#AND THEN WHEN WIRT GOT THE LANTERN IN HIS HANDS WHAT DID THE BEAST DO? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dumdumsun · 2 years

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The Loveliest Lies of All

A/N: This is the final chapter, but you guys do get an epilogue next week, dw. I literally can't believe this fic got any recognition. Thank you, babes ❤️

Warnings: mentions of violence, drowning, death/dying

Word Count: 4768

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Chapter Ten: The Unknown

“I’m back!”

“Excellent. Did you fetch for me the golden comb?”

“Will that work?”

“This is a honeycomb.”

“Golden comb of honey!”

The conversation was muffled due to her weakening hearing, so that was not what had awoken Scout. It was the branch slowly growing and curling around her abdomen that snapped her out of her deep slumber, the girl coughing out a painful cry. She was too far away for Greg to hear her, her presence shadowed by the darkening of nightfall. She hissed and panted as she looked around, her blurring vision settling on The Beast and Greg a few feet ahead of her. Her slowing heart wrenched at the sight of the boy.

His skin had paled and dark circles hung from his eyes, no doubt from the cold of the snowstorm around them. Scout had been trapped for so long that she had begun to seek warmth within her shackles, but Greg was exposed, just as The Beast had planned. He wanted Greg to be weakened, as it would be easier to deceive and trap him, just as he had done to her.

Clearly, something in the distance had distracted the boy, for he turned around with a confused hum. The Beast, seemingly unfazed by whatever had been there, returned his gaze to Greg. “Never mind that, Gregory. You’ve brought me the first two items- a golden comb and a spool of silver thread.”

“It’s just a spiderweb on a stick.”

“Now I want the sun.”

Greg raised a brow. “The sun?”

“Here,” The Beast lifted a small porcelain cup before gently dropping it into the snow, Greg watching as it rolled to his feet. “Lower the sun out of the sky and into this china cup.”

The boy took the cup into his hands and glanced over at the reddening sun behind him. “Uh, well, that sounds impossible.”

“Anything is possible if you set your mind to it, right?” He spoke the very words the boy had chirped earlier to his brother. “But hurry, the sun will be setting soon, and-”

“Hey, yeah! That’s it,” Greg sang one of many tunes he had made up on the spot as he neared the tree stump Scout had slumped over what seemed like a lifetime ago, setting the cup into the snow that covered the stump’s surface before turning back to The Beast. “See, that old sun’s going right down into this old cup.”

The Beast lifted his arms in feigned surprise. “You have figured it out, and I thought you might give up.”

“Give up? I’ll never give up. Scout said changing the world isn’t gonna be easy. And I gotta be a good leader for her and Wirt,” Turning back towards the cup, Greg shivered and breathed hot air onto his hands for warmth. “Just gotta wait, just gotta wait.”

“Yes, just sit there in the cold and wait… I’m sure (Y/N) would be proud.” The Beast took a couple steps back, craning his neck to watch his near-finished product sigh out in pain as the branches tightened around her.

“Come wayward souls

That wander through the darkness

There is a light

For the lost and the meek”

The Beast’s song had struck fear, and another nerve, into the Woodsman’s veins as he stood to his feet. Walking out of the mill, he watched the darkening and unmoving wood as the song continued. Reluctantly, he stepped out into the snow and lifted his lantern as he ventured further into the woods.

“Sorrow and fear

Are easily forgotten

When you submit

To the soil of the earth”

By the time the singing had led him to the glowing eyes of The Beast, that was all to be seen within the woods. All sunlight had faded away and the storm had died down to a halt, leaving the woods black and chilling. The glowing eyes traveled up to the Woodsman as The Beast finished his song. “Woodsman, I knew you would come. I have something for you.”

Knowing those words meant nothing for the benefit of no one but The Beast, the Woodsman gulped and slowly moved the lantern to the space beside his enemy, the man gasping at the sight of Greg. The boy was unconscious, the edelwood process already in effect all around his body. “Oh! Oh! What have you done?!”

“That is not all,” Beast moved to the side. “This one is almost finished. I can feel her heart dimming and her soul pulsing.”

Woodsman quickly shone his light on Scout, tears brimming in his eyes at her hollowed cheeks, the tree that grew around and encased her body up to her chin. Her breathing was shallow and her head limply leaned against the side of the tree. “This- This cannot be!”

“I’ve given you two trees for the edelwood.”

“No!”

“They will burn nicely in the lantern.”

“No! I won’t do this!”

The Beast straightened. “You’ve been grinding up lost souls for years.”

“I didn’t know!” Woodsman cried. “I didn’t know this is where the edelwood trees came from!”

The Beast tilted his head, at least, that’s what the Woodman assumed when his eyes had shifted. “And would it have mattered? Would you have just let your daughter’s spirit burn out forever?” The white of his eyes flicked to that of the yellow, blue, and red of the possessed dog’s eyes just days ago. “Feed the lantern.”

Woodsman stared into the light of the lantern, as he had done so many times before. However, this time, his hope for his daughter flickered and instead, he felt the guilt of so many innocent lives he had chopped down and grinded up into the very object he held. With a deep breath, he shook his head. “No…”

Leaning away from Greg, The Beast straightened once again to his full height. “I suppose, after all this time, you just don’t care for her anymore-”

“Hold your tongue or I’ll remove it from your mouth! Do not speak of my daughter.” Woodsman moved towards Greg, The Beast quickly leaving the pathway of the light as Woodsman crouched down in front of the boy. “She would not wish this… Let’s get you two free.”

While his attention was on Greg, The Beast stared intently at the forgotten lantern on the ground just beside him. He sighed out as he slowly reached for it. Noticing this, the Woodsman quickly lifted his ax and wedged it into the ground between the hand and the lantern. The Beast gasped out.

“I only wish to help you, Woodsman! You need oil, or else your daughter will-”

“I told you to hold your tongue!” Woodsman shouted, swinging his ax down, The Beast laughing as he easily dodged, causing the ax to momentarily wedge itself into a nearby tree. Scout gasped a little in surprise when she heard the tree just beside her get hacked into as the two continued their fight. However, her exhaustion hadn’t kept her conscious for long, for the darkness consumed her once again seconds later.

“Grow tiny seed

You are called to the trees”

For a while now, after his reunion with Beatrice, Wirt had been wandering the woods, Greg’s shivering frog in his arms. Beatrice had been unsure exactly where she had seen Greg, and the snowstorm had blown her off course before finding Wirt, but she was determined that she knew where she was going. But the dark abyss before them left Wirt with no choice than to call out for his brother, “Greg? Greg!”

“I thought it was this way…” Beatrice trailed off at the light a few steps ahead of them. Wirt followed it until they came upon a lantern, laying on its side within the snow. “A lantern.” Beatrice hummed as Wirt bent down to pick it up.

“It looks like the Woodsman’s.” He shone the light around the area, the two gawking at the half-hacked trees and the branches laying on the ground, footprints littering the snow around them.

“Whoa… What happened here?”

Wirt gasped aloud when the light shone on his brother. “Greg!” He shouted and rushed up to the poor boy, heart hammering against his ribcage. “Greg! Are you…?”

“Wirt…?” The boy quivered, eyes softly shut.

“Oh, Greg…” Wirt tearfully smiled.

“Wirt, I did it. I beat The Beast.” Greg smiled, his voice interrupted when he choked, spitting out leaves onto the ground.

Beatrice shivered. “Ah, geez, the leaves are even growing inside of him.”

“No,” He spit again. “I was just eating leaves… I’m sorry, Wirt.”

Wirt shook his head. “No, no, Greg,” He sniffled. “It’s my fault we ended up here. E-Everything’s been my fault. I-I should have been more-”

“No, I mean my Rock Facts rock.” The boy lifted his silly-faced rock.

“What?”

“I… I stole it, Wirt. I stole it from Mrs Daniel’s garden. I’m a stealer. And that’s a Rock Fact.”

Wirt blinked. “What? No, Greg, that doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” He coughed. “You have to return it for me. Okay?”

Fear spiking in his heart, Wirt pushed the rock away. “No, you can give it to her, yourself. Come on, we-we gotta get… Jason Funderburker home, right?” He lifted the frog, who weakly croaked.

“Jason Funderburker,” Greg smiled as his eyes grew heavy. “The perfect… frog name…”

A moment of silence passed as Wirt watched his brother go limp. Then, as if a button was pressed, he began to panic. “Greg? Greg?!”

Before he could break down, Beatrice flew over to Greg and perched herself on one of his branches. “Let’s get him out of this! Come on!”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Wirt nodded and grunted as he pulled and yanked at the branches, crying out in frustration as Beatrice flew around in hope of seeing Scout anywhere. In her search through the snowstorm, she hadn’t seen the teen girl at all. To Wirt and Greg, it was as if she had disappeared without a trace. She had even taken her top hat with her. When Beatrice returned to Wirt, the two were stunned to hear a groan and then a thud from behind them.

The Beast stood behind the fallen and unconscious Woodsman, the glowing white of his eyes zeroing on Wirt. “Give me my lantern.”

“Your lantern…?”

“No way. We need this thing.” Beatrice shook her head.

“Yeah, I’m keeping this. I have to get Greg home.”

The Beast looked to the boy. “They are too weak to go home,” His head then turned to the right, staring in the distance. “(Y/N) is far gone.”

Wirt’s neck could have snapped at the force he used to turn in that same direction. The light from the lantern shone on Scout and bile rose in his throat at her condition. “Scout!” He cried, rushing up to her. When she hadn’t made a sound at his first few calls, Wirt reached through her branches and gently tapped her face. His heart dropped at how hollow and cold her cheek felt.

“W… W-What…?” Scout croaked as her eyes just barely opened. Wirt gasped and grinned at her as several tears fell from his eyes. When her vision adjusted, she managed a very crooked and faint smile. “Wirt…”

“Scout… I-I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I’m sorry for what I said, for putting all the responsibility on you. It wasn’t fair to you or Greg,” He sniffled as he choked on a sob. “I’m sorry that I never came over to your house to hang out, and that I just watched while you and Greg played together. You’re the best friend I could’ve asked for and I never realized it until, like, a few hours ago.”

She inhaled as deep as she could and let out a very wet cough. All Wirt could do was caress her cheekbone, gently running his thumb over her scar until she was done. “It’s okay, Wirt,” Her words were barely spoken over a whisper. “I forgive… f-forgive you…”

Sharply inhaling, Wirt whipped his body to The Beast. “Let them go!” He sobbed.

“I’m afraid the both of them are too far into the process to be let go. Soon, they will become part of my forest.”

“I won’t let that happen!”

“Well then… perhaps, we better make a deal.”

“A deal…?”

From where he was laying, the Woodsman let out a painful moan. Ignoring this, The Beast continued. “I can put their spirits in the lantern. As long as the flame stays lit, they will live on inside. Take on the task of Lantern Bearer… or watch your loved ones perish?”

Scout’s eyes widened as wide as they could at The Beast’s proposal. This was his tactic. To make people vulnerable, to dangle hope right in front of them, to cheat and lie into getting what he wants, to rip it from them and leave them empty. It was why Greg was wasting away, why she was now on the brink of death… why everything was getting so quiet… so dark…

Snapping her eyes open again, she attempted to call out, “W-Wirt… n-n...no… Don’t…”

But he couldn’t hear her as he stared into the flame of the lantern. Sensing his hesitation, The Beast widened his eyes. “Come here.”

“Okay…” Wirt sighed and moved forward. Beatrice gasped and flew off of Greg’s branch.

“Wirt!”

He set the lantern on the ground, hand still clutching the handle. However, a bell seemed to go off in his head, for he immediately picked it back up. “Wait. That’s dumb.”

“What?!” The Beast gaped as the teen backed up.

“That’s dumb. I’m not just gonna wander around in the woods for the rest of my life.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Y-You’re not trying to help me, y-you just have some weird obsession with keeping this lantern lit. I-It’s almost like… your soul is in this lantern.”

And that had set him off. Once again, The Beast’s eyes glowed red, yellow and blue as he let out a distorted growl. All light surrounding Wirt had disappeared and nearly swallowed him in the darkness. The only thing his petrified expression could see was the light of the lantern and The Beast’s multicolored stare.

“Are you ready to see true darkness?”

Wirt thought he had never been this afraid before. His body trembled like a leaf in the wind and the pounding of his heart was beginning to hurt, but as he stared into the eyes of The Beast, Wirt realized he had been afraid of so much worse. He feared asking his very pretty neighbor to sit on his porch with him, he had feared an oversized wolf, pumpkin people, a fake gorilla, talking to strangers, a ghost, playing a bassoon for frogs, his short-lived crush who was possessed, and the death of his brother and friend.

Then he thought of everything he had just been through. He made a tape for said pretty neighbor, which she found, fought off the wolf, escaped the pumpkin people, unmasked the gorilla, sang in front of strangers, solved the mystery of the ghost, played that bassoon like no one’s business, and freed the girl of her possession. He was the Pilgrim, the master of his own destiny and hero of his own story. And right now, at this moment, Greg and Scout needed him more than ever.

Suddenly, these pretty colors didn’t seem so scary.

“Are you-” He cleared his throat at the crackling of his voice before opening the lantern. “Are you?”

Just when Wirt was about to blow out the flame, the darkness contracted as The Beast desperately reached out. “Don’t! Don’t!” He cried out, proving the teen’s point. Scoffing, Wirt closed the lantern and leaned down to The Woodsman, who was trembling in disbelief.

“Here, Woodsman,” He held out the lantern. “I’ve got my own problems to take care of. This one’s yours. I’m going home. And I’m taking them with me.” He picked up the ax as he went, using it (with some difficulty) to free his brother of the branches. With a grunt, Wirt hoisted Greg on his back as Beatrice watched him with saddened eyes.

“Wirt…”

“Come with us.”

“I… I gotta go home, too, admit to my family it’s my fault they’re bluebirds.” She looked up when she heard him clear his throat. He had just retrieved Adelaide’s golden scissors from his back pocket and held them out to her. “What?!”

“The scissors that’ll make your family human again.”

“You had them all along?!”

“I-I used them to escape Adelaide, and then-then… Yeah, I-I was sort of mad at you.”

A tear fell from her eye. “Oh, you…” She flew over and hugged his cheek. “-wonderful mistake of nature!” She whispered out, Wirt gently smiled and used one hand to hug back. “Now c’mon. Let’s get Scout.”

Picking up the ax again, Wirt hobbled over to his friend, who had fallen into her slumber once again. With Greg on his back, he was struggling to even lift the ax. But with The Beast still lurking near them, he feared placing his brother back down. Inhaling deeply, Wirt swung the ax the best he could, it landing right next to Scout’s face.

“Wirt, stop!” Beatrice widened her eyes. Scout startled awake, panic filling her eyes as she looked around frantically.

“What’s wrong? W-What’s happening-”

“I’m so sorry, Scout!” Wirt grunted. “I’m trying to get you out. Here, I’ll- I’ll stop with the ax.” He dropped the object to the ground and used the hand that wasn’t keeping his brother upright to pull at the branches. Scout watched with dread as Beatrice joined in and pulled at them with her beak.

“Guys… it’s not gonna work…”

“It will! It will!”

“Wirt…”

"Maybe if I just-"

"Wirt."

"I can try this one!"

"Wirt, please, stop. It's no use."

"No, no! W-We can... W-W-We can-"

"It's okay, Wirt. It's okay,” Scout wished her arms weren’t confined by branches so she could reach out and dry his tears. “Greg needs you.”

“You need me. I need you. You’re family, I can’t just leave you!” He sobbed.

Tears spilled down her face. “And I need to know you two left this place. I’ll be okay… I’m a tough girl, remember? Just… take my top hat, bring it home… and tell Lydia I’m sorry. Okay?”

With the most defeated look he has ever worn, Wirt leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. Every insecure bone in his body was telling him not to lean any closer, that there were so many more cons than pros, but his very soul was begging him to close the distance. So, with another sob, Wirt connected their lips in a short, but very sweet kiss. Her lips were cold and chapped from the storm, but it was the best feeling to him. When he pulled away, Scout wore a warm smile, her head slumping against the tree again.

“Thank you…” She whispered just before her body went limp again. With a sniffle, Wirt picked up Scout’s hat from the ground and backed away, his eyes glued to her the entire time until the trees blocked his view of her.

From the side, The Beast was still leaning beside the Woodsman, still attempting to persuade him, even after finding out his daughter’s soul was not within the lantern. “You see, Woodsman? All who perish here will become trees for the lantern. Cut them down with your ax. Go! Now!”

Narrowing his brows, the Woodsman whirled around, shining his light on The Beast. He had only a glimpse of the creature’s horrifying body before he frighteningly fled from it with a growl. With that confirmation, the Woodsman opened the lantern, The Beast frantic. “Stop! You’ll never see your daughter again, Woodsman! Are you really ready to go back to that empty house?!”

He let a single tear fall down his cheek before he lifted the lantern to his face. The Beast’s protests were cut short when he blew out the flame. And then, as if nothing happened, the woods fell silent. Unfazed. Unaware. Unforgiving. The Woodsman was ready to fall to his knees, to scream up at the sky in anguish, but he remembered that there was one more tree to chop down.

“The girl… Oh, the girl.” He spun around and rushed over to Scout, snatching up his ax before he began slashing at the branches. A pile of wood began filling beside his feet until Scout fell forward, skin scraped and cut from the many splinters she received. “It’s okay. I gotcha… I gotcha…” He soothed her as she shivered in his hold. Her skin was like ice and her body was a lot less heavy than it should have been. If she was not brought somewhere warm in time, she wouldn’t last.

The flapping of wings caught his attention. Snapping his head up, he saw that Beatrice had returned, her claws clutching the pair of scissors. Instinctively upon seeing Scout, she nearly dropped them. “Oh my god! Scout!” She quickly flew over.

“I was able to free her, but she hasn’t got much longer.” The Woodsman grimly shook his head.

“W-We need to get her home. I-I remember where Wirt and Greg went. This way!”

It was a difficult journey, as the Woodsman could barely see Beatrice through the dark, but eventually, they had made it to a clearing. “This is it,” She sighed before turning to Scout, gently nuzzling her head into her cheek. “Goodbye, Scout. You were my favorite one…”

And if Scout were awake, she would have laughed.

“One is a bird

Two are the trees

Three is the wind in the leaves

Four are the stars

Five with the moon

Smiling down upon thee”

Wirt hadn’t realized he was underwater when he first opened his eyes, but he didn't need much explanation when he set his sights on his brother and frog that were sinking a little ways away from him. With no hesitation, he quickly swam over and wrapped his arms around them. Wirt knew it would hurt his heart to do it, but he took a couple seconds to look for Scout, swimming back up to surface when it all sunk in for him.

She wasn’t coming back. Because he left her.

He took in greedy gulps of air once he surfaced, hoisting the two on his back again as his feet shakily met the grassy ground under him. Before his vision went black, he spotted five silhouettes rushing toward him in a hurry.

The group of teens all watched in silence as the boys (plus the frog) were laid across stretchers and placed into the back of an ambulance. All except for Sara, that was. She was all around that lake, tears blurring her vision as she searched for her best friend. “Did you… Did you guys see if she jumped over the wall? M-Maybe she ran home.”

The officer shook his head, shining his flashlight around. “No, Miss, I definitely saw her jump over the wall. She jumped just before the boys did and-”

Sara interrupted him with the shrill cry she let out. Then, with a shaky finger, she pointed towards the lake. "Oh, my god, that's her hat! That's (Y/N)'s hat!"

“Six are the fish

Seven, the reeds

Brushing the soft-bellied breeze

Eight are the roots

Firm in the ground

Deep as my love is

For thee”

Blinking his eyes open once again, Wirt was greeted with Sara’s skull-painted, worry-stricken face. “Wirt? Wirt? You okay? Can you see me, Wirt?”

He hummed. “Where am I?”

“The hospital.”

“Hosp… ital? Greg! Where’s Greg!” His eyes were saucers as he shot up. Beside his bed, Greg was alive and well, in pajamas that matched his as he seemed to be telling the group of teens a story of one of their adventures. He stopped abruptly at the sight of his brother.

“Wirt! I was just telling them about the time we almost got-”

His frog, who was now wearing Sara’s small top hat, croaked out.

“Haha! Yeah, and you were there, too, Jason Funderburker.”

“Me?” Jason Funderberker smiled, but Greg frowned, placing a hand on his hip.

“Not you. Jason Funderburker, my frog.”

Wirt watched his brother with a tired, yet loving smile as Sara sat back a bit. “Hey, so, uh,” She pulled out the cassette tape from her jacket pocket. “This was left on the ground during all the chaos at the lake. I don’t even know whose it is. Do you?”

In all honesty, Wirt didn’t know why he hesitated. Maybe because this was Scout’s best friend and she would laugh in his face about it? Or because he had pretended to like Sara this whole time in order to throw off Scout? But that wasn’t fair to her. Whether or not she was here, she didn’t deserve to be something he was embarrassed of. She was everything good that he needed. “It’s Scout’s. I made it for her.”

With a soft smile, Sara gently handed it to him. “That’s sweet. Do you wanna see her?”

“She’s here?!” He nearly hollered. Standing to her feet, Sara walked over to the curtain in the middle of the room. When she moved it aside, Wirt was already up and out of bed, rushing to Scout’s side.

She had looked just as bad as he left her. Her cheeks were still hollowed, eyes hanging onto dark bags, he could see that she was dressed in the same pajamas as them and it filled him with relief to know she was in warmer clothing. Heck, he was relieved to see the heart monitor beeping steadily. But what filled him with complete relief was when his eyes travelled down to her right leg, which was being nursed in a cast. Finally, he thought, She’s being taken care of.

“She was awake for a little bit and we talked… Well, I talked, she mumbled some nonsense about tree branches,” Sara shrugged. “But then she passed out again about an hour ago.”

His attention was brought to Scout’s face when he heard her coughing. “Scout…” He gently took her hand in his, calmly waiting as she finished her coughing fit. When her head turned back to him, she gave him that same cheeky grin she always did and it sent his heart soaring. Wirt lunged forward and engulfed her in a hug, his tears wetting her shoulder, but she couldn’t have cared any less. With a very quiet laugh, she returned the hug. After what felt like an eternity, Wirt began to pull away. “I-I thought you were-”

The entire room was filled with gushing and whoops and hollers when Scout pulled Wirt in for a kiss. Much slower, much longer this time. Wirt wasted no time in being nervous and kissed her right back, arms circling her waist. Sara whooped and called out to Scout, “Who’s sucking face now?!”

From where he stood, Greg shook his head. “Gross.”

When the two pulled away from each other, Scout snorted at the tomato Wirt had become. Her laughter only darkened his blush as he nervously held up the tape, the excitement of their friends calming down. “Uh… This- This is yours… I-It always has been…”

Scout reached out and intertwined their fingers so the both of them were holding the tape. “It’s ours.”

And though Wirt wanted to feel happy and loved and forgiven, all of the memories from however long ago crashed down on him once again as he lowered their hands. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry, (Y/N)... I-I didn't want to. I-I just-"

"Hey, you're okay. I told you to,” She gently brushed her fingers against his cheek. “I asked you to come to the graveyard. I told you to leave me. I got mixed up with you two and all your trouble and that’s fine. I told you I liked it.”

“And I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

And, as cliche as it sounds, the two felt as if a magnetic pull was bringing their faces inches closer, but before they could make contact again, Greg climbed onto the bed and sat between them. “Scout! Wirt came up with the perfect name for my frog!”

Scout leaned over and peppered his face with kisses. “What’s the name, honey?”

“My frog’s name is officially Jason Funderburker!”

Wirt gently ruffled his hair. “Our frog.”

“Our frog.”

“Our frog?” Jason Funderberker hopefully smiled, but Greg quickly shut it down.

“No, not your frog!”

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Taglist: @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner @wirtluvr @irumapanty @pinkbasketballsoulpersona @vivian-likes-frogs @fishfetus @juliajelly08 @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual

#over the garden wall #over the garden wall fic #otgw #otgw fic #otgw wirt #otgw greg #otgw beatrice #otgw frog #wirt x reader #the loveliest lies of all

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travlersjoy444 · 2 years

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Fleeting Austice (Over the Garden Wall x Fem!reader) Part 1

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Anemoia, Book 2

******* I tugged my sleeve. It was a bit too short to completely cover my hand, so instead I crossed my arms. Their temperature didn’t change. I sighed. Why were hospitals so cold? Especially considering this was right outside the room of a hypothermia patient. You’d think they’d want it as warm as possible. I checked the clock. Twelve twenty-eight….Only two more minutes till I was allowed into the room….Twelve twenty-nine… The door swung open to a somber looking couple. Mr. and Mrs. McLaughlin, and their child, the human elephant. That is, at least he wants you to think he’s the human elephant. I try not to question the kid, as he’s surprisingly wise despite his quirks. Or maybe he’s wise because of his quirks-again, I’m not questioning it. “Grim (Y/N)!” He grinned, waving his pet frog. “Hey Greg!” I smiled lightly, although I’m not sure how genuine it was. “Are you coming over again today?” Greg asked. “Oh, Greg, honey, we have to let (Y/N) be, okay? She’s already done so much for us lately, let’s give her a break!” Mrs.McLaughlin chided. It was true, I had babysat for Greg all week, and I’d brought them groceries…it was the least I could do. Because while it wasn’t my fault that their eldest son couldn’t do those chores anymore, someone had to. And I still felt guilty, even though I tried my best to save my friend from the beast. I should’ve….I should’ve stopped him, somehow…I should’ve done something. But I sat there, helplessly sobbing as my best friend got consumed by a being so powerful that I couldn’t wrap my head around it. I heard myself saying something about how I’m happy to babysit tonight if it helps them out, but it sounds as if I’m underwater. Mr.McLaughlin thanked me and I nodded and grinned, my head still a jumbled mess. The Mclaughlins left the ward, except one. I sighed, almost alone in the hospital room, depending on whether or not you consider unconscious people to be company. “Hey Wirt.” I said, sitting down at the chair by the bed. “I’m back again,” I paused. “I know you can’t hear me or anything, but…well, y’know. It’s…well, I’m scared for you. And I-I don’t know…” My voice broke. I sighed and looked away. “I wish you could hear me. I…wish I had done..something. I wish I could’ve found a way to save you…” In books, the hero is supposed to find a way to save everyone….god, I wish we were in a book…. I grabbed his hand. It was cold, as always…it had been, since Halloween. Now it’s winter break…the doctors say that everything has stayed exactly the same, no better or worse. I guess he’s still out there, the Beast. I wonder what happened when Wirt took that stupid lantern. I hope that the lack of improvement or decline just means that he’s safe in the unknown, which I’ve decided is probably some form of afterlife-and the Beast some sort of demon. It makes sense, I guess…but then what if the people and creatures we encountered were just more puppets, talking heads, a means to an end? A manipulative tactic that’ll slowly drive Wirt insane, led on by the lovely lies and empty promises of the Beast… I sighed and shook my head. I was thinking like Wirt again, dramatic and pessimistic…funny how much sway he had over me without either of us noticing a thing. I wonder if I had the same effect on him. But it wouldn’t matter if I did, as I’m here in Nowere and he’s practically dead. I noticed a patch of muted orange under the bed. Wirt’s sweater. Huh, I guess Greg must’ve brought it in. Still cold, I tugged it on, hoping Wirt wouldn’t mind. It smelled like vintage stores and old books, a fitting scent for my poetry loving friend. I reached for my bag and read a bit from the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, unaware that my eyelids were getting heavy. ******* I open my eyes to a cemetery full of snow-The Eternal Garden, a place I had explored a few times now. I try to step, but instead I zoom forward as if there isn’t any gravity. Gravity had fallen, ha. I lean forward a bit more, and move so fast that I can’t stop. I’d panic if it weren’t a dream, which I was sure of now. I fly right

through the cemetery wall and towards the train track. There was a train on them, but as the phantasmal consciousness I was right now, I went through it with ease. I zoom over the lake we had fallen into, towards the hiking trails in the New England wilderness. I fly towards a familiar mill in the woods… ******* When I opened my eyes again, I was cold. I jumped, trying to figure out what was happening. There was snow on the ground, and it was definitely not the hypothermia ward. The snow wasn’t a big surprise- it had been snowing for weeks in Nowere- no, the surprise was the fact that this wasn’t Nowere. No, I was in the woods. I wondered if this was another dream. Uhm….this is stupid, but…I slammed my hand into a tree. If this was indeed a dream, my hand would go right through. Instead, I was met by pain, coursing through my nerves like fire. Sh*t, that was stupid. I cradled my hand and looked around a bit more. The woods felt familiar. Was that the creek I fell in? A-and that the tree we walked across…maybe? I studied my clothes- The black skirt I had been wearing when I fell asleep had gone from a stretchy polyester fabric to wool. I was still wearing Wirt’s sweater, but instead of the Nightmare Before Christmas t-shirt, there was a white button-down shirt with poofy sleeves underneath. Huh. Unsurprisingly, my brown boots and satchel were still there. They always were. Hmm…I walked towards the creek, as I caught a piece of parchment glowing in the corner of my eye. The ink was runny and torn, but still legible…Erin’s map? It looked to be, I recognized the birch tree symbol on the paper’s corner. According to what I could make out on the map, I was indeed at that creek that claimed most of my possessions. That means I’m about two days away from the old grist mill! Cool. That’s doable, maybe I can stay there for a bit. I checked my satchel, happy to find my book, my knitted fingerless gloves, and, best of all, the snacks I forgot to unpack. (I might have stolen them from a party) That should hopefully cover my rations for the next couple of days…I slipped the gloves on, grateful for more warmth. ******* I had been walking for about an hour when it began to get dark. Shoot. In the dark, my map was rendered useless, and I had completely forgotten that it gets drastically colder by night. The wind nipped my nose and my feet felt like ice. I need to find a shelter… My toes hurt…my nose wouldn’t stop running…. And just when I felt like I was about to be frozen to death, I saw a flickering light. A part of me was wary, as I know the stories of travelers led off course by floating lights. But as I followed it, I discovered that it was no Will-o-wisp, but the light of a window. Maybe someone here will let me stay for the night… I approached the house apprehensively, torn between anxiety and…well, not freezing to death. Actually, come to think of it, there’s an obvious right answer to this. I sighed and knocked on the door. It swung open to reveal a girl about my age, with dark hair and light skin. She looked to be from the seventeenth century based on her clothes. “Hello traveler, what are you doing here this time of night?” “H-hi,” I said, teeth chattering. “I-I’m look-king for a friend o-of mine who got…lost in these woods, b-but It’s too c-cold for me to press on. I-I was wondering i-if you’d be so kind a-as to give me sh-shelter for the night?” She nodded. “I’m happy to help you, Miss! I’ll need to check with my Auntie Whispers first,but in the meantime you may warm yourself by the fire.” “Thank you s-so much ma'am.” “Of course.” She smiled kindly and slipped upstairs. I sat by the fire, waiting for my shivering to subside. ******* Lorna came back about five minutes later, and by now I was substantially warmed. “She says you’re welcome to stay in this living room, if you wish, Miss…” “Oh, (Y/N).” I said, realizing I hadn’t actually given her my name yet. She paused. “(Y/N)...hmmm, I’ve heard that name before…” “Uh.. yeah, maybe it’s a common name around here or something.” “See, that’s

just the thing, it isn’t! If only I could place it…it’s on the tip of my mind, I swear…” She froze. “Ohhh…you’re Wirt’s friend, the one who he called ‘unique’ and ‘tough’! Well, you do live up to expectations, I must say.” Aw, he called me that? That’s sweet. Wait, Wirt was here! “Oh, you’ve met him? Cool! H-how long ago was that?” “Ah, it was a-wait. Is Wirt the friend you’ve been tracking?” “Uhm…yes.” “Oh, Miss…I’m afraid you’re a bit late, for the last time I encountered Wirt was three winters ago, he saved me from a horrible spirit.” My heart and head raced. Three years ago?! Wirt’s only been out for a month! But then I remembered how those few minutes in the lake had stretched into a month on this side of the veil, and suddenly the claim seemed perfectly reasonable. I sighed, disappointed by the lost lead. “That’s all right, thanks anyways ma'am.” She shook her head, not meeting my eyes. “But it isn’t all right…oh, (Y/N), that was the last time I encountered him. There’s rumors, now, of the beast’s new minion…he hides in the shadows with antlers of Edelwood curving from his head, and a ragged black cloak that blows in the wind…If Wirt is out in the woods still…” “Sh*t.” I groaned. “Yeah. It is pretty awful…” I sighed and went to option two, trying not to worry about what might have happened to Wirt. “Well, there’s one other friend I’m looking for, do you know where I could find a family of…well, this sounds weird, but talking bluebirds?” “Yes! Well, sort of. A girl with red hair came through here a year ago, who claimed she used to be a bluebird. I’m starting to get the funny feeling that she was also looking for Wirt- her name was Beatrice, and she came from the old mill up north from here.” “That is her. Thank you so much.” I nodded, relieved for the first time in this whole conversation. We talked for a bit longer, before she headed upstairs to sleep. I watched the flickering flames as I tried to do the same, but found I was too lost in thought to get any rest. How am I back in the Unkown? I thought…I thought Greg and I were done here…am I dead? Am I dying? I thought I just fell asleep in the hospital! How am I here?! I groaned and shook my head, chiding myself. No use in worrying much, bottom line is that I’m here now. And so is Wirt. Because I had a funny feeling that Wirt was in danger of that new creature, but I was also pretty sure that the danger wasn’t an outside threat. No, I had a bit of an inkling that the new creature and Wirt were one and the same. My god, I hope my intuition is wrong. I mean, of course it’s wrong…this is…this is stupid. Mind racing, I pulled his sweater closer, wishing everything was as simple as it was last time I was here. ******* The boy stares wide eyed at the old grist mill. He hadn’t meant to drop the lantern…He has to get out of here. He can’t fix it…hands burning, he runs into the flames and retrieves his burden. He wishes he could tell the girl and her family how sorry he is. They’ve been nothing but kind to him, and now they’re house has burned because of him. He wishes the other girl were here. The one with the stormy eyes. The one who’s lovely lies convinced him that all would be okay. But she was dead, so it wasn’t okay. Nothing would ever be okay again… I sat by Beatrice as she tried to convince her (now human) family to let me stay. Usually I’d be brimming with anxiety, but I couldn’t find the will for that right now. Greg was gone. (Y/N) was gone. The beast got two trees with one stone…I pulled my cloak tighter, and for a moment, I was home again. A little kid who wore this cloak all the time…Dad didn’t like it when I used it, saying that children shouldn’t play with antiques. But when my parents split up, Mom kept the cloak. And so I kept the cloak. I’d forgotten about it for a long time, but I needed a Halloween costume that night. (Y/N) liked Halloween a lot. I liked (Y/N) a lot…Heh, (Y/N) liked me a lot, too. So did Greg. Greg. I never treated him well…god I’m a terrible brother…. “Aw, are you okay?” Beatrice’s mom-Betsy-asked me,

breaking my train of thought. “Huh?” “Mum, of course he isn’t okay!” Beatrice snapped, putting a hand on my shoulder. “His brother just died!” She handed me a handkerchief, using another one to dry her own eyes. “Greg a-and (Y/N)...” “That pretty young girl in your striped dress?” Huh, right, (Y/N) did get her outfit here in the old grist mill. “Yes! She’s gone, dead, vanquished from the face of the Earth.” I flinched involuntarily. Gone, dead, vanquished. Greg. (Y/N). Gone, dead, vanquished. The words marched around my head, filling it until I couldn’t think of anything else. Gone, dead, vanquished. Beatrice shook me out of the damned parade storming through my head. “Wirt, I’ll handle this. You go to my room and warm up, okay?” I felt myself nod. “Okay.” I tightened my grip around the lantern’s handle, and headed up the stairs. Beatrice showed me around the house before we got to her family, so I knew it was somewhere around here. Ah. Here it is…I thought, recognizing the door. On the floor of the room, I noticed a pile of black clothing…and a torn black cloak. (Y/N)’s Halloween costume. I was suddenly aware of the hot tears pouring from my eyes. And of how much I missed her. I had been stunned before but now…I dropped to my knees, head pounding. This was worse than what happened at Adelaide’s. Greg and (Y/N) were gone. The harsh reality of our fairytale hit me like a boulder. How could I be the hero of this story?! Heroes are supposed to win and live happily ever after. Happily ever after, but they’re gone, he’s gone…she’s gone! How could I- why didn’t I- My head spun, heart pounding. I wanna go home. Home. I sobbed harder as I found myself sprawled out on the ground. How can I go home if I don’t even know where home is?! I crawled towards the lantern, and the swirling spirits of Greg an (Y/N). Two silhouettes, dancing in the fire…. “I-I’m so sorry. I fa- I failed…Oh Greg, I-I’m not a hero….and (Y/N), I’m not special….you guys were…you were wrong about me.” And then there was fire. It was just everywhere, in an instant. No! I ran out, hoping at least to save Beatrice, embers at my heel. To save her, even if I’m not a hero. *******

#otgwxreader #otgw wirt #over the garden wall #wirt #wirt otgw #wirt x reader #over the garden wall x reader #otgw x reader

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absolutelynochillonlydeath · 3 years

Text

Garden Wraith

3. On the Subject of Change...

The learning curve for his new normal was…interesting to say the least. He spent close to a week in the Unknown with Beatrice and her family, though mostly in the forest so as not to freak out her parents. It was there that he learned that his more…otherworldly features came out when he was upset, which then served to upset him more and it took a few minutes for Beatrice to calm him down again. Out of curiosity and a little bit of fear, they felt beneath the curls of his dark brown hair to see if there were any signs of the antlers the Beast had, and to Wirt’s horror and mortification, he felt little nubs growing from the sides of his head. Beatrice simply snorted and compared him to a newborn faun. The subject then came up of the lantern. Both looked at it in contempt since it was a source of so much of their fears.

“So, do you really think that your soul is in there?” Beatrice asked quietly as she looked at the flickering light behind the glass. Wirt looked at the flame nervously before nodding. Since he had gotten there, he felt eerily attached to the lantern in his hands, and if that was any indication, then the whispering he occasionally heard from the trees definitely settled the matter.

“Yeah. It is.” He said softly and Beatrice nodded somberly. Both knew what that meant. The most horrific thing about his nature was now he would have to depend on the oil of Edelwood trees to survive and their source wasn’t the most pleasant of things. Wirt’s skin crawled at the very notion of what he may have to do to survive and the girl patted his back sympathetically. For now, they pushed the thought into the back of their minds. They would find whatever Edelwoods left over from the previous Beast and use Beatrice’s mill to process it like the Woodsman had. For now, though, they focused on other aspects of his powers which still included his odd animal attracting ability that Beatrice laughed at when he mentioned his affinity to birds in particular. That power, though, served to comfort him in that with the old Beast, whenever he was there, it seemed that the area itself was devoid of life. Beatrice only smiled and teased that his poet soul was drawing them there, but both were relieved. If nothing else, it served as a reminder that while Wirt may have the Beast’s powers, they were not the same. Something else that Wirt found out was that he could cloak himself in pure shadow with only his eyes to provide light, much like his predecessor. It freaked them both out but was highly useful when it came to hiding and also teleporting to different points of the Unknown. It was almost something straight out of a horror film and explained as to how the Beast could seemingly appear out of nowhere. Suffice to say, discoveries were made and in between blinking in the Unknown and waking up to the morning light filtering in through his bedroom window, it was difficult to keep track of which reality he was in when he awoke.

A transition period was the best way he could describe this part of his life. It was a bit stressful and jarring and confusing as he switched between realities and realized that time was inconsequential in the Unknown. They lived in perpetual stillness since they were already dead, so the passing of seasons were only important for the holidays and crop gathering. Due to the growing confusion, Wirt started keeping a notebook with him to track the days and give him reminders as to what was going on. To his surprise, it seemed like if he slept with an object in hand and had the desire to bring the object with him, they would also show up with him in the Unknown. The same was true in reverse. It was startling, but useful and made his life easier when waking up again. Sadly, the transition not only affected him mentally and emotionally, it also attracted plenty of attention from his family. He was already under scrutiny for how different he now treated Greg. It was a welcome change, but Wirt swore that his mom sprinkled holy water on him one morning during breakfast. They weren’t really religious, it was more of a habit from his Irish grandparents and great grandparents than anything else, but it was the principle of the matter. Either way, his stepfather snickered and Greg asked if it was alright if he could splash water on Wirt too.

Speaking of Greg, the boy immediately caught on to his elder brother’s weird behavior. It was almost impossible for Wirt to keep anything from the child, especially since he knew that the younger boy only wanted to help and keep him safe, but Wirt didn’t want to scare him. Wirt now knew from experience and a general curiosity that he could manifest his more supernatural traits into reality and it sent him into a small panic attack in the bathroom that made him realize that his eyes were glowing brightly and his anxiety was what was making it manifest. After riding it out and calming down, his eyes dulled back to their normal grey and left him paranoid as to when it would happen again. He didn’t know when his eyes would flare at school or around Greg and that made him avoid his family for a while until he had another talk with Beatrice. The girl simply rolled her eyes and smacked him upside the head.

“Oww! What was that for?!” he complained, rubbing his head and she continued to glare at him.

“You doofus. You need to tell him or you’ll only make him more worried.” She huffed and he looked down and shook his head.

“I-If it tell him, he’ll only be more scared. I promised him that the Beast wouldn’t come back and now…that’s…it’s…what I am.” He said quietly, hands clenched and trembling at his hides. His mind flashed back to their moment in the hospital. The small boy had expressed his hidden fear so well. Until that moment, Wirt hadn’t known that Greg had realized the true danger he was in. The boy had such a positive outlook on their time in the Unknown and looked jovial through most of it, even when facing down the Beast. Wirt thought that the seven-year-old just didn’t understand what was going on, but Greg was much smarter than his brother gave him credit for. That moment told Wirt everything. Greg was strong and silly and brave because that was how he could process what was happening. He took enjoyment where he could because everything else was terrifying. He may not have had the full understanding of how the Beast was tricking him or how exactly to escape, but he knew that something bad was happening and that the Unknown wasn’t where they were supposed to be. Still, throughout all that, he never lost hope. Not like Wirt did. Greg had explained to him in the early hours of the morning when he snuck into the teenager’s bed after a nightmare what had happened in the time he went missing. The Queen of Clouds, his chance to escape, his wish for Wirt, and the ultimate deal with the Beast in an attempt at release. Wirt shuddered and hugged the boy tightly through whispered apologies and sobs. That wonderful, kind child had been willing to throw away every chance he had to let his older brother go free and Wirt had never felt lower. He promised again to himself that night that he wouldn’t allow his little brother to feel such terror ever again.

Beatrice stifled a sigh at her friend’s drama, but she understood where he was coming from. Her siblings, as much as they annoyed her, she would defend with her life and she knew that Wirt was the same with Greg. Still, she highly doubted that the boy would reject his brother over this and she opened her mouth to say as much.

“Wirt, if nothing else along your little adventure, I’d like to think that I got to know your brother pretty well. Does he seem like the type to be afraid of his dorky older brother? He’s much braver than you and as soon as he figures out that you’re the same lame guy, he’ll be fine.” She said gruffly, placing her hands on his shoulders. Wirt trembled under her hands and shook his head again.

“But what if he doesn’t? He was so scared, Beatrice! I-I-I don’t think I could handle it if he looked at me like he looked at the Beast…” he whispered sadly, his eyes now flickering with pearlescent colors. He could feel the black hazing over the edges of his vision as his breathing got more ragged and for a moment, he felt himself between asleep and awake, his awareness torn between his in the Unknown body and his body in the living world from the stress he felt.

“Oh, no you don’t! You’re not waking up till we’ve finished this conversation!” Beatrice called out, now crushing the shorter teen in a bear hug that knocked the breath out of him. In retrospect, that really should not have worked, but it did and when his vision cleared and air was properly flowing through his lungs, all he saw were the red curls of Beatrice’s hair.

“S-s-sorry…” he mumbled and clung tightly to her desperately as if she was his center of gravity and without her, he could be left to drift out into the vast sky or sink into the cold ground.

“Don’t apologize for that. I get that you’re worried, even if I think it’s over nothing.” She murmured back, her grip not loosening, but she was now rubbing soothing circles over his spine.

“It’s not nothing. Its Greg.” Wirt protested and Beatrice shook her head.

“You’re underestimating him. The kid’s got an unhealthy hero worship of you and I really doubt that a little thing like accidentally getting a freaky wooden death spirit’s powers is gonna deter him. He’s way more persistent than that.” he huffed, chuckling over her thoughts. In the time she got to know the two boys, she had tried her best not to get attached to them, but she had and thought of the boy as one of her own little brothers. He was charming in his odd childlike logic, was loyal to a fault, and his positivity was endearing. Even when she betrayed him, she knew he would forgive her and it made her guilty to think of afterwards. The boy was strong and resilient and there was no way he would be afraid. Not of Wirt. Never of Wirt.

“Just trust me and tell him. I guarantee he won’t be afraid. And if he is and things don’t go well, I’ll help you run away or something, okay?” she asked and Wirt blinked in surprise, pulling away from her embrace.

“Wait, what?” he asked, startled, but the iridescent colors were gone now.

“I mean, it would be kind of pathetic to run away from a seven-year-old, but I wouldn’t put it past you. Don’t think you’d make it very far either, but hey, you’re a stubborn jerk who beat a monster, so who knows? Still, running away from a kid is pretty lame. And that kid is also Greg, so I think he’d find you pretty easy too.” She continued on as Wirt started to sputter in indignation. There we go. Rile him up. If the gentle approach wasn’t breaking through to him, she would appeal to his stubborn streak. That and she was out of sentimental words for the week. She swore this kid was making her soft.

“Wh-what? No I wouldn’t! I would just, y’know, never talk to him again. Like, ever.” He stammered and Beatrice rolled her eyes, hand on her hips.

“You really think that’s gonna work with Greg? The human chatterbox and friend machine? Yeah, that’s definitely not gonna work.” She scoffed and Wirt sighed, nodding in agreement and kicking at the snow at his feet. She was right. Scared or not, repulsed or not, there was no stopping Gregory Cowan from opening his mouth and commenting about whatever was on his mind. The only times that Wirt had ever heard the boy silent was when he was either eating or sleeping and even then he still had a propensity to open his mouth and let sound come out.

“You’re right, you’re right… I just…I’m trying to be a good big brother to make up for the terrible one I’ve been for half of my life and all of his life. I just don’t want to scare him and never get the chance to make it up to him…” he said softly and Beatrice nodded.

“And you will. Just tell him the truth. He won’t leave you.” He said firmly and Wirt took a deep breath, feeling himself being firmly settled into the Unknown again, the edges of his vision clearing and he nodded.

“You’re right. I’ll…tell him…. He deserves to know.” He relented and Beatrice nodded in agreement, patting his shoulder.

“Of course I’m right. My ideas are always right.” She said and Wirt rolled his eyes.

“Adelaide was a good idea?” he asked and the girl’s cheeks flushed bright red.

“Ok, but that was once!” she argued and Wirt’s skepticism shot through the metaphorical roof along with his eyebrow.

“Getting turned into a bird, stealing from Endicott, sneaking onto the frog ferry…” he trailed on and the elder girl growled and slapped a hand over his smirking mouth.

“Hush. We don’t talk about those! And don’t chance the subject! We’re talking about you and Greg.” She said sternly, though the blush remained on her face and was now going to the tips of her ears. The mention of the subject at hand was sobering though and the smile soon faded from the boy’s face.

“I need to tell him.” he said quietly, resigned to his fate. Around them, the Unknown swayed with a phantom breeze, the snow blanketing whatever noise there might have been.

Wirt felt nauseous and he jittered in place on his bed. He had woken up that day with full determination to tell Greg about him, but that resolve was shaken as soon as he saw the boy at the table for breakfast. He had since shut himself up in his room, pacing nervously and trying not to imagine how much his eyes were glowing. He wanted to tell him. He needed to tell him. but the doubt still lingered in the back of his mind. Luckily, or unluckily for his nerves, his indecisiveness was no match for the curiosity and worry of a seven-year-old. The light knocking on the door was the only warning the teen got before the child burst into his room with all the enthusiasm and eagerness of a puppy.

“Wirt! Wirt! This is urgent business! Jason Funderburker is in need of your affection cuz it’s been so long!” the boy yelled, holding the frog up and waving him in his elder brother’s face.

“Wait-Greg-what?” Wirt stuttered and Greg climbed up on the bed, seating himself next to the other with a look of exasperation on his youthful face.

“We want to spend time in you! You’ve been in here so long, I thought you’d have grown a long white beard! Like Santa! Or a really old guy!” the boy exclaimed and Wirt rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“I haven’t been in here that long. I can’t grow a beard that fast!” he disputed and Greg looked at him skeptically, poking an inquisitive finger at his chin. Wirt pushed his hand away but the boy was persistent, continuing to poke him till Wirt was now actively trying to wrestle him to the bed in order to poke his chin. It sent both of them into a fit of giggles and they heard Jason Funderburker croak along with them. Finally they stopped to catch their breaths, the remnants of laughter leaving them.

“So, can you tell me why you’re not happy now?” Greg suddenly asked and Wirt froze in place but tried his best to force his body to relax and sound nonchalant.

“Wha-what do you mean? I, uh, I’m fine. It’s just the whole snow on the ground thing is all!” he squeaked, failing at looking casual. Greg didn’t look convinced and sat on his chest.

“Are you mad at me again?” he asked quietly and Wirt shot up immediately, practically bowling the boy off him before he snatched him close to hug him.

“What?! Of course not!” he shouted and Greg hugged him back tightly.

“So why are you sad?” the boy asked and Wirt took a breath, steeling what nerves he had and looking the boy dead in the eye.

“I-I’m not sad. Just a little, um…scared? I guess? But it’s nothing to do with you! You didn’t do anything wrong.” Wirt said frantically, the words tumbling out in a rush. Greg, for his part, simply looked confused.

“Greg, I promised I’d protect you no matter what. I don’t want to scare you, but I-I-I think you need to know…”he said quietly and Greg’s eyes seemed to light up in understanding.

“Oh. Is it about how you have the same pretty eyes the Beast had?” he asked innocently end Wirt nodded before freezing.

“Exact-wait, what? You know about that?” Wirt gasped and Greg snorted with laughter.

“Yupp! I saw your eyes when I woke you up a while ago, but you didn’t know yet. I’m glad you do now. Why do you have them? Do I have them? Are my eyes beautiful too?” the boy asked curiously, mind now wandering off in his own world and hugging his frog in contemplation. Wirt felt whatever tension and anxiety he had wash out of him, leaving him limp and almost collapsing back onto his bed. For lack of a better word, he was stunned. Greg knew? He had known for a long time and hadn’t said anything just to make Wirt comfortable.

He really did have the best brother, though he didn’t appreciate the anxiety that came from all of this.

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Weren’t you scared?” Wirt asked in a breathless rush, hugging his brother tightly. Greg looked up at him and shrugged, though he had a serious look on his face.

“I didn’t want to scare you. You were already not sleeping, so I didn’t want to make it worse.” the boy said simply and Wirt could only blink in shock.

“You…you weren’t scared? Of, y’know, what I am? Of my eyes?” the teen asked softly and Greg’s eyebrows scrunched a little in confusion and contemplation.

“Why would I be? I think you were more scared than I was.” Greg said innocently and once again, Wirt hugged the younger boy close, giving him a comforting squeeze.

“Thank you…” he whispered and Greg hugged back tightly, enjoying the affection and patting his brother’s back.

“No need to thank me, brother o’ mine!” he said cheerfully, but there was also relief running through his tiny body. He knew that the Beast was gone, the faint memories of his semi-conscious state echoing with the dying screams of the monster as its soul was snuffed out reminding him every time he dared remember it, but he wouldn’t deny that the glowing eyes of his brother had worried him. Now he knew that he shouldn’t have worried. Beast or not, weird tree powers or not, this was still his older, worried brother and nothing would change that.

“So does that mean you can be a tree now? Can you turn other people into trees? You really shouldn’t do that cuz it’s not nice.” Greg asked, continuing on with his musings as Wirt could only listen and laugh, the relief leaving him lose and willing to muse with him about his newfound powers.

The next two years until the next big change in the brothers’ lives was a series of highs and lows filled with making better friends, two different comings out and the parties that came afterwards, meeting witches, learning magic, and turning said friends into a makeshift witch coven. Turning fifteen was stressful in many ways and Wirt felt like he was on the verge of a breakdown from the secrets he was carrying and finally gave in when his friends finally confronted him. Luckily, both of his “coming out” gatherings went well. Sara and the rest of their friends took to him being a weird death tree being rather quickly, asking him questions and sympathizing about his and Greg’s trip to the Unknown. Telling them was also incredibly helpful in keeping his secret while in school since his anxiety tended to make his eyes flicker iridescent. Compared to that particularly nerve wracking reveal, Wirt’s sexuality seemed like nothing. By that, he meant that he still almost passed out from nerves and was only calmed down when his friends and Greg all surrounded him in a group hug.

Both brothers grew closer through all of that, learning Wirt’s new powers together with the younger boy delighting in each ability he showed. Their practice was done at the cemetery with the now dubbed “witch’s circle” among the graves of people they knew in the Unknown, the eyes of the dead watching Wirt’s progress with approval as he changed into something more, better, than the Beast his predecessor was. But that was a story for another time. In his sixteenth year, Wirt would start a new journey and it started with a few casual words spoken by his mother in the early morning over a bowl of cereal.

“Jonathan and I will be going on a honeymoon soon.” His mother announced and Wirt could only stare at her back in a sleepy haze, wondering if he heard right. “Ohhh! What’s what? Are you gonna dip the moon in honey? Is that why it goes yellow sometimes?” A now nine-year-old Greg asked excitedly from next to the elder boy, syrup from his pancakes sticking to his cheeks.

“No, Greg. It’s what married people do after they get married to, uh, spend time together.” Wirt answered quickly, refraining from telling most of the truth and hoping his explanation didn’t come out as awkward as he thought it was. Luckily, his brother seemed to gloss over that fact.

“Oh. But haven’t you been married for a while? Why now? And when? Can we go too?” the boy continued with his slew of questions. Their mother chuckled and ruffled his hair.

“Well, he and I have been planning it for a while but haven’t really found a good time to do it since the marriage and Greg’s birth was so close together.” She explained and turned back to the stove. “And no, honey. Like Wirt said, it’s for married people only. And we’ll be doing it over the summer!” She announced cheerfully, though Greg pouted in displeasure at not being able to go anywhere.

“Oh, well, um, good for you guys, I guess? So, does that mean that we’ll be, um, alone for a while in the summer?” Wirt asked and felt nervous when his mother sighed and turned to him, taking on the same nervous look he usually had. “Well, see, that’s what I wanted to talk to you both about.” She said hesitantly and that immediately knocked all tiredness from his body and he sat up straighter.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, at first we were planning on making it a small trip for a week, but then we got so excited at the thought and since you two were getting along so much better recently, we figured that it would be fine to leave you two longer than that.” She rambled, smiling sheepishly as she explained in a rush. “Not without a guardian, of course! Jonathan has an uncle up in Oregon that we are sending you to and it might be an adventure for you boys too! Along with it being a good opportunity to get to know more family!” she finished and now both boys were stunned, though Greg recovered quicker, his trademark enthusiasm taking hold.

“Ohh! Really?! That’s amazing! We get to go up to Oregon for the summer? We get to meet another uncle! Maybe he’ll be an uncle like Uncle Endicott, Wirt! Do you think he has a big mansion too? Can I bring Jason Funberburker with us?” Greg burbled out excitedly.

“Wait, wait, wait. What? An uncle? Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean, not that it’s a bad thing to meet relatives, or that you aren’t entitled to having some time for yourselves, because that’s good in theory, but we haven’t even met the man. I can take care of Greg here while you’re gone, so you don’t need to send us all the way to Oregon!” Wirt rambled right back to his mother, his anxieties flooding his thoughts. What if the man didn’t like him? What if he didn’t like Greg? Wirt didn’t think that would happen since everyone liked Greg, but it was still a fear. What if he didn’t like them bringing a frog with them? And what about his friends and his lack of summer plans he wanted to make with them? And what about the poetry he would have to hide from him? And his abilities! How would he manage to hide that when they were as blaringly obvious? He hid his face in his hands to cover his eyes as the stress seemed to work through his chest.

“Oh, sweetie! It’ll be alright!” his mother quickly rushed over and hugged him and he sank into her embrace gratefully, feeling the comfort beat back his fear.

“I know you aren’t comfortable with new places, but Oregon is a beautiful place! It has plenty of forests that you boys are fond of and would definitely appeal to your poetic soul, honey! And from what Jonathan has told me, his uncle is a little eccentric, but very nice, so there’s no need to worry!” she said reassuringly and pet his hair. Wirt felt himself relaxing with the attention and huffed a little when Greg joined in on the comfort.

“It’s just…are you sure we can’t just stay here? I’m sixteen. I can take care of Greg by myself. Don’t you trust me?” He said quietly as he looked up at his mother and she sighed and shook her head, dropping a kiss to his forehead.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Wirt. I know you’re a responsible young man, but I can’t just leave you alone for the whole summer unsupervised. Neither Jonathan or I have any relatives here and we’d both feel better if there was someone to look after you both.” She said softly, petting his hair. Wirt sighed and felt the trembling from her hand. He inherited his nervous nature from someone and it as only now that he was calming down that he realized his mother was just as freaked out about this as he was. Feeling his panic ebb, his shoulders slumped and he nodded slowly, looking down. He couldn’t deny her this. Not when she was so excited and he knew that if he really pushed this she would stay with them instead of going on her trip with his step-dad so they wouldn’t be left alone.

“…so it’s an uncle of Jonathan’s?” he asked quietly as he looked up again and he could feel her mother relax at his acceptance.

“Yupp! So, he would technically be your and Greg’s great uncle!” she said brightly, giving his shoulder squeeze and sending a grateful smile his way. He smiled back slightly in acknowledgement and returned to his now soggy cereal. “Really? So how is he a great uncle? Is that just the next step from a good uncle?” Greg asked curiously and made Wirt roll his eyes before patting his head.

“That’s not what mom means, Greg.” He explained and Greg looked at him skeptically.

“Are you sure? Just normal uncles are pretty good, so I can only expect that the uncles of our parents are great since they’re older.” He explained in the only way that an elementary school child could. With that, breakfast was concluded and more details of the plan were divulged and come the end of August, their bags were packed and it was a plane and a bus to their new destination. It was certainly an adventure to get their all on its own with Wirt keeping track of their traveling schedules, trying his best to keep a hyperactive Greg entertained until he finally crashed from the jetlag, checking a frog through the airport and bus terminals, and subsequently keeping his brother away from said frog while on the plane. On the bus, Wirt held his brother close while he slept, holding his frog like a stuffed animal, and looked at the ever-changing terrain through the window. The trees multiplied as time went on, growing thicker and thicker as they got closer, and he let his mind wander to something more poetic. The trees were different that those of the Unknown, but they seemed to give off a similar feeling of mystery, like they contained secrets that they dare not divulge for fear of retribution. Or perhaps they kept the secrets from those that were unworthy of learning them? Either way, he could feel this soul in the lantern flutter in excitement at the prospect of exploring this new forest and finding new inspiration. His mother was right, it truly was a beautiful place.

“Mmmm….Wirt?” came the sleepy voice beside him and Wirt turned to see his brother eyes flutter open and a yawn escape his lips.

“Right here, Greg.” He assured the younger boy and Greg relaxed from his slight tension.

“Are we there yet?” he asked and Wirt shook his head.

“No. Not yet. But I think we’re almost there. Look at how many trees there are.” He said and Greg brightened immediately, climbing over his brother’s lap to get a better look outside.

“Wow! There’re more trees here than back home! It’s like the Unknown! But the trees are different!” he said excitedly. In the recent years he had become fixated on learning the different types of trees and Wirt didn’t doubt that he could name every single tree in this forest.

“Oh yeah? Well, we’ll go exploring for a bit after we settle in, okay?” he assured Greg and the younger boy smiled brightly, squeezing his frog to him.

“You hear that, Jason Funderburker? We get to go on forest adventures with Wirt again!” he said excitedly and practically vibrated in place from excitement as soon as they saw the big sign passing them by, announcing their destination. Wirt huffed a laugh and gathered their things as the bus slowed, rumbling to a stop at what seemed like just the side of the road where a single car was parked.

“Oh. I guess that must be him. U-unless there’s someone else waiting for someone else here. I mean, that would probably make sense since we’re not the only ones on the bus that are probably headed here but maybe it is and-“

“Wirt, look! It’s our Uncle!” Greg cut his older brother off gleefully and dashed down the aisle to exit the bus.

“Wait, Greg!” Wirt yelled, scooping up their backpacks before dashing after the excitable child. The other riders looked at him in sympathy and let him pass which Wirt felt grateful for and he stumbled out of the bus as Greg waved excitedly with his frog.

“Hi, Uncle! It’s nice to meet you! I’m Greg and this is Wirt and this is Jason Funderburker! We’re here for the summer!” Greg announced happily to the two figures leaving the car.

“Greg! Don’t just go running off!” Wirt scolded before straightening himself out and settling his eyes on the thinner of the two older men. He recognized him vaguely from the picture Jonathan showed them before they left, though he was definitely more aged than the picture and there was something in his eyes that Wirt was a bit wary about.

“Hello, Sir. Thank you for having us here.” Wirt said politely and the other elder man scoffed a little. The boy’s Uncle gave a pleasant chuckle and waved his hand dismissively.

“Aww shucks, there’s no need fer any “sir” nonsense! The name’s McGucket. Fiddleford McGucket or just Uncle Fiddleford to you. Welcome to Gravity Falls, kids!”

AO3 handle: AbsolutelyNoChill_OnlyDeath

#over the garden wall #gravity falls #beast!wirt #Gregory Cowan #Wirt #fiddleford mcgucket

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silyabeeodess · 3 years

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FusionFall Fic: Wayward Souls pt.2

Read Part 1 Here

Weeks later, Wirt didn’t feel any more at ease. It was slow, but the gap between when fusion fighters revived and when they regained consciousness only grew until a handful of them simply wouldn’t wake up at all.

Not that they were dead: It was more like a coma. At first, people wondered if the Resurrect ‘Ems had somehow broken, saving the body while leaving the soul behind. It was so severe that even Grim got involved. However, further investigation revealed that the soul was still present, just... hard to reach.

It didn’t make sense. Every fusion fighter’s soul was bound to the Resurrect ‘Ems via magical contract. Wirt remembered having to sign one himself, how the foreign ‘ink’ seemingly burned his name into the paper and how it felt as though something tugged at his chest when he finished writing it. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone could break easily. The problem was that that wasn’t impossible either. For example, while the contracts made it more difficult, there was still a chance that beings like Demongo and his fusion could still steal souls. Which meant that monster likely could as well...

He still wasn’t sure whether or not everything about the Unknown was something his oxygen-deprived mind had made up, but he couldn’t shake away the memory of the soldier who knew the Beast’s song. The timing was too perfect: It was too big of a coincidence. And it ate away at his mind every day on the job. If the Beast was somehow involved, then countless people were in danger.

None of them knew that though, not like he did. Wirt had tried prodding other fusion fighters to see if any of them shared memories of a place similar to the Unknown before they regained consciousness, but hadn’t had any luck with their answers. They seemed confused when asked, as if trying to recall something from a dream.

He really didn’t want to pry more than that, knowing it would only lead to trouble, but Wirt didn’t think he had a choice. So, with a foreboding feeling clenching at his heart, he approached the cloaked skeleton inspecting the area’s Resurrect ‘Em.

Normally, Wirt avoided every kind of supernatural being; he even shirked runs to Grim Gardens to keep from interacting with the Underworlders that worked there. Having the Reaper himself come and inspect their Resurrect ‘Em--out of the worse ones--was a chance that shouldn’t be passed up. He felt a lump form in his throat as eyeless sockets peered back at him after a tap on the shoulder.

“H-h-hi, uh...! E-excuse me, Mr. Reaper? Do I call you that...?” his voice cracked and he he cleared his throat, “I work here, and I might have an idea of what’s wrong--”

Those sockets narrowed. He couldn’t stammer out his explanation before a boney hand waved him aside, “Not now, child! Can’t ya see I’ve got me work cut out for me here?”

That alone was almost enough to make Wirt give up. He knew Grim wasn’t being rude: He was just as frustrated as everyone else--if not more--about the recent events. The real issue was that Grim didn’t have to even try to be terrifying to make the young man’s blood run cold.

Ok! I’m not as used to the supernatural as I thought!

He tried to pull himself together, turning away for just a second to take a deep breath and work out his nerves. He flexed his fingers, hoping that would quickly drain the anxious energy that made him want to wring his hands. He couldn’t stay this way if he was going get the Underworlder to listen.

You’re being stupid! Think of Pottsfield: Ignore the scythe and he’s not much different than those guys... You can do this: Lives are on the line.

That was right... If what he knew was important and he kept it to himself, people could actually die. He wasn’t a soldier, but he was a field aid: It was his job to save them. Reminding himself of that once again gave Wirt the last bit of strength he needed.

“It’s really important!” He turned back around, this time able to keep both his voice and expression steady.

The firmness in his tone, that told the reaper he wasn’t going anywhere until he heard what he had to say, brought Grim’s unamused, doubtful gaze back onto him.

“Look, I’ll admit, I don’t know the first thing about souls or magic or... whatever kind of occult power you use to make those,” he pointed to the Resurrect ‘Em, “but I’ve helped take care of the people here since the war started. I caught one of the soldiers singing something that I’ve only heard once, when I was close to death myself.

“Have you ever heard of the Beast? Or the Unknown? It was his song! I know it!”

Grim didn’t have to answer. His ‘eyes’ widened knowingly. After his initial surprise, rather than speak, the reaper looked away and tapped his chin in thought.

Only after a minute did Wirt hear him murmur under his breath, “...yes, I suppose dat could be it. Dat parasite, if he’s breakin’ da rules now, of all times...”

“You know him?!” Wirt couldn’t hide his disbelief, but even he didn’t know whether he came more from the fact that Grim understood exactly what he had implied or that his theory had apparently been completely on-point.

“Of course I do! I reap souls: He’s one of da creatures dat takes dem,” Grim almost seemed offended that he even asked. Nevertheless, the anger in his voice was directed at another, distant someone. “And I know de Unknown as well. For most mortals, it’s a subconscious realm ya can only enter in dreams or at da brink of death. However, if ya make it out, most of your memories of de place don’t typically come back wit ya.” Here, he gave the field aid a curious glance, “If dey did, it’d probably be because you’ve already been exposed to supernatural forces.”

Considering that he’d lived what he considered to be a pretty normal life up until that fateful Halloween, that confused Wirt. Rather than question it though, he let it slide to focus on the matter at hand. “I didn’t think the Beast would still be around...” He didn’t know what happened after he left the Unknown and returned home with his brother, but he thought the Woodsman would somehow deal with him. Looking back, what if he’d made a mistake, giving back the lantern and leaving the old man by himself?

“He went quiet some time ago, but if he is the cause of dis, den we need to act as soon as possible. We’ll gather a team. I can open a portal to dat place, and you can search for the souls of the unconscious fusion fighters.”

Although he didn’t understand how that worked, Wirt nodded. At least now they had some kind of plan. Still, it took him a second longer to digest the full of the reaper’s words. We... You...

His voice cracked again, nearly rising a whole octave, “...what?”

((Quick note, since I know some people who’ve watched OTGW might probably know the references to Dante’s Inferno and understand that the Unknown is supposed to be based on a kind of limbo/purgatory: I 100% agree for the show’s canon, but I wrote it as a place overlapping with the subconscious due to how the Unknown is presented in the comics. In them, we not only have the context of Anna--the Woodsman’s daughter--being born in the Unknown and her family having an entire history there, but we also see Greg, his frog, Wirt, and even possibly Sarah there post-show on another series of adventures through dreams. That considered, there may be more to the various inhabitants of the Unknown outside of just lost spirits and I wanted to leave that more open.))

#my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fusionfall #video games #congrats you survived the first test #but i have some unfortunate news #you're going back #bye!! :D #...please let me know if someone gets that reference

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overthegravityfalls · 4 years

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Bodies and Beasts

Hey, so, this fic I mentioned off-hand 5 years ago?

I finished it!

...Better late than never?

(please heed the warnings)

Rating: E Word count: 4,300 Pairing(s): Bipper/Beast!Wirt, Bill Cipher/The Beast Summary: "Those that enter shall become part of my forest. No matter how long it takes,” the Beast says, his eyes glowing with colour. “Oh, don’t worry, pal, this flesh-sack can spend an eternity here. You can have him. All I’m asking is to have a little fun with it first.” “Oh?” The Beast tilts his head, feeling the weight of his antlers as he does. Warnings: Main Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Gore, Cannibalism, Coerced Suicide, Child Death, Torture, Unhappy Ending, Self-Mutilation Read on AO3 here

There is a body in the woods. He discovers it on a day when the air is cold, despite the brightness of the sun. In another time, he would have receded into the deepest, darkest parts of his domain in such conditions, but he no longer needs to be so closely tied to the night and shadow; now, the plainness of day could serve him just as well.

The body reminds him of his own still-new form: made of flesh, bones, skin. Teenaged, brown-haired, slim. It is more similar to him than he realises at first.

It lies there motionless until he approaches it. When he leans down, its eyes open wide, and he can see through them that the being inside it is not one who belongs. The amalgam grins, and it continues to grin even as he wraps his hands around its neck and clenches hard. Such a body can usually be coerced into becoming a part of his forest, with muscle and intent being just as effective as the deceit and patience he was once limited to, but this one seems to warrant a different approach. It seems to enjoy the ministrations he is putting it through. Unconcerned, his fingers twitch and their grip loosens; he comes to a stand. After all, his lantern is still burning strong from that younger brother's oil, as little as his Edelwood tree had been; and he has, too, a heart within him which beats black around his body.

"Don't they teach you manners in this plane of existence?"

He stares at the being with white, narrowed orbs.

"As it happens, you're actually not that far off from what I want from you. But an introduction wouldn't hurt, pal! Here, look. Name: Bill Cipher, occupation: this kid's flesh sack. See how easy that was? Haven't even tried to strangle you yet!" It—he—rubs a hand across his neck and bares his teeth again in a facsimile of a smile.

"How did you come by that vessel and to my woods?"

'Bill Cipher,' as he calls himself, sits up, putting his weight on his forearms. He watches closely in case Cipher tries to do anything as unpredictable as his nature seems to be. "Oh, me and Pine Tree go way back. Introduced him to an awesome apocalypse before he and his family had to go and ruin everything." His voice lowers, and his face contorts into a scowl at those words, but, like lightening, it passes in an instant. He brings himself to his feet and dusts himself off, then meets his eyes. "Take it from me, do not wish on Shooting Stars, no matter what people tell you.

"Buuuut I'm getting sidetracked here. Point is, he was mine to control a few years ago, and after all those difficulties he and his family caused, I thought a little payback was in order. That annoying little pest took his time in dropping his guard--honestly, had more forms of protection than a Trojan factory! —but my waiting paid off. Eventually, he awakened my statue. Curiosity killed the cat, am I right? And so, here I am!" Cipher does a little flourish with his hands, and he notices that his white sleeves are stained heavily with red. “Now, you wanna introduce yourself, Beast boy?”

“…You know me. Therefore, you know that the Unknown is my domain. Those that enter shall become part of my forest. No matter how long it takes,” the Beast says, his eyes glowing with colour as he remembers the thrill of finding the brothers in his woods again. They had carried freezing water in their lungs ever since their fateful journey, and it had dragged them back to the forest from a pair of white-sheet beds. One to bear his weakened being, one to fuel his flickering soul. He blinks, his eyes white again.

“You got a bit of personality in there, huh? Yeah, yeah, I know you—got my mitts in all sorts of dimensions. The Unknown is a funny name for Purgatory, but, whatever. Just thought you could be polite about it, you know?”

He cares not for how much this being talks. Underneath all of the blabber, he wonders what he means to gain by coming here. If he thinks he can saunter out, he is mistaken. “You are… intriguing, but your vessel is still young enough; here, it will remain,” the Beast says, his voice soft.

“Oh, don’t worry, pal, this flesh-sack can spend an eternity here. He’s already suffered a punishing fate in his physical reality, but I am not satisfied with just making him kill himself and leaving all of those Pines heartbroken. You can have him. All I’m asking is to have a little fun with it first.”

“Oh?” the Beast says, tilting his head, feeling the weight of his antlers as he does.

“He’s in here. With me. Pine Tree. First time around, I kicked him out, but now, we’re roomies in this here head of teen angst. And hoo boy, he is not happy about it. See, I love pain, and I love how much squishy and breakable stuff is inside these gross human bodies. It’s hilarious! I had to rush through everything in the physical realm, but now…” Cipher grins so wide it looks like it could split his face in two. “I can take my time in torturing him. Care to explore with me, Beast?”

He follows along well enough with the story this demon tells, as strangely as he tells it, and his ideas stir something sadistic in him. He wonders, though, “Why would you simply dispose of the body when you could utilise it, Bill Cipher?” He himself enjoyed that shadow of consciousness within him and the empty, hollow sadness and regret it emitted. Wirt’s emotions had burned through his being initially, as heated as the fire of the lantern, but once the Edelwood branches were all ash, the boy gave himself fully to the Beast. There was nothing else he could do.

“Eugh, when I take over the world, it will be with my equilateral perfection. No, no, the slow torture and crash course in forestry will do just fine for Pine Tree—or should I say Pine-Edelwood Tree?”

“You should not.”

“You’re right, let’s just get on with it. Here, I have something that’ll help,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a knife coated with red.

The Beast plucks it from his hand, running his slim fingers along the flat steel. He taps on the point and a pinprick of black blood swells from his digit. “Yes, this will do nicely.”

“Why don’t I just lie back and think of England?” the demon says with a wink. He spreads his arms out like a cross and falls back, hitting the ground with an “oomph.” The Beast straddles him, taking his time to get comfortable, but Bill Cipher is impatient. He squirms and pulls at his shirt collar, making the button strain until the Beast carefully nicks the thread with the blade and sends the button flying.

First, he can cut his shirt open, then, he can cut his chest open.

Settled in place, the Beast works on revealing this Pine Tree’s milky skin. It is dotted with bruises and old scars here and there and looks unnaturally pale. His ribs are just about visible, his body skinny. Delicate.

“Get on with it, I’m vibrating in place here!” Bill Cipher urges.

He rests the blade on the centre of his chest, making Cipher still, and applies a bit of pressure to it. Blood oozes out and continues to do so as he pulls the knife down, past his ribs and across his stomach. It is only a shallow cut, surface-level damage. Enough to sting.

Cipher lets out a breath, sounding satisfied. The Beast repeats the motion horizontally, vertically, diagonally, until there are lacerations all over his chest.

“Mmm, this would pair perfectly with some lemon juice.”

The scarlet rivulets look too inviting to resist, and he leans down and licks his tongue up the red stripe. The bright, coppery taste delights his senses, and he collects more blood with his fingers and sucks them clean.

“Hey, think you missed a spot there,” Cipher says, his voice taking on a raspy tone. He props himself up and grabs the Beast’s face, swiping his tongue across a smudge of blood on his cheek. Cipher surprises him by twisting his face forward and invading his mouth, wrapping around his teeth and gums and all the inner spots he has missed. It is less of a kiss and more a cannibalistic instinct he cannot seem to help. The Beast allows it, closing his eyes and waiting for him to finish his exploration.

“Yum,” the amalgam simply states, then leans back without any further comment.

He notices he has spots on his cloak, though that is nothing compared to how many stains are on Cipher’s shirt, the contrast of red on white stark and harsh. Cipher decides to do away with it, taking the clothing off completely and discarding it besides him. The Beast can clearly see, now, the ugly gashes that had stained his sleeves, following his veins from his wrists down his forearms.

He wants to excavate this body.

The Beast takes a hold of Cipher’s hand, resting the knife where it had carved a path through skin in the physical realm. This time, though, he will take it deeper. He lets the knife feel its way down the path, then pushes, pushes, pushes, until bone scrapes against the blade. Cipher laughs dementedly, then screeches, then his voice takes on a different tone; it is agonised, raw and rough.

“Stop, stop, stop, PLEASE, I—AAAAAAAAH,” he yells. Cipher has lost control, and Pine Tree thrashes and fights against the Beast as he sobs and wails. He drops the knife, protecting himself against flailing attacks. Spittle and blood flies between them. Pine Tree finds his face and tries to dig his thumbs into the Beast’s eye sockets, but his hands tremble. His pain makes him uncoordinated. Cipher takes advantage of the unclarity; with a spasm, Pine Tree’s eyes roll into the back of his head and when his pupils appear again, they are elongated and unquestionably demonic.

“Woo! Did not anticipate how much he would push back from a little bit of torture like that. We are just getting started, pal,” Bill Cipher says casually.

The Beast has to pause for a moment, because he can feel his own storm inside him. Emotions that are not his own are flaring and twisting in his chest. He can tell Wirt yearns to save this poor creature, to bring himself a moment of redemption—but there is no redemption for him. Not after he failed to save his own brother. With this in his mind, the Beast lures him back to despair and resignation; he was so much easier to coax than that blasted brother of his, a boy good for nothing but firewood. It does not take long for his emotions to wither and dull. It is so comforting to feel nothing at all, is it not, Wirt?

There is no answer.

“Perhaps I should utilise the idea your host so kindly gave me,” the Beast murmurs, hovering his thumbs over Cipher’s pale, yellow eyes.

“Woah, woah, woah, I wanna see these innards, thank you very much. Shoo,” he says with the accompanying motion.

“Very well.”

“Why not reveal this Bleeding Heart’s bleeding heart instead?”

“Hmm…” the Beast considers, gazing at his chest. “Yes, that would do.”

He chooses not to pick up the knife again. He wants to do this himself.

With supernatural ability, the Beast buries his fingers into Pine Tree’s chest, buries into flesh and feeling around bone. He yanks back and rips him open. Skin and matter tear off in large sheets, Cipher’s cry piercing his eardrums, until there is revealed his ribcage and lungs holding a frantically beating heart hostage.

It is beautiful.

Even Bill Cipher needs time to adjust to this onslaught—he pants and lies there, presumably also keeping Pine Tree at bay more carefully this time around. With drool pooling from one side of his mouth, he says between gasps, “See, Pine Tree? Told you we were just getting started.”

The Beast drops his skin, leaving the amalgam spread open, a creature in the middle of a vivisection. Fluid coats his hands. The temptation makes him hunger. He cradles Cipher’s face with both palms flush against his cheeks, then drags them down over his neck, his grip tightening and then releasing. He wants to crush this human, but he has to remind himself to take it slowly. Cipher, now painted with shades of maroon and scarlet, licks his lips.

“So nice to find a kindred spirit. Just bros being bros, bonding over some good old-fashioned gore. Maybe I should come back here with Shooting Star sometime,” he contemplates.

“Let us not get ahead of ourselves. I want to appreciate what I have right here.” If he felt he could have another plaything, he really would crush this human all too soon.

“Oh, you’re so romantic, Beast,” Cipher says with a grin.

He traces each of his ribs, squeezes around the heart to feel the atriums and ventricles straining to keep this body alive. In the Unknown, it can work all it wants, beat until all the blood is drained and the skull is caved in and the body is in dozens of pieces that will never be reassembled. If it believes it needs to keep beating, it will.

Bill Cipher bites on his fist, like he needs to keep his thrill toned down to savour the intensity of the situation. Then, with a lightbulb moment, he remarks, “Apparently, the force needed to bite through a finger is the same as biting through a carrot.” Without waiting for a response, he sticks his little finger in his mouth and snaps his teeth around it. “Ow. Okay, that’s not true.”

The Beast picks up his knife again with his musical fingers, twirling it the same way Wirt would do in marching band. His body still has the instincts his mind has failed to overrun. “Allow me.”

“With pleasure!” Cipher agrees, stretching out to him like he is asking him to dance.

He takes his hand, caressing delicate skin, then lays it flat on the leafy ground, pushing down hard on his wrist. With his other hand, the Beast holds his knife with the tip squarely aimed at Cipher’s pinkie finger. In one swift movement, he drives it through air, body and into the soil, and holds fast against Cipher’s flailing to keep his hand in place. When he raises the weapon again, there is a neat severing right at the knuckle, the finger laying meekly as blood collects underneath it.

Bill Cipher tugs his arm back, and the Beast relinquishes his hold in order to allow the demon to appreciate his handiwork. It is strange how one small removal can so change the appearance of the extremity, the wrongness of the missing part highlighted by the bloody stump.

“Again! Again!” he cries, waving his other hand around.

The Beast grabs it with annoyance, and instead of placing it on the ground, digs his knife in between ring and pinkie and scores right in the middle. The gash in the connective flesh hangs open obscenely.

“Yeowch—not like that,” Cipher admonishes.

“Well, if you demonstrated some patience, maybe I would have a clearer understanding of your wishes,” the Beast replies tersely with a shake of his head.

“Oh, fine, fine, yes, take your time, just get the damn fingers off,” he says.

This time, the Beast acquiesces, repeating his earlier action, and Cipher yelps at the removal. He brings the cut-apart hand up to his mouth, placing his lips over the wound and sucking. Cipher moans weakly as the Beast looks at him from under half-hooded eyes.

The demon bites his lip. “Sexy.”

“Shall I continue to work?” he says once he pulls away, saliva and blood mixed on the abused hand.

“Yes, yes, yes, but just the ring fingers, alright? I still wanna be able to do some shit while we play. Just don’t ask for a pinkie promise or for my hand in marriage.”

“Duly noted.”

The Beast hacks away the two fingers with ease, then collects the four severed digits and contemplates them as he holds them.

“Feelin’ peckish?”

“I desire something…more substantial,” the Beast finally says, placing the digits back besides their tortured body.

“I hear thigh of Pine Tree is especially succulent,” he suggests with a leer.

White eyes meet pale yellow as he considers this, and then the Beast decides to cut up the trouser leg to reveal more flesh, from calves to thighs. The smell of viscera is heavy in the air, emanating from such an array of exposed organs, but when he presses his face against the amalgam’s leg, there is a faint scent of mechanical oil. He knows just a little more about Pine Tree’s life outside of the Unknown now, he supposes. Not that it matters anymore.

He bites down hard enough to pierce the skin with his canines, and then, wretchedly, demonically tears off flesh. His heart squirms with Wirt’s revulsion as he feasts, a visceral reaction from the usually placid boy to his monstrousness. It is pleasing to the Beast to use this human’s body to eat another. Even more so since he would not yearn to cannibalise if it were not for humans in the first place. Every time they told their stories, every time they believed him to be more and more malevolent, they transformed him; their beliefs became his truth. And, sometimes, the people of the Unknown called him another name—wendigo.

And a wendigo he would be.

With the heightened pleasure from the textured, delectable meat in his maw, he almost forgets to notice Cipher’s reaction at all. His eyes flicker open. He pulls away and swallows. Cipher has his hands—what is left of them—inside himself, squeezing his own intestines to deal with the pain as he gasps. The ropes of gore squirm around his fingers, coiled snakes twining around and around each other in the cavity.

“It hurts…real good…” he says weakly, the nasal quality of his voice reduced to a quiet whine. All of their machinations are starting to add up—or, rather, take away from him; with chunks taken out of his leg, body parts missing and a red pool underneath him, Bill Cipher is fading. In a broken voice, he whispers, “Please…let me go… I just…want to go back to my family…” before he passes out. He hopes Pine Tree will not be the one to wake up.

The Beast places his slack leg down and dabs his mouth and chin clean with his shirt sleeve. As he straightens up, he can see that there are Edelwood branches starting to grow around the amalgam, reaching up from the ground and tipped with autumnal leaves. As much as Bill Cipher wants to enjoy this, his body is beginning to give up. It is inevitable. There is only the forest, and there is only surrender.

The Beast lets him rest. He trails a finger down one of the branches by his hip, a drop of oil leaking out. Then, he picks up his lantern from the nearby spot he had placed it. As he stares into the flickering firelight, what had once been rendered an ember by the Woodsman, he feels a strange sense of gratitude to the brothers who had changed everything for him. Were it not for them, the Woodsman would have never disposed of the lantern, would have never allowed the Beast to reform and take control of his own soul again. When he decided to fuse himself with Wirt, and become Beast and Lantern-Bearer, he gained entirely new ways of growing his forest. He still remembers how it felt to wrap his arms around Gregory’s neck until the twitching stopped and the wood grew. Though some aspects of his human form were tiresome, he knows he would not go back to his old trypophobic self.

Bill Cipher stirs, groaning and lifting his head up. He blinks one eye, and then the other, and shakes himself awake. “Whew. Did I miss anything?”

He puts his lantern down and gestures to the Edelwood.

“Oh, man. Guess we’d better wrap up, huh?” He lifts his leg to inspect the damage. “Had your fill?”

The Beast puts his hand in his hair, rubbing the base of his antler as he considers. “For now. I will have your heart after we are through.”

“Good choice. So, what next?” he says, feeling up his stomach and ribcage like it is a salacious act.

After a moment, the Beast’s hands join his, appreciating the slippery, warm texture of his organs. The colour in his vision intensifies as he realises he can now anything to this body; he no longer needs to hold back. His hands ball up into fists so tight they shake as he says, “I want to break you.”

Cipher’s eyes widen. “Then break me, Beast.”

He spreads his fingers wide over Cipher’s ribs and locks his arms straight. Pushing down from his shoulders, he applies enough pressure to make the bones fracture, only showing small amounts of damage at first, but as he pushes harder, they crack and break apart completely. The splintered bones pierce Cipher’s lungs as the Beast’s breathing becomes heavy and feral.

“I c—I can feel—,” Cipher attempts to say before he starts to hack up blood, decorating his already-painted face even more. The hacking coughs become laughs, as much as he is able to laugh. With his lungs filling with fluid, even this chatterbox has to admit defeat. The Edelwood branches are growing before their eyes, working their way around his limbs and intruding into his body bit by bit.

The Beast looks at Cipher’s smile and, wanting to give him one last thrill, takes his drenched hand back and picks up the knife again.

Cipher gurgles as the Beast positions the tip of the blade at the corner of his lips, a rough hand grabbing his chin and forcing his face to the left. His eyes squint with delight, elongated pupils staring straight at the pink, yellow and blue glow in the Beast’s. The Beast curves the knife up as he slashes across his cheek, making Cipher’s face-splitting smile literal. Warm blood gushes over his fingers as he turns Cipher’s face to the right and finishes the look.

The gashes pull apart and squeeze together as the amalgam works his jaw. He attempts to say, “Why so—,” before he’s coughing up blood again.

The Beast gives him a rare smile. “Why, this is the first time I have been able to hear my own thoughts since you arrived here, Bill Cipher.”

Cipher’s eyebrows lower, and the Beast chuckles darkly as he moves his hand down to his neck and his knife over his heart. “Now, it is time for your host to become a part of my forest.”

At the instant he drives the weapon into that frenetically-beating heart, a golden spirit somersaults out of the broken body. Triangular, with one eye and a black top hat. Bill Cipher’s true form.

The Beast flickers his attention back to his task, and he twists and rips the heart free of the veins and arteries holding it in place, takes it off of the blade and holds it in his palm. It beats once, twice, before giving up the ghost and stilling.

“Oh, Pine Tree, it sure did take some time but boy, was it worth it!”

Pine Tree’s body looks so bereft, so utterly fragile. His skin is starkly pale now, and his head is tipped onto the ground, his eyes closed and his mouth ajar. His arms, encased in branches, lay with his cut wrists facing the sky. All of the movement in his chest—the writhing intestines, the inflating and deflating lungs, the beating heart—have come to a stop. White, fragmented ribs are threaded with earthy Edelwood. His shredded clothes lay soaked in his own blood around him, flicked with bits of flesh and cut-up parts. He looks… small, in death.

“Yes. The destination is all the more sweeter when the road is long, is it not?” the Beast says, touching his own skin with his fingertips.

Cipher floats over to put an arm around his shoulders. “Ab-so-lutely. And hey, you’ve been swell, such a great guy. Thanks for hooking me up with this awesome venue for torture! Love what you’re doing with all the trees and whatever. But I’d best be going, things to do, chaos to enact, you know the deal. And we’re both great with deals, aren’t we?”

The Beast inwardly sighs, then admits, “I would not object to having more dealings with you. I have not felt that kind of pleasure in many moons. Thank you. For now, I shall bid you farewell.”

Bill Cipher blinks—or winks—and spins out of his hold. “Have fun burning up this sad-sack and chomping on that ol’ ticker. See you on the flip side. The universe is a lie, buy gold, bye!” he shouts before flashing out of this existence.

The Beast pauses, raises the heart, murmurs to himself, “The loveliest lie of all,” and bites into it.

Wirt is just as drained and deadened as this boy lying in front of him; he cannot even feel disgust anymore. He cannot feel anything at all.

#Over the Garden Wall #gravity falls #bipper #beast!wirt #possessed!pinescone #the beast #bill cipher #dipper pines #fan fic #crossover #gore #bad end friends #who knows maybe one day I'll finish that sequel to Some Books Just Swallow You Whole #never say never :')

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only-by-the-stars · 3 years

Text

the annotated Tome of the Wild

Part 7: The Wild!

- Link didn't open his eyes. A twist on the beginning of BOTW, where you hear Zelda telling Link to open his eyes. I couldn’t resist.

- Hestu’s cameo was a lot of fun to write too. I always found him adorable, first in BOTW and then in AOC as well, and the idea of him waking up Link with his maracas was too amusing not to do. I also had to include his “shimmy shimmy” battle cry from AOC because I always laugh my head off whenever I hear it.

- This also reveals that Midna brought Link to the Great Deku Tree, a character that debuted in OOT and made further appearances in WW and BOTW.

- Something tickled her arm, breaking her out of her gloomy thoughts. Midna lifted her head and looked down. New growth was sprouting from the branch she was sitting on, wriggling its way up onto her. Nothing like this happens to Beatrice in the show, but I had to put in this chilling little moment of Midna nearly succumbing to the dekuwood. It provides a way later to introduce Rhoam’s presence in his scene, as well as some horror at what could’ve happened to her here.

- Note to self: never visit Tabantha if you can help it... Tabantha, of course, being a very cold region in BOTW’s Hyrule. Link’s newfound hatred of snow mirrors my own, and now he’s going to associate it with this horrible experience.

- “It's a bad habit, I guess.” He laughed softly. He’s referring, of course, to how he casually greeted Riju and Medli back at the school pool and they gave him a bit of a hard time about it.

- “You...” Midna stared at him for several seconds, stunned. “You...” She slapped his hand away and starting swinging her tiny fists at him, which he easily dodged. “You oaf! You idiot! What the hell—what the hell is wrong with you? How can you forgive me so easily, when you're still in a shit situation because of me? Neither one of us would be out here groping around blindly in the fucking snow if not for what I did!” I set up Midna and Link to be parallels of each other in a couple ways. One of which is that while Link has isolated himself from Mipha, hurting and confusing her, Midna is on the other end of something similar with Zelda. And here we see something they both struggle with: forgiving themselves. Midna can’t understand how Link can so easily forgive her actions towards him, while Link utterly despises himself for his actions towards Mipha and cannot forgive himself for causing her pain. He’ll later struggle with the fact that Mipha forgives him easily, just as Midna is having trouble understanding his forgiveness of her here. All of them find it easier to forgive their loved ones than to grant that same grace to themselves.

- “She told me that while she appreciated how much I cared, I should think a little more and be less reckless. I know she'd never call me stupid, but...” Link shrugged. “Honestly, I kind of am.” Another reference to Mipha calling Link reckless, and how she hates seeing him get hurt. He is indeed not the smartest guy around, but she does describe him as being very kind and determined to help those in need, so I tried to emphasize that aspect of his personality in this story. Although the “I kind of am” line is also intended to be a subtle red flag. We’ve already seen that Link thinks very little of himself and his abilities, even when it’s clear from the words of others that he’s very talented. And we’re about to soon see him use a bit of intelligence he very much does have, in order to save the day. He would never believe himself capable of such a thing, but he does it anyway.

- “Even just a few branches could be processed... enough to get us through this storm...” Note the use of the plural here. This is leading up to the revelation about his belief that Zelda is in the lantern. His desperation to find more oil anywhere is because, of course, he believes that if the light goes out she will die. And he wouldn’t be in this scarcity if not for what happened back in chapter one, with Link and Aryll and the dog accidentally wrecking the mill and his oil supply.

- He was soon rewarded with a most welcome sight: a single dekuwood branch, growing out of that of a normal tree. It seemed sickly, withered, and it waved feebly in the air, but he rushed forward and hacked it off anyway. The very same branch that tried to attach itself to Midna, sickly and withered precisely because of that failure.

- And now we come to the confirmation that the dekuwood is made from the people who succumb to despair and exhaustion in the woods, right as we see it growing all around Aryll. Rhoam has been unaware this entire time of all the souls he’s sacrificed over the past several months, and now that he knows, he refuses to do it any longer. For he, like Midna, recognizes that Zelda would never want anyone to be harmed for her sake.

He’s also right that Link would never leave Aryll to such a fate, recognizing Link’s love and protectiveness towards his little sister. This is a point where my characterization of Link wildly diverges from that of Wirt, the protagonist of OTGW. I pulled some things from Wirt for Link and his arc, but one thing I didn’t keep was the resentment and initial callousness that Wirt displays for Greg, who is revealed in the tavern sequence to be his half-brother thanks to his mother remarrying, something Greg frowns at when Wirt mentions it. Aryll is also technically Link’s half-sister, as I revealed in the letters that his mother remarried some years after his father’s death and had Aryll with her new husband, but I could not for the life of me see him being resentful or unkind to his little sister. Whatever his faults, I’ve written him as being, at his core, an incredibly kind and deeply loving person, and his adoration of his sister is a part of that. He doesn’t view her as a “half” anything, she’s just his sister and he’ll do anything to protect her. Which of course is a big part of what led to his breakdown: his feelings of guilt over not doing as good a job of that as he thinks he should be doing.

- “Link, I don't... I don't think that's natural light. It looks more like...” This has a double meaning. The fire in the lantern is not the “natural light” of the sun, and it is also deeply unnatural, given that it’s the Beast’s soul in there.

- Speaking of that! The confrontation with the Beast plays out a bit differently here than it does in the show, thanks to Midna’s personal connection to all this. Rhoam’s mention of Zelda gets her attention, and the Beast uses her love for Zelda as a way to try and turn her and Link against each other with his attempt to make them choose which soul will go into the lantern. He’ll get fuel and kill Aryll either way, but why not pit these two against each other as a way to manipulate them into doing what he wants? Except it backfires, because Midna won’t harm anyone for Zelda’s sake, and Link figures out what’s going on anyway, thanks to remembering the words of Rhoam and Telma.

- Link stood up, his mind racing. It was like when the solution to a puzzle finally presented itself in a moment of stunning clarity. For all that he’s not that bright in so many ways, it’s important to remember that he’s canonically able to solve all those tricky puzzles we do, without benefit of a guide, just using his wits and the tools he has at hand. And so too does he solve this particular puzzle, by remembering what he’s been told and piecing it together with what he sees here, thinking about the fact that the Beast’s story doesn’t add up. Which saves the day, in the end.

- “Am I wrong?” Link repeated, his voice shaking with barely suppressed fury; he took a few more steps, forcing the Beast to retreat further. “No more lies. Tell the truth for once, Beast.” Referencing, of course, the fact that Telma told him the Beast lies. He’s absolutely furious right now because of the attempt on Aryll’s life; you do not mess with Link’s loved ones. The Beast, too, fucked around and found out the hard way.

- In the show, Wirt gives the lantern back to the Woodsman to blow out after the delivery of the “Are you?” line that I kept (and had Link nail the delivery of on his first try, unlike Wirt, because that’s what makes sense for both their characters). Here, I chose to let Link kill the Beast, because he is, after all, the legendary hero who slays the villain. But even more importantly, I felt he deserved and had earned such a moment with his growing courage over the course of the tale.

- “See you later, Link.” Hey, remember how Midna broke all our hearts by saying a similar line to Link in TP as she broke the mirror and went back to her world? I sure do!

- “Sleepers wake, dreams will fade... although we cling fast..." This, and the lyrics that close out this section, are the first few lines of the vocal version of Ballad of the Wind Fish that was done for the LA remake.

- There were lights and shadowy figures coming closer, and voices—was someone calling his name? As I would later reveal in the prologue of a place to start, Mipha was screaming his name as she ran down the hill towards him.

- The words he wanted so badly to say to her hung on the tip of his tongue And it shows on his face, that desire to express the love for her that is all but bursting out of him in this moment, and Mipha sees it. She sees that love shining in his eyes as they stare at each other, giving her her hope back and then some. In a way, Link was right: if he hadn’t hidden from her, she would’ve realized what his real feelings for her are. He just didn’t know how happy it would’ve made her. But he will soon.

- “—and that's how we got away from the evil possessed lady!” Out of the corner of his eye Link saw Aryll shake the frog triumphantly, and Mipha, distracted by the sudden commotion, looked away from him. A small, muffled chime sounded, and the amphibian's stomach glowed. “The ringing of the bell commanded her! Though she wasn't really evil, just...” The series is never clear on just what the otherworld the brothers enter is, but it is clear that it really happened to them, and I preserved that ambiguity in the same way, by showing the bell as still being in the frog’s stomach.

- Link nodded. “Yes.” It didn't matter anymore how it'd gotten into her pocket; he'd made it, and brought it with him tonight, with the intention of giving it to her. There was no more question of taking it back or denying it. Courage has been achieved; he’s no longer going to hide or pretend, or try to take back the gift he worked on so hard. Midna is right: he’s been so brave in the Wild, and it’s time to apply that bravery to confessing his feelings to Mipha and letting her know that he loves her. The words will have to wait till the next day, but for now he’s doing all he can to face his fears and stop running, by hugging her and holding her hand and wiping her tears away, letting his love show in his expression as he looks at her without avoiding her eyes. Plus, of course, admitting to his intentions with the tape and inviting her over to listen to it together. They’re finally getting a breakthrough after two months of separation and pain.

- The doctor, Syrup, is a recurring NPC throughout the series, a witch who brews up helpful healing potions for Link to use on his adventures.

- I'm home, Mipha. Calling back, of course, to Midna’s line about there being someone waiting for him and to go home to her. Not only that, but in Mipha’s letters, I had her mention wanting him to “come back to her”. And now he finally has.

and that wraps this up, as the epilogue is composed strictly of Miphlink fluff and sweet, sweet payoff. if you took the time to read the fic and these write ups, thank you, I hope you enjoyed them! ❤

#annotations #and happy zelda anniversary!

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thedarkangelpuppet · 5 years

Text

Headcanons: Poetree,Billdip and Stomco

Poetree:

- The Beast always meant to keep Wirt and that he become the new lantern-bearer. Adelaide, Enoch and the Queen of clouds were in on the plan.

It, however, did not matter what happens to Beatrice or Greg. as Greg could have stayed in Pottsville or in Cloudcity or as a servant of Adelaide.

Adelaide also refered to a child servant just ONE which would be Greg. since Wirt was to be given to the beast.

- Wirt wants to study Architecture

- Beast once had a coven Adelaide and Auntie Whispers are the only ones left

- Beast is the jealous type. If he ever meets Sara or when he meets Sara he must resist the want to murder her

- In some universes Beast sufferes from Lima syndrome while Wirt from Stockholm syndrome (not the main one im writing (Interdimensional Affairs AU))

- Wirt only starts speaking in Poetry when depressed or stressed

- Beast sings Wirt to sleep or tells him stories

- Beasts antlers can sprout flowers when flustered they also bother him alot when sleeping luckily he doesn´t need to sleep

- The Beast can speak in multiple voices and languages.

- Beast can get stuck between trees and Wirt can’t help but laugh but he always ends up helping him out

Billdip:

- Bill used to be a slave. (seeing as how Isosceles triangles were described in Flatland: a romance between dimensions)

- Bill got his powers from Xolotl/Axolotl

- Bill suffers from Mania

- Bill is a compulsive Liar and hides the fact that he does have feelings (Axolotl Poem says he's sad, Bill has been acting happy alot and he can get mad)

- Dippers habits include: biting and clicking of pens, Eating his own shirt and never using bookmarks making him lose the pages he was on

- Dipper calls Bill William or Billy sometimes. William in serious situations and Billy when teasing

- Dipper got used to triangle Bill and despite everyone being disgusted he can kiss Bill in that form on the Eyemouth.

-Dipper got so used to Bill´s natural form that he prefers it over any other form Bill takes.

- Bill always likes to spoil movies or books. It annoys Dipper.

- Bill likes to hide in Dippers hat

- Dipper and Bill leave little notes to each other in their own codes.

- Bill loves puns

Stomco:

- Marco is the little spoon, Tom is in the middle since he feels protected and Star is a big spoon.

- they're soulmates see the whole star, moon sun theory

- Star sometimes buys matching dresses for herself and Marco.

- Tom always calls Star and then immediately Marco when asking something on the phone. Double Opinion

- While walking they like to hold hands. Star in the middle grabbing one hand of Toms and one of Marcos.

- Stars favorite Ice cream combo ends up being Neapolitan seeing as it reminds her of them

- Marco sometimes steals Stars clothes when she's not looking just how Star steals Marcos hoodie. They end up wearing them all day saying nothing

- Star, Tom, and Marco all use each others makeup through tom only uses the eyeliner

- Marco is the one doing most of the housework as the other two are royals and are not used to doing housework. Plus Marco likes everything in a system.

- they have movie nights

- They listen to Love Sentence during their morning routines. Using the toothbrushes as microphones

- They noticed that someone (Star) kicks off all the blankets off the bed

- Marco always cuddles with Star or Tom in bed. Whoever was there first.

#Poetree #Stomco #Startomco #Tomstarco #Billdip #headcanon #svtfoe #star vs the forces of evil #gravity falls #Over the Garden Wall

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yourmajes-ty-moving · 6 years

Text

A Bad End (A Fanfic One-Shot)

(This is for an AU that I made myself called “Over Gravity’s Wall”, where Wirt and his siblings, Mason (Dipper), Mabel, and Greg, get lost in the Unknown. I plan on writing more for it in the future, but I decided to make a one-shot to get me going. This part is heavily inspired by the Bad End Friends AU.)

Read on AO3

The air was thin and cold as Mason opened his eyes. In front of him, he could see snow piled up on to the dark earth, mistily veiled by the breath that escaped from his open mouth. As he looked around, he felt the snow fall on his nose and fingertips while his shoulders trembled in the cold.

‘Why hadn’t I brought a coat?’ he asked himself in his mind. ‘It didn’t seem that bad when we got here.’

Then, Mason heard a voice. A pleading voice, one that sounded much like his own. “Please, help!”

Mason looked around to try and see the owner of the voice, but he could see nothing but the crooked branches and bases of leafless trees, topped by the seemingly gentle snowfall. Mason took a step forward, the icy snow crunching underneath his soggy tennis shoes. He clutched his vest tightly, his knuckles turning white and frozen. Why didn’t he bring a coat?

The voice called once more.

“Please! Help! Somebody, if you can hear, please!”

Mason shouted into the unknown darkness that that hid behind the trees. “I can hear!” he yelled. “I can hear you!”

In front of him, a blue-shaded figure hovered above the ground. It took Mason time to realize that the ghostly figure in front of him--messy hair, vest, gray pants, and terrified eyes--was none other than himself.

“Please,” said the spirit, before Mason could say a word, “Please, I need help.”

“What is it?” Mason asked. “Why are you myself?”

The spirit did not seem to realize the questions that were asked.

“Please,” he repeated. “Speak low, or he’ll hear--”

That was when laughing pierced through the air like a needle. It was a hostile laugh, not a friendly one, and Mason felt frightened form the crackling voice in the distance, as it became louder and louder...

“Pine Tree!” called the voice. “Pine Tree! I have something to show you!”

The spirit ducked away at the top of a tree, holding desperately onto the branches. Mason tried to move, but his body felt like a statue in a garden, whether it was from fear or other causes, Mason was not quite sure.

Then the figure, the one who had been laughing, appeared out of the trees. It was unlike the other spirit, this figure clearly made of flesh, the bruises and cuts on the skin demonstrating this. There were so many that it took Mason a moment before realizing that this figure was in his form. There were a few distinct differences between Mason and this figure, aside from the cuts. This form of him had on what seemed to once be a fancy suit but was now cut and torn in many places. And as this figure came closer, Mason could see his fascinating eyes, with pupils that gave an elliptic form, and the whites of his eyes appeared to be a tinge of yellow. A large grin swept across the face as it peered toward a tree.

“Edelwood!” he yelled, seemingly trying to taunt an unknown person. “This would burn brightly. Would be a shame if I were to destroy it!”

“No!” Mason heard another voice through the forest. “I’m coming.”

As this new figure came through the wood, Mason had to blink a couple of times to make sure he was seeing correctly. In his view was none other than his older brother, Wirt, but looking strange. His eyes were bright and multi-colored, giving a faint light through the darkness. The point of his red, now-faded hat was bent. And most of all, there were branches growing on and around him--they had grown so much behind his ears that they appeared as antlers, with brown, dead leaves crumbling off the tiny twigs and branches. In his hand, he carried a lantern that glowed brightly.

“Wirt,” whispered Mason in a low voice. What had happened to his brother? Where were Mabel and Greg?

Wirt walked over to Mason’s look-alike, who handed him something that looked like a tree branch. Wirt sighed.

“I’m not sure this is doing anything,” Wirt said, looking down at the twig that was in his hand. “Are you sure this works?”

The look-alike smiled. “Of course. I mean, you do want to save your siblings, don’t you?” He gave a devilish smile and continued. “And once you get Teapot and Shooting Star back, you can help me with something I’ve been working on!”

Wirt looked down at the lantern he was carrying in his hand, then at the branch in the other. “But what about Mason?”

The figure grinned menacingly. “You help me, I give Pine Tree his body back. That simple, Antlers.” He turned away from Wirt and picked up another twig. “You know, your sister called me a name. Bill-Dipper. Bipper.” He threw the stick over to Wirt, who clumsily caught it and held it close. “I think I like that name.”

Bipper and Wirt walked away, the lantern’s glow taking minutes to fade in the distance. Mason looked up at the scared spirit in the trees.

“What happened?” Mason asked to it, though knowing it was unlikely to get a straight answer.

The spirit looked down at him, then at where Wirt and Bipper had disappeared with the lantern, as if he would break into tears if he were able. “He was right,” the spirit murmured. “The Beasts are real.” the ghost flew down from the tree and stood by Mason, looking him dead in the eye.

“Mabel,” he said. “Mabel. Greg. Don’t let them wander off.” Mason’s spirit buried his hands in his face. “They don’t know what they’re doing.”

Mason started to hear a high-pitched sound in his ears. He covered them and tried to communicate more with the spirit.

“But what happened?” he asked. “Who were they? What happened to Wirt?” But he never got an answer. Everything turned white so that Mason couldn’t see, and the high-pitched noise got louder and louder. Then, suddenly, he found himself laying down near a large tree in the middle of a blizzard.

That was when he realized: it was another dream! He had had so many dreams before, all telling him information of the future, but none of them quite as vivid as this one, and though the dream started to fleet away from his memory, the fear that had risen from it stayed and manifested. Mason tried to sit up, but found twigs and branches growing around him, preventing him from doing so. He tore off these branches and looked around, keeping what the spirit had said to him in mind.

“Don’t let them wander off!”

Mason looked to his right and left. There was nobody to be found. Not Mabel, not Greg, not even Wirt was in sight.

Then, Mason heared a familiar voice, though he was unsure of where he had heard it before.

“Hey, kid, need any help?”

Mason looked around, searching for the owner of this voice, then deciding it had come from the dark side of the area, guarded with trees.

“Yes,” answered Mason, “I need to find my family.”

“I could help you,” offered the voice, sounding friendly. “And you could do something for me in return.”

“That--” Mason paused then went on. “That could work. What do you want?”

“We can negotiate that later,” said the voice. “I’m very flexible.”

Mason thought, his stomach churning with doubt, but his mind not listening. “I guess.”

“Good, replied the voice. “So, it’s a deal?”

Mason nodded, even though he knew the voice couldn’t see him. “It’s a deal.”

“Great choice. Just come over here. Follow your ears over to me.”

Mason walked over the dark area anxiously. He hoped he was making the right decision. Then, when he heard the next words of the voice, his hair raised on the back of his neck, having it sound familiar, but not being aware of the origin.

“Just come and help me, Pine Tree.”

#fanfiction #gravity falls #over the garden wall #crossover #over gravity's wall #bad end friends #one shot #otgw #my writing

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ladylynse · 6 years

Text

Crossroads: Part II

A Gravity Falls/Over the Garden Wall fanfiction

Happy birthday, @paperhoodie! Thanks again for drawing this lovely cover (also on deviantart).

Part I: Mabel and Dipper have dealt with a demon before, so when they wind up lost in the woods and are given two choices by a creepy kid with a lantern, they make sure to pick the third option—but every choice has consequences, even when you don’t play by the rules.

Part II: How much do you dare trust something that might not even be real? Memories, people...even reality itself? (FFnet | AO3)

He became aware of the steady beeping first, and then aware of the fact that he was aware of it. More sounds and sensations swirled over him—the high-pitched whine of machinery, a firm mattress beneath him, the sharp smell of some sort of antiseptic, inconsistent waves of suffocating heat, a mouth that seemed completely deprived of saliva, and—childish babble?

Greg?

Greg!

Wirt tried to say something. He tried to move. He didn’t manage either. Not coherently, anyway. He managed to pry open his eyes—why was it so bright?—and lift a finger, but he felt stiff and exhausted. He wasn’t entirely sure he had actually managed to make a sound, either. If he had, it hadn’t been heard over Greg.

Greg was perched on the end of his bed in the hospital room—when had he ended up in the hospital?—and Wirt could feel the steady swinging of Greg’s feet through the mattress. Greg didn’t notice that he was awake; instead, Greg stared up at the ceiling, counting the dots on the tiles.

Greg’s voice—every sound, really—was distorted, as if Wirt were listening to it from underwater, but he could still make out the words. “Six hundred and forty-two, six hundred and forty-three, six hundred—”

A shrill series of beeps went off elsewhere, an alarm, but Greg continued unfazed.

The hum in the background grew louder, like someone had turned downed the volume on the rest of the world so that only the hum remained. Wirt shut his eyes again and tried to focus solely on Greg’s voice, but it was getting harder and harder to make out. He needed something to ground him. He needed…he needed….

The next time Wirt woke, Greg was gone. There was a nurse, doing…something…. Why couldn’t he think clearly? A syringe and an IV and—was that connected to his arm?

He tried to say something again and managed a sort of grunt that caught her attention. She smiled at him and said something, but there was water rushing in his ears, and he was just so tired….

Wirt lost track of time. Even once he became more lucid, everything seemed to blur together. Nothing made any sense, ether.

Greg came by daily, sometimes on his own but usually with at least one of their parents in tow. A couple of his friends stopped in, but never for very long; they’d all try to make small talk and then, when uncomfortable silence swelled too often for too long, invent an excuse to leave. No one really knew what to say.

He’d been in the hospital. He knew that much. He still wasn’t sure why. Until he’d caught sight of green leaves on the trees outside, he’d feared that it had never been summer at all, that it was still shortly after Halloween, that he’d never woken up until now and that everything he remembered—because he did still remember that, at least most of it—was just something invented by his subconscious.

Greg was the one who finally told him the story. No months’ long coma or anything terrible like that, just a horrible fever. Admittedly, it had been a fever that had stubbornly stayed upwards of a hundred and three for days, and with him eating nothing and sweating out or vomiting the little he did drink, his parents had bundled him up and taken him in, and there he had stayed.

Wirt remembered none of that.

“You weren’t acting like yourself,” Greg informed him the night Wirt was finally released. He sat on his bed, swinging his legs much like he had at the hospital; Wirt stood in front of him, desperate for answers. He had thought it was safer to ask questions in Greg’s room than in his; in here, their parents might think they were merely playing and not bother to listen in. “You kept saying weird things. Mom says you were delicious.”

Wirt frowned. “You mean delirious?”

Greg hummed and nodded. “But then the fever broke and you got better. I think it was because Jason Funderburker kissed you.” Wirt stared at him, but as Greg continued, blithely unaware of Wirt’s unease, Wirt realized he had been talking about his frog. “I wasn’t supposed to bring him in but he wanted to come visit you, too.”

Wirt swallowed and glanced at the table where the pet frog’s giant habitat sat, but it was empty. “I’ll have to thank him, then. Where is he?”

“In your room. He missed you.”

Right. He should have guessed. “How long was I gone?”

Greg’s legs stopped swinging. “Forever,” he said. Somehow, it didn’t sound like an exaggeration. “I’m glad you’re back now. Promise not to leave again?”

Wirt forced a smile on his face. “What makes you think I’m going to leave?” he asked instead, reaching over to ruffle Greg’s hair and diving to tickle him as he dodged.

The distraction worked. Wirt was glad; he couldn’t make that promise. Not yet. He didn’t think he could keep it yet.

It hadn’t been delirium. It hadn’t been a dream. It had been too real for that.

Mabel and Dipper, whoever they were, had helped him. Had freed him. He had to at least try to help them in return. He wasn’t sure how yet, wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to find them, but he was going to try.

“What are you doing?”

Oh, no. He’d hoped to get away before Greg found him. He turned as Greg trotted into his room and smiled. He didn’t want to lie to his brother; Greg didn’t deserve that. “I need to help a couple of friends.”

Greg was silent for a few seconds, taking in the duffel bag that was already stuffed full of clothes and toiletries and survival supplies and everything else Wirt thought he might need. Wirt braced himself for the inevitable questions: Why are you leaving? Where are you going?

Instead, he got, “Why are you packing your Halloween costume?”

“Because Summerween’s next week,” Wirt answered automatically, but even as he said it, he didn’t know if that was true. It was practically next week already, and he wasn’t sure when he’d met the twins (he was convinced they were twins, not just siblings). Time in the Unknown was different than it was here. Days there could be minutes here, so days here…. Mabel and Dipper were probably home by now.

Or they might never have made it back.

Then again, if time did pass so differently, it didn’t make sense that he’d lived two lives. Even if he couldn’t remember any more of his time in the Unknown than when he’d been with the twins, the lantern had been burning brightly; he’d been there for a while, or at least regularly. There wouldn’t have been time for years to pass between his visits. Something didn’t add up.

But they had been real. He knew that. He’d even gone to the library to do as much research on them and the little he knew about them as he could. He could recall everything from then clearly, much more vividly than if it had just been a dream. The names they had given him were Dipper and Mabel. They had a pet pig named Waddles and great-uncles named Stan and Ford. They had fought someone called Bill Cipher.

The names hadn’t proven useful, especially when the only one with a last name he knew was supposed to be a demon. But some of the other odd things they’d mentioned—Summerween and Weirdmageddon—had helped him narrow it down. He wasn’t sure how reliable the information was, of course, but every mention of those words—however sketchy—seemed to lead him to one place, and by combing through online newspapers, he’d been able to put some people with those names in that town.

It was a crazy idea, but he didn’t know what else to do.

So he was packing a bag, and he’d used his money to buy a bus ticket to Gravity Falls, and he hoped his parents wouldn’t kill him once they read the note he was planning to leave behind.

He had twenty minutes.

“That sounds fun. I’ll pack mine, too.”

“You’re not coming, Greg.”

“Why not?”

Wirt’s hands shook, so he stuffed the old army cloak into his suitcase to cover up his body’s betrayal. “Because I won’t be able to protect you.”

“Well, maybe I can protect you.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. Wirt didn’t want Greg to try to sacrifice himself like that again. He took a slow breath. “I need you to take care of Mom and Dad.”

“They can take care of themselves. They have each other. Who will you have if you don’t have me?”

Wirt dearly hoped the answer to that question wasn’t the Beast or any other demon, including this Bill Cipher, but he couldn’t explain anything. He couldn’t explain how he had seemingly been in two places at once, living two different lives. He couldn’t explain his lost time there or even his lost time here. What if none of it been real after all, and he’d simply imagined meeting Dipper and Mabel and pulled out some tidbits of information from his subconscious while in a feverish state?

Or was this the life which wasn’t real?

Wirt swallowed. He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure who he could trust. If that had been real and this wasn’t….

Nice illusions make the best traps. That’s what Mabel had said. And wasn’t she right?

You can be shown what you want to see. If you think everything is fine, you’re never going to fight it. How was he supposed to know what this was if illusions could be so convincing?

No. He had to trust that it was all real, somehow. As real as his previous trip over the garden wall and into those woods with Greg on Halloween. He didn’t have Dipper’s apparent understanding of deals with demons, but he could understand the gist of it. If Dipper had been right—partially right, considering this life was real, too—and he had still belonged to the Beast, then maybe he had been more useful to the Beast as a puppet. And maybe he had stopped the Woodsman from blowing out the lantern. But maybe he had still followed Greg back to this world, had still been able to live his life here….

Until the Beast needed him again. Until he was called back. To guard the woods. Keep watch for lost souls. Ferry people across the lake.

Keep the lantern burning.

And as long as that happened, the Beast didn’t need him the entire time. The lantern could have burned without its guardian in that quiet corner of the woods as long as he returned regularly to harvest Edelwood to feed it—and to keep children from finding their way out of the woods so that their souls could be claimed by the Beast, too.

He couldn’t remember falling ill at all this year, didn’t know if it had happened with any regularity or if this last fever had been mere coincidence. He doubted it, though. Fever, flame…. It had to be connected.

Especially since he couldn’t remember what had happened before he’d woken in the hospital.

Not really.

Dipper had said something about keeping the lantern lit, about being more useful as a puppet than as a tree, and then….

And then nothing, not even a blur or the vague sense of a fading dream.

That scared him.

Even more terrifying was the fact that he didn’t know if it was over.

This was the first time he was aware of it, but that was because Mabel and Dipper had snapped him out of it while he’d still been there. That didn’t mean he was free. It didn’t mean the Beast was gone, that the lantern had gone out, or even that Dipper had been right in thinking it a loophole. It didn’t mean the Beast couldn’t pull him back there and use him again.

“Wirt?”

He couldn’t remember what Greg had said, if he’d even asked a question.

“I’m going to go pack. You need me.”

Wirt turned, but Greg was already disappearing. No, he wanted to say. Don’t. What if I can’t protect you? I don’t want you mixed up in this. Not again. Please, just stay here.

But the words didn’t come. Greg was right: Wirt did need him. He was terrified. He didn’t know what he was getting into. Having Greg’s unshakable faith by his side would be a comfort.

But losing it, and knowing it was his fault? Could he really risk that? Again?

Wirt sighed, pulled out his wallet, and began counting his money; if this was going to be a trip for two, he needed to make sure he had enough to cover everything. Greg was not going to suffer because of him. Not again. Not in this. “I’m going to protect you, Greg. I swear, this time, I’ll keep you safe.”

The bus stop in Gravity Falls was nothing more than a sign and a bench on the outskirts of town. Wirt stepped off the bus and looked around uncertainly, carrying both his bag and Greg’s. Greg was humming as he followed Wirt. He didn’t feel…whatever this was. If he did, it didn’t bother him.

It wasn’t something Wirt could put his finger on. It felt like he’d stepped into an electrical field, like the hairs on his arms should be standing up even though they lay flat. He couldn’t hear anything, but there was still…something. Not a hum, exactly, but a…a….

There was a small pop. Wirt turned, spotting the redheaded girl leaning against a tree on the other side of the road as she asked, “So, who are you two attached to?”

“Um….”

“I’m Greg,” Greg said, bounding across the road to the girl as she blew another pink bubble. “That’s my brother, Wirt. We’re on an adventure!”

The girl popped this bubble, too, and cracked a smile. She uncrossed her arms and crouched down to Greg’s level. “Nice to meet ya, Greg. Now, what makes you think you and Wirt are going to find an adventure in boring old Gravity Falls?”

“Not sure I’d call it boring,” Wirt muttered, because if this place had demons, too, it couldn’t be. And Mabel may not have explained what she meant by Weirdmageddon, but if half of what he’d found online had even a smidgeon of truth….

The girl’s eyebrows shot up and she looked over at Wirt. “Sounds like you’d enjoy a trip to the Mystery Shack.”

“What’s the Mystery Shack?” Greg asked.

“Exactly what it sounds like.” The girl winked. “It also happens to be where I’m headed; my break’s over. I brought the golf cart if you’d care for a ride. I’m Wendy, by the way.”

Wirt had no idea where he should start looking, and he vaguely recalled something about the Mystery Shack, so he smiled. “That would be nice, thanks.”

“Follow me. I’m just parked over here,” Wendy said, pointing, “and it’s not far. If Greg doesn’t mind squishing in the middle or sitting on your lap, Wirt, you can toss your bags into the back.”

“What brings you out here if you’re just on your break?” Wirt asked, glancing over at Wendy. She looked like she was about his age, but she didn’t seem the type to just hang out at a bus stop for no reason. “You can’t have very long.”

He saw the smile drop from her face, and her expression became more guarded. “I like the fresh air,” was all she said. He couldn’t bring himself to believe her, but he didn’t push it.

Once they were all settled in the golf cart, their luggage safely stowed in the rack at the back, the trip wasn’t very long. Wirt suspected Wendy had driven carefully for Greg’s sake, and he was grateful for that; the cart certainly looked battered enough to have been rolled at some point. He was already regretting allowing Greg to come along. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing here anymore.

Wendy stopped around back and told them they were free to bring their bags inside for now—“Safer than leaving them out in the open.”—although Wirt had no idea who would steal their luggage here. He wasn’t even sure they had followed a road into the place; the main road looked to come from the other direction.

That’s not to say the trail wasn’t well signed; it seemed like every few trees, there was a sign declaring the Mystery Shack, with an arrow pointing the way. But he couldn’t understand why these people would be advertising for it from anywhere but the main road. No one would be coming towards it from the woods.

Granted, from the looks of the place, he wasn’t sure too many people would be coming towards it from the road, either. It looked barely a step above the place where Lorna and Auntie Whispers had lived. Ramshackle, though not abandoned. Falling apart despite a patchwork of repairs, though clean enough to be loved.

The chime above the door went as Wendy led them in, and Wirt heard, “Wendy, did they c— Oh, welcome, newcomers! Behold the Mystery Shack, where all—”

The spiel continued, but Wirt stopped listening in favour of staring. He’d had his doubts just seeing this place from the outside, but now…. It was all so obviously fake. He could see the stitches holding the mermaid together, the antlers on that jackalope were much too large to even be plausible, the merchandise looked cheap and corny…. The missing S from the giant sign on the roof seemed to make the name true. This was more hack than anything else. Why else would there a wax head of Larry King just sitting on a shelf, glaring at them all from behind the counter? This place was one which was too confusing for people to make sense of it, not somewhere that offered a real sense of mystery.

“Wirt, Wirt, look at this! It’s just like that painting at Unkie Endicott’s! Of the ghost lady who wasn’t a ghost! And I think her eyes are moving.” Greg was grinning as he walked back and forth in front of the painting, staring at the canvas.

“You’ll have to pay if you want to see more than just the shop,” Wendy added as she plucked their bags from Wirt’s grip and slid behind the counter with them. “We might have a new Mr. Mystery, but the rules of the business haven’t changed.”

Mr. Mystery smiled rather sheepishly. “We have added a family discount now.”

“They got off the bus themselves,” Wendy said before Wirt could come up with some excuse as to why their parents weren’t around. “Apparently, they’re looking for an adventure. I figured this would be a good place to start.”

“Come on, Wirt.” Greg tugged on his arm. “Let’s go inside!”

“I don’t think….” This was the wrong place to start, but Greg was looking at him that way, and how much could he deny him? He was only here because of Wirt. He’d volunteered to go headlong into danger because of Wirt. Didn’t he deserve a bit of fun before that? “Um, you can go ahead of me, okay?”

He expected Greg to say something in protest, but he just chirped, “Okay!” and bounded through the door to the rest of the building. (Wirt wasn’t sure if it could properly be called a museum when it just looked like a tourist trap.) Mr. Mystery laughed and followed him, presumably to give whatever passed as a tour or maybe to make sure Greg didn’t break anything, which left Wirt with Wendy.

“Five bucks for kids,” she said. “Are you going in, too?”

“Um.” Wirt fumbled with his wallet for a moment before pulling out a bill and passing it to Wendy. “No. I can’t. I…geez, I didn’t think this through enough. Is there a good hotel in town? Or any hotel in town?” Now that he’d seen the size of this place—or rather, the size of the bus stop and one of the main tourist attractions—he was beginning to understand why there had been so little information about it in general. “I need to figure out where we’re going to stay.”

Wendy blew another bubble of gum and managed to answer without popping it. “Hotel’s not rebuilt yet. It wasn’t a priority, I guess; we don’t get a lot of people through here. But I can put in a good word with the guy who lives alone in the mansion on the hill if you don’t mind doing a few chores to earn your keep. That’ll mean more to him than money.”

Wirt was in no position to be picky, and it couldn’t be worse than what they’d encountered in the Unknown. “That would be great.”

Wendy sucked the bubble back into her mouth and then put her hands on the counter and leaned across towards him. “Consider it done, then. But really, Wirt, you wanna tell me why you’re here?”

He offered her a smile, though it probably wasn’t very believable. “We’re going on an adventure.”

“In Gravity Falls?”

He’d expected her to question why he and Greg were alone, not doubt their choice of destination. “Yes?” It came out sounding like a question, even to his ears.

“Why here?”

Wirt swallowed. “Why does the hotel need to be rebuilt?”

“Burned down,” Wendy answered without missing a beat. “But you, you’re here for a reason, aren’t you? Gravity Falls isn’t exactly a place you’d just pick off a map. So why come here?”

The truth was crazy. Wendy might have lived crazy, too, but Wirt didn’t know that for sure, so he settled on a piece of it. “A friend told me about it. She was going to be visiting here, too. She’s looking forward to Summerween.”

Wendy raised her eyebrows. “Summerween’s tonight,” she said, “and you can’t really expect me to believe that you’re following a girl out here when you came with your little brother.”

“It’s not like that,” Wirt insisted, his cheeks burning as if to give lie to his statement. He was kinda sorta dating Sara, if he could believe the life he’d been living here, and he hardly even knew Mabel. “I just owe her and her brother a favour.” They’d saved him, but Wendy wasn’t going to understand that, and saying it would invite more questions than he could answer. He was having enough trouble with this impromptu interrogation as it was.

Wendy’s eyes narrowed, but the next second, she was leaning back in her chair as if nothing was wrong. “Maybe I can help you then, kid. Who are you looking for?”

“Mabel,” Wirt answered, a little annoyed at being called a kid (he wasn’t even that much shorter than her; she didn’t need to treat him like he was Greg’s age) but not annoyed enough to make a big deal out of it when he could use her help.

Wendy sat up. “Mabel. You’re looking for Mabel? Mabel Pines?”

Pines sounded right, but he’d never been sure if that really was her last name. “Mabel and Dipper.” Wendy could take it as either confirmation or denial, depending on the truth. “They helped me with something.”

“When?”

The question was earnest, but Wirt wasn’t entirely sure why it mattered. “Last week.”

“Last Tuesday?”

That was oddly specific. “I don’t remember.”

Wendy sighed. “Look, I’ll be honest with you here, okay? You’re right. Mabel and Dipper are supposed to be here. But they’re not. They’ve gone missing. Their parents thought they might have run away to come here a bit early, but they never turned up, and if it’s a kidnapping, there’s been no ransom. When Stan and Ford caught wind of this, they started searching everywhere, but even they can’t find them.” She said this as if Stan and Ford were far more likely to find the twins than the police, who were undoubtedly also looking for them if they were missing.

But maybe they weren’t really missing.

He’d met them in the Unknown, after all.

Except that didn’t make sense. No matter how many times he tried to reconcile it, it didn’t add up. He and Greg had hardly been gone any time at all. They’d returned the same night despite spending more than one night in the Unknown. But then he’d woken up in the hospital again after being back in the Unknown. He remembered months of this reality, months he wasn’t even sure he’d really lived if he’d been in the Unknown all along. But it was summer now, just as it should be, and it had been summer for Mabel and Dipper, too…. But then again, the lantern had been burning brightly, the same lantern that the Woodsman had worked so tirelessly to keep lit. Left alone for too long, it should have gone out.

Something wasn’t right.

Something wasn’t real.

Or something was blurring the lines.

“I know that look.” Wendy again. “You know something. Please, tell me. They’re my friends, too.”

Why put signs in the woods, advertising where there was no road for them to be seen?

Wirt took a step back.

He never should have let Greg go off on his own. The Mystery Shack was small; that was to his advantage. If he yelled, Greg would hear him. But if he yelled, they would know—

Wendy vaulted over the counter, somehow easily clearing the various knickknacks and the jar of fake eyeballs for sale on the side. Her feet hit the floor with a thud. A hollow thud. There was a basement under here. He wondered whether this place, with all its fake attractions, hid its secrets below or above or in plain sight.

“Wirt. What do you know? Tell me. It’s important.”

Always doing what you’re told. Beatrice’s voice, sounding through his head. He hadn’t imagined meeting her any more than he had imagined meeting the twins, but if this wasn’t imagination, either….

If neither was imagination, then something was fabrication, and he didn’t know which. Not the twins, surely, if Wendy seemed to know them, but….

“Darkened dreams where demons run,” Wirt whispered as he took another step back, “twisting truth till all is done.”

Nice illusions make the best traps.

Just because he was free of the Unknown, it didn’t mean he was free of the Beast. This might be a trick, part of some plan he didn’t understand. He didn’t know what had happened. Dipper and Mabel must have done something, but what if he wasn’t really back? What if this was just the dream world? Did that mean that the Beast was controlling him back in the Unknown?

He stepped back against something—the vending machine, his memory supplied—and Wendy’s hand shot out to catch his arm. “Wirt! What’s going on? What demons are running around?”

He shook his head even as her grip tightened. That was just a snatch of poetry that seemed to fit his situation. Everything felt twisted, sculpted to suit the Beast, and he didn’t know—

Wendy pulled him up by his shirt and looked him in the eye. “Spill,” she hissed as he yelped and then found himself struggling for air, feet kicking uselessly against smooth plastic in an effort to find purchase and maybe help him get free. “Now. Dipper and Mabel are in trouble, and if you don’t tell me what you know—”

“Wirt!” came Greg’s cry, barely overrode by Mr. Mystery’s, “Wendy, what are you doing?”

Wendy dropped him, but one hand was closed around his wrist before he could run. “Soos, he knows what happened to Dipper and Mabel.”

Mr. Mystery—Soos—looked startled and put one of his hands on Greg’s head. It was meant to keep him from running as much as to calm him, Wirt suspected bitterly. “How could they know?”

“Don’t know. The squirt might be clueless, but this one definitely isn’t.”

“Wirt?” Greg asked slowly, giving truth to Wendy’s words. “What is she talking about?”

Wirt, not convinced he could break free of Wendy’s grip, just shook his head.

“I thought we came here for an adventure,” Greg said. “To help your friends. Like we helped Beatrice and she helped us.”

Wirt closed his eyes. “I wasn’t lying. I am trying to help them. But I need to figure out how first.” He looked at Greg, knowing he was the only one who was going to understand the significance of the next statement. “I met them in the Unknown.”

Wirt saw Soos and Wendy exchange glances as Greg tilted his head. “I don’t remember them.”

“That’s because you weren’t there.”

“But we got back together.”

Wirt shook his head again. “No. We didn’t. Or maybe we did and I…. I don’t know. I just know I was back there. And they helped me get back here. I think. I don’t know. I don’t know anything for sure. I can’t remember exactly what happened.” He turned to Wendy. “I think they might still be there.”

“And where exactly is there?” demanded Wendy.

“The Unknown,” Wirt repeated, knowing from Wendy’s narrowed eyes that she wasn’t impressed with that answer. “It’s…. I don’t know. It’s another place. People can get lost there, but things aren’t…. It’s not like here.”

“Another dimension?” asked Soos.

Wirt shrugged helplessly, but Wendy must have agreed because she finally released him. “Sounds like it. So how do we go there and bring them back?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you said—”

“I don’t know! I can’t remember. When I was with Greg, we got lost trying to find our way back to the main road. We didn’t even realize we’d crossed anything, let alone ended up in a different dimension if that’s really what it is.”

“Then how did you get out of there?”

Wirt hesitated, not sure how much he could trust his memories, and Greg said, “I just remember being cold and wet. Was that from the snow?”

“No, we’d fallen into the water. I managed to get us ashore.” If that memory was real. Maybe it had just been the snow. Or maybe…. But he didn’t want to think that this world was the fabrication. “That’s not what happened to me last time. I don’t know how I got back here. I didn’t even realize I’d left here and was back in the Unknown until I met Mabel and Dipper. I…. It’s like I woke up and they were there.”

Wendy crossed her arms. “So what do you know?”

Wirt spread his hands. “I don’t know how much of this is accurate. The Beast…. The Beast is a demon, I guess. He haunts the forest and feeds on lost souls, and he was….” Wirt stopped. There was no good way to say this. “Dipper thought the Beast had been controlling me—”

“But he had to let you go!” Greg cried. “He promised. You could go home if I stayed with him instead.”

Wirt’s chest tightened as Greg confirmed the twins’ theory. He hadn’t wanted that part to be right. He didn’t want to think that Greg would ever feel obliged to give up so much for him. He was the little brother; it was Wirt’s job to protect him, not the other way around. He’d done a terrible job of it.

“You’re not there now, kiddo,” Wendy said, “which might explain some of this.” She had taken up a defensive stance and didn’t take her eyes off Wirt.

Soos held up one finger. “Um, quick thing, but had been controlling you? As in not any longer or not currently? That seems like an important distinction.”

Wirt sighed. “I’m not sure about that, either,” he admitted. “Dipper thought he could find a loophole so that it would be over, and maybe that’s what happened. Maybe that’s why I’m back here now.” Hopefully.

“But you never left,” Greg said in a small voice.

Wirt swallowed. “I was in the hospital last Tuesday, wasn’t I?”

Greg nodded. “The fever wouldn’t break. Mom took you in the night before.”

Wendy looked from Wirt to Greg and back again before stating the obvious. “So you don’t know if you’re really safe. All you know is that you’re back here. Without the Beast, as far as you can tell.” From her tone, she could guess a number of the things he hadn’t explicitly said. Wirt nodded anyway. “And he’s haunting your dreams?”

“Not…. Well, maybe? I…. I’m not actually sure. It’s complicated. I think…. I think he’s been pulling me back into the Unknown somehow.” It made his stomach twist to think about it. If neither world was a fabrication, then maybe he had been living in two different realities. Maybe the reason he never seemed to lose much time was because he was back under the Beast’s control whenever he was close enough to the In Between for the Beast to reach out and pull him through to the Unknown.

Whenever he slept. Whenever he dreamed. If he’d left a piece of himself back in the Unknown—

“Is this my fault?” whispered Greg.

“No, it’s not.” Wirt stared at Wendy, daring her to contradict him. She didn’t. Maybe she had a little brother, too. He hesitated and looked over at Greg. “You escaped. You’re free. That’s the important part. So try not to blame yourself for my mistakes. Can you do that?”

Greg nodded.

Wirt bit his lip. “I wish I understood this better. I’d give anythi—”

Wendy’s hand was suddenly clamped over his mouth. “Don’t finish that thought. Don’t even think it. That’s too dangerous, even in here. He’s too close.”

Who’s too close? But Wirt knew the answer to that, now that he knew the Beast wasn’t the only demon to roam the realms. Mabel and Dipper had been worried about Bill Cipher. He, too, was supposed to be gone, just like the Beast, but—

It’s usually not that easy to get rid of a demon.

Since Dipper had evidently been talking from experience, he should know. But they wouldn’t have told Wirt about their demon unless they suspected he could still get to them despite whatever they had done. Hadn’t they thought this Bill Cipher was the one who had trapped them in the Unknown? Maybe demons liked deals enough to strike them with each other and this one ensured the Pines twins were lost in the woods so the Beast could claim them.

In all fairness, Wirt wasn’t exactly sure someone like Mabel could ever be claimed by the Beast—she was entirely too much like Greg for that to happen any way but deliberately—but it wasn’t likely that demons actually struck fair deals.

Whatever had been between him and the Beast…. He had to hope that it was over, that Dipper had successfully found a loophole. Except it couldn’t be over, not if Mabel and Dipper were still in there. He’d…he’d have to find a way back. Not with Greg; he wouldn’t risk Greg again. And he might not know Wendy or Soos, but he didn’t really want to risk them, either.

If…if he didn’t come back, someone would have to see Greg home, and Wirt was sure they’d do that.

“I’m calling Stan,” Wendy said, putting her cell phone up to her ear. “He and Ford need to hear everything you can tell them. Until they get here, stay at Old Man McGucket’s. No exploring. We can’t risk that.”

“Risk what?” Greg asked, looking up at Soos.

No one answered.

Wirt had no idea where Stan and Ford had been coming from, but the Pines brothers arrived at Gravity Falls within two hours. Wendy had insisted on babysitting them in the meantime, even though Greg had spent much of that time happily chatting with Fiddleford McGucket, the man who owned the mansion Wendy had mentioned. Wirt wasn’t entirely sure how someone like Fiddleford could afford to live here, but he knew better than to ask. He was just grateful to have a roof over their heads while they were here.

Wirt had half-hoped that Greg would set off exploring the mansion before everyone else arrived, but he listened very attentively as Wirt recounted what he remembered. Soos had closed up shop for the occasion, but even with Greg counting among Wirt’s audience of six, it felt like there were too many people here. This was his story. His mistake. Did they really all need to bear witness to it?

Wirt knew that was silly; it just meant he had six more people who could help him figure this out. And as reluctant as he had been to involve Greg, having his brother here helped to ground him. Of course, Greg would occasionally chime in with questions Wirt couldn’t answer—Was the lake near where we took the ferry to Adelaide’s? So what happened to the Woodsman? Couldn’t you have wished on a star and visited Cloud City, too?—which invariably led to a discussion of the first time they’d ended up in the Unknown. Greg remembered that time with far more fondness than Wirt did. To him, it really had just been an adventure.

Not a nightmare.

The discussion invariably turned to ways to get Dipper and Mabel back safely. While the others started arguing over different tactics and possible strategies, Ford pulled Wirt into another room. Wirt might not have been able to figure out who was who right after meeting Stan and Ford, but it became very clear that Ford was the more serious of the two, for all that everyone seemed to care deeply about the younger Pines twins. Stan liked to joke, coming up with crazy ideas that must have some hope of working since they weren’t immediately dismissed by the others, while Ford….

Ford had a look in his eye Wirt recognized from the face that had been haunting him in the mirror since he’d woken up in that hospital room. There was grim determination in there, sure, but it was touched by fear. Not just fear of the unknown, of not knowing what had happened, but fear born of the intimate knowledge of what may have happened.

It made Wirt think there had been far more going on in this town than the newspapers had ever reported, even the columns that seemed at first glance to be fanciful stories written merely for entertainment.

The door shut on the others, closing them off, and Ford turned to Wirt. “I’m not going to leave those kids to the mercy of another demon,” he said quietly, “but I’m not about to dismiss the possibility that this is a trick, either. I’ve been tricked too many times to blindly believe anything anymore.”

Wirt didn’t know what to say to that—he still didn’t know if this was a trick, either—so he just nodded.

“If Dipper was right, and I have no reason to believe he wasn’t, you were possessed by the Beast. Whether or not Dipper truly found a loophole in your deal with him is a moot point as long as that connection is still there. We’ll need to break that to prevent further interpretations of your contract, especially if you aren’t sure of the terms.”

Wirt opened his mouth to ask how he was supposed to do that when Ford added, “But until then, we can use that connection to our advantage.”

“How?”

Ford smiled, but it was far from reassuring. “Meet me at the Mystery Shack in three hours, and I’ll show you.”

Soos apparently had to go out for a family dinner at the local café—Wirt didn’t ask, though there was obviously more to the story judging by the looks he’d received—and Stan had muttered about seeing to a few things so they could mount the rescue mission. Fiddleford had gotten excited about this prospect and stuck to Stan like glue, which he hadn’t looked thrilled about. Ford had obviously been expected to join them, but he’d said something about splitting up in order to have enough time to cover everything. The argument had still been going on when Wendy had pulled them away and told them to find costumes to wear.

She had agreed to take them out for Summerween before she met up with her friends, though she did say it would be fine if they decided to stick around. When Wendy had handed them both pails for candy, Wirt hadn’t argued. He didn’t mind the implication that he needed a babysitter this time; now, it worked to his advantage. It meant he could be sure Greg was sufficiently distracted.

Ford had never told him to come alone, but if Wirt was going to keep Greg out of this, he had to be sneaky about it. When they were passing the edge of town nearest the Mystery Shack, Wirt bent down to tie his shoe and waved the others ahead, promising that he’d catch up soon. By some stroke of luck, Greg believed him, and Wendy—if she had any doubts—didn’t call him on it.

Wirt fiddled with his shoelace for a few moments, waiting for them to get farther ahead before running into the woods. This time, the random signage was to his advantage, and he’d smuggled a flashlight along with a first aid kit under his cloak, so he could see where he was going without depending on the light of the (admittedly waxing) moon now that the sun had set.

Despite that, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a voice said, “That disguise won’t fool anyone.”

Wirt scrambled for the fallen flashlight before climbing back to his feet and brushing at his clothes. He swung the flashlight around wildly, looking for the source of the voice. The beam bounced off tree trunks and broken branches, leafy shrubs and spider webs, but nothing— “Who’s there?”

“Little lower there, Stretch. We ain’t all as tall as you.”

Wirt swallowed but lowered the flashlight. If he weren’t already acquainted with talking frogs, pumpkin-wearing skeletons, or bluebirds that had once been people, he would have found the idea of gnomes more disconcerting. Self-consciously, he straightened his hat. “Um…can I help you?”

“More me that’s helping you, unless you’re going to take over my post. I pulled the short straw when Shmebulock overindulged again.” The gnome squinted at Wirt and scratched at his grey beard. “No, you’re not from here. You’re one of those that’ve been drawn here.”

Wirt blinked. “What?”

The gnome pointed in the direction Wirt had been running. “The statue. It calls some of ‘em. Like you. ‘Smy job to make sure you don’t get where you’re going. So turn around or I’ll raise the alarm.”

“What?”

“Go on. Turn. Go back wherever you came from.”

“But…. I can’t.”

“Suit yourself,” said the gnome, and then he whistled, a shrill piercing thing that had Wirt wincing and reaching to cover his ears.

The whistle cut off abruptly. Wirt lowered his hands slowly, noticing an increased rustling in the underbrush that he wasn’t naïve enough to attribute to wind or the usual forest wildlife. And then his sweeping flashlight beam caught a second gnome, and a third, and then he started seeing them by the dozens.

He took a step back. “You don’t understand.”

“We understand plenty,” the first gnome said, grinning in a feral way that showed off rows of sharp teeth. He didn’t advance, but Wirt had no illusions about what would happen if he tried to continue in this direction. He didn’t want to get mobbed.

Wirt took another step back and shook his head, for all the good that would do. “I don’t care about whatever statue thing you’re talking about. I just need to get to the Mystery Shack.”

More gnomes had appeared, every eye tracking him. It was unnerving.

Wirt didn’t know what else to do, so he kept talking. “I’m—I’m trying to help my friends. Maybe you know them. Mabel and Dipper Pines?”

The hushed silence erupted into chatter, and finally a different gnome stepped forward, this one looking younger than most of the others. “You are acting on behalf of Mabel?”

“Um…I guess?”

“Or for Mabel?”

“Uh.” Wirt didn’t know why this mattered. “For her? She and Dipper—”

“We could tie him up,” a third gnome suggested.

“Throw him in the lake,” said another.

“—gag him—”

“—leave ‘im for the Manotaurs—”

“—the Multi-Bear—”

Wirt didn’t understand half of the snippets of conversation he caught, but he didn’t need to. “She needs my help!” he yelled over the din. “They both do. And they won’t get that if I can’t get to the Mystery Shack.”

The gnome who had been questioning him held up a hand, and with some grumblings, the others quieted. “Carson, escort him to the Mystery Shack. Don’t show him any mercy if he tries to lose you and double back. Steve and Jason, take his shift. Looks like this is an extra security night.” There were a few more mutterings, but no one challenged the arrangement, and Wirt soon found himself with the first gnome as his escort.

The others—except, presumably, for Steve and Jason, and the brown-bearded one who had been giving orders—vanished with unsettling stealth, quite different from the show they’d made in appearing.

Wirt, happy enough to leave behind whatever that had been, followed Carson in silence for a moment before finally asking, “What statue?”

“We don’t talk about it.”

“But I don’t know what it is!”

“That’s the way to keep it.”

“But what did you mean when you said I was drawn to it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“But—”

“No one’ll tell you differently.” Carson picked up his pace, moving much faster than something with such short legs should. Wirt ended up practically jogging after him and spending all his energy trying to keep the gnome in sight and not eating a mouthful of dirt, which effectively put an end to the questioning.

He panicked when he finally lost sight of Carson entirely, only to hear, “Thanks for the candy, Stretch!” and realize that he could see the Mystery Shack through the trees—and remember that his candy pail had been left behind in the forest.

It was a good trade, as far as Wirt was concerned. He would’ve ended up giving most of his candy to Greg anyway.

Barring a few flickering lights, the Mystery Shack was mostly dark when Wirt approached. The steps creaked under his weight, and he suddenly found its name much more fitting in this atmosphere. He knocked twice and tried the door. It was unlocked, but all he saw inside was a lava lamp set up on the counter by the cash register and the glow of the vending machine on the opposite wall.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into?”

Wirt shrieked and spun. That hadn’t been Carson’s voice, nor Ford’s. It had almost sounded like—

His flashlight beam caught the wax head of Larry King.

It winked at him.

He turned away quickly, sliding down to sit with his back against the counter. Maybe this was all a mistake. Surely this place was just proof that he wasn’t really back in the real world yet, that this was all just another fabrication—

The vending machine’s buttons suddenly lit up in a particular pattern. As he watched, it silently swung forward as if it were on a hinge to reveal a gaping hole. Somewhere below, light pulsed. Wirt could just make out stairs before darkness ate away at them again.

In for a penny, in for a pound?

He climbed back to his feet and aimed his flashlight at the stairs. They looked sturdy enough, and obviously someone was already down there….

He went carefully, keeping one hand along the wall above what looked to be the remains of a missing railing. The other hand held the flashlight so it illuminated both his feet and the stairs before him. Very quickly, however, he didn’t need it; the light from below grew stronger, and as he put his flashlight away, he found himself in a laboratory of some sort.

Correction: what had once been a laboratory of some sort and had since been abandoned.

Wirt’s eyes swept over a number of exposed wires and clearly cobbled-together circuitry that were visible under the flickering lights. More than one screen had odd stripes of colour across it, and a couple were even cracked. He bit his lip and edged away from the nearest shower of sparks coming from a thick cable connected to a lever sticking out of the floor. The movement didn’t take him any nearer Ford, who was bending over some kind of key panel. “Is this…safe?”

Ford didn’t even turn around. “No.”

“Then why are we even down here? This place looks like a fire waiting to happen!”

This time, Ford did look at Wirt. “We don’t have a choice. We need to rip a hole into another dimension. I’ve done what repairs I can in the time we have, but I don’t want to leave Dipper and Mabel in another nightmare for any longer than I have to. Now come here. I need to analyze your brainwaves if I’m going to find the right dimension.”

“You…what?”

Ford sighed. “That Unknown of yours isn’t the only dimension. If the Beast is tied to it and you’re tied to the Beast, then you’re the best option for finding the right place. We’re much safer if we aren’t doing this blind, and from the sounds of it, you’ve been there frequently.” He held up his hands, which contained what looked like suction cups on the end of wires. “Come here.”

Wirt swallowed but allowed Ford to attach him to the machine. “What happens if this goes wrong?”

“Depending on what happens, you might not even know.”

“Comforting,” Wirt muttered. His fingers tightened their grip on his hat and twisted. “What, uh, are you hoping is going to happen?”

“Something I never wanted to see again.” Ford handed him a length of rope and a clip, pointed to a metal grip attached to the console, and added, “Tie yourself on.”

Wirt did as he was told, trying his best to mimic Ford’s own makeshift harness as the man fiddled with something on the console. The numbers on the nearest screen looked specific, but they weren’t coordinates. If it was part of a code, it seemed too complicated to be easily broken, even by someone like Ford who talked as if he’d done this sort of thing before. The numbers changed even when Ford seemed to barely touch a dial, and it all looked a little too much like guesswork for Wirt’s comfort. Needing a rope didn’t exactly fill him with confidence, either. “What’s this for?”

In answer, Ford walked over to a giant lever on the floor and threw his weight into pushing it forward.

Light exploded.

Wirt squawked and instinctively closed his eyes, but it wasn’t enough. Colours danced against his eyelids, red shining through, and then—

Darkness began eating away at the light, a tiny solar eclipse.

Gravity decided to stop working properly.

Wirt’s hat was torn from his grip. He saw it fly through the portal, there and gone in the blink of an eye. He was already feet first towards it, so he twisted in a futile attempt to reach the tiny metal handle he’d attached himself to. He could see the knot of his harness slipping, weaker than the pull of the portal.

The wires tore loose from his head.

Behind him, the portal flickered.

“Just hold on!” Ford yelled. “I’m going to bring them back.” He was reaching to unclip his own harness, to let the portal drag him in. “Just keep the doorway open!”

The knot worked itself free.

Rope burned through his grip as he flew backwards.

Wirt’s scream was torn from his throat, and then the lab—Ford—everything—was gone.

Next or see more fics

#gravity falls #over the garden wall #otgw #otgw fanfiction #otgw wirt #gf fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #crossover #my writing #ladylynse #snippets #crossover snippet #gf snippet #otgw snippet

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allieinarden · 6 years

Text

A Private Revelation

“So he got his daughter back,” said Greg.

“Yeah,” said Wirt. “Yeah, I hope so.”

“But how did he get her back?”

Wirt scanned the gray sky. “I figure he just went back to his house,” he said, “and there she was.”

“Cool!” Greg put his fist in his mouth, sucked it for a contented few seconds and spit it out just as Wirt’s mind was starting to change the subject. “But where was she before?”

“God, I don’t know,” said Wirt. “I don’t know if this is even true. It’s what I hope.”

He was thinking about his philosophy class. He’d gotten on a jag about the lies of poets and he thought, If it’s a lie it’s a lovely one.

“Hmm,” said Greg. “It must’ve been hard for him to go home.”

Wirt stopped. “Why?” he said. “I mean, it was his home.”

“‘Cause what if he went back and he didn’t find anyone there?”

“Wow,” said Wirt. “Wow, good point. But maybe he had a wife.”

“That just makes it even worse!” said Greg. “He’d have to come back to his wife and tell her he didn’t have her!”

Wirt gave Greg a long, sideways look. This kid still thought that the Unknown existed somewhere outside the town boundaries, which was something of a relief to Wirt because it meant that his brother had come out unscathed, that he could sleep contentedly the way he had that night in the hospital, just as if he’d been tired out by a long day of play. Five minutes ago he’d been asking questions about Santa Claus, as if Wirt had ever not been in on that one. And yet there were these moments that made Wirt wonder if he’d left the real Greg back in the lake and taken a changeling with him, a shrewder kid with soberer thoughts.

Or was he maybe always like this, he wondered, and I just never noticed?

“Okay,” he said, “so maybe he didn’t walk straight back. Maybe he had to stop somewhere to clear his head, get his thoughts together.”

“Yeah.” Greg nodded solemnly, his brow squinched down. “I bet he went to that weird diner.”

“Weird diner? What, you mean the Aberdinner?” The image of the huge, somber Woodsman, with his bundle of sticks on his back, crouched at the counter at the local greasy spoon, made Wirt laugh in spite of himself. “Wow. I hope somebody warned him not to get the tuna melt.”

“Be serious, Wirt.” Hot dog, there were moments when the kid sounded just like Beatrice. “I mean the one we stole the horse from.”

“The Dark Lantern? Whoa whoa, okay, first of all I didn’t steal the horse, if you wanna go around saying you did that’s your choice. Secondly, that wasn’t a diner, that was a tavern.”

“What’s a tavern?”

“It means if it had been on our end of town we would’ve gotten carded.”

“What’s carded?”

“Ugh, never mind.” He straightened himself. “Yeah, actually, that’d be a good place to go. I think that’s where I’d have gone if I were him.”

Greg broke into a grin. “Do you think they made him sing?”

“Nah, I think they left him alone. They all knew who he was already.”

“Did they know he’d killed the Beast?”

“Greg, I don’t even know that he killed the Beast.”

“But did they?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course they did. When he came in they said, ‘It’s the ex-Woodsman! It’s our liberator! All hail our savior, the Extinguisher!’”

“You do a good Toymaker.”

“Thanks, it’s a knack.”

“What’s an ex—exsing—”

“Extinguisher? It means he put the lantern out, so he’s a hero.”

“I knew he was.”

“He just wanted to be left alone, though, so they left him alone.”

“That’s it?” Greg squinted. “Hmm.”

“What’s hmm? What’s that supposed to mean?“

"I think you know there was more than that, Wirt.”

“I? I don’t know anything. This is all speculation.”

“But he talked to someone, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he has to have. Because everybody in that place is too nosy. They mean well but sooner or later—I mean, they mean too well. If they saw something wrong they’d have to try and fix it. So one of them—which of them—?”

“Betty Boop!”

“Yeah, the Tavern Keeper. The Tavern Keeper—” He blinked. “Man, where is this coming from?”

“Go on!”

“The Tavern Keeper, she went up and said to him, 'Hey, where’s your burden, Woodsman?’ And that kinda startled him because he wasn’t the Woodsman anymore, you know. So he said, 'My burden is right here,’” and—

“Not such a good Woodsman.”

“Fine, you do the Woodsman.”

“'My burden is myself.’”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what he said!” Greg jumped. “Go on, Wirt, c'mon!”

“Okay, and she said, 'I carry a lot of burdens. That’s what tavern keepers do,’ and—and so then he kinda told her everything. About his daughter, you know, and how he couldn’t live without her. And how he didn’t know who he was anymore, because he wasn’t the Woodsman. And you know what she said?”

“What?”

Wirt shrugged. “I don’t know. I was asking you if you knew.”

“She said, 'You’re the Husbandman.’”

“What? How’d you know a word like that?”

“Old Lady Daniels knows lots of words.”

“Do you even know what it means though, Greg?”

“I dunno, a husband who’s a man?”

“No, it refers to husband in the obsolete sense. A husbandman’s a farmer. It’s someone who—” He was pacing ahead of Greg. “—raises animals, and grows things in the ground—”

Greg ran to keep up. “Like Edelwood trees?”

“No, like good things, Greg, like cabbages and uh, potatoes and corn and stuff. Hang on, I gotta think.”

“The Woodsman has a farm?”

“I think almost everybody used to have a farm back then, unless they were rich like Unkie Endicott.”

“Back when?”

“Or unless,” said Wirt, stopping again, “they were itinerant. Wandering.”

“Why?”

“'Cause a person who’s always moving around can’t have a farm, Greg, a farm means you have a place in the world and you know what you’re doing, it means you’ve put down—roots, I guess.”

Absently he tousled Greg’s hair. Greg ducked away from his hand and headbutted him in the chest, laughing.

“Hey!”

“And then he went home?”

“And then he went home,” said Wirt, “to his dark, cold, lonely abode and it was the bravest thing he ever did.”

“Braver than the lantern?”

“Yeah, 'cause he had to do that, but he didn’t have to go home.”

“And he found his daughter there?”

“And he found his daughter there.” Wirt stretched himself. “Come on, one of us is late for school right now and it’s not me.”

@oldsidelinghill

#Over the Garden Wall #Otgw #OTGW spoilers #The Woodsman #The Tavern Keeper #Wirt #Greg #animation #television #fanfiction #happy three-year anniversary of my death #please leave some flowers on my grave

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popcultureliterarytutor · 7 years

Text

Symbolism Over the Garden Wall

It’s hard to make it through an English class without talking about symbolism at least once. In my own high school experience, we studied this literary device in-depth using Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter. I remember hating the unit because I didn’t care about the general plot of the book at all. As a result, I also didn’t care about exploring the symbolism within.

One of the fastest ways to kill someone’s interest in a tough topic like symbolism is to set them up with a novel they end up hating. So instead, let’s explore this element through pop culture in order to get a better understanding of it and how authors use it to enhance the stories they craft.

Many literary techniques (including this one) lend themselves well to mediums outside of text-based mediums like novels. You can find them in comics, cartoons, movies, video games and even in paintings. For simplicity, I’m mostly going to use the words “author” and “creator” interchangeably to speak about the brilliant minds behind these works, but keep in mind that this applies to any storyteller in virtually any medium.

In order to gain a deeper understanding of this literary device, let’s focus on the 2014 Cartoon Network miniseries Over the Garden Wall. This delightful miniseries contains a lot of great examples of symbolism in its 10-episode run.

Spoiler Alert: If you have not experienced the pleasure of watching Over the Garden Wall in its entirety yet and plan to, I recommend that you stop reading this exploration and go watch it right now! Serious spoilers ahead! Watching Patrick McHale’s imaginative work for the first time is a fun ride, and I don’t want to spoil it for anyone.

Having said that, let’s begin.

What is Symbolism?

Before we can delve into an analysis of Over the Garden Wall using symbolism, we need to define it. In it’s most condensed form, let’s call it “the use of symbols to signify ideas and qualities by giving them symbolic meanings that are different from their literal sense.” That definition comes from Literarydevices.net, a handy website for all of your literary device needs.

In other words, authors take an idea or feeling and represent it with a person, place, or thing. It’s a way to liven up your writing, and offers creators fun ways to give a wink to the discerning reader by giving them additional insight to better enjoy the work with.

Movies use this device frequently. Ever notice that rainy scenes in movies such as Mulan or The Hunchback of Notre Dame often pop up during sad moments? Likewise, if you see a picture of a dove at a rally, you can recognize it as a peace rally. Nobody told you. You just knew somehow. We know things like this without being told because these are common symbols. Rain popularly symbolizes sorrow, and doves symbolize peace.

Symbolism Vs. Metaphor

Make sure that you don’t confuse symbolism and metaphor. Symbols are specific objects, seasons, animals, or characters (pretty much any noun) that represents something else, often throughout a work (but not always). Metaphors tend to be a lot more short-term, comparing two unlike things for the sake of making a point. An example might be “your eyes are the deep blue sea,” which makes the point that someone’s eyes are extremely blue and seemingly endless, but doesn’t cause their eyes to represent a concept or idea. Some metaphors do run a bit longer.

Common Symbols

In order to easily convey ideas without directly stating it in their writing, many creators use common symbols that already have a widely recognized meaning attached to them. The appearance of a dog often symbolizes friendship and loyalty, a flood of light might signify understanding or goodness, and winter represents death (remember this one for later!). These symbols are easily recognizable to a wide range of readers.

Take a look at this example: you’re enjoying your favorite novel or comic, when you come across a character “with a fire always blazing in their eyes.” You know that they do not literally have fire burning in their eyes every time you see them (that would hurt!). Instead, you search your stored knowledge of symbolic meaning (either the knowledge already in your brain, or what you found in a dictionary of common symbols and realize that the fire in this person’s eyes may represent ferocity, determination, anger, or evil. Which one does it represent? Well, you just need to keep reading and find out! The character’s actions will show you more about what that fire means.

These common symbols make it easier for writers to get meanings and concepts across without the need to develop a new symbol that their reader needs to figure out. Unfortunately, that does mean that when you first start exploring this device, you may find yourself frequently looking up the common meanings.

A few popular ones include:

Dogs: loyalty, friendship, obedience

Wind and storms: turbulent or violent (negative) emotion, adversity

Water: cleansing, origin of life, regeneration

Purple: royalty, wealth

Oak trees: strength, wisdom

Rose: budding youth, romance, potential, fragility, beauty

Specialized Symbols

What often makes this literary device complicated for beginners is that authors create new symbols in their works that hold meaning only within that work. Additionally, that symbol might have a deep life lesson attached to it, or it might just symbolize something important to fully understanding the characters or story. These symbols don’t retain that meaning when the same object appears in another story. (Love Rise of the Guardians? Keep an eye out for a post on a specialized symbol from the film, coming soon!)

Sometimes, creators directly state the meaning of a specialized symbol. You will see examples of this shortly. Other times, they only imply what it stands for. You can figure out the meaning by analyzing the scenes in which it appears and how characters interact with it.

You Know What They Say About Beauty and the Eye of the Beholder

Many times, audience interpretation of a symbol differs widely. A person’s own personal experiences might change how they view a symbol. Cultural background also changes the meaning of symbols.

In a similar way, applying different literary lenses can change the meaning of symbols as well. We aren’t going to delve into that labyrinth right now, though! That’s an easy place to get lost, and we don’t have nearly enough time to explore symbolism AND literary theory.

Is symbolism always intentional? I don’t believe so. I think that sometimes, authors include items in their stories that have specific meaning to themselves, or serve a specific purpose in the story, and the audience finds their own meaning in it.

Let’s Try It!

Got all that? Awesome! Let’s further explore this literary device by taking a look at Over the Garden Wall.

If you want to try your hand at figuring out a few of the symbols in the miniseries yourself first, go watch it again and analyze these symbols as they appear: seasons, the price of a ferry ride, the Dark Lantern, Edelwood trees, and the Beast. Come back and see how you did!

Seasons

Let’s start with a common one. If you’re somewhat familiar with this literary device, you might have picked up on the symbolism of the seasons (which hint at what’s happening to the brothers long before the 9th episode reveal). We meet our heroes wandering the woods in fall. In fact, most of the show takes place in the fall, only turning to winter in the last few episodes as everything quickly goes from bad to worse. (Here is your final spoiler warning. There is no turning back after this.)

Fall, the waning of warm growing seasons, commonly represents the waning of life. It comes into play when a character nears the end of their days. This winds up being true for the brothers, who are unknowingly drowning as they wander the Unknown.

In Babes in the Wood, fall gives way to winter when Greg strikes out on his own to face the Beast after Wirt runs out of hope. At this moment, the boys find themselves locked in a losing battle with death. Winter commonly represents death, the closing of life. If you made it to the end of the last episode and wondered what would have happened if they did not defeat the Beast, wonder no longer.

The Price of a Ferry Ride

There’s another symbol that hints at what is happening to the boys long before the audience becomes privy to the events of that Halloween. Remember when Beatrice convinces them to visit their dear old Unkie Endicott? They need money to ride the ferry so that they can get to Adelaide’s house.

Needing money to ride a boat isn’t particularly enlightening, until you examine the amount of money they need. A ferry ride costs two cents. Two coins, which they earn from Mr. Endicott.

Fans of Greek mythology might notice an ominous connection between this and the price of riding across the River Styx. In Greek mythology, the dead require two coins in order to cross the River Styx and enter the land of the dead. People laid coins on the eyes of the deceased so that they could pay the boatman.

In the end of this comedic adventure, Greg throws their coins into a deep fountain, and they sneak onto the ferry instead. It makes you wonder, did Greg’s poorly planned act of defiance save their lives?

BONUS: This is also an example of an allusion, which is a reference to people, places, events, and even other works and ideas.

The Dark Lantern

Now, let’s take a look at a symbol specific to Over the Garden Wall: the Dark Lantern. The lantern represents blind belief driven by hope. We don’t discover this meaning until the fourth episode, but looking back, we can see evidence of this from the beginning.

We first see the lantern in the possession of the Woodsman. He calls it his “lot in life, [his] burden to bear,” explaining to the brothers that he walks the woods finding Edelwood trees to keep it lit. He sounds like he hates this task, which makes it easy to wonder why on earth he keeps doing it every day if it’s such a burden. We get the sense that something drives him to do so, but we don’t know what.

The answer doesn’t appear until the end of episode 4, Tales of the Dark Lantern, when the Beast reveals that it contains the soul of the Woodsman’s daughter. At this point, we can determine that the Woodsman burns Edelwood to keep the lantern lit in order to preserve his daughter’s soul. But the details surrounding this are a little unclear. Will preserving her soul eventually lead to something, or does he just try to keep her soul going without any hope beyond that? Viewers might also wonder how the Woodsman knows that it contains her soul at all. Anyone who has read the comics released after the original airing know the answer to this one. He believes simply because the Beast told him so. He has no other evidence.

At this point, the lantern develops its symbolic meaning of blind belief driven by hope. The Woodsman blindly follows the belief that keeping it lit will protect his daughter’s soul, and he doesn’t appear to have a plan beyond simply keeping it lit.

Fast-forward to the ending of the tenth episode, The Unknown. Here, we see Wirt faced with a choice: let his brother die, or take on the job of lantern bearer and keep Greg’s soul safe in the same way that the Woodsman tried to preserve his daughter’s soul.

At first, it seems like Wirt will accept this task to save his brother. But he isn’t the kind of person to blindly follow hope. He’s proven himself to be the kind of person who either gives up entirely, or presses on and succeeds through pure muster. Given this, taking the blind hope offered by the lantern isn’t even a real option for him. He immediately questions this salvation offered by the Beast, and realizes what is really happening with that lantern in a way that the Woodsman could not.

After declining to follow hope blindly, Wirt finds the strength to free his brother and leave the forest. He also returns the lantern to the Woodsman, giving the man the option to continue following blindly or to move his life forward. The Woodsman, having seen someone else do the same, finally finds the strength to surrender his burden. Leaving behind the futility of preserving the lantern’s flame frees the Woodsman and allows him to return to life, where he finds an unexpected surprise waiting for him.

Sometimes, symbols hold more than one meaning within a work. In the fourth episode, before we learn about the trapped soul, we find out that the people at the inn all associate the Dark Lantern with the Beast. They say that whoever holds this item becomes the Beast. This shows that to the characters, the lantern symbolizes the Beast, a dark entity that they may not fully understand, but everyone knows to fear.

BONUS: Symbols can also show a parallel between two elements of a story in order to give the audience a deeper understanding of what’s really going on. There’s a great example of this in the first episode. The Woodsman calls the lantern his lot in life, his burden to bear. At the end of the episode, he tells Wirt that while the lantern is his burden, finding a way out of the woods is Wirt’s.

Knowing that the lantern represents blind belief driven by hope, we can conclude that Wirt’s search for a way to get out of the woods is equally futile and blind. Wirt possesses no knowledge of what will happen when he gets out of the woods; he simply wants to get out. As long as he focuses solely on this task, he can’t find the exit and runs into one deadly obstacle after another.

Edelwood Trees

The Edelwood trees are a more straightforward symbol, once we learn that they are the souls of people (specifically children, but we can presume that they can be anyone given how nervous the Beast makes the people at the inn) who have lost all hope and taken root in the woods. Thus the Edelwood trees represent lost hope.

These trees serve as fuel for the Dark Lantern. Looking at the symbolic meaning, lost hope can fuel blind belief driven by futile hope. The Woodsman lost his hope of reclaiming his daughter from the Dark Lantern long ago. As a result, he feeds it lost hope in order to perpetuate his scrap of hope that he can sustain her soul forever.

The Beast

As mentioned earlier, symbols go beyond objects, seasons, or animals. They can also be characters. The Beast symbolizes surrender after losing hope, which I’ll call despair for simplicity. His one objective throughout is to cause people to lose hope in order to keep his flame lit. He subsists on lost hope.

At the end of The Old Grist Mill, the Woodsman tells the brothers more about the Beast. He says “the Beast cannot be mollified like some farmer’s pet. He stalks, like the night. He sings like the four winds. He is the death of hope. He steels the children. And he’ll rule…”

The man’s despondent description pretty accurately depicts despair in real life. People can’t just magic away such a deep, painful emotion, despite popular belief to the contrary. It sticks with a person, often crushing any other positive emotions that try to worm their way in, effectively snuffing out any other hopes that that person carries. Additionally, despair seems to lurk everywhere, just waiting for someone to come along for it to cling to. For some, this happens as a result of a painful event in their lives, and for others, it comes alongside things like depression or PTSD.

Pulling it All Together

Figuring out the symbols is just half of the work. Next comes the critical thinking part, or the analysis. The audience can combine what they learn about the symbols with events in the work to pull together a lesson, or just a deeper part of the story that gives them more details.

Analyzing Over the Garden Wall, it can be said that the show demonstrates the cost of blindly believing in something you desperately want to be true. People need hope, but that hope often needs to be realistic to some degree. When people blindly follow something that they want to be true like the Woodsman, they block out parts of their lives and risk falling into an unending rut. Similarly, not having any hope can lead people to sad existences, and often times sad endings as well. A person might not literally turn into an Edelwood tree, but the real life consequences are pretty similar.

Ultimately, Wirt and Greg find their way out of the woods because they manage to break away from blindly following a path because they hope something good will come of it, and manage not to lose their own hope in the process. If they did not overcome these obstacles, they likely would have drowned.

But Wait, There’s More!

One of my favorite things about literary analysis (and perhaps what can make it difficult to figure out at first) is that there are usually multiple ways to interpret symbols and meanings within a work. As long as a person has sufficient evidence for their claims without outright ignoring other elements of the work, they could argue a completely different point than the person before them.

Let’s do just that!

I have one more symbol for you, and looking at this symbol could change our analysis of the story.

The Garden Wall

The title of the show gives us a great example of symbolism as well. The 10 episodes don’t really make it clear where the title of the show comes from. Sure, Greg and Wirt jump over a wall on their way to Potsfield, but it isn’t a garden wall. Similarly, they dive over a high wall to escape the police officer, a move that ends up starting their journey into the Unknown, but this isn’t really a garden wall either (though an argument for this being the garden wall can be made, which I do address later). So where does this garden wall come in?

The comics can help provide an answer to this. If you have not read these yet, I highly recommend them. In these playful comics, we learn more about the Woodsman’s story, and find out just why he believes the Beast’s lantern contains his daughter’s soul. But I’m not here to spoil that for you. Instead, I want to take a look at the life he shares with his daughter before tragic events lead into the situation we see in the animated miniseries.

They live in a comfortable little cabin in the woods which they work hard to maintain. A garden wall rings the cabin to mark the boundary of their property. The wall also becomes a boundary for the Woodsman’s daughter when she is told not to go beyond it, showing her the limits of her explorable space outside of the cabin in order to protect her from the dangers that lurk beyond.

Many families create similar boundaries with their children in real life. Parents often set limits on where their kids can go in order to protect them from dangerous unknowns. For children growing up with walls around their family gardens, the garden wall often becomes that boundary. Everything on the other side of that wall is mystery, wonder, fear, unknown. Sound familiar?

Given this, the title turns the series into an exploration of this childhood unknown beyond that safe home boundary and all of the perils that may lie therein.

Adding this symbol changes our analysis a bit. Now, we could say that in Over the Garden Wall, we see what could happen when someone journeys beyond the boundaries of their world. That person may encounter hardships that they have no reference for handling, and need to respond accordingly.

If they start blindly following a path with the hope that things will get better with no proof that they will, nothing will change for that person and they may be ruled by despair. Similarly, if they let themselves lose hope completely, they will be consumed by despair. Only by finding a balance between recognizing false hope and maintaining hope can that person ultimately overcome the hardship and continue forward.

Both analyses are pretty similar, but ultimately have different meanings depending on what the viewer picked up on and felt most strongly about.

BONUS: The title of the show can also be seen in this way: In Into the Unknown, we see Wirt and Greg enter a cemetery called the Eternal Garden. From there, they jump over a wall to escape the police officer that drives in to investigate the “witches gathering” and accidentally frightens off all of the kids. The other side of the Garden’s wall ultimately leads them to falling into the water and nearly drowning. This does not diminish the symbolic meaning of the wall as a representation for the barrier between known and unknown, but it does create an object within the show to pin the symbol to.

I Challenge You (But Not to a Duel)!

Enjoyed learning about symbolism? Ready to try it yourself? Good!

I highly recommend checking out one of these great stories and trying your hand at analyzing symbols. I’ve highlighted a few symbols in each example to focus on, but didn’t list them all. Keep your eye out for others within the story if you want to up the challenge level!

Good luck, and no cheating! Share your experience in the comments below.

Ender’s Game: Games

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone: Wands (and no, I don’t mean…), the Sorting Hat, the Sorcerer’s Stone

Percy Jackson: The Lightning Thief: Games

Hunger Games: The 13 districts, tracker jackers, sunflowers

Starwars: Clothing (specifically, Luke’s and Vader’s)

Halflife: Freeman’s crowbar

Tangled: Color symbolism (look at their clothing colors), the mobile above her crib (especially the bluebird)

Wall-E: The plant, the Lido Deck, and the Hello, Dolly VHS

Mass Effect 3: The little boy (you know the one)

Portal games: Cake (this symbol transforms throughout the story!)

The Scarlet Letter: Light and darkness, the scarlet ‘A’ (this symbol transforms too)

Lord of the Flies: The conch shell, the Beast

Gathering Blue: The color blue

Their Eyes Were Watching God: Janie’s hair, plants, seasons

Have a favorite game, comic, show, movie, or book you’ve found symbolism in? Share it in the comments! You can also connect with me on Twitter at @Popliterature, or send me a note!

And as always, if you have a literary device you want to know more about, or a game, comic, show, or movie that you want to see make an appearance on the blog, leave a shout-out in the comments!

#over the garden wall #literature #literary study #pop culture #pop culture literary tutor #symbolism #what is symbolism #literary device #english class help #english class #language arts class #language arts #i love books

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mistress-of-tea-leaves-blog · 7 years

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• Sara and Wirt accidentally discover (and this is when talking to strangers while making an attempt at pinpointing Greg’s whereabouts) that, besides all of the stuff that’s been going down with pirate frogs and highwaymen and shapeshifters, a lot of children have been going missing without apparent reason and people are terrified? This, of course, puts Wirt into Panic Mode™ and Sara herself is somewhat perturbed because how could this have been happening without her knowing about it?

• Eventually, they come across this old, old woman (a former sailor) who looks like she has about one foot in her own grave who gives them some potential insight: The Beast was (and is) unequivocally the overseer of the forest but, when his lantern is snuffed out, he retreats back into the shadows until he has strength enough to regain a physical form. This leaves the stage open for the various types of faeries and witches and all manner of what-have-yous to clamber for temporary control of the woods in his absence and, as with most things, there tends to be two sides, the seelies and unseelies the mariner calls them. Besides that bit of background information, they garner that the Beast had been defeated before, this lady somehow became embroiled in the utter chaos that followed such an action (they think perhaps she was involved with one of these creatures in some way), and that a figure deemed the Pied Piper did, in fact, steal multitudes of children away shortly after. Saying she’s seeing a similar pattern occurring in the present, she sends Wirt and Sara off with a stern warning: Do not find yourself in the middle of a ring of mushrooms in this woodland when the moon is round and well. Nothing good will come of it.

• But promises are difficult to keep when you run into a familiar face desperate for help on your travels. Wirt doesn’t initially recognize the redheaded teenager until she unveils herself as Beatrice. After that, they quickly become acquainted with one another once again when both Wirt and Sara take to spending a night in the shelter of her home, and it’s then she tells them of how her and her sister almost got snatched away a month or so beforehand, and how Lorna had been abducted just a week prior to their arrival, and how she’d heard horrifying stories of others becoming “lost”, one of whom being the daughter of that paranoid woodsman they’d encountered when she was still a bluebird. After a lot of chit-chat around her kitchen table, they all come to a similar conclusion that evening: Something must be done, and it must be done soon. The following morning, Beatrice gives her mother, her father, and her siblings many, many empty assurances, ones that she isn’t sure she’ll be able to keep. It’s such sayings as of course I’ll return home and don’t worry, it’s not that dangerous, I know I’ve been really worried about Lorna, but maybe I’ve been exaggerating a little, we’re just going to go look for her. As soon as the excuses have been spun, Beatrice begins her journey by accompanying Wirt and Sara to locate Greg or the single thing they were supposed to stay away from: a mushroom ring within the woods at nighttime. Really, whichever comes first. On a side note, she’s also not too pleased that Wirt’s managed to misplace his brother again, but she’s not sure if she can blame him fully for it. Greg does, after all, has a knack for getting lost.

• One matter leads to another and the adventuring trio (still Greg-less) eventually finds themselves in such a mystical, magical place, a verdant meadow that was extraordinarily difficult for them to unearth and, as the pale luminescence of the moon washes everything with soft lighting while they’re trying to investigate the glade that feels entirely too odd for comfort, two individuals seem to appear out of thin air, startling them. The first can’t be made out, their frame draped in a shimmering cloak that obscures their identity, but the second, oh, the second is a sight to behold, bearing himself to them, an older boy bordering on manhood somewhere between human and not human, nine, almost ten feet in stature, with limbs (hands, feet, the like of it) akin to the weathered bark of trees, a face like an animal skull with no eyes, and magnificent dragonfly wings, translucent in nature, sprouting from his shoulder blades. And before anything can be set into motion, before they can run away, ask questions, or even gasp, a dizziness overtakes Sara, Wirt, and Beatrice, and something truly remarkable starts to happen...

...and that, my friend, is where the story starts to get very interesting.

I’m still playing around with how to develop this more because I’m actually quite fond of it, so that’s why I left it off right there, but I’ll probably if not most definitely going to be working on it over spring break. For now, though, a cliffhanger is in order.

#Re-posting this because I may actually try to do something with it tomorrow because I'm finally (almost) done with most of my school stuff #It's AU stuff just so y'all know if you don't want to see this garbage #TIME TO INDULGE #(Until the weekend that is)#My spring break so far has consisted of sleeping and being sick and doing homework and that's rather depressing

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advocatewrites-blog · 6 years

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Into the Unknown Part 2 Chapter 1

Into the Unknown

Fandom: Undertale, Coraline (book), Over the Garden Wall, Paranorman, Gravity Falls (season 2)

Characters: Frisk, Norman B., Dipper P., Mabel P., Coraline J., Wirt, Greg, the Cat, the Frog; Sans, Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Asgore,; the Other Mother, the Beast, Agatha P., Bill Cipher, Asriel D., Chara D.,

Pairings: Not the focus. Alphys/Undyne, with mentions of Papyrus/Mettaton, sans/Toriel/Asgore, and Wirt/Sara. Due to the nature of Undertale and the dating segments, there is also interpretable Papyrus/Wirt, Undyne/Mabel, Alphys/Dipper, Napstablook/Norman, Mettaton/Norman, Mettaton/Mabel, Sans/Dipper, Sans/Norman, and Sans/Greg.

Rated a high +K for violence, mild language, horrific elements that may be disturbing to younger readers, mentions of child abuse and bullying, character death that is sometimes permanent, and mentions of suicide that may be triggering. These elements remain relatively unchanged from their source material, which most all are for children, but discretion is advised nonetheless.

Disclaimer: Undertale was created and owned by Toby Fox. Coraline was created by Neil Gaiman and owned by Bloomsbury and Laika. Over the Garden Wall was created by Patrick McHale and owned by Cartoon Network. Paranorman was created by Sam Fell and Chris Butler and owned by Laika. Gravity Falls was created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Any other work mentioned or homage are property of their respective owners. This is a fan-made, nonprofit work that only seeks to entertain. Please support the original franchises.

Start from beginning / Previous chapter / Next chapter

“WOWIE! YOU DID IT! YOU DIDN'T DO A VIOLENCE! TO BE HONEST, I WAS A LITTLE AFRAID. BUT YOU'RE ALREADY BECOMING A GREAT PERSON! I'M SO PROUD I COULD CRY. WAIT, WASN'T I SUPPOSED TO CAPTURE YOU...WELL FORGET IT! I JUST WANT YOU TO BE THE BEST PERSON YOU COULD BE. SO LET'S LET BYBONES BE BYBONES.”

Their hands are shaking as Papyrus leaves. It's hard to breathe, like she had just gotten out of the fiercest battles. They stand there for a long time after Papyrus leaves but they don't know why. Her knife clatters to the ground.

She doesn't know why she's done anything she has. She shouldn't have spared him. She should have killed him like the rest. In this world, it's kill or be killed. It's hurt or get hurt. She shouldn't have accepted his mercy, because he's going to hurt her just like the others. They all hurt her in the end never let them get close never show them mercy no mercy no mercy no mercy she calls for help

* But nobody came.

They wipe at their eyes, trying to remove tears they aren't crying. More Dust gets in them than before but it's a good feeling. It was just a mistake. They can go back and fix it.

They call for help.

She wonders how much longer they're going to keep this up. It shouldn't be much longer now, she thinks.

The end will be here soon. She will erase this world.

* Reset

Two are the Trees An Undertale/Over the Garden Wall crossover fanfiction By the Poor Sap Advocate

Chapter 1

“Antelope, Guggenheim, Albert, Salami, Giggly, Jumpy, Tom, Thomas, Tambourine, Leg Face McCullen, Artichoke, Penguin, Pete, …Steve…but I think the worst name for this frog is—“

“Wait, wait a second.”

Their surroundings were just becoming clear to him. It was dark, barely bright enough to see his brother in front of him. The only light came from above, and it looked miles away.

“Uh, Greg,” said Wirt. “Where are we?”

“Underground?” Greg offered.

“Weren’t we in the woods a few moments ago?” Wirt asked.

Greg hummed and thought, and turned to his frog for a second opinion. The frog let out a slightly confused croak.

“Nevermind,” said Wirt. “Let’s just…keep going the way we were.”

“I don’t think we can climb that high,” said Greg.

“No, Greg, I meant forward.”

And forward they went. The light in the caves grew as they travelled down the corridor, though Wirt couldn’t figure out why. It was becoming increasingly clear they were somewhere in a cave or underground or both, and the light source above was fading. Wirt could see almost everything in his way now, from the cave walls to the beds of flowers to the…

A golden flower, looking at them with a very confused expression.

“Hello Mr. Flower,” said Greg.

The flower made a face that Wirt couldn’t quite read.

“More of you? Really?” the flower asked. “Alright. Let’s get started then.”

It was dark, wherever Frisk ended up. It was also cold; not quite as cold as Snowdin, but cold enough that they tugged their sweater closer to them. The moon shone above them, so it’s not the Underground, and it was a quarter moon uneclipsed so it wasn’t the Other Toriel’s world. They are in a forest, so thick with trees that it’s hard to see if there was supposed to be a road. It’s something completely new to them.

Yet they still felt determined.

*File SAVED

They did not know how long they walk in the woods alone. It was hard to measure time when the only repeating pattern is stepping on twigs. Eventually, the repetitive sounds came from something hard smacking against wood. Frisk decided to follow that.

More sounds became audible as they walked closer. Sounds of breaking branches. Sounds of one moving around the ground. Sounds of humming, not so much a song as it was a march. Frisk only got close enough to see something humanoid walking away from the sight, the sounds carrying after them.

“Hey kid? What’re you doing out here?”

That sound came from behind the scene. Frisk had to turn around and crane their neck to see their addresser--a small bluebird perched on one of the higher branches.

“You’re not lost, are ya?” the bluebird asked.

Frisk shrugged. They had no idea where they were supposed to be heading anyway.

The bluebird groaned, and buried her face in her wing. “Well, do you need—?”

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE?”

Frisk froze at the voice. They stayed frozen as the light shines in their eyes. The bluebird murmured something and flies off but they did not quite hear it over the pounding of their heart. They did not unfreeze until the light of the lantern grew enough that they could make out the holder’s face. Just the woodsman from before. Frisk let themself wave a bit to be friendly.

The woodsman gives them a steady glare. “These woods are no place for a child like you. Don’t you know the Beast is afoot here?”

Flowers did not have faces. Goats were not bipedal and matronly. And there certainly wasn’t an entire society of monsters living under a mountain. Wirt was fairly certain of these things. At least, he had been up until fifteen minutes ago. He concluded that, in order for him to be seeing the flowers with faces and motherly goats, he must either be dreaming or going crazy. Possibly both.

Greg, however, had no problem accepting any of the things in his way. This did not surprise Wirt as much as it should. This whole Ruins area looked like it was something Greg had dreamed up.

This was all Greg’s stupid dream, Wirt decided, and he just had to get him through it.

“Come on Wirt!” said Greg. “They’re not too bad once you get to know them!”

The frog gave a croak in agreement.

“Greg, you just got out of a fight with a carrot!” said Wirt.

“Vegetoid was nice,” said Greg. “I don’t know what he wants me to do with all these vegetables though.”

The frog croaked again. This time Wirt wasn’t sure what it meant.

“It’s still a carrot,” said Wirt. “A-and a monster! You shouldn’t be anywhere near those things.”

“Okay. Why don’t you try then?”

Before Wirt could figure out what Greg meant with that, he found himself being pushed ahead. A Froggit blocked the way.

Wirt tensed up as the battle began and his Soul left his chest. The Froggit unleashed a few bullets that flew around like flies, but otherwise seemed uninterested.

“Pst,” said Greg in a way that was not actually meant to be quiet. “Trying complimenting her!”

It was worth a shot, Wirt decided.

“Listen,” said Wirt. “You look like a frog of decent logic, and we are but two lost souls in the Underground. Would you consider letting us pass?”

The Froggit seemed to think for moment. Wirt was pretty sure it was because it had no idea what he had said. It hopped away, leaving behind two coins.

“Uh, excuse me, you forgot your—“ Wirt started. Greg stepped in and grabbed the coins before he could finish.

“Greg, those aren’t ours,” Said Wirt.

“Sure they are!” said Greg. “It’s just like in a video game when you defeat an enemy!”

“Greg, this isn’t a game!”

“Why can’t it be?”

“Because it’s dangerous down here,” said Wirt.

“All the more reason to think of it like a video game!” said Greg. “Now come on, I think I’ve saved up for the Spider Cider.”

It took the Woodsman a while to figure out Frisk was just a lost kid in the woods. It took him even longer to realize they could not talk to him. It was easy to tell when he did. His tone grew softer, yet it was still full of worry. He asked if they knew where they were going, and when they answered no, offered them a place to stay at his house.

Well, it was not his house. It was the house that he used when he needed a roof over his head while he worked. Before him, the house had not been touched in a long time. Yet it was nice to be in a house Frisk did not recognize, so they ignored the smell of must and feathers.

“You may stay here for the night if you wish,” the Woodsman said. “But beware if you leave in the night. There is a Beast that lurks in these woods. Ever singing his mournful melody in search of lost souls such as yourself.”

Frisk wasn’t very good with words, but they knew what Beast meant. It was something like a monster…a monster! Was there a Monster out here? Could they know how to get back to the Underground?

“I’ve work to attend to in the mill,” the Woodsman said. “Do what you wish. You may find me in there.”

He threw another log on the fire for them, grabbed his lantern and left.

The frog did not have a name. Most frogs don’t, naturally. Names are things given to distinguish between humans. Frogs, especially frogs on the Surface, did not need them.

This frog, on the other hand, was no longer on the Surface. Yet he was still not given a name. Greg had yet to decide on one, and the frog was not in any hurry to have one.

He was quite curious about where he had ended up, however, so while the two brothers negotiated for baked goods at the spider bake sale, the frog decided to explore some more.

There were frogs in the Underground. Not real frogs; frogs of flesh and blood and grew from tadpoles. It was frog that was held together with magic.

“Hello traveler,” said the Froggit. Or, rather, the thing that lived under the Froggit.

The frog croaked a greeting.

“I do not wish to fight you,” said the Froggit. “Nor do I think any of the creatures in the Ruins anymore. You and your humans have been quite kind. However, I wish to ask you a question.

“Before you there was another human in the Underground. They were the first in a long time. They were usually quite kind to us, but something changed the last time they were here. I do not think they were quite themselves. I am not sure if they were safe. Have you any idea where they might have gone?”

The frog did not, and told him as much.

“I see,” said the Froggit. “Thank you. And if I may impart some advice, traveler of the Surface, be cautious of the old queen. She has lost a lot, and she is not always aware that she hurts because she is hurting.”

“Kitty!” Greg called. “Kitty! Now where is that frog named Kitty?”

The frog croaked to grab his attention.

“Oh there you are Kitty!”

Greg ran up and scooped the frog into his kettle.

“Hiya Froggit!” said Greg. “You’re looking fantastic today!”

The Froggit did not understand what he said, but blushed anyway. They dropped a little more gold than most Froggits do when they left.

Frisk spent the night. They left early in the morning, as the sun was beginning to rise. They did not see the Woodsman again.

They wondered if he ever left the mill after that, if he ever got sleep or if he went back out into the forest. They would have to find a way to thank him later. But most people, they realized, would come back when they needed them.

They stopped thinking as they heard something move in the woods. It was too big to be the bluebird, or even the Cat from the Otherworld. They braced themselves.

The fight started.

The thing that emerged was not a monster, or at least a monster they could recognize. It walked on all fours and towered above Frisk. It looked like a dog, but the way its fur stood up from all sides made the shape hard to distinguish. And its eyes…

The creature attacked first, lunging towards Frisk. They dodged. Their turn opened up, but all Frisk could think to do was compliment their eyes.

The creature was not flattered. It lunged again, swiping at Frisk. They dodged and jumped back. They tumbled in the creek.

The creek was not deep in the slightest. It did not hurt them too much to tumble into it, nor did it take them very long to pull themselves back up. But in the process, they left the fight.

Something else was fighting the creature. Something small and black that crawled over the creature and forced it back into the creek with them.

The creatures tumbled into the creek. A black turtle emerged, followed by a normal-looking dog.

Next out the creek came the Cat. He leaped out of the water in a blur of black. He shook himself dry the same way the dog did, and started to lick the rest of himself clean.

“There are few creatures I like,” said the Cat. “But dogs have a special place in hell for them.”

The dog noticed Frisk for the first time and rushed over. This time, its intentions were far more friendly. Frisk gave it a few decisive pats before it disappeared into the woods once again.

The Cat didn’t speak up until the dog was out of sight. Frisk watched him carefully.

“There are few creatures I like, but perhaps I was too quick to judge you.” said the Cat. “This world is…new, to me. Perhaps I would be willing to walk part of the way with you.”

He avoided making eye contact with Frisk. However, when Frisk extended a hand, he leaned into it and let himself get pat.

Wirt had not really meant to get into Toriel’s bedroom. He was looking for a way out. He had tried to find a way outside of the house, but the Ruins ended with Toriel’s house.

He wondered if that was deliberate.

Toriel’s room was ordinary. It was incredibly well kept, thought that did not surprise Wirt. It had been decorated with bookshelves and typhae, but it all looked so old and out of place that it was hard to believe Toriel put it in.

Wirt looked through everything. Through the sock drawer, the pots of plants, under the mattress. And he felt bad about it but what else was he supposed to do?

His eyes fell onto the diary on her desk. It was thick and full, but it was already turned today’s date. Something on the page had been circled in bright red ink.

Wirt swallowed as he leaned in closer to read it.

Why did the skeleton need a friend? Because she was feeling bone-ly!

“You know, perhaps I overestimated her abilities.” said Wirt to nobody.

Greg’s calls shook him out of his thoughts. The younger brother rushed into the room, the frog trailing behind him.

“Toriel’s gone!” Greg exclaimed.

“Gone?” said Wirt. “What do you mean, gone?”

“Well, she was sitting in Chariel and I asked her—“

“What, the chair? Why did you name her armchair and not your frog?”

“I didn’t name it!” said Greg. “But I asked her how do we leave the Ruins and she got up and said she had something to do but she’s been gone for five minutes now and I really wanted some of the butts pie!”

Toriel would know how to leave the Ruins. Why would she get so defensive the second Greg asked?

“Come on, we need to go find her.”

Author’s Note: Fall this year lasted about 2 minutes, so I’m really sad I didn’t get to watch Over the Garden Wall. I could watch it now, but it’s like watching Halloweentown during Christmastime; it loses some of the magic. But after this, I feel like I’ve watched it enough.

#fic #Into the Unknown #Undertale #Over the Garden Wall #Frisk #Wirt #Greg #the Cat #the Frog #Beatrice #Toriel #the Woodsman #featured

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absolutelynochillonlydeath · 3 years

Text

Garden Wraith

2. Hope is A Bird’s Wings

The next few days for Wirt were…difficult. After the first week of his nightmares where he continued to wake up repeatedly in terror, he finally calmed down enough to continue the dream. He found that he always woke up in the same area as the lantern and the consistency of snow around the terrain always changed. That probably should have been his first clue that something was wrong and that all of that wasn’t just a dream, but he dismissed it. Every time he entered, he felt compelled to hold the lantern, the warmth seeming to seep back into him as soon as he made contact with the metal and a sinking feeling of realization curled in the pit of his stomach. He thought he heard whispers from the Edelwood trees he came across and fled from their gnarled, wooden faces of agony. The more he dreamt, the longer he stayed in the dream, the more he found himself wandering the forests of the Unknown, his feet following nonexistent trails until he reached familiar terrain. Or, what looked like familiar terrain. His body was so sure that it was familiar even when his mind was definitely unsure. Night fell and he continued walking, the light of the lantern guiding his path, though when he looked out into the darkness he left behind him without the flame to light the way, he found that light still shone and he could see just fine. The thought frightened him and he continued on, the snow crunching under his feet. He traveled on through the morning, not feeling an inch of fatigue as he did so, another piece of the puzzle his brain wasn’t quite understanding due to the thick layer of denial blocking its completion.

He continued on like this for about a week, completely isolated from any form of civilization, though he could swear his could hear whispers coming from around him. It set him on edge, but every time he turned to look, there was nothing there. He had picked a direction at random, hoping to find somewhere familiar, though some corner that he assumed was the one that wouldn’t get him lost was assuring him that he was headed in the right direction. With no way to be sure at all and still half convinced that this was all just some terrible dream, he persisted on as the days and nights passed, the ever present woods of the Unknown passing by in a blur of the same. Things passed by unchanged as he picked his way through the mist and gnarls of tree roots when things finally changed. Just as he stumbled into a thinner area of trees which seemed to lead to a clearing and almost passed the treeline, his heart caught in his throat at the sight before him. It was the old mill that he and Greg had first come across. It looked better than when they left it, the giant holes and broken wood of the building having been mended. It was definitely a sign that time had passed and from the looks of the smoke billowing from the chimney, the Woodsman was still there. But as he took a step to enter the clearing, his vision blurred before rapidly going to black and he felt a persistent tugging at his chest, leading back into the mist. He blinked rapidly as the dark took over the last thing he saw was the flickering lantern tumbling from his hands.

When he opened his eyes again, he found that he was back in his bed, his body angled towards the window. Blinking away the morning sunlight streaming through, he felt confusion seep into his brain, the dregs of sleep and the sensation of the cold still clinging to his hay mind, but there was also relief as he finished waking up. He wasn’t in the Unknown. He was home, safely in his room. He had beaten he Beast and escaped the Unknown with Greg. They hadn’t even gone near the cemetery wall since Halloween, so there was no way he’d have gone back. It was all just a very long dream. It was just an extension of the nightmares he had been dealing with before, though a bit tamer than usual. He wasn’t very surprised he still thought of the Unknown, though a little bit disturbed. He had read about traumas sticking with a person for years afterwards and the teen supposed that it was just his mind’s way of dealing with it. And people had had long dreams before, right? So, there was probably nothing to worry about. With his reassurances, Wirt sighed and got up, already hearing the telltale signs of the household awakening and got ready to face the day. Putting on clothes and attempting his best to manage his hair, he looked deeply at himself in the mirror and tried to convince himself of his thoughts.

‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I can deal with this. It was just a dream after all. They’re just dreams.’ He thought to himself and left the bathroom, heading downstairs to his family and if he just so happened to hug his brother extra tightly and a little bit longer than usual, it was nobody’s business but his own. Not even his mother and stepfather’s surprised looks or Greg’s knowing one would make him say anything about it. It was only a dream after all. They would fade away soon enough.

But fate was rarely kind, and as night fell and he lay down to sleep after a long day of snowball fights with his friends and Greg, he fell into darkness and his eyes opened again to the snow-covered lands of the Unknown. He was back where he was before he had woken up, the mill before him, though now thoroughly buried in snow whereas before it had only been an inch or two. Winter’s chill bit through him and he shivered slightly. The cold seemed to not only tear through his clothes and into his skin but seemed to wrack tremors through his very being. Looking around, he found that the lantern was once again there, though its flame was now flickering wildly as if it were the rapid beating heart of a frightened bird. He wasn’t sure why he picked it up again, he really should have just left the dumb thing there to rust in the snow after all the trouble and terror it and its owner had caused him, but something in him told him that he should. Against his better judgement, he stepped forward and stretched his hand out.

Once again, as soon as the flesh of his palm made contact with the cold metal, a warmth spread through his chest, erasing whatever chill he felt from the wind entirely. Deep down, he knew t was odd that there was something wrong with that feeling but he didn’t want to think about the implications of what this could mean and tried to reason away his relief. He couldn’t go without light, now could he? Right? Right. He just needed it as a light source. The forest of the Unknown was very dark, so he needed that. Maybe it could also count as a spoil of war? This was the only remnant left of the Beast other than the possible Edelwood trees still around, but he wasn’t going out of his way to look for those, so the lantern would do. Not that he really thought of it as a trophy, defeated monster or not. But it still didn’t explain his hesitance of leaving the light behind, especially since he and Greg had made their way through the Unknown just fine without it. Pushing down the feelings and unsettling thoughts, he trudged forward through the snow with less effort than he thought it would take and knocked on the door rapidly. Walking through the snow, he saw the lights in the house flickering cheerily in contrast with the snow clouded sky and it brought hope to him that there were people inside. Maybe it was the Woodsman? And his daughter if she had gotten released by the Beast after his defeat. Hopefully the man would let him in to stay for a while. This was his dream, so he should let Wirt stay, but the teen hadn’t had such a vivid dream before. This was all new to him and he was half expecting Beatrice to fly to him out of nowhere and start nagging him.

After a few moments of not receiving an answer, he knocked again more tentatively this time, looking at the setting sun behind him warily. He may not have been as bothered by the cold as he thought he should have been, dream or no dream, but that didn’t mean he wanted to spend any more time there than necessary out in the snow with the amount of bad memories it caused. Winter at home was one thing, but winter in his dream of the Unknown brought up fear and anxiety. Finally, after another few moments of waiting, there was a sign of life from inside and Wirt heard voices coming from inside, though none of them he could identify. There was what sounded like a bit of a scuffle on the other side of the door along with the barking of a dog and before he knew it, the door swung open and three red haired boys of various ages peered up at him, eyes wide in curiosity.

“Who is it?”

“Who’re you?”

“You’re wearing weird clothes.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“Why’re you here?”

The flood of questions mixed with the barking of the very familiar looking dog set Wirt completely on edge and he was floundering for an answer when the boys and dog were moved aside, a plump woman taking their place and frowning at them.

“Joseph! Donald! Thomas! What did I tell you about harassing people at the door?! And what did I tell you about letting the dog loose inside the house?” she yelled at them in annoyance and moved the grinning boys out of the way. They let out a cacophony of answers before grinning and scampering off into the house again. Her frown melted into a smile as she turned back to look him over.

“And who might you be, dear? I can’t imagine you’ve come from far in this snow, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around before?’ she asked and Wirt floundered again, mouth agape.

“Well?” she asked again and Wirt scrambled for words, his face flushed a little in embarrassment.

“Oh, um, sorry, I, uh, I was a-actually looking for the Woodsman? I-I thought he lived here, but I guess I made a mistake.” He stuttered shyly and the woman simply blinked in surprise and confusion.

“The Woodsman? He hasn’t been here in, well, almost three years. He moved away with his daughter some time ago.” He said and Wirt’s eyebrows shot up in shock. What? Three years? That long? Then again, he and Greg thought they spent quite a long time in the Unknown while in all actuality, it had only been a few minutes while they were drowning in the lake.

“Oh, come inside, won’t you, dear? It’s freezing out there and we can’t have you be lost in the dark!” she said and ushered him in. The teen nodded numbly before stepping in and closing the door behind him.

“Thank you, ma’am.” He said politely and she smiled, ushering him over to the fire and grabbing a blanket to throw over him.

“It’s no trouble. And just call me Peony. No need to be so formal.” She chided and he nodded, curling into the warm cloth.

“My name is Wirt.” He said softly and she nodded in acknowledgement.

“There we are. Warm up by the fire and I’ll get you something hot to drink as well.” She said cheerfully and bustled off into a different room. Wirt stood with the blanket around his shoulders and lantern still in hand, completely bewildered at what to do. Whatever plans he had for finding the Woodsman and now he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know these people and he didn’t quite know who else to go to. Maybe he would head to Pottsfield when it was daylight out? The giant maypole pumpkin may be able to help him… but then again, why was he worried? If this was really all just a dream, albeit a very realistic one, then there was nothing to look forward to. He was right now at home, in bed, sleeping, so he shouldn’t be worried as to what came next. Still, the thought couldn’t leave his brain and he continued to plan. After a few minutes, the woman came back out again holding a steaming cup.

“It’s just tea, but it definitely warms you.” She said gently, handing over the cup and he took it gratefully.

“Now, my family will be down in a minute for dinner and I won’t lie, there are quite a few of them. Please don’t be intimidated, though. They’re rambunctious, but harmless.” She said reassuringly at the panicked look on the teen’s face. Wirt may have gotten a bit better at socially interacting, but being in a stranger’s house, surrounded by a bunch of family made his heart jolt with anxiety. Trust him to still be socially anxious even in a dream, he thought to himself despairingly. Turning his attention back to the woman, again, he nodded and clutched at the blanket around his shoulders, managing to slide off his cape and take off his hat, though he kept the lantern in hand. The woman smiled in understanding and walked off into what he assumed was the dining room, leaving him to his own devices. Wirt shivered, though not from cold, and stared into the fire, taking the moment of silence to calm himself, his free hand over his chest. He felt the thundering of his heart under his fingertips and it oddly made him calm down. Sadly, just as his heart resumed a more normal rhythm, the thunderous sound of many feet coming down the stairs and loud children’s voices ringing down the halls.

“Joseph! Donald! Thomas! What have I told you about running?!” Wirt heard the woman yell from the kitchen, and was met with a chorus of “Sorry, mom!”, and the steps became quieter. Wirt could hear a few more voices drift in, the woman calling for Daisy and Emma to get their father from outside and then a few more minutes of commotion. The clink of plates and silverware and the voice of an older man was heard before the woman spoke again.

“Now, as some of you may know, we have a visitor, so don’t overwhelm him.” she said warningly, much to the protest of some of the kids, but fell to silence again. After a moment walked into the room again and smiled, gestured for him to follow her. Wirt nodded and placed the blanket on the couch before grabbing his hat and cloak and following the woman to the dining room. The cup was still in his hands. Upon entering, he saw an older looking man with dark brown hair sitting at the dining table with six red-haired children, with the eldest being a girl that looked a little older than him. After that were the three boys Wirt had seen answer the door and two younger girls he could only conclude were Daisy and Emma.

“Everyone, this is Wirt. He’ll be with us at least till the morning. Please behave around him. Wirt, this is my husband Matthew and my children.” she said and Wirt waved nervously at them, trying his best to prevent the blood rising to his face.

“Um, h-hi, everyone…” he said softly, not daring to meet anyone’s eye. There was a sudden loud clanging as a cup went crashing to the ground and all eyes went to the eldest child who was staring with wide eyes.

“Wirt?!” the girl shrieked and Wirt’s eyes finally looked up to meet hers. The voice and deep brown of her eyes seemed familiar, but Wirt couldn’t quite place it.

“Beatrice! Clean that up right now! What has gotten into you?” Peony scolded her daughter, but the girl wasn’t moving, her body frozen and eyes affixed to him. Wirt felt his breath catch in his throat as it finally clicked in his brain. That voice, those eyes, the big family. It was Beatrice. The last he had seen her, he and Greg were leaving and had only stopped to give her the scissors. He had thought about her later, wondering if she had managed to break her spell and save her family, but to see her now, alive and well, almost sent Wirt to the ground with relief.

“B-Beatrice… Beatrice!” he whispered before saying it louder, taking a half step towards her. Having the same idea, but more initiative, the girl bolted around the table and tackled him in a hug. The others in the room could only stare in silence, struck dumb.

“Wirt! I thought you left! Why are you here?! Where’s Greg?!” came the flood of questions from the girl as she held him tightly. Wirt held her back just as tightly, taking comfort at the feeling of her alive and breathing, her breath and heartbeat reminding him of the beat of her bluebird wings.

“I…I’m so glad you’re okay. You and your family. It’s so weird seeing you as a human instead of a bird…” he murmured softly, but Beatrice’s mother still heard and gasped. The entire family went quiet.

“How does he know about that?” she asked and the taller girl pulled away, looking at her mother.

“I know Wirt. He and his brother helped me three years ago when we were bluebirds. He gave me the scissors before he and his brother left.” Beatrice explained and the family burst out into a cacophony of noise.

“That was you?!”

“Wow!”

“That’s amazing!”

“Thank you so much!”

“Where have you been?”

“Can we have a party?”

The voices swelled and Wirt shrank from the noise, anxiety washing over him and threatening to sweep him under as he realized that he didn’t know how to answer any of that without being tongue-tied. The taller girl noticed immediately and signaled her parents who snapped out of their shock and began to quiet the rest of their children.

“Now, now. What did I say about behaving?!” Peony shouted at them and the children immediately quieted, though the enthusiasm still gleamed in their eyes. Beatrice nodded in understanding, placing a comforting hand on Wirt’s shoulder and he took a breath to steady himself.

“Alright, now please take a set. Dinner is all set and I think this is a story we all want to hear.” Peony said warmly and Wirt nodded, taking a seat while Beatrice sat next to him and he began his tale.

As night wore on and Wirt lay on the couch with the fire dwindling beside him, the teen felt more relieved than anything, but the fear still lingered in the back of his mind. The entire time that he was telling his story from beginning to end, it felt…therapeutic to tell someone and they had been a rather receptive audience. There had, of course, been a bit of confusion as to where he came from, though surprisingly not to what his suspicions of what the Unknown truly was. They knew that they had died. They remembered but decided to remain there in the Unknown to be together. But they were definitely surprised to learn that he was, to the best of his knowledge, still alive, but all stiffened at the mention of the Beast and the lantern Wirt now carried. Beatrice looked heartbroken at the mention of his possible fate as the new lanternbearer. At the end of his tale, ending with him winding up there, the adults announced that it was time for bed and the children were ushered up to their rooms, their minds filled with his story and promised to speak more about his situation in the morning. His mind buzzed, the denial banished from his heart and leaving him with the drained understanding that this was no dream. This was reality, or at least an approximated version of reality, and he was back in the Unknown. Groaning softly, he threw an arm over his eyes and took measured breaths to curb the growing ice in his stomach. There was a sudden creak from the house and Wirt looked up to see the familiar red hair and a flash of blue.

“Beatrice?” he whispered and the girl nodded, crossing the space between them and settling on the couch beside him. Wirt sat up and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence between them, the dying fire crackling as if to emphasize the mild discomfort between them. Finally, Beatrice broke the quiet.

“Are you…are you doing okay?” she asked quietly, concerned eyes turned his way. Wirt flinched at the question, his mind flashing through a symphony of worries and fears and doubts, all a swirling mass with the lantern and the Beast serving as the eye of the hurricane. Beatrice gasped a little as the normal grey irises of the boy’s eyes flickered to familiar iridescent shades as they narrowed and he curled in on himself.

“I… No. I don’t think I am…” he whispered softly, wrapping his arms around himself and staring resolutely into the fire. “I-I thought that when we left, we wouldn’t have to come back here. At least not till we were old. B-b-but now I am and I don’t know what’s happening to me. It isn’t happening to Greg, which is good, but why me? Was it because I blew out the lantern? Is that why its, just, kinda sticking with me? Is that why it’s there every time I wake up?” he whispered frantically, his words coming out faster, spilling from his lips even as he felt oxygen failing to return to his lungs. Beatrice would only watch in muted horror as the shadows cast by the fire grew, spreading into the silhouette of a being with glowing eyes and branching horns. His eyes settled from their flickering to the bright glow of red, yellow, and blue and he was trembling.

“I don’t know what to do.” He whispered quietly as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud and that’s what broke Beatrice from her fear. Behind his changes into what was inevitable, was the boy that she had watched grow and had helped guide through the Unknown. He hadn’t changed no matter what he was turning into now. Narrowing her eyes in determination, she gently placed her hands on either side of his face, turning him to face her and staring into his glowing eyes.

“Wirt, listen to me. Are you listening?” She asked sternly and her tone of voice seemed to pull him out of his spiral. Eyes focused solely on her and she resisted the chill down her spine.

“Good. Now, listen to me. Whatever is happening isn’t your fault. If you keep ending up here, that also means you’ll go back when you wake up so don’t worry about that. As for the lantern and why this is happening, I can’t explain that, but we have time to figure it out. You’ll have me and my family and whatever other dorks you guys met before to help too, so you’re not alone.” She said firmly, though a gentle fondness still in her voice as she worked to break through to him. To her relief, it seemed to be working. The boy was slowly becoming less rigid under her fingers, the shadows were returning to normal, and the glow of his eyes were dimming back to his original grey.

“But what if something else happens? I…I-I’m hearing voices… sometimes… i-in the woods, wh-when I, um, f-first came back, I heard a voice in my mind. It said that there must always be a Beast in the Unknown. What…what if it’s me? I-I-I don’t think I could handle that…” he whispered in a rush and Beatrice could hear his breaths get faster. A fierce determination took hold of her heart and she let go of his face to pull the younger teen into a quick hug, holding on tightly.

“Cheese and crackers, Wirt. You’re still as much of a worry wart as you were before you left.” She muttered, though not unkindly. She sighed and rubbed his back comfortingly.

“That won’t happen. I know it won’t because no matter what, you’ll still be the same clarinet playing, poetry loving, dorky, stubborn jerk of a pushover and wonderful mistake of nature you always have been. Nothing will change that. Not even if you have the Beast's powers. You’re still you and I’ll help you through that.” she whispered quietly into the air, glaring at the writhing shadow behind him as it looked at her with glowing eyes. In her arms, Wirt shuddered and held her back just as tightly, the bluebird beat of her heart calming him down and he felt himself relax, his eyes drooping with the exhaustion of letting out all his worry. Beatrice was right. He wouldn’t let the Beast win. Not then and not now, no matter what was happening to him. He would get through this and return home like last time. No matter how many times he woke up in the Unknown, he would always find his way back.

“I’m not a pushover.” Wirt spoke finally, aiming to break the tension. He heard Beatrice snort and he smiled a little to himself, glad that she understood.

“Yeah you are. I mean you’re still taking orders from me, aren’t you?” she joked, pulling away from their embrace and a smirk now on her face. Yes. That snark and sarcasm definitely suited her better than worry. Beatrice wasn’t one who would usually worry.

“That’s different.” Wirt pouted in response, trying not to smile. Beatrice laughed softly and smacked his arm.

“Brat.” She huffed. There was a moment of silence before they broke into quiet giggles, the tension in the room erased. Wirt smothered his giggles and wiped his eyes, the tears threatening to spill over earlier turning into tears of laughter. Looking at Beatrice, he smiled warmly. He was so glad to have a friend like her. He was ecstatic that the scissors had worked and that he had played a part in bringing her and her family together again. They seemed nice when they first met as bluebirds, though they seemed to not remember him now. But that was fine. He could build new bonds with them and hopefully they would help him as well.

“So you feeling better now?” Beatrice asked and Wirt nodded, shifting away from his inner thoughts.

“Yeah. Thanks, Beatrice. I really needed that.” he said quietly.

“Anytime.” She nodded, voice uncharacteristically soft. Wirt smiled and waved his hand imperiously, shooing her off the couch.

“Now off to bed with you, young lady! What would your parents think?” he said, voice still quiet so as not to rouse the house. Beatrice rolled her eyes, scoffing but complied and got up.

“Is that any way to talk to the person who just talk you out of your depressive spiral?” she snorted playfully and Wirt chuckled again. The girl turned to leave, whispering a good night as she did and disappeared back into the darkness of the house.

“Good night, Beatrice.” He murmured quietly before lying down again, staring up to the ceiling. His eyes fluttered closed and he sighed in relief, glad that the girl had come down to talk with him. Admittedly, this was something very legitimate to freak out about, but now he knew that he shouldn’t be as worried, because he had friends here. Friends who, for all their oddness, he knew would help him. Well, maybe not the archetype people at the tavern, but everyone else would. Beatrice and her family would. He wasn’t alone in this. Even as this bled into the land of the living, he knew that Greg would be there to support him. That brave, silly seven-year-old would suck up his own fear of the Beast and do his best to cheer on and comfort the brother he loved. And Wirt, for his part, would try and make this transition into a new normal as painless as possible. He wasn’t promising not to freak out, because that was who he was, but he would at least attempt to curb his panic before it became a burden on those who were just trying to help him. Taking a deep breath, he let his mind wander back to home and thought of nothing but the snow. From beside him, just out of arms reach, the lantern flickered serenely, taking in the dying light of the fireplace.

I will be posting the most on AO3

#over the garden wall #gravity falls #beast!wirt #anxiety

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