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imtrashraccoon · 10 months ago

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He's here, he's here, he's here!!! I love this pretentious guy so much! This chapter is certainly a different one though...

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Nightmare - Sunset

Word Count: 2,296

You opened your eyes to find yourself laying in a field underneath a cloudless sky. Sitting up, you looked around and discovered the field seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see.

The grass was a blueish colour and rather soft to the touch but it was completely unlike anything you'd seen before. Some of the plants had small white flowers that kind of reminded you of cotton, otherwise it was just straight grass all around. Every now and then a warm gust of breeze would cause the grass to move in a wave like pattern and tease your own hair.

The sky was a shade of brilliant gold and you soon spotted the sun, that was just about to dip below the horizon. It felt comforting and you closed your eyes for a moment to just bask in the last of its warm rays.

A few birds darted across the sky overhead and your eyes followed them until they disappeared over the horizon. They looked like red wing blackbirds and you noticed there seemed to be both males and females flying together. Somewhere off in the distance, you heard an unknown animal make a yipping sound like they were play fighting with a sibling.

You stood up and looked around a bit more. It appeared that the terrain wasn't completely flat and while the grass seemed to only be about a foot tall, you could see places where it appeared to be taller. Most of the white flowers seemed to be taller than the blades of grass as well.

It was very peaceful here...wherever here was...

You couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved at how quiet it was. Were you even on Earth anymore? You didn't know of anywhere that looked like this but you hadn't been everywhere in the world yet.

"Hello human."

You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end from the sound of the deep, almost velvety voice. They sounded calm at the moment and yet there was a layer of danger in their tone.

You slowly turned around to face the mysterious voice.

It was another skeleton but he didn't look at all like the others you'd met. While the boys were pretty similar to human skeletons, this guy's bones appeared to be either completely black or covered in a substance similar to what often seeped from Killer's eye sockets. He only appeared to have one cyan eyelight in his left socket while his right one was obscured by that inky substance. You didn't know if he was blind in that socket or not, and you weren't about to ask either. The most striking thing about him though, was the four black tentacles that protruded from his back.

He was dressed differently from your friends as well. Instead of a blue hoodie and shorts, he wore a rather fancy looking dark overcoat, a gold circlet with a black moon adorned his skull, and he had gold rings on his phalanges, which ended in claws.

He seemed to radiate a sort of intimidating aura and just by looking at him, you felt a wave of dread pass through you. His good eye socket was narrowed and he had a bit of a tight smile across his face. Unfortunately, you couldn't tell if he was upset or not right now.

You clenched your fists at your sides and took a deep breath to steady your nerves. At least you weren't at knife point or being pinned down, although you couldn't be sure how long that would last.

"Am I wrong to assume that you're Nightmare?" you asked.

His grin grew wider into more of a smirk. "Indeed. I see my reputation has proceeded me."

Some more blackbirds flew overhead and he glanced up at them in a thoughtful way. He folded his arms behind his back and if you didn't already know he was a god, you definitely knew now from the way he was holding himself. His tentacles slowly undulated in a restless sort of way and you found yourself wondering if he was doing that on purpose or if the tentacles had a mind of their own.

"I'll get straight to the point," he said.

You nodded and fiddled with your fingernails nervously. "I'd appreciate it... At this point, I've nearly been decapitated, pinned against walls, and threatened at knife point. So unless you're going to do something else, I've seen it all."

"So I've heard..."

You didn't like how casual he was being about this situation. The others had all threatened your life on multiple occasions and yet here he was acting all casual like you were an acquaintance. It made you feel like a pit had formed in your gut.

Nightmare took a few slow steps towards you and tilted his skull in a thoughtful way. Interestingly, he appeared to be between Dust and Killer in matters of height, yet he was still a couple inches taller than you were. His tentacles also added a few extra inches to his height but you didn't count them.

"I've known about you from the very beginning, long before you ever knew about any of my other henchmen."

You swallowed thickly but continued to stand your ground. "So then why didn't you do anything?" you asked in a small voice.

"Because, I wanted to see how things would play out. Now that all three of my boys have come to a consensus about you, I had to come meet you in person..."

He chuckled and motioned to the surrounding field before adding, "Well, not exactly in person. This is actually a dream I specifically crafted for you."

"Huh." You looked around at the grass before looking back at the sunset again. "That explains why the sun hasn't moved a bit since I woke up at least."

Turning back to Nightmare, you smiled slightly. "This is a really pretty place though. You do good work."

He seemed rather pleased by your compliment if the way he slightly puffed out his chest a bit more was any indication. He cleared his non-existent throat and his expression returned to a more neutral one moments later.

"I didn't just bring you here to show off," he said in a more serious voice. "There is something important that you need to know..."

"I didn't think so..." You sighed and crossed your arms. "So lay it on me. What's the real issue?"

He took a few steps closer until your bodies were practically touching and he could leer over you in an admittedly intimidating way. He stood there in silence for several long seconds studying you.

"You were never meant to meet any of them. You are what some would call a side character in another's story. You exist to be a cog in the machine that drives your world forward and nothing more."

His single cyan pinprick seemed to stare into the very depths of your soul as he paused to let this revelation sink in. "Despite this, you have proven to be...exceptional, even among humans. I am frankly impressed that you managed to befriend my henchmen, despite everything they put you through."

"I think I've shaved several years off my life just dealing with Killer alone..." you muttered under your breath.

Nightmare chuckled quietly and gave you a knowing look. "There is one problem though," he continued. "Their constant coming and going the way they have been has caused extensive damage to the code that makes up this world. It has gotten to the point where it could collapse in on itself without warning."

"What?"

"Just that, not even I could do anything to fix things." He paused for a moment and studied you while you tried to process it all.

"You've gotta be kidding..." you started to say although you trailed off when he shook his skull.

"I have no reason to lie to you, human. If I didn't tell you now, you wouldn't have any idea until it's too late."

You sighed and glanced around helplessly. "Why are you telling me this?" you finally asked. "What do you get out of telling me something so awful?"

He chuckled softly, the sound of which sent chills down your spine. "I love it when people can tell I want something from them," he hummed. "I'm telling you because I would like to offer you a deal."

You crossed your arms. "There it is...what do you want from me?"

His permanent grin widened. "You have two options, human. Either you can stay in this world with everyone you've ever known until it inevitably collapses or...you can join me and break free from the limits of your own code."

You couldn't help but stare at him. The way he'd phrased it sounded so simple and yet you were immediately suspicious. You hadn't exactly heard any nice things about him, so why was he acting so...nice?

"Wow..." you finally managed to say. "So let me get this straight, you show up and tell me my world is doomed. Then, you conveniently tell me you know how to make everything better. Yeah, no, what's the catch?"

"Let's just say that there's something about you that I find interesting. I know the benefits of making fair deals and I always, always keep my word." He subtly rubbed his phalanges on his coat and glanced down at his claws.

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. If he really was telling the truth, you had an idea of what might have grabbed his attention about you. He seemed like a brick wall though and you couldn't tell if he was lying or not. You couldn't even sense any emotions from him either, save for that intense aura.

"I don't trust you..." you murmured.

He tilted his skull and smiled at you. "It's your decision at the end of the day. So, I'll give you some time to think about it, however..." His tone turned icy and his smile widened considerably before he added in a lower voice, "I only have so much patience, human..."

Two of his tentacles began to slowly snake around your back as he spoke. You tried to pull away but his grip was firm and you couldn't budge. You shuddered and had to look away from him, the sight of which only seemed to make him pleased.

"I will continue to visit you in your dreams until you come to a decision. Although, I'm afraid with the state of your world's code, I won't be letting my henchmen keep making these trips to see you for their safety. You understand I'm sure..."

You hated how he was appealing to your sense of reason. You'd probably do the same in his shoes to protect your friends, granted, he was their boss and not their friend. At least he wasn't making you choose right now...

He released you and stepped away, folding his arms behind his back again. "I'm confident you'll make the correct decision," he said with a tone that sounded like he was just about finished here.

Your eyes widened and without really thinking, you reached out and grabbed his shoulder. "Wait! Don't go yet..."

You felt his body stiffen slightly and he glanced at your hand before his gaze flicked to you. He stayed quiet but there was an unamused look in his cyan eyelight. You'd better not say something stupid and risk making him upset right now...

"I can see that you care about your boys, in your own way at least, but how is this fair to them? Do they even know what you've just told me?" you asked.

He narrowed his eye socket but didn't pull away from you. "I elected to meet with you first, but I have every intention to tell them as soon as I take my leave. I am certain they won't like it any more than you do."

You were grasping at straws here but your mind was desperate for answers that may not even exist. He wanted you for your Intent, right? Apparently, you were different from other humans and he thought it was enough to offer a deal that would potentially save your life.

"What happens if I accept your deal?"

Nightmare chuckled and one of his tentacles curled around your wrist, so you couldn't let go of him now even if you wanted to. "Now that's a curious question, hm? It all depends on you though. No doubt you know what I do and what my henchmen do for me. What happens if you accept, depends on what you can bring to the table..."

That was a non-answer if you ever heard one. You opened your mouth to retort when he reached over and actually patted you on your head.

"I'm afraid you won't be able to actually empathize with me like you have the others. Though it is amusing to watch you try," he nearly purred in a tone that sounded a bit condescending. "It sort of comes with the mantle of being a god among mortals I'm afraid."

You narrowed your eyes at him and had to bite your tongue. The last thing you wanted to do right now was offend him. At least you were capable of restraining yourself compared to certain people.

He let go of you and flashed a smile that was anything but reassuring. "I will see you soon, human..."

The next thing you knew, you were in your own bed and no longer in that field. The gravity of what you'd learned was weighing down your mind but you were too tired to make an actual decision right now. There was something else on your mind though.

You were determined to befriend him.

#badsansuary #raccoons drabbles #undertale #dreamtale #nightmare sans #nightmare #nightmare x reader #reader #female reader #have some empathy dear #oneshot

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roonyxx · 2 years ago

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The Winchester's Pet: Part 2

Summary: Dean starts dating Abigail, a beautiful, tall, blonde woman who knows about hunting. But what happens when you tell Dean you feel like he is in danger, will he believe you?

Warnings: angst, injured reader, language.

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Abigail), eventual Dean x reader

Wordcount: 1076 (i know it’s short, i’m sorry :()

A/N: This series will exist out of five parts and it will be a little dark! I will warn each chapter individualy. In one of the chapters there will be an attemped rape and torture (not graphic). So please heed the warnings before reading .

A/N 2: The text divider is from the very talented @talesmaniac89

The Winchester’s Pet Masterlist

My Masterlist

4 months later

You’re currently hiding in the woods that surrounded the bunker. It’s a cold night. Your breath leaves your body in little grey clouds, your hands have turned white and aren’t as flexible anymore due the lack of blood.

You tug your jacket closer around your shivering body. You never went to Jody. You couldn’t leave Dean behind while he was literally sleeping with the enemy. You didn’t find it in yourself to leave him behind and worry about what would happen.

Despite the fact that he probably never wanted to see you again...

So you never left and you set up camp in an old warehouse near the bunker and watched from afar.

You’re flat on your stomach, hiding in some bushes with your binoculars in your frozen hand. The coldness from the ground beneath you was slowly but surely seeping through your dirty clothes.

But this just happens to be the perfect hiding spot with a perfect view on the bunker. Silently you wait for her.

In the many nights you have spied on the bunker from afar you have noticed she would go out in the middle of the night and disappear in the nearby woods, only to return hours later. You didn’t understand how Dean didn’t notice his own girlfriend leaving for hours in the middle of the night.

You’re sure she put him under some kind of spell, or even drugged him so he wouldn’t wake up.

Seeing some movement at the bunker’s entrance you focuse your binoculars and smile when you see her stepping out of the front door, looking around when she leaves the bunker. This is your chance. You hurry your way over and follow her from afar.

You hurry your way over and follow her from a distance.

You can feel your tired body fighting you when you run through the woods.

The last four months have been hard on you. With no heater, no shower and only a limitied amount of food you that you found, you have lost a lot of weight and strenght. You spend most of your time in the woods, looking for any tracks she could have left but you never found any. You had to admit, she was good.

But you were better.

You catch a glance of her blonde hair and follow quietly behind her. She makes her way over a small stream and into a clearing in the woods. It is a beautiful place, the soft green grass that seemed almost blue in the moon light and a big pond that sits quietly in the middle.

You wait at the edge of the clearing. Lying flat on your stomach again you hid in some bushes. Your hair’s dirty and your face is covered in mud. It serves as the perfect camouflage.

Abigail stands in the middle of the clearing. Looking at the pond, like she was waiting for something.

Suddenly a male figure emerges from the water. Your eyes widen as you take in the tall, soaked man. He has semi long dark hair, skin that’s so pale it almost relfects the moon light like a mirror and a long leather coat

Taking your binoculars you watch them from afar. The man snaps his fingers and the water flies off of him, making him completely dry.

Abigail wraps her arms around the neck of this mysterious man and kisses him on the lips.

Bingo

You wish your phone hadn’t died out three weeks ago, luckily you had spend the last of your money on a camera.

You quietly pull the device from your backpack and zoom in on the couple that is wrapped up in a passionate embrace.

You click on the button and your flash goes off. Your heart freezes as the couple looks towards your direction.

Shit shit shit!

You start crawling backwards, hoping you can run before they find you.

But you stop when you see Abigail lift her arm. An invisible force wraps around your neck and lifts you up in the air. You claw at your neck to loosen the grip around you. But the force only becomes stronger, you fly through the air towards Abigail.

“Y/n?” she frowns and you levitate closer to her. Your feet dangling above the ground.

“Oh my god, it is you” she half gasps “You filthy spy” her fist clench harder and you can feel your eyes bulging out of your head at the force she has on your neck.

“My dear” the male says and puts his hand on hers, making the force disappear. You fall to the ground and take a deep breath, coughing at the air that passes through your nearly crushed windpipe.

“Shouldn’t you introduce me before you kill her?” he says.

“She is of no importance to us. She is, was the Winchester’s pet”

“Ah yes, Y/n” the male says. “I thought you got rid of her?” his voice deeper now.

“I-I did master!” Abigail pleads “She left the bunker. I convinced Dean to-“

Her words are cut short as his big hand grips her face hard. He lifts her in the air with no effort at all and stares her down.

“Then what is she doing here?” he sneers at her.

“I-I don’t know” she stutters.

You try to reach for your gun in the back of your pants. But your hands are forced above your head, lifting you up in the air again.

The man tsked his tongue and drops Abigail to the floor. He walks closer to you with agonizing steps “Those bullets won’t kill us” he spoke.

“I can kill her, Master” Abigail pleads next to him, begging at his feet, her hands clasping around his ankles. It looks like she is very eager to please him.

“Mh no. We will keep her. The pet of the Winchester’s can be useful to us.” With a flick of his wrist he brings your face very close to his. His eyes flickering on your features.

“She’s not ugly, it’s been a while since i had a nice pet” he says. “She must know a lot about them, all their secrets and weaknesses”

You take the close proximity as an opportunity to spit in his face “I won’t tell you shit” you snap at him.

He wipes your salvia away with a handkerchief and slaps you hard across the face. Splitting your lip open.

“Feisty” he grins “I like that.”

#dark fic #unrequieted love #roonyxx #dean winchester #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean angst #angst #the winchester's pet

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dancingamongstdust · 3 years ago

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Creepypasta Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 1)

Ben Drowned

You had promised, sworn on your very life, that you wouldn’t laugh. It was an oath. One to be taken very seriously.

“Using your hand to muffle the sound still counts as laughing.”

Part of you felt really bad but that made you snicker even harder. Your best friend, at the very least, did appear extremely shaken about the entire thing. She sat on the edge of the couch with her arms crossed. Dark bags had formed beneath her eyes and her attention seemed unable to stray from the Nintendo 64 that sat between you.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “But you have to understand how this sounds. You’re telling me that you’re being haunted by a literal video game.”

She pulled her legs to her chest. The amount of weight that she had lost recently couldn’t possibly be healthy. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Have you considered talking to a psychiatrist?” you offered. “Or perhaps selling this game?”

“He would kill me.”

You picked up the Nintendo 64 and stared at the main menu of the game. It looked pretty normal to you. You fiddled around with the settings to turn the music down. “I really think that talking to somebody about this would help.”

“That’s what you don’t understand,” she said. “I want to stop playing. I want to speak to people but all that he wants is for me to continue trying to beat the game. There’s no way to win! The entire thing is rigged!”

“Have you looked up a guide?”

She groaned. “Nobody’s going to listen to me.”

An awkward silence fell over the room and you shifted around in your seat before offering some coffee. She accepted but the kettle had barely been boiling for a few seconds when her phone chimed happily.

“Oh look, he wants to play now,” she muttered. She thrust the device to you. “Take a look for yourself.”

The notification had come through an app called CleverBot. It was a very simple ‘hi’ message that didn’t really seem all too haunting. You opened it up and clicked around the app for a little. “Looks like just a chatroom,” you said. “Why’d you download this?”

“I didn’t. I just woke up the one day and it was on my phone.”

You closed the app and returned to the home screen. It immediately reopened and the same message popped up again. An identical thing happened the second time. And then again.

“This looks like a virus,” you said. “It’s probably best to uninstall.”

Clicking on the button made the icon disappear for a short while but it was quick to reappear. This time, when the chatroom opened itself, the message had changed to simply say ‘rude’.

You pursed your lips. That was suspicious enough for you to understand her potential worries. “I don’t think that it’s haunted but you should probably take it to a professional to have it wiped or something. And maybe consider less porn in the future?”

Your joke fell flat but it died when the chatbot began typing. Not too long after, another message had come through.

‘I don’t hang out in such places.’

“Can…” you trailed off. “No, there’s no way that they’ve hacked the microphone, right?”

‘Don’t need to hack in to hear what you’re saying.’

The colour drained from your face and you quickly glanced towards your friend. She didn’t seem panicked, even when you showed her the message. If anything, her expression was resigned as though this was a regular occurrence.

You didn’t get too much time to respond when a horrible static sound came through her phone. The screen began flashing and blurry images raced across it. A distorted version of the Majora’s Mask theme song started playing. It felt like your ears were bleeding. Scared, you threw the phone to the floor and, with a shattering crack, everything stopped.

For a while, you stared at it but then she said, “He’s going to be pissed with that.”

There was a chime from somewhere on your right. Your own phone’s screen lit up. Nervously, you reached over to check on it.

A single notification stood there, from an app called CleverBot.

‘You Shouldn’t Have Done That.”

Bloody Painter

The park was busy this time of day and filled with an awaiting audience – whether they were interested in watching the performance or not. Many seemed to appreciate it though, taking the flyers handed out by your group.

It was nearing midday when you ran out of pamphlets. You stretched and pushed your hair away from your face, relishing in the feeling of sun against skin.

Your gaze drifted across the park’s patrons before settling on one that you had been watching since the beginning of your performance. He didn’t look up much. A sketchpad sat on his lap and tousled brown hair hung over his face. You hadn’t caught his attention once but he had certainly kept yours.

“Can you hand me another lot of flyers?” you asked one of the other girls with her.

She handed them over and you put on your best grin before making your way to the tree he was sitting under.

He looked up when your shadow fell over his sketchbook. His work was considerably abstract and nothing that you could identify with ease. There weren’t too many colors though.

“Hello!” you greeted cheerily. “I don’t mean to bother but what did you think of the show?”

He blinked up at you. “I didn’t see it.”

The man was a master of deadpan but you didn’t allow your smile to drop. You lowered the flyer and sighed, “That’s a shame. It’s so rare that we have attractive people at our shows… you should consider coming to our actual performances sometime. Everybody loves musicals.”

He didn’t even react to the compliment. No smirk or even a blush. It was as though you hadn’t spoken one word.

“I’ve seen your face before,” he said. “You do this kind of thing quite often. Don’t you get tired of people staring at you?”

You chuckled. “I wouldn’t be in this line of business if I was too self-conscious. When they stare for too long, I like to imagine that it’s because I’m the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen.” Running your fingers through your hair, you offered him your most dazzling smile. “And if you remember me, that’s a certain compliment.”

“You can take it whatever way you want but it doesn’t mean anything.”

It was tempting to give up. Flirting with cute boys was only entertaining when they responded with… something. This boy just stared.

“So you’re an artist, right? You’d have a good point of view on whether or not I’m actually pretty.”

“My opinions on people are rarely accurate.”

His response made you uncomfortable, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. Something of a warning twisted in your stomach. A light had lit behind his eyes but it didn’t seem like something you wanted to tie yourself to.

It appeared it was time to give up your pursuit. “Well, I really should get going. Perhaps I’ll see you at the next performance.”

His eyes drifted to the pamphlet that you held. “Were you planning on giving me that?”

“Offering it but you don’t have to –“

“I’ll take it,” he said, putting down his pencil and holding out his hand. “Your show wasn’t too entertaining but I enjoyed watching the performance you just put on. Rather like a peacock strutting its feathers.”

So he wasn’t oblivious then… just teasing. You had no idea if it showed his genuine interest or if he was merely taunting now.

With a slight scowl, you passed it over. He tucked it into his sketchbook and then closed it, standing up. He was scrawnier than you had anticipated but he still had a considerable height – holding at least a few inches over you.

“Thank you,” you said.

He left without another word. You rolled your eyes and made a point to ignore any thoughts about him for the rest of the day. Perhaps you shouldn’t have given him your information… after all, that flyer had your full name and everything.

And you knew absolutely nothing about him.

Candy Pop

Hospitals were the worst places in the world.

They smelled too clean and looked too false. You generally avoided them as much as possible unless it was absolutely necessary. When a close family member found themselves locked within the walls, unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to stay away.

You wrinkled your nose as you walked into the room. The sterilized smell burnt you.

Most of it was what you had expected but the young, child-like scream made you jump and nearly drop every gift you were holding.

Your aunt jumped up from her chair beside the hospital bed. “What’s wrong?!” she asked, fussing over your cousin.

She was barely over eleven and had badly injured her leg during a biking competition. Your mom had told you that everybody in the family was going to visit her, encouraging you to go together in order to drop off some gifts.

“I’m sorry,” the little girl said quickly. “I don’t like balloons and I thought… it doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

You moved them behind you a little, trying to block her line of sight. “No, no, I should have asked first. You could have been allergic to latex or something and then I’d be feeling really bad about it.”

“She’s been particularly on edge thanks to these awful nightmares,” your aunt explained.

“Nightmares?” you asked.

The little girl seemed pale at its mention, pulling her blanket up to her nose and watching everybody wearily. “They’re just bad dreams,” she said. “You said that they couldn’t hurt me.”

Her mother hurriedly rubbed her shoulder and offered a warm smile. “They definitely can’t,” she reassured.

“Are they about the fall?” you asked.

“Sometimes.”

You settled down in one of the chairs as your own mother began speaking to her sister. They were able to discuss everything from the colour of grass to what they thought would be the best country to live in. You weren’t particularly interested in what they were saying and, after a while of trying to chirp in, you just let the lack of sleep catch up to you.

Your dreams came to you quickly, faster than usual and sharp in an uncomfortable sort of way.

You found yourself standing in a large field. The sky was grey and the grass tall enough to reach your knees. Everything felt bright. It hurt your eyes to stare at anything for too long.

Normally, dreams didn’t feel as such, but you were certain that this was one. There was no purpose to where you were. No inclination to walk in a specific direction or try to understand what was happening.

Just confusion.

You took a step forward and a soft wind wrapped around you. It brushed through the grass, dancing around the trees. Something was watching.

You turned and two, glowing lights floated above the ground.

Slowly, mist gathered around the two spots. As you stepped back, it began to solidify – quickly forming a more recognisable shape. The figure tilted its head to the side and a slight jingling sound filled the air. It stepped forward then and the glow faded from its eyes, revealing just what stood before you.

He was a jester, though certainly more modern than the old king’s versions. Blue hair hung around his shoulders and his entire outfit jingled with hundreds of bells. A smile graced his face and he stepped forward.

You moved away.

His smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. The mist appeared again and he vanished into it.

You looked around frantically. He was gone. The wind picked up unexpectedly, howling in your ears. You raised your hands to shield your face and something grabbed your wrist. Before you could turn to see, you hurdled away from the meadow and awoke spluttering for air.

“Are you alright?” your aunt asked.

In the corner of your eye, you swore you saw a blue jester but, when you turned to look, he was gone. “Yeah,” you said, rubbing your chest. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Your made eye contact with your cousin and swallowed thickly. The look on her face said it all.

Clockwork

Every night, without fail, you saw her sitting there when you arrived home from work.

She always wore the same thing and, initially, you had thought that she would play on her phone for hours at a time. It didn’t appear that she had a phone, however, as you came to realise. Whatever she was holding was circular and fit perfectly within the palm of her hand.

You mentioned it to the building manager the second time she was there until like two in the morning. He had said that they thought she was homeless but, as far as they could tell, she wasn’t dangerous. You reassured him that your worries weren’t about her presence due to any perceived problem but he had just nodded.

She never moved while she was waiting. Not even to adjust her weight or brush the hair from her face.

A few of your neighbours used the very eloquent reasoning that she was merely crazy.

Occasionally, you heard children from the area parroting their parents. Rumours abound that she was a ghost who would attack anybody if they spoke to her. You scoffed each time it was said but many believed the stories.

You were arriving home late one night when you spotted her sitting in the usual spot. It was strange for you to feel anything beyond exhaustion on the nights when hospital jobs ran too long but this time, a strange anticipation settled itself in your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Are you okay?”

Her hair was dirty and her coat looked as though it hadn’t been washed for years. Now that you were close, you could make out what appeared to be dried blood on her shirt.

“Go away,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

“I have medical experience,” you responded. “And I know some good places to stay in the area. I can –“

“Good for you,” she sneered. “Leave me alone. You’re going to make me miss it.”

The object she was holding was an old pocket watch. It looked like something you would find in an antique store and pay insane amounts of money for. Though, it didn’t appear to be working. The clock hands sat at a set time and didn’t move in the slightest.

“I want to help you if that’s okay,” you said.

She forced out a laugh that sounded as though it physically pained her. “You want to help me?!” she cackled, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “Isn’t that sweet.”

You stumbled away from her and clasped a hand over your mouth. Her face…

Her mouth was torn to pieces, jagged cuts that ripped through the skin there and had been crudely stitched back together. But that wasn’t the worst. No, the worst part of it was her left eye that had a pocket watch shoved into the socket and forcefully stitched there. The injury flared red with infection and pain.

“What’s wrong little doctor?!” she cawed. “No longer feeling like saving the poor girl you found on the side of the road?”

You steeled your resolve and straightened. “I’m still willing to offer help if you need it,” you said in your strongest voice. “That injury is severe and needs attending to if you want to save the eye.”

The eye was definitely gone and she knew it as well, scoffing at your offer. “No chance of that. Why do you people like pretending that you care?”

“I do care.”

She responded with a mocking expression and stood unexpectedly. “Sure you do.” She tapped the front of the pocket watch with her nail. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get to work. I nearly missed it thanks to your nagging. I’ll see you tomorrow, doctor.”

And she marched off into the night.

Dark Link

The vase that you were holding was beautifully polished and almost brand new. As you lifted it, something rattled around within.

“Why are you selling this for such a low price?” you asked.

The woman was middle-aged with a falsely high voice and bright, darting eyes. “It was a gift,” she said. “But I decided against keeping it. I wasn’t sure how low the price should be but it’s not like I’m losing any money.”

You decided against buying it, thanking her and walking away quickly. While you were looking through a few pieces of jewelry, your arm was grabbed and a small object pushed into your chest.

“Here you go!” you friend chimed. “Consider it to be a late birthday present!”

You took the game cartridge and examined it closely. “Zelda, again?” you asked. “I’ve already tell you that –“

“Yes, yes, I know that they’re not your thing but if you haven’t tried all the games then how are you meant to know there isn’t just one that you like?”

Sighing, you took the game and dropped it into your purse. It was dirty and definitely well used. A bit of black paint flaked off on your fingers.

Another game for you to keep in your cupboard and not look at again until months later when you were asked about your opinion on it. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t have the console you needed and the simple answer of ‘just buy one for cheap’ wasn’t always available.

But in the coming weeks, you quickly realised that this wasn’t just another game.

At first, the things that went wrong were too minor to even pay attention to. Electronics started breaking frequently until the point where you had replaced your stereo twice in a week and no longer had a television. After that, you started feeling sickly and uncomfortable whenever you were in the house. A feeling of imposing nature settled upon your shoulders.

You spent more time away from home, staying away for as long as you could. When you tried to dogsit for your brother, the pup wouldn’t even enter the house.

It was late at night when you woke up in a cold sweat. Nausea coiled in your stomach and your heart was beating at the speed of light.

At first, you had no idea what had woken you.

And then you heard the rattling.

It was coming from the next room over. As though somebody had taken hold of your desk and was shaking it as roughly as they could.

You scrambled for your phone but it wasn’t there. It was sitting in your office.

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped from your bed. Your head felt fuzzy, as though you weren’t able to wake up properly. Every step was slow and lethargic.

Stumbling toward the door, you gingerly grabbed the handle. As you opened it, your mind caught up with your body and you remembered that you shouldn’t just burst in on a potential invader.

But it was too late.

The person, for it had to be a person, stood in the middle of the room. Its body was so dark that it blended in with the shadows surrounding it. Two bright red eyes shone, illuminating enough that it showed some of the creatures ashen features. It had sharp features that were definitely human. Though as you stared at it, you knew that it was anything but.

It smiled and began turning into small squares, pixelating into the air and disappearing into something behind it.

You flicked on the light as fast as you could but it was gone. Sitting in the middle of the desk, the black cartridge seemed to emit its own darkness.

Dr. Smiley

The building was beyond restoration, crumbling and derelict. You were sure that it hadn’t been occupied for at least a decade. Perhaps even longer.

For months now, you had been going through the motions to have everything approved and organised. You had gotten clearance, hired the workers, discussed things with any neighbours, and even paid extra for the best machinery to get everything done quicker.

And now they were refusing to do anything.

“I’m sorry, and I will compensate for the time wasted, but my men are saying no,” the on-site manager said. “I know you’re not from these parts but we’ve always known there’s something wrong with this building. Rumours and superstitions abound and I wouldn’t blame my men for not wanting to anger a ghost.”

“They’ll be pissing off something far worse than a ‘ghost’ if they continue refusing to even go in there,” you snapped.

He glanced towards his workers and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Once he left, you turned your attention to the house. Why anybody would have wanted a house in this location was beyond you but now that you had inherited it, you could see potential.

Although the entire place was probably crawling with all manners of disgusting flora.

Perhaps you could use that to get the health counsel to do the job for you.

They will still talking and you could see the weariness on their faces. Sighing, you stalked your way to the front door and pushed it open with one hand. It creaked with the effort.

You stood with your hands out towards the men. “I’m going to walk this entire house!” you called. “And if your ghost doesn’t accost me while I’m there, then I’m going to be expecting you to all get on with it, alright?”

Nothing immediately jumped at you when you entered. The door struggled to open and it swung shut on its own accord. If that was the haunting that they were talking about…

A roach skittered along the floor in front of you, darting under a derelict sofa stained with an unknown substance. Several of the windows had been broken so it wasn’t surprising to find that graffiti and markers had been used to etch various names into the walls.

You walked through a destroyed kitchen, passed a bedroom with a smashed crib, and even kicked open a door that led to a filthy storage room.

No ghost jumped out at you.

Problems started presenting themselves when you walked down one of the hallways and pushed open a bedroom door. The entire room felt set apart from the rest of the place with almost-new curtains that had been drawn shut. Blankets covered the bed, dirty but still there. You immediately thought somebody may be squatting there but your concerns changed when you noticed the wall.

Black mold. It crawled its way up the side, covering most of what had once been white wallpaper. You brought one hand up to shield your mouth and stepped out, slamming the door closed.

If there was an infestation then you had to get the health department immediately. This was –

Your thoughts were interrupted by something grabbing you. Panic filled your mind as a sharp weapon was pressed against your throat.

“Well now, I just know that you don’t have an appointment,” a voice said close to your ear. “I don’t like trespassers.”

Thinking on instinct, you threw your head backwards as hard as you could. There was a satisfying impact followed by a loud yelp of pain. The weapon around your throat moved away so you kicked the guy in the shin and bolted for it.

The house felt bigger while you were running but nobody came after you. You didn’t hear any footsteps or other sounds of a chase.

Bursting through the front door, you winced at the bright light. The house hadn’t seemed nearly that dark until compared to the outside.

You collided with one of the workers in your rush and nearly knocked everybody to the ground.

“What’s happened?”

“It was that ghost, I’m telling you.”

“We warned her, boss.”

You cleared your throat and straightened up, making eye contact with each man individually. “There is no ghost,” you said. “Only a squatter who I shall deal with using police force if needed. However, I do believe any construction will have to wait because I saw an excessive spread of black mold within the house.”

They all spoke amongst themselves, discussing options. You glanced back to the house and allowed your attention to find its way to the bedroom window. Though fleeting, a masked face peered out at you from within.

Eyeless Jack

In many ways, what happened that night was your boss’ fault.

Having just finished working a double shift that ended at almost 1 in the morning, you were exhausted upon returning home. You walked past the neighbouring apartment with only one thought on your mind – sleep.

It was then that you heard a thump coming from within the house, followed shortly by a muffled scream.

Tired, you had to pause to register what was happening and, by the time your brain caught up, your heart was in full-on panic mode. You slowly reached into your pocket and dialed the emergency number as slowly as you dared, whispering into the phone and being reassured that a police presence would be arriving shortly.

Your neighbour was a young man though, just out of rehab and beginning to make his way through life. The longer you stood and waited for the police, the guiltier you felt.

So you reached into the pot plant and pulled out his spare key. After a short while of building yourself up, you unlocked the door and crept inside.

It was dark with the outside world shrouded via heavy curtains. You could barely make your way through the unfamiliar apartment and you didn’t dare turn on the light. Damn, you were extremely tired.

Part of your brain suggested that you had imagined the whole thing. It was a byproduct of a sleep-addled mind or something. That would be embarrassing to explain to the police and to your neighbour. Would you get charged for breaking and entering or could you blame it on your tiredness?

Your doubts didn’t get much further than that because somebody grabbed you from within the room.

A horrible iron-filled scent attacked your senses as you took in the bedroom. It looked like your neighbour was tied to the bed though he wasn’t moving. Somebody stood behind you, their breathing heavy and their grip strong.

They pushed your wrist closer to your back, preventing you from wriggling free of their grip. A blade, small and yet sharp, pressed against the side of your throat.

“Trying to play the hero, are we?” snarled a voice. “Have you called the cops?”

The blade pressed against your skin and you quickly spat out a yes.

“Probably right before you came in, if not earlier… I’d have enough time to kill you but then you’d be an absolute waste. Nowhere to stash a body around here and they’d comb the entire area if you were missing…”

“I didn’t mean –“

You were shoved forward before you had a chance to react. In the dark, you couldn’t make anything out and you hit the wall unexpectedly. Now, far enough away, you turned and tried to make out the face of your assailant. He melded in with the shadows and you ran your fingers along the wall until you found a light switch.

The lights flickered on and you gasped.

He wore a dark blue mask, a black ooze dripping from the eye sockets and onto his hoodie. There was no reaction to the lights. Not even a blink.

“Don’t you want to beg for your life?” he asked. “The other one pleaded nearly constantly until I shut him up.”

“You killed him…”

“He isn’t dead, just unconscious,” the man scoffed. “I try to avoid killing them, if I’m able to.”

“The police will be here soon,” you warned.

“Oh I know. That’s the only reason that I’m leaving this very minute.” He made his way over to the window, never turning to stop facing you. The bedroom window slipped open without a sound and he began climbing out. “I’d keep my doors locked if I was you. Plenty of unsavory characters live in these parts.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Glitchy Red

Your younger cousin squealed excitedly, holding the game to her chest in joy. “I love it so much!” she said. “I can’t believe I used to think Pokémon was for babies. At first when the music randomly cut out, I did think it was super weird but I’ve gotten used to it now.”

“I don’t think it’s meant to do that,” you chuckled. “But cheap versions, you know?”

It was good to see that your last-minute gift hadn’t gone to waste. You had been worried that the present’s fun would be lost on your video game-hating cousin but she had actually decided to give the game a shot. Now you had somebody in the family to speak to which was extraordinarily exciting.

“What are you meant to say to Red when he asks you whether or not he’s a joke?” she aske unexpectedly. “I know that if you say no, he goes away, and I’ve been too scared to try the other option.”

You frowned. “I don’t actually remember that part of the game.”

“Really? But it happens so often.”

When she realised that you really hadn’t encountered anything like that in the game before, she told you to wait a minute and came back with her game.

“There was one around here,” she said, loading in. “Just give me a second and I’ll find it.”

You stayed much later than you had originally intended to that night. The two of you played through a lot of the game, waiting for the moment when Red would break the fourth wall and demand to know about your opinions on him.

It never came.

The game ran incredibly smoothly. It was quite odd. There weren’t any hiccups along the way nor horror-style glitches. The music didn’t even cut off which was apparently rare accourding to your cousin.

After a while, she sighed and handed it to you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why it’s not breaking. I’ll go make us some food.”

You continued playing while she was gone, enjoying the memories that came with the game. It was as fun as you remembered until about five minutes after she left. The music just shut off unexpectedly and, no matter what you did, it refused to come back at all. Any other sound effects worked fine though.

“So you’re just programed to break when only one person’s in the room?” you joked.

Perhaps that was a bad choice.

Unexpectedly, a loud static erupted from the console, so ear-aching that it felt like your ears began to bleed. The game took on a horrible red tint and Red appeared on the screen, a dialogue box appearing beneath his blackened form.

AM I A JOKE TO YOU?

Horrified, you immediately shut down the game and threw the cartridge as far away from you as possible. You raced at full speed into the kitchen, nearly knocking several things over along the way.

“You have got to throw that game,” you wheezed.

“What? Why?” she asked.

“There is something really fucked up with that game…” you said. “That thing with Red is absolutely not meant to happen. It felt like he was staring into my soul. You have to throw it out the moment you can. I will buy you another one but do not keep that.”

“Oh, alright,” she said, seemingly confused but nowhere as shaken as you were.

A faint static came from the living room, sending shivers down your spine.

Hobo Heart

Tears flowed down your face despite your best attempts to remain composed. “I’ve known for a while now,” you managed to say.

Your ex-boyfriend seemed shocked, though not entirely upset about your admission. “How long –“

“Since last week,” you said. “Though I’ve heard it’s been going on for considerably longer.”

He shifted his weight and took a deep breath. You recognised this behavior from the past, already hearing the words you knew were coming. The apologies and the false regret, the promises about not doing it again, and then the eventual guilt-tripping. If you heard the latter, you weren’t sure your resolve would hold.

“Goodbye,” you said firmly.

“Wait!”

You ignored the calls, making your way home at a steady place. A few people offered you concerned looks so you rubbed away the tears and took a few deep breaths.

Several months of your life had been completely wasted. You had put so much time and energy into a person who didn’t care one ounce about you.

Just great.

You turned onto your street and made your way to the house across from your own. The woman who lived there was always busy and she only came home to feed her dog before disappearing again. Thankfully, she trusted you to spend time with Bruno.

Bruno came racing over to the gate and jumped up for head scratches. He was a beautiful Afghan Hound with a dark coat and bright eyes.

“At least I know that you’ll always be by my side,” you said, running his fingers through the dog’s fur.

A tear slipped out and you quickly rubbed it away. You dug around in your bag and took out a couple treats, offering him.

A second bark brought your attention to the street.

Standing there, a small white dog with a scruffy coat stared up at you. It looked friendly enough and, after cautiously checking it out, you crouched down and gave it a treat.

“Hello,” you cooed. You gave the pup a few scratches and smiled. “How are you doing, hm? No collar? But you must have an owner because your coat is all groomed and soft. Did you get out or slip your leash?”

You looked around the streets to see if anybody. Nobody jumped out so you gave the dog another treat and brought it into the garden with Bruno to protect it from cars.

The two barked and played with little issue and you messages friends and family about the events of the day.

It was about half an hour later when the air was starting to get chilly. You stood and the small scruffy dog began barking excitedly. Its tail whipped through the air and it jumped up against the fence. A man wearing a white hoodie was standing down the street. You glanced at the dog, scooped it up and made your way to where he was.

“Excuse me,” you said. “I think that I found your dog.”

He turned to look at you and you startled slightly at his rather unusual face paint. A white skull was painted onto his face, similar to something you would see at a college convention.

He glanced down at the happy dog and sighed. “So that’s where he got to.”

“I’m sorry if you were looking for him. I took him off the street to protect him from any cars or anything.”

“It’s fine. He always shows up eventually,” the guy said. “You can just put him down. He’ll follow me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Then he turned and started walking away. You hurriedly put the dog down and it immediately bounded after him, falling into step directly beside him. They disappeared around a corner and you returned to your own house.

The day had gotten much warmer suddenly.

#creepypasta #scenarios #ben drowned x y/n #bloody painter #clockwork #dr smiley #eyeless jack x reader #hobo heart #dark link

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blorboverse · 2 years ago

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Chapter 1: Roxan

The first world I travel to is beautiful.

The thing you have to know about my home dimension is that it’s depressing as fuck. Think, um, like, hardcore cyberpunk. You never see the sun past the thick clouds of smog. The buildings are dull gray concrete, with windows that need cleaning. And the people? Let’s just say, there’s a reason I left.

This, however, rocks. The sky is a beautiful blue, verging on teal, and I’m surrounded by green and yellow fields. Honeybees dart between flowers, and the smell of wheat is heavy in the air. In the distance, there are thatched huts clustered together.

I exhale. I made the right decision.

I set off through the tall grass, hoping that ticks don’t exist in this dimension. The town is about an hour away– maybe I can find someone to help there.

I’ve walked for almost seven seconds when my leg gets caught in something, sending me sprawling to the ground.

Something jumps out of the grass and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the knife point to be pressed to my throat–

But suddenly I hear the cords of a string instrument. What the hell? I open my eyes again.

My leg is caught in a snare. The tight wire is snug to my leg, not tight enough to break the skin but definitely tight enough to bruise. And standing in front of me is a humanoid with pink-purple skin. He has jaw-length short black hair, horns, and a long thick tail. He’s wearing a long white dress and flats, and holding what looks like a lute. A messenger bag is slung over his shoulder.

There’s a beat. Then,

“Are you going to rob me?” I ask.

“Are you rich?” he asks me back.

“I don’t even know what currency this world uses, man.”

“Then no.” He pauses. Considers for a moment. “You must be one of those dimension hoppers, huh?”

“I guess,” I say. “This is my first world. Other than home, I mean.”

He cracks a toothy grin. “Oh, man, congrats. My uncle did a little hopping once upon a time. I’ve heard it’s pretty fun.”

“Yeah, sure. Can you let me out now?”

“Oh, right.” He strums a few chords on his lute, and the wire disappears from my leg. He offers a hand to help me up. “The snare wasn’t even for people, by the way. I’m trying to study how musical buffs affect the energy of wild pigs!”

“Sounds kind of dangerous,” I comment.

He laughs. “I’ve been charged a few times. But I always heal both the pig and myself before I release it.”

“I’m Can,” I say.

“Roxan,” he says with a smile.

“I like your dress,” I tell him.

“I like your bodysuit.” he replies. “So, Can, why are you hopping? Treasure? Glory?”

“Friendship,” I say. “I want to make at least one friend in every dimension, and help whoever possible.”

“Aren’t there infinite dimensions?”

“Yup.”

“You’ll be traveling forever.”

“Yup.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. Am I your friend for this dimension?”

“I guess,” I say. “Is that cool?”

He looks like he’s about to nod, but catches himself, and furrows his brow. “I’ll only be your friend if you help me with something.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” I ask incredulously.

That makes Roxan smile. “Yes. But it’s fun blackmailing. I just want you to jam with me for a while!”

“Jam with you?”

“Like play music.”

I look down. “I don’t play.” Not much time to learn instruments in a science lab.

“No problem. I have something easy.” He digs around in his bag, and pulls out a wooden circle with long thin strips of metal on it. He plops down, criss-cross, and pats the ground next to him.

When I do, he hands me the object, and says, “This is a finger piano. All you have to do is press the little tabs.”

I hold it, not touching the tabs. After a while, Roxan starts to fidget. “What are you waiting for?”

“Just like, press anything? What if it sounds bad?”

“Then I’m not going to be your friend,” he laughs. “Just play. I’ll follow.”

I thumb one of the tabs. It makes a plink sound. I thumb another. I start pressing random keys, hoping that the jumble of notes will somehow arrange itself into a melody.

Roxan cocks his head at my mishmash of chords. His ears twitch, and I’m worried that I’ve, like, irreversibly fucked up. But then, he dips his head and begins to play his lute.

Oh my god.

His music sounds like a million butterfly wings. Or seedlings popping out of the ground. Or maybe just springtime. Whatever it sounds like, it’s nothing like the grind and hum of machinery that I’m so used to. Every random note I play gets swept up by the melody, calling to mind the fluttering of a bird’s wings and the crawl of an earthworm.

I pick my eyes up from the piano and am met with a wondrous sight. All around us, the grass is sprouting purple flowers. Lots of them. Tiny buds grow on the stalks of grass, expanding and opening immediately, until the stalks are covered in the flowers and are too heavy to support themselves on their own. Then, the grass stalks topple, and the flowers cover the ground like a carpet. As we play, the circle of flowers around us gets bigger and bigger.

I pluck two more tabs that I hope sound kind of final, and then stop. Roxan gets the hint, and trills off into a finale. He opens his eyes. “Pretty cool, right?”

I give him a small smile. “Pretty cool.”

“Keep the piano,” he says. “Maybe next time you come visit, we can jam again.”

“I’ll be better next time,” I promise.

“I’m glad I met you,” Roxan says.

“You… don’t know my history.”

“You don’t know mine.”

“Touché,” I concede.

“What’s important is the now,” he says. “And right now, it’s a beautiful day.”

I breathe in the wheat-smelling air. I exhale. And we just sit there together, enjoying the blue sky and the purple, purple flowers.

OC by @fitzkn

#hope i got your guy right!

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mzshko · 2 years ago

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Galladrabbles Master Post

Hey, for an easier read, I've decided to create a master post of my ongoing plane wreck Galladrabble story, an AU written 100 words at a time. Prompt words are highlighted. Thanks and enjoy! 🛩🔥

FLIGHT RISK

_________________________

Ian finds himself flat on his back with a dark-haired madman straddling his rib cage, forearm pressed threateningly to his throat. “I said, who the fuck are you?” he growls, voice low and demanding, and Ian breathes in the strong scent of burning fruit trees caught in wildfire smoke, fragrant and acrid all at once.

He blinks up at his assailant and then in one swift move, flips him over while yanking on his arm until it’s pulled sharply behind his back. “I already told you, asshole, I survived a plane crash. Better question is, who the fuck are you?”

_________________________

Ian sleeps in the fuselage. He rations snacks salvaged from the aircraft’s wreckage and collects driftwood and flinty stones so he can try building an S.O.S. fire.

The solitude lasts a week, then two. He stares at a random paperback without really reading it and there were only so many times he could browse the SkyMall brochures. Seeking out the dark-haired stranger seemed inevitable. That or risk death, whether from starvation or exposure, or hell at this rate, even boredom. The question is, what’s harder to cultivate—a tenuous alliance with a madman or a harsh and unforgiving new world?

_________________________

While cutting through the overgrown brush one afternoon, Ian stumbles over a beehive. In short order, his hand swells to about twice its size.

Left with no choice but to return to his modest shelter, he’s astonished to find a care package of foraged foods and essential supplies waiting for him there. Fresh water and bits of fish like dry salt cod and gauze soaked with the pulp of leaves and shoots that, it turns out, have a pain-relieving effect when applied as a poultice. It makes him think he can survive out here—at least for a while.

_________________________

It’s been days, but Ian’s hunt for the mystery man comes up empty. The supply drops keep coming though. Randomly, when he’s asleep or out scavenging, which unnerves and excites him to no end.

Finally, he spots it. A small wooden shack shingled with fronds, and out front, the dying embers of an open fire. The dark-haired man can’t be far and so Ian crouches closer, twigs breaking underfoot, and then, suddenly, he’s on the ground. “Sonovabitch,” he mutters aloud to nobody, realizing he’d been taken down by a snare trap that some fucker must’ve hidden in the tall grass.

_________________________

Ian lies on the ground until sunrise. Eventually, the grass rustles and a figure looms above him, casting him in shadow.

The stranger looks down tauntingly at Ian, who despite struggling to free himself, remains on his back, immobile.

“So… ya gonna tell me who sent you?” He sits, opens a can of tomato juice along with a minibar vodka, and sips from each.

Staring into his eyes with fresh anger, Ian hisses. “Those from my fuckin’ beverage cart?”

“Think you mean my beverage cart, Red. Ain’t a thing on this land, native or otherwise, that don’t belong to me.”

_________________________

“You gonna lemme go?” Ian sighs and thumps his head against the ground, while the other man glares at him.

“I would, but see, your story doesn’t check out,” he responds calmly, clutching a crumpled paper in his hand. “Nobody named Gallagher was aboard that flight. Nobody with your birthdate either.”

Realizing the man’s gotten hold of the plane’s manifest, Ian shuts his eyes awhile. “That’s ’cause I stowed away,” he finally relents. “Was in a world of shit back home and just… needed to disappear.”

The man scratches his eyebrow and grins lopsidedly at him, debating his next move.

_________________________

Other than his name, Ian’s unable to get much outta him. That, and that he’s been surviving the remote wilderness alone for a while.

He’s learned numerous skills, he says, the forced isolation leaving him with nothing but time. How to start fires, hunt and forage. Navigate by reading stars. Whatever it takes. Whatever’s been essential. One afternoon, he guides Ian to a wooded creek, the view something out of a nature magazine.

“Mickey?”

Ian watches, wide-eyed, as he jumps in, gentle waves creating a frothy trail around his nude body.

Mickey looks back at him. “Sup, Gallagher? Ya comin’?”

__________________________

“And if I say no?”

“Then you stay dry,” Mickey answers him matter-of-factly.

He rises from the water to grab the campfire soap it’d taken him weeks to mill from clay and seed oils. Ian averts his eyes while Mickey scrubs himself down.

“Tell me about yourself,” Ian says, but the request is met with little more than a snicker.

Soon enough, Mickey ends the impromptu soak and reaches for his clothing. Drapes it right on so that everything clings damply to his pink-flushed skin.

“C’mon,” he tips his head in the direction they’d come from. “It’ll be dark soon.”

________________________

A cold snap hits. For days, winds gust continuously—the hammering against the plane’s cabin windows so loud, it keeps Ian up at night.

Not that he can sleep anyway. Not with Mickey, alone in the dense woodlands, sheltered in a hut that couldn’t possibly withstand this much punishment. Finally, too restless to do much else, Ian bags every inflight blanket he can find and heads out, only the moon and hazy starlight illuminating his path.

He doesn’t get far, though. “Oh, hey,” Ian shouts to the approaching silhouette struggling against the forceful winds.

Mickey climbs inside, breathless. “Hey, yourself.”

__________________________

“You wanna tell me about your prison ink?” Ian asks, watching as Mickey plops down into one of the plane’s remaining first-class cabin seats.

“Not particularly.”

“How ’bout the D.O.C boxers I know you’re wearing under your clothes.”

Mickey sighs. “Two for two, Gallagher.”

Ian continues to just stand there, all pent-up energy, hands braced on his hips. “I don’t fuck strangers, Mickey. Just sayin’.”

“Ever?”

“Anymore,” he shrugs and catches Mickey’s eye as he almost offers him a smile. “Well, starting now.”

Mickey hums at that and reclines further into the cushions. “Sucks to be me, then. I suppose.”

________________________

“K724423,” Mickey concedes, but doesn’t care to elaborate.

That’s when Ian pries him upright by the collar. “That your prisoner number?”

A shudder runs through him when Mickey reaches beneath his sweater to trace callused fingers over his heated skin. But to Ian, the touch feels like silk.

“I ain’t good people, Gallagher.”

“Everyone’s done shit they’re not proud of,” Ian breathes, adjusting to the sensation.

“Oh. Lemme be clear, then. Got no regrets over what landed me in the clink. Or anything it took to break out, either.” Mickey’s hands are now roaming. “So… we still strangers or what?”

_________________________

Finally, Ian sighs and scratches at his beard. He mumbles, “gonna fuck you,” and the next thing Mickey knows, he’s naked on his back amid broken tray tables and debris brought in by the rainstorm, with Ian, hot and hard, pinning his wrists down.

Growing flushed and sweaty, he eventually feels the slide of spit-slick fingers give way to a burning stretch that steals his breath away. And then Ian’s eyes flutter shut as his mouth falls open in a soundless whimper.

“You’re insane,” Ian grunts afterward and Mickey nods, swallowing dryly.

“Okay, but… what’s a little crazy between friends?”

_________________________

Summer turns to fall and Mickey slowly makes the plane cabin his permanent residence. They live off the season’s bounty: roots, bulbs and fresh wintergreens for brewing tea. After trapping a wild boar, they dry the meat and cure its gray-haired pelt for protection against the rapidly cooling temperatures.

Ending each exhausting day together is like nothing Ian’s ever known. They share a bed, platonically, sexually, every potential meaning of the phrase. It’s idyllic and he wants to bottle up the feeling. Wants to lull himself into believing it can last… but, of course, good things like this seldom do.

_________________________

There’s a ring on Mickey’s finger. Salvaging scraps he’d called it, a euphemism for the grim reality of where it’d come from. Its companion glints in the pale sunlight falling on Ian’s hand.

“You’re sick,” he accuses, rattling prescription pills Ian’d stashed in the plane’s lavatory. “I ain’t blind. You’ve been rationing this shit. Skipping days.”

Ian rolls his eyes and draws a ratty blanket over himself. He hates this. Hates wallowing in the melodramatic self-pity that inevitably follows.

“Just tell me,” Mickey folds his arms and Ian’s overcome by the weight of what he says next. “Are you suffering?”

__________________________

“After my arrest, I faked an injury. Serious enough for a medivac to airlift me out,” Mickey states bluntly. “That shit right there’s what’s left of it.”

Ian looks down from the summit they’d hiked to find mangled remains of a helicopter, sheared branches and overgrown weeds in a tangle. It’s still dark out, the faint morning sounds of the forest drifting up from below.

“That why you brought me here? To show me?” Exhausted from the effort of climbing, he takes an unsteady, tipsy lurch on his feet, but Mickey supports him. Keeps him upright.

“Among other things… yeah.”

___________________________

Mickey directs Ian’s gaze to the horizon where something flickers along the water’s edge.

Ian’s eyes narrow, confusion suddenly setting his mind racing. “That an oil rig?”

“Supply ships come through every four months,” Mickey explains quietly. “Last one docked right before your crash.”

It takes Ian seconds to run the math in his head. Even less for him to realize Mickey’s clutching a flare gun in his hand.

“M’sorry, Gallagher.” Guilt washes over Mickey at seeing the terror in Ian’s face as he begs him to reconsider. He takes aim, resting a finger on the trigger of the gun.

_________________________

A door clicks open and shut. Shadows pass behind a privacy curtain followed by flashes of green scrubs and rubber gloves. Mickey’s breathless, fairly certain he’s imagining things. Though it’s hard to decipher much past the fever dreams making his head spin. His skin burns hot one minute, cold the next. When he jerks a wrist to rub at his temples, it nearly dislocates—given it’s been cuffed to his bed’s handrail.

This shit’s a nightmare. Anywhere without knowledge of Ian’s condition or whereabouts is a fucking nightmare. Mickey realizes that now, seconds before medically induced sleep claims him again.

________________________

“Reintegration sickness,” they keep saying in the infirmary. For months, Mickey’s detained until his release into the general population. That’s when the hazing begins. Dead insects served to him at mealtimes. Robinson Crusoe left in his cell, its pages smeared with excrement. Little do these cocksuckers know Mickey’d once single-handedly taken down a stag, dragged it over a mile, butchered and repurposed every part, including its skull, which he’d used as a makeshift bong. Should he be fucked with anymore, they’d learn eventually. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy. For now, he continues folding sheets in the quiet recesses of the laundry.

________________________

Maker of improvised weapons, overseer of contraband, wielder of loyalties and merch smuggled in from outside—Mickey establishes his dominance, practically with lightning speed. His stronghold on the trade of illicit goods extends to the payment-for-protection racket and much like dominoes, the other inmates fall easily into line. It’s an unspoken rule that most COs will look the other way, as long as no one flaunts what they’re doing.

Which is why a hand on Mickey’s shoulder—while he’s alone, in the dark, fetching more detergent from the laundry’s storeroom—makes him wonder how much its owner values his life.

________________________

A shiv suddenly appears in Mickey’s hand, its sharpened tip smeared with crushed red clover leaves to maximize damage. There’s a panicked frenzy of limbs, each man snarling viciously while defending his circle of reach. The tussle ends in the weapon’s knifepoint shoved against the throat of the other man, who’s now backed into a corner, hands up in surrender. Slowly, Mickey moves toward the lightswitch and flicks it on.

“Never told you why I stowed away on that plane, Mick.” It’s the first thing either of them says in what feels like minutes but could easily be an hour.

________________________

“There was this… facility. A camp where they ‘cure’ our kind, ya know? Anyway, I was outta my mind. Did something I shouldn’t’ve. Been on the run ever since.”

At war with himself, Mickey feels his knees start to buckle. He presses a hand to the wall as a lightbulb flickers overhead, exacerbating what he suspects is the beginnings of a panic attack.

“Didn’t act alone, though,” he continues. “Turned myself in, gave up some names. In exchange…” he gestures vaguely at their surroundings, and Mickey gets the implication. He’d chosen this. Chosen confinement with Mickey over his own freedom.

________________________

“Why?” is all Mickey manages to get out, a brittle sound that reverberates in the storeroom’s dilapidated interior. He swallows hard, doing his best to maintain an outward calm that doesn’t at all match his inner turmoil.

Ian cracks a faint smile and slowly shakes his head. Hands still raised, he waits patiently until Mickey’s pride breaks a little. Until he’s gazing back at him with a look that’s caught somewhere between riotous disbelief and pure affection—gut-wrenching and personal and real.

“Got nowhere to be that isn’t with you, Mick,” he says, to which Mickey finally drops his weapon.

#galladrabbles master post #galladrabbles #ongoing story #gallavich fanfiction #gallavich fic #100 words at a time

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superwho-am-i-kidding · 3 years ago

Text

Too Late (PART TWO)

Once again, I'm sorry for how long this took! Life has been rather busy lately, and I couldn't find the time to write. But now I have. And oh boy, is it angsty. It's also quite long! PART ONE IS HERE.

I pride myself with ending stories happily, though it doesn't always happen… yet, anything is possible.

Thanks to @theregoesstevie for letting me word vomit based on this haunting image. Hope it lives up to expectations!

The end came with less fanfare than Aziraphale had expected. There was a world one moment, and nothing the next. The antichrist, Adam, had made un-existing as painless as possible, it seemed. There was no doubt in the angel’s mind that Satan was celebrating his triumphing victory over Heaven.

Aziraphale had been standing in the apartment of a dead demon, until he suddenly wasn’t. He found himself completely alone on an empty Earth. He had felt alone before, but it was nothing compared to now.

There were no nightingales singing in Berkley Square, no soft piano emanating from the Ritz, no ducks in the ponds of Saint James’ Park. Aziraphale decided he was tired. His gaze passed jadedly around him until it came to a stop on the only building remaining around him. A corporate tower that was as blank on the outside as it was on the inside. A tugging sensation pulled Aziraphale towards the building. He let it drag him to the escalators that lay in wait for both ethereal and occult forces.

Aziraphale’s eyes looked up towards the escalator that led to Heaven, the unwelcoming home he had known for the past six thousand years. But his instinct led him to the other escalator. He stepped onto the moving staircase for the second time in his long life (well, he wasn’t sure one could call it a “life” anymore) and stared blankly ahead as his corporation was taken lower and lower into Hell.

When he stepped into the dirty and musty hallway, he was surprised to once again find himself alone. He followed the sound of cheers and yelling down the hall until he entered a large room. Dagon was standing on a table in the center of thousands of demons, encouraging them in preparation of the coming war. Aziraphale wasn’t sure how, with plenty of other eyes to choose from, but Dagon locked gazes with him. “You,” she said, the room falling silent as the demons all turned towards Aziraphale. “What are you doing here? Come to spy on us, have you?” She laughed heartily, “Well, it seems they haven’t taught you the art of stealth!” She nodded towards a pair of large demons to grab Aziraphale’s arms and hold him in place. It was hardly necessary, as he wasn’t sure he could move, even if they wanted him to.

“You’re so clever. How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid?”

Beelzebub worked her way through the crowd, shoving demons apart to reach Aziraphale. She stopped in front of him, flies buzzing around the corporation that held no warmth. Her eyes flit across every inch of him, narrowing in thought as she sniffed the air a couple of times. “He’s… fallen,” she declared slowly. Shocked murmurs spread throughout the demonic hoard.

“May you be forgiven.”

“I won’t be forgiven. Not ever. That’s part of a demon’s job description. Unforgivable. That’s what I am.”

“This must be a trick,” Dagon said.

Beelzebub stared into the grief-stricken eyes that held no spark. She shook her head, “No, it’s no trick.”

“I forgive you.”

“In fact, this is exactly what we need. He knows how Heaven fights. We will win the war with his help.” Beelzebub waved for Aziraphale to be released. Aziraphale just stood, not bothering to fix the rumples on his jacket sleeves. “You’re going to be in charge of training the troops,” she said.

Aziraphale spared a blank glance around the room. “I’m not fighting.”

“What?” the flies stopped buzzing for a moment to hear Aziraphale repeat himself.

“I said, I’m not fighting,” he said. Beelzebub laughed and Aziraphale was ushered into a new room that had line after line of demons ready to fight. His head slowly raised to meet the eyes of the battalion waiting for his orders. One of the demons handed him a weapon he was all too familiar with, though he never bothered to wonder how Hell had gotten ahold of it. The sword roared to life, the divine flames burning at Aziraphale’s unholy hands.

He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the flames as they danced across the pointed blade. “Aren’t you going to teach us something?” a demon shattered the trance the fire had created.

“No,” he said. Simple and to the point; Crowley would have been proud.

“No?” the demon scoffed. “Do you expect us to just know this stuff? Sorry to break it to you, Halo, but we don’t have all the fancy things down here that you bastards have upstairs. Just the broken, sloppy seconds.” He pursed his lips and circled Aziraphale in an achingly haunting way. “But I suppose it’s no surprise that you’ve become one of us. You are broken and sloppy, after all. Just like Crawly was.”

Aziraphale didn’t know there was more in him that could break. But there was, and it shattered. Without thinking, his grip tightened on the hilt of the blade and he swung. Screams and sizzles told him that he had hit his mark. The rest of the battalion watched in shock as Aziraphale coldly watched the demon die. Aziraphale looked up, his dark eyes challenging anyone brave enough to a duel.

Some of the larger demons charged him, but Aziraphale dodged easily. It hadn’t been angelic that he had learned how to dance, though it seemed to come in handy now. He side-stepped and spun around his attackers, landing jabs and slashes on their corporations with his sword. One by one, they all fell, screaming in pain. Aziraphale looked up, his skin glistening with sweat, but with no flush. He was a dampened corpse walking around and swinging to kill.

The remaining demons turned and fled, leaving Aziraphale to glance at the bodies surrounding him. He wasn’t sure why they didn’t disappear, as he would have expected with utter extinction, but he didn’t really care. He stepped across them, ignoring the cracking and squishing of the bodies beneath his heels. Aziraphale walked down the corridor back towards the escalator that lead to an empty Earth.

He trailed the sword along the wall, igniting the posters and mold with holy flame. He caught sight of Beelzebub and Dagon surrounded by the surviving demons of his battalion. Beelzebub moved to intercept Aziraphale before he could get to the stairway. Their eyes locked, and she stepped back after a moment of contemplation.

“I should like to be left alone,” Aziraphale said quietly. He knew they had heard him, based on the nervous nods that were sent his way. He began the climb towards the surface and emerged into the blank canvas that the world had become. He took the opportunity to mold this new Earth into a tall hill that buried him within the clouds. A small patch of grass erupted from the top of the mound, yellow flowers popping out of the soil as well.

Aziraphale picked up a long stone that had not been there a moment before and drove it into the ground. It just so happened to have a lovely flat surface, perfect for carving. Aziraphale only wrote one word, one name. He wasn’t sure which one Anthony J. Crowley would have preferred, so he chose the name that Aziraphale always wanted to call him: Love.

“Aziraphale, former principality and guardian of the eastern gate of Eden, fallen angel of Heaven,” a voice appeared behind him. “I had always hoped it would come to this.”

Aziraphale turned from the headstone to stare down Sandalphon as he stood at the edge of the newly-formed hill. The angel smiled, gold shining through his teeth. “You will lose,” Aziraphale said, his grip tightening imperceptibly upon the hilt of his sword.

“I’m not worried,” Sandalphon smiled. “I’ve brought help.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes and felt for the ethereal forces that were surrounding him. There were dozens of them. All waiting to land a blow upon the single demon, standing alone on a hilltop with a sword in one hand and flowers in the other. “This was your choice,” Aziraphale said. He stared at Sandalphon for a moment longer before he lunged.

His first swing against Sandalphon missed, and several angels flew in to retaliate. Aziraphale tore each of them down. He almost wished there was literal blood to be spilled, the angels were falling back to Earth too much intact for his liking. Crowley would be horrified at what he had become in such a short time. Aziraphale would have been horrified himself if he stopped to think about what he was actually doing.

But the angels kept coming, and Aziraphale never put more thought into the actions that were defending the grave of the only being he had ever loved. Soon enough, demons had appeared as well, hungry for revenge against those Aziraphale had slaughtered. Aziraphale had always thought about how lovely it would be if Heaven and Hell would put their differences aside and get along for a change. It didn’t even register in his mind that they were doing exactly that; putting aside their own agendas in order to kill Aziraphale.

They didn’t know it, but there was no killing this particular demon. Aziraphale tore through each wave, the bodies piling higher and higher around his once solitary hill. He wasn’t sure how long it took for them to get the message, but it eventually arrived. Fewer and fewer angels and demons approached the hill to challenge Aziraphale. Then, there were no more. Aziraphale felt something stir deep within him. Satisfaction, he supposed, and pride.

He looked over the new hills that surrounded his own, wings of both black and white broken together. Aziraphale looked to the sword in his hand, willing the flame to die. The blade slowly cooled and Aziraphale briefly contemplated joining Crowley in whatever was beyond their infinite lives. His ultimate decision was to toss the sword over the side of the hill, into the pile of bodies that encircled him.

Aziraphale willed a pair of Crowley’s sunglasses and a vase into existence at the base of the headstone. He filled the vase with a fresh gathering of the yellow flowers, ones that he didn’t know the name of, but was certain Crowley would have. That’s where he remained for the rest of the war. The decades passed within the blink of an eye, though the flowers adorning Crowley’s grave were as fresh as the day they were cut.

When it happened, Aziraphale felt the war end with every fiber of his being. He knew the fighting was done, but he didn’t bother to find out which side triumphed over the other. It was of little importance to him now. His gaze swept across the piles of angels and demons, a spark of something flashing in his heart. Tears began to fall from his eyes, blurring the image of a figure appearing before him.

“Angel?” a horrified voice whispered.

Aziraphale blinked to clear the tears from his vision. A black-clad figure with flaming hair came into focus, one that he never thought he would see again. “Crow…” his voice failed him after all the years of silence. “The empty flask…” Aziraphale saw Crowley’s eyes flash with dismay as he put together what Aziraphale was implying. “You weren’t dead?”

Crowley looked around the two of them, eyes never lingering too long on the bodies around them. He turned his gaze back to the tear-stricken face of his best friend. “I went to Alpha Centauri.”

“I’m going home, angel. I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars, I won’t even think about you.”

“What have you done, angel?” he whispered. Aziraphale looked down at the grave as he unfurled his black wings into the emptiness behind him.

#too late #part two!#finally!#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #good omens fic #good omens angst #probably some trigger warnings #my writing #fallen!aziraphale

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thebrownssociety · 3 years ago

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Space Jam 2 AU [AKA Across The Serververse] Part 2.

Hey! Roxy Goth here. So, just a couple of quick note before we carry on, firstly - from now on I think I’ll just have the title of this as ‘Across The Serververse’ and drop the Space Jam 2 AU bit.

Secondly - I can’t remember exactly how Rhythm got the toons into the Servereverse, by that I mean if they literally just stepped into it, ALA Dom + LeBron or if they had to go into a spaceship like Marvin’s.

So I’ve just done something that may or may not be right. Enjoy!

Warning: Swearing

*6 months later*

Pepe and Penelope were excited. After 6 awesome - but admittedly long - months they were finally coming back to Tune Town. As they had been last to be picked up last time it meant they were also last to be dropped off, so by this point they had the boat to themselves.

“Ah, mon leetle cherry-blossom.” Pepe said, embracing Penelope. “The other passengers, they have gone, which leaves a monsieur and a mademoiselle alone together. What do you suppose we do in ze short about of time we have?”

Penelope giggled and hugged him, but as she hugged him she got a view of their home world. “P-p-pepe-” She said, faintly.

Not liking the nervousness in his wife’s voice, Pepe turned and his jaw dropped.

Tune Town was deserted. There were no signs of life anywhere, tumbleweeds ambled lazily across the desert parts of it, while in the forest parts the trees had started to go somewhat wild. That had always been Elmer and Sam’s job [and Marvin’s, if he was around] to cut down the trees. So where were they?

Before either of them could really process what was going on, the trees started shaking with so so much force that Pepe and Penelope were inclined to cling to each other, despite the fact they were on a boat.

“What is it?” Penelope whispered.

“I don’t know.” Pepe said, forgetting to put on his French accent.

Just then a small figure darted out of the trees and ran towards the beach. “Don't stop!” The voice of Bugs Bunny called. “Keep goin’!” They could see him properly now, running down the beach and along the jetty. When the boat got close enough the rabbit braced himself and jumped onto it, hitting the floor with so much force he became flat.

“Hey! You have to pay!” The boat-captain yelled, while Pepe shook Bugs so he became 2-D again.

The rabbit reached into hammerspace and pulled out a couple of notes before just hurling them at the captain with an impatient. “Dere, does dat cover it? Now-” He turned to his friends. “Am Oi glad ta see you two!”

Pepe and Penelope were to stunned to respond to that, there eyes taking in the rabbit’s appearance. His eyes were wild and excited, his chin had stubble on it, his fur was messy and unkempt and - the most worrying of all for Bugs Bunny - his ears were down. He had also seen fit to dress himself in a tramps outfit.

Seeing his friends horrified look, Bugs looked down at himself and said. “Eh...I guess ya wanna know what happened, don’ cha?” Upon getting a nod Bugs yelled to the captain to ‘park it a moment!’ and - grabbing a torch out of nowhere - began with: “It all started a mere two weeks after you left meself, Daf and Elmer were practising our famous ‘Duck Season, Wabbit season’ routine, actually, ya know what? I’ll show ya in flashback. Hold on-” He put his hands to the side of his head and concentrated.

*Flashback starts*

“Duck season!” Bugs said, ripping down a poster,

“Wabbit season!” Daffy snapped, yanking down another poster.

“Duck season!”

“Wabbit season!”

“Duck-!”

Bugs was cut of in his witty comeback by Elmer suddenly sighing and sitting down on the grass.

Bugs and Daffy looked at each other in confusion, before simultaneously shrugging and sitting next to the hunter, one on each side of him. Bugs got a carrot out his hammerspace and took a bite. “Eh...what’s up, Hunter?”

“Sowwy.” Elmer said, tiredly. “I’m not feewing it today.”

“No prob-lemo!” Daffy said, before Bugs could speak. “What do you want to do? We could go to Australia!” He pulled down a backdrop of Australia, causing them all to sweat. “Or France!” He pulled down another backdrop and threw a string of onions round both his brothers necks. “Or England!” He pulled down another backdrop and grabbed a cup of tea out from hammerspace. “Justh name a place!”

Elmer, holding a cup of tea with a string of onions slung round his neck, looked wide-eyed and confused. “...Home?” He said, simply.

Daffy sighed and the backdrops fell around him. “Okay then. I suppose we’ve had enough for one day. Oh, Bugsy, Bugsy ol’ buddy, ol pal!” He slung an arm round the rabbits shoulders. “Might I enquire what you are making for dinner?”

“Eh...ya can ask.” Bugs said nonchalantly.

As Daffy started to try and barter his way into a good dinner, the scene switched to the middle of Tune Town, where a tall, black, slightly shimmering man was talking to the other LT’s.

Bugs’s eyes narrowed and he marched towards them, yelling. “Hey! Who de hell are you? Dis is a private island, ya know!”

“I am Al-G-Rhythm.” The guy said, smoothly. “I am Warner Bros newest mode of technology. The link between all of your worlds. The Serververse. No longer will you have to travel between world like a second-class citizen, you can all live in one place together.”

“An’ dis benefits us...how?” Bugs asked, not believing all this for a second.

“You get to expand your horizons. Actually go into other characters worlds. You can explore, who knows? Maybe even rebrand-”

“Eh...I don’t think so.” Bugs said, confidently. “We’ve done enough ‘rebranding’ over de past few years. We’re all good here.” The other toons nodded along with him.

“That’sh what YOU think!” Daffy said, dramatically poking Bugs in the chest. “I for one would LOVE to spread my wings!”

“Eh...jus’ talk ta Warner Bros, Daf. I’m sure they can get you a role spoofing some of de other properties.” Bugs said, easily.

“Of course.” AL-G-Rhythm purred. “With the offer I’M making you you can go anywhere and be whoever you want to be. All of you.” He added, seeing the other Looney Tunes beginning to look interested. “Anything and anywhere you want to be. I mean, let’s face it, you’ve all done so much for this stup - I mean, Warner Brothers over the years, isn’t it time you cut loose and had some fun?”

Bugs’s eyes narrowed. The Looneys were perfectly capable of having fun without needing to go across the serververse, thank you very much. He looked around, expecting to see his family with similar expression, but instead they were all talking to each other about it and sounding...excited?

“I can take you anywhere you want to go.” Rhythm said, his voice raising a little above the noise. “Hogwarts, Austin Powers, Matrix, you name it, WB have probably done something with it at some time. And if you wanted to go back in time, no problem, we still have the Paramount Pictures stuff on a different planet.”

“Reawwy?” Elmer -who was a big fan of The [original] Addams Family - asked.

Rhythm smiled. “Reawwy - eh, really. All you have to do is step into the serververse...” He stepped to one side and a suddenly a glowing door appeared from nowhere. “...And you can go anywhere you want. Now...who’s with me?”

The other Looneys looked tempted, they really did. But after a shared glance and one of those ‘telepathic conversations’ they were so good at, Porky shook his head and said, politely but firmly. “T-th-thanks for t-t-the offer, Mr R-r-rhythm, but if it’s all the sa-the sam - makes no difference to you, we’ll stay here.”

The other looneys nodded.

Al-G-Rhythms eyes grew hard and his voice dropped to a baritone level as he said. “Well...don’t say I didn’t try and do it the nice way.”

Before any of the toons could ask what he meant though, Rhythm raised his hands and every toons except Bugs was lifted in the air, all with various shouts of surprise.

Bugs heart pounded as he looked at his family's frightened faces - some of them were clearly in pain - and he yelled. “Let ‘em go! Take me if ya hav’ ta!”

The other Looneys all started yelling at him not to do it, that it was a stupid idea. Rhythm looked at the grey rabbit and seemed to be considering it. Then he shrugged and - with a dramatic swoop of the arms - made all of Bugs family disappear.

“NNNNNNOOOOOO!” Bugs yelled and kind of did a little dance where he tried to go to one side, then the other, but realised that unlike his cartoons he had no idea what had just happened. “A’ight Buster.” Bugs growled. “What the fuck have you done with my family?”

“Oh!” Rhythm said, with false innocence and Bugs’s fist itched to punch him. “That was your family? Oh...I had no idea. From the way you treat them I thought it was the ‘Bugs Bunny’ show.”

“Yeah, a’ight, ya made ya point. Now bring ‘em back!”

“And where would the fun be in that?” Rhythm smirked, then became deadly serious. “Now listen to me ‘wabbit’ and listen carefully, course I ain’t sayin’ this again. I have sent your assistants-”

“-Brothers and sisters you mean.” Bugs corrected.

Rhythm looked surprised. “You consider Lola Bunny a sister? I thought you were dating.”

“Eh...” Bugs waved a hand. “That’s in canon Doc. This is ‘off-stage’ so ta speak.”

Rhythm hummed thoughtfully then - remembering he was supposed to giving a monologue - carried on with. “Whatever they are to you is no matter. The point is they are all spread across the servisverse and they’ve all been sent to random places that-” He laughed. “-Hell, even I don’t know! And YOU-” He pointed at Bugs. “-Have 6 months to find them and if you DON’T they will be deleted!” He started laughing hysterically.

“Eh...” Bugs said, left eye beginning to twitch. “Ya know Warner Bros have access to the servers as well and will realise we’re not in our world? They’ll then send us back.”

Rhythm scoffed. “You think I’m an idiot? I’ve thought of that - you wanna know how? Well, FORGET IT!” He suddenly bellowed, getting right in Bugs’s face. “I’m not going to tell you! You’ll have to figure it all out for yourself. but I’ll make it fair for you.” He said, voice taking on a soft, almost fatherly quality. “I promise that I won’t look at your progress until the last day, deal? Then you can’t say I’ve interfered. Deal?”

Bugs yelled his protestations at the top of his lungs, but Rhythm just laughed and disappeared back into the serververse.

*End flashback*

After the end of that flashback it was safe to say Pepe and Penelope were quite shocked. They were still trying to get there head around the fact that all this had happened in the 6 mere months they’d been away, when they heard a strange sound and saw Bugs crying.

Penelope hushed him and Pepe offered him a handkerchief. Bugs blew into it noisily at exactly the same time the horn blew before handing it back to Pepe who looked at it in disgust and threw it over the side of the ship.

“So what happened after that?” Penelope asked, fearing she already knew the answer. “Where are they?”

“Oi don’t know, okay!?” Bugs wailed. “I don’t know! Dere in different worlds somewhere, but I don’t know where and I don’t know how it works! Oi don’t know if they’ve just gone to the worlds, but without being able to shift so they stand out like a sore thumb or if they’re replacing someone else within dat world! In which case, where’s de character dere replacin’? Oi don’t know which worlds dere in, oi don’t know if dere safe or happy or bein’ tortured - I DON’T KN-!”

*SLAP*

Bugs blinked and felt the imprint Penelope’s hand had just left on him. “T’anks. Oi needed dat.”

“We weel get them back.” Pepe said, placing a hand reassuringly on Bugs’s shoulder. “Myself and Penelope will help you. We will not rest until out family, it iz complete!”

Bugs smiled shakily and wiped his eyes. “Well, dere’s one issue with dat-” Seeing his brother and sister’s curious look he gave a half-hysterical laugh and asked. “Well, why do you t’ink oi’m still here? Oi can’t get out. I’ve tried goin’ back through to Warner Bros central, oi can’t do it. The portal we use physically won’t let me through. Oi t’ink Rhythm has put some kind of block on me. To stop me leaving so oi can’t find da others. It’s de only thing that makes sense. An’ I’ve tried different versions of me as well from all across the years. King me, jester me, classic me, new me. I even tried Ace Bunny, dat’s how desperate oi was! I can’t leave-”

“-What about Chungus?” Penelope asked. Seeing the weird looks Pepe and Bugs were giving her she explained. “It sounds like Rhythm has put some sort of block on YOU. But...Big Chungus...he isn't technically a version of you, is he? He started out as a meme taken from when you were shape-shifting”

“He’s in ‘World of Mayhem.” Bugs said, doubtfully.

“Which is a game!” Penelope said, excitedly. “Not a tv show! Have you tried it? No? Well, give it a go!”

Feeling excited for the first time in 5 and a half months Bugs took a breath and started to shape himself into the monstrosity that was Big Chungus. When he had finished he smiled, leapt onto the mast and - donning a pirate hat and sword - yelled. “Full steam ahead! Warner Bros Central here we come!”

As the exit - aka the portal - that led to Warner Bros Central loomed over him Bugs felt nervous. ‘Please work, please work, please work-” He chanted under his breath.

Then with a flash of blinding light, they went through.

#Space Jam 2 #A New Legacy #Fanfiction #Space Jam 2 Fanfiction #Across The Serververse #Bugs Bunny #Al-G-Rhythm #Space Jam 2 AU #Pepe Le Pew #Penelope Pussycat #Looney Tunes #Looney Tunes Fanfiction #Family #Adventure

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chaolie · 3 years ago

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Fundywastaken week, Day 3 - Wedding

So, another day of @fundyfiles' fwt week! The actual wedding video cannot hurt you if you simply don't acknowledge it, so that's exactly what I'm doing today! Instead, have this bit of comfort and a GREAT wedding! It's on my Ao3, too!

Characters: Fundy, Dream, other(s)

Words: ~1.9 k

Fundy watched the small building slowly fill with people, and didn’t dare to come any closer. No, not yet. He tried to fix his tie, for the 8th time in the past five minutes, and did his best to steady his breath. Logically speaking, there was nothing to be anxious about, everything should go fine… still, he found himself fumbling his hands together and could feel his ears flat on his head as he avoided looking at the building. Too many people for his liking were there already. Not that having a lot of guests was a bad thing, of course! It was his and Dream’s wedding, it was going to be loud and beautiful, they wanted it that way! And he’d go in there, and he’d smile, and he’d greet the guests, and he would not panic the second he does so- With all his thoughts running wild, he didn’t quite hear anyone approaching until they stood at his side.

“Fundy?” Dream asked, leaning forward to see his husband-to-be’s expression better. The fox hybrid let out a quiet sigh before smiling.

“Hey,” he greeted. His hands reached up to fix his tie yet again as he took a better look at Dream. The man was still in his casual clothes, and Fundy wondered if he should go change back into his as well.

“Oh, if you’re worried about this,” the man started, tugging at his hoodie, “I’ll change into the right clothes in a moment. I just wanted to… you know, stay like this for a moment?”

“Oh! Alright,” Fundy nodded. He was yet to see what clothes his fiance picked, and he couldn’t wait for that.

“...Are you nervous?” Dream asked after a short pause. Fundy’s expression fell at that, and he let out a tired sigh.

“...It shows that much?” he asked quietly. Given the fact that he was fixing his tie again, he wouldn’t be surprised. “Are you?”

“Uh… Well… Maybe a bit, but….” Dream answered, taken off-guard. He failed to find an excuse, so he fell silent after that. After hesitating for a second, Fundy carefully reached for the man’s hand.

“Do you want to go for a walk before we go in there?” he offered. When Dream looked up, he was met with a soft, caring smile. He nodded.

“Good idea,” he muttered, and Fundy carefully led him away from the building and all the guests.

Hand in hand, they walked further and further away. Almost immediately, the air got lighter and Fundy’s tie seemed to be at a perfect angle. They took a couple of steps into the nearby forest to hide in the shade of the trees, but didn’t go too far. They didn’t want to stain Fundy’s suit after all, did they? Instead, they found a fallen tree nearby and decided to use it as a bench.

Still holding hands, they allowed themselves to enjoy the surroundings. The forest was cool and quiet, save for the rustling of the leaves and an occasional bird chirping as it flew by. It was also beautifully green, hundreds of shades mixing together to create one indescribable masterpiece. The tall grass, the trees, the moss, the bushes… all those things working together better than anyone could expect. And the few fallen trees, stones, and patches overgrown by beautiful flowers just made it more special. Made it feel familiar.

“Hm… Did we ever come here before?” Dream hummed in wonder. Fundy turned to look at him.

“You feel like that too?” he asked. Now that the man mentioned it, it really did appear familiar.

“Yeah!” Dream confirmed, looking around. Searching his mind for any answers, Fundy carefully stood up and backed away from the tree. Maybe if he looked at everything from a different angle…

“Wait!” he gasped, his face lighting up with recognition. Curiously, Dream looked at him and pushed himself to his feet to join him.

“What did you see?” he asked, but before he could reach Fundy’s side, the fox hybrid walked closer to the roots of the tree they previously sat on.

“There’s no way…” he hummed, looking the trunk over. Then, his eyes widened and he motioned for Dream to come. “You have to see this!” he marveled, looking between the man and the wood.

“Alright, alright,” he laughed before joining Fundy. The fox hybrid pointed at something and he briefly gazed at it before stopping.

They were both looking at their own initials, carved into the wood. Both the letters and the heart around them looked sloppy and rushed. The carving was very close to the bottom of the tree, so low that it could be hidden by putting a small stone against it, or replanting some taller grass next to it. They both recognized the image almost immediately… this tree was still standing the last time they were here.

“...No way,” Dream muttered finally, carefully brushing his fingers against the cut wood. Fundy giggled quietly before doing the same. The shape was still so familiar at the touch...

“Do you remember this?” Fundy asked finally, a grin wide on his face. His husband-to-be nodded swiftly.

“Yeah- Yeah, of course!” he confirmed, still looking at the carving.

“...We made it when… the war was still happening, didn’t we?” Fundy remembered, this was almost as old as their relationship… Dream nodded to confirm.

“Yeah. And you were so worried someone would find it,” he sighed. While Fundy was the one to make it, he was also the one to be most nervous about leaving it for someone to see. They were so close to scratching it over that day…

“Oh, yeah!” the fox hybrid nodded with a quiet laugh. “And didn’t we use this stone to cover it?” he pointed out, reaching for a strangely shaped stone laying near.

“I- I think so!” Dream confirmed, his hand still resting against the carving. “Man, this must’ve been here for ages…”

“Mhm,” Fundy nodded. Then, his expression softened as he reached for Dream’s free hand. “You know what this makes me think?” he hummed, getting the man’s attention.

“What?”

“I think… I think today is going to be okay,” he announced with a smile. “Because, I mean, look! We’ve been together for so long, and- and we’ve been through an entire war and all, and- Even if this wedding goes bad, it’s still… it’s still our day, you know? We waited so long for this,” he explained. For a moment, Dream stayed silent.

“...You’re right,” he nodded finally before pulling Fundy into a hug. “It’s our day, and it’s going to be amazing no matter what,” he agreed. They stayed in each other’s embrace for quite a while, but eventually, the fox hybrid pulled away.

“...Come on, we shouldn’t keep the guests waiting for too long,” he pointed out. Dream gasped and immediately got to his feet.

“Oh- Oh no, I still have to change-” he realized, looking down at his clothes. Fundy quickly got up as well.

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep them busy,” he assured, winking at the man. That earned him a wheeze of laughter.

“Thank you,” Dream said eventually. After that, they both headed towards the building they were supposed to get wed in.

They had to separate, Dream running off to put on the clothes he prepared, and Fundy quietly slipping into the chapel. He managed to reach the altar without anyone really noticing him, and decided to pretend that he was always there. The only one to truly notice him showing up was Eret, who was meant to officiate the wedding. After a moment, they approached him, and he was so ready for them to ask Where He Was For The Past Who-Knows-How-Long.

“Are you alright?” he asked instead. Fundy did not expect that, but it wasn’t a bad surprise.

“Yeah, just went for a walk,” he confirmed, looking down to make sure no dirt stained his clothes.

“I see,” Eret nodded, looking back at the sea of people in the building.

“Oh, and Dream should get here any moment now, we can start soon.”

No more than 5 minutes later, the chatter inside the building was dying out and people were returning to their seats. For the first time, Fundy got to gaze over the crowd and truly acknowledge everything. Everyone, every single person they invited was there, there wasn’t even a single empty spot, and it was… beautiful. Delightful. And after he looked back at the time when he and Dream had to hide just minutes earlier, seeing all those people there was truly charming. They were all former enemies, and they still had some disputes, but they managed to ignore all of that just for the sake of the wedding. He watched the people from different sides of the war sit by each other and casually chat, he could see them all bonding with each other… He could see his own father watching him with an approving smile, on top of all that-

And just when he thought it couldn’t get better, that nothing could top the sight of the room, the door opened and in walked Dream. His fiance. It took all of Fundy’s strength to keep himself on his legs, because the love of his life looked near devine. He usually did, of course, but now that he walked down the aisle in the wedding dress, a beautiful, white dress with green accents and accessories, his mask lifted just enough to reveal a sheepish smile… Fundy must’ve been the happiest and luckiest man on Earth.

His incredible, perfect husband-to-be joined his side and reached for the fox hybrid’s hands. Fundy would be scared to touch him, scared to ruin his clothes, scared that his hands would not fit in Dream’s, scared that the man would disappear at touch… But he still reached forward. After all the time they spent together, he knew it well - Dream loved him just as much as he loved Dream, and even if his ‘paws’ were to burn at the touch, his fiance would surely find a way to hold them every day. Because together, they were happy, and together, they were whole.

“You look lovely,” he whispered as Eret started her speech. Dream’s face lit up at that.

“So do you,” he whispered back, and got to see Fundy break into a grin.

At that point, everything else could’ve gone to hell and they couldn’t care less. Because even getting to hold hands, gaze at each other, and say the almost-magical ‘I do’ was more they ever thought they’d do. Still, the wedding went on, they exchanged rings and they fit perfectly, they shared a kiss and the world seemed to slow down for them, they hugged and the guests cheered… Could that day be more perfect?

Apparently so, because then came the time to celebrate. Almost every guest approached them to congratulate them, some even handing them gifts they prepared… but even having those people there was more than enough. Having their acceptance. Having their approval. Having Wilbur shake Dream’s hand, hug Fundy, and tell them he was proud of them. Having Dream’s friends pat the man on the back and smile at Fundy, inviting the two to hang out and truly celebrate in a day or two…

Was there anything more they could’ve wished for? This was a truly beautiful wedding.

#fwtweek2021 #fundywastaken #fundy #dream #c!fundy #c!dream #my writing #fwt #mcyt #dream smp #Writing this made me soft because it's just. wow. yeah. emotion. they're a thing.

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sigyn-obsessed · 3 years ago

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Reunion

The town was quiet. It was something Sigyn loved about it. People lightly talked in the market, negotiating prices. The shutters brushed against the windows as the breeze blew gently. It was warm out, the sun blazing down, warming them all. The grass swaying, tickling your bare feet.

She truly enjoyed the town. It was the fresh start she needed. When she was young, people would give her the look of pity that said, ‘I’m so sorry your mother left. So tragic.’ The glares some of the soldiers would give her when mention of her father was brought up. The people who believed she was some poor, fragile little girl who never had a constant in her life. It wasn’t what Sigyn wanted anymore.

It didn’t help that the place she grew up in no longer existed anymore, thanks to the All-Father’s estranged daughter. Sigyn couldn’t say she was particularly upset when she found out. It hadn’t been her home in a long time. She was just glad everyone was okay, and offered her healing services if they ever needed it. Sigyn wondered if her mother got out, but the care disappeared when she thought of her mother’s last words to her.

“I hope you burn in Hel for what you did.” Sigyn hadn’t taken the comment personally for a very long time. She knew her mother would be there too, so they could argue then. Right now, she had better things to worry about.

She sat cross legged, the light green floral dress balled up near her ankles. Her long curly blonde hair was pulled back in a bun, keeping it out of her way as she cheered on her boys.

Hey boys. Her sons. The two best things that ever happened to her. They were almost five, which struck her. Had it been five years already? Some days it felt like a hundred years, other days it felt like yesterday. They hadn’t been in Vanaheim too long, but it was enough to have it feel like a home. If they were in Asgard she very much wouldn’t feel like this.

“Mama look what I found.” Yelled Narvi, his blonde curls stuck to his forehead. His small hands cupped a baby snake, casually slithering around his hand. Vali, his younger brother and twin, was staring with stars in his eyes at the little creature. It was likely a garter snake, they appeared quite frequently. They weren’t dangerous, the boys were just curious.

Sigyn snapped out of her thoughts at the little boys pushing the animal near her face.

“Wow! He is pretty isn’t he?” She suggested, gently tracing down it’s back. It was a beautiful emerald green, with little black and gold marks. It warmed Sigyn’s heart. It reminded her of good times. Before everything bad happened.

“Mama you aren’t afraid of snakes?” Vali muttered. He had seen his mother shriek at spiders and centipedes in their home. Surely she would be afraid of snakes.

“Actually boys, I really love snakes. I encountered some pretty cool snakes in my time.” Sigyn gently laid the snake down, watching it slither through the grass as the boys sat next to her, one on each side. Her fingers instinctively ran through their hair, pushing the sweaty strands off their forehead. Vali’s hair was much darker, with a bit of curl. They looked so much like him in their own special ways.

“Mama are you okay?” Whispered Narvi, staring intently at her. She knew they both had magic, and knew they were likely able to tell the changes in hers. She was known as an incantation fetter. Magic was bound to her in everything she did. Her decisions, her relationships, her emotions. She had to keep everything in check.

“I’m okay honey. Just thinking too much. How about we have lunch? I’ll grab some fruit and we’ll bring it outside and eat okay.” The boys excitedly nodded as they rushed towards the back door, barging in. Sigyn took a deep breath, trying to gather herself.

Before she knew it Vali arrived with an old blanket they had on their couch and laid it out while Narvi had grabbed a pitcher of juice. Sigyn came back with some fruit they had thrown together as they all ate together. Everything was silent except for the silent munching. The sun stayed strong, blaring down hard. Sigyn had adjusted them into the shade, knowing the boys overheated easily. They tended to get sunburnt easily as well. She had experimented with many lotions to perfect the salve.

After they had finished, she gently tidied up, the boys going back to their play, exploring the small bushes that lined the back of their house, making sure not to disturb the garden Sigyn spent most of her free time on, when she wasn’t working in the town’s healing ward. The boys attended regular classes, teaching the boys essentials and basic necessities. The boys were extremely intelligent, and were reading and writing on their own already. Their bedroom had a large bookcase that was getting more full everyday. If you asked Vali what he wanted, he would likely say some type of book. Narvi was a bit more adventurous, probably asking for a weapon that was too dangerous for him.

Sigyn didn’t realize that the boys had rushed in, tapping her quickly.

“Mama, someone was outside.” Sigyn's heart dropped. Has someone found them? Sigyn ushered the boys to the living area, telling them to stay there and under no circumstances to leave. She walked outside, peering around at the trees and bushes. The house wasn’t in the town, and was at least a mile away from the closest house. Sigyn felt her hands radiating, magic flowing, tensing just in case she saw something and needed to react. It wasn’t bad that she had a dagger as well to summon. Her breathing hitched, wincing when she turned a corner, ready for something to be there.

She saw a figure, their back turned to her. They were dressed in simple clothes, dark pants and a tunic with tall boots. She was afraid to stride closer, in worry that she would surprise them and they would react as a threat.

“Who are you?” She questioned, her dagger summoned, gripped in her hand until her knuckles were white. She was breathing fast, her mind worrying that someone she had previously wronged may have found her. She hadn’t wronged many, but they had friends.

They didn't turn around, instead she saw them tense. She drew closer, still wielding her dagger. “I asked a question, now answer; who are you?” She demanded.

The figure began to turn but stopped, instead placing their hands out, to show they weren’t armed. It was a swift movement, but it wasn’t enough for Sigyn. She moved closer, the dagger now held by her side. She was close enough to touch them, but she stopped. The feeling was too familiar.

The dark hair that reached their shoulders, the pale skin on their hands.

“Turn around, slowly.” She demanded, and saw their body begin to move. She was hit with familiarity as she recognized the stranger’s face.

Loki?

She met his eyes first, the light emerald she had always loved. She felt her hands drop, the dagger falling flat into the dirt. Shock coursed through her. He was dead. She knew it. Thanos had snapped his neck five years ago. She remembered the day distinctly.

Three weeks later she found out she was pregnant with the twins.

She swallowed, her throat dry, and her mouth unable to form a word. She didn’t know what to say. What was there to say? So much. Too much.

She saw his eyes follow her form, looking her over. She wondered if he recognized her, since both were still in silence. This wasn’t real. He wasn’t real.

She reached out, clasping his chest, feeling the heartbeat underneath. Her eyes flooded, heating her face as they fell. She felt him move closer before she grasped onto him, tightly hugging him. She felt his arms wrap around, almost desperately, unlike he had ever before. She was holding so tightly, feeling his hand grasped in her golden hair. She didn’t want to pull away, for worry that he would just disappear. He pulled back, looking into the blue that had made him feel safe such a time ago.

Her hands wandered to his face, rubbing the tears from his eyes. It felt like before, when they were young and nothing had happened. Like the trauma, and pain, and tragedy hadn’t hit. She pulled him close again, her hands running through his hair. It was longer than ever before. She was so used to his short hair, and how it slightly used to curl and how he hated it. Sigyn would plead with him to leave it alone. She had always loved his curls.

As they pulled back, his hands found hers, gently stroking them. Both were too in shock to say anything.

“Sigyn?” She heard him whisper. All she could do was nod. They stood alone.

“Is this really happening?” She saw him nod his head. Reason didn’t matter anymore. He was here. After all this time he was here. Was he really here? “Is this a trick? Because I miss you and my emotions are messing with me?”

He brushed the hair out of her eyes before closing the space between them. There was no desperation anymore. It wasn’t hard or brash, it was soft and calm, something she hadn’t felt for some time.

“It’s real Sig. It’s not a trick. I’m here.” Sigyn hadn’t felt this happy for some time. Probably since her sons were born.

“Come in.” She led him towards the doors, ushering him inside, where he sat at the small table in the kitchen. She began fixing him a cup of tea. She walked over, gently rubbing his back, scared to finish the conversation.

“Lo, we need to ta-”

“Mama, is everything okay?” Sigyn paused, looking at the two little boys standing in the doorway, confused at the stranger sitting at the table. Loki looked over, his expression hard to read. Everything stopped.

“Everything is okay babies.” Narvi moved towards her, Vali followed closely behind. They hid behind her, looking over at the strange man. It took Loki a second to process the two little boys. They were small, smaller than the average child their age. How old are they? Their face shape was similar, but one had dark black hair and the other golden blonde. It slightly reminded him of Thor and him as a child, but somehow this felt different. The boys held onto each other, staring wearily at him. Sigyn knelt down to them, gently grasping their shoulders.

“Boys, can you please go into the living room? I’m fine, I promise. I just need a moment.” She saw the boys linger, Vali’s small fingers playing with her dress. She saw Narvi receive the signal, and gently took Vali’s hand, leading him towards the living room through the door. Sigyn felt herself sigh. She had played this moment in her mind so many times, the boys meeting their father. It never went this way. Nothing ever went according to plan for them though.

“Loki, before-”

“Who are they?” Sigyn closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. She took a seat at the chair across from him.

“They’re my sons.” She muttered. She read his face, seeing shock. Before she could say anything else she heard him.

“I guess you have a type.” Sigyn stopped, shocked. He read the confusion on her face.

“Their dark hair, pale skin. I always knew you liked men with dark features.” Sigyn sighed, feeling the pent up magic crawling to the surface.

“I always knew you liked to lie, but I never thought you couldn’t tell when others lied.” There was silence between them. “A few weeks after Thanos, I found out.”

“You moved on fast.” Sigyn couldn’t hide it anymore. He was doing this to anger her, to get a rise out of her.

“Are you serious? Loki, I lost the only person I ever loved, that I ever felt loved by. The man that I married and had planned a future with but no! He had to go after the strongest creature in the world with a puny dagger!” She felt her voice crack. She thought the mourning had ended a long time ago, but it had all been brought back. She wiped her eyes, hoping the boys didn’t hear the yelling. They would be worried. They were protective of her, even though they were so little. She was the only thing they had besides each other. Sigyn read the silence and continued.

“Do you remember when we were first married? We went to the turning of the season festival in the outskirts of Asgard? We talked about having kids when the little boys came up to us and you were so good with them. Do you remember the names you adored?”

There was silence for a second and Sigyn was about to interject when she heard him whisper. “Narvi and Vali. We never came up with a name for a girl because we both believed we would never have one. You always joked that there were too many women in your family for another.”

“Their names are Narvi and Vali. After the names their father chose.” It was quiet when she heard the pieces click together. She turned her head, looking into the living room, noticing the boys on the floor playing with some small blocks her father had made them. When their powers acted up they were freeze-proof so they could never be broken.

She felt his presence behind her, a hand on the low of her back.

“They’re mine?” She felt a cry come out before turning around.

“Of course they’re yours. I found out I was pregnant three weeks after Thanos defeated the Avengers. I came to Vanaheim when I heard my family had relocated here after Asgard’s fall.”

“Do they know-”

“They know who their father is. I’ve told them stories about you to them when they ask. I told them that even though you didn’t know them, you loved them. I told them stories about when we were courting, and that you had done bad things because of a bad man. That they were jotun. They know everything and it never changed anything.” She gently rubbed his cheek. “They love you the same no matter what. They aren’t Thor and you. They are your sons and they deserve to meet their father.” She saw him nod before she walked into the living room, watching the boys play, but it seemed wrong. The way they were playing was almost robotic? Sigyn sighed before muttering how much they were like their father. She quickly walked into the kitchen before taking a deep breath, Loki watching her.

“Boys, I know that you aren’t in the living room. Please show yourself. I’m not going to be mad.” Sigyn felt a shift in magic and looked in the corner to find the two boys crouched, listening in on the conversation. Sigyn sighed as she walked over to the boys.

“I assume you heard what we were talking about.” Muttered Sigyn as she knelt down to their level. The boys nodded as she thought of what to say next, but they beat her to it.

“So papa’s okay?” Sigyn stopped and looked at Vali, shocked he had made the first comment. He was a generally quiet kid, and really only opened up to Narvi and Sigyn. Having Loki just a few feet away made Sigyn think he would be hidden and drawn away.

“Yeah, papa’s okay.” Sigyn brushed the hair out of Vali’s eyes. It was getting almost as long as his father’s.

“So that’s our papa?” Questioned Narvi, looking over at Loki from the corner of his eye. It caught Loki off guard, seeing his eyes on such a small little being. It made him swell with immense pride he didn’t know he had. It made him think of his mother. Sigyn nodded and gestured to Loki to take the reins. The boys moved slowly towards him, and Loki knelt down to look the boys in the eyes. He saw Vali tilt his head a bit.

“You look like me.” Loki smirked, and was almost unsure whether to touch them. He was afraid. Here they were, years later, and he was a stranger to his own children. It made him feel guilty. Truly, he had been searching for Sigyn for years, but the fact that she had been raising two boys alone made his guilt rise.

“You don’t look like me.” Narvi muttered. “Mama says I act like you though.”

Loki laughed. He had remembered his mother made a comment when he was young, warning him that he would be in trouble if he had a child that behaved like him. He was sure it was to encourage him not to misbehave. He felt his mother probably smiling and the fact that there were two made him smirk even more. It took a second for them to approach him, and it was seconds later that he was hugging them, holding onto them tight, never letting them go again. What was stranger though was that the boys were holding on tight, like they had saved it up for him.

“I love you two so much.” He whispered, afraid to let go of them, that they may disappear or be taken away, his hands running through their hair, Narvi’s light blonde and Vali’s pitch black. Looking at them you couldn’t tell they were twins.

“They’ve been saving this for you.” Muttered Sigyn, rubbing his shoulder as he sat the boys on his knee, giving each a kiss on the forehead. Sigyn rubbed Loki’s back as she looked up intently at him.

“I promise you all, I am never leaving again. I promise you three.” He pressed his forehead against Sigyn’s, holding onto them tightly. Nothing would take them away. Not now, not ever. He had fought to see her again. He traveled across the galaxy to look into Sigyn’s comforting eyes, and nothing would take that away. He had two beautiful children whom he had missed out on. He wouldn’t be Odin. Never. He would be there for them through anything. He was going to be not a father, but a dad. Someone who cared for them and looked out for them and played with them.

Loki was a dad, and he had never felt happier.

#Loki #Sigyn #Loki/Sigyn #*fanfic #Vali #Narvi #Lokasons

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buckpaws · 3 years ago

Text

Fawnpaw’s Way

(read ch. 1 and allegiances here!)

ch. 2 is done! :D it took a while, but here it is!

words: 8,924

Fawnpaw and friends take a trip to the medicine cats' den, but she gets lost in thought after it all goes less than according to plan.

Though the sun’s warmth was a comfortable haze over Autumnclan’s camp, Fawnpaw felt cold after watching Fogbright’s outburst towards her apprentice, Plumpaw. The black tom was standing still in place, his green eyes murky as he watched the empty tunnel where his mentor had disappeared. Shadows cast themselves over the four apprentices, who were unwilling to move from their shaded spot to the warmth of the hollow. She resisted the urge to nuzzle his cheek, with his sister, Mistypaw, so close to him already. And he was soon shaking himself out and looking between Mistypaw and the other two apprentices with new optimism. Next to her, Mottlepaw offered no quip, which Fawnpaw found odd.

“Who does Fogbright think she is?” Mistypaw started up before he could say anything, causing Plumpaw’s tail to fall, clearly hoping to drop the subject. Fueled by moons of training together with Fallenwing and Fogbright every day, the apprentice ranted, “I swear, sometimes she just treats you like a stop to becoming deputy. How miserable!”

“Let’s just get going, okay? The medicine cats might be getting ready to leave for the 'Cave soon,'' Plumpaw meowed, his words edged with his tenseness. Mistypaw didn’t seem ready to let the issue go, though all she let indicate it was a single whisk of her tail, and thoughtful irritation swimming in her blue eyes. Before anyone could follow Plumpaw’s lead, Fawnpaw felt an emptiness against her flank when Mottlepaw pulled away. Another feeling came - a heavy dropping sensation in her chest that made Fawnpaw’s legs quiver. Her balance was unsteady, and if there wasn’t a wall of rock on her other side, she might have collapsed. Unsure sounds were bubbling up out of Mottlepaw’s throat, and Fawnpaw knew the worst might be coming. White ringed her sister’s dark eyes.

“No!” The first protest came, “Mapleflower will be mad too! No!” Her yowls rang off the red-rock walls, hardly muffled by the thick soil padding the ground and edges of the gorge. Mistypaw seemed totally taken aback, ears flattened. She backed up, and Plumpaw stood even closer to her, keeping his own pricked toward Mottlepaw. His fur remained flat. Where the gorge’s walls normally felt safe, arching over Autumnclan’s camp in shelter, they now seemed to trap the apprentices in a claustrophobic embrace.

“Mottlepaw, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Mapleflower won’t be mad at you,” He tried to say in a soft tone, against Mottlepaw’s loud meowing and hissing. She had now backed herself next to Fawnpaw, as she struggled to stand herself. Her gaze swam, Plumpaw and Mistypaw blinking in and out of view as dark and light colored clouds. Mottlepaw’s cries overwhelmed her senses, almost blotting out the shaking pain of the muscles in her legs, threatening to take away her ability to pretend that she was fine. Without a voice, she tried to keep listening in to her sister’s meltdown. It felt as if her heart raged with any attempt she made to move. Starclan, where was her strength when she needed it? In her place, the older apprentices were left to manage Mottlepaw before she began to attract the attention of cats trying to rest after their patrols. At sunhigh, her outburst would be especially noticeable. Fawnpaw’s teeth ached from clenching her jaw. The thought of another aggressive confrontation against her sister made Fawnpaw want to whimper.

“Shut up! I don’t wanna! I’m not going! No!” Mottlepaw was making shrill sounds after her words now, her normally thick tail now plumy with her frustration and panic. Her breathing was strained, the wet and painful sounds even worse when she raised her voice. Plumpaw pushed forward bravely with a step closer, gaze flitting between Mottlepaw and Fawnpaw. He lowered himself to the ground to seem less of a threat to the tortoiseshell apprentice, but she met his mercy with a nasty spit, leaving him sputtering backwards. His sister quickly stepped in with one paw in front of the black tom. Fawnpaw’s chest fluttered in vain to form words for Mottlepaw’s sake, her effort clawing at the air in her lungs like a butterfly floating just too high to catch. Around her, the air crackled with escalating tension, teetering on the edge of something she would not be able to fix. Mistypaw regarded Mottlepaw with a hard gaze

“Mottlepaw, stop! Plumpaw just wants to help you!” Mistypaw exclaimed, her pale fur fluffing up to meet the other apprentice’s challenge, and Fawnpaw wanted to interject - she’s just confused! She isn’t like you! But her voice still failed to come, all energy spent keeping her paws upright. Shuffling against the wall of stone, Fawnpaw managed to whip her tail. Her sister needed her. As Fawnpaw expected, Mistypaw’s loud voice only exacerbated Mottlepaw’s protests. It was just as when they had all been kits together, but now, Mudpetal was not hovering closeby to handle her kit with love and seasoned paws. Plumpaw did his best to recover from Mottlepaw’s aggression where he crouched close to the ground.

“That’s right, Mottlepaw. Aren’t we friends, Mottlepaw?” In response, the tortoiseshell hissed once more, quietly now. After the outburst, Mottlepaw’s body had begun shrinking down into her thick fur. Shades of black, brown and copper fluffed up to protect her from the overstimulating world in front of her, but it still couldn’t cure the distress she felt inside. The force of Fawnpaw’s sympathy hurt her heart, beating rapidly alongside her sister’s. Seizing the opportunity, Plumpaw advanced closer once more, and Mottlepaw let him this time. Once he was within a tail’s length of Mottlepaw, he tried to reach out and touch her paw with his. Mottlepaw did not move away, only staring warily between her sister and denmate. With a deep breath, Fawnpaw finally found her strength and turned her head to give Mottlepaw a reassuring blink.

“Plumpaw i-is a good friend, isn’t he? He wouldn’t make you do anything scary.” She murmured to her sister, feeling a glimmer of hope when recognition shone back in Mottlepaw’s normally sweet green eyes. Fear and confusion still dominated the apprentice, her flattened ears and fluffed up fur continuing to protect Mottlepaw from the stimulation of everything around her. From her distance away, Mistypaw continued to watch her brother with disbelief. Plumpaw closed the distance from him to Mottlepaw, allowing his black pelt to become a kindly shadow pressing against her streaked fur.

“I can’t!” Her voice suddenly rose to a wail once more, and Fawnpaw caught the next cry before it came by slipping her head underneath Mottlepaw’s chin. She comforted her sister with broken purrs, enveloping Mottlepaw in warmth alongside Plumpaw. The steady sound reverberated between the cats huddled together, slowing the tortoiseshell’s rapid heartbeat. Mistypaw’s tail flicked back and forth now, uncomfortable, or maybe unsure, at the sight before her, though Fawnpaw found it difficult to care in her exhausted state. Relief washed over Fawnpaw profoundly as her sister began to calm down. As the quiet extended, so did the lengths of her purring. Minutes passed, giving even Mistypaw the chance to sit down and relax. She drew her paw over her ear in washing, as if trying to allow the other apprentices space. From where they huddled together, the sun was hidden from view behind one rise in the gorge, which left the stone cool and dew glistening on patches of shaded grass. Fawnpaw felt her eyelids grow heavy; Mottlepaw’s intense purring brought her back to being a tiny kit snuggled between her littermates. Plumpaw rested with his head on his paws, his long tail curled over Mottlepaw’s back. When one of the cats finally spoke, it was Mottlepaw in a whisper.

“I’m sorry for talking like that to you, Plumpaw,” She mumbled into her paws, “I didn’t mean to.” Guilt was undeniable in Mottlepaw’s voice, and Plumpaw lifted his head, touching his nose to her ear.

“Thanks for apologizing, I know you didn’t mean to. It’s still important to remember that it hurts other cat’s feelings when you raise your voice and get upset,'' He meowed with an assuring yet firm tone, rising on his paws only enough to stretch himself out. “Besides… that’s why Dappleheart is so nice, huh? She can use a cave-voice, even for an apprentice like you, Mottlepaw!” The glow in Plumpaw’s eyes was contagious, and Mottlepaw beamed back with a rumbling mrrow of laughter. Fawnpaw felt her heart soar with admiration. Plumpaw sounded like a mentor already, so wise and patient, when he hadn’t even been made a warrior yet!

“Daring to call out Mapleflower, brother?” Mistypaw chimed in, and he gave her a fervent nod. The dark tom straightened himself out, his black fur sleek and prominent against the gorge’s curving red walls, even amongst their many shadows. He stood tall in pride for his bravery. Autumnclan’s medicine cat was well-respected, but no cat escaped her short temper and high expectations, least of all her apprentice, Dappleheart. Despite the shocking difference in their size and strength, Dappleheart seemed meek and innocent as a kit next to the compact calico she-cat whose yellow eyes could survey a group of cats with a warrior’s intensity. With any luck, she would be in a good mood when they entered her den.

“Someone has to,” Plumpaw admitted, “She can be so grumpy, but the four of us can surely take her, right, Mottlepaw?”

“Yeah!” Mottlepaw rose alongside him, which Fawnpaw used as an opportunity to also scramble to her paws. They ached with weariness, but the exhaustion would be manageable now until she could get to the medicine cats’ den and rest. For the time being, Fawnpaw leaned on Mottlepaw. Through her pelt, Fawnpaw could feel Mottlepaw’s heartbeat growing slower and calmer. In response to her brother, Mistypaw purred once.

“Do you think you can manage without me? Runningpaw said he wanted to go check out a thrush nest when he got back from patrol. I should wait for him, it could be good hunting for tomorrow.” She meowed, already moving back towards the gorge. Mottlepaw made a disappointed sound at the mention of her older brother, though Fawnpaw jabbed at her sister with her tail. She began to protest, but managed to quiet down with a huff when Fawnpaw mumbled an unrealistic promise into her ear as conciliation. Plumpaw had also shifted himself in front of the other two she-cats, waving goodbye to Mistypaw with a motion of his tail.

“We’ll find a way. Tell Runningpaw I said hi.”

“For sure. See you all later!” Mistypaw called over her shoulder as she trotted away, weaving around small rocks and gravel to find a clear spot of smooth limestone that had been warmed by a patch of sunlight. When she settled, her fur was a nearly-white glow amongst the gorge’s sheer, shaded walls. Shadows of birds overhead flickered across Mistypaw’s pelt, sleek from where she had groomed herself earlier. The grace with which she reclined in the sun and shut her sky colored eyes amazed Fawnpaw.

She didn’t have time to look long, as her group had moved on without her. Fawnpaw followed quickly, leaving Mistypaw to sun herself until the morning border patrol returned. With Plumpaw in the lead, the trio of apprentices padded away from the sunlit gorge and its dappled warmth, back to the tunnel which led into the camp’s underbelly. However, rather than plunge down as Fogbright and the other warriors had done, Plumpaw traced the solidly packed dirt along the tunnel’s edge in easy strides. It formed a path upwards, gently sloping up to higher ground where the gorge’s walls converged closer, creating a tighter space around the flat stone marking what would be the roof of the cavern below. However, where the forest floor met the edge of the gorge, soil was easy to move and shape; brambles and shrubs wove together as a testament to generations of warriors working to manipulate earth and foliage around them into their camp’s main exit. On her first night as an apprentice, while her littermates enjoyed the excitement of a Gathering, Mudpetal had told Fawnpaw of her own father, Hayjaw, before they retired together to the nursery. He had succumbed to greencough before her litter could open their eyes to meet him. Although her eyes strained against the brightness of silverpelt shining through the woven tangles, Fawnpaw had searched its magnificence for her grandfather amongst the stars. The moon, bright and full, shone back at her as an unblinking eye. Even now, Fawnpaw craned to see the sky through the bramble tunnel, but clouds peered back at her this time.

A new wind of excitement to get out in the forest made Mottlepaw scamper after Plumpaw without protest, and Fawnpaw followed close behind her sister’s tail. Underneath her paws, the soil sloped up even higher, becoming darker and softer until thick brambles gave way to lush undergrowth. She didn’t have to wriggle to get through the bushes like her cohorts, her small frame slipping easily through a hole Without sunken earth to muffle the winds and sounds above, Fawnpaw felt the entire forest roll over her senses, making her whiskers quiver. Mottlepaw’s dilated eyes flashed excitedly at the trees, teeming with chittering prey in greenleaf. The sea of birch trees framing the sky above created a blue-and-green warmth inside of Fawnpaw, familiar beyond her years, even when she blinked.

Plumpaw did well to keep his friends on course, guiding Mottlepaw with his tail along the stretch of ground, the leaves and grass there flat from many pawsteps. Briar thickets helped to keep the pathway enclosed and safe from being worn away completely, and the apprentices ducked under their longest branches for a few fox-lengths. When they emerged, the tangle of brambles and bushes gave way to a small knoll sporting viburnum bushes flowering white, and prickly larch trees. Its south-facing side held the den’s entrance. It was a cave of its own, much smaller, and rich with moss and ferns clinging to its stone interior, damp from a steaming underground pool. A thick sheet of dried willow vines secured at the cave’s mouth by stones shielded the tumble of rocks that lead into the den of Autumnclan’s healers. When leaf-fall came again, the withered vines would be replaced by the medicine cats with ones that were freshly fallen. Mottlepaw shimmied her haunches to stalk a stray catkin as it came under her paw, but the older apprentice stopped her with a small cough. The sound pulled Fawnpaw from her thinking.

“Come on, Mottlepaw,” He said easily, and she trotted after him.

Once the apprentices had passed underneath the willow vines, the air around them quickly became cool, quiet, and still once more. It always felt exactly how she left in when she moved back into the nursery, save the mess of two busy medicine cats with an apprentice den full of rambunctious cats. Today, though, the herbs were laid in neat piles and fine rows, as if great attention had been paid to them.

In the further darkness of the cave, Fawnpaw saw a pair of glinting eyes glow back at her. Almost at once, the large, golden she-cat presented herself, dark spots shifting across her pelt as she lowered herself from a stone cleft full of flat pink flower petals. The divot was nearly halfway up the cave wall, its contents hidden to any cat below the medicine cat’s towering height. Fawnpaw admired her powerful frame as she approached the apprentices with an amiable look in her honey sweet eyes.

“Welcome! I was hoping you’d stop by.” Dappleheart meowed in greeting, giving a friendly blink to the three young cats. The kind tone of Dappleheart did little to calm the guilty feeling that sparked in Fawnpaw’s chest.

“We tried to get here earlier.” The tabby mewed, beginning to sputter with her lack of excuses. In truth, it was not expected of Fawnpaw to follow her sister at all times, but it made her a little nervous not to know when or whether Mottlepaw had taken care of herself. Considering that Vixenbreze had not been with her, it was likely that her sister had been so helpfully assisting Plumpaw without her mentor’s permission. Even as she grew restless and confused from pain associated with her condition, Mottlepaw popped up around camp to help others, and Fawnpaw loved that about her. She just wished that there was some way to poke around inside her sister’s brain, dislodging whatever froze her up, or pinched her nerves at the thought of eating herbs.

Tilting her head to one side, she gave Mottlepaw a curious look, but the apprentice was avoiding all eye contact in favor of an invisible bug somewhere between her paws. Plumpaw sat next to her, his tail relaxed, only his eyes appeared to be more focused on the exit of the den than what was happening inside. Dappleheart observed her for a little longer in the quiet, before rising to her great paws.

“She needs to have thyme before sunhigh,” Dappleheart murmured, more to herself than Fawnpaw, and she padded off quickly. The length of her tail meant a small bit stuck out from the crevice of rocks, and after just a few moments, the tall she-cat emerged fully with a few thick pieces of thyme in her jaws. Dappleheart laid them before Mottlepaw, who reluctantly lapped them up and began to chew after Fawnpaw gave her a reassuring gaze. “This is a calming herb. It’s good for feeling better when you get overwhelmed,” She explained to Mottlepaw in a practiced tone that indicated just how many times she had gone over this with the stubborn tortoiseshell. Fawnpaw still listened intently, always ready for a chance to learn how to help her sister. If something went wrong, or the medicine cats were gone from camp, surely it would fall to Fawnpaw to administer her sister’s necessary herbs. This newest outburst made her realize just how much she would have to train to be ready for that moment. She couldn’t help but feel her ears droop; she had nearly collapsed during Mottlepaw’s fit. If Plumpaw and Mistypaw hadn’t been there, she would have had no way of helping her sister without becoming a problem herself.

Fawnpaw wanted to shake her head fiercely to clear her ever-churning thoughts. No. They were not problems. If cats were supposed to be perfect, they wouldn’t have to be apprenticed at all. For now, she tried to focus her attention back on Dappleheart, who was now fetching Mottlepaw the rest of her herbs, which she had wrapped neatly in an ivy leaf. Fawnpaw let her short tail rest on Mottlepaw’s flank as she settled down in a resting position and lapped up the deep blue berries before her first. Plumpaw also gave her a friendly bump of his head to hers in encouragement. With some prompting, Mottlepaw also took a couple of light green leaves, each sporting rounded points, into her mouth and eventually swallowed them. Some had still stuck to the cleft in her lip, but she licked the mess away quickly. Dappleheart was patient enough to wait until she had cleaned herself to continue.

“If Pinekit didn’t need the last of our coltsfoot to get over his kitcough, I’d use that for your breathing. This is feverfew; it’s best for fevers, of course - but I think it does well with thyme for your chest and your headaches, Mottlepaw.” Dappleheart spoke, though she only really directed the words at the pair of sisters. Fawnpaw felt her memory ache at the different herbs. Were the medicine cats so overworked that Dappleheart needed to pass on all this important knowledge to the apprentices? Or did she just know how much the small cat needed to watch out for her innocent sister? Fawnpaw vowed to learn as much as she could, for Mottlepaw and her other littermates, who needed to focus on learning about other aspects of clan life. The elders’ and medicine cats’ dens were already more familiar to her, anyway. She glanced at Plumpaw to see if he was listening, and saw that he was once again looking at the mouth of the cave. The tips of his ears twitched, but not in the direction of the medicine cat’s teaching.

“They’re so gross…” Mottlepaw whined once she had swallowed the last of the herbs. She had now taken to shredding the ivy leaf wrap. Fawnpaw nudged her flank gently with a paw, drawing her attention back to Dappleheart’s lesson. Obliging, Mottlepaw’s ears faced the tall she-cat once more. Amber eyes blinked gratefully back at Fawnpaw for her help.

“That’s why we only use them when we have to,” Dappleheart meowed evenly, before adding in a more earnest voice, “And why you need to have them consistently. The more you forget, the more yucky herbs we’ll have to use to treat you, Mottlepaw.” The medicine cat’s honesty made Mottlepaw sheepish, once more staring at her paws instead of making eye contact with the large she-cat. Fawnpaw knew that her sister was aware of how important the herbs were to her health, and moreso, knew better than to skip her daily visit with the medicine cats. Still, the young apprentice often seemed unable to help herself from running away, or becoming upset at her routine. Vixenbreeze did well in the last few moons to teach Mottlepaw to accept that she didn’t get to choose patrols, or when to help the elders. Despite her cool appearance, her sister’s mentor put in a clan’s worth of effort into her apprentice - a labor of love that often went unnoticed by other members of Autumnclan. It was no surprise that her son would have his mother’s compassion, and perhaps his father’s as well, though Fawnpaw couldn’t say.

“Thanks, Dappleheart…” Mottlepaw mewed, looking up at the medicine cat apprentice for her approval. When Dappleheart leaned down to nuzzle her head with her nose, the tortoiseshell gave a squeal of delight. Dappleheart purred, loud and song-like. The small tabby she-cat’s throat felt tight with her happiness, how the medicine cat still treasured the apprentices which she had saved as kits. Though it was her home no longer, this richly green cave brought the same warmth to her chest as it did when she was an even smaller cat. The cacophony of herb-smell no longer bothered her, either. Dappleheart’s eyes had moved from Mottlepaw to where she sat quietly.

“How about you, Fawnpaw? Are you feeling okay?” She asked kindly. Fawnpaw nodded, feeling hesitant to mention her fit of weakness around Mottlepaw for fear of upsetting her once more. She also wasn’t very interested in mentioning her weakness around Plumpaw, either. Instead, she searched Dappleheart’s gaze for understanding. Within a few moments, it registered in Dappleheart’s eyes what the young tabby was asking of her without speaking. She purred again, touching Fawnpaw’s own head with her muzzle. Her breath carried a hint of some of the sweet herbs she had worked with earlier that morning.

“Good… But it can’t hurt to have a little something for your strength,” Dappleheart meowed, returning to the crevice full of berries and herbs. Mottlepaw gave her a horrified look, as if prompting her to protest before she too received the yucky herbs, but Fawnpaw just gave her a playful cuff on the ear. This time, Dappleheart’s jaws were clamped around a few sorrel leaves. For as long as she could remember, the medicine cats had given her the sleek leaves on her worst days to build up her strength and give her any appetite at all. They would settle nice in her belly when she had the chance to pick something up from the fresh-kill pile. Fawnpaw gratefully chewed the green leaves until they lost their shape completely, hoping to wash the ache from her legs. When she was done, she looked up to see Mottlepaw playing with the scraps of ivy leaf once more. At least she wasn’t trying to dig up the ferns and moss that Mapleflower and Dappleheart carefully cultivated in the cave. It had taken a quarter moon for the former to forgive Mottlepaw, which only made administering her herbs that much harder.

“Thank you, Dappleheart,” Fawnpaw echoed her sister, but her tone was sincere. Dappleheart blinked slowly down at the apprentices, finally sitting before them with her strong white paws neatly together. Even though the cave was dim, with a jagged, sharp peak of a roof that bathed much of the den in heavy darkness, the comfort of Dappleheart’s presence was a constant warmth to Fawnpaw. As a kit, all shadows had seemed darker. Even in the medicine cats’ den, where her every cry was met with Dappleheart’s comforting hush. She loved the verdant space and steaming pool it offered, but when peeking moonlight found its way into the cave, sprouting foxglove and ferns had created flickering, dark ghosts between their fronds. They whispered to each other shadow-y words, and fear nurtured the pain and weakness of her muscle aches. Dappleheart was the one who had nuzzled her during those sleepless nights.

“Of course,” Dappleheart said cheerily, her pelt the same color as the yellow bells growing in clustered shoots around the cave; flowers which no longer scared her. Sensing the end of her visit, Mottlepaw nearly jumped to her paws. Her fluffy tail was swishing in excitement. She looked to Dappleheart expectantly, and the golden cat dipped her head. “Remember to stop in tomorrow morning, Mottlepaw. I don’t want a single mouse caught until I’ve seen you!” Her meow was as stern as the easy-going she-cat could muster, although her affectionate gaze revealed just how much of an effect the tortoiseshell apprentice had on her. “And thank you, Plumpaw,” She said more quietly to the dark apprentice who had waited so patiently for his younger denmate. He gave her a polite nod.

“Yeah!” Mottlepaw yowled eagerly, spinning around and bounding up to explode out of the cave’s mouth back into the forest. Willow vines buffeted each other in her wake. Her quiet sister was seemingly forgotten.

“I guess that’s my cue. Bye, Fawnpaw,” Plumpaw meowed, leaving with a swish of his tail. She wished that Plumpaw would stay longer, and her gaze trailed after him until his lean form was gone through the vines as well. Dappleheart just shook her head, watching after the bombastic she-cat and quiet tom trotting behind her humorously.

“She’ll be a great warrior once she learns to slow down a little,” The medicine cat mused. Fawnpaw thought she might agree, but didn’t say it out loud. Without Mottlepaw to distract her, the den felt very quiet. Dappleheart turned her attention back to the remaining apprentice. Her amber eyes flashed with interest, causing Fawnpaw to sit up straight. “By the way, how’s your training with Mudpetal going?” Feeling a little sheepish now that she was on her own, she averted her eyes from Dappleheart.

“It’s good. I think I’ve really got the Warrior Code down to memory now,” Running through her typical day, went on, “I always try to make good arrangements for the elders’ den, and get them the best moss, too.” Fawnpaw meowed.

“That’s good to hear. I’m willing to bet Marblecoat has taught you more about moss than even your mentor, though,” Dappleheart snorted, giving her shoulder a lick. “I get all of his complaints so that Mapleflower won’t ring his tail.”

“Maybe…” She murmured indulgently, before looking up at Dappleheart with curiosity. “Where is Mapleflower? She hasn’t gone to the Cave without you, has she?” In response, Dappleheart shook her head. The she-cat’s long, spotted tail abruptly twitched, the dark tip shifting like a beetle. Her claws scraped lightly on stone. Fawnpaw wondered what had her so nervous, and recalled her conversation with Mudpetal earlier that day. We’re facing some difficult times.

“No, she’s out picking horsetail,” While she spoke, Dappleheart indicated the piles Fawnpaw had noticed earlier, and she started to make out “This would usually be enough for the season…” She murmured. Something about her tone made Fawnpaw think she didn’t want to keep going. Seeing Dappleheart’s confidence falter made Fawnpaw’s heart thud with worry. Seeming to notice the apprentice’s stare beginning to grow panicked, Dappleheart sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry, there’s a lot on my mind. We’re lucky to have as many herbs as we do, and Mapleflower will only find more. She should be back any minute now.” Relieved at the return of her warm gaze, Fawnpaw nodded along. The thought of difficult times rested underneath her desire to connect with Dappleheart like a snake in tall grass. If there was any pair of cats that could handle a challenge, it would be Mapleflower and Dappleheart; Fawnpaw tried to reason with herself against her own unease.

A quiet bubbling from the steaming pool was all that broke the den’s quiet. Drawing a paw along the edge of her piles, the medicine cat hummed, “Say, it should be your turn to come with us to the Cave one of these moons.”

That peaked Fawnpaw’s interest, her swivelling ears betraying the fact. “Are you taking Volepaw this time?” Her boisterous brother had to be her first guess. Volepaw had been devastated when the medicine cats chose Brindlepaw last moon. She knew that his constant bragging could be exaggerated, but even still - she thought his catches were quite impressive when he showed them to her on the fresh-kill pile. He would do well to protect the medicine cats. Looking up from the array of fresh and dried leaves she had now moved around, Dappleheart shook her head.

“Runningpaw was our choice, actually. I think that he’s ready this time around. Not to mention, Yellowbirch can keep up with us, unlike some of our warriors,” Dappleheart puffed out her chest, but seemed to catch herself on some realization, to which she leaned back down to Fawnpaw’s level to nuzzle her cheek. Fawnpaw shrank shyly into herself as her tone went sweet once more. “Well, the Cave of Bones and Moonlight is a very long way away. Most apprentices find it intimidating their first time around, even me. It’ll be easier once you’ve gone to a Gathering at the lake. Let me show you,” She separated some berries, rich and red, and began to place them in a line. The thought briefly crossed her mind that Mistypaw must be disappointed that Runningpaw would have to leave camp before they could go hunting. She would also have to enlist Volepaw or Brindlepaw in getting Mottlepaw to eat before going to sleep if her father was on evening patrol … Fawnpaw blinked to clear her thoughts of responsibilities, and observed the movements of Dappleheart’s paw with fresh intrigue. Two of the berries sat relatively close together, only about a mouse length apart, while the third remained far out of reach. “This is our camp. It’s only a few hillcrests to the Gathering-Place, sure, but we have to go past Acaciaclan’s territory and a few twoleg villages to even get close to the Cave.”

“Why go all that way if silverpelt is above us no matter where we are?” The thought dawned on Fawnpaw before she could hold it back, her mind’s eye conjuring warriors she saw looking up at the night sky when they thought they were alone. A smile gleamed in Dappleheart’s eyes.

“It’s not just about finding a place to talk to Starclan. It’s about seeing the world out there, and seeing it through the eyes of the other clans, too. When we travel, we go under the darkest phase of the moon. We have to trust that we all know the way, even without the moon to show us. There’s no squabbling about borders if you want to have an easy time about it.” Fawnpaw’s eyes widened at the she-cat’s confidence.

“What if you can’t work together and you get stranded in the dark?” She mewed.

Dappleheart laughed, “What places your mind goes, Fawnpaw,” A small shade of seriousness tinted her clear amber eyes as she went on, “Disagreement is part of life. It’s completely natural to feel differently than others around you, especially when they’ve lived very different lives. I like to think I’ve learned a lot from the experience of the other clans.”

“I think that makes sense. I guess Starclan would protect you too, since you’re all medicine cats, right?” Fawnpaw asked, only to be met with a thoughtful look from Dappleheart that suggested she hadn’t answered entirely correctly.

“Maybe they’re watching out for us, but it’s the cats we choose that really protect us on the journey. We’re safer in numbers, and better for it if we cooperate instead of fight.” Fawnpaw was enthralled, only for Dappleheart to falter suddenly in her passion. Her line of sight was fixed behind Fawnpaw, who turned to see what had stopped her.

Mapleflower stood at the precipice of the cave, her yellow gaze cold when it landed upon the pair of them. All at once, Fawnpaw went quiet as well. Without greeting them, the medicine cat made her way down into the cave, the clumps of wispy horsetail swaying between her jaws until she dropped them at Dappleheart’s paws. One of her black-tipped ears twitched in annoyance.

“If Starclan picked Runningpaw, they made a mistake this time,” She said, her strong voice resounding in the cave. “Put these with the rest of our supply. I’m going to have to find a new apprentice to take with me.” Her words were gruff. The echo of difficult times slithered from the tall grass of her mind, baiting Fawnpaw to step within its range to strike. With her brother’s name in the conversation, she felt a cold stone drop in her stomach,

“What happened to Runningpaw?” Dappleheart mewed in worry once the horsetail had been placed in one of her piles.

“Blazingbird said he fell out of a tree,” Mapleflower shook her head. “He’s lucky it wasn’t a break. We can hardly waste the herbs.” The comment made Fawnpaw look away when the medicine cat immediately went to the main herb store and pawed through its contents with a dissatisfied noise. She was clawing into the same place where Dappleheart had retrieved Mottlepaw’s herbs. The thyme she inspected in her upturned pad was dry and nearly falling apart. “I’ll need to get more of this too…”

“Fawnpaw suggested Volepaw earlier-” Dappleheart tried to offer, only to be cut off by her mentor.

“We’re not taking Volepaw, he’ll get us killed,” Mapleflower said harshly, whipping towards the brown and white apprentice and dropping the herbs altogether. “What do you know about our journey to the Cave? Has Mudpetal even taken you out of camp yet?” Fawnpaw’s ears went flat to her head at the unpleasant sheen in her scrutiny. Why did she have to bring up her mother in that tone? Her tail wrapped protectively over her paws. She didn’t know if Mapleflower actually wanted a response, so she just stared quietly back up at her. The marking around the medicine cat’s muzzle curled into a smirk for just a moment. Fawnpaw felt an unbearable heat rise to her face.

“What about Plumpaw, then?” She blurted out. Heat sparked in the yellow eyes bearing her down. Teeth bared, the calico she-cat took in a sharp breath and leaned forward as if she was going to tear into her, reminding Fawnpaw of a great owl spreading its wings. Dappleheart wasted not one more breath before she stepped between them. The large she-cat blocked Fawnpaw’s view of Mapleflower, until she sat back down with her tail resting in front of the apprentice. Her suggestion had been completely on impulse this time around, thoughts of her friend apparently still flickering in her flustered mind. Dappleheart’s pushy interjection took some of the pressure off her. As long as Mapleflower wasn’t staring at her in the way she did, there was still a chance to recover her nerves. Though, the she-cat’s orange and white face wasn’t obscured for long as her apprentice’s posture once again relented to her respected mentor.

“He’s a great choice! Maybe it is better we take an experienced apprentice this time around.” As quickly as it had come, the fire in Mapleflower’s eyes was gone, and she let out an exasperated sigh. Fawnpaw caught a glimpse of dullness replacing their intensity when she turned away, shouldering past Dappleheart to the herb store. Fawnpaw’s throat felt tight.

“It’s going to be a long journey,” Was all that Mapleflower offered in reply, before her attention was back on her current task. Speaking without looking at them, the terseness in her voice was authoritative. “Now, unless you have any more helpful suggestions, I’m going to deal with this while we still have some daylight left. Dappleheart, bring that dried thyme and come with me. It’s about time Fawnpaw went back to the nursery.”

Her words were biting enough to make Fawnpaw stare at the ground, imagining the sheer stones under her paws were pure white and she was in the moon’s territory instead. The surety of her mentor’s command left Dappleheart floundering to mediate the older cat’s callousness. Dappleheart was left instead to awkwardly sit amongst her herbs while Mapleflower got whatever else she needed. With a practiced skill even faster than Fawnpaw had seen before from Dappleheart, Mapleflower plucked several ivy leaves from a shelf along the opposite cave wall, and laid them flat next to her. Each one was swiftly filled identically with leaves that were clustered with tooth-like edges, topped with small yellow and white flowers. Her paws followed an effortless rhythm - folding each leaf into itself twice, and then flipping them over to keep them secure. From behind, Fawnpaw stole a look at the medicine cat, and saw twigs and dead leaves from the undergrowth stuck to her hindquarters and tail; she had come straight from the forest, preoccupied and unthinking to clean herself up.

When the leaf wraps were ready, Mapleflower emerged with a mouthful of spine-like green stalks, adorned with a dried poppy head which she balanced gingerly between her teeth. She didn’t set them down to say anything else, only looking tiredly at the pair of younger cats before her. The fierce she-cat was only as old as Fawnpaw’s mother, yet seemed so much more weathered when her gaze bore down into the young apprentice.

Her message to Dappleheart needed no more words, anyway. When her tail tip disappeared through the curtain of vines, Dappleheart let out a breath. Although the spotted she-cat was polite enough to not run off without her, it was still clear to Fawnpaw that she was being prompted to take her leave. She scooped up the ragged thyme into one of the leaves Mottlepaw had not torn apart, but spoke before she carried the herbs out after her mentor.

“Remember - all apprentices get their turn!” Dappleheart blinked hopefully back at Fawnpaw as she added, “Think about what we talked about earlier, too. Mapleflower will learn from you, just as you should from her.” Kind in intention as they were, her words didn’t help the way Mapleflower had made Fawnpaw feel. Numbness tingled in her paws as she followed Dappleheart with her tail drooped and dragging along the softly sprouting ferns of the cave. She was always the last one in and out of the den, it seemed. Forest-tinted light engulfed her view, replacing the dim cave, and Dappleheart’s spotted pelt only shone a greater shade of gold. In the sun, the intricacy of her dark markings were striking in contrast to the soft white of her muzzle and paws. One last touch of her tail to Fawnpaw’s flank was her goodbye. All around her, the forest continued chirping and crackling with life and activity, but she still felt it was too quiet without another cat beside her.

The short trek through the forest back to the cave did little to raise her spirits, even when she passed Marigoldtail and her kits playing out in the sunshine. Rosekit and Pinekit bumped around her paws, spouting their ambitions and teasing each other. She purred at them, but the sight of the good-humored white and orange queen rolling in the grass with her litter made Fawnpaw’s thoughts spiral further. Mapleflower and Marigoldtail looked so much alike with their orange-and-black speckled white pelts; both were her kin. And yet still, she couldn’t please the reserved medicine cat who had also saved her during her delicate kithood. Did she stop caring, or did she never care in the first place? The thought so thoroughly sapped any good mood she had left that she missed a sparrow swooping through the rustling leaves around her and into the grass where she had paused without realizing. Its brown and white little body rustled in its feathers as it ate an unlucky worm with a satisfied toss of its dark brown head back. Frozen, she watched it seemingly gloat, unaware, in its catch.

For several moments, Fawnpaw watched the sparrow and held her breath. How could she approach it without rustling the leaves and clumps of clover and grass around her paws? Would the bird fit between her tiny paws, or slip through and fly away? For almost half a moon, she had asked Runningpaw to show her his crouch-and-leap, but the time never came around. Now, with the impulsivity of her short talk with Mapleflower fresh in mind, it left her hesitant and timid. And in just the second that she lifted a paw to get closer, it flitted off in a streak of oak and white colored feathers.

Just as Dappleheart advised, Fawnpaw tried to replace her mishap of a hunt with what they had discussed. Everyone relies on each other, in the clan and as clans together. She traced a different path that wound away from the medicine cat den, feeling the thick forest floor give way to a steep shelf of sandy earth where a riverbed once held a stream. Slipping into it, she kept going without truly feeling her paws. They ached, but that was nothing new. The greater river gurgled along nearby, unaware that one of its ghostly limbs was her way home. Her thoughts and stomach churned with thought like its bulging water. Every link in the clan is important, even if their role seems small or they can’t hunt like other cats. She stuck to the riverbed until it tapered off to a wider dip where both edges met a side of the cave that any cat might miss under the tall weeds and shrubs that had grown there since the water shrunk.

Fawnpaw eased herself under the gap in the rock, and found herself once more in the lower half of camp. This was the closest entrance from the forest to the nursery; it was the gentle white smudge along the eastern cave wall, inviting her to follow its sloping cave back to her mother. However, she lingered a little ways away from where she had come, at the shelf that marked the apprentice burrow. On the surface it was only a tunnel inside of an already winding cave, but patches of flowers and muddy pawprints leading inwards made it feel personal, lived in. Even more, she could hear voices, and wondered which apprentices were there. She thought of Runningpaw with his sprained leg wrapped in rush to keep it straight, with Brindlepaw or Mistypaw comforting him with teasing and balls of moss. Plumpaw could already be back at the medicine cats’ den, forcing down travelling herbs for the long journey to the Cave.

She jolted with realization. If Mapleflower did go with her spur of the moment suggestion, Plumpaw would have to wait for his warrior assessment. He would be across a stretch of land immeasurable to her. Would Applestar go ahead with the assessment and name Mistypaw before her brother even returned with the medicine cats? Guilt ate at her as she stared down at the apprentice’s den. She had to face away, resigning herself to her nest for the rest of the night until her instincts as a sister called to her again. The grit of the cave gave way under her paws to petal-dusted marble. Within a few fox lengths, she shifted left past Marigoldtail’s empty nest, and found the hollowed cove where Mudpetal was weaving a few strands of honeysuckle onto a lengthy bramble. Each sharp thorn held a blossom in its grasp.

“Welcome back, sweetheart.” Mudpetal crooned when she saw Fawnpaw’s return, her eyes twinkling with love like tansies soaking up greenleaf sun. Fawnpaw’s heart ached with affection, and she touched her nose to her mother’s. While she fielded questions about her day, the static feeling crept back into her periphery; it reminded her of its presence starting with a throb in her hind legs, which only escalated when Mudpetal invited Fawnpaw to weave alongside her. As she stood, one paw buckled suddenly beneath her, causing the bramble to fall over and scatter some unsecured vines. Mudpetal helped her up, and nosed at her thin legs.

“It’s time to do some stretches, I think.” Her mother meowed, and Fawnpaw obediently stood up once again. She hid the quiver of the one paw stinging by shifting her body away from the tortoiseshell. Mudpetal began to brush the mess of bramble and honeysuckle aside, also clearing bits of fern to make solid room for the pair to train. Their den was a sizable one in the nursery, a deep crater in the marble cave that looked out over a part of the greater structure below - but it still felt cramped to train in at times, most often near the end when she was pushed to her limits. After a short period to recover from the brief shock in her paw, Fawnpaw stood at the ready.

“Keep your front paws steady, and then pull your left back foot forward.” Mudpetal instructed concisely, reminding Fawnpaw that she was still her mentor just as well as she was her mother. She unsheathed her claws and held to the soft marble as she lifted a back paw off the ground. Without any struggle to keep it there, Fawnpaw’s pale yellow eyes craned at the thick-furred tortoiseshell watching her. “Now, the other one.”

Fawnpaw nodded and switched paws.

“Lift it higher and hold it, while crouching on your other paw,” Mudpetal meowed, beginning to lightly test her apprentice’s boundaries. Again, Fawnpaw followed her instructions and bent her opposite knee. Immediately, she felt the strain as her front paws carried the tension of her supporting leg. She waited for her next move, but Mudpetal just waited and watched her. The time stretched on, and in what was only a few minutes, her stance had begun shaking.

“What about the other one?” She hiccuped in her heavy breathing.

“We’ll get there, my sweet,” Mudpetal reassured her with one lick to her cheek. She soon sat back a few tail lengths away, with gentle determination in her expression. The pain of supporting herself on one back leg only grew as more minutes passed, and Mudpetal introduced straightening and bending the leg in addition to holding the other up higher and higher. It was a merciful command to switch paws, and Fawnpaw blearily pushed herself to follow it. They continued like that for a while, engaging different parts of her lower body until her mouth fell open in a pant.

“You’ve improved since you last did that one.” Fawnpaw’s ears shot forward, momentarily dissolving her body’s burning strain as she recognized the voice. Foxburrow’s scent filled the nursery, bringing with it heavy notes of the forest, earthy and sunbaked on his wavy fur. Restraining herself, all Fawnpaw did was raise her tail stock-straight and kinked at the tip of her tail. Mottlepaw would have barreled towards him; the smaller cat wanted to make her father proud of her for staying focused on her training. After all, this was part of it, and she knew it was important, even if her older siblings didn’t have to work so hard to keep their muscles strong. Knowing that her father was also spectating her progress was an extra wind under her wings.

For a long while longer, Mudpetal continued to coach her through the stretches, until at the conclusion of a particularly grueling exercise of pressing her back propped to the wall and lifting her legs up, she finally gave her apprentice the okay to stop. Promptly, Fawnpaw collapsed on the floor of the den.

“You get better every day,” Mudpetal murmured into her ear fluff as Fawnpaw sprawled along the floor, enjoying its cool touch on her heated fur. She hardly processed the words in her tiredness, or her father joining and nuzzling the back of her neck, but gave her parents a stuttering purr. She just laid there for a time, shutting her eyes and getting her breath back. Mudpetal’s tongue rasped over her ears.

At some point, Foxburrow’s dark paw pushed a fat shrew towards her, and her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten since that morning before her nap.

“Eat up, Fawnpaw. You’ve earned it.” Her father’s airy meow made her quiver in happiness at the combined praise. She worked at the shrew in small bites at a time, savoring the taste until she couldn’t take it and wolfed down the last few morsels with a lick of her lips. Foxburrow and Mudpetal had settled together, sharing a rabbit.

“Nobody catches them like you.” Mudpetal purred into her mate’s neck, also swiping her tongue over her jaws. Having finished his half, Foxburrow drew a paw over his prominent white whiskers.

“I do what I can,” He said confidently.

“And nobody does what you can,” Mudpetal reiterated with a hum. “You trained Gorsewind well, though. She brings me ones almost as juicy as this.”

At the mention of his recently named apprentice, Fawnpaw saw her father’s eyes shine with pride and amusement. “You’re definitely right, there. She’s faster with one eye than I ever was at her age, or with two.”

Mudpetal nodded, “She’s exceptional, even after everything she’s been through. What an awful day when she finally told you…”

Foxburrow’s eyes briefly averted from his mate, as he seemed to recall the same memory as Mudpetal. “It was bleak,” He admitted, adjusting the moss in her nest. “We’re lucky to have your sister and Dappleheart. I wasn’t giving up, but without their healing, it would have been a steep hill for her.”

At the mention of the medicine cats, Fawnpaw remained quiet and listening with her eyes shut, and her head resting on her small white paws. Her parents went on like that, reminiscing and talking, until Foxburrow had to slip away to check on his other kits. She hardly noticed when he was gone, as gentle waves of sleep rushed over her like the orange light of the setting sun.

***

When Fawnpaw awoke again, she didn’t know how much time had passed. The space around her was completely dark, and Mudpetal slept beside her, paws twitching in her dreaming. Foxburrow had also returned at some point in, and was a lithe shape entwined with Mudpetal’s large frame. His sleeping head rested on her back, with his large ears poking up as black points rising from his mate’s flank. The gentle snoring of her father in the den could normally lull her back to sleep when he joined them, but tonight that sound nagged at her sensitive ears.

No moonlight filtered in through the mouth of the den, leaving her senses unoccupied yet on alert. Her shadowed vision crawling with memories of the day; of Plumpaw’s tail disappearing into the forest, and the way Brindlepaw ducked her head to avoid her younger sisters. Mapleflower’s eyes shimmering like a yellow moon cast their own light in her mind, to a chorus of powerful elders unamused by her presence in their court. Truly, the real moon above held only a bare sliver of light as it faded into its darkest face. It would give the medicine cats of all five clans the cover of darkness that they would need to see silverpelt

She pawed at a catkin sticking up from the nest. Her front paws itched with urgency, and yet her hind legs trembled at the thought of going back outside of the nursery. Stretching them for her training session with Mudpetal had drained the last little droplet of strength that she had. Sleep continued to evade her despite her exhaustion. With a small flip, Fawnpaw curled back against Mudpetal, who didn’t stir at her daughter’s tossing and turning.

There she stayed for what felt like a long time. She wished that the moon was full enough to call her out of the nursery. With its light, she would walk to the edge of camp, feeling strong as it pulled her. Where the edge of the gorge met the forest completely, Fawnpaw would angle her ears to the night birds above. As it was, the nursery was too deep underneath stone to carry the forest sounds to her worried mind.

Even birds have to sleep, came a small voice in the back of her mind, sweet and unlike her spiraling thoughts. Fawnpaw leaned into the rise and fall of Mudpetal’s flank and closed her eyes, picturing a sparrow sleeping nestled on a softly rustling branch.

#wc #song of 6 trees #warrior cats #warrior cats oc #fanclan

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swiftlymoniquesblog · 4 years ago

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You Hate Halloween- Sam Winchester Holiday

A/N: Hello friends! Well, the holidays are drawing nearer once again and although this year has been anything but normal, I don’t see why we still can’t imagine better circumstances!

I’m going to start a holiday masterlist, as we get closer to each holiday. Requests for this series is open and will have a separate masterlist, with stories featuring Sam, Dean, Castiel and Jack, as well as several other fandoms! Please send in any requests and I will be writing my own holiday themed stories, too!

Side note: I love this new photo of Jared that was released as he begins filming Walker! The hoodie inspired me to write this fic, so please, enjoy!

Summary: Sam surprises the reader with a pumpkin-themed date.

Warnings: Nothing but fluff!

Word Count: 2,497

Main Masterlist| Holiday Masterlist

Holidays for the Winchester brothers were just your average days, usually with a hunt or two and a just simple nod to whichever holiday happened to come up. To Sam and Dean, ever since they were children, their work came first, nothing more important than that. But everything changed the year you showed up. When the holidays began to draw closer, the boys couldn’t help take notice of how excited you got. To you, they were important days of celebration and a time to reflect on the year that just finished.

It was nearing the end of October and despite protesting from both brothers, you couldn’t help but spread out a few decorations around the Bunker. Jack had taken quite a curiosity to everything about the holidays from your obsessive discussion of celebration. It took a lot of persuasion on both yours and Jack’s part, but you convinced Dean to allow you to decorate. Pulling out box after box of lights, pumpkins, friendly ghosts, spiderwebs, and the occasional witches’ hat and black cat, you and Jack both got to work, with the added side grumble from Dean and the extra help from Cas. Once everything was set up and you took the time to enjoy your work as you head back to your room, you couldn’t help but wonder what happened with Sam. It was odd, he wasn’t around for any part of the decorating, nor was he around to join in on the grumbling.

“Hey, Dean, where is Sam? He hasn’t been around today?” You ask the eldest Winchester, who was grabbing a few beers from the fridge and handing one to you.

“Oh, Sammy? Um, he’s fine, I think. I’m not sure though, he said he had some things to work on; probably just researching like he always does,” said Dean as he shrugged and left the room.

Something wasn’t adding up to you here, Sam doesn’t just disappear without telling you first. You two were those kinds of friends; always told each other everything. You even made sure to tell each other where you would be so you could check up on the other if things went bad. All it took was one hunt gone bad and it was Sam’s idea to stay in touch with you all the time, for your safety.

You wandered around the Bunker, looking to find any clues as to where the youngest Winchester maybe, that is until you found your answer.

“Y/N, there you are, I’ve been looking for you,” Sam says, coming into your room after you decided to just leave him be and give up your search.

“Me? I’ve been looking for you! Where have you been?” You ask, ecstatic and worried in your voice.

“Oh, yeah, about that. I have a surprise for you,” he said, walking over to you in long strides, coming in front of you quickly.

“You have a surprise, for me?” You asked, looking at the much taller man before you.

“Yeah, come with me,” he said, taking your hand as he led you out to Baby. He opened your door, one of the many things he did that you adored before he joined you at the wheel. There was low music playing from the stereo as you felt him reach over and grab your hand, his thumb absentmindedly tracing patterns and leaving goosebumps on your skin. It was small moments like these, that made your heart race. Hand holding or an arm wrapped around you, even how he looked at you so lovingly, was all it took to make you feel as though you were his entire world. As your mind wandered on, Sam had to bring you back to reality, for you had arrived at the destination he had brought you. It was out in the middle of nowhere, nothing but flat land and rolling hills off in the distance. Tall pine trees lined just under the hills and there was what looked to be a farm, by the several cows that were grazing the land.

“Where are we, Sam?” You ask, looking to him who just kept a small smile on his face.

“You’ll see,” he says and guides you across a near-abandoned highway.

You two walked along the highway, following the grass and a wooden fence that was put up to aid in keeping the cows away from traffic. The walk was a bit longer than you cared for, but soon, more life drew in your line of vision, meaning there were other people around you. Drawing closer, you noticed that Sam had taken you to a pumpkin patch. A sign that read Thompson’s Pumpkin Patch was arched across a dirt path, lined with plenty of pumpkins and corn stalks. Dozens of families with children were running about, enjoying all the festivities on the property. Face painting, pumpkin picking, hayrides, bobbing for apples, small fair rides, live music, and plenty of food. Standing in line for tickets into the patch, you looked to Sam.

“Why are we here? You hate Halloween,” You comment.

“I know but you don’t so I thought to make this year special for you. You’ve been working so hard lately and I know how much the holidays mean to you, so I wanted to plan something,” He admitted, sheepishly looking down at his feet.

That alone made your heart flutter in your chest. Never had anyone done so much for you as Sam had done for you today. He normally hated Halloween, especially the scary parts of it, considering he faced those monsters regularly, but when you came to live with him and Dean, he began seeing things differently. You showed him a happier, lighter side of everything and he loved you for it.

“I can’t believe you planned all this for me. Thank you, Sam,” you say, leaning over into his side to hug him, his hand gripping your arm affectionately.

“Anything for you, y/n,” he smiled down at you, just enough for one dimple to pop out on his cheek.

You drew closer to the ticket booth, Sam paying for you both, as your excitement grew stronger.

“So, what first?” Sam asked you, and you knew where you wanted to start.

“Let’s get a pumpkin!” You exclaim, taking Sam’s hand and rushing off to the pumpkin growing in the ground. Sam chuckled as you beamed, looking through the vines of the squashes below you, picking up different ones and examining them.

“What about this one?” You say, pointing to what seemed to be the perfect pumpkin. It wasn’t perfectly round, nor was the stem on the top perfectly straight. But it was beautifully orange and big enough for a great big face to carve into later on.

“I like it,” says Sam, as he goes to pick it up, making sure to separate the vine from the stem.

“I’ll go pay for it and put it in the car, while you go get us some hot drinks,” he says, placing a small kiss on your cheek.

Again, that small act of affection meant a lot to you, knowing that that was Sam’s way of showing he truly cared. He wasn’t one for big romantic gestures yet he made sure everyone knew you were taken. As you watch him leave, you smiled to yourself at how lucky you were to have him. Zig zagging through kids running about, you found a stand that was selling hot drinks.

“Hi, what can I get you?” A middle-aged woman asked with a smile on her face.

“Hi, I’ll take a hot apple cider and a pumpkin spice coffee, lots of cream and sugar.

“Sure, thing sweetie. That’ll be seven dollars,” she said, waiting for your payment as she called your order out to the staff behind her.

You stood off to the side, waiting for your drinks before something surprised you. Jumping and letting out a small squeal, you noticed it was only Sam, who had wrapped his arms around you from behind.

“Geez Sam, don’t scare me like that!” You scold him as he just laughs at your reaction. He turns you back around, rocking you in his arms as he spoke to you.

“I’m sorry baby, but you looked cold standing there so I figured I would just, wrap you up and your reaction was, adorable,” he says in your ear.

“Ugh, you’re lucky I adore you,” you say, annoyance still evident in your voice, but only slightly.

“I am very lucky to have you,” he says just as your order was ready.

“Is that man your boyfriend?” The same lady who took your order asked.

Your cheeks burned bright red at the title of boyfriend but you smiled anyway. “Yes, he is.”

“Well he seems to be crazy about you; hold on to that one,” the drinks were placed in your hands as the woman winked at you before you bid her a farewell.

Handing Sam his cider, he appreciated the hot, bitter liquid as he placed the cup to his lips. You watched as he drank, silently just observing him. Sam was nothing short of attractive and he looked more so like it than ever, you thought. He was dressed in dark washed jeans and what you guessed was a plaid shirt underneath his hoodie. His long fingers stretched around the cup in both hands, as he mimicked a child who had to hold their cup with both hands. For the first time in probably ever, you noticed that his hair was a bit shorter than the normal length of near his shoulders, and he appeared he hadn’t shaved in a while; a full-on beard now warming his face.

“Like what you see, darlin’?” Sam commented, drawing you out of your daydream. His voice lower and with more of a Southern drawl than you were used to hearing.

A blush reddened your cheeks again, as you kept your eyes away from the prodding Winchester.

“Come on, let’s go bob for apples,” Sam suggested, offering up his hand to you once more.

As the day began to wind down, the night air began to grow increasingly cold. Throughout the day, you somehow convinced Sam to do everything with you. From getting his face painted with a little animated pumpkin on his cheek, that you had chosen, to trying all varieties of food that he normally wouldn’t have eaten. He hid from you in the maze, surprising you yet again when you drew too close to his hiding place, and he rode all the rides you had wanted to. There was one final thing you wanted to do before your day had ended.

“Sam, let’s do that,” you say, pointing to a tractor that had an opened trailer in the back, lined with two rows of hays for guests to sit on and fairy light stringed around the trailer and tractor.

He nodded and followed you to the trailer bed, helping you climb up and finding a hay bale to sit on. You two sat next to one another before Sam noted you shivering.

“Are you cold, babe?” He asked the obvious.

“No, no, I-I’m g-good,” you lie in between shivers.

“No, you’re not, you’re freezing. Here,” he says, taking his hoodie off and exposing a small little part of his tummy in the process. Pushing that thought out of your head, you gladly accept his hoodie and place it over your head. Instantly, you are embraced with warmth and the smell of Sam; beer, and whichever cologne he chose for the day. You hummed contently as Sam offered his arm for you to cuddle in.

“But won't you be cold, now?” You asked Sam.

He chuckled as he grabbed the bottom of his plaid shirt, just like you thought he was wearing, and rolled it up, showing the layers that were underneath.

“I wore layers, knowing it was going to get rather cold tonight. I also brought this,” Sam said, reaching into the backpack you didn’t realize he had, and bringing out a blanket.

“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” You ask, admiring how much work Sam really put into your day.

“Like I said, only the best for my girl,” he says, as the tractor ride began to pull happy families around the patch. Sam’s hand found yours under the blanket, keeping you close to him. As you looked around at the lit-up patch, a beautiful look on your face, as the lights reflected off your wonderment on your face. When your gaze fell onto Sam, you saw how he was looking at you and your heart began to race as he slowly leaned closer to you. His eyes darted between yours and your lips, waiting to see if you would pull away. As you moved closer to him, he finally closed the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his in a sweet kiss. It was the first kiss you shared, and it was sweeter than any pie Dean would have at home. His lips moved with yours and his hands held your cheeks, keeping you from breaking away too soon. It felt like one of those chick-flick moment kisses Dean always scoffed at, but to you and Sam, they meant something to you. When he finally pulled away, his forehead pressed against yours.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that,” he admits, kissing your lips again quickly.

“I kind of have an idea,” you admit, smiling to Sam, who brought you back to his side.

When the hayride came back to where it started, you and Sam walked back to the Impala, along with all your goodies collected from the day. It was the perfect holiday date you always envisioned having with a boyfriend; Sam must’ve heard you talking about it. Back at the Bunker, Dean noticed you and Sam walking closer to one another, hands intertwined, and he knew you two had finally gotten together. Months of back and forth and denying of feelings drove anyone around you and Sam crazy, that was until Dean pushed Sam into taking you on a date. It was all his idea for Sam to take you on a pumpkin patch date. You made sure you’d thank him for that later, but it was time for you and Sam to spend some special time together. It was late and because you didn’t want to be away from him, Sam decided to sleep with you. Not sex, but actual sleep. Changing into your pajamas, you met Sam in your room, and you both crawled in bed, his arms immediately embracing you.

“Happy Halloween, y/n,” Sam said, as he kissed your head.

“Happy Halloween, Sam,” you snuggled into him.

“I love you,” he said before he drifted off to sleep, a cliff hanger of sorts left floating around your head. You guessed you would have to wait to tell him you loved him too.

Tag list: @fandom-princess-forevermore @tloveswriting @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @thinkinghardhardlythinking @to-my-beloved-fandoms-2 @angeredcrow @spnjediavenger @deansmyapplepie @akshi8278 @thwiso @marvelfansworld @grace15ella

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shimmeringclouds · 4 years ago

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Osomatsu - Something Eternal

𝘡𝘦𝘶𝘴!𝘖𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘴𝘶 𝘟 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

You were a weak, little thing. He knew that just by looking at you.

Your hollowed face, faded bruises on your neck barely covered over by your strands of hair, the small glimpses of white bandages wrapped around your wrists and arms that only showed when the wind pushed at your sleeves - it was enough for him to know.

He scoffed down at you, glaring as you seated yourself at that same cliff edge, legs dangling above the waves crashing below. Humans. They were all so puny, unable to at least protect themselves from the most feeble of punches. He was a man who knew war, who had been through his own fair share of brawls and battles, where his skin was left torn and his body battered into unspeakable pain. But he still stood tall, controlling the clouds that rolled over the Earth and sending down the rain and thunder like he was made to do.

And you? You couldn't do anything. You sat at that same cliff edge for hours everyday, and it was only when the sun had sunken below the horizon and you saw the moon hanging high in the sky that you would finally get up and stumble your way back to wherever you came from. You didn't eat, you didn't speak, and although there was such a saddened look on your face (that made him angry beyond belief) you didn't cry. He had never seen you cry.

You cared not when his annoyance summoned years worth of rain to fall for hours on end. It would only get worse when you wouldn't react. Even when you were shivering so violently, you still wouldn't do anything.

You were one of the most frustrating humans he had seen in a long time.

He was a fool for ever interacting with you.

He didn't know what pushed him to speak to you, but he knew it was a mistake the minute your eyes locked onto his approaching figure. Nevertheless, he continued to saunter towards you, a hand placed into the pocket of the red jacket he had decided to wear. The sun gradually peeked its way out from behind the clouds, and he thought to keep it that way just for a little bit longer.

"I always see you coming up to this particular cliff," he started. You watched him curiously, eyeing the small distance between the both of you as he stopped to face the ocean view. The sight reminded him of his brother; maybe he should pay him a nice visit sometime soon, for old times sake.

"It's.. a wonderful view, right?" he reluctantly spat out, though the notion went unnoticed by you. You followed his gaze, a timid smile gracing your lips.

"It is."

The short sound of your voice had him caught for a split moment. He didn't think it would be so...

He clenched his jaw, fist tightening in his pocket. As if he would ever think that of about a human.

"So, why do you come up here?"

The question made you lower your eyes to your feet. There was still a lot of mud caked onto the soles of your very worn out trainers. You had to remember to clean those off before you got home.

"I'm Osomatsu, by the way." He continued, deep down uncaring for your silence, the fake name he had placed on himself for eons rolling off of his tongue with ease. You blinked. You didn't understand the point of his introduction at the time. It wasn't like you were going to see him again, which was why you had refrained from giving out your own name.

"How did you know I come up here?" he could barely hear you over the sound of the waves, making him sit down on the rocky edge with a huff.

"Like I said, I see you all the time."

"..From where—?"

"Why do you come up here?" the question was forced onto you once again. You flinched at his demanding tone, the smile on his face suddenly becoming... unnerving for you. You had seen faces like that before. You had heard tones like that before. You knew better.

"I just... It's a nice place for when you want a breather, right?" you smiled awkwardly. It was an obvious lie.

"You must need very long breaks then," Osomatsu commented, leaning back on his hands. "I mean, you're here for hours. Everyday."

...How did he know this? Where had he been watching you from? How long for? You were starting to feel sick. Very sick. The befuddled expression made the man laugh aloud. You were too easy to mess with.

"I-I.. need to go.." you swiftly stood up, tucking your arms around yourself in a weak attempt at shielding yourself. "It was nice meeting you.."

"You too!" he called after you, his voice carrying in the breeze. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

You bit your lip. As if you were coming here again. Not after that. Sad tears welled in your eyes. You would have to look for another hideaway now.

——

He had sworn to himself that he wouldn't go back to you ever again. That experience was worse than he thought it would be.

But there you were again. Why did you come back? What was wrong with you?

And what was wrong with him? He was stood in front of you now, a blank look on his face as he came to realise his actions. You were stood in a mix of shock and nervousness, unable to understand why your feet had carried you here to this same spot.

"You're back." He stated.

"...I guess so.." you cringed at your sore voice. You had forgotten to drink some water before you left the house, but you were in a hurry.

You watched as Osomatsu sat down on on the rocky ground, patting the spot beside him after you had stood there aloof. Your movement was hesitant, but you did as he asked. Clouds had begun to accumulate above, a swirling mass of pale grey. It was going to rain soon. You chewed at your inner cheek — you really needed to save up more money to buy a new coat.

"What happened there?" you jolted at the sudden brush against your arm. You quickly pulled your sleeve down over your exposed bandages, clutching the material against your inner palm and fingers. He regarded you with a bored look. He wasn't stupid. He just wanted to hear you say it.

"I fell over."

"You... fell."

"...Yes."

"Okay.." he sighed heavily, running a hand through his brown locks from front to back in exasperation. You were ridiculous. How was anyone supposed to believe that?

"Is that what you tell everyone who asks?"

"Well.. Yeah, because it's true—"

"It's not, but I guess anyone will believe anything nowadays."

Your heart was thumping really hard. What was this man talking about? What was he trying to say? Did he know? He couldn't know. He wasn't supposed to know. If he knew, then it would just get worse, right? That's why you weren't allowed to say anything. No one was supposed to know.

"...You don't know anything about me." You murmured lowly, turning away to stare out into the sea.

"I know enough about you just by looking. You're weak."

There was a small, pregnant pause as you clenched yourself jaw.

"I don't need a stranger to tell me something I already know."

"Then do something about it." The response was quick, as if he was ready to throw the words at you. You watched as he stood up, hands shoved into his pockets as he glared down at you. The sky had darkened, ashen grey clouds now hanging above you as the wind suddenly grew harsher.

"Honestly. You humans are so idiotic.." humans..? You frowned. "The solution is a simple and easy one, yet you choose to ignore it out of fear. No wonder you're so easily controlled."

A flash covered your vision in a blinding white, the sound of thunder following shortly after, sounding not too far away from you. The man didn't seem to be scared at all. He just seemed angry. With you.

——

That man was infuriating you. After he had said those words to you the previous day, he just left you there to sit alone under the sudden storm that kicked up. He was rude, mean, creepy; you shouldn't have gone back there yesterday.

However, as the tears rolled down your cheeks in the dozens, the pain blossoming further in your side, the more your realised how pathetic you were. It seemed that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from going back.

The cliff side looked different at night. The grass was almost black. The sea looked deeper and darker than ever before. A white orb replaced the sun, less luminescent but more serene, a beauty you could gaze at for hours on end.

You practically collapsed to the ground once you neared your usual spot, your hands flying to the swelling pain near your ribs. Your hands shook as you clutched at your shirt, unsure of what to do now. It hurt so much, you just wanted the pain to go away.

There was the faint sound of footsteps behind you wading through the grass, and you quickly whipped around to see a familiar silhouette, his features seeming to glow under the moonlight.

You both eyed each other with wariness, as well as confusion. Why were you both here at this hour?

Osomatsu switched his gaze from your eyes to your hands with a quirked brow. He took large, slow strides towards you, sat beside you, and took hold of your wrists.

"H-Hey..! Let go of me!" You squirmed, attempting to yank your hands out of his grip. But he seemed immovable, staring at you with half-lidded, bored eyes as he barely moved an inch.

"Stop moving. I'm not going to do anything." Although he easily could, he thought to himself with a roll of his eyes. He pried your hands away from where they were pressed against your left side, not seeing any blood.

You began whimpering, crying harder as you felt his fingers prod against your side, ghosting over the large boot-like bruise that had imprinted itself into your skin. You didn't believe this man wasn't going to hurt you. But how could you fight him off?

The pain disappeared.

...You blinked.

The pain... disappeared?

You brought your eyes down to where Osomatsu's palm was now flat against your side, and all you could feel was the pressure and warmth of his skin through your clothing. No pain. It was as if it were never there.

"What... What did you do..?" You breathed, tears still running down your cheeks.

"Nothing." He moved away from you, rubbing a finger under his nose as he avoided your curious gaze. You poked the area yourself. Nothing.

You stared at him, then to your side, then him again, then back to your side.

"You can stop blubbering, now. It's fine, isn't it?" Despite his harsh words, he didn't sound menacing at all.

——

It turned into a routine. Somehow.

You would turn up to your usual spot by the cliff, Osomatsu would wander over, breeze his hands over wherever you were hurt, and the pain would disappear.

No matter how much you thought about it, logically, it didn't make sense. You can't just heal someone by touching them. This wasn't a video game, this was reality.

You had tried asking him whenever he 'healed' you, hoping for an answer, only to get rebuffed every time.

"You don't need to know how I do it," he had shrugged. "It's not like you'd be able to do the same, so why should I tell you?"

Although he still seemed to give you somewhat of a cold shoulder, he would still wordlessly remove the pain. Wether it was day or night, rain or shine, he would be there at the cliff side, willing to remove your hurt.

There were times where his touch would linger a few seconds longer than needed. There were times where he would gaze deep into your eyes as he held a palm up to your bruised cheek, and you could make out every golden speck hidden in his brown eyes. There was a time where he had taken your hand, slowly intertwining his fingers through your own, only to immediately drop his hold on you like you were hot iron.

It confused you, but his warmth stayed with you all the same.

You couldn't deny the fluttering of your heart whenever you eagerly saw him day after day. You would fight through the agony just to trek up that cliff side, all to see him. He had turned into your comfort.

The two of you sat together, side by side, hands resting on the grass beneath you, your fingertips so close. You nervously glanced down towards them. His hands were larger than yours, faint scars running over his calloused skin, some travelling up his forearm. You wondered how he got those. But you wouldn't pry.

What you would do, though, is inch your fingers over his, delicately wrapping your now clammy hand around his. He didn't flinch, only sliding his eyes to gaze at you from the corners of his eye.

"What are you doing?"

"I... M-My hands are... cold..."

"...Y'know, you're a terrible liar." He chuckled, turning to face you. He removed his hand from yours, and you turned to look at him nervously, only for him to then grasp your hand more firmly in his own.

"Osomatsu..." you swallowed, a sudden heat flushing over your cheeks and neck.

"What is it?" His voice was a low murmur, speaking to you and only to you.

"Whenever I'm with you, I... I feel safe. You've helped me so much, and you barely know me. Thank you.. so much.."

His expression was unreadable. Carefully, he raised his free hand, brushing against the side of your neck before grasping your chin, forcing you to look up to him.

This was a bad idea. He knew it. He could still stop himself while he had the chance.

"I already told you. I know enough about you just by looking."

Your faces seemed to inch towards each other, your heartbeat frantically thrumming against your chest as you felt his breath fan over your skin.

"...We shouldn't do this." He whispered. But he didn't move away.

"Why not?" You were breathless, your hands coming to clutch at the front of his shirt tightly.

"It's a bad idea. For you to be with someone like me."

"...You make me happy, Osomatsu. I want to stay here, with you."

The voice screaming in the back of his mind was swiftly silenced as he pressed his lips against your own. It was slow, desperate and passionate, with his hands tangling into your hair and pushing your further into the kiss. He wrapped his arm around your waist, pressing your bodies together as you pressed your lips against the other, over and over, all the while wanting more.

You didn't want this moment to end. You wanted to stay like this forever.

His mind was burning, begging him to stop. But his instincts were stronger, and the more he felt your body against his, the more he allowed himself to drown in your presence.

——

"Brother. I must ask you once more to cease your rage. This is getting out of hand."

Osomatsu didn't acknowledge the voice that called out to him. He merely stood in the heavy rainfall, on the cliff edge by the shifting sea, hands in his pockets and face stoic.

"You already know that the oceans are mine and mine alone, Zeus."

"I don't care about your stupid water bowl," he growled in reply. The thunder crackling from above doubled in intensity, striking down on innocent fauna and setting them ablaze despite the rain.

"Then what has angered you so?" A man stepped closer, looking very similar to Osomatsu, aside from the longer hair and scarcer clothing.

Osomatsu narrowed his eyes. There was anger building up inside him, stacking higher and higher, and on top of that, a feeling much worse.

"...You feel sorrow." The man spoke with a frown. "And a deep sense of guilt."

"Don't you dare start reading me, Poseidon. It's fucking annoying."

"But it is what you feel. I don't think I've seen you feel such a way for many a millennia, brother."

So what, he thought. So what if he hadn't felt like this for a long time. It was his own fault for getting attached. It was a mistake. It was a bad idea.

"I was a fool..." his frown deepened into a scowl. "I was a fool for believing in a human, of all the pitiful creatures on this ball of dirt."

He clenched his fist tighter.

"She was weak."

"Brother...."

"She was weak, and I couldn't protect her!"

The rain ceased. All fell silent in less than a second.

Poseidon gazed at his brother with concern, unable to provide the comfort he needed. He instead turned away, returning back to the sea, casting one final glance over his shoulder before disappearing into the waters below.

Now Osomatsu was truly alone. You weren't going to be there anymore. He would live on for the rest of eternity, while you would decay into nothing but dust.

He didn't do enough. You said he made you happy, but he didn't do enough.

He was a complete fool for ever believing his love for a human, as beautiful as yourself, would last forever.

He stepped away from the cliff side, walking away without looking back. He would never find himself able to visit such a place again. Not without your presence, and the fleeting memories of a time his heart wished he could relive.

#osomatsu san #osomatsu matsuno #osomatsu x reader #zeus!osomatsu #angst #romance #tw #character death #xreader #mentions of abuse

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therovingstar · 4 years ago

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Prompt #4: Ferality

Ha-ha! Thought I was done with these, did you? This has now become the 2021 Whenever-uary seaswolchallenge, hosted by me, for me. Mostly because this one gave me so much trouble, hence why it took so long; too many ideas, and I broke my own rule about no editing and not thinking too hard about it. But I’m finally happy with it, so there. In terms of the prompt, I took some liberties with the definition and focused on this particular part of it: existing in a natural state. Throw in some metaphors and similes pertaining to the wild, and here’s what we got: Hien x WoL, 1500w, so much fluff you might call it schmoop, humor, and a fair bit of introspection. Maybe takes place some time post-5.3. Forewarning for some implications of and innuendos about sexy times. Enjoy!

“Have you ever been told that your hair resembles the mane of a Steppe gedan? Or a voidsent?”

She asks this as she observes him; him, and the way he fits so comfortably on the landscape of her bed, highlighted by the morning sunlight just beginning to stream through the windows. It fairly gilds him, burnishes the beige of his skin and brings the thick planes of his back, the scars on his shoulders, the lines of his neck into high relief. As if he has been carved into as reverently as any chuluu, the trials of his life written into the stone of his flesh for any to behold, if so granted the fortune.

These days, the fortune has been hers, and she cannot help eyeing the proof: in the luxurious stretch of him on her mattress, in the untamed flow of his loose hair across her coverlet, in the scatter of talon marks along the broad of his back, red and recent amongst long-healed scars. As if in the fit of her desire, she sought to leave her own history on his skin.

She may examine that more closely one day – history, and the impact she may wish them to have on one another’s – but for now, she cares only for the large black hedgehog of his head nestled near her hip, and the way it shakes with muffled laughter. When he finally chooses to reveal it, Hien’s face is alight with humor.

“No, I can certainly say no one has,” he answers with a chuckle. “Though a child in Reunion did once tell me it resembled a halgai that had fallen into a pot of soot black dye.” He tilts his head up at her, looking curious. “What do voidsent look like?”

“In a word? This.” After a short, hesitant moment, Odzaya touches her hand to his brow, just shy of his hairline, before allowing it to slowly ease its way into his mane, her fingers instantly disappearing into the thick of it. Hien’s smile turns toothy.

“Afraid it will bite?”

“Or swallow me whole,” she quips dryly, to his clear amusement. She fights her own smile in response. “Ensuring I am not overstepping bounds,” she answers honestly. “This is still new.”

Hien huffs a quiet laugh. “Aye, I suppose it is,” he agrees. Then returns the gesture, reaches up and grasps one of the long lavender braids hanging near his face, rolling it between his large fingers. As he does, he rolls further onto his back and nestles closer, his beard scratching at the skin and scale of her naked thigh, his lips inadvertently soothing the same spot as he speaks. “So is my being here, yes?”

Indeed. The last thing she expected during her minor stint in Limsa was to find him standing on her doorstep on the cusp of moonrise, his departure unknown to any and all, including Merlwyb and the dignitaries meant to be hosting him in the city proper. The disguise he wore – simple adventurer’s fare he procured from gods-knew-where – effectively threw her when she answered the door (for once actually taking the time to stay in one of her own dwellings), until he removed the bandana and his hair all but sprang free, shocking a laugh out of her system like precious few others could.

She should have sent him back; would have, if not for the excitement with which he described his stealthy escape (“easier than it should have been, to be honest. It makes me wonder…”), the single flower he coveted for her from a just-closing stand (“I suspect the man overcharged me, mayhaps thinking me a tourist? True enough, I suppose.”), as well as the way he lingered near the door, all soft eyes and boyish smile, as if waiting for her permission to truly call his risk worth the reward of her company.

He made it easier to give him that company than she chooses to admit. Makes it easy still, as she drags her nails across his scalp, silky, glossy spikes bowing beneath her palm and springing back to life in her wake, like tall grass, and he fairly melts under the ministrations of her hand, jade-green eyes sliding almost reverently shut as he arches into her touch, a sound emitting from his chest that rumbles into her skin and makes her stomach clench. “Should you not be leaving soon?” she asks him, a distraction for herself as memories of the past night set her nerves ablaze.

“I suppose I should be.” Contrary to the implication in his agreement, Hien merely shifts closer, a sigh, seeming near-blissful, releasing from between his lips. Odzaya counts the seconds, then minutes that pass in silence, with her fingers still his hair and his still tangled in the vines of hers. When the third passes, she smirks.

“You are not moving,” she observes.

“No?” he replies nonchalantly, eyes still shut. “I thought I had.”

“You have not,” she corrects, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I see.”

Another minute, then two, during which she thinks she may have to oust him herself, and then suddenly he is moving, releasing her hair and smoothly lifting the leg against which he rests. He plants it on his other side too quickly for her to react with more than a tiny yelp of surprise, so fluid in his motions that her balance is restored before she can register its loss as he simultaneously spreads her thighs and settles his head between them with aplomb.

Hien aims a smug grin up at her, surrounded by the roped curtain of her hair. “I have moved,” he proudly declares, to which Odzaya can only respond with a sharp tug to his mane and an incredulous huff of laughter.

“And yet failed to leave, you brat.”

Meeting her gaze, Hien’s grin gradually softens, quiets into something reminiscent of the previous evening when he first knocked on her door. “What if I said I wished to stay?” he suggests, almost bashful with the words. “Just a while longer?”

“Between my legs?” she asks, purposely obtuse as her brow lift once more.

He grins toothily again, his eyes crinkling at their corners. “For a start, I suppose.”

He plays with her hair again; the thick swath of his spreads all across one hip, trailing the width of her coverlet, almost a blanket in itself; she feels the tickling prickle of the strands on her skin, like silken canines.

It is still new, yes. The feel of him here, occupying intimate space like the friend he is and the lover he is becoming. New, but also already, strangely natural, like he belongs here, tangled up in her bedding, rather than alone in one of the Mizzenmast’s best rooms. Something else she may examine later, when he is not looking up at her like he would rather not be anywhere else, when she does not feel the inexplicable urge to straddle his hips and press the flat of her horn to his sun-warm chest, right over his heart, and deafen herself to all but its beat.

When she remains silent and still, his own thick brow lifts, his expression patient, yet gently entreating. A king asking permission.

...hells, but it works, as well as it did the previous eve.

This time, it is Hien caught in the throes of incredulity, grunting with surprise as Odzaya abruptly takes the pillow of her mound from under his head and he drops, only to be served a tantalizing view of her nude form as she stands over him, feet planted firmly on the mattress. It lasts not nearly long enough as she walks the length of it, turns, and unceremoniously drops once more upon it herself, forcing a guffaw from deep in his belly as she uses his own torso as her cushion, and stretches herself along the muscled planes of him, until her head is settled right over the center of his heaving chest.

“Is that a yes, then?” Hien asks between chuckles, his tone bright with humor. As he calms, he enfolds her in his arms, a heavy hand coming to rest on her head, to tangle back in her hair.

Odzaya’s half-lidded gaze follows the flutter of light-touched dust particles in the air. Already his heartbeat is lulling, tempting her to ignore responsibility and Azim’s call to rise, at least-

“For now,” she murmurs, and closes her eyes completely. “A time. Until your being here is no longer so new.”

“Ah,” Hien answers, and there he goes again with another sigh, settling even further into their hold, into her space, as if all he needed to do so was her blessing. “Most of the morning, then, I should think,” he postulates. “At the least.”

The satisfaction in his tone is as resonant as the thump of his heart in the hollow of her horn. Odzaya smirks. “We will see.”

A settling, it is. Into his hold, into this intimacy. Into this new normalcy, mayhaps, if ever it – this feeling, of him, of her, of them – becomes so natural as to become necessary.

Something to think about. Later.

#odzaya malaguld #hien rijin #hien x wol #otp: starry-eyed #storytime #in which hien manages to be both the littlest of shits #and the sweetest person alive #the man’s duality is astounding #what odzaya’s gonna do with him only nhaama knows #i had like 5 ideas for this prompt #all of which were developed in some way #only for me to circle all the way around back to this one #ie. the first one #the others might get attention later tho #also yes i changed their ship name #so far no regrets

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wren-fell · 4 years ago

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Stuck in Borderland

Chapter 8: Over the Edge

This is a shorter chapter. May need to take a break from this for a while, but we’ll see.

I really do appreciate everyone’s support with this story. It means a lot! :)

Warnings: Blood, death, language, weapons

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Their game arena was an old five-story apartment building that was shaped like a U with a courtyard in the center. Despite the lights being on the building was still creepy and unwelcoming. The railings along the outdoor hallways were falling apart and missing in some places. Paint on the apartment doors was peeling in long strips making it look like someone or something had clawed at every door trying to get in. Overgrown grass and gardens covered the courtyard making it far too easy for something to be lurking in the undergrowth.

Sayaka kept her head raised high as she followed her group of five into the lobby, although the click of her fingers picking at her nails gave her anxiety away. The laser grid flashed behind her as she entered, and she swore she heard the sizzle as it caught a stray piece of her hair. In the center of the lobby was a table with the usual stack of phones, but another table beside it made her stomach clench. A sign reading, “please equip a belt or your participation rights will be revoked.” Sayaka gingerly picked one up and put it around her waist wincing as the cold metal touched the bare skin above her board shorts. She clicked the buckle shut, and the belt immediately whirred and tightened to fit her shape. Sucking in a deep breath Sayaka cast a glance at Kuina and Chishiya. Kuina raised her eyebrows at her, but didn’t speak, and Chishiya walked over and leaned against the wall unbothered.

With a deep frown Sayaka surveyed the other participants all seemed to be seasoned players judging by the silence in the room. So far there were nine of them in total. The number made her stomach tighten remembering back to the buttons with the nine pictures from her last game.

“Registration is now closed. Game: Flag Tag, Difficulty: 6 of spades.” Sayaka felt relief wash over her, at least it wasn’t a hearts game, but the difficulty shot her stress level right back up.

“Rules: Every player will have two flags,” on cue the belts on their waists lit up and long flags unfolded at their sides.

“You must have at least one flag to win the game.

If you lose both your flags it is game over.

You cannot steal flags from other players.

But, you can steal flags from the taggers.” And there it was. There were taggers. Usually hulking masked individuals whose whole point of existing was to prevent them from winning the game by any means necessary.

“Avoid the taggers and outlast the time limit to win the game.

Time limit: 60 minutes.” Sayaka bit her lip. This was so simple, painfully simple. But simple meant complacency, and complacency led to stupid mistakes.

“Players have a one minute head start.” The timer lit up all their phones as it started to count down. Everyone scrambled to get out of the lobby. Sayaka turned to look at Kuina and Chishiya only to find they were both already gone. They must have left before everyone else, she thought to herself as she headed into the hallway.

Going with the crowd was too risky when they didn’t know where the taggers were, she decided as she turned away from the stairwell to walk along the first floor. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. All she had to do was outlast the clock. That was it. Her phone chimed indicating the end of their head start. Putting the phone in the waistband of her shorts she kept walking.

The sound of a door slamming made her stop dead, as she tried to figure out where the sound had come from. Her head swiveled to the far right of the hallway as a looming figure with a yellow smiley-face mask walked out of the staircase. Sayaka could feel her heartbeat in her fingertips, as she stood frozen. Her mind racing she pulled off one of her flip-flops, and tossed it over the edge of the railing around the courtyard. It landed in the long grass without a scratch and she jumped over the wall after it. Crouching down against the wall Sayaka pushed herself as far into the corner and the grass as she could. Putting a hand over her mouth to stifle her heavy breathing.

She watched as the tagger surveyed the first floor. Don’t come this way. Don’t come this way. The tagger swung his head in her direction the large black eyes of the plastic smiley-face mask boring into her. No… His feet took long heavy steps that echoed around the complex as he approached her hiding place. Sayaka pushed her back further against the wall and ducked her head down. They have limited vision, unless he saw me he doesn’t know I’m here…

The footsteps were achingly slow as they closed in on her and Sayaka closed her eyes begging for her to disappear. The sound of running made her eyes open, and she tried to see where it was coming from without turning her head. A boy from the lobby ran out of the staircase just to her left and gasped when he saw the tagger. He made it no more than two steps when the pop, pop, pop of the bullets sang through the air. The boy screamed and there was a thud as he hit the courtyard wall, and a gurgling as the blood filled his throat. His torso sagged forward draping him over the wall less than six inches away from Sayaka’s face. Her hand clamped harder over her mouth as her breath quickened.

The pounding of the footsteps got closer and Sayaka bit her lip. The tagger paused right behind her, and she watched out of the corner of her eye as he bent forward to examine the boy’s body. She saw a gloved hand reach out, and her breath hitched in her throat. The body jolted as the tagger ripped the flags off the boy’s belt, and his head sagged closer to Sayaka’s face making her grimace.

There was another achingly long moment as the tagger stood behind her before his thudding footsteps began to fade away. She watched him disappear into the hallway leading back to the lobby and the left most stairwell, and she let out a breath.

Shakily Sayaka got to her feet and hopped over the wall again. She pulled her remaining flip-flop off and tossed it over the wall. If this was a stealth game she wasn’t about to have those stupid things slapping and giving her position away. She surveyed the first floor and considered her choices. The tagger went up the left staircase, so her options were the far right staircase or the one the boy had come from behind her. Slowly she looked over her shoulder at the body of the boy and drew in a shaky breath, “I’m sorry.”

She ran into the closest stairwell and up the stairs. “There are 45 minutes remaining.”

Sayaka ran, bouncing between floor-to-floor turning every time she heard gunshots. She checked the phone, 35 minutes remaining. Letting out a sigh she put the phone back in her waistband, this was getting exhausting. She took a step closer to the balcony railing to look out at the rest of the floors. From where she was on the fourth floor she could see almost everything, but her vision swayed and shifted making her take a step back. She could see one tagger on the east side of the second floor, but she still wasn’t sure if there was only one. Her eyes swept across the fourth floor still empty except for herself. Looking up at the fifth floor she pouted when she saw Kuina and Chishiya leaning over the east balcony.

“So that’s where they’ve been,” she muttered. She could see Chishiya’s stupid smirk from here even underneath his hoodie, and he waved at her. With a grimace Sayaka raised her hand and flipped him off, that’s what he gets for ditching me.

Gunshots from the stairwell to her left made her jump, and she tore her gaze from Chishiya, “shit,” she cursed and took off down the center stairwell. She headed down peering out to at the third level and slipped out heading for the stairwell on the west side of the building. If she could get up to the fifth floor maybe she could meet up with Chishiya and Kuina although traveling as a group made them sitting ducks.

As she approached the stairwell she heard footsteps and skidded to a halt. Her feet slipped on the dust and dirt of the abandoned building making her lose her footing and fall backwards. The same yellow smiley-face came around the corner and looked down at her with the soulless eyes. Sayaka stared wide-eyed as the tagger raised his gun, the end of the barrel filling into her vision.

She placed her hands flat on the floor behind her, and swung her legs back over her head as the bullets bored into the floor where she’d been. Sayaka landed on her feet and pushed off again doing another backflip as bullets whizzed past her body. Landing with a thud she turned and dove into the center stairwell again as the bullets slammed into the wall behind her. She ran down the stairs towards the second level not looking back to see if the tagger was following her. The thud of footsteps echoing on the metal staircase made her wince, and she turned sharply onto the second floor.

That was the wrong decision.

Sayaka gasped when she came face to face with another tagger just as tall and intimidating as the other with a blue smiley-face mask. The tagger raised his gun, but Sayaka was just a second faster grabbing his hand and slamming it into the wall as he pulled the trigger. Sayaka felt the bullet whizz past her side just barely missing her. The tagger wrenched his hand out of her grip, and swung his other arm around to punch her. Bringing her arms up to protect her face with gritted teeth she widened her stance as the blow threatened to throw her off balance. She pushed both his arms away from her and brought her leg up hard in between his legs slamming her foot into his crotch. The tagger groaned and folded in on himself giving Sayaka just enough room to dive by him onto the second floor. She felt something tug at her waist and she risked a look over her shoulder as the tagger tore one of her flags from her belt. Her heart dropped, but she kept moving, she had to get out of here. More bullets whizzed past her head as she ran into the stairwell on the east side of the building.

“There are 20 minutes remaining.”

Sayaka rolled her head as she ran up to the third level, “fuck.”

She peered around the corner at the third floor. No taggers, just two players at the west end. Closing her eyes she tried to catch her breath. Gunshots rang out below her and she drew her eyebrows together, at least the taggers are distracted for the time being. Now that she had a moment to rest Sayaka looked down at her belt, and ran the flag that was left through her fingers. The red fabric shimmered in the fluorescent light, and she sighed. This flimsy piece of fabric was all that was between her and game over. Sayaka looked over her shoulder at the stairwell trying to decide where to go. Was the best course of action to wait and see where the taggers popped up or to keep moving and risk running into them?

She looked over the edge of the balcony at the courtyard considering running down, and hiding in the garden again. Her eyes scanned the courtyard. On the east side the boy from the beginning of the game was still draped over the wall, and in the center by the fountain was another red stain in the grass. No, the courtyard was too risky, the whole first floor was too risky.

The players at the other end of the floor started running and she raised her head to look at them. They were running towards her looking over their shoulder with panicked expressions. Not bothering to see how close the tagger was Sayaka turned around and ran into the stairwell and up the stairs to the fourth floor again.

“There are 10 minutes remaining.”

That’s it, she thought, all I have to do is outlast the clock. She ran down the hall towards the west side of the building. Just keep running. Turning into the staircase Sayaka heard screams from the third floor, and she gritted her teeth running up the stairs to the fifth floor.

“There are 5 minutes remaining.”

Just keep running. Sayaka ran out onto the fifth floor and turned in the hallway. She could see Chishiya and Kuina on the other side of the floor and she smiled. With five minutes remaining this was it. They had to hide until it was over. Kuina waved at her and they both started in her direction as Sayaka ran towards them. She passed the center stairwell, and dove forward as something yellow moved out of the corner of her eye. Bullets just barely missed her legs as she passed the doorframe. Landing on her hands Sayaka twisted and flipped over landing on her feet to face the tagger as he lumbered out of the doorway.

Kuina and Chishiya both stopped less than five feet behind her, and Sayaka glanced over her shoulder at them. They were cornered. If they ran the tagger would just shoot them. We need to outlast the timer, less than five minutes left!

Sayaka twisted her right foot into the ground and brought her left up kicking the tagger as hard as she could in the upper arm. There was a grunt and Sayaka lunged for him as he raised the gun again. Grabbing his arm she yanked him towards the balcony slamming his wrist against the railing and the gun clattered to the ground. As Sayaka was holding onto the tagger’s arm her head leaned over the railing the ground blurred beneath her making her grip loosen. The tagger took the opportunity to shove her off making her stumble backwards.

Quickly Sayaka regained her balance and deflected a punch from the tagger. She brought her leg up and slammed a knee into his stomach as hard as she could. There was a loud grunt and a “whoosh” sound as the air was knocked out of his body, and the tagger’s upper body folded inward. Sayaka turned towards Chishiya and Kuina her hair whipping her in the face, “RUN!”

She made it no more than two steps when a hand clamped down on the side of her face, and she was slammed head first into the wall. White spots burst across her vision and she felt every muscle in her body let go as she dropped with dead weight. Sayaka’s head lolled to the side as she sat crumpled against the wall. She felt something warm running down the side of her face.

Am I… her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to open her eyes, am I dead? Her vision was blurry, but she could still make out the white tile of the hallway floor. No… I’m not dead… Slowly she tried to turn her head, but she felt like her body was made of stone.

The tagger in front of her took a step forward, and Sayaka felt her heart pound harder in her chest. Her eyes darted to Chishiya and Kuina they were both standing staring wide-eyed at the tagger. There was nowhere to go, running was a death sentence.

Sayaka’s eyes widened, they’re going to die.

The tagger bent forward to grab his gun. They’re going to die.

He stood upright, and Sayaka’s fingers twitched. You have to move.

Slowly his arm raised as he pointed the gun at Kuina and Chishiya. Move!

The Tagger’s finger tightened on the trigger. MOVE!

Sayaka slammed her arms into the back of the tagger’s knee. He pitched backwards as bullets buried into the ceiling. With teeth bared Sayaka slammed all of her weight into the tagger. He stumbled backwards hitting the balcony railing that tilted outward from the weight, and she kicked the wall to propel herself forward. There was a loud crack as the railing gave way.

“You’re coming with me!” She screamed and they both tumbled over the edge.

Sayaka’s hair whipped around her as they fell, and she held tightly onto the tagger. He raised the gun and Sayaka’s eyes widened as she felt the barrel press into her shoulder, but they were out of time.

With a sickening crack the tagger hit the stone patio of the courtyard. Sayaka bounced off the tagger’s chest as the impact reverberated through her. She was sent flying her arm wrenching behind her. Sayaka opened her mouth to cry out, but her head slammed into the stone and everything went black.

#stuck in borderland #alice in borderland #Alice in borderland oc #Really like this chapter #tbh I think I'm fading out of my AIB phase but I want to see this story through just may end up going on hiatus #The cliffhanger thoughhhhh

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