#warning: dark

[everyiichako]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Tenya dragged on his cigarette and blew it in her direction, though she was unsure if that was purposeful or not. “You believed it because you wanted to believe it–” A tiny smirk pulled at his lips, “–your true feelings were too gross and icky for you to face.”

“I did /not/ want them dead!” Ochako insisted. She didn’t. /She didn’t/. She was an angsty teen, but not a murderer. Or at least, she wasn’t.

[suzume-xiv]

Send 🌑 to crawl into bed with my muse - khunbish probably to keep a sick and near frozen to death suzume alive and warm

Freezing rain beat against the window pane, lightning shattered the sky and thunder deafened the air. Suzume shivered, trying to find feeling in her toes but there was none there. Her fingers were frozen, clutched around her dagger and her vibrant red eyes closed tightly. It was dark there, in that room, a fire long gone out and no wood to rekindle it.

The door opened slowly, allowing a tall form to step into the room. He shook off a soaked cloak and Suzi’s eyes opened, staring into the darkness as the figure slipped into the bed. He wrapped his arms around a cold body that couldn’t feel the embrace and when he spoke, she couldn't hear it as she took a deep, slow breath. Finally, she wiped the blood from her dagger onto her pants and slid it back into it's sheath. Without a sound, the woman slipped from the house, leaving the scene.

[thephilosophersapprentice]

“Repeat”

so I decided to write a fic

finally

shame on me

anyway... enjoy

{I was listening to “World So Cold” by 12 Stones while writing this, you can blame them}

Repeat

               “He is… the Chosen One. Train him.” Qui-Gon reached up, stroking Obi-Wan’s cheek. Obi-Wan felt his skin burn under the touch, bubbling, blistering, crackling, curling up and away. This could not have hurt more if Qui-Gon had had only recriminations to offer.

               I failed.

               For the first time in his life, Obi-Wan Kenobi understood Xanatos.

               The death of a father—it hurt. It should scar.

               There was no way to respond to this. There was nothing that could ever compare to this.

               He understood Xanatos. He hated it. It burned like poison on his tongue. And he was just as guilty as Xanatos ever was, his hands stained with the blood of his father’s killer. No different from Xanatos.

               He could not forgive Xanatos, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t forgive himself.

               This was the moment when Obi-Wan Kenobi fell from grace.

               I failed.

               The charred remains fell away, and he looked forward, through the ashes of the veil.

               Around him the Temple burned. Bodies were heaped, scattered in a macabre vignette, like wilted, twisted flowers. He looked into the venomous eyes of—someone—friend, student, brother—I have failed you, I have failed you—I loved you!—and knew that this was what he was. The one who would plunge the galaxy into the dark with all the best of intentions.

               Logically he knew that this wasn’t quite true, but the passion overwhelmed him, swamped him, overturned and drowned him.

               Train him.

               And then, he was walking away, into shadow, guiding the small hands that might offer redemption—back to Tattoine, then, Master Kenobi?—and he knew what he had to do.

               Yes, Master.

[thundertempest]

Prompt 185: Energy With Intent

Twelve days ago, Twilight Sparkle teleported out of Ponyville. Were a pony to look down on Equestria from a sufficient height, they would have seen a trail of purple sparks racing south from the town, eventually stopping well into the southern Badlands.

******

“What did you do, Twilight?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Twilight, there is nopony but you and me in here. No one to spill your secret. Upon my position as Princess, I swear that what you say will never leave this room unless you want it to.”

“I can’t remember.”

******

Little is known about the mystical beings known as alicorns. Each demonstrates a different set of skills, each is unique, but all are horrendously powerful. Celestia and Luna manipulate heavenly bodies. Cadance can twist emotions, and Twilight is rapidly becoming the most accomplished magical polymath to have walked Equestria since ever. They are mostly benevolent.

******

Eight days ago, an explosion the likes of which has never been seen before in Equestria rocked the earth. Tremors were felt all the way out to Appleoosa, and many ponies reported seeing a gigantic flash of light in the sky.

Seven days ago, there was a second.

******

“Where did you find her?”

“It wasn’t easy, your Highness. Even with your knowledge from Princess Twilight’s dreams, she was difficult to reach. She was about as far from civilization as she could manage to be.”

“I understand, Sergeant. Take her to the hospital-she will undoubtedly be tired.”

“Permission to speak freely, your Highness?”

“Granted.”

“What we saw out there, your Highness-it wasn’t natural. Nothing natural causes that much damage so quickly. We heard rumours of giant explosions, even saw a few. Explosions that were made of pure magic.”

“We understand, Sergeant. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, your Highness. I heard...I heard her screaming, your Highness.”

******

The magic swelled and pulsed, straining at her control. She prided herself on her control.

Time had long lost all meaning. All that mattered was maintaining control.

Unfortunately, this time, she was outmatched, and her vision went white.

Six days ago, there were two more bursts, one in the morning and one at night, both larger than the ones on the days preceding.

In the Badlands, the animals decided that now would be a good time to leave.

In the Badlands, Twilight screamed her throat raw, and then she kept screaming. Tears leaked from her eyes, and her horn felt like it was being melted from the inside, but still, Twilight Sparkle kept screaming, and then her vision went white again.

******

What is known about the alicorns is that each possesses an innate and instinctual knowledge of magic on a level that none can explain. It exists beyond comprehension and nearly beyond reason.

It cannot be taught, and each alicorn demonstrates this mastery over a different field of magic.

They are benevolent because they choose to be.

******

“Help me.”

“Tell me where thou are, Twilight!”

“South. I’m south. Flat, brown. High. Help.”

“Twilight Sparkle, focus. Control it. You can master it. I am sending guards to help.”

“Help.”

****Time****

Only the release mattered. Only expending as much energy as she could to work off the invisible itch that tickled the base of her horn. Each time, it was a bit more satisfying. Each time, the magic built faster, and she could feel that itch at the base of her horn urging her on, to make the next one a little bigger.

Five days ago, the first flash of the day was accompanied by a tremor in Appleloosa that lasted for nearly thirty seconds after the light faded, and then the sound hit with a colossal roar, drowning out everything. The second one that day was an identical repeat, and shortly after, a small company of royal guards swept into town. They swept out shortly after the third flash of the day.

******

The Ponies of Equestria do not go to war lightly. Every time that they have done so, the enemy has ended up soundly defeated, and the alicorns have been there, offering healing, trade agreements and peace. The ponies of Equestria have gone to war several times in the history of the nation.

The Alicorns of Equestria have only gone to war once. They choose to be benevolent. They do not have to.

******

“Sister, I am worried for Twilight. Months after her ascension, and she has yet to express any sign of her new mastery.”

“Don’t worry, Luna. I’m sure it will come, in time. She knows that she can talk to any of us, should she have any questions.”

“And what if she represses it, tries to reject it, as both you and I once did? As Cadance did? Only he embraced his natural mastery, and that is probably because he found it funny. There is only one field left, Sister. I do not want to find out what happens if she ignores it too long.”

******

Four days ago, there were two flashes in the morning, each bigger and more powerful than every one preceding.

There was only one in the afternoon.

It was felt all across Equestria, and for a moment, there was a second sun in the south of Equestria.

That night, the platoon of guards that had departed from Appleloosa the previous day arrived back, carrying Princess Twilight Sparkle and had eight more helmets than they had ponies.

******

“Twilight Sparkle, think! What do you remember about the fortnight just gone? Do you remember the plateau? Do you remember the-”

“I can’t remember!”

“Luna, that is enough! You are scaring Twilight. Twilight, go and get some rest. We shall talk tomorrow, once Luna has calmed down.”

“You are telling me to calm down? Sister, she obliterated eight of our finest guardsponies. She nearly wiped a mountain from the map.”

“Exactly. Think about what you just said, Luna. Her natural magical instinct is now destruction, Luna. What will she do if her magic spirals out of her control?”

“Oh.”

*******

The minotaurs have a saying, “Beware when an Alicorn goes to war, for you have invited the apocalypse unto the world.”

In the Hall of Victory, at the very back, there is a small, unassuming monument to the brief Minotaur Incursion of Equestria. Inscribed upon the stone is this:

“I am become Death, destroyer of worlds.”

******

Twilight Sparkle screamed.

Her only thought was ‘Magic is just energy with an intention, a purpose.’

The world around her burned, and then she knew no more.

-----

Written for Prompt 185: "Forget About It"

The prompt: I can't remember

This is probably the darkest thing I have ever written.

[eightandonly]

Prayer (drabble)

(ooc: this is probably and more than likely wrong. I am writing this because I feel inspired to write it. It is from a strange perspective so if I have gotten it wrong I am sorry. Different people see things different way I hope you understand. Also warning this is a very dark passage you have been warned!)

He was not the most favorable man in the universe for religion or believing in Gods. He walked under the high arches of the temples, in the old days glamorous and wonderful to behold, now dilapidated and left in ruin. As a boy he had walked past this building to go to the Academy. The group of them would joke and make up scary stories about the Seer's of old. Myths and legends and ghost stories mostly involving curses and wishes. Warnings of the dangers of having too much faith or vice versa have too little faith. He remembered talk of the seer's being on par with earth witches at one point. He felt a deep sadness as he walked through what once would have been a great hall. He could imagine the banners, flowers, people, gifts and even the seers themselves. Men and women shrouded in clothes to hide their all seeing eyes. He stood before the pulpit where the lord president would announce his proclamations after hearing from the seers. He could imagine the fear and joy of the audience awaiting the future. They would hope for a good future but he tried to imagine the despair and hatred at hearing disaster was coming. That had died down and become completely obsolete centuries before the Doctor even existed. He stood where the people would have gathered to hear the final words. Faces waiting for good or bad news either lighting up with hope or being devastated be fear.

He looked about at shattered windows that would have depicted visions or prophecies. He even stood on some of the broken pieces as he looked down. The light hitting and casting small rainbows on the nearby walls as he pondered the past. It would have been such a different Gallifrey back then where faith was important. As it stood now with the evolved tardis, the high council, the houses developing and branching out. What use was there for faith now? when the future was a forbidden area for all time lords with a tardis. Even in the web of time only the Lord President could see into the future and even that was restricted. He couldn't imagine a world where a single being or a group had that kind of power. He thought back again to the audiences here. Would they have been like humans? Good sightings would bring favor and bad ones hatred but he secretly wondered how feared they would have been. He cringed to think what the seers must have gone through. Having your entire race hate you because of a bad sighting you could do nothing about. It would not have been their fault but they would have been blamed for it. The future is not set in stone either they would have had to have seen all possible outcomes. Similar to a tardis only within a body and a soul. A tardis had the infinity protocol kept within themselves so they had the ability to spread it out. Control was critical to a tardis in seeing all. A single person seeing all that and being unable to control what kind of life would that have been? He pondered if any considered it a curse or a gift or if they were seen as Gods. As a child they terrified him for to the Doctor to see all was to doom yourself to a life of fear. You could not undo what you saw nor could you tell anyone else. It is the same for the Doctor on earth if he is in the past as he knows the future. He always has to warn his companions against changing the future. For change may not always be welcomed and it may have devastating consequences. A tardis is able to contain its knowledge of the future and seeing as it is a machine it can handle that information. A being with a life span and a frail mind and body? No wonder he believed the stories of most seers dying off from insanity or worse ceasing their own existences. He sat down on a broken stone step leading up to the sacred area. The shrine at the back of the this temple where the seers would have been seated. Behind a curtain of red with the Gallifreyan word for seer embroider on the front. He glanced back slightly curious as to what Gallifrey must have looked like to them. Those men and women cursed with that ability. Did it seem like a fair world? a war torn world? a place they would want to live if they didn't have that power? Were they as afraid of the people as the people were afraid of them? 

He pushed himself up and stared at what was left of it all. Entropy taking hold of the structure and dismantling it piece by piece. The past was slowly fading and the time of prayer and faith was gone. The Seers were nothing more than a myth and a legend or an old fairy tale. They were left behind to the times of Rassilon and Omega and were not even considered canonical in history books anymore. His teachers used to get made when someone asked about them as they were not practical for study. Pieces chosen to teach of the present of Gallifrey and of its current advancements. Gallifrey had such a large history could it be forgiven that the more mythical side of it be forgotten? He had to agree that even as a boy this place terrified him. He shivered a little as he walked back down the aisle. Centuries had passed and despite the decay of the area it had not been demolished. It remained erect and standing even if it was in complete disarray. He stood at the door one of which had come off its hinges. Someone had taken at least some care of this old place and he smiled slightly. Not completely forgotten but it would soon be gone and he knew why. Faith could only be given to those who searched it and no words from a persons mouth could verify that. Even if they could tell the future there would always be skepticism. No one would ever put their faith completely in people with that power.  He felt mixed feelings towards them as part of him pitied them. On the other they gave some form of hope when there was none. However as he walked back to his tardis and left the temple behind he could clearly see one thing. They were gone. They were not needed anymore. People choose not to know the outcome and that was for the better. He felt comfort in that fact as he glanced behind him. He could have sworn he saw something move inside the building as he looked back. But here was nothing there. He shrugged as he opened his tardis and stepped inside. 

He had faith. He had faith in himself, in his tardis and in his future. Seer or no seer he was the one who would decide his own faith. Not from a prophecy and most certainly not from word of mouth. 

[crazyamoeba]

So sometimes things just don't work out (mad scientist fic)

So...you guys are going to have to excuse this one. I...do not know what it is.

I promise I have more normal fics that are almost done. I have another installment of the gay cop 'series' that's this close to being finished.

For now...have a crazy, invulnerable scientist carrying out icky experiments on himself. Also, meet his keeper.

Yeah. Just a heads up, this is not going to be for everyone. It's weird and kind of dark. But hey, there's some gay 'romance' in there...anybody for gay romance?

Warnings: Umm, let's see. Not totally sure how to classify, but there's an immortal guy who basically cuts bits of himself apart to see how they work and attempts to improve them. It's weird. There's blood and gore. it's kind of a gay surreal/horror, I guess.

Rating: No idea. Adult for weirdness and gore?

Summary: Skylar doesn't need Bryce to put him back together again. He's quite capable of doing that himself. Failure, on the other hand...well. He might need someone to kiss that booboo better for him.

Disclaimer: My original creations, would be nice if you didn't use them without permission.

The ground was crackling beneath a layer of ice and the air was sharp with it.

The screams seemed to dart faster through the cracks in the stone walls of the house, arcing higher through the air in a playful, spiralling dance and eventually through his ears.

But Bryce had to admit that, although he had had many years in which to ponder this very phenomenon, he could not actually swear to it being anything more than simply a trick of the mind.

He would also be on the further end of mildly surprised if there was any mere whim of the mind in this place which had not subsequently been coaxed into corporeal existence.

He flicked his cigarette onto the stone beneath his feet and watched as the embers seemed to sputter and die in time with the ebb and flow of the howling coming from the tower.

For a moment - just as the thin coating of ice on the ground had begun to sluggishly walk its fingers over the cigarette that had lain still for too long – the noises from above ceased, and there was silence.

After seconds which Bryce had been too lax to count, the screaming pierced the fresh, raw silence, and this time the large man was on his feet and trying to move them faster than the frozen ground would allow.

Because the sounds were no longer curling through the air with the familiar and routine steps of industrious pain. This was pain of another sort, one that burrowed and bit and hurt far more than any of the ravaging, devastating disasters which Bryce’s charge cheerfully inflicted on himself on a daily basis.

Disappointment and failure, inadequacy and frustrated desire. They that sat worse with his charge than the burning, biting liquids with which he frequently found the time to douse himself in aid of some kind of greater, vaguely scientific good which Bryce could never quite decipher.

They were things which must be guarded against.

Things which must be stopped. Although here Bryce had no choice but to feel as though he had been somewhat fucked over when they were handing out destinies over at the destiny department. Because, really? Protecting the insane, invulnerable self-teaching ‘scientist’ who liked to take himself apart and attempt to put himself back together again – usually with bits added – from the sting of failure? The sting of anything?

How did that come about?

It always kind of reminded Bryce of one of those ancient myths with the poor suckers trying to complete tasks which defied any such thing. He vaguely remembered a story about pushing boulders up a hill. Or was it carrying water in hole-riddled jugs? He should ask Skylar. It seemed like the kind of thing he would know.

But on opening the door to the tower room – because god forbid that mad scientists occupy anything so mundane as room 212B opposite the water cooler  - Bryce had to consider the idea that this moment might not be the most propitious for the asking of fanciful questions.

He thought that it would be proper to at least wait for the shards of bone and flesh to stop twitching.

The floor was black and white checkerboard. Skylar had insisted that it had always been that way, and was in no way, shape or form a product of one of his dramatic whims. And although Bryce had no exact age or proof with which to support his theory, he was fairly certain that Skylar was actually pretty old. The kind of old which was one of the few things in this place to still make Bryce’s insides slither if he thought about it too much. So the concept of ‘always’ probably shouldn’t be as convincing as it would be coming from someone who was...not Skylar.

Now, however, black and white tiles seemed like a fairly moot point, given the fact that Bryce’s eyes were far more occupied with documenting the many twitching, still-slithering...things which were strewn across the floor. Almost as if someone had had a tantrum and flung them there.

Bryce wasn’t ever really sure what kind of...materials he was stepping through when he walked into this room, although this time he would admit that Skylar had kind of outdone himself in the crazy stakes. The things were long, thin and off-black. They would have been smooth if not for the small shreds of a flesh-like substance still clinging to them. They all tapered to sharp, vicious-looking points, while some had extra, tiny spines layering down their sides.

But they slithered and twitched with a fluidity that made Bryce’s feet shift. And he couldn’t swear to it, but it seemed as if their directionless, almost pained twitching seemed to have shifted into a more marked, purposeful seizing as soon as he had stepped over the threshold.

The sobbing that bounced across the floor however, seemed almost to be sending an electrical pulse through the tiles, chasing the wriggling spines away from Bryce and sending them shuddering across the room in different directions whenever a new, damp exhalation left the small and trembling body that knelt by the window.

The reams of protective cloth were draped all the way from ceiling and arcing down to form layers of webbing on the floor. Typically, no attempt had been made to fix them to the walls, Skylar apparently preferring (for artistic or scientific reasons, Bryce could never tell) to have them sweep down from either side of the ceiling so that they simply formed a kind of cocoon around his workspace in the centre of the floor.

The window, comprising of impossibly tiny panes of glass and which made up the entirety of the north-facing wall, was according to Skylar, the best and indeed only possible place in the entire labyrinthine place that was suitable for him to carry out his work.

“Lets in the light.” Skylar had once mumbled to him while sitting cross-legged in the very same place, not even bothering to cast a glance in Bryce’s direction as he continued to peel back the layers of diseased flesh which had begun to creep up his fingertips.

When Bryce had pointed out that there were any number of spaces available in the facility which were equipped with the very latest in floodlight/diabolical experiment technology, the boy’s head had whipped round so fast that Bryce could have sworn that he heard even the...miscellaneous vertebrae crack.

“It’s. Pretty.”

The words had been hissed, and the suffering limb held up as sullen and pig-headed testament, and even a small and sour little part of Bryce had to admit that Skylar could have been not too far off the right track. The delicate, slim-fingered appendage with its draping ribbons of skin and blood - taking on a silvery glint in the moonlight -didn’t look as terrible as they might have done under white surgical beams.

Now though, Skylar turned and crumpled in on himself as he was – and Bryce never even tried anymore to suppress the pang of sympathy and ridiculous protective feelings that such sights teased out of his intestines – the only thing the moonlight tripped along were the sharp, glinting edges of the tools of Skylar’s trade. They winked at Bryce from haphazard points in the cocoon, and this time he knew for a fact that they had been flung to their current resting places in the midst of a pain-threaded tantrum.

As he made his way through Skylar’s nest, he heard his feet squelch in the reams of soaking fabric, and each step seemed to waft a coppery smell up to curl into his nose, like rising clouds of dust.

Skylar’s breath hitched as Bryce knelt down beside him, feeling dampness slowly sink its fingers into the trouser legs of his suit. Bryce raised one hand and smoothed it slowly over Skylar’s head, which did not appear to have sustained any curiosity-damage today.

“What’s the matter, precious?” he whispered into the small, delicate ear. It was cold and Skylar was trembling. He raised the other hand to run lightly down Skylar’s waist. “It didn’t work out?”

There was a small, pitiful choking sound before the sobs quieted enough for puffy, pouting lips, the outline of which Bryce could just about see in the evening light, stilled enough to form words.

“No.” One word, sulky and bad-tempered, and almost enough to make Bryce want to smile. If not for the fact that he knew just how much Skylar’s failures stung him.

“No. No, it didn’t work, Bryce.” Apparently warming to the subject, those trembling lips began the rapid-fire run-down of failed experiments, fuelled by the usual indignation that anything would dare contradict Skylar’s plans for them.

“It didn’t work and everything was perfect. Everything was ready. I made sure of it. I was so sure it would work.” Liquid, trembling eyes held Bryce’s own, bright with misery and outrage, before they narrowed and cast about peevishly, looking on the discarded spines with something akin to bafflement.

“It should have worked.”

Bryce waited for a moment, holding on with the lightest touch, until it became apparent that on this occasion Skylar would not deign to get up and throw things just to spite them. When the boy – and that term of address was just so incorrect, he really should attempt to wean himself off of it – stopped his shuddering and allowed his body to slump ever so slightly down and in Bryce’s direction, the larger man wound his arms properly up and around his...companion?

Was that what Skylar was?

Who knew? Who cared? Certainly not Skylar, who heaved his body into the invitation that Bryce presented, taking the opportunity to curl into the larger form and sulk quietly, pressing damp eyes against Bryce’s shirt and reluctantly allowing the stroking hands to soothe the irritation.

Bryce bent forward ever so slightly to press a kiss down on top of Skylar’s head, which smelt inexplicably clean and fresh, and kept his hands roving gently and smoothly across the body he held. Once or twice, his fingers brushed across wetness on the underside of Skylar’s arms, the raggedness of torn skin already pulling itself back together, ruthlessly forcing every patch of skin back in formation.

Kneeling there, listening to Skylar’s damp, unhappy breaths and attempting to smooth the ruffled feathers, Bryce slowly became aware of something different.

At his back. On his back.

A light, delicate touch, almost not there at all. Light and...teasing. Dancing. Twirling across his back in carefree little patterns.

“Skylar.” He cleared his throat. “What’s that?”

There was a pause, during which Skylar’s petulant fidgeting and tearful, hitching breaths stopped, and he became as still and cold as marble in Bryce’s hold. The face which was pressed cheek-to-cheek to Bryce’s own suddenly felt dry, as though the tears had simply frozen and shattered on their way down. The dancing touched continued.

“Oh.” Skylar inhaled, slow and deep and evidently very sweet. His small chest expanded in Bryce’s hold with the sheer delight of victory, like a crisp winter air swirling in his lungs.

His body undulated in Bryce’s arms, wriggling in smug, contented realisation, and the other man found himself doing some shifting of his own as the material of his pants suddenly felt uncomfortably tight.

“Mm hm.” Husky laughter seeping out of soft lips, like smoke come to caress Bryce’s face. Plump, chapped lips curling against Bryce’s ear in satisfaction, laughter twining into it. His back arched, his smooth, soft belly and thighs lazily stretching against the suddenly very heavy and cumbersome material of Bryce’s suit.

“Oh. Those.” The words were rich and sweet with the gloating of victory. Bryce’s hands crept upwards from their position holding Skylar’s waist, sailing upwards to glance off new...shapes. New appendages.

Just below the shoulders. They felt smooth. Thin. Delicate. And they evidently had some kind of...fingers.

Many kinds of fingers. Questing. Feeling.

Skylar’s laughter tripped down Bryce’s spine, drawing from him a matching smile.

“Those worked out quite pleasingly indeed.”

[allthebellsinvenice]

CHAPTER FIVE.

http://adventureisoutthere.deviantart.com/art/You-Do-Count-305533754

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Star Trek Into Darkness - Fandom, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock (TV) Rating: Explicit Characters: Khan Noonien Singh, Molly Hooper Additional Tags: khanolly, Star Trek/Sherlock Crossover, Omegaverse, yep you read that right, Mating Cycles/In Heat, USS Vengeance - Freeform, Augments, Dark, Dubcon/Noncon, Violence, Suicidal Thoughts Summary:

The murderous Khan is steering the Vengeance into the abyss of space, but not before he abducts a young doctor from the Enterprise for reasons of his own. As they play cat-and-mouse throughout the vast ship, Khan begins to suspect that there may be more to this Molly than he has bargained for.