good prompt, really fun-to-do fill, hope you like!
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It hadn't always been like this. He still remembers the beginning of April 13, 1996, a day filled with cakes and strifes and talking to his friends about some game he can't remember the name of, now. His house was littered with stupid clowns and cakes, his Pesterchum application blowing up with messages, and everything was normal, even if frustrating. He was Nic Cage-adoring, awful-at-programming John Egbert, prankster extraordinaire and destined for nothing in particular except to play a rad game that he'd been all too anxiously waiting for.
Then everything went red, his home became a tri-pointed castle above a sea that was never there before, and no one except him noticed the change. The portrait of his Nanna transformed into the previous Heiress of the Betty Crocker company, bathed in red, the frame made of two red spoons and forks, a homage to her career and strife specibus. John had been swarmed with information of a secondary 13 years past, and it took him years to sort it all out. His friends had still been congratulating him on another year of life, but with a solemn tone he hadn't understood at the time. He was, then, just one year closer to ascending from mere heir to owner of the company that ruled the world, all controlled by an alien tyrant John had and yet had absolutely no recollection of.
His distaste toward the Batterwitch became founded, finally, and quickly morphed into blind hatred. He'd locked himself up, gathered his friends into a memo--when did that option get there?--and began to plot the downfall of the alien sea version of Hitler. He's plotted and acted with them ever since. And while his friends understand his plight against her, they don't believe his tales of what the world used to be like, what they were supposed to be doing instead. Rose has her novels, Dave his short independent films, and Jade her brutal, physical form of rebellion, but they look upon him as a delusional boy wrought with unfounded idealism of a past that never was, a universe that they were never a part of. Nevertheless, he is their friend, and that much didn't change. Thank god.
Today is April 13, 2001. He is 18 years old and ready to be evaluated to take over the company, as he is still the heir despite his strong, vocalized desire to abdicate himself. He's to be summoned to the Batterwitch's ship, and it will be his first time ever meeting her. He's seen her picture, shrouded by the monstrous oceans of her hair, and he's not sure he's ready for this. He stands on the roof, looking up as alien drones descend to escort him. He's left goodbye messages to his friends and his father just in case this meeting ends in his culling, which, taking into account his very public negativity toward the Betty Crocker company, is a very real possibility. But if he can go down fighting, do something against her, he can welcome death as the next step to liberation.
Her ship is as red and cruel as he imagined. It's made like a shell on the inside, with sections of walls and spikes that seem almost biological. He instinctively summons his strife specibus, and no one does a thing about it. He's surprised; surely she would have expected this, wouldn't she, and have taken precautions? But minutes that feel like hours of walking further into the belly of the devil, he realizes she likely wouldn't care. She's some all-powerful alien who took over the entirety of Earth with little exertion. He's no match for her, weapons are allowed. It's a terrifying realization and he feels his breath catch when he reaches her throne room.
It's as deep red and cold as his nightmares. She sits in her throne, her hair taking up ten times more space than her lithe body, and her horns stand a good small child's height or so atop her head. Her skin is gray, and magenta stripes along her body suit accentuate her startling femininity. He bites his lower lip; it's a habit he hasn't found himself doing in years. He's nervous, and she is so calm, collected, powerful and in charge, and behind her painted pink lips are a set of teeth he does not want to mess with.
"My my, so you're the little heir, are you?"
John stiffens; she is beautiful and exudes so much danger that his senses go haywire. He mustn't panic, though, he mustn't. He clutches tighter to his hammer, dramatically named Judgement Day, and he realizes this is exactly what she wanted. Without lifting a finger, she's frozen him to his spot in fear and rage.
She grins wide, and rests her chin delicately in her hand. "You hate me, don't you?"
Don't let your enmity get the best of you, John.
be careful john!!! D:
for the love of god if you die i am going to kill you egbert
John relaxes, lets the handle of Judgement Day soothe into the palm of his sweaty hand.
"More than anything," he tells her, eyes meeting hers without waver, without fear, with honest to god hate.
FILL: TEAM PARCELPYXIS
---
It hadn't always been like this. He still remembers the beginning of April 13, 1996, a day filled with cakes and strifes and talking to his friends about some game he can't remember the name of, now. His house was littered with stupid clowns and cakes, his Pesterchum application blowing up with messages, and everything was normal, even if frustrating. He was Nic Cage-adoring, awful-at-programming John Egbert, prankster extraordinaire and destined for nothing in particular except to play a rad game that he'd been all too anxiously waiting for.
Then everything went red, his home became a tri-pointed castle above a sea that was never there before, and no one except him noticed the change. The portrait of his Nanna transformed into the previous Heiress of the Betty Crocker company, bathed in red, the frame made of two red spoons and forks, a homage to her career and strife specibus. John had been swarmed with information of a secondary 13 years past, and it took him years to sort it all out. His friends had still been congratulating him on another year of life, but with a solemn tone he hadn't understood at the time. He was, then, just one year closer to ascending from mere heir to owner of the company that ruled the world, all controlled by an alien tyrant John had and yet had absolutely no recollection of.
His distaste toward the Batterwitch became founded, finally, and quickly morphed into blind hatred. He'd locked himself up, gathered his friends into a memo--when did that option get there?--and began to plot the downfall of the alien sea version of Hitler. He's plotted and acted with them ever since. And while his friends understand his plight against her, they don't believe his tales of what the world used to be like, what they were supposed to be doing instead. Rose has her novels, Dave his short independent films, and Jade her brutal, physical form of rebellion, but they look upon him as a delusional boy wrought with unfounded idealism of a past that never was, a universe that they were never a part of. Nevertheless, he is their friend, and that much didn't change. Thank god.
Today is April 13, 2001. He is 18 years old and ready to be evaluated to take over the company, as he is still the heir despite his strong, vocalized desire to abdicate himself. He's to be summoned to the Batterwitch's ship, and it will be his first time ever meeting her. He's seen her picture, shrouded by the monstrous oceans of her hair, and he's not sure he's ready for this. He stands on the roof, looking up as alien drones descend to escort him. He's left goodbye messages to his friends and his father just in case this meeting ends in his culling, which, taking into account his very public negativity toward the Betty Crocker company, is a very real possibility. But if he can go down fighting, do something against her, he can welcome death as the next step to liberation.
Her ship is as red and cruel as he imagined. It's made like a shell on the inside, with sections of walls and spikes that seem almost biological. He instinctively summons his strife specibus, and no one does a thing about it. He's surprised; surely she would have expected this, wouldn't she, and have taken precautions? But minutes that feel like hours of walking further into the belly of the devil, he realizes she likely wouldn't care. She's some all-powerful alien who took over the entirety of Earth with little exertion. He's no match for her, weapons are allowed. It's a terrifying realization and he feels his breath catch when he reaches her throne room.
It's as deep red and cold as his nightmares. She sits in her throne, her hair taking up ten times more space than her lithe body, and her horns stand a good small child's height or so atop her head. Her skin is gray, and magenta stripes along her body suit accentuate her startling femininity. He bites his lower lip; it's a habit he hasn't found himself doing in years. He's nervous, and she is so calm, collected, powerful and in charge, and behind her painted pink lips are a set of teeth he does not want to mess with.
"My my, so you're the little heir, are you?"
John stiffens; she is beautiful and exudes so much danger that his senses go haywire. He mustn't panic, though, he mustn't. He clutches tighter to his hammer, dramatically named Judgement Day, and he realizes this is exactly what she wanted. Without lifting a finger, she's frozen him to his spot in fear and rage.
She grins wide, and rests her chin delicately in her hand. "You hate me, don't you?"
Don't let your enmity get the best of you, John.
be careful john!!! D:
for the love of god if you die i am going to kill you egbert
John relaxes, lets the handle of Judgement Day soothe into the palm of his sweaty hand.
"More than anything," he tells her, eyes meeting hers without waver, without fear, with honest to god hate.