Somewhat Clear

deerna
somewhatclear

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: the under garden (MAF)
Relationship: ashton rose/dahlia
Tags: body horror, bug metamorphosis
Wordcount: 570
Notes: the under garden is a work by velnna | MAF. you can read it on gumroad. find out more about ashton in the under garden comic tag on velnna | MAF's tumblr

Summary:

Excerpt:

Rebirth. It made him wonder how lucky it was that they couldn't remember what the first time had been like. Because, if every time it was anything like what he was going through right now, then it meant they truly were being born to this world only to suffer, and suffer, and suffer—and to suffer again, as they tore themselves to pieces to try and make it into something worth living.

{ read on AO3 | read here }

It was over, but it didn’t stop.

It was over, it was over, only that strange silence that floated over the performance hall after the last note of a concerto, before the audience’s applause came crashing in, the same tension, the same anticipation—

It didn't stop, it didn't stop, the pain, the agony, the feeling of flesh melting around his bones, skin liquefying, his synapses and sinews fusing together and breaking apart and knitting themselves back together again, the sickening splintering of cartilage and keratin playing a dissonating contrappunto to the main, deafening melody of transformation—

Rebirth. It made him wonder how lucky it was that they couldn't remember what the first time had been like. Because, if every time it was anything like what he was going through right now, then it meant they truly were being born to this world only to suffer, and suffer, and suffer—and to suffer again, as they tore themselves to pieces to try and make it into something worth living.

He shifted around, the fluid sloshing around him, in his mouth, in his lungs. His old life. His old self. Trapping him. Failing him. Cradling him in a world of hurt.

Something brightened, muffled and distant in the darkness, something that swayed and moved—out there. He saw it. He had eyes again.

“Ashton?”

Hands. He had hands. All one, two, three, four of them. He pressed them against the soft wall and pushed.

A wail tore its way through, muffled by the slime. A body tore its way through, cradled by the slime. A thought tore its way through —

Dahlia?

He crawled out of the cocoon and flopped onto the floor, coughing and sobbing and gasping, the most pathetic, shameful thing to ever be remade. The air was burning his lungs, the tackiness from the goo was drying on his skin in a layer of acid.

He crumpled on his side, limbs stiff and held out, feeling like if he'd tried to touch anywhere he would’ve just squished through softened tissues, flesh and bones and guts and all.

Blacks and whites and reds and gold swam in the corner of his vision. There was something under himself, wet and crumpled and painful. Alien. Other. His?

“Ashton, love,” a voice murmured. “If you don't roll over you'll ruin them before they have a chance.”

He shrieked, animal and feral and out of his mind, when he felt a touch on his chest. He scrambled away, his body surprisingly clumsy, surprisingly *light*, and the alien things followed him, sticking wetly to his back, against his ribs. He twitched, shaking them off, shaking them out—

Wings. He had *wings*.

He sat on the floor with his knees hugged to his chest, despite the prickles of pain like a million pins under his skin wherever he made contact, and just stared at them. He watched as they slowly dried out, filled out, doubled, triplicated in size. They shimmered in the low light, and grew so big they brushed on the floor.

He didn't know how long it was until they were done, but it was only then he realised Dahlia was crouching on the floor right in front of him, looking at him with a fond if slightly drawn expression on her little, pretty face.

“Well,” he croaked, startling himself with how different his voice sounded. “Those are new.”

“No shit, love.” She smirked. “Welcome back.”