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sadistic-cardinal · 30 days ago

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Going to post my fics here too so time to start with something cheerful. I lied it's very angsty. I can only appologise for this.

Heavy angst for Omega / Terzo.

In which Omega broke protocol and brought Papa III back only for him to be a shadow of his former self.

Find it on A03 here:

I BROUGHT YOU BACK WRONG

"What time are you making my food, Ghoul?"

Omega's hands tightened on the wet plate he was washing. It took every ounce of restraint within him not to snap it in two. It had become a nightly routine for Omega: cook for Papa Terzo, feed him, wash up and tell him, repeatedly:

"You already ate, Papa. I'm washing up."

As he said it for the third time this evening, his voice cracked a little.

It wasn't that Terzo had forgotten about eating again that made the bile rise in Omega's throat. It wasn't that he had already answered this question twice since Papa had finished his food. It wasn't even the demanding, absent tone in which he addressed his question. It was how he adressed him. Ghoul. Papa never called him Ghoul. Not once. Before.

Before... well, that was a long time ago. Terzo never would have had Omega cooking and running around after him to clean up like some sort of servant, for a start. Much to the scoffing of the upper clergy Terzo had delighted in cooking for Omega. He had been a wonderful cook, everything from Rigatoni alla Vodka to Quesadillas, something that Omega fondly remembers him discovering on their first American tour with the Ghost project, and not shutting up about them to the point where he was going on about them during their sets. He had been a wonderful cook. He had been a lot of things.

Now he was an empty husk, and Omega his keeper.

"You brought him back."

That's what Imperator had said.

"You defied me, and the Clergy, and brought that useless old bastard back, so you can babysit him."

The threat was thinly veiled and Omega picked up on the not-so-subtle subtext. He was not just to be his keeper. Now he was his guard. But, to Omega, tending to him day by day and never letting him out of his sight it felt more like... warden.

Dragging footsteps approached and Omega sighed heavily, turning to look at the dark-haired man as he wandered into the opulent adjoining kitchen of his Papal quarters.

The Ghoul's amber eyes met the smaller man's mismatched ones, one the color of moss and the other icy. He looked into them and saw to his relentless dismay that they remained alien. These eyes that looked back now were not how he had known them. These eyes were cold, glassy and vacant. Dead. The crow's feet next to them simply an echo of the smiles he used to wear for his Ghoul. His Omega.

Once those eyes of Terzo's were full of light, life, and... love. There was no point in denying it, his Papa had told him often enough. Love for him. Absolutely unmistakable in its blazing intensity. But where had it gone? Oh, how he would give anything to see that look again, even for a moment.

Omega didn't even pretend to understand humans. To him they were just so fucking fragile. As he looked at the former Papa, he felt a lump form in his throat. It wasn't fucking fair. Even now, still so beautiful, and yet over the years he had had to slowly watch his Papa lose little bits of himself.

A creature of Satan like Omega could never understand why their maker would put them in a dying vessel. Ever since these creatures are ripped from their mothers' wombs they start to die. Steadily and surely youth bleeds into old age and they wither away.

He thought that this was not unlike the roses that his Terzo, ever the romantic, used to cut for him from the rose bushes in his private garden.

"For you, Caro."

He would say, inhaling deeply from the petals before pressing the stem, diligently stripped of every thorn, into Omega's waiting palm.

But then it would wilt, and brown, and droop and die. For an immortal, the span of a few days is less than the blink of an eye. Hardly worth acknowledging. Omega treasured each flower all the same.

Both roses and humans had such short little lives, the latter seemingly so completely filled with relentless suffering. God certainly must have a sick sense of humour to inflict that on his children.

Terzo knew this too and he fought it with all his might. He had always known, in all his wisdom, that it was just as difficult for his eternal Omega to witness the slow decay of his love as it was for him to have to endure it himself. Ageing was kind to Terzo but it took from him all the same. The relentless pull of time showed itself in the way Papa became a little slower, a little more tired, the ache in his back and knees intensifying. There was little either could do as the years wore on and the lines on his face became deeper, the ringing in his ears louder, and came the appearance more and more grey hairs that Terzo would do his best to eliminate with the frantic application of box dye number twelve: 'midnight black.'

Siblings often would label him arrogant and vain. How were they to know that his efforts were to ease the aching heart of a creature that would never know what it was like to be slowly stripped of youth?

But that was then. The man in front of Omega now was indifferent. Indifferent to his grey roots and his heartbroken Ghoul.

Undeniably, there was something very wrong with him. It had been this way ever since his resurrection. Omega regarded the thin, white scar that laced the loose flesh, another insecurity brought fourth by the years, around his throat.

Perhaps it was his fault. Ghouls were not supposed to perform such rituals. He had been told so. He hadn't cared. He had gone against the Clergy, the very foundations of the Ministry itself, when he had drawn the sigil in his own blood on the floor of the chapel and begged the seven Princes of hell by the light of seven black candles to give him back his Papa. To relinquish his love from the depths of the pit.

He had payed dearly, too. He had been stripped of his Quintessence. Perhaps this is the closest he will ever come to the human experience of growing old he had felt there on that cold flagstone floor as his power was drained from him.

Omega, in this pact, had surrendered his element and his place in hell by Satan's side. By accepting these terms to have this human back, the Ghoul had condemned himself for an eternity in the darkest depths below. This was the price: a debt to be repayed by him on Terzo's return to the pit, after which he would never be able to return to the Earth above.

Back then he had thought it was more than fair, but now it just seemed like a cruel joke. He cannot even attempt to help Terzo with his elemental Quintessence. He has been rendered utterly useless. They both have.

Perhaps it is more cruel to have brought his Papa back in bits than to have left him alone in the depths.

But what other choice was there? He could not have returned to hell without being banished, and Imperator would never allow it. It was her final act of cruelty, to seperate the two of them for daring to love eachother. For Terzo to have given his heart to a lesser creature. Sex was fine, even encouraged in the eyes of the upper Clergy, but to fall in love with an inferior? That was detestable.

So Omega could not go back not while she lived and The Fourth remained a hapless puppet. And Terzo would be waiting. Alone in the depths of the pit without him. He really had had no choice but to attempt the sacred rite to bring him back. He had been struck down too soon. It was not his time to go!

However, with each passing day Omega had begun to realise that somehow he had fucked it up. He must have. Why else would his poor Papa be acting like this? Like he was somehow trapped between two worlds. Alive, but not. Lights on but no one home. He simply wasn't here anymore.

Worse it had gotten, too. Every day it was like another piece of him went missing. The life drained from his eyes, his posture became rigid. He no longer seemed to desire anything other than base functions; sleeping, eating, wandering aimlessly through the grounds. He was like a ghost. It was as if he aged the seven years he had been dead in one instant and his mind had wandered into some sort of purgatory.

"Papa..? What is it you want?"

Omega managed, snapping himself out of his spiralling thoughts as he turned to face Papa. His Papa. His beloved.

"You've taken off your mask."

Terzo said flatly, as he regarded him with a furrowed brow.

"You look... familiar."

It was like a slap. He wanted to scream. He wanted to grab Terzo by his skinny shoulders and shake him. Shake him until he could see him again. Until he could recognise him. Or until his neck snapped and his renewed suffering could end. 'Familiar? Familiar!? Don't you know who i am!? Don't you know who you are to me?! Don't you know what i have done to have you here?!'

Instead he just stared, mute and aching.

Terzo sighed and for a split second he looked like himself again. Take away some of the lines and the silver streaks in the temples of his disheveled hair and Omega could have almost thought this was his Terzo.

The one who commanded congregations and audiences with confident swagger. Terzo, who always had a witty sarcastic comment ready. Rebellious and idealistic, who still dreamed of a better world: his sprawling city of Meliora and its art deco skyscrapers reaching up to the heavens like a middle finger denouncing the tyranny of God.

His Terzo who adored children and apologised for swearing in front of them. His Terzo who loved women and their beauty and celebrated the joy of the female orgasm with pride for all to hear. His Terzo who loved Ghouls and treated them as equals and not as mindless tools to be used by the Ministry as they see fit. His Terzo who loved one Ghoul in particular, and would crawl into bed with him and wrap his arms around his waist and kiss him and hold him and tell him it was all going to be alright even when he didnt believe it himself...-

"Omega."

Omega's heart stopped dead in his chest.

"Yes...?"

Terzo blinked.

"That's who you remind me of. He was... he was my Ghoul."

He said, staring off into the middle distance somewhere.

"I summoned him when i became a Bishop. You don't eh... know him do you? No, that's presumptuous of me. You don't all know eachother. Hell is a big place. I think I've been there... i... don't quite remember."

It was the most he had said about anything in weeks and suddenly all Omega wanted was for him to shut up. He felt his throat burn from the sheer effort of holding back his tears.

'I'm right here! Why can't you see me? I brought you back, Papa...-'

"Papa...-"

Terzo waved a dismissive hand at him.

"I'm rambling again, scusi. I just... i miss him."

When Terzo looked at him, it was like he was looking straight through him. It hurt. By Satan himself oh how it hurt.

Omega placed a gentle hand on Terzo's shoulder.

'I brought you back wrong.'

He thinks.

'Something went so...-'

He flinches as Terzo jerks back.

"What are you doing, Ghoul?"

Omega felt his heart break right then.

"...Sorry, Papa. I shouldn't have...-"

Terzo narrows his eyes at him.

"I'm not looking for a Ghoul fuck, if that's what you want."

He presses the heel of his hand to his temple, as if he is racking his brain for the answer to something that is tormenting him.

"Just... just make sure you do your duties in here, and then you can go."

Omega's chest rises and falls in a heaving sigh as he watches Terzo pad out of the room, still holding his head.

"It was never just a fuck, cuore mio."

He whispers, losing the fight against the hot tears that sting his eyes and flood down his cheeks.

"Never."

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 3 years ago

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Steel Eye Files, “Gods of War.”

WARNING: EXTREME VIOLENCE with graphic descriptions. GORE

Turns out you can’t really get across how shitty steel eye is without being enormously graphic, so yeah, don’t read it if you may be bothered by that sort of thing in any way what so ever.

https://www.patreon.com/empyreaniris?fan_landing=true

https://starr-fall-knight-rise.tumblr.com/post/182501791735/master-post

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1jzEIdDAB4omdO2JcQVMObfrhLJ5kX4ONmSsLypM1ks0/edit?usp=sharing.\

The sky was dark with ash, and despite Chal, Astar, shining down from above, the land below languished under cover of darkness more profound than night as even the two moons and stars were hidden by ash. The ground was coated in a fine layer of grey, and the colorful, almost whimsical landscape became an apocalyptic hellscape.

Just a few miles distant from the human Forward operating base, a unit of Drev soldiers hid in the cover of ash, separated from the base by half a mile of open ground and a small rocky gully where they made their camp. They had no tents or lights like the humans did but crouched next to the leeward side of stones their knees tucked to their chests, their arms clasping their legs, and their, once colorful, cloaks wrapped around them now stained with ash.

In this way they were camouflaged from outside notice by way of ash, and the breathing holes at the bases of their necks were kept clear. Spears were gripped tightly in hands, metal dulled and muted under a coating of cinders, and like that they were practically invisible in the dark landscape,

Not that they were worried of course.

Ever since the dark season had come, they had been the ones to initiate conflict, not the other way around.

This was their world, and they were in charge.

They understood how to navigate her in al weather.

But now was not the time for movement, or navigation. In the dark and the swirling of the storm, it was time to rest.

The wind died down slightly, and the ashfall reduced.

Some light filtered down from high above, and the visibility improved to that of a middling blizzard back on earth. It was still dark, and the landscape was difficult to make out, ash flurries kicked up with some regularity as they sat.

Their sentinel crouched at the head of the group tucked next to a rock.

It was him that heard it first.

It was difficult to make out over the sound of the wind, a sort of distant hissing.

He lifted his head peering through the amber goggles that had been supplied to him. Drev didn’t normally practice combat during the dark season, but they knew a tactical advantage when they saw one, and this seemed to be the only time of year they were going to have a leg up against the humans. It was a controversial decision, but eventually they had collectively decided that goggles did not constitute technology enough for it to be heretical.

Ans so he peered out into the ash his eyes narrowed.

Drev do not have the greatest night vision. They are primarily a daytime creature that relies heavily on color differentiation which is not commonly present at night.

He saw nothing.

Still, something was off, and he shifted forward on his knees to peer out from behind the rock.

Ash gusted into his face, but still he saw nothing.

Something still felt wrong.

Was that an echo he heard over the sound of the wind? Rocks clattering down a hillside?

It was hard to tell, the sounds were so muffled.

A few of his clan members stood to peer out at the ash with him, his anxiety bleeding over into his soldiers.

What was that.

The ash kicked up again, and his vision was mostly obscured.

He stood now, cape billowing behind him in the ashfall. He stepped out into open ground head titled to one side as he tried to make out the sound through the darkness. It was not a sound that he recognized, and indeed he was sure he was hearing SOMETHING.

Soemthing that was.

Getting closer.

And getting closer fast!

The clan had no time to react.

One moment their sentinel was standing before them in the ashfall, and the next moment, an alien hand sprouted from his chest.

The sentinel felt like he had been plowed over by a rockslide. At first it was hard to tell what had happened, but the stunned screams of his clan, let to the slow realization of his brain. He looked down with wide eyes just in time to see the hand flex.

The hand drew back with a sharp crunch, and the sentinel fell to the ground dead.

And standing over his body was a shadow.

With two legs, two arms,

Gore dripping from its arm.

And then chaos.

***

The room gasped.

Men and women visibly jerked in their seats. Someone cursed.

Another called out involuntarily to their god.

Even Admiral Ablemen sat momentarily shocked.

He didn’t tell it to do that

Unit 15 withdrew his hand from the Drev’s chest with a wet crunching noise loud enough to be heard over the build in microphones. The beast of a Drev, at least nine feet tall if not more, hit the ground dead on impact.

In the following silence the Colonel overseeing the project grabbed his shoulder and whispered, “I can turn it off now, cut the signal so no one sees the rest.” But he shook his head

“Let him see what it’s capable of.”

The colonel nodded.

The pause didn’t last long, and the massacre followed.

***

It was, difficult to tell weather he was awake or dreaming. The land around him was an unfamiliar was of grey tinged red as struggling sunlight tried to filter down through ash. The landscape was in itself alien, and something about that made sense though he could not have said why.

In his confusion there was one thing he knew.

And those were his orders.

Orders that were being wired directly into his brain on a background loop so he wouldn’t forget. The HUD display on his visor took the landscape before him and analyzed it drawing glowing green contours around notable features of the landscape.

It was like walking through the base code layer of a videogame.

The suit interfaced with his brain using his own processing capacity to run probability calculations on where the enemy would be hiding. All bets were on the gullies to the south east of the FOB, and so he headed in that direction. As he walked he hissed and whirred as his robotic skeleton lent power to his feet.

His robotic pieces whined in anticipation for what was to come.

He did not take cover, or try to hide, but walked over the landscape, the dark god of war coming to seek vengeance on the enemy. As he walked the probability meter in his HUD began to rise, ash whirled around him disrupting the connection between him and the FOB.

But he knew his orders.

Inside his heart pounded.

A feral animal rose up in the back of his head ravening and hungry for blood.

He spotted them easily, outlined in green as they hid against the rocks.

There was one at the front, a big bastard too.

He broke into a run, the steel eye skeleton howling for blood.

The Drev had no time to think.

He could have used his gun, or he could have deployed the blade in his right forearm plate, but that was all beside the point. He wanted…. Violence.

And so he drew back a fist and with all the weight of the iron eye suit he punch the drev in the back.

Carapace crumbled to dust under his knuckles, flesh split, bone cracked, tissue tore, and then resistance was gone and he was wearing the Drev like a bracelet.

He ripped his hand back bringing fragments of bone with him as he retrieved his fist.

The Alien staggered to the ground.

His HUD sensors found no heartbeat.

Dead.

And then he turned his eyes on the rest of the alien’s waiting clan.

The blade snicked into place against his forearm.

He WANTED to hurt them. That was the one thing he understood in the haze of his brain, in the haze of a dream. Information and constant input from the suit flooded his brain threatening to confuse him and snuff him out.

But the confusion just made him angry.

And that is what he was going to do.

***

Red lights like the fire of Anin’s lava fields.

The creature didn’t care it could be seen through the ash.

It WANTED to be seen.

If they had known anything about human warfare, maybe they would have had a chance to retreat, knowing something was wrong , but as their sentinel fell to the ground they were confronted with an unholy demon drenched in his blood, glowing with red lights of fire, his body sheathed in precious metal.

It was an abomination.

The first drev to initiate attack was scythed down with a single blow, head rolling across the stones.

But the rest didn’t stop.

They raced forward over stone their spears raised.

The creature caught one by the throat and snapped their neck before throwing the body towards its companions.

Another tired to flank from the right but was hit with a devastating kicked that crushed its sternum and stopped its heart on impact.

The other Drev pulled back in uncharacteristic fear as this creature decimated their numbers like it was a joke.

It stood there, waiting, blood still dripping from its hands.

But when no one moved, it turned its head slowly to look at them,

And the remaining Drev ran,.

***

He had to get away, he had to get away, if he could just run far enough, or find somewhere to hide maybe it would be ok. All around him he could hear the sound of screams, the ash had kicked up again and he was running blind, tripping over stones and moss, hoping beyond hope that he didn’t fall into a boiling pit.

Someone ran to his right, but in the next moment they were gone with a scream.

Something snapped.

He turned on a dime and bolted in another direction hearing the screams from behind him . After a few moments of running he nearly brained himself as he ran straight into he trunk of a tree. Luckily for him the coil tree was young and springy throwing him back onto his back though his head still throbbed.

He rolled onto his hands and knees seeing the silhouette of many trees before him, and crawled into their cover pressing his back up against a nearby trunk.

Behind him cries continued in earnest.

He could see the glow of red through the ash, flickering in and out of existence as the demon hunted them, moving with a power and speed never granted naturally by spirits.

It was an unholy abomination.

He scrambled back into the ash trying to cover himself. He lowered his head, listening.

And he heard it coming for him.

The slow and methodic whirr thud as the creature walked.

He hoped that maybe it wouldn’t see him.

His hopes were dashed a moment later as he was grabbed roughly by the shoulders and hauled into the air. He screamed and kicked, but the creature adjusted his hands forcing him to his knees with a strength that was almost godlike. He was forced to his knees as the creature placed its hands to either side of his head, and began to squeeze.

***

“What the FUCK! “

“STOP!”

“WHAT IS IT DOING!”

One of the officers jerked from their seat and raced out of view of the Holo projection, wrenching loudly off camera.

The sound that followed next.

Still haunts the dreams of the men and women who were in that room.

***

Kill them. KILL THEM ALL.

His insides burned with such rage, such energy, and the cracking of the Drev’s skull between his hands had never been more satisfying than it was in that moment, or at least in the ten seconds before the drugs burned off.

Lieutenant Vir regained lucidity with a crushed skull held in his hands.

Lt Vir was not a violent person.

In his youth he had taken dance classes instead of martial arts for a similar reason.

And now the sightless Drev head looked up at him, and the sight is beyond description.

Certain things happen when you apply too much pressure to a skull.

He gasped and staggered back dropping the thing like it was on fire. His mind whirled, and he remembered the bloodlust that not moments before had coursed through him, turned him into a… a demon.

He staggered back into his hands scrambling away from the body.

He….

What had he done.

What had he done?

He clutched his head gasping for air. He felt like he was going to throw up and desperately scrambled to open his helmet. The dead eyes stared at him from the dirt and ash, accusatory. He was trapped! He couldn’t get them helmet off!

He was drowning!

This had to be a nightmare.

An unending nightmare.

Why couldn’t he wake up!

He screamed, and screamed and screamed still clutching at his head.

Why couldn’t he wake up!

Maybe if he could pinch himself, he could determine weather he was sleeping, but the metal was in the way.

He clawed at his helmet, at his arms, then curled his hand into a fist and tried to break the metal.

***

The room was scrambling.

Admiral Ableman was on his feet, “MAKE HIM STOP.”

Over the line the unit continued to scream.

It was like nothing that he had ever experienced before, a man burning in hell.

The scream of the damned.

And then it was clawing at itself, trying to rip the metal armor open.

“DO SOMETHING!” He snarled at one of his lackeys.

“I’m trying.”

But before he could do anything, it was all over, and the camera watched as the unit fell to the ground and began to sob.

The room was silent but for that sound echoing over the speakers.

And somehow, it was worse than everything that had come before.

Powerful enough to haunt even Admiral Abelman until the day he would die an ignominious death.

*** So, that demonstration didn’t go as planned, but you saw the results didn’t you, one man against an entire Drev squad and he won like it was nothing, with impunity. Like a god, we have created gods of war, and don’t give me some bullshit about ethics, you all sat through the whole thing and are now culpable for what happens here. If you tell ANYONE what you have seen, I will personally take each and every last one of you down with me and let the board of ethics know that you were PERSONALLY involved and funded the program.

What’s done is done, but at leas you can help us win the war.

#gore warning

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dreams-of-yunho · 4 years ago

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o, swear not by the moon

yunho x princess reader

rating: m

genre: smut with a dash of angst

wc: 2.7k

warnings: sex !!!!!!! just kinda sex stuff idk

summary: you fell in love with the enemy and he breaks your heart

:( but in a sexc way

______________________________________________________________

O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon, who monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

If the days were forgiving, you did not know. If there was love in this life, you could not feel it.

But, the day you met him, among the tulips, everything seemed to shine more brilliantly. Everything felt more warm.

Water coated your feet as you glided through the rain soaked grass, returning to your promised place. Dense mist hung in the cool night air. Drops of water hit your face as you slid through the leaf covered branches which concealed the forest alcove.

You had met him during the vibrant summer months, when the forest was at its fullest. When the leaves were green, bright moss clung to the sides of trees, shade living flowers thrived. But now, an eastern wind ran over your skin and the leaves turned brown and fell to a cold ground.

Blush coloured silk brushed across your goosebump covered skin as the breeze caught the hem of your dress. Lily Pads and their flowers shifted across the pond’s surface. This place, once a great temple, had been built by the ancient elders of your empire for the forest deities. And, as the old gods were lost to time and the first age passed, the once glorious house of worship became a forgotten forest alcove; a great willow tree grew, tall and proud, from the ruins of the marble temple. A murky pond who’s bottom seemed limitless and was concealed by delicate flowers, swayed around the stone foundation. Honeysuckle vines climbed towards the forest canopy across the decaying and crumbling pillars.

War had drained your spirits and left you cold and alone. You could barely remember the days before, when you were so young and ignorant. How the palace was alive with music, parties, and love. How your father and mother would kiss you goodnight and bid you farewell to the realm of dreams. Then, one day you woke and they were gone; that warmth drained.

The warrior princess, your mother was heir to the throne of the empire and, in a scandalous affair, married her younger brother’s best friend and general of the eastern army. They both died in battle, their bodies never returned to the royal capital for burial.

With the war came the clouds; heavy and gray. The sun seemed to disappear, die. So did the spirits of your people. Food became scarce, fathers and brothers were sent to war, and the raging fire of hope doused in an ocean of fear.

After years of brutal and unforgiving warfare, a caravan rode into the capital. Believing they had thoroughly gutted and drained your empire of all it was worth, the enemy came to commence talks of peace.

The son of the chief diplomat-- he came with his father to the palace and, now, sat at the edge of the half submerged temple stairs, kicking his feet in the chilly water.

“Yunho,” you called, the pond standing between you and him.

He glanced up and smiled, waving a beckoning arm.

He had been at the palace for nearly three months now though, you’ve only known him for one. He came from an empire in the south where the sun knew no night and, even in the white light of the moon, his skin glowed golden. Long nights you spent under the star scattered sky as he told you of his coastal home; blue waters and warm winters. How you longed to sink your feet into the white sand of his palace beaches, to feel the sun on your skin again.

Though, as you came to sit next to him on the cold, stone stairs, felt the warmth he generated, the golden light he seemed to produce-- you realized that you didn’t miss the sun as much as you used to.

“I have news from the negotiations,” his voice echoed through the ruins. “This foul war is over; there will be peace again.”

These words could not be true. With the joyful memories of your childhood not even shadows in your mind; a waring state was all you knew.

He seemed to sense your reluctance to believe as he said, “it is true, my love. Our armies have been told to stand down and will be pulled from their posts come next week. It’s all over.” Warmth spread over your cheek as his hand met your face, a gentle smile across his red-wine lips.

“This is glorious news,” you cheered, mind lost in a cloudy excitement. Yet, his words seemed to pull you down to earth; all over. “Yunho,” you raised your head to meet his deep brown eyes, and you couldn’t help but see sorrow in them. “What’s wrong? This is a time of celebration but you seem to mourn.”

He removed the hand from your cheek and returned it to his lap. “I ride south with my father at first light. There is news that my sister has given birth to a boy and, with his work here done, father does not wish to wait any longer to hold his first grandchild.”

“No,” was all you could manage to speak.

He wasn’t supposed to leave; he was your life. Without him, you would sink into the darkness again.

“N-no,” you didn’t know what to do, how to act. Your hands began to shake, acting upon their own volition. Your shoulders followed. Suddenly, you couldn’t breath; the weight of the world crashing down upon your lungs.

“y/n,” Yunho reached for your hands, eyes widened in concern.

But you began to wheeze harder as his warmth spread throughout your body. What would you do without him? What would you become?

Your world shifted as he pulled you into his arms, your head falling against his shoulder. “I’m here,” he spoke into your neck. “I’m here.”

Crisp air filled your lungs again as you became limp in his arms and your mind swam in his words. He was here now, you thought. These were his arms which held you and his lips which spoke and soothed.

Your fingers reached for the lips you’ve loved before, thumb brushing against the plush curves as he comforted you. The fall of his nose, arch of his brow, sweep of his eyelashes, angle of his cheekbones; sharp yet beautiful features, a face you could never forget-- the face of your soulmate.

“Will you forget me?” your arms wrapped around his neck to bring you face-to-face with him.

“We won’t be apart long enough for a single strand of your precious hair to disappear from my memory.” His breath danced across your jaw. “As the moon joins us each night,” sweet whispers fell from his lips and fell to the shell of your ear. “I will return for you. I promise you, my love.”

“Kiss me,” you told him. “Love me while you’re still here.”

Tears began to well in the corners of your eyes as he looked at you, unmoving, just staring. “If I love you now,” he said softly. “It will hurt more while we’re apart.”

“I want to remember the feeling of your lips on mine; your gentle touch.” You held his face in your sorrowful, needy hands. “Please, Yunho.”

“I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have.”

“Yunho,” you swiped a thumb across the apple of his cheek. “You could never hurt me. I love you -- now and forever.”

His forehead met yours as his eyes dropped and he released a shaky breath. “Now and forever,” he repeated, lips moving to meet yours.

His hands fell to your hips as your lips moved against his. Your hands running through his dusty brown hair as he gently sucked on your bottom lip. You grabbed his hand and brought it to the intersection of your neck and shoulders, wanting to feel his warmth on your bare skin.

Lips separated with a quiet smack and he began to press gentle kisses to your cheeks, nose, and the corners of your eyes. Slowly, his lips traveled down to where his hand rested on your skin, causing hushed whispers to leave your mouth. “C-can,” he pulled his lips away from your soft skin. “Can you kneel back?” He asked, running his hands across your curves with great desperation.

Your hands dropped from his hair to his shoulders as you raised yourself to rest on your knees. Wide eyes stared up at you as he sat, a hand reaching up to move your hair back. His hand rested on your cheek and you nuzzled into the warmth. The other ran behind you, tugging at the laces of your dress.

Shivers ran over your skin as the silk of your dress pooled around your legs leaving you in nothing but a thin slip. You kneeled before him as he stood, a finger tracing over your jaw. “Come here,” he called, hand leaving your face to extend the invitation.

You stood and immediately collapsed into his arms. “I love you,” he cooed. Soft hands grazed your shoulders as he slid the straps of your slip and dropped them down your arms. His tongue ran over his top lip as he looked down at your exposed flesh. A shaky hand reached out to touch you but pulled back slowly.

“What’s wrong, Yunho?” You asked worriedly. Did he not like what he saw? Were you not his type? Were you not like the other girls he’d been with? Not pretty enough?

“Nothing,” he sighed and smiled down at you, a hand finally caressing your goosebump covered frame. “You’re just so pretty; I-i don’t deserve you.” He pressed his lips against your forehead.

But he did deserve you. He deserved you and more.

“Take your clothes off, Yunho.”

His head flew up having not expected such an order from you. But, nonetheless he obliged. Nimble fingers worked the ties of his coat and buttons of his shirt. As the last piece of clothing hit the stony ground, you took a step towards him, your palm coming to rest on his toned torso. “You deserve the world and more,” you said, slightly more shaky than you had anticipated.

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you impossibly close. “You’re perfect, y/n.”

You sighed at his words.

Wet lips suddenly met the side of your neck, sucking until a dark purple mark appeared. His tongue ran down the valley between your breasts causing you to gasp. Air left your chest again as he swept you off your feet, laying you gently on your discarded gown.

“So perfect,” he barely whispered, staring down at you.

His gaze was painfully intense. You couldn’t stand it. It was like he was looking at a meal.

“Yunho,” you whined. “Please, don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re just so beautiful.” His knees landed in between your parted legs, preventing you from closing them as you would instinctually.

Slowly, he lowered himself onto you, his lips dancing with yours. An elbow supported him as he entangled another in your soft hair.

An aroma of rose petals surrounded you, as if he bathed in rose water. Roses were a rare and exotic flower which weren’t native to your empire. You would miss it. The scent of roses having become a constant in your life.

The kiss deepened and your hands grabbed at his broad shoulders. His tongue entered your mouth, brushing against your front teeth.

Reluctantly, you pushed him away, desperate for air. But, he didn’t stop kissing your body, his lips sucking softly on your neck. Your hands ran up his neck into his hair and his sweet lips returned to yours.

Tenderly, a hand ran down your side and to the inside of your thighs. Your heart raced as no one had ever placed a hand there before.

“It’s okay, my princess,” his lips fell to your collar bones. “I’ll make you feel good.”

Warm fingers traced the lips of your pussy, becoming slick with your wetness. Softly, they came to press against your clit and you shifted your hips, having never felt something like this before.

“Relax,” he cooed, his hand parting to encouragingly rub your hip.

You nodded, signaling for him to continue and he returned to gently rubbing at your nub. The warm feeling coming from his fingers quickly turned into a flaming heat. Deep in your lower stomach, something began to stir.

“I,” you didn’t know what to say, the feeling totally foreign.

“Relax, love,” he repeated, his fingers quickening.

The feeling in your stomach grew tenfold; a tight, knot like feeling.

Then it snapped.

Tears streamed down your cheeks and glued your hair to your neck. It all came crashing down on you at once and you sobbed as you came. He was going to leave you. The scent of roses would disappear. His warmth would fade. He wouldn't make you feel like this again; like you were swimming in the pools of heaven--bliss.

“Y/n,” his hands left your body and flew to your face. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

“No,” you tried to steady for breath as you came down from your orgasm and grief. “I just love you so much.”

His eyes melted from worry to tenderness. “I love you more than you could ever know.” His lips pressed gently on yours.

You matched the slow and passionate pace of his lips as you caressed his neck and shoulders. You shifted and your thigh brushed against the angry tip of his dick, causing him to moan into the kiss.

He broke the kiss to press his forehead against yours. “Can I make love to you?” He asked, his breath shaky, desperate, and, almost, pained.

“Yes,” you moaned, feeling something brush against your swollen clit.

“Ack,” you watched him wince as he grabbed his cock in his hand, pumping it quickly. His face contorted in pleasure so beautifully; you wondered if you looked like that when he touched you.

“This will sting a little,” you felt his tip at your hole. “But it will feel so good.”

He watched your face as his tip entered you. And, it didn’t hurt you at all, so he pushed further in. He was immense, stretching your tight walls impossibly.

You tightly clenched your jaw, feeling like you were being torn in half.

“It’s okay, y/n, my love,” he brushed your hair lovingly. “It’ll feel better when I move.”

“Move,” you choked out, your body incredibly tense.

He pulled his hips back and pushed back in slowly. He repeated, rocking his hips back and forth until the burning turned into pleasure.

“That’s it, princess,” his pace quickened as your walls clenched around him. “You're so beautiful, princess.”

He started to push deeper into you, his hips meeting yours with wet smacks. Your hands desperately gripped his shoulders in need of stability.

It was rapid, the growing of the lustful knot in your stomach. All you could do was moan out as he thrusted into you.

His mouth enclosed yours in a breathy kiss as he felt his own release approaching, the thrusts becoming faster and increasingly deep. Your orgasm threatened to slam into you as his tip grazed a deep spot, causing you to see stars.

“You feel amazing,” he breathed.

The praise encouraged you, your hips coming to meet his, pushing him impossibly deep.

“Y-yunho,” you continued to moan out his name like a credo.

“Come with me,” he kissed up your neck. “Come for me, princess.”

Your second orgasm was even more wonderful than the first, crashing down upon you like a waterfall. Your nails dug into his muscular shoulders, legs trembling around him.

The feeling of his cum painting your walls was like a third orgasm. His warmth completely filling you to the brim.

“I love you, y/n,” Yunho peppered your face with light kisses as he pulled out of you. “Now and forever.”

The sun shone above your free nation, beating down upon you, kissing your skin red as you stood in the field of tulips but, you couldn’t feel it. You were cold, frozen, alone.

Do not swear at all.

#ateez yunho #yunho ateez #yunho x reader #yunho angst #yunho smut #yunho scenarios #jeong yunho #ateez #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fic

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thedevillionaire · 4 years ago

Text

Illusionary

Cerberus, Kia, domestic bedroom snz scene with a little magic, little romance? Hmm, yeah, sounds like me. 😏 --- Wrapped in a full-length darkest burgundy dressing robe, feeling somewhat refreshed but still more than a little coldhazy, Cerberus emerges post-shower to the sight of Kia, changed from her earlier black velvet bodice and jeans into a burnished deep gold satin negligee, lying on her stomach across the bed, head resting on her hands, attention fixed on the Testing papers in front of her. He pauses at the threshold, leans against the door frame to simply look at her awhile, silently enraptured, a soft smile on his face.

:Just so you know, babe,: Mindsends Kia, keeping her eyes on the papers, :it’s not possible for you to enter a room and not be noticed.: She glances back over her shoulder at him and grins wickedly. “You’d be a terrible spy.”

Cerberus chuckles, walking over to settle beside her on the bed. “Hard to argue given the circumstances, I suppose.” He toys with her hair, looking down at the papers. “Which Level are you applying for?” A light sniffle, and he frowns slightly, rubs his nose against an irritation rising anew.

“6.” Kia sighs. “I mean, I’m pretty sure I can get that, but…I don’t know, I’m not…evenly skilled across the options or something.” She rolls over to sit up, cross-legged. “There’s a bunch of stuff I can do really well, and some other stuff I’m…just not very good at, I guess.” She gives him a rueful smile. “But I think if I maybe…”

“What is it you’re not sure of?” Cerberus reaches across her and picks up the papers, flicking through them as he moves to sit leaning back against the bedhead, rearranging the array of pillows and cushions to suit. Another sniffle, more sharply this time and he recognises the battle as lost, his focus dissolving captive to undeniable need, and he turns from Kia in surrender to an adversary already his conqueror many times over today. “HHAHTSSCCHU! Damn it, I swear Healing deal in placebos. Comple…ehh-HH ..completely…hh… Ahh-HEHTSSCH-uu!” He sniffles again and fixes Kia with a look conveying irrefutable vindication, raises an eyebrow. “*snf!*Hm? As evidenced. Completely ineffectual,” he states with authority, and takes several tissues from the box on the bedside. “Excuse me a mome… hh-HH... Oh, for f… HHAHTSSCCHU! Ah, gods. *SNF!* Pardon me, love.” He blows his nose in an attempt to stop any further irritation, at least in the short term, though he holds very little faith in that regard, and incinerates the tissues in a flashblaze of aetherfire.

“Bless you, sweetheart,” Kia says, gently strokes his forearm. “I’m fairly sure the meds have helped a bit, though,” she suggests. “Compared to earlier, at least.”

“Oh, well, yes, I’m sure I’ve had at least ten minutes respite here and there,” mutters Cerberus sardonically, though he concedes to his bonded’s wry smirk quickly enough, places a kiss on her forehead. “Ah, I’m sorry, darkling. It’s just that as a rule, I’m rather fond of breathing.” Resting back against the pillows once more, he sighs again, absently rubs his nose, and returns his attention to the papers, making a quiet hum of thought as he flicks through them, in consideration.

“Sweetheart?” Kia, curious, shuffles up along the bed a little more to kneel beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to read what he was reading. “What are you doing?”

Cerberus points to the skillset of Illusion, listed as a subcategory within Hypnotics, several thick and emphatic lines scrawled beneath it. “This is underlined because…?”

Kia scoffed. “Because I suck at it,” she says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, I can do the basics, but…” She looks up at him, nestling into him, trailing absent patterns across his chest with her fingers. “It’s just…it’s like…you have to sort of direct what someone else sees, so it’s…putting your images into their eyes without actually seeingthrough their eyes, so you don’t know if it’s actually working, you just kind of have to hope for it, and I can’t figure out when it is working so then I get distracted and the whole thing pretty much falls apart.”

“It’s a skill Demonics covers as well.” Cerberus kisses the top of her head, draping an arm across her as he drops the papers in his lap.

Kia stares at him, taken aback. “You can do this?!”

“Well, I don’t use it widely, nor is it my forte, but…”

“Oh, oh, oh! Want to take my Test for me?” Kia gives him a playful entreating look. “Just, I don’t know, shapeshift or something. Is that a thing? You can do that, right? I’ll let you wear whatever you like. Oh my god, I bet you’d be super-hot as me.”

Cerberus collapses into laughter, and she laughs with him, her heart warming as it always does when he loses himself to delight, and particularly now, with him unwell. She repositions herself to settle beside him, kissing him tenderly as she does so, and picks up the papers in one hand, resting her other hand on his thigh. “Alright, alright, okay, I know. I’ll take my own stupid Test. It’s mostly Vampirism specific, anyway. But still…” A devilish grin darts across her face and she bats her eyelashes at him with exaggerated flirtation. :Super-hot.:

Smiling, Cerberus looks down and shakes his head in an ill-advised move that brings about yet another stark reminder of the throbbing sinus headache he’s only just managed to almost forget. He winces slightly and does his best to ignore it. Claiming the honeyed tea from the bedside tray, he reheats it with a touch, and takes a sip. “Well, darkling,” he says, “perhaps not quite that, um…absolute, but I certainly owe you any favours I can offer at this point, so if you’ll allow me—” He kisses her forehead. “—to revisit a request that you once asked of me… Drop your Protect.”

Kia’s eyes widen and she looks up at him, confused, curious. “Why? Do you even need me to?”

“No, love, technically I don’t. But I’d prefer to have your consent, if you’ll give it.”

“For what? I mean, sure, of course, babe, but…”

And then Kia loses her words, struck voiceless, astonished, and reaches her hand out to feel for a bed that is no longer there, finding instead only the soft moss and verdure of a rainforest glade, the gentle sensation of vivid greenery under her touch; lush, thick and rampant plantlife above her, beneath her, beside her, in sensory undeniability. She turns rapidly, looking everywhere around her, unable to comprehend what’s happening even as the very atmosphere changes, the dark, thick, wet scent of fernery, pines, rich soils, and peat surrounding her, immersive and entirely real, solid, incontrovertible. The sky darkens to gunmetal greyblue, stormclouded and windswept, and the crash of distant thunder seems to vibrate the air itself. Sky? But there can’t be sky. Where’s the…where’s the ceiling? What…

“Honey?” she asks, questioning, her own voice feeling like a foreignness, seeking her love who isn’t where he had been mere seconds ago, and she runs her hand along the bark of a nearby tree, one of several, the texture rough and actual, definite. She pushes it, pushes harder; it does not yield. The thunder echoes again, muted but resonant, a certainty, and the heavy cloudcover darkens with it, bringing further shadow to the dell. Shifting her position and reaching for familiarity does nothing to transform the verdant rolling hills back into the furniture she knows so well – oak and cast iron and ornate fabric lost to, consumed by, this wilderness she’s breathing. The landscape stretches out endless and impossibly vast; bedroom walls stay invisible, dissolved. There are no hard angles. No corners. Thunder once more but softer, as if moving away. Wisps of phosphorescence dartdance across thickets and brush, phantasmal. She curls her toes against some lichen at her feet.

:Know this, love,: Cerberus Mindsends almost as if in echo, in memory, to the bone, and Kia spins around to face him, seated beside her but on the opposite side to where she last saw him, dressed as if for a fog-covered moorside in a thick cable-knit sweater and fleecelined suede coat, which she knows is not possible this is not possible it cannot be possible how can he do this how can anyone oh my god definitely not reality but still the only tangible perception she can make, and she isn’t at all sure she can speak to him and she tries to see what she knows to be real, where she knows she must be sitting, but she simply can’t, and she plucks a honeysuckle flower off a nearby creeping vine that has to be fictitious and yet it somehow isn’t, marvelling as she turns it over in her hands, touching its petals, breathing its sweet perfume.

“You’re extraordinary,” she whispers, tears in her eyes.

:Close your eyes a moment, darkling, and immerse. Remember this. Understand this.:

And feeling the reassuring touch of his hand on hers, she closes her eyes as requested, reopening them after just a brief time to see again the bedroom that she’d logically known she’d never left, only then consciously recognising that he could not have taken her hand in that way from where she’d thought she’d seen him last, and she gazes up at him, open-mouthed in astonishment, for the shortest of moments before reaching up to trace her fingers along the contours of his face, almost as if to confirm his existence. “How are you even…” she murmurs in wonder, before calling herself back to reality somewhat.

She takes a moment to rebalance, breathes deeply, recentering. “Okay.” She exhales slowly. “Alright. Okay, that was…wow, that was completely amazing and… I love you but that was… If that’s what I’m meant to do… I mean, I could feel it. I held a flower. Fuck, babe. I have enough trouble even getting an image to form. A single image. You…you made a world. There’s no way I can do that.”

“You most certainly can, love,” counters Cerberus, “and, in fact, will. Should bring you up to a Level 8 grading, I’d imagine.” He presses his index finger then the back of his hand against his nose, frowning a little at a building itch, sniffling. “Excuse me. You just, um…recall the memory, enter in and redirect, adjusting for context. You’ll only be working with mortal capacity for resistance, also, if I recall the Vampirism protocol for this sort of thing correctly, so it sh…should be…” His breath hitches, the returning urgency stealing his sentence; he excuses himself with haste and turns from Kia, succumbing desperate, heavy, absolute. “AhhHEHTSSCHuu!”

“Bless you!”

He raises an index finger and gives the briefest shake of his head, brow creased, and frozen in thrall to the crescendo of oncoming need; he takes an imposed moment, expectant, and another, inhaling shallow scissored twice and over, then deep, deeper still.

And again.

“hh-HH… Hh-TSSCHhuu!”

And oh he does not want to concede, but again.

“HMPTch! HHKTchu!” His attempt at resistance proves no contest against the still insistent, overwhelming tickle, and he gives over completely this time, abandoning any further fight. “Hh-TSSCH-uu! ah-hh… AHHTSSCHUU! Ah, gods.”

Kia’s own breath comes a touch uncertain too as she purrs a honeytoned, “Bless you, sweetheart.”

Cerberus exhales tiredly, pushes silken ebony disorder back from his face with one hand while claiming several tissues with the other. “Thanks, love,” he murmurs, adding a sotto voce curse or two about the entire situation. “Pardon me.” He blows his nose, a little more gingerly now, sniffles again and sighs, repeats the process. Ridiculous.

A thought suddenly occurs to Kia that piques her interest far too much to not to ask it. “So, um…what would have happened if you’d sneezed during that whole…you know, ‘the bedroom is a forest now’ performance?”

Cerberus wipes his nose a final time before vaporising the latest used tissue collection. He chuckles quietly, clears his throat. “You’d best tell me, I think.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t, though. I would have…” Kia breaks off, examines her beloved’s expression with wary sidelong glance, considering whether there was any chance of...

No. With a faint scoff, she rejects the possibility, positive, confident. “No, you did not. There’s no way I don’t hear that.”

“If you say so, love.”

She frowns. “You’re right here. I am next to you in the bed.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful.” He flashes her a candid, disarming smile. “My favourite thing.”

Laughing, Kia pushes him in play. “Well, mine too, sweetheart, but that’s not what I meant and you know it,” she says before returning to her point. “You did not sneeze during that, though. No way. It just isn’t… Nope. You’re teasing me.”

“Well.” Cerberus once again brings newly steaming heat to the cup of tea with a touch, the very slightest of smiles crossing his face. “I admit that thunder is rather a cliché, but I didn’t have a great deal of time to consider intricacy of plot.”

“You di… But…” Kia stares at him in complete bafflement. “How?!”

“Illusion, darkling.” He stretches an idle arm across her shoulders, presses a kiss to her temple. “This is how it works.”

“Are you serious?!” Kia shakes her head in amazement. “God, do I even know what reality is?!” She gives a half laugh of incredulity, simultaneously astounded and utterly unsurprised at the variety of skills her beloved seems able to just call to command at will. “Okay, okay, and…so now because you…set me up, is that right, I can just, what, do that now? Oh. Ohh, whoa now, wait a second. Hang on.” She gives him a sly look, comprehension dawning. “Did you just do my homework for me?”

Cerberus laughs softly, a little darkly. “Consider it a crash course. Anyway, I know that you are in fact highly skilled in…not unrelated areas. I certainly know you can direct events. Your truly…outstanding talent with Immerse and Possess proves it. I suspect you just weren’t sure where to begin in this case.” He gives her a gentle smile. “You have an advantage, love. You should use it.”

Kia smiles back. “Oh, I’ll use you alright. I mean, use it.” She winks, laughing again. “I liked your mountain man look, by the way. Do you even have a cable-knit sweater?"

Cerberus raises an eyebrow. "What? You dressed me in a sweater?"

“I dressed you? What?"

“My direction only goes so far, darkling. Illusion involves a great deal of obfuscation, but it’s not a complete taking over. Some parts of it are nothing more than guidance, suggestions. And certain aspects are – I assure you – entirely of your own creation." He looks at her in nonplussed bemusement. “Really? Cable knit?”

“Navy blue, with a tan suede jacket,” Kia specifies with haughty precision before dissolving into laughter anew and doubly at the expression on his face. "I guess that’s what you get for setting everything in a forest. Come on, I was thematically accurate, at least.” She wipes away tears of laughter before meeting his gaze with conviction, points at him as if delivering an unarguable truth. “You looked hot as fuck, incidentally."

“I feel I’ve learnt something entirely new about you tonight,” Cerberus remarks, smiling briefly at her before suddenly turning away again, a couplet of fierce, unstoppable sneezes almost catching him unprepared absolutely, and he apologises with haste. “Hh-TSSCHH-uu! Ah-TSSCHH-uu! Goddamn it. *snf!* I have had more than entirely enough of this.” He sharply pulls another pair of tissues from the box, blows his nose again, immolates them afterwards with a burst of flame rather more emphatic than required.

“Aw, bless you, hon.” Kia tuts softly, strokes his hair back from his eyes, moves to sit across his lap, facing him. She traces a finely manicured nail down his neck, across his shoulder. “You know,” she nearwhispers, her tone softly teasing, “it wouldn’t kill you to wear a sweater once in a while.”

“I’m really not…”

Kia leans closer, purrs as if sharing the wickedest of secrets. “Denim jeans too.”

:Gods, love, who are you?: Cerberus Mindsends in shadowsnarl as he wraps a strong arm around his bonded and draws them together, claiming her mouth and kissing her with fire palpable.

:You know me, sweetheart.: With deft touch and feline grace, slightest shrug, Kia allows her negligee to smoothly fall away, returning her beloved’s kiss perfervid, wanting, infusing her reciprocal Mindsend with the same.

:Your favourite thing.:

----

#supernatural soap opera #cerberus #kia #cerbia #snzfic #sneeze fic #he will never wear denim jeans nope never not gonna happen #the sweater's not completely out of the question though #my writing #my OCs

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writeforself · 3 years ago

Text

Pursuit of Foundation [1/2]

Egor x Reader

Pre-Aeon Egor meeting reader.

A/N: The first fic from the last poll. Since it’s the 100th post here, I wanted to post this one after finish the whole thing. But I fear my procrastination along with the slow progress of this fic... So here it is, the first part. Hope you like it :)

Thank you for reading!

Egor had never visited an asylum before.

Laid between two rows of soaring pines, a cuddle stone road stretched far under the shade. At the end of the road, a grey building stood within this enormous estate. Egor stood in the middle of the road, rubbing his shiny dark leather shoes against the thin layer of brown moss in the space between stones. He gazed ahead then looked behind, finally lowered his sight and stared at the stack of papers neatly placed in a brown folder, where a black-and-white photo of a man was stapled on the cover with an abbreviation marked in the corner—C.V.

He had paid almost his annual fund to get here. He straightened up the collar of his burgundy jacket and made his way to the entrance of Dargyey Institute.

Egor stood in front of the small gate situated in the middle of a concrete wall that extended to the both ends of the building. He prepared himself for what he’s about to see inside. This is the first time he had been to any place like this. Never had he met anyone from an asylum, and none of the materials he read or watched had provided a good impression to him.

The suffocating structure certainly doesn’t help.

He stood and looked at the towering concrete building that spoke of the enclosure nature of an asylum.

Then he pushed the gate and made his way in.

It was calm.

Despite the lifeless front, both sides of the lobby were covered by extensive glasses, which guided the lights inside the building. He saw a few patients sitting by the windows. Some had eccentric movements with their arms, few mumbling out inaudible phrases, yet the atmosphere of the lobby is generally peaceful. Several staff in white moved through the lobby and made their way deeper into the building, which was hidden behind other concrete walls. His gaze followed them through the walls into a single room somewhere in this facility, where a man sat on his lonesome, perhaps in a lightless cell, mumbling about the mystery of an ancient island, regarding the enigma of time.

“Sir?”

A voice creeped from behind, which failed to capture Egor’s attention as his thoughts wandered through the walls, then across the seas, over the ice, into the cold. He shivered as he tried to visualize the unknown entity which he called “anomaly” permeating the land under the northern lights. He could get excited easily, especially when he was determined.

“Sir? Can I help you?” The loud voice echoed in the almost empty lobby.

It startled Egor. He heard it this time alright. He adjusted his collars once more before turning toward the source of the voice. It was a middle-aged lady in a grey sweater sitting inside a space under a dim sign that wrote “Reception”.

“Oh.” He let out a sign of relief and walked toward the lady in small steps, while holding the folder close to his chest.

“Um, hello, madame.” He greeted her while he held onto his newly modified glasses, which he was still not used to its heaviness. “I’m looking for Mr. Vahn, Colt Vahn.” “And you are?” She directed her sight back to the book she was reading before she called Egor.

“Serling, Egor Serling.” He slightly bent forward and brushed across the table with his thin fingers, as if hovering above this lady in his designer clothes may embody his supposed social status. “Sorry you are not on the visitor’s list.” The lady merely took a glance at the notebook covered with unrecognizable tiny scriptures to turn Egor away.

He lost some of his balance and almost knocked his head against the low ceiling of the enclosed reception. He supported himself with his elbows on the icy wall, steadied himself as he leaned forward, trying to read the scribblings.

“Ex...excuse me?” His voice rose a few pitches as his throat dried. “You are not on the list, sir.” “No no, check again.” The tip of his shoes anxiously tapped against the cold floor while his voice trembled. “I called this morning.”

“Sorry sir, I don’t see your name” “There has to be some mi…”

“Egor!” Another stranger’s voice came from behind him. “Dr. Y/N?” The reception lady raised her head and responded to the owner of the voice.

Egor felt a sense of familiarity, but he can’t recall anyone he knew working at this facility, not that he knew a lot of people.

“Sorry Mrs. Pike, this is my fiancé.” Egor felt someone gently tugging the corner of his coat.

Huh?

Egor turned around and saw a figure in a lab coat next to him and smiling. He certainly had not met this person before, but he was convinced he had heard the voice somewhere.

“Oh,” Mrs. Pike gasped behind her reception desk, and a delightful smile emerged upon her face. “Dr. Y/N such news.”

Still incapable of grasping the situation unfolding in front of him, Egor merely stared at you as you made your way next to him and took his hand which had become freezing after his time spent wandering at the gate.

The warmth…

He stared at your face with scrutiny, not listening to any of the conversation you were making with the lady.

“Sorry I forgot to tell you earlier.” You went forth and rested against his shoulder, like how an engaged couple might act in front of people. Egor failed to react as your hand creeped around his waist above his thick wool coat. “He is visiting me and our friend here.”

“Oh, that’s no trouble.” The lady at the front desk laughed softly and waved her hand, finally making a nod at Egor, who had been frozen for several seconds. “My apology, Mr. Serling.”

“Uhh,” An almost inaudible sound escaped from his dry lips. “Well…” He tried to act with ease because at least he had obtained access to the institute. “Um…”. But nothing so far went as he expected.

“Well, we have to go Mrs. Pike, our friend is waiting.”

You took a step while trying to drag Egor away from the reception, but he was pinned on the spot.

“Oh, congratulations, by the way.” The lady added before you were able to take leave.

“Thanks.” Eventually you pulled Egor away with you. He lost his balance as you pulled him from the spot, but quickly regained it when you stopped and carefully had him settled against your back.

“Careful dear.” You giggled as he straightened himself and positioned his glasses.

What is happening?

Egor walked in silence while you took out your card and entered the facility. He was still registering what had just happened as the two of you moved through a hallway and were greeted by several personnel on the way.

He took a glance at his hand holding yours, looked up at your white coat, your back where he just softly brushed against. Then he observed his surroundings. The dead scenery on the other side of the window actually looks quite pleasant from inside under the winter sunshine. The sunlight bounced across the hallway against bright and grey surfaces, creating a bright and calming atmosphere. He could almost forget how his knuckles burned from standing in the wind while building up his courage to venture in, and how his skin seemed to become more vulnerable, along with his failing eyesight.

Even then, he could feel inches of his skin flakes escaping from the surface of his palm and fell into yours. The dead cells merged into another vibrant environment. Egor found that thought to be quite amusing.

No one had held him like this before, especially since his skin condition started to deteriorate.

“Sorry to bring you in like this.” Eventually you arrived at a dark wooden door. You stopped at the entrance to your office and turned to him—Only to see a befuddled expression beneath those thick, round glasses. “Oh… sorry,” You let go of his hand. “I haven’t introduced myself, Dr. Serling.”

Then you opened the door and gestured to him inside before you closed the door behind you.

Dr. Serling?

“The name is Y/N, I was the one you talked to this morning.” No reaction from Egor. His mind still wandered, his gaze afar, his posture stiff. “On the phone, that is.”

He stood in silence while holding the folder by his waist. He squeezed the hand with a little warmth still clinging onto it.

“Dr. Serling?” You waved before his eyes. Nothing.

Dr. Serling.

The corner of his lips twitches slightly upward. No one had ever unironically called him a doctor.

-tbc-

#deathloop #deathloop imagine #egor #egor serling #egor x reader #egor uwu #deathloop fic

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just-horrible-things · 4 years ago

Text

Here’s some old writing (probably 2014? gee.) from a tabletop game I was once in. This was backstory for my character.

Cameron Blithe remains one of my favourites, and I may yet overhaul the character and work him into something new.

---

At Attention

"At ease!" the sergeant bellowed, and the thud of two score booted feet hitting the ground echoed round the courtyard. "Not you, Blithe!" Cameron snapped back to attention, confused and a little apprehensive. Being singled out was never a good sign. "You stay there. Everyone else, dismissed! Come on, move it along! Don't waste time!"

The courtyard emptied rapidly, footsteps echoing off the concrete buildings along with the sergeant's voice. Soldiers scattered, some walking, others jogging so as not to arrive late to their next posts. Cameron stayed still, eyes fixed on the peeling paint above the door opposite until the movement died down.

He thought he'd heard the sergeant leave, but he couldn't be entirely sure. It wasn't worth looking round. Either this was some trick to fool him into moving so he could be called up on disobedience again, or he was just going to be left here for an hour or two.

Well, he was no stranger to standing at attention. If that's what was to happen, then fine. He'd just deal with it. He counted time in his head, taking note of the five minute mark when he should have showed up for patrol. He wondered if the sergeant had reported that he'd left Cameron standing in the courtyard, or if he'd have to explain his absence later. Probably the latter, he mused darkly, and he'd more than likely be punished for that too.

The air was cold and damp and smelled of sweat and wet concrete. As the warmth of exertion from drilling started to fade, Cameron became aware of the breeze. It carried the sound of men laughing somewhere, and the occasional call and response of patrols passing each other.

Ten minutes became fifteen, then twenty. Despite the demands of the posture and the chill of the air, Cameron found himself mentally relaxing and his mind beginning to wander. In many ways, the inactivity was a welcome break from the constant demands on his attention, time and stamina, and it was certainly less exhausting than drill. He let his gaze wander, examining the back of the barracks and what little he could see of the apparently empty courtyard. It was not so intimately familiar as the square more commonly used for drilling, and though he must have spent at least a dozen hours here, he'd never had the freedom to really inspect things.

Here at the back of the compound, the lack of funding was even more apparent. Doors were battered round the edges, steps crumbling, and he even saw a window with a cracked pane. Things were clean, certainly. They tend to stay clean when there's a large body of soldiers kept around the place with nothing to do but busywork. Cameron knew first hand how much effort went into scrubbing the roofs clean of moss and mould. But all the cleanliness in the galaxy couldn't compete with a bit of fresh money to replace damaged structures. Fresh paint was cheap enough, but layered over damp concrete it never stayed looking fresh for long.

The state of the buildings was a bit depressing, really. Clearly nobody cared about a back-end-of-the-galaxy posting like this. The status quo ruled here, second only to the slow grind of entropy tearing things down bit by bit. The future seemed bleak.

If he were facing the other way, he might have been able to see the mountains over the concrete walls. The distant peaks were frigid, sheer and uninviting, but at least they were something to look at. Unfortunately, it still wasn't out of the question that the sergeant was standing somewhere behind him, waiting for Cameron to move so he could scold him and inflict some worse punishment instead. By necessity, his view was restricted to a small area of flagstones, the wall ahead, and a small slice of dim, clouded sky above.

He hoped the sergeant was behind him, getting bored. He could suffer there in silence, he wasn't going to get the satisfaction of watching Cameron falter or give in. Of course, if he did get bored he'd be completely free to leave without giving Cameron the time of day, let alone permission to stand down. But at least Cameron would hear him leave, and then he'd know he could afford to fidget. Realistically, he was fairly sure already that he was alone, but at least he could get a bit of petty satisfaction out of imagining the NCO stewing in boredom, irritation and disappointment.

Time passed. The sounds of some other unit drilling rang out for a while, then subsided again. Though he'd long stopped counting minutes, Cameron estimated maybe an hour and a half had passed when the rain started.

It was no surprise; the sky had been darkening steadily all afternoon. It was light drizzle at first and not unpleasant, though he knew it would soon soak through his clothes and make the cold worse. A bird flapped past somewhere above and behind him, presumably seeking shelter before the rain started in earnest.

For a while, the rain relieved the boredom a little by giving him something new to look at. The ground darkened in spots, few and small at first, then larger and faster as the rainstorm gathered momentum. He wondered how long it would take for the water to seep into the sheltered spaces under his feet. Maybe when he finally moved away he'd leave a pair of pale footprints behind.

Drips congregated on the edge of the roof, merged with one another, and fell to the concrete below. Puddles began to form in the dips where the concrete was worn or damaged. Drips gathered on Cameron too, running down his face and down the back of his neck. Standing still, he didn't mind the wet so much as the cold. Wherever the rain soaked in, the wind seemed to blow stronger and colder. Soon he was fighting the urge to shiver. It didn't matter that nobody was watching, someone was sure to come back to fetch him eventually, and he refused to be snivelling and miserable when that happened. Let the weather do its worst, he'd stand like a soldier and show no weakness.

Watching drips grew dull once all the surfaces were saturated. For a while he shut his eyes against the gusts of wind which kept driving the rain into his face, but he wasn't entirely comfortable that he'd hear it if someone approached, so he compromised by squinting angrily into the rain. The light worsened, and eventually he realised dusk was falling. It came as something of a surprise. He must have underestimated the time. He'd expected to hear more noise of people dispersing at end of shift, but it must have been covered up by ambient noise.

Daydreaming about all the ways he'd like to kill the sergeant, he watched night creep slowly over the courtyard. Electric lights flicked on in windows one after the other, but none were close enough or angled right for him to see in. It was a small blessing. At least nobody could see him standing here, trying to pretend he wasn't freezing cold and soaked to the skin.

It was almost a relief once the rainwater soaked through the last of the warm, dry spots in his uniform. Sure it was cold and miserable, but at least it wasn't getting colder anymore and he could stop trying desperately to cling to the lingering warmth. Provided he didn't stare at the lit windows, his eyes adjusted well to the growing darkness. He consoled himself with the thought that at least he wasn't doing night training exercises, and thus didn't have to count mud, thorns to the face, or being shouted at as among his woes. Things could be worse.

The effects of fatigue snuck up on him quietly. The muscle ache and general sense of exhaustion he was used to as a standard consequence of standing at attention for a few hours at a time. Shivering was less welcome, especially once it set in in earnest and he could no longer resist it by sheer willpower, but not unfamiliar.

What caught him off guard was the sense of general illness. At first he put the queasiness down to hunger. He'd missed a meal, it was to be expected. When it got worse, he ascribed it to life simply hating him. Clearly this was the perfect time for him to get ill, and thereby maximise his misery. Maybe he was getting pneumonia from the cold. If he got seriously ill, maybe the sergeant would get in trouble. It would serve the bastard right.

Time continued to pass, and the nausea continued unabated. One by one, the lights in the windows went out. His feet were numb, though he couldn't tell if it was the cold or the prolonged immobility. He wriggled his toes in the hope of improving circulation, and dimly felt them move inside his boots. His hands felt strange too, oddly distant, and the sound of the rain began to echo weirdly in his ears. With a jolt, Cameron recognised the symptoms of an impending blackout.

He considered taking a break, sitting down and waiting for the feeling to pass. Nobody would see. He took deep breaths, trying to steady himself and to avoid throwing up. Nobody would see, but it would still be backing down. He wouldn't let them win. Breathing deeply helped a little. The oddness in his hearing subsided, and the nausea returned to manageable levels. Everything was fine. It was just a passing weakness, he was fine.

He woke sprawled on the ground.

Rain still fell all around him, and it was dark. Though he was cold to the bone, his face felt flushed and far too warm. The cool, hard concrete was not unpleasant, but he forced himself to sit up and look around.

He was still alone. Nobody had seen him collapse.

He checked himself over brusquely for injuries and found nothing worse than a few bruises, a dry throat and a headache. He hadn't thought his uniform could get any wetter, but on standing up from the puddle he'd been lying in, water ran in little streams from the cloth.

He had half a mind to curl up on the floor and wait for dawn, but he knew his pride would never let him do that. He'd been ordered to stand at attention, and come hell or high water that was exactly what he intended to do.

Agony ran through his legs as he forced himself back into the correct posture. He gritted his teeth and waited for it to subside, shivering violently. He'd been lying still in the cold, of course he was stiff. The rational part of his mind reminded him that standing still in the cold probably wasn't going to be any better, but he clung determinedly to the conviction that the pain would go away. Surely he'd warm up soon, shivering like this. He'd remember to move his feet more this time, and flex the muscles in his legs to ward off cramp and fainting.

To his satisfaction, and mild surprise, the strain did again become more bearable. He wondered how long he'd been out cold, but even when conscious he'd completely lost track of the passage of time. With the sky still dark, it could have been any time of the night, and anywhere between one and eight hours left to wait until dawn.

Holding out for the return of the light became Cameron's focus and driving motivation. He guessed at times in his head, building elaborate estimates of how long he had left to wait. When the rain slowed to a drizzle, he convinced himself that the change in the weather must be a result of temperature changes from the imminent dawn. By the time it started pouring down again, he'd moved on to a new hypothesis.

Realistically, he knew that there was no guarantee that dawn would bring any relief. It seemed increasingly likely that the sergeant had no intention of coming back to tell him to stand down. He must have had this planned out from the beginning. There was no reason to drill here rather than in the main square, except that here he could leave Cameron standing for longer before a senior officer found him and ordered him to do something more useful.

Cameron had no idea how frequently this courtyard was used. For all he knew he could be here for weeks before anyone came back out here. Morbidly he wondered what they'd do to the sergeant if he passed out and died here before anyone found him.

Of course, it would be ridiculous to stand here until thirst killed him. Technically, there was nothing stopping him from walking into the nearest building right now and getting a drink of water. He could come back out and nobody would be any the wiser, or he could just bugger off and get some sleep. What was the sergeant really going to do to him for disobeying an order like that, make him do press-ups?

He could hear the conversation already though, and see that smug bastard's face in his mind's eye. Some people would think Cameron had done the smart thing, and some would think he was being an insubordinate idiot again, but he and the sergeant would know what had really happened. If he walked away now, he'd have backed down, and admitted that he was too weak to deal with standing at attention in the rain for a while.

Well, fuck that.

When dawn finally arrived, it was subdued and miserable. Much like Cameron, not that he'd let it show in his posture. The greying of the sky that signalled the first light of the new day was accompanied by the noise of a few hundred people turning out of bed at half past five in the morning to present themselves for inspection. Lights clicked on in the windows of the barracks, then off again as the owners vacated the rooms.

One lonely light stayed lit. Listening wearily to officers shouting, Cameron wondered if the room was still occupied for whatever reason, or if the inhabitant had simply forgotten to turn the light off. Trying to navigate a floor plan of the building in his head kept his mind busy, but not busy enough to shut off the stray thoughts still cataloguing all the reasons he had to be miserable. Thirst and pain fought for dominance, shadowed closely by cold. Hunger, exhaustion, boredom and the need to take a piss were all present, but barely got a look in in comparison.

Despite it all, as the light increased he did find his spirits rising. There were no more reasons to be cheerful than there had been all night, but something about the light made him feel better none the less. Maybe it was just the fact that once again he could tell what time it was, or that there was more to listen to and look at by daylight than by night.

For an hour and a half, he counted seconds. The numbers got depressing and he kept losing count, but if he stopped he'd have nothing else to do and he wouldn't know what time it was.

Shortly after the ninety minute mark, he was interrupted by someone speaking behind him. "Drilling on your own, soldier?" Startled, Cameron took far longer to reach the correct response than he should have done. "No, sir," he managed, struggling to think of an appropriate way to phrase the reason for his standing at attention all alone in a empty courtyard.

The man stepped round into his field of vision with an expression of equal parts concern and amusement. Cameron only barely recognised his face, but the lieutenant's stripes on his uniform told him all he needed to know. He saluted the officer, as sharply as he could convince his trembling muscles to move, and was quite pleased with his success.

"Do share then, why are you standing out here in the rain?" "Sergeant Yandle's orders, sir," he responded. Apparently running several seconds behind his mouth, his brain belatedly prompted him with a handful of witty lines he could have used instead. "I see. And when were these orders given?" Cameron's mind raced. Or rather, it felt like it did. From the difficulty he was having calling up mundane facts, he rather suspected his mind was moving at something of a crawl. "At approximately thirteen hundred hours, sir." "Yesterday?" "Yes, sir." "Good grief, man," the lieutenant still seemed torn between horror and laughter, "At ease!" Cameron couldn't quite stop his breath catching as he changed his posture. Every muscle in his body complained at being forced through another set of precise movements, but the relief of moving at all was worth it.

#my writing #my ocs #cameron blithe #military whump

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athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit · 4 years ago

Text

Feral Fatality

(Part 1)

So this has been in my works for a week now. You see, it was a typical day for me scrolling through Tumblr and visiting some....tags, and then a short drabble inspired me to write about a feral reader totally not because I was craving violence and murder no, which reached more than 4k words on the first draft so here we are! Shitty title, I know. The proofread work went over 7k, and it's not even finished yet. Once I'm done posting this and my main orc fic, I will get into the requests so please be patient!

Pairing: Jason Voorhees x Fem!Reader

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Brief blood and violence at the end of the first part

Contains: Swearing, mentions of neglect and abuse (not graphic)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Screams slit through the twilight as the frigid autumn wind blew harshly through the trees of Camp Crystal Lake. The rustling of bushes and cracking of twigs echoed as foolish teenagers attempted to escape, running for their lives when they were the ones who dared step foot in the place, tarnishing it with their sins.

Jason Voorhees, the innocent kid who died several years ago; pushed to the lake by his bullies and left to drown for being different and unsightly— all because the counselors were busy with their fucking business—, returned as an undead killing machine right after his mother murdered them and died. His sole purpose: to protect the land and purge the people who had no right to be here, sentencing them to a horrendous death.

One by one, they struck the ground, lifeless, either chopped into pieces, beheaded, or stabbed countless times by his trusty machete.

Limbs...ripped off with his bare hands.

The muffled snapping of branches reached your ears as the vehicle's wheels ran over them, stirring you from your nap. You rubbed your chilled skin under your clothes as you looked out of the window, thumping your forehead on the glass when you leaned forward the moment you saw the scenery. Trees, both ancient and young, their leaves varying in hues of green, orange and red, filled your line of sight. It was still early in autumn, your favorite time of the year, not hot but not too cold either. You watched in awe as the warm-colored leaves cascaded down from the branches and down to the ground, some carried by the wind farther from their origin.

The view did its best to distract you from a couple in session a seat before yours. They always seem to do that all the time, regardless of place or occasion.

This was a week-long getaway after graduation, they said.

Nothing but a white lie.

An excuse for the girls to hook up with their campus crushes, a week of fucking and smoking drugs.

You, however, just got invited —forced— by your "friend" Eloiza, the self-proclaimed hottest girl in the entire school, typical captain of the cheerleading squad; blonde and curvy. Her words were much too sugar-coated that even a deaf person could tell she had ulterior motives.

She only planned to use you as a tool to raise her fame. A stepping stone for her own gain.

That wasn't the only reason though.

Everyone knew who you were, but only by your name. News and rumors alike spread like wildfire through gossipy mouths. Your deeds were known throughout campus.

(Y/N)(L/N), top academic competitor and multiple-award winner, a straight-A student for five years in succession. Some believed you were a genius, the rest called you insane.

You wouldn't call yourself a genius though, you did not possess the obsessive need to acquire eternal knowledge and discover the secrets of the universe as most of them do, to effortlessly solve every problem that comes their way.

If that were the case, then you wouldn't be here in the first place.

You only love learning and indulging in the beauty of Mother Nature, plus a handful of hyper-fixations.

Fine, a buttload of hyper-fixations. And such came in handy in various situations.

You were unrivaled, not one of your peers could come close to your level of wit. Many people wished to have a brain like yours, and just as many hated you for even having one, praised you just as much as slandered your name and judged you.

Despite your reputation, the poor school didn't broadcast it, at least every time. The staff probably got tired of repeating the same phrase over and over again. Which caused more than half of the whole campus to never believe you to be the one behind all of that, laughing at your face when you said your name.

"You? The (Y/N) (L/N)? Ha! As if I'd fall for that! Everyone knows how she looks. You're the absolute opposite!"

"You got to be kidding me."

"You're a joker, aren't you? Is this a prank? If so please stop it, don't pretend like you're her."

Yep, and it goes on and on and on. They were right, you didn't look like someone who would win contests or excel in class.

You constantly wore clothes that hid your form, silent unless spoken to or asked to answer, distant and reserved, you preferred the company of books and nature to the rowdiness and prying hands of humans. A sociopath they deemed you. Quite an extreme word to use when you simply wanted to enjoy the only things that made you happy in this living hell.

You only know a handful of people who approached you first-hand and praised you genuinely, even asking for an autograph, which really surprised you.

Yet, they would never understand you even if you explained, because you can't, words evade you when it comes down to voice out what you feel. Even if you can, no one would care. And even if they did? You doubt it was real. Everyone wants to use you, and they seem to believe you'd let them. You didn't trust anyone. The last time you did only left you sobbing on the dirt.

You wanted to be left alone.

To connect with nature and get as far away as possible from your parents. Parents who kept shouting profanities at each other, the main cause for your depression and anxiety levels to skyrocket, the shaking turning into trembling, 7 hours of sleep to barely a blink.

That's why you agreed to go in the first place.

You hated your household—despised it— a mess of broken shards of bottles and ceramics littered your kitchen floor more often than not. You didn't bother cleaning it up anymore, your mother would just waste away her money on more things to break and throw them at your joke of a father when they fought anyway.

Not only that, you thought...No, you believed if you worked hard to be the best and win countless competitions, your parents would give you recognition and reconcile for your sake, but no, no, no. They didn't care one bit about you or your medals, it was as if you were never even included in their lives at all. Even birthday celebrations ceased to exist in everyone's books after your 13th.

So you gave up.

Down into the void, your wishful thinking went, that they'll become better people over time, that the attention and love you deserve will be given one day. Instead, you wallowed yourself in your studies, besting everyone in everything academic. Oh, but you weren't athletic. Far from it. Damn, you were getting thin and sleep-deprived from being neglected, dark circles under your eyes every time you looked at your reflection. People hating your existence wasn't helping, some teachers even suspected you of cheating.

There's no way in hell you'd let yourself get dragged down to end up like them! You were of legal age now, a fresh graduate from high school, you doubt your parents even knew that since they didn't fucking show up on your graduation day. You were moving out of that shithole of a town. Anywhere is better than where they breathed and spat their poison.

And so here you are. Standing in this breath-taking and mysterious place. Camp Crystal Lake, it is named, secluded, barely touched by modernization as it is hidden between mountains and trees as far as the eye could see. Not to mention its namesake, the lake, you imagined it would mirror the sky, be it day or night. You loved it, you adored the fresh, breathable air that went through you the moment you stepped out of the van.

You also knew about him.

Resolved to never go back to that goddamned house, you took everything you had and needed; the special little trinkets you've collected through the years shoved into a box, the few clothes you had, art materials, and your precious books carefully packed inside a big travel bag, along with your stocked up canned goods, convenience food, snacks, and toiletries.

And other, important things.

You hauled your baggage out of the van and got off, immediately moving to the side and away from everyone.

You got used to people ignoring you that you didn't care anymore.

Why waste your time with them when you can have all of it to yourself?

Eloiza led the group into the larger cabins, the others went straight into the lake for a swim. You even notice some teens disappear into the trees, most likely for a quickie.

In return, you stayed out of their way, fully satisfied being invisible and with your own company as you trudged to a cabin, the one you caught a glimpse of earlier in the van. It was a long way's separated from the rest, closest to the forest and hidden behind a few trees.

You were panting when you finally stopped in front of it, clearly not used to walking long distances and carrying stuff near as heavy as your weight.

Upon closer inspection, you found yourself gaping at its appearance. The wooden walls lost their color as they aged, white and brown mushrooms grew on the ground along with green moss sticking to the beams, and a few vines crawling their way up and on the roof. Despite all of that, the cabin looked sturdy still.

There's this "one with nature" vibe that drew you to it, like a string pulling you closer and inviting you. Ominous most would say, but you almost cried when the rich scent of earth and oxygen filled your lungs as you took one big inhale, sighing in content for once. It was a lot smaller compared to the others, but you didn't care. As long as you were left alone with your stuff you were a-okay.

Perfect.

You turned the knob and peeked inside, letting out a small gasp and opening the door wider to see the whole thing.

Old as it is, it was proper and neat, regardless of the tiny cobwebs on the upper corners. A small, square dining table sat in the middle of the first part of the place, two wooden stools placed underneath. There were cupboards on the wall and a simple sink with an empty space to the side. You went to the next room, doorless and separated with but a wall of thick plywood. It had a single bed in the corner, off-white cotton sheets sitting atop, not a wrinkle in sight. No pillow though. There's a decent-sized closet along with a small table on one side of the bed. One of the windows had a hole in the middle, a ray of sunlight streaming in through the cracks. It was too big for the size of a gunshot, so maybe a rock.

A bit hesitant, your fingers traced the wood, feeling the inconsistent texture. When you went through the back door, your smile reached your ears when trunks of trees and bushes greeted you...

Wait, is that what you think it is?

Stepping closer to the treeline, your jaw dropped when you spotted a thicket of fruit-bearing plants past them, gathered in a tiny clearing.

Blueberries.

Purple little cuties poked out of the green shrubs, sporting a vibrant hue that caught your eye. The sun shone overhead and providing the energy they needed. Blueberries managed to grow in the area despite the trees fencing them.

Tempted and suspicious, you crouched down, inspecting the shrub if it really was a blueberry plant and not a deadly doppelganger. Once you were sure it was, (it would be hilarious if you simply died from nighshade poisoning), you plucked one and brought it to your mouth. It was sweeter than you expected, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. You hummed in delight, wiping the juice with your thumb when it dribbled out, staining your finger and lips.

You didn't want to anger anybody. Hell, coming here was already trespassing, so you didn't push your luck and left it alone, hoping they'd forgive you for picking one. They surely didn't look wild with the way they lined up.

You scanned the rest of the area, eventually going back inside to unpack after your little evaluation.

The sun was a hand's away from setting when you finished. Pride swelled in your chest at the work you did, your things stocked and organized with care inside the cabinets and drawers. You won't have to worry about your food for now as cupboards were filled to the brim with them. You also had a decent amount of money left from your savings account that your parents weren't aware of. Prize money, allowance, and the salary you got from doing online jobs all went into it. The camp was a few miles off the road, and a couple more to the nearest gas station with a convenience store. Very far yes, but it's better than living with the people who made you do this in the first place.

You just hoped you wouldn't die walking.

Everything was worth it, anyways. You were free now, at least that's what you think.

You trudged to the bed, eyeing the cushions, wary and a little scared to touch the sheets that appeared to be cleaned just recently, you didn't even lay a finger on them ever since you got inside. Oh, but your tired muscles were screaming to just flump down and relax.

So you did.

You dumped yourself face first and inhaled. It wasn't smelly nor fragrant, just the simple freshness on the cotton fabric. You felt beat but ain't sleepy, yet, so you reached to the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a book to pass the time as you waited for the sun to go down and give way for the moon. Its spine and pages had creases, worn out and yellow-stained from age and use. It was a horror-mystery novel told through a first-person narrative, a story of a middle-aged detective and her Maine coon in their attempts to solve a murder case of a young European lady named Cassandra Chase.

You dozed off in the middle of chapter 21, the part where Dinnie, the cat, discovers a valuable clue to the crime, a rotten limb in the dried basement well.

—

Jason settled down on the stairs of his porch; shoulders relaxed and hunched as he leisurely sharpened his machete with a small whetstone. Lines of sunlight kissed him through the leaves of trees, the birds in the area chirped on their perches, and the grass swayed, gentle, as a cool wind passed by.

His day be so fine. No troublemakers to deal wi—

The alarm rang, announcing unwelcomed arrival. As if a switch flipped inside, he's already on his feet, making his way swiftly to their location.

A new batch of wretched youngsters, another day ruined. Hunting them down makes his blood thrum in his veins, yes, but they soured his mood, just when he was at peace. He's dead set on slaughtering them in the most gruesome ways possible, only then he could go back and enjoy the serenity the nature around him brings.

He surveyed the area, camouflaging with the wilderness, silent as he watched and counted the soon-to-be corpses, his mother's voice at the back of his mind, guiding him.

They decided to go either to the main cabins, or the lake...even into the trees.

All but one.

Jason already planned to cut down the couple later as they lose themselves in the forest, doing nasty, dirty things to his camp. The killer shifted his attention to you, curious as to why you didn't join the lot. Instead, you walked back down the road. He followed and saw you approach the small cabin, separated from the rest, your eyes widened...

Adoration?

You were quiet— except for the little gasps of awe you let out in between pants—as you looked around and over the place. The ones you came with were rowdy and destructive, a complete opposite. He hid as he observed you from afar, moving around to adjust his vision on you. You smiled every time you looked to the trees, he noticed.

Why were you smiling like that? Why did you pick this cabin? Were you planning on defiling it?

The last question in his mind made his blood boil. He'll kill you first if that was the case. That cabin you chose was special, it was where he and his mother used to stay. He occasionally visits that one to keep it clean and free of dust. If you even think of—

Jason, sweetie...look closer. She does not have such intentions.

His mother's words rang in his head. Even from where he stood, he could see what you did inside. You looked a little hesitant, touching and drawing back your hand before letting your fingers feel the wood as if it was something delicate. Despite the initial...shyness? You proceeded to make it your home, somewhat, dropping the large duffel bags you carried on your front and back, and a similarly large roller case on your left. It was as if you planned to stay for a long time.

Jason hears you take a long breath and sigh as you went out the backdoor. You grinned wider when you saw the nature around you. You stepped forward, straight in his direction...

For a moment he thought you saw him, seeing your jaw drop. You moved closer, and he just froze there, until you crouched down.

Oh, his plants.

He watched you as you gently picked a fruit, your gaze...soft. You brought it to your mouth, some of the juice spilling on the side and you wiped it with your thumb.

Cute.

You went back inside and continued to unpack your things, carefully maneuvering around the cabin.

Maybe he'll spare you if you continue to be good. You didn't do anything dirty, yet. It's only a matter of time before the camp is shrouded in darkness and his hunt will begin.

Let's see what you'll do before that happens.

Jason tracked down the three that went into the forest. He knew the place like the back of his hand, and it was easier to pinpoint them as he heard moans.

What he saw was utmost disgusting, two girls pleasuring a male with their mouths in broad daylight.

Kill them, my boy! Such foul beings need to die! Kill them, kill!

He circled them, steps soundless. Jason gripped his machete and brought it down the guy's neck, embedding the weapon into the bark, the head rolled down, oozing with blood, and fell against the women, drenching them in red. Not a single cry left from their mouths as he sliced both with one swing, blood pouring out of their throats and staining the ground. Jason dragged their bodies and tossed them into a pit he dug beforehand, making quick work in burying them.

A swift end. Now he waits.

#jason voorhees x reader #jason x reader #friday the 13th #blood #violence #slatra #lmao #my writing #fiction #horror #slasher x reader #feral reader #slasher x fem!reader #reader insert #slasher fic #slasher x reader fic #jason voorhees #friday the 13th fic

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the-gay-prometheus · 4 years ago

Text

Same Scars, Same Stitches

Back at it again with another Trans Victor AU segment. This one goes long before the first one I posted, and occurs just when Victor and his creation are beginning to reconcile with one another. CW: Mentions of Transphobia that Victor has experienced (not nearly as severe as the last one, but it’s still there)

Somewhere further up the mountain came the rhythmic tapping of a stone pounding wood into place, growing louder as Victor trudged his way back up from his thinking place in the woods not too far from the secluded ledge that he would now have to call home. Gripping his notebook in one hand and the small wooden box that contained his pen and ink in the other, he came upon the flat-topped cliff with a look of disdain well evident in his eyes. There, working on the walls of what would eventually become a small cottage, was the creature he so despised. The monster lifted his head and paused his working as Victor approached, looking over to him - which earned him a sudden gag (which he was sure was fake) from his creator. Realizing it might be best to stay out of sight at the moment, he gently set down his stone tools and rushed off past Victor down the same trail, his raggedy patch-work cloak drifting in the breeze his swift gait created.

Victor sighed heavily, walking over to the wooden structure and setting his things by one corner. He took a minute to inspect the handiwork of the one who had been building the frame, running his fingers along the smooth timber and marvelling at just how well it had been constructed thus far. For a moment he might have even been proud, but then he remembered those eyes - those dreaded, disgusting yellow eyes that pierced through his very soul and appeared to him like windows into hell itself. He shuddered at the thought and quickly retracted his hand. “Oh, why would I ever agree to help such a miserable thing,” he grumbled to himself, clenching his fists and walking toward the edge of the cliff. Beyond him, he beheld vast swaths of forest cut by lakes and rivers, rising and falling in mountains and valleys, speckled by distant dwellings and towns. His tailcoat billowed behind him, his short, wild-looking brown hair waving in a gust of western wind as he contemplated even further all of his decisions thus far. So far as he could see, the only wrong one he had made was suggesting that he indulge this wretched creation of his.

He stayed there for quite some time, only leaving his brooding spot to pace in deep thought, until he became aware of the sun as it dipped ever lower in the sky. He whipped around, fully expecting to see the creature somewhere nearby and to realize that perhaps the beast had not made his reappearance known for some reason - but there was no one there. For a moment he was relieved that the monster had left him forever, until his thoughts switched to the monster’s story. This beast was a danger to the world if not kept in check, and now that he had taken the responsibility of it even in the slightest sense, he couldn’t let this demon out of his sight past sunset. He checked within the unfinished walls of the cottage, behind the tall pines that encircled the clearing of the ledge, but the creature was nowhere to be found. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he clutched his coat around him and ran into the forest.

As he ran, he searched the slowly darkening woods for any sight of the immense creature, seeking both high and low, until he heard a sound he recognized all too well. The weeping of the one he despised, echoing through the trees. Though so often his heart had been hardened to the sound, for some strange reason, this time he felt a slight pang of sadness. Here he had been fully expecting the creature to have gone off and wreaked more havoc somewhere, but here instead it was alone and in tears. Victor followed the source of the sound, and felt his breath steal away from him as he beheld the sight before him. It was a small clearing surrounded by a circle of conifers, bedded by soft mosses and centered with a clear, reflective pool. Standing at the pool’s edge was a small roe buck, his antlers no more than spikes, calmly lapping at the water - while just beyond on the other side, dwarfing the buck in size, was the one Victor was searching for, his head nestled atop his arms which rested on his knees as he cried.

As Victor approached, the buck lifted his head and let out a sonorous cry of alarm, at which the trees above became alive with the frantic fluttering of birds. As the buck leapt off into the forest beyond, the aspiring scientist felt himself boil with rage. “So you would take up the company of a monster but not that of a man?!” he cried after the buck and the birds. His exclamation was met by the sound of a sudden sob, and he turned to see the creature gripping at his ears. Though his heart pounded in his chest with anger, Victor inhaled sharply and let out a long, slow exhale as he approached behind the creature. “Stop your sobbing, demon,” he demanded, his voice strict. That only earned him even more loud and agonized sobbing, which outraged him even more. “I said, STOP!” Victor shouted, his hands clenched into fists. The creature made a sound almost like a yelp and clammored away, backing himself against a tree and refusing to look at his angered creator. He shook like a frightened dog, hiding his face between his scarred, stitched up arms. Victor grimaced, crossing his arms. “Better,” he retorted, though all at once he felt some small sense of sympathy for the creature who all at once appeared so helpless and afraid. He took a moment to breathe, and in as calm a voice as he could muster, he asked, “What’s wrong? Why did you come here just to wallow in your own misery?”

The creature tensed. “Because I am miserable,” he muttered, his voice quiet and still scratchy from crying. Victor frowned, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“I’m glad you can recognize that,” he replied. “But why is it that you’re miserable?”

“Because I am a hateful, loathsome, disgusting being, so horrid that even my own creator rarely dares to look upon my wretched scarred, stitched skin.” At first, Victor smirked.

“And I’m glad you can recognize that too,” he answered. The creature’s full words slowly settled on him, and his frown slowly turned to a look of realization. “Wait… why do you say you are disgusting?” The creature threw his arms from his face and Victor averted his eyes as he jolted upright.

“These scars! These stitches! Anyone who sees them knows I am only half a man!” he cried, his voice filled with pain and despair. Victor’s eyes widened.

“You… you think my handiwork is what makes you ugly?” he inquired, his voice hushed. The creature cringed at those words.

“I- They must be…” he muttered, pulling his patchy cloak around himself tighter. Victor swallowed hard, his mind racing, until he came to a realization.

“Creature, I’m going to show you something only one other man has seen,” he explained. “You must promise to compose yourself.” The creature looked up at him woefully, and gave a single nod. Victor stared at him, nervously clutching at the arm of his coat.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he grumbled. With another deep breath, he began to remove his coat, then unbuttoned his vest, and began unbuttoning his shirt. The monster looked to him, watching carefully. As Victor removed his shirt, the creature gasped. There upon Victor’s chest were a line of messy scars and stitches, far less well crafted than those that covered the creature’s body. The creature gazed at him in wonder, his watery yellow eyes beginning to fill with fresh tears. Victor averted his eyes for the sight of them, then jumped back with a sound somewhere between fear and disgust when he glanced forward only to see the creature now reaching out toward him. The creature retracted his hand and curled into himself, looking away.

“I am sorry,” he whimpered. “I did not mean to frighten you.” Though he still was filled with loathing at the sight of him, Victor felt his heart soften. Could it be that this creature really was so gentle and kind as he claimed to be? There was only one way to know.

“No, no. Don’t be - I’m the one who should be sorry. Go on, you can touch them. I don’t mind, they don’t hurt. In fact… they’re quite numb. I think I may have cut a nerve while I was working on the operation. That’s the kind of thing that happens when one tries to perform surgery on himself,” Victor rambled, looking back away. Slowly, the creature reached his hand back out, but hesitated for fear of hurting his creator. Looking back upon him with pity, Victor took his hand. He was surprised by how it felt, cool and papery yet warm with life. He pressed the creature’s hand against his chest and the creature’s eyes widened as tears fell upon his gaunt cheeks.

As the beast slowly traced the lines on his chest, Victor couldn’t help but smile a little. Here was this massive freak of nature - one that he had created, one that he had looked upon with such malice - full not of hatred or of rage, but instead of innocent, childlike curiosity. He exhaled softly. “You know, if they make you ugly,” he began as the creature retracted his hand and began tracing over his own chest scars. “Then they make me ugly too.” The creature looked up at him in amazement. He had never expected such words to come from the mouth of his creator. Victor’s own eyes began to water as he gazed upon the face of his creation. For a moment, those eyes he once abhorred, he saw a beauty in. No longer did he see the sickly yellow of jaundice, but more so the brilliant yellow of sunshine on the first day of spring, full of life and light and wonder. He caught his emotion, and smirked. “And we both know I’m beautiful.” His creation’s dark lips turned upward in a smile, which at first disturbed Victor, but when he began to laugh - a full, deep, jovial laugh - he couldn’t help but to chuckle as well, which then turned to a cackle, and then to a laugh until both of them had tears not of pain but of joy in their eyes. As their laughter began to subside, both of their grins slowly turned back to blank yet sorrowful expressions as they consumed themselves in their own thinking.

“Are you… are you like me?” the creature asked suddenly, breaking him from his thoughts. Victor shook his head, running his fingers through his messy brown hair before beginning to pick up his clothing and reassembling the top half of his outfit.

“What? No - no not at all,” he replied somewhat harshly as he began buttoning his shirt and vest back up. “No, I did that to myself.”

“Why?” Victor glanced up at him.

“Because I wasn’t born quite right.”

“Neither was I,” the creature responded, his voice full of sincerity though at first Victor thought it might have been sarcastic.

“You weren’t really born at all.” Victor paused. “Well… I mean at one point all the parts of you came from people who were, but… that’s not the point.” The creature winced at the reminder that he was made from so many broken parts. “See - I wasn’t… I wasn’t born- I was,” Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking about how to word it. “When I was born, I was born into the wrong body.” His creation looked at him with curiosity. “Internally, by all I felt and all I knew, I was a man, but my body didn’t match that. And so… once I left my parents after my mother passed, I dedicated myself to discovering how I could turn my body into what I knew I should be. Part of that included removing the excess tissue here-” He gestured to his chest. “And the reproductive organs that were here.” He gestured toward his lower abdomen. “It was a difficult process, made even more difficult since I had to do it to myself and had no professional help except for some moral support and an extra set of hands from my… dear friend, Henry. I nearly died multiple times, some due to a few mistakes and once due to infection, but I survived, and I can say with certainty that it was worth it.”

Victor had never told his story to anyone before, except for Henry, of course. He knew what the world outside was like - if anyone else knew who he was or what he had done, they’d have him killed. And here was his creation, this demon that he had hated for so long, listening intently with a gaze not of judgement, but of curiosity and contemplation. For a moment, he even saw this thing, this wretch, as a trusted friend. “What did your parents think?” the creature asked. Victor took little time to reply.

“Well, mother never knew, but I would imagine that she would have accepted me if she hadn’t died. As for father… he doesn’t know either, but he knows I was never quite ‘lady-like’ as he expected me to be. He always talked about how beautiful I was when I was born but… when I didn’t turn out the way he wanted, he-” Victor stopped mid-sentence. The creature stared at him, oblivious.

“He?” Victor began to tremble.

“He… became bitter with me… angry. It was almost like he… he hated my entire existence.” Victor felt as though his heart had leapt into his throat as he came to the sudden realization. “Oh good God,” he managed to utter as he crumpled to the ground, staring down at his hands. His creation continued to stare, still seemingly oblivious, until the realization hit him as well. He sat back, looking up at the reddening sky as the orange clouds passed over the treetops.

“So we are the same, then.” He spoke clearly and calmly. “Except I never had the chance to know the kind of love you knew from your mother.” Victor covered his mouth with both hands as his eyes flooded with tears and he choked back a sob. They sat in silence, though the air around them was slowly becoming filled with the sound of the dusk chorus of mountain birds. As dusk turned to twilight, Victor’s teary, reddened eyes lifted to look to his creation.

“I am so, so sorry,” he managed to croak. The creature turned his gaze to him, but said nothing. Victor dropped his head toward the ground, grappling his hair in his fingers and gritting his teeth. His mind raced with every horrible thing he had said and done to his creation, and as salty tears began to drip down to the ground below, he came to the realization, perhaps it was him - not his creation - that was the monster after all.

#frankenstein #victor frankenstein #frankenstein's creature #frankenstiensmonster #frankenstein au #frankenstein fanfiction #fanfiction #alternate universe

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

Note

@ ygritte hate post. In broad strokes, we agree Jon and Sansa are on parallel journeys, there is also plenty of parallels between Hound's sexual assault night with Jon and Ygritte (steel kiss, hand on face, and so on). (1/3)

Then Jon gets into it at the water pool, that is his "unkiss", no doubt. Notice though, the details about him getting riled up by sex red hair, she saying she is half-fish, debating fucking your own sister. I'm forgetting stuff of course. I'm sure that chapter is rife with that. (2/3)

Jonsa fans have speculated over Unkiss being a cover for another kiss (always with the cousins, the blood and fire cloak, and so forth). It could be that cave means much the same for him. Like said they are on parallel journeys and there's all those throwbacks to each other. (3/3)

So like Sansa, Jon is repressing something there. Something that happened in the winterfell pools. Bran remembers bathing with his sisters, but unlike Bran (who did saw OSHA getting out of one in that segment), Jon saw something that was a revelation. Like Florian when he saw Jonquil bathing with her sisters. Something red and then wanted to kiss, not downstairs but upstairs. Maybe he did... and maybe Ned caught him at it, because he later dreams of being caught there being innapropriate. (4/3)

In the dream he screams he will never father a abstard, he hates being one for they are lustful creatures born of lust and lies. Like lusting after their sisters. Its not like he is a Targaryen! Distraught, Jon decides to prove his nature wrong. He is not a deviant because he is a bastard lusting after his sister! So he decides to go to the Nights Watch, where he'll be chaste ever. Maybe. Kind of creepy but funny. It all comes together too, all those tidbits that are otherwise scattered. (5/3)

PS: Six maidens in the pool... Six Stark children. Not seven for once either way. And so Jon says in the show "we should have never left Winterfell" because it echoes the We shouldn't have left the cave. And Jon says they'll go back and Yggrite yaps You Know Nothing, but he was right. Jon will go back with the real redhead Sansa, back to Winterfell real pools. (6/3)

Thank you!! This ask really sent my brain whirring.

I already like the idea of the Unkiss drawing from a repressed memory, but I hadn’t noticed how the Ygritte memory-edit might interlock with that.

We have this confirmation that they were fairly natural and relaxed about nudity among children:

"Might be there isn't." She grinned. "What are you staring at, boy? Never seen a woman before?"

"I have so." Bran had bathed with his sisters hundreds of times and he'd seen serving women in the hot pools too. Osha looked different, though, hard and sharp instead of soft and curvy. Her legs were all sinew, her breasts flat as two empty purses. "You've got a lot of scars." (ACOK, Bran II)

Hundreds of times. We know Sansa associated hot water in a bath with Winterfell.

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

So does Jon:

It was short walk to the bathhouse, where he took a cold plunge to wash the sweat off and soaked in a hot stone tub. The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. (ASOS, Jon XII)

Then we have the image of the Water Gardens.

It was Daenerys who filled the gardens with laughing children. Her own children at the start, but later the sons and daughters of lords and landed knights were brought in to be companions to the boys and girls of princely blood. And one summer's day when it was scorching hot, she took pity on the children of her grooms and cooks and serving men and invited them to use the pools and fountains too, a tradition that has endured till this day." (…)

As the children splashed in the pools, Daenerys watched from amongst the orange trees, and a realization came to her. She could not tell the highborn from the low. Naked, they were only children. All innocent, all vulnerable, all deserving of long life, love, protection.

(ADWD, The Watcher)

And we know that the children of all ranks played together in the godswood, too.

He had watched wistfully while the Walders contested with Turnip the cook's boy and Joseth's girls Bandy and Shyra. The Walders had decreed that Bran should be the judge and decide whether or not people had said "Mayhaps," but as soon as they started playing they forgot all about him.

The shouts and splashes soon drew others: Palla the kennel girl, Cayn's boy Calon, TomToo whose father Fat Tom had died with Bran's father at King's Landing. Before very long, every one of them was soaked and muddy. Palla was brown from head to heel, with moss in her hair, breathless from laughter. Bran had not heard so much laughing since the night the bloody raven came. (ACOK, Bran I)

It’s fair to conclude that the Jon and the Starklings may indeed have not just played but also bathed together in the godswood.

There is an interesting association with Maidenpool, which is tied to the romance of Florian and Jonquil.

At Maidenpool, Lord Mooton's red salmon still flew above the castle on its hill, but the town walls were deserted, the gates smashed, half the homes and shops burned or plundered. They saw nothing living but a few feral dogs that went slinking away at the sound of their approach. The pool from which the town took its name, where legend said that Florian the Fool had first glimpsed Jonquil bathing with her sisters, was so choked with rotting corpses that the water had turned into a murky grey-green soup.

Jaime took one look and burst into song. "Six maids there were in a spring-fed pool . . ."

"What are you doing?" Brienne demanded.

"Singing. 'Six Maids in a Pool,' I'm sure you've heard it. And shy little maids they were, too. Rather like you. Though somewhat prettier, I'll warrant."

(ASOS, Jaime III)

Jonquil bathed with ther sisters, when Florian first glimpsed her.

The pool becomes filthy and spoiled. Like Sansa’s bathwater, but also like the muddy Winterfell pools. Choked with corpses?

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. I will not father a bastard, he told her. I will not. I will not. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she whispered, her skin dissolving in the hot water, the flesh beneath sloughing off her bones until only skull and skeleton remained, and the pool bubbled thick and red. (ASOS, Jon VI)

The memory edit and the switch toward “love” in the cave is mirrored in this rather defiant dream, that recalls the pools at home, his father’s watching face, but also the laughter at home in the godswood. A pool in a sacred place spoiled with death.

A memory spoiled by trauma.

Dany, who I would argue is a character strongly foreshadowed in Ygritte, has her own association with sacred pools.

They rode to the lake the Dothraki called the Womb of the World, surrounded by a fringe of reeds, its water still and calm. A thousand thousand years ago, Jhiqui told her, the first man had emerged from its depths, riding upon the back of the first horse.

The procession waited on the grassy shore as Dany stripped and let her soiled clothing fall to the ground. Naked, she stepped gingerly into the water. Irri said the lake had no bottom, but Dany felt soft mud squishing between her toes as she pushed through the tall reeds. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it. Goose pimples rose on her pale skin as the coldness crept up her thighs and kissed her lower lips. The stallion's blood had dried on her hands and around her mouth. Dany cupped her fingers and lifted the sacred waters over her head, cleansing herself and the child inside her while the khal and the others looked on. (AGOT, Daenerys V)

This recalls Ygritte in the pools and Sansa in her filthy bath. But the presence of the blood of a horse slaughtered for her to eat its heart, the presence of the Stallion that Mounts the World, the prophecy and the things we know comes after... all that is ominous and the kiss of the cold is unlikely to be tender.

"When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it," he declared. "Waiting won't make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it."

"Kiss her?" Ser Barristan repeated, aghast.

"A steel kiss," said Littlefinger. (AGOT, Eddard VIII)

or..

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech. (ASOS, Jon I)

or...

Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. (ASOS, Catelyn VII)

The layers in this…

Anyway, there’s foreshadowing to Dany in the Ygritte mess, but it’s not exactly happy, while the Sansa connections in there tend to be positive. Sweet and foul all mixed up.

Sansa “remembering” the Unkiss in relation to kissing children (Margaery’s Girls, Sweetrobin) and with “awful” memories (Myranda’s wedding night) has that same air of mixing something rotten with something that had been perhaps sweet but confusing. I.e. covering a traumatic event with something else.

Then there’s another interesting association with the incest peach.

As she sat in the common room in her stupid girl clothes, Arya remembered what Syrio Forel had told her, the trick of looking and seeing what was there. When she looked, she saw more serving wenches than any inn could want, and most of them young and comely. And come evenfall, lots of men started coming and going at the Peach. They did not linger long in the common room, not even when Tom took out his woodharp and began to sing "Six Maids in a Pool." The wooden steps were old and steep, and creaked something fierce whenever one of the men took a girl upstairs. "I bet this is a brothel," she whispered to Gendry.

(ASOS, Arya V)

Right after this they meet Gendry’s half-sister Bella, a “peach” at the Peach.

“I’m named Bella,” the girl told Gendry. “For the battle. I bet I could ring your bell, too. You want to?”

“No,” he said gruffly.

“I bet you do.” She ran a hand along his arm. “I don’t cost nothing to friends of Thoros and the lightning lord.”

“No, I said.” Gendry rose abruptly and stalked away from the table out into the night.

Bella turned to Arya. “Don’t he like girls?”

While the bell recalls Dany, we should remember that

Sansa plays “the high harp and the bells” (AGOT, Arya I)

“Bella” translates to Beauty

this scene is an unsubtle shout-out to Jon stalking out of the welcoming feast after Benjen teased him about fathering bastards and knowing a woman. After calling Sansa radiant. (AGOT, Jon I)

So the Dany hints are joined by the Sansa hints. The Dany hints are negative (bells = battle), the Sansa ones positive (bells = music). Why are the Sansa hints there at all?

Before anyone goes “Jonrya!”, remember:

For half a heartbeat she forgot who she was supposed to be. She wasn't any peach, but she couldn't be Arya Stark either, not here with some smelly drunk she did not know. "I'm . . ."

"She's my sister." Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man's shoulder, and squeezed. "Leave her be." (ASOS, Arya V)

Arya is not a peach, she is a sister. Little sister.

And there’s this:

He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all. (AGOT, Bran II)

Jon only tastes the cold when silver-haired Val tastes sweetness in the air, but way up high the winter peach makes the air taste sweet, too.

"Sweet smells are sometimes used to cover foul ones." (ACOK, Daenerys II)

But foul smells might cover sweet ones, too. The Unkiss covers a bitter trauma, but perhaps it was drawn from a more innocent kiss in the past.

The naked red-haired girl by the water might trigger a rewrite of Jon’s perception of Ygritte, but it might draw that from a different kind of confusion, surrounding the same memories that feed Sansa’s editing.

The godswood is certainly a stage for kissing:

As she stood there, all the memories came flooding back to her. Her father had taught her to ride amongst these trees, and that was the elm that Edmure had fallen from when he broke his arm, and over there, beneath that bower, she and Lysa had played at kissing with Petyr.

She had not thought of that in years. How young they all had been — she no older than Sansa, Lysa younger than Arya, and Petyr younger still, yet eager. The girls had traded him between them, serious and giggling by turns. (…)

Robb got to his feet slowly and sheathed his sword, and Catelyn found herself wondering whether her son had ever kissed a girl in the godswood. Surely he must have. (AGOT, Catelyn XI)

Memories that flood back, young children, innocent games that have consequences much later on, a specific Connection drawn to the Starklings and the Winterfell godswood.

More kissing:

"I won't! I saw you kissing in the snow. She's just like her mother. Catelyn kissed you in the godswood, but she never meant it, she never wanted you. (ASOS, Sansa VII)

and yet more...

Theon Greyjoy was no stranger to this godswood. He had played here as a boy, skipping stones across the cold black pool beneath the weirwood, hiding his treasures in the bole of an ancient oak, stalking squirrels with a bow he made himself. Later, older, he had soaked his bruises in the hot springs after many a session in the yard with Robb and Jory and Jon Snow. In amongst these chestnuts and elms and soldier pines he had found secret places where he could hide when he wanted to be alone. The first time he had ever kissed a girl had been here. Later, a different girl had made a man of him upon a ragged quilt in the shade of that tall grey-green sentinel. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

Starklings, kissing and the hot springs all in a paragraph.

I would say there is material here. If GRRM wants to write about Sansa and Jon sharing a memory that involves the hot springs, kissing and references to Florian and Jonquil, he will have planted the hints. It would certainly be a bit poetic if both of them used the same memory soup to create their trauma responses.

Before anyone tries to accuse me of hypocrisy when it comes to age gaps, abuse etc. I do not think this was a case of Jon perving on his young sister. Cat was 12 when she played kissing games with a much younger Petyr and Lysa, and I don’t think we are supposed to consider this a threesome. It’s child’s play. That’s my angle here.

#jon snow #sansa stark #unkiss #anti-ygritte #kissing games #hot springs #pre-canon jonsa #mismemory #jonsa #asoiaf

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years ago

Text

HASO, “The Spirit of Polaris.”

Didn’t know what I wanted to write this week , but I told you you would get three stories every week, so that is what I have done. I hope you guys like it.

Adam couldn’t sleep. He lay flat on his back with the warm Texas heat blowing through him. The windows in the barracks were open and a breeze blew through tugging at his shirt muggy with warm summer night air. All around him the other cadets lay sleeping in the night filled with the distant sounds of marching feet and the even more distant wine of aircraft engines. Light filtered in from the distant runway giving a gently white glow to everything around him. He sighed and rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable, but it was no use.

Sweat pulsed from his pores with every beat of his heart, and slowly he sat up rubbing his head and blearily looking over at the other sleeping recruits. He had no idea how they were doing it. Most of them were probably from more humid climates, used to sleeping in this sort of oppressive heat.

He was more used to dealing with the cold.

He sat there for a long moment, debating on what to do before finally making a decision. Slowly rising to his feet, he quietly grabbed his boots, and slipped towards the barracks door feet almost silent on the wood flooring below him. He did his best to avoid allowing the light from outside to filter too far into the room, leaving only an instant sliver of illumination on the wood before stepping out into the cool night air. It was nicer outside, and he took in a sigh of relief as the wind brushed over his skin and cooled the heat.

He turned his head up to the sky, tilting his head back and frowned wilting.

The light pollution was so bad here, there were no stars to see. He slumped back against the wall and sighed. This was going to be a long night.

Bending over, he put his boots on the ground and laced them up turning and making his way towards the distan runway. Up in the sky he could see distant circling lights of the planes both leaving and coming. He was drawn towards them, and the rolling sound of engines.

He made his way through other small concrete buildings, quietly passing by, doing his best to avoid the dim flare of red, and a line of smoke that trailed up from the watch building, and up onto a hill in the training field where he was able to sit and stare at the planes both coming and going. He found the roar of their engines to be peaceful, and wrapped his arm around his legs gently rocking back and forth in the night as the wind blew past him.

Adam was going to be exhausted tomorrow he knew, but there was nothing to help it. He wouldn’t be able to sleep, and there was no reason to lay there and hope it would happen. If Master Sergeant Kimball caught him at this hour, he would get his ass beat, and everyone in his group was going to get punished for him being a dumbass, but he was pretty sure their MTI was supposed to be asleep at this hour, and he couldn't Imagine the Master Sergeant missing out on his beauty sleep.

He had to keep his beautifully bushy eyebrows in top shape to yell at the cadets.

Adam rested back against the grass, hands behind his head to stare up at the sky watching as a slow moving red light passed through the distorted atmosphere. The breeze continued to tug at his shirt; he lay in the grass and stared up at the sky.

He was sort of half dozen when.

“Are you enjoying your evening layabout, recruit.”

He nearly soiled his pants jolting upright and nearly tipping over as he turned around to see Master Sergeant Kimball crouching behind him in the grass, the whites of his eyes wide and wild.

“Master Sergeant,I…. I…”

Sergeant Kimball stood staring down at him with his large eyebrows furrowed. Adam had grown a lot over the past year and was almost as tall as the man, but that did nothing to ease his abject terror.

“Sneaking past the posted guard to come watch the airplanes”

Adam stammered, “I’m s-orry, sir. I- I couldn’t sleep and there are no stars out.”

Sergeant Kimball stepped forward, and Adam flinched back preparing himself for the string of abuse that was sure to leave the man's lips, but when nothing happened he slowly opened on eye too see the man staring up at the sky overhead backlit as a silhouette against the training field below.

“Sit your ass down, recruit.” He said, voice softer than it normally was.

Adam did as ordered dumbstruck as the man slowly lowered himself to sit next to Adam. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, lighting on and placing it between his lips as he stared up at the sky, “This damned humidity makes it impossible to sleep.”

Adam could only nod in agreement.

He looked up at the sky taking a drag on the end of his cigarette causing the tip to flare once before dying away.

You’re right, not much a man can see of the stars here.”

Adam nodded tentatively, opening his mouth, “That was you, at the guard post? You saw me?”

“You aren't exactly one built for sneaking, son, white as a bare ass.”

Adam blushed and shuffled his feet, “Sorry sir, couldn’t sleep.”

Sergeant Kimball looked back up at the sky, “Tell you what, why don’t you and me go for a little drive.”

Adam wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about that. Getting in the car alone with their MTI seemed like a great way to get himself singled out, but he couldn’t imagine how he could say no to this man either, so instead he just nodded and stood. Sgt. Kimball led him down through the base and towards the parking lot before the main building pulling the keys to a hover jeep out from one of his pockets. Adam got into the passenger seat using the frame to halt himself into the seat and sit down as the man began to drive. The vehicle was open, and so there wasn’t much conversation as they spend through the night, wind rushing past them in great usts as they sped up the highway, other vehicles roaring past them.

Adam closed his eyes feeling the rush of air over his skin as he leaned his head out the open side and into the night.

They left the city behind crawling out into the desert of scrub brush dark under the night sky above. The city lights faded into the distance, slowly replaced by blackness overhead. Stars began to wink into place, the brightest first followed by their dimer counterparts.

He closed his eyes, lifting his face to the sky in awe feeling a thrill in his chest as the desert passed by them on both sides and the sky grew darker, until it was possible to see the distant milky lines of their galaxy’s arm extending into the darkness.

It didn’t fail to cross his mind that he was alone with Sgt Kimball in the middle of the desert, a prime place to kill someone and bury their body, but generally tended to hope that he wasn’t going to die.

He didn’t think Sgt. Kimball hated him that much.

They pulled off down a dirt track and pulled to a stop with the sky arrayed above them.

He clambered out of the car at the instruction of Sgt Kimball who sat himself on the hood of the vehicle and stared up at the sky.

“Beautiful isn’t it.” The man commented

Adam nodded eyes filled to the brim with glowing white stars.

Sgt. Kimball looked over at him, “You’re serious about this.” it wasn’t a question

Adam nodded.

Kimll leaned back against the windshield kicking one of his feet up onto the hood while dangling his other foot off the side, “A lot of those kids back there couldn't give two shits about what we do.” he glanced over at Adam, “You on the other hand, you try, pay attention in the classes, spend your free time studying while those little assholes fuck around.” He lit another cigarette, “I always know when someone is going to make it, and you, you will.”

Adam frowned a bit skeptically, “Er….. thank you sir but, I Thought you…. I thought you thought I was a dumbass.”

Sgt Kimball laughed, “Because you are, son. But the world is run by two types of people, assholes or dumbasses, and quite frankly, I tend t find myself liking dumbasses more than I like assholes.”

A cloud of smoke billowed up from his lips as he pointed up at the sky, “I’m assuming you know where Polaris is?”

Adam nodded and pointed with a finger.

“People been guiding themselves by her light for thousands of years, soon enough we'll be sailing the stars and she won’t be so useful anymore.” he paused, “I think we should visit her when we can, seems like it would only be fair to pay homage to the most important star in human history…. Second to the sun I suppose.”

Adam stared at Sgt. Kimball mouth half open. He didn’t think there was particularly anything poetic about the man.

“Shut your mouth boy, leave it open too long and something might nest in it.”

He closed his mouth and turned away, lifting his head to the sky above staring towards Polaris, which winked at him from the distant expanse of space.”

***

“Get out.”

“But.”

“BET OUT! If you want to sleep inside than you have to prove you deserve it.” Chalan flinched back as the door was slammed in her face taking a step back into the moss as the sound of her mother’s voice echoed through the night. Inside she could hear raised voices, an argument rising up in the night.

“You dishonor yourself .”

“Dishonor myself Kazna, or dishonor you dishonor yourself.”

“You are too soft on her.”

“And you are a traitor to your own family. As her mother it is your job to protect and love her. It is NOT conditional.”

“You are weak Lanus, and your ideals will make her weak.”

Chalan turned her head away and trudged her way through the village trying to ignore the eyes on her as she could see peeping out the little windows in the side of the huts. As she walked her feet kicked up bioluminescent moss spores, which glowed as they moved and wet dormant as they lay still calling attention to her movements as she made her way through the open streets and out towards the edge.

The city watch ignored her as she passed by them. Spores clung to her feet and heels making her feet glow with every step as she walked into a small patch of coil tree, their berries glowing white in the darkness. She picked one idly and rolled it between her fingers. Behind her, she heard the sudden soft padding of feet, crouched low she spun spear held out before her in a defensive stance, sure she was about to be set upon by an enemy tribe, but instead was surprised to find Nehchal and Kanan standing behind her. Nechal glowing like one of the moons with her bright white carapace, Kanan blending into the darkness behind in comparison.

She blinked “What are you two doing here.”

Nechal raised her spear, “Watching your back for the night is dangerous.”

Chalan sighed, ‘You could just be honest with me.”

“You know I don’t lie.” Nechal said falling into step beside Sunny as Kanan did the same on her other side.

“You guys don’t have to.” As they walked, their feet lit up with the bioluminescent spores.’

It was a safe enough time of year. The spores could be easily seen across long distances in the dark, and so an arriving raiding part would have to be stupid to come at night. Even now, in the distance, she could see a slow line of spores ascending into the sky as a herd of unknown creatures passed over the fertile valley before ethem.

Kanan placed a hand on her shoulder, “Why don’t we sit, this seems as good a palace asanhy.”

Chalan shrugged and sat in the moss as she tilted her head back towards the sky. She tried not to think too much about Nechal and Kanan being here. They had probably been spending time together before the argument between her parents broke out. If it wasn’t for her they might be having a nice night together.

“Do you think we are the only ones?” Nechal asked into the darkness

Kanan looked over ather, “The only ones what/”

Nechal waved one of her hands upward, “The acolytes say we live on a floating rock in the middle of the void. That void is lit by burning gasses of unknown providence, so my question is, are we the only floating rock or are there other things living out there?”

Kanan laughed while Chalan stayed silent, “Definitely the only ones.”

“You think so?

“Doctrine of the citadel doesn't mention anyone else?”

“The doctrine also doesn’t talk about coil trees, but those still exist.”

Chalan lay there listening to their banter as she looked up at the sky. It was a good question, and if there was life out there, what would it be like? She tried imagining fanciful creatures to populate these unknown worlds, but found that it was hard to imagine anything that didn’t resemble something already their own. Not like i mattered anyway, it was unlikely any of them would ever find out.

She did her best to block the arguments from her parents of earlier and listened to the distant roaring of the mountain volcanoes glowing red on the distant horizon.

Nehchal pointed her hand up into the sky, “Look, Chalan, Eedacheel. It’s bright tonight.”

Sunny turned her head to the southern star.

“Beautiful.” Kanan whispered

“That’s my favorite story.”

“What?”

“Eedacheel, the spirit that guides, the spirit that brings Drev together. Remember, they say she guides us to those we love.”

The two of them shared a long look and Sunny had to stop from rolling her eyes at them. She stared up at the star Eedacheel had never done anything for her. She stared at the softly winking star. All she saw was distant and unattainable. If there was a spirit, it certainly didn’t care about her.,

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abloomntime · 4 years ago

Text

A Bloom In Time Ch14 Subcon’s State

(All the things in the Sucon Forest are shown in the video above and if you want to see them just skim through the video here. This is also going on my headcannon that all the ruins and houses were remains of the town near Vanessa's manor. Skip to 27:14 in the video for the fountain, 30:37 for the town hall(A.K.A where the giant shattered time piece was), and 31:30 for the old cafe area. These are just my headcannons tho that they're the remains of the original village from the Subcon storybook. The giant grave stone can be seen at 26:14.)

The video

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68p19wzt2OM&list=LL&index=11&t=0s

"Back to the ship?"

Poppy had questioned the little girl who happily pulled her along and nodded with a hum to her question. Snatcher had told her to take Poppy back to the ship and Bow didn't want to make the ghost any more cranky than he seemed, Hattie trotted behind to catch up to the two girls as Bow continued to happily walk happily holding her hand like the responsible child she was. Poppy however was not very enthusiastic about being teleported AGAIN to the ship, but luckily Hattie had the most brilliant of brilliant ideas for space travel with a grown up. Which is why she was so proud when she grabbed Poppy's hand and started to lead her over to a small clearing in front of them. The thick fog in Snatcher's Forest is kinda tricky but there was the Subcon Village that provided a strong signal from their umbrellas to one of her telescopes. All she had to do was for both of them to hold onto Poppy and with their combined power they should be able to- Both kids stopped when Poppy stopped at the very edge of the long, black thorn vine that lead to the infamous ghost's home and suddenly stared straight ahead. Any subconite or dweller that wasn't scared off by Snatcher's yelling to go back to their posts was still staring in their direction.

".....Ms. Poppy?," Hattie asked quietly tugging on her still semi soaked dress. "Do you need help getting down? It's ok. We can help you."

She didn't respond and instead still stared straight ahead in front of them at the dirt path that lead to and from Snatcher's tree. The old metal fencing(or what was left of it) on either side of the road creaked with tiny groans as the wind blew, pushing around a little bit of her hair and clothes around. Some of the leaves on the dead trees rustled along with it and a few orange-red ones fell and wobbled past her towards the ground- She jumped when a pair of his minions giggled mischief like and ran down the dirt road. Their child like laughter echoing throughout the forest and into the fog as they soon disappeared from sight somewhere beyond the foggy path. A leaf suddenly fell on her face blocking her view from the weird world for a moment and instead welcoming her to a new brighter one from her memory. Of people with their horses and wagons with goods, or just plain walking down the road minding they're own business. She'd often take this road back and forth with suppilies to her stand and small house outside of town, two little children would always run up and down the road wearing those goofy play masks back and forth. Right by the entrance to the town where there was a gigantic tree planted by the founder of the town himself to grow along with the town itself. Quite poetic. It was the biggest tree she had ever seen, and admired the oak in all it's glory-

As soon as the memory of smiling people, and beautiful greenery came it went as Poppy scrambled at her face to push the leaf off. Blue eyes blinking and lungs panting as she once again was faced with the sight of the gloomy haunted forest before her and the two little girls who were confused and slightly worried staring up at her still. The reality and memory hitting her so hard that Poppy nearly fell off the giant thorn and would've fallen on her face if the two girls hadn't grabbed onto the back of her dress and pulled her back to her feet thankfully. She wobbled a little but stood straight up again and blinked. Looking around back at the tree home of the ghost and blinking at it....before her head turned towards around the tree and in a different direction from the fence surrounding it.

"Ms. Poppy. Be careful!"........When neither children got a response from her they gave each other looks before Bow gently tugged on her dress to get her attention. "Ms Poppy, are you ok?"

"....I know this place." She looked down in thought for a moment hand shaking before pointng in the direction of Snatcher's home. "T-The Great Oak was here! W-Which means in that direction would be-..."

She pointed into the forest and both girls looked in that direction still confused, but neither had time to react before the older lady suddenly moved along the giant thorn vine connected to the tree and jumped off it. An adreneline rush to her body as she ran around the home and towards the other side of it. The girls yelped and ran after her as she started off to who knows where. Unfortunately it didn't stop her from running up to the wooden fence near it and hopping over the posts.

"Uh...Boss?" One of the minions tapped at his tail making the giant ghost hum and turn his head around. The minion nervously pointed towards the home and his yellow eyes looked in that direction just in time to see two little figures jumping the wooden fence before disappearing into the woods east of the home and he instantly scowled.

"What the peck are they doing now?"

The woods of dead trees and fog meant nothing to her anymore as she hoped the fence and began running in the direction that felt so familiar to her. The girls right on her tail calling out for her to come back, but the rush of knowing this was-...It HAD to have been here once. The old dirt path was no where in sight as she ran but that didn't stop her heart from pumping as she did so. She barely even noticed more of those colorful worm ghosts floating around or the occasional minion peeping surprised to see her if they haven't seen her already from the small meeting at Snatcher's home. Finally stopping, she heaved as she looked around the forested area, hands coming up to push messy, dirty red hair from her face for better veiwing. The gloomy purple aura and the dead trees gave her no familiar feeling at all and now..... The pale woman dropped her arms seeing nothing but dead cursed woods around her. The girls finally catching up and stopping next to her annoyed.

Hattie being the first to grab at her dress again. "Hey! Have you gone bananas!? I'm already in big trouble for dropping you! Snatcher's going to be more grumpy now!"

"I-...It was here!" Poppy looked down at the ground and let go of her bangs that flopped back into place, as she stomped. "It was RIGHT here!"

"What was?," Bow asked confused.

But Poppy just started forward again looking around at the grey-green grass and started walking forward again, looking....SEARCHING for something unfamiliar to the children trailing behind her looking worried and confused as to what exactly she was doing but she knew what she was looking for....And a small gasp escaped her when she saw it. Or more like the beginnings of it. Shuffling her feet around in the dirt she finally saw the beginnings of flat, worn out stone that wouldn't be noticed by anyone if you weren't looking for it specifically. The thousand years were not kind to whatever structure was left here, but she knew what it was. The start where the now long gone dirt road would've turned into cobblestone leading into the village ...Which meant that..Poppy's eyes widened and she started forward again and this time keeping her eyes down and tapping her feet along as she walked revealing more and more flat rocks hidden under moss, grass, and dirt from years and years of wild life taking over. The girls following behind seeming to understand now that the path was starting to have a little more give way and more bricks were starting to show through the dirt until an old ancient pathway finally gave way to only a few cobblestones at a time here and there and the three of them were walking along what looked like a stone path long forgotten and slowly being chipped away by the elements...Which was EXACTLY what poppy was looking for. Her eyes widened in wonder as she know walked clearly on the path, staring down at the cracked and badly worn n uneven cobblestones with grass poking out from all the cracks. If she remembered right, this path lead to the center of town. And around that was all kinds of houses and mini pathways between them.

"Where are we going?," Bow asked still following behind the older woman and looking to Hattie who shrugged.

"The town's square!,'' she replied the child almost excited as she finally looked up from the road.....And stopped. The girls stopping by her heels and looking at her as she stared straight ahead before looking there too. Before them was an old archway that looked like it was the beginning of some ruins of some ancient civilization. In the slightly foggy surroundings she could see more and more half stone remains, black against the grey and purple. Now getting a look at her new surroundings away from the foggy swamp area, she could clearly see MORE of those many dead trees and gigantic black thorn vines everywhere. Above the archway was two pillars with those beautiful statues of winged people she knew the lovely town had, but these statues didn't even have any heads, giving them a much more menacing appearance. Right behind the archway was the actual road. Still very very broken, but it was more intack than the path she had been following, and beyond she could faintly see more ruins with stone remains of buildings. She still stood there as a breeze took through again moving what hair and parts of her dress wasn't still damps making her shiver. But the two girls didn't seem fazed at all being there before and looking around at the forest surrounding them, utterly confused as to what they were supposed to be looking at exactly but when Poppy slowly began to move forward again they blinked in surprise but followed her none the less as she neared the archway. It loomed over her the closer she approuched it and her body sucked in a breath she didn't know she needed when the shadow of the arch crossed over her slowly walking form. The beheaded statues glaring down at her silently as she passed, and stepped onto the path(or what was left of it and began forward. Hattie gave a scowl up to the behead statues as they passed, grip on her trusty umbrella becoming stronger as they passed just in case one of them decided to be a peckneck and chase them. She'd have to fend them off again if that happened. The stacked up old rotting houses and ruins of large stone buildings formed more and more as the further they walked in. Their footsteps echoing around them as they still walked, and Poppy looked around at all the old ruins of what once was houses. Bright, colorful houses and small businesses. All with happy people and their children running in and out all day wearing silly masks playing pretend while the parents and older folk ran the village as usual. The statues bringing joy with their smiling faces and having heads. As they went deeper, Poppy spotted some of the statues that still had heads thank goodness. So not all of them were in that state, but didn't notice Hattie glaring at any she passed until she froze. The end of the path laid ahead of them and ended right before some large stone ruins. Oh. Hattie recognized this place for sure. There was a time rift here she had to fix once and the place she met Timmy. The breeze still ever present blew a few leaves towards the ground where she was standing and Poppy watched as they blew passed her. Blue eyes lazily watching as they fluttered over towards a pretty strange sight that made her blink- "DAH!!" Something snagged the back of her dress as she began forward again and a quick turn of her head confirmed it to be both the girls yanking her back as if her life depended on it. "What in tarnation are you two doing?!"

Bow was the first to speak with a worried voice. "Please don't go that way!,'' she pleaded with big eyes, "The mean statue will get you!"

"What statue?"

Hattie pointed her umbrella at a headless statue that was right next to the path up ahead of them. "THAT statue! No head means it's dangerous! It's cursed and it's gonna chase you if you get too close!"

Poppy immediately looked to where the girl was pointing and stopped. Yes there was a headless statue right there a mere inches away from the path, but it was what was right BEHIND the statue that got her attention. One being that there was a magical blue, glowing cello in the middle of what looked like used to be stone floor, the roof and walls of the building already wasted away. Only leaving a few giant bricks. .....Giant oak walls suddenly clouded her mind. A small cozy place, where any one and everyone could go in and have a small break while reading away by the fireplace-

"OOF!!" Both girls fell flat on their stomachs as she once again rushed forward, forgetting about the small children behind her for a moment in favor of running the rest of the way down the path and making a break for the faint glow of magical blue cello's and a burning fireplace. "HEY!! THAT WASN'T COOL!!" Hattie's shouting did nothing as the two got up and ran after her again more annoyed. Passing the statue, Hattie gave a stink eye at and one of her famous raspberries as it thankfully remained unmoving there as it should be if it didn't want to face her umbrella's wrath! She was grumpy enough as it was as she caught up with Bow and Poppy finally who was currently staring in wonder at the glowing blue cello, right next to the glowing Blue table and chairs. As if she was seeing another ghost.

....Poppy's eyes widened in wonder before the older woman, against her better nature, reached a shaking hand out and place in right onto the table, letting out a small gasp when her hand didn't go through. She was expecting to go right through the ghostly looking thing but didn't. It felt cool like an almost ice cube. "W-What is this?...Wait a minute." She suddenly snapped behind her at the old fireplace who for some reason was burning with a regular orange fire. Next to it was a couple logs presumably for the fire, an old chest, a small pot with two old umbrellas, and some time of random painting on a tree right behind some of the old giant bricks. Where shiny oak walls used to be and her eyes widened. "This...The library!" Her eyes went back towards the direction of the statue. A shelf with old books, too worn out to ever read again laying there and a long destroyed grandfather clock no longer ticking. But it was clear as day as to where she was standing right now. Yes. The library was the first business down the west path of the Great Oak Tree when you first enter the village. It was a pretty small business but the village was pretty small so it makes sense. And that means next to it was the school house and a little ways from that was the town hall. She looked in the direction of the once cute and small stone school house. Nothing but a stone skeleton of pillars and a single rusty lanturn swinging in the breeze from above one of them. All gone.

"A library?," Hattie looked confused at her again like she sprouted a pair of antlers, "This is where Timmy likes to hang out. Hmm...Haven't seen him yet. I wonder where he is now?"

Poppy didn't pay attention to whomever 'Timmy' was, just pointed at the remains of the old building. "Yes it is...Or at least it was. T-This was a library. A-And that was a school house and over there-...." She stopped pointing in a direction the girls looked. Giant ruins of what was unboutedly large building remained surrounded by the remains of a metal fence around it as she silently stared at it for a good long silent moment. "....The town hall. The mayor lived there. A descendant of the founder you know."

"Hey! I know that place! I fixed a time rift there once!"

Poppy still didn't pay attention. Instead she looked down almost back the way they came but at an angle...There used to be another path here that branched off down the way there towards the village square where most of the homes were...and her stand. Without thinking she began walking in that direction. Mind almost blank and going on second nature. Not paying attention to anything the girls were saying now as she blankly walked and just walked. Past dead trees and their mossy branches. Past more ruins and cracked statues. More fog and more ghosts curiously watching as they walked by. The only thing her blank mind registered at the moment was the couple of graves she saw. The girls only getting more annoyed and confused as she kept on walking-

And walking.

And WALKING!!

The air around them had started to become slightly harder as they neared the burning constantly smoking part of the woods where they really shouldn't be. The embers lit up partially this part of the fog as she continued to walk. The smell of ash and burning plants filling the breeze. Until they all came across a different set of ruins the girls had also seen before. Poppy suddenly stopped....looking up at the large stone monument that was once proudly taken care of. Now only remained a said reminder of what once was, lit by a couple old lanturns on the ground near it's base and the burning woods a few yards away from them. At least the breezes were a little better than the cold ones now.

"The Founder's resting place," she mumbled before starting to walk again. Looking forward at the ruins that laid ahead of them. By now the girls gave each other a look before starting to walk behind her. By now a few curious subconites and dwellers had started gathering around and following curiously as the three walked on and on throughout the forest as Poppy still walked and walked. It wasn't long until they all found themselves in front of what was the town square. there was nothing left barely. A couple old ruins of the buildings that surrounded the giant grand fountain in the town square were gone minus some old ruins that were bourded up with rotting wooden planks, have rusty fencing, road all but gone, and some plants here and there. The once proud fountain itself all dried up and just sitting there like some poor excuse for a statue. Yet another headless statue standing in the middle of it. Once it had beautiful crystal clear water running all through it. Now it was nothing but a sorry waste of stone. "...What ever happened to this place?" She asked herself just loud enough for only her to hear, walking up towards the fountain as the two girls looked to each other and began talking again but her mind didn't register what. As she walked up to the fountain's remains cracked and belittled. .....And placing a hand on it. It was rough and cold as she expected and devoid of like. Running along all those cracks formed from years of weathering away and sighed. "He was right...I-It's all gone."

A small sniff came out followed by her closing her eyes to keep any tears inside and her body shook slightly. The Snatcher was right. The home she knew really wasn't here anymore and she would never be able to get it back...Unfortunately her grief prevented her from hearing the upcoming danger ahead. But Hattie sure saw it when the stone menace dropped from the top of the fountain with a thud and turned it's headless body towards Poppy as the little girl's eyes widened in horror.

"MISS POPPY RUN!!"

A shadow loomed over the woman and she looked behind her, blue eyes going small at the sight of the headless stone monster reaching towards her out of some nightmare. A shriek louder than anything they ever heard before tore through the forest as the red hair woman made a run for it in the opposite direction fear and adreniline pumping through her veins as she ran away from the terrible thing that gave chase to it's prey. The girls screaming something after them as they too gave chase after them. The absolute feeling of looming dread and fear fueled the horrofied woman as she ran through the woods as fast and as far as possible but one look over her shoulders gave her a tiny scream again when she realized it was still right behind her and grabbed at her with it's cold stone hand. Barely missing her hair with every grab. Turning back in front of her breathing heavily and making a sharp turn to try and shake it off. Slipping on a few leaves and falling to half a knee but managed to straighten back up and keep running but unfortunately didn't shake the statue. Running and breathing the cool air into her burning lungs from the amount of heavy breathing the adrenaline caused. Feet thumping against the ground to where she could hear her own footsteps, and the heavy footsteps of the stone monster behind her.

"LEAVE HER ALONE YOU PECK NECK REJECT!!!," Hattie shouted at the statue one hand on her hat and the other swinging the umbrella at the statue's heels.

"RUN MS POPPY!! DON'T LOOK BACK!!," Bow yelled unhelpfully behind them.

Poppy could only whimper as she still ran with fear of whatever that statue would do to her on her tail. What was she supposed to do?! She couldn't think straight right now with her mind so focused on running away and now dying.

"GRAB THE NOOSE?!"

"THE WHAT?!," her scared self screeched out not daring to look behind her.

Hattie pointed her umbrella ahead of them. "THE ROPE WITH THE SHINY BLUE ROCKS RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU!! GRAB IT QUICK!!"

In her panicked mind she looked for blue rope and her mind did see a rope with blue crystals jutting out from it attatched to a tree. She didn't recognize it as any noose in this state. Only the though that maybe she could climb it and get away crossed her mind. Which is why when she oh so desperately reached her hands out for it and eventually grabbed it, heart hammering against her ribcage, she shrieked again when the thing suddenly clamped down onto her wrist and up, up, up she went. The girls stopping on their heels and watching the grown woman dangle up in the middle of the air wriggling around like a worm on a hook before looking down and gasping from the height. Other hand immediately clamping around the rope spun around her wrist. She must've easily been twenty or more pecking feet above the ground.

"And up we go~," a deep voice cooed but she barely paid attention to it still gasping for air and staring at the ground in fear. The two children were standing a few yards away from the statue, Hattie glaring and Bow looking worried as it circled where Poppy was hanging a few times before changing direction and running a different way. They all watched as it ran back off towards the fountain area and once it disappeared within the ruins Poppy felt a small wave of relief wash over her. But just barely. She was still high up in the air!!! " Why hello there.~ You look....new around here.~" The same deep voiced cooed out which snapped her attention back up and around the area fear still present on her face. "You know." Blue crystals on the rope glowed like magic as the deep voice echoed out through the air. "I haven't seen a solid neck like yours for a long time.~"

......That was all it took. Another shriek cut through the air and soon enough she was thrashing and pulling at the thing like a mad man to let her go like a monster did catch her.

"Be careful now.~ I don't want to see you meet a miserable end anywhere.~ ....But with me.~ Take it easy my friend.~"

"LET ME GO!! SOMEONE GET ME THE PECK DOWN RIGHT NOW!! HELP ME!!"

"Calm down! We'll get you down promise!," Bow shouted up trying to calm down the raging woman clawing at her clutched hand despite the danger she was in.

The blue crystals were digging into her skin and scraping it. She was going to have one heck of a rope burn after this but she didn't care as long as she got away and to the safety of the ground below. Which would surely hurt but there was no PECKING way she was staying here like this! She wanted OUT of this nightmare fueled forest! To run and never look back! Nothing was here but bad things to hurt her and lost memories. Tears started to water in her eyes as Poppy's throat clenched and it was becoming hard to breath with that and her heart hammering and lungs forcing air past that clenched throat of her-

"Are you done?," a raspy voice asked her which made her completely stop and open her eyes to meet glowing yellow ones just a few inches away from her face. the giant ghost was scowling at her with crossed arms raising a brow at her situation before groaning and shaking his head. "I leave for less than a minute and you run off like an idiot in a dangerous forest where you can get hurt? Did you even listen to me at all?"

.....She choked and a couple tears fell down her cheeks. "I-Im sorry! Really I am! J-Just p-please help me!"

...Snatcher's face fell seeing her cry like that but sighed and uncrossed his arms to grab her. "Fine. But maybe now you'll listen." Her body was gently lifted into an almost bridal style as he lifted her up relieving most of the strain on her wrist as he glared down the noose. "Let her go before I burn you into nothing but ashes!"

Instantly like Magic, the grip on her wrist went away and she wretched her hand to her clutching it to her chest as she stared at the receeding rope. "I'm always here for you, Sir.~"

"Yeah. I'm sure you are." His gaze softened as he looked back to her. "Hey. Are you alright?" She didn't answer. Instead staring down to her wrist which had a mark where the rope dug into her tightly and a few scrapes like she suspected. Making him hum. "You'll be fine. Just put some ice on it and you'll be fine in a few hours."

"You can grab onto me whenever you'd like, as long as I get a glimpse of that neck of yours.~"

"PECK OFF!!" Snatcher yelled at the rope as Poppy curled in on herself and leaned more into his hold as he glared at the rope while sinking down towards the ground......Huh. Funny. Why did this situation feel familiar? Snatcher was looking at her with a soft expression as he lowered near the ground, dipping himself down once he got close enough to softly place the panting woman onto the soft ground making her flinch at the sudden action of solid under her body again. Then leaning back up to recross his arms as the girls ran on over to make sure she was ok. By now the small crowd of minions looked around at her having followed their leader over to her to watch the ruckus. "Well....I hope you're satisfied now from your little adventure."

.....The shaking woman weakly pointed back upwards. "That-...It-.....T-TALKING ROPE!! MOSTER STATUE!!.....NO HEAD!!"

...Snatcher looked over to the girls for an explaination and Bow pointed towards the fountain ruins. "The..statue chased her."

He groaned and reached up to punch the area on his face where a nose would've been if he still had one. "Out of all the stupid-...Fine. You know what?" He held up his claws. "It's fine. Let this be a teaching moment for all of you. And what have we learnt today?"

"...Uh....Keep Poppy away from statues?"

"No!...Well, yes. But it's actually keep away from dangerous cursed objects." His gaze went back to the woman still having a moment on the ground clutching her chest and staring up at him and sighed. "Now do you see? There's nothing left of your old home. But us." His claws gestured to the surrounding minions and himself. "We're all that's left and you should accept that's how it is now before you get hurt. Believe me the sooner you do the sooner everything starts to get better for you. Kids. Take her home now."

The girls didn't question the spook as he watched them struggle to get her on her wobbly legs and pushed towards an open clearing much better suited for a signal to the telescopes as Snatcher silently watched them take her away with a slightly soft frown. He knew all too well the panic and need to see for himself what was destroyed before he came to terms with anything right after his death.

"Hey, Boss?" One of the minions gave him a curious look. "Wasn't that a little harsh?"

"......No. The sooner she accepts things the better. Everyone back to your post. I have business to take care of."

#a bloom in time #a hat in time florist #a hat in time snatcher #Snatcher #The Florist #Florist #snatcher x florist #florist x snatcher

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five-rivers · 5 years ago

Text

Triple Threat

Just realized I didn’t post this here. This is based on @dalv-co-official‘s prompt.

Three sets of screams echoed off the polished steel walls of the Fentonworks lab.

It was green, and they were filled with a horrible anxiety. Something bad had happened, or something bad might have happened, they couldn't tell which. Their mind was too stricken with pain, fear, and exhaustion to register anything but green and they were in danger.

Who? Who was in danger? They were important to them. They couldn't remember anything else. Couldn't think.

They moved and-

Contact. Relief. They could feel them, the others, and they were, well, they were hurt, but they were alive, and they were here. Together.

They relaxed. This was... not fine. Anything but fine, really. But it was manageable.

Unconsciousness draped back over them.

When they woke again, they knew themselves. Danny, Sam, Tucker. But the boundaries blurred. They were almost erased, and this was wrong, because they should be three, not one.

But it also felt right to be one. It was odd, and it made things difficult. Difficult to remember where they were, what they were, who they were.

Why they were.

Right. Why were they here? How had they gotten there? They knew, they knew that, but like this, their thoughts and feelings clashing against each other, it was beyond them. They couldn't even move effectively, always mistaking one hand for another. They had six of them, all together, and that was far too many.

They had to separate. At least for now, at least until they could get their feet under them.

They were fairly confident that this one was Danny. Yes. This one was Danny. He was Danny. Danny.

Danny sat up with a groan, feeling like he had just woken up from a dream. A dream where he'd been beaten to heck and back with a baseball bat that was on fire. His chest felt strange. Light and cold.

Why was everything green?

Then he remembered. The portal. The pain. The screaming. The screaming. The screaming.

Sam and Tucker had been with him. That thought forced him into a sitting position. Where were Sam and Tucker? What had happened to them?

Were they alive?

Danny had certainly thought that he was dying.

But, to his relief, he saw a Sam-shaped blur and a Tucker-shaped blur in the green mists, moving much like he was: gingerly. With little more than grunts, the three of them negotiated a position where they could support each other and stumble out of the portal.

That's when they saw each other, and things started to get really weird.

They sat in Danny's room and took their pulses.

"I think," said Sam, "that we can agree that we're alive."

"So, what was that?" asked Tucker. "That..." He flexed his hands and everyone understood he meant that other form, where they wore black jumpsuits and white gloves, where their hair was white and their eyes brilliant green. "Was it temporary? Just a side effect?"

"No," said Danny, putting a hand over his chest, just below his heart. The others mimicked the motion. "Don't you feel it? We're different now."

They all looked down.

"It could still be temporary?" said Tucker. "That could fade, too. I mean, we look like ourselves again."

"But you don't really believe that, do you?" asked Sam.

"No," admitted Tucker. "But it's still a possibility."

"Oh my gosh," moaned Danny, putting his head in his hands. "Mom and Dad... I can't be dead. I can't be a ghost. They're going to kill me... us," he added with more horror.

Sam and Tucker moved to either side of Danny, leaning into him.

"We'll deal with it together," said Sam. Whatever was inside them seemed to hum in agreement.

"Duck!" shouted Sam.

The words seemed to echo inside Danny's head, and he reflexively obeyed, barely missing the giant meat fist. Tucker took advantage of the opening, with a punch that did far more damage than it had any right to.

Things were... going. The poorly refrigerated meat dungeon beneath the school would probably need to be repaired, but, on the upside, the ghost wasn't hurting anyone.

Except for Danny, Sam, and Tucker.

But then, as these things happen, everything went wrong all at once. Sam and Tucker both lost hold of their ghost forms, as Danny had earlier, and they fell.

Danny decided that now was the time to be somewhere else. He grabbed them and they phased through the wall.

Then Danny... just... slowly...

"Danny! Thank goodness you're awake!" exclaimed Tucker. "You've been asleep for three days!"

"Uhuh," said Danny, glaring at his friend through sleep-crusted eyes. "You remember that we can tell when each other is lying now, right?"

"Ah, well, it was worth a shot."

"Do you sense anything?" asked Sam.

"No," said Danny, tensely. They were wandering around the school basements, looking for the ghost. It was lunchtime, so if she was going to show up at all, it would be now.

"Man, I wish I had a ghost sensing power," said Tucker. He'd been put in charge of the 'Fenton Thermos,' a device whose utility was currently questionable. Even if it had glowed some really weird colors when the three of them touched it.

"Me too," said Sam. "Then we could split up and find this vegetable-hating ghost faster."

"WHO SAID I HATE VEGETABLES!?"

Danny picked up on the second ring.

"Hi, Sam," he said.

There was a bit of a pause on the other line. "How did you know it was me? You don't have caller ID."

"Tucker's here and who else is going to call our house? Mr. Lancer? One of Jazz's 'patients?'"

"Tucker's there? Oh, good."

"Yeah," said Danny. Tucker had stopped by and immediately got roped into helping with Danny's chore of cleaning the garage. "What's up? I thought you had a thing with your parents today. They were making you go to a party or something?"

"I found out who was throwing it and decided I'd rather die again. Can you guys come over?"

"Yeah," said Danny, mentally bracing himself for another scolding from his parents. But that was future Danny's problem. "One problem. Where do you even live?" The three of them were psychically bonded, and Danny had still never seen her house.

"Right, right. Do you have a pen? My address is-"

"So, Sam lives in a castle," said Danny, staring up at the enormous 'house.'

"Wow," said Tucker. "I wonder if she has a swimming pool in there somewhere."

"Or a bowling alley," said Danny.

"What is your thing with bowling, anyway, dude?"

"I don't know. I just like it."

"Where did Sam say she was again?"

"Greenhouse. Back yard."

"Cool," said Tucker. He rubbed his hands together.

"Are you okay?" asked Danny. Tucker had been fidgeting all night.

"Yeah, just..." Tucker sighed. "Your parents' tech feels weird. I don't know. It's been bugging me all day. It's like, I kept wanting to put my hands into it," he said, briefly making the offending limbs intangible to demonstrate.

"Maybe it's part of your thing?" suggested Danny. "We'll have to look into that."

"Yeah. But, later," said Tucker. "Phase through the wall?"

"I don't want to talk to her parents."

"True," said Tucker.

Invisible and intangible, they walked into Sam's back yard. The greenhouse was easy to find. It was however, impossible to open the door, and Sam didn't answer when they knocked, so they phased in.

"Wow," said Danny. "This is..."

"Crowded," finished Tucker. "Sam? You in here? We're here!"

"Yeah!" said Sam. "I'm back by the oranges!"

They walked around tables that practically dripped with greenery, following the scent of citrus. Sam was sitting at the roots of a large tree, hugging her knees. On closer inspection, it appeared that the tree's roots had burst out of a ceramic pot before burrowing into the ground.

"Sam?" said Danny. "Did you, um, do this?" he asked.

Sam's eyes were wide and wild. "Maybe?" she said.

They stood over the smoking pile of technology that had once been Technus's battlesuit. It sparked. Faintly glowing moss grew from it.

"Okay," said Danny, twisting the lid tighter. "I think we need to go over our powers again."

"Danny can sense ghosts, is best at basic ghostly stuff, and is the fastest flier, agreed?" asked Tucker, typing on his PDA.

"Agreed," chorused the other two.

"Sam can make plants grow faster, but only if there's a bunch of ectoplasm around, and she's not good at, like, turning invisible and intangible."

"To be fair," said Danny, "none of us are very good at that."

"True," said Sam, "but you two are definitely better than I am. But I'm stronger, too," she added, flexing her arms.

"Yeah, yeah," said Tucker. "Then, there's me, and everyone knows I'm fabulous."

They groaned.

"Stop that, you're making me groan, too," complained Tucker. "Anyway, it looks like my thing is charging and draining electronics, which is pretty cool. I'll never have to plug Cynthia in again. My baby is one step closer to life."

"We're begging you," said Sam, "stop naming your PDAs."

"I will not," said Tucker.

"Fine. Then you can't use my bowling alley."

"I told you she might have a bowling alley."

"I've never wanted to kill somebody before," said Sam.

Danny shuddered, but he didn't say anything.

"But I wanted to kill him," she said. "I wanted to, so, so much, but I couldn't move. I couldn't do anything."

"But you did," said Danny, pressing against Sam's side and trying to project comforting thoughts. "You did do something. You broke free. Just like Tuck and I."

"Not soon enough," growled Sam, her eyes flashing.

"None of us broke free 'soon enough,'" said Tucker. He was playing with his glasses, turning the empty frames over in his hands again, and again, and again. "Do you really not remember, Danny?"

"No?" said Danny. "Not really. Just red, and when he made Sam jump off the train, and Jazz coming after us." He frowned. "Maybe a bit in the tent? On the high wire?"

"I guess those are the highlights," mumbled Tucker.

Danny bit his lip. "Well," he said, finally. "It doesn't sound like a loss, anyway."

"No," agreed Sam, "it isn't."

After Danny left to go home, Sam and Tucker stayed. "Freakshow is a dead man if we ever see him again," she said.

"After what he did to Danny?" Tucker scoffed. "You better believe it."

"I hate Spectra so much," said Sam. "Why is she so... so..." She waved her hands. "Why is she like this?"

"Why is it in an abandoned hospital?" moaned Tucker.

"Probably because you told her last time that hospitals were your deepest darkest fear," said Danny. "Why did you do that, anyway? We were pretty sure she was a ghost already."

"Have you seen what she looks like?"

Stars glimmered overhead. Danny laid flat on his back, watching them. Sam and Tucker were on either side of him.

"Can you believe," said Danny, "that one day we could put them out?"

"No," said Sam, immediately. "Because we're not going to."

"I didn't say, would," said Danny, his voice still soft. "I said, could. Those alternate realities... The ones where only one of us got powers... Where only I... Those were bad. Those were hard. I- I'm sorry."

"But we're together, here," said Tucker, soothingly, "and we're not going anywhere."

"I know," said Danny. "I'm sorry."

"What for?" asked the other two.

"That you had to half die so I didn't blow up the world."

"Come on, man, you didn't blow up the world," said Tucker. "Just, you know, a bunch of the stuff on the world."

Danny let out a hiccuping laugh.

"And I was just as bad," said Sam. "I mean, I like plants, but that was no good."

"You were under mind control," protested Danny.

"So were you," countered Sam, "by Plasmius. It won't happen. None of them will happen. As long as Tucker quits trying to make Skynet and doesn't get assimilated into SkulkTech or whatever the heck that was, it'll all be fine."

"We might have to break his PDAs to stop that."

"No, keep your cold hands away from my babies. I promise, no Skynet, no Skynet. I will leave the AI alone."

They fell back into silence.

"It's been a while since we've done this," said Danny. "Just hang out, I mean."

"Yeah," said Sam.

They inhaled, letting themselves feel each other. "It's nice," they said, together.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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therealjammy · 4 years ago

Text

The Worth Of the Wait (Witness)

AN: Posting this here for the Tumblr crowd, but also in the hope it’ll garner a bit more audience. It’s quite angsty, so please bear that in mind xx

The title that isn’t in parenthesis is from Ivan & Alyosha’s song by the same name

Words: A little over 2.5k

And since it falls unto my lot

That I should rise and you should not…

—

There was something in the reading of ghosts Dani had done that mentioned souls were doomed to wander the grounds around which they died due to unfinished business. As to what that business was, the spectre had to find out on their own, a task that began as soon as one came to.

No such task was set forth when Dani woke the first evening after her death, collapsed on the shore of the lake on her knees, not knowing it was the same spot Jamie had knelt just hours earlier. No sense of purpose filled her, only the strangeness of the afterlife, the emptiness of the manor’s grounds, and a bizarre, echoing loneliness.

Here, Dani did not bear the weight of the first Lady of the Lake. No second gaze watched from within. No claws tore away pieces of her. She was Dani once again. Almost whole, but not quite1.

She walked the grounds to grow used to her new body and life. She mused that this must have been what the astronauts who landed on the moon felt like—terribly weightless, yet able to come back to the ground by sheer force of will. So light. Like floating on air. But she wasn’t hovering. The afterlife wasn’t nearly so stereotypical. There was grass underneath her feet, and gravel, and brick. Dani was pleased that the muted feel of them all did not terrify her. The downside, however, was everything she took in reminded her of Jamie. And Hannah and Owen and Flora and Miles. So much so that she dropped to her knees for the second time in the middle of the statue garden and allowed herself to feel another knife. It slid beside the one that’d pierced her chest at the sight of Jamie in the water, reaching for her, agonized screams distorted by the thick, choking medium. I won’t, Dani had said. Don’t reach out for me to take you; this is the only time I will not accept your hand.

The book said nothing about the loneliness one would feel in the afterlife, nor the emotions that ghosts were still capable of feeling, nor even the fact that ghosts could have their own ghosts.

—

Time was nearly impossible to tell here. The days varied in their colors, of course, so Dani knew the hours, but she could not count the days. Or the weeks. She only knew the beautiful grounds, once kept tame by Jamie and a series of others before her, were slowly being reclaimed. The hedges lost their shapes. The statues in the statue garden wore masks and robes of moss. The rose garden and the white iron table and chairs were covered in leaves and surrounded by weeds, and armies of aphids munched greedily on the wilting roses. The church was dark and drafty; the candles had dust gathering in them, and the benches were covered in it, too. Jamie’s beloved greenhouse was overgrown, looking the part of a houseplant jungle that was now home to spiders and large, fearless rats. Soon many varieties of leaves and arms of vines would cover the bench, concealing the evidence of a deep first kiss and—on a different day—a thick half-hour’s lovemaking.

Concealing life so that they might live their own. Jamie would say that, or something similar to it. Part of nature, innit? Inevitable. Uncontrollable, once set free.

Dani was not bound to the lake. Not entirely. And so she spent a series of nights on the greenhouse’s bench, on her bed of plants and cracking cushions, perfectly content to lose herself in memories that hadn’t been sharp for years.

—

It could have been months, or even years later, that Dani began to hear voices. They were faint and far away, like music drifting from an open window several stories up, the voices unidentifiable, the words a string of incoherence. There were no others on the grounds; what others there were had moved on to somewhere else the second the Lady of the Lake settled herself inside Dani. But the voices were there, whispering in the woods and the lake, the greenhouse and the church, wherever Dani managed to find herself. Was it possible, she wondered, for someone dead to lose their mind? It shouldn’t have been. It would be cruel of the afterlife to make her repeat an act that had already been done. The voices were not memory, either; memory did not tickle the eardrums or raise one’s hackles.

It didn’t take long for Dani to shrug the voices off, thinking them a new music serenading her world. She often fell asleep to them—a different kind of lullaby.

—

The first time Dani was called to the land of the living was an accident.

She was walking through the woods, admiring a golden sunset slashing through silhouetted branches on the way to the spot where Jamie’s carefully grown moonflower once sat. Dani seated herself on the log she’d occupied, watching the shadows lengthen on the iron the moonflower had used as an anchor to grow against, thinking of Jamie and her going-out-on-a-limb monologue, of the kisses that followed and the laughter-filled ascent up the stairs that led to them making love in Dani’s bedroom, with no hesitation after Jamie’s, “It’s not too fast?” A voice shattered her thoughts, clear as day, a whisper.

“Where are you?”

Jamie.

Heart leaping, feeling more alive than her new life had lately allowed her to be, Dani ran, ran through the woods and the gardens, past the empty greenhouse, church, and manor, calling Jamie’s name. “I’m here!” she shouted. “I’m here, Jamie!” No avail. No reward. Just the whisper, again and again. “Where are you?”

Once again, Dani found herself wading into cold water, and once again fell and sank, but it was not to the lake’s silty, reedy bottom.

There was water underneath her hands. And wood. Not even an inch of it, but still it lapped at her hands, an insistent, icy tongue. There was hissing. And further away, the sound of sirens. Dani stared at the floor. Light finished oak. Skinny pieces. She knew this floor.

Looking up, in a state of dizzying disbelief, was looking into the flooding kitchen of the apartment. Their apartment. The sprinklers were spraying water. Something must’ve caught fire, but Dani wasn’t looking for that. Her gaze was trapped by the cracked front door and the unmistakable figure of Jamie, soaked to the bone, sitting between the oven and the sink, the posture of someone who had slid there in defeat, not quite weeping but on the verge of it.

The strangest part was how ardently she stared into the water.

“Where are you?” Jamie said.

“Here,” Dani would have said, and reached out to her, had she not felt herself being pulled back.

—

Several times, the breaking through happened, each as jarring as the first, until Dani learned to expect it. Until, one winter evening, when the grounds of Bly were dusted with frost, she only thought of Jamie and was instantly over her shoulder. They were in The Leafling, the winter plants and flowers in full season. Outside, there was snow, and fresh flakes were falling like cigarette ash from a steely sky. Jamie was in dark jeans and a black turtleneck, her curls pinned up in a bun, a few unruly ones dangling over her eyes, her hands putting the finishing touches on a pot filled with pansies.

“It’s a very ironic name,” Jamie had said once, back when they first opened the shop and rotated the flowers out depending on the season. “Call this flower a pansy but it survives the winter.”

“Maybe we should call it a toughie,” Dani suggested. Jamie shook her head, smiling, but she ended up making a chalk art sign that read, “These toughies survive the winter!” and placed it appropriately in front of the pansy display. They’d sold out within the first two weeks.

The signs that were in the flower shop now were not written by hand in Jamie’s half-messy cursive. They were all typed and displayed on boards. Including the sign on the door, which was flipped to closed.

There was life here, Dani realized, her heart seizing in her chest, continuing despite the gaping loss Jamie obviously still felt.

How many times, Dani wondered when she returned to Bly, to the greenhouse, had Jamie thought of giving up? It had to be several, by now.

It took a special sort of perseverance to overcome the call of death.

—

Time hardly existed at Bly, but Dani found a way to keep track of it. She watched Jamie and knew the months went by, staying longer and longer, until she hardly found herself at Bly at all.

She watched Jamie change. Her hair got longer and less wavy. Grey began to show. Slowly at first, and then they were as sudden as weeds. Dani watched efforts of romances, all of which ended in apologies and the showing of the ring she’d slipped onto Jamie’s finger in the nineties. She watched The Leafling change hands. Watched Jamie pack up the apartment and move into a small house in a different town. Watched her fly to Paris and step through the doors of A Batter Place for the first time in ages. Owen was still there, dressed in white chef’s uniform. And Hannah’s picture remained where it was, too, her kind, smiling face forever immortalized.

Jamie stood by the doors. Jet lag sagged her shoulders. Made her eyes droop like half-dead leaves. Yet there was determination, Dani saw, mixed with an oncoming wave of nostalgia.

Owen was a few tables away, smiling, pouring refills of wine into two guests’ glasses. He glanced in Jamie’s direction, owner’s instinct kicking in at the sight of someone loitering in the entryway, looking back at the customers, and then giving Jamie a long double-take.

“Please excuse me,” Dani heard him say.

He and Jamie approached each other slowly.

“My god,” were Owen’s first words to her, “you’ve gotten old.”

The laughter that erupted from Jamie’s mouth was the sweetest music.

They sat at the same table that’d seen them a little over a decade ago, talking over French cuisine and wine, until long after closing and long after everyone else left. There was much to say and then nothing at all, a silence settling over the old friends that was comfortable.

There was a bit of happiness in Jamie’s life at last.

—

Jamie’s life had changed since seeing Owen in Paris. It was lighter. She walked with new purpose. There was, however, one constant. Jamie always left doors cracked. Always left something filled with water—the kitchen sink, the bathroom sink, the tub, a watering can—and gazed into it, much like she had that day in the kitchen. The habit could have started long before that, Dani theorized, but there was no plausible way to be certain. The only thing that was certain was the statement these habits made: I’ll wait for you. In those moments, Dani’s heart ached in her chest, its own clenched, frustrated fist.

On a blustery spring day in 2007, Dani followed Jamie around her plant-populated kitchen as she had a conversation with Owen over the phone. Jazzy piano floated from a speaker somewhere Dani couldn’t see, the volume low. She only heard Jamie’s side of the talk.

“This makes me feel really fucking old.”

“Well, wasn’t she twelve the last time we talked to each other?” A smile. “I’m giving you shite, you moosher.”

A pause.

Her tone turned serious. “You’re sure you want me there?” A pause. “You know they might not remember me.” Silence. Then, with another smile, “All right, you’ve convinced me with your battering on about it.”

In the past, Jamie threw on whatever outfit was convenient: old, soft T-shirt tucked into worn jeans, jacket pulled on over it; paint-splattered overalls and flannel shirt; sweater and jeans and a grey-blue coverall caked with soil. Her style came together in the nineties. It was polished in the New Millennium. She planned her outfits with a little more care, and she looked stunning in all of them. It was, thought Dani, no wonder the younger women that floated in and out of Jamie’s life fawned over her.

The occasion she talked about with Owen was, much to Dani’s surprise, Flora’s wedding. The man she’d been smitten with at seventeen was the same one she was marrying at twenty- eight. Jamie marked the date in the calendar hanging on the fridge.

In the days that followed, a melancholy shadowed Jamie. Dani saw it on her face, and deep in her eyes. She believed Jamie was thinking about their own union, how they had to practically beg for it to be civil while all some people had to do was slide a ring on a finger and ask for a license. How Flora’s life stretched for acres ahead of her while Dani’s own was an uncertain countdown. Dani saw, as she’d gotten rare glimpses of, Jamie scribble the thoughts down in a notebook with yellowed edges. (She had usually left Jamie when she wrote. That time was hers alone.)

She turned the page. Her pen hovered.

Jamie began a new note.

We should have grown old together. Watched each other change. Kept track of the lines that appeared around our eyes and mouths. Made love until we were too ancient to do it properly. Found other ways. We should have had our whole lives ahead of us. It seems unfair I get to be the age I am. But we had our time, Poppins. Not many people get that.

The note wasn’t a goodbye. To Dani, it was more of a reminder.

Epilogue:

Witness

The asylum-turned-hotel was surprisingly cozy, even by dead people’s standards. Nestled in a sort of grove in Northern California, Dani liked the rustic look of the place and how pleasant it looked against the late afternoon sunlight shining through the trees. It had a sitting room just off the lobby, populated by comfortable couches. Despite the spring warmth, a fire crackled in the fireplace, and the wedding guests gathered around it, some with drinks in their hands, others empty-handed. They chatted amongst themselves until, rather abruptly, Jamie announced, “I have a story.”

Dani settled behind her, back to the warmth of the fire. Bly did not call back to her. Nothing held her but Jamie, whose command of the room was absolute.

She hung on every word.

She felt light. She felt like she could fly at the way Jamie narrated the story that held everyone so raptly; her voice wavered from tenderness to melancholy to, at the end, devotion. A sense of purpose.

It hit Dani as suddenly as cold water. Her purpose. Her unfinished business. It had only taken seven years and countless witnessing of someone perpetually in wait.

Jamie filled the hotel’s sink. And the bathtub. She cracked open the door, just a little, letting in a small bar of white light. She turned a chair to the door. Waiting. Expectant.

Dani knew then.

If Jamie waited for her, Dani would wait for her in return.

She set a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, a promise she would, hopefully, feel.

Endnotes

1. A reference to my favorite novel, Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones

The lines before the start of this work are from “The Parting Glass”

#the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #fic stuff #kate writes things #i'm proud of this one still

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scapegrace74-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Saorsa, Chapters 17 and 18

A/N Here is the next installment of Saorsa. I’ve combined two chapters, because Chapter 17 is very short, and the two chapters are linked, only told in the alternating Jamie/Claire POV of the entire story. This time, it’s Jamie’s turn to divulge a secret.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging! It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

It was long past time to do something he’d been putting off since he first regained consciousness and realized that he had somehow leapt forward through time to a Lallybroch that was no longer his family’s estate.

There was a dusting of snow on the ground, and large, lazy flakes fell from a steel grey sky. He slipped once, climbing the low hill in the pasture beyond the stables, and swore fluently in Gaelic. His back still ached, but it was his lack of strength and endurance that truly bothered him. Accustomed to ruddy physical vigour, it hurt his pride to be a mere onlooker in the day-to-day labour about the estate.

There were trees growing up through the ancient dry-stone walls. The whole hillside had a forgotten, neglected air, but he would know the place blind-folded. He knelt in front of the largest gravestone and began peeling moss away from its chilled, damp surface.

“Halo da. Halo mam. Is e mise a th ’ann.”

Brian and Ellen Fraser had lain in this earth for more than two hundred years, but he could still remember his father’s hearty laugh, his mother’s sweet smile. The pain of losing them at a young age was still as fresh as the pink scars on his back.

He wished they could reach through the veil and guide him, just one last time.

In a few weeks, he would be fully recovered. He’d read voraciously since Claire laid her late husband’s library at his disposal. He knew what happened to the Scots who had supported the true king in the aftermath of Culloden. Treason charges. Imprisonment. Death from a thousand petty hardships. And for those who survived, the slow decay of their language, their customs, their very way of living. Here in 1942 he saw only the softest echo of his culture, of the places and people he called home.

He longed to return to his time and to his remaining family, back through the stones on Craig na Dunn and back into the story he had been writing for himself since he was a young lad. It felt dishonest to live on this estate that was no longer his, comfortable and well-fed, while back in 1746 Scotland was suffering.

But what would it serve, to return to certain bondage? And who was he to say that the stones would send him back to his time? He had carried with him from a young age a sense that he was meant for some larger purpose, that he had been forged for something bigger than sheer existence. Surely it wasn’t merely to add his name to the list of Scotland’s glorious dead, moldering away in those dusty tomes he spent his days poring over. Lallybroch’s history was already written, and it ended with the estate in the hands of a bonnie pregnant Sassenach widow carrying the child of his tormenter’s descendent.

He tried to clear his mind, to listen for words of wisdom whispered from beyond the grave.

None came.

He dashed at his eyes as tears of frustration welled up. And then he began to pray.

By the time he rose, knees stiff and cold from kneeling in the snow, he knew what he must do.

Tha toil Dhè air a dhèanamh.

***

She muttered a stream of curses under her breath as snow crested the tops of her boots and spilled inside, puddling around her stockinged feet.

“Has no-one e’er remarked to ye that ye swear like a sailor, Sassenach?” Jamie said, pulling her uphill by her chilled hand.

“I only swear when provoked, you bloody bastard. What could be so important that it couldn’t wait for me to don my gloves? Or for spring, for that matter?”

Jamie didn’t respond, but he had the same nervous hum of anticipation that had glowed around him for days now. When he’d suggested they take a very unseasonable walk in the snow, she’d gone with him purely in the hope that she might glean some clue to his strange mood. It wasn’t the despondency of his earliest days at Lallybroch. At strange moments, she caught him looking at her as though trying to solve some arcane riddle written on the lines of her face. It wasn’t a lascivious glance, but it warmed her insides all the same.

Finally they came to a halt in an old graveyard she hadn’t known existed. There was a stillness about the place that held all her inquiries at bay.

“I have a strange tale tae tell ye, Sassenach, and I want ye tae hear me through afore ye speak. Can ye promise me that?”

She nodded, suddenly apprehensive what he was about to say would break her heart.

He knelt by a gravestone and dusted off its covering of snow. Taking a deep breath of frosty air, he began to talk.

“Brian Robert David Fraser met Ellen Mackenzie at a Mackenzie clan gathering in 1716. She was promised tae Malcolm Grant, but instead the pair snuck out of Castle Leoch t’gether in the ded of night. Their first bairn, William, was born nine months hence, and by then the Mackenzie were resigned tae the union, e’en though Brian was only the base born son of auld Lord Lovat. It was a love match, and they were verra happy t’gether. A daughter, Janet, followed. And eventually, another son. James. James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.”

She gasped but didn’t dare speak.

Jamie continued with his story, seemingly speaking to himself, lost in reminiscence. It was an unfathomably detailed tale of childhood memories and family lore, and she found herself caught up in the web of words he was weaving, not stopping to question how they could possibly be true.

He spoke of his mother’s untimely death, of growing into a young man surrounded by the bucolic familiarity of home. About the burden of being the son of a lesser laird with no fortune. Going overseas as a mercenary, first for the Dutch and later for the French crown. Coming home to find the English abusing their power over the Highland Scots, being fostered to his Uncle Dougal, a committed Jacobite, and his father’s sudden passing. Feeling adrift, without the firm anchor of home, and enlisting in the Catholic cause. Fighting bravely at Prestonpans and being awarded a position of tacksman in the Jacobite army. Leading mere boys and undisciplined farmers into battle, knowing that the Scottish position at Culloden was unwinnable, but being willing to lay down his life for the cause of seeing his country free of English tyranny. Waking as a prisoner. The unbearable pain of his torture at the hands of a nameless Redcoat officer. His escape. Fleeing blindly at dawn and collapsing near death at the feet of a circle of standing stones. A magical place, left over from the time of the Old Ones. And then, silence…

She came back to herself as though waking from a profound sleep. Frozen tears crusted her lashes.

“Do ye believe me, Claire?” he asked, voice broken and unsure.

She had no rational framework on which to measure his truthfulness, so she listened to her heart. It told her that this man had no conceivable reason to invent such an incredible story. It told her that the passion and homesickness that had travelled over his face as he spoke could not be manufactured. It told her that there was a fundamental truthfulness about Jamie. It told her, above all, that this was the reason for his voiceless, stoic suffering in the weeks since he’d awoken at Lallybroch.

“Murtagh…” she whispered.

“Aye, Murtagh knows. I dinna ken what I said in my fever, but he ‘ad all sorts of strange questions when I woke. He harkens from the Isle of Lewis, ye ken, and he… weel… he’s a believer in the Old Ways, in the po’er of those stones.”

They crouched there in the snow next to a forgotten grave for so long her muscles cramped. She stared at her bare hands, twisting the gold wedding band Frank had placed on her finger in endless circles. There was little noise, except the occasional bough of fir releasing its burden to the ground.

Jamie finally stood stiffly and offered his hand. “Come, yer cold. I’ll see ye back to the house.” There was resignation in his tone, and in the set of his shoulders.

She rose but did not move nor release his hand.

“Tell me again about the stones,” she requested.

He hesitated, then described again the ring of standing stones at the top of the hill called Craig na Dunn.

“They beckoned tae me. I dinna ken how else tae say it. I was more than half ded, but I remember a hum, a force, like… like a tide that pulls ye out tae sea.”

“And then?”

“And then, nothin’. Next I kent, I was ‘wakening in the laird’s room at Lallybroch, seein’ ye watch o’er me.”

She blushed, remembering that strangely intimate moment of looking at, and then into, Jamie’s Delft blue eyes for the first time.

“Do ye believe me, Claire?” he asked again, pleading with those same inexorable eyes.

“Yes, Jamie. Yes, I believe you.”

His relief was so great he stumbled forward on watery legs, catching himself just as he fell into her embrace. Holding her there, in front of his parents’ graves, he drew his first deep breath in what felt like ages.

“Does this mean… that you’ll be leaving? Is that why you’ve told me?” She trembled in reaction.

“Nah, Sassenach. I willna say it didna cross my mind, and Murtagh offered to bring me back tae Craig na Dunn once I was healed.”

He pulled back to look into her upturned face, pale and hopeful, with eyes so deep they trapped his soul.

“But I couldna go. All tha’ awaits me in my own time is violence and death. Here, wi’ ye, I feel useful. Needed. When I traveled through the stones, they burned away all my yesterdays, but this is a fine place tae build my t’morrows. If ye’ll permit me tae stay, that is.”

She gave him another quick hug before releasing him.

“Of course. I wouldn’t know what to do without you, James Fraser.”

They grinned at one another and slowly began to make their way down the hill towards the estate. Neither seemed in a hurry to release the other’s hand.

“Jamie?” she asked as they approached the stables.

“Aye, Sassenach?”

“What made you tell me? Don’t get me wrong, I’m humbled you trusted me enough to do so. But…”

He paused in the snowy meadow and glanced upward, as though looking for an answer in the overcast sky.

“Nevermind,” she hastened to say. “Your reasons are your own, of course.”

“I ken what ye’er asking me, Sassenach. I’m only searching fer the words tae explain.” After several moments, he went on, “Have ye e’er passed a day so bonnie and blue that God ‘imself must be smilin’ o’er yer shoulder?” At her nod, he continued, “And yet all the while ye ken that if ye dinna honour tha’ day by bein’ the best version of yerself, it would disappear wi’ the wind, aye? There’s a truthfulness between us Sassenach, I believe, and I dinna want tae break it, by no’ tellin’ ye who I really am.”

Claire mulled over this declaration as they returned to the main house. Before they parted to their respective chores, she had one final thought on the matter.

“I never could have predicted what you shared with me today, Jamie. And I’m sure I’ll have more questions, with time. But on one point I’m absolutely certain. Nothing that you’ve told me or will ever tell me could change my opinion of who you truly are.”

***

Halo da. Halo mam. Is e mise a th ’ann. - Hello Dad. Hello Mom. It's me.

Tha toil Dhè air a dhèanamh. - God's will be done.

#my writing #outlander

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