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cavalierious-whim · 1 year

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[Genshin Ipmact] [Yae/Zhongli] [Explicit] [2.6k] While visiting Inazuma, Zhongli slips into a pseudo-heat and begs his old friend Yae to fuck fake eggs into him. Read here on AO3 for better quality!

“Well, well, it’s been a long time, hasn’t it? Tell me, Morax, have you missed me?”

No, he thinks. Absolutely not, but he’s not about to admit that to Yae Miko. She’s the sort of woman who tucks words like that away for a rainy day. They’ll sit there, nestled against her breast until she deigns it necessary to wield them back.

Zhongli learned his lesson a long time ago. This is not the first time he’s been in this exact situation, and likely, not the last. A few carefully placed words, that damned smirk, and an impressive show of fun little toys will leave Zhongli weak enough in the knees that he willingly bends.

“There’s something poetic about it, this time,” says Yae. She drags a hand down his bare back, nails biting into his skin. Just barely, enough for a tug in a delicious drag of friction.

Zhongli shivers under the touch, leaning onto his elbows. Whines softly into the silk pillowcase, burying his face there so his expression doesn’t betray him.

“A once-Archon, underneath me. Tell me, Morax—” She pauses, her fingers halting just where his crack starts. “Zhongli,” she amends. “Apologies. Tell me, what is it like to be only a god again? To be able to fade away into obscurity? Your people think you are dead, and so, you effectively are.”

Odd. Wonderful. Splendid and strange. Zhongli doesn’t quite know what to make of the concept of freedom, but he supposes that there is time to find out. He moans when Yae’s hand slips down to spread his asscheeks. Her thumb ghosts over his rim, a torturous tease as she just stares.

“Some things truly don’t change, hm? Perhaps Ei was onto something with all her concerns of eternity.”

Zhongli snorts. Can’t help it. “Too much chatter,” he says, turning his face back to her. “I came here for a reason.”

“Ah, yes. Even old dragons occasionally get needy, I suppose.”

“And it seems that old foxes still like to indulge.”

Yae’s face shifts, something less of a grin and more like a feral smirk spreading across her face. “We are devious creatures,” she agrees, turning her attention back to what she finds between his legs. She drags her thumb down over the smooth expanse of Zhongli’s perineum, digging in. Then, the seam of his balls, hanging heavy and swollen. “But, we do admit it when we like what we see.”

She is gentle and teasing, but Zhongli knows better than to think she will be soft. Yae doesn’t give, she only takes—and she takes and takes and takes. She doesn’t warn him before a cool, slick finger sinks into his hole. Zhongli clenches, hips bucking; but he moans, nose buried into the softness of her pillows to hide the sound.

“That’s unfair,” she says, that finger sliding in to the knuckle. “You came to me because you had an urge, and you deny me such beautiful sounds.”

“Patience is a virtue.” Zhongli grits it out as she slips in a second finger, his words clipped in a tight tone. “Oh, that’s… oh.”

Yae sighs as she fucks her fingers in lazily. Little effort. Just minimal pressure against his insides, so, so close to where he wants it, enough to make his gut tighten, and his hips buck back, trying to feel more. “Patience might be easy for one made of stone, but it’s ironic, isn’t it? You aren’t a picture-perfect example of restraint, are you?”

“We had a contract.” A gentle reminder, one that despite her teasing, he knows Yae will take seriously.

“No fun,” she tuts as she falls back slightly. “Always a drag, even now. One would think that with retirement, you might’ve eased up a bit.” A pause as a third finger ghosts the edge of his rim. “Speaking of easing up, how long has it been, hm? Should I make you beg for the next one?”

Zhongli whines, a little embarrassed. He presses back against her hand and says, “Please.”

“So polite.” But, for all her teasing, Yae is a woman of her word. Zhongli begged and so she slips it in, crooking all three downwards, pressing hard against his prostate.

Zhongli yelps in pleasure. His dick twitches as it hangs below him, the reddened, flushed tip brushing against the bedsheets. “Gods,” he murmurs, his legs tensing. She fucks her fingers in and out, pulling him closer and closer to the edge.

“Are you in heat?” she asks.

“Yae.”

“Just curious. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you like this I was wondering if something induced it.” She leans forward then, pressing against his back. Zhongli can feel the way her ample breasts sit heavily against his shoulder blades. She presses her nose against his nape, inhaling deeply. Her fingers pause. “It’s been a long time, but don’t think I’ve forgotten just what you smell like when you’re this. Poor, poor thing; but don’t worry—I’ll breed you.”

Zhongli whimpers, his gut clamping up. It’s not a proper heat, not the full-blown loss of his senses. But the inkling of it is there. His nerves tingle at the thought, old instincts rising to the surface. It happens, sometimes. He hasn’t always come to Yae in centuries, but he happened to be in the area—and she’s right. Old habits die hard, and Zhongli is a man ruled by nostalgia.

“Handsome,” says Yae, her voice soft. Pleased. She presses her fingers in deep and spreads them slightly, pulling his asscheek to the side, watching where his hole stretches wide. “For an old man,” she adds, and he just knows that her lips are tipped into an annoying smirk.

“And what of old foxes? Considerably elderly shrine maidens? Are you so slow because your joints ache, and you can’t move as easily as when we were young?”

Yae stills. He imagines the way she tilts her head to the side, and how her eyes likely narrow. Annoyed. Just a little. “How rude,” she says, pulling her fingers out of his ass. Zhongli groans at the loss, feeling the way his hole clenches. “Should I leave you here like this? Or should I make you beg for it?”

Zhongli huffs, turning his face to the side to look at her. “Breed me,” he says, entirely shameless, wiggling his hips to make his point. And then: “That’s what you want, so please.”

She has her own instincts that pull at her being. It works. That annoyed expression shifts into something headier. Her gaze slips back to his ass as she dips her finger through his crack and over his hole. Testing the give, the slickness, how ready he is.

“Morax or Zhongli?” She hums as she considers. “I’d say Zhongli, but I don’t think that’s who’s come to my door for help. It’s Morax, isn’t it?”

“Fuck me, already—”

“In due time.” She pulls back and digs through an old wood chest at the bedside. Zhongli watches through a ruddy, lustful haze as she pulls out an old, well-known leather harness.

“I’m surprised you still have that,” he murmurs.

“Hm? Oh, I have others.” Yae grins at him, predatory. “This is just that one that I always saved for you.” She is quick about settling into it. The cock that she picks is generous and non-standard. Ridged and thick and draconian. Zhongli’s mouth goes dry at the sight, his hole clenching, he wants it in him yesterday—

Yae catches the way that he stares. “I thought you might like something familiar. Just like the old days.”

“Please, just—Yae.”

“Oh, I love that sound of that,” she says, taking a cruel amount of time.

Yae teases the edge of his rim with the spade-headed tip of her cock, dipping in just barely. Zhongli is impatient and slams back against her, splitting himself open in one fell swoop. He chokes on it, the heft of the cock as it slides in. How the ridges drag over his insides and bully his prostate. Heat flares inside him, boiling the blood in his veins, churning his gut, and he moves, thrusting back against her, fucking himself—

A hard crack sounds through the room, accompanied by blinding pain against his backside. Zhongli hisses, groaning, fingers curling tight in the bedsheets. “Perhaps I was too quick to assume you’d behave for me,” croons Yae, smoothing the palm of her hand against his heated, sore asscheek.

“You spanked me,” he snaps.

“Oh, temper, temper. Have I annoyed you? I could stop, you know. Pull right out and go finish myself off while I watch you squirm pathetically.”

“No, don’t.” Zhongli’s voice is a little pinched. The words come too fast, too needy.

Yae hums as she considers him once more, spreading Zhongli’s cheeks to stare at how his hole struggles around her cock. She presses a finger to his swollen rim, feeling how it’s stretched to its limit. “You’ll be good for me, then? Do as I ask?”

Zhongli’s already done everything she’s asked for down to moaning with exaggeration because it dulls her haughty nature. Still, he agrees, whining softly as he wriggles his hips. “Yes, just fuck me. I want this nightmare to end.”

“I’m a nightmare? How rude.” Yae doesn’t move.

“That’s not—”

“The heat then,” she surmises, pressing in a finger beside the cock instead fucking him like he wants. “It must hurt.” She clucks her tongue, not remotely concerned.

Finally, Yae takes pity, grabbing his asscheeks to spread them wide. She pulls back until his hole is loose around the tip. She slams back in, hard and heavy, with enough force to knock the breath from Zhongli’s chest.

“Oh, oh.”

“Good?” She knows that it is, rolling her hips for the perfect friction. Nails that bundle of nerves with every thrust of her cock. Yae pulls out slower, allowing the ridges of the toy to pull at his sensitive hole. She fucks back in roughly, fingers digging into the meat of his plush ass, spreading his cheeks to watch. “You should see how sweetly your cunt swallows me up.”

“Mhmn, I’m—” Zhongli cries out, wheezing with the sound. He presses back against her, forcing her thrusts deeper. The cock is thick in his guts, in his throat, everywhere.

“Such a good boy for me, perfectly ripe and ready to be bred.”

“Yes, yes—”

Yae moans as she grinds into him, thighs slapping against his ass. A quick look at her face shows the pink tint of her cheeks. How her eyes glow golden as she watches him writhe in the sheets. “Beg for me,” she says. Zhongli knows that salty-sweet tone that leaves no room for misunderstanding. It’s a demand. He’ll get nothing more unless he gives in.

“Fuck me, breed me—”

“Divine.” Yae’s voice is low and wanton as her cunt slides against the inside of the harness. “Yes, just like that. You sound so sweet.”

“Yae,” he cries out, slamming back against her hips over and over. “Yae, Yae—” The cock drives into him deep, carving its way through his wet, warm insides. Shaped like a dragon, ridged and spade-headed, the perfect illusion to sate his carnal instincts that beg to be filled. “I want,” he starts, his voice muffled but the sheets. “I want, gods, fuck—”

“I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me.” Sweet-sounding words that are only cruel.

“A clutch! Eggs. Give me—I need a clutch. I need—” Zhongli sounds woeful and pathetic as he whines and begs. He knows she can’t give him a brood but there are advantages to this cock that she reserves for him alone.

Yae leans back, a lupine smile gracing her face. “Go on, then,” she says, pausing, only the tip of the cock pressed just in to his entrance. “Do what you must.”

Zhongli waves his hand, conjuring several egg-shaped constructs directly into the empty space inside the cock. Suddenly, the give of the length less soft, chock full of Geo eggs ready to be deposited. His heat isn’t a true one but instincts are fickle things that demand being fed. He won’t leave these sheets until he’s full, eggs lodged high and fat in his gut.

Yae rocks into him, slowly, languidly. The eggs shift about in the cock as Zhongli’s hole parts wider around them, the now irregular shape pushing around his muscles. The bulges drag over his prostrate and Zhongli drops to the bed, face first and back arching.

Thick and full. Friction. Eggs. These are the things that fill Zhongli’s debauched mind. The pleasure that builds in his gut widens into intense pressure. He gasps, forcing back against the length, taking it quickly, passionately, begging to be bred.

Yae squeezes the base of the fake cock, forcing the eggs forward. As she fucks him, they slide until the first hangs at the tip, the slit tapered slit spreading open. Zhongli’s thighs tense, trembling with every thrust, that round bulge heavy against his prostate before it slides right past.

And then, the first egg slips from the tip, settling deep in his guts. He cries out, claws shredding the bedsheets. Yae, for once, doesn’t tease him. She leans forward, rolling her hips in a slow, gentle grind as the cock bullies the egg further until it feels as though it’s high in his stomach.

“There’s a good boy,” she soothes. Her fingers are cool against Zhongli’s warm forehead. She pets his sweaty hair, uncharacteristically soft. “Now then, another. Ease into it.”

Zhongli does, lax in the bed, chest melted into the sheets as he just lays there and takes it. The second egg slips from the tip, sliding into his insides. When it meets the first they resonate, pulsing softly with Geo. He moans, drowning in silk, in the wet feel of Yae’s cock thick in his ass.

His own cock twitches, hanging heavy, brushing the sheets with every shaking thrust. The third egg slips in without warning and suddenly he’s too full, too tight, too much. He comes, his hole clenching tight, spraying thick come all over the soft mattress. Yae fucks him through it, praising him with genuine sweetness.

She knows, inhuman herself and prone to foxlike tendencies. She preens, grinding against her harness, finding her own pleasure as she watches Zhongli lose himself. Yae pulls out and Zhongli feels his hole gaping, slick with oil and spit. He still feels full. There is a subtle bump to his stomach where the eggs sit, pulsing softly.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, looking back at her, watching Yae shove spit-covered fingers into her harness, riding her hand until she’s mewling and moaning. She’s quick to finish, slick gushing as she orgasms, her fingers working her clit as she rides the wave of her pleasure. “Yae, fuck—”

She leans close, offering her fingers to him, covered in her juices. Expectant. Zhongli rolls onto his back and opens his mouth, lapping around the digits, tonguing between her knuckles. She watches him with a lustful gaze, eyes bright and narrowly slit. Her gaze drops to his rounded stomach.

“Perfect for me,” she says, laying her free hand against the swell. Zhongli’s eyes flutter closed and his back arches again. His cock twitches with renewed interest as she slips between his legs, pressing his thighs back. His hand finds the cock that hangs between her thighs, squeezing it.

Yae’s gaze turns suspiciously feral. “How many more do you think can fit?” She pets Zhongli’s stomach as she asks.

The thought is dangerous to his heat-addled brain. Zhongli’s breath hitches, thinking of being overstuffed. “One way to find out,” he murmurs. All it takes is a wave of his hand for the cock to be full of eggs once more.

“Oh.” Yae smirks, lips curling as she drags down the length of him. “Well then, you truly are a desperate thing? Don’t worry, sweet one. I’ll take care of you.”

#Genshin Impact #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact fanfiction #yae/zhongli

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 2 years

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The Fisher King, Part 2: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.2k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"The defects and faults of the mind are like wounds in the body. After all imaginable care has been taken to heal them up, still there will be a scar left behind." - Francois de la Roche Foucauld

“What do you mean something is wrong with Elle?” Derek asks.

He and Spencer escort you to the couch Elle was sleeping on earlier. Your head hurts, but the visions have stopped. Whatever Elle is going through, you know it can’t be good. You rest your elbows on your knees and bury your face in your hands. Spencer lays a hand on your thigh while Derek rubs your back in a soothing manner.

“Something is wrong. I don’t know what’s happening, but someone needs to go check on her.”

“She has an agent with her. She’s fine,” Derek says, mostly for himself.

Hotch walks into the room, and he becomes concerned about the scene before him.

“What’s going on?”

“Elle is trouble. Please, you have to go check on her. I have a feeling,” you whimper.

“There is an agent with her right now.”

“Please, Hotch,” you plead.

“Alright, I’ll send someone else.” He’s learned to trust your gut whenever you say things like that. “Someone get her some water.”

Spencer leaves the conference room to do just that, returning with a large cup and some aspirin. You gratefully take the items and down the pills, already feeling a bit better. Your headache is slowly going away, but the pit in your stomach isn’t. Hotch returns later with a solemn look on his face.

“Oh no, what happened?” you ask.

“Anderson dropped her off instead of staying with her. I just sent him back to check on her.”

“Okay,” you nod with a sigh.

Instead of worrying about Elle, everyone decides to focus on the case. You have to go over what you have before your eyes start to swim.

“Reid, how many books do you think are published in a year?” Hotch asks, trying to get back on track.

“In the whole world? Thousands.”

“Great, and all we gotta do is find one. You know, I can see this unsub getting our phone numbers and addresses from the bureau personnel files, but it really says in there that Gideon digs Nellie Fox?”

“Or that JJ collects butterflies?” you add.

“I didn't even know these things about us.”

“Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight,” Spencer mutters.

“Reid, not again with the poem from the music box, please,” Derek sighs.

“There's something familiar about it. I think I've heard it somewhere before.”

“I thought you had a photographic memory.”

“Eidetic memory,” he corrects, “and that's primarily related to things I read. Like I said, this is something I think I've heard.”

“I have a photographic memory. Mine is directed to photos and events that have happened. I can recall something that happened ten years ago to the very last detail,” you state.

“And this leaves us with… what?” Hotch sighs.

“Nowhere, that's where it leaves us,” Derek scoffs.

“Not necessarily,” Gideon says, entering the briefing room. “How would we proceed if we didn't have all these clues? What's the first thing we'd look at?”

“Victimology,” you answer. “Why this particular victim in this particular place at this particular time?”

“We have a victim, don't we?”

“Rebecca Bryant,” Spencer says.

“She’s missing out of South Boston, Virginia. You can get there in a few hours if you hurry. Take JJ. Find out everything there is to know about this girl,” Gideon says to Derek.

“You got it.”

Derek gets up and leaves the room in search of JJ.

“We’ve been letting him lead us around like he's something more than he is. He's just another unsub. Let's start putting together a profile,” Hotch says.

“What do you want us to do?” Spencer asks, referring to you and him.

“Just keep working on this. If anybody can put it together, you two can,” Gideon encourages.

The rest of the team filter out of the room so that it’s only you and Spencer. The bad feeling still hasn’t gone away, so you can barely focus on the case at hand as much as you try.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Something is wrong… seriously wrong,” you sigh.

“I’m sure everything is fine. Anderson is checking up on her.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” you say quietly.

“So, there are thousands of books published every year. This is nearing impossible,” Spencer tries to get your mind off Elle.

“Where there is a will, there is a way,” you mutter and look at the clues on the bulletin board again.

The Nellie Fox baseball card strikes you as odd. The card is for 1963, but Gideon said something that is even stranger. If Gideon went to the baseball games every time they played in 1959, then that means the card is wrong… or is it?

“Gideon said that he and his dad went to every baseball game in 1959, so why is the card saying 1963? I believe that’s the year the book he used was published.”

“You’re a genius!” he grins.

He kisses you on the cheek as he passes by you, and you smile in shyness. He has a great way of making you feel better, even if he doesn’t know it. You leave the conference room to join him in Gideon’s office. He wants to be alone but this is important. Gideon looks up when you two barge in, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“The book has to be the right volume and the right publication date, or the code won't work, right?”

“Okay,” Gideon shrugs.

“When you talk about Nellie Fox, it's in regards to the 1959 White Sox. That's the year that's important to you, but for some reason, this is a 1963 card,” you point it.

“Well, maybe he couldn't find a '59.”

“You think a pale clouded yellow butterfly was easy to find, or a music box that specifically plays the trout quintet? We need a book that’s published in 1963.”

Hotch picks this moment to interrupt eagerly.

“The guy who delivered the puzzle to my house just turned himself in.”

You, Gideon, and Hotch head to the interrogation room where a scared man sits. He is nervous and fidgeting in his chair—none of the qualities the unsub has. The unsub is someone who is calm, collected, and very smart. He wouldn’t act like how the man is now. Hotch and Gideon head inside the room, but you stay behind the glass to just observe. It’s better that you do it this way because he’s the type of person you can read from farther away.

“You delivered a package to my house yesterday—”

“Do I need a lawyer here?” Barry, the delivery man asks.

“—late in the day to my wife.”

“I guess I could check my logs…”

“You know exactly which delivery we mean,” Gideon interrupts.

“Look, this guy comes up to me on the street with the package. He says it only needs to go a few miles, and that a girl's life depended on it.”

“And you didn't find that suspicious?”

“He said a girl's life depended on it, man. I wasn't gonna take no chances with something like that.”

He’s lying, and he isn’t doing a good job at hiding it. Even Hotch and Gideon know he is. This man was paid a large sum of money, and that’s exactly why he did it.

“How much?” Gideon asks.

“A thousand... cash. Seriously, do I need a lawyer?”

Hotch and Gideon can clearly handle this on their own, so you leave to see if Penelope found anything useful. You knock once on her door and enter her domain, watching her freak out.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“This guy is infuriatingly good. He routed his IP through major corporations, crisscrossed it through countries, bounced it off satellites—”

“Wait, I thought you already tracked the hacker.”

“No, I only found what he wanted me to find: an apartment where Giles was dead. Y/N, a hacker capable of getting into my systems is going to have amazingly sophisticated equipment. Did Giles's apartment have that?”

“He didn't have a couch.”

“Exactly. Giles was a smokescreen I should have seen through. But now I have this glorious program I wrote, tracking the hacker through his other identity... Sir Kneighf.”

The spelling of the name is usual, so it has to mean something. You lean down and put your head next to hers to get a closer look.

“K-n-e-i-g-h-f. That's an odd spelling.”

“Do you need something?” she asks, clearly busy.

The door to her office opens and Spencer walks in with the baseball card Gideon got.

“Yes,” you nod.

“Is there a database which lists all the books published in a given year?” he asks.

“Individual publishers have lists, but I don't think there's anything like a master one. Plus, it would depend upon the year because the further back you go, the less likely there'll be any database at all.”

“1963?”

“Yeah, okay, that would be an example of extremely less likely.”

“Could you do me a favor? Type something into a search engine for me?” Spencer asks, and she brings up her search engine. “Never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight.”

She types as quickly as he speaks, and there are a bunch of results, but she focuses on the first one.

“That's from a poem, The Parliament of Fowls.”

“Yeah, yeah! Chaucer, my mom used to read me that. It's widely considered as the first Valentine's poem.”

“Your mom read you Valentine's poems? Hello, therapy,” Penelope comments.

Spencer starts to think of the poem, the title of the poem, the author of the poem, something that was published in 1963, and the butterfly JJ got. He’s a lot quicker with this type of thinking, so you leave it up to him to figure it out. You could rack your brain about it, but you’re not sure you’ll come up with someone before he does. He mutters to himself because that’s how he thinks. It’s really cute to watch, but this is a pressing matter that doesn’t need that kind of distracted thinking.

“There was a contemporary british author... Fowles. John Fowles!” Spencer gasps. “Will you type it into a search engine?”

Penelope does this hat she’s asked, and the results come instantaneously.

“He wrote The Magus and the French Lieutenant's Woman.”

“Anything in 1963 published in Great Britain?” you ask.

“The Collector.”

“Well that makes sense right? Baseball cards, skeleton keys, music boxes, and butterflies. They’re all things that can be collected,” you put the pieces together.

“Reid… Y/N,” Penelope gasps.

There on her screen is the cover of the book The Collector. It’s of a lock of hair, a skeleton key, and a butterfly. You know the book now which is a solid lead. You go find Hotch and Gideon while Spencer calls libraries to see if they have the exact book in stock. Hotch and Gideon are heading back from the interrogation room, and you stop them in the hallway.

“We know what the book is. The Collector by John Fowles.”

“Are you sure?”

“Not absolutely. Not until we see if the code works, but Spencer has four separate libraries searching for the 1963 edition published in Great Britain.”

“Well done, Y/N,” Hotch praises.

“It was mostly Spencer,” you chuckle.

“Agent Gideon, there's a call for you on line two,” an officer interrupts. “He says it's extremely urgent.”

“Is there a name?”

“Sort of. He calls himself the Fisher King.”

The officer hands over a pad of paper with the man’s name on it. There is something about this name that seems familiar. You grab the pad and stare at the name, forcing yourself to rearrange the letters into the name Penelope gave—Sir Kneighf.

“This could be the unsub,” you gasp.

“Why?”

“In mythology, the Fisher King is the grail king. Sir Kneighf is an anagram for Fisher King. The Fisher King is at the end of all grail quests.”

The entire group heads to the phone that has already been trapped and traced. This guy isn’t going to get away with what he has been doing. Gideon waits a few moments before answering the call.

“Gideon.”

“What I had to do was not my fault,” the unsub says.

His voice is raspy and broken as if he is in a great deal of pain.

“Excuse me?”

“It was distasteful and barbaric.”

“Who is this?” Gideon asks, but the unsub doesn’t answer it.

“No one else had to be hurt. I told you there were rules.”

“I'm actually more interested in exactly how you got all those burns,” Gideon says.

He must know something that you don’t. You didn’t even know that he was burned. Maybe the delivery guy saw something.

“Remember this next time you decide to step outside my instructions. Agent Greenaway did not have to die like that.”

The unsub hangs up, and you gasp loudly. You knew something was wrong with Elle from the minute you had that overwhelming feeling.

“I knew something was wrong!” you exclaim.

Tears form in your eyes because you could have done something. Instead, you’ve been stuck in the office trying to find a book that may not even be the right book… and Elle’s been suffering ever since.

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@averyhotchner @lets-be-gay-for-the-angel @fan-girl-97 @inkstainedwritergirl @estrela-rogers @kwbaby24 @redsalv20 @joonie-centric @xs @sixpencespencee @boygenius-reid @meganskane @prophecyflame @happynekochan1 @babydee17 @darlingisntit @fandoms4ever97 @spencerreid-187 @snakeythesnake @nomajdetective @scarletstarrs @hc-geralt-23 @alfonsais @werewolfbansheelove @fairytalesforever

#the fisher king part 2 #series rewrite #criminal minds series rewrite #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fiction #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #cm #season 2 episode 1 #s2e01

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crystalirises · 3 years

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Lake

Tumblr back at it again with deleting my posts ;-;

So yeah.... reupload of that Parent!Eret and Fundy fic.

They ran a hand through their messy brown hair, the sun beating down at them from above as they settled against the smooth surface of a marble column. Their bones ached with fatigue.

Eret watched as the clouds rolled by in the sky, a calm afternoon breeze sweeping through the newly built land of New L’Manburg. It had been over a month since Dream had dethroned and casted them from their castle, tossed to the agitated wolves that comprised Pogtopia’s army. They could still feel the harsh glares that everyone had burned into Eret’s skin, the distrust in their gazes.

They pulled the flimsy brown cloak tighter around their shoulders, a piece of old clothing that Niki had cheerfully given to them the moment they had expressed their desire to move into New L’Manburg. Niki felt like their only ally in a country that detested their very existence. Not that they could blame everyone… not after what they did. The nightmares still plagued his mind, the horror in their companions’ eyes as it dawned upon them what Eret had done. There were nights where they would stare at the ceiling, Eret’s pure white eyes the only light source in a desolate room that felt too suffocating despite its spacious quarters. There wasn’t a day that went by where their heart didn’t ache with regret. Would they be here now if they had refused Dream’s offer in the beginning? Was all of this Eret’s fault? It felt like it was… Wilbur would be alive if they―

“Eret!”

They glanced up, freezing before a familiar pair of fox ears caught their eye. A soft smile formed on their lips as Fundy sat down beside them, a wide grin on his face as he fiddled with something in his hands. Eret had no doubt that Fundy had just gotten back from scamming some poor unknowing soul. Fundy’s gold-flecked brown eyes glanced at the large unfinished structure behind them, his brows furrowing as his ears twitched at the top of his head. Eret pursed their lips, wondering how Fundy would react to the building’s true purpose. They had thought it best if they had tried to create a museum in honor of… the first L’Manburg. It felt ironic… but someone had to do it. No matter how much it stung to go through memories of the past. It had to be done.

“Gold for the king.” Fundy’s voice broke through their thoughts, casting away the haze that had plagued him for days. There was a cheerful smile on Fundy’s face, his hands holding what seemed to be a stack of gold. Eret blinked at the offering, their mouth agape with confusion as they finally looked into the fox hybrid’s eyes. Fundy’s tail was curled around his waist, his ears twitching as he waited for Eret’s reply. Eret hadn’t the faintest clue on what to say. Their last conversation was years ago, during that strange time where Fundy decided to decorate their castle with faux flamingoes. Eret missed those flamingoes. “They’re not stolen, Eret. You gotta trust me on that.”

“I trust you, Fundy.” Eret’s hand hovered above the gold, guilt striking their heart at the momentary thought of this being a scam. Fundy bit his bottom lip, not missing the way they hesitated before taking the gold into his hold. Eret carefully tucked the gift away into their inventory, a small smile on their face. “I do believe you, Fundy. You have to understand my hesitation, I’m not quite on anyone’s friend list regardless of my ‘change of heart’ during the final war. What is this gold for?”

“I don’t have any use for them…” Eret knew a lie when they heard one, they know what it was like to lie. Fundy’s gaze shifted to the side, his fingers twitching before they finally settled into picking at his sleeve. Eret reached out a hand, gently moving Fundy’s hand away from his jacket’s sleeve. They didn’t want Fundy to tear into the cloth. “And… I heard about the dethroning thing.”

“You just found out now?” Eret raised a brow at that. They assumed everyone knew by now, Dream didn’t exactly keep George’s coronation a private affair. “I’m not a king. I never was.”

“I refuse to call George a king.”

“Well, he’s the new king. There is nothing to be done about that.” They pressed their fingers at the bridge of their shades, pushing up as it had begun to slip. “And how are you, Fundy?”

Eret turned to Fundy, their piercing gaze causing the fox hybrid to shift in place. They didn’t miss the way Fundy’s shoulders shook, the poorly concealed dark circles beneath his eyes. Though Fundy kept a smile on his face, their was a pain in his eyes that made Eret’s heart pang with a familiar regret. Everyone had lost something during the war, but Fundy most of all. He had lost his father, his home, his birthright, and now… Eret knew Fundy didn’t know what to do with himself. They were both foreigners in a land that regarded them with distaste and with mockery. They were the outcasts, the forgotten, and the traitors. No one wanted either of them.

“I’ve been… busy. Did you know it takes an entire week to fill in a crater? Well… half a crater. Tubbo made the presidential decision to build on top of the corpse of the old L’Manburg. It’s been great. It’s been great.” Eret watched as Fundy’s tail bristled at his own words, his shoulders hunching up as he kicked at a loose pebble on the ground. They hadn’t offered their services in the rebuilding of L’Manburg, not that Tommy would have allowed them to help. Fundy sat down, pulling his knees closer to his chest as he buried his head in his arms. Eret crouched down beside him. “Oh… and Wilbur’s back. Ghostbur… You know Ghostbur, right? He doesn’t remember much. He doesn’t remember what I did… what he did… and I think… he barely remembers me…”

There’s a wobble in Fundy’s voice, a strained sob that seemed to have been forced down. Eret placed a hand on his back, small tremors racing up and down Fundy’s spine. They could hear the soft sniffles, muffled but clearly there. Eret wondered when was the last time Fundy allowed himself to cry. They felt sick… who taught Fundy to cry so quietly? Eret took a deep breathe, hoping that they wouldn’t find claws digging into their skin in just a few seconds. They pulled Fundy into a hug, the fox hybrid stilling in their hold before finally melting into the touch. Fundy’s arms wrapped around their neck, his head leaning against Eret’s chest. Eret pulled him closer.

“It’s okay, Fundy. You’re allowed to mourn. It’s just the two of us right now… and you know I would never judge you.” Fundy was violently shaking in his hold, a cold chill spreading across Eret’s shirt as Fundy began to cry. Eret placed a hand on the top of Fundy’s head, caressing his still ash-covered hair. It had been a month and yet the residue of war still haunted Fundy, both physically and mentally. Eret closed their eyes, basking in the silence of the afternoon. They rarely got visitors to the museum, and even if someone were to stumble upon them, Eret would make they didn’t see Fundy. Fundy never did like to cry in front of people. Their heart broke as Fundy let out a soft whimper. Maybe… maybe if they hadn’t betrayed L’Manburg during the first war, Fundy would still have a dad. Fundy wouldn’t be an orphan. A scared and unwanted orphan.

“Thank you.” Fundy moved away, wiping at the tears in his eyes. Eret gave him a soft smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. Fundy sniffed, holding onto their hand as if it was a lifeline. It was times like these where they were reminded that Fundy was just a kid… now he was an orphan. The thought terrified them. Fundy may be Techno’s nephew but everyone knew Techno wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if given the chance. Eret couldn’t let that happen. Not to Fundy. “Shit. Sorry. I can… uh… pay you more gold for the shirt. Fuck. You shouldn’t have seen me like this.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Fundy. I remember when you were but a kit… you were a lot shorter then. You were terrified of me at the start, commenting on my… odd eyes. It took a while but you eventually warmed up to me. You rarely cried as a kid, but when you did you always ran to me. Years have passed… but one thing remains unchanged. No matter what happened – no matter what may happen – I am still your confidante. You need not be wary to come to me in your time of need.” A smile found its way to Fundy’s lips, a momentary joy that didn’t sit right with Eret. The tearstains remained on Fundy’s cheeks, a reminder that not all was quite well. Fundy… Fundy needed someone. Someone who could protect him. Someone who could bring back the life into those dull brown eyes. Fundy needed a parent. Eret didn’t know if they were the right person, but Fundy needed someone who cared. “Hey… You’re an orphan now―”

“Thanks for ruining the moment, Eret. No need to rub it in―”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that, Fundy. I would never― It’s just…”

They glanced over at him. Fundy’s ears were pressed against the top of his head, his eyes narrowing into thin slits as he bared his teeth. Eret wished he hadn’t begun in the way they did.

“You need a dad.” Fundy paused at that, glancing up at them in shocked silence. Eret fiddled with the bottom of their shirt, the proposal hanging in the air between them. They didn’t know if they would be enough – didn’t know if Fundy even wanted them – but Fundy needed to be safe. He needed someone who would think of him first – someone who would choose Fundy before anything. Someone who would show him that he mattered. Fundy bit his bottom lip, eyes casted low to the ground… but he moved a bit closer to Eret. After a few seconds, Fundy looked up once more, a cautious look in his gaze as he waited for Eret to say what they wanted. “You need someone who could care for you. Someone who would make you feel wanted. I may not be the best option, Fundy. Anyone else might be better suited for such a task. But if you will have me… then I would like to take you in. What I’m saying is… I want to adopt you, Fundy.”

The silence made their heart burn with ache. Of course, Fundy wouldn’t want them. Why would he? “I know you want someone else, anyone else. I know you probably have some semblance of hate for me. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have asked… I’m sorry, Fundy. I-I-I’ll be leaving―”

Eret felt a hand grab at the collar of their shirt, yelping as they were pulled into an embrace. They held their breath. Fundy burrowed his head into the crook of their neck, his shoulders shaking as another bout of tears escaped the fox hybrid’s eyes. Eret returned the embrace, holding him closer to himself as if that would be enough to block him from the cruel world they lived in. Right now… all that mattered was the two of them.

“All I ever needed… was someone who wanted me more than I loved myself.”

They swore right then and there that they would be the best parent Fundy would ever have. Eret placed a hand on the back of Fundy’s head, holding him closer. They would be okay… Eret would make sure of it.

“I’ll try for you, Fundy. I promise… I’ll be here for you for as long as you need me.”

~~~

“Come onnnnnnnnn.” They chucked as Fundy pulled at the sleeve of their shirt, forcing Eret quicken their pace on the creaky wooden pier. The sun was setting in the distance, casting the lake in an ethereal glow of molten gold. Fundy had begged them to take him on a fishing trip – claiming to know the perfect spot to do so – and as Eret looked over at the serene waters, they were glad Fundy had suggested the idea. Fundy’s eyes held a spark, an excited gleam that Eret wished would never disappear. As they reached the end of the path, Fundy handed them a fishing rod. Eret didn’t know much about fishing, but it was worth seeing Fundy so giddy… almost child-like as he sat down near the edge, his legs dangling over the water. “Are you going to keep standing there?”

Eret blinked, casting a look towards the fox hybrid before taking a seat next to him. A soft wind blew past them, small waves fluttering through the water’s surface. They ran a hand through their hair, nearly knocking off the flower crown that Fundy had made for them earlier on in the day.

It was a cold afternoon, one that sent goosebumps down Eret’s skin as they looked up into the dying sky. A beautiful hue of pink, orange, and purple painted the sky with their radiance as fading gray clouds moved towards the distance. They looked back down at the lake. Its edges crowned by a massive display of pink flowers. Eret wondered who could have possibly had the time to plant them. Niki did say she was building a flower shop with Puffy… and a flower shop certainly needed flowers. Eret was brought out of their musings by a hand on their shoulder. They looked over at Fundy, a nervous glint in his eyes as he looked down at the unused fishing rod in his hands. Eret raised a brow at him, turning to cast their own hook into the water. They watched as the bobber floated up and down on the water’s surface, they waited for a few seconds, but Fundy didn’t follow after them. They threw a look towards the person in question, “Fundy? What’s wrong?”

“I um…” They watched as Fundy fiddled with the rod, his fingers biting into the wood as he looked out into the lake. His ears were pressed against his head as his shoulders hunched up. It only took Eret a second to realize what was wrong. They quickly moved closer to Fundy, pulling back their own fishing rod as they placed it on the space behind them. They clasped their hands over Fundy’s, a gentle hold that made Fundy’s tail wag a bit. Fundy chuckled, embarrassed that he couldn’t exactly hide the way he felt. “Wilbur used to promise me, when I was younger, that he would teach me how to fish. The wars and the election kinda pushed that back on his busy schedule, ya know?”

“I know. Wilbur… he was a busy man. I’m sure he planned to teach you… once the wars were over.” They both winced at that bittersweet lie. Wilbur didn’t plan anything after the war. He knew exactly what needed to be done and he didn’t once spare a thought for the people he’d leave behind. Eret shook their head at the thought, pushing down the horrible feel of loathing that threatened to form in their chest. Wilbur was a good father, he was just a revolutionary first. Eret turned back to the task at hand, helping Fundy hold the fishing rod in a proper manner before getting their own. Fundy’s gaze never strayed, watching as Eret held the fishing rod in the same way Fundy was holding it. “I didn’t fish as mush as Wilbur, but I could teach you the basics. If you want me to.”

Eret laughed as Fundy nodded his head, his flower crown nearly falling off. Eret had promised themselves to work on the museum, but when Fundy strolled in – a myriad of flowers in his arms – Eret knew their productive day was as good as gone. They didn’t mind, not when Fundy looked so happy… so carefree, as if the burdens of the past had vanished. Somedays… it seemed like everyone forgot that Fundy was just a kid. Fundy may look and act like a teen, but how could a child ever move past the trauma of battle? Everyone had grown up so fast. They all needed a break, a momentary peace where they could just unwind. They would give Fundy a chance at childhood, one that the hands of war took from him. Eret chuckled beneath his breath, Fundy tilting his head as if he wanted to know what Eret found to be so funny. Eret shook his head, giving the fox hybrid a reassuring smile. “I hope you’re a quick learner. Sun’s about to set, want to speedrun this?”

“Spee― pfft. I bet I could catch more fish than you.” Fundy flicked out a tongue at them, laughing despite himself. Eret rolled his eyes at the fox hybrid’s challenge. He couldn’t even fish and he expected to beat Eret? Oh, it was definitely on. Eret shook their head before turning to direct Fundy on how to use the fishing rod. It took a few tries, but Fundy eventually got the hang of it. Eret knew he could do it. Fundy was smart… but there was no way he was beating Eret at fishing.

The sun had disappeared into the sky before Fundy finally caught his first fish. Fundy looked up at it with awe, letting out small noise of surprise. Eret nearly laughed at Fundy practically pushed it into their face in his haste to show it to them.

“ERET! I CAUGHT ONE!”

“You sure did.” Eret smiled, placing a hand on Fundy’s head.

“Are you… are you proud of me?”

“I’m always proud of you, Fundy. I always will be, no matter what.”

~~~

Fundy pulled the brown cloak closer around his shoulders, shivering in the cool night air. The full moon casted a silver glow upon the water’s surface, a white abyss that looked tempting to fall into.

There was a heavy scent in the air, a bitter taste that sent a horrible chill down his spine. He focused on the pink flowers that dotted the lake’s edge, hoping the color would force his thoughts to calm down. It was a silent night in New L’Manburg, the lanterns casting the streets in dim golden rays. Fundy was glad for their presence. They gave him some semblance of comfort and warmth.

The day had been fun. He scammed a few people here and there and spent his entire afternoon with Eret. A smile found its way to his lips at the thought of his soon-to-be parent. It had been a week since Eret had asked him if he wanted to be adopted, and somehow, his world had looked a little brighter ever since that day. Eret looked at him as if he mattered… as if he was wanted. He didn’t know how to feel about that. His heart ached and crumbled at the dark thoughts that plagued his mind. Surely… surely this was a ploy? A trick? Eret wouldn’t want someone like him, right?

He began to pull at the tips of his hair, forcing down the sobs that threatened to slip past his lips. Eret couldn’t possibly be doing this because they cared. No one cared about him. He was a nobody, an orphan of a country long since dead. Who would willingly ever choose him? He wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes as tears pricked at the edges. Eret was doing this out of pity… out of some high moral obligation. There was no way… There was no way someone actually wanted him. Who would want him? The child forgotten by his own father and nation? This had to be some sort of cruel prank that would leave him broken by the end. Eret didn’t care. Eret shouldn’t care. His fingers gripped his forearms in a bruising grip as those horrible thoughts ran through his head. Eret didn’t want him. Eret couldn’t possibly want him. Eret would never―

He felt a heavy cloak being draped over his shoulders, a warm hand settling on top of his head. His eyes abruptly snapped open, a familiar pair of shades appearing within his vision. “E-Eret?”

“You shouldn’t be out here, Fundy. I don’t want you getting sick.” Eret made quick work of tying the cloak around Fundy, giving him a soft smile as they looked over at the lake. Fundy felt that strange pang in his heart. Eret sounded so sincere… but Fundy just couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Although he tried to hide it, Eret noticed the tears in his eyes. Fundy felt a hand on his cheek, a thumb wiping at the stray tears that had escaped him. Dre, he was pathetic. He leaned into the welcoming touch, wanting to pretend that Eret actually cared for him. “What’s wrong, Fundy?”

“I know you don’t care about me, Eret.”

“What?!” He felt Eret hold him closer, their other hand on his shoulder as if to keep them both steady. Fundy bit the inside of his cheek, wishing that Eret would stop pretending. It was worse that way. Best to rip the band-aid off as quickly as possible. “Fundy, what are you talking about?!”

“You can stop.” Fundy wished he could push them away, wished he was anywhere else but there. “I know you couldn’t possibly care about me. No one cares about me, Eret. I don’t expect you to. So, please stop pretending you do. Everyone leaves me eventually. I know you don’t care―”

He was pulled into a tight yet gentle embrace. Eret’s chin resting on his head.

“Don’t tell yourself those horrible things. I care a lot about you.” Fundy gripped the back of Eret’s shirt, sniffling as Eret rubbed a comforting hand down his back. “I wouldn’t have offered to adopt you if I didn’t. I care… a lot of people care. Fundy… do you really think no one cares about you?”

“They shouldn’t. Don’t you see, Eret? Anyone who’s ever loved me died…” Fundy couldn’t help but think of Wilbur… of Schlatt… of his late mother… Eret shouldn’t care. “I’m cursed, Eret. You’ll leave too… or you’ll die. I don’t want you to die, Eret. I don’t know if I could take it…”

“I suppose I’ll just have to make sure I don’t die then.”

Fundy rubbed at his eyes, tilting his head up to glance into Eret’s eyes… well, shades. Eret had a smile on their face, a reassuring gesture that made Fundy want to cry. “You can’t promise me that, Eret. You can’t promise me that.”

“But I will. You’re my son, Fundy.” He froze at the title. He hadn’t been called that in so long… at least not in a positive way. “I can’t promise you the world, but I can promise you that I care.”

“Heh… I guess you do care…” Fundy sniffled, feeling a smile on his lips as Eret finally let him go. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“We all have our doubts, Fundy. You need not apologize.”

“Yeah…” Fundy held onto Eret’s arm, clinging to it as if it were a lifeline. Eret didn’t make a move to escape his grasp, they only seemed to pull him closer to their side. Fundy laughed despite himself and the ache in his heart. Maybe he was wanted… “Can we go home now, ren?”

Eret smiled, “Of course, son.”

They walked away from the pier, the night wind billowing through their hair. Fundy closed his eyes, content to spend their walk back in comfortable silence.

He was glad to leave… the bitter smell of the foxgloves near the lake had begun to make him sick.

Yet… their poisonous scent lingered in the air.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So yeah...

This is connected to my previous one-shots titled ‘Clouds V.2.’ and ‘Foxgloves’...

I TRIED TO WRITE A WHOLESOME FIC BUT I DON’T HAVE A SINGLE WHOLESOME BONE IN MY BODY, OKAY?!

But yeah... hope you guys like this :DDD

#fundy #eret #mcyt #wholesome with a lot of angst #because i write angst not wholesome fics dammit #no i refuse to make a better title #i wrote 4k words you think i'm gonna do the title too? no

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In Hindsight: Chapter 7: In the Present... Lie in Ruins

In Hindsight: Chapter 7: In the Present... Lie in Ruins by C_R_Scott Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake/Tam Fox, Jack Drake/Janet Drake, Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake & Tim Drake, Lucius Fox/Tanya Fox, Tim Drake & Tam Fox Characters: Tim Drake, Tam Fox, Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Lucius Fox, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth Additional Tags: Tim Drake-centric, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Feels, Childhood Friends, Childhood Trauma, Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Good Parent Janet Drake, Bad Parent Jack Drake, no beta we die like robins, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent

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Story Summary: What if Tim Drake was originally raised by his maternal grandmother for the first eight years of his life due to "circumstances" involving his biological parents? What if Tim's grandmother was also the next door neighbor and occasional sitter for Lucius Fox's family?

Chapter Summary: Jack Drake had lied to Tim about his grandmother's death. However, Jack is also dead himself. Tim attempts to cope with the aftermath of learning the truth of what his father had done. Fortunately, he is not alone.

...

"Jack lied."

Lucius's words were stuck in Bruce's head as Alfred drove him into Gotham City from the Manor. They kept repeating themselves over and over and over again. After about ten minutes of focused brooding, Bruce finally voiced the question he knew he couldn't run away from.

"How did I miss this?"

From the driver's seat, Alfred glanced at Bruce via the rear-view mirror. "You had no way of knowing."

"I should have known."

"How?" Alfred's brow furrowed. "Tim didn't even know? His fa--" The old man choked on the word with a grimace, as if he'd bitten into a piece of bitter melon. He huffed irritably before continuing. "--Jack lied to him for years, and gave none of us any reason to suspect anything coming out of his mouth was false."

Bruce shook his head as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts before selecting one. After three rings, the line finally connected.

"You do know it's not even noon, right?" Barbara Gordon grumbled. "What could you possibly want at this ungodly time of the morning?"

"It's about Tim."

There was moment of pause. When Barbara spoke, drowsiness had been replaced with concern in her tone. "What's wrong? Is he alright? Is he having a delayed reaction to the new Fear Toxin?"

Bruce hesitated before answering, making a quick mental note to double check Tim's bloodwork as soon as he could. If Tim was suffering a delayed Fear Toxin reaction on top of everything else, that could further complicate his son's compromised emotional state.

"It's not about the Fear Toxin, though that could be exacerbating the situation in the background," Bruce said finally. "I need you to do some digging into Tim's family history."

"You're asking me to investigate Tim? Why? What's going on?"

"Tim was never an orphan."

"WHAT?!"

"We just discovered today he has a living maternal grandmother," Bruce explained. "But for whatever reason Jack Drake lied to Tim and his mother eight years ago and told them both she was dead. From what I've been told, his grandmother was supposed to have had full custody of him back then. Then she got hospitalized. When she was finally well enough to be released, Jack had managed to sever all ties between her and Tim."

"Jesus Christ," Barbara breathed out softly. "Does Tim kno-- Never mind, of course he knows otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to do the investigating. Is he with you now?"

"I'm going to his place in the city with Alfred to check on him. Tracker says he's stationary at the Nest."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Do a deep dive into the history between Tim's parents and his grandmother. Her name is Susan Klein. We need to learn what exactly triggered the original custody arrangement, as well as how Jack managed to take custody away from Susan and hide the fact that she was alive from both Tim and his mother. I also want to know why the hell the courts and CPS didn't get involved back then to return Tim to his grandmother, especially after Jack died."

"You also want to find the rest of Jack's skeletons," Barbara inferred. "Because if Jack lied about something this big to his own son--"

"--What else did he lie about?--"

"--And how much damage could this do to Tim if it's brought to light?" Bruce could hear Barbara indulge in a weary sigh. "Holy shit... Ok... Ok... Ok... Give me an hour to get a shower, coffee, and food. Then I'll start digging. This is all cold case kinda stuff, so it's not going anywhere. Keep me posted if you pick up any new leads from Tim."

"Thanks Barbara."

"Oh, by the way... Who else knows about this?"

"Alfred, Lucius, and Tam."

"Alright. I'll keep this on the down low from the rest of the fam until you can check on Tim. Take care of him, Bruce."

"I will."

With the call ended, Bruce leaned back and closed his eyes. What was he going to find when they finally got the Nest? He didn't have to wait long. About ten minutes later, Bruce and Alfred found themselves being led through Tim's home by a deeply concerned Tamara Fox.

...

Three months and twenty-eight days.

That's how long it took for Tim to travel around the US and the world, investigate multiple archaeological sites, survive the Council of Spiders, cripple the League of Assassins, save the girl, and return home with proof of his adopted father being alive. So much mileage, blood, and lives lost had gone into the journey to recover Bruce Wayne from the time stream Darkseid had sent him into.

Nineteen minutes and thirty-nine seconds.

That's all the time it took for Tim to find evidence his grandmother was alive and well and still living in the same house she always had for the past fifty years. He didn't have to leave Gotham. He didn't even have to leave his workstation. All the information was at his fingertips online. All the evidence pointed at the conclusion that his grandmother (and the truth) had always been just a few keystrokes away.

But that couldn't be right. If that was right, that meant his father lied to him and his mother. Jack Drake wouldn't have done that. So it had to be wrong. Tim just couldn't figure out how the evidence was wrong.

"Recognized: Tamara Fox. Alpha-Zero-Two. Entrance: Garage."

"Recognized: Verified Guest. Alpha-Zero-Two-Dash-Zero-One. Entrance: Garage."

"Recognized: Verified Guest. Alpha-Zero-Two-Dash-Zero-Two. Entrance: Garage."

The voice of Tim's AI security matrix echoed through the cavernous space of Tim's brand new "Nest", the hidden vigilante base of operations tucked behind his renovated theater home. The young man barely acknowledged the announcements, though, as he sat motionless at his workstation with his elbows propped up on the desk and his face buried in his hands. Slowly, his hands shifted, sliding down his face over closed eyes to linger over his nose and mouth. Tim drew in a breath through his nose and tried to release it slowly through his mouth. Despite his attempt at control, his breath shuddered audibly as he exhaled. Desperately, he squeezed his eyes shut tighter and shifted his hands to press against them. The adjustment exposed his mouth pressed into a grim, trembling line as he struggled to keep any sound from escaping.

Despite his best efforts, a thin trickle of moisture escaped his hands and coursed down his cheek.

Tim heard the hidden door that connected the Nest to his living room slide open, and blindly identified the footsteps of three people walking into his inner sanctum. One of them he was certain was Tam, and he had his suspicions about the other two.

However, in order to confirm them, he would have had to remove his hands and open his eyes...

...and he was not ready to do that just yet.

...

The moment Bruce laid eyes on Tim, he felt his heart ache at the sight before him. There was his son, sitting alone at his workstation, and everything in his body language was silently crying out with shock and dismay.

For a brief few seconds, Bruce froze. His mind was a panicked jumble. What could he do?! What could he say?! How was he going to fix this?!

Then Tim slowly lifted his head from his hands, and he when he looked over at Bruce, the older man's breath got stuck in his throat. His normally confident and unwavering teenager looked so dazed and hurt and utterly lost.

"B?"

A single letter, barely whispered, partly a question, but mostly a plea, was all it took. Bruce's feet were no longer rooted to the floor, and he quickly closed the distance between himself and his son, because his boy had called out to him.

Tim rose to his feet as he saw Bruce approach, and he let himself be wrapped up in his adopted father's arms. Bruce could feel Tim lean into him, could feel the anxious tension in every muscle in his son's back as the boy buried his face into his chest.

"I'm here, Tim," Bruce murmured as soothingly as he could as he stroked Tim's hair. "It's going to be ok."

"I... I don't know what I'm doing wrong," Tim whispered mournfully.

"Wrong?"

"Dad said she died. He wouldn't have lied about that. He couldn't have." Unconsciously, Tim's hand fisted into Bruce's shirt, as if he were hanging on for dear life. "But Lucius says she's alive... Been alive this entire time. And the evidence..."

As more words spilled out from his boy's mouth, Bruce heart broke at the brittle desperation in Tim's voice.

"I have to be missing something. I'm doing something wrong. I'm making a mistake somewhere and I don't know what it is." Tim drew in a shuddering breath. "Or maybe it's the Fear Toxin. An after effect? Maybe it's making me hallucinate? Mis-hear... Misinterpret things?" He turned his head from Bruce's chest and gazed uneasily at the workstation monitors. "Maybe I'm just seeing things? Maybe I'm just losing my mind?"

The fact that Tim's voice took on a hopeful edge at the thought of going crazy sent a stab of deep concern through Bruce. A quick glance at the workstation monitors showed him all the evidence Tim had dug up on his own since leaving Wayne Tower. A lump rose to his throat. When he spoke, he could barely force his own voice above a hoarse whisper.

"You're not hallucinating, Tim. I... I can see the evidence myself."

Tim's eyes widened at the screens, then he shut them tightly before shaking his head. "No... No no no no no..."

"Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce glanced over to Tamara, who looked close to tears herself, but was managing to just barely hold herself together. She had one arm wrapped around herself and the other held her cell phone. He could see Lucius's name on the screen as the current active call.

"Yes?"

Tam swallowed hard before answering. "My dad's on the line. I told him we found Tim. He... He's with Nana... Tim's grandma... right now."

Bruce felt Tim freeze in his arms. He felt his own heart stutter as well.

"She... would like to speak with Tim, if he's able. She understands though if he's too overwhelmed right now."

Tim turned his gaze to Tam's phone, his red-rimmed blue eyes wide and warring between longing and dread.

Bruce stroked Tim's back. "You... don't have to if you don't want to," he murmured. "We can wait until you feel better... Until we figure things out on this side."

For several seconds, there was nothing but tense silence in the air. Bruce could practically see the gears turning and grinding in Tim's mind. He could see the war play out on his son's face as he struggled to make a decision. Then, finally, Tim uneasily reached out and offered an open hand to Tam.

Tam nodded and raised the phone to her own ear first. "I'm handing my phone to Tim now." Then, she carefully gave Tim the cell, watching as he wrapped his fingers about the edges of the device and raised it to his own ear.

"H-Hello?"

Though he was still holding Tim closely, Bruce wasn't close enough to hear much of other end of the call. He could tell it was a woman's voice, but couldn't make out most of the words. But he could see his son. He watched, helpless, as after a moment Tim's eyes filled immediately with tears and spilled over onto his cheeks. One short anguished sob escaped him before he used his other hand to clamp his mouth shut. Though it stifled the sounds, Bruce could still see and feel the sobs wracking his boy's entire frame.

As Bruce held him tighter, he could hear the tone of the woman's voice shift to something so soothing and maternal that his own heart ached along with his son's. It had the desired effect of calming Tim enough so that the could finally find his voice once more.

"I love you, too, Nana," he whimpered softly. Then, he stretched out his hand and gave the phone back to Tam, who was in tears herself as she took it back.

Once his hands were free and the phone was pressed again to Tam's ear as she spoke with her father, Tim crumpled to the floor as he burst into tears once more, this time without restraint. Bruce followed him down to control his fall and let his son cried brokenheartedly against him.

"He lied," Tim keened between sobs. "He lied... He lied... He lied..."

Tears coursed down Bruce's face as he watched his son come apart at the seams. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Alfred gazing at him with love, sorrow, and tear-filled eyes as well. Though long dead, Jack Drake had broken their beloved boy's heart, and they would be damned if they didn't do their best to put the pieces back together again and make things right for everyone involved.

...

Author's Notes:

Author's Note: This was a challenging chapter to write. I hope I did Tim's breakdown justice. Things will, hopefully, start looking up for him from this point onward for a bit.

As for the length of time I put down as Tim's search for Bruce during the origin Red Robin run, this was just a wild guess on my part. In the comics, there was a map on a page in the first issue showing a map with pins on where he had previously investigated. Based on that, I estimated he had been travelling nonstop for at least several months before being intercepted by Ra's and getting dragged into the League and Council drama along with Tam.

#tim drake#tam fox#tim/tam#red robin#fanfiction#wip#rr: in hindsight#batfam#batfamily#lucius fox#bruce wayne

#rr: in hindsight #tim drake #tam fox #tim/tam #red robin #fanfiction #wip #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #batfamily #batfam

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reidingdays · 4 years

Text

bau as songs from folklore

tw: mentions and allusions to drugs, death, grief, blood

the 1: jj painful and blinding optimism. hope. knowing where you've come from and how it has shaped you. going about your day. growing. letting go peacefully. curiosity. sneakers ambling down pavements with your earphones in. sunshine and leafy trees. recognising your worth. it’s alright now.

cardigan: spencer darkness like a blanket. the scratch of a needle against a nostalgic vinyl. a reassuring weight on your chest, like an old cat. pouring over somebody like the final page of a book. oxymoronic. something destined. something borrowed. stars aligning in a clear night sky. making excuses that blur logic. leaving like a father. wise beyond your years. belonging. abandoning. lingering, longing fingertips.

the last great american dynasty: rossi winding narratives. extravagant retellings and rumours. keepsakes. red wine and sunlight streaming through high windows. board games. banter and feuds. family heirlooms. a big house by the sea. breezy. loud laughter. chosen family gatherings. captivating, collected words. a warm afternoon. a cat in a sunbeam.

exile: morgan walks in solitude to clear your head. exuding love to give. leaving your home behind. an understudy, overlooked, discarded. a foot soldier. a protector. bloodied knuckles. dashed expectations. finishing a film that should have ended long ago. demolishing a wall, then demolishing the whole house. balancing on breaking branches. irreplaceable. risking it all. compartmentalising. stolen innocence forced to confront reality.

my tears ricochet: emily haunted ghosts. sobbing 'let me in, i'm come home!'. a chill inside your bones. a set jaw. inky midnight blue skies. rain storming against rattling windows. a hollow shell. echoing choirs. unrequited love. silent tears streaking down a face. drowning your jewels in the ocean. the past catching up to you. digging up an empty grave. an aching chest. sacrifice. brave, shaking hands. three walled coffins. screaming at the sky.

mirrorball: garcia a used spectacle. shattered glass that still sparkles. whimsy. try, try, trying. tarnished but that’s what makes it glitter. a balancing act. soft prisms of light painting the walls. floating around a party. resilience. towering heels. a rainbow smile, fleeting, shining, beautiful. something rare and special. offering hope to those that need it most. people pleasing. insightful. reliable. in a seventh heaven.

seven: tara protective, undying love. an unfinished childhood. before i learned civility. clipped wings. manners. a misty forest, gnarled branches, changing leaves, appropriate footwear. evolution. investigative. an open perspective. weeds are flowers. intelligence, elegance. violin bows. tamed wild horses. are there still beautiful things?

august: luke simple things in life. honesty and naivety. longing, worshipping. strumming a guitar in the summertime. salt on your skin. twisted bedsheets. wonder and hope. falling too far too fast and not caring for the consequences. sleeping in. reminiscing. warm sand beneath your feet. warm arms around your waist. carefree chases along the coast, towels streaming like kites behind you. no strings attached. childlike laughter. frisky hands. driving with the roof off.

this is me trying: hotch learning strength is vulnerability. shiniest wheels now they're rusting. crumbling walls, opening cage doors. letting out demons. depending and dependable. faintest smiles. turning up at your friend's front door in the pouring rain. accepting defeat. learning softness. heads resting on shoulders. short temper. doing better. keeping up appearances. strictest with yourself. for once in your life, undoing your tie. hugging your son.

illicit affairs: spencer secretive, private. preferring your alone time. withdrawn. a drug that only worked the first few hundred times. chasing the impossible. frustration. self-destructive. loss and disregard. me for her. cover me. ripping off a tie, ripping off a kevlar. don't call me kid. desperation. mercurial highs. volatile, bitchy, snappy. lonely.

invisible string: matt a fairytale ending. going with the flow. the pattering of little feet against hardwood floors. fingerpainting with primary colours. trusting. looking through an photo album. awe. tied together for all eternity. forgiving and forgetting. being thankful. reflection. bedtime stories. full dinner tables, full tummies. making birthday cakes at 3am with the love of your life. doing it all over again.

mad woman: elle sharp tongue, sharp claws. do not trespass. taking your time because they took everything from you. vengeance. justice. a panther prowling the back alleys. fuck you forever. holding grudges. ruthless. terrified. biting back. constantly looking over your shoulder.

epiphany: spencer floating, dreaming if you're lucky. just one single glimpse of relief. alchemy. overcast. service and sacrifice. unspeakable traumas. silver linings to clutch onto. gentleness. holding hands with strangers. lifelines. comfort. humanity. cloudy days, white haze, an intermittent white light. sleepless, drifting. like the tide, breathing in, breathing out. at peace.

betty: jj open, brazen, communicative. country girl. no holding back. admitting your shortfalls. saying sorry. last chances. pining. would you tell me to go fuck myself or lead me to the garden? grand gestures. speaking your mind no matter what chaos it may chance.

peace: emily no longer a lamb, but the fox that kills them. hardened, but doubt still clawing at your insides. is it enough? saving face. a rapid heartbeat. flickering fire. chosen family. dying for your loved ones in secret. calamity hanging like a shadow over you, inescapable. taking the fall. fighting to keep your head above water. knowing that it’s worth the strife.

hoax: blake smoke and mirrored metaphors. analytical armour. burying your nose in a crossword. worn old volumes you’ve read countless times over. cynicism, stoicism. incomplete, no longer whole. giving everything you've got. a loss echoing in every chamber of your heart that no other sadness in the world would do. you know the hero died so what’s the movie for? enduring. leaning on loved ones. healing in private.

#criminal minds #taylor swift #emily prentiss #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #jennifer jareau #derek morgan #alex blake #tara lewis #luke alvez #matt simmons #elle greenaway #penelope garcia #david rossi #writings

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sam-winchesters-lost-shoe · 4 years

Text

Day 3: Sam x Reader

Ship: Sam x Reader

Trope: Caught in the rain

Mood: Funny fluff

Words: 1500

(I wasn’t planning on it ending like this but once I started I couldn’t stop😂there are some slight innuendos at the end)

"How long until Dean gets here?" You grumbled and pulled your arms tighter around your body. Sam shook his head and brushed his hair out of his eyes from where the wind had blown it.

"He was supposed to be here 10 minutes ago."

"Do you think something happened to him?" You asked hesitantly. Sam frowned and shrugged, looking down the road for any headlights and frowning when nothing appeared on the horizon.

"All he had to do was burn the bones, it should've been no problem."

Sam was right. It was a 45 minute drive to the cemetery, and it had been almost 4 hours. He had to dig the grave and actually burn the bones, but it still seemed like he should’ve been back by now. He had left you at the victims house to check for a cursed object, but found nothing. Dean said he'd pick you and Sam up when he was done and drive back to the motel, but he still was nowhere to be found. That was when Sam's phone rang.

"Dean?" He hurried to answer his cell phone, holding it up to his ear. He listened for a moment before sighing and pulling the phone away to press a few buttons.

“Hold on let me put you on speaker."

He then held his phone between the two of you so you could both hear. There was a crackling noise from the other end of the line that sounded like Dean was getting interference, but then you realized it was actually flames.

"I just burned the bones. You guys alright?"

"Wait....You just burned them? What took you so long?" You said hurriedly, looking up at Sam in confusion.

"Dean, it's freezing out here!"

Dean sighed from the other end of the line while Sam looked off in the distance. You followed his gaze and saw a few flashes of lightning over the trees, followed by a few low rumbles a second later.

"Sorry guys, I ran into a bit of trouble with the graveyard security, so that took a while. We’re all good now. I've just gotta re-bury the the body and drive back, so we're looking at......2 hours?"

"2 hours? There's a storm rolling in, Dean." Sam argued, but he knew it wouldn't make a difference.

"And we're in the middle of nowhere!" You added.

"Well then either start walking or find somewhere to wait it out. I'll be there in 2 hours." Dean replied and hung up the phone.

"Dean, you son of a-"

Sam was cut off by another roll of thunder, but this one was much closer. It wasn’t long after that the first droplets of rain began to fall.

"Shit." Sam grumbled.

"We have to wait here for 2 hours?" You sighed and blinked through the raindrops.

Sam used his hand to shield his eyes from the rain as the steady stream of rain started to pick up. Within a few minutes, the sprinkle had turned into a downpour. He peered down the road and seemed to see something, then looked over at you.

He watched as you started to shiver from the rainwater running down your back, making a split decision. He flashed you a grin and grabbed your hand.

"Come on."

"Wha-what are we doing?” You asked as your teeth started to chatter. Sam just grinned and shrugged.

“You see that barn up there?” Sam asked and pointed up ahead.

“Yeah?” You replied, not exactly sure what he was getting at. There was a glint in Sam’s eye that you couldn’t quite place, but it still started a little flicker of something in your chest.

“First one there gets to sit shotgun on the ride home!” He called and took off running towards the barn.

“Sam!” You yelled and sprinted after him. A laugh bubbled up within your chest after you chased behind him, almost slipping in the mud a few times but managing to keep up fairly well.

At one point Sam started to lose his feet on the slick ground, and you passed him.

You didn’t have to celebrate however before he caught back up and then passed you. He reached the barn first, slowing to a stop in front of the wooden doors with a wide smile on his face despite the thundering clouds above him.

You caught up a minute later, panting from the effort of running after him despite the fact that he hardly seemed winded.

“Looks like you’re getting a bit rusty, Y/N.” Sam teased and brushed his hair out of his eyes again.

“Shut up! You have freakishly long legs!” You called back and punched him in the shoulder.

It wasn’t a hard punch at all, but it was apparently enough to catch him off guard. His right foot slipped on the mud beneath him and all 6 foot 5 inches of him went tumbling down to the ground. He landed on his butt, the ground beneath him making a squishing noise.

You burst out laughing again, hardly able to catch your breath between chuckles. He just looked ridiculous sprawled in the mud with his hair plastered to his forehead.

“Hey, you could help me up, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You sassed back.

Sam swept his leg out and managed to knock your own feet out from under you. You landed in the mud next to him, and this time it was his turn to laugh.

“You dick!” You gasped in feigned offense, both of your hands now covered in mud from when you had tried to catch yourself. You wiped them off on your jeans while Sam shook his head and continued to chuckle.

“You started it.”

You didn’t have a good response to that, so you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Wow. Very mature.” Sam rolled his eyes. He slowly pushed himself up onto his feet, making sure that he was steady before offering a hand to you. You took it and he helped pull you up.

“Dean is never going to let us into the impala, you know that, right?” Sam pointed out.

“Well it’s his own fault that we were stuck in the rain, so he can deal with it.” You shrugged, looking down at your dirt stained clothing.

After you both tried to wipe as much of the mud off of you as you could, you checked the barn to make sure it was as abandoned as it looked. It was completely desolate, so Sam pulled out his flashlight and you both went inside.

You were still in a good mood from your race in the rain, but you had to get the boring stuff out of the way first. After a quick glance around the barn to make sure there was no foxes or anything taking shelter inside, you started to strip off your outer layers of clothing so they could start to dry. You both peeled off your jackets and flannels, laying them over a banister a bit while you warmed yourselves up.

When you were both wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, you decided to check the time. You frowned slightly, looking up at Sam.

“We still have about an hour and a half to kill.”

“Really?” Sam asked. His hair was still soaking wet, and he shook his head to dry drying it off a bit. It always made you smile when he did that. You and Dean joked all the time about Sam being a dog, shedding long hair everywhere and giving you his puppy-dog eyes when he wanted attention. Any time he shook his head like that, it only solidified your point.

His eyes met yours and he noticed your grin, letting out a small sigh.

“So, what should we do with our 90 minutes of alone time?”

“Well, lucky for me, being in abandoned barns is my favorite way to pass time.” You teased innocently. Sam raised an eyebrow in response, stepping forward close enough to wrap his arms around your back.

“Really? What a coincidence. Abandoned barns are my favorite place, too.” Sam played along. He bent down to press a quick kiss to your lips with a smile, knowing full well what he was initiating.

“Now we just need to think of some activities to keep us occupied.”

Damn him.

There were many things that you could say about Sam, but none of them seemed to properly explain how he made you felt. It was like your heart was melting and racing at the same time. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and he planned on taking full advantage of it. His shirt stuck to his shoulders and chest from the rain and his hair was beginning to curl slightly at the ends from being wet. The lightning illuminating the room every now and then lit up his face, and after being in the cold rain for so long the warmth from his body was incredibly comforting.

Let’s just say you had a lot of ideas about how to pass the time.

#sam winchester #supernatural #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester one shot #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural one shot #sam winchester fluff #sam fucking winchester #sammy #sam #sam x reader

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theshapeshifter100 · 3 years

Text

Wolf and Raven Chapter 6

First

Masterlist

Raven sat by Wolf’s campfire a couple of nights later, having talked and strategized for several hours.

“How has your sleep been?” Raven ventured, having not broached the subject for several days.

“Better, your suggestion is working,” the shadows under Wolf’s eyes weren’t as dark now. “Still, some night terrors are leaking through, I may have to make the concoction stronger.”

“Well be careful that it does put you to sleep for good!”

“I will try to make sure that is not that case.”

Raven opened her mouth to respond, but her words were lost as a howl echoed through the trees. This had a different tone to the ethereal song of several nights ago. Shorter, more urgent.

Wolf shot to her feet, listening intently. The forest to the north exploded with noise, with bird chatter and rabbits screaming.

“Wolf?” Raven also got to her feet.

“Trouble. The corruption is spreading again. Quickly, I must aid them.”

Wolf shifted and sprinted into the woods. There was a flap and hiss of wings and a raven flew alongside her.

The two of them rushed to the site the howl had come from, in time to see rabbits and deer and birds fleeing in droves.

Black rot was spreading through the ground, darkening and melting the snow, ridding the moss of life and darkening the trees. Leaves and grass stalks withered before their eyes and the smell of burning and rot stung Wolf’s nose.

Wolf stepped into the rot without thinking, merely wincing as the rot bit and burned at her pads. She began to dig into the ground, freeing a family of voles from their burrow.

As the voles scattered a fox screamed nearby and Wolf ran to free it from under the tree limb that had fallen. The leaves cascaded down, dead from rot.

Raven flew in to drag a pine martin stuck in a tree with her talons, wincing as rot burned at her feet. Once on the ground the martin was off like a shot.

She turned in mid flight, and screeched as a demon appeared in front of her.

Wolf jerked her head up as Raven turned harshly to fly away, almost straight into another demon. The demon reached out for her and she shot straight up into the sky, ignoring the black energy that shot past her from the demons.

Wolf froze in place, tail tucking between her legs and ears flattening as the demons turned to her.

It was similar. It was not similar. It was similar enough. No. No no no no.

Crackling dark energy formed between the two demon’s hands, and she could hear more behind her. Humming thrummed in the back of her head, metal screeched, laughter echoed.

Her lips pulled back in a fearful snarl and she lowered her body, growling. A vole ran over her paw, and she remembered that her legs were supposed to work.

She ran.

Dark energy crackled over her head, singing her fur. She ran blindly, out of the corruption, away from the demons. Just, away.

Raven made it to safety first, shifting back to human and scanning the area.

“Wolf?! WOLF?!”

There was no sign of the other shifter, and Raven gasped in sudden pain. Her toes throbbed and tingled from when her talons had touched the corruption.

“WOLF?!”

Silence echoed.

Raven growled in exasperation. What had that been? An ambush of some kind clearly. Someone knew that Raven would follow Wolf if there was trouble, but who? Nevar, or Wolf herself?

Raven stared into the trees for several long minutes before giving up. Wolf would have to cope on her own. Raven needed to check on the Warriors.

Wolf reappeared the next evening, shifting to human mid-step before stumbling into camp. She walked gingerly, the balls of her feet red and stinging inside her boots.

“Where did you go?!” Raven demanded. “Where have you been?!”

Wolf just breathed. It had been a day. At least. She… she didn’t really remember. She ran. She ran for miles, must have done. When did she turn around? There had been humming, so much humming.

“Well?!” Raven slammed her staff into the ground. For a moment, she looked like the Raven that Wolf had known. The same intensity, the cloak swishing at her ankles.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” Wolf was struck by déjà vu, and felt her stomach churn. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? You led me straight into the arms of demons!”

“I didn’t! I didn’t know!”

“I trusted you! You said that howl was a call for help!”

“It was! Raven please!”

“Was it your staff?”

“…I’m sorry?”

“Did he offer you your staff?” Raven demanded. “Is that why you led me into an ambush?!”

“No, no! I didn’t! I never saw… Raven please!”

Raven paused. There was a wild look on Wolf’s face, like she wasn’t really here. Her hands were clinging to her hair, fingers buried deep and digging into the scalp.

“Wolf? Are you seeing me?”

“I see you, I see you,” Wolf nodded, running a hand over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you stay there? Why did you not flee with me?”

“Scared. Afraid. I’m sorry. I’m not…” Wolf shook her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry I don’t know what-”

The humming had come back, although, she wasn’t sure if she was imaging it or not.

Raven was speaking, her mouth was moving, but Wolf couldn’t hear it. The humming was turning to roaring. She doubled over still clutching her head tight.

“I cannot. I cannot, I can’t,” she didn’t know if she was mumbling or shouting. A hand appeared in her periphery and she flinched back, looking up at Raven.

Her vison swam, and for a moment she wasn’t certain if that was the new Raven, looking with concern and confusion, or old Raven, glaring with anger and contempt.

Her legs were moving. Trees whipped past. She was running.

“WOLF!”

Raven’s voice echoed, but Wolf did not stop running. She couldn’t think clearly!

She found a clearing. A quiet clearing. She had shifted at some point and went human again.

This wasn’t the same this wasn’t the same. Nothing had gone wrong this time. She had just panicked. The ambush didn’t look good, but Raven seemed to believe her, maybe?

Raven was relying on her to keep the Warriors safe. If she kept freezing, and she would keep freezing, then how could she?

She still needed to get back. She needed to cast runes. The Warriors were all split up Raven couldn’t track them all alone!

The humming in her head vibrated between her ears, making them ring. She doubled over, clutching her ears and gasping.

“Stop! Make it stop!”

A shadow fell over her, and she looked up. A demon loomed over her.

She scrambled back and away, tripping over her feet and scrabbling away until her back hit a tree. Eyes darting around she could see that demons had surrounded the clearing. How? How had they snuck up on her?!

The humming went up a pitch, and soft laughter could be heard. Wolf cried out in pain and clutched her head uselessly as a swirl a black and red energy appeared, rising up and revealing a metal masked face.

Much of him had changed. He had been a mortal man when Wolf had first battled him, running him out of the Forest of Dawn Time with Raven and Erina. It was only when he had stolen a Staff of Power that he became a threat. He had changed his mask since she’d last seen him, even his stolen staff was changed, but it was still him. It was still Nevar.

“No. No stay back!” Wolf scrambled away, but that laughter was still there. Ever present. Red and yellow eyes burned under the mask, its grinning mouth fitting into the sound of booming laughter.

Images flitted into her mind. Raven’s accusing face. Both Raven’s actually. Raven and Raven of Old swum in her minds eye, interchanging. Their anger and disappointment present, magnified, twisted. Wolf scrunched her eyes shut and turned her head away, covering her ears.

“Not real... It is not real! You cannot be here!”

There was a clatter in front of her, and Wolf opened her eyes to see her Staff of Power on the ground. It was black in places, but the white and grey wood held. The staff was topped with the head of grey wolf, lips pulled back into a snarl. Silver bands connected the topper with the body of the staff, stained and tainted with age and misuse.

But it was still hers.

Her breath caught and her hand reached out for it, unbidden. Then she looked up, seeing those burning eyes behind the horned mask. This was a trick.

She snatched her hand back and stood up on shaking legs.

“I refuse,” she snarled.

The laughter in her head pitched up a notch and the staff disappeared a swirl of smoke. The demons approached, faster than she had ever seen them. Black energy burst from them and she screamed as it struck her.

Then Wolf was gone.

“WOLF!”

Raven tore into the clearing, spinning in a circle to scan the area before returning her gaze to the ground. The tracks had led here, but here was where they stopped. No wolf pawprints nor human boot prints could be found leading away from the clearing.

She could find, however, other footprints. Human footprints, larger than Wolf’s, larger than Raven’s. Dark energy made the air crackle like a thunderstorm around her. Nevar had been here.

Raven cupped her hands to her lips and called out. “WOLF! WHERE ARE YOU?! ARE YOU HURT?!”

Only the whittering of birds answered.

Looking at the prints, and feeling the energy in the air, it led to two possible conclusions. Wolf was taken by Nevar, or Wolf joined Nevar of her own free will. The latter seemed unlikely, but given how erratic and nervous she had been in the last few days, and how panicked she’d been when Raven had confronted her, it could not be truly ruled out.

With a huff she summoned Raven of Old.

“Raven, you seem troubled,” he commented.

“Wolf and I were ambushed my Nevar’s demons yesterday. Wolf disappeared sometime after the attack and returned, erratic, distracted. As if her mind were in several places at once. Her lack of sleep had been affecting her, but I had thought that problem solved.”

Raven of Old sighed. “It does not look good I will admit. You are certain that her loyalty lies with you?”

“I had assumed so. You said yourself that her behaviour had not seemed untoward.”

“Indeed, but I confess I could not watch everything. I might have missed something. Where is she now?”

“I do not know. She fled in a panic. I tracked her here, but this is where the tracks end.”

Raven of Old looked around. “I sense Nevar’s presence here. The two of them likely met. It is possible history may repeat itself.”

“It is possible that she joined his side. That thought had occurred,” Raven sighed. “I do not find it likely, from what I have seen of her she wants no part of what Nevar could offer.”

“I cannot tell you for certain. It has been many years since she and I last crossed paths. At this moment, I fear you know her better than I.”

Raven nodded. “Will you look for her, with your talisman?”

“I will try.”

#Wolf and Raven #Raven #New Raven #Raven of Old #Raven CBBC #Raven 2002 #OC #Raven: The Island #Raven: The Secret Temple #Raven: The Dragon's Eye #Raven fanfiction #TheShapeshifter100 writes

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darkestfable · 3 years

Text

The End

((Thank you to @kidcatgemini for helping me with such a...painful RP. CW: blood, death, mind control))

“I’m sorry, babe, I gotta go. They gave me these orders and-” Raetos heaved a sigh, tightening the rifle over his shoulder. He didn’t want to leave Fable alone, but he knew his lover couldn’t go with him.

“I know, I know. It ain’t gonna be forever. Jus’ go do what you gotta do ‘n when you get home we’ll make up for lost time, yeah?” the blood hunter smiled up at his lover, pulling him down by his chest piece for a kiss. It lasted for a little longer than he meant to, got a little more heated than he’d anticipated.

“I love you.” “I’ll miss you too, Raetos.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

Restlessness set in much faster than the blood hunter had anticipated. One night alone and he was chomping at the bit to do...anything. All the maps were updated as best as he could, spelling errors in the survival guide master copy had been edited. Fable couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. There had to be an outlet for the nervous energy.

There was a small dig in Feralas that he’d spotted in Brent’s itinerary, back when they were talking about locations. Fable knew the forest fairly well, enough that there wouldn’t be much he’d have to guard himself against. That would work just fine as a distraction, and he’d be back in a matter of a few days at most. His foxes, Connor and Kenway, could help keep predators away from the homestead while he was gone, but someone would have to feed them…

Vandrir.

The druid he’d interviewed for his old group would be a perfect caretaker for the animals! During the interview, Vandrir had mentioned that he wasn’t an expert at things, but more of a jack of all trades. And well, if Raetos could manage Obligation and Responsibility, Fable was certain a druid could.

Thankfully, he’d agreed without hesitation.

Now that all of the plans were made, Fable was able to head out to Feralas and simply enjoy being in the field, hands in the dirt, mud on his knees…

----------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was high in the sky, filtering through the thick canopy of the trees older than he was. It was warm and humid, and Fable had ditched his shirt a long time ago to continue moving earth. Survey equipment taken from his old job was still serving him well, and had pointed him to this exact location. The hole was waist deep on him, but the corner of a box that he’d uncovered had given way to the rest of it; a perfect cube that had almost been lost to the land again. Fable could feel the magic radiating off of it, enough to make his fingers tingle. This would be fun to transport back…

“Mmm…if only all archeologists were as handsome as you,” a melodious voice spoke up from behind him.

A Ren’dorei woman sat on a rock a few paces away, legs crossed and leaning back on her hands. To say she was attractive was an understatement, and she dressed to show off every aspect of her features; tight shorts with thigh high boots and a low cut crop top. Her deep blue eyes and pink lips were absolutely captivating against her lavender skin. Purple hair with glowing blue tips cascaded down to mid back. Not a blemish or scar could be seen on her smooth skin. It was impossible to tell how long she’d been sitting there, or even how she’d arrived.

Her head tilted in interest at Fable, a playful smile on her lips.

“But then, I suppose we wouldn’t get much work done, would we, Sweetie?”

Fable looked up from the artifact, squinting at the figure perched on the rock. His glowing blue eyes travelled every inch of her form, clearly appreciating it. She was absolutely stunning, and were it before his relationship with Raetos, he’d have completely abandoned the dig to go flirt. Instead, the blood hunter got to his feet, wiping some sweat from his cheek(and leaving a smear of dirt in its wake).

“Not with women like you runnin’ ‘round, that’s for damned sure. Did you need somethin’, or you jus’ here t’ watch me work?” Fable smirked. He had questions about her arrival, for sure, but the tight shirt distracted his mind quite well.

“Would it make me a bad girl if I were here for the later?” she asked, almost innocently, “Actually, I was surveying a site, just north of here, for a client. Then I came across a hot shirtless guy playing in the dirt.”

Uncrossing her legs, she got up from where she was sitting and strolled over to the edge of where Fable was digging, hips swaying as she went. There, she got down on her hands and knees, both to be eye level with Fable, but also to give him a better view of her cleavage.

“Decided I wanted a closer look, so here I am,” her eyes left his to shamelessly take in every inch of his physique, “So, what’s your name, handsome?”

“Must’ve been kinna like Winter’s Veil mornin’ for you then,” the blood hunter chuckled, watching her every move. Not like she was a threat, but like she was a meal. He couldn’t help it, even if he knew in the back of his mind that she was doing it on purpose.

“Th’ name ‘s Fable, gorgeous. Do I get to know yours, since you’re enjoyin’ the show?”

Fable hung his thumbs in his waistband, effectively tugging the dirty black pants down just a little more in the front. There was no danger in flirting, right? Showing off as much as she was? Of course his lover was in the back of his mind, and he’d never seriously go through with anything. Of course.

“You dig too? Uh oh, sounds like you’re competition…”

“Oh?” the woman perked an eyebrow, her ears flickering playfully, “Well, good news for you, hmm? You’re competition’s been distracted. She decided to come get dirty elsewhere.”

She bit down on her bottom lip lightly as her eyes absolutely ate up the little bit of extra skin he allowed her to see of his waistline. She leaned in as her piercing blue eyes moved up to meet his again, to the point where her lips were but an inch away from his.

“My name’s Cebina, Sweetie. Feel like taking a break to play with a pretty lady?”

His own lips parted as he let out a slow breath, clearly struggling. He had a job to do, he had a boyfriend for which he cared very deeply. Fable shook his head a bit, smiling and ready to take a step back. If he didn’t remove himself from her aura of seduction, he knew he’d make a very big mistake. The blood hunter’s hands tightened at the waist of his pants, trying to maintain control.

“You ain’t got th’ faintest idea of how much I wanna play with you, but uh…” his voice trailed off, and he vaguely motioned to the artifact with his head. “And I kinda got a boyfriend I ain’t lookin’ t’ cheat on.”

Cebina moved in before he had the chance to step back. Arms wrapping around his neck as she brought her body down into the small space with him. A hand gripped the back of his head, keeping his gaze on her as she pressed her body against him. That playful, seductive grin never faded. There was a flicker in her glowing eyes, something that seemed to nudge at his mind.

“Don’t worry, Sweetie. Doesn’t have to go all the way. A bit of fooling around never hurt anyone, hmm?”

With that, she attempted to capture his mouth with hers.

Any protests were swallowed in the kiss, Fable’s willpower breaking. His hands went to her hips then before sliding around her waist to pull her close. Her skin felt electric everywhere he touched, and Fable didn't hesitate to back her against the side of the hole, dirt crumbling around their feet.

His subconscious was screaming alerts that his conscious mind was deaf to.

One of the blood hunter's hands slid over Cebina's hip, down to her thigh. Strong fingers hooked under her leg and lifted as he shifted his hips to get between them. Fable was running on instinct, caught like a moth with a flame.

Cebina moaned into the kiss, more than pleased by Fable’s response. Her leg wrapped around his waist as she rolled her hips against him as the heat between them grew. Her other hand grasped the hair at the back of his head, wrenching it to the side to suck and bite at his neck.

While she had him well distracted, her other hand unsheathed an old and ornate looking dagger from her boot; easily reached with her leg up. She could feel his excitement and pent up energy swell. Part of her wished she could play a little longer, but her mind control only lasted for so long.

“—Oh, Sweety!” She cried as he buried his face between her neck and shoulder to repay the favor.

It was time.

It happened very quickly, shadows closed in on the two as the dagger pierced Fable’s upper back in one swift motion. Immediately, shadow magic poured into the wound, spreading through his system fast. The effect was painful, much more than physical… the spirit weapon grasping his very soul.

As the runic weapon continued its siphon, Cebina grabbed either side of her victim’s head to make eye contact one last time. By now, the shadows had enveloped her form completely. Her smile was wicked.

“Thanks for digging up the artifact for me.”

Fable’s mind was awash with pleasure. Everything felt hazy and floaty, akin to being drunk without the alcohol. He gasped pleasantly at the teeth in his neck, fingers tightening around Cebina’s leg. Nothing existed outside of her, outside of this. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, common sense screamed Raetos’ name, tried to remind Fable of his lover’s existence.

He might as well be deaf.

“You taste goo-” the blood hunter started to purr against her neck, but the words were frozen on his lips when the shadows washed over them both.

The first thing he felt was searing pain, the blade biting through flesh and muscle and into his lung, fitting neatly between ribs. Fable didn’t even get to stumble backwards, he was trapped and gasping for breath as the hurt spread through his body. Tears beaded and rolled from his eyes, pale blue gaze fixed on Cebina’s shadowed form. He barely managed to cough out a breath, blood running from the corner of his mouth.

His last act of defiance before his legs gave out was to spit blood at Cebina’s face. The blood hunter crumpled to the ground at her feet, wheezing. Fable’s very essence was being pulled from his body, and he couldn’t even scream. No one would find him out here so deep in Feralas, and he was breaking a promise he’d made to Raetos. He remembered their date, how he’d promised his lover that he’d not leave him.

“Raetos… I’m sorry…” Fable gasped out before his world went dark.

#story #rp log #death cw #blood cw #mind control cw #Cebina #Fable #Raetos #Vandrir

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fazbear-security · 4 years

Text

Secret Tunnels & Surprise Visits

Mike hadn’t had a week off in nearly two years, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.

He’d slept as late as he could, but that had only taken him to 1pm, and most of his siblings had extra curricular activities that would keep them out until at least 6pm. His mother was working until at least then, when she picked up the kids, and Sasha’s curfew wasn’t until 11pm (and boy, did she wring it for every minute she could get). He’d tried cleaning up around the house, but that had only taken up part of his Thursday, and as much as his mother had appreciated his hard work, it hadn’t been enough to satisfy the itch in his idle hands.

The pizzeria was being renovated that weekend, and was closed from Thursday to the following Wednesday, so Mike had a good full six or seven days all to himself. Already out of things to do around the house after day one, he’d decided to tackle the one task he (and everyone else in the house) had been putting off for years.

Organizing the basement.

“You have a lot of stuff down here.” Puppet commented as he climbed up on top of an old gear locker shoved against the stairs. A pair of old workout gloves and a rolled up mat were still stuffed in it, along with a set of resistance bands. Mike made a point not to look at it. “Like, a LOT a lot.” The slender animatronic that had taken up residence under his bed poked at the curling edge of an old sticker on the side of the locker. “Don’t you guys throw anything out?”

“Does it look like it?” Mike asked rhetorically as he surveyed the mess. Where was the best place to start? Christmas ‘91? His old college stuff? That box of yearbooks that stretched all the way back to Tara’s freshman year of high school? “That’s what we’re down here to do today - pare down all this junk and get rid of the stuff we really don’t need.”

“That’s easier said than done…” Puppet eyed the mess from his perch up on the locker before jumping down, and curiously opening the nearest box. “You’ve got more stuff down here than the old location had in storage….oh!” The little animatronic leaned over the edge of the large box - almost falling in - before scrambling back out with a little box clutched in his striped fingers, and a wide smile on his mask.

“Hey! I remember these!!” He popped open the lid and ran a cloth fingertip over the enamel pins on the board inside while Mike picked another box in a stack across the room, and started to dig through it. “These are the commemorative pins from 1987! They had me give these to employees as a gift at a big party!” Puppet tilted his head curiously. “How’d they get down here?”

“The night shift isn’t the first time I’ve worked for Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza, you know.” Mike made a face at the musty books inside the box he’d chosen, and closed it back up. His mother still might want to donate these to the library - best to just set these aside, for now. “I spent a few months making pizzas for the other location across town before I went to college. I was out sick when that party happened, but management gave me those pins the next day.”

“You mean...we could’ve met sooner?” Puppet looked down at the old pins - at the cutesy, cartoony faces of Freddy, Chica, Bonnie, Foxy, and the pizzeria’s logo - and some of his smile faded. Mike looked up from the box of old clothes he was sorting through at the heavy silence, and frowned.

“Don’t...don’t think too much about it, Puppet.” He advised, folding an old shirt that had stopped fitting a decade ago and setting it aside. “You wouldn’t have liked me when I was eighteen, anyway. I was kind of an as-...uh...kind of a jerk.” He quickly amended. Puppet frowned, and put the lid back on the box before jumping up and sliding it on top of the locker. He was absolutely keeping that.

“So?” The animatronic moved to Mike’s side, and stood as high as he could to try and see into the clothing box. “I’ve dealt with sulky teenagers before.”

“I was a lot more than just ‘sulky’...” Mike winced. He’d been a jerk with a capital ‘J’ before he’d gone to college and gotten knocked off his pedestal. It was a miracle his parents had been able to put up with him for an entire year, honestly. “Be glad we met after I got my head on straight. It was for the best for both of us.” Puppet’s mask twisted into a frown, but Mike was determined for that to be the end of the topic, and moved the clothing box to get at the yearbooks beneath it.

“...huh?” Mike paused in the middle of opening the last box in the stack, and closed the flaps again to tilt it back, and get a better look at what had caught his attention. Puppet quickly perked up as the young man shifted the box across the floor, and off of a mysterious, rectangular shape still half-buried by all the clutter.

“Oh, cool! A secret door!” Puppet grabbed another stack of boxes and tried to push it off the shape, while Mike scratched his head in confusion.

“I...don’t remember this.” The human frowned, even as he helped Puppet to move the stack that weighed more than him. “I wonder if Mom or Dad knew about this?” He frowned as he cleared the last of the boxes off of what was now obviously some kind of old trapdoor. “Kind of seems like they tried to bury it.”

“Maybe it leads to a secret tunnel!” Puppet suggested eagerly. “Just like in that cartoon with the dog Pippa likes!” He started to bounce on his heels, and started to reach for the seam in the floor. “Let’s open it and see where it goes!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down, Puppet!” Mike snatched the little animatronic up under one arm, and stepped back before he could get his striped fingers into the crack. “We can’t just open it!” He argued. “We have no idea what might be down there - there could be rats, or spiders, or-”

THUNK.

“......” Both Mike and Puppet froze at the sound, and looked down at the trapdoor. “.....that’s a big rat.” Puppet whispered. Mike slowly - quietly - stepped back from the trapdoor, and the sound came again, only louder. He dropped Puppet back to his feet, and the little animatronic quickly hid behind the human, and dug his striped fingers into Mike’s red jacket as they both nervously watched the trapdoor.

THUNK. THUNK.

Something pounded on the trapdoor from below - something big - and a small puff of dust was kicked up from the space. Mike looked around frantically for something he could use as a weapon, and snatched up a baseball bat from another pile of junk. Luis hadn’t used it since his high school days. Surely, he wouldn’t mind?

THUNK THUNK THUNK.

The trapdoor began to rattle, and Mike swung the bat up over his shoulder as the rusty lock creaked and bent. Finally, the old metal snapped, and the trapdoor was thrown open by-....by Chica?

Mike’s brain ground to a halt as the animatronic chicken mascot from his workplace popped up through his floor, looking around with a curious hum at the cluttered basement before she laid optics on him, and broke out into a wide, toothy smile.

“Hi, Mr. Schmidt!! How’d you get here?”

“.......” The baseball bat fell out of Mike’s limp hands, and clattered to the floor. Puppet flinched at the loud sound, but Chica didn’t seem to register the human’s obvious shock, and came up the rest of the stairs and into the basement.

“Guys!” She shouted back down the stairs. “Mike’s here!” Behind her, Bonnie’s ears appeared before the rest of him, and Foxy’s hook scratched at the edge of the trapdoor hole as he hauled himself up out of the tunnel that yawned beneath the basement floor. Mike sucked in a breath through his teeth as the pirate fox - and other figures that, in no way, should have ever been in his house - rose up from beneath the floor, and stretched his limbs.

“Aaarrr, ‘tis about time!” Foxy grumbled, leaning back as if to stretch out a kink in his spine. “We’ve been walkin’ fer hours! I thought we’d be ‘alfway t’ Tortuga by now!”

“We were only down there for twenty minutes, at best.” Bonnie argued as he climbed out. “Your internal clock must be broken!”

“Jus’ like th’ rest o’ me, ey?” Foxy turned an irritable glare upon the rabbit, but his expression immediately softened when he noticed the audience Bonnie had not. “Oh! Mike! How ye’ be, lad? Ain’t seen ye’ since Wednesday eve’!” Puppet looked up at the human he hid behind with wide eyes, and Mike found the presence of mind to lower his hands from their raised position.

“....you’re in my house.” He said eloquently. Bonnie and Foxy both tipped their ears forward, and looked around the basement.

“This be your house?” Foxy flipped up his eyepatch for a better look. “It be….uh….cozy?” Bonnie shook his head and smacked the fox on the arm.

“This isn’t the whole place, buckethead.” He scoffed. “There’s an upstairs, see?” He pointed to the basement stairs, and Mike looked over just in time to see Chica’s tailfeathers disappearing at the top. His heart skipped a beat or two.“This is just a basement!” The rabbit hopped over a box on the floor, and headed up the stairs himself. “Chica, wait for me!”

“I knew that!” Foxy huffed back with a lash of his tail. The basement started to feel a little small, and Mike pulled another breath in through his teeth. Oh, god. He’d had nightmares just like this, back when he’d first started on the night shift...except he wasn’t sleeping now. He was awake, and this was real-

“I, ah, don’t suppose I could get a hand?” Mike froze, and slowly looked back down at the trapdoor to see Freddy himself seemingly wedged in the stairway opening. Behind him, he could also see the glow from Sam’s LED hat band, somewhere back within the tunnel. “I’m not as slim as the rest of you, you know!” The bear admitted.

“Aye, let’s get’che out o’ there.” Foxy reached out with his good hand to grab Freddy’s and started to pull, with Sam - presumably - pushing from behind. After a few more seconds of staring, Puppet edged out from behind Mike to help. Mike, however, remained frozen in place, and a few shades paler than he probably should have been as he tried to comprehend how one of his darkest nightmares was becoming reality right before his eyes-

“Oh, wow!” Chica’s voice echoed from somewhere upstairs - somewhere on the second floor. “It looks like Parts & Services up here, only better lit! Bonnie, you have to come see this!”

“That’s my-! Oh no.” Mike’s eyes popped wide, and he finally broke out of his frozen stupor to bolt for the stairs, leaving Puppet, Foxy, and Sam alone to try and pry the pizzeria star out through the too-small trapdoor in the floor. “That’s my room! Don’t touch anything!”

He passed Bonnie in the living room, seemingly enamoured by the many framed photos hung up behind the couch, and nearly tripped running up the stairs before he caught himself on the banister. It wasn’t until he’d made it up to the landing and thrown open his bedroom door that Mike realized that he...had no real plan for confronting the animatronic inside. He froze again in the doorway, panting, and struggling for words as Chica ‘ooh’ed and ‘ahh’ed over the variety of drawings and unfinished projects strewn about his desk.

“Whoa!!!” Chica picked up a pipe-and-wire hand model that he’d given up on three months ago, and cradled it in her hands with the reverence of a child holding a coveted toy for the first time. “This is just like our endoskeletons! Mr. Schmidt, I didn’t know you could build things!”

“I-. Uh. Um.” The unexpected praise made it even harder for Mike to find his words, and he stumbled for an embarrassingly long time before he heard the creaking of the stairs, and felt a towering presence at his back.

“Oh, neat!” Bonnie pushed his way into the room, causing Mike to stumble forward, as well, and gleefully batted at the punching bag still hanging from the ceiling next to his bed. “Heheh, what’s this thing? Does it make noise?”

“No, it-. It doesn’t make noise.” Mike reached out a hand to stop the bag from swinging, and hoped the feeling of the synthetic leather against his hand would help snap him back to reality. It didn’t do much. “It’s for hitting.”

“Oh.” Bonnie seemed to lose interest at this answer, and turned to face Chica, who had moved on to looking at the posters and pictures hanging on the wall. “Oh!” Bonnie zeroed in on one in particular, and Mike winced internally. “Who’s this kid? I haven’t seen them at the pizzeria before.”

“Yeah, you have. That’s, uh.” Mike found himself wishing he’d never framed that dumb childhood photo. “That’s me.”

“That’s you?!” Bonnie and Chica both crowded around the frame, now, and Mike prayed to any deity listening that his floor would hold under them. “Aww! You used to be so cute!”

“Bonnie!” Chica gasped, and tweaked one of the rabbit’s ears. “That’s so rude! He’s still cute!”

“......” Mike pressed both hands over his face, and leaned back until he was sitting on his bed as the two animatronics began to squabble.

Maybe, if he just sat here for long enough, his brain would get tired of this nightmare, and he’d wake up?

#fnaf #fnaf fanfic #mun's writing #Mike Schmidt #Freddy #Chica #Bonnie #Foxy #Puppet #Safety Officer Sam

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redrobinhoood · 4 years

Text

catch me i'm falling | one-shot

A/N: There’s not enough angst in the Foxiyo fandom and I’m here to fix that. Full work posted here, optional AO3 link.

AO3 Link | 1,800 words (approx)

Summary: Riyo regrets the view from her window. All it has ever done is give her a look at her world as it falls apart. [Unrated, Major Character Death]

For the second time in her life, Riyo regretted the view out of her window. The first time, Fox had been called on with the highest priority and run to his command. She had been preparing for bed by herself when she noticed a new light from her bedroom window. Opening the blinds, she had beheld the Jedi Temple in flames. That night, she had sat in her living room until dawn, clutching a cup of tea as she watched the Temple burn. She hadn’t seen Fox again for a week, until he’d appeared at her office with empty eyes and very little to say. Then, he had held her as she cried for all they had lost.

Now, she had been preparing for bed, alone once again, when she heard the muffled explosion. She ran to the living room to watch as a plume of smoke rose from the side of the Jedi Temple. She could’ve sworn she saw a green blade dancing with a red one amongst the smoke. But that was impossible, the Jedi were gone. She saw the patrol transport move towards the blast site and wondered what was going on. She wondered if Fox was there. He had been ordered to secure the Jedi Temple for reasons unknown. Surely he was still on-site. She swallowed the panic rising in her throat, returning to the bathroom to brush out the unnatural curls that her senatorial hairstyling had left behind. Seconds later, the second explosion shook her mirror and she ran back to the window to see smoke rising from a neighborhood bordering the Temple. The holonews held no answers for her. Now, once again, she couldn’t sleep. She slipped on a loose pair of pants over the romper she had been wearing and sat down on the couch to watch the smoke billow into the night.

A knock on the door disturbed her. She glanced towards the clock to check the late hour, then rose and walked to the door. She brought up the image of a white and red clone on her doorstep and pressed the button to speak.

“Hello?”

“Senator Chuchi, it’s Jek.”

Of course it was, she could see very clearly his distinctive marks from wear and tear across his armor. She couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that the late visit had brought to her. Still, it was Jek. She opened the door. “What brings you here at this hour, Jek?” She hadn’t seen him, nor any of the clones besides Fox, in weeks. They had been overwhelmed by the formation of their new Empire and the government was in chaos.

Jek sighed and took off his helmet so that she could see his face. He wasn’t crying, nor had he been crying, but he looked like he was on the verge of bursting into tears. “Thire sent me. Commander Fox is dead.”

For a moment, she wondered who Commander Fox was and why she would want to know if he was dead. Then it hit her that it was her Fox, her beloved commander, and she felt something inside her break. Jek reached out for her as she swayed, steadying her in his arms. She wrapped her arms around his neck for support, focusing her gaze on the looping tattoo on his neck as she tried to remember how to balance on her legs, how to stand. She’d known that this day may come, that every time she said goodbye to Fox it could be for the last time, but nothing could’ve prepared her for the sheer numbness that was filling her.

“I want to see his body.” The words spilled out before she could think of them in her mind. She almost hoped that he would refuse her, allow her last memory of Fox to be of him leaning down over her on the couch, afternoon sunlight streaming across his features, to kiss her before departing to his station. Was that really only hours ago?

Jek took a deep breath, pulling her closer into a proper hug. “Okay.”

---

He brought her to the wreckage of the patrol transport she had heard crash earlier. Small fires still burnt amongst the twisted remains and the smell of burning metal filled the area. Jek refused to leave the speeder, but pointed her to the white and red armor of Commander Thire, who was talking with the fire suppression team. She made her way over to him, wishing she’d grabbed something with sleeves so that she could’ve covered her nose. He noticed her before she was upon them and stepped back to greet her.

“Riyo.” He sounded tired. The blatant use of her name threw her off for a moment, but she pushed on to stand beside him.

“Thire.” How long had it been since she’d seen him? She knew that he had been involved with the hunt for the Jedi who had attempted to assassinate the then Chancellor, taking perhaps the most proactive role in the Coruscant Guard in the Jedi Purge besides Commander Stone, who had been killed at the Jedi Temple on the night it burned. She wondered how he could sleep at night. Maybe he couldn’t.

She turned her attention from the commander into the wreckage beside them. There were scattered bits of burnt plastoid littering the ground and a few shapes which she recognized as burnt bodies. She bit her tongue as she continued to scan the site. Peeking out from underneath part of the wreckage she could see a pair of familiar boots. Rys. How many times had she seen those boots next to her? She’d know them almost as well she knew her own shoes. She understood why Jek had elected to stay in the speeder. Beside him, a little way away from the wreckage, she saw a set of red armor. She stepped forward but Thire grabbed her and pulled her back. The numbness inside her lifted, making room for crushing despair.

“Please. Please, let me see him. Please. Please. Please!” She fought against his grip as she sobbed, screaming at him to let her go. He didn’t say a thing, just held her until her voice was hoarse and her struggles had stilled. When Thire’s grip on her loosened she nearly fell to the ground. She would have fallen if he had not caught her and pulled her close to him. She didn’t notice the fleeting glances that some of the clones on-site sent her way. None of them approached.

“Riyo, you won’t be able to unsee this. Are you sure?” Thire finally said as he steadied her.

“Please, Thire. I owe him this much.” She wished he’d take off his helmet so that she could plead her case to a man and not a suit of armor. Yet, she couldn’t bear to see Fox’s face staring back at her; or Rys’, or any of the clones that had been on the gunship.

Thire nodded and helped her to her feet. He walked over with her to the red armor- she refused to think of it as Fox- and stood behind her as she fell to her knees beside the body. She reached for the stretch of black between Fox’s chest plate and helmet, slipping her hand under his neck. She was horrified when it bent unnaturally under her touch and she realized how he must have died. Swallowing her fear, she reached instead for his helmet, trying not to jostle his head as she removed it. Thire had knelt down behind her and he now lay his hands on her shoulders. She took Fox’s face in her hands and ran her thumbs numbly across his cheeks. How many times had she done this while he was alive; taken off his helmet and ran her hands across his face as if it belonged to her. She was thankful that his eyes were closed, though a look of sadness was still etched into his brow and lips. She realized that he must’ve begged to be spared in his final moments. She could never picture her proud Fox begging for his life, but maybe he did, for her. She continued to run her thumbs across his face as she took in his features for the last time. She almost missed Thire reaching out from behind her to prod at Fox’s throat.

“The crash didn’t kill him.” He’d taken off his helmet. His voice was level, detached, as if he was going through his thought processes out loud for her benefit. “Neither did our men, there would be bruising. But he was dead long before this ship hit the ground.” He brought his hand back to her shoulder. “It was a nearly instantaneous death, Riyo. He would’ve barely felt it.”

“You know who killed him then.” She didn’t turn around and Thire didn’t answer. “Please, tell me.”

“I did. I was the one who found him, on Mustafar. I brought the medical capsule. I saved his life. This is all my fault.”

Riyo finally turned to look at Thire. He wasn’t crying, but the blank look on his face was worse. She’d been afraid to see Fox in Thire’s face, but felt more afraid when she realized that she couldn’t. “Thire, please.”

“Vader.” He looked out at the debris around them and Riyo felt a chill run down her spine despite the heat. She let out a shaky breath and buried her face in the crook of Fox‘s neck. She almost hoped that she would feel his arms wrap around her as they always had before. But she was too late.

---

Her apartment felt empty. It had always felt empty without Fox there, ever since the first night he had stayed in her bed. She kept waiting for him to walk in the door and tell her how he had faked his death so that they could run away together. But that would never happen. She knew that it had been Fox that she’d buried that day. Not that she’d buried him. His body had been taken by the Republic.

She sat as she usually did now, alone in her chair with her datapad and Fox’s helmet in her lap. She had been permitted to take that much, and Thire, the new commanding officer of the Coruscant Guard, had later brought her his bracers. As she reviewed her notes, she ran her fingers across the plastoid, tracing the painted stripes or the exaggerated features.

A message chimed across the top of her datapad from Senator Organa. She opened it.

‘Are you with us?’

Maybe it was inappropriate for him to take advantage of her grief. When Bail had asked for her thoughts on the Empire before, she had turned him down- fearing retaliation. She wasn’t afraid anymore. Riyo clutched the helmet to her so hard as to dig the plastoid into her skin as she responded.

‘Yes’

Vader would pay.

#foxiyo #commander fox #cc-1010 #riyo chuchi #my fics #oneshot

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Hickman’s X-Men Line: One Year in Part 1: Prelude, House and Powers of X, X-Men and New Mutants (Hickman)

Under the cut is an explination of how hickman’s run happened (the mass decay will be covered another time probably), and dives into his x-books: house of x, powers of x,x-men and his breif run on new mutants and what i thought. Pax Krakoa baby.

One year ago, I breathed a sigh of relief as I read the utterly masterful house of x #1. See for the past few months, i’d been waiting on baited breath for this comic with a level of anticipation not matched by any before or since. Even the debut of a spinoff to Chew, one of my faviorite comics of all time that i deftnetly need to do a retrospective on, this week got within the same galaxy and it still wasn’t on the same level. This was big, grandiose and everything I hoped for. And whatever issues I had as House and it’s sister series came out slowly died out as the full story unfolded, my jaw dropped and my faith in Hickman to save the x-men was fully delivered. At last the x-men were back on top. And it was going to be one hell of a ride.

As you probably know the x-men had been treated pretty badly at marvel due to fox having the movie rights, a move that still baffles and frustrates me. Instead of making money to rub in fox’s face by promoting the hell out of them in merchandise, animation, video games and of course comics ALONGSIDE the avengers, they basically ignored the x-men and fantastic four to give fox less to work with to spite them while fox.. entirely ignored this as since both franchises have been around since the 60′s and the x-men had had mountains of spinoffs to give them mountains of characters. So in short: a decision to spite and hurt their compeitors only cost marvel money, pissed off fans and fox’s eventual absortion as far as I can tell had absolutely nothing to do with any of this.

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Thankfully marvel DID stop being stupid eventually and relented: The Fantastic Four came back a year before house of x with a decent run by dan slott, which is thankfully more like earlier spider-man work and ff work, and less like what his spider-man run became from superior onward despite the ocasional misfire but i’ll talk about both runs another day. I mostly bring it up because with this revivial, marvel also slowly reintegrated the four back into the marvel universe and made their return feel like a big deal. The X-Men however took a bit: while they got an earlier shot at returning with ressurxion. Buuut with the idea of having hickman return in their back pocket, marvel apparently refused, at least according to cullen bunn who I fell has no real reason to lie, to let the writers rock the boat too much and the era perdictably was just meh, especially flagship book X-Men Gold which was written bafflingly by Mark Gugenhiem and outside of one or two good ideas basically felt like the comics equivlent of one of those party store albums where every song is a cover done by someone who couldn’t give half a damn. There were bright spots though with Cullen Bunn finishing out his awesome x-men tenure with x-men blue, Sina Grace’s wonderful iceman that took the wonky execution of Bendis’ decision to make bobby drake gay and made it work beautifully, and the decent if somewhat baffling x-men red. But overall it just felt like a missed opportunity and with the fox deal in bloom and a new EiC, marvel NEEDED something bigger, bolder and grander to do with marvel’s strangest heroes of all. After all all eyes would be on them while Marvel’s Movie department took a few years, probably longer now thanks to the pandemic, to let things cool off before bringing the x-men into the mcu. Enter Jonathan Hickman: Writer of another one of my faviorite runs of all time, his Fantastic Four run, along with an enjoyable but heavily flawed avengers run, a secret warriors run i’ve read half of that was a hell of a ride, tons of ultimate comics, and a bunch of indies I haven’t read but are probably great. A wordy weirdo and i’m convinced the second coming of grant morrison, and I hope one day the two work together on something tha’ts equal parts weird and amazing.

The morrison comparison is also apt as both came into the X-Men at a time when the x-men badly needed them: Just like Hickman morrison had to deal with a largely stagnant x-men and changed them to fit the times. And yes unsuprisngly i’ll also be covering morrisons run, warts and all, and it’s also one of my faviorite comics of all time. However Hickman was given a huge advtange his spirtiual predecessor, and really few comics writers EVER have gotten: full control of the x-men line. Unlike morrison who wasn’t even allowed to use certain characters despite writing the main fucking x-book, Hickman got full creative control: full say in the direction of the story, full say in who came on board and to let them pitch whatever they wanted to do. And honestly it’s an apporach that’s not only reovlutionarly but makes the books FEEL like their actually occuring around the same time. Sure their all still seperate entities, but it DOES feel like one coheisive universe. Contrastingly with the avengers Black Panther’s solo has had him on a year long sojurn in space, before returning to earth.. while also running the avengers over in jason aaron’s run and having his own spinoff team, without any fucking clue as to when intergalactic empire of wakanda takes place in relation to everything else. Tony Stark is currently just taking back both his own damn name and the iron man name in his own book, but is also a major player in avengers, and empyre with no mention of his seeming drunken spiral (itw as a ploy) or arno taking up the armor and I feel these issues rather than the neglect the x-men once had are why krakoa’s impact isn’t being felt more in other titles. I’m not saying don’t let books do their own thing, but I am saying let them have fucking consequences and weight instead of just acting like one isn’t happening or at the very least have a character be absent for an arc so you can fit the other stories into continuity easier. As X-Men’s shown it dosen’t stifle inovation and hell even immortal hulk easily fit into no road home with a fucking note saying “this takes place before x issue” it’s not that hard. This advantage was likely part of Hickman’s terms for coming back. See the x-men were the one thing at marvel he never got to do. The Gillieon and Aaron runs and Bendis runs meant the spot simply wasn’t open and by the time he was leaving it was clear marvel wanted to bury the x-men not praise them, so his ideas had no run. But the X-Men were what got Jonathan into comics. A shocking fact I learned at last years comic con, during which most of the dawn of x titles were revealed, was he WASN’T a fantastic four or avengers fan as a kid, not hating them but like me with the avengers for some time, not really caring about them. But with both runs, he did his homework, read as much as possible, and BECAME a fan, and it shows as both runs show a deep love for both marvel and the teams present. With X-Men they were his dream, his golden goose, his windmill, he just never was in the right place at the right time... but with Marvel needing his starpower and creativity and having nothing to loose with the x-men and badly needing a big run to hlep keep intrest in the x-men till the new movies, he finally was. So seeing the company needed him and he could get his dream and the control he needed, while dc had just taken bendis, didn’t need him and until very recently was ran by a moron, his choice to come back to marvel instead of go to dc as he’s admitted, was obvious. And it ended up being the right one. House and Powers of x were massive creative and commerical hits and the following titles have all been mostly praised. The new direction has been a boon for the franchise,k the fans and marvel. So being a fan of this direction, as you can tell by the massive intro, to give my thoughts on each book so far: what I think their doing right, where some went wrong etc, since I’d rather wait another year or so befor ediving into these and let some more of hickman’s plans and future story hints spread throughout his books pay off first. WIth that all out of the way it’’s time for a deep dive of x.So grab some plant based snacks, your x-shaped helmets, and your krakoan coffee, it’s time to finally get into hickman’s era of x-men.

HOUSE OF X AND POWERS OF X The opening salvo and just with two mini series that are one, though why he DIDN’T just have them be one big mini series I genuinely do not know, probably to justify having two diffrent artists to carry the load, is an utter masterpiece. Plain and simple. Let’s get the status quo the series set up out of the way so I can dig into it more: Magento and Xavier were revealed to have been working together for years behind the scenes.. with Moira Mactaggert, one of my favoirite x characters who the series changes utterly and forever. See instead of being the one human who consitantly is on mutants side and one of the x-men’s staunchest allies who sadly hadn’t been resusrected in 20 fucking years, she was a mutant herself, her ablility being reincarnation.. and thus had lived through 9 of her 10 lives seeing mutantkind always loose so told xavier and magneto about this in the hopes of breaking the wheel and letting mutantkind live this time. However hickman , while revealing the alliance does brilliantly still make it work in continuity for me: it’s clear from moira’s notes in one issue, as house and powers and any following titles love having charts or text based sections that I feel give the comics a unique flavor and really help boost most issues, that Charles optimism she was trying to break him of and faith in humanity took years to fully shatter: he plotted and schemed with her to protect his species but it was clear he probably felt it woudln’t be necessary that humanity would prove her wrong.. and by this series it’s clear, no they haven’t changed, the majority of them just want to genocide mutants and have tried again and again and again while the rest who don’t necessarily want it, paticuarlly the superheroes did nothing while Magneto chaffed against her after the whole “alter his infant self after he was deaged by a mutant he made into a baby to be more pacificsitc which naturally pissed him off when that wore off”. Yes that’s a thing that actually happened pre and post retcons it’s why a survivor of the holocaust is , while not a YOUNG man, still healthy and vibrant. It’s a clever way to not undermine those stories while still telling this one and this retcon is a move I like as unlike most retcons it’s both there to tell a good story and excuted in a way that outside of moira dosen’t undermine anything. The Moira retcon I was and to a degree still am mixed on. While the new version of her is brilliant, creative and intresting and I can’t wait to see what happens with her next time she shows up, I do mourn the old as the x-men had few human allies and now their only big one is now a mutant herself, but it IS in service of a really damn good narraitive and the twist that the bad futures presented were in fact other lives of moira was brilliant, and it’s nice to see SOMETHING done with her. I’d rather something that i have a small problem with lead to really great things and be worth the sacrifice of her former character, than just changing things because “fuck it I want to do this and their letting me do this’ as a lot of retcons tend to be. Hickman’s story needs moira and her cycle of defeat to truly soar to the heights it’s reaching, and to make Charles and Xavier’s back alley actions make sense, so i’ll glady sacrifce one version of a character that I really liked for another version of her that’s also really good. The other big swing though I was completley on board for: Hinted at early on by serveral dead mutants being alived, after a sucidie mission against new big bads and mutant hating extermists orchis, who are far better written than other extermists, it’s revealed just why death has seemingly taken a holiday: the big plan that has been decades in the making for xavier and co? That will reshape mutant kind and required working with mr sinsiter of all people? Revivie all dead mutants. See in a brilliant reveal Cerebro isn’t just a mutant tracker; It’s a copier, copying their essecnes reaguarly and storing them for later, updating them every so often and thus meaning any who died can come back. Why it took Chuck so long to do this is also explained as he needed 5 specific mutant power sets to do it and thus had to wait till they had everything they needed: Goldballs, yes goldballs, spits out his giant golden balls, phrasing, which hickman in an insane and awesome turn revealed to be EGGS. Yes EGGS. Proteus, Moira’s son and former villian whose now pacificed since this body cloning process means he has an infnite suply of xavier bodies to burn through and thus isn’t killing people, warps reality to mamke the eggs viable. Elixir, a healer whose been through some shit the poor guy,gives the eggs , once injected with the mutant in questions dna via syringe because of course, life, and Tempus, goldballs former classmate fellow bendis creation and mistress of time, speeds it up a bit so they don’t have to wait a good few decades for some mutants to rerez. The fifth that makes all this possible is hope summers, mutant messiah and adopted daughter of cable returned to promence once more, whose power is revealed to be power maniulation and thus can boost their powers to the degree neded for this. it’s a BRILLIANT turn that not only undoes all the pointless deaths mutants have undergone, but changes the game: Genocide is now near impossible, as humanity has no idea bout any of htis, and instead of mutant lives going down, they can only go once.. as one man once put it...

And as an x-men fan having watched characters I love die again and again for stupid reasons, especially int he placeholder run right before house of x, this was so satsifying. Everyone the x-men had lost, every character I loved who was gone and forgotten.. they were back or would be back. And thanks to Krakoa they were thriving: By giving mutantkind a homeland instead of a headquarters, a nation given to one of their own because he demanded itbasically, or an island fortress designed to give a dying species refuge, they have a goregous sentient island (I’ve always loved krakoa for the record though I wonder what happened to his clone son), with abundant food, teleporting gates across the world to visit wherever they like or live in the various worldwide habitats if they please, and peace and security they’ve neve rknown. No more being woken up to get to a panic room because a sentienl attacked. No more having religious maniacs blow up busses containing your tine. No more having the vast majority of the superhero community do nothing as a fucking plauge cloud wipes out your species. Anything apporaching krakoa now has hundreds of the most powerful beings alive defending all mutants.. and that includes the worst of the worst, all given amntesty.. but they must tow the line or else be given a fate worse than death. After years of pain and suffering and misery mutantkind is free safe and happy. They still have to fight to get the rest of their kind out of racist hands and to saftey, the fight’s not over.. but now the odds are in mutantkinds favor. It’s paradise. And yet this mini, and this whole run dosen’t run from tough issues; The mutants are now isolationists and only mutants are allowed on krakoa itself.. on the one hand this is a bad idelogy and potentially dangerous, instead of fighting for harmony fighting for my land alone.. but it’s also see why Mutantkind has taken to it. The X-Men have tried for at the least a decade in universe and at the most and most likely 15 years to live in harmony, fight for mankind and make peace with them.. and only a small chunk has acutally tried to help them with that. The other large fraction? They either build death machines to try and wipe out all mutants, and in the case of Cassandra NOva who while not a human is still a racist genocidal bitch, SUCCEED in wiping out a large chunk, or do nothing while mutantkind suffers. The series forces you to think about the implications that marvel comics themselves previous ignored: That with all the superheros in this world who arent mutants.. more often than not htey’ve done fuck all when terrible shit happens. When Genosha died, not a one asked the x-men what happened or tried to hunt down those responsible. When Decemation happened, the avengers were more concerned with helping the x-men cover it up than helping them move on and did nothing as the goverment made xavier’s into a reservation, even after regrestration happened and the goverment had more heroes than ever to spare to helping them. When the T-Mist happened years later instead of stopping terrigin or asking the inhumans to stop it for the good of another race, the rest of the heroes just did fuck all. Sure the avengers were on a budget and the ff were asbent, but there were enough heroes in the world still and enough teams to do something about it and only the ones with mutants on them did!. IT’s hard to say “well you shoudln’t exclude them”.. when the rest of superhero kind has been subtly doing it their whole lives. But it dosen’t shy away from the claims of racial superiority the isoaltion or the fact the x-men basically sued for nationhood by making requiring recognizing their nation hood the price for trading for their life saving and extending, world changing drugs, which you would still need to buy. There’s other issues, one that i’ll get to in a moment as it was only revealed in x-men. Various characters, Corsair in issue one of the ongoing, the fincial summit in issue 4 and the ff both in house of x #1 and ff/x-men, all question this and some of the ethics. Hickman brilliantly decides instead of just painting the x-men as absolute moral rights, to show their new nation warts and all: the genuine good their doing and trying to do but also the price they have to pay for it and the mistakes they may be making. And the compromise necessary to build a nation. It’s all chiling, compelling shit that’s even more releveant in a time when bigotry is piling up like crazy. Both house and x-men, which i’ll get to in a second, ask questions with no easy answers and it makes them a compelling read. Also compelling is the two mini series use of flashbacks: The two previous moira timelines, which we learn are just that as we go, are compelling with the apoclaypse timeline having loveable heroes were are heartbroken to see die in the struggle, while the last timeline seemingly sees the mutants turn as bad as the humans.. only to peel back a layer at the end and reveal humans are still very much the real monsters, and them evolving via machine is a threat to mutant kind's natural evolution. It was a good story twist and of course there’s FAR more to dig into in both books, and I defintely will at some point in the future as I said. But there’s tons of great ideas here: Sinsiter not only being a mutant but a reluctant ally, the same of apocalyspe, the heavy questions I got into above, the idea of machines being mutants greatest threat which makes a ton of sense, and the various ones I already went into. I can’t gush about this book enough, but since this is already long enough i’m trying. The point is both mini series are great and how you do a self contianed event perfectlY plenty of consequence, plenty of scope but enough character and brilliant ideas and a FUCK TON of quotable and iconic lines, all blend into one of the very best series i’ve ever read. And lead directly into..

X-Men I talked about a lot of what this book represents above as it’s a direct continuation of the above, but the book on it’s own is still something diffrent. while it continues setting things up, playing with the new toybox hickman set up, and asking the tough questions, x-men does it in a diffrent way. House and Powers bounce around through time while all telling one huge story and one huge bundle of setup for this status quo. X-Men instead is a bunch of single issues. It’s still a ton of setup, though with enough payoff to house and powers that it at least so far hasn’t become tedious, especailly since hickman specifically has plans for all of it and has shown in the past he’s a long game man when it comes to storytelling, but through more action packed stories that, with the exception of mistque’s spotlight issue so far, have one shared element: Cyclops, aka Scott Summers, who as grand captain of krakoa is the nation’s ruling council’s go to guy for missions and who he himself can form any team he once for any mission. Cyclops, like the x-men hadn’t been treated well for years; Various characters lambasted him after the phoenix force drove him mad and lead to him killing charles xavier, and before that his run as leader of utopia, not helped by x-force painting him as a cold heartless dickweed, had him forced to make questionable decisions that made fans turn agains thim despite the hard position he was in. But now with the burden of absolute leadership of mutantkind in other hands, HIckman writes scott beautifully and has restored him to his proper place. WIth Xavier taking over as absolute leader of mutantkind and his race no longer hanging by a thread for the first time in years scott can relax and ENJOY himself. As the first issue shows he has everything he ever could have possibly wanted: A healthy marriage with Jean again, and an open one at that with him free to still see emma and Jean openly seeing Logan. Logan himself no longer trying to murder scott for his mistakes or kill his teenage self due to bad writing, but being his best friend again and also living with him and presumibly having threeways because they have connected bedrooms and of course jean would want both at once. Maybe they also just fuck each other sometimes again the details haven’t exactly been clear but it’d explain the tension disappearing. Maybe the schism would’ve ended quicker if Cyclops and Wolverine just fucked each other after children of the atom. Hey not every question is a deep personal one on krakoa sometimesm it’s just “Are these two fucking and could it have solved things faster in the past if they did?”. Also I almost forgot to mention, and added this near the end of writing this, in additoin to everything else scott now lives ON THE FUCKING MOON, on the blue area with a breathable atompshere, on a moon house with his family and fuckbuddy and Vulcan’s buddys. It’s fucking amazing. But moving back to other things scott’s gotten besides logan’s wang up his butt, as seen in issue one thanks to the gates his dad can now visit anytime, his brothers live with him with Vulcan going from genocidal dickweed to weirdo thanks to his experinces between his “death’ and this series, and he’s just. happy. And as a leader he takes the x-men on thrilling missions: the series combines action with character and worldbuilding and it is great. The worldbuilding part has been tremendous; we’ve seen new foes in the returning children of the vault and horticulture, aka what if the golden girls were tv ma, and also plant based supervillians plotting a better future for mankind that krakoa’s drugs clash with. We’ve seen nimrod creeping close, charles and magneto not playing ball with mystique start to backfire, the return of krakoa’s lost love, and in my faviorite arc, we’ve seen broo, one of my faviorite x-people and intellegent brood, eat an egg and thus become god emperor of the brood, not only giving the vicious race a chance to reform but giving the x-men a huge advatange in space, doubeldby events we’ll get to in a second. And biggest of all we saw the crucible: Since those depwoered by the decimation can get power back by dying again, and to prevent overworking the five with mass sucidies krakoa came up with a nasty solution,: earning resurection via ritual combat. And like the above there aren’t easy answers to this: mass sucidie isn’t better or faster, but having mutatns forced to EARN repowering by dying brutally isn’t a great solution either and is kind of sick. And it also opens up questions about ressurectoin that Nightcrawler feels made need reegion to answer htem. It’s again good heavy instreating stuff. We also got my faviorite issue #4 where the x-men go to a fincial summit, and while security detail cyclops and gorgon fight off hired goons...

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Xavier, Magneto and Apocalypse discuss with world leaders about the implications of krakoa’s policys, with Magneto not hiding his love of flexing his superiority. And Charles ends the confrence, after it’s revealed one hired them in an utterly masterful moment: Taking off his helmet to reveal no this is charles, this is him and that even after they tried assintating him he has and always will love humanity he’s just sick of being treated like crap and suffering for doing it and his people suffering for it and he won’t tolerate this sort of shit again. See it for yourself it’s an absolute triumph:

It’s a great scene. Overall an utterly great title that really keeps the momentum moving and I feel is only setting up for even more things.. the only real issue is that A) the title’s been slower at coming out than the other dawn of x titles, though in the case of the empyre tie in’s it’s not hteir fault but the rest sure as shit are, and B) that it has mostly been just setup but it’s been good enough and enjoyable enough and I feel payoff is coming, so I truly don’t care. At long last we have a main x-men book that’s not only fantastic but uttterly engaging and I read most issues multiple times. An utter slam dunk

Giant Sized X-Men: This one is incomplete, so I can’t fully say what the full picture is.. but for the three released so far it’s a mixed bag, though the art in all three is gorgeous as Hickman brought on the best artists in the buisness but it’s telling that while New Mutants bellow had issues that bugged me but was still kinda fun, and the above havem y utter priase I nearly forgot to include these issues. None of them are bad and all have gorgeous art as I said, these are some of the best in the buisness, they feel padded. These were supposed to be annuals, but when they decided to change this to one shots.. they shoudl’ve just made them regular length instead, as there simply isn’t enough story here to fill them and so far only Davis’ issue has both had huge setup (both revealing doug’s fusion with warlock is a secret for some reason and that he is indeed still fully alive and revealing what happened to the x-mansion), and due to Davis background as a writer/artist the pacing to fill one issue and even then it could’ve been trimmed. Not bad and I don’t fault the artists for not being used to being writer/artists or having to do so while also conforming to a larger narriative which likely didn’t help or in the third one’s case having to take over for someone else entirely, but it’s , while not bad no ton par with the two above books and I expect better from hickman.

New Mutants (HIckman’s Issues) I’ll cover Brisson’s issues next time as they feel like a diffrent run entirely, but New Mutants was.. a disapointment. I was utterly pumped for this title going in being a huge fan of the team thanks to finally reading the claremont and sikenwitz run and before that re-reading abnett and lannings utterly great run and hey jonathan hickman who’d already done gangbusters was writing it! It had a great roster!

And it starreed one of hickman’s faviorite mutants and one he’d taken a shine to on avengers, and one of my faviorite superheros, Roberto DeCosta, aka Sunspot. On Avengers hickman took Roberto , already a decent character and made him amazing. He was still rich, young and a playboy as ever.. but he used said wealth and his love of fun wisely. When undercover at an AIM casino instead fo throw down, he offers the agents a free day of partying and gambling on his huge dime, then puts them on payroll as his undercover agents. So to recap Roberto DeCosta won the avengers two valuable double agents in what at the time was one of their biggest threats.. by buying them tons of beer and gambling and presumibly hookers. And later got the loyatly of the rest of AIM through these guys, and when Steve found out tony betrayed him and went off hte deep end hunting him instead of stopping the end of the goddamn world, TOOK OVER AIM HIMSELF IN COMBAT WITH THE AIM SUPREME, and then formed his own avengers.

Literally. He got his own avengers team, most of which left after the apocalypse but he simply found younger and hungrier replacements, and aim.. with blackjack and hookers. The man is a legend. And knowing Roberto if hookers were actually involved he probably treated them with respect and overpayed them because he’s a class act. Then under Al Ewing’s mighty pen, Roberto not only formed another avengers team since most of the avengers he formed to stop the end of the world were busy elsewhere, of young and great avengers, while dying of the aformentioned death cloud, but became an utterly brilliant chessmaster, only failing ONCE becaue of hydra cap getting into his head while AIM was working for the us goverment towards the end as the USAvengers. And yes that’s a real team. It’s as insane and beautiful as it sounds. And his new avengers once fought american kaiju, a godzilla with a flag painted on it chaning usa. Al Ewing is the best and I love him. But he also became a master stratigest and schemer with schemes within schemes within schemes, his crowning one being faking his own death and using his fake funeral to clear out any remaning enimies in AIm, and only quitting AIM to keep it out of goverment hands and in the hands of a trusted friend. He was and still is one of the best avengers there ever was and ever will be. But here, as the new mutants go on a road trip to get sam? He’s a fucking dumbass who hires the worst space laywer possible, only gets off trial because Sam and his wife save them, glad they weren’t broken up by the way, and is utterly useless most of the time. It’s like HIckman forgot the last part of his run.. granted time runs out isn’t very good but still, that wasn’t a good thing to forget and like Hickman wants to ignore ewing’s work for no damn reason, even though Ewing did great things with Roberto and kept him relevant when marvel was choking the x-men to death. It’s fucking embrassing and disapointing to see. The rest of the New Mutants aren’t much better mostly being happy but also not really acting like themselves, with only mondo really standing out since he gets great moments and hasn’t done anything in a while. And Doug, who I negelcted to mention above is one of my faviorite mutants and thanks to being krakoa’s primary method of commuincation, is now one of krakoa’s most important mutants, has a seat at the council with krakoa, and weirdly has his best friend warlock hiding on his arm for reasons that haven’t been explained yet. In Short doug went from beign forgotten to being used awesomely again. Roberto instead of getting the same is set back as a character and ends the arc deciding to stay in space because he misses sam, and will likely become third in his marriage i’m sure, and wants to bone deathbird, x-men villian and frequent shiar usuper. But while rahne actually being happy is a good sight to behold they , except Dani, really dont’ do much. Though Magik gets a fucking amazing scene where she asks the various assasians sent ot kill them if they want to make out , not only revealing she’s bi, but that she’d prefer that to killing them all but does so when they dumbly refuse .. I mean seriously who, whose not in a relationship that’s open or way older than her, not take her up on that? The plot their thrust into isnt’ great either, mostly just more setup but not present as well as in x-men about Gladiator giving the shiar empire to xavier’s daughter.. yes charles has a daughter that was created from his and his ex wife lilandra, whose still dead’s dna, and letting DEATHBIRD Of all people teach her instead of his damn self. Xandra taking over isn’t a terrible idea it’s just handeld poorly. It just feels disapointing.. like hickman WANTS to do a JLI style book here but the combination of him only doing one arc and not really wanting to write the characters as they should be, an issue that only pops up here and in the new mutants cameo during x-men proper and not for doug ever, that makes it fall falt.. I mean there are utterly great moments like the above, and hte image i used to lead off their just stifled by misusing roberto and everyone else.

But overall hickman’s works on x-men are fucking great, intresting and engaging. I’ve read the issues a ton and will again. One small mistep dosen’t take away from all the large good he’s done and he’s made the franchise feel alive again and hopefully the MCU take on it will take after this run, as it’d be a great way to break from the endless xavier vs magneto battles of the fox universe. So yeah overall 2 great books and a thankfully short misfire, HIckman’s on top. And next time we’ll see who he picked to help him carry the x banner home to us all, and who did well with it and whose stumbled a bit as part two delves into the rest of the dawn of x. For now subscribe for more comics stuff as I plan to get back on that, including I hope a restrospective on the fox era x-men sometime soon, animation reviews, and more fun stuff. And until then, courage.

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king-finnigan · 4 years

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I Found Something In The Woods Somewhere - Chapter 1

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier

Genre/Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, tw: suicide mention in chapter 3 (minor character, not graphic), Cursed Jaskier

Words: 3,000 per chapter, 3 chapters

Summary: After getting wounded by a particularly nasty Kikimora, Geralt spends a week in the woods, fighting an infection and ailing. When he finally wakes up, a scream rings through the forest. He finds the source: a wounded fox. But as he approaches the creature, he can't help but notice the bright blue eyes, and how familiar they seem.

A/n: Special thanks to @panlesters for being my beta! This fic, and especially the first chapter, is heavily inspired by In The Woods Somewhere by Hozier. This is chapter 1 of 3, and I will post the next 2 chapters sometime this week as well. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoy, and don’t hesitate to leave a like and a comment if you feel like it!

You can also read this on AO3! Masterlist here.

Faces floated in front of his eyes as he tried to keep them open, his vision fading out and reappearing every few seconds. The world swayed around him, sweat dripping from his brow. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to fight the dizziness washing over him. Behind closed eyelids, he saw the face of his mother, her red hair and kind eyes treacherous. Yennefer appeared next to her, all raven curls and snarky expressions.

He groaned and lifted a heavy hand to swat the visions away, and they disappeared like smoke, the colours blending into each other to form one last face. Brown hair framing blue eyes, the lips forming words he couldn’t hear, the hurt in his features apparent and painful.

Geralt’s voice was hoarse, and his throat parched, the words barely able to leave his mouth. “I’m sorry, Jaskier.” He opened his eyes again, the world around him different shades of grey and brown, the shapes blurred. Somewhere, in the outskirts of his mind, he could feel the cool night air on his warm skin, sweat dripping from his forehead. The dirt underneath him fell away, and he was falling, falling, into the abyss. I’m sorry - his last thought before he went unconscious once again.

҉ ҉ ҉

He awoke with a start, blinking furiously to clear the haze in front of his eyes. Dirt was digging in his cheek, and he could smell the iron of blood, both old and fresh. He tried to push himself up with his left arm from his foetal position on the forest floor, but his shoulder screamed in agony, and he dropped back into the mud with a groan.

Instead, he waited until the pain subsided, then used his right arm to lift himself up, slowly but surely, until he was sat upright, his back against an old oak tree. His lungs were heaving, and he had to fight the dark spots that were swimming across his vision, determined to stay awake this time.

He was in the woods, large canopies above his head filtering the light, making everything beneath the orange leaves dim and grey. About twenty yards to his right, he saw a large, dark shape on the ground. He frowned, struggling to regain his memory.

His mind offered no clues as to why he was here, so instead, he focused on the most pressing matter at hand: the wound on his shoulder. He lifted his hand up with great effort, shifting the armour and shirt away from his left arm. A large gash adorned his shoulder, barely healed, the edges coated in dried blood. The skin around it was a violent red. An infection.

He dropped the clothes back, wincing as pain flared up again, and he let his head fall back against the bark of the oak tree. Possibilities of what could have happened crossed his mind, eventually jogging his memory.

He lolled his head to the right, regarding the dark shape, inhaling the sharp scent that the thing emanated. A kikimora, dead for about a week. His mind flashed back.

҉ ҉ ҉

The water of the small, murky pond sloshed at his ankles as the Kikimora fell down in front of him, the water around it turning dark with blood. He pushed the thing with his foot, turning the large body to its side. He lowered himself on his knees and pushed a hand into the wound in the monster’s neck, cringing slightly at the wet sound it made, and the feeling of warm blood running over his lower arm as he pressed deeper.

His fingers eventually closed around the hilt of his dagger, and he grasped it tightly, gathering all his strength to pull it out, a fresh wave of blood leaving the Kikimora’s neck after his hand.

He shook out his arm, droplets of blood falling off his clothes and the dagger, onto the ground below. He stretched his back out, and rolled his head from side to side, to fight the familiar soreness emerging in his muscles. This Kikimora had been a particularly nasty one, and had managed to disarm the Witcher, which had forced him to resort to driving a dagger deep into the monster’s throat.

He groaned, and rolled his shoulders as he walked over to his sword, where it was sticking from the ground, hilt up, a dozen or so feet away. He stopped dead in his tracks, as he felt pain flare up in his left shoulder, and he groaned again, this time in annoyance.

He pushed away the fabric and armour above the wound, and found a large gash underneath. It wasn’t life-threatening, but it needed care anyways, as the monster blood and murky water he was covered in might cause the wound to infect.

He sighed, and continued walking to his sword, pulling it from the mud and sheathing it. He would have to clean his weapons later, but for now, he had to tend to his shoulder. He looked around, trying to find his bag, frowning when he couldn’t locate it. It must have been flung away during the struggle. For the tenth time that day, he wished Roach was there with him. He’d had to leave her behind in the town at the foot of the hill, as the path up was too treacherous for her.

He turned round and round, eyes scanning the area for his pack, eventually finding it next to an old oak tree. He walked over to it, and lowered himself on the ground, rummaging through his things for a healing potion, uncorking it with his teeth and downing it. He sat back against the bark, and closed his eyes for a second, as he waited for the magic to start working.

Tiredness weighed his limbs down, and he found himself drifting into sleep. He usually didn’t sleep right after a fight, and he still had to clean his wound, but the Kikimora had caught him by surprise. The townspeople had miscalculate its location, and the monster itself had been smarter than average, so it had managed to sneak up on him.

He tried to get up, but sleep overtook him easily, and he sagged down on the ground, laying on his right side in the fallen leaves.

The next time he woke up, he was ailing. He would be for the next seven days, until his fever finally broke.

҉ ҉ ҉

He blinked slowly, once, twice, as the memories flooded through him. He frowned, realizing he had been lying on the forest floor for a week, waiting for his body to beat the infection. Surely, the townspeople must think him dead after all this time, and he clenched his fists as he thought of what they might have done with Roach in his absence.

He groaned as he pushed himself upwards, holding on to low-hanging branches of the oak tree for support. The mud made a wet sound beneath his feet, the dirt having been wetted by his blood while he was lying there, unconscious. Slinging his bag over his non-wounded shoulder was hard, walking was harder, and he staggered from tree to tree.

Looking up, he only saw leaves and branches, grey spots of sky in between. He had no idea what time it was, with the absence of the sun, but he knew which way to go, as the village lay at the bottom of the hill. He started down the slope, feet slipping away a few times over the fallen leaves. It was at least a day’s walk to the town, even if he was in any good shape. It would probably take longer now, as his legs were unsteady and his mind barely clear of fog.

He looked down at the forest floor, deciding to focus on his feet, and putting one in front of the other, over and over, slipping, regaining balance, walking on.

Slowly the darkness grew around him, and his limbs were tired and heavy. He found an old willow tree, and laid his bedroll underneath it, shielded from hostile eyes by the many branches. He laid down on his back, staring at the few leaves still on the tree, seeing bits of night sky between them. His eyelids drooped down, and he fell into a deep sleep.

҉ ҉ ҉

“Dammit, Jaskier, why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you, shovelling it?” Rage coursed through his veins like fire. He could not keep the words from rising out of his chest, into the Bard’s stunned face. Geralt’d had enough. He’d just lost Yennefer due to some stupid decision he had made years ago, and the hurt was too new, too fresh, sharp edges cutting away at the inside of his chest.

Jaskier had been right there, ready to cheer him up – except Geralt didn’t want that right now. What he wanted was some peace and quiet, and a chance to hurt in solitude.

He tried to ignore the way the Bard seemed to hesitate for what could possibly be the first time in his life and could not stop another outburst of the anger raging in his blood. “The Child Surprise, the djinn- all of it!” Truly, the only constant throughout all of his misery, all of his problems, had been Jaskier. He had been there to drag Geralt to the betrothal feast. He had been there to ruin his wishes for the djinn. He was there at the moment to act like nothing happened, even though Yennefer had just left.

A small voice in the back of his head told him that Jaskier had also been there to clean up his reputation, to hold him company, to help and cheer him up when Geralt needed it the most. Yet, that tiny part of him was soon buried under a new wave of rage as purple eyes danced across his vision.

“If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!” Some sick, twisted part in him was overjoyed at the expression of pure hurt on the Bard’s face, was glad to see that Geralt wasn’t the only one suffering. Yet, again, a small voice in the back of his head warned him he would come to regret his words.

He ignored it, and turned around, walking to the cliff’s edge. He stood there, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, eyes staring unseeing over the landscape in front of him. He heard Jaskier mumble something behind him, but the pained voice was lost in the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, his own slow heartbeat deafening him.

The part of him that regretted his words grew as he slowly, but surely, came to his senses, and realized the full weight of what he had said. Eventually, he couldn’t take the guilt growing in his stomach anymore, and he turned around, only finding air where Jaskier had been standing, his familiar scent long faded.

He was gone.

҉ ҉ ҉

He awoke with a start as a scream ripped through the forest, a few birds taking flight from the branches of the willow tree Geralt was lying under, startled by the noise. He pushed himself up with a quiet groan, hand on the hilt of his sword, dried flakes of blood falling off the metal as he touched it.

He stood up quickly, head moving from side to side as he inspected the surrounding woods intently, yellow eyes focused. He listened, and startled a bit when another cry rang between the trees. It sounded as though a woman was being murdered, and without hesitation, he flung his bag over his shoulder, taking his sword in his hand.

He started in the direction of the sound. The canopy and many trees had bounced the scream around, which would’ve made it hard to pinpoint the source, if he didn’t have a supernatural sense of hearing. He moved quietly, swiftly, through the forest, footsteps light but determined over the fallen leaves.

It wasn’t long until he got to a small clearing in the trees, a rare view of the grey sky above him, as the branches gave way. He stayed at the edge, knowing he would make himself a target as soon as he stepped in the middle. The light, however dim, was still brighter than the forest around him, and he would not be able to see any potential enemies lurking behind the trees.

A small, pained sound drew his attention, and his eyes caught a glimpse of red. In the clearing, a little off-centre, lay a fox. Geralt regarded the edges of the forest one last time, before relaxing and walking over to the animal, lowering his sword as he did so.

The fox’s head lay on the fallen leaves, and it breathed quickly, shallowly. It didn’t look up as the Witcher approached, and Geralt couldn’t help but feel pity at the animal’s dejectedness. He kneeled next to it, eyes falling on a long gash in the fox’s hind leg. The stark white of bone shone through the darkness of the blood, dripping from the wound.

He sighed, as he realized he had rushed into action too quickly. An old lesson from Kaer Morhen resurfaced in the back of his mind: “A fox’s scream sounds like that of a woman, keep that in mind, Geralt. Do not judge a situation too quickly. Observe, listen, wait.” He shook his head to clear it from unwanted memories, as he laid a hand softly against the heaving side of the wounded animal. He observed the wound, deep and long, and wondered what could have caused it.

He cursed as the hairs at the back of his neck stood up. “Do not neglect your rationality in favour of your heart, Geralt.” Vesemir’s voice rang through his head, before he tightened the fingers of both hands around the hilt of his sword, swivelling around, moving the blade up.

A Hydra head clamped it’s teeth over his sword, and pulled. Geralt managed to hold on to it, but his shoulder groaned in protest, barely healed tissue threatening to tear at the force. He moved down to evade another one of the beast’s heads, dragging his sword with him, cutting the lower jaw off of the first head.

The monster screamed in pain, staggering back, which gave the Witcher an opportunity to cut off its third head, swiftly casting Igni to cauterize the wound, preventing two more heads from growing in its place.

A claw swiped down, burying itself into the dirt as he rolled to his right, the monster screaming in agony and rage. An Aard sign pushed the second head back, its teeth only mere inches away from his face. Another roll, this time to the left, gave him the perfect angle to cut the first, jawless head off, once again cauterizing the wound.

He stood up, swaying on his feet, sword in both hands. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs, but he refused to give in. It was just him against the middle head. A small voice in the back of his mind notified him that he had gotten lucky, as this was a young Hydra, the presence of only three heads indicating it had not seen serious battle yet.

The teeth lunged at him, and he moved to the side, cutting through the neck with ease, burning it shut. The ground under his feet shook a bit as the body fell down, and Geralt felt himself relax a bit.

He closed his eyes, tiredness weighing him down, and he considered climbing a tree and sleeping in it, when he heard a small, pained noise behind him. He had forgotten about the fox.

He turned around, sheathing his bloodied sword, and walked over to where the creature was still laying on the fallen leaves. He kneeled down next to it, hand resting against the side, right above its quick heartbeat, fingers threading through the soft fur. He regarded the wound in its hind leg, still seeping blood, bone exposed. He could only imagine the pain it was in.

Slowly, quietly, he unsheathed his dagger. It was still dirty, dried flakes of week-old Kikimora blood clinging to the blade, but it would do the job of releasing the animal from its suffering well enough. He sighed. “I’m sorry it had to go like this, you deserved better.”

He raised the knife, pressing the sharp tip against the pelt poking out beneath his fingers, still curled in the soft fur. The heaving ribcage threatened to impale itself, and the fox made a pained sound. Geralt looked to its head, his yellow eyes meeting those of a striking colour, like the sky on a clear summer’s day, like the ocean in the south, like cornflowers in a spring field. It was a blue he had only ever seen once before.

His grip on the blade faltered, and it fell on the ground with a soft thud. He bent down, moving closer to the fox, staring into its eyes as he narrowed his. The creature lifted its head, wet, black nose nearly touching the Witcher, before the fox grew tired again, laying back on the fallen leaves.

Geralt was frozen in place, his heart thrumming in his chest wildly. It couldn’t be. Yet, he couldn’t deny the familiar scent in the fox’s fur, half-buried beneath the iron smell of blood and the earthiness of the forest. He noticed the hand that was still laying on the fox’s side was shaking, and he looked down to where the blade had been pressed between the small ribs just seconds before.

The fox moved its head up again, yellow eyes meeting cornflower ones, the familiar scent tingling in Geralt’s nose again. Cinnamon and blueberries…

His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Jaskier?”

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geraskier #gerlion #i found something in the woods somewhere #chapter 1 #mine

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draconym · 5 years

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I don’t normally experience germophobia, but when I do it’s because I can’t get Dead Turkey Smell off of my hands after spending a couple hours carrying around a handful of feathers I found at work.

My coworkers couldn’t detect the odor even when directly smelling the feathers but I can’t not smell it. I followed the scent out on the trail to what was probably the site where the turkey died a few days ago--or possibly where a fox had buried some of the remains (it also smelled faintly of Eau De Fox). I didn’t really want to dig up the site to find out.

Everything I’ve ever touched smells like Dead Turkey now!! I hate it!! But when I get these feathers cleaned up I’ll probably decide that it was worth the stench.

(Of note: most native bird parts are protected and can’t be collected. Turkey feathers are an exception, as our turkeys are nonmigratory and game birds.)

#animal death #gross #vulture culture #i thought i would get a few more days of use out of this vet wrap #i washed it but it still smells #my sense of smell is a gift and a curse

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nekojitachan · 4 years

Text

Hmm, got a new story idea the other day (actually, have had a couple in the past couple of weeks, but this one requires world building). I might be playing around with this a little - I never do too close a retelling of canon because... well, I like to shake things up a bit and make them interesting, but it’ll probably start out a little similar to TFC and then the changes will snowball from there.

I think this gives an idea of some of the world building, though.

*******

I Am Fire

******

Nathaniel stood near the old sedan while it burned, while the acrid stench of burnt plastic and rubber didn't quite mask the sickening odor of his mother's body slowly breaking down beneath the flames under his command. For a moment he almost made them burn even hotter, made them reduce her thin, worn body to nothing but ash (like he should, like she'd always told him to do if the worst ever happened... like it had happened) but the thought of losing her so completely made him banish the flames before they finished their job. Some still licked at the metal frame of the car as he reached into its ruined shell to fetch his mother's remains, the heat inconsequential to a Fire as powerful as him (not powerful enough, never powerful enough when it came to his father), to gather her charred remains.

He used a broken piece of metal from the car to help dig a hole in the sand as the waves washed onto the shore, then buried what was left of Mary Jamilyn Wesninski (nee Hartford) in the shallow grave, smoke rising from the remains. Once the sand was hastily smoothed back in place, the cold Pacific water lapping at his heels, Nathaniel used his power to turn it to glass, to seal the unmarked grave and give his mother as peaceful a resting place as possible. He bowed his head for several heartbeats, not so much in memorial as an impromptu breakdown, as despair and bone-deep weariness bore down on him.

Then he forced himself onto his feet and to take a step forward, to take another one and another, to keep moving because that's what his mother had told him to do - to keep running and to never stop. He only paused to gather the backpack he'd assembled from both their supplies before he'd set fire to everything else, which contained what he needed to survive for the foreseeable future (except a phone, which had been reduced to melted parts in the car), should help keep him alive long enough to buy a new ID in Reno. Then he unleashed the flames on the car once more, let them feed until the damn thing would be nothing more than a twisted hunk of metal and walked toward the nearest leyline without another glance.

*******

Andrew hummed in boredom as he rolled the handle of the striker’s racquet (Josten’s) he’d picked up to play with between his hands – bored and hyped-up and oh so done with everything already.

“Put it down before you break it,” Kevin ordered, perched on top of an entertainment center and busy reading through Josten’s stats yet again, as if he hadn’t memorized them in the last few days.

“Oh, what a shame if that happened,” Andrew drawled while he grinned, while he swung the racquet through the air just to annoy the bastard. When Kevin’s green eyes took on a golden cast, his grin widened and ice began to form on the racquet; two could play that game. Mindful of the reason they were in this shithole of a town and their ‘beloved’ coach’s instructions to ‘behave’ while he went off to talk to their quarry, Kevin quickly stifled his power and shook his head.

“Don’t do anything to scare Josten away, Hernandez warned Coach that he’s a bit… squirrely.”

“I’m not the one who started it,” Andrew reminded the arrogant bastard as he resumed spinning the glorified stick between his hands. “And so what? Just find another rookie,” he needled with a faint shrug.

As expected, Kevin took the bait. “Another roo- we were lucky to get Josten’s tape, dammit!” he hissed, mindful to keep his voice pitched low. “You think we’re going to find another striker who’s a fire elemental, any fire elemental out there at this point who’s unsigned, let alone with half his potential?”

“What potential?”

Kevin shook his head at Andrew’s unimpressed scoff.

“No, it’s there, it is,” he swore. “Hernandez said the Dingoes haven’t gotten this far in years, not until Josten showed up. That he hasn’t seen a Fire with his potential in all his time coaching, even if he’s still rough on the court.” Something hungry flashed across Kevin’s face for a moment as he set the papers aside to rub his scarred left hand. “He’s right, too. The way he plays, the way the team comes together whenever he’s out on court… it’s there, that promise. The Foxes need it, while Coach and I will make him better. You’ll see.”

So boring – Andrew had already heard this over a dozen times before, back when Kevin had argued for Wymack to chose Josten to replace poor, poor Smalls (maybe not so ‘poor’ since she didn’t have to suffer the Foxes now) and then as they flew to shithole Millport, Arizona. He already knew that his life was one big joke, but the past week had been a never-ending punchline of ‘oh wait, let’s really rub it in, shall we?’

Oh well, at least he could sit back and watch Gordon’s reaction when the asshole realized that Wymack had recruited a fire elemental more powerful than the homophobic druggie. The senior should have been replaced ages ago, except Fires weren’t easy to find, so any of real talent were scooped up by the many, many better teams out there.

Which made one wonder, why was such a diamond in the rough like Josten just waiting for Kevin to find him like this?

Just a little suspicious, yes?

Mistrust merrily bubbled along with the drug-fueled euphoria and boredom inside of Andrew’s head, which didn’t help with the whole ‘must not start smashing’ things. Oh, Wymack and Kevin owed him for this, yes they did.

He was swinging closer and closer to the racquet stand when there was the pitter patter of swift feet – was the little squirrel pulling a runner? Oh, clever boy, to want to get as far away from Wymack and his do-gooder self as possible, but Andrew had suffered on this fool’s errand for a reason, so that meant squirrelly-boy (or perhaps ‘rabbit’) would suffer, too.

Now things were getting fun.

Andrew braced himself in front of the nearest exit, the door leading out to the parking lot, with the ‘borrowed’ racquet held in both hands ready to lash out, but he literally felt rabbit-boy near – felt a rush of fire from the panicking kid (rabbit indeed). The tingling sense of pulsing heat laced with a simmering anger/threat made his own water magic rise, made the surrounding chill as it prepared to protect him.

A vague, shimmery shape propelled itself forward, toward the door, only to slid to a halt as fire and water slammed into each other; Andrew lashed out with the racquet but their elements, their magic, created enough of a buffer between them that the end of the stupid stick barely brushed against the kid’s chest.

Huh, maybe Kevin was right about Josten being a powerful Fire.

Andrew wavered on his feet from the backlash of their elements smashing together, somewhat inured to it after a year of collegiate Exy, of dealing with Kevin, of being somewhat prepared for the rabbiting Fire rabbit, while Josten ended up falling down hard onto his ass. He stared up at Andrew with dark eyes wide as his power receded, the shimmering effect around him fading away to reveal the lean, underfed kid with overgrown black hair and baggy, worn clothes and too-attractive features in the one picture which Hernandez had sent.

“Water,” Josten choked out as he gazed up at Andrew, as Andrew felt a traitorous flicker of interest overtake the boredom, both over that too-pretty face and the lingering feeling of intoxicating warmth from Josten’s element.

Uh-oh.

“Goddammit, Minyard, this is why we can’t have nice things!” Wymack bellowed as he and Hernandez finally caught up to the little rabbit, his dulcet voice echoing through the lounge as he took in Josten sprawled out on the floor and Andrew leaning against the racquet. “Are you all right, kid?” he asked and held out a hand to help Josten off the floor, which of course was ignored.

“Oh Coach, if he was nice then he wouldn’t be of any use to us.” Andrew ‘grinned’ at Josten, who managed to stand up on his own, his attention focused on Andrew with a wariness which made it clear that he’d an idea of just how powerful Andrew was, even though Andrew had only used a fraction of his talent. Huh, someone wasn’t adding up, not if he sensed Andrew so easily, not if he’d recovered so quickly, not if he made Andrew want to lean forward to soak in that odd, tingling sense of warmth….

“Besides, he looks good as new. Or, well, second-hand new,” Andrew said with an exaggerated grimace as he motioned to the kid’s outfit, as he leaned away instead of closer.

“Fuck off,” Josten muttered as he clutched at the handles of the battered duffel bag slung over his left shoulder. “And what’s with the racquet?” His wary look morphed into a glare after a brief flare of recognition. “Hey, that’s mine!”

“So grouchy,” Andrew complained then once more grinned. “Here you go!” He iced the racquet before he threw it at the kid, and felt a rare spark of amusement over the way that Josten cursed beneath his breath as he fumbled to hold on to the slippery object.

He also noticed how quickly the Fire negated the ice without blasting everyone with steam, which required skill along with power.

“What the hell?” Hernandez demanded as he approached Josten (who skittered out of reach, which was also interesting). “You okay, kid?”

“Andrew’s a bit raw on manners,” Wymack said in an attempt to smooth things over as he got between Josten and Andrew in a clear sign for Andrew to back off and stop with the ‘fun’ tricks. “But he’ll behave from now on. So what about it, Neil?” Over on the entertainment center, Kevin, who had been oddly quiet the entire time, leaned forward in interest.

Josten shook his head and once more clutched at his duffel bag (hmm, security blanket or something more?) while he shoved the racquet at Hernandez. “I’m fine. Just let me go,” he insisted as he shook his head again.

“We’re not done.”

“Coach Wymack.” Hernandez seemed rather protective of a certain rabbit – how odd, especially since he’d ratted him out in the first place.

“Give us a second?” Wymack somehow summoned a measure of charm (and a good dose of his earth magic) to put Hernandez at ease (Andrew sensed a weak amount of air magic in the man) which made the Dingoes coach grumble and agree to leave after giving his precious striker one more look and a promise to be back soon.

As soon as he was gone, the rabbit found his voice again (could a powerful Fire be a rabbit? Something to ponder). “I already gave you my answer, I won’t sign with you,” Josten insisted as he gazed at the door as if desperate to go through it, too.

Sighing as if tired already (Andrew knew that he was, and eager to hit up the pathetic minibar in the hotel), Wymack rubbed along the back of his neck "You didn't listen to my whole offer," he said slowly as if in hopes that the words would sink in that time. "If I paid to fly three people out here to see you then the least you could do is give me five minutes, don't you think?"

There was another flare of fire magic as Josten must have finally realized that it wasn’t just the three of them in the room, as his face paled and ugly dark eyes widened yet again while he searched around the room as he stepped away from Wymack (oh, yet another fascinating and suspicious reaction). “You didn’t bring him here.”

"Is that a problem?" Wymack’s earth magic pulsed out in an obvious attempt to calm the panicked kid (to keep them all from being flambéed – well, Andrew could protect himself, and he supposed Kevin).

"I'm not good enough to play on the same court as a champion." The kid sounded as if he believed that – and about two seconds away from the flambé thing.

"True, but irrelevant.”

Ah, finally, Number Two had spoken, and as usual, didn’t appear impressed with what he saw. Yet he added his earth magic to Wymack’s, though it didn’t appear to calm down Josten at all.

"What are you doing here?" Josten asked while he continued to edge toward the door, which Andrew moved to block once again.

"Why were you leaving?" Kevin countered as he leaned forward, his attention focused on the Fire with an intensity reserved only for Exy.

Josten didn’t seem to care for that intensity – that or for Kevin. "I asked you first." Oh, wasn’t that mature?

"Coach already answered that question.” Kevin sounded a bit testy over having to point that fact out, while Andrew was almost amused over the exchange – almost. He’d need another dose of his medicinal chains soon, judging from the way his skin itched and stomach churned. "We’re waiting for you to sign the contract. Stop wasting our time."

"No.” Both Kevin and Wymack appeared stunned over that flat denial, especially Kevin, Exy’s precious Number Two. "There are a thousand strikers who'd jump at the chance to play with you. Why don't you bother them?" Oh, Andrew might have an iota of respect for the pain in the ass, but he just wanted to go back to the hotel and start drinking instead of suffer through this scintillating wordplay.

“None of them are fire elementals,” Wymack said as he folded his tattooed arms over his chest. “We want you.”

"I won't play with Kevin,” Josten declared as he once more eyed the door. “And you already have a Fire.”

"He’s not good enough, and you will," Kevin shot back without pause, which earned him a brief glare from Wymack.

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but we're not leaving here until you say yes,” Wymack warned Josten once he finished giving Kevin a dirty look for insulting Gordon. “Kevin says we have to have you, and he's right." The kid didn’t look happy about that.

Kevin opened his mouth again, definitely to argue more with the kid, most likely to insult him a good bit (the true Kevin Day way), maybe, just maybe to mention that the rookie striker did have some potential beneath the roughness, had one hell of a drive while out on the court (there was a reason for them to come out after him, after all, and not just because of his element), but Andrew was tired and bored and needed to get away from a certain too-attractive Fire enigma right then.

“Coach is right, he’s not going to let this go, so why don’t you, someone who supposedly plays as if he has everything to lose, save us all a lot of time and jump on the chance to get out of this boring hellhole, hmm?” Agree to sign, and then Andrew could spend the summer figuring out just what Josten was hiding, why a Fire with so much potential was hiding in Millport, of all places, and appeared freaked out by Kevin.

Was this a Moriyama trick? Planted bait?

“But… but I’m not good enough,” the kid tried to lie even as his distasteful magic kept making Andrew’s insides tingle in a disturbing counterpart to the damn drug’s withdrawal.

Kevin jumped onto his feet but one look from Andrew kept him from approaching Josten. “Not yet, but we’ll get you there. Give us some time to train you and your talent, and you will get there.”

When Josten stopped eyeing the door to focus on him, Wymack piled it on as well. "It actually works in our favor that you're all the way out here," he argued. "No one outside of our team and school board even knows we're here. We don't want your face all over the news this summer. We've got too much to deal with right now and we don't want to drag you, some unknown Fire, into the mess until you're safe and settled at campus. There's a confidentiality clause in your contract, says you can't tell anyone you're ours until the season starts in August."

Josten was quiet for a few seconds before his shoulders slumped forward, a sign that his defenses were weakening. "It's not a good idea,” he announced after he looked away from Kevin.

"Your opinion has been duly noted and dismissed," Wymack said while Kevin grinned in victory. "Anything else, or are you going to start signing stuff?" Just in case, Wymack ‘pushed’ a little with his talent, gave off soothing waves as if to calm Josten.

The kid was quiet for a few more seconds before he mumbled some bullshit about needing his mother’s permission, even though Hernandez had warned Wymack out how Josten’s parents were never around and might be abusing the striker. When he kept going on about them, Wymack glanced over at Andrew, who gave a quick shake of his head.

The kid was lying – he was interested in the contract, but it was pure bullshit about him needing his parents’ permission, from what Andrew’s magic could sense.

Wymack’s lips thinned before he told Andrew and Kevin to go wait in Hernandez’s SUV, which would take them back to the hotel. Kevin wasn’t happy about the command, but as (almost) always, obeyed their benevolent tyrant which meant that Andrew followed.

“Is he going to sign?” Kevin asked once they were outside.

Andrew cocked his head to the side and ‘thought’ about it for a moment; water elementals weren’t exactly precogs (or the majority of them weren’t), at least not beyond a vague impression of the future and people. His ability lay in knowing if someone was telling him the truth or not, if they were ‘safe’ or not – and the impression he got from one Neil Josten?

LIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIARLIAR…..

Yet he’d felt something toward the end there which led him to believe that the young man would show up at PSU, after all.

Now that he thought about it… it was probably an impending sense of doom.

“He’ll sign,” Andrew sighed as he went to the back door of the SUV to fetch the bottle of water he’d left with his backpack while motioning for Kevin to throw him his bottle of pills, all the while ignoring Hernandez. Josten would show up just to annoy the fuck out of him, he was certain.

He used his talent to chill the water, which was warm from sitting in the vehicle for the past half an hour, then forced himself to take the pill, biological clock all fucked up (ha, more than just that) because of the time difference. After a few minutes and a cigarette, Josten finally left the building with Wymack and Hernandez at his heels, and when Josten made to walk past the SUV, Andrew opened the back door with a wide grin and a slight, mocking bow. "Too good to play with us, too good to ride with us?"

The Fire gave him a cool look (ha!) before breaking into a run; Andrew had to admit he made just as pretty a picture fading off into the distance with that lean form and long legs. Hmm, as much as Exy annoyed Andrew most days, he had to appreciate its effects on the human physique.

“Well?” Kevin snapped at Wymack once they were in the SUV, in what probably was meant to be a demanding tone but contained too much anxiety, considering that they had to sign a new striker or else.

Wymack picked up on it, too, considering how he pushed more of the ‘soothing’ bullshit while he shook out a cigarette. “He’ll be spending the summer with us, as soon as he graduates.” He twisted around in the front passenger seat to glare at Andrew. “No rough shit with the new kid, do you hear me?” Next to him, Hernandez radiated displeasure while he drove. “He’s a Fox now.”

Mindful of the non-Fox in the car, Andrew merely bared his teeth and gave his coach a two-fingered salute before he slumped back into the seat as the drug began to take effect. He hummed a little and closed his eyes while he thought about the alcohol awaiting him in his hotel room, and tuned out Kevin and Wymack arguing about the best way to go about training a rookie Fire.

Wymack could bitch and moan all he liked, but the more Andrew reflected back on his encounter with Neil Josten… oh yes, too many pieces which didn’t fit together. Someone was a too-attractive, too-powerful liar, which meant that Andrew had a new toy to play with that summer. A toy he would poke and prod and twist about until either all the pieces fit, or it was broken badly enough that any danger to him and his was all gone.

As he thought about that sharp-boned face and addicting tingle of magic… he hoped it was the latter.

*******

#aftg #aftg fic #aftg au #neil josten #andrew minyard #kevin day #david wymack #nekojitachanfics #elemental magic #of course it'll be andreil

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kimtanathegeek · 4 years

Text

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 14

Not saying anything because of spoilers is hard because what can I say in this spot?

Not much, I see.

Thanks for reading!!! :D

—

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.

First

The wind swept the snow into curling currents, giving the snowflakes a gentle ride down before they hit the ground. The air was brisk, filled with the soft whooshes of wind throughout the valley.

For Sans, all he could hear were the crunching footsteps of him and his brother, the slow panting of breath from mild exertion, and the faint jingle of metal coming from the haversack and his jacket.

Sans looked up from the infinite whiteness that was the ground. Their grouping of boulders was still a long way off. He heaved a groaning, weary sigh and continued trudging through the deep snow.

Days of foraging had turned to weeks. The further they progressed down the torch-lit path each day, the further the walk home was. Sans was no longer sure if the time it took for them to walk to and from the trail was worth the items that partially filled their mostly-empty bags.

Sans looked down at his brother. Papyrus matched his brother’s pace, panting just as steadily, but never complaining. Sans gave his brother’s hand a loving squeeze, which Papyrus returned, smiling up at his grinning brother.

Sans looked forward, willing the shelter to come closer to them as he kept going forward. The distance they were walking was becoming more and more unbearable each day. He knew that they would need a new plan for foraging. He was just at a loss for what it could be.

One solution was to build another shelter closer to the new area. While it seemed logical to move near the edge of the valley, Sans had many reasons why he was reluctant. The effort, time, and resources to build the shelter and shift their supplies to it would take away from their foraging progress. He also wasn’t sure how safe the area near the edge of the valley was. It was one thing to forage near the darkness; it was another issue entirely to live there.

But the biggest reason Sans pushed the idea off the table was because their shelter had become a little home to them. It wasn’t the temporary snow fort they had built, but a place of comfort, warmth, and as close to normalcy as they could get. It wouldn’t be fair to Papyrus to lose yet another place they called home in such short time. And Sans didn’t want that kind of change, either.

Not yet, at least. Sans understood that they would outgrow it one day. But part of him secretly hoped that they wouldn’t ever need to look for the “next place” since they would find their father before then. Sans sighed deeply once again.

Another solution was to stop foraging near the darkness. As tempting as it was to never have to walk an infinite number of steps each day, Sans knew they needed to forage to survive. They found a few bits of food every once in a while. Admittedly, more often than not, they found food too spoiled or rotten to salvage, but they still found edible food here and there.

He had toyed with the thought of foraging elsewhere, closer to their shelter. But he dismissed the idea, knowing that nothing could grow on the inside of a mountain in the middle of a snowy valley. Their best chance at finding anything was on the trail that thousands of monsters had walked over.

Sans ran the hand not holding Papyrus’ over his skull, wiping snowflakes and frustration away. He needed to come up with an idea, but he was far too tired and discouraged to think it out logically.

So he continued on, listening to the repetitive sounds of his footsteps, breathing, and jingling metal, trying to think of them as relaxing, not daunting.

As soon as he sealed up the entrance, Sans crawled through the opening, unshouldered the haversack, and flopped on the floor onto his stomach, exhausted. Papyrus climbed up on the bed, took his shoes and scarf off, and laid down, equally tired. Sans looked up at Papyrus, not even bothering to move his head, and envied his brother’s energy to be able to make it to the bed.

Sans would make dinner in a moment. He just needed to rest his eyes for a second. Let the feeling in his legs return to him.

He closed his eyes, and in the next instant, he was waking up from a deep sleep.

“Oops,” he murmured, slowly picking himself up off the floor.

Fortunately, with no sun or moon, there was no way to tell time inside the mountain, so he figured he had only slightly nodded off. However, the stiffness in his bones and the wooziness in his head told him that he’d been asleep for several hours.

He stood up and stretched, listening to the popping and cracking of his weary bones, and glanced over at the bed. Papyrus was fast asleep under a few bits of fabric.

Sans laughed under his breath at the sight of his brother. Looks like I’m not the only one who was tired.

He took off his jacket, hung it up on the “coat hook” near the bed, and wearily walked over to the pantry to plan out their meal from their pitiful food stock. He pulled down a couple mouseshroom nightlights and two nuts, putting them aside for when his brother eventually woke up. In the meantime, he would make some sort of dessert from snow to fill their stomachs, knowing full-well that Papyrus adored them.

Sans looked down at the area against the pantry wall where he had been piling snow to make “food” from. It had been depleted, which meant he would need to get some more.

He glanced over at his brother, making sure he was still asleep, and headed outside. He didn’t bother putting on his jacket since he was only going to grab an armful of snow.

After crawling out the entrance, he stood up and looked around for some untouched snow. He always made sure to collect snow a small distance away from their shelter, taking from a different spot each time so that the snowfall could fill them back in completely. Even though he hadn’t seen anyone out in the valley, he didn’t want to take any chances and betray their location.

He saw an area of snow off to the side and headed over to it, limping slightly. He was still sore and stiff from earlier, despite having slept. He thought about the following morning’s foraging and felt the dread that was becoming familiar to him. Perhaps he’d bring some extra supplies and blankets with them tomorrow and set up a tiny snow tent for them to spend a night or two.

There was a spot he really wanted to check out in the darkened area that he had seen off in the distance from where they were currently foraging from. It was hard to tell, but it looked like there was a patch of swaying plants that he hoped might be edible or, at the very least, useful somehow.

Sans shut his eyes and groaned as he continued walking. They would need to leave early, right after breakfast again, to walk the two or three hours to get there. Why didn’t he think of camping overnight this morning? He had even seen a good spot behind a stone formation that would be perfect to set up camp. He pictured the formation in his mind, imagining up a design for a quick snow shelter.

Suddenly, he heard a deafening fwoosh, accompanied by a fierce blast of wind, making him gasp sharply. His eyes shot open and he froze.

The stone formation he was just thinking about was now in front of him a short distance away. He could see the darkened area looming ahead, dotted with its blue lights. The torch nearby illuminated the place where they had finished digging through in the snow-filled trail. The “X” of blue bones hung on the torch where he had tied it several hours earlier.

Short gasps of fear filled his lungs as his eyes grew wide.

“Wh-wh-wha...?!”

He whipped around to look behind him. The shelter was nowhere to be seen, even though he had just left it a few moments ago.

Sans started to panic. He grabbed the sides of his skull, hyperventilating.

I’m back on the trail! How did I get here?! What’s happening?!

He slumped to his knees and sat on the back of his legs, his eyes darting around frantically. He struggled to regain control of his breathing. He took several deep breaths, filling and emptying his lungs desperately. A thought sent a sickening jolt to his stomach.

Papyrus! He’s alone back in the shelter! It will take me hours to get back to him!

Thinking of his brother made his breath catch in the back of his throat as a distant memory came into view.

“Th-this happened before...,” Sans whispered out loud to no one.

He let go of his skull and lowered his hands to look at them.

“I-I was...I was carrying him.... He was dying, and I was carrying him.... I was lost.... W-we were in the middle of nowhere.... Then we were at the shelter....”

Sans buried his face in his hands, struggling to remember.

“That sound.... That sound—it was the same.... And that gust...it was there, too....”

The terror that had engulfed him ebbed away as he tried to make sense of what had happened. His breathing slowed as his mind raced.

He shut his eyes tight. He had pushed that horrific day away from his mind several times. It was too painful to remember his limp brother in his arms, his health dropping with each step, and how it was his fault that he had almost lost him forever. Now he struggled to pull those memories back.

What was I doing when it happened...?

Panicking as he clutched his dying brother in his arms, wrapped up in his jacket. Trying to keep going through the relentless snowstorm that froze him to the core. Struggling to take step after step through the deep snow and severe exhaustion. Wishing he was back at the shelter before his brother died in his arms.

“Wait...,” Sans breathed, lifting his head up and staring into space.

He replayed that painful moment in his head. He knew he was too far from the shelter and wouldn’t make it in time. He didn’t see the shelter or the cavern, and the realization that his brother was going to die pierced his soul.

Sans shut his eyes again tightly and clenched his teeth. He didn’t want to relive this, especially after trying to bury it down in his mind for so long. But he knew he had to understand how he had ended up at the shelter then, and on the torch-lit trail now.

He tried to ignore the feelings of the incident, focusing instead on the facts.

He was carrying Papyrus, so his left hand wasn’t free to cast magic. He was walking through deep snow, but didn’t feel anything different with his steps, like falling in a strange hole or flying. He heard the loud sound, but he’d never heard anything like it to compare it to. He felt the sharp wind blast into him, harder and faster than the worst winds of the snowstorm. He saw....

Sans opened his eyes again and blinked.

He didn’t see anything.

He didn’t see anything because his eyes were closed. Both times.

Ok... I had my eyes closed.... Then what...?

He was crying. He was pushing himself to keep going. He was trying to figure out which direction to head towards. He was trying to remember if there were any landmarks other than the cavern near the shelter. He was—

“—picturing it.” Sans breathed softly. “I was picturing the area near the shelter, then I was there. And I was picturing this area, and now I’m here. I was picturing them.”

He clutched his shirt over his soul with both hands, his mouth slowly forming a smile.

“It’s me,” he whispered. “I did it. Somehow, some way, I did it.”

He laughed under his breath, recalling the very first blue bone lesson he had given Papyrus a couple weeks ago. “It’s just like making bones. Picture it and do it.”

Sans stood up, his fear replaced by awe. He felt more in control now that he realized that he had something to do with the mysterious transportations.

“This must be some sort of skeleton magic Mommy and Daddy never told me about....”

He balled up his fists as his eyes narrowed, a triumphant grin slowly growing on his face.

“Ok...,” he said under his breath. “Let’s try this new magic out, then.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled, closing his eyes. He pictured the area right outside the shelter. After holding the image in his mind for a while, he opened one eye.

He was still on the torch-lit path.

Sans opened the other eye and frowned. There appeared to be more to casting this new magic than he thought. He ran his hand over his mouth, deep in thought.

I’m missing something.... Ok, so, I don’t magically go somewhere every time I picture places. I get that. Otherwise, I’d know I could do this already. So, what’s different...?

He considered both scenarios, trying to find the commonalities between them both. He smacked his forehead suddenly.

“Of course! When I was picturing the places, I was thinking that I really wanted to be there! I wasn’t just seeing them in my thoughts. That makes sense.”

He cricked his neck, ready to try again, this time saying in his mind that he really wanted to be back at the shelter. After picturing and repeating his desire for a few moments, he opened his eyes again. It still hadn’t worked.

His shoulders and face drooped, crestfallen.

“Oh, come on,” he whimpered sadly. “I was so sure I had that right....”

A slight panic started to creep back in. He had been gone a while, and Papyrus might already be awake. It would take Sans a few hours to walk back—what if Papyrus left the shelter and wandered through the valley again, this time in search of his brother?

Sans shook his head, determined to figure this new magic out and get back to his brother. He started pacing back and forth nervously, rubbing his upper arms in anxiety and from the cold—he wished he hadn’t left his jacket back at the shelter. He stared at the snow at his feet as he ran through the steps in his mind again.

“Ok, my eyes were shut,” he murmured as he paced, performing each step as he recited them. “I pictured it, I thought about how much I wanted to be there—"

The deafening fwoosh filled his ears and the harsh wind whipped at him, causing him to flinch. He opened one eye cautiously.

The shelter stood before him, nestled in between the boulder grouping. The entrance was still open, awaiting his return from the short trip to get snow.

Sans jumped up, flailing his arms at his success. “Yes!”

He now understood that the final step was indeed taking a step. Each time, he had been walking when the phenomenon occurred. He now knew what was required to cast this new magic of his.

He quickly crawled in the shelter, poking his head through the opening. He sighed deeply in relief—Papyrus was still asleep on the bed, completely unaware of his brother’s absence.

Sans crawled back outside, trembling with excitement over this amazing new discovery. This was a complete game changer. He could go anywhere instantly, and he knew from the first time that it happened that he could take Papyrus with him when he cast this magic. They would never have to walk for hours to forage again!

Sans eagerly needed to know if he could go outside of the valley, or if this magic had a limited reach like his bone magic did.

He tried the place in the darkened area where they had found the mouseshroom nightlights—and succeeded. He stood in the blue glow, laughing in astonishment.

Next, he tried to go to the area that had the swaying plants that he had seen from afar, but he merely stayed where he was. Sans understood this to mean that he couldn’t travel to where he had never physically been to.

He racked his brain for locations.

The cavern? No, he couldn’t chance anyone seeing him appear out of thin air and capturing him. Besides, the last time he was on the cavern floor, it was in its natural state. It had been built up by the monsters so much, he wasn’t sure it would work if he tried.

The cavern tunnel, however, was somewhere that hadn’t been altered by monsters. Going there would also be a test to see if he could go into places that weren’t out in the open.

Within a matter of seconds, he was in pitch darkness. He created a blue bone, which illuminated the tunnel walls and the purple bricks sealing off the entrance to the cavern. Another success.

He made the blue bone disappear as his mind wandered in the darkness. The last time he was here, he was horribly upset with the sealing of the tunnel entrance. It cut them off from finding their father if he was in the giant cavern with the other monsters.

Thinking of his father sparked an idea in Sans. If he could go anywhere with his new magic, why couldn’t he go back to their house? He started trembling with joy at the thought of returning to their home. It was a bittersweet feeling, since the last time they were in their house, their mother was alive. But they would have food, safety, and could plan a way to find their father in the comfort of their own home. Their father might even be there waiting for them this whole time—what if he had been locked out of the mountain like their mother had been?

Sans wondered if his magic could reach that far, but rationalized that, like before, if his magic was unable to bring him somewhere, he would just stay put. He shut his eyes as his heart raced with emotion, and pictured the leaf-strewn path that led to their little wooden house. It had been so long since he’d seen it, but he could picture it in his mind, clear as day. He told himself in his mind how desperately he wanted to be there, and stepped forward. He welcomed the deafening sound and intense wind that surrounded him.

Sans slammed into the magical barrier at the cave entrance with breakneck speed. The damage inflicted upon him happened instantaneously—his skull cracked in several places, numerous bones in his arms and left leg broke, snapped, and fractured, and every rib in his chest shattered. His broken body dropped to the ground immediately after the impact.

At that exact moment, Papyrus woke up with a jolt, gasping sharply, as if waking from a horrific nightmare.

“Sas!”

==================================

Author’s note:

The narrative during Sans' recollection of the time Papyrus went missing (Ch 9) might seem confusing, but that's on purpose.

The event was so traumatic to Sans that he force-repressed it. Memories are sometimes repressed by our own brains without us knowing (these are usually complete repressions), or we can repress it partially (partial repression), knowing an incident happened but forcing details out of our minds that are too difficult.

Sometimes, when repressed memories (complete or partial) come to light (involuntarily or during a therapeutic session), the event happens as if in the present time. It's confusing for the individual, which is why it is meant to throw off the reader in the same sort of confusion. He isn't just thinking about the memory--he is experiencing the aspects of it as it was happening in real time.

I hope that clarifies any confusion in reading that portion of the narrative, and helps give a glimpse of what it's like to experience repressed memory recall. This by no means is a full explanation of repressed memory, merely a tiny portion of it. All I can say is that what Sans experienced came from personal experience.

#undertale #undertale fanfic #undertale fanfiction #sans #papyrus #sans and papyrus #skelebros #babybones #TBMP #TwoBrothersManyPaths #Two Brothers Many Paths #sans undertale #papyrus undertale

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