#but the anti-scraping attitude is exhausting because it tells me

[ms-demeanor]

I don't care about data scraping from ao3 (or tbh from anywhere) because it's fair use to take preexisting works and transform them (including by using them to train an LLM), which is the entire legal basis of how the OTW functions.

[vannahfanfics]

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter.

A Dream Unbroken

Ao3

Chapter 1: The Beginning

The rain drizzled down from the cloudy-gray sky, dusting Naruto in miniscule droplets as he trotted down the sidewalk. The soles of his tennis shoes scraped against the slick, dark gray concrete and the weeds poking through the cracks. Alongside him, cars threw up mists of water as they rolled down the road; their tires bumped over the potholes and uneven pavement to make the automobile creak and groan. Thunder rumbled in the distance, sounding like the faraway footsteps of giants. 

Naruto would stand upon the shoulders of those giants one day, but for now… he needed to practice. 

The door to the gym was unlocked, as he expected it to be. Naruto pulled down the hood of his rain jacket to shake out his fluffy blond hair, dusting the air with water vapor. He slipped out of the jacket to hang it on the set of metal hooks by the door, leaving it to puddle water on the floor. His shoes squeaked across the smooth tile floor as he walked through the dark. He ran his hand along the wall, feeling the bumps and grooves of holes that had been filled in time and time again, until his fingertips hit the enamel surface of the light switch. He flipped it, and the fluorescents flickered to life. 

The soft white glow bathed the boxing ring in an almost ethereal light, and Naruto inhaled with awe. Nothing ever prepared him for the adrenaline rush that gripped him when he gazed upon the ring, the way his nerves sang with the desire to fight. Naruto was born to box, plain and simple. 

However, for the first time, apprehension coursed through him, too. 

He grimaced as he reached around to paw at his shoulder. During his debut season last year, he’d gone up against a brutal opponent and suffered severe muscle damage that had ended his quest for glory before it had really begun. The physical rehabilitation had been agonizing, and though his recovery was nothing short of remarkable, he knew in his heart that his punches would never be the same. 

Still, he thought, his gaze sliding to the punching bag hanging in the corner. I said I wasn’t down for the count, and I meant it! I’m gonna come back with a vengeance, believe it! 

So, he trotted over to the hooks on the wall where several pairs of boxing gloves hung. He picked up his favorite pairs, sleek black ones with yellow bands across them, and then sat down on the small bench underneath the hooks. He fished his bottle of anti-inflammatories out of his pocket, popping two of the large white pills into his mouth and then leaning over to the nearby water fountain to slurp them down. He grimaced at the feeling of the pills sliding down his throat, like he were swallowing rocks; however, he knew he’d regret it if he didn’t take them before going a few rounds with the punching bag. 

“Just gotta get back into shape, and soon I won’t need ‘em at all,” he told himself, though it probably wasn’t true. His shoulder twinged almost as if to protest his wishful thinking. “Stop it,” he scolded his muscles before sliding on the boxing gloves. He clenched his fists within, savoring the familiar feeling of the plush gloves enveloping his hands. “Oh yeah,” he grinned. “Oh, I missed this.�� 

He pushed himself off of the bench, punching the air a few times and beaming at the way it moved around the aerodynamic surface of the glove. How he had missed the sound of the air crumpling under the force of his strikes. He walked over to the ring, hopping up the small steps abutting the thick floor, and then slipped through the bright red ropes rimming the square space. A punching bag was suspended from the rafters, hanging down in the middle of the ring and practically begging for Naruto to hit it. 

So he did, delivering a solid left hook that had it swinging wildly on the chain. Naruto grinned as the jingling sound filled the air. The soles of his tennis shoes scraped across the scuffed surface of the boxing ring as she swiftly side-stepped the swaying sand-filled bag. His fist slammed into the black outer shell with a loud pow!, flinging the punching bag careening in the opposite direction. Naruto’s breaths came in small pants, but not because he was exhausted; no, he was exhilarated, high on the thrill of the fight after so many months licking his wounds. 

Oh, how he’d missed this. 

Grinning madly, he flitted around the punching bag— striking it here, skipping away as it heaved to circle it and punch it from behind, hopping away again with fleet-footed steps to hit it again. It jumped and jerked wildly on the steel links, bouncing the rafter beam to make it shudder. With one final, centrally-placed punch, the chain links snapped. The bag went sailing across the ring to smash into the ropes, bouncing back a little before falling to the floor with a thud. Naruto looked at it with electric blue eyes, a thin sheet of sweat shining on his flushed face, and a breathless smile. 

He then winced as pain coursed through his shoulder, and he reflexively reached over to try and massage his fingers into the inflamed flesh. It was kind of a useless effort with the gloves in the way. After tugging the glove off with his teeth and letting it flop to his feet, he started gently pushing into the muscle, and weighed quietly in relief as the pain slowly dulled. 

“I warned you that you may be coming back too soon.” 

Naruto glanced up as the voice echoed through the otherwise empty gym. A smile split his face as a silver-haired man stepped out of the shadows, his hands buried in the pockets of his sweatpants and a smile evident even through the cloth mask covering the bottom half of his face. As quickly as he could without further jostling his shoulder, Naruto skirted out of the ring to run up to him. 

“Kakashi-sensei!” he cried with delight, and Kakashi affectionately ruffled Naruto’s slight sweaty blond hair when he stopped in front of him. “Thanks for leaving the gym open a little while so I could stop by. Although I’m afraid I may have overdone it already,” he sighed as his shoulder twinged again. 

Kakashi sighed, then ushered him out of the main room down a side hallway to his office. After unlocking the door, he walked over to the mini-fridge to retrieve an ice pack from the freezer. Naruto nearly melted on the spot when the cold jelly-like pack met the hot, burning flesh of his shoulder. Anticipating his slumping over, Kakashi kicked the plastic chair in front of his desk behind Naruto, who graciously collapsed right into it. 

“Are you sure you want to come back this season?” Kakashi asked, walking around his desk to shuffle through a few papers littering its worn wooden surface. “You could always wait another year.” 

“No way!” Naruto refused, though it wasn’t as powerful with the way his voice strained with the pain. “I’m not waiting another year, Kakashi-sensei,” he insisted while slumping further into the chair. “I’ve waited long enough. I’m not gonna let this bum shoulder stop me from achieving my dream.” 

“Optimism is all good and well,” Kakashi said, clutching the edge of his desk to stare levelly at him, “but it can easily be confused with overconfidence. Overconfidence leads to a point of no return. You have to remember that this is a dangerous sport, Naruto. A bum shoulder may not be all you walk away with next time.” 

The scar over Kakashi’s eye shone bright pink in the lowlight, further punctuating his warning. Before owning and operating the gym, Kakashi had been a championship boxer himself. He’d won several titles and was even on the international scene. However, a particularly brutal fight had earned him that scar on his face, and cost him both his vision and his career. Now, he could only train new hopefuls like Naruto. Not a bad existence, but definitely not how Naruto wanted to end up in his early twenties. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know! I’ll be careful,” Naruto promised poutily and pressed the ice pack further against his skin with a small whistle through his teeth. When Kakashi continued to levelly stare, Naruto clenched his teeth before shouting, “I get it, okay? I promise, I won’t overdo it! Now quit badgering me!” 

“Well, it’s good to see your injury hasn’t lessened your attitude,” Kakashi sighed wanly, tilting his head to the side. Naruto let out a small “tch” at the blatant sarcasm, but couldn’t help but smile at his mentor’s teasing— and unspoken agreement to abide his wishes, however foolhardy they may be. “All right. We’ll begin your regular training regimen on Monday, but you have to listen to me when I tell you to stop. We have to ease back into the exercises lightly and rebuild your stamina, so that means no extra jogs or workouts without my permission.” 

“Aw, man!” Naruto whined, but Kakashi raised his eyebrow pointedly. “All right, all right, whatever you say. I got it,” he relented with a wave of his hand, and Kakashi smiled in satisfaction. Naruto had the utmost trust in his mentor, so light exercises or not, he knew he wouldn’t be a pansy by the time official fights came around. Even with the dull ache in his shoulder, Naruto was bristling with excitement. 

“Oiiiiii!” came a distant shout down the hall, and both he and Kakashi looked to the door. “Naruto! Where ya at, man?” 

“Back here!” he called, and the sound of footsteps approached. First came a wild jangling, and Naruto barely had time to prepare himself before Akamaru came bounding into the office. “Whoa, boy!” he laughed as the giant hound hopped up, trying his best to fit his massive furry bulk into Naruto’s lap so he could slather his face in sloppy licks. Naruto evaded the big pink tongue the best he could, laughing, while scratching Akamaru enthusiastically behind the ears. He looked over the back of the chair when Kiba strolled in, followed by a yawning Shikamaru. 

“‘Sup, Kakashi-sensei?” Kiba greeted with a head nod, adjusting the snapback on his head, and the older man greeted him with a polite wave. Kiba then trotted up behind Naruto, slapping his hands on his shoulders— gently on the injured side, Naruto was grateful for. “Hurt yourself already?” he chuckled when he saw the ice pack. “Come on, man, what good are ya if you bum your shoulder again before the season even starts?” 

“Shaddup! Don’t jinx me!” Naruto whined, leaning forward while hugging Akamaru’s giant body so he could knock on the wood of Kakashi’s desk. After flopping back in the chair, he looked at Kiba and Shikamaru with raised eyebrows. “Why’re you guys here, anyway?” 

“We’re going to Tsunade’s!” Kiba answered enthusiastically. 

“Apparently, she’s hired a new singer, and from the rumors, she’s a beauty,” Shikamaru reported as if he couldn’t care less, studying his cuticles. “In honor of her first performance, Tsunade’s got a half-off drinks promotion to try and drum up business.” 

“Oh, so that’s why you guys wanna go!” Naruto laughed. Not only did half-price alcohol sound good, but Naruto had to admit, he was intrigued by the thought of a pretty vocalist. As such, he shoved Akamaru off of him so he could rise from the chair. “All right, Kakashi-sensei, I’m gonna go to the bar with these dudes. Would you like to tag along?” he asked while dragging the chair back to its rightful place. 

“No, I’m afraid I have to attend to the gym’s finances,” Kakashi said, shuffling through a few of the papers. 

“All right! We’ll drink some beers for ya!” Naruto grinned, walking backwards out of the room with Kiba and Shikamaru while giving him two thumbs up.

“Not too many, I hope,” Kakashi called after him, and Naruto just laughed while he whirled on his heel. He trotted down the hall after his friends, Akamaru padding by his side with his tongue lolling and dripping drool all over the tile. As they walked out into the cool night air, he breathed in deep, savoring the hint of incoming rain on his tongue. 

This is just the beginning, he thought with a smile at the cloudy gray sky. 

And it was, but the beginning of more than he could have ever imagined. 

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.

[save-jacksepticeye]

Turning Back Time

A/N: So I wrote this mainly because I was bored, and I figured I’d post it. I’m warning you now that it’s pretty gory, because I’ve wanted to get back to writing horror and gore, so if that’s not your thing, I suggest you move on. 

“Come on, Jack! Let’s hear that mantra of yours again,” Anti taunted. Jack stood in front of him, suspended from wire-thin, iridescent strings. He slumped heavily against them, not even reacting as they dug into his skin, sending rivulets of blood running down his bare arms. “Positive! Mental! Attitude! Isn’t that what you tell your fans to do when they’re feeling down?” He chuckled. There was a sharp burst of static-noise and Anti’s head jerked from side to side, leaving pixelated copies hanging in the air.

Jack drew in a wheezing breath and tried to lift his head, only to drop it as he succumbed to a coughing fit, hacking up a glob of blood and mucus. Anti fiddled with his knife, waiting for Jack to finish before stepping closer. The blade flashed and Jack cried out in agony as it bit into the bare skin of his chest, every muscle in his body tensing against his bonds. He was weak, emaciated, his body stained with his own blood, some old, some new. Scars criss-crossed his skin like some macabre mosaic.

“That’s more like it. That’s the loud Irishman we all know and love!” Another flash of the now-reddened blade, another agonized scream. This time, the blade caught him in the ribs and dug deep. Anti relished the feeling of his knife scraping the bone. Hot blood coursed from the wound and Anti licked his lips, partly in satisfaction, partly in anticipation for what was still to come.

This time, when Anti stepped away, Jack was able to raise his head and look him in the eye. Jack was almost unrecognizable under the bruises and scars and fresh cuts. Nevertheless, the familiar blue eyes gazed out, boring into Anti before shifting to the camera set up to the demon’s left. It was trained on him, red dot blinking, reminding Jack eerily of an eye. And why shouldn’t it? After all, they were watching, no doubt. Time was different in the void than it was on the outside, and he was certain that this video was already up, and his community, his poor community, was watching with not the faintest clue in the world that what they were seeing wasn’t fake.

“Please,” he croaked. His voice was so quiet he wasn’t sure if it would even pick up on the recording. “Please help me. This is not a–” He cut off as Anti pressed the blade of his knife into the soft flesh of his stomach, his breath hitching in his throat. He braced himself for the pain, but he still cried out when Anti drew the blade across his skin, this time agonizingly slow.

“Help,” he said, louder this time, his voice cracking from the strain. “Please, you have to help me, help us!” While he spoke, Anti circled him, planning out his next move, no doubt, or maybe he was enjoying his feeble attempts to cry out. Jack let his head drop, too exhausted and light-headed from the blood loss to do much else. He groaned as the hilt of the knife cracked against the back of his skull, blasting stars across his vision and igniting a painful throbbing in his head.

“We’re not done yet, Jackaboy,” Anti whispered in his ear. “Oh, we are far from finished.” He snapped his fingers and his knife disappeared, replaced with a scalpel. Another snap of his fingers, and a figure came shambling out of the shadows, feet dragging as they lurched forward. Jack’s eyes widened in horror when he saw the iridescent light of the strings wrapped around their limbs. They pulled and tugged, turning the figure into a walking meat puppet.

“Jesus, no,” he breathed. “Not Schneep too. Oh God.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, unbidden, as he gazed at what used to be his friend. Now, he stared ahead with sightless, cloudy eyes, his white doctor’s coat and his blue mask stained red with his own blood. There was a blank, slack-jawed expression on his face, and for a minute, Jack wasn’t sure if he was dead or alive.

Schneeplestein’s milky eyes shifted to him as he was brought to a stop directly in front of him. Jack thought he could see a glimmer of life behind the dead eyes, something desperate, calling out to anyone who would listen, and he realized Schneeplestein was still aware. Somewhere deep down, he knew what was happening, but he couldn’t stop it. He was trapped, forced to watch.

A tug of a string, and he held out his hand to Anti. Schneeplestein’s eyes shifted to his hand as Anti placed the scalpel in it. His fingers slowly curled around the scalpel.

“Doctor, your patient is waiting,” Anti crooned. Schneep swung his head around, once again fixing Jack with his dead eyes, and lurched forward, scalpel held out in front of him. Jack squirmed uncomfortably and tugged at his bonds. By then, his wrists were numb, and he felt nothing as fresh blood ran down his arms. Pain still flared in his torso, however, and he grimaced.

“I’m so sorry, Schneep,” Jack croaked, “I–” He broke off as another coughing fit wracked his body. He drew in a wheezing breath and continued. “Whatever you do, I know it’s not you. It’s not your fault.” His voice cracked and darkness pressed at the edges of his vision. He was running out of time. He would die again, and Anti would turn back the clock for another round of torment, continuing the never-ending cycle of pain he’d been enduring since Halloween.

Jack was dragged out of his thoughts as the scalpel sunk into his shoulder and he gave a weak cry. It dragged across his chest, making a thin line from armpit to armpit. Down the middle of his chest.  Scraping bone. Barely avoiding evisceration. Anti frowned, his body flickering like a lightbulb, and took a step towards Schneeplestein.

Then, he started grinning again. “Lost your nerve, eh? We can fix that.” He snapped his fingers and the strings around Schneeplestein’s arms and neck tightened, digging into his skin. Blood oozed from the new wounds.

The scalpel sliced through Jack’s skin again, deeper this time. A deep, throbbing agony flared throughout his body as a torrent of his blood and guts fell to the floor with a wet slap. He didn’t have enough energy left to scream, so he groaned and clenched his fists, making one last, weak attempt to tear at his bonds.

Jack didn’t even register it when the scalpel in Schneeplestein’s hand disappeared, replaced with a bone saw. All he knew was that he was going to die, and then the other egos would be next. Whatever happened to them would be his fault. He wasn’t strong enough to keep Anti at bay, wasn’t strong enough to save them.

He felt his life slipping away, pouring out onto the ground with his insides. He was able to give one last, longing, desperate look at the camera before his vision faded completely and everything went black.

Jack woke with a start in his bed, his skin covered in a fine sheen of sweat. His heart was pounding, threatening to burst out of his chest as he gazed around the room with wide, frightened eyes. With a shaky hand, he felt his torso, and he let out a shaky breath when he found everything intact. Not for the first time, he wondered if it was all nothing more than a terrible nightmare.

“Sean?” He started at the sound of Signe’s voice. “Sean, what’s wrong?” She rolled over and gazed at him, concern in her eyes. He pulled himself up and ran a clammy hand through his hair.

“I…yeah,” he said, “Yeah, just another nightmare. It’s no big deal.” Signe’s brow creased with worry.

“That’s the third one this month. Are you sure you don’t want to go see a doctor or something?” He met her eyes as she propped herself up on one elbow, and instantly felt bad for making her worry.

“I’m fine.” He put as much sincerity into his voice as he could, even though he was far from okay. The nightmares were beginning to get to him, if they even were nightmares. Some part of him deep down knew that these were too vivid, too real to be dreams. But he didn’t want to worry Signe. “You don’t need to worry, I promise.” He took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

Signe didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue. “Okay,” she said, “But Sean?”

“Yeah?”

“Promise you’ll tell me if it gets any worse?” Leaning forward, Jack planted a light kiss on her forehead.

“I promise.” He gave her hand one last squeeze and rolled over. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fall back asleep. Images haunted him, endless visions of torture, pain, and death, flashing through his mind and jolting him awake when he was almost asleep. He tried hard to convince himself it was just stress, but he found himself unable to believe it.

He tensed when he felt a cold breath on the back of his neck, and a static-laced voice whispered in his ear, “Until next time, my little puppet.”

A/N: One thing you should know is that I love author notes too much. And if you read this whole thing, thank you so much, and please tell me what you think! I’d love feedback.