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blossom-hwa · 3 years

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Brave - CHAN

I honestly still can’t believe I’ve finished this? There was a time I didn’t think I’d get to writing this fully until 2021 lmao?? And now it’s the longest fic in the whispers of nature series I need to go lie down

Dedicated to @wingkkun because screaming to Kai was like 95% of the reason I wrote this so fast <3 I also appreciate your fanart SO MUCH you are the entire reason tbz has such a presence in this fic!!

(reposted for... the second time without gifs AND links if it doesn’t work I'll cry)

Pairing: Chan x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, nature spirit!au

Triggers: mild descriptions of violence (nothing graphic)

Word Count: 12.9k

Through tears, heartbreak, and a bit of love, Chan teaches you how to be brave once again.

SKZ Masterlist | Whispers of Nature

Red is simultaneously a color of love and a color of death. It is the color of passion, the color of a bride’s dress and the roses she carries down the aisle, but also the color of blood seeping slowly out of an open wound.

Right now, watching the wedding, surrounded by pale red flowers and silks and draperies, you feel as though you’re sitting at a funeral.

Your dress isn’t red, of course. No matter how much you wish you could leave the elegant hall and run away forever, you wouldn’t disrespect the bride in such a fashion. Not only is she the crown princess of your kingdom, she is also kind, a gentle, intelligent, bright woman who will be a brilliant queen when she is crowned tomorrow.

No wonder she is the love of your best friend’s life.

Something in you itches to just start screaming, to draw your sword and ruin the festivities. But you have no sword, only a sparkling ivory gown chosen by the kind princess herself. Today, as Jacob said, you are here as a friend. Not as a knight, not as a guard, not as a protector. A friend.

Somehow, that word feels so much worse than a cold “protector” would.

The dress is shimmering white, pale and beautiful, dotted with small crystals that shimmer like clouds and stars. It should make you feel lighter than air, light with happiness for your best friend and the woman he is marrying.

But the soft fabric feels cloying on your skin, heavy and strange and choking. It’s not that you can’t wear a dress – no, you’ve gone undercover many times at balls and galas as an unseen eye to protect Jacob, after he took his place as his father’s heir. It’s the situation.

This gown was made with good intentions. The heaviness in your heart has dragged those good intentions away, replacing them with dread, anger, guilt, and sadness.

At the altar, somewhere simultaneously very close and very far away, Jacob smiles at his bride-to-be, holding her soft hands between his rougher ones, reciting the vows that will bind them for the rest of their lives. You stifle the urge to place your hands over your ears.

Oh, spirits.

He says the word “love,” and you have to fight the visceral flinch that threatens to tear through your body.

His bride’s words are not quite as painful as his. You didn’t know her as well as you knew him (does she know his favorite color is burgundy, a red between scarlet and purple, the color of roses on the darkest night?), so her vows don’t sting as much. But there’s pain just the same – throbbing, subtle, never harsh but ever present.

The neckline of your dress feels too hot against your skin.

With sick dread, you listen to her voice taper away, see the trembling smile on her face as she stares into the face of the nobleman’s son. Jacob stares back with all the stars of the sky in his eyes.

(Did he never notice that you looked at him the same way?)

The priest takes their hands, guides them through the “I dos.” They are a radiant couple, pure red covering pale skin and silky hair.

Your heart, smothered in innocent white cloth, cries.

The priest’s next words ring through your head, rattling around your mind with a force to rival the club that gave you last year’s concussion. “You may kiss the bride,” you hear, muffled as though he is speaking through water.

The red-covered couple leans in close. One of Jacob’s hands cups her cheek almost reverently, while the other gently grasps her fingers. He looks at her like she hung the moon that illuminates the red roses of his night.

You’re a knight. You’re one of the Guard. You’re brave, courageous, able to face down any foe without hesitation, ready to fight to the death for your country and the people that you love.

As their lips touch, you close your eyes.

(You’re a coward.)

. . . . .

Your boots echo loudly on the hard marble floor. As you approach the throne, the large, wooden doors swing shut behind you with a soft thud. You sink to your knees, head bowed.

“Rise,” your queen says, her voice lilting and sweet and perfect in the shining chamber. Her king consort, your best friend (is he still your best friend? You aren’t quite sure), sits by her side.

Respectfully, you stand, careful to hide any vestiges of pain on your face. It’s been several months since the wedding, and you’ve gone back to the Crown’s Guard, assigned to protect the king and queen and train the guards for their duties.

The metal of your armor, though heavier than the ivory dress that still hangs in your closet, feels lighter on your body. It is protection, from swords and words and emotions.

“We received the request for your leave of absence,” the queen says. Her eyes convey the perfect amount of sadness and wisdom. “We would be sorry to see you go.”

Jacob looks at you beseechingly. He wants you to change your mind, to stay as his friend and protector. Your mind tells you that you should stay – after all, you know little of the other kingdoms, of the lands you have decided to travel and explore. Staying in the country you know best is the safest option, for you and for the royal family.

But your heart tells you to go, and on this matter, you will listen. You wouldn’t be able to live here long, watching Jacob and his queen rule happily together for the rest of your days. You wouldn’t be able to stomach seeing their children romp around, watching them dance together at balls, hearing the cries of the common folk singing praises of the royal couple.

“However, though it pains us to see such a trusted member of the Guard gone, it is your life, and we wish for you to live it to the fullest.” The queen smiles gently, holding out a folded letter. “This contains a copy of your signed request, as well as a letter of recommendation to any future employer you may seek.”

She’s kind. So kind. Your throat closes up as you take the letter, and you can barely choke out a “thank you, Your Majesty.”

“And do remember,” Jacob adds, “that you will always have a place in our guard, should you choose to return.”

“I thank you for your kindness, Your Majesties.” You bow low, touching your hand to your head in a gesture of utmost respect. “I, too, am sad to go. However, I do not doubt that I leave you in very capable hands.” A ghost of your usual smirk appears on your lips. “And I am sure, Your Majesty, that the King Consort has enough skill to keep the two of you safe.”

The queen, being the wonderful lovely woman she is, chuckles slightly. “If he was taught by you, I am sure he will.” She smiles. “We wish you the best, Protector of the Crown.”

. . .

Jacob catches up to you later, just as training has finished for the day. As you bid goodbye to the last recruits, he enters through the back door. You recognize his footsteps and put on a smile as you turn around.

“I could’ve been an attacker, you know,” he says, slipping into the easy banter you’ve established over a decade of friendship.

“You think I don’t recognize your footsteps by now?” The smile stays on your face more easily now, not because the pain is any less, but because you’ve had more practice.

A short silence hangs in the air. Sweat from your hair drips onto your leather tunic, while not a speck of dust lies on the rich silk that clothes your best friend. It reminds you of how far apart you are now.

“Is there really no way I can persuade you not to leave?” Jacob finally asks. His mouth is downturned in the slight pout you’ve grown to love, while his eyes hold the hope that made you fall.

Your mind screams yes. Your heart shouts no.

“Not this time, Cobi.” The nickname slips out before you can even think. “I’ve made my decision. It’s time for me to go.”

Jacob sighs. “Could you at least tell me why?”

You could. Speaking words isn’t as hard as other people think it is. It’s just that once you say them, you can never take them back.

Should you tell him?

His eyes are earnest. They’re honest. They want the brutal truth that you’ve grown accustomed to giving him over the years.

But the easiest lies are those that carry a hint of truth.

“I’ve never traveled.” The untruth falls easily from your lips. “Sure, I’ve gone to the countries where we were called to battle, and I was around when you had to go places for business, but I never got to really see anything. I want to explore, see the world before I’m too old.”

He doesn’t completely believe you. You know that for sure. You can see it in the downturned quirk of his lips, the suspicion as he blinks, but he knows better than to question it. He knows you would tell him everything if you could.

(This time, you can’t.)

“And here I was, thinking I could find you someone in court to repay you for all you’ve done for me.” Jacob smiles, completely unaware of how his words are stabbing holes into your heart. “Visit, all right? You’ll always be welcome here.”

You can almost hear your heart shattering, the pieces breaking off bit by bit as they fall to the floor. But you smile. “I’ll try,” you say, because here you won’t lie and say that you will. You won’t give your best friend, the love of your short life, a promise you may not be able to keep. “I’ll try.”

He hugs you, staining his silken shirt with the sweat of your tunic. You hesitate a moment, then fall into the embrace, taking a final comfort in the strength of his arms. It hurts, but it’s a memory. And even though you want to escape, you don’t want to forget Jacob. Ever.

“I’ll see you off when you go,” Jacob says when you break apart. “Tell me when, all right?”

Should you tell him? you wonder. Will him seeing you off do anything but hurt you more?

It won’t. But your pain means little in the face of Jacob’s, not when you’ve already hurt him so much with your desire to leave. You’ve injured him enough. “I will,” you promise.

Later that night, you wonder if you should have told him the true reason you were leaving. You wonder if you should have confessed everything, laid your heart bare and told him how much he truly means to you.

No, you eventually decide. You’re glad you didn’t. Better to not ruin his happiness with his wife or his remaining memories of you.

(Or maybe you were just too scared to tell him.)

. . .

You set out early in the morning, just as the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon. A part of you hoped that Jacob would be too tired to send you off, but you knew he could never do that. He cares for you.

Just not in the way you care for him.

He meets you at the stables, where you’re outfitting your favorite horse for the journey. In his loose tunic and trousers, it almost feels like the two of you are in your teens again, waking early to train for your positions in the Guard.

Those were the good days, you think. There wasn’t a worry in the world besides making it past the next test. Jacob’s father wasn’t dead, and he didn’t have to leave the Guard to take over his household’s duties. Meanwhile, you had no idea of your feelings. There was no heartbreak.

Better times.

Words aren’t necessary, not this morning. Jacob helps you saddle your horse and store your belongings in silence. If he notices you stiffening – just barely, mind you, you’re much better at hiding it now – when his fingers brush against yours, he doesn’t say anything.

When everything is finished, you linger for a moment more. It hits you that you’re really leaving the place and the people you’ve called home for so long with no intention of coming back.

Jacob’s eyes are sad but tinged with hope when he finally speaks. “You’ll always be welcome here, you know that, right?”

Your chest tightens. You know he’s asking, one more time, for you to stay.

Last chance to tell him, you think. Last chance to clear the air.

But you’re still a coward.

“I know,” you reply. “But I have to go, Jacob.”

He doesn’t ask you why, not this time.

You wrap him in a hug, one last hug before you set off forever. A piece of your heart shatters when he puts his arms around you, squeezing your body to his in that secure, soft hold that’s just so him. So caring, so sweet, so Jacob.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

“Safe travels, Y/N,” he says as you swing yourself onto the horse. His eyes sparkle. You know he’s holding back tears, too.

You give him one last smile, imprinting the memory of his voice saying your name in your mind. “Thank you, Jacob.”

When you ride away, you only look back once. Jacob smiles in the distance, hand raised in farewell. A small tear on his cheek barely glints in the morning sunlight.

You wave back.

. . . . .

Travel is liberating, truly – though you loved being a knight, there’s something so free about not wearing armor all the time, not having everyone recognize you as one of the Crown’s Guard. You don’t have to listen to anyone, you don’t have to watch out for constant danger. You don’t have to worry about anyone, now, but yourself.

There’s a little guilt in this pleasure, as well as some unease. It’s strange not to follow the strict routine you’ve held yourself to for over a decade, and it’s even weirder not to have someone you are charged to protect.

Well, you have to protect yourself, you guess. But that just… doesn’t come as naturally.

You eventually force yourself stop thinking about it. Thoughts like these weigh down your mind and take away from the joys of exploration, you firmly remind yourself. So you content yourself with roaming small towns and villages, meeting the people, picking up new skills with which to make a living.

(You never knew you were so bad at cooking, but at least you get better.)

The spirits treat you kindly for the first few years. The money from your work as a knight keeps you afloat as you learn to make a new living (you avoid using the queen’s letter – that would draw attention, and you don’t want any of that now), and when that runs out, you put your newfound abilities to use wherever people care to pay you for them.

It’s not a rich existence. Nothing is certain in this life, not the way it was when you lived in the palace barracks and your basic needs were always met. Here, you can rely only on yourself for food and water and shelter.

But it’s enough. Everywhere you go, you meet new people – rich and poor, rude and kind – and it only enhances your wonder at the world around you. Truly, you think, you lived in a bubble before. Now, even though you’re poorer, you can see everything your eyes glanced over as a knight.

(And if you sometimes miss Jacob’s warm smile, even if it never spoke of love as deep as yours, it doesn’t matter. You’ve made your decision. You won’t go back.)

It isn’t like you’re losing your fighting skills, either. You still have your sword, something you refuse to part with no matter how little money you have. There’s plenty of danger – bandits, thieves, rich boys who think they own the streets – and as such, plenty of opportunities for you to keep your senses sharp.

It’s after one of these fights that you meet the moon child, Changbin. He appears in the dark alley after you’ve knocked the last man out and takes concern with the bleeding wound on your upper arm.

“I’m fine,” you try to tell him as he firmly guides you away from the alley and towards a dark patch of trees. “I’m fine – hey, please let go of me.”

Hearing the urgency in your voice, he drops your arm. Your hand immediately goes to the sword at your hip. “Where are you taking me?” you snap, eyes flickering toward the trees.

He reddens. “I’m so stupid,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his forehead. “I stay in the woods,” he explains. “If you’ll let me take you there, I can help you clean your wound.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You stay in the woods?” you repeat, incredulous. “Why –”

A breeze shifts his hair away from his ear, revealing a pure white flower dangling from a slim chain, glowing in the moonlight.

A moon child.

Oh.

In all of your years of traveling, you never thought you would truly meet a spirit.

“My Lord,” you say, dropping hastily to your knees. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you earlier.”

“Please, none of that.” The moon child tugs you back up, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I’m just a moon child, none of the ‘my Lord’ stuff. My name is Changbin.”

Changbin doesn’t turn out to be a bandit masquerading as a moon child, thankfully, so you allow him to clean your wound in his makeshift hut in the middle of the trees. He introduces himself fully as a wanderer. Not a traveler, he clarifies, because travelers roam the world for pleasure. He does it out of necessity.

(The look of desolation in his eyes convinces you not to ask.)

He becomes your companion for months, nearly a year, walking with you from city to city until he decides to part ways in a small village near a forest. By that time, you’re sad to see him go – he’s been a wonderful friend – but like Jacob never asked the reason for your departure, you honor Changbin’s desire for silence.

He does leave you with one piece of advice, “traveler’s wisdom,” he calls it (you punch him in the arm when he says that in this high, haughty voice). “Villagers will tell you that these woods are dangerous,” he says once the two of you have calmed down. “They’ll say it’s haunted by spirits. And there is danger, it’s true, but there is also safety.”

You listen carefully.

“In the heart of the woods, there is a shrine. If ever you find yourself lost or in trouble, go into the forest at the break of dawn and find the shrine. The priestesses will take you in. If you can’t find the shrine by dark, though, leave as fast as you can.” The seriousness in Changbin’s eyes tells you he isn’t joking this time. “The forest isn’t nearly as dangerous during the day as it is during the night.”

So you travel for another year, keeping Changbin’s words in the back of your mind. As you continue, though, money begins to get scarce. These villagers are more suspicious than others you’ve met and aren’t as quick to hire a newcomer, especially one so poor but who bears such a sword (you’ll never sell it, not ever). Their suspicion is understandable, but it doesn’t make anything better for you.

You’re lost, now. You sold your horse and fine clothes a long time ago, leaving you with nothing from your old life but your memories and your sword. You’ve become a wanderer, not a traveler – forced to roam for no reason other than you must.

Several times, you mull over returning to the Guard. Jacob said he would welcome you back, and the thought of a full stomach and a place to sleep almost make up your mind on the worst nights.

But even though you want to see Jacob again, want to remember his warmth and kindness, a green snake twists its way around your heart, sliding up your throat every time you think of going back to him. He’ll never accept you, not truly, the snake hisses. He’ll never love you the way you love him.

And try as you might, you can’t stomach the thought of facing him again, not when you made the choice to leave.

So you remain a coward, a blind, stupid, stubborn coward. Instead of going to a place you know, a place where you would find care and acceptance, you throw your lot into Changbin’s advice.

You decide to find the shrine.

. . .

You’re on your last coins when you finally make it back to the village where you and Changbin parted ways. As dawn breaks, you take a breath, summoning your last strength, and head between the trees.

It’s eerie, a bit, but so beautiful. As the sun rises, the sky turns a beautiful shade of blue that melds with the trees’ greenery. It almost distracts you from the fact that you legitimately have zero idea where you’re going – Changbin only told you the shrine was at the heart of the forest, nothing else. You’ve been marking your path with stones you picked up along the way, but something tells you that won’t help much if you’re being chased by… an evil spirit. Or something.

(It’s embarrassing and slightly scary to say it, but you don’t think you have the strength anymore to outrun such a spirit, much less fight one.)

Luck seems to finally be on your side, though, because after exhaustedly pushing through a crowd of bushes, you come face to face with a beautiful shrine, surrounded by wild gardens and small stone buildings.

Several young men and women – a few barely older than children – look up at the rustling of leaves. For a few moments, they stare at your undoubtedly grimy, gross face. You only stare back.

It feels like an eternity has passed before one of the young women stands and walks up, a gentle smile on her face. “Hello, traveler.”

“Hello,” you manage, voice croaking with disuse. You clear your throat, face hot. “I’m sorry for intruding. I just… I met… I don’t know if you know him, but I met a moon – a man named Changbin –”

“You met Changbin?” Her eyes take on a new intensity and a sliver of joy.

“Um, yes.” You try to smile. “He told me if I was lost and needed a place to stay, I could try to find the shrine.” Looking down at your dirty hands, you bite your lip in shame. “I’m sorry. I can leave if you want, I’ve just… I don’t have a place to stay. I can cook, clean, anything you need help with. And, um…” You hold out the remaining coins in your pocket. “I have these?”

A rough hand closes your fingers over the money. “Keep your coins, traveler.” The woman smiles widely. “Changbin would only tell a true friend about the shrine, and a friend of Changbin’s is always a friend of ours.”

As she leads you into the shrine, the only thing you feel is guilty, overwhelming, crushing relief. Relief that you won’t have to face Jacob once more. Relief that you won’t have to face your heart once more.

The mere thought of your cowardice makes you cringe.

. . .

The shrine, you learn, is a very busy place. You wake up pretty early the next day, unused to the fact that you have an actual futon now and not just the ground, but already the other two girls in the room are getting dressed. Feeling distinctly out of place, you start to follow suit.

“Oh, you don’t need to get up just yet!” One of them smiles. “You’re a guest, traveler. Take some time to rest.”

“No, it’s all right.” You smile back, hoping it isn’t as awkward as it feels. “I’ve never been able to sleep too late, and I don’t feel right intruding on your hospitality without giving something back in return. Is there anything I can help with?”

So you find yourself in the garden after breakfast, sweating under the sun with a boy around your age named Kevin. He’s cheerful. Very fun company. Somehow, he makes the monotonous task of pulling weeds enjoyable, even takes your mind off of how out of place you feel in this quaint shrine.

Walking back into the shrine after spending the day in the garden, you wave off Kevin’s offer to bring you dinner, telling him you’re going to take a shower instead. But because you’re an idiot, you forget the fact that you have no idea where the showers are.

Kevin’s already walking away, and you honestly feel too embarrassed to call after him and ask. So, ignoring the curious stares you’re garnering from the other girls and boys, you start walking in an arbitrary direction.

It’s a mistake. As the sun sets, you feel like you’ve wandered the grounds at least four times, but you can’t even find a semblance of a shower room in the whole shrine. You’re about to give up when the priestess who welcomed you walks out of a nearby building, followed by a young man with curly blond hair.

You really don’t mean to catch his eye. In fact, you’re drawing away, about to walk in the other direction, when he looks up and fixes your gaze with his. His eyes narrow.

You suddenly feel very uncomfortable.

The priestess – what was her name? Priestess Yang? You think that’s it – turns around and sees you there, immediately breaking into a gentle smile. “Oh, hello, Y/N!”

Sheepishly, you wave. “Hello, Priestess.”

“You welcomed the sword-bearer?” the man interrupts.

What?

You’re not even carrying your sword. You left it back in the room, thinking it might be viewed as a threat if you brought it around. And you’ve never seen this man in your life. So how does he know that about you?

The priestess gives him a scolding look. “Chan, the shrine welcomes those who are lost.”

“But a sword-bearer?” he – Chan – argues. “You do remember what kinds of damage they cause?”

Indignation rises in your chest. He doesn’t even know you, and he’s already making assumptions? “Hey –”

“Changbin told her to find us if she was lost,” Priestess Yang cuts in smoothly. “If Changbin can trust this sword-bearer, I’m sure you can find it in yourself to do so too, Chan.”

Chan just looks at you with undisguised suspicion in his eyes. You glare back. How dare he assume such things about your character?

“Were you looking for someone, Y/N?” Priestess Yang asks, pulling you out of your annoyance.

“Well, no.” The sheepish smile finds its way back to your face. “I was, um, looking for the showers.”

“Oh, they’re just over there! I’ll show you the way.” She pats Chan’s shoulder. “I’ll see you, Chan.”

Chan smiles briefly, then disappears into the air, leaving behind the faintest scent of grass and springtime.

The priestess laughs at the shocked look on your face. “Chan is our forest guardian,” she explains, leading you onto a dirt path. “He helps keep us safe.”

Uneasiness crawls up your spine. “Is that how he knew I had a sword?”

“Yes.” She nods. “He sees everything, knows of all those who travel the forest. It’s part of his Sight.”

A ripple of annoyance passes through your mind.

All that sight, and he couldn’t help me once? you grumble internally. Thanks a lot, guardian.

Suffice to say, even though Priestess Yang encourages you to have an open mind, your opinion of Chan isn’t the highest.

. . .

The discomfort of being the “new traveler” at the shrine stays for a week or so. By then, most of the residents are more or less used to your presence (you just ignore Chan whenever he gives you one of his suspicious looks), and you’ve carved out a small niche for yourself, taking care of the shrine children.

There are more than you expected, surprisingly. You would’ve thought the shrine was primarily made up of older teens, if anything, who could find their way here. When you mention this to Kevin, he gets a faraway look in his eye. “The shrine opens its arms to the lost,” he says in reply. “It makes itself easier to find for children, because they often can’t journey here themselves.”

“Abusive families?”

Kevin bites his lip. “Yes.”

This knowledge only makes you want to protect them more.

As much as you enjoy talking with Kevin in the garden, it’s so much easier to work with the shrine children, you find. They’re sweet and kind, if rambunctious, and you make it your duty to keep them occupied and safe while the older kids and priestesses work.

“Y/N, Y/N!” One of the older children, Yuna, comes running up one afternoon. “Priestess Jeon said you could take us into the forest for a walk!”

“Who else?” you ask. “Not just you, right?”

“Chaeryeong, Sunwoo, and Eric want to come too.” She looks at you with wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Your eyebrows furrow as you weigh the merits and dangers of a walk. It’s going to get dark in a few hours, so you can’t stay out long, but if one of the head priestesses agreed, it couldn’t be too bad of an idea. The kids aren’t too young, either. They’ll listen if something goes wrong.

“If you get one of the messenger boys to come, we can go,” you eventually decide. If something happens, at least you’ll be able to send someone off to get help quickly. Just in case, though, you strap your sword to your side.

Juyeon meets you with the four kids at the shrine’s entrance. Your heart sinks a little – you hoped Yuna would find Kevin – but Juyeon is pleasant enough. He returns the smile you flash at him, anyway.

The walk is uneventful, for the most part. Eric and Yuna pepper you with questions about your work as a knight while Sunwoo and Chaeryeong listen in rapture. Really, it hurts a little to talk about your life in years past, but for the kids, you’ll do it. The smiles on their faces are worth it.

When you start walking back to the shrine, though, the air changes. It doesn’t ripple right – the wind feels strange, somehow evil. Juyeon clearly feels it too, from the way his eyes are darting around the trees. With an unspoken agreement, you begin herding the kids along faster.

There’s barely a change in the wind when the thing – whatever it is – swoops down. Only the blur of a wing in the side of your vision alerts you and you shout, pushing Eric out of the owl’s range and drawing your sword.

“What the fuck is that?” you snap, brandishing your blade.

Juyeon’s face is white as he gathers the children. “Screech owl!”

“Screech owl?”

Then the thing – screech owl, you guess – dives down again, and there’s no time to talk.

“Juyeon!” you yell. “Get them out of here!”

He doesn’t argue, just herds the children together and races away. Smart boy.

You’ve never fought an opponent in the air before. It isn’t fun. The owl is fast, too fast, almost like a damn mosquito racing through the air as you try to squash it, only a million times bigger and fiercer.

Your sword slashes through the air as you duck and twist and hide behind trees, feathers fluttering to the grass all around you. Awful shrieks ring through the air and you honestly can’t tell if it’s you or the bird – all of your senses are jumbled up.

Adrenaline courses through your veins even as the sun sets further, washing the forest in pale evening light. The bird seems to take delight in the onset of night – it swoops faster, hoots louder, and is in general just a much bigger asshole than before (if that was possible).

“ARGH!” A claw slices the top of your shoulder. If I had my armor…

But you don’t, so you duck behind another tree. Think, Y/N, think, you tell yourself as you heave deep breaths. Wait, no, don’t think. Thinking gets you killed.

Just listen.

The air is still. You don’t move a muscle.

Then –

The faintest brush of wind on your left.

Your sword cuts through meat and bone, and the owl falls, dead, at your feet.

For a moment, you just stand there, gasping, staring at the blood dripping off your blade and pooling from the owl’s body.

Gross.

“Thank you.”

For not the first time that afternoon, you let out a deathly screech and leap away. Clapping a hand over your heart, you glare at the newcomer.

“… Chan?”

“That’s my name.” The forest guardian raises an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. “Thank you for killing the owl.”

You just look at him, eyebrows fully wrinkled in annoyance and confusion. “If you wanted the owl dead, why didn’t you kill it yourself? You’re the forest guardian, surely you have the power to do that much.”

“I can’t kill things just because I want to,” Chan replies. It should sound antagonistic, you think, but the look in his eyes is softer than he’s ever looked at you. Appreciative, maybe? “It would upset the forest’s balance if its guardian killed one of those who live in its domain. I can only defend the forest against those that mean it deadly harm, not those that are merely dangerous.”

Wiping your sword on the edge of your tunic, you mull that over. “But if the screech owl was too dangerous, wouldn’t that upset the balance of the forest in the end anyway?”

“We weren’t at that point yet.” Chan raises a shoulder in a half shrug. “But you killed it, so we’ll never know if that would’ve happened.”

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”

He laughs. It’s a surprisingly cheerful sound – you thought it might sound like, you don’t know, someone croaking (look, you never had the greatest opinion of Chan until this point, and that’s still in the air). “I don’t think it is,” he finally says. “And I’m sorry. I was wrong about you being like all of the other sword-bearers who came to this forest. You clearly care for the shrine children.”

An apology. That’s something. Grudgingly, you force yourself to see Chan in a better light. “Apology accepted.”

For a few seconds, you just stand there, feeling the air turn more awkward by the second. “Um –”

“Do you need the way back?” Chan interrupts, a knowing glint in his eye.

By all the spirits, why did you have to meet him when you were lost at the shrine? Now he thinks you’re bad with directions, which you swear you’re really not, you just hadn’t been at the shrine long enough to figure it out.

Embarrassment creeps up your skin as Chan’s smirk grows. “… Yes.”

(And, okay, the forest guardian is a little infuriating and you find yourself wanting to hit him several times on the way back. But really, he isn’t that bad. Though you’d rather die than let him know you think that of him.)

. . .

Chan comes back the next day. You don’t expect him there, especially because he never visits the shrine more than one day in a row, but he surprises you with a smile and the offer of a walk.

“This isn’t your plan for killing a sword-bearer without anyone finding out, is it?” you ask, raising a nonplussed eyebrow as you follow the guardian out of the shrine. You’re not sure why, but it’s so easy to fall into banter with Chan the way you used to joke around with the other knights in the Guard.

Chan snorts. “As a centuries-old guardian of the forest, wouldn’t you think I’d have a little more wisdom than to kill you after several people at the shrine witnessed you leaving with me?”

You very visibly keep a hand on your sword just in case.

“So why did you invite me on a walk?” you ask after several moments. Chan’s bare feet are silent against the grass, but your boots make slightly louder thumps as you step over stones and fallen branches. “I know it wasn’t because of my scintillating personality.”

He stops walking. “I’ve heard you used to be a knight,” he says bluntly. “I wanted to know what kind of sword-bearer you were to leave such a prestigious position and even befriend Changbin, of all people.”

“What’s wrong with befriending Changbin?” you ask, desperately dodging the first part of Chan’s implied questions. “You make it sound like he hates… sword-bearers. He literally dragged me away after I beat up a bunch of men in an alley with my sword so he could clean the one wound I got on my shoulder.”

“Ah. That explains it.” Chan nods. “He saw you do good things with your blade.”

“… Yes?”

“Sword-bearers killed the girl he loved,” Chan explains. “Well, archers, really, but swords were involved.”

You swallow. That explains his wandering tendencies. “Oh. Who sent them?”

“The king of Adment.”

The title brings a scowl to your face. “Oh, him.” You spit. “That would explain it.”

Chan looks at you curiously. “You hold a grudge towards him as well?”

“He was never the friendliest to my kingdom,” is your brief reply before diverting the topic again. “So, is that also the reason you hate sword-bearers in your forest?”

“Whenever sword-bearers trespass, they almost always bring destruction.” Chan’s face turns hard. “I’ve learned not to take chances.”

The ages-old anger in his eyes speaks of a wisdom far older than the youthful form Chan takes. You narrow your eyes. “How old are you, exactly? You said centuries, but how many?”

He smirks, though there’s something weary in his gaze. “I’ve been alive for over a millennium.”

“What?”

“I can tell you more about that another day,” he says, teasing. You want to complain that he can’t leave you on a cliffhanger like that, but the sun is beginning to set, and you have things to do at the shrine. “Do you need an escort?”

You resist the urge to punch him, forest guardian or no. “I’m not that bad with directions,” you grouse. “You just caught me on a bad day. I can find my way back.”

He walks you back to the shrine anyway. And day by day, after every conversation you have, he walks you back as well.

Kevin, when you meet him in the garden, remarks that you seem more cheerful after a few weeks. “You look like you’re anticipating something exciting,” he clarifies when you only dignify him with a confused glance. His lips curl into a smirk. “Something about Chan?”

Kevin probably expects you to hit him or roll your eyes, maybe say something snappy in response. Instead, your face only drops as the meaning of his words hits you.

Do you feel something for Chan?

Well, you love to hear about his life. There are some really exciting stories he’s had after living so long. He’s also pleasant to hang around, and you enjoy talking to him.

It’s just curiosity, nothing romantic, you tell yourself. There’s no attraction. Just a slight friendship, maybe. Nothing more.

Nothing like what you felt for Jacob.

“Y/N – hey, Y/N!”

You blink to see Kevin staring at you in concern. “Are you all right? You zoned out for a minute.”

No, definitely nothing like Jacob. You try to smile at Kevin, pushing thoughts of blond hair and kind eyes out of your mind. That’s stupid – you would never let yourself be swayed so badly again. “I’m fine,” you say, hoping you’re telling the truth. “Let’s go get dinner, yeah?”

. . .

As the weeks pass, you begin to wonder just how much was truthful in what Kevin said.

Walks with Chan have become a regular occurrence, now. When he shows up at the shrine entrance every other afternoon, someone immediately calls for you.

And the worst thing is, you feel excited when you hear your name being called, when you’re with the children or scrubbing dishes or working in the garden. Everyone around gives you a knowing glance and maybe a teasing smile as you rush to see the forest guardian.

One part of you wants it. You want to be able to freely enjoy these walks, feeling the soft earth beneath your boots as you listen to Chan speak. The forest itself is interesting – he shows you the overgrown faerie ring, the water nymph’s pond and the accompanying willow tree – but you think his stories are even more intriguing. You like hearing Chan’s voice. You think you’d like to keep hearing it.

The other part of you doesn’t want this, though, doesn’t want the budding warmth that you feel with the forest guardian, even as the months begin to grow colder. It’s not that it doesn’t feel nice – in fact, this is precisely because it does feel nice. Too nice. You’re starting to feel a stirring in your heart that reminds you of how you felt for Jacob. Though it’s small, very small, it’s there – you can recognize it from the years of heartache you spent watching Jacob fall in love with someone else.

You don’t want that again with Chan.

It shames you to want to run away again, to run away from a place that has provided you with so much comfort in the months past. You love the children, truly, and the friends you’ve made are wonderful. You’ve even started giving Juyeon lessons with your sword. But what other course of action is there? There’s no reason a forest guardian with so many centuries of wisdom would fall for a young, naïve human like you. Here, a love story is even more impossible than one with Jacob.

The decision curdles in your stomach, fills your throat with bitter, hot shame, but it’s necessary, you tell yourself. Better to cut everything off right now, before your emotions grow out of control.

You’re not that important to the shrine, really. You’ve only been there a few months. They’ll survive without you.

You just can’t go through the pain you felt with Jacob ever again.

. . .

You debate avoiding Chan. If he were human, you might actually have chosen that path. But just like you couldn’t avoid Jacob when you fell in love – you were too close, he definitely would’ve noticed – you can’t avoid Chan. He’s the forest’s guardian – he’ll know you’re purposely trying not to be found.

So you decide to cut things off on one of your walks. It feels so simple in your mind – get away from the shrine, then tell him you’re leaving. He won’t care, you tell yourself. It won’t matter to him. And as much as the thought hurts, it’s the better option.

It should be easy, really. Chan gives you the perfect opening – “Why do you look so sad today?” he asks, stopping you by Hyunjin’s pond. The nymph himself doesn’t appear, which you’re very thankful for.

Well, no time like the present. You steel yourself. “I’m going to leave the shrine.”

Chan’s face switches expressions several times within seconds. You watch, feeling a sick sense of dread and relief pooling in your stomach. It’s out there. You’ve said it.

But spirits, why does he look so upset? So angry?

Like you mean something to him?

“Why?” he finally asks.

“Well,” you stammer, his unprecedented reaction sending all of the rehearsed words flying out of your mind, “I – I’ve overstayed my welcome, haven’t I? I’ve been here for months already, and I’ve used the shrine’s hospitality long enough.” His incredulous expression sparks indignation in your chest. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you realize how much you do for the shrine?” he snaps. His footsteps, usually so silent, pound on the earth as he steps up to you. “You think you’ve overstayed your welcome – do you know how much I – how much the shrine needs you now?”

How much I?

How much I need you?

How much Chan needs me?

Slip of the tongue. You shake your head, trying your best to ignore it. “All I do is help with the children, work with Kevin in the garden! Chan, I’m easily replaceable – I’m just a poor traveler who was fortunate enough to find the shrine! I’m lucky that you’ve all been so welcoming, but really, it’s time for me to move on.”

“And what about the children? Your friends?” He crosses his arms. “What about me?”

“They’ll live!” you snap. “And what do you mean, what about you?”

Chan growls under his breath. “Are you really trying to say that I mean nothing to you?”

His words hit you like a punch in the gut, like that time Jacob accidentally rammed you in the stomach with the pommel of a sword.

So… not a slip of the tongue.

“Why does it matter that you mean something to me when I don’t mean anything to you?” you finally say.

“And here I thought you were smart,” Chan snaps.

Anger flares in your chest. “I’m serious, Chan! Why would I ever think I meant something to you?” You gesture wildly at the expanse of trees surrounding you. “You’re a millennia-old guardian of a forest of magic. I’m a human who ended up here out of luck. Why, even if I ever felt anything for you, would you feel anything for me? What have I done to merit your attention?”

Chan’s eyes soften slightly. “So many things.”

Taken aback, you flail for words. “Elaborate.”

“You’re a sword-bearer. A kind sword-bearer. A sword-bearer Changbin trusts, enough to divulge his name and travel with for almost a year. A sword-bearer he believed was pure enough of heart to find the shrine – and don’t stop me there, if he hadn’t thought you would be able to find it, he wouldn’t have told you of its existence.” Chan stares at you with that same soft look, that soft look that pierces your heart and makes you feel guilty, so guilty, because you’re not as good, not as kind, not as pure as he thinks you are. “You carved your place in the shrine the first day you spent there. Without anyone asking, you took care of the children and helped Kevin in the garden. You did everything you could to give the children a bit of the love they never might’ve experienced otherwise and protected them from a threat you knew nothing of, something that could have torn you to pieces if you weren’t as trained as you were. You –”

“Stop.”

Chan looks at you, confused. “What –”

“I’m not – I’m not even near the brave person you’re describing,” you snap, tears starting to well in your eyes. “Stop talking about me like I’m some – some spirits-damned martyr, or something –”

“But –”

“And even if I was this, this noble and amazing person you think I am,” you interrupt, tears fighting to slip past your eyes, “how many other men and women at the shrine are the same? Kind, gentle, whatever you want to use to describe me? I’m not special, Chan. I’ve never been.”

Jacob didn’t think you were, at least.

“Y/N, why – just – did you not hear anything I just said about you?” Chan tries to take your hand, but you shy away, pretending the hurt in his eyes doesn’t send knives into your chest. “You earned the trust of a moon child haunted by those who carry blades in a matter of months. Those at the shrine took years to gain his full acceptance. You proved me wrong about sword-bearers. You showed me you were fearless, brave, kind – you are special, Y/N,” he insists, forcing you to meet his eyes. “You’ve shown me that, shown me so much –”

“Stop.”

Your chest is heaving, the tears have spilled out, and you’re fighting for breath. It hurts, it hurts so much that Chan thinks this much of you, but all you are is a coward running away your feelings. “You don’t know,” you gasp, “you don’t know what kind of a person I am. I’m not what you see. How can you –” you angrily brush a tear away – “how can you not see that?”

“Then tell me,” Chan says. “Tell me why you’re so different. Convince me.”

You don’t want to. You don’t want to convince him, you want him to always have that beautiful image of you in his mind – a brave, gentle knight dedicated to protecting those who cannot defend themselves. But he deserves the truth.

And the truth is that you are a coward.

“I left my kingdom because I was in love with my best friend,” you spit. “He married the queen, and I couldn’t do anything but watch. I left because I couldn’t stand to see them so happy together, knowing I would only be on the sidelines of their love for the rest of my life. I left because I couldn’t bring myself to tell him how I felt, couldn’t bring myself to clear the air. I left because I wanted to run away instead of facing my problems, Chan! And even when I knew Jacob would always welcome me back with open arms, even during my darkest moments, I still chose to run away! I chose to find the shrine instead of letting my feelings go and reconciling with my friend. I chose to find the shrine and run away a second time because I couldn’t stand to face him again when I was the one who chose to leave.” A choked sob escapes your lips. “And now I’m running away again, because I thought you could never care for me in the way I’m beginning to care for you. Only you apparently do, but I can’t just stay here and let you love this perfect, noble character who doesn’t exist.”

Silence fills the air. Surely the birds are chirping, the leaves rustling, but you can’t hear anything over the pathetic sounds of you trying to control your tears.

“So now you know,” you croak. “You know the truth behind the coward this knight really is.”

You can’t even meet Chan’s eyes.

“You’re right,” Chan finally says. “For a knight, you’re an awful coward.”

His words stab you in the chest.

“Courage doesn’t constitute running away.”

You can feel the blood dripping out of your heart.

“It means facing your challenges head on, doing what you must.”

You clench your teeth, resolutely looking down at your feet. It’s the truth, you tell yourself. It doesn’t matter if it hurts. It’s the truth.

Then Chan’s trousers enter your vision. You stiffen, ready to back away, but Chan’s already tilting your chin up with one gentle finger so that you’re staring into his eyes. “But you’re brave, Y/N,” he murmurs. “You’re brave when it comes to protecting others, defending the innocent from those who would bring harm.” A small smile curves his lips. “You’re just not too good at protecting yourself.”

You burst into tears. And this time, when Chan presses you into his chest, letting you inhale his woodsy smell of fresh grass and sunlight, you don’t pull away.

. . .

“You don’t have to run away from attachment,” Chan tells you on the walk back to the shrine. “You don’t have to run away from familiarity, from caring about people. We care about you, truly. The children would be heartbroken if you left. So would Kevin and Juyeon and everyone else.” He gives you a gentle smile. “I would be, too.”

Keeping his words in mind, you put away your thoughts of leaving the shrine and try to open your eyes to how much people actually enjoy your presence. Some days, when the self-loathing rises and you don’t want to do anything but run away, it’s hard.

But Chan always finds you, if not the same day, then the day after. He takes you into the woods and tells stories until your sides ache from laughter and the sparkle – or so he tells you – is back in your eyes. With his slow, careful help, you begin to see the small, but visible effects you have on the shrine.

Eric’s and Chaeryeong’s eyes light up when you walk into the room. Sunwoo and Yuna fight for your attention. Juyeon’s calm face breaks into a smile when you show up for his daily swordplay practice, and Kevin laughs with abandon when you crack jokes in the garden. They’re small things, but you realize that leaving the shrine would’ve caused a lot more damage – to you and to them – that you didn’t realize before.

So you cement your place in the shrine, throwing yourself into the daily life of the place you’ve tentatively begun to think of as something deeper than a mere shelter. Juyeon’s interest in swordplay gives you the idea to begin training some of the girls and boys in defense. The priestesses agree after a little convincing – after all, you argue, even if the shrine isn’t threatened very often, dangers like the screech owl crop up every now and then. And if anyone decides to leave the shrine in the future and make their own life, defense could be a very useful skill.

Chan embraces your idea with more warmth than you’d imagine, given his aversion to sword-bearers. When you ask him about it, he just gives you that teasing smile that infuriates and calms you. “I trust you, don’t I?” His smile turns gentler. “You’re a good, brave sword-bearer. I think you’ll be able to keep your pupils from going… astray.”

You certainly do your best. Over several years of training, you watch Juyeon, Kevin, Yeji, and Lia grow into formidable opponents. Sunwoo takes more of an interest in archery after you fashion him a crude bow and arrow, practicing with the (kind of terrible) weapons until you buy him proper set in town.

Life goes on, and it goes well. Shrine life is peaceful as new residents enter – the newest resident, Haknyeon, is adorable – and you grow into yourself as the months go by. Chan never presses his feelings, only treats you the same way he always did until you’re ready to accept his care.

“Are you sure?” he asks when you tell him, eyes sparkling with hope and love and uncertainty all at once.

Your heart blossoms with love for the forest guardian. “Yes.” You smile. “I think I love myself enough to allow you to love me too.”

His lips taste like spring, like golden sunlight filtered through verdant leaves. Pressed against his chest, you feel safe, delicate in the touch of his fingers splayed gently across your back, strong in the warmth of his arms around your waist.

Oh, Chan makes you feel loved, loved in a way that slowly erases the self-loathing you’ve carried for so long, in a way that makes you feel brave enough to remain standing with each passing day. And even though you’ve still got a long way to go, you take comfort in the knowledge that Chan, your forest guardian, will always be there for you.

. . . . .

News doesn’t come often to the small village just outside the forest, so when there’s gossip that doesn’t pertain to the whereabouts about one villager or another, it’s worth listening to. This time, it’s a kingdom at war with another.

“Which kingdoms?” you ask idly, examining an apple.

“One is Adment,” the shopkeeper replies. You snort, a sentiment he laughs with. “Which was the other, honey?” he yells to his wife in the back of the stall.

“Was it Callia?” she yells back.

You don’t laugh when the apple drops from your hand.

Trying not to visibly show your distress, you wave off the shopkeeper’s worry at your expression and hurry to finish the shopping. To your luck, when you make it back to the shrine, Chan is already there, conversing with one of the priestesses.

“Y/N!” His smile drops slightly when he takes in your expression. The priestess quietly excuses herself. “Did something happen?”

“Callia – Callia is at war with Adment.” You swallow hard, trying to steady your voice. “Jacob’s kingdom. At war with the one that killed Changbin’s love.”

Chan’s face turns hard. “I see.”

“I – I feel like I need to do something.” You gaze at him, begging him to understand everything you can’t put into words. “Chan, I feel like I have to go back and help, somehow.”

Chan’s eyes are gentle but unreadable as he grasps your hand firmly in his. “You should do what you think is right,” he says quietly.

What I think is right.

What do I think is right?

Your mind races with panic, but one thought emerges, crystal clear in certainty.

“Yes,” you whisper, more to yourself than Chan. “I’ll do what is right.”

. . .

The priestesses give you their blessing to return to the kingdom you used to call home. Juyeon, Kevin, Lia, and Sunwoo volunteer to come with you as well, even though you try to dissuade them repeatedly with how dangerous it’ll be. They could die, you stress – this is war, after all. But they insist.

You put off saying goodbye to Chan until the day before you leave. He’s the one who finds you, actually – he has something to say, apparently, before you go.

It feels so strange, walking with Chan through the forest with the knowledge that you may never come back. It’s not like you’re a stranger to the evils of war – every time you rode into battle as a knight, you knew there was a high likelihood that you would die.

But it’s different, now. Jacob and your fellow Guards knew the risks of war – you were all seasoned fighters, trained in tactics and stealth and strategy. Here, you only have a very small group of fighters – reasonably good for the amount of training they’ve had, but lacking in true experience. They won’t understand the true horror of battle until they’ve experienced it themselves.

There’s something else, too. You’re leaving behind someone you love for the first time, someone who cannot come and fight by your side.

“Can I go first?” you ask, stopping by Hyunjin’s pond. You want to see the still waters one more time before you leave.

Chan nods. “Of course.”

“I…” You look down, mustering your courage. “I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

For a moment, there’s just silence. Then a sudden flush spreads across Chan’s cheeks.

It bolsters your confidence. “I know I don’t say it often,” you continue, enjoying the shyness on your guardian’s face, “but I really do. I wanted you to know that I’m not going off to help Jacob’s kingdom because I love him the way I used to, but because I still care about him as a friend.” You gaze into Chan’s clear eyes. “I love you very much, and I wanted to tell you that before I left.”

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “I never thought you were going to war out of romantic love for Jacob,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to worry about that, ever. I trust you.”

Your heart explodes with warmth. “So what is it that you had to tell me?”

“I never told you how forest guardians are chosen, did I?” Chan asks.

You shake your head. “No.”

“Well, sit down, and I’ll tell you now.” He smiles. “It’s a long story.”

Chan tells you of his first life as an oread, a mountain spirit settled in the craggy cliffs not too far from the forest. He tells you of the last guardian before him, a teasing fae named Jaebum.

“A fae?” you interrupt. “Isn’t that… not a good idea?” As lovely as Han and his lady are – you’ve met them several times by now – you wouldn’t exactly call him a suitable guardian. You’d say the same and more for his more sinister counterparts.

“Jaebum was different,” Chan says. “He cared deeply for the forest. After the two centuries I knew him, he found someone to love, to grow old with over time. He asked me to be forest guardian after he died.”

“So the current forest guardian chooses the next when they feel their time is over?” you clarify.

Chan nods, gazing into your eyes. “Yes.”

And all of a sudden, you understand.

“Chan, you –” You have to clear away the emotion rising in your throat. “You want to pass on the guardianship for me? To whom?”

“I’ve spoken to Changbin.” Chan smiles. “He was very receptive to the idea.”

“But – Chan, for me?” The old uncertainty starts to plague your mind. “Chan, I’m just… I’m just me.”

“Exactly.” Chan takes your hands in his. “You’re you. And I want to grow old with you. Live life with you. Don’t try to argue with me – this is something I know I want.”

You can’t even speak through the tears running down your face. “Chan –”

“Come here.” He wraps you in his warm arms. “I love you, Y/N. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

For how long you stay there, crying into Chan’s embrace, you don’t know. By the time you’re coherent enough to pull back, it feels like it’s been an eternity.

“So now you have to come back.” Chan smiles, though you can see a glimmer of fear, of uncertainty in his gaze. “You have to stay safe and come back for me, all right?”

“Yeah.” Hyunjin suddenly appears from the pond and you literally shriek, toppling backwards onto the grass. “You have to come back to Chan, or he’ll mope around for millennia and send the forest into ruin.” The nymph smirks, though you can see real concern hidden in his eyes.

“Like you moped for centuries over your cloud nymph?” Chan retorts, lips curved in an exasperated smile.

Hyunjin sniffs. “Details,” he says haughtily, already sinking back into his pool. He sends you a glance, though, that’s full of meaning.

You must come back. Don’t leave Chan waiting.

You make a silent promise that you won’t.

. . .

The next day, your cohort wakes up early. After yawning through a quick breakfast, you quickly gather your belongings and meet up at the front of the shrine. Several of the priestesses cluck over you like mother hens checking on their chicks, and you dutifully take their warnings and cautions with as light a smile as you can muster.

Chan shows up just as you’re about to go. The others thankfully leave you two alone for a bit (though you scowl at Kevin’s smirk and Lia’s whistle).

You don’t talk much, just stay wrapped in each other’s arms for several minutes. Eventually, though, dawn breaks. It’s time to leave.

“Be brave,” Chan whispers as you pull away.

You smile. “I’ll come back.”

With one last kiss that tastes of spring greenery, you leave the shrine. When you look back, Chan’s already disappeared.

. . .

It’s a long two years spent away from the shrine. The pace is difficult on your friends, who have only known the shrine as a home for so many years. For you, it’s a bit easier – you’ve been a traveler for a good few years, and it doesn’t take too long to settle back into the wanderer’s mindset, moving around, never staying in one place too long.

But they don’t complain. They’re strong, resilient, and resourceful – more so, really, than some of the knights you knew on the Guard. With their help, you launch quiet strikes at the border of Adment and Callia, taking down Adment’s forces small legion by small legion. Your group becomes known for your silent ambushes, though you take care to keep your identities hidden.

It’s like being a knight again on a smaller scale – planning attacks and carrying them out, knowing that you might lose your life or your friends along the way. It isn’t entirely unwelcome. Fighting still gives you that adrenaline rush, that grim, satisfying knowledge that you’re doing something to protect the people you love.

At the same time, though, it isn’t as fulfilling as it used to be. This life of fighting battles isn’t for you anymore. Yes, you will fight to defend, but you’ve found other ways to protect your loved ones, too.

It just cements the fact that you don’t think you’ll ever come back to Callia to stay.

Finally, Adment surrenders. You’re glad, truly – you’re ready to return to the shrine, as are your friends. As you begin the trek back through some of the rural villages, though, a few posters catch your eye. They spell out a request for the unknown border attackers to come forth to the palace and be honored for their aid in the war.

They know your story, Lia, Juyeon, Kevin, Sunwoo. It was only fair that you told them – how could you lead them to possible death without knowing why you came in the first place, why this was so important to you?

So you ask them. “Do you want to reveal yourselves?”

“I don’t think it’s a question of us,” Juyeon says quietly. “It’s about you.”

“Yes,” Lia echoes. “We’ll follow you, whatever you decide.”

Their trust still astounds you, even after so many years spent trying to dilute the self-loathing that used to plague your brain. “Give me a day to think,” you eventually say. “If you say you’ll follow me, I’ll let you know tomorrow.”

You stay up all night, debating. Your friends have already spent so long away from their home, fighting a war on your behalf. Is it worth it to take the extra few weeks spent traveling to and from the palace? Would it be fair to ask them to journey with you for even longer?

No, Y/N. You shake your head. They asked you to decide, which means they want a decision based on your feelings, on your desires. They’re kind enough to know that this must be your choice to make.

You sigh, leaning back against a sturdy tree. Why are you so hesitant about seeing Jacob again, anyway? You don’t love him anymore, not the way you used to. It doesn’t hurt you as much to think of him. Spirits, you even came all this way to help him in a war you weren’t even involved in.

Maybe you’re afraid that you’ll fall in love with him again, a tiny voice in your head suggests. Maybe you’re afraid that you’ll want to stay.

Oh.

That’s probably it.

Pressing the heels of your palms into your eyes, you sigh again. You love Chan. You love the shrine. You’ve realized that fighting battles as a knight isn’t the way you want to spend the rest of your life. But you’re still afraid that seeing Jacob again will awaken feelings for him once more.

Wait. You sit up, frowning into the darkness. For your feelings to awaken, they would still have to exist.

You don’t love Jacob anymore. The thought of him doesn’t make your heart thump anymore, doesn’t choke your throat with emotions anymore.

Logically, rationally, seeing him again wouldn’t hurt the way it used to.

But love isn’t rational, the oh-so-helpful part of your mind pipes up.

You scowl. Stop making this decision harder.

As the fire dies to glowing coals, as your friends quietly snore throughout the night (except Sunwoo, he snores very loudly), you sit there, mind warring with fear.

By morning, you’ve made your decision.

. . .

The palace is almost the same as you remembered – high, polished stone walls surrounded by a bustling marketplace and lush gardens. The grass looks a bit wilted and the market chatter sounds subdued, but the kingdom has just gone through a war. You would be more worried, really, if everything looked exactly as beautiful as it used to be.

Anxiety bursts in your chest as you slip through the crowds, face covered in a scarf, getting closer and closer to the palace. Three of the Guard stand sentinel at front gates, and even though you’re too far away to see their faces, you’re sure you’d recognize at least a couple of them up close.

“Breathe,” Kevin whispers helpfully next to you. “You’ll be fine.”

You nod shakily. “Yeah.”

Two of the Guard cross their spears over the gates as you approach. The third steps forward, meeting your gaze.

Your heart skips a beat at the sight of an old friend. Changmin!

“State your business,” Changmin says, eyes unmoved. It stings a little that he doesn’t recognize you, but it’s understandable. You’ve both changed over the years – you’ve grown out your hair, while he’s cut his shorter, and he’s lost the last baby fat from his cheeks – and you have a scarf covering half of your face.

“I have business with the king,” you reply, heart hammering in your chest. “I believe my presence was specifically requested, along with that of my friends from the border.”

Faint recognition lights Changmin’s eyes, though they also narrow in slight confusion. He looks at you for a second, gaze piercing yours.

“Is something wrong?” you ask. “We can leave our weapons at the gates, if you wish.”

Changmin shakes his head, shoulders slumped in resignation. “No, I just thought you sounded like someone I once knew.” He looks down. “She had a sword like yours, too.”

Your heart hammers at your old friend’s words. What would he say if he did know it was you?

His voice cuts through your panicked thoughts. “May I have a name by which to introduce you to His Majesty?”

Last chance, you tell yourself. Last chance to turn back.

You won’t lie – the choice sounds appealing, at least to your pounding heart. Glancing up at the high stone walls, you feel the old urge to run away.

You could. You could turn away from the gates right now, leave Changmin remembering someone who will never return. You could travel back to the shrine and forget this ever happened.

But Chan told you to be brave. And being brave doesn’t only apply to war.

You pull down your scarf, smiling at the incredulous expression spreading over Changmin’s face. “You can tell him an old friend’s come back to visit.”

. . .

After yelling at you for never visiting and punching you at least ten times (your arm is so, so sore, but as he reminds you, you should just be glad he didn’t challenge you to a duel right then and there), Changmin brings you into one of the waiting rooms. “I’ll find you and bite you if I come back and see that you’ve disappeared again,” he threatens before heading back into the halls.

Sunwoo raises an eyebrow, looking mildly disturbed. “Bite you?”

You snort, smiling widely. “Long story.”

Too soon, though, there’s another set of footsteps echoing outside of the room. The smile slowly starts to slip off your face, and your heart, previously calmed by Changmin’s characteristic welcome, starts to pound again.

Be brave. Chan’s voice speaks in your mind. Be brave.

You steel yourself.

Then Jacob appears in the doorway, and the room feels like it’s falling away.

. . .

By the time your mind has caught up to the present, you’re wrapped in Jacob’s strong arms, in one of those Jacob hugs that you used to yearn for every day. It’s comforting, warm, but to your pleasant surprise, there’s no hurt. No pain.

You only feel happy.

“You came back,” Jacob whispers, more to himself than to you. “You came back.”

You just laugh, squeezing your best friend harder. “I did.”

Thankfully, your friends understand that you need some time with Jacob alone. Changmin leads them out, already bickering with Sunwoo (how they became friends so quickly, you’re not sure you want to know). In the silence of the room, you and Jacob just stare at each other for a moment.

“I –”

“What –”

You burst into laughter and Jacob joins in, feeling heady with absolute bliss and relief that your worst fears haven’t been realized. You haven’t fallen back in love with Jacob at first sight. His mere presence doesn’t make you want to stay.

“You first,” Jacob finally says when you’ve calmed down. “You first.”

The laughter disappears from your throat as your smile dims. “I never told you the full reason why I left.”

Jacob is a good listener, a fact that you’re grateful for. If he’d interrupted you at any point, you aren’t sure you would’ve been able to continue. Still, though, it’s harrowing, recounting the love you felt for your best friend for so long.

“When I left the first time, I didn’t have any intention of returning.” You state the harsh truth with a bitter taste in your mouth. “I couldn’t bring myself to tell you about what I felt, so seeing you only hurt. I didn’t… I didn’t want to feel any more pain.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Jacob’s eyes are cloudy, filled with pain on your behalf. “I’m so sorry. If I’d known…”

“Stop.” You put a hand on his shoulder. “One reason I didn’t tell you was because I knew you’d blame yourself. It isn’t your fault. None of it is.”

Jacob sits in silence for a moment. “But you did come back.”

“I did.” A small smile curves your lips. “I found a place that took me in, allowed me to try and find myself once more. I found someone who helped me heal. So when I heard about the war, I didn’t have qualms about coming to help. It was something… I knew it was something I had to do.”

Jacob’s eyes clear. “I see. Your someone, your, um…”

“Husband,” you offer. It’s the closest thing to what Chan is to you that Jacob would understand.

He nods. “Your husband didn’t come?”

“No.” You shake your head. “I came with friends. We have our own things to protect, back at home.”

Home. That word surprises you as it leaves your lips. Home.

The forest, the shrine is your home.

It’s the first time you’ve made this connection. With the realization, a sudden burst of warmth fills your chest.

“I see.” Jacob leans forward, looking genuinely happy for you. “Things are going well, then?”

Briefly, you wonder if you should tell him about the shrine. You decide not to. That’s your secret to keep, at least for now.

“Yes, they are.” A smile involuntarily spreads across your face. “Very well.”

For a moment, the two of you just sit in comfortable silence. Then Jacob speaks. “Can I persuade you again to stay?” he asks, though from the look in his eye, you’re pretty sure he already knows your answer. “You can bring your husband and friends. There will always be a place for you here.”

It feels like you’re being thrown back in time to that day in the training room, just a few months before you left. Your answer is still the same as it was then, so many years ago.

But you have something else to add.

You shake your head. “Not this time, Jacob.” Your smile grows smaller, but softer. “Though I do promise I’ll visit you again.”

. . .

On the horses Jacob gifted you, it only takes a few weeks to return to the forest. You see the children and the priestesses first, waiting at the front of the shrine, followed by the other maidens and messenger boys. Their shouts of welcome bring a smile to your face.

Then Chan appears when you’re riding up to the gates, crushing you in a hug almost before you’ve leapt off your horse.

You lose yourself in your guardian’s warmth, in the strength of his arms wrapped around your body. It feels so similar to Jacob’s hugs, so comforting and soft and strong, but also so uniquely Chan. You laugh into his chest, tears beginning to stream down your face.

“I’m back,” you gasp between the tears. “I’m back, Chan.”

“I know,” he whispers, only holding you closer. “I know.”

A blissful eternity passes, wrapped in Chan’s arms, until he pulls back the slightest bit, just enough to press a long-awaited kiss on your lips. “You’re back,” he says one more time, as though he still can’t quite believe it.

“I am,” you confirm. “I did it, Chan.”

He knows. He knows, looking into your eyes, what you mean by “it.” He knows you don’t just mean that you fought Adment, that you came home alive. He knows there’s something more.

Something involving a certain past love.

Warm, warm pride blooms in Chan’s eyes. “Were you brave?”

Memories race through your mind – staunching bloody wounds, trekking through the forests at the border – but you know that isn’t what Chan means. He knows you can be brave in the midst of battle, brave in protecting those you love the most.

He wants to know if you were brave with him.

Your eyes twinkle as you remember the palace gates, seeing Changmin again, landing in Jacob’s arms once more. You remember his soft voice, his kind eyes full of real, platonic care, a memory you’ll treasure for years to come.

Where you once might have grimaced at the thought of your old home, now, the smile on your face only broadens with every passing second.

“Yes.” Your laughing gaze sparkles into Chan’s proud eyes. “I was.”

234 notes · View notes

asavt · 3 years

Text

Cold Desert Night

By Notebook

Nestled between the frigid deserts sands and smooth sandstones, lies a city that never sleeps. Underneath the starry night sky, it shines its bright lights that pierce the darkness. Drawing those who wish to find an oasis in the harsh dryness of Sandpaper Desert.

Near the edge of this bustling city lies a quaint little nightclub, known to draw in a crowd, despite its small size. Those who maintain the club consist of the owner, an old toad who bought the club when he was young, and five employees. Two of these employees were Djei and Lyrik. Both who work during the night shift, when the club was at its busiest.

It was at this nightclub where the former Legion of Stationary,Hole Punch, got a job as a cook the owner desperately needed during the night. Even though the old toad did not want to hire the former Legion as the club’s cook, Djei, and Lyrik pleaded with their boss. Begging the old toad to give Hole Punch a chance. To let them prove that they turned over a new leaf and are ready to start over.

After begging many times, the owner finally relented and gave Hole Punch the job but under a few conditions.

They must report to the owner at the beginning and end of their shift, including breaks.

They must be visible at all times, except when they are working in the kitchen.

They must not talk back, fight back, or do anything to the owner, no matter what.

And

They must not complain or ask for anything.

The owner told Hole Punch that if they broke any of these conditions, they will be fired without a second thought. The owner even warned Hole Punch that if they anger the old toad too much, their two boyfriends will get fired as well.

Desperate to earn money for rent and utilities for the three of them, Hole Punch agreed to the terms. Thus began their journey as a cook at the “Sunburst,”night club near the edge of the newly named Shnroomfit City.

————————————

“Remember. The only reason I hired you is because your two boyfriends beg me to. So you better not slack off or else I will fire you without a second thought. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

“Good. Now good out my face and get back to work. Before I throw my chair at you again.“

“Yes, sir.”

Hole Punch clenches their fists as they rush out of their boss’s office and into the kitchen. In the three months they’ve been working here they have been screamed at, scolded, punched, kicked, and hit by randomly thrown objects from their boss.

Even though Hole punch could easily defend themselves from the former bouncer, they’re afraid that if they do the owner will fire all three of them without hesitation. What’s worse is that the owner could also simply fire and ban Hole Punch from the club and take out all their anger on Djei and Lyrik.

Despite their old age, the owner was more than capable of dealing massive damage to even hardened patrons from the roughest parts of the city. Hole Punch could only imagine just how badly injured Djei and Lyrik could get if the owner treated them just as badly as he treated Punch.

No, Hole Punch won’t allow that to happen to the ones who showed them kindness and love. As long as they follow the conditions and not anger the boss, everything should be just fine.

While Hole Punch was in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and peeling up fruits for that night’s meal orders, Lyrik came into the kitchen with a first aid kit. Noticing the new face, Hole Punch turned towards the snifit and smiled warmly.

“Is there something you need?” Hole Punch said in a quiet tone.

Lyrik merely looked at them behind his mask, before pointing towards the chair at the end of the kitchen. Hole Punch shook their head.

“No, really. I’m fine. I just have a few bruises. That’s all,” Lyrik looked unconvinced at Hole Punch’s excuses for not getting treatment. Once again pointing towards the chair at the end of the kitchen. Hole Punch relents and walks over towards the chair and sits down. Lyrik takes out a few wipes to clean the scratches on Punch’s face and neck before applying the ointment on said scratches.

When Lyrik was done with Hole Punch’s treatment, the former Legion thanked them and got up from their seat. Before they could get back to work, Lyrik stopped them at their tracks. He looked at Hole Punch in the eye before finally speaking.

“Do you want to quit?”

“Huh?”

“It’s ok to quit if you want. Djei and I could work overtime, while you could find another job away from here.”

“What?! Why would I quit? It was a miracle that I got a job in the first place, and that’s because you two conceived the owner to hire me. Plus we need the money and I don’t want to leech off of you two anymore. I already did that for far too long.”

“So you won’t quit?”

“No, I won’t quit.”

Lyrik stared at Hole Punch before wrapping his arms around the cook, hugging them. The little snifit didn’t have to say anything for Hole Punch to understand why he wanted them to quit.

“Does it hurt?” Lyrik asked. Referring to the bruises and cuts Hole Punch received from the chair the owner threw at them from across the dance floor earlier that night. Hole Punch shook their head.

“No, not anymore,” they answered before returning the hug to their tiny boyfriend.

At the DJ turntables, near to the corner dance floor of the club, Djei grumpily checks the cables for any loose wiring before setting up equipment for the night. Even though Hole Punch apologized to their boss multiple times for what they have done to them, the old toad never forgave Hole Punch for stealing his face and turning them into a dancing zombie for Hole Punch’s entertainment.

Djei, at first, somewhat understood why the owner was angry and suspicious towards Hole Punch. However, after three months of the owner refusing to forgive the former Legion, as well as severely mistreating them at any given chance angered the toad like no tomorrow.

Hole Punch was really trying their best to keep the owner happy, as well as trying to prove that they have become a better person. Yet, the owner could not forget what happened to them and took this opportunity to take revenge on Hole Punch.

Even though Djei, in addition to Lyrik, really wanted to tell the owner off and defend Hole Punch, they had little money saved up and little chance to find such a high paying job in this city. As a result, the two had no choice but to stand aside and let the owner mistreat their tall boyfriend like they "deserved” it.

The guilt ate at Djei from the inside out but there was nothing he could do to change their situation. It was either ignoring what’s happening at work or risk becoming homeless and hungry.

Something that all three of them knew all too well.

———————————————————–

“Alrighty, folks. This is the last call for music requests. Anyone who wants a specific song to play, this is your last chance,” Djei said in a forced chirpy tone.

A few toads managed to force themselves through the crowd, up the stairs, and towards the turntables to input their request. Once everyone got their request in, Djei began to play their songs in descending order. As a result, it didn’t take long for the dance floor to fill with dancing toads and woozy snifits.

“Three orders of hummus, two orders of flatbreads, and seven glasses of limonana all ready to go!” screamed Hole Punch so that their voice can be heard against the loud music. Lyrik sets down the empty plates and cups on the metal counter and grabs the orders to serve them to their tables. When Lyrik left, Hole Punch grabbed the dirty cups and dishes and washed them as fast as they could.

Luckily, there were no orders when Hole Punch left to clean the dish, but they knew that could change very quickly, so it was a surprise that when they finished the dishes there was not a mountain of orders waiting for them. Instead, it was just two orders of carob juice and a note from the owner saying to clean the kitchen for the night.

Not wanting to stay overtime cleaning the kitchen, Hole Punch made the carob juice and quickly left to clean the kitchen as soon as Lyrik took the drinks to their tables.

Back at the dance floor, Djei took a glance at the kitchen and saw a tired Hole Punch sitting down on a chair in a thoroughly clean kitchen. Staring into space as they sat down to rest for the first time in 7 hours.

Deciding to treat their tall boyfriend, Djei took his mic and made an announcement.

“Alrighty folk, in a few minutes a new DJ will be coming up to bust out some groovy music and retro beats. They’re a bit shy so make sure you give them a warm welcome.”

This announcement got the attention of the toads and some snifits while Djei walked into the kitchen. Djei gave Hole Punch a smirk while the tired cook looked at them with confusion.

“What’s going on?”

“Well… I was wondering if you would like to DJ for the rest of the shift, while Lyrik and I do the setting up for the day shift.”

Hole Punch’s eyes grew wide as they took a glance towards the owner’s office then back to Djei.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to make the owner angrier than he already is.”

“I’m sure Hole Punch,” Djei said as he put his hand on Hole Punch’s shoulder.

“You’ve been working so hard for the past 3 months, and I’m sure you miss grooving to the music. Right?”

Hole Punch nodded in agreement.

“So that settles it. In a few minutes the turntables will be ready, so you can DJ till your heart’s content! Or at least till it hits 5 am. Hehehe.”

“Hahaha. Yeah,” replied Hole Punch. “Thank you for letting me DJ for the next few hours.”

“You’re Welcome. Now, make sure those toads and snifits dance like there’s no tomorrow.”

Hole Punch gives Djeis a big hug and exits the kitchen with a goofy grin on their face. Djei smiles back as he begins to set up for the morning shift’s cook.

‘This is more nerve-wracking than I remember,’ Hole punch thought when they made it to the turntables at the corner of the dance floor. They haven’t DJed in a long time and don’t know any songs the toads might like so, when push comes to shove, Hole Punch decided to try something they have been working on for a while. It was worth a shot.

Back in the office, the owner was just finishing the last of the club’s taxes when he heard cheers and shouts coming from the dance floor. Curious at what the ruckus was about, the owner got up from his seat and slightly opened the door for a quick peak.

What he saw and heard is not what he expected. The music was a unique combination of old and new which meshed surprisingly well, and from what he could tell the other toads liked it as well. The dance floor was full to the breaking point and from what the owner could hear a few toads nearby, they wanted to recommend the club to their buddies.

Liking what he was seeing, the owner closed the door and went back to work. Looks like today was gonna be another good day.

As the toads danced and stomped all around the dance floor, Hole Punch took out the microphone and spoke to the crowd.

“Now then, is there anyone in the audience who wants to request some so…ngs.”

The entire floor went dead silent as the toads realized who just spoke to them. Frozen in place as memories began to flood into their minds. Then, not a moment too soon, everyone screamed in terror and tried to run out of the nightclub. The toads trampled over each other and broke all the windows in order to escape from the Legion of Stationery.

“Wait! It’s Ok! I’m not here to harm you! I’m sorry! Please come back! I mean no harm!”but Hole Punch’s pleads fell on deaf ears as the entire clubbed emptied out in less than a minute. All the toads running out of the nightclub and into the cold night.

Hole Punch could only stare as Djei, Lyrik and the owner ran into the main room to see what was going. What they saw was an empty club with shattered glass and broken tables scattered around the floor and a quiet Hole Punch who stood near the turntables. It didn’t take long for the owner to connect the dots.

He threw a death glare at Hole Punch before throwing a glass cup towards the weary cook, missing them by only a few centimeters.

“What have you done?! Do you realize how much it will cost to fix this place! Do you know how much money we lost because of you?! Why were you even at the turntables, when you should be cleaning the kitchen?! What is wrong with you?!”

The owner screamed and scolded at Hole Punch, whose eyes grew a bit watery. Djei and Lyrik tried their best to hold their tongues, but the more the owner spitted venom towards Hole Punch. The more and more the two DJ’s wish to teach the owner a lesson.

Their anger reached a boiling point when the owner took a piece of a broken chair, with a nail sticking out of it and swung the broken chair towards Hole Punch. Whom merely braced for impact.

“Take this you stupid- huh?!”

Out of nowhere, Djei and Lyrik grabbed the owner’s tree-trunk arms, causing the toad to drop the broken chair leg.

In response, the owner grabbed Djei and threw him against the wall and then threw Lyrik on the floor. Both of their breaths were taken out of their lungs.

The owners then shouted at the top of his lungs, “Fired! All three of you are fired! Never come back here again! Or else I will-”

“Or else what?” (Clank)

A cold shiver ran down the owner’s spine as an ominous presence grew behind them. The old toad slowly turned their heads only to find a livid Hole Punch with his metal punchers out.

The owner stumbled away from Hole Punch, while the latter was approaching their former boss.

“Aw, What’s wrong? Not cussing me out or pelting me with glassware, anymore. Where’s your rage? Where’s your bravado? Where is that sickening glee when you terrorized me for 3 months?"

"Oi! Y-you think I’m afraid… o-of you? Cuz think… again!"The owner shouted, while trying to stand up.

Hole Punch merely walked up to the owner and stood face to face. Their eyes boiling over with rage towards him.

It was at this point the owner knew, he messed up.

Hole Punch grabbed the owner by the shirt and lifted him up a few centimeters from the ground.

"The only reason I let you do all things to me, is because you were the boss. You had power over my boyfriends’ livelihoods, and you knew it. Now that you fired us,” A small grin plastered on Hole Punch’s face, while the owner desperately tried to free himself.

“I don’t have anything to worry about. Do I?”

The owner begins to shake in Hole Punch’s grasp.

“Want to see how strong we Legion’s really are?"

—————————————————-

"Hey. Hey! DJ! Are you ok? Answer me! Please…"

"Hey…wake up. I know you can do it.

Lyrik finally opens his eyes to see himself surrounded by Djei, Hole Punch and a paramedic treating his wounds, just outside the club. There were a few police officers and medics here and there but nothing major.

"Oh, thank goodness you’re awake. You really scared us you know,” a relieved Hole Punch said with an equally relieved, and patched up, Djei next to them.

When the paramedic finished treating DJ wounds, she got up from her knees and told the snifit to stay laying down until he has the strength to sit back up.

The paramedic left while Lyrik lifted his arms and saw several bandages on them. He lays back down and turns towards his two boyfriends.

“What happened?"

Hole Punch scratches the back of their neck, while looking away from Lyrik’s maskless face.

"Uhhh…I snapped.”

“Huh?”

“Hole Punch finally snapped and attacked the owner while you and I were out cold,” Djei explained.

“The owner attacking us was the final straw for Punch and well… Let’s just say the owner has seen better days.”

“Ah… I’m guessing we’re fired then, huh.”

“Yes.”

“Eh, whatever. I hated working there anyway.”

“Me, too. Only stayed there for the money we needed.”

“Big time.”

Lyrik and Djei laughed together for a bit before they heard:

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?"

"What?”

“I’m so sorry,” Hole Punch said as they looked down at the ground.

“If I hadn’t opened my mouth when I was at the turntables. None of this would have happened. I’m so sorry,” tears fell down of Hole Punches, while Djei and Lyrik wiped them away with their hands.

“This isn’t your fault,” Lyrik said to Hole Punch.

“Yeah. You couldn’t have known that the toads would have reacted like that,” Djei added.

“Yes, I should have known!”

“………”

“…….What?”

“Do you know how many toads I terrorized, when I was stationed here? Do you know how many toads I scared with my abilities? Do you know how badly I want forgiveness? To say ‘I’m sorry’ to all those I’ve harmed. I just want to make up for what I have done… but…I…I… I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve forgiveness.”

Lyrik slowly sat up and hugged Hole Punch, with Djei following suit.

They each kept comforting the tired former cook. Explaining that they do deserve forgiveness. They do deserve redemption and they do deserve love. They will always be there for them, just as they were for the two of them.

“We love you,” both Djei and Lyrik whispered as they warmed up the cold Punch with their hugs.

“I love you too,” Hole Punch said, before returning the hug.

Although in their minds, they still believe they don’t deserve forgiveness nor love

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

UPDATE [03/08/21]: Nice dude~

Holy Shit

I like this scenario, a lot, I am sucker for this kinda scenarios tbh (let it be AU or canon, it’s just one of those things I like). You just left me wordless again dude, you got a way with words, love it.

Now I wanna draw Hole Punch DJ-ing because I can see that happening. Screw that owner no one can should treat a person like that for 3 months specially after that person has been behaving themselfs.

Keep on your good work dude!! and to you readers, I hope you enjoyed this nice fic from our mistery writter Notebook!

#fanterature #fanfic #submission #pmtok #origami king #Hole Punch #DJ Toad #DJ Snifit #(I wanna get those two names I'm open for suggestions)#Hole Punch x Dj Toad x DJ Snifit #legion of stationary #I'm weak #like #REALLY weak #I do not draw the boys that much but--#They still hold a special place in my heart <3 #btw writter-san if ya ever want to leave a little message after the fic feel free!

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bowieandqueen11 · 5 years

Text

Underwater / Ben Hanscom Imagine

Request: May I request an Adult Ben Hanscom imagine where the reader, who is married to Ben, is down in the sewer with the Losers and gets pulled under water by Penniwise? Our man Ben needs some reassurance from his wife that she's okay. Fluffyness! 🥰

@may85 eek thank you darling!! <3

Warning, some swearing!

You wished, with all your heart, that you never had to smell the stench of this place again.

When you all finally arrived into the depths of the sewer, Mike and Bill leading the way as everyone else trailed so slowly, so unsure, behind them, that’s when you finally allowed your heart to sink.

This was real. This was actually happening. You’re no longer thirteen, you no longer have an excuse, a way out, a way to forget this. You either die here, or you die out there.

The water the gang jumps down into is a turbid brown, the colour of sewage, or as Eddie fondly calls out again,

‘It’s still the same old fucking grey water.’

Branches have been blow in by the storm, and you gag a little, pressing your face into your husband’s thick back as he raises his eyebrows, wrapping one arm around your own as the two of you watch a small, glittery pink shoe swirl pass, like a relic from a time long forgotten as it floats by without a ripple.

‘Was that- was that Betty Rip-’

‘Don’t think about it hun’, Ben whispers, his thumb trying to tenderly stroke against the goosebumps that flash painfully against your arm, but his grip is tighter than he realises and he ends up digging in a small welt. The water eddies around them, but not that relaxed way water usually does: harshly, more like mini vortexes. You can hear Richie swear softly in front of you as Eddie bumps into him, loud ‘ah-ah, nope nope nope’s escaping his mouth as a half chewed teddy bear floats by his chest.

‘Come on guys, we need to get out of the water, it’s n-not f-far now.’

‘Is that supposed to reassure us?’, Richie whispers with a sigh, slapping his wet leg up onto the jagged stone mound as Eddie reaches down to help him up, his flashlight bouncing around on his head and illuminating different patches of the water in a shimmering light that reminds you of-

the deadlights.

Cold water is the most efficient thief of heat you know. It takes what it does not need. The water surges around your skin, rising up my leg on one side, making tiny eddies on the other the further you follow your friends. The weight of the water is almost enough to topple you, the temperature a dare, as if you were racing hypothermia with each wade through its murky depths. In front of you, your husband shivered against your arm, the water so cold it stung into his hips and flattened his shirt against him painfully. Every touch stole another part of his heat, leaching away a few more fractions of a degree. It crept up the fabric of his pants, clamping the icy fibres to his already frigid skin. But he kept going, because he knew in doing this, he could save you. And if killing a clown meant your nightmares would end, that you would be safe again, he would take on the universe one monster at a time.

Sensing your hesitation as the two of you finally start approaching the giant wall of rock where Eddie and Richie stand, brushing each other off with grimaced faces, Ben slowly turns around and pulls you slowly to him, wrapping his arms around you. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around your shaking body. The world around seemed to melt away as you squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. The simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through your veins, their fluttering wings easing the dread that had settled inside you.

‘I can’t do this Ben, not again, not after last time. What I saw-I saw-’

‘You are so brave, sweetheart, but this time, I’m not leaving you alone for a second. Plus,’ he says, elbowing you slightly with the biggest smile he can muster at the moment, ‘if you see the deadlights, I’ll just have to kiss you again to pull you out and back to me.’

‘Ben Hanscom, I swear!’, you mutter with a hoarse laugh, pulling your arms around his neck and burying your head into the curve of his shoulder. You just needed a moment, just one more moment with your husband in your arms, his hands tight against your hips, safe.

Everything was okay.

Through the darkness behind your head came the glow of two yellow eyes, like sallow lamplight eight feet off the ground, if only Ben’s had been open to see them, and if only Richie and Eddie hadn’t been having a mock fight over who’s married to who’s mother.. They moved with a slight sway, as if the unseen body prowled like a big cat. The monster advanced on them, its physique hardly discernible in the shadowy twilight of the sewer. With each slow movement that belied the speed it was capable of, slime dripped, oozing great globs of phlegm and depositing them with light splashes into the water; it’s skin was gnarled, but crumpled and folded as if in the midst of changing form. Over it's belly lay crusty flaps of concave skin. The beast reeked of raw sewage and rotten fish. A smell that hit your nose with a rancid pang only a few seconds before it had reached the edge of your shoulder, and Ben had drawn himself away from his warm daydreams of you to open his eyes.

In a split second, it had torn you from Ben’s grasp and dragged you down into the depths with it.

Darkness enveloped you. The water closed in around, filling you with a deep dread as you kicked out against it’s knobbly arms and screamed against the claws that dug into your cheek and left bubbling scratches. Red and black splotches danced in front of you as you gave the clown one final desperate kick in the shin, wiggling out of its grasp as a desperate hot wave enveloped you, warming even your frosted toes. Your heart was beating rapidly in panic, the urgency for air was apparent than ever. There weren't red blotches in your field of vision anymore. It was all black. You opened her mouth, gasping for air, fighting until you feel like your head is about to explode. You have to take a breath. So you do. For some reason it doesn’t hurt like you thought it would. You’re not scared anymore, it’s almost peaceful actually.

You begin to fall, dropping further and further into the darkness until it threatens to swallow you whole.

Ben knows he’s scared when those old fears run through my head, when he hears the taunting laughter of years past, when he was the ‘fat kid’ and punchline of teenage jokes. He knows he’s scared when these bad memories cut loose their chains and invade his confidence, eroding the person he had built since those dark days.

But this time was so much worse.

The adrenaline flew over his veins like licks of fire, but he couldn’t move a single muscle, not even to scream. The absolute horror completely paralysed him, and the more he thought about losing you, the more he thought each straggling breathe he pulled in as he dipped his head up above the water would be his last. If you died, he was going to die too. He didn’t remember being that scared in his life.

The rest of the group jump in after you with desperate cries, not one of them caring in the smallest bit for their safety as their stomachs and heads hit against the cold with tumultuous crashes and wake Ben from his nightmare, his own head being pulled down by his brain to desperately search for you in the darkness. Even Eddie dipped his legs in, not really swimming to search for you so much as drowning slowly. Every few strokes he was swallowing the shitty water and within metres he was fully submerged, the light dying out with him.

It took you a few moments to register that there were other shapes, big square blocks floating around in the water with you. Something in the back of your mind seemed to recognise the sandy curls that brushed against your forehead, the callused and raw hands that grabbed at your biceps, every pinprick touch registering a shock to your skin as you allowed yourself to be taken away. You thought, as you see the face of your husband warp in front of you, that angels had finally come to take you away.

As the two of you break out of the water, Ben taking in a massive, gasping breathe, his shouts echo around the cavernous walls as the other’s begin to rise up one by one with shaking cries.

‘She’s here! She’s here, I’ve got her! I’ve got you.’

In that simple moment he wrapped his arms around you and you let your head rest upon his chest. All your thoughts stopped as if your heart took over from your head, your breathe beginning to catch itself as water spluttered up from your lungs and escaped in gasping coughs out of your lips. Next he would squeeze as if he needed to check you were really there with him, really there and really real.

You looked sharply up as he took your hands into his. They felt like sandpaper or perhaps stone, rough and unfinished. It suited him, you thought, looking into his deep eyes, his hands warm in yours as he brought them up to his lips, your nerves tingling at the harsh comfort of contact, your body melting into his hard chest, his heartbeat comforting, if a little rushed for your liking.

‘It’s okay, Ben, I’m okay.’

You pull your head back to look at him, your heart sinking as you reach up with a shaking finger to wipe away the tears that littered down his cheek, his lips twitching as your touch brings more relief than his heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he can't quite believe you’re not part of an almost forgotten dream. When he leans down to kiss you, it's sweet, gentle, and it tastes of his salty tears as he laughs against your warm mouth.

‘Hey, what did I say about not leaving you alone ever again? Please, don’t go, don’t go ever again, I couldn’t take it.’

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curiosity-killed · 4 years

Text

a bow for the bad decisions

canon-divergent AU from ep. 24 (on ao3)

He’s going to smack his head against a tree. He’s going to swear off ever attending another godsdamned conference or sect event no matter how Jiang Cheng tells him its inappropriate for the Head Disciple to skip them. Taking a breath, he turns to address the Jin group politely. “I don’t mean to disrespect Jin-furen. But your cousin has said harsh words to my sister yet again,” he says, forcing his voice to stay even. “If Yunmeng Jiang can endure that again, we no longer deserve the name of a gentry clan. How can you say that I am too proud?” “You are too proud to know yourself,” the junior peacock retorts. “Today is a big day for the night hunt and here you have made yourself the center of attention yet again. A third of the prey has been captured by you. Aren’t you proud of yourself?” Swallowing, he lifts his chin and gaze away from the other man. He really should remember his name. If he calls him ‘junior peacock’ to his face, there will surely be the mess Jiang Cheng feared. Not, really, that this is shaping up to be anything but a mess. Guilt squeezes around his spine.

“A third?”

He lifts his eyes at Lan Zhan’s voice to find him already looking at Wei Wuxian. He can’t make out his expression, can’t tell whether it’s surprise or condemnation in his light eyes. He looks away. “Hanguang-jun, you may not know yet, but we have seen that there is no prey in the hunting grounds,” the Jin cousin continues. “Lianfang-zun was watching from the stands and told us that within a dian, the sound of a flute drew almost all the prey into the nets set by the Jiang Clan.” His jaw tightens and he stares at the trees without seeing their bark. “Wei Wuxian, you are so selfish, and you never think of others,” the cousin spits, too close. “Aren’t you too proud?” Pulling back, Wei Wuxian steps away from them. How far away that earlier thought of meditation now seems. He holds himself square and tall, draws on the puppet-strings of his composure. “You people have said that in the hunt, capability talks. Why do you betray your own words?” he asks evenly. The cousin shoves forward, knocking their shoulders together to push in front of him. “What you showed is just dirty malign tricks, not capability,” he spits as Wei Wuxian turns to face him. “You just play the flute. How can that be called capability?” “I didn’t play any dirty tricks,” he retorts. “Why can’t it be my own capability? Or can you play the flute?” He lifts Chenqing, lets her lie on his palm like an invitation, like a snake stretched waiting in the tall grass. “Let’s see if anything will follow your sound,” he says with a smile. The cousin pulls back, nearly hissing. “You broke the rules!” he shouts, like a child. “It isn’t any better than playing dirty tricks.” Flicking Chenqing back behind his hips, he tilts his head in consideration. “Fine,” he says. “If I don’t know what capability is, then please demonstrate for. Astonish me. Please.” “You…” The cousin starts before turning away. His chin’s lifted so high Wei Wuxian wonders that he doesn’t trip over his own nose. “It’s understandable you don’t know you’re wrong. It’s not the first time you’ve shown such insolence. Last time, at the Floral Banquet, and now in the night hunt, you still won’t carry your sword. Such solemn occasions and you know nothing of manners. Where do you place us, those who participate with you?” He’s stepped too close again, nearly brushing his chest against Wei Wuxian’s. It would be funny, probably, if Wei Wuxian were in the audience. He thinks he’d laugh to see a man falling to such petty attempts at intimidation. He can’t summon up any laughter now, as anger smolders in low embers along his veins. He wants to shove him away, wants to call forward a spirit with nothing but his own breath, wants to remind everyone here what his capability looks like. They were so eager to embrace it in the war, so drunk with the victories he won them. Have they so quickly forgotten the battlefields he leveled? The armies he destroyed? Where was their capability then? “Young Master Jin Zixun,” shijie interjects, stepping forward half a pace from Jin-furen. “Yunmeng Jiang has no better discipline than this,” the cousin – Zixun, evidently — crows. “They even produced a demonic cultivator.” “Zixun!” Jin-furen’s reprimand is too late. Wei Wuxian can feel his nails biting crescents into his skin, cutting against the tendons of his palms. “Family discipline? Dirty malign tricks?” he echoes, anger thrumming up through his voice. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan warns. Turning to them, Wei Wuxian looks out over this noble assembly. All these fine gentry folk with their silks and their swords. What do they know of sacrifice? What do they know of duty? These Jin cultivators would sit behind silk screens while the world killed itself, and they would still have the gall to complain of blood splatter on their hems. “Don’t you want to know why I refuse to carry my sword?” he asks, voice lifting as he steps away from them. “It doesn’t matter even if I tell you. I don’t need to carry my sword. I, Wei Wuxian, can beat all of you with only my dirty, malign tricks.” It would take so little to kill them. A few short notes — he wouldn’t even need to lift Chenqing if he didn’t want to. He could summon a whole host of spirits to snap their necks, ravage their minds until they clawed their own eyes from their faces. They know so little of capability, of discipline. “Wei Wuxian, you are no more than the son of a servant. Don’t be insane!” Jin Zixun scoffs. Resentment purrs through Chenqing, rubbing against the surface of his bones. His hand shakes as he grapples with it, forces it down. He can’t — he can’t lose control. He promised Jiang Cheng. He promised. “Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, suddenly close. His hand is warm around Wei Wuxian’s wrist, a golden brand. He hears steps, too loud, the rustle of silk as if it’s being rubbed between fingers right by his ears. Everything is too bright, too close, prickling needles running through his skin. Resentment scrapes jagged teeth along the inside of his skin. “A-Xian,” shijie says, her hands gentle on his other arm. “A-Xian, stand behind me.” Her voice is a quiet command, brooking no argument, and he lets himself be pressed behind her. How weak, he thinks, scathing, that he can’t even hold himself together for this, that he is pressing this burden onto shijie’s shoulders. Lan Zhan hovers at his side, fingers still loose in the fabric of Wei Wuxian’s sleeve, as if he’s forgotten he’s holding on. “Young Master Jin Zixun,” shijie says, clear and even. “You’ve just said that it is Wuxian who has taken a third of the prey in Baifeng Mountain. You said he broke the rules and was too proud. I…I don’t know much about this. It may really cause some trouble for you. I will apologize to you all for him.” Horror jolts through Wei Wuxian, worse than the anger, the guilt, as she bows. They should be the ones apologizing to her — for Jin Zixuan’s poor treatment and the lack of discipline shown by the rest. They have shamed themselves, not shijie. “Shijie!” he yelps. Her head turns slightly, as if to catch his eye, and she turns back. He swallows, his throat suddenly thick. Jin Zixun eyes the two of them, lips curling in a smirk. Perhaps a peacock was too generous a comparison. He looks like a cat gorged on cream, all undeserved smugness. Wei Wuxian’s hands shake. “Lady Jiang is really polite and decent and can tell what’s right from wrong,” he says, stepping around shijie without even addressing her. “What your little brother has done is indeed wrong and has caused us some trouble.” His swaying steps bring him directly before Wei Wuxian, where he leans in slightly as if to be sure his smirk is seen. Wei Wuxian grits his teeth till he can hear them grind. Turning on his heel, Jin Zixun strolls back toward the others. “But there’s no need to apologize for your and Sect Leader Jiang’s sake,” he says. “After all, Lanling Jin and Yunmeng Jiang are as dear to each other as hands are to feet.” Shijie turns now, straight-backed and chin lifted. Even as he wrestles down the resentment climbing vine-like through his chest, Wei Wuxian recognizes this look. It’s not one he’s ever seen on shijie’s face, though; she wears her mother’s cold anger. “However,” she says, sharp, “although I haven’t participated in the hunt before, I do understand that since ancient times until today, there is no rule that forbids one participant from having too much prey. You just said that Wuxian broke he rules. I would like to know which rule he has broken.” Something splinters in his heart then, some calving fracture. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s been lying to her and Jiang Cheng all this time, he’s poisoned himself with this thick venom, and she still steps forward, still protects him. There’s a chorus of protests around them, Sect Leader Yao leading them as if he has any right to speak. Yanli lifts her gaze just enough to meet Wei Wuxian’s, and he swallows, dipping his head. “It’s not his fault that you can’t hunt the prey!” Silence settles startled around them. Shijie lifts her chin, stepping forward to close the gap between her and Jin Zixun. “Capability talks in the hunt,” she quotes. “Although Wuxian took a different method, he studied it with effort. You can’t call his work dirty tricks just because you can’t hunt enough prey.” In his periphery, Wei Wuxian catches Lan Zhan lifting his gaze, studying the side of his face. Wei Wuxian refuses to look over, can’t bear to look him in the eye. “Besides, let’s focus on the hunt, not our family education,” shijie continues. “A-Xian is one of our disciples of Yunmeng Jiang. He grew up with the two of us, dearer than flesh and bone. You called him the son of a servant. I cannot tolerate this. Hence, I hope you, Young Master Jin Zixun, can apologize to Wei Wuxian of our Yunmeng Jiang Clan.” He can feel the tears slipping down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking. He wants to hug her. He wants to be ten years old and laying with his head in her lap as she reads poetry on the docks. “A-Li, don’t take it seriously. Relax,” Jin-furen soothes, taking hold of shijie’s sleeve. “Jin-furen, a-Xian is my little brother,” shijie says. “If he is humiliated, that is no trivial matter to me.” As much as he hates being the cause of this, Wei Wuxian can’t help the absurd swell of pride in his chest. She sounds like the madam of a great sect. She looks like the lady of Lotus Pier. She is so much stronger than anyone seems to realize. “Zixun, didn’t you hear her?” Jin-furen scolds furiously. He makes no noise to apologize, and then they are joined by Lan XIchen and Jin Guangyao and Jin Zixun makes his blustering escape. With Lan Zhan returned to his brother, there is a sudden absence at Wei Wuxian’s side, but shijie reaches out to clasp his arm and he manages a thin smile. He is, suddenly, exhausted. He could sleep for a thousand years, he thinks, if someone was only kind enough to shovel a blanket of dirt over him. He keeps silent as they walk back toward the stands, carefully removed from the party itself. He’s not far enough away to miss Jin-furen’s comments about his evil nature or how inappropriate it is for he and shijie to walk together. He swallows them down, too tired to fight. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. “Please, Madam Jin, don’t force him,” shijie says with a soft smile before she turns with Wei Wuxian to leave. “Wait! Jiang-guniang, you misunderstood me.” Shijie stops abruptly, pulling Wei Wuxian to a halt as well. “It wasn’t my mother who want you to come. It was — I – the invitation was from me.” Wei Wuxian can do nothing but stare, just shy of gaping, as Jin Zixuan, sect heir and notorious ass, bolts into the woods on the heels of his confession. “A-Li, come with me,” Jin-furen says, and shijie’s eyes flicker up toward Wei Wuxian’s with something almost like hope in them. He won’t keep her. It would be cruel, even if he can’t understand how any of this will make her happy. She gives his wrist a gentle squeeze before turning to accept Jin-furen’s arm instead. He tries to swallow down the bitterness. Jiang Cheng arrives as they leave, twisting his gaze back and forth between the departing party and Wei Wuxian. Watching him, Wei Wuxian summons up a smile. He can’t do much more of this. “Jiang Cheng, you just missed an interesting drama,” he teases. “What is it?” Jiang Cheng demands, stepping close. Their juniors follow after him, a gaggle of blue, and Wei Wuxian realizes abruptly he doesn’t have the energy to lay it all out again. He can’t bring himself to remind everyone what a shame he is to Yunmeng Jiang, what a mess he causes wherever he goes. He shakes his head slightly. “Forget it,” he says, reaching out to punch Jiang Cheng’s arm lightly. “I’ll leave now.” “Wei Wuxian, where are you going?” Jiang Cheng demands, grabbing his wrist. “There’s a Floral Banquest after the hunt. Come with me.” He should. He knows he should. It’s his duty, as Jiang Cheng’s brother if not as Head Disciple. He can’t. The thought alone makes his hands curl back into fists, as if control is a muscle he has overworked today. He doesn’t know what might happen if he attends the banquet, but he can’t say that he will be able to rein in his own anger and with it, the resentment humming through his meridians. That alone is enough to prevent him from going. He won’t lose control. He won’t be the parable they’re all trying to write around him. “I want to walk around Lanling City,” he says instead. “I might not be able to accompany you.” He presses his fingertips into the tendons of Jiang Cheng’s wrist, just firm enough to disengage his grip, and gives an apologetic smile. He can’t explain this without telling too much, and so he cannot explain it at all. Jiang Cheng will forgive him. He tips Chenqing in farewell and turns to walk alone away from his disciples and brother and Lan Zhan.

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #yunmeng siblings #wangxian #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #my writing

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frigidvm · 4 years

Text

✧･ﾟ( khione + kaylee bryant + cisfemale ) 𝒎𝒂𝒎𝒎𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒂 !! have you seen ( eleanora “ella” duponte ) around ? ( she ) has been in kaos for ( six months ). the ( twenty two year old ) is a/an ( unemployed ) from ( ontario, canada ). people say they can be ( fierce ) but maybe that’s not too bad ‘cause they can also be ( cunning ). whenever i think of them, i can’t help but think of ( the numbness in your fingertips when touching ice, frost patterns along a rose petal, & the warmth of hot chocolate on a winter morning ).

I ALSO MADE A PINTEREST HERE IT ISSSSSS click here

hi usually i have a pretty intro graphic but ya girl is feeling ultra lazy today and photoshop is being a big bitch and so i just ... decided to use a little gif that truly encompasses ella as a person EIRUFLKND

BUT ANYWAYS hey it’s me again, lou, i also play julietta and i am soooo excited to be introducing this baby to you all !! i’m gonna be frank, she’s not the easiest to get along with ?? i kinda based her a little bit off of how khione was in the pjo books but Less Evil and Less Messy if that makes sense ?? she’s just really blunt and kinda sorta rude and very much the queen of RBF. below is a bio i wrote in second person -- it’s pretty long so u dont have to read it if u dont want to i promise it wont hurt my feelings ill be happy to give u a tldr if u want me to.

i hope u enjoy my baby ,, pls dont be afraid to plot with her i promise she may seem like a meanie but she rlly does have the Capability to be nice ,,, she’s just forgotten how ,,

on december 25th, in the year 1997, you made your way into the world in the midst of the coldest night ontario had faced in months. your parents, evelyn and nathaniel duponte, had prayed and prayed for a baby girl for years. years and years and years of trying and trying and trying until eventually, they had given up. and it was only when they’d given up that you came to be.

as a child, you were nothing short of the brightest light in the house. your smile was enough to brighten even the darkest of hearts, your laughter sweeter than even the daintiest christmas bells. you were a dream child – that is, until they stole your light. and how did the do that, you ask ? well, this is truly where our story begins …

no one is entirely sure when the passion blossomed, but some rumor it to have started on your fourth birthday. your mother and father thought that a fun trip to an ice skating rink would make for a good present, and much to their surprise, you were a natural. it was as if you were born specifically for the ice. one step into the rink and off you went, able to hold yourself upright and balanced even at such a young age. a prodigy, they said. absolutely incredible, they praised. you left that evening with a new pair of skates and weekly lessons scheduled into your routine.

after two months of lessons, they went from weekly to three times a week. and then every day. before you really knew what was happening, you were spending every second of your life at the ice rink, honing in your skills. this talent that you possessed was going to get you far in life, your coach had said. what he didn’t seem to realize was the monster that it would awaken within your mother. it was gradual, at first. a slow trickle. one day she was more proud of you than any parent ever could, and then a week later she was subtly criticizing your technique. and then she was restricting you from going out with friends, saying that practice was far more important. and then she was pointing out every single flaw that you had, and harshly at that. pretty soon, the joy in your eyes winked out, the warmth in your chest icing over entirely. if a machine was what she wanted for a daughter, a machine was what she would get.

competitions came and went, gold medals were secured, and you were on a fast track to competing in the olympics. your once bright and bubbly personality had since faded into one of cold and cunning, of ice and harsh. you only ever smiled when you won. your mother was no longer the nurturing woman you remembered. your father allowed her to treat you like her own personal doll. you began to fold within yourself until you were nothing but a frozen front, a heart iced completely with no chance of thaw.

your first olympics were terrifying. but you persevered, and came home with the gold for your division. a landslide win, they’d called it. rookie sensation, they deemed you. the praise went right to your head, and the arrogance bloomed in your chest. you knew just how good you were, and didn’t let anyone tell you differently. four years later, you competed again, and yet another gold. a two time olympic champion, a national ranking – what more could you need ?

and then you saw the zillow ad for a nice house on a small island called kaos. for the first time in forever, something besides ice caught your attention. it was an impulse decision, and a quick move. she waited until both of her parents were out of the house to have all of her things collected, and just like that, she was gone. vanished. no word as to where she was going other than a note that read ‘see you whenever.’ it’s been six months since then, and she has no plans on leaving kaos anytime soon.

iii. details.

she is not very nice ,,,

she also comes from a fuckload of money. very high society.

is a world ranked figure skater

has won two olympic gold medals

her favorite color is champagne ( shes so boujee i hate her )

always has very manicured nails

honestly the best way i can describe her is like

blair waldorf except not whiny ??? very much a “i’m important and idc what you say about it” vibe

definitely lives in designer clothing

used to be very artistic and was actually fantastic at painting and drawing and sculpting but then her mom was like “its a distraction no more for u”

she really …. doesn’t know how to have fun anymore ??

MAAAAAJOR slytherin vibes. like major. very ambitious and cunning and will do anything to get to where she wants to be

like she doesn’t care who she has to go through

and she also doesn’t care who’s feelings she hurts

has a maine coon named fluffernutter ,,, because he is white and brown and reminded her of the sandwich. however she commonly refers to him as fluff and refuses 2 tell anyone his actual name

wears only one piece of jewelry and it is a silver necklace with a locked heart pendant ( this is absolutely symbolism thnx )

does not have a job because she does not need a job

really likes the luxurious lifestyle

definitely owns a rolex

really just … doesn’t care abt anything

someone thaw her out pls & thank u

iii. wanted plots !!! im also super duper open to brainstorming things of our own ! these are just ideas !!!

1. the former best friend - this is someone that she spent a good majority of her time with before her mother limited interactions with people. they did everything together, whether it be watching a movie or trying to see how long they can get away with hiding in a grocery store after they close. it’s been nearly four years since they’ve spoken, and this might be one of the only people to bring a genuine reaction out of her.

2. the almost, the maybe, the “there’s something there” - they met recently. or maybe they met awhile ago. could work either way. this person was almost successful in attempting to worm their way into her heart. almost, however, is the key word in that statement. having gone so long without genuine human interaction outside of her sport, she hadn’t realized just how much she had longed for a friend. and then, she suddenly liked them as more then a friend, and that was when ella cut off everything. she’ll never admit it, but the idea of building a connection with someone terrified her.

3. the rival - oh, these two do not like each other. the why is something that can be discussed, but just know that there was some sort of altercation that led to the level of dislike between the two of them. could it possibly change ?? maybe so. i’d actually like to see how that pans out. however, as of right now, the most they do is snipe at one another mercilessly

#kaos:intro #❝ ☾ chronicles → ella duponte !#❝ ☾ start → ella duponte !#❝ ☾ silhouette → ella duponte !#❝ ☾ you should know my blood runs cold as ice . → ella duponte !#❝ ☾ questionnaire → ella duponte !#❝ ☾ past life → ella duponte !

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sign-from-god-complex · 5 years

Text

they hate you, I’m sure

Summary: Patton could handle it; Patton had to handle it.

And he was! Until he wasn't. One minute he'd been getting ready to go to bed for the night and the next he was holding back tears, sinking to the floor in an attempt to find a little more comfort.

Or, Patton needs some reassurance, but he doesn’t feel like he can ask for it.

Pairing: Platonic moceit (could be read as romantic lamp/calm or dlamp though)

Warnings: None to my knowledge! Some negative thought patterns, but nothing major.

A/N: I know this is from Patton’s pov, but I decided it could be my contribution to Deceit’s birthday! It was the best I could do on short notice, and I always forget these birthday things are coming up until then they’re here and I’m not prepared, haha.

Tag list: @mutechild !! <3

AO3 Link

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Patton pressed a hand to his mouth, attempting to muffle the sobs that were slipping through.

He didn't really know what had caused him to cry. Sure, he'd been feeling a little down in the dumps recently, but he could handle it! He had to handle it. He owed it to the others to keep it together.

Logan was struggling a lot at the moment trying to understand his emotions and how he was feeling. Things had been hard for him recently—he was never really one for self-reflection, it was the kind of thing he’d readily leave up to the others—but he was trying his best to figure things out. Patton had caught quite a few more displays of emotion on Logan’s face within the past week or so, but he didn’t draw too much attention to it, worried Logan would get self-conscious.

Patton couldn’t go to Logan though. He was already overwhelmed and it would just be mean of Patton to add his emotions onto that.

Roman was still hiding his insecurities pretty well—not well enough to stop Patton from noticing, but feelings were Patton’s job. Roman had a surprising amount of self-hatred buried in that heart of his, and it hurt Patton to even think about it. Roman had come to him on more than one occasion, spouting how nothing he ever did was good enough and how inadequate he felt. Patton had tried his best to help, but some things were a bit beyond his ability. That didn’t mean that Roman didn’t come out of his room feeling better than when he entered it, but it was a temporary solution to a permanent problem.

Still, Roman was trying his best to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to make mistakes. He was growing, he was getting closer to a good headspace. Patton couldn’t disrupt that process.

Virgil was... actually probably doing the best out of all of them, but nonetheless, Patton couldn't bother him. The idea of Virgil being upset, the idea of Patton being the one to upset him? That was one of the worst things he could imagine.

So, Patton could handle it; Patton had to handle it.

And he was! Until he wasn't. One minute he'd been getting ready to go to bed for the night and the next he was holding back tears, sinking to the floor in an attempt to find a little more comfort. Nothing had even happened! He hadn't broken anything or made a mistake! There was no reason for him to suddenly start crying, but he had all the same.

He drew his cat hoodie a little closer around his frame, trying not to shake too much with the sobs making their way through his body. He had to be quiet; he had to keep this from the others. It wasn't fair to make them worry about him when they had so many things of their own to worry about.

Patton was fine. He was fine. He was fine.

Patton heard a distant chuckle from the centre of his room, and he pushed his head up—when had it fallen?—just enough to see a pair of yellow pyjama pants.

Deceit.

He shoved his head back down, hoping that maybe if he ignored him he would leave. Patton wanted desperately to ask Deceit for reassurance or comfort, but he couldn't. He shouldn't be bothering others with his problems. Heck, he didn't even know what his problems were.

"Patton, Patton, Patton," he heard Deceit say, voice smooth, "Lying to yourself ag-"

Deceit stopped short, and as much as Patton wanted to look up and see what expression the other side was displaying—disgust? pity? hatred?—he didn't dare move.

"Oh."

The word was quiet. Surprised. Definitely not at all what Patton had been expecting.

In a second, there was a body at his side, pulling him gently so he unwound from the ball he'd wrapped himself into. An arm snaked around his waist, pulling him closer towards the other side and Patton melted into it. He could feel a hand running gently through his hair and he choked back another sob.

He shouldn't allow himself to be comforted. He was supposed to be happy, he should be happy, there was no reason for him to be so sad. But he was selfish, soaking up all the affection from the other side that he could get. Wanting to be taken care of for once, even if he hadn't earned it.

"Patton," Deceit's voice was soft, the stroking of Patton's hair pausing for a moment as he looked at Patton questioningly, "Would you like me to get one of the light sides? I'm sure none of them would be better at this than I am."

Patton whined, shaking his head vigorously. He couldn't let them know he was upset. It wasn't fair on them. A few more tears slipped down Patton's cheek and he resisted the urge to bury his head into Deceit's shoulder. He was already asking too much of him, he shouldn't invade his space any more than he already had.

Deceit looked slightly lost at that, but his hand returned to Patton's hair anyway. Deceit wasn't incredibly warm, the way Roman was, but he also wasn't as cold as Virgil. He seemed to match Patton's temperature quite well, almost to the point where Patton wondered if there was some kind of body heat feedback loop happening here. Deceit was part-snake or something, wasn’t he? Was that how cold-blooded animals worked? Patton made a mental note to ask Logan about it later.

At the thought of Logan, Patton's tears started up again. He shouldn't be going around crying at nothing—it was illogical—and if Logan was here now Patton knew he'd tell him so. He should just get himself together! He should be okay!

Why wasn't he okay?

"Lie."

Deceit's voice was kind. Patton jerked his head up, wiping messily at his eyes before looking at the other side. He seemed... sad. Patton felt grief overtake him, too sudden and harsh for him to do anything but stare. He made someone else upset; he should have just told Deceit to leave him alone; this was all his fault.

"Lie," Deceit said again, more firmly this time.

Patton sniffed, trying to get his emotions under control enough to speak.

"What- What's a lie?"

His voice wavered despite his attempts and Patton winced slightly at the sound.

"It is illogical to cry over nothing, and it's definitely not a common occurrence when an individual is under a lot of stress," Deceit said, “Oh, and you certainly haven't been under any stress... what? Taking care of all the others? Making sure they eat and get enough sleep? Lending an ear and providing comfort when they're upset?"

"But that's my job!"

Sure, Patton may have been working a little harder than usual recently, but he had to! He had to be the one to keep everyone's spirits (and fluids) up; they weren't going to do it themselves and it was so important that they stay happy and healthy.

"Yes, and providing ideas is Roman's job, and we all know he's never had any trouble with that at all. In fact, if he were to have some difficulties, you would most definitely turn him away. Tell him that he was bothering you and that he should be able to 'handle it' since it's his job, right?"

Patton gasped. The thought of sending Roman, feeling dejected and unloved, back out into the hallway without the support that he needed brought tears to his eyes again. If he ever did anything like that then he truly would have failed as a friend.

"No! I would never do that!"

Deceit raised an eyebrow. Patton realised the point he was trying to get at.

"Oh."

"Indeed. They aren't adults, Patton,” Deceit continued, “They should absolutely depend on you, and the relationship you have is healthy for you both, I'm sure. You obviously couldn’t try talking to them. You're definitely not allowed to have an active say in a relationship you're a part of. If you're feeling like you're giving 200% and getting nothing back, well, all the better to sit down and shut up about it, right?"

Patton was going to agree—he knew that Deceit was trying to make a point here, but really it was better to keep his issues to himself so he wasn't bothering the others—but Deceit spoke up again before he could.

"I mean, if our sweet Virgil was having issues with how he was feeling in a relationship, that's what you'd want him to do, isn't it?" Seeing the absolutely devastated look on Patton's face, Deceit gave a reassuring smile. "You shouldn’t treat yourself the way you treat others, Patton, it's only fair. Don’t have faith that your friends would be just as appalled at the idea of leaving you alone to suffer as you would them. They hate you, after all."

Patton let Deceit’s words wash over him for a moment. He was right. Maybe Patton hadn’t given the other sides enough credit. Patton may feel like he’s burdening the others with his issues, but maybe they feel the same way when they come to him for reassurance. And it’s not true! Patton would rather they came to him than felt miserable all by themselves! And if he’d stopped and thought for a second, maybe he would have realised that the others probably felt the same way.

Patton sighed. He gets caught up sometimes in all his mother-henning and taking care of his kiddos that he forgets that they aren’t. They aren’t kids. Sure, sometimes they act pretty childishly, but they are capable of taking care of themselves (to some extent). Maybe he needs to take a step back. Give himself a break.

Gosh, he’d been silly this evening.

“Thank you,” Patton whispered, throwing a small smile in Deceit’s direction, “You’re right. I need to take of myself too, but I don’t think I would have realised that without your help.”

Deceit hummed. “You’re not welcome. I’ll never do it again.”

He began to stand, likely in preparation to sink out, but Patton grabbed his arm before he could. Deceit turned a questioning look on Patton and in turn, Patton took a deep breath. He’d already worked up his courage this far, might as well go for it.

“You don’t… have to go… if you don’t want to.”

He bit his lip, trying to direct his eyes away from Deceit’s searching gaze.

“I understand,” Deceit said slowly, but he made no further moves to stand up. Patton took that as a good sign.

“Well, I just… I get lonely sometimes when I’m sad,” Patton began, “and I was wondering if you wanted to stay and cuddle?”

At Deceit’s shocked expression, Patton blurted out, “Only if you want to though! The others’ll sometimes cuddle me when I’m sad but I know you’re not the others so you only have to do what you’re comfortable with an-”

“Patton.”

Patton shut his mouth.

“I-” Deceit furrowed his brow and Patton felt bad all over again. He hoped his question hadn’t distressed Deceit too much. Yes, he wanted cuddles, but he didn’t want them at the expense of other people’s wellbeing.

Deceit looked around for a moment before finally settling on, “Why?”

Patton blinked. Why? Why what? Why was Patton sad? Why did Patton want cuddles when he was sad? Why did Patton want cuddles from Deceit specifically-

Wait, no, it was probably that one.

Patton put on one of his kindest smiles. It was the smile he’d use when he was reassuring Roman that his work was truly excellent, or when he was praising Logan for sleeping a whole 8 hours, or when he was thanking Virgil for doing something outside his comfort zone for the betterment of the others. It was a smile that never failed to make the other sides melt, but Deceit mostly looked startled.

Patton’s smile almost faltered before he decided to double down. He was going to get through this, it was important.

“Deceit, you are a part of Thomas, the same way we are. Sure, you’ve done a couple things I wouldn’t consider to be great necessarily, but just like Virgil in the beginning, you’re only doing what you think is best for Thomas. The intention is there. You’re not bad or evil, you’re just doing what you think is right. And maybe there was a better way to go about it, but I don’t hate you for it. At all.”

Deceit blinked a few times before nodding his head slowly, still mostly in shock. Patton pretended not to notice the tears in his eyes and instead stood up, grabbing Deceit’s hands and pulling him up with him.

“Plus,” Patton said with a gentle smile, “Roman is like the sun with how hot he is and Logan and Virge always sap away all my heat; you’re a really good temperature.”

Deceit looked like he was a little more present now, but he still seemed quite unsure about the whole situation. Patton hoped that didn’t mean he’d turn down his offer to cuddle; he was really excited now that he’d worked himself up to it.

Cuddles with the others were each exciting in their own unique ways.

Roman’s cuddles were warm and almost overwhelming. With Roman, Patton felt loved and appreciated. He knew that he was safe to feel whatever he needed to feel without an ounce of judgement. Roman’s cuddles were good for when Patton needed reassurance, needed Roman pressing gentle kisses against his face and holding him close. His cuddles were active, full of subtle movements.

On the other hand, Logan’s cuddles were passive. Logan cuddled like it was just another thing he was doing. That was okay though, his cuddles had their purpose. Logan’s cuddles were good for when Patton felt overwhelmed and afraid, for when he needed Logan to tell him useless facts and just be with him. He was a solid presence, which sometimes it exactly what Patton needed.

Virgil’s cuddles were the Goldilocks’s’ middle ground between active and passive. Virgil’s cuddles reminded Patton of sensory deprivation. They were all-encompassing and firm, causing Patton to forget everything outside of the pressure on his body and the sound of their heartbeats echoing in his ears. It was like the delicate cover of nighttime, where you’re soft and safe and sleepy. Virgil’s cuddles were good for getting Patton out of his own head and to a place where he’s aware of himself, calming him and keeping him calm until he slowly falls asleep.

Patton couldn’t wait to see what Deceit’s cuddles were like.

He tugged Deceit over to his bed before taking a seat and looking up at him. “Cuddles? No or yes?”

“If that isn’t what you want, Patton.”

Patton frowned. That was not a yes, he needed a yes. Or, a no, technically.

“I only want to if you’re comfortable with it,” Patton reiterated.

Deceit looked hesitant, before slowly nodding his head. “No, I don’t think that would be fine.”

Beaming, Patton tugged Deceit’s hands until they were a mess of limbs on the bed, untangling themselves before locking into place in a more secure way. Patton rested his head against Deceit’s chest and Deceit wrapped his arms around him best as possible, running his hands up and down Patton’s arm a few times before settling.

It was… uncomfortable. Patton frowned. This wasn’t right.

He turned his gaze up to meet Deceit’s eyes. “You’re not enjoying this.”

“Well, you didn’t want comfort, right?” Deceit looked uncertain. “I’m not trying to provide you comfort.”

Patton sighed. “I just want cuddles, however you want them. Don’t worry about comforting me, happy cuddles are enough on their own to do the comforting.”

There was a look of indecision before Deceit was moving, removing himself from the embrace they were in and waiting for Patton to adjust his position, before worming his way under Patton’s arm. He tangled their legs together, threw an arm over Patton’s stomach and exhaled.

Oh.

This was… this was soft. Quiet. Calm.

This was perfect.

It was something he hadn’t even noticed was missing from his cuddles with the others. When they cuddled Patton, they cuddled Patton. Whether it was firm or passionate or almost absent, Patton felt focused on. He felt like the centre of the universe. And it was wonderful! He liked that attention!

Here, though, he felt like he was holding something precious. Whether that was Deceit himself, the quiet moment they were in, or something else entirely, Patton didn’t know. But he did know that he needed to keep it; hold on to it as best he could.

Patton drew mindless patterns on Deceit’s skin, listening to the slow inhale and exhale of his breath as he gently drifted off to sleep.

#I hope this is okay!!#I realise the description-y section is a bit of a mess haha #happy birthday deceit #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #deceit sanders #patton sanders #platonic moceit #lo can write

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scribir · 6 years

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Self Care for NSFW Artists - A Letter to Myself

As the title suggests, I’m writing this mostly for myself hence the term nsfw, but anyone can use this I suppose. It’s just some real life tips that I’ve learned through experience and wanted to write down. Maybe it can help someone.

Let’s go...

1- Get up! It is important to not be by your desk hunched over writing or drawing for extended periods of time. Not only is it unhealthy to be sedentary for that long, it is important for the mind that you walk away from your work and maybe get a little exercise by taking a walk or going for something to eat or drink.

2- Feed and hydrate yo’ body! This point ties in with the first as artists (whether you write, craft or draw) tend to restrict themselves to their work for hours. Personally, I am very guilty of this as I can sit at my desk working for up to 18 (or more) hours, moving only when it’s absolutely necessary, only to return promptly to continue working. Food and water is forgotten and at times, many hours later, I’d realize that I didn’t even have breakfast only when a gnawing hunger threatens to kill me or my heart is racing because it was a hot day and I didn’t drink any water.

3- Eat a balanced diet! So I did say that you should feed and hydrate your body, but I know you *points dramatically* you’ll choose the fastest option which most likely would be fast food for quick calories. But remember!!! Man cannot live by fast food and NSFW Art alone! You need calories from a range of diverse foods, including meat / meat substitute protein, vegetables and some fat and fiber.

Take a multivitamin too if you’re into that. Drink clean fresh water. Eat an assortment of fruits and vegetables everyday (local so it would be cheaper). Prepare your own meals to save money and give yourself healthier options. And if you don’t have the time to prepare meals everyday, do the preparation in advance on a day when you can spare some extra time. What I do is buy sandwich bags and prepare my breakfast, depending on what it is, in advance for the entire week or month. Lunches too I make in advance.

When you make your own meals, you know exactly what’s going into your body and can avoid all the nasties (processed stuff and artificial flavorings) that can be hiding in bought meals. But if you know a local company that makes packaged foods that are healthy, then go right ahead!

Remember that eating a balanced diet that includes a sufficient amount of pesticide-free fruits and vegetables is important to keep your body strong and healthy enough so that you can keep making content.

4- Wear your damn eyeglasses (if you use those)! Personally I suck at this *puts on glasses quickly then continues to type* I would be at the computer writing / drawing for hours and remember only when my eyes start hurting :/ Don’t do that.

5- Clean your damn glasses!! Another thing I’m very guilty of. Eye glasses tend to pick up all sorts of bacteria / other microbes when you rest them down or even by simply touching them. Then you put them on your face. See what I’m talking about?? Acne party.

6- Practise Self care / Have a Self-care Ritual! Eh, so this is something I believe that a lot of people fail at. Move away from the computer / desk and go wash your face, brush + floss your teeth! Take a bath / shower daily. Try to also exfoliate your face and body routinely. Shave / trim too if you’re into that, wash your hair when it’s dirty, moisturize it and keep it up and away from your face while you’re working. This not only makes working on your projects easier but helps prevent acne from dirty hair and keeps your scalp healthy.

If you can, (these tips are for whatever your gender id is), don’t go to sleep without a night cream that’s suitable for your skin type. Wear sunscreen. Keep your hair wrapped with a silk / satin scarf whenever you lie down to avoid split ends, dryness and breakage, wash your pillowcases regularly and use a silk / satin tie when putting your hair up. Also, get a routine trim to manage split ends and hair length. Oh and most importantly, use moisturizers, shower products and treatments FOR YOUR SKIN TYPE. You won’t believe the difference that makes.

Self care also involves mental health and that’s very critical for artists and everyone tbh. Remember to follow any protocol given to you by your healthcare provider and not to neglect it because you were busy cREatiNG ConTEnt *I’m looking at you* Get enough sleep, eat healthy, rest whenever necessary and try to include some meditation and light exercise in the form of yoga / walking/ stretching / pilates. All this is good for the mind. I can go on and on about self care but let’s stop here please.

7- Clean Your Room! Meh. I hate this one the most because I hate folding laundry, especially when I want to do something creative, but sometimes you just need to stop working and do it. Get up and do your chores. Doing them regularly, means that your general environment where you work will always be healthy for your mind, body and spirit and will be conducive to you formulating plots for your art and writing projects! Please leave the vision of the artist (this includes writers) in a dark, dusty room piled high with books, dirty + clean unsorted laundry behind T_T

8- Socialize! EHHHHH....NANI?! Ugh I hate this, but socializing is important for your physical and mental health. I’m an introvert by nature (shoutout to my fellow introverts) and sometimes go to extreme lengths to avoid people but socializing doesn’t mean that you have to go to a big party (an introvert’s nightmare) but simply remembering to respond to your social messages, calling a friend or even taking your mom and or dad out / going to visit them can work.

I hate to admit it but human connection is important (unless you’re a hermit on a mountain or a misanthrope). And look at it this way...interacting with real people is important for your craft! You can read books, look at videos / tutorials to learn about human interaction, but nothing replaces the story a friend would tell you about their day while drunk at 2am or the hot date they had last night, a genuine smile from a loved one, a quirky laugh or the natural movement of people who are unaware that they’re being observed - all things that can help to spark ideas that you can use for the characters in your writing and art. By hanging out with real people and seeing how they move and talk, you tend to create more genuine, believable characters that the people who use your content can identify with.

I should say too that you don’t have to interact with people directly all the time but you can just sit in a coffee shop, walk around the city, sit in the library or travel on the bus (or other public transportation). Just listen and watch and you will be privy to all sorts of gems from real people with real lives, victories and problems that can be used for character study.

9- DON’T Take Yourself Too Seriously! / Stop doubting your talent! Okay, so this one is a work in progress for a lot of people. Feelings of insecurity when it comes to your craft can attack at anytime. You’re steadily progressing but then you look at other people’s work and think that you’re absolute crap. You think their prose and exposition is great, that their art / writing style is awesome and that you’d never be as good as they are within your lifetime because you don’t have as many kudos, favorites, bookmarks or likes / reblogs as they do.

I have one piece of advice for this problem and that’s to MIND YO’ DAMN BUSINESS. This may sound harsh but it’s critical for survival in the creative world. When you’re busy feeling shitty and insecure about someone else’s work, they’re busy practising hard and getting better while you’re busy hampering your own progress. Look at their work, admire it, send that fellow artist a like / comment then give a reblog and let awesome work of art MOTIVATE you to keep working hard on your craft. You can only get better through practice and and you’re only wasting time by doubting yourself / feeling insecure / feeling jealous because of other’s progress.

I should also say that you may see someone’s wonderful writing or art but you don’t know how many hours and effort they may be putting into their craft. Talent is a wonderful thing to have, but it is a tool that needs to be sharpened every single day. A lot of people don’t like to admit it, but getting to expert level with anything takes an insane amount of practice. When you’re sleeping, you have no idea what those talented people are doing in order to get better. You don’t see the moments where they’re falling asleep on themselves while they’re writing / drawing, you don’t see the amount of horrible drafts they churned out before they got “good” and you have no idea that they too feel like they still need to improve as they continue to work hard.

So be grateful for all the kudos, likes, reblogs or favorites you get but don’t let that define you. Keep moving forward. Keep grinding. I believe in you.

10- Make time for Reflection! This may seem biased (because...introvert...), but time spent alone is important. Sure, you spend a lot of time alone writing, drawing, creating, but how much of that time is truly alone and without you doing work?? I personally believe that sometimes one needs to just go off to a quiet place to just think. Thinking about life, sorting the past, the present and the future helps to condition and exercise the mind. And a healthy mind makes for a good, capable artist that doesn’t become consumed and destroyed by their craft.

In this respect, I should also say that having Affirmations and doing Meditation is very important. Personally, I have a pinterest board that I use for that purpose and also a book with meditative quotes, passages etc that I try to read every morning.

11- Make time for Recreation: Whether it is watching your favorite movie, playing a game, watching anime, reading a book or comic, playing a board game or hanging out with friends, make sure to schedule recreational activities that take you away from your desk and work these into your routine. This, like Reflection, will help to keep your mind conditioned and also get you out of artist’s block. It also helps to generate ideas since personally I find that a good movie, action scene or well-crafted plot sends my mind into overdrive and I end up going back to write lol.

12- Organization! Having things organized, whether irl or just your WIPs (through journaling, properly saving / titling files etc) will keep you sane and save time. Believe me!

13 - Support Network! This is self explanatory but having at least one person who is genuine about liking your work and who is like your personal cheerleader is critical. Also, being your own cheer team is important! Don’t depend too heavily on others; love yourself and your work!

14 - Negative Environments: I can go on an on about this as well, but yeah...being in a toxic situation whether it is at home, school, the workplace, a relationship or even one of your own creation is very very bad for your mental health and if it’s bad for your mental health it is bad for your art. Personally, negative situations help push me forward with my writing as I create a lot of vent stuff as a result but over time it is not healthy. It can mess with your head.

Do whatever you can to get out of your situation or if you can’t, then lay the foundations (saving money etc) to get out eventually. And while you’re unable to get out, remember to practise all the tips I mentioned before. Also, talk to a professional or even someone you can trust.

I think I’ll stop here as this post is getting quite long ^^; Anyways, I hope that my blabbering has managed to help someone as I was somehow unconsciously motivated to write and post this. If anyone wants to add anything, please do!

#writer positivity #writer problems #daily reminder #important.#MY POSTTT

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dubsdeedubs · 7 years

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A Diverging in the Wood [2/3]

hi sorry

Summary: Events shift. History rearranges. Another horror beyond human comprehension joins the fray during Weirdmageddon.

Good thing they're on the side of humanity.

[A/N: I Honestly don’t know how to explain the context to this and it’s been literally half a year since I’ve posted anything for it, but. Canon Divergence AU for this fic which is just sleeping, I promise. Features eldritch abomination Stan - it makes sense in context. Kind of.]

[AO3]

To Stanford's complete lack of surprise, hell was freezing cold.

Though a revolutionary discovery to be sure, he had doubts it would stand up to any reputable academic committee. The main issue was, his current location was more accurately described as "Ford Pines' Personal Pyramidal Hell" than the classic Judeo-Christian equivalent. Specifically, traits of demons present were more "horns and cloven feet" than "sixty-degree angles."

Unfortunately, that fact narrowed down the field of concerned individuals significantly. To two, actually - him and his fellow captive, the rather perturbed looking child (?) dancing frantically in a cage hanging from the ceiling.

Not Ford's oddest roommate experience, but it did make top five.

It was just one of those days. Weeks? Months? Extra-temporal periods of existence?

The worst part about the death of linear time, Ford thought to himself sadly, was the language involved.

He hung there in his chains for a moment that could have been a minute or a year, or anything in between. Not that it would have mattered. There was the occasional squeaking and click-clack of tap-dancing from above, but nothing here changed or grew or learned. This was his personal hell, after all.

Then on a day that could have been any other, a massive black hand reached through the opening to the chamber.

A moment afterwards, the rest of Bill Cipher followed through, folding out like a model ship in a bottle. His single large eye stared Ford down with evident glee.

"Heya, Fordsy!" He chirped. "How's it hanging?"

Bill snapped his finger, and a deafening rimshot echoed throughout the room. Stanford stared back at him blankly, his tongue limp and leaden in his mouth.

The demon let out an exaggerated sigh. "Tough audience, huh? Man, I miss the good ol' days. Just you, me, a meddling research assistant to drive insane, and a world-ending interdimensional portal to build.

You would've laughed at my jokes then," he said sulkily. "Heck, you would've done anything I told ya to do. Anything for your blessed muse - right, Sixer?"

Ford made no reply. There was a dull metallic taste in his mouth, his mind felt dazed and woolen, and there was something inexplicably funny about - well, everything. Who had come up with the interior design scheme for the Fearamid, anyways? Was being a fan of neon rainbow highlights another black mark on the long list of Bill Cipher's sins?

Somewhere on the fringes of Ford's awareness, Bill Cipher narrowed his eye in realization. He poked Ford with one smooth, black finger. The old man shifted slackly in his chains. "Oh, come on. Don't tell me I messed up on rewiring a few synapses or 7,283! How am I supposed to torture answers out of you if ya get to duck out of the consequences?" His glare turned thoughtful. "...Don't suppose you have anything to share about the barrier around this hick town now?"

Ford might not have been in his right mind, not anything close to it, but he knew there was only one way he could respond to that.

"No," he muttered hoarsely. His throat felt sore and his voice came out in a rasp, like he had been using it a lot recently. "Not to you."

"Oh, what a pity!" Bill said, his cheerful tone making it clear that to him, it was anything but. He snapped his fingers with obvious relish, the sound echoing sharply across the otherwise empty chamber.

Sensation rushed into his numb limbs, bringing with it the burning chafe of chains and a bone-deep exhaustion that washed over him with all the force of an ocean wave. He could hear a dim ringing sound in his ears now, and Ford swallowed down a sudden burst of nausea. His entire body felt like one unholy amalgation of bruise and electrical burn.

The briefest of moments later, so came logical thought. Bill was here, in front of him, for the first time in... a while. Their last meeting had ended especially - brutally, which explained Ford's previous - condition.

The most logical reason for the demon's long absence was that, at that point, Bill must have realized that torture by itself was pointless.

Which meant.

Bill would not have returned if he did not have new information, new bargaining pieces, new -

The list of reasons with which Ford could be convinced to bargain at all was short. Specifically, it was limited to three people. The thought of any of them in the clutches of the malicious, capricious chaos god before him chilled him to the core.

There was nothing funny about his situation now, not anymore.

"Why are you here, Cipher?" Ford asked with forced calm, every bit of restraint he could muster used to keep the dueling emotions of fear and fury from his face. "What do you have planned? You know that I -"

Bill let out a shriek of laughter. "You wound me, Sixer! Why can't I just have a nice conversation with an old friend?" The creature leaned closer, eye shining. "Geez, does everything have to have an ulterior motive with you?"

"There is no conversation I want to have with you, Cipher," Ford said shakily, voice barely a whisper. "Do not mock either of our intelligences by pretending I was anything close to a friend to you."

"Eh, friend, unwitting pawn…" Bill waved a large, spidery hand with calculated nonchalance. "Po-tay-toh, po-tah-toh. Don't be so sensitive, pal!"

"You have held me captive, kept me in chains, have tortured me to the brink of death -"

"Brink of? ...Ooh." The triangle winced exaggeratedly. "Oh right. I never told you!

"...W-what?" Ford asked hesitantly, before logic chased him down, pushed him to the ground, and poured a cold bucket of regret over his head and down his shirt. "No, actually, I don't ="

"Yea-ah, about that last part - tell ya what, Fordsy." Bill batted his eyelashes. "I've decided to turn over a, hah, new leaf. Call it making up for having you wait for so long!"

"I said I don't -"

"It's honesty hour here in the Fearamid, folks!" The triangle flung his hands up and out, practically beaming despite a lack of a mouth or real facial features. Glowing confetti burst from the air and scattered all over the landscape.

Then just as suddenly, he was close - too close, his solid black pupil inches away from Ford's flinching face.

"Oh, don't pretend like you're not INTERESTED, Sixer! You've always been a real smartypants, but I KNOW you've got mysteries ya can't figure out. So, HOW ABOUT IT? A little secret to start with, just to give omnipotence a test run?"

There was no doubt for Stanford that - whatever Bill was building up to - was not something he wanted to know. His tongue had already gone instinctively to the roof of his mouth, ready to form the harsh consonant sound of the 'no' that he wanted to, had to say.

But there was a dangerous glint in the demon's single eye, one that made it clear that his question was no question at all.

He sighed. There was a time and a place for everything, and 'enraging a chaos god' was no exception. He still had no idea where or how Dipper and Mabel were. (Or Stanley.) His pride was not worth the safety of his family.

"Fine," Ford said blandly, determinedly keeping all emotion from his face. He refused to give Bill the pleasure of watching him squirm. "A little... secret."

Even without a mouth, Bill gave off the distinct impression of a smirk.

"Weeeell," he drawled, spinning his cane casually. With no apparent process of transformation, he was suddenly dozens of times smaller than before, around the size he maintained in Ford's memories of past dreams. "So. I, uh, miiiiight have taken it a bit too far a time or two with these things."

Electricity sparked around Bill's raised hand in demonstration. Ford flinched back instinctively.

"Y'know. Used a little too much juice, sizzled an organ that shouldn't have been sizzled. Beginner's mistake."

Bill shrugged nonchalantly and stretched out his thin arms in placation. "Hey, but I fixed ya back up, didn't I? Even made a few tweaks, free of charge!"

Ford stared at him silently, expression slack with slow dawning horror.

"What's with the long face? Focus on the big picture here for once," the demon said crossly. "You're alive! C'mon, no thanks for your favorite muse?"

No, this had to be another trick. Gods knew how many of those Bill Cipher had up his metaphorical sleeves. He was trying to - unnerve him, shake him, get him into that precarious mental place where he might actually be thrown off enough to make the mistake Bill had been waiting for all this time.

And the worst part was, it was working.

Already, his thoughts were going places where they shouldn't. Was resurrection even something Bill was capable of? How did that interfere with existing processes for death and life, if they even existed?

And yet... it would make a great deal of sense. Not only did Bill have little to no concept of human limits in regards to survival, Ford highly doubted he cared - not if he had a way of circumventing his mistakes. And, given that most of his own memory consisted of pain and occasional flashes of blue light, there were more than enough gaps in it to draw... damning conclusions.

But… if Bill was telling the truth, what did that mean for him?

Was he just a copy of a copy, ad nauseam, of an original, deceased Stanford Pines? Or was he just a reanimation, not much different from a simple -

Bill was looking at him now through a single half-lidded eye, both hands resting on the handle of his cane, his stare uncomfortably knowing. "Well, Sixer? You, of all people, should know how much I hate it when people make me wait."

As if struck, Ford straightened his back suddenly - and heard, disproportionately loud to his ringing ears, the familiar crackle of aged paper.

Like breaking through a trance, he held one trembling hand to pat the general location of his heart, and there it was - that slightest resistance pressing reassuringly against his chest. It was still there. Despite the decades, despite whatever had happened to him in his current captivity, it was there. He blinked rapidly, trying to dissipate the burning at his eyes.

And just like that, his previous concerns were wiped from his mind.

Ford let out a breath. Of course. He had been being ridiculous.

Bill would not have known about the tattered photograph he kept hidden under his clothing, strapped to his chest - nor would he have understood the significance of it.

Therefore, if Ford really had been remade in a way that departed from who he was before, into something Bill wanted him to be... then the picture would not have the same effect on him. It certainly wouldn't have this effect on him.

"I'm disappointed, Cipher." Ford's voice sounded distant to his own ears. "That bit of information is a waste of omnipotence. But then again, perhaps I shouldn't be so surprised - you also made the decision to tear down the walls between dimensions, effectively end an entire universe, and for what? To have a party?"

Bill bristled, visibly affected by his gibe. "I'll have ya know, Sixer, we've got more time punch here than any other point in existence. This ain't just a party, bucko! It's the party!"

"You're right," Ford said hoarsely. "I am an idiot, Bill."

His captor turned slowly, single eye open in pleasant surprise and baited anticipation -

"But not because I trusted you." He wet his dry mouth. "I'm an idiot because I thought you were ever worth worshipping."

The triangle demon was quiet for a long, long moment.

Regardless of exactly how long it went in linear terms, it was definitely enough time for Ford to review his words and mentally curse himself for mouthing off. There was nothing Bill could do to him that he hadn't done previously. But with his family's survival in the balance, it was an extremely stupid move of him to push an already erratic, capricious creature into -

"Well," said Bill slowly, "well, WELL."

There was a note of deep anticipation in his voice, obvious even as the volume of it climbed to deafening levels. "GOOD OL' SIXER, HUH? I knew there was a reason I liked you more than the other fleshbags. Always jumping the GUN. And here I thought you'd APPRECIATE the build-up! BUT HEY, I SURE DON'T WANNA KEEP YA WAITING!"

He snapped his fingers and the chains holding Ford up disappeared suddenly from around his limbs. There was a heart-stopping second or two of freefall as the world around him blurred and reformed -

- then he landed, inexplicably enough, on what looked to be an oversized therapy chair that - he noticed blearily - matched the neon color scheme of the Fearamid.

Ford lunged forwards on an instinctive attempt at escape before bands of eerily glowing blue substance shot out from the handles and wrapped themselves around his wrists, holding him tightly in place.

"LEMME TAKE A WILD GUESS, SIXER! All ya wanna know about now is how that squishy little family of yours is doing." Bill sat on a stool next to the chair, squinting at a little notepad and pencil he held in his hands. After a moment of deliberation, he burnt them both in blue flame. "BOOORING! WHATEVER HAPPENED TO THE GUY I USED TO KNOW, HUH?"

"You did."

Bill ignored him. "I can't even interest you in the solution to the Hodge Conjecture? What about the Computational Theory of Mind? You're KILLING me here, FORDSY!"

"Either tell me what happened to my family, or -"

"Or?" The triangle asked in anticipation, leaning forward. "OR? Tell me, Fordsy, what exactly is it that you wanna do to me? Got another dimensional gun hidden up your sleeves? A muicide detonator strapped to your left ankle?"

"Or bring back the chains," Ford spat. "I'm tired of your games, Cipher. I know what you want from me, and no amount of sidestepping will make me forget it."

Bill leaned back again. If Ford didn't know better, he would have said he looked disappointed. "Oh, don't give yourself a heart attack, Sixer - that doesn't come for a few more decades! 'Sides, honesty hour's still on, and what with me killing linear time, you've still got…" He checked a watch-less wrist. "...eternity!"

Ford licked his stinging lips. There was no question that he had to play along. Especially with Bill dangling his family's fates in front of him like this. There was no doubt that there was something unsaid - something that the triangle was positively raring to share.

He thought through his words for a long time.

"Are they hurt?" Ford asked at last, still wary, unwilling to even consider the other alternative. Dipper had the Journals with him, though in hindsight, giving those books to him was a decision Ford deeply regretted - it was the equivalent of a bright red target on his back. And Mabel had been outside when Weirdmageddon had began, lost somewhere in the woods (and there was another burst of guilt there, because he shouldn't have done… that. Why did he possibly think it would have ended well? This was the second time he had made the exact same mistake.) "Are they… safe?"

"Oh," Bill said dismissively, "Pine Tree and Shooting Star are just fine. From a certain point of view! But they're alive and breathing and doing everything you humans do… just a whole lot less of it."

Ford jerked forward, a movement aborted by the thick bands of cosmic material holding him down. The triangle waved a placating hand. "I'm kidding, Sixer! Geez, talk about not bein' able to take a joke! They're both holed up in that Shack of theirs, and I have to say… real good job on the unicorn hair barrier. Very…" His voice darkened. "Clever. But you always were, weren't you, Fordsy?"

Realization dawned. "...You can't see inside the Shack at all, can you?"

"Never tried!" Bill exclaimed, and Ford knew he wasn't imagining the fact that the dream demon had responded a little too quickly. "Bunch of dinged up humans, huddled up and marinating in their own fluids like time sardines in a can… can I say booo-ring?"

Despite his best efforts, Ford sagged in relief. For all his age and near-omnipotent knowledge, Bill was at his core a childish being. His family was safe, hidden away in the Shack. Maybe powerless, unable to fight back at all against the extradimensional creatures rampaging through the town… but alive and uninjured - because if they were otherwise, Bill would certainly have mentioned it.

"Hey, what's with the hurry?" Ford blinked in slow confusion. "Aren't ya forgetting someone, Sixer?"

Bill shrugged. "Actually, can't say I'm surprised! I mean, you sure have had a lot of experience forgetting about him in the past -"

Ah. Ford frowned. "My brother is safe in the Shack," he said coldly. "Try another one, Cipher."

No, there had been no forgetting involved. Just the simple fact that the kids had been in direct danger and therefore, had been at the foreground of Ford's panic. Stanley, on the other hand, had been inside the Shack the last Ford remembered, and at any rate, could not have gotten far enough from shelter in the few minutes before the start of Weirdmageddon to be in any real danger.

And... while his brother made indubitably unwise decisions, he doubted that even Stan would casually venture out into the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

(...without reason. Which meant, unless the kids had not made it to the Shack immediately and Stanley had noticed their disappearance. Or unless... no, it was stupid - but then, this was Stanley - his brother had gone outside to look for him -)

"Sounding a bit too sure there," Bill remarked, leaning back and swinging his black cane in one fluid motion. "But you've been doing some assuming over there, haven't ya? And... we both know what that does - don't we, Fordsy?"

He wants me to ask him, Ford thought distantly. He wants me to ask him about Stanley.

There was an obvious answer to the question of 'why' - his brother had been captured, or injured, or. But he also understood - as much as anyone could, really - the spiteful polygon of overgrown immaturity before him, enough to know that there was something more here. Bill wanted to enjoy this game, and he was drawing it this long to make up for -

"Well?"

Ford, on the other hand, was sick of playing games. "Cut to the chase, Cipher. What did you do to my brother?" He demanded, rising as much as he count against the binds holding him down to the cartoonishly oversized therapy chair.

"What an accu-sation! I haven't done anything, Sixer." Ford flinched, despite himself. "...For once. Nah, Fordsy, the question you should be asking is, what has your brother done to himself?"

"I don't understand," he said carefully.

"Oh come on - you're smarter than this!" Bill bemoaned, sounding almost disappointed. "You spent ten years in this dump of a supernatural hot spot, you know what kind of things are lurking about in its corners. You knew what you were getting into - oh, don't give me that look, I saw your cute little handwritten guide on fae technical wording." Ford flushed red. "Stan-o, however…"

His tone turned contemplative. "All that knucklehead had was one of your little cryptid diaries and good ol' fashioned desperation. And we both know how dangerous that is in Gravity Falls - don't we, Fordsy? How many things out here would be all too willing to take advantage?"

"My brother isn't an idiot," Ford said flatly. "He wouldn't have fallen for the tricks of - creatures like you. He's better than that."

"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure - you know what they say about birds and feathers! Tell me, Fordsy - how has your brother been, since you've made it back? Does it feel like coming back home? Or… "

Bill prodded at Ford's chin with his cane, a thoughtful look in his single eye. "Is he different? Not how you remembered him? A - stranger?"

"It's been thirty years," he said dully, leaning his face back and away as much as he could. "People change. He changed. I changed."

"Oh, is that all it is?" Bill exclaimed in mock-surprise. "Or is that just what you're tellin' yourself?"

Ford was quiet.

"C'mon, Six Fingers. I know all about your habit of lying to yourself, but this is ri-di-culous. Before this summer, you haven't talked to - heck, seen - your brother for forty years. And that hour of beating the crud outta each other doesn't count! What's the difference to you between Stanley Pines and some guy off the street, huh?"

Ford refused to meet his eye. "You wouldn't understand," he muttered raspily. The demon went still. "You've never had a fami -"

"I don't NEED to understand!" Bill said loudly - shrieked, really, his one eye wide, as if he was shocked at his own vehemence.

"...No, y'know what, Stanford? I think you're the one who doesn't understand. In fact, I think there are plenty of things you don't understand. ...Good thing I'm here to get you up to speed."

The triangle's physical size hadn't changed - at least, not by Ford's own reckoning - but now, he loomed, his single unblinking pupil narrowed into a nearly imperceptible slit.

"Don'tcha know? Your real brother hasn't been around for a very, very long time, Fordsy."

"...What?" It sounded lame and ridiculous the moment it left his mouth, but there were no words that could be used for the current stunned confusion of Ford's mind. "I don't -"

Bill sighed once, for obvious effect. "Lemme tell ya about an old - pal of mine. Seems a bit overdue for an introduction, considering what they've been up to for the past -"

Then, just then, there was a deafening crunch.

The entire Fearamid shook in a massive jolt of movement. Several chunks of glowing extraterrestial building material cracked off and fell haphazardly from the ceiling, and Bill went abruptly quiet as he dodged to the side to avoid a hit to the eye.

Distantly, Ford heard the sound of demonic screeching and - human shouting?

Bill blinked once, slowly and disbelieving. Then, he swelled, growing twice - thrice - a dozen times his original size, bright crimson red and glowing like a supernova, his eye a glaring gold on black.

"WHAT IS IT N̮͍̠̠͓̻̝͖̬̗̅̄̂̽̀̂̓͊̍͠O̴̪̬̪̬͍͈̐̂̎̌̍̒̿͜W̶̭̹̝̟̱̑͆̉͑̿̇͋̕ͅ?" he demanded to no one in particular, bass voice loud enough to vibrate the leather under Ford's fingers.

The pseudo-therapy chair dissolved like mist, but a massive and inhuman black hand grabbed Stanford from mid-air before he could even mentally register the lack of physical reinforcement underneath his body.

He flinched. Around the two of them, the world distorted and reshaped itself into a room he had long mentally associated with the crackling of pain through his limbs and the odor of burnt cloth (and hair, and flesh, and -)

The walls had holes in them now, brutish and irregular, and through them Ford could just barely catch the occasional blur of fast-moving color beyond them. Color, and something he simply could not make out for the life of him.

Bill hummed in thought, vibrating like a naked wire. "...Huh. Would ya look at that?"

"P-please." Ford hadn't realized it was him who had spoken before his mouth was already open and he was babbling again, words rolling down his tongue and spilling out despite himself because who else in this damn town would storm the stronghold of a chaos god? Who else but - "Bill, please, don't do anything to them -"

"Looks like Truth or Dare's gonna have to wait a few," the demon said, tone light as a feather. Dimly, Ford realized he could see himself in Bill's huge dilated pupil. His reflection's mouth was open in a silent scream. "I've got a rebellion to crush into bonemeal! And who knows… Maybe I can find myself a Shooting Star or a Pine Tree, and then you can finally start making some Independent Decisions - starting with, choosing which one of 'em gets to take your place!"

His fists landed uselessly on the smooth black surface of Bill's cartoonishly simple hand as Ford struggled in his grasp, screaming and shouting and shaking, barely registering the telltale movement of air across his face that meant Bill was moving elsewhere.

Then, somewhere on the fringes of his awareness, he registered the clink of metal - then, the loosening of his bonds as Bill deposited (dumped, really) him onto a hard surface.

Within seconds, Ford had flipped onto his feet. He immediately lunged at the bars that held him back, his six-fingered hands futilely clawing at the huge unblinking eye staring at him in amusement, just a few inches away from his fingertips.

"Calm down, Fordsy," Bill admonished with a sigh, voice loud over a stream of obscenities that had never before been uttered on the surface of this particular version of Earth. "That heart attack creeping on isn't supposed to happen till you're 92, remember? So why don'tcha sit back, make a new friend, and I'll bring your family right back to ya - just like you wanted!"

"If you hurt them," he said hoarsely, "if you touch a single hair on their heads - I don't care what I have to do, what I need to bargain with -"

Bill shrieked with ear-splitting laughter. "Birds and feathers, Stanford!" He exclaimed cryptically, and - unfolded, for lack of a better word, his single eye bursting into flame and a dozen legs emerging from his now pyramidal frame. By the time Ford could react, Bill had already clambered through and out of one of the larger cracks like some oversized demonic arachnid.

He stared forward for a moment, one hand still loosely holding the metal bars of the hanging cage, adrenaline draining as quickly as it had came and leaving behind aches and strains in its wake. Ford felt sick, nauseous, a burning sensation somewhere in his throat that felt nothing like 500 volts of electricity yet hurt just as much.

There was nothing he could do but wait, wait for the world to end because he would not watch those children suffer for his mistakes.

It was… quiet now, without Bill's deafening voice and his own screaming in his ears. Just him and his thoughts, the latter of which were so deafening that he would not be surprised if they had somehow crossed into physical reality.

...As well as, he realized slowly and dimly and with more than a little confusion, the sound of expert tapdancing.

The sound of expert tapdancing, coming from… approximately two feet behind him?

Ford turned around. After a brief moment of quiet confusion, he looked down.

The dancing figure - short, squat, and inexplicably clad in a sailor suit - let out a terrified squeal.

#gf #gravity falls #my fic #atns #stanford pines #bill cipher #a thousand natural shocks

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fortunatowrites · 4 years

Text

The Statue in the Desert

Part 1 - Goji the Dealer

"Like the berry?"

"Like the suave poker dealer laying down the tools in your battle against Lady Luck," remarked Goji as he spread cards across the felt table.

The eccentric man smiled and waited for all the cards to be laid out. Goji watched as the three other people reached out to pick up their cards. Starting at his left, he simply kept track of them as numbers instead of names. Number 1 was a young woman that seemed very excited to be here. Number 2 was a man who was just there to play and didn't seem interested in anything else. He was quiet and reserved. Number 3 was the eccentric man that seemed to be drawing interest in Goji. Number 4 was a woman who exuded a similar energy to number 2, except she didn't mind butting in to deliver some verbal jabs. Goji took a quick look at them and then slid the Dealer Button to number 1, the woman on his left. Each of them were reviewing their two cards as he burned the burn card and then proceeded to deal the flop. The eccentric man picked up his hole cards and then the four of them began the game, reviewing the cards on the table and those in their hand before announcing bets.

It was a standard game of Texas Hold 'Em and another day for Goji in this casino he called his second home. The eccentric man seemed to be watching Goji as much as he was watching the game and it was starting to make him a little nervous. He was hoping these high rollers would leave considerable tips and make him forget about it.

"Why do they call you Goji?" asked number 3. "It's my name." "Did your parents name you that? Who taught you how to deal? I am feeling so unloved with these hands." Goji forced a chuckle as he burned a card, "Actually, my parents didn't name me Goji. I was renamed Goji after I become the greatest card dealer in the world."

The man cocked an eyebrow as Goji made a flourish of shuffling and burning.

"You do seem quite skilled at your craft." "Well, a long time ago I was thrown out into the desert. There I journeyed to find myself and instead I came across an oasis. Inside of it was a lake and I thought I was finally saved from the harshness of the desert!" "You must have been if you're back here dealing cards," spoke number 1. "Clearly you didn't learn how to tell believable stories from whoever taught you to deal cards," spoke the other lady, number 4, with a stern tone. "In the oasis I dove deep into the water. At the bottom there was a lamp that I pulled free. After bringing it out, a genie was awoken!" Only the eccentric man and the lady on Goji's left seemed to be listening while the other two focused on their cards and dealt with the betting.

"The genie looked upon and said 'I judge you to be worthy!'," Goji began in his impression of a deep voice. "'For your deed this mighty day, I grant you the skills to survive and to become the grandmaster of your craft!' I told him I considered my craft to be making chairs, but he used his cosmic power to know that I was a part-time card dealer. After that, he told me I was now Goji, Grandmaster of Card Dealing." "Boy, this casino is lucky to have picked you up then," chided number 4 before drawing attention back to the game at hand. "Indeed they are..." remarked the eccentric number 3. As the players did their part of the game, the second player finally spoke up. "Why would a genie's lamp be dumped into an oasis?" "It's probably what made the oasis," spoke the eccentric man. "Don't be foolish, that doesn't even make sense," spoke the stern woman. "Oh, but a being of cosmic power able to bend reality and grant wishes being trapped within a little object meant for storing oil makes sense?" joked number 1. "The magic of great beings can affect the world around it. Ambient magic that exists off of their own, like the fumes from oil. Create little ecosystems meant to thrive with life or contain their prison," said the eccentric man ignoring her. "Many deserts are already full of magic, so whoever dropped the lamp there inadvertently made that oasis by allowing the genie's ambient magic to mingle with the desert's." "I guess that would explain how an oasis would have a deep pond of water instead of a shallow reservoir?" number 2 asked Goji. Goji didn't know how to feel about the players seriously discussing his story. "I suppose. I just knew that I was out in the desert and if not for that genie, I would have died. Or at least never become this amazing at card dealing," he said with a wink.

They played another hand and Goji kept burning and dealing. Finally, it was getting to the last hand and the remaining two players were the eccentric man and the stern woman. "Let this river guide me to victory like your genie did, Goji," spoke the man. "I'm relying on you to save me from losing fortune today." "I merely arm you against Lady Luck," Goji began as he burned a card. "Your strength is what will get you victory." The man placed a hand on the table and leaned forward, making it very clear his piercing gaze was aimed not at Goji's eye, but deep to his soul. "Goji, I need you... to arm me properly." There was no smile on his face now. "I'll do my best," Goji uncomfortably joked as he laid down the river, the final card. The man glared at the card and then slowly turned his angry gaze up to Goji. Goji gave a nervous smile. The two of them played their hands and it was clear luck had been in the woman's favor. They gathered their winnings and left tips before heading off. The man who had been player 3 simply walked away. Goji collected the winnings and began to reset the table. He reached for his earpiece to give a call to the floor staff, but found it missing.

"Huh?" he seemed to ask no one at all. He reached back down to the cards to find they were gone. Confused, he glanced around the floor which was empty of people. He looked back down and found the table gone. Looking up, he saw the clock across the floor, but it was missing all of its hands.

"What is going on?" he choked out before he turned around.

Goji tripped a little and regained his balance. He was no longer in his work uniform, now he was dressed more formally and walking across the cement of the parking garage. He looked back into the elevator he had just stepped out of. Turning around, he looked down the row of cars and saw the eccentric man walking towards him. Quickly, he reached back in the elevator and hit the button labelled security; then he waited for the doors to slowly close. The man approached him.

"Heading out?" asked the former poker player. "I'm waiting for a friend to carpool with," responded Goji. "This area is for employees only, y'know?" "Oh I know." He simply stared at him for a minute. "Cool," Goji replied nervously. "You really messed up in not giving me the tools I needed to win, Goji."

Goji excitedly pointed to the security officer approaching. "I'm so sorry to hear that, but I think I see my friend approaching!" "Mister Goji, what did you do with the genie's lamp?" asked the man. "I dunno, it went away," Goji lied. "You seem capable of finding great things. I think I know a way you can make up this loss to me." "Well, I'd love to talk about it, but I gotta meet with my friend."

Goji stepped past the man and walked over to the officer. "This guy is making me super uncomfortable," he said pointing to the man. "Goji, that's not your friend." "Huh?" "He's mine."

A taser went off and everything went black for a moment. Suddenly, Goji found himself sitting in the back of a helicopter. There was all sorts of stuff strapped to him, he was dressed in his work uniform, and his hands were bound by plastic zip-ties.

"Wait... Didn't this... happen?" Goji muttered as drugs coursed through his system. His vision had a pulsing light shining through, but he shook his head and it went away. "Where... am..." he began to struggle before the man turned around. He gave a crooked smile through jeweled dental grills. "You have everything you need. Find something great for me and bring it north. You'll find my camp or get close enough that we'll find you! If you show up without something good for me, you'll find the same result as not coming to me." "...what...?" "You'll die out in the desert." "Why...?" Goji struggled, with his words and body, through great confusion. "The genie! I know you were telling the truth. It all makes perfect sense." "I...lied..." Goji choked out and began to laugh. "N...n...not...real..." The man furrowed his brow angrily. He stood up and cut Goji's wrist-ties before lifting him up. Goji immediately tried grabbing at him, but the man kept slapping his hands away and then shook him violently. "Tell me the truth! Tell me you found that genie!" Goji wide-eyed and scared spoke the truth. "It's...n...not...real..." The man pulled him closed and glared at him. "Then make it true."

The man then literally kicked Goji off the helicopter. As he began to scream and look up at the sun, his vision broke apart as the pulsing light shined back through. He found himself struggling around in the sand and going through the backpack that was strapped to him.

"Oh right... I'm dying," he said aloud to himself.

He was stranded in the Sahara Desert and his life was flashing before his eyes.

#Forty writes #short story #short stories #monsters #genie #desert #magic #fantasy #poker #card dealer #poker dealer #texas hold em

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jeff3 · 5 years

Text

Haiku Birthday

J.D. Hayes-Canell

The girl with eyes akimbo

keeps her face aimed at the floor

Pigeon toed on knocking knees

she crab walks towards the door

2/19/95

The Party’s Over

Pumpkins smashed upside down in a ditch

X-mas trees brown at the end of driveways

Dried turkey skeletons for everyone.

Eggshells dyed in the trash

Crumpled valentines skitter in the wet wind

Past the charred firecracker corpses and sparklers black and barren.

Everyone has gone home

there’s the trash to take out.

3/8/95

Ethereal Espresso

I live vicariously as you, in sweat and heterosex.

Beat ghosts lie upon the pages snapping phantom fingers

chanting “Cool, cool”.

They sip ethereal espresso and groove jazz

while you and Kerouak trade lies in a duel

like sex.

12/23/94

Reptile Season

It’s the night, x-mas time.

The city sheds it drab grey skin

and breaks out in livid spots.

12/25/94

Warm wind caressing

Brings the scent of coming rain

Robins herald Spring.

201203.07

HAIKU BIRTHDAY

You wake, stretch and yawn

So today is your birthday

Different but the same.

201203.07

I write without ink on no paper

I read a book with no pages

I call on a phone with no dial, no buttons.

What is reality?

3/20/12

Blossom scented breeze

New green of young grass growing

My backyard in Spring.

4/18/12

Words. Nothing but words

Convey all meaning, mine, yours,

A haiku birthday.

4/18/12

For Marie, Patricia, Seth and Marci

This spring has come with no green.

It is barren dust and somber ash watered by a harsh bitter rain.

Wilted blossoms and rank weeds greet my steps, crows utter curses rough and jagged to my ears.

5/15/2012.

Disney Life

I don't lead a Disney life

Filled with twittering birds

And animate inanimate objects.

I don't have it like Peter Pan

Sitting out adulthood on a whim

Waiting for the tick-tock of adventure to start.

But I've wished upon a star.

1/11/13

What We Wanted For You

(For Ryan)

A time ago, when we were young

We smiled and planned.

We were going to feed you on laughter

We were going to pour you glasses of knowledge, all that we knew.

We were children then,

Knowing only what we knew of life,

Wanting to give it all to you,

Wanting you to join in the fun that was our world.

That is what we wanted for you, the madness & the love,

The mayhem & the laughs.

Only you know if we succeeded.

1/11/13

Table Exiting the Long Room

You called me one day

To say you were dying.

Don't cry, you said

I won't I said.

I didn't. Not then, not yet.

I wanted to, but I'm waiting.

Ray scattered your ashes in

Rockwood.

I know the place, it's where I plan to cry

It's where I will remember

your laugh

Your love

Your heart

That crooked smile you had when you were up to something

The look on your face when you would knock on my door

Asking to stay because whatever

Woman you were with had kicked you out again.

Wish you were still here

so I could say hi just one more time.

201209.23

Day After

It's the day after Sandy

New York is powerless

New Jersey is scandalous

Upstate we're watching the winds feeling the rain

but the lights are still on.

Hawaiillusion

Snow piles behind the panes

Kept at bay by walls and propane.

Rocking sleepy in my chair,

Cat lapped, cozy in my sweater.

On tv scenes of beach sand

awash in seawater & weeds

Beside me tropical plants doze in their pots.

Aloha.

201212.22

There are moments in life when we are capable of anything...

The body at the bottom of the stairs.

201112.22

Death Came Visiting in May.

Saw some of my friends,

called on some of my relatives.

He turned no one down,

snubbed neither the poor nor middle class,

Grinned as he passed us by to give my brother in law his last ride.

I hope he goes elsewhere for his summer vacation.

201206.11

Music in my Clothes Seems like Saturday Night.

I was so possible that I had to be built on incomprehensibility.

I do not panic...I smile.

201302.14

Butterfly Storms

My soul is taut, it needs to bend and flow, to expand and contract, to fly free and to rest gently.

It yearns to skip lightly through the aether, gathering the whims and hopes, the ghosts of dreams unfulfilled

billowing out, blessing all with peace and love.

201310.09

Cat hair & Dust bunnies.

Lying on the valley floor with wheeling stars above

Rain touching feather soft the grass

Tell him I asked, I asked you why

The only answer: the rain.

201407.03

By The Light Of A Robot's Eyes

I hold a virtual image of you in my mind but it fades, pixel by pixel. my heart yearns to hang on yearns to hold on to wisps, to fog.

In the silent dusk my mind slowly draws to a close.

201306.30

Always Kiss Me Goodnight

There are times you drive me virtually mad

With all the craziness you do.

There are times you are so furious you lose control and rant from the insanity of my life.

But when you're gone.

When the dust settles.

When the silence falls.

And all I've ever wanted was for you to shut up for five minutes!

I miss you more than anyone,

more than anything

and though I know how to live alone

I can't bear it without you.

201311.29

Hotel Kitchen @ One am.

Ralph Kramden Was a Bus Driver

Thusly we come to know

That some doors remain forever closed

and we are held bound to our fate

By chains we forged with pieces of our souls.

201311.29

Flotsam

I'm just passing through

You're just passing through

It's how we live

How we are

Passing through time, space the lives of those we meet

The things we think are real are transient

The things we think are solid are dust.

Liquid flows

Time flows

And we are fascinated by the firelight shadows on the cavern's wall. 201404.13

MAYA

A clear voice that sprung from silence sorrow shame

A voice which gave hope love and peace to many

A voice which encouraged never scorned

A voice of freedom and compassion

A voice as clear as hope

A voice as strong as love

Has drifted softly into silence once more.

201405.28

First Day

Summer wind paper napkin plastic bag dance swirling pirouettes about each other, about the sidewalk, about my feet.

Walking down the hill I join the dance.

201406.23

Dance of the Lightening Bugs

It's no secret

How the universe turns

It's no marvel to me why life must spin

and spin and spin

Rumpelstiltskin super novas blossom as they whirl and I,

I long to cry.

201407.03

Where Did The Words Go

Out of mouths through the ears and away

We wasted time wasted breath wasted life with words

Let them twist us turn us scorch us burn us

Let them touch us bathe us help us save us

Life and time molded distance carved caverns

Perhaps they fled there.

201407.04

Staying Strangers

Alone together

How we travel through our lives cocooned in iPads iPods

Idontwanttoknow, selfmusic

selfmovies selfphones selfish

Insulated from the now

From each other

from life.

Thrown together by happenstance

By circumstance by chance

We retreat hibernate

Back away from all of us

And into ourselves.

It will come to no good.

201407.19

Watching Shakespeare on TV

The commons chatter aimlessly

While culture and wisdom play before them content in its own self showing no ego in its teaching, ever teaching by its own example

And still the hairless monkeys jabber.

201407.20

Soft Dog

When I die

all the things that I have gathered

Will be scattered to the winds

All the kisses I have known

Will blow away Never to return

And all that I have said or done

Shall pass into memories

Held in a drawer

Or a book.

When you die

All the things that you have gathered

Will scatter

And no one will ever know

How you felt today.

201408.04

Tender is the time

We spend just lying side by side

Nowhere to go, no place to be

But where we are.

Softly our two hearts

Beating in time to the song of our souls

Open to each other, and we smile

Because we are one.

Soon our time is spent

We slip apart, away and back to normal

A small ache for the parting hour

And our tender times.

201408.07

Summer thunder crashes taking the ears by storm hissing cats and dogs fall pouncing on the ground making puddles lightening squalls across the sky black cloudy growls slowly fade and soon the mice come out to play.

201408.17

My new shoes feel good

I like how they hold my feet.

A year from now they’ll be old shoes,

And I will have forgotten

How they felt

In the days of the old shoes

201403.16

Way back when I used to wake up early mornings

When weekends were like Christmas and summer lasted forever

When we were good guys or bad guys and our heroes were on tv

When problems were small things that grown-ups could solve

And kisses made it all better.

When did those days slip into greater worries, into times of grey

With nothing clear or sure.

No going back, no returns, no panacea for the soul

Just a voice, a fading echo which claims “You’re it.”

201807.07

My soul longs for the peace of a monastery

The whispers of the hermit’s cave.

It calls out in silent plea for solace from the din, parting from the throng.

But I don’t know where to turn, how to take that step

And I’m afraid to be alone.

201807.07

Things his mother made;

Christmas things made by a loving hand for her son.

She’s long since passed away but he held those memories close.

Now he is gone as well, unexpectedly pulled from my life and all I have are memories

And these things his mother made

3/11/2019

I’m tired of the sorrow and the sadness

The explosive burst of tears and the creeping clutch of emptiness.

I don’t know why you had to go,

I will never know

You were always full of love and I was not

I never stopped guarding my heart against this very thing

I never stopped building walls against this very day

And when it happened

When the end for you came

The barriers melted, the walls crumbled

and all they kept out was you

3/11/2019

I was looking at our garden today.

I know its winter and everything is brown.

But between the deer and the rabbits

They killed the growing dreams we had; the roses, the willow tree.

I laughed when you brought it home

“We live on a sand dune” I said, “A willow won’t grow here.”

But it did, for the whole of spring and summer it survived.

But not this winter, very little survived this winter.

3/11/2019

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atremendouslygenerouscollec-blog · 6 years

Text

Best Premade Bug out Bag"

Virtually every day someone asks me "what's your most significant prep?". This can be a trick question. The solution they're seeking is really a definitive one in which I endure a device or perhaps a weapon or something like that I've built myself that solves multiple prepping issues and that i smile in to the camera and say "this whatsamajigger may be the only tool You have to survive! It filters and purifies water, slices lead and produces cheeseburgers when needed!" (That might be really awesome to create one though). For more information on the solvent trap, visit our website today!

Regrettably My home is a global where shit happens. Also regrettably, it's never the "same shit, different day" situation we all like to quote. It's different shit every single day.

For this reason lack of knowledge between humans and nature what's my most significant prep on Monday might not always be my most significant prep on Tuesday... or perhaps Monday night for instance. A minimum of... not if you're searching at physical equipment for example bags, flashlights, knives, guns, etc.

Here are MY most significant preps, in NO particular order worth focusing on.

Situational Awareness

Understanding of my regional surroundings

Understanding of fundamental survival

May well, balanced method of problem-solving

A obvious and well practiced plan

A powerful support of loved ones structure

Situational Awareness

Every single day, at each moment wherever I'm at or things i am doing (aside from when sleeping obviously) I attempt to stay acutely conscious of my surroundings. An unusual noise, smell, or perhaps a lack thereof might be a tip-off that something has run out of whack. After I am away from my house I'm really conscious of individuals around me, acting much like a Gps navigation that's constantly recalculating its route I'm always searching for the following escape lane or emergency exit.

I'm forever watching individuals around me searching for obvious indications of trouble for example clothing that has run out of season, bulges under jackets or shirts, eyes darting backwards and forwards to security or police, heads shedding lower and faces turning away once they help you searching their way. Being an ex-cop you feel quite attuned to those giveaways and that i rely on them to my advantage, skirting potential danger at each possible chance. Overt indications of trouble for example arguments or large categories of people starting to gather are simple to avoid when seen from a distance, but do you know if you're in the center of one when it's developing? I'm able to and that i prevent them such as the plague.

At restaurants my loved ones knows which seat is mine, it is the one facing the doorway. The issue here is much simpler to prevent if you notice it coming.

Understanding of My Regional Surroundings

Are you aware which roads ton in heavy rains around your home and city? Are you aware which roads is going to be clogged with traffic in desperate situations? The number of railroad crossings are between both you and your BOL? The number of bridges? Is the path to your BOL hampered by anything controlled electrically like a draw bridge? Pay Toll?

Taking a look at the most important thing to understand about your region consider you have No clue where you'll be when you really need to respond to an urgent situation event. The different options are much of your time on high probability scenarios using generally visited locations for the planning, but you will have to devote a little portion of your energy mapping your whole region. This may be invaluable understanding.

Understanding of Fundamental Survival

Inside a pinch I possibly could survive 3-five days in almost any weather that's present with my region with simply the stuff I carry within my vehicle. If my whole family were beside me it might be More difficult, but we're capable. Thankfully with fundamental survival understanding along with a very little bit of prepacked gear I'm able to turn 3-five days of potential survival right into a considerably longer length of time. Fundamental first-aid procedures really are a necessity out of the box fire building and shelter building. Meals are not wholly essential for temporary survival but anything past a couple of days becomes tremendously harder without food, particularly with young children. I've water within my vehicle whatsoever occasions and the opportunity to filter and purify it too. Regrettably this can only last such a long time. To enhance these fundamental skills I've my understanding of fundamental land navigation and night land navigation (I would recommend Everybody learn these skills) in addition to understanding of lengthy range signaling using light, mirrors, smoke, flags, etc.

May Well, Balanced Method of Problem-solving

When things fail would you turn to point the finger? Are you currently the kind of person that should know who made the error? You don't need to speak up, just honestly think about individuals questions before studying further.

I had been that guy. I had been the man that immediately searched for the individual accountable for the mistakes or even the problems. Today I view it on twitter each day. People constantly speaking about who did this and who did that. This really is all fine and well for politics and daily press, but it'll not be beneficial in occasions of effective need.

Whenever a problem occurs try to go into the habit of smoking of immediately locating the solution, blame could be assigned at another time and put. Think logically regarding your situation and do not interact with your gut instinct unless of course speed is important. Yes, sometimes you do not have time for you to sit and ponder, it takes place. The many other occasions, however, you need to use consideration for problem-solving. If you are using a particular resource to fix an issue will it produce a future problem? Is fixing a problem in a single way likely to alienate part of your group the family? If you work with all your meds and first-aid supplies in order to save your daughter's chihuahua or allow her to be mad to you and cry for some time to save supplies?

Sometimes the solutions are obvious, sometimes they aren't.

A Obvious and Well Practiced Plan

Knowing how to proceed is way better than getting a concept of how to proceed. Comprehending the problem at hands and just how it requires your unique plan is way better than "winging it" in desperate situations. Intending to mind for your BOL in situation of emergency is extremely diverse from knowing each and every route in order to your BOL and which routes can be found because of the type and harshness of the emergency under consideration. Even knowing WHEN you'll be bugging out is a lot more efficient that simply knowing that you'll be bugging out. It is a fact that the best laid plans can fail, but that is why preppers make backup plans, and backups for their backup plans. Being prepared is really a lesson in Ocd.

Just getting an agenda and a few backups isn't enough. It needs practicing your plan. Professional athletes Understand how to play their specific sports plus they KNOW their fundamental responsibilities, but without practice they can't become and remain proficient, thus growing the probability of an error. For that sports personality, which means a lost game. For that prepper, it might mean a lost existence. Practice your plans.

A Powerful Support Of Loved Ones Structure

I'm the goofball within my family. My children joke constantly that my spouse runs the show and i'm kinda such as the comic relief within their existence. I'm the jokester, the one which will get chuckled at and selected on. I'm the clumsy one, the silly one and the one which does not result in the rules or run the roost.

I'm even the 4g iphone to talk if there's an issue. My loved ones recognizes that when i state certain keywords and phrases that it's time to be quiet and do something. There aren't any questions requested, no pleading for five more minutes with no lagging behind. When father will get serious and utters a vital phrase, everybody snaps to attention and follows orders.

When I've got a book signing or have to focus on prepping related projects my loved ones dives along with full vigor. "All on the job deck" is the way you attack an issue or perhaps a project not just to make it happen faster but additionally because everybody must understand how many of these situations are completed in situation someone is not able to complete operator.

Us works by doing this simply because they understand the significance of prepping. It is not a doomsday scenario they're concerned about. My ten year old boy is not watching CNN every evening searching for clues of the coming cataclysm and my 12 years old daughter is not ignoring her buddies and "boys" because her father has "Chicken Little" syndrome. All of us live very normal lives with very neat, well stocked closets and Go-Bags. We drive towards the family homestead in Michigan several occasions annually making a bet on you never know where we're at any time or location. We practice with firearms and my children understand the world around them, however they don't fear it plus they certainly do not feel like they are not part of it. Want to obtain the prepper food list at the best prices and top quality? Visit our website.

Many of these things combine to create my most significant preps. Without one it does not appear tools I've or how awesome my bug out vehicle looks. Without this stuff it does not matter basically carry a collection of weapons or perhaps a pocketknife. Without these power tools a prepper could effortlessly be a very trendy, well outfitted corpse in an exceedingly almost no time.

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shannaraisles · 7 years

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Her Beacon And Her Shield - Chapter 3

Amelia was still in that state of bemused suspicion when she returned to the cabin. Her sense of displacement kept her from seeing the curious stares as she walked back through Haven, bewildered by her encounter with a man she had been so certain was dead and buried this past year, at least. Had Cullen really changed so much? Or was it simply a case of protecting his reputation, being seen to behave well toward a wife he must surely have confessed to having while she slept? Despite herself, despite their history, she wanted to believe it was the former, yet common sense and learned suspicion told her the latter was far more likely.

Elin was waiting for her as she stepped in, out of the chill wind. The elven girl looked worried, wringing her hands over some deed or other. The reason for her concern was made clear as soon as she opened her mouth.

"Milady Herald, I drew you a bath, like the commander ordered, only ..." She looked toward the wooden tub set before the fire. "He ordered me to draw it cold, milady. Said you prefer to warm your own water. Was that right?"

Amelia stared at her for a long moment, her shock palpable. "Uh ... yes, Elin, that's ... that's how I prefer my bath drawn," she admitted, looking at the flames reflected on the water. Why had he remembered that? What could he possibly hope to gain by recalling such a personal preference of hers? But then ... he had always asked that she bathe before they were ... intimate. Was that what he was hoping for when he visited her later?

"Milady?"

Blinking out of her thoughts, Amelia raised a smile for Elin. "I'm so sorry, Elin, my thoughts were miles away," she apologized. "Could you repeat that?"

"I found a comb, and some pins for your hair, milady," Elin said again, though now she looked mildly shocked. Evidently she was unused to humans being polite to her. "There's oils, too, for your hair and your skin. Andraste's Grace for your hair."

"Goodness, Elin, that's an expensive oil," Amelia heard herself say, more for the reassurance that she could offer something relevant than anything. "Are you sure it can be spared?"

"Lady Montilyet insisted," the elf told her earnestly. "She said you deserve something special after all you've been through."

"I don't know a Lady Mont ... wait." The name was familiar. Antivan, she thought, with a vague recollection of meeting Montilyets at her Great-Aunt Lucille's balls. So they were mixed up with this Inquisition too, were they? "Could you thank Lady Montilyet for me? It is a wonderfully generous gift."

"Yes, milady." Elin grinned, apparently as pleased with the gift as Amelia was. "Do you want me to help you bathe?"

"No, thank you. I am quite capable of washing myself." Amelia chuckled lightly, but she didn't miss the way the girl's face fell. Waiting on the Herald of Andraste must have been quite the honor. "I will need help to dry and comb my hair," she added. "Come back in about an hour?"

"Yes, milady." The grin reappeared on Elin's face as quickly as it had flown. "I'll bring you some food, too. You've not eaten in days."

Faced with such enthusiasm, Amelia could not help but smile once more. "You're very kind," she told the girl, her tone warm. "Thank you, Elin."

She watched the girl out of the cabin, making sure the door was shut and the curtains covered before moving over to the bath. The water was, indeed, cold to the touch, warming as she murmured a spell to let heat trickle from her fingers. It was a slow process, yet one she found comfort in. But how - why - had Cullen remembered it?

"Stop playing with the bath water," her husband of just a few hours snapped at her impatiently. "Just get in and wash yourself."

She looked up, wary of angering him so soon after their vows had been spoken. "I am heating the water."

She could tell by the way he stilled that she had somehow said the wrong thing. The handsome face that had so enthralled her in the Chantry was dark with a scowl as he turned to look at her. "You're using magic in my presence without first asking my permission?"

"I ... I did not ..."

"You are never to use magic in these rooms without my agreement," he growled at her. "If the bath is cold, have another drawn."

She swallowed, rising to her feet, her eyes downcast. "I-I asked them to draw it cold, ser," she offered, trying to explain her actions. "I -"

"Why?" he demanded, advancing to loom over her. She could feel the anger radiating from him, all the old warnings against crossing templars loud in her mind. "To test my limits, is it? Do you want to see how lenient I will be with your flagrant breaking of the rules?"

She flinched back as he reached out, the words bursting from her unbidden. "I was scalded as a child and water frightens me!"

His hands stilled in the act of closing on her arms, his grip tight as he glared at her. She could see him struggling with himself, the moment when he realized that he had touched her without her permission. When he spoke, however, it was quieter, though no less tense. "So you heat your own bath water, because ...?"

"It ... it gives me a sense of control," she ventured, afraid of what he might do if he didn't accept her explanation. "It ... it calms me."

She could hear him breathing hard as he drew his hands away from her, an apologetic look flashing over his face for his intimidating behavior. The words did not come, but she felt the apology in the air, watching him as he considered her - not just with her words, but her manner in that moment. It seemed to take an age, but finally he stepped away.

"You have my permission to heat your own bath water. Please do not use your magic around me without warning me first. I do not ... react well to such surprises."

Amelia shook her fingers free of drops, rising to undress herself. Her first private interaction with Cullen Rutherford had set the tone for their marriage, at least behind closed doors. He had often been hard and unforgiving, unwilling to allow her any autonomy unless she earned it by word or deed, and she had learned quickly not to test his temper. Yet he had always tried to treat her with respect, never forcing her into his bed, or harming her willingly. She had not needed to grow accustomed to the way he would lash out with words, only to draw them back with an apology, for over time, those harsh words had ceased to be thrown in her face. She had been a willing bride, believing in the perceived goal of their union, but she'd be lying if she said she had not come to regret her willingness. In time, she had grown to understand that he had a fear of magic that went beyond the norm, fueled by some darkness beyond the walls of the Gallows. It did not excuse his harshness, but it offered some insight.

So where was that harshness now, she wondered, folding herself into the warmed water to make the most of her time alone. In the Chantry he had been protective, assertive. He had run off the chancellor without the need for aggression or harsh words. And the way he had spoken to her ... He had almost seemed pleased to see her, uncertain of his welcome. His request to visit her had been a request, not an order or a statement of fact. What would have happened if she had denied him, she wondered. In three years of marriage, she had never said no - not because she was afraid to, but because he seemed to need her compliance.

But he was different, wasn't he? The chancellor had called him commander, not Knight-Captain; named him a fallen templar without an argument being offered. Could it be possible that Cullen Rutherford, foremost of Meredith Stannard's Knights, had left the Templar Order? She couldn't imagine such a thing. He had always been the most loyal, the most obedient to his Knight-Commander's whims, even when her orders went beyond the pale. Yet he had survived Kirkwall and moved beyond it, to the Inquisition. He had defended her against Roderick's barbed words. But why, that was the question. Had he been defending his wife, his property, out of some misguided notion that only he was permitted to mistreat her; or had he done it because it was the right thing to do? And if it were the latter, where had he relearned right from wrong? Who had taught him?

To her own shock, Amelia recognized the pang that came with thinking of that unknown who. It was hurt and, Maker help her, jealousy, too. Why should she feel jealous of anyone in Cullen's life? The answer, though, was obvious, despite her reluctance to admit to it. In their three years together, she had seen more than a few shadows behind his stern outward appearance; times when she had experienced his gentleness and chivalry, times when the calmness that prevailed in their rooms had brought out a man who had been too long buried behind fear and anger. She had hoped she might be the one to encourage that man to hold sway in his life, to overcome the pain and fury that made him so unforgiving of mages in general. That someone else had touched his life the way she had wanted to stung her in a manner she was not prepared to accept. Was that why he had sent her away, let her believe him dead? Was that someone here in Haven now?

She bristled at her thoughts, ducking her head beneath the water to wash the grime from her hair. What did she care if Cullen had taken someone else to his bed? He wasn't that good a lover, she lied to herself. He had wronged her when he sent her away, and abandoned her in Ostwick to mourn him. He clearly cared nothing for her personally. Duty was all he had ever cared about. He was part of the Inquisition, and she was the Herald of Andraste, as ridiculous as that seemed. It was his duty to protect her from harm. That could be his only motivation for his actions in the Chantry. Yet even as she considered her thoughts, she knew she was wrong; lying to herself. The man she knew was a good man, who had never harmed her if he could possibly help it. She did him a disservice by casting him in such a dark light. For as long as she had known him, he had been searching for a way to break free of his fears. Now, it seemed, he had finally discovered one.

She was dry and dressed before Elin returned, working the snarls unsuccessfully from her damp hair with the comb, listening to the sound of commotion outside.

"Oh, let me do that, milady," the elven girl asserted, quick to take the comb from her fingers. Her touch was light and gentle, and Amelia soon found herself feeling drowsy, lulled by the gentle sweep of bone teeth through her hair.

"What is going on outside, Elin?" she asked, curious despite her weariness. "They sound agitated."

"There's messengers and ravens going all over," Elin told her, her own excitement muted in favor of preserving the sense of calm peace in the cabin. "Sister Leliana sent out all the birds, and scouts, and Chancellor Roderick wasn't happy about it."

"I imagine he wasn't," Amelia murmured, though she didn't have sympathy to spare for the man.

"There's soldiers setting up a camp outside the gates, and they're building big wood things that throw rocks," the girl volunteered.

"Trebuchets," Amelia told her absently. A faint frown creased her brow. Why siege equipment? Haven was not fortified. No one who attacked this place would bring siege engines with them. Another thought, however, raised a suspicion in her mind. "Cullen Rutherford is in command, isn't he?"

"No one is, milady," Elin offered, beginning to divide the soft length of shining dark hair under her hands. "but he's in charge of the soldiers. Up or down, milady?"

"Why are the knights always so busy, husband?" she asked one evening, two years into their marriage. He'd been in a pensive mood for a few days, unwilling to talk, but the lack of sternness about his eyes tonight gave her the courage to ask what was on her mind.

He was staring into the fire, lost in thought, but her voice brought him back to the present moment. "What was that?"

"The knights under your command are always so busy," she repeated. "They always seem to be running drills, or preparing for inspection, when they are not on duty. In Ostwick, the templars had far more time to be idle. Why is that not so here in Kirkwall?"

His expression darkened, but she had learned to judge his moods. Her question had not angered him, but the thoughts it raised had. "Idle men have time to think and talk, to let dark thoughts take form and rule them," he said in a troubled tone. "Such men do not make good soldiers, and worse knights."

"I see," she answered softly. "You fear idleness breeds cruelty."

"In times such as these, cruelty is the least of our problems." He roused himself to stand. "Have your bath drawn. I will try not to wake you when I return."

"Milady?"

For the second time, Amelia dragged her thoughts from the past in Elin's presence. "Oh, forgive me, Elin," she apologized. "Memories, that is all." She ran a hand over her dry hair. "Up, I think. We can't have the Herald of Andraste getting snagged on a bush, can we?"

Elin giggled at the silly image conjured up, turning her attention to separating the dark mass of her lady's hair, twisting some, braiding others, gathering them all into an intricate coil above her nape. Pleased with her work, she went about tidying the cabin, removing the bath and generally setting the place to rights before fetching the promised meal at long last. The fare was simple but well made, and to Amelia, it tasted heavenly, the first hot meal she had eaten in weeks. A life lived on the run offered no safety to build a fire for cooking, and wariness at the Conclave had dictated that she ate only the cold rations from her pack.

Her belly full, she dismissed Elin as gently as she could, pleading a need to rest, and the girl left cheerily, promising that no one would disturb her. And when she was certain she was alone ... Amelia wept.

She wept for the innocents who had suffered in this awful war, for the templars and mages who could not see past their own feelings to the pain they were inflicting on the world around them. She wept for the Divine, and all those who had died with the Temple of Sacred Ashes, the last best hope for peace in Thedas snuffed out before they had a chance to make it happen. She wept for the Chantry, immobilized by grief and politicking; for the people who needed them in this terrible time; for her family, cut to the quick not only by loss but by her own betrayal of the institution she had been raised in. But most of all, she wept for herself; guilty, pitying tears that made her heart ache. She had lost everything - her Circle, her family, her quiet anonymity. Her husband. Her place in the world had changed by pure chance, her elevation coming at the cost of so much. She did not want it, any of it. But the subtle itch of her marked palm gave her no alternative. Here she was, and here she must endure.

A gentle knock on the door roused her from a fitful sleep some time later. She stretched, wincing at the ache in her neck from sleeping in a chair. Her eyes felt gritty and dry; she was sure her face bore the marks of her storm of grief. The knock came again.

"Lady Trevelyan?"

It was Cullen. Amelia felt an old panic rise in her chest. Her husband had come, and she was not ready for him, inwardly bracing for harsh words and biting disappointment.

"One moment!" she called, hoping her voice did not sound as hoarse as it felt.

"Is this a bad time?" he asked through the door as she rushed to wash her face, blessing Elin for leaving a jug and basin. "If you would prefer, I can return at a more convenient time for you."

"Not at all," she told him, patting her face dry. Why was he just standing out there? He had every right under the law to intrude - though she had never known him to violate the implications of a closed door - and yet he had knocked and was waiting for her permission to come inside. What was she to make of that? "I will be there in a moment."

"Of course. I will wait."

Her scrabbling found a mirror, holding it up to inspect her face. Pale ... too pale, she thought, and her eyes puffy and bloodshot, but she would have to do. Her appearance no longer reflected on him, but on herself. He was here to talk, nothing more. She could not afford to allow anything more than that, for her own self-respect if nothing else. Husband he might be, but she was determined to show him that she was not the soft woman he had known her to be. A year on the run had hardened her, but she hoped not too much.

But there was no time to consider this further. She had to face her husband.

#her beacon and her shield #dragon age inquisition #dailyart #fanfiction #writing #cullen/female trevelyan #amelia trevelyan #cullen rutherford #multi-chapter fic #arranged marriage #previous relationship #havenolimits #implied dubious consent

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