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babeyvenus · 3 years

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The Wolf Among Us

Bigby x OC

Summary: Sonya Blaze, A.K.A. Hell Rider, is a half fable, half mundy girl who comes to Fabletown to learn more about her side of the folktales. She works alongside Sheriff Bigby Wolf's as his newest partner and together they strive to find out who's behind the unexpected murders in Fabletown.

TW: Mentions of death, gore/blood, alcohol, smoking drugs, sex implications, suicide, guns and ofc language.

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Chapter 12: Witches and Bloody Who?

1284 White Plains Ave

2:14 AM

14 minutes late

“Bigby! Sonya!”, Snow shouted, catching up with the two as they walked down the hall. “We’re late.” Snow said.

“Yeah, we know.”, Bigby said as they walked up to a door with the number 23. “This is it.”, he said as the three of them stood in front of the door. “Alright. How do you want to do this?”, Snow asked them. “We’re not storming inside, that’s for sure. We have no idea who this A.G. person is.”, Sonya said.

Bigby puts his ear on the door to listen for anything. “Anything?”, Snow asked him. “If anyone’s in there, they’re being awfully quiet….”, he says and knocks on the door. Right after, the door opens to reveal a little girl in a yellow dress and her black hair in pigtails. “Hello?”, she greets, drowsily.

Sonya covered her mouth at the sight of the little girl as the other two stared in shock. “Hi…” Snow greeted. “You woke me up.” The girl said. “Uh, sorry about that.”, Sonya said, kneeling to her height. The little girl rubs her eyes. “Sorry, there. Wasn’t aware this was a munchkin’s house.”, Bigby says, making the little girl make a confused face.

“Well, Dorothy, it isn’t.”, she responded with a smile, making Sonya snort. “She got you.”, Sonya says, making Bigby give her heel a nudge. “If I wasn’t so secure in my manhood, I’d have taken that as an insult.”, he says, smiling. The little girl giggled.

“What’s your name?”, Sonya asked. “Rachel. Who are you?”, the little girl responded.

“Well, I’m the Sheriff. And this is my partner,” Bigby started but Snow cut him off. “Uh, boss.” Snow said, annoyed. Bigby frowned at her, “I was referring to Sonya.”, he said, hushed. “Pleased to meet you. How do you do? Is there….Is there anything you need?", Rachel says.

"Is anyone at home? Does your mom live here?”, she asked her. “Does she ever…you know, make the nightstand levitate? Turn frogs into cats, that kind of thing?”, Bigby asked her.

“Is she a witch, dear?” Snow corrected. “Oh no, I would never call my mommy that. She treats me alright.”, Rachel says with a head nod. “Rachel, do you mind if we take just a quick peek around?”, Bigby asked.

“What are we looking for, specifically?”, Snow asked Bigby. “Crane. He could still be here.”, Bigby says, sniffing around the room. Sonya looked at the huge tree in the room. “This is ginormous for a house plant…”

“We’ll be super quick, and we won’t touch anything.”, Sonya said to Rachel and walked past her, looking around the cramped living area. “I’ve been here all night! Nobody’s been here!”, Rachel shouts at the three adults.

Bigby glances at her with a raised eyebrow. “Ok, Sheriff, I’m gonna trust you not to break anything…don’t get me in trouble.”, she huffs.

She glances at the record player and looks at Rachel. “Lemme guess, big band or...classical?” Rachel smiles, “Honky Tonk.”

“No accounting for taste….”, Bigby mutters, making Sonya gape at him and tap his arm a bit, earning a smile from him. He looks at a picture. “That your mom?”, he asked. “Uh huh.”, Rachel said, proudly.

“It’s pretty rare to see a burner like this.”, Sonya says, crouching down with a content smile. “Dowdy. That’s how we like it.”, Rachel grins.

Bigby sniffs around again. “Not here.”

“Your mom a hunter?”, Bigby asked as he looked at the deer skull. “Oh, no, she’d never…that was found in the woods around Dix Mountain. I think.”, Rachel responds.

“Why does she have such a huge tree?”, Sonya asked as Bigby turned to look at the tree. “Mommy uses that to carve her trinkets. It’s from the old world.”, Rachel says excitedly. “Trinkets? Like glamours?” Snow asked her, making her shrug.

“There’s no one here but me.”, Rachel repeats.

Bigby walks back over to the divider and looks behind it but sees nothing. “There’s nothing that looks like Crane was here, either.”, Bigby said.

“Great...”, Sonya mutters. “See?” Rachel said, smirking.

Sonya goes to the back of the room and sees a closet door. She opens it and sees a box with a label.

Deliver to Aunty Greenleaf

Return Address The Butcher

“A.G….”, Sonya steps back to look at Rachel. “Your mom’s Aunty Greenleaf?” She nods.

Bigby walks over to her. “The Butcher.”, Sonya muttered. “What?”, Bigby asked. “A package having to do with someone called The Butcher.”, she says, closing the door.

“Damn it.” Bigby mutters, shaking his head as if he was trying to get something off his face. “I keep getting whiffs of that aftershave of his.”

“Is that a glamour tube?”, Bigby asked, making Sonya and Snow stop. “Mommy really doesn’t let anyone play with that. Trust me, I’ve tried.”, Rachel warned.

Sonya sniffed in the air, frowning a bit. “I do, too.” Snow nods, “Me too.” Rachel rubs her eyes. “Can I go to bed now? Please?”

Sonya yawned. “It is pretty late…”, she said and started to follow Snow, who walked towards the door. Rachel follows, along with Bigby, but he stops once he notices a glamour tube on the work table.

Bigby walks up to the table and picks up the tube. “Oh, no no no no no, please please please just put that back exactly where you found it. No one is allowed to play with that.”, Rachel said, her eyes widening. “It’s alright, honey, Bigby’s not going to break it.”, Snow reassured her.

“No, you don’t understand. She will freak out if she discovers I’ve let people in here and let them touch her stuff, okay? She checks all the time to see if things move. I don’t wanna get in trouble.”, Rachel said, fearfully.

“I’m not gonna break it, I just want to open it.”, Bigby said, and started messing with the tube. “No! Put it down!”, Rachel shouted. Her fearful scream caused the room to shake which made Sonya and Snow look at her then at Bigby. “You’re pissing her off.”, Sonya mouths to Bigby. Snow holds Rachel back. “Please! Don’t! This isn’t what you think! You’ve gotta believe me, that guy isn’t here! I promise!”

“It’s gonna to be okay, Rachel.”, Sonya reassures her as Bigby starts to mess with the tube again, curious this time. “Please. I’m begging you. I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna get in trouble.”, Rachel begged sadly.

Bigby opens the tube, causing Rachel to scream in pain and transform into an old woman, “Auntie Greenleaf.”, Snow says in shock.

“It hurts…when you do it that fast.”, Greenleaf said, irritated as she rolled her shoulders. “You think we have time to waste on this shit?” Bigby asked, angrily, storming up to the woman. “You think this is some kind of game?”

“No. I don’t. But congratulations on winning it…if that matters to you.”, Greenleaf says, sarcastically.

“Look, now. We don’t have time. Start explaining! And from the beginning. ” Sonya says, crossing her arms as the old woman walks over to her couch and sits down. “I was born in the woods to a jackal and a deer….” Greenleaf started to explain but Sonya cuts her off, looking at Snow. “She thinks we’re joking around. You better get her.”

“Please, Greenleaf. Just help us catch Crane. That’s all we care about.” Bigby said, exasperated. “That’s not all we care about.”, Snow tells him, angrily. “I ain’t a fortune teller, Wolf. I have no heavenly idea where he went.” Greenleaf shrugs.

“You have to know something.” Snow said.

“You’re an accomplice to a goddamn murder, do you not realize that?”, Sonya fussed. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t help you. I have no interest in being turned into a skink and crushed under boot heels. There’s powers at work here beyond your pathetic authority.”, Greenleaf says.

“Whatever it is, Greenleaf….whatever it is that’s keeping you from saying something?” Snow said.

“We can protect you, okay? Whatever it is you’re afraid of….we can make sure that it won’t come to pass.” Bigby says, reassuring her. “You have no idea what’s going on, do you?” Greenleaf asked, making Sonya sigh harshly. “Y'all keep saying the exact same shit. We’re asking questions so we can know. We want to help.”

“Okay, you know what I think? I think we’ve been more than patient with you.” Snow said, angrily, storms up to Sonya and Bigby. “This witch has been selling illegal glamours that continue to undermine everything we’ve built….she’s harboring a fugitive that took advantage of it, and now she’s resisting every attempt to make things right. I frankly don’t give a crap if she’s afraid for her life, we can at least make sure she never hurts us again.”

She walks up to the tree and looks at it before she says. “We’re destroying the tree.” Sonya’s eyes widened. “Now, hold on-”

Greenleaf abruptly stands up and shouts. “No!”, she yells, causing the room to shake. Sonya stumbles to a knee, looking up at Greenleaf as she looks between the other three in anger.

“How dare you come in here and threaten to take from me the one thing that-” She takes a breath. “That tree is ancient, it’s part of the family, and it’s the only thing paying for this shithole apartment! And the Fables who can’t afford the glamours from you come to me for help. Without them, where do you think they could go?”

“Don’t give me that! You’re making money off of other peoples’ misery. Two Fables are dead because of this crap!”, Snow shouts, turning to Bigby and Sonya. “It’s too dangerous leaving this stuff with her.”

“You think I like being the old woman in these stories? The men are heroes, the ladies are whores…and the old hags like me get to watch everyone they love die!”, Greenleaf growls

Snow was about to say something but Sonya cuts her off. “Hear me out. You aren’t exactly in any position to want to destroy someone’s work, okay? Hell, I’m the one who should want her tree to burn but I won’t.”, she says, looking at Greenleaf. “There’s a better way to handle this.”

“We have very different ways of handling our fate.”, Snow said. “Very different means to handle it, too.” Greenleafs retorts.

“We’re not burning the damn tree.”, Sonya says, making Snow and Bigby turn to her.

Snow looked at her in shock. “You want this to continue?” Sonya hardened her look. “Don’t put words in my mouth. I said there is a different way to handle this.”

Bigby walked up to the tree. “Sonya’s right. Isn’t there another way? She’s a witch, can’t she just….work for us? That way she’d be official….”

“You want to reward her for criminal behavior? We can’t trust this woman on the Thirteenth floor.”, Snow said.

“It doesn’t matter cause I’d never do it. I’m not a house cat and I don’t play well with others.” Greenleaf said. “Oh, trust me, no one would confuse you for a cuddly animal.” Snow sneered at the witch. Greenleaf glares at her, making Snow turn to the other two. “Bigby, Sonya….this is an order. Burn the tree.”

Greenleaf runs in front of the tree and confesses. “No! Look, look, I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you…Crane was here, he was here and he left. He went to the Pudding n’ Pie to try to use my ring on the girls over there to get information.”

“What does the ring do?”, Sonya asked her.

“He thinks it’s the Ring of Dispel….you know, that it will pierce the protection around the girls’ speech. He says pulling the truth out of them will prove his innocence. It won’t, though….damned thing lost its power decades ago.”, Greenleaf informed.

“I’m sorry, but….we still can’t let you keep the tree. It wouldn’t be right after what’s happened.” Snow said. “Guys?”

“Please, Sheriff...Deputy….”, Greenleaf begs, looking at them sadly. “We’re not burning the tree.”, Sonya says.

“Today is your lucky day, Greenleaf. I’m hiring you as the Business Office’s newest witch in residence.” Bigby said.

“Bigby!”, Snow shouted in disbelief.

“The witches over there will keep her out of trouble, and–and we have a glamour shortage as it is. It makes the most sense, Snow.”, Bigby explained.

“Snow, people are out there without glamours. If anything, she can help us since apparently giving glamours aren’t working without her help. Because Toad still hasn’t gotten his, right?”, Sonya asked Bigby. “Just because you’re disappointed with Crane’s actions, doesn’t mean we have to punish her for his bullshit.”

She turns to Greenleaf. “You’re working with the other witches.”, she says, finally and walks to the door. “Don’t expect me to bow down to your queen over here.”, Greenleaf said to her. Bigby sighs, walking next to Sonya. “Don’t think for a second that this is over.” Snow threatened, following the other two.

“So what, are moving trucks gonna show up here or something?”, Greenleaf asked. “Something like that.”, Snow said. “We’ll call you.”, Bigby says and opens the door and lets Sonya and Snow out first before he leaves.

The cab pulls up to the curb of the Pudding n’ Pie, and hurriedly, Sonya and Bigby climb out. “I suppose you two can handle this. Get Crane and bring him back to the Woodlands.” Snow ordered before rolling the window up and letting the cab drive off.

“For fuck’s sake…”, Sonya grumbles. Bigby looked over and saw a familiar car. “That’s Crane’s car.”, he said, catching her attention. “Let’s go.”, she says, rushing to the door.

“No, it’s nothin’ you need to concern yourself with. I don’t think so, at least.”, they hear Georgie say pacing and talking on the phone. Georgie sees the two and rolls his eyes.

“Shit. Hold on.” He said to the phone and he removed the phone from his ear. “What do you want, Sheriff? Decided you wanted a taste of the wares?"

He glanced at Sonya with a smirk. "Oh, I see…come to audition your bitch.” Before Bigby could retaliate, Sonya socked him square in his nose. “We don’t have time for bullshit, Georgie.”, she growled.

“Tell me what you know! Now!” Crane’s voice shouts from the dressing room. Sonya and Bigby glare at Georgie, who gives a wavering shrug.

Sonya shoulder checks him as they rush to the door. “Hey! You can’t just go in there!” Georgie shouts after them, getting ignored.

They see Crane shaking Nerissa by her shoulders as he shouts. “Tell me who did it! Just tell me who did it, I know you know!”

“Mr. Crane, please, she can’t help–”

“I know you know what the plan is.”, Crane yells at Nerissa. Bigby glares at Crane, his teeth bared. “I won’t be held accountable for this!” Crane shouts. “I can’t-I can’t–I’m sorry, I-” Nerissa said, panicking.

Bigby storms up to Crane, spins him around and grasps the front of his shirt, raising his right hand into a fist. “Oh my God! Bigby!”, Crane exclaims, surprised to see him. “Wait!!”, Sonya yelled at Bigby. He looks over at her then lets Crane go.

Crane steps back, his hands raised. “I-I didn’t do anything! I promise you, I didn’t do anything! These girls— th-th-the girls, they’ll back me up, I j-just have to get this stupid ring working, that’s all!”, Crane explained, shaking his right hand that had a ring on his ring finger. “They can’t talk because of that spell, but once this ring gets through, I’ll know what’s going on and this whole thing will be over.”

“Th-That’s all, please. I’m innocent, completely, completely innocent!”, Crane exclaims. Bigby rolled his eyes and slapped Crane, leaving a large, red handprint on his face.

Crane cowers back and yells, “W-Wait, I’ll show you!” He raises his arm while Bigby holds him back, effortlessly. “Damn you, c'mon! Please! Tell me who killed her!”, Crane shouts as he points his arm towards Nerissa.

“My lips are sealed.”, Nerissa replied as Vivian held her. Crane crumbles to the ground and begins to weep in sadness and fear. “How long?”, Sonya asked Crane. “W-what?”, Crane asked, looking up at her. “How long has this been going on?”, she growled out her question. “Far too long...” Crane replied, looking away.

“But–I didn’t kill those women, Bigby, please, I had nothing, nothing to do with that. I just—I-I just….Oh God…”, Crane cries. “We found the photos of you and Lily.” Bigby said, crossing his arms with a glare. “I know, I know, but that’s—that was–I just…” Crane whimpers then he looks up at Sonya.

“I just love you, Sonya! I love you, I love you, and—and I’m sorry I’m not a mundy, okay!?”, Crane grovels as she stepped back. “I’m sorry I don’t do things that Mundies do! Its just- You’re so different and innocent! To know you were a half fable excited me, and I-”

Sonya had to stop herself from gagging. “I’m gonna stop you right there. What made you think that I’d ever get with an old creep like you!? And secondly, you’re not so different from Mundy men. This stalking, the pretending, they do that too. You’re fucking disgusting.” Her words made her lower his head.

She squatted down to glare at him. He looks her in the eyes for a moment then turns away to weep silently, making her eyes widen. She stood back up. “Bigby…I don’t think he did it."

"You’re shitting me, right?”, Bigby asked, shocked and confused. “The guy’s a complete coward. Look at him. Do you really think this man-" She paused. "Lemme rephrase that. Do you really think this child murdered these women?”, she asked him as she pointed at the sad man.

“He’s not…he wouldn’t be brave enough….”, she said, glaring at Crane.

“We’ve been chasing this guy ….why now?”, Bigby asked. “That’s my point. He sent us on this wild goose chase, pretended not to know anything, and cowered away the entire time. If he really was a stone cold murderer, he wouldn’t be here freaking out.”, she said.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Did you see how he was acting when you showed up?” Vivian asked her.

“Yeah, I get it–”

“Why would he even come here if he wasn’t covering his tracks?” Vivian asked.

“He thought he was being framed. And maybe he is.”, Sonya replied.

“This fuck-up knows more than he’s saying.”, Bigby said. “I don’t! I don’t!” Crane shouts. “Yes, okay, he probably does. But there’s a difference between being involved and being the guy who did it.”, Sonya says, shaking her head.

“Okay, but if Crane didn’t kill Faith and Lily, I’m sorry, but who the hell did?”, Vivian asked. “This whole thing is bigger than Crane. He wouldn’t have the stones to send the Tweedles after us. Somebody else is involved.”, Bigby said. “Well, shit.”, Vivian mutters.

“I didn’t intend for any of this to get so–”

She took a deep breath. “Ichabod Crane. You are under arrest for disrupting Fabletown's funds and the suspicion of murder. You’ll have the right to counsel and the right to depose witnesses. But as of right now, you’re coming with us."

“I don’t wanna hear your weak ass apologies. You’ve done so much screwed shit, you’re lucky you’re not down that damn well!”, Sonya yelled.

He looks at her fearfully then lowers his gaze to the floor. “We’re not going to kill you. So quit your shivering.”, she growled.

Sonya glanced at her boss. “Easy, Bigby. We don’t need the princess to have another thing to hold above our heads.”, Sonya rolls her eyes, making Bigby glance at her with a softened frown.

"You are extraordinarily lucky Miss Blaze was here to save your ass. Because if it was up to me….I’d have your head swinging from the Washington Bridge.”, Bigby snarled.

“You think…she has what it takes…to run that office? You think I didn’t make sacrifices? I made sacrifices! And Miss Snow won’t be in that chair one minute before she has to give up something she cares about just so the wheels don’t fall off the goddamn wagon.” Crane stands up and continues to fuss. “I did the best that I could with what I had. And the town took everything it could out of me. If I maybe took a little something back in return…then so be it. I have no regrets.”

Sonya frowned. "You took more than just a little. You went to a man who now gives you no choice but to pay him back or people get killed. That's not a little thing." Crane's eyes widened. "But-"

“Yeah, and see, the thing of it is….” Bigby starts, and grabs Crane’s collar, pulling him closer to him. “We’re also better at this than you are.” He turns Crane towards the door and pushes him forward.

They went through the side door, out to the alley. Sonya sighs, pulling her hood over her head as it was raining again. Crane walks out after her until Bigby shoves him off the stairs. Crane falls on the ground. He stood up and dusted himself off and muttered. “Stupid girls and their preposterous schemes….”

Sonya paused to glare at him over her shoulder. “You got something you wanna share?” Crane cowers and walks in front of her and Bigby. Suddenly, a car drives up and blocks their way out. The three of them looked at the cars in shock and stopped as the car started to slowly drive towards them.

“Back. Now.”, Bigby says as he holds his arm out, pushing her behind him. She walked around the other way with the two men only for two more cars to come up and block them.

They stop as the Tweedles climb out of one car while a woman, with short black hair with red highlights, climbs out of another car.

“Hi. Whatcha got there?”, The woman asked in a childish tone. Sonya's eyes began to glow a scarlet hue as the Tweedles pulled out their shotguns. Bigby growled lowly, watching them intently.

The woman pulls out a gun and loads it. “Look, it’s recently come under our attention that you’re, how shall I put it, attempting to claim what is the personal property of the Crooked Man.” She gives them a slight smile. “He’s about yea high, a hundred and twenty odd pounds, pissed his sheets until he was fourteen….sound familiar?”

“I haven’t told them anything!”, Crane cried in fear. “Not now, not now, shhhhh, the grown ups are talking.”, the woman says, mockingly.

“Who are you?”, Bigby asked her.

“No, no, no, no, no, that’s not how this works.”, The woman said, mockingly as if she were talking to children. “How this works is you are going to walk Crane over here….like a good doggie.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”, Crane exclaims. Sonya growled and punched him in the stomach. “You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” She steps up to Bigby’s side. “You’re interfering with official Fabletown business. Step aside.”

“Tweedle Dee, what’s the, uh, y'know, that thing the mundies call me?”, she hummed. “Wh–What?”, Dee asked in fear. “My nickname. You know what I’m talking about.” The woman said as she gave a side glance at Dee.

“Uh…Bloody Ma–”

“Bloody Mary, that’s it. Thank you.” Mary said, making Sonya’s eyes widen.

“And do you know why they call me that? Because some of them, they think it’s funny to have their little sleepovers and go into their little bathrooms and say my name five times in the mirror." She frowns.

"They find it less funny when I actually show up and feed their lungs to the family dog.” She lets out a small bark and smirks evilly at Sonya and Bigby.

Sonya gritted her teeth, “This night just can’t get any better.”, she muttered.

“And I do that for a hobby. Like golf, to relax. This is my job, I like my job. So think about what I’m gonna do to you, your girl, your princess and the rest of your friends if you don’t hand over the sockpuppet now!”, Mary said to Bigby.

“This was really the wrong day to try and pull this shit.”, Bigby growled.

“I told you he’d never just give him up.”, Dee smiled at Mary. Mary glared at him then looked back at the other three and shrugs. “Fuck it.” She walks away while the Tweedles step forward and raise their guns.

“Oh boy…”, Sonya muttered and was suddenly pushed out of the way once the Tweedles started shooting, missing Bigby purposefully before loading him with buckshots.

Bigby was pushed back until his back hit the wall and he slumped down. The Tweedles stopped to smirk at each other much to Sonya’s horror. She teared up. “B-Bigby?”, she whispered.

Bigby moves his head as he lets out a groan. He opens his eyes which were now red as he slowly gets up on his feet, shocking the twins. Bigby begins walking towards the Tweedles as they fire multiple bullets at him until one bullet hits Bigby's side, making him lean against a box as he regains his composure.

He falls to his knees only to get up, now transformed as a gray wolf. Bigby reaches to his left and grabs the dumpster and throws it at the twins. They fall and dodge the dumpster and get back up while Bigby goes to the right and grabs the high voltage container and throws it at them.

They dodge that as well and Bigby uses that as a chance to charge at them and jumps on Dum. He shoves his clawed hand into Dum’s chest and slams him in the air conditioner box multiple times. Dee shoots Bigby in the back, making him slowly turn to him and drop Dum.

Bigby back hands him hard and grabs him to look over at Mary, who was leaning against one of the cars with a smirk. Bigby throws Dee at her but she moves, causing Dee to hit his car. Mary stands there unfazed.

Dum goes to hit Bigby with his gun but Bigby grabs the gun, throwing it away. He grabs Dum and slams him against the wall and holds him up.

“Fuck….you….Wolf….”, Dum gargled as Bigby pondered about killing him. He lowers the Tweedle harshly and looks over at Sonya with a solemn expression. She looked at him, shocked that he stopped.

He opened his mouth but a shocked look crossed his face as he was shot. He felt a searing pain on his side. Sonya whimpered to see him stumble to the ground, glancing over the attacker. It was Mary who shot him, wearing a large grin on her face. “Bigby!”, Sonya yelled, in a panic.

“It was a good show, but, you know. It just didn’t know when to end.”, Mary shrugs as she puts her gun away then walks to the limo, opens the back door and pulls out Woody’s axe.

Sonya’s eyes widened and illuminated brighter as Bloody Mary walked over to Bigby. She pulled out a chain to whip at her, only for Mary to dodge the end that hit the limo behind her.

She rushed to stop her from getting close to him. Bloody Mary smiles wildly, clashing her forearm with Sonya’s. “Look at you, protecting your poor little puppy.”

Sonya growled as her face melted into a skull, the rain peppering her flamed engulfed head into steam. “You’re not touching him.” Bigby’s eyes widened to see his deputy shielding him. “S-Sonya…”

Sonya pushed her and sent a punch towards her face. Mary dodged and pulled out her gun and shot Sonya in her thigh, hardly fazing her at the time. Mary tried shooting her again, but Sonya caught her hand, preventing her from shooting at all. She tried swinging the axe to her side but Sonya caught her hand a little late, causing the axe to gash her side a bit.

Sonya winces before she kicks Mary’s knee, making her drop to the ground in pain for a moment before tackling Sonya and breaking her arm, causing her to let out a yell of pain.

She growled in pain, not wanting to move her bent arm, watching as Bloody Mary picked up the axe and walked over to Bigby.

“You know, you wouldn’t think silver bullets would work on anything but a pure werewolf, but…as it turns out….that’s just not the case. Right. Wolfie?”, Mary says, laughing as she places the axe on her shoulder.

Sonya looked into Bigby distant but pained eyes and turned over to grab Mary’s ankle, heating her hand up to burn the woman’s skin. Anything to stop her from killing him...

She looked down at her kicking her over on her back and stomped Sonya’s face, breaking her nose. Sonya chokes on her blood, coughing some out to breathe as much as she could.

“I mean….hey, look, I know it sounds ridiculous, but….really guys….Can you argue with these results?”, she asked as she kicked Bigby to lay him on his back. “Cause I know I can’t.” She aimed the axe at Bigby’s neck then raised the axe high over her head.

“WAIT! STOP!”, Sonya yells and coughs. “Fuck…” Mary looks over at her as Sonya glares at her. “Just….take him, okay? Take Crane.”, she coughed out. “Just stop. Please.”

“Mmmm….yeah. I don’t know.”, Mary said as she pretended to think, before placing the axe on her shoulder again. “Sonya….mmph–don’t….”, Bigby groans, stretching his arm a little to reach her.

Mary notices a certain hand motioning her to come. “It’s your lucky day, kid. The Crooked Man says it’s okay with him.”, Mary said, smiling. “Bigby.”, Sonya whispered, looking at him. “I’m sorry…”

“Hello, Ichabod. Got a stomach ache?”, Mary asked Crane as he tried to sneak away. He stops, turns around and walks towards Mary. “Oh, and just between us girls….Crane ain’t no killer.”. Mary says as Crane walks up to her.

“I mean, look at this face. Couldn’t stick a pig if his life depended on it.” She grabs Crane’s ear, pulls his face close to hers to give him a grin then lets him go. Crane begins to walk to the limo as Mary watches him.

Before she leaves, she turns to face Sonya and Bigby. “Kinda like your boyfriend here. Too pussy to ruin a Tweedle’s day.”, she says, walking up to Bigby and stomps her foot down on his left arm.

Bigby lets out a roar of pain, making Sonya glare at Mary for causing him more pain. She looks to see a bone sticking out of his arm and bares her bloody teeth at Mary.

“Well, this is gonna be….a beautiful relationship we have with you guys. Really. I mean it. I’m jazzed about it.” Mary bows.

“Out with the old….in with the new. Long live the Queen.”, she said as she walked away from the broken duo.

She turned her head to look over her shoulder. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch. See you around.” She salutes and gets inside of the limo and the two cars drive away.

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argent-vulpine · 3 years

Text

A Gentle Voice

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Seteth/Byleth

Read it on AO3!

Jeralt was gone, and Seteth didn’t know how to handle comforting Byleth. She had entered a fugue state, the only tears shed being the ones she’d left on the field of battle. He needed answers, both from Rhea regarding whatever it was she’d done to Byleth as a child, and in terms of who it was that had attacked the students and ultimately killed the famed Blade Breaker.

Solon, or whatever his name really was. Monica, whose disappearance and sudden return after a year missing were suspect in hindsight. Who were these people? Who else had gone home themselves and returned something else? Or had they always been these other people? Too many questions and not nearly enough answers.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. Back to long nights, though this time they were for the professor, and not because he mistrusted her. Seteth pushed himself to his feet, needing some fresh air to clear his head, and left his office.

He had intended to head downstairs and talk a walk, but he caught sight of the door to the captain’s office cracked open, a faint, flickering light casting shadows that drew his attention.

There was no doubt in his mind who was in there, but he still pushed the door open further, glancing inside to be sure. As he suspected, Byleth was curled up, her father’s coat draped over her as she read through what looked to be a journal.

She looked up as the door creaked, her eyes bloodshot and stark against her pale skin. The book snapped shut and was tucked away. Something from Jeralt, then, but he didn’t bother to ask. It wasn’t his place, and she would perhaps tell him on her own, eventually.

“Professor, it is late. You should be sleeping.”

“The way you’re sleeping?” she asked dryly. “I tried. I couldn’t. So I’m here.”

Well. She had a point. Sighing, he approached the small couch; she tucked her legs closer to make room so that he could sit. He wanted to reach out and hold her close, tell her that things would be all right in the end but… who was he to talk, really? He’d kept himself and Flayn hidden away for such a long time after his wife died, after all.

How strange, that this woman had been entrusted with such a large secret, when a few short months before he hadn’t trusted her at all.

Against his better judgment, he reached out and placed a hand on her knee, the gesture meant to comfort. She stilled briefly, but made no motion to remove it, no words telling him to stop. “I know the pain of loss, as you are aware… but to lose a parent like this…” He sighed, shaking his head. “That is something I do not know. Flayn does, and I would do anything to have it be different. No child should have to witness such a terrible event.”

She opened her mouth, about to say something, and then closed it again.

“I know you are no longer a child, but the sentiment is there. Flayn at least has me, while you… I am sorry. Just… know that you are not alone.”

The silence stretched for a long moment, and he was about to apologize when she reached out, resting her hand on top of his. “… thank you, Seteth.”

He flushed, shaking his head. “There is nothing to thank me for, Professor.” He turned his hand beneath her to grasp her fingers, giving them a soft squeeze before he pulled away. “You do need to rest, Professor. Would you like me to get you a tonic from the infirmary? I am sure Manuela has something…”

“No, I don’t… I don’t want to be made to sleep like that.”

He hummed an acknowledgment, understanding why she might dislike the idea. “Ah… I could… sing for you, perhaps?” he asked, cheeks flaring with heat. “That is, I used to sing lullabies to Flayn when she had nightmares or was unable to rest. I could… do the same for you.”

The coat rustled briefly as she shifted beneath it, but beyond that, all was still and silent. He thought perhaps he had overstepped, or that she thought the notion silly. After all, she was not a child, and perhaps did not find comfort in music.

“I think… I would like that,” she finally said, voice soft. “Dad wasn’t much of a singer… mostly tavern songs? But sometimes he would sing other things. He always looked sad, but they were such nice songs.” The corners of her lips twitched upward for a brief second. “Even if he did sound terrible.”

Seteth gave a low chuckle at the thought of Jeralt singing anything that could be considered soft. He’d heard the man sing before, on his way back to the monastery from the town’s tavern. Off-key would have been a polite way of putting it. “I hope that I am not a poor voice to your ears,” he replied, glad that some of the tension had eased.

He drew in a breath, considering what to sing, and began ultimately with a soft lullaby. It was a fable set to music, an older song, and gentle, the melody slow and soft. Byleth watched him, her entire attention on him as he sang.

She showed no signs of relaxing, instead coming perhaps more alert than before as he sang. In the back of his mind, he wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or not; the song was a lullaby, after all, meant to ease people into slumber.

Byleth shifted, turning on the sofa until she was leaning against him, their shoulders pressing together. His voice faltered briefly, but she seemed content to stay where she was, listening.

The song ended, and he began another, a hymn often sung by the monastery’s choir. To his surprise, she began to hum along, soft and even; he wondered if this was something that Jeralt had sung around her before, or if perhaps she had picked it up since arriving at the monastery. He had seen her with a few students from time to time during choir lessons, after all.

This, at least, seemed to have the intended effect; she stifled a yawn and settled closer against his side. He hesitated, briefly, and then lifted his arm, carefully draping it around her shoulders, and was rewarded by her turning slightly, her cheek resting above his heart. He hoped that it was not beating too erratically.

Seteth finished the song despite Byleth’s humming tapering off as she fell asleep. He sang another, certain she wouldn’t hear but not wanting the moment to end just yet. And when it did finally end, he found himself not wanting to leave her there alone. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, willing to admit – just a little, to himself – that he… had grown fond of the professor.

He ultimately fell asleep as well, willing to do away with propriety for at least this night.

--------

They never had the opportunity to talk about that night. Byleth had been gone by the time he woke up in the morning, stiff and a little sore from sleeping upright. He assumed she had made her way back to her own room at some point, and she had resumed teaching her class that day.

But everything after had happened so fast…

Finding Jeralt’s killers. Byleth and her class charging recklessly ahead to deal with them. He had to piece together what had happened in the forest afterward, but the green hair she sported on her return had caused a great deal of worry for him, though Rhea

had seemed delighted, spiriting the professor up to her rooms to care for her.

He heard her singing as he passed by her rooms, going still as he realized what she was singing. It was old, a song he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

And it was suspicious that she was singing it to Byleth.

Something just seemed terribly off about all of it, and while he had suspicions that Rhea had done something, he didn’t know what, or how. Even the why was a mere guess, but it was a concerning enough guess that he spent many sleepless nights trying to learn more. Rhea was not forthcoming any time he asked her, telling him only to wait and see, that all would be clear in due time.

When Byleth was well enough to return to her own rooms, she did so to a flurry of activity. Preparing her class for the upcoming rite, normal classes, adjusting to her new hair and eyes. If they were a shocking change to her students and others around her, what must it be like for her?

Any time he tried to get her alone to talk to her, she would be pulled away. Certifications, exams, students in need of her advice or her assistance. He suspected she was throwing herself into work more than ever before, taking her class out into the field to deal with requests that came in. From time to time, she would ask him along, wanting his assistance, but there was never a good time to ask her about what had happened in those moments.

He wondered later if she had suspected Edelgard’s treachery, had known that not all was as it seemed. Certainly the attack on the Holy Tomb had been dealt with swiftly, with Edelgard and Hubert sent fleeing.

And after that treachery had been revealed, the monastery was in a flurry of activity as non-combatants were sent away for their safety where possible, or fled into Abyss, or simply barricaded themselves behind the stout walls of Garreg Mach to ride out the upcoming battle.

Byleth and her students were a force to be reckoned with on the field; she saw them firsthand as they fought against the Adrestian soldiers, fighting their way through as they tried to reach Edelgard.

But then Rhea took to the field, brandishing her draconic form in a way he hadn’t seen in centuries, and there was Byleth, running toward her, to protect her – why?! – and then she was falling, falling and he couldn’t reach her in time to save her, wyvern or not.

Her loss rippled through the field, causing a chain reaction of loss. Her students retreated, following her last orders to them, fleeing into Abyss where escape routes had been prepared for them, though he found all this out only much later.

And then Garreg Mach had fallen. Rhea was nowhere to be seen, nor was Byleth. Seteth took Flayn and the Knights of Seiros and retreated, fleeing into the countryside while war raged on around them all.

#Seteth #Setleth #Byleth Eisner #Seteth Birthday Bash 2020 #day 3: song #fire emblem #Fire Emblem Three Houses #FE3H

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baobaojng · 4 years

Text

remember

remember - lee taeyong.

wordcount ; 4514 ?

*fluff + angst

sum; accidents, amnesia, and a hopelessly persistent still-in-love boyfriend

it was the moment when she first woke up after the accident. she sat up straight leaning against the poor heightened headboard of the hospital bed, putting her left hand over her forehead as if tending to the adjustment her body went through being awake.

the doctor’s monitors went off, urging everybody to rush into her private room - curious to see how the patient was doing.

the accident happened exactly twenty-two days before, the rarity of comas that lasted more than two weeks was already a warning sign that she was in bad condition; she had been in a coma for all those twenty-two days.

so as the loud footsteps of running doctors and nurses came into play across the hallways, lee taeyong woke up from his little nap as well.

it had been a routine for him. everyday he would wait in the hospital, it seemed as if he grew acquainted with each and every waiting bench in the building at this point; he had been waiting for the love of his life to wake up for the past twenty-two days.

once he heard the alarming sounds of feet clattering on across the floorboards of the hospital, he snapped awake, his instinct telling him that whatever urgent matter was happening at that moment - it was some sort of urgent matter that concerned himself. so he did not take the time to settle his after-nap state of drowsiness, instead he brushed himself off of the seat and jolted to her room.

he pushed himself through the sea of doctors, his mind hoping for the best. he was warned so many times before of her condition - how miraculous it would be if she could make it through her coma, and a part of himself had thought that as he was taking each step into her room that she was fine.

and he was right. she was fine. she just woke up.

his heavy heart felt relieved of the weight they carried within those quick steps he took to see her.

relief did not last as long as he desired though— for her confused eyes laid on him as if she had seen the most bizarre and alien thing.

“miss y/l/n?” the doctor asked at the patient who just awoke, but her vision and her focus had been set to the boy who stood only meters from the edge of her bed.

“who’s he?” she asked the doctor, referring to the boy.

then suddenly, his heart felt too heavy for him to breathe.

- day 2

he came back the next day, preparing a hard drive with Friends and a couple more Korean dramas that he recalled she adored.

after she had asked for his identity the night prior, the doctors told her that she knew him, and the moment they were done assessing her - they informed taeyong that the diagnostics showed that it was very likely and very obvious that the accident caused more than the coma she endured: it came with losing parts of her memory.

his immediate reaction was of devastation, but with every fibre of his being, the boy realized one thing—

he loved her enough to wait through this.

he knocked on the soft brown shade of the glossy wooden door of her private room, his other arm clutching all of the things that he prepared for her. she mumbled for him to come in with the knocking of his hands.

“good morning.” he tried his best to mutter his most enthusiastic greeting, wearing an accommodating smile on his face; he wanted to try his best for her.

her expression was of surprise, her features perking as she lay in bed, “oh, hello.” she replied as she tilted her head a certain angle to examine his presence, knowing he was the same boy she saw the day before.

to him, it felt so bittersweet that she was finally awake - yes, she wasn’t rapped within the bounds of her coma any longer, but as he looked at the way her cheeks hollowed and how puffy her eyes were— he realized just how much she looked like she was suffering.

he could feel his heart strangled by his ribcage, his lungs also affected by the way nothing clouded in his throat - to him it brought heartbreak that she had suffered so much, and now she probably did not even know much of her life.

but instead he just held his hopes up and plastered fake encouragement just because he loved her that much. he loved her enough to do anything for her.

she noticed his silence and cleared her throat, “i’m sorry, i might seem rude, but this is all just so foreign to me so i don’t have any idea how react right now.” she chuckled nervously, “but if it makes things any better, i want you to know that i don’t mind you staying; it’s comforting that somebody who used to be in my life’s around– i could use some catching up with myself.” she pointed at the little couch that was next to her bed, inviting him to stay.

he nodded, “i hope it won’t be weird that i’m deliberately coming to visit you.” he told her nervously.

“no,” she paused for a bit, “the nurses and doctors told me that you’ve been doing that the moment i’ve been confined in here.” she mindlessly looked around at the blanks of the room. he chuckled lightly, not wanting to be standoffish.

she looked straight back at him, catching him in surprise, “you’re the only family i’ve got, i suppose.” she said to him.

in that moment cold sweat trickled down at the back of his neck, a sign of guilt and tremor piling up around to send little lingering fragments of the accident. ‘family,’ she had said - her lack of knowledge shielding her from what she did not know.

“i guess so.” it almost came out as a grumble as he walled toward the little couch.

“so what are we going to do today?” she asked him as he settled down with the stuff he brought, her little burst of enthusiasm took him by surprise.

“want to watch some shows?” he raised a brow very slightly, “you used to like them before.”

“why not? there isn’t anything else to do here, right?” she managed to joke a bit. he laughed a bit, awkwardness peering through, he stood up to set up the downloads to be displayed on the flat-screen the room had, cables set on each end of what needed to be plugged in.

twenty minutes into the first episode of the first drama taeyong turned on, she sat there with knitted brows as the creases on her forehead turned to wrinkle.

“i’m sorry taeyong, i’m just not following on this.” she pointed at the screen, referring to whatever it was they were watching.

“oh, okay, i’ll just turn it off then.” he quickly turned into his mode of panic - figuring that it was only just for him to follow onto the demand of that of the one with amnesia.

before he could stumble upon saying anything remotely odd to suggest, a band of medical staff made their way into the room, the doctor immediately paying attention to taeyong’s presence.

“i’m sorry sir, we have to make assessments on the patient. we hate to forgo any sort of reunion or visitation, but i’m afraid we have to escort you out of the room.” the man in the laboratory gown informed him and taeyong nervously nodded his head.

- day 3

he decided on a different approach, something he knew was close to her— yes, today food would be the testing factor on the matter.

so with bags of fancy packed ramen and other food from the restaurant they used to frequently go to - he charged into the room, making sure that there weren’t surprise checks from the doctors today and that he would have time with her.

there she was, reading a magazine from the pile on the little table by her bedside, caught off guard by his arrival - almost falling off bed.

“hi.” she squeaked out of embarrassment, smiling enough that her eyes were semi-closed.

“hello.” he tried to wave despite the weight of the objects he carried.

“what’s up lee taeyong?” she tried to be casual despite having almost zero knowledge on her visitor.

“i don’t know… i was thinking if maybe a certain y/n wanted some lunch.” he pretended to look around to allow the teasing to bleed through.

“of course she does!” she turned very excited upon hearing such, “hospital food and i haven’t gotten along very well lately.” she shrugged and he hurried to get the little table for patients to eat in bed.

she sat up straight as he set the table to stand just by her midriff, their closeness in proximity making him a bit stiff. it was not the right time for him to be reminiscent of their relationship before the fabled accident, but it left an impression of emptiness how she was so close to him now physically - but somehow what they were was something she’d forgotten - their love but a dream tossed down the drain to flow into water systems of nothing.

when he realized that maybe the sudden frozen state of him setting up her 'bed table’ might have put her off, he turned around to pretend like he needed to urgently tend to the bowls of still hot ramen.

he laid the food at the platform that stood at a small height on her bed, she was growing excited at the sight of new food.

“i’m not - not allowed to eat this, am i?” she made sure as she already clutched the chopsticks in between the spaces of her fingers.

“you aren’t,” he sat himself down the almost familiar sofa next to her bed as he got his bowl of ramen, “i made sure that it wouldn’t be disruptive of any tests of medication they’re making you take.” he fed himself a couple noodle strings.

“thank you taeyong.” she turned her head a bit to make him notice that she was giving him a gesture - she smiled to him, the kind he knew was genuine, or well at least the level of genuine that he knew.

then it came like small hits to the head, his mind flooded to him pictures of her smile like once before. the times they spent walking home as the sun set upon the streets of Seoul, interlocking hands as his gaze laid on her sun sparkled eyes— her smile creating mounds of creasing by the edges the ends of her lips. the times they would laugh at each other, how after the laughing’s prime would come to die down she would look at him like her whole world— that same smile placed in those same sentiments.

funny how as if it were him who revived memories, not her.

“don’t mention it.” he said after he ate that recent bite of his.

“i don’t think i remember anything else to stop me from thanking you. i’m glad that at least someone who cares about me makes about the first few new memories in my head.” she still hadn’t eaten, instead rambling.

“new memories? are there old ones?” he was curious upon her choice of words.

“of course. like my name, communicative language, reading, i think i remember colors and culture, and maybe a bit more - i just can’t be too specific about them.” she explained to him, and a lump in his throat grew.

right now, what she didn’t know won’t hurt her.

“but you know this food makes me curious.” she pointed forwardly at the array of noodles in front of her, splashing in to grab at the foreign egg and flour dish - no longer second guessing at the suspiciously red soup that it submerged itself in.

“why don’t you try –” he spoke too soon, for she had already stuffed her face with the dish, but a scary mix of what sounded like a regurgitated squeal escaped her lips.

“it’s spicy!” she exclaimed, another thing out of the ordinary for taeyong; she always enjoyed spicy food before.

she started fanning at her open mouth, hoping to find relief at the sensation. taeyong hurriedly grabbed the closest plastic cup of red iced tea, handing it to her once it fell into his grasp. the girl readily accepted this by gulping down the cup, and once she reached the final drop - she set the empty paper cup down, panting.

it startled taeyong. he felt that maybe his flaw at getting the food would make her dislike him— he was so afraid of that. this time around there were no factions on her loving him; it was about starting anew. their relationship was a blank canvas waiting to be filled in by whatever they could possibly fill it up with.

he did not want to get off at a bad start.

so the momentary silence that followed with the girl looking at the empty iced tea cup and him just standing next to her scared him, but there was an air of difference once her gaze rested on him.

she laughed, open-heartedly laughed.

it surprised him how much he could be surprised by this girl.

wetness welled in the waterline of her eyes, the laughter still flowing uncontrollably. she understood the premise of the situation, but it brought joy to her clueless mind.

and to him, hearing the rings of her laughter, filled up his heart with a level of joy he seemed to have forgotten so long ago.

- day 8

if not for his job threatening that he would be fired, or even lowered down a position, he would have visited fluidly and frequently. alas, he had to cut his visits short for the six days that passed after the ramen-related incident.

those days of short visits were mostly of her bored, describing to him how stressful hospitals were and how much she’d love to go and venture outside the confining walls— though she oddly skipped out her winding curiosity of what her life was once before, knowing that maybe taeyong would be rather uncomfortable talking about such. or maybe the time wasn’t right.

this played well along for taeyong, dodging the questions that would make things awfully awkward. though, it hurt as equally as it relieved him; he was having a hard time accepting the very large possibility of their relationship not being revived at all.

but his persistence could not be pulled down by strings of avoidance, he was willing to scale the world if it meant that she would be okay.

today was different though, the moment he walked through the door of her same room she was sat eagerly at the edge of the bed as if waiting for the door to open. once he got in her face fell onto a happy smile. they very much saw each other each day, but the air to her felt as if she actually missed him - she missed a man she did not know by detail, but she missed him because he was actually growing on her.

she pat on the empty side of the bed next to her, inviting him to sit there with her. and so he strode across to be sat there, but her gaze lingered on his frame - a gaze he could feel.

“uh… y/n?” he tilted his head to the side, sort of creeped out at her.

“oh? am i startling?” she suddenly felt conscious, putting her right hand behind her head.

to him it was cute, how the blush crept to her cheeks. he busted a small smile out himself, his adorably boxed but also rounded smile painted across his mouth.

“for you,” he looked at her, “i’ll try and say that you aren’t, not even in the slightest.” he chuckled so lightly.

“oh taeyong.” she decided to lay on his lap, her upper body dropping down on top his legs.

he just looked at her, how her hair messed about in figures of random strays.

“when you leave, most times i get trapped by my thoughts - maybe i had a good life, maybe a bad one. that i don’t know.” she starts to mumble, but to an extent that he could understand her. “whatever the case was back then, i don’t think i would mind. i’d love to remember if it meant knowing who you were to me; you’re too kind for words.” she stared up at him with her saturated eyes, his own looking back directly at her.

met by silence, she continued talking.

“taeyong, it isn’t fair that you’re doing all this for me.” she commented.

“what?” he wasn’t sure about what she was pertaining to.

“you came here everyday for more than a week now, and it seems like you come over to pamper and cater to my needs.” she huffed.

he laughed, “aren’t those what visitors do during hospital visits?”

“no,” she shook her head, “i meant that there’s never time to give recognition to you.” she giggled.

“i don’t think that part matters right now.” he brushed it off.

“when will it then?” she asked him with wide glassy eyes.

“when i feel like you can handle knowing.” he shrugged.

“what are you? some kind of spy then?” she said sarcastically.

“close enough,” he leaned near enough to her ear, “i’m the Queen of England.” he whispered.

“you’re kidding.” she gasped, covering her mouth the hung agape with her hand.

“i wish i were, dear. i wish i were.” he answered cockily, riding onto the joke he had just established.

- day 14

the doctors permitted for both of them to stroll around the hospital today.

as boring as that sounded, to them it was like parents allowing them to walk through a carnival independently.

it was new, their seemingly arranged set up of sitting on her hospital bed or staying on each other’s respective areas on the sofa or bed were now faded into the hospital room. now they had hallways, floors, the glass walls that painted light into the white colored interior.

this was all such a mystery to them, how now it seemed that they were of a certain level of comfort. in a lot of different senses though they still had such strange and mysterious feelings toward each other.

it felt like it was something they had both decided to do on their own: not feeling up on anything that could potentially damage the safe zone they had built around each other.

because now they could talk about the nonsense dreams she had, how already drained he was of his job, about the stars she would secretly stay up for at night even if she had a bedtime in the hospital, how he once dyed his hair a very eccentric shade of green, and maybe even things they could do once she would be admitted out.

how far-fetched it was— only two weeks laid in both their palms that they have spent with each other, another two lay there for time to tell if they would still do the same. but in those two weeks that had already come to pass, it was okay.

“honestly, the only real reason i wanted to go out was to check out the mystical vending machines i watched last night in one of the dramas you left behind for me to watch.” she said, joking that she did not look forward to having him around.

“the only real reason why i come around is to check out the hot nurses who run from the ER.” he rolled his eyes, pushing to shove the same humored joke.

“ouch, that stings taeyong.” she held her heart in fake agony.

“it better be.” he goofily stuck his tongue out.

“i know you love me.” she hummed as she skipped to the vending machine she talked about earlier. he stood behind, swept by the movement of air that followed by the way she walked skipped.

oh how cruel that she would bring that up— him loving her. if they were not joking around, and if she had not lost her memory - he would have told her that the real reason he was there beside her in every fleeting moment that he had the opportunity to was simply because he loved her. he loved her so much.

but lee taeyong had to bite his tongue and refrain from saying anything remotely near that.

well, he could be discrete about it and sneak it into humorous conversation when possible, but that was beside the point.

he did not realize that he was frozen in that spot until she came back sipping her drink in satisfaction.

“taeyong?” she called for his name, and arrows shot at him from agony to happiness.

how bittersweet that she could not remember.

- day 23

nobody expected this.

she was doing perfectly fine, the twenty-three days after waking up only pointed to signs that she way okay. she was okay. she was okay. there were no problems with anything.

but one day she simply could not move properly, her bones did not feel as stable - and she had no energy to push herself to even adjust from the sleeping position she had the night before.

there wasn’t really a term for it, but the doctors explained to a very worried lee taeyong (who by the way, was exhausted from running from his office all the way to the hospital - being the only contact of y/n in the hospital, they called him almost immediately after discovering her state) that it was a weird case of 'using all of her sudden strength from waking up from the coma, to eventually draining herself of it very drastically.’

to which he was confused, he could not understand what that meant.

all the words from the doctor’s mouth was replaced by taeyong’s mind tuning everything out to think about her.

remembering the accident.

how one day y/n was in a car ride on vacation with her family - one she begged taeyong to allow her to go to for the longest time, to now he did allow her - she was sitting on the passenger’s seat and her father drove, and a fourteen-wheeler truck that carried heavy duty materials for a commercial site lost control of driving on the freeway.

the truck did not collide with y/n’s car.

instead the loads of five-yard long metal bars punched through the windows and windshields, taking the lives of her parents, miraculously sparing her to be barely alive at that moment.

it was very unfortunate that her father’s airbag did not work - one of the many metal bars already destroying it before it could even inflate, but somehow fortunate that y/n’s simply inflated— allowing her the chance to live, but giving too much impact on her head to the point that she ended up where she is now.

to taeyong, it seemed like he relived the same nightmare of having seen her rushed into the hospital by the paramedics. only this time around she was already in her room, different machines strapped onto her for support.

- day 27

she was on her recovery state after the incident that occurred a few days before.

taeyong had not been advised to visit her, the doctors telling him that it would be much better for both parties to take rests. they could see how beaten up he was worrying about her, and it didn’t seem alright that she was tiring herself out because she got very energetic whenever he would be around.

he only heard that she was okay, and he made sure that each day he would send her favorite flowers.

- day 31

he still was not allowed to visit, but aside from all the incidents— the doctors deemed her okay. so today they called taeyong out of the blue to discharge the patient.

he settled the papers in the common area of the hospital and they told him that they would simply guide her to his car. after processing he went back to his vehicle to wait.

the anticipation killed him.

it didn’t take any more than fifteen minutes for them to arrive, helping her into the passenger’s seat.

it was quiet as he drove off.

he noticed with his peripheral vision that she was out of the hospital clothing they provided. but aside from that he did not want to look and stare at her directly.

the air between them was of a different tune, the incident that happened seemed to have dented whatever it was they developed.

their house was not far-off the hospital. when they reached the intersection before their house, the red light turned on to signal their momentary pause.

his hand on the clutch of the car, his heavy heart building and building into being heavier and heavier by the second.

he did not want to look at her, he did not want to stare; he did not want her to see the tears flooding into his eyes.

he failed.

his love failed.

he could not do enough to help her.

his love could not do enough to help her.

as the hot spill of tears silently found their way down his cheeks, the green light went back on. he drove off.

in a matter of moments he was pulling into the driveway, as the car parked it seemed as though neither one of them wanted to get out the vehicle.

he was still crying, and she still seemed to be a quiet figure who simply sat next to him.

but then warmth traveled its way to his arm, he flinched a bit at the contact of heat, but he noticed how her hand was on top of his as they piled up the clutch.

“taeyong?” she spoke softly.

“hm?” he choked out, not wanting to speak because he knew it would give off that he cried.

“i’m sorry.”

“how are you sorry?” he wondered at her, “i’m the one who’s supposed to be sorry.”

“no, taeyong.” she simply put out.

“i failed this whole thing.” he was still crying.

“you did not, okay?” she reassured him.

“how are you so sure? we’re at this state aren’t we? i’m not enough to save you.” he said, desperately wanting to prove that he was wrong.

“you are enough.”

“do you even know who i am?” he managed to ask, pressure guiding its way to his throat. the question pressed.

“you are lee taeyong,” she said obviously, “the love of my life.” she gently took his chin to tilt his head to face her.

“i don’t ever want to forget that again.” she proclaimed aloud kissing his forehead.

-fin-

(author’s note; i know… what the fuck, right?)

#lee taeyong #nct #nct 127 #nct fic #nct fanfic #lee taeyong x reader #taeyong fluff #taeyong angst #taeyong fic #taeyong fanfic #taeyong x reader

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: Biting Off More Than You Can Chew; part 12

Summary: It's the morning after Rus's heat. Time for a little truth or consequence.

Tags: heatfic, dubious consent, NSFW, frenemies to lovers, mates, first time, more if I think of them

PLEASE READ THE TAGS: This is a Heat story, so there are going to be issues of consent. I don’t do partner rape, nope, but hey, I want to be straight with y’all. I like heatfics personally, but I understand how they can be troubling for some people. So there it is.

Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11

~~*~~

Read Chapter 12 on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Rus was dead. It was the only explanation for how shitty he felt.

Being dead sure as hell sounded better than dealing with all the aches and pains he could feel settling into his bones. Better than dealing with the trickle of memory that was starting to soak into his thoughts, of spending the last night in a heat-induced haze of fucking, and by the shiny damned stars, having sex all night long only sounded good if you were getting paid by the hour. Anyone off the clock needed some damn sleep after a while and that was a fact.

Since dead people didn’t need sleep, though, Rus was gonna have to come to the regrettable conclusion that he was alive, in which case he might actually have to deal with some shit.

In the positive column, his soul felt…okay. Settled. That seemed like a good word for it or maybe deeply satisfied would be better. A miles-deep itch luxuriously scratched with a firm application of dick. A quick trip over into the negatives was he felt like every single one of his bones had a bruise fucked into it somewhere.

Also, he desperately wanted a cigarette and oh, yeah, he was in Edge’s bed and the last time that happened, the waking up didn’t exact rate a 10 on the hospitality scale. He could feel the presence of a body behind him and unless some serious changes in time and space happened while he was out cold, it was a good guess that it was Edge. Yay.

Welp, since he wasn’t dead, there was nothing for it. Cautiously, Rus eased over to take a gander.

Edge was there, all right, sound asleep, rusty-dark circles beneath his sockets. Stood to reason he’d still be zonked; he’d been along for the entire bouncy ride and stuck around for the cleanup. That was something to be grateful for right there. The bond between them felt oddly empty, like it was lying dormant. Rus prodded at it mentally like poking at a sore tooth and there was only the faintest pulse of response, not even enough for Edge to stir.

Yeah, buddy was tired, he deserved a chance to sleep in, right, job well done and all that shit. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be too pissed off if he slept through his shift, but Rus wasn’t sticking around to find out. Time to get out before black comedy took a left turn back to the drama category.

Didn’t exactly start off well; the second Rus tried to climb out of bed, it felt like this morphed from porn to some kind of stealth game. First objective, slithering off the mattress without moving it enough to wake the Edgelord. Next, his clothes were scattered to the four corners of the room, forcing Rus to tiptoe around to gather them up. At least they weren’t hard to find. Aside from his loose wardrobe, the room was neat as a pin.

Rus slipped his clothes back on, grimacing at the lingering dampness on his tank top and at the crotch of his pants. He sure as hell hoped Muffet held on to the sweatshirt he’d left at her bar even if she charged a cleaning fee, it was one of his favorites. Thinking of Muffet made him wince. His reputation was going to take a hell of a beating over last night or at least start up a Scooby Doo style mystery.

He’d deal with that later. Wasn’t much he could do about his clothes now, he wasn’t hanging around to do laundry, and he only needed to wear them long enough for a couple shortcuts.

Done and done, time to hit bricks and if the shortcut down to the machine woke Edge, all he could do was send an annoyed text. Yep, it was time to go, back home where he didn’t have to think about anything he didn’t want to, tuck all this shit about heats and bonds and who-the-fuck-knew else back into the dark, dusty corners of his mind while he focused on naps and smoking. Back to the ol’ basics.

Except, Rus still found himself hesitating, looking back where Edge was sleeping curled up beneath the rumpled blankets.

Rus’s soul gave an uncomfortable throb. Edge looked so damn young when he was asleep. All of the sharp corners and creases that bound him up during the day eased, leaving his skull smoother and the cracks that ran through his socket starker, more poignant. A pretty unwelcome reminder that he was the same age as Blue…and that he’d never had sex before, fucking hell, what a way to lose any vestiges of virginity a guy had, both times in a feverish, heat-induced marathon. Rus wasn’t an expert on the mornings-after, okay, he’d only slept over by accident a few other times. Dropped unconscious was more accurate, he’d been drunk as hell every time. Sneaking out for a hasty walk of shame while his nighttime companion and/or mistake was still out cold was fine on those occasions, but this time? Seemed kinda rude, what with the whole soul bond thing. Maybe really rude.

Besides, could be if Rus stuck around, he’d get breakfast out of the deal again.

That hooked it. He’d stay until Edge got up and see how this played out, and if it started with, any version of, ‘Why are you still here?’, he’d hit bricks. He rubbed his chest right over his soul, mentally ordering it to quit with the whining, he was staying, okay?

For now, he needed a damned cigarette. That itchy craving might be a pale comparison to driving heat crawling through his bones, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t irritating. The crumpled pack in his pants pocket held two mangled butts and his lighter. It’d have to do.

Rus stepped outside the bedroom door and carefully closed it before taking shortcut down to the front porch, already shaking out a cig before he sat down. It was cold outside, the sudden chill refreshing on his bones. The soothing rush of nicotine was all the better coupled with the linger ache in his bones. Nothing like a smoke after getting laid.

Not that ‘getting laid’ really lived up to the experience, now did it. That first time had been something, but his turn in the heat box was…fuck. That shit had been something else, the memory a blurry mess of pleasure and hot aching, his soul uncaring as it slowly collapsed into pain and dragged his dick along for the ride. If that was what it was like with a helper along, Rus didn’t even want to think about what it might be like to endure it alone. Someone needed to ask evolution for a refund, because that didn’t qualify under normal wear and tear.

Then again, if getting knocked up kept a Monster from having to go through that, it was a hell of an incentive.

A shadow fell over him and Rus looked up. And up, and up, at a hulking bear Monster, radiating LV without even a check, their beady, reddened eyes focused laser-sharp on Rus.

Yeah, okay, that was a hell of a wake-up call to remind him he was still in Underfell.

“Hey, there precious,” the Bear said, low and growling. “don’t you smell delicious?”

Welp, that was ominous on about three different levels, four if Rus could use complex mathematics, but this guy looked like 2 + 2 might tax his skill level.

Suddenly, Rus was feeling a lot more self-conscious about his tank top; there was a reason he normally bundled up in a sweatshirt and it wasn’t because he couldn’t take the temps.

Before Rus could decide whether to take his chances telling them to piss off, or shortcut out and ruin one of his last cigarettes, a familiar voice said from behind the Bear, “might wanna take another whiff there, smokey, that one’s taken.”

The Bear did, loudly, nostrils flaring, and Rus would’ve sworn he paled even though his face was covered in fur. He ducked his head and it was more than a little bemusing to see him so subservient to a guy not even half their height, muttering out, “Sorry, Red, I didn’t know.”

“uh huh,” Red hooked a thumb towards town, “you got a free whiff, now fuck off.”

The Bear dropped down to all fours and waddled hastily away. Rus watched him go, their tail waggling like a flag of surrender. Then he looked back at Red.

Red looked like Red, that ever-present smirk of his lingering on his mouth. He tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked on his sneakered heels. “you shouldn’t be outside yet,” Red said, “you still reek and some of the dimmer bulbs won’t check who you belong to, since the boss hasn’t bothered to put a collar on you yet.”

“yet?” Rus took a long drag, snorting out smoke through his nasal cavity. “yeah, i don’t think so. i don’t belong to anyone.”

“don’t take it so hard. he belongs to you, too,” Red sounded resigned. As if had any fucking right to, as if this whole clusterfuck wasn’t his fault, and yeah, it might’ve still gone down this way if Red just told him about this, maybe handed over that fabled heat manual along with the rock and the hard place, but at least Rus would’ve had a choice. At least this would be all his bad decisions, that much he was used to. Not Red using him like a bandage, slapping him over his brother’s wound and expecting him to soak up all the juices.

Only to find out it wasn’t as easy to toss him out afterward and fuck it, Rus was losing the metaphor, but the point stood. Red didn’t have a right to sound like that, fucking prick.

What all this really came down to was that there was a choice to make here, and the bitch of it was, Rus already knew what one he was going to make.

Rus sighed and held out the pack of cigarettes, and after a minute, Red took the last one, tossing the crumpled pack on the ground where Edge was probably gonna find it and bitch about it. Red sat down next to him on the step and took the silently offered lighter, too. They sat there for a while, smoking in the quiet morning and honestly, what a laugh, right? Red and Sans could hold onto a grudge in both their greasy little hands until the Universe went to dust and Rus’s soft little soul folded like a card house after one shouting match.

Seriously, Red really knew how to pick his scapegoats, didn’t he.

“i really hate you, you know,” Rus said conversationally. The artificial light was getting brighter. If he were back home, Rus would already be napping at his sentry station.

Red only chuckled humorlessly, “there’s another thing you and my bro have in common.”

“your brother doesn’t hate you.”

Red shrugged, flicking ash across the snow mounded around their porch. “wouldn’t know. haven’t seen him since his heat.”

“what?” That sure as hell got Rus’s attention. Yeah, Red skipped out on movie night, but Rus hadn’t known it was that bad. “you live here.”

Red’s grin was blade-sharp, his eye lights firmly on his untied shoes. “see that’s the thing about being able to shortcut. you don’t have to see anybody you don’t wanna.”

“true.” But Rus couldn’t help but wonder who didn’t want to see who, ‘cause if Red did all this for his brother, it was pretty damn hard to believe that he’d ditch him over the fallout. “edge is still pretty pissed, huh.”

Not that Rus had a leg to stand on in that fight, not when he was still pissed off himself. Once Edge figured out who sent Rus into the lion’s heat den—an extremely short list of suspects— stood to reason he’d be steamed.

Red said nothing. He flicked his burnt-out butt into the snow and pulled a slim silver case out of his pocket. Weirdly posh for him but when he opened it, there was a neat row of those little cigars that he liked to smoke. He held the case out, offering, and fuck it, Rus took one. Nicotine was nicotine, even if the harsh smoke made him cough. When Red made a move to pat him on the back, Rus leaned away, glaring through his cough.

“don’t,” Rus wheezed out. “don’t touch me.” He took a couple deep, clean breaths, and added, “we aren’t good, i want you to know that. we aren’t friends. you fucked me over good with this shit.”

“yeah. i did.” Red didn’t argue. He smoked his cigar and looked out at the snow drifts around them. At his battered version of Snowdin, his world that was so fucked up that it forced Monsters to go into heat and nearly die themselves to keep the population up.

Rus sighed, absently twirling the cigar between his fingers. “but if you want, i’ll try and help you get back in with your bro.”

That got Red’s attention. He turned to Rus, sockets narrowed suspiciously. “why would you do that?”

“because edge didn’t ask for any of this shit, either,” Rus said, low, “and now he’s stuck with me of all people, isn’t he. he doesn’t deserve to lose his brother, too, especially not in your shitheap of a world.” And it was a shitty, shitty thing Red did, but damned if Rus didn’t get it. What wouldn’t he do for his own bro? Might be better not to put it to the test.

Red said, dubiously, “don’t think that’s how he’d look at it—”

He didn’t get a chance to elaborate. Rus got the faintest impression of someone else’s panic at almost the exact moment the door swung open abruptly behind them and Edge came boiling out, nearly tripped ass over teakettle over them. His wild panic faded when he saw them, the flare of his eye lights dimming to confusion, “Why are you outside?”

Rus shrugged and held up the cigar in answer. “don’t worry, red is a good bodyguard.”

From the corner of his socket, Rus let his eye lights linger on Edge’s bare ribcage, the smooth, broad bones occasionally intersected with the scars of old cracks. The clotted bite mark on his sternum was stark in the artificial daylight and looking at it gave Rus a weird itch, echoed in the healed scar on his collarbone. Interesting to see that Edge hadn’t put on a shirt or even his boots. He was going to go searching in the snow in his bare feet, so panicked he was gonna chase Rus down without shoes.

Guess it was a good thing he decided not to leave. The last thing he needed was Edge showing up half-naked in Underswap Snowdin and tearing apart the town searching for him. That soul bond shit really did a number on a guy’s head, didn’t it, plus maybe some dregs of that heat lingering at the bottom of the mug.

He had the bond pulled in pretty tight right now, anyway. Rus didn’t feel a bit of Edge’s visible discomfort. His ungloved fingers clattered lightly against his skull as he ran a hand over it. “Both of you get inside.”

A direct order that neither Rus nor Red made any move to obey. Rus pinched out his cigar and tucked it into his pocket in case of a later nicotine emergency, then tipped his skull back to look at Edge, all that restless impatience turned upside down.

“you gonna make us some breakfast?” Rus asked lightly.

Edge’s eye lights settled on his and he stared at Rus, unblinking, and fuck only knew what he was seeing. Then they slowly slid to his brother’s back, at Red who was currently staring holes into the ground.

“Yes,” Edge agreed, slowly. “Now come inside.” He didn’t wait to see if they followed, turned on his bare heel and went back in, leaving the door open behind him. Red made a show about getting to his feet, tossing the cigar butt into the snow and giving his ass a lazy scratch. He was shifting impatiently by the time Rus did the same, minus the ass scratch, and shuffled inside.

Edge was waiting by the kitchen door. He said to Rus, “Why don’t you go upstairs and take a nap while I cook? You look like you could use a little more rest.”

“don’t have to tell me twice.” Especially since he suspected Edge wanted to talk with his brother without an audience. Welp, he’d gotten Red through the door, the rest was up to them.

Rus took a shortcut right up into Edge’s mussed bed. The sheets had already given up all the heat they’d collected overnight. Didn’t matter, they were still comfortable and the blankets plentiful. Rus burrowed in, sighing, and closing his sockets, firmly ignoring the spicy, sex-musty stink that was probably baked into the linens even as it made his soul twitch feebly with interest.

Nope, you had your fun, he told it sternly. Time to sit in the back seat until his pelvis felt less like it’d been used as a rocking horse.

Honestly, he didn’t mean to actually fall asleep or at least not as hard as he did, but he must’ve because the next thing Rus knew Edge was there, along with the tantalizing aroma of pancakes and coffee.

The spread was as good as the last time, golden-brown pancakes with a pat of melting butter pooled in the center, mingling with the drizzled honey. Tempting as that was, despite the hungry cry in his soul for sustenance, Rus reached for the coffee first. Only two notches above lukewarm with plenty of milk and sugar, just how he liked it.

Edge set the tray on the bed between them, digging into his plate of pancakes while Rus got close and personal with the coffee. Didn’t take long for him to finish his caffeinated bonding and start in on his own plate, groaning his bliss out around a mouthful of delicious caky sweetness.

“this is so good,” Rus mumbled, then before Edge could grouse about his tables manners in spite of the lack of table, he swallowed and added, “i could get used to being served breakfast in bed after a long night of heat sex.”

Edge’s fork paused almost too briefly to be seen, quickly cutting into his second pancake. “I think something like that could be arranged.”

It was lightly said, but the reminder made Rus grimace anyway. Yeah, if what Edge told him before held true, they were gonna be doing this every few months or so, weren’t they. A shitty situation all the way around, but fuck it, at least there might be future pancakes. He poked at a bite with his fork, the soft innards dissolving into a honey sludge.

As good as the food was, it was weirdly awkward to be sitting here eating pancakes, even more than it’d been the last time. Last time, Rus thought he was about to head home and all this would end up a footnote in his autobiography. Now Rus knew it was gonna end up as a chapter of its own and sitting here trying not to look at the bite mark he’d left on Edge’s sternum on the same bed where only a few hours ago he’d been putting in a good effort to pound Edge through the mattress was a little…yeah, awkward didn’t seem to quite cover it.

Reluctant as he was to think about last night, he did have some clear memories, and hadn’t he just been telling Red that none of this was Edge’s fault? Might be time to put his G where his big mouth was.

“i’m sorry for what i said last night,” Rus said bluntly. “it was shitty of me to blame all this on you.”

Edge didn’t even pause, only swallowed down his current mouthful and said, “I’m hardly going to hold what you say in heat against you. One of the first things in the manual is to not take things a heat-stricken Monster says personally.”

“yeah? that’s probably sound advice.” Rus dragged a bite of pancake through the leftover honey puddled on the plate, sopping it up. “i didn’t know how awful that was for you before. i suspected, you didn’t exactly seem like you were having a good time, but that?” Rus ducked his head, shuddering. “that was something else.”

“Being in heat is awful,” Edge agreed. “however, it shouldn’t be that bad again. Not according to the manual.”

“it’s word is law, huh?”

“After a few centuries of refinement, I’m willing to follow it.”

Rus was running out of pancakes to use as a buffer, time to speed this up. “i feel like an asshole for having to ask and i can guess what you’re say, but…um…are you okay?”

Stupid how that faint smile of Edge’s sent a little pulse through his soul, this bond thing could be really annoying. “I’m fine. And you wouldn’t be an asshole even if I weren’t, it wasn’t your fault.”

“it feels like my fault.” He’d been the one climbing on top, he’d been the one pinning Edge down. Willing or no, it’d still felt like Rus was taking too much, taking, forcing, driven by unrelenting heat and—

“Who are you going to trust, your feeling or me?”

Rus only laughed, a little uncomfortably. He dabbled a finger in the honey dregs, licked it clean. “i’m not usually much of a dick man, anyway. better to receive than give, in my opinion.”

“I don’t think I’m prepared to choose either way.” Edge mused thoughtfully as he set the tray with their empty plates on the floor. “I’d need more data.”

Oh. Well, now. That almost sounded like an invitation, now, dinnit?

Maybe if he…gingerly, Rus opened up the mental wall he had up around his soul juuust a little, a wide enough crack to peer out. He could feel Edge doing the same, so fucking weird, allowing the barest tickle of emotion that wasn’t his, but Rus was ready to match that emotion pretty damn quick.

Desire, as thick and sweet as that morning’s honey.

Rus swallowed hard, “uh, do you maybe…?”

“Yes, I want you,” Edge said bluntly. Just tossed it out there like a ball for Rus to fumble, except not really because Rus had a hold on it now, opening up his soul a wee bit more. Okay, so, if he could feel all the concerns and worries that Edge put out, stood to reason he’d feel want, he’d felt it a little last night. Wants and needs and desires and pleasure, and holy hell, this was gonna be interesting, wasn’t it.

“aww, sweet talker,” Rus cooed. He reached out and traced around the bite mark on Edge’s sternum teasingly, skirting dangerously close to the damaged bone. “you up for some experimenting?”

“Are you offering?”

“yeah, i am.” Enough dancing around, Rus was a little too tired yet to try for the tango. And why the fuck not. His cock was out of commission, but his cunt was all right, and as far as he knew, the only sex Edge ever had was his own heat and its aftermath, and then Rus’s. He could stand to be shown a good time. Hell, Edge was a better lay than most anyone else Rus went home with before, plus he came with morning after pancakes. Maybe this bond thing didn’t have to be so bad, especially if Edge was willing to let him show off a trick or two.

Rus leaned in, carefully telegraphing each move, and kissed him. Jaggedly sharp teeth parted, allowing his tongue inside and there was something about navigating around them, the almost-danger of it that pulled a groan out of Rus, fuck, yes, this was gonna be amazing it was—

An unguarded flash of emotion pulsed through Rus’s soul, a spark of unexpected warmth. Rus jerked back instinctively, flinching away from Edge, both hands curling over his chest as he asked shakily, “what the fuck!”

That emotion was stifled immediately, snuffed out and hastily hidden behind that mental brick wall again. “My apologies,” Edge said smoothly. He leaned in, trying to kiss Rus again but it was about ten steps past too late for that.

“no, no, holy shit, what the fuck!” That brief, shining flash, so brief, but Rus knew it for what it was. Too-warm and tender, settled insidiously against his own for only a moment, but he knew.

Love.

Rus scrambled out of the bed, nearly tripping over the tray on the floor, dishes rattling as he backed hastily away, his trembling hands held out as if to keep Edge back.

Edge didn’t try to stop him, he only sat there, looking bleak and…and…no, fuck no…

“no,” Rus choked out, “no, i can’t do that, this bond.” He clutched a fist over his sternum where his soul was aching to manifest “i can’t…please…i can’t deal with it making me feel things that aren’t real, i can’t.”

“It’s not the bond,” Edge whispered, barely audible. He looked way, down at his hands twisting in his lap. “I felt that way before I ever touched you.”

“don’t…” Rus blurted, low and thready. The sourness rising at the back of his throat overwhelming the lingering sweet. “don’t you fucking dare. i don’t believe you.”

“Why do you think my brother chose you?”

“He told me—“

”Oh, I’m sure he had a very good excuse. But heat can be more selective than you’d think.” Edge closed his sockets, exhaling long and slow, “My brother knew exactly how I felt about you and he knew that I never wanted this for you. You deserve a choice, a better choice, any other choice than this.”

“you don’t…you don’t feel that way about me…” Rus said shakily. “you can’t.” More denials trembled on his tongue, but how the fuck was he supposed to deny what he felt with his own soul.

He didn’t even think about shortcutting, only knew he needed to be gone.

The basement was cold, colder even then outside, untouched by the artificial light. Rus fumbled at the machine controls. He had to clear it and reset the coordinates for Underswap twice. Home, he had to get home, that was all, he had to get away from here and…

…and then what?

What was he gonna do? Go hide in Underswap again until heat struck one of them down?

Rus covered his face with trembling hands, inhaled the nauseating mixture the smell of tobacco and sweet honey that clung to his bones. Everything had changed and nothing had changed; the heat was still going to come and there was no place deep enough Rus could bury himself, no Monster he could pull between his legs to ride him to forgetfulness that was gonna stop it.

He didn’t know what to do anymore.

He stood in front of the shimmering blackness of portal, his soul knotted into a screaming tantrum of not fair and when had that ever changed a fucking thing? Terror and anger could fight it out for supremacy in his head, but he had some pretty visceral proof that he couldn’t run away from this one and that was the bitch of it. It was chained directly to his soul and there was no easy escape, not this time.

It was hard to force any kind of clarity into his warbling thoughts, but Rus did the best he could. Deep, calming breaths, his breath clouding in the cold of the basement. He was shivering by the time his panic loosened its hold, bones rattling in the stillness. Okay, obviously, his head and soul were twisted on backwards and upside down over this. What he needed was an outside opinion, someone who didn’t have a horse in this race to give him some damned advice.

Rus went through the portal and closed it behind him before heading upstairs, towards the best opinion he knew. He’d barely opened the door when a shout rang out, making him cringe.

“WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!”

His brother all but flew off the sofa, furiously. Tears stood out in his sockets, shining against the starry blue of his eye lights. “I have been looking everywhere for you! The Monsters at Muffet’s said you were acting strangely and--” Whatever Blue saw on his face made him pause, his righteous anger fading. When Rus dropped to his knees and opened his arms Blue was there in an instant, holding him close. His small, sturdy body was comfort, it was home, and Rus greedily absorbed the feel of it.

All too soon, Blue pulled away. He didn’t go far, cupping Rus’s face in his gentle, gloved hands. “Papy? What is going on?”

That was his bro, always so kind and trying so hard to understand, to make things better. Blue wanted so terribly much to fix it, whatever it was, things and places and people and Rus.

“sit down, bro,” Rus sighed, nudging him towards the sofa, “and i’ll explain. but it’s a long story.”

“Then start telling it,” Blue settled in on the cushions, folding his hands in his lap expectantly. “and brother? I’m expecting a much longer tale than ‘Fuzzy Bunny’.”

Rus resisted the urge to say anything about it being a tale about getting tail and sat down next to him, sprawling into his brother’s lap. “okay. you remember a few weeks ago when i stayed out all night—"

~~*~~

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #heatfic #biting off more than you can chew

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 4 years

Text

The Guardian’s Oath, Part Three

In order to make any sense of this, you’ll want to read Part One and Part Two.

Thanks to everyone who’s read/ commented/ liked so far! My guess is that this section *maybe* represents the halfway point, although possibly a little less. I feel like I’m on the clock here since there’s at least one more “seasonal” (Halloween-type-theme) story I’m working on.

Hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Feargal Devitt/ Finn Balor x OFC

Word count: 4,734

Content advisory: None.

"Is everything alright, Miss? I thought I heard you cry out."

Kate's voice startled me when I came back inside.

"Oh yes, I'm sorry. I saw… there was a strange man at the gate just now but I told him to be on his way."

"A strange man?" She muttered something under her breath before continuing, "There's too many around this summer. You see tramps all the way down from Dublin with things being so hard there and it makes you feel like you're not safe in your own home."

"I hadn't thought of that. I assumed it was one of the village men."

Kate shook her head. "They're bad enough. But these city ruffians have a look that'll turn your blood cold."

"He was a peculiar looking fellow," I mused. "And there was certainly something about him that set my nerves on edge. But he's gone now."

I tried to sound confident but when I retired to my chambers for the night, I was haunted by visions of the dark man, filled with a foreboding that he meant harm to me or the children. During those few precious stretches when I was able to sleep, I dreamt of his pale eyes bearing down on me, of the man speaking to me without ever moving his lips.

“I am coming,” he said, and nothing more.

As the summer progressed, the children became more and more restless with their lessons. Although they did not associate much with the youngsters from town, they knew enough to be aware that schools had let out and that other children were free to spend their summers at play. I tried to keep them focused as much as possible but I found myself giving in to their wishes to go outside and, in particular, to go for long walks along the shore.

I had become accustomed to the constant roll of the ocean in my new home but I still felt a little intimidated being next to what seemed like an endless expanse. In theory, I knew that there was land in the distance but the fact that I could not see it made me feel like it was a fantasy, as much as the monsters that the children told me of.

“Miss Miles, can we please go around the point today?” William whined at me.

For weeks, he had been begging me to circle around the tip of the beach crescent, around to the area just below the place where we had had our picnic. He could tell that each request was wearing me down just a little but I felt that he had reached my core and that I could not yield. The area was rocky and uneven, some of it barely above water even at low tide. I knew that, while he might be able to skip through it with impunity, I couldn’t hope to keep pace and could easily slip and injure myself, at which point I would be no help at all to him or his sister.

“William, I’ve told you before, if we come to the beach, we stay on the sands,” I grumbled, irritable from a bad night’s sleep. “It’s too dangerous to risk going farther.”

“But there are caves! I want to go and look inside them!”

“My word is final and you know perfectly well that your father would agree with me.”

I remained nervous that the children could damage my position by complaining that I’d treated them unfairly, so I’d taken to invoking their father when I needed to enforce discipline. It worked in this case, as it always did, although every time I refused him his adventure, I could see William’s expression growing more frustrated and angrier.

The three of us took our dinner together, William still sulking.

“How did your family die?” he blurted as we waited on dessert.

“Willam, be quiet,” Sophia hissed. “You’ve no right to ask her such questions.”

At the same time, I saw her dark eyes cut back to me for an instant, as if she wanted to see how I’d react without her intervention. I was exhausted and knew that no real harm could come of sharing my story. I even thought that it might generate some sympathy in them.

“My mother died giving birth to my younger brother,” I informed them coolly. “My father loved her very much and after she died… his health began to deteriorate.”

I knew enough to avoid telling the whole truth in this case, namely that starting with my mother’s death, my father had started to drink heavily. This was not appropriate for children to hear. Then again, I mused, it was not appropriate for a child to experience.

“He was a schoolteacher and as his health declined, he was forced out of work,” I continued.

“So you were paupers?” Sophia asked sharply.

“We were not so bad off. My father had some meagre savings that supported us, and he was able to take on some work tutoring.”

“Where is your brother now?” William now seemed more curious than resentful.

I inhaled deeply.

“My brother died when he was hardly more than a baby.”

“Was he sickly? What did he die of?”

I was not expecting the barrage of personal questions but I understood them to an extent. I likely could have scolded them and told them that they were being presumptuous. Instead, I cast my eyes down at the table and spoke.

“He just died. No one could ever determine why. He went to sleep one night and never woke up.”

“How mysterious!” Sophia exclaimed.

“I suppose so,” I responded softly. “After his death, my father’s health grew even worse. He grew weaker and eventually, he died too.”

“As a result of his illness?”

“He took a kind of a turn. I think he must have felt dizzy and he fell and hit his head. He died a few days later from the injury.”

“That’s horrid,” Isabella gasped. “You were left all alone!”

“Not quite all alone,” I answered with a smile. “My church took me in and made sure that my needs were met. They also made sure that I was educated enough to be able to take on a position as governess. And here I am with you.”

Sophia frowned a little. “Do churches in your area normally do that?”

“I suppose I was lucky that this one was very generous.”

The truth was that their generosity had always confused me. When I was very young, I didn’t understand why anyone should be so kind to me. As I grew older, I appreciated it more but I understood that this was not something that was normally practiced. Perhaps I had been lucky enough to be born in an especially generous parish. Perhaps the reverend there had seen some potential in me from the beginning, for he was always my champion and closest ally. I only knew that I had fared better than another in my situation could hope to.

We all retired early, our lungs full of ocean air that soothed the brain. I read to the children from a book of fables that didn’t seem to bore them too much and was relieved when they declared themselves exhausted after just a few minutes.

I said my prayers that night remembering my family and hoping that they had made their way to Heaven.

At around one, I was awakened by Kate, who was in a panic. It took me a moment for me to get her to speak coherently.

“It’s the young Master,” she sobbed. “He’s run off. She says she doesn’t know where he’s gone.”

The word “she” was said with a level of suspicion and anger that surprised me. I knew she was speaking of Sophia and that she had some dark opinions on the young Devitts, but it hardly seemed a tone appropriate to speaking of a child.

“How long has he been gone?”

“About ten minutes ma’am. I ran out to see if I could catch him because he’s run off to hide in the woods as a game before, but I couldn’t see him anywhere.”

I started to gather some clothes so that I could at least make a pretense of being presentable.

“Was the back gate unlocked?”

“It was, although I can’t say for certain if that was done tonight.”

The two of us descended the stairs, looking out at the trees whipped around by the wind. I was aware that Sophia trailed after us but I was annoyed at her for her refusal to divulge where her brother had gone, even though I was certain she knew.

“Kate, did you see him go in the direction of the woods?” I asked, another idea springing to mind.

“I did not… I just assumed that since he’d gone before…”

“He’s not back there,” I told her. “He’s gone down to the water to look at the caves.” I spun to face Sophia. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

She pursed her lips, looking genuinely shocked that I had figured out the answer so quickly.

“The caves?” Kate exclaimed. “But it’s high tide! He’ll be pulled out to sea!”

“Kate, I need you to go to all the houses nearby. Wake them and tell them that you need to form a search party for Master William and tell them we think that he’s near the ocean. They can cover the ground over land in case he’s taken that route. I’m going to go down to the beach to see if I can find him there.”

“But it’s not safe!”

“It will be fine,” I assured her, far from convinced myself. “I should be able to catch him before he makes his way around the point. Hopefully, he’ll turn back on his own when he sees the water but at least I can move much faster than he does.”

Without waiting for another word, I bolted from the house, rushing down to the beach and almost falling several times. The tide was at its highest point, almost reaching the top of the rocks where William liked to collect his specimens. Even at a distance, I could see that the point of the crescent, where WIlliam would have to go in order to access the caves on the other side, was covered in water up to its vertical rise. And well ahead of me along the beach, I could see a small figure skipping along the rocks.

“William!” I screamed, starting after him as quickly as I could. “William, stop! It’s too dangerous!”

The wind whipping off the water was too much for my voice to carry, so I continued after him as quickly as I could go, confounded that his tiny legs seemed to carry him at almost the same pace. It took me some time to close any distance between us and I was still too far behind for him to hear me calling after him.

As he approached the end of the beach, I saw him pause and peer forward, as if he were following someone and questioning the wisdom of going further. I tried to call out his name even louder but I grew winded very quickly.

It seemed like insanity, even for a child, but William waded out into the water, making his way towards the point. I trembled at the thought that in order to catch up with him, I would have to do the same, already imagining the weight of my clothing and the tug of the current on my legs.

He clung as close as he could to the shore and began to gingerly make his way around the turn. Once he slipped, the rocks beneath his feet doubtless slick and deadly, but he resurfaced a second later, scrabbling his way up to the side of the rock and clinging to it as he made his way around and out of my sight.

Terrified, I realized that in order to have any hope of overtaking him before the danger became worse, I would have to take a diagonal route, walking through the water rather than moving along the shore. I had never in my life ventured into the ocean but the need to rescue my young charge was greater than my fear. I waded out until the water reached my thighs and fought my way with all my strength. As I approached the point of the crescent beach, I stumbled, almost getting pulled under and soaked to my chest but I persevered, making my way forward until I saw the gouges in the earth that formed the caves William so wanted to see.

As I approached the first one, I heard screaming over the wind and made my way towards it. Indeed it was William, ghost white and terrified, begging for help.

“I can’t swim!” he shrieked.

Of course, I couldn’t swim either, but I wasn’t about to say that.

“I’m coming William!” I cried out, fighting my way towards him. “We’ll be safe soon!”

By the time I reached him, cowering on a ledge inside the cave, my lungs were burning from exertion. I gathered him up in my arms but my grip was weak. I was gasping and desperately trying to keep hold of him and I could tell from the look on his face that my demeanor was doing nothing to inspire confidence. Despite the cold of the water, my entire body felt like burning coals wrapped in skin. Truthfully, having made it this far, I wasn’t certain I could guide us to safety but I knew I had a better chance than the boy had on his own. And, although I felt shame at the thought as soon as it occurred to me, if I were to leave and focus only on saving myself, there was the chance that he would survive and be able to tell others that I had abandoned him.

I wrapped my arm around him and crept forward to the mouth of the cave. I glanced over my shoulder, wondering if we might be safer heading further back, into the darkness behind us but there was no way to tell how far back the cave went, if there was a drop, or how deep the water was. So I clung as best I could to the rocky surface with my free hand, trying not to give into the panic I felt hearing William scream and cry.

The rocks under my feet were slick and treacherous and more than once I slipped, sending both of us under the water and forcing me to expend more precious energy fighting back to the surface. After the second such accident, William ceased to cry and seemed to grow heavier. He coughed and spluttered and I found myself shaking him violently in the hopes of making him cough up the ocean water he’d swallowed. Eventually, though, I became so focused on getting back to the shore that it was all I was aware of.

Rather than head back around the point and risk the strong current there, I took the shortest route and headed for the land nearest the caves. I remembered from our picnic on the cliff above that it was narrower and rockier but I didn’t believe I had the strength to carry William much further. I knew that there was some kind of path up because the children had taken it the day of our picnic. But I was certain what shape it would be in or how accessible it would be with the high tide.

I felt like it took me hours to reach the point where the land rose above the water. The path up was difficult to mount but I somehow managed it, all the while pulling my young charge along. Although I managed to get us on to some semblance of solid ground, the soil there was loose and slid around, frustrating my attempts to crawl to safety. William whimpered and whined, for I was at this point dragging him like a sack behind me. I had to pause every few steps just to get more air into my body and because I felt too exhausted to continue. I gave some anguished sobs myself, desperate and furious that this boy had put us both in danger.

About halfway up the hill, I saw some lights and thought I heard voices. I waited a moment, afraid that I was imagining things but the sights and sounds persisted and it occurred to me that there were people there: Kate had gone to raise the alarm with our neighbors and she would have sent them to the place where she knew I had headed.

“Help us!” I cried as loudly as I could manage. I knew I was nowhere near loud enough to be heard over the wind but knowing how close rescue was, my body refused to move further up the path. “For the love of God, help us!”

I stayed in place, clinging to William and holding him close to my body in order to share what little warmth I had. I continued to scream, my voice growing louder as some of my strength returned. Although his glassy eyes told me that he had no idea what was going on, William was roused by my voice and then joined me in my calls for help. As I reached what I truly felt might be my last breath, I saw a couple of faces appear above us. I raised my arm weakly and hollered in the hopes that they would notice us.

“They’re here!” a man’s voice cried out.

I felt my body slump as I realized that we’d been seen. I clung as tight as I could to William and felt my head tip back. Although I never lost consciousness, I was only dimly aware of what was going on as the men descended and gathered us up to bring us back to safety. There was a cacophony of voices offering praise to God, trying to evaluate our health, barking orders on where to take us.

Finally, one familiar voice cut through them all.

“Oh my heavens, Miss Miles,” Kate cried, “you are a saint.”

I felt filthy and waterlogged and pain ripped through every tissue of my body. I felt like nothing like a saint but her praise felt better and more genuine than anything I had been told in my life. I tried to smile but even the muscles of my face felt heavy and I don’t know that I managed more than a twitch of my lips.

The rescue party conveyed us all back to Wynn Cottage, throwing rugs and blankets over us as they did. I heard Kate giving orders and was quietly impressed at how her sweet, matronly demeanor changed when leadership was needed. When we reached the cottage, the group split into two. One part hurried up the stairs with William, yelling that the doctor was needed. Another group carried me to the kitchen, where Susan was standing over a washing basin filled with hot water.

I was surprised, in light of her often grouchy mood, to see that her eyes were red from crying and that she reached out to grab hold of my hand as soon as the men brought me close to her. She held onto it hard and a strange mix of prayers and praise flowed from her lips.

“Thank you, thank you,” Kate muttered, fighting her way to the front of the crowd. “Now please leave us, we have to get her into the bath to warm her up. Give us some privacy please.”

The men shuffled out of the kitchen and I immediately felt Kate and Susan working at the buttons of my dress. Their movements were frantic enough that a few buttons were torn clean off. Each time that would happen, I heard Susan assure us that she would take care of it. When they finally removed the last of my drenched clothing, I saw Susan gather everything up and grab the errant buttons off the floor before disappearing. Kate helped me step into the basin and lowered me into the hot water.

It was painful, for my skin felt like I was being poached in the heat, but she stroked my hair and soothed me, assuring me that this was what I needed.

“You’ve done more than was ever asked of you,” she told me. “You are that boy’s guardian angel and everyone in this place is going to hear of what you did for him.”

Gently, she laid my head against the edge of the basin and I looked up at her, able to focus my eyes for the first time since my rescue.

“Thank you,” I croaked, my voice cracking with the effort of speaking. “You’re too kind.”

She huffed and shook her head. “The Young Master deserves a hiding for sneaking out that way. You are a truly godly woman and there’s not many that would have done what you did, putting your own life in danger to save him.”

I remembered that moment in the cave when I had considered abandoning William for an instant and shame washed over me.

Some voices came from the landing above and Kate frowned a little.

“I suppose I’m needed up there,” she sighed. “Can you hold yourself up if I go? You won’t slip under the water?”

“I’m fine,” I promised her. “Go and tend to the boy and make sure he has what he needs.”

I thought that she was going to repeat her assertion that what he needed was a hiding but she simply shook her head and left the kitchen.

My body had adjusted to the temperature and I could feel myself relaxing. Fatigue was so heavy on me that I did need to keep a firm grip on the sides of the basin to avoid sinking to the bottom. How ironic it would be, I thought mirthlessly, to have escaped a watery ocean death only to drown in a tub of water here.

The oil lamp that had been left to give me some light flickered a little and I wondered if there might be a draft. I couldn’t feel anything on my skin but in my state, I couldn’t be sure of anything that was happening. The lamp seemed to grow dimmer and the shadows in the room drew closer. It was my exhausted mind toying with me, I told myself. I couldn’t trust my senses under such circumstances.

Nevertheless, a current of fear ran through me, making me feel more awake and alert than I had in hours. And as I looked around the room, I saw a figure emerge from the shadows, the low lighting casting a sheen over its dark skin and illuminating its pale eyes. It advanced until it reached the edge of the basin where I lay, helpless, its long tongue flicking over sharpened teeth like a predator discovering injured prey.

I wanted to scream but there was no air in my lungs and my lips refused to open. My whole body was paralyzed, so that I could not escape or fight him. His face was familiar but I could not remember from exactly where. But while I was certain I had encountered him before, I knew immediately that he had not been in this form, this demonic shape, nude with an oily hide, black mottled with red and white, a deranged grin and eyes that seemed to hold me in thrall.

Unable to move though I was, I quickly realized that I was not unable to feel. As he leaned over the edge of the tub, he took hold of my foot and lightly dragged one clawed finger along the sole. The sensation made me shiver, made me want to thrash around to free myself, but I could do none of those things. Grinning, he dipped his head low and stuck his tongue into the bathwater like a cat at a saucer of milk. Then in one smooth motion he tightened his grip on my ankle and pulled my leg forward, immediately pulling my upper body under the water.

I wanted to push myself up again. I wanted to wriggle free of his grip. I wanted to run from him. But my body would do none of this. Instead, I was forced to feel the air escaping my lungs, to feel the desperation and panic grow in me as I realized that I could not reach the surface. At the same time, I felt the tip of the demon’s tongue touch the instep of my foot and trail a hot path over my calf. I could feel its cruel smile against my skin as it made its way higher, until its mouth came to rest at the back of my knee. There was a sharp pain as he bit down on the flesh there and I wanted to cry out but had no power to do.

At that moment, his touch was gone and I was trapped under the water unable to move. A second later, a clawed hand grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked me back into a sitting position. I gasped, drawing in as much air as I could, touching my skull where I’d felt hairs ripped out. My body was my own again but as I surveyed the kitchen, I saw that I was alone. Had I imagined everything? Had it all just been some fevered hallucination?

I looked at the skin under my knee and found a red mark where he had bitten me, however, as I prodded it with my finger, the mark disappeared and the flesh looked normal once again. For the first time since the demonic figure had appeared, I heard noises coming from upstairs in the house. People were bustling around, Kate was giving instructions, there were footsteps everywhere. I stayed in the tub for as long as I could stand, feeling the water grow cooler against my skin. Susan had left some towelling for me and I wrapped myself in it as I emerged from my bath, relishing the sensation of the soft fabric.

I stood there, wrapped up, before the oven for some time, lost in thought, before Kate came back into the kitchen.

“Oh bless you, miss,” she exclaimed. “We didn’t even remember you here.”

“It’s all right. I’m warm and I’m dry now.”

“After all you’ve done, it’s a poor return on our part to leave you all alone.”

“Kate, I’m fine.” Instinct told me that I should keep my demonic vision to myself. “If you could fetch me my nightdress, I would be most obliged.”

She hurried out of the kitchen, still fretting and returned only moments later with my gown. She helped me into it, as my arms ached so much I could barely lift them.

“Is Master William safe?” I asked timidly.

“He’s better than he deserves to be. He’s asleep in bed as if nothing happened.”

“I was a bit rough with him,” I admitted. “I was worried that I might have injured him on the way back.”

“A few scrapes and bruises is all. And it’s no less than he deserves.”

“You mustn’t be too harsh on him. Children are adventurous at that age, especially boys.”

She shook her head, guiding me up the stairs. “I have three brothers and let me tell you that all of them knew that if they’d run off like that, the cuts they got from the rocks would have been the least painful part of the experience.”

I smiled weakly and hugged her as she helped me into the bed.

“We all need to sleep,” I told her, “yourself very much included. I don’t want to hear you up and about at the usual hour. You rest as long as you can.”

“You’re too kind, ma’am.”

“Nonsense. It’s the very least I can do after all your work tonight.”

As she left the garrett, I saw that she turned and looked back at me for a moment. “God bless you and keep you,” she whispered.

I was quickly asleep, however, I woke up periodically, convinced that I felt a hand on my cheek or my throat, or that an unseen figure was hovering nearby, waiting.

#finn balor imagine #finn balor fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe imagine #nxt fanfiction #nxt imagine #wayward wrestle writing

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alchemist-shizun · 5 years

Text

I Can See My Kingdom Now

Read on Ao3!

Chapter 3: Time and again boys are raised to be men

Word Count: 10,176

Characters: Virgil, Roman, Logan, Patton, Deceit.

Pairing(s): Eventual Logicality and Prinxiety. (hints to Royality, they’re forced into an arranged marriage)

Warnings: -Mild cursing (there's just one cuss word) -Minor character death -Negative thoughts -Panic attack -Insomnia -Some kind of selective mutism -Toxic parental behavior -Mentions of hallucinations -Food mention -Self-esteem issues and self-deprecation

Summary: Growing up isn't easy for anybody. Especially when you're the new around, when you feel like you lost everything or when it seems you have the world against you.

A/N: Or of how I’m projecting slightly into one of the characters. As for the next update, I don't have much ready so you'll have to be waiting a bit for it, nothing specific this time. I'm currently working on a Prinxiety one-shot that I hope I can release soon, plus in September I'll be participating in the little event with daily prompts dedicated to the series. Also, I'll be soon starting the last year of high school, so updates will be definitely slower, but I won't give up, promise. Thank you for sticking around till now, I'll hear from you soon!

✾

❝ You are broken and callow Cautious and safe You are boundless in beauty With fright in your face ❞

The first years through his “learning how to be a valuable prince” had passed, and Roman was already grateful for the castle servants, who seldom sneaked in his room extra food. It wasn't like they were making it too hard for him and basically throwing knowledge at him or expecting him to be a natural and ace every single lesson.

His teachers adjusted to him, they let him take his time and were more than happy to explain concepts more than once.

It was just that he felt like he had to learn how to live all over again: first came posture, back at the orphanage none really cared if you were walking, skipping along the pavement, even running at times.

Here you had to keep your body in a particular position, your head straight, especially among other aristocrats. Your step had to be measured, every part of your body talked for you most of the times.

A step back could mean disdain, fright, a step forward could be interest, trust, a hand towards you is a chance to dance or an offer for a hug.

Roman had met many nobles, apart from the royals from Tinfea, after he came back to the palace; they all wanted to congratulate his parents and meet the famous lost prince. The story they knew was that a naïve servant had let the gates open and he had wandered outside by himself until he got lost for good.

As a child, he liked the attention of numerous people, but how to behave around them wasn't exactly his expertise.

Every time he did something unusual, the strangers would mention how adorable he was. His parents would smile and stroke his hair gently, a sign that, regardless of his inexperience, he was doing a good job.

To help him to get used to it, servants that casually met him in the hallways reminded him of his posture. Eventually, he got there.

While also practicing that, which reminded him to always look up to people and never look down on them, he learnt what kind of behavior he had to keep during meals, which silverware to use, how many servings there were in each meal, which one was his reserved seat.

To make it fun, he established a game between him and his parents: it consisted on guessing the food that was going to be served by the kitchen servants. It was a secret between him and the cook, but he'd occasionally sneak in the kitchen to get a “general idea”, as he liked to call it, of the possibilities. He totally wasn't cheating. Besides, he loved how his parents compared him to a magician every time he succeeded.

They made everything easier for his age, enjoyable even.

Everyday he learnt something new and everyday he was aghast: it happened even as he woke up in his chambers for the first time.

He had been woken up by the gentle daylight of the morning that was peering through the translucent curtains, pulled apart by one of the servants he had seen going around the corridors before going to sleep.

He had tried to snuggle closer to the covers and the pillows, shielding himself from the eventual tasks he had to complete during the day.

The servant had approached him and, with honey-like words, they persuaded him to get up. Only that he was simply expected to sit up on his bed.

Ever since he came to the castle, a servant would meet him in the morning to wake him up, then they'd be helped by a couple more to bring in the room a dressing table with a mirror, a chair, some objects and utensils they needed, meanwhile one of them would look into a wooden case full of rich fabrics that Roman didn't even know to distinguish.

The servants always helped him get up on his feet, they led him to the chair to sit down and they washed his face, his hair got combed and treated with products that made them soft and perfumed. Different types of oils and creams were smeared every day on his skin as they undressed him, careful not to get the night vest dirty.

No wonder they forced him to take a hot bath every night.

When they were done with that he got up, almost completely naked, and they proceeded to help him put on his clothes, which were layers on layers of various types of cloth. He didn't even know all of their names.

He looked at his minute figure on the tall mirror nailed on the wall which was perpendicular to the bed: splashes of red, gold, white and black blinded his sight as he noticed his hair tied at the nape of his neck.

After breakfast he had his first lessons of reading and writing in the library; his teacher was the same one that taught him about the history of their kingdom. She was an old lady with a streak of bright green in her white hair and a perpetual knowing look that made her seem like she had lived as long as the planet had existed. As if she knew everything there was to know.

Roman had always found her somewhat intimidating, which led to an ever-growing respect towards her: in a couple of months he had been able to read fluently and write with little to no mistakes.

The lady was amazed at how he kept practicing and demanding for books narrating fables. To the point that, unable to stop herself, she finally asked.

« What is it that interests you so much? » she lent him the second book that week, she was afraid she would run out of them soon. She made a mental note to send a man to the nearest kingdom.

« They remind me of the village I was in. » he said, eyeing the book cover with enthusiasm.

« How so? »

« I used to make up stories with a friend! » he looked up at her with a warm smile « Father said I'll visit him soon. » he added, excitement in his eyes.

Something sour set in the lady's mouth. She knew better, as always.

She couldn't help but smile back and place her hands her hips.

« Perhaps after you learn a bit of those history lessons I gave you, will you? A prince has to know everything about his kingdom if he wants to rule someday, understood? »

He let out a small huff « Of course, ma'am. »

She pat his head. « That's good. » and, as she stared at his back to check his posture while he walked away, a sad look couldn't help but make its way through her face.

After Roman had mastered all the first lessons, he was taught how to speak properly in the presence of nobles, elders, young people and the plebs in general. It was a surprisingly young servant that helped him, since sometimes it could happen that some wise and skilled enough servants could be “promoted” as teachers for the king's children.

All the letters in front of the prince seemed to swirl around his head and pressing at both sides when he looked at all the different meanings a single word could have. All the different ways that you could say something so that you could be understood by all types of audiences. The best moments were when he used the wrong linguistic register and he ended up talking to a kid the way you would treat an emperor.

At the same time he took up art lessons with that same servant. Roman found out they were not only good at how to behave with someone but they could also make the nicest instant portraits. The first one she did of him, he hanged it right after in his room, on the side of his half-empty bookshelf he asked his parents to bring in after a couple of gifts from his history teacher.

The second reaction was simply a request to teach him how to be as good as them. So they started going out of the palace daily, then into the gardens, to just sit down and draw from reference. He kept trying, transforming nature in swirls of colors and pencil figures.

Before he could say he was pretty good at it, a couple of years would have to pass, but he was content enough with just staying outside and enjoy the artistic point of view his servant offered him.

Twice a week, on the other hand, they stayed inside and flipped through a history of art book, full of pictures and analysis of the paintings or architectures.

Then, there was one of Roman's favorite things: he began sword fighting lessons. A valuable prince needed to have an eclectic knowledge and skills, but most of all if he wanted to protect a whole kingdom, he had to be able to protect himself first.

One of the Royal Guard's knights was lent to teach him; Roman believed he was going to have one of those basic lessons in which you went into the backyard of the castle, out of earshot not to disturb anyone with the clanging noise of metal.

Never in his life he would have imagined to be led into a ballroom and met with a curly dark petrol-haired man and a mischievous smile: he had two perfectly created wooden swords behind his back, like a ninja about to unsheathe his own katanas.

Roman approached the man with a confused yet composed look and when he stopped a few feet away, he held that stare.

The knight's expression shifted to a thoughtful one, never leaving that slight curve of his lips; he saw Roman, a tiny child, refraining from taking his eyes off of him, a well-trained man from the Royal Guard. And he didn't find fear in those honey-like irises, he was expectant. Rigid, but ready.

At this point silence had been enough to still keep her around. The knight threw a sword at the boy with no warning, it was definitely a test for his reflexes.

It was a habit that he always did with his new apprentices, it felt like some kind of superstitious gesture, if the person didn't catch it was probably going to have a lot of trouble teaching. On the other hand if they did …

The knight could only watch as the hilt of the wooden sword flew in Roman's hand, perfectly adjusting to his grip.

… well, it was going to be fun.

« I like you. »

The prince flashed him a satisfied smile.

The older man got a few steps closer and leaned down, Roman could see the red in his eyes that previously he thought was an unusual shade of brown.

« Shall we dance? »

Always busy with lessons and writing down stories to read to his loving parents, Roman found himself being fifteen, the village and its inhabitants was a distant memory he couldn't have the luxury to think about.

He didn't even realize he stopped asking about Virgil. He didn't realise he stopped thinking about him or the orphanage. It was less hurtful to pretend it all didn't exist than accept he would have never been able to come back. They hated him by now, probably.

His history lessons were so persistent he could now recite all his ancestors' lives backwards. Or in alphabetic order. Or in any kind of order, really. As he let go of the lessons he had mastered, new ones would come up almost instantly and, sometimes, take away even more time than the ones he had before.

Not that he wanted to complain, he'd be exhausted enough to have no trouble sleeping and never waking up a single time in the middle of the night. Which made the actual waking up ten times more challenging.

But most of all, he loved a lot of the lessons he got. Especially singing. You don't know where Roman is and it's time for his daily walk around the front garden's sculptures? He's probably moving around a large room and singing his heart out.

What was frustrating but also very surprising was how good he sang, as if he was a natural, born to entertain those around him with enchanting melodies.

His teacher couldn't believe it the first time he heard him. Soon enough, they had started a duet of voice and harp strings, creating symphonies in every different possible way.

Sometimes they really had to drag him out of rooms to participate to at least thirty minutes of his other teachings, and yes, a prince needs to know about the gods, the pontifex can't do everything by themselves.

Roman walked down the castle's external stairs, as white as the clouds above him, he occasionally thought that maybe there was a spell keeping them so clean and candid.

There was an old sage leading him towards the marble sculptures that ran along the garden's limit. Same impeccable color of the castle.

Nothing got ruined in their royal bubble, it seemed there was an invisible defense around their property. That was were the odd legend of their kingdom came from.

« Remember this one? » the sage, another one of the teachers, pointed to the marble figure they were standing in front of, halfway through the garden.

« Yes. » Roman studied the sculpture, an androgynous-looking anthropomorphic god stared him down, eyes white and empty, they had a crown on their half extended left arm, with bifurcated tips at the top.

The other hand kept their vest up, pressing it on their chest, over their heart. The pattern on it displayed, in a bas-relief, detailed and messy curves and swirls.

« The God of Death, ruler of the Underworld, also called “Dark Kingdom”. That's the reason of the crown. » the old man nodded, satisfied with the answer, but that wasn't where Roman had finished. « The vest suggests the symbol of dark magic, as they were believed to be the First Sorcerer. »

« You could have stopped before … »

Roman arched an eyebrow, it was unlikely for a man like him to be skeptical towards the Forbidden Topic. « I'm not afraid of two words. »

« You're aware of the reason why we refrain to mention it, aren't you? »

« I am. But I don't think it is right to belittle a God, or conceal one of their most important features, only because of a human dilemma. Isn't it impious to bend a deity's description to a mortal rule? » Roman turned back to his teacher, expecting a frown on the man's face.

Instead, the facade the sage was keeping up suddenly fell, only to be replaced by a satisfied and content expression; he pat the top of the boy's head while nodding slightly.

« Very good, Roman. I take you've read those books I suggested? »

The little prince showed a sheepish smile. « I guess I enjoy myths. »

Their conversation went on, the topics somehow brushing philosophy at times, but was soon abruptly interrupted by the loud noise of hooves on the stone pavement between the two sections of the garden.

Their glances turned towards the entrance, where a carriage was let in through the gates.

Both prince and sage straightened their postures and waited for the mysterious person to show themselves. They didn't expect a boy around Roman's age to come out of the carriage, all dressed up as an obvious piece of nobility, by himself.

As he got closer, Roman could notice the sneering look that engulfed him, red hair almost looked like fire under the hit of the sun rays.

The boy stopped a few feet away from them, then bowed down. « I am Desmond Ananke, marquis of the kingdom of Elis. » when he looked up, he found himself transfixed by those pitch-black eyes, as dark as a moonless night, or the moment right before your eyes adjust to the blackness of a room.

He felt dizzy for a second, was that even natural? Magic?

He came back to life when he felt the sage's hand being placed on his shoulder, when he looked over to the teacher he surprisingly found a sour expression. Roman decided to just nod at the boy, a cue for him to state the meaning of the visit.

« My parents agreed upon sending me for the monthly donation we had planned decades ago. » he turned his head to the older man. « I'm positive you wouldn't mind if I helped myself up the stairs to meet the sovereigns. » a smirk was all he needed to show for the man to understand.

He stayed silent for a few beats, then let go of the prince and stepped aside.

Desmond, before excusing himself, got a closer look to the boy. « So you must be the famous Roman Bia, I suppose. » he held his hand towards him, if he expected a handshake, he wasn't ready for the marquis to take his own hand and place a kiss on the top of his knuckles.

He looked up at him, Roman's hand still close to his lips « Your surname means “brutal strength”. I wonder if your delicacy can contrast that. »

Roman had no clue what that meant, he felt Desmond's stare on him, the warmth his hand was irradiating on his skin and the general discomfort of the whole situation. Was he supposed to answer? Was it a compliment? Did he know …

« I wonder if you're aware our prince is only fifteen and has been promised to the prince of Tinfea for five years by now. » Roman was glad his sword fighting teacher had come to the rescue, he was probably being late to his lesson.

The marquis eyed him, his smile slightly faltered and he carefully snatched his hand away.

Without any further word, he excused himself and began pacing towards the palace.

Roman had retrieved his hand as if he had just touched a burning pot, only that the only fire he felt right under his skin was dancing around his cheeks and ears because of the embarrassment. He looked at the place where the marquis once stood with a confused expression.

What was his deal?

« That motherf- »

« Language! »

« Gods! » the knight put his hands on his face and slid them up on his hair in a desperate gesture. « Stop lecturing me, dad. »

« I am not your father. » the sage gave him a puzzled look while the knight rolled his eyes.

« Maybe when you stop treating me like a child, you won't be. Well! » he clasped his gloved hands together and turned to a silent Roman that was wondering whether or not he should have let them have their moment and leave. « Ready for your lesson, kid? » Roman simply nodded.

They excused themselves from the elder and the knight, Crowley was his name, as he finally recalled, slid his arm around Roman's shoulder in a friendly way, only to lower down a little and speak to him more clearly.

« Look, that guy from before? Bad news. » he made a face. « I'll tell you, just because our kingdom is so awesome, the more outer people try to take advantage and benefit from us. »

« They're envious? »

« That's an understatement, but yeah, pretty much. » Roman felt some kind of burning feeling in his chest.

« Can't they just focus on improving their own kingdom instead of taking things from us? »

Crowley grinned. « Oh, is our prince getting bitter? »

« Hah. Not at all. I'm keeping my cool here. I'm in perfect conditions. » he flashed him a perfectly constructed smile. « See? »

« Sure, my lord. In perfect conditions of pretending, should I call the jester and tell him to call some actors to join you? »

« Oh, gladly, thank you so much. »

As they entered the fighting room, chuckling, they made their way towards their steel swords and started their usual sparring.

« Still, you should know … » the swords kept on clashing with no result. « … that boy from before talked about a donation. »

Roman started to lose some ground. « Yes? I never heard of that. »

« In my opinion, it's stupid. Arcadia has to donate part of our treasure to help other kingdoms. »

« What? » Roman's movements looked even more aggressive, tenacious.

« Apparently, it's the only way to assure they don't move war against us. » he sighed as Roman made a mistake in his posture, but regained it quickly.

« Wouldn't that lead us to eventually fall? It's not like the gods gift us gold every month. »

« That's what I've been saying. And the king's advisor too. They're ruining us anyway, this is only the slower method, the king said. »

« This is ridiculous. » the knight noticed Roman was basically throwing all his hits on him.

« I know, not to mention that marquis clearly wanted to woo you. »

« Woo me? »

« He wanted to marry you, to, of course, get your nobility status from the kingdom's alliance. There's no love there. » Crowley noticed Roman's expression hardening with rage. « Only strategy. » the prince scoffed, annoyed. « Like a mere tool. »

That's when Crowley realized his tactic was working and, in a matter of seconds, he found his sword clattering to the floor. Roman stopped moving, awed by his own doing and looked up to his teacher both smiling widely.

« Well done, kid. » he reached to pat his head, but Roman ignored that and wrapped his hands around him in a happy hug. He literally started screaming of joy.

« Gods, I did it! Did you see that? Did you see how I landed that sword? That was awesome! » he trailed off complimenting himself and pacing around the room, excitement printed on his face.

Crowley, amused, kept on watching Roman's little burst of happiness. Still, he realized it was now time for him to let other lessons take up his time. Like …

« Courting. This guy needs to learn courting. »

He was sixteen when it happened. Roman was enjoying one of the books his literature teacher had recommended, sitting at the library's table. He loved those lessons and was waiting for them to start.

His eyes lit up when he heard the door opening, but he never expected to find one of his servants and a gloomy expression. They approached him and took his hand while watery eyes threatened to start tearing up.

« Crowley is dead. »

That was the last thing he heard before zoning out, his heart sank and he felt numb; his hearing stopped working, it was as if the servant was talking to an inanimate object. They continued talking about how he died while helping a kingdom in a battle and was found lifeless, but Roman's mind couldn't process any more information.

Crowley is dead.

He could still see his mischievous red eyes in the corner of his own, now covered by a tragic and dark veil, his mouth agape as if he wanted to say something but there was nothing else to say at the same time. It was written all over his face.

Crowley is dead.

The servant brought him back to consciousness by touching his shoulder, the memory of his teacher doing the same burned in his mind, tears welled up in his eyes and found the strength to sprint away from a startled servant and run down the castle halls.

Crowley is dead.

He knew who he was looking for. His sight was clouded, making it harder to recognize his surroundings. He didn't care he was running, he didn't care his sobs could have been audible from outer space. He received concerned but knowing looks by anyone he crossed paths with. Then he found the room.

Crowley is dead.

His trembling hand turned the shiny and cold handle that almost blinded him. After closing the door behind him he rushed over to the person he knew needed comfort the most, just like him.

Roman hugged the sage, Nicephorus, he hugged him tight and pretended they didn't notice each other's red eyes. They also pretended they didn't hear their crying, seemingly unstoppable. Nicephorus pretended he didn't lose who could have seemed like his son, Roman pretended he didn't lose the brother he never had.

You can never judge whether someone's life was happy until it's gone.

Roman was seventeen. He was also finally allowed to make little trips outside of the palace and meet his people: he went mostly around the center, where his parents didn't prohibit him to go. Seven years kept inside the castle, busy with his education and getting to know his parents and kingdom, and everything about the village was now long gone from his mind, a distant memory he didn't dig into anymore.

Saying that he was well recognized by his people was an understatement. The people loved him. They cheered for him when his carriage made its way towards the center's plaza. He'd greet every single one of them, he let them hold his hands, he kissed little children's heads and willingly let them lead him through the city.

He wasn't like those royal people that looked down on the plebs with indifference from their carriages, he enjoyed interacting with others, being able to confront his life with the one of the others.

He often listened to their problems and realized that this type of confrontation helped the royalty greatly in fixing the kingdom's problems for the better; dealing directly with the people that faced issues that could be resolved was one of their best mechanisms.

And not only had he a great relationship with his people, but also the one with his servants couldn't be of any less importance. They were happy to spend time with him when his parents couldn't, as much as he was grateful for them for anything they had done.

People outside stopped believing he was a real prince, how could someone so kind-hearted have no dark feature?

They didn't know about his nightmares, for sure.

Or all the times he felt like he was remembering something of the night he disappeared, only to break down right after, the only comfort being his mother's embrace.

And despite being surrounded by a multitude of loved ones who loved him back, they didn't know about the loneliness he felt when he finally reached eighteen.

« Roman, dear, the Pais family is coming very soon, will you come to meet them? »

Yes, even with a guaranteed fiancé.

Royal courting was weird in their days: the two promised could see each other little to no time at all, preferably spending as less time together as they could. Meals with parents were fine, they even had the luxury to sit in front of each other, talk sometimes, but out of those? One or two hours a day were enough, thank you very much.

So, what the Tinfea and Arcadia families were doing to follow these unfathomable laws was meeting once a year, celebrating one year less to the upcoming wedding.

And now that Roman was eighteen, well, things were only starting to get faster.

« We're going to speed up the preparations with them today, you can finally spend some more time with the lovable Patton, aren't you happy? » his father was at his left as they made their way towards the entrance of the castle.

« Truly charmed. » he mused, not particularly focused on his question. It wasn't like he didn't want to meet him, or thought he wasn't at all an appreciable companion, but the little time they spent together wasn't enough for him. He wasn't even allowed to send letters; their relationship only started as acquaintances and went back to strangers after a couple of months of not seeing each other.

Roman thought that was ridiculously inconvenient for both of them.

« Wait, is Logan going to be here? »

« Honey, of course, he's always been. » Roman made a slightly frustrated pout at that.

« Don't be like that. He's their closest advisor. »

« I know, but I don't like him. He makes me feel incompetent. »

« He's older than you, Roman, it's normal if his knowledge is higher than yours. »

« And you should respect him as such. Then you will get along just fine. »

The prince sighed, he couldn't argue with that. What they always said was that he could at least act like he was glad to have someone as guest.

Furthermore, he loved acting. He couldn't remember how many times he had sneaked out to get to the local theatre to watch actors perform, or perform himself after he made sure none was there.

« Oh, I forgot to tell you! » Roman's mother turned to him, beaming. « This time, they're going to stay here longer. We're going to put into action what Logan had suggested two years ago. »

Well, that was certainly new.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

Patton had often wondered why things were a certain way.

He sounded like a kid when he kept on asking different questions about the subject he was debating with someone.

Why were clouds like that? Are stars motionless? Why is grass green and not blue? How come animals didn't talk, do they even understand us?

As he grew up and reached adulthood, the questions would change into more soul-searching ones.

Does happiness really exist? Is the mind more important than the heart? What's the difference between justice and revenge? When is it required to be selfless and when is it allowed to be selfish?

One time at fourteen he found himself stargazing and wondering if he could even reach the stars one day, that sky glitter that winked and smiled at him every night. He had approached Logan's chamber and ran in the room out of breath, at which a startled seer blinked a couple of times, frozen still, and looked at him with arched eyebrows.

« Hey Lo- » a couple of short breaths. « You're a magician, right? »

A slow nod came from the older boy, whose gears began turning in his head, trying to predict which kind of outcome that conversation was going to lead to.

« So can you fly?! » Pat had clasped his hands together in little fists in front of his mouth and leaned in towards the chair his friend was sitting in.

Logan wondered if he could have either expected that kind of question or if he definitely wasn't aware this scenario could have ever taken place.

Eventually, he decided to get up from his chair and, kindly, escort Patton out of his room, while the prince whined about wanting to reach the sky.

After he closed the door behind himself, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he fought back an amused smile that was threatening to form on his lips.

Of course, he lost, but in his defense, he was pretty tired.

After the prince's fifteenth birthday, Logan wondered sadly why they had to unquestionably stop attending lessons together; they had less time to spend with each other now that Patton was up to courting lessons most of his day, while he retreated to his room pretty much always to self-teach himself the remaining of magic knowledge. His sovereigns told him he didn't need teachers anymore, they meant to praise him for his own talents at such a young age. But he didn't somehow feel satisfied.

On the contrary, his heart sank when he stopped in front of their closed room and heard that they were actually glad their son was going to spend less time with him and that they couldn't wait to get rid of him.

He stayed silent and moved on.

When Patton reached sixteen, Logan decided he hated feelings.

He hated feelings because he could not conceive his kingdom's rules and what sometimes they did to people, how it changed them and made them treat him from a respectable member to a simple servant undeserving of any kind of attention. He decided to stop showing such feelings as he now found them useless: what could he do with his emptiness? The anger? Disappointment? Loneliness? All the other emotions he didn't want to name? Things that only slowed down his work?

Well, there was one thing he surely could do, which was bury them deep inside and never listen to them again.

And so he did.

At seventeen, Patton was having a mental breakdown. Too many things were happening at once: preparations for the wedding (already, though Roman was still fourteen), the fate of the curse approaching which he tried to ignore, his teenage mood swings, him reaching soon adulthood and the always more persistent lessons. About literally anything.

It was especially the lessons that stressed him out. In one of them in particular, in which he had to learn how to dance but was failing miserably, he concluded it was best to abruptly storm out of the room and take his frustration out on the grass he was stomping as he made a beeline for the flower garden of the east side of the castle.

Stressful tears were prickling his eyes, he carefully wiped them away on his sleeve, growing discontent was spreading inside him since he didn't want to cry, and yet he was too vulnerable to stop himself. Why did he feel so weak?

Patton took a deep breath and made his way through the garden, hands curled in fists at his side, when he eventually had to stop himself once again.

Logan was sitting on the ground, a couple of feet away from him, he was leaning on some flowers, examining them, while some objects – related to magic, Patton thought – were lying all around him.

Suddenly aware of a viewer, his friend- wait, were they even still friends? How long ago was the last time they talked for real?

Patton grimaced, he couldn't even remember that.

Nonetheless, Logan looked up at him with a blank stare, it only faltered for a moment as he noticed the slight redness around the prince's pupils.

They kept staring silently, until eventually the mage broke the silence between them, after he turned his attention back to the flowers he was observing attentively.

« What can I help you with? » there was no real interest in his voice, no signs of concern (although he definitely knew Patton was missing his lesson), the lack of anything bothered the prince in a way he couldn't comprehend. It's like that uneasiness you feel when someone slightly moved everything in your room and you can't tell what has changed.

Patton as well couldn't tell what had happened to make their relationship so different from before.

And maybe it was exactly because of that, maybe because of how much pressure they were putting in him, the expectation of his parents that he could master all his teachings in no time, the absence of the comfort he once found in friendship with his servants, whatever case it may have been, that he found himself dropping on his knees and throwing his arms around Logan's shoulders.

Patton tried to hide his face on the other's robes, tightening his grip as little sobs shook his body.

Whatever grudge Logan could have been holding against him (which, mind you, he didn't, since Patton was just that impossible to despise), he cast that aside and surrounded the younger one's chest with his own arms, hesitantly.

They sat there for a couple of minutes as the prince let out all the displeasure and the other boy just tried to help with soft rubs on his back.

As soon as he felt an ounce of relief, Patton broke the hug and took a deep breath, after muttering an apology.

« I don't know what's happening. To me, or in general. » he sighed, a hand touching his forehead while he looked down.

Since they had basically been ignoring each other, he was expecting a remark, he thought he was going to tell him he was an idiot and it was his fault, he would have believed that.

Instead, Logan nodded. « That's perfectly understandable. »

Patton looked up at him in confusion and disbelief. « How? »

A humming sound escaped the mage's throat. « How about you describe what is bothering you? »

« Uh. » he was looking at the sky, but focusing on his thoughts. « It's like I'm in a cage. Everybody's telling me what to do, what to wear, how to act. Or who I have to talk to. » he looked Logan in the eyes. « When was even the last time talked properly? » his azure irises darkened in a greyish color. « I feel like I have no friends anymore. »

Logan's heart sank at the words, he knew he was included in that group and he couldn't help but feel ashamed for accepting the distance they suddenly began to keep, instead of doing something about it.

« It is only normal that you're getting badly affected by the situation. Look at yourself, » Patton lifted his hands to observe them. « you're clearly stressed out. Are you getting enough sleep? » there were so many questions he wanted to ask. They barely saw each other out of meals.

« Do I, they expect me to be asleep the moment they escort me to my chamber. »

One problem less ticked off of Logan's mental list.

« We both know your drinking and eating schedules are practically perfect, so I guess this is partially about pressure. Everything at once. »

« Yeah, it's mostly because of this “perfect” you said. Everyone expects me to be perfect, my parents- »

« That's it! » Logan abruptly interrupted, pointing a finger towards the sky, a knowing smile making his way through his face. He dropped the objects he was carefully putting away in his bag.

« Uh? I barely finished … »

« Listen. Don't you think your parents are a bit … too much into this? They have started preparations way ahead of time, they can't stop talking about the wedding's details when neither you nor Roman reached adulthood yet. It seems to me that they want this more than you do. To the point that they don't care about your feelings. » the words tasted sour in his mouth, talking badly about your king and queen wasn't exactly the main topic in a kingdom, but he saw the prince slowly nod in agreement.

It wasn't the first time he had noticed that, either.

« My feelings … yeah, they're definitely messed up. » he found the will to giggle.

After a beat, Logan continued with his reasoning « I can't honestly believe you forgot my most important lessons. » he looked away to open the only vial that was lying on the ground and poured a drop of its content on a dying withered flower that immediately blossomed in a soft pink hue. When he looked back at his friend he met a confused but pensive gaze, mixed with amazement by the little magic trick.

« You're your own person, Patton. You don't have to act like anyone but yourself. Break free of those puppet strings, they're not unbreakable. You can be a prince in your own way. »

Patton showed him one of his brightest smiles, gaining all the inspiration he could have ever possibly asked for. He could still be himself while having lessons or while in front of other nobility members.

« You're right! » he beamed, getting confidently on his feet. He felt like he could take on the world by himself. « Plus, how much can they go against a prince? »

Logan rolled his eyes. « As much as they like if he starts getting full of himself. »

« Aw, come on, I was just kidding. »

They made their way towards the castle's ballroom, while catching up on the things they had been up to in the past year.

Time, of course, flew by in an instant and they were already facing the entrance of the ballroom. They stopped in their tracks.

Patton turned to the magician. « I don't know if a “thank you” is enough. But I appreciate that you didn't reject me being all emotional. » he then shrugged with a small smile. « Sometimes I get overwhelmed by the smallest things. »

Logan shook his head. « You don't have to thank me. I only helped a friend in need. »

The prince almost jumped in joy at the label, it was a sign their relationship wasn't destroyed by outer circumstances, which was what Patton had feared the most. How could he have gotten such an amazing friend? He felt the desire to surround himself with more people like him.

« And remember, if you don't understand something, write it down. Only then it might become clearer. » the seer shared one of the most important pieces of information he could give in order to prevent future breakdowns anytime soon.

Patton considered carefully his words as if he had just found out a glowing treasure, then nodded. « Will do. » he made to turn away, placing his hand on the door's handle.

« Sorry for forgetting what you taught me! » he apologized with a sheepish grin. Logan only chuckled and started to step away, when he got called again.

« And Lo? » he gave him his full attention and suddenly found Patton's hand on his arm.

Patton gazed deeply in his dark eyes. « Please, talk to me more. »

And just like that, he disappeared into the room, resuming his dance lesson with a lighter feeling in his chest.

It was the moment in which Logan felt a colder spot where the prince's hand once was and his cheeks burning red that he decided he hated feelings even more.

At eighteen Patton understood that he could be a bit freer, but his parents wouldn't let it slide so easily. At least not without some guilt trip or psychological pressure.

King, queen, prince and seer (who had also become their personal adviser since they didn't find a way to get rid of him) were sitting on a carriage, seemingly talking about topics of no relevance. But one would know better than believe aristocrats didn't measure their every word, sticking hidden meanings or snide remarks in sentences here and there.

It was their charm, how they could hold a conversation while talking about something completely different.

« Did you hear about this? They say that Roman kid had already caught up with his lost lessons in less than two years, isn't that a prodigy? » their favorite topic was throwing Patton down with their “oh-so-perfect” examples.

They always told him so many things about him, things he wasn't even sure were entirely true. So many voices went around castles. Ever since Arcadia's prince came back, he had been in everyone's words and minds.

Of course, Patton's parents used all the information they could get, thinking they could have been able to attach those puppet strings back to his body.

They tried and sometimes they succeeded in grazing even just slightly his self-worth.

Self-esteem issues weren't late to the party as well.

Patton noticed a pattern in the arguments: they would find anything that didn't please them, blame him and eventually start to criticize him. His looks, his behavior, his intelligence, either the first thing they saw or the first thought that came to their mind.

Initially he apologized as much as it felt fake. But he didn't like lying every time there was a fight, though doing the opposite made the situation worse.

His parents would get frustrated by his silence, the yelling would increase for minutes until they got tired and gave up on him.

So Patton only stared at the marble pavement, his eyes danced around its colored details, a blank expression surrounded his face; when they finally let him free he'd only run back to his room.

After that there were two different outcomes: one would simply picture him crying to let out all of the horrible things they told him, as if he could shake them off and forget about it.

The other would display him lying down with a weird feeling in his guts. It was something that mixed with wanting to fight someone and wanting to fight himself. As if he deserved to feel pain. But the only thing he allowed himself was to think of all the remarks he could have done, if only they didn't make the situation worse.

Many could wonder how he managed to endure the whole thing. Patton had the kindness of his servants to get him through the day, the food they sneaked in every time he left during meals because he couldn't just bear it.

And he had a best friend he could rely on anytime he wanted or needed to vent. Especially when he saved him from annoying situations.

The conversation between his parents continued, their eulogy towards Roman never seemed to stop.

Patton breathed out slow and deep through his nose, he knew the last thing he needed was a reminder of his inferiority complex when he was on his way to Roman.

The funny thing about it was that he couldn't even blame Roman for how he felt, on the contrary the boy was always so sweet and welcoming. It was more how everybody portrayed him to be the perfect prince he could never achieve.

« On the topic of talents. » Logan, the foretold savior, spoke only after giving a sidelong glance to the younger boy.

The sovereigns immediately shut their conversation to Patton's relief.

« Since we are second in prosperity to Arcadia, I was thinking we should value our people more. » he had them hanging on his every word. « Maybe we should organize some kind of event that aims at that specific goal. »

The two adults' faces lit up, ideas flowing in their minds. Every argument on how to somehow be better than Arcadia was valid for both of them, it was the perfect diversion.

« We definitely agree. Please do tell us what you have in mind. »

Instead of going off with one of his explanations, (that often became monologues), he turned to Patton.

« What about you? Would you like that? » a faint smile crossed the prince's lips, ignoring the voices in his mind that said “How can he give his opinion? He understands nothing of it!”

« I would love that, Logan. » he nodded. « It would be ideal for our people to stand out in their specialties. I'd want to know if the best poems ever written belonged to one of our humble and simple villagers. » he stopped looking out the window to glance at his parents' shocked expressions, their mouths left hung open upon hearing his valid opinion. Suddenly they didn't have anything to remark.

He felt something very similar to pure bliss. Then he shifted his gaze to Logan. « Don't you think? »

Pride glimmered in the magician's eyes. « Exactly my thought. We could also participate or just watch, if so you desire. »

« Thank you for your suggestion! » Patton smiled even wider and Logan knew that he also silently thanked him for the attention.

After Logan finished displaying his idea, the sovereigns kept quiet for the whole trip to Arcadia's castle and Patton couldn't have been any more glad about it.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

How could he have been such an idiot?

Hopes and dreams, fake abstract concepts made up only to ruin people's expectations.

What was hope? It only meant relate to the future in a way that will eventually result in experiencing anxiety and anguish, whether it is a happy future you're looking for or a negative outcome that you're fearing. It is never something that helps you relax, but it keeps you in a restless mood, always unsettled because you know you're waiting for something and you're paying very much attention to it.

It is as if you're waiting for a delivery that has even the infinitesimal possibility to get lost into the nothingness. Or waiting for a person that promised to come back, a promise that has a high percent chance to be broken anyway.

But your hopes get in the way and erase any pessimistic belief, without realizing you're actually deteriorating yourself. With hope comes illusion and after that you're only left with pain.

Growing up, Virgil learnt to take nothing for granted and have very little trust in all the people who presented themselves in front of him.

To say that his parting from Roman had been a hard hit for him was an understatement: ever since then, he had never been able to get close to someone just as much or have any friendship quite as strong. It didn't feel worth it anymore.

Everything constantly reminded him of Roman and he just was so tired, he wanted the world to stop.

There had been many attempts by the school's children to get him to cheer up, but every single gesture failed its goal like they weren't even trying hard enough. But they were, when he wandered in the streets the villagers would greet him with a genuine smile on their lips, Virgil would only nod at them, unimpressed by the sudden interest.

Kids had tried to play with him, offered to go spend time in the woods together, but nothing could do. It reminded him too much of him and their memories were the last things he wanted to experience all over again.

He was eleven when hope started to fade out and disappointment took over him, a wave of sadness brushed his feet as strange thoughts began to force themselves into his mind.

These thoughts were the ones that tried to keep him awake at night, they persuaded him to think that it was better to embrace the darkness of the night, in which none would bother him as they all drifted off to sleep.

At first they scared him, so much he tried to scream to throw them away, panic didn't help his breathing problems and every other night his parents were kneeling down in his room, trying to steady him in every possible way.

At twelve, things were getting impossibly worse, because he couldn't help but comply to those musings. The first time, he found himself getting up from the small mattress, a myriad of thoughts screaming at him, so much that he preferred to stay silent, afraid that if he were to part his lips the harshness of howl-like shrieks would escape his mouth and leave him with little to no voice. The second time, he was found deadly still, bloodshot stapled open eyes, in front of the village's town hall at five in the morning by a pair of very concerned and frightened parents.

At thirteen night didn't exist anymore and the fair skin under his eyes slowly faded into a dark and purple-ish tone, he decided it was not worth to have those oniric impossible encounters in dreams or nightmares, even if his sleep deprivation did quite help making the unreal look real during his waking hours. His daylight hallucinations.

He had stopped talking at all, only considering someone when he really thought it necessary, scared they could catch him interacting with the unreal, unable to tell one from the other.

At fourteen he had visited all the doctors and magicians his family could reach, and at times their solutions were too … expensive. Out of the eight of them, there was one that stuck with Virgil, his words often played in his head as a reminder that, yes, something was definitely wrong with him. He couldn't remember his full name, something with Emile … was it? He was the only one that talked about his head. His mind; Emile's eyes had glowed, a light that made him look quite mischievous, though he truly was kind-hearted, and Virgil felt like he was piercing through his soul.

He had told him it was a mess, inside his mind. Virgil could have sworn he had heard a crack in his voice, as if he had been about to cry or needed consolation, after feeling how he did daily; but then again his reality was fake most of the time.

At fifteen the tables turned. Most of the villagers just chose to avoid him. Even if bullying didn't exist in his school, his classmates would have been too scared to approach him. A little part of him was glad he could occupy his mind with all the issues that rained down on him at once, so that he could shove his oldest problem in the deepest part of his heart and never think about it again.

It had been five years.

He couldn't say he was always successful, the best case scenario displayed a train of different thoughts that would suppress the topic he didn't want to think about. But other times … the outcome would destroy his mind.

He had never gotten angry at Roman for disappearing into the void.

He couldn't help but put the blame on himself; for god knows what reason why, he started feeling like Roman had now found better people, what if they had been friends out of pity? Sure, they were good at make-believe, and yet … Roman had never left him alone. He did feel genuine, after all.

There was too much contrast between his beliefs, but somehow he still couldn't help but crumble down in his own self-deprecation. It was none else's fault but his if he never came back. For all that he could know, by now Roman had probably already found plenty of people like him; better than him, perhaps, which wasn't that much of an impossible quest. It wasn't like he had any particular talent or was special in any way, really. Being replaced could have been just as easy even in his small little village.

He was still fifteen when he finally stepped into their forest after 5 years, for some reason he had gotten sentimental and, almost magically, his feet led him in front of the forest's entrance. He was retracing the same path they had followed the last time they were together, the sparkles caused by the sun hitting the water were already blinding his eyes as he stepped down the hill that now looked much smaller than how he remembered.

And then, the one thing that would change his life forever.

He looked at his left and that same fox from five years earlier was standing there, a cold glare piercing him through golden irises, Virgil thought he had lost his mind and the hallucinations due to lack of sleep were getting worse.

But the creature looked different, yet quite the same, he could tell it was the same one he saw, even though it seemed older.

Black fur was now added to its former colors at the base of its paws. It seemed it wanted to frighten him, but also persuade him.

Virgil held its stare, the animal didn't seem to move an inch.

« What? » he snapped, arms slightly opening in the act.

The yellow-eyed fox started pacing towards him, an elegant posture was still somehow kept in its cautious movements.

Virgil didn't take his eyes off of it, it felt like 5 years earlier: it was as if there was some sort of force tugging him in a particular direction. It was stronger than before and the lingering feeling of the animal's glare on him provoked some sort of persuasion and curiosity altogether.

The little villager just stood and watched as the creature paced forward until little to no space was left between them, then something switched in its expression after it looked around and set its focus back on Virgil with gloomy eyes.

Was it looking for Roman?

« He's not here. » Virgil wished he had said it with the most collected tone, but surprisingly found his voice cracked as if it had been smashed through a thousand palaces. It sounded rough, colliding with the ethereal aura of the place. The fox tilted its head slightly.

« What are you waiting for? It's not like he will come back. » another crash, he felt himself rapidly break down like most of the times when he listened to the thoughts screaming and raging in his head. He let his burning eyes fall to the ground and close, as the dark corners of his mind took completely over him.

« … ever. He won't- » his breath hitched and when he opened his eyes again he was on the ground, almost at eye-level with the pitying creature. He looked at his hands in terror, they were trembling visibly, his breathing grew shorter, sharp, but never like those wheezes he learnt to recognize. This was something else. How long had it been since he had last spoken to someone?

This was worse. So much worse.

His fingers brushed his cheek to find it soaking in overflowing tears already making their way on his skin; he digged his hands in his hair as to hold on for dear life. He hated when this happened. He had no control over himself, he felt hopeless, more helpless than usual, rationality flew out of his body, it was as if all of his feelings had smashed the button of “overload”, while a clutching sensation weighted down his stomach.

His mind raced between flashbacks of his childhood, belittling himself, the urge to just give up and lie down forever until someone would eventually pick him up and live his life in his place.

He was completely huddled on himself when he felt something soft trying to make its way through his limbs, as if it wanted him to relax his body and get his arms away from his face. Virgil had no choice but to comply and let the fox … help him? He felt too weak to care about what was happening anyway.

When the animal started brushing its head against Virgil's hand, he suddenly remembered about one of the doctors' suggestion; he opened his eyes and focused on his surroundings.

Five things he could see. The green blades of grass, the glimmering lake, those funny shaped clouds, the trees all around him and the fox by his side. He took another deep breath that he let out from the mouth.

Four things he could touch. The lightweight of his simple clothes, the soles of his shoes, his bangs brushing his forehead and the soft fur through his fingers. He closed his eyes.

Three things he could hear. Birds flying out of their nests to get some food for their nestlings, his rapid breath slowing down, little fishes occasionally jumping out of the lake and then back on the water.

Two things he could smell. The flowers that had started blossoming in that period, the simple essence of the forest's nature.

One thing he could taste. Oh. Had he eaten yet today?

His evened out and steady breathing had him finally relaxed, he kind of felt a smile tugging at his lips for some reason, maybe it was the comfort of the little animal, maybe because he finally got a hold of himself.

But while he pet the unusual friend, there was something he didn't notice. Someone he didn't see, but that could see him. It was somewhere Virgil had never reached. One of the deepest parts of the forest.

The man grinned in his dark room while the only source of light was a cloud of magic smoke in front of him, beaming with the picture of Virgil sitting on the grass and smiling at the fox.

The brightness touched his face with delicacy, yet you could make out the details of it with simplicity.

Like the burnt skin on the left side of his face that made it look like little scales were all over his cheek. Or the literal glowing, bright yellow eyes that slowly turned into a mild shade of white as the vision and smoke both faded away.

The man in the dark smirked.

« Perfect. »

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lonely-bored-writer · 5 years

Text

Casper High Ch. 4

Danny Fenton spends a lot of time in his room, according to his parents- yet in all honesty he often flies out the window to attend to other ghostly matters. If he wasn't busy fighting ghosts, he was busy catching up with school work, or talking to his best friends over the phone or computer. Nonetheless, this past week consisted of Danny spending smaller amounts of time doing his normal everyday routine, and instead spending time with a certain Winchester.

It reminded Danny of all things he missed about having his friends around to physically interact with. He had gotten so used to eating lunch alone, and spending all of his time consumed with other things, it was nice to have new things to do. To have someone spend hours doing absolutely nothing with but enjoying each others company nonetheless was a refreshing break from his usually chaotic life.

"Wait, so Sam believes in Phantom even if he hasn't seen him?"

'Maybe Sam has added a bit of complication to his life,' Danny thought, it was odd but not totally unwelcomed.'

"I don't know, maybe, Tuck. Something Mikey said to him a few days ago brought this interest out." Danny sighed, running a hand through his unruly hair. "He's spent some time doing research in the library."

"But every piece of evidence is gone right?" Manson asked, her attention being pulled from the black makeup she was applying, her back facing her computer screen so that the boys could see her face in the reflection of the large mirror in front of her. "I mean, everything with backing, damning evidence that could prove that Phantom isn't much more than a fable now."

"Well yeah, but we already know that some people believe the fairy tale stories still in the library." Tucker cut in before his raven-haired friend could respond. "We've got nothing to worry about Danny, it's like bigfoot, no one has hard proof- and any 'proof' is easily debunked."

"I guess you guys are right." Danny nodded, not able to shake the looming feeling that things wouldn't be that easy- nothing in his life ever truly was. "Anyways, how about we focus on the fact our Sammy has gotten a date."

"Ooooooh, that's what the make up is about? Must be a lucky girl." Tucker grinned, placing his chin on one palm, "Spill the beans, who is this chick."

"You're so lucky I'm hours away and you're safe from my boots right now." Sam glared, before continuing. "Her names Aino, and she transferred here a few months back. She's the one from the super glue incident in art class."

"I like her." Tucker stated, matter-of-fact. "You have my blessing."

"Well thank you dad, not that I asked." Sam rolled her amethyst eyes, leaning out of frame to fix her eyeliner, using a smaller mirror to help with precision.

"I like her name." Danny added, smiling at the groan it got from Sam, "Besides, anyone who can somehow sneak thirty pounds of super glue into a school is perfect for you in my book."

"She's actually planning to do something similar with pudding in a few weeks actually."

"Nooooooo!" Tucker dragged, pressing a hand to his chest. "Sam you have got to marry this girl, or I will."

"I'm sorry Tuck, but she's not into guys who have already been married to their PDAs." Sam shot back in a heartbeat, pulling a laugh from her friends. Moving back, she turned to the computer. "How'd I look?" Sam had changed some since she left Amity, if only to become more… Sam- that was the best way to explain it. Her short black hair only got shorter, before the left sided became shaved down to spite her parents, a few new piercing decorated her left ear lobe, and a brow piercing rested on her right brow. Her outfit was a simple black tank top, grey shorts, fishnets and an oversize army green jacket over it all, finished off with none other than her favorite pair of chained combat boots.

"Perfect."

"Goth, and intimidating."

"Just what I wanted." Sam grinned, running a hand through her hair.

"So, when do we meet this lucky lady?" Danny laughed at the glare Sam flashed the camera.

"This is our first date." Sam deadpanned, unblinking, already done with her friends shenanigans.

"Dude, that's not the right question." Tucker chastised, tapping the camera. "What you meant was when is the wedding."

"I'm gonna go now." Sam hissed, her camera going black before signing off.

"How much do you want to bet we meet Aino in a week." Tucker laughed along with Danny.

"I bet in three days." Danny grinned, glancing over at the time before sighing. "I have to go on patrol soon."

"Don't fret dude." Tucker sighed. "I've got to finish a last minute robotics paper. It's a pain."

"Good Luck." Danny smiled, before the two bid their goodbyes. With a sigh, the halfa pulled himself out of his computer chair and made his way to his window. Time for another night filled with flying around the town for hours.

It was two in the morning when Danny found himself wandering around the park as Fenton. He did this occasionally when he couldn't sleep even if it served best to try to sleep anyways. By this time the park was often completely deserted so it was interesting to find someone swinging nonchalantly on the swings bathed only in the moonlight... and their own glow.

The shiver that raked down his spine, and puff of soft blue air was enough to confirm this was a spirit. Based on the softness of the glow and the much more human-like skin was also a large indicator that this spirit had yet to fully manifest.

"Hey?" Danny called out softly, making his way over to the swings. His only response was a glance. Danny was able to make out the light pink eyes, and scarred cheek. "Wanna tell me why your here at this time of night in a park?" Danny asked, settling himself next to the spirit.

"Where else will I go?" The ghost asked, kicking his legs softly.

"Maybe to the Zone." Danny offered softly, swinging slightly as well. The confused look he got confirmed his suspicions. "You don't know what that is, do you?"

"Is it like Heaven?" The voice wavered and echoed softly, like it wasn't all there, which matched the ghost's appearance perfectly in an eerie way.

"Not quite. You can make your own little paradise though in the Zone." Danny smiled, looking up to the moon. "A hunter has his own hunting grounds, a scientist his own lab, a singer her own studio, whatever you want. Your imagination is your limit."

"What's your name?" The ghost whispered, staring at their feet.

"Danny, though most ghosts know me as Phantom or the 'Ghost Child'."

"Wait, you're Phantom?!" The spirit looked over shocked. "You aren't as mean as I heard you would be."

"Depends who you talk to." Danny chuckled. "But for the most part, I just try to keep the peace."

"What's your name?" Danny asked after a lull in the conversation.

"Ekon." The ghost, now identified, responded. "I'm not sure how long I've been a ghost if I'm being honest."

"It happens." Danny explained calmly. This ghost used to be a human and it was obviously nervous and unsure- being harsh would do nothing except possibly permanently scar the ghost for the rest of their eternity in the afterlife. "Some ghosts could be dead for years before their consciousness manifests."

"How can I go to the Zone?" Ekon asked suddenly, turning coral pink eyes to Danny.

"Just have to go through a portal." Danny offered a smile. "Lucky for you, I happen to have one in my basement."

"You're a lot nicer then I expected." Ekon spoke, a twinkle in his eyes. "When can you take me?"

Danny paused, running a quick mental check over how he was feeling. He was all caught up on his homework, and he doesn't feel tired…

"I can take you now." The spark of hope that filled the spirits face was worth missing sleep tonight.

Danny needs to stop missing sleep. After so many all-nighters, and the caffeine filled drinks that he often times consumed allowed his body to grow a tolerance against the heavenly beverages, not allowing him to take advantage of their effects anymore. The plus side was he forgot it was a weekend, and was able to sleep an extra two hours before his internal clock woke him. That and the smell of bacon.

"Morning honey, how did you sleep?" Maddie greeted her son with a kiss to the top of his hair, setting down a plate of waffles and bacon in front of him.

"Thanks mom." Danny smiled, just now realizing how hungry he was. That most likely had to do with the hours he spent in ghost form inside the Zone, settling Ekon in and creating an amiable friendship between the new ghost and Klemper. "I slept alright, you?"

"Not very much." Maddie admitted, sipping on a cup of coffee. "Your father's catching up on sleep, but we're one step away from a giant break through."

"Really? What about?" Danny stifled a yawn, popping a piece of bacon into his mouth and dousing a heaping serving of syrup on top of his waffles.

"Your father and I think we narrowed down to the exact component in ectoplasm that give ghosts their abilities." Maddie explained. "If we can separate that component, we could very well apply those abilities to absolutely anything."

"That would explain the ecto-dogs in the fridge." Danny supplied around a mouthful of waffle, pulling a laugh from his mother.

"Swallow first, then speak." Maddie reminded, getting a sheepish smile in response. "And yes, it even opens the possibility of humans being able to use such abilities."

"What-" Danny choked, coughing slightly before continuing. "Wouldn't that turn them into a ghost?"

"Not quite." Maddie shook her head, pausing slightly to put her thoughts in order. "The healing factors found in these specters can do wonders in medical advancement if we can place the exact component."

"Ah..." Danny trailed, eyes trained on his half eaten waffles. His mind mulling over the information he learned and wondering if it was a threat or not.

"Well, I'm off to join your dad in his nap." Maddie stood, dropping her mug in the sink. She continued after dropping another peck on her son. "I left a bit of cash on the coffee table in case you plan on going out."

"Sleep well mom, love you." Danny waited until he heard the faint 'I love you' before standing to leave. He did plan to meet with Sam Winchester at the nasty burger in a few hours. It didn't mean he had to stay in his house until then- he could walk around Amity for a bit before making his way over.

"Hey Sam." Danny greeted with a smile, sliding into the booth across from the taller teen. "Sorry I'm late, my dad dragged me into one of his experiments." Danny offered an apologetic smile. In reality Danny felt bad for lying to Sam, on his way there he was stopped by Cujo who was dragging around a scared Ghostwriter. That had been quite a chase.

"You're good, I actually hadn't noticed." Sam returned with a sheepish smile, closing his laptop.

"What's the distraction this time?" Danny asked, settling in his seat and stealing a fry from Sam's tray.

"Creative writing." Sam sighed, laying a hand on top of his computer. "Mr. Leedee comes back from leave tomorrow, and I complete forgot about his project. Given we are just coming up with an idea list, we get partners tomorrow."

"Ouch, projects are never fun. Throwing in partners? That just makes it worse." Danny responded. "What's the topic?"

"We're supposed to write a story based on a fable, or fairy-tale, or urban legend we know about."

"That shouldn't be too hard. There's tons to choose from." Danny offered, receiving a sheepish smile back.

"That's the point, there are so many." Danny couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"What are your choices?" Danny asked, accepting the laptop as it was slid over to him. The raven haired teen's eyebrows furrowed at the list; the Winchester had only listened one fairy-tale while the rest seemed to be urban legends. "I'd say Hansel and Gretel. Less morbid then the rest." Danny deduced, sliding the laptop close.

"Well, let's hope my partner is fine with that." Sam offered back, before relaxing. A small silence passed between the two, the two teens taking in the food before them before conversation rose again. "Anything new?"

"Not really, I'm still waiting to hear about Sam's date with Aino."

"Sam had a date?" The youngest Winchester looked shocked.

"I didn't tell you?!"

"I never thought Sam would find someone to date in high school, especially with how you described her- nothing against her though anyways."

"Honestly, neither did Tuck and I." Danny laughed along with Sam, happy to see his new friend take an interest in his best friends. "So get this, Aino was the girl from this incident..."

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #supernatural writing prompts #superphantom #superphantom au #fanfiction #fandom #fanfiction.net #fanfic #Fandoms #danny #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom fanfiction #Casper High

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jeffreystewart · 5 years

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Norsery Rhymes from A to Z Happy Thorsday - Brunhild

Well here we are another Thor’s Day and another 20 min sketch of a Norse (and Germanic) mythological character, along with a bit of story around them. This week it’s Brunhild (Brynhild, Brunhilde, Brunhildr, Brunhilda). Princess, Queen, Hero, and Valkyrie.

Her name essentially means “War Armor”, from brunia “armor” and hiltia “conflict” in old high German. Which makes sense considering her armor in the Norse and tales are often what is cursed to keep her asleep.

Brunhild’s story changes quite a bit depending on the sources.

In one she is a Princess, in others she’s the daughter of Wotan and Erda or Bundi, and the adopted Daughter of Hiemi. In some the Sleeping Valkyrie and even Brunhild are separate people entirely.

I’ve tried to separate them a bit by source and story points, but I’m sure I’ve mixed up a few things here and there, given the tales even by source have sub sources that disagree with each other. I guess that’s one reasons why it’s always been such a go to for storytellers to make it all make sense in a single narrative. As they are all taken together, they’re the Rashomon of Norse tales so be kind if I’ve mixed them together too much for your tastes. I really enjoyed breaking this all down and the drawings that came out of it. I’ll be posting a few more version over the next week.

In the Norse Icelandic tales, the very old Volsungs saga and shorter and newer Prose Edda, Brunhilde is the daughter of Budli, and sister to Atli. She grows up to become a Shield-maiden, a Valkyrie in the castle of King Heimir whos is married to her eldest sister Bekkhild.

She is tasked with deciding a fight between two kings. Instead of choosing the one Odin favours Halmgunnar, she sides with the Other Agnar, as she feels this is the more fair outcome. Odin enraged sentences her to live a mortal life alone. Cursed to perpetually sleep in a ring of fire, behind a ring of shields, in castle at the top of the alps on mount Hindarfjall.

The hero Sigurdr Sigmundson of the Volsung had already slain the dragon Fafnir before hearing of Bruhilde in her prison by Sigurdr’s hawk friend. Surmounting all barriers he awakening her by removing her Valkyries armour and helm, which held the curse. She was essentially imprisoned in the armor and obligation she failed to uphold. At least how Odin likely would have seen it. So Sigurd proposes with his magic ring Andvaranaut that he will return and marry her, and goes out to get her Brother Atli’s blessing.

Along the way he stops in at a castle in Burgundy. There the Queen Grimhild, a sorcerer and magician, creates a powerful potion for Sigurd to think he is in love with her daughter Gudrun. And then convinces Sigurd to help her son marry the fabled Valkrie Brunhilde. They find Atli, and he gives his blessing. Then return to the mountain. Gunnar tries several times to get past the ring of fire, but he alone or on a horse cannot pass. Sigurd transforms into Gunnar crosses the fire and marries Brunhild. Apparently it being dark when Sigurd woke up the first time and met Sigurdr. Some versions of this says that Sigurdr and Gunnar attack Atli’s castle and he only agrees to let one of them marry her to end the attack on his people. The fires gone upon her marriage, Sigurdr takes the ring from Brunhilds finger and sends Gunnar to her. Then takes the ring to Gudrun. I mean, why waste a perfectly good magical engagement ring.

So Brunhild and Gunnar, Sigurdr and Gudrun, and Queen Grimhild and King Gjuki are all now one big extended family at the castle. Gudrun, being the jealous type and insecure about her landing Sigurdr the old potion way squabbles with Brunhild and let’s slip that Sigurdr was the one who woke her, wooed her and and rode through the fire. Brunhild as you can image was a little angry.

She convinces Gunnar that Sigurd had taken marital advantage of her back at the ring of fire and urges Gunnar to kill him. Gunnar afraid to break an oath of brother hood he swore with Sigurd, instead calls on his other siblings, his brothers Gutthorn and Hogni to help him. Hogni was out as he’d also sworn the oath of brotherhood. But Gutthorn was apparently out of town and had made no oath. Gutthorn however was not the killing type and so Hogni and Gunnar got one of their mother potions. They gave it to Gutthorn and it caused him to fill with rage at Sigurdr. Either killing in his sleep at the castle or while out in the forest. Bruhilde then kills Sigurdr and Gudrun’s son and throws herself on Sigurdr’s funeral pyre. In some versions abandoning the daughter she had that was also Sigurdrs child.

The Volsunga Saga frames the whole story as a tale told to a giant Gygr, in Hel as Brynhildr goes to find Sigurd there after their deaths. In the Norse Icelandic tales like the old Poetic Edda, Brynhildr is a daughter of Budli. In one verse she is distinguished from the sleeping Valkyrie Sigrdrífa / Sigrun, and in others they are one and the same. Wagner and others have interpreted this to be two tales interwoven, or even a direct generational saga because of this.

As the same person Brynhildr is a Warrior Maiden, and Swan Sister. Valkyrie servant of Odin. Also called Hildr the Helmed. Who lived with her seven sisters all Valkyries.

She was disobedient with Odin when she took the soul of the old Goth king Hjalmgunnar, instead of taking Agnarr to whom she was forced to side with. Agnarr kidnapped her and her seven sisters when she was twelve by stealing their Swan robes or dress. An item that gave him power over her. Some sources say in marriage, and others just in powers, as he might have worried marriage might negate her station and thus her powers. It can’t hurt to have 7 Valkyries on your side. In other tales she disobeys Odin by not marrying Hjalmgunnar because she had already sworn she would not marry a man with fear.

She was punished by Odin, placed into a preserving unending sleep. Laid under her shield, with a ring wall of shields, and fire. Only the the person who carried Fafnirs gold could pass and wake her. She’s awoken by the hero Sigurd, who crossed the flames with the gold and wakes her by freeing her of her halberd and in some versions with a fairytale kiss.

We hear this last part in the form of a flashback with flash forwards of sorts, where a detailed prophesy of these events and more is told to Sigurd by his uncle Gripir. Outlining that he will defeat a dragon, learn to speak to birds from it’s blood, carry it’s gold, find love through birdsong, wake a Valkyrie, and find adventure, and eventual peril. With Sigurd asking lots of questions but kind of missing the bad parts.

In some interpretations she wakes immediately and leaves with Sigurd, and others she wakes slowly. Sigurd leaving thinking her dead, and having never seen her face under her helm. If taking the sleeping Valkrie as separate from Bryhildr then on her waking she thanks him with the gift of true wisdom, and rune knowledge, and go their separate ways. Sigurd and Brynhildr leave. Finding shelter and a foster father in King Heimi who adopts Brynhildr. They fall in love and become betrothed but unwed to each other. In the other interpretation she just kind of shows up at Heimi’s castle who takes her in as a daughter. I usually picture her waking up alone and wandering down the mountain until she finds kind shelter.

In both versions Sigurd goes off. Sigurd becomes restless for adventure, or to prove himself, or to secure a title, and continues his travels set to return soon. Why she couldn’t go adventuring with him as she’s no longer tied to her Valkyr duties is left a mystery. One that it has been argued that makes a bit more sense if Brynhildr and the Sleeping Valkyrie are separate people.

Finding Giuki’s kingdom, the queen Grimhild casts a spell to make him forget Brynhilder so he can marry her daughter Gudrun who has fallen in love with him. In this version Gudrun does not know of the magic being cast on him and when he awakes from the spell bear her no ill will.

Sigurd assumes Gunnar’s form and woos Brynhildr. Likely starting with telling her of Sigurd’s new love. When they are all together and married the truth is revealed and the spell is broken. Sigurd is horrified by his part in the deception. Bryhildr not knowing of the spell convinces Gunnar that Sigurd took advantage of her in the wooing, and to satisfy the dishonor Giuki’s other sons slay Sigurd.

Bryhildr learning of the spell throws admits to everyone that Sigurd had never taken advantage of her, and her love for him returned throws herself on Sigurd’s funeral pyre to reunite with him in Hel. In some versions she blames her brother for allowing all of this to happen before she kills herself.

In the Germanic tales such as the Nibelungenlied. Brunhild is a Princess or Queen of Iceland or more likely Ironland (Isenland), and is not a Valkyrie, though she does have superhuman strength. She lives in Isenstein (Iron Stone) castle.

Her kingdom 12 days away from Burgundy and it’s Capital of Worms, where King Gunther has heard tales of her fierceness and beauty and is determined to marry her. Siegfried the Crown Prince the kingdom of Xanten warns Gunther of doing this. He knows of her and thinks this would be a bad idea. Because she’s super strong, a warrior queen, is quite bright, and has a bit of a temper. Gunther though promises Siegfried he can marry his sister Kriemhild if her helps him succeed. Which was the reason Siefried had gone to court in the first place. Kriemhild had never married because of a prophesy that her husband would die a horrible death. The reason Siegfried is so concerned is that Brunhild vows she will not marry any man who cannot best her in feats of strength and battle.

When they get to Isenstein Brunhild initially thinks it’s Siegfried who’s there to woo her, but is surprised that it’s Gunther who challenges her. As she was impressed by Siegfried and is surprised this man is only a vassal of Gunther. As the challenges of battle begin, she throws a giants spear, throws a boulder, leaps over that same boulder and fights Gunther. Sigurd devising ways to beat her in the war games and combat uses his cloak Tarnkappe that gives him invisibility, shape changing, and the strength of 12 men. He already had invulnerability everywhere but the back of his neck from bathing in dragons blood. He keeps giving Gunther the advantage. Helping avoid, and in some version throw the spear, avoid the boulder and toss Gunther over it. Then helped defeat her. Ensuring she’s fooled that it was Gunther who did all of these things all along.

She’s initially a bit suspicious of the whole thing and is hesitant to commit to marriage to Gunther. But he brings his whole army and parks it on her front porch. As an ‘escort’ back to his castle. In some sources Siegfried goes to the trouble to conquer all of Nieelungenland by himself and within a few days, just so he’ll have a nearby army to help Gunther with is ‘marriage escort’.

So they all get married together. Siegrfried and Kriemhild, and Gunther and Brunhild. Brunhild is upset during the wedding about Kriemhild marrying a vassal instead of a Prince. On the wedding night Gunther appears to have none of the strength he showed in the challenges. So she strings him up hanging from his belt all tied up hands and feet from a cloak hook on the wall. The next day after the servants likely find Gunther and let him down, Gunther goes to Siegfried to get his help again. Siegfried uses his cloak the next night to appear as Gunther and with the strength of 12 men is able to satisfactorily prove he can subdue Brunhild to her expectations. He then goes to hang up his cloak and switches places with the real Gunther who was watching from the wings. Brunhild either through her marital bed time with Gunther, or by Siegfried taking her ring and belt, loses her strength as well.

As time passes she has a child that they name Siegfried for some reason. We’ll call Him Little Siefried from now on.

Brunhild never gets over the feeling that original recipe Siegfried doesn’t act or seem like a vassal. So she and Gunther invite Siegfried and Kriemhild to the castle. But things get tense between them when they start arguing about how great their husbands are. Brunhild escalates things a bit too far, and Kriemhild responds that it was Siegfried who took her on maidenhood on her second marriage night. Showing her the ring and belt as proof. This sends Brunhild to confront Gunther about this. Gunther comes clean, and insists that Siegfried never lay with her.

She demands Siegfried’s death, and one of Gunthers vassals Hagen (Dazs was apparently unavailable) takes it upon himself and agrees to kill him to end her grief. Hagen makes up an incoming war that Siegfried and Gunther agree to help him with. When Gunther learns of the plot, he does nothing to stop it. Hagen gets Kriemhild to mark on Siegfried where his vulnerable spot it so he can make sure it’s protected she belies. Hagen then says the wars off, let’s go hunting to celebrate! Where he catches Siegfried unawares and hits him with a spear in his weak spot for massive damage.

Brunhild celebrates, and after Gunther dies Little Siegfried takes the throne.

In each there’s a tale of tragic love gained and lost, magic used, vows broken, and in some, deaths with the hope of two souls eternally being together.

If you’ve read this far and are looking for a little more reward than the sentiment I ended on above, here’s a terribly punny joke for you. ‘Brunhild, after everything she’d been through, made sure her betrayer was Sieg-Free’d from his body.’

#norse mythology #valkryie #brunhilde #siegfried #sigurd #brynhild #odin #drawing #sketch #line art #Character Design #character art

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pacifistofpatience · 5 years

Note

Ut, Uf, and Ht Sans who wake up one day to notice that their SO has painted flowers that remind them of their skelebae all over said skelebae's skull

Undertale (Iris- your friendship means so much tome/ Lily of the Valley- you’ve made mylife complete/ rose leaf- you may hope/ Blue violet- ill always be there)

Sans

A giggle roused Sans fromhis nap.

He knew that laugh well. Itwas one he had grown to love over the time he had spent with you, but also meant someone was plotting another prank on him. Duringone of his (many) sacred naps as well! To think- his own datemate- getting himwhen he was most vulnerable!

Sans bit back a grin. Stars,he taught you well!

But now it was time forpayback.

(Which, surely would notbe hard, you were always an easy target.)

Something soft touched hisforehead. Using the moment, he opened his eyes. His one eye light flashing abright blue as he used the smallest bit of magic to jostle the bed.

“boo!”

“Ah–!!”

The object that had beenon his forehead slid down his face and to his chin, along with it came thisoddly wet feeling he didn’t care enough to consider. You yanked your hand away,looking at the skeleton below with a frown.

“—You Bitch!!”

Sans chuckled.

“Oh my god seriously!” yousaid, jumping away form him in order to pull up what looked like a hand mirror.

You shoved it in his face,huffing in anger, “I was going to surprise you!”

Sans head lulled to the side,finally taking in his reflection. For a moment all he did was stare at the array of colors on his skull, as if trying to piece together a particular hard puzzle. But then his eye lights widened and he really saw what you had done.

Flowers dotted everywhereon his face with no rhyme or reason to where they went. Little bell-shaped onesfacing every way, with a string of them right under his left socket. On top of hisright socket stood a brilliant blue flower- one that’s insides changed into yellowsand then faded to white as they reached the center. It was followed by a burstof smaller blue flowers that looked like an attempt at some sort of idea, but eventuallyjust devolved into placing them anywhere you wanted them to be.

(Oh– Did you really? Had you really?

Gosh, what was he going to do with you.)

And, in the center, down theridge of his nasal cavity and going past his ever present grin, was a long streakof purple.

(Never mind…)

“It was going good untilyou ruined it…” You said, without a hint of actual malice behind your voice.

Sans shrugged. He leanedback, “whelp, guess that means were gonna have to start from the beginning then.doesn’t it?” He closed his sockets, and you noted with a small grimace that thecolors on his lids were nothing but smudges.

But with a guy like him,you were sure you had plenty of time to fix it up.

“Guess we take it from the top.” You said.

You grabbed your brushagain and placed it right above his grin. For a moment you swirled it around, bidingyour time as Sans began to slowly drift back to sleep.

Just as he seemed to relax, you shoved the brush up his nose.

“hrrrrrnnnnkkk—!!!“

Underfell (red poppies- remembrance of war/ Azalea –take care of yourself for me/ Holly- domestic love)

Red

Sans had woken up alone.

It didn’t bother him asmuch as it used to, because he wasn’t in the Underground any more. He didn’t haveto worry about waking up without you there and thinking the worst had happened whilehe was asleep. Not anymore. Now all he had to do was take a deep breath in, rememberwhere he was, and just know everything was better.

You were here, with him,the clatter of pots and pans and the wafting smell of pancakes from somewherein the house told him as much.

Sans stretched, his bones rattlingas he slowly got up from his mess of a bed and started towards your sharedbathroom. A long time ago he would have laid in there for a few more hours,wasting the day away until his brother finally dragged him out and forced himinto his Sentry station, but now… now he had something else to wake up for.

(And it’s not that hisbrother wasn’t one of them, its just that there was always so much more thatweighed down on him before the barrier broke. He never got the chance to even thinkabout something so… domestic like this, let alone hope for it. But now he washere, now far off fables of a home and someone he could love was right there.Right within in his reach.)

Sans stumbled his way tothe bathroom. He stood in front of the mirror, looking briefly at his brightlycolored skull. He looked down, turned on the faucet, put toothpaste on hishands, paused, looked back up.

“huh…?”

At first all he saw wasthe vibrant colors adorning the top of his skull. Cute little flowers of differentshades of red all clustering together with little balls of other red, berrylike dots. Green spiked leaves twisting with stems wove themselves together. Onthe top left of his skull, the flowers became even more clustered, merging intoone large, stunning pink flower that took up the entire top half of his face. He followed the flowers, seeing how theywrapped around his skull.

A crown?

“Oh…”

Sans turned around to seeyou standing in the door frame, two plates filled to the brim with pancakes anda glass of milk for the both of you.

You huffed, “I was hoping you’dstay asleep for a little longer…I wanted to see your reaction.”

“babe?” he said, “did—did youdo this?”

Once again, he turned backto the mirror. His fingers trailed along the pink flower committing it tomemory (And leaving a very sticky, oddly minty trail of something his sleep addled brain couldn’t quiet remember in its wake) . Occasionally his eyes would dart to your reflection, but he seemed farto entranced in his new decoration to really say anything.

“Well… I mean, they didn’tjust pop-ie up in the middle of the night, did they? I think that’d be awholly different kind of thing then say, me painting them on your skull…um… i.. zay… don’t have a pun for the last flowers…”

Sans chuckled. And, Oh,Of course that was it, “eye-zay-lee-a they look absolutely beautiful, doll.”

You lifted the tray alittle higher, hoping to hide your blushing face behind it.

“I—um— thank y—I got us breakfasttoo… you know? For bed.”

Stars, you really were perfect.

Horrotale

Jupiter (Dogwood - durability, constancy and undiminished love,sometimes forgetfulness/ Daisy- loyallove/ Narcissus- stay as sweet as you are/ Rose – unwavering love)

“havin’ fun there,starshine?”

You jumped, nearly sendingthe paintbrush right into his now opened socket as you yanked your hand back.

“Sans!”

“sorry sorry…” he said, closinghis socket, “…didn’t mean to scare ya… keep going… i promise i won’t be toomuch of a pain-t… maybe i can can-vas you i never even woke up…”

You smiled, “No, it’s fine.I just… wanted to surprise you…”

Sans snored, loudly and obviouslyfake. It pulled a giggle from you which, in turn, caused a grin to pull at hismouth. He tried to hide it, still intent on keeping up the whole ‘sleeping’charade.

It didn’t work.

“Alright, stay still.”

“still as the dead…”

You placed the brush backon his skull, and with a feather light touch to begin to work on your creation.

A moment passed between thetwo of you. Sans snorted.

“Sans!”

“… sorry… it tickles…”

Figuring this was a battlelost, you placed the brush down along with the palette of paints, “iI’s Ok. Iwas done anyway. Just wanted to see what I could fix before you woke up.”

Sans opened his socketsonce again, taking in the art supplies that surrounded you two. As you werecleaning it up he asked, “…if it ain’t too much trouble… I would love to seewhat was so a-muse-ing to paint on my skull.”

With a smile you presentedthe mirror you had placed off to the side for him. His sockets went wide whenhe saw the array of color, little white flowers dotted the outside of his skull,interchanging between daisies and something that he didn’t quiet remember thename of. They swirled around slowly forming into ones with a yellow middle thatdid one last loop around his working socket. There, the unmistakable paintingof a vibrant red rose bloomed.

Biting back the excited smile you had you waited…

…Only to feel your heartdrop as Sans began to tear up.

“Oh no I’m so sorry i—”

Arms wrapped around you.He pulled you against his chest and nuzzled into the top of your head with his verywet, very paint covered face.

“Sans!!

“hnnnnnn… starshine!!” Hewailed, “i—i loube yuh su-suoooooo much!”

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delaware-lemme-smash · 5 years

Text

In The Cave of the Mountain King - Chapter Two

Here is the chapter on AO3 if the formatting goes wild on Tumblr! Smut is next chapter, which I’m posting right after this~

Scrape. Like metal across stone. Your eyes popped open. The light pouring in through the cave entrance made them water, and you groaned, raising a hand to shield yourself. Something tickled the back of your neck, and another thing tightened around your waist.

Those things both belonged to another thing. Namely the barbarian lying flush against your back with his face buried your hair.

Oh, shit.

Your face burned, which was absurd. Why should you be embarrassed? You'd been minding your own business. He was the one who couldn't keep his hands to himself. You tried to wriggle free, but he only held you tighter, a growling noise in the back of his throat, like a displeased lion cub.

I can't let him wake up with us like this.

Instead of the trying to tug away from him, you squeezed down, slipping through the loop of his arm like someone escaping a noose, then crawling out of the furs. He grumbled, then rolled over onto his stomach and resumed his light snoring.

You breathed a sigh of relief, tugging your clothes straight. You could get something to eat, then consider your next move. Returning back to Kyushu without the Tennyo Slipper wasn't an option. Your father's fever would stretch out for a few days, but he would need the root dried and powdered and fed to him in a tea if he wanted to recover.

Turning, you found yourself face to face with a dragon.

You promptly made a comical squeaking noise and fell on your ass. Hardly dignified, but honestly better than some other possible reactions.

The dragon had stuck his head inside the cave - the only part of him that would fit. He must've made the scraping noise that woke you.

'Hello...' you said, every nerve ending quaking with centuries of genetic memory that screamed at you that this was not friendly puppy you were greeting, but a big, fuck-off lizard that breathed fire. It was staring at you with a scarlet eye the size of a shield. 'Um...nice to meet you?'

The dragon snorted smoke. You choked, waving your arms in front of your face, and the dragon withdrew his head. Peering outside, you could see him clinging to the side of the mountain like a giant gecko. You stepped out onto the ledge, turning your face upward.

The rain had cleared. The sky was open, endless blue, barely dusted with clouds. A perfect morning not to have been eaten by cannibals or killed by angry barbarian mountain kings. You shot a glance at the dragon. He seemed content where he was, letting the sun glitter and bounce off his scales. Basking, just like a real lizard. Did it help with his fire, too?

'You wouldn't know where that field of Tennyo Slipper is, would you?' you asked conversationally. The dragon's head turned toward you. His pupil was a dark slit in the sun, but there was a fierce intelligence there. Like a raptor bird. 'It's on the South face, according to his Majesty in there. A whole field of blue.'

Scale scraped across rock and suddenly there was a tapered tail as thick as a tree trunk in front of you. The dragon looked…expectant.

He wants me to climb on? He could either be inviting you to become his breakfast snack, or he might just be able to take you to the meadow you needed. You placed a tentative hand on his hide. It was warm, but hard and smooth as metal. Feeling like some idiot out of a fable a mother would use to scare her children, you scrambled up the dragon's tail. He had spines running along his back that you used as handholds until you reached the leather saddle still strapped to his back.

As soon as you were settled, the dragon gave a heave. You grabbed for the straps and handholds, lest you topple off down the mountain. The dragon unfurled its wings, then fell away from the rock face.

Air rushed past your ears, tearing your ragged scream from your lips. The dragon tilted, levelled, and then began to glide. He made a wide circle around the mountain peak, angling down. You saw why Bakugou wore a cloak. Despite the warm day, the air remained chilly up here. The dragon rounded a jutting bluff, and there it was. A carpet of deep blue, rippling like a small lake in the breeze.

'Down there!' you called to the dragon, hoping he'd actually understood you before and wasn’t just taking you for a joyride. 'Can you land?'

He understood you perfectly, or just got what a lot of yelling and pointing meant, because a moment later you were dropping to the gently sloping plateau. A grin pulled at your lips. An entire field of Tennyo Slipper. You could take back an armful and have enough to last the village a year.

Your foot slipped as you climbed down the dragon, and you tumbled into a bed of the flowers, laughing. The dragon's head swung round to you, eyeing you curiously.

'Don't mind me,' you reassured him. 'I just need to get some of these and then we can go-'

You cut off with a yelp as the dragon flopped onto his belly, making the ground shake. He buried his head in the nodding blue flowers and closed his eyes. Well, you supposed that meant you could take as long as you wanted.

The furs were too warm. He rolled, kicking them off with a grunt. Cool air washed over his bare back, ruffling his hair. Something scraped outside. Must be the big scaly bastard returned from wherever he'd waited out the storm.

Bakugou reached out across the bedding, looking for the wrench he'd rescued last night. She might be reckless and too goddamn nosey, but she smelled good and he'd enjoyed the way she melted into him when he'd thrown an arm over her. Maybe she would...

A crushing weight pinned Bakugou's hand to the floor. His head snapped up; he let out a bellow of pain and fury. What the hell did that bitch-

It wasn't the village girl.

Blood-streaked, filthy and stinking, one of the cannibals stood over him. The cannibal's lips parted in a hideous smile - his teeth were black at the gums, yellow and half-rotten. Bakugou had half a second to wonder how he'd got up here, and where the girl had gone, before the cannibal came for him with a rusty, short-bladed knife.

Bakugou rolled, swung his other hand up, and caught the cannibal in the knee. Kneecap, tendons, and blood exploded as he brutally amputated the limb that dared try to hold him down.

Bakugou Katsuki, King of the Mountain.

He surged to his feet, long dagger in hand and slashed out. The cannibal took a cut across the chest and fell. Blood, deepest arterial red, pooled underneath him. Bakugou kicked him away from the furs toward the fire, and drove the knife down into the cannibal's neck, adding a gargle to the man's incessant screaming. It wasn’t necessary - the guy was already well on his way to dead - but Bakugou was feeling vindictive.

He wiped the knife clean against his pants. His hands were bloody to the wrist. More droplets had speckled his arms and chest.

Where the hell was the girl? He went to the mouth of the cave, scarlet eyes squinted against the daylight. Let the stupid brat just be cowering somewhere, cause if that asshole had killed her...

Bakugou didn't have any more time to worry about the village girl, whose name he'd just realised he'd never asked, because the mountain looked like a kicked-over anthill. Cannibals, dirty and leering to a man, covered the mountainside like an infestation. It looked like the whole sorry lot of them had finally come crawling out of their warren this time. Bakugou's hand tightened around his dagger, the other curling into a fist. Smoke seeped between his fingers.

Time to claim his throne.

Your smock pockets were full of Tennyo Slipper. You wanted to take more, but there was no feasible way of carrying them. This was more than enough to break your father's fever and restock the village supplies for months to come.

You cast a look at the dragon dozing in the flowers. Besides, this big guy might be willing to bring you here again. Maybe you could bribe him with a side of pork or something.

'I've got enough now!' you called over to him.

He lifted his head, opening his eyes. His pupils went from comically large and dewy to narrow slits the instant the sun hit them. You approached warily. Would he consent to carry you again, or had it been some dragonish whim the first time?

'Can we go back?'

In answer, the dragon flicked his tail. Well, that was about as close to agreement as you'd get. You went up his tail again, using his spines to climb up to the saddle. All those years climbing trees and mountains helped. As soon as you were in the saddle, the dragon climbed to his feet, revealing a huge dragon-shaped patch of flattened Tennyo Slipper.

Oops.

The take wasn't as easy as letting go this time. The dragon shot toward the edge of the plateau, leaving a huge track of mud and uprooted flowers in his wake. Wings spread, he leapt from the ledge. The wind filled his wings like sails, and you were aloft. The foothills spread out below you like a rumpled dark green rug. Beyond that, the lowlands were a patchwork of forests, farmland, and shimmering rice fields.

As you soared around toward the North face of the mountain, you caught sight of the cannibal's plateau. The illusion didn't hold from above, or the hag Bakugou had killed was their witch. It was blessedly quiet. Deserted, even. The freaks must be nocturnal. Not even the corpse remained. With a sickening lurch, you realised why.

I guess meat is meat.

You dragged your eyes away, gaze falling instead on the thin streams of smoke from the foothills that marked Kyushu. It was technically a village but seemed to be growing every day - hence the lack of herbs as demand outpaced supply.

Your father was down there. Your mother, torn between anxiety over her husband's health, her daughter's fate. If you didn't return soon, your father would only worsen.

'Hey!'

The dragon turned its head back to fix a scarlet eye on you.

'Can we go down there?' You pointed at the village. 'I need to get these to my father.'

There was silence for a few moments, then the beast tipped its wing and curved its body around to make the sharp turn. Shrieking in delight and terror, you gripped the saddle straps until your hands cramped.

Of course, this wasn't some fairytale where you could fly a dragon right down into your home village and expect to be welcomed with open arms. The pitchforks and screaming felt like a bit much, though.

'Sorry,' you said, patting the dragon on the neck. 'It's not every day we have giant lizards dropping out of the sky, and you're a very impressive dragon.'

The dragon seemed mollified.

'Where's Elder Mikongyu?' You scanned the crowd for her craggy old face. 'How is my father?'

There was a long silence, and then several dozen voices began speaking at once. A shriek cut over all of it. You winced.

Your mother came barrelling out of the house, running toward you -and the giant dragon- like she was about to take off her slipper and wallop you with it. Instead she threw herself at the side of the dragon, who made a chuffing noise like he'd actually felt the impact, and tried to climb her way up his side to you.

'Mother...'

'Where were you!? I was out of my mind with worry! Your father...! If I lost both...!' She gave up trying to climb the perturbed dragon, only to wipe her eyes with the heel of her hand. She stamped. 'Get down here, young lady! Where did you get this dragon? Oh, gods...a dragon!'

'Mother,' you said again, after patiently waiting through her succession of emotional crises. You reached into your pocket and pulled out a fistful of Tennyo Slipper. 'I got some.'

'Where...'

You didn't get the chance to explain. Not any of it. The second you opened your mouth, an explosion came from the top of the mountain. So loud, the air seemed to tremble with it. Fire and dust blew outward, almost invisible in the daylight.

Bakugou!

The dragon had the same thought. He surged to his hind legs, a roar grumbling up out of the deepest pit of his chest. His wings fanned out. The villagers ran for cover. Clinging to his back, it was all you could do to stay on. Desperate, you threw the handful of flowers toward your mother, hoping they wouldn't be trampled or forgotten.

'Wait! Don't!' she cried, reaching toward you like she could pluck you from the back of a dragon.

Too late. You gripped the straps, turning your head toward the mountain. The dragon took off with three huge beats of his wings, scattering dust and villagers and flowers like chaff. Despite your worry, you couldn't tamp down the fierce joy you felt at rising from the earth into the air. You could see some of what made Bakugou the way he was, if he got to feel this all the time.

'Let's repay the favour!'

The dragon roared his approval.

Fuck!

That last barrage was supposed to have driven them back!

Bakugou ducked behind a boulder. Tiny darts made of bone peppered the rock where he'd just been standing. Bastards had blowpipes. The darts were tipped in something nasty and greenish. He didn't know what, but he knew it would be a bad idea to let one stick him.

Unwilling to be cornered in his cave, he'd blasted his way up to another ledge, forcing them to come at him from below. He'd kicked the first few off the ledge, stamping on their clinging fingers in revenge for his own bruised hand. Then they'd swarmed up and over and he'd been forced to retreat, much as it galled him.

As good as he was, he couldn't let them pen him in. He needed room to fight with his long knife. Thankfully, his palms were slick with sweat and his blood was full of endorphins, so he could blast them back again and again.

So he did, clearing the ledge a half a dozen times over while the bastards kept coming, clinging to the rock like goats or some hideous form of monkey. There was a reason people weren't meant to live in the dark, eating human meat.

He didn't even have time to wonder where his dragon was, or the village girl. There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't have time to address it.

'Fucking die!' he snapped, delivering a savage kick to the centre of a leering man's chest. The cannibal went flying, toppling into the empty air and out of sight. 'I'll kill all of you!'

They took that as a challenge. Ten of them climbed up over the ledge, fifteen, twenty. How long had they been eating and fucking and breeding in the bowels of the mountain?

Bakugou reached out, ready to blow a hole in their ranks, when a plume of fire shot out of the sky, so hot it burned them like tapers where they stood. He looked up.

The dragon was a silhouette against the sun. Lowering a wing, he circled, and landed heavily on the mountain behind Bakugou. Small pebbles rumbled down, slithering past him. He shaded his eyes.

'I swear, I leave you alone for five minutes and you piss off a whole army!' cried a very familiar voice.

Bakugou's expression morphed into one of savage joy. He gave a ragged laugh, flipping you off.

'Not my fault you stole my fucking dragon, wench!'

You were so relieved to find him still alive, you couldn't even be mad he was calling you "wench".

His explosions had created a field of stone shrapnel. You scrambled down from the dragon's back. You might not be a mighty hunter, but you had better aim than half the boys in your village.

Bakugou cracked a laugh when the first stone toppled a cannibal off the mountain. The dragon got stuck in, picking the attackers up in his huge jaws and shaking his head back and forth, savaging them. Bakugou's explosions or a fall off the mountain were preferable ways to go, in your opinion.

It was a dirty, exhausting business. You'd never seen someone die before Bakugou had killed that woman...thing. The dragon cut swathes through the crawling creatures, cutting off their claims about how they were going to spit and roast you, pluck out your eyes and eat them like plump grapes, crack open your bones to suck out the sweet marrow-

It would be a while before you could eat meat.

Finally, horribly, the ledge was clear. There were a few thin, pained moans from far below, but they wouldn't last long. The dragon was crunching on something you didn't want to think about. Your hands were scratched and bleeding from throwing rock after rock.

Bakugou hobbled over to his dragon, putting a bloody-knuckled hand on the beast's hide. The dragon dropped his gruesome toy, turning to look at his rider. You turned your head away, expecting they might need a moment of privacy in the depths of their bond.

'Where the fuck did you go, fatass?'

Your gaze snapped around. The dragon gave a great, bass rumble of displeasure and slapped the barbarian with a wing, making him stagger.

Guess not.

#delaware-lemme-smash #bakugou katsuki #in the cave of the mountain king #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #bnha scenario #mha #my hero academia #mha imagines #mha headcanons #mha scenario #bakugou katsuki x reader #Mod Rig

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chakazard · 5 years

Text

Reflexive Response

I have seen all manners of mythic beasts

To keep in mind before you try to tell me what is possible

I have blown them out of the clouds

And blasted them out of the mountains

Half an urge to turn everything on its head

And start as nothing, hairy and torn

And open as an empty canteen

Grasping for the nearest oasis but filling up with sand

And where are you now

The third in a series of sisters

Who have gripped me in the gut

And filtered out the sky in the morning

Always selling artwork out the same garage

Mark it down to pennies

Six for the price of one

But that (sing along now) has never made it junk

Breaking and melting

Clicking and crying

I am unstable

I am protected

I was built to withstand plunging down down into the coldest ice

I will rise on the call of the flame in the chest

I would crush those who deny and embrace those who join

I am the rhythm that is searching for a song to belong to

Humming death folk melodies

Trying to tumble past the trees

I am the arbitrary hourglass

And the sound of the shiniest past

Always smaller by degrees

If I start playing both roles

In order to increase

Don't you dare paint me with hypocrisy

I don't know how the web got so large

That you could get free without

Tearing the whole thing down

Below below to the undertown

I've ached for education

And I've threatened to walk before

But this distance I never bargained

And I've traded tone for rhythm (sing along again)

I've been out of phase so long

And I wonder why I can't be touched

But which is the chicken and which is the leg

Used as an oar, the last ticket to the sunken island

Breaking and melting

Clicking and calling

I am an iron fable

I am rejected

I was built to withstand plunging down down into the coldest ice

I will rise on the call of the flame in the chest

I would crush those who deny and embrace those who join

I am the rhythm that is searching for a song to belong to

An overabundance that I'm trying to share

Street corner playbook and cardboard hands

And one lost goat and one sick ram

I lied but the evidence is ash

And I became a mirror, all glass and spit

And I never told whose face I might reflect

And I nightmared off your sustenance

And I threw my dance into the maddening rain

Defy the laws of nature and rewrite the books

Of trust, of longing, of four part harmony

I am a megaphone, you are a damn eye

And we are all fallen stars

Fearing the jump from gas to bone

And shedding and regrowing weapons

Like a time machine stuck in June forever

When do we construct the pyramids

Breaking and melting

Clicking and snorting

I am unstable

I am rejected

I was built to withstand plunging down down into the coldest ice

I will rise on the call of the flame in the chest

I would crush those who deny and embrace those who join

I am the rhythm that is searching for a song to belong to

They tried to smoke me out of the home I had hidden in

And I laughed for three years without a breath

And cried out WHAT DID YOU THINK MY ELEMENT WAS

I've heard of fighting fire with fire but this is ridiculous

How do you add or subtract archetypes

I have always had an inkling

That the answers we have sought are math with words

Today's number would be twenty seven

I was built to withstand plunging down down into the coldest ice

I will rise on the call of the flame in the chest

I would crush those who deny and embrace those who join

I am the rhythm that is searching for a song to belong to

But you had better not say that to me!

I don't care how hard the rain falls

Mine eyes are locked and my ears are sold

And if tomorrow never comes I will forget I heard a thing

You could be the key that we grasp to get back to truth

They could be a newly discovered wingspan

I could be merging and melting until I am lovely

And we are all fallen stars

Breaking and melting

Chilling and calling

I am iron fable

I am created

There are many narrators here

And I am either the most or the least reliable

Is starting this story the worst that I've done?

Or could it even be encouraged

One day you're going to toss me from the train

Howling my name like a curse

Or else I'll freeze in the ground

Forgotten how to blink or snap at the sight

And I am home

And I would have never forgiven myself if I didn't try

In my own way to carve these words

No matter how small the letters

One day I woke up on an electromagnetic ray

And my tongue was sharp again

But who is praised and who is dead in the car

I dare not guess in case that makes it true

Breaking and melting

Clicking and crashing

I am turntable

I am resurrected

I was built to withstand plunging down down into the coldest ice

I will rise on the call of the flame in the chest

I would crush those who deny and embrace those who join

I am the rhythm that is searching for a song to belong to

I have used scissors to hone the edges

I have crossed boundaries and timelines

And I believe none of it

Someone grew me back from nothing and I know not how!

I am the sky chaser of the flaming heart

On wings of flame we always just miss

Corrosive dreams I cannot trade

Have you made an enemy of gravity?

Racing from the wreckage

Pouring the sand out onto your feet

That never touched a solid ground

And we are all fallen stars

I could steal so many love faces to fill my pockets

But how many more if I am covered entirely

It was a long trip and I left with empty hands

But a head full of words which to steal

Experience is meaning

Meaning is changing

Change is begging for destruction

Destruction is silence once removed

I was built to withstand plunging down down into the coldest ice

I will rise on the call of the flame in the chest

I would crush those who deny and embrace those who join

I am the rhythm that is searching for a song to belong to

The shape of the hand is untraceable

But I implore you to try

Until I can turn to reflect

Like a new sister like a moonbeam

Stinging and flailing

Wrapped in flames and stale hopes

You know more than you ever knew

And we are all fallen stars

Breaking and melting

Clicking and crying

I am unstable

I am protected

I was built to withstand plunging down down into the coldest ice

I will rise on the call of the flame in the chest

I would crush those who deny and embrace those who join

I am the rhythm that is searching for a song to belong to

#poetry #chakazard #writing #poetry inspired by music

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miracide · 6 years

Text

Vennir: Shady Business

I’ve been told people might wanna’ read my WoW writings and you’ve all made me more confident to share them, so I’ll start with this one! It was a silly thing written in one session to help flesh out Vennir and his shop. TWs for death and sass. -------- Vennir woke up around noon, a perk of having absolutely no customers who enjoyed the piercing light of the morning. The big spenders came during witching hour, cloaked in darkness and tracking magical dust everywhere. He bottled that and sold it, too.

He thrust open the black curtains and frowned at the stream of sunlight and the distinct smell of the nearby fish market. Ah, Boralus was so beautiful, yet he was never quite used to all of its.. quirks. At least it tended to rain very often. Nothing was better than watching the rain with a cup of coffee in hand. With a wave of his slender fingers, he set alight some incense to combat the market's stench and to appeal to passers-by. 'The Black Hat' was the main floor of his home, a small shop packed to the brim with supplies for dark magics, general witchery, and enchanted objects. He had a collection of very dangerous things locked away, only shown to those who knew how to approach them and even then.. Vennir did not trust most other wizards of his caliber to take any home. They only served, at the moment, to give his shop an eerie, otherworldly feeling and assist in his many runic defenses. What day was it? Ah, it was a Thursday. Not the day he went to the local cafe and talked down all the fake, pompous diviners with their sad little tarot cards and offered to direct their audience to a -real- fortune-telling or the day he stuffed short excerpts of his writings into books in the local library. It was a day to relax. He brushed his hair, staring into the mirror at the way his silken robe draped over his thin, tall figure. Like a wispy ghost of a man. He loved himself so much, smirking as he put his various rings into his ears and wrapped himself in a black cloak like a felbat's wings. He snapped his fingers and a book flew upstairs. He hummed at its contents. ".. I'm really well-stocked on everything? In autumn? I suppose it's not quite time for the big holidays yet." He didn't know what to do with himself. There was no need to steal corpse dust from the mausoleums or clip herbs from the high peaks of Tiragarde Sound. "Well, then.." Vennir brewed coffee and promptly sat at his desk downstairs to watch for customers, relaxing with quill and ink. 'The demon hunter lifts his head, his neck and shoulders tightly muscled from carrying around his great horns,' he wrote, 'He takes you in his scaly arms and tells you he's never seen anyone more worthy to protect. You stroke his chest tattoos and whisper in one long ear...' Many little Suramarian bells rang as a customer approached and Vennir crossed his legs, waving politely. "Tell me if you require anything, my dear.." 'His forked tongue finds your neck. His body runs hot with the demonic blood coursing through it and you sweat as his claws rake over your bare form. He-’ "Excuse me.." The visitor was tall, also cloaked and looking quite serious. Vennir tilted his head at the man. Ah, he was an old Kaldorei under there. "Yes? I have more stock elsewhere. Don't be afraid to ask for anything, darling." Vennir folded his hands on his desk politely, smirking up at him as his hair poured over the unseen side of his face. "I heard you have.. special stock. More than enchanted houseware and cosmetics," the man insisted, flexing his bony fingers at his sides. He smelled.. earthy. Perhaps Druidic. Vennir gave him a long glance and hummed. "Perhaps--" he started, but the words faded into a wicked smirk as he heard the magic words. "Endalei thana'dos, fin'al." Vennir stood and snapped his fingers, a door appearing behind him with the softest shimmer of illusionary magic. He waved a welcoming hand to the Kaldorei to follow him and led him down a dark corridor into his fabled basement. It was somewhat unremarkable to the naked eye, but the feelings of dread grew stronger as one got closer to the objects. They were all locked behind runes and other precautions. Some were literally under lock and key, grasping out with weak tendrils of magic as the two elves passed. Vennir stood in the middle of the stone room as the Kaldorei looked around in wonder. "This architecture is not native to Boralus," he pointed out, confused as to how Vennir built such a place. Ven chuckled, hand raising to hide his mouth, "I didn't want the silly Blood Knights to find this sanctum and rifle through its contents like children finding poisoned candy, my dear. So I teleported the room to my new store as they closed in." "... teleportation like this is incredibly--" "Difficult, yes." Vennir kept grinning at him, willing him to drop the subject as his one eye glimmered threateningly at him. "I see. Well-- I'm looking for something specific I was told you might have. It's ancient elven orb that--" "We've made many ancient orbs, sweet. And crystals.. swords. I like a good sword with history behind it. That's more of a fascination than a real collection. Did you know--" "The orb can.. return spirit to body." Vennir hummed in interest, "Ah. Why didn't you say so? Now I know just the thing.. come along." Through a couple of locked doors laid a room full of old elven objects, mostly crystals full of souls and information. The orb in question was in a locked box that Vennir pat gently. "Careful not to break any ancestors. They won't do anything but haunt you for awhile, but you -will- have to pay for it.." The Kaldorei was quickly growing unamused. "I am very desperate for this." "You are a Druid, yes?" Vennir asked, gloved hands opening the box and pulling out the shining, white sphere. It looked feather-light, but was so heavy to the touch. He cradled it carefully, peering into its swirling, magical center. "Let me guess, the War?" He cast an accusing glance to the Druid. ".. my family died there. Many families died. If I could work with this artifact, I could raise the dead from the trees, maybe the ashes of--" "No." "No?" "You can't," Vennir insisted, "This works best on the recently deceased and it has rules. You can't--" "I need it! Please--" Ah, the desperation. Often desperation drove people to foolishly seek out such powers. Vennir shook his head and put the orb down into the box. "No matter what I say, dear, I know you won't use this properly. Your heart is in a good place, but your mind isn't. Ancient magic won't fix this. You'll unleash the dark bargains inside of this thing." "Listen, I don't want to hear about bargains and prophecies, I just know this will help. I want my family back-- I-I can't live like this, with nothing," the Kaldorei pleaded, composure long gone. "I'm sorry, but you're too emotional to use this rationally. Besides, they're too far dead. They might as well be Forsaken if you put a soul into old bones. Do you want that for your family? Dripping bones and agony? A father bound to a dark, ancient spirit because of misuse of an artifact?" The Druid hissed, "You don't know that to be true! I've read about--" "Oh, you can read. That must make you an expert," Vennir rolled his eyes. "I'm taking this whether you want me to or not," the Druid announced, hand reaching out to clutch Vennir's neck. The much larger elf had an intense grip, making Ven's eye bulge immediately. "I'm a grieving man, I won't be talked down to by some void-addled freak.” Ven was trying to say something, his hands clasped gently over the Kaldorei's, but he only managed sickly gasps. "I don't want to hear-- what?" The Druid's hold lessened as he saw a shadow behind him and released Vennir entirely as black, shadowy tentacles erupted from the walls and pulled his limbs violently to his sides. A larger one appeared in front of him as he looked at Ven in horror, struggling against their grip. The large one wrapped firmly around his neck, squeezing hard. "No way to.. treat anyone in the service business," Vennir wheezed, dusting himself off, "I should've known better than to feel pity for you, dear. I can't even let you leave now." “No--" the Kaldorei hissed, breath fading fast as the void appendages tightened, making the hand reaching out to Ven fall limp as he weakened. "Here is a small mercy," Vennir announced, closing the box tight as the snapping of the Druid's neck erupted around the chamber. The tentacles faded into smoke and the body fell heavily to the floor as Ven sighed. "Well.. I suppose his parts will be useful." There went his free day to be lazy. Vennir headed upstairs and changed his sign to 'On Break' as he carefully removed his cloak.

#writing #world of warcraft #void elf #vennir #death

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jc-travels-the-world · 6 years

Text

Hram

Hram. Village Day. One of the first words I learned from my PST host family. And one of the words I had a quite a bit of difficulty learning to pronounce because the H in Romanian is hard and a slight rolled R. Having H-R together felt strange in my throat.

I was lucky enough to have been able to go to both my PST Hram and my permanent site’s Hram this summer. As with everything in life, there are differences and similarities between the two. To begin, I will discuss Strașeni’s* Hram and then I will discuss Fălești’s* Hram. Then, I will discuss the similarities and differences.

(*Giving the Raion name, not the actual village name where I’m living)

Strașeni:

Sadly, Hram landed on a Thursday during PST so I, along with the other Trainees in my village missed the beginning. But, also thankfully, it was a Thursday! If you recall from a previous post I mentioned how on Thursdays we generally had Hub Site! We talked to the people in charge and we were given the opportunity to skip breaks to make the day move faster. Instead of Hub Site ending at about 5-530p we were able to leave at 330-4p. We invited other Trainees to come visit our village since there are often lots of rutiere and taxis. It would be easy for them to return to their village. The neighbouring village/other EE PST village came and some COD people came as well. (They needed to take a taxi but split between ~4 people it would only cost 25lei which isn’t too bad.)

So onto Hram! When we arrived in village, since Diamond and I lived in the center and closest to the stadion (where Hram takes place) we offered everyone to leave their bags at our place. Alleyce dropped her bag in my room and charged her phone while we waited for others to situate themselves. Mama was home and very jubilant. It was early but she said we were going to eat dinner now and then head out because the parade will be passing by around 6p. We sat down to eat and Alleyce was very happy with the food. Then Diamond and Angela came by. Mama had them sit down and join us for dinner. They, too, enjoyed the food. Since it was a celebration we were given a glass of wine.

Then, Nana Mila was at the front door yelling frantically and the four of us we confused and Mama began yelling telling us to leave the masa and go to Hram! We were confused but then we looked at the clock: it was 6p! We went running up the road just in time to see the parade passing with Ana-Maria walking in traditional clothes! The parade was a little confusing but it had to do with a reenactment of a wedding from a fable or something. I was confused. I asked Ana-Maria about it, she, too, was confused by it all. Regardless, it was pretty and I’m glad I got to see it!

Overall, we did a lot of standing around and mingling. There were manymanymany speeches, including a mayor from a village of the same name from Romania! (I hope to visit there someday.) Like everything, we were told dancing would begin at a certain time but it didn’t start until a few hours later….The surprise? We were going to dance! That’s why we wanted all of the Americans there to join us on stage! We had planned 2-3 dances but the night dragged on, more people left, and then suddenly I said to the group, “Isn’t that Ana-Maria on stage?” We walked over and it was her! We watched and then Kathryn came up to us saying frantically “WE’RE NEXT!” So we went running to the backstage. We ended up only doing one dance, Copperhead Road. I’d never done it before but it was easy enough! Everyone loved it. Sadly, since we were the only Americans left….no one was there to record it.

After dancing we were given a small masa and chatted with other people performing. Ana-Maria had gone home and changed into more relaxed clothing. We all hung out. Danu had been selling corn all night and he gave us free corn to eat. But as the night went on, people went home. Ana-Maria and I were the only ones left. She convinced me to go on the trampoline. While standing in line we met some classmates of her’s. They thought I was younger than her. :[

I say she convinced me because I was exhausted and wanted to sleep. I’m glad I went because I forgot just how much fun it was! I just wish I had changed into pants or shorts since a dress on the trampoline was not much fun…..

After that we met up with Beatrice. We walked around some more. Found Mama. We ate some cotton candy. Then I went home at 11p. My phone was at 5%. I went to plug my phone in when I saw there was a message from 1030p from Katherine saying there was a surprise masa for us held by the Mayors from Moldova and Romania. I told Ana-Maria I should go. Both she and Beatrice accompanied me. They stayed outside and I walked in alone. Very intimidating. While sitting there, both Ana and Beatrice walked in helping bring in more food! Kathryn, Katie, and Jorge were already there. As was Volunteer Clayton and Jorge’s friend he met at Hram. I stayed for about an hour and walked home (with a phone at 1%) at midnight. I felt safer (still significantly nervous) than in America.

When I got home no one was there, so I took a quick shower and relaxed on my bed. At about 1230a-1a everyone came home. We chatted for a while and I went to bed!

But, as I mentioned….this was a Thursday. Friday I had Romanian at 8a. I woke up early, somehow was functioning and off to school I went!

Fălești:

I arrived at site mid-August and 11 days later was Hram! A great opportunity to meet people. But also an opportunity for people to learn that I’m in the village. The day before I had been to a birthday party with Mama and we were out until about 3a. Thinking Hram began at 10a (like it had in the past and the that’s when the other Hram had start in Strașeni), Mama and I woke up early and headed out. But they were still setting up at the stadion and people were playing soccer. We went back home and I slept a little more.

At lunch time we ate and a couple woman came over to join us. My stomach was nervous as well. Why? I was going to dance again! Ludmila, my partner, is the diriginta* of eighth form. The older classes prepare and perform on the stage. Three girls from the class and I did a five minute mishmash of the Cupid Shuffle, Cotton Eyed Joe, and Copperhead Road. It was fun! Afterwards Sergiu gave me a bouquet of flowers!

Before the performances we were hanging out behind the stage and I had the opportunity to meet the mayor of the village. She apparently didn’t realize I was the volunteer and thought I was 18...at least that’s what she said to me. She told Mama and others she thought I was 14. Darn my young face!

When I was finished with my performance I went into the audience and watched the remaining performances. After a while I went off with the students to see children wrestle for a rabbit. It was hilarious and wonderful. I hung out some more. We listened to some people from the village perform songs. Then the biggest draw arrived: a famous singer from Chisinau. While she was singing Mama and I joined groups of people dancing. People were impressed that I knew how to do their dances. It was difficult in a large circle to dance but it was lots of fun!

After dancing for a while people left to go eat dinner. Mama and I went home. I was tired and stayed home. Then, suddenly, I heard fireworks. I watched from my porch. I guess after I left there was a large disco. I wish I had stayed for it but there’s always next year! If only I was more of a night-owl partier.

Comparison:

I’d like to point out that PST village on paper has about 4.000 people in it. While my permanent village has about 2.500 people. This contributes to a lot. The PST Village had the rides and trampolines up for a couple days—into the weekend. But Site was on a Tuesday and I didn’t return to the stadion right after, but I assume everything was taken down. The trampolines were not like in PST and the Stage was built then taken down, unlike the permanent stage in PST. Also, PST did not have fireworks. My Site had more dancing from the audience which was a lot of fun!

*diriginta: a combination of a homeroom teacher and a guidance councilor. Essentially knows everything about everything in each student’s lives.

#moldova18 #hram #pst #family

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dontalk2melulu · 4 years

Text

Continuation...

First destination: Chopta, Uttarakhand

I took my train from Delhi to the railway station to Chopta. Chopta is a small region of meadows and evergreen forest which is a part of kedarnath wildlife sanctuary located in Uttarakhand State, India. This is undoubtedly the prettiest place I’ve been to my entire existence. I enjoyed the spell-binding beauty of the Himalayas. This sleepy town enchants me with its mystical meadows, towering trees, snowy backdrop, and warm people.

***

I’ve been here for about three days and four nights already. I am outside the transient house typing on my phone while feeling the cold dandelion-like breeze crawl deep into my skin. What is this tingling sensation? Under the pale moonlight, I want to howl or dance, or go animal hunting at the middle of the night. I’m bored. I would love to stroll at some areas here, just maybe I’d find something or luckily find someone to accompany me with my insomnia. It’s not complete dark since there are lamp post along the way. I’ll just keep on walking on this pathway that seems endless. Ah, solitude…

***

Guess what I've found? Hold on, I'll take a photo of it.

Who would've thought that there's a hidden cabin at this area. I'm not sure if I'm in a secluded area but it doesn't give me a strange feelig though. Reminder: Always trust your gut feeling. I'll inform you later when I get to see what's inside this cabin in front of me.

***

I woke up in the comfort of my bed with this eerie feeling. I forgot to tell what happened in that old cabin last night. I am not insane, trust me.

The cabin’s door was open ajar so I peeped through the small opening. There was light and saw shelves of books everywhere. The wooden floor was dusty and smelled like a decade, I don’t know. There was no one inside but I was sure someone just came before me because the light was still on. I was hesitating whether to enter or not but since I’m a person who wants to attain emotions and this one’s giving me adrenaline rush, I entered, finally.

Probably the owner of the cabin is very fond of collecting literature books. I reached one book from the shelf and scanned it. It was about Hindu Literature. Since I am an English teacher, the book had caught my interest. I reached for more books, seated on the floor and began reading. Here are some pieces of information I still remember.

Evidently, all the literature of India is religion-based. Let’s start with the Vedic Literature. Vedic Lit. was the first period of Indian Literature from 1200 to 500 B.C. it was during this time that the Vedas, collections of hymns and other sacred lore, were composed. Rig Veda, the oldest, contains more than 1,000 hymns. They were not written down but were passed on by words of mouth. Because every text is sacred, they had to be memorized accurately.

Sanskrit Literature. Earliest examples of written Sanskrit are inscriptions that were carved on stone pillars. People had to make new copies of literature they wanted to save because most of the texts were written on strips of palm leaves or barks, which soon decayed.

I checked my phone for time. It was then 3:12 am and I tried to rub the sleep off my eyes but to no avail. I gradually leaned back my head against the wall and fell into a long and eerie dream. In my dreams, I’ve met this faceless man who introduced himself as the great Valmiki, who wrote the Ramayana that is one of the greatest Hindu epics. I was deeply astounded because I couldn’t believe that I’d be meeting such a poet himself. We talked about his masterpiece. It is about Rama, a virtuous king who tried to save his wife, Sita, from the king of the demons named Ravana.

Mr. Valmiki had such a nice deep voice that still echoes in my ears. He discussed to me other forms Sanskrit Literature which are Puranas, Kavya and Fables and Stories. Puranas are huge collections of knowledge of myths and legends about Hindu gods and descriptions of the ways to worship them. While Kavya describes a type of writen literature as well as a style of writing, either prose or verse. Then another man appeared, introduced himself to me as Kalidasa. It started to make sense to me when he said he was a famous kavya poet, who wrote the play Sakuntala. It tells the story of the marriage of a young girl, Sakuntala, to a king. Both Mr. Valmiki and Mr. Kalidasa also mentioned fables and stories, that some Sanskrit prose were focused on storytelling, both to educate and to entertain. Pancatantra and Kathasaritsagara are examples of it which I don’t vividly remember about their stories. Signs of aging, probably. It wasn’t only them who I’ve met that dawn but also Rabindranath Tagore, another of the famous Indian poets who wrote the Gitanjali or Song offerings. All that I did that in that dream was to listen like a kid to the three great Hindu poets as they educate me.

***

Until a sound of creaks on the floor awaken me. Another human image appeared in front of me that I thought was part of my dream but I soon realized it was a real human, an old woman, who I’ve soon known as the owner of the cabin amidst the woods. It was embarassing to be caught on trespassing. I was just grateful that the old woman was kind and invited me over again to her place. I told her about reading her books and insisted to lend me some. Therefor, I am much excited to go back to her place for the reason that the place is enchanting.

My real plan was to go to my next destination, however I found myself going back to the old cabin. And look what I’ve brought with me that the old woman, have lent me? A dog-eared copy of the poem titled The Tamed Bird and the Free Bird and another copy of the fable, The Duel Between the Sparrow and the Elephant.

***

This would be my last day here at Uttarakhand. I will tag along with the group of tourists I made friends with while I am here. They will be be going to Jawai, Rajasthan that will take 2-3 hours from here if we ride a plane.

***

Second Destination: Jawai: The Leopard Hills in Pali

The Jawai hills, located in the Pali district of Rajasthan, is one of the locations which offer rare sights of leopards roaming freely out in the open. Jawai Camp is the newest and coolest addition to leopard spotting destinations in India. Luxurious tents, rustic lamps, and authentic Rajasthrani cuisine ensure that the experience is exotic and adventurous.

Apart from leopard safari, the place is also known for bird watching as the Jawai dam is home to several migratory birds. Speaking of birds, I still haven’t given back the copies of the poem and the fable. Let me share to you my analyzations about these two Hindu literary masterpieces.

The poem, The Tamed Bird and the Free Bird talks about two birds that both have an intense love but can never fly together. The free bird symbolizes people who enjoys freedom and fears for opportunities, adventures, and pleasure to close. The tamed bird symbolizes people who are locking themselves in who fear to face what is outside his doors. The poem for me is just not merely about two lovers who are defaced by challenges in a relationship where they have to go out and sacrifice their comfort zones in the hope that they could savor the shared love with each other. It also talks about how we’re too dependent on what we have at the moment that it frightens us to let go of it, so it leaves us no choice but to settle for less. The things we keep on doing and choosing on a daily basis that seem comforting can lead us to decisions that leave us feeling empty. If we keep on making the same decision, doing the same thing all over again, then we’ll keep on getting the same result, making us an ignorant of the unknown, of the vast world we have no chance to meet. The poem simply teaches us that perhaps comfort is lying to us in our dreams and robbing us of joy.

Meanwhile, the fable, The Duel Between the Sparrow and the Elephant has the same story with David and Goliath. Based on what I only understood, the fable teaches us that having a just world only exists in the confines of our imagination, but that puts everything a balance. Both the sparrow and the elephant had suffered. The sparrow lost her chicks and the elephant had heatstroke and died afterwards. The sparrow thought she’s the only one who was suffering, unknowingly the elephant was also, though not in the same level. But this doesn’t mean the sparrow’s suffering is heavier and reasonable. Due to this mindset, she had sought for vengeance with her friends and this seems unjust.

Now, how does the situation contain balance? The hen-sparrow lost her chicks, the elephant died, the gnath, the woodpecker, and the frog will soon die, too, with their disturbed conscience. This is tragic. This also happens in real life. We think we lost everything after a death of a loved one, and that is inevitable. The only problem is, some of us point fingers to others and let them carry the burden we cannot handle. Again, this is unjust. But then again, it is also just because our wrong deeds will boomerang to us at the end. It’s best not to take revenge and just accept things, and keep moving ahead, slowly moving ahead.

What have been said are purely opinion-based. My phone’s running out of battery and dang I’m too lazy to get my powerbank in the other tent. Lunch is almost ready and my acquaintances are calling for me. See you later.

***

To feed my curiosity, I’ve researched about the Hindu people I’ve met in my dream when I was in Chopta because it’s still giving me shivers and leaving up spaces for questions. And I kid you not but they actually existed. What? It’s a mind-boggling coincidence and goosebumps everywhere. I went over Hindu’s Literature and read some more works. Common genres of Hindu Literature have similarities to ours except that their epics that have long and continuous verses. Besides the genres being philosophical and sacred, erotic and devotional lyrics of theirs are exceptional. Here’s an excerpt from Love And The Turning Season: India’s Poetry of Spiritual & Erotic Longing.

Her companion reports –

“She’ll look into me –

tell love tales –

Chafing with pleasure she’ll draw me

Into her body – draksyativaksyatiramsyate” –

He’s fearful, he glances about.

He shivers for you,

bristles, calls wildly, sweats, goes forward,

reels back.

The dark thicket closes about him.

Eyes dark with kohl

Ears bright with creamy tamala petals

A black lotus headdress and breasts

traced with musk-leaf –

In every thicket, friend,

Night’s percious cloak wraps a girl’s limbs.

Eager, fearful, ecstatic –

Darting her eyes across Govinda she

enters the thicket.

Ankles wringing with silver.

Her friends have slipped off

Her lowe lip’s moist,

wwistful, chaste, swollen, trembling, deep.

Her sees her raw heart

sees her eyes rest on the couch of

Fresh flowering twigs

and speaks.

India has proved a fertile ground for the world’s most captivating erotic love poetry, and the genius of its devotional writing harnesses great energy and mystical insight. No wonder that India is known as the Mystic Land. It is in fact difficult to tell whether the poets are offering poems of spiritual longing using the fabrics of love poetry or writing erotic pieces in the guise of devotion. Eroticism and mysticism seem inseparable in their devotional traditions.

It has always been fun and interesting to discover literary pieces and various cultures because it’s like ascending into a whole new world and that is a different kind of satisfaction. But, India does offer us mystical culture and literature a little too much (in a good kind) that play our imagination all too well.

Third Destination: Phugtal Gompa, Jammu & Kashmir

Phugtal Monastery or Phugtal Gompa is a Buddhist monastery located in the remote Lugnak Valley in south-eastern Zanskrar, in the Himalayan region of Ladakh, in Northern India. The monastery is a unique construction of mud and timber built at the entrance of a natural cave on the cliff face of a lateral gorge of a major tributary of the Lungnak River. From a distance, the monastery looks like a giant honeycomb.

Going here took us 32 hours and every hour I was losing all my potential energy. We took a cab from Padum where the road ends and the trekking starts from there. I think I just turned out like a jelly. Can you imagine? We needed to trek for two days to reach this unseen place. My head’s still aching and the signal is unstable. I have a bad feeling about this. I am aware I've chosen this path but I didn’t know I am about to lose my sanity. Do you remember the group of tourists I tagged along with in my previous destination? I was still with them 3 hours earlier and, good Lord, I seperated from them because I needed to let go of this, you know... And when I tried looking for them in the same spot where I left them, the’yre not there any longer. The sky is getting darker and my heart’s starting to pound hard. All I could see now is an endless piece of land.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I –

I took the one less traveled by,

And that made all the difference because I got lost. Send help.

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