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skylerscull1 · 2 years ago

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Gotham - Jerome Valeska Character Analysis / Ramble

Jerome was told that his legacy was death and madness, he was told that "You will be a curse upon Gotham. Children will wake from sleeps screaming at the thought of you. Your legacy will be death and madness." Paul Cicero, his father, had watched Jerome being treated harshly time and time again throughout Jerome's childhood, and had never lifted a hand to help him. Jerome, even before his brother Jeremiah left him, had been dealt the wrong hand in life, one bad day after another until one day he couldn't take it anymore.

In season 3, episode 3 of Gotham, Jerome confronts his father about the wrong-doings that were done to him during childhood. Jerome says to him, "You remember Kansas City, Dad? The circus went through town every spring right around my birthday? There was this guy. Him and my mom used to drink and fornicate and beat the crap out of me. They'd make a whole night out of it. And I remember one time... it was my ninth birthday... him and my mom had just finished round one of boozing, boning, beating up Jerome, and were deciding to take a little break. I was outside the trailer, and you were there. And you said: "Why are you crying, Jerome?" "It's my birthday. And my mom and the snake guy are beating me." And then you said: "This world doesn't care about you or anyone else, Jerome. Better to realize that now." And that was it."

A nine year old child was told that no one cared about him, he cried out for help, and no one - not even his own father, who he didn't know was his father at the time - bothered to listen to his cries for help. This was a child who was disillusioned about the world at a young age, forced to grow up early. The one kindness his mother ever gave him was lying to him about who his father was, deciding to let him believe that his father was a great sailor when in fact his father was just another one of his abusers.

At nine years old, Jerome was beaten down by his own mother and when he told Mr. Cicero, he was shut down. Nothing was done to help him, no one had come to his rescue. No one bothered to help. Being told that no one cares about you at such a young age can be damaging to a person.

Now imagine that the one person meant to be closest to you, the only person you have left, leaves too.

At ten years old, Jeremiah was the only thing Jerome had left, and he had left Jerome just like that. In the show, when we first see Jeremiah, he explains to Jim and Harvey why he left, "They hid me away to protect me from him. See, we were always different, Jerome and I. From our early age, I showed a proficiency for maths and design and Jerome mainly the mutilation of allycats. On my tenth birthday he held a cake knife to my throat. A few weeks later he lit my bed on fire. It was like living in a nightmare. My mother knew eventually one day he would succeed. So one day my uncle came to my room while Jerome slept and told me that he was taking me away, I had no idea where. But I kissed my mother goodbye, told her I loved her, and I never saw her again." Only none of that was true. We know that because not long after that revelation, Jeremiah and Jerome have an argument about it, and Jeremiah admits it was a lie.

"You're insane.” Jeremiah says, “And I tried telling mom but she didn't want to listen to me. You blame me for everything that's gone wrong in your life, but the truth is... Jerome, you were born bad." Jerome responds with, "Born bad huh? So that's why you made her think I tried to kill ya, right? What was it again? What was it?! I put a blade to your throat? No, no, no, no - I tried to light you on fire?!" "We both know you wanted to!" says Jeremiah "Yeah, that was a... funny story. Wasn't it?" "Okay... maybe it didn't happen exactly like that. But I didn't have a choice, and I was right. You killed our mother." Jeremiah justify’s his actions to his brother and Jerome ends the conversation with the following rebuttal: "She did deserve it though. After that whore hid you away, she gave up on me. Poisoned by your stories. You turned everyone I ever loved against me! MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD! Hah, I guess it's just like they say... we can all go insane with just one. bad. day." -Jerome

Already we know that Jerome was accused of something he never did. Jeremiah had turned everyone against him, everyone he ever loved or cared about. Lila, their mother, didn’t want to believe Jeremiah at first, at one point she still loved and had hope for Jerome. It was Jeremiah that made her give up on him. Clearly, it’s obvious that before Miah left, Lila was still harsh with Jerome. Jeremiah admits that he tried telling mom that Jerome was insane before and she never lived, Jeremiah had been telling stories and poisoning everyone against Jerome for a long time, it wasn’t just those three lies, this was a childhood of blame being put against a boy who was proven time and time again that no one cared about him.

When Jerome was little, his uncle, Zachary Trumble, put his hand into a pot of boiling chicken stock because he tried to steal a snickerdoodle. “You remember that time you caught me trying to snag a snickerdoodle? Oh, that soup you made that day. Mmm, mamma mia! What was the special ingredient again? Ah, right. It was my hand. The one you dipped in a boiling pot of chicken stock! That smell, it was mouthwatering!" Jerome and Jeremiah’s relationship hadn’t always been negative, they used to dare each other to sneak into the chuck wagon to steal one of Zachary’s cookies. At one point, the two twins did get along, and according to Jeremiah, “It’s always the ones you’re closest to that you have to keep an eye on.” He knows that personally, because he and Jerome used to be close.

No one had ever helped Jerome, he admits so himself when he talks with his uncle in Season 4 Episode 16, "It's been great catching up, Uncle Zach. You really brought back the utter helplessness of childhood." "Uh, you know, with Uncle Zach, the beatings just never stopped. They went on and on. And nobody ever helped me. Ever." Jerome spent his whole childhood feeling helpless, beating after beating with no one there to help him.

Abuse can leave a life-long effect on a person. Even in adult-hood, Jerome is bitter about what he went through during childhood, he’s stuck in the past. He spent 15 years waiting to find his brother, 15 years obsessing over a grudge, left wondering what he must’ve done wrong to deserve what he went through.

There’s many environmental explanations for behavior. Why do people do the things they do? How do our minds work? How does our childhood affect us? Those are questions that psychologists and other behavioral scientists ask everyday. Some people argue that the influence of nurture is stronger than nature. Common influences on a persons behavior includes parenting style. Depending on the parenting style used, it can affect children and their development in different ways and it can have a significant impact on how a child's personality and behaviors develop.

- The Authoritarian Parenting Style is frigid, filled with rules, and demands obedience. The children have very little, if any, say in what takes place. This form of parenting can lead a child to be moody and lack self-esteem. - Authoritative parenting style has rule setting that is flexible, it encourages children to make decisions and learn from them, children raised in this type of environment tend to be self-reliant, friendly, and self-confident. - Permissive parenting style allows children to do as they wish with few rules set to follow but it might result in a child who has trouble making decisions or being held accountable for their actions.

From what information we were given, it’s highly likely that Lila’s parenting style would’ve been Authoritarian. Many children who lack self-esteem overcompensate in adulthood - which may lead to narcissism like behaviors or symptoms. According to mayoclinic.org, some causes for narcissism are related to the way the child was raised. Parent-child relationships with either too much adoration or too much criticism that don't match the child's actual experiences and achievements can lead to narcissism. Jeremiah was favored over Jerome, he was a child-genus who was spirited away to a boarding school and graduated early with achievements over his belt. Jerome talks about his brother in Season 4, Episode 18, about how: "No parent will admit it but everyone's got their favorites. Right brother? The one who cleans their room, does their homework, doesn't try to kill everybody. Lil mister perfect over here, he was that guy. He got adopted by rich folks. Went to the top schools, the top college. Meanwhile, I got dragged through the circus by my depressed alcoholic mother. Forced to clean up elephant dung everyday."

Jerome went through cruel and unusual punishments. Jeremiah meanwhile was the favorite, the “perfect” one, the one who got everything handed to him on a silver platter. Jerome confirms that even before his brother left, Jerome was being abused. Some causes of sibling estrangement and sibling abuse are actually due to issues in a parents parenting style, whether that be not displaying ANY discipline or being outright abusive towards their children - or even just displaying favoritism. Parents who abuse their children set a negative example, if the parents repeatedly scapegoat one child and blame them for everything that goes wrong, eventually the other child will also learn that they can conveniently avoid responsibilities when things go wrong. There's three types of sibling dynamics that are toxic and can lead to “going down the wrong path” so-to-speak. The one I’d like to look at here though is “The Golden Child and the Black Sheep”.

Jerome is the family scapegoat, he blames his brother for everything that has gone wrong in life yes, but he also constantly faced abuse by members of his family, brought down by the ones he was closest to and forced to face expectations that he was told he’d never meet - expectations he would never be able to meet. He was the scapegoat that Jeremiah used to get out of the circus, the scapegoat his mother used to vent her anger out on, the scapegoat his uncle Zach used to satisfy his cruelty. The adults around them taught Jerome that he needed to be stronger in order to survive in a world where it was kill or be killed, a world where the strong stood at the top and the vulnerable suffered for it - they taught Jeremiah that the abuse they put onto Jerome was acceptable. Jerome never had a chance from the very beginning. Because lets face it, his brother was the “perfect” one, the one he’d never be able to reach. Nothing he ever did was enough. He had lived a life of pain and suffering, one bad day after another.

Parents who are quick to anger, who act unreasonably and lash out regularly, teach their children that these are acceptable behaviors. Jerome was punished for reasons not even he likely understood, and watched as violence against him were practically encouraged. The weak were brought down by the strong, the vulnerable were beaten without consequence. He was taught again and again that being vulnerable did nothing but bring him pain. Jeremiah was the golden child, and Jerome suffered for it. As a kid, facing a reality like that can break you beyond repair.

Jerome was taught this:

- The world doesn’t care about him or anyone else.

- No one will help or save him.

- He’s on his own.

- Being vulnerable gets you hurt.

It’s not entirely Jeremiah’s fault what happened to Jerome, he too was a victim of their circumstances. They were both raised in a horrible abusive environment, they were both kids who wanted out and weren’t properly taught the difference between right or wrong. Neither of them had properly learned responsibility. Children lie, children get scared, and they do things that they can’t take back. They make mistakes, because they’re children who don’t know any better, children who don’t quite understand consequences or real-world cause and effect. When people are desperate or afraid, sometimes they’ll do anything to get an out. Children can also be cruel. Children learn from their environment, from the people who raised them, so it’s no wonder that Jeremiah did what he did, it’s not surprising for me to know that Jeremiah had lied about Jerome. By the time Jeremiah would’ve realized his mistake it would’ve been too late to take it back, sometimes it’s easier to keep a lie going even when you know it’s wrong then to admit that you lied in the first place. A lot of the time, people will stick to their lies for years after originally telling it because they’re in too deep to go back out, it’s difficult to admit that you lied about something, especially something that can cause such turmoil in a family. It’s difficult to turn back. And sometimes the guilt of a lie can stick with a person for the entirety of their lives.

To a child, being told that they’re on their own, that no one cares, being forced to face the reality that no one will help him, that can lead a person to snap later in life. As we grow older, that kind of stress can lead to depression, it can lead to us lashing out. It can lead a person to snap, just like how Jerome killed his mother. Too much pressure weighed down on him for so many years, and he snapped just like that. Jerome was a product of a lifetime of abuse, and instead of drowning under the pressure, he came out stronger for it, twisted and warped as a person, but he didn’t give up at life like most people might. Even in a world where life has no meaning to him, where he felt helpless, where he had no reason to keep going - he managed to hang on to life. Jerome refused to give up, he got back up again and again. He lived, even in the midst of madness, even when he knew no one would be coming to save him, he kept going, he got right back up whenever he was knocked down, no matter how many times they tried to break him, he got back up.

Even when dead, Jerome kept a smile on his face. He climbed his way to the top, he lived on even when he saw no value in his own life (he held a gun to his head with no fear, he let himself fall from a ledge with a smile and a laugh) but he did see value in the legacy he’d leave behind. Because Jerome isn’t the victim anymore, finally he made himself matter, he freed himself from what made him so miserable his entire life. And that freedom, the knowledge that his mother could never hurt him again, the thought of making something of himself, proving everyone wrong who ever made him feel helpless and useless, making the world care about him one way or another.... that freedom, free from the shackles of sanity that only ever brought him suffering, that freedom brought him happiness. For the first time in his life, he was the one on top, HE was the strong one. People loved him, people listened to him, all eyes were on him. Jerome would be remembered. It’s no wonder that he turned out the way he did, and he wasn’t half-wrong with his speech about sanity being a prison of the mind, about madness leading to freedom. Because he’s talking about his own experiences.

Snapping and going insane set him free, he stood up and refused to be beaten back down, he embraced the very thing people accused him of being all along: “Crazy”. He owned the word, and proved everyone right while also proving them wrong. What’s more mad than that?

Just like how the song “I Go Loony” from Batman; The Killing Joker says: "When the world is full of care And every headline screams despair When all is r---, starvation, war and life is vile Then there's a certain thing I do Which I shall pass along to you That's always guaranteed to make me smile Yes! I go looney - Mister, life is swell in a padded cell It'll chase those blues away"

Madness saved him, cruelty made him.

“All it takes is one bad day to drive the sanest man to lunacy.” It’s more like a symphony of bad days, but he wasn’t wrong. Jeremiah was his bad day.

#gotham #gotham jerome #jerome valeska #character headcanons #character headcanon #character analysis #psychology #gotham jeremiah #jeremiah valeska

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outpost51 · 1 year ago

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😭

🌳

for the snippet asks fuck me up man

Snippet Asks

🫡 with gusto! let's hurt ourselves with helix bc the prologue really popped off actually

😭 share a snippet that will break our hearts

None of the sticky-outie bits on a turian were attached to the skeleton, and even if they were, all of his sure as hell weren’t anymore. In a fight with just biotics, the trained spec-ops bastard would have won. She hadn’t been taught by anything more substantial than a few shoddy extranet videos she watched in secret. Her amp was barely functional, much less combat-ready.

Maybe the Alliance was scared of the rabid animal too.

She caught sight of her reflection in a dark store window, hunched over and heaving, mouth and hands dripping blue as the mutilated remains of what was once a person only in physical form twitched and gurgled at her feet. Maybe they were right to be.

“Jesus Christ, Janey,” came a wheezy laugh behind her. “My pops woulda loved your ass on Shanxi.” Jerry had already struggled himself free by the time Jane made it to his side; she had to catch him as he stumbled away from the wall.

She hacked up a wad of blue blood and phlegm over her opposite shoulder. “That one just looked like a regular blade,” she remarked. The manic wobble in her voice betrayed her confidence. “Just gotta get you gelled up, you’ll be alright.” The further they got, however, Jerry’s weight kept increasing as he leaned on her more for support, and with how much she’d used her biotics and moved around in general without eating, she didn’t think she could make it all the way back to her brother.

“Janey, I gotta… gotta sit down,” Jerry rasped. He gave her no choice in the matter, sliding off her shoulder to drop heavily onto a bench. “Just go on ahead, I’ll read a magazine or something.”

She shook her head. “Nobody left behind, Smith.”

“Don’t you go backtracking on me now, Miss N5.” His weak smile was interrupted by a coughing fit. They both ignored how the bloody saliva didn’t even make it halfway down his chin before it congealed. “That Icarus-Texas shit hurts like a bitch.”

Because it’s thickening your blood in your veins, her brain helpfully replied. She closed her mouth tighter so the echo wouldn’t make it out. “I’ll get Cohen, steal one of those electric carts—”

“You know that’s not gonna do anything, Janey.”

She did. It didn’t mean she didn’t want to be ignorant of the fact. To let herself be foolishly optimistic. “We’ll come back for you.”

“You better,” he chuffed. “Don’t let ‘em put me in those stuffy-ass blues.”

Jane pretended to clean the blood from her face with her sleeve and coughed to hide her sniffle. Alliance Marines didn’t cry. N5s didn’t cry. The leader of the Tenth Street Reds didn’t cry. But she’d be the only witness left alive, right? Jane Shepard could cry. Just a little. She’d earned it. She slumped onto the bench next to him and leaned over until she could rest her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“For what?” He sounded tired.

She shrugged. “Everything. Being a dick. Snubbing all of you. Cutting myself off.” A bitter laugh built under her breath. “You know I really thought about going to that stupid dance?”

The weight of Jerry’s cheek settled on top of her head. His scruff tugged at her roots with his smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she snorted. When he dropped his Firestorm in her lap, she didn’t push it away. “I couldn’t find a dress that made my arms look pretty. Didn’t wanna make you the talk of the town for the wrong reason.”

“Shit, Jane, you’d be pretty in a trash bag.” Jerry nudged her with his shoulder and nearly slipped off the bench. “I’d a’ still tapped it.”

Jane couldn’t stop the ugly, wet sputter of laughter, but the gentle motion of Jerry’s growing smile could. Had the circumstances been different, she might have called him a pig. It didn’t feel right. Instead, she sat up and held his face steady to kiss him. Just once. Quick, chaste, one last attempt to wrap up his affairs so he wouldn’t be stuck here forever. His cheeks were clammy under her palms. “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“Give ‘em hell, Janey.”

He was gone before she could fully ease him onto the bench. She was gone before his body could cool further than she could pretend he was just resting while she went to get help.

🌳 share a snippet featuring nature of any kind

They had made it half the short trek to the attached resort when a rush of cold smacked the back of John’s head and sent him sprawling. The bright, breathless laugh gave away the culprit before he even got up to look, but when it turned into a sputter, he panicked, worried that would be it, that they had moved too fast —

Jane launched a retaliatory snowball at Jerry, causing him to miss his next throw and hit Ahmed square in the chest. Ahmed froze. In the alpine forest behind them, a tree branch cracked under the weight of perpetual winter. The entire group whirled on it out of Alliance-honed instincts, then, upon realizing the source, laughed it off and turned back to Ahmed just as he crumpled into the red snow at his feet.

Somewhere in the distance, John heard a muffled shout about snipers. Hands jostled his shoulders, shoved at him, urged him to move. He was vaguely aware he’d told Ahmed to get moving, get to cover, but Ahmed remained frozen, eyes dulling slowly as the life leeched out of him into the steaming slush. He didn’t reach for his backpack, so John grabbed it for him. He could run faster unencumbered. Something solid — a pistol, still warm from its last shot — was pressed into his hands, his finger manipulated over the trigger. Frozen vengeance, blood-red and hungry for more, rose up from the ground and rushed past to crash over another poor soul. Heat splashed onto his face, stinging like bacon grease in the cold.

“Move your ass, John!” Jane barked, a knife still buried in the throat of a flickering ghost —

No. A man. Armored, armed, bearing a tactical cloak and an unknown crest on his pauldron. But Elysium was safe from pirates. It had orbital defense. It had armed guards at the spaceport. They’d only gotten through security with weapons at all because they had prior clearance.

#my fic #sneeps.txt #helix series #stellar parallax

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blizzardstarx · 8 months ago

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”(Finally, the bells are announcing that time)

if the whole world plots to extinguish your light,

(I can feel my heart break with each passing chime.)

If they did the need to make you break and cry,

(With your eyes averted, you look to the sky.)

Don't you worry, dear, I am right by your side.

(and the blade whistles down as you call out my line)

So just smile for me; it'll be alright.”

CRYIJG. REMINDS ME OF YOUR VANESSA & CASSIDY. :(((( (but could also. Also be about Mike & Garrett tbh. The last parts)

NOOOOOOOOOO

IM SOBBING SJSJSJSHDSK CASSIDY AND VANESSA </3333

the lines up to “don’t you worry, dear, i am right by your side” just remind me of cat!vanessa and cassidy and at the end fight of the movie just cat!cassidy watching it all go down but too much of a coward to show his face, instead telling the other kits to go on

he wants to destroy his father so badly but he cant face his sister, but hes still by her side, even though he never appears to her, only through writings of “ITS ME”

“and the blade whistles down as you call out my line” cat!vanessa shouting at her father “i wont let you hurt her too” as cassidy said that to him to protect her from him when they were kits… on her tenth birthday…

also i can see how the last few lines fit mike and garrett.. the last line sjdjdjsj

#blizz’s nonsense #cat!vanessa au #ask!!!#sotogalmo #audrey!!!#vanessa afton #vanessa shelly #fnaf movie #william afton #cassidy afton #garrett schmidt #mike schmidt #fnaf au #cat au

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orange-plum · 3 years ago

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So I was commissioned by @andrastesassets to write about the scene in “Satan and Me” where Satan gives his wings away for Natalie, but from his POV. This was kinda a big turning point as a wake-up call in the series for him, as you’re probably aware if you’ve read past that point and seen him be more open with his feelings and such. Anyway, it was a fun little thing to explore (yes, this is canon thoughts of his). I never expected to be commissioned to explore deeper into a canon of my stories that hasn’t been put into words before with the images alone of the updates, but I’m def open to that in the future!

Without further ado, here you go.

The looming presence behind him paled in comparison to the disorienting lurch his stomach gave as he kneeled on the unwelcoming cement floor. Keeping his gaze down, concentrating on the little tremors of his arms holding him upright, Satan struggled to properly see through the fog of stress clouding his mind. Clouding his judgement.

Fuck, this wasn’t the right thing to do, was it? Was he being too hasty? Should he spring up and sprint out the door before he followed through with something he couldn’t come back from? This was definitely one of his more impulsive and reckless decisions he’d ever committed to. Nothing could truly be worth this kind of –

Satan’s hand twitched, starting to rise as nerves got the best of him, when a blur of orange and maroon hovered on the edge of his peripheral. For a brief moment, he found himself vaguely wondering what the smudge of color was in the expanse of drab brown walls and muted trim.

Reality came crashing against him like an unforgiving tide for what seemed like the tenth time this morning. Sweat gathered at the base of his neck and he swallowed.

Satan returned his palm flat against the cement, locking his joints and muscles into place so that he would not stand up. His stomach did another discombobulated lurch.

Right. This was for Natalie. Natalie, who had no right looking so gray, Father, she was like a corpse.

She is a corpse! His mind howled the confirmation at him, leaving his breaths shallow in his welling panic.

Yes, that was true. It had been true for hours now, yet, somehow, the complete depth of what that really entailed eluded him in his denial. How could she be dead when she had talked to him only moments ago? Human’s lives had always felt fleeting, but had any ever felt quite this temporary before?

Less than a year they had been together . . . How had she burrowed this deeply under his skin? When? Satan tried to conjure a memory to pinpoint the exact moment Natalie had become a constant in his life as he bore his back to Death and Pestilence. In the end, it was fruitless. Between his ears remained endless static.

The tension in the air was suffocating. His arms trembled, but he kept his jaw clenched.

He would give them no further satisfaction when taking the last bit of value he still possessed of his former self. They would not see him fall apart at their feet. That could come later, when left in the privacy of this cold, dreary room, where he could lick his wounds and recover in peace.

He was still Lucifer, the Morning Star and omen of destruction to all who opposed him, wings or not.

But, fuck . . . Father, he would prefer to keep his wings.

Somehow, boneless and lightheaded from the trauma of the morning, Satan noticed, with a small sense of intrigue, that his back actually felt heavier now that it was empty. How was that possible?

The long gashes where the trunks had been swiftly carved open spewed boiling trails of lava down his skin, soaking into the hem of his robe and pooling Great Lakes onto the floor. Energy had left in his limbs the moment the numbing kiss of Death’s blade breached his muscles.

On wobbling legs, Satan rose in his shock and joined Natalie at her side. He carefully reached toward her, gliding the tips of his fingers against her ashen cheek, almost afraid to touch, because she looked exactly the same. What the hell? She looked no different than when she had been splayed out like a weathered ragdoll amongst her bedsheets at sunrise, goddamnit.

Before he could garner enough strength to turn on his company and spew venom and vitriol from his lips, Satan froze. Warmth wafted over his fingers under her nose as he lowered his hand. Closer inspection revealed the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The nauseating cramping in his stomach abated so suddenly, he almost keeled over right then and there.

“Give it a few minutes,” Death commented over his shoulder, as if reading his mind. There was no longer a smile in his voice, his face a neutral mask as Satan glanced at him with gritted teeth, the sight of his former pride being folded up and collected like loose laundry too much to bear. “It takes a little while for a soul to acclimate into their body after death. I assure you, her color and liveliness will rekindle when she wakes up.”

Through the haze, Satan vaguely realized he must’ve been making some type of suspicious face when Death suddenly snorted and shook his head, his eyes gleaming. “For all we’ve been acquainted, Lucifer, you should know I’m not one to break my word. Give my regards to little Natalie when she rejoins the land of the living, won’t you. As always, it’s been a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you and your brother again when the time comes for your big day.”

With the room empty, peppered only with the soft sounds of Natalie’s breaths and the distant echoes of Death’s laughter down the desolate hallway, the elephant in the room was no longer avoidable. Satan slumped against a wall, transfixed by the rise and fall of the chest beside him. Even more so as the rosiness began to fill Natalie’s cheeks the longer she breathed life into her form.

His previous adrenaline had left him a hollow puppet, now that there was no longer the turbulent cocktail of anxiety and doubt weighing on his shoulders. Satan allowed himself to drift to the floor, lying beside the only person he had ever met who had compelled him to do something so utterly foolish. Jesus, her daredevil stunts to ground him at his lowest points seemed to have rubbed off on him, and likely not for the better.

Satan’s wounds throbbed at the edges, a constant reminder of the magnitude of what he had just done.

Don’t think about it, his mind lethargically reminded. What’s done is done, so don’t start regretting it now.

“Prophecy child, huh . . . ” Satan muttered, his arm leveraged under his head like a makeshift pillow. The light cascading through the windows almost seemed to light up Natalie’s hair in its luminescence. Amongst the carnage splattered around them from his sacrifice, she was ethereal and without blemish.

He had found out about the Child of Prophecy by chance, becoming enraged at the notion of being kept in the dark so late in the game. Natalie’s existence had changed from an everyday annoyance to one of unbearable burden.

She had the power to sway him? To sway his empire and everything he worked for? A being like that, who would steal his autonomy or cast him spellbound, was too dangerous to fraternize with. There was just too much on the line to risk throwing away for some goofy, loud-mouthed human without an ounce of self-preservation.

And so Satan had done the only logical thing he could think of at the time: He ran away, leaving her with that pitiful, crumpled face as he rejected her in that inconsequential Oregon town. The less time he spent with her, the better off he’d be.

Only . . . That had not played out as he’d hoped. Watching Natalie disappear over the side of a bridge had been like a bolt of electricity coursing through his body. That she would see him as the monster that he was, a grotesque monstrosity that even Michael had recoiled from, and attempt to help him, regardless? Well . . . Perhaps there was more to Natalie McAllister than he had originally considered. He’d cradled her close and winced while he repaid her kindness by accidentally boiling her alive.

Oregon was a wake-up call.

Natalie had piqued his curiosity, her smiling reassurance that she didn’t befriend monsters jumpstarting the heart in his chest that he had presumed stopped functioning centuries ago. Not only that, but he had no way of knowing he would soon find out that running toward the very man attacking her and her cowardly little friend, despite the blatant terror in her eyes, was only the tip of the iceberg.

“Oh,” Satan muttered, something foreign flooding into his chest, emotion catching in his throat as he stared at Natalie’s slumbering form.

Silencing Hell for him at the cost of her soul . . .

Calling him her guardian angel. Crying, not for fear of Hell, but for fear of being separated from his company . . .

As much as he wanted to deny it, the fondness in Natalie’s eyes as she smiled at him was undoubtedly genuine. She really did seem to look at him like he hung the stars above her head.

“I love you, Lucifer. I’m glad I got to meet someone like you.”

Satan trembled, unable to properly sort through the sensations overflowing from his chest as Natalie’s eyelashes began to flutter. Champagne bubbles tickled his stomach, and though not required to breathe to live, he felt so remarkably breathless at once.

So that’s what this is, Satan distantly thought, watching pale eyelashes finally parting to reveal a cognizant gaze, blinking against the trickle of sunlight warming her cheeks. When meeting Natalie’s eyes, he couldn’t keep the smile of relief from his face.

Satan understood that he had never experienced this before, but he somehow knew what to latch onto in his jumbled mind with unquestionable conviction.

I love her.

#satan and me #writing #its not technically but im going to tag it #fanfiction #writing commission #commission #andrastesassets

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deadprocess · 4 years ago

Note

will you ever write a follow up to idolize me? like maybe for when he finally talks to the reader or catches them

//I wasn't planning on it but for you, anon, I shall! Enjoy : )

T.W: descriptions of violence, mildly dubious consent //

It had to be punishment. By allowing himself to focus solely on you in past trials, Ji-Woon's sacrifice count had gone down and gradually displeased the entity resulting in your sudden absence. The first few trials didn't bother the killer as it was common not to see certain survivors repeatedly, especially if there was no prior deals made with the all powerful entity. It was after the tenth trial without you when the gears in the Korean's head started to turn.

At first there was only unbridled fury as the object of Ji-Woon's perverted affections was ripped away. How dare the entity. How dare it take you away from him! Did this thing, this beast in the sky, not understand who he was? He was a star. A god amongst men and one can't possibly punish a god. It was a simple mistake it made, he told himself. You'd come back to him.

However, his inflated pride and self assuredness slowly began to dissolve as more time progressed. His excitement squashed every time a new trial would begin and your splendid face wasn't in the small crowd of survivors. Ji-Woon once had mistaken another survivor for you but as he caught them by their jacket's hood and they shrieked, he knew before even looking at the person's face that it wasn't you.

"You aren't...," Ji-Woon trailed off as his lips curled upwards into a snarl, viciously seizing the masquerader by the throat to hoist them into the air with an unnatural strength bestowed upon him when he first entered the fog. "My angel would never let me catch them so easily!"

When the final blade pierced the poor survivor body, they were long dead. Ji-Woon's chest heaved as he screamed. The night sky pulsed with approval at the blood lust and rage fueled act of violence. Pointing a bloodied dagger towards it, the drenched killer bellowed his command, pushed past his limits and bloated ego.

"Give me what I desire. Give my angel back to me and I will stack bodies so high I'll be able to climb them and touch you!" Tendrils descended, coiling in interest at his words, "I'll make them scream for their mothers and plead for this hell to stop if you bring me what I want!"

and the fog rolled in with a thunderous rumble from the sky.

It was a slaughter for the next few trials. In order to prove himself worthy of his treasure, Ji-Woon became efficient and deadly. Wracking up his points with merciless and brutal kills. Toying with the survivors just enough to satisfy the entity's sadism before moving on to the next target and this effort would be rewarded.

The sweet reunion came just as the trickster brought his bat down hard on a man's knee, shattering it with a harsh crack and almost severing it, when he saw a flash of familiar colors in his peripheral. Spinning on his heel, his golden eyes locked with yours and the world ceased to exist around him.

You held his dreamy stare for only a few seconds before you darted off, leaving a lump of pure excitement in Ji-Woon's throat as he began his pursuit. His hands trembled around his weaponry, shakily aiming for your body as the two of you became interlocked in what he would call a dance. No matter how many pallets you would knock over or windows you would vault, the killer kept pace with lightness and determination in his step.

A particular dagger to the back of your knee made you stumble for just a second too long. His body crushed against yours as he tackled you to the ground, his arms locking around you in something similar to a bear hug and the two of you became trapped in a small death roll with you trying to escape his bruising grip.

"How I've missed you!"

His voice made you momentarily halt as you caught his piercing gaze. Your mouth went dry as his grizzled hand grasped your cheek, thumb stroking over the soft flesh.

"I thought I'd go mad if I didn't see you soon. You missed me too...you must have. You wouldn't have let me catch you if you didn't." The killer rambled a million words per minute. Your brain tried to comprehend what he was saying, but you couldn't keep up with his thought process. You missed him? He was stating this like it was fact.

"I-..."

"Stunning. Absolutely stunning," he cut you off, falcon eyes analyzing the curvature of your face with such intensity that you began to sweat. His fingers began to follow his gaze, tracing your brow line, nose, and down to your parted lips, "Just divine."

Ji-Woon's heart hammered as he slowly closed the distance between his lips and yours, taking in your gasp with this experimental kiss. Your body was rigged with surprise which he took as compliance and without a second thought his lips became rough, peppering feverish kisses from your lips to your face to your throat with desperation and over eagerness. You let out a startled cry, causing him to tremble with delight.

"Yes, cry for me," he purred as bite down on a particularly sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder, " You would have made the most beautiful music for my work....let me hear more!"

With his mind clouded from bliss Ji-Woon had accidently freed one of your arms which sent him reeling when you gripped his lilac locks and yanked, hard.

With a startled yelp from the disappointing pull back to reality by pain, his weight shifted enough for you to force him to roll on his back and pin him. Your eyes wide with a mixture of emotions as you mentally rewound what happened, but the moment didn't last long (as it never does with you) and you ducked off him and ran, albeit sluggishly.

Ji-Woon sat there simply watching your figure become smaller as you raced away, clutching the dark spot he left on your neck with your hair more tussled than usual. His eyes became heavy lidded as you turned, looking back at him for a brief second.

Ah, you were waiting for him. So he was correct in his assumption. You missed him. You were his. You just liked playing hard to get.

Standing and brushing off the dirt that clung to his coat, he grinned as you turned on your heel.

He'd catch you again. But the next time he did, he would never let you go.

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd the trickster #ji woon hak #slasher imagines #reader insert #slasher x reader #//description of violence

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crystalirises · 3 years ago

Note

FundXD au thrid part? Maybe the final confrontation between Dreamxd and George? imagine George offering to take Fundy's place, but XD teases him because he obviously only loves Fundy now (before Mumza saves the day!! or whatever you had planned if you already had something in mind).

Not me accidentally posting it separately. But anyway, here's the third part! I'm sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy this.

But yeah anyway, please do take heed of the trigger warnings. This is probably now what I consider the darkest and the most uncomfortable one-shot I've written. Like in terms of themes, yeah I am just: oh wow I wrote this huh...

So yes, please do heed the warnings and do not read it if any of the the warnings make you uncomfortable.

TW: Forced Relationships, Forced Kissing, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Captivity, Implied Harm, and A Lot of Dark Implications

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/84740365

“A radiant day for a wedding, do you not think so, my fox?” If only the mattress could swallow him whole. He buried his face on the silken sheets, pressing the pillow to the top of his head, wondering if he could suffocate himself if he tried really hard enough. “Beloved? You’re quiet.”

He rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to scream.

After a moment, he felt the twist of vines against his ankle, gently pulling him away from underneath the covers. Fundy let himself be dragged, having learned the hard way that clawing at the bed to keep himself from getting dragged was a bad idea. He shuddered at the bad memory.

“My darling star, don’t you agree that today is a splendid day for our wedding?”

No, he did not agree. There was no day where he’d ever even consider marrying the god.

“I don’t feel well. Can we move the wedding?”

“Do not lie.” The room turned colder, the chill of ice piercing through his skin that he nearly buckled underneath the pain. Then in just a second, the cold was gone. He was still in his their bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the glass-stained windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of color. XD was holding him by the elbow, their spherical head never faltering in its cheery smile, if one can call it a smile. The god pulled him into their embrace, holding him with such warmth that Fundy wanted to cry. They shouldn’t be so comforting. “You are well.”

“Ya…” Fundy felt like throwing up, “...well…”

For a god who had lived as long as the world, XD was not as patient as Fundy had hoped. It had only been a week, but the god had given up on Fundy’s flimsy excuses. Fundy had used every excuse that he knew: headaches, fevers, coughs, even “fainting” that one time XD had actually gotten him to stand on the altar. They had grown tired of waiting. Fundy turned his head towards one corner of the room, their wedding outfits only seemed to mock him. He shivered within the god’s hot touch, XD didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but they noticed the way he was staring at those, arguably, beautiful outfits. XD led him towards them, holding him by the arms.

“I could change your suit if you wish, anything for you, my fox.” Fundy paled, refusing to look at the suit now that it was in front of him. It was in a beautiful hue of orange pastel, decorated with a pastel green flower pinned to its chest. XD had chosen to wear a dress for the wedding, and if Fundy wasn’t being held there against his will, he might have even blushed at the thought of the god in a dress… walking down the aisle. It was a mostly white dress which faded into a pastel green in the middle and into a forest green at the bottom. “You could wear a dress if yo—”

“No.” Fundy already loathed the suit, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to wear a dress. At least XD didn’t mind, though - and Fundy knew it was stupid to feel - he found it somewhat adorable that XD wanted to wear a dress. The wedding dress suited them, even if Fundy didn’t want to marry them. The god hummed behind him, a low sound that had no lyrical or musical tone to it whatsoever, before picking him up. He shrieked, holding tightly to the god’s shoulders.

“My dear fox, the wedding will be divine, it shall take place the hour between day and night.” Fundy had a few hours of freedom. Then… He clenched his hands, angered that he no longer had his claws to tear into the god’s skin. “The wedding venue has not changed from the last time we tried to marry, but, sweet fox, would you wish for any new changes? What do you wish for?”

His only wish was to go home.

The god leaned down and Fundy knew what was to come. He closed his eyes, letting the god do what they wanted. Maybe he should have heeded his papa’s advice. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the god who seemed too kind to be true. Maybe he should have stayed at home and lived a normal life instead of searching for… he didn’t even know anymore. But he knew he missed his home, he missed his dads. He missed the normal life in their little cabin in the fields.

Once the god leaned away from the kiss, Fundy let out a sigh. “I want cake.”

---

“Wil, I love you, but now is the time for your ritualistic shenanigans.”

George tapped his foot on the muddy ground, placing his head in his hands as Wilbur ignored him for the tenth time. Wilbur had refused to say what his secret was, in favor of showing what his secret was. If George had known that said secret would involve Wilbur drawing intricate symbols in the mud, George would have gone deeper into the forest on his own instead.

After a few more seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, Wilbur finally stepped back, gesturing for George to come near him. He raised a brow, choosing to stand beside Wilbur despite the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave and go look for their son. George took in the symbol that Wilbur had drawn. He’d traced a circle in the mud, and within the complex lines, George could make out five symbols. The lines merged to showcase a woman. In her right hand, she held a blade. In her left, there were musical notes and discs emerging from her palm.

At the bottom of the symbol, the lines converged to create a pair of angel wings.

“Wil, is now the time to show me that you can draw—” He cut himself off once Wilbur started to chant under his breath. He stepped back, doubt racing through his mind. George had never been interested in magic, being more talented in redstone and engineering, but he feared those who excelled in the practice. Magic meant gods, and gods meant double-edged deals. “Wilbur…”

The symbol began to glow a light gray hue, the smell of metal and death tainting the air. His fear doubled, but he didn’t try to run off. Nervous as he was, he trusted Wilbur, his dear husband.

A splash of cold landed on his cheek, he brushed it away, but then a downpour of rain began to fall around them. The ground turned muddier, nearly grasping onto their legs. George looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of sunlight. It was raining despite the warm sun rays that were filtering in through the trees. The intricate symbol wasn’t affected by the sudden storm, its glow intensifying underneath the torrent of water. George didn’t know why, but he felt sick. A sickness that wasn’t nausea, it was worse. Like someone had taken a sharp pickaxe and started to chip away at his heart. He held a hand to his chest, grasping for Wilbur’s arm with the other.

Wilbur’s chanting had grown louder despite the rain, almost like he was fighting against the noise. The light gray glow had taken over the entire drawing, the lines scorched away by its brilliance. Then the world began to shake, and for a moment, George could hear screaming.

He slipped once the earth started to sink. Wilbur pulled him up just as the ground gave way, the symbol had caved in, going deeper and deeper until he could see bright red. He shuddered, but Wilbur held him close. He had half a mind to throw his husband an irritated glare. If his husband would stop with the theatrics for a moment and actually tell George what his secret was, then maybe he wouldn’t be second-guessing everything that's happening right now. He glanced back down at the hole. Wilbur had just opened a gateway to the underworld. Despite the red lights of the underworld, the chasm let out a chilling cold that seeped deep into George’s skin and soul.

“You’re a hellspawn, is that the secret? If so, it was not much of a secret I already knew that, Mr. Soot.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek. Once Wil had left George on stable ground, he watched as his husband walked close to the chasm. Wilbur reached down a hand. George wondered if Wilbur was asking to get kidnapped. “Wilbur, the dead can’t help us.”

“You’re correct. Zombies are pretty shit at… everything. Skeletons… perhaps.”

George took a breath through clenched teeth. He knew Wilbur was worried about Fundy too, but he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time with Wilbur and his shenanigans. XD had taken their son, a wish god had taken their son and George knew the god would refuse to let Fundy go.

“Wilbur, please. We need to find Fundy. XD would do anything they could to keep our son from ever leaving them, we have to go.” He pleaded, but Wilbur was too busy looking into the chasm.

George loudly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rain continued to pour around them, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose his way down the forest path due to the mud that was beginning to drown everything in its path. He turned to leave, but then a voice broke through the silence.

“A sunshower…? Did you forget to tell your own mum that you're getting married, Wilbur?”

---

Fundy flitted about the room, pressing his hands against his ears as the rain continued to pour outside. He didn’t know why XD had thought it would be romantic to marry one another while a storm threatened to destroy the land, but the constant tapping of the rain on the ground was beginning to grate on his ears. Despite the heavy rain, he hated the warm sunlight even more.

Why couldn’t the weather just be either gloomy or happy? It was a mockery of his life.

He glanced down at his suit, fixing the green flower so it wouldn’t fall off by accident. He didn’t know what XD would do if anything were to ruin their “special day.” He huffed, pressing his head against the glass window. He could see the neverending forest from there. XD had insisted that they live on one of the highest trees in the forest. They wanted to give Fundy a good view.

When XD had first shown him their abode, Fundy had been ecstatic to see the entire forest. He collapsed on a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. Now everything felt like a big joke.

It was so wonderful before, but he saw through the roses, and now knew their thorns.

He looked back up, worried for a moment that XD would be standing in front of him, ready to whisk him away to the altar. There was a shift of movement at the right side of the forest, perhaps XD reimagining the wedding venue now that the rain had completely ruined the god’s chosen outdoor setting. He took momentary pleasure at the thought of the weather going against the god’s wishes. No, today was not a radiant day for a wedding. But Fundy knew that a “little” storm wouldn’t stop the god. They were too excited, too eager to get the ceremony over with.

Fundy winced, maybe his constant escape attempts had been the cause of that rush. It had only been a week since the god had taken him captive and kept him in their domain, but Fundy had spent every day trying to find a way to escape. He’d given up after the fifth escape… after… Fundy pulled his knees close to his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep a reminder in his mind about how much he loathed the god and what they’d done to him.

The first attempt wasn’t even an attempt, it was him screaming until XD forced him to sleep.

The second attempt had begun the moment the god had gone into stasis, or the godly equivalent of what was sleep. The god’s hands were wrapped around Fundy, keeping him close to their chest, but Fundy had managed to sneak away after hours of slowly moving. He’d gotten to the door of the bedroom, unlocking it with a bobby pin that he’d found in one of the drawers. He’d gotten down the tree by the time XD realized he was gone. They’d teleported him back to the bedroom, vines growing against the surface of the door, effectively keeping him locked inside.

The third attempt was Fundy painstakingly cutting through the clump of vines after XD had left him to prepare for their wedding. He’d gotten through half of them by the time the god had come back. They’d been disappointed in Fundy, sad that he hadn’t even gotten dressed in his wedding suit yet. Then in a blink of an eye, the vines had grown back, with even more thorns than before. Then XD had whisked him away to the wedding venue, where Fundy then pretended to faint.

The fourth attempt was Fundy getting so frustrated that he took a chair and threw it at one of the windows. The glass shattered on impact, and he’d quickly tried to squeeze through the space, not caring for the shards that pierced his skin. XD had not taken that escape attempt all too lightly.

The fifth and last attempt… he’d convinced XD to give him some sand and gunpowder.

The god had been furious, even more so than what they’d been after the fourth escape attempt. Fundy had nearly killed himself in the process and had even attacked XD out of anguished rage.

Well… XD made sure Fundy could never attack them again.

Fundy sniffed, wiping at his tears. He didn’t want to be crying at his own wedding.

---

It was odd to have a wedding without a wedding officiator. Fundy kept his gaze on his hands, his fingers trembling each time XD traced his knuckles with their thumb. He could feel his throat dry up, his head heavy with nausea that he thought he was actually going to faint and fall over.

“Do I take Fundy Lore-Soot as my lawfully wedded husband?” XD paused, “I do.”

Fundy found it ridiculous. XD had taken up the mantle of wedding officiator, and if Fundy didn’t know any better, he would think that he was part of some comedic play or some big cosmic joke.

“And do you, Fundy Lore-Soot, take the god of wishes, XD, as your lawfully wedded spouse?”

Fundy gritted his teeth, he could feel the god’s magic in his throat. He could barely breathe a few seconds ago, but now it felt like he needed to speak like his life depended on it. “I do. I do. I do.”

He trembled, uncontrolled anger racing through his veins. It was torture to say ‘I do’ once, but the god forced him to say it three times, like Fundy was as desperate as them to get married. XD pulled him close, their gaze hot against his skin. He wished he would melt, that he could melt against the god’s touch and be swallowed by the grass. Anything that could set him free.

“Then by the power vested in me as the god of wishes, I now pronounce us married for eternity.”

The god leaned close, “I may now kiss the groom.” Fundy tried to move back, but the god had formed one more pair of hands. One hand held his hands, curled gently around his wrists. One hand was cupping him by the waist. One hand was on his chin, pulling his face up and towards them. The last hand was at the back of his head, pushing him forward and keeping his head in place. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his mind, refusing to accept what was happening. He focused on the life he’d lost, and his dads who would no doubt why he never came back to them.

After what felt like a lifetime, the god finally let him go.

Well, they didn’t. But they’d stopped kissing him in favor of picking him up.

XD laid him down on the altar.

Fundy blinked, holding onto one of XD’s hands out of fear. The god chuckled at the “endearing” display. “H-hey… the wedding’s over, ya? Time to head home, right? W-what are you doing?”

“The ceremony is not yet over, my star.” XD tilted their head, “You are still mortal.”

Any thread of cooperation they had established broke with that proclamation. Fundy screamed, pushing himself away from the altar just as a series of golden chains rose up from its sides. They wrapped around his arms and his legs, pulling him back down on the altar’s marble surface. He wailed, tears slipping past his eyes. He thought he’d only endure it for this lifetime, that the god would have no choice but to give him up to death at some point in the future. XD watched his struggle, summoning an intricate dagger. “Don’t worry, my sweet fox, I shall make it painless.”

“I OBJECT!”

---

George pushed past the leaven doors, not caring that the action caused the whole entrance way to collapse to a flimsy pile of autumn leaves. He stood at the end of the wedding venue, drenched from the rain. His heart beated loudly in his chest, his ears ringing as he made his way down the aisle. Wilbur was still by the entrance. George had told him to wait before he actually entered.

“Papa—” Fundy’s scream was cut off with a hand, the god having swiveled around to face whoever had dared to ruin their perfect day. George kept walking down the aisle, anger racing through his bones. His son looked so frightened. He clearly didn’t want to be marrying the god.

“Let him go, XD.”

“Why ever shall I do such a thing, my dearest friend, Georgenotfound? I have no intention of ever letting my newly wedded husband leave me. My old friend, I believe you are a few seconds too late. Fundy and I are married.” He heard Fundy scream out a protest, muffled by the hand that the god had left. George could see the tears on their son’s face, and his gaze turned towards the dagger that the god was carrying. He took the chance to look behind him, catching Wilbur’s pale gaze. His husband was looking at the dagger. “Leave before I cast you out. You are tresp—”

“I’ll take his place.”

The only sound that could be heard was Fundy’s fit of screaming. Wilbur was silent. XD had merely tilted their head, the god’s cold gaze meeting George’s eyes, piercing right through the goggles that he wore. He swallowed down the sickness he felt at the thought of marrying the go. XD had been his best friend once, and George had never thought of them in any other way. But the god had taken his friendship as romantic affection. “Fundy doesn’t love you.” The god reeled back, the ‘XD’ carved symbol on their head disappearing, only to return as golden chains that surrounded their white spherical head. “You and I know he doesn’t love you, and neither did I.”

George shook his head, “But I am willing to stay with you if you let him go.”

He met his son’s eyes, holding Fundy’s gaze for as long as he could. He worried it might be the last time they’d ever see each other again… if it went wrong… George shook his head. It won’t go wrong. He turned back to the god, the chains still present. “We could pretend like nothing has changed. I could stay here with you for all of eternity. We could be friends again, you and I. It must have been lonely when I left. You were never really great with making friends with others. We could try again. Just you and me, stuck in this forest forever. Like how it used to be. I won’t run away anymore. I won’t leave you ever again. Let Fundy go, and I’ll stay with you forever.”

The god was silent. For a moment, George thought they would agree. Then the ground disappeared from underneath him and a large hand was painfully gripping him by the leg. “No.”

Sharp cold pierced through his leg. The god glared down at him, “You are nothing to me.”

XD looked over at Fundy, “He… He is everything to me now.”

George placed his arms over his head, preparing himself for the fall. He heard the loud screech, and then his leg was free. He closed his eyes, but instead of hard earth, he fell into a pair of warm arms. He opened his eyes, embarrassingly laughing once he’d realized that Wilbur had caught him. His husband placed him back down, looking at his leg with worry when George stumbled. It wasn’t broken, but XD’s sharp cold magic would keep him from properly walking for a while.

Wilbur helped him away from the angered god. George looked up, watching as the hand that was previously holding him rotted away. XD screeched, turning to them, their golden chains glowing with a blinding light. A scythe appeared within view, striking the wish god right on their face.

The Goddess of Death entered the wedding venue, a disappointed look in her eyes.

“You should have let my grandson go, God of Wishes.”

=============================================================

Ambiguous ending but uh... I have preferred ending and it's def not the bad one.

Clarification for the title (which can't be seen here but is in the ao3 version): So a sunshower is a weather phenomenon where it is raining despite there still being sunshine. While the rain is not as heavy as a storm, I changed the rain here to be that like a rainstorm despite the sunlight that is still present. The reason for this is because where I'm from (or at least according to my mother) when a sunshower happens, that means a kapre and a white lady are getting married (or well, other Filipino mythological legends are getting married).

I just think with XD here being a somewhat monster of a god... well, poor Fundy having to marry him.

The sunshower is basically an indication here that a god is getting married, that's why Mumza asked Wilbur if he was getting married (also Wilbur is the god of music here, not all that powerful against a wish god).

#fundy #dreamxd #dreamwastaken dsmp #fundywastaken #fundXD #wilbur soot #georgenotfound dsmp #georgebur #goddess of death kristen #dream smp fanfiction #dsmp

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rax-writes · 4 years ago

Text

Enchanted - Part II

Fandom: The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina Pairing: Caliban x Reader Warnings: Violence, death + resurrection Notes: Part I ♥ Here’s part two! Hope you all like it!

Your relationship with Caliban did not remain a secret for long. Your sister was the first to know.

As you jogged over to her at the carnival the following weekend, you said, “Sister, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I know how the Plague Kings’ plan to overthrow you. They’ll be keeping an eye on you for any missteps, and once given probable cause, they will force you and Caliban to embark on a quest to retrieve the Unholy Regalia.”

She was visibly stunned, and understandably so. “That’s great! But how did you find all that out?”

“That would be the bad news.”

As if on cue, Caliban then materialized, and wrapped an arm around your waist – which was immediately noticed by Sabrina.

“What did you rope my sister into?” she snarled at Caliban, but you held up a hand to silence them both before the bickering began.

“Caliban came to me and stated that he wished to court me. I first tried to convince him to end the coup in exchange for courtship, but he explained that even if he wanted to, he is unable to stop the Kings. So, instead, the exchange became useful information for courtship.”

“Mhmm,” Sabrina mused disbelievingly, glaring at the man at your side. “And for how long does she have to date you?”

“The only requirement to fulfill our agreement is a single date, hence our presence at this mortal affair,” Caliban answered, then smiled warmly at you. “After that, the status of our courtship is up to my lady.”

“Oh. Well, that’s not so bad,” Sabrina muttered, then shrugged as she turned to you. “At least you can get this night over with and never have to see him again.”

“In all honesty… I am not entirely opposed to seeing him again,” you admitted hesitantly, and Sabrina’s jaw dropped slightly as her brows furrowed in agitation. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Sister. For Satan’s sake, have you seen him? He’s more than a little easy on the eyes.”

Caliban chuckled, both at your compliment and your sister’s obvious annoyance. “Come, little dove. Let us explore this fanciful event.”

Though the evening had been a delight, and you enjoyed your time with your date, you couldn’t help but notice that Caliban seemed slightly on edge all night. After the sun had gone down, and you’d surveyed the majority of the carnival, Caliban requested to take you to dinner in a nice restaurant. You agreed, and he thoroughly surprised you by taking you to a quiet, romantic rooftop restaurant in Italy, having remembered you stating that Italian was your favorite food. It was the following morning before you realized that he’d been sensing the impending danger of Herod’s attack. Coincidentally, he had disappeared for a short while during dinner, and although he’d claimed to have gone to the restroom, you learned from Sabrina the following morning that he’d actually returned to Greendale to collect King Herod's crown.

Naturally, the two of you had bickered about him cheating your sister the next time you were together, but his soft lips and skilled hands had done wonders to dissipate your anger. Although you refused to admit it, you were positively hooked from thereon out.

You told yourself that you continued the dates and the trysts simply because it was merely an enjoyable pastime. But in truth, it was because you were slowly falling for the prince. Knowing it was a mistake due to his allegiance to Hell, and his position as the enemy of your sister, created a forbidden nature to the romance, and it only made you crave him more.

Little did you know, Caliban felt the same for you. Your smile set his soul aflame, and your laughter made his chest tighten with affection. The sight of your hair fanned across your pillow, mouth slightly agape in pleasure, was not one he would ever grow tired of. He had fallen well and truly in love with you.

This information was kept secret from one another, because both of you were scared to admit such a thing and risk scaring the other away.

It wasn’t long after your mutual realizations that he met your aunts and Ambrose. Although they were all pleased to have met the object of your affection, and they remained civil with him, it was evident that each member of your family distrusted him, and questioned his intentions with you.

Their distrust turned out to be short-lived.

Immediately following your coven’s Hare Moon celebration, one of the Pagans had developed a very intense dislike for you. All it took was for her to sense that you were a very powerful member of your kind – that is, until your powers faded – and she, being a harpy, notorious for their insatiable hunger and lust for torture, had decided that she would feast upon your witch flesh as her next meal.

It was that evening when she appeared. You had been relaxing on the front porch of the Spellman Mortuary, and at first, you thought she was merely a mortal woman – then her wings spread out from behind her as her glamour faded, bird-like legs sprouted from her torso, and her face became hideous, decayed and rotting. You had instinctively tried to run, but it was futile. After all, harpies were originally thought to be the personification of wind, so it was unsurprising that you were in her clutches before you even made it to the door.

The harpy’s sharp talons dug into your shoulders, and you screamed for help as she launched you into the yard. You fell flat on your back, which knocked the wind out of you, and she was on you again in the blink of an eye. As you felt the most impossibly intense, agonizing pain across your abdomen, you screamed again as you glanced down and realized she had torn you open. She began feasting on your flesh and organs, blood dripping from her claws as she ravaged you.

You were vaguely aware of a horrified scream from Sabrina somewhere behind you. She had just swung open the front door of the Spellman household to see the ghastly scene before her, Aunt Zelda, Aunt Hilda, and Ambrose right behind her. With a roar of pure rage, Ambrose charged at the harpy with his blade drawn, which drew her away from you. Sabrina and Hilda then kneeled beside you, the former with tears in her eyes and a terrified look on her face as she held your hand, and the latter clearly trying to hide her panic as she unsuccessfully attempted to heal you. But your injuries were far too extensive, and your loved ones’ magick was far too weak.

The unmistakable sound of a gunshot pierced through the night air, and you weakly turned your head to see Aunt Zelda holding a shotgun, Ambrose a few feet from your attacker, and the harpy lying dead on the ground. The two then ran over to you, both dropping to their knees at your side, their faces just as solemn and fearful as Sabrina and Aunt Hilda.

It was then, looking upon the panic-stricken faces of your family, that you knew you were going to die.

Darkness began to cloud your vision, and you vaguely heard your sister sobbing, and aunts and cousin begging you to stay conscious, giving you empty promises that they would find a way to fix this, and that everything would be alright. In the midst of all their hysterics, it seemed an idea donned on Sabrina.

“Caliban!” she screamed desperately into the night, her voice breaking from the force as she put behind it.

He appeared instantly, the usual vortex of flames escorting him onto the scene. He opened his mouth, no doubt to make a smug retort to Sabrina’s unceremonious summoning, before his eyes fell on you.

“No,” Caliban whispered in disbelief, still frozen on the spot. Blood poured from your abdomen, and the sight of you torn open and half-dead filled him with a sense of gripping terror and worry he had never before experienced. He ran over to you, skidding to a stop on his knees and gently cradling your head in his hands.

“Do something!” Sabrina begged, a sob raking her body. Caliban panicked for a split second, then a solution came to him. It was a last ditch effort kind of plan, but seeing as your eyes had already drifted shut, and your body was growing colder by the second, he knew that he must do something that would absolutely ensure your survival.

“With a desperate heart and no time to waste, I call upon all three Fates!”

In a cloud of smoke, three hooded figures appeared. Each had clouded eyes, long white hair, and greenish-gray, wrinkled skin.

“Fates, I beseech you to save this woman’s life,” Caliban pleaded.

“In exchange for our aid, you must give up the fate you have been pursuing so fiercely.” The Fates spoke in unison, their voices raspy and eerie. “You must cease your pursuit of the throne of Hell, and no longer seek to make Earth the tenth circle.”

“I shall. Here and now, I end my quest to become King of Hell, and remake the Earth as the tenth circle,” Caliban vowed. The lack of hesitation and conviction in his voice astounded each of the Spellman’s, although that was but a minor thought in the back of their minds at the moment. “Just save the woman I love, please.”

The Fates disappeared without another word in another cloud of smoke, at the same moment that a ragged, desperate gasp tore from your lips. The Spellman’s and Caliban all snapped their eyes back down to you. The fatal wound had been healed, and even your clothing was fixed. You sat bolt upright, as if you’d just been necromanced back to life – and, technically, you had. As you looked around at your loved ones, the realization that you were alive and safe sunk in, and you immediately began to cry.

“I saw Dad. I saw him,” you sobbed pitifully, and your family took you into their arms. You despised how weak you sounded, but seeing your father was something you were entirely unprepared for. Caliban rubbed his palm up and down your back, not wanting to interfere with your familial embrace. Still crying into Auntie Zee’s chest, you explained, “I died. I died and Dad was there waiting for me. He hugged me and told me that he was happy to see me, but it wasn’t my time yet.”

It was several minutes before you were able to compose yourself, although you supposed that was somewhat to be expected for someone who had just died then came back to life. After your aunts wiped your tears, you turned around to look at Caliban.

“I know you had something to do with this. We’re all powerless right now, so that is the only explanation,” you whispered. “What did you do?”

Caliban hesitated a moment, so Ambrose answered for him.

“He called upon the Fates. They demanded that he give up the fate he has been pursuing, in order to save you. So, he vowed to give up the throne of Hell, and said it was to save the woman he loves.”

You looked slowly from Ambrose back to Caliban. He appeared slightly perturbed that Ambrose revealed what he’d said in that moment of fear-fueled vulnerability, but didn’t bother to deny it.

“Caliban… is that true?”

“As I’ve told you before: anything for you,” Caliban answered, giving you a soft smile. You threw your arms around his neck, and he immediately wrapped his around your waist.

“I love you,” you murmured, your face buried in his neck. Caliban held you tightly and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“And I love you, little dove.”

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allthingskenobi · 4 years ago

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Obi-Wan in Exile – Vader

(Originally published on AllThingsKenobi.com December 13, 2020)

Welcome to the first in a series of looks into Obi-Wan Kenobi’s time in exile on Tatooine between Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith and Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope. We’ve tried to mine as much Legends and canon material as possible to help guide you through some of the period’s most common and repetitive themes so that when the new Obi-Wan Kenobi series airs, you’ll be ready.

Not everything he ever did in the entire 19 years will be explored here, but as we said, we’ve tried our best to pick out the most prominent and impactful moments to give everyone a better understanding of exactly what one hermit had to endure out there all alone in the sandy deserts of Tatooine.

While Vader himself was not a common reoccurrence throughout Obi-Wan’s exile, the threat of him certainly was…well until now that is. As Vader so often does, he’s recently made his way back to the forefront of the story and will seemingly loom very large over the upcoming series, thus moving us to start with exactly what that might mean for Obi-Wan and how it might work with the canon boundaries we currently have. Yes, we understand that canon can change and probably will, but we do love a challenge.

“Vader,” Obi-Wan muttered. “Vader’s alive.”

DARK LORD: THE RISE OF DARTH VADER BY JAMES LUCENO L

Let’s start at the beginning. We have one instance in Legends where we see Obi-Wan learn that Vader survived Mustafar and it comes mere months after his exile on Tatooine begins. He first hears the name “Vader” mentioned again on the HoloNet during one of his trips into Mos Eisley and nearly faints before panicking to find a way to take Luke and run. (1) This early recognition seems to be reconfirmed in later canon as one of Ben’s greatest fears in the third year of his exile continued to be “sand crunching beneath heavy black boots, a dark cape billowing in the desert squall, the mechanical wheeze of a respirator.” (2) So will we see Obi-Wan only just learning of Vader’s fate in the tenth year of his exile? I’d say that’s highly doubtful unless the show provides a flashback for us—which we will gladly accept.

“Instead, Padmé was dead and Obi-Wan was running for his life, as stripped of everything as Vader was. Without friends, family, purpose…”

DARK LORD: THE RISE OF DARTH VADER BY JAMES LUCENO L

At the same time, Vader was also very convinced that Obi-Wan was still alive and would remain so despite his greatest efforts. Because if there was one thing Vader was good at it, it was holding a grudge like he held a lightsaber, and he would expend quite a bit of energy over the 19 years between episodes III and IV searching for his old Master. (Just ask anyone he comes across in the comics.) Oh, and let’s not forget that it’s also Vader who would later inform a disbelieving Tarkin, in no uncertain terms, that Obi-Wan was still alive and on the Death Star. (3)

“No, I can’t [leave],” Ben said, firmly. “I must be here.”

KENOBI BY JOHN JACKSON MILLER L

“The core of Anakin that resides in Vader grasps that Tatooine is the source of nearly everything that causes him pain. Vader will never set foot on Tatooine, if only out of fear of reawakening Anakin.”

DARK LORD: THE RISE OF DARTH VADER BY JAMES LUCENO L

Now that we’ve established that they both knew of each other’s survival, it begs the question as to why their paths never actually crossed in 19 years. Personally, I think it’s fairly simple: Obi-Wan would never leave Tatooine and Vader would never go anywhere near it. We will discuss Obi-Wan not leaving Tatooine more in-depth at a later time (and yes, we know what Ewan said about having a ‘rollicking time’), but Vader would canonically never visit his home planet until well after Obi-Wan and Luke were both gone. (4)(5) And by then it was much too late.

That brings us to the most recent ‘Obi-Wan Kenobi’ news and how that fits in with what Legends and canon have told us so far. We received a lot of exciting and thought-provoking announcements in a short amount of time, and frankly, our minds haven’t stopped spinning since. Could the show undo what we currently assume to be true? Yes. Could the show work within those same parameters? Also, yes. Do I personally have any idea what’s going to happen? No. DO I THINK THE SHOW IS GOING TO BE AMAZING NO MATTER WHAT? Y E S. The goal of this exercise is to simply try and reconcile the new details to the existing Star Wars lore because I think that’s what makes it interesting. So you can take it or leave it. The choice is yours. (Until it isn’t because the show has aired and this is all pointless.)

HERE WE GO.

“[Deborah] Chow confirmed that audiences will “definitely see Obi-Wan and Darth Vader get into it again” as we see the blue blade of a hooded Obi-Wan clash with the fiery red blade of Darth Vader.”

“McGregor knows the battle will be eagerly anticipated, and he’s looking forward to performing it just as much: “Having another swing at each other might be quite satisfying for everybody. We hope that you enjoy it as much as we’re going to enjoy making it.””

DEBORAH CHOW AND EWAN MCGREGOR DURING THE DISNEY INVESTOR’S REEL

Not only was the “Hayden Christensen returning as Darth Vader” bombshell dropped in our laps, but we were also fed the above morsels (not once but thrice) and told to digest them. Our first reaction was a hearty and well-deserved cry of rejoicing until the realization of what this could all mean set in and it turned into a hearty and well-deserved sob.

There’s hardly a way to be disappointed in the fact that we will see Ewan and Hayden not only together again, but “getting into it” as well, but we do have to wonder what this means for the moment where Obi-Wan and Vader face each other again on the Death Star. The moment is not only pivotal to Episode IV, but I would argue, the entire saga. And it’s made even more impactful by the fact that the two men have not physically confronted each other since their fateful battle on Mustafar.

What we do know, and that which should not change, is that Vader never knew where Obi-Wan was hiding nor that he had Luke, his son, with him. That tells me two things: whatever kind of “rematch” happens here does not endanger Luke’s safety in the long run nor is it probably something that would occur more than once. I think what we’re going to see happen is isolated and “unexpected,” occurring only once ten years into Obi-Wan’s exile.

You: But, All Things Kenobi, if they could never physically meet on Tatooine or elsewhere, then what does this all mean??

Us: Do we look like Deborah Chow or Ewan McGregor? Do we have all the answers for you? NO! But can we try to help ease your mind until the show airs and I’m proven all sorts of wrong?? YES! SO PUT ON THAT TINFOIL HAT AND LET’S DO THIS!!

“I sense something. A presence I’ve not felt since…”

STAR WARS EPISODE IV: A NEW HOPE C

“Obi-Wan once thought as you do.”

STAR WARS EPISODE VI: RETURN OF THE JEDI C

Instantly our minds turned to these two particular comments from Vader in Episodes IV and VI. They’ve always stood out as peculiar, demanding explanation, but even more so now. The first is a vague, open-ended statement that leaves us to assume they hadn’t met again since they parted on the slopes of Mustafar. The second is a seemingly wistful reminiscence of a memory Vader has of his old master.

Luke had just finished making a heartfelt plea for Anakin to remember his “true self” then says, “come with me.” Where did Obi-Wan make the same appeal to only be shunned by Vader as well? Is it possible the series will show us this after all these years and possibly solve the riddle of both enigmatic statements at once? Is it possible that any such conversation might quickly devolve into another lightsaber-fueled clash??

“Count Dooku was Yoda’s apprentice.”

“And Count Dooku has fallen to the dark side.”

“All of us have apprenticed to Master Yoda.”

“He cannot be held accountable for Dooku’s descent.”

“But they are connected. Profoundly.”

THE CLONE WARS 6×11 “VOICES” C

A distinct bond exists between each Padawan and Master and unfortunately that bond does not disappear when one or the other becomes a Sith Lord. Despite the bond between Obi-Wan and Anakin being firmly closed at both ends, there’s no doubt that a presence remains. And even the most sturdy walls might crack from time to time.

Even after 19 years apart, Vader is quick to recognize when Obi-Wan is nearby and goes so far as to know his intent. “Escape is not his plan. I must face him alone.” And he’s right. (3) As for Obi-Wan, the Force has plagued him with dreams and visions, even showing him “a limbless wreck hanging in a bacta tank, necrotic skin pallid and scarred.” (2)

Could their strong connection be the vehicle that allows Obi-Wan and Anakin to confront each other once more? Within the Force they could not only converse, but we could also see them “take another swing” at each other without any physical consequences no matter who “wins.” The mental toll would also make for great drama for both men and bring a new perspective and emotional weight to several scenes in the Original Trilogy.

“If you loved me, Obi-Wan, you would have killed me.”

STAR WARS: DARTH VADER 24 BY KIERON GILLEN C

Finally, it’s quite possible that Obi-Wan might not physically be involved at all in their “rematch” and it might be entirely from Vader’s perspective. One theory could be as simple as the fact that Vader once had a training droid whose deadliest combat setting took the form of his former master. (Oh, Anakin.) (6) Another theory, and a much more likely one, could be that Vader has a Force vision or dream that allows him to recreate and relive various moments between himself and Obi-Wan, including, but not limited to, another lightsaber battle. This would be interesting to witness as every time it occurs, it means that Vader is wrestling with Anakin.

Although the Obi-Wan that continues to exist in Anakin’s psyche doesn’t seem too different from the real thing, just imagine Ewan McGregor getting to play Obi-Wan from Anakin’s point of view…I’ll just drop my mic there.

Star Wars: Darth Vader 24 by Kieron Gillen (2016) C

Star Wars: Darth Vader 5 by Charles Soule (2017) C

Citations:

(1) Dark Lord: The Rise of Darth Vader by James Luceno L

(2) “Time of Death” – From A Certain Point of View by Cavan Scott C

(3) Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope C

(4) Star Wars: Darth Vader 2016 by Kieron Gillen C

(5) Star Wars: Darth Vader 2020 by Greg Pak C

(6) Star Wars: The Force Unleashed (2008) by Haden Blackman L

#Obi-Wan in Exile #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Kenobi Series #Anakin Skywalker #Darth Vader #long post #text post #crossposted from wordpress #allthingskenobi

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cherryjuicegf · 4 years ago

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breathless

Five breaths and a sigh. (ao3)

The fire cackles. The night is calm, as calm as a summer night could be, with all the liveliness that seems to rule nature in such a season, when the leaves of the trees wake up and rustle in the light breeze, when the cicadas hold their competitions of who will sing better in a melody that will spill inside the forest, invisible, making it feel as if the stars themselves have come closer to earth to sing.

It’s hot. Not unbearably. It’s the warmth of the wind that shuffles your hair and tickles your nose as if whispering I’m here, feel me, I’m here.

I’m here.

Jaskier fixes his eyes on his notebook, on his fingers clutching the pen. Breathless.

One would say it was the hotness of the air that deprived him of breath. He is the one. He would very much like to say that. Of course, it’s summer, humidity clings on your lungs, sucks thirstily the oxygen supposed for you. So he wouldn’t be wrong to say that. Not wrong. Just lying.

A pair of amber eyes is trailing his face, his shoulders, his hands. He dares not to meet those eyes. He feels them, clutching at his shirt, dragging him closer and closer, only that he’s still there, a fire burning between him and his breath, the same fire burning his cheeks, his throat, his lungs. He feels those eyes devouring the whole of him, greedily and yet, he has them spitting him back out. It’s okay, really. You need to breathe out to take another breath.

But he still holds his.

His pen falters on the sheet. He lifts his head abruptly as if to prove something to himself. Of course he was looking at you. Of course he had no reason to. He’s not you. His eyes rest on the figure across him near the fire, undisturbed, cleaning a blade. No sign of previous staring at his direction. Only some strands of hair, swinging wildly over the blade.

Jaskier stares. And lets out a breath.

Geralt holds his.

ii.

Geralt opens his eyes for the tenth time that night, once again to find the ceiling staring back at him in the darkness of the room. He swallows. He should be able to sleep, he found no reason not to. He’d been craving a soft bed for weeks. The hunt had been a success. He’d been met with dozens of grateful eyes, dozens of relieved smiles. Two tankards of good ale that made his feet go numb. He was tired. All was there. So he finds no reason to be awake.

Only that he does.

He does tonight the same as he did so many other nights, the same as he refused to acknowledge even the barest hint of the burning desire that made his heart thump and his mind dizzy. Not the same as he realizes that this time, he is already on his side when the thoughts come in.

He’d never felt that warm before, he thinks. It’s the kind of warmth that makes your hair stand in content and leaves you hazy, as if bewitched by a magic potion. It’s the kind of warmth that has Geralt stare at the bare back turned at him, moving in steady breaths, as if it’s the most precious of silks.

He finds the reason. He finds it and grips it, cradles it as if he hasn’t found it a thousand times before.

The pillow smells of lavender. Lavender and wildflowers. The sheets too. The silk too. He sucks the scent, as though it’s the only way he’s going to keep breathing. Gulps it, lets it burn his nostrils, his lungs, even if it’s a bit strong, even if it Jaskier indulged himself for once with the soap, even if Geralt had held his breath in displeasure when he first smelled it.

Now he takes a deep breath. He thinks, quickly as if his own thoughts are chasing him, and raises his hand, and as he embraces Jaskier’s waist, oh so gently, he inhales the scent, buries his nose in soft hair, closes his eyes, and Jaskier stirs. And Geralt does not release the breath. He thinks, if lavender and wildflowers are the scent he takes to his grave, if Jaskier is the scent he takes to his grave, then so be it.

But Jaskier returns to quiet. And Geralt thinks for a moment, then gently tightens his embrace. And breathes out.

iii.

A bloody cloth is thrown on the floor, beside a bucket of blood red water. The last tears fall on the bed sheets.

He’d been lucky, Geralt said. He could be dead now. Jaskier thought he heard his voice quivering for a moment. But probably it was his imagination. Don’t move now, he said.

He doesn’t even consider of moving his shoulder at this state and definitely not while Geralt is prickling his skin with a needle, the stitches reaching his left collarbone, leaving him weeping however grateful he didn’t lose a hand or worse. He’d have to avoid playing the lute for two weeks or so now.

The needle prickles once more and he takes a deep breath he doesn’t release. It’s the pain, obviously, stitches are not a lighthearted process. It’s not only that, although he struggles hard to refuse to acknowledge it. But it’s also Geralt’s fingers cradling his neck, holding him steady, tracing his skin, whispering words directed at him, like a lullaby not supposed to be heard.

Almost done. Don’t cry. We’re almost done.

Jaskier sniffs and feels his insides wailing from the lack of oxygen. From the way Geralt’s fingers curl for a moment on his neck, tremble, before cutting the thread and Geralt looks up, nods in affirmation. And slowly, almost unwillingly, stroking as if on silk, his fingers abandon feverish skin.

And Jaskier, his lashes dropping in exhaustion, exhales heavily.

iv.

Oh. That’s close. That’s too close.

Geralt swallows as Jaskier spreads over him on the chair like the tide splashing between rocks, his voice echoing in his ears like the fierce wind of the coast. Jaskier laughs, and nudges him, and sings, and drinks, and drinks. And he’s drunk.

Geralt could leave. He really could. He doesn’t even know why he had been sitting there all this time in the first place. If he thought about it, there’d been nothing keeping him on this damn table, surrounded by stinking drunkards and the smell of burnt sausages along with cheap ale. Because the ale is cheap and if someone tries to convince him otherwise, he will swear to the gods he doesn’t even believe.

So he doesn’t know why he’s still sitting.

Except for the warmth Jaskier’s eyes radiate as they fix on him, even now, even hazy and drunk. Except for the soft puffs of breath on his neck as Jaskier hides his face and laughs, and his lips touch exposed skin, and Geralt damns himself for taking off his armor. He dares close his eyes, just for a moment. Thinks of how soft these lips are, how he craves to feel them until the end of his days. He opens his eyes. He’s a fool.

He picks Jaskier up and stands, heading straight to the stairs. Ignores the bard’s wriggling in his arms and the slurred mutters that he supposes are something close to put me down, you absolute brute. He enters the rooms, closes the door. All but throws Jaskier on the bed, steadying him before he falls forward.

Only that he does, and as he kneels to take of his boots, suddenly his lips are too close. Geralt’s breath hitches. Stops.

Geralt is a man of honour. And also desperate with feelings. Jaskier is not.

It’s nothing. A brush of lips. A taste of tongues. Cheap ale that Geralt now finds he’d willingly tone out the rest of his senses to taste once more. A soft moan, but it can’t be him, he’s not breathing. And then Jaskier’s head bumps limp on his shoulder, and he hears silent snoring.

He closes his eyes. And breathes shakily.

We could head to the coast. Get away for a while.

Silence. Not even a hum. Not even a batter of lashes. Not even a look.

Jaskier waits. He waits as if he doesn’t know the only thing he’s going to hear is the voices of the dwarves in the distance and the howling of the wind whipping against the mountain slopes, against his heart. One more chance.

Life is short and silent. He never wanted his life to be silent. Filled it with unending songs, elaborate words, heartfelt verses that sounded as if the pounding of his heart echoed in each rhyme. A great name he loved to hear pouring from others’ lips. Yet the silent void walking beside him at all times was too silent to fill the last part of his heart, the one he dared not let splutter further than a few songs. And that void, oh it was unbearable now.

Composing your next song?

No, I’m just. Just trying to find out what pleases me.

He stares. Takes a deep, torturous breath, as if the answer is the only thing his lungs depend on. And waits. That was it. The furthest point. And look where it’d gotten him.

Not even a hum. But it’s okay, Jaskier thinks. He needs time. Maybe he’ll think about it. Maybe he can hope. That’s what he thinks, and stands up. Decisions take time, he knows.

He could laugh at himself.

He does. Later, when Geralt enters another’s tent. When he has his answer.

He laughs. And releases the breath.

vi.

His grip is tight. He knows it’s tight because even he feels his fingers going numb after a while. Or it could be the lack of oxygen. He didn’t dare to guess.

He swims and kicks and even with one hand he manages to reach light, away from the waterfall, he manages to get his head out, grab a tree branch as if trying to hold the last string of life from breaking. He manages to pull himself out, his hand never releasing, and he pulls Jaskier along from under the water. He drags them out and, still holding on, he slumps on soft grass. Tries to catch his breath.

Only that the hand in his is limp. Has been all this time.

And suddenly, he forgets how to breathe.

“Jaskier.” He drags himself beside the bard lying motionless on the ground and nudges him hard. “Jaskier!”

His hand twitches but doesn’t release. He leans his head on Jaskier’s chest, searches for the sound of his heart. Hears none. Freezes. “Fuck.”

He kneels properly and if he’s feared death before, now it rose like a dark wave above him, ready to swallow him whole. He put his hands on the bard’s chest, pressed hard. Persistent. Then takes his head in his hands, cradles it like it’s fragile, opens his mouth and breathes in. Presses again. Then breathes. Even if he himself is out of breath.

His hands are trembling.

“No, no, no. Jaskier.” Presses and breathes.

Come back. Breathe. Not yet.

Jaskier is beautiful, he thinks, and his vision blurs as he breathes in once more, desperately, and it’s different, so different from that one time, now Jaskier tastes of water and bitterness, now he smells of death. Come back. Please. Please.

Presses and breathes.

Please don’t get away without me.

A wet gasp. Water runs down Jaskier’s lips and he opens his eyes wide, coughing and coughing and gasping as his body doubles in effort. And Geralt sobs.

Hands hover blindly on the air. “G-Geralt…” Geralt catches them, holds him and Jaskier raises his head, breathless in all his breathing and looks at him, touches him. Geralt leans into the touch. I’m here, feel me. “I’m here, Jaskier.” I’m here.

Jaskier feels rough, trembling hands cupping his face his neck, moving wet hair away from his eyes. Looks into amber eyes and Geralt could swear he goes a little limp in his arms. His heart is almost thumping out of his chest.

Geralt is a man of honour. Still. His lips brush on Jaskier’s and he hears a soft moan. So he kisses him. Deep and possessive and desperate and sweet, he kisses him until they’re out of breath, stealing the oxygen from each other’s lungs and laughing and clingling on each other is if it’s the last branch of life. And then they separate, inches apart. Sparkling blue eyes. Geralt smiles. “I love you.”

Jaskier shivers, closes his eyes. “Say it again.” Say it to fill the void.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” Geralt trails his lips on cold skin, down Jaskier’s neck, smelling him in, thristily, touching, whispering, devouring. I love you, I love you, I love you.

And Jaskier laughs and cries and kisses back and gazes, oh so lovingly. “I love you too, Geralt. Too much.”

Geralt realizes then he doesn’t have to hold his breath anymore. And heaves a deep sigh.

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #geralt x jaskier #fic recs #chrysa writes #my fanfics

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wavesmp3 · 4 years ago

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before the bucket falls

jeonghan x (female) reader

requested from sensory prompt #33: the feel of fingertips trailing over a bare shoulder blade genre: study abroad/university au + apocalyptic-ish wc: 4k warnings: implied nudity i guess, maybe a few curses as well a/n: i apologize that this took me ages to finish, also the bucket list is completed out of order, enjoy!!

(0. Hear That There’s A Week Until The End Of The World)

You hadn’t expected to be so nonchalant when you hear that the world is ending in a week. Hadn’t expected to so readily accept you and your classmates inability to return home from studying abroad for the semester. And you certainly hadn’t expected to sit down with Jeonghan that afternoon (an acquaintance-made-friend in the whirlwind of apocalypse news) to create a list of things to do before the world ends.

“We’ll start tomorrow,” he declares scribbling one final item on the bucket list before folding the paper and shoving it in his pocket, “and hopefully we finish before the world goes up in flames.”

(6. Bang On The Hood Of A Car And Say ‘Hey, I’m Walking Here!’)

Your first day before the end of the world begins with you and Jeonghan searching for a car.

“This one is...” Jeonghan frowns, rereading the sixth item on the bucket list. Looking up, he says, “it was your idea wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Now, get in the car and pretend to almost run me over.”

Jeonghan complies, starting the car and driving towards you all too slowly. Still, when he gets close enough, you bang on the hood of the car, half-laughing and half-yelling “hey, I’m walking here!” He only laughs at you incredulously.

You switch after that, you in the car and Jeonghan walking across the street. And this time, when you get close to his figure instead of banging on the hood, you hear a small thud and watch him fall to the floor. You run out of the car shrieking his name only to find him on the ground laughing.

“I thought-” you exhale, breath hot with a mix of shock and relief, “I thought I actually hit you.”

Jeonghan doesn’t say a word too busy literally rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach in laughter. And when you shove him, kneeling on the ground and smacking his arm for freaking you out, he only laughs harder.

(3. Steal Something)

Unsurprisingly, number three on the list is Jeonghan’s idea. You don’t argue, not at first at least. But when you step into the convenience store and begin shoving bags of chips under your shirt and bottles of soda into your bag, you start to feel the small push of your consciousness.

“Is this a good idea?” You say to Jeonghan who’s deciding which kinds of candy he wants to hide in his pockets.

“There’s no one even here.” He waves you off pointing at the empty cash register. “So honestly I’m not even convinced if this counts as completing number three.” Deciding on a chocolate bar, he turns on his heel, grabs an extra bottle of juice, and exits the store casually.

(11. Perform Three Acts Of Kindness)

You leave some money at the unmanned cash register anyways. “Number eleven,” you say to him when he gives you a look, “it can be our first act of kindness.” He stares at you for a long moment, as if deciding how he should react to your inability to shoplift. You half expect him to walk back into the empty store and take your money from the counter. He doesn’t though. Instead, he smiles, a lopsided one that makes some part of your stomach twist uncomfortably, and laughs towards the ground, his head hanging in a way that makes his bangs fall in front of his eyes. You feel suddenly, almost foolishly, warm.

“Come,” he beckons, pulling at your sleeve, “let’s eat.”

(10. Eat The Perfect Meal)

The perfect meal isn’t actually perfect, an odd mix of convenience store snacks and whatever you both had left in your dorms.

“We should have cooked something ourselves,” Jeonghan mumbles, between a mouthful of chips, “the perfect meal has to be made with love.”

“It also has to be edible,” you retort, sipping your coffee and recalling your earlier realization that neither you or Jeonghan can cook.

And it’s after a few more moments of eating away the tenth item on your shared bucket list that he asks, “how do you think it’ll happen?” You look up from your fruit cup. “How do you think the world is gonna end?”

“I don’t know,” you answer, “something big perhaps. An explosion?”

“Or Zombies?” he continues for you, light-heartedly. “Aliens, maybe?”

And perhaps two days ago, you would’ve laughed at the possibility of the world coming to an end thanks to an alien invasion, but right now, sitting next to Jeonghan with yesterday’s headlines bouncing back and forth in your head, you don’t feel anything but melancholic. And like feet sinking into sand, you realize for the second time since the news came out that you have less than a week left to live. With a hopeless sigh, you say, “I hope that when the world ends, it’s painless.”

And unlike his previous suggestions, there’s nothing light-hearted about the way Jeonghan adds, “something quick.”

(4. Sing A Song Loudly In Public)

You had wrongly assumed that this particular bucket list item was meant to be a fun and embarrassing karaoke in public sort of thing. But when Jeonghan stands on the ledge of the fountain in the center of the plaza and begins singing, you realize you've created a bucket list with an angel. Or at least, a boy with the voice of one. The plaza isn’t very busy this afternoon, but the few passersby that happen to catch his mini concert erupt in a well-earned applause when the song finishes.

“You can sing?” You question in disbelief of just how good his voice sounds.

He shrugs at that, jumping off the ledge in a shy sort of way that doesn’t at all match the kind of guy you pegged Jeonghan to be. “Your turn.” He pushes you towards the ledge.

You almost fight against the nudge, almost turn around and tell Jeonghan just how tone deaf you are. But when he smiles your way and cheers your name encouragingly, you decide the embarrassment might be worth it.

It’s not, it turns out. The entire plaza seems to murmur ‘why is she singing?’ the second you open your mouth. And it’s before you even reach the second verse that Jeonghan starts clapping and whooping for you. “Wow!” He exclaims cheerfully. “You suck.”

You burst into laughter at that, cut your song short, and jump off the ledge grabbing Jeonghan’s hand and running away from the embarrassment with him close behind.

—

“Where’d you learn how to sing like that?” You finally ask, later than afternoon as you and Jeonghan aimlessly walk along the street.

He shrugs again, a familiar timidness overwhelming his body, then tells you about the singing lessons he used to take. “It used to be my dream. To become a singer.”

“Used to?”

He sucks in his bottom lip. “Things changed I guess.”

You decide not to prod further. “If you could do anything right now, right before the world ends, what would you do?”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

He thinks it over for a moment, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek. “Hold a concert.” He answers finally. And when you give him a look, a reminder of what he said about things changing, he just smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and mutters something about how dreams die hard. And for the third time today, you’re surprised by how shy Jeonghan gets about his singing and how endearing you find it when he does.

“What about you?” He returns this question, pushing the attention away from himself. “What would you do?”

“I’d go home.” You say quietly, hoping the press of sadness that comes with thinking about home doesn’t show in your voice. “See my family once more before the world ends.” And when Jeonghan doesn’t respond or meet your eyes, you laugh, unable to procure a more creative reaction. “It’s kinda lame, isn’t it?”

“‘No, no.” He says quickly, waving away the suggestion before the words can even settle in the air. “It’s not lame; it’s…” his voice trails off, fingers reaching out in front of him as if he’ll find the right words in the last remaining rays from the sun. His hand drops to the side. Seemingly, giving up on the previous sentence, he says, “Tell me about them. Your family.”

You’re about to say no. About to change the topic to something a bit lighter. Something that doesn’t force you to think about home and the people that you miss so fiercely and long to see once more. But it’s as the word ‘no’ bubbles in the back of your throat, that you meet Jeonghan’s eyes and find a starling amount of sincerity in them. And when you go looking for your intent to reject the request, you find it’s disappeared altogether. “Okay.” You exhale. “Where should I begin?”

And so you spend the rest of the day telling Jeonghan about your family, and by the time the sun begins to set, he tells you about his.

(12. Say Goodbye To Your Family)

You both decide it’s better to get this part of the list over with. Pulling out your phones and dialing home soon after the sun sets. It’s an odd sort of arrangement, you think to yourself listening to the phone ring, you and Jeonghan sitting on opposite sides of this empty street. “Privacy,” he had told you, walking away from you and taking a seat on the curb, “this way you can cry in private.”

It’s… bearable at first. You talk to your family, update them on what you’ve been doing since your last call home as if everything is normal, as if they’re expecting another update soon, as if the world isn’t ending in a few days. But the facade that everything is fine comes crashing down the second you hear a noise come from the other side of the road, a mangled sound that rushes all the way from Jeonghan’s mouth to you, banging at your heart and creating a dent between your lungs. And you suppose that if you were a little bit closer and if Jeonghan hadn’t turned around to put his back between him and you, you would’ve heard him sobbing. The thought alone ignites a flame of sadness that emerges from your lips, travels through the phone lines, and ripples across the ocean separating you and your family.

Saying goodbye to your family does not stay bearable for long.

He finishes the call before you. And when you do finally hang up, it takes ten minutes of calming down before you're in any state to walk across the road and greet Jeonghan for what feels like the first time that night.

“Can we, uh,” you stop, sniffle, then laugh at the absurdity of this moment, “can we stop here for today.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, finally standing from the floor. He doesn’t look your way, keeps his eyes trained to the ground while bringing a hand up to wipe at his nose and eyes. “I’ll walk you home.”

(5. Wish Upon A Star)

Sleep doesn’t come that night. You spend it tossing and turning in bed, replaying every bit of what was probably your last conversation with your family. At 2 am there’s a knock on your door. Jeonghan stands in the doorway, eyes drooping and blanket wrapped around his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you say, opening the door and letting him in, “I can’t sleep either.”

After another moment, he finally says, “have you ever been to the roof?”

You let him lead the way.

—

The night air feels cool against your skin, brushing through your hair and sending a shiver across your skin. You pull your hoodie closer around you before laying down on the roof next to Jeonghan who throws his blanket so that it drapes over both of you.

“Which one for number five?” He says gesturing to the starry night sky.

“Number five?”

“Wish upon a star.” He reminds you.

You lift your hand and point to one off the center, a bright one that flickers more than the others. “That one.”

“Okay,” he exhales. You watch the breath leave from his lips. “Make a wish.”

You do.

“Which star do you think is gonna blow up and cause the end of the world?” He asks, shifting his body and ending up a fraction closer to you.

“Give me a crash course on all of them and I’ll let you know.”

He does, making up constellations and creating fake names for each one.

And at some point in his explanation of the origin of each star, his hand finds yours. The cold seems to wither away after that.

(1. Ride A Motorcycle)

“Are you sure you know how to ride this thing.” You question for the fifth time that morning, pacing around the moped and Jeonghan who’s sitting impatiently on it.

“Just get on would you?” He huffs, dropping the extra helmet on your head and pulling you towards the moped. You settle behind him, fixing your helmet and clasping it in place. “You know how to get to the beach right?”

“Yeah, but we just need to make a pit stop somewhere first.”

“That’s fine. Grab on.”

Ignoring the unevenness of your breath, you wrap your arms around his torso. You try not to think too hard about the way he momentarily tenses up when you do.

“Ready?”

“Please, don’t kill me on this thing. We’re all dying in a few days-” He doesn’t let you finish, revving the motorcycle and laughing when you scream into his shoulder.

(11. Perform Three Acts of Kindness)

“What are we here for?” Jeonghan wonders aloud, his voice echoing in the auditorium.

“Number 11. Our second act of kindness.” He looks at your quizzingly. “Yesterday you said that if you could do anything before the end of the world, you’d have your own concert. So here,” you hand him a mic and point at the empty stage, “go sing.”

You’ve never seen him run so excitedly.

(3. Steal Something)

When Jeonghan wrote down ‘steal something’, you definitely hadn’t expected him to coerce you into stealing a house. “This isn’t even stealing. This is trespassing.” You hiss under your breath, looking over your shoulder. “Plus, we already stole from the convenience store.”

“Firstly,” Jeonghan begins, finding an unlocked window to the beach house and cracking the adjacent door open, “you paid the store so that definitely didn’t count. Secondly, trespassing is basically just stealing space. And lastly,” he announces turning around and waving to the open beach house, “this place is gorgeous and free.”

You peer inside the house and--shit, it is gorgeous. “Fine.” You relent taking a step inside the house. He smiles triumphantly.

“Come on,” he grabs your hand as soon as you set your things down and starts pulling you towards the beach, “time for number two.”

(2. Send A Message In A Bottle)

“Who should we write to?”

“A friend?”

“An ex?” He grimaces at the suggestion.

“How about ourselves 10 years ago.”

You consider it. “Or what about,” you start tapping a finger against your chin, “ourselves 10 years from now.” He gives you a wary look. “Just in case this whole thing turns out to be a hoax.”

“Do you believe that?” he asks quietly.

You bite your lip. “Not really, no.”

“To myself,” Jeonghan scribbles on the paper, “ten years from now.”

And when you're both done with the letters, you fit them inside empty beer bottles and let the waves take them.

Inhaling the salty ocean scent, you watch the bottles float.

“This moment would feel a lot better if I didn’t feel like we just made marine pollution worse.”

(9. Go Skinny Dipping)

The water is freezing, cold against your bare skin and lapping by your shivering mouth.

“It’s not that cold.” Jeonghan laughs, splashing sea water in your face.

You splash him back. “For you maybe.”

“Tell me a secret.” He says suddenly, stopping and treading the water in front of you.

You think for a minute before answering. “I really like it when you sing.”

“That’s not a secret; it’s a confession.” He complains, flapping his hands in the water. With a teasing smirk, he adds, “next you’ll confess your undying love for me as well.”

You laugh, sort of, swallowing salt water in the movement and choking on the sudden intake.

Clearing your throat, you say, “give me an example of a good secret then.”

“Okay,” he hums, biting his lip and swimming closer towards you until your knees awkwardly bump into each other. You swallow at the proximity. “I’ve never been in love.”

“Never?”

He shakes his head. “Have you?”

“Once.” Something in your stomach turns. “Or at least I thought I was in love.”

“And what do you think now?”

You meet his eyes. They look strangely hopeful. “Now, I’m not so sure.”

His hand comes up, fingers trailing over your shoulder blade and lingering right above your collarbone. You shiver.

“Still cold?” He whispers.

No, you think, but your head nods ‘yes’ before the word comes out.

He swims back to shore. And soon after, you follow.

(13. Fall In Love)

You finish showering before Jeonghan, coming down the stairs of your stolen beach house and taking a seat on the stolen (but comfortable) couch. You look for the bucket list to cross out skinny dipping for him. And when you find the folded list in a pocket of Jeonghan’s bag, you realize that this is your first time seeing it since the night of its creation. You read over it carefully.

1. ride a motorcycle 2. send a message in a bottle 3. steal something 4. sing a song loudly in public 5. wish upon a star 6. bang on the hood of a car and say ‘hey, i’m walking here!’ 7. watch the sunrise 8. watch the sunset 9. go skinny dipping 10. eat the perfect meal 11. perform three acts of kindness 12. say goodbye to our families

And under the twelve that you and Jeonghan made together is another, additional bucket list item. Written in a different color pen and in his messy handwriting is:

13. get her to fall in love with me

“That shower felt so good.” Jeonghan’s voice comes traveling down the stairs. “I found sand in-” he stops, halts at the end of the banister upon seeing the paper between your hands.

“What do you mean ‘get her to fall in love with me’?” You gulp, holding up the list.

“Oh, that,” he laughs, awkwardly, slowly walking towards you, then stopping halfway as if he’s made a mistake, “I added it after you left that night. And, well, yeah.”

You stand up and go to him, meeting him halfway across the living room. “Jeonghan I-” you lose grasp of what you’re going to say next and elect to stare at him instead, studying the drop of water that falls from a strand of hair to his face. Decide instead to study the flutter of his lashes and the way his gaze darts between your eyes and your lips. He inhales. “Oh, fuck it.” you mutter finally, grabbing the collar of his tshirt and kissing him.

It takes a second for Jeonghan to react, too long your brain convinces you already beginning to pull your face away. But it’s as your lips leave his, that they crash together again, him pulling at your hips stumbling backwards until you knock your head against the wall, bodies flush. You wrap your arms around his neck, tangle your fingers through his wet hair. There’s a moan, you can’t be sure which one of you it comes from, but the sound of it has you feeling weak somewhere, everywhere.

“Upstairs,” you pant, when he pulls away for the smallest of seconds.

“Are you,” he pauses, lips hovering in front of yours and breath heavy against your skin, “are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you smile, noticing the flush in his face, glad he's just as affected, “I mean it’s on the bucket list.”

Jeonghan happily complies.

(7. Watch The Sunrise)

You both watch it in bed, from a window that seems to capture it perfectly.

“It’s pretty,” he states, holding a hand up in a straggling ray and watching it turn gold in the light.

“Only a few more left.”

(8. Watch The Sunset)

You watch it on the beach with a stolen towel from the stolen house under you. It’s beautiful really. A mesh of blues, pinks, orange, and purple.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sunset like this one,” you say inhaling the salty scent of the sea that lingers on your arms and legs and hands.

Jeonghan hums, absentmindedly enough for you to turn around to look at him laying on his back and playing with a loose strand from your hoodie instead.

“We can’t cross it off if you don’t actually watch it.” You tell him, finding his hand in yours and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

He shrugs. “I’ve seen enough sunsets.”

(11. Perform Three Acts Of Kindness)

“Last item,” Jeonghan murmurs one day, settling into bed next to you, “one final act of kindness.”

You poke at his chest. “What do you have planned for it?”

“This.” He says, pulling out a small slip of paper. You sit up. “I bought you a ticket.”

It takes you longer than it should to realize it’s a plane ticket home.

“How and when did you…” your voice drops away, the logical questions slipping off your tongue when you make a new realization. “There’s only one ticket.”

“Listen,” he starts, turning to face you properly. “I think you should take it.”

“No,” you refuse, shaking your head. He takes your face between your palms forcing you to stop and pay attention.

“Go home and see your family. That’s what you told me you’d do before the world ends.” He hesitates, releasing your face and taking your hands in his. Something feels entirely wrong when he starts to rub small circles into the back of them. “You only have a few days left. So go home. Say goodbye to me instead.”

“Things change,” you say a little too harshly, regurgitating what he told you earlier this week. “And I don’t know if I can go anymore.” You sputter out just barely, voice feeling suddenly course against your vocal chords, but what you mean to say is: I don’t know if I can go without you. “And besides,” you stress, putting the ticket back in his lap, “you can’t make me go.”

“Don’t you see,” he chuckles, a small, quiet sound that has no business making you feel as warm as it does, “I’m not making you go,” he meets your eyes again, and for some reason, you can’t seem to shake the feeling that this is the last time you’ll see them like this, “I’m asking you to.”

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ofpineapplesanddawns · 3 years ago

Note

For if you feel like writing, tenth doctor meeting Lucian while he is still enslaved by the vampires? Seems like something 10 would have opinions on

I do believe they met when Lucian was still enslaved, but I can write up another thing! :O They did encounter each other a number of times during this era of Lucian's life, I think I implied.

Warning: canon enslaved lycans, injury, blood

On with the fic!

The Doctor had parked the TARDIS much closer to the castle this time, and really, really hoped that it wasn't close enough to be found. He wasn't in the mood for having to deal with people trying to do it damage. Or the steal it. Or to sell it to someone, he already had to deal with that yesterday, bad move on his part. He had accidentally parked in a bazaar, whoops.

He slipped out and strolled up to the castle that he had visited maybe three or four times at this point? Though never at night, which seemed interesting, what was to happen at night here, he wondered.

The Doctor was very aware that vampires owned this castle, this land, and that the lycans lived within their grounds. Against their will, he assumed, but then again, maybe for protection?

Lucian had mentioned to him that there were bigger threats in the woods than what was within the castle, but the Doctor didn't believe that was true.

Then again...

He heard a loud howl, somewhere nearby, but still a distance away. It sounded like a wolf, but the Doctor knew better. He had encountered werewolves before.

He squeaked, jumping out of the way and into the darkness of the woods when he heard the sound of galloping horses. He watched from the trees as a group of people came charging up towards the castle on the horses, and the Doctor was quick to follow after.

He got there just in time, slipping past before the gates were closed. A lycan, who he had encountered in his several visits, looked at him oddly, but nodded. Then gently shooshed at him, keeping a finger to his lips before gesturing in a direction.

An unspoken way of telling him to keep quiet and low, if he wanted to look for Lucian.

The Doctor nodded his thanks and slipped by, keeping to the shadows as he heard shouting from the group on the horses, from an older man at the front, demanding for Lucian. The Doctor perked up and moved closer, but kept himself hidden. A few heads turned to see him hiding behind a work stall, but no one said anything.

They were lycans, from their clothing, their natural smell, and they didn't seem to care that the Doctor was back to visit the main lycan.

Who stepped into the light of the fires around the courtyard, his head down.

"What is the matter, sir?" He asked.

The older man, clearly a vampire, he had to be, glared down at Lucian. He held up a sword, which looked to have broken in half, then threw it down at the lycan's feet. The Doctor winced as it landed just right to slice at the bare skin, leaving a line of blood to pool.

Lucian winced, but did nothing.

"It appears your quality in weapon making has diminished recently." The vampire spoke. "The quality of this blade, the one you told me was strong and would last me, is of lies! It did not even last me one battle against your filthy brethren!"

"I am sorry, sir." Lucian said in a quiet voice. "But the material we have been given lately, it is poor, it's not even good enough to be used for nail-"

There was a hollow crack that echoed in the courtyard and the Doctor watched as Lucian dropped, clutching at his face, too stunned to even cry out at what was clearly a very painful strike to his cheek.

"Then do better at making the material stronger, Lucian. You are meant to be the best, you can figure it out. Do not let this happen again, I will not stand for weak weapons to be used by us."

Lucian could only nod, which seemed like a good enough response for the vampire. He turned away, his riding entourage following suit, leaving to enter the castle itself. The Doctor watched as Lucian sat there, before picking up something from the ground, then the sword, and walked away.

There were quiet murmurs from the crowd, of what had happened, but the Doctor chose to ignore them, going back to his mission before.

He found Lucian in his work space, sitting on a seat as he held up what was clearly a tooth. He didn't seem to notice the Doctor approach as he opened his mouth and- alright, the Doctor looked away, no, he didn't want to see that.

"Who was that?" He asked, making himself known.

Lucian looked at him, surprised, and somewhat embarrassed. "That was... ahem... that was my master, Viktor. He is in control of the vampires here, of this coven."

The Doctor frowned at the word 'master', of course he was. "I think you told me about him once, yes? Shortly after we met?"

"I believe so. What are you doing here?"

"I dunno, came to visit! Ended up coming here at night this time around, on a... particularly bad night. Can I see that sword?"

"Why?" Lucian asked, suddenly on the defense. "So you can mock my craftsmanship as well?"

"What? No!" The Doctor shook his head. "I just want to see what the problem could be! You know I'm rather clever with these sorts of things."

"Will you be using that strange wand of yours?"

The Doctor made a weird noise, shrugging, then slipping out the sonic screwdriver from his inner pocket. Lucian sighed and held out the blade. "It's the best I could do with the poor material we have been given. I think the local humans do not wish for us to be well protected."

Scanning the sword, the Doctor nodded as he listened, then checked the readings. "Yep, terrible material, should only be used as extra material to smelt, you know? You're being screwed over." He pocked the screwdriver and set the sword aside.

He looked at Lucian, at his face. His cheek looked a bit swollen in this light, but it would heal, he knew that, same with the wound on the man's feet. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, I've had worse."

"That doesn't make me feel better at all, Lucian."

Lucian just gave him a sad smile. "Of course not. Let's not get into this discussion again, Doctor. You know how things are here, at least for me." He glanced away, and the Doctor knew where Lucian was looking.

At a certain window, where someone was looking at them through the green glass. The Doctor had met her once, the girl in the window. Sonja, she had found the Doctor with Lucian here last time, down underground.

She nearly decapitated the Doctor, thought of him as a threat, until Lucian explained that he was a... strange friend from beyond the walls. She didn't understand what that meant, but seemed to calm down when she realized that the Doctor was not a threat to Lucian or her in any way.

She was lovely and pretty, as well as dangerous. He could see why Lucian was so smitten with her, why he still wouldn't let the Doctor undo the lock of his collar to free him.

One day, he told the Doctor, he will accept the offer when he knew that he and Sonja could run away together.

The Doctor hoped it would be soon, Lucian deserved so much better than to be treated as he had been in the courtyard. Hell, same with all the lycans here, there was a big world out there for them to explore, to make their own, they didn't need to be here.

But now was not the time for that, he was sure it would eventually happen.

"I'll see what I can do about getting you some better metal to work with, bet I've got lots of stuff I can find! All sorts, like steel, iron, titanium, wait, no, that might be a little more difficult, but anyway, I'll be sure to get you some by tomorrow morning! I'll leave it at the gate, okay?" He winked.

Lucian blinked at him, then looked away, nodding. "That is very generous of you."

"Ah, anything for a friend, Lucian! Trust me, it's the least I can do!"

Lucian nodded again. "Yes, well, I greatly appreciate it."

The Doctor flashed him a toothy grin before sitting down. "Oh, speaking of metal! Want to hear the funniest thing that happened to me recently?"

"I suppose so, what exactly happened?"

"Well, there I was, landing the TARDIS at what is meant to be one of the best bazaars in all of the Great and Bountiful Human Empire..."

#lucian x tenth doctor #john's drabbles #good omens extended universe

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nestable · 4 years ago

Text

NESSIAN BIRTH ONESHOT

I tried a little something so bare with me👉🏿👈🏿 Shes here!

Nesta didnt think she could feel as overwhelmed by love as she did the day she and her mate made love for the first time, or when they committed themselves to each other before a priestess in both marriage and the intrinsic bond that only exist between mates for eternity. But now sitting there, skin coated in sweat, her lower abdomen aching after delivering their first born and watching cassian cradle their likeness in his arms, she decided that this love is the one of which she might die.

An hour after their baby girl entered the world and neither of them have left their seats or taken their eyes off their little miracle.

The midwives gave her odd looks when she refused to hold the baby right after giving birth and insisted that they hand her over to Cassian. Malaika had sat and grown in her womb for 9 months, grounded by the music of her mothers heartbeat and encased by the velvet of her wishes and hopes making their bond solid and unbreakable by even death. So now it was time for her to build that everlasting bond with her father and for him to experience what Nesta had.

Cassians eyes widened when the baby was handed to him, to the point where Nesta thought that he was actually afraid. It took her a moment to realize that he hadn't held a baby this small before, hence his apprehension. But she wanted him to learn on his own. Nesta sat still while swaddled in towels and sheets and watched as one of the females eased Malaika into Cassians arms. The gentle gesture was in complete conflicted with his rugged nature. Those large arms sculpted for the kill had to nurture, his calloused fingers which found comfort around the hilt of a blade slowed to a snail's pace as they dragged through Malaikas full head of ebony curls. Those lips that normally curled into a wicked grin for the sake of ticking nesta off, hovered above the infant's forehead, only to plant the tenth kiss he's given in the last ten minutes.

Throughout their marriage, Cassian had surendered his warrior heart to his mate and shown his vulnerable side. Like when he cried in front of her for the first time, or buried his head in her chest and fell asleep to her fingers sliding through his hair, but this, this was unlike anything she'd ever seen before.

The Lord of bloodshed curled into himself as he fawned over a being who's no larger than his arm. The General Commander of the Night Court armies brought to tears by the battle cry of his daughter protesting against leaving the cacoon of her mothers belly.

Nesta felt intense emotions, much more than anyone else she believed, but this would be her undoing.

Malaika let out a little cough before her cries filled the bed chamber. Cassian snapped his eyes to Nesta who had her arms ready and open to receive the baby. He gave up his child reluctantly but soon made himself comfortable on the bed and sat by Nestas side as she unfastened her robe then slid it off her shoulder.

After aligning her nipple with Malaikas mouth, Nesta watched with baited breath as Malaikas lips clasped onto her breast. She'd been warned by mothers in the camp about the pains of labour and the first time breastfeeding and they hadn't been wrong so far, as a stinging sensation travelled from her breast and spread through her chest. She hissed through clenched teeth as the baby suckled, prompting Cassian to grab and squeeze her hand. He placed a kiss on the back of her palm then in the crook of her neck as he watched her battle tears and expel her pain in a mere huff of breath. After a few minutes, the pain which ebbed through her body, fizzled down to a tingle and Nesta opened her eyes only to come into direct contact with a second pair of silvers watching her curiously.

"Hello, baby." She whispered, brushing a thumb across Malaikas cheek. "Hello, my love."

Nesta found herself getting consumed by her just as Cassian was a few minutes ago.

When Cassian held her, she was his spitting image, but now that shes in her arms, Nestas able to recognize herself in those doe eyes, eyes that resembled not only her own but her long departed mother. When she first saw Malaika, she couldnt help but feel a sliver of betrayal when she realized that after 9 months, her daughter didnt steal hers but rather her husbands face. But now seeing that her made-of-me had the face of her favourite person in the world, she couldnt help but feel an influx of pride.

Before long, her cheeks were wet with tears and more followed as her heart swelled with an emotion to intense for words.

"I know." Cassian sighed, kissing her temple. "I dont understand it either."

"Is it possible? To love someone too much?" Nesta asked, finding the strength to look away from Malaika and turn to Cassian.

He simply grinned as he held Malaikas delicate hand in his own. "I ask myself that question when it comes to you. When the mating bond snapped into place and even before then I thought that what I felt for you would kill me, but now this...." he looked to his daughter. "She will tear me apart."

Though Cassian said everything and nothing, she understood wholly what he meant. The longer she held Malaika in her arms, the deeper she felt herself slipping into a deep pit which she had no desire of escaping. If anything, she wanted to claw her way to the bottom and bury her heart there as the realization that it wasnt hers or Cassians any longer dawned on her. And the couple was perfectly content with that new reality. The reality that they weren't living for themselves or each other anymore, but for this perfect bundle of flesh and blood. Their flesh and blood. That looked upon them like they were her only tether to this world. As she was theirs. And although those many years before they were each others reasons for living, they knew that that mindset deteriorated the moment Malaika came into this world red faced and squalling and wreathed in their combined love and devotion. That she was the reason they were brought into this world.

Her screaming tears would be their storm and her smiles would be their anchor.

#nessian #nessian oneshot #malaika #cassian x nesta #this is my first oneshots so be kind

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kareofbears · 3 years ago

Text

plainly in truth, chapter 3/5

"Without you around, it's sorta like stuff is just kinda...bleh."

—

Or: hiding, confiding, and misguiding.

read on ao3 or below the cut :)

Ryuji grips the letter like it was silver and he was a werewolf in the full moon.

He picks it up, skims over the first line before putting it down beside him, feeling worse every time he does it, only able to read the fine-printed lettering from the flickering lamp post above him. The constant change in light would normally bug him, but he doesn’t really care about it now; it’s not like the words would change in his hand, and he’s long since needed to actually read it to know what it reads.

His feet dangle over the canal, enjoying the way a rush of adrenaline would go through him when he looks down into the deep waters. It’s late enough in the night that even with the city lights around him, he can’t gauge how deep it goes.

Soseikawa Park was only a five minute walk from Odori Park, but with the narrow river and steeped hills, Ryuji found it secluded enough to let himself sit. Breathe. Not exist, even for just a few minutes. It’s like having his own bedroom, except it smells faintly like a sewer and there’s an intersection about ten meters above where he sat underneath the overpass. If he can ignore the never-ending rumble of cars and trucks driving above him, it can almost be considered peaceful.

He lets himself fall back, the grass tickling the back of his neck and his spine screaming in relief. They’re heading out again in two days, which means more days of being in an inescapable RV surrounded by his best friends who are keeping an eye on him because they’re good people who don’t know how to mind their own fucking business.

Idly, he lets his hands pull and brings it to his face—blades of grass. He lets it get taken by the wind. After brief consideration, he shoves the letter back into his pocket before he can do the same thing to it.

He is so tired.

Blindly, he hits the vague area of where his pocket is and fishes out his phone, hitting the first speed dial before he can talk himself out of it. As two rings go by, he stupidly hopes that she doesn’t pick up, as if she hasn’t ever missed a phone call from him even when she’s at work.

The third ring gets cut off halfway through. “Ryu!”

Despite himself, he grins. “Hey, ma. Checking in for the weekly call.”

“I was just thinking about you,” she says, and he can hear the laundry machine run in the background. “I was wondering if you had eaten today.”

“Ma, you ain’t gotta worry about that kinda thing anymore. I’m a big boy now.”

“You’re breaking my heart!” He can almost see her, phone tucked in the crook of her neck, work-worn hands folding her laundry as fast as she can so as to not hold up the next person in line. “It doesn’t matter how big you are, you’re my boy. How can I not think about whether my boy is eating or not?”

“All I’ve done on this trip is eat, ma.”

“Oh, and Akira! How’s that handsome boy doing? Still taking the world by storm?”

That pulls a genuine laugh from him—he never needs to hold back when it comes to talking about Akira, at least. “You know it. He’s the only guy in the world who can stand toe-to-toe with me in chowing down. I swear, he’s slipping some of it under the table ‘cause he’s so damn fast. Forty seconds! Forty seconds to inhale an extra large beef bowl! Blows my mind, seriously.”

“Could never do anything in halves, can he?” she chuckles, before the quality of her voice shifts. “And are you enjoying yourself?”

He hesitates. “Yeah, of course. It’s a roadtrip across Japan, how can I not?”

“Good.” There’s some crackling over the receiver, and he guesses she’s probably adjusting the basket full of clothes on her hip. “That’s all I want to hear. As long as you’re happy, Ryu, I’m a happy old woman.”

Ryuji opens his mouth, ready to console her.

I’m always happy!

You worry too much, ma.

There’s nothing to worry about.

“Sorry, but,” he swallows thickly. “I think they’re calling for me? So—”

“Alright,” she says, and he might be imagining the disappointed tinge to it. “Call back when you can, okay sweetheart? I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” he clears his throat. “I love you, ma.”

“I love you too, Ryu.”

He hangs up, letting the phone slip out of his fingers. It lands hard on the flat grass

For a long moment, he just lays there, listening to the gentle lapping waves and cars honking with impatience of people who have somewhere to be. He tries to meditate for half a minute, with all the information he had learned from a couple of YouTube videos, and gives up, because of course he does. Squeezing his eyes shut, he can’t do anything about the creeping dread that’s in his stomach getting stronger, squeezing and squeezing until he feels sick. It’s like his insecurities are having this huge fight against each other, feeding off of one another until it gets too big for him to handle and all he can do is breathe and try to do something about it.

And he’s fucking sick of it—breathing. He’s sick of the stupid breathing techniques, sick of counting down from ten and waiting for his own heart to chill out because his brain won’t stop reminding him of everything he did wrong, of shit he’s still doing wrong because at least this way, nobody knows what he did was wrong. It’s just him that can point and laugh at himself, and that’s way better than having the world do it for him.

He doesn’t cry, because he’s not a crier. He’s the type of guy to throw a fist through drywood before shedding a tear, and he hates that about himself. Rather than do something that will actually help, Ryuji lays there, perfectly still. Listening. Waiting for a meteor to fall on him, or for the overpass to crash its entire weight on top of him.

Instead, he hears footsteps.

His heart rate slows by a fraction, and opens his eyes to meet gray ones. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Akira says, a smile in his voice. “How did you know it was me?”

Ryuji almost feels offended. He would know Akira by sound alone, the way his heels would click in the Metaverse. The way the balls of his feet would strike the earth, hardly muffled by grass or cheap sneakers or anything else as trivial. Ryuji would know he was there; no matter how blind he was with hatred for himself, his love for Akira would always guide him back to where he needs to be.

“Lucky guess.”

“One hell of a guess.” He plops down onto the grass and Ryuji lifts his head, allowing Akira to wiggle until he could use his lap as a pillow. “Your turn,” Akira says.

“My turn to what?”

“To ask me how I knew where you were.”

“Oh.” He lets his eyes slide shut again. “I kinda just assumed you could do that.”

“You assume too much of me sometimes.”

“I assume the right amount.” Ryuji refuses to shiver when he feels long fingers start to card through his hair. “You’re giving me goosebumps,” he sighs.

“That’s a good thing, I think.” The fingers pull away and he’s about to complain when he feels something gets thrown over his torso. “Here. You always end up forgetting to wear an extra layer when you go out like this.”

Ryuji rearranges Akira’s jacket over himself. “Sap.”

“You know it.” He resumes combing through his hair, and Ryuji lets himself relax, just a little. It’s strange—it’s hard as hell being around other people nowadays, and even though Akira can make him feel that sometimes, mostly it helps the eternal twisting of his stomach to settle.

“You’re good at that,” Ryuji mutters.

“Thank you. I’ve had plenty of practice with Morgana.” And just to make it worse, he uses a little bit of nail on his nape, sending electricity running down all the way to his fingertips.

His mouth twists unhappily. “Don’t do shit like that while talking about the cat, for the love of god.”

Akira does it again, like the little shit he is. “You still have that weird thing with your neck?”

“Quit it!” Ryuji slaps his thigh and he can’t muster much anger when he can feel Akira’s shoulders shake from silent laughter. “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“You’re right.” Gently, softly, like the world’s lightest feather, he feels lips brush his temple. “I’m funnier.”

His eyes open, and his entire vision is obscured by curly black hair and tender eyes. “You’re right,” he breathes. “You’re funnier.”

Akira bends down again, and Ryuji catches his lips, overflowing with something soft but unafraid, and it’s so good that Ryuji reaches for his cheek just to make it last a little bit longer.

When they break off, Akira kisses his temple again, this time on the left side. “Do you know what day it is?”

“Uh,” he scratches his head, brain a little fuzzy. “Tuesday?”

“It’s Wednesday, and I meant the date. It’s August tenth.”

“Okay?”

Akira thumbs at his collarbone. “I know this might be a little lame that I know it by heart, but I left Tokyo on March 19th. That would mean it’s been—”

“One hundred forty-four days since you moved away,” he finishes. “I know.”

Akira blinks, and then laughs, and Ryuji knows it’s an especially good one because sound actually comes out this time. “Yes,” he says, elated. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

“I told you dude, we’re really on that telepathy shit.”

“We really are.” A pause. “I miss you.”

He’s about to joke—I’m right here, you big dummy—but find that he just can’t. “I miss you too.”

They can’t say what they mean: I will miss you. Summer vacation doesn’t last forever, and two months will always be a hell of a lot shorter than the rest of the ten months that they’ll be apart. Somehow, he dreads seeing Akira gone, and he’ll dread seeing Akira back in Tokyo because it would mean that he’d actually have to see what Ryuji’s really like. Actively pushing away his best friend just so he doesn’t have to see his failures; doesn’t that just make him the worst piece of shit in the world?

There’s a gap, though. A little loophole. A crack in the timeline. A place where maybe he’s allowed to be a hollowed out version of happy; the now.

“Tomorrow’s our last day in Sapporo?”

“Yeah?” Akira replies, surprised at the change in tone.

“Which means Jail stuff is done, right? All your grocery shopping and Sophia Prime’s been ordered and packed up?”

“Yes,” he says, a lilt in his voice. “It’s all done.”

Ryuji sits up and faces him, reaching for his wrists, relishing in the heartbeat thumping against his palms. “Let’s do something. I don’t care what, but let’s do something. Eat at a diner, go to a museum, rob a bank, whatever.” He runs his thumb along the veins there, long since those bumps have been ingrained in his brain. “Let’s do something, just you and me.”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Sakamoto?” He has a cocky look in his eye, and Ryuji’s half-tempted to kiss him again just to wipe it clean off his face. “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

He knows. That’s the scary part. Would Akira still follow someone he doesn’t know as well as he thinks he does? “I’ll get us lost,” he jokes.

Akira doesn’t laugh. “I’d rather be lost with you than learn to lose you.”

It’s been ages since he’s been flustered at anything Akira does, but he feels a rush of heat crawl up his neck. “I’ll—” Ryuji shakes his head, willing his embarrassment to go away. “Shit, uh—”

“I’ll pick where to go,” he interrupts, a little too smug for his liking. “I’d say I’ll pick you up at your place, but…”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a comedian,” Ryuji rolls his eyes. “I’ll be ready whenever.”

“Fantastic.” Akira checks his phone, wincing. “It’s late.”

He grips his wrist tightly. “I know.”

Thankfully, he’s never needed to explain much to Akira. “Okay,” he says softly. “Ten more minutes?”

“Yeah.” He lets his eyes slide shut once more, letting out a breath. The world will keep spinning. His stomach will keep twisting. Time will keep marching on, but at least he has this. “Ten minutes sounds good.”

—

The first words that Futaba says as she enters the RV was: “Oh, hell.”

“Hello Futaba-chan, Yusuke-kun,” Haru greets cheerfully from the booth. “How was your shopping trip?”

“...Fine,” she replies, stepping aside to let him in, lugging a four-foot tall canvas in his arms that accidentally hits the ceiling. “Got a new Featherman action figure.”

“I got a canvas,” Yusuke answers from behind the wall of white. “Though I assume you can see that.”

“I can.” Her smile doesn’t falter, and it’s making the hair on Futaba’s nape rise like a nervous animal. “Quick question, since you both are here…”

Haru pulls a tote bag from underneath the table, and it’s so heavy that when she throws it on the table, her teacup nearly topples over. “Would you like to take a guess of what’s in this bag?”

A billion jokes pop into Futaba’s head, but both of them stay silent, terrified and confused. They both knew this was coming, but they didn’t expect her to be so forward about it.

“I suppose that’s a pretty strange question, I’m sorry. Let me try again.” She reaches in and pulls out thick, heavy textbooks, all brightly coloured and consist of beaming, diverse students on the front cover. “Care to tell me why you were both looking at cram books while we’re on our fun roadtrip?”

Yusuke pushes Futaba aside, eyes on the books and wide with shock. “You bought them?!” he exclaims.

“Wait—” Futaba hops repeatedly, trying to catch a glimpse from over his shoulder. “You bought all of them?”

“Of course.”

“But why?”

She thinks about it for a moment. “Hmm, think about it this way. If Akira’s in charge of the group as a whole, and Makoto’s in charge of the more analytical aspect of things, think of me as a somewhat stern yet loving parent who doesn’t quite know how to mind their own business.”

“I thought that was Ann’s job,” Futaba mutters, heart hammering in her chest.

“Now,” Haru leans forward, and as if to prove her role, speaks in a gentle tone. “I’m not mad at you. That would be ridiculous. But I saw you two looking at these books, and I know how expensive they can be, so I’ll give them to you.”

She blinks. “You would?”

“Absolutely!” Haru smiles wide. “On the condition that you tell me why you need them.”

Futaba and Yusuke exchange a glance, before Futaba makes a T with her hands. “Timeout!” she yells, dragging Yusuke by the collar out of the RV.

“What do we do?” he whispers once the door is shut. “It’s not as if we can tell her.”

“I don’t know, maybe we should?” she pushes up her glasses. “Damn, the things money can buy you. Our vow of silence is getting thrown out the window for two handfuls of yen.”

He looks her dead in the eyes. “I would tell the world my deepest secrets if it meant having lifetime access to a grocery store.”

“Don’t say that, you sellout!”

“I’m not selling out. My art already reveals the deepest portion of my soul, it’s not my fault that the common observers cannot pick up what I’m putting down.” He squints against the setting sun. “She’s waiting. What do we do?”

“Okay, okay, okay, just let me—” her mind whirrs rapidly, and for a second she really feels like Sophia. “Give me a second.”

“I have a suggestion,” he points at her. “If we’re not averse to lying, let’s tell them that you need them for school. You’re struggling with academics, you need a bit of outside help, so we took a look at the textbooks.”

“Good idea! Wait.” She frowns. “They’ll never buy it. Let’s say that you need them.”

“I’m at the top of my class!”

“But they don’t know that!” She balls her fists together, determined. “Okay, let’s do this.”

“I didn’t say yes to this.”

Futaba kicks the door open, making Haru pause wiping her spilt drink mid-stroke. “Inari’s struggling with his classes!”

“I—“ Yusuke stammers. “Yes,” he confirms. “I’m struggling with my classes. They’re mighty indeed, and even I find them difficult. I am...struggling.”

Haru looks at them doubtfully. “Yusuke is?”

“I am,” he answers as Futaba says, “He is.”

“Yusuke,” she repeats, gesturing to the neatly-stacked pile of textbooks on the table. “Is struggling with precalculus?”

They stare at her. “Yes,” Yusuke says, slowly. “I am struggling with previous calculus.”

“Out of curiosity, Yusuke,” Haru scratches her cheek. “Do you know what a parabola is?”

“Of course I do,” he replies with the wisdom of a thousand monks. “It’s a self-contradictory statement.”

“That’s a paradox,” Makoto corrects from the steering wheel.

“What the heck?” Futaba jumps a foot in the air. “Why are you here? Why were you hiding?”

“I like to sit here a few hours before we start another road trip,” she says, before glaring at them. “You two. Does this have to do with Ryuji?”

“T-timeout!”

Futaba makes a beeline to the door again, but Haru’s faster. She slips past them, standing in their way, perfect smile still in place. Sometimes Futaba forgets how strong she is in negotiations; her and Yusuke were probably tutorial levels compared to the upper management of Okumura Foods. “Answer her question, please.”

Yusuke sighs, tired. “You know what you’re asking for, don’t you? If we tell you what’s happening here, it would be breaking the trust of one of our teammates.”

“Yusuke!” Futaba hisses. “Are you really thinking about telling them? It’s not even our secret to tell.”

“No, it isn’t.” He makes eye contact with Makoto. “But she made a point. What would make us better friends: if we kept a secret to the grave while letting him suffer, or tell someone who can help even if it means being some sort of tattletale?”

“But…” she trails off, resolve crumbling. “Dude. It’s going to suck so much.”

“I know.” He pats her head, before moving to Ryuji’s backpack once more. “Don’t worry, I’m willing to take his anger if need be.” Yusuke gestures to the booth. “Everyone, take a seat. It’s about time this finally gets cleared up.”

Smoothing out the envelope in his hand, even more crumpled than when they had it last, he clears his throat, takes one last glance at Futaba to make sure. At her tentative nod, he begins to read its contents in a loud, clear voice.

When he finishes, they sit there, staring at the thick paper in silence.

“Oh my god,” Makoto breathes. “I knew it was bad, but—”

Haru shakes her head. “Not this bad. And he talked about it so much, but we didn’t even…” she glances down at the textbooks, idly rubbing its spine. “I didn’t think much of it.”

“None of us did,” Yusuke says. “But does that make it any better?”

They fall in silence again, but Futaba can hear the answer loud and clear. Hell no.

The door opens forcefully, pulling them out of their stupor.

“What’s up, my beloved friends!” Ann calls, shopping bags in tow. “God, I’m gonna miss Sapporo. Things here are so cheap compared to Tokyo, sheesh!” She sets them down, laughing when nobody says anything. “Jeez, what’s going on? Did I miss something?”

“Ann-chan,” Haru says carefully, all sense of cheer, for intimidation or otherwise, gone. “Take a seat. There’s something you should know.”

—

The Ferris wheel looms over them, blocking out most of the sunset behind it. “Nice,” Ryuji grins appreciatively. “I should’ve seen this one coming.”

“You should’ve,” Akira agrees, tugging him into the open carriage. He goes in willingly. “It was staring at you the whole time we’re in Sapporo. And besides, every romantic movie has a Ferris wheel scene, doesn’t it?”

“Oh yeah? Name one.”

“Death note.”

Ryuji makes a face, and Akira laughs. “Yeah, I know. Bad example.”

It’s a tight squeeze but they sit next to each other, ignoring the bench in front of them. The seats are hot, and even though it’s nearly evening, the heat barely eases up on them. Still, he finds himself pressing himself against Akira. He runs cold, much colder than Ryuji; narrow wrists are ice, prominent collarbones frost.

The two of them lean over the window, pointing out random scenery as if it were the first time they were seeing them. Restaurants, statues. Weird looking cars and flower beds. Decorated high rises and insects that fly by. It’s like they were tourists, or a retired couple who just want to travel the world. He’s never wanted to be old before, but Akira always has a way of making him change his mind.

Like clockwork—Ryuji makes a joke. Akira laughs. His heart feels lighter.

When he finds himself leaning against him, feet up on the bench, Akira wraps his arms around his shoulders unhesitatingly. Ryuji wonders if he can hear the way his heart thuds inside his bones. He wonders if he knows it's for him. The Ferris wheel stops, right at the very top, gently swaying like it were a giant cradle. They’re not very high up, but it’s far enough that he feels like he’s left the entire world behind.

Ryuji presses his lips against those wrists, relishing in the way he can feel the heartbeat increase. “You nervous?”

He can feel his head shake behind him. “I’m happy, I think,” Akira says in a hushed voice, like it was a secret, like it was a sin.

A breeze flows through, and Ryuji closes his eyes when lips press against just below his ear.

Would it be worth it to have a Palace? A Jail? Would it be worth it to lose himself, just to be in this moment for the rest of time?

Carefully, he flips himself sideways, just so he can press more of himself against Akira. The carriage rocks gently, and the metal bench underneath them is sharp and uncomfortable. Arms tighten around him. Chest to back, knee to knee, they couldn’t be closer, but Ryuji leans back, wanting nothing more than to bottle the rhythm of his breathing and the smell of his soap.

I’m happy, too, I think, he wants to say. If we stayed like this for the rest of our lives, until our skin is permanently tattooed into the hot steel and our bones are the only thing they take out of this bench because the rest of us had already rotted, then I’d be pretty damn happy.

Craning his neck backwards, Akira is already staring.

Then he’s kissing him—once, twice, again and again, and Ryuji realizes that something’s different. This wasn’t the kind of kiss he was used to. There was a desperate air to it, an urgent edge from both of them that neither was ready for. Stealing each other’s breath and giving it back; the cycle continues, the clock keeps ticking.

Ryuji pulls himself up, not breaking the kiss, cupping his cheek and soaking him in like a flower to the sun; an endless yearning, like he’d shrivel up and suffocate if it vanished. The sun framed Akira, and for a split second, he feels like he understands what Yusuke sees on a canvas.

When they part, foreheads leaning against each other, Ryuji lifts a trembling hand to wipe the tear that rolled down Akira’s cheek.

“What’s up?” he asks softly. “Is something wrong?”

“I feel like you’re a miracle, Ryuji.”

How do you respond to that? When the person who said it feels like they’re the one who’s magic, who’s too good to be true?

“Fuck miracles,” he says, pulling Akira in again.

—

The circuit felt like it ended too soon, but it’s night when they finally stepped off, holding hands and faces flushed. He hopes the ride operator doesn’t hate them, but he’s in too good of a mood to really complain.

Ryuji stops in his tracks when he sees who’s in front of them.

“Ann?” Akira questions, taken aback. Eyes dark and brows pulled close together, clutching her purse like a weapon of war—she looks like she’d just seen someone set an orphanage on fire.

Her voice is shockingly deep, gaze fixed on Ryuji. “I’m borrowing him for a second.”

Before either of them can say anything, Ann takes him by the bicep, and he can only glance at Akira before he’s dragged back into the Ferris wheel.

“Did you even pay—?”

“Don’t start,” she hisses, pushing him on the bench, hard. “Don’t you dare start, you damn liar.”

His blood runs cold. “What?”

No. That’s impossible.

“Don’t play dumb with me.” She shoves her hand in her bag and throws something rubber at him. “Do you know how long it took me to find a good one here? I spent my entire day in the shopping district—not looking for clothes, or shoes, or whatever the hell I thought would be fun. No, I spent our last day in Sapporo looking for that.”

Ryuji looks down at the hot compress in his hands, a lump in his throat.

“Because you weren’t doing anything to your knee,” she continues, jaw tight. “Despite me trying my best to help you get better. I thought that you must’ve been really fan-freaking-tastic at hiding the pain that you told me about. That I trusted was the truth because you’re one of my best friends and I trust you. I trust you with my life, my secrets—” Ann grits her teeth. “What the hell?”

“How did you find out?” he asks hoarsely.

She knows. If she knows, they could know. If they could know—

“Damn you, it doesn’t matter how I found out!” she throws her hands in the air, voice so hurt that it twists his insides impossibly tighter. “You think I would care? You think that this is important enough to lie to me about? Dammit, I don’t care that you—”

“Don’t say it,” he begs. “Please.”

“I don’t give a single shit that you failed second-year, Sakamoto!”

Her words ring against the steel walls, deafening.

Bile crawls up his esophagus, and he readies himself for another attack. But for some strange reason, his vision doesn’t blur. Instead, anger kicks in like it always does.

“You don’t care?” he asks, incredulous. “This doesn’t even have anything to do with you!”

“It does when you lie to me about it!” she yells back. “Do you not care about me? About your friends who would go to hell and back for you?”

“How dare you—!”

“You lied to me, you hid it from everyone else, you ignored our advice because it doesn’t mean shit to you.” She points a finger at him. “And look where that got you.”

“Shut up.”

“We all noticed, you know! Each and every one of us noticed that something was up, even the literal robot—”

“Shut the hell up, Ann.”

“And for what? All you accomplished was hurt our feelings, hold in yours, and keep it from the love of your life—”

Ryuji stands up, rocking the carriage and nearly toppling Ann off her feet.

“It’s because I fucking hate myself!”

She grips the barred window, eyes wide. They stare each other down for a few long moments, before the ride comes to an abrupt end. The door swings open, allowing a cheery greeting from the oblivious employee.

And then Ann sighs, shoulders deflating. “Come on,” she jerks her head to the door, before stepping out herself. “Let’s go.”

“What?” he asks, puzzled. “Where?”

“If we’re going to delve into the psyche of Sakamoto Ryuji, we might as well do it with some food in front of us.”

—

The cafe Ann takes him to is bright, filled with pastries and crowded with people—stools are pastel blue, baristas are wearing cute bowties, and each cup of coffee comes with an alarming amount of whipped cream on top. Sojiro would have a heart attack if he walked three kilometers of this place, but Ryuji’s glad that the resemblance is far and away than that of Leblanc.

The booth is pressed into the corner of it all; up against the window and far enough from the main bustle that they’d have to really put their all into it if they wanted to take their order. On one side sat Futaba, nervously tracing shapes on the window while Haru sits beside her. The opposite end has Yusuke and Makoto.

They all look up when they hear the bell chime, and Ryuji almost laughs. “It’s been a long ass time since I’ve seen you guys look so serious,” he remarks, sliding next to Makoto while Ann sits next to Haru. “Where’s the food at? Come on guys, food’s good for you.”

He raises a hand. “Excuse me! We’re ready!”

“Ryuji,” Futaba’s voice is brittle. “I—”

“Hold on shorty,” he reaches to pat her head, voice coming out soft. “We’ll get to that. I promise.”

A waiter comes, takes their drink order, and leaves. When he does, Yusuke places a heavy hand on the table. “I was the one who told everyone.”

“That’s not true!” Futaba cries out, and everyone jerks back in shock. “That’s bull! I’m the one who told him to go through your stuff ‘cause he was worried about you, but I’m the one who actually—”

“No, I’m the one at fault here,” Haru casts her gaze downwards. “It was really none of my business, but I forced these two to tell everyone here. I’m so sorry—”

Ryuji sighs. “Guys, it’s fine.” He’s met with an incredulous look. “Okay, it isn’t, but none of this is your fault, you know? I’m not mad.” His gaze shifts to Ann. “But you’re allowed to be mad at me. I know I shouldn’t have hidden it.”

She gives him a weighted look. “Then why did you do it?”

“Ann,” Makoto warns.

“No, I’m not budging on this.” She leans forward. “He lied to me. Lying doesn’t get you anywhere good. That was really stupid of you.”

“Ann!” Futaba cuts in, horrified.

“You’ve seen what happened with Shiho.” Ryuji flinches back like he’s been hit. He knows. Ann knows he knows. But she keeps going anyway. “She lied to me about what was happening, and I lied to her back. It kept going and going, and—” she snaps her fingers. “She’s gone from my life. For how long? I don’t know, maybe until we graduate. Maybe until her rehab ends. Maybe longer. Who knows? All I know is if we had just—talked, or—” Ann shakes her head, frustrated. “From the start. Tell us what happened. And afterwards, let us help you, or I swear to god I’m going to cry, and I know you can’t stand it when people cry.”

The silence is deafening, even with the clamor of people and voices around them.

Ryuji lets out a breath. “Yeah, alright.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You will?”

“I will,” he repeats, idly checking his pulse. Heart rate is a little quick, but in no danger of having another breakdown. “I’ll tell you everything.”

The waiter chooses that time to drop off their drinks; all cold except Haru, nursing a hot cup of tea. They definitely didn’t buy enough to justify the god-knows-how-long they’re going to spend here, but they’re just gonna have to suck it up.

“Alright,” he starts when they’re alone again. “We going from the start?”

“The very beginning,” Ann confirms.

With one last glance at his friends, he sighs, sits up straight, and flashes them the biggest grin he can muster:

“Hi,” he greets. “I’m Sakamoto Ryuji, and I failed my second-year of high school.”

No one’s expression shifts, not even an inch. He can’t help but be a little impressed. “You guys know that I’ve never been the greatest with books. Shit, screw greatest—I’ve ranked bottom five ever since I started middle school. Didn’t help that my leg got fucked to high heaven and everyone started hating me. Nearly dropped out a couple times. Had no one, really. Worst time in my life, hands down.

“So imagine this dumb little kid, middle of April, running into this guy.” Without meaning to, the grin shifts into something more genuine. “Good-looking dude, super smart, real charmer but you wouldn’t be able to tell just by lookin’ at him. And that guy saved my life. Ten, twenty, thirty times over. He was so great that the dumb kid obviously fell in love with him. But what’s even crazier is that the guy fell in love with the dumb little kid, too.

“Crazy, right? Sounds made up, but I promise it’s true.” He catches Futaba’s expression shift to exasperation. “I know, I can’t believe it either.”

“That’s not what I meant, you sap,” she says.

“Yeah, but that dumb little kid,” he explains. “Couldn’t believe it. Literally couldn’t believe it. Thinks that he struck the lottery, struck by damn lightning. I mean—” Ryuji laughs a little. “How can someone so amazing and cool be in love with such a moron? What made it worse…”

He gestures at all of them. “Was that the guy had so many people in his life who was also amazing. His social circle was made up of, and correct me if I’m wrong: a successful journalist, a politician, some dude from the mob, a random child who breaks gaming records on the daily, and I’m not even counting people from this goddamn table. So dumb little kid knows, he fucking knows that somehow, someway, he tricked the cool guy into falling in love with him. The kid sucked, no, sucks,” he corrects. “At everything. Can’t do anything worthwhile.”

“Ryuji…” Haru whispers.

“Almost done, I know it’s running on kinda long,” he promises. “So the dumb little kid became kinda obsessed with the group’s ‘activities’, and it’s obvious why he would, right? If he knows he’s not good enough for the guy he’s in love with, then he can at least try to be. But since he already sucked at school to begin with, dummy over here completely bailed on school and ended up flunking so bad that he failed an entire year.”

An entire year. An entire year.

It’s becoming harder and harder to breathe, but he’d rather get hit by a truck than lose it in front of so many people. Gritting his teeth, he does what he knows is bad, what every google search and YouTube video says you should not do—he pushes his feelings, far and hard away from himself, so far that it’s like it doesn’t even exist.

It works surprisingly well.

“And, uh—” Ryuji clears his throat. “He hid it. Because you know the one, single thing that’s worse than realizing you’re not good enough for the other person?”

No one answers. “Waiting for the day that they realize that you’re not good enough for them.”

“And that’s pretty much the bulk of it.” Reaching for his mug, he takes a sip of his lukewarm lemonade. Damn, he really did talk for a while. “I didn’t want to tell the rest of you because one, it’s really fucking embarrassing that I failed, and two—”

“Akira can’t know,” they all say in unison.

“Exactly, you guys get the point by now.” He drums his fingers against the table, trying to ignore the blatant gloom cast on all of their faces. “Question time starts now, if anyone wants to ask anything.”

Makoto opens her mouth, but he beats her to it. “If anyone even thinks about feeling pity, or be all ‘no, you’re smart actually!’, I am walking out of this cafe and I am not looking back.”

“What about summer school?” Makoto asks immediately. “If you didn’t want us to know, then you could’ve taken that without even telling us.”

“Summer school was never an option.”

“And why not?” she slaps her hand against the table. “It would’ve solved this entire situation!”

“Because Akira was coming home for the summer,” he says simply. “And I wanted to enjoy my time with him without this hanging over my head.”

Her jaw drops open. “But...that’s…”

“Stupid?” he offers. “Idiotic? Really dumb? Potentially throwing away my entire future? Yeah, I gotcha. Another part of it was that the thought of staying at Shujin for another minute makes me want to jump into traffic, if that helps make me look a little better in your mind, miss prez.”

Makoto’s expression of confusion freezes, taken aback by the harshness of his words. Ryuji cringes at himself. “Sorry.”

“No,” she says finally. “The fault is mine. I have no right to judge your actions, or to pretend I know what kind of stress is burdening you.” Hesitating, she asks, “May I request another question?”

“Shoot.”

“What were you going to do when we eventually go back to Tokyo?”

As expected of someone who went head-to-head against the ace detective in front of the entire school; her questions are brutal. “I don’t know, honestly. I was planning on ignoring the problem for now and just sort of,” he gestures vaguely. “Enjoy the summertime sun?”

“A moment,” Haru goes through her bag. “It’s a long story, but I have these—”

The second the books peek out of her tote, he recognizes the cover immediately. “Cram books? You bought some?”

“Yes!” she answers, mistaking his reaction for eagerness. “It’s a very small gesture, but I’d love for you to have them.”

“I—” he leans away from them, breath catching in his throat. “No.”

“No?” she blinks.

“Not now, senpai.” Trying out his new trick again, he forces his heart to slow down, forces his breathing to regulate again without any of the techniques, and forces himself not to feel any of the fear that he’d normally have to go through. It works, but barely. “I’m not—I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that yet.”

“That’s fine.” Haru puts them away, and as hard as he tries, he can still see how dejected she was. “I’ll hold on to them for you.”

“Thank you.” He glances around. “Any last takers? Q&A is almost up.”

“I have one,” Yusuke pipes up.

“Go for it.”

“How are you?” he asks genuinely.

Ryuji can’t help it—a laugh gets pulled out of him. “How am I?” he repeats.

“Yes. How are you?”

“Uh,” he laughs again. “Not good, man. Not good.”

Everyone startles when Ryuji stands abruptly. He slams down the rest of his lemonade, relieved at how it helps his parched throat. “Alrighty, that took a lot out of me! Let’s get out of here, I’m sick of being surrounded by fake coffee and poser cafe fanatics.”

“I’ll take care of the bill,” Haru says, following his lead and scooting out from the booth.

“What? No, come on. I don’t care how rich you are, at least let me pay half.”

“Ryuji.” She looks him dead in the eye. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

“...Yes ma’am.”

Slowly, they all start filing out, some exiting the cafe while Makoto goes to the till with Haru. Ryuji reaches for Ann’s elbow before she can leave. “Hey.”

Turning her head, it’s as if her lips were permanently stitched downwards. “Yeah?”

“I’m really sorry I lied to you,” he says, somber. “That was shitty, and it doesn’t matter what I’m going through—you can’t deal with lies. I get that. I won’t put you through that again.”

Ann kisses her palm before slapping it against his forehead. “You better not,” her voice drips in affection. “You said not to console you—”

“I did, and I meant it.”

“But I’m here for you,” she rubs his skin harder, and he winces at the chafing. “You know that, right? No matter how crazy the shit inside your head gets, I want you to talk to me.”

“I know it,” he says, not just because he wants the friction to ease up. “I know it now, for sure.”

“Good.” Ann releases him, and goes to join Haru and Makoto up front. “You might want to head out. Someone’s starting to make a fuss.”

“What?” he turns around, making direct eye contact with Futaba, nursing a blank expression on her face. “I see.”

The bell chimes once more when he steps out, relieved at the cool summer air that hits him. “Shorty,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “What’s good?”

“Here.” Ryuji glances down at her, who’s holding a familiar, now very-crumpled envelope between her fingers. It’s weird seeing her hold the letter announcing his failure like a bomb, but he understands the sentiment. “I had to show Ann because she wouldn’t believe me until I got some proof.”

“Thank you,” he says, shoving it in his pocket. “I’m not mad at you, you know.”

“I know you’re not.” She swallows and stares down at her shoes. Her laces were covered in little beads and stars, something he had bought for her during a weekend hangout once. “This isn’t me pitying you, or showering you with some kind of boohoo potion.”

She swallows again. “I failed my first year of high school. It was for a completely different reason—guilt for who I thought I killed rather than wanting to be something else. But I know. I know so much about what you’re going through.”

Futaba looks up, and his heart wrenches when he sees the tears in her eyes. “I’m so, so sorry if I made you sad, or that I kept calling you stupid back then,” she sobs. “I don’t mean it, and I’m so mean to you all of the time but I don’t mean any of it. I told everyone your secret because I wanted to—” she hiccups, and she pushes her glasses to the top of her head. “I wanted to give you your own version of what the Phantom Thieves did for me, but I reached out to you guys back then. No one forced me to do anything, but I took that choice away from you.”

He pulls her in his arms, and her tears are hot even through his shirt. “I know, Futaba,” he says, patting her head. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

She hits his chest weakly. “Me taking care of you?” she sniffs. “I’m literally the one crying right now.”

“Just for now though,” he shrugs. “Next time I cry, you’ll be the one handing me tissues, I swear.”

They stand there, the two of them standing in the middle of Sapporo while people give them weird looks—Futaba, unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks, and Ryuji, refusing to ever let his emotions make things worse for everyone else again.

—

When they get back to the RV, each of them emotionally exhausted, Ryuji goes to kiss the top of Akira’s head. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Akira looks up from his card game with Morgana and Sophia. “You look like you had a wild night. Ann take you all somewhere fun?”

“Totally,” he says, sliding the letter back in his backpack. “Best night ever.”

“Take me next time. Sophia’s kicking our ass.”

“She is not!” Morgana denies, tail swishing. “Just a little,” he relents.

“I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Ryuji announces, hiking his backpack on his shoulders and heading out, before running into Ann outside.

“Oh my god,” she says, disturbed. “He really, really doesn’t know.”

“Yup,” he moves past her. “And we’re keeping it that way.”

#p5 #p5s #mine #fic tag #plainly in truth #ryuji sakamoto #akira kurusu #akiryu #pegoryu #ann takamaki #futaba sakura #persona 5 #persona 5 strikers #chapter three! *thumbs up*

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crystalirises · 4 years ago

Text

5 Times Fundy is Left Alone (+3 Times He's Not)

In which, Crys forgot to crosspost this sskskkskss. Anyway, this is a fic about the boat glitch! Just a warning though, I know the boat glitch is about astral projection but I did not utilize the rules of astral projection in this fic so please don’t read this through the lens of astral projection. Anyway hope you guys like this fic :D!

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/74572116

Ghostbur hummed a soft tune underneath his breath as he picked at the flowers by the lake, eyes flitting up towards the sky every now and then as a soft breeze ruffled his translucent hair.

His gaze turns towards the lake, the symphony dancing at the edge of his tongue quelling to a silence as he caught the glimpse of familiar ginger hair in the distance. His heart raced as he watched his little champion’s boat glide along the glimmering surface of the lake. Ghostbur hadn’t seen his son since… he couldn’t remember when was the last time, but oh well! He smiled to himself as he thought about how great it was that his son had found a new hobby to partake in. Ghostbur wasted no time as he floated over to where Fundy was, a soft smile on his face as he hovered in front of his little champion. He waved a hand in front of the fox hybrid’s face, hoping to catch his son’s attention before Fundy panicked and fell off the boat. Ghostbur was pretty spooky if he did say so himself! “Fundy! Hey, Fundy! Enjoying the lakeview, son?”

Fundy didn’t glance up at him, a blank look in his son’s eyes as he continued to stare past the spectre. Ghostbur awkwardly chuckled, rubbing a hand to the back of his neck as he waited for Fundy to look at him. He floated closer, wondering if his little champion hadn’t heard him. His son didn’t flinch, even as Ghostbur sat down at the edge of the boat, flower basket in hand.

“Fundy?” He hesitated, form flickering before placing a hand against his son’s shoulder. He frowned as Fundy didn’t twitch, eyes glazed over as if lost in a world of his own. Ghostbur couldn’t help but panic, wondering what was wrong with his little boy. “Fundy! Please, son!”

The ghost felt a pinch of pain in his heart as Fundy continued to ignore him. He didn’t know what to do! He wrapped his arms around himself, hyperventilating as he tried to calm down.

Ghostbur couldn’t help but wonder what he had done wrong, what he had done to cause his little champion to ignore him so - and that had to be what was happening! Why else would Fundy not respond to him? He bit the inside of his cheeks, wishing that he could feel some semblance of pain to drown out the ache in his heart and the whispers in his head. Fundy wasn’t talking to him, why wasn’t his son talking to him?! Ghostbur couldn’t help but curl into himself, rocking back and forth, the boat creaking under the sudden shift of movement. What did he do wrong?!

Then all fell still, the sound of birds chirping in the distance the only sound that broke through the silence. If one were to look out into the lake, they’d see a ghost and a fox… both unmoving.

“Well, Fundy… it was great talking to you but I really ought to get back to Phil and Techno! So, um, here have some blue and uh… oh! A flower! You like flowers, right?” Ghostbur snapped out of whatever daze had fallen into, honestly, he should stop spacing out! He shook his head, his signature smile appearing back on his face as he placed some blue in his son’s unresponsive hand and a flower tucked behind his son’s ear. “I have to go now, Fundy! I’ll talk to you later! Bye!”

Ghostbur wasn't sure what had happened, but he was happy to know his son was enjoying the fresh sun and the cool air. He had hardly seen his little champion since… well, he couldn't remember and if he didn't remember then it probably didn't matter anyway! Ghostbur floated away from the small boat, pausing at the edge of the lake as he turned to give one glance towards his son. Fundy sat in the boat, eerily still and staring into the distance… almost as if he wasn't truly there… but that was a silly thought! His son was probably just busy thinking about one of his crazy contraptions! Ghostbur could only hope that Fundy didn't overwork himself too much. His little champion shouldn't tire himself out. Ghostbur gave his son one last wave, before disappearing further inland, humming a soft tune underneath his breath. He'd see Fundy again, maybe tomorrow if Ghostbur looked for him. Hm… no, maybe his little champion wanted some peace and if so… Well Ghostbur was not going to deny his son what he wanted!

Fundy wakes to blue melting off his fingertips and a wilted flower tucked behind his ear.

---

Niki tugged the collar of the dark brown coat closer to her chin, scowling as she felt the harsh wind against the landscape, ruffling her pink hair as she looked up into the sky. She didn't know what had compelled her to visit the remains of a country no longer worth fighting for, but here she was, basking in the beauty of the lake. She took a deep breath, calming her shaky nerves. Techno had just offered her a position she couldn't refuse, and she'd be damned if she let another country rear its ugly head into the peace they had so clearly established. Countries brought war, governments brought misery. Why let a new one rise from the ashes of the past? Doesn't she have the power and the right - the responsibility - to make sure no one ever loses themselves to the idea of a nation ever again?

She sighed, wishing people could just open their eyes and see the truth for what it was. As she ran a hand through her hair, she noticed a boat in the distance, floating and drifting as though no one was controlling it. Her eyes narrowed as she moved a bit further up the dock, the wood creaking beneath her boots as she finally came to a stop at the edge. From there, she could see the glimpse of ginger hair, the sun casting it in an ethereal golden glow. Niki's eyebrows furrowed together as she watched Fundy's boat continue to float through the lake, the fox hybrid unmoving even as his boat began to hit jutting rocks or the edge of the lake. Niki waited until Fundy finally settled, the boat stuck against the shore. She made her way towards him, concern flitting in her mind before his betrayal casted anger in her heart. Of course she'd find him here, where else would he be? Gods know the fox was sentimental. He'd never abandon L'Manburg so long as a part still remained. Maybe getting rid of the lake would make him leave too.

"Fundy!" She trampled past the flowers growing by the edge of the lake, her hands curled into fists by her sides as she reached the fox hybrid. She glanced down at him, pausing as she took in the dark circles underneath his eyes and how thin he seemed to have gotten. She felt her anger disappear as she crouched beside him, hands twitching as she thought of what she should do. "Fundy? It's Niki. When was the last time you slept or ate? … Fundy?"

The fox hybrid sat there, silent and eyes empty of emotion. She winced as she reached out a hand to pat him on the cheek, pulling back as she felt his too cold cheek against her palm. If it weren't for the subtle movement of his chest rising and falling, she would have thought him to be dead. She sat down against the grass, feeling the blades tickle against her ankles as she tried to coax the fox hybrid into looking at her. Fundy didn't look at her once.

"Fundy… are you ignoring me?" Niki couldn't help but feel hurt. He was the one who betrayed her, who betrayed their belief, and now he was pretending as if she wasn't there?! Niki felt her fury rise once more, all previous concern lost as she rose up from where she sat. "Well, FINE! You know what?! I thought we could be friends again! I thought you were on my side again! I wanted to trust you but you're still nothing but a no good traitor! That's what you'll always be!"

She expected him to turn towards her, eyes blazing at the words she had just spoken, but he didn’t even move. Niki ran her hands through her hair, nails biting into her scalp as she let out a scream of frustration. Why wasn’t he looking at her?! Was he that adamant about keeping quiet that he’d let her insult him like that? She took a deep breathe, anger clouding her judgement.

“I’m leaving, Fundy. I don’t want to see you again. If you’re going to pretend I don’t exist…” She gritted her teeth, her whole body trembling with rage. “Then you don’t matter to me either.”

Fundy didn’t twitch, didn’t cry, didn’t scream. Nothing. Almost as if he was but a corpse.

“WHY WON’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?!” Niki felt tears at the corner of her eyes, gliding past her cheek as she shrieked at him, a part of her begging him to turn around and look at her - just look at her. She wiped her tears away with the sleeve of her coat, sniffling as she looked at the frail form of a man who she thought would always be her friend. Her bottom lip trembled as she stared at him, dead and unhearing to her please. “Fine. Be that way, but don’t come crawling back to me if you ever want to talk.” Although she shouldn’t have done it, Niki roughly pushed him off the boat, knocking him to the muddy edge of the lake. With that, she walked away.

Fundy wakes to mud tangled in his hair and a burning ache on his shoulder.

---

Tommy wasn’t sure why Sam Nook had thought they needed flowers for the hotel and why he had sent Tommy of all people to do it. He picked at the flowers without care, trampling over some of them in his haste to pick the best among the rest. He grumbled underneath his breath, nearly slipping into the lake for the tenth time that day. Honestly, why did he have to be the one to pick fucking flowers? He was Tommyinnit, he shouldn’t have to do this shit.

The wind ruffled his hair as he looked over at the lake, a pang in his chest as he tried to ignore the ruin behind him. L’Manburg was gone. Tommy took deep breaths, like the ones Puffy taught him to do each time he got frustrated. As he tried to calm his thoughts, he saw a boat gliding against the surface of the lake, a familiar pair of fox ears catching Tommy’s attention. He was surprised to find Fundy there of all places. Actually, when was the last time he’d seen Fundy? Whatever, right now, it was clear that the furry didn’t even know how to properly row a boat.

“Oi, Fundy! You have to use a paddle or else you’re just going to drift further away from the lake like an idiot!” He waited for a response, a cry of protest or fear… but it never came. Tommy furrowed his eyebrows, worry crossing his mind as he realized Fundy was slightly slumped over, not that he looked like he was unconscious but he certainly looked as if he wasn’t really present. Tommy dropped the flowers, running to the edge of the dock as he watched Fundy’s boat continue to float, following the direction of the wind as it continued to push him further and further away from the dock. “FUNDY! Come on! What the fuck are you even doing, I一 I’m going to get you, alright? Just… stop acting like an idiot by the time I get there or fucking else!”

He kicked off his shoes, grumbling underneath his breath as he jumped into the icy cold water of the lake, shivering as he began to swim his way towards Fundy’s boat. He was going to kill that furry for fucking ignoring him. Tommy nearly shrieked when he felt a fish swim against his arm, sputtering dirty lake water as he splashed around. After a moment of floundering and shrieking, Tommy finally made his way towards the boat, clutching the rotting edge as if it were a lifeline.

“Fundy, seriously, have you gone deaf or some shit?” With ease, Tommy pulled himself onto the boat, surprised to find paddles hanging from the edge. Tommy took them, the paddles seemingly unused as they looked newer compared to Fundy’s boat which was slowly rotting away with moss clinging to some parts of the wood. He turned towards Fundy who stared glassily into the distance, his head slumped forward as though he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. Tommy chuckled, awkward and wrong against his ears as he sat down at the front of the boat. “Fundy?”

He waited but Fundy didn’t even look at him, silent even as Tommy began to pester and curse him. Tommy sighed, shaking his head at the furry’s choice of silence. He rubbed his hand on his mouth, wondering whether throwing Fundy into the lake would wake him up. He decided against that and decided to just row the boat back towards the dock and hope that the sudden movement would wake the fox hybrid up. Tommy began to row them back home, casting side-glances over at his… his silent nephew. He didn’t like how quiet Fundy was, didn’t like it one bit. Fundy should be complaining or… or something. “You know, I haven’t seen you since fucking Doomsday. What, did you fall into a ditch or something? ...I’ve been doing great, man. You know I’m helping Sam Nook with the hotel and shit. Yep, no more fucking wars for me, you know? It’s nice. The peace, that is. You know, you could help out over at the hotel if you want to.”

Tommy shuddered at the lack of response, not even a stutter or protest. What the fuck was wrong with Fundy? He shook his head, forcing his aching arms to keep rowing until they reached the dock, Tommy letting out a sigh of relief as he let his limbs rest from the growing soreness blossoming on his shoulders. He walked onto the dock, freezing cold from his impromptu swim.

“Time to get out of the boat. It’s nearly night and I’m not leaving you out here to get eaten by a fish or whatever the fuck else lives in this lake.” He waited but Fundy stayed where he was, almost slumping over if Tommy hadn’t reached out to keep him steady. Tommy shook his head as Fundy continued to give him the silent treatment, choosing to take the rope of the boat and tie it to one of the wooden posts on the dock. As amusing as the thought of Fundy waking up at night to find that he had drifted out to sea was, Tommy wasn’t going to let his nephew drown (not again). He reached down into his shorts pocket, grasping the pen Sam Nook had given him. He took it out, gently grabbing Fundy’s cold and unfeeling wrist. “Whatever, stay here all night if you want to, but at least stop by at the hotel tomorrow, yeah? You better be listening, furry…”

Tommy scribbled the address of the hotel onto Fundy’s palm, wincing at how Fundy didn’t wake up from the chill of the ink. He watched as Fundy’s hand banged against the side of the boat, the fox hybrid not crying out in pain despite the blossoming patch of red against his skin. It would bruise, but at least it wouldn’t bleed. Tommy hesitated, wondering what he should do, what he could do. Fundy wasn’t reacting to anything, not to Tommy and certainly not to whatever was happening to his own body. Maybe pushing him into the lake wasn’t such a terrible idea at all. He waited and waited. A part of him hoped that Fundy would wake up at any second, but when the chill of the day turned to the freezing cold of the night, Tommy found himself walking away. He gave Fundy one last glimpse before heading off towards the hotel, wondering what he could have done to wake his nephew up. Whatever. Tommy tried to help, and that was good enough.

Fundy wakes to find his boat tied to the dock and fading black ink against his palm.

---

Ranboo scurried about the edge of the lake, a grass block in hand as he looked out wearily into the lake. He couldn’t quite remember why he was there, his mind fuzzy with muted memories that he was sure he wouldn’t recall anytime soon. He turned to head towards the dock, the wood groaning beneath his feet as he took a nervous step onto the walkway. He didn’t want to step onto it and gain a nasty surprise in case the dock decided to collapse underneath his weight. He wasn’t quite sure how long it had been since anyone had visited the lake, the place too close to the remains of New L’Manburg to really invite anyone over. He wasn’t sure why he was even there to begin with. Somedays he wished he could just remember where he ran off to in his sleep.

As he slowly walked across the wooden surface, he caught a glimpse of a familiar fox hybrid at the edge of the dock. Ranboo paused where he was, terrified of confronting Fundy, especially on a day where he was already frazzled and scared. He just wanted to go home to Phil and Techno!

“Hey… Fundy…” Ranboo pushed down the terror he felt. It was just Fundy. Fundy couldn’t do anything to Ranboo, not without inciting Phil and Techno’s wrath. He was safe. He was fine. Fundy wasn’t going to hurt him. He stepped closer, surprised to find Fundy’s head resting against the wooden dock, the rest of his prone body sitting on a boat that looked ready to collapse at any moment. He felt a strike of fear in his chest as he crouched down beside the unmoving fox hybrid, his hand hovering above dirty ginger hair as Ranboo wondered if he should wake Fundy up. His fingers were shaking, small tremors racing up and down his arm as he slowly retracted his hand away from the fox hybrid. He couldn’t help but feel safer that way. Fundy wasn’t… he wasn’t in his body. Ranboo knew this trick, knew that Fundy wasn’t really there with him.

Ranboo sat down next to Fundy, curling up into himself as he looked down at the shell of - his used to be - best friend’s body. He liked it better this way. At least he now felt safe next to Fundy.

“So… this is where you’ve been… you’re not really here so I guess I’m talking to myself.” Ranboo glanced over at Fundy, praying that Fundy wasn’t in the area. He didn’t want to think what would happen if Fundy’s soul was sitting right beside him, listening to him talk. Ranboo would scream and teleport away if Fundy suddenly woke up. He didn’t want the confrontation. “I… uh… I’ve been doing great. I see you’ve… lost yourself… I’m not surprised, I guess.”

He pulled his knees closer to his chest, grass dirt block forgotten on the ground as Ranboo felt pain inside his chest. He missed talking to Fundy, even if it was just the husk he was talking to.

“Fundy… why are you doing this to yourself… you look… horrible. Like, really horrible, when was the last time you were… awake?” He didn’t expect to gain an answer, he’d be horrified if Fundy suddenly spoke. Ranboo wiped away the dirt on his hands against the bottom of his pants, wincing as they left a mark on the dark cloth. “I guess it’s better this way. You’re not on any side but your own, and I honestly think you’re safer this way… I guess. You… you’re probably happier in your own world… good… stay there. I don’t… I don’t want to fight you again, Fundy. If this is how we… avoid fighting… then okay. I’d rather you like this than us fighting again.”

Ranboo stopped himself, words stuttering against his throat as the fear flooded back into his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to stay a moment longer. Fundy could wake up at any moment and he did not dare provoke the luck gods by staring any longer. Ranboo stood up, his knees shaking as he turned to go, pausing only when he realized how he shouldn’t leave Fundy in such a position. Despite his terror, he turned back to help Fundy off the boat, placing him down on the dock. Ranboo stared and stared, feeling a stinging pain at his eyelids the longer he looked.

“I… I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I thought it would be easy but seeing you like this, I一 I can’t deal with this, Fundy! Just… please… be awake when I come back, okay?” Ranboo winced as he felt a tear drip down his chin, his skin burning as he felt more tears spring from his eyes. He couldn’t stay a moment longer, being near Fundy - even seeing Fundy - pained him. Ranboo walked away, nearly tripping on his own two feet as he forced himself to leave. He couldn’t stay. He couldn’t stay. “No. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry… goodbye...” Then he was gone.

Fundy wakes to find himself on the dock and blades of grass floating over his head.

---

Phil flew over the ruins of L’Manburg, his heart beating heavily in his chest as he looked over at the rising moon in the distance that bathed the ground in its silver glow. A few weeks ago, Ranboo had come home with the remnants of tear tracks on his cheek, the enderman hybrid couldn’t remember what had made him so upset and Phil didn’t press him. At some point during the night, on this particular night, Phil heard Ranboo mutter Fundy underneath his breath and felt rage at the thought that Fundy - his disowned grandson - had somehow made Ranboo cry.

As he glided through the night sky, he found himself looking down at the lake where he had once spent an entire afternoon with Fundy, catching fish and laughing as he tried desperately not to think about how Fundy reminded him of his own son, Wilbur. He flew down, closer to the lake.

The lantern in his hand served as his beacon as he landed at the old dock, illuminating the rotting path with its golden glow. Phil walked closer to the edge, pausing as he noticed a figure lying down on a boat. He hesitated before moving closer, his sandals clacking against the wood as he drew near. Phil lifted his lantern, catching a glimpse of ginger hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed in nearly a month. His breath caught in his throat as he fell to his knees with a thump, hands reaching out to pull the prone form of his grandson out of the nearly collapsing boat.

He couldn’t help but panic, all previous anger gone as he felt how cold his grandson’s body was. Phil held him close to his chest, wings wrapped around them to keep away the chill of the night. Alone as he was, he couldn’t help but think of another memory such as this, another time where he had held his own son's cold body to his chest. He had cried then, screamed his throat raw until he’d lost the ability to speak for a few days. Wilbur, his boy, who only ever wanted to let the world hear his symphony. Phil wasn’t sure why Wilbur’s death had hurt him so much. It was inevitable. He was Philza Minecraft. He had lived through centuries of death and misery, had lost so much to war or to nature, yet it was Wilbur Soot’s death that caused him grief after centuries of apathy and detachment. Holding his grandson - who you disowned, the voices in his head cackled in glee - he felt hollow and empty, like he’d lost another child that he couldn’t keep safe.

He stopped as he felt Fundy’s beating heart, faint as it was. Phil relaxed his hold, still keeping Fundy in his arms as he tried to calm down. Fundy was alive. He hadn’t failed Wilbur again.

Phil couldn’t help but keep his grandson close, the false scare was enough to keep him from flying back home. He was unsettled by Fundy’s glassy eyes, how they barely held any life in them despite his grandson’s clearly beating heart. Fundy hadn’t moved at all, almost as if he was nothing but a statue, frozen in time. Phil couldn’t help but wonder if his grandson had died along with L’Manburg, if - just like the nation - he was nothing but a husk of what was. Phil shivered, his wings curling closer around them. No. That wasn’t the case. Phil knew that. He knew this particular form of magic, how his own grandson came to know it he’ll, perhaps, never know.

He’d heard stories of it, hadn’t mastered the form of magic himself as he never found a reason to in his lifetime. He knew tales of people - lost to history now and remembered only by those who lived long enough to remember - who lost themselves into a world unseen by any other. They would lay down somewhere, most of them having an item or particular ritual to help ease the transition of their mind from the physical realm to the spiritual realm. Then they would be like what his grandson was right now, empty shells as their spirit disappeared to do what they wanted to do in the realm of their own making. Some said that form of magic wasn’t harmful, that it was merely a ticket to a world of fantasy that the users would eventually snap out of, but Phil knew better. What people forget - what they chose to forget - was the inevitable ending. At some point, people would begin to lose themselves to their own fantasies, their bodies rotting away as they一

Phil took in a shuddery breath, resting his chin against his grandson’s head as he gently closed Fundy’s eyes with his hand. Fundy would wake eventually, he had to. The other option was downright unforgivable. He looked down at Fundy, the lantern’s light revealing dark circles underneath the fox hybrid’s eyes, his body much too thin for someone of Fundy’s height. His clothes had tears and holes in them, his hair having grown past his shoulders and matted with leaves and mud. Phil couldn’t help but pull Fundy closer to his chest, wondering how anyone - how he - could have let this happen. He wished he could take the fox hybrid away, take him home where he could be cared for, but taking the body without the spirit inside could prove fatal.

Despite his senses screaming at him to take Fundy, Phil knew he couldn’t. He stood up, his grandson in his arms as he made his way towards the edge of the lake. He placed Fundy down on a patch of grass, wishing he could pretend that Fundy was sleeping and would wake up at any time. Phil placed his lantern beside his grandson, wings rustling behind his back as he turned to leave. He’d be back. Maybe he’d send Techno to watch over Fundy if Phil couldn’t make it. For now, he had to leave. With a flap of his wings, he was off, once more, into the night sky.

Fundy wakes to the sound of flapping wings and a newly lit lantern by his side.

---

Technoblade looked up into the starry night sky, boots thumping against the ground as he made his way through the wreckage of New L’Manburg. He wasn’t quite sure why Phil had begged him to pay a visit to the New L’Manburg lake, his father adamant that he go and… watch.

He wasn’t sure what he would find, but he’d brought along an axe in the case that he’d need it. Techno didn’t expect a lot, unsure of what Phil had meant by ‘Please… he might respond if he hears your voice.’ The voices in his head certainly weren’t any help, most of them screaming about blood or death, a few begging him to sleep (those he didn’t pay attention to because sleep was for nerds). Techno paused by the edge, the lake water silver as beams of moonlight blessed the land. He waited for a moment, his ears twitching as he picked up the sounds of crickets and fish darting through the lake. Techno wanted to turn around and go home, tell Phil he hadn’t found the so-called ‘he’ that he had wanted Techno to talk to. Just as he was about to turn and leave, he paused, eyes narrowing as he noticed a boat in the distance. Someone had clearly missed the water because the boat was on dry land, unmoving despite the passenger in its seat.

Techno made his way to the boat, taking note that it was recently made. He stilled as he spotted Fundy on the boat, his nephew (???) sitting eerily still, his hands in his lap as he stared out onto the quiet lake. Any other normal being would have shivered at the sight, but not the blood god.

“Fundy.”

He noticed the twitch of an ear, as though Fundy had heard him but didn’t dare move from where he was. Techno moved closer, taking a hesitant step forward until he was close enough to touch the top of Fundy’s head. He hesitated before placing a hand on top of his nephew’s hair, the voices in his head encouraging and mocking him as he slowly began to pet Fundy’s hair. Someone had recently cut his hair, the style reminiscent of what Phil would do to Tommy, although Tommy’s haircut was usually uneven since he couldn’t sit still for even a second. Fundy had no such problem, unmoving and dead as he was. Techno had heard tales and legends from Phil of this kind of magic, knowing full well that he couldn’t just take Fundy and leave (despite the protests of the voices for him to either take Fundy home or to punt him off a cliff).

Techno sighed, unclasping his cloak from his shoulders before settling it over Fundy, his clothes cold from the night air. He wasn’t sure how, but it seemed as though Phil had either forgotten the concept of making a house where Fundy could stay in or that Fundy had made his way outside again to disappear into the fantasies of his mind. Techno sat down beside his nephew, waiting.

He wasn’t quite certain what Phil had hoped to gain by sending Techno of all people to speak to Fundy, not that he ever had much interaction with twin’s son before. The piglin hybrid turned towards Fundy, sighing underneath his breath as he moved the fox from the boat and onto a soft patch of grass. The fox hybrid continued to lay there, unmoving, the only indication that he was still alive was the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. “Hey, uh, kid. Uh… mind waking up soon?”

All he got was a slight twitch of the ears, as if Fundy’s spirit could hear him. Techno let out a huff before settling back to where he was seated, knowing deep down that his nephew’s spirit was somewhere nearby, perhaps even listening. He couldn’t fathom why his voice would attract Fundy as they weren’t even close. Neither Phil, Ranboo, nor Niki could wake him, why could Techno, even if it was just a twitch of the ear? Techno shook his head, pink hair framing the sides of his face as he looked up into the night sky. “You know if you weren’t unconscious, I’d probably tell you the story of the stars. I used to tell Wilbur and Tommy the tales before we grew up and went our separate ways. Fundy... I’m not… good at this uncle thing. I don’t have anything to say that could make you wake up, and really, you’re probably better off never waking up.”

He winced, ears flicking as he realized how terrible that last line sounded. Phil really shouldn’t have sent Techno of all people. He rubbed a hand on his face, trying to compose the right words to say. Wilbur was the poet, not him. “Kid, just... don’t go to where we can’t follow.”

Techno could have sworn he felt Fundy move just a bit closer towards him.

---

Eret raced through the ruins of New L’manberg, their cape fluttering in the wind as they looked behind every piece of debris that jutted from the ground. Their heart beating erratically against their chest as they looked everywhere for a single sign of their son. They couldn’t find a single trace of Fundy anywhere, panic blooming in their head as they headed towards the lake.

They had been away due to a meeting with some of the local monarchs in the area. When they had gotten back, Eret didn’t expect to be hit with the news that Fundy wasn’t quite… conscious.

Eret supposed they should have pressed for more details from the frazzled and scared grandfather who looked like he hadn’t slept a wink in a week, but the panic had overridden their logic as they had quickly rushed towards the ruins of New L’Manburg. They had to find Fundy immediately.

“Fundy! Fundy, it’s Eret! I’m back! I’m back!”

They paused at the edge of the lake, finding a prone figure in the grass, a familiar red cape draped over who Eret could only assume was Fundy. They broke into a sprint, stopping a few steps away from their son who didn’t even flinch at their oncoming footsteps. Oh gods…

Eret pressed a hand against Fundy’s cheek, nearly pulling away as they felt how cold it was. They looked at the dark circles underneath the fox hybrid’s closed eyes, almost as if someone had closed them to look as if he was sleeping. From what Eret could remember from their conversation, Phil had told them enough about what was currently happening to their son. They crouched, a part of them unable to leave Fundy alone in such a secluded area. Phil had told them not to move or take the body away, but Eret couldn’t and wouldn’t bring themselves to leave Fundy’s body alone. Their hands gently slid underneath the fox hybrid’s shoulders and knees.

“Funds? It’s Eret. Can you hear me? Are you anywhere near me, right now?” Eret hefted Fundy up into their arms, panicking at how light he was. “Fundy, please. I’m here now. I’m right here.”

They nearly gave up until they felt movement. Eret looked down and nearly cried tears of joy as Fundy slowly moved his arm up, resting it on Eret’s shoulder before the arm flopped back down again. There were soft murmurs coming from the fox hybrid’s mouth, words that Eret couldn’t quite understand nor hear but was enough to make them feel relieved. Fundy was somewhere nearby, he had to be. Eret wasn’t sure how this form of magic worked, but they would do anything to fix this. There had to be a reason Fundy wasn’t going back into his body, had to be a reason why he wasn’t waking up. “It’s alright, Fundy. I’m taking you somewhere safer, alright?”

They felt Fundy curl closer towards them as they felt what Eret could only describe as “ghostly” hands run through their hair, nearly jumping when they felt a hand hold their shoulder before the touch disappeared once more. Eret tightened their grip on Fundy’s body, moving back towards the ruins, careful not to move too quickly in case Fundy’s spirit lost Eret within the wreckage. Phil would probably panic if he saw Eret with Fundy’s body. Hopefully they could tell him what had happened before the frantic grandfather started flying around the Essempy, looking for any telltale sign of a lost and very confused fox hybrid. Every so often Eret would stop, feeling a hand touch their back before disappearing again, a sign that Fundy’s spirit was still there. Eret kept walking until they saw their castle in the distance. Home. They were bringing Fundy home.

And as Fundy kept muttering underneath his breath, Eret swore they’d bring Fundy home.

No matter what.

---

Wilbur walked down the length of the castle hallway, refusing to stop even as his father and Eret kept screaming for him to come back. His heart was dead set on finding his son as he could. He remembered Ghostbur’s memories, remembered his last memory of Fundy. Despite his feet wobbling against the carpet and his knees shaking with new life, he forged onwards.

He hated how he had left his son alone on that boat. Even though he knew he wasn’t to blame for his ghostly counterpart’s action, Wilbur felt the guilt and shame as he realized he could have spared his son the agony if he - as Ghostbur - had just tried to wake Fundy up. It had gotten out of hand. Phil had given him some of the details, most of them fuzzy as he had just woken up from literal death by the time Phil had begun to speak. Fundy’s spirit - gods did he end up killing his son? - couldn’t return to the body, having spent too much time in the spirit realm without anything to ground him back to the physical realm. Wilbur brushed past everyone who tried to stop him in the hallway, pushing past Technoblade, Niki, and Ranboo (who he had yet to formally meet), only pausing briefly when he caught Tommy’s eyes. Unlike everyone, Tommy didn’t try to stop him, letting him through with a solemn nod. The two of them would talk later.

Wilbur walked until he nearly collapsed against the doorway of Fundy’s room, his legs still not used to being, well, alive. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the untouched bedroom, his son’s too still form lying on the bed for, what he could only assume, was a very long time. He forced himself to stand, to stagger to his son’s side, grasping his son’s too cold hand in his as he tried to keep himself from sobbing. He heard footsteps pause outside his room, a brief moment of silence before he heard the door shut close. Low and worried whispers faded down the hallway.

“Fundy… My poor boy… I’m so so sorry.”

Wilbur pulled himself to his knees, grasping his son’s hand with both of his hands as he kept his breath steady and calm, the panic rising in his throat with every second that he was forced to watch his son lay there… dead to everything and to the world. As if he was barely holding on.

“Dad’s here, Fundy. I’m right here.” He pressed his son’s hand closer to his chest, on top of his beating - and alive, gods he couldn’t believe he was alive - heart. Fundy didn’t stir and despite the pain he felt, Wilbur couldn’t blame Fundy for not wanting to wake to his voice. After everything they had gone through, he was the last person Fundy wanted to see. “I’m here, son.”

He hesitated, pausing before deciding to move closer, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed as he finally got the chance to take a good look at his son. His son was thin, too thin. The dark circles underneath Fundy’s eyes reminded him too much of the ones he used to have when he was alive and wasn’t quite as sane as he was now. Fundy’s hair and tail looked perfectly well groomed, as if someone had taken the time to brush them, possibly Eret since they were the only ones who knew how. Wilbur tucked a stray hand of hair, tracing circles against the knuckle of his son’s hand. “Funds… I’m here. I’m really here. I wasn’t the best dad, I know. Gods, please wake up. Please don’t leave me now that I’m back. I could take you fishing, like you always wanted. We could do whatever you want, start a forest fire or-or something. Please, just don’t leave.”

Even if he knew that there was a slim chance that Fundy would break through the bounds of reality and enter his own body just to push Wilbur away, he moved closer to his son. Even if Fundy came back just to yell at Wilbur about his shitty parenting job, he wouldn’t mind. Anything, if it meant Fundy would wake up again. He pulled his son into a gentle embrace, arms wrapping around his son’s prone form and sobbing as he realized that Fundy wasn’t trying to push him away - not that he can, but his spirit probably wanted to. “Please, just wake up, please. Yell at me. Shout at me. Curse at me. I don’t fucking know! Punch me if you want. Just please please please wake up. You can’t go like this. Please! Come back, son. Please don’t leave. Please, don’t leave me again. I couldn’t handle it the first time, how much more now that there’s a chance you’re going to leave me forever? Please… just wake up, Fundy. Please, wake up.”

Wilbur held onto his son, his hold never wavering even as fatigue began to take its toll on his resurrected body. He didn’t dare leave, didn’t dare sleep in the case that Fundy… Wilbur tried not to think about what he’d do if he lost his son a second time. He buried his face in his son’s ginger curls, singing a lullaby that he used to sing to Fundy when he was just a kid, when he was Wilbur’s little champion - all bright eyes and puffy cheeks as he tried to stay up and prove that he was old enough to stay up late. His voice cracked as he reached the last verse, breaking down into a sob. “Gods, please, don’t let his last memory of me be the time I told him I despised him.”

He continued to sob, begging any deity with a heart to save his son.

He only stopped when he felt Fundy shift, his son’s tired golden-flecked brown eyes - life, weak as it was, dancing in his gaze - fluttered open. He held his breath as a tear rolled down his son’s cheek, a weak smile finding its way to Fundy’s lips.

“Hi, dad.” Fundy let out a sigh before falling back to sleep, the beating of his heart much stronger than it had been before. Wilbur nearly sobbed, clutching his son closer as he wept.

Fundy was alive.

His son will be okay. Wilbur would make sure of that.

(+1)

Fundy woke to the sun in his eyes, hissing as he turned over on his bed, his head still heavy and drowsy with sleep. Despite the ache in his bones, he forced himself to stand up and walk.

He looked around the room, surprised to find that nothing had changed despite what felt like years of wandering in the spirit realm. He nearly collapsed as he took one step out of the bed, his legs weak with disuse as he slugged his way towards the door, pausing as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looked frail, which wasn’t a surprise to him at all. He looked much healthier for someone who had been “unconscious” for an entire… two months? Three? Four? Fundy wasn’t sure. He shook his head, wincing as a spike of pain tore through his head, almost pushing him back to unconsciousness. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself from collapsing again. He couldn’t go back to sleep again. He wasn’t sure he could after everything. Of course, with the dark circles underneath his eyes, he was sure that Eret or Wilbur would tell him to sleep a few more hours. That conversation could wait after breakfast. Fundy was starving.

His hand reached down for the doorknob, pulling the door open before he stumbled into the empty hallway, keeping a hand to the wall as he made his way towards the dining room (if Eret hadn’t chosen to move the rooms around while Fundy was away). From the sounds of murmurs and laughter, Fundy knew he was going the right way. He finally made his way to the doorway of the dining room, pausing only to watch the nearly domestic scene before him. Eret and Niki were happily chatting away as Tommy and Tubbo helped Niki with what she was baking. Phil, Techno, and Wilbur were talking while Ranboo listened to their conversation intently.

Fundy leaned against the doorway, pressing all his weight against his shoulder as he listened to (family? friends? acquaintances?) their conversation. His eyes drooped close, stuttering to a wake when he nearly slipped on the floor, quickly adjusting himself as to not alarm anyone. Unfortunately (Fortunately?), the noise caught everyone’s attention, eyes turned towards him in surprise. Wilbur was the first to break out of his stupor, rising from his seat to pull Fundy into am embrace. Fundy held onto his dad just as fiercely, not wanting to ever let go again.

Fundy felt himself smile.

“Missed me?”

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this is so long omg ;-;

#fundy #wilbur soot #niki nihachu #tommyinnit #ranboo #philza #technoblade #eret #mcyt #boat glitch angst #pls don't kill me for the first five people I was trying to emulate the five stages of grief #did it work probably not

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