#*writes some bugs and grass* is this a symbol? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kirnet · 4 years

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kirnet x atton (but not really lol). 2.2k words. Dxun sucks ass

Despite everything that she had done as Revan’s left hand, Kirnet believed in the light side of the Force. It moved through every living creature; every sentient, beast, and plant (and droid, Kirnet had argued at every opportunity with Malak as Revan laughed at their squabbling). Therefore, everything deserved compassion and humility, from the Grand Chancellor of the Republic to the smallest insect. As flawed as she found her old masters, she still clung to their belief that all life was precious, even when they couldn’t bring themselves to live and die by their own teachings.

As hard as had been since taking over the Ebon Hawk, Kirnet tried to follow this philosophy. Of course, sometimes it couldn’t be helped that the occasional mercenary needed an emergency amputation or that a Sith assassin got gently helped over the side of one of Nar Shaddaa’s lofty gangways. But, to Kreia’s frustration, Kirnet tried to be kind. She had done her share of harm in the war. Harm that she could feel seeping from the scarred surface of Dxun into her bones as she circled the Hawk, checking for any damage from their recent run in with Onderon’s fleet.

Harm that she was about to unleash all over again if these kriffing mosquitos wouldn’t leave her alone.

She waved her hand around her ear, trying to gently signal to the offending creature (Yes, creature, she reminded herself. A creature that can feel the Force just as well as the people on my ship) that it should get lost. For the moment, it took the hint and buzzed off. Kirnet sighed, her shoulders relaxing as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Dxun wasn’t just hot, it was humid. Oppressive. It sat on her shoulders and pressed her down into the overgrown earth. She was well aware of what lay buried under the tall grass. Ship fragments. Mandalorian armor. That overeager Jedi with the lopsided smile, just knighted the week before, who always sat at her right in the mess hall and offered her their leftover gruel. They had the funniest laugh, she remembered.

The tall grass tickled her calf, bringing Kirnet back to her senses. She forced her right foot forward, then her left, until she was back on her lazy path around the pockmarked Hawk. Her hand fell to her bare neck, where she could already feel the bumps left by Dxun’s own insect fleet beginning to form.

Sure, it’s not in mint condition, and there's damage from Onderon’s “Welcoming Committee”, but I don’t see why Atton needs to spend all of his time-

Buzz.

The kriffing bug was back.

Or maybe one of it’s friends. No, Kirnet was sure it was the same one. It was here to spite her. Punish her for everything she had done to this moon. Her fists clenched at her side as she closed her eyes, partly to relax herself, and partly to keep the insect from successfully diving into them.

This was a living being, a fellow creature of the galaxy. A being deserving of a Jedi’s compass-

Was there another fucking one?

There was! The droning was twofold around her head. Pressure built behind Kirnet’s eyes and pushed up on her feet and down on her shoulders. It pushed and squeezed on all sides like a vice as the swarm grew and stabbed at her eardrums. That nasally, buzzing laugh. Kirnet had made a joke at Malak’s expense. The table had laughed along with her. What was that knight’s name again?

Her hands snapped open, leaving her with blissful quiet as the mosquitos hung suspended in the air. Force, she would embrace any ancient Sith teaching to be able to suspend every mosquito on this Force forsaken planet at once. Anything to get that incessant droning to stop. Maybe Bao-Dur would make her another Mass Shadow Generator.

Wow. Revan had really rubbed off on her.

“Uh, Kirnet? Everything alright?”

She released the insects at the voice, not even noticing their stuttering buzzing as she turned to Atton. He had eschewed his usual jacket for his undershirt, currently drenched in sweat and rolled up past his pale forearms. Kirnet tried to blink the dots from her eyes. Or were they mosquitoes?

“Kirnet?”

“Hmm?”

“I asked if everything was alright?” He was closer now, brow furrowed as he leaned in. Kirnet could feel his gaze ghost up her arms and over her swelling neck.

Mustering a flimsy smile, she shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Whatever assessment he was making of her had apparently concluded. Atton’s eyes hardened again as he waved his hydrospanner in her face. “Because you raised the temperature by about ten degrees, and it does not need to get any kriffing hotter on this planet.” He looked down at his own shirt, his face contorted in disgust. “Just look at me,” he grumbled.

Kirnet crossed her arms and leaned against the Hawk’s landing foot, her homicidal ideations towards insect-kind long forgotten. “I don’t know about that. I quite like the heat,” she lied, ignoring the fat bead of sweat running down her forehead, and held out her hand. Atton rolled his eyes and released the spanner, Kirnet snatching it up with the Force from his open hand. Space, it felt wonderful to be able to do that again. She studied it for a second before turning her attention back to the ship. “And labor makes you warm, flyboy,” she quipped. “I know you’ve never worked a day in your delicate life-”

“Excuse me?” Kirnet sniggered at Atton’s predictable outburst, a quiet laugh behind his words betraying his amusement. “I’ve spent all day working on this hunk of scrap metal and this is the thanks I get?” He scoffed and leaned on the support next to Kirnet, their arms brushing together. “Delicate! Delicate she calls me!”

With a snort, she dropped her head onto his sweaty shoulder. Atton jumped the tiniest amount, so subtle that even Kirnet almost missed it, before leaning into her. “I do appreciate everything you’re doing, Atton,” she said, smirk dropping to a faint smile. He just nodded, his proximity ruffling Kirnet’s damp hair. She didn’t need to say it. He already knew.

“Though,” she drawled, pointing at the Hawk’s durasteel underbelly with the hydrospanner. Atton looked up with her, his cheek leaving the top of her head. The chill set in again. She hadn’t noticed it had left. “You could work a bit faster. The sooner you finish taking your sweet time the sooner we can get off of this hell planet.”

Cursing, Atton snatched the tool from her hand, throwing out his arms as he made his way to another battle scar in the ship’s hull. Kirnet giggled at the theatrics, the sincerity of the moment before slipping into their usual routine. “I stay behind and slave in the heat while you guys go off and -”

“And get eaten alive by bugs and bigger things.” Kirnet cut him off. Her smile dropped as she stepped closer to him. “Atton, you’re the one insisting on staying back. I’d much rather leave Bao-Dur and T3 here and take you with.” She tried to convince herself it was because Atton was much better with mines than her. (Though Mira was undoubtedly the best and was already going to be in her party. She hurriedly pushed the connotations of that thought aside.) Dxun was littered with them from the Mandalorian occupation, and while her soldiers had cleared as many as they could at the time, there were doubtless thousands more that had been missed. That Jedi had stepped on one, she blankly recalled. Their legs had flown off in two opposite directions. They had advanced on her orders.

Atton swallowed hard. “You think that droid can repair the Hawk better than I can?” Despite his tone, his voice lost it’s playful bite.

“Yes. And so can Bao-Dur. Much faster, too.” Atton pointedly ignored her, now apparently immersed in sealing the blaster hole. Kirnet sighed and closed the distance between them. Gently, she put her hand on Atton’s, his knuckles white around the hydrospanner. He turned it off but didn’t move his gaze from the hull. “I understand not wanting to go out into the jungle,” she laughed mirthlessly. “And I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to. But, Atton, if something is wrong-”

“No!” he started too forcefully, wincing as Kirnet withdrew her hand. “No,” he said again, finally turning to look at her. “Nothing’s wrong. As boring as it is I’d rather be here than on the receiving end of a landmine.” Kirnet shrugged. No argument there. “It’s really nothing too complicated. It’ll just take a while.” His face split into a smug smile as he leaned forward against the Hawk, his arm now above her head. Kirnet noticed it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Unless you want to be crammed in an access hatch with me for a day or two.” He had the audacity to wink.

Ah. There it was. The flirtatious deflection. Usually, Kirnet would be more than happy to join in the banter, but the growing vignette around her vision and the hammering in her skull put an end to that line of thought. Fine, he didn’t want to talk about it, and Kirnet was not eager for a real argument, not one of their usual playful spats. Maybe he felt the painful chill in his bones like she did despite the sweltering heat. He was getting stronger in the Force, after all. Or was there something else he wasn’t telling her?

Maybe he just didn’t want to be the latest victim of her leadership on Dxun.

Kirnet rubbed her arms, the chill seeping in further. “I don’t want to go out there any more than you do,” she grumbled. “But something tells me that we won’t get to leave until I find-” She paused, her face contorting as she gestured vaguely towards the jungle. “Something.” Perhaps an old base? The final assault on the Mandalorians, the suicide mission she had ordered, had taken place at one of these abandoned strongholds. If she stumbled onto one, would she recognize it? Or would it be just another scar, long since scabbed over by the eager jungle?

“Suit yourself.” Atton shrugged, pushing his mop of hair out of his face and quickly turning back to the blaster hole. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“Nothing special, I’m sure,” Kirnet deadpanned, already starting towards the Hawk’s entrance. “I’m leaving T3- no, do not start with that. Be nice and let him help. And take time to do your meditations. We’ll be back before sundown. Hopefully.”

“Anything else?” Atton scoffed.

Kirnet paused. “Yes, actually. Just a word of advice. After you admit to someone that most of the words that come out of your mouth are lies, it’s easier to tell when you’re not telling the truth.” Atton opened his mouth, but Kirnet put out a hand to stop him. “No need to explain. You’ve already come forward with enough. But if you are stalling repairs for some reason, Atton, then I hope you’re filling your free time with something productive.”

Expression hardening into a scowl, he turned back to the damage. “I’ll get right on that, General,” he all but snarled.

Of course, General. What are your orders?

The migraine hit Kirnet with renewed vigor, almost knocking her to the ground. It took all her effort to keep her shoulders square. “Stay safe,” she mumbled at the grass. “Try not to let the bugs eat you alive. Comlink’s open if you need me.” She didn’t wait for a reply before heading up the hangar door.

“Stay safe,” is what he wanted to shout back. “Keep your head on a swivel, and I’ll come running if you need me.” Atton opened his mouth, then closed it, then settled on grinding his teeth as he listened to Kirnet’s retreating footsteps. The patch of flattened grass that she had stood on moments before tried in vain to stretch back up to its original height. “Nice going, shutta,” he groaned. No one was around to hear him.

A mosquito landed on his arm. He slapped it before getting back to work.

#was gonna do uhhh way more but i want validation now #i post my silly little words and think my silly little thoughts and dont vary my sentence structure at all. having the time of my life :D #also i didnt do a great job here but kind of obsessed with the idea of malachor giving the exile this inhuman chill and they start to affect #the body temperatures of the crew after force bonding with them. im just also always cold so bad circulation representation #kotor #kirnet cavira #my writing #also uhhh im writing abt migraines bc ive been having horrible ones recently which means its super hard for me to actually sit and think and #write and use my eyes or listen to the keyboard so hopefully this is legible to other people lmao #i hope atton sounds ok all he knows how to do is complain be bisexual eat hot chip and lie #*writes some bugs and grass* is this a symbol?

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luimagines · 3 years

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Hi! I have a request, but first i wanna say your writing is absolutely amazing! The length + amount of time you put into these prompts is insanely good. Now! Onto the request, how would the boys react to a reader from a more modern era? Maybe a more modernized hyrule or our current point in time?

Masterlist

Thank you so much for the compliment! I'm happy to see the response even if this blog is still relatively new.

I hope I do your prompt justice.

I probably could have done a headcanon list but I was hit with inspiration.

I also might have given Reader some backstory.

Scenario below the cut! It’s long, take caution.

It was a cool night, but you didn't mind. Your bed was warm, the WiFi was fast and even if it was three AM on a school night, you managed to keep yourself giggling with cat videos and blursed memes until the words and colors merged.

A night well spent.

But it led to questionable decisions.

Even if the shredded cheese in the fridge was beginning to seem a more and more enticing snack, your body was tempted to succumb to slumber.

Until a large purple light encompassed the entirety of your window.

Something was in your backyard.

Aliens. Your tired brain supplies and you sprint to the glass and push away the curtains. Is this it? Is this where I'm kidnapped and never seen or heard from again?

You pull out your phone and open up the camera.

"Pics or it didn't happen." You remind yourself and snap a few before showing your face.

What you see isn't what you're expecting. Instead of a flying saucer in the sky beaming down a laser or a weird pear shaped space craft on top of the grass, there's a single panel of glowing light, swirling with black accents that creeps in a circular motion.

"Cheese and crackers...." You gasp and begin to blatantly stare at it with no regard to whether something may be coming out of it.

You wait and nothing happens.

You wait some more and nothing happens.

You spend an hour watching this portal that has appeared out of nowhere, waiting for something to happen, willing for something to happen. But you get nothing.

The unknown stares right back at you, unblinking and unchanged.

Go through it. A voice tells you. What if there's something on the other side?

"I'm going to die." You gulp and take a deep breath.

Who else gets a chance like this? The voice talks again. This could be a grand step towards a more modern society. A whole new world could be on the other side, waiting, reaching out, calling to humanity!

You think you a see a shadow move behind the portal and out of sight but it’s gone before you can even process it.

"Should I call the police?" You step away from the window, ignoring the thoughts, the voice- you're too tired to know if it's your own any more. What's the plan? How does one go about something like this?

Where’s your sense of adventure? Pack a bag and go! What if it goes away?

That last thought seems to get through to your tired brain and for a reason beyond your understanding, it latches onto it.

Now you’re excited.

You run to the closet and take out your old backpack. It used to be for school but it was fancier since it was the only one you could get. The bag had a replaceable water bag with a plastic straw connected through the back of it and the straps have just worn down enough to where they’re actually comfortable. It doubled as a hiking backpack and came with its own insulated lunch box that clasped on the back of it.

It’ll finally serve its purpose.

You quickly roll up your favorite blanket and strap it in tightly beneath the lunch box. You’re quick to take out two extra outfits and pack them as well as change out of your pajamas.

Ok. What would you need? You don’t know where you’d be going so this has to a catch all kind of deal.

You pack away your swiss army knife first for good measure. A solar powered charger for your phone and an extra pair of socks follow suit even after you’ve picked out the extra clothes.

You take out the water bag and run to fill it all the way to max capacity as you think of any other necessities.

You’d need food. You have a small jar of peanut butter and granola bars that can fit in the lunch box. You can bring your extra water bottle and put in the side pockets of the backpack, and maybe bring some of those powered flavor packets your brother loves so much. You think he has lemonade and some green tea ones.

Those would be great. He won’t mind, hopefully.

You let the bag overfill momentarily before running back to shove it in your bag. with the lid screwed tight.

Next you run to the kitchen, grabbing the first things that you thought of already and begin to look around for more.

You grab an unopened pack of beef jerky, a bag of veggie sticks and a half eaten bag of dried mangos.

During your search you grab the water bottle and fill that too.

You return to your room with your bounty and begin to carefully put everything in the box. With some more deliberation, you run back to the kitchen and make yourself a quick sandwich, eat it, make another one and pack that as well.

You look out side the window and the portal is still there.

The sun is beginning to rise now so you’re trying to go as fast as you can, unless you want to neighbors to think something is going on.

Even if it is.

You’re about to leave but in a stroke of brilliance, you run to pack sunscreen and bug spray as well. You see a small first aid pack that was bought recently for when you would take your family vacation but you reason that it might one of the most important things you’d have if you got hurt.

Into the bag it goes.

You grab your hoodie before you leave the door, wrap it around your waist and pocket your phone, your headphones and your wallet.

You feel immediately under packed when you step outside and see the portal up close.

It’s weirdly triangle shaped, you think and step closer.

You reach your hand out and try to touch it. It feels as if you put your hand through a humidifier but it’s not wet. It’s misty and cold but not necessarily unpleasant.

An idea hits you right before you take your first step through.

You pull up one of the earlier photo’s you took and send it to your friend’s group chat. It showed up in my backyard. I decided to make a bad late night decision and I’m going through. If you never hear from me again, I want you all to fight over my electronics. Winner takes all. Godspeed.

And you step through.

You had first assumed that it would merely take you tot he other side but very quickly realize that you have to walk through it.

The first part still had a little light but with time, it got darker. So dark that you couldn’t even see your hand in front of your face.

You kept walking.

As fast as the light disappeared, it came back and you stepped into the light of an open field, right in front of one, two, three, four, nine males that had appeared to be traveling towards you or rather, towards the portal.

The portal disappears in the process.

“Oh so we didn’t have to go through it! We had to gain another member!” One of them yells. “Would have been nice to know before we packed everything up!”

“Ho boy, where am I?” You ask and tighten your grip on your backpack. Why didn’t I bring a weapon?

They all had long tunics and swords on their backs. Old fashioned leather boots and hand bracers were the norm in this group and you realized very quickly that your jeans and t-shirt had wildly missed the memo.

“Dang, I didn’t think I’d walk into a LARP group. Sorry about that.” You sheepishly smile. “I had no idea where the portal was going to take me. But if you would be so kind-”

“Wait, what’s LARP?” One of them speaks up. He was a dirty blond and somewhere in the middle of the group height wise. He wore a white cape like thing with blue designs on the back but you didn’t recognize the symbol.

“Live Action Role Play?” You tilt your head. “It’s why you’re all dressed like that? Right?”

“This is just our clothes.” What appears to be the youngest bounces up to you. “What are you wearing?”

“First I could grab in my closet.” You admit and look down on it. It’s one of your comfiest shirts and best looking pants. You’re a little proud of yourself for finding those in the dark.

“Weird.”

“We’re heroes. We’re all named Link.” Cape guy speaks up again. “Is it safe to assume that you’re in the same boat?”

“Heroes?” Your eyebrows furrow together. “I’m not a hero and my name’s not Link.”

You’re quick to tell them your name and you watch as the confusion covers their faces. “My brother’s name is Link though if that helps anything.”

“Oh we needed him!” The youngest groans and it instantly irks you.

“What would you need with a five year old?” You deadpan and cross your arms.

The information stuns the group.

“The portal showed up in the middle of the night and I’m the one that went through it. I’m pretty sure I was the only awake to even see it. Are you telling me that it was for my little brother?” You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little pissed. “My baby brother was supposed to go through it? He was asleep! He’s five. What kind of logic is that?!”

“Well...” The biggest and oldest of them runs a hand over his face. You think he has some cool tattoos and sick scar going across his eye but he looks about as angry as you feel, so you don’t say anything. “It appears the gods truly do not care for the hero’s maturity, only his existence.”

“Ok...What’s with all this hero talk?” You bite back. “What did... Where am I?”

“Hyrule.” The second with cool face tattoos speaks up. He’s got a large fur pelt around his shoulders and you have to tighten your grip against your backpack again to keep from reaching out to touch it.

Even so you feel yourself deadpan even more. “Hyrule? Like the ancient empire? The one that collapsed more than two thousand years ago? That Hyrule?”

You’re inclined to not believe them and write all of them off as crazy... but you also walked through a portal. And your grandma did say that magic existed in the strangest forms.

They all share looks of concern and some begin to murmur quietly amongst themselves but you’re too far gone to even notice.

“Did I time travel?” The idea hits you like a bus and you feel your eyes widen as you stare beyond the group. You quickly take our your phone and unlock it.

No signal.

“Is that a type of Sheikah slate?” Someone asks you.

“I don’t know what that is.” You reply automatically. “Wait, hold on, what year is it?”

“Why don’t you tell us what year you’re from and we can start from there?” The darkest brunette of the group speaks up.

“202x PC” You say robotically, not really processing the world around you anymore.

“That’s...” The blond with a long blue scarf speaks up with a slight hiss. “...Beyond any of our timelines. You see, we all come from different worlds and eras of Hyrule’s history.”

“I don’t think you’re the farthest down anymore, Wild.”

“This would then make them my successor, right?”

“It would make their brother your successor.” Someone amends. “I think they just jumped in his place.”

“Leave my brother alone.” You snap back into the present, pocketing your [hone again. “Ok, you know what, screw it. I don’t know what you’d want my brother for but I’m here now. I’d gladly take his place if it means he gets to stay home!”

“Hey.” A boy with pink hair stalks up to you looking a little more serious than you’d like.

“Nice hair dude, way to defy the gender norms.” You smirk a little before genuinely grinning, hoping to quell the tension. “What product do you use? It looks like Artic Fox but not every place sells their brand.”

“...I have no idea what you’re talking about but what happened to Ganon in your world? How have you been handling it?” He snaps and places his hands on his hips.

“Ganon? Like my old principle? That’s a name I haven’t heard in forever.” You’re confused again. “Last I heard he joined the police force only to be reassigned out of state. I don’t know what’s happening with him. Kinda hope he gets fired though. He’s not a bad guy but he’s not someone you’d want in that kind of position of power, you know.”

“Police force?”

You blinked and look them all over. They look very medieval. “Oh... You don’t have that...”

You begin to think about your history lessons and what they might be familiar with if they’re telling the truth about being from Hyrule.

“Ya’ll got knights?”

Many, almost all of them nod, a few with face of despair already on them before you finish speaking.

“It’s kind of like that. Mixed with a towns guard position... kinda. They enforce laws... at least they’re supposed to but the whole system is flawed and racist and really needs to be dismantled for the abuse of power that they have-”

“Abuse? Of power?” You have their attention again.

“It’s stupid and it won’t really make any sense if I try to explain because I doubt you have anything similar but it’s basically a group of people given the right to treat the public in anyway they like for their own benefit because they have no one telling them that they can’t.” You groan and slowly begin to feel your lack of sleep catch up to you.

You slowly reach to behind you and sit down on the dirt, looking at all of them. “Mr. Dragmire wasn’t like...Demise or anything but he was a huge jerk. No one liked him. He liked me though. I remember that. I was the envy of the whole school because I somehow got on his good side while everyone else wants to strangle him. I think he was transferred for some misdemeanor or something like that... like he might have been throwing hands with someone he wasn’t supposed to. I never heard all the details. I didn’t really care for it when it happened either. I’m pretty sure he lost that fight though. The dude looked like a blast of wind could have knocked him over let alone someone’s knuckle sandwich.”

“I would love to hear more about this.” The youngest sits next to you with a large grin on his face. His eyes are bright and his body language reminds you of your cousin Zelda. You instantly think they’d get along like a house on fire. “What are your monsters like?”

“Monsters?” You tilt your head. “Be a little more specific bud, it depends on where you’re from.”

“You have that many?!”

“It depends on if you believe they’re real or not.”

“Speaking of monsters, can you fight?” The shortest walks up to you. You like that his tunic is stitched up with multiple colors and designs. It gives it personality, you think. “Do you have a weapon you’re more comfortable with?”

The question throws you off your rhythm and you don’t fight your wince. “What would happen if I say that I do not, in fact, have any sort of weapon on me?”

“I wouldn’t believe you.” Pink guy speaks up again. “That pack is huge, there has to be something in there.”

“It’s food, water and extra clothes my guy.” You lean back against said backpack since it won’t let you lay down with it still on. “Not a lot of space for anything else. I’m pretty good at hand to hand combat though. Karate’s a good way to fight out stress.”

“Your bag’s not magic?”

“Why the hell would it be magic? ...Are you trying to tell me magic actually exists?” You raise an eyebrow as your eyes begin to close against your will. “I know my grandma said it does but I thought she meant like fairies and shadow demons.. and bigfoot. Can’t forget him, he’s the real MVP... You know...Children’s bedtime stories and stuff like that, it’s not real. But like magic magic? Magic items and the like? Find me Tinkerbell and I’ll show you Neverland, that’s what I say.”

“Are you serious?”

“Second star to the right, straight on till morning.” You respond.

There’s a moment of silence as the group in front of you processes your words. It’s hard to tell their reaction since you’re not looking at them but you no longer have the energy to do anything else.

“Are you falling asleep right now?” It’s the one they called Wild.

“I...” You try to open your eyes. They don’t budge. “I haven’t slept in nearly 20 hours... I think. I might have past 24 hours a while ago actually. Portal showed up at like four in the morning... I had to get up at six and I didn’t sleep at all before then.”

More silence.

“Great another one.” Someone scoffs.

You snort.

“Why did we pack up camp again?”

“No one kill me.” You say right before you lose consciousness. “Please and thank you.”

“They’re doomed.”

“Have some faith Vet. They stepped in for their little brother. That has to mean something?”

“They’re in for a rude awakening, and that’s all I have to say about it.”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #is this readers origin story #maybe?#i got a little carried away with this one #had to stop myself before i went even further beyond #i don't know if I want to continue with this as a story or just throw out some headcanons with modern reader #i like to think that everything i write takes place in a separate universe #especially the ones where they catch feelings #might throw out what they think of reader #might not #depends on you guys!#let me know what you think!

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woeisme-iamwoe · 3 years

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an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 2

IwaOi this time around. My favorite ship. The world’s favorite ship...there’s so many

Undecipherable, by ioo (4k. G. canonverse)

I’m pretty sure the author meant ‘indecipherable’, nevertheless! I am appalled that this work doesnt have more hits. Y'all are sleeping on it and that's not okay.

The sound of the door slamming against the wall has Hajime startling back to the present. He looks at the source of the disturbance and finds himself face to face with Oikawa, red in the face with breathlessness and a leather-bound notebook tightly clutched in both of this hands. When he spots Hajime, he makes a beeline for the bench and slaps it down right next to him.

"Koi no yokan," he says. "The sense one can have upon first meeting a person that the two of you are going to fall in love."

primavera, by tothemoon (8k. T. canonverse)

All of tothemoon’s works read so beautifully

They say it takes twenty-six years, for certain breeds to fully bloom.

Learning to Walk (So That We Can Run), by ricekrispyjoints (27k. M. canon-divergence)

I've read this work so many times. Like, so many times and I’ve never tired from it. Gorgeous. The shift from friendship to romance felt so natural, love it.

"I'm not healing like I should be."

In his second year of university, physical therapy just isn't cutting it. Oikawa's knee is getting worse, and he can't hide it anymore.

Or: the light angst, project-your-own-life-experiences-on-Oikawa knee surgery fic you didn't know you wanted.

Priorities, by weirdmilk (2k. T. canonverse)

Kissy, kissy.

‘I just -’ Oikawa begins, ‘it might be difficult to get married, sometimes, I think.’ He chews on his lip.

Iwaizumi makes a questioning noise.

‘Ah,’ Oikawa says, and then, in a rush, ‘if I didn't want a wife at all - what then? If I said that to you. If I told you I can’t see it. Like - the wedding dress. The bride. I just can’t see it.’

Iwaizumi swallows again, his heart beating much faster than the conversation warrants. He wonders whether Oikawa can hear it. ‘You’re eighteen. You aren’t supposed to see it yet.’ He snorts. ‘I mean - if we’re sharing shit, I’ve never even kissed a girl.’ He doesn’t mind admitting it. It’s not something that bothers him - he’s never prioritised girls very highly, and despite Oikawa’s largely undeserved status as Miyagi’s most eligible teenage bachelor, he doesn’t think Oikawa has ever wanted a serious relationship with any of his fan club, either.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi can't sleep before their first practice match with Karasuno.

Before Midnight, by fathomfive (2k. G. canonverse)

Reads like a fairytale.

The sky turns, the seasons turn over, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa track the movements of the stars. Nothing is ever quite constant, but it's close enough.

The grass is stiff with frost. They walk in silence past the raked-over vegetable garden and up the back hill, footsteps crackling, and stand side-by-side at the top of an incline that used to seem much bigger. Iwaizumi glances over but Oikawa’s already gone, eyes searching the sky with no hint of hurry, just a kind of reverent patience.

make a bet, keep a promise, by raewrites (13k. M. canonverse)

Bet still on.

Sometimes, in still moments, Iwaizumi wonders why out of all the people on earth he ended up with Oikawa Tooru. Why it’s his face that lingers on his fading conscious in the last moments before he falls asleep, in the first blurry seconds upon waking up again. Why when he looks to his side, he expects Oikawa to be there in the same way he expects to see five fingers on both hands, a natural extension of himself, ever present.

Why he can’t imagine a future without Oikawa in it.

It begins with a bet made between the two boys in the mid-summer of their eighth year. It starts with volleyball, but like with most things involving Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime, things are never quite that simple.

our hearts still beat the same, by knightswatch

two birds, by thelittlebirdthattoldyou (5k. T. canonverse)

Of heartbreaking letters and paper crane wishes.

Five months into the term, two months after he’s stopped replying to Oikawa’s texts, the first package arrives. A small square box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, and Hajime almost trips over it on the way to his dorm.

There’s a letter attached.

Oikawa doesn’t know how many times he’ll have to put his feelings down on paper before Iwaizumi believes them.

Through My Eyes, by anchoringsouls (2k. G. canonverse)

Okay! Okay, we were doing great with the soft, happy love up until the last part! That's great, just great!

“I think if you ever saw yourself through my eyes, you would fall in love with yourself the same way the way I did with you.”

in time it could be ours, by deusreks (3k. T. canonverse)

Anyone wanna go back in time and make a time capsule with me only to dig it up years later and we’re actually in love?

Set post Seijou's match with Karasuno. There's a moderate amount of rolling in the dirt. No pajamas were hurt in the writing of this fic.

There, in their joint backyard, was Oikawa Tooru, clad in his silly luminescent space pajamas, digging a hole near a cherry tree.

“What the hell, Oikawa.”

Tooru stubbornly continued digging. He looked pitiful in that moment; everything that was grand about him in daylight was meaningless in the darkness. He was only a boy with a shovel whose broken heart mirrored Hajime’s own.

we can do better than that, by spaceburgers (16k. M. canonverse)

Of course, of course, the IwaOi road trip fic. AnD thErE wAs ONly OnE bED!

Oikawa and Iwaizumi go on a road trip during the summer after their high school graduation. It doesn't go as expected, but maybe that's not such a bad thing after all.

They Say it Rains Diamonds on Jupiter, by exsao (35k. T. canonverse)

I don't know, just gorgeous. Hajime’s so in love.

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

Midnight boys/sunset town, by carafin (10k words. T. Housemates AU):

The author says they played off of the fact that Oikawa oftentimes forgoes his sleep in order to work, and wrote it so that he doesn't sleep at all. This was so cute, kinda sad, mostly not. Love how Iwaizumi just goes along with whatever crazy stilch Oikawa is on.

In which Iwaizumi Hajime grows a few chili plants, participates in an eating contest, breaks into a park, and falls in love with a man who doesn't ever sleep - not exactly in that order.

5 Reasons Why Iwaizumi Hajime's Flatmate Is A Complete Weirdo (An Incomplete List)

1. He's obsessed with that stupid bucket list of his.

2. He's the proud owner of seven truly ugly, criminally hideous movie posters with aliens on them, which he insists on pasting all over the damn living room.

3. He's always stealing Hajime's sweatshirts.

4. Sometimes, he wakes Hajime up for breakfast. At 5AM. On Saturday mornings.

5. He literally never, ever sleeps.

The Best I Ever Had, by FindingSchmomo (62k words. T. Canon-divergent):

You’ve read it, your mum’s read it, your dog has probably read it (you really need to take facial recognition for him off your phone, he’s got some weird nighttime habits). So basically this fic caused me physical pain and then pumped me full of morphine and now I’m good! Beautiful read, hated Oikawa for a while, Iwaizumi is the only boy I would ever feel safe alone with.

A story of separation and time lost. Oikawa and Iwaizumi lose contact, and life goes on. Now, a decade later and back in Japan, Oikawa wonders if he can pick the pieces back together, despite knowing Iwaizumi has moved on. A story of their past, present and future, pieced together by shaky hands.

darlin', your head's not on right, by aruariandance (13k words. T. canonverse)

Again, I’m pretty sure anybody who's anybody has read this fic and for good reason! Super sweet realizing you're in love fic. Makes me reconsider wanting to get married.

'“Our wedding,” Oikawa says by way of explanation, tapping his finger against his magazine more emphatically. “What colors should we use? Color scheme is important, apparently.”

Iwaizumi feels his lifespan shortening.

“I was thinking our Aoba johsai colors to go for more, you know, softer tones? Besides, I’ve always looked great in that sea foam green color. Oh, and I guess you look decent in it, too.” He grins, saccharine sweet, and Iwaizumi has never been so tempted to knock one of his perfect pearly white teeth right out of his stupid mouth."

or,

Oikawa teases Iwaizumi about a childhood promise he made to marry him when they were older, except suddenly it's not really a joke at all.

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle, by kittebasu (66k. T. canon divergent)

Is this one of the most famous Iwaoi fic? I don’t know. Looks like it, I know it's my personal favorite. Where Oikawa studies bugs for a living and can’t seem to come to terms with his feelings. Very angsty, love that in a fic.

Tooru is pretty sure he could manage the mating habits of a mosquito. It’s the mating habits of people he can’t seem to get right.

Terrarium, by sausaged (11k. T. Post-canon)

Honestly, I’m so surprised this fic doesnt have more hits! It’s so good! Made me ache! I love the memories and character growth shown through the growing of the terrarium, absolutely adore that kind of symbolism. So beautiful, give it some love because it's one of my absolute favorites.

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

Lips like sugar, by ohhotlamb (8k. T. canonverse)

Why did my childhood best friend never offer to help me practice kissing only for us to realize we were only interested in each other? I had a fake high school experience.

Hajime is offered to learn the art of kissing from a true professional, one Oikawa Tooru. It's not as bad as he thought it would be.

Falling Slowly, by bravely (commovente) (3k. T. canonverse)

So special, imagine loving one person, and one person only like this for the entirety of your life. This is getting too sappy, I want off of this ride.

over the years, some things change; but over the years, some things stay mostly the same.

(alternatively, mornings with oikawa and iwaizumi over the years).

No sleep in the city, by loveclouds (7k. T. canonverse)

Mass/volume = Iwaizumi, apparently. (Please. If anyone gets this absolutely horrific joke, lets elope).

Along their journey to find Tokyo's best ramen, Iwaizumi finds himself asked again and again why Oikawa is still single.

Time, by surveycorpsjean (5k. E. canonverse)

Growing older together.

When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.

Everything With You, by Ellessey (14k. E. canonverse)

Came damn near to crying, you can just feel Iwaizumi’s pain. Fight scene was probably the most emotion evoking one I’ve read in a long while.

‘Hajime still loves Oikawa, but he understands now. Oikawa can't look at him and see someone he could potentially date.

And that makes it easier to not focus on the little things that used to drive him crazy—Oikawa's long legs, the way he's always hanging off of Hajime, how his whole face changes when he gets ready for a jump serve, and he looks like he could take on the entire world and win.

This new arrangement though, this living together situation, is presenting a new set of variables that must be adjusted to, and the nakedness is one of them.’

For years, being Oikawa’s best friend has worked out fine. Hajime is hopelessly in love with him, but it’s enough. Then Oikawa—who, by all accounts, has never been anything but determinedly, assuredly straight—gets a boyfriend. Or a boy friend-with-benefits. Hajime doesn’t know, and he doesn’t give a shit about the definition.

What he knows is that remaining best friends is starting to seem a bit too painful (way too painful) to be considered a solid option.

The Best Best, by rikke (12k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Takeru is a whole mood. Don’t want kids, but I do want domesticity and this fic feeds me well.

“Congratulations, Iwa-chan! You’re a dad!” Iwaizumi hears as soon as the door opens. He’s dealt with Oikawa for all of his twenty-one years of age now, but this declaration is still sufficiently disturbing enough that he turns from his place on the couch and braces himself for whatever Oikawa has done this time.

Or the one where Iwaizumi and Oikawa babysit Takeru for a week.

cheek kisses, by ohhotlamb (G. 3k. Future fic)

Sooo cute!!

“Every time,” Hajime murmurs, “every time I see you again I remember how fuckin’ crazy I am about you.”

Routine, by snoqualmie (2k. T. canonverse)

Again, anyone wanna be my childhood best friend so we can put face masks on each other and fall in love? I died, truly.

Iwaizumi is fourteen years old, horny too often and angry all the time, and he’s just starting to notice that Tooru’s legs are really long, that his lips are kinda soft looking, and his fingers feel good pressed under his jaw.

Thirty Years and Change (the Games of the XXXIII Olympiad, by sunsmasher (19k. G. canon divergence)

Be wary, I would give this fic an upper rating to probably Teen and the follow-up fic is Explicit. But, Oikawa on the Japanese national team is just a dream as is, but add in a rekindling friendship and an angsty make out sesh? Mwah, delizioso.

It’s July 10th, 2024, and Oikawa Tooru is an Olympian. His smiling face airs on an NHK promo every 45 seconds. He’s captain of the national men’s volleyball team, reigning star of the professional leagues, and he hasn't spoken to Iwaizumi Hajime in two years.

He has, however, sent Iwaizumi tickets for the 2024 Los Angeles Summer Games.

“So go,” says Matsukawa's voice. “It’s only a few weeks. You’ve got a whole city to hide in if it gets awkward, and if it doesn’t get awkward, well…”

It’s like watching the future reconfigure, like being in high school again, watching team after team fall to Oikawa’s faultless planning and shameless charm.

“I’ll get to watch a whole lot of volleyball,” Hajime says, and resigns himself to fate and/or Oikawa Tooru.

“Hey, when you get there, can you bag a gymnast for me?” Hanamaki asks, and Matsukawa squawks.

Chasing Paper Suns, by carafin (10k. T. Future fic)

Again with the growing up and coming back together, this time with more angst than the last. Lovely, really lovely read.

Post-high school, Oikawa makes it to the national volleyball team but Iwaizumi doesn't. The next three years become an exercise in growing up without growing apart.

Some days Hajime likes to think of himself as Oikawa’s counterpart—the two of them blending into a single devastating unit, the invincible setter and his unyielding ace, the bond between them unbreakable and true. Other days he feels like he is chasing after a rising sun, always running and running with his eyes fixed on the distance, trying to cross a chasm that stretches on without end, caught in an endless and exhausting pursuit.

the yellow room, by ohhotlamb (14k. T. canonverse/future fic)

Makki and Mattsun see bullshit and call you out on your bullshit.

“I told you, we broke up like six months ago. We’re not dating anymore.”

Hanamaki eyes him suspiciously. “You live together.”

“Yeah, so?”

“There are pictures of you two kissing stuck to your refrigerator.”

Hajime shrugs. “That wasn’t my idea. Anyways, they’re good pictures. Good lighting.”

the river runs, by tothemoon (11k. T. post-breakup)

My heart ACHES. Happy ending, promise! Just read it.

One year since their breakup, Oikawa Tooru starts a list of daily reminders, tips, and tricks called HOW TO FORGET ABOUT IWAIZUMI HAJIME, and he’s determined to make it stick.

—

This is a firsthand account of how to deal (and rather spectacularly, at that).

I sure hope that guy gets fired, by Xov (29k. T. canonverse/time loop au)

The only thing better than one confession, is MULTIPLE confessions. Oikawa trusts Iwaizumi unshakably, and that's beautiful.

It was the fourth time experiencing the exact same day that Iwaizumi Hajime reluctantly admitted to himself that something was very wrong.

my only friend was the man in the moon (until i met you), by ohhotlamb (7k. T. canonverse)

Just so innocent and sweet. Oikawa said ‘effort’.

In which Oikawa has a life-altering revelation, and Hajime is starting to think it involves him.

Bet On It, by originalblue (13k. E. canonverse)

Tooru being nice for a week? That can only end one way… with a d*ck in Hajime’s mouth.

Hajime knows exactly how shitty Oikawa's personality is, and has no scruples whatsover about betting Oikawa six thousand yen that he can't be nice for an entire week.

especially for tender ones like us, by viverella (17k. T. canonverse/post break-up)

Gods! See? See what I mean? How could I forget about a work as heart wrenchingly beautiful as this? Give it some love, actually, all of the love.

The worst part of it all, Tooru thinks to himself sometimes, is that even as they fought and kicked and screamed and tore each other to shreds, it was never that Tooru stopped loving Iwaizumi any less. The worst part of it all, he thinks, is that loving Iwaizumi turned out to not be enough.

(OR: on finding the right person at the wrong time and learning how to pick up the pieces)

sunset town, by skiecas (33k. T. canon-divergent)

Another work that I just CANNOT understand why it doesn't have more hits. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I almost cried.

In the summer of 2020, Oikawa Tooru returns home from his first successful stint as captain of Japan’s national volleyball team. In one hand, he holds the undisputed weight of an Olympic medal, and in the other, his unresolved feelings for a childhood best friend.

Two years down the road, reconciling his lifelong dream with his lifelong love proves to be the greatest challenge.

of odd numbers and intimate regrets, by bravely (commovente) (5k. T. post-canon/one night stand au)

Basically, Tooru and Hajime sleep together after not speaking for seven years and of course there’s feelings and angst and a belated chance at happiness and a life together.

Tooru’s spent the last seven years of his life in a carefully constructed schedule that is, he realises now, as much a habit as it was a way to forget about the person in front of him.

[or, the one night stand AU between two people more than friends but not quite lovers, measuring the passage of time in distance and long-gone memories, the expansion and contraction of the spaces between their fingers each time.]

cross my heart, open wide, by acchikocchi (7k. T. canonverse)

Super cute, super short. Realizing you're on a date with the wrong person one-shot.

For a minute Hajime doesn't know what to say. Everything and nothing crowds his mind, leaving no room to think. That he's never tried this. That volleyball's over. That he's graduating in five months. That it would be really nice, at least once, to go on a date with a good-looking guy.

Hajime goes on a date. It's not with Oikawa.

Fernweh, by oikawashoyo (19k. G. canonverse/post time skip)

A mature(ish) Tooru?? I love works that show Tooru growing and living happily in Argentina and this one is just beautiful. (Plus! Plus, Skai did a piece on it as well and I love ALL their work so you can visualize everything). Love it.

Argentina is stretching out before him, an opportunity, a challenge. He is reminded of his losses, his insecurities, his disappointments; sees them form a tall, tall wall blocking his path to success. He takes a deep breath and knows he is going to shatter it.

In which Oikawa's whole life is spent longing for the horizon — in the form of a dream, a home, and a boy.

i breathe easily in your arms, by orphan_account (2k. M. canonverse)

Soft, soft sex

When, after completing their high school graduation ceremony and heading home to enjoy their freedom, Oikawa had pulled him into his room and pressed his lips hesitantly against Iwaizumi’s own, it seemed an inevitable development in the unfolding narrative of their shared existence.

Despite years of having a bed to himself, the sensation of another body taking up space in his sheets, curling against his chest, creating warmth, feels natural in much the same way.

old and new, by Mysecretfanmoments (5k. T. canon divergence)

Finally a fic where they don't freak out on confession and it's sweet.

“You seem—sad.” Was that the right word? Others sprang to mind: desperate, lonely, anxious.

Tooru looked away. “Are you going to make me say it?”

“Say what?”

Tooru folded his arms, sighed. “I missed you, of course.”

Hajime swallowed.

“No need to look that way. I told you, I’m not one of your macho man buddies. I’m allowed to say stuff like that without being embarrassed—”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Hajime complained. “No need to be so defensive. I’ve missed you too.”

“Oh?” Tooru seemed to get a little of his own back, leaning forward on his elbows. “What about me did you miss?”

((Going to separate universities, Hajime and Tooru learn the true meaning of "distance makes the heart grow fonder"))

all i wanted was you, by spaceburgers (6k. E. college/fwb au)

This was more emotional than I thought a 6k friends with benefits fic could be, okay? Okay.

Wherein Hajime and Tooru are fuck buddies, Hajime curses his treacherous heart, and Tooru is bad with feelings.

we shine like diamonds, by whitemiists (26k. T. canon divergence)

I couldn't not include this work. It deals with internalized homophobia so well and I really resonate with it.

In all seriousness, I’m very lucky to live in a country where my sexuality is widely accepted and my heart goes out the LGBTQIA+ peoples who are forced to hide themselves. You are loved and your sexuality and gender-identity are not wrong and never will be.

Oikawa is nine when he first hears the word. The boys on the playground whisper it like it's dirty, like the way they daringly mutter the word fuck and then look over their shoulders to check their parents hadn't heard.

"You know Abe-kun from class?" they snicker, hands cupped around their mouths like they're passing along a filthy secret. "I hear his older brother is... gay."

Look For Him, by Leryline (18k. E. canonverse)

A collection of kisses. I love Hajime’s grandmother.

She laughs gently. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so heartbroken before, Hajime.”

Iwaizumi sighs and prods at the mackerel with a chopstick. “Sorry. I can’t help it. It’s just different, you know? Like Oikawa pissed me off so much that now he’s not here I don’t know what to do with myself.”

“But you weren’t always annoyed with him, were you?” his grandmother smiles serenely and takes a sip of her tea. “My, my, Hajime, old women see everything. I saw you out there with my finches, when you were kissing Tooru’s nose. Your mother and father used to do the very same thing, you know, when they were younger. And look how long they’ve lasted. I hope you and Tooru last, Hajime. He’s very good for you.”

Oikawa has kissed Iwaizumi more times than either of them can count; it’s a constant thing, their lips never really leaving the other’s skin. There are, however, times when they’ve kissed that are burned into their memories. Eight of them, to be precise.

film reel life, arsenicjay (8k. T. canon divergence)

Such a unique and creative idea! Reading from the eyes of a camera, so beautiful!

The only person Iwaizumi is lying to is himself, when he insists: I am not in love with Oikawa Tooru.

how to let your planets align, by tether (tothemoon) (15k. T. end of the world au)

This is the only remotely non-happy ending fic I will be including on here, and it's purely because it's a gorgeous read. And yes, I ached. Your lips, my lips, apocalypse.

It is the last day on earth, December 2nd, 1985, when you realize you're in love with him.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #iwaoi #iwaizumi x oikawa #Iwaizumi Hajime #oikawa tooru

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displacedentities · 3 years

Text

Callie's Key

Mod: A quick-fic I made for the Fiascrew! I wanted to write out a potential introduction to how Spooky's (@fedoraspooky) character Callie (plant character via @mak-to-the-future) across Destin's artifact, the Night Key :) Hopefully you like it!

~~~

Old Mr. Prescott had had enough. Fed up with all the junk piling up in his garage, it was time to clean the place out. He wasn't a hoarder, but rather he collected a variety of paraphernalia over the years, as older folk do. Some of the junk might classify as antiques, but as far as he was concerned, that was just a fancy word for junk with a price tag. Maybe he could actually make some coin from all this nonsense in his house, and get some much-needed walking space while he was at it. There was, of course, that damn box to deal with.

Prescott had gotten into the habit of storing everything he wasn't sure how to sort, handle, or throw away into a single box, simply labeled 'WEIRD THINGS' in big capital letters. While the cardboard outside was benign, Prescott was certain at least a couple items that got tossed inside were cursed. He kept the box of 'WEIRD THINGS' shoved far into the corner of the garage under a tool bench for several years, until something he picked up made affairs surrounding the box significantly worse. Tools started to fly off the rack, rearrange themselves into cryptic symbols and messages on the work table. One instance, he even got the word 'STUCK' spelled out from wrenches and a tire iron. It was at that point, Old Mr. Prescott knew he was being haunted. Something else had arrived in his house, it threw things to get his attention or stole food from the fridge, and he had no idea how to drive it out. Professional exorcism did nothing - the wrenches were arranged to spell 'NO' a mere hour later. Setting up protective runes to drive out malevolent demons had no effect at all. The fridge was missing a jar of blackberry jam the next morning, found empty on the tool table. Old Mr. Prescott had moved the box away from the tool table and shoved it into a closet right after. But today was the day. He was going to be done with that cursed box, and whatever random object inside had brought this nuisance upon his house. With any luck, he might be able to sell it off with the rest of the junk. If not, Prescott resigned himself to throwing the entire box in the trash, and hopefully doing away with the poltergeist plague. He was getting too old to deal with this. --- Callie peeked out the window of the car as her mother drove through the residential neighborhood. Big eye blinking in the bright light of midday, she watched the trees full of autumn leaves zip by in a blur of color. It was so pretty! And it looked just like her hair! She was almost 6, soon to be a big girl, and she was quite proud of the vibrant yellow-orange petals starting to puff out from under the leaves on top of her head. Mom said it made her look quite fluffy, which made her think of her T.Rex stuffy, Munchy. Callie hugged Munchy tight, feet wiggling over the edge of the cushion. She was bouncing in her chair, excited. Her mom, a Dryad with hair made from sunflower petals and leaves, hummed to herself as she drove. She glanced over to Callie every now and then, smiling gently. "Thank you for being so patient, sweetheart," Mom says, reaching over with one hand to bump her daughter on the shoulder, before her hand returns to the wheel. "I know we've done a lot of errands today, but just one more, ok? We'll get ice cream afterwards- how does that sound?" "Ice cream!" Callie repeats, brightening at the thought. Ice cream?? Yes! Mom chuckles. "Mr. Prescott is having a garage sale for the first time in fifty years- there's sure to be some interesting finds in all that mess! The man hasn't cleaned house since we moved into the neighborhood before you were born. If you find something small that you like, I'll get it for you, ok?" "Yay!" Callie cheered, holding up Munchy in delight. A present, AND ice cream later? This was the best day out ever! The drive through the neighborhood was brief. The closer they got to the destination, Callie's mother squinted, making a sound similar to clicking her tongue. "Shoot, looks like we weren't the only ones with that idea," Mom mutters under her breath, looking left and right. Callie sits up, craning her neck to look outside at the houses. There were cars all over the place! Mom eventually finds a spot to park, a short distance from a house with wooden shingles and roof tiling. Gravel crunches under Callie's blue rubber sandals as she hops down from the car, turning to stare in wonder at the squat old house. It looked like a pop-up book whose contents had unfolded into the lawn and driveway. Furniture was strewn across the yellowing autumn grass, neatly arranged in a grid with walking space between every piece. Chairs, a

coffee table, a big old couch whose leather had softened from use. A squat Sphinx cat-man in a striped shirt, bowtie and overalls leaned on his cane while he spoke in a gruff voice to a woman. Callie didn't understand everything they were saying, but it was something about money, and the coffee table. Next to the furniture were foldout plastic tables covered in random things, some of which Callie had never seen before in her life. Kitchen utensils that could be from the Great Depression, glass dishware in pristine condition, hand-me-down clothing in less pristine condition. Oh! There was a toy table! Callie immediately scampered over to the toy table, hopping up and down to get a good look at the wares. The selection was charming, and had the warm feeling of well-loved antiques. A wooden pull-along train, a cloth teddy bear with button eyes, a cup with a ball on a string, and... some wooden cage-things with jingle bells in them? Callie shook one of them to see what noise it made, and the wrinkly cat-man looks up with ears perked for a moment, before shaking his head with a huff and returning to his conversation. Callie feels a hand on her shoulder, and smiles up at her Mom as she ruffles Callie's petal hair with the same hand. "I'll be talking to Mr. Prescott about some of the glass dishes," Mom says. "Don't go wandering off, and stay where I can see you. If you can be very careful and promise me you won't break any of Mr. Prescott's things, you can go ahead and explore, ok sweetie?" "Ok mom," Callie says, bouncing on her feet as Mom ruffles her hair one more time. "I'll be right over here," Mom says with a nod, keeping an eye on Callie while she walks over towards the cat-man, who had finished speaking with the other woman by this point. Free to explore, Callie's eye sparkles as she examines this wonderland of new things to investigate. It was like a playground, but small! Callie wastes no time hopping onto the big couch, quite pleased with how soft it felt. There was something just- fun!- about a couch being outside. It felt forbidden, like taking a cookie from the jar before dinner. From her elevated vantage point, Callie could see all the houses across the street, as well as some of Mr. Prescott's neighbors. One of them was mowing the lawn! Callie waved with enthusiasm. They stopped and stared at her, and Callie beamed a smile back. They kept staring, lawnmower stalled. Probably admiring her pretty orange petal hair! She was so proud of it. Callie stayed on the couch for another minute or two before she slid off, eager to look around. Mom said if she was nice and careful, she could have something small from all the things to play with here. She was going to be the best daughter ever. Callie explored through the kitchen things, first- while she was quite a mean chef with an Easy Bake oven, she wasn't quite tall enough to reach the counters yet in Mom's kitchen. A metal ladle was the first to be picked up, as she gently swung it around to feel the weight. Hm. Shiny, but heavy. Probably not fun to carry around for very long. She put it back down. Next was an ironically stained stainless steel pot. That went right over her head. Hmmm. No, it blocked her eye. Not a good helmet. Not much else in the kitchen section was interesting, aside from a few wooden spoons that were smooth to the touch. Callie could see her Mom side-eyeing her from the table where she was talking five feet away. Callie carefully returned the kitchen things to their proper places and moved on to the next table. It was covered in books! Callie got very excited, until she saw how thick they were. These would take forever to read! Maybe she could convince her mom to pick up some of the more colorful books for them to read together, but aside from making a fort or tiny city using the books as bricks, there wasn't much this table had to offer for a five-year-old. At least the books smelled nice. The old clothing didn't smell so nice. Callie poked her head into the hanging rack of old coats and shirts, feeling like a spy - until the scent of

mothballs made her sneeze, and she pulled her head back out with a squint of disgust. Ew. The clothes were all too big, anyway. And some had holes in them! She could have sworn she saw a small poof of moths flutter off one of the old frock coats. She liked bugs, but not in clothing. The thought of a moth crawling around her favorite yellow dress and nibbling at her pretty petal hair made her squirm. At long last, Callie let herself return to the piece de resistance- the toy table. She wanted to play-test everything here! Within reason, of course. Mom said to be careful. Carved wooden train cars, a deck of cards- even the creepy monkey with the pair of cymbals got some attention. Callie poked at it, afraid it would move, and was grateful when it remained inert. The eyes wigged her out. No thanks. The cards were arranged in patterns, and she didn't quite know how to play with them, but they fascinated her regardless- definitely not a first choice, though. Callie compared the old cloth teddy to Munchy, who she sat up next to it with a critical toddler eye. The teddy was a bit smaller than Munchy, and not quite as soft. Cute eyes, though! Callie picked up the wooden train cars, turning them over in thought. They felt sturdy, and were polished with wood lacquer. Soft and smooth, and really cool! It was a bit heavy, but that was fine. She was sorely tempted to pick one as her choice, but she had to know how they rolled. If they couldn't roll like a train, they wouldn't be fun. Putting all of the other toys back where they used to be, Callie set the toy train engine on the floor, and pushed it with her hand. The toy train made a delightful clatter of wooden parts, the wheels carrying it over the bumpy concrete of the driveway. It comes to a stop after a foot of travel. Callie smiles, clapping her free hand against Munchy, before scampering forward and taking the pull chord. It rolled so easily behind her, and she didn't have to worry about breaking it if she was in front. Callie giggles, running in delighted little circles with the train clacking along behind her- -until the train veers from a bump in the concrete, and clatters into the leg of a smaller foldout table. The bump wasn't strong, but it was enough to make the table rattle. Callie froze on the spot as several small trinkets and random objects fly off the table to the ground, fear spiking in her chest as she looks over towards her mom. Mom was still talking to the cat man about the set of chairs, but she did glance over with a raised eyebrow. Callie quickly waved back with a smile, trying to feign that everything was alright. Her mom looked curious for a moment, before the cat man drew her attention back to the conversation at hand. Callie immediately drops the train chord and kneels on the ground next to the small table, checking desperately to make sure everything that fell off was okay. The small table had been holding random trinkets and knickknacks, pieces of old jewelry, and a metal cup that thankfully stayed on the table- Callie was sure she would have been in trouble if Mom heard THAT hit the ground. The objects that fell from the table were all sorts of small things, ranging from expensive-looking jewelry to simple puzzle toys that looked more like key chains for a backpack zipper. Callie quickly picked up a necklace- which, thankfully, hadn't broken or chipped- featuring a large amber-colored stone, and stood up to replace it on the table. Necklaces hung from the weird bird perch-looking thing, right? There were other necklaces on it, so that was where it was going. She had to hop a few times to reach it, but she managed to loop the necklace back on the display. Next was a wooden block puzzle- it was so simple that she solved it in her efforts to put it back together, before setting it on the tabletop. Some rings, sparkly rocks, more key chains- Callie knelt down to continue cleaning the mess, panic still bringing a light sweat to the back of her neck. Among the mess was a small bag of marbles, and she'd accidentally knocked one of them across

the asphalt of the driveway. Scampering over, the youngster picks up the shooter marble- and pauses. Sitting on the sunlit path, sparkling in the light, was a small key. Blue-black of the deepest reaches of space, shaped so strangely, it lay half-under a stray tablecloth from where it had clattered to the ground. Callie couldn't make out a lot of details, but even from here, the light that hit the object was seemingly absorbed by its depths, casting almost no shadow. Yet, the sunlight caused a small scattering of stars to sparkle on the asphalt. ...Callie crawls forward, leaning under the table and lifting the cloth with one hand to pick it up. She slides back out to hold the key in the sunlight, fascinated. The key was very odd in shape. The teeth were thick and blocky, with an angled shape she hadn't seen on her toy keyring. The head of the key was weird, too- three holes arranged in a semicircle, and the top was swirled. Like ice cream, or a cinnamon bun! This key was so pretty! But- what was it a key for? Well, whatever it was for, it sure was pretty! Why would the cat-man be selling a key? Didn't you need keys to lock and unlock stuff? If he was getting rid of it, he must not need it anymore. ...a gentle breeze tugged at Callie's sleeve. She- felt something at her shoulder. Callie turns around, curious and confused- but there's nothing there. Huh. That was strange. But- she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was here. She wasn't scared, though. It was a warm presence. A gentle one. She couldn't explain how, but she knew. Whoever or wherever they were, they were nice! "Callie?" her mother called. Callie jumped to attention, startled out of her small reverie by the crashing reality that she still had a mess to clean up. She scrambles to pick up the remaining items and shove them back onto the table, no longer caring for organization- -but the ground is clean. Huh? Did she pick it all up already? Callie could have sworn there were still scattered items on the driveway. But the ground was clear. Even the wooden train car, which she'd crashed into the table leg, was back in its place on the toy table. How-? "Callie!" Mom says, and Callie spins around with a wide eye. "Honey, are you alright over here? I thought I heard something fall over." "Oh- I'm ok, mom!" Callie says quickly, putting on a smile. Inside, she's still confused. Did she clean up the mess that fast? "Okay," Mom says, looking around with a critical eye. Seeing nothing amiss, she appears satisfied. "Have you settled on something to take home, sweetie?" Callie takes a breath to answer that she wanted the train car- then stops. She squints, thinking. She looks down at the key in her hands, turning it over in the sunlight. It sparkled and was warm to the touch. It felt good to hold, smooth and polished. She couldn't explain why, but it felt like holding Munchy- soft and comforting, somehow. "I like this!" Callie said, making up her mind as she holds up the starry key with a smile. "Oh my," her mom says with a smile, looking at the sparkling key her daughter presented. "It's so lovely! Are you sure you want this, and not one of the toys?" "Mmmm," Callie hums in thought, eye narrowed. She did really like that train car, but... she makes a big smile. "No, I want this! It's pretty! Feels soft, like Munchy!" Mom chuckles, patting Callie on the head as she hefts her stuffed T. Rex and hugs it tight. "If you're sure, pumpkin. Let's take it over to Mr. Prescott, and we'll see if we can buy it." Callie's mom gently takes her hand, and starts to lead the tiny flower puff away from the display tables back towards the lawn. Callie clutches her pretty new key to her front, beaming. It wasn't a toy train, but it was so pretty! She'd definitely add it to her keyring, filled with toy keys and old spares her mother let her play 'house' with. Her shadow warped on the ground behind her skipping steps, forming into a curious silhouette. Flowing almost like water, the shape is thin, and retains a vague semblance of a person. Three eyes, like cutouts

in a piece of paper, followed Callie with a gentle curiosity from the head that flowed like gel in a lava lamp. The warm presence remained at Callie's back, as the child pranced at her mom's side to buy her pretty new trinket. --- Callie's mom finally finished talking to Mr. Prescott. The sphinx cat-man didn't blink an eye at the item of Callie's choosing, asking only for a handful of dollars in exchange. He shook paw with her mother's ebony black hand, and the two turned towards the arrangement of chairs set out for display. Callie watched as her mother passed the cat-man several more large green bills, and he gestured with his cane towards the chairs with a gruff nod. Looking relieved, Callie's mother walked over to her daughter and knelt to eye level. "We're just about done, sweetie," Mom said, smiling as she ruffled Callie's petal hair, earning a giggle. "Mr. Prescott's just going to help me load up the chairs, and we can get going for that ice cream, ok?" "Ok, mommy," Callie agreed, smiling. "Thank you for being so patient, baby girl," her mother sighed, quite tired, but managing. "This is the last errand, I promise. Hang tight, I'll be right over here- and don't go anywhere!" Callie nods, sitting down on the grass with a happy hum as she plays with some clovers popping out of the lawn. Her mother walked back over to where she'd parked the car. With the help of the old cat-man, who was surprisingly limber for his age, Callie's mother got ahold of some straps and began the process of lifting the dining room chairs from the grass one by one. Callie smiled and waved every time they got close, getting smiles from her mom and amused half-chuckles from the cat-man. She busied herself with plucking the little clover blossoms, arranging them into little intertwined bracelets. She even got ambitious and started making a flower crown- it smelled really nice! Struggled to hold its shape, though, with how short and flimsy the clover stems were. Maybe the bees would like it? Callie liked bees, so fuzzy and clumsy. At least Munchy liked it! She put her first tiny flower crown on the T. Rex's head. Callie's mother and Prescott finished moving the chairs to the car, and started lifting them to be secured down on the car roof with the straps. Right then, Callie feels a rough grip latch onto her arm. Startled, Callie yelps as she's pulled up to standing, her eye snapping wide open as she looks up in shock and surprise. The hand on her arm belonged to the neighbor she'd spotted from the couch, the one who was mowing their lawn not long ago. They were holding her arm very tight! It hurt! She squirmed and tried to push the fingers off of her, but she was a small child and this was an adult. They were much stronger. "Hey kiddo," they say, smirking with alcohol on their breath. "Your mom's busy, so she told me to watch you for a bit. It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you." Alarm bells were firing off in Callie's mind, as she stared up at this total stranger in fear. Her mom told her all the time, don't talk to strangers! This stranger was way too close for comfort, and hurting her! "L-let go!" Callie pleads, trying to sound brave like a big girl, but it only came out in a squeak. "You're weird!" "I'm weird? You've got a flower for a head," they say, less amused, and frowning now. "There's a lot weirder things than me in this world, kid. How about we take a break from the sun in my house? It's right across the street, you saw it from your little seat on the couch earlier. We can even pet my dog- how does that sound? Your mom said it was ok." Callie looks desperately over to her mother, trying to confirm in some way if this was true, but her mother was still busy loading the chairs on the truck. She was on the other side, and couldn't see what was going on unless she peered through the car windows. The neighbor yanks on Callie's arm, causing her to yelp again as she's tugged off the grass and away from Munchy. "Come on, kid- let's go, it'll be quick," the neighbor insists. "No!" Callie says, trying to raise her voice as

she tugs back, straining with all her might to pull away. "Let go!" Somebody help! Please! wcrACK The hand releases, and Callie plops down onto the grass in surprise. From her shadow on the ground, a long snakelike limb had sprung into reality, and whipped the neighbor across the face with incredible force. "aUGH- WHAT THE FU-GKKGHK-" Before the neighbor can finish, the tendril swiftly wraps around their neck, tightening. It coils, lifting the stranger a foot off the ground. They struggle and squirm, held aloft and clawing at the cable of night-sky patterned darkness at their throat. Five seconds pass, and the tendril lifts them higher, before slamming their face down into the dirt. The neighbor coughs and groans, protesting the treatment as they're lifted yet again. From behind Callie, her shadow bubbles up, gaining size and definition as it materializes into a figure of its own. Movements fluid like water, the stick-thin limb around the stranger's throat is connected to an equally thin shoulder on a being whose body reflects a sky full of stars. A window to the universe in the vague shape of a person. On the presumed head is a set of golden eyes, narrowed in anger as they focus on the stranger. They tower over Callie, hovering protectively as they step forward, blocking Callie from the neighbor's sight. Callie stares, wide-eyed. This thing was so big, so strange! She didn't feel afraid- why wasn't she afraid? Were they- saving her? "Never touch her again," they warn, voice like a hissing bell. "You will get no mercy." This time, the neighbor doesn't get much chance to choke on their words. The being reels back that limb, and with a snap of elastic tension, whips the unfortunate schmuck across the lawn. They collide with a table, crumpling over one side as the contents are thrown akimbo with a loud crash. That immediately gets the attention of Mr. Prescott and Callie's mother, who stop dead before racing over to the commotion. Prescott leaps with nimble steps to yell at the neighbor, while Callie's mother runs right over to her daughter. She passes the thin void-person without even a glance. "Sweetie!" she frets, kneeling down to look over her daughter in worry. "What happened? Are you ok?" "M-mom," Callie stammers, still spooked and staring at the big starry thing right next to them. "The- they- they helped me. The star-man- saved me." "The who?" Callie's mother repeats, confused, looking around. Her eye slides right over the star-man nearby, not a hint of recognition. "Honey, who saved you? From what?" Callie's rapid heartbeat stars to slow in her chest as the fear is gradually replaced by confusion. She frowns and points over her mother's shoulder. "The star-man! They saved me," she explains, uncertain how else to explain it. She doesn't know how, but... somehow, they saved her. "They stopped the bad man. He hurt my arm..." Callie's mother wastes no time looking at both her arms. As she does so, the star-thing slides closer. Callie watches with owl-eye as the being gets very close, and extends a tendril-arm towards her. Having seen what those snake arms can do, she flinches back, and the arm stops. "Honey, I can't see where it hurts if you don't hold still," her mother says, taking the flinch as a response to her checking. Callie is still staring right at the void creature. She- can't read their face very well, if that is a face. The golden eyes blink, and they speak again. It's oddly comforting. "I will not hurt you. I promise. Will you let me help?" Were they asking her? Callie hesitates. She wasn't supposed to listen to strangers. She just dealt with a scary stranger. But this one carried that same softness, that feeling of safety. She couldn't explain how, but she knew they meant it. She could feel it in her bones. In any case, her mom was here now- if they tried anything, mom would knock them silly. Uncertain, but feeling more confident, Callie nods once. The being extends the arm again, and ever so carefully taps Callie on the arm with the pointy limb. They leave it gently overtop

the area where the bruise was forming from the neighbor's harsh grip. Warmth emanates from the contact, and within moments, the bruise that had begun to bloom faded away, leaving only the healthy charcoal-colored flesh. They remove the starry limb shortly after, Callie staring in amazement. Callie's mother is perplexed, looking at the same arm. "That's... hm. I could have sworn you were bruised... Callie, sweetie, are you alright?" she asks, concerned. Callie flexes the arm, and is amazed to find the arm is totally fine. It didn't hurt at all! That was so cool! She looks up with a smile to thank the starry stranger- -only to see empty sidewalk. Callie looks left and right. Where did they go? They were just here... "Callie?" Oh- right, her mom! "I'm ok," Callie says, meaning it this time. "Arm feels fine, now. Starry man fixed it!" "Alright," Callie's mother says, sighing once with a closed eye. "Well, as long as you're not hurt or anything, sweetheart. You tell me if anything feels wrong, ok?" "Ok, mommy," Callie says, glancing over to where the neighbor was getting reprimanded by the cat-man. The reprimands progressed into the neighbor getting menaced with the cane, cowed away from the cat-man's yowling. "Can- can we go, now?" "Yes, sweetie, of course. Let's go get that ice cream." Callie's mother takes hold of her daughter's hand, scooping up Munchy to tuck into her daughter's arms, and the two start walking out to the car. Callie glances over her shoulder, looking all over for the starry man, but not seeing them anywhere. That was a shame... she really wanted to thank them! As she clambers up onto the car seat, a star-speckled shadow follows at her back, vigilant and close. ~~~

The End

Mod: Thanks for reading!

#quickfic #writing #Fiasco #The Fiascrew #fedoraspooky #mak-to-the-future

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magpiemorality · 4 years

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Oh! It’s Saturday! I can send in a prompt! So way back when Altruistic Skittles did the first of the nightmare series, with Remus, you reblogged and said you might want to write something based on the picture. Last I knew, she said that people can write fanfictions from the pictures, as long as they’re properly credited. If that’s still something you’d be interested in, I’d love to see it!

This is very big, somewhat in honour of Remus’ birthday today, a very long and dramatic origin for him.

Check out the amazing art that prompted this fic here :) and thanks to @altruistic-skittles for making it and allowing works based off it!!

Also thanks to @omgsomeonesomewhereonearth for giving this a glance over for me on very short notice :)

Warnings: unreliable narrator, Anxiety is viewed as a bad guy, Remus isn’t particularly friendly, long post.

AO3

***

Roman had been feeling off for a while. He was far from the only one; puberty was tough on every aspect of Thomas, including Logan who had been stretched to his limits trying to keep up with all the demands of an average American high school life. But with Anxiety suddenly in the picture things were even more complicated. Who was he? Where had he come from? And why wouldn’t he leave?

In all honesty Roman hadn’t actually known there were other sides. He’d sort of, maybe naively, assumed that the three of them were the sum of Thomas’ parts, and that they covered everything Thomas would ever need. Sort of like Inside Out, which had in no way at all influenced their existence; they were the pilots who tended to the world inside Thomas’ busy head, just… minus the less good parts. Maybe Thomas didn’t need avatars for those things; maybe he didn’t value them that way, or maybe he just didn’t view them as part of himself?

It was an unfinished theory, but Roman mostly left those sorts of things to Logan, and Logan was too busy for much introspection these days. Which was why Anxiety had gone unchecked for so long.

Sometimes it felt like only Roman was the target of his attacks. Logan faltered, sure, but he was stubborn as all hell when it came to his routines and priorities and Anxiety hadn’t managed to shake them too much just yet. Logan was too established in Thomas’ head to allow wiggle room for anxious thoughts to disrupt his work. Patton also seemed to get away with coexisting with the guy; they fed off each other, or perhaps Anxiety had seen Patton’s power and figured it was easier to work with him than against him, turning good feelings to worry and guilt.

Okay so maybe Patton wasn’t unaffected, but he was so good at putting on a brave face that Anxiety had evidently seen fit to back off out of pure pity, and that left Roman.

Roman, Roman, Roman, trying his best to stay afloat on the sea of schoolwork and stress, to throw creativity into Thomas’ days so his smile wouldn’t fade. Until stupid, miserable, Despicable He, came along and took it upon himself to thwart Roman’s noble goal.

Their fights were spectacular, unfortunately often feeding into the influence Anxiety had clawed for himself over Thomas and leaving him feeling worse than before Roman had begun the battle. Not that Roman ever started things! He just kept trying to do his work, to do his best, and then Anxiety would show up and bam! Thomas’ hand would falter when writing his cathartic fanfiction, or his mind would blank as he searched for the lines to his latest monologue, or his voice would wobble and break on the notes of a song.

So things were weird, and that wasn’t all.

All it took in the end were a few cutting remarks from Anxiety that didn’t make any sense, and Roman was lost to that edge of paranoia, forever wondering what he meant. A jibe about Thomas not being a perfect person; a sneer laughing at how none of them had even known Anxiety existed before he’d appeared; a scoff that came with the bold assertion that just pretending you weren’t like that didn’t mean you actually weren’t. He seemed to reference someone else sometimes, with a vicious sort of victory that was at least in part tainted with misery, someone who- if Roman was interpreting the clues right- Thomas didn’t even know worked for him, who Anxiety had escaped from.

And then there was the matter of the tower.

Roman stared out of the bedroom window. It was his bedroom, his own copy of Thomas’, and if he focused hard enough he could see the shimmering after-images of the original, with Thomas’ homework on the desk, his clothes on the floor, his posters not quite matching up to Roman’s. He wasn’t in his room like Roman was, downstairs at dinner with the family, and not thinking too hard with his creativity. It left Roman free to do what he so often did these days; stare out of the window.

Spread out below him was the familiar, comforting sight of the backyard, with its play area and the patio and the grass, the treehouse in the far right corner looking shabbier than ever from its lack of use. Thomas’ dad had been talking of taking it down soon now the kids were too old to use it, but both Patton and Roman- and in fact Anxiety in a rare display of unity- had dug their heels in as Thomas instinctively balked at the prospect of losing just another tie to his childhood. Patton had discovered nostalgia recently and Anxiety had discovered how much Roman feared the term ‘growing up’ and the treehouse was just a big old symbol for all of them to cling to. A beacon of bad things; a final point of no return.

Roman hadn’t been inside in years, in all honesty, but curiously Thomas had, and more than once. Whatever occurred in there Roman wasn’t sure, but he felt a sense of… something faintly off whenever he looked at the treehouse, that hadn’t entirely started after he’d stopped going inside. This time was no different, and he wondered what the slight churn in Thomas’ gut meant, now that Roman had inadvertently bent his thoughts in the direction of the bottom right corner of the garden. Why picking at the faint memories of the interior of that shadowy wooden structure made their creator push his food around the plate and focus extra hard on talking about his classes, shutting Roman out soundly.

The treehouse was still there, still dark and foreboding and strange. Roman’s eyes started to water slightly, warping the image, until it flickered ever so quickly.

He gasped, shoving his whole body forwards, pressing his nose to the glass as it fogged around him with his quick breaths, trying to see it again.

It remained stubbornly as it always had been, leaving Roman to wonder if he’d imagined the flash of dark, crumbling tower that had blinked into and out of existence.

But he hadn’t, because as he lay in bed that night, doodling ideas into his notebook while Thomas tried to fall asleep, the shadows outside his window lengthened and the light that should have fallen on his curtains was slowly, steadily blocked out. The darkness felt cool, and thrilling in the way watching a horror movie when you weren’t supposed to felt thrilling, with that edge of risk to it that got your heartbeat going and made your palms clammy. Roman could feel the moment Anxiety noticed it as well, because Thomas’ brain whirred back awake in an instant, the tossing and turning that disrupted him more and more often these teenage nights starting up yet again. Logan began gamely battling to get Thomas to continue on to sleep, Logic coming up against Anxiety for once, but Roman…

Roman got out of bed, creeping out of his room and down the hall, sneaking carefully down the stairs one by one so Logan wouldn’t notice and stop fighting with Anxiety. The tiled floor was cool under his bare feet as he crossed it to the back door, sliding it open with a soft whoosh of the well-used mechanism.

The tower awaited him, taller than the treehouse had ever been and far more foreboding. It was made of dark, black brick, slimy and badly worn, surrounded by thorns and with no discernible entrance. A real Rapunzel tower, straight from the Grimm brothers themselves.

A fairy-tale come to life. And Thomas hadn’t imagined Roman in the image of a dashing Disney prince for nothing; so he started forwards, heedless of his lack of shoes or weapons or anything. He had his curiosity and that was a thousand times more powerful in that moment than anything else. He wanted to know, and whatever thing (maybe a monster? Roman had only vague theories but he was leaning towards trapped monster) was imprisoned within; it felt close to escape.

Were he Logan in that moment, Roman would theorise that the tower held some kind of dark aspect of Thomas that he’d hidden from himself, and that in the darkness before sleep it was hardest to maintain the lie, confronted with the harsh truth of oneself. But Roman wasn’t Logan, and he didn’t think too deeply beyond thing bad- must know more.

He got through the thorns with relative ease, considering how large and deadly they looked from across the garden. All it took was a stick from the pile they kept for a bug hotel, a brief flash of inspiration turning it to a shining sharp sword that sliced neatly through each thick tendril until they started to wither away from him as he approached and revealed a door with no lock nor handle, carved into the base of the tower.

Curiosity won again as Roman kicked it in, crumbling the ancient wood. He gasped, coughing as a thick gust of stale air wheezed out. It left Roman’s stomach twisting with nausea, but the need to be the prince and climb the tower was too strong to be deterred. Inside the house Anxiety upped the ante and Logan turned too late towards his own window, missing seeing Creativity take a step forwards and disappear into the treehouse.

It was dark inside, that was the first thing Roman noticed. It was obviously going to be dark, a tower with no windows, but the darkness felt more than that. It felt like it hid an endless number of bad things waiting to come forwards, to pounce at any moment. The walls were horribly slimy when Roman used them to find the winding staircase, and the smell… Better not to mention it at all.

Suddenly, the sound of whispered movement from above.

“Hello?” Roman called softly, hoping he’d imagined it. Nothing replied, but the darkness felt closer, and he hurried upwards with the sword ready. “Anyone there?”

A pair of yellow eyes watched, waiting, from below, but Roman never looked down, intent on reaching his goal. He didn’t see the way the door was repairing itself, or how the thorns had regrown. His only thoughts were for the top of the tower and what lay in wait.

There was the tiniest crack of light when he got up at long last, feet sore and eyes dry from straining to see something. It was a sliver from under a door, faint silver light, the only hint there was a door there at all until he felt it under his fingertips.

It didn’t budge when he touched it, and once again there was no sign of a handle. Roman kicked it with a frustrated sigh, only to freeze totally still when the whisper of movement came again, -only this time, closer and clearer- it sounded a little like rusted metal, sliding against itself.

The eyes down below, having followed the prince’s progress, narrowed in thought, but before they could make a decision Logic gained the upper hand over Anxiety back in the house and for a brief, shining moment, the tower was lit up bright and the door clicked open.

Roman threw himself in before it could close again, and just in time too, because the light faded not a moment later, the door sealing itself up again. How he was going to get out, he wasn’t sure. But that was a problem for later- the fairy-tale dictated he had reached his goal. This was the end of the story.

So what was his prize?

There was a shape, in the room. A figure, about his own size, sat facing the window. Roman blinked hard to clear the spots that danced over his vision in the wake of the sudden flash of light, and the figure came slowly into view in the murk. A boy, with poufy sleeves and an outfit to match the setting, staring out of the window back towards the house. Back towards Thomas, back towards where Roman had been staring out from. The boy yawned, stretching his arms up and it was then that Roman noticed the chains.

He was chained to the floor. Was this the monster at the top of the tower? Or the… dude in distress?!

This wasn't actually a fairy-tale, so the former seemed exponentially more likely, and Roman gulped as fear took root.

“I know, I know, come to shut me up again. I just wanted a bit of fun, D-“

The boy stopped, frozen as still as Roman’s heart as it skipped a beat. Two identical faces, two sets of identical eyes, stared in horror and dawning, dim comprehension at each other.

“You’re Roman!” The other boy shrieked, loud enough to make Roman flinch back. It stopped the grin on the chained boy’s face in its tracks, and he tilted his head, eyes turning cold and calculating in a heartbeat.

“Who are you?” Roman squeaked, barely able to get his voice to work. “Why are you locked up? Are you evil? Does Thomas have…” his voice fell to a whisper. “A Dark side?”

The boy cackled, a joyful sound that shouldn’t have been as unsettling as it was. The clanking of the chains as he doubled over only heightened the feeling that something was wrong, and Roman screamed when the boy darted forwards suddenly.

He was yanked back by the chains, snapping his jaw in Roman’s face with a wild snarl and snorting with amusement when Roman’s back hit the far wall, sword out and shaking in his unsteady grip. “A dark side? Everyone’s got a dark side, Prince Perfect. If you think you don’t, you’re just not looking hard enough."

"Thomas is good!"

"Thomas is real,” the boy purred, moving back to sit at the window again, gazing back towards the house. The distant sensation of Logic and Anxiety fighting for the upper hand grew when Patton joined, his constant underlying guilt swelling support for their anxious antagonist. The chained boy laughed, fingers tapping against his face too quick for Roman to even see, lips moving soundlessly on words Roman definitely didn’t want to hear. “Have you come to defeat me, Roman? No, you didn’t even know I was here, did you. Locked in my tower, kept from my one true calling. It’s for my own good, you know? D- the dragon that guards me says so. It’s for everyone’s good that I don’t get out, most of all Thomas’.” The name felt reverent the way the boy said it, softly and sweetly, like calling the name of a deity. It made Roman wince. “It’s only right that a villain should be kept away.”

“Who are you?"

"I’m you, but stronger,” the boy retorted, breaking into cackles. “I’m you but scarier. That’s what they thought, anyway. I think I’m just something else. I think I’m bad news. I think Thomas is bad news…"

Roman wouldn’t stand for that. He held his sword out more confidently, raising his chin. "Thomas is a great guy! He’s the best! He’s full of good things and light and-”

“And darkness and wondering, wandering thoughts and impulses, just like anyone. Even you. You would kill me if you thought you should, if you thought it was your Disney story, wouldn’t you. Without hesitation, but Roman! Killing is wrong!”

“Not in Disney!"

”Even in Disney!“

A howl of rage echoed around the tower, along with the sound of metal on stone as Roman brought the sword down on the window ledge beside the boy’s hands. The chained boy didn’t flinch, just beaming victoriously at Roman, cackling his disquieting cackle.

"Who are you really?! Tell me!"

The boy opened his mouth to speak, a hunger in his eyes that Roman didn’t understand, but the tower shuddered. His eyes darted to the door and Roman’s couldn’t help but follow. "Oh dear, Roman. You shouldn’t have come here. Curiosity killed the cat, you know, and the witch is on his way to toss you out of the tower…”

“I thought you said it was a dragon?”

“Dragon, witch, there was a time when there wasn’t any difference to you. Maybe you’re learning some nuance now though. That’s gotta be rough, buddy, you’re practically made from simplicity.”

Roman narrowed his eyes at the insult, and the tower shuddered again. The boy picked up his cackling again, louder and louder as the shuddering turned to heavy footsteps approaching up the stairs. And Roman wondered, if this was the monster that guarded this boy, what did that make the boy?

“He’s here.”

The door burst open, a hazy shape flying in and grabbing Roman, what felt like giant claws snatching him up and carrying him out of the tower, dropping him hard onto the lawn before it whirled back around and vanished back into the… treehouse?

The tower was gone. The treehouse looked like it always had, dark and grim, but it was definitely just the same treehouse as ever.

He fell back, sprawling on the grass as his limbs turned to jelly from the residual adrenaline, while inside Anxiety let up at last and Logan won the battle for the night. Thomas slipped uneasily into dreams.

The tug of unconsciousness grew heavy, dragging on Roman’s very being now his creator had finally fallen asleep. He just about managed to drag himself inside to bed before succumbing at last, glad to leave the whole strange night behind him.

Masterlist | Buymeacoffee

#writepie #ts roman #ts remus #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides fic #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #fucking READ MORES #FIX THEM

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acraftedmistake · 4 years

Text

A Person Who Has Never Played MCSM Writes A Story About MCSM: The Dark Room

The Dark Room

If you were to leave Obsidian Town and walk north for some time, you would run into a large ravine. Peering into the ravine, you’d be met with an abyss and believe sunlight could never make its way in there. The end of this ravine met where the forest--one of many--began. If you walked to where these two collided, you’d find a smooth stone staircase hidden between the old oak trees. The stairs led to the very bottom of the ravine; the steps were built into the sides of it. Redstone torches, which were only lit during the day, were placed above every several steps.

Once you’ve reached the bottom, you’d be greeted with a field of green grass with puffy, red flowers scattered about. Bushes with budding flowers were placed along the dirt path, helping to better define the clearing in the field.

The path would lead your eyes to the entrance of--one of the many shrines of--The Hero’s Awakening. Two towering, beige columns--one broken, the other still standing--had been wrapped by vines, and stood on both sides of the shrine’s entrance.

The shrine was built into the ravine itself, and was much more spacious than the exterior leads one to believe,

Above the wide, open doorway was The Awakening’s symbol, a simplified shape of a hollow eye which watched all who entered.

Their doors were always opened when the Sun was out, serving as a home and a haven for the people. Even after gatherings.

It was quite the walk from home, but to many, the traveling was worth it.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“... And I was trying to help!” Jesse exclaimed, his voice echoing through the empty nave. The only other people here were Cecil, who was sitting in one of the many barren benches, and Brenner, who stood across from Jesse. There was no gathering happening for the next few hours, so Jesse could raise his voice as much as he pleased.

“I am aware, Jesse.” Brenner began. His arms were at his side, stiff. “But what you did was reckless and unprompted. You put yoursel--”

“Unprompted?” Jesse repeated. His face twitched.

“I thought you guys wanted to know what Aiden was doing!” He pointed to Cecil then to Brenner.

Cecil’s head kept swishing back from Jesse to Brenner whenever either of them spoke. His sickly pale skin and light blond hair would constantly be caught in the corner of Jesse’s eye, annoying him to no end. It was like a bug continuously zipping by that Jesse would love to crush but couldn’t.

“We never said such a thing, Jesse. Perhaps you misheard.” Brenner said, his foggied eyes locked onto Jesse’s face. “Regardless, you’ve been able to receive information far better and quieter than yesterday.”

“Now hold on!” Jesse started approaching Brenner, his hands curling into fists as Cecil watched him with worry. “I was not the one screaming my head off, that was all Radar’s--”

The moment Brenner heard his words with the nearing footsteps, he slapped the side of Jesse’s head with as much force as possible. Jesse stumbled back and rubbed the stinging area, glaring at the man through the curls of his hair.

“You do not speak that traitor’s name here!” Brenner finally raised his voice, looking down on the boy.

“You have been acting rambunctious and careless these past few weeks. We finally retrieved you from prison after Cavern City and what did you do? Threw yourself out there and drew all attention towards yourself! How do you justify such behavior?!”

“I’m only doing what you wanted.” Jesse argued. “You guys keep sitting around, planning, waiting for everything to fall into place! I just want to GET somewhere.”

Cecil stood up from his seat, ready to join the quarrelling, but Brenner heard him shifting and motioned him to sit back down.

“Is this about your two friends, Jesse?” Brenner asked with a horrible mixture of sympathy and shaming. A tone which only Brenner perfected. A tone that could back anyone into a miserable corner.

Jesse stiffened. He gripped and pulled on a handful of his hair. He didn’t want to respond.

“I was afraid of this.” Brenner said after receiving no answer. “Is this… Impulsiveness because of your friends? You do understand for everything to work, you must be patient. They’re only a small part...”

“Shut up…” Jesse muttered to himself as Brenner continued. He’s heard variations of this lecture before. How he’s ‘over dramatic’ or ‘acts out’. Usually, he’d hate them for the way Brenner spoke, treating him like a misbehaving child rather than an adult. But this time, this lecture was different. More… Personal. To have Brenner bring Jesse’s deceased friends into it made him tremble with anger. Brenner had promised him if everything played out as it’s supposed to, Lukas and Olivia would be back. Of course Jesse wants to rush and finish every part of the plan, of course he’s going to be ‘reckless’, those were his only friends. He’s told Brenner this before. Why doesn’t he understand that?

“... Honestly, it makes me wonder if you even deserve to have them--”

Jesse’s eyes widened and, without any restraint, shouted “SHUT UP!”

Jesse’s grave mistake echoed through the hollow nave. Brenner’s talking ceased and he stood still. Cecil’s pupils shrunk and he held his breath.

Jesse had rarely ever raised his voice at Brenner, much less yell at him. No one did.

The echo seemed to have rang throughout the room for ages before it finally faded. All Jesse and Cecil could do was wait. Wait for Brenner’s brows to crease, for the scowl to form, for his posture to stiffen further as he’d peer down.

But he didn’t.

Strangely, his body loosened. His shoulders drooped as he slowly put his hands behind his back, looking at Jesse with… Concern.

“Or perhaps…” Jesse recognized the tone Brenner was speaking in all too well. “You need time to think.”

Brenner began walking towards him. Cecil left his seat to join the elder man’s side. Usually Jesse would back down, be verbal with his refusal to come, or show any sign of resistance, but a part of him had anger still fueled by Brenner’s words.

He stood in place, watching Cecil extend his hand out--the long sleeve of his disgusting brown suit swaying with his movement--before Jesse shoved him away.

“I don’t need you to hold my hand.” Jesse muttered through gritted teeth, loud enough for Cecil to hear but not Brenner. “I know where it is.”

Cecil stepped back, visibly frustrated.

‘I wish you had been blinded as well.’ Jesse thought to himself as shoved past the two of them, making his way to the door hole at the very end of the nave.

The ‘door’ was on the far left from the stage. On the stage was a wooden podium with The Awakening’s cracked and worn symbol that has stood here for ages, ancient, dusty pots which were only decorated and lit for special occasions, and two long, draping banners--wrinkle free--that hung from the walls. In the middle of the wall between the banners--far enough to not cause a fire--were two redstone torches. Their combined fires were bright enough to nearly illuminate the stage and nave entirely. All except for the door hole. A hole which led to a dark hallway devoid of all life, light, and comfort. It was almost as if light itself avoided the area.

No matter where you sat at the nave, the door could always be seen. Even a snippet of it. It was a reminder. A warning of where the people could be dragged to if they acted out.

“Maybe I do need more time away from you.” Jesse said, making his way to the door hole and stepping into the abyss of a hallway. Brenner followed behind--Cecil as well--having no problem keeping up with Jesse’s fast walking. Jesse heard no response from either of them. All he did hear were his footsteps echoing as he continued walking deeper and deeper into the hall, growing colder and colder.

Jesse picked up the pace. He could see the weak glow of the redstone torch at the end of the hallway. The fire was barely enough to light the door, which was built into the left side of the hall.

Jesse gripped the cold, metal knob and swung the door open. “I finally got out of jail only for you to put me in another one. Fine by me!”

Oh, how he wished Brenner could see the scowl on his face.

“Jesse, this is not a ‘prison’, it’s merely--”

Jesse didn’t want to hear it. He slammed the door in front of Brenner’s face as hard as he could, wishing the force would crumble the walls and crush them all. He leaned against the door and pressed his face against the rough wood of the door. He heard Brenner sigh then lock the door.

“Please understand this isn’t punishment. I would never do such a thing.” Brenner said on the other side. “I only want you to… Think. Think of what you’ve done, what’s been going on… We’ll continue this conversation once you’ve calmed down.”

Jesse wasn’t sure if Brenner was expecting a response, but he gave him a half hearted “Mhm.”

Jesse kept his face against the door, listening to Brenner and Cecil walk away as they talked to themselves. About Jesse. Once Jesse could no longer hear the steps or chatter, he turned back around to face a room he was far too acquainted with. The Dark Room.

He had been in this room a number of times throughout his few years with The Awakening. All for reasons Jesse could not recall. Perhaps it was mostly arguing. Verbal. That was what Brenner had always said. Jesse didn’t think he had ever gotten physical in the past. He could control himself, even during the most frustrating times, today being one of the examples.

‘I didn’t even do anything.’ Jesse grumbled to himself. Was defending yourself considered a sin now? Brenner had seen Jesse at his lowest moments, he had heard his raised voice before, yet Brenner would never give a proper explanation to why Jesse would be taken to this miserable room. ‘Calm down’, ‘Think’, ‘Don’t let your emotions get the better of you’.

Jesse shifted around, letting his back lay against the door, and stared at what little the room provided.

All there was here were four falls.

Four stupid walls.

Three bare walls and one wall straight across from the door with two redstone torches placed high. No matter how dim, they were the only source of light. The two torches are, in Mahlon’s words, ‘The Hero’s eyes watching you’. Jesse could never see it.

‘Think.’ Brenner’s voice echoed in his head.

Think? About what? What is there to think about? About how much he despised this room?

He had his own room in the shrine. They offered it to him when he had nowhere else to go, and he was grateful for it. Jesse had wondered if being sent to his room would be blissful or humiliating in comparison to being thrown into this horrid place. Yes, he’d be treated like a child, but his room had things to keep him occupied. His journal, the few books The Awakening gifted him, a pen to scribble with, a bed to rest on.

But here? There was nothing.

Actually, that wasn’t necessarily true. Besides the unavoidable torches, there was something in this room, and it was far from delightful.

Jesse knew he wasn't the only person to have been locked in here before, he knew Radar had been here once, and it’s evident the moment you step in. An overpowering, nauseating scent of sweat, urine, feces, and vomit of the people who had been here before was enough to make anyone sick. And though Jesse had been able to deal with this repulsive smell more and more, he still understood just how disgusting it was. They had never cleaned this place. Jesse knew. He had seen the same stains and piles remain with each visit.

The two cleanest areas of this room was a small portion of the floor by the door, and by the torches, where most people tend to stay by. He was uncertain if the walls were cleaned, but he didn’t want to take any chances. There were a few instances where Jesse had dozed off in the room, and each time he’d awaken with the smell holding onto and choking him while grime stuck to his face and clothes. Jesse’s feet would cramp for staying in his shoes for too long, but he refused to take them off here. He would never condemn neither his socks or feet to ever come into contact with the cold, sickly floor.

Jesse, unlike the many others who had been taken here before, could survive in this room. He could tolerate the aches of staying in the same position for hours, his appetite had dwindled throughout the months, and he’s learned to suppress many of his body’s urges.

All Jesse can do is sit around, ‘think’, and wait.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

A few hours must’ve passed, Jesse could hear footsteps and chattering growing by the minute. A gathering will be happening soon.

It didn’t feel like a few hours passed. Jesse couldn’t explain it, but whenever he sat in place, pulling his hair or finding another way to keep himself occupied, time managed to fly by. A window would be nice. A window would be wonderful. He’d love to see a snippet of the sky rather than the murky gray surrounding him, and those red torches with their red glow.

Jesse didn’t mind the gatherings, he often attended them, but being in the room while one was taking place was a different story. Here, he dreaded them. They seemed significantly longer and louder. He didn’t know if the leaders did this intentionally or not. Their raised voices would travel through the hall, push their way through the cracks of the door, and into Jesse’s head.

The commotion had died down, and those sweet seconds of silence allowed Jesse to prepare for the eternity of talking.

He breathed in and placed his ear against the door. He couldn’t do anything else but listen.

While the gathering’s introduction--a brief speech of what the leaders would be talking about today--started out muffled, Jesse recognized the deep tone as Brenner’s.

“...With the anniversary of The Hero’s Banishment approaching, I can only imagine how excited you must be. And while Cecil, Mahlon, and I do have plans for the day, we believe now would be the time to discuss the importance of restraint and patience…”

Jesse shot up, grit his teeth, and saw red. He glared at the door, hoping the daggers would dig into Brenner’s skull. Jesse kept staring intensely at the door, his hands clenched and shaking. He hated it. He hated it. He hated it.

He swung his leg back and began kicking the door. He kept kicking at a consistent speed, getting increasingly louder; he wouldn’t accomplish anything, the door was new, it wouldn’t break. But he knew they could hear him, he could interrupt the leaders with enough of a ruckus.

Jesse stopped. A smile crept across his face.

‘They can hear me.’ Jesse remembered. Yes, the only benefit to this room and the hollow hallway, he can hear them and they can hear him. Why waste his energy thrashing about?

He just needs to be… Patient.

Jesse turned back around and leaned against the door, waiting for the time to come.

He’d have to wait for the People’s Payment to finish before the speech would start. Then he could begin. The Payment was the shortest part of the gathering; row by row, people would come to the stage and offer however much money they desire, but if they did not have any money on them--or chose not to donate--then they’d ‘pay’ with a Truth. A confession. To admit to anything, no matter how big or small. A small number of people, mostly newcomers, often confessed to smaller actions, such as breaking a framed photo, stealing, misdemeanors, but you’d have the rare instances where others would confess to heinous thoughts and actions.

Jesse could make out the leaders’ “Thank you”s, the faint confessions of the people, the money being placed into the basket, all those tiny sounds combining and fueling Jesse’s excitement.

Everyone fell silent again. Brenner cleared his throat, everyone leaned close, ready to listen. Even Jesse found himself eager for Brenner to begin talking.

The moment Brenner began speaking, a strange happiness rushed through Jesse. He had never been happier to hear his voice today. He allowed Brenner to continue the speech for several minutes, waiting like an enthusiastic child for the perfect moment.

Once he was certain Brenner had become immersed in the discussion, Jesse took a lungful of the repulsive air.

“MENDAX!”

Brenner continued talking.

“MENDAX!”

The talking weakened for a moment before carrying on.

Jesse remembered listening in on a conversation the leaders had when they believed he was asleep, where Malhon--the oldest of the three--was ranting about how much he despised the word. Jesse had no idea what the word meant, nor the history behind it, but he one day said the word aloud with Mahlon in earshot and was met with deafening shouting and thrown into the room. He was let out far sooner than expected, their reason being Jesse’s lack of knowledge of the word.

“MENDAX!”

To this day, Jesse still doesn’t know why such a word sparks such an outrage, but he knows it made the leaders upset. And that was enough for him.

“MENDAX!”

He’d only yell the world when in the dark room. He thought it a harmless way to ‘get back’ at the leaders, make them ‘even’. Being in the room was already his punishment, they couldn’t possibly punish him any more. Jesse wished he could see their faces each time he spoke it, to see them repress their anger in front of the people must be a sight to see. It’d interrupt the gathering, Mahlon would send Cecil over to tell him to knock it off like usual, and Jesse would continue until his throat would burn.

“MENDAX!”

He began banging on the door with his fist, occasionally twisting the knob reckless to make it sound like he was attempting to escape. He could no longer hear Brenner’s voice, but he did hear footsteps approaching.

‘Cecil.’ Jesse thought to himself. He stood up and positioned himself by the door, close enough to be face to face with Cecil the second he’d open it.

He heard the jangling of keys and the turning of the knob.

The door cracked open. Jesse’s eyes widened, he instinctively backed away, and what little of a smile he had vanished.

“Are you done?” Brenner asked coldly, his white eyes piercing into Jesse.

Brenner had never been the one to quiet Jesse. Not in the room. Never. Never. Never.

Brenner took Jesse’s silence as a ‘Yes’ and closed the door, leaving Jesse alone once again.

Jesse clutched his stomach, his petty anger had been replaced with… Not fear… Not fear. Worry. Worried he would stay here longer, worried what Brenner was going to do, worry.

Jesse sat down, his back facing the door. He had dug himself into this four cornered hole, and all he could do now is wait.

He hugged his knees. He couldn’t think of anything. All sounds have been drowned out. The talking, the footsteps, the crackling of the torches’ fires, everything.

He remained in the position for a while. He wasn’t sure if it had been minutes or an hour, but it was a while. His eyes had been kept on the small bits of torn skin on his fingers as he spaced out.

It was beginning to bother him.

It was beginning to bother him a lot.

He needed to take his mind off of what had happened somehow. He needed something.

He slowly began picking at the skin around his thumb, slowly scratching and peeling whatever he could grab onto.

He would do this often. It helped.

It helped.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

He stared at his hands, attempting to pick off the remaining bits of skin, but just barely touching them caused them to sting intensely. He stretched his hands out in front of him and stared. They were torn, burning, and red. He moved his fingers about in the darkness, watching them. Watching them. In the dark. Watching.

He couldn’t stare at them any longer.

He couldn’t.

It reminded him of--

How long has he been in here?

The gathering ended long ago.

How long were they planning on keeping him here?

He was usually kept in the dark room for six to eight hours, but that was his rough estimate.

The longest time he had been kept in this room was 12 hours. Supposedly. He had fallen asleep in there, and was informed of how long he had been locked in when Cecil awoke him. A part of Jesse wondered if he was lying.

The first time he was in the dark room was his shortest time. He was only there for four hours. He was in there because of Radar. Jesse could recall his first time in the room all too well.

After he had spent his first few months in The Awakening, Jesse kept asking about Radar. Why did they hate him? Why did he leave? He heard Radar’s side of the story, but began questioning the legitimacy of it after spending more time in the shrine. He wanted to hear the other side, but was dismissed and told ‘not to talk about him’, to ‘never interact with him’. Jesse didn’t listen and did so anyways. He had found Radar and asked for an explanation, to elaborate on his experience with The Awakening, to explain why he’s referred to as a ‘quitter’, but Radar panicked.

Radar panicked and told Aiden where Jesse had been.

Then Aiden and all his friends tried to find him, and Brenner found out, and--he hated him. He hated Aiden, he hated Aiden’s friends, he hated that damned quitter. He hated him.

It was Radar’s fault Jesse was thrown into the room for the first time, and now it was Radar’s fault Jesse was thrown into the room this time. That damned--

Crack

Jesse brought his head up.

Snap

Those dreadful torches.

Many people would bring themselves closer to the torches, they were the miniscule source of warmth and light within this unforgiving room. But not Jesse. Not anymore.

Jesse despised these torches. The flames which never went out, the wood that’d never burn out, the faint smell of smoke that mixed with the bodily fluids, the crackling of the fires perfectly mimicking the sound of breaking bones that’d interrupt any coherent thoughts, how the torches managed to make the room feel even colder.

Crack

He hated them.

CRACK

Jesse slowly stood up, his strained eyes locked onto the torches as he approached them. He had tried to tear those wretched things from their place every time he was here and never could.

But this time…

This time will be different.

Jesse stood before the taunting wall, looking up at the torches. They were so close. So close within his reach.

Though the wall might’ve been filthy, Jesse couldn’t care less. He pressed himself against the wall and shot an arm up, trying to reach for the wood of the torch while his other hand dug into the cracks of the wall.

He stood on the tip of his toes, the tips of his fingers barely brushed against the wood.

He was so close.

It can’t be that hard.

It can’t.

He kept stretching his arm, attempting to grab either of them several times. His arm was quickly growing tired, he let his hand drag down the wall, scraping the skin of his fingers along the way as dirt stuck onto them.

He hated this.

He shot both arms up, desperately trying to grab--to feel--the torch, imagining the satisfaction he’d be rewarded with. He instinctively put one foot against the wall, as if ready to climb, and tried throwing both arms towards the torches. When one would fail, he’d drag it against the wall, causing his hands to feel as though they’ve been set ablaze.

He’d scratched and tear at the walls, jumped, pleaded, all while sweat began mixing with his saliva; his eyes forced tears out.

Each time his hands would scratch the wall, they’d run past a section which was getting more and more damp. It could be filth. It could be his blood.

He didn’t care if his fingers bled, if the skin would shred and be reduced to nothing but bone. He didn’t care for his burning eyes, begging him to blink and look away from the horrid light. He refused to blink. He refused to stop. He wanted to get them.

He will get them.

He hated them.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The door opened, Brenner stepped in.

Before him, on the far other end of the room, stood Jesse. His side against the wall, hunched over, taking heavy breaths as his burning, aching fingers were sprawled out. He stared at the man with eyes showing both exhaustion and wildness. All energy had been taken, all he could do was remain in place with his mouth open. Breathing. Watching.

“Did you get all of that out of your system?”

#minecraft story mode #mcsm #mcsm jesse #100th post is coming up #that will be chapter 10 #hope you enjoy!#APWHNPMCSMWASAMCSM #AU fic

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musicallisto · 4 years

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G'morning :) Would a sweet, familial fic with our camp bby Jack Marston and prompt: "Look a shooting star! Make a wish!" be okay to write? Been feelin' low, nowadays. Need some fluff, if it's alright with you

I told my friend a few days ago that I really wanted to write some New Year's party with a Happy Gang(tm), and then your request came in. You must have read my mind! I would love to explore more parties in my writing because Happy Gang(tm) is all I long for. Anyway, hope you like this, even if the rest of the gang is not exactly central, and sending lots of love your way ❤

(F!Reader + would recommend listening to New Year's Day by Pentatonix because it's how I got the idea in the first place, and it made me emo)

"Thirty seconds left!"

"Everyone ready!"

"Ah-- crap! My-- where's my watch?"

"Shut up, Uncle, I can't hear Dutch counting down."

"Fifteen seconds!"

"Well I can't know how much time we got left if I don't find my--"

"Just listen to him, you goddamn fool!"

"Ten seconds!"

"Arthur, John, Uncle, will you please be quiet?"

"I'm quiet. They're bickering."

"Five!"

"Cheers!"

"Not yet, you dumbass!"

"Happy new year, everyone!" Dutch's powerful voice roars out to the night sky, discretion long forgotten, sorrows fed to the flames. A cheer erupts in response. Some grab their loved ones for a good luck charm - you think you see John try to nimbly evade Abigail's kiss, before sheepishly giving in when she pouts -, some down the remainings of their bottles in one big gulp - Karen is even faster than Bill, and her loud, careless laughter explodes like your own show of fireworks -, some embrace, a glint in the eyes that could be tears hidden in their sleeves.

"To another year," Dutch breathes out, almost disbelieving that he's still alive to utter the words.

"To another century," Hosea replies, repressing a grin as he pats his oldest friend on the back.

And some, like you, observe, chest filled with warmth and stars, as the minute right after midnight, the first minute of the twentieth century overflows with joy and wishes and fraternity and love. Your family, an odd one at that, but the closest thing to a safe place you've ever known, raises a glass and a cheer for the new dawn... and first, for the new night, clean of its old grime, ready to be made into whatever the Van der Linde gang imagines.

And you imagine it grand.

Even little Jack has stayed awake for the occasion, battling his drowsy eyes and the temptation of his mother's arms to witness the commencement of his world. Abigail, although reluctant to the idea of keeping the boy up way past his bedtime, with the rest of 'em hooligans, what's more, finally gave in after John convinced her that neither of them belongs in this era that starts when the sun rises, but Jack does. Still, you've been a reliable scarecrow, all evening, keeping Uncle away from the boy - Uncle and his so-called miraculous cures for sleepiness, Uncle and his brandy, Uncle and his "it's just a little sip!". In the fireflies that shine in Jack's little eyes, awestruck at the radiant energy that runs through his aunts and uncles, his mother and father, you have no doubt that it was all worth it. If this is the world Jack is meant to see, you'd rather it start with laughter, with hugs, with joyful tales of the old times, with Javier's guitar, with Charles's subtle singing, and with Mary-Beth and Tilly's sloppy waltzes.

"Y/N! Happy New Year!" an uncharacteriscally enthusiastic Arthur exclaims, going in for a hug before you can even register if his breath smells of alcohol. You laugh against his chest, though you recognize the happy fever of a man who has scraped death way too many times to be picky about what brings him joy.

"Are you drunk already, Morgan?" you playfully retort, but you can't contain your laughter at his falsely outraged expression. It's like on the moment that marks another year, he's lost fifteen in age.

"Course not. Who d'you think I am? I'm just... happy."

"Happy suits you, Arthur," you respond, an affectionate smile making its way on your face. Everything you've been through with Arthur and the others flashes before your eyes, and you decrete right then and there that you're owed some respite, and that joy is the color that compliments best the gang's eyes.

A few moments later, when the rest of the gang has lost itself in a frenzied and clumsy dance, the most dauntless attempting to balance their bottles as they move, you come to rest by Jack's side, sitting in the grass. The air is fresher in this part of camp, devoid of fear.

"Happy New Year, Jack."

"Happy New Year, Aunt Y/N!" he sings, nodding his head to the rhythm of the dancers' feet. "Look at my Pa and my Ma!"

Following his excited finger, your eyes find two silhouettes standing out in front of the campfire. Their feet are heavier than most of the others', but you can hear their tipsy giggling and softened hearts echo every time they twirl, even from where you're sitting.

"Your Pa can dance now?"

"No," Jack hastens to answer, prouder than he should probably be, "he's improvising. He told me earlier. He hates dancing, you know? But he said he wanted to make Mama happy. And they're happy! Everyone is so happy."

You can swear, now that you heard the little boy, that John and Abigail's movements grow in elegance, this touching and life-changing elegance that things bear when they are done with love. And a wind of this same grace weaves its way into your chest, hastily pushing the laughter out of your mouth. Jack doesn't ask why you suddenly laugh; instead, he mimics it, and soon you're two hunched figures in the dark, watching a party unfurl in a clearing somewhere in New Hanover, watching the people you love most meddle together, reminisce about the old times and trip over their own feet, and the only logical, sensible reaction you can muster is to laugh.

The air has settled again between the two of you, and Jack's eyelids flutter more and more frequently, when you suddenly point at the sky, way above the illuminated canopy.

"Look! It's a shooting star, Jack! Make a wish!"

His tiny frame sits up straight again, scanning the sky for the white tear in the navy blanket above your heads. His brow furrows in concentration, and after a moment he tightly closes his eyes, as if that could, somehow, catch the attention of the burning star so very far from you, make it listen to the dreams of a child among a bunch of criminals. You've passed the age of wishing upon stars, and yet the fact that you're all living and together to mark and celebrate this oh so special night is the very symbol of the impossible. Without averting your gaze from the star's resolute course across the sky, you murmur to yourself your utmost desire. Maybe you're wishing on yourself, more than the lightning bug.

You wish that as long as you breathe, you never stop fighting for nights like these.

"What did you wish for?" you ask Jack when he's back to his senses.

The wake of the star is now long gone in the night, swallowed by the ink, but something tells you that Jack will never forget its brilliance. He still sees it, anyway. Not above his raised head, but in the campfire where his family is assembled.

"I'm not telling you! Or else it won't come true."

Leaning in with an air of conspiracy, you murmur in his ear, a secret not even the night can hear:

"I'm friend with a few stars. I'll tell them to make your wish come true. You can tell me."

After a moment of hesitation for the safety of the most crucial and closely-guarded secret in the little boy's life, he finally gives in, his face mirroring the mischievous smile you offer.

"I said I want to be just like you when I grow up."

"Just like me?"

But his little arms encircle a space that is wider than just you, that engulfs the merry chaos above your shoulder, the quiet, observant birds in the trees, his aunt Sadie whirling her knife around her fingers, and his parents now huddled together in a remote yet familiar embrace.

"Like all of you!"

You don't let the twinge of remorse get the best of your heart. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, the ghosts of what Jack's life could have been, had he been born in a regular family, gone to a regular school, and scraped his knees on regular grounds, would haunt you in your sleep. But for now, all you do is ruffle his hair, and bring him close to your heart for a hug.

"Oh, Jack. You'll be a hundred times better, I'm sure of it."

When your breaths synchronize, you can't help thinking that you have no desire to die, but leaving for this little boy - dying for life itself would surely be the most honorable way a lowlife like you could ever go.

"Now, mister Marston," you break the silence with a grin, standing up and offering him your hand. "May I have this dance?"

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #jack marston #rdr2 imagine #request #john marston x abigail roberts #mywriting

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misssunflowersandsangria · 5 years

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Blossoming

Happy Day 2 everyone! Uhm...I don't think there's any real notes for this....lol Okay, enjoy!

Prompt: Muse

Flower Inspiration: Symbolizing rebirth and new beginnings, the daffodil is virtually synonymous with spring.

Summary: She fascinated him. Her light and beauty humbled and inspired him. She was his Muse.

Daffodils

He was staring at her again. Sai knew how creepy it was but he couldn’t help himself. He felt like one of Shino’s bugs. He was attracted to her light, like a moth to a flame. She was so different from himself, she was bright, social and seemed so sure and confident. He couldn’t understand it and so he did what he knew how to do, he painted. He would paint and draw her either in those moments where he was secretly observing her or later as he tried to vividly remember how she smiled and laughed. He’d stained his hands blue while trying to find the perfect mix of blue that could match the color of her eyes. They were some of his best works and yet they all paled in comparison to its inspiration. But still, he wanted to know and understand her and this seemed to be the only way.

Sai was ready to throw his sketchbook into the river.

“This isn’t right. Her eyes looked different.” He thought aloud staring at his most recent sketch. She was eating with her team and he was staring at her through the window from across the street. She looked so relaxed and content in the company of her oldest friends. Her smile was easy and her eyes soft. He couldn’t help but be jealous of the two males in her presence. He knew there were no shared romantic feelings between them. The Nara had a seemingly decade long relationship with the Sand kunoichi and the Akimichi had begun a new relationship with a woman from the Cloud. No, what he was jealous of was that they were so lucky as to know her well, to have her trust and affection. He wondered if they knew just how fortunate they were.

“What are you drawing?”

Danzo was probably rolling in his grave seeing how his project was so easily sneaked up upon. Ino just looked at him with that gorgeous smile he knew all too well while he tried to get his heartbeat back in order.

“Ahh...nothing…” He replied trying to gather all the sheets to his chest.

Ino picked up one that had fallen and peered at it puzzled. “Is this supposed to be me?”

Mortified he was about to throw himself into the river. He wanted to lie but it was pretty obvious who the subject was. “I...I’m sorry yes. I apologize if that makes you uncomfortable.” He stuttered retrieving it from her.

“No, not at all. The girl in the picture, well she’s gorgeous. It’s hard to believe that I inspired it…” She replied shrugging her shoulders.

He was stunned speechless and his drawings scattered to the floor. “Ino, do you truly not know how beautiful you are? My drawings could never capture that. How I see you.” He didn’t like bearing his heart like this but he’d do anything to remove that doubt and sadness in her eyes.

Ino looked at him curiously but smiled. There were no lies in his words.

“You really believe that.”

“I do, you’re my favorite subject. Of all the breathtaking sites I’ve seen none has ever inspired me like you do. To draw, to create, to be a better ninja and person.” His hand reached up to hold her cheek gently. “Ino, you are my muse.”

She felt tears gather in her eyes at the sweet words in disbelief that she could have that kind of impact on him. “Sai...” For all her bravado, and quick remarks there was still a very shy insecure part of her. But Sai, he looked at her with rose-colored glasses, and only as the best version of herself.

She leaned closer to him as his eyes widened in surprise. Her lips softly met his cheek causing pink to flood his normally pale skin.

“Thank you Sai, that means a lot. Your pictures are incredible. Maybe one day I can visit your studio and you can paint me?”

He ever so subtly pinched himself convinced that this was some kind of dream or genjutsu.

When he realized he wasn’t asleep he nodded. “I’d like that.”

Settling onto the grass she helped him collect all of his drawings complimenting him as she went along. It was a bit embarrassing for him to have her view his work but she seemed to genuinely like what she saw. Ino could tell that he’d been watching her for a while and she wondered whether he realized that she had been observing him as well. He was unlike anyone that he’d ever met before and she wanted to get to know him, but she didn’t quite know how to. Thankfully for both of them, he’d broken that ice.

“I like this one.” It was a simple drawing but unlike the other ones, she wasn’t the only subject. He’d drawn himself right next to her, their hands intertwined. They made for quite an attractive and powerful pair. He'd drawn it on a whim, a fond wish that he hoped might come true.

Taking a chance and surprising her he took her hand in his. He smiled as her hand grasped tightly both of them ready for a new beginning together. Ino was remarkable, warm and her smile bright, she was his precious work of art.

Thank you again for reading! I have an idea for only one more of the days (possibly 2) but I'll update if I do end up writing more. :D

Blossoming:

Day 1: Sedum (Blank Period)

Day 2: Daffodils (Muse)

#saiino #InoSai #sai x ino #saiinoweek2020 #day2 #muse

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superjennysunshine · 4 years

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Day 3: Building a better Pokémon Game

I had ideas for like a better Pokémon game so I’m gonna write them out instead of that horrific shit I wrote yesterday.

Crazy Starters: Starting out with one of your first actions in game, I think that the typing of starters should get crazier. Not that it should change from your starters being Fire, Water, and Grass types, but they should grow into crazier combos. Imagine choosing a fire starter and ending with a fire ghost, or choosing water and ending with water bug, or grass electric. Idk if any of those combos are good examples but I think crazier dual type starters would be cool.

Better Routes: I think that expanded area concepts would be cool. Most of the time the routes are just as complex as find your way from point A to point B and like that’s fine but I feel like there’s so much more that could be done. Imagine you come across route 14, a lush forest filled with the typical types of Pokémon. But there’s a level 60 Ursaring on a rampage through the forest. It’s up to you to make your way through the route silently, avoiding the massive Ursaring by hiding in tall grass and behind trees where you encounter wild Pokémon. What if the Ursaring Felled large trees or crushed stones along the way, creating paths across the route, maybe even you have to do something to insight the Ursaring to come near. Imagine route 23, a massive bridge extending across a large river. On the bridge Team Star as we’ll call them in this fake installment of Pokémon, has set up a base blocking trainers and everyday citizens from crossing the bridge unless they pay a heavy toll fee. Your trainer has to venture to the river below and fight past wild Pokémon to a ladder that leads all the to a back (or should I say bottom?) entrance and drive Team Star out from the inside of their own base. While your trainer is in the base they’ll discover Team Star’s plan was to harvest resources and Pokémon from the river below and make money to fund the nefarious operation from the tolls at the same time. I think creative routes layered throughout the journey would be super awesome. Side Quests: Sword and Shields Wild Area was great in concept but in my opinion poor in execution. Instead of a wild area, make them wild areas, large parts of the map that serve as occasional separation between routes. Put in small hamlets, buildings, ruins and caves to explore, but most importantly, side quests. Imagine you are in a town in this game, we’ll call it Oar Town for the sake of naming it, and when you’re in the town you meet an NPC with a ! over his head, so you speak to him and he says that his son is a Pokemon breeder who went out on a expedition to Trilo Cave, in Manwa Peninsula (the name of the Wild Area) So when you leave the town you travel around the Manwa Peninsula and you find Trilo Cave, you travel through the cave, breaking large boulders and fighting Wild Pokemon until you find a strong Exploud and are forced to defeat it. After you do you encounter the mans son who tells you the Exploud attacked him during the expedition, and caused a large rockfall all across the cave, trapping him inside, and that he’d been hiding from the creature with his pokemon ever since. I think things like this would not only serve to make the Pokemon Experience so much more meaningful in the end and utilize Wild Areas a lot better. Better Gyms: Gyms in Pokemon are boring. At least to me. I’ve come to realize it’s because gyms are almost entirely type based and so if you have a pokemon that’s the right type which often times you will, you’ll almost always sweep the gym every time. Gyms should not be focused on Types and instead focused on a form of Strategy. Maybe a Gym where you face different Opponents in double battles, their first pokemon will try to inflict Status’s on your pokemon and the second will attempt to capitalize on that status with attacks. You know just interesting strategies, after all Gyms in the series exist as a test of the trainers merit, but it never feels like their skill is tested when all it comes down to is fire kill grass you win. Gyms should also be longer and have maybe small story arcs of their own. Imagine a assertive and narcissistic gym leader who claims you will never beat him, so you make your way through the gym, solving the puzzles (btw Gyms should follow similar design as the route idea i had above) and battling the trainers and working your way around the strategy of the gy until finally you make it to the top. You fight the Gym leader and with every one of his pokemon you defeat he becomes angrier shouting at you in fury until you get his last pokemon below half health at which point he screams and stops the battle, commanding his pokemon to stop you at all costs. His final pokemon, lets say it’s a magnezone fires out a huge beam of electricity, not at your Pokemon, but at you. Your trainer dodges out of the way and the blast just happens to hit a conveniently exposed part of the wall. Which shuts off the power to the entire Gym. As the Magnezone keeps attacking you are forced to retreat to a broom closet at the very beginning of the gym. Now the Gym has changed. The Gym Leader sits in the lobby, blocking the front door of the gym, vowing to defeat a “lowly loathsome little Trainer Like you.” But through the crack in the doorway of the closet you notice a large vent directly above the door. So now you must sneak through the vents of the gym, making your way through closets and bathrooms, fighting trainers who eventually reveal themselves as Team Star members with the Gym Leader as their captain! You make it to the vent by the door and sneak up on the Gym Leader surprising him and initiating the final battle. When you defeat him this time, he is taken by the local authorities, and you are given the Gym badge as a symbol of a job well done. Doesn’t all that just sound fucking AWESOME!? cause it does to me.

Difficulty Modes: So obviously Pokemon is a franchised made for children, i get that, but, It’s also a franchise that has been around for YEARS with a huge adult demographic and one of the biggest complaints about current pokemon is it’s too easy and it is. So We introduce difficulty. From the very start of the game you can choose one of two difficulties; Normal, or Advanced. Normal is pokemon difficulty as it is today horrifically easy to every degree. But Advanced is more like the classics, Trainers are a bit higher level, type advantages matter a little bit less than they do on Normal, The potential for a trainers strategy to overwhelm you is alot higher, and Pokemon in gyms are changed up, giving Gyms a much more challenging feel than on normal.

anyway that’s all the ideas i have for now so Gamefreak if you’re hiring hit a bitch up lets make the Pokemon Code Red and Baja Blast dream a reality.

DAY 3 NEWS: Today’s been cool, played Xenoblade, still really fun. About to play FFXIV, know it’ll be fun. I’ve also made a plan to spice up my room a bit cause it’s kinda boring in here, it starts with buying some led lights to hang up near my ceiling! Exciting developments happening over here at Strato HQ.

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theantoniomabs · 4 years

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Today I am here writing on my laptop because I seem to have lost most motivation on working. Not just on my game but perhaps on everything. As a last dish resort that I swear will work, I will be essentially looking into my psyche, in hopes of finding the reason to why I do this and why I want to do it. The first thing I want to think about is Moai: An Interactive Experience. In a way this is very much for me to figure out my ideas a bit better, not necessarily to gain likes, views, or comments. More for me than for you, but I hope you get something out of this as an development blog.

What is Moai: An interactive Experience?

First Ever SpriteSheet for Moai

Moai Prototype made in Flash CS3

Spritesheets put into use to build out the first concept levels.

Moai is a puzzle platforming game I have been developing for the better part of last year. About 7 months since I started the first devlog on youtube.

youtube

About 10 videos in so far, which feels good but at the same time a little bad. I started doing the devlogs in order to promote the game but understandably that hasn’t been working too well, or rather maybe not as well as I had hoped, but that’s ok. I do enjoy the process of editing my progress into bite sized pieces of milestone markers. So in a way that’s nice.

Level Art

Level 0 Sketch

On the other side of the marketing sphere is of course the actual creation of the game. The art is awesome! I love working on this kind of stuff, the ideas are always pouring out of me. For example this is the first sketch of the first level. Technically Level 0 because this is the intro of the game. Here we can see how Moai receives life by a buttefly laying on his head and causing a flower to come to life.

Moai Level 0- Concept Art

Level Sketches

After I have completed the initial level I decided to continue working on the next levels. I know I want a couple of puzzles but all in all what I really want for this game is to make you feel like you are there. That sorts of stuff will really help you relax as you play, which in truth is the whole idea of the game. It’s a tool for you to disconnect from the world, and just relax in a beautiful serene world inhabited by beautiful animals and a stone giant.

The music should help you with that. I think that it would be a great wonderful idea to play the bell sound I have for the frequency of love segments. It gives space to the whole game so that’s wonderful. So it can play whenever Moai does his magic life touch. I also just though that perhaps it could be a good idea if Moai got slower the more he gets close to the end. That sounds pretty cool. That way he can start fast at the beginning, full of life but as he activates the points in the island he becomes weaker. Not sure if it’s visible in the art, but perhaps it should.

Character Sketches and Base Sprites

Moai Turn-Around Sketch

I like how Moai looks right now. He can have a bit more definition here and there but overall his animations are starting to look good. Once I do the revise on the art, I’m thinking I will animate it even further in Photoshop, make the necklace move, and add some motion on the the flower and the clothes. That secondary motion really brings live into the art.

Moai SpriteSheet Twee

Moai Pose Sketches

The character continues to evolve as I continue to create art and grow my artistic skills. Which is very good because my unique art style and techniques will play heavily on the feeling this game will give to the player. The stoic expression feels very good for a stone statue that can walk. I also like that it’s gender ambiguous, because I would love for everyone to be able to feel like they are the character, not just men and women, but pretty much everyone in the whole planet, same goes for his age. Moai could be 10 years old, or anywhere from 10,000 years old. Relaxation and positivity should know no exclusion.

Meaning behind the Stone Garden and the Growth Symbol

Stone Garden and Flower sketches Tiny Loading Screen guy

When I did my research on Eastern Island, I learned several things.

1- There are a lot of birds, fishes, and butterflies.

2- There are also several plants, tress and of course the stone statues.

3- People that live there make these very pretty stone structures used to basically encompass gardens.

I love that, and I decided to make it into an important mechanic in the game. The general game is a journey, however the journey is blocked off and segmented into several sections where the player must learn something new about themselves, their environements, or their personal story, in order to progress further into the island. Every time they find a point in which they have to progress, Moai must give a little bit of life force into in a sort of exchange of energy that activates certains parts of the island that will teach him or allow him to pass.

In some cases, Moai and in turn the player must give time to the game in order to accomplish something. Like waiting 5 minutes at the docks for a wooden boat to arrive and take you to a secret part of the island. Or sitting down and waiting at the top of a particularly beautiful hill that rewards you with a cinematic pan of the whole island as seen from the highest point, which is where you are sitting.

In the case of the Stone Garden however, Moai will literally give from his own life force to connect himself into the earth and help a small plant blossom. This blossoming results in a domino effect throughout the level that changes the scenery for better. Very reminiscent of the amazing and beautiful game, Okami. Whenever this happens a beautiful bell should sound in the background, as the plants grow around Moai and his path is revealed. In some cases, like in the magical forest. Moai will not be encumbered by simple gates, but rather by secret foliage that parts it’s way for Moai to continue his journey.

In the island as I mentioned earlier there is also a lot of wild life.

Real things like:

seagulls

fishes

crabs

iguanas

snakes

grasshoppers

fireflies

insects

bugs

frogs

deer

As well as fantastical animals like:

El bugalopo which is a sort of magical deer that appears randomly and has a bone mask covering his face.While in some cases the animal will act as art assets and not necesarilly interact with the player, for the case of the bugalopo, whenever he appears he will run away from the player, and will always be behind the woods. In the forest, you can see his yellow eyes appearing through the mist. In a way he simbolizes desires, and the attainability of wordly pleasantries. Because you want to catch him, but in truth you never can. He will always be away from you, ever running, he is not to divert you from your highest truth which is to bring postivity, love and growth into the island for as long as you live.

There is perhaps another fantastical animal, something like an oax or a boar. A big leathery animal that likes to eat the grass pastures. I’m not sure what they do yet, but I can see them in my mind’s eye for this game.

Early Moai Sketch

This is a very important sketch for me, as it started the journey towards the ending of the game. I don’t want to spoil the big ending, but here we can see Moai sitting and pondering his life as he traversed through the island. This gave way to this sketch of the moutainside.

Last Level MountainSide Sketch

Which gave birth to this scene.

Download the Moai Wallpaper when you Join the Email List

This scene helped me create all the base character assets and animations for the game, plus it serves as a wonderful promotional piece of content. With this in mind, I am thinking that the game, even though it’s starting to look like an actual game. With levels, movements, and controls. I feel like it still lacks life.

https://www.reddit.com/r/unity/comments/glt1r6/art_assets_art_in_the_game_moai_an_interactive/

This is why I think that besides just working on polishing out the engine and it’s bugs, I wilt working on some of the more aesthetically elements, like background and foreground animations, and the creatures I mentioned earlier that will interact and live in this world with Moai.

The next devblog will have to be about how I created:

animal art assets

new stone garden assets

and a burst of energy asset for when growth has been activated

Technical things like:

sound manager system

debugging

water reflections

the sitting and waiting mechanic

the boat mechanics

loading screen mechanics

polishing up the UI

dialog system (narrator/info boxes)

Environmental Effects like rain,mist, and the interactivity of the npc creatures

In a way this devblog will help me not only to stay focused and know what to keep top of mind, with myself and this game. I feel better overall now that I’ve written this. In the next work session for Moai I think I will be able to be productive and efficient, and continue aiding the process for Moais growth and materialization.

It will also help me divide what I want this game to be versus what I want PixelPeeps to be, which is a whole ‘nother blogpost on it’s own.

Here’s a question if you made it this far. What sort of cool mechanics would help you relax? What would you see implemented in the game that will perhaps better the world of Moai: Interactive as whole? Maybe snow, and not just rain and mist? What are your thoughts, and while we are at it, what’s your favorite animal?

Moai Devblog 1: Focus on Growth Today I am here writing on my laptop because I seem to have lost most motivation on working.

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aromagpie · 6 years

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A couple months ago, I was lying in bed wishing I was sleeping, when my brain decided to write a poem. I’m not entirely sure what it’s about, since I was half asleep and not thinking clearly when I wrote it, but there’s definitely some aro symbolism and voidpunk vibes, so I thought I’d share it for ASAW!

He lies in the grass

and lets the forest claim him as one of its own.

Lacking a green thumb,

he has a green heart, which grows over with thorns

as yellow roses bloom in his lungs.

He sits back in the boughs of a birch tree

as bugs from beetles to butterflies devour

the body he left behind

when he ran

from the pulsing crimson city where

hearts beat bright blood

which flows in rivers into the sewers and out to the sea

to be forgotten

Like him

Forgotten and left behind

in the green wood where he chose to plant himself

As his veins fill up with chlorophyll

his thoughts turn verdant, not vermilion.

He coughs up petals because he’s lovesick for himself.

#aro #aromantic #voidpunk #asaw #poetry #james posts

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twistytwine · 5 years

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Victor’s POV

A chapter that is the first chapter with Victor’s POV, which is from a super old and unfinished draft of Two Birds Cracked The Stone.

Warning: Has blood, violence, injury, alcohol, smoking, animal death, animal killing, language, and childhood trauma + abuse

(Disclaimer: I’ve changed a lot of things with Victor and Erik since then and I’m definitely changing his past and how it played out. His dad and mom still are kinda the same, but eh...? I’ll figure it out later)

(Also my writing’s pretty bad D:)

Victor

I’ve always had dreams. Dreams about my past. Dreams about the most terrible events that have happened in my life.

I was blinking angry tears out of my eyes and staring at the stale grass draped upon my backyard. There was that bird. That stupid bird. Its beak was inches away from pecking my bruised hands, the bruised hands of a poor, lonely child. My teeth were clenched so tightly that I felt like they would snap into a billion pieces.

“Victor!” I heard Dad bark. “Come on, just kill it already!”

“B-But—“ I hiccuped miserably, sniffling as my eyes became wet and damp. “But Mom a-and— and Erik said—“

“Who gives a shit about what Erik said?” Dad snapped. “And your mom’s words mean nothing! So just kill that damn bird!”

I struggled to hold onto the small creature, yet I was having even more trouble trying to let it go. The thoughts endlessly swarmed in my head like a flock of dizzy crows over a dry cornfield. The bird in my grip was fluttering helplessly, but I couldn’t release it. Its red belly was barely visible between my fingers. Another robin.

“If you don’t kill it, Victor,” Dad warned, “you won’t be stepping outside ever again.”

“B-But Erik—“

“Quiet! Kill it! It’s so noisy and it’s driving me crazy!”

Indeed it was noisy. The bird was squawking here, squawking there, practically killing my ears with screams and shrieks. My head was spinning. Why did I have to kill it? Why couldn’t Dad just let it fly away? Why couldn’t Dad just go upstairs and work? I was fine with it. Why couldn’t he be fine with it, too?

Erik wasn’t fine with it at all. I had only left him a month ago and I wasn’t ready to leave my dear friend alone. He was an angel to me. I could never let him go.

But as I heard Dad’s heavy footsteps trudge on behind me, fear took over my actions. Immediately, my hands snapped the bird’s neck with a sickening crunch! that made me cringe. Erik wouldn’t have liked that. He would have hated me for that.

Dad crouched down, resting a hand on my shoulder. It was rough. It squeezed me uncomfortably, wanting to control me. Dad had always treated me like some sort of object; I shouldn’t have been so surprised.

“Good,” he hummed, his voice growly in my ear, like a predator catching his prey. “Now bury it.”

His hand didn’t leave my shoulder, even when I stood up. I stared at the crumpled up, blood-stained carcass in my hands. Dad wanted me to throw it away. To clean it up. It was all my job, my duty, all I had. It was all I was good for.

Shaking, I took my hard hands and began to scrape away at the dirt, digging a nice comfortable hole for the corpse. What would Erik say. What would Erik do. What would Erik think. Then plop! The misshapen bird fell into its resting place, and I smeared it over with the dirt I had dug out.

“Go back inside and eat your breakfast,” Dad sneered. “And watch your hands this time, for God’s sake. You always forget.”

In that dream, I looked back at Dad’s face, and I saw that his eyes were cold and blank. Dark. Lifeless.

Dead.

My eyes fluttered open to the real world. Weak and heavy on my face, droopy and twitchy. Everything was blurry and distant. My heart felt like it was closing in on itself, all tight and locked up in its own little cage. I was surrounded by darkness. My head was foggy and incomprehensible. Where was I?

A coppery taste was flooding my tongue. I was used to it. But this time, it was so intense that I could barely breathe. It was like someone was squeezing my throat, piercing my skin with monstrous claws. This darkness was suffocating me.

I let out a groan as I tried to move, only to be hit by a wave of sores and pains. I blinked rapidly to try and rid of the muddy cover in my eyes. That was when the outside world began to kick in: distant chatter, honking of cars, rumbles of footsteps. I was in town. And as I saw the thick brick patterns across from me, I realized that I was in an alleyway.

I was slumped against a wall. Weakly, I turned my head to see the people passing by in the light. All of them were too busy to look closely in the darkness, to spot me. But I didn’t care; it didn’t seem like anybody gave a shit about me, anyway. I was always left behind. Unnoticed. Ignored. Left to fend for myself. It was a norm for me.

For the umpteenth time, I was alone.

I did my best to lift my heavy, shaking hand to my face. It was covered in new cuts and bruises. Memories of last night swarmed in my head. A bunch of guys. Bitter and drunk. One of them with a knife. Brittle anger began to build up in my chest as I thought harder of the fight that broke out, how I lost and was humiliated instead of them. I was beaten up by a bunch of idiots. Goddamnit.

For a few minutes, I just laid there, trying to ignore the dull aches in my body and the annoying voices of the people in the light. I hated how happy they sounded. How they passed by me without a second glance. They were glued to their phones or their friends, and they had smiles pasted to their faces. It pissed me off. They probably had a great morning.

Unlike me, who woke up to this.

Slowly, I bended my legs, hissing at the burns that were scorching my knees. My face felt numb and cold. My hands were practically burning with pain as I pushed myself against the wall, slipping a little but managing to stand up. A wave of dizziness crashed into me as I forced my eyes to open.

Something was in my mouth. I spat onto the ground. There landed two teeth and a splatter of blood. Motherfucker. How did I get hit like that, anyway? I swore that I was completely focused last night. Even if I was up against a couple of drunkards, I should’ve at least escaped. Angrily, I wiped my mouth with my fist. I’d get those assholes back someday.

With shaking legs, I heaved a quivering breath. I spat again and again, trying to rid of the disgusting taste in my mouth. But it stayed. Now that I was more awake, the pain was becoming worse. Stronger. Flooding my mind.

I spotted a pool of water. It was raining last night, hard and fast. A few raindrops fell from the gutter above me. I stumbled over to it and fell onto my knees with a grunt. I hated feeling so weak. So vulnerable. So useless.

Upon seeing my reflection in the water, I scrunched up my nose in disgust. One of my eyes were swollen shut. A nasty red gash was diagonally spread across my lips. Bruises were smeared all over my face. I already thought that I looked ugly before. Now I looked beyond hideous.

Not that anybody really cared. And I didn’t care since nobody paid attention to me, anyway.

I forced myself to stand back up, wobbling a bit. My head was spinning like a crazy carousel. If I had to walk out in public like this, so be it. Let me be humiliated. People will forget about me afterwards.

I leaned onto the wall for support. Then I slowly edged out into the open, forcing myself to walk as normally as possible to blend into the crowd.

The bright sun skewered itself into my barely opening eyes. The chatter around me quieted down, some of them turning into gasps as I passed by, head down and bleeding fists shoved into my pockets. I glared at the sidewalk; I had to pretend that I was the only person here.

“Excuse me, sir?” I heard a lady call to me. I began to walk faster, zipping around a corner and stepping over my foot, tumbling and tripping onto the ground.

I groaned, pushing myself up as a few people began to surround me, hissing, “Are you okay?” and “Whoa, what happened to you?” all over the place. They sounded like buzzing mosquitos, ready to suck the blood from me.

I veered back up onto my trembling feet and pushed them out of the way. “Move,” I growled at them.

The lady that was calling my name brushed my shoulder with her hand, causing me to jerk away from her touch and glare her in the eye. I gnashed my bloody teeth together. What the hell do these people want?

“Sir, are you alright?” she asked in a shrill, frantic voice. “Do you need me to give you a ride? My car is a few blocks back. I can—“

“Leave me the hell alone,” I snapped.

She blinked stupidly, frowning. “But you’re all beat up! You need to be taken to the hospital, at least! I—“

“Fuck off!” I snarled. “I can take care of myself.”

I left her staring, her eyes digging into my back as I stormed away. All of these people were nasty. Ignorant. Dumb. Some of them, like the guys who beat me up, were demons. Monsters who fed off of others. Possessing people.

You could ask, “Aren’t there angels, too?” I’d laugh at you, loud and bold. I only met one angel in my life. That angel left me a very long time ago.

Sometimes, even in my darkest of moments, I thought of him. He gave me a sparkle of hope. Drove me on to fight all this loneliness and anger.

But that hope would burn out afterwards, because I knew that my angel had forgotten me already.

What do you want me to talk about? Symbolism or some shit? How some things mean predictions for the future? Future, my ass.

Fuck you. Fuck everyone.

* * *

It took me some time to actually get into my apartment. People kept bugging me and stopping me in the hallway, and I pushed them out of my way the best I could. One person even complained about me dripping water and blood all over the face; I thought it was the janitor.

“Stop getting all this dirt all over the halls!” I heard him shout. “I just cleaned this up!”

I blocked out his voice as I slammed the door to my room, grumbling and hissing curses underneath my breath. I didn’t give a damn if I was messing his job up. He was the one annoying me, anyway. None of my business.

My room was plain as hell. Shrunken and small. It made me feel like I was strangling the walls and floors with each and every step I took. I felt like there was barely any room between the kitchen table or my bed, and the bathroom was terribly tiny. Reminded me of my own head. Shrunken and small. Locked away to keep anything from slipping out.

In this case, my room was probably the only place I ever felt safe in.

I was all alone, too. I had to patch up everything on my sore and aching body. From the scrapes on my knees to the bruises on my fists. But like everything else, from getting beaten up and moping away from people treating me like a little baby, I was used to it. I was used to being the lonely, irritated Victor Norres.

I did my best to wipe away most of the blood in the bath-room. I winced and hissed when the wounds stung, especially the one on my face. I washed my mouth out with water, still pissed off at the two hollows left in my gums. Would they grow back? I didn’t know and I didn’t care.

I applied ointment to most of them and wrapped them up afterwards. As I stared in the mirror, I began to feel stupid. I looked stupid. Black eye, jagged lips, torn jeans and knuckles covered in red and blue. Sometimes I wished that I was the only person in the world. I wouldn’t have to deal with anybody’s bullshit. Nobody would get in my way. Nobody would humiliate me. I wouldn’t be so disappointed in everything.

But at the same time, I wished that I had somebody beside me. Someone who could understand me. As I stared into the mirror and at the blood covering my skin, I wondered if someone would clean my wounds for me. I wondered if someone would hold my face. Hold my hands no matter how roughed up they are.

Hold me. Tell me that they were there for me.

I’d have a guardian angel.

I shook off the thought. No. I was all alone here. Monsters were surrounding me. Disgusting monsters that did nothing but hurt people. My dad was one of them. He was a demon who manipulated me and manipulated others into thinking I was the danger. But I knew better than him.

I limped out of the bathroom and to one of the cabinets in the kitchen. I took out a box of cigs, lit up one of the sticks, and pressed it to my lips. I inhaled deeply. It distracted me from the sores on my body. Filled my throat with smoke and warmth.

One of the only things I really liked about this place was that smoking was pretty much allowed anywhere, anytime. Best part was that the people next door to me never complained about anything I did.

Only that one dude. The janitor. I hoped he wouldn’t bark another word at me ever again.

I stepped out onto the balcony and leaned on the railing the best I could. My knees nearly buckled. I took a deep breath, blowing smoke into the grey sky. Felt like a machine. A lonely machine, pumping out dust. Polluting the air. Polluting myself and rusting my engines until they were all dirty and crinkled.

My eye caught a few birds in the distance. It made my heart leap for a moment, remembering Dad’s voice. Good. Now bury it. These birds were free from my grasp, and I was free from their’s.

Still, I couldn’t help but look around, wondering if there were any other birds that were close. Slowly, I backed up, wobb-ling back into the safety of inside.

* * *

Later, I was all cooped up on the couch, staring at the television screen. I wrapped myself up in a cozy blanket, my jacket off to the side. I couldn’t believe that blood had gotten onto my shirt. I didn’t have that many clothes and they pretty much all looked the same. But I was sure that my jacket was zipped up just fine last night.

“Look at all those doves,” Jack said to his lovely sister Diana. “Remind me of Mom and Dad. You get that feeling?” He pointed to the dark evening sky, coated with silhouettes of many birds — devils they were in the bloody horizon. “Look at those two. They’re right next to each other.”

“Ah, yes!” Diana exclaimed. “Just like Mom and Dad. They’re gonna soar off together.”

Jack paused for a moment before looking at the ground, sighing. “What’s wrong?” his sister asked.

“I miss them. I miss Mom and Dad.”

Jesus fucking Christ, I thought to myself. Get over it. I should’ve played a drinking game while watching this shit. Every single time they said “Mom” or “Dad”, take a shot. Alcohol poisoning 101.

I rubbed my face tiredly with the blanket. My bandaged hands came into view. Ugly, beaten, and raw. It hurt just staring at them. Once again, those desperate thoughts crossed my mind: would anybody want to hold these hands?

Watching this movie wasn’t helping at all, either. Jack and Diana still spoke in cheesy, forced voices, staring out at the sunset that didn’t seem to move from its place.

Diana spoke about her boyfriend, a man who wore funky glasses and went to libraries. I wish I had a boyfriend, I moped. Then Jack began comparing his sister’s boyfriend to his own girlfriend, a woman who was a painter and writer. I wish I had a girlfriend, I sulked. I wished that I had somebody. Even a friend. Just to sit with me, talk, drink. I wished, I wished, I wished.

That lovesick feeling was practically dancing in my stomach the longer I watched. Grumbling to myself, I stood up, went over to the fridge, took a bottle of beer and went out onto the balcony once more.

There were times when I’d experience a heavy swing of emotion from thinking about love. Or anything, to be honest. My loneliness was practically controlling me, heaving itself onto my shoulders whenever I realized that even in my small home, there was so much empty space.

Afterwards, that emotion would toughen up, squeeze itself, then become nothing. It would disappear, basically, and I would feel empty. Hollow. Unmotivated. It happened a few times, I remembered as I took a sip from the bottle, when I was a kid. Mom would fuss about it, telling me to stop putting on that “long face.” At that time, I thought I had depression, but since neither Mom or Dad really paid attention to my mental health, I shrugged it off like they did.

The night was dark. Pitch black. No stars to be seen, no moon to awaken from slumber. Kinda made me sad as I stood there, leaning on the railing. I shivered from the gust of wind that brushed against me, swinging my jacket on. Winter was coming soon. A bit too soon for my tastes, to be honest. I hated the cold. I only had one jacket and it was getting a bit worn down. Barely gave me any warmth.

Below me, I heard laughter ringing like birdsong. I looked down. A few ladies and guys were paired together, giggling childishly and tip-tapping away at their phones. I frowned at them. Cigarette smoke was practically steaming from their throats, up, up, up into the air until they morphed into a thick cloud.

I sharpened my glare at the group, wanting them to look up at me. They were giving me a headache with their shrill voices. Idiots. They didn’t know how loud they were being and it was annoying the hell outta me.

Still, as I stared at them, I didn’t yell or shout. The emptiness inside of me was still very much there. The anger in my gut was weak. I watched them wearily, slipping out of my sight, their giggles dying in my ears. I took another sip out of my bottle, sighing deeply as the bitter taste flooded my mouth.

My tongue ran over the two hollow places in my gums. Two teeth. Punched out. Made me wonder if people would cringe when I smiled or laughed. I imagined myself in place with the ladies and guys, laughing with them and smoking with pride. Then I shook the thought away. Impossible. I would remain alone.

Only time I ever felt alive was with Erik. Met him a long time ago, left, never saw him again. Thought that afterwards we’d at least cross paths. At least once. But nope; we stayed on our own sides, never to spot each other’s faces ever again.

I had always had a longing for him, a feeling that I didn’t know how to describe. Hot, burning, searing in my chest. My face would grow hot whenever he was near me. He was almost oblivious to it no matter how close we were to each other. But we were just kids. Both of us would be denying those feelings no matter what.

What if he forgot about me? The nicotine from the passing group was flying into my nostrils, dusting my face. I accompanied it by taking another long drink from the beer in my hand. What if Erik didn’t know who I was anymore? What if I was crazy? Did anybody remember their childhood friend, even after tons of years of never seeing them?

I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to lurk into danger. It all seemed too risky making friends, having hope. I didn’t want to crawl out of the safety of my shell.

Deep down, even though I wouldn’t admit it, I was afraid.

But I won’t show it, I thought to myself, finishing the rest of the bottle and slipping back inside to watch Jack and Diana leaving the sunset together.

#victor #twisty's writing #twisty's characters #injury tw #violence tw #blood tw #trauma tw #abuse tw #child abuse tw #alcohol tw #smoking tw #ok to rb

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tabletoptrinketsbyjj · 6 years

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Trinkets, 22: Interesting baubles, semi magical objects and items touched by mystery.

A small, Randomly Colored folded paper bird. When unfolded, it refolds itself and any crumples or tears it has sustained magically fix themselves.

An eyepatch resembling a large flower that covers the entire eye of the creature wearing it. When applied to a creature’s face, the eyepatch grows rootlike tendrils that wrap around the bearer's head to secure it.

A set of fish jaws fashioned into a bracelet. When worn, the bearer has an in depth knowledge of northern pike.

A bracelet made from a lattice of woven brass. It automatically adjusts itself to the wrist size of its bearer.

A shimmery cloak clasp depicting a violin and a sword. It smells vaguely of ash and fire.

A sealed metal tin labeled “Armstrong Mustache Wax”. According to the description, the recipe has been passed down the Armstrong line for generations

A glazed porcelain pipe. Everything about it seems vaguely familiar, but you aren’t sure why.

An old and beaten up steel drinking flask. After carrying the object for more than 1d4 hours, the bearer becomes convinced that the flask has to be kept a secret.

An uncannily familiar face etched into a piece of dead wood.

A marble pyramid, small enough to fit in a human’s palm. When held, shadows seem to flicker in the corners of the bearer's vision.

—Keep reading for 90 more trinkets.

—Note: The previous 10 items are repeated for easier rolling on a d100.