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terror-billie · 5 months ago

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Glimmers in the Penumbra

I assembled this zine to collect drabbles written for my D&D group, and I'm sharing it with you all today.

This is for you, @tofucasserole , @varethinsilico , @nautilusopus , @rosemochi , and @fury-brand

Special thanks to @fury-brand for drawing the illustrations used in this zine and for buying my drabble commission slots on behalf of the group. She has made a lot of really cool art for our group and for her character Dia especially, so you should check it out if you like this!

This was a really fun project. It was great to play in the 100 word limit with different styles and character voices to make something tailored for each character.

I assembled this zine so that I could make a special and unique home for all of the pieces together. It was put together in Scribus, a free and open source layout tool.

If you enjoyed this zine, please consider a donation to Crips for eSims for Gaza or at Gaza Funds.

Full Text Transcript Below the Cut

Full Text Transcript

Glimmers in the Penumbra A Tabletop Roleplay OC Drabble Collection

Embodied

The snow feels wrong. It mushes against the strange pliant dough stretched across her soles, shoots her through with a kind of pain she's never felt before. It bites, metallic, as though she can feel the pinprick of each shard of each snow flake. The air, too, grips her. All of this, wrong. Never before had the winds caused her pain, nor had snow felt anything but pleasant on even her tenderest scales. Winter has abandoned her. It was in her very weft and now all she has is this naked pink putty. No way for a dragon to live.

Dia Istehar

[Includes an illustration of Dia holding herself in a gust of snow and wind.]

L’Enfer

Fire's heat. Warms, tickles, crisps. Pleasure becomes pain. Sears, destroys, consumes. Ashes to ashes.

Vous qui entrez, abandonnez toute espérance.

No way to snuff a forest fire once it's caught hot and tall, naught but to let the blaze run out. A heart is like that. A little fire you can throw water over, but the burn in him grows fast. All you can do is get out the way.

Watch for smoke.

What's a flame want? Nothing but to burn. Bright and hot, alive until it's out. Doesn't care what's burning, where or how. But a man's heart? Well.

L’Enfer - The Inferno Vous qui entrez, abandonnez toute espérance. - Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.

Ozias DeVir

[Includes an illustration of Ozias lighting a cigarette.]

Song of the Princess

She is come from a castle in a far away land, from a lineage ruling for generations.

Hath traveled the lands in great odyssey, and suffered many a hardship and poverty.

O Princess, Sweetest Briar with thorns sharp, stand strong against despair. Nobility is not in gold but in heart and deed and bearing. Retain thy grace and thy dignity. Fear not the dark and the wicked, for thou art puissant. Magic courseth through thy veins as fish in a stream.

Know that one day thou wilt reclaim thy birthright. So sayeth this poem, written in serenade of a princess.

Briar Allaire

[Includes an illustration of Briar, regal in a crown.]

Idle Musing

Life should be fun. Things would be far too boring without a bit of mischief to keep it interesting, ya know? Just a dash like spice in the stew. Nothing serious, maybe swipe a shiny here or snack there.

Things can change pretty fast out on the road though. It gets scary out there, with monsters and bad guys. Sometimes I think I should have just stayed home.

But hey, one minute you're strumming along up and down the strings of a bouzouki, tickling the melody to and fro, and bam! Out comes the zouka. Didn't expect that, didja spookies?

Kaapro

[Includes an illustration of Kaapro, a Kenku, smiling and playing a bouzouki.]

Sacrament

"Go and sin no more."

The other man, the one on the other side of the wooden screen, knows what a joke it is. He says it anyway, and manages not to laugh. It's procedure after all.

A rosary and an extra Our Father. A man's life snuffed out, his blood on the stone, and all Lucere needs to do is mumble some words.

Done in God's name, isn't it a Holy act?

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.

Deliverance won't come, but so too will he sin again. He always has and always will.

Lucere Crough

[Includes an illustration of Lucere holding a rosary in his hand, covering half of his face.]

Just World Fallacy

Let us consider the situation rationally. Which situation is more likely?

The first, that I was conceived by two emotionally stunted people unprepared for the maturity, care, and mundane sacrifices of parenthood? That I lived at the whims of a man who took out rage and fear on his vulnerable son? That my mother could bring me into the world but shrink my existence so small in her heart that she could ignore it? That suffering is largely beyond our control and the world is fundamentally unfair?

Or that I am unloveable and it's my fault?

The answer is obvious.

Pinion Andolus

[Includes an illustration of Pinion where you cannot see his face, gazing at unbalanced scales.]

Knight in Shining Armor

My face mirrored in a gleaming scale. I chased it like the glint of oasis after days walking parched sands. Was it a mirage? I follow its path and come no closer, but the image does not fade. Still there, out of reach, ever on the horizon.

What is she really like? I've imagined her on the highest pedestal, with every sublime virtue, and in the deepest depravity, with every foul cruelty. Perhaps she is simply a well-meaning fool, doing her best.

Do I truly want to know? Would the mirage dissolve, and would that be for good or ill?

Okaara Justa

[Includes an illustration of Okaara, a half-orc, gazing at her own reflection in a piece of plate armor.]

寝袋詰め心の準備と出かける

「一緒に」

romaji reading: shurafuzume kokoro no junbi to dekakeru

「issho ni」

The bedrolls are wrapped. Ready for what awaits them, the party sets forth.

[Together]

[No illustration]

#dnd oc #dnd ocs #tabletop oc #tabletop ocs #d&d oc #d&d ocs #zine #indie zine #original zine #drabbles #drabble #original fiction #writing #oc writing #oc art #original writing

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evilwriter-originals · 9 days ago

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Zine of GID 2024 Edition

Brothers in Blood

Written for the 2024 Edition of @zineofgid! It was a wonderful opportunity! Thank you!

Beta Read by @turianjournalist

Rated: explicit

Warnings: Non-con body modifications, forced amputation, alcoholism, wing whump, blood

Word Count: 2,744

Summary: Sol's palace is under the grip of his cruel brother Hakur. Hakur sees it fit to pay the old king a visit.

It hurt to move. The pain was mostly in his upper back and shoulders, but there was pain in his lower back as well. He could barely get comfortable in bed, never mind get out of bed.

Sol wasn’t at all surprised by this. The initial injury, an arrow to the back between the base of his wings, had been dealt with. All he had there was a scar.

But the arrow had hit a nerve in his spinal cord, a very, very important nerve.

It allowed him to move and feel his large golden wings.

Well, it had allowed it. Now that it was damaged in a way magic couldn’t fix, his wings were nothing but giant weights dragging down his body.

He lay in bed on his stomach, wings carefully arranged to either side of him by reluctant servants. It must have been hard for them to see their king like this… Well… Their deposed king.

Sol was a prisoner in his own palace. The battle in which he’d taken the arrow had not gone well, and now, Hakur, his brother, was ruling in his place.

To be frankly honest, Sol didn’t know why Hakur was keeping him alive. This war between them had been going on for a while. Sol wasn’t willing to kill his older brother, but he’d thought Hakur himself would have no qualms about killing him.

Apparently he was wrong.

The door to his bedchamber burst open, and Sol craned his head to see who it was who had entered. A deep frown creased his features.

“What do you want this time?” he asked, words laced with venom.

Hakur came in and closed the door with his foot. He was carrying a covered tray that smelled of breakfast. Odd. Usually one of the servants would be bringing that for Sol.

Hakur himself had no wings despite being related to Sol. He’d had them cut off against his will around four decades ago. Still, he bore himself with confidence. He was taller than Sol, with reddish-chestnut hair that fell to his shoulders in subtle curls. They shared the same hazel eyes and long straight nose. It was clear they were related, wings or no. Hakur’s had been the same shade of gold as Sol’s.

“It’s a special occasion,” Hakur answered in that raspy voice of his, a voice that was completely unrecognizable to Sol. It wasn’t the voice Hakur had had before his kidnapping and ultimate disappearance.

“Special occasion?” Sol got himself up onto his elbows, groaning unintentionally at the way it sent pain flaring through his shoulders and back. He’d been completely disabled by this injury, and it was not something he was used to. “Since when do you bring me food?” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless of course you poisoned it.”

Hakur laughed lightly, coming over with the tray. He set it down on the bed beside Sol within his reach.

“I assure you there is no poison.” He took the cover off the tray, revealing some of Sol’s favorite foods. Sol quirked his eyebrows. Distrust simmered in his chest, a bit of dread and anxiety in his stomach. “Why would I kill you when having you alive is so much more entertaining?”

Sol frowned, reaching for some grapes. His arms were beginning to hurt from his wings being dead weight, and he wasn’t able to use any of his magic to help himself, not with the heavy dampening collar around his neck.

He knew what that meant for him, knew that he’d need his wings amputated. There was no fixing the nerve. The healers had tried, had exhausted their resources for who they saw as the rightful king, but to no avail.

But Sol didn’t want to have his wings amputated, despite the hopelessness of the situation. He knew there was no way to fix this, and that he’d just damage himself and waste away in keeping his wings. They could do no good for him anymore. Why keep them?

“The occasion?” Sol asked, wanting to get an answer out of his brother.

“Well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise.” Hakur sat down on the bed beside Sol, right on top of his right wing. Sol didn’t make a sound, just shot him a glare. He couldn’t feel his weight there, but the insult of him doing so…

“Get off.” Sol’s words were an order. He wasn’t going to be cowed by this new king.

“Actually, I find this spot rather comfortable, thank you.” Hakur smiled as if he was teasing him in a normal, brotherly fashion, instead of tormenting him psychologically. He reached for some of Sol’s grapes, and Sol couldn’t stop him from taking them. “Now eat. You’ll need your strength.”

Sol wanted to inquire as to what he’d need his strength for, but knew Hakur would continue being tight-lipped. So, instead he ate, not looking at Hakur. Eye contact with him was much too uncomfortable. Looking at him and realizing what had been done to him during his disappearance was also too uncomfortable. And then knowing he’d taken defeat at his hand and was nothing more than some sort of toy to him…

Hakur took the tray away just as there was a knock at the door. Hakur rose to open it, and Sol looked at where he’d been sitting. His feathers were crushed and in disarray. He tried reaching with his arm to fix them, but pain lanced itself through his shoulder, and he put his arm back down, gritting his teeth over a cry that would certainly have been undignified.

“I have the… tools you requested, Your Majesty.” The voice was that of a male servant, timid and scared. Sol strained his neck to look towards the door, saw Hakur being handed a big black case, the servant taking the tray.

Tools? The man didn’t seem comfortable saying the word. What was in that case?

The servant’s eyes darted over to Sol, and Sol quickly turned his head away. He hated being seen by anybody like this.

“Do not linger,” Hakur snarled. “Get out.”

“Y-yes, Your Majesty.”

Then the servant was leaving and the door was closing. Sol wished he could track Hakur’s movements with his vision, but all he got were his footsteps. It sounded like he set the leather case down on something, and then he was moving a table into view beside the bed, the case on top.

Sol let an angry growl work its way up his throat.

“If you plan on torturing me, I—”

“This won’t be torture,” Hakur said. He reached for the clasp on the case. “Not the physical kind, anyway.”

Sol furrowed his brow. “What game are you playing?”

“Believe it or not, but I’m helping you,” Hakur responded. He opened the case, and Sol gaped a little at what he saw inside:

A series of sharp knives varying in length and curvature and…

A bone saw.

Hakur’s eyes glittered when he looked at it, the smile that crossed his features looking completely devoid of sanity.

Sol felt like he was going to vomit up what he’d just eaten.

“Here?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Hakur rolled his eyes dramatically at all the questions. “Well, you haven’t been ordering anyone to do it yourself,” he replied. “So, I figured I’d step in.”

Sol narrowed his eyes, then looked at the knives and the bone saw. “You just want to see me hurt, don’t you? In any way possible.”

Because, despite not being able to feel his wings, this would hurt. It would hurt his mind, his heart. He was going to permanently lose a part of himself, something near and dear to him, as wings were with his people.

I already lost them, Sol tried telling himself.

And yet, he still tried to move them, get them out of Hakur’s reach.

They remained sitting heavy on his bed, pulling at all the muscles in his shoulders and back. Hakur was right that he was helping him, in a way. In Sol’s mind, that just made this worse.

“I do, actually, yes,” Hakur answered with that unhinged smile of his. Sometimes Sol wondered if he was still sane, wondered what it was that had made him like this.

Hakur picked up one of the knives, clearly starting with those. He reached a hand down to stroke at Sol’s feathers.

“These are getting oily anyway.”

“Get your hands off me.” There was no quaver in Sol’s voice, no sign of fear, but inside, his veins had turned to ice.

Hakur acted as if he hadn’t heard him, continuing to rub his hand over his feathers. “It’s a shame you won’t be able to feel this. Though, not feeling it will bring its own horror, won’t it?”

Hakur began pressing around near the base of his right wing. He brushed the fingers of his left hand over his back, the knife held in his right.

He pushed Sol down flat onto the bed, making him grunt.

Despite the way he strained his neck trying to look over his shoulder, Sol couldn’t see Hakur’s hands and what they were doing, and that frightened him even more.

He knew when he began cutting though, heard the sound of the knife slicing through feathers, then flesh. He realized there would be blood all over him after this, blood on his bed, on Hakur’s hands… Not that there wasn’t already blood on Hakur’s hands, speaking metaphorically. The atrocious things his own brother had done…

And here he was continuing it.

Sol found himself pressing his forehead against his pillows, trembling hands on either side of his head, trying to brace himself, trying to breathe.

His wings. He was losing his wings.

A sob left his lips without his permission. Hakur laughed at it. He clearly got some sort of sadistic pleasure out of hurting people—he was making that abundantly clear.

“You know,” Hakur began speaking over the sound of the cutting, “I can’t decide what I want to do with these after. Do I burn them? Or do I hang them on the wall as some sort of trophy?”

Sol’s stomach twisted painfully. “Wh-whatever it is, keep them out of my sight.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” There was a clatter as Hakur put the knife down. He was done with that part. Sol saw him lifting the bone saw out of the corner of his eyes. His heart pounded, breaths quickening. He squeezed his eyes shut. “I want you to see your own defeat.”

“As if I… I haven’t seen enough of it already,” Sol somehow got out without losing his breakfast. His breaths were mere puffs. Blood was running hot from the wound, getting all over his back, his sides. Would he ever be able to sleep in this same bed again? Surely this would stain…

“Mm, imagine what your daughter will think,” Hakur said. “Will she think lesser of you for this?”

“She…” Sol didn’t know what to say. The only consolation he had in this situation was that his daughter, Anaria, was safe, that she hadn’t been captured like him.

He closed his eyes, letting tears fall free. All he could think of was his portrait with her. They’d both had their wings, their sanity, their dignity…

And Hakur had stripped almost all of that away.

Sol gasped at the sound of the bone saw: first the sound of flesh being split, and then a sickening grating noise. That was coming from him. That was his wing.

Oh, gods help me.

At the moment, Sol didn’t care about how undignified it was—he just wanted to keep some shred of sanity (and his breakfast)—he covered his ears with both hands.

He felt the reverberations of the bone saw through his body, through the parts of him that still could feel. Horror like nothing he’d ever felt before gnawed on his senses, making it so that this was the only thing there was, the only thing that mattered.

Sol was a gasping, sobbing mess when he lost the weight of his right wing. It had been completely severed from his body. That he could feel. The loss of the weight was a physical relief, his screaming and aching muscles now cheering.

Fingers pried at his wrists, violently pulling his hands from his ears.

“No, no! Let go!” Sol tried to twist his body now that he didn’t have that weight. He was able to a little bit, and all he could see was red. It was absolutely everywhere. And then his wing…

Sol quickly turned and buried his face in the pillows. Even without feeling the pain of losing his wing, would he go into shock? Would he die of blood loss?

No, probably not. Hakur wouldn’t let that happen. Hakur had his magic to heal him.

“Oh, look at that,” Hakur breathed. He pulled on one edge of the severed wing, then let it flop back down, laughing. Then, he patted Sol on the back, smearing blood on him, making him flinch. “We’re halfway done.”

Sol wanted to beg and cry for him to stop, but what was the point now when the process had already been started? What was the gods-damned point?

Hakur walked around to the other side of the bed with the knife and bone saw. He leaned the bone saw against the bed, taking the knife up once again.

Sol groaned in despair as he began cutting into his left wing. He was trying desperately to breathe, just breathe—and maybe he would get through this.

Hakur didn’t check to see if the sound was a genuine one of pain, if he’d cut too close to nerves that could still feel. He hadn’t, but even if he had, he wouldn’t care. He’d probably relish in it.

Sol found himself oddly quiet as his left wing was removed from him. Maybe it was the way he was starting to feel cold, his breaths shallow, his vision blurred. Was he going into shock?

He became unaware of everything around him save for the grating noise of the saw on bone, and somehow, it almost comforted him in a way. Just that sound, forever and ever.

He let himself slip away, not even realizing he was doing it.

---

“Brother.”

That was the word that woke him. Sol expected to be assaulted by the pain of his muscles trying desperately to hold onto his wings when he woke, but there was just soreness, not the agony that had been slowly driving him mad.

“Hm?”

He’d had an odd dream, a dream of him and Hakur playing together as children.

Except neither of them had had wings. Neither of them could fly, even with the help of magic. They’d both grown frustrated with it, but Hakur had eventually laughed it off and wanted to continue their game.

Sol hadn’t. Sol wanted to fly.

“So, you’re back with us in the waking world?” Hakur’s voice sounded close.

Sol blinked open his eyes, memory crashing down on him like a rain of piercing arrows. He expected to be covered in blood, surrounded by it, his severed wings to either side of him…

But instead he was in a room completely different from his own, the lights dim, the bed comfortable and free of any blood.

“I… suppose,” Sol said carefully. He’d woken on his stomach, but rolled onto his side to view Hakur. His muscles struggled and shook with it, as it was a motion he hadn’t done in a long time. But without the weight of useless wings, he was able to accomplish it. “Where am I?”

“Still your palace,” Hakur said. He leaned back in his chair, picked up a goblet of wine from the nightstand. Sol could smell the alcohol from here, and he hungered for it. “My rooms, however. I thought it best if you recover here.”

Sol barked out a laugh. “Don’t pretend to care about me.”

Hakur took a sip of wine. “All right then. I won’t.” He put the goblet down and shoved it towards Sol. “Take a drink.”

“I… can’t.”

Hakur smirked at him. “Oh, I’m well aware of your… habit? Shall we say? Do it. Take. A. Drink.”

Sol looked between Hakur and the goblet of wine. His senses screamed for something to dull all this turmoil.

He reached for the goblet, and Hakur smiled.

#gid #zine of gid #gid zine #whump #blood #gore #noncon body modification #wing whump #whump zine #fantasy #original writing #fiction #guys in distress

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archiveoftheodd · 8 months ago

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Help us raise Author Pay!

Archive of the Odd is running an Indiegogo campaign to raise pay rates for artists and authors. We've got all of our books at a discount, preorders, and exclusive merch available.

Buy something nice and support indie authors!

#crowdfund 2024 #indiegogo #original zine #zine #writeblr #archive of the odd #found fiction #indie horror #indie horror zine

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hellwrites · 1 year ago

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Hypothetical: would you be interested in contributing to/buying a zine of sci-fi/fantasy fiction and artwork (original, not fanfic)? Profits would be split with contributors, and the zine would be emailed out monthly/bi-monthly

#fiction #scifi #fantasy #dark fantasy #original art #original fiction #poll #zine

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spirk-trek · 4 months ago

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Organia Fanzine | Merle Decker, 1982

“We used to come here all the time when we were kids,” Jim told him, flopping down on his back on the grass, “because nobody ever bothered us.” Spock followed his lead more gingerly, making sure there were no nettles or honeybees beneath him before he allowed himself to sit.

Curiously, he examined the strange vegetation around them: white filigree Queen Anne’s lace, exotic milkweed pods bursting with silky down, thistles with their soft, shaggy indigo flowers. A yellow butterfly drifted by on effortless wings. For once, Jim knew the variety, he did not.

Jim reached up and stroked his cheek fondly. “You never stop being a scientist, Spock.”

“The vegetation here is extremely rich,” he muttered, studying the drops of white fluid that seeped from a broken milkweed stem.

“I’ll bet you could spend a lifetime studying it.” Jim took his hand gently and lifted it from the grass to hold it in his own.

The cool, firm touch struck a chord of pleasure within him, and he looked at Jim, an eyebrow raised. “At least a lifetime.”

Jim squeezed his hand. “The hell with Starfleet, then. The hell with the Admiralty, the Lexington, the Outer Rim -- Let’s stay right here.”

Spock’s heart thudded ridiculously, so hard he had to turn his face away, afraid his expression would betray him. “It is warmer here than in San Francisco,” he said irrelevantly.

Jim nodded. “Almost as warm as Vulcan. But you’d have to hibernate in the winter.”

“Actually, I should prefer to stay awake,” Spock answered drily.

Kirk pulled himself up by Spock’s hand and leaned toward him. ��What would you do without your computers?” he asked lightly, trying to sound mock-teasing. But the undertone of sadness in his voice betrayed him.

Spock shook his head ruefully. “My computers. And your command.”

He had not meant to sound bitter, but Kirk’s eyes clouded over, and he was silent for several moments. Finally, he spoke. “I need you, too, you know.”

Spock nodded, looking down at his hand, still holding Kirk’s. “I know.”

“You’re probably going to tell me now that both needs are illogical.”

The words pricked a schoolboy memory somewhere deep in the recesses of Spock’s mind, and a corner of his mouth curved up infinitesimally.

“Why’re you smiling?” Kirk asked, puzzled. Spock looked at him quizzically. Only Jim would read that gesture as a smile.

“You have reminded me of a well-known problem…”

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thatlittledandere · 1 year ago

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Alright, you definitely should have listened to the village elders this time. Wandering too deep into the forest was a bad idea. They could have been more specific about what “too deep” meant though.

All you wanted to do was see if there were any valuable herbs in the area. You had heard rumors that if you went slightly beyond the usual reach of the villagers, a little to the west, you would find ingredients for most potential of healing potions. You didn’t think heeding the advice would cost you much; it was supposed to be only a little further, right? But which way was west again…

Before you knew it, you had gotten lost. Of course, forests always looked somewhat the same, but after 20 years of living in the same village, you came to recognize the areas you had always played, worked, and relaxed in. A tree that bent a little to the left; that boulder that looked like a fist without a thumb; the lightning-struck tree trunk, too heavy to be moved, blocking what used to be a path. You knew when you were near your home by the atmosphere alone.

And now you recognized nothing you saw.

It wasn’t dark yet - wouldn’t be for a long time - but you were still getting the shivers of being outside at night. This part of the forest was creepy. You didn’t know how else to describe it - threatening? It felt like something was out to get you. Or for that matter, anyone foolish enough to disturb the peace of whatever dwelled inside.

You stopped. Turned to look back — had you seen wrong? You must have — and turned back ahead. There was... It was like there was a line drawn on the ground. A border.

You looked to your right, then left. No, it really was… as strange as it seemed, it was clearly a huge circle. You were standing just outside it.

And everything inside was dead.

The grass was sickly, pale yellow, almost white, like after a scorching hot summer with too little rain. Trees gray and bare, bark flaking, crispy leaves lying sadly on the ground. Thousands of insect carcasses everywhere, a couple of dead birds and — oh no — a lone rabbit. All completely lifeless. How could this be?

You took a step back. Was this maybe… The work of magic? A fiendish warlock wielding dark sorcery?

You didn’t know much about magic; there weren’t many capable of using it in your tiny village, and the mages you knew were neither malicious nor the tiniest bit adventurous with it. But it was the only explanation you could come up with. Nature couldn’t do this on its own.

You felt a rush of excitement at the thought. Magic had always fascinated you. With nobody around to teach the craft, you had abandoned the idea of pursuing it years ago, but… It was exhilarating seeing its impact. Foul as this magic was, it drew you in - and if nothing inside was alive, it couldn’t do you any harm either. You had come so far; why not investigate a little?

You had barely taken two steps on the lifeless grass when you heard a soft voice plead: “Don’t come closer.”

You froze. Had there been a person around? Was it a bandit? Or, wait, maybe they could help you find your way home-

“Please get away from me,” asked the stranger again, even more desperate this time. Their voice was getting raspier, breaking towards the end of the sentence. Whoever it was must have been either sick or grievously injured. Perhaps you would have to help them more than they could help you.

You squinted your eyes, and finally caught a glimpse of a figure behind two trees.

He looked around your age. But not in such good health, as you had suspected. He was holding onto the tree, hunching, and the distance between you wasn't enough to hide the tremble of his hands or the hollowness in his eyes.

"Please, " he repeated, each word weaker yet more fearful than the last. "I can only bring misery. You must leave while you still can!"

His fear was contagious. You couldn't fight the shiver running along your spine nor the cold sweat erching your brow. It was like even the Sun knew better than to approach this self-proclaimed harbinger.

But you had always been too curious for your own good, much to your mother's chagrin. Weren't you an apprentice in the art of medicine? Wasn't this stranger in clear need of help? You couldn't just leave him alone to rot in his miserable circle of decay.

You forced a smile - sort of - and took a step closer. The stranger grabbed his face, screamed, and collapsed on his knees. You saw white and felt a strong gust of wind knock you off your feet.

And then there was nothing.

#my stuff #creative writing #original fiction #well. kind of #you see i used to write and take requests for x reader fics back in the day #this is. a rejected zeref x reader.#life zeref from fairy tail.#i wroteca little and thought oh boy scoob there's like no way i can make this even remotely romantic #so i left it to gather dust for years #then a zine i was applying to asked for a sample that wasn't published anywhere yet (if memory serves..?#did i just interpret it that way somehow...)#and i decided to vacuum the shit out of this one. make it fantasy. commit to the unhappy ending #i think it came out nicely :>#((WAIT I SHOULD SPECIFY. I'M NOT TALKING ABOUT THE ZINE I JUST REBLOGGED ABOUT. THIS ONE WAS A YEAR OR TWO AGO))#me? not writing contemporary realism? it's more likely than you think #((it isn't. don't expect more))#it's secret santa season meaning I'm feverishly writing anything but my assignment #man i wrote SUCH a good Yosuke-centric fic in my head last night. such potent and evocative prose.#but alas it was already an hour past my bed time in a weekday so i couldn't write it down immediately #and it was lost to time....#i only remember the bare bones idea...#the tags are a part in theyr own again. good bye #second person narration

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