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dumdumsun · 3 years

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The Loveliest Lies of All

A/N: This is the final chapter, but you guys do get an epilogue next week, dw. I literally can't believe this fic got any recognition. Thank you, babes ❤️

Warnings: mentions of violence, drowning, death/dying

Word Count: 4768

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Chapter Ten: The Unknown

“I’m back!”

“Excellent. Did you fetch for me the golden comb?”

“Will that work?”

“This is a honeycomb.”

“Golden comb of honey!”

The conversation was muffled due to her weakening hearing, so that was not what had awoken Scout. It was the branch slowly growing and curling around her abdomen that snapped her out of her deep slumber, the girl coughing out a painful cry. She was too far away for Greg to hear her, her presence shadowed by the darkening of nightfall. She hissed and panted as she looked around, her blurring vision settling on The Beast and Greg a few feet ahead of her. Her slowing heart wrenched at the sight of the boy.

His skin had paled and dark circles hung from his eyes, no doubt from the cold of the snowstorm around them. Scout had been trapped for so long that she had begun to seek warmth within her shackles, but Greg was exposed, just as The Beast had planned. He wanted Greg to be weakened, as it would be easier to deceive and trap him, just as he had done to her.

Clearly, something in the distance had distracted the boy, for he turned around with a confused hum. The Beast, seemingly unfazed by whatever had been there, returned his gaze to Greg. “Never mind that, Gregory. You’ve brought me the first two items- a golden comb and a spool of silver thread.”

“It’s just a spiderweb on a stick.”

“Now I want the sun.”

Greg raised a brow. “The sun?”

“Here,” The Beast lifted a small porcelain cup before gently dropping it into the snow, Greg watching as it rolled to his feet. “Lower the sun out of the sky and into this china cup.”

The boy took the cup into his hands and glanced over at the reddening sun behind him. “Uh, well, that sounds impossible.”

“Anything is possible if you set your mind to it, right?” He spoke the very words the boy had chirped earlier to his brother. “But hurry, the sun will be setting soon, and-”

“Hey, yeah! That’s it,” Greg sang one of many tunes he had made up on the spot as he neared the tree stump Scout had slumped over what seemed like a lifetime ago, setting the cup into the snow that covered the stump’s surface before turning back to The Beast. “See, that old sun’s going right down into this old cup.”

The Beast lifted his arms in feigned surprise. “You have figured it out, and I thought you might give up.”

“Give up? I’ll never give up. Scout said changing the world isn’t gonna be easy. And I gotta be a good leader for her and Wirt,” Turning back towards the cup, Greg shivered and breathed hot air onto his hands for warmth. “Just gotta wait, just gotta wait.”

“Yes, just sit there in the cold and wait… I’m sure (Y/N) would be proud.” The Beast took a couple steps back, craning his neck to watch his near-finished product sigh out in pain as the branches tightened around her.

“Come wayward souls

That wander through the darkness

There is a light

For the lost and the meek”

The Beast’s song had struck fear, and another nerve, into the Woodsman’s veins as he stood to his feet. Walking out of the mill, he watched the darkening and unmoving wood as the song continued. Reluctantly, he stepped out into the snow and lifted his lantern as he ventured further into the woods.

“Sorrow and fear

Are easily forgotten

When you submit

To the soil of the earth”

By the time the singing had led him to the glowing eyes of The Beast, that was all to be seen within the woods. All sunlight had faded away and the storm had died down to a halt, leaving the woods black and chilling. The glowing eyes traveled up to the Woodsman as The Beast finished his song. “Woodsman, I knew you would come. I have something for you.”

Knowing those words meant nothing for the benefit of no one but The Beast, the Woodsman gulped and slowly moved the lantern to the space beside his enemy, the man gasping at the sight of Greg. The boy was unconscious, the edelwood process already in effect all around his body. “Oh! Oh! What have you done?!”

“That is not all,” Beast moved to the side. “This one is almost finished. I can feel her heart dimming and her soul pulsing.”

Woodsman quickly shone his light on Scout, tears brimming in his eyes at her hollowed cheeks, the tree that grew around and encased her body up to her chin. Her breathing was shallow and her head limply leaned against the side of the tree. “This- This cannot be!”

“I’ve given you two trees for the edelwood.”

“No!”

“They will burn nicely in the lantern.”

“No! I won’t do this!”

The Beast straightened. “You’ve been grinding up lost souls for years.”

“I didn’t know!” Woodsman cried. “I didn’t know this is where the edelwood trees came from!”

The Beast tilted his head, at least, that’s what the Woodman assumed when his eyes had shifted. “And would it have mattered? Would you have just let your daughter’s spirit burn out forever?” The white of his eyes flicked to that of the yellow, blue, and red of the possessed dog’s eyes just days ago. “Feed the lantern.”

Woodsman stared into the light of the lantern, as he had done so many times before. However, this time, his hope for his daughter flickered and instead, he felt the guilt of so many innocent lives he had chopped down and grinded up into the very object he held. With a deep breath, he shook his head. “No…”

Leaning away from Greg, The Beast straightened once again to his full height. “I suppose, after all this time, you just don’t care for her anymore-”

“Hold your tongue or I’ll remove it from your mouth! Do not speak of my daughter.” Woodsman moved towards Greg, The Beast quickly leaving the pathway of the light as Woodsman crouched down in front of the boy. “She would not wish this… Let’s get you two free.”

While his attention was on Greg, The Beast stared intently at the forgotten lantern on the ground just beside him. He sighed out as he slowly reached for it. Noticing this, the Woodsman quickly lifted his ax and wedged it into the ground between the hand and the lantern. The Beast gasped out.

“I only wish to help you, Woodsman! You need oil, or else your daughter will-”

“I told you to hold your tongue!” Woodsman shouted, swinging his ax down, The Beast laughing as he easily dodged, causing the ax to momentarily wedge itself into a nearby tree. Scout gasped a little in surprise when she heard the tree just beside her get hacked into as the two continued their fight. However, her exhaustion hadn’t kept her conscious for long, for the darkness consumed her once again seconds later.

“Grow tiny seed

You are called to the trees”

For a while now, after his reunion with Beatrice, Wirt had been wandering the woods, Greg’s shivering frog in his arms. Beatrice had been unsure exactly where she had seen Greg, and the snowstorm had blown her off course before finding Wirt, but she was determined that she knew where she was going. But the dark abyss before them left Wirt with no choice than to call out for his brother, “Greg? Greg!”

“I thought it was this way…” Beatrice trailed off at the light a few steps ahead of them. Wirt followed it until they came upon a lantern, laying on its side within the snow. “A lantern.” Beatrice hummed as Wirt bent down to pick it up.

“It looks like the Woodsman’s.” He shone the light around the area, the two gawking at the half-hacked trees and the branches laying on the ground, footprints littering the snow around them.

“Whoa… What happened here?”

Wirt gasped aloud when the light shone on his brother. “Greg!” He shouted and rushed up to the poor boy, heart hammering against his ribcage. “Greg! Are you…?”

“Wirt…?” The boy quivered, eyes softly shut.

“Oh, Greg…” Wirt tearfully smiled.

“Wirt, I did it. I beat The Beast.” Greg smiled, his voice interrupted when he choked, spitting out leaves onto the ground.

Beatrice shivered. “Ah, geez, the leaves are even growing inside of him.”

“No,” He spit again. “I was just eating leaves… I’m sorry, Wirt.”

Wirt shook his head. “No, no, Greg,” He sniffled. “It’s my fault we ended up here. E-Everything’s been my fault. I-I should have been more-”

“No, I mean my Rock Facts rock.” The boy lifted his silly-faced rock.

“What?”

“I… I stole it, Wirt. I stole it from Mrs Daniel’s garden. I’m a stealer. And that’s a Rock Fact.”

Wirt blinked. “What? No, Greg, that doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” He coughed. “You have to return it for me. Okay?”

Fear spiking in his heart, Wirt pushed the rock away. “No, you can give it to her, yourself. Come on, we-we gotta get… Jason Funderburker home, right?” He lifted the frog, who weakly croaked.

“Jason Funderburker,” Greg smiled as his eyes grew heavy. “The perfect… frog name…”

A moment of silence passed as Wirt watched his brother go limp. Then, as if a button was pressed, he began to panic. “Greg? Greg?!”

Before he could break down, Beatrice flew over to Greg and perched herself on one of his branches. “Let’s get him out of this! Come on!”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Wirt nodded and grunted as he pulled and yanked at the branches, crying out in frustration as Beatrice flew around in hope of seeing Scout anywhere. In her search through the snowstorm, she hadn’t seen the teen girl at all. To Wirt and Greg, it was as if she had disappeared without a trace. She had even taken her top hat with her. When Beatrice returned to Wirt, the two were stunned to hear a groan and then a thud from behind them.

The Beast stood behind the fallen and unconscious Woodsman, the glowing white of his eyes zeroing on Wirt. “Give me my lantern.”

“Your lantern…?”

“No way. We need this thing.” Beatrice shook her head.

“Yeah, I’m keeping this. I have to get Greg home.”

The Beast looked to the boy. “They are too weak to go home,” His head then turned to the right, staring in the distance. “(Y/N) is far gone.”

Wirt’s neck could have snapped at the force he used to turn in that same direction. The light from the lantern shone on Scout and bile rose in his throat at her condition. “Scout!” He cried, rushing up to her. When she hadn’t made a sound at his first few calls, Wirt reached through her branches and gently tapped her face. His heart dropped at how hollow and cold her cheek felt.

“W… W-What…?” Scout croaked as her eyes just barely opened. Wirt gasped and grinned at her as several tears fell from his eyes. When her vision adjusted, she managed a very crooked and faint smile. “Wirt…”

“Scout… I-I’m so sorry. For everything. I’m sorry for dragging you into this. I’m sorry for what I said, for putting all the responsibility on you. It wasn’t fair to you or Greg,” He sniffled as he choked on a sob. “I’m sorry that I never came over to your house to hang out, and that I just watched while you and Greg played together. You’re the best friend I could’ve asked for and I never realized it until, like, a few hours ago.”

She inhaled as deep as she could and let out a very wet cough. All Wirt could do was caress her cheekbone, gently running his thumb over her scar until she was done. “It’s okay, Wirt,” Her words were barely spoken over a whisper. “I forgive… f-forgive you…”

Sharply inhaling, Wirt whipped his body to The Beast. “Let them go!” He sobbed.

“I’m afraid the both of them are too far into the process to be let go. Soon, they will become part of my forest.”

“I won’t let that happen!”

“Well then… perhaps, we better make a deal.”

“A deal…?”

From where he was laying, the Woodsman let out a painful moan. Ignoring this, The Beast continued. “I can put their spirits in the lantern. As long as the flame stays lit, they will live on inside. Take on the task of Lantern Bearer… or watch your loved ones perish?”

Scout’s eyes widened as wide as they could at The Beast’s proposal. This was his tactic. To make people vulnerable, to dangle hope right in front of them, to cheat and lie into getting what he wants, to rip it from them and leave them empty. It was why Greg was wasting away, why she was now on the brink of death… why everything was getting so quiet… so dark…

Snapping her eyes open again, she attempted to call out, “W-Wirt… n-n...no… Don’t…”

But he couldn’t hear her as he stared into the flame of the lantern. Sensing his hesitation, The Beast widened his eyes. “Come here.”

“Okay…” Wirt sighed and moved forward. Beatrice gasped and flew off of Greg’s branch.

“Wirt!”

He set the lantern on the ground, hand still clutching the handle. However, a bell seemed to go off in his head, for he immediately picked it back up. “Wait. That’s dumb.”

“What?!” The Beast gaped as the teen backed up.

“That’s dumb. I’m not just gonna wander around in the woods for the rest of my life.”

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Y-You’re not trying to help me, y-you just have some weird obsession with keeping this lantern lit. I-It’s almost like… your soul is in this lantern.”

And that had set him off. Once again, The Beast’s eyes glowed red, yellow and blue as he let out a distorted growl. All light surrounding Wirt had disappeared and nearly swallowed him in the darkness. The only thing his petrified expression could see was the light of the lantern and The Beast’s multicolored stare.

“Are you ready to see true darkness?”

Wirt thought he had never been this afraid before. His body trembled like a leaf in the wind and the pounding of his heart was beginning to hurt, but as he stared into the eyes of The Beast, Wirt realized he had been afraid of so much worse. He feared asking his very pretty neighbor to sit on his porch with him, he had feared an oversized wolf, pumpkin people, a fake gorilla, talking to strangers, a ghost, playing a bassoon for frogs, his short-lived crush who was possessed, and the death of his brother and friend.

Then he thought of everything he had just been through. He made a tape for said pretty neighbor, which she found, fought off the wolf, escaped the pumpkin people, unmasked the gorilla, sang in front of strangers, solved the mystery of the ghost, played that bassoon like no one’s business, and freed the girl of her possession. He was the Pilgrim, the master of his own destiny and hero of his own story. And right now, at this moment, Greg and Scout needed him more than ever.

Suddenly, these pretty colors didn’t seem so scary.

“Are you-” He cleared his throat at the crackling of his voice before opening the lantern. “Are you?”

Just when Wirt was about to blow out the flame, the darkness contracted as The Beast desperately reached out. “Don’t! Don’t!” He cried out, proving the teen’s point. Scoffing, Wirt closed the lantern and leaned down to The Woodsman, who was trembling in disbelief.

“Here, Woodsman,” He held out the lantern. “I’ve got my own problems to take care of. This one’s yours. I’m going home. And I’m taking them with me.” He picked up the ax as he went, using it (with some difficulty) to free his brother of the branches. With a grunt, Wirt hoisted Greg on his back as Beatrice watched him with saddened eyes.

“Wirt…”

“Come with us.”

“I… I gotta go home, too, admit to my family it’s my fault they’re bluebirds.” She looked up when she heard him clear his throat. He had just retrieved Adelaide’s golden scissors from his back pocket and held them out to her. “What?!”

“The scissors that’ll make your family human again.”

“You had them all along?!”

“I-I used them to escape Adelaide, and then-then… Yeah, I-I was sort of mad at you.”

A tear fell from her eye. “Oh, you…” She flew over and hugged his cheek. “-wonderful mistake of nature!” She whispered out, Wirt gently smiled and used one hand to hug back. “Now c’mon. Let’s get Scout.”

Picking up the ax again, Wirt hobbled over to his friend, who had fallen into her slumber once again. With Greg on his back, he was struggling to even lift the ax. But with The Beast still lurking near them, he feared placing his brother back down. Inhaling deeply, Wirt swung the ax the best he could, it landing right next to Scout’s face.

“Wirt, stop!” Beatrice widened her eyes. Scout startled awake, panic filling her eyes as she looked around frantically.

“What’s wrong? W-What’s happening-”

“I’m so sorry, Scout!” Wirt grunted. “I’m trying to get you out. Here, I’ll- I’ll stop with the ax.” He dropped the object to the ground and used the hand that wasn’t keeping his brother upright to pull at the branches. Scout watched with dread as Beatrice joined in and pulled at them with her beak.

“Guys… it’s not gonna work…”

“It will! It will!”

“Wirt…”

"Maybe if I just-"

"Wirt."

"I can try this one!"

"Wirt, please, stop. It's no use."

"No, no! W-We can... W-W-We can-"

"It's okay, Wirt. It's okay,” Scout wished her arms weren’t confined by branches so she could reach out and dry his tears. “Greg needs you.”

“You need me. I need you. You’re family, I can’t just leave you!” He sobbed.

Tears spilled down her face. “And I need to know you two left this place. I’ll be okay… I’m a tough girl, remember? Just… take my top hat, bring it home… and tell Lydia I’m sorry. Okay?”

With the most defeated look he has ever worn, Wirt leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. Every insecure bone in his body was telling him not to lean any closer, that there were so many more cons than pros, but his very soul was begging him to close the distance. So, with another sob, Wirt connected their lips in a short, but very sweet kiss. Her lips were cold and chapped from the storm, but it was the best feeling to him. When he pulled away, Scout wore a warm smile, her head slumping against the tree again.

“Thank you…” She whispered just before her body went limp again. With a sniffle, Wirt picked up Scout’s hat from the ground and backed away, his eyes glued to her the entire time until the trees blocked his view of her.

From the side, The Beast was still leaning beside the Woodsman, still attempting to persuade him, even after finding out his daughter’s soul was not within the lantern. “You see, Woodsman? All who perish here will become trees for the lantern. Cut them down with your ax. Go! Now!”

Narrowing his brows, the Woodsman whirled around, shining his light on The Beast. He had only a glimpse of the creature’s horrifying body before he frighteningly fled from it with a growl. With that confirmation, the Woodsman opened the lantern, The Beast frantic. “Stop! You’ll never see your daughter again, Woodsman! Are you really ready to go back to that empty house?!”

He let a single tear fall down his cheek before he lifted the lantern to his face. The Beast’s protests were cut short when he blew out the flame. And then, as if nothing happened, the woods fell silent. Unfazed. Unaware. Unforgiving. The Woodsman was ready to fall to his knees, to scream up at the sky in anguish, but he remembered that there was one more tree to chop down.

“The girl… Oh, the girl.” He spun around and rushed over to Scout, snatching up his ax before he began slashing at the branches. A pile of wood began filling beside his feet until Scout fell forward, skin scraped and cut from the many splinters she received. “It’s okay. I gotcha… I gotcha…” He soothed her as she shivered in his hold. Her skin was like ice and her body was a lot less heavy than it should have been. If she was not brought somewhere warm in time, she wouldn’t last.

The flapping of wings caught his attention. Snapping his head up, he saw that Beatrice had returned, her claws clutching the pair of scissors. Instinctively upon seeing Scout, she nearly dropped them. “Oh my god! Scout!” She quickly flew over.

“I was able to free her, but she hasn’t got much longer.” The Woodsman grimly shook his head.

“W-We need to get her home. I-I remember where Wirt and Greg went. This way!”

It was a difficult journey, as the Woodsman could barely see Beatrice through the dark, but eventually, they had made it to a clearing. “This is it,” She sighed before turning to Scout, gently nuzzling her head into her cheek. “Goodbye, Scout. You were my favorite one…”

And if Scout were awake, she would have laughed.

“One is a bird

Two are the trees

Three is the wind in the leaves

Four are the stars

Five with the moon

Smiling down upon thee”

Wirt hadn’t realized he was underwater when he first opened his eyes, but he didn't need much explanation when he set his sights on his brother and frog that were sinking a little ways away from him. With no hesitation, he quickly swam over and wrapped his arms around them. Wirt knew it would hurt his heart to do it, but he took a couple seconds to look for Scout, swimming back up to surface when it all sunk in for him.

She wasn’t coming back. Because he left her.

He took in greedy gulps of air once he surfaced, hoisting the two on his back again as his feet shakily met the grassy ground under him. Before his vision went black, he spotted five silhouettes rushing toward him in a hurry.

The group of teens all watched in silence as the boys (plus the frog) were laid across stretchers and placed into the back of an ambulance. All except for Sara, that was. She was all around that lake, tears blurring her vision as she searched for her best friend. “Did you… Did you guys see if she jumped over the wall? M-Maybe she ran home.”

The officer shook his head, shining his flashlight around. “No, Miss, I definitely saw her jump over the wall. She jumped just before the boys did and-”

Sara interrupted him with the shrill cry she let out. Then, with a shaky finger, she pointed towards the lake. "Oh, my god, that's her hat! That's (Y/N)'s hat!"

“Six are the fish

Seven, the reeds

Brushing the soft-bellied breeze

Eight are the roots

Firm in the ground

Deep as my love is

For thee”

Blinking his eyes open once again, Wirt was greeted with Sara’s skull-painted, worry-stricken face. “Wirt? Wirt? You okay? Can you see me, Wirt?”

He hummed. “Where am I?”

“The hospital.”

“Hosp… ital? Greg! Where’s Greg!” His eyes were saucers as he shot up. Beside his bed, Greg was alive and well, in pajamas that matched his as he seemed to be telling the group of teens a story of one of their adventures. He stopped abruptly at the sight of his brother.

“Wirt! I was just telling them about the time we almost got-”

His frog, who was now wearing Sara’s small top hat, croaked out.

“Haha! Yeah, and you were there, too, Jason Funderburker.”

“Me?” Jason Funderberker smiled, but Greg frowned, placing a hand on his hip.

“Not you. Jason Funderburker, my frog.”

Wirt watched his brother with a tired, yet loving smile as Sara sat back a bit. “Hey, so, uh,” She pulled out the cassette tape from her jacket pocket. “This was left on the ground during all the chaos at the lake. I don’t even know whose it is. Do you?”

In all honesty, Wirt didn’t know why he hesitated. Maybe because this was Scout’s best friend and she would laugh in his face about it? Or because he had pretended to like Sara this whole time in order to throw off Scout? But that wasn’t fair to her. Whether or not she was here, she didn’t deserve to be something he was embarrassed of. She was everything good that he needed. “It’s Scout’s. I made it for her.”

With a soft smile, Sara gently handed it to him. “That’s sweet. Do you wanna see her?”

“She’s here?!” He nearly hollered. Standing to her feet, Sara walked over to the curtain in the middle of the room. When she moved it aside, Wirt was already up and out of bed, rushing to Scout’s side.

She had looked just as bad as he left her. Her cheeks were still hollowed, eyes hanging onto dark bags, he could see that she was dressed in the same pajamas as them and it filled him with relief to know she was in warmer clothing. Heck, he was relieved to see the heart monitor beeping steadily. But what filled him with complete relief was when his eyes travelled down to her right leg, which was being nursed in a cast. Finally, he thought, She’s being taken care of.

“She was awake for a little bit and we talked… Well, I talked, she mumbled some nonsense about tree branches,” Sara shrugged. “But then she passed out again about an hour ago.”

His attention was brought to Scout’s face when he heard her coughing. “Scout…” He gently took her hand in his, calmly waiting as she finished her coughing fit. When her head turned back to him, she gave him that same cheeky grin she always did and it sent his heart soaring. Wirt lunged forward and engulfed her in a hug, his tears wetting her shoulder, but she couldn’t have cared any less. With a very quiet laugh, she returned the hug. After what felt like an eternity, Wirt began to pull away. “I-I thought you were-”

The entire room was filled with gushing and whoops and hollers when Scout pulled Wirt in for a kiss. Much slower, much longer this time. Wirt wasted no time in being nervous and kissed her right back, arms circling her waist. Sara whooped and called out to Scout, “Who’s sucking face now?!”

From where he stood, Greg shook his head. “Gross.”

When the two pulled away from each other, Scout snorted at the tomato Wirt had become. Her laughter only darkened his blush as he nervously held up the tape, the excitement of their friends calming down. “Uh… This- This is yours… I-It always has been…”

Scout reached out and intertwined their fingers so the both of them were holding the tape. “It’s ours.”

And though Wirt wanted to feel happy and loved and forgiven, all of the memories from however long ago crashed down on him once again as he lowered their hands. "I'm so sorry... I'm so sorry, (Y/N)... I-I didn't want to. I-I just-"

"Hey, you're okay. I told you to,” She gently brushed her fingers against his cheek. “I asked you to come to the graveyard. I told you to leave me. I got mixed up with you two and all your trouble and that’s fine. I told you I liked it.”

“And I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

And, as cliche as it sounds, the two felt as if a magnetic pull was bringing their faces inches closer, but before they could make contact again, Greg climbed onto the bed and sat between them. “Scout! Wirt came up with the perfect name for my frog!”

Scout leaned over and peppered his face with kisses. “What’s the name, honey?”

“My frog’s name is officially Jason Funderburker!”

Wirt gently ruffled his hair. “Our frog.”

“Our frog.”

“Our frog?” Jason Funderberker hopefully smiled, but Greg quickly shut it down.

“No, not your frog!”

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Taglist: @kirishimas-manly-eyeliner @wirtluvr @irumapanty @pinkbasketballsoulpersona @vivian-likes-frogs @fishfetus @juliajelly08 @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual

#over the garden wall #over the garden wall fic #otgw #otgw fic #otgw wirt #otgw greg #otgw beatrice #otgw frog #wirt x reader #the loveliest lies of all

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banashee · 3 years

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It's midnight where I am, which means it's technically the 21st already 😁 Hi Folks, welcome to my fourth fic for the Archival Pride 2021 project! Look at their tumblr for more info :)

@archivalpride

Archival Pride 2021, Week four (June 21-28) Prompts: comfort, childhood, research, missing scene, statement

The key words I've used here are comfort, research (and arguably missing scene depending how you look at it)

So, this wasn't supposed to get nearly as long as it ended up being. But I enjoyed wirting this a ridiculous amount, and I hope you can find a bit of joy, comfort or anything else you're seeking as well.

Please mind the tags and content warnings for this one! It’s quite a bit heavier than my other entries for the Archival Pride 2021.

Content warnings: - Trauma, Grief - PTSD / Panic attacks - violent canon death of a sibling - coping - Nightmares - Canon-typical violence - Canon-typical Clowns / The Stranger - Death of a loved one - Canon-typical violence and thoughts of violence - Past underage kissing between consenting teenagers (nothing graphic and very PG) - breif internalized Bi-Phobia in the past - brief mention of past Ace-Phobia - strong language - TMA season 3 spoilers, even though this story is set pre-canon.

Whispers in the Dark

The first time Tim meets Jonathan Sims is when he sets down a small cardboard box and a stack of files onto a desk. More precisely, his own new place at the desk he just got assigned.

Tim just started out with his new job and he smiles, even though he is barely holding himself together at this point. He hopes no one will ask too many questions - it’s not like he plans on telling anyone what made him seek out the institute in the first place. It’s way too personal, and way too much to handle.

So he’d lied in the job interview, spun some story about wanting a new challenge. Mr. Bouchard didn’t question it, and Tim would like to think that is because his CV and education are rather high quality, which he isn’t shy about. Not at all - he is proud of his achievements, and rightfully so. But Tim can’t shake the feeling that his new employer had looked at him oddly, like he knows something that no one else does. It had been deeply unsettling, and if Tim thinks too much about it, it causes the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up straight.

Despite his gut feeling telling him something else, Tim decides to chalk it up to nerves and his… Current situation, so to say. He is more jumpy, more paranoid than he used to be, which isn’t surprising. He has seen things, lived through things that he wouldn’t know how to explain if anyone asked. But overthinking it won’t get him anywhere.

So, he puts on a bit of the show, something that looks like his usual happy-go-lucky personality. Loud, brash, flirty and wicked smart, just like he always has been. It feels incredibly fake to him, but then again, no one here knows him. No one has ever met him before… Before. They don’t know. They don’t know . None of them ever sees him when the mask falls, home alone, in a house that feels too big and too empty with Dany gone and - no.

“Don’t go there, Stoker, just don’t. Get through the day, see what you can find out and go home. Get back tomorrow, rinse and repeat. You can do this.” he tells himself and plasters on a smile that almost hurts.

As he sets down the box and his files, he greets his new coworker and desk-neighbor.

“Hi, I’m Tim, nice to meet you!” ( “be happy, sound happy, god dammit” he thinks, then reminds himself that this guy won’t know the difference.)

The man on the desk opposite of him looks up from his computer which he’d previously looked at with intense concentration. It seems to take him a moment to catch up, then he nods and there is the hint of a very small smile on his face.

“Oh, erm, hi. Welcome.” he says, like someone who isn’t used to interacting with too many people. And maybe he isn’t - Tim wouldn’t know. He almost moves on and accepts that he won’t get a name from his new desk neighbor, but then he hears him say,

“Jonathan. Jon is fine, too.”

And then, as if he never said anything, he focuses back onto the screen in front of him and starts typing furiously.

“Thanks!” Tim says, probably just a tad too loud and too enthusiastically, but he doesn’t get a response this time. Okay, awkward. He isn’t sure if Jon is ignoring him or if he just doesn’t realize that he is being talked to - judging from the very brief, first impression of him that Tim got, both options might be entirely possible.

As the days go by, they don’t interact a lot besides basic politeness and the occasional question or comment about something work related.

The first time Tim ever really talks to Jon, is when he witnesses the man climb a bookshelf in the library like a fucking tree. No kidding. Tim blinks, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a real, genuine laugh bubble up in his chest. What the hell? He steps closer, next to the large, antique bookshelf that his coworker is currently clinging to, pulling books from a shelf that is over his head still.

“Jon, hi.” Tim says, watching the scene in front of him unfold. This is not something he expected, least of all from the coworker who never seems to say or do anything mildly interesting. So much for the first impression - the second impression is something entirely different, and it is this very moment that Tim decides that he likes the guy.

The sound of Tim’s voice addressing him directly makes Jon turn his head.

“Hi. Can I help you?” he asks, brusk and matter of fact, as if there wasn’t anything odd about this situation.

“...I was going to ask you the same?” Tim offers, mildly amused as he finds himself kind of impressed when Jon manages to shrug with his hands full like that. While clinging to the shelf, because what even?

“No. Why? I’ve already got what I need.” Jon jumps down from the wooden board he’d been standing on, and it is only now that Tim realizes they’d been on eye level before. Now… Not so much. They never stood next to each other up until this moment, he realizes.

He’s only been here for about a week, but whenever Tim arrives at the office, Jon is already there, at his desk and working. He never gets up for lunch, only ever seems to leave the room to pick up or drop off books from the library, and by the time everyone else has left, Jon remains seated at his desk. If he wasn’t changing out his clothes, Tim would have been convinced that Jonatahn Sims simply plugs himself into a wall socket to recharge for the next day. Or maybe sleeps under his desk or something.

“Just… You know what, nevermind.” Tim has come to the very correct conclusion that he better just accept this as it is. It seems easier. Much, much easier than arguing with someone over nothing, even though Tim feels like punching a wall or two some days. But that is not his coworkers fault, and he doesn’t want to mess up the chance to get to know him because he is cute.

Tim doesn’t even question this train of thought anymore.

At some point in between meeting the man for the very first time and… well, this, he must have filed away the odd combination of grandfather cardigans, chipped dark nailpolish and neatly tied up hair, combined with that deep warm voice and decided that yes, this person is attractive.

To be fair, it doesn’t take Tim long to fall for people - it never has. He just didn’t expect to spend any time really looking at someone, now that his life has gone sideways in so many horrible ways.

Turns out he’d been wrong.

Finding something attractive about a person, no matter their gender or any physical attributes, is the easiest thing in the world to Tim. Ever since he can remember, he has enjoyed looking at people. Tim likes soft curves just as well as sharp angles, and has spent many many hours of his life getting lost in people's eyes. Sometimes, he’d caught himself staring when talking to a friend, losing himself in the depth of warm brown eyes with specks of gold, watery blue, light grey or green with specs of hazel and anything in between.

Tim vividly remembers a game of spin the bottle when he was a teenager and sat on the floor with a group of friends and classmates. Of course, there had been many dares to kiss someone, and he had happily taken them whenever possible.

At the time, Tim wasn’t sure about himself at all, because he’d only known that he finds people attractive, but all everyone around him had talked about was if you were gay or straight, if the question was even asked. Mostly, they just assumed whatever seemed convenient at the time.

No one tells Tim about the meaning of the word “Bisexual”, or even about the word itself until he is in college. But he knows how he feels, even though he is lacking the word for it for many years

Once he finds out, Danny is the first person he tells about it. Tim calls him that same night, sitting in a quiet corner of the dorm as he excitedly tells his little brother that he found a word to relate to himself and his feelings for other people.

“There are other people who feel that way, Danny. There is nothing wrong with me and there is a word for it!” he tells him in a hushed but excited voice, fumbling on a loose thread in a hole of his jeans. Those trousers have long been frayed into shreds but Tim refuses to part with them.

His voice is shaking with excitement, and he may or may not be holding back happy tears. This is a big moment for him, and because Danny is literally the best - not just because he answered his phone at fuck-o-clock in the morning when his brother called - he reacts with nothing but support.

“I might have a few questions, but I love you. No matter what. I’m happy for you.” he tells him, and in that moment, Tim couldn’t be happier or prouder of his younger brother.

The game of spin the bottle a few years earlier was the one of the first things that taught Tim that he finds many many things to be interested in and attracted to. It taught him that he is attracted to the many different ways people feel, and it hasn’t changed ever since.

Over the years, Tim finds himself falling in love quick and hard with a number of people, and none of them are ever the same. Each and every person is unique, in their looks and size and voice and feelings - and every single one is loveable just as they are.

“You do have a thing for certain types of voices though.” Tim thinks, and maybe that is the culprit here, now that he is standing in the library of the Magnus Institute and faced with Jonathan Sims, who looks up at him with one raised eyebrow. Oh shit, has he been staring the entire time?

Before Tim can think too much about it, or god forbid, overthink it, he hears his mouth blurt out without his brains permission,

“So do you want to come to lunch later? There is a café not far from here that I’ve never been to.”

Jon stares back for a moment, like this isn’t something he expected. Truth be told, he didn’t. But just when Tim starts thinking that he’ll decline, Jon nods slowly.

“Yes, I suppose. Just… Let me know before you’re going. I tend to, well, I tend to get lost a bit when I’m working and chances are I won’t notice how much time has passed.” he explains, and this is probably the first time he said anything personal besides his name.

“Sure, no problem. I’ll just put a giant sticky note on your monitor.” Tim offers him with a grin and wink, and as he turns around, he could swear that he catches a real smile on Jon’s face.

Tim actually does put a note on Jon’s screen though. As he was warned, all attempts to verbally get his attention have failed, so Tim scribbles a quick note for Jon.

The sticky piece of paper is bright pink and obnoxious, and all that Tim has written on it is “Lunch time!” in big bold letters, accompanied by a smiley face. He manages to walk up behind Jon, stick it right in the middle of his computer monitor and get back around to his own desk to gather his jacket and wallet before Jon squints at it through slim, rectangular glasses and blinks a few times before he remembers the conversation from earlier. Then, there is a small hint of a smile on his face, very similar to the one Tim caught in the library earlier.

He gathers his things and leaves the office with Tim, and the two of them walk next to each other comfortably as they make their way to the café.

Surprisingly, the lunch break together isn’t nearly as awkward as it could be, or should have been, really. Jon doesn’t talk much at first, and Tim has a feeling he himself is talking way too much without actually saying anything, just so his brain doesn’t drift off into the wrong direction. But then, it’s like the air has left his lungs and there is a minute or two of slightly awkward silence.

Then, Jon clears his throat and asks,

“So, did you know that snails can sleep for three years at a time?”

When Tim, surprised by the question, shakes his head, Jon starts talking about the topic in great detail as he fiddles with the edge of his napkin the whole time. Somehow, this of all things breaks the ice, and Tim finds himself to be able to breathe a little bit easier.

Even more so, he is enjoying this. He isn’t sure what he expected when he asked Jon to join him for lunch. Maybe it was just the urge for human interaction and to not be alone, which he supposes is fair enough. But he certainly didn’t expect random information about nature phenomenons. All Tim knows is that he feels better after their first break together, and after that, spending the break together becomes A Thing.

What he learns pretty fast is this: Jon is an info dumper when he feels comfortable enough to do so. As it turns out, Jon isn’t very picky with his topics, either. They range from science phenomena to weird, interesting nature facts and anything else that catches his interest.

Tim also learns that, if he is in the right company and being asked the right questions, he can hold monologues that could last for hours. He figures that one out when Jon drops a fun fact about 19th century architecture, and without thinking, picks up the loose end of the sentence and continues,

“Oh, yes, did you know that…” and thus, without even realizing it, Tim spends the entire lunch break talking about it - he is passionate about the topic, but he leaves out the details about the Covent Garden Theatre. It just hurts too much to think about, but other than that, Tim is excited about the topic. He gets so carried away and rambles on and on and on, he only stops when Jon and him get back to the institute. It takes even longer for Tim to catch up and realize that Jon just paid for both lunches while he went off on a monologue about Robert Smirke architecture. But when he tries to pay him back, Jon just waves him off.

“Don’t worry about it. Besides, your lecture was very interesting, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

From anyone else, this might have been a dig - but coming from Jon, Tim knows by now, it is a genuine statement that makes him way happier than it should.

So, their lunch breaks together quickly turn into a tradition,

Tim isn’t entirely sure what is more surprising; the fact that he manages to get Jon to actually leave his desk for human needs like food and social interaction, or that the two of them are enjoying it so much.

Sometimes, they go to cafés or restaurants, trying out places that neither of them has been to before. It turns into them picking favourites, and then they become regulars at a small handful of places. Sometimes they simply go on a quick walk to pick up some food, other times they sit down and enjoy being out of the office for a little bit.

One day, Tim arrives in the office early, and he brings lunch from home for Jon and himself for the first time.

Tim has spent the previous night wide awake, unable to rest after a nightmare startled him out of a deep sleep. It takes a long time to get his breathing back under control, and very late at night, or very early in the morning, depending how you look at it, Tim gives up on sleep. After hours of useless tossing and turning, he won’t be able to rest, he knows from experience.

Cursing under his breath, he pulls aside the covers and takes a few deep, shuddering breaths. Exhausted, both in a physical and emotional sense, he scrubs a hand over his face.

The memories linger, and Tim feels like his whole chest is pulled together with anxiety and grief. Seven months. That’s how long it has been since he found Danny sitting in his dark living room in the middle of the night, crying silent tears as he had no idea what to do besides be there for him and offer comfort. Seven months since he followed his younger brother to the Royal Opera House Covent Garden and had to watch him being torn apart.

Carefully, Tim forces himself to keep breathing as evenly as possible. In - hold - out - hold - in - rinse and repeat. His hands are shaking, and he tries to force them into stillness as he grips hard at the rumpled bed sheets.

Attempting to go back to sleep is useless, he knows from experience, and so he makes his way down into the kitchen.

This house feels too big, too empty without the presence of his little brother. He left a hole in his life, and even though it’s been months since Danny died, Tim hasn’t moved a single one of his possessions. Not yet - it hurts too much.

Despite having been alone for a while now, Tim is still careful to leave the lights out in the hallway, walking as quietly as he can in the middle of the night as if there was still someone around he could wake up with his movements. It’s a long standing habit, and he isn’t sure he’ll ever shake it off.

It’s only when he arrives in the kitchen that Tim switches on the overhead light. It flickers to life, slowly, and the small kitchen is tinted into a warm light. Warm and homely, like this house once was. Now, it just feels painfully empty.

With a long sigh, Tim makes his way to the sink and fills up a glass with water - his hands are still shaking and he spills a bit onto himself, but he doesn’t care. Caring about it is too much right now, so he focuses on draining the glass empty before refilling it again. He feels dehydrated, but given the night he’s had so far, it isn’t surprising.

“I need a distraction.” he mumbles, and soon enough, he’s raided the pantry and his refrigerator. Tim pulls out some pots and pans from the cupboard, scattering everything throughout his kitchen where it’ll be most convenient. The repetitive tasks of cooking have always had a relaxing effect on him, and soon enough, the room is filled with scents and aromas that make his mouth water. Even now, while he is absolutely miserable.

The casserole ends up being huge. It’s way too much for one person, even one with an appetite. But cooking for one after being used to there being someone else is hard - kind of useless, while you’re already at it.

Tim has had that problem ever since he’s been cooking on his own, but knowing that Danny will be back to join him again, freshly back from some cave diving or urban exploration or whatever other strange new hobby he’d found at the time.

Now, Tim is all on his own. He sighs unhappily. Cooking was a good distraction, up until he is painfully reminded that no one is there anymore to share it with. Not here, at least.

He allows himself a few minutes of quiet greif, seated at the kitchen table with his head in his hands and a lukewarm cup of tea, sitting on the table by his side, almost forgotten.

By the time the sun is starting to rise, Tim is up and moving again. He has put the casserole in several plastic boxes and packs two of them into his work bag.

When he arrives at the office, way earlier than he usually does, because what is the point of staying home doing nothing, Tim places one of the boxes at the edge of Jon’s desk.

Jon seems to be mildly surprised by the early company, and even more so by the plastic box.

“Oh, Good morning... What is this?” he asks then, mildly curious.

“Lunch. I was cooking last night and it was way too much. Thought I’d bring some in to share.” Tim forces a smile along with the half-lie, if only to cover how tired he is. He needs coffee.

The “Thank you” Tim gets in response is equally surprised and genuine, and he tries very carefully to not interpret too much into it. Especially because their shared meal feels a lot more homely and strangely intimate that day. Getting takeout together or sitting somewhere is one thing, but sharing a home-cooked meal is something entirely different, he finds. He also finds that he doesn’t mind it.

Only a few days later, conveniently when every last bit of the casserole is gone, Tim finds a plastic box that isn’t one of his own sitting on his desk. Curiously, he opens it and finds it filled to the brim with homemade curry, rice and veggies. Even cold, it smells heavenly and makes his mouth water. Tim looks over to the desk opposite of him, where Jon is already typing away like he usually does, but when he looks up and finds Tim smiling brightly at him, he smiles back.

Something in his chest feels incredibly warm and fluttering.

One evening, when the two of them get out of the office equally late - Jon because he always does, and Tim because he may or may not have waited for him - they walk to the tube together.

In a spontanous fit of bravery and “Oh well, fuck it”, Tim carefully rechaes out until his own fingers gently brush against Jon’s as they walk. It’s dark outside, only illuminated by the countless lights that illuminate the shops and pubs and the sides of the street they’re walking along. Tim does so casually and carefully enough to be ignored or taken as a coincidence if needed be, just in case. But then his heart almost stops for a second when after a moment of stiffness, Jon accepts the offer and closes his own fingers around Tim’s.

His touch is light at first, but then his grip tightens a bit, warm and comfortably so, and it is clear that his heart is in it. Of course it is - the two of them have gotten close in the last few weeks and months. There might have been some wishful thinking on Tim’s end involved - Jon is not always great at picking up social cues, especially romantic ones.

“That’s fine though” he tells him later, “You’re a huge enough flirt to make it up for the both of us.”

Jon squeezes his hand, and Tim happily squeezes back as he keeps walking beside him, just a little bit closer than before.

He can’t help but smile. Something like happiness blooms in his chest, and even though they don’t talk about it the entire way, even though they keep holding hands when they sit next to each other in the tube, they remain this close all the way until their ways separate and they have to get onto a different line each. It feels right, and the sudden loss of touch as their ways separate makes Tim wish it could last - but turning back and running after the other train seems kind of silly now, especially since he’ll see Jon again the very next day.

This becomes A Thing as well. Touching, that is.

Holding hands, brushing along each other when they reach for folders or mugs or books in the library. Speaking of which, Tim has learned very quickly that there is no way to stop Jon from literally climbing high spaces to reach whatever he needs. As of now, he is long used to watching him scale a bookshelf or kitchen counter, much to his own amusement.

“Hold on tight, little monkey.” he tells him as he walks past, grinning from ear to ear, knowing full well that he can’t expect more than a scoff and,

“Oh, shut up.” as a response.

Tim keeps it up though - because it’s fun and he knows he’s allowed to get away with it. Which can’t be said for anyone else in the institute, not like anyone would have tried as far as he knows. But he is ridiculously proud of it nonetheless. Tim is still cackling to himself when he wraps an arm around the other man’s shoulders and keeps chatting away to him all the way back into the research offices.

He has always been very openly affectionate, with family, friends and romantic partners or those he’d fancied. It’s part of who he is, and if he is honest with himself, it feels good to have some part of him back that’s always been there. It helps a bit, and even more so since Jon not only happily lets him, he also leans back into the touch. Jon’s attempts at seeking out touch are a lot more subtle than Tim’s, at least at first, but he knows and recognizes it for the sign of trust and comfort that it is.

That afternoon, there isn’t much time to chat at their desks, but about an hour before they’re supposed to get off, a balled up piece of paper hits Tim’s hand, clearly coming from Jon, but the sneaky bastard isn’t giving indication that he stopped reading at all.

With a small smile, Tim opens the note. It’s not like Mr. Workaholic to pass notes on the clock, but then again, he has to give Jon credit for loosening up significantly since the day they met. Or, maybe warmed up to human company is more like it. (He very carefully tries not to think, or more like hope, that it's him in particular Jon has warmed up to so much. But then again, Tim has heard some of their coworkers whisper in astonishment that it’s completely unheard of that Jonathan Sims leaves his desk for breaks or in time in the evenings, let alone interacting with other human beings more than absolutely necessary. Tim also caught the rumors about the two of them being a couple - he’d almost laughed then. He fucking wishes .)

Tim unfolds the note and reads;

“I have a lot of leftover curry I made last night. Would you like to come over for dinner after work? - J.”

This has become A Thing, too. Sharing meals after work and sometimes on the weekends. It alternates where they go, but especially lately, they have preferred to go to either Tim’s house or Jon’s apartment instead of a restaurant. For one, going out to eat on a regular basis is expensive, but also, cooking together or eating the leftovers from a late night cooking binge is a lot more comfortable and homely.

Sharing a meal and oftentimes a couch with someone fills at least part of the void that Tim finds inside of himself. He is struggling still, but having another human being in his personal space, warm and alive and happy to be there, means the world to him. He’s feeling something again, something that isn’t constant fear or everlasting sadness.

They watch movies sometimes - it’s not exactly easy to find something that both of them like . Their tastes in movies are widely different from each other, so instead, they opt to choose obscure sci-fi movies or anything they can pick apart and make fun of. No horror - they haven’t talked about it, but this is one of the few movie-related things they are in silent agreement over.

Truth be told, poking fun at bad movies together is much more entertaining than watching anything the normal way.

They are stuffing their faces with snacks and complain at the protagonists for making very unwise or straight up unrealistic decisions, even in-universe illogical ones. They pick apart plot-points and anything that doesn’t add up while they share space on the couch, either holding hands or leaning against one another.

“Oh, of course, give me a break!” Jon grouses as he shakes his hand that is currently holding a few crisps at the TV, annoyed to no end, it seems. In truth, he is enjoying this. He enjoys this an awful lot, and so does Tim.

He laughs out loud and pulls Jon a little closer to his side.

“Yes, you tell the creepy alien why it’s mere existence even in this fictional universe doesn’t make sense, Love!” He eggs him on, and only realizes the pet name has slipped out of his mouth by the time he notices the deep blush creeping on Jon’s face. Oh shit.

“Now don’t say anything to fuck this up, for once in you life, just shut up!” Tim thinks to himself, carefully trying to remain as calm as he can. They’ve been holding hands for ages and they keep cuddling up on the couch - this isn’t anything unexpected, for heaven’s sake. Hell, if Jon were anyone different, they might have ended up in bed already, but Tim is aware that this probably isn’t going to happen anytime soon - or at all, if he isn’t entirely mistaken, based on the hints and observations. First and foremost the slow and careful way in which their relationship to each other is changing and developing, but then again, he knows what the simple black ring on the middle finger on a person’s right hand usually means.

Tim doesn’t ask though - he figures that if Jon wants to talk about it, he will do so eventually and at his own pace.

So, Tim doesn’t push anything and carefully waits for a response. But there isn’t one, or at least nothing verbal. Instead of saying anything, neither to Tim or about the movie, Jon simply scoots a little bit closer to him, leaning against him and doesn’t let go of his hand. Tim takes this as a win and leans his head against the tuft of long black hair that tickles his cheek.

Both of them relax in an instant, and if they end up falling asleep on the couch, legs a tangled mess and with the TV still on, well, the next morning isn’t nearly as awkward as it might have been once upon a time.

It takes Tim, way longer than it should to realize that, for the first time in a long while, he didn’t startle awake screaming that night. Company helps. It helps a lot. Just knowing that there is someone else, that he isn’t alone and doesn’t have to wake up to an eerily empty house anymore helps.

Tim doesn’t fool himself into thinking that everything will magically resolve itself - he knows it won't, especially because his research about the circus isn’t going anywhere yet.

Sometimes, he feels guilty. Guilty for not spending every waking minute searching for hints, searching for answers to the things that have taken his brother and traumatized him for life. The calmer, logical part of his brain is aware that it doesn’t work like that - he needs a break sometimes, needs the time to himself and spend it with other people…. And goddammit, he deserves to be happy.

Danny would have kicked his arse if he could hear him think this, would have told him to get a grip and do something that makes him happy. Because this is what scares him sometimes - the happiness, the times where he doesn’t think of the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden or circuses and… Skin. Just the thought alone makes him shudder, but he can’t stop thinking about those memories sometimes.

“...Are you alright?”

Tim blinks, not having realized that he must have zoned out. He’s still on the couch, slowly waking up and with Jon tucked somewhere next to him. He doesn’t sound very awake yet, but there is concern in his voice as he fixes Tim with a very direct look.

“I- yes, just. Zoned out a bit there.” Tim shoots him his best bright smile, hoping he’ll be able to chase away the ghosts. At least for now. He sighs, and happily leans into the touch and hugs back when he can feel a pair of slim arms snaking around his waist. Jon doesn’t say anything, but he seems to pick up that something is bothering Tim. And much like him in emotional situations, Jon doesn’t know what to say. So he remains close and thankfully, this is exactly what Tim needs right now. Just being close to someone he cares a whole lot about, feeling their heartbeat near his own. Being held for a bit. He squeezes Jon in silent gratitude for being there, and hopes he can get across what he can’t say.

It is Saturday and they have a whole weekend in front of them. After they peel themselves off of the couch, they stumble off to the bathroom after one another and then to the kitchen in an attempt to fuel themselves with tea and breakfast. It’s painfully, beautifully domestic.

While he is keeping an eye on several pans on the propane stove, Tim is chatting away about something - he isn’t exactly sure himself, except it is something pointless that distracts him from his earlier train of thought. Jon and him are laughing and joking while they drink tea and prepare breakfast together. But after a while it looks like Jon wants to say something, stops himself, and then more of the same all over again.

Eventually, Tim can’t watch him struggle over it anymore and straight out asks,

“Hey. What’s going on in that fuzzy head of your’s?”

It’s true - both of them still have a severe case of bed-heads, and Jon huffs at the question and tries to smooth down a few of the stubborn flyaways around his face. Only very mildly successful.

“I… Was going to ask something.”

“Alright? Shoot.” Tim very, very carefully swallows the joke he was about to make in the end - if this is going where he hopes it might, he doesn’t want one god awful pun to be part of the memory of it. So he waits.

Jon seems to be bracing himself, and then he turns around to face Tim.

“I would like to kiss you. Is that okay?” he asks. A simple question, and yet - it means so much. Tim smiles at him, heart beating out of his chest as he steps closer to Jon.

“Yes, I’d love that.”

There are only mere inches separating them. Both Jon and Tim cross the last of the distance at once, hands searching for each other. Their fingers are interlacing tightly as soon as they touch, and just a split second later, their lips meet for the first time. There is no rush, nothing in this world that would get them to hurry anything up at this moment. Slowly, they kiss again and again, tasting faintly of the tea they had earlier, but even more so, it feels like comfort. Maybe even a little bit like home.

A quiet happiness settles deep into them, and something seems to click into place. They are happy, and there is nowhere they’d rather be than anywhere, as long as they can be together.

After a little while, their hands let go of each other, but only so they can pull one another closer. One of Tim’s hands is cupped around Jon’s cheek, thumb gently stroking over the soft stubble while his other arm remains wrapped around him, hand resting at the small of his back. Jon on the other hand, has to angle his head up a bit due to their height difference, but he doesn’t mind that at all. Both of his arms are wrapped around Tim’s torso, and if it was possible, he would like to remain like this forever.

Unfortunately for the two of them, life has other plans.

When the smell of something burning registers with the two of them, they regretfully break apart cursing and laughing as they quickly remove the pans from the heat.

“That was - good lord, why now of all times?” Breathlessly and more than a little high from happy brain chemicals, they try to get a grip on themselves and on the situation.

“Just like our luck, isn’t it?” Tim is joking, of course, but still. The timing couldn’t have been worse.

“This better not become a habit.” Jon glares at the charred eggs and smoking pans as if they personally insulted him. He’d been having a good time, but of course something had to happen. Oh well.

“We’ll just have to make up for it.” Tim winks at him, grinning widely. He doesn’t mean much by it, and he only realizes how that might have come across when Jon awkwardly clears his throat and says,

“The kissing? Yes, absolutely. Other things… Well, most other things, actually… Not so much. I erm, I should have said that before now, I suppose. But, I’m Asexual.” he chooses his words slowly and deliberately, like he is trying to say them exactly right.

Tim looks into his eyes, bright green and shining with happiness, but now, there is something else creeping into them. Self-doubt, insecurities - Tim isn’t sure, but he wants to do his best to make the doubts disappear - and apologize for his big mouth.

“That’s absolutely fine. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that - I wasn’t implying anything else, I promise.”

Slowly, Jon nods, visibly relaxed now. He asks,

“So… We’re good?”

“We are. More than good actually, if you ask me.” Tim finds himself smiling again, which is something he’s been doing so much more lately. Then he tucks away a strand of hair from Jon’s face and kisses him again, just as gentle as before. He is happy to find that he returns the kiss in an instant, pushing close until the two of them end up pressed up against the kitchen table. After they break apart again, they remain standing in an embrace.

“I like you, Jon. I like you a lot. I love being around you and with you, just for who you are. Yes, I enjoy sex, but I don’t need it. So if you don’t want to, that is okay and it doesn’t make a difference to me. It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

He nearly says, “I love you” but that might be a little early - saying it too early has ruined his relationships in the past, and although what Jon and he have is something different, Tim doesn’t want to risk it.

But as it turns out, he said the right thing. Jon looks a lot more relaxed than before, and he keeps a loose hold around Tim’s hips.

“Thank you, Tim, that’s… Very reassuring actually. I’ve been with people who reacted quite a bit differently to this, so” Jon shrugs, but it is clear that this isn’t a happy memory.

“I appreciate you.” He adds, and Tim pulls him a little bit closer.

“I’m sorry. These people fucking suck.”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.” Jon smiles, and pulls Tim down for another, longer kiss. It feels just as intoxicating as before. Then he tells him,

“And, just for the record. I like you a lot, and spending time with you makes me very happy.

The giddy happiness stays with them - being freshly in love and being freshly together is exciting. It is a feeling Tim will never get tired of. The thing is, being together with Jon doesn’t change a whole lot - they are still on opposite desks from each other at work, they still spend their lunch breaks together and Tim actually manages to get Jon to leave the office at 5pm these days, instead of late at night like he did for the longest time. They still have dinner together most days and they often spend their weekends together. All of these are things they did before, but now, it still feels… Different.

Then of course, there are the casually affectionate touches throughout the day. They’d like to think that they’re being more discreet here, but then again, at least Tim has never been shy about throwing arms around people or bumping shoulders or anything like that. In fact, people would probably get concerned and suspicious if he stopped doing any of it.

The point is: they keep it down to normal levels at work, but they seem to be glued together whenever they’re off the clock. Whether they hold hands, hug, kiss, bump shoulders, hips, arms or hands, or sometimes simply nap stacked on top of each other, they are always touching in some way. Both of them soak up the contact like sponges, and they know without having even talked about it in detail that they spent quite a bit of time lonely and touch starved before… This. Their relationship.

Waking up with one another in the mornings is probably Tim’s favourite part of all. Holding onto each other with their legs tangled together, hands searching for warm skin to rest on and heads pillowed on each other's shoulder or chest. Sharing breaths of air - all of this feels wonderful and intimate in it’s own way, and he can’t get enough of it.

Waking up in the morning is a peaceful thing. But some nights, unfortunately, are not. Both of them have nightmares on a regular basis. They find that they generally sleep better when they are not alone, and having someone to hold close or bury into when the lingering horrors hit, helps significantly.

Some nights, it’s Jon who startles awake in the middle of the night, eyes wide and chest heaving as he frantically looks around himself until he realizes where he is, or until Tim wakes up and mumbles quiet reassurances into his hair as he holds him close until the tremors have calmed down.

If they’re lucky, they manage to fall back asleep after a while, but if not, they simply stay awake, cuddled up under soft blankets and they just talk. Their topics of conversation vary widely, ranging from silly, lighthearted distractions to things they did or experienced in their past, as well as heartfelt conversations that are about much more than just that.

Tim himself has his fair share of nightmares as well, ever since he lost Danny. And even though having Jon close by and being held at night helps to keep them at bay sometimes, there are still nights where he startles awake either screaming or crying or both.

The first time it happens, Tim wakes up terrified and tangled in the sheets. His shirt clings to the cold sweat that is running down his back and his breath comes out in irregular, shaky bursts.

A dimly lit circus arena, old and dusty with centuries of dirt. Tim can’t move. It’s like he is rooted to the spot, and yet, his legs won’t stop shaking. He is shivering from the cold - no surprise, since he ran out in nothing but his pyjamas earlier, and this place is surprisingly freezing for a hot August night. Tim can feel the cold, but more so than anything, he is absolutely terrified.

He wants to scream, to run, do anything but stand here - but it’s impossible. The crumpled form of his brother - or the Thing that pretends to be Danny - sits motionless and hunched over, no matter how much Tim tries to call out for him. Not a single word leaves his throat, even though his vocal cords hurt from the strain he’s been putting on them. But Danny doesn’t hear him - can’t hear him.

From out of the shadows, Tim can see… Something. It looks like a clown, but it’s wrong. Too long, too folded up to be human. It drags itself across the floor slowly and grotesquely, like a creature from a horror movie, up until it stops. Unlike a movie creature though, this is very much reality.

Breathing is hard, and Tim wants to force his body to move, but still, there is nothing he can do. Part of him wants to believe that this… Place, this Thing is influencing his ability to move somehow, but then again, he might just as well be paralyzed by fear.

The clown moves forward, right towards Danny. As it unfurls itself, it is clear that there are smears of blood all over its face, red and bold and dripping wet.

“Shall I?” it asks, with a voice that is playful in the worst possible way. Too happy, and way too sinister. Tim can’t even answer, still unable to talk or move or do anything, but he can feel the bile rise in his throat. He wants to grab Danny and run, but knows he can’t. He wants to scream, cry or throw up, anything but watch the scene unfolding in front of him.

None of this happens though.

Instead, Tim is forced to stand motionless and helpless, watching in agony and horror as the clown moves much more quickly than he could have anticipated. It’s not as much that he can actually see the movement, but Tim can feel it. He can feel the breeze of air on his face, and just a split second later, it has removed the entirety of Danny’s skin. His limp, bloody and bare form slumps forward, and it is only then that Tim actually starts screaming.

He is screaming his head off, loud, desperate and terrified. Tim is shaking like a leaf. Breathing is impossible, and it takes him way too long to realize that in order to breathe, he needs to calm down for just a second. It takes even longer for him to realize that he is at home, safely in bed and long out of this situation. But Danny… Danny is just as dead.

Between ragged, forced breaths, Tim is curling in on himself, unable to register that Jon has woken up and is talking to him in a low, concerned voice. He tries to get his partner to calm down at least a bit, afraid he’ll end up hyperventilating from panic.

Tim doesn’t register any of it. He can’t make out Jon’s gentle voice trying to bring him back, doesn’t register the light, careful touch on his arm in an attempt to soothe without scaring him further. Tim curls himself into a tight, shaking ball without noticing any of it.

After the first initial panic, there is a brief moment of silence, but after that, he breaks. Ragged breath turns into uncontrollable, hiccuping sobs and it is only then that Tim realizes the familiar pair of arms slipping around him in a protective embrace. He uncurls just enough to be able to hug back and let Jon slip closer to him, which he does as soon as humanly possible. Tim clings onto him for dear life as Jon curls himself around him in what must be an uncomfortable or at least awkward position, but this is the last thing on his mind. All Jon cares about right now is making sure that Tim is okay, or at least, as okay as he can be.

Their bodies are pressed flush together, tightly enough for them to feel each other's rapidly beating hearts hammering out of their chests. Tim tries to focus on that, tries to focus on the carefully even rhythm of breath that Jon attempts to get him to follow.

His presence is constant, warm and comforting. Tim can feel his weight on top of himself, the hold of his arms around him. Strands of hair and warm breath on his neck are a familiar sensation as well, something he’s been getting used to lately. Even more so, it is something that Tim loves and associates with home by now. And while the fear and pain caused by his nightmare are still very much lingering, he is able to relax in order to calm down eventually. Slowly but surely, a little bit over the course of - he doesn’t even know how long.

Time has lost all meaning at this point. It might take him minutes or hours to breathe normally again, and at some point, Tim realizes that the steady stream of talking, besides the quiet attempts to comfort and assure him, are actually bits and pieces of random information. Anything to keep talking and keep up a steady presence, Tim supposes, but he is eternally grateful for it. He shifts a bit, arms still wrapped tightly around Jon, although he’s stopped clinging as much by now. He stretches out a little bit without letting go of their embrace - everything hurts from holding himself so tense for so long. Then Tim pulls the both of them onto their side so they can cuddle properly.

Gentle hands keep running through his messy mop of purple hair, blunt nails scratching against his scalp. Tim leans into it, soaking up the touch like a sponge. He’s stopped shaking now, he notices, and he registers a lot more sensations than he did before.

Little sounds around the house, wind outside, the occasional car. Most of all, he registers all the different little touches from Jon, and the way he keeps talking to him even now.

After a while, he leans in to kiss Tim’s forehead, thumbs wiping away a few stray tears. It seems like the worst of the storm is over by now, but Jon stays close. He’s never seen Tim in such a state, and it worries him to no end. At least it looks like he isn’t in severe panic anymore.

“Do you want to talk?” Jon asks quietly, but all Tim can manage is shake his head. It's not like he could talk right now if he tried. He doesn't trust his voice, knowing it will break, which is probably going to set him off again and he's not ready to face that.

Maybe, a part of him wants to talk about what happened. Sure, it is going to hurt regardless, whenever he decides he is ready for it, but there is no doubt that it will help to get it off of his chest. But Tim doesn’t know how he is supposed to talk about the horrors he's witnessed. Where would he even start? How does he explain all of it without sounding - well.

“That’s alright.” Jon tightens his hold around Tim as he shifts a little bit, without letting go, so he can rest his head on top of Tim’s. There is a quiet, almost suffocating sadness radiating off of him, and even though he doesn’t know what happened that got him into this state, Jon offers him all the support he can, in any way he knows how. Physical touch seems to help a lot, thankfully. That, he can do forever.

“I’m here for you. Whatever it is you need, I’m here.”

The sun is starting to rise on the horizon, but Tim and Jon remain in bed, wrapped up around each other just like before. Birds are starting to sing outside, even before the first rays of the morning sun tint the room into a low light.

“I love you. I’m here for you, and I love you.”

Notes:

#Archival Pride 2021 #Banashee writes #tma fanfic #JonTim #the magnus archives #tw trauma #tw death #tw blood and violence #mind the tags and CWs please

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silyabeeodess · 3 years

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FusionFall Fic: Wayward Souls pt.2

Read Part 1 Here

Weeks later, Wirt didn’t feel any more at ease. It was slow, but the gap between when fusion fighters revived and when they regained consciousness only grew until a handful of them simply wouldn’t wake up at all.

Not that they were dead: It was more like a coma. At first, people wondered if the Resurrect ‘Ems had somehow broken, saving the body while leaving the soul behind. It was so severe that even Grim got involved. However, further investigation revealed that the soul was still present, just... hard to reach.

It didn’t make sense. Every fusion fighter’s soul was bound to the Resurrect ‘Ems via magical contract. Wirt remembered having to sign one himself, how the foreign ‘ink’ seemingly burned his name into the paper and how it felt as though something tugged at his chest when he finished writing it. It wasn’t the kind of thing anyone could break easily. The problem was that that wasn’t impossible either. For example, while the contracts made it more difficult, there was still a chance that beings like Demongo and his fusion could still steal souls. Which meant that monster likely could as well...

He still wasn’t sure whether or not everything about the Unknown was something his oxygen-deprived mind had made up, but he couldn’t shake away the memory of the soldier who knew the Beast’s song. The timing was too perfect: It was too big of a coincidence. And it ate away at his mind every day on the job. If the Beast was somehow involved, then countless people were in danger.

None of them knew that though, not like he did. Wirt had tried prodding other fusion fighters to see if any of them shared memories of a place similar to the Unknown before they regained consciousness, but hadn’t had any luck with their answers. They seemed confused when asked, as if trying to recall something from a dream.

He really didn’t want to pry more than that, knowing it would only lead to trouble, but Wirt didn’t think he had a choice. So, with a foreboding feeling clenching at his heart, he approached the cloaked skeleton inspecting the area’s Resurrect ‘Em.

Normally, Wirt avoided every kind of supernatural being; he even shirked runs to Grim Gardens to keep from interacting with the Underworlders that worked there. Having the Reaper himself come and inspect their Resurrect ‘Em--out of the worse ones--was a chance that shouldn’t be passed up. He felt a lump form in his throat as eyeless sockets peered back at him after a tap on the shoulder.

“H-h-hi, uh...! E-excuse me, Mr. Reaper? Do I call you that...?” his voice cracked and he he cleared his throat, “I work here, and I might have an idea of what’s wrong--”

Those sockets narrowed. He couldn’t stammer out his explanation before a boney hand waved him aside, “Not now, child! Can’t ya see I’ve got me work cut out for me here?”

That alone was almost enough to make Wirt give up. He knew Grim wasn’t being rude: He was just as frustrated as everyone else--if not more--about the recent events. The real issue was that Grim didn’t have to even try to be terrifying to make the young man’s blood run cold.

Ok! I’m not as used to the supernatural as I thought!

He tried to pull himself together, turning away for just a second to take a deep breath and work out his nerves. He flexed his fingers, hoping that would quickly drain the anxious energy that made him want to wring his hands. He couldn’t stay this way if he was going get the Underworlder to listen.

You’re being stupid! Think of Pottsfield: Ignore the scythe and he’s not much different than those guys... You can do this: Lives are on the line.

That was right... If what he knew was important and he kept it to himself, people could actually die. He wasn’t a soldier, but he was a field aid: It was his job to save them. Reminding himself of that once again gave Wirt the last bit of strength he needed.

“It’s really important!” He turned back around, this time able to keep both his voice and expression steady.

The firmness in his tone, that told the reaper he wasn’t going anywhere until he heard what he had to say, brought Grim’s unamused, doubtful gaze back onto him.

“Look, I’ll admit, I don’t know the first thing about souls or magic or... whatever kind of occult power you use to make those,” he pointed to the Resurrect ‘Em, “but I’ve helped take care of the people here since the war started. I caught one of the soldiers singing something that I’ve only heard once, when I was close to death myself.

“Have you ever heard of the Beast? Or the Unknown? It was his song! I know it!”

Grim didn’t have to answer. His ‘eyes’ widened knowingly. After his initial surprise, rather than speak, the reaper looked away and tapped his chin in thought.

Only after a minute did Wirt hear him murmur under his breath, “...yes, I suppose dat could be it. Dat parasite, if he’s breakin’ da rules now, of all times...”

“You know him?!” Wirt couldn’t hide his disbelief, but even he didn’t know whether he came more from the fact that Grim understood exactly what he had implied or that his theory had apparently been completely on-point.

“Of course I do! I reap souls: He’s one of da creatures dat takes dem,” Grim almost seemed offended that he even asked. Nevertheless, the anger in his voice was directed at another, distant someone. “And I know de Unknown as well. For most mortals, it’s a subconscious realm ya can only enter in dreams or at da brink of death. However, if ya make it out, most of your memories of de place don’t typically come back wit ya.” Here, he gave the field aid a curious glance, “If dey did, it’d probably be because you’ve already been exposed to supernatural forces.”

Considering that he’d lived what he considered to be a pretty normal life up until that fateful Halloween, that confused Wirt. Rather than question it though, he let it slide to focus on the matter at hand. “I didn’t think the Beast would still be around...” He didn’t know what happened after he left the Unknown and returned home with his brother, but he thought the Woodsman would somehow deal with him. Looking back, what if he’d made a mistake, giving back the lantern and leaving the old man by himself?

“He went quiet some time ago, but if he is the cause of dis, den we need to act as soon as possible. We’ll gather a team. I can open a portal to dat place, and you can search for the souls of the unconscious fusion fighters.”

Although he didn’t understand how that worked, Wirt nodded. At least now they had some kind of plan. Still, it took him a second longer to digest the full of the reaper’s words. We... You...

His voice cracked again, nearly rising a whole octave, “...what?”

((Quick note, since I know some people who’ve watched OTGW might probably know the references to Dante’s Inferno and understand that the Unknown is supposed to be based on a kind of limbo/purgatory: I 100% agree for the show’s canon, but I wrote it as a place overlapping with the subconscious due to how the Unknown is presented in the comics. In them, we not only have the context of Anna--the Woodsman’s daughter--being born in the Unknown and her family having an entire history there, but we also see Greg, his frog, Wirt, and even possibly Sarah there post-show on another series of adventures through dreams. That considered, there may be more to the various inhabitants of the Unknown outside of just lost spirits and I wanted to leave that more open.))

#my writing #fanfic #fanfiction #fusionfall #video games #congrats you survived the first test #but i have some unfortunate news #you're going back #bye!! :D #...please let me know if someone gets that reference

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iarixai · 4 years

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Over the Garden wall

Ok screw it im talking about ‘Over the Garden Wall’

For the entirety of otgw something always felt off all the time. And the end just gave me more questions. So spoilers, here is my theory on the unknown. also TW I am going to be talking about death and hospitals.

I don’t actually think the unknown is purgatory. Everybody there came back to the real world. However I do think you can only go there if you have a near death expierence. The reason I think this is because of Greg. Greg is very young that means his body isn’t very strong. That means if he really died in the river and then was brought back at the hospital, his body probably couldn’t handle it. It would be a miracle if his body could handle it. As well, everybody Greg and Wirt met in the Unknown were in the past, and didn’t have access to the resources modern hospitals have. But we see them all come back. That is why I think they almost died.

I think the Unknown can only be accessed when you are in a near death situation. For example,

- Beatrice and her family could have very well starved to the point to almost dying.

- The woodsman woke up in a blizzard, so he could have almost frozen to death.

- We know its halloween (fall) so Greg and Wirt could of had hypothermia.

Now you must be saying, Ari, what about the other inhabitants. Well, the main similarity between the characters i mentioned is that they were trying to leave The Unknown. The other characters didn’t seem to want to leave the unknown and had a life there. A good bunch of them had jobs too. Well, they are all dead in my opinion. Because they didn’t want to leave.

- Pottsfield seemed very happy in their cult, and since they are all skeletons, I think they have been there so long their bodies have started to decay.

- the Tavern folks were all cheery and happy and had jobs.

- The animal school people seemed to be having a normal life. With their own problems.

- The tea company couple seemed very happy with their wealth and with each other

But there comes another hole in this theory, Pottsfield. They have been there so long that their bodies have started to decay and that is why they use the pumpkins as a body. Well, the Unknown doesn’t really exist on a plane of time or at least our plane of time. While yes, stuff does occur and people have proper memories of a timeline. Its not the same as our timeline. You can see this with Beatrice, the woodsman, and Greg and Wirt meeting in the same general time, but they are all from different eras. Its another plane of existance, with its own timeline running on whatever shape or line it is. So while there is passage of time in the unknown, it is seperate from our passage of time. The Unknown picks up its residents at different times on our timeline, at random times. That is why Pottsfield is decaying, but Beatrice is still a Highschool age girl when Wirt meets her.

Also time dialation. From when Greg and Wirt fall into the river, to when they wake up in the hospital. At most that time would be 1 maybe even 2 hours if I am being generous. But the expierences in the Unknown would have lasted at least 1 or 2 weeks. I personally think one month. That would mean the plane of time and space they were on was not the same as their own. And it was all real, as we see with the frog with the bell in its stomach. Thats because its another plane of existance, grabbing people from our universe.

And the final nail in the coffin for the theory that the Unknown is a seperate plane of existance. The moon. When Greg and Wirt are walking to Pottsfield, which is North, they are walking towards the moon. And the moon was in a moon cycle not possible on earth. As well, if they were walking towards the moon, they would be going East or West. And seeing as they eventually make it to Pottsfield going that direction, that means they aren’t on Earth.

Now, the question is how does the Unknown choose its victims. For one, there has to be a near death expierence like I said before, but if it was every single one, the Unknown would be very crowded, which it doesn’t seem to be at all. Most of the residents are animals. But for now we are talking about humans. I think the Unknown chooses you when you feel small. When you feel forgotten about or everybody has forgotten about you. When you feel you have no hope. When you feel like nobody is going to help you. When you feel like people don’t care about you. For example,

- The woodsman felt like there was no hope for his sick daughter, and that people even forgot about them.

- Beatrices family if my starvation theory holds true, felt out of luck and they had no hope because it was winter and they couldn’t grow any food to eat

- Greg and Wirt were running from the cops, and literally jumped over a garden wall in order not to get caught. And Wirt definitely has some insecurities about his worth as a person and whether people will actually remember

- The tea couple both show signs of narcissism, meaning they got all of their money so that people would pay attention to them and not forgotten about.

- The schoolteacher shows signs of measuring her worth on her accomplishments, hence why she gets really sad about her boyfriend leaving and how the animal school is not working.

- The tavern people don’t even have proper names. They don’t feel important to the story which is why they introduce themselves with their job. They were meant to be forgotten about.

The reason I say this is because of the short OTGW was based on, had the Tome of the Unknown, and it had everything that was forgotten about in it.

But we have one more thing to address, and that is Greg.

But Greg doesnt seem to be a likely canidate to be lost in the Unknown right?

He doesn’t fit those requirments?

Wrong!

Greg is shown to have memory issues or having later reactions to things. That is why the frog seems to have a new name every episode, Greg forgot. And Greg knows that he has these memory issues. He may be a kid but he isn’t dumb. So I think he fears that these memory problems is going to make him forget about the people he loves, most of all his brother. So in that, he tries to please them in anyway possible. He raked his neighbors yard. He tried to get Wirt a date. In the boat episode, he is even willing to have his head drummed on so his friends will stay safe. When Wirt complains about Greg not leaving a trail, right after, Greg starts to leave a candy trail. Greg wants the people he loves to be happy incase he forgets about them. That is why Greg is willing in the last episode to sacrifice himself for his brother.

And the final thing to address is the trees and animals. As we know, the trees are actually souls that have already died, and the woodsman collecting them is using their souls for oil in the lamp. The Beast is a very obvious metaphor for death, more specifically the death of the hope they are going to survive, and through the trees that is how he carries out his duty of killing people in the Unknown because they died in there plane of existence.

But I think the animals are people who have been in the Unknown long enough to start losing hope.That is why a lot of the animals have some sort of sentience. They aren’t animals, they are people. When we meet Beatrice she is pretty obviously a Bluebird. That is because her and her family aren’t very hopeful they are going to make it out of the Unknown. Her only chance is to find someone who lady Adelaide wants.

As for the pets who come along on the journey, I have literally no explanation for that, unless the pets were tied to their owners souls. That is the only reason I can find.

The actual people in the series are still inbetween death and life, they still have hope they are going to live. Remember time dialation and the other plane of existance. But all the people who go into the Unknown and stay, will eventually become trees or animals.

Now leaving the Unknown is a task in itself. But after the main cast left to Unknown, they got some sort of wish granted after the got back. The woodsman had his daughter get better and even being able to walk. Beatrice and her family got food. Wirt finally got that date. And Greg got to see his brother happy. The lack of these things also almost got them killed. So I think after they came back, the universe fixed those things, so that they wouldn’t go into the Unknown again, and give them hope, that their life is going to get better. While yes, they definitely did have hope before, this gives them hope about their lives and loved ones, not just their life not being in danger.

I know this might have been really long and confusing. You can always ask me to clarify. But thank you for making it this far.

#over the garden wall #otgw #otgw theories #over the garden wall theories

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thenightling · 4 years

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Why I do NOT think Over The Garden Wall’s ending is secretly sad

Recently I came across a comment from someone who believes Over The Garden Wall actually has a sad ending and Greg and Wirt and doomed, that the ending is false because of the lyric “Loveliest ...lies of all.” I have to admit I was initially worried about this being potentially true too. But then I remembered a few things that reassured me. A few things made me certain the end is not false.

1. The phrase “Loveliest... lies of all”: At first this worried me too that the frog was giving a wink-wink / nudge-nudge that this wasn’t really how it ended but how the boys would have wanted it to end but then I realized something. He actually sings "Loveliest lies of all" at the start of the first episode too. So if the end is a lie so is the whole thing. So this makes the concern moot, doesn’t it?

2. “What is a story but a lie?”: Some people call fictional stories "lies" and The Unknown is a land of stories. A similar reasoning is how Marvel evolved Loki from God of lies to God of Stories in the comics.

3. The Over The Garden Wall comics are supposed to be canon: The Over The Garden Wall comics (from the same writer) indicate all the stories ended the way the afterward claimed.

4. The end scene is supposed to show how the boys touched the lives of those in The Unknown: We have been told that the ending is supposed to show how the boys impacted the lives of those in The Unknown. Why do that if only that one part is a lie?

5. It was all real on some level: The Bell still being in the frog’s stomach indicate that the adventure was at least partly true.

6. The opening and closing bookends: There are things tied together that the boys would not have known in order to imagine the happy endings for the lives they touched. For example, the fact that the gristmill (now mostly repaired) was owned by Beatrice’s family and the dog from the first episode was hers. The boys didn’t know Beatrice had a dog. The boys also didn’t know what the woodsman’s daughter looked like. We only saw her in the preview segment of the first episode. And Lorna’s ending was the most probable since Auntie Whispers turned out to be a fairly nice person (even if she didn’t think of the obvious way to get rid of the spirit). There’s a preview (in the opening segment of the first episode) that ties directly to the ending and the boys wouldn’t have been aware of either.

7. A sad conclusion doesn’t match the rest of the mini-series: All of Greg and Wirt's adventures ended mostly happily already (”O Potatoes and Molasses: The school is saved via fund raiser and the gorilla was Jimmy Brown all along,” the frog choosing his human companions over fame and fortune, the Potsfield folk just letting them go after their two friends were dug up, Adalade defeated, Lorna de-possessed and deciding Auntie Whispers is her family after all for loving her and looking after her through the ordeal, And the crazy old tea seller (who might actually be the ghost) finding love with his business competitor. So there's no real reason the ending should be false considering how far fetched the previously established stories played out.

8. Purgatory isn’t a bad place by its original definition: Yes, I’m aware that there’s a high chance the boys are in purgatory, or some place between realms. There’s also a chance they are in The Dreaming (realm of dreams and stories) or a combo of the two. But purgatory is not necessarily a bad place and you sometimes CAN return to the land of the living from purgatory. It’s not like the Dante’s Inferno video game or Divine Comedy (which is Bible fan fiction, by the way). Even if Dante’s Divine Comedy did influence Over The Garden Wall so did Goethe’s Faust (part 2 of which had a sweet ending) and a bunch of other classic stories. And purgatory is supposed to be a place between here and it is indicated that it is where forgotten stories (folktales / faery tales) must play out. And most of those were designed to have happy endings.

9. The references and homages don’t fit a bleak ending: Yes, some old Grimm Faery tales have very dark endings but the raw blue print for Over The Garden Wall comes from American folktales, vintage New England post cards, and 1920s to 1940 cartoons, which usually were whimsical and had happy outcomes. You can see the likes of Betty Boop, The Wizard of Oz, and even Shirley Temple’s Animal Crackers in my Soup in loving homage.

10. Tome of the Unknown: They were helping forgotten stories reach their conclusion. That’s why the original working title was “Tome of the Unknown.” (Which Lorna is reading in her final scene, by the way.) The fact that Lorna is reading the Tome of the Unknown (the book of stories the Unknown characters are supposed to be from) suggests that the boys actually helped these characters play out their stories like faery tale characters in an Enchanted Forest.

11. A sad ending doesn’t really match the established tone. They were mostly sweet forgotten stories and folktales too from the looks of it. If Beatrice was turned into a bird by a bird for throwing a rock why is it so hard for us to accept a witch’s scissors could turn her back? I was worried the scissors would actually mutilate her too but I think we’re just too used to that sort of thing today. Older stories were not so cynical which brings me to point 11.

12. Projecting cynicism and dark expectations: I saw similar projected darkness with some people watching The Shape of Water and thinking the end was wishful thinking even though we had already seen “The Asset” use healing powers. And Guillermo del Toro said it has a happy ending. The Rugrats aren’t dead and Angelica is not just imagining them either. Sometimes things actually just are wholesome. They don’t need to be edgy.

13. I’m aware of what was considered early in the production: Just because an author considered making something darker than what was made doesn’t mean the finished product is darker too. People also like to bring up that in the “original“ Peter Pan the boy was a villain and did awful things but that is not the version that became a beloved play and children’s book. That was essentially a prototype version that no one cared for.

14. Sequel?: Though it’s not likely the show’s creator (Patrick McHale) will do it, there were sequel considerations for Over The Garden Wall, which would require those stories to have ended the way we saw them.

15. “If Dreams can’t come true then why not pretend?” I’ve heard this lyric used to try to claim the ending is false but one could argue that all of the stories the boys encounter in Over The Garden Wall are dreams. And what is the sure way to make a dream become real? “Fake it until you make it.” In other words... Pretend. So the boys may have turned those stories (including their endings) real. Pretending and belief. Believing something strongly enough that is how you make an ideal real.

To quote Death in the novel Hogfather by Terry Pratchett.: “ THEN TAKE THE UNIVERSE AND GRIND IT DOWN TO THE FINEST POWDER AND SIEVE IT THROUGH THE FINEST SIEVE AND THEN SHOW ME ONE ATOM OF JUSTICE, ONE MOLECULE OF MERCY. AND YET”—Death waved a hand. “AND YET YOU ACT AS IF THERE IS SOME IDEAL ORDER IN THE WORLD, AS IF THERE IS SOME...SOME RIGHTNESS IN THE UNIVERSE BY WHICH IT MAY BE JUDGED.” "Yes, but people have got to believe that, or what's the point—" MY POINT EXACTLY.” He goes on to say people need to believe in these things in order for them to “Become.”

This is how you make concepts real, through pretending and creating belief in the idea.

So in a sense what he’s really saying here can be seen as “Make it real.”

#Over the Garden Wall #OTGW

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only-by-the-stars · 4 years

Text

the annotated Tome of the Wild

I don’t know how many people are interested in this sort of thing, but let’s go for it anyway! There are a lot, and I mean a LOT, of series references and cameos in this story, as well as tons of foreshadowing of various plot points, that may or not have gotten noticed, so I’ve been thinking about making a series of posts talking about it all for anyone curious. So here is part one, covering Chapter One: The Old Grist Mill.

(spoilers for the whole thing, obviously!)

- First up is the attire Link and Aryll are wearing. In the show, the protagonist, Wirt, is wearing a Halloween costume, though this isn’t immediately apparent that that’s the case. For Link’s costume, the choice was obvious: his Wind Waker clothing that you can get via amiibo in Breath of the Wild. Aryll, of course, is wearing the alternate pirate dress that you see her in when doing a second playthrough of WW.

- Then there’s the lengthy list of possible names Aryll tosses out for her frog. This is something that Greg, Wirt’s little brother, does at the beginning of the show, so I thought it’d be a fun way to sneak in a bunch of names that I wasn’t going to use otherwise.

Rauru: The Sage of Light in Ocarina of Time

Zauz: The blacksmith who forges the Phantom Sword in Phantom Hourglass

Snowpeak: For the Snowpeak Ruins, one of the best dungeons in Twilight Princess (and the series IMO)

Lorule: The “Dark World” of A Link Between Worlds

Vaati: The villain of Minish Cap (UNDERRATED GEM)

Swamp: Self-explanatory, there are multiple swamps in the series, like Misery Mire in Link to the Past and Goponga Swamp in Link’s Awakening

Lynel: The infamous, terrifying enemies we all know so well I hunt them for fun sometimes

Poe: Ghostly enemies that recur through the series (perhaps most memorably in TP)

Zonai: The mysterious long-lost race that built some very cool structures in BOTW

Ancient Columns: An area in BOTW where you find a memory and the Tena Ko’Sah shrine

Stealthfin: For the Stealthfin Trout in BOTW

Orca: The old swordsman on Outset Island

Ankle, Knuckle, David Jr.: Tingle’s brothers from WW

Guru-Guru: The Terminan version of the guy in the Windmill who teaches you the Song of Storms

Astor: The villain of Age of Calamity

Molduga: The sand-dwelling bosses in BOTW

Ook: A very hilarious and memorable mini-boss from TP

Tingle: The infamous Tingle, who of course Aryll thinks would be the worst name for her frog. Greg is cut off from saying what he thinks is the worst name, but I had to let Aryll speak for this little gag.

Phew, that was long. Moving on!

- “Rule one of the researcher's code is to never give up! That's what my teacher says, anyway.” Yes. Robbie is Aryll’s teacher, that is a line he says during the cutscene just before the “Relentless as a Waterfall” battle in Age of Calamity. As you might expect, Aryll finds him very amusing.

- Aryll stuck a piece of candy on a tiny black turtle that dripped an oily substance onto the forest floor as it crawled along. Dekuwood oil sighting! This is the very same turtle that gets swallowed by the dog that accosts them later, and the oil is what caused its transformation, just as it did in the show.

- “Why are we in the woods? How did we even get here? I don't... the last thing I remember is...” He screwed up his face in concentration. “Gah, why can't I remember? We were—” So Link goes into water and wakes up in a place he doesn’t know, with no memory of how he got there? Sound familiar?

- A shudder went through him and he resolved to ignore it, even as the sounds of ghostly laughter seemed to reach his ears from far off. And did the mists seem to be growing thicker? A reference to the Lost Woods from BOTW. Quite appropriate, given they’re lost in the forest.

- The mysterious woodsman is, of course, Rhoam. Who was also the first person that Link met in BOTW on the Great Plateau. He has a lantern there too, and carries around an ax, and is separated from his daughter. Just. Too easy.

- I’ll talk about this more in later posts, but, Midna in Beatrice’s role was one of the first and easiest choices I made when casting this thing. Also, notice how she takes off as soon as Rhoam shows up? This is a thing that happens in the series with the Woodsman and Beatrice, who have no prior connection, but Midna definitely knows this guy, and that reveal was held back for later via keeping that bit from the show.

- Also, in the show, the wood is called edelwood; here I chose dekuwood not just because of deku trees and whatnot in the series, but. well. Also to invoke the memory of the Deku Butler’s son in Majora’s Mask who became a victim of the Skull Kid and thus Link’s first mask.

- Link saying “Hey, listen” to Aryll is a callback to Navi’s infamous phrase from OOT.

- “Not in any way that would be beneficial to you.” Link will remember this later when the Beast is trying to get him and Midna to choose whose soul will be in the lantern.

- She leaned up on her toes and retrieved what looked like a compass. Compasses are, of course, a dungeon item in most of the games.

- The owl statue Aryll plays with, and subsequently breaks the beak of, is a reference to the owl statues in Link’s Awakening. Their eyes do indeed glow when you talk to them in the Switch remake, and in the dungeons you have to retrieve their broken-off beaks to converse with them.

- In the show, you don’t find about Wirt’s crush until much later, but I wanted to establish the plotline of Link’s love for Mipha and what he’s been doing about it right here at the beginning. His avoidance of her and what Aryll tells him about how its caused her so much pain is the beginning of his descent into despair near the end of the story. Not to mention that I hinted at the tape’s existence with Aryll’s reference to him making “that thing” for her.

- Aryll decides to call her frog “Blupee” after the glowing, rabbit-like spirit creatures in BOTW.

- “Sheikah smoke! Poof!” A reference, of course, to how the Sheikah can appear or disappear in a puff of smoke.

- “He is the death of hope, a cunning calamity... he steals life, steals children... he, he...” A calamity, eh? Now where have we heard that phrase before? And Rhoam is, of course, alluding to his belief that the Beast is responsible for the disappearance of his daughter, Zelda.

- “Leave me now, young man... take your sister and go east.” In the show, the Woodsman tells Wirt to go north. But here, it’s east, because their next destination is Ikana, which is located in the eastern portion of Termina in MM.

- A half-moon the color of yellowed pages had risen in the sky by now, and by its light Link guided Aryll onto a path that he was reasonably sure led east. This bit of description is not just there to be pretty. I established a specific phase of the moon here so that I could go back and use the exact same description in later chapters, when more time had passed and it wouldn’t make any sense for there to actually be the same moon phase going on. This is a hint to the fact that everything in the Wild, takes place during the same night in Link’s world. This is something that you see visually in the show, but must be described in a fic.

and that’s it for chapter one! stay tuned for chapter two!

#annotations

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magicallygrimmwiccan · 5 years

Text

But If I Did (You’d Be The One)

Summary: It's Meet the Family dinner, and Wirt is terrified.Written for @pinesconeweek2019 Day 2: "So... welcome to the family."

Notes: Enjoy the angst and the fluff.Also, Bill's not... like, he's not a good guy here? He's a Chaotic Neutral Little Shit who's kind of the live-in weird older brother type.

Read on AO3

“I’m just going to warn you, they’re a bit weird, but they won’t hurt you!” Dipper assured, a big smile practically plastered onto his face. “I mean, you’ve already met Mabel!”

“Yes, and Mabel is absolutely terrifying!” Wirt exclaimed— not whimpered, not at all, no sir— as he ran a hand through his messy brown hair. He was going to meet Dipper’s family tonight. He was going to enter the Pines household and subject himself to the judgement of Dipper’s loved ones. This was not going to go well, he could feel it in his bones.

“Mabel is a bit much, but she likes you,” Dipper soothed, his smile falling slightly back to his normal soft, lop-sided one. “And you’ll like Grunkle Ford, he’s really smart. Grunkle Stan is a bit weird, but he’s got a good heart. And Bill… well, Bill might not even be there?”

“From what you’ve told me about Bill, that’s not comforting,” Wirt mumbled, moving to play with the sleeves of his sweater instead of his hair. He didn’t want to mess it up further.

“... I mean, fair?” Dipper shrugged and stepped back, sticking his hands into his pockets. “So, um… do you want me to cancel tonight, or…?”

“No, no! I’ll be fine, just… just nervous.”

“Understandable,” Dipper giggled, “but nothing bad is going to happen. Trust me.”

___________________________________

“So, you’re Pine Tree’s ‘boyfriend’, yes?” the tall blonde drawled, slinging an arm over Wirt’s shoulders. Wirt gulped and clutched his tea closer to his chest, simply nodding in response. “Cool. Why?”

“... why me, or why boyfriend, or…?”

“Why is he dating you?” Wirt bit his lip and looked towards the floor. He asked himself that question every day, and he’d always been scared to ask Dipper to answer it. After all, he was weird. He was quiet, and paranoid, and spoke better through poetry than in actual conversation. He was a terrible boyfriend, so why was Dipper still around him?

“I don’t… I don’t know?” Wirt mumbled. “I just… don’t know why he sticks around me.”

The demon’s eyes narrowed and he stepped back, frowning down at Wirt. “Huh. Wasn’t expecting that.” Wirt looked up, confused, and Bill continued. “I mean, I know for a fact Pine Tree loves you, because he literally never shuts up about you and is sappy and it’s honestly torturous.”

“Oh… so…”

“Even if you don’t think so, I’m pretty sure he likes you.” Bill smiled at him. “Now go be gross and mushy with Pine Tree, I have to help Mabel with dinner.” Wirt nodded and practically ran from the room, escaping from one of the most awkward conversations of his life.

He turned the corner and slid into a chair at the dinner table next to Dipper, who looked up and smiled at him. “Hey, you,” he murmured, “how’s it going?”

“I was right and Bill is really weird,” Wirt announced, shivering. “And I hope he’s the worst one.”

“... sure.”

“Dipper, I love you, but what the fuck.”

_________________________________________

“So, Wirt… what do you do?” Stanley Pines asked, practically glaring at Wirt from across the table. Wirt squirmed and looked over at Dipper, who was currently deep in a discussion with Bill. He thought they were talking about different kinds of demons, but he wasn’t quite sure. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know for sure.

“I, uh… I-I work at the library…?” Wirt mumbled. Stanley sat back, nodded once, and returned to his dinner, leaving one of the other Pines to take over the duty of Giving Wirt A Heart Attack. That person was Mabel, who leaned forward with a devious smile on her face.

“What’s the most embarrassing thing Dipper’s done around you so far?” she giggled, eyes sparkling.

Wirt felt the blood rush to his cheeks and he shook his head frantically. “I- I’m not telling you that. That- that’s wrong.” Mabel pouted, but Wirt refused to budge. He wasn’t going to embarrass Dipper in front of his family.

“Aw, come on, it’s not that-” Mabel was interrupted by something crashing through the wall, screeching. Everyone bolted to their feet, and the Pines all reached for some form of weapon while Wirt sat there, frozen. All he could see was black branches dripping oil, Greg wrapped in branches mere inches from death, a deep, haunting song-

“Get away from him!” Dipper screeched, tackling Wirt to the ground in the process. Wirt coughed, all the air being forced from his lungs at once, as his memories began to blur together with current reality. He heard the sounds of a scuffle mingled with a rich baritone voice singing about death. He saw flashes of blue fire twined with oily trees. He felt the wood floor beneath him, but he could also swear he felt snow stinging his face. Briefly, he felt someone cup his face in his hands and shake him slightly, but he couldn’t hear what they said or see who it was, too lost in his own purgatory of memories.

“Wirt, sweetie, it’s okay, talk to me, it’s gone, you’re okay!” Wirt blinked, groaning, and shook his head, finally managing to bring the person in front of him into focus. It was Dipper, tears clinging to his eyelashes as he wiped at Wirt’s cheeks with his thumbs, clearing his tears from his cheeks.

“D-dipper…?” Wirt mumbled, voice a bit hoarse for some reason.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Dipper soothed. “I’m sorry, if you don’t ever want to see me again, that’s okay, I just… I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“... why would I never want to see you again?” Wirt asked, sitting up a bit more with Dipper’s help.

“Uh… because I deal with monsters a lot, and some of them are awful, and you were screaming…”

“I was screaming?” That explained why his voice was hoarse.

“Yeah, uh… we think you were seeing something terrible…”

“That was a demon that fed on trauma,” Bill broke in. “It’s something semi-common around this family.”

“That… that doesn’t mean I’m leaving,” Wirt assured, finally managing to stand. “Yeah, it sucked, but… but it’s not going to make me leave.”

“Are you sure? No one would blame you if you did,” Dipper murmured, hugging Wirt closer to his chest. Wirt nodded, eyes closing a bit as he pressed a kiss into Dipper’s messy curls.

“I’m sure. You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Dipper Pines.” Dipper let out a short giggled and pulled away to look Wirt in the eye, beaming.

“So… welcome to the family.”

#PinesconeWeek2019 #hurt/comfort #fluff #angst #ptsd #wirt has ptsd from the unknown #chaotic neutral little shit bill cipher #human bill cipher #meeting the family #pinescone #dipper pines #otgw wirt #ford pines #stan pines #mabel pines #bill cipher #sorry not sorry

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pinesconessecrets · 6 years

Text

Pinescone Secret Santa

AN:

Pinescone Secret Santa for @oakwoodouroboros-fics-and-art on tumblr!

Takes place after Gravity Falls. Wirt and Greg have gone up to Gravity Falls with Dipper and his family, and while everyone else is out, Dipper and Wirt decide to do a little hiking on their own.

Wirt wiped the sweat from his forehead. It was winter up in Gravity Falls, and he and his brother were spending their holiday vacation with the Pines family. Everyone else was out of the Shack visiting with friends, and Dipper had wanted to take Wirt on a hike through the woods. It was pretty cold for a hike, and Wirt could take or leave the forest, given some of his past experiences. But Dipper’s eyes had shone with excitement, and he was so eager to show Wirt his favorite bits of Gravity Falls weirdness, that Wirt couldn’t help but say yes. So they’d bundled up in sweaters and gloves, packed some food, and set off into the forest.

That was five hours ago.

Wirt took off his gloves. Hiking had made him way too hot, and his feet were aching. “Dipper, if we are lost in the woods again…”

“We’re not lost!”

“We’ve been hiking for hours. In circles. See that tree?” He pointed. “That’s from twenty minutes ago. When I lost my sanity.”

Dipper stopped and looked around. They’d reached a small, flat clearing, still carpeted with grass even with the approaching winter. “Well…I guess this is as good a place as any to –”

Wirt dropped his backpack with a thud and collapsed to the ground.

“– stop. Er…yeah.”

Wirt rolled over onto his back and let his arms flop out to the sides. “I feel a sudden and profound kinship with Sisyphus, pushing his boulder time and again to the top of the hill, just as we circle endlessly in this eternal forest. I am weary in my very soul.”

Dipper cracked a grin. “Sorry, Wirt.”

Wirt waved a hand and then let it drop back to the grass with a sigh, closing his eyes. The chilled ground felt great through his sweater. Not to mention that his feet and legs were practically creaking with relief at the opportunity to rest. It sort of reminded him of when he and Greg slept in the woods in the unknown. Right now Greg was off doing who-knew-what with Dipper’s sister, Mabel. He wondered if Greg was as tired as Wirt felt right now.

There came a scratching noise.

He cracked an eye open. Dipper was scribbling furiously in his journal.

“Oh, please tell me there’s not some magic bug thing in my hair.”

“Hang on one second, don’t move.”

Wirt swallowed. “There is, isn’t there? Oh man, if my hair turns blue like last time I –”

“Tada!”

Dipper held up his journal. He’d drawn a sketch of Wirt laying in the clearing, completely relaxed in the downy grass, an expression of perfect peace on his face.

Wirt blushed. “That is so unfairly cute.”

“Yes, you are!” Dipper said cheerfully, snapping the book shut. “I’ve gotta make a record of every amazing thing I see. And that includes a certain future Poet Laureate.”

“Don’t forget his muse, with the blessing of the heavens on his brow and the map to my heart in his hands.”

“Oh now who’s being unfairly cute?”

Dipper grinned and lay down on the grass next to Wirt, his head pillowed on Wirt’s arm. Wirt scooted him closer and turned, so Dipper’s hair brushed against his cheek like butterfly wings. Dipper drew one arm around Wirt and they lay there, just breathing, the quiet noises of the forest drifting over them, the cool air kissing their cheeks. He was already cooling off, but Dipper’s body radiated warmth and comfort. He sighed deeply. Maybe hiking for hours wasn’t so bad after all.

Suddenly Dipper’s radio crackled with static.

“Dipper? Are you there?”

Dipper groaned and reached for the radio. “Yeah, Mabel, I’m here.”

“You’re back home by now, right?”

“No, but we’re close.” Wirt swatted him playfully and Dipper smothered a laugh. “Sort of close. Why?”

“So HAHA FUNNY STORY! You know that magic weather druid-rock we found last Spring and weren’t supposed to touch?”

“You didn’t.”

A shadow fell over them and they looked up. A massive wall of clouds was slowly moving across the sky, dark and foreboding. The air temperature started dropping so fast the hairs on Wirt’s arms stood straight up.

There was a buzz of static. “– to show Grunkle Ford!” Mabel said. “We’re all up at the Manor, so we’re inside and we’re safe – Greg too – only we might have caused a –” A burst of static cut her off. The storm was so vast and heavy Wirt’s ears actually popped from the pressure, and he could feel the weight of it on his chest. Thunder boomed and the clouds unleashed a blinding fury of snow and ice.

“BLIZZARD!”

They jumped to their feet and ran. Wind struck their backs and thin shards of ice cut at their hands and faces. And they were just at the edge of it!

“Dipper! Where’s the Shack?!”

“Dead ahead, I think!”

“You think?!” Wirt yelled. “This is it! We’re gonna get caught in a snowstorm and freeze to death!”

“Less talking, more AAH!”

They braked hard as a tree in front of them gave a mighty CRACK and one of the upper limbs began to fall. Dipper slammed into Wirt’s side, knocking them to the right. He hit the ground with a thud and heard Dipper give a sharp cry.

“Dipper!”

“I’m fine!”

He wiggled out from the edge of the branch, his backpack slung on his arm. Wirt pulled him out the rest of the way, squinting as snowflakes sliced at his eyes and face. The snow was thickening and the wind was now so strong Wirt was crouching to keep from being swept away.

“THE SHACK!” he yelled over the gale.

Dipper started to point and gasped, holding his arm. Wirt grabbed his boyfriend around the shoulders and ran, lengthening his stride. The wind screamed in his ear. He glanced back and saw nothing but a wall of pure white, swallowing whole trees, eating up the ground like a rabid beast. He ran faster but the storm was practically on top of them. They’d be swallowed up in seconds. His heart pounded.

Oh man oh man we’re gonna die we’re gonna –

Dipper yanked his hair and yelled. The Shack was ahead of them, slightly to the left, its dark peak already half-covered in white. He ran toward it. His legs ached and his lungs screamed and the snow drove icy fingers of death down his back –

They reached the door and Dipper hurled himself at it, forcing it open. Wirt tripped and crashed to the floor, dragging Dipper down with him. Dipper flung out a leg and kicked the door shut just as the blizzard reached the Shack, pounding furiously at the door, shaking the windows, whistling angrily from somewhere in the rafters like a very ticked-off tea kettle. The already-dark cabin slipped fully into the shadows as the windows darkened, so completely full of snow it was like someone had pressed pillows to every pane. The rafters creaked and groaned, and the shingles rattled, but the bones of the house stood firm.

For a second Wirt and Dipper lay on the floor, limbs tangled together, both of them breathing hard. Then Wirt dropped to the floor and started laughing.

“We made it!” he gasped. “I can’t believe we made it!”

Dipper went down on his elbow, half-smiling. “Yeah! Funny weather though! Oregon, am I right?”

Wirt laughed harder. It wasn’t even that funny, and at the same time he’d never heard a funnier joke in his life. The wind moaned against the wall and Wirt couldn’t catch his breath for laughing. Tears leaked out of his eyes.

“Geez, Wirt,” Dipper chuckled, raising a hand to push his damp bangs out of his eyes. Instantly his face turned white and he dropped his hand.

“Wh-what?” Wirt gasped, glancing up at Dipper. “You – okay?”

Dipper didn’t answer, just sat up with a low hiss, one arm pressing the other to his side. “I think the branch got me.”

Wirt sat up too, still breathing hard, and touched his boyfriend’s shoulder. Dipper turned obligingly.

Wirt held back a hiss of his own. The tree limb must’ve hit Dipper with its outermost branches – the ones that weren’t as heavy, but were even more flexible. It had cut across Dipper’s back like a whip, slicing a jagged line in Dipper’s sweater and leaving a nasty welt. Wirt very carefully pulled the fabric away from the skin and saw bruises already darkening along the line.

“It really stings,” Dipper said through gritted teeth. His teeth were starting to chatter, too. They were both nearly soaked from the snow, and Wirt’s socks were soggy with melted ice. He shivered.

One of his fingertips brushed Dipper’s wound and he jolted.

“S-sorry,” Wirt stammered. “Can you walk? If you g-get us dry clothes, I’ll m-m-make something to w-warm us up.”

“We should g-get these off, first,” Dipper said, motioning to their clothes. “At least our shirts and socks.”

Wirt was really freezing now, and his fingers felt like frozen fish sticks, but he grudgingly complied. When he took off his socks his feet were blue – actually blue, like a cold winter lake. But the worst part was taking off Dipper’s sweater. Wirt had to help him, and even then Dipper’s face was tight with pain.

They left their clothes by the door and stumbled down the hall together. Dipper and Mabel were staying in the attic for the summer, but the stairs might be dangerous with their lack of coordination, so they went to the study where Wirt was staying and grabbed two pairs of pants and some of his thickest sweaters. Dipper stepped into the hallway to get changed.

If Wirt thought his legs had ached before, it was nothing compared to how they felt now. They prickled and ached and were somehow weirdly hot even though he was freezing. And they seem to weigh about 200 pounds each. Changing into sweatpants left him shaking with exhaustion. When he was done he leaned heavily on the dresser, debating the merits of collapsing face-first on the floor.

Dipper knocked at the door. “Wirt?”

“Almost done.” The door looked so far away.

“Hurry. We need to start a fire and get draaagh…”

Wirt forced his legs to the door and opened it. Dipper had braced himself against the wall, holding his shoulder. He grinned weakly.

“Th-thought that’d get you.”

Wirt winced and pulled Dipper towards him, so he was leaning on Wirt instead of the wall. They moved stiffly back to the front of the Shack and into the parlor, the wind whistling bitterly in the cracks of the Shack.

Dipper’s friend (Soup? Stew?) had turned the parlor into a second living room, with two big couches that folded out into beds for the old uncle guys. It had a big rug, a coffee table, some book cases, and most importantly, a brick fire place complete with a stack of wood three feet high.

Dipper let go of Wirt and reached for the lighter and the newspaper on the coffee table. Wirt knelt on the brick and began loading log after log into the hearth.

“Easy,” Dipper said, with a small laugh. “If you pile on t-too many the f-f-fire won’t start.”

“I will never b-be warm ag-g-gain,” Wirt chattered. “Not unless we s-s-set the whole Sh-Shack on fire.”

“Let’s p-put a pin in that.”

Dipper pulled sheets of paper from the newspaper and threw them on the logs, then clicked the lighter. Wirt forced himself to stand up, staggered over to a couch, and grabbed the thick blankets that had been piled on top. He came back and sat down, pulling the blankets around them as tight as he could without scraping Dipper’s back.

“We should really di-disinfect that,” Wirt muttered.

“Mmm.”

The storm was still pounding outside. They huddled together and sat so close to the fire their knees practically touched the metal grate. For a second Wirt wondered whether Greg was okay (haha, whether), but then he remembered Mabel had said they were all safe and sound.

A sudden breath of cold air touched Wirt’s neck and he shivered, scooting even closer to Dipper. His boyfriend dropped his head on Wirt’s shoulder with a sigh. Wirt’s eyelids drooped. The flames flickered higher, warming his numb face, making his cheeks tingle. He was so heavy, and so, so tired…

Dipper woke up slowly. His first thought was that he and Wirt had fallen asleep in the clearing, and his back sort of hurt because he’d laid down on some rocks. Then the full memory of the blizzard slammed into his brain and the pain on his back roared to life.

“Ow ow ow owwww,” he muttered. He opened his eyes.

He and Wirt had fallen asleep in front of the fire. The storm was still going outside, and the fire had burned low. But he was wrapped up in thick warm blankets, and Wirt had somehow tipped over and sprawled across Dipper’s lap like blanket, snoring and all. Dipper smiled and gently brushed Wirt’s bangs from his face.

Wirt gave a snort and opened his eyes, glancing up at Dipper.

“Are we dead?” Wirt asked. “Because all of my muscles hurt like we’re dead.”

Dipper grinned. “If we are, then we must be in heaven…because I think I see an angel.”

Wirt groaned. “Well you poetry is clearly dead…”

Dipper laughed and then winced as the skin on his back pulled. Wirt groaned and struggled to sit up, wiping at his face with his hand.

“Alright, okay, I’m awake. Can you turn so I can see your back?”

He did, letting the blanket fall away. Wirt pulled up his shirt, carefully avoiding touching it.

“Okay, well the good news is, I don’t see broken skin. The bad news is that all the skin I do see involves all the colors of the rainbow.”

“Hurts like it does,” Dipper admitted. “Honestly it’s a good thing Mabel does such good knitting, or that thing probably would’ve sliced me way worse.”

He held back a hiss when Wirt let the shirt fall down. Wirt tucked the blanket carefully around Dipper again and then leaned forward to add more wood to the fire.

“Okay,” Wirt said, standing up. “I’m going to get some ice for that –”

Dipper groaned. “Not more ice.”

“– and you are going to sit there like a good little mollusk until I get back.”

“Can you at least bring snacks?”

“Yes, but only for me.”

Dipper let out a smothered snort. Wirt moved away, yawning, and in a minute he was out of sight.

Dipper looked around. It was warm, but it was also pretty dark in here, since the only illumination was the fire. He got to his feet slowly, using the coffee table for balance. His joints popped and cracked and he suddenly had a deep sympathy for his Grunkle Stan’s arthritis. He stepped carefully to the standing lamp and flicked on the light. Instantly the whole room looked much brighter, warmer, and safer, in spite of the snow still hurling itself against the glass. He looked around again. Now if only he could find…aha! Right by Great-Uncle Ford’s sofa was a fresh pad of paper and a pen. Perfect.

When Wirt came back he had again situated himself in front of the fire, hiding what he’d done under his blanket.

“Oh good!” he said, spotting the tray in Wirt’s hands. “You brought food! You are my favorite person ever I am so hungry.”

Wirt raised an eyebrow. “You turned on the light? I told you not to get up. Now I get to eat the snacks all by myself.”

“Oh c'moooon,” Dipper groaned. He looked at Wirt with his best puppy dog eyes. “Please? I’m so hungry I’m dying…”

“Oh, fine,” Wirt mumbled, blushing bright red. “But ice pack first. Put it on your back and then hold it there by leaning against the coffee table.”

Wirt handed him the ice and Dipper complied, settling the blanket carefully around him. Wirt set down the tray and they made short work of the pretzels, Smoreos, and instant hot chocolate loaded with marshmallows.

“How long d'you think the storm’s gonna last?” Wirt said minutes, nodding toward the window, a Smoreo in his hand.

Dipper shrugged. “Probably until my Great-Uncle Ford can figure out a way to turn off the magic rock. So not long. I don’t know how long we were asleep, though, so who knows how long it’s been since it started.”

“I know.” Wirt yawned hugely. “Feels like we napped for days and I’m still tired.”

He grinned. “That’ll happen when you run like crazy from a blizzard after five hours of hiking.”

“On that note –” Wirt pointed at Dipper “I am never ever hiking with you again. I happen to like my nose on my body, not sliced off by frostbite’s ruthless cleaver.”

“Aw, c'mon! This was a one time thing!” Dipper nudged him with an elbow. “You know you were having tons of fun until the deadly blizzard!”

Wirt rolled his eyes. “Keywords in there are ‘deadly blizzard’, Dipper. Bilzzards are not my thing.“

“Fair point, fair point. Counterpoint, if you don’t hike with me, then you will be deprived of epic poetry material forever. Two dashing young heroes narrowly escaping the indomitable forces of nature? Tell methat doesn’t have ‘epic’ written all over it.”

“Weeeeeeelllll…” Wurt was trying not to smile.

Dipper grinned. “Alright, then…would this change your mind?”

He pulled Ford’s notepad from under his blanket and held it up. On it he had drawn himself and Wirt asleep in front of the fire, one of Dipper’s arms draped across Wirt’s shoulders, with Wirt pillowed in Dipper’s lap, ensconced in layers of thick fluffy blankets.

Wirt turned bright red all the way to the tips of his ears. “That is so unfairly cute.”

Dipper laughed (carefully) and patted the floor next to him, inviting Wirt to come closer. Wirt grabbed his blankets and obliged, pulling the tray closer. He grabbed the pot of hot chocolate from the tray and refilled both their cups, then settled back comfortably against the coffee table. They weren’t cold anymore, but they pressed together anyway, shoulder to shoulder and knee to knee. The ice was doing wonders for his back, too. He took another sip of chocolate so he wouldn’t get too cold. The steam from the mug was soft and soothing.

Suddenly Wirt shifted. “Uh, Dipper, why is there a face in the flames?”

“Hmm?” He glanced up. “Oh that’s just one of those little soot ball things. Like from that one movie with the cranky girl who does all the chores? Mabel named it Cinderfuzzyballofcutenessella, but we just call it Fuzzy.”

Wirt grumbled under his breath. “The next time I see your sister remind me keep her far, far, far away from anything paranormal.”

Dipper chuckled and snuggled closer to Wirt. The fire burned strong and bright in the hearth, the smell of chocolate filled the air, and Wirt’s whole body warmed Dipper right to his soul, filling him with peace.

He rested his head on Wirt’s shoulder and drifted back to sleep.

#pinescone #pinescone Secret Santa #PInescone Secret Santa 2018 #Wirt #Dipper Pines #Over the Garden Wall #otgw #Dipper #submission

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ofbloodandfaith · 5 years

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awenmor:

In Wales, often used in predicting love, weather forecasting, as well as protection from spirits and the tylwyth teg. We have a lot of rituals and superstitions tied to them, and being a lover of using flowers in spells I’ve spent some time compiling an introduction to Welsh flower divination/magic use…

NOTE: These associations are geared to Welsh traditions. I think taking bio-region and culture into account is important when using flowers in magic, so yours might be different.

Bluebell (hyacinthoides nonscripta)

Spring. Enchantment and subsequent danger. The faerie realm. Do not venture in a wood to pick bluebells or you may be led astray. A field of bluebells indicates faery magic is at work, and the ringing of the flowers is a death omen. Take great care when working with them for they are prized among the folk.

Daffodil (narcissus poeticus)

Early spring. Water. Association with two Saints; Saint David and Saint Peter. In some areas they are called “babies’ bells” but only babies and children can hear their ringing, suggesting connection to the faerie realm. It is bad luck to see one blooming alone.

Daisy (bellis perennis)

Spring. Water. Returning innocence and cleansing burdens. Known as llygad y dydd, “eye of the day”. Used in matters of love, especially in the youth. One will pluck a daisy with a question in mind, and with each removed petal chant, “much- a little - devotedly -not at all”, with the last petal determining the question. It is said those who die young are reborn as daisies.

Forget-Me-Not (myositis species)

The Moon. Earth. Prosperity. Hidden wealth. Powerful when used for talismans and wealth spells. Unlucky for lovers. Do not trust faeries or apparitions who hold them in their hand.

Foxglove (digitalis)

Summer. A sacred and deadly plant associated with the Ellyllon, the Welsh grove faeries. Known as “meng ellyllon” as they and their Queen Mab wear the blooms as gloves. Used as offerings to earn their favour.

Lilac (syringa vulgaris)

Water. Predicting rain, working with rain. Ill omen if brought into the house. Guarding the dead. Mourning. The colour is said to bring on madness if gazed at too long.

Marigold (calendula)

Sun. Fire. Extroverted manifestation. Predicting storms, as they close when it will rain. Hang a garland on the doorknob to protect from evil spirits. Can used for yes/no or other picking choices in divination.

Meadowsweet (filipendula ulmaria)

Late summer. Death, eternal slumber, as well as brides. Gwydion and Math used meadowsweet (alongside oak and broom) to form the maiden Blodeuwedd. Useful in love spells, especially if done before the flower blooms in the wild.

Pansy (viola tricolor)

Water. Love. Marriage, partnership, all matters of the heart. A flower associated with brides. Do not gather on sunny days as it will rain and disappointment will follow.

Primrose (primula vulgaris)

Winter and early spring. Youth. A cure for pain and frenzy. Used in love drinks and potions, which become dangerously potent. They indicate the presence of faeries and can be used as offerings, but seeing them bloom in the summer is a bad omen.

Scarlet Pimpernel (anagallis arvensis)

Spring and Fall. Predicting rain. Known as “ploughman’s weatherglass” for their weather-predicting abilities. Said to cure melancholia and keep sad thoughts from those who wear them. Useful for sleep spells or banishing lower spirits.

Sources and further reading:

The Physicians of Myddfai

Britain’s Wild Flowers, Rosamond Richardson

Folk-lore and folk-stories of Wales, Marie Trevelyan

British Goblins: Welsh Fairy Folk-lore, Fairy Mythology, Legends and Traditions, Wirt Sikes

#something wicked this way comes #gwrach #witchcraft #witches #let women show their power #weird sisters #weird brothers #weird family

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advocatewrites-blog · 6 years

Text

Into the Unknown Part 4 Chapter 4

Into the Unknown

Fandom: Undertale, Coraline (book), Over the Garden Wall, Paranorman, Gravity Falls (season 2)

Characters: Frisk, Norman B., Dipper P., Mabel P., Coraline J., Wirt, Greg, the Cat, the Frog; Sans, Toriel, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Asgore,; the Other Mother, the Beast, Agatha P., Bill Cipher, Asriel D., Chara D.,

Pairings: Not the focus. Alphys/Undyne, with mentions of Papyrus/Mettaton, sans/Toriel/Asgore, and Wirt/Sara. Due to the nature of Undertale and the dating segments, there is also interpretable Papyrus/Wirt, Undyne/Mabel, Alphys/Dipper, Napstablook/Norman, Mettaton/Norman, Mettaton/Mabel, Sans/Dipper, Sans/Norman, and Sans/Greg.

Rated a high +K for violence, mild language, horrific elements that may be disturbing to younger readers, mentions of child abuse and bullying, character death that is sometimes permanent, and mentions of suicide that may be triggering. These elements remain relatively unchanged from their source material, which most all are for children, but discretion is advised nonetheless.

Disclaimer: Undertale was created and owned by Toby Fox. Coraline was created by Neil Gaiman and owned by Bloomsbury and Laika. Over the Garden Wall was created by Patrick McHale and owned by Cartoon Network. Paranorman was created by Sam Fell and Chris Butler and owned by Laika. Gravity Falls was created by Alex Hirsch and owned by Disney. Any other work mentioned or homage are property of their respective owners. This is a fan-made, nonprofit work that only seeks to entertain. Please support the original franchises.

Chapter 4

“OHHH YES! WELCOME BEAUTIES…TO TODAY’S QUIZ SHOW!”

Spotlights engulfed the lab. Two disco balls dropped from the lighting fixtures and engulfed the three into multicolored lights. Confetti fell from somewhere. Dipper knew that he was not going to like whatever happened next.

“OH BOY! I CAN ALREADY TELL IT’S GONNA BE A GREAT SHOW!” said the robot. “EVERYONE GIVE A BIG HAND TO OUR WONDERFUL CONTESTANTS!”

A fake, monotone clapping noise echoed from the robot’s soundboard as more confetti poured onto them.

“NEVER PLAYED BEFORE GORGEOUS? THE RULES ARE SIMPLE. ANSWER CORRECTLY.” said the robot. “OR YOU DIE!!!

Mettaton attacks.

“LET’S START WITH AN EASY ONE!!” said Mettaton. “WHAT’S THE PRIZE FOR ANSWERING CORRECTLY?”

“Uh…” said Dipper. “A new car?”

“THAT IS INCORRECT!!!”

A lightning-bolt shaped bullet shot from Mettaton’s microphone and collided with Dipper’s Soul.

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked.

“I’m fine,” said Dipper. “Not sure how many of those I can take. We’re gonna have to be smart about answering them.”

“Alright,” said Mabel. “Making things up is my specialty!”

“GLAD TO HEAR IT GORGEOUS!” said Mettaton. “HERE’S YOUR PRIZE: WHAT IS THE KING’S FULL NAME?”

Dipper actually remembered that one. Papyrus had said it, Undyne had said it, and the turtle that sold them things had said it even though he insisted on calling him “Ol’ King Fluffybuns”.

“Asgore Dreemurr!” said Dipper.

“CORRECT! WHAT A TERRIFIC ANSWER!”

“I was going to say Doctor Friendship…” said Mabel.

“NOW ENOUGH ABOUT YOU. LET’S TALK ABOUT ME! WHAT ARE ROBOTS MADE OF?”

“Metal and magic!” said Mabel.

That one had come pretty quickly, but Dipper figured that it was easy to guess.

“HERE’S AN EASY ONE FOR YOU: TWO TRAINS, TRAIN A AND TRAIN B, SIMULTANEOUSLY DEPART STATION A AND STATION B. STATION A AND STATION B ARE 252.5 MILES APART FROM ONE ANOTHER. TRAIN IS IS MOVING AT 124.7 MILESPERHOURTOWARDSSTATIONBAND TRAINBISMOVING-AT253.5MILESPERHOURTOWARSSTATIONAIFBOTHTRAINSDEPARTEDAT10:0AMANDITISNOW10:09HOWMUCHLONGERUNTILBOTHTRAINSPASSEACHOTHER?”

“32.058 minutes!” said Mabel.

Dipper had no idea how he could even solve that one, let alone Mabel.

“NEARLY RAN OUT THE CLOCK THERE, GORGEOUS! BUT THAT IS CORRECT!”

“You spent the entire time asking the question!” said Dipper.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO TAKE BACK YOUR CORRECT ANSWER?” Mettaton asked.

“We’re good!” Both the twins said.

“EXCELLENT! BECAUSE FROM HERE ON OUT THEY’RE ONLY GOING TO GET HARDER FROM HERE!” said Mettaton.”NEXT QUESTION: HOW MANY FLYS ARE IN THIS JAR?”

“54!” said Mabel.

“WHAT MONSTER IS THIS?”

“Mettaton!”

“BUT CAN YOU GET THIS ONE? WOULD YOU SMOOCH A GHOST?”

“Heck yeah!”

“WHAT A GOOD ANSWER! I LOVE IT!!!!” said Mettaton. “NEXT QUESTIONS: HOW MANY LETTERS ARE IN THE NAME METATTON NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN…”

“56!”

“That is correct!”

“How are you getting all of these?” Dipper asked.

“Alphys is telling me,” said Mabel. “But the smooch a ghost one was all me!”

Alphys froze.

“ALPHYS…” said Mettaton. “WERE YOU HELPING THE CONTESTANT?”

“U-u-uh, I was—” Alphys stammered.

“THAT’S ALRIGHT,” said Mettaton. “I’LL GIVE THEM AN ANSWER YOU’RE SURE TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO! WHO DOES DOCTOR ALPHYS HAVE A CRUSH ON?”

The two twins froze.

“Could we…not answer that one?” Dipper asked.

Entry no. 34

During our game of multi-dimensional chess, Bill mentioned something interesting. A Kingdom of Monsters. He seemed hesitant to discuss more; although it seemed more out of ignorance than ill-will. After some prying, he managed to bring up some key points. Sometime before Gravity Falls was inhabited, humans lived with monsters. A war broke out between the two races, leading to the monsters becoming imprisoned underneath a magic suppressing barrier. Bill mentioned that he had tried to enter the kingdom several times to look for someone to help him build the portal, but he kept being chased out by some “annoying dog”.

Whether or not he meant to, Bill has just made a phenomenal breakthrough with my research. Is this Kingdom of Monsters the source of all weirdness in Gravity Falls? Or even the world? Maybe there can be a direct link between the monsters in the forest and the monsters underground. Furthermore, if Bill really wanted to find a scientific mind in the kingdom of monsters, there could be someone else working on a portal right now. Someone else I could compare notes with!

I expect the portal will be finished by tomorrow. Perhaps once Bill can enter our dimension, I can welcome him to Earth properly with a little hike.

It was much later, after the quiz show and after a cooking show and after a news show, when sans made himself known and invited Dipper to dinner.

“where’s that sister of yours?” he asked.

“Well…”

“‘A tragic tale of two lovers, torn apart by the tides of fate’…” Mabel read off of the poster in front of her. “That sounds right up my alley!”

She ignored the fact that 75% of the poster was Mettaton’s face. It would be nice to see him actually acting, and not just the elaborate set pieces he set up when he wanted to kill them. She would have to make a mental note to come back and catch it once Mettaton had calmed down a bit.

Mabel was so lost in thought that she did not notice where she was walking next. She stopped as she noticed she was on stage.

“Oh,” said Mabel as realization dawned on her.

“OH? COULD IT BE…” Mettaton’s voice echoed through the stage. “MY ONE TRUE LOVE?”

Mettaton descended down the fake balcony with all the grace of a vacuum cleaner. The song’s opening covered most of it up. He dropped the hem of his bright blue ballgown and began to sing.

That was when Mabel knew that this was really right up her alley.

“guess it doesn’t really matter,” said sans. “so, what do you know about a talking flower?”

The atmosphere grew suddenly very heavy. Dipper swallowed before he spoke.

“We found it in the Ruins,” said Dipper. “It’s this little gold flower named Flowey—“

“really?” said sans. “couldn’t think of a better name?”

“I didn’t name it!” Dipper said. “It calls itself that!”

“alright. tell me more about flowey mc flower face.”

“Well, when we left the Ruins, he talked about a lot of weird things,” said Dipper. “Stuff like how he was the one that would inherit this world...and how we weren’t the ones he was looking for…sans, how many humans have been in the Underground before us?”

“haven’t you heard undyne, kid?” sans asked. “there’ve been six humans in the underground. not including you two.”

“And is that where you got the lamps?” Dipper asked.

sans fell silent.

“Look, if we’re going to work together, we need to be 100% honest with each other,” Dipper said. “I won’t…judge you if you did something bad. Just be honest with me.”

Sans did not say anything for a moment. Just when Dipper was about to speak up again, he chuckled lowly.

“don’t judge anyone, you say? kid, that’s a good one and you don’t even know why yet,” said sans. “alright. there have been a total of 12 humans in the underground. i’ve seen six. just not at the same time.”

“So there’s a way out of the Underground then?” Dipper asked.

“sure there is. but that’s not what i’m talking about,” said sans.

“Well, what do you know about the other humans?”

“i’d say most weren’t older than you,” said sans. “all came from the ruins, all left through new home. all came at about the same time. don’t know what happened to them. don’t think they knew why they were here, either.”

“Well, do you think that flower might have something to do with it?” Dipper asked.

“don’t know. never seen ‘em before,” said sans after a minute. “well, if nothing else, this run’s been good for information. anything else you need to know?”

Dipper opened his mouth for a minute. But there was not anything else he could think to ask.

“great,” said sans. “if you get to the castle, i won’t stop you. but try and think about what you’re getting into, alright?”

It was only when sans got to the fichus in the corner that Dipper found what he wanted to ask next.

“What do you mean, ‘this time’? You keep talking about ‘this time’ and ‘these runs’, like you’ve already seen all this before!” said Dipper. “What are you trying to hide? I won’t be able to help you if you don’t tell me everything!”

“listen, kid,” said sans. “it’s not gonna matter. even if i do tell you everything, you’re just gonna disappear again. and there’ll be another kid waiting for me at my station. or maybe something worse. i’ve given up trying to change this.”

Dipper’s mouth hung open as he tried to think of what to say. Everything that sans said ran through his head. And then he realized.

“You’re a time traveler?”

The light in sans’ eyesockets went dark. He did not say anything.

“Why didn’t you just say that?” Dipper asked. “Maybe we can help you! Are you with the same agency as Blendin? Is there actually a Time Baby?”

“well,” said sans. “you’re close. if there’s a time traveler, it’s not me.”

Dipper probably had more experience with time travel than the average person, but it was still limited. There was stuff in the journals and the science fiction books he read, but most of what he really remembered came from the 80’s movies Mabel watched. There was one he remembered quite well, about the crabby man who was stuck in the same day repeating over and over.

“Oh,” said Dipper, because he was not sure what else he could say.

“if that’s all you have to say, kid, then i better head out,” said sans. “it’s almost papyrus’ bedtime, and he gets cranky without a bedtime story.”

“We’ll find a way to fix this,” said Dipper. “Mabel and I. We have, uh…experience with this kind of thing.”

“i mean, you probably won’t,” said sans. “but thanks anyway.”

He walked past the fichus in the corner and disappeared.

It took Dipper longer to leave. Too much was going through his head, not just about what sans had said but how he looked when he said it. He was going to have to set things right. There was no way around it.

When he did stumble out, he was surprised to find Mabel.

“Hey Dipper!” Mabel said. “I just finished up Mettaton’s play! How was your date with sans?”

It barely fazed Dipper to hear it called a date. His mind was on too many other things.

“Do you remember what the Journal said about time travel?” Dipper asked.

“Hmm…I’m not sure about the Journal, but there was that Blendin’ guy,” Mabel said.

“That’s what I was thinking too,” said Dipper. “No matter how we get back home, we need to remember to find a way to contact him.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Mabel said. “I’ll make a note of it in this cool notebook I bought from the turtle!”

#fic #Into the Unknown #Undertale #Gravity Falls #Mettaton #Dipper Pines #Mabel Pines #Alphys #sans #featured

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fic-dreamin · 7 years

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Like Watching The TV Series That Never Was Some look at newspaper strips with an eye less serious than they view other graphic stories. Some believe that the strips don't hold the depth that you sometimes find in traditional comics. Believe me. I'm here to tell you that's Klingon propaganda. Go to Amazon

A Lost Treasure of Star Trek Fiction While Star Trek comics - good and bad - have been around nearly as long as the show itself, I never knew there had been a newspaper strip until I read about this collection that was released earlier this month. The reasons the strip is less well-known than it should be are detailed in the book, which is itself a case study of how this kind of archival material should be presented. The key thing is of course the strips themselves, and they're terrific. More so than any other Star Trek comic (and most of the novels) I've read, they genuinely capture the feel of the show and the characters we love. Not only are the stories themselves strong, you can practically hear the voice of Shatner and all the other stars when you read the dialogue. Go to Amazon

What a gem for Star Trek fans! I was so pleasantly surprised by this hidden gem in the Star Trek legacy that I had to wirte a review. If you are a die-hard fan of Star Trek like myself, you too will be very pleased with this first volume of newspaper strips (first published in 1979-1981) and now available in a collected edition by IDW. The stories in this volume are very well illustrated and well told. I was impressed by the way the authors and artists captured the essential themes of Classic Star Trek while also adapting to the medium of the daily newspaper strip. Unlike the dreck that passes as "Star Trek" these days (yes I am referring to that pseudo-Star Trek franchise now being peddled by JJ Abrams), this rendition actually tries (and succeeds) in rendering many of the human themes that are truly unique and identifiable with Star Trek - themes centering on morality, life, death, compassion, dignity and the never-ending journey that is humanity itself. The presentation of the strips is superbly handled and should be the standard for other types of volumes (especially in comparison to Marvel Comics Spider-Man Newspaper Strips which pales in comparison to this book). Readers are even treated to the artwork from the McDonalds Star Trek Happy Meals, which gave readers like myself a nostaglic trip down memory lane and youth. I am eagerly looking forward to the next volume. It is through respected and earnest treatments like this that Star Trek will truly "live long and prosper". Go to Amazon

Great collection of ST:TMP Era Daily Strips This is a beautiful collection of daily newspaper strips based on Star Trek: The Motion Picture. The stories are on the simple side but the artwork really shines. This era of Trek might only appeal to a small subset of fandom but if you loved Star Trek The Motion Picture then this collection is very much worth looking at. Go to Amazon

The Space Between Star Trek Films One and Two The Star Trek newspaper strips have been a long-neglected piece of comic history. They're now being collected in these hardbound editions. Go to Amazon

Five Stars Five Stars Five Stars Nice find Would Make a Great Gift Lost Adventures Fun - nice quality Star trek in Newspapers Fantastic star trek:the newspaper strip vol.1 Fun, but silly

#Sharman DiVono: 9781613774946: Amazon.com: Books

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bakurapika · 7 years

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I believe we got off to a sour start, you and I.

Yes, yes, I’m fully aware of how you learned the story of the Beast. A ravenous monster eager to devour the spirits of lost children in his evil lantern, correct? A bogeyman devised to frighten little ones into safety, for even if there was no Beast in the woods, there was yet starvation, and wolves, and sharp teeth and rocks and other humans who might take advantage of an innocent.

Perhaps I began that way. I hardly remember, but then, is it so odd not to recall the moment of one’s birth?

As bogeymen go, I’m relatively harmless. Laugh all you like. It’s true. I lure the lost into eternal sleep, but the forest is what breaks their spirit, grinds them into the ground, and lets them rot. Their bodies are destined to be food for the forest, be the tree oak or edelwood.

But I won’t bore you with justifications. It’s true, after all; my beautiful garden is made fertile by the suffering of lost souls. I know you won’t believe me no matter how much I extol the benefits of submission to an inevitable mortality. Prolong your suffering all you like; all will fall in the end.

So long I wandered the trees, their slavish caretaker. I could not exist without the edelwood, and they could not flourish without me. I was alone, only acknowledged by those who recognized the creaking of my lantern as a beacon of death. Yes, that symbol, the fire of my soul itself, acted as a lighthouse to some of the lost souls: a warning to leave lest they dash themselves against a rocky cliffside and sink into oblivion. Often they did not need my encouragement to die.

Still I sang to them. What can I say? I’m a creature who prides himself on efficiency.

I got my fill of entertainment by watching the human denizens of the forest, though they be few and far between. A woman lived here, a few generations ago; she joined my forest, of course. But a relative moved in much later, bringing along her husband and daughter. Their mundane day-to-day activities were all I had to watch, and it’s true, I craved their spirits in my lantern.

I do not like the daylight. I do not like being seen. It causes me physical pain. And the wretched husband was a superstitious man, hearing of the Beast once and never again allowing his family to enter the forest at nighttime.

But I am patient. Like the forest, I am eternal. I had all the time in the world to wait, and watch, and listen.

And there is no word of man that can restrain a woman determined.

She was mine within weeks. I could only injure, but the darkness of the forest had entered her veins. The husband himself planted her seed in my forest, where the stump now stands beside a flimsy handmade headstone.

Fear kept the family in their cabin for years. No matter. My flame burnt brightly. Edelwood oil lasts a long time if you use it correctly, and the dead woman’s tree, like her spirit, had grown strong and tall before I began to strip it of limbs for to grind.

The daughter grew older, inheriting her father’s superstition and her mother’s stubbornness. She heard my song as she grew. The forest beckoned her. One night, she listened.

I did not make her part of my forest that night or any other. I am not all-knowing; I cannot see everything that occurs in my forest, and I cannot grasp souls who will fight to be alive. I can only encourage those who are ready to die.

But she left things behind in that forest. Her axe, sharpened and at the ready. Her cloak, red and identifiable. Enough things for her father, hurrying into the darkness behind her, to believe that she was already mine.

I have no need of living humans. I did not design to trap him. You may choose to believe me or not, but I speak the truth: my deceit was in self-defense, done only in the interest of self-preservation.

Blinded by parental rage, the man took up the axe and struck me. If I’d known what was to happen, I would have kept my grasp on the lantern’s handle sure, no matter how much I would bleed--but I had never been so attacked, and I let it fall.

I shouted. I begged. I had never spoken to a man so, but with his foot resting on the glass of my lantern, grinding his heel against my very soul, I had no alternative. He remained intransigent, righteously angry in thinking I’d killed both his wife and daughter.

I told him the truth: that the lantern housed a soul. I told him a lie: that the soul was his daughter’s.

He could see the human-like form inside the flame. He believed me.

He refused to return the lantern to me.

This foolish mortal man was now in sole possession of my soul and had murderous ill will against me for both good reasons and bad ones. If my deception was ever to be revealed, I would be dead. But I would also flicker and die if the fool did not fill the lantern properly. So I struck a deal with him: I would teach him the way of the edelwood. He would allow me to supervise him, to make sure the lantern stayed lit at any cost.

I cannot fathom what he thought of my reasoning. Why would I stalk the night, seeking souls to hide inside a single flickering flame? But perhaps it made as much sense to him as my cultivation of the edelwood would have. It did not matter. He never asked.

Our partnership was born of a mutual desperation and this was the only commonality we shared. It was not always miserable. It was not always pleasant. More than once, he decided he wished to be free of the shadowy Beast haunting him from the roadside and he tried to flee. More than once, I yearned to leave the cantankerous mortal for good and tried to snatch the lantern if unattended. Neither of us prevailed.

The woodsman isolated himself, fearing what I would do to any other children of man he met, and he blamed me for his loneliness. He collected the oil in glass bottles, clumsy fingers spilling precious drops, but always fulfilling his end of the deal. And so we lived until those two children came to the Unknown--the two that became my undoing.

I cared not for the woodsman’s company. They were not primed to submit to the forest yet, and I paid them no heed until it became evident how they were really, truly lost. There was no one in this realm who could give them escape, no way for them to reach their home, and thus without any intervention on my part they were nearly mine already. The woodsman knew this and issued a warning. But warnings from deluded old men rarely are heeded.

I have a few friends in the forest, though they be far between. I pulled a few strings, so to speak, and the two were nearly mine with their guardian left hopeless besides. My friend failed, her plans gone up in smoke, and the children escaped. Not unscathed, though. His time quickly ran out.

And yes, the eldest, Wirt, was mine.

Gregory, the youngest, found his own way to speak with me, and once again I was thrust in the position of faustian bargain-maker. He wished to take his brother home, healthy and intact. I could not offer this, of course--perhaps Wirt could escape the sapling edelwood, but I could not send the boys home. But young Gregory ignorantly was offering me his own soul, for the probability of his hope being lost while speaking to me was high. Should I trade Wirt’s edelwood for the possibility of getting both children?

Essentially, Gregory asked me, “double or nothing?” I was intrigued. I accepted.

I gave the boy three impossible tasks. He completed them in true heroic fashion, bending my words until they fit the possible. I improvised then, asking one last riddle of a task: the sun in a china cup. Gregory figured out the trick nearly immediately, and sat down to wait to complete his work well done.

The temperature was very low. Few grown men could have survived a night like that no matter how many furs they bundled themselves in. The child stood no chance.

My own tasks were complete; I’d planted a few more seeds. The woodsman observed my handiwork and became upset, as he so often does. He tried again to fight me, but the shadows of the forest kept me safe from his axe. It was nothing we hadn’t done before, but with one key difference: he left the lantern, and someone picked it up.

The moment another touched my lantern, the woodsman’s deal with me was broken. He must have realized it the same moment I did, or perhaps he truly cared that much about the dying boy in the edelwood, because he fell easily, distracted.

I attempted the same lie as before. I should have known not to push my luck with such a flimsy pretense. In the intervening years, I should have come up with a better one.

But none of my quick thinking could save me. Not once the boy handed the woodsman my lantern, my soul.

And he blew.

…

That is the end of it, is it not? Yet here I am, speaking to you.

I will share with you a secret, and this one is no lie.

The Unknown is a place of forgotten stories. Tales of the supernatural or mundane, people who once existed or once nearly existed, who have since been lost to time as I myself was.

But I am here now, and this is not the Unknown. I died in the land of the forgotten, and so I am here in the world of the remembered.

In a way I cannot explain, for I cannot know it, Wirt and Gregory returned home.

In their memories, in their dreams, they have brought me with them.

And just as you are seeing me now… they will see me, and my flame will not be so easily snuffed.

One way or another, I shall make them both mine again.

#long post #otgw #otgw fic

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humanoid-lovers · 7 years

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The Space Between Star Trek Films One and Two The Star Trek newspaper strips have been a long-neglected piece of comic history. They're now being collected in these hardbound editions. Go to Amazon

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#Sharman DiVono: 9781613774946: Amazon.com: Books

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advocatewrites-blog · 7 years

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Into the Unknown Part 1 Chapter 3

Into the Unknown

Fandom: Undertale, Coraline (book), Over the Garden Wall, Paranorman, Gravity Falls (season 2)

Start from beginning / Previous chapter / Next chapter

Chapter 3

“NYOO HOO HOO…” Papyrus cried. “I CAN’T EVEN STOP SOMEONE AS WEAK AS YOU…UNDYNE’S GOING TO BE DISAPPOINTED IN ME. I’LL NEVER JOIN THE ROYAL GUARD…AND…MY FRIEND QUANTITY WILL REMAIN STAGNANT!”

Coraline watched the skeleton, unsure of what to do. Papyurs had been a much harder fight than she had anticipated, even with sans’ warning. If she lost, she may have never been able to see home again. Yet she couldn’t help but feel a stir of pity for Papyrus. It was the same kind of pity that stirred in her soul when she thought of Toriel. Toriel deserved a second chance. Maybe Papyrus did too.

“You know,” Coraline said. “When I get back to the Surface, I won’t be going back home.”

Papyrus stopped crying long enough to listen.

“I haven’t been to my real home in a long time,” said Coraline. “My family and I moved to a new home, the Pink Palace.”

“IS THAT NEAR THE KING’S HOUSE?” Papyrus asked.

“No. It’s like a set of houses,” said Coraline. “My family isn’t the only ones who live there. There’s Miss Forcible and Miss Spink, and Mr. Bobinski and the mice he’s training to sing.”

“ARE THEY ANY GOOD?”

“I’ve never heard them. But so far, they’re the only ones who’ve gotten my name right.” Coraline said. “I haven’t been able to make a single friend since I moved to the Pink Palace. Maybe…you would like to be my first?”

Papyrus turned back to her.

“REALLY!? YOU WOULD LIKE TO BE FRIENDS WITH ME???” He asked. “WELL…I GUESS I CAN MAKE AN ALLOWANCE JUST FOR YOU! WOWIE! WHO KNEW THAT ALL I NEEDED TO MAKE PALS…WAS TO GIVE PEOPLE AWFUL PUZZLES AND THEN FIGHT THEM??”

Something cold moved against Frisk’s cheeks, as gentle as moth’s wings. A voice, barely a whisper, spoke.

“Art thou—art thou alive?”

Frisk nodded.

“You poor child,” said another voice.

Frisk tilted their head in confusion.

“She left us here,” said yet another voice. “She stole our hearts and stole our souls. But she forgot about us in the dark. She has worked so hard to find a place to keep you that she has forgotten a place to keep us.”

“I walked through the scullery door,” said the first voice. “And I found myself in the parlor. But she was waiting for me. She called herself my other mamma, but I never saw my real mamma again.”

Frisk took a shaky breath as they realized what they were saying.

“It is the eyes that go first,” said the third voice. “She will steal your soul and she will take your life and all you cares’t for, and leave you in the mist and fog.”

“Flee!” said the second voice. “Flee, while there’s still air in your lungs and blood in your veins and warmth in your heart!”

The nothingness stopped. Hard stone began to form under Frisk’s feet, and Echo Flowers sprouted in the cracks. Lights, not quite stars, formed in the ceiling. A wooden bench formed in front of them. It almost looked like a room in Waterfall. Frisk wondered if it was supposed to be a room out of Waterfall that they never found.

“We must stay in the darkness,” said the first voice, their voice growing fainter than ever. “Flee while you can, but peradventure, you can find our souls…”

Frisk was alone again. They took a seat on the park bench that had formed, ignoring the rush of memories that came with it.

The Other Toriel was going to hurt them. There was no reason to doubt it.

So why did Frisk feel like the real monster?

Their foot collided with something. Frisk was shaken out of their reverie long enough to investigate. It was some kind of food, something like a quiche, somewhat burned and wrapped in foil.

“I just couldn’t handle the responsibility,” said the Echo Flower.

Frisk understood.

The shift from Snowdin Town to the Waterfall was abrupt. It was almost like Coraline had stepped into a different room. The snow quickly melted off and faded into cold earth beneath them. The cold air grew damp, and for the first time Coraline really felt like they were in the underground.

There was one thing familiar about the Waterfall, however. There was a wooden sentry station, the same kind sans had manned. It even smelled like sans’, Coraline realized, ketchup and grills.

Her stomach rumbled, and she realized the last thing she had to eat was some of Papyrus’ spaghetti. Maybe sans’ food was halfway edible.

She moved into the sentry station. True to her suspicious, it was filled with bottles of ketchup and boxes of buns. The hot dog itself, however, was…water sausage? Not something edible, at least.

The only other thing inside was a small journal, worn with use. Coraline flipped through it absently. The pages were filled, either in a language she couldn’t read or with formulas that made her head spin. She settled on one page. A drawing of a human child, detailed rather well for someone as lazy as sans. Underneath was scrawled don’t trust them, the don’t cross out heavily and the trust them underlined several times.

“heya kid.”

Coraline nearly jumped at sans’ voice. She hadn’t heard him approach again.

“though you might like your raincoat back. you won’t have much use for that sweater through waterfall.”

Coraline had nearly forgotten about the sweater. “Thanks for letting me use it. I think one of Papyrus’ attacks may have cut it a bit.”

“oh? you fought my bro?”

There was a tenseness in his voice, Coraline noticed. The kind that sounded like he didn’t know what to think. She looked up at him, and noticed his smile stretch ever so slightly.

“He challenged me so he could capture me,�� Coraline said. “I convinced him that we could be friends.”

“ah,” sans said. “yeah. my bro’s pretty cool like that. hope he didn’t give you a bad time.”

Coraline grew silent for a minute as she watched sans. He un-tensed, but only slightly. His eyesockets were still firmly focused on Coraline, in a way that she could not read. She felt her sins crawling on her back.

“Say, sans, am I the first human in the Underground?” Coraline asked.

The lights in sans’ eyes flickered for only a moment.

“nah. not that many that i’ve heard of, though,” said sans. “not sure what happened to the others.”

“Did your brother capture them?” Coraline asked.

“no. paps was a baby bones the last time a human came through here,” said sans. “hey, humans get hungry, right? care to pry me from my work and go to Grillby’s with me?

“I think I ought to get going,” said Coraline.

“alright. just let me know if you change your mind,” said sans. “i’ll be slaving away here at my checkpoint.”

“I thought your checkpoint was in front of the Ruins?” Coraline asked.

“what? you’ve never seen a guy with two jobs before?” sans asked.

Coraline waited until he had sat down at his checkpoint before waving to him and leaving. She did not feel the eye sockets leave her until she was far away.

If sans had never seen another human before, then who had he drawn in the journal? Did Papyrus not being old enough to capture a human make him not old enough to capture a human? Had the other human been captured, and if so, what became of them?

Coraline was so lost in her thoughts that she hardly noticed herself wander into the thick grass until it encompassed her vision. Every blade was at least as tall as she was, and it was impossible to see around it. She took another step forward.

“HELLO UNDYNE. I’M HERE WITH MY DAILY REPORT,” said Papyrus.

Coraline froze. She could not hear who he was talking to, but it was impossible to mistake his voice.

“UHHH…REGARDING THAT HUMAN I INFORMED YOU ABOUT EARLIER…HUH? DID I FIGHT THEM? Y-YES! OF COURSE I DID! I FOUGHT THEM VERY VALIANTLY! …WHAT? DID I CAPTURE THEM…W-WELL, NO…I TRIED VERY HARD, UNDYNE, BUT IN THE END…I FAILED. W-WHAT? YOU’RE GOING TO FIND THEM? BUT UNDYNE! YOU DON’T HAVE TO DESTRYO THEM! YOU SEE…I SEE. I WILL HELP YOU OUT IN ANY WAY I CAN.”

Papyrus hadn’t helped her at all. She was still going to be captured. That is, unless she did something about it first.

Coraline dared not to move until she heard a set of footsteps fade off into the distance. Then she ran, as fast as she could. She did not slow down even as she heard a set of footsteps behind her.

“o�H<_�2�?"

Frisk jumped. ‘Voice’ was not quite the right word for it. It was a set of sounds, vaguely in a patter that sounded like human speech.

All of a sudden, Frisk was not alone. The new person towered over them, even taller than Toriel was. Its body was covered in a heavy black cloak, the inside in a constant state of motion that made Frisk’s head spin. His face looked more like a worn mask, with two holes pouring into an eye and mouth.

Somehow, the figure managed to convey an expression of mild embarrassment. It raised its hands, nothing but bone and with two holes coming out of its palms.

It moved its hands closer, and Frisk flinched away from it. It took them a minute to realize how the hands moved.

Child? It signed. Are you all right?

Frisk didn’t know what to say. They raised their hands to sign. To wipe away the tears that were threatening to burst from their eyes. To do anything.

How did you come about here, child? The monster asked.

Frisk didn’t know what to say. They settled for making a gesture that looked as if they dropped something.

Lost? The monster asked. How did you end up lost in this world?

Lost me, Frisk said.

The monster looked like they didn’t know what to say to that. Their hands trembled slightly as they signed again.

I am here for much the same reasons, they said.

Their face did not show expression, but somehow Frisk could tell they were stepping in sensitive territory. They decided to change the subject.

What’s your name? Frisk asked.

It has been a long time since I have needed a name. The monster answered.

Everyone needs a name, even if you have to make one up yourself, said Frisk. My name’s F-R-I-S-K, but I haven’t been using that one for very long.

The monster let out a set of noises that almost, almost, sounded like a chuckle.

In life, I was known as W-D G-A-S-T-E-R. You may call me that, if you wish, They signed.

Are you a skeleton monster, WD? They asked.

Gaster nodded.

I’ve met a few skeleton monsters. P-A-P-Y-R-U-S and S-A-N-S, Frisk said. You remind me a lot of S-A-N-S.

Gaster stopped his walking. He signed something, so quick and with so many unfamiliar signs that Frisk couldn’t catch it. He caught on to their confusion, and asked again.

You have met S-A-N-S? He asked, his movements slow and fluid.

Frisk’s hands were shaking too much to sign back, so they nodded.

He is well?

kids like you…should be burning in hell.

I think I hurt him, Frisk said, once they managed to get their hands to stop shaking.

I believe I have too, Gaster let out a noise like a sigh.

Coraline ran through the Waterfall. She ran past the waterfall carrying rocks she had to dodge, ran through the puzzles that were supposed to be solved with bridge flowers, and ran over the boarded piers that connected areas of Waterfall to others. She only stopped running when she caught a ferry ride on a monster’s face. She got three gold in return.

Undyne continued to chase her.

Waterfall grew dark, but Coraline continued to run. More piers awaited her in complex patterns, making makeshift walkways for the citizens of Waterfall to get from house to house. Spears shot from the ground under her.

Undyne was getting closer.

Coraline dodged the spears that blocked her path. She ran until she could not run anymore.

Undyne was right behind her.

Coraline hardly noticed the bridge stop until it broke, already far worn from the effect of dozens of spears. Then she fell.

I understand you are hurt, said Gaster, but this place is not safe. There are many things here that will not hesitate to hurt you.

I know, Frisk admitted. But I don’t know what else I can do anymore.

Gaster did not say anything after that.

WD? What do you do when you hurt someone, but want to fix it? Frisk asked.

Gaster thought for a long time.

You do everything you can to prove you are better than that, I suppose, said Gaster.

Coraline woke up to the sounds of the phone Toriel gave her. She answered, not thinking about who would be trying to contact.

“HELLO!!! THIS IS PAPYRUS!!!”

Coraline remembered what happened the last time she saw Papyrus. “How did you get this number?”

“WELL, I DIALED EVERY NUMBER SEQUENTIALLY UNTIL I GOT YOURS!!! BUT THAT IS NOT IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW! I HAVE A VERY IMPORTANT QUESTION!”

“Does it have anything to do with Undyne?” Coraline asked.

“YES!!!” Papyrus said. “YOU ARE QUITE ASTUTE FOR A HUMAN!!! HAVE YOU MET YET!?”

“No. But I did hear you talking to her about me,” said Coraline. “I thought you didn’t want to capture me anymore!”

“I DON’T! BUT YOU SEE…” said Papyrus. “UNDYNE’S OPINION OF YOU IS QUITE…MURDERY. I THOUGHT I MIGHT BE ABLE TO LEAD UNDYNE OFF YOUR TRAIL BY WORKING AGAINST HER!!! THAT WAY, YOU CAN STILL MAKE IT TO THE BARRIER WITHOUT DYING AND I WILL STILL HAVE MY FRIENDS!”

The anger in Coraline’s soul faded away. She couldn’t be mad at someone who was genuinely trying their best.

“It’s a little late for that,” said Coraline. “Undyne’s already spotted me.”

“DRAT. BEING FRIENDS WITH EVERYONE IS HARD!” Papyrus said. “BUT DO NOT WORRY, HUMAN! THE GREAT PAPYRUS SHALL ENDEAVOR TO COOK UP A PLAN TO GET YOU TWO ON BETTER TERMS! THAT WAY, MY FRIEND QUANTITY WILL CONTINUE TO FLOURISH!!! NYEH HEH HEH!!!”

He hung up before Coraline could answer back.

They found themself back in the Judgement Hall. A figure lay before them. The bells chimed.

So you finally made it.

If we were really friends, you wouldn’t come back.

Frisk shook away the bad feelings. They weren’t going to be judged. They were going to make everything better.

“heya kid. wow, you got tossed pretty far, didn’t ya?” the other sans asked. “you won’t tell your mother about this, would ya?”

Frisk shook their head and joined the other sans.

“yeah. let’s get home kiddo,” said the other sans. “say, let ya wear my jacket back for 5 gold.”

Frisk decided to decline. They didn’t say anything until they were firmly out of the New Home area of the Other World.

s-a-n-s, what do you think of other T-o-r-i-a-l? They asked.

The other sans slowed down. Sweat began to form on his skull.

“well, she’s great, y’know?” said the other sans. “she made all of this, just for you, after all.”

I think I need to go back to the Underground for a bit, and I want to know how to ask her, Frisk said.

“oh, is that all?” said the other sans. He didn’t sound relieved. “well, the best way to get her to do anything is to challenge her to a game. she won’t turn ya down.”

What kind of game? Frisk asked.

“well, you could always have a finding game,” said the other sans. “there are a lot of things here she kept hidden. just make sure you know what to look for. if you ever need a hint, i’ll be willing to give you some advice, on the house. think there are a few other monsters that’ll be willing to give you a hand if you can find them. say…past the Judgement Hall?”

Isn’t that cheating? Frisk asked.

“she ain’t above it,” said the other sans. Phalanges tapped on femur nervously. More sweat dripped from the top of his skull.

He was nervous, Frisk realized.

Thank you sans, they signed.

“no problem kiddo,” the other sans said. “i’m rooting for ya.”

They reached the home. The other sans kept his distance as Frisk entered the house, and didn’t turn to leave until they appeared in the window to sign thank you to him again.

Now came the hard part.

They found the Other Toriel in the kitchen again.

“Hello, my child. You were out for longer than I had anticipated,” said the Beldam. “Would you like to talk about it?”

How do I exit the Ruins?

#fic #Into the Unknown #undertale #coraline #Frisk #Coraline Jones #sans #Papyrus #Undyne #the Other Mother #Gaster #featured

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