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caramelcal · 3 years

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Request: Luke x reader? Luke tries to distract reader throughout the day (like he did to Julie) especially when she tries to talk to Nick? Which reader gets mad about and starts to ignore Luke (because she’s been trying to distract herself from her growing feels for him) and he eventually poofs into he room to talk to her about it?

Word Count: 2k

a/n: hi! sorry this took so long, instead of sitting down and working on one fic i’ve been working on five at the same time. incredibly stressful, i’ll try not to do that again lol especially considering it meant it took me ages to write them all...also someone pls give me something to name this lmao ty, and thank you for the request!

also just in case anyone asks i will not be making a part 2 sorry ! :(

disclaimer: I do not condone the use of my work/writing without my permission. The only place this has been posted is on my (rosemoonmist) tumblr account. This has not been posted on any other platform either. If you see any plagiarism of my work please let me know! <3 People work hard on their fics, so don’t steal them ty.

Masterlist

“So y/n I was thinking,” Luke starts, popping up out of thin air beside you whilst you walk along the corridors. At his unannounced presence beside you, you jump and let out a surprised squeal, gather attention from other students.

Looking around, you notice all of their stares and a blush coats your cheeks. They couldn’t see Luke, you knew that, so they thought you jumped at nothing and your squeal definitely didn’t help. Your head ducks down in embarrassment, trying to avoid the gazes of the students as you start to hurry to your locker.

“Y/n! I’m trying to talk to you here? Hello!” Luke shouts, following your quick, embarrassed walk to your locker. He leans against the locker beside you, arms crossed over his chest, “Y/n, stop ignoring me please.”

“You know Luke, normal people don’t sneak up on others so you definitely shouldn’t,” You mutter quietly, trying not to attract any more attention from those near you. You had already embarrassed yourself enough, you definitely didn’t need to be caught talking to yourself.

Luke watches you as you get your textbooks from your locker with soft, hazel eyes, shrugging his shoulders before he speaks again, “I don’t see what’s wrong with coming to share my ideas with you.”

“When you practically ambush me in the middle of the halls and embarrass me in front of my classmates then there’s something wrong,” You whisper harshly towards the teenage ghost, who gives you a playful smile in return.

“Don’t worry about it, I think your little scream was cute,” Luke tries to playfully comfort you, but you only end up more embarrassed. Ducking your head, you clear your throat, not meeting Luke’s eyes, “Plus, if I don’t talk to you then who is? Flynn and Julie aren’t here.”

“I have friends other than Julie and Flynn, you know,” You replied with a small smile, rolling your eyes at the boy whose eyes go slightly wider in amusement.

Leaning closer to you, he whispers, “Yeah, one of ‘ems behind you right now.”

With that he pulls back, his amused smirk going wider when he sees your eyes widen in panic. At least he’s getting some enjoyment out of this because you certainly weren’t. It was almost as if you were unfrozen, whipping around after several moments of doing nothing and just standing still to see him there.

“Heyyy y/n,” He says, trying to mask the slightly judgmental look he is giving you but you notice. At this rate, you just want the ground to swallow you whole, melt into the floor or just disappear.

“Nick! Hi,” You say, feeling your throat close up as you look at him. You try to keep your eyes on him, but they quickly stray when Luke appears behind him.

“You alright, L/N?” Nick asks, looking at you strangely with concern etched into his voice.

Waving your hand about weirdly, you nod your head wildly, trying to act natural but very much not. Luke glances at you with a judgmental glance, one that he wants you to see as you laugh, “Of course I am! Why would I not be?”

“I don’t know, you’re just acting a little strange.”

“Me? I’m always strange,” You try to wave it off, hoping that soon enough this nightmare would be over and you could go back home. This has to be the most embarrassing day to ever exist, for anyone. You would give anything just to disappear right now.

“Uh oh,” Luke’s voice sounds from behind Nick, his voice teasing as he looked at you with a smile, “has someone got a crush on Nick?”

“What! No!”

Your eyes snapped over to Luke, his smile growing wider. You know that he’s messing with you, but you couldn’t let him believe you had a crush on Nick of all people. No way. You already liked someone else, Luke, so to let Luke believe that you liked Nick was not going to happen. Your eyes hesitantly look back towards Nick, where he looks at you with a confused look.

You know that you can’t explain you were talking to a ghost, he’d think you were even crazier than you actually were. Giving him an awkward laugh you rub behind your neck, “Sorry, Flynn is across the hall and is trying to be distracting.”

“Flynn isn’t even in scho-”

“Sorry, Nick! Nice talking to you but I gotta go, bye!” Cutting Nick off quickly, you wave your hand before whirling around, walking in the opposite direction. A pair of shoes caught themselves up with you, and you knew who it was. The black and white vans were kind of a giveaway.

“I think that went well.”

“Shut up, Luke.”

. . .

Thankfully, your bad and embarrassing day didn’t get much worse. You managed to get through your first classes without Luke trying to annoy you anymore, which meant that you didn’t embarrass yourself even more and when it came to lunch you holed yourself up in the library. Being in the library meant that there was no one around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Your last class rolled around and you were trying to get your head down and do your work so that you could go home and forget that this day ever happened. It wasn’t going to get much worse than it already is considering the day was practically over, so you were just waiting for the time to pass by.

“Y/n, psst,” You hear a voice whisper from in front of you, making you look up. Maybe you spoke too soon, because there Luke is, sitting on the desk in front of yours, that was thankfully empty.

You knew that Luke just liked to talk to people other than Reggie and Alex from time-to-time and you were normally a good option but not in school. And especially not after the embarrassment that happened earlier on in the morning; that’s why you ignored him.

However, it seemed that Luke really wanted your attention and was willing to do anything to get it. Whether it be constantly talking to you, distracting you from doing your work, or humming new songs, he seemed to be doing anything to be annoying.

“What do you think about this one, n/n?”

Often, you were used to Luke just using your first name, so the sound of your endeared nickname falling off of his lips effortlessly caused your heart to flutter. Luke frowned a little, he knew you were listening, he could see you press your pencil down a little harder on your paper every time he spoke, almost as if you were trying to restrain yourself from answering him.

A smirk lit upon his lips, he knew exactly what to do. Jumping off of the table, he made his way over to your desk, taking the pencil out of your hand. Your eyes went wide but you knew you couldn’t make a big deal about it, imagine they seen you jumping after a floating pencil.

Looking up at Luke, you mouthed ‘Luke, put the pencil down’ with a glare, but Luke simply smirked at you. At this rate, you thought that Luke was just trying to get you grumpy. He brought the pencil down to your level to tease you but you caught onto it, tugging it closer to you.

Luke didn’t seem to want to let go, finally glad to get your attention but it shouldn’t have been a good thing, because he was just angering you even more.

Finally managing to yank the pencil off of Luke, you heard a voice whisper beside you, “Hey y/n, are you planning on actually doing any work, or are you gonna continue to cast spells with your pencil?”

The day definitely couldn’t get worse after that.

. . .

After that, you were determined to ignore Luke by any means necessary, even if he stole a pencil and let the class believe that the class was haunted. Thankfully enough, Luke realized that he shouldn’t push your buttons anymore and left you alone. On your walk home you practically wallowed in self-pity and embarrassment and found yourself swallowed in a hole of blankets and pillows watching a movie when you got into your bedroom.

You did not want to go back to school, and you found yourself dreading it more and more with each passing moment. After Luke realized how embarrassed you were the first time, he should've stopped, but he didn’t. Maybe he just liked to torture you and embarrass you in front of all of your peers.

It was a well-established thing that you liked Luke, not that he knew, of course, you knew he didn’t like you back like that. And after today, you struggled to believe he would ever see you as more; it was like he didn’t care about your feelings.

“Y/n, there you are,” Speak of the devil, “I need opinions on these new lyrics-”

“No, Luke. I’m busy.” You snap, eyes keeping on the screen. You hoped that he took the memo and stopped talking and left, but he didn’t, they never do.

Walking towards your bed, Luke sat beside you and grabs the remote that was tucked in between two blankets, holding it up to you, “No you aren’t, you’re only watching a movie. I’m sure you could stop it for two seconds.”

“What if I don’t want to?” You reply sassily, reaching for more popcorn that sat in the small bowl in front of you.

“What’s up with you?” Luke asks, his voice slightly annoyed as he looks at you. He seems confused like he’s completely oblivious to everything that happened today.

“What do you think is up with me?” You ask, finally turning to look at him, e/c eyes meeting the hazel ones you were so fond of.

Luke stares back at you with the same intensity, eyes looking over your blanket-covered figure before realization dawned on his face. Yet, with the realization, annoyance seemed to follow closely behind, “Is this because I embarrassed you in front of your crush?”

“I don’t have a crush on Nick!” Your voice is slightly louder than you had intended, but you don’t bother to apologize anyway.

Maybe you were both overreacting, and you were getting a little too defensive but you couldn’t help it. Luke didn’t seem to listen to you, you had already told him you didn’t like Nick, couldn’t he just listen to you for once in his life?

“Why are you shouting? I’m just asking a question,” Luke says, his voice calm. You had never expected the day where Luke would be the voice of reason between the two of you but here we are.

Eyes looking back up to meet Luke’s, a frown falls onto your face. Sighing, you feel guilt pool in your stomach, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”

“It’s alright, y/n. I shouldn’t have embarrassed you in the first place. I’m really sorry,” You’re pretty sure that’s the first time you have ever heard Luke apologize to anyone, and you’re surprised at how sincere he sounded. Maybe Luke does care about your feelings more than you expected him to.

Soon enough, the calm and comfortable atmosphere you have created in the room because uncomfortable as you both sit in a silence. You don’t know what to say, or what to do but thankfully, Luke saves you from that.

“Listen, I- uh,” Luke hesitates to speak, feeling nervous when your attention is turned back to him. His gaze looks down at the bed before glancing back up, looking very fidgety under your gaze, “I’m sorry for what I did this morning. I don’t know I just seen Nick, and I thought you guys liked each other and I didn’t like it so I embarrassed you in front of him and that’s not okay.”

“You didn’t like it?” You ask with a smirk, quoting what Luke said as your smirk goes a bit wider. Noticing your words, Luke’s eyes go a little bit wider as he starts to stutter but you quickly end his stuttering, “Were you jealous, Patterson?”

It takes him a few moments to respond, your full body turning towards him when you begin to tease him. You had hoped that he was going to get embarrassed in front of you but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“Maybe I am, what are you gonna do about it?”

#luke julie and the phantoms #julie and the phantoms #charlie gillespie x y/n #julie and the phantoms x reader #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson #jatp #julie and the phantoms luke #charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie #luke jatp #luke patterson x y/n

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shofics · 3 years

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So tumblr ate the ask (thanks! I hate it!) but @knifemartin sent the prompt 13. pirate au but make it... sky pirates with Earhart, Zolf, Sasha, and Wilde! This got frighteningly long so I had to put it under a cut, I hope you enjoy my ramblings. <3 They’re going to kill a dragon!!

I think I genuinely might clean this up and make it into a proper fic. Watch this space.

Zolf Smith is a miner. Zolf Smith dreams of the sky. Zolf Smith kills his brother. Zolf Smith takes flight.

The Meritocracy doesn't have air forces- don’t really need ‘em when you’re a huge fuck-off dragon who can fly- but they’re worried about the increased presence the separatists are having in the skies above their lands, so they’re building one. Zolf leaps upon it like a life raft.

When the ship goes down, there are two reasons he doesn’t die; his past, and his god.

The Reliant answers the emergency call, and that surprises Zolf- a known separatist vessel, making an attempt to save the crew of a ship in the Meritocratic Air Force- but a lot of things surprise him about Captain Earhart. It’s not the Reliant’s fault that he is the only survivor. It is due to the Reliant that there is an only survivor at all.

His family were Harlequins. Captain Earhart recognises him, visits him in the sick bay as her medics do their best to save his legs, asks after his father, asks after his brother. Gives an understanding nod when he refuses to speak about them. Offers him a job, because he desperately needs one.

It’s a lot all at once, and they can’t save his legs, but he finds he doesn’t need them. Dwarves don’t have the build that most of the Hermes lot have, but he’s never let not fitting in stop him. The feeling of the wind in the rigging is like wings on ankles he doesn’t have anymore. He’s freer than he’s been his entire life.

When he is thirteen years old, Brock Rackett successfully makes it out of Other London and out of the clutches of the Rackett clan by chopping off his ring finger and escaping on the first air vessel that will take him. At least, this is what Sasha believes. She’s sad he left without her, but she knows well that when an opportunity comes, you take it. She hopes he made it out safe.

Nine years later, at twenty-two, Sasha’s opportunity finally comes. She heads for the aeroport. Maybe she’ll be able to find him.

Barrett’s men are following her, she can feel them on her tail all through the crowd like a bad smell; she needs a cover, needs somewhere to hide. There’s a drunk in the corner of the bar, some once-foppish-looking dandy, and Sasha decides to make him her cover.

She slides into the seat next to him and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, but the drunkard starts and leaps to his feet, swaying. “Keep your trousers on,” she hisses, jumping up to pull him back down in front of her- he’s tall enough, he should provide good cover.

The man staggers out of her grip and produces a dagger from nowhere. He tries to fend her off with it- poorly- and then his eyes roll up and he collapses. Sasha just barely manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

Wilde knows the Meritocracy is crumbling. He can feel it in the air; something big is coming, something very bad, and he really doesn’t want to be here when it finally arrives.

Though maybe the sense of impending doom he’s getting is just from lack of sleep. But he’s sure that’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

So he puts his bardic talents and his espionage training to work, following the trail of the odd orders and the disappearing agents, and realises quickly that if he stays, he’ll probably end up disappearing as well- or worse, become one of the people giving the odd, conflicting orders. He doesn’t know what that’s about. He doesn’t want to find out.

Wilde fakes his own death in the hopes it will throw off the scent, and decides, like so many others seeking the separatists, to head for the Americas.

In a bar at the aeroport he is accosted by a mugger, and he knew he was being conspicuous, but with everything blurring and the ringing in his ears he’s in no shape to properly defend himself. Instead of killing him, though, the dark figure hauls him up and runs.

He’s not lucid enough to take in the scene of the room she drags him into, and so he doesn’t resist as someone snaps something cold around his wrist, and he at long last sinks into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Earhart knew the look of people like Zolf Smith- lost, angry, needing. She’s seen plenty of it, in her years as an airship captain, because there are only a few reasons why people set out for the skies. And so she took him on, and he proved a fantastic first mate, knew his stuff inside and out and indulged her more reckless tendencies.

Plus, he’d been fleeing the Meritocracy. That automatically put him in Earhart’s good books.

Famous (and infamous) Harlequin airship captain Amelia Earhart was, by that point, becoming famous and infamous enough to become a thorn in the Meritocrats’ sides. They decided to target her. The fact that they tried to take down the Reliant was not her fault. The fact that she turned the whole ship around to attack back, causing a wreck that killed almost all of her crew and blew the Reliant into unsalvageable bits… that was.

The only reason she hasn’t drunk herself to death by this point is her ‘fantastic’ first mate (she’s regretting that now, in an angry way), who for some unknowable reason is unwilling to let the guilt swallow her whole.

Zolf Smith was an airman. Zolf Smith dreams of gods and wings and roads not taken. Zolf Smith is given a choice. Zolf Smith chooses no.

Zolf Smith loses his magic.

Earhart is trying to die, and he’s doing his best without access to his healing magic, but it won’t work forever, not when she’s this determined to let herself waste into nothing. He’s not good at talking, and that’s what she really needs- someone to talk to. Someone to listen. But he’s got no legs, and he’s got no magic, and he’s got almost no hope left, and nowhere to go.

They take refuge in a seedy bar in the closest aeroport and report the crash; two survivors, him and Earhart. They’ve been there a month and a half when the door to their room bursts open and a terrified kid with dark shaggy hair and an enormous jacket practically falls through the doorway, lugging an unconscious man in a blue and green waistcoat.

For a split second they all just stare at each other- everyone except for the unconscious man, of course, being as he is unconscious (and bleeding, from the nose and from the ears, and Zolf may not have magical healing but he has medical training and he knows that’s bad)- and then the kid drops her charge like a sack of potatoes, slams the door closed, and dives under the bed.

“Are you in trouble?” is all Zolf asks, and the kid nods, petrified and utterly silent. “Fine. Stay there.”

The unconscious man begins to shake and cry out as Zolf manhandles him into his bed, as though having a nightmare. He wakes with a scream, eyes wide and terrified. Someone bangs on the door. “Do you mind?” Zolf yells. “Little busy in here!”

The door bursts open a second time- those poor hinges- and two men of the kind who aren’t holding knives until you look at them from the right angle, and then they definitely are, and they’re pointed right at you, appear in the doorway. They take in the sickroom and the man with the two prosthetic legs, look nonplussed for a second, and then one nudges the other and tells him to “get a move on, she’s in here somewhere,” and they disappear down the hall.

Zolf pulls the door shut behind them and goes back over to the man in the waistcoat. It takes a bit of figuring out, but eventually, in desperation- the man is obviously dying- Zolf fishes out the anti-magical handcuffs issued to him as soldier and medic in the Meritocratic Air Forces, and clips one around his wrist. He goes limp.

He turns around to find the dark haired kid staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “Were they lookin’ for you?” he asks, and her eyes narrow.

“Why do you want to know?” she asks defensively- as though they could be looking for anyone else. The kid has ‘runaway’ written all over her.

“‘Cause I’m tryin’ to save your life,” Zolf snaps, and that seems to shock her, “so if you could work with me here, that’d be great, I’ve got enough on my plate tryin’ to save her life-” jerks a thumb to Earhart- “and apparently this one’s as well-” to the now asleep man taking up his bed. “Who are you? Who’s he?”

“I dunno,” says the kid, “he just kind of fell over.”

Sasha does not make the decision to trust him then. She doesn’t even tell him her name. She makes the decision to trust him when he tells her, a day later, as they sit against the wall and watch the man in the waistcoat mumble in his sleep, that he used to work on an airship.

“I’m Sasha,” she says. “Can I come with you?”

The white-haired dwarf named Zolf Smith- he looks too young to have white hair, but Sasha knows not to judge from appearances- grimaces. “I mean,” he says. “Dunno why you’d want to.”

“I want to see the sky,” says Sasha, who has spent her entire life underground. Zolf looks at her and seems to see something in her that pains him.

“I dunno where I’m goin’,” he warns her mournfully, looking back at Earhart, who is also sleeping. “But you can come with if you want. ‘S your choice.”

He doesn’t ask Sasha’s surname. She decides to trust him.

The name of the man in the bed next to her is Oscar Wilde, and Earhart starts frantically reaching for a gun, any gun, forgetting in her automatic fury that Zolf had taken them all off her weeks ago. A Meritocratic agent-

“Ex-agent,” says Wilde politely. “Please don’t shoot me, Captain, I’ve almost died once this week and I’m not really eager to repeat the experience.”

Earhart feels more lucid than she has in ages as she listens to him describe the strange series of events that brought him there, how sure he is that something is brewing within the Meritocracy’s upper ranks, the disaster that is coming. She can feel Zolf’s eyes on her as all her grief and guilt and despair and boiling anger calcify inside of her.

Wilde is like her, like Zolf, like Sasha- lost, angry, needing.

Wilde has information she can use.

“Mr. Wilde,” Earhart says, her voice hoarse with disuse but filled with more fire than she’s felt since the crash, “you are going to help me kill a dragon.”

She didn’t like him at first- he talked down to her, and his posh affectations grated on principle- but Sasha has to admit that Wilde is smart. She stares in disbelieving wonder as he produces a bag of holding full to the brim with more gold pieces than she’s ever seen in her life. His Meritocratic funding, he tells the spellbound group, because he can spellbind even without his magic. He liquified as many assets as he felt he could get away with before leaving.

“Pick a ship,” he says, “any ship. We can buy it. No need to steal.”

“We’ll need elementals,” Earhart says. “At least two.”

Wilde turns to Zolf. “You’re a cleric, aren’t you?” he says. “You can summon elementals.”

“Not anymore,” Zolf bites.

“Why?”

Zolf makes a face. “I don’t- when- okay.” He sighs. “Look-” and casts Spark into the fireplace. He jumps back in shock.

“I… don’t see the problem?” Wilde says after a good minute of silence, looking from the roaring flames back to Zolf. Sasha gets up and goes to dry her hair by the fire; the weather around the ports has been awful lately. Zolf stares into the flames in surprise.

Zolf Smith was a cleric. Zolf Smith dreams of a new ship. Zolf Smith finds a team, full of people who need healing, the kind he can now provide. Zolf Smith has hope.

#my post #answered #prompt fill #my writing #knifemartin #rqg #rqg fic #rusty quill gaming #rqgaming #sasha rackett #zolf smith #rqg wilde #wilde rqg #rqg earhart #earhart rqg

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amphibious-entity · 3 years

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TMBS Book 1 Brain Dump

~An Embarrassingly Long Post~

I don’t know why I’m writing this or why I’m so determined to do it. Maybe to finally assume my true form and become a mega dork on main, or maybe just for fun!

This is basically a compilation of all the main points running through my head after reading The Mysterious Benedict Society (2007) for the first time. Rather than posting a ton and spamming the tag, everything’s here in one neat package! (hopefully this gets it all out of my system rip)

Contents:

The Book Itself

The Book Itself, for real this time

The Characters

A Funny Parallel

The S.Q. Section

Lines & Scenes I Liked

Spoilers abound!

The Book Itself

Upon acquiring the first three books (don’t judge me pls), I was surprised at just how long they are. Like, they’re still pretty light being paperbacks and all, but these books are hefty lads.

The first book has this Disney+ Original Series circle thing printed on it, which is kind of unfortunate. Regardless, I love the cover illustration and yellow is actually my favorite color :D It made me weirdly quite happy whenever I saw the book lying around in my room

Also, it’s really cute how there’s a letter from Mr. Benedict at the end! (It only reveals that you can find out his first name if you “know the code”, meaning the bit of Morse printed below the summary on the back.) Shock and horror, though, as I realized I’m starting to recognize some of the letters

The Book Itself, for real this time

It’s wonderful how the tone of the book really shone through to the show adaptation. Something about the deliberateness of the aesthetic, from the set designs to the fashion to scene compositions, that really sells that particular style— like it’s very clear that this story is being told to us, rather than one we’re seeing unfold, if that makes sense.

Where that narration style stood out to me the most was the first chapter. We are told (rather than shown) how Reynie gets himself to the point of the second test, and there’s this whole twisty time maneuver for that whole sequence of events that’s really interesting

A super secret fun fact about me is that I wanted to be a writer when I was younger! So this particular balance of show vs. tell is really neat, since it runs counter to my own tendencies. The sheer amount of commas in every sentence is also kind of comforting, since Ahah, I Do That in those few serious-ish attempts at writing lol

Overall this book’s style reminds me a lot of Roald Dahl’s books, which are very nostalgic for me :D The whole “kids are more competent than adults” angle helps a lot too haha

The Characters

Oh boy here’s where I get a little bit critical! Overall I did really like this book!! it’s just that that expresses itself in all this weird “”analysis”” lol

Reynie - much better in the books than in the show

It’s sort of a lukewarm take but I feel like show!Reynie is kind of boring? He doesn’t have a lot going on flaw-wise, and obviously since he’s the protagonist he can’t have too many weird traits or else the kids watching can’t project themselves onto him as easily

(I call it the difference between an aspirational protagonist and a vessel protagonist. Going off of the Roald Dahl vibes, think Matilda vs Charlie. show!Reynie is more of a Charlie)

Thus when we get to see him really struggle with the Whisperer and doubt himself it gives him a lot more dimension, at least in my opinion

It is a federal crime that the white knight scenes were not adapted into the show

Sticky - my son

I’ve long held to no one besides myself and my long suffering sister that Sticky is The Best Member of the Society

He happened to hit a lot of the Bingo squares of Stuff I Like In Characters: glasses, anxious, nice :), kind of a coward but ultimately is there for his friends, etc

For some reason I don’t talk about him nearly as much as you-know-who, but I love him just as dearly

Kate & Constance - I don’t have much to say

Kate is really interesting in this book! I like how we get to see more of her depths, in particular that one passage about her belief that she is invincible being the only thing that keeps her from falling apart? :c

Also her constant fidgeting is relatable lol

Constance is somehow a lot more tolerable in the book. I think I’m just one of those people with no patience for small children, unfortunately lol

(Some of) The Adults

It’s interesting that they had such an offscreen presence for most of the book. Giving them more time was probably one of the stronger changes of the show

However if that decision was made at the expense of the white knight scenes I think the choice should have been clear

I like the way Rhonda and Number Two are written

Milligan always on sad boy hours 😔✊

The “mill again” passage is touching but kind of messes up the pacing of the getaway, at least for me. Maybe I should read it again to make sure I didn’t miss something

Miss Perumal is much better in the show. We see so little of her in the book she doesn’t function well as an emotional anchor for Reynie, imo

The Institute Gang

Jackson and Jillson serve their purpose well, and Martina was surprising to say the least. I like the direction they took her in the show! I can’t imagine how funny it must have been to watch the tetherball subplot come out of nowhere lolol

These sections were written out of sequence, so random tidbit I couldn’t fit in The S.Q. Section: I like how he stumbles over his words. relatable

Mr. Curtain

While I think I know why they decided to not give Curtain the wheelchair in the show, we were totally robbed of Actor Tony Hale’s performance for the reveal during the final confrontation

Speaking of the wheelchair, it’s such a powerful symbol of his need for control or rather, his fear of losing it

The Contrast between him and Mr. Benedict. This point is expanded on in A Funny Parallel

Mr. Benedict

Oh boy, Mr. Benedict… How do I say this

I find it hard to trust Mr. Benedict, unfortunately

I mean to say, I do in the sense that I know he would never hurt the kids, thanks to knowing that a) this is a children’s book series and b) the meta (tumblr) states that he is really nice and lovable and stuff, but seriously. Why do the kids trust him at first?? I probably missed something somewhere

I like to think I’m an optimistic person, but unfortunately I’m also super paranoid. The premise of “a bunch of vulnerable orphans team up with a strange old man” is just so odd to me I don’t know how to explain it

I don’t know!!! I really want to trust Mr. Benedict

One of the strengths of the show is that we get to see him more often, and thus he gets to acknowledge more often that the plan is weird and that he feels really badly for putting the kids in danger and that he’s trustworthy and genuine

But his lack of presence for most of the book just makes him into something of a specter, invisible and unknowable, speaking only in riddles from across the bay

Which is why the white knight scene is so important!! I loved that scene ;-;

Because here’s an actual emotional connection! We can actually see it happening, rather than only being told that it exists

Reynie asking for advice and receiving encouragement, in words that demonstrate that Mr. Benedict actually cares about him and worries about him and agghh

It is a federal crime that the white knight scenes were not adapted into the show

But overall this whole issue didn’t ruin my enjoyment of the book at all! It’s just ->

A Funny Parallel

Okay, ready for my biggest brain, hottest take ever??

Mr. Benedict and Mr. Curtain…. are… the same

I mean obviously not entirely, given that one is benevolent and kind and the other is… Mr. Curtain

But seriously. Genius old man seeks out children (mainly orphans) to enact a plan. Said children often end up incredibly devoted to his cause and deeply admire him this is a little flimsy

Undoubtedly that’s intentional and is supposed to show the difference between them, like some kind of cautionary tale? “Let yourself be vulnerable and let others help you, lest you turn eeeeviiillll”

I guess that’s where the aforementioned epic contrast comes in. You get Mr. Curtain, strapped into his wheelchair and hiding behind those mirrored sunglasses, terrified (but unwilling to admit it) of ever showing the tiniest hint of vulnerability, vs. Mr. Benedict, who can let himself fall knowing that someone will catch him :’)

Anyhow I have nothing against the parallels, I just think it’s funny

The S.Q. Section

The S.Q. Quarantine Thread so it doesn’t leak out everywhere else <3

I’d like to meet the emo angstlord genius who read this book and decided to make SQ into Dr. Curtain’s son. What in the world

Okay I should probably preface this by saying that I absolutely adore both book!S.Q. and show!SQ with all my heart. Somehow, despite being a completely different character in both mediums, he has managed to be one of the best characters in either and certainly one of my favorites (besides Sticky of course) in the entire franchise, despite the fact that I’ve only read the first book/watched the show so far. I am confident in this statement.

But seriously! How?? Why?? I could probably write a whole other essay about why show!SQ is such an interesting character, and the change works so incredibly well. I’m just. Baffled

Okay, focus. book!S.Q. is such a sweetheart, oh my goodness. Like, 100% one of the most endearing characters in the book. Poor guy. I don’t even know where to start!!

He just seems to be a genuinely good guy at heart, despite being technically one of the bad guys. He’s genuinely happy for Reynie and Sticky when they became Messengers and helped Kate when she “fell” and was concerned about Constance when she looked sick and how he was in that meeting with Mr. Curtain and Martina?!!? aaahhhhghgh ;-; he just wants people to be happy TT-TT

Comparing him against literally every character at the Institute is probably what makes him so endearing tbh. When everyone else is so awful to the kids, it really makes him stand out. Like a cheerful little nightlight in the worst, most humid and rank bathroom you’ve ever been in

It’s kind of pointless to theorize about a book series that’s already concluded (I think?) but. Is the implication of S.Q.’s forgetfulness supposed to be that Mr. Curtain used him in brainsweeping experiments somehow? The timeline probably definitely absolutely doesn’t line up but like. How did he get to being a Messenger being the way he is now, given how cutthroat the process is? And then of course Mr. Curtain keeps him around as an Executive because he’s fun to mess with and presumably his loyalty. I’m very curious as to how their relationship develops in the other books, if at all. Those are probably where the seeds of the “let’s make them family” logic were planted

But wouldn’t it be hilarious if the reason we don’t know what “S.Q.” stands for in the books is that he just. Forgot

Another thing that occurred to me. Given that he and the other Executives were Messengers at some point, what were their worst fears? What is S.Q.’s worst fear?? Inquiring minds need to know

One last horrible little anecdote: I was thinking about book!S.Q. while eating breakfast, as one does, and suddenly it hit me.

I want to believe The Author Trenton Lee Stewart had the name for a character, S.Q. Pedalian, and was like, “Hm! What sort of quirky trait should this young fellow have?” Because, of course, in this style of fiction every character has to have at least one cartoonish or otherwise distinguishing trait to stand out in the minds of children. (For instance, Kate has her bucket, Sticky has his glasses, Constance is angry, and Reynie is Emmett from the Lego Movie)

Anyhow, he looks around the room, searching for inspiration. Suddenly he comes across a jumbo box of plastic wrap. Completely innocuous in design, save for one line of text. 300 SQ FT.

“…large… S.Q. …feet? THAT’S IT!” i’m sorry

Lines & Scenes I Liked

In no particular order!

Sticky quotes Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Evil combination aerobics/square dancing in the gym with the Executives

Everyone being happy at the end :’)

Everyone partying after Sticky reunites with his parents, and later finding Mr. Benedict asleep at his desk from the moment they shook hands :’’)

Literally any scene with Sticky in it

Any time Kate says “you boys” or “gosh”

[“Um, sir?” S.Q. said timidly, raising his hand. “A thought just occurred to me.” / Mr. Curtain raised his eyebrows. “That’s remarkable, S.Q. What is it?”] clown prince of my heart </3

S.Q.’s determined monologue about searching for clues after he bungled up the first time

Literally any scene with S.Q. in it (please refer to The S.Q. Section)

Reynie trying to resist the Whisperer.

[Let us begin. / First let me polish my spectacles, Reynie thought. / Let us begin. / Not without my bucket, Reynie insisted. He heard Mr. Curtain muttering behind him. / Let us begin, let us begin, let us begin. / Rules and schools are tools for fools, Reynie thought.]

NO MORE HURTIN’ WITH CURTAIN

Milligan showing up on the island!!

Remember the white knight hhhhhh

“controle”

A Super Secret Bonus Section

I would be extremely surprised if anyone read through all the way down here lol. Regardless, here’s a little acknowledgements section :D not tagging anyone since I don’t want to bother all of these people

Special shoutout to tumblr blog stonetowns for unknowingly yet singlehandedly demolishing my reluctance to read the books by posting a ton of cute quotes. Thank you for your service o7

Thanks to the two OGs that liked the post I made right before this one, for being my unwitting enablers and for sticking around despite being a) technically an internet stranger (hello!) and b) someone I haven’t spoken to irl in literal years (hey!!)

Last but not least thankz 2 my sister for putting up with me ranting about the book when I first got it and for asking about “CQ” sometimes lol. (i desperately hope you’re not reading this orz)

#the mysterious benedict society #this took me like three days to finish rip #it’s worked though! i feel less of a Mighty Need to think about this stuff constantly now #however!!! today through some conniving i have gotten the Second Book #now I’m at 3 out of 4 infinity stones. muahahaha #was going to include my villain origin story about why i like show!SQ so much but cut it for being too long and irrelevant. however #if the words jeff naomi and Sweet Dreams are Made of These mean anything to you please hit me up. it’s kind of a funny story

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havenoffandoms · 3 years

Note

and “So why do I have to punch that guy?” if u wanna write abt it pls geralt x fem!reader

This one is longer, but it’s also angsty. I hope you enjoy it, nonnie.

Warnings: angst, canon-typical violence (someone gets punched), swearing, degrading insults (start under the cut), toxic masculine behaviour (not from Geralt), but fear not, there is a happy ending.

Prompt: 36. “So why do I have to punch that guy?”

Tumblr Request Masterlist

You have always been a little… well, you don’t like to use the term “odd”, because that implies that you’re in some way abnormal to everyone else. The entire village may think that you’re a bit strange, but that really shouldn’t colour your own perception of yourself. You’re unique, you’re one of a kind, and you’re different from all the other narrow-minded people in your village. So what? A little diversity never hurt anyone.

It turns out that your neighbours don’t like diversity. You found a way to deal with their judgement and their disapproving looks. It certainly didn’t stop you from attending the farmer’s market or visiting the local inn and at least trying to mingle. You can deal with the hushed whispers that follow you everywhere, you don’t mind the way people suddenly stop talking when you appear, and you certainly don’t pay any attention to the glares the elderly village women shot your way.

You aren’t looking for their approval, but the fact that you started, ahem, being involved with a certain witcher didn’t make things easier for you. When you first met Geralt, he was just passing through the village hoping to find a blacksmith to repair his sword. It turns out that the alderman had been looking for a witcher to get rid of the many wolf packs prowling the nearby forest, and attacking the farmers’ livestock. The entire village had been asked to pitch in to pay for the witcher’s services. You weren’t aware of the presence of a witcher that day, since you somehow managed to get lost in the woods yourself.

Geralt saved you from a very horrid death that day. You can’t imagine being mauled by a pack of wolves being all that terribly pleasant.

One thing led to another. Geralt saved you, so you welcomed him into your home, offered him a warm meal and refreshing ale, let him sleep in your guest room on a decently comfortable straw mattress. You didn’t have much to offer, but to a witcher, it was the very definition of luxury to not sleep under the stars for one night. So, you decided that Geralt could stay for as long as he needed… or wanted.

He stayed for a whole week before you two parted, and since then, he makes sure to stop by your village every year at least once.

This year, Geralt surprised you by dropping by for the second time in the span of two months. You’re happy to have him back, to the point where you simply don’t want him to leave anymore. But you know that the call of the Path will eventually take your witcher away from you. Until then, you’ll make sure to spoil him as much as you can, with good food, strong drinks, and a warm bed which you two now have taken to sharing.

Your trip to the farmer’s market is about as uneventful as it gets. You left Geralt to sleep in while you go fetch some food for breakfast. You know just how much he loves scrambled eggs in the morning, but his visit took you by surprise, and you had just freshly run out of eggs that you could use. While you’re out, you decide to buy some meat as well (the butcher’s son likes you, though, and he’s one of the rare ones not to sneer at you when you interact with him). You make sure to purchase locally grown fruit and vegetables too. It’s all shaping to be a very uneventful morning.

Until you make your way home again, and get stopped on the way by a group of men who have been following you since you left the market. You try to walk past them, but they crowd you and stare at you with lecherous sneers plastered on their faces.

“Well, well, lads,” a young man you recognise as the innkeeper’s son speaks first, “what do we have here? The witcher’s whore, completely unguarded. You know, I heard a rumour that the mutant was seen around your house late at night last night…”

“It’s none of your business just who is seen around my house, Thomas!”

You turn around, intent on getting away from these men as fast as you can, but Thomas is quicker and snatches your arm, whirling you around until you’re staring into his cruel eyes. His breath stinks of alcohol.

“Now, now. You really ought to be nicer to us, whore!”

“Let me go,” you hiss, making sure to maintain eye contact and not let Thomas see just how scared you are, “let me go, or I’ll cry for help, and I guarantee you don’t want the witcher having to come to my rescue and beat the living hell out of you!”

“Awfully bad mouth you got on ya,” Thomas’ mocking tone sends chills coursing through your body, “but that’s to be expected from a whore.”

“So why do I have to punch that guy?” a rough baritone voice suddenly echoes behind you. Relief washes over you when you recognise Geralt’s voice. Thomas’ hold on your arm tightens, and when he turns to face Geralt, he twists your arm in the process, pulling a pained yelp from you and causing you to drop your basket.

“He called me a witcher’s whore!” you cry out, your voice trembling as you fight back the tears that threaten to well up in your eyes and run down your cheeks. You see Geralt appraise the three men before him, but to your relief, he isn’t carrying his swords. You’d much rather avoid a bloodshed, not because you care about what happens to Thomas, but because you don’t want Geralt to be stoned out of the village (and out of your life).

“That’s certainly more than a good enough reason to punch him, then.”

Before Thomas’ brain can catch onto what’s happening, Geralt’s fist collides with his jaw, and a resounding crack follows where the witcher probably broke a bone. In his pain, Thomas let’s go of your hand long enough for you to run to Geralt’s side and hide behind his larger frame, a place from which you can watch as Thomas spits blood and howls in pain. Geralt is staring at the other two men, who look torn between helping their friend or running from the witcher.

“Anything else you’d like to add to that statement?” Geralt asks Thomas, taking several threatening steps forward as he does so. A pleased smirk graces your lips as you watch Thomas scramble to his feet and run, quickly followed by his friends. “No, I didn’t think so.”

“Thank you for saving me,” you throw yourself at Geralt, and in your relief, you finally let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Your hand! How’s your ha-”

“Don’t you worry about that, dove,” Geralt tells you, his voice now much softer as he cradles your cheek in both his strong hands, forcing you to look into his kind eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“He twisted my arm, but nothing major. Shaken, that’s about it.” You look forlornly at your now spoilt purchases. The eggs broke when you dropped your basket, and the meat is scattered all over the sandy path. “And there goes your breakfast and our dinner.”

“I’ll hunt us something for dinner, dove, don’t worry. In the meantime, let’s skip breakfast and get packing.”

“Packing?” you parrot back incredulously, “where are we going?”

Geralt rests his forehead against yours and huffs impatiently.

“I don’t want you to stay here a minute longer, and soon the villagers will demand that I leave anyway for hurting that boy. I’m taking you to Kaer Morhen with me.”

Kaer Morhen, the famed witcher’s keep, Geralt’s home. You’d heard stories of the place, but you never thought you’d ever get an invitation, and you certainly didn’t want to impose your presence either. But Geralt sounds so genuine, and the pleading gaze he shoots you tells you just how much he wants you to agree to this plan.

It’s not like there’s anything holding you back in this village, anyway. “We should get packing then before there’s a mob at my door.”

The next couple of months were probably the happiest of your life as you travelled the Path with Geralt, met his family and spent all winter cosied up to him in the witcher’s castle. For the first time in years, you finally feel like you belong.

#geralt #geralt z rivii #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt x y/n #geralt x you #the witcher x reader #the witcher x y/n #the witcher x you #angst #havenwrites #request

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holycatsandrabbits · 3 years

Text

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 1

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

Chapter 1

1993

Professor Liam Beyer was born a decade after the deaths of the last soldiers to fight in the US Civil War. Thus, he was not expecting to meet a Union Army veteran in his 4 o’clock symposium on the Battle of Antietam.

Liam noticed the man as soon as he walked in, and not just because it was odd for a member of the public to show up for a faculty lecture at the university. No, the man caught Liam’s attention because he was distractingly handsome. Literally, Liam was distracted enough to drop his pen onto the overhead projector, causing a giant shadow to loom over the map of Maryland on the screen behind him, as if a third army had materialized there in a dense offensive line.

The man was of average height, with a slender build. He had dark hair in a short, modern cut and wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a faded label. He looked like he might be thirty, which was about the age Liam was, and so Liam did not immediately assume that the man had seen action in the Civil War. But there was something faintly strange about him, just in the way that he walked, light on his feet like a dancer, but stepping firmly, without a dancer’s well-practiced grace.

“General Lee,” Liam continued, in a slightly strangled voice, “of the Confederate Army, was, of course, outnumbered, but the battle was Union General McClellan’s to lose. Had he understood how superior his force was, had he taken more risks, he might have been able to deal a decisive blow to Lee’s army as it retreated. In fact, McClellan’s performance at Antietam was part of the reason that President Lincoln later removed him from duty.”

Liam put up a transparency of a white church with peeling paint, standing alone on a grassy rise. “On September 17, 1862, 7,650 soldiers died at Antietam, making it the bloodiest day for Americans in history. Two days later, a man named Alexander Gardner took some of the first widely-seen battlefield photographs of dead soldiers. Some were awaiting burial, and some were still lying where they fell. It was very difficult at the time to take photographs of battles themselves, as the technology involved careful treatment of glass negatives, and that was nearly impossible under battlefield conditions. But the dead do not move, and these photographs were so clear that when displayed in New York, family members recognized their fallen sons.”

Liam put up a transparency of one of Gardner’s photographs, young men lying on the ground in an oddly perfect line. The unknown man looked away.

oOo

Liam had grading to do after his symposium, but he walked to the campus union to grab a sandwich first. He was definitely not expecting Handsome Unknown Lecture Man to appear out of the crowd and drop into the seat opposite him. Liam was very proud that he did not choke on his bite of ham and swiss.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the man. “I enjoyed your lecture. My name is Kurt.”

Liam put his hand out to shake. Kurt’s touch was faintly cold. “Liam,” he said.

Kurt cocked his head slightly to the side, as if assessing him. “I know. Liam Beyer, 27, assistant professor of history, specializing in battles. Is Antietam your favorite?”

“Um— one of them. I did my dissertation on it. On McClellan, specifically.” Liam felt slightly odd about the fact that this stranger knew who he was, but of course, it was all publicly accessible information. “Are you a Civil War buff?”

“Somewhat.” Kurt leaned back in his chair. “Antietam, god. I remember Bloody Lane— that’s what they called it after. The road was sunken in because so many wagons had gone by over the years. It was like trying to fight your way out of your own grave trench.” Kurt spoke with a faint accent that Liam could not place, something that seemed to shift from one place to another.

“You talk like you were there,” Liam said, smiling. “Are you a reenactor?”

Kurt gave a sharp laugh. “No. You?”

“I’ve been a technical advisor. It’s nice to meet other people who share my strange obsession.”

“Those pictures you showed,” Kurt said. “Photography is such a bewitching art. Those boys are long gone, but remain ever present in death.”

“You know, the war helped make Spiritualism popular,” Liam said. “It was so hard on the families back home to lose contact with their soldiers, not knowing what happened to them, or when, or where. They couldn’t bear it, and turned to mediums.”

Kurt smiled, and it made his bright green eyes sparkle with amusement. “Have you ever been to a seance?” he asked. Liam shook his head. “Most I’ve been to were quite boring,” Kurt said. “But every once in awhile—”

“That sounds like a good story.”

“I’ll tell you sometime.” Liam’s brain was already far too occupied with how attractive he found this poor man, and that was probably why the sentence sounded more like a salacious promise than it really was.

“So what do you do?” Liam asked faintly, crumpling his empty sandwich wrapper. “Are you a student?”

“Not at the moment. Just a fan of history. Of battles, actually.” Kurt leaned forward a little. “Liam, would you mind if I came to your office tomorrow to talk more? I have some questions and I think you might be the one to help me answer them.”

“I— of course.” Liam told himself that he agreed solely because he liked to talk about history with people, and that it didn’t matter whether or not said people were ridiculously attractive.

Kurt smiled at him again. “Until tomorrow then.”

On his way out of the dining hall, Liam was stopped by a student with a question about an assignment on Gettysburg. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” she said.

“Oh, it would have been fine,” Liam told her. “We were talking about the Civil War ourselves.”

The student gave him a confused look. “Dr. Beyer— weren’t you eating alone?”

oOo

In the end, Liam decided that as he’d never dreamed up a handsome man in quite so much detail before, that the student had been mistaken and simply had not noticed Kurt’s presence at Liam’s table.

And yet. There really was something very strange about the man. Liam couldn’t quite pin it down, just that there was a disconnect between what Liam was seeing and what he was feeling about him. For example, Kurt appeared to be thirty, but Liam would swear he was older. Kurt had looked perfectly natural at dinner, but it had also seemed like he didn’t quite fit in with his surroundings. Like if you’d taken a photograph of him at the table, he would have been slightly too bright, out of focus, or without a shadow.

Kurt’s knock on Liam’s office door finally came around eleven, and Liam was, he realized, far too happy to see him again. At first, nothing about the visit seemed terribly odd. They discussed Antietam again, then traveled forward to the Somme, and then much farther back, Megiddo and Kadesh. Kurt seemed to know less about those battles, Liam noted, but he was quite familiar with things taking place after Thermopylae in the 5th century BC.

It was easy to talk to Kurt, especially about interests they had in common, and as the conversation went on, Kurt seemed to relax a bit, which made Liam do the same. The day before, Liam had thought Kurt moved without grace, but that wasn’t exactly right. Kurt had a different kind of grace, a fluidity of small movements instead of large ones, an artistry shown in the fluttering of fingers while the rest of the man kept entirely still. The emphasis on such small motions seemed to draw Liam in, narrowing his focus away from his surroundings and onto his visitor. But at the same time, Kurt had such an air of other about him, that it was almost like Liam was looking at him through beveled glass, never quite getting the whole image at once.

However, Liam’s sense of ease around Kurt vanished entirely when another student knocked on Liam’s door with a question about an assignment. That in itself was perfectly normal, but during the whole time that the student was in Liam’s office, she didn’t speak to Kurt or apologize for interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give a single look to the chair that Kurt occupied beside Liam’s desk.

When the student had left, Liam leaned back in his chair, trying to fake the calmness that he no longer felt. “All right,” he said, watching his visitor carefully. “You want to tell me why I’m the only person who can see you?”

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

#Dannye writes #original fiction #serial fiction #tollense #vampires #romance

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yanderecandystore · 4 years

Note

Rip Tumblr D-do you have any dragon ocs that might kidnap their s/o? Also I know that this is a stupid question but can I call myself Cold anon? ;-;

Hello 🍨 Cold ❄️!! I'm really glad you sent me this request!

The current app that I use for writing is bugging out a lot, so I'm sorry if there are many grammar errors and mistakes here and there.

And uh... Cold? I think I fucked up your ask? I think I got a little too excited and went in a different direction?? If you don't like it I understand, I could always do another one 😳😋

TW/Tags: Guess who is being an emotional ball once again?? Me! Yey! Send help! // look, I'm sorry but, low-key? This is edginess overload lol (medieval bitch times, which by that I mean: dark times with terrible people in it) // deaths // abuse of power // Reader said: eat the rich // non-binary reader just because // cursing // slight plot twist? But, like, bad plot twist // soft dragon boi

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

You curious little thing - [Yandere!Dragon x Reader - Short Fanfiction]:

" Deep in the forest, up in the mountains, legend says that a dragon sleeps deep within the caves. And as the old story goes, gold awaits inside his domain, but only those courageous enough to enter the deep cave and defeat the dragon, would be able to take the creature's treasure.

Many have persuaded the quest of defeating said dragon, yet no one ever came back to tell the story.

And while you sit at the comfort of your small cottage reading about the old tales of the dragon's cave, you can't help but consider the story to be just that, a story. A piece of fiction made to scare the local children away from the mountains, or to enchant those that were easily invested into these types of stories.

It seems like you're one of those that were fascinated by the old tales. Regardless of if you find it true or not. The old tales still hold a mysterious charm that manages to keep you intrigued no matter what age you re-read them.

Tales of the forest spirits protecting their land with mischievous wit, tales of monsters that crawled out of your bed to cause nightmares on the simple minded, tales of mighty dragons who could easily rule the world if they so pleased to.

Yet they didn't. Either because they didn't want to, or maybe they really didn't exist. Who knows, right [Y/N]? Not that you, a simple commoner, would know any better.

Although, from the tales you read, isn't always the common folk the ones to first encounter these things?

It always ends bad, but still.

A commoner would be the first one to be affected by the wrath of such supernatural creatures.

However, as stated before, there is no way of knowing if such a thing is real or not, right? It's been eons since the last time someone even mentioned a dragon's presence in your kingdom, and it's been centuries that the concepts of dragons had fallen into the mythological category.

There hasn't been a single person to mention the beast's names in years. There was no visible way of them being remotely real, right? That sounded absurd.

But of course, like all tales are written, your's seem to have reached the beginning of your own personal adventure when the king mentioned the need of soldiers willing to face the beast inside the cave, who was presumably hibernating throughout this whole time.

And of course, the public had only laughed at this sort of news. You see, your king's authority over the entire land has been dangling by a thin thread. The taxes, the frauds, the imminent wars threatening to occur at any second now, has helped a small portion of people to start questioning if not downright rebelling against him and his reign of terror.

The revolution was rising slowly, yet something needed to push it forward, the straw that broke the camel's back.

"What could it be?" You might be wondering.

How about kidnapping and force recruitment with the help of blackmailing? Specifically targeting the poorest people in the kingdom and taking their family members hostage if they don't comply?

Sounds so evil that you may think it's bullshit right? So inhumane, that the villain of this story might as well be your crazy king, right?

Oh, [Y/N]. You're absolutely right, yet a little bit wrong considering that even if such an evil act sounds absurd, it's absolutely real. It's part of your reality now.

And even if your king is a vile creature of pure hatred and deserves to be fed to the rats, by being a terrible ruler, husband, and father- You were soon about to learn that there are worse, more powerful forces that can easily overpower the insanity of that sad, pathetic evil man.

To your dismay, your family was one of the chosen ones to suffer from this. Because of poverty, you and your father lived in the outskirts of the kingdom. It was perfect for the king and his soldiers, as you and your father lived distant from the main town, if any of you two ever die on the process of going into the beast's cave, or disobey the king's orders, no one would notice if you two were suddenly wiped from the face of the Earth.

And of course, holding hostage just one person was easier than multiple family members. Although your king was absolutely insane if not completely psychotic, you could at least understand how he moved his pieces in this massive game of chess.

I mean, yes, you understand his reasoning. Still doesn't mean he is right.

Soldiers didn't wait too long to show up and try to force your father to go with them. But you didn't take none of that, you wouldn't let your dying father be taken by them.

You screamed, you shout, you let venom spill out of your mouth by each profanity you threw at the soldiers and the king they claimed to serve. It didn't take long before the general noticed that you were one of the rascals forming a rebellion. Well, you didn't really need to be officially part of the revolution, just disagreeing was enough to make the general decide to take you instead of your old father.

You can still remember how he was trying to scream his lungs out, to stop the soldiers somehow.

This was it, right? The day, for you and possibly all these other commoners to die in the name of an asshole. How honoring.

Among you and other miserably unlucky individuals, there were all kinds of different people. From innocent, to criminals. From young to old, from poor to… Well, mildly not as poor. Nobles would never be subjected to this, you know that. All of these individuals were carried away by a carriage. All crammed into one little vehicle, away from the public sight.

After being far enough from the town and now deep within the forest, the soldiers commanded all of you to get out of the carriage as now you'll begin to walk straight to the mountain while carrying… Gold?

"- It's a gift from the king. Survive long enough, and you'll be able to take it with you." The general said, his tone being condescending as ever.

You could…. Technically run away, right now. They haven't really put any restrains in any of you-

"- Over there!" A soldier alerted the general, who looked little surprised by seeing two of your group running away with the gold in hands.

Without hesitation, or even a slight hint of empathy, the general shot both with his crossbow. Their bodies fall flat in the forest ground, with all that gold and jewelry accompanying them. All that gold being wasted and left behind, just like the bodies of the people carrying them.

You felt sick, the need to vomit was surfacing through your stomach. This- This is terrible!? This is so cruel! How can they continue to walk like nothing happened??

God, how did a once prospering kingdom has now fallen in such a low pit?

As you can imagine, the walk was torturous and it felt like it was going forever. Of course, a lot of questions were emerging about the strange situation.

One: how did the king know and was certain that the myth of the dragon was real and that the dragon was awake?

Two: why didn't he call his own army to attend to such issues instead of the common folk being forced to go with his wishes?

Actually, now that you think about it, why are there so few skilled, trained soldiers taking a bunch of people to a cave unprepared?

Carrying a bunch of gold for fucks sake, this stuff is heavy!

If it was truly a gift from the king to your group, then why were you obligated to carry it all the way to the cave? Sounds unreasonable and if anything, absolutely ridiculous. It would only slow your group down, and for what?!

Sounds like a trap to be…. Honest. Wait a minute-

"- Shit!" You whisper to yourself at the sudden realization that you're fucked, which unfortunately, caused a soldier that was near you to hear it.

"- Nothing sir, I just stabbed my foot in a rock." You weren't lying though. This whole walk bullshit your doing has destroyed your low quality sandals, and now you could basically feel the ground stabbing you every time you stept.

The soldier just grunted at you, and as much as you wished to take his sword and shove it up his bum, you couldn't help but go back to your original train of thought before you got interrupted.

You were going straight to death right? You're not supposed to fight a dragon, but rather serve as an offering?? What?!

You can't even speak or alert your fellow companions in any way. The last three people that have spoken without being directed to, were shot in the head.

The realization has sadly come in too late for you to make any plans now, as you forward as your group walk upwards, following the mountain's trail, you find yourself facing not only the entrance to a presumably dangerous cave infested with predators, but also the gates to your inevitable death.

You would now have to think of how to escape the soldiers and their arrows, or how to possibly make your death less painful. Being eaten by a dragon doesn't sound really fun.

When entering the cave you're met with more-

"- Are you fucking kidding me?!" Someone screamed, while easily accepting their death.

You couldn't help but agree with the person. While entering the cave, you're met with a great ravine, going in a spiral fashion deeper into the cave.

In other words, you have not only walked all the way up to a fucking mountain, but you would now need to get down into a creepy cave.

You almost considered asking for some eternal peace before remembering that your father's life was still in line. You just… Don't want to go away like this, you don't want your father to go like this.

And once again your group, that was now a lot shorter due to the amount of deaths along the way, was now following the general once again. Only this time, the soldiers were behind all of you, probably to guarantee no one ran away. Too late for that now anyway, so why even bother?

You didn't realize how you were on the very front of everyone, side by side with the man that was leading you to your doom.

You felt his eyes fall into your form a couple of times, but he never really turned his face to look at you. After a long silence of just a bunch of miserable people stepping closer to a terrible plan that was not well thought-out, he said:

"- You know it already. Right?" His voice was rough and still held the nonchalant tone that was written all over his face. You doubt this man could have ever smiled once in his life.

You almost choked with your own breathing, the nerve of this man! You couldn't help but let out the only thing you have wanted to say this whole time:

"- I hate you." You say as your eyes start to become a little watery. The feeling of desperation was eating you up ever since you entered the carriage, but only now you felt how bad the teeth of despair hurt.

"- I know kid. Me too." He responded, his tone never changed, even while saying that.

You guess he didn't really appreciate his job as much as you thought he did. Yet, you couldn't find in your heart to pity the man, as he was complicit in all of this mess. But I guess, you do hope for this man to find some sort of redemption, either presently or in his after life.

You still think he did a lot of bad things of course, his crimes are probably never gonna be forgiven. But just because of that, it didn't mean he couldn't start to do some good actions now, not for the sake of finding inner forgiveness, but for the sake of others. For the sake of the innocent people being not only met with unfair treatment, but also being ruled by a psychotic tyrant who is a complete imbecile. No wonder the queen and his son were missing for so long, you would probably have run away if you were them too.

When finally coming down, with your feet now hurting like a bitch, you can find some time for yourself to appreciate the beauty of this place.

You know, before you lose your head? To a freaking dragon??

Honestly, you at least hope that the stories you read were true, because holy fuck- Imagine how exhausted your body is from walking for what it feels like an eternity, holding jewelry made with gold, only to find an empty cave?

Then you would be able to go feral kill one or two soldiers before getting your ass beaten. As you don't have enough reason to just do that right now, right?

You expected to be met with disappointment, but what you truly saw while finally getting into the dragon's territory, you were able to not only feel enchanted by the magnitude of these treasure places, but also forget the danger of the situation, as you look around and remember the tales you read.

This is so much better than what you have imagined it to be like. It's… Mesmerising! It 's beautiful! The underground pond, the glowing crystals, the pile of gold, the stolen statues of the great warriors of your kingdom, golden weapons all scattered across the floor, the white feathered looking dragon staring down at you from his nest, that little tea set that is really cute and fragile yet it probably cost way more than your house, your clothes, and all of your furniture all together.

Oh no wait-

"- We came with what you asked for, Artemio." Said the general fast walking his way to be in between you and the beast.

To say you were freaking out would be an understatement. You knew dragons were huge, but you didn't expect it to be so… Huge! You know??

Oh my God, you're dead-

You looked around to see only you, your group of commoners ready to be probably eaten, and the general. And while looking for the soldiers, you noticed them trying to close the opening with a man built gate, created to keep the beast.

But obviously, that gate looks absolutely ridiculous, there is no way this guy couldn't destroy it by simply slapping it. It's quite laughable, yet…

You feel this is not just a coincidence or a bad made joke. You have a feeling they know the gate is essentially useless. It was really old, so, clearly this has been going on from quite some time.

Has… Has your kingdom been doing this for centuries?? Bringing offerings to please the dragon and beg it to sleep for more centuries to come?

"- This is absolute bullshit!" You screamed, not noticing how your heart was racing and your breathing had started to become frantic. You were panicking while coming to terms with the fact that your whole world was collapsing in front of your eyes. Your scream clearly surprised your fellow companions, yet it didn't surprise the dragon or the general.

The dragon had, well, a dragon face, so you have no idea what it was thinking, and the general was still with the same non-expressive face since the beginning of this stupid trip!

"- What?! You have nothing to say?? You brought us here to die, at least say something, you coward!" You were fuming with rage. How can a person like this be so annoying even when he is not saying anything.

He looks at you with an understanding expression, yet you don't think about what it could mean as you reach to one of the many golden weapons spread around across the floor. They were heavy and quite frankly completely useless, yet you still hold into that golden sword like your life depended on it.

And it did, actually.

Have you gone insane or just completely blind with rage and the instinct of survival? You're not sure just yet, but you'll lose your last bit of sanity to stand your ground.

You aren't going down without a fight.

"- Come at me, you big bird!" You yelled, looking kinda epic and kinda goofy at the same time. You probably shouldn't insult a dragon who hasn't decided who he'll first, it may change his appetite.

Before the general could interfere with your foolish behavior, the one and only had spoken:

"- Where exactly is what we had agreed on?" Like in true entitled brat fashion, Artemio asked the general while putting his head in his pawn.

"- We had to eliminate a couple of the troublemakers. In the end some of the gold was left behind in the progress-"

"- No, I mean, where truly is what I asked for? The jewelry is quite frankly ugly, the gold coins don't matter as I already have plenty, and none of these humans look really edible. Or well… Appetising." You could swear a pouty face was appearing in Artemio's face, yet only one thing had taken your attention. That's the reason why they needed so many disposable people? Oh… Wait a minute, did the dragon just call everyone here too ugly to eat?

"- If you can't compromise with your promises, then I think we'll have to change the deal-" Artemio started getting up from his nest, stretching out like a cat.

"- Oh, please no, can't you just-" The general panicked, thinking that the dragon would destroy the village.

"- I want that one." Artemio said. Pointing at you.

"- What?" You looked behind you just in case you were in the way of someone else. No, you weren't.

"- Uhn… What?" Oh look, even the general was confused as you, and well, the entire cast of people that were thrown in this hell hole.

"- Yes, that one holding the spear."

"- Just… That one, or-"

"- Just that one. And I won't get out of the cave for at least a century, I promise!" He sounds and acts like both a child and a cat, preparing himself to pounce on its prey any moment now.

"- ….. Okay then, fair enough. It's your problem now kid." He said, making a motion for all the other captives to follow him. Which they gladly did, because, you know, they aren't the protagonist of the story.

"- What?! You can't leave me here, you bastard!!" You screamed, although subconsciously you already knew his answer.

"- I think I'm just doing that!" He screamed from the other side of the cave, fuckz they really didn't waste no time at all, did they?

Sigh, who are you kidding? If you were one of them, you would have ran away as fast as you could. At least some gave you sympathetic looks before going back to their "freedom".

You heard the heavy gate closing. Well, shit. It's you and him now.

You tried going back into your original threatening stance, but before you could, you saw a glimpse of Artemio coming in at full speed, taking no time to jump at you. This is it [Y/N], send your last prayers to your father and your old life before-

Before he starts licking you... like a dog? What?

He pauses and you tense up, looking up and seeing a dragon powerful enough to destroy villages, looking at you like a precious little gift.

Artemio picks you up and hugs you in an almost bone breaking hug. Confused and frustrated with how the situation was going, you asked:

"- A-Aren't you going to kill me?" Yes, it was a pathetic question, if a dragon isn't killing you, then why ask it to do it??

"- I have been so lonely since the last human that I chose! I usually prefer to have many friends around but all of the other options seemed so boring, you know?" His voice is oddly cheerful and sweet to someone that sees humans as pets, or "friends". So… What is really going on here?

"- I thought you ate people." You said, still frustrated that you were betrayed and lied to through this entire day.

"- Well, I guess I can eat humans-" Says the giant bird-lizard acting like a child trying to lie about doing something wrong- "- But I really don't like doing it, I promise!"

"- I just wanted someone to play with, you know? All the dragons that I know are just so boring and take everything seriously." He huffed in annoyance.

"- Well… Do you-" You started questioning if you really want to to know the answer, but curiosity sure is killing this cat!- "- What happened to the other humans that were here?"

"- Oh, they… Uhn, they died, because of your shirt lifespan and all ya know." He responded.

"- Oh… Then why did the soldiers bring us here saying you were going to eat us?" Why not go full balls in and ask everything, right?

"- It's- Sigh, it's really embarrassing, but I didn't know any other way of how to ask for company down here." He said shyly, which only confirmed your suspicion of this being complete bullshit.

"- And you threaten to burn a whole kingdom just because of that?" You asked.

"- Yes!" He answered with no shame whatsoever. This guy was a dog wearing a dragon costume, you couldn't believe what you were hearing.

"- Sigh, oh my God…"

"- Hey, uhn, what's your name?" Artemio spoke, he thought that he should also ask questions as he wants to be able to enjoy every second with his new pet.

"- It is [Y/N]. And you're Artemio, right?" You can't believe any of this, really. You went from an absolutely terrible life or death situation, to a… Well, you can't even tell what the hell is going on anymore!

"- [Y/N].... [Y/N]! [Y/N], that's such a good name!" The excited dragon repeated your name multiple times before interrupting your peace once again. You can't be mad at him, but-

Come on, you needed some time to accept everything that just went down. You didn't even notice you were on the floor until Artemio was in front of your view again.

"- [Y/N]!" He was so easy to please, that just saying your name was fun to him.

"- Sigh… Hey Artemio." You sighed as there was no way in hell this dragon would leave you to deal with this weird feeling of emptiness arising in your chest.

"- What do you want to do now?" He asked cheerfully, but not completely oblivious to your feelings of being abandoned underground with him by force.

You stayed silent for a second, again, trying to come with terms with this new lifestyle that you were subjected to. You technically could ask Artemio to open the gate, he doesn't seem to have any intention of hurting you. But who knows? He has a different point of view in this whole thing than you do.

Silence was taking over the cave, but not exactly an awkward silence, just… A comforting one.

The water dripped from the ceiling. You felt the ground underneath you shake a little as Artemio followed your "guidance". He decided to lay on his back near you.

He wasn't really doing any self reflection at all, he just wanted to join in with you, yet all he could think is how happy he is to have someone else to spend time with.

You may only see him slightly from the corner of your eyes, yet you still feel a little, strange, by seeing a dragon mimic your ways.

You don't feel nessecerally homesick, but you do miss your father. You absolutely hate the idea of coming back to the kingdom, but… If you could see your father one last time, and probably help him with the gold that is in this place….

Maybe you could even-!.....

"- Artemio."

"- Yes, [Y/N]!*

"- AAH!" He turned himself to meet your face so fast that you whimpered because of his sudden motion.

He was going to check if you were okay, but you stopped him showing that you were fine, just a little spooked.

"- Hey, Artemio-" You said again, as you were still reformulating your question in your head-

"- Do you know how to burn an entire castle?"

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

#yandere #sheep stuff #yandere oc #sheep's stuff #yandere x reader #yandere oc fanfiction #yandere oc x reader #yandere dragon #yandere dragon x reader #yandere dragon fanfiction #yandere fanfiction #yandere fanfic #yandere monster #yandere monster fanfiction #special delivery request #special delivery fanfictions

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ajwrites52 · 3 years

Text

Batober Day 4-FEAR

(Set on a different Earth, please head to Ao3 to read the origin and background of this Batman. If interest is large enough, I might post some chapters over here on Tumblr.)

The chill October air sends shivers down the boy's spine. Most children the age of ten would be in bed, being tucked in by their parents. But not Jimmy Prescott, an absent father and a mother who worked nights, and the ten-year-old had nothing at home but an empty fridge. Like many boys in Gotham, he and the others found entertainment; this was probably the worst one ever devised. With only a flashlight in hand and the clothes on his back, Jimmy wandered into the cold and empty cemetery. He looks back at the gates, his seniors sitting on their bikes waving to him and pushing him to keep going. Biting his lip, he pressed on before stopping at the rusted fence and overgrown weeds that protected a closed-off part of the cemetery.

"H-He's not real. He's just a story, that's it."

His trembling hand pried the gate open, the loud creaking of the hinges scaring a murder of crows to fly away, startling the young lad. He could hear his classmates laughing at him from a distance. He clenched his fist and shined his flashlight forward before entering the dark walkway towards the dilapidated and crumbling tombstone surrounded by rotten weeds. Jimmy shines the flashlight on the fallen golden plaque and reads it beneath his breath.

"Here lies Dr. Jonathan W. Cane. March 1635-1692. May his spirit forever lie in rest and never return."

He rummaged in his coat pocket and took a deep breath, his body quaking as he unfolded the slip of paper and set his phone to record. He stared at the broken grave and swallowed his fears before beginning to speak.

"Oh, dear Doctor Crane. Long may he reign. When the red roses bloom and the moon hangs in the air, shall your eyes open? When the crows cry out, and the land turns cold, shall you speak your first words?"

BRAKAKOOM!

He shakes as he stares up at the sudden arrival of storm clouds above him. He gulps before continuing with a shaky breath.

"When Gotham cries, and her children grow old and die. S-Shall your fingers grasp your scythe."

The second crash of thunder erupts in the sky, causing Jimmy to jump as cold raindrops begin to hit his head. He would turn back, but if he didn't bring back proof, he would be the victim of endless teasing and bullying by his compatriots. So, he continued.

"Will you stand up when the streets flood with lights and people? Will you take your first steps when your demonic servant takes flight in the night sky?"

The wind begins to whip around him, causing the drops of rain to feel like razor blades against the child's skin. He's now utterly terrified and wants to leave as soon as possible.

'Screw this!' he thought. He grabbed his phone and crumbled up the paper before running for the exit. But the wind got stronger the farther he got from Crane's grave. He felt as if he was fighting nature itself as he got closer to the fence; the thunder roared and screamed in his ears while the lightning blinded him temporarily. Jimmy didn't know why, but every part of his body shouted to him three simple words.

"Don't. Turn. Around."

The hairs on his neck stood up as he ran faster than ever before. He felt something, some dark and horrifying thing behind him. He could hear it too; it had a voice like a cold blade scraping against his eardrums. He was almost there. But he then felt the wind whisper in his ears; it was that voice once again carried by the wind. He feels long, and skinny fingers wrap themselves around his neck while another grabs his left arm. A cold and boney presence places itself on his shoulder as he hears it whispers in his ear.

"Don't turn around. Finish it."

Jimmy's eyes welled up with tears, his short life flashes before his eyes as he can feel his pants warming up upon him, soiling himself in fear. He wants to scream, to scream for help from his mother, who he wants to arrive and save him from this THING!

"Finish it."

"I-"

"Finish it."

"Help."

"Finish it!"

"HELP! ANYONE!!"

"FINISH IT!!!"

He sobs and cries out, hoping that he'd be close enough for at least his friends to hear his pleas for help. But it was to no avail. No one was coming for him. Not his so-called friends. Not even his mother, who had no idea where he even was. He then felt himself being slowly dragged back towards the grave. The boy's body turns ice-cold as he nears the tombstone once again. He feels the claws of this creature pierce his neck and slither themselves into his esophagus. As he returns to the grave, he once again hears that same spine-tingling voice in his ear once more commanding him.

"Finish it."

So he did.

"M-Mr. Crane. Mr. Crane. When you stand and talk again, who will be your Scarecrow of fear before you disappear?"

Jimmy felt his vocal cords severed; he slowly held his throat. His hands feel something warm and wet. His torso follows the same sensation before his eyes look forward, only to find the graveyard gone and replaced by a dense, thick fog. Jimmy's tears hit the ground as something begins to form in the distance. A silhouette starts to form of a tall male figure walking towards him. His eyes widen as he recognizes the man. A feeling of elation and joy overwhelms him at the appearance of the tall, dark-haired gentleman dressed in a black cloak with a strange cowl with white eyes. The man removes the cowl and smiles, revealing a handsome gentleman's face with a kind smile.

"Hey, kiddo."

"D-daddy?"

Tears of joy now fall from Jimmy's cheeks as he holds out his arms for his father. The man smiles and embraces his son before whispering into the child's ear.

"Why you, of course. You shall become my silent and strong Scarecrow while I walk the earth. For you shall show them all their true fears."

Jimmy freezes up, his father pulling away from the hug and looking at him with angry and hateful eyes. His father screams and shakes the young man, blood dripping from every orifice as he berates the young boy.

"I hate you! I HATE YOU! YOU USELESS BRAT! I LOST EVERYTHING BECAUSE OF YOU!!!"

Jimmy tries to defend himself, to understand as he feels himself sinking. He cries out to no avail. His father continues to bleed out before falling to his knees and screaming as Jimmy can do nothing but watch before falling into the grave of Dr. Crane.

"Thank you, Scarecrow."

His screams bounce against the seemingly bottomless pit before he can hit the metaphorical bottom. A large hand grasps onto Jimmy's wrists, holding him in mid-air, "Don't struggle."

Jimmy could barely piece together descriptions of his savior, he couldn't tell where the shadows began, and the figure ended. All he could note was his piercing white eyes and the yellow light ruminating from his chest. His voice was gruff, almost like he was a monster, and his palm covered his whole wrist.

"NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

The tunnel trembled and began to fall apart; Jimmy looked down at his feet and screamed at the horrors he saw below. The shadows of the abyss below glowed bright orange; from shadows emerged a colossal skull consumed in flames. Its fanged maw opened up, unleashing a giant tower of fire upwards. The apparition roared with an abhorrent and ear-shattering scream.

"HE IS MINE!!!!"

"Hang on!" The dark figure unlatched itself from the walls, its wings unfurling as they took off upwards towards the closing gap. The heat hits their backs; they escape by a hair's breadth, crashing onto the muddy ground. "Ow."

Jimmy's eyes open slowly as the rain hits his face; now looming over him was the exact dark figure that saved him earlier. Now freed from the abyssal darkness, Jimmy could sparse more precise details of his hero. The glowing circle on his chest held an Emblem in the shape of a bat; he discarded the burning black cloak that once decorated his back. A metal cross with a gold center and silver tip; his body was covered in grey armor. His waist and face were covered by a black cowl sporting elongated ears. His white eyes didn't seem human; they were cold and detached.

"Get out of here. This place isn't safe." His voice was just as cold and harsh as in the tunnel. He glares at the pit, walking towards the place they just escaped from; he pulls the cross from his back and stiffens. That's when the ground beneath them shook with deadly fury, the earth cracked, steam and hellfire burst forth from the ground sending both flying away as he emerged from the grave.

"THAT BOY IS MINEEEE!!!!!"

His roar ruptured the sky and summoned a ferocious storm. The sickening orange glow illuminated the area as Batman glared at the light.

"HE SPOKE THE ENCHANTMENT! HE BROUGHT FORTH MY POWER! HIS FEARS FEED ME!!!"

Jimmy could no longer scream, the sensation of his lunch evacuating his body prevented as he looked upon Crane's indescribable horrific visage. His fingers, long like needles jutting out his bony wrists, his torso was nothing more than a ribcage with little to no skin attached to it and shackles attached to his arms and neck. But what would never leave the child's mind were his eyes.

A skull covered by a burlap sack, sharp fangs in place of normal human incisors, and black voids with burning crimson embers in the area of eyes. Crane emerged from the grave, towering over them both like a giant while screaming in anguish and rage. His wide mouth tearing parts of the bag, revealing rotten skin underneath and long grey hairs.

"YOU CANNOT TAKE HIM FROM ME!!! THE CONTRACT IS SEALED, AND HIS FEARS SHALL BE MINE!!"

Batman spat on the ground and clenched the cross in his gloved right hand; in his other, he pulled out four Bat-Shaped daggers to hold in between his fingers.

"Bold of you to think that I actually care. You're not taking that child or anyone, Crane."

His screams were unholy. He slammed his bony palm into the ground sending shockwaves towards man and child. With a click, the silver tip of his cross fired outwards like a bullet, a chain acting as a cable. It wrapped around the boy's leg and pulled him towards the cowled man as they crashed onto a nearby clearing. Jimmy's breath became erratic, and his tears ran down his already wet cheeks. His eyes glazed over as he could only mutter words in a language lost to modern ears. Batman groaned in pain as he carried Jimmy behind a nearby gravestone, hiding them from Crane's wrath.

"Damn it. C'mon kid. Wake up and snap out of it!" He shook the boy by the shoulders, quickly rummaging through one of the pouches on his belt for aid. He placed a paper talisman against the boy's forehead and pressed his thumb, causing the slip to glow and burn with a bright yellow light. Instantly, color returns to Jimmy's skin as he quickly exhales another round of bile. "Good. You're out of the trance. Jimmy, right?"

"W-What's going on?" asked Jimmy, fighting the words out in between sobs. The boy is hoisted up onto his feet, with Batman placing a charm in the boy's hands.

"No time for questions. Listen to me, run to the gate and place the charm on the outside. Then say these in this order, never break it or stop. And whatever you do, don't look back!"

"B-But," Batman pulled him close, whispering the chant into his young ears before pushing away. With little to no hesitation, he leaped over the grave, chain whip in hand.

"No buts. NOW GO!" Jimmy trembled as he cowered behind the headstone. The sounds of battle raging on behind him, Crane's screaming and roaring burrowing into his eardrums. Clutching the charm to his chest, he bolted forward, screaming with his full breath.

"JIMMY! JIMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!!!! Don't YOU RUN FROM ME!!!"

Jimmy screamed louder to ignore the ghouls' cries. He felt the ground distort and change around him; each drop of rain felt like another weight being added onto him. His legs wobbled, and his breathing became raggedy.

"KEEP GOING!" Screamed Batman from the battlefield. Jimmy pushed forward, ignoring the pain in his body as he neared the gate.

"Jimmy?"

His body froze; still, his blood went cold as he trembled in place. A feminine voice wormed its way into his ears. It was kind, concerned, and all-around comforting. "Jimmy? What are you doing here? You're supposed to be home!"

"M-Mom. I-" his words clung to his throat; every synapse in his brain screamed at him to keep running, but his legs refused to move.

"I work day and night! Slave over a hot stove to feed you! And here you are, doing god knows what! HERE! WHAT ABOUT YOUR BROTHER! GOD! WHY MUST YOU CONSTANTLY DISAPPOINT ME!!!"

Her once kind voice fell apart at the arrival of a sinister and distorted cracked tone. Like nails on a chalkboard, she continued her ravings, getting ever closer to the boy. "I SHOULD'VE LEFT YOU ON THE STREET WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE! YOU' IRRITATING CANCER ON MY LIFE!!!"

Her rants continued, even more, causing Jimmy to fall to his knees in terror. He was done. This was all too much for one boy to go through. He-he should've just surrendered himself to Crane and saved himself and others the pain, but before he could turn around to accept his fate. One of Batman's daggers flew past him, nipping his cheek and snapping him out of the trance. In the reflection of the blade, he saw Batman lunging at the giant Scarecrow avoiding every attack.

"KEEP GOING!" he yelled from the battlefield. Jimmy clenched his teeth, and despite every molecule in his body yelling at him. He ran forward, ignoring Crane's grip on his soul as he grabbed hold of the rusty gate and slammed the paper charm against it. With a deep breath, he screamed out the command given to him by Batman.

"Through the murky waters and misty woods, I cast this spirit out of this infernal boon. I renounce your evil power and hold. I remove your binding from my soul! Jonathan Crane, I demand your soul leaves this place! I remove your brand and fear you NO MORE!!!!"

BRAKAKAKOOOM!!!!!!

A bright white light blinded Jimmy, its light burned his shirt, and he felt what felt like lightning strike every cell in his body. As he flew back from the explosion, the world fell apart around him into a bright orange void. He turned around, and all he saw was the burlap sack containing Crane's face burned away, and his natural face was revealed to his former victim.

His hollow eyes released a waterfall of blood and tar, and his mouth released curses in a language, not even he could parse. The demon's face opened its maw and flew towards Jimmy, cackling as it attempted one last time to claim the boy's soul.

"NOT TODAY!!"

Before he could swallow the boy whole, Batman descended with his cross in hand, unleashing the bladed tip with the chain. He slammed his weapon in between Crane's eyes, cracking the skull apart and unleashing a bright and unholy white light. Jimmy screamed, only to be scooped up in Batman's arms as the two were engulfed in the explosion.

"Yo, Jimmy. You okay?"

Jimmy opened his eyes and screamed as he fell to the dirty floor. He scanned the area, finding himself surrounded by his former friend as they stood before the gate. The Batman was nowhere in sight and not a sign of Crane. The scratch on his cheek was no longer there nor the charm he'd used to defeat the demon.

"I-I gotta go home." With little hesitation, Jimmy rode off home. A new sense of vigor in his veins as he left the cemetery. The remaining boy's began to ponder and eventually mock Jimmy's quickness. Still, they too fled in droves as they finally took notice of the large black and grey figure that loomed over them draped in a long black cape. His white eyes sent fear deep into their souls as they evacuated the area in haste.

"Good. And stay out." He said. Batman Batman turned to the site of the paranormal he stood in moments earlier. He placed a small blue gem within the lock of the gate; within seconds, the gate crackled and resonated with an electric blue aura. It hummed before going silent, forever. Batman smirked and turned away, vanishing into the night to his next battle against the monsters in the night.

-THE END-

#batober 2021 #batman #gothic #fear #horror #dc comics #dc superheroes #scarecrow #monsters #demons #ghosts #elseworlds #dc universe

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rainbowbutterfrosting · 3 years

Text

The Revived - Chapter 8: Miscommunications

This is chapter 8 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy! Discord link here.

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Niki

Word count: 3,534

Content Warnings: kidnapping, being tied up, being blindfolded, threats of starvation, violence (punching), yelling, threatening in general, pain, panic attacks, chasing, mentions of begging

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Despite Wilbur’s looming fear from the last trip to the nether, it went a lot more smoothly

this time around. Maybe it was the armor that made him look threatening or the fact that it was more familiar to him. Ghostbur worried about his safety, but Wilbur made sure to give him frequent updates. The ghost relaxed slightly but seemed to still not like the fiery place very much. Wilbur agreed and promised to make his future trips a little quicker.

He came out to the other side just fine. His bandages felt noticeably uncomfortable from the previous heat when Ghostbur’s voice chimed in, “When can we get these things off? I don’t like them that much.”

“Not yet, probably in a few days though.” Wilbur wasn’t sure how strong the potion Technoblade gave him was.

“In your world or my world?”

“A few days in my world,” Wilbur’s voice lowered to a whisper once he realized that someone might see him talking to himself. Yet the second he said the words, he realized the exact weight of them. He remembered screaming, crying, and Ghostbur begging for Wilbur to make it stop. It was strange to speak of it now, as if it was something as simple as a different timezone, and not the cause of so much suffering.

How long had Ghostbur really been crying with pain?

“Ah, alright,” Ghostbur said, sounding mildly disappointed, which stood in contrast to the grim thoughts suddenly plaguing Wilbur’s mind.

Wilbur didn’t focus on the trail ahead as he looked at the sky. A sky Ghostbur couldn’t see. “This will probably sound stupid, but do you want me to describe stuff? Like how I did when I was eating steak.”

Ghostbur immediately seemed more cheerful, “Yeah, that would be really helpful!”

Wilbur smiled, “It’s pretty dark out.” He took a deep breath in, trying to fully notice the details for Ghostbur. “The torches light up the area a bit, but I can still see some skeletons in the distance. The moon looks nice tonight. I mean, it’s… I should’ve paid more attention in high school. It’s the phase of the moon where it sorta looks like a C. I’m not sure if it’s first crescent or third crescent. I’ve heard of both of them though.” Wilbur felt a passive sadness when he couldn’t depict it, but Ghostbur didn’t seem to mind.

“Don’t worry, I don’t know what it’s called either! But I still know what you’re talking about… are there any stars out?”

Wilbur hummed in agreement, “I wouldn’t say there’s lots, but there are quite a few.” Wilbur sighed, “The sky’s got this gradient. It’s not too noticeable unless you look for a while. It’s black to a slightly lighter black. Not exactly a gray, but just a slightly lighter bla-” Wilbur sharply cut himself off when he heard a bird chirp. He turned his head towards the sound and walked closer to it.

“Is everythin’ okay?” Ghostbur’s worried tone reminded Wilbur that he was supposed to describe things to him.

“Yeah yeah, it’s all good. I just thought I heard a bird.”

“Ooh!” Ghostbur exclaimed excitedly, “I love birds! They have such cute little beaks.”

Wilbur laughed lightly, though the sound had still made him a little wary, and he walked a little more cautiously. “We’re in a forest. We shouldn’t be too far from L’Manberg, I think…” Wilbur said, hoping he could count on Ghostbur’s sense of direction in the nether, or on his own vague memories. His head was still a muffled mess. “It’s mostly oak trees.” he heard another chirp, and looked around for the source, but before he found it, he heard another sound that hit him with a great deal more force.

“Meowth! Get back here!” someone yelled, followed by the sound of frantic running. Wilbur froze on the spot.

“Ooh, who is that? I could barely hear it but someone was speaking. It kind of sounded like-” Ghostbur was cut off, by a relieved sigh from the same voice as before.

“There you are. You can’t keep flying off like this.”

“Niki! It’s Niki! I remember her from your memories. She is so nice and sweet and-”

Wilbur spotted her too, as Ghostbur kept talking, standing behind the trees. Niki, who was holding a red parrot, and who looked so alone and unbothered, completely unaware of Wilbur’s presence. A million thoughts burst through Wilbur’s head. All the memories of L’Manberg, what had led to it, and what it had led to. And as Wilbur listened to her talk, it was at once familiar, and different. As if the voice was tinted with something shakier. Something exhausted. Though Wilbur was tired too, so perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him.

Had Niki been told that Wilbur was back? Perhaps it wouldn’t matter much to her. While Wilbur mostly held fond memories of her, he was uncertain what Niki would make of him now. What Wilbur’s actions had led her to think of him, and whether she even considered him a companion in the first place.

Wilbur stood there, frozen in silence, as he debated whether to hide his presence more or to let it be known. Before he had the chance to make a decision, Niki turned her head, and the silence turned a great deal more deafening and suffocating.

Niki was looking at Wilbur, her face going pale in less than a second, and her mouth gaping. Wilbur noticed that there were bags under her eyes. Her hands loosened from the bird, the bird promptly flapping its wings to land on her shoulder. She didn’t move an inch to show that such a thing had happened.

“What’s happening?” Ghostbur asked confusedly, “Why aren’t you saying hi? You must’ve missed each other so much!”

Perhaps Wilbur would’ve spoken, but the way Niki was looking at him, made the words twist into knots in his throat.

Then, came Niki’s words, quiet and broken, “I thought it stopped.” she said, and she rubbed her eyes, her breathing becoming faster. “It was destroyed. The memories were supposed to be gone, I wasn’t- I’m not supposed to-” she didn’t finish her sentence, instead blinking and shaking her head vigorously.

Wilbur was finally able to speak, “Hey.” The words were quiet, but they were loud enough to fill the silence between them.

Niki turned away muttering a mantra as she walked further into the forest, “You’re real, he isn’t, you’re real, he isn’t.” Her whole body shook as she left.

As she was walking away, Wilbur realized that he needed to go to her. At least clarify that he was back and not Ghostbur instead. He made long steps as he gently called out, “Niki, how have you been?” Though instead of a response, she simply walked quicker, almost quick enough to be a jog.

Wilbur frowned and called out, slightly louder this time, “Niki, wait up.” He jogged up to where he was only a few steps behind her. She looked back, a startling fear clear in her eyes as she burst into a sprint away from Wilbur.

“Niki!” Wilbur shouted as he ran after her. They both ran between trees, hopping over tree stumps and large sticks. The wind flew by as Wilbur quickly gained ground. The two ran for a few minutes, their lungs and legs burning, but not stopping. Wilbur tried shouting her name again, but he figured it was just a waste of time.

Niki ran to the left, which Wilbur spotted was an entrance that was decorated with stone bricks and spruce logs. As Niki ran down she missed one of the stairs and tumbled down the rest. Wilbur saw this as a chance to finally catch up and ran down. Niki heard his steps as she tried getting up, her legs shaking to the point where she could barely stand.

Both of them gasped for air as Niki refused to look in Wilbur’s direction, instead viewing the stone wall in front of her.

“Niki…” Wilbur breathed out, leaning onto the wall behind him for a moment before he held his hand out to Niki. It took him a few moments to realize Niki wouldn’t even see it unless she looked over.

“Niki… you need some help getting up?” The only response he received was Niki’s gasps for air. Wilbur knelt down next to her. “Hey I uh…” Wilbur’s mind was blank once again as he searched desperately in his mind for anything he could say. “You come around here often?” That probably wasn’t Wilbur’s best, but he needed something to get them started.

Niki laughed- or sobbed? Wilbur couldn’t tell, but he hoped it was the former. He placed a hand on Niki’s back, but when she flinched he immediately pulled back. Wilbur put his hands in his lap, unsure of what to exactly do with them. He waited moments with Niki, watching her shaking frame as she tried to get her breath back. It must’ve been from fear rather than exercise.

Was Niki afraid of him? He didn’t think he was that bad of a ruler of L’Manberg, but he supposed so if she thought of him as a monster to run away from. Maybe he was a monster- no, he couldn’t go down that path now. Niki needed him. But what for? The only time she looked at him was out of fear and she couldn’t even look at him now.

Instead, he focused on her bird. Well- at least he assumed it was hers. “I always thought birds were nice. Their wings are soft.” Wilbur forced a chuckle at the end, trying to bring in a light joyful atmosphere that didn’t exist anywhere around them. Sure, the torches brought a warm glow to the stairway, but it didn’t remove the tense air around them.

Niki covered her ears, bending further over in a way that looked like she was hiding from Wilbur, despite him being only a few inches away. Wilbur clearly heard that Niki was sobbing. He looked sympathetically at her but knew she wouldn’t be able to see it. He supposed he would have to wait this out with her.

“Niki sounds sorta like you did earlier, is she okay?” He was apparently waiting this out with Ghostbur as well.

“Are you oka-” Wilbur cut himself off when he realized that Niki probably didn’t even want to hear him. He sighed as he sat back against the wall, the smooth stone supporting him.

Was Wilbur making things worse for Niki? He wasn’t an idiot, he knew she was scared of him. Yet, he hoped that she was like Tommy, who behind his spite and anger still talked to Wilbur for at least a few hours. But she was her own person. A person so different than the one peacefully baking a pie for when Wilbur and everyone else returned back home. Or when it was someone’s birthday and she would make them a small cake of their favorite flavor. She seemed full of this fear that made Wilbur feel something that resembled pity.

Wilbur sighed quietly to himself. Not out of annoyance, but the willingness of patience. Despite being recently revived, he hadn’t spent many moments in the quiet. He told himself it would only remind him of limbo, but it was really quite the opposite. It just depended on his surroundings. He tensed when he remembered the stone walls around him were similar to the ones in limbo, but he focused on Niki. He didn’t want her to be hunched over, sobbing and shaking, after running away from Wilbur, but he appreciated her presence nonetheless.

He pulled his legs to his chest and rested his head onto them. He closed his eyes, but all that filled his mind was Niki’s sobbing next to him. He was never the friend that made everyone happy or wiped away all their tears. But he knew he would be there for Niki when she was ready.

Wilbur opened his eyes, yet the darkness that he saw seconds ago still remained. It took him moments before he figured out that there was some kind of cloth over his eyes. He tried to move his hand, but he found an odd kind of resistance when he did so. The odd feeling of rope around his hands made him realize it was around his ankles as well. They were spread apart about half a foot, each of them tied to something Wilbur couldn’t identify. He shifted against whatever he was sitting on, but his abdomen also felt the familiar pressure around his hands and ankles.

“Oh, are you awake now?” The echoing voice of Ghostbur was slightly quieter than normal, but Wilbur chose not to focus on it.

“What? I didn’t even fall asleep.” Wilbur tried to squint into the darkness, but it was of no use.

“Oh, I thought you did. You stopped responding for… a week? Probably not in your time though, just my ghost time.”

“I-” Wilbur’s voice wavered, he didn’t remember falling asleep, he supposed that he was so exhausted that he didn’t feel the passage of time through a dream. “Sorry for leaving you hanging.”

“It’s alright! Someone else was with me for a little bit. That was nice.”

Wilbur sat up slightly, the implications of someone else in Wilbur’s- well Ghostbur’s now as well- limbo were much more frightening than Ghostbur realized. “Who did you see?” Wilbur cleared his throat.

“Didn’t see them. It was sorta muffled? I could’ve sworn that they were in another room but they were talking about you!”

“What were they saying?” Wilbur’s voice returned to being skeptical.

“I-”

Ghostbur was interrupted by Niki’s voice. “You’re awake.” Her voice was sharp with edges that seemed to cut into Wilbur.

He slightly frowned before forcing a smile, “Niki! Glad to see you again.” Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “Well, I guess see isn’t the right word. It’s good to hear you though.” Wilbur didn’t know if warmness naturally welcomed itself into Wilbur’s voice or if he forced it to maintain some kind of control over his circumstances.

However, control was desperately out of his hands as he felt the collision of something hitting his face. He could barely process it before the pain stung his cheek. “What the fuck!?” The words came out before Wilbur processed them, but he frankly didn’t mind.

“What’s wrong, what’s wrong, what’s wrong,” Ghostbur’s worried voice spoke quickly to the point where Wilbur wouldn’t be able to catch what he was saying if it was something different.

“Who are you,” Niki growled at Wilbur. The words made Wilbur’s breath catch in his throat.

“Wilbur, my name is Wilbur- what’s going on?” Panic flew into his voice by mistake. Did Niki not remember who he was? He supposed that would make sense as to why she was so scared earlier, but he wasn’t gone that long. After thirteen and a half years, he still remembered her clear as day.

“Don’t start fucking with me,” another punch came from the other direction. Wilbur hissed in pain along with Ghostbur. “Who the hell are you?” Niki’s normally high voice lowered in a way that made Wilbur subconsciously shiver.

“I- I’m Wilbur Soot. Ex-leader of L’Manberg, uh- son of Phil. Father of Fundy. I-” Wilbur was cut off by another collision to his bottom jaw. Wilbur winced from the pain as it hit a burn that was somehow uncovered. Ghostbur’s mantra of apologizing slipped into Wilbur’s speech, “I’m sorry.”

Niki laughed, “Oh, so now you have the audacity to feel sorry? You come all the way out here, dressed in something he would wear, claim to be him, and you expect me to be nice to you? Oh, perhaps I’ll bake you a pastry and wish you a farewell. Hm, that sounds nice right?”

Before Wilbur could speak, Niki punched his jaw. “Look, look, please stop, I'm sorry. I just wanted to talk.” While he feared for his own safety, he also worried about the pain Ghostbur was in as well.

“Talk about what?” Niki hissed out.

Wilbur flinched as he expected to be hit again, but found after a few moments that nothing came. “I just saw you and figured we could- I honestly didn’t think it through. I- I saw your bird. Uh… he was red! He was chirping and I followed him into the forest because getting revived still didn’t revive the brain cells I’ve lost over the years. And, and…” Wilbur tried to think about what details were relevant. He didn’t want to get too off-track and upset Niki, but at the same time, if he was too vague he might receive the same consequence. “I saw you, you talked to him… I can’t remember what, but you saw me! And I saw you, and we ran through the forest. I honestly think I chased you.” Wilbur awkwardly laughed, waiting a moment for Niki to respond.

Although it wasn’t with a punch, the way she grabbed the front of his shirt frightened him all the same. “Why are you dressed like him? Sounding exactly like him. Acting like him, even.” The shirt slightly coming off of his chest made him realize he didn’t have his armor on. He hoped Niki didn’t destroy it.

“A-acting like who?” He prepared himself for the impact, but he wasn’t ready for it to happen, hoping she would not hit him again, as he still winced from the impact.

“You fucking know who!” Niki yelled.

Ghostbur’s apologizing interrupted any clear-thinking he would have had. “Please, just shut up and this will stop happening,” he whispered before realizing Niki could still hear him.

“Don’t you dare tell me to shut up, I have control over everything that happens here. I have control over if you’ll eat today or in two weeks. I have several favors from Technoblade that I’ll gladly redeem. I can make your life here a living hell. Don’t fucking test me.”

She let go of Wilbur’s shirt, and the chair slightly toppled as she was apparently pulling him up the whole time. He heard the footsteps echo away slowly as he quietly spoke, “Fuck.”

Ghostbur’s murmur waved into his mind. He heard Niki walk away previously and took that as a sign that he could talk. “I- I’m sorry for cursing and shit- wait- I’m sorry for cursing and stuff.” He hoped the slip-up would have made Ghostbur laugh, but he barely got anything as a response.

The still present sting on his cheek reminded him of why. He was about to apologize, but he didn’t know what for. About going to where Niki was? For scaring her? For getting punched? He should probably say something about the last one, but it wasn’t his fault at all. He was tied down and blindfolded, there wasn’t much he could honestly do. He tried to reason with her, but she apparently thought he was someone else.

Instead, he sighed as he shifted slightly. The ropes were still just as tight as before.

“Why did she do that? She knows I’m me right? I told her, but she just didn’t understand somehow.”

Ghostbur thought for a moment, “Maybe… Maybe she doesn’t believe you? I- I’m sorry, I know it’s stupid.” Ghostbur’s voice trailed off as he felt he was already being dismissed.

“Oh,” realization struck Wilbur harder than Niki punched. “No no no no, when is she coming back?” He knew Ghostbur didn’t know the answer, but he sought relief regardless.

“I… I think she said tomorrow or two weeks? Sorry, it’s sort of hard to remember.”

Fear panged through Wilbur’s chest as he shouted, “Niki? Niki, I need to tell you something.” The silence of air filled his ears. “Niki!” Was Niki really going to leave him down here? After all they’d been through, she was going to toss him aside like garbage? No- garbage wasn’t tied down to a chair. Garbage was at least allowed to be outside.

“Nix! I admit that I’m not Wilbur,” the lie wouldn’t take him far, but if Niki was in denial it was possible it could get him out of here. After seconds of silence, Wilbur was greeted by quiet steps. They slowly walked closer as Wilbur almost grinned from getting Niki’s attention. Niki moved the cloth around Wilbur’s eyes and took it off.

He squinted at the sudden brightness and saw that Niki had tears in her eyes. “Niki, what’s wrong?” He tensed thinking he was going to get hurt or perhaps taunted, but Niki collapsed in front of Wilbur, looping her arms around Wilbur’s abdomen. A sob erupted from her throat as Wilbur felt familiar pity in his chest.

“Um- it’s alright, it’s okay?” Wilbur didn’t know how to comfort her, but he still wanted to do something. Niki only sobbed harder, clinging to Wilbur for dear life. “I’m not really sure what you want me to say. How about deep breaths? Just go in one two three four, good, now hold one two three four.” Wilbur continued counting for Niki and felt her trembling slowly decrease. “Nix, are you okay?”

Niki hesitantly stopped holding Wilbur, only to pull a hand over her mouth as she started crying again. She slowly took her hand off to slowly admit, “Wi- Wilbur… it’s-” Niki cut herself off as she awkwardly hugged Wilbur’s neck. Wilbur sat still in the chair, unable to move due to the bonds around him.

Warm tears dripped onto Wilbur’s neck, “Wilbur you’re alive.”

#dream smp #dream smp fanfic #wilbur #c!wilbur #alivebur #ghostbur #c!niki #dsmp niki #dsmp wilbur #dsmp

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porrokin · 3 years

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“SAINTS BEFORE SIXTH”

i have actually never posted anything like this on my tumblr - i'm kinda nervous ngl.

below you can find the blurb and entire first chapter of the fantasy novel i'm writing! 🤎 i'm so incredibly proud and wanted to share it with you :)

Andy was almost an adult now, not once in the past decade had she been entirely sober. This hadn't been a choice of her own; she didn't get many of those anymore after becoming a permanent resident in the Institute. She'd been permanently deprived of direct sunlight ever since her sixth birthday, on December 30th.

Meanwhile, her best friend claims to speak with his deceased parents and the Keepers found her newest ally before she did. They've been forcing him to use his powers for their selfish winnings, cruel violations like this could go unseen since the Warden disappeared.

Escaping the Keepers is one thing; they're still worlds apart from getting home - considering there's anything to come back to in the first place.

don't copy or claim this in any way; it is my work and belongs entirely to me.

THE ENTIRE FIRST CHAPTER IS POSTED BELOW !

Never once during the past decade had Andy been entirely sober, that fact would, however, become even more disturbing when you considered she was barely eighteen years old. It hadn't been a conscious choice, at least not one of her own.

Ever since her sixth birthday - almost precisely twelve years ago - Keepers had taken the freedom of making decisions away from her. What she ate, where she slept, who she talked to, and whether or not she took her meds four times per day - which she did, much to her disliking.

The Keepers no longer informed Andy of their plans for her, they used to back when she was still enrolled in the program. Christiano was, though she wasn't sure if she always believed him when he talked about what he did during those three hours every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Sunday. Nine hours each week, that's how much time they did want to spend with her roommate. She was on her own, once again.

The line scurried along. Andy hesitantly followed as she took in the newly arrived smell of potatoes and spinach. Lunch must start soon, meaning the clock could say 12:55 am anytime now. The rest of the world outside was sleeping, in contrast to this place - heavily lit by beaming, quietly zooming tubes. The grey ceiling was covered in them, leaving nothing to go by without catching the eye of at least one Keeper. Andy didn't know why they lived during the night, rather than when the sun could cast real and natural light into the long, empty hallways. Probably to keep the public from asking much-needed questions about this place, or perhaps they did know but couldn't care enough.

Another name was called out - not hers. The girl in front of the line had been injected, she swiftly turned around and started walking in against the direction of the line. Back to her room, she went, another day of the same, mundane routine. Day after day, twelve years before you got away.

Long ginger hair draped over her slim shoulders, curls bouncing up slightly with every step she took. Her face looked tense; not unusual for this place, but it was rather strange to see from this girl. When their eyes met, Andy was surprised to see an almost luminescent light grey shade. The girl's eyes were once green but now reminded her of the colour of freshly polished silverware reflecting in the light.

As she walked past her spot in line, electricity seemed to flow through Andy's spine; causing her entire body to shiver. Her eyebrows shaped themselves into a slight frown, for a moment she glanced behind her to look at this girl for an extra second. She wasn't allowed to speak to anyone in white but her roommate, though by now she'd been here long enough to recognize who slept in the same hallway and who didn't.

A loud crackling sound disrupted the silence, a moment later the automated voice began to talk through the speakers. Same time every day, the same voice at exactly five minutes before 1 am. 'Ten minutes before lunchtime, those who have not yet received their injections will be expected back in Hallway 162B in exactly 45 minutes'.

In a matter of seconds, their plan was about to be set in motion.

Right away, rummaging sounds rose from the back of the line. 'I need Andy!', a familiar voice shakily called out. 'My roommate, Andy Donahue!'

'Not up to you, get back in line or I'll make you.' Andy recognized his voice as the heavier Keeper with the bushy, unmanaged moustache. He sounded calm, he'd been quick to tase someone in the past and would most likely have his beefy fingers wrapped around the device already.

She raised her hand and started walking towards the back of the line, her body shaking entirely as if it was freezing and she walked into the cold without any clothes on her limbs.

Without expecting it, she was forcefully yanked back from behind. Before Andy even had time to blink, her arms were locked firmly behind her back, wrists pushing hard against her spine.

'You too, now? Don't think you're an exception to the rules.' Captain Keeper; not because he's the leader, but he sure did like trying to boss the others around. She didn't answer him right away but rather tried to stretch her body and spot Christiano in the hallway. She couldn't.

'I'm his roommate, that's Irvine. Sometimes he freaks out in the presence of many people-' A sweaty hand roughly pulled her head back by her hair, causing her to face the ceiling. Her body alarmed her of the pain this caused to her neck. The bright lights made her eyes tear and she struggled to swallow.

'Did I tell you to open your mouth?' Clammy Hands scoffed.

She attempted to reason with him: 'Let me take him to our room so he can calm down.'

'Get back in line. Otherwise, I'll make sure you don't get out of solitary until snow melts.'

She managed to free her arm from his clammy grasp. 'I can ensure you-'

He reached for her, his face caught between anger and frustration. He was getting impatient, little was he aware that this was exactly Andy's will. She stumbled backwards to avoid him this time, successfully, both of them were surprised by it.

'Christiano will throw up. Do you want that to happen when..' She ever so slightly raised her chin, dramatically pausing for a moment as she raised her boney finger.

Andy continued. 'About six hundred kids still need their injections in this hallway? That seems to be a big inconvenience — if I am allowed to voice my opinion.'

'Sir.' she added. The encounter would surely have been more entertaining would her head not be pounding, the shakiness of her knees increasing by the second. She knew her body needed the meds she managed to rid this morning - she would deny this dependence at any cost if someone were to ask.

He sighed and resultantly nodded in Christiano's direction. 'Go. I'll know where to find you in five minutes.'

She did as told, anxiously searching the hallway for her roommate. So far everything was going just as she so meticulously planned; she was okay.

By now she imagined the time creeping closer to 1:00 am, breaks for the Administration would start in ten minutes; she only needed three. The two minutes after that meant for racing back to their room, in case Captain Keeper was indeed determined to stick to his earlier promise.

Something as cold as ice grabbed her hand, effortlessly disrupting her thoughts. Chocolate brown eyes met hers, a feeling of relief washed over Andy's body. Squeezing his hand, they swiftly disappeared behind the corner at the end of the hallway.

'You got the key?' Andy hushed her voice. Administration breakrooms were still in the same hallway as their offices. She wondered whether they got as little sunlight as the kids here did.

'I do. Traded my last blanket for 15 minutes of borrowing the thing, this place leaks of greedy bastards.' He grinned, accentuating his sharp facial structure.

'If you're right about the Bidding we'll be out of here soon enough anyway.'

'I am right.'

'I believe you.' She extended her hand for him to hand her the key. 'I want to prepare for everything, that's all.'

While Andy gained access to Ad 348H, Christiano leaned nonchalantly against the drinking fountain, his finger push-ready on the button. If she caught the sound of water running, she needed to hide. Christiano would have to sneak her back out after their lunchtime. Not the desired option, as this would be too close for comfort with the Administration break ending at the same time.

Thanks to Christiano's contacts she knew immediately which cabinet to find; about twenty seconds had passed already. Her hands rummaged through the several files and envelopes, one of the many drawers containing surnames with "D" as their starting letter.

She gasped audibly when finally skimming across her own, "Andy Donahue" it said. As she attempted to pull it out, the cardboard folder ripped on one end; the contents spilling out like jelly beans at an overwhelmingly disorganized children's party.

She cursed to herself as she attempted to fish for whatever just got lost within the mass amount of documents and belongings. A soft texture brushed against her finger and with some effort, she managed to grab onto it.

Her journal! Andy's heart skipped a beat, who knew they would've collected this in here after confiscating it years ago. Without hesitation she dropped it into the neck of her jacket, holding it against her stomach with her other hand. What else did she need? Her file was too big to ever sneak out in its entirety and to take this heavy notebook was already a reach.

A loud cough echoed into the room as if she had her fingers in her ears this whole time to block out the noise. Finally, the sound of splashing water seemed to reach her. She slammed the cabinet shut, somehow getting her black sleeve stuck in the process. No, no, this was bad - this was so awfully bad.

While securing the journal with her other arm she put her body up against the heavy metal cabinet and made a desperate attempt at freeing herself from its hold.

'Yes!', slightly too loud.

Within a moment she smoothly turned around, slamming herself against something and stumbling onto the cold concrete flooring.

'We really don't have time anymore, why didn't you come out when I signalled for you?', Christiano grabbed her free arm and hurriedly pulled Andy back up on her feet.

'I'm sorry!'

She followed right behind him, both came to a sudden stop once they'd realized what was waiting behind the walls of Ad 348H. At least six Keepers surrounded them in the hallway, pointing that same amount of stun batons in their direction.

Captain Clammy Hands was the one to break the silence: "Such a shame, Donahue."

to read more, check out my story on wattpad @/porrokin [ same as on tumblr ]

CREDIT WHERE IT IS DUE ; THE COVER

#writing #first chapter #story #storytelling #english story #fantasy #non acnh #mine

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ohgodmyeyes · 4 years

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Dream Boy

Pairing - Ferus x Anakin

Warnings - Smut, explicit sex, NSFW, slightly dubious consent

Summary - After catching Ferus staring at him one day in the library, Anakin decides to meddle with his fellow Padawan at what may very well be the only time he displays any semblance of vulnerability.

2650 words

(xPosting this story here because I didn’t realize how shamefully uncommon this pairing is. The internet as a whole needs more Ferus/Anakin. I might have close to zero followers on tumblr, but I’m determined to do my part for these boys anyway.)

...

"What's the matter, Ferus? Like what you see?"

"Of course I don't— now quiet yourself, Anakin. I can hardly hear my own thoughts."

...

The boy was insufferable. He was careless and brash, and it seemed as though he scarcely ever took the time to think before speaking or acting. He was inordinately powerful, incredibly talented (unfairly so, for as little effort as he put into excelling), and treated far better by his Master than Ferus thought he deserved.

He had also, somehow, transformed over the course of the past few years into the most beautiful young man anybody was likely to ever lay their eyes on— and yes, of course Ferus liked what he saw. Hell if he would ever have admitted it, though.

"Damnit," Ferus cursed, as he rolled over onto his side. He was alone right now, alone in his bed; however, sleep on this particular night was not coming easily to him. Or, rather, it was— but it was being ceaselessly interrupted. Interrupted by him.

It had been this way for weeks, really... since long before the cheeky little remark from Anakin in the library which had no doubt exacerbated the problem. Sometimes the two of them would be standing before one another with their lightsabers drawn, and sometimes they would even duel. Those dreams weren't so bad; they didn't cause Ferus to sit bolt upright in a hot sweat with his own arousal shamefully plaguing him. The other dreams, though...

Those dreams only served to frustrate him; vex him— upset him. Ferus hated to feel upset, because to feel upset with no recourse was a symptom of blatant immoderation.

Tonight, they'd been wrapped up in each other's arms; naked, too— entirely naked, lips pressed together and hands grabbing, caressing, feeling. Feeling everything. Ferus did not want to feel Anakin this way; didn't want to feel victimized by his own desires. He shouldn't have desires, not ones like this. He was going to be a Jedi— he had no room for wanting, particularly not the kind of wanting that Anakin had begun to inspire in him. It was inexcusable.

Inexcusable, but present. Undeniably, unabashedly present.

He let his mind run for a moment, thinking that perhaps if he did it would run itself out; run itself into the ground. Then, he could sleep. He could allow his body to prepare itself for the day ahead of it; get the rest he needed, and forget about Anakin for as long as the boy would allow. (Of course, he never allowed it for very long.)

He closed his eyes, and let the thoughts come to him; thoughts of hard kisses, and discarded robes. Thoughts of clicking teeth, and blunt, dirty fingernails scraping down his back. Thoughts of those shoulders, that chest, that ass. He'd never seen Anakin undressed for more than a few moments at a time, but those moments had been all he had needed; all he'd needed to create an ostentatiously persistent image in his mind of that infuriatingly beautiful, naked boy. Why did he have to be so beautiful? Anakin didn't even seem to know he was handsome; in fact, he took it for granted the same way he took everything else as a given. It made Ferus angry, while at the same time making him throb.

How dare Anakin make him throb.

He cursed again, because his technique had proven ineffective. He was unclothed in his bed, as he always was, although right now he wished he wasn't. If he'd worn something to bed, it would have been easier; easier for him to disregard his misplaced attraction— easier for him to go soft and go to sleep and wake up the next morning having accomplished the feat of disregarding Anakin for another few hours. He wanted nothing more than to disregard him.

He couldn't, though; not tonight— and so against his own will; against his own typically principled integrity, he reached down beneath his sheets and began to stroke himself. He did so reluctantly; disdainfully. He was glad no one would ever have to know, because if anyone had known he was touching himself to thoughts of Anakin Skywalker, then he might as well have just gone ahead and died. His feral attraction to the younger boy made him want to crawl beneath a rock and never come out, such was his objection to Anakin's disposition.

He moaned, which he hated; after that, the very tip of his engorgement started to leak onto his own stomach, which he hated even more. He squeezed tightly and started to pick up his pace, because he wanted this to be over; over as soon as possible.

That was when he heard a voice... and not just any voice.

"You lied to me," said Anakin, stepping out of the shadows. He wasn't dressed; why would he be dressed? He didn't need clothes for what he planned on doing tonight.

"Get out of here!" Ferus cried, glad of the fact that his sheet was still pulled up. His shock, he thought, should have quelled his body's excitement; however, it didn't.

"I was right, wasn't I?" Anakin was smirking; Ferus hated his smirk. It was as intolerable as the rest of him.

"I'm sure you think you were," Ferus started, "but—"

"You were dreaming about me again," Anakin said matter-of-factly, already having started to skulk up to the side of the bed to look down on the young man who purported to dislike him.

"I was not— I mean, my dreams are none of your—"

"Shh. Wouldn't you like them to come true? Wouldn't that make you happy?" Anakin spoke coyly; demurely. It went with his smirk. He climbed up onto the end of the bed with his knees and started to crawl; he crawled until he was straddling Ferus, and the two of them were face-to-face. He could feel Ferus' shame poking up from under the sheet, brushing up against him. Anakin liked that he could make him feel this way.

Ferus should have shoved Anakin and he knew it; should have shoved him right off the bed and off of himself and onto the cold, hard floor. But he didn't. "Anakin," he said instead, "if you're the one who's been—"

"Of course it was me," grinned the younger of the two. "It's always been me." He'd been sneaking into Ferus' dreams for a while now; it wasn't a skill he'd mastered yet, but it was certainly one he'd been working at developing, for this precise purpose. "I see the way you look at me— everyone sees it."

Surely that couldn't be true. Ferus disdained Anakin; disdained everything about him. "I don't know where you ever got the idea that—"

"Shut up," Anakin interrupted, and all of a sudden those lips and those teeth and that infuriating, constantly-wagging tongue were upon Ferus; probing, pressing, and clicking about just as they had been in the dream— dreams— he'd tried so hard to will away. Could this merely have been one of those? Could it be that Ferus was still asleep, and that none of this was real? He'd have much preferred that, of course, but...

"Let's get this sheet off of you," Anakin said, after pulling away. He sat up high on his knees after that so he could remove the only thing between the two of them; the only thing stopping their bodies from pressing wantonly against one another. Once he'd shifted to discard the fluttering swath of white entirely to the floor, he crawled back down the bed a bit. After flashing Ferus an antagonizingly lovely grin, he enveloped the source of the older boy's frustration with his mouth.

"Anakin!" shouted Ferus, but he didn't move— didn't kick or recoil or roll away.

"What?" asked Anakin, through his mouthful of cock.

He didn't get an answer to that, so instead he went to work. He bobbed and licked, and swallowed at the tip as he forced his mouth down as far as he could make it go. He swirled his tongue around Ferus' head when he came up, and let his teeth clip his shaft as he went back down. He had been hard and wet since before Ferus had noticed his presence, and this only intensified his enthusiasm: He could feel himself thrumming and pulsing, and dripping eagerly onto the bed.

Ferus had never liked him; had always resented him. It was all pure jealousy, Anakin thought, of his power; his skill. Some of the other Padawans feared him, but Ferus had never seemed fearful— just willfully and unrelentingly indignant. Anakin wasn't much more fond of the older boy than the older boy was of him; however, even he had to acknowledge that both his appearance and lofty sense of utter superiority were strangely entrancing.

Besides that, he couldn't think of a better way to get under Ferus' skin than to force him to acknowledge that he wanted this.

Soon he became certain of the fact that Ferus was not too far from losing control of himself; from letting this end altogether too soon. He didn't want that, and besides, he hadn't had his own turn yet: He hadn't come here for the sole purpose of sucking on Ferus' dick. That would have been boring.

"Not yet," Anakin scolded, and he pulled his head back, exposing his rival to the room's cool air. That made Ferus shout again, and buck his hips. "You love this, don't you?" Anakin teased, pumping himself with his hand as he sat back up on his knees. He'd slicked his own cock generously after undressing, prior to Ferus' having woken to those unwanted thoughts of his. He was more than ready to take what he'd actually come for.

Ferus was starting to feel frightened, but not of Anakin— no, he was frightened of himself. Anakin was right; he did like this. He liked it very much, to the point where those lips pulling away from his cock had upset him perhaps more than his dreams had in the first place. He wanted to come, and he wanted Anakin to make him do it.

He hated himself for feeling that way, but it was what it was.

"What are you going to do, Anakin?" he asked, staring up at that body he'd already fantasized about more times than he cared to count.

"I'm going to fuck you, Ferus— would you like me to fuck you?"

At those words, Ferus felt himself pulse. In lieu of answering, he adjusted his body; pulled his knees up beside his ears. He felt like screaming, crying, and going off all at the same time. Everything about this was emblematic of the exact lack of restraint he loathed.

"Someone's eager, aren't they?" chuckled Anakin, venturing to tease Ferus' hole with one of his fingers, to which the older boy let out a desperate whimper. "You hate me for being right all the time— do you hate me for being right about this, too?" At that he gripped himself by the very base of his cock, and leaned in closely to prod at Ferus with his erection.

Now that they were nearly nose-to-nose, Ferus found it in himself to growl, "You're damn right I do."

That made Anakin laugh again, and finally begin to ease himself inside. He went slowly; he had no desire to actually hurt Ferus— he was, essentially, just here to make a point.

Once he was buried up to his sack, he took a deep and shuddering breath, because while he'd always called Ferus a tightass behind his back, he'd never known just how accurate the descriptor actually was. "You feel like heaven," he breathed, and then he started to buck his hips.

Ferus wanted to cry out; indeed, his instinct was to shout, but he didn't want to give Anakin that kind of satisfaction. Instead, he clenched his jaw and pursed his lips and stared upward as he felt himself be ravaged from the inside. It felt incredible; better than his own fingers, and better than anything he'd ever slipped into his pocket to play with in what should have been the privacy of his own room.

"Touch yourself," commanded Anakin. He knew Ferus wanted to.

"This is in direct violation of—"

"Shut up," Anakin demanded once again, this time with a particularly hard thrust. Ferus obeyed; stopped talking, and reached between the two of them to start to stroke himself just as he'd been doing beneath the sheets, before he'd registered Anakin's presence. How the hell had the boy hidden from him in the first place, anyway? He supposed that was a question for another time.

They went on like this for as long as they both could bear it; soon, Anakin felt his own climax coming on. He bit down on his lip, moaned through his teeth, and burst heartily; more heartily than he ever had when he'd been alone, in his own bed. He looked straight into Ferus' eyes as he did; saw them squeeze shut as he, too, reached his own shuddering peak.

"Anakin," Ferus growled, as he felt his own essence shoot all over the smooth, taut skin on his stomach.

"Ferus," Anakin cooed, revelling in the sound of his own name as he leaned in more closely to steal another kiss.

Their tongues danced as they each finished; finally, Anakin withdrew his cock, but he didn't quit probing Ferus' mouth. Simply put, it felt far too good to stop right away. Eventually, of course, he had to; he was very nearly out of breath. Ferus, for his part, had only just realized that he was holding his.

As they separated, Anakin sat back up on his knees, perhaps a bit unsteadily. He noticed Ferus scowling, and so he asked with a broad grin, "What's wrong? Don't you like it when your dreams come true?"

"Not this dream," Ferus barked, and he finally hoisted himself up from between Anakin's knees and into a seated position. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to shove Anakin away as he ought to have when this debacle had initiated itself; however, there wouldn't have been any point in doing that: He'd already had nearly every ounce of his control over himself wrenched away; he wasn't about to concede his anger, and give up the rest of it. Then he'd be no better than Anakin.

As it turned out, though, he didn't have to do anything— before he could think of what to say next, his intruder had jumped off of his bed and gone back to that darkened corner from which he'd first come into view. His clothes, apparently, had been sitting there in a pile; Ferus watched as he started to put them back on.

"What you just did was inexcusable," he said, with as much dignity as he could possibly muster.

"You mean what we just did," retorted Anakin, as he adjusted his robes and smoothed his pants.

Ferus clenched his fists, but didn't say another word as Anakin laughed at him one more time, turned, and sauntered casually out of the room; back to his own quarters, and to his own bed. He would certainly sleep well that night— not only did he feel more physically satisfied than he perhaps ever had, but Anakin also simply loved being proven right.

Ferus would rest soundly, too. In spite of his anger, and in spite of everything that had just happened (seemingly in the blink of an eye), he finally felt relieved; palliated— for tonight, at least, he knew he would be free of his dreams... those dreams.

Even so, as he listened to Anakin's footsteps disappear down the corridor, his disquieting words from the library echoed in Ferus’ mind: "What's the matter, Ferus? Like what you see?"

He feared he'd never again be able to convincingly deny that he did.

#ferus x anakin #Anakin Skywalker #ferus olin #fanfic #normally I wouldn't post fics here #star wars

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blossom-hwa · 4 years

Text

Bloom - HAN JISUNG

did i purposely edit this fic so it had exactly 11111 words? you bet

if you read moonstruck remember what i said about a series of nature spirit stories? well HERE’S PART TWO

(i will add links later because my posts don’t show up in the tags if there are links so anyway screw tumblr ig)

Pairing: Han Jisung x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, nature spirit!au

Triggers: mild violence

Word Count: 11k

The trickster fae are known for destruction, not growth, but one repenting fae helps a mortal bloom.

Spinoffs: Perfect | Tiny Steps (I’ll Hold Your Hand)

SKZ Masterlist | Whispers of Nature

They say danger lies within the forest that marks the southern border of the village. But at this moment, you can’t really bring yourself to care.

If there is danger, let it come. You’re far too tired to think of the consequences of your actions and even if they result in death, you would rather die at the hands of Mother Nature than those of your fellow villagers.

But you forgot about the infamous screech owl. Just the thing that killed several foolish children who ventured into the forest several years ago.

It swoops down without a sound.

You wonder how an animal so large can move so quietly.

Then you see its eyes screaming rage and murder and your body finally moves.

Curses stream from your lips as you throw yourself to the side, landing hard on the pretty green grass. There’ll be a stain on your tunic after this that’ll be a pain to wash off.

If you get out of here alive.

It swoops down again and you veer left, pushing yourself to your feet. Wind whistles and the owl screeches and you scream.

This is how it ends, I guess.

Then something shimmers into being and the owl stops sharply, an expression mimicking your fear rising into its eyes. You remain rooted in place, eyes fixed upon the being in front of you.

The boy looks around your age. He glows in the fading daylight, his bare feet floating above the forest floor. Blonde hair falls down to his neck, and when he turns around, you can see it brushes across the top of his forehead, nearly hanging into his eyes. Green tunic. Brown pants. His clothes are so simple and plain, but he wears them like a prince.

He smiles at you, a heart-shaped smile that leaves you wondering what kind of being he is.

He turns back around and you don’t know what he does, but with a last screech, the owl flies away. You rack your brain for any clues on what this beautiful boy could be, but he faces you again and your mind goes blank.

He’s really rather beautiful.

“Hello.” Even that one word sounds so warm and inviting. Sparkling eyes glimmer with mischief. “What does a beautiful lady like you in this dangerous forest?”

It takes a moment to get your voice back. “Nothing much,” you finally reply.

“Pretty humans don’t belong in forests like this, where danger may lurk in any corner.” He floats a little closer, his glow beginning to warm your skin. He drifts down until he’s standing (is he really standing? He looks a bit translucent) in front of you. If you leaned forward just a few inches, your lips would touch his. “Especially not those with eyes as beautiful as yours.”

Your breath hitches. He’s staring at you with an uncomfortable (yet somehow alluring) intensity that wipes half the thought from your mind. No one has ever stared you in the eye with anything more than malice, fear, or disgust.

And certainly no one has ever said your eyes are beautiful.

“I wanted to be alone,” you get out. “Solitude.”

His eyes sparkle. “Very dangerous,” he says, nodding gravely, but you can see understanding in the curl of his lips. “I don’t know if you’re brave or foolhardy to seek solitude in the forest, especially so close to dark.”

“Foolhardy, probably.” You shiver slightly as the cooling wind sweeps across your skin. “Thank you for your help with the…”

Oh.

Realization fills your mind. Only a few beings could frighten an owl with their mere presence, and only one happens to glow.

He is one of the fae.

“Are you from the faerie ring?”

He has to pick up on your sudden shift in mood. All mortals know that fae can be dangerous, even lethal, in their intentions and tricks. The first thing village children learn is if they ever happen to stray into the forest, they must avoid the faerie ring. The fae have kidnapped many children, and never do they bring them back.

You know the guarded look that must be upon your face – you wear it every time you walk into the village square. But despite your realization, nothing changes on the fae’s shimmering, translucent face – he keeps grinning that same heart-shaped grin. He dips into a deep bow. “At your service, my lady.”

“Oh,” you murmur, stepping back. It’s less of a murmur than an exhale of surprise, really. No one has ever shown you such respect before – even if it is teasing, as this bow seems to be. But when the fae rises, you sense no malice. Only gentle mischief.

Silence stretches between you two until you clear your throat. “Well, Lord fae, thank you for your help with the owl.”

“It was my pleasure.” If possible, his smile grows wider.

“If there was possibly something I could do in return…” you trail off, lost in thought.

“Actually, there is.” His face holds an expression of pure innocence, but glinting eyes tell you too late that you may have made a grave mistake. The fae holds out one hand. “May I have your name?”

You almost say it. After all, when someone asks for your name, it is only polite to give it.

But typically, those who ask for names are not fae, trickster beings of high power. For them, giving a name means giving control. And when names fall upon the wrong tongue…

You don’t want to know what will happen next.

Mouth clamped shut, you think quickly, staring at the outstretched hand. Finally, you speak, words slow and careful.

“Lord fae, I’m afraid I cannot give you my name for it belongs to me and only me,” you reply politely. “But if it so pleases you, you may call me Nae Ireum.”

It’s the oldest trick in the book, telling a fae to call them by “my own self.” You know he would never fall for it and the laughter bursting from his lips tells you that you were right. As he laughs, you school your expression into one of slight amusement, but you know you cannot quite hide your fear.

What if he does not take your refusal lightly?

“Very good,” the fae chokes out, laughter gone. “You are a smart one, my lady.” He drops his hand to his side and smiles widely. “You have been taught well.”

“I taught myself,” you reply in a moment of brazen confidence.

“Then you must be a wonderful scholar.” He winks. “If you will not give me my first request, then at least allow me to escort you to the village.”

What?

You blink. “Why?”

“It would only be proper for a lord to escort his lady safely home,” he teases.

Maybe you smile shyly, but no one but this fae is here to confirm it, so you ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m not your lady,” you mutter.

“Of course, my lady.” His tone turns cheeky and you realize winning against this fae will not be possible. So instead of releasing the retort upon your lips, you only sigh. He grins in victory. “Let’s go!”

He stays with you for the entire hour-long walk back to the village, keeping you occupied with flirty words and teasing grins that make you feel as though you are simply speaking to a handsome boy, rather than a millennia-old fae of the forest. For the first time in years, you feel light of heart. His gaze rarely strays from yours but he does not make you feel uncomfortable, not even with your strange green eyes. No, he speaks to you like a human being, like someone who has a life and a story and a soul.

The sky is nearly dark by the time you reach the edge of the forest. “Thank you, Lord fae,” you whisper, feeling suddenly shy. His glow and his gaze make you feel warmer in the sunset.

His heart-shaped grin grows gentler. “It was my pleasure. If I could, I would kiss your hand.” He winks. “Alas, this form will not allow me to do so. Be safe, my lady. And keep the tears out of your eyes – it will only make them more beautiful.”

With those last parting words, he disappears into a soft flash of light, and you are left to wonder if the last few hours were only a figment of your imagination.

. . . . .

Jisung dozes slightly one day in the warm light of the fae realm. The queen seems to be in a good mood, for the weather is pretty and picturesque, and even the pixies have ventured out of hiding to dance among the waving blades of grass.

In the past, Jisung may have toyed with them, played little pranks and sent them fleeing back into their gardens. He would have laughed at their hatred towards his kind and taken pleasure in heightening that hate. But today, he only keeps his eyes closed and lets the pixies flit around him. So long as they cause no harm, he won’t either.

Then a small disturbance triggers in the back of his mind and he sits up, a half-frown, half-smile upon his face. Someone is near his faerie ring.

Maybe it’s the person he hopes it will be.

Green eyes flash through his mind. Not the forest green of the dryads (who didn’t wake up the entire time you and Jisung were causing a ruckus, which is really a testament to how soundly they sleep), but paler, realer, more intense. Still, though, Jisung finds one thing in common between your eyes and theirs: your quiet strength. The strength of the earth.

Jisung wouldn’t mind seeing you again.

He summons himself to the ring, where a pleasant surprise greets him. At the sight of your shocked face, he grins. “Back so soon, my lady?”

Your bright green eyes look slightly dazed, which is to be expected – the ring has power, and it likes to pull unsuspecting mortals towards it. Thankfully, you have enough presence of mind to resist, though Jisung feels a little put out by your backing away.

“Yes,” you answer shortly. You shake your head slightly as though shaking off the pull of the ring, and when you look up again, your eyes are clearer.

“For solitude again, or for something else?” His smile grows wider as he comes to a realization. “Perhaps you just couldn’t wait to see me again? After all, you took the trouble to find my ring.”

He prays he doesn’t sound too hopeful.

You snort. “As if,” you sniff, though your eyes betray your amusement. “I came out of curiosity. To see if I could find the forbidden faerie ring.” Your legs wobble slightly, as though you’re tired. You very well might be – Jisung knows you must be a long way from your village. He lies down flat on his back, hoping you get the message. When you sit cross-legged next to the ring, he knows you have.

“You dare sit in the presence of your Lord fae?” Though his voice sounds affronted, your nonplussed look tells him you see the lightness in his eyes.

“I believe you are trapped within your ring, Lord fae,” you deadpan. “If the legends are true, it weakens your magic.”

“Perhaps.” The wind blows, and Jisung relishes the feeling of fresh air against his brow. “But I could still curse you and your family from within this ring.”

“If you wanted to curse me, you would have just let the owl have its way,” you point out.

Jisung laughs, truly laughs. It’s been a long time since he’s spoken to someone new, and he is very glad that you are the someone new. “Astute observation, my lady.” With a sigh, he pulls himself up and winks at you. “A lady with a mind as sharp as her eyes are beautiful.”

The same sparkle rises in your shy eyes and Jisung delights in the sight. Truthfully, you are not the most beautiful woman he has seen. Over his millennia in the fae realm and the mortal plane, he has seen many fae and humans who are more conventionally gorgeous than you. But your eyes are alluring, your smile is sweet, and even with your quick tongue, you exude a sort of elegance and tired kindness that Jisung hopes will never fade.

“You’re not translucent anymore,” you note. Jisung knows you’re trying to change the subject and kind of wants to keep teasing you, but he’s in a good mood today so he lets you keep going. “Does that mean you’re fully bound to the ring?”

You really do know your legends. Jisung is impressed. “You are correct, my lady.” His smile only wavers very slightly. “When I accompanied you back last time, I sent a fragment of my soul. It was not my physical being.”

He then waits for the inevitable next question – “Why are you bound to the ring?”

It was the first thing Changbin asked when the faerie ring appeared. It was what all the dryads asked when they sensed the presence of their new neighbor. In fact, the only ones who hadn’t asked Jisung what happened were Hyunjin the water nymph and Chan the guardian, and that was because they were the reason why Jisung had ended up bound to the ring in the first place.

But the question that comes from your mouth is not the one he expects. “How does that happen? How do you separate your soul into different parts?” Your eyes are wide with curiosity, but not for him. For fae in general. Somehow, that comforts Jisung much more than attention on him would.

So he struggles to explain the process, fumbling over his words in a way that no Lord fae should, but you only nod and listen and smile and frown with singular concentration. You listen to his words closely, asking more and more questions until Jisung can’t answer them anymore and is forced to admit his lack of knowledge on the topic.

“So the Lord fae is not all-knowing, I see,” you tease. The sun has just begun to set and you are standing up, brushing bits of grass and leaves from your clothing. The blue tunic may look faded, but against the backdrop of the forest, you look like you could be a gentle nymph. One who helps, not harms.

“Did I ever claim that I was?” Jisung shoots back. He won’t lie – he can’t lie, in fact – his pride is a little bruised. However, his pride is not worth as much to him as it used to be. He can’t help the laugh that escapes from his lips again – he likes you too much. “Will you need an escort home?”

“You would escort me anyway even if I said no.” But despite your resigned tone, you look at him with a smile on your face.

“You are not wrong in that statement.” He grins. “Shall we go, my lady?”

(The next time you see him, you ask for his name. “If it so pleases you,” he grins, repeating your words, “you may call me Han.”)

. . . . .

Several months pass and you are very proud to say you haven’t shown Han your crying face once since the first meeting. But comfort and solitude were what drove you to the fae in the first place, and it is hard to pull up such deep roots.

You arrive at the ring with your tears mostly gone, but eyes still puffy and rimmed with red. You don’t call for him this time – in fact, you’re half-hoping he doesn’t come, so you don’t have to reveal this weak side that disgusts and saddens you.

You wish you were born stronger. Strong enough to fight the villagers’ sharp words and disgusted looks, strong enough to at least run away. But you can barely feed and clothe and shelter yourself as it is, so there is little to no chance of either event happening.

“There’s my lady.” Han’s teasing voice sounds beside you and on reflex, you look around slightly. Quickly, though, you drop your head, staring straight at the grass in front of you.

“What’s this?” You hear the rustle of grass, indicating that he, too has sat down. “My lady won’t respond to me?” The mischief in his voice turns to concern. “What’s wrong, my lady? Why are there tears in your pretty eyes?”

Because my eyes are a blight upon my being.

Because they bring the hatred of the village upon me.

Because no matter what you say, I can’t think of them as truly beautiful.

Because you may be lying to me.

“Han.” Your voice is small but steady and you take comfort in that. Still, you do not look at him. “Do you truly believe my eyes are beautiful? Or are you only playing another fae trick upon a poor mortal like me?”

Silence.

“My lady.” His voice is serious, yet you can sense the small smile in his tone. “With all your knowledge of the legends of my kind, will you tell me that you don’t know that we cannot lie?”

Embarrassment crawls up your skin. You do know the legend, but truth is multifaceted. There are many loopholes that the fae dearly love to exploit. “I do know, Lord fae,” you say, “but when you say my eyes are beautiful, it does not mean that you find them beautiful. It only means that at least one being between our planes finds them beautiful. It does not mean that person is you.” You snort. “And it certainly is not a member of my village.”

A sigh escapes from the lips of the fae next to you. “You never cease to amaze me,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Your words are true. Yet I will promise you that I have only thought of myself when I tell you that your green eyes are some of the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

The tears start welling up again and you can’t bring yourself to look at the fae. Your mind knows his words must be true, for fae cannot break promises and they cannot tell lies, but your heart cannot believe it.

“Do you know what your eyes remind me of?” he asks.

You still don’t look up.

His tone turns a little pleading. “My lady, please look at me.”

You finally do, red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks and all.

“They remind me of freedom.” A small, different smile plays upon his lips. It isn’t sad, exactly – more nostalgic. Wistful.

“Freedom,” you echo.

“I was not always bound to this faerie ring, you know?” His tone is a little teasing, a little self-deprecating, a little angry, but also a little repentant. “When I was free, I used to travel the earth. It was green, green as far as the eye could see. It was beautiful.” He smiles at you. “Your eyes are the same green as my Mother Earth.”

You’ve never seen him this way – pensive, wistful, a far cry from the teasing sarcasm and snark you are used to. Your fingers itch to touch him, to comfort him, but sense still overrules your heart. To place a limb inside the ring could possibly be suicide. You will not risk that.

(Yet.)

The rest of your time together passes in silence. He doesn’t ask for an explanation of your state and you don’t offer him one, only taking comfort in the whispering quiet of the forest around you and Han’s warm presence beside you. As the sun begins to set, he asks if you would like an escort home. The smile on your face is more genuine as you stand up and nod.

The walk is also silent, though not uncomfortable or strange. But as you reach the edge of the forest, as he’s just about to disappear, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Han flashes you his heart-shaped grin – a little gentler, a little less teasing than usual. “Of course, my lady.”

. . . . .

One month. A full month passes before Jisung senses your presence near the faerie ring again. He reappears with a half-upset, half-overjoyed smile on his face, ready to teasingly berate you for not coming sooner and interrogate you on the reasons why. But the teasing words die upon his lips when he sees your state.

Because for all the sadness and strange words of your last meeting, he never expected that this was the reason behind your silence.

He’s never seen these bruises and cuts upon your skin before. A couple of faded scrapes are normal for anyone, and a few small bruises from when you fell, trying to get away from the owl. But this time, blotches of purple and green litter your arms while a small but fresh, healing cut slices your shoulder. A black bruise mars your right eye.

Jisung’s fingers itch to take your hand, to pull you close, to examine each and every cut and bruise upon your skin and exact revenge from those who caused them. For once, he wants to leave the ring for a reason other than to satisfy his selfish desire for freedom.

But he cannot. The invisible walls of the perfectly-shaped ring prevent him from touching you the way he wants.

“Who did this to you?” he murmurs instead, trying to hold back growing anger. “And why?”

You smile a little as you sit, though it’s cynical and sad and nothing like the genuine happiness you have shown him before. “Someone heard me speaking to you the last time you walked me back.”

“And?” Jisung pulls bits of grass from the ground out of frustration. “What of it?”

“They think I’m a witch.” Your clear, green eyes stare into Jisung’s, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

Why you wanted solitude.

Why you cried last time.

Why you asked him those strange questions about what he thought about your eyes.

He sits in silence as you explain. They think the devil took your soul when you were young, you tell him, and he cursed you with those horrible green eyes. The eyes are too different, too strange for the villagers to accept in their rural beliefs. They think of you as an abomination. The only reason they have not killed you yet is because they are afraid that watering the earth with devil blood will only make the Mother angry.

“Your parents?” he asks when you fall silent.

You laugh, but the sound holds no mirth. “They wish I were dead.”

Jisung stays quiet as he tries to wrap his mind around that. The closest thing to a mother he’s ever had is the Faerie Queen, and though she deals harsh punishments at times (he is exhibit number one), she has never wished death upon her subjects. She is mischievous, capricious, and a lying trickster, but to her subjects she is just and fair. She would give up her life for them.

Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “The other villagers pity them,” you continue, “so they get attention and pity and sorrow. I get nothing.” You pause. “Except you.”

He doesn’t know why that hits him so hard. You only spoke two short words. But those words give him such an indescribable warmth in his chest that he can barely control his intense desire to hold your face between his hands with the gentlest touch of the wind.

“So I couldn’t visit for a month,” you continue, oblivious to Jisung’s predicament. “They suspected I was going out to do witchy things, so I had to stay in the village so suspicions would fade away. I go out on my own a lot, anyway. They usually leave me alone unless something bad happens.”

“Why?” Jisung asks, recovering himself.

The cynical smirk on your face makes Jisung feel like his heart is breaking in half. “Because they blame it on me.”

To be fairly honest, Jisung doesn’t exactly know what to say to that. Sure, he’s been blamed for some small things he didn’t commit, but the faerie queen has her Sight and he’s always been acquitted. All his punishments have been justified, something he’s reflected on over the thousands of years he’s remained bound to this ring.

He can’t understand the injustice of your situation. Humans think fae are the tricksters and the manipulators, but how much better are they, with their aversion to strangeness and any sort of difference?

“Humans,” he huffs quietly, angrily pulling out another blade of grass. He does it with such force that he can hear the grass scream in pain. His eyes widen as he sees all the little piles of grass he’s pulled up around him and immediately he soothes a hand over them, attaching them back to their severed roots.

“I’m a human,” you point out with little venom. In fact, you’re staring at his hands with a hint of wonder and awe upon your face, nothing even close to annoyance or outrage. “But you’re not wrong.”

Jisung doesn’t know what to say in response.

“I don’t know, though.” You look up at him again and your eyes are impossibly clear. Minutes ago they were cloudy and upset and confused, but now they hold only clarity of thought. “What if I didn’t have green eyes?”

There’s another unspoken question that Jisung can hear as clear as day.

Would I have grown up exactly like them?

Jisung can’t deny that you probably would have. That had it not been for all of the misfortune caused by your strange green eyes, you would have been a happy, but clueless and far less accepting villager than you are today.

In all likelihood, you probably never would have met him.

“Your eyes have more benefits than simply making you beautiful,” is all he replies. He thinks for a moment. “I haven’t experienced all your sorrow so perhaps you will think the opposite, but I think your green eyes have given you more fortune than misfortune in creating your character.”

You don’t smile. You only nod. But the deep gray clouds that envelop your head clear, bit by bit, until the last tear has dried on your face and your lips rest in a neutral line, instead of turned down at the tips.

If Jisung weren’t bound to the ring, he would hold your scarred hand tight, as tight as he could without hurting you, to give you some sort of comfort to anchor you to your Mother Earth. But since he can’t, he contents himself with the fact that he can see the shining glimmer he yearns to see returning to your beautiful eyes.

. . . . .

Some villages call it May Day. Others call it Earrach. A traveler once told you, far away in Gaul, they call it le Jour de Printemps.

Your village just calls it the spring festival. Simple, formal, traditional, just like your village’s relationship with your Mother Nature. She gives you the fertile earth with which to grow the crops you celebrate in fall, during harvest season.

Well, not you. Them. You haven’t gone to a spring or harvest festival in years.

The air around your little shack is even more silent than usual, with all the villagers gone to the square to celebrate the new planting season. Girls in their white and pink dresses, boys in their buttoned shirts and nicest pants. Every family, no matter how poor, owns a set of clothing to wear for the spring and harvest festivals. If they are too poor to make one themselves, a neighbor will pass over a hand-me-down, or even sew a new one.

You weren’t an exception, at first. If you looked carefully, you could probably find an old white rag or two that used to be a spring festival dress. But as you grew older, fewer villagers wanted to take notice of you, so you have no traditional spring gown to wear for today.

There is one set of nice clothes you sewed for yourself a few years back, however. It isn’t pure white for spring, nor pastel pink for fall. It’s pale blue. But the village weaver charged a price sky-high for the nice cloth he makes specially for the festivals (even though he sold it to the next mother for half the price he gave you), so you ended up with this instead.

Not that you can really complain. The fabric is soft and clean, if a bit dusty – a result of not having worn it in over a year – but you’ve taken care of it. For what reason, you never really knew.

Maybe Mother Nature was quietly preparing you for today. Nudging you to make a dress and preserve it so that you could look presentable on the first spring festival day in years that you are no longer alone.

Still, though, you’re not quite sure why you slip on the flowy blue dress that feels so comfortable against your skin. You don’t understand why you don’t put on another one of your rougher tunics, slip on the trousers that have grown a little loose against your thinning waist. You’re not sure why you find yourself running the wooden comb through your hair not just until it’s untangled but until it’s smooth, and you’re not sure why you braid some of it back from your face in a style you have seen some of the merchant girls wear.

Black slippers, still worn but not as tattered as your everyday boots, go on your feet to finish the look. The dress doesn’t fit very well – you’ve only gotten skinnier since you made it – and the shoes are a little too tight, but no matter. You have no mirror so you couldn’t try to primp even if you wanted to, so you take a deep breath and head into the woods, ignoring the faint music and cries of laughter in the distance. And when you walk into the clearing where the faerie ring lies, you don’t have to wait a second before he appears.

He calls you “my lady,” again, with that same flirty grin he wore the first day you met. You don’t know why those two words mean so much to you. At first, they meant nothing, really – they only served to make you smile a little bit because, well, that was Han. Han the fae. That was what he was – flirty, grinning, a distraction. A glowing light in the middle of a village of gray.

For the last few times you visited, he didn’t call you by your nickname. Maybe it was just the look on your face because you know you didn’t feel the best on those last few trips. In fact, most of them were spent in comfortable silence or murmured conversations. You haven’t heard your nickname in a while.

Now, those words feel like they mean so much more than they used to. His tone is still flirty, his lips still smiling his heart-shaped smile, but he looks warmer. Feels warmer.

And though you should never feel this way around a fae and their ring, you feel safe.

“Why the fancy dress, my lady?” Han asks, jolting you out of your thoughts. His grin has only grown wider – is it trembling? No, it can’t be, there’s no reason for him to do so – and he’s looking at you with eyes that have never sparkled this brightly before.

You open your mouth to respond before realizing you don’t have an answer. Why did you dress up, really? What was the point?

You opt for a simple response that doesn’t really answer the question. “It’s the spring festival.” You sit down on the grass, careful not to wrinkle your dress. “I wanted to dress up a little for once.”

Even as you say it, though, you know that’s not the full reason.

“You don’t usually dress up, then?” he asks, sitting down as well.

How do you answer that question without giving the truth away through your expression?

The answer: you don’t. In fact, you haven’t even spoken a word before Jisung’s grin turns into one of mischief. “So you dressed up for me!” he sings.

“What – no –” you splutter, desperately trying to keep up a façade of calm as your cheeks heat up. You deny it, even as his eyes crinkle into slits of joy and mischief, as he laughs and teases your attempts at hiding your embarrassment. But in the end, you have to give up. He will drag this on forever if you don’t.

And the more you think about it, he was part of the reason you wanted to look nice. For once in your life, you wanted to look beautiful for someone whom you cared about. For someone who might care about you.

For someone whom you want to care for you.

“In all seriousness, my lady,” Han says when the two of you have calmed, “you look enchanting. Even more so than usual.”

The gentle, heart-shaped smile he imparts to you makes your heart jump, and you feel warmer inside than you have in years.

. . . . .

A lull in the conversation occurs just after noon, when the village is so loud and joyful that you and Jisung can hear music and laughter from all the way up on your forested hill. Jisung takes the silence as an opportunity to gauge your true feelings today.

He knows you must feel at least some happiness. Your laugh and smile and snark and sarcasm have all been quite natural. However, as your eyes wander over to where the music is coming from, he notices a soft, sad, wistfulness that overtakes your expression, leaving a shadow of your previous joy in its wake.

Jisung knows enough about human customs that on festivals like this, they dance. Girls dress up in flowy frocks while boys put on their starched shirts and they whirl about, smiles and laughter abounding.

Your dress is a dance frock. Your slippers are dancing shoes. With a pang, he realizes you shouldn’t be here. You should be with friends, kicking up grass as a handsome boy or two or three spin you around in celebration.

“You know, if you want to dance, you could dance with me,” he says softly. Truly, today, he means no deceit. He hasn’t in a long while, in centuries, really, but today he wants you to know it and be sure of it. He wants you to know that he means no harm to you.

That he will never mean any harm to you.

Your eyes snap to him, gaze guarded and unreadable. He swallows but continues. “Come into the ring,” he proposes. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“You know as well as I do that a fae does not make a promise without expecting something in return.”

Jisung can tell you don’t mean to hurt him with this statement. After all, his brethren are not known to be the kindest of Mother Earth’s creatures. He himself used to be less than friendly. So he doesn’t take offense at your words and only notes the longing gaze you give the ring that speaks far more than your cool words.

Your words are true. A promise for a promise – that has always been the way of the fae. But Jisung doesn’t know what he could ask from you in return.

But he does. It’s always been at the back of his mind, he thinks, but he hasn’t allowed himself to dwell on that until now. There is something he wants – one thing, something beyond even his own freedom. Because he feels like if he has this thing you could give him, he would feel free even in the confines of his ring.

Promise me your love.

But he doesn’t say it. Many of his fellow fae delight in ruining love, in causing mischief and strife between couples, in raining heartbreak upon those foolish enough to fall. But his punishment has taught him the consequences of meddling with affairs of the heart. Centuries of being bound to the faerie ring have given him enough time to think and ponder and discuss such subjects with Chan, the wise forest guardian, Changbin, the quiet moon child, and even Hyunjin, the water nymph who used to loathe him.

Jisung will not interfere with love. If his experience with Hyunjin has taught him anything, it is that true love is just that – true. It cannot be coerced or threatened in or out of existence.

He is sure he feels true love for you. But a heart must be given, not taken, so he does not ask for yours.

“Then promise me your happiness,” he finally bargains. “Promise me that for the rest of today, you will laugh, that you will smile, and that it will all be real.”

“You request something easier said than done,” is your quiet reply. “Why not ask for something tangible? Something stronger, more powerful?”

“Are you saying there is something more powerful to me than a simple smile upon your face, my lady?” His lips curl slightly. “If you are asking me to be more selfish, believe me, this is my most selfish desire – to always see happiness upon your face. For your happiness brings me mine.”

Sunlight dazzles on your blue-clad figure, sparkling on your shining hair and face. As Jisung waits for your response, he can’t help but think that the broad daylight only heightens your earthly beauty.

You are no willowy, graceful moon child, it’s true. But you are a true child of the earth. Rooted, solid, steady, nurturing, loving.

And Jisung could think of nothing more perfect.

It’s a very slow smile that spreads across your lips, but as it does, Jisung thinks that perhaps it is the most beautiful smile of all.

“Then, Lord fae,” you begin quietly, “make your promise, and I will make mine.”

“I promise that I will allow no harm to come to you here from the moment you enter this ring,” he whispers, his breath nearly catching in his throat.

“And I promise to smile with only true happiness for the rest of this spring day.” Your green eyes shine.

Jisung holds out a hand, feeling his fingertips touch the invisible barrier that keeps him trapped within the faerie ring. Then he feels a different sensation, one he hasn’t felt in centuries – warm skin against his own.

The same slow smile remains upon your lips as you look up at him, fingers loosely grasping his own. And with the simple grace of a fluttering leaf, you step into the ring.

. . . . .

The year’s summer is not a kind one. Warm, humid heat rests heavy upon the village, and bugs fly everywhere. You live rather out of the way, so when you’re at home, you don’t get the full force of the bugs and illness, but when you go to the marketplace, you see the effects on the rest of the village.

Red bites littering tanned skin. Clammy sweat dripping into dazed eyes. The absence of a single cool breeze makes the heat almost unbearable as you quietly make your rounds.

Many shopkeepers are absent that day.

You expect what’s coming next. They will bar you from the marketplace in the hopes that keeping away the witch will keep away the sweltering symptoms of a sweaty summer and the dreaded summer sickness.

So the day comes when you are forced to turn away from the market – not that the handful of coins in your pocket would have bought much anyway – and head back home. Only this time, you don’t have to go as hungry as previous years. In the shady forest, you tell Jisung of your predicament, and though he looks a bit like he wants to make the villagers suffer, he only shows you a few places where you can gather wild, edible plants, so long as you thank the Mother Earth for them and leave enough to grow.

“They really think you are a witch?” Jisung asks quietly one hot afternoon, when even the shade of the forest isn’t enough to keep away the overwhelming heat of the day. You’re back at the faerie ring, a basket of fruit next to your figure lying prone on the ground. Sweat drips down your face and onto the grass, but when you look over, Jisung doesn’t even look warm. He looks the same as usual.

Once upon a time you might have been unnerved by how otherworldly he is. Upon first glance, he is perfect, almost unimaginably so. You remember the first day you saw him in the forest. If you’d been in your right mind, you might have bowed to him as a god.

Yet after so many conversations and walks and lazy afternoons, to you, he is human. He stutters. His mouth can’t keep up with his mind sometimes. He has flaws. And he looks like a human boy, a boy with whom you could easily fall in love. Deep brown eyes that always hold a twinkle of mischief. Heart-shaped lips that look so kissable. Round cheeks that you could squish all day.

There is no use in fighting it, really. You are in love with your Lord fae, and you can do nothing about it. Every day you see him feels like another step into his dizzying embrace, another step into his full heart.

You think you’ve been falling for him this whole time, really. Perhaps on that first day, when he showed up and saved you from the screech owl and labelled your eyes as “beautiful,” it was not yet love. Maybe a simple crush. But on the afternoon you came to the ring with puffy eyes and tearstained cheeks and he only teased and comforted you, you think your crush started turning into love.

He makes you feel safe. If he didn’t, why else would you keep coming to the ring? Why else would you have stepped into the ring, and danced with him with no music until sunset?

But he’s still a fae. Despite your love for him and everything he’s done for you, everything he’s promised you, you can’t help but still second-guess his true intentions. Fae are not known for their kindness – only their ability to exploit lies and their inability to break promises.

He’s never made a promise to you that he hasn’t kept, one half of your brain reminds you.

He’s only made a few promises to you, though, the other side reasons.

You nod to Han’s question, too hot and tired to do anything more.

“Do you want to know what a real witch is like?”

When you look up, his eyes are smiling with his lips, telling you that the grin is genuine. The knowledge of this only makes your lips curl until you’re smiling too, and the heat of the day falls away as you sit up to listen carefully.

Han tells you the lore behind witches, a race that rarely comes into the open. They do not fly on brooms or stir bubbling iron cauldrons filled with poisoned liquids, he says, but they do make potions and they do perform spells (in cauldrons of other metals, for iron burns magic). Just like humans, there are good witches and evil witches. The good ones often remain in hiding, posing as doctors and apothecarists, while the evil ones wreak their havoc. That, he tells you, is why humans have such twisted feelings about them.

“You are not a witch, my lady,” he concludes, looking over at you. The setting sun has tinted the sky pink and the light makes a pretty flush against Han’s skin. Your heart speeds up when you see the softness in his face. “Witches are born of at least one witch parent, and your parents are villagers. I sense no magic from you. So if they call you a witch again, know that they are the ignorant ones, not you.”

“You always know what to say to me, Han,” you murmur, ignoring the thumping in your chest. “Thank you.” The words rise to your lips before you can stop them. “I always feel safe with you.”

His hand lifts slightly as though to touch your face, but you are not inside the ring today – you haven’t entered since the day you danced with him. So his fingers lower, and even though you think it best for the two of you, you still ache for the feeling of his warm skin on yours. “Do you remember the promise I made you last spring festival?” he asks.

“You promised you wouldn’t hurt me when I entered your ring,” you reply, curious as to why he’s bringing that up now.

“Perhaps, but you do not remember my wording.” He smiles. “I promised you that I would allow no harm to come to you here from the moment you stepped into the ring.”

It takes your mind a few seconds to work through that. Then everything clicks. “You –”

“You will always be safe in the ring,” Han interrupts, his eyes shining with softness. “Always.”

You feel a tear bubble in your eye but you blink it away, hoping he doesn’t notice. “Thank you,” you whisper.

He smiles again. “Of course, my lady.”

. . . . .

As the days pass, as the heat gets worse, you finally tell him of the summer sickness. The sweats, the chills, the fevers that overtake the villagers in this hot, humid weather.

You don’t have the fever. Many times you have reassured Jisung that the sickness never touches you – you live too far away from the village to catch it from someone else. Anyway, they always kick you out of the marketplace at the beginning of summer, so you don’t have any chance to get it. Bugs don’t really touch your little hill either.

But the sickness still takes a toll on you. Perhaps you don’t grow ill, but Jisung can see the sick fear growing in your eyes, in your shortened visits to the forest. A new splotchy bruise appears on your leg and you tell him you tripped over a rock.

That’s a lie.

After he doesn’t see you for fourteen days straight, he sits you down when you finally return, voice trembling, and demands an explanation. He cares about you so much, he realizes, his heart can barely stand it. When you didn’t come day after day after day –

“My lady, I thought you were gone forever,” he chokes out, trying to keep the wobble out of his voice.

Your eyes immediately fill with guilt and sorrow and you bite your lip harshly, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, words wavering.

“Just…” Jisung swallows. “Just tell me why. Did I do something? Or was it the village again?”

So you tell him. The summer sickness is worse this year, worse than any other year you’ve been alive. Four children have already died, as have two adults and one of the village elders. And the villagers need someone to blame it on.

Jisung wants to personally set fire to the entire village when he hears that. He can’t imagine how anyone could have the heart to look you in your strange, sharp, green eyes and say that you are the cause for an entire village’s troubles. That your lovely green eyes are the mark of a devil.

How narrow-minded could a person be to not see the beauty that lies in your character?

But he used to be the same way, he realizes with a jolt. Humans, to him, used to be mere playthings with no emotions, no lives, no meaning. They existed for his entertainment and that was all. Perhaps he did not see them as the cause for every single one of his troubles, but isn’t the thought the same? He didn’t see humans as real, living beings, just as the villagers don’t see you as one either.

He is glad he has changed. He hates the Jisung he used to be, but at least he has grown from that terrible prankster fae. He truly is glad he has changed.

He is glad he met you after he changed.

“So I couldn’t come over for a while,” you say, breaking into his thoughts. “I… I didn’t want them to have more reasons for thinking I’m a witch. It’s bad enough that I’ve never come down with the sickness. If I had, maybe they wouldn’t think I was the reason.”

Jisung wants to take your hand. He misses the feeling of your fingers intertwining with his. It made him feel safe. Cared for. Loved.

He settles for letting his fingertips touch the edge of the ring, pressing against the invisible barrier that keeps him from leaving. And after a few seconds, you place your hand down to touch your fingertips against his.

It is enough for now.

“Remember, my lady,” he whispers, refusing to look away from your eyes that always drag him in. “You’ll always be safe in the ring. No matter what.”

Even though you duck your head to nod and Jisung can’t see your green eyes, he knows that there are tears in them. He can see it in your slightly-trembling shoulders, in your fingers that shake against the steady earth.

And his heart aches for your troubles, hoping they will end soon.

. . . . .

The worst is always yet to come and you realize this as you’re sprinting, barefoot, over the forest floor. Your time in the village was never going to last. Sometime or another, a fuse was going to light the bomb created by your existence.

The fuse comes in the form of the fifth child’s death from summer sickness.

They came to your shack with old pitchforks and kitchen knives and rusted swords. You heard the shouts, saw the torches, and there were only two words echoing through your mind.

Run away.

You might’ve gotten away without them seeing if you hadn’t made so much noise wrestling through the bushes. On a normal day, the noise doesn’t matter because no one comes around here and you can trample over whatever you want. But it is night, the villagers are screaming bloody murder, and you don’t have time to worry about stealth.

When they reach the edge of the forest, their torches simply burn the bushes to the ground. Your head start is dwindling fast and you waste more of it as you stand at the edge of the forest, all of the warnings you’ve been given about the forest racing through your head. It may be safer during the day, you think, but what horrors lie in the dark of night?

Then Han’s words, soft and clear and kind, push them all away.

“You will always be safe in the ring.”

His smile.

“Always.”

You steel yourself and dart into the trees.

Pure instinct fuels your body. You can’t see anything except for the faint glow of fire behind you and the farther away that is, the better. Trees materialize out of nowhere and their branches catch in your flying hair. Rough stones slice your feet. A small animal races past your feet and you have to stifle a scream. More than once a sinister presence lingers in the shadows as you fly past, but you cannot take the time to give into your terror.

Torchlight burns. Voices shout. The forest fills with fear – the villagers’ fear of you, your fear of them, nature’s fear of you all. You stumble over hidden rocks and bumps and bushes and all the time you’re wondering where is the ring? Why am I not there yet? Is this the right way?

But then you see the sparkle of the pond nearby, a pond you have seen so many times on walks with your fae (in his transparent form, of course). He’s told you many stories of the water nymph there. But today you don’t care about Hwang Hyunjin. His pond only serves as a marker. As something to show you your path.

The race uphill is nearly torture. Without your shoes – even the tattered ones – the hill feels so much rougher and stonier than it normally does. Even the bed of grass can’t fully disguise the sharp bumps that dig into your feet.

He isn’t in the ring. You didn’t expect him to be, not now, but for a moment, your mind flails wildly.

What if your fae doesn’t come?

A glance behind tells you the villagers are still chasing. A few are climbing up the hill. You have no choice.

“HAN!”

You jump into the ring.

For a moment, the ring is empty save for only you. The first villagers trample nearer but their steps grow slower and their howls of rage and fear turn to frightened shouts and whispers as they realize where they are. You lie in a heap on the ground, all heaving gasps and shaking limbs and trembling lips.

Then warm arms embrace you, pulling you close to a chest with a steady heartbeat that calms your erratic mind and breath. Han’s thumbs stroke smoothly, sweetly, on your skin, and the pent-up tears begin to escape your cursed eyes.

“You are safe,” he whispers in your ear. “In my ring, you will always be safe.”

Some foolish shout rings through the night and a pitchfork sails through the air. You instinctively start to cry out no, Han, watch out! –

With a single flick of a finger, the pitchfork falls to the ground outside the faerie ring, harmless. Silence again takes over the clearing.

“What is the meaning of this?” he hisses.

His words are ice cold. You have never heard this tone before.

“L-Lord fae, she has infected our village with the summer sickness,” a trembling voice says. “Surely you see –”

“Your children are infected with the festering hatred you have for all things strange,” he spits. “Her eyes have no weight on her character. She is no witch. She bears no blame for your village’s summer sickness.”

Silence, except for your ragged breaths.

“Do not touch her.” His hand strokes your hair gently, coaxing out the last silent tears, a contrast to the blades of his tone. “A lord will always protect his lady, no?”

. . . . .

You make no effort to leave the ring that night but even if you did, Jisung wouldn’t have let you go. Not after the fear he saw in the villagers’ eyes.

Fear is often more dangerous than anger, after all.

He does not sleep the entire night, only holds you close, even when your shaking sobs stop and you slump, asleep, against his chest, tears still rolling down your face. His heart breaks a little more every time he looks down at you.

If this is how I feel, Jisung wonders, how did Hyunjin survive? When his love was snatched away from him, never to walk the earth again?

A new wave of shame and respect for the water nymph washes over him every time such a thought comes to mind. For if Jisung feels so strongly about you being merely hurt, he cannot imagine what pain Hyunjin endured when he lost his lover.

No wonder Hyunjin loathed him so much for so long.

You wake with the dawn. Had it not been for the slight fluttering of your eyelashes, he wouldn’t have realized at all. For a brief, terrified moment, Jisung wonders if you will break away from him.

But you don’t. You don’t move closer, but you don’t move away. You don’t protest his hands stroking your hair rhythmically, only close your eyes and sigh a little.

“Thank you for yesterday,” you finally murmur. “I’m sorry I cause you so much trouble.”

Your green eyes open and they look tired. So, so tired.

Jisung wants to bring the life back to them.

“It was no trouble,” he replies. “It is never trouble to care for those you love.”

When your eyes startle, Jisung realizes what he’s said. He’s just confessed his love for you. Though he’s known it for weeks, the words leaving his lips still make him feel a strange vulnerability in your presence. But he doesn’t regret it.

“Those you love,” you echo quietly. Though there is a tiny smile on your face, your voice is sad. “How could a fae as powerful as you love a –”

“Stop.” Jisung can’t listen anymore. “Stop it.”

“But –”

“If there is anyone unworthy of your love,” Jisung interrupts, “it is me. Not the other way around.”

You remain quiet this time.

Jisung sighs. “I think it’s time I told you how I was bound to this ring.”

He tells his tale with hot shame and sorrow creeping up his cheeks and choking his throat. He tries his hardest to keep his voice steady but fails as he speaks of Hyunjin’s first love with the cloud nymph, the wisp of a girl who made him smile in ways Jisung had never seen before. Now that he knows the love that Hyunjin felt, it is so much more difficult to speak of it. To know that he ruined it.

He tells of the pesky sprites who goaded him into meddling with that love. With a heavy heart and hanging head, he reveals the prideful, selfish, despicable faerie he once was, one who could not back away from a dare and treated all of those around him as toys.

“We all knew Hyunjin and his nymph were fated to fall in love,” Jisung says. “It was just something we could see, plain as day. So the sprites dared me to play with fate. To end their love.”

Jisung doesn’t want to look at you. He can’t stomach the fact that you might be looking at him with disgust and shame, all of your previous lightheartedness with him gone. If you did, he wouldn’t be surprised – he deserves it.

But your grip on him doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens. Jisung finds the strength to go on.

He never meant it to go so far, he explains, as though that makes it better. He only wanted to break their love apart. He found a jealous, spurned suitor of the nymph and talked him into goading her to leave Hyunjin.

Instead, the suitor killed her. And the waters that raged through the forest for weeks after her death would have killed all the life there had Chan, the guardian, not called on Mother Earth to placate the water nymph’s anger and sent for the faerie queen to punish Jisung.

“That’s why I am bound to this ring,” Jisung says. “I am bound here until two things happen.”

“What are they?” you ask.

A small, genuine smile spreads across Jisung’s lips. “I first had to help Hyunjin find love again.”

A willow seed from Jisung’s esteemed collection. One of the seeds of the first willow that ever grew from Mother Earth’s mantle. It did not matter that the nymph who grew from the weeping willow that now drapes across Hyunjin’s pond was mute, that she could not speak. Her strength won Hyunjin’s heart. And after seven centuries, Hyunjin has forgiven Jisung.

“The second condition?” you prompt when Jisung falls silent.

Ah. He doesn’t want to tell you this one. He doesn’t want you to think that all of his love for you has been faked, has been solely for the purpose of attaining his freedom. But he will not lie to you.

“I had to find someone who, in the words of my faerie queen, would be foolish enough to love me,” he says.

With this admission, Jisung can practically hear the thoughts rolling around in your mind, bouncing off the walls of your skull and manifesting in doubt, uncertainty, and fear. “I know what you must be thinking,” he says hurriedly. “Did I only keep you around to break my curse? Truth be told, I didn’t think of that until several months ago, the day of the spring festival.” He laughs a little.

“At the start, never in my wildest dreams did I think I would fall for a human. But you were interesting. Clever. Intelligent. Your beautiful eyes may have caught my attention, but it was your soul and your mind that caught my heart. I wanted to keep talking to you.” He smiles. “On the day of the spring festival, I realized I loved you, my lady.”

Your fingers tighten around his.

“But it was I who loved you, and truly, I couldn’t think of a reason why you would love me.” His smile turns sad. “I found myself thinking of the curse and wondering, what would I do if you loved me back?” He swallows. “Do you remember our promise that day?”

By now, you’re looking into his eyes. Your gaze is a little unnerving, but Jisung forces himself to stare at you. “Yes,” you answer.

“I almost asked you to promise me your love,” he says, somber. “But by then, I knew that love must be a gift. I could not take it from you. So I asked for the next best thing – my lady’s happiness for just that day.”

Silence.

“After you left that night, I thought about my feelings. It took quite some time to sort through them all.” He smiles tentatively and his heart lightens when you smile back. “I realized that I didn’t care about my freedom. I wanted you to love me just because I loved you, even though I didn’t deserve you. I didn’t care about breaking the curse. I only wanted you to love me back.”

He’s done. He’s told you everything. His heart pounds as he waits for your response.

Will you leave him?

“Do you still want that?” your quiet voice says. “Do you still want me to love you?”

His heart is threatening to burst. He nods jerkily. “A thousand times, yes,” he whispers.

“I think I’ve loved you since the day I came to you, crying, and you asked no questions, only comforted me.” Your voice is low, quiet, small, but soothing. “I realized it the day of the festival, the same day as you. But I could never quite trust you, it felt like. You are a fae. I am a human. In my mind, I thought this could never happen.”

Jisung wants to protest but holds his tongue. This is your time to speak. He will not interrupt.

“But I trust you now.” Your shining, teary eyes look up at him with an emotion he’s never seen directed at him. He’s seen it on Hyunjin, looking at his willow nymph. He’s seen it on Changbin, gazing at his moon girl.

It hits him that you love him too.

“You’ve told me much, and there would be many who say you still do not deserve love, Han.” Your voice pulls him out of his thoughts. “But I think you have repented. I think you have learned. The fae I know is a far cry from the prideful one of centuries past. He has given me safety, comfort, hope, love.” A smile graces your lips. “I think I love him.” You shake your head. “No, I know I love him.”

You sit up with a wobbly smile on your lips and Jisung stares straight into your bright, lovely, green eyes, glowing with the rosy light of dawn. “May I?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper.

In return, you nod, and his lips fall onto yours.

Jisung has had many kisses over his millennia-long life, to the point where he once thought he couldn’t feel anything new anymore. But your lips are nothing like the ones he’s kissed before.

Chapped, dry, they shouldn’t give Jisung the bliss he feels. He’s kissed lips far smoother than yours. But it is not the lips he kisses, Jisung realizes, but the person to whom those lips belong.

A little sigh leaves your parted mouth and Jisung pulls you closer, holding you with the gentility of the morning breeze on his skin, pressing his lips to yours. An hour could have passed or even a day, and he would never know. He only knows the bliss he feels that moment.

Too soon, you both must break away for air. And even though tears still stain your cheeks and Jisung’s hair has been mussed by your hands, he has never felt so content in his life.

“Give me your name,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “Give me your name, my lady, and I promise I will do all there is in my power to keep you safe from harm. Give me your name, and I promise I will travel to the ends of the realms to keep you happy.”

Your thumbs stroke his cheeks and he leans into your touch, eyes fluttering in bliss. “Give me yours and I’ll give you mine.” A hint of that long-lost mischief dances in your eyes even as tears threaten again to fall down your face and Jisung wants to cry. He’s waited to see that expression on your face for too long. “I want to know you, Han. All of you.”

Hyunjin once told him that when he loved someone, he would feel no fear giving them his name. When he loved someone, he would trust that they would use his name only out of care. They would not toy with it. It would sound different in their mouth. It would sound safe.

At the time, he just cackled and made some dumb joke about how he definitely wasn’t Hyunjin’s love, then. The two had proceeded to drown the forest with their bickering until Chan came over to separate them.

But now, as he hears you repeat his name once, quietly, whispering it on your tongue, he knows what Hyunjin meant. His name is safe between your lips and yours is safe between his.

Jisung’s heart bursts.

He stands, pulling you up on shaky legs. For the first time in over a millennium, he steps out of the faerie ring, ready to leave the perfect circle of flowers and grass forever.

“Where does my lady wish to go?” he asks. His grin couldn’t get any wider.

Your smile is more enchanting today than it ever was, and your green eyes sparkle in the rising light of the sun.

“Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”

#inkidz #stray kids #skz #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #han jisung scenarios #3racha #han #fluff #angst #triggers #violence #nature spirit!au #stray kids han scenarios #whispers of nature #bloom #scriptura-delirus

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queenof-literature · 4 years

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Linked Galaxy - Where Loyalties Lie

It’s here! I’m very sorry for the delay. As I stated on my Tumblr I was very sick and midterms are coming up so overall... livin la vida loca. I hope you enjoy my first chapter of Linked Galaxy, my Star Wars AU for Linked Universe! I would like to say again that Linked Universe was created by Jojo @linkeduniverse, and Star Wars is owned by Disney. I in no way take credit for either, however I worked very hard on the headcanons for this universe and to combine the two together in my story of Linked Galaxy. But neither are mine. I hope you enjoy!

A long time ago in a galaxy far far away

After the death of his master, Sith Lord Ghirahim has recieved a way to travel across not only dimmentions, but time itself. Seeking to manipulate the strange wormholes for his own bidding, Ghirahim searches the new lands in hope of harnessing this power.

A new empire is born… The United Realms.

Only one band of heroes can stop him, a band of nine Heroes of Courage brought together by Hylia from nine different times. All of the Hyrule Galaxies now lay in their hands.

But unknown to all, a far more sinister being is pulling the strings of United Realms’ and our heroes’ actions.

“Faster you imbelces!” Commander Bulblin snapped. He couldn’t believe how he was stuck with what had to be the most incompetent portion of Ghirahim’s army. It was most likely some punishment from Ghirahim for Bulblin ‘speaking out of place’ in a gathering. Bublin scoffed. The only reason that man had an army in the first place is due to the death of their Emperor, and he dared to call Bulblin disrespectful? Bulblin never even fought under Ghirahim, he was from a different Hyrule! Apparently, all Ganons had been killed by a Grey Jedi, all sharing the name Link. Just that name… Link, sent rage crawling up Bublin’s spine. It was because of those so called heroes, that he was stuck working under Ghirahim in the first place. Why was this Hyrule the only one with a Ghirahim? Not only that, but he expected an army that wasn’t rightfully his to go on some interdimmentional quest, to take over the nine Galaxies that they now had access to? It was a ridiculous notion, one that the other commanders and generals seemed to share save a few others. General Zant didn’t seem keen on the whole ordeal, but that man would do anything for power and could not be trusted. Bublin sighed and continued on with this ridiculous job. He just had to lay low for now.

Taking over all nine Hyrules wasn’t the only goal Ghirahim had in mind. He needed to bring back Ganon. He needed to bring back his master. Emperor Ghirahim sat on his old Master’s throne in contemplation. The guards had gotten used to his angry mutterings by now. In order to truly bring the Hyrule Galaxy to its knees, all of them, Ganon would need to be resurrected. He could do it himself of course, but Ganon had authority Ghriahim knew he would never gain from his armies.

He had split the armies into nine, based on the Galaxy they were from. It made the most sense.

The Seadogs were from the realm of the Hero of Winds. They were quite stupid, but loyal to their cause. Ghirahim usually put them in the Tie-fighters and smaller fighting vessels. They knew how to fly and they were expendable to boot.

The Fallen were from the Hero of Hyrule’s time. They were absolutely vicious, the most focused in bringing their Ganon back. Ghirahim had never known the hero’s blood was required to resurrect their Ganon, but let them bleed the little brat dry for all he cared.

The Oracles were from the Hero of Legend’s galaxy. They were an interesting group. Absolutely hated the hero and wanted him to suffer. Ghirahim could appreciate that.

The Savages were from the Hero of Wild’s world. World, because the monsters apparently were not even aware there was a galaxy outside their world until now. This portion of his army constantly gave him a migraine. They were so smart but so stupid. They had never taken an actual order in their lives.

The Accursed were from the Hero of Time’s galaxy. Relatively useful, compared to some others Ghirahim couldn’t complain as much. Like the Oracles, they were hellbent on destroying their Link and any happiness he had.

The Twili were from the Hero of Twilight’s realm. Obviously. They were ruggish and quite frankly scarier than most of the other armies. They, at least, knew how to follow a commander, even if that commander was a bumbling fool.

The Shadows were from the Hero of the Four Sword’s galaxy. Ghirahim thought the name was underwhelming, but apparently the dark world in that galaxy was strongly entangled in the light, so Ghirahim let it slide.

The Shattered, the Hero of Warriors’ galaxy, was who Ghirahim suspected were responsible for the wormholes in the first place. However none admitted to it, so he didn’t even think they knew what was going on either. There were hoards of them that never seemed to send, they were certainly an asset.

The Skybreakers, the damned Hero of Sky’s adversaries. The little brat had the absolute audacity to still be alive, and now he had teamed up with more children. Ghirahim wouldn’t stand for it. The name had spread like wildfire, Ghirahim didn’t know where it came from but it spread fear, and that is what’s important. When one of his first class ships broke through the atmosphere, they would scream about the Skybreakers. Ghirahim loved it.

Ghirahim was broken from his musings by the opening of his door.

“How many times have I told you idiots to knock?” Ghirahim snapped, cruel eyes bearing into the souls of his useless guards.

“Apologies Lord Ghirahim.” the guard stuttered out. Ghirahim was technically Emperor in his master’s… absence. But everyone still called him ‘Lord’. Ghirahim didn’t correct them, he didn’t think Ganondorf would appreciate it if he thought his apprentice was attempting to take his throne for good. “General Zant demands your presence, my lord.” The guard finished.

“He demands?” Ghirahim questioned, poison lacing his words, rubbing his fingers along the cool metal of his lightsaber.

“That is what he said, my lord.” The guard confirmed, and Ghirahim rolled his eyes at the man’s cowardice.

“Send him in and get it over with.” Ghirahim commanded, marching up to the throne. He plopped down carelessly, crossing his legs and leaning against one side. Ganon used to tell him that it didn’t matter how you sat on the throne, what mattered was how much power you displayed. The throne itself was intimidating, but if the man or woman sitting on it commanded attention as well, anyone would bend the knee.

The grand doors opened slowly to reveal the large man, that ridiculous helm covering his face.

“What, Zant?” Ghirahim demanded before the man even approached.

“My Lord, may I just say I respect how you are able to command all nine armies at once-”

“Don’t flatter me you coward. Tell me what you want.” Ghirahim ground out impatiently. If he was in the mood he would tease the man, get him wound up. It was so easy to torment Zant, but Ghirahim was not in the mood.

“Do you think it wise, to continue to hop through strange wormholes? There is no guarantee they will open up again.” Zant finally spoke up.

“Our engineers and scientists are working everyday to harness the power the wormholes provide.” Ghirahim said flippantly. n

“Yes, My Lord, but if before then we get trapped in a strange Hyrule?” Zant questioned.

“Then we will take over that Hyrule. You seem to forget we are not the only ones traveling through those wormholes. The heroes are as well.” Ghirahim spoke with venom.

“Why do the heroes matter. Should we not hope to be rid of them?” Zant attempted to ignore the dangerous look in Ghirahim’s eyes.

“According to the Fallen, we need their blood to raise Ganon again. That is our main goal, Zant. If we need to move to other realms to do it we will.” Ghirahim could feel his blood beginning to heat at the countless questions.

“Will any of it matter if we get trapped in a different galaxy? In a different time?” Zant’s voice was getting louder.

“I have the chance to take over nine realms at least.” Ghirahim began, practically growling. “And you want me to give up because of your cowardice?”

“You misheard me, My Lord.” Zant tried desperately to recover. “I only want what is best for the United Realms. But… Ganon is gone, My Lord. Perhaps it's best for him to rest in peace so we may move on.” Zant waited with bated breath. If possible, Ghirahim’s eyes turned even more cold. Under the steel gaze of his superior, Zant felt ten times smaller.

“I believe I like you more as a coward, Commander Zant.” Ghirahim snarked, reminding Zant of his rank. “You forget yourself Zant, Ghirahim leaned forward in his throne. “Without Ganon… you are nothing.” Ghirahim snarled. “Get out.” Ghirahim commanded, voice neutral and cold, so unlike his normal self. Zant looked like he was going to argue, neutral face twitching slightly behind his mask, before he turned and left without a word.

Ghirahim contemplated what Zant had said. If the commander himself thought this way, Ghirahim could have even more disloyalty than he originally thought. He would have to take care of this. Ghirahim could feel it in the air… disloyalty.

Sky took a large breath, allowing Hylia’s energy to surround him completely. The room he normally shared with Four was pitch black, but that didn’t matter. Feeling close to the energy around him was all it took to be aware of his surroundings.

He could feel the other's presence upon their old ship. They had all pitched in to restore this old hunk of metal to… well not the prettiest thing in the galaxy, but it fit them all well enough.

Sky reached his mind through Hylia’s energy. He could feel Hyrule resting in the room he shared with Wild and Legend. He must have trained hard today for him to be resting in the afternoon. Sometimes it felt as though Hyrule, Wild and Wind all had an infinite amount of energy, Sky was glad Hyrule was at least taking it easy for once. He reached further down the hall. Across the hall he could feel Wind and Warriors’ cabin but no one was in there.

Sky took another deep breath and felt the waves of Hylia’s force extend to the rest of their ship. It was a simple exercise, one that younglings were taught at the academy, but it was good practice. Wind and Warriors were in the lounge, probably playing Dejarik at the holotable. Wind was most certainly cheating. He continued his exercise, finding Wild’s energy in the bottom turret. The boy enjoyed gazing out into the stars. He had never thought there was an entire galaxy outside his planet when he had met the others, and that had blown the other Link’s minds, even Hyrule. Apparently the only remnants of magic and technology in his Hyrule were from the Sheikah, who had died out millennia ago. Now the boy watched the galaxy outside constantly. Anytime they needed to find Wild, they knew to look in all the windowed areas first. He would get tired and stressed staying on the ship for too long, so looking at the stars helped him pass the time, as he told Sky one evening.

Sky felt a slight prod at his own energy. Time must be doing the exercise as well then, probably in his and Twilight’s room. Sky reached out and greeted the man, smiling when he received a greeting back, albeit a little weak. Sky may not fully understand where Time’s previous hatred of Hylia has stemmed from, but he came from a different galaxy, Sky would most likely never comprehend what the other man had gone through. He was working to strengthen the bond again, but only enough to help them on this quest.

Sky then moved on and felt Twilight and Four’s energy. They seemed to be in the cockpit chatting with Legend. Sky didn’t let himself linger on Twilight’s energy for too long. Something about it was just… off, and dark. Sky trusted Twilight with his life, and knew the other Link would tell them if something was wrong or when he was ready. Still though, it made Sky uncomfortable. The same with Four. It wasn’t dark, his energies were just fuzzy, like there were puzzle pieces all smashed together. Legend’s energy was always interesting as well. The young man was experienced and his energy showed that, but there was also the feeling of melancholy all the other Links had. Having them all in the same room while Sky was focusing so intently gave him a small headache, so he retracted.

Sky opened his eyes after one more deep breath, allowing his energy to flow free once again. A slowly stood from the smooth floor and stretched his legs. He always lost track of time whenever he meditated, but feeling the other’s presence had reassured him he didn’t miss anything. His door slid open as he approached, he barely ever locked it. Sky decided to go see what Warriors and Wind were up to. Walking down the half barren halls, he smiled at the art on the walls. When they fixed the ship, yet to be named, the halls were completely barren and militaristic. Wind had decided they would need to fix that. Every Link was tasked with putting something on the wall. Some were complicated designs, others were just handprints or finger drawings. Sky thought it was Wind’s best idea yet.

Sky approached the lounge and chuckled at the bickering he heard. Wind must have been caught cheating. Again.

“You can’t prove shit!” Wind yelled across the holotable.

“I don’t need to, kid. I know you!” Warriors snarked back. Sky wasn’t surprised to see Warriors wearing his scarf, even without his chainmail. The royal blue scarf contrasted greatly to his blank cream tunic, but in the couple of months he had known Warriors, Sky had barely ever seen the man without it. Sky worried it had something to do with the war that Warriors was forced to fight, and the nightmares and blank looks the man would fall into, but he never asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean? How would I cheat with a holotable?” Wind demanded.

“It means you were taught this game by pirates, kid. Your piece was over here, and now it’s over there.” Warriors pointed to parts of the board that Sky couldn’t see. “I’ll give it to ya, kiddo. If I wasn’t so observant I wouldn’t have noticed.” Warriors smirked.

“Don’t preen yourself.” Wind grumbled.

“Having fun?” Sky spoke up to make his presence known to the two boys wrapped up in their argument. Wind and Warriors whipped around.

“Hey, Sky.” Warriors greeted. “You wanna play a round with the pirate?”

“Maybe later.” Sky chuckled, sitting down next to Wind.

“Where is everyone? It’s dinnertime soon.” Wind questioned, glancing at the small clock displayed near the bottom of the holotable. They had been in the ship for about 24 hours now, clocks were the only way to keep track in space.

“They’re all chatting or relaxing. I’ll call down Wild.” Sky stood up and walked over to the wall comm rotating the slightly rusted top wheel from ‘All’ to ‘Lower Turret’. “Wild, it’s almost dinner time.” Sky called while pressing the comm button. There was a pause, then a crackle from the other side of the speaker.

“Sorry, Sky! I lost track of time.” Wild spoke loudly into comm. “Oops I yelled again.” Sky let go of the button to hide his laughter. Coming from a world with no ships, comms, or any other technology outside of the old Sheikah tech, the boy had trouble remembering that comms picked up more range of sound than even regular talking.

“No problem, Wild. I can make dinner tonight if you want to keep stargazing.” Sky teased, knowing his offer would be refused instantly.

“No no! I’m coming!” Wild assured before the other speaker went dead. Sky laughed, moving the wheel to ‘Cockpit’, then ‘Cabin 2’ to notify the others as well. According to Warriors, comms had advanced far past what they had on their ship. Now there were programs to send to designated locations all at once, among other functions. The ship communications themself weren't that big of a deal, but Sky worried what that increase in technology meant for the UR’s weapons and ships. Especially now that there were nine different armies they were facing. With a quiet slide of the door, Wild raced in and ran to the small corner that was their kitchen.

“Sorry guys!” Wild apologized, pulling what little ingredients they had out of their metallic cupboard. They would have to stock up soon.

“It’s fine Wild, you have plenty of time.” Warriors reassured. The others tried to offer to make dinner, but Wild enjoyed it so much they eventually stopped offering almost completely.

Time came in next, eyes still a little foggy from meditation.

“Where is everyone else?” Time asked.

“Legend, Twi and Four are on their way, and Hyrule is resting so I figured we would give him a little more time.” Time nodded, moving to sit at their meal table that barely seated them all. Everyone knew how hard Hyrule pushed himself. He had the rare gift of healing, a combination of magic and energy that was almost extinct, in all nine galaxies at that. Apparently the more he used his magic, the better he got and the more stamina he gained. That combined with Legend training the boy how to use elements of the Ataru fighting style was sure to be tolling.

“Hey all!” Twilight called as the doors slid open, followed by Legend and Four.

“Where’s Hyrule?” Legend frowned.

“He’s resting. We wanted to give him a bit more time. You can go wake him if you want, we just thought we’d give him some more time.” Sky told Legend.

“Wild, how long until dinner is ready?” Four questioned.

“Ummm, about 20 minutes. Sorry I got a bit of a late start.” Wild apologized, mixing ingredients so quick the others had no idea how he wasn’t spilling.

“Relax, Wild. It gives Hyrule more time anyway.” Warriors assured.

“I’m gonna go get him. Best to give him time to wake up before he eats.” Legend claimed as he left for their cabin, flipping off Warriors behind him when the other man coughed out what sounded suspiciously like “mother hen”.

“What’s for dinner Wild?” Four asked as Legend left.

“Omelets if that’s alright. I know that it’s more of a breakfast thing, but I think the cucco eggs will go bad if I don’t use them soon.” Wild explained.

“That sounds really good actually.” Twilight nodded, although to his hollow stomach anything sounded good. Wild relaxed significantly, as if he’d been scared of the other’s reactions. He wasn’t as skittish as he used to be, but he still struggled to feel enough around the other Links, even with simple tasks.

The Links settled into comfortable chatter, around the table as Wild made different kinds of omelets. The door slid open once again a few minutes later, revealing Legend and a groggy Hyrule in tow.

“Hey Hyrule.” Time greeted casually, not mentioning the deep nap Hyrule had obviously just woken from. If the boy was actually resting, Time didn’t want to push it by bringing it up.

“Hi.” Hyrule greeted with a yawn. “What’s for dinner?” Hyrule called over to Wild.

“Omelets.” Wild said simply, fully concentrated on seasoning the food in front of him.

“Nice!” Hyrule called as he sat down, shoving his way next to Legend, leaving just enough room for Wild. Ten minutes of idle conversation went by before dinner was finally ready.

“Dinner’s ready!” Wild called, hefting a large plate filled with Omelets over to their table.

“Hylia, we had that many eggs?” Four asked, shocked.

“Yeah we had a lot more than I thought, but they were all going to go bad soon so I had to use them.” Wild clarified again, setting the large plate in the center of the table, squeezing into the last space around the table. The others practically drooled at the smell and sight, herbs that they didn’t even know the names of partly covered the perfectly cooked omelets.

The other Links barely took turns digging in, the sound fighting and clashing forks and loud laughter echoed in the small eating nook. The looming threat of the United Realms could be forgotten for now, even for an hour or so. They all felt it flowing through the energy, flowing from each other… loyalty.

Was it cheesy to start this with “A long time ago in a galaxy far far away”? Yes. Was I legally obligated to? Also yes. And yes they still use minutes in space don’t @ me lmao. I hope you enjoyed!

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sleepychai-fics · 3 years

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Road to Salvation ~ Chapter 4 - The Proposition

Inform me if I need to put in any warnings for this chapter. ALSO I'd like to apologise for the long break between chapters, life has been hectic and things got out of hand for a bit. Hopefully it wont happen a second time.

Word count: 5,472

Pronouns - Female

ALSO SHOUTOUT TO @doughnuts-5ever FOR BETA READING THIS ENTIRE SERIES. I KEEP FORGETTING TO ADD THIS SHOUTOUT CAUSE I POST THESE CHAPTERS AT 1 AM LIKE THE NIGHT OWL I AM. SO BIIIIIIG THANK YOU TO YOU BB, YOU MAKE THIS STORY MAKE SENSE WHEN MY BRAIN DONT

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in BNHA. However, there are many OC’s in this fic that I’ve created. These OC’s belong to me and are specifically created for this fic.

However, Hajime Shinsou is NOT my oc. He is an oc created by Keiid, who used to have tumblr but now uses twitter. Please keep that in mind.

Feedback is appreciated!

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“What do we know about this girl?” Tsukauchi flips open the folder full of papers in front of him, eyes darting across the pages briefly taking in the information.

Aizawa sighs, lifting up one of the papers and reading off of it. “She’s been seen as a vigilante on the streets for a little over two years now. How long she’s been on the streets in general is unknown. Her quirk involves moving objects through shadows. It’s believed she has other accomplices, however we don’t know for sure.” He ends by tossing the paper back in the folder.

Tsukauchi hums. “Is she the one we’re looking for?”

“I hope so.”

“What about her suspected accomplices?”

Aizawa takes out another piece of paper from a different folder. “Our informant tells us she lives with many other people on the streets. Rumors say that the group is the line between villains and heroes.” His tired eyes look over to the police officer. “We’re not sure how to interpret that.”

A groan leaves the officers lips as he leans back in his chair. “We’ll interview her once she wakes up. We can negotiate living conditions with her. Offer her the placement and training in exchange for her compliance and any requests she may ask.”

With a yawn, Aizawa nods. “What do you suspect she’ll ask for?”

“Not too sure. Despite what we have on her, she’s still unknown to us. Our data banks have nothing on her. It’d be your job to get to know her.”

Aizawa groans. “I know that. But I think Hisashi is more up to that task.”

Tsukauchi smiles. “I appreciate you doing this.”

“It was part of the deal. Whisper held up her end, now I need to hold up mine.”

“It’s a big task to hold up.”

Aizawa hums in agreeance. “That’s why I offered a trial period. If she proves worthy to be a hero, then I’ll make it a permanent deal.”

“Whisper has offered to ensure a steady supply of information on other underground personnel if you were to make it a full time deal.” Tsukauchi reminds him.

Aizawa nods. “Are you sure-”

An alarm blares loudly through the speakers, interrupting the two men and instantly raising them on high alert. The conference room doors slam open, a security guard standing at the entrance.

“I apologise for the interruption but she’s escaped her room!”

Aizawa stands up from his chair, almost knocking it over. “Do you know where she’s headed?”

“They report she’s just entering the cafeteria, possibly towards Ward E.”

The two men race out the door, following the guard as he races towards your direction.

~*~

Your senses come back slowly. First, it’s touch. Whatever room you’re in, it’s got a cold atmosphere to it. If you were conscious enough, you’d be clutching to your thin jacket. As the thought crosses your mind, you take note of the feeling of the fabric, definitely not the same kind of material as your jacket. But despite its foreignness, it holds you in strange comfort. However, the feeling doesn’t last long as your hearing starts to kick in.

Two voices - one feminine and the other masculine, speaking in a soft tone. Along with the voices, you hear a steady beeping sound. A heart monitor? You hear it pick up as the rest of your senses come to life. The pungent smell of sanitising chemicals invades your nostrils and has you scrunching your nose in response. One of the voices gasps and speaks to the other. Your eyes are heavy and your body urges you to return to the land of peaceful slumber, but with a strong will, you open your eyelids.

Everything is blurry. Patches of colours hover over your vision before flicking to a mixture of white shades. You hear things shuffle around and clang against metal, only making you work harder at your vision. In an attempt to clear your vision, you rapidly blink your eyes. However, a bright light shines into your eye and forces you to squint. In a burst of panicked adrenaline, you lash out.

From what you can comprehend, you throw out your fist, hitting the figure above you. Ignoring the scream of pain, you jump up out of what you suspect to be a bed and scamper across the floor. You trip into a wall and turn your body around to face the mess you seemed to have caused.

You shake your head and rub at your eyes in another attempt to clear your vision. As it begins to clear, the masculine voice speaks.

“Hey! Let’s calm down. There’s no need to be scared.” You focus on the person closest to you. His hair is a terrible mess of purple. A white coat lays over a blue shirt and brown pants. As your vision clears by the second, you recognise more of his facial features and you can’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. His dark eyes stare at you earnestly, but it’s his eyebags that strike you with an eerie recognition.

You notice his hand cast behind him and you follow it to a woman in similar attire to him, laying on the ground. She has one hand propping her upper body up off the floor, while her other hand covers her lower face, blood seeping in between her fingers.

You return your sight to the man and attempt to speak, however it comes out raspy. After clearing your throat, you try again. “Who are you?”

The doctor responds calmly, making slow movements with his hands as he speaks. “My name is Hajime Shinsou. I know that this seems scary at the moment, but you need to trust that I won’t hurt you.” Shinsou attempts to take a step closer but retracts it as you push your body further against the wall. “You might recognise me, more so my son but let's face it, he’s practically a carbon copy of me.”

Your vision finally starts to clear, enough for you to make out specific features that you’ve definitely seen before. But he’s way too tall from what you can remember. “Why would I recognise you? Your son?”

The slight upturn of his lips doesn’t go unnoticed by you. “A couple days ago, you saved my son from a group of gang members. It was by a karaoke restaurant. He has purple hair, just like me. He even has the same eyebags as me.” As Shinsou goes through his explanation, your memory begins to jog.

“The… the gang. They uhm... they attacked a restaurant and took a kid hostage.” Shinsou nods. “I stopped them and saved the kid.”

“Yes. My son appreciates you. I do too.”

Alarming questions begin to spew in your mind. “How did you know it was me? Where am I? Why am I here?!” Each question grows more desperate as your (e/c) scan the entirety of the room. Thankfully you chose the wall close to the door.

“It’s okay. No one intends to harm you here.”

“Bullshit. Where am I?!” You argue back, glaring at him with irritation.

Shinsou continues to remain calm, despite the growing panic radiating off of you. “You’re in a hospital in northeast Tokyo.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as your eyes widen in shock. “Northeast?!”

With a nod, he responds carefully. “Yes. I understand you may be in shock. But I promise you that I don’t mean you any harm-”

“I want to leave.”

He sighs heavily. “I know, but I’m sorry to say I can’t allow-”

“I want to leave. NOW!” You scream this time, eyes brimming with tears you fight to extinguish. “I can’t be here, I have to leave this place.”

“Why don’t we just sit down and have a calm cha-”

“No! I can’t stay here! I have to leave!” You throw your hands out, intent on using your quirk to push back the doctor. But when that doesn’t work, you falter. “Wha… Why? What happened to my quirk?” A few stray tears slither down your face despite your best efforts. “What did you do to my quirk?!”

“We’ve injected you with quirk suppressants. It was protocol. I’m sorry.” You can hear his genuine apology, but you ignore it through your own raging emotions.

“I’m leaving.”

Hajime nods, knowing there’s nothing else he can do. “I understand. But you have to know I can’t let you go without calling it in.”

You shake your head. “I don’t care.” You leave him no breath to reply, walking towards the door. Before you leave, you snatch a spare white coat from a nearby hook and throw it over yourself.

As the door clicks behind you, you take a moment to assess your surroundings. A window down the hall shows an orange hued sky, although it's difficult to determine whether it’s dusk or dawn. A couple of doctors scatter the large hall, but they’re too busy looking down at clipboards to notice you. You waste no second more before walking down the hall, head tilted down to avoid arousal of your presence.

It’s so foreign, so clean and pristine. Tears are prepared to fall at any moment, but you fight against them. It’s exhausting and horrifying, it’s taking all of you not to bolt out the nearest window.

Every turn you take, every corridor you look down leads you to the belief that you're stuck in a labyrinth. It all looks the same. The room placements, the nurses, the machines littered here and there. Everything is almost the exact same and it scares the living shit out of you.

Finally, after what seems like hours of endless wandering, you come across two double doors. They appear to lead to another part of the hospital. You take a second to glance around you. There’s no other way to go besides through these doors, at least no other way you’ve been able to discover anyway. Without another second to hesitate, you go through the doors.

It’s similar to the place you just came from, except there are fewer private rooms and more public beds. They’re all aligned against the wall and separated by at least a couple of meters. Curtains hang between them, offering visual privacy. More nurses and doctors operate within the space, working with patients and running to various desks.

As you take in the scenery from the doors, you hear a voice call out from your left.

“Hey, are you-?”

You turn to look at the voice, and your heart drops. Realisation dawns on your face the second you notice the security badge. Unfortunately, the guard comes to his own realisation.

The guard opens his mouth wide, probably to yell out, but you don’t give him the chance to. With adrenaline behind your muscles, you push at his chest, forcing him to back into a moving cart. The noise alerts the entire area and within seconds it turns to chaos.

You take off in a sprint down the hall, leaving the sounds of screams and yells behind you. Each turn you come upon, you run to the wall and push yourself off of it, maintaining momentum in your run. As you take another turn, you throw a glance behind you. Security guards are close behind you, as well as a few men dressed in white coats, seemingly doctors aiding in the chase.

An alarm blares loudly throughout the hospital, red lights blinking slowly at every corner. You ignore them all, focused on improvising an escape plan.

As you turn another corner, you're faced with a set of double doors. With no other choice, apart from the army of men behind you, you barge through the doors.

You thank the high being that it's an open spaced cafeteria. More space to run, more visualisation, more shit to throw, and most importantly, fewer hallways to get lost in.

People scream and scatter out of their chairs as you vault over tables. Every chance you get, you flick trays and food behind you in an attempt to slow down those behind you. You make the quick and random decisions to leap over tables to either side of you, making it even harder for the chasers to predict your direction.

However, more men come from the opposite direction and appear a few tables before you. Without thinking, you pick up a tray of food and throw it at them. They throw their arms up to deflect the tray and in turn lose sight of you for just a second.

You take the opportunity to take a sharp turn in the other direction. Unfortunately for you, the only direction left for you to go is through another set of doors that no doubt leads to another maze of hallways.

The second you go through the doors, you duck down, avoiding the few crackling electricity sticks that jab towards you. You slip underneath one, tripping the guy in the process and creating a roadblock of a few seconds.

You bolt to the left, tossing things nearby onto the ground, leaving a maze of objects behind you. Every cart you pass by gets toppled onto the ground and earns you the precious seconds you desire.

You’re so focused on the people around you that you don’t notice thin white cloth wrapping around you. It snaps tight around you before you can even think. Your arms are pinned to your side and your legs are immobilised, causing you to fall flat to the ground.

As soon as you land on the ground, grunting from impact, electricity violently courses throughout you as multiple electrical batons prod at you. You blackout in seconds.

~*~

Your senses return much quicker the second time around. As soon as the bright light enters your eye, you jolt up, scrambling off of the cold metal table.

Pain is the only thing you feel. Pain pumping through your veins and making you shiver from movement. You back yourself against a wall, your hand instinctively curling around your stomach as nausea arises.

Before you are the purple haired Doctor Shinsou and the recognisable dark dressed man with a large scarf hiding his neck. He has a hand on his scarf and knees bent whilst Shinsou has his hands up in a surrendering manner.

“It’s okay. We’re not gonna hurt you.” He says.

You glare at him in disbelief. “Oh really now?” You grimace as you speak, sharp pain erupts from the side of your neck, just below your jaw. When you touch it, you can feel raised, jarred skin.

“You were shocked by 4 electrical batons. That one on your neck is the most severe one because of the skin contact.” Shinsou informs as he watches your hand shake above the wound.

“So much for not harming me.” You scoff.

“Those guys were from a different department.” The unknown man speaks up. “They run on different protocols.”

You spend a few seconds staring at him, watching as he lowers his hands by his side. Recognition prods your mind. “You were the one to capture me.”

The guy breathes in. “For now call me Eraserhead. We’d like for you to join us in the conference room down the hall. We’ll discuss everything there.”

“Why do I get the feeling there’s more than the three of us here?”

Shinsou, having put his hands down to his sides, answers you. “There’s only one more person and he’s waiting at the conference room. No more harm will come to you. Promise.”

You scrutinise his expression. The genuineness of his statement. Despite the short time you’ve talked with him, he seems genuine and reliable. So, on the little info you have, and with the foreign situation you are in, you decide your best bet for now is to trust him.

Shinsou walks out first, gesturing to you with a soft smile. Slowly, you stand up straight and start walking. You suppress the grimace as your leg shudders beneath you, most likely another wound area. With a deep breath, you push through the pain and limp out of the room. Eraserhead follows you closely.

The hallway is quiet, save for a few people here and there whispering to each other. Their eyes drift to you as you walk past them. You can feel their anger towards you and their disgust, you’re thankful the walk through the hallway is a short one.

Shinsou pushes open a door and steps aside to let you in. As soon as you set foot in the room, you analyse the room. It’s completely bare, save for the large oval table and the dozen-plus chairs surrounding it. Seated on one end of the table is a police officer. He has a brown coat thrown over his uniform. A matching brown hat sits on the table in front of him. His black hair is practically melded with his scalp, barely any strands sticking out. Your first impression of him isn’t the greatest and you decide to remain overly cautious.

“Hello.” He greets you as you walk in, almost like he was expecting you at that very second. It unnerves you. He gestures to the chair beside him. “Take a seat.”

You carefully step towards him. “I’d rather stand.” The scratchiness of your voice is still present, but you opt to ignore it.

He nods in understanding. “You can call me Tsukauchi.” You nod once, eyes glaring into his. “I’m sure you have questions.”

“I’m sure you have answers.” You fire back at him with a monotonous voice.

“I do. First I’d like to clear up the situation you're in at the moment. You are in a hospital north-”

“I already know that.” You nod towards Shinsou. “He explained that to me. I’m in northeast Tokyo. I wanna know why I’m here. And how I got here.”

Tsukauchi nods. “We’ve been keeping a close eye on you for a few weeks now. You’re known as the vigilante Shadow, aren't you? You’ve been in and out of activity for years.” Every word that he speaks increases your concern, but you fight to keep your expression neutral. “You’ve taken down thugs and criminals, but you’ve also stolen from civilians off the street.”

“Ok, imma stop you right there. I didn’t just steal from civilians, I also stole from those criminals.”

“You still stole from them.”

“Because I had to.” Your voice grows louder.

“Why?”

“Because-!” You stop yourself. You almost told him about the mall. Taking a deep breath, you start again. “I had to survive.”

It aggravates you the way he nods, as if he understands. “Like I said, we’ve been watching you. We apprehended you because we decided it would be best to approach you.”

“And you didn't try talking first?”

“We tried that. But as you can tell, that didn’t go well.”

Your mouth opens to speak, but you close it, realising he’s right. But another question surges through you. “Ok, then why were an army of police on standby in the area if you just wanted to talk?”

“We predicted your behaviour.” Throughout the entire chat, he’s remained calm and it irritates you to no end.

You scoff and shake your head. “Is there a point to this talk?”

Tsukauchi bends down to pull out a folder. “We believe you have potential.”

Worry sets in. “Potential for what?”

He slides the folder over to you. “Potential to become a hero.”

The room is silent. You stare at him in disbelief, despite your best efforts to keep a neutral face. The silence only lasts a couple of seconds however, as you burst into laughter.

“I’m sorry? Potential to become a hero?! What the actual fuck?! Haha! Weren’t you berating me as a vigilante fucking two minutes ago?” You double both in pain and laughter wheezing and gasping between breaths.

“Yes. Amongst everyone else, I see potential in you.” Tsukauchi waits a few seconds for you to catch your breath. “You’ve shown initiative in criminal activity. You are quick to rush in and protect civilians.”

“That’s because no one else is willing to, and there’s no police around to help them so I choose to step in.”

“Exactly.”

For a few seconds, you’re in deep thought about his words. He’s right. You have shown initiative, but does that really categorise you as a hero? If that's the case, then can’t everyone be a hero?

You look down at the folder on the table. Tentatively, you take a seat next to Tsukauchi, and open the folder.

Concealed inside is a small stack of papers. A small paragraph is printed on each page, addressing you and claiming that you agree to the terms and conditions that follow. On the bottom is a line with your name underneath. As you skin through each page, you come across to a highly detailed table chart.

“By signing these forms, you agree to a temporary deal in which you will live with Eraserhead and follow his rules.” You snap your attention to Tsukauchi, eyes bulging from distress. With a glance towards Eraserhead, who confirms with a nod, you sink further into the seat.

Tsukauchi continues. “You must agree to no vigilante activity whilst in his care. You’ll be monitored every minute of every day as long as you're in his care.”

“That chart in your hands,” Eraserhead speaks up, gesturing to the detailed chart in your hands. You take another look at it, noticing the times lined against each row and the days lined above each column. “It’s a timetable which I’ve set out for you to follow. You do exactly what it says to, and you won’t get charged for any of your vigilante crimes.”

“I’m getting charged?!” You stand up with shock and rage. Tsukauchi and Eraserhead jump to a stand as well. “So you’re saying that I either take up this so-called ‘opportunity’, or I get sent to prison for however long you deem fit? Sounds like a fucking threat if you ask me!”

“Hey, it’s alright. I pro-”

“It’s not alright!” You turn to Shinsou, fighting to keep back the tears building up behind your eyes. “None of this is okay! I’m being stripped of my freedom, all for what? To keep an eye on my behaviour?!” You turn to Tsukauchi, staring him down with a firm expression. “I have responsibilities to uphold.”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure they can be put on hold for a while.” He says.

“They can’t!”

Minutes pass by, the tension in the air running thick. You run your hand through your hair, sighing with frustration and surrender before fixing your posture. “What I’m about to say, does not leave this room.”

“If you agree to the contract-”

You snap your gaze to Eraserhead. “If I agree to this contract I will keep up my end. But you have to keep up yours.”

He stares at you for a few seconds before nodding, allowing you to continue.

Your heart thunders in your chest with nerves and irritation. Tears threaten to fall but you remain stubborn as ever. With a deep breath, you let it out. “There is an abandoned mall on the outskirts of Tokyo. It’s where I and a ton of other homeless people stay. We're like a family. We protect each other and help where necessary. There are some people like me who’ve rescued kids from all sorts of situations, and those kids form a bond with us. A bond that acts like a lifeline. It’s their emotional lifeline.” Without noticing, a tear falls from your eye. After furiously rubbing at your eyes, you continue. “It’s impossible for me to leave them. Not while their emotional stability is still fragile. I’m sure you know enough of psychology to understand that.”

The room is silent as the three males ponder your revelation. They look between each other, wondering what to say, what to do with the new information. Sure, there were rumors of more people like you, but to hear the information come from you was different; it was no longer a rumor.

“This timetable isn’t possible for me to follow. I need some time with the mall. I need to let the kids know that I’m still there for them.”

Tsukauchi looks to Eraserhead. “It’s your call.”

Eraserhead sighs deeply as all eyes turn on him expectantly. “I’ll allow a one hour visit two days a week.”

“Three days.” You interject.

Dark eyes glare at you, but you remain stubborn and strong against his eyes. The sigh he lets go of borders on a growl. “One hour visits, three days a week. With supervision.” He enunciated the last sentence, indicating there would be no objections.

Despite your desire to argue, you know it’ll be useless. So, putting on a tough persona, you pick up the contract folder and practically shove it under his nose. “I want that in writing.”

The man remains still, half-lidded eyes staring at you for what seems like hours. It feels as if he’s stabbing you with just his gaze alone. Finally, he snatches the folder out of your hands and slaps it down on the table. He then takes a nearby pen and begins to furiously write on one of the papers. Once scribbling his signature, he steps back, allowing you to inspect his writing.

You do so, ensuring each word says as it's supposed to. Eraserhead holds out the pen to you. After some hesitance, you take the pen and lean down. The pen hovers over the paper. Your heart beats hard, you can feel it in your throat as if it's ready to spew out at any moment. You take a few steady breaths, your hand shaking the pen slightly. One more deep breath, and you put the pen to the paper.

Each letter written feels wrong, incriminating and abandoning. It feels exactly how you expected it; like your freedom was slipping away with each pen stroke.

As soon as you write the last letter, you stand up, the pen falling from your limp fingers.

Tsukauchi takes the folder and pockets it into his briefcase below the table. “I believe Dr. Shinsou wanted to do a last check-up. He’ll also be the one that will be attaching the ankle monitor. We’ll be using that to monitor you.”

You simply nod, the will to argue no longer there. You follow Shinsou out the room, head tilted down in both shame and surrender.

Your mind is numb, barely registering anything said to you. As Shinsou gestures for you to sit atop the examination table, you take notice of the nurse. The same nurse as before, this time with a bandage across her nose.

She appears reluctant to be near you, you can see her hands shake as they reach out to apply the blood pressure strap.

“I’m sorry.” Your apology is quiet but startles the woman. However, a smile eases on her face.

“It’s ok.” She replies, voice slightly hitched due to the bandage. “I would’ve done the same thing.”

The conversation is left at that. Shinsou and the nurse, who said her name was Sakura, do the basics, heart, lungs, eyes, ears. After completing them, Shinsou appears with a steel bracelet with a small box attached to it.

He doesn't get the chance to speak as you lift up your ankle. He peers into your eyes, taking note of the dread-filled gaze that appears to stare at nothing. With a sigh, he carefully clips the bracelet into place.

“Is it too tight?” His only response is a light shrug. He can’t help but feel bad for you. He proceeds to press and hold a button. The device turns on at the action, a small light on the box flicks on as two small beeps sound. As soon as that's done, Shinsou guides you out of the room.

When you step out, you are approached by a long blonde haired male, a gloved hand sticking out towards you.

“Hello listener!” His voice is loud and overly excited, but you barely pay any mind to him. He observes your mute behaviour and turns to his husband. Eraserhead simply shakes his head.

“This is my husband Yamada. You can call me Aizawa.” He says as he walks away.

You follow him without delay, mindlessly pocketing the info.

The drive is silent and tense. You stare out the window the entire trip, watching as the environment passes by. There’s no thoughts running through your mind, nothing to think about but the dread and disappointment of letting the mall down.

You barely register you’ve stopped, so induced in your negativity that you don’t notice that Aizawa is before you, waiting for you to step out.

The house is two stories tall, a small wood fence outlining the property. It’s a fairly modern-looking house, a front porch stretching a metre out the front yard. It’s decently sized, looking to fit a modern family of five.

Entering the house, you register a lounge room and kitchen across from each other from the front house, then straight ahead are stairs leading up to the second floor. Beside that is a hallway which you are told leads to a bathroom and laundry.

Your gaze wanders to the kitchen, where you find a black cat sitting on the bench, staring at you with yellow eyes.

“Oh, that’s Jelly. We have another cat named Muffin, she’s nicer than Jelly, he likes to scratch.” The Yamada explains. His smile drops however as your gaze falls to the floor. “How about I show you to your room?” He gestures upstairs.

You shrug, allowing him to lead you upstairs. He turns down the hall to a room at the end. “Here it is!” He opens the door, his green eyes shining with delight.

You peer into the room, gazing at the layout. A double bed is pressed up against a wall, a small table on each side. A desk lays opposite the bed, small and bare. Sliding doors in the wall indicate a wardrobe. It’s bare of anything and feels completely unnatural to you.

“It used to be a spare room, but now that you’re here it’s all yours! Don’t worry we have another.”

You ignore him and walk into the room, taking a seat on the bed.

“Hey,” His voice is significantly dialled down in both tone and volume as he approaches you. “I know this may seem scary, but we’re here to help you. Aizawa may seem like a blunt and harsh guy, but he’ll come around. Eventually.” He then kneels down before you, a soft smile on his face, his glasses on the tip of his nose. “Technically my name is Aizawa-Yamada but that’s for legal purposes. We’re teachers and figured it’d be easier for the students to separate us. That and Aizawa doesn’t like our relationship to be public information. If you’d like, you can call me by my first name, Hisashi.”

You nod, numbly tucking away the information. You jolt slightly as Hisashi places a hand on your knee.

“Why don’t you get some rest? The drugs from the hospital are probably still in effect.”

With a gentle squeeze, he stands up and exits the room, closing the door behind him. In the end, he was right. You take the time to realise how foggy your mind is and how exhausted your limbs feel.

Having no choice in the matter, you lay down on the bed.

You stare at the ceiling, the silence of the room overcoming your senses. It’s then that everything seems to properly set in your mind. Tears cascade down the side of your face, and you do what you can to silence your sobs.

You told them everything you didn’t want to. Although it gave you something, you still risked the safety of everyone. You may have just caused their demise. All for what? What was the purpose of all this? To become a hero?

Did you want to be a hero? Is it worth all this?

What would everyone think when you visited them? Aizawa would no doubt be supervising you. And if he wasn’t, the device on your ankle would surely broadcast your position.

What else was the device for? Could it hear you? Could it see what you were doing? Could it harm you?

Your mind whirls with unanswered questions, each question that rises allows another tear to fall from your eyes. Sleep comes quickly, haunting you with all of the day's events.

When you wake with a jolt, you wish for it all to be just that. A simple nightmare, something that Dabi could soothe away. But that wish shatters as you look around. The room was too spacious, the view was too pretty, the walls were too new, and the device around your ankle was still annoyingly present.

#rts #road to salvation #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #bnha shinsou #hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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crystalirises · 3 years

Text

Foxgloves

Whoops my hand slipped.

I am here today with another angst fic. So, this is a sort-of Ghostbur POV of my ‘Clouds’ and ‘Clouds V.2.’ fic. I do recommend reading those two before this one for actual context.

Anyway, hope you guys like this and just like the other fics, same trigger warnings apply.

As for Ao3 link, I won’t add it cause Tumblr deletes my posts if I add external links. (I don’t get it either)

TW: Poisoning and Major Character Death

Ghostbur paced along his desolate abode, traces of teardrops scarring the smooth stone floor. His mind was a haze of fog, his son’s word echoing neverendingly in his ears. Oh… his sweet boy… his little champion…

A book was clutched in his hands, the paper wrinkling beneath his harsh touch. His dead heart ached within his chest, a waterfall of blood pouring from the fatal wound that took him away from this wretched world. He shivered, colder than he usually was. The sewers were silent… lonely… it was driving him mad.

With a bitter cry, he threw the book into the roaring fireplace, collapsing upon the floor in a terrible anguish. His soot-covered fingers clawed at his hair, tugging at the strands until he felt some semblance of pain… but ghosts didn’t feel pain. His sobs tore through the room, unheard by any man or woman for night had settled upon New L’Manburg. If anyone were to awaken, they might just hear his haunting wails. His arms wrapped around himself, a pitiful try at self-comfort as the day’s memory repeated in his head.

He trailed after Tubbo, the young president inspecting the land they had begun to build upon. Ghostbur happily followed after him, adding his occasional suggestion each time Tubbo asked for his own input.

“Well, I think that’s all on the agenda for today.” Tubbo paused, reaching to scour through his inventory for a material Ghostbur could care less to remember. He watched as Tubbo froze in place, a startled look on his face as he brought out an enchanted netherite shovel. “Oh. Oh no. Fundy was looking for his stuff last night… I didn’t know I had them on me. Please excuse me, Ghostbur, I have to return these to him.”

His attention rose at the mention of Fundy. Fundy had been avoiding his presence ever since he came back… he didn’t understand why and he didn’t want to. The seed of an idea was planted in his mind, this was an opportunity to speak to Fundy! “Y-you know, I wouldn’t mind returning them for you.”

“Really? Thanks, Ghostbur!” Tubbo had dumped a variety of objects in Ghostbur’s arms, the strangely named tools making him chuckle as he tucked them into his inventory. He gave Tubbo a small farewall before heading off to find Fundy. This was perfect! This was his chance to be a good dad! To do good dad things! Then… Then maybe Fundy would look him in the eyes… wouldn’t run off in the opposite direction the moment he came into view… This would fix whatever grievance he had done when he was alive… right?

As he scoured through New L’Manburg for Fundy, he had stumbled upon Eret’s museum. Eret. Ghostbur shivered, a haunting memory of screams and explosions resonating in his head. He shook the thought away… and just like that, he’d forgotten what it was that had scared him so. He perused through the unfinished structure, remnants of a past he barely recognized displayed in all their beautiful glory.

Bad images came to mind and he quickly exited the area. He didn’t want to remember. He took another stroll through New L’Manburg, his eyes scanning for a tell-tale sign of Fundy’s whereabouts. As he stepped onto the wooden pathway, the trace of a fox’s tail caught his attention. He turned to see Fundy at the center of town, scrambling between the empty space as if in search for something… And Ghostbur had what Fundy was looking for! His heart soared. Oh, Fundy would be so happy to see him! “Fundy! Hi! Hi!”

A pair of gold-flecked brown eyes snapped towards him, irritation flashing in their gaze as Ghostbur floated towards Fundy. Ghostbur couldn’t help but worry, dark circles had wormed their way beneath Fundy’s eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping for a long time. Well… Ghostbur was sure if Fundy needed it, he could concoct a sleeping potion of sorts. But anyway… “Fundy! I have your stuff! Here, these are yours, right?”

“Y-yeah, actually. Thanks, Wil.” Fundy winced, taking his stuff from Ghostbur. His face reddened as an excited wheeze tore through his throat as Ghostbur handed him his schlong. “Oh… my bow is missing.”

Ghostbur looked at the bow in his inventory. “Uh, sorry. I don’t have it.”

He didn’t understand why he’d lied, but Fundy could make a new bow, couldn’t he? Ghostbur hardly had anything of Fundy’s that he could hold onto… surely an old bow wouldn’t be missed, right? Yeah.

“Thanks, Wil. I really… I really appreciate this.” Ghostbur held his breath as Fundy gave him a small smile, hesitant as it may be. Fundy smiled at him! He did something good, didn’t he? Fundy turned to leave but… but Ghostbur didn’t want him to leave. They just started talking again! He trailed after Fundy, the hint of a question dancing on his tongue. Fundy’s sharp glare turned to him. All previous gratitude gone. “What?”

“I did a… I did a good dad thing, didn’t I, Fundy?” He held his hands together, the heated scrutiny of Fundy’s gaze piercing through his ghostly form. Fundy’s shoulders shook in fury or in another emotion, Ghostbur couldn’t quite tell. Then Fundy looked away, a look of pity in his eyes as he spoke the next few words.

“I’m getting adopted, Wilbur.” The world turned deathly still, a tenseness in the air as Ghostbur’s felt the ground beneath his feet collapse. Fundy scurried a little bit away from him, clutching the sleeves of his jacket Ghostbur had made him that jacket as he looked everywhere but at him. “Eret came up to me yesterday with an offer. He’s offered to adopt me since you’re… We’re just waiting for Phil to sign.”

“Eret… We don’t like Eret… I-it’s in the song, Fundy.”

Fundy tries to explain, but Ghostbur couldn’t hear his words, static crackled in his ears as he turned and ran off. He couldn’t look at Fundy. He couldn’t bear it… He… He… He knows he had a talk with Phil after that, holding back the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. Then he wandered away from New L’Manburg, stumbling upon a familiar yet nightmarish lived-in ravine. He looks at the myriad of buttons on the walls, a conclusion forming in his mind. Fundy needed a dad… and Ghostbur wanted his son.

He floats up from the ground, he’d made up his mind.

He couldn’t let Eret take his son. He couldn’t let some traitor steal his son from him. He heads over to the materials he had gathered as soon as he had left that ravine. He had everything he needed. Niki had even helped him gather some of the berries, that was kind of her to do! He just had to put them all together.

His son would understand. He’d understand.

Ghostbur just wanted to protect his son.

‘This is for my son.’ He thinks, the foxglove held tightly in his hand. ‘He needs me. I’ll protect him.’

Ghostbur watched in the distance.

His son was pacing in front of Eret’s castle, his ears and tail frantic with nervous energy. The ghost hoped he wasn’t the cause for his son’s distress. He’d hate for his son to be suffering because of him.

The picnic basket weighed heavy in his hands, guilt gnawing at his undead insides as he recalled the sweet smile his son had when he heard the happy and joyful news. He could still turn around, run home and cook something of actual worth. Tears pricked at his eyes. How could he go through with this? Could he go through with this?

“With Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo, fuck Eret…” The soft tune seemingly echoed within the breeze, though he knew himself to be alone. No. Ghostbur had to do this. Eret… Eret was a bad person. It’s in the song for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t let his son be adopted by some-some person who had done something against their nation. Eret was a traitor. They didn’t deserve to be anywhere near his son. He remembers trailing after Phil earlier on in the day, invisible to all gazes as he slipped within the castle right after his father.

He floated along the halls, surveying every detail that could cause harm upon his son. Why did this castle have towers? His son could fall from one dammit. He took note of the staircases, the crystalline chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, and the thick red carpet that suffocated the floor beneath their feet.

His son could trip on these carpets.

The staircases are too high, what if his son tripped on the way down?

What if a chandelier fell and crushed his son?

Why are there so many candelabras? His son could burn himself!

Wha― Were those actual flamingos?

Those paintings looked as if they were staring at him… what if they dragged his son into the paintings?!

Why does that bed have a roof? What if it falls on his son? What then, huh?!

The windows were easily opened… and with such a high drop…!

That servant looked at his son a little bit too suspiciously…

The castle was stifling hot, how could his son even breath in here?

Eret wasn’t even a real king.

Ghostbur was sure Phil would tell Eret ‘no’, that the castle was too dangerous. He stayed out of the room as the two of them signed the papers, choosing to watch over his son in the meantime.

He wished he could pull his son into his arms and run. Run far away from there, perhaps even far away from New L’Manburg. It’d be just the two of them, almost as if nothing had ever happened. They’d be family again… though without Sally… No. No. Sally would forever live within their hearts.

When he saw Phil and Eret leave the room, warm smiles upon their faces, his poor undead heart shattered into pieces. Phil patted Eret on the back, a congratulations leaving his tongue as he left the new parent-son duo with each other. His son had all but thrown himself into Eret’s open arms, a laugh bubbling from his throat as Eret spun him around. Ghostbur knows he should be happy, content that his son had found joy despite the despair-filled days of before. Yet… as he listens to Eret call his son as his… all he sees is red. Fundy was his son.

And if he can’t have Fundy, then no one…

No one can have Fundy.

Ghostbur snapped out from the vision, purpose filling his metaphorical veins as he floated towards his son. His son looked up at him, a curious look on his face as he looks at the picnic basket in Ghostbur’s hands. Ghostbur forced a smile on his face. He just needed to get his son away from here. Then they’ll be together again, this time without all that emotional baggage that Ghostbur didn’t want them to have.

They’d be happy. His son wouldn’t have to worry about being abandoned anymore… and Ghostbur wouldn’t have to watch as his son is torn away from his side by some traitor. He leads them toward a far-off river, the same river they used to visit before the war… before Sally died… His son looks bored, not that Ghostbur minded. After their picnic, why… his son wouldn’t look at him like that ever again. He could barely contain his excitement, topics filtering through his mind as he tries to start a conversation.

They reach the river bank…

His son snaps out of his own reverie at the sound of Ghostbur’s voice, much to his joy. He lets his son peek inside the basket, lets him take out the… unappetizing salad. Ghostbur watches as his son finally takes a bite, doesn’t miss the way his son blanches at the bitter taste… but his son continues on eating.

Ghostbur lets out a sigh of relief, he no longer had anything to fear. His son will be with him soon enough.

He lets his controlled fury direct the conversation, mentioning the traitor’s name to see how his son would react. He can’t say that he isn’t disappointed and regretful when his son’s own anger rises to defend his new… parent. He can’t say he doesn’t feel a twinge of pain when his son collapses from the poison.

His arms curl around his weeping son, reassuring words flowing from his mouth as he tries to console his dying son. He listens to his son’s shallow breathing, listens as they stutter out into silence. He presses his head against his son’s chest, feeling the rapid beat of his son’s heart as it begins to slow down. He holds his son tight against his form, guilt drowning the momentary triumph he had felt a few seconds ago.

“I’m sorry.”

There’s a song on the tip of his tongue, a familiar tune that he once sang as a sweet lullaby.

The clouds begin to fade into a kaleidoscope of color as the sun disappears in the distance.

His mind is foggy.

He doesn’t remember why he is near a river.

He doesn’t remember a single memory of the day.

He doesn’t understand why Fundy is lying so peacefully on the ground.

He doesn’t understand why there’s the remains of a rotting salad in the grass.

He continues to sing.

He doesn’t want to remember.

He doesn’t want to understand.

“D-dad?”

He turns around.

A ghostly visage of his son looks up at him, curious and oh so innocent.

A satisfied grin worms its way through his lips. He doesn’t know why he’s so happy.

“Hello, son.”

~~~~~~~~

I wake up everyday... and choose to write angst.

Anyway, hope you guys liked this! I was bored today so I wanted to write some fanfic.

#fundy #wilbur soot #mcyt #here comes the angst do do do do #I should never be given free time lol

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ayamari-no-goshi · 3 years

Text

Eidolon 3 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary: AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr.

Chapter 3: Worries

"Sam… can you run this by me again?" he asked as he stopped searching for a moment and glanced at her. "What exactly are we looking for?"

Her response was a roll of the eyes. "I thought we went over this already… Don't you want to know what we saw last night?"

"I don't!" Tucker voiced, causing the two of them to look at him. "What? That thing was scary! For all we know, it could still be out here, and I for one, have no desire to see it again!"

"Why, aren't we brave?" The sarcasm in Sam's voice spoke volumes. In an almost immediate response, Tucker covered his head with his arms. Apparently, that tone was a verbal warning of the threat of pain. Sam could apparently be rather scary when she felt like it.

"Hey! Don't get mad at me! I just want to keep my good looks safe for the ladies! Besides, you're the one with the grudge!"

That answer just seemed to anger Sam more. "How selfish can you get? You don't even care that other people could be in danger?" Though it was true that she had sworn her vengeance on whatever they had seen, rational seemed to have come back to her in the hours after the chase. She currently just wanted to know who or what that was.

"I do… except, in my book, I come first! Besides, shouldn't this be a job for the police instead?"

"Like they're going to believe a couple of kids. We'll probably be the ones to get in trouble if we say anything. They only take it seriously if we find some kind of proof."

Danny stayed silent as he watched their fight continue. Sam did have a point; whatever it was that they had seen the night before could potentially be dangerous to anyone in the area. It also seemed unlikely that the police would believe them, since they would probably just pass it off as some kind of animal, which it definitely was not! However, he sided more with Tucker. If it wasn't for Sam's persuasiveness (aka threats), there was no way that he would have come back to the cemetery for quite some time.

He glanced around the familiar surroundings and shivered slightly. It was only about one in the afternoon, but it felt like it was much later. The shadows appeared more pronounced, the statues looked corrupted, and the air seemed stale and heavy. It was almost as if that thing's presence had managed to taint the area.

Even though he really did not believe in the so-called paranormal, there was definitely something demonic about that creature. That thought caused him to sigh. He was being silly. There was probably a very logical explanation for what he and his friends had seen. It was probably just some drifter or psychopath… which is just as comforting.

In truth, he would rather just forget about the incident and chalk it up as a bizarre situation that he never wanted to ever deal with again. He had also made a promise to himself to never again sneak out of his house at night; being scared half to death was so not worth it. However, he had this sinking suspicion that Sam was going to make him break that. Speaking of which…

"What…?" he asked after he realized that she had asked him something. "Sorry, I wasn't listening."

"Jeez, Danny, get your head out of the clouds." Judging by her expression and the fact that Tucker was hiding rather poorly behind a nearby bush, they had stopped arguing for the time being. "I just wanted to know if you had managed to get home okay last night. I mean, you didn't get in trouble or anything, did you? I kinda forgot to ask earlier."

He frowned for a moment. "Surprisingly… no," he replied before giving them a sheepish grin. "I… uh… fell when I snuck back through my window. If you haven't already noticed, I'm kinda klutzy. Winston's use to that, but it's a little weird for me to fall at night. If he did wake up, I guess he assumed I fell off the bed again."

Sam shook her head. "Again…?"

"I don't do it often!" he replied in an embarrassed protest. "Just a couple times a year!"

"And that makes it so much better."

"Um, I don't mean to pry or anything," Tucker interrupted as he came over. Apparently, he now thought it was safe for him to come out of hiding, though he did make sure that he was out of Sam's punching range. "But, why do you call your dad by his first name?"

That question earned another sheepish look. "Well… um… I'm actually adopted. Winston's been my guardian for as long as I can remember. Apparently, my parents had asked him to take care of me if anything would happen to them…" He sounded wistful for a moment before he sat down on a nearby bench. Raising his head, he glanced at them while wearing an expression that was unreadable. "I… I really don't know what happened to them. Winston's not very comfortable with the topic."

After a small pause, Sam glared at Tucker, who cringed. "Tucker! How could you bring that up?" she demanded as she moved closer to him.

"Sorry!" He immediately backed away from her as he raised his hands again. "I didn't know!"

That caused Danny to chuckle, which caused both of them to look at him. "It's okay, really! I don't mind. Let's just go back to searching before Tucker gets hurt."

"Tucker likes that idea!"

Sam glared at the nervous boy for a moment before poked him in the chest, "Fine, but this doesn't mean that you're off the hook."

….

"Sam!" Tucker whined about an hour later. "Let's call it a day! We haven't found anything! And besides, we promised Danny yesterday that we'd show him around."

Once again, Danny agreed with him. There were definitely less boring activities than failing miserably at finding anything. They had found nothing! It was as if there was absolutely nothing to even suggest that there had even been something other than him in this part of the graveyard within the last day. It was definitely frustrating since there was a small part of him that did want proof that he hadn't just imagined last night. Even if Sam and Tucker had seen it, maybe it had been some weird group hallucination. He had heard those were possible.

Sam glanced around again and gave a frustrated huff before she kicked the ground. "I guess you're right… even if I don't want you to be. I guess we should lea… Hey, what's that?" She pointed at something before she sprinted over to whatever it was that she had seen.

He and Tucker shared a look before they followed her. By the time they had reached her, she had picked up what appeared to be a piece of paper and was examining it. Apparently, it contained either an image or word that was holding her interest.

"Um… Sam… what… oomf!" Danny's words were cut off when Sam shoved the paper into his hands. "What the heck?"

She glared at him while she impatiently tapped her foot. "Just look at it!"

After giving her a look, he complied. At first, the only thing that caught his attention was that he was holding a rather old piece of paper. That normally would not be too weird since littering was unfortunately common, but this paper wasn't just weathered, but it also had a strange feel as if it was more along the lines of canvas than actual paper. He then noticed that there were black marks on it, which he realized was a sketch of what appeared to be some sort of figure.

He turned the paper a bit to see if he could get a better feel for the picture. It appeared to be an ink sketch of what he took to be a demonic figure with… possibly flaming hair. After a moment, he also realized that there seemed to be writing on the top of the paper, but the letters were too faded for him to make out.

"So… what do you think?" Sam asked after he had handed the paper to Tucker.

"Not much," he replied with a shrug. "Sure, it's creepy enough, but I don't think it's related to this. Papers find their way here all the time. Possibly someone lost it out of their sketchbook a while back."

She just shook her head. "Danny, I tend to do a bit of sketching myself… That's not a type of paper, if it is paper, that you commonly use. In fact, I'm fairly certain that I've never seen it before."

"Sam, you're probably over thinking things. I really don't think that it's anything out of the ordinary," Tucker told her as he gave it back to her. He then glanced at Danny and grinned. "Although Sam's usually pretty level-headed, she sometimes lets her love of anything weird run away with her."

"Take that back!"

"In this case, I don't think I will."

"Would you still say that if you weren't standing behind me?" Danny asked as he tried to turn to get a look at his friend.

Tucker gave him a serious look. "Dude, have you seen her boots? They hurt! Oh… alright." After receiving another glare, he gave up on hiding and looked over at the still irritated goth. "If it will make you happy, I'll try to find some information on it when I get home. Though, to be absolutely honest, I'm fairly certain that picture's nothing more than the product of someone's deranged… oh, I mean artistic… mind."

Try as she might, Sam couldn't resist chuckling at his comment. "Thanks. If anyone could find something, it would be you."

"I'm glad you noticed."

"Sure, I noticed. It's your only redeeming quality."

"Hey!"

"Sorry to interrupt another one of your fights," he told them as he raised an eyebrow. Their "play" arguments were throwing him for a loop. How was it possible they were still friends if that happened as commonly as it seemed? "But, am I missing something?"

Sam laughed as she waved him off with her hand. "Don't mind us. Both of us keep forgetting that you don't know any of this yet. Although he might not look like it, Tucker's amazing with technology. I swear that he could honestly bring down a satellite with that PDA of his." She then glanced over at the boy who had brought out said PDA and had begun checking it in a strangely loving fashion. "I'm actually surprised that he didn't mention it yesterday. Perhaps he was trying not to scare you way."

After a moment she placed her hand on his shoulder. "Come on! We should leave now before he starts trying to induct you into his technologic world…"

xxxxx

The door slammed which let him know that his charge was finally home. If it was any other day, he would have actually gone to greet the boy, but this was not the case. He was currently stuck on the phone listening to someone who was irritating him more and more with each passing second. Even though he was usually a patient man, it was taking all of his self control to not raise his voice at her.

"Ma'am, I understand the consequences," he told the voice on the phone tiredly as he tried to wrap up the conversation, "But I assure you, that not only am I acting on his parents' wishes, but that I am also taking very good care of him."

What the woman said next absolutely enraged him. "That remains to be seen!" was his indigent reply. "Please reserve your judgments until you or one of your people come to do that review. Now, have a good day." The woman had tried to respond, but he cut her off by slamming the phone. Those people were so tiring, but that one really knew what to say to get under his skin.

"Uh… is everything okay in here…?" Danny asked carefully as he appeared in the kitchen. His expression clearly said that he hoped that he was not in trouble.

Winston sighed and ran his hand through his hair as he sat down. "It's really nothing too important, just another call from the state. Apparently, they're now attempting to use scare tactics." He then looked at the boy and tried to smile, "So, how was your day?"

Danny shrugged as he too grabbed a seat. "Sam and Tucker showed me around town some more, and we hit the arcade for a bit before Tucker had to head home. We're going to try to get together again in a couple days."

"That's good…"

"Um… are you sure you're okay?"

He sighed as he looked up at the boy who seemed worried about the absent-minded response he had recieved. "Yeah… I guess I let them get to me more than I had thought. Anyways, how does pizza sound for dinner?"

"That sounds great!" Danny then got up and headed towards the hall. "I'm going to be in my room for a while."

"That's fine." Winston then got up and picked up the phone again. After calling the pizza place, he headed into the study and tried to relax.

Why was in the world was that man getting involved in this? He had heard the rumors that the man had begun to involve certain aspects of his many companies in some of the state cases, but until that call he did not believe that they were actually true. Due to the money that those companies held, it was going to much more difficult than he had originally thought to keep Danny. Not only that, but the head of those companies, Vlad Masters himself, had personally become interested.

According to that woman, he claimed to be a friend of Danny's parents. If that was the case, why didn't they ask him to take the boy? But, that was beside the point. Even though the man was well-respected, there was something that just did not sit right with Winston. Sure, he might be a business genius, but he had gained way too much power too quickly. There were rumors that those gains had not been made above the table, and Winston believed that they were true.

It was also known that the man was not above using underhanded tactics in court. If this case did end up going that far… there was no telling what that man might reveal. Danny's story was complicated, and even though he had done what was asked of him, it was unlikely that a jury would see it the same way, especially with how unbelievable the story really was. Most likely, Masters would corrupt the tale, making it even worse.

Then there was Danny to think about. While it's true that he had not be entirely forthcoming with what had actually happened, he had planned on revealing everything on his upcoming birthday. However, with the current mess, he was unsure what precisely to do. If he was to wait and the boy was told a corrupted story, it would most likely shatter his world. He could not let that happen, but he did not want to add stress to him, especially since there had been no indication it was true…

A sudden crash followed by a yell immediately got him out of his seat. That was….? What was that? He stood still for a moment trying to figure out from where the noise had originated when he realized that had been Danny's voice. Sure, the boy did have a tendency to trip, but there was no way that was normal.

He immediately ran to boy's room and opened the door. "Danny! Are you all right? I heard a crash!" He looked around expecting the boy to be near his chair or bed, but instead he was on the floor, plastered against the wall. His piercing blue eyes were wide and frightened.

Worried, he kneeled beside the boy, placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, and gently shook him. Unfortunately, he still did not get a response as Danny was still staring at something. His military instincts kicked in, causing him to tense and glance around the room looking for anything that was out of place. After a moment, he realized that nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but he still kept himself prepared potential surprise.

"Danny…" he whispered harshly to his charge as he continued to watch, "what happened?"

There was no sound until he heard Danny take a deep breath and move. He looked back to see the boy leaning his head against the wall. His breathing was still heavy, but it looked like the worst of the shock of whatever had happened was beginning to wear off. "Are you okay?" he asked cautiously as he glanced around again.

"Huh…?" the boy's voice was startled. Had he only just realized that he had come into the room? "Wh-what's going on?"

"Are you hurt?" he asked as he knelt down again. "Did something happen? Did you see something weird?"

At the last question, his charge tensed and glanced at his hand as if he was examining it. After a moment, he hesitantly looked back at him and shook his head. "I… I'm fine, but what's with the twenty questions?"

He raised an eyebrow at the boy. "Really? Daniel, I heard a crash and a yell from you. I was worried," he told him as he helped him to his feet. "Are you sure everything's okay?"

This time, he was answered with a nod. "I'm fine… I just … fell off the chair... and managed to knock some of the stuff off my desk…" Danny cringed slightly when he realized how weak sounding his excuse was. He then became more animated and began to push the older man towards the door. "I promise! I'm perfectly fine! N-nothing's wrong! Just give me a few minutes to clean up everything, and I'll be right out! The pizza's supposed to be here shortly, right?"

Before Winston even had a chance to attempt to get a word in, Danny shoved him out of the room and slammed to door. He remained there, a little stunned for a few moments. Whatever had happened definitely spooked the boy, it was probably nothing like he had said… but he could not help but wonder. A normal fall like that should not be so frightening.

He took another glance at the door before he headed back into the kitchen. Maybe he should watch the boy a little more closely, just in case.

#danny phantom #danny phantom au #fanfic #fanfiction #dp au #danny fenton #phandom #dp #sam manson #tucker foley #vlad plasmius #supernatural #fantasy #Eidolon

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