightmare King himself.

Right. Of course. They had received another call while performing their ritual in Hallownest. The other kingdom was far geographically, but travelling large distances had never been

much of a problem for the troupe. But then again, the troupe hadn’t been in this situation for several centuries. Last time they were banished was way back in-

A soft cough and whine of complaint sounded from the starving child. Right. Best not to dwell on that with a starving grimmchild in his arms.

Slowly, Grimm laid back down on the satin bed, still holding the child close to his chest as he focused on the brief glimpses he had been given of the kingdom when they had received their call. He admittedly struggled a little with remembering the less interesting details, such as the dying corals and thick bramble forests, but he managed none the less.

Waking up on cold, hard stone was not a welcome experience, but it was the best way to tell that they had arrived. Huffing as he got up, Grimm took a moment to look around. Without the Grimmkin to go before him and set up a comfortably warm tent, he was immediately exposed to the cold breeze coming in from the ocean and the sight of the beautifully ruined architecture that once was this great kingdom.

The stone beneath his feet was a brilliant cobalt blue, and he could see the sunlight reflecting off something gold in the distance. Sunlight? Ah. An aboveground kingdom, then. Something that looked like a lighthouse of sorts was off in the distance as well, just barely visible if he squinted through the gleam of gold from fallen pillars and monuments. The sun was glinting off the sea as well, the water so reflective that he almost missed the large, pale form that smoothly broke the surface and went back under in the same movement. A seawyrm, perhaps. He had been told of these before, though he couldn’t recall much...

Shaking his head to clear his mind of thought and clutching the grimmchild closer still, he made his way through the ruins towards the woods he had seen. Extracting flame from living creatures was a painful process for both him and the second party, but in this case, it would have to be done. The Grimm lineage would not end with him.

Stepping into the woods, there was immediate rustling to his left. He barely had time to think before a large, hunter-esque creature had him pinned to the ground, teeth bared, ready to end him.

He remained calm, though, reaching up and firmly placing his open palm over its eyes as he focused, sending into a deep, nightmare-ridden sleep... Sighing, Grimm nudged the large creature off of him, finally untucking the grimmchild from his cape. His expression quickly dropped when he saw the state they were in, flopping over limply in his hands instead of flying up and readily feasting on the nightmares of the sleeping hunter.

This was bad. This was really bad.

Quickly, he crouched down by the sleeping hunter, carefully placing his child upon their head. “Sorry about this...” He murmured, though he knew his apology would never be heard, though he knew there was no forgiveness to be had for what he was about to do.

Then, he started chanting.

The words that spilt from his lips made the fire inside him roar back to life. It was painful, but he had to endure. For his child. For the troupe. He gritted his teeth together to keep himself from screaming, wanting so dearly not to distress his child...

“Ngahhh...”

Grimm glanced up at the noise, finally stopping his chanting, smiling when he saw his child just as lively as ever. But...

He brought his hand up, gently touching his left horn, quickly finding a large patch missing, replaced by openly roaring scarlet fire. He was weakening, he realized, tucking the child close once more. They would need to finish the ritual soon. He’d just need to find Brumm so-

Right. Brumm wasn’t part of the troupe anymore. That traitor.

He didn’t have a conduit now. And he didn’t have a helper either. As sure as he was that he could get the vessel to meet him outside Hallownest, the banishment ritual would not allow him within several miles of the place.

He’d have to wait.

Slowly wasting away into a fire ghost, he’d have to wait.

He’d be willing to make that sacrifice for his child, yes.

He’d keep them alive and safe until a proper ritual could be conducted again, or until he finally grew unable to help it and it’d have to starve.

He just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

( donotgogently )

( @wasabi-arts )

Grimm pets the small creature in his arms, looking over Dirtmouth from the cliff. “What a shame for our little friend to abandon you in such a place,” he cooed, starting his descent down king’s pass, “ and a place so dangerous and cold. To think that vessel didn't even bring you back to our Trope.” The child purred in his arms, content with the situation despite the abandonment.

The trek back to the troupe wasn’t long, and Grimm made his way into the tent. “Good evening, Master.” Brumm said, already offering to take the torch from Grimm’s hands, surprised by the sight of the child, as well as Grimm’s damaged horn. “Master, why do you hold the child? And may I ask what happened to your right horn?” Grimm simply smiled at Brumm, dismissing Brumm’s second question while petting the child. “I hate to admit such a circumstance, but I do believe our little visitor has abandoned the child. Brumm was silent for a moment, looking at the child. He didn’t like the idea of Grimm dying for the sake of a ritual, and would much rather let the ritual die. At least for a bit longer, if it must continue.

“Why do you think they abandoned it?” Brumm asked, curious. “The traveler seems attached to it.” With a thoughtful nod from Grimm, he pet the child once more to hear it purr. “Maybe it has something to do with the roar heard earlier?”

“Roar?” Grimm asked, cocking his head with curiosity. “I heard no such thing.”

Brumm was surprised at this comment, stopping his music at the thought. “But Master, the roar was quite loud. It rattled the tents of our troupe and the homes of this here town. The bug near the bench described it as something akin to a cry.”

“I see...”

Grimm looked out of the tent in the direction of the crossroads. The abandoned Vessel of the Pale King himself had likely gone down below, Grimm thought. That was the location of the black egg that the king set up long ago to contain the infection. And since The Knight was a vessel themself, that is likely where they went.

“I don't think we’ll see them for a while, my dear Brumm.” The child snored in his arms. “May I ask why not?” “Well, do believe our small friend has gone to fight the creature inside the

crossroads.” “...”

Brumm looked back at Grimm’s shattered horn. “Master,”he asked,resuming his music,”May I ask what happened to your horn?”

Grimm turned away from the tent’s entrance to face Brumm.

“Ah, I almost forgot.” He stated, touching the broken spot with his hand.”I had gotten into a bit of a scuffle with the creatures up in the cliffs trying to obtain the child.” The spot hurt, yes, however Grimm paid it no mind. It was merely a minor injury, he was far more concerned about the child in his arms.

“Well, Brumm, we should take care of the child in the knight’s absence, hm?”

Brumm nodded in agreement. “I do think we should take care of your injury too, Master.”

( @ouliarts )

( @null-icon )

It is the dead of night and the big top is quiet with the whispers of a phantomly audience. Your Master had told you to keep watch before he had rushed out in a hurry - the fastest you’ve seen him move outside of performance - but it is still the same dark, dreary town at the base of the looming cliffs off to the left. Winds still whipped about and crept underneath the tent fabrics, the scarlet haze of an ethereal presence flickers with the chill, and with a rumbling sigh gathered from the depths of your chest, you reach behind you to pull out your trusty accordions and begin to play a slow melody from something beyond your time as a Troupe member. It’s a delicate number though sharp and stuttered even to your skilled hands, suggesting that the you of another lifetime had not gotten to learn it well, but you are alone with your thoughts and the mumble of an uncaring audience so you practice and improvise in hopes of making it something worth playing for someone beyond deserving.

The tent flaps flutter open long after you’ve sat down with your legs crossed and your instrument falls silent. The winds outside had gotten stronger, but it was hardly an observation relevant when shortly after the flaps are sealed you feel your fur near singing from the blast of furious heat. Where you previously would have no need to look up at the looming figure that storms past, you can’t help but to draw your gaze upon him. His stance is proud and he glides elegantly through the entrance chamber, nodding to you his curt greeting as he adjusts something under his thin cloak. You would have assumed nothing was off if he wasn’t radiating the hellish heat of his rage, and when he exited into the main ring, one of the heads of his curving black horns snapped clean off bleeding an otherworldly vermillion that trickled into his wiry fabrics.

Sometime when the sun should have broken over the peaks, you decide to pay your Master a visit, your curiosity and concern uncharacteristically getting the best of you. You don’t get much more than a few strides into his secluded part of the big top when the maroon walls shudder despite his quiet rasp, “I do not believe I summoned you, Brumm.”

“Mmmrr… So it may be. You are not well.”

“Is that so? What makes you question my state of being? What is it you find in the need to bother my rest?”

“The tent still simmers with your anger. My sight did not deceive me when I spotted your-” You are interrupted when the soft grizzle sounds, the pale pink of small irises blinking through where your Master is concealed. “... If that is all you dare approach me for, be on your way, Brumm. You have disturbed me, and now my child. Let us sleep.”

“Have you bandaged yourself, Master?” The hesitance you are greeted with tells you all you need to know, and you go digging in your fur for the roll of fabric you sew onto the shreds of your patchy sleeves. “Mmmh. Let me cover the wound, then I will leave.”

“I do not remember giving you permission.” “I do not require it for this.” Grimm uncovering himself enough for cat-like eyes to stare into your mask is simply affirmation to your statement. His horn had stopped oozing, now simply glowing dimly, but still you settle beside him to begin carefully swathing his horn in gray linen. “Did you fight, Master?” “Yes.”

“What for?” “My child. You must understand, the child is the future of this troupe. Of us.”

“Hrm. Why was the Grimmchild beyond the big top?”

“I do not know, Brumm, but it does not matter. Our caller approaches us soon, and the ritual will soon begin. That is what’s most important.” After the timbre of his voice falls out, you have nothing left to say and so you shift the rest of your energy into securing the wrap you have now made. “It will grow back, but thank you regardless, Brumm.” And when you turn to leave as promised, Grimm speaks up again.

“Will you play me a song, musician?”

( https://twitter.com/Heck_Yena )

( tfwhynot)

The troupe was always on the move. When the ritual wasn’t in the picture they, for the most part, had to travel the old fashion way. The tents could be instantly packed and unpacked with a snap of Grimm’s fingers, coming in and out of the Nightmare realm with ease. The Grimmkin were a similar story, though they themselves were in control of which realm they were in at any time. It was the more unique bugs that couldn’t though, Brumm, Divine, and the Grimmsteads were anchored to the waking realm.

Grimm led the caravan on a wagon all his own. It held everything he needed to plan, maps, lists of supplies they had or needed, and written plans for performances of future and past. Brumm followed in the wagon behind. It carried all the other things that didn’t originate from the nightmare heart; containing currencies from lands of all sorts. Things to trade away for other things they may need or want, rations of food and water, and nicknacks collected for sentimental purposes. In the very back, the strongest and most loyal steed followed, wheeling Divine’s wagon with them. Jars of the various substances she excreted were stashed, herbs, and remedies, each with their own uses.

Brumm’s music floated around the caravan, the familiar tunes of his accordion helping fight off complete boredom. Grimmkin popped in and out, joking and chatting among themselves. The newest of them excited to be on the road again, the long darkness to come not quite setting in on them yet.

The road they traveled slowly grew rough, the wagon wheels bouncing slightly on the rocks that were sprinkled across the road. Two mountains off in the distance came into view, a thin and winding path was carved through, old and uncared for; it was made a mess by time. It had been made by a kingdom long gone and forgotten.

He waved down a few Kin that was chatting above him, “Explore the hills we are to tread,” He rasped out, “Report any dangers or curiosities you come across.” They nodded and dashed off, nothing but a rapidly disappearing blaze of scarlet fire left behind.

Time passed as Grimm waited, the steed pulling his wagon huffed at them, silently asking to rest soon. The road was still uneven, each wagon still bouncing off the occasional rock, tilting to and fro at the uneven path.

The Grimmkin still hadn’t returned as the wagons began to pull through the mountains. The walls of rock were high on each side, holes were mirrored on each side. A few old corpses could barely be seen, legs and arms of bugs both wild and sentient lay idle, their chests gaping open, innards long eaten by what lived here. He placed a hand on the child’s back where they were curled by his side in worry. They murmured in their sleep, still so small and weak. It’d be a while till the next ritual.

The walls were close together, they only just let the wagons pass without the worry of scraping the sides. There was no way to turn around once the caravan walked past the entrance, let alone run the other way if something happened.

“The path through should be short,” Grimm thought, “We’ll stop for rest and food on the other side,” he waved down more kin, a dozen more than last time, “If something happens we can deal with it,” He instructed them to carry torches and light the path, and most importantly, report back if they saw something, “We’ll always make it through.”

Music seeped through the artificial canon, echoing through the caves along each side. The old familiar tune felt uneasy, the vague feeling of nervousness permeating through the troupe enough to effect Brumm. The steeds began to slow, the sounds of their marching quieting as they pushed through the fatigue encasing their shells.

A puff of red smoke and a small novice was sitting beside Grimm. Their shrill and panicked voice woke the child, their words were spoken quickly, half slurred together, and hard to understand.

A sharp scree cut through all the noise, leaving a deafening quiet in its wake.

The Grimmkin immediately started to panic, “That’s the noise! Tha-”

A kin was slammed against the wall with a loud crack, their shell breaking on impact as a creature dug into them, shredding their garments as they fell, the Grimmkin wailing.

Jumping up Grimm tossed the reins to a nightmare kin. As he got on top of the wagon another scree rang out; the grimkin this time successfully dodging. Brumm’s wagon shook as the creature collided with it, the steed leading it letting out a panicked whimper.

The creature hissed on the ground, mandibles and legs flailing as for a moment before righting itself. It crouched down, ready to strike again when the wheels of Divine’s cart rolled over, only pinning it at first, the steed struggling to pull over the living speedbump. A squeak and a squelch and their rigid shell shattered, Divine letting out a startled yelp as the wheel suddenly dropped back to ground level.

Another screech, Grim immediately aimed to intercept it when yet another rang out.

It was like a domino effect, one after another after another screaming before leaping at the caravan. Grimm dashed, intercepting as many as he could before they hit, the air was just as full of fire as it was the creature as the kin attempted to help kill their attackers.

Still more kept coming, “Take them through as fast as possible,” Grimm barked at the nightmare leading them.

“Master?” Brumm called out, worry lacing his voice as much as panic.

“I’ll meet up with you on the other side, just go!”

They didn’t need to be told twice, the steeds immediately attempting to move as fast as their tired legs could carry them.

Flinging himself into the air Grim puffed up with a loud scream, doing his best to draw all of their attention. Fire flung from around him, lighting the small canyon with fire.

It worked, the beasts focusing on the largest threat. The wagons now having to deal with fewer things under their wheels could actually hurry, fear coursing through the steeds giving them new energy. The sound of Grimm’s fight growing more and more distant till it was nothing but an echo on the other side.

Once out the steeds couldn’t go any further if they tried. Their shells heaved as they drew breath, legs shaking as they unhitched themselves, collapsing on the ground with exhaustion. They huffed at the kin who immediately checked on them, shaking any attempts to get them to stand up, just wanting to be left alone.

With a grunt Brumm hopped out of the cart, afraid of what he might see.

It looked like the fuckers had attempted to burrow through the wagons. Shallow divots in the repurposed shells that made the walls and ceilings were spread across all the wagons.

He made his way to the front, seeing the nightmare doing their best to comfort Grimmchild as they cried.

“Mrmmm. Is the child hurt?”

They shook their head no, rubbing their back as they clung to the kin, “scared and worried for their father, but completely unharmed,” they rumbled.

Brumm nodded as he looked to the other kin. A few quickly busied themselves but most were unsure, not knowing what to do without instruction from the master. No one could properly hunker down for the night without him and there wasn’t really a second in command for situations like this.

“Try and get some to start repairs on the wagons,” Brumm told the nightmare. He shifted in place trying to figure out what to do, he wasn’t a leader, he hated giving directions to others. There was a reason he was the only musician, as the sole bug who composed the music he just could never direct others to play something right.

Walking back to Divine he could hear her talking, her airy voice louder and sharper than usual.

“Aaaah! Where’s the master? He said he’d meet us! I can’t smell him here! Where is he?” The kin outside her wagon shrugged.

“Mrmmm. How are you fairing Divine?” Brumm asked, already knowing the answer.

“Aaaahhhhh! Just terribly! What are we supposed to do? The master said he’d be here!”

“All we can do is wait. Master will come with time.”

Divine hissed in worry, she shifted and wiggled as much as she could, “But couldn’t he just puff back in any second? Why isn’t he here!” Her face was in a deep frown, something no one saw often, it made her smiling mask half look out of place and strange.

“Mrmmm. He may still be trying to buy time, he can’t see how far we are.”

“Aaahhhhh! But what if! What if…” She trailed off, not wanting to say what she thought. If she said it, what if it came true?

“Impossible, it’s never happened before. He’ll return. Master may come back hurt, but he will come back.” Brumm reassured.

Divine still wasn’t sure about that but dropped it, “What are we supposed to do till he comes back?”

“Mrmm,” Brumm had to think for a moment, “I don’t know. I’ll start getting food ready I guess. Keep medical supplies at the ready when he returns.”

“Ahh… But what am I supposed to do? I’ll worry myself into knots if I don’t do something!”

“You can watch the child. The nightmare caring for them now has more important things they can do. Just make sure they’re calm, try to get them to sleep.” Divine nodded at Brumm and he set off to try and put things together.

As time passed though Brumm couldn’t stop worry from clouding his head. He kept a bag of medical supplies on him while he cooked while doing his best to focus on the task at hand, making a basic soup from what they had. Though the spot they were at wasn't the best, the kin were able to find a river, grabbing buckets to add to the cauldron and give to the steeds. There wasn’t any promise of something that tasted amazing but everyone would appreciate having something in their stomachs for now.

There was little conversation as food was passed around. Not even the novices, often cheerful and mischievous, found it in them to crack jokes. Brumm at least took the chance to fully get what damages were. The wheels would need to be replaced, many cracks and deformations from the blasted things would make it risky to set off too soon, they’d need some material to make some final repairs but the wagons were still okay enough that there wasn’t worry of them falling apart or rain seeping through, the steeds were tired and a bit scratched up but would be okay with rest, and while a few Grimmkin had been lost the majority were okay, shaken up, but okay.

The tents appeared in a flash, faster and more sudden than Brumm had seen in a long time. It was almost dizzying, everyone having to be moved and placed within different rooms.

“Master!” Brumm realized. He had to find him, figure out what happened, make sure he was okay.

Where was he even? A quick turn around and he was in the main stage with a few other confused kin, a few mourning over dropping their meal in their daze.

Master’s room, Grimm had to be there. He was quick to shuffle as best as he could in the darkened stage.

“Master?” Brumm called.

“Come in Brumm.”

Brumm tentatively moved the curtain, peering in. His mast was sprawled out on a fainting couch.

“Master! Your horn-”

“I know Brumm, it looks worse than it feels.”

Brumm couldn’t believe that. One of Grimm’s horns had been torn off, the thick shell left was jagged and cracked around it. The soft flesh within weeping blood now that it was exposed.

Grimm had been injured before but this… This had never happened. Maybe a crack or scratch, but even during the ritual Brumm had never seen a piece of Grimm torn off.

“You-You need to get that cleaned immediately!” Brumm moved closer, trying his best to see if there was anything else.

Grimm chuckled, “I haven’t heard you order someone around in a long time.”

That made Brumm freeze, “I… Mrmm. I’m sorry master that wasn’t my intent.”

Finally, Grimm turned to face him, “There is no need to apologize, my friend, I was only teasing.”

Grimm had a tired smile, blood slowly winding its way down the side of his face. There were a few other scratches and cuts, small tears in his cloak, but nothing nearly as bad as his horn.

“I’m just glad everyone is okay,” He turned back looking down to what Brumm could now see was the Grimmchild. They rested their head on their father's arm, purring softly as Grimm’s other hand lightly scratched their head.

“Please master, let me dress your wounds. Even if it’s not as bad as you say it still needs to be taken care of soon rather than later.”

Grimm looked back at Brumm, seeing him fidget with worry, “Very well.”

He shifted into a better position, sitting upright with his cloak completely out of the way, much to the complaint of Grimmchild. Grimm shushed them as Brumm moved in front of him. Even sitting on a couch this low to the ground Grim was still at eye level with Brumm.

Brumm had to take a deep breath to calm his nerves as he pulled out supplies to clean his master, “Mrmm. This is probably going to sting,” he warned.

He poured a cleaning acid on a clean towel, it wasn’t strong enough to do much more than sting, but it still cleaned. He carefully dabbed at the wound, waiting to see if there was any reaction. Grimm’s eye twitched slightly but he kept calm as Brumm thoroughly cleaned his head.

Placing the used rag aside, pulling a large pair of tweezers out. Grimm bowed his head slightly, allowing Brumm easier access. Carefully Brumm pulled bits of shell that had embedded themself in the wound. Grimm huffing as a large piece, roughly the size of a piece of geo, was taken out.

After cleaning it again Brumm placed a layer of protective shell over it, a large circular disk of shell cleaned and cut to help cover a wound till it healed so nothing got in. It was a bit big but it did the job. With some adhesive strips, it was secured.

Brumm stepped back, “It’s done, master. Mrmm.”

That same tired smile from before appeared again, “Thank you for caring for me, my friend. Tell me, was the rest of the troupe okay?”

“Yes, a few kin were lost but given some time to rest everyone will be okay. The wagons will likely need to be replaced soon though.”

Grimm nodded, “Rest, that certainly sounds nice. Would the troupe be okay if I rested for now?”

“Mrm. I believe so, though it would be a good idea to talk to everyone and address what happened.”

“Of course, of course,” Grim, let out a slow sigh, looking down as the child got comfortable again. “Could you leave me to rest then?”

Brumm nodded silently and left. As he lifted the curtain he turned again, taking one final look at his master. He was too tired to hang as he usually slept, instead opting to curl around the child on the fainting couch.

“Rest well master.”

( @kiwikoala )

( @vibeseeker )

Crimson flames slowly licked up the draping curtains, draining away all color except the ocean of red that surrounded the young king and the visage of the ever beating Nightmare Heart. The ever present silence within the realm was only pierced by the steady thump of the constantly beating object, joined soon by the child's own pulse.

That is until a sharp crack echoed through the red hued abyss, quickly following the noise the growing troupe master had been blinded by a bright light. He quickly beat his wings in an adrenaline fueled struggle to wipe away the blazing heat that seared into his retinas, only to be met by a new presence that felt somewhat familiar. However the very energy called out to him, drawing him to cautiously approach.

"So I see the mewling cub shows its strength, choosing to find me within my own realm," The figure slightly turned and with a snap set their hand alight with a crimson flame, unveiling the form of the Nightmare King "It's almost cute, though that won't prove you as a worthy enough vessel alone."

"I... I just... I wasn't trying too..." Grimmchild nervously spoke as he pushed off the larger beings baited words, fanning out his wings and drifting to the floor below "my... my father, he... where is he? I... I was just with him..." panic started to grip at the small things words, as his eyes darted around and finally took in the lack of a landscape around the pair "...where am I? Who are you? What did you do?"

"Hah, poor thing, did your father never tell you of your purpose?" The Nightmare spoke with a chuckle and slowly bent down to be a little closer to the child's level, the pinkish red of his eyes burning deep within "a shame then, a kin not properly warned will make the process far more difficult than it should be..."

"...kin? My... my purpose? Wh..what do you mean?" Grimmchild asked with a slight hitch to his voice, pulling his wings back as worry tugged at the edges of his mind "I... I really want to go home... where is home?" He asked again, not expecting a real answer but hoping that the strange 'kin' would take pity upon him.

The larger figure let off a deep sigh as it drew back up to its full height, looking away with an almost bored expression adorning their face.

"Fine, perhaps you were simply dragged here out of pure luck then, as I doubt a weakling could get here of skill alone..." The Nightmare King then lifted one of his hands before giving a simple snap that caused the child to burst into crimson flames, almost immediately cooking them inside and out as their skin was charred and reduced to ash.

Grimmchild awoke with a start, jolting up upon the soft sheets of a fine bed deep within the maze of tents that was the troupe. His breathing was laboured and irregular, and a tear was starting to build up on the edge of his eyes, that is until a black wing gently pulled him back into a kind embrace.

"Is everything alright little one?" Grimm spoke out with a softer tone, moving himself a little closer in order to better comfort his son.

"A... a nightmare... it... it felt s..so..." the child stuttered for a while, struggling to form words until Grimm tightened the hug a little further and carefully wrapped his wing around them. Laying the both of them back into the bed.

"Its okay little one, nightmares are just that, nightmares. Just try and get back to sleep, alright?"

"A..alright..."

( @doodle-chris )

#and that's all of them!#hollowknight #hollow knight #otherart #otherfic #fanart #giftcorner #telephoneknight #long post #also bolded names are people who im still trying to get accounts to link to #stand by for thems

125 notes · View notes

krsnbgirl · 4 years

Text

Fly High! || Kageyama x Fem!Reader || Part 6

Summary: Exams at Karasuno are finally finished. While you talk about exam results with Hinata and Kageyama, he notices something you’ve recently found out and the two of you grow a little closer now that he’s found out your little secret. Then fast forward to the training camp, you reunite with old friends and for old time’s sake, play a small game with them.

Pairing: Kageyama Tobio x Fem!Reader

Genre: Rom-Com, Slice of Life, Sports

Warnings: None

Word Count: ~3.4k

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay everyone! I had a pretty busy weekend but part 6 is finally here! Thank you for reading and I appreciate any interaction that these parts receive. I hope you enjoy the update! As always, it’ll be cross-post on AO3! Stay hydrated lovelies! <3

Taglist: @misnmatchedsox @monviemoo @love-beyond-words

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 5.5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Masterlist

The relieved sighs and voices of students echoed through Karasuno High as the student body wrapped up exams. The volleyball club was reaching its goal through donations thanks to the posters that you had made and posted up throughout the school and town. It first started off with just Kageyama and Hinata but then the rest of the team pestered you into making posters of them too. This only happened because Nishinoya had tagged along on your weekend photoshoot and ever since he saw the way you captured the two of them on camera, your best friend constantly bugged you to do one for him. When you guys got to practice, the rest of the team overheard his complaining and they all ganged up on her. You gave in when they all came together and gave you the cutest pouting faces you’ve ever seen with the exception of Kageyama and Tsukishima. Kageyama was minding his own business since he already got his photo taken while Tsukishima just scoffed but still met her gaze before shrugging as if to say ‘It’s up to you if you want to include me or not.’ In the end, the following weekend ended up being a whole photoshoot with the team to highlight all of their specialties as well as a team photo before getting the rest of the posters printed.

Although exams had ended, it was another practice day for the boys and Shimizu had pulled you away for a moment so the boys could get ready for their welcoming surprise for you. Word had spread that you were officially going to be their manager through Tanaka who couldn’t wait to share the news in the team’s group chat after he overheard you talking to Takeda after school earlier that week about your final decision. After gathering water for the boys, you were back in the gym and found that the team had lined up by the door to greet you. Shimizu joined the boys as Daichi walked up to stand next to you to make the official announcement.

“So, we’ve finished our exams, and starting today, (L/N)-san will officially be one of our team managers.”

You gave everyone a small smile as Shimizu walked up to you with your team jacket.

“Here.” she said.

Everyone watched as you held up the jacket in front of them before hugging it to your chest. They all gave you bright smiles with Tsukishima and Kageyama nodding their heads at you. Daichi ruffled your hair before leading the chant for everyone.

“Ready and…”

“Welcome to the Karasuno High School Volleyball Club!” they cheered.

With teary eyes and a new found determination, you bowed and exclaimed, “It’s a pleasure to work with you!”

“ALRIGHT! (Y/N)-CHAN IS BACK IN THE GAME!” Tanaka cheered as he stripped off his shirt and began to wave it around. Hinata and Nishinoya joined in on his cheers as the third years walked up to you.

“We’re looking forward to seeing what you’ll bring to the table, kiddo.” Asahi smiled and patted your head before grabbing his water bottle.

“I knew you’d say yes, (Y/N)-chan.” Sugawara said and gave you a hug.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way.” Daichi finished as Shimizu nodded her head and patted your shoulders.

“Now all that’s left is the boys’ test results.” you murmured as you watched the boys begin their practice.

“(L-L/N)-san…”

You looked up from your cellphone to find Hinata and Kageyama approaching you in the classroom. You weren’t going to lie, you were nervous to find out their test results because Nishinoya had already texted you that he and Tanaka barely managed to pass. You could only sigh as you read their expressions and put your phone in your bag to listen to what they had to say.

“Trust me when I said we really tried our best! We didn’t mean for this to happen!” Hinata pouted as he slowly slid his results towards you.

Then you looked at Kageyama who silently looked down in frustration and slid his exam towards you as well. Taking in a deep breath, you closed your eyes and flipped both of the exams over. Hinata ended up getting 21 and Kageyama received a 38 and before you could think properly, you let your head fall to your desk. A loud thud was heard and you could feel your soul slowly leaving your body.

“(L/N)-san?!” they exclaimed.

‘I had such high hopes for them…’ you internally cried, ‘Wait a minute-’.

Looking through their exams once more, you clicked your tongue and whacked Hinata on the arm.

“HI. NA. TA. All of your answers were correct but you filled in all your answers off by one!” you hissed and he held his palms together to bow his head.

“Once I realized it, there wasn’t enough time to fix it!” he pouted.

You huffed then shifted your attention to Kageyama’s exam. After skimming through his answers, you pinched the bridge of your nose before handing their exams back to them. “Kageyama-kun, you need to stop having tunnel vision when it comes to studying...it seemed to be all comprehension rather than memorization…’

“...At least I tried and got a perfect score in Kanji... “ he muttered in defeat.

You took a deep breath and mentally reassured yourself that they couldn’t become textbook geniuses over night. Lifting up your head, you gave them an encouraging smile and shrugged. “There’s always next time, right? And if it helps you feel better, since you guys only failed one part of your exams, you should be able to make it to Tokyo in the afternoon. Usually the first exam is in the morning and if you have any other parts you need to work on, it goes on throughout the day.”

Their eyes widened in realization but also paused for a bit to notice the small red mark on your forehead.

“(L/N)-san, your head…” Hinata said as he pointed towards the small injury.

You laughed and touched it, only to wince slightly and Kageyama sighed. Taking out the second carton of milk he got for himself from his bag, he silently gave it to you and motioned towards your head.

“You idiot, you didn’t have to react like that and now you might have a bruise. Noya-senpai is going to kill us if he found out we were the reason for that.”

You took the carton of milk out of his grasp and smiled in thanks as Hinata quickly read the mood change and realized what was going on. He knew that the three of you were growing close as friends because of the daily study sessions and constant chats during practice, but he didn’t think that Kageyama would catch an interest in you. Smiling to himself, he watched as Kageyama huffed and you chuckled in response before placing the cold drink against your head.

“...idiot.” he murmured before walking away.

“Yeah, yeah Kageyama-kun. Thank you for actually caring about me.” you replied in a sing-song tone and waved him goodbye as he walked out of the classroom.

“Say...do you have a crush on Kageyama, (L/N)-san?”

You jumped in surprise and let out a small ‘eek’ as Hinata smiled cheekily. He grabbed a chair that was near him and turned it around so he could rest his arms on top of the backrest. You puffed out your cheeks and wearily eyed the orange haired boy in front of you. Swinging his legs back and forth, he waited for you to say something. You didn’t expect for Hinata to catch on so quickly. But it wasn’t like he was actually right about it, you just weren’t sure what to think of Kageyama. There was something about having this unspoken understanding with each other that you haven’t had with anyone else. You had only recently noticed this after he had picked up his notebook. No one was able to relate to how your mind worked whenever it came to volleyball and yet Kageyama easily saw through the façade you put up to cope with the mental stress that came along with your injury. Was it a crush? You weren’t sure, but with the constant presence of him in your mind, maybe Hinata was right after all.

“I wouldn’t say it’s a crush...He’s someone that I think I can get along with very easily…” you muttered in thought.

“It’s okay to admit that you have a crush on him, he is pretty good looking even if he does come off as scary.” Hinata snickered.

“I don’t know yet, it’s too early to tell Hinata.” you retorted and rolled your eyes, taking out your notebook for the next lecture. ‘Damn it, Hinata is sharper than I thought...’ you observed and tried to distract yourself.

“You haven’t flat out denied it, (L/N)-san. Plus you can keep a secret with me! I can help you out with him too!”

“HI. NA. TA.” you threatened and he sheepishly smiled when you held your arm up to whack him again.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help but tease! I just have never seen Kageyama react like that with someone so I was just curious.” He quickly said while laughing with his hands held up.

You sighed and busied yourself by twirling your pencil, “Who knows?”

“What about this then to change the subject?” Hinata asked.

You looked at him from the corner of your eyes as he smiled at you. “Since I might be the first one to figure out your little secret, let’s call each other by our first names!”

You hummed in thought since you did feel immediately closer to Hinata after you first met. It also helped that you were the same age and you didn’t really have that many friends in your class. After taking a couple of moments to think about it, you smiled and nodded to his words. It felt good to grow close to someone like this again.

“Sure, Shoyo!” you happily replied.

Hinata cheered as the bell rang and he sprang up from his seat to get back to his class on time. “I’ll see you at practice then, (F/N)!”

You stretched your arms as you stepped away from doing meal prep with the rest of the managers. The team had arrived in Tokyo earlier that morning and had been introduced to the members that were on Nekoma. You laughed at the fan club that Shimizu had garnered but wasn’t surprised when their attention went towards you. Nishinoya and Tanaka did their best to act as your bodyguards when they went over towards the gym where the camp would be taking place. Once the boys were in their zone, you found it nice to be surrounded by the other female managers and joking with them. The girls all ended up making a group chat to keep each other in the loop for the schedule and with the promise of continuing on once the camp finishes.

You looked at your phone to see that the boys should be arriving soon, although you were worried about Hinata and Kageyama’s safety after finding out it was Tanaka’s sister who was driving them. Hinata had texted you once they had finished and he told you that Tanaka asked Saeko to help out. Having your own experience with the older woman’s driving, you said a mental prayer for them. That woman really knew how to get to places and always cut the time by almost half of its original prediction.

It was break time for everyone and you needed some time away to recharge. Walking around the grounds, you let your mind wander before coming back to an empty gym. Going inside, you hummed to herself before stretching out your legs. Your knee still felt tight, but you recently had her last therapy session. Your therapist said that you should focus on restrengthening your knee before seriously thinking about going back to playing the sport. You grunted as you realized you couldn’t bend her leg as much as you could before and decided you could just serve some balls across the court.

“Oya?”

You turned around to find Bokuto, Akaashi, and Kuroo walking into the gym after doing a couple of serves.

“Oya, oya?” Bokuto asked as they looked at you.

“Oya, oya, oya.” Kuroo continued before smiling at you.

“Ah, Kou-kun! Tetsu-kun!” You smiled and they ran towards you at the same time, lifting you up in their arms for a huge hug.

“You goddamn giants, put me down!” you giggled.

“I didn’t think you’d come back to the scene.” Bokuto smiled as he ushered Akaashi to join them.

“I didn’t think I would either but I guess here I am.” you snorted and gave him a fist bump.

“Well it’s good to see you back, chibi-chan.” Kuroo added as he patted your head.

“This is Akaashi by the way, he’s a setter on our team.”

You smiled at Akaashi who gave you a wave and Kuroo walked off to pick up the ball. He smirked and tossed the ball towards you who caught it with ease.

“How about a small rally, for old time’s sake?”

Bokuto immediately brightened up and began to drag Akaashi to the other side of the court. “We’ll go against you guys!”

“You gotta take it easy on me you guys.” You said and gave them an exasperated look.

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at you when you walked up to him and snickered. “You say that, but your eyes tell a different story. You want to tear Bokuto apart on the court again.”

Bokuto pouted and said, “Hey, that’s so mean (Y/N)-chan! Either way, we’ll still beat you, HAHAHA.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and went towards the serving line without any objection. “What I’m saying is that you both tend to play on very intense levels. You need to tone it down because I’m still, oh I don’t know, crippled.”

“Hey that’s nothing to joke about, chibi-chan.”

“Whatever Tetsu-kun, let’s just get at it, shall we?” you smirked.

“Oh and there she is, ladies and gentlemen. (L/N) (F/N) back in the game, oh how we’ve missed the Firecracker.” Bokuto playfully announced.

“Yeah, yeah.” you murmured before bouncing the ball up in the air for a jump serve.

At this point the four members on the court zoned in on their fun game when the others of the camp started filing back into the gym to continue the mock tournament. They watched as the small and agile girl who was only (x) centimeters tall kept up with some of the best players in the prefecture. Your friends that have seen you play smiled in pride as they finally got to see the specific smile you had whenever you’re on the court while those who haven’t seen you play were surprised at your skill. What not many people knew was that you had gone to the same Youth Camp as Kuroo and Bokuto and that’s how you became friends with each other. Your father lived in Tokyo and you stayed with him during the summers where he signed you up for volleyball. Ever since that day, it was the start of your journey with the beloved sport.

The coaches called for the game to stop so they could get back to schedule and it was tied between the four of them. It was Bokuto’s turn to serve and you gave Kuroo a signal. He smirked and just as Bokuto served the ball, Kuroo let you take the game to its end. You quickly dived for the ball and hit it towards Kuroo who set it up in the air for you. Running towards the other side, you bit your lip and ignored the pinch in your knee as you jumped and spiked the ball right in the middle of Bokuto’s arms as they tried to block you. The gym watched in awe as the ball hit the ground and you let yourself fall onto your back. Slowly, the bystanders began to clap as Bokuto and Kuroo screamed in joy and ran towards you to help you up. Akaashi looked at you in awe as they surrounded you and the court began to fill in with teams to resume practice.

“You still got it!” Bokuto cheered before picking you up in a hug and spinning you around.

“That was some one of the most fun sets I’ve played in a while. Let’s play again this weekend if we can.” Kuroo grinned before ruffling your hair and meeting up with his team.

“You were amazing, (L/N)-san. We’ll see you around.” Akaashi complimented before bowing and dragging Bokuto towards their respective team as well.

You laughed and turned to look at Karasuno who was just staring at you in awe. Meeting the gaze of your best friend and still riding the high of adrenaline that you loved so much, you gave him a thumbs up and the brightest smile you’ve had in a while. Nishinoya took in a deep breath as he held in his emotions and was about to run towards you when the doors of the gym bust wide open to see that the anticipated duo had finally arrived. Their determined eyes landed on their team and quickly ran over to only change their expression to see that they had missed something. Nishinoya muttered them a short greeting before jogging his way towards you to make sure you were alright and they looked at Sugawara for some answers.

The third year smiled and nodded towards your figure on the floor who was getting reprimanded by Nishinoya. You were laughing as Noya helped you stretch out your knee while yelling all of the things that could have gone wrong with that game. They looked back at you to see that you were sweating and your braid had slightly come undone. A volleyball sat snuggly in between your arms and Kageyama quickly put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“She played?!” he asked with wide eyes and HInata’s jaw dropped.

“And we missed it?!”

“There, there. Maybe this can serve as inspiration to pass next time.” Daichi laughed as he slung his arms over their shoulders.

“Who did (F/N)-chan play with?!” Hinata asked as they slowly made their way to their respective spot on the court.

‘(F/N)-chan…? Since when were they on a first name basis?’ Kageyama thought as he listened in on Sugarawa sharing the details with them.

“We came back into the gym because our break was over, only to find her playing with Kuroo-san, Bokuto-san, and Akaashi-san.”

“Eh?! She was able to play against those three?! Woah, (F/N)-chan you’re amazing! I can’t believe we missed it!” Hinata cried as he hurriedly ran up to you and pouted.

Kageyama was impressed and made his way towards the group to see how you were doing. Hinata had helped you up to your feet and you grabbed the carriers that held the team’s water bottled. You smiled at the both of them when Kageyama reached you and shrugged. “Maybe I’ll play with you guys soon, so don’t be too sad. To be honest, it was just a game on the whim. I wanted to serve by myself before anyone came and before I knew it, I got swept up in a mock two versus two with them.”

“How do you know them?” Yamaguchi asked as you smiled and passed him his water bottle.

“We went to the same youth camp when we were younger. Well...just Bokuto and Kuroo though, I just met Akaashi-san today.” Haya explained.

‘Just how good is her actual skill? If she played with Kuroo and Bokuto at a young age...I want to see her play.’ Kageyama sighed as he let his thoughts roam and grabbed his bottle out of the carrier.

Coach Ukai called over to them and he instantly knew it was time to get focused. He and Hinata were already late so it was time to make up for all the time that they missed. Kageyama would have to find out about your past later either from you or Nishinoya because curiosity was eating him up inside. He needed to know because of how much he’s heard. The strong were always on the court and there was a part of him that wanted to find out just how strong of a player you could be, especially growing up with one of the top players from Tokyo.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #Haikyu!!#haikyuu fanfiction #fly high!#kageyama #kageyama tobio #kageyama fanfiction #kageyama fluff #kageyama x reader #kageyama x fem!reader #kageyama x you #kageyama x y/n #kageyama series #haikyuu series #haikyuu x reader

68 notes · View notes

finn-ray-nal-beads · 3 years

Note

Second idea, but feel free to ignore!

Captain Blowhole in action mode, kicking ass and taking names, to res use his favorite philly.

@safarigirlsp I HAVE HAD THIS SITTING IN MY BRAIN FOR EVER AND IM SO SORRY I’M FINALLY ANSWERING THIS NOW, BUT I WANTED TO MAKE IT WORTH THE READING AND ADVENTURE THAT YOU DESIRE BITCH! 🖤

ALLOW ME TO TELL A WHALE OF A TALE MY SWEET SIREN...

He knew he’d fucked up. Knew he shouldn’t have been so greedy with his booty, and his other booty, so to speak. Following the undead buccaneer crew to the depths of the Isla De Muerta, in search of gold and glory, and all for what? For you to be captured by the undead crew? Doomed to be touched by Barbosa himself?

The thought of his skeleton fingers encapsulating your precious throat, nigh, his precious throat, made his stomach churn with anger and remorse.

He stared into the abyss of the fog ridden ocean, squinting as the Black Pearl came into his view. A devilish grin falling over his face as he patted the large chest sitting by the captain’s wheel, the cursed treasure sitting at his waist as he conjured up negotiations for your freedom.

He bit the skin on his nails, thinking of clever ways to bargain with the dead, who were long past their time to be able to touch you, to smell you, to do what they willed. The thoughts of how illy you were being kept rattled around in his head, making him seethe more and more as the black sails grew closer to his vision. The billowing blackness of the clouds surrounding the cursed ship, the holes in the sails, and the undeniable black flag that whistled in the bustling breeze.

His first mate came to his side, patting his shoulder as he tensed from the touch, handing him a flask of rum as he spoke, “do ya think she’s okay?” he questioned, concerned for your welfare as his buddy bit at his stupidity.

“I sure as fuck hope so,” he grunted, swilling a drink of liquid courage, “I’ll kill every motherfucker on there if she isn’t,” exhaling as the warmth coated his throat, wiping the drippage from his beard as he handed the bottle back to Ron.

“She’s probably not too happy with ya right now, Z,” he commented, giggling as he took a swig again, placing a hand on the wheel to aim the ship starboard for the attack.

Flip smirked, huffing a deep laugh as he contemplated the words, “you’re probably right on that account, buddy,” clapping his back as he glanced back down at the stone chest, “but I have ta make it right either damn way,” he growled, placing hands on his hips as he gazed towards Ron.

“Plus,” he placed a hand over his mouth, chuckling at his own dirtiness, “I kinda like it when she’s mad... It... does things to me,” shuttering as he thought of your claws pawing his pristine back muscles, hearing your pained cries underneath him in a round of hate-fucking that was destined to ensue when you both were reunited.

Just then, the anchor lowered, placing the Roger side by side with the Pearl as the canons were shuttered open from both camps.

“Well, well, well,” a booming voice called out, “look who finally decided to show up, gentleman?” a chorus of laughter coming from the black shrouds on the enemy side.

“We don’t want this to be a fight, Barbosa,” Flip shouted back, his voice looming over the waves and the wind as he noticed the captain come into view, “I brought a trade opportunity for you, in fact,” leaning on the case like a sleazy salesman.

“A trade you say?” the dirty seaman rubbed his festering beard, yellowed eyes boring in Flip’s direction, “a trade for what, blowhole?!” bellows of heavy chuckles ringing out again at his insult, causing Flip to roll his eyes, wishing he was blowing his hole in your cunt instead of negotiating with the dead.

“You know exactly what I want, Hector,” the shocking reveal of his first name sending the enemy captain in a furied frenzy, “show her to me you snake!” Flip growled over the tidal waves brewing around the vessels.

Barbosa bored his jaundiced eyes towards Flip, the two of them not even stopping to blink as he watched him mull over the command, “show her, and I’ll give you the one thing you want most in this world,” he taunted again, the words stinging the old captain’s face as he heard every pronounced word.

After a few moments, he indulged his curiosities, “bring the slut,” he chanted to his mate, who nodded and promptly went to fetch you.

Flip grimaced at the slur, his fists balling at his sides as he tried to compose himself. ‘take some deep breaths buddy,’ he chanted in the recesses of his mind, ‘she’ll be back with you in no time, maybe,’ exhaling at the notion.

The crewman produced your writhing form from the gallows below, your hair in complete chaos, stripped down to your skivvies as you gnashed at the whistles and howls from the enemy crew taking you in.

“Get the fuck off of me you bastards!” screaming at the top of your lungs, your body freezing as the cool air hit your undergarments.

“Now, now, lil’ lady,” Barbosa gripped you in his crusty hands, pushing you to be shown to your lover, “you need to play nice in this negotiation, pet,” running greasy fingers through your tattered hair, the feeling making your face contort in disgust as you shut your eyes.

“I’m not a prize to be negotiated,” spitting on his buckled boots as you were slapped across the face by his first mate.

“You will behave, whore!” he shouted, you hissing from the pain of the blow as your feral form looked over to finally lock eyes with your sailor.

“Flip!” you yelled, “Flip you fucking jackass!” a combination of angry and relieved as you were forced to your knees on the deck of the ship.

“As you were saying,” Barbosa continued, his crewman wrapping a gag around your mouth as you groaned and bit at him, “produce your trade, captain,” he taunted, curious what could be more important than a lowly whore.

Flip snarled as he watched you be treated like an animal, the blood boiling in his veins as he backed to produce the chest, “Here, is my trade,” he pronounced, the stone top hitting the wooden deck in a thud.

A hush grew over the crowd of scalawags, bugged eyes gazing at the Aztec gold as is shimmered in the sunlight. Flip’s cheeky grin appeared as he saw the captain squirm under his prize he’d thought he’d had over him, crossing his muscled arms over his chest as he waited for Barbosa to reply.

“Name yer terms, Zimmerman,” he snarled quizzically towards the handsome sailor, placing an iron grip on the top of your head as you panted below him staring into the eyes of your lover.

“You give me, Y/N,” he cocked his head, deep voice radiating your name like a siren song, the wetness forming in your britches as you angrily writhed again, wanting to choke the life out of every sailor on the Seven Seas including blowhole.

“And?” the scheming captain pandered, gesturing for the rest of his demands.

“And,” looking you dead in the eyes as he retorted back with sarcasm, “I’ll give you the answer to your problems, Hector,” smiling as he tipped his cap towards him, “I know you crave to... feel again,” the final nail in the negotiations pinned as he waited on baited breath, canons at the ready in case of a mutiny.

“Well,” the captain contemplated again, ripping your face to meet his as his ratty finger stroked your pristine cheek “let’s get this goin’ then shall we lass?” chuckling as he lifted your weight to his eye level.

Flip watched as he drug your body towards the end of the ship, eyeballing his crew as they readied for any kind of foul play.

“You want her so badly, captain?” he mewled at him, “then go fetch your whore!” flipping your ass off the end of the ship to sink you in the depths of the black ocean, a series of screams echoing coupled with a splash as you fell.

“Mother fucker!” Flip yelled out, ridding himself of his cap and jacket, to bound over the edge of his ship, a chorus of yells erupting on both sides as canons began to flare in an all out brawl.

He penetrated the cold water, hair erupting around him as he sought out your figure flailing in the ocean, hands tied around your back as you struggled to meet the surface for oxygen.

He stroked over to you, a frenzy of waves crashing overhead as he gripped your waist to pull you to the surface. A huge gasp leaving your lungs as you felt the cool breeze on your wet face.

“I’ve got ya, darlin’,” he panted, pulling himself and you towards the Roger as gunfire clouded the ships, “I’ve got ya,” using his brute strength as you helplessly floated with him.

He pulled you to the back of the ship, shoving you in a porthole before he climbed in as well, the thud of your body causing him to chuckle slightly as he remembered your restraints.

As soon as he climbed in he was met with a slap on the face, the strength of it knocking him back to the wall of his ship. Your raging fists in front of your face as you’d escaped your ropes.

“You lying,” stumbling over him, fists balled up in a fury, “cheating,” gritting your teeth, “sleazy, son of a bitch, pirate asshole, motherfucker!” screaming as another hard punch landed on his prominent nose.

“Jesus fuckin’,” he groaned, the blow causing his nose to bleed as he shook himself back to reality, your angry apparition clouding his vision.

“I-I’m sorry darlin’,” putting his hands in retreat as you had hauled a piece of wood to beat him with, “I-I’m so fuckin’ sorry!” cowering slightly to prepare for an ass beating he so rightfully deserved.

“You’re not fuckin’ sorry at all you asshole,” heavy sobs leaving your lungs as you watched him get up, the faint sounds of shotguns blaring amongst the waves, “If you were sorry you wouldn’t have left me to die on that goddamn island you cowardly shit!” heaves coming out from you as you fell to your knees, cowering in the reality that he was using you for his own trade deals.

“I-I you’re right,” he stammered, watching as you wailed from the drama over the last few days of your capture, “I-I’m such a shit,” he agreed, trying to inch closer to comfort you, only to have you pummel his kneecaps in revolt.

“Don’t,” you looked up, seeing red, “don’t you fucking touch me, Phil!” releasing a breath as you gathered your thoughts again.

“In fact, why don’t you go save your precious crew while I stay down here and think about all the things I’m gonna do to you later you fucking dick!” shooing him away with cat scratches as he stumbled up towards the fighting.

“I’ll be back, my sweet siren,” trying to signal his apology, his amber eyes boring into yours as he looked for any sign of forgiveness, “and you can do whatever you see fit to me,” bowing as he smirked, running his ass up to fight the good fight as you rolled your eyes, thinking of ideas to pummel his ass later on.

I HOPE THIS WAS CHEEKY ENOUGH FOR YOU! BLOWHOLE IS NEAR AND DEAR TO MY HEART AND HE’S SUCH A DICK HE DESERVES A RIGHT BEATING FROM US FOR SURE! 😂

oneshot taglist: @maybe-your-left, @safarigirlsp, @clydesfavoritegirl, @emeraldsiren20, @thepalaceofmelanie, @bpdbensoloblog, @hopeamarsu, @caillea

#flip zimmerman request #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman #flip x you #flip x reader #pirate!flip #flip zimmerman imagine #yes i alluded to pirates of the caribbean and im not sorry #i fucking love this au im so deep in it now

25 notes · View notes

sams-sass · 4 years

Text

The Others pt. 8-Final

Hey guys! Here is the final part to ‘The Others’ series. Thank you guys so much for all the love and support!

Read the whole series here:

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Summary: It’s the end.

Warnings: Angst. You get hurt (I mean, its me and I can’t write angst so your fine. But still...you get hurt.) Fluff.

Summary: Sam x Psychic!Reader

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

His yellow eyes never left yours, his overgrown smile making you feel uneasy under his gaze

Your skin was beginning to sore and bruise from the constant twisting and pulling you were doing. Your breath was fast and your heart was pounding in your chest. You shook your head and turned your eyes up to look at your surroundings. The table sat in the middle of the room, ready and waiting for you. The other demons all stood stoic and unmoving in their earie silence. You glanced over at Sam; he too was twisting his wrists against the ropes. Brandon moved from behind the two of you to stand next to the yellow eyed demon. His eyes turned black and a smile spread across his face. Before you knew it, he was gone. The yellow eyed demon shifted his gaze back to you and licked his lips.

“If you touch her, I will tear you apart.” Sam spat, his shoulders squaring.

“Got the love bug, Sammy? Careful, you know what happened the last time.” His eyes finally moving away from you.

“Take me instead.” He sounded like his confidence was waning.

“You? Oh no, Sam. I’ve got other plans for you.” He took a step towards you and your stomach dropped.

Dean parked outside the fraternity house and went to the trunk, grabbing things for the hunt. He slipped a gun in the waistband of his pants and a knife in his boot. He took a long drag from a flask and put it back into his jacket. He walked up the stairs and leaned against the wall, tilting his head to look in the window. Brandon sat at a table, his eyes black and his fists balled. Dean kicked the door in and entered the house.

“Where are they!” He screamed; his face hard as he raised his gun.

“Right where we want them.” Brandon said, his lips curling into a wicked grin. Dean narrowed his eyes and weighed his options before deciding on the only choice he really had. Fight through.

The yellow eyed demon rested his hands on your chair and leaned forward. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck.

“Get away from her!” Sam screamed, the legs of his chair bouncing along the concrete floor. You felt his breath as he inhaled your scent deep into his lungs. You turned your face away, your stomach flipping inside you. His breath was hot against your skin. You felt violated. Disgusted. Your nose crinkled and you tried to swallow down the feeling in your gut.

“Perfect.” He exhaled as he stood, letting you finally breathe.

“Just leave her alone. She has nothing to do with this.” Sam pleaded.

“Nothing to do with this? Why do you think I chose this college? For her.” Yellow eyes said. Your chest tightened and your heart dropped in your chest. All those girls got hurt because of you? They all were just pieces of the puzzle about you? All of this was your fault.

“What?” You spoke for the first time, your eyes moving to his yellow ones.

“Don’t listen, Y/N. Demons lie all the time.” Sam tried to reassure you. You looked over at him out of the corner of your eye. Praying that he was right.

“Oh, Sammy. Don’t be so mean. We tell the truth all the time.” He turned back to the two of you, his arms crossed over his chest.

“No.” You said back, your teeth gritting against one another in anger.

“You see darling, you have some of the purest and most potent blood I have ever smelt. You are one powerful psychic from a line of powerful psychics.” Your eyebrows furrowed and you tilted back slightly in your chair.

“No one in my family is psychic.” You said back.

“Your grandmother was one, and her mother and her mother before that. It is a lineage that goes back generations. It skipped your mother for some reason, but that doesn’t matter because you are the most powerful one yet.” Your heart was pounding inside your chest as your mind frantically took in this new information. What? No. How could this be? “You, are the one I have been waiting for. Your blood will bring Beelzebub to earth.” He was so sure of himself as he spoke.

“You’re Azazel.” Sam said, his head tilting back slightly as he finally put a name to the evil that had haunted him his whole life.

“Bingo.” The demon snapped his fingers and made awkward finger guns at Sam. You saw Sam sink into himself as all his strength left his body. There was something about watching Sam lose his vigor that ignited something within you. You felt the flame that was sitting in your chest begin to grow. Your breathing steadied and became heavy and long in your lungs. Your head tilted down slightly while still looking into his yellow eyes. The small fame began to expand into a full and grown fire, spreading throughout your blood. Goosebumps covered your skin and you could feel the power within you growing.

The door to the basement slammed open as Brandon threw Dean down the stairs. He rolled across the floor, his body limp and his eyes closed. You heard Sam’s breath catch in his throat. Felt your heart stop at the same time as his. Sam's Adams apple bobbed in his neck, his lip twitching in anger. He was beginning to get his strength back. Beginning to feel the energy building within him once again. Brandon’s onyx eyes looked up at Azazel and a telepathic communication was passed between them. His eyes then slid over to you and a tingle ran down your spine. He began to walk over to you and you instinctively leaned back in your chair, your wrists working faster. He pulled a knife out of his waistband and smiled as your eyes went wide. You heard Sam’s chair moving next to you. Heard his grunting and panicked breaths in your ear. Brandon leaned down in front of you and ran the blade along your cheek.

“I will kill you; I swear to god!” Sam’s deep voice was echoing off the walls in the quiet room. Brandon completely ignored him, all his focus on you.

“Shall we?” He asked you as he dragged the blade over your chest. He stood and cut the ropes holding you, grabbing your arm and yanking you out of the chair. His fingers dug into the flesh of your bicep, holding you incredibly tight. It was almost like you left your body then. The fear consumed you in its paralyzing embrace, rendering you stiff and unfeeling.

“No. No. NO!” Sam was shaking, his long fingers working at the ropes. Tears were running down his face, making the vision of you being dragged away blurry. You were so caught up in your panic that you had forgotten to react. You snapped back into yourself, and turned your face towards Sam. Your eyes connected and the wave of energetic calm washed over you again. That feeling that you had experienced ever since the first time you met Sam filled you wholly. You felt the emotion wash through you, the flame ignited once more. A loud and sharp breath filled your lungs. You pushed against Brandon, your feet coming to a halt on the ground. He turned and snarled at you, his top lip curling in disgust for you. You swallowed all your fear and panic. You let it all settle in your gut and felt it turning into something else. You felt your body begin to digest that total despair and turn it into anger. Anger for all the girls who laid on this table before you. Anger for Jenny and what she now had to carry with her for the rest of her life. Anger for what this demon had took from the man that you were quickly falling in love with. Anger for Dean’s bloodied and broken face and soul. Finally, anger for yourself. You felt yourself fill with a new found rage for these demons and their so called “plan”. For their exploitation of you for your oh so precious blood.

“No.” You said, your jaw jutting forward. Brandon practically growled and wrapped his arms around you, holding you against him. You kicked your legs hard, your torso twisting. You clawed at him, feeling his skin slide under your fingernails. He threw you on top of the table. You were still fighting as he began to pin your arms and legs down. He slapped you across the face, hard. You felt the sting along your skin. Felt the slow burn spread across your cheek.

“Let’s begin.” He said, his eyes glancing back over to the yellow eyed demon.

Sam watched in horror as Brandon tightened the straps around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the table. His hand came down hard across your face. Sam’s muscles clenched as a reaction to the harsh sound. Your cheek was red and your nails were bloody. Your hips bucked against the table, trying desperately to get free.

“No!” You said again, Sam could hear the anger in your voice. Feel your heart beating just as fast and as loud as his. A demon stepped forward and ran his knife over your skin. You screamed a loud and painful scream that made Sam shake with agony. Another one was next, slicing through your smooth and perfect skin. Azazel stepped forward and took the blade from the demon, he tapped the blade over a bowl and began to chant in Latin. Sam could only make out one word “Beelzebub”. His stomach dropped and his heart skipped a beat. There was a change in the air and then they started to appear. Spirits. They were everywhere. Some of them were in long white hospital gowns, others were in more modern clothing. The girls were there too, Sam recognized them from their missing posters. The spirits looked as if they were fading, a glow around them slowly diminishing.

“He’s feeding off their energy, just like the book said.” Sam mumbled to himself. It all made sense now. The college, you, the abandoned sanitarium. The frat house was the closest building that was still used by the college to the sanitarium. All the pieces fell into place. The ground started to shake. A light was emerging from the basement floor. Sam watched as the spirits tried to fight it, but couldn’t. Sam couldn’t contain himself anymore. Between watching you being tortured and the sounds of your screams, his adrenalin was too high. He closed his eyes and pulled against the ropes as hard as he could. He could feel his muscles straining against his shirt, feel his sweat running down his face. The ropes gave and his arms spread out wide. He stood and began walking over to you when he felt it.

You were screaming on the table. Pain and agony radiated through every inch of your body. You felt them before you saw them. Felt their energy. The spirits started to appear around you, filling the entire room. You made eye contact with one of the girls that the frat had tortured and killed on the very table you were on now. She held so much sadness in her eyes. So much agony laid to rest with her. You suddenly knew what you had to do. You closed your eyes and focused, feeling the energy from them fill you. Your whole life you had avoided them. Let them tell you their message and be on with their way. You had always assumed that you were here to help them. You never thought about how they could help you.

The room changed. The air was so thick with electricity that Sam could almost see it, feel it in the static. He looked back over at you and saw that you were practically pulsating. There was a loud sound in the distance, almost as if there was a train approaching. He could feel the air getting even thicker around him. The hair on the back of his neck and arms rose. A tingle ran down his spine and a cold sweat took over his body. A ringing sound started in his ears. It was slow and soft at first, but then it became louder and louder. The demons began to notice the change too. The yellow eyed demon looked around the room, noticing the static in it.

“That’s my girl.” He smiled down at you, holding his own knife to your chest. Your screams were so loud and so hurt. You were doing this. Your power was pushing back against the demons.

“NO!” Your voice screamed again, there was an almost audible pulse that came off of you. Like a ripple in the air. The light coming from the ground faded and the spirits all became bright lights and then disappeared, at peace finally. Sam watched in utter amazement as one by one the demons smoked out. The black smoke piling together and vanishing through the doors and windows. Brandon was shaking in his place, his skin twitching and his eyes turning from black to normal. Then the smoke poured out of his mouth as well and he crumpled to the ground like the others. The yellow eyed demon was knocked off his feet by Dean tackling him to the ground. Dean climbed on top of him and raised a knife.

“See you soon.” The demon said before smoking out as well, leaving an unconscious man in his wake. Sam and Dean stared down at his face; they couldn’t stop from feeling the shame and guilt from once again not being able to kill this demon. Sam was pulled out of his trance by the sound of your voice.

“Sam.” You mumbled his name. Your voice was weak and broken sounding. He quickly ran to you and began to undo the straps.

“Hey, I'm here. I’m right here, Y/N.” He undid the last strap and wrapped his large hands around your face. His fingers dug into your hair and his eyes tried to connect with yours. Your eyes were rolling in their sockets, you were exhausted. Using that much power and strength had completely drained you. Sam could feel how tired you were. How utterly spent you were. He could feel it in himself too, the feeling of your hearts beating in time once again. He quickly picked you up into his arms. Your head turned into his chest and nuzzled into him slightly. He carried you out of the house with Dean right behind him. He laid in the backseat with you, turning you so that your legs were wrapped around his waist and your head rested on his shoulder.

“Is she ok?” Dean asked, his eyes looking at the two of you through the rearview mirror.

“I’m not sure. She’s still breathing.” Sam answered.

“Sam.” Your voice was even breathier than last time. His large hands smoothed over your head and down your back. His fingers pulled up the bottom of your shirt slightly so his skin could move over yours.

“Shh, Y/N. You did so good, I’m so proud of you, baby. You did so good.” He whispered into your ear.

Sam laid you out on your bed and took your hand in his. Your eyes were closed, your breathing coming in heavy and slow. He got a washcloth and began to clean your wounds. You had several cuts along your skin, some shallow and some deep. He gently wrapped them in gauze and made sure to check every inch of you for more injuries. He then climbed into the bed next to you and gathered you securely into his arms. He cried into your hair for a while. Everything had been so crazy. The demon was right there and once again he got away. Once again, he was too quick for them. They needed the colt and they needed to kill this son of a bitch. But you were safe. At the moment, that seemed to be the only thing that mattered to Sam. You were the only thing that mattered to Sam. He had loved Jess, there was no denying that. He would have been a lucky and happy man to spend the rest of his life with her, but you. You were different there was something about you that Sam couldn’t let go of. You were everything to him now. He would never let you go. He closed his eyes, images of your smile floating through his mind, and allowed himself to finally fall asleep.

You woke to the sun on your face. You scrunched your nose slightly and tried to roll over, only to find out you were caged against Sam. His body was hot and firm against yours. You smiled to yourself and then the memories came. The memories of the demons. The knifes. The blood. You looked down at your arm and saw that it was wrapped in gauze. Your fingertips danced across it slightly, remembering the cut underneath. Your lip quivered and your lips parted. You sniffled and tried to bury yourself closer into Sam. He was calming you slightly, but nothing could stop the overwhelming feeling of the situation. Sam spun you in his arms and let you cry into his chest for however long you needed. Eventually, your eyes dried and your breathing steadied. You moved so you could look into Sam’s everchanging eyes. These were the eyes you wanted to look into for the rest of your life. These were the eyes that held so much pain, but still expressed joy and love. He leaned forward and kissed your forehead, his nose running across your hairline.

“I’m so happy you’re ok.” He whispered into the quiet room.

“Right back at ya.” You mumbled into his chest. This was it. Your life would never be the same. You didn’t know how you were going to do this, but you knew you had to. You knew that you could never be without Sam. Never fall asleep next to anyone else. Never wake to anything but his strong arms around you. Never love a sound more than his laugh. You decided right then and there that you were going with him. Forever. There was nothing the two of you couldn’t do. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours.

“I love you, Y/N.” His lips whispered against yours.

“I love you so much, Sam.” Your fingers twisted into his hair. The two of you laughed together.

“You gave me everything I ever wanted and more.” His smile was wide across his face and his eyes never left yours.

“You’re my everything.” You bit your lip, tracing his face with your fingertips.

Two days later

You placed your last shirt into your bag and zipped it up. You looked around your room and let out a breath. You were saying goodbye to everything you had ever known. No more trying to be normal. No more trying to fit in. You were going with Sam and Dean. You would find this demon and kill it. You smiled to yourself, closing your eyes and taking a cleansing breath. You felt arms around your waist and immediately melted into Sam. His lips danced over your neck and shoulder, warm and wet kisses in their wake. You spun in his arms and smiled at him.

“I’ve never met anyone who understands me like you do.” You said, twisting your fingers into his hair.

“I know what you mean. I feel the same way about you.” He said, pressing his forehead to yours and closing his eyes.

The boys helped you pack your things into the trunk and Dean came over to you.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked you, his green eyes serious.

“I never belonged here. I always belonged with Sam. I see that now.” You smiled at him, your hand touching him on the shoulder.

“Me too.” He smiled back at you.

“Me three.” Said Sam, draping his arm across your shoulders. The three of you all climbed into the impala. You ran your hands over the cool leather of the backseat and let your body sink into the comfort. The engine roared to life and as the three of you drove off there was no telling what life had in store. You could have never imagined the road ahead, but there was always something telling you that it was the right path. You were psychic after all.

Tags: @watermelonlipstick @hecatemacbeth7 @vampire7595

42 notes · View notes

jtavington · 3 years

Text

The last complete scene I wrote

I’m actually rather proud of this. It’s part of an Edelstance WC novelization.

The Sealed Forest had to be the most forlorn and forgotten section of the monastery. The Archbishop and priests had conducted rituals here centuries ago, and the remnants of the chapel looked as if a stiff breeze would blow them over.

Something crawled across her foot. Something soft with too many legs. A bug. Constance shrieked and leapt in the air.

A pair of hands settled gently but firmly on her shoulders, forcing her back to the ground. "Easy,” Edelgard whispered. "You're safe. Slow, deep breaths."

Constance did as she was commanded. Her heart rate returned to normal, but her face burned. Her sunlight self would be enough to brand her a madwoman if anyone outside Abyss knew, but at least she could blame losing all that she had. There was no such dignity in being afraid of bugs. "Your Highness. My apologies."

"There's nothing to apologize for." Edelgard moved to stand beside her. She had tamed her hair and changed into a clean uniform, the world once more working as it should. "Many people are afraid of bugs. The important thing is being able to deal with your weaknesses."

Constance swallowed. No one had said such things to her. Her tutors had locked her in the apiary to break her of her fear. The head of the School of Sorcery had pronounced her change in the sunlight incurable. She was a defective who would have been expelled had she not quietly agreed to leave. Edelgard's empathy couldn't extend that far, but any kindness was appreciated. "Thank you.”

A strange look crossed Edelgard's face, as if no one had ever thanked her before. "It was nothing."

They stood like that in the darkness with only the far-off calls of the forest to break the silence. Eventually, the orange lights of torches appeared. Some of the bearers looked frightened, some furious, some intrigued. She recognized most of them as villagers of Garreg Mach: the blacksmith, the cobbler, one of the farmers who let her and Hapi glean from his fields. These were people she had known for years. People she had believed were pious believers. Surely they couldn't all be willing to risk the wrath of the Goddess?

The air stilled and the forest fell silent. Constance's's hair stood on end. There was a shadow in the center of the crowd. No, something more than a shadow: a darkness that drew in the light of flames and stars. The darkness moved almost as if it were a man. Then white, skeletal hands emerged and threw back its hood.

It was man-shaped, to be sure, but it—he?--looked like no man she had ever seen before. His face and hair were not merely pale, but as white as bone bleached by the sun. Enormous veins crisscrossed his forehead. His black right eye looked as if it had been transplanted from a face twice the size. He leaned on a staff, but his movements were those of a spider.

Edelgard found Constance's hand and squeezed. "Breathe. It's just another animal, and one that needs to scurry in the dark to do its work." She sucked in a breath. "That must be Solon.”

Edelgard's words did little to still Constance's hammering heart. There were tales of dark magic that could twist the flesh of the user until they were barely recognizable as humans. Until now, she had believed them to be tales only. Those in the crowd murmured. Some tried to edge away, but the darkness grew thick around them as if it were a wall.

"My friends," said Solon. "Welcome to the revolution."

Silence. He continued. "You have been brought here, you have been chosen, because you have suffered at the hands of those who think blood gives them the right to rule. These dukes and counts have held power for a thousand years because the church says that the Goddess bestowed her power on them. But the church and the Goddess have done nothing to protect us. Either the Goddess cannot protect us or she chooses not to. But the church is worse. They murdered those who even ask questions. Did they offer aid when your farms were burned or your sisters raped?”

“No, they didn't!"

"Because their real goal is to pocket the gold the nobles give them. And the nobles only care about power. They think their magic blood makes them invincible. But we have to power too!” Purple light engulfed his hands. "I have been bled and broken for mine. This twisted form you see is what I became so that I might be strong enough to liberate this accursed world. We have only to be brave enough to seize our destinies. My lord the Flame Emperor knows this."

Edelgard scoffed. "Is he a revolutionary or a blatherer?”

"The power of the nobles wield lies most of all in their Relics. The church will tell you that only the worthy, by which they mean nobles, can wield them. If that were true, why was a Relic housed in Dagda for years? Why is it being held by a minister with no Crest? I will tell you why. Because the power can be welded by anyone with the will. Yes, you yourselves could strike down hundreds with the stroke. I say storm Enbarr and take what belongs to you."

“He'll get them all killed. That dastard!” The color drained from Edelgard's face. “If not by the guards then--”

“--they'll end up like Miklan,” Constance finished for her. The Beast had nearly ripped Hapi apart. And a Beast was what it had been. His body had writhed and pulsed as the black ooze had overtook him. Screams had become roars of an animal and he had lashed at them without any hint of intelligence. She would not have believed the blessings of the Goddess could be so perverted had she not seen it for herself. The Beast had been destructive enough in the tower. On the streets of Enbarr, there would be bloodshed on a scale not seen for a hundred years.

"Gut the rats! For the Flame Emperor!" The cry rose from the crowd, only one voice at first but then more and more until they were chanting the words like a prayer. "For the Flame Emperor!"

Edelgard shivered. “Monster.” She gripped Constance's arm. "We need to get out of here. Now."

3 notes · View notes

thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

Text

ATTD: The Hunting Party (2)

ATTD Masterlist

I agonized over this for ages bc everybody knows prophecies rhyme, but i am deeply Not A Poet, so like... be gentle with me lmao

@whumpitywhumpwhump @favwhumpstuff

Ongoing TW for this series: the Big Bads here are bug related, so tread carefully if you you have any level of entomophobia. It’s mainly referenced here, but it will absolutely get worse. If you have specific bug-related triggers, you can always message me for a more detailed description of what to expect. So.

TW for: body horror (relating to mummification, and, separately, Bugs); blood-drinking; referenced/implied possession (of a sort); captivity; implied magical torture; lady whump; referenced murder. Also, uh... evil flies. Like not giant. Just evil

----

Awake, at least, Middle Sister had seen nothing but this room for three long months.

The room was of a respectable size—high-ceilinged, not wide but long enough to be properly called a Hall—but far enough underground that the air felt close and stale regardless. The walls and ceiling are polished marble, black with veins the color of old bone. The furnishings—richly carved but sparse—were the same. An altar, bare. Two benches, never occupied. A high-backed throne for her to sit upon, slumped and unmoving.

Middle Sister did not know how long this room had been here. The past was her Sister’s business; for all that Middle Sister know, they might have carved the chamber just for her. Her mark, upon the throne—a sun, inlaid in gold, above her head—would seem to show that it at least had been custom-made.

The chains, hammered into the arms of the throne, and ending in manacles around her wrists, were the same muted gold as the inlaid sun. She was held immobile by other, crueler means—could not move without blood in her veins; the gold cuffs hung loose on her dry and leathered wrists—so the chains were just for show.

She was going to kill everyone responsible—from her captors to whatever craftsmen carved the sun and forged the chains—but she could, at least, respect the commitment to aesthetics.

To keep an Oracle in one’s basement, one needed chains. To leave her without them—even as a dried out husk upon her throne—would be positively gauche. Someone might think they’d left her corpse here by mistake.

The old man—the Emperor’s Advisor—who had no other name than that, and who always brought with him the buzzing of flies, right at the edge of her hearing—was the only living thing she had seen in months.

He was halfway through his usual ritual now. He brought a candle and a golden chalice with him from upstairs, and now he was holding the chalice over the candle and half-chanting in his scratchy buzzing voice, a stream of nonsense about the sun, how it knew all and saw all, and now he wished to know and see all as well.

The ritual was exactly as practical as the gilded chains. The chalice was full of blood, and blood was all she needed.

The old man finished chanting, and stepped around the altar, approached the throne. He put the chalice up to her desiccated lips and carefully poured about a tablespoon of blood down her dry throat.

Middle Sister breathed in, as even this tiny helping of lifeblood wet her tongue and throat and lungs enough to take in the first air she’d had since the old man’s last visit, more than a week ago now. The blood soaked into her heart and filled it out, like a raisin turning back into a grape. The first few beats were always painful.

Part of Middle Sister always hoped that he would measure wrong—bring her two tablespoons someday, instead of one. This blood is enough to bring life back into her mouth and tongue and lungs and throat and heart. Another gulp would bring life back into her arms, enough to tie these stupid soft-gold chains into a pretty bow around the old man’s neck, and drag herself upstairs, to find enough blood to fill her wings with life as well, and away from here, at last.

It wouldn’t be that easy, of course. She was going to have to wait. Sit here like so much salt-dried meat, until she’d gathered enough cards to make a meaningful play.

Then, when she was out, she’d spill enough blood to bathe in.

“I hesitate to wake you so soon after the last time,” the old man was saying, with a hint of irony. “However: It seems we’ve had a bit of a setback.”

With a tablespoon of blood, Middle Sister could lift her head, and raise and eyebrow at the old man, too, with a little effort. Her dried skin wrinkled with a sound like old paper, but thankfully it didn’t tear.

Oh, she said, her voice made more of magic than of air. We have, have we?

The old man smirked, and bowed his head. “Your meaning is well taken,” she said. “The miscalculation was not yours, my Lady. We attempted to act on the information you so generously provided—”

Middle Sister snorted. She had been accused of many things, but rarely generosity. Is that what we’re calling it, she asked airily—her voice dry wind against the old man’s ears—I provide you—generously—with prophecy, and you—generously again—replace enough of the blood you stole, to let me move my lips?

The old man almost laughed. “Again, Lady: Your criticism is understood. I apologize once more for the lack of—creature comforts.”

She didn’t waste energy on rolling her eyes, however much she might have liked to. It’s true that I am accustomed to indulging in pleasure such as blood, and life. She sighed, tipping her head back to see him better. What is this setback ‘we’ have suffered, My Lord Advisor?

“We’ve lost the boy,” the old man said.

Middle Sister blinked at him. Then she half-crumpled forward, using up most of her borrowed blood in painful, dry-heaving laughter.

Lost the—you lost him? You found the boy from Future’s Rhyme and then you lost him?

The old man watched her laugh with bland amusement. Middle Sister collapsed back against the throne, wheezing, already half a corpse again.

Oh, my lord Advisor, she croaked, almost with affection. Your masters mustn’t be very pleased with you, eh?

The old man’s mouth twitched slightly. “They are not thrilled,” he allowed. He did not sound especially distressed.

He was a funny old riddle, the Emperor’s Advisor. There were flies in his head, certainly. But they seemed to have left behind an unusual amount of brain.

The old man bowed his fly-ridden head, with his wrinkled hand over his heart. “Thus, I am instructed to ask you for further direction, my Lady. Any further words from you would be a blessing.”

I’ve none to give you, Middle Sister said, with real pleasure. And I am hardly in a position to be offering blessings, my dear, she added. She was fading fast now, but there was just enough blood left in her dried-up veins for another pointed arch of her brow.

Advisor squinted at her. Clearly he was thinking hard, and—though maybe this was wishful thinking on Middle Sister’s part—he seemed to be looking with own old man’s eyes, and not with the faceted compound ones hidden behind their sockets.

“Perhaps,” the old man said delicately, “in return for further prophecy. I can persuade my masters to come up with some sort of reward.”

And then he gathered up the chalice—empty, now, of blood—and gave her a sly little smile.

The offer was clear enough.

I’ll see what I can do, my dear, Middle Sister told him, and that was all she had the blood to say.

For now.

----

The dream, when it comes again, goes like this:

There is a hall, with carved alabaster columns and tile the color of the sky, or the Wolf-Killer’s eyes, beautiful—but blown open at the sides, to reveal a sky that is not blue, but is a roiling bloody red as though the clouds themselves were cut open and bleeding to death in the dust.

In the center of the hall there is a tree, and the tree grew from a seed, and the seed was born in blood.

Will be born in blood.

The problem with riding Little Sister’s dreams is that it is hard to keep track of one’s tense.

The other problem with Little Sister’s dreams is that they are starting to repeat, which Middle Sister has never known them to do before—

In spite of herself, she thinks of Little Sister, watching this, over and over—how Little Sister always hurt, how it always hurt Little Sister to dream.

(Middle Sister breathes out, in her sleep, relieved: last time, Little Sister was wild with fright, the dream patchy and confused, as Little Sister snatched fitful minutes of sleep; Little Sister was always frightened of small spaces, and the cage was much too small, twisted her wings in around her little body; now she is sleeping out under the air, and her wings are sore but whole, and at least one of them is free.)

Focus, now, Middle Sister tells herself.

In the center of the hall there is a tree, except that now it is not a tree, it is a door, and the door is shut, but—

(a flutter of fear in Middle Sister’s dry and bloodless chest)

She is not sure the door is locked.

Behind her she hears the fluttering of enormous wings and whirls toward the sound, jealousy sour in her belly; she wants to fly again so badly—

Black birds scatter everywhere; although she is not really there she imagines they kick up quite a breeze.

She watches them go, and thinks that as omens go, this is not traditionally a good one. Last time she rode piggyback on Little Sister’s dreams, when she squinted to see past Little Sisters real-life-present fear, it was almost the same—the hall and the tree and the door—but instead of crows she had heard the howling of wolves, about a thousand great grey monsters with sharp teeth and sharper eyes, and ugh, why can’t Little Sister’s dreams just say what they mean.

As she is thinking this she hears, behind her—the clearing of a throat, simple and quiet. She turns on her nonexistent heel to follow the sound.

There is a girl standing in front of the door-that-is-closed-but-is-not-locked. She has long black hair, covering blunt human ears, and—behind the hair she does not have a face.

The words, when she speaks, are the same as last time, but last time Little Sister was too frightened to properly see the speaker. And Middle Sister can see nothing Little Sister doesn’t see.

The black-haired girl speaks solemnly, although she has no mouth. Her voice is full of—sympathy, perhaps. Middle Sister isn’t sure who for.

She says it again—the same rhyme—which seems to so excite Advisor, or at least the bugs that live inside his skull. It doesn’t mean much to Middle Sister, but she listens carefully.

She wants to know what the words mean, properly, before she gives them up.

----

Fatherless brother

Where did you go?

Does your mother miss you?

Does your sister know?

Little boy lost,

Little boy lying,

Little boy scared,

Little boy hiding.

Little boy hurt,

Little boy crying,

Little boy cold,

Little boy dying.

In two worlds a brother,

In one world a son:

You’ve opened the door, boy.

How fast can you run?

#all those that dance #original whump #fantasy whump #lady whump #nonhuman whumpee #magic whump #blood magic #insects tw #bugs tw #body horror

5 notes · View notes

gongju-juice · 4 years

Text

7. Once Upon a Southern Night

Still Stuck in 1863

Warnings: Language, Mentions of a miscarriage, all of the usual

That night, you had the strangest, most desirable nightmare of your entire life.

You were barefoot, laying in a bed of flowers wearing a long black dress and white apron. By your side, he was there. But instead of his brilliant red eyes, they were the peaceful color of a bluish gray. On his stomach rested his top hat and he was dressed in the finest clothes; clothes no regular person should have been lounging around in.

“P-Preston?”

He turned on his side and looked up at you, his hand absentmindedly rubbing circles on your flat middle. Bending down, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, dear. I’m here.”

“I. . .” you looked around the clearing. It was early in the afternoon, the golden rays peeking through the oak trees above you. In the distance, rows of cotton stood out against the brown field. “Is this. . .a dream. . .or a memory?”

“Neither,” he murmured. “This is a vision. We are talking together in real-time while you are asleep. Everything around us is what home used to look like.”

“How. . .is this possible?”

He caressed your face with his other hand, gazing into your eyes like he was a moth drawn to a light.

“This is what life should’ve been like. Your mom and the aunties should have been making clothes for the baby, and I should’ve been preparing our home in Pensacola. Instead, I was dragged out to war for what would be the final time I’d ever see you.”

You shook your head, sitting up in the bed of dandelions. “Home? I would be a slave if that would’ve come to fruition. You would’ve married Abigail, and I’d be your negro mistress sleeping in the shack outside with our biracial children.”

He grimaced at his former fiance’s name. No matter what he said, the truth would always be the same. Your love was never equal, he owned you. His family owned you from the moment you were born. You were not his lover. You were his slave.

“I would’ve bought your freedom. Mother could not really force me to marry that woman. I wouldn’t have put up with it—not in a million years. I wanted to dress you in the finest clothes, drape you in jewels. At one time, you wouldn’t have hesitated to believe me.”

He gently pushed you back down to the earth and hovered over your middle before placing a series of kisses on your covered navel.

“We were going to name her Sarah,” he said with a sad note of laughter. “If she was a girl. And if he was a boy—”

“Clyde,” you whispered. “Oh, Preston—Preston, I remember it all. Everything!”

He took you in his heart, and you heard his wild heartbeat clear and strong. The flood of memories was overwhelming, and all you could do was sob in his chest. You remembered catching lightning bugs in the twilight, him secretly teaching you how to read under the stairs. You remembered making love in his bedroom—how the other slaves on the plantation resented his favoritism.

You remembered missing your periods three consecutive months in a row. You remembered his face as you told him, how he lifted you in his arms. You remembered when Major Whitlock arrived and took him away, how he left you with only a little picture of him in a tiny locket.

You remembered his furious mother, and how she incurred her wrath on you any chance she got. You remembered when she knocked you unconscious, blood spilling between your legs when she told you her plans. You remembered your mother’s cold hands and the pain—

How you cried. How you wished for him to come and take your pain away. And your vengeful mother. She spoke nonsense in your ear as you were dying on her straw mattress. She chanted in the candle dim light of your cabin, and the next thing you knew—

You were being tickled in your adopted mother’s arms.

“Do you know?” you choked. “Do you know what your mother did to me?”

His eyes lowered, hands falling to clasp your wrists. “I didn’t find out until twenty years later. . .when I could finally stand to be near a human without wanting to rip their throat out.”

“Did you know. . .that she killed our baby? That she wanted to send me up to Charleston so Abigail and her folks wouldn’t know?”

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he turned away. As he did, a butterfly rose from a lonesome bluebell.

“If I would have been there, I wouldn’t have let that happen,” he growled. “And it’s all Jasper Whitlock’s fault. If he wouldn’t have dragged me out to—”

“No,” you said, “you wanted to go to war. You wanted to bring honor to your family and keep slaves from being free so you could bathe in your money. Don’t act like the victim, Preston. Don’t act like I don’t remember how cruel you were when the abolitionists showed up in Mobile.”

He shook his head, whirling back around to face your tear-stained face. “It was a different time, Y/N, Why does that excuse work for Jasper and not for me? It was my right—”

“And you still think it is!” you snapped. “You think you’re entitled to me because of the past, because of a flawed love we used to share. Jasper has acknowledged things have changed, and he’s changed with time. But you—you’re still stuck in 1863.”

“No!” he shouted ferociously, and suddenly his eyes flickered from river blue to blazing red. “I lost the life I should’ve had! He stole that from me! He deserves to pay, to feel every ounce of suffering I felt all those years.”

“Has he not suffered as I have?” you cried. “He was a slave to Maria, just like I was a slave to you!”

His eyes closed, and he struggled to regain his composure. You saw through the illusion quickly. He must’ve enlisted the powers of a witch to fabricate this false reality. Your love for Preston was real, but your fear of him was even stronger. You gave yourself to him out of necessity. To refuse your master. . .it was not something a black woman did and got away to tell the story.

“It doesn’t matter how you feel,” he said after a while. “I will make you love me again as you did once before. You’ll see—once I destroy Jasper and all of his family, you will have nobody else but me.”

The dream evaporated and suddenly you were in the middle of the living room, your family and guests all standing over you as she gasped violently.

“Y/N!” Jasper called, holding you in your arms as you came to. Your mother was about to inject an IV needle into your vein while Carlisle tried to determine the cause of your sudden collapse.

“Mom? Jas? I—” you tried to sit up but you were promptly held in place.

“Just breathe, darlin’,” Jasper instructed. “I’ll move you in a minute. It’s okay, I got you.”

You attempted to weakly lift up your hand to his cold face. And that’s when you knew. Nothing or no one could ever separate you from him. Jasper was the only man you loved; the only man you needed. If he was the light, you were his shadow. If you were the night, he was the star that made it brighter.

“Y/N, this is really important,” your sister said, bending down on her knees to get closer to you. “What happened while you were gone?” Behind her Zacarias stood looking very concerned, his hand on her shoulder.

You shook your head, trying to find a way to say the words. “It was him, and we were. . .back in the past.”

Jasper’s jaw clenched and he looked towards the ceiling. If he were human, you could tell he would be crying by now.

“He’s got a witch on his side,” Zacarias confirmed, crossing his arms. “And whoever it is, they must be good. It’s hard to make telepathic communications for more than a few moments at a time, especially from such a far distance.”

“Then what can we do?” Peter asked, looking at the Cullens in desperation. “These witches. . .we’ve never faced anything like them before. And the newborn armies will still be coming on top of that.”

Ava massaged the palm of your hand comfortingly, slowly, your energy began to come back. But Jasper still would not let you move.

“Witches are not infallible. It looks like he’s only got one on his side—maybe two if he’s lucky. As long as they’re at a far enough distance, well protected by the armies, they can do much damage to any specific target. The concentration that’s needed for combat is ridiculously difficult, and they can only focus on a few people at once. But that’s why Zach and I are here. We can hold off their attacks while you guys take care of the armies.”

Jasper finally spoke up, shifting you so that you were held firmly in his embrace. “We’ve got just a week-and-a-half to get in tip-top shape and make things right. I don’t care what I have to do, Ava, I won’t let Y/N get hurt. I would die if it meant her freedom, and if it that’s what it takes to end this all, then don’t hesitate to sacrifice me for the greatest cause—”

“No!” you objected. “If you die, I’m dying with you! I don’t want to be in this world without you, Jasper. It wouldn’t even be a life anymore! Please don’t say that, please don’t leave me alone!”

Carlisle kindly ushered the guests to the door, and left the two of you alone in the house.

“Your happiness is my only priority. And if you want to be with him. . .then you should,” he whispered painfully. “I deserve to pay for the suffering and heart I’ve caused others. I could’ve sent Preston away with the others when we were leaving that fateful night. He didn’t have to die, as I did.”

“You didn’t die,” you insisted. “It was the first stage of your metamorphosis. He died that night. He could never get over what he’d lost then and even now. That’s not your fault. He could choose to be happy, but yet he only desires the suffering over others. He told me he didn’t care about my happiness but you—”

You didn’t have to finish your statement, the both of you knew in your hearts.

“I love you so much, baby!” you sobbed, clinging onto his shirt desperately. “I don’t want him, or any of the life we had before. You are my now, and you are my future.”

He buried his face into your shoulder, rocking you on the cold living room floor.

“And I love you too, darlin’. I love you so much.”

The truth is guys, I haven’t posted in a while because I’ve been so depressed lately. This world is so evil, and I just feel like how can I post when they are literally people protesting in the streets, people dying, and the world in chaos??

Anyway, fanfiction is an escape these days. It always had been, now moreso than ever. I know I’m just an amateur, but if I can make someone forget their worries for even five minutes, I’m honored.

Stay safe, mah bois.

Part Five Part Six Part Eight

#jasper hale #jasper hale imagines #jasper hale x reader #twilight x reader #twilight #twilight imagines #twilight scenarios #carlisle cullen #edward cullen #emmett cullen #esme cullen #alice cullen #rosalie cullen #stay safe

46 notes · View notes

openheart12 · 3 years

Text

I Did Something Bad

A/N: Today is my lovely adoptive mom’s @burnsoslow birthday! I never thought me making a post about yk what would lead to our friendship and Kryce! I hope you have the best day ever and that it is every bit as amazing as you are! I’m so thankful for your friendship and how you make me laugh until I cry or pee fvhujskdghfn and you’re the only one who could ever make me into a Drake stan. I love you so much! Eat all the cake you can for me! Happy birthday, love! I hope you know how much I adore you ❤

A/N 2: This is very much full of Donald Trump hate and despitement because who wouldn’t hate him anyways jkhkdjgh there’s also quite a bit of cussing

Word Count: 2,613

Thank you @rigatonireid for pre-reading!!

“This is bullshit,” Kurns exclaimed as Bryce and Dick were watching the events unfolding at the United States Capitol. “This is why you don’t vote for oranges.” She said while rolling her eyes.

“Agreed,” the two men replied in unison.

“Jinx!” They replied again at the same time that led to twenty minutes of them saying “jinx again” in response until Dick finally gave in and let Bryce win.

“You win, Bryce-y poo,” he had said. Kurns had kept her attention glued to the television during their little game.

“You okay over there, banana flavored moonpie?” Dick asked, directing his attention over to Kurns.

“No, look at all those turnips. And the cult leader himself told them to do this shit. People actually voted for this moron? They should all get head CTs to check for brain damage which they undoubtedly have.”

“Would it make you feel better if we overthrew the government while kidnapping Donnie?” Dick asked seriously.

“Yes, actually,” she answered with a wide grin.

“Okay, let me make a few phone calls and can you download some episodes of My Little Pony on Netflix for Bryce?” Kurns nodded her head in response, she also took the liberty of downloading Among Us on their phones so they wouldn’t be bored on the flight.

The flight from North Delanois was a little over eight hours and being on a plane that long with a toddler, well Bryce, was going to be a challenge.

It was a private jet so hopefully it would be more bearable, but just in case she also downloaded a few episodes of Max and Ruby and Yo Gabba Gabba. She also downloaded some episodes of Parks and Rec and Friends for herself.

After packing the essentials; clothing, toiletries, handcuffs, whipped cream, ice cubes -who knew- and My Little Pony gummies, they were off to the airport.

“Dick Kock,” Dick said introducing himself along with Kurns and Bryce.

Kurns was decked out in a Taylor Swift 1989 t-shirt and a pair of leggings with her trusty white vans whereas Bryce was dressed in a rainbow colored polka dot shirt, black and white striped pants, one blue croc and the other was yellow, and socks with weed on them. Him and Kurns had forgotten about meth since it already landed them in jail one. Chris P. Bacon was still a sore subject for the pair.

They boarded the plane and Bryce immediately went to find his gummies. Kurns took a seat next to Dick and pulled up CNN news to get an update on the attack on the Capitol.

Suddenly breaking news flashed across her phone screen: Taylor Swift set to release her tenth studio album later today.

“OH MY GOD! BRYCE LOOK!” Kurns exclaimed, jumping up out of her seat to show Bryce.

“OH MY GOD! TS10! TS10! TS10!” He chanted.

“Oh wow, that sure is exciting!” Dick chimed in.

“By the way, D, I think we should call this Operation ‘I Did Something Bad’ in honor of Taylor’s new album.”

“That’s a spectacular idea, Kurnel Mustard!” Bryce said with a smirk, it had been a new nickname he had given her after the three of them had played Clue one night.

“Shut up, Apple Bottom Jeans, Boots with the Fur,” she retaliated, mocking the Little Pony named Apple Jacks.

“Stfu,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You must be really mad if you’re talking in text.”

“Dick,” he pouted, “she’s doing it again.”

“Be nice you two, we have a long flight ahead of us.”

For the first two hours, they each did their own thing; Dick was reading a hunting magazine, Kurns was watching the news, and Bryce had already finished the entirety of My Little Pony.

“Do you guys wanna play Among us?” Kurns asked out of the blue.

“Hell yeah! I just bought the baby crew mate and I’m dying to use it,” Bryce responded.

“I’ve never played before but sure!”

“Okay so you’re either a crew mate or impostor and if you’re a crew mate, you have to do these tasks whilst trying not to die and if you’re an impostor, you go around killing other crew mates trying not to get caught in the process. You’ll get the hang of it eventually,” Kurns explained.

“Thanks love bug,” Dick placed a quick kiss to the side of her head.

The three of them found an open lobby and talked in the chat box waiting for the game to start and when it did, Dick asked the question of, “why is my name red?”

“Oh my God, Dick! Don’t say that. It means you’re an impostor,” Bryce explained at the same exact time Kurns called an emergency meeting.

“It’s purple,” Kurns typed in the text box, referring to Bryce’s color.

“What the frick! It’s so not me. I’m not playing anymore,” he pouted, turning off his phone and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now, children, can you two not get along? Think about the bigger picture,” Dick intervened.

“True, but I’m still not going to play with her.”

His statement didn’t affect Kurns in the slightest and she went back to playing the game. Dick joined her while Bryce was running away from an imaginary dragon and he ended up colliding into one of the seats, face first.

“Ow,” he rubbed his forehead that was now bright red.

“That’s what you get for being a baby,” Kurns said, not looking up from her phone while Dick went to go check on his blueberry muffin.

“You okay, strawberry flavored fig bar? That’s quite a hit you took.”

“Yeah, a kiss would make it feel better though,” he said, using his puppy dog eyes. Dick smiled softly at him before kissing his forehead all better.

The three of them spent the next six hours playing games, eating, and watching movies from the age of the dinosaurs that Kurns had saved since she was over 10,000 years old.

After landing in Washington D.C., the trio headed straight to the Whitehouse, if people could storm the Capitol, how much harder could it be to kidnap the president? That was Kurns logic at least and as it turns out, it wasn’t that much harder.

Kurns went to the Oval Office while Dick and Bryce went to the bunker since that apparently seemed to be Trump’s favorite place in the Whitehouse. But unexpectedly, Kurns found the Donald Duck under the office in the Oval, tweeting away on his iPhone 4s.

“Mr. Racist,” she called and he immediately turned to look at her.

“What? I’m tremendously busy if you can’t tell.”

“I see that, Mr. Pigman.”

“That is hugely racist towards me. I happen to be winning very bigly at the moment. I’m trending on Twitter!” He said proudly, he then proceeded to show Kurns his crusty ass phone.

“Come on, I have some candy for you if you come with me,” Kurns coaxed him out from under the desk and led him to the white van they had brought with them, you know, the kind your parents warn you to stay away from.

“Fake news!” Trump exclaimed with a huff. “You must be friends with sleepy Joe.”

“You’re right,” she winked.

“You know, frankly, this doesn’t make America great.”

“I disagree, I think this definitely makes America great again,” Kurns retaliated.

“Does Mikey know about this?”

“Yeah, we planned it with the fly,” she snickered.

“Well, it’s fake news, believe me.”

“What?”

“Nothing you libtards wouldn’t understand it anyways. Anyways, what's that thing on your face?”

“My mask?”

“Yeah, what’s that for?”

Kurns shook her head, not even being surprised by the question. “We’re in the middle of a pandemic, Donald Dump.”

“What’s a panoramic?”

“Don’t worry about it.” She got out her walkie talkie to talk to the boys. “The orange has expired. Over,” she said, their code word for getting Trump out.

“Okay, bet, we’re on our way out. Over.”

“Good job, K!” Dick said.

“See you soon and thanks! Over.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dick and Bryce arrived with a six foot cutout of Donald.

“What the fuck is that?”

“Hey, that’s me!” Trump chimed in.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kurns said, she was quickly losing brain cells being in his proximity.

“That is rude, quite frankly.”

“We found it in his bedroom… along with some other, uh, questionable things,” Bryce explained.

“Like what?”

“Like a, uh, dildo with Pence on it.”

“Ew…” they all turned to look at Trump who was looking away and whistling, trying to pretend he wasn’t there.

“Oh, um, about that. That was a tremendous invasion of privacy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” they all said in unison and he pulled an imaginary zipper over his lips and threw away the key like a literal child.

“I can’t be near him anymore,” Kurns said suddenly, getting out her phone to call someone.

“Who are you calling?” Dick asked.

“Joe, I was gonna invite him to go get some ice cream.”

“OMG! I wanna go too!” Bryce exclaimed.

“And me!” Trump said.

“No, to both of you. You two have to keep an eye on Don and make sure he stays off of Twitter.” She was explaining when Joe picked up the phone. “Hey, Joe, do you want to go get ice cream somewhere?”

“Duh! Taylor is actually here right now and you don’t care if she comes do you?” He asked to make sure.

“Of course not! You can bring Champ and Major too! I know Jill is busy right now.”

“Okay! On our way!” He said before hanging up.

“Where are you going to go?”

“Probably McDonald’s or something, Taylor is also coming with us, he said.”

“YOU MEAN THE TAYLOR?” Bryce asked in shock.

“Yeah, him and Taylor are like BFF’s.”

“I still like her music 25% less, okay?” Donald brought up.

“Shut the fuck up,” Kurns said again.

“Fine, fine. But could you make sure Barron is fed?”

“Oop,” Bryce slapped his hand over his mouth.

“Yes, now shut up.”

Kurns was getting ready to go meet Joe and Taylor when Melania walked up to the van. “You have Trump?” She asked quietly.

“Yeah, why? You need him?”

“Yeah, could you make him sign this?” She placed some papers in Kurns hand. She read them and wasn’t shocked after realizing they were divorce papers.

“No problem, hold tight real quick. Dick, make him sign these!”

“Of course, ladybug.” He took a hold of Trump’s hand and wrote his name for him since he wouldn’t do it himself.

“Here you go,” Kurns handed the papers back to Melania and she left without looking back. “Okay, I’m leaving. Be careful with that moron and for the love of God, don’t let his supporters know you have him.”

“Roger that!” Bryce responded.

“Don’t worry, vanilla brown sugar! We’ll hold down the fort while you’re gone. Have fun!” He called after her.

She met Joe and Taylor at a local McDonald’s and greeted both of them with a hug. “Congratulations on winning the election and congratulations on album number ten!” She reached down to pet both of the German Shepherds who happily wagged their tails.

“Thanks!” They replied in unison.

“So how are the boys?” Taylor asked.

“Good! They sent their regards. They’re actually, uh, holdingtrumphostage,” she said fast enough so hopefully they couldn’t understand but they are actually educated.

“WHAT?” Joe exclaimed.

“Miss gurl, how did y’all pull that off?” Taylor asked while hysterically laughing.

“It was easier than I thought! Either security sucks or they wanted Trump gone and I can’t blame them for that.”

“Amen sister!” Joe replied.

“Can we see him?” Taylor asked.

“I mean, yeah if you want!”

“Okay let’s go!” She went to get up when Joe gently grabbed her arm.

“But the ice cream…” He reminded her.

“Of course, how could I forget?” She playfully rolled her eyes. They all ate their ice cream before heading back to the Whitehouse.

Once arriving, Taylor and Joe headed straight to the front doors while Kurns stood there like 🧍‍♀️. “Hey guys, he's actually right there,” she said, pointing to the white van.

Taylor opened the door to find Bryce half asleep on the ground, Dick was listening to ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ and dancing in his seat meanwhile, Donald had his lips glued to the side of the door, making out with it.

“What the fuck?” All three of them asked at the same time.

“OMG TAYLOR! HI! HOW ARE YOU?” Bryce shouted, jumping up off of the floor and pulling her into a hug.

“Hi!”

“Hello, Ms. Swift,” Dick greeted, gracefully bowing. “Mr. President,” he nodded.

“How did you all meet?” Don asked.

“We actually just met, our hate for you is what we bond over!” Joe explained in terms he would understand. Hopefully.

“Oh,” was all he said and started to play with his fingers. “I don’t know if you knew this, but Washington D.C. is actually the capital of the United Stats. Did you know that?”

“What did you think it was? And it’s the United States, not… Stats.” Kurns asked in a surprisingly concerning tone.

“I thought it was like a stat… or well state. Whatever it is.”

“Oh,” Kurns said while Taylor called him an idiot under her breath.

“That’s embarrassing miss gurl,” Bryce chimed in.

“ARE YOU TALKING TIKTOK TO ME? I WILL BAN YOU,” Trump threatened.

“Please, these empty promises you keep making are getting really old just like your term,” Dick said, making the others die of laughter… no literally, some Trump supporter that had been walking by had just collapsed and died.

“And I oop-” Kurns and Bryce said at the same time.

“IFHCBXNZNZ, HAHAHAHA,” Bryce barked out.

“Can we get something to eat? I really want some Dino nuggies 🥺,” Trump pleaded.

“No,” they all replied.

“So what are we going to do with him?” Taylor asked.

“I don’t know, what do y’all want to do with him?”

“Excellent question, K, I say we feed him to some alligators!” Bryce exclaimed, flapping his two arms together to make an alligator jaw and started running towards Donald who jumped back in fear.

“That’s not nice,” he pouted, a lone tear trickling down his cheek.

“Fuck you, but not literally or physically,” Taylor said, making sure to explain what she meant.

“I want some My Little Pony gummies!”

“Me too!” Donald said with a smile now on his crusty, orange ass face.

“No,” they replied again.

“Fine,” he crossed his arms over his chest and turned his back to them, like the toddler he is.

“Anyways, y’all want to go get Cookout?” Kurns suggested.

“Yeah, of course!” Joe responded.

The five of them headed to the nearest Cookout to get food and milkshakes, leaving Trump behind all alone. After hanging out with Taylor and Joe, it was unfortunately time to head back to North Delanois. With promises to meet up soon, the trio were soon enough taking off at the airport.

“What ended up happening to Trump?” Bryce asked seriously.

“He went to prison.”

“As he should, period,” Kurns said with a smirk.

“What are we going to do when we land?”

“Sleep!” Kurns and Bryce said.

“Of course, my love doves. I’m going to try to do that right now, so please try to get along.”

“Promise!” Kurns said, holding out her pinky finger which he took and kissed. The rest of the flight was surprisingly peaceful, Kurns and Bryce were able to get along while Dick slept. It had been a fun trip, one they hoped they would actually never have to make again.

Tags: @burnsoslow @ao719 @callmeellabella @rigatonireid because no one else should have to read this :)

#kryce and dick chronicles #happy birthday burnsy!!

4 notes · View notes

cranetreegang · 4 years

Text

Fallout 4: Grand Zealot Brian Richter x FemSol: Undercover

A little something about Grand Zealot Richter. This guy... his voice!!! UGH!! Why can’t he be a companion... or a husband. Anyways, FemSol is going ‘undercover’ in the AntiRadaway gang to find DiMA’s memories. And she will do *anything* ;) to prove her loyalty.

If you’re here for just smut, go to the section for Loyalty Questioned and Morning After.

Any feedback is great! Thanks for reading! :)

Going Undercover

“So, I’ll need to get into this submarine. Figure out where your memory is being stored. All while, not killing them.” I hummed out loud my thoughts. “If I end up a ghoul, or worse, bald, I’m gonna be a lil’ upset.”

“It would be best if you didn’t interact with us once you leave. We can’t have you raise any suspicions.” DiMA brought up.

“You’ll have to stay here then, Nick.” I looked over to my partner who didn’t seem to like the idea. “We can talk more about it later.” Nick nodded and didn’t press the issue in front of the synths. “I’ll let you know once I’ve recovered the memories. Or if something else comes up.”

“Good luck, traveler.” DiMA at least seemed sincere with his farewell wishes. Nick walked me outside where we could converse alone.

“I don’t like this.” Nick immediately stated.

“We don’t have much of a choice. It’s not like you blend in.”

“And you’re not rad proof.” He countered back. I rolled my eyes with a sigh.

“Yeah. I know. Again, we don’t have a choice. If I’m gonna get his memory, without bloodshed, I’m gonna need to go alone.”

There was a tense silence as he came to terms with this venture. He reluctantly nodded. “Alright. I think you should still report back to us once you’ve made progress. I don’t wanna worry about you anymore than I already am.”

“Deal. I’ll meet up with you after I’ve gotten in.” I shook his outstretched hand before going in for a brief hug. “Try not to fry your circuits worrying about me. I’ll be back to bug ya soon enough.”

He choked out a laugh with a matching eye roll. “I’ll keep digging around here while you’re gone. See what turns up. I’m not too convinced about this whole ‘brother’ thing.” Nick’s features faltered for a moment. I worried about him, and these new ‘relations’. With another set of goodbyes, I headed towards the Nucleus.

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

Meeting the Grand Zealot

Their camp wasn’t hard to miss. Even in the thick fog, warm lights led me towards their entrance. What I stumbled into was not the greatest first impression. I watched an intimidating, but soft-spoken man order for two cultists’ loyalty. Grand Zealot, they called him. She shot her ‘brother’ without hesitation. I pushed down my already mounting hesitation at joining them. At least I knew what would happen if they suspected me. The Grand Zealot’s attention turned to me.

“You. What are you doing here? Did Far Harbor send you?” He had a presence that could make people submit to him. If I was a lesser being, I would have without question. He was the one that I would need to convince. A bubbling anxiety formed in my chest at the challenge.

“Whoa! It’s okay. I’m not from Far Harbor. One of your… people spoke to me. Near Arcadia.” I needed to be as honest as possible. That seemed to work best when lying. ‘Half-truths’, as Deacon called them.

His eyes stripped me a part where I stood. “Quite the journey. So, explain to me what you’re doing here. You come seeking a place among Atom’s children?”

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

He seemed convinced after I explained my interest in joining their cult. Just enough to let me participate in their trail. As I stood over the spring, I started to question what exactly I was doing. Drinking this seemed unwise. I gave a silent pray to whoever was listening at this point, before taking a mouthful. I wanted to puke. It tasted like watery acid. My insides twisted and felt like they were being ripped a part. My vision grew blurry. My ears began to ring.

A voice called out to me that brought a relief to my anguish. A motherly figure appeared in front of me. I followed her without question. The feelings were strange. The visions even more so. She was warm and comforting. Like an answer to a long forgotten question. She led me to a small clay statue. I presented it to the Grand Zealot. His eyes grew wide at the sight of the figure.

“A woman led me to this. Mean something to you?” I wondered.

“A woman? Led you to that icon? What woman? What did you see?” Grand Zealot questioned.

“I don’t know how to describe her. Motherly? She showed me… things. I’m not quite sure what to make of it. I followed her to this thing.”

He looked at me in awe. Whatever happened was the right thing as he led me inside without further question. He almost seemed eager at my joining. He even urged me to speak to the High Confessor about my vision. I watched him climb up the submarine to a decent vantage point that overlooked the base.

This couldn’t have gone better, and I even had ‘Mother’s’ blessing. If only Deacon could see me now.

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

Her (3rd POV: Mainly Richter’s thoughts)

Brazen. That’s what she was. She spoke to him without fear, or hesitance. She tried to seem submissive, but the fire in her eyes gave her away. Others looked away from him with respect, or fear. Maybe both. But her, she matched his gaze with one of her own. Richter pondered on this for sometime. She was obviously a leader, yet she was here as a follower. When she returns from her latest exploits, he watches.

She’s not what she seems. She’s friendly to their siblings. Her eyes wander around. Looking… no searching. Analyzing. He’s seen her poke around the base. She’s sneaky though. She’s always had a reason for being there. He’s even had her followed a handful of times; only for them to lose her quickly in the fog. Like she goes invisible, they told him.

No matter. She hasn’t done anything to provoke him. Instead, she’s been helpful. Sister Mia and Zealot Wares spoke highly of her. Sister Mia said that the woman fixed the arches. He went through them the other day, and didn’t feel the warm glow of Atom. He looked over the pump himself, and was unable to find any tampering. As he watches the woman approach, he wonders if he is trying to find something wrong with her.

“Grand Zealot.” She greeted with a hint of a smile. Her teeth. Far too white for a regular wastelander. Her skin was nearly flawless. He hadn’t seen this level of pristine since the Enclave. Even then, she was even more so. Like she was preserved through the harshness of life in the Wasteland. Many have come to the conclusion that she must’ve been a vault dweller at some point.

“Sister.” He greeted back.

“I’ve taken care of Sister Gwyneth.” Her head was held up a bit higher.

“I see.” He caught himself frowning at the news. “She brought it on herself. Won’t ask you for the details. Doesn’t really matter to me.” He stated. Her eyes flickered for a brief moment. Something caught her interest, and he was curious as to what. “You’ve done well. Proved your devotion and more important, your loyalty. Atom smiles on you, Sister.”

She gave a pleased smile and gave a low bow of her head. “Glory to Atom.” He shifted as he handed her something fitting for her.

“Take this. It’s not just a weapon, it’s one of our sacred artifacts.” He handed her the large hammer. Her brows rose with shock before she resumed an impassive, but pleased, mask. “Go forth, and show no mercy to the enemies of Atom.”

She held over the hammer in thought. She met his gaze once more. “Was there something between you and Sister Gwyneth? I heard that you two were close.”

He laughed a bit. He didn’t take her as one to listen to rumors. “Ha. No. She was just a good woman. A touch odd, but someone you could rely on. Always managed to turn up a cache of Mirelurk eggs on beaches you thought were clear. We were better with her.” His smile shifted into something more somber. “Shame to watch her slip away. Can’t be helped now.”

She gave a soft smile. “You’re not like the others here. You’re different. Why is that?”

The statement rocked him from his usual composure. “Brazen thing, aren’t you? What makes you say that?”

“I can just tell. You have this… aura about you.”

He found himself entranced by her. He told her about his time as an Enclave soldier. He spoke of how he was found clinging to life by the High Confessor. He hadn’t told many of his siblings about this. He found himself enjoying telling his story to her as she listened intently.

He noticed she had a certain sadness that gleamed in her eyes. Something the Archemist spoke of.

“How did you know that you would be rescued? I hope this doesn’t come off as brash, but you were trapped. Seemed hopeless.” She wondered.

“I didn’t.” He admitted. “Thinking back now, I believe that Atom is what kept me from… joining my comrades.”

She hummed in deep thought before speaking again. “Thank you. Talking about… about the past, can be difficult at times.” Her brows furrowed and she looked away from him. “I had another question.”

“Go ahead, Sister.”

“I also heard another rumor. I’d heard you were the last one to see Brother Edgar. What happened?”

He bristled at her question. She was striking nerves he didn’t realize he had exposed. How could she possibly know about Brother Edgar. “Edgar?” He asked confused. She nodded and waited for him to continue. “Crawler got him. Happens sometimes. Nothing more to it,” he had to compose himself for a moment, “,was there something else?”

Her features hardened. He would even describe her as being disappointed. “No. Nothing else, Grand Zealot.” She gave a short nod, and left without another word. He watched her head towards her bed. Leaving him with much to think about.

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

Breaking In

I laid in bed listening to the soft chanting slowly subside. The bustle of noise was waning. The only sounds that could be heard was the creaking of the sub and the footsteps of roaming zealots. This would have to do. I looked around and was satisfied that mostly everyone was asleep.

I padded my way through the sleeping cultists towards the blocked off section of the base. The usual guard was missing. Must be guard rotation. I gave one final look around before going inside.

I was greeted by several laser trip wires. I grimaced at the fallen cultists littering the place. What a pity. I knelt down by the entrance trying to find any signs of movement, and gather my thoughts on how best to approach this.

“What are you doing here?” The soft voice of Richter echoed down the tunnel. I cursed my luck at the one person I didn’t want to know I was here. A million thoughts went through my head on how this would play out. None of them were promising. I looked back to Richter. He didn’t have his rifle drawn on me, so that was a good sign.

“I could ask you the same thing.” I countered back. He gave me a stern glare. He came towards me and knelt down like I was.

“I saw you come in here.” He was more observant than I gave him credit for.

“I thought everyone was asleep.”

“What are you doing here, Sister?” He had a hint of concern laced in his voice. I frowned at the forming attachments I was starting to have with these people. I looked back down the trapped hallway.

“Curious. That’s all.” I deflected. I could see his displeased grimace from the corner of my eye.

“Your curiosity will get you killed.”

“Hasn’t so far.” I smirked at him. He didn’t seem amused. “I’m checking this out. I don’t care if you join me. But, don’t try to stop me.” I stated while trying to stand up. He grasped my arm and kept me knelt.

“Wait.” He paused. “You don’t know what dangers lie ahead. Or what they’re trying to protect.” He gave a worried look towards the tunnel then back to me. He cared. I wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“You don’t think me capable?”

He shook his head while squeezing my arm. His hold on me was tight, but not enough to hurt me. “That’s not the issue.”

I knew the issue right then. I could see it in his eyes. The only way he would leave me to the task, was by reassurance. He gripped his forearm. I leaned over and placed a light kiss on his cheek. I hovered near him enough to whisper, “Don’t worry. I’m pretty hard to kill.”

His hazel green eyes were ablaze. His cool demeanor broken. He wanted to say so much. “Sister… you’re setting down a dangerous path.” He whispered so quietly back to me.

“A path that I won’t be going down alone. I have Atom with me.” I hoped that would be enough to convince him. His brows furrowed. “This is like a pilgrimage. Something that I must complete.”

He opened his mouth to object, but quickly closed it. “Very well.” He released his hold on me. “Go with Atom, Sister.”

“See ya soon, Richter.” I smiled at him. He had a hint of a bitter smile playing on the corners of his lips. With him leaving, I went through with my mission.

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

Loyalty Questioned (Mild Smut/Sex Scene)

“You are under question, Sister. Even if you are a messenger of the Mother.” Tektus stated. I tried not to tense up at his accusation. I would only have so much time to react.

“That’s unfortunate to hear. Especially since I’ve given so much to Atom.” I looked around the room. Two guards, Tektus, and, the most concerning, Richter. I’d need to deal with him first.

“There is more you can give. I was granted a vision, as well as the Grand Zealot. Atom requires that you spread His word through generations.” Tektus began. “Atom requires you to bear a true Child of Atom.”

My blood froze in my veins. I almost wanted to laugh at what he was suggesting. I kept a straight face, thankfully.

“I see.” I kept any vile feelings out of my voice. I focused on my breathing. In and out. I’ll make it through this.

“The Grand Zealot has offered himself for this task.” Tektus motioned over to Richter. I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’s shown interest in me for some time. His execution in the matter was less than desirable though.

“Atom has chosen well.” I bowed my head at Tektus, who was more than pleased at my compliance. This was going better than expected. Let Richter fuck me, then I’ll leave with my life. Not a bad trade considering all the things I’ve been doing under their noses.

“Then go. Go and deliver Atom’s will.” Tektus pointed towards Richter’s room. I frowned at the rush of this. I didn’t spare anyone else another look. I walked into Richter’s room. I’ve been here before. Though the circumstances were far different. I heard his footsteps behind me. He shut the door, but I kept my back to him.

“I won’t touch you.” He whispered behind me. He was close. Close enough that his breath hit the back of my neck. “Even if Atom commands us, I won’t take you.”

I faced him. He was tense. I suppose I was too. I let my mind wander on how best to approach this. I needed them to believe I was loyal. If they’re questioning me, then I won’t have the leverage needed to bring peace.

“Did you dream of taking me, Grand Zealot?” I asked.

“Your brazenness has no bounds.” He frowned a bit. “But, no. I didn’t.” He whispered the last part. I tilted my head in a bit of shock.

“You lied. Why?”

“The High Confessor had a vision of a child. Your child. I felt… he would have given you to someone who would not respect what you are.”

“And what exactly am I?”

“Not something that can be conquered, like the High Confessor believes. I see the fire in you. You burn brighter than any Glow. I’m not sure if it’s Atom’s will or not. But, I know I don’t want you tamed. Or your fire extinguished.” Richter confessed. “That’s why I volunteered myself.”

I realized I lost full composure. I looked away from him and took a step back. “Take off your armor.” I commanded.

If he was surprised at the authority in my tone, he didn’t show it. He started to strip away the pieces of heavy armor. I watched him. Once the armor was off, I circled around him. He didn’t move, nor look at me. He had his gaze focused directly in front of him. I smirked a bit at the good little soldier in front of me.

He was well built. The wetsuit did little to hide that. I stopped in front of him. My hands trailed up his chest to the zipper on the front of his suit. I felt his body was rigid under my touch.

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Grand Zealot?”

“No.” He whispered. His hazel eyes met mine. I could see them starting to darken with want. I held his gaze while I undid his wetsuit. His breath hitched as the cool air hit his hot skin. I could feel the heat against my fingers. He slipped out of his suit without hesitation. He was bare to me. He showed no shame in this.

I felt a fever creep up my neck to my cheeks. I knew my facade was starting to break. I walked around him again. He had numerous scars. Knives, bullets, burns, and scratches. I traced one long claw mark on his back. His skin raised into goosebumps. He was so warm. The Glow of Atom’s embrace, I’ve been told.

I felt along his shoulder towards his arm. I came around to his chest. I saw a tattoo of what I assumed to be his Enclave assignment. I frowned a bit at how that reminded me of Nate. I traced over his designation of Lieutenant before letting my other hand go up to his neck. His beard was coarse. My fingers briefly tangled against the hair. I settled on his cheek.

He wanted to touch me, but held himself back. I couldn’t deny how much I admired that in him. His restraint. His respect. His nobility. All things that reminded me so much of the past. I realized that I did want him. Not out of obligation to my cover, but for my own selfish need.

“Richter?” I whispered. We were so close to one another. My body pressed against his. My lips a mere breath away from his own. My other hand felt his heart beat just as fast as mine. “Do you want me?”

He took a deep breath. “If you’ll have me.”

I pressed my lips against his to answer him. It was gentle and almost too sweet. His lips were so hot and rough. With my silent permission, his arms were quick to pull me closer against him. He kissed me back with a ferocity that was nearly feral. One of his hands tangled into my hair. Even if I wanted to pull away, I couldn’t.

It was like my breath was taken from me. He must have felt the same, because he pulled away with a gasp. He looked at me with a hint of shock. His hand moved from my hair to my cheek. His thumb brushed over the skin. He had an intense stare as he looked over my flushed face. Like he was trying his hardest to memorize every detail of me.

I stepped away from him which caused him to frown for a moment. His eyes lit up as I disrobed myself. He looked over me with awe. He pulled me back against him. The heat of his skin against mine was overwhelming. I shuddered at the contact. His hands moved up my back while his lips claimed mine once again. They didn’t stay for long before he nipped at my neck. He sucked a bit harshly in some spots. I let out a shocked gasp that melted into a moan as he continued his marking.

“Richter.” I let out in a breathy moan. He met my gaze.

“Brian.”

I smiled a bit. “Lyra.” I told him my real name. I wanted to curse my foolishness, but knew it was already too late. His eyes were glazed over with a grin forming.

“Lyra. What a beautiful name, for a beautiful soul.” He kissed me once more. His touches were everywhere on my body. He lingered over some areas longer than others. He seemed enraptured at times. He laid me on the bed as he started to claim me.

His movements in me were powerful and deep. Hitting a place in me that I had long forgotten. I tried to keep my pleasure from reaching others’ ears. He seemed to have the opposite thought in mind. His growls and rough groans echoed in his room. It sent shivers up my spine at the low noises he made. The way his chest vibrated against my own.

We clutched onto each other as we reached our limit. As if we were trying to become one with the other. I held his gaze while coming down from our blissful high. He placed several kisses over my lips, cheeks, and neck. He shifted us in bed until I was firmly placed on his chest. I laid my forehead against his cheek.

“Your skin.” He murmured while tracing down my sides. “It’s practically untouched.” He moved up my arm and held my hand.

“I’m not from here.” I dumbly blurted out.

A slight laugh escaped him. It sounded unusual coming from him. Like he hadn’t done it in a long time. “No. That’s plain to see. I suspect that you grew up in a vault.”

“That’s a good guess.” A silence hung in the air for a moment. His hand left mine, and instead went to my cheek. He moved my loose hair behind my ears. He was so tender and gentle. I hadn’t felt something like this in a long time. I closed my eyes and enjoyed his care.

“The vault I was in…,” I paused. Finding the right words was hard.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He whispered with a comforting kiss on my forehead.

“I want to. Even if you won’t believe me. It’s a bit outlandish when I think about it.” I tried to lighten the mood. He frowned a bit.

“I trust you, Lyra.”

My gut twisted for a moment. He trusted me. Even though I would be an agent of his demise. That was a moral dilemma I would need to face another time.

“I didn’t grow up in the vault. I used to live in Colorado actually. It was beautiful. The air was so clean. Never thought I would miss that.” I thought back to my time in the mountains. The snow. The crisp fall air. “I met my husband there. He was stationed at an army base. We moved to Boston once he finished his tour in Alaska. We just had a baby. A beautiful son.” Brian’s fingers kept tracing over my cheek and jaw. “We were rushed into a vault. I saw it. It was like the sun, it was so bright. Then we were frozen. For over 200 years. Someone came and killed my husband. They took my baby. I’ve been looking for him since.” He wiped away the freshly formed tears. He gave me a soft look before kissing my forehead gently.

“The Archemist spoke of a sadness in you. A great loss. I’m sorry.” He didn’t pity me. No… he understood far too well. I suppose that’s how life was now. Horribly tragic.

“Thank you for listening. I haven’t talked about them since I first woke up.” My brows furrowed. How long ago was that?

“You remind me of him.” I admitted.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. I shook my head while stroking his bearded cheek.

“Don’t be. I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s… you’re kind. Loyal. Strong. Nate was like that.” I smiled. He softly smiled back.

“I’m glad you see such qualities in me.”

I kissed him to bring the talks of the past to a close. He was content with this as he placed me tight against him once again. I nuzzled into his neck. He was so warm and comforting. I relished in him. I fell asleep faster than I had in a long time.

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

The Morning After (another mild sex scene)

I awoke in confusion at first. Seeing myself wrapped around Brian, reminded me of last night’s events, and confessions. I watched him sleep for a moment. The most relaxed I’ve ever seen him. Like a kitten, I mused with myself. I brushed through his unruly beard. My fingers gently worked out the knots that had formed.

“Morning.” He greeted with his eyes still closed. His voice laced with sleep.

“I could help you tame this, if you’d like.” I teased a bit. He squinted one eye open.

“Do you not like it?”

“That’s not what I said.” I countered. “I think it’s a little… overgrown. That’s all.” I bit my lip to hold back my amusement at his disgruntled expression. I got on top of him which got his attention. “I’ll be leaving today.” I shifted my hips a bit, and felt his already hard member press back. His nostrils flared at my, not so subtle, intentions.

“Where are you going?” His hands gripped my hips. His fingers digging into my soft flesh. I smirked a bit while leaning over him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” I kissed him then bit his lip. “I heard some rumors that I’m gonna check out.”

“Rumors?” He questioned, displeased. He tried to still my moving body. “I’m not sure-,” he was trying his best to focus, but I was doing my best to not let him.

“I’ve worked with less.” I managed to steal another kiss from him. He groaned at his crumbling will to stop me. I rolled my hips again which sent him over the edge. He put himself inside me. Although I was eager, I still needed some time to adjust to his girth.

“I don’t like… the idea of you wandering around the island aim… aimlessly.” He panted.

“I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten the hang of this place.” I kissed him with the confidence I felt. I pushed myself up and down on him. He hissed while shutting his eyes. I heard him curse me under his breath. I sat back to take full control. I leaned back to brace myself against his hairy muscular legs. My head falling back in a luxurious bliss. He felt so good in me.

I heard him moan in pleasure at the sight. His hands crawled up my belly then settled back on my hips. Finding my pace too slow, he started to help me. He held and moved my body to a penetrating pace. I fell back on top of him. He wrapped around my body. His arms moved me like I weighed nothing.

“I’ll miss you. While I’m gone.” I moaned. He grunted in response while finishing inside me. His mind had to catch up while he let out shaky breaths.

“Do you have to go today?” He asked winded. His eyes begged me while he kept himself from vocally doing so.

“Yes. Or else I fear I’ll never leave this bed.” I smiled which he in turn gave a lopsided grin to.

“When will you be back?” He nipped at my neck and ear.

“Soon. I don’t know how long this will take.”

“Alright.” He huffed.

I stood up to start getting dressed. I felt his eyes on me as I covered myself in my gear. I was about to turn around to bid him farewell, when his arms wrapped tight around my waist. His nose buried itself into the crook of my neck.

“Be safe, Lyra. I look forward to your return.” He kissed my neck before releasing me. The gut retching guilt I felt last night returned. I let out a shuddered breath. Do I have to leave? Couldn’t I stay here forever? I faced him. He was handsome in his disheveled form. Something out of a dream or movie. I placed a long lingering kiss on him.

“I’ll be back soon.” I promised him. He gave a short nod.

“Atom guide you.” He whispered as I left. I laid against his door for a moment. The cool metal helped center me. I’ve compromised myself. Deacon warned me about this. Getting involved with someone while you’re undercover. I just wanted to feel human again. To feel alive. Now… I wonder what that will cost me.

#brianrichter #richter #fallout4 #fallout #fanfic #smut #grandzealot #zealot #children of atom #far harbour dlc #far harbor #grand zealot richter

18 notes · View notes

alarawriting · 4 years

Text

52 Project #5: Rosetta Stone

When Triala was twelve, a transmute spoke to her.

She'd never told anyone else the story. One of the defining characteristics of transmutes was that they didn't speak. And she had only been a child, and had come within a hair of being killed. People would say she had hallucinated. They might even take her to the Magicians, suspecting a traumatized mind. But she knew what she'd heard. And the transmute hadn't killed her.

She and the other children in her age group were going to the Magicians to be tested for Magic aptitude. Already Triala had known that she didn't want to be a Magician. She feared the transmutes, like everyone on Majer, but she felt a powerful fascination with them as well. She had to be a Ranger, because only the Rangers got to see transmutes on a regular basis. Even if it was only to kill them. Unfortunately, if you had Magician aptitude, you became a Magician whether you liked it or not, and Triala had a deep and disquieting suspicion that she had it. She heard things, and remembered things that couldn't possibly have happened to her. So she was very tense that day, fearing the interview with the Magicians.

A local Lifeliner brought her and the rest of the locality's 12-year-olds to the huge tree that housed the Magicians' testing center. They were all made to wait in the outer rim, while the Lifeliner, a woman of clan Ringart, talked to the Magicians. Then the testers came out, and called for the children one by one, in the order of their birthdates.

As one of the youngest of the twelves, Triala had a while to wait. So she sat while child after child returned, known now to have no Magic within them-- or did not return, taken away to the training places. The wait was driving her crazy with dread. Magicians never deliberately encountered transmutes; close contact with the creatures generally drove them insane. And Triala wanted to see transmutes.

She got her wish. When there were four children left, one of the wooden chairs exploded out, the color draining from it as it melted into gelatin. Triala sat frozen, shock and horror and fascinated excitement paralyzing her, as the gelatin recomposed itself into an evor, a stationary swamp animal with tentacles. The tentacles lashed out, only seconds after the chair's melting, and caught the Lifeliner in the gun hand before she could get her weapon aimed. She dropped the gun and screamed as the tentacle dragged her in. "Kids! Get help!"

The door was blasted open, and three Magicians charged into the room. They tried to form a triangle around the transmute, which changed again, pulling itself in, and leapt. A huge mouth with devouring teeth flew at one Magician before he could focus his power, and it ripped his head off and swallowed it.

The two other Magicians began to chant, trying to pen the transmute into a protective box as it charged for the entrance. But without a third, all they could do was keep it in a corridor, and before they could narrow the corridor and crush the transmute, it had reached the first protective door, which it yanked open.

On the other side of the protective hall, the second door came down and transmutes swarmed inside. Probably there were only five or six, but to Triala it seemed like thousands. More Magicians arrived to fight. A slender young man, no older than an eighteen, tried to get Triala and the other three children to safety. A transmute smashed in his skull, and then tore a little boy apart for good measure.

Jesee and Marin, the other surviving children, clung to each other under a table, trembling and crying. Triala was trembling too, but she didn't feel it. She felt numb, strangely aloof. Despite the blood and the viciousness of the battle, she couldn't quite make herself believe that the transmutes might kill her.

She glanced at the inner door that led deeper into the complex. It had been sealed off with a metal safety door, protecting the rest of the complex from the transmutes, and essentially writing off the children in the waiting room. Unless the Rangers showed up in time to rescue them, there would be no help for them-- the complex couldn't be endangered any further for the sake of three children. The Lifeliner, Marin's mother, was dead, her body strewn in chewed pieces all over the floor. All the Magicians were dead. There were also dead transmutes virtually everywhere.

But there was still at least one alive.

The transmute approached. Jesee and Marin scrambled back, yelling, "Triala, it's coming!" But Triala was frozen. The transmute held a vaguely humanoid shape, with huge, luminescent eyes that trapped Triala in fascination. She couldn't move. She didn't really want to.

The transmute was so beautiful.

Its skin was pearly luminescent, and the light from the overhead algaelamp made colors dance on it. Its body was fluidity and grace incarnate. A human shape made of gelatin, flowing in and out as it moved forward. It hadn't manifested a mouth, or any other threatening appendage, and its eyes were pools of silver ocean water. Triala had been out of the swamps just once to visit the ocean, but she had never forgotten how ocean water sparkled, so clear.

It told her that she had been tested already.

There were no words. But she knew the transmute had spoken. Not in language, even the language of mental speech. Pure thought, with no words.

Behind her, Jesee and Marin screamed. Triala spun. They had both been caught by a wounded transmute-- tentacles were wrapped around both their necks. As she watched, they slumped.

"Let them go!" she screamed at the transmute.

She heard it say that they would not die. The thought that she interpreted as "death" carried overtones of other concepts-- the extinguishing of an annoying light, the squashing of a bug. Then it gave her to understand that humanity would believe she had been tested already, and had no magic. Only, what it seemed to be saying was that she had no fearsome human power, and that this was somehow true. Or perhaps that she could make it true, if she wanted.

She had not been tested already. And if she was understanding mindspeech-- or something like it-- she had to have Magic. But it could be true, if she said it to her fellow humans, in the human language that the transmutes couldn't speak. It would become the truth, if she said it was.

It said to tell no one of this.

And then the Rangers arrived, and cut down the remaining transmutes with lasers. Jesee and Marin had been poisoned by sleep venom, but would recover. The Rangers told Triala just how lucky she was. "That transmute was about to go for you. Why didn't you run?"

She didn't know. It was as if she were waking up from a dream, now. It struck her suddenly what danger she had been in. "I-- I-- couldn't..."

"I hear that happens. You were unbelievably lucky we got here in time. Another minute, and you and your friends would have been mute meat."

She knew it wasn't true, but she didn't contradict it. The transmutes had killed and died to talk to her, just to her. How could she explain that? She couldn't understand it herself.

She told everyone she had been tested for Magic, and had none. No one checked her story. She was never tested again.

She never spoke of it, ever.

***

In the flit on the way to her first real mission as a Ranger, Triala thought of that.

The situation they were going into was similar. The transmutes had broken into a school, killed all the Professionals, and-- as far as the Magicians could tell-- hadn't killed the children yet. No one knew why. It was unclear whether transmutes understood the concept of "hostages"-- certainly no human had ever held a transmute hostage against another. More likely, they planned to kill the children and impersonate them, in yet another useless attempt to mimic humans. Of all the species on Majer, native and starborn both, humans were the only ones that transmutes could not successfully imitate, because humans were the only ones with language.

"So what do they hope to gain?" Aisander of Korita asked. She was a slim, pale-skinned redhead who had consistently been at the top of the class-- though never quite as high as Triala, whose grades were outrageously good.

"What do you mean, Korita Recruit?" Dilman Ranger asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

"I mean-- if they know we won't be fooled, why do they bother?"

"If they don't understand language, what makes you so sure they know we won't be fooled?" Dilman Ranger asked sharply. "They might have no idea what keeps tripping them up. Never assume you know how the transmutes think."

"Besides," Dereg of Mattorn said, eager to score points, "kids often don't talk right away after a trauma like that. If a transmute plays an unconscious kid, it might get back as far as that kid's Treehouse before it gets caught, if the Rangers are careless."

"Good point, Mattorn Recruit. If we rescue any kids, we make them talk before we take them back."

"Do you really think there'll be any kids to rescue, Ranger?" Triala asked.

Dilman's face darkened. "Doubt it."

"I heard they sometimes kidnap children," Aisander said.

"It happens, yes." He turned to Triala. "It happened to you, Morell Recruit, if I remember the dossier on you right."

Triala nodded. "When I was a small baby. About 2 or 3. I disappeared for close to a year following a transmute raid, and then turned up again. No one knows why."

"No one knows why transmutes do anything," Dilman said. He checked the flit comp. "We're almost there. Morell-- don't get so fascinated with the transmutes they kill you. Mattorn-- no heroics. Neither Morell nor Korita's going to be impressed by stupid stunts. Korita-- don't be soft. If it looks like a kid but it doesn't talk, we can't take chances."

"What if it's a baby?" Aisander protested.

"Not that kind of school. It's for sevens and up. All the kids will be linguistic. Any that aren't are transmutes. Shoot them before they get you."

***

When Triala had been training for her Ranger status, the transmute lack of language had been given as the cause of the war between the two species.

"We probably started it," the instructor had said. "The first humans who came to Majer didn't much care what they destroyed, and the transmutes probably fought to defend themselves. But there's no way to call a truce. Their memories seem to be as long as ours, and they're probably as intelligent-- but they don't have language."

"What about mindspeech?" a student had asked.

"Any Magician that actually manages to get through to a transmute goes crazy. They go catatonic or aphasic, lose their own language. Or else they just turn totally psychotic. Human minds can't connect with transmute minds-- they're too different."

"But they must communicate with each other," Triala pointed out. They were wrong, though she wouldn't say it. Transmutes could communicate with humans, if the humans were young enough. She remembered.

"Undoubtedly, but no one knows how. Pheromones, maybe. Or body language-- something incredibly subtle, that won't be affected when they take different forms. Maybe some kind of mindspeech. But whatever it is, it means nothing to us. And our language means nothing to them."

It was something that nagged at Triala. In the beginning, she hadn't been able to understand why Magicians couldn't communicate mind-to-mind with transmutes. Later, a Magician from Farest, on the other side of Majer where they spoke a different tongue, had mindspoken to Triala, and she'd understood the barrier. It was not as if the Farestina was speaking her language; it was as if, for that brief moment, she understood Faresti. Mindspeech went through the language centers of the brain. You couldn't mindspeak to a baby, and so you couldn't mindspeak to a transmute.

But if they couldn't speak to each other... Triala had fantasies in which it turned out that the transmutes only wanted peace, wanted to negotiate coexistence, and if only the two species could talk... No one would ever know, though, as long as they couldn't talk. So they were doomed to kill each other, and there was no hope for peace.

When Triala became a full-fledged Ranger, and had some influence, she planned to push for experiments between captive transmutes and children with Magic. It had to have been her age, that had enabled the transmute to talk to her. If another child could be found who could speak to transmutes, perhaps Majer could finally find peace. Right now, though, she was a green recruit on her first real mission, and she couldn't afford to think about peace. She had to kill transmutes on sight, or they would kill other humans, such as her. And Triala of Morell Clan was rather fond of life.

***

The school had been built low, where the major branches interlaced into a canopy over the swamp below. The outer part of the school was built between two major branches, covering forty-five degrees of the tree's surface. It was built out a good seventy feet; inside, it would be even bigger, where the builders had bored into the major branches and the tree itself.

One of the walls had been broken down. Dilman pulled the flit up by it, and pointed it out. "What's that look like to you recruits?"

"Wood rot," Dereg said promptly. "They'd have injected it in, waited a few weeks for it to rot out the wood, and then just kicked the wall in."

Dilman nodded. "The school should've kept up with its monthly sprayings. They could've stopped the rot before it got that far. Let's go in. And be careful. This isn't a sim."

Triala knew it wasn't a sim. No matter how detailed the sims got, they never quite conveyed full smell and tangency. The scent of rotting wood, blood and feces wafted from inside the school-- recent death, not long enough to produce rotting meat. The feel of the uncertain creaking boards beneath her feet, the musty chalkboard smell of the air. The luminaries, globes of water filled with glowing algae, had been smashed, and dim dying algae lay in stinking puddles across much of the floor. The light was thus reduced to the dim half-tone that made it through both the forest overhead and the ceiling windows. In several places, the window plastic had been gouged out, and lay forlornly on the floor underneath a skylight. Occasionally they encountered an adult's body on the way in, sprawled bloody and torn. Some of the bodies were remarkably close to intact, with dark bruises on their throats indicating a strangling death.

"I don't like this," Dilman muttered. "Where're the kids?"

Triala felt she was being watched. She kept twisting around to see, but there was no one. Not even furniture-- transmutes could imitate wooden furniture, but there wasn't even that. Just dead bodies.

What prevented transmutes from taking the form of dead bodies?

That was an incredibly paranoid thought. She'd never heard of transmutes taking the form of dead humans before. But she couldn't see what would stop them-- it would solve the language problem, and a freshly killed body would still be warm, so the transmute wouldn't have to go to the trouble of cooling itself. Perhaps a bloody, torn body would be too dangerous for them, but a body that had been strangled to death... Paranoia saved Rangers' lives. She was on the verge of drawing and shooting the dead when Dereg, on point, called, "Found the kids!"

As the others turned the corner, Triala did shoot the bodies. They didn't twitch or transform. They sizzled as her beam cooked them, but that was all. She was being too paranoid, maybe. Quickly she ran to join the others.

There were six living kids, huddled together around the corner. More dead bodies, of adults and other children, were strewn everywhere. "Names!" Dereg barked. Transmutes could imitate crying.

"Don't be so rough!" Aisander complained. But the kids knew the drill. Terrorized as they were, they'd still had it drummed into their heads that they needed to speak, to identify themselves as human. Each of them choked out a name, some sobbing so hard that the name wasn't recognizable-- but the point was to prove they were human, and human speech was recognizable even if individual words weren't.

Triala felt very nervous. No transmutes. There were no transmutes. Maybe she hadn't been too paranoid. Raising her gun, she said, "Dilman Ranger, I think the bodies--"

She got no farther. The corpses shifted, as if they'd somehow understood Triala, jerking to their feet and taking different forms. Despite the fact that Triala had already started to bring her gun into firing position, Dilman outdrew her and blasted two of the transmutes. A third took the form of a springing creature and leapt for Dilman, but Triala shot it. Then transmutes from the deeper recesses of the school poured in.

"Ambush!" Dilman shouted. He and Aisander dropped back to protect the kids, leaving Triala and Dereg to find cover and help pick off transmutes in the crossfire. Assuming they didn't get killed first. Triala rolled behind a metal room divider and fired, taking out a transmute that was practically on top of Aisander. One got Dereg, coming up underneath where it had been impersonating a severed torso and dragging him down. Triala couldn't see what happened after that, because a transmute leapt over the room divider and on top of her. She twisted and flung it off before it had a chance to bite or sting her. It came back at her, and she fired, cooking its center-- but at the last second it shifted almost all its mass into tentacles, leaving only a thin membrane to be cooked. The tentacles shot out at her. There was nowhere to dodge-- she was trapped by the metal divider. One tentacle wrapped around her gun hand, numbing it. The gun went flying. Another grabbed her leg and yanked her to the floor.

Then the tentacles released her. Triala didn't question impossible good fortune. Some sixth sense she had never felt in the sims told her that more transmutes were coming over the divider. She ran, away from her partners, away from the transmute that had attacked her. Her gun was being guarded by a small transmute in the shape of a cat. If she could get back to the flit, there were spare guns. If she could get back--

The floor, destroyed from within by wood rot, gave under her. In the split second as it gave, Triala understood that the transmutes had herded her here. Then she fell, shrieking. There were no major branches beneath her, no strong branches at all. Her fall to the swamp 80 feet below was almost unbroken.

***

A large number of people on Majer had dreams that they could fly. They would pull up their legs and throw out their arms and they'd be flying. Or they'd leap and not come down, or they'd flap their arms. There were some who speculated that there'd been places on Terre, the world of humanity's origin, where the gravity was light enough that they could fly. Others dismissed this as nonsense, the fancy of Terre-fantasy writers.

Triala had never dreamed she could fly. But in her life, she had dreamed frequently of breathing swamp water. She would dream of being in the swamp, feeling the water cool against her body, and having no breathing difficulty at all, as if she had gills. She would dream of the swamp, not as the dull gray murderous thing it was, but as a magic place full of shifting lights, luminescent fish, and wondrous creatures.

Apparently she was dreaming that again.

At least, she was here under the swamp, floating gently, sinking slowly downward, but she felt no real need to breathe, and no sense of pressure. So it must be a dream. And when the transmutes surrounded her in their various beautiful swamp-adapted forms, with long flippered legs, streamlined bodies, and shining big eyes, she felt no fear. This was a dream, after all. She made no move to stop the transmutes from catching her arms and tugging her with them, gently drawing her through the swamp water.

She was not afraid, but she was curious. So she tried to ask, "Where are you taking me?" But the dream had this much verisimilitude, at least; she couldn't talk underwater. Her words came out in a gurgle.

The transmutes told her that they couldn't hear her.

It was the same strange not-speech the transmute had spoken to her years ago. And like that, it was virtually indecipherable. Do not hear? Cannot hear? Do not understand? Are not listening? The not-words echoed, strange and nonsensical, in her brain, overlaid with so many possible meanings she could not precisely decide which. There was also a sense of kinship-- that they should be able to hear her, that it was her fault they could not. But transmutes could never understand humans.

Slowly it dawned on Triala that she was in considerable pain. The dreamlike absence of sensation ebbed through growing stages of hurt, until it felt as if her chest had been crushed and her legs were broken. As pain returned, true consciousness did as well, and her senses cleared. This was not a dream. She had plunged 80 feet into the swamp, lost consciousness, and awakened, underwater. Breathing, underwater. With transmutes taking her someplace.

I hurt, she thought. Oh, gods, I hurt. It was the only thing she could think, a repeating litany. Her brain was too occupied with the gradually increasing pain to notice anything else. It was strange that she was breathing underwater, but strangeness could wait until she was no longer in pain. Which, she thought, might be several years. It was her impact against the water she was feeling. Triala would be very surprised if any bone in her body was left unbroken.

Of course, she ought to be dead.

One of them told her that she should not be in pain. Or that they didn't want her to be in pain. Or that they would take the pain away. Something like that. Triala turned toward the transmute on her left, positive it had talked, but what had it said?

Then it manifested a barbed stinger. Suddenly afraid, Triala tried to pull away-- too late. A sharp jab in her chest, and then pleasant numbness, spreading through her body once more.

She felt dreamy, but would not succumb to it. She had to think. That ambush back at the school-- that had been an ambush, set up by the transmutes to specifically take out Rangers. They were smart enough to know their primary enemies. The ones that had engineered that trap had been unusually smart-- Triala had never before heard of transmutes impersonating dead bodies. Why had they used that technique this time? And why hadn't they killed her when they had a chance?

She was breathing underwater. Transmutes were taking her somewhere. Talking transmutes. But they didn't speak in language-- they seemed to be communicating in concepts, in pure thought, the precursor of language. These pure thoughts, uncontaminated by words-- were they what drove the Magicians mad or aphasic? The greatest difficulty they presented Triala with was that they were vague and hard to understand. Was it that she was not as sensitive as the Magicians? Or that she was more?

Talking transmutes. A dream come true. It refused to add up. How could she be breathing underwater?

Why is it I can understand transmutes?

They passed through a transmute city. Triala might have caught her breath in recognition, except that she didn't quite seem to be breathing. Broken branches, major and minor, tree stumps that didn't rise above the surface of the swamp, honeycombed with cells that held transmutes. All the ones they passed had eyes, which they kept firmly averted away from Triala and her escort.

She remembered the stories of the kidnapped children, some of whom reappeared. Of adults who disappeared into the transmutes' catacombs, never to return. Was that what they intended for her?

Then they rose up into a grotto, hollowed out from a tree stump, high enough to rise above the water. Triala had seen photographs of caves, high in the mountains on the northern part of the world. This was like a cave. Enough wood remained to create a sloping floor that rose gently from below the water's surface to about a foot above, and then became a plateau, occasionally dipping back down into a puddle. There was more wood overhead, a ceiling blocking out the dim sun of the swamp. Triala's three transmute escorts began to glow as they entered the grotto, their bioluminescence providing the only light.

For a second, rising from the water, Triala couldn't breathe. She choked, feeling something in a band around her neck gape open uselessly. Then the pressure in her neck eased, and she sucked in a gasping surge of air, musty and swamp-smelling.

The flapping sensation she had felt disturbed her greatly. She put her hand to her neck. There was a swelling there, going down as she touched it. Quickly it was gone.

What the hell--?

Her escort tugged her forward, telling her she must come.

Triala stepped forward-- and realized that she had healed. There were no longer any traces of the injuries she'd suffered when she fell.

And she knew this place. Her eyes widened. This cave was in her dreams, her nightmares. Had she been held captive here when she was a baby, prisoner of the transmutes?

The transmutes gestured her over to a hole in the wood. A small, square hole. By the light of the transmutes, she peered inside, and saw--

--a baby's skeleton.

And she knew whose.

Triala jerked to her feet. "No!" she screamed at them, the three silent figures. "No! I'm human! I'm human!"

They could not hear her. Or did not understand, or whatever they were saying. They told each other that she hid her thoughts, or disguised them, like the invaders did, the despoilers. One complained that Triala was a failure, absorbed. Another protested that she would hear, she would accept, she would understand.

They were trying to tell her she was a transmute. Human infants had not yet learned to speak. Transmute infants had not yet learned not to.

Put a transmute baby in a room with a human one. The human one had to be old enough that it could speak a little bit. Transmutes did in fact know what human speech was, and that it kept them from imitating the invaders. They couldn't speak it, couldn't imitate it, but they knew it when they heard it. So take such a baby and pair it with a transmute baby. Tell the transmute infant-- since you and it are both prelinguistic, since you share thought, not words, it will understand you-- tell it that it must mimic the human. Lavish care on the human, food, attention. Praise it and play with it when it speaks. Ignore the transmute baby except when it is fully human, an exact replica of the human it mimics. And praise it when it speaks, as well.

Until the baby forgets it was a transmute. Until its birth-gifts go dormant, as it takes on the identity of the human child. Then release it back to the humans, who will train it to speak and behave as a human, never imagining that it is not.

Triala of Morell died in infancy, allowed to expire by her transmute captors, when their own infant had replicated her sufficiently.

Triala of Morell's tiny bones lay in a wooden grave, in a transmute grotto.

And a transmute who bore the same name crumpled to the floor in anguish, hands pressed to her face, understanding. They had watched her all along. They had known that if she joined the Magicians, she would be lost to them, so they created chaos by killing her testers. Afterward, she collaborated, telling the humans that she had been tested, and they'd believed her. The transmute power to change what others perceive, to alter what they believe, channeled through the human power of language.

They'd set a trap for her. Transmutes had always had the power to impersonate human dead. They had chosen not to do so for a century or two, keeping it in reserve for when they would truly need it. They had used it this time, just so they could get her back.

They asked her if she understood. Or told her that she understood.

And she did understand. The more she heard in pure thought, the less necessary the translation into language was, and therefore the easier it became to understand. Consciously she tried to think without words, telling them that she did understand how-- but not why. What was the reason?

The concept that came back at her was so dense it was difficult to unravel. She would be a boundary/bridge/assassin/spy/diplomat. In languages, the overtones were mutually contradictory, and she sent a lack of comprehension at them.

They replied that she was a transmute that could imitate humans. She could teach them how to do it. One thought she could infiltrate human society and destroy the invaders. Another felt she could make the humans stop their war against transmutes. She could speak for the transmutes to humanity, could be the ambassador between the races and bring peace.

Humans would assume that one who claimed to speak to transmutes was insane, she tried to tell them. If medical science could not reveal what she truly was, they would put her in a madhouse, and if it could, humanity might well kill her in a spasm of superstitious fear. The idea of a transmute that could, in fact, speak like a human, could pass for human so well it itself thought it was human, would terrify most humans. But she wouldn't destroy humanity for the transmutes' sake, even if she could, which she doubted. She had always dreamed of ending the war, not of committing genocide. And she knew nothing of her transmute heritage-- she had grown up a human among humans. If it came to genocide, she had already chosen sides, when she became a Ranger.

Of course, when she'd chosen sides, she hadn't known what she was.

They reminded her, sharply, that she was thinking in words again, and they couldn't follow.

She sent at them a question. Why had they brought her here?

They replied it was so she would know what she was.

But I don't know what I am. If I ever knew what it meant to be a transmute, I've forgotten it.

???

Sighing, she tried to think the idea again, without words this time.

They seemed to understand. One asked her if she wanted to learn.

Yes. She couldn't make a decision until she knew what the stakes were, and what weapons she would have to fight with. She gave them her assent.

They told her to come.

She followed her guides into the water again, and the gills rose on her neck automatically. She couldn't consciously change herself-- she couldn't shed her human form-- but that was all right, the others told her. She would learn.

The only transmute with a name swam off with her new companions.

#52 project #alara original writing #science fiction #psionics

50 notes · View notes

werezmastarbucks · 4 years

Text

Can you believe it, the Whitmore Guy knew all along

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Part Nine

word count: 1160

warnings: i need to make a masterlist for this

music: blink 182 - snake charmer

“Here’s what I don’t understand”, Y/N said, as they were walking back to the main building. “If they’re newly turned. And they’re no less than fifteen. Well, fourteen now, how come they haven’t killed a single person yet?”

“That’s the only thing that bugs you about all that?” Ric held the door for her, and they found themselves in the cool, shady hall. A couple of freshmen were walking down the stairs.

“To be honest, none of it bugs me even half the way it should. Now it suddenly is about me for some reason, and I don’t even feel scared”, Y/N revealed, “this is all complete bullshit. I’m annoyed, that’s what I am. I’ll call Caroline and tell her to gather everybody in Craze tonight, and I don’t want to work today anymore”.

Maybe she was being silly, walking away from him, and heading for the basement. But then again, Y/N’s always been an escapist. And lately, she’s been holding the punch like a real warrior.

_____________________________________________________________

She knocked on the door twice, and went in. Mal’s space/basement/mancave was a hollow place, organized only in the middle of the big, half-empty room. It reminded her of all the zombie apocalypse movies, where the dark floors were thrashed, and the pieces of furniture stood in random places, left there seemingly by hurricanes. Mal gathered all the necessary chairs and desks in the center, leaving feet of empty space around, and sat there, in a comfortable gamer chair like a king. Sometimes he left random lights and lamps around, but never opened the windows. In fact, he kept them all safely shut, covered with pieces of curtains and paper. His den looked scary at first. But to a criminalist, Y/N was sure, it would say a lot of things. Every time she came down here, she couldn’t help analyze things. Why would he place a bookcase, one just like her own, in her office, like that, in the middle of nowhere? A piece of furniture positioned like that, not propping the wall, looks empty and makes humans feel awkward, unsafe. Mal felt great around it. Why did he choose to reside in such darkness? It was like he was pretending to be a comic book villain. Well, he very well might wish to be one.

“Hey”, he threw Y/N a bag of chewy bears.

“You wanted to tell me something important”, Y/N took a chair and pulled it closer to his desk, sitting next to him.

“Yeah, no, I wanted to do it after work”.

“Do it now”.

His lean face looked infernal in the blue light of the screen. Mal looked at her with a smile that quickly faded.

“What happened?”

“Mhm?” she threw a couple of bears into her mouth and started chewing.

His eyes were completely dark in the twilight of the basement. He looked very handsome, the fine bone structure outlined by the fluorescent shining. He looked like a picture.

“You look completely pissed”.

“It’s Damon’s birthday”, she blurted out, “and there’s going to be a party. And I have to be there”.

Tell me, she thought. Tell me it’s my paranoia, my imagination. Tell me you’re just a nice boy with no empathy in your brain who just happens to have the weirdest look about you, and come round exactly when suspicious shit starts happening.

“I’m sorry. You want me to come with? I’ll ruin the whole thing. Then we can run away laughing like maniacs, and steal his car. I’m good at stealing cars”.

“No, I actually came to tell you that you should stay away tonight”.

His eyes widened, and he got that bitter look about him again.

“Something bad’s going to go down tonight, and you should be at home”.

He was completely confused.

“Bad like… he’s gonna sing in karaoke? Because I bet I can do it worse than him”.

“A little badder. Can you go home after work and not ask me any questions about it, ever? And if something really does happen, and it’s like… in papers, can you just ignore it?”

“Nope”, he said simply. At least he was being honest.

“Don’t pull the conspiratorial shit on me, Y/N. Are you in trouble?”

His voice went really gentle. Y/N was chewing on four bears. She shook her head.

“I’m the last person who should be concerned. You know, one day I’ll tell you all about it, and we will laugh. But I can’t do it now because it’s not only my secret”.

Mal exhaled slowly, heavily, like he was a very exhausted babysitter worn out by an extremely irritating baby.

“The secret about vampires?”

She stopped chewing.

They sat, knees almost touching, and his computer was producing weird, barely audible ringing noise. It was all the more eerie as Mal kept silent for several seconds, as she stared into him.

“Vampires”.

“Yeah. Damon’s a vampire, right? And his brother, too. And, I guess, the slow blonde girl, Caroline”.

He sneaked two fingers into the open pack in her hand and stole a couple of bears.

“How do you know?”

Mal snorted, mincing almost in pain,

“Please. It’s like three steps from Mystic Falls, the vampire capital of America here. Come on, Y/N, you’re all so wrapped up in your tiny world you fail to see how simply obvious it is. This Salvatore guys didn’t even bother to erase like, the Full History of Mystic Falls from the database and the library. You go there, you choose the first book, and you see their boring faces in the pictures taken in the nineteenth century. You should get out more often”, he added, “or else you’re going to go nuts, and become just like them. Bloodsucking idiots who never change outfit and think they’re indistinguishable from other people. You know, if I was a vampire, I would try to fit in with people around. I would, like, sleep less to look tired, like normal people. Buy two or three shirts, eat sometimes. Try not to look old”.

He got back to his computer, chewing.

“You’re the weirdo here, not them”, Y/N said before she could snap her mouth closed.

“That’s not the first time you’re telling me that”, he chanted quietly. “So, can I come then? I wanna see if Damon kills somebody tonight. Actually, you know, the one thing I still can’t crack is, why do you hang out with them?”

Y/N scratched the tiny bite on her wrist, pressed it with finger and wiped the blood with her thumb. Mal looked at it but didn’t say anything.

“I remember half of them as humans. My classmates, Mal. They’re my friends”.

His mouth twisted into an upside-down smile.

“I never had any friends before you. Wasn’t a problem. Definitely didn’t waste my time on a bunch of awkward vampires who are still worried about some college parties”. And then he said,

“LOL”.

He had that amazing ability to vocalize written things.

#kai parker #kai parker imagine #vampire diaries #vampire diaries imagine #legacies #whitmore guy

38 notes · View notes

shirtlesssammy · 4 years

Text

9x21: King of the Damned

Then:

Things are going really well for the angels.

Now:

1723

Abaddon arrives at an inn in Leith, Scotland and introduces herself to a confused young man as a “friend of the family”. She notes that he’s traveling in the morning to the colonies. The innkeeper interrupts their little conversation, and Abaddon makes quick use of the coathanger on the wall when she slams the dude into it, killing him. She then starts chanting her spell. The sigil on the door she painted lights the room yellow.

At a bar, angels are drinking and chilling. Nerd angel decides to interrupt a group by telling them about how cool he is for getting picked by “Met Man” to head back to Heaven. He’s overheard by a couple at the bar.

As he’s leaving later, they kidnap him and chain him up.They’re on the other side of the angel war and want to know more about his allegiance to Metratron. There are footsteps growing louder from the hallway, the music grows tense, and the derpy angel nervously asks, “Is that him?” It is.

It is ...Cas.

Meanwhile, the brothers arrive to see “the commander”.

They’re brought into the main operation room. It’s buzzing with angels all looking for Metatron. Cas greets them both with a hug when they enter his office. The brothers are skeptical of Cas’s new leadership role, but Cas believes someone has to stop Metatron. Cas needs the brothers to interrogate the kidnapped angel. MOC!Dean is game.

Crowley, meanwhile, is meeting with his team of trusted demons.

He’s making it clear that the king is back, and Abaddon must be stopped. He asks for their “Yo” of allegiance, but gets only silence in response. Until Abaddon blurts it out from the door. She reviews the fact that Crowley helped the Winchesters get ahold of the First Blade and Dean’s wearing the Mark of Cain. She points out that once she’s gone, Crowley’s next on their list. She wants to team up but Crowley declines. She has no hold over him.

Enter Gavin Macleod: the Scot from the opening --and Crowley’s son. Crowley swears he doesn’t care about the boy. Abaddon is willing to bet that his little foray into humanness left him with more compassion than he thinks. She starts to torture the poor dude.

Crowley holds out for a couple seconds but way too quickly demands that Abaddon stop.

Sam and Dean are busy playing Good Cop/Bad Cop with the rogue angel. Dean wants to stab the dude, but Sam catches on REAL quick that the angel likes to boast, so he goes for a little reverse psychology.

They both egg the guy on enough to have him reveal that there’s a private portal to Heaven now.

Gavin, now recovered from the torture, adamantly denies that Crowley is his father. His father was Fergus Macleod, a simple tailor. Abaddon and Crowley reveal to poor Gavin that he’s in the future. He mistakes them for angels.

Sam and Dean continue their schtick. And they get a lot of intel from the guy. They learn that the portal moves around and there’s an elite, secret Heaven squad (that this guy ultimately wasn’t chosen for). Sam and Dean leave the room convinced they didn’t learn a thing.

Gavin learns that his dad sold his soul for “an extra three inches of willy?!” He does not like this turn of events. Crowley assures him that his dear old dad is the King of Hell so everything is good!

Another angel opens the interrogation room to find the nerd angel stabbed through the heart, dead. Sam and Dean have to explain themselves to the Commander.

Dean wonders if Cas’s operation has been compromised. Cas had real faith in the angels under his charge (and there goes Cas again with his faith in others…). Dean heads out to find out who killed the angel. Cas holds Sam back to ask about Gadreel. “It's not really something I like to…” Sam starts, before Cas cuts him off. (Sam, you never want to talk about your trauma, bby) Sam then tells him that it was like they were sharing housing, but he never felt threatened. He was misunderstood, but not a danger (well, except for Kevin.)

Crowley and Gavin confront their past, each blaming their respective parents for their terrible lives. Gavin can’t even read! Crowley shoves an impatient hand against Gavin’s forehead and hands him a newspaper. Tada! He can read now! (This remains one of the funniest and weirdest canon demonic powers. Can you imagine some demon elementary school teacher just trying to live a neutral life and impatiently zapping all their students with reading power?) Gavin immediately warms up to Crowley, and further cheers to learn that he can now adopt the title “Prince.” Gavin would like to be sent back through time and continue nipping off to the new world, though. GAVIN you fool you’re already THERE and you can have hot showers here. HOT SHOWERS.

Gadreel arrives at a clandestine meeting with Cas. Gadreel reveals that he’s still sour about what happened in the Garden. “You feel misunderstood,” Cas notes. He thinks that Gadreel wants to redeem himself and that’s why he’s helping Metatron. Yep, Cas isn’t speaking about himself AT ALL here. Cas tells Gadreel that Metatron can’t be trusted. Just then, angels race in to attack their meeting. RUDE. Gadreel and Cas dispatch them handily.

Dean has First Blade flashbacks while he researches, zoning out so much that he can’t even hear his own phone ringing next to him. Sam snaps him back to Earth. The phone call is from Crowley and he’s plotting to kill Abaddon with their assistance. When they hang up, Crowley looks up to a smiling Abaddon. It’s a trap!

Dean and Sam unbury a corpse to unearth the First Blade that’s hidden inside of it (yeah that was a lot already) when they’re confronted by a hellhound.

Cornered by the hound, Dean calls Crowley, then puts him on speaker. Crowley tells “Juliet” the hellhound to stand down. At least there are SOME loyal subjects left in Hell! The Winchesters chop the blade out of the body and head out.

Gavin throws a temper tantrum about wanting to travel back in time and slams the door to his room in their suite. Crowley gets a call from Dean and tells him where to meet him to get the drop on Abaddon.

Crowley drops the code word he learned earlier in the season: “Poughkeepsie.” He warns them that it’s a long drive from Poughkeepsie. Dean hangs up and looks troubled, but doesn’t bother to share his concerns with Sam.

Abaddon smirks at Crowley as her plans settle into place. She’s about to be overrun with the Winchesters and Crowley - and she doesn’t trust a single one of them. She shoots Crowley in the shoulder with a devil’s trap bullet to nullify his AMAZING READING POWERS.

Gadreel begs Cas to trust him. He didn’t send the angel assassins! Cas tries to use the attack to bolster his argument that Metatron can’t be trusted.

For Concerned Blue Eyes Science:

Cas asks for intel - not action. If Gadreel will turn spy for Castiel, then Cas has an advantage for his own battles. Gadreel can try to keep his hands clean.

Dean and Sam arrive at the hotel. Dean spins a quick lie about how Crowley spotted demons in the basement. While Sam goes to check that out, Dean heads up to Crowley. “Love the crazy bloodlust in your eyes,” Crowley croons in greeting.

Demons attack Dean immediately and Abaddon power-pushes him against a large painting and pins him like a bow-legged bug.

Sam finds absolutely nothing in the basement while Dean confronts literal and probably also metaphorical demons upstairs. Dean draws from the power of the blade, the Mark glowing through his jacket, and pulls away from the wall under his own magical steam. He psychically snaps the blade to himself and strides across the room to skewer a disbelieving Abaddon. I ALWAYS forget that Abaddon dies in this episode. It’s just like…Crowley family drama, Winchester family drama, Angel drama, lol she’s DEAD.

After she dies, he continues to hack away at her body. Sam tells him, breathlessly, that he can stop now. Dean’s doing GREAT, guys!

Afterward, Crowley reveals that he warned Dean about the trap and Sam shoots a surprised look at his brother. Err…awkward. The Winchesters tell Crowley that the laws of time travel require Gavin to go back to his own time, even if he dies. Honestly, sometimes I just sit back and think about how much I love this sprawling show that’s like...ghosts? Yes. Angels and demons? Okay. Time travel? Why the fuck not?

Sam plans to bring Gavin back to the bunker and magic him home. Crowley heads in to say goodbye to his son, but zaps away with him instead. In a park green, Crowley tells Gavin about the fate of his ship to America, and that he should go live his life in the current century.

Gavin bids Crowley a fond farewell. Crowley, for his part, struggles against his FEELINGS and zaps out.

In the car, Dean tells Sam why he directed him to the basement. Dean knew the blade would help him take down Abaddon and anyone else who got in his way. He wanted Sam out of the way for that. Sam speculates that the Blade is changing Dean. He begs Dean to lock the Blade away until they need it. “No,” Dean says quietly, and we cut to black.

I Had a HellQuote Named Juliet:

No, we get it. You're a rock star

Holy mother of God! We're amongst the stars! Are we in heaven, then? You must be angels!

No one bends the rules like you two bend the rules

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #spn rewatch #spn 9x21 #king of the damned #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #crowley #abaddon #gadreel #supernatural season 9

26 notes · View notes