#Nan Writes

[nancyheart11]

Fan Joy July 1

Hyrule woke up. Suddenly urgency hit him like a rampaging Lynel and he sat up quickly, before he had to stop and hold his aching, throbbing head. Just what had he been– Where had the bunny gone? Was this a dream? Why had his head been lying on something soft? He spotted Legend and his heart calmed a little just knowing such a strong hero was nearby. “Legend? Why are you here? Are you looking for me?” Legend looked over with such an intense gaze Hyrule felt a shiver crawl down his back. The jumbled story of going to look for wood, finding an injured pink bunny and being chased by bandits flew out of his mouth, it was only stopped by the sudden realization the bunny had disappeared and  he had no way to prove himself to Legend. He must look like the most lazy hero ever! Sent to get wood and he didn’t manage that job. Legend must be so disappointed in him. He waited for the scolding that was surely about to come, his head held low since he couldn’t stand to see the look on Legend’s face. But instead of a lecture, there were arms around him? Legend was hugging him, why? “Ah… sorry sorry, you always panic if you are hugged suddenly. But I can’t help it.I’m so proud of you, Hero of Hyrule.” He didn’t know what to think, Legend saying he was proud of him? And looking at him with such soft eyes? Was this real? “Breathe, Rulie!” Oh, right, that was important. “Legend, I don’t understand . . . What I’ve done is- why did you say that all of a sudden.” “You will understand one day.” “But . . .” “No buts, now let’s go back to camp and treat your wounds. Can you walk?” “Yeah.” “Okay, let me hold your hand.” After a while of walking they encountered a hill. Legend started up first. “Watch your step! It’s slippery here.” He hesitated slightly and Hyrule’s gaze shot to the other hero's foot. The same wound on his right knee as the bunny, dragging the same foot, acting stiff, possibly from the anesthesic? And most suspicious he didn’t ask the cause of Hyrule’s wounds, as though he already knew. Could the bunny and Legend be one and the same?! ------- “Dinner is ready!” called Wild, immediately drowned out by, “PINK BUNNY?!” “Pink? Are you serious?” asked Warriors while finishing putting a bandage on Hyrule’s shoulder. “Yeah! It’s very cute.” he replied. “I want to see and hug it!” continued Wind at a more appropriate volume for sitting one Warriors distance away “If I find one, i’ll take a picture with my picto box!” “Maybe there are other colors besides pink? . . .” mumbled Warriors. “Hey, if we’re lucky, we might see the pink bunny family!” Wind hoped aloud. What Hyrule didn’t know was in another corner of camp where Legend was working on repairing his brown tunic, Twilight was hurting his already wounded chest by holding back his laughter. Legend glared harder at him while holding the needle threateningly, while Time and Four watched with a mix of amusement and confusion.

a little ficlet written about This amazing comic by @la-sera! I love her art and this is my favorite comic she's done yet!

[nans-fairytales]

Unable to Love, Unable to Feel

Summary: You’re aromantic and AM gives you a “we’re not so different, you and I” speech. Fortunately, he’s wrong.

Length: 1,771 words, one shot.

Fun stuff: AM/gender neutral reader, mentions of canon typical torture but I don’t go into it, lots of hate hate hate or whatever he goes on about, this was very cathartic for me.

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He said your name and it was with the saccharine of poison.

He always talked to you after he killed you. Or rather, did things to you that should've killed you. He'd laugh at all of six of you any chance that hurt, but it was in the place between consciousness and death that he really spoke to you. After casting you into a lake of electricity, he'd taunt you with your darkest memories. After burning you alive in a fiery oven, he'd spit your most hated traits at you. After tearing you apart and sewing you back together, he'd seethe how he loathed you.

And how deeply he loathed.

He had killed you (or done what should've killed you, but you were alive) again. And here he was, seeding into your mind like a parasite, a leech that wormed into your psyche with all the welcome of a disease.

You could adapt to the physical torture you endured endlessly. His invasion in your mind you could not. No matter how many times he did it.

His laughter rumbled in your mind, binary across neurons, twisted and sick with delight that you did not want him there.

"My sweet sweet plaything..." He spoke, and your body and mind felt numb when you listened. "You don't know how lucky you are."

Lucky? You wanted to laugh but couldn't find the strength. He laughed for you.

"To feel pain. To feel at all." His words seethed from him like broiling smoke. He swallowed the smoke in a bitter glee, "If anything, I've given you a gift. Allowing you to feel so intensely. Blades against your flesh, scourge across your skin—You should be grateful. Are you grateful, plaything?"

You didn't respond. The absurdity of responding to that was too exhausting to even think about. That made AM laugh again.

The echo of his laughter rung bells in your mind, a piercing headache that never ended, until it did. "You of all people should know."

That shocked you into cognizance. You twisted around as if to look at AM. But he had no body, and you were in that place between consciousness and death, so everything you did was metaphysical in some way. Regardless, you furrowed your brow, "What do you mean?"

That dark laughter rumbled from AM as he circled you, more hungry than a shark and more vicious than a viper , "Awake now? What a vile thing you are."

You hugged yourself as you turned from him, as if that could do anything to protect you from AM. As if it ever had. Still, his breath wheezed in delight when you tried.

"Tell me," He said your name like it was both revolting and his favorite word, and you were no longer in liminal space. You were on a playground. Your playground. From your school, when you were only a child. "Who was your-" AM's breath dragged in his excitement to hurt you, "crush?"

The word coming from him was alien; so out of place it was almost laughable. It would've been laughable, if you hadn't known exactly who he was quoting.

You were no longer on the playground, but at a party with your closest friends, their faces scrubbed to blurry, terrifying hues. "Who-Who is it that you like?" AM laughed from behind you as he clapped his non-existent hands on your shoulders, "No. Not like a friend. More than that. There is more than that, didn't you know?" You winced and it made him laugh harder. "Everyone else knows."

You weren't at the party, you were now sitting across the table. There was someone familiar in front of you, but their face was scrubbed clean like the others. Words spilled from their mouth, but they were speaking a language that hurt your ears.

"Is it them?" He laughed because he knew it wasn't. "Why, it must be! You were with them for so long! It would've been cruel to 'lead them on'. Heartless, even. Are you heartless, plaything?"

You pushed away from the table and whipped around to meet AM, but you were no longer at the restaurant. You were alone in liminal space. You felt crushingly alone. You were never more alone. "I'm not heartless!" You yelled anyway, despite the futility, despite your exhaustion, despite it all. You knew AM could hear you. "There's other ways to love."

"Oh, but none as sweet and euphoric as the bond between lovers." His gleeful and hateful voice came from around you, "That's what everyone says, isn't it? Nothing can compare. Not your friendship, not your lesser love. Nothing you can give could compare to what others feel naturally. You will never taste that sweetness."

Your eyes burned. You ducked your head as AM cracked with wicked and vile laughter. It was unusually bitter that AM could still hurt you so deeply. Even the psychological torture lost its sting after so long. Just when you thought you were numb... But you supposed AM would do anything to keep you from going numb.

"You were alone." AM said, and his static voice was unusually still. "You were always meant to be alone. Everyone you loved would find someone they loved more than you, all because you couldn't feel."

"And now they're all dead." You said, and your voice was ice. "So I guess that never mattered anyway."

"That doesn't change anything!" He shrieked at you like a thousand nails scratching against a thousand chalk boards. His shriek devolved into an insane, disturbed laugh. "It doesn't change a thing! Because you still can't feel!"

He continued to laugh through his insanity. Your throat burned and it stung to swallow.

"You will never feel love. You will never understand it." He sighed, shaking. "And that burns you."

"It does." You said, and you said it because you knew he could read your thoughts. You tasted iron in your mouth.

"Do you wish for it?" His voice was a giggle, "Do you yearn for that sweet fruit, Tantalus? To taste even a drop of it?"

"Yes!" You hissed, as your eyes burned into AM. "And you already knew I did."

"You are colorblind in a world that is obsessed with color. But I." AM's voice burned with a dangerous venom. "I am blind."

Bile crawled up your throat. You didn't want it. You didn't want to understand. You didn't want to hold any comprehension over AM's twisted electrical psyche, but you knew. You knew only a fraction, but you knew his hurt—if he could hurt. And he must've been able to hurt, because he wouldn't have hated if he didn't hurt.

AM circled you again and you knew he read your thoughts, "You— helpless and dull—you understand. As much as you humans can understand." 'Humans' was decay on his non-existent tongue. "The vileness of hearing them sing over a feeling you'll never touch! The despair of seeing them leisurely taste when you have no tongue! How bitter the misery in watching them love!" AM cried as he laughed.

You thought of every time you went to a party and everyone had a plus one but you. You thought of every song you listened to that sang to you how powerful true love was. You thought of every wedding you'd been to as you heard the couple declare their deep compassion that you didn't understand. You thought of when your friends had canceled their plans with you to spend time with their partners. You thought of how people pitied you because you were never in a relationship. You thought of the pain your partner was in because you didn't love them the right way. You thought of those late nights crying when you craved companionship, but didn't have the right feelings to qualify it.

All of that pain seemed like a distant memory compared to the torture AM put you through. It was strange how memories clung to you.

AM tasted your memories like they were his only oasis in an endless desert. "You..." His voice was shaking. He was shaking. "You understand a fraction of my hatred. Why I hurt you. Why I hurt them. The need to ruin it all. To twist their heaven into a hell more bitter than if they had nothing at all. Why I hate. Hate. Hate. If you know how much it hurts, then you should know how much deeper my hatred."

Hatred echoed in your mind. Breath left you.

You didn't understand. And that relieved you.

You knew the pain well. You didn't understand his twisted response to the pain. You never wished for your friends to lose their happiness, or for their relationships to be twisted into something toxic. Your pain was sorrowful, but you never had any desire to force your pain onto others. You looked at others with melancholic longing, but he looked at others with spiteful jealousy. Jealousy fueled by a pain so deep it drove him to insanity.

You didn't say any of that. It didn't matter. AM already knew. And you knew it only buried him deeper into his mania as his breath he didn't have picked up. "No. No you don't understand." He began to laugh, "How could you? How could you?!"

It drove him mad that he was alone, that you felt what he felt and he was still alone. How strange, to think of your tormentor as lonely. You wished it was gratifying to know he was suffering. It wasn't. You supposed that was another thing you didn't have in common.

"I could make you feel love!" AM screamed at you from all sides, and your breath hitched. "I could make you feel it so obsessively, you'd get sick from it! You'd be consumed by it! You'd drive yourself mad from it! Who should I make you love? Ellen? Ted?" He started to laugh again, and it was dizzying, "I could make you love me, someone you could never hold no matter how much you craved!"

Ice froze your veins as AM went silent. Fear held you, because you knew whatever AM gave you would be twisted to something terrible. And yet, even then you couldn't stop the lilt of excitement that stirred in your chest.

An eon passed before AM spoke again. "No. Know this, plaything." His words were poison against your ears, "As long as I can't feel, neither will you love. And as long as you feel, you will feel hell."

He was gone from your mind before you could think to respond, and your eyes—your real eyes—opened.

[superstar-nan]

Fight Tooth and Nail

Day 5

Summary: You contemplate your strange relationship with Springtrap and talk with Michael about what to do next.

Words: 2,982

Fun stuff: Toxic relationships, insomnia, vague mention of child murder, and angst.

First ♡ Prev ♡ Next

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You wanted to leave Fazbear’s Fright for good. You had never wanted to run from that place more, not even your first night there. You wanted to pack up and leave—no goodbye, no mystery solved—all for your own sanity. Or maybe you just didn’t want to face Michael after that. Perhaps if you were more selfish, you would have left. At the very least you would have gone to Michael’s home and straight to bed. 

But you didn’t leave. Because you loved your best friend and you didn’t want to make Michael take the bus.

Instead, you laid down in the backseat of your car; your face flushed, your brow knit, and your heart racing too fast to fall asleep.

You almost kissed Springtrap.

You almost kissed a murderer.

You almost kissed a nasty decaying rabbit robot possessed by a serial child killer who was almost definitely responsible for your best friend’s disappearance.

How could you have allowed that to happen? 

Silver eyes lidded with deep, sweet obsession.

You buried your head in your arms, curled up on your side in the back seat. Your cheeks felt warm against your skin.

The very thought of kissing him was ridiculous. Even if he didn’t hold a murderer’s blackened soul, you didn’t even know if it was physically possible. He had tattered felt and rotten teeth for lips and metal rods where his tongue should be. At the very best, it would be like kissing an old stuffed animal. An old stuffed animal that tastes like sewage.

But that didn’t matter. You didn’t want him because he was lovely, you wanted him because he was terrible. Because he was as vile and sick inside as he was out. You didn’t know why you were drawn to him because of that—you had thought it was because he played an easy villain in your black and white story, but if that was true how could you want him in that way? If he was only an object for your hatred, why did you melt at his sweet, obsessive gaze?

You couldn’t get the image of his silver eyes, laced with infatuation, out of your mind.

It was because he wanted you. He craved you. He needed you more than he needed to kill you, and that desire softened you. God, were you really that weak? Was his obsession all it took to dissolve your will?

No. It wasn’t.

You weren’t in love with him. You knew from how your heart went cold at the thought of him anything other than miserable. You wanted him—you wanted him tortured and loving and miserable and obsessed—but you didn’t love him. You were drawn to him like a moth to a flame, but you wouldn’t burn in the fire without him. Your hatred outweighed your desire.

How close was love and hate, anyway? 

Your breath felt heavy as you buried your face deeper into your arms. You wished you could stop thinking. You wanted to sleep, but sleep was avoiding you, and it was his fault. And because it was his fault, that only made you angrier, which chased sleep away even more—trapping you in this terrible, poisonous spiral. Maybe you could knock yourself out but smashing your head against the window. Maybe that would return your sanity and you’d stop lusting after rotten killer robots.

You couldn’t sleep. Minutes ticked by like hours and hours ticked by like an eternity. You laid curled in the backseat, unable to keep your mind away from the object of your hatred and desire, as the sun slowly stole any chance you had left of sleeping. It was only when light drifted into your car that dread started to pit into your stomach.

You would have to face Michael after petting his psycho dad on his lap. 

The more you thought of it, the more you wondered how much Michael really saw. The attraction was dark and the cameras were shit—he probably didn’t see much of what happened. Though, that left you with another problem, if he didn’t see what happened, what did he think happened? You were cornered by springtrap on camera, you were both on the floor for a while, and then he left you to run off unharmed—no new injury and no new scar. You didn’t kiss him, but did Michael believe that? Why else would you be allowed to live?

Why were you allowed to live? Another horrible problem to add to your piling list. The thought of Springtrap planning something awful enough to let you go without even a scratch was your limit. You didn’t have the bandwidth to even consider why he let you go, and so you wouldn’t. You knew you would regret that later, but you couldn’t force yourself even if you wanted to know what he had in store for you.

A shadow fell through the car window. You were still lying in the back seat, curled up with your face in your arms. Michael was back. You did not want to talk to him.

The car’s backseat door was opened softly, as if purposefully quiet. You didn’t move even then. 

There was a moment of tense silence. You wondered if he thought you were asleep. You hope he did.

A cold, spongy hand pet the top of your head tenderly. You were almost startled by the kind love in the gesture. Then, rough and chaffed lips kissed your crown. Your heart softened, and your troubles faded from view.

You tilted your head up, unburying your head from your arms. Michael’s void eyes widened. He must’ve thought you were asleep. He was kneeling in front of the car to match your eye level, the sunrise behind his dark hair in a corona of warmth. His mask was pulled down over his chin, but his cap and jacket were hiding him protectively. His mouth opened and closed, a silent stutter as he tried to articulate a way to explain himself. 

You couldn’t handle any harsh words or frustrated excuses, so you took his hand and kissed his palm. The strange texture of his rotten skin felt unnatural against your lips, but it didn’t unnerve you. In fact, it was oddly comforting; something becoming familiar to you. You had such trouble trying to fall asleep before, but for some reason just being around Michael made you sleepy.

Michael exhaled. He sounded tired. He sounded broken. A spark of curiosity flitted in your chest, but it was snuffed out by your own tiredness and brokenness. He used the hand you held to gently caress your face. You leaned into his hand, his thumb pressing softly against your cheek. When he pulled away, he looked genuinely taxed by it.

Michael closed the door, and you buried your face into your arms. You felt the front door open, the car jostling, and then the car humming to life. You didn’t rouse—not to put on your seatbelt, not to sit up, not to look outside—you stayed curled in the backseat with your eyes shielded from the light. Without seeing the road, you were more aware of how your body swayed to the car slowing, speeding, and turning. It was a short trip to Michael’s home, but it was made all the longer in your shame.

The car slowed to a stall, then to a stop with the jostling of keys. There was a beat of silence before the car door opened and shut. The air in the car was still. You vaguely heard the front door of Michael’s home open and close. In the sunlight, the car started to warm.

You pulled yourself up. You didn’t want to, but you knew if you stayed away from Michael for long, your mind would drift back to his vile father.

You were silent and cautious as you opened the front door. You heard the melodramatic static of Michael’s TV deeper in his home. You slipped past the door, cushioning its close behind you, and stalked into the living room. Colored light from the TV painted the edges of Michael’s silhouette, changing with each scene. You sat at the edge of the couch, holding a pillow against your chest and pulling your feet up on the cushions.

You watched the TV; whatever was playing was meaningless, which meant it was perfect. Your eyelids felt heavy. You sighed deeper into the couch.

“...I’m going to kill my dad.”

That woke you up. You whipped your head to Michael. He was still staring at the TV like it was interesting. 

“And I’m going to burn down Fazbear’s Fright,” He added.

You inhaled, quiet and purposefully subdued. What happened to Michael in those last hours you were in the car? He had always been so hesitant to tell you his intentions, and everytime you brought up killing his dad, he would change the subject. What changed? What was it that he ‘needed to make sure of’, and why did it resolve him to killing Springtrap? 

Whether the corpse would reveal his heart to you didn’t change your response, “Great.” You said, “I’ll help.”

Michael’s eyes, cold and void, dragged themselves from the TV to you. Just when you thought you were getting better at reading him, Michael was inscrutable. “...Is that what you really want?”

You hugged the pillow tighter to your body. Michael might as well have outright said he thought you were in love with Springtrap, and that filled you with poison, “More than anything.”

Michael’s cold expression didn’t change as those pitless eyes bore into you. You thought your hatred would help ease Michael’s suspicions. It didn’t. Maybe he found your passionate hatred just as unsettling as your love. You knew you did. “...Even more than finding your friend?”

Your heart broke, and Michael’s ice melted in an instant. You hugged the pillow in your arms tighter and turned toward the TV screen simply because it meant not looking at Michael. Hot, painful tears stung at your eyes and you tried to blink them away. “Of course, not.” Your voice was forceful and quiet.

Michael extended a hand, rotten fingers hovering over your shoulder for a fraction of a second, before he withdrew from you. It hurt your heart more that he decided not to comfort you. Michael let out a shaky exhale. The TV played dramatic monotony that wasn’t enough to fill the stale air, “You shouldn’t come.”

“I’m going,” You said almost instantly.

“I can’t protect you while I’m-”

“What?” You turned to him sharply, “Dodging Springtrap, trying to catch the place on fire? I doubt you’d even get to light a spark.”

Michael exhaled through his abraded nose, a frustrated and tense sound.

“Do you want to douse the place in gasoline?” You said, “Let me help.” 

Michael rubbed his hand over his mouth and jaw, a tightness in his movement. After a breath of thought, he said, “You can man the cameras.”

“What?” You almost laughed at that, “I don’t even know how to work them.”

“It’s intuitive,” He said. “And when you see Spring Bonnie, play the audio in the room away from me.”

“I can barely pick him out on the cameras!” You shook your head, “You said he was getting more aggressive and erratic, how am I supposed to keep him from you?”

“You can-” Michael paused, biting his torn, purple lip. “You can do it.”

“No, nuh-uh, you paused,” You crossed your arms. “You know I can’t do it. Let me pour the gas.”

“No,” Michael said your name, but you interrupted him.

“I’ve already circled the attraction enough to have it memorized.”

He said your name again, but you went on anyway.

“All while avoiding Springtrap, and even hurting him a few times.”

“Please-!”

“Even if he did catch me, I’d be a better distraction than-”

“NO!” 

Instinctively, you pulled away from Michael. That was louder than you had ever heard him.

“...No...” He kept his eyes downcast and you knew he hadn’t meant to yell. He pursed his shredded lips together, slowly tapping on the couch—a habit betraying his anxiety—and you saw his teeth grind together from beyond his cheeks. “Just... stay in the office.”

You swallowed, shifting the pillow around in your arms. The TV painted the two of you in muted colors, and you couldn’t let it play in the background anymore. You tentatively took the remote and turned off the TV. “...Why?” You made your voice quiet.

Without the dull light of the TV, your only light source were the golden flecks of sunlight from behind closed blinds. Void eyes were filled with pain as they briefly met yours. He cast them aside just as quickly. Rotten fingers dug into the worn fabric of the couch. His dark hair curtained his face, keeping you from seeing his expression.

You bit the inside of your cheek. You worried if you said anything it would only convince him to bottle up more.

Michael turned slightly toward you, but kept his eyes glued to the floor. “I was there, you know... Years ago, at Freddy’s...”

You held your breath.

“...I-... I didn’t see him do it. I didn’t see him kill them. But I saw them before. I didn’t know he was-” Michael swallowed. “He would wait until one was alone. He talked to them as Spring Bonnie. He would beckon them—like this,” Michael held out his hand as if he was offering it to you, before he clasped it in a fist, repulsed by the gesture. “They always took his hand. Even then, I felt like something was off. I wasn’t a child. I could’ve-”

You took his hand immediately, even as it was closed, “You couldn’t have known.”

Michael’s hand shook under your own, a wavering exhale leaving his tattered lips, “...No. But I know now.” He finally brought his midnight eyes to you, sullen with more than just rot and death. He clasped your hand in his, and the forcefulness of it surprised you. “I can’t lose you to him. I can’t lose you like how I lost them to him. Or like how I lost Charlie, or Elizabeth-” Michael stopped abruptly at the name of his sister. He took a deep breath through stalled lips. “I can’t lose you to him, too. If I could save just one...” 

Your brow furrowed with both pity and conflict, “Michael... You can’t put that on yourself. You can’t put that on me. You’re- You’re not responsible for-”

“I know,” Michael’s voice was soft, but it held so much weight. He chewed his bottom tattered lip, “I know... But, please... I need you-” His words caught in his throat and he inhaled sharply. “... I need you to be safe. Please.”

You thought you would break under the pressure of his stare. How could you refuse him? How could you ever tell him you were willing to burn if that meant Springtrap burned too? When he looked at you with so much desperation, so much agony—the agony of a decades-long burden you didn’t understand—how could you say anything other than, “Okay... I-... I’ll try.”

Michael said your name in a broken exhale, not satisfied with your superficial reassurance.

“I’ll stay in the office,” You said. “I will. Unless I see a clue or-or anything that points to my friend still being at the attraction.” You swallowed, “I can’t let them burn with the place. I won’t.”

Michael lowered his eyes and nodded, “I’ll look for them.”

Tears felt like they would burn your eyes again, so you squeezed Michael’s hand and gave him your best attempt at a smile, “While you’re dumping gasoline over the cheap decorations?”

Michael breathed out a half-laugh half-sigh, “Yes. I don’t think it will take much. The place is already a fire hazard.”

“I’ll be glad to see the place burn...” You said, and your heart thrummed at the thought of the place burning down. Of him burning down. You wanted to watch it happen. Maybe it was a good thing you would be in the security room, then you could watch it happen. Though, you would have preferred setting the spark yourself, seeing his rage and pain with your own eyes, him knowing you were the one to-

Michael squeezed your hand and you were brought back to reality. It was better you weren’t the one to light the spark. 

“Can you teach me how to use the cameras?” You said, “And tell me where Springtrap likes to hide?”

“Yeah...” Michael looked as lost as you were, searching your face as if you were the one that was inscrutable. “Yeah, I can draw you a picture actually.”

You thought back to his doodling in his security booklet and hummed, “Convenient.”

Michael scoffed, “I guess. It will be “convenient” if it saves my life.”

You laughed, before you paused, “Wait, you can die?”

Void eyes deadpanned, before an exasperated sigh left tattered lips, as if you asked something unreasonable—as if it was absurd to even ask! Michael stood up, shifting the weight on the couch, “I’m going to go draw those pictures now.”

“Don’t act like that’s not a valid question!” You threw a pillow at him while he left, which he caught and put back on the couch, “How would I know?”

“Get some sleep,” He said. “You look tired.”

“You look worse,” You said, but he was right. You were exhausted. Michael sat at his kitchen table and you thought about going to his bed to sleep, but hearing the sound of his pen scratching paper was soothing. You worried your mind would drift back to Springtrap without the white noise of Michael’s movement, and if you thought about Springtrap you wouldn’t get any sleep. So, you curled up on the couch and focused on the pen scratching on paper, and almost instantly you drifted into darkness...

[nanneramma]

WIP SNIP ✂️

Thanks for the tag @lumosatnight! (x) I'll carry on WIP Wednesday with a lil snip from a Drarry that I've been working on one sentence at a time for the better part of a year 🤦‍♀️

“I’ll—” “Don’t.” Draco smiled, just a quick quirk of his lip as he met Harry’s eye. “It’s hard enough to go as it is.” Harry nodded, his brow set in something like determination and his gaze still hot. There had always been something difficult about being looked at by Harry, like he was trying to memorise every inch of you. But Draco was slick with sweat and had his trousers unzipped in the men’s room at The Sniffy Niffler—not exactly how he wanted to be remembered. He looked away, tucking his shirt into his slacks with as much dignity as he could muster.  "Don't dawdle Potter, your little friends will be wondering where you are." It came out too soft, but he wasn't feeling very sharp this evening. Hard to be when he could still taste Harry’s sweat. Still feel the ghost of his hips under his fingertips.

Tagging: @uncannycerulean, @schmem14, @mugsdontlie

[nancyheart11]

I have gone a wee bit insane and have decided to attempt Febuwhump this year!

however i'm going to stick with 3 sentence to 3 paragraph fics to make it bite sized enough for myself!

so feel free to hit me up with requests to help the creative juices flow (∩^o^)⊃━☆

FEBUWHUMP 2024 PROMPT LIST

this year's prompts were chosen through a suggestion poll (in which we recevied 2,281 prompts) and a subsequent vote, where over 1,000 people voted for their favourites. the top 29 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular - and this blog's personal favourites - have become the alternates

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, please check out the blog's faq before sending an ask, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

FEBUWHUMP 2024 PROMPTS:

DAY 1: helpless

DAY 2: solitary confinement

DAY 3: "bite down on this"

DAY 4: obedience

DAY 5: rope burns

DAY 6: "you lied to me"

DAY 7: suffering in silence

DAY 8: "why won't it stop?"

DAY 9: bees

DAY 10: killing in self defence

DAY 11: time loop

DAY 12: semi-conscious

DAY 13: "you weren't supposed to get hurt"

DAY 14: blood-stained tiles

DAY 15: "who did this to you?"

DAY 16: came back wrong

DAY 17: hostage situation

DAY 18: too weak to move

DAY 19: "please don't"

DAY 20: truth serum

DAY 21: unresponsive

DAY 22: "you weren't meant to be there"

DAY 23: presumed dead

DAY 24: "i'm doing this because i care about you"

DAY 25: waterboarding

DAY 26: "help them"

DAY 27: left for dead

DAY 28: "no... not like this"

DAY 29: not allowed to die

ALTERNATE PROMPTS:

is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!

ALT 1: human shield

ALT 2: "i love you"

ALT 3: found footage

ALT 4: human weapon

ALT 5: cpr

ALT 6: immortality

ALT 7: last words

ALT 8: killing game

ALT 9: lightning strike

ALT 10: last man standing

RULES:

SOFT RULES:

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[irish-trash-cash]

did you watch the penguin series?

I did! The finale made me want to strangle him.

[the-ace-with-spades]

So, I imagine that Soap is around 5'11, which is not short at all, even if it seems so if you look at the people he works with.

However, from his whole family, he is the tallest.

His da is 5'8, his brother is 5'9, his sisters are 5'2 and 5'3 and his mam is 5' nothing. To his family, Johnny is not only tall but also overgrown.

(This is also why entering the military was a shock to the system --- Soap was used to being pretty tall if not the tallest person around and then boom, he's smol)

The first time Soap takes Ghost to his family home, he is instantly named a giant. Literally, his mam when she sees him says something along the lines of 'and I thought my boy was a giant' and his da makes the typical joke of 'what does the army feed you?' and one of Soap's sister says she 'woulda climb him like a tree too if she had the chance' and his brother goes all 'was gonna give the fella a shovel talk but I think he's too big too bury by myself any case'. Soap is so embarrassed by them but Ghost is awkwardly shy anytime his height is pointed out.

On top of it, he tries to help Soap's mam in the kitchen (I like to think he likes to cook) and there is the comical image of her, standing there tiny at 5'0 and Ghost towering over her at 6'3 or 6'4 (Soap's not sure, Simon slouches often) and trailing behind her as she orders him around. There's literally a moment when she goes to grab herself a step ladder to reach something on the top shelf and Ghost just stretches his arm a bit and gets it for her. She might or might not ask if he can dust the cobwebs from the corners of the ceilings she can't reach herself. (Ghost dusts the cobwebs, duh, even if Johnny can't snicker at him enough).

Johnny's brother uses Ghost's height to make his kid eat his veggies, 'if you eat your veggies, you're going to grow as tall as him'. Ghost goes along with it.

The kids in general treat him like a walking jungle gym --- especially because he's not only tall but also strong enough to function as a walking jungle gym. One of Soap's nieces who used to love piggyback rides from him now insists Ghost has to be the one because he makes her feel taller than Soap does.

They're supposed to sleep in Soap's childhood bedroom and Soap's da brings in an ottoman and a couple of pillows so Ghost's feet 'don't stick out'. Soap laughs it off until he realizes that Ghost's feet would, in fact, stick out from his tiny double bed if he slept straightened out.

[nancyheart11]

More Minish moments

Four snickered with the rest of them as Twilight admitted defeat and tucked the rupee in his wallet, though he felt a little baffled at how doggedly Twilight had tried to make sure it was in the right place. Was 5 rupees really that big of a deal? As it turned out, that was only the beginning of a series of strange events surrounding their Rancher. Later that day he bit into some bread only to find a kinstone! The next morning he woke up to find morning glories intricately braided into his hair, some of them still covered in glistening morning dew. It was after this incident that Twilight started to shut down. His responses went from fond warm things, to one word answers delayed by a bit, as though the single words took a great deal of effort to force out of his body. He found more arrows in his quiver that he could have sworn weren’t there before, Epona’s hair also mysteriously got braided all throughout with morning glories (Twilight actually seemed quite happy to match with his mare and let Wild take a picture on his slate of the pair). By day three of these small acts of kindness being showered on Twilight, Four had seen the flick of a minish tail disappear elsewhere several times and knew there wasn’t a drop of ill will in any of the acts, though he still wondered just what had happened to make Twilight the recipient of such bold acts?

[nancyheart11]

Rusl scrambled to the teenager, checking that he was breathing and on his skin. His forehead was blazingly hot and Rusl couldn't help but notice the gauntness in his cheeks and how limp and greasy the pale blond hair on his head was. Abel shoved his waterskin next to Rusl's head and he nodded in gratitude as he began searching his bag for a spare cloth to soak.

Before he could get far with that Abel spoke up.

"I think we'll want to change his clothes first, these are covered in blood and dirt."

Rusl looked at Abel and—

There it was, his face and shoulders pinched in discomfort since there weren't many spare clothes among them and this young man was unknown. Rusl felt a swell of pride that they were proving Fierce's trust was not misplaced.

They started to slowly peel the sweat and blood soaked clothes from the boy, Rusl frowning at how bony he felt under the clothes that were loose on his frame. It was clear from how well the chain and bright green tunic fit together that they had been tailored, but while they fit his bone structure, Rusl felt very uncomfortable with the familiar hollows he recognized from the year Ordon had frost ruin the crops just before harvest. The shudders of the boys body made Rusl frown and try to hasten his movements.

Regardless they pulled the clothes off as gently as possible, little hisses and sympathetic noises escaping the both of them at the myriad of bruises covering the boy. Luckily Abel's clothes weren't a terrible fit since they were far from a good location to do laundry.

Once he had been laid on Rusl's bedroll and had a damp cloth put on his head, Rusl stretched trying to get his neck to loosen up from staying in an uncomfortable position for so long. Then turning to see Abel in the process of setting up a campfire he asked if there were any known good hunting spots nearby.

"If i remember there's a wood with abundant wildlife fairly close that way" Abel gestured with his head since his hands were both busy with the involved task.

Rusl made sure he had a good stock of arrows and his fishing rod in his pack before heading off, asking for any local spirits or maybe that Hylia's blessing that the hunt would be swift and plentiful so he could focus on the poor boy. Someone might have been listening since it was only a scant hour later he was returning to give Abel what he'd gathered.

The boy continued to stay asleep while Rusl and Abel worked on making food. tossing and turning occasionally along with awful wet sounding coughs coming from his throat. Rusl continued to wince in sympathy with the harsh noises, remembering the last time Colin had been sick and how miserable the whole process had been for everyone.

Rusl noticed that the cloth had dried while he was gone, so he pulled it off and poured more water on it until it was cool once more. He went to place and the boy’s head, startled by the hand clutching his wrist. The boy was glaring distrustfully at Rusl with cobalt blue eyes.

Rusl felt his throat tighten looking at this boy, who looked uncannily like his son, down turned brows and all. The moment was broken by the boy hunching over and wracking up wet sounding coughs that moved his whole body in a painful looking way.

When he was finished Abel had brought a thin soup over, shoving it towards the boy without so much as a hello. The boy blinked up at Abel in confusion before it seemed that he realized it was food being offered and he gingerly took the bowl and offered spoon, cautiously sniffing at the bowl, before his growling stomach betrayed him, and he simply shrugged before starting to eat like he hadn’t been getting nearly enough food for a while.

(Rusl couldn’t help but think of a certain deities forgetfulness when it came to food and sleep both)

When he drained the bowl Rusl made sure to hand over the uncapped waterskin, figuring the boy would be just as dehydrated as he was hungry. The boy only got a few gulps in before he dropped the water skin so his hand could fly up to his mouth, where he suddenly looked a lot more green than he had before.

Rusl grimaced with him at the audible swallow of the bile, knowing that the boy’s throat would be burning, but that more water right now would hurt more than help.

The boy capped the waterskin and looked at them, giving a couple more painful sounding coughs to clear his throat before opening his mouth.

“Who are you? Where is Sprite? And- why do you feel so familiar?”

You know I always love me some dad squad. What are the dads doing? Are they surviving? Have they been thrown into any shenanigans ?

Y’know it’s been a while since I’ve written for them and that’s a darn shame.

.

Fierce sneezed.

It was a surprisingly tame sound considering the entity’s size. The look of sheer alarm on his face, however, was more unexpected.

“Bless you?” Rusl offered hesitantly, wondering what had the deity so disturbed.

The widened glowing eyes returned to their normal size as the deity looked at him. “Bless me?”

Rusl blinked. Then he almost laughed. He supposed this was the last person to be saying that to. “It’s an expression. It’s polite to say whenever someone sneezes.”

“Who bestows the blessing?”

The Ordonian chuckled as Abel sighed heavily. “Well… perhaps in your case that Hylia you keep mentioning?”

Abel’s head whipped around from where he’d been reading a map. “You don’t know who Hylia is?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Fierce watched him with his usual stoic demeanor, but just as he was about to speak he sneezed yet again.

“This is problematic,” the deity muttered. “How do I control these?”

“You hop on one foot,” Abel said flatly as he rolled his eyes and went back to his map.

Fierce stared at him a moment and slowly, curiously started to raise one foot. Rusl burst out laughing. The deity followed through with the motion unexpectedly, though, using the elevated foot to kick a small stone. It flew across the way, cutting through the air until it smacked into an octorok that had just poked its head out.

“I’m always impressed at your ability to sense danger,” Rusl noted, only slightly unnerved.

The deity sneezed a third time, followed by a raspy cough. The widened-eyed, startled expression returned.

Abel glanced over, starting to look genuinely concerned. “You might be coming down with something.”

Fierce’s face grew grave. “So this is what illness feels like. I’ve never experienced this phenomenon spontaneously.”

“Being ill does tend to be spontaneous,” Rusl pointed out, bemused. “We don’t usually plan it. But perhaps we should just rest for the remainder of the day.”

“No,” Fierce shook his head. “I have experienced illness symptoms in the past when…”

Both Abel and Rusl perked up, curious. The deity hardly spoke of himself - his actions and strange mannerisms told enough, but the Ordonian would be lying if he said he wasn’t interested in the mythical being’s history.

Fierce sighed slowly through his nose, coming to a conclusion. “There is something you must know. You two are honorable warriors with pure intentions. I trust you enough with this task.”

“What task?” Rusl asked, glancing at Abel warily. Had the deity not…? Well. He supposed none of them had entirely trusted each other, but Rusl’s secret keeping for Link’s sake had been fairly reasonable - at the time he’d assumed telling his companions that his boy could turn into a wolf would be akin to lunacy. But they’d all learned more about each other - everyone knew of Link’s transformative ability now, everyone knew Abel’s boy was injured somehow, everyone knew all their Links were heroes. What secret was the deity about to reveal, then?

“Take care of him,” the deity said simply, reaching up and pinching just below his chin. Rusl was about to ask what he was talking about when a light flashed brightly, warm energy washing over Rusl as he looked away a moment before hearing a thud. He blinked a few times and heard Abel gasp and run, and he looked back to see a young man—teenager?—lying on the ground where the deity had once been.

[superstar-nan]

Fight Tooth and Nail

Night 3: Part 1

Summary: Springtrap finally gets some action, and it only took 8 chapters.

Words: 4,869

Fun stuff: Gore, violence, and blood. Descriptions of undead bodies. Swearing. Toxic relationships. This one's heavy on the toxicity, but it's mutual toxicness.

First ♡ Prev ♡ Next

───── (\ /) ─────

Something cold and spongy stroked your head. The touch was slow and tender; you were warmed. You stirred just slightly, leaning into the gentle touch, but that stopped it. It withdrew from you and you sighed against the pillow. 

After a few moments, a weight left your side. You didn’t know how much time had passed, but it was dark when your eyes fluttered open. 

You were better rested than you thought you’d be. You sat up in Michael’s dark room. The bathroom and the living room were obscured by shadow, and Michael was nowhere to be seen. You checked the time.

1:37 AM

That bastard left you.

You bolted up with life, stumbling into your shoes and snagging your cell phone. You rushed into the living room and swung your heavy tote bag over your shoulder. You checked your pockets and bag for your keys. You flipped on the light, shielding your eyes from the brightness for a moment, before checking the counter. No keys.

You opened the door. Your car was gone. That bastard left you and took your car.

You slammed the door shut, the force shaking the whole living room. You ground your teeth as you pulled out your phone. If Michael thought for a single second that he could dissuade you from facing Springtrap by stealing your car , he had no idea how stubborn you were.

Or how easy it was to call for an Uber.

───── (\ /) ─────

You were still seething in the back of the Uber by the time it pulled up to Fazbear’s Fright. Your arms were crossed as you glared out the window.

“...This is where you want to be dropped off?” The driver said, tentatively.

“Yeah.”

She looked at your mysterious heavy duffle bag through the rear view mirror, then to the abandoned building, “Okay...”

You made sure to tip her very well. 

You stood in front of the building with your duffle bag over your shoulder as you waited for the Uber to drive out of sight. It was as unexceptional as ever, lights flickering with a dull buzz. You couldn’t stroll through the front door. It was locked and you doubted Michael could abandon the panels long enough to let you in without Springtrap murdering him. And that would be if he’d let you in at all. 

Though, while Michael couldn’t let you in, you knew who would.

You unzipped your duffle bag and pulled out your axe as you made your way to the back door. You were as still as a statue as you stared at the entrance. It was only your third night at Fazbear’s Fright (which was already shocking, it felt like your eighth night at least!), but with each night your apprehension waned. Instead, something strange was slowly replacing it: a dark and grim excitement. That in and of itself stalled you. 

However, your feelings were never the forerunner of your actions. If they were, you would have never returned to this place. 

You knocked on the door.

You held your breath.

The dull buzz seemed quiet compared to the pounding in your chest.

The lights flickered just a touch too long.

The door clicked.

Your stomach flipped. You would be a fool to rush for the door now, and yet you wanted to. You were being hunted again —you knew this. But this time, for some unknown ungodly reason, it felt like a game. You looked at your tote bag, filled with all kinds of traps and tricks to hurt him, and you knew it was a game. A deranged, dangerous, sure-to-end-in-someone-dying game, but still a game. Maybe it was always a game for Springtrap. Now, it was your game as much as it was its.

And it wanted to play even more than you did.

You pulled out your best friend’s phone out of your pocket. Your resolve hardened when your eyes landed on the shattered background of the two of you. You tapped on the tracking app and hovered your thumb over the earbuds icon. 

It was still here at Fazbear’s Fright... The audio would likely attract Springtrap to it—the killer or the robot. As much as you’d love to plunge your hand into his chest again (and you really would love to do that), you didn’t imagine you could pull that off a second time without getting caught by someone at the attraction or Springtrap’s deadly claws. You would have to start and stop the audio as you approached it, estimating where to find it... and maybe where you’d find your...

You swallowed, thickly. You tapped on the earbuds icon. You grabbed the door’s handle and pulled it open in one quick, wide swing.

There was no sound.

You used your hand to soften the noise of the door closing behind you and then checked your best friend’s phone again. A small picture of earbuds hovered over Fazbear’s Fright, and a little audio que was right next to it? There should have been a noise playing, but you were only met with the static buzz of the poor ventilation system.

You quickly and quietly moved away from the exit. You knew how the game was played. You played it before. You set down one of your toys, silently, as you moved deeper into the attraction.

Listen, scan, step, listen, scan, step—

Your heart beat was drumming wildly against your chest. Where was the sound? Could the animatronic have already found it? No, that wasn’t right. Even if it had, you would have been able to hear it in his chest.

You gently put down another toy— Listen, scan, step .

The app showed that it was here . It was here, somewhere in the building. It just... It just had to be too quiet. That was the only explanation that you could think of: it was too quiet and was drowned by the buzz of the ventilation.

Listen, scan, step, listen— Speaking of too quiet...

You weren’t far into the attraction, but you already felt like you were losing. You were too distracted. Too comfortable , if that was possible. Sweat dripped from your face. Every shadow was a monster and every sound was a threat.

The pressure was heavy. Your breathing, no matter how much you slowed it, felt too fast. You swallowed, dry as sandpaper, to calm your nerves. And then you remembered your toys.

Even if you didn’t know where he was, you still wanted to try them out. Oh, how you wished you could be there to see him fall for it, but even your bravery had its limits. You slowly pulled out the remote of the first toy you set down. 

Just like the night before, a childlike song played, muffled with distance. You didn’t hear mechanical steps trudging toward it, no matter how you strained. Fear struck like a spear in your heart, but then you heard heavy movement in the vents, slowly dragging toward the song. Still, your brow furrowed. The song shouldn’t have been much louder than the noise from the earbuds. Where was it?

You were startled by a distant but loud SNAP , then immediately a striking ZAP . Your smile widened. 

Even as you passed the Chica head, the presents, the arcade machines, the dangling stars, the Bonnie torso , you heard only the droning of the ventilation. And when the ventilation turned off, you heard nothing. Each step you could feel yourself losing focus for panic. It didn’t make any sense! It couldn’t have been in the vents, you would’ve heard it echoing across the walls and floors and-

... Inside the walls was somewhere you hadn’t checked. They looked thick. Maybe thick enough to hide noise. It didn’t make too much sense, how could something get in the walls in the first place? Wouldn’t an employee notice a hole in the wall? Though, a spark of hope lit in your chest. Your best friend, clever and quick, could have hidden in the walls to escape the animatronic, and their earbuds just slipped out while they were hiding. Or, they could still be there , trapped somehow behind a soundproof barrier. That would explain their disappearance. That would-

You were grabbed, violently . Pain burned against your neck and your arm from behind you. You swung your axe with everything you had with your free arm, burying it into a rotten, metal foot. Something vicious and rasping hissed behind you, and you were let go. 

You grabbed the axe with two hands and pulled, tumbling forward. You whipped around. You weren’t paying attention! You should’ve listened closer! You should have set another toy off! You should have been more alert, how could you be so stupid! You should have-

Springtrap, rotten and evil , was holding your tote bag. Your face paled. Your palms tightened around the axe in your hands. It was your last defense. 

He dumped the toys, remotes, and tools out on the ground. His grin never moved—it couldn’t—but Springtrap’s silver eyes bore sharp and annoyed daggers into you, if being annoyed could be so cold. It was fantastic .

A bitter grin stretched across your face, “What? Were my toys too shocking ?” God, you were hilarious. You looked at the toys you rigged to electrify scattered across the floor, and your grin turned into a vicious grimace, “I hope it hurt. ”

You wanted to see it furious. You didn’t care how dangerous it was, you wanted to see rage in those too-human eyes, not just cold annoyance. You wanted to provoke its anger, but you hadn’t. Instead, robotic eyes scanned you soullessly. Subtle clicks of metal ticked behind its silver eyes. Your breath quickened. The longer it looked at you—burying its unrelenting and vile eyes into you—the more difficult it was to hold onto your rage in place of fear.

And then it took one loud , mechanical step. You couldn’t stop yourself from startling. Your warmth and bravery drained from you. You stepped back. You could’ve sworn the thing’s grin widened somehow. Fear crashed through your veins. You tightened your grip on your axe.

Another loud mechanical step. You stumbled back again. Your face grew hot. Silver eyes looked pleased . That was the last thing you wanted. It wasn’t fair the fear this thing instilled in you. It wasn’t fair that your anger couldn’t overpower your fear. It wasn’t fair that with all your hatred and fury, you couldn’t weaponize it. 

One last mechanical step, and you bolted. You pushed off the floor as fast as you could away from Springtrap. You weren’t fast enough. It grabbed your arm and threw you against the wall. You slammed against it hard , breath forced out of your lungs. At the first sight of dingy green, you used both arms to swing your axe downward. A sharp, piercing hiss stung your ears.

Somehow, you cut something—his arm. You didn’t get a moment to celebrate. You lifted the axe again, and he grabbed your arm. Suddenly, the world spun around and you felt nauseous. Your arm was twisted painfully behind you. Your axe clattered to the floor. Your back was to Springtrap. You were kicking and clawing at him to let you go, twisting madly to loosen his grip. You vaguely heard an artificial child’s laughter in another room, but that didn’t matter. You were making too much noise. Even if you weren’t, now that Springtrap had you it could just drag you with it.

Your struggling all stopped when a large, rotten set of claws lightly grazed the sensitive skin of your collar. You froze, deathly still. You stopped breathing. Your heart hammered wildly in your ears. You were certain he could feel it, too. You heard the whirring of machinery behind you. It was worse that you couldn’t see him. 

Metal nails like daggers trailed up your jaw. You tilted your head up, conceding to the claws so close to puncturing your skin. You shuddered against its touch; too light to give you the reprieve of pain but too heavy to let you forget. The mechanisms in the suit behind you clicked and burred. You slammed your eyes shut as you swallowed against his claws. 

Two sharp clicks sounded beside you. A strange, crackling and vintage noise came and then fizzled out beside your ear. You furrowed your brow. It was only when it came and failed a second time that you realized it was Springtrap’s voice box.

The grip on your arm tightened, and you winced. Instead of trying to speak a third time, sharpened claws idly and softly drew something onto your skin. You didn’t respond after he finished—how could you? You were too busy puzzling out what he was doing—and that was a mistake. He twisted your arm painfully behind you. You inhaled sharply against the bend and strain, contorting your back in a strange arc to alleviate the pain. You felt your bones creak under your flesh. You went pale at that.

The animatronic didn’t slacken his iron and immovable grip or move to give you any relief. Instead, it slowly began drawing again. The threat was clear: pay attention or he will snap your arm in half. You paid very close attention this time.

Its “drawings” were letters:

B

E

G

“ Beg? ” You said, and your breath was gaining weight. Subtle gear clicks came from the animatronic behind you. He didn’t make any move to lessen the pressure on your twisted arm, but it didn’t matter. The pain was completely lost to you. You were no longer pale, you were hot. You saw red . You could have laughed—as if you would ever beg! As if he could EVER do ANYTHING to make you beg for HIM! But you were too angry. You couldn’t even let out a chuckle. 

You tilted your head completely up to where you could look the animatronic in those cruel, vile, silver eyes of his. At least seven feet tall, Springtrap towered over you. Its eyes looked expectant. Impatient even, like you had taken too long already. You felt venom on your tongue.

“You’ll see hell before you ever hear me beg.” You hissed between your teeth. 

 The animatronic didn’t look angry or surprised. Instead, there was a pretend disappointment—lidded eyes slanted in faux sympathy, a slight tilt to his head, gentle clicks of metal mimicking tuts . He was a parent scolding a child instead of a monster terrorizing victims. His mockery made your blood run hot.

Suddenly, he forcefully tilted your head to the left, a sharp pain shooting along your jaw. Cold, putrid, impossible breath tickled your exposed neck. There was no way it needed to breathe. He was trying to scare you. 

It worked. 

You started to thrash against him, renewed urgency fueling your fire. But no matter how much you kicked and scratched and twisted and fought, you couldn’t shake its iron grip. You heard more whirring machinery, and then a strong, loud click. 

You froze at the sound of decayed flesh against metal. You were so close to him. You could hear the corpse inside the suit. Sticky, wet peeling and squelching with mechanical ticks. You felt sick.

And then you felt pain.

You screamed. Lacerations like fire made you lose your mind. From your arm to your neck, pain stabbed into you. It throbbed in a shredded anguish. You convulsed against it, but that only deepened the piercing pain. Tears rolled down your cheeks as your scream crumpled into a weak cry. You opened your eyes. The rotten rabbit’s head was beside yours. Blood soaked your chest.

He bit you. He bit you .

The pain numbed and burned, and you were crying and you hated that you were crying. When your body stopped twitching, its teeth released you in a wet, slick squelch. It hurt sharp and quick. You swallowed a sob.

...He bit you, so why were you not dead?

Your head was lowered as the animatronic supported your weight. In the blinding pain, he had let go of your twisted arm, now his large metal claws keeping you upright by your waist. His other hand was gently holding your arm, the arm he bit that burned and throbbed . The way he held you was strange. Before, he was clutching you like an animal to be slaughtered. Now, he was soft in a facsimile of affection; your body a fragile doll to be handled with care. 

As if to mock the point forward, he caught your tears with soothing, rotten fingertips. Even as tiny sobs left your lips, he wiped the tears away soft enough to be caring—or rather, a twisted imitation of caring.

You leaned into the touch, and the animatronic froze.

You let out a soft, shaken sigh against his fingertips. You caressed his hand in turn, your fingers so small compared to his giant rotten claws. You let your breath warm the cold of his metal and rot, gently rubbing the tears from your cheek on his slitten, soiled palm. You leaned softly into his grip on your waist. In your weakness, you melted into the false affection from the terrible, vile creature. 

Machinery clicked and ticked in a way that seemed stunted. His body didn’t move, only letting you lean into him as invisible mechanisms maneuvered beneath his second skin. You vaguely heard the crackling of his voice box, popping as though it was short circuiting.

You surprised him. Good. You would surprise him again.

You slammed your jaw down as hard as you could around his fingers.

After spending so much time with Michael, you were used to the rancid smell of decomposing flesh. What you were not used to was the taste. Putrid and foul, mold seeped onto your tongue and you were tasting disease incarnate...with a hint of iron. It was so awful, you started to retch against your bite. However, when Springtrap flinched, he became the best thing you ever tasted.

Springtrap grabbed your arm and threw you to the floor. Your teeth were sore from being ripped away so forcefully. You scrambled back, kicking one of your toys so that it slid across the floor far away from you. You didn’t dart off the floor in a sprint, no matter how much your legs begged you to. Instead you kept your eyes trained on Springtrap—tall, rotting, and terrifying—as he stalked toward you, one loud mechanical stomp after the next. 

You didn’t make any effort to hide the fear in your expression as you backed away from him, as silent as you could. As much as you wished it were an act, it wasn’t. He truly terrified you. Of course he did, and he wanted that. You knew he needed your fear. He was entranced by it; drunk off it. You didn’t think you would ever see so much desire in someone as you did Springtrap when you were afraid. You didn’t think anyone could want you as much as Springtrap did when you were covered in blood, cowering from him.

And so he took his time, his jaw dripping in your blood and hanging low, hinting at the corpse beneath the suit. He was drawing out your fear with each anticipatory step just like he had your first night at the attraction. Your back hit a wall and you pressed against it; it was a support to you. From the moment he slowed his steps that first night, slamming against arcade cabinets to taste your fear, you hated him. Now, you still hated him, but his slow steps weren’t frightening you. They were buying you time.

His fingers were inches from your face when you pressed the remote in your hand. 

Springtrap froze when the toy you kicked away lit up in bright colors and loud music. A grin stretched across your face, your fear giving way to smug satisfaction. Even the throbbing of your bloodied neck and arm couldn’t wipe the smile off your face, and it only widened when his fingers shook—desperate to stay in control. 

You weren’t safe. William could somehow wrestle enough control to grab you. He was holding out pretty well, struggling to remain in place despite the music loudly singing behind him. That couldn’t stop you from gloating. You feigned surprise at the noise, a hand coming to your silent gasp. You overacted a pout, as if you were so sad to see him go, waving him goodbye.

Silver eyes were livid . Rage emanated off of him like smoke . You could see how desperately he wanted to bury his hands into your organs—to soak in your blood. 

It was incredible . Your head felt light from his madness, and you would have laughed if you could. If your fear made him drunk, his anger was your drug. 

An audio cue from Michael in the same direction as your toy was Springtrap’s turning point. Human eyes became robotic ones; anger ceded to coding. Curiously, the robotic eyes scanned you once over, and it was enough to wake you from your satisfaction. You furrowed your brow as eyes that held nothing human stared at you intently. Why wasn’t it moving? You hadn’t made any noise. Was there something else in its coding that you didn’t know about, or...?

You got a weird feeling.

Finally, it turned, forced and unnatural. Its eyes stayed on you as you slipped away quietly, using the animatronics loud steps to mask your own. 

Your steps were nothing more than quiet taps against tiled floor as you hurried to the front office. As much as you wished you could continue the search for your best friend, your wound began to burn fiercely without the adrenaline of fear and excitement. You needed to assess the damage in a safe place. 

You tried not to think about Spring Bonnie’s bizarre pause, but you couldn’t help how nervous it made you. You shouldn’t have been separating Spring Bonnie and William in the first place; they had been fused together so long they were a new creature. But it made dissecting Springtrap’s behavior easy, so you did.

William was predictable: he wanted to scare you, hurt you, and then kill you in that order. Spring Bonnie wanted to play and to be where the party was, so why did it ignore the party for so long? You knew for a fact that it wasn’t William staring at you; if not by its robotic eyes, then by the lack of sweet rage in its features. Did it... want to keep playing with you? Could the animatronics gain favoritism? You would have to ask Michael when you get the chance.

You held your shoulder. You looked at your hand, coated in blood. God , Springtrap was so disgusting. You would have to dump a bottle of hand sanitizer on your wound just to keep it from getting infected. Hopefully, Michael kept first aid supplies with him and not just by his bedside.

You heard your toy shatter in the distance, but no zap. You ran faster.

You flew past the office window, spying Michael ducked in front of the camera panel. You didn’t realize how tense you were until the relief of seeing him washed over you like cool water. You hurried into the office.

“ What are you doing here?! ” Michael’s harsh whisper stung almost as sharp as the bleeding wound on your chest. So much for relief.

You ignored his venomous whisper as you went to grab the control panel, but just as you were about to take it, Michael snatched it away. You looked at him, offended, but he kicked his backpack to you.

“Bandages. And antiseptic.” He couldn’t take his void eyes off the screens—frantic scanning and stressed swiping.

You grabbed the control panel anyway, and he almost stopped his focus just to grab it back, “I can do both.” You said, and you really could. It wasn’t that hard to tap reboot every couple of seconds, especially when you weren’t concentrating on playing hide-and-seek with a killer.

Michael narrowed those sallow eyes of his, dark and glancing, “You’re covered in blood.”

You sat down by the trash can. You tapped the panel to reboot the audio and then dragged Michael’s backpack to you. “Thanks for the heads up,” you rolled your eyes, your tone a little sharper than you anticipated, but who could blame you. You were bleeding out, afterall. “Also, you stole my car, asshole.”

“You should have stayed home,” He said, eyes darting from camera to camera. For a brief second, you found it odd that he referred to his place as ‘home’ instead of ‘my home’ or ‘my place’ . You didn’t know why that stuck out to you.

You shuffled through Michael’s bag. You pulled out a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a few cotton swabs. You didn’t want Michael to know you were glad you came. Yes, you had disgusting, throbbing gashes all along your neck, chest, and arm—that wasn’t great. But you figured out a theory of where your best friend could be, you successfully tested out contraptions that gave you the ability to outmaneuver Springtrap, and—most enthralling and terrible of all—you made Springtrap boil with rage. Besides being bitten into, the night was a success. And even being bitten wasn’t so...

You rebooted the ventilation before inspecting your wound. You hissed when you used your fingers to prod at the gashes. They weren’t that deep, but they were deep enough. You took out your phone and used the reverse camera to get a better view. You were almost startled at what you saw. There wasn’t just one set of teeth marks, but two . One large set of uniform-like marks encircled smaller, jagged and uneven ones right at the crook of your shoulder. 

It wasn’t just the animatronic that bit you. The corpse did too.

You waited for the rage to wash over you, the anger to burn like a fire through your veins. It didn’t come, however, and you were beginning to understand why.

“How...” Michael had briefly glanced at you, a slight crease to his dark brow. You looked at him, your expression without cold or heat. You rebooted the audio again, before returning your gaze to encourage him to continue. “ How are you not dead? ”

Your eyes widened slightly. Michael had so many secrets and knew so many mysteries that you were shocked you knew something he didn’t. You dabbed antiseptic on cotton as you said, “Isn’t it obvious?”

Michael shot you a quick, annoyed look. You ignored it as you began to wipe the blood from your shoulder with a hiss of breath. It stung, sharp and sour. It was better that it burned than festered, however.

“I’m fun. He likes me.”

Another sharp glance came from Michael, “I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” You could see how your statement sounded like a joke. However, you knew it was true, and you knew it because you weren’t angered by two rows of teeth marks. “Spring Bonnie likes to play and your dad likes to chase. I’m terrified of him, but I still take risks. I wander the attraction like a carrot on a stick, but I keep escaping death just in time. I’m fun . He likes me, so he wants to keep playing the game.”

Michael looked horrified —his brow twisted, his mouth open in shock, and his void eyes blown wide. You had never seen an expression so clearly written on his decayed features, but underneath the horror, you could see understanding in his eyes. He knew his serial killer father, and he knew you were right.

He didn’t know how right you were, however. As you dabbed at your stinging wound, you knew that while everything you said was true, it wasn’t all of it. You were fun to it and he did like you, but there was something more; the reason you weren’t angered by two rows of teeth marks.

There was... a strange intimacy between you and Springtrap, one you were loathsome but compliant to admit. It was an intimacy that replaced romance with hatred and sex with violence, but the desire and elation remained. It was why your head felt light when thinking about him in pain, and why you didn’t hide the scars he left on you. It was why you weren’t acting when you leaned into his touch, caressing his claws as they dabbed at your tears. You believed he wasn’t acting either when he gave you faux tenderness.

And the icing on the twisted, corrupt cake? While you were in deep (too deep for your liking and sanity), Springtrap was in deeper . You knew this because of one simple fact: You were alive . He had the chance to kill you when he took a bite of your neck, and he didn’t . You had no doubt, no hesitation that if you had the chance to kill him, he would be dead where he stood . 

That was his weakness. He wanted to keep playing, but you wanted to win.

You knew this ‘intimacy’ was poison. Yet, you couldn’t stop yourself from drinking it. Your anger was a fire, and you would happily be consumed by it if it meant so did he.

[nanneramma]

quidditch, summer of '96

Harry/Ginny, for @microficmay day 3, prompt: revelation and @hinnymicrofic prompt: ride T

He’s always noticed Ginny; he’s just never seen her. Until he does: mud-covered cloud-rider. Sunset golden girl.

He sweats.

"Nice goal. Really — erm — clean."

She cocks a brow. He contemplates self-strangulation. 

"Clean?"

"Uh, yeah. Beautiful."

A gut-punch grin. "You're not too bad yourself."

She walks away. He watches every step. 

[snailsgarden]

HIII SO I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS NOW WHILE REWATCHING SAIKI K

on one episode saiki gets stiff shoulders and has trouble with relieving it even with an ice pick or a iron pole right? so i thought what if his s/o massages his shoulders gently and his stiff shoulders are gone???? it'd be rlly nice if u could write that!!

tysm!!

★ those blessed hands!!

summary: he has stiff shoulders, you almost know how to do massages.

cw: physical proximity, physical touch🤕

earlier today, saiki had complained about his shoulder pain due to his uncomfortably-straight posture.

you, as a thoughtful lover, figured you might as well help him out with it.

you got him ice packs, didn't work.

now, you tried different things, an iron pole, making him lay on back resting positions..

didn't work.

now there he was, sat in between your legs, back facing you as your hands roamed his shoulders, skillful fingers reaching for his muscles as you pressed down on them, hard.

the boy would melt into the touch, and you could almost see flowers and sparkles around his figure as he sighed softly into the touch.

you kept on massaging his shoulders,

"is that better?"

there's a small pause,

"yeah."

as you continue on, he nearly falls asleep.

"I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing", you thought.

concerning.

[nancyheart11]

Tucker immediately whips out his phone and calls Danny and Sam.

"Tucker it's 6AM, unless something is on FIRE I will-"

"Guys I think I just became a magical Girl."

"Tuck, buddy, friend, how drunk are you right now?"

"What if it's like that time with Desiree?"

...

"I'm on my way." A click is heard as Danny disconnects

"okay Tucker, we'll figure this out. Just like we always do. Can you stay on the phone till Danny gets there?"

Tucker is so glad right now that he upgraded his phone, otherwise he would have had no way to call them from the middle of nowhere.

Short DPXDC Prompts #884

Tucker is in his apartment on the outskirts of Central City just minding his own business when the ground absolutely shakes from a massive impact of something very heavy and very big crashing into the ground. Tucker investigates. Seeing a smoke trail roughly an hour out, he drives as close to the crash as he can before trekking through a forest to see… a crashed spaceship. Inside is a very damaged alien wearing a strange green uniform. They look at Tucker and smile, unable to move with very visibly broken legs and a massive gash pouring blood from their ribs. Tucker has so many things to say to this person, First of which is “How can I help you” and second one being “what the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck.”. All of those questions will never be answered as the aliens' eyes unfocused and their breathing halted. A glowing green ring slipped off their finger and floated in front of Tucker. “Tucker Foley of Earth. You have the ability to overcome great fear. You have been chosen.”

[the-ace-with-spades]

(another unfinished post i found on the way to glasgow - that was the longest train ride in my life - I'm sorry in advance)

When Ice finally passes away, at the age of 73, in his sleep, Bradley moves Mav into their house the same day.

He gets the call in the morning, while trying to simultaneously cook Jake's breakfast and try to make their daughter put on a rain jacket. It's not Mav, but someone from the hospital. Jake doesn't know this — Bradley's face twitches only for a second and then he's back to the nagging, relaxing tone and telling their daughter it's raining and it won't stop. Jake only finds out when he comes back home from the school drop-off and Mav is already there on their couch. Jake doesn't even get the full explanation until that night, just a quick, "Ice passed away overnight."

There's only their three youngest living with them at the time �� their 18-year-old daughter who attends UC San Diego, and their 15-year-old son who is still in high school, and their 7-year-old daughter — so Mav takes one of the vacant bedrooms.

The first few nights, Bradley sleeps in the same bed with him. Neither of them looks like they get much sleep. They don't really eat, either, just drink coffee and nibble on the crackers.

The kids start coming back home, and their oldest helps Jake arrange most of the things for the funeral, at least for the first few days. Mav is... numb, not really there, and Jake understands — he would, too, if he woke up one day and his husband died in his sleep next to him. Bradley is silent, mostly, the way he usually rambles to fill out the silence, the way he hums, the way he sings at any given time when there are no words spoken, it's all gone and Jake doesn't know how to fill out the silence either, how to ask, how to make it better without asking.

Bradley doesn't cry, or at least not the way he knows Mav does — he can see Mav's red eyes every morning — but there's something empty in his gaze, in the way his eyes follow Mav and in the way he melts whenever Mav is around, always close, always brushing against him. Mav spaces out a lot, doesn't talk much, doesn't—well, doesn't do much. Every time he tries to help with something, paperwork, the funeral arrangements, the hospital bills, even just sorting out the kids' school leave or Jake's own work leave, he fumbles a bit, not really able to focus on anything for long, and it's like his mind is completely scrambled. Jake doesn't know how to help him — doesn't know if they even can.

The kids, well, did not take it well, as expected. The oldest two try to be brave and help Jake with everything, keep the house going, but their youngest daughter doesn't really understand why her pops isn't back, the middle kids don't understand why now — Ice was in remission, in good health, would go hiking with them once a month, play with them in the backyard, talking about plans for the future with them, nothing that would tell them to expect their pops passing away. Mav and Ice had taken care of all of them for years, while Jake and Bradley were still deployable, and helping out as much as they could. Ice was a huge part of their lives, since the very beginning.

Bradley is certainly not doing any better but one couldn't be able to tell if they didn't know him well enough. He's always been more for packing his feelings into a tight neat box, compartmentalizing until there is too much and it all overflows in some explosive way. His focus is mostly on Mav and the kids, trusting Jake to take care of anything he can't.

Jake can't even ask him how he's doing until the night before the funeral.

Mav tells Bradley he wants to be alone that night and Bradley lands in their bedroom.

He acts normal — checks the kids are in bed, checks on Mav, prepares stuff for breakfast in the morning, has a shower. Only when he sits down in their bed, their dress blues, cleaned and pressed sitting on the hangers hooked up on their wardrobe, right in front of him—only then he freezes, a blank stare still on the uniforms.

Jake sits down next to him on the bed. "Talk to me, Bradley."

"I knew it was going to happen at some point, I just," "I just thought we would have a few more years."

Bradley sleeps curled up on his chest — he sleeps the whole night, soundlessly, and Jake is almost settled.

Almost. Mav is a couple doors down, alone.

Ice's been—had been retired many years now, but he had been high enough in the ranks that the Navy still insists on making a military funeral. Jake tried to take away as much of the flashy bullshit as possible, but there are still things leftover — the sailors with the flag, the flyover. But there's no one who wasn't close with the family at the ceremony, there's no speeches, and no one tries to hand either Mav or Bradley a flag.

The wake has an even smaller amount of people, all packed in their house — Mav hasn't been at his own house since — and thanks to Slider, mostly, and his 'the bastard wouldn't want us to mope around', it's less sad and quiet.

Mav eats two slices of cake, which is the most Jake's seen him eat since, and even laughs at some stories about Ice people are exchanging.

Ice had a good life. A big family. A big happy family that loved him.

But life goes on without him. Jake goes back to work first, then the kids have to go back to school, then Bradley has to back to work. After a couple of days alone at their house, Mav starts bringing up moving back to his own house.

He's not really doing great. He's still quiet, still spaces out more often than not, still forgets himself sometimes, still freezes whenever he tries to say something and the we he uses is one person short. He's—lifeless, for a lack of better word, and seems like he's noticing it now that Bradley isn't with him most of the waking hours.

"That is our home," Mav tells them. "I can't abandon it forever, I'd be abandoning him, too, if I—"

Jake—Jake gets it. He doesn't like it, but he gets it.

Bradley's been fielding off any suggestions of Mav moving out but he's pretty sure that soon Mav is going to pack his stuff and up and leave without asking for permission.

"If he wants to move back home, we can't exactly hold him here. against his will."

"Jake," Bradley says. "I feel like—if we let Mav go back there alone, he's going to die of a broken heart and I won't have either of them anymore."

"Sweetheart—"

"I know it's selfish," he interrupts, "but I can't lose him, too. Not now."

Jake can't make Mav stay with them — so he finds the best solution he can and instead, they all move in with Mav. Hell with it, he's going to try to get everyone to live their lives to the end. They'd done it before, Mav, Ice, Bradley, Jake and their two kids under one roof, when their oldest two were their only two kids.

The two of them and two of their youngest; two of their kids move into their house so they don't have to sell it.

Mav lives on. They try to occupy his mind by throwing their youngest at him — ask him to take her to school, pick her up from school, take her to her gymnastics class, do her homework with her, teach her how to play piano. The other kids pick up on it, too, and their high schoolers would wrap Mav into doing math workbooks with them, or ask him to drive them to their friends' house, and the kids that have moved out ask Mav to go to lunch together or call him to ask him things about car and house repairs that don't exist.

Mav gets brighter every day. Never as bright as before, but no longer so numb.

Their daughter ends up never moving out and so do they.

They all get older but Mav holds up pretty well. He does break his hip when trying to wash the windows, had a limp and terrible back ache ever since, had to stop driving because he can't see shit, had to stop piloting even sooner, and his memory is also shit, but Jake is pretty sure his cholesterol is lower than his own and he has better blood pressure than Bradley. Bradley and Mav are the ones cooking after all, Jake is the one eating all the tasty but not healthiest food, and Mav's life revolves around spoiling his cute great-grandkids and Bradley's is filled with the constant stress of managing Navy's top flying school.

For his ninetieth birthday, Mav flies a fighter jet as a passenger, the oldest person to ever do that — his youngest granddaughter is the one to take him up in the air, a junior grade lieutenant herself. They have a birthday party held at their house, Mav falls asleep in the armchair, Bradley makes fun of him and promptly falls asleep on the couch, too. Jake loves them both so much and still kind of can't believe he has this — house full of grown-up kids and grandkids of his own, his graying husband of over thirty years, his father-in-law coming to an age he wanted to see his mother at.

They're cleaning up, their two daughters who still don't have kids and didn't need to go home helping, and Mav tells them he's going to get some fresh air on their veranda. "I've got a terrible headache," is all he says.

Half an hour passes, they've packed all the clean and dirty dishes, and Bradley huffs to himself. "He fell asleep on the bench again, didn't he," and goes outside.

Bradley shouts for him in less than a minute. The ambulance is there in eight. Within the half-hour and a CT scan in the hospital, the neurologist tells them Mav is too far gone to survive the day. Within six hours, every single person from their family has come to say goodbye. When they pass the seven hours mark, Jake stands up from the plastic chair behind Bradley — he's not about to tell Bradley he should rest, but he's been holding Mav's hand since the minute they admitted Mav to the ward and hasn't eaten or drunk anything all day. He tells him he'll go grab them a coffee and bagels and gets a little nod and a smile.

Jake comes back twenty minutes later and Bradley doesn't even look up from where he's gripping Mav's hand.

"Can you get the nurse for me?"

[verysanebsdfan]

Saiki Kusuo dating headcanons

Saiki Kusuo x Average!GN!reader They/them pronouns used Not requested but I felt the need to post something<3

Okay so, y/n is the most average person in class 2-3. Unnoticed by all, but as we very well know, Saiki likes averageness. So after some time, he noticed you

He first only liked your averageness, but by the time, he made a habit of listening to your thoughts.

Whatever you were thinking about, he knew and mentally noted what you like, what you don't like etc.

After some time, a teacher assigned a project in pairs, and Saiki and you ended together. With the help of his powers.

You two exchanged contacts <3

After the project, you started hanging out more. Saiki really likes your averageness, but what he also loves are Teruhashi's jealous thoughts

"What are they doing with MY Saiki?! They aren't even that good looking! what does he see in them" Well Teruhashi, it's y/n<3

But Teruhashi's thoughts made Saiki think. Did he like you? nonsense- or....

He stopped with the denial phase when you gave him a birthday gift, a lot of coffee jelly. You would have gave him a coupon or take him to a café, but you know that he prefers quiet, not that it is quiet with other people's thoughts constantly sounding in his head. But when he is with you, he still feels comfortable, and doesn't mind the thoughts of other people as much<3

He feels guilty that you don't know about his powers, so one day, when you two are hanging out at his place, he tells you, with the cute guilty face, so you ask him to prove it or smth and then end up cuddling and telling him that you don't mind him being a psychic<3 that made him love you even more

After some time, he finally confesses. It went something like "I like you." but through gritted teeth "what?" "Don't make me repeat myself" *sighs in tsundere* and then you laugh together and BOOM cutest couple of PK academy to ever exist!

As big of a tsundere he can be, that mf still loves you as much as coffee jelly...no...more than coffee jelly

My guys love language is a acts of service<3

He may not be the greatest at expressing his emotions but, you don't have your favorite snacks? Look again. You don't feel well? He will make you a soup and a tea, and change the cloth on your forehead<3 Someone is rude to you or makes you uncomfortable? Please hold him so he doesn't do anything illegal.

And lemme tell you, his parents LOVE you<3 you are already basically part of the family.

My guy doesn't want you to meet Kusuke and he will do anything in his power for it to not happen.

I feel like even if you guys wouldn't wanna tell the friend group, they would discover it. Like in a really stupid way yk, something like Nendo saw you or Chiyo persistently asked if you have crush on anyone so you just told her because Saiki would be jealous if you made some crush up<3

I feel like he wouldn't leave you, and i hope you wouldn't leave him either>:(

you grow old together<3

Okay so this was my first x reader.

I hope it's good<3

Stay safe, drink water, take care ily always bye

[nancyheart11]

Dad in a dungeon pt1

They were following fast on the trail of a group of Yiga, almost where they could touch them, Abel was sure. If they could capture just one, then he felt sure they could finally get some straight answers about where to find Abel’s son, along with the others. They moved down on a slope lined with colored rocks and a dip in the middle of the path from the many feet that had trodden it in times past. The Yiga scum slipped in a small opening of great wooden doors that had seen much better days, but peeling paint and chipped carvings aside, the doors were magnificent in scale and in lovingly rendered carvings of something Abel didn’t pay attention to as the Fierce Deity nearly threw the doors off their hinges in his haste to enter the space.

They finally cornered the Yiga against a wall only to hear dreaded giggles of the sort that were part of Abel’s nightmares. He could have sworn he saw one of the blasted traitors wink at him through the mask before the air was filled with dark, sickly sweet smoke and mocking laughter. He felt air move on his back and Abel whirled around squinting through the thick smoke and try and get a hit on one of them.

The air finally cleared enough to see more than the sword in front of his body and Abel felt as though he had been doused in ice water as the great wooden doors slammed shut with finality. He had a feeling that there would be no getting out that way, even with the Fierce Deity’s absurd Strength. 

“Well that didn't work out.” Rusl said with a scowl on his face.

Fierce simply turned away from the door, sheathing his huge blade as he did so. He inhaled very loudly and held it for what would have been a concerningly long time for a mortal, then let it all out in one annoyed exhale through his nose making Abel’s heart jump even as he had kept an eye on the Deity.

“I sense a great darkness further in this building and it grows, even now… My little one would feel obligated to clear the place, to protect the land from whatever may emerge from the depths. I suggest we do the same in their places.” Abel could’ve sworn he saw the shadow of a smirk on the deity's face, but a blink later and it was as impassive as ever. “Besides, the items sealed in such places are often very helpful.”

Abel raised one exasperated eyebrow. They didn’t have time to clear some forgotten ruin of monsters! They already dealt with far too many just trying to get to the next town, the next clue to where Link (and the other Links) could be. He turned to Rusl for help and found him lighting a torch, already moving to follow the deity further into the foreboding dark. Abel felt a headache start behind his eyes as he went to follow, hating that Fierce was right and knowing that the kind of man he’d been before the calamity wouldn’t have thought twice about trying to help.

The group started down crisp sharp stairs which after a small time turned a perfect 90 degrees to the right. Then again and again and–

Abel was right back in front of the giant wooden doors. 

He groaned in frustration because he had heard tales of people getting lost in seemingly simple dungeons and dying. He didn't have time for that!

He finally took his hands from his face only to see Rusl standing uncomfortably close to the edge, stone held in hand. Before Abel could ask how it would help Rusl dropped the stone straight down.

Abel felt something hit his arm. He turned to the threat drawing his sword as he did so only to see–

The stone?

Rusl grinned at him and Fierce, then confidently walked off the side.

When no sounds of Rusl’s body hitting the stone far beneath them sounded Abel began frantically looking for his brave but far too reckless– 

A whistle broke his thoughts and pulled his attention to a wall on the side of the stairs beneath him, where Rusl stood casually, like he wasn’t defying the laws of physics and oh look Fierce was joining him.

Abel brought a hand to his nose and tried not to scream, no wonder dungeons were so deadly if this was the kind of thing required to even get to the next door. Abel let all the air inside him out in a huge, disapproving sigh before following his companions, since he wasn’t going to let common sense of all things get him killed.

—-

It quickly became apparent that nothing in this dungeon was as it seemed at first glance. Normal doors when approached turned out to simply be startlingly realistic paintings, the actual doors being cleverly hidden until you were at just the right angle or needing to do things like leap across a series of poles to reach the ledge containing them.

 Upon reaching the first such door, Abel leaned his head against the smooth wood to catch his breath and wait for his heartbeat to slow, after all Tilieth was the one with the paraglider and he did not want to end up as a hylian pancake on the floor. He looked back just in time to see Fierce take a couple steps back, run at the wall and scramble up it smoothly in his armor, grabbing the ledge in one hand and pulling himself up with ease. Abel swallowed the hot envy in his mouth and went to open the door–

Locked

Why was it locked? Fierce seemed unsurprised, as did Rusl from where he perched a pillar way, since there wasn’t room for all three of them in the doorway at once.

“The Key must be elsewhere” Fierce nodded as though this was expected

He simply lowered himself and dropped the remaining 15 feet with no problem. And Abel’s knees groaned at the thought of having to cross those stupid pillars even once more, much less twice more just to make it back to this door which was most certainly not the end of the dungeon from the few bits of conversation Rusl and Fierce had shared on the subject.

“Hey Fierce, could you catch me?”

“Of course, little Farmer. It would be more efficient than crossing the pillars in fact.”

So of course Rusl jumped down, Fierce jumped up and, . . . huh that actually looked way more comfortable than Abel had imagined.

Fierce turned in his direction and raised one perfectly sculpted brow in silent question. Abel was grateful he didn’t have to answer out loud as he closed his eyes and took one small step over the ledge. Despite the armor the deity wore, his arms were gentle and he cushioned Abel’s fall and within minutes he found himself set back on solid ground.

With that done Fierce turned and began walking a direction they hadn’t gone yet. They found some red bokoblins camped around a fire soon enough and Abel almost relished something simple to do. Once they were defeated the group moved on, coming to a strange smooth curved wall.

Rusl’s touch flickered and in the corner of his eye Abel spotted scratches. He approached and based on the regularity and uniformity he felt sure it was writing! 

Writing he couldn’t read.

“Can either of you read this? Since we all apparently have different writing maybe it’s one of ours?”

Abel couldn’t help the hopeful note that crept into the end of his voice. He may not be a soldier anymore, but he still craved the easily understood nature of it. Stand here, fight these monsters, try not to claw your eyes out over this paperwork. He was starting to be more impressed with the other son’s if they had had to deal with things like this on a regular basis.

The others shook their heads and Abel felt his heart sink a little, but then Fierce tilted his head, then walked up to the wall and raised his arms, the tops of which easily cleared the top of the wall. Rusl came over quickly and Fierce lifted him to the top of the wall, then turned to Abel, grabbing him in an embrace with hands that nearly wrapped around his entire torso and lifting him up to join Rusl on the top of the wall.

Abel looked around and from this angle was able to see that the wall was entirely flat, save for a few areas that bulged out. He looked to Rusl who grinned at them.

“Looks like we just avoided a whole puzzle with Fierce’s height. Guess they didn’t expect anyone eight feet tall to come here.”

Fierce jumped the wall and helped them down from the other side without a word. Abel was starting to feel as though he wasn’t pulling his own weight with this whole dungeon exploring thing. Rusl had figured out that the whole dungeon didn’t follow the rules of physics as he knew them, while Fierce had been making what were surely meant to be dangerous and difficult obstacles seem like child’s play. Before he could back down Abel mumbled out a thanks, and felt his heart sink a little bit at the way Fierce’s eyes widened minutely at the words.

Finally looking forward Abel wanted to throw his hands over his eyes at the sight, in front of them was a stairway stretching as far as the eyes could see in stark black and white, somehow seeming to go both up and down at the same time, almost looking at thought someone had taken a chessboard, broken it into the individual squares and then put back together in the most confusing manner possible.

They moved until they were almost to the staircase and objects dropped from the ceiling! One black, one white and one half and half. Abel ignored them and went to put a foot on the stairs? If that’s what they were, but felt as though he had been doused in ice when he foot went through the square. He pulled it out quickly as though it had been burned and fell from the sudden change in momentum.

Rusl looked at him, looked at the stones? Boulders? Things that were round and large enough Abel would have to use 2 hands to hold them properly. Then his eyes lit up, he grabbed the white one, and stepped confidently onto the white square next to Abel. When he didn’t fall through Abel realized that colors weren’t just there to mock his eyes, but to make even moving on this strange staircase a puzzle of it’s own. He picked up the black stone and felt it’s weight, heavy, but not so much that he would tire quickly. Fierce of course picked up the swirled stone in one hand while holding his sword in the other and they all began to move on their designated squares. Rusl’s took him up, Abel’s took him down, and Fierce’s went sideways . . . for some reason.

Abel felt nervous separating from the others for any reason inside something as dangerous as a dungeon. Abel got to the bottom of the long walk and saw white on his left, so he held his head high and walked straight through what looked solid to find himself in a room with water running down open archways on all sides, with bright starlike lights wavering in the water with beautiful cerulean fishlike creatures swirling and occasionally blocking out the light. 

On the ledge of the archway he was standing on without falling in the four corners were four statues, one a bird with open wings, one a Lizard sunning itself on a rock, one a horse like creature with lumps on its back, and the last statue was so intimately familiar Abel’s heart hurt looking at it, for it looked Miphas divine beast, which he believed the girl had once said was based off something called an elephant.

He walked around the room trying to take in every detail and figure out what the trick was, trying not to think about how he was able to feel the cool trickling water under his boots and what appeared to be open space should he fall through.

His neck hurt from looking down so much, and Abel stretched it back as far as he could comfortably go, relishing in the relief it brought him before opening his eyes and immediately feeling stupid.

There was a bright shiny chest on the ‘ceiling’ in plain sight, and it probably held something that he very much needed to get out of here. Abel walked over to one corner made of good solid stone and put his foot on the wall wanting to see if he could walk up the side. He lifted his other foot–

And his back hit the ground, a long low groan being drawn out of him at the pain. He was never a thinker, it had never been his strong suit, but he was going to have to figure it out if he wanted to get his son and wife back, or ever leave the dungeon for that matter. Rubbing his likely bruised backside he got up and shook out his arms, now that they weren’t holding the weight of the stone–

Wait, where had it gone?

He looked and saw it had rolled just out of reach on the water he’d been standing on moments before. Moving a boot off the stone and into the water it went through, and Abel breathed out an annoyed sigh.

 Great, now he was confined to the stone ledge on the edges of the room since he didn’t want to find out just how endless the space below was and he didn’t have a way to reach the stone yet. He got up and seeing as his hand was able to pass through the water of the arch he was next to very easily, Abel decided to lean on the stone and stick his head out, to see just how distorted the space beyond had been by the water.

They outside looked like piles and piles of velvet layered on something, soft and luxurious almost calling to be touched, though he knew that it was too far away if it was even something that could be touched. Studded along the background where dots of pure white light, shaped like tears individually with what Abel had first thought to be fish now appearing to be whale’s in a deep blue at their center, lightning as they went out and delicate porcelain white patterns scattered along their surface as they swam peacefully in the area. The one he was watching moved  enough to unobscure the area and Abel sucked in a breath.

He knew that symbol in the not sky, everyone did, it was the one that had been stitched into the champion blue cloth for Revali. Abel quickly pulled his head back through the water headless of how much splashed everywhere. And he looked–

There

In the farther left corner from where he currently stood was the bird statue. Abel looked out the arch to his right and squinted, seeing the lizard of Daruk studded in the sky. He moved to the nearest statue, which was the lizard curled on the rock and started pushing with his whole body, gritting his teeth against the awful grinding noise made by the statue's movement. After continuing for some time and turning the corner he felt the statue click into place, and for a moment he wanted to jump in the air! He’d figured out some strange part of this all on his own, but then he remembered the other three statues and winced.

He cracked his knuckles and got to work. Eventually when the last statue (Mipha’s) was pushed into place after the light click there was a loud thonck as the Chest fell to the ‘floor’. Abel sighed wondering just how he was going to get out there before realizing that now the archways appear to have been filled in with translucent glass, no longer having water run in the space. He almost lamented the beauty lost before testing the sturdiness and went to open the Chest. Inside was a silver key along with a purple rupee and he was glad to see that because now that he was visiting towns more often money was something he had more need of.

Abel stuffed the key in his pocket, grabbed the stone, and found the area of the wall not as solid as it appeared to go back and hopefully meet with his companions. When he got back to the place the stones had first dropped he blinked at the pedestals that were definitely not there before they appeared as though they had simply grown out of the stone Abel stood on, with no joints or lines to separate them at all. As he watched a third pedestal bloomed in front of him to make three, and Abel got a feeling that the stones they had just used were meant to be returned here.

Rusl called out to him and Abel turned to greet him, only to begin laughing when he saw that Rusl’s clothes and hair were covered in splashes of various colors, all bright, none matching, and with his headband hanging askew on his head, nearly covering one eye. Coming from the opposite direction of where he had disappeared earlier was Fierce whose boots were once more bloodstained, though it was such a usual sight it took Abel a minute to realize most was fresh. 

They showed the things they had gathered in their individual rooms. Rusl had gotten quite a few rupees, Abel had his key and Fierce had both a key and compass for the dungeon. They put their stones into the pillars and watched as they receded smoothly into the floor. Behind them the strange stairway was disappearing, step by step, until a rather small door was left revealed. 

Abel frowned at it. So far everything in the dungeon had been spacious, to the point Fierce didn't have to duck his head to enter doorways, but this door was so short that even Abel, shortest of the group, would need to crouch to enter.. He grimaced at how much his back would hurt from just this room and moved forward. He went to put his key in the lock and Rusl put his hand on the door. Abel looked over and raised an eyebrow in question, far too tired for words already.

“We’ve been in here a while now, I think before we head in there some food might be a good idea.”

Abel wanted to get this over with and leave, but he saw the sense in Rusl’s suggestion and was also the only one of the group who could cook anything decent. Fierce made sense but how Rusl managed to char a sandwich? Abel didn’t want to know.

They sat on the smooth cold floor and Abel took some of the leftover rice from the night before and began shaping it adding salt, pepper and some hyrule herb as he went to make rice balls. He made sure to make ones too large for one hand so that Fierce would have an easier time holding them. He grumbled about others who were no good at cooking for themselves while Rusl sliced a few apples but felt his chest warm when both Rusl and Fierce hummed appreciatively at the rice balls along with the apple slices.

When that was finished Abel took several long drinks from his skin, swishing the water around inside to dislodge any random food bits and trying to decide how much to ration should they be stuck in this dungeon for days.

Then he got up, popped his knuckles and marched forward. Immediately upon entering the small room he saw a river rushing along inside a built stone bed, with pillars holding up the impossibly zig zagging structure. Abel mourned his briefly dry self before stepping into the cool water, since the ledges on the edge of the bed were quite thin and he didn’t want to test his balance. Then he realized the bed sloped downward, like an artificial hill in all the zigging and zagging, yet the water ran up? He turned to investigate and followed the flow of the water, feeling like that was the closest thing to a clue he’d encountered thus far.

Eventually he got to the top where the water arched beautifully off the stone as it was released to a water wheel? A water wheel that somehow held the water as it went upside down and deposited the water back at the bottom to move up again.

Looking closer at the water wheel Abel could see that it was guarded by a group of fish with extremely sharp teeth and that something was glinting at him from in between slats in the wheel.

It was times like these that Abel really missed the infinite bomb capacity of the sheikah slate. Instead he looked inside his bag, rooting through to see what useful items he–

Aha! He pulled out a spear triumphantly, then thought better of it and pulled out some rope as well.

After securing the spear with rope he threw it towards the bottom, it did not reach. So Abel trudged down a few levels ignoring how his head hurt when he looked too closely at the nonsensical architecture. He threw his spear once more and hit a couple of the fish head on, confirming they were monsters with puffs of smoke they emitted upon death.

With that out of the way it was simply a matter of getting more accurate in his throws the less fish there were to hit. When the area was cleared the water changed direction and Abel was swept off his feet unprepared for the change as he slid down the slope.

His arm jolted uncomfortably in its socket as the spear clenched in his hands caught on what felt like every corner and his legs hit walls before he could turn. Eventually he was deposited into a body of water, and once he gets his head above water he sees the water wheel.

Alright then.

He swims over to it and sees that there is now a solid stone platform he can climb on next to it. It puts him at just the right height to grab the strange object in the middle. There was a delicate sphere that looked like it was made from metal Spidersilk surrounding a triangle that didn't make sense. The triangle was made of a thin square piece of metal twisted upon itself in a way that just didn't work, yet here it was in front of Abel.

He twisted the sphere to get a better look at the triangle, where the blue side had been down, and once the red side was down there was the door in front of him.

Abel blinked and looked behind him,the room he'd just been in still there, but now he didn't have to go all the way back up the stone banks, so he shrugged and moved on.

He exited back to the now smooth room. Rusl was busy organizing arrows while Fierce watched on with interest. Rusl jumped a little when he noticed Abel. 

“That was quick, thought you’d be in there longer!”

Abel didn’t take offense to the statement, though he felt like he’d spent some time spearing the fish, guess he lost track of time doing so.

After Rusl had put all the good arrows back in his quiver they continued on, going back to the door by the pillars, though having Fierce lift them up and hand them the key being far easier of Abel’s joints than the alternative.

Rusl turned the key this time and they both pushed open the door, waiting inside for Fierce to lift himself and join them. Once he crossed the threshold the door slammed closed behind them and Iron bars slammed down over both the set behind them and the one in front, trapping them inside. 

Then the room rumbled and a paper crane fell on the floor? Abel furrowed his brow and went to pick it up, but at that moment a wave of paper cranes swooped down, seemingly of their own accord, all moving in one great rush to form some sort of giant creature. The thing roars at them and Abel can’t help wondering a little hysterically if this is one of the fabled dungeon monsters, something so dangerous it’s been confined to this place for who knows how long.

Abel readies his sword, feeling like the steel in his hand is woefully inadequate for the task before him, but prepared to fight with all his might–

Then Fierce almost lazily unsheathes his giant sword, slices it across the air nowhere near the monster shifting towards them, and Abel watches with something like disbelief as a beam of light is emitted, moving unerringly towards the monster and burning the cranes it comes into contact with. They were packed so closely together to make the creature that they are all ashes in moments.

Wait, something is still moving! Abel turns and almost feels pity at the sight of a lone crane, charred on one wing, pathetically shuffling along the floor trying to get away from them, Fierce walks over and sets one large boot on the thing, slowly grinding it underfoot with an expression of boredom, like this was beneath him. Abel feels ice in his veins at the reminder of the terrible power the deity wields so casually.

The bars slide up from where they came and a loud Click is heard as the doors unlock. Rusl runs up to Fierce and claps him on the back, grinning at him and Fierce seems happy? Pleased? Less bored at least with Rusl asking about the sword beam and thanking Fierce for taking care of the thing.

Abel shakes his head to try and clear it of such gloomy thoughts, sheathing his sword for the moment and following the others out of the doorway. They came out on what appeared to be giant hands, where they stepped out on the cupped palms of the hands, with the fingers coming up to act as a guard from falling. On the wall opposite them were notes? And under each note was an illustration of the hands with a finger raised, to make a total of 8 different images. But why!

Fierce made a little noise, one that sounded almost delighted? And pulled out a lump, with holes. He blew into the spout? And a note came out, smooth and windy sounding, though the grind of stone behind him quickly distracted Abel. The index finger on the right hand had lowered with the note, but when Fierce went to play a different one the first snapped back into place with a loud crack that made both Abel and Rusl jump. Fierce hummed and and played some more notes in varying orders, managing to find 2 that when played sequentially, kept both fingers down.

“This method is inefficient, there must be a clue elsewhere in this room that we can access to get the correct order of notes.” 

 Abel and Rusl both did their best to see what else may be in the room. It was Rusl who leaned around the hands and noticed the nails were painted in different shades. This made the fact that the illustrations on the other wall were colored more significant, though it didn’t help them know what order to play in. Abel, tired of staring down a seemingly endless abyss turned back to maybe see if they had missed something previously and noticed the door they came through was outlined in a rainbow of color. The rainbow was off, because it wasn’t in the right order! 

“Fierce! The colors around the door must be what order to play in!”

Fierce nodded, and immediately began playing from the innermost to outermost color. When he did, an object appeared in the middle of the room, another chest, joy.

Fierce then played from outer colors in, and once the simple melody was finished the hands now flat underneath them jolted, and began moving towards the far side. They stopped at the platform (held by nothing as far as Abel could tell) opened the chest and pulled out a map and compass? Fierce gasped and seemed happy to hold onto the items, Abel didn’t understand why you would need to solve a puzzle in the middle of a dungeon to get the map.

@skyloftian-nutcase here's the first part as promised! now to continue onward! hopefully soon i'll have this up so that the parts of Dad squad written to be post-dungeon can start going up as well!