#mun writing

Part one is here as I resist the urge to make an Electric Boogaloo joke.

The night had veered from unusual to strange and then swiftly into a shift of highly strung emotions within the pace of half an hour. The ooman he had a habit of watching had turned the tables on him. How long had she known that he was watching her? How much of what he had seen was an act to throw him off?

Ixtal wasn’t alone.

It was not alone, not ever alone.

Her entire life was made up of lies .

The Nasiana, the World Beyond, the Dead Realm. It was just as alive as any of them were.

Qiyana ran until her feet ached and her arms bled from the pricks of thorned plants and the odd claw in the dark. She didn’t know in which directions she had turned ever since she left the palace, only that she was trying to gain distance between her heart and the celebration of lies.

The youngest Yun Tal. How is a child supposed to handle her whole reality crumbling in front of her? To realize that her fantasies about exploring the other realms, to find remnants of the dead world, that it was all for naught?

Ixtal wasn’t alone, or unique, or the last survivor.

It simply hid cowardly from anything that could bring it harm.

How could her ancestors have allowed this? They were supposed to be a powerful nation, and yet they thrived in knowing that nobody else knew of their existence?

They should be at the top of the food chain, shepherding the magic that ran free in the world around them. Qiyana recalled the beast the Vidalion had shown her, a wild winged thing clawing toward the skies with a roar that shook her whole core, and it had felt wrong. To not experience it face to face, to not know how the threads of that magic felt in her hands.

Wheezing and heaving, her sprint died into a shaky walk. The humidity of the jungle made her more self-aware of the sweat coating her skin and how gross it felt, all that hot water singing in her ears, attracting predators toward her, ringing a dinner bell that she had forgotten about. Especially so late.

Finally quiet, she searched the canopies for an answer. They were so dense and stood so tall that her eyes could only find the odd star here and there, and light was a privilege underneath their trunks and leaves. She was used to the dark, able to see more clearly in it faster than most due to her scavenges, but that night was a particularly vicious shade of void. She wondered if the jungle was changing to mimic the state of her heart. If that was why she did not recognize these barks and plants and stones.

Ixtal would not have let her get lost. She was a daughter of Ixaocan and one of the few who had the privilege to hear Her voice. It was the cloudiness of her heart and head, the anger and confusion, that had made her run without destiny. Qiyana took a deep breath and sought out the voice that lulled her at night, something so familiar and yet so ethereally strange. It did not take long to reply to her at the corners of her mind, guiding her through the suffocating greenery. She did not need her eyes. All she needed were the threads traced on the back of her eyelids and the echo dancing from tree to tree.

A little calmer, she reached the edge of a familiar lake. It was a miracle that nothing had smelled her sweat and blood yet. Perhaps, the creatures of Ixtal knew that she was not an easy meal. Perhaps their hunger had already been sated, she thought as she saw hints of blood in the water on the other side of the lake. A quick splash cleaned her wounds and face and stained the surface further. She knew the way home from there.

Yet, her curiosity was tugged and prickled at. Qiyana rose her eyes toward the cloud of crimson at the far edge of the water and searched through the nightly symphony of Ixtal, through the chirps and hisses and buzzings, to find whimpering.

Lured in, the princess rose from her kneeling position to circle the water, past a muddy bank and into a denser line of trees and vines. Through them, she met a strange sight.

A man wearing odd garments, his lips bloody from teeth biting into them in a useless attempt to quiet himself, and hands desperately tying torn fabric around his thigh. Her gaze lowered toward the trail of blood and noticed the stranger’s mangled leg, flesh and bone crushed into a gory mess it could never be recovered from, twisted beyond recognition by either teeth or vine. Red and pink and beige made for a gnarly picture, turning her stomach around and forcing her to reel back, only for the mud that coated her path to trip her and drop her in front of the man clinging to his useless leg.

Both jolted. Before Qiyana could attempt to get up or say anything, the man cursed in a language she did not understand and let go of his to-be stump, his hands shaking in a blur that left her without reaction before they grasped and lifted a barrel toward her.

She only had the chance to realize she had never seen a weapon like that before a burning pain and a wet sensation spread through her shoulder. Her ears were ringing, muffling the songs that she felt naked without. The wail that left her was distant, as if someone else was screaming her hurt for her, making the jungle ache in tandem with her. It was still hers, as the scratching of her throat told her.

The man paused, then dropped the strange thing. Maybe he had realized he had shot a child. Maybe his ugly sounds were attempts to apologize in a language that was foreign and dirty. He reached out, unable to drag himself closer than a few inches before the hand not clutching her wound found a heavy rock under her palm.

Her fingers grasped onto the rock like it was a lifeline, paying no mind to the rough edges cutting into her skin, and she pulled it behind her before swinging forth. The hit connected, giving way to a disgusting crunch of flesh and bone.

With her hearing clearing up, she was able to hear the man cry out and spit up broken teeth and bile, his hands raised toward her in a plea for mercy. A plea she couldn’t understand.

A plea she paid no mind to.

Her pain spurred her and the rock rose again, coming down onto skull with multiple ferocious hits, each quieter than the last as more of the bone came apart. His skull gave in at the same time his last howling breath came out, but Qiyana did not stop as she reached brain and it leaked down his neck and face, not even as it spilled onto her and his cranium was so caved in that teeth and scalp mixed together in a pulpy soup. Only when there was nothing left to crush did her hand grow still and her anger simmer down.

The stone dropped from her fingers at the same time Qiyana turned her eyes upon the man’s corpse, so destroyed, so disfigured, one could as well call it headless.

A mixture of feelings took over her body.

Joy.

Relief.

Despair.

Qiyana could not turn toward the lake in time. Vomit burned past her throat and spilled from her mouth, watery and as disgusting as the cranial fluid she had spilled. More kept coming, making her retch until her stomach was empty and there was nothing more to throw out. Reeking of blood and puke, her small body shook heavily as she dragged herself away from the man, always waiting for him to twitch and grasp her with his still intact hands. He did not move. And as growls and steps came to be attracted by the smell of the dead, Qiyana once again ran.

The trip back became a distant memory she grew unable to recall. Something should have attacked her in the dark, she should have gotten lost, or at least made to spend the night outside the safety of the palace. But she didn’t. The jungle, while guiding predators to the outsiders, kept her from harm. At least, that is what Qiyana chose to believe. Because thinking about that night only brought the taste of bitterness and the smell of carnage to her. Because it painted the picture of that mangled corpse dragging itself toward her in accusation.

What is there to accuse her of?

On her first night as Yun Tal, Qiyana Yunalai protected her land. Not by hiding it, but by taking action.

If blood was to be spilled to announce to the world the grandiosity of Ixaocan, to rip it from the shadow it hides in, so be it.

    It’s cold in your apartment, but not unbearably so. Your hands are spotted faintly purple and yellow, stiff at the edges, but you note it all with a certain detachment. The old dark floorboards creak under your weight on your way from the bedroom to the kitchen, and even though you expect the cold shock of the tile, it still almost draws a gasp out of you when you step on it. You start to boil a kettle of water on the stove, and go to freshen up after a night of heavy, dreamless sleep. It’s left you sore in several places, and you try to knead out the pain, but you know it won’t leave for a while, maybe even a day or two. The kettle screeches for you just as you replace your toothbrush on its stand. It’s a horrible sound, one of those that grates on you even when you know it’s coming, but you’re willing to endure it for your morning tea. The mug you choose is well-loved, one your husband bought as a joke at some rest stop on a meteor a few galaxies over years ago. He keeps forgetting to take it back. (You’re unaware that he has not, in fact, been forgetting, but that he bought it for you and was just too embarrassed to say so at the time. He’s changed so much since then. You feel the same as ever.)

    While waiting for your tea to steep, you set out food for your familiar. His living space is more of a glorified functional dollhouse than it is a cage, but you’ve never felt right keeping him locked up. Besides, Nietzche is well behaved and is a better roommate than plenty of humans could ever hope to be. He’s been awake for a while now, and runs out to eat his breakfast. You give him a little scratch on the head.

    Weak sunlight skims the edge of the clouds, and the gray morning starts to break. Technically, today is your day off, but still you check all your usual news sources just in case. Maybe you’ll be able to find your next big project.

    You don’t, and it seems your colleagues have everything handled, so you find yourself faced with the prospect of a day doing whatever you like. You can hear Nietzche rustling in his bedding, the cars on the street far below, the hum of the lights above your head. You take a drink. Breakfast, you decide, should be your first order of business, so you pour yourself the same cereal you always have and it’s gone before you know it. Tea, cereal, medication… What now?

    It’s times like these where the juxtaposition of your life against itself annoys you. Never in a million years would you give up your magic, or your ties to other worlds, but it can make things difficult in such mundane ways back at home. After your honeymoon with Adrik, you came back here, despite his offers to set you up on any other planet. Earth is what you know. Earth is what you can do on your own. When he left to visit another partner, you settled into your work as a journalist. Your routine. Don’t worry about me, you had reassured him, I’ll be fine here! I’m sure I’ll make plenty of friends, whether I want to or not! It had been only partially a joke at the time, but now you’re beginning to see a problem you hadn’t anticipated.

    Your home planet feels so small after traveling to places lightyears away. Connecting with others has always proved difficult for you, but now it’s even worse. How did you ever expect to feel truly close to someone while hiding so much of yourself? You had done it before, in different ways. Why did you think it would be any better with one more?

He head Aarrrgh move around but thought he was shifting in his sleep until warm stone pressed against his back and a head rested on the top of his. “What wrong?” came Aarrrgh’s sleepy voice. “Nothing dearest friend.” Blinky lied, he heard Aarrrgh snort “lier.”

Blinky started to speak to rebuttal the truth but Aarrrgh was quicker to speak up. “Been sighing and reading same page all day.” Blinky looked down and Aarrrgh hugged him. “Like Blinky say to Aarrrgh “it okay to have bad day, everyone need break sometime.’.”

Blinky chuckles “using my own words against me.” “Yep, so Blinky not hypo-crit.” Aarrrgh teases, this makes Blinky laugh. “For a troll of few words, you always know what to say.” Blinky can feel Aarrrgh’s nose press against the top of his head, “Blinky taught Aarrrgh. Blinky taught Aarrrgh lot, more than Aarrrgh ever thank Blinky for.”

Blinky felt his core warm “Aarrrgh..” he started then squeaked a little as Aarrrgh lifted him up from his chair. “Naptime!” Aarrrgh said cheerfully and carried him over to Aarrrgh’s nap spot. “Aarrrgh, i have many things to do.” “Blinky take break to nap, feel better when wake.” Aarrrgh says as he cuddles Blinky like a teddy bear.

It would seem, this is a reset. A fresh start, another chance to do things right. But will you take it? 

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro, Darkest Dungeon (Video Game) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Barbara Lake, Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Otto Scaarbach, Jim Lake Jr. (Tales of Arcadia) Summary:

KA had dealt with most of the monsters in the fortress by killing them with their sword she got from a chest. As Kind Anon walked around the corner and into a room with a chest, KA felt a sharp pain in her left arm and fell to the ground. She turns to head to see that most of her arm was gone, leaving a bloodied stub and a ton of pain in it’s wake. Her breath quicken and KA looks up to the mysterious figure covered by shadows as the figure smiles widely. The figure uses the same sword that they used on KA’s now stubbed arm and stabs them directly into the chest which causes Kind Anon to scream.

The scream that caused Kind Anon to wake up from the nightmare as sweat drips from KA’s face and she looked at her stub which isn’t covered with blood at all. She sighs in relief and picks up their glasses plus their robotic arm from the nightstand before getting up and heads to their bathroom to calm down from that nightmare.

Fandom: Dangan Ronpa (duh) Pairing: Kyouko Kirigiri x Celestia Ludenberg - Celegiri Rating: T Summary: Kyouko’s assignment was to trail her. However, with her suspicions confirmed, Kyouko now has to juggle her job, her school life and her new relationship with one Celestia Ludenberg, Gambling Princess of Kibougamine. At least her friends have stopped asking about her hickies. Additional: Supernatural creatures  Notes: Sorry for such a long wait everyone (I don’t even remember how long it’s been). However, as a special Valentine’s treat, I figured I would post the next chapter and announce the fic’s return!

Kyouko groaned as she walked through the hall. Instead of heading out to eat her lunch with the others, she instead opted to wander the school. She refused to be bombarded with questions during the only time during the day that she got to relax. No, it was better this way. She would eat her lunch somewhere more private.

As she happened upon one of the empty classrooms, Kyouko thought about what her classmates must have been asking Celes at that moment. Likely grilling her on her relationship with me, the detective thought with a snort. She sat at a vacant desk and opened her lunchbox. They can be so persistent. I almost feel sorry for her.

Kyouko ate her lunch in silence, listening to students occasionally walk passed the room. She didn’t mind this, but she tended to feel more at ease eating with others around. Having all of the background noise made it easier to ignore her paranoia. With nothing but silence, she had nothing to distract her from all of the different intrusive thoughts plaguing her mind.

With a sigh, Kyouko finished her lunch quickly and made her way back to the classroom. She would have gone out to the eating area, but her friends had another ten minutes before they needed to return and that was ten more minutes of questions. Hard pass.

“Well, this certainly won’t do.”