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seijorhi · 4 years ago

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Finders Keepers

the long awaited (sorry!) zombie au. hope y’all enjoy

Seijoh 4 x female reader & Miya twins x female reader

TW Blood, gore, angst, um... toxic relationships?

“Let me see.”

It’s little more than a murmur, but in the quiet stillness of the night your voice carries. It hardly matters; Oikawa has you close, tucked under his arm with his injured leg stretched out between the two of you. He could stop you if he really wanted, but he only watches, those tired, wary eyes fixed on your face as you reach for his pants.

“It’s fine,” he grunts out, yet he can barely get the words out before he’s hissing through his teeth – a knee jerk reaction to the scrape of rough fabric against his wound. His fingers are digging painfully into your arm, and it doesn’t make a difference how gentle you try to be, how many stammered apologies fall from your lips, your fingers are stiff and clumsy and his pants are caked with dried blood and grime, hindering the process.

Pursing your lips, you glance up. “This would go easier if you took these off, you know.”

He cracks a smile at that, strained and tense, but your chest still flutters at the sight of it. “If you wanna get my pants off so badly, cutie, all you had to do was ask.”

“Tooru,” you begin, but he sighs heavily and that brief flicker of mirth glimmering in his eyes fades. Reaching over he picks up his hunting knife, pressing the handle into your palm and letting his fingers slowly curl around yours. The weight of it feels unwieldy and foreign in your hand, and you can’t quite say for sure if the way your breath picks up and hitches is due to your nerves or the way Oikawa’s watching you, his warm hand still wrapped around yours.

“Cut it, then.”

The knife helps, shearing through his pants like butter, but the wound itself is messy – torn threads plastered to congealed blood and dirt – and blunt fingernails sink into your skin and Oikawa grits out a curse when you try to gently ease them free.

It’s worse than you’d thought. A lot worse. Raked over his right knee, five gouges, jagged and gruesome, raw flesh and muscle exposed beneath. Your stomach roils at the sight of it, bile creeping up your throat, and for a moment you’re astounded by how calm he is, sitting there beside you.

If it were you, you’re fairly sure you’d be rolling on the ground howling by now, but the only hint of pain Oikawa’s face betrays is the tightness of his jaw, teeth clenched even as he looses a shuddering breath.

“I-I’ll go see if I can find something to…” to what? Clean the wound? Stitch it? You’re not an idiot, unless this little cottage has an incredibly well stocked first aid kit, you know you’re in trouble. And even if it does, beyond the very basics of clean, disinfect and bandage, you don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to fix this.

Iwaizumi was always the one to stitch up their wounds, muttering obscenities under his breath and glaring at them the whole time. It was their own idiot faults for putting themselves in a position where they could get hurt in the first place, he’d say, they could deal with a little pain while he fixed them up. But as you stare at the grisly mess of Oikawa’s knee, there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that this might be beyond even Iwa’s level of expertise.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Iwa isn’t here.

Makki and Mattsun aren’t either.

And strangely enough, it’s not the fear of the creatures lurking in the woods that’s gnawing at your gut. It’s Oikawa’s injury, the blood and mangled mess that you can’t even begin to fix, the thought of the trap that’s awaiting the others back at the sanctuary. It’s that feeling of helplessness that’s tightening around your neck like a noose.

“Hey,” Oikawa calls, snagging at your wrist when you try to pull away. “They’ll find us, have a little faith.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you nod. “I know.”

You don’t have the guts to tell him that that’s only half the problem.

Making do with vodka and some old bandages you’d scrounged up from a first aid kit under the sink, you do what you can for Tooru’s knee. Working by the light of a few flickering candles, your hands shaking like a leaf, it's a job easier said than done, and you can’t help but wince at every pained hiss and grunt that escapes him.

It’s a hack job, a bandaid over a gaping wound, but he thanks you for it anyway, pressing an affectionate kiss to your temple as he drags you closer once more. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he murmurs, and the words hang heavy over the both of you; a promise and a sobering reminder in one.

Tucked up in his embrace, you shut your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep.

Yet the moment you do, you’re right back there again: the hallway doors bursting open and the undead pouring through. Rotting and snarling, the sound of panicked shrieks tearing through the sanctuary in their wake.

Tooru’s hand in yours, yanking you along as he ran. Your heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you gasped for breath, your chest burning. And the fear, the horror that threatened to choke you as the others fell behind, their frantic pleas turning into agonised screams.

Everybody else first. The words spoken before any one of them left the safety of the sanctuary; you’d always assumed it was a grim kind of joke between the boys, a good luck charm. How many times had you heard Mattsun laugh it, clapping Iwa on the shoulder, or Makki for that matter, or Oikawa?

‘Come home safe’, you’d thought it meant, not ‘rip the guns out of other survivors’ hands and throw them back into the path of the oncoming undead’.

And then you’d stumbled, tripping over your own two feet. You remember Oikawa cursing, the pain that radiated up your knees and the palms of your hands as you hit the floor hard, and the absolute, bone chilling terror that surged through you when you looked up and saw one of the undead creatures lunge for you; jaw hanging loose, more ripped flesh and gristle than an actual mouth–

Oikawa was too far away, too slow, and even if he wasn’t, you’d just witnessed the lengths he’d go to for self preservation. You’d screamed for him anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and praying you’d go quickly when those fingers and yellowing teeth dug into your flesh and ripped you apart.

And in the space of a single petrified heartbeat, three shots had rung through the air, a warm wetness splattering against your cheek. Tooru was there, kicking the rotting corpse away from you and hauling you back to your feet, back safely against his side.

But the next one was quicker, leaping over the husk of its fallen friend, snarling and bloody and savage, and then it was Tooru who was screaming, undead fingers sinking into the flesh of his leg, ripping as it tried to claw him back.

Heart pounding viciously, your eyes shoot open in the darkness.

Even with the reassurance of Oikawa’s frame pressed up behind you, his breath warm against your skin, sleep doesn’t come easy, and the dawn brings little reprieve.

Stupidly, you’d hoped – prayed – that somehow through the night he might’ve gotten better. It was early in the morning when you’d felt him start to shiver against you. You’d tried to roll away, to give him space so you wouldn’t accidentally knock his leg, but Tooru was having none of it, burrowing in closer, his grip tightening.

And when you’d felt him start to sweat, his arms becoming sticky and clammy, his shirt dampening at your back, that slow, cloying sense of dread took root inside of your stomach.

Under the first rays of morning light, the true extent of Oikawa’s condition is unignorable. Without the luxury of being able to properly close the wound, blood’s seeped through the bandages overnight, leaving them a mottled, macabre red. His face is pale, a thin sheen of sweat dotting at his brow and with every shallow, rattling breath he takes, his body trembles.

It’s more than just simple blood loss.

You think for a moment that he’s unconscious, long lashes fanned out over flushed cheekbones, but the moment you reach for the bandages, his eyes snap open. “Don’t,” he rasps.

You frown, “Tooru–”

“No,” he says. “It’s fine. Leave it alone.”

Between him and Iwaizumi, and to a certain extent, Makki and Mattsun, you’ve never had much of a say in how things are run. You’ve never questioned that they’re the ones in charge, Oikawa most of all. They’re the ones who’ve kept you safe, kept you alive all this time, and all they’ve ever asked of you is that you do what they say.

And you have. Always. Because without them, you’d be dead. You don’t have to pick up a gun and fight, because they do it for you. You don’t have to go on supply runs because they take care of it, they take care of you. And it’s never mattered whether it’s just been the five of you out there alone, or if you were banding together with other survivors; that’s never changed – no matter how many dirty looks it earned you from the others.

You are their responsibility, but in return, you do what they tell you without question.

But this–

This isn’t like that. This isn’t you begging Iwaizumi to take you with him on perimeter patrol because you’ve been cooped up for what feels like weeks, or pouting because they’re deliberately keeping things from you again.

And maybe they have kept you in the dark, but you’re not blind and you’re not stupid. The reality of this situation hasn’t escaped you.

The sanctuary’s overrun, and if – when – Iwa, Makki and Mattsun make it back, they’ll be walking into an ambush. Even if by some miracle they do manage to all make it out unscathed and somehow figure out a way to pick up your trail, there’s no telling how long it’ll take for them to find their way back to you.

(You can’t bear to think about the possibility of them not coming home; you won’t.)

Right now, it’s just you and Oikawa, stuck in some abandoned cottage in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a rifle and a baseball bat between you. You have no food, no supplies and he’s getting weaker by the minute.

You’re terrified.

And you don’t have the luxury of sitting back and letting somebody else take care of you anymore. You don’t stand a chance of survival without Oikawa, and right now he doesn’t stand a chance without you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shake your head. “Okay, I won’t touch it, but I’m not just going to sit here and watch you get worse.” Smoothing your palms over your lap, you take a deep breath in through your nose. “There’s a prison–”

“No.”

“Tooru–”

“I said no,” he snaps.

Biting back a sigh, you try again, “Tooru, there might be supplies there,” you plead. “Painkillers, antibiotics, something that might help–”

“I don’t need antibiotics and you’re not leaving. We need to stay here where it’s safe until the others find us,” he grits out, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Normally, this would be the point that you’d back off, running off to lick your wounds before he decided to get mean, but even as some part of you cowers at the mere thought of upsetting him, this time you don’t back down.

He watches warily as you lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, gently smoothing damp brown locks back from his sweat slicked forehead. “I don’t know when Iwa’s coming back,” you murmur. “But until he does, the prison’s our best chance, if I can just–”

“No!” he snarls, cutting you off once again.

His eyes are manic now, blown wide and glazed over, he’s shivering, his breath a faint rattle – but his grip is iron, long fingers clutching at you desperately when you jerk back with a gasp.

“You don’t leave me.”

You don’t want to.

It’d be easy not to, to sit and stay with him and pretend that your world isn’t falling apart and he isn’t dying. You’ve never been a fighter, always too soft, too weak, too naive to survive out there on your own. The thought of setting one foot outside of that door without him by your side fills you with absolute terror, but what other options do you have?

He might not like it, but you’re out of time – this decision isn’t his to make anymore.

“Tooru, I-I have to, you know–”

“No!” he snaps, dragging you closer. “You’re not leaving me, I won’t fucking let you!”

Your hand trembles when you reach up to take his, easing it from your shirt and bringing it to your lips. Tears spill from your lashes, falling in heavy droplets against the back of his hand as Oikawa makes a pained sound.

“Please don’t go.”

You both know he can’t stop you.

“Keep the gun,” you tell him, mustering up a tight, watery smile. “Anything but Iwa and our boys comes through that door, shoot it.”

—

It seems a cruel, twisted joke that you find a perfectly good truck sitting a little ways up the driveway, just begging to be used – with no way of getting it started.

Mattsun always made hot wiring look so easy, tossing you a wink when the engine rumbled to life, as if it was a neat little party trick he’d pulled out just to impress you. He did it so quickly, so smoothly, ripping the wires out and sparking them like it was second nature, but he’d never bothered to actually explain what he was doing to you.

And why would he? Between the four of them, there’d always be somebody else to take care of it for you. It’s the same reason they never taught you how to shoot, never taught you how to fight beyond the very basics of self defence.

Now, trudging along the side of the barren road with nothing but your baseball bat and a canteen of water slung over your hip, you find yourself wishing you’d paid a little more attention. Ten miles hadn’t seemed that far on paper – it was less than the trek back into town and you’d figured a safer bet, but walking around in broad daylight without any kind of real protection feels like you’re begging to be preyed upon. Yet by some stroke of luck (and despite that persistent nagging sense that you’re being watched) you manage to make it to the perimeter gates without coming across another soul, dead or alive.

The towering brick walls topped with spirals of barbed wire that line the prison complex are as imposing as they are unbreachable, and for a moment, standing there staring up at them, you feel a crushing sense of disappointment. You’ve walked over two hours, left Tooru in pain and alone for nothing. There’s no way in hell you’re gonna be able to scale those walls, and without any kind of bolt cutters or firepower, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to get past the front gates.

Iwa would’ve known that. Iwa would’ve been better prepared.

But as you draw closer to the guardhouse, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that it’s not a problem. The heavy wrought iron gate’s already unlocked and open, creaking in the breeze. And really, that should have been the first warning sign, but you’re too busy thanking your lucky stars as you slide on through to pay attention to things like that.

The courtyard is just as deserted. The crunch of gravel underfoot echoes too loud, setting your nerves on edge as you make your way towards the imposing structure. It’s quiet, eerily so – even the birds seem to have disappeared. Is this how all raids feel, you wonder as you climb the steps towards the door. This sense of foreboding dread that settles in your stomach, the goosebumps that prickle down your arms?

Your grip tightens around the handle of your bat and you press gingerly against the door – just like the guardhouse gate, it gives under your touch, swinging open wide. It’s dark inside; you hadn’t thought to bring a torch and with the absence of any windows lining the corridor it’s near pitch black. Your heart hammers inside your chest, every cell in your body screaming at you to turn around and run back to Tooru, but you’ve come this far already.

The undead flock to fresh, living meat. It’s been months since the outbreak began; anyone unfortunate enough to have found themselves trapped inside when it happened is probably long dead, and any of the undead likely long gone.

It’s just a little darkness.

Steeling your nerves you creep through the black, clutching tightly at your bat, toeing your way down the corridor waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dim. Every breath you draw in feels too loud, every step too obnoxious. Deserted or not, the sooner you can find the med-bay, get what you need for Oikawa and get out, the better.

The layout’s simple enough – five looming multi-storied wings breaking off like fingers from the central watch-tower, but you don’t have a clue which one holds what you’re seeking. Your only option is to search them one by one and hope for the best.

You’d expected steel bars and heavy locks, but the prison reminds you strangely of a school instead; long hallways lined with doors, each with a tiny window to peek through. They’re all open now of course, whatever locking mechanism keeping them shut having failed when the generators ran out. The first few are empty, barren and stripped of everything but soiled mattresses – it should be a relief.

There’s nothing waiting for you in the darkness but empty halls and emptier rooms. If the others were here, they’d be teasing you for sure. Or Makki and Mattsun would, at least. You always were such a scared little baby – their scared little baby – you’d jump at your own shadow if you didn’t have them around.

And it’s easier to keep going imagining them there by your side, the jokes they’d crack, the warmth of Iwa’s hand in yours, or Makki’s arm slung over your shoulder. You’d feel safe with them. You wouldn’t need to feel afraid.

But no amount of pretend comfort is enough to allay the heavy sense of dread that’s sitting in your stomach, growing harder and harder to ignore with every passing minute. And the problem, you realise, with the prison being so deadly quiet is that every noise, no matter how quiet, echoes.

Climbing the stairs in the dark, you don’t notice the slickness on the walls either side of you, the red handprints smeared messily over white paint. You don’t see the broken, bloody fingernails littering the steps beneath you.

You hear it though, when you reach the landing. It’s soft. A quiet, wet squelching, ripping–

There’s no screams accompanying it like there were back when the sanctuary was overrun, but it’s not a sound you’re gonna be able to forget any time soon. In the dark you freeze, not daring to so much as breathe as you peer down the endless corridor, trying to pinpoint which of the cells it’s coming from.

In the end, you decide that it doesn’t matter.

They’re quicker when they’ve fed, stronger too, and there’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to be able to fumble past in the dark without drawing that thing’s attention. The wooden bat in your hands feels heavy, your palms already slick with sweat. You weren’t quick enough back at the sanctuary; without Tooru, that thing would’ve eaten you. And suddenly it seems laughable that you came out here, that you genuinely thought you could handle this – fight one of them off if it came down to it.

Tooru needs those meds, you know that, and you might be useless and weak and absolutely paralysed with fear, but you’re not stupid. You can’t help him at all if you’re torn apart by one of those creatures.

Your pulse racing, a potent mix of adrenaline and sheer, unrelenting terror coursing through your veins, you draw in a quiet breath, slowly lifting your foot to back away. It hasn’t heard you yet, and so long as it’s distracted–

“Oi, hurry up! I know what I saw, she came in this way.”

“Jesus, just shut up for a sec, wouldja! Ya don’t need to keep yellin’ at me, I’m comin’!”

Through the grate at your feet, you see two beams of light break through the darkness, the sound of loud, heavy footsteps echoing down the wing. Icy claws tighten like a vice around your heart and you still once more, squeezing your eyes shut as you listen, praying…

The squelching’s stopped.

Grip tight around the handle of your bat, your entire body quaking with fear, you watch with wide, stricken eyes as one of the doors halfway down the block slowly creaks outwards.

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing, and you try and convince yourself it’s just the wind, that you’re imagining things and your mind is playing mean tricks on you–

A feral snarl rips through the air, and before you can so much as scream it’s crashing through the open doorway, head swivelling as it searches for the source of the disturbance. In the dark you can’t make out much, only that it’s huge, half its flesh torn and decaying, smeared with blood and filth – but you see it when those white, cloudy eyes fix on you, its rotting mouth bared and salivating.

And this time you do scream. You scream for Oikawa, for Iwa, for Makki and Mattsun and the faceless strangers on the floor below as you cast your bat aside and run. You don’t dare look over your shoulder as you take the stairs two, three at a time, slipping and slamming into the stairwell wall, a sharp burst of pain radiating down your shoulder – you can hear it giving chase, the rabid growls and snarls too close for comfort.

Tears flood your eyes, your chest heaving with every desperate breath as your feet hit solid ground once more and you take off.

“Please!” you sob as you run, blinded by the brightness of the torch beam as it’s shone in your direction. “PLEASE HELP ME!”

You can’t outrun it forever. Even now, you hear it gaining on you, its hot, foul breath puffing against your back – it’s just like back at the sanctuary. It’s gonna catch you, rip into you and feast while you choke to death on your own blood and screams, and this time you won’t have Oikawa here to save you. You’re going to die in agony, torn apart and devoured, and it’s all your own stupid fault.

Your throat tightens, more tears springing free. You can’t see anything beyond those two blinding lights, moving now, dancing across the field of your vision. “PLEASE!” you shriek, desperate and hoarse as the undead creature behind you readies itself to pounce.

Please don’t leave me here to die.

And for one heart wrenching second, you think back to your boys, and the words they’d said before kissing you goodbye. Everybody else first. Maybe this is some kind of divine retribution, you think. Maybe when the world went to hell people became cold and selfish and you deserve this for sitting back and letting others die in your place.

“Get down!” the voice yells, and you don’t even stop to think before you drop, sliding across the floor. There’s another blinding flash, a shot fired into the dark and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hug your knees to your chest as the creature snarls in anger and jerks backwards, a gruesome spurt of blood spraying over you.

“Ya fucking missed! How could ya fucking miss?!”

The gun cocks and reloads, another deafening shot ringing out above you and you flinch, your nails biting into the soft skin of your palm–

But this time the bullet hits its mark. The creature crashes to the floor with a loud thump and doesn’t move again.

You don’t waste a second scrambling to your feet, launching yourself into the arms of your saviour. You don’t care that you’re crying, that you’re covered in blood and filth and god knows what else, you cling to him like he’s a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder. And instead of pushing you away like he probably should, he lets out a short huff that sounds almost like a laugh, his arm curling around your waist.

“I’m the one who shot the damn thing,” the other mutters sourly.

The man holding you snorts, “Nah, yer the idiot who missed.” Belatedly, you realise that he’s still gripping his gun, the brightness you’d assumed to have come from a torch actually from a light mounted to the barrel. He slings the rifle carelessly over his shoulder, drawing back slightly to appraise you. “Now, wanna tell me what a sweet thing like you’s doin’ all alone in a place like this?”

With your eyes now adjusting to the light, you can see that the two of them can’t be much older than you. They’re both tall, broad shouldered and handsome, the same jawline, the same slope to their nose, nearly identical hooded eyes – brothers you decide, maybe even twins. And they’re both smirking at you, not with the relief of just barely escaping a brush with a particularly gruesome death, but with an odd sort of lackadaisical amusement, as if this – skulking through dark, abandoned places, killing the undead – is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

And from the ease with which they carry their weapons, maybe it isn’t.

Oikawa warned you about men like them. Men in general, really. Even the ones who smiled at you back at the sanctuary, the ones who offered to help you move heavy supplies when they saw you struggling – at least, until Iwa or one of the others stepped in with a poisonous glare. Anyone who wasn’t them was dangerous, a threat, just waiting in the wings to take advantage of a pretty, dumb little thing like you.

And maybe he’s right, but when the one holding you instead drags you closer, wraps an arm around your shoulders and begins to lead you back towards the guard tower as his brother falls into step on your other side, you don’t shrug him off.

Oikawa isn’t here, and they have just saved your life. That has to count for something, right?

“I-I thought it’d be safe,” you confess breathlessly, trying not to focus on the thumb sweeping over the curve of your shoulder. “Well, empty at least. I didn’t have a choice.” And they listen, sharing glances in the dark as you tell them about what’d happened at the sanctuary, about Oikawa and the desperation that’d led you to leave him and walk miles alone to try and find some kind of medicine–

Until a snicker interrupts you. “Sorry,” the blonde mutters, though he doesn’t look all that sincere when your eyes flash to his. “It’s just…”

“Anythin’ worth taking woulda been snatched up months ago,” the darker haired one interjects.

“There ain’t nothin’ here but the occasional idiot tryna set up camp an’… Well, ya saw how well that turned out.”

It hits you like a gut punch, forcing the air from your lungs in a harsh, gasping breath. There was never anything here, everything… all of it was a waste. You came all this way, left him feverish and screaming himself hoarse for you, risked your life, almost died and–

It was all for nothing.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, they’re still talking but it’s just white noise washing over you. You don’t even realise they’re leading you back outside until you’re walking through the doors, the sudden burst of sunlight making you flinch. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore.

You’re an idiot.

A naive, dumb little girl who was stupid enough to think this half cocked plan was gonna work. That you would make it back to Tooru in one piece, medicine in hand to save the day and prove you weren’t the helpless damsel they’d pegged you for.

You’ve wasted so much time, for nothing.

There’s no drugs, no food, nothing that’s gonna help either one of you make it through the next few days and suddenly you’re drowning under a wave of hopelessness and bitter disappointment. You fall to your knees in the dirt, taking both your saviours by surprise, and let out a painful, heart wrenching sob. And once you start, you can’t seem to stop. It’s overwhelming, every emotion you’ve bottled up and shoved aside over the last two days suddenly forced into the light. You cry for yourself, for Tooru – for Iwa and Makki and Mattsun. You cry until it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, and then there’s rough calloused fingers brushing your tears away.

You look up through wet lashes to find the dark-haired man crouching before you, his expression sober. “Ya don’t need to cry, sweetheart, we’re not monsters y’know.”

His brother chuckles behind you, “We’re not about to leave some pretty little thing all alone out here to starve to death.” His hand’s resting atop your head now, smoothing down the hair at your crown. It’s soft and soothing, and you’re so attuned to seeking comfort that you can’t help but lean into it, eyes momentarily fluttering shut. “We’ve got some friends nearby, a nice little hideaway stocked full of all kinds of shit. Everything ya could possibly need.”

“Y-you mean it?” you ask, wide eyes flickering to the dark haired one, who smiles at last. “You’ll share them with me?”

“‘Course we do. Meds, food, weapons. Whatever ya want, it’s yours.”

You take the hand he offers to help you stand, your limbs trembling once more – but this time it’s not from fear or exhaustion, but the overwhelming rush of sheer relief. You could kiss him, kiss them both, but you don’t.

Instead you settle for throwing your arms around them once more, breathless thanks falling from your lips faster than they can catch as you hug them tight. They don’t seem to mind though, sharing almost identical smirks as the three of you head out to an old, beat up camaro parked out by the entrance to the prison. While the blonde slides in the driver’s seat and his brother takes the passenger’s side, you climb up into the back seat.

“Is it far?” you ask as he kicks the car into gear and peels out onto the deserted road. Hopefully it’s not, the sooner you can get back to help Tooru the better.

“Nah, not too far. We’ll be home before ya know it.”

Of course, they’re driving you to their friends, but they haven’t promised anything about driving you back to the cottage and Oikawa–

Which is perfectly fine! You’re not going to push your luck, they’re already doing plenty for you. More than they really have to. You don’t even need that much – just some medicine for Tooru and enough food for the two of you to get through the next few days, and you’ll be fine. Whatever you can carry, which, admittedly isn’t much. There’s still a few hours of daylight left, if you’re lucky you’ll be able to make it back to him before nightfall.

Things are gonna be fine. You’ll bring the medicine and once he’s better, the two you can head out to find the others. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’ll be better when you’re all back together, the way things were meant to be.

You need them, if anything this little venture’s proven that much at least.

They’d promised that it wasn’t far, and maybe it’s just the exhaustion of the last few days creeping in, or the gentle hum of the engine as the car drives along the long, narrow stretch of road, but your eyelids start to droop, your breath evening out as sleep beckons.

And you’re just dancing on the edge of consciousness when a hushed voice breaks through the comfortable silence, dark eyes flickering up to watch your slumbering form in the rearview mirror. “Ya think Kita’ll be pissed?”

There’s a snort, “Nah. He’s always had a soft spot for strays, ‘specially the pretty ones.” He’s quiet for a moment, almost contemplative before he opens his mouth to add, “‘Sides, we’re gonna take real good care of her, ain’t we, Samu?”

The only reply he gives is a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere atsumu x reader #yandere osamu x reader #yandere iwaizumi x reader #yandere matsukawa x reader #yandere hanamaki x reader #tw blood #tw gore #angst #toxic relationships #i honestly do not know how to tag this #at this point it's practically sfw #if you ignore all the blood and injuries and zombie stuff

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lampmanliveblogs · 2 years ago

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His Hollow Mind...

Here is the post I promised I’d make talking about some of the details I missed in the paintings. A huge shoutout to @thequietmanno1 who sent me all of these higher-quality images. As it turns out, there were quite a few things I missed. So let’s go over some of them.

These are not all the images I was sent, these are just the ones I thought were notable enough to talk about.

Starting out with one that I think I missed altogether because I don’t remember seeing this one. Well, we see Philip and Brother playing. Philip is wearing the wooden mask and using the toy sword Brother made for him. Brother is wearing a classic witch hat, which leads me to believe that Philip is playing the role of a witch hunter. Combined with the following image…

In the painting, we see the brothers Wittebane playing, with people in the background holding pitchforks. I think the implication here is that the brothers saw or heard about the witch trials going on around them while they were growing up and as kids do, they were playing it… even if they didn’t fully understand what was going on.

I had such a difficult time getting a good look at this one when doing the liveblog. I could never quite pause at the right time, Hunter kept blocking the view. After a while, I gave up and resigned myself to a fate of a half-obscured painting.

Now that I can get a good look at this one, I can see Philip looking disapprovingly at his brother holding hands with a witch.

Speaking of things I didn’t notice on the first time through… how about the fact that there are three people in this painting? Yeah, I’m not sure how that happened, she (assuming it’s the same witch from the other paintings) is wearing a bright red cloak. My eyes must’ve tricked me.

Anyways, this combined with the previous painting is starting to paint a clearer picture of what happened…

I bring this one up because in my liveblog I said that it looked like Philip might’ve been in his monstrous form here. Upon closer examination, I don’t think so, I think it’s just because Philip is covered in shadows here. Oh, and Brother is holding a knife of his own, which I didn’t notice before.

This is another case when there was a big part of the painting that I just didn’t see; Philip didn’t tattoo the glyphs onto his arm, he cut them with a knife. The same knife he used to kill his brother with by the looks of it, though I’m not 100% if this would take place before or after that event.

Speaking of the things Philip has done to himself, one reader brought up that in this one, the implication is supposed to be that he cut his own ears to be pointy. Which honestly makes me think of Opal Kobi from the Artemis Fowl books, except, you know… the other way around.

(there are some interesting parallels between Philip/Belos and Opal now that I think about it… or maybe I’m just in an Opal mood since she made a cameo in my latest fanfic)

I also got some better images of the paintings of the previous Golden Guards. In my liveblog, when I first saw this one, I said it looked like a triumphant pose, but on closer look… no, he was petrified. Right in the middle of standing up to Belos, by the looks of it. I also got to see that two other previous Golden Guards met their ends by being blasted with red magic and one was (possibly) buried (alive).

So about Brother Wittebane…

Now, based on these paintings I’ve managed to put together a sorta coherent story.

Once upon a time, the brother’s Wittebane lived and grew up in a newly founded town in Connecticut called Gravesfield circa 1635. This was at the time the Connecticut Witch Trials were going on, so the brother grew up hearing stories of witches and those brave who hunted them. They often played games together based on these stories.

At some point, they encountered togehter a strange woman in the woods, one with marvelous powers from out of this world. A witch. As we see, Brother Wittebane was fascinated and excited by this, while Philip… was not so much.

Somehow, they end up in the Demon Realm. The exact sequence of events at this point are not entierly clear to me, but we know for a fact that Philip was looking for a way home. It’s possible that his brother too sought a way home and followed him on this journey, at least for some time.

However, there was a rift growing between the brothers. Brother was, ah… fraternizing with the witches, which Philip disapproved of. Brother seems to have made very good friends with one witch in particular, Possibly the same one they met in the woods who brought them to the Demon Realm.

At some point, Philip began experimenting with magical powers he ought not to have. By consuming the life force of palismen, his body begins to mutate and he turns into a monstrous form, though his brother still loves him.

Philip on the other hand… does the unthinkable and kills his own brother. Brother’s awesome girlfriend blasts Philip with a magic spell and that’s the last seen of her (for now…?).

(see what I did there? I’m drawing parallels between Brother and Luz as they were both humans who came to the Demon Realm and made friends with the people there and got awesome witch girlfriends. Unlike a certain someone I could name)

At some point, Philip gets the idea of the Day of Unity and starts working on it. He meets Luz and Lilith on their time travel excursion and he gets the scar on his face.

After that, he dons the identity of Belos and begins campaigning across the Isles, trying to sell his Coven system, which he needs for his Day of Unity plans to work. He also creates the first grimwalker.

That’s roughly the timeline of events. There are a lot of unanswered questions still that I’m looking forward to finding the answers to. Maybe I’ll find out in the next episode, whenever I get around to it. Until then, take care of the planet Earth and remember that anything can happen in space!

#toh s2e16 #hollow mind

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nagipops · 4 years ago

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hi!! i think the ask box is open right now but what about a fem! reader that was kinda adopted by all the hashiras when she was small, and on her first mission, she gets turned into a demon? and like they're all conflicted but it's kinda sad how the reader wants to die because she was turned :( if you can't write it it's okay! i love ur works sm <3

SWEET NOTHINGS, BITTER ENDINGS PART I.

SUMMARY: in which your overwhelming tenacity leads you to suffer a demonic fate.

WARNINGS: blood, profanity

A/N: thank you darling! this got a bit long so i’ve split it into two parts— the second part will be posted very shortly! link to part two

“(Y/N)!” Giyuu barked. “Get back!”

You steadily held your nichirin blade in front of you with both hands, staring down the towering demon in front of you. Three veiny arms sprouted out from each side of its body, taunting your group as its flaring yellow eyes locked onto yours.

Clutching the handle of your blade tighter, you panted heavily to control your breathing, clenching your teeth. “I’ve got this!” you hollered back, your knuckles turning white.

You heard a clink of metal and the whirling of a sword as a short purple-haired hashira stepped in front of you. “It’s too dangerous.” Her typical honey-sweet voice was darkened with concern and anger. “Please, (Y/N).”

You were shaking with anger, and... envy? All you wanted was to be strong. To bring home a kill on your first mission. To not be seen as a child anymore by the nine pillars who had taken you under your wing when you were just a baby.

I’m not a kid anymore, you wanted to scream. I want to show you what I can do.

“Go,” Giyuu commanded, casting a glance at Shinobu before briefly locking eyes with you. “We’ll handle this.”

Biting your tongue, you glared at the demon for a moment longer before turning on your heel and retreating to the rest of your squad.

“(Y/N)-chan!” Mitsuri wailed, throwing her arms around you. Over her shoulder, you spotted a fuming Obanai glaring daggers at you; whether he was jealous of the pink-haired girl draped over you or angry at your reckless actions, you couldn’t tell. “We were so worried about you!”

“No, we weren’t,” Obanai hissed. “What you did was idiotic and careless. You were putting everyone in danger.”

“Iguro-kun, always so protective!” Mitsuri giggled, patting you on the head before releasing you from her surprisingly tight hold, her expression growing serious. “Tomioka and Shinobu might need our assistance. (Y/N), go find Sanemi and see if he needs help. Iguro, come with me!” She quickly flounced off with a seething Obanai in tow.

Huffing a sigh, you entered the mass of trees behind you to search for the white-haired hashira.

Lofty, swaying pines loomed over you as the sounds of battle crashed throughout the forest. A flock of crows frantically flapped out from the canopy, shooting into the sky as their noisy caws rang through the air. Frigid winds whipped all around you as you hunted down the wind pillar.

A piercing clink of metal, not unlike the noise of a nichirin blade, sounded from your left. Sanemi? Cautiously drawing your sword from its sheath on your hip, you slowly made your way to the source of the noise.

As you neared a small clearing, the sound grew louder and louder, but you still could not locate any hashira or any demons for that matter. You spotted a thick tree to your right and fled over to hide behind it while you scouted out the area.

The clinking continued, and as you listened more closely, it seemed to be coming from...

Above?

Your heart went cold as you realized you didn’t hear any human voices around you.

At all.

You slowly slid your gaze upwards, not daring to move a single muscle.

And there it was. With a rotting arm clutching a chipped, bloodied blade, carving out the remains of a tattered corpse, three feral red eyes piercing through the dark shade and locking onto yours...

A demon.

Fear pooled instantly in your stomach as you felt bile rise in your throat. The putrid stench of rotten flesh and blood nearly made you hurl on the spot, yet your horror kept your nausea at bay.

Were you going to die here?

You felt your terrified breaths grow shallow as the demon above you licked its lips, tossing the corpse down in front of you with a thud.

“N-nemi?” you whispered in fear, praying, praying to the gods that this wasn’t one of your brothers. You quickly studied the corpse and your surroundings, searching for any sign that this bloodied body wasn’t him. You searched for his sword hilt, his white hair, his signature haori, but the darkness of the deep night made any hint or clue futile.

Glaring at the bloodthirsty demon above you, you were petrified with fear. Your heavy feet were locked into place. Your thumping heart nearly burst out of your chest. But you stared the beast down with all your might, slowly reaching your blade out to the corpse in front of you in attempt to retrieve the scrappy remains of what was left of it.

Inch by inch, your gaze unwavering with the demon’s bloodshot eyes, you dragged the body closer and closer to you until it was just within arm’s reach. Steeling yourself, you swiftly grabbed the body and darted away.

You had no time to check whose body you were holding. All you knew was that you had to—

“Kff!”

All of a sudden, your back hit the ground. Hard. With the wind knocked out of your lungs, all you could see was black. You felt your blade slip out of your grasp as your spine seared with red-hot pain. Once you regained your senses, you opened your eyes...

Oh, shit.

Impossibly sharp fangs loomed over you, dripping with foul saliva that oozed onto your heaving chest. Crazed yellow eyes speckled with pumping red veins latched onto yours, a rotting jade-colored head thrashing back and forth as its piercing claws pinned you to the ground. Its breath was the most vile scent you’ve ever smelled in your entire life, reeking of blood and flesh and who knows what else.

And it was just mere inches away from your face.

Stifling a wave of nausea, you swiftly pulled your knees up to your chest and pushed, kicking the demon backwards by its torso as hard as your body would let you.

Darting over to your blade which had fallen to the ground just a few feet away from you, you picked it up and pointed it at the snarling demon who was picking its burly body off of the forest floor.

“You!” you shouted, wiping your slimy face on the sleeve of your uniform. “I’m not scared of you!”

The demon responded with a warbling noise, something that sounded like... laughing?

Your nerves set on fire. Oh, that’s it. You would end this vile monster right here, right now.

“Leaf Breathing, Second Form: Whirlwind of Fronds!” Exhaling sharply through clenched teeth, you felt cool winds start to whip around you, picking up speed as leaves and needles rapidly gravitated towards you as though you were a magnet.

Now!

Growling with fury, you charged at the gremlin with all your might, the swirling flurry of foliage honing in on the center of its chest. Each leaf transformed into sharp, miniature daggers, piercing through the demon’s grayish skin and buying you just enough time to move in close. Wielding your blade with both hands, you raised it above your head before forcefully slicing downwards with a roar, aiming for the neck.

But your opponent was nimble, and it barely dodged its head out of the way, landing you a clean shot down its shoulder to its flank. Shit, the arm can just regenerate itself, you cursed, quickly angling your sword laterally for a slice through the neck as the demon howled in pain.

You slashed your sword as hard as you could, but instead of cutting through soft flesh, you were met with thick, gnarly bone. The demon had raised its other arm in defense, keeping your lethal blade at bay. Struggling to push back against the sturdy bone, you gritted your teeth as you attempted to release your sword from its muscle.

But the demon had already beaten you to it and whipped its hefty arm outwards to shake you off, hurling you across the clearing.

“Hkk!” You landed straight on your back once again with a heavy thud, but you noticed that your blade was still lodged into the creature’s arm. Perfect. Even though single nerve in your body was screaming in pain, even as your limbs trembled as you shakily picked yourself up off the ground, you would never back down from a fight. “Hey, ugly! Let’s finish this!”

The demon howled furiously, clamoring to rip your blade out of its arm.

“Third Form: Drill of Needles!”

Hundreds of thousands of pine needles descended from the midnight sky at your command, whirling into a tight cone while speeding towards the neck of the monster. You heard the earsplitting drilling of flesh and wood followed by a deafening groan and huffed in triumph as the pent-up exhaustion began to release throughout your body.

You nearly hit the ground for the third time when you caught some movement out of the corner of your eye.

Oh, hell no.

There was the same demon, its bright yellow eyes even more furious now, perched high up in a tree.

“B-but...” your mind and vision grew hazy as you noticed the gaping hole in the demon’s chest, with its neck still intact. I missed? You cursed sharply at the sight of your chipped blade thrown carelessly on the ground a great distance away from you.

What do I do? Giyuu, Shinobu, what do I do? Mitsuri? Obanai? Is anyone there?

Your felt your body begin to admit defeat, your legs shaking as they threatened to give out from underneath you, your heaving lungs burning and aching for rest.

The corpse.

Where was the corpse? The same one that got you into this mess?

Sanemi?

You struggled to keep your vision trained on the demon high above as your body started to wobble in exhaustion. “Hey,” you slurred. “Come out here! We’re not— kff! We’re not done yet!”

A snarl sounded from over your shoulder as the familiar stench of rotting flesh flooded your nose once again.

This time, you plummeted to the ground face-first, hearing your nose crack in the process. But your body was too drained for you to properly register the pain.

You were so numb.

Groaning, you slowly rolled onto your back and gazed into the eyes of the demon hovering above you hungrily. Its arm that you had sliced off had already fully recovered, while the other arm choked your neck with an iron grip.

Your vision was nearly white now, your oxygen supply running low as blood trickled out of your neck where the demon’s claw had pierced the skin.

Die. Die. You were going to die. On your first mission. Without a single kill under your belt.

Forcing a smirk onto your face, you squeezed your eyes shut as you endured the pain as best you could. “Hey, now— hck... If there’s anything that Sanemi taught me... it’s that humans... always get the last laugh...” You cracked open one eye, staring straight into the demon’s yellow orbs.

“Noxious... nectar...” you gasped out one last command, watching the bloody pinpricks dotted all around the demon’s greying skin transform into purple specks of poison. The monster thrashed around, violently clutching its head at the pain seeping through its entire body. You watched as your first and last kill take place right in front of you as your vision began to fade.

But not before the demon’s deadly blood dripped into your open wounds.

link to part two.

if you enjoyed this post, likes and reblogs are much appreciated :) feel free to request here, and make sure to read the rules first! have a lovely day everyone <3

#demon slayer #demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer imagines #demon slayer x reader #hashira #kny hashira #kny #kny angst #demon slayer angst #kny x reader #kny imagines #kny headcanons #sanemi imagines #giyuu imagines #mitsuri imagines #shinobu imagines #rengoku imagines #uzui imagines #angst

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starrynimbus · 3 years ago

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So,

Hollow Mind.

I rarely speak about stuff, if ever, but THIS IS SOMETHING WORTH TALKING ABOUT.

About... Hunter, and what’s next for him on this road.

We saw, as Hunter did, the fate of all of his Golden Guard predecessors. Some were petrified, blasted, basically murdered by the man they were born to trust. Their ‘Uncle’ Belos.

Then, Belos revels himself, showing Hunter and Luz what exactly happens to the palisman he consumes. It’s not just a curse, it’s the anguish of hundreds if not thousands of the little wood creatures that have been sacrificed for Philip’s rise to power.

It’s very clear that Hunter and Flapjack have a close bond, and that losing his only companion scares the absolute daylights out of him. Its evident in S2ep13 when Hunter and Steve talk about being a scout in the Emperor’s coven. How their palisman are taken away.

That may be the straw that broke the camel's back, but to add to the pain... we get Belos admitting to Hunter that he is a Grimwalker.

Hunter is a nerd, hands down, full stop. This kid’s favorite place in the Castle is most likely the Library. (It may have been confirmed canonically, but I cannot recall where or when). He’s probably read every book in there at least once during his free time. Which means, he may have come across the term ‘Grimwalker’ or the use of Grimwalkers in history. Any follower of the Hunter=Grimwalker confirmed train knows exactly what it takes to make one.

Selkidomus scales, Palistrum wood, Lungs of a Stone Sleeper, Galuder stones, and a Bone of Ortet.

First time we hear his annoying voice, Hunter is tasked to kill a Selkidomus. All the corpses of Palimen and any remaining Palistrum trees are under strict supervision of the Garden coven, including Terra Snapdragon. The Gaulder Stones are under the illusion coven’s watch. Stone Sleepers are still very much around, all asleep or contained. Finally, the Bone of Ortet. The bones of his own brother, who I will be calling Caleb.

As many fans have done, they have combed through the memory portraits of Belos’s mind and have found their story. It’s not a happy ending, that’s for sure.

The Wittebros were raised during the witch hunts, and were trained to be hunters. They ended up in the Boiling Isles on one of these hunts, but had two different perspectives. Caleb was like our beloved Luz, eager to explore and to learn. He fell in love and began to build a family on the Boiling Isles. Philip was the opposite, taking the prejudices of his time and unable to accept the Boiling Isles as they were, with its own unique quirks and magic. He never saw it as anything other than something to destroy and control. These two clashed, and it ended with a brother dead.

Putting all the pieces together, and all the memories he’d witness, and the fact that his ‘Uncle’, an abusive, insane, manipulative pos of a human being who believes himself to be the SAVIOR OF HUMANITY BY COMMITING A GENOCIDE, tried to absorb him into his subconscious like (or something similar to) the Palisman amalgam. Thank GOD for Luz and that glyph magic works there.

When Hunter and Luz are freed, there is so much to process. Too much. Hunter now knows his life is a lie, built on lies, by a liar who he’s had to trust since forever. He rips of the cloak he’s had all his life, with a symbol he’d just earned with disgust. Then runs into the woods, because he’s scared and confused.. Learning all that within a short amount of time with people who you were conditioned to believe to be your enemies? Not a good night by any stretch.

This is where I start talking about Hunter’s future.

Hunter is running through the woods, scared. Who else is in those woods? Darius, Eberwolf, and Raine. We know that at least Raine has kept a positive working relationship with him, and Hunter did notice when Raine began to act off. Darius has shown to have softened to the kid a bit in Any Sport in a Storm. Eberwolf... I think that Eberwolf is an agent of Chaos and will go along with surprise adopting this traumatized kid. And if these three can get Hunter to talk about what he’d witnessed in the Emperor’s mind... Dear God. The absolute shitstorm coming Belos’s way will be an end all for the 400+ years of this bitch.

Hell, maybe Raine and Eda can talk about what’s going on finally, after Eda gets in one good sucker punch.

or... Once he takes a breath, whenever that may be, Hunter could... go back to the Owl House. A well defended fort in the woods where a woman he doesn’t know all that well pulled all her knowledge together to get BOTH kids out, the author of his favorite book, and his human trauma buddy who is also friends with his Flyer Derby Team. And a horrifying Bird...Owl...Tube... Hooty.

In conclusion, I’ve had my heart ripped out and stomped on by light-up sketchers.

#toh spoilers #the owl house spoilers #I would like to rage #long post #hunter needs help

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skystarchild123 · 4 years ago

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Beeduo Doomed Friendship Fantasy AU — Prince Ranboo, Fae Tubbo

Cw: major character death, descriptions of fantasy violence

(I kinda wanna write this up as a fic at some point but I’m currently working on another project and don’t wanna have multiple going on at the same time so I’ve dumped the general plan of the story here. This plan isn’t final and I’ll probably after a few things if/when I do get around to writing it)

The story opens with a boy and his brother — Tommy and Wilbur — trekking along a trail on their way to a village on the other side of a forest-covered hill. They stop at a brook overlooking the woods and farmland below where a weathered statue of a boy holding a bouquet of tulips and alliums stands over the water, mossy and aged. Tommy asks who the figure is and Wilbur, being a travelling musician, gets out his guitar to tell the tale of how the statue supposedly came to be:

Ranboo was a prince of these parts long ago, living in the castle still visible in the distance (although now it only stands in ruin). He was descended from an ancient magical people known as the ‘Ender’ on his mother’s side, bearing a split appearance — half human, half Ender. Being half-Ender, he had been blessed with unbeatable strength but only when he entered the ‘Ender-Walk’ state (think of this as what ‘furor’ is to classical mythology), which was feared by the people because it was an ancient magic related to the fae. One day, the prince went hunting in the forest and got separated from his party, riding deeper and deeper into the thicket. As the mists rose, he caught sight of a golden goat climbing the hillside and decided to pursue it.

He tracked the goat even further away from the beaten path but ended up losing it at the banks of this brook. He did however see a beautiful flower bed of alliums and pink tulips nearby, deciding to pick some before he left. Little did he know that these were the sacred flowers of the fae. As he departed, a swarm of crows settled in the trees, watching him all the way back to the castle.

For some reason, the flowers never wilted. The prince kept them by his bedside. He also told his council of the golden goat to much interest. Some wanted to go and find the goat to capture it but the prince turned down the idea since he’d lost it. As he went about his days, crows settled in the rafters of the castle, much to the annoyance of the servants.

One day though he rose early and looked towards the misty forest. To his surprise, he saw a flash of gold at the edge. Immediately he dressed, grabbed his bow and ran to the forest. However, he once again could not find the goat. There were however tracks leading back to the brook. He rode out until he reached it again.

Here he found the goat by the water’s edge. Before his eyes, it transformed into a boy with brown hair, gilded horns and a beautiful golden tunic. The prince was star struck by this magic and immediately dropped his weapons, for now he realised this brook was a sacred place.

The boy asked him why he picked the sacred flowers and Ranboo apologised. It turned out this entire space was sacred and the boy wanted to make sure it was safe. He was also interested in the prince, having never met a half-Ender before (the Ender were a dying people. These days they are said to be no more than the stuff of legend).

The prince ended up spending the whole day at the brook until the sun was dipping over the horizon. He learned the name of the boy, Tubbo, as well as of every small creature of the pond — the sacred space which the boy guarded. He also learned that Tubbo was very lonely. By the end of the day, he promised to come and visit often, having started the beginnings of a friendship with the spirit.

Ranboo lived in a kingdom which was afraid of the fae and spirits. Therefore he could not tell his council, his guard or even his closest attendants about his secret meetings with the spirit in the forest since he wasn’t trying to kill or capture it. He oftentimes slipped out at the brink of dusk, travelling under the cover of night to talk to Tubbo by the water, in the woods or among the flowerbeds. Over time he came to know the fae of the forest. The boar-headed warrior. The flower sprites. These spirits usually roamed the deepest reaches of the forest, though they could also be summoned through the waters of the brook with the recitation of a summoning spell. There was also the crow king who lived high up in the mountains but sent his crows to watch over the activities of mortals and spirits alike. He came and went as he pleased, bound to no spells like the other fae were. The spirits became Ranboo’s friends, though Tubbo soon turned into his best friend. You see, Ranboo was also rather lonely in the castle, with no one to really call his friend, especially no one of his age. Although Tubbo was a spirit, immortal, he felt as though they understood one another.

One night, however, the guard Dream caught Ranboo sneaking away and followed him into the woods. The guard ended up being stopped by the boar-headed warrior, who warned him to turn away if he wanted to live. Dream did, however he planned to return to the forest with silver chains to trap the fae, as he believed the fairies were spiriting the prince away.

The next morning, Dream returned and found the golden goat, Tubbo, sleeping in the shade of the trees. He captured the goat and dragged it back to the castle as proof that there were spirits in the forest.

When the prince tried to rescue Tubbo, it only solidified that his mind had been ‘corrupted’ by the spirits. He was immediately locked in his room under heavy guard, a witch (George) being called in to cure him of his corruption. Meanwhile the council and Dream decided to free the goat, following it as it ran away in hopes that it would lead them to the other spirits so they could kill them. Setting the goat free, it fled and they followed close behind.

The prince ended up winning the pity and favour of the witch by promising him the unwilting flowers on his bedside table (they were magic, after all) and more flowers from the sacred field if he helped him escape. The witch then used his powers to put the guards to sleep and the prince was soon tailing the others on horseback. At the same time, crows were already delivering news of the conflict to the crow king.

The goat came back to the brook, transforming into Tubbo. He peered into the waters to summon the other spirits to his aid, as the silver chains had burned him badly, the skin on his wrists and ankles where the chains had been was already crumbling to a stony texture and he himself could not fight. As the crow king and boar-headed warrior arrived though, the humans arrived with their silver weapons. Soon a battle at the brook broke out, trembling through the forest as the night drew on. Closer and closer the prince came but soon he could see nothing, for a heavy fog engulfed the hillside.

By the time he found the brook, the crow king and the boar-headed warrior had dealt with all the humans and were about to kill the prince too, however Tubbo saved him. He also convinced the other spirits to go to the otherworld, arguing that enough blood had been shed at such a sacred place (plus Tubbo hated seeing death and violence so close to his home) and the otherworld needed overseeing now due to the impurities. The other spirits therefore returned to their domains.

As the sun rose, Tubbo went to gather the flowers for the witch at Ranboo’s request. The prince remained by the brook to bury the fallen humans off the path. The two planned to reunite at the break of dawn. Just as the sky was lightening though, the boy came back to the brook on the far side of the river. Little did he know that Dream was still lurking, half dead but with one last weapon: a silver-tipped arrow.

The boy was shot in the back with Dream’s silver arrow while crossing the bank towards Ranboo. The silver pierced his heart. The two shared a horrified glance, then the boy smiled. He murmured one final goodbye through tears, then turned to stone at the edge of the brook, petrified, smiling and holding the beautiful flowers.

In a fit of despair, the prince fell to his knees and hugged the statue, begging it to come back to life. Dream tried to get him to come home to the castle but he refused to move. Something snapped inside Ranboo — his Ender heritage let loose in a flurry of rage, entering the Ender-Walk. He attacked Dream, drawing his sword and lunging at the guard with all his might. They fought, and eventually Dream was seconds from death. However, just before Ranboo dealt the killing blow he saw the peace in Tubbo’s petrified face. This brought him to his senses; he didn’t want to disturb the sacred brook anymore. He let Dream live, though the wounds the guard received would forever stay with him. Ranboo returned to the statue, laying down his weapons and kneeling before it. Even after a whole day he would not move. Eventually, Dream left the glade but let a single horse stay for when Ranboo came to his senses.

After three days of not moving, letting himself grow hungry, thirsty and exhausted, sitting in front of the statue, thinking of how if the two of them had never met this would never have happened, the goddess of death herself ascended from the otherworld, having been called upon by her husband the crow king. She promised that the spirit of Tubbo would forever remain in these lands in the wind, in the water and in the trees. She also promised that those who brought about his death would suffer eternal punishment in her domain. For now though, Ranboo had to return to his kingdom. He had to live.

After a long talk, the prince finally agreed to go home, plucking a bunch of alliums and tulips from the sacred field and placing them in memory beside the statue, with a few more for the witch and one of each flower for himself. This is why the allium and the pink tulip are said to be the patron flowers of the land to this day. However, because the spirit of the brook had turned to stone, the magic of the glade seeped away and it became just a regular part of the forest.

Wilbur’s story finishes and Tommy is saddened by the ending. Wilbur reassures his brother that it’s just a story, an old local myth, and no one really knows how the statue came to be. Perhaps it is completely true? Perhaps it’s all made up. It turns out the two have spent the whole day by this brook. They continue onwards and make it to the next town by sundown. While looking for the inn, they run into two boys who help run the local flower shop. These boys match the descriptions of the boys in the story, though they are both human. They seem happy and offer Tommy a bunch of alliums and pink tulips because he still looks sad. This lifts Tommy’s spirits.

(This idea came from Tubbo talking about the ‘pond’ at the outpost coupled with all those Ender prince Ranboo hcs I’ve seen floating around. I liked the idea that Tubbo was the spirit of this pond who looked after it and all the little creatures within. However I also then had the lovely idea to make it a tragedy coz I’ve never really come up with one before but I love the idea of a doomed friendship. I decided to make it play out like a fairy tale, hence the prologue and epilogue is Wilbur telling Tommy a story. Also, because I’m a sap for a twinge of hope at the very end, you can imply that perhaps Tubbo and Ranboo reincarnated as humans in the village and can now be friends together, though I’d never specify if that really happened or if it’s just a coincidence that the flower boys look similar to how Wilbur described Tubbo and Ranboo.)

#cw: death #cw: violence #mcyt #tubbo #ranboo #beeduo #bee duo #fantasy au #dream smp #philza #technoblade #niki nihachu #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #trixtin #prince ranboo #spirit Tubbo #doomed friendship

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topazy · 4 years ago

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The Fierce And Broken

1.07

Master list

“It's been a few days. Maybe the bomb at the bridge scared them off?”

Bellamy raised his eyebrows at Clarke, “do you really think that?” She shook her head, Bellamy turned to face you. “What about you? Do you think the grounders have been scared off?”

“No.” You admitted, “I think they are planning on how to attack us. Not that it will take them long.”

Clarke frowned, “what do you mean?”

You sighed standing up. “From what I’ve been told the grounders have already got biological warfare nailed, I imagine they have other tricks up their sleeves. It’s amazing how advanced they are without technology. I think we should- is something amusing?”

You and Bellamy both turned to look at Clarke who had a strange look on her face. She shook her head, “no sorry...i just never realised you were such a fan of the grounders.”

What was her problem? You ignored her comment and continued talking. “We need to be prepared, I think you need to find out what people’s strengths are fast.”

Bellamy seemed intrigued by your suggestion. So far they hadn't come up with a better idea. You weren’t invited to the ‘leaders meeting’ but you’d overheard them talking. Since you were in the next room checking what medical supplies the camp still had, you had since been dragged into the conversation because Bellamy wouldn’t stop asking your opinion on things. “What do you suggest Al?”

You quirk a brow suddenly feeling a mixture of emotions, was this your chance to finally make a difference around camp? Bellamy had done the best he could but to survive the grounders you needed to be more organised. An idea that is easier thought than done. “Well, we need to know who should be on the frontline.” Clarke made a scoffing noise. “Any of us could fight if it came to it, but that doesn’t mean we should. Monty and Raven are far too useful to risk losing. Me and Clarke are the only people with medical training. We need to utilise people to the best of their abilities.” You shot a glance at Clarke, “or not.”

“It’s the best idea we have got so far,” Bellamy stood up. “I’ll get Octavia to help me make a list of everyone and what they are best at.”

You smiled at him before walking out of the drop-ship. For all his flaws he wasn’t a bad guy, Bellamy had done some reckless things that you didn’t agree with, but he was trying his best. At least he was open to hearing what you had to say.

______

You stepped inside the tent Raven was currently in, and unsurprisingly she was working hard. “Hey, genius.”

She turned to you and smiled, “hi Al.”

Ever since Raven had broken up with Finn you had been worried about her, she seemed fine but it could have just been an act. She told you how Finn said he loved her, but Raven ended it with him anyway. You were proud of her. Your friend respected herself enough to know when to call it a day, something you wished you could have done for yourself.

“Earth to Alba,” you looked straight ahead to see Raven wavering her hands in front of you. “Sorry, I completely zoned out. What were you saying?”

Raven smiled and motioned for you to sit down next to her. Once you were seated she repeated her previous question. “I was asking how your morning has been? You were gone by the time I woke up, usually I need to shake you awake.”

You chuckled at her comment. Raven had shared a tent with you most nights, apart from the one night when she spent the night with Finn. “I got up early to check on Murphy, his finger nails are finally starting to grow back.”

Raven pulled a face, “that’s so gross.”

You shrugged, “I’ve seen worse.”

The brunette smiled at you, and shook her head before turning back to the table in front of her. “Murphy is lucky to have you, nobody else would stick their necks out for him.”

“He was a good friend to me on the ark, he was there when-let’s just say whenever I needed a shoulder to cry on he was it.”

On the ark your parents used to joke Murphy was secretly your older brother. The two of you could be fighting like cat and dog one minute them playing like best friends the next as children. Regardless of what age you were, you and Murphy always had each other’s back.

“Like I said, he’s lucky to have you.” Raven paused before continuing, “we aren’t on the ark anymore...you have more than one friend down here. I’m always here if you need a shoulder to cry on.”

You opened your mouth to reply when Finn barged into the tent. He walked towards Raven and leaned down to see what she was building. “What's for dinner?”

Raven glanced up at him. Split loads, turning one bullet into two. It's all I can do until we get more gunpowder. Jasper has a recipe. Yesterday I saw him taking buckets from the latrine. I didn't ask.”

You felt uncomfortable. The calm atmosphere had changed the moment Finn entered the tent. Raven’s positive attitude had shifted, she now seemed pissed.

Finn obviously hadn’t of noticed because he kept talking. “Is one of those for me?”

“Maybe. Still deciding.”

He cleared his throat, “I keep wanting to apologize again.”

Oh. This was awkward. You cleared your throat, “I can give you guys a minute.”

Raven sighed, “You don't have to.” You weren’t sure if she was talking to you or Finn, but the pleading look on her face made you stay. “We're good. I’ve got to get this done.”

Finn shook his head, “that's bad.”

“What?” The volume of Raven’s voice surprised you. It was getting higher each time she spoke.

“When you're really pissed off, you always find a project, something to keep your hands busy so you don't punch someone in the face.”

The brunette frowned, “I'm not keeping busy, Finn. I'm keeping us alive.”

“Yeah. You're right.” Finn mumbled under his breath, “That was a dumb thing to say. See you later.”

You see Raven’s face fall. She looked hurt. “Wait. We're good. We're good. We are. I just want you to be happy.”

“Fire! Help fire!”

You ran out of the tent and towards the smoke. You were relieved to see Octavia and Murphy both stumble out of the tent. You noticed the furious look on Murphy’s face, Murphy was now standing toe to toe with Del. “This is all your fault! We told you it was too much wood.”

Del shoved him, “get the hell away from me!”

You were standing by Octavia’s side and rubbed her back as she continued to cough. Bellamy jumped in between the two boys before a fight could escalate. “Hey! Hey! Hey, stop! Save it for the Grounders.”

Octavia stepped away from you and towards her brother. “Well, now what the hell are we gonna do? That was all the food.”

Clarke stormed over shaking her head. “Any idea what happened?”

“Murphy says that Del kept feeding the fire, mostly because Octavia told him it was a bad idea.” Bellamy explained while glaring at Del.

Clarke scoffed, “And we believe Murphy?”

You answered her frowning, “yes. I’m sure O will say the same.”

The Griffin girl shook her head. “Whatever, we need to get more food. Anyone we can spare goes out.”

______

Delinquents gathered round to hear what Bellamy had to say. “Each group takes someone with a gun, and they're for killing Grounders, not food. We don't have the ammo. Use the spears for hunting. Get what you can. Be back by nightfall. No one stays out after dark.”

You eyed others in the camp as the split off into pairs. Your eyes landed on a head of blonde hair, oh great. It was only you and Clarke left. Sighing you went to walk towards her when you felt somebody’s hand on your shoulder.

Turning around you saw Raven staring at you with a worried look on her face. “You shouldn’t be going, the camp needs a medic. What if somebody becomes ill.”

She had a point. Thinking back to your previous conversation with Clarke and Bellamy, you knew what you had to do. Turning away from your friend you faced Clarke. “Hey Griffin,” you said walking towards her. “One of us needs to stay here, and I think it should be you.” She looked at you surprised. “You are the better medic, and the camp needs you.”

She pressed her lips together into a thin line before reluctantly agreeing. “Okay, be safe out there.”

You nodded and turned back to see Raven staring at you with a disappointed look on her face. She crossed her arms over her chest, “that’s not what I meant.”

“Clarke is more useful to this place than I am, she’s need here more than me.” You answered honestly.

Raven’s face twisted. “That’s not true. Octavia and Murphy need you, I need you here. You should have just let Clarke go.”

Running your hand through you’re hair, you let out a deep breath. Truthfully you didn’t want to go hunting, the idea of grounders attacking petrified you. But you needed to be brave. “I’ll be fine, and back before you know it.”

Raven’s expression softened as she pulled you into a hug. “Please be safe.”

“I will.” You pulled back from the hug, “I’ll be excited to see whatever badass creation you have made by the time I returned.”

She smiled hesitantly before returning to her previous job of making bullets.

Myles walked towards you. “Hey Y/N. You alone? You maybe want to go together?”

You pondered for a moment if it was a good idea to hunt with him. You had hated him for what he did to Murphy, but in times of war it was better to let go of grudges. “Sure. I'll get some gear.”

As you started collecting what you need Finn approached you. “Hey, you ready to go?”

Confused you studied him, “are you coming with us?”

Finn let out a chuckle. “You're lousy with a spear, but you're sneaky. We would make a good team.”

“And?”

“And Clarke says I’m to keep you safe, and so did Octavia. She actually threatened me.”

“I’m glad,” you laughed. “I’m also terrible at tracking, so you will come in handy.”

Myles joined you once again. “Hey, partner, we're wasting daylight. Oh, Finn, you're joining the band?”

He nodded, “yip.”

You glanced back one more time before exiting the gates as Myles started telling the story of how he got arrested on the ark.

______

Myles looked around trying to figure where the animal went. “Is is one of those scaly panther things?

Finn looked at him, “bore.”

“Good,” Myles did relived. “Because that panther meat is nasty, but I could eat a whole boar by myself, no joke. You know what the best part is of the boar? It's gonna sound gross.”

You stopped walking and turned to face them, you had noticed the look on Finn’s face. “Guys, quiet for a second. What is it?”

Finn crouched down to inspected the ground better. “These tracks. They're perfect.”

A knot twisted in the pit of your stomach, this was bad. “It’s too perfect.”

Standing up, Finn spoke in a low voice. “We're the ones being hunted.”

You looked up at the tree lines and the bushes where you stood. I’d the grounders where there they where well hidden. “I don't see anything.”

The moment the words came out of your mouth arrows started flying in your direction. You and Finn managed to dodge some, but Myles got hit. A arrow landed in his leg before a second one hit him in the chest.

Myles screamed out in pain. You tried to help him but Finn pulled you back. “Al, come on. We got to leave him.”

You went to argue that you couldn’t leave him behind when something heavy hit you on the back of the head. The last thing you remember is Finn screaming your name before landing on the ground.

______

You awoke to a grounder screaming in your face. He tied your hands and began dragging you along behind him as he road his horse. You felt a wave of relief seeing Finn was tied up beside you.

After a while the grounders stopped when you reached a grounder outpost. Finn nudged you, “We walked for about three miles after crossing that creek, another two or so before we got to the road.”

“I don't think it matters, Finn. They didn't blindfold us, which means they don't care what we saw. They're probably gonna kill us. What do you want from us?”

A grounder opened the door to revile a wounded child laying on a bed. Anya stepped out in front of you. “Help her. If she dies, he does. Her name is Tris.”

You shook your head and took a couple of steps back. “I can't do this. I don't have any equipment.”

Anya eyed you suspiciously. “We'll provide you with what we can Alba of Skaikru.”

“Why do you think I can save her?”

Finn let out a frustrated sigh, “Lincoln told her.”

Anya nodded confirming his theory. “Yes. Our healer is gone. There's nothing we can do for her.” She pointed at Finn. “For his sake, I hope you can.”

Finn grabbed you by the shoulders. “Al, you can do this.”

You bit on your bottom lip, “What happened to her?”

The grounder leader pulled a face of disgust. “She was on the bridge when your bomb exploded. Your people did this to her.”

“How could you send a little girl into battle? What is wrong with you people?” You asked bewildered.

Anya remained expressionless. “She was with me. She was my second. It's how we train them to be warriors.”

“Oh, so the killing can just go on and on.” You quipped back.

“Your people the bomb on the bridge. You did this to her.” As Anya spoke Tris began gasping for air. “Help her!”

You studied the young girl for a moment trying to asses her. Her skin was calmly, she had chills and was sweating. You pressed your hand on her chest to feel how fast her heart was beating. Tris was septic. “She needs clean blood.”

Finn looked at you worried, “A transfusion?”

You rummaged around the room for anything useful. “There's no tubing!” You turned to face the grounders. “We need a syringe, the biggest one you can find, and I need a cannula. It's like a hollow needle.”

One of the grounders eventually handed you ‘equipment’ you could work with. You times to face Anya, “Ok. I'm gonna need your blood.”

“No.”

“You're from the same tribe. It's the best match we're gonna get.” You tried your best to explain why you needed their blood, but all the grounders refused.

“Alba, if you're gonna do something, you have to do it now. Just use mine.” Finn rolled up his sleeve for you to tie a tourniquet around it.

Tris let out a whine of pain that didn’t sound normal. Shit. You knew she was dying but stilled tried your best. “I can't find a vein.”

“Al...”

“Oh, come on.” You continued to look frantically before eventually giving up.

“She's not breathing.” A grounder spat.

Anya raised her hand, “take him away and kill him.”

“No. No. No. No! No. No.” You protested, and fought against the grounder holding you “I did everything I could. No!”

Finn shouted as he was dragged away. “Alba, stop. They'll hurt you.”

______

“Anya will take no pleasure in your friend's death.” Caliban one of the grounders from before spoke. “Prove your worth, and you'll be welcome here.”

You squinted at him confused. “I couldn't save Tris. Why would you want me?”

“We told you. Our healer is gone.”

Maybe this bizarre offer could work in your favour. You might have the chance to get back to camp and warm the others. “Will I be able to go back to see them... my friends, my home?”

He let out a wicked laugh, “tomorrow there'll be nothing to go back to.”

Dame it. All you could do now was try and distract him. “Those marks on her shoulder, what were they? Lincoln has them, too.”

Caliban pulled his top down to reveille his own. “Each scar marks a kill in combat.”

“She had five kills?” He nodded. “She was a little girl.”

“She was brave.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You have a lot of them.”

“And half were after I hurt my knee.”

You bit down on your bottom lip. “Is your commander really going to kill my friend? And the rest of my people?”

The grounder explained in detail what would happen to Finn, then how they would attack ‘Skaikru’. Panicked, you kicked Caliban in the knee and used the scalpel to slit his throat. You sobbed out a apology before watching him die. The moment the realisation of what you done sunk in you threw up, but quickly pulled yourself together.

Not knowing where Finn was you started running in the direction towards camp.

#the 100 #Raven Reyes #raven reyes x reader #slow burn #slow romance #the 100 x oc #the 100 fandom #the 100 fanfiction #Raven Reyes/reader #the 100 imagine #raven reyes imagine #grounders #finn collins #Octavia Blake #clarke griffin #anya the 100 #John Murphy #Bellamy Blake

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hedendom · 5 years ago

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St. Olav - An Echo Of Thor?

A red bearded warrior, hunting trolls with his axe on his travels does not require us to make a huge leap of imagination in order to note similarities with the norse god Thor. However, there is far more to the comparison that St. Olav may have been used to reimagine pre-Christian beliefs surrounding Thor if we look a little deeper...

Following Christianisation in Northern Europe, many Scandinavians kept their heathen beliefs alive through syncretism with Christianity. A strong case can be made for this practice being evident with the Catholic saint and former king of Norway, Olav Haraldsson, celebrated each year on 29th July.

In Scandinavia, from long ago through until more recent times, St. Olav’s day was the day when the people would pray for thunder (named directly from Thor) and (as they referred to it) “the rain of the Æser” to prepare the crop for harvest, which they so eagerly awaited to come to fruition at this time of year.

St. Olav, like Thor, could control trolls and giants, according to legend. When he travelled around Norway on his Christening mission, the trolls often tried to block the way for him. He then used his power to turn them to stone, as if he was the sun, using a cross instead of Thor’s hammer, mjølner

One story, from the area of Ringerike, tells us that when St. Olav tried to pass a place called Krokkleiva, an angry giantess jumped out of the mountainside and said: “Saint Olaf with the red beard, you are riding too close to my cellar wall!” But St. Olaf replied: “Stand you there in wood and stone until I return!” Whereupon the giantess was turned into stone. Similar stories are told about various landscape features throughout Norway. People also saw other traces of St. Olaf in the landscape, such as footprints of his horse. A stone in Setesdal is said to be his chair, two rocks near Stiklestad are his bowl and cup, etc...

Another famous landmark is The Well Of St. Olav at Karmøy: “The legend claims that King Olaf was followed by enemies through the strait Karmsund. He sailed his ship to the western side of the island. From here the King and his men started to drag the ship over land from Torvastad to Vikingstad.The hard work made them thirsty and the King stabbed his clenched fist in the rock. Immediately it came roaring up clear water so everyone could drink.” Most interesting about St. Olav’s Well is that it is located in Torvastad and just a few hundred meters to the west we find Hovland. As the name suggests, it was likely to have been a pagan hov (temple). We know that water played a major role in Norse mythology, and perhaps the water in St. Olav’s well also had a sacred function in Pre-Christian times. In Viking times, before the conversion to Christianity (and after it, too), people in Norway believed in different supernatural beings living in the landscape. Landscape features could also be made by them, such as mountains being petrified trolls, or a ravine being the axe blow of a giant. With these stories about St. Olav, this way of thinking and explaining the landscape takes on a Christian mask, yet it is still fundamentally a continuation of traditional beliefs.

#Forn Sed #Forn Sidr #Forn Siðr #Nordisk Sed #Folketro #folklore #folk tales #scandinavian folklore #scandinavian folk belief #syncretism #st olav #olav haraldsson #asatru #ásatrú #åsatro #thor #tor #norse gods #norse heathenry

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wildallywild · 3 years ago

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@wildallywild

Counseling does not come naturally to me. But, what I want most is to help others the way others have helped me. Therapy is not just talking about your feelings. It’s a science and it’s an art. And sometimes, it’s magic. A good therapist is life and death. My therapist not only saved my life, she gave me life. She helped me recover from my childhood trauma. She saw me, she cried for me, and with me, and she gave me space to cry for myself. After three decades, I finally understand it’s not my fault.

Every kid deserves joy, consistent love and safety. And every kid with “emotional” or “behavioural issues” deserves never to be blamed. They need to be saved. There’s no such thing as a bad kid.

I was brainwashed into oblivion by my father. Triangulated and abused. I think it started when I was two. I thought I was stupid, manipulative, mean and worthless. Pissant. Asinine. Bitch. My name was Stupid Kid. I went to the bathroom in the woods behind the house. He gave me a world of darkness and left me there alone. He said it was my fault. He filled our home with feral cats to isolate the family. He cracked the dining room ceilings so that we would be ashamed. My mother wore black for twenty years. I hid behind doors and in treetops, I cast spells in the walls. I never knew it wasn’t normal.

So, I became a cowboy in that three story wilderness. I hardened in the sun. I wandered back and forth across a hostile landscape and kept my secrets to myself. I roamed an open range of uncertainty and fear. I faced wildfires of self-loathing and have burns that will never heal.

A pixie-cut outlaw with the weapons he gave me. A seven-inch hunting knife for my seventh birthday…to see what I would do. I cut open carcasses and fashioned spears, but I never hurt a fly. I took what he would give, because on Christmas morning they’d have to be returned. He liked making mommy cry. I roasted dead pond frogs on an open flame with the Prime Minister’s daughter. I slept alone among the ferns when the skies were clear. I fell from a secret tower and broke my rib, but didn’t cry. And all those rusty nails. When she cracked her head on the rocks, he put her in the bath, laughed and passed the phone. I renovated broken mansions and played house with its remains. But I was never mommy in the kitchen, I was wolf lady and her pack. I stole my favourite teacher’s stapler and buried it in the woods because I was ashamed. It’s buried there today.

After the fire of our family home, and also two businesses, the hazy landmarks of that hellscape receded. We moved six times in two years. I began failing at school. Teachers called me problem child and I threw mud at classroom windows. They made me read alone. “Does not work well with others.” I frightened and amused. I was disruptive and controlling—at once perpetuating chaos and trying to master it. Nothing was for sure. Chaos and trauma filled the space that belonged to play and learning. Long division never stuck. They called me a late bloomer when he chopped off my buds. My head full of secret bruises, my heart filled with certain pain. Curiosity and creativity hid like prey behind perfectionism and self-consciousness. My lively spirit turned into rage. I became dysregulated and discombobulated, reckless and petrified. I struck out in self-defence. I became a bully when love was just a word a couldn’t spell.

This hellscape was ubiquitous, and it informed my fragile sense of self. Therapists didn’t understand. They said there was something wrong with me. I had nothing left to lose. I was blamed for my own suffering. I was very bad. I wrote a story about suicide, but that wasn’t enough. I wrote poems about death, they said they didn’t understand. They played tricks on me and bribed me with things I didn’t understand. My father stopped paying for therapy when the shrink started asking questions. He shipped me off to boarding school and never came to visit.

100% of violent adults were abused or neglected in childhood. But that doesn’t mean all abused children grow up to be violent. Many of these survivors do heal. Some turn out like Gavin De Becker. It’s all about a child’s interpretation. If they believe they are bad it becomes a poison. How many children blamed for their own abuse grow up to be healthy, loving and well-adjusted adults? Not many. Abused children have a chance when they are seen and heard and valued. Every child deserves to feel like the moon and stars. Abused children don’t hate their parents, they hate themselves.

I’ve begun the lengthy process of unlearning toxic interpersonal expression. I’m untangling my dysfunctional childhood, thread by thread. Building back up. It’s a huge undertaking and it’s overwhelming. I didn’t learn this stuff in childhood. My nervous system is stuck on high alert. My amygdala thinks she runs the place. I’m overriding the rotten language of fear and anger. Thank god for neuroplasticity. I’m learning that I’m safe and that most people are good. I’ve had to learn to listen, and how to respond. I’m reprogramming for radical empathy, nonjudgmentalness, and emotional validation. It requires so little to help a person to feel seen, understood and appreciated. For me, this is the hardest thing. But I have so much love to give.

#bpd problems #trauma #mental abuse #abuse cw #parental abuse #child abuse #cptsdhealing #bpd thoughts

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floral-and-fine · 4 years ago

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Heaven Bent part 1

Daryl Dixon x female reader

A/n: My first time writing anything for The Walking Dead fandom, but this idea was too cute to pass up! Thank you @ewokiee for all the help!

Summary: The reader finds Sophia lost in the woods, too bad neither of them have any sense of direction.

You stopped in your tracks, taking in your surroundings. You found yourself in a small clearing amongst all the tall trees. This part of the forest looked familiar…maybe.

You furrowed your brows and spun back around, looking to where you just emerged, then turned your head back to look ahead.

“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, it all looked the same to you. Just leaves, bark, twigs, not a damn thing stuck out.

Sighing, you continued to trudge forward, you didn’t even have a mild clue as to what direction you were traveling in, but it was better than just standing in one place, right? It’s not like there was anybody out there looking for you.

Getting lost wasn’t a big surprise, necessarily, you had always been directionally challenged your whole life. Growing up, you used to live by woods similar to these, as a kid you believed there was something magical about it. Spending hours exploring, not realizing you were lost until it started getting dark out.

But that was back when the world was a safer place. Usually, the sounds of things like car horns and roaring traffic would help guide you to the nearest road, or your mother would come looking for you, shouting out your name so you could follow her voice, but not now. Now the world was eerily quiet, just the occasional bird or rustling of the trees.

“I should get a compass and a map,” you mused to yourself, wishing you had something to help you out of this. “That is If I ever find my way out of here and back to what’s left of civilization.”

It’s not like you were exactly prepared for or even expecting the end of the world to happen. Hell, even before shit hit the fan, you were barely scraping by week to week.

Most people thought of you as a free spirit, constantly moving around, never staying in a place for too long. And while you had your fun and had seen all sorts of wonderful places and had met the most interesting people, a part of you regretted not putting down any roots or living closer to your family.

Under normal circumstances, you loved your lifestyle and wouldn’t have it any other way, but now that you were on your own in the middle of all this mess, you couldn’t help but wonder how it could’ve been had you been with your family or close friends.

Your ears perked up at the sound of water, it was faint, but hopefully, it wasn’t too far away. Automatically, your pace picked up as you moved towards the sound.

You stumbled down a small hill, finding a creek at the bottom. You smiled to yourself, just relieved to see something new. At least it was something more memorable than trees. It could even serve as a little landmark.

You knelt down, dipping your hands into the cool water. It probably wasn’t safe to drink but it felt nice on your skin. You splashed some water on your face, helping you feel a little more awake and refreshed after your hours of walking in this heat.

You were almost tempted to strip and get in just to cool the rest of the way off, but you’d settle for just dipping your feet in.

As you were undoing the laces on your boots, you heard whimpering coming from some place close by. You stilled your movements and focused on the sound. The cries were muffled, whoever it was was trying their best to stay quiet.

“Hello?” You whispered, not wanting to draw any unwelcome attention to yourself, the last thing you needed was to have to run or fight off any zombies.

You waited a moment for a reply, then took a deep breath, and spoke up a bit louder, “Anyone there?”

After a few seconds, a young girl with light brown hair peeked her head out from behind a nearby tree. She was clutching a doll tightly to her chest.

Immediately your body relaxed. The poor girl looked terrified, not that you blamed her, if you were her age, lost in the woods with living corpses on the loose, you would’ve been petrified.

“Did you get lost?” You asked softly.

She nodded, taking a tentative step closer to you.

You smiled warmly at her, hoping she’d come a little closer. “I’m y/n,” you started. “What’s your name?”

“Sophia,” she answered in a small voice.

“Hi Sophia,” you smiled. “You come closer, I don’t bite.” You patted the spot next to you, and watched as she cautiously sat down.

“How’d you get separated from your family, Sweetheart?”

She stared at the water, recalling what had happened the day before. “We were on the road, and a bunch of walkers came out of nowhere.” Her eyes started to water, “we all hid underneath the cars… but one almost got me, so I ran.”

You gently, rubbed her back as she started to cry.

“Mr. Grimes came after me,” she sniffled. “But there were more walkers. He told me to hide, so he could distract them… I was supposed to run back, and I did but I got lost. I-I couldn’t find the road and I was so afraid I’d run into one of those things.” Her shoulders shook as she cried harder.

Wrapping an arm around her, you pulled her in for a hug. “It’s going to be alright,” you murmured. “We’ll find them together.”

You now felt a renewed sense of determination to find your way out of these woods, you wanted nothing more than to get this girl back to her mom.

…

“I like your necklaces,” Sophia spoke up all of sudden causing you to smile. The two of you were walking hand in hand, hoping to find that highway she was talking about.

“Oh yeah?”

She nodded, her eyes fixated on them, specifically the long ones with pretty crystals hanging off of them. “They’re very pretty.”

You slowed down, coming to a stop. Sophia looked up at you, curious as to what you were doing.

“Can you let go of my hand for a second?” You asked, smiling at her. “It’ll be alright.”

Reluctantly, she released her hold, freeing your hand.

You wiggled and stretched your fingers for a bit. Ever since you found her, she had held onto your hand with a death grip. Not that you minded, you figured she was scared of getting separated and being alone again, and in all honesty, you were afraid of the same thing.

Reaching around behind your neck, you pulled one of your necklaces over your head. “Here,” You knelt down and held it in front of Sophia, it was a simple necklace with a single crystal pendant.

“The crystal is an amethyst,” you pointed out. “It's for spiritual protection.”

You placed the necklace in her cupped hands, watching as she ran her fingers over the crystal. “You can keep it,” you chirped happily.

She looked at you wide-eyed, before putting it on. “Thank you,” she whispered.

You nodded, and offered her your hand again, curling your fingers around her palm. “Which way do you think we should keep going?”

…

A couple of days had passed and you started getting worried. You kept it all to yourself though, putting on a brave front for Sophia’s sake.

But things weren’t looking good. You were already running low on food and water. You did your best to ration what was left between the two of you, often giving Sophia a little more than you gave yourself.

You knew the more time that passed the less likely it was that her group would find either of you.

In the daytime, you did everything you could to keep your and her spirits up, like playing little games of I Spy, quietly singing songs, asking her questions about her group.

It sounded like they were a good group of people, for the most part, you wondered if they’d accept you. It had to be better than surviving on your own.

The further the two of you walked, the more lost you felt. It was as though the forest was endless, your own personal hell in a way.

The nights so far had been the worst part. Once you’d find a semi safe-looking spot, you and Sophia would sit against a tree, she’d fall asleep curled by your side, while you stayed awake through the night keeping watch.

That’s when things seemed the most hopeless to you, sitting alone in the dark with just your thoughts to keep you company. You wasted the hours worrying about all the things that could go wrong, how inevitably you’d run out of food, that one or more of those walkers, like Sophia called them, would find you…

Not to mention, you were physically and mentally exhausted, you weren’t sure how much longer you could keep any of this up.

As the sun was beginning to rise, you spotted a walker out in the distance. However, you didn’t want to wake Sophia up yet, she needed her rest if the two of you were going to keep searching for your way out of this forest.

You dug through your bag and took out your knife. Carefully, you stood up, trying your best to be quiet. You observed the walker carefully, it moved slowly with a limp.

You had only killed a couple of them total, usually, you preferred just sneaking around and avoiding them.

Sighing, you gripped the handle of the hunting knife tighter and tiptoed towards your target.

Despite how many of these walkers you had seen, it still made you sick to your stomach, between the smell and their appearance you weren’t sure if you could even imagine anything more disgusting.

You approached it from behind, taking a deep breath before taking a hold of its shoulder and plunging the knife through the back of its skull.

Just like that, it fell to the ground. Stepping down onto its back, you reached down and tugged the knife back out. You tried your best to ignore the unpleasant squelching as you wiggled the knife free.

Quickly, you returned to where Sophia was still soundly asleep. Taking out a rag, you wiped off the bloody knife, before slipping it back into your bag.

…

Daryl huffed as he packed a bag and prepped for venturing out into the woods again.

He couldn’t stand the sight of Carol’s moping, he felt bad for her, he truly did, but comforting people wasn’t his strong suit. Made him feel useless watching someone cry and not being able to do a damn thing about.

He never received much comfort or sympathy growing up, his father and brother weren't compassionate types. So he didn’t have a clue as to how to make anyone else feel better. He had seen how Lori and Dale were with the others, always saying the right words, knowing what people needed to hear to get through the bad.

The only thing Daryl could do was go back out there and find Sophia, which was a hell of a lot better than sitting around this farm twiddling his thumbs while everyone else was having a pity party.

“You’re going back out there?” Carol asked softly, she appreciated all his efforts. It honestly surprised her when he volunteered to search for Sophia. A part of her had expected him not to care.

The more she got to know Daryl, the more obvious were the differences between him and Merle. On the surface, he was tough and brash just like his brother, but somewhere inside of Daryl, he cared about the group, about people.

“Ain’t like anyone else is gonna,” he answered, slinging the backpack strap over his shoulder.

Carol placed her hand on his forearm, squeezing lightly, “Thank you.”

Daryl glanced down for a moment before shrugging her hand off.

“Someone’s gotta do it,” he muttered, tightly clenching his jaw. He headed towards the stables, figuring he’d be able to cover more ground by horse then just on foot.

…

“Sophia!” Daryl shouted on the top of his lungs, he didn’t give a damn if he drew the attention of every damn walker in the whole state. He was determined to find her.

It felt like it was all up to him to find her, cause if he didn’t no one else was gonna step up.

Rick had his hands full with Carl, and Daryl could tell that Shane had already given up on the girl. He understood why, little girl lost in the woods, no food, no water, the likelihood she was still alive was slim to none, but there was something in his gut saying otherwise, and it pushed him to keep searching.

Each time he went out looking for her, he honestly believed that this was going to be the time he found her. That he stumbled across wherever she was hiding, and she’d be there, alive.

He continued at a slow trot, keeping his eyes peeled for any movement, before picking up the pace.

…

Neither you nor Sophia had any energy left to keep going.

You offered to carry her when she started falling behind and stumbling over her own feet. You crouched down, allowing her to wrap her arms loosely around your neck as you looped your arms to hold her legs.

For a few hours, you had mustered up just enough will to keep pushing forward, but then it was like your body just gave up. You collapsed to your knees, and couldn’t find the will to stand back up.

Sophia had passed out, and your eyes were growing heavy, you had no fight left, but you tried you to at least stay conscious. You drag yourself over near a tree, so you and Sophia wouldn’t be completely exposed.

You wrapped your arms around her. No matter how much you wanted to keep going, you just couldn’t. Days without sleep and water had finally caught up to you. You felt so heavy and limp.

Looking up to the sky, the sunlight seeping through the leaves and branches was bright and warm.

Your eyes started to water, this was probably your last day alive. It wouldn’t have been so bad if it had just been you, but you failed Sophia. You thought about Sophia’s poor mother, out there somewhere close by looking for her daughter. You had hoped you were going to be able to reunite the two of them.

You began to openly weep as a wave of emotion crashed down on you. Maybe Sophia would’ve been better off without your help.

You squeezed her shoulder gently and whispered an apology.

Suddenly, you froze, you couldn’t believe your ears but it sounded like there was someone shouting in the distance. But he was too far, and you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying.

Wetting your lips with your tongue you tried to speak. But you could barely get a word out.

“Sophia!” The man yelled, sounding like he was heading towards your direction.

“Here,” you croaked, your voice cracking as you tried to speak louder. Your eyes watered, frustrated that he hadn’t heard you.

“Sophia!” He shouted again. He sounded like he was closer, this was your chance.

“HERE,” you repeated, straining your voice as you tried to shout, praying that he heard you this time. You watched closely in the direction you heard the voice. “Please,” you whispered, “we’re here.”

Time seemed to slow down, and it was absolute torture. You balled your fists tightly, waiting for someone, anyone coming to your rescue. Just as you were about to lose hope, a man with a crossbow emerged.

He was covered in sweat and was panting. His short brown hair was a mess and there were bloodstains on his clothes.

Daryl took a couple of steps forward, he couldn’t believe it. He had actually found Sophia. Although, he wasn’t expecting to find anyone else with her.

“Is she alive?” He asked you.

You nodded in response. “Are you with her group?” You asked, your throat still sore from earlier.

“Yeah,” he answered, trying to figure out how the hell he was going to get you both back to the farm. Sophia was out cold, and you didn’t seem to be any better off.

Daryl scooped Sophia into his arms, then turned back to you. “Got a horse nearby, we just need to get ya to it.”

You nodded, just grateful that he wasn’t going to abandon you out here. You weren’t anyone to him, or to their group… the easiest thing would’ve been to leave you, and you would’ve understood.

As you stood up it felt like your legs were going to give out at any moment. Daryl allowed you to lean against him, as you made your way towards the horse.

Somehow, you managed to find the strength to mount the horse. Daryl instructed you just to hold on, as he grabbed the reins to lead you and the horse back. With Sophia in his arms, he started walking back towards the farm.

You rested against the horse, clutching its mane with your fingers. Your eyes felt heavy like you were going to pass out any minute, the world around you was blurry. Watching the trees pass, you thought you could see figures standing between them, tall dark shadowy figures.

Shaking your head, you tried to focus on your and Sophia’s savior walking ahead of you instead.

You smiled noticing the white wings on his back. You couldn’t figure out if it was another hallucination or if they were real. But maybe he really was an angel.

You sighed, feeling safe in his company. Everything was going to be alright. You rested your eyes, the movements of the horse gently lulling you to sleep.

Daryl stopped in his tracks when he heard a loud thud behind him like someone had dropped a sack of dirty laundry on the ground.

Looking back, he saw the horse saddle empty and you laying in the dirt like a rag doll.

“God damn it,” he muttered.

He gently sat Sophia down, before wandering over to you. He crouched down to your level, making sure you were still alive. God, you were going to end up being more trouble than the girl.

“Hey,” Daryl said sharply, patting your cheek, causing you to stir.

Your eyes slowly opened, blinking a couple of times before they were able to focus on his face. You smiled at him, a warm sweet smile. With the light of the sun shining down on him so brightly, it looked almost as if he had a halo.

“You really are an angel,” you mused in your partially delirious state. “You’ve got wings, a halo, and everything.”

Daryl scowled, “The hell you goin’ on about?”

You giggled, it was pretty funny to hear an angel curse.

Daryl sighed and muttered something under his breath about how you probably went crazy out there. Before helping you sit up.

You looked over to the side and noticed the horse standing there. Tilting your head to the side, you asked “Did I fall off?”

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #female reader #reader insert #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon imagine #twd #walking dead fanfic #walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic

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intoanothermind · 4 years ago

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Beauty Queen - Chapter 6

B E A U T Y Q U E E N

Synopsis: You are the Ice Princess of Narnia during the Long Winter. Your sister Jadis, the White Witch, hates that you’re always helping Narnians escape prision. She decides to hunt you down and you have to run away from the palace. What happens when you find the four humans lost in Narnia?

- Edmund Pevensie x reader

Masterlist

—-

C H A P T E R S I X

Witch, humans and the beaver ran as fast as possible along the path that Edmund had followed. Y/N knew it wouldn’t make a difference, but she didn’t want to see their hope fading, so she simply continued on, leading them to her sister’s palace.

“Quick!” shouted Peter.

Peter stopped and Susan ran into him. He went to his side and seconds later, they were all nestled side by side, at the top of the hill. An immense and frightening ice caste - literally - stretched out into the valley below.

“Edmund!” Lucy shouted, her voice extending across the silent valley.

“Shh!” asked the beaver. “They’ll hear you!”

“It wouldn't be good if the Jadis’ wolves heard us.” said Y/N. “She’s hunting me as much as she’s hunting any Narnian.”

Peter, worried and angry with his brother, to learn that the White Witch was able to hunt her own sister, ran down the hill. But the beaver pulled him back.

“NO!” cried the beaver.

“Let me go!” Peter ordered, pulling his coat.

“You're doing what she wants!”

“We can't let him in!” Susan replied.

“He's our brother!” agreed Lucy.

“He's the bait!” said the beaver. “The Witcher wants four of you! And being with Y/N makes it even worse, because she’ll have the five of you!”

“For what?” asked Peter.

“To prevent the prophecy from being fulfilled. Kill you!”

“This is all your fault!” Susan accused Peter, even if she is really wanting to blame Y/N. If she was being hunted, why haven't they disposed of her yet?

“My fault?!” defended Peter.

“To start with, none of this would have happened if you had listened to me!”

“Ah, so you knew it was going to happen?!”

“I didn't know what was going to happen. We should have left while we could!”

“Stop it!” shouted Lucy. “This won’t help Edmund!”

Y/N took the glass and called for the others. She whispered the same reflex spell, and together they watched Edmund arrive at the palace.

They saw Edmund walking in the distance, between the statues. He didn’t look so well walking through them. There were several creatures that Edmund saw. Minotaurs, centaurs, fauns, rabbits, foxes, birds. All petrified in expressions of extreme agony, desperation and courage. Equipped as if they were at attack’s position and defence. For Edmund, the statues were too realistic.

Edmund stepped on a stick and looked to the side, where there was a tiger that opened its mouth wide, with its fangs sticking out. Edmund took a stick and approached the tiger, passing his hand over the hole and removing the snow that had fallen there. He ran the twig through the folds in his hair and smiled when he saw the beauty of yours.

Edmund kept walking and passed over the wolf. But this one wasn't a statue. He barked at Edmund, who, in shock, fell to the ground. The wolf went after him, almost clawing the skin of the boy's chest.

“Stop, stranger, or you won't move anymore.” the wolf whined. “Who are you?”

“I'm Edmund.” he replied. “I met the Queen in the woods! She told me to come back here. I am a Son of Adam!”

“My apologies” said the wolf, leaving up boy “fortunate favourite of the Queen.” Edmund sat down and watched the wolf heading towards a door. “Or rather, not so fortunate.”

They climbed ladders made of large ice towards a big hall where was the throne of the Witch.

“Wait here.” said the wolf.

Edmund then looked to the great throne and approached, looking around to see if there was anyone around. He sat on the throne of ice, where a large white fur coat lay over the seat.

“Did you like it?” asked the Witch, appearing beside him.

Edmund stood up quickly.

“Yes... I liked it, Your Majesty.” He walked away a little while the woman sat on the throne.

“I already imagined.” she replied. “Tell me, Edmund... Are your sisters deaf?”

“No.”

“And your brother... Does he have a mental ill?”

“Well, I think, but says...”

“So” she shouted, standing up. “How dare you come alone?!”

“I tried!” said Edmund, moving away.

“Edmund, I asked you for so little.”

“They don't listen to me!”

“Couldn’t you even do it?”

“I brought them halfway! They're in a little house on the dike with the beavers.”

Silence.

“Well...” she said. “I suppose you’re not complete useless , are you?!”

“Damn it!” cursed Y/N, as soon as she undid the reflex spell.

“Why did you stop?!” asked Peter.

“Because we don't have much time.” she answered, pushing them all back the way they came from.

“What?” asked Lucy, confused. “For what?”

“If she knows that we are in the dike with the Beavers, she will send a pack of wolves behind us.” replied Y/N and, as if to confirm her statement, a howl was heard in the dead of night.

#edmund pevensie #King Edmund #edmund the just #edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie imagine #peter pevensie #lucy pevensie #susan pevensie #narnia #chronicles of narnia #The Chronicles of Narnia #beauty queen

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1-800-sunset · 4 years ago

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Happy Halloween my loves!🖤💀🕷

For today's treat here I have a werewolf Dabi/ Hunter Hawks au

Hawks didn’t know how he got himself in this situation.

Blond hair rustling in the wind as he ran through the barren woods in the darkness. Legs burning after hours of running, but he was known for his speed. Even so eventually the beast would catch up soon. Air desperately rushing into his lungs. The moon sneaking through the bare branches of the trees.

Either he was going to come out of this as a meal or a mate.

He can’t get caught. The sound of his racing heart blaring in his ears overcoming the crunching of leaves that could be heard throughout the woods. Which was probably not in his favor; since the wolf chasing him was also aware of this. Not to mention he was out of silver bullets and he lost the gun when it was smacked out of his hand. His yellow visor was cracked, he should take them off but he can’t. Not while running, one misstep and it’s over for him. He’s tired, but like a mantra in his head that sounds eerily like his handlers tells him to keep going.

In a way it was his same handlers that put him in this position. It was their idea to move him to a new area because of a new rising werewolf pack. Fuck. If only he had known. Well even if he knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to the hunters, he didn’t have much of a choice. Orders are orders. A howl rang throughout the forest. Dabi was close. There was no way Dabi was going to leave him alone. He will chase Hawks to the ends of the world.

It’s been months since he arrived in this new territory. His first night hunting for werewolves was when he met Dabi.

The werewolf was running right behind Hawks, he was so close. Sharp teeth kept trying to nip at the hunter’s heels until Hawks eventually tripped after dodging a bite from Dabi. Yellow cracked visors flying off his face.

Once crashing to the ground, he tried to get back up but he was being pinned down by a gigantic wolf with black fur. Squirming wasn’t helping and his heart beat faster as he panicked. He was caught, it was all over. Widen golden eyes could once get a small glimpse of snarling teeth taking in sharp breaths.

The blond was flipped over and now faced Dabi shifted into his human form, still using his werewolf strength to hold him down. Turquoise eyes almost shone in the moon’s light as they reflected the manic joy in his grin. Their height difference was especially highlighted in this moment as Dabi practically towered over him. In this moment hawks really did feel like a little bird, one that was caged with a ravenous wolf.

“Caught ya~” he said in a deep rasp.

Finally after all the teasing and the chasing he had Hawks exactly where he wanted. The pretty hunter’s face was petrified, eyes looking up at him in horror, the flush from running for so long has paled. Blond hair in a wild halo behind his head reflecting the moon’s ray. For a man that looked like he belonged to the sun, he practically glowed in the moon. Dabi was close enough to see the scatter of freckles along Hawks’s nose and cheeks like the stars above them.

When he met Hawks and his blue eyes looked into the fierce gold tinged with honey sweetness; he just knew he had to make the hunter his. Hawks was so much shorter than him due to the werewolf genes. The blond always stood his ground and worked quickly. For a human he was able to keep up with him, even landing lucky shots. Between fights, Dabi would always flirt, trying to charm the little bird. At every chance he got he would lick, scent, and hold Hawks. Their back and forth banter was an addicting taste on his tongue. In their times apart his thoughts were consumed by the pretty hunter.

His pack was aware of his efforts and would face off with the hunter to check him out. From the sidelines they watched in amusement. As if Dabi chasing after the hunter was their own personal television show. It was kinda funny to see one of the Alphas of the pack trail behind a human like a puppy dog. Of course they would never say it to his face.

Dabi took a deep inhale taking in the blond’s intoxicating scent mixed with the adrenaline and sweat from their chase. Hawks shook violently, oh he thinks Dabi is going to hurt him. Dabi would never hurt him, why would he hurt the one he chose to be his mate?

Tonight he was going to make Hawks his.

#dabihawks #bhna hawks #bnha takami keigo #takami keigo #mha hawks #dabi #bnha dabi #mha dabi

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llamagoddessofficial · 5 years ago

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Drider au.... (Spooder bois)

OHmyGOD okay so I’m incredibly arachnophobic (just images of spiders can make me jump) but honestly???? A giant spider skeleton boyfriend could wrap me up anytime ifuknowwhati’msayin. Obviously the non-spider half isn’t gonna be a drow it’s gonna be a sexy skeleton... so that would make them... Skiders?

The height differences at the head between the boys and Mc is the same... but that really doesn’t mean they should be considered small. For those who don’t know what a drider is, or the rough spider -> skeleton body proportion I imagine:

So yeah. Skull is gonna be fucking huge

Sans: All skiders have their extra-large venom delivery teeth over the top of their regular teeth- and Sans in particular is incredibly venomous, able to control his venom with deathly precision. One bite and he can paralyse you, send you into sleep for a length of his choosing, or instantly cause your organs to shutdown. He’s based off a sazima’s tarantula- his spider body is black and blue. He’s also a mobile little shit and can jump with surprising agility considering his size.

He probably befriended Mc when they were both small and she went into the woods. Most skiders learn very quickly that humans don’t want anything to do with them, and might kill them... but they would play together, a newly hatched and lonely skider immediately falling for Mc when she didn’t run away from him like the other human kids did. In return he kept her safe no matter what.

Red: Red prefers active hunting- he’s not one for digging out a den and waiting for some idiot to stumble in and decide to spend the night. As such he’s met more than his fair share of hunters out to kill him due to his particular taste for human blood. He can eat animals, sure, but... human blood is his favourite. He’s based on a Brazilian wandering spider, and his markings are black and crimson.

He’s a... ‘friend’ (hunting partner) of Sans who kidnaps Mc upon mistaking her for prey. She talks to him a bit, trying to convince him not to chomp her, and he almost agrees to let her go... but just at that moment Sans comes out of nowhere and starts a vicious fight. Sans is pissed Red almost ate his future wife and Red thinks Sans is just trying to steal his quarry- meanwhile Mc is sitting there webbed up in a tree absolutely petrified she’s about to be spiderfood.

Once they calm down, she’s released from her sticky situation (hehehehe) and Red starts paying her regular visits, much to Sans’ chagrin.

Skull: You thought naga Skull was scary. This mf will make you piss yourself in terror when you see him. He’s gigantic, his venom delivery teeth are the size of your hand, he’s covered in scars and marks, he’s got a spear and several small knives embedded into the back of his giant abdomen... a physical reminder of the last-minute struggling attempts to live from the huntsmen who so stupidly walked into his den thinking they could kill him. His legs alone are longer than Mc is tall, and he’s roughly based off of a goliath birdeater spider, just red and black.

His injuries mean he lost the ability to create webbing so he relies on paralysing his victims with his venom or overwhelming them with sheer strength in order to make a kill. He bit Mc after stalking her, intending on eating her... but then quickly realised he didn’t want to eat her (pretty and sof) and spent a few days caring for her in the safety of his den until the toxins gradually wore off. During that time she got over her fear of him and they bonded over dumb nerdy things like their favourite types of plant... that he would then go out and collect for her, mostly to make her feel better but also because he was quickly developing a crush.

#llamagines #skider au #researching for this au was just me having several heart attacks as various images of terrifying eight leggy bastards appeared on my screen #hope youre happy #dont say i dont make sacrifices for yall

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coneygoil · 5 years ago

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Walking Wounded

Caryl AU. The waitress at a diner Daryl decides to start frequenting catches his eye, but things are complicated. Now, Daryl is the only thing standing between her and her abusive husband.

Writer’s note: So, this is my first TWD fic. I actually wasn’t planning on writing any, but a dream I woke up from the other day inspired me and I just had to get it out in words! This will be a multi-chapters fic. More to come later :) btw, I don’t like using curse words, so there’s not a whole lot in here.

He began frequenting the diner a couple months ago. Daryl and his brother needed a quick bite to eat after a long day of hunting and roughing it like wildmen in the woods, and there was jack squat to eat at their trailer. The diner was rather empty with only a couple other hungry patrons sipping coffee and minding their own business.

Daryl hadn’t thought much of the waitress that served them. She was polite and a bit skittish, and strangely had a nearly shaved head. But, that was really the only thing that stood out. By the time they’d driven off in Daryl’s rickety old pick-up truck, he’d put the waitress out of his mind.

Merle seemed to take a liking to the food at that particular diner. “Taste like real food,” he’d said, then colorfully compared other diner foods to a pile of dog poop.

The next weekend, they visited the little diner and once again, the same woman waited on them. It was this second trip to the diner that the polite waitress with the buzzed head caught his interest. He paid attention to her. He chatted with her when Merle left to take a piss. Her eyes were kind and looked at him like he wasn’t a dirty redneck like other people perceived him to be. Her eyes were the prettiest blue he’d ever seen.

The third time Daryl visited the diner, he was alone. Merle was gone. He wasn’t sure where his brother was, but it didn’t matter. He’d be back. And if he didn’t come back, Daryl could take a few guesses where he was – either in jail, holed up somewhere on a bender, or dead.

So, Daryl was there alone.

He made sure to sit at the same table they were in last time in hopes the waitress with the kind eyes and buzzed head would serve him. He felt warm and a little foolish at the thought. He wasn’t a damn schoolboy hoping his crush would notice him, but that’s exactly what he felt like when he slipped into the booth. The waitress arrived before he barely settled down.

“Where’s your brother?” she’d asked after a few lines of greeting.

Daryl gestured out the window as if that’d give an explanation. “He’s out with some friends,” he tall-taled, because he had no clue where his brother was, and he wasn’t about to give the ugly details of truth of where he could be.

The first two visits Daryl hadn’t caught the waitress’s name and she didn’t wear a nametag to make it obvious. “I’m Daryl, by the way.”

Her eyes sparkled when she smiled at him. “Nice to meet you again, Daryl. I’m Carol.”

It was probably the second, maybe third, time he’d heard her name, but now he would never forget it.

Trips to the diner became Daryl’s new habit. He made sure to visit during Carol’s shifts and sat in the same booth every time he could. He was pleased on one of his visits, as soon as he walked in the door, Carol greeted him from behind the counter with the biggest smile he’d been graced with from her so far. She teased him about how much he enjoyed the coffee because that had to be the only reason he would frequent so often. The dark liquid that filled his cup was okay (at least better than the swill Merle fixed at home), but Daryl wouldn’t dare offer the real reason. They chatted longer if Carol had the time to spare. She seemed genuinely interested in his life. Daryl kept the details vague. There were many specifics a gentle lady like her didn’t need to know – most likely because it would horrify her, especially anything concerning his brother.

Merle didn’t visited the diner with him again, save for one more time when he was somewhat clean and presentable. Daryl didn’t enjoy the trip since Merle did most of the talking and called Carol names that Daryl thought she was above. It burned him up inside. Carol didn’t seem too bothered though, but she was more willing to hang around their table when Merle would step out.

It was on Daryl’s 9th trip to the diner that he spotted a bruise. Carol’s uniform sleeve didn’t cover all of it. His eyes lingered on the half-covered purple handprint peeking from the hem of her sleeve. A grim feeling crept up his spine and his heart pummeled his ribcage. He knew a bruise like that didn’t come from an accident. He’d seen it too often as a kid to know. Someone put it there on purpose. Daryl’s stomach tightened at the thought of how many more bruises were hidden on her.

He didn’t know if Carol was married. She didn’t wear a wedding band and she never talked much about her personal life. Until one day, she did.

It wasn’t much. Just a mention of her husband. A husband who was at home watching their young daughter. Her throat seemed to choke up as she spoke the words. A flash of fear crossed her face that wasn’t missed by Daryl. It was like just the reminder that her daughter was in the presence of her husband concerned her greatly. She claimed she had to get a job a few months ago to earn her keep because her husband wasn’t going to have her sit at home all day slumming around while he hauled butt to provide for them. She hadn’t said it in such a way, but Daryl could read between the lines.

The next diner trip, the cheer in Carol’s smile was there, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes like it usually did. Daryl knew now that she was married, but that didn’t stop him from chatting with her and feeling the same as he had before. Carol was still the kindest person he’d ever met in his sorry excuse for a life and he couldn’t help thinking on how pretty those blue eyes of hers were. He kept coming because seeing him put a smile on her face. Talking to him gave her a bit of relief. He wanted to give her at least that much.

One evening as Daryl stepped into the diner, he stopped dead in his tracks. His regular table was tucked away in the left-hand corner, and for the first time since he started coming, it was taken. A little girl occupied the booth. Her shoulder-length blonde hair hung against her face as she colored. A half-filled glass of milk sat in front of her. He couldn’t tell exactly how old she was since he wasn’t around children hardly any. Maybe she was 4 or 5? She resembled someone. Someone he’d become familiar with over the last several weeks.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Carol’s voice nearly made him jump. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as the heat he felt upon it. “I’ll move her to another table.” Carol had taken note that it was his usual spot, just as she’d memorized his usual order.

“Sophia,” she called to the little girl, and as soon as the girl’s eyes flicked up, Daryl knew for certain whose daughter she was. “Come on, honey. A customer needs that table.”

The little girl was about to scoot out without so much as a sigh. Daryl couldn’t do that to her. “She can stay. No need for her to get up. There’re plenty other empty tables around here.”

Carol shook her head, an apology she didn’t need to give written on her face. “I don’t want her to be a bother.”

“She’s not.”

Daryl slid in the booth located right before his usual table. He probably should have chosen the other side of the table, because he had a clear view of the little girl. She glanced at his curiously then got back to work on the pig she was currently coloring purple.

“Is this your--?” Daryl felt awkward finishing the question. He’d only just learned about Carol’s daughter.

Carol smiled warmly as she peered over at the top of the little blonde head. “My daughter. Sophia.” The name was spoken with such love and reverence. “She had to come to work with me tonight.”

“Your husband had to work or something?”

It was then that Daryl caught the shiner on Carol’s cheek that she had been trying to keep turned. He could put the rest of the pieces together. Carol shook her head, sadly. “He just couldn’t tonight. But, it’s okay. My daughter is such a quiet child. She minds well. My manager didn’t have a problem with me bringing her in this once.”

Daryl insides burned. He could guess exactly why Carol’s daughter minded so well. She’d probably be punished if she so much as sneezed. Daryl shifted uncomfortably at a long ago memory he tamped down immediately.

“The usual?” Carol asked, dragging Daryl out of his stewing.

“Uh, yeah. That’s fine.”

Daryl peered out the window, trying not to pay much attention to the little girl. He could see out of the corner of his eye that she was stealing glances of him every now and then. He couldn’t quite read her expression not looking at her straight on, but from what he could tell, she seemed wary of him.

Carol arrived with his coffee and he thanked her wholeheartedly, as if she’d brought him the greatest gift he’d ever received. Carol looked pleasantly surprised by his outpouring of graciousness. She chatted with him for a few moments before moving on. Sophia had drunk the rest of her milk. Her mother brought a refill as soon as she finished. The little girl quietly showed her the purple pig. Carol fawned over how beautiful the picture was.

After Carol walked away, Daryl craned his neck to get a better view of the coloring. “Never seen a purple pig before,” he teased, keeping his voice light. “Think there’s one out there that just hadn’t been found yet?”

The little girl looked like she wanted to bolt. He’d never actually talked to a child before, at least one this young. He guessed it was natural for kids to be shy of strangers, but Sophia seemed downright petrified.

“It’s okay,” Daryl assured, “I promise, I don’t bite.”

Carol approached, seeing the exchange. “It’s okay, Sophia.” She brushed her daughter’s hair back, soothingly. “Daryl is a friend.”

A flutter hit Daryl square in the chest. She‘d called him a friend. He tapped down the nice feeling. He had no business feeling that way. Everything surrounding Carol was complicated, from what he gathered. Still, he would accept being her friend if she wanted him to be.

Tires suddenly grounded into the parking lot. Daryl snapped his head to find a Jeep Cherokee coming in hot. It slammed on its breaks in the second row of parking spots. An average-height, slightly heavy-set man stepped out, slamming the door behind him.

The gasp that escaped Carol’s throat was not lost to Daryl. He snapped his attention back to her. His blood ran cold at the sight of her pale, stricken face. The man was stomping toward the diner like a giant prepared to knock the head clean off something.

“Sophia, honey,” the tremble in her voice made Daryl’s jaw clinch. “Stay right here while I go talk to Daddy.”

Carol rushed out the door, intercepting her husband before he could make it across the parking lot. Daryl stole one glance at Sophia, the poor girl sinking into the booth, looking just about as terrified as her mother.

His heart pounded. He couldn’t sit around while Carol was out there confronting the man who laid his hands violently upon her. Daryl made his way right outside the doors of the diner, hoping to act inconspicuous. He lit up a cigarette. Smoking being his excuse for being outside and not the overwhelming need to stick close to the woman that was confronting the man that abused her body.

“What the hell you thinkin’?” the man snarled, and he was exactly how Daryl imagined he would sound.

“What’s wrong, Ed?” Carol sounded exactly how he imagined she would in the presence of her husband.

“What the hell were you thinkin’!?” Daryl’s back bristled at his increased aggressive tone. He took a drag of his cigarette, pretending to be interested in the activities at the gas station next door. “Gonna lose this damn job and your sorry ass wages because of our snivelin’ ankle-biter! Leave the stinkin’ brat at home!”

Carol averted her eyes to the ground, her body seeming to prepare itself for the repercussions. “You seemed like you wanted to be alone tonight. I wanted to give you that time by yourself.”

“I can handle our brat, Carol! I’ll lock her in her room if I have to! Wouldn’t be the first time I locked her in there!” Her husband – Ed – pushed Carol out of the way, causing her to stumble. “I’m taking her home.”

“Please, Ed. She’s just a little girl. Please don’t lock her away.” Carol clutched at his arm, pleading desperately. “She’s not harming anything being here.”

“Get off!” In that split second – in that one wrong move by Ed -- Daryl saw red. His body moved before his brain had time to catch up to what he was doing.

Ed snatched her right arm, twisting it in a direction that it definitely wasn’t made for. Carol barely cried out. She clinched her teeth as if trained to hold back the noise. He let go of her arm, but reared back and slapped her across the face. Ed never got any further in his blatant display of abuse.

Daryl had thrown punches before. More times than he could remember to count. Never had he punched a person with such force that they stumbled backwards and fell flat on the ground. The impact of slamming his fist into Ed’s jaw reverberated painfully up Daryl’s arm, but he welcomed the pain. Made him feel alive, especially when it was pain taken for a good cause.

A string of gargled expletives spewed from Ed’s mouth. He wiped at his bloody mouth with the back of his wrist.

Shaking off the pain in his arm, Daryl turned immediately to Carol. Tears streamed pitifully down her cheeks. She cradled her injured arm. There was no hesitation in Daryl’s mind that he had to get her and her daughter out of there. He touched Carol’s shoulder with a stark contrast of gentleness than he just used on Ed. His heart clinched when she flinched away.

“Carol, look at me,” Daryl coaxed, softly. He followed her face with his. Her eyes locked onto his, her pupils blown out. He hoped she registered what he was about to say. “Go get Sophia and your things. We’re leaving.”

“The hell she’s leaving with you!” growled out Ed as he rolled onto his side in an attempt to push his sorry rear end off the concrete.

“The hell she’s going anywhere with the likes of you!” Daryl flung back with a fair amount of venom. He resisted the strong urge to kick him in the side. “Only a damn, good-for-nuthin’ coward beats his woman!”

Daryl quickly glanced behind him, not wanting to take his sights off the bastard rolling around pathetically on the ground. He found Carol gone. She returned in record time, clutching Sophia against her in the tightest protective hold. Daryl drug his eyes off Ed. He led Carol to his pick-up truck, opening the passenger side door for her. He hopped in the driver side and revved up the engine. In the door rearview mirror, he could see Ed back on his feet, storming toward them and yelling his promises to kill them all.

“Hold on,” Daryl barely warned before peeling out of the parking lot. He waited for his adrenaline to lower before checking on her. “You okay?”

Carol jumped at his voice like she forgot he was there. Her crying had calmed, but her breathing remained ragged. She turned her head slightly toward him and Daryl caught the tear streaks staining her cheeks. She still clutched Sophia to her as if her daughter was her only lifeline. Daryl could hear sniffles coming from Carol’s shoulder where the little girl hid her face.

“How’s your arm?” he pressed on. “Anything dislocated? Broken?”

Carol blinked a few times before regaining her senses. She shook her head. “No. Just hurts.”

“Are you sure?”

Carol nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve had a dislocated shoulder before. I know what it feels like.”

The confession sadly didn’t surpriseDaryl, but it fueled the anger toward the man he’d had the pleasure of knocking flat on his ass.

“Is she okay?”

Carol nuzzled her nose comfortingly in Sophia’s hair. She hugged her daughter even tighter. “I think so.”

A long beat filled the cab of the truck. The buildings and streetlights blurred by. Daryl’s body still tingled with adrenaline, but his mind was calming.

“Where are we going?” Carol’s voice remained low and breathy.

Daryl gripped the steering wheel, the worn leather squeaking under his grip. “Some place safe.”

#caryl #twd: caryl #twd fanfiction #carol x daryl #walking wounded

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 5 years ago

Text

The Crossing || Rebecca and Kaden

TIMING: Present LOACTION: Kaden’s Apartment PARTIES: @exorciseyourspirit and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: This mom empty

Kaden was sitting in his apartment, Abel in the crate he almost never used next to him, circle of salt around them both. He had an iron knife in one hand, a salt shaker in the other. Sure, the apartment was warded off already, but he’d thought that was the case before. He wasn't taking chances. Especially knowing that they were going to try and send her away tonight. There was no way she didn’t know. And no way this would go smoothly. So Kaden sat there in his stupid salt circle next to his whining confused dog and watched the door. Rebecca should be here any minute. He knew he should apologize, hell Theo told him as much, but he’d consider it after they got rid of the poltergeist. Maybe after her processed that, too. For now he was choosing to stay focused on the task. Emotions could come later. A knock on the door. He leapt up, moved his knife and salt shaker to the same hand and got the door, opening it wide for her to enter. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

Preparations were checked and double checked and triple checked. And then Theo had even insisted on checking, until Rebecca finally stood firmly outside the door, staring hard into the wood. It’’d been almost two years since she’d done an exorcism, let alone a summoning and banishment in one. Something curdled inside of her, a feeling-- but she pushed it aside, raised her hand, and knocked. The door swung open far too quickly and he was looking at her with far too much worry. “Yes,” she answered, stepping in beside him, “let’s.” She noted the salt circle on the floor, around the dog’s cage. “Is he secure?” she asked, glancing back. Having an animal in the room would make things difficult, but not ultimately harder. “We need as little room for error as possible. I’ll need a large space to set up the summoning circle, as well. And something of hers, if you’ve got it, to help.”

Kaden nodded. “He is. But I can move the crate to the bedroom if you think he’s not--” Safe. He didn’t want to know what his mother would potentially do to Abel. She always thought pets were pointless, would only tolerate the best hunting dogs. And in this state-- “Uh, yeah, I’ll move him while you get set up. Move whatever you have to,” he said pointing to the living room. He thought about telling her to be nice to any skulls around but bit his tongue. Not the kind of impression he wanted to make right now. He let the dog out of the crate and carried it to the bedroom. Gave Abel a deer antler and put more salt around the crate. Not taking any fucking chances with his dog. When he came back to the living room, he held out a necklace to her, silver bullet dangling at the end. “This was hers. Always wore it. Still wearing it in her spectral form, even.” If anything was going to work, it would be that. “Uh, how bad you think this could get?”

Rebecca didn’t have to answer, listening to him figure it out himself. When he was out of the room, she pushed the coffee table out of the way and began to lay down the papers she’d carefully sketched out, sticking them onto the floor. She figured he probably didn’t want her to draw all over his carpet, and by the time they activated, the magic would hold them together. She didn’t bother to explain there could be possible burn marks, depending on how easily his mother came. When he returned with the necklace, she took it gingerly. Surely, it meant something to him if he’d kept it. “Thank you,” she said, wrapping it around her wrist next to her red Kabbalah bracelet. Paused. “There’s a reason exorcists retire early,” was all she said, knowing he would understand. He was, after all, a hunter. “Stand in your salt circle. She’ll likely go for you once she realizes she can’t touch me.” Poised herself at the head of the circle. “Ready when you are.”

Kaden’s eyes stayed fixed on the necklace as she placed it around her wrist. So much of him felt like he shouldn’t care, shouldn’t care so much about his mother or her possessions at this point. Still did. “Yeah, I figured as much,” he said. He knew all too well about the toll this sort of work put on people. And he figured it was just as hard for an exorcist to walk away from fighting the fight as it was for a hunter. Stupid as it was for them to keep throwing themselves in the line of danger. With a sigh, he nodded and stepped back into his salt circle a bit away from the papers laid on the ground. His iron knife gripped in his hand, he took a deep breath and braced himself for this. This whole time, through all the torment, he hadn’t had to see her or even directly hear her for the most part. The last time he’d seen his mother was when he threw that coin over the side of Hanging Rock. He had a feeling this would be much different. “Do it,” he said with a small nod.

Rebecca drew in a deep breath. She could do this. She focused, concentrated on the bracelet on her arm, the dagger at her hip. She used the pull of the silver bullet necklace to search through the ether for his mother’s spirit. And when she was ready, she opened her eyes, chanting quietly in Hebrew. Her voice was deep, strong. The papers on the floor began to glow where she had marked them with paint. Harsh and yellow, pouring out light. The room shook with the force as Rebecca reached through the ether, searching for the soul connected to the necklace. Finally, she found out. Gripped, and pulled. The resistance was expected-- the strength, not so much. Rebecca grit her teeth, pulling her to them. Lauren Langley’s form flickered in the circle. She didn’t waver, even as an anger filled the room. And, finally, the woman was there, glowing with a light that matched the ruins beneath her.

Kaden could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he waited. He tried to concentrate on his breathing, but they kept getting shorter and shorter. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t trust Rebecca, she sure looked like she knew what she was doing and he could read the experience coming off her, he just wasn't sure he was ever going to be ready for this confrontation. His brow furrowed a moment as it looked like Rebecca struggled. Shit. Was it going wrong already? Leave it to his mother to make this shit difficult. He thought he might sigh in relief when he saw his mother's form. Instead his breath caught in his throat. She looked angrier than the last time he saw her. Much. Putain.

Lauren had done her best not to get dragged into some surely half rate exorcist’s summoning circle if she could avoid it. Apparently she could not. Rage boiled deep through her as she appeared in Kaden’s apartment, still in disarray from the other night. If she still cared, she might be proud to see him wielding an iron knife while standing in his little salt circle. Still he looked petrified, almost shrunken. Certainly no son of hers. “I see you’re trying to be rid of me, mon petitou,” she said, voice laced with venom, ignoring the exorcist across from her. “I’m sure she’s only as good as your standards seem to be lately.”

Rebecca didn’t often engage with spirits once they were in her circle, but something told her Kaden, and perhaps Theo, might appreciate the words this time. The circle was holding her tight in place, but the real trouble would come when she started the exorcism. Sending away a poltergeist, not just banishing them, was painful and hard, and Lauren was sure to resist, more so than even from the summoning. “He must have pretty high standards, then,” she quipped, before slowly pulling out the emblazoned dagger on her side. Iron, engraved, a hilt to match her bracelet. “I’d say sorry, but I’m really not. You’ve caused your last wound, Langley,” she said stiffly, before drawing in a breath, and letting it go as she spoke the words, low and heavy and demanding. Bracing herself for the resistance she was sure to meet.

Lauren wasn’t going down so easily. Whoever this exorcist was, she didn’t care. She was a Langley and a DuBois, she was descended from centuries of hunters. She would protect her line, whatever the cost. Even if that meant pruning the family tree. As soon as this exorcist started chanting, Lauren called on all the anger festering inside her. The room began to tremble, slowly at first, then building. The furniture scraped against the floors before raising up, shaky and rattling into one another. Lights flashed in and out, flickering and twitching. “This just proves it, Kaden. You’re rotten to the core. Filth. Just like that fae of yours. You will never be a Langley ever again. You hear me? You can cast me out but you’ll never forget my words, never!” she bellowed.

Kaden figured he should just stand there. Not interrupt or engage unless absolutely necessary. But as the room shook, he just wanted to turn and run. His mother was somehow even worse than he’d imagined. Shadowy, bristling with rage, and still somehow a part of like how he remembered her. Just on her worst days. The days he failed in training. Or tried to ask questions. Or spent too much time with the few friends he was able to see. All those times he stood there and bit his tongue, took his punishment silently and raged about it later when he was alone. No. Not this time. “Rotten? You tried to fucking kill me! What kind of mother does that?! Did you ever even lo--” The word caught in his throat. “Was I just some fucking prop for your precious legacy?”

The power of the ghost before her was pushing through Rebecca’s strength, reaching through the circle. Wind billowed throughout the room. Furniture hovered, the walls rattled. The two were yelling at each other and Rebecca had to cling to her own voice, raising it louder to try and drown out the anger. “Kaden!” she said when she had the chance to pause, “Do not engage her! Now get over here! I need your help-- your power!” She snapped, pointing to the spot she’d marked next to her. She’d hope she wouldn’t have needed to tap into him, but Lauren was fighting harder than she’d hoped she would. Rebecca’s arms felt weak, and she felt something reaching up inside of her. Dammit, she didn’t have the energy to fight both of them off. She needed Kaden now. “Hurry!”

When Rebecca shouted his name, Kaden realized how fucking stupid he was, yelling at a poltergeist. But he’d heard so much second hand by now, it just-- he needed to say it. He needed to yell back for two seconds. Still he sniffed and pushed his emotions back down. His mother was still yelling, the same shit she’d been saying to everyone else who could hear her, he was sure. No answers, no comfort, nothing to make him feel better about any of this. Why he’d hoped for that, he didn’t know. He took his place next to Rebecca, not entirely sure how this part worked. He’d never had the misfortune of witnessing a poltergeist exorcism til now.

Rebecca held out her other hand to Kaden, prompting him to take it. When he did, she immediately drew upon the well of power that sat in every hunter. She remembered the way Theo’s energy felt, and it lurched inside of her, the feeling of it, fighting off the memories. Something clawing for the power at the back of her mind. No, fuck, no. Eyes flickering for a moment. He came out just long enough to taste Kaden’s power, to taste her power, to interrupt her words. To falter the exorcism. And even after she shoved him back down, she could still feel him. She turned, letting go of Kaden’s hand. “In the circle!” she shouted, shoving against him, but her body moved stiffly. Give me his power, “The salt circle!” But it was too late. The binding circle was broken, and Lauren Langley was out.

Lauren had been pushing her powers at the edge of the circle from the moment she was dragged in there. When she felt the split second break, she smirked and slid out of the exorcist’s trap. “Looks like I was right, again, Kaden.” He started to head to the salt circle, at least he was trying to obey someone here. It wouldn’t work, though. “This is far from over,” she told him as she slipped into his skin. He fought it more than the Harlow brat did, it wasn’t as easy as possessing a medium, but it hardly mattered. She had control of the body. First thing’s first was to get rid of the exorcist trying to cut her time short before she was properly repaid for all she’d done for son. “Remind me again about your standards,” she said as she reached over to grab Rebecca’s wrist where her silver necklace hung. She could feel the hunter strength in this body, a far cry from Blanche’s. She wasn't shy about using it. She went to take the necklace “I believe this is mine.” She had every intention of twisting her arm around, breaking her wrist, something fun, when she was interrupted.

Kaden didn’t know what happened, but Rebecca seemed to stagger and dropped his hand. When he turned, he blacked out. No. He was there. But not in control. What was-- No. His mother. Taking his body. No-- No. He caused this with inaction. Not again. He saw his hand reach for the necklace and he pushed it down and away; tried to throw himself to the ground. He felt his knees buckle and his body waver but she was still there. It was still there, fighting back tooth and nail.

Rebecca jerked away as fast as she could. “Give me his power!” she said in a foreign voice, the first time he’d used his own voice through her mouth. She clasped her hands over her mouth for a moment, struggling to keep him contained. He struggled against her, tearing at her insides as well. She cried out. “Let me help you,” he said inside of her. She could feel him grinning. “Let me consume her. It’ll be so easy. So fast.” he reached out, using her hand, the arm with his brand on it. It glowed. Her palm made contact with his body and it burned. It seared, steam wafting from where they’d made contact. Fuck, no. Fuck. “Get out of him!” Rebecca shouted. “Get out of him, or I will destroy you!”

Looks like her son had more bite to him than he’d been demonstrating recently. Lauren stomped her foot before pushing the body back to standing. Then she heard the unnatural voice that radiated from the exorcist and she took a half step back. Her rage gave way for terror for just a flash. “What are you?” she asked, eyes wide. She didn’t get an answer, just pain, pain searing through her as the exorcist tried to force her from his body. “No! You’ll destroy me anyway. I still need to--”

Even from the back of his own mind, Kaden felt the pain rip through him. It was enough, it could be enough if he just pushed. His body toppled, collapsed in a pile of limbs. But it was his again. For now. “It’s me!” he shouted. “She’s out, she’s--” He almost said gone. But that wasn’t right. She was still there just not inside of his body. For now. It was only a matter of time. He needed Rebecca to hurry up. Even if he made it to the salt circle, it was broken; line split by the scuff of a shoe.

Rebecca stumbled back when Kaden’s shouted. It was him again. She forced her hands away, took all the energy she had, and shoved the Dybbuk back. I’ll never let go. But she ignored him. She needed to finish this. Drawing in a deep breath, she brandished her dagger again, gripping the hilt. “This is gonna hurt,” she said to Kaden, knowing he would accept the pain. Because it was what they did. It was what Theo would do. She nodded once before opening her mouth and bellowing the rest of the exorcism, calling on the energy of the universe to draw the spirit back into it. To take her away. To dispose of her anger and her soul and to recycle her back into the ether. Speaking in her ancient people’s language, feeling the power swell through her, watching as the spirit was torn from Kaden’s body. A tinge of jealousy in her heart. If only it were that easy.

Kaden didn’t need to be told it would hurt. Nothing in his life came pain free. Why would this? He nodded and braced himself, but of his countless near death experiences, not one could prepare him for this. He could feel his mother’s spirit clawing into him, trying to hold on with every bit of rage and vice she had. He could also feel Rebecca’s words drawing it out. If he could be torn from the inside out he was sure it felt like this. The flashes of thoughts he could manage through the blistering pain were all hers, the last ones he’d hear. You’re not my son, deserter, traitor, and filthy disgrace all rang through his head while he screamed and crumbled to the ground. The anger felt like daggers as it was pulled out from him. Every drop of rage like another pin prick. He kept wailing and clawed his fist into the ground, fighting to stay grounded, to keep himself there while she went away. When it was over, he folded over his hands and tried to breathe. The memory of the pain was like an aftershock he couldn’t shake right away. Bile rose up in his throat and he gulped it back. Not now. Not yet, at least. Maybe when she left. “Is it… Is it over?” he asked, shaking a little as he leaned on his hands. “What happened? You--” he looked up at her, trying to figure out what went wrong, hoping a glance could explain it all.

The world always stilled just before it happened. Rebecca, momentarily frozen in her own little pocket, watched as the spirit of Lauren Langley, full formed and floating above her son, glowered down at them with angry eyes. Such ire. She wondered if it had always been there, or if her decades as a spirit had multiplied the anger she’d felt in her life. She wondered if Theo would ever look at her like this. And then reality snapped back, and her spirit disintegrated before her eyes, and the room was still once again. Furniture was upturned and askew, the floor was covered in ash and paper shreds, a scorch mark from where the vengeful spirit had been summoned and let her anger spill over. The salt circle broken, scattered. Kaden’s voice was small, unsteady, and she looked down at him, shaking with her own exhaustion. She held out a hand to him, the brand on her arm burning. “Spirits often think they’re stronger than us,” she said quietly, “they’re wrong, of course.” She helped him stand. “You did good.”

Kaden took a moment to make sure all the bile was back down before taking her hand to stand up. He really hated how apt Blanche’s stupid phrase was, but he did in fact feel like used jell-o all over again. “Thanks. Didn’t feel like--” He cut himself short and looked in her eye. “Thanks,” he told her sincerely. Even if he could finally feel the full weight of what he’d just done starting to creep in. The tightness in his chest, the lump in his throat. God, he was so sick of feeling this raw and juts hurt and empty. He could hear Abel in the other room barking his head off. Probably had been almost the whole time, but there was too much going on for him to notice. He breathed a small sigh of relief knowing he was alright. He was sure Abel was going to love having a salty, sobbed ruff again tonight. Kaden took a glance around the room, unsure what to do next. “I-- How do you normally, uh, clean up? All this?”

He looked worn. And shitty. And Rebecca knew that, even though it was over, it would never really be over. She knew how words from loved ones hung in the air and stung. She knew how losing someone, even if they weren’t cruel and unjust, burned in the back of your mind. She understood. It wasn’t something to be solved in a night or in one exorcism. Without the ever present looming of his mother, surely now he would be facing the consequences of his actions. And of hers. The trail of destruction she’d surely left because that was the way of the world. That was the fate of all spirits who linger for too long and took too much. She turned to face the room, a disaster in its own right. Sighing, she looked over her shoulder back at him. “Tediously,” was all she answered.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #writing #rebecca #exorciseyourspirit #the crossing

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