#Arc Writes

[missarchivistdoodles]

Tommy and the Beanstalk: Chapter 1

(AO3 Link)

Chapter 1: Once Upon A Time

Tommy crouched behind a watering can taller than himself and tried to remember how he'd come to be here, hands clasped over his mouth as his death approached with ground-shaking steps.

He could blame Henry for this whole thing, but it wasn't her fault - not really. She wasn't an old cow, but with what little they had to feed her, it was inevitable that eventually she wouldn't be able to give milk anymore. He'd thought they'd had more time before it happened, still a season more where he could sneak out to the barn and sleep against her soft stomach after another day of hard labor, and listen to her heart beat steadily beneath her white and brown hide. But no, the time had come, and he'd walked into the kitchen with an empty bucket and excuses on his lips.

Dream hadn't been impressed - hadn't been willing to listen. The knight had been sitting at the small kitchen table, pouring over one of his many thick tomes, making notes in the margins of text too cramped and small for Tommy to even imagine reading. His mask had been pushed up, resting on the top of his head so he could squint at the complex runes laid out in a diagram, and he'd barely flicked a glance to the boy as he came in from the barn.

"No milk?" There was no surprise in the question, no shock or horror at the idea of their beloved cow starving. Just acceptance. She'd been giving less and less lately, and Dream had already mentioned selling her a few times in passing, though Tommy always vehemently argued against it. Silently, the boy set the empty pail by the sink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse for the lack of milk.

"Tommy, I asked you a question." Dream's voice was still-water calm, but his actions weren't. He slammed the book shut, and the jars of ink on the table danced, one nearly falling over. The boy did his best to hide a flinch.

"Sorry, sir." He straightened his spine a bit, shoulders pulled back, and folded his hands behind himself. "Henry - I couldn't get any milk. Sir."

Dream sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat back in his chair, looking exhausted. "Tommy," he said, his voice weary, "I know you care about the cow, but if it can't make milk, then we can't afford to feed it."

Tommy's shoulders crept up to his ears, and he folded in on himself a bit. "I - I know, but we can't just sell her! She's - she's Henry!" He tried to argue as Dream climbed to his feet. "She's - she's family! We ca-"

The hit shouldn't have been a surprise, but Tommy was so busy defending the cow, he didn't see it coming. Dream had always been able to move quickly, silently - it was what made him so dangerous on the battlefield and during tournaments. The backhand snapped his head to the side, cutting him off mid-word, as Dream loomed over him.

"We do not use that word," the knight reminded him, tone tight and dangerous. Tommy shrunk in on himself, one hand reaching up to cradle his cheek, which was already beginning to turn red. He fixed his gray eyes on the floor and wrapped his other hand around his stomach, making himself as small and unobtrusive as possible, just how Dream liked it. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered, all indignant rage on Henry's behalf gone.

"Why are you sorry?" The knight threaded his fingers through Tommy's hair, gripping it tightly.

"I'm sorry I said - I said the word."

"What word?"

Tommy swallowed, hesitated, and Dream gave his hair a yank. "What word, Tommy?" 

"Family," he whispered.

"And why don't we use that word?"

"Because family always leaves."

The grip on his head loosened, then those fingers were carding through his hair, soothing the pain it had caused. "Families always leave," Dream agreed. "You can't trust them. You can't make attachments." Once more, his golden tangles were caught in a tight grip. "Do you remember why?"

"Attachments make you weak."

"Good." Dream heaved a sigh, as though exhausted from having to hold a conversation with his ward. He released Tommy, taking a step back and folding his arms over his chest. "We can't be weak, Tommy - you can't survive in the world that way. Not with your…handicap. You're better than that, I know you are." 

"I'm sorry," Tommy kept his eyes trained on the ground, not wanting to look his mentor in the eye and see his disappointment.

"I know you are." Another sigh, and the guilt in Tommy's gut began to squirm. He hated disappointing Dream - nothing made him feel worse. Dream stepped past him, to the coat hooks hanging beside the door, and pulled down a lead. "Here. If you leave now, you can reach the market in time to sell Henry to the butcher."

"What?!" Tommy recoiled as the woven rope was held out to him. "But - but-"

"Are you going to butcher it yourself?" Dream demanded, his annoyance returning. "It's a cow, Tommy - it's just food." When he still didn't reach for the rope, the knight's face darkened, and a noticeable edge lined his voice. "Either you take it to market and return with the gold, or I'll make you butcher it yourself." 

He would - Tommy knew he would. Dream wouldn't hesitate, not if he thought it would teach Tommy a lesson. He took the lead in numb fingers, the side of his face throbbing, and nodded as his mentor gave him instructions, including how much he expected Tommy to return with.

Because Tommy would be returning with gold, gold he earned by selling his only friend. As soon as Dream gave him permission, he fled from their small cottage, barely able to stifle his sobs. He couldn't let Dream see his attachment, not if he wanted to make sure Henry's last day was perfect.

~*~

They took the long way to the village. The cottage Dream owned was a few miles from town, on the other side of a small but thick forest. Tommy knew every inch of the woods around the path, including the small clearings full of flowers, and the babbling brook that sometimes held little wiggly minnows that flashed in the sunlight. He made sure to take his time, plodding slowly along Henry, letting her stop to nibble at the daisies that grew along the edge of the dirt path or pause to sniff at the bushes heavy with early-season berries. At one point, when the sun was at its highest, he gently tugged her towards his favorite clearing, leading her carefully through a thick copse of trees to a small, hidden glade. A brook bubbled beneath a large willow tree, and there were wildflowers and clover a plenty. He took the lead off and watched as she trundled about, taking a long drink before discovering a thick carpet of clover near the roots of the willow and setting about eating every one she could find.

He sat near her, slowly munching on the bruised apple Dream had shoved into his hands before he set off towards town. They were still about an hour away, if they didn't stop to sniff the flowers. But he fully intended on letting Henry smell whatever she wanted, so he estimated they'd reach the village by late afternoon. His stomach twisted anxiously, and with a grimace he tossed the apple aside, confident a squirrel or chipmunk would make a good meal of it eventually. 

When he returned home tonight, it would be alone, no gentle lowing or soft hoofsteps accompanying him. By the time he curled up in his small room, Henry would be gone. He would never get to spend time with her again, never seek her out after a nightmare, never brush her soft coat or laugh as she nuzzled him for attention. He could never go to her with bruised ribs and aching scrapes again, seeking comfort after his lessons with Dream. And he would never be able to speak to someone about his handicap, about the weight he carried like an albatross around his neck, about the secret he had to hide lest he endanger not only himself, but Dream and everything they had worked to build. He would be alone in his head again with the secret, with the knowing, with the damned weight on his back growing heavier every time he redid the bandages and had to hide part of himself…

A cool, velvety snout nuzzled the side of his face, pressing against the darkening bruise that was spreading along his cheek. He jerked away, but couldn't help but smile as Henry lowed at him, shoving her face into the crook of his neck, huffing against his pale skin. Wiggling beneath the ticklish touch, Tommy twisted so he could throw his arms around her large neck, pressing their foreheads together. The pair would have been content to stay like that for as long as time allowed, but a branch in the forest at the edge of the clearing cracked, and both of them whipped their heads towards the noise.

A woman was standing there, looking equally startled by the noise. She slowly lifted a booted heel from the branch she'd stepped on, giving them an embarrassed smile. "I'm sorry," her voice was soft and kind, "I didn't mean to startle you two."

Tommy pushed himself to his feet, but kept one arm thrown around Henry's neck. The woman was…odd. She wasn't too tall, and didn't appear too old, but her clothing was dark, and there was a black veil attached to the wide-brimmed hat she was wearing. Flowers and gems were tucked in the band around the hat, and matched the gold stitching along the edges of her dress. Tommy was sure he was taller than her - for a fourteen-year-old, he was a bit of a beanstalk, tall and skinny - but she seemed to fill the whole clearing with her presence, the same way Dream could fill a room. Unlike Dream, however, she radiated…kindness. Softness. Something warm and comforting that had his shoulders dropping from his ears, and his grip around Henry loosening. 

"I'm Kristin," the woman introduced herself, taking a step into the clearing proper. Her skirts brushed over the bobbling wildflowers, which seemed to reach towards her as she moved. "What are your names?"

Tommy didn't hesitate the way he normally would - Dream didn't like him interacting with many others, especially adults. They only needed each other in the world, nobody else. No friends. No family. It was safer that way, easier to keep a secret and stay safe. But here in the clearing, under the gentle gaze of Kristin, he answered. "I'm Tommy," he motioned to himself, then gave the cow a gentle squeeze where he was half-hugging her, "and this is Henry."

"Hello, Tommy." Kristin moved the veil away from her face, throwing the long, sheer fabric back over the hat so she could smile at the pair properly. "Good afternoon, Henry. What are you two doing out in the woods today?"

"We're on our way to the market." Tommy reached up and fiddled with one of Henry's soft, silky ears. The cow whuffed and shoved her large head against his own in a gentle, loving headbutt.

"Oh?" Kristin asked, prompting for more. 

"We can't afford to keep her anymore." He wasn't sure why he blurted the words, the secret. The constant struggle for money was something that set Dream off more than anything else, even Tommy's smart mouth and rude comments. Whatever he won from tournaments, or gathered from his work as a knight for Lord Schlatt, went to fund his studies into enchanting. Tommy was in charge of keeping their small farm running, gathering eggs from the chickens to sell in town or eat for breakfast, and tending to the small vegetable plots in the fields. Sometimes, when there were a few coppers left and Tommy was especially good, Dream let him get some penny candies from the general store in the village. It was beyond rare, but that just made the treat all the better.

"Are you looking to sell her, then?" Kristin had kept moving forward and now stopped only a foot away. Henry made a soft noise and sniffed at the hand the woman offered, frame tensing for just a moment before relaxing. She rested her large snout in the woman's hand with a huff, dark liquid eyes falling half-closed. "Aw, what a sweetheart." 

Tommy gave the woman another quick look up and down. Her clothing was clean and made of what looked like silks and dark-dyed, evenly-woven linen, and her boots were sturdy and clear of dust and mud. She was a well-to-do woman, from a family with money. And she was looking at Henry the same way he did - with affection and care, seeing not a walking side of beef but a wonderful, beautiful friend who was the greatest comfort he knew. 

"She's really sweet," he agreed, patting Henry's head, right between her soft ears, "and smart, too. She never causes any trouble, either - except for that one time with the alfalfa, but we don't talk about that." He gave Kristin his best smile, playful and charming, eyes brightening a bit as hope flickered in his chest. If he could convince this rich woman to buy Henry, there was a good chance she'd live on, even if it was away from him. He tried to widen his eyes a bit, giving his best puppy-dog stare as the woman considered the pair of them.

"Alfalfa, hmm?" Kristin was smiling widely now, cradling Henry's bottom jaw with one hand, the other gently petting her nose. "Are you an alfalfa girl, then? Better than clover, is it?" She leaned forward, looking the cow right in the eye. "I can see it - you may look all sweet and gentle, but there's still a flame in you. A desire to survive. To grow." 

For some reason, the last word made Tommy shudder. The way she said it - grow - like it had a meaning beyond a heifer fattening up for the colder months sent a shiver down his spine. There was power in her words, the same way there was power in her presence. He glanced up and found her staring at him, not at Henry, an odd look in her eyes, though it vanished so quickly he thought he must have imagined it.

"How much?"

"Eh?" Tommy straightened abruptly at the question.

"How much for Henry?" Kristin pulled her gaze back to the cow, gently petting one of her silky ears. "I have a friend who would adore her."

"A - a friend?" That wasn't as ideal as the woman herself keeping Henry, but maybe the friend wouldn't be interested in eating her either? 

"Yes. He likes to take…damaged things in and fix them." She ran the back of her hand against Henry's cheek, cooing when the cow closed her eyes and made a low, happy noise.

Tommy, however, bristled. "She's not damaged," he bit out. "She's perfect the way she is." Kristin paused, going almost unnaturally still, and for a moment he was sure he'd just messed it all up, but after a moment she nodded.

"You're right, I apologize." She gave him that soft, sweet smile again. "I mean he enjoys helping those who need a little extra love, and Henry here would thrive in his care. She would live a long, happy life with him." 

He squinted. "Is he vegan?"

That startled a laugh from her, loud and delicate, like the chiming of bells in clear winter air. "Oh heavens no," she giggled. "He loves a good ham sandwich." He had a feeling he was missing a joke, but didn't ask. "But for a beautiful soul like this? He'd be happy to let her live her life until Lady Death comes. Besides, he owes me a favor."

At the mention of the Lady Death, Goddess of the Afterlife, Tommy had automatically drawn a rough heart shape over his chest with his pointer finger, the symbol of the lady. The motion was so ingrained he didn't notice he'd done it; he also didn't notice the amused tilt to Kristin's brow or the way her eyes flashed gold for just a moment. 

"So, how much are you asking for her?" Much to the cows disappointment, Kristin pulled her hands from Henry's head and rustled about her skirts for a moment, before pulling a small, jingling pouch from her belt.

"Fifty gold." The number felt enormous - it was more than he'd ever held in his hands at once, but it was what Dream had demanded of him. Fifty gold, and don't bother coming home until he has it. Even if that meant he had to stay in town and work odd jobs to make it.

"Oh, she's worth far more than that!" Kristin exclaimed, making a kissy face at the cow. "You're priceless, aren't you darling?" Still, she opened the clinking purse and examined it with a stern eye, before nodding to herself. "I have exactly what she's worth here." She held it out to Tommy.

He was expecting something priceless - a hundred gold, maybe, or even a gem of some kind! Dream would be singing his praises for weeks if he brought home an honest-to-goodness diamond - but when he took the bag and dumped it into an open palm, he was confused, then disappointed. 

Beans.

Five beans. 

Five small lima beans - at least, that's what he thought. Then he tilted his hand, sending them rolling, and the beans went from the usual pale green of a lima to shining with gold and something…more. They sparkled, a thin layer of purple shimmering atop them, and where they touched his skin began to grow warm. He'd seen something like this before, in Dream's study at the cottage. On a piece of armor he owned - a single pauldron made of odd dark metal he'd found in an antiques shop years ago. 

"That's…magic?" 

Kristin, who had taken Henry's lead in hand, nodded, not looking surprised by the question, or that Tommy recognized the shimmering purple sheen. "Yes. Those beans possess a life-changing magic." She leaned forward a bit, pressing a finger beneath Tommy's chin and tilting his head up, drawing his eyes away from the beans to meet her own. They flickered with something gold, something knowing and wise that made him feel calm and protected, but at the same time set his nerves on edge. It made him feel small. "There are big things in store for you, Tommy Innit," she smiled, and before he could move or ask what they were, she was pressing a kiss to his forehead and pulling away. "Don't worry, Henry will be well taken care of. I'll be seeing you soon." Then she was gone, moving swiftly - too swiftly - from the clearing, Henry trotting happily after her. 

Leaving Tommy standing in the middle of the wildflowers, five magic beans in hand, wondering when he'd told her his last name. 

~*~

He'd dilly-dallied enough that Dream wasn't suspicious when he got home, not even expecting that he hadn't reached the town proper, or sold Henry to Punz, the local butcher. The man was in his study, pouring over the same thick tome from breakfast, scribbling in the margins in bright red ink whenever something caught his eye. Tommy lingered at the cracked door for a moment, taking a deep breath to settle his nerves before knocking against the frame. 

"Dream? I'm home."

"Welcome back." Dream didn't sound particularly welcoming, and he didn't look up, just held up his empty hand expectantly. Swallowing down his nerves (which didn't work and just made a weird, lumpy feeling in his throat), Tommy dropped the bag of magic beans into his mentor's hand, grimacing when Dream's arm dipped, as though he'd been expecting more weight. 

After all, fifty gold coins weighed a decent bit, unlike five beans.

Magic beans, he reminded himself, tensing as Dream went unsettlingly still, even his pen scratching to a stop, leaving a large, red blob on the page where it hovered. 

"Tommy." It took every ounce of self-preservation and strength he had (and some he didn't) not to flee at the way Dream said his name. "What is this?"

"Payment. F-for Henry." 

"Tommy." He did flinch this time, and hoped his mentor hadn't noticed. He didn't tolerate weakness.  "Tommy, this is not fifty gold. Where is the money?"

"It's - it's better than gold!" Tommy scrambled to explain. "See, I met this woman on my way to town, in the woods, and she was interested in buying Henry-"

"Tommy." Dream carefully set his pen aside and pushed his chair back, rising to his feet, as the boy kept talking, desperate to explain.

"-and she offered me magic!" The boy gestured wildly to the bag, which was still clutched in Dream's curled fingers. "Five of them! Just look, Dream, I swear - they're gold and they look like that shoulder plate you have, the - the same weird purple sparkle thing! I promise, they're magic! "

The knight paused, eyes narrowing over his freckled cheeks at the words. They rarely discussed his focus of study aloud - after all, magic was taboo, a dangerous thing that had been taken from the world after the war five hundred years ago. Those found studying it, trying to learn about it and how to use it, were often executed without a trial, killed within the walls of their homes or libraries before the buildings were set aflame to remove any trace of the information and send a message to others foolish enough to try the same. Tommy had his secret, his albatross around his neck, but Dream had one too.

Slowly, the knight tugged the drawstring bag open and upended it over his palm. Tommy held his breath, partly in dread that the bag would be empty, it all a fever dream or a ruse, partly because he was excited to see them again, the sparkling gold seed coats and shimmering magic that danced above them. 

Out of the bag fell five small, shriveled beans, dried and dead. 

~*~

All things considered, he was lucky.

Tommy spat blood on the ground, grimacing as the yellow wildflowers were dyed a deep, ugly orange as a result. His lip, split and swollen, wouldn't stop bleeding, no matter how much pressure he put on it. Still, it wasn't his first split lip, and he doubted it would be his last. It wasn't his first bruised rib or black eye or swollen wrist either - just another series in a long list of injuries, all of them justly deserved.

And he'd be damned if he didn't deserve this one.

Dream had been sure to teach him where exactly he'd gone wrong. It was a simple lesson, but one he seemed incapable of learning.

Obey.

His head throbbed, and he paused to lean against a tree, pressing his forehead to the bark in a vain attempt to make the world stop turning. Gods above he was stupid - Dream was right. He was naive and idiotic and nothing more than a rube, falling for a pretty face and a sweet voice that promised more than he could ever hope to achieve.

Magic beans.

What a pile of shit. 

And he'd eaten it all up.

Tommy curled his uninjured hand into a fist and pressed it to his cheek, right where the bruise from that morning had blossomed, creating a dark flower along the side of his face. The pain grounded him, helped him shove his self doubts to the back of his head. He could hate himself later - first he had to figure out where to spend the night.

After educating Tommy on where he'd gone wrong, Dream had given him his punishment: exile. For two weeks. The knight was heading to the capital for a tournament (which, without the money from Henry or her milk, was more important than ever now), and Tommy wasn't allowed within a mile of home while he was gone. The boy hadn't argued - he'd expected Dream to take the cost of the loss from his hide, sure that the knight would finally give up on his incompetent squire and sell him into slavery like he'd threatened so many times before. Instead, he had to spend the weeks in the forest, something he did whenever he had free time anyway. 

Sure, he couldn't go back to the house to get food, and Dream hadn't let him grab anything to take with him, but it was fine. There would be berries to eat in the woods, and if he was lucky some fish in the brook he could catch. That was water and food, and he had trees for shelter. It wasn't winter yet, so he didn't need to worry about freezing to death during the night. He could do this - two weeks would be over before he knew it, and by the time Dream returned with another tournament win under his belt, he'd have forgotten all about Henry and the beans, and Tommy could return home and go back to training to be a squire like nothing had happened. 

The beans. God. Tommy reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet bag Dream had thrown at his head in the midst of his lecture, grimacing as they clinked and clattered together. This was all because of the beans. Because of Kristin. He thought he could trust her, but no - no, he put his trust in her, and she'd ruined him. She must have switched the bags when he wasn't looking, leaving him to give Dream a bunch of worthless withered seeds. He snarled to himself, promising that if he ever saw her again, he'd give her a piece of his mind. Crushing the velvet in a fist, he pushed away from the tree and kept going, deeper into the woods. 

Without realizing it, his feet fell along a familiar path, and he emerged in the same glade he had brought Henry to only a few short hours ago. Were they short? Or had they been long, endless, the time he spent wandering the dappled woods with his friend the best he'd spent since his childhood? He couldn't remember. He could remember her dark, liquid eyes, so full of wisdom and care, peering at him as she chewed on the clover, not understanding why they were out and about for the day, but knowing that as long as he was with her there was nothing to fear.

But there was something to fear, wasn't there? His naivety, his stupidity, his inability to think things through, to see what was right in front of his eyes. Kristin - if that was her real name - had been a scammer, a person who preyed on the foolish of the world to make themselves rich. She'd watched him be affectionate with Henry, picked up on his reluctance to continue to the town, and had played him like a fucking fiddle. And he hadn't hesitated - hadn't even asked the most basic questions, like where she was from, or what she did for a living, or how she found five fucking magic beans and why she would just willingly give them up to a kid she didn't know for a skinny cow who couldn't make milk.

Gods above, no wonder Dream had so much trouble teaching him. He really was pathetic. 

He turned his back on the glade, on the half-eaten patch of clover and the browning apple crawling with ants, and headed deeper into the trees, away from the path to the village, away from the cottage and Dream, who'd be preparing for tomorrow's trip to the capital. What sky he could see between the heavy crowns of leaves adorning the trees began to streak with reds and oranges, before darkening towards purple as the sun set. Shadows began creeping from the underbrush just as he reached a small clearing, one not nearly as impressive as the glade, but good enough for the night. 

Tommy limped over to one of the large oaks that surrounded the clearing like soldiers on watch and sunk down between its roots, grimacing as the movement pressed against his back and squished his ribs together. The bandages wrapped around his torso were tight, probably too tight, but he didn't want to unwrap them and risk having someone passing by see something they weren't supposed to, so he left them on. His stomach complained at being empty, and he pressed a hand to his gut, trying to quiet it. He'd find some food in the morning - for now he just wanted to sleep and try to forget his aches and pains. He shuffled and settled down in the space, huffing as something poked at his hip. With a growl, he yanked the bag of beans from his pocket and emptied it into his hand.

To his shock, the beans that fell into his palm were plump and gold, sparkling with that odd purple-silver sheen once again. He picked one up between his fingers and examined it closely. The bean was perfectly smooth, the size and shape of a large lima bean, and warm to the touch. Silver and purple sparks fell from it, vanishing before they landed on his skin. He couldn't believe it.

The woman had given him magical beans that were enchanted specifically to fuck him over.

He growled and, with a flick of his finger, sent the bean spiraling through the air. It landed in the middle of the clearing, disappearing into the grass with a wholly unsatisfying lack of noise. For a minute he entertained the idea of tossing the others, but restrained himself. If the beans were truly magical, he could probably find someone to take them off his hands, hopefully for a decent amount of gold. If he didn't get arrested for being in possession of a magical artifact.

Okay, maybe he wouldn't try to sell them. Still, he dropped the remaining beans back in the pouch, then dropped the pouch to the ground. He'd deal with the stupid 'fuck-over-Tommy' beans in the morning - right now he just wanted to sleep and put this awful day behind him. Drawing his knees up to his chest, he settled between the large roots of the oak, trying to make himself comfortable against the rough bark. It was a fruitless endeavor, and he fell asleep with a knot poking at his shoulder and a root digging into his ankle. 

~*~

Tommy woke to something draped over his legs, keeping away the chill of morning. He shifted a bit, blindly groping for the edge of the blanket, wanting to tug it over his head and block the early sunshine from his eyes. He didn't remember having a blanket on his bed - Dream gave him one for the colder months, but it was mid-summer right now - but he wasn't going to argue against a bit of comfort. Not after how angry Dream had been yesterday. 

He tugged the blanket again and, oddly enough, it tugged back, springing out of his hand and sprinkling him in a fine, cold mist. With a yelp he jolted upright, back and neck sore and protesting from hunching awkwardly against a tree all night, and looked around. Everywhere he could see was - green. Just green. 

Tommy rubbed his eyes, wiping away the remains of sleep, and took another look. The majority of the clearing, which had been nothing but tall grass and wildflowers the night before, was now taken up by what appeared to be a giant green tree trunk, too large for him to wrap his arms around. The 'blanket' he'd been pulling on looked like a leaf, though it was easily large enough to be a bed. Slowly, careful of his sore ribs and throbbing ankle, he pushed himself to his feet and tried to make sense of the plant.

The middle was twisted, several separate trunks spiraling upwards, seeming to vanish into the clouds far above the forest. The leaves - all as large as the first, looking thick and rubbery, some dripping with early-morning dew - sprouted from the trunks, perky and green, healthy. Some small vines curled along them, and at the sight something in his mind clicked.

Beans.

The snap-pea vines in the garden had the same kind of curly-q stems that always emerged before growing a pod. He wasn't staring at a giant tree trunk - he was staring at a giant beanstalk. Pushing the leaf he'd been holding onto earlier aside, he hobbled forward, craning his neck back to try and take in the whole thing. He couldn't see any bean pods - would it have bean pods? If this thing grew from the gold magic bean he'd flicked away earlier, would the pods be gold? Or would they be green? He pressed a hand to the stalk and an odd, shimmery feeling washed over him - the same weird warmth the beans had radiated in his hand, but stronger, all-encompassing.

If there were beans hanging higher, how big would they be? Tommy stretched his arms out to either side, comparing his reach to the leaves around him, and concluded that any beans growing on this stalk would be more than enough to feed him until Dream came back from the tournament. Hell, one pod would probably be enough for a month of food! More than that, it would be enough to sell, to make up the fifty gold he owed Dream and beyond. They could have a fully-stocked larder for the first time in forever! No more scrounging for mushrooms at the forest edge or hoping the chickens laid enough eggs to sell and eat. They would be set for at least a year, if not more!

Backing away, he pushed aside the nearest leaf and squinted up at the stalk. It looked like it went into the clouds, but that was impossible - he always had to fix stakes and lines for the snap-pea vines to cling to. The vine likely ended just past the canopy, where the tree branches blocked his vision, and that's where the beans would be. He'd just have to climb up and shake a few loose! His ribs ached at the idea, and his back groaned, but he wasn't worried - he'd gone much higher, with much worse injuries. Besides, the bandages around his chest would keep his ribs in order. As for his back - well. There was nothing he could do for that.

Wiping his hands off on his shirt, Tommy stretched his fingers and examined the stalk. The twisting, spiraling vines made for plentiful handholds, and within moments he was off the ground, climbing easily around the leaves and curly-q stems that brushed against his shoulders and bounced with his weight. His ankle protested every time he had to put weight on it to shift around another leaf, but he ignored it, keeping his eyes on the prize. Not that he could see the prize - all he could spot as he climbed higher was more leaves, more stalk. 

After ten minutes he paused, straddling a thick leaf stem and resting his front against the stalk, flexing his fingers as he caught his breath. He figured he was halfway to the top by now - he hadn't taken his eyes off the stalk, too busy looking for handholds - and near the crown of the forest. Shaking out his wrists, he glanced down, ready to see the few meters of progress he had made. 

He did not expect to see the tops of the trees nearly twenty feet below him, swaying gently in the morning breeze. Jaw dropped, he stared out at the world, the rippling sea of green that swallowed almost everything he could see. To his left, the forest dropped off to a small valley, where the peaks of the houses could barely be seen. Far, far to his right, he could see where the forest began to thin, giving way to rolling hills. Tucked near the woods was a single, slightly-crooked chimney, where Dream's cottage and small farm was. 

Tommy should not be this high. Clinging to the stalk, he peered down again at the trees, at how the branches surrounded the stalk, brushing against it. He couldn't recall climbing past them, pushing leaves and twigs out of his way as he grappled the stalk to keep his balance. The sun didn't seem any higher than when he'd first started his climb, meaning he hadn't lost track of time and zoned out (as he sometimes did during boring chores and lessons). 

As if sensing his unease, a warmth pulsed against his hand from the stalk, and the nerves in his stomach quelled. Obviously he had been too focused on the end goal to notice a few silly branches in his way. He was Big Man Tommy Innit, some twigs and leaves weren't going to stop him from his adventure up the giant beanstalk! Pulling his gaze away from the trees, he tilted back a bit, trying to see if he was near the top yet. There were no hanging pods in sight, gold or otherwise, so he supposed there was still a ways to go. Pressing his feet firmly against the swirling stalk, he resumed his climb, ignoring the heated pain in his ankle and the protesting throb of his ribs. The magic leaking off the stalk, flowing through his fingers like a warm drink on a cool night, soothed the worst of the pain, urging him every upwards.

When he came back to himself, it was because of the cold. Blinking, he pulled back his hand, staring at the water droplets clinging to it, then looked around. Clouds - though they look more like thick fog this close up - surround him, soaking his shirt and pants and tickling his feet through his tattered shoes. A quick glance down showed the forest, town, and cabin in one view, and then beyond. He could see the large river to the east, and the capital city of Manberg just a speck at its far end. Beyond them, the ocean is a mere thread of silver on the horizon. Looking the other way revealed mountains, more villages and hamlets dotted in valleys and nestled among other forests, all trailing off to a patchwork quilt of farmland.

He hasn't been this high in years, not since before his parents left.

Tommy dug his nails into the stalk at the memory, and sap leaked onto his fingers. Instead of the thin, clear-green that came from his snap peas, the ichor was gold, thick like molten metal, and warm. He almost yanked his hands away - almost overbalanced backwards and threw himself from the stalk to what would inevitably be his death - but a warm, calming pulse slid down his arms, soothing away the shock and calming his heart. 

He had nothing to worry about - nothing to think of, except getting to the top and finding the bean pods. Heights had never bothered him, and the chilly wind and embrace of the clouds was invigorating. His aches and pains were nothing but a faint memory now, the magic dripping from the stalk a balm to his bruises. Once he was at the top - once he reached his goal, had his prize - he could worry about other things. For now, all he had to do was climb. That's what the magic told him.

So he did.

~*~

Awareness snapped back as the sun bathed his face, warm and welcoming, a drastic change from the chill of the towering clouds he'd pulled himself through. He paused, curling his fist around the nearest leaf stem, and tilted his head back to enjoy the warmth. The air felt warmer, too, which was odd - this high, above the clouds, should be freezing. His father had always made him dress warmly when they went anywhere near this high, and that was only for special occasions. Shaking away the thought with another pulse from the stalk, he looked around.

And promptly fell from his perch.

Luckily, the ground was not far - in fact, the ground was only a few feet away, dark soil damp and soft. He landed on his back, which cried in protest, the air knocked from his lungs. The sun continued to shine down cheerfully from the blue sky above, only a few wisps of cloud visible as they scuttled along in the higher winds. He wanted to move - he should, he doesn't know where he is, what dangers could be lurking - but his ribs and ankle both protested the idea, the pain bleeding back into his senses without the magic of the beanstalk to soothe it away. 

Speaking of the beanstalk, it had come to an end. It burst through the earth, as though this was where it had been planted, and hadn't grown to astronomical heights. From his vantage on the ground, he could see the way it twisted upon itself, growing thinner and thinner, until finally it began to bend, the stalks separating into a flare of curly-Q vines.  For a minute, Tommy doubted himself - doubted the ache in his fingers and toes, the chill still clinging to his damp clothes, the memory of staring down at the forest far below as he touched the clouds. But when he slowly pushed himself up and glanced around, he saw nothing familiar - this wasn't the clearing where the stalk originally grew. 

It reminded him of a jungle - he'd seen them before, etched in green ink in picture books and world maps. On either side of the dark dirt path he was sitting on were towering plants, though they seemed oddly separated, the ground cover rather sparse. To his left were bushes with thick, wide leaves that hung close to the ground, thick with veins and curling along the edges. To his right were thin stalks of what almost looked like bamboo, but they split apart just above the dirt and burst into leafy ferns near the top. The roots of some looked oddly orange. Beyond them were more plants - dark purple bushes made of overlapping, frilly leaves, short green trees clustered in the center of large, wavy fronds, and beyond all that were towering trees with thin gold trunks and no branches. The path stretched out to either side, vanishing into the horizon on one end, and at an odd cliff face on the other. 

When nothing jumped out from the jungle, Tommy pushed himself to his feet, rubbing at his ribs as they throbbed in protest. There were a few odd structures he could see - in the distance, partially hidden in the not-bamboo, was what looked like some strange, collapsed tent, alongside a giant metal sled. Farther down the path he'd landed on (which was strangely wide and devoid of wagon tracks and footprints) was a large, metal building with a domed room and an odd chimney curling up from the side. He'd never seen something like it - all the buildings in the village were made of stone and wood, with glass windows if the family had the money. 

Maybe there was a door or something on the other side - it couldn't hurt to take a look, see if there was somebody there who knew where they were, and how he could get home. The dirt didn't crunch beneath his feet - it was damp and loose, and clung to his shoes in crumbling clumps as he walked. Unlike the soil at home, which was mostly dust and rock and required constant watering, this was loamy, perfect gardening soil. If the ground back home was like this, he'd never need to worry about his carrots or potatoes again! Maybe he could bring some home with him - just a couple sacks, enough to cover the vegetables and give them a better chance. 

He was halfway to the house before something moved in the leaves. He jumped, staring at the strange bushes on his left as the leaves shook, then shifted, and a bright red creature marched out. It was the size of a cat and had six legs and a round body, which was a mixture of black, white, and red. There were antennas sticking out above its eyes, waving wildly as it trundled past Tommy without a passing glance. The red shell on its back was split down the middle, each side dotted with a reflection of black spots, and as it brushed past him part of the shell parted and little clear wings buzzed before settling back down. Without a sound it crossed the path, disappearing in the odd almost-bamboo. 

That…was a ladybug. 

Tommy stared at where it had disappeared, trying dazedly to get his brain to restart. That had been a ladybug, an insect that shouldn't have been half as big as his finger nail, but he could have easily picked it up and given it a hug (not that he would). So he had ended up in a jungle that had giant ladybugs. That was, uh, something. Something great! Never let it be said that Tommy wasn't anything but respectful to the ladies! His many, many wives would agree with that. And if the ladies here were bigger than normal, well, good for them. 

Shaking off his shock, he started towards the metal house again, and if he was walking a bit faster than before, well, that was his business. He'd nearly made it, veering slightly off the center of the path to approach the wall, when the ground shook. It was barely a tremble at first, just enough to make him pause before putting his foot down. There was an accompanying sound - a booming thud that seemed to roll through the jungle - and he paused, but nothing emerged from the trees. A moment later the sound repeated, and the ground shook more noticeably. He picked up his pace until he was right next to the building, ignoring the screaming of his ankle as he leaned against it, glancing at the foliage as he tried to pick out where the noise was coming from. 

It repeated again, over and over, growing louder like a fast-approaching storm, and the trembling of the earth grew with it. Tommy flattened himself against the building and moved around it slowly, until the weird bushes were at his back and he could peer down at the path that stretched into the horizon without being spotted. The sound felt like it was almost upon him, and then a shadow fell over the path and the plants, and a mountain stepped into view.

The mountain had two arms, two legs, pink hair, and was at the very least seventy feet tall. Tommy's father had taught him all about estimating heights and distances - it was important for them to understand, to avoid obstacles, so he'd learned and practiced, even after being taken in by Dream. Now, he felt a flicker of regret - maybe if he didn't have a good grasp on space and size, he wouldn't be leaning so heavily against the metal building, trying to keep his trembling legs beneath him as the mountain stepped onto the path, which was just large enough for it to stand without crushing any of the plants.

He (at least Tommy thought it was a he, the boy wasn't about to go up and ask the walking mountain for their pronouns) was looking around at the plants, hands on hips, dressed in a pair of dark trousers tucked into leather boots and a white shirt with flowing sleeves. His hair was a soft pink, tied back from his face and falling over one shoulder in a loose braid. Gold glinted in his floppy pink ears, and more shone from the tusks that curled from his mouth, which was drawn in a relaxed line as he surveyed the land. When the giant turned slightly, Tommy caught sight of a tail, long and thin with a tuft of pink fur on the end, waving slowly behind him. 

There were two reasons what Tommy was seeing was impossible. 

The first was that giants were extinct. They had been for five hundred years, their entire race brought to an end by the famous Jack the Giant Slayer. All of the kingdom knew of Jack - he'd been a young knight-in-training at the time, when the giants had begun to grow too powerful, too dangerous, to coexist with the humans in the kingdom. A war had started, and many humans had been killed by the giants. Then Jack had been gifted a pair of enchanted goggles (everyone argued about whether they had red or blue lenses) and tasked with destroying the giants by the king himself. Jack had set off into the forest with his most trusted warriors and killed the last of the giants. He'd returned alone, his friends and allies killed in the final battle, and at last the land had been safe.

The second was that hybrids were illegal and not to be seen. They had magic, the same kind as giants. At first they'd been accepted with the giants gone, them being the larger threat. Then a botched assassination attempt on the royal family by a group of hybrids had soured that relationship, and the overwhelmingly human population had turned against them. Most left, escaping through the mountains or over the seas to kinder kingdoms that welcomed their magic and odd traits. Some stayed, hiding ears and tails and other features as best they could to remain in their homeland. There were rumors of small villages, communes, of hybrids deep in forests and high atop mountains, who lived openly with their magic, unafraid of the kingdom's hatred towards them. As the generations shifted, less and less hybrids appeared, and eventually almost none were born. Those that remained hid as best they could, never touching their magic, not knowing how to light the spark that laid within them. They were still dangerous, however - still inhuman, still not meant to be among the normal good folk of the kingdom. 

That's what Dream had told him, at least - he could remember the picture books about Jack from when he went to school in the city, but everything he learned about hybrids came from the knight, after he'd taken him in. The giant standing at the end of the path stood in direct contrast to what he'd been taught - a dual contradiction to what Tommy knew was true. 

Giants were extinct, and hybrids weren't to be seen.

Yet there stood a giant, with very obvious piglin hybrid traits on full display.

While Tommy wrestled with his inner turmoil and the trembling of his legs, the giant knelt down and examined the leaves of the odd bushes. He wrapped his large hands (large enough to pick Tommy up, large enough to snatch him, large enough to crush him without a thought) around one bundle of leaves and carefully pulled them up, revealing a large brown lump dangling from the bottom. 

That was a potato.

That was a potato that was bigger than Tommy.

Tommy dug his nails into the side of the metal building (not a building, he glanced up at the chimney - the spout, it was a goddamned watering can), trying to keep himself upright. He'd never, in all his fourteen years, thought he'd be in this situation. Not outside of playing pretend with Tubbo, not outside of his own imagination.

The giant examined the potato, brushing away the dirt that clung to it, before nodding to himself and setting it aside. He dusted his hands off on his trousers and glanced around the garden (a garden, not a jungle - neat rows of plants growing eagerly beneath the summer sun in the rich soil, thriving beneath the giants' care), inspecting them all with a critical crimson eye. His gaze swept over the path and he paused. Tommy's heart leapt into his throat - had he been seen? The giant was standing now, and Tommy flattened himself against the watering can, praying that the hybrid's ears couldn't pick up on his racing heart or stuttering breath. 

Lady Death must have been watching out for him, because the giant passed without even glancing at the watering can. He cast a shadow over the path as he stomped by, steps shaking the ground enough that Tommy sunk to his knees, still leaning against the can to keep from landing on his ass. The giant stopped by the beanstalk, bending over to examine it, and the human felt his stomach fall in a sick swoop - the plant barely reached the giant's knee. 

Said giant didn't seem very pleased to see a stalk he hadn't planted growing strong and healthy from the soil. He humphed and muttered something to himself, sliding one of the leaves between his fingers and giving it a tug. A bit louder, he grunted, "Why is one of her plants here?" Another tug at the leaf and it slipped between his fingers, the whole plant snapping back before swaying into place. He ran a large hand down his face, before growling and wrapping a fist around the stalk, squishing the leaves in his way. An odd glow surrounded his fingers, a strange thrum lit the air, and in seconds the plant withered, all life drained from it, leaving only a decayed brown stem and some dried, crinkled leaves behind.

Tommy couldn't breathe.

Not only had the giant - the hybrid giant - just destroyed his only hope of returning home (probably), he'd done so with magic. Magic he'd used as easily as breathing, without an incantation or spell circle or potion. Magic that was dangerous, that was deadly. Magic that had been stamped out in the kingdom for the safety of everyone, magic that he had no defense against, magic that made something within him flicker and wake for the first time in seven years, magic that worked, unlike Dream's. 

He pressed a curled fist to his chest, trying to drag a breath into his lungs, which felt like shriveled grapes on a sun-scorched vine. They fought against the air, and he wheezed, faintly recognizing that he was panicking but unsure of how to calm down. His usual counting breaths tactic didn't seem like enough with the enormity of the situation. He shuffled back, pushing his heels against the dirt so he was better hidden around the curve of the watering can, out of sight of the giant, and grabbed his hair, tugging harshly on it. The pain was grounding, somewhat, snapping him out of the overwhelming fear. It was still there - still crawling up his throat, still cramping his empty stomach and making him nauseous, but he was able to drag in a strangled breath, and with one breath came a second, and then a third, all loud and gasping like a dry docked fish but there nonetheless. 

The giant shifted, ground trembling beneath his boots, and made a curious sound - like a 'heh?' only far too loud. Tommy pressed himself closer to the watering can, as though he could meld with the metal and vanish from sight if only he got close enough. The giant's shadow grew longer as he stood, enveloping the can and Tommy, and the ground began to quake as he stepped closer. 

Oh god, this was it. Even if he wanted to run, to try and disappear in the foliage of the potato greens ahead of him, his ankle wouldn't hold him up. His ribs were screaming in protest at his breathing, as shallow as it was, and the world was tilting a bit with the lack of oxygen. The giant would find him, no doubt, and he'd be easy pickings. Fee-fi-fuck-him, there was nothing he could do against a giant piglin hybrid that could use magic.

"Techno!"

The shout - loud enough to rattle his eardrums - startled Tommy, the back of his head crashing against the watering can as he jerked at the sudden noise. He whipped his head to the other side of the path, the one that stretched out into nothing instead of ending at a cliff (a fence, now that he could place it - a wooden plank fence that seemed to surround all of the garden but the entrance, bleached gray-white by the years in the sun). Another giant had appeared, this one blonde and wearing a stupid-looking bucket hat, and a black shirt beneath robes of gold-trimmed green. There was some weird backpack or cloak peeking over his shoulders. He had a wide smile on his scruffy face, blue eyes sparkling as he pushed his hat back and hailed the other giant.

"Phil." Giant number one - Techno, apparently? - greeted with a grunt. "There a reason your wife is growing plants in my garden again?" 

The shadow moved past his hiding spot, and Tommy watched as feet large as wagons passed him by, heading down the path to greet giant number two - Phil. What kind of terrifying giant name was Phil? Techno he could get behind - there was something sinister about the harsh sound that came in the middle, the ch, the te-CH-no. Tech-no. No. No mercy. But Phil? That was all rounded corners and soft curves, and the man looked it, too. He was shorter than Techno by a bit - Tommy squinted and remembered his fathers lessons on estimating, and figured he must be about sixty feet, maybe sixty-one. The odd outfit covered most of his frame, but his fingers were thin and delicate, his cheekbones defined. Compared to the absolute brute that was the piglin hybrid, he looked like a stick. 

Phil grinned, reaching up to pull off his hat so he could run a hand through his tangle of blonde hair. The white feathers that framed his face in place of ears fluffed up as they were freed from his horrible choice of headwear, flicking before he soothed them down. The not-a-cloak shifted, then stretched out into a truly impressive pair of large wings, the feathers a deep blue-gray, striped with thin lines of white and black. The avian hybrid - and why not, why not two giant hybrids, honestly how could it make this whole situation any worse? - shook out his feathers, then let his wings rest half-folded against his back, a relaxed pose that Tommy had once seen often on his own father.

His back strained, atrophied muscles stretching in a vain attempt to mimic what he had seen, and Tommy had to bite back a jealous warble at the sight. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rough bandages beneath the worn fabric of his shirt, reminding himself that he couldn't stretch his wings, that he hadn't been able to for a long time. The giants spoke as he battled his instincts, oblivious to the mental war happening among their potatoes.

"Phil, why do you look guilty?" 

"Mate, it's not what you think!"

"And what do I think?"

"Well it's nothing bad, I swear. It's a gift!"

"...a gift."

"From my wife. Y'know, the La-"

"I know who your wife is, Phil."

"Yeah, well, she just popped by an hour or so ago and dropped her off for you."

Techno shuffled, kicking up dirt with his heels, nearly crushing a beetle that was trundling by without a thought. The beetle seemed unbothered, but the sharp movement rattled Tommy enough that he jumped, pulling himself to his feet so he was in a better position for proper fight or flight. Shaking off his instincts, shoving them back down into the well Dream had helped him build and locking them away, he refocused on the giants and their conversation. The two seemed completely oblivious to him, so he dared to edge forward a bit, still pressed against the watering can but able to see more of the pair.

Phil was holding a rope, leading to something just out of sight behind the fenceline. Techno was leaning against said fence, staring at the avian with a truly impressive flat expression. Tommy was pretty sure he'd seen more emotion in Dream's mask. 

"Your wife stole you a cow as a gift? What anniversary is that?"

The avian sighed, a full-body affair - he rolled his eyes heavenwards and slumped his shoulders, wings ruffling with annoyance. Tommy's dad had done the same thing when he asked too many questions, or interrupted boring adult conversations. The familiar movement made him feel - fond, oddly, of the giant, though he quickly shoved the very idea into his well of feelings-we-don't-think-about alongside his instincts. What a stupid idea, feeling fond of a giant!

"The fourth," Phil's deadpan wasn't nearly as good as Techno's, but he gave it his best shot, "but it only counts if the cow jumped over the moon first." The piglin's mouth twitched at the corner, and he leaned back, still looking skeptical. "But it's not our anniversary," the avian gently tugged on the rope, pulling what was apparently a cow closer, "and Kristin bought her for you." 

Said cow clomped into sight, large head hovering at Phil's shoulder, and blinked her large, liquid eyes as she took in Techno. The piglin huffed, but raised a hand and rested it between her ears, giving her a gentle pat. She lowed, sniffing at his arm curiously, tilting her head to the side so Tommy could see the scar lining the side of her cheek, ending just beneath her left eye.

Tommy knew that scar.

He'd been there when it happened.

He could still remember the smell of blood mixed with stale hay, the dripping of the wound as Henry cried in pain, the stern expression on Dream's face as he pulled the knife back.

Standing between the two giants, now towering a near-unfathomable height herself, was Henry.

Huge thanks to Moonstone for beta-ing for me! So this started out as a crack idea and then the worldbuilding got away from me so...have some lore-heavy Dream SMP in Mother Goose Land! I already have ideas for a couple other stories (Wilbur and the Three Bears and Rapunzel starring Technoblade). I hope you enjoyed, if you did please PLEASE leave a comment! Even just an 'I like this write more!' really helps me stay motivated!

Cheers, all you lovely, lovely peeps!

[captaincorgi128]

Whumptober Day 1: Race Against the Clock

(CW for memory loss, implied kidnapping, swearing, and vague references to anxiety attacks) The first thing they found in the building where the Phantom had been staying was a note in the middle of the floor simply reading, You’re too late. He’s gone.

Jade stared at the damn thing for about half a second before tearing the thing to shreds. Fuck that.

“What’d it say?” asked Leo from next to her.

“Just taunting us.” Her tone was clipped as she strode towards the door. Unlocked, which was either a very good sign or a very bad sign. Before she shoved it open, she noticed a note on the door.

Did you know that I have a trick to my shapeshifting? I can temporarily steal the memories of the person whose identity I’ve adopted. Normally, they can regain them after some time, but I’ve been borrowing them for a while. It’s too late for Dr. Bailey to remember anything, even his own name.

Or maybe it isn’t, yet. Maybe you can try and get him to remember. You never know, right?

Best of luck. You’ll need it.

Leo read the note over her shoulder. “Is…is he serious?”

I can’t believe that. “He’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out, c’mon.”

Jade pushed the door open to reveal a figure on the other side of the room. Ben. His skin was a grayish white, and he had lost weight, but other than that, he looked fine. She sagged in relief, rushing over to undo the bonds holding him to the wall. “Ben? Ben, hey, I—”

He looked puzzled. “Sorry, are you talking to me?”

Her stomach dropped. “Wh—what?”

“Shit,” muttered Leo.

“I don’t, um…” Ben looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“…You’re not fucking with me, are you?” Her throat tightened.

He shook his head slowly. “…I don’t…really remember what I’m doing here, or how I got here, or, um…” His eyes widened slightly, and Jade’s stomach turned as she realized they were a milky white rather than their normal brown. “Do you…know who I am?”

“I…” God, fuck, she couldn’t handle this, but she had to. Time was running out. “You—”

“I-I don’t mean to interrupt, but you called me Ben.” His voice was so empty—devoid of its usual spark—that it made her want to puke. “Is that my name?”

“Yeah.” Shaking, she managed to undo the cuffs—power reducers, it seemed. “Yeah. You’re Ben.”

“What’s my—” He stopped. “I…my last name…it starts with a B too, and it’s an inside joke because…”

Okay, okay, that’s something! “Because?”

“…Sorry, just, um, lost my train of thought.” He frowned. “What was I saying?”

“Your last name?” she prompted. Please, please, remember it.

He shook his head. “I don’t know my last name.”

Jade resisted the urge to slam her head into the wall. Fuck this memory-stealing asshole. “Ben, dammit, please, you have to remember—you just said you knew it started with a B, but then—”

“I-I don’t—I don’t remember saying that, I—”

Her hands were shaking. When did they start shaking? “I—I—fuck, never mind, it’s fine.” New approach needed. Sure. She could do that.

Leo moved to stand at her side, and Jade had never been so thankful for his presence. “Do you recognize either of us?”

“It’s…I don’t…I thought I didn’t, but…” He shook his head. “I don’t know! I don’t—I—”

“Uh, we met in middle school!” The sentence seemingly came out of nowhere, but it got Ben to stop freaking out, so Jade figured Leo at least sort of knew what he was saying. “I thought it was a genius idea to pick a fight with a guy built like a sumo truck, and even though you also had a physique of an actual twig, you got involved and—”

“—Hit him over the back of the head with my textbook,” Ben finished for him. Jade’s eyes widened. “I—I remember, but—”

Okay, new plan. She could do this. “You’ve got a fiancée in computer science who’ll throw hands with anyone who looks at her wrong. She’s a badass and vaguely terrifying, and she really wanted to come with us to find you but we made her stay back, and she’ll probably give us an earful for that as soon as we get back. You started dating the summer after you graduated, but while trying to ask her out, you kept getting your ass beat by a supervillain, which kinda fucked up those plans, but it still worked. Her name—”

His eyes were wide, and Jade noticed the milky white had started to recede. “Nina. Nina Alv…Nina…shit, I had it, but—”

“Nina Alveraz-Moreno,” Jade finished for him.

“You spent way too long in academia. I think you ended up getting something like eight doctorates.” Leo chewed his lip. “Man, I don’t even remember what most of them are in. Biochemistry, biomedical sciences, uh—”

“Six. You were right about the first two. The others are molecular biology, chemical engineering, biophysics, and biomedical engineering. But a few of them were from combined degree programs, so—” Ben broke off, his eyes suddenly starting to fade back to that freaky white. “How…How do I know you’re telling the truth? Maybe I’m just ‘remembering’ things when you tell me about them.”

Shit, they didn’t have time for this—wait. She had an idea. “Uh—how about I say two things that are true and one that isn’t. If you’re actually remembering shit, you’ll know which one isn’t true.” At least, she hoped so. “Hmm…uh…your favorite color is red, you love swimming, and you secretly prefer Star Wars to Star Trek but you pretend not to because you know I like Star Trek better.”

He tensed up. “No, I—I don’t like the water. Not since—since—I almost drowned, when we were teens, and—I haven’t swam since. I…God, this is giving me a headache.” For a moment, his eyes flickered a strong brown, then faded back.

“Let’s hope that’s actually a good sign,” muttered Leo.

“You speak five different languages.” Jade thought for a second, then switched to French. It was a bit of a gamble, but she had to try. “We learned a few of them together. A few years ago, we made up our own.”

“You were just…that was French, wasn’t it? And I understood you, but—” He shook his head. “Baker’s cant—that’s what we called it, right?” His eyes were coloring further, now a pale brown. “It wasn’t to do with baking, though, it was—”

“Was?” Jade prompted, heart hammering.

“That’s how I knew it wasn’t you,” Ben mumbled. Life was starting to return to his voice. “I…when he came for me, I mentioned something about baker’s cant, and he seemed confused, so he—he—” Stopping suddenly, he grabbed this side of his head. “Gah—! I—I can’t—”

“Fuck—Ben?!” Leo reached out to grab him, but seemed to think better of it. “What do we do?”

“I don’t know!” Her hands had started shaking again. “Ben, dammit, talk to us!”

He let go of his head, chest heaving, and looked at her. His eyes had faded back to that damned cloudy white color. “Sorry, are you talking to me?”

“I—” Her throat was tight. “I—w-we were just talking, don’t you remember—”

“I don’t, um…I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

She could taste ash in her throat. “No—no—dammit, Ben, you can’t do this to us, you—you have to know who I am. You were the one who—when we met, we were maybe four or five, but when I introduced myself you thought my name was too old-fashioned for someone like me, and you started calling me by my middle name. I’ve never introduced myself any other way since—after that, it was always my middle name, because you were right, it was too old-fashioned, and now there’s only one person alive who uses it—and that’s how I knew. That’s how I knew that that shapeshifting bastard wasn’t you, because there were so many signs, but things didn’t click until he said Antonia suited me better. You’d be the last person to say that to me. You—God, y-you have to remember, because if I was too late—”

“Jade,” Ben whispered.

His eyes were brown.

“Ben…?”

“Oh, God, I—” He pulled her into a hug. “I—I remember, Jade, Leo, I—dammit, how could I have forgotten, I’m so sorry—”

Jade choked out a laugh. “If you apologize for getting magic memory loss, I’m going to kick your ass so hard you’re going to end up with amnesia again.”

“I—I just—it was…my brain was like a strainer. Everything kept leaking out. If—if you hadn’t come when you did, I—God, I don’t want to think about it.” Ben let her go. “Thank you for finding me.”

Leo let out a huff, a shaky smile on his face. “Not like we had anything better to do.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she grumbled, helping Ben to his feet. Leo only grinned wider. “C’mon. Let’s get home.”

Ben slumped into her side, looking exhausted. “Sounds good to me.”

[daily-prompts]

I need everyone’s best character advice. STAT.

[proxycrit]

LINKTOBER Day 16: Lanayru Wetlands

Rumors have it Zora’s Domain is besieged by caustic rains. As travelers leave Lanayru’s capital in troves, two plucky (or foolish) adventurers swim against the muddy tide in hopes to learn more about the unnatural phenomenon.

Anyways, it’s raining mud? What’s up with that.

(FAMILIAR FAMILIAR AU is a totk what if passion project where zelda does not get sent back in time. Here’s the masterpost!)

And my patreon, if you’d like to slide me some bucks to buy lunch;

[mourninglamby]

learned behavior (x)

[emeryleewho]

There's a huge difference between redemption and humanization. I feel like a lot of "redemption arcs" aren't actually redemption at all, they're just attempts to humanize the villain so that they seem multi-faceted, but people read them as "redemption arcs" and think that that is meant to justify all the evil they've done before and negate whatever made them a villain in the first place. I think true "redemption arcs" are actually kind of rare because true redemption would take making the villain acknowledge their crimes, reevaluate their actions, actively choose to do better, and then proceed to make amends and become a better person, and that would this take more time than most stories are allowed to give their characters.

I've also seen people argue that a character has to be poised for redemption from the jump for it to work because once a character does something "too bad", they can't be redeemed. I completely disagree because redemption isn't justification or forgiveness, so no matter how horrible a character's actions, they could choose to become better, but because a lot of people (including writers) think redemption means "erasing the character's flaws and making it so they did nothing wrong ever", a lot of attempted "redemption arcs" just end up erasing a character's entire history or justifying every evil thing they've ever done. And yeah, in these cases, the only way to make a character go from a villain to a perfect cinnamon roll with no flaws *is* to have been planning it from the beginning and make sure they never do anything that can't be explained away later.

TLDR: real redemption arcs require a lot of self-awareness, patience, and growth, which are things that are rarely actually allocated to villains, and that's why real redemption arcs almost never get executed. The reason people think redemption arcs are overdone is because there are so many attempts to either humanize a villain that get misconstrued as redemption or attempts to blatantly erase who a character was in the name of "redemption", which is really just poor character development.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Dungeon Meshi crew 'leap' into action!

[fjdraws]

top 10 exile moments watchmojo compilation

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Shape of Story

by Christina Wodtke 

Start with Conflicted Characters

The character needs a goal, a motivation and a conflict.

The goal can be alien to your audience,

but the motivation must be shared by them, and

the conflict creates struggles that increase engagement.

Paint a Picture

Details transport you into the story.

The world disappears and you have a story play in your head.

Even though there are no literal pictures.

But be careful—Too many details and the story gets bogged down.

Make the Protagonist Suffer

“Be a Sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them - in order that the reader may see what they are made of.” (Kurt Vonnegut, How to Write a Great Story)

And when it can’t get any worse, make it worse before it gets better

The two key moments that create the peak of excitement in a story is the darkness before the dawn, and the dawn. 

The climax is the moment when the protagonist is either rescued or rescues themself.

In older tales, we saw a lot of Deux ex Machina (the hand of god) rescuing the hero. A hero could be rescued by luck, a partner, another hero…but modern audiences strongly prefer stories where the protagonist helps themself.

Resolution is Boring, Keep it Short

Interest grows with every additional conflict, but once the hero figures out the solution, our fascination collapses.

Don’t natter on while the audience’s mind is drifting.

Also Consider:

You need a good inciting incident to move your protagonist to action.

A setting is more than a place, it’s a situation and a moment in time. A vivid place has details.

Modern audiences prefer “return home changed” to “return home the same.”

EXAMPLES: ARCHETYPAL PLOTS ALONG THE ARC

Boy Meets Girl

Internal conflict is always satisfactory (e.g., she believes love interferes with his career, he believes love interferes with his beer.)

The crises usually revolves around betrayal — lying, cheating — and the climax shows it was a misunderstanding or we get atonement.

The struggle is always about them being separated.

The resolution is about binding them more tightly together than ever.

The Quest

You seek things, and find yourself.

Return home changed and don’t pass go.

Common elements include companions, a mentor, great losses and extreme character arcs.

The Underdog

Even though they do not have a shot in hell, the underdog wants something. They want it so bad.

Common elements include an enemy who blocks their path, and a coach who helps them forward.

In this case, they do not return home changed but rather move into a new life that fits their changed self.

Coming of Age

Naive person has the world teaches them a hard lesson, and they become a better person for it.

Struggle revolve around life sucking and then sucking more.

The hero grows and becomes better because of it, and via new understandings becomes competent.

In some tragedies, the world breaks them.

They can return home changed, but more often they move to a new life they have earned.

More Examples. Justice & Pursuit:

Weaving Multiple Plots:

Weaving multiple plots together to make subplots can further increase tension.

Multiple plots woven together makes the whole story not only unique but very compelling.

Writing Notes & References

[tragicsiblings]

FIVES & ECHO — THE CLONE WARS Season 3 ( Happy birthday @aka-lorterian 🎁🎉 )

[wombrion]

1) your art is phenomenal and marshmallowy it makes my day when you post!

2) I’m unsure if you are still taking request but if you are in a dilly dallying mood I would <3 to see some of the Chainsaw man characters in your style? I feel like your shape language would translate onto their design really well🤎🤎

you fool............i drew em a zillion years ago

[the-bar-sinister]

I think I really prefer the term "rehabilitating' for a villain who's going through a character arc and becoming a better person, over 'redeeming'.

Not only does it take away the culturally christian connotations that "redeeming" has, but rehabilitating also better shows the context of, you know, actually putting in the work and effort to overcome their problems.

From now on, for me, it's not a "villain redemption arc" its a "villain rehabilitation arc."

[annievrse]

the sled problem

roronoa zoro x fem!reader —ᡣ𐭩 fic summary: thinking about alabasta where there's no room for matsuge to carry you, so zoro puts you on the sled with chopper (feat. a lot of reader x crew too!). w/c: 1.1k c/w: zoro refers to reader as 'my girl' & 'girlfriend', she/her pronouns, established relationship, reader is shorter than zoro. a/n: thanks everyone for voting! here is bf!zoro.

"My turn!" Luffy exclaims, feet dragging through the sand. You eye him wearily as it seems he used the last of his energy to make it known that he was to take your place on the sled. You wince when he stumbles, the last of the water hanging by a rope around his neck.

"No way, moron," Zoro grunts behind you. "My girl and Chopper only."

Next to Luffy, Usopp lets out a noise of disagreement, his body weight relying on the walking stick in his hand. "Surely she can walk— Ouch!"

Chopper's weak giggle cuts the thick air beside you, and you look to where the sharpshooter lays motionless in the orange sand. Glancing back, you see Zoro's fist lowering back to his side.

"Stop complaining," Nami says, adjusting the scarf on her head. "We'll be there soon."

"You're on the back of a camel," Usopp splutters as he gets to his feet. Matsuge grunts in dismissal, and Nami pretends not to hear her crewmate and turns to face the horizon.

"Let me on!" Luffy attempts to yell, staggering toward the swordsman. "C'mon, Chopper, you're an animal fit for the desert."

The reindeer shakes his head and clasps his arms around your bicep. "No way, you try having a fur coat in his heat."

Usopp giggles, though he eyes the waterskin that hangs against Luffy's chest instead of the medic. "I'll cut it off you if you'd like—"

A collective gasp sounds through the group; this time, you kick your leg out to trip him over, realising too late that he was speaking about the water and not Chopper.

Zoro chokes out a cackle at the thump of his crewmate against the sand. "Atta girl."

Usopp makes no move to get up. He lays there, delirious, until Sanji grips the back of his shirt and tugs him along. "Idiot."

The only sound is the wind and the crunch of shoes in the desert. Sighing, you start to feel bad for the others when you see them struggling to stay upright, so, you shuffle Chopper over so you can get up.

"'Ro," You say, turning to face his back. Zoro stops and looks at you with his brows furrowed. "Here, Luffy—"

The group groans as you stand, dusting the sand from your clothes.

Zoro shakes his head and scoffs. "I'm not pulling that moron. Sit back down."

With pleading eyes, you shove your captain toward the sled, carefully avoiding Chopper. "Just pull him; I'll walk with you for a while."

Zoro grumbles and suddenly jolts the sled, so Luffy slides off. "Oops."

"Please, Ro," You say, touching his forearm. "Just until I get tired."

"Yeah, just until she gets tired," Luffy mumbles, heaving himself onto the sled. "Which will be never."

Zoro glares at you, but the look is too familiar for you to take it harshly. Then, he starts walking again, purposefully making a face of discomfort.

"Thanks, baby," you smile, wiping the sweat from your forehead.

"Aw, baby, that's so cute," Usopp mumbles, his face just inches off the ground thanks to Sanji's grip. "Zoro, baby, my baby—"

Sanji rolls his eyes, drops him, and keeps walking. "Do you ever shut up?"

You glance back at him, but Zoro nudges you with his shoulder. "He'll catch up."

Sighing, you stop and walk back to Usopp. Zoro knows what you'll make him do, but god knows he’ll always do what you tell him.

You try your best to help the sniper to his feet, muttering that he won't have to walk anymore, giving Usopp the energy to run to the sled. So much for feeling bad for him...

"You need to learn to ignore them," Sanji says, plucking the cigarette between his lips. "Let the moss head drag you through the dunes. He clearly wants to."

You look back and slow down to match his steps, smiling at Sanji's attempt at being nice to your boyfriend. "It's the least I can do."

The cook begins to counter your lame argument but stops short when he sees Zoro waiting for you ahead: his captain, the sharpshooter, and the reindeer piled on the wooden sand sled.

"I'm doing all this for you, and you ditch me for the cook."

You can feel Sanji roll his eyes beside you. Laughing, you quicken your steps to catch up to the swordsman.

"Jealous?"

Zoro scoffs and readjusts his grip on the ropes. "Of him? I'd rather die."

There's a sigh behind you, and then Sanji speeds past you, hands clasped before him as he asks Nami if she needs anything.

Zoro knocks your shoulder with his bicep, bringing you back to the man beside you. He's a man of very few words, but you know what he's trying to say. Quit teasing me.

Rolling your eyes, you giggle. "Stop flirting, we're in the desert."

"Seriously?"

You shrug and glance at the boys on the sled, your sweet expression turning to irritation when you see them sitting cross-legged, whispering animatedly while Chopper lies half-delirious from heat stroke. “Seriously?”

“Yeah? I just asked that—“

You stop walking and hit an oblivious Luffy upside the head when he passes. Your captain tumbles onto the sand, Usopp following soon after with expletives falling from his lips.

Huffing, you reclaim your place next to Chopper. "Manipulative idiots."

“You got that right,” Chopper mumbles. You shake your head and watch as the pair stumble back to their feet and start complaining again.

"Why?" Usopp cries. "Zoro control your girlfriend; she's mean."

Zoro laughs deeply, like a warning. "Usopp, I swear to god, if I hear your voice one more time, I won't hesitate to kick your ass."

"Sorry," Usopp mumbles to you. "Sorry, Zoro."

"Damn right," your boyfriend states. "And Luffy?"

Your captain's head raises, face screwed in anticipation of what the swordsman had for him.

"Give her the water."

"But—"

"Now, moron!"

You go to counter Zoro's demand, insisting that it is fine, but Luffy hastily rips the rope from his neck and stretches his rubber arm to drop the waterskin in your lap.

"Thanks, Luffy."

His only response is a whiny grumble.

"Here, Chop," You unscrew the lid and push the bottle towards the reindeer. "Drink."

Chopper lifts his head weakly. "No, that's yours."

Rolling your eyes, you shove it further into his tiny chest. "Zoro won't curse you for drinking it, I promise."

Nodding, Chopper takes the waterskin between his hooves and sips.

"Hey, no fair! Why do she and the reindeer get water, and we don't?"

Zoro stops dead in his tracks and drops the rope to the sled. "Usopp."

A terrified scream echoes through the barren desert, and then Zoro rounds the sled and tackles the sharpshooter to the ground.

Nami groans from the front of the group. "Can't we have a normal trip for once?"

Vivi's soft voice follows. "Doesn't look like it."

"Please! Please, I'm sorry! Zoro, please! I'm not meant for combat!"

"Shut it, asshole," Zoro sighs. "You speak to my girl like that again? See what happens." 

[wisteriasymphony]

every time a tumblr post mlb rewrite mentions the fact that they're taking out marinette's 'obsessive stalker' characteristics an angel gets run over by a steamroller and fucking dies

[deception-united]

Let's talk about enemies to lovers tropes.

Indisputably one of the best tropes out there. And one of the most infuriating, to write and to read.

When writing an enemies-to-lovers romance, there are several elements to consider in order to create a compelling and engaging story.

Here are some things to avoid and include:

DO NOT:

Create one-dimensional, flat characters. Both characters should have depth, flaws, and virtues that make them relatable and interesting.

Force conflict. While conflict is essential in this trope, it should arise naturally from the characters' personalities, circumstances, and past interactions. Avoid contriving conflicts solely for the sake of drama.

Cause sudden, unrealistic transformations in character behavior. While characters can change and grow throughout the story, it should be gradual and believable.

Overuse tropes. Try to bring fresh perspectives and unique elements to your story to avoid clichés and predictability. Yes, readers will still read the story if they like the trope, notwithstanding the vast amount of nearly identical novels they've consumed. I know you're guilty. But unique elements will make it stand out amongst the sea of literature out there.

Rely on stereotypical traits for either character. Subvert expectations and give your characters complexity and nuance.

DO:

Develop rich backstories for both characters, including the reasons behind their animosity towards each other. This adds depth and understanding to their dynamic.

Ensure there's palpable chemistry between the enemies-turned-lovers. Their interactions should spark tension, passion, and intrigue, drawing readers into their evolving relationship.

Show gradual character development as they transition from enemies to lovers. Each should challenge the other's beliefs, leading to personal growth and introspection.

Build emotional tension through witty banter, charged encounters, and moments of vulnerability. Let the unresolved tension simmer beneath the surface, keeping readers invested in their relationship.

Introduce conflicts with high stakes that test the characters' newfound bond. This can come from internal struggles, external threats, or obstacles that force them to confront their feelings.

Allow the romance to develop gradually, building anticipation and suspense as the characters navigate their evolving feelings for each other.

Even as enemies, there should be moments of mutual respect or admiration between the characters. Highlight these moments to show the underlying potential for a deeper connection.

Stay true to the characters' personalities and motivations throughout the story. Authenticity breeds believability and emotional resonance.

Happy writing ❤

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[theidlespoon]

writer culture is creating a sunshine character and then making them go through so much trauma that they're unrecognisable