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five-rivers · 1 year

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Waking the Woods

AO3

Sequel to Rumors of the Woods of the Kingdom of Amity.

For @summerssixecho and @modordracena

Danny was sorting through the pantry, hoping to get all the misplaced poisons put back in the red cabinet before his parents came home the day after next. More inedible substances would inevitably be stored in the pantry once they came back, but Danny would do just about anything to avoid eating another bezoar for just a little bit longer.

Also, getting poisoned sucked, but that went without saying.

His sister, Jazz, was gone, too, but that wasn’t unusual. She’d gotten an invitation to study at the College of Elmerton, and of course she had to go, even if it was in another country.

Which meant that he was the only one home when he heard the knock. It also meant that he was so startled by it that he propelled his head into the underside of one of the pantry shelves at speed.

No one knocked on their door. Ever. Even the paying customers were more of the ‘let ourselves in’ type.

Danny staggered out of the pantry, head spinning slightly. Ow.

The knock came again, this time taking on a decidedly frantic character. Danny shook himself, and patted his head down. No blood. Great! He walked to the door, half convinced that he’d find someone who was both out of town and very lost, but determined to be polite. Show people it was possible for a Fenton to have manners! Not their fault he smacked his head into the shelf.

He slid open the door and immediately got punched in the face.

“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry– Where did the door go?”

“It slides,” explained Danny, clutching his face. “Sideways. Ow.”

“I’m really sorry, I was just knocking. I didn’t realize–”

“I know, I know.” Probably, the whole ‘nobody knocks’ thing was the only thing keeping this from happening much more often. He peeled his hands away from his face and took in his visitor as well as he could, given his temporarily blurry vision.

Dark skin, yellow cloak, vividly red hat that had to be violating at least a dozen sumptuary laws… There was only one person Danny had ever met that dressed like that.

“Tucker?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Tucker, sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Surprise?”

“In more ways than one.” Danny touched his face tenderly. “Ow.”

“I am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” said Danny, deciding not to mention that he’d done much worse to himself not five minutes ago. “Come on in. What are you doing here, anyway? I haven’t seen you since, uh…” When had it been, anyway?

“Since I got apprenticed, I know.”

“Yeah!” Tucker hadn’t been happy about it, but as his parents had said, felting was good, steady work. People always needed cloth. “Don’t tell me you’ve already finished your apprenticeship.”

“Uh, no. It is sort of about that, though.”

Danny paused, halfway to the living room. “You’re not running away, are you?” Tucker had never seen the type, but it had been years.

“No,” said Tucker. “But, uh. It’s sort of complicated. It’ll take a little bit to explain.”

“Alright,” said Danny, continuing into the room until he could perch on the edge of his mother’s rocker. “Go ahead.”

“Right. So. Every ten years or so, the weavers’ and felters’ guilds get together to negotiate with the shepherds about prices. Tanner’s guild, too, sometimes, but not this year. This year, my master got chosen to go. Which meant I was at loose ends."

"So you came to visit me?" asked Danny, touched.

"Um. No. Maybe I would've, but at the same time, the pages at the castle all came down with carbuncle pox–"

"Oh, yeah, I heard about that."

"So, the pagemaster asked the guilds to send apprentices to fill in for them."

"And you were sent because you were at loose ends."

"Right."

They stared silently at each other. Just when Danny was about to prompt Tucker to continue, because that had explained nothing, the other boy exploded.

"I was sent to give a message to the princess and she had a book out about Rangers, like the one your mom always had, and I asked her why she was looking up Rangers and she said it was for a personal project and she asked me why I could read - because apparently royalty think guild apprentices can’t read, go figure, she sounded impressed, though - and I told her that I’d always wanted to join the monastery, but money, and then, you know, she was surprised I could read, I wanted to say something impressive, not be written off, and I said I knew a Ranger family, and then she said that if I could get a Ranger to help with her project, she’d pay off my apprenticeship and recommend me to the head monk, and I said I could definitely, one hundred percent do that and you’d be happy to help. So, uh. Yeah. Yeah, then I came here. What’ve you been up to?”

Danny's jaw had dropped at some point during Tucker’s ‘explanation,’ but he gathered himself. "The attic, I guess. Tucker… I'm not a Ranger."

"But your parents were."

"Not… not really." Jazz, at least, had thought they were doing the whole Ranger thing to embarrass her. The Fentons were alchemists by trade, if not temperament. Rangers didn't really exist any more.

"Grandparents?"

Danny shrugged.

"Come on, Danny, you're literally my only hope."

"Why do you even want to join a monastery anyway?"

"Because that's where all the books are."

Danny rubbed his head, winced, and thought about it some more. "This project isn't some creepy rich person thing, is it?"

"What? No. The princess is our age!"

"So? I'm self‐aware enough to realize that I can be creepy about…" he trailed off, blushing furiously. "Things."

"She's a girl!"

Danny blinked. “So?”

Tucker stared at him. He stared at Tucker.

“She legitimately needs a Ranger.”

“What for? It isn’t like there’s any magic in the woods anymore. They’ve been mapped.”

“Apparently not,” said Tucker. “Look, I know you haven’t seen me in a long time, and we’re not close friends anymore, but you have to at least be curious. And you’d get to meet the princess.”

Danny sighed. “Alright, alright. I am curious.” Otherwise, he wouldn’t have asked all those questions. “Where am I supposed to go and when am I supposed to be there?”

“The princess wants us to meet her at the castle at noon.”

“Tucker,” said Danny.

“Yes?”

“You want me to go to the castle. At noon. Today. Looking like I just got beaten up. And convince the princess, who has apparently done a lot of research, that I’m, what, an apprentice Ranger? Is that even a thing?”

“An experienced Ranger. I, uh, might have played you up a bit.”

“Tucker,” said Danny. “You were wrong.”

Tucker hunched his shoulders. “About?”

“Us not being close friends anymore. You see, if we weren’t, I would be kicking you out right about now.”

“Noted.”

Danny did not run around like his hair was on fire for the next hour, although at one point he came perilously close to actually setting his hair on fire.

An hour was not long enough to prepare for this. For that matter, days wouldn’t be long enough to prepare for this. He was an apprentice alchemist, barely, not a monster-hunter, not a warrior of any stripe, not a mage, not even a historian.

But on the off chance that there was magic… or a creature or some sort…

He packed his travel kit with a few randomly chosen vials of caustics and poisons, making sure they were carefully separated from the vials and flasks carrying more benign brews. Glues, solvents, and cleaners went in another compartment, salves and topicals in yet another, and things you were actually supposed to eat or drink in a fourth.

He felt woefully underprepared.

Tucker was really lucky he didn’t have any other friends, darn it.

His eyes strayed back to the lockbox in the back of the storeroom. He shouldn’t… But odds were, the princess was delusional or just getting scammed. He could put everything back before his parents got home. And if the princess had found something magical, wouldn’t it be better to have something that could affect it? Even if it was old and super questionable?

With a skill born from his parents always losing their keys, Danny picked the lock on the lockbox. Within were two vials. One was pale green, with a dark, glittery red mixture inside. The other was coated with crackling, peeling red and contained a liquid that glowed green through the cracks. The reason for these color choices was, Danny assumed, because one of his ancestors was a sadist of some variety.

He checked the labels to make sure they were what he remembered. Tincture of Sanguiflora magicidium in the green vial and mana pondalorum physick in the red vial. He triple checked his memory of their effects against the booklet in the lockbox. Only then did he put them in their own, separate, compartments.

He was ready to go, and absolutely sure he was going to regret this in at least some way.

Welp! At least it’d be interesting.

Danny had never actually been to the castle before. His parents were… Well, even if they were the absolute best alchemists in the kingdom (a disputed title) they weren’t exactly welcome around anyone who might not want their clothes ruined. Or their houses. Or their health. Even beyond the Ranger thing, they were pretty eccentric.

The castle was impressive, he supposed. But it was just a large building. He wouldn’t want to be a guy attacking it, he was sure. But looking at it from the outside got old, fast.

“So,” he said to Tucker, “noon, huh?”

“You know that’s just an estimate. Not everyone has clocks.”

“I am absolutely convinced that the royal family has at least one clock.”

“Yeah, but do they know that you have a clock? That’s the question. And is your clock even right?”

Danny shrugged.

One of the guards whistled at them, and for the first time, Danny saw his face.

“Huh,” he said, “is that Dash?”

“Might be,” said Tucker.

“You! Boy!” snapped Dash, who was only a little older than they were. “Are you Tucker Foley?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“And the-” Dash sneered, “-Ranger?”

“It’s not my day job.” Or any kind of job. Actually, was he getting paid for this? As much as he’d like to live off air and pleasant thoughts, he did have other needs. At this point, though, it seemed too late to ask.

“You’re expected. Follow me.”

Wow. Danny didn’t know that Dash knew any words as long as ‘expected.’ Shocking. Maybe being around all these high-class people was starting to rub off on him.

Not far inside the gates was a… Alright, Danny didn’t know what was going on, but it had the energy of people preparing to go somewhere, so. Yeah.

“Your majesty, I’ve brought the felter boy and his… friend.”

“I’m sure they have names,” said a girl who was wearing a surprisingly practical riding dress, “and I know you know at least Tucker’s.” She turned slightly towards Danny. “And you are?”

“This is, uh, Danny, Princess Samantha,” said Tucker, bobbing bow and elbowing Danny in the side until he got a clue and did the same.

“I’ve told you, you can call me Sam.”

“R-right. Sam.”

Everyone in the vicinity except the princess shot them a glare so venomous Danny was tempted to get out a bezoar (ick). The princess didn’t notice. She was too busy examining Danny. He straightened under her sweeping gaze.

“You don’t look like a Ranger.”

“My parents have more experience.” Or so they claimed, anyway. “There’s not a lot of call for Rangers these days.”

“Well, you’re the first one to come to me with even a lick of authenticity, so I suppose you’ll do,” she said, finally. “The Fenton line, correct? Branch of House Nightingale?”

“Um,” said Danny. “I suppose?” He’d heard some things like that, but if he had any Nightingale ancestors, they were buried beneath far more common people.

“I think you might actually be the last survivors of that house. Do either of you ride?”

Danny and Tucker shook their heads.

“More’s the pity, although we won’t be moving at much more than a walk with all the people who insist on coming with us despite their lack of interest in our nation’s heritage.” She sniffed. “You will be coming of course, Tucker?”

“‘Course he will,” said Danny, looping an arm around his shoulder. “We used to be a team when we were kids.”

“Oh? Goodness, that almost makes me reluctant to send you off to a monastery. There are so few people with any Ranger training left.”

She turned away, back to her preparations, and Tucker threw Danny’s arm off and glared at him. Danny grinned lazily back. Served him right. Danny could spread the misery around a little bit.

It was true that the princess’s retinue did not move at a rate faster than a walk. This was, however, at least partially because the princess kept stopping to give alms on her way out of the city. It seemed the city’s population of beggars had learned her preferred routes.

“Hey,” said Danny, “this was a one day sort of thing, right? It’s okay that I didn’t pack stuff for overnight?”

“No, it should be fine, I think,” said Tucker. “But there’s like a hundred people here. Someone will have spare stuff. Besides, if it goes much longer than that, we can just leave.”

Danny nodded. “That’s true.”

When they finally reached the forest, they walked for another hour and a half, this time stopping so that the princess and her ladies could coo at the half-feral forest cats that sometimes watched their progress.

Alright, Danny cooed at them, too, and since he and Tucker were on foot, they had a much better chance of petting them, something he felt just a little smug about.

The first hour of that was on a well maintained road, the last was on a path that looked to be newly cut through tangled underbrush and fallen trees. Much to the displeasure of the princess’s guards, she decided to dismount and walk next to Danny and Tucker for this part of the journey. She called it ‘bracing.’

“We only found this because of the late storm during the drought last year,” she said. “Father sent the fire watch to make sure there hadn’t been any bad lightning strikes close to the city, and one of them found it. I spent months convincing Father to let me investigate. I’m hoping that soon it will be something I can share with everyone.”

Danny cleared his throat. “With this all being so last minute, Tucker didn’t actually get a chance to tell me what ‘it’ was. Um, Princess Samantha.” He had no idea how often you were supposed to address royalty by title. It didn’t come up all that often in his life.

Samantha’s smile faltered, slightly. “It’s Sam. And we’re not sure, actually. That’s one of the reasons we wanted a Ranger. I thought that you might recognize it from your training.”

“I don’t know how likely that is,” cautioned Danny.

Samantha shrugged. “It is only one of the reasons. But you don’t have to be pessimistic. I’m well aware that this endeavor might come to nothing. It is one thing to hope to reclaim a country’s magical heritage. It is another thing entirely to actually do it.”

“So… you don’t believe magic is getting used up?”

“I’m not sure. I think it might have been… But I have hope that magic is something that can be restored, renewed, and used more wisely. Other places seem to have managed that, at least a little. It would be a shame to give up on it entirely, wouldn’t it? It was a wondrous thing.”

“Sure,” said Danny, “but there were also the monsters. That’s what the Rangers were for, a lot of the time.”

“Even so.” She fell silent for a while. “Have you ever heard of the trap-rabbit?”

“No. Tuck?”

Tucker shook his head.

“They used to be quite common here, is my understanding. The walls of my nursery are painted with them. They don’t exist anymore. It’s a sad thing, I think, for that to happen. I would not wish it to happen even to monsters.”

Tucker made a face. The princess saw it.

“I have read the stories,” she said. “In them, we strike first as often as they.”

“But those are stories,” protested Tucker.

The princess shrugged. “As is any history you did not witness personally. But even we can’t return things to what they were, don’t you think learning what was is still a worthy goal?”

“It sounds like one, anyway,” said Danny. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

They emerged into a clearing around a large pond. On the other side of the pond was a huge tree with great, drooping branches. The branches swayed in the wind, momentarily revealing something made of stone.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” asked the princess, stepping onto a path that led around the side of the pond. It was made of uneven pavers and looked ancient.

“Yeah,” said Danny. “I didn’t know trees like that got that tall.”

“Neither did I,” muttered Tucker. “What’s under there, though.”

“You’ll have to see,” said Samantha- Sam, skipping down the path.

Danny started after her, and immediately tripped. He just barely caught himself before face planting and possibly having a very expensive and dangerous accident with his travel kit.

He maybe wasn’t as recovered from his head injuries as he’d thought. And, yes, he was counting Tucker’s accidental punch.

It was fine.

The stone beneath the tree was part of a structure, obviously made by intelligent hands and at least as old as the paved path. There didn’t seem to be any way into the small building, just some words carved into the side.

“Do you recognize it?”

Danny shook his head. “But there’s always been lots of different kinds of ruins.” He walked around the structure, going slowly. “Reminds me a little of shrines in old temples. Those are open-sided, though.”

“I know,” said Sam. “The tree doesn’t mean anything to you, either?”

“Should it?”

Sam shrugged. Away from the shadow of the tree, her retinue was setting up camp. They seemed more than happy to let the three of them investigate the maybe-shrine on their own. Well. Mostly. A couple very formidable looking ladies were watching them like hawks, and a bald man had taken out a stool and a thick, dusty book to read in the shade.

“I don’t think so… It’s kind of similar to that one story, though, isn’t it? The one about the tree of life and a sacred pool.”

“It is. The water seems to be just water, though, and the fruit is just fruit.”

“Might be where the story came from, though.”

“Maybe,” agreed Sam. “What do you think of the writing?”

Gods, that was not his area of expertise. Still, he stepped closer. “Hm,” he said. “It’s very writing-like.”

Sam looked at him, concern on her face. “You can read, yes?”

“What? Yeah. Just give me a second. This isn’t regular writing.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’ve gotten someone else to translate this already, right?”

“My tutor, William Lancer." She gestured at the bald man, who briefly glanced up from his book. "It’s good to have a second opinion.”

Danny nodded and called up his admittedly meager knowledge of this sort of thing. He knew some, because a lot of alchemical texts were written in the old language, but he wasn’t exactly spending his days practicing it.

“Um,” he said, intelligently. He was starting to see what Tucker meant about wanting to impress her. “The first binding, valued more than coin, valued more than land, but spent on it nonetheless, by those who do not own it. When it is gone, dust is left. Heart of the land, spend yours before your people. We shall… wake?” Danny paused. “Is that ‘wake?’”

“‘Open,’” said Sam. “We think answering the riddle might open up the… shrine, for lack of a better word.”

“Mm,” said Danny, who had usually seen it in the context of sleeping medicines. “Is it the same on all sides?”

“As far as we can tell.”

“Dust is, um. Huh.” He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing when he jostled his head. “I think this dust might be the same dust as grave dust. Does that help?”

“This isn’t one of those animal sacrifice things, is it?” asked Tucker. “Or, uh, human sacrifice?”

“We thought of that,” said Sam.

Tucker moved away from her.

“But, ah. Blood magic tends to be… unpleasant. We thought we’d avoid that.”

“Might still be blood magic,” said Danny. “I mean, blood fits, doesn’t it? Blood relations are the first tie you have, it’s more valuable than money or land, but people still fight wars for those things, they just try to spill other people’s blood. When it’s gone, you’re left with grave dust.”

“I would prefer not to get sacrificed,” said Tucker. “If it’s all the same to you, your highness.”

“Tucker, if I was that desperate to get in, I’d just hire people to pull it down, or get a battering ram. I’m not going to sacrifice anyone. But… heart of the land? We thought perhaps wood doves, because of the crest…”

Danny shrugged. “At that point, it might as well be talking about your blood.”

“Mine?” asked Sam, scandalized but intrigued.

“Sure. You’re popular, right? Or at least, you’re royalty. That’s sort of like being the heart of a country.”

“Couldn't it just be talking about the word, too?" asked Tucker, looking faintly ill. "Couldn't it be that you just have to say the word blood?"

"I don't know, we've said blood a lot just now."

"But not in the old language," pointed out Sam.

"Sure," said Danny. "Sang."

Nothing happened. He shrugged.

"Maybe you need to say it," Tucker said to Sam.

"Sang."

Still nothing.

"Bleeding it is, then." Sam pulled an unreasonably large knife from the vicinity of her corset.

Tucker jumped away, and even Danny took two hurried steps back, ready to throw himself behind the corner of the building. The ‘supervising’ adults were unalarmed.

But the princess just pressed the blade to her thumb and held it out to the structure.

Nothing happened.

“Maybe you need to bleed on it?” suggested Danny.

“You don’t want to get an infection, your highness,” said William Lancer, not looking up from his book.

“I know,” said Sam. She pressed her thumb against the wall, just under the carved riddle.

For a long moment… nothing happened.

But then the walls shuddered and began to drop into the ground, leaving only the pillars at the corners to support the roof.

“Yes!” Sam pumped her fist and ran in as soon as the walls got low enough.

This, finally, stirred the watchers to action.

Danny and Tucker exchanged a glance. It'd be bad if the princess were cursed, wouldn't it?

Danny hopped over the wall next. The interior was… Not much of one. He didn't know what he expected of a ten foot by ten foot building with no walls.

"Look," said Sam, pointing up.

"Oh, wow," said Danny, all awareness of what the princess’s minders were doing falling away from him. The pillars might not be much to look at, but the ceiling… Danny had just enough experience at art to understand what had gone into carving and painting it. It was the night sky, as viewed from below trees. Each leaf and needle was picked out in exquisite detail, perspective perfect. And the stars… as an alchemist, even an apprentice one, Danny had to know when the stars were right. These stars were accurate. They were even accurate to this time of year. Even the moon was right, its face a careful reproduction of what was really there.

“The floor, too!” said Sam, bringing Danny’s attention to the stone tiles and the small flowers and leaves painted on them as well as… were those map lines? Danny wasn’t sure. “This is marvelous. Do you suppose the pillars are meant to resemble tree trunks? I didn’t see it before, but now-! Even if this was it, it’s worth it!”

“It is pretty,” said Tucker, finally following them in. “Wonder what it was for.”

“It hardly even matters. That is, it matters, of course, but look at it!”

They looked.

And while they were looking, the walls shot back up, leaving them in pitch blackness.

“Ah,” said Danny. “Somehow, I feel like we should have expected this.”

“Bleed on the walls again!” suggested Tucker in a not at all panicked voice.

There was some shuffling as everyone ran into one another.

“It’s not working,” said Sam.

“Well,” said Danny, “at least there’s still the battering ram option?”

“That only works if there’s nothing inside the thing you care about breaking. Do you– No, I suppose you wouldn’t. What was the point of this, anyway? To trap princes and princesses?”

Danny shrugged, even though no one could see him.

“I don’t suppose any of you have flint or matches?” asked Sam. “Candles?”

“Some,” admitted Danny. “But you don’t really want to light a fire in a closed space like this. Oh! Wait! I do have something.” He opened the top of his travel kit. The glowing mana pondalorum physick was immediately visible. The red coating of the vial blocked most of the green light, but in the otherwise absolute darkness, it seemed to burn.

“What is that?”

“Mana,” said Danny. “Or water with mana in it. Some of the old books aren’t super clear. My parents saved it from way back.”

“Did they save anything else?” asked Sam, her eyes wide. She reached for it.

Danny pulled it back, towards his chest. He had not anticipated curious royalty as a threat to his ‘not getting in trouble with my parents’ plan, but in retrospect he could see that was as obvious a risk as getting stuck in a weird possibly magical ruin.

“Yeah,” he said, “there’s also the magicidium mix. It’s, um, emergency magic antidote. Magic killer. So, if one of us gets cursed, you want to grab the green vial with the red stuff in it.”

“And, what, drink it?” asked Tucker.

“Or dump it on them. Drinking it is better, but, you know, curses…”

“Right,” said Tucker, nodding, “I absolutely know curses.”

Danny had doubts. But he also had better things to do, like examining the inside of the walls. He raised the vial, glancing up as the green light was reflected off the painted stars. For a moment, he thought he might have caught a glimpse of something else, then the moment was gone.

“Hey, why don’t we just dump the magic killing stuff on the walls or something?” asked Tucker.

“Because it’s probably magic that makes them move,” said Sam. “Not magic that keeps them in place.”

The walls had writing on them. He turned to the nearest one, and brought the vial closer. “That’s different from the outside, I think?”

“What does it say?” asked Sam.

“Give me a minute,” said Danny. “It’s really hard to see.” He squinted at the writing. “This is a lot longer,” he said with some dismay.

“You can read it, though, can’t you?”

“Just… don’t rush me.” Danny chewed his lip, then read slowly. “Beat true, oh heart, with wisdom and wit, for without these passion lies silent. Um… Those who would be woken, must be named. Those who would be named, must be woken… No. Those who are named will be woken. Speak, therefore, the names of…”

“What names? Ours? Mine?”

“Give me a second. The names of… Okay, I’m not sure if this is just a poetic way to say sleep or not. The names of those beneath the stars, for you must know them whether it is day or night. Say them, wake them, walk into the light.”

“You think beneath the stars means sleep? Those are completely different!”

“And beating around the bush is completely different from avoiding a topic,” said Sam. “But they mean the same thing.”

“Yeah,” said Danny. “The stuff I learned from is big on metaphor, but it was, you know, formal.”

“We’re going to die,” said Tucker.

“We’re not going to die. Let’s start with our names. I’m Sam.”

“Danny.”

“Tucker.” Tucker looked around, nervous. “Do you think it wants our full names?”

“Yeah…” said Danny, also apprehensive. “Magic usually does.” Not that he really knew, but that was the way it was in stories. So. “Daniel Vladimir Fenton.”

“Oh, gods, that’s your middle name?”

“Shut up. I know yours is Meredith.”

Sam rolled her eyes with her entire body. “Princess Samantha Annamarie Laurel Caspera Manson of Amity, Duchess of Beau. Your turn.”

“Tucker,” he sighed, “Meredith Foley.”

“Alright,” said Danny, “maybe it means something else when it says all.”

“Like what? We’re the only ones here.”

Sam had started picking at her lip. “We are,” she agreed. “But… The floor, it was a map, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Danny. “I really hope you’re good at geography. I’m not.”

“You’re a Ranger.”

“That has nothing to do with geography.”

Sam turned, surveying the room. “What if it’s not the map, but the trees?”

“The… sculptures?”

“They’re under the stars, too aren’t they?”

The next half an hour or so was spent desperately trying to name… everything. Danny and Tucker just recited every tree name and plant name they could remember - and some animal names just in case - while Sam was a bit more methodical. Danny and Tucker’s frenzy was only occasionally interrupted by Sam saying something like Elmerton, Casper, Axion, Floode or Eerie.

As a result, they had no idea who it was that finally triggered the walls to slide down again. Danny, for one, didn’t really care. He threw himself out as soon as he was able, and the others seemed to have the same opinion.

He knelt on the grass and tilted his head up to catch the sparse sunlight filtering through the branches above him. In doing so, he saw that everyone who had been there before was gone.

“We weren’t gone long enough for everyone to have left, right?” asked Danny.

“No,” said Sam, “not at all.” She climbed to her feet and walked past him, examining the ground. “It’s like they were never here at all…”

Tucker gasped and pointed up. “Look at the tree!”

Fruit hung from its branches, heavy, round, and red.

“What is that?” asked Danny.

“You don’t know?”

“No. I’ve never seen a tree like that.”

The walls of the small building grated as they started rising again. Danny, Sam, and Tucker turned back to it, slowly. Dread bubbled up in Danny’s stomach, creeping along his spine.

“Maybe we should just go back to the city,” said Danny.

Sam shook her head. “There’s no guarantee the city will even be there.”

“There’s no guarantee it won’t be.”

“And there’s no guarantee that stupid thing won’t disappear one of us if we look at it funny,” argued Tucker. “Let’s cut our losses.”

“There must be a reason for this,” insisted Sam, crossing her arms. “They wouldn’t just make all this happen for no reason.”

Danny eyed her suspiciously. “There’s something else, isn’t there? Something you know about this.”

Sam tapped her foot. “Maybe,” she allowed. “Nothing solid, mind you, but one Ranger journal I found suggested that this place was used by the old kings to petition the woods, and that they needed both royalty and Ranger to do it. That’s… one of the reasons I wanted someone like you to come.”

“Petition it for what?”

“I don’t know. It didn’t say. It was one sentence in thousands. It could have been anything. Good harvests, few wolves, killing the Pariah King, whatever. It might not have even been talking about here at all. I just thought… If there was anything left…”

“Clearly,” said Tucker, “there was something left.”

“Right,” said Sam. “But it didn’t say anything about making people disappear.”

“It didn’t say anything about anything, is what it sounds like,” said Tucker.

“Yes, but…” She trailed off. “Don’t you think it’s more likely that we were moved? Considering.” She gestured at the peaceful and undisturbed clearing. “Even the path we came in on is gone.”

Danny hadn’t noticed that, but it was true. The border of the clearing was entirely overgrown, with no sign that people had broken through the shrubs and small trees there.

“I think,” she said, “that to get back, we have to keep going.” She looked between the two of them, then at the building, squaring her shoulders. “I am sorry I brought you into this, but it’s done. Let’s at least work together to get out of it.”

There wasn’t much choice, was there? “Alright,” said Danny. “Let’s go.”

The words on the walls were, predictably, different than they had been before. Danny was getting used to this already, somehow. “This is the wisdom of the land, that when the land drinks, the people shall drink, and when the people drink, so shall the land drink, and that when the land is fed, so shall the people be fed, and when the people are fed, so shall the land be fed. For water to be received, it must be given. Should salt be given, then salt shall be received. The land that is fed on blood shall also bleed. The seed that is planted will grow. That which wakes will be woken. The…” Danny paused.

“And you were doing so well, too.”

“Listen.”

“Sorry, it’s only… at least the last one had a clear instruction. This sounds like some kind of philosophical statement. Not that there’s anything wrong with those.”

“I’m not done yet,” said Danny, plaintively. “I haven’t seen this word before. I think it’s a person? And they’re getting whatever they’re doing done to them? It goes on like that for a while longer.” He ran his finger down the line. And then it says, because the people and the land are one, only about a dozen times.”

“Why would it say it a dozen times?” asked Tucker.

“It uses a different word for land each time.”

Sam frowned at him. He wasn’t looking at her, but he could feel it. “What?”

“Like, mostly it uses the word for land that has trees on it, but–”

“You mean a forest? Or wood?”

“No, there’s a different word for a forest. Actually, there’s specifically a word for land that has a forest on it, as opposed to just trees.” Which Danny only knew because a lot of alchemical potions had dirt as an ingredient. Incredibly specific dirt. “And there’s a different word for soil. Or for unoccupied land. It’s… the old language is weird.” There was a reason it wasn’t spoken anymore.

“And that’s it?”

“No, there’s one more line. Show your intentions: to eat, and to be eaten. No, wait, that doesn’t make sense. That must be feed.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” said Tucker.

“At least it’s an instruction.”

“Maybe we’re supposed to eat the fruit. I might do that anyway, actually,” said Danny. “What? I’m hungry. I didn’t eat anything at midday.”

“But what if you eat it, and then it eats you?”

“At least I won’t be hungry?”

“I think the bigger problem here is what if it’s poisonous,” said Sam.

“Is that really the bigger problem? Really?” He gestured around himself. “I’m going to eat one of those fruits and, uh. Water the tree.”

“You can say you’re going to pee on it,” said Sam. “I have bodily functions, too.”

“Whatever. If that doesn’t work, we can try something else.”

Sam squinted at him. He got the impression it wasn’t an expression she wore often, but it suited her face very well. “You know, I expected a Ranger to know more about all of this.”

Tucker made flailing motions behind her.

“That’s– In the spirit of honesty, no one in my family has done real Ranger-ing since my grandfather disappeared when my mom was a little girl.”

“The woods do disappear people, oh my gods–”

“My parents just like camping and pretending there are still monsters, and Tucker said you needed someone, so…”

Sam’s whole face twitched. “I see. I suppose we can’t say we aren’t similar, then, with respect to false pretenses. But… let’s not do that anymore. For the sake of not dying.” She paused. “Is the red–”

“It’s really anti-magic.”

Sam’s shoulders slumped. “At least there’s that. If the fruit starts turning you into, I don’t know…”

“A wolf,” suggested Tucker.

“Why not? A wolf, I’ll make sure to pour it down your throat.”

Danny rolled his eyes. “And if it’s poisonous, I’ll eat a bezoar.”

“What’s that?” asked Sam.

“Thing that helps with poison. It’s gross, you don’t want to know where they come from.”

“I thought we were being honest–”

“It’s a stone formed in a someone’s stomach or gut,” said Danny. “Like a gallstone.”

Sam looked fascinated, if disgusted. “Does… does that actually work?”

“I’m… not actually sure. But it can’t hurt.”

“I don’t know, it kind of sounds like it could be poisonous on it’s own.”

That was what Danny said to his parents, but did they listen? No.

He shrugged at Sam walked away from the building and towards the shore of the pond, where the branches trailed in the water and the fruit was easier to reach. He pulled one off and rolled it in his hand. It felt like a plum, even if the size and color was off.

“Danny, are you sure,” started Tucker.

"Am I sure what?" asked Danny, opening his kit.

"What are you doing?"

Danny looked down at the beaker in his hand, then back up at Tucker. "Testing for common poisons?"

"Oh. I thought you were just going to eat it."

"No, that's weird." He set up his materials and poked a hole in the fruit with his knife to get some juice. He let it drip into the containers, then stood up to throw the punctured fruit into the pond.

"Maybe we shouldn't throw things into the potentially magic pond," suggested Sam in a way that wasn't very suggestion-like.

Danny shrugged at her, wondering vaguely if shrugging at royalty was a punishable offense. Something caught his eye.

“Hey, there’s a bucket here,” said Danny. “Do you think we’re supposed to do something with the bucket?” He walked over and picked it up.

"Maybe it's to actually water the tree," said Tucker.

"That makes sense," said Danny. He tossed the bucket at Tucker. Tucker fumbled it.

“Why me?”

“I’ve got to watch this,” said Danny, pointing at where the fruit was reacting or not reacting to the chemicals in the beakers. “And, well…”

“Dear gods,” said Sam. “You had better not be about to say that I’m somehow unable to fill and carry a bucket because I’m a girl.”

“No. I just thought you wouldn’t want to.” And she could probably make life very hard for them if they annoyed her too much.

Sam scoffed and took the bucket from Tucker. “I’ve got it.”

“Alright,” said Tucker. “She’s got it.”

The tests for poison came back negative, so…

Danny bit into a fruit he’d just picked and blinked. “Oh, these are actually really good.”

“We’ll take your word for it.”

“Look,” said Tucker, “That thing’s not doing anything, so I’m going to see if I can find the main road. I’d prefer it if you came with me, but…”

“Might as well,” said Danny.

“Fine,” said Sam. “But we’re going to take precautions to make sure we can get back here.”

“Like what?” asked Danny.

Sam pulled out a clue of string from… somewhere.

“Do you just carry that around?”

“Of course. String is useful.”

It turned out it didn’t matter. No matter how they left the clearing, they wound up back in it.

"It's been a couple hours," said Danny as they laid on the ground under the tree. "I probably would have died by now if there was actually poison in those fruits."

"Mhm," said Sam, contemplatively.

"Just a question, but, speaking of which, have either of you noticed the sun getting lower?"

"No," said Sam.

"Nope," said Tucker.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He looked up at the still-blue sky. “You guys are going to have to eat or drink something eventually.”

“Yeah,” said Tucker. “But I’ve been thinking, and… what if it takes us someplace worse?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny.

“Staying isn’t an option.”

“It could be. Maybe the fruit grows back, or there’s fish in the pond.”

“Have you seen any fish?” asked Danny.

“No. Why?”

“Sometimes people use fish as fertilizer.”

“We don’t have anything to catch fish with.”

“We’ve got string and the fruit. Maybe we can find some worms, too?”

“Might as well,” said Sam.

None of them were particularly skilled at fishing. No fish were caught.

Sam chewed on the fruit. “You know,” she said, “if it weren’t for the mortal peril and all, I’d say this was pretty good.”

“It is tasty,” allowed Tucker, who was pausing to glare at the fruit between every bite.

“No, I mean all this.” Sam waved at nothing in particular. “It’s nice. Fun.”

At least someone was having a good day. He’d been trying to ignore the swollen lump on the back of his head and his black eye, but it hadn’t really been working.

Under other circumstances, though… He could see hanging out with Sam and Tucker being fun. The odds of that happening if Sam went on with princess-ing and Tucker became a monk were pretty low, though.

“I don’t think I’ve done anything without being watched by half a dozen people since I was eight.”

“Anything?” repeated Danny.

“Anything.”

Danny didn’t want to ask, but the question was there, in his head.

“Yes, in the bath, too.” She sighed and held up the fruit pit. “I suppose we should bury these? Over there, maybe?”

“Can’t hurt,” said Danny. “Anyone have a shovel? And– Oh!” He opened up his kit. “We can use this!” He held up a vial of white powder.

“What’s that?”

“Niter!”

“... Doesn’t that explode?” asked Tucker.

“Sometimes.”

“Why do we want to explode anything?” asked Sam.

“We don’t. It’s fertilizer.”

“But it’s white.”

“So?”

Tucker sighed heavily. “Maybe we can use the bucket as a shovel?”

Sam patted down the last bucket-scrape of dirt with a gleeful expression. They were all pretty grimy at this point, but it looked like she was enjoying it.

The scraping sound wasn’t exactly music to Danny’s ears, but it was still something. They ran to the building. Three of the walls had dropped. The one nearest to the pond had remained standing.

Danny swallowed. Something felt… Not wrong, exactly, but there was a strong sense of meaning.

“Hey,” he said, before Sam and Tucker could step in, “wait. Maybe only one of us should go in. Just in case.”

“In case what? We’re already in a bad way,” said Sam. “We might as well face this together.”

Danny nodded. “Yeah, but this feels… Different. If everything’s fine, you can come in, too.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” said Danny, “but you wanted a Ranger for a reason.”

“Yes, but we’ve established you aren’t one.”

“I’m enough of one for us to get here, right? If I get stuck in there, you can always plant more pits and open it back up.”

“And who knows if we’ll be in the same place?” asked Sam.

“Just… humor me on this,” said Danny. “And remember, if I do get cursed, we have the magicidium.”

“There has to be an easier name for that,” muttered Tucker.

“Sure. Blood blossoms. They’re called that because they’re red.”

Tucker spread his hands. “Then why–”

“I like saying it. It makes it sound cooler.”

Sam raised her hand, stopping them. “You know you’re the only one who can read the old language, right? You’d be the one going in to look at what’s written there.”

“I know. I’m the one who suggested it.”

Sam groaned, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her wrists. “I should have learned the old language instead of Elmerian.”

Danny shrugged. “There’s always the future?”

Both of… oh, he might as well call them his friends, at this point… glared at him.

“Fine,” said Sam, “but if you do get cursed, I’m going to say I told you so.”

With trepidation, Danny crossed into the building. The floor and ceiling hadn’t changed, but the only upright wall was now packed with writing. He craned his neck back to see what was on top. The words almost seemed to glitter.

“This is a lot,” he said.

“Can we come in now?” asked Sam.

“Not yet,” said Danny. “Let me translate this first. Children of the land, know this, we, your forefathers, and we of the land have built this path to see the… obscured?” A shadow fell across Danny’s view of the carving, making the words seem to flash. He stood on his tip-toes and leaned closer, squinting. “To understand the world… beyond? Within. The world within the woods, and you have come because they have failed and you wish to repair.” He put his hand on the stone as he leaned still closer, nose almost pressed against the stone in an effort to see just a little better. It slid into a comfortable depression and he continued to read. “Let the bright magic– mana– let mana alter–”

Light flared across his vision, then everything went dark. He yelped.

“Danny?!”

“I’m– Hells and heavens–” He rubbed his eyes. “The sun didn’t suddenly disappear after that flash, did it?”

“No.”

“What flash?”

He’d been afraid of that. “I’ve been cursed.” His heart did a funny twist at the admission.

If his parents were here, they’d be thrilled.

Actually, probably not. If they’d been cursed, they’d be thrilled. They’d still be upset about him getting cursed.

“What?”

“I can’t see anything. I must have triggered it somehow–” He shook his head, as if that would throw off his blindness. “The word obscured. I thought it was just the lighting, but maybe it really flashed? Um.” He turned around, carefully. “I think it was just the words that triggered it, but I’m going to walk in your direction…”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Tucker, “you’re going the right way.”

“Just stay straight,” encouraged Sam.

The building was barely three strides across, but at the same time it was the longest walk he’d ever taken. He was relieved when Sam and Tucker grabbed him.

“Alright, so, if you guys can open my kit and get out the magicidium–”

“Blood blossoms. Let’s call it blood blossoms.”

“Whatever you want,” said Danny.

“They’re red, right?” asked Sam.

“Yeah, and sparkly.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Good,” said Danny, holding out his hand. “Can you– The cap?”

Sam pressed the vial into his hand, her fingers lingering around his as she made sure he had a grip on it.

“I should just need, like, a sip,” he told himself. He raised it to his lips, drank, and immediately knew that what he had in his hand wasn’t the blood blossom mixture.

With a calm he didn’t feel, he lowered the vial.

“Can you see, now?” asked Sam.

“No,” said Danny. “I can’t. What color is this?” He held up the vial.

“Red,” said Sam.

“The vial is red,” clarified Danny.

“Yes, that’s what you said, isn’t it?”

“No,” said Danny, closing his eyes. “That’s- The blood blossoms are red. But the vial they’re in is green. This is the mana, isn’t it?”

“Uh,” said Tucker.

“Kinda crackly glaze, glowing green on the inside?”

“Yeah,” said Tucker, weakly. “It looked different in the dark.”

“Yeah,” said Danny, voice cracking. “The dark does that.”

“I thought you said the red vial,” said Sam, very quietly. “Oh, no, I thought you said the red vial.” She sounded like she might be about to cry.

“Hey, it’s hard to tell the difference between red and green,” said Tucker, clearly intending to comfort her.

“Genuinely, it is not.”

Someone, probably Tucker, swallowed audibly. “You can still take the blood blossoms, though, right?”

“No! No. They don’t react well with concentrated mana.”

“By not reacting well, do you mean–”

“Niter isn’t the only thing in my kit that can make explosions.” He swallowed and opened his eyes. He still couldn’t see anything but this still felt more like facing things. “This is fine. I’m just blind, not dying.” Probably. “We’ll just be relying on more guesswork than before. Or I can try to figure out what it’s saying by touch?”

“No,” said Sam, grabbing his wrist, “do you want to get more cursed?”

“Carefull,” he hissed. “We don’t want to spill this here. Where’s the stopper?”

“Here,” said Tucker, taking the vial of mana from him.

“What else do you remember from what you were reading? Before you were cursed?”

“I don’t know. Something about letting magic change you to be… Something. And then something about guarding both sides on the next line down. Or fighting. Maybe something about waking up. I don’t remember.”

“Danny,” said Tucker, “your eyes are glowing.”

“They’re not, like, melting or anything, are they?”

“Just glowing. The same color as the, uh, stuff. The mana.”

“And your hair is turning white,” added Sam.

“Oh, that’s great. Maybe I am dying.”

“Don’t say that,” said Sam. “Maybe- Maybe this is magic changing you, and we just have to let it run its course.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Neither do I, but it’s that or you explode, so forgive me for a little optimism!” She’d never dropped his wrist, and now she trapped his hands between hers. “I don’t want you to die.”

“Neither do I,” said Tucker. “You’re my best friend.”

“We haven’t seen each other for years,” said Danny, trying not to sound choked. “Come on.”

“Hey, some friendships are timeless, right?”

Sam sniffled. “Even short ones.”

Gods, he really might be dying.

“Does that mean I can tell people I’m friends with a princess?”

“Only if you want my mother trying to get you executed.”

“That’s not a n–”

The sound of the wall behind him dropping made Danny jump. But what made him spin was that he could see light coming from behind him.

Footprints made of flowers glowed on the ground. A rectangle in the dimensions of the far wall was cut out of the darkness surrounding him. Beyond it…

“Oh,” said Danny. “Do you guys see that?”

“Do you?” asked Sam, suddenly sharp.

“Maybe.” He took a deep shuddering breath. “Were there steps leading down to the pond before? And was the pond glowing?”

“No,” said Tucker. “But we don’t see that.”

“We see everyone,” said Sam. “The way out. The knights are there, someone must have sent for them.” She laughed. “We can get out. They must not be able to see us, though.”

“I don’t think I can go that way,” said Danny. “I don’t see it.”

He could only see the ancient and watchful trees that surrounded the clearing, the faintly luminous waters of the pond and the steps that led down to them. Images of trees, not quite reflections, swayed on the pond’s glowing surface, seeming to extend into the depths.

“You should go,” he said, faintly. “Now. You don’t know if you’ll get another chance.”

If his heart had been twisting before, it was shuddering now.

“No,” said Sam. “No. I started this. None of this would have happened if I didn’t bring you here. I’m not going to leave you. We’ll go down to the pond with you. Or at least I will.” The last was said with an edge of challenge.

“Me, too,” said Tucker, though he seemed far less certain. “I got you into this mess, Danny.”

“I don’t know that I’m going down to the pond,” said Danny, both touched and annoyed. “And you don’t know if you can, if you can’t see it.”

“It’s where the path leads,” said Sam, stubbornly. “Didn’t you read that that’s why this place was built.”

The footprints. Danny closed his eyes briefly, and nodded. “Walk where I walk,” he said, putting his foot squarely on the first print.

He wasn’t sure if it was just the magic doing weird things to his vision, but as he got closer to the opening, the prints seemed to shift when he wasn’t looking straight at them, taking shapes other than a human sole. He tried not to think about what that might mean.

He stepped out of the building. Sam and Tucker walked out after him.

“Wow,” said Sam, looking around. “That’s… definitely different.” She waved her hand in front of her. “It’s like the air is glowing.”

A breeze stirred the waters of the pond to lap at the lowest step. It felt like they were beckoning him down into that even stranger forest beneath its waters.

He pulled the strap of his travel kit off over his head. “Here,” he said, handing it to Tucker. “Just in case.”

“We’re going to be with you,” said Tucker, trying to push it back to him.

“Yeah, but… Let me go first, alright?”

He stepped down and forward, once, twice, and his foot broke the surface of the water–

A forest is not a single thing. It is a vast and sprawling ecosystem, containing within itself multitudes. Creatures, plants, and even decay. Life, limited and not. Water, from beneath the earth, from the sky, from the rivers and streams, from the lakes and the ponds. Air and soil and stone. Death that becomes life and life that becomes death. The trees stretch upwards.

Yet, it is a single thing.

Truthfully, sometimes it is even a single life. A thousand trees with a single root.

And, here, there was magic.

The woods woke, stirred from slumber by the ripples of a stone thrown into still water.

A stone is changed by water. A stone is changed, also, by the root of a tree piercing through it, dividing it, scattering it. A stone may be shaped. A stone may be changed. But this stone was clay. This stone was flesh. This stone was a seed that might yet grow. This seed was a star that might yet shine.

They were awake.

They were awake, and, so, they would wake.

But the people were the land and the land was the woods, and the heart of the land had long ago promised a champion to the people, a guardian at both sides of the gate. A contract that was wisdom.

The seed was well rooted, but the star was of the air, and there was accord between heaven and earth. This satisfied. But the price of knowledge was always the destruction of ignorance.

This was the past: The sword, the spear, the fire, for evil is the reward of evil, and sown salt shall reap no harvest but salt. Monsters met with monstrous ends, even the monsters who called themselves men.

“I don’t want to be a killer,” whispered Danny, “I don’t want to kill people.”

Then he would not be, and the gifts of killers would not be his.

This, too, was the past: The wall. The tower. The rope. The net. The maze. The binding word. The sacrifice. The promise.

It shall be kept.

“It shall be kept.”

And this was the past: The house that was built under ax and saw, a home for a gardener. The books that became forests of their own. Long memories and longer stories, passed on forever. The campfire and the meal shared. The trees tended, and new growth rising from ashes.

“I can do that,” said Danny. “I can be that.”

The heart of the land sent forth a gift, with passion, wisdom, and wit, and it was received. That which gives is also given, and that which is gifted may also receive. There were gifts. There were expectations. A gift must be given in turn.

And the fruit of the trees shall sustain. And the branches of the trees shall shelter. And that which is protected shall protect.

And this was the future.

Danny crawled out of the pond, gasping. Hands - familiar, now - pulled him up and out.

“Oh, gods, Danny–”

“What?” he managed, spitting up water.

“There’s stuff growing on you–”

“Your ears–”

“Princess Samantha!”

Something heavy and hard jostled into their little group, knocking Danny back to the ground. He could feel it. The ground. All those little lives and deaths. The things growing, hungry, wanting, needing– All the things he could give them–

“Stop this at once!” demanded Sam, bringing him out of… whatever that was. He looked up and around, and was impressed by how many sharp, shiny, pointy things were pointed in his direction.

He tried to scramble to his feet, but was thwarted by his body deciding it just wasn’t going to do that. His whole body felt like it had been taken apart and put back together with new parts.

… Which might actually be what happened. The… presence in the woods within the pond had been… It had been an experience. One he wasn’t keen on repeating in the near future but nevertheless ached for.

His head didn’t hurt anymore, at least.

“Back foul beast!” shouted one of the knights with a spear, his voice reverberating within his helmet. “You will not lay your hand on the princess–”

“I was the one touching him! He’s not a beast– Let me go! Tucker, say something!”

“Please don’t kill us! Danny’s just cursed!”

“What manner of curses have you wrought upon the princess! Release her from your geas, monster!”

If Danny wasn’t so scared right now, he’d be laughing. Who talked like that?

But he was scared. He needed to get away. He needed speed, swiftness, and the agility, or at least the size, to avoid all these spears and swords.

Which was a ridiculous thought to cross his mind, because it wasn’t like he was going to pull any of those things from thin air.

Except he did. Change rippled over his body, throwing off white sparks like from fireworks. Fingernails to claws, hands to paws, ears sharp, tail - He ran, four-footed, between the feet of the nearest knight, body stretching and contracting in his flat-out sprint as if he knew what he was doing.

He had no idea what he was doing.

A spear impacted the ground in front of him, and he startled sideways into a horse’s path. Everything was so much larger than him, now. He lashed out, claws raking across the horse’s nose, and the horse reared back, dumping its rider.

It occurred to Danny, then, in a sort of vague, panicked sense, that whatever he’d turned into, he could cause a lot of chaos.

The next horse he saw, he went for the eyes.

He neglected to realize that, as small as he was, chaos might affect him more than it usually did.

Still, he made it to the brushy edge of the clearing in what he hoped was one piece. He crawled underneath it, hopping through thin spots whenever he was able. A tree rose up out of the shrubby mess like a godsent miracle, and he climbed up it, sinking his sharp claws into the bark, until he got to a branch that could support his weight. His real weight, not whatever he weighed now.

He huddled down, trying to remember what the change felt like, trying to will it to reverse, to make him himself again–

Slowly, his body returned to normal, fur fading back into skin, claws becoming nails once again. His clothing, sans shoes, rematerialized from somewhere. But… This wasn’t what his body had been like when he’d crawled out of the pond. It had been different, then. He could feel it. He knew it.

The tree he was perched in was not the presence below the pond, but that was a matter of degree, not kind. The roots of the woods were tangled and reached as far down as the branches reached up. To stone. To star.

It was quiet. Steady. Already established. It didn’t need things from him, not like the ground. Not right now, anyway.

But still, it whispered to him, and he knew. This was no more him than the forest cat's body he'd worn moments ago.

He curled in on himself and cried.

Tucker found him first, over a week later.

Although, it might have been better to say that Danny let himself be found. Shapeshifting into a cat or squirrel helped with hiding, funnily enough.

Shapeshifting was fun, even if it wasn't worth… everything else. At least, so long as he was in the trees. With his feet on the ground, listening to everything beneath them, without the lightning focus of fear, he couldn't direct it. What he was fell apart into… this.

Not the same as he'd been as Sam and Tucker dragged him from the pond, but more like it. A shape closer to what he was wanted to be rather than what he wanted to be.

But he'd seen Tucker coming, and he didn't want to talk to him while hiding in the trees. That would be wrong, he felt.

So, he walked into the middle of the road in front of Tucker, moss and grass curling up around toes that weren’t shaped right. His fingers were long and sharp and so were his teeth. He had no idea what his face looked like right now. He hadn’t been brave enough to check… assuming, of course, that he could even tell by touch. He could have stripes right now and not know it.

He hoped he was, at least, recognizable.

“Danny, gods. We thought you were dead.”

Oh, good. At least that fear was unfounded.

“Hi, Tucker,” said Danny. After not talking much for a week, his voice was scratchy.

… Or maybe that was the crying. Who knew?

“Oh my gods.” Tucker drew his hands down his face. “I can understand why you didn’t come back to the city with…” He gestured at Danny’s entire body.

“That’s not why,” said Danny, before he could continue. “I can’t leave the woods.”

“You what? What do you mean, you can’t leave?”

“I just can’t.” He’d tried to leave, at the beginning, but it didn’t work. He could walk to the border of the woods, where they opened up into the fields immediately around the city. He was quite comfortable there, even, standing under those branches, looking out. But he couldn’t go any further.

“Because of the curse?”

“I guess,” said Danny. “There’s not really anything else, is there? There’s not something that just makes people stop for no good reason.”

“Can you– I brought the blood blossom stuff, can you take it? Maybe–”

“No,” said Danny, firmly.

“But–” said Tucker, pulling the green vial out of his pocket.

Danny wanted to cringe away from it. “Just. No. Tucker… I’m not sure how much…” He wasn’t sure how much of him was left that wasn’t magic. “Sometimes, when curses really take hold, it doesn’t–” He sucked his lips in and regretted it as his long teeth scrapped at them. “What do you think happens when that stuff is put on something that is magic?” Danny tilted his head to the side and tried to smile again. “It’s been over a week.”

He watched Tucker’s face shift as he realized what that might mean, and his smile fell as well.

"I've seen my parents come through a few times," he said, just to say something different.

"Did you talk to them?"

"No." He grimaced. "Apparently, I'm a creature now.” He ignored that he’d said as much to Tucker just moments ago. “It didn't seem… smart."

"That must be…" Tucker paused to search for an appropriate adjective. "Hard."

"Yeah." He'd been wondering if Jazz had come home. If she was looking for him, too, or if she was still in Elmerton. If she knew. But he didn’t want to ask.

"Sam will want to see you." Tucker bit his lower lip. "She kind of… asked if I would look. I was going to anyway! But… I can tell her I couldn't find you, if you don't."

“No, I think I’d like that, actually. She was right. It was fun, before.” He sniffled. “Maybe we can even try to find what she was actually looking for.”

“Why would you do that?” asked Tucker, aghast. “Messing around with all of this cursed you to have weird ears and be stuck in the woods for who knows how long. Let’s just forget– Well, I mean, avoid anything else like this as much as we can.”

The woods leaned in around them. “I don’t think it works like that,” said Danny. “Things are waking up. And I think… I think the only reason Sam was able to find the- the path was because the woods were already waking up. And some of the things… I don’t think they’re good, Tuck.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” squeaked Tucker. “You know your eyes are glowing again, right?”

“Are they?” He blinked and shook his head. “Have you been looking for me the whole time?”

Tucker laughed nervously. “No. There’s, uh. Turns out that if you disappear with the princess there are questions. Lots and lots of questions. So many questions.” He shuddered. “And my master is angry at me. And the guild is angry with me. But I’m fine! What- What have you been up to? What else have you been up to? I, uh. Ha. Ha?"

A wry smile twitched the corner of Danny's lips. "The tops of the trees, I guess."

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2023

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rpgadverts · 1 year

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Hello fellow, Witches and Warlocks, Witch Hunters and Humans,

Let me introduce you to World Of Unseen Arts. Have you ever wondered how it would feel to live in Greendale and follow the footsteps of Sabrina Spellman? To be part of the chilling adventures of sabrina or sabrina the teenage witch fandom? To be able to have a place to worship old gods, the dark lord, lilith or moon goddess Hecate and continue what Zelda Spellman has created? Or maybe you’d rather make potions like Hilda. The options are endless.

While the site setting is a lot darker in itself, taking after the netflix series vibes, the cartoon is not excluded at all as we do have multiple elements returning into the site which makes that you have the best of both worlds. We may be a site that's more on the smaller site but it's not like any other as we have a very tight community. You always see the same faces everyday who are very happy to interact with you. Our site is also still very active in the text-based roleplaying department, which means that there is always a topic going on, and very juicy rumors to discover. So it's a small but still very active and tight community who genuinely enjoys creativity and encourages thinking through your characters and encourages to really create a bond with your characters.

On WoUA you learn roleplaying in a text-based way and using your characters in a way that you probably haven’t thought about yet. Our creativity goes wild! And we want YOU! Especially you! We need to grow our amazing community who enjoys roleplaying AND who also really enjoys the vibes that our site setting has. Will you join us and enter the path of night? Or will you choose the good side and take the path of light? Or will you follow the footsteps of Harvey Kinkle and learn how to hunt instead? Or maybe you just want to be that human sidekick running around with a baseball bat. You can be everything you desire in Greendale. AND even have the jobs you desire!

Our staff is looking for a couple new colleagues who want to join the ranks and we have quite a lot of vacancies that are still open, because of that you can let your creativity run wild and choose the one thing that fits your character best! And the only thing that you absolutely need to be to join is 15+ so stop hesitating and join us! https://worldofunseenarts.com/

The positions we are looking for are:

- Minister of Histories (BS), HoH - Order of Hecate, Teacher of Necromancy (4y - 7y), Teacher of Magical Objects (1y - 4y), Teacher of Humans & Witch Celebrations (1y - 5y), Teacher of Hunting (1y - 4y), Teacher of Myths & Legends (3y - 7y), Teacher of History (1y - 7y), Teacher of Demonology (1y - 7y), Study Director of Proff Football (3y) (GRAD COURSE), Study Director of Blood Magic (2y) (GRAD COURSE)

I hope to welcome you (As Kennedy Hill) on https://worldofunseenarts.com/

#rp #mature rp #staff search #wanted ad #fandom rp #fantasy rp #horror rp #magic rp

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amintyworld · 3 years

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Once Upon a Time - Twisted Fairytales AU

A/N: Here’s another prologue/introduction to another one of @dreamsmp-au-ideas’s AUs - Twisted Fairytale AU. There’s a more detailed explanation of the AU on their blog, which you guys should definitely check out! Anyway, I hope you enjoy! - Minty

TW: Mind control(?)/taking over someone’s body, manipulation, vomiting, panic attack, implied major character death(?), arguing, cursing, insanity(?). (Tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

-----------------------------------------

Once upon a time, long ago, there was a land of opportunity and friendship, a place meant to be a sanctuary for all those who needed it, a place where people could be happy and live in peace. In this land were three fearsome warriors whom no one dared cross, as such they were loved and respected by all who knew them. For a while, the three warriors lived together in harmony and friendship, and it was said in legend that apart they were strong, but together they were practically unstoppable. Two of these warriors, seeing the land around them grow and flourish looked toward the future, toward a growing power that threatened their kingdom and grew prepared to face it. The other warrior’s heart darkened at this growing power and feared the destruction it would bring. While the three warriors swore to stay together, the pained warrior swore to himself to see the power’s complete demise at whatever cost it would take.

Desperate, the darkened warrior sought a greater power from an older god whose name was lost to time itself. Asking for a wish in trade for anything the god wanted, the warrior pleaded to the god for help. The god agreed to grant his wish in return for the warrior’s greatest treasure. As a symbol of their agreement, the god gave the warrior a white clay mask that would bind them together for all time. Before the god vanished, however, they gave the warrior a warning: “Careful of the birds that feed from your hand, for they will be the first to bite.”

Years passed as the warrior’s heart broke and crushed into burning coal, became even too dark for the brightest light to touch. First, it was the Crooked King. Then it was the God of Blood, then the Dangerous Spark, and finally even one of his old warrior friends, the Soldier of Light. The proud warrior, ever the confident and cocky, never heeded the god’s warning, and as such, was unaware of the wisdom it held.

Thus the once honorable warrior fell, trapped and tricked by those he once called his friends. As for what the god took? It was safe to say the dark-hearted warrior lost the one thing he fought for - his family. He waits now, with books filled with stories he once knew, even his own, as he tries to find a different ending. He writes and rewinds and thinks and wonders where it all went wrong. His chest feels empty yet his mind is full, thinking.

One day, ever so slowly, he smiles.

The story isn’t over.

He still remembers the old god’s promise.

-----------------------------------------------

Dream huffed in the effort as he slammed his cuffs down against the rock in front of him, snapping the chains in two. He turned to sit, grabbing his sword to pry the ankle monitor off his right foot, tossing it angrily into the river below. Fizzles and smoke filled the air as the light on the monitor faded to darkness. Dream sighed in relief as he finally took a moment to breathe.

George’s eyes studied him from across the way, silent and thinking. He gently gripped the white mask in his hands, moving to sit on the ground next to his friend.

“Thank you for getting me out, no one would believe me-”

“Dream, please, there’s no need,” George answered honestly, his hand running over the mask’s detail. “But before we go anywhere, you need to give me answers. Real answers.” Brown eyes met Dream’s green, full of concern. “Please, just… tell me what’s going on - last I heard, Eret was King again, and now you’re in prison?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.” Green eyes lit up interest.

“Well, I was trying to keep an eye out for Tommy in exile, you know - staying out of trouble, making sure he wasn’t trying to escape, and just keeping him company. He’s just a kid, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“One day he just… snapped. He attacked me for no reason and ran off into the woods. I tried to follow him, I was so concerned but it was too late. Tommy spread rumors about me and said I was doing horrible things to him in exile. I tried and tried to get them to believe me but they didn’t. I even tried to use the discs to my favor but nothing worked, they cornered me, and… and…” Tears filled Dream’s eyes as George’s heart broke seeing his best friend like this. He moved to hug him tightly.

“Oh Dream, I’m so so sorry that happened.”

“Every-” Dream sniffled as he pulled away, trying to wipe away the tears. “Everyone turned against me - Punz, Bad… even Sapnap!”

“Sapnap?” George asked. “Sapnap believed Tommy over you?”

“I tried to get away, I tried to talk to him, I begged him to stop but he wouldn’t. He… he cornered me and made sure I wouldn’t get away, not until Tommy took away two of my lives.”

“Good gods.” George breathed. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve intervened sooner. But don’t worry, okay? We’ll talk to them, and-”

Dream shook his head as he took George’s hands in his. “George, no. I won’t have you suffer as I did.”

“But… but I’m sure if we talk to them together, they’ll listen.”

“George, no.” Dream moved to show off deep scarring across his chest, scarring that looked so fresh and so deep that George couldn’t help but gasp at the sight. His hand ghosted over the scarring as Dream winced in pain. With the number of strikes and injury on his friend’s body, George didn’t know how Dream was still standing, let alone alive. “This is what happened when I reasoned with them.”

“No, no they couldn’t have-!” Sure, L’manburg was a thorn on their side but even George knew they weren’t this brutal. They couldn’t be. None of this made sense, and yet the evidence was right in front of him.

“George.” Dream’s eyes turned saddened as he cupped his best friend’s cheek, making George freeze. “Please. I don’t want you to get hurt or chased or go through what I did. I know that they used to be our friends, but they’re not anymore. They’ve changed, and I don’t think they’re going to change back. We need to stick together, okay? I don’t want you to get hurt.”

George remembered how weird Sapnap had been acting when he’d brought up Dream last week - he called him a traitor and almost threw his mask in the fire to burn before George managed to snatch it away. Sapnap was on the verge of tears as he argued with him for hours, yelling and even screaming at him. George defended his friend who wasn’t even there to defend himself, which only seemed to stroke the flames. The last thing his best friend said to him before they weren’t on speaking terms was said in front of the old Community House, their old home that they shared, Sapnap pointing an accusing finger at him.

“When are you going to wake up and realize that everything Dream said was a lie, that he doesn’t care about any of us, that he was never our friend, huh?! Because I’m tired of you excusing what he’s done to everyone just because you think you know who he is! You’re more than just colorblind, George - You’re delusional!” Regret flashed across Sapnap’s face as he realized what he said. “...George, wait, I-”

George angrily brushed past him with enough force to knock his friend to the floor, tears running down his cheeks that he tried to hide. “Save it.”

“You do trust me, don’t you George?” Dream’s eyebrows were furrowed in worry as he looked to his friend in concern. George looked up to his best friend with a smile, his heart feeling warm and content. He knew he was right. Sapnap was the one who didn’t care, who betrayed, who let this happen to his best friend, who let Tommy kill him. He was the real traitor. Not Dream.

“Of course I trust you. Why wouldn’t I?”

------------------------------------------------

As the crown was placed upon his head, George couldn’t help but feel happy. The crowd quickly applauded as George moved to stand in front of his throne in the castle, facing his people. Not a great turnout but still a turnout at that - Slimecicle and Foolish sat in front, Hbomb and Hannah sat behind them. Ranboo stood near the back, his expression blank and his body unmoving from where it stood near the doorway. Purpled looked over the scene in interest as he leaned against the stone wall in the back, arms crossed.

“Now, may I present the newest King of the Dream SMP, George!”

As the applause quieted down, he began to speak. “Thanks to all of you for coming. I know the past few weeks have been tough and confusing on everyone, but I want to assure you that I will do my best to keep all of you safe and sound. As you may have heard, traitors are among us in our peaceful server. Traitors who mask as allies and attack unprovoked and unpredictably.” Murmurs of interest picked up from the small crowd. “Now, no need to cause a panic. My knights and I will round them up and-“

“Actually, my King, there’s no need to worry. I’ve already taken care of the problem.” Dream reassured his friend with a smile. “I banned them all late last night and double-checked this morning. They’re gone for good.”

George looked over to his friend at his side. “I thought I told you I’d handle this, you’ve been through enough.”

“You’ve done so much for me, George. You’re my best friend. I’m just repaying the favor.” Dream got down on one knee in a bow, speaking humbly. George tilted his head up as he looked down fondly.

“It’s what friends do, Dream.” He held out his hand as Dream took it and he pulled him to his feet. “Thank you for doing that, just please tell me next time you’re doing something big, okay?”

“I will, George.” Dream smiled as George turned back to the crowd.

“In recent news, the traitor problem has been dealt with-“

“So that’s just it then, they’re gone?” Purpled piped up from the back. “No trial, no justice?”

George’s gaze turned fierce. “They’ve provided enough evidence to put them away for life.”

“One of the ‘traitors’ you’re talking about, Punz? I know him. He’s my friend. He’s loyal, he was loyal to you, Dream. I know he would never do something like that.”

Dream scoffed. “Loyal. He sure seemed plenty loyal when he held that ax up to my throat-!”

“You liar-!” Purpled snapped before George’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“Enough!” George shouted. “No more arguing. Purpled, Dream was the one and only key witness we have for any of the events that transpired, and the markings on his chest are evidenced enough for his claims. It’s all we have to go on, and as far as I’m aware, it’s the truth. Punz was one of the people who nearly took Dream’s final life.” George’s hand found its way into Dream’s, squeezing it for strength. “So as far as I’m concerned, the ban won’t be lifted. Understood?”

Purpled scoffed, taking a breath. “Fine.”

“I know it can be hard to believe, but people change.” George closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath, his mind still struggling to wrap his head around it all. “Sometimes… sometimes it’s just not for the better.”

“But,” Dream began. “We have each other now.” He smiled warmly as he looked down across the crowd. “That’s all that matters. Finally, the server can be at peace. Finally, we can be one big happy family.”

“...no…” Heads turned toward the back of the room towards Ranboo, sizzling filling the air as a tear slid down his cheek. Dream tilted his head in interest as George just looked over, confused. “No… no no no no…” Ranboo fell to his knees as his breathing quickened.

“Ranboo..?” Hbomb looked over toward the teen, concerned at the sudden change. He slowly moved over as Ranboo’s body shook violently with sobs. “Ranboo, it’s okay.”

“No no no it’s all my fault, it’s all my fault-“ Ranboo whimpered, before moving to snatch Hbomb’s arm quickly as if he just realized he could move freely. “I’m a traitor, aren’t I? I’m the real traitor, I betrayed everyone, it’s all my fault!“

HBomb, startled, pulled away from his grip as he backed up, and Foolish helped him stand, noticing the red irritated marks on H’s forearm. Charlie and Foolish exchanged glances as he approached. “Ranboo, I think you need to calm down, man.”

Ranboo rushed to his feet, launching himself toward Charlie as he stumbled and fell, the glasses-wearing slime boy catching him. “We’re all trapped, everyone’s trapped, oh gods we’re all gonna die-” Ranboo’s eyes looked a mixture of panicked and scared, and Charlie gently lowered both of them to the floor.

“Okay, let’s just sit down and take a deep breath-“

Tears streamed down Ranboo’s face, trailing burn marks he didn’t seem to even notice. “No no no no no no no it’s all my fault, it’s all my fault, it’s all my fault-”

“He really must’ve been messed up from yesterday - I don’t blame him, breaking me out of that hell wasn’t easy. Poor thing must be hysterical.” Dream’s voice cut through the crowd as he slowly approached, George following close behind.

“No no no no no no…” Ranboo practically whimpered, shaking violently on the floor, unaware of Dream’s presence before Dream silently knelt next to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He went completely silent as his shoulders tensed.

“I think you should get some sleep. You need to relax, it’s okay Ranboo.” Ranboo slowly turned to face Dream in silent terror as Dream moved to gently hold his hand in his own. “It’s all okay now. We won.” Dream smiled warmly, moving to hug Ranboo tightly, his body beginning to relax once more under his touch.

“No…” The enderman whispered so quietly it could barely be heard.

“Come on, let me help you upstairs, you can rest up there for now and later I can help you get back to your base.”

“Yes.” His voice was dull as it had been mere minutes prior to his breakdown. Hannah looked on the scene, concerned and confused - the prison did this? To Ranboo?

As they passed, Purpled caught how emotionless Ranboo’s expression became, which only confirmed what he already feared - something was definitely wrong here. Whatever it was, he was going to figure it out, one way or another.

-------------------------------------------------

Dream pressed in the six-digit key code from memory quickly, the metal door opening at his command as he stepped through, grabbing a torch to light his way. He pressed on past the signs that read ‘DANGER: CONSTRUCTION ZONE’ or ‘CAUTION: DEATH AHEAD’. He had it all planned out perfectly. They’d never figure it out, he’d make sure of it. Finally, he was in control again - just the way it was meant to be. No more stupid countries or annoying kids ruining everything.

The compact hallway opened up to a dimly lit obsidian room. Beds lined either wall with medical equipment, machines. Dream passed by his old friends, his old companions, his traitors, all hooked up to drips to make sure they didn’t starve, he didn’t want them to die, of course - he wasn’t a monster. They all slept peacefully next to each other, surrounded by an aura of white light. A barrier even he couldn’t cross.

A voice erupted in his head, one he hadn’t heard in quite a while. “Do you regret any of this? At all?” Dream stopped for a moment, looking around until he noticed the proclaimed god sitting on top of the enderchest at the end of the room. XD looked around at the beds, distanced.

“No, why should I?”

“Hm, well…” XD began, hopping off the chest to look over at a sound asleep Captain Puffy, reaching through the barrier to fondly brush a bit of hair out of her face. “You’re going insane, for one.” Dream glanced over at the god who paid him no mind. “You messed up last time, your perfect plan didn’t work, and yet… you’re doing it again. Throwing away people, friendships-”

“HA!” Dream laughed dryly. “You really think all of that was real?”

“We both know it was.”

“...” Dream paused, looking over at XD coldly. “Then you’re just as stupid as they are.”

-----------------------------------

Once upon a time there was an enderman prince named Ranboo. He escaped the terrible fate that befell his own kingdom for a hefty price - a memory curse. The enderboy woke up in the promised land of opportunity with no one and no place to call home. He was welcomed with open arms and given friendship and a place to call his own. Along the way, he met a boy with his heart on his sleeve, a soldier fallen from grace, a fox who searched for the truth in others instead of himself, an old war-ridden tyrant with a taste for power, and two protectors of the people - one who witnessed millions of deaths, and one who caused them. Slowly, with each new passing day, Ranboo built a house, and then a home.

Seeing the boy’s power, the corrupted warrior sought to control and use it for himself. The prince heard gods speak to him through walls he could not escape from if he tried, and, as many before him, slowly went mad as he fell into the dark warrior’s whims. He lied to himself to grant him peace of mind and restore his sanity, yet it only prolonged the inevitable. He should have known how uncomfortably easy the pieces fell into place. He should have told someone. He should have tried to stop it, before it was too late.

He shouldn’t have ignored what was right in front of him.

Maybe then, just maybe, the story could’ve had a different ending.

Ranboo knew the story of it all. He knew it was supposed to be the end, it was all supposed to end. They were all supposed to live happily ever after. Everyone was finally happy - Tommy had his hotel, Tubbo was looking over Snowchester, Wilbur and Schlatt were back, Sam was working on the prison, and they were finally beginning to break through and help those under that stupid Egg’s influence.

He remembered what happened too well - how Dream looked at him and trapped him with his trident when he tried to run away on the roof of the prison. He looked down and noticed the TNT in his hands, he remembered dropping it in shock as Dream just laughed. ‘Looks like somebody finally figured it out.’ He was so scared he couldn’t move, he could barely muster the energy to scream as Dream simply tilted his head like so and it was all over. He remembered trying to scream for Tubbo, Phil, Technoblade - someone, anyone at all.

But no one came.

Dream’s laughter still doesn’t leave his head as he sits in his own body, almost watching a movie, his eyes always forced wide open. Each hour of each day he spent practically glued to Dream’s side. He told him he would act as his guard - protecting both Dream and his little secret. On the fifth day he couldn’t stomach the panic much anymore and ended up making himself vomit, which Dream quickly fixed by shoving a potion bottle in his mouth, a potion to forcibly keep him from vomiting, and going about his day. More potions. More drugs. More to numb the pain.

But the pain didn’t stop. He wanted it to stop.

Ranboo wanted to scream, he wanted to tell Purpled and Foolish what happened to him with that man standing right there, what really happened to the others, but all he could say was ‘yes’ and ‘no’. He felt like a traitor, and in a way he was - he helped Dream escape, he helped that monster escape and hurt so many people, it was all his fault. He wanted to fix this. He needed to fix this. Why couldn’t he just wake up?! Now, walking down the rows of beds lining the walls, he focused on trying to remember the stories. He had to, so if he ever escaped this hell of a prison he could be of some use to the others, they needed to know. His own voice echoed in his mind.

‘Once upon a time there were two orphans who cared for and loved each other…a king obsessed with gold…a woman surrounded by death…two friends known throughout the kingdom as famous thieves…a man left with no memories of his past or his lover…a boy with no mother or father, working under his stepfather and two horrible stepbrothers… a kid who owned a cow and dreamed of adventure…’

Once upon a time, the end was only the beginning.

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pomegranates-and-blood · 4 years

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νοσταλγία (Chapter 1)

(Gif credit to @kikuthestrange)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: Um, idk. Hope you like this, and again, really sorry if this is OOC. That is one hell of an insecurity I have when I start writing for new characters, but I really hope I’m not messing Ivar or any of the others up.

You are focused on the blending of some herbs to help the pain of some of the warriors, when a round metal shield is dropped at your feet. You raise your eyes from the snake engraved on the old metal to the Saxon, giving away nothing except a small twitch of your mouth.

But you know what that symbol is. It is a mark of the Attics.

“Most of the Greeks are dead,” He states, certainly, viciously. Your eyes fall closed, and you heave a sigh. “And I will personally see that the survivors are hunted down.”

You knew this was going to happen. The Varangians cornered Stithulf into the confine of these walls and yet last night he sent a hunting party, the best of the best within his Arab mercenaries.

You knew he wasn’t going to try and kill Ivar the Boneless or his brothers. No, he was going to take revenge on the people he deemed failed him, the people he deemed owed him a victory.

And it makes the whole ground cave under your feet, the realization that it is done. That the last of the Attics lie bloodied on the unforgiving earth. That their faith in you, their love for you, was their downfall.

Just like Narses’.

“I always knew you Christians were just as bloody and cruel as the worst of us,” You say instead, looking down at the shield again and picking it up with trembling hands, “You slaughtered hundreds of innocents.”

“If you had fought for us…” He starts, but you interrupt him with a glare. Some things don’t change even if you get far from home: all it takes to stop an army, to make a man like Stithulf hesitate, is a heathen witch.

If only their God hadn’t taught him to fear yours, the world would be so different.

“We’d all rather be dead than slaves to a Christian.” You hiss out, curling your fingers over the cold and bloodied metal. And you mean more than this battle, this war not your own that regardless you lost; no, you mean Byzantium, and the home you left behind.

“You could have avoided all of this, Greek.” He insists, the scar that runs from his neck to his uneven sideburn stretching around the smile he offers.

For a moment you imagine letting your hand run a knife deeply through that scar, open it again and see it pour red and victorious blood. Trace with a knife over every scar, so that he only remembers the torment you brought him.

No, that’s wrong. Trying to hide the grimace at your own thoughts, you shake off the shame and stand up. Holding on tightly to the shield, you feel you carry the weight of thousands of Greeks on your hand.

And because you were taught speaking things helped make them real, you promise, “Our Gods live on, and the worship of them is not something blades and blood can smother. Quieten, yes, but never silence.”

“You will die for your pagan ways, you know this, don’t you?” He asks, stopping you for a moment at the…honesty in his voice.

“I do not fear death,” You answer, and when you walk past an open window that looks over the foreign and cold horizon you add, quiet enough that only the Gods may hear you, “I welcome it. Let Hades summon me home.”

“I have reached an agreement with the Vikings,” Stithulf calls out, voice loud and echoing in the halls. You grip the shield tighter. “There will be…negotiations tomorrow.”

Your mouth smiles and your tongue runs with dangerous words before you can stop yourself, “You will sit and talk with the same men you scoured the world trying to kill?”

“I know when I am defeated, Greek. Something you lack.”

You say nothing else, the defeat finally setting over your shoulders and all you can do to keep appearances is to keep walking and pretend the tears are not clogging your view as you walk past unfamiliar halls, on unfamiliar grounds, with the weight of unfamiliar and familiar ghosts over your head.

Spending the rest of the day, almost till the sun sets, taking care of some wounds and fevers, you can almost pretend to yourself that the life you give here, the damage you heal here; can start to make up for all the death you and your mistakes have caused.

You raise your head from your work on the stitching when strange rhythmic sounds reach your ears.

Metal on wood. Dragging sounds. Metal on wood again. Something dragged again.

The door to the barren and almost empty home you are using as a makeshift infirmary opens, and the silhouette of Ivar the Boneless stands on the doorway.

Your heart pounds in your ears, and the warrior with his injured skin under your fingers hisses a breath when your needle pierces deeper than intended into his skin. You mumble an apology in Greek, but keep your eyes on the King.

“You don’t need healing.” You quip quietly in his language, rising to your feet and motioning for the Greek you were helping to remain in his seat.

To be honest, you don’t know why you stand up, why you straighten your back and raise your chin. You can pretend to be as tall as you wish, as strong as you wish, but everyone in this room knows if the Varangian wants you dead you will be so.

“I wanted to talk to you.” The Viking offers, forced nonchalance as he approaches. His legs don’t seem to work normally, and the contraptions around them are like you never saw before. The healer in you notes they look…painful.

He gets close enough you can see his handsome face clearly in the candlelight, but far enough you don’t feel threatened. The King remains standing, straight and proud, by one of the wooden pillars.

His pale eyes, you note in the now clear view the candles provide you, switch to the warrior sitting a few feet behind and then return to you. You resist the urge to play with your fingers.

“Why?” You ask, retrieving with trembling hands one of the linens you will use as bandages for the wound on the Greek warrior’s back.

“I’m…curious.”

“So am I,” You reply, rolling the needle you use for the stitches between your thumb and forefinger as you study the man. “It is not every day that I find myself meeting with a Viking King.”

“So you know who I am.” He states, and you cannot know if he is disappointed, proud, or a mix of the two.

“Of course I do,” You answer without hesitation, “And I also know it is not me who you are supposed to be meeting.”

“I wanted to talk with you, witch.” He insists again, reminding you of a spoiled child, but also showing you that, either for the foreignness or something entirely him, the Varangian is uncertain on how to talk to you.

It almost makes a smile curve at your lips, and your impulsive heart wants you to send the warrior off and talk with this strange man, this…Ivar the Boneless.

“I…am busy,” You answer instead, returning to your stitching. If your hand trembles a little and you cause a little more pain than you intended as you finish up the last of the stitches, no one can blame you. “I must tend to the wounded, Varangian.”

“A smart woman would know better than to deny me.”

“I never claimed to be smart.”

“Are you always this insufferable, woman?” He snaps, anger rises in his voice, making the warrior you are standing behind tense under your fingers as they wrap a bandage over his back and ribs to keep the wound from infection.

But you, past the fear, feel a small smile start to curve at your lips when you find the pale eyes of the Varangian King.

“I try.” You reply with a shrug, but a growl is the only answer you get.

You watch with wide eyes as the Viking unsheathes a small knife from somewhere in his chest and, instead of throwing it like you would expect, he flips it so that he grabs onto the blade instead of the handle.

His fist clenches around it, eliciting a sharp breath from the King and blood that drips between his fingers.

“There,” He grunts, opening his hand and letting the knife clatter unceremoniously to the wooden floor. He returns his piercing pale eyes to you and his mouth almost bares in a snarl, his nose furrows in cold anger, as he speaks, “Now you have to tend to me.”

So the rumors were true, he is actually crazy. Although you doubt a man that can topple Aelle, that can conquer York, is crazy.

No, he is clever. If maybe too angry and arrogant, he is still cunning. That thought alone reminds you to keep your guard up.

A part of your mind begs you to be sensible about this, not to do anything stupid, but you finish wrapping the wound on the warriors back with skilled fingers, and tap his shoulder so that he stands. Ivar the Boneless keeps his eyes on you, defiantly and terrifyingly, as he watches you move. You turn your attention to the Greek and nod as goodbye, “Go, I will be fine.”

The man looks between the Varangian and you, before putting his right fist to his heart, his left arm bent behind him in a goodbye and a sign of respect to you.

“Anassa.” He mutters in farewell, and you watch him go wondering how many days will it take for him to also die because of your mistakes.

And as the door closes behind the Greek, you notice truly how engulfing the darkness and the defenselessness are. The city moves on around you, but all that reaches the small cabin you are in is the faint sounds of a stray horse or farm animal. The Saxons wouldn’t want the heathen witch to be near their soldiers, after all, even in a city that was never theirs with barely any civilians on it.

All that means you are all alone and defenseless, with a Viking known for his cruel and vicious ways. Gritting your teeth and fighting to keep your heartbeat from drumming away in your ears, you turn back to the Varangian and motion for a chair near you.

He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t, because no one in this cursed land listens to a damn word you say.

His hand still drips red to the wooden floor, and you pointedly look at it where it rests on his side and back to his face. The King only cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“You speak many tongues,” The Varangian states, not even a question, “Our language, the Saxons’, but I don’t recognize the other one.”

“Greek,” You reply, “I am not from here.”

“I noticed.”

With a shrug, you state, “Probably why you haven’t killed me yet, isn’t it?”

But the Viking doesn’t answer. Instead, he limps towards you, but where there should be -to a sane woman, maybe- a threat, a danger, you only find your heart beating with the same fast pace it did when you were about to cross a dangerous and wild stream by Eleusis’ forests. A hint of fear, a hint of curiosity, and much more than a hint of freedom.

The rage of the stream deafened you, uncertainty beat quickly on your chest…but your bare feet still continued running towards the water.

You keep your eyes on his.

“You are…outspoken, witch. Are all Greeks like you?”

“You should lower your eyes when men are speaking.” He advises with more than a little anger in his tone.

You hear faintly of Sieghild’s mocking scoff, and you stand up from your chair and stalk to Narses in a few strides, keeping your eyes on him. A sick part of you is trying to test him, to dare him into laying hands on you to shut you up.

The lies would come easier if he did.

“I cower before no man, my love.” The endearment drips with poison, and the twitch in his expression tells you he is aware of it.

There’s rustling of armor, and out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of Lysander straightening to his full height, the mantle of the soon-to-be Anax of Sparta set well over his shoulders as he walks calmly towards you.

For a moment of distrust and panic, you think he will take the side that wants to silence you, but your cousin stands next to you, although slightly behind, offering you his support. His hand is comforting on your shoulder.

“You may do things differently in Attica, but in Laconia our women are not slaves,” Lysander promises, voice dripping authority and more than a slight threat, “Descendant of Theseus, aren’t you?” He breathes out a chuckle, “You will have to venture into the Underworld like your ancestor to make a woman of Spartan blood cave.”

You breathe out a laugh, “No.”

“So you are not afraid of me.”

You look into his pale eyes and wonder for a moment. What is there to fear? It is true his fame precedes him, even if you choose to ignore his name, his truth. Rumors of madness, ruthlessness, unpredictability, rage, cruelty; they all are kept safely in your mind, to torment you faintly with exactly the kind of beast you try to dance with.

But you remember the time that mad man in the flimsy boat offered to take you to cross the Aegean, and how the threat of pain and death and cold all hung over you like shadows; and yet the curiosity of what lay in the realm of what if made you still get on that feeble boat. You have a feeling it is the same kind of stubborn and reckless curiosity that makes you offer the King a small smile.

“I learned long ago not to fear any man, Varangian.” You answer, motioning with your hand to his injured one, hoping for response this time.

The Viking’s eyes are defying as they challenge yours, but you refuse to lower your gaze. He sits by you on one of the chairs, movements graceful and confident as he discards the crutch he uses to walk by the table.

After a breath, he offers you his injured hand.

You don’t hesitate, even if a part of you tells you that you should, and take a seat at his side, working instinctively as you start wetting a clean cloth in some water infused with honeysuckle and goldenseal.

Taking his hand and opening the rough fingers to your sight and touch, you clean off the blood and hope silently that you are not the one responsible for Ivar the Boneless getting an infection for a stupid wound on his hand.

“Why are you and your people here, if you are from the Mediterranean?” He asks suddenly, but it doesn’t startle you like it should.

With a deep breath and keeping your eyes on your work, you offer, “The obvious answer would be attacking your city, my King.”

“And retreating.” He points out lowly, not biting into your taunt.

Lifting your eyes to his, you search his pale gaze for a few moments. You offer him sincerity in exchange for his calm, “The Christians were going to surrender, we knew this the moment your army arrived. We had no interest in this war of yours.”

“Then why fight in it?”

“Obvious answer, my King?” You ask around a smirk, and the man’s eyes darken as he leans closer. A finger underneath your chin threatens you as much as a sharp blade could, and you swallow past a dry throat.

“Careful.” He cautions, and his lips curve around a smile as dangerous and poisonous as it is enthralling and tempting.

“Our commander agreed we aided the Saxons in exchange for their army’s help in our homeland. With my-…with the commander dead the Greeks were called to retreat.”

“But not you,” He points out, still uncomfortably close. “You didn’t retreat.”

You wish you had an answer to his unspoken question. But you don’t. You could have run with Galla and the others, you could have forged your own path with Sieghild away from battle, the Gods know you have done so before.

You could have, but still you fell back to the Saxon city as if survival was to be achieved only by acceptance of defeat.

“A lady ought to have her secrets, I’m afraid.” You answer instead, lowering your eyes back to your work. Although you can sense the young Viking wants to demand more, because of course he does, he remains silent.

______

Hi, thank you for reading! I really hope you are liking this so far, and that it isn’t boring lol

Again, thank you so much, and I’d love to hear from you!

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #vikings imagine #vikings #νοσταλγία masterlist #νοσταλγία

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catboystigmata-archive · 3 years

Text

mushishi a guide (season 1)

i just rly love this anime and watched it when i was just a kid. if you want watch the openings for season 1 and season 2 bc just for that alone it is 🥺 the music by itself deserves recognition + i’m learning to appreciate it more as i go through my rewatch. watching it subbed, but originally watched the dub first. hulu Please put dub mushishi on your service ❤️ this is a threat. I’ll most likely be making multiple posts, and a separate post entirely for the movie.

Mushi-Shi is a supernatural, slice of life manga / anime series from the early 2000s :) I know quite a few people have heard of it but I made this just in case anyone was thinking of getting into it and just because I like talking about it. Each episode tells a different story and mostly can be watched without following the episode order. However, I suggest everyone start with the first episode. Each one will have a brief synopsis and general trigger warnings. Ginko is the ‘protagonist’, a mushi-shi, who can see different life that take many forms known as mushi. He travels to different villages with strange occurrences and usually helps both the mushi and the other humans living there. He usually is smoking throughout the entire series (a mix of mushi and tobacco in order to keep mushi away). In general throughout the series there might be some body horror, unreality, and character death.

TW: Death, brief glimpse of detached body part, alcohol

episode one / the green seat: A young boy, Shinra, with the ability to create life when he writes using his left hand is visited by Ginko after overhearing the rumors. Not wanting to go against his late grandmother’s wishes, he denies being studied but lets Ginko stay the night. Ginko walks throughout the house and runs into a half mushi in the form of a young girl with a broken half of a green sake cup. Happy ending, focused mostly on family relationships.

TW: graphic eye horror mostly (think the uchihas and their sharingan passing levels of eye horror) snake-like mushi

episode two / the light of the eyelid: About six months ago, Sui, a daughter from an important family fell ill due to a unknown cause, unable to stand brightness and light. In the present she was left in the care of another family, in a shed in complete darkness, with a blindfold covering her eyes. The young son of the family visited her in order to keep her company, and Sui explains how you can close your ‘second eyelid’, revealing that she can see a river of light. When she wants to go near it, Ginko is the one who warns her not to, but is described as a one-eyed man. Biki, the young boy, eventually catches her illness, and Ginko comes to treat them both. Happy ending.

TW: Body horror, horns, clusters, parent death, snail-like mushi

episode three / tender horns: This episode takes place in a snowy village with no sound. The village elder requested Ginko to help the villagers with their hearing problems, a snail-like mushi that had hidden inside their ears and absorbed sound. After healing them of this Un mushi, the village elder brings Ginko to her grandson, Maho, who has two sets of horns on his head after putting his hands to his ears after his mother died of the same condition. Ginko figures out that it is a partner to the Un mushi and tries to lessen the sound Maho claims is absorbed through the horns, realizing that Maho will only have a short amount of time until he follows the same fate as his mother. Happy ending.

TW: Child death, tsunamis, suicide, unhappy ending, brief body horror and blood

episode four / the pillow pathway: Ginko visits a man named Jin who finds that whatever he dreams about happens in real life. Ginko supplies him with enough medicine to last a year in order to suppress the dreams caused by Imeno no Awai mushi. A year later, Ginko returns to the now abandoned village and Jin explains what happened to everyone. Praised for his ability to avoid disasters, he was given gifts by villagers. When he took the medicine, a tsunami hit, and he didn’t dream about it. He refused to take it anymore, and more and more of his dreams started to come true, eventually infecting everyone in the village with a green mold. The mushi resides in Jin’s pillow, and is connected to him, unable to be severed. Heavy, bittersweet ending.

TW: drowning, death, implied suicide

episode five / the traveling swamp: Ginko travels in order to visit the doctor Adashino, asking him for help with a problem he encountered along the way. Ginko tells him of a swamp that would keep mysteriously appearing, and meets Io, a person with green hair who tells Ginko about her experience with the swamp and its destination. Ginko talks about the Suiko, a water based mushi that when consumed by a normal person, eventually turns them into water. After Io’s backstory is revealed, she sacrifices herself to the swamp. Ginko gathers information from Adashino about Suiko and why the swamp is traveling towards the sea. Happy ending.

TW: rapid aging (think no. 6) ‘death’, parent death, cults, blood, manipulation, animal dissection, animal death, brief showing of needles

episode six / those who inhale the dew: Nagi from a distant island asks Ginko for help on how to turn Akoya, the Living God who can heal sickness, back into a regular girl again. After becoming the Living God by her father, she can no longer speak. The only way to access this island is one day per month due to the tides, both Ginko and Nagi end up spying on the ‘Living God’ and her powers (rapidly aging, dying, falling asleep and returning to normal the next day). When she dies, spores are released and heal the sick. Bittersweet ending.

#mushishi #mushi-shi #mushi-shi guide #mushishi guide #long post #i tried to do a read more on mobile i’m sorry if it doesn’t work 💔#ok to reblog!

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mythrilhusk · 3 years

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Korosensei Never Dies - Chapter 6

Words - 1967 Ao3 Version Chapter 5 (last) Chapter 7 (Next)

AN: Just wanted to note (although it’s already in tags) that there are no ships in this story. The characters may be affectionate with each other, but it’s all platonic.

====

Exams are the worst part of school, but the end of the first term approaches fast. Tommy determines he will not fail. Philza has promised to teach them how to fight, and by the ever-loving stars, Tommy wants to show off his mad skillz.

He's so intent on getting fighting lessons that he's dragged his friends into group study sessions. Wilbur insists on leading said sessions, and somehow the schoolwork gets entwined with role-playing battles with fiercesome monsters.

"The answer is forty-two!! I pull out a bazooka and blast everything to smithereens!" Tubbo cackles. "Nothing shall stand in the way of world domination."

"Tubbo," Wilbur sighs for the fortieth time. "That would kill all of your teammates."

"Do I care?" Tubbo grins innocently. "Less competition, big man!"

"I lay down and die." Ranboo says drily, leaning against the wall with his arm around Tubbo's shoulders.

"Not you, Ranboo, you're going to be my puppet queen. Every world-dominating super-villain needs a puppet queen." Tubbo says, quite matter-of-fact.

Tommy scrawls messily on his workbook, determined to complete the next answer first and get a turn. "Ha! Fucking x equals twenty-nine!" He crows. "I shoot my nets at Tubbo and capture him!!"

"Stand-off." Wilbur says with a grin. "Who wrote Frankenstein?"

"Some woman with a boring name." Tommy retorts.

"Anne Rice!" Tubbo cries.

"Tommy, you got the closer answer. It was Mary Shelley."

"Alright, I win, and I say 'Hahaha, you fucking imbecile, you are no match for me!' and then I drag them to jail."

"I completed my worksheet, Wilbur." Eret pipes up. Wilbur takes it, then nods for Eret to complete his bonus action. "I stab Tommy and release Tubbo, saying, 'The world is yours for the taking, but allow me to oversee a portion of it.' and then I kneel and plant my sword in the dust."

"Oh! Oh!" Tubbo waves his worksheet in the air. "Ranboo, stab him for me!"

"As you wish." Ranboo sighs with a wicked grin. Eret protests weakly in the background.

"Ranboo, you need to answer a question correctly, first." Wilbur steeples his fingers. "Or else there will be penalties."

"I, uh, I think I got this one correct." Ranboo shows his study sheet to Wilbur, who nods curtly.

"Fine, go ahead."

Ranboo turns to Eret and says in a dark tone, "You betrayed your friend. I can't trust you, Eret." Then he turns to Wilbur, "I run him through with my dagger."

"Eret, you're now a ghost." Wilbur shuffles through his game notes.

"Aw, man. Can I haunt anyone?"

"Yes."

"I haunt Ranboo to remind him of his crimes."

"Aw, dang, another voice." Ranboo groans playfully.

"Whaddya mean, another??" Tubbo cries. "Am I being replaced, Ranboo??"

"You- you are the voice." Ranboo laughs nervously. "Even when you're dead, I'll still hear you, shouting at me to not kill the bees."

"You better not. I worked hard to cultivate our apiary."

"I won't, I won't."

Tommy finishes his worksheet, ignoring the chatter of the others. "Ha!" He turns it into a paper plane and throws it to Wilbur. "I want twelve actions now!"

"Okay, Tommy." Wilbur replies with a sly smile. The others protest, but Tommy has Wilbur wrapped around his little finger, so they won't be winning this battle.

"But! I want to split them up between us, because I'm a fucking nice person who loves women."

"Go ahead."

"My first action as King de facto of the world is to declare peace between the Moon and Mars."

"Wait, wait, you're king?? Eret, you didn't even kill him properly!!" Tubbo throws up his hands. "Ranboo, kill Tommy for me."

"Hypothetically, what if I didn't?"

"Ranboo. Are you betraying me??"

"No, no, I said hypothetically."

"Then, hypothetically, I would nuke your entire homeland and make you watch as I killed your family before your very eyes."

"Oh! Oh, no."

"And then I would torture you to death."

"Oh, man. That would not be good."

"So are you going to betray me?"

"Apparently not."

"Aw, man. I wanted to torture somebody." Tubbo sighs.

Ranboo gives Tommy a look that says 'help me'.

"You both lost your turns for talking too long." Wilbur decides. "Tommy and Eret, you both have an extra turn."

"I turn corporeal using necromancy, and I use Tubbo's soul as the energy source, draining him of life." Eret says, his cheerful eyes belying his dark tone.

"No! Ranboo, avenge meeeee!!" Tubbo cries melodramatically to the heavens.

"Oh no! I'll avenge you!!"

"I kill Ranboo." Tommy cackles at the horrified look on Ranboo's face.

"Oh, that's not good."

"How do you kill him, Tommy?" Wilbur asks.

"I stab the bastard through the fucking eyes."

"Oh. Man. That sounds painful." Ranboo winces.

"It is. You're screaming like a fucking bitch."

"Am I? Oh dang, that's not fun. Am I a ghost now?"

"Ghostboo." Tubbo laughs. "You're now Ghostboo."

"You're Toast, you don't get to mock my name."

Tommy frowns. "What's my ghost name?"

"Ghommy." Ranboo laughs. "Eret is Gheret."

"Tommy, you think we're ready for the exams?" Wilbur gathers the papers scattered across the floor.

"Fuck yeah, we are. We'll crush those bastards to dust. We'll get the highest grades of anybody in the entire school!"

++++

"What do you mean, you can't transfer me?? My grades are the worst they've ever been in years!!" Jack cries, stomping his foot on the polished wood floor of the principal's office.

"I'm sorry, duckie, but I can't let anyone transfer between classes this year." Puffy-- rumored to be a pirate in a past life and therefore always called Captain-- frowns as she flicks through Jack's portfolio. "Why did you want to be transferred, anyway?"

"No reason." Jack grumbles, then stomps out of the office, slamming the door behind himself.

"How'd it go?" Niki hops down from one of the pillars.

"Terribly. Those bastards in 3-E must've told Captain Puffy to not let anyone in. They're probably planning to take over the world now, using Techno as bait!" Jack cries, his eyes burning with furious tears.

"That's awful!" Niki wails. "What will we do?"

"What do heroes do to villains? We bomb them."

"Bomb them?"

"I don't know how yet." Jack grins, filled with burning rage. "But we'll think of something."

"I know a man." Niki says decisively. "He'll get us supplies. If they really are planning to end the world, we need to stop them."

++++

Exams roll around, and 3-E joins the the main school buildings for the tests. Quackity and Sapnap both leap on and hug Karl Jacobs. Tommy strides through the testing auditorium like he owns the place, with Wilbur glaring at everyone and Tubbo whetting his dagger with a placid smile.

Fundy watches the chaos from the sidelines, chewing on caramel taffy and bubblegum at the same time. He doesn't recognize the quiet boy huddled in a corner and writing. Before he can creep over and look at the boy's words, Eret accosts him. "Hey, man."

"Oh, hey!" Fundy grins and hugs his friend. "What've you been up to?"

"Oh, just trying to stop the world from ending and make a profit in the process, you know, the usual."

"Right, right. What's up with that, anyway? This guy, Technoblade? He must be really hard to kill if nobody's done it yet."

"We have till the year ends." Eret says gravely.

"Right. But why hasn't anybody, I don't know, tried to get in on the action?"

"The government is supposed to be keeping his location a secret." Eret adjusts his sunglasses.

"Weird." Fundy pops a bubble between his lips.

"Indeed. I know there must be a weakness. But I'm not sure what it is."

"Maybe it's something like technical immortality! Maybe he can only be killed if he lets it happen!" Fundy theorizes, chewing more intensely.

Eret grimaces. "Perhaps. Threatening his friend, Philza, directly is out of the question. But perhaps we can get the kill switch from the president."

"Woah, woah, back up!" Fundy laughs. "There's already a kill switch in his friend and the prezz hasn't thought to use that??"

"Well, he's a hostage, but- oh."

"Exactly!! If the prezz actually wanted him dead, all they'd have to do is threaten to kill this Philza dude if Techno doesn't let himself be killed!" Fundy blows another bubble and pops it with his teeth. "Damn, I'm good."

"That's assuming Technoblade would die if he allowed it. What if he can't?" Eret muses.

"He has to have some weakness. How was he even created??"

"I- I don't know."

"The only way a mutant like that could be created is through Human intervention, aka a laboratory and scientists!!" Fundy claps his hands together excitedly. "But why would scientists create a creature who can destroy the world?? Unless he can't, and this is all just a damn test."

"Hmm." Eret doesn't sound convinced.

"So, they're trying to develop immortality, and they're testing it on Technoblade-"

"Why him?" Eret asks. "And if it is a test, why here, with a bunch of students?"

"He got loose before the tests could be finalized, and they're trying to contain him again!" Fundy starts pacing. "He was a terrorist, yeah? I remember him in the news. The Acolyte."

"Blood for the blood god." Eret reminisces, paling. "That's right."

"He only ever went after important government figures! But, five years ago, he disappeared, and nobody ever heard from him again. Until now..." Fundy grins wildly. "This is amazing, I can't believe I get front row seats to a conspiracy!"

"Wait." Eret groans. "He had a partner."

"Oh! He did?"

"Technoblade was the Acolyte. But his partner was the Angel. What if that was-"

"Philza!!" Fundy cries. "Oh god, we have both of the most deadly international terrorists in my school!! Why couldn't I have worn better clothes??"

"I don't think that should be our main concern." Eret steeples his fingers. "I think we should worry more about what they're planning to do."

"I'm going to talk to Captain Puffy." Fundy decides. "Come with me?"

"I'll pass. Good luck."

"I've got the best luck in the world." Fundy crows and skips off. He glances back once, briefly, only to see Eret watching him with an unreadable expression.

++++

Tipsy, Schlatt lounges on one of the pristine metal tables. In the background, HBomb sweeps up the shards of a broken whiskey bottle, the remnants of a drunken tantrum.

"Heyyy." Schlatt greets the mercenary waiting in the doorway. "Come on in."

"How much do I get paid for my trouble?" The mercenary asks, slouching in a too-large purple hoodie and baggy pants.

"Fifteen billion, take it or leave it." Schlatt grins.

"I'll take it. But this is the last time."

"Sure, honey."

"How'd you lose him again?"

"Bitch killed half my fucking scientists." Schlatt shrugs genially, hiding his irritation. "But we've got a neutralizing agent, now." He tosses a capsule to the mercenary, who catches it and inspects it. "Inject that and he'll be as harmless as a two-ton hippo."

"That's hardly what I'd call harmless."

"Eh, semantics. He won't be immortal."

"Hmm." The mercenary pockets the neutralizer. "I'll do it. But you'd better pay me exactly what you promised, or he dies."

"C'mon, darling, what do you take me for? A scam artist?? Nah, that's not my fucking style. Return him safe and sound, and everything will be just fine." Schlatt lights a cigar, takes a deep drag, then lets it all out in a slow plume. "Do as I say and nobody gets hurt."

++++

Eret opens his buzzing phone and answers, "Hey."

"Crocodiles don't cry often." The familiar voice says coldly into their ear.

"Crocodile tears are worthless." Eret replies.

Purpled laughs on the other end. "What do you say, partner? Ready to make some dough?"

Eret grins, baring her teeth. "Always."

Chapter 7 (Next)

#eret #purpled #ranboo #tubbo #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #fundy #jack manifold #niki nihachu #no ship #fanfiction #dream smp au #dream smp #assassination classroom crossover #tw violence #tw threats #not rpf

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sunriserose1023 · 6 years

Text

Shattered and Scarred (1)

Here is my entry for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan‘s Star’s Marvel Mayhem challenge!

PROMPT: You were the only one I saw when I closed my eyes. CHARACTERS: (in order of appearance) T’Challa, Steve Rogers, Shuri, female reader, Bucky Barnes WORD COUNT: 7481 WARNINGS: Language, non-explicit smut, talk of and flashback to a previous suicide attempt, SPOILERS if you haven’t seen Black Panther or the Infinity War trailers yet, and ... oh yeah, ANGST.

TAGS: @captain-rogers-beard, @bionic-buckyb, @evansrogerskitten, @kittenofdoomage, @fandommaniacx, @feelmyroarrrr, @nuvoleincielo, @jessica-bones-winchester, @terensebastianstan

“Can I ask you a question?”

T’Challa turned from where he was staring out the window and glanced over his shoulder. A man came to stand beside him, staring out that same window. T’Challa kept his eyes on the man a minute longer, studying him in the silence.

He looked so different than the last time they had seen each other. A dark beard shadowed his cheeks and chin, and there seemed to be an edge to his usually gentle blue eyes. He did not walk as tall as he once had, as though the mantle he once proudly wore now weighed on his wide shoulders.

He seemed older now, though that was impossible.

T’Challa nodded as he turned back to look out the window, ignoring the way the man spoke without using the royal formalities. He was barely able to suppress a smile at the breath Okoye huffed from her place in the shadows.

“Of course, Captain.”

Steve Rogers closed his eyes, hand coming up and waving off the title. T’Challa gave another nod and Steve sighed, running a hand down his tired face.

“Is it true?”

T’Challa raised an eyebrow as he glanced over, feigning ignorance. When Steve rolled his eyes, T’Challa gave a quiet laugh, clearing his throat before he spoke.

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

Steve sighed again.

“No. Is it working?”

T’Challa lifted his shoulders, then let them fall.

“Each day brings new struggles, along with new possibilities.”

Steve nodded, hands moving to grip the railing in front of them.

“I have another question.” “Feel free.”

Steve licked his lips, eyes locking on a bird that flew by the window, staring in the direction it had flown as he spoke.

“Is it true that … he’s not the first … Winter Soldier you’ve healed?”

T’Challa fought not to let his hackles rise. He lowered his left hand, not seeing, but feeling Okoye relax. He cleared his throat, linking his hands in front of him.

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

A muscle in Steve’s jaw twitched a moment before he spoke.

“Evidence has just … appeared to suggest that Bucky might not have been solely responsible for all the kills attributed to the Winter Soldier.” “Oh?”

Steve nodded, glancing towards the king, who continued to stare out the window.

“It seems there were two Winter Soldiers. Bucky and an unidentified woman. She was his partner, until she went rogue. When she did, HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. teamed up and sent agents out to capture her.” “Or kill her.” “Whichever came easiest. But she dropped off the grid.”

T’Challa slowly nodded, and after a moment of silence, Steve spoke again.

“Rumors are swirling that she’s been hiding in Wakanda this whole time.”

T’Challa slowly nodded again. After a few heartbeats, he licked his lips.

“Hypothetically, let us say someone—anyone, have you—comes to my country seeking asylum. If the reasoning is worthy enough … perhaps we grant the asylum. Perhaps we do everything in our power to protect this person, just as we would for a natural citizen of Wakanda.” “So it is true. Your Highness, the things she’s done—” “Rumored to have done.”

Steve shook his head, and T’Challa turned to face him, though Steve hung his head and kept it down.

“Have you ever stopped to think, Mr. Rogers, that everything may not be exactly as you have heard?”

Steve lifted his head, turning and looking T’Challa in the eyes for the first time.

“What do you mean?”

You stood in the sun, closing your eyes as you felt the warmth on your skin. There was a coldness in your bones that never seemed to completely disappear, but the sunshine helped. You inhaled deeply, exhaling the freshest air you could ever remember breathing.

A chorus of squeals sounded near you, and you opened your eyes and turned around, a smile coming over your face and a laugh escaping your lips as the children congregated around you. They all shouted your name and started to speak at the same time, sentences overlapping until you held up your hands and laughed again.

“Easy, easy! I only have two ears, silly little ones.”

A small girl missing both front teeth steeped to you, grabbing hold of your skirts.

“Have you seen the white wolf?” “White wolf?”

You smiled, bending down to cup her face in your hands.

“There are no wolves here. Only elephants!”

Some of the children began making elephant noises, and you laughed. A little boy tugged at your skirt, and you turned to face him.

“There is a white wolf and he is big and scary!”

A chorus of opposition rose.

“He’s not scary!” “He only has one arm.” “That doesn’t make him scary!”

You narrowed your eyes, keeping the smile on your face.

“A wolf with only one arm?” “Well, he … he’s not a real wolf.”

You shook your head with a laugh, then held out your hands.

“Take me to this mysterious, scary white wolf.”

The kids latched onto you, making you laugh even more as they began to tug on your arms and run.

As you came to the edge of a river, the children let go of your hands, running to a slender young woman, one who threw her head back and laughed when she listened to the small crowd. She bent and whispered something to them, standing tall and shaking her head as they ran from her. She made her way to you, and you took the hand she extended, bowing slightly.

“Princess.” “How are you today, Y/N?”

You smiled, glancing out over the river, eyes widening when you saw a fish leap from the water, only to splash back down and disappear. You met her dark eyes and smiled again.

“I’m good. How are you?” “I needed a break from my lab.”

You nodded, releasing her hand as the two of you made your way to the bank of the river. You slipped your feet from your sandals and walked forward, smiling as the surprisingly cool water splashed over your toes. You walked until the water was up to your ankles, keeping your skirts gathered in one hand to keep them dry. Shuri walked up beside you, her skirt short enough that she didn’t need to lift it, kicking lightly just to see the water splash. You gave a soft laugh, then turned to face her.

“Tell me about this white wolf the little ones were so excited about.”

Shuri rolled her eyes.

“He’s not a wolf.” “Yes, that I figured out. Although I will say, it took a minute.”

Shuri laughed, then shrugged her skinny shoulders.

“He’s a friend of a friend of my brother’s who needed some help.”

You nodded.

“Is he okay?” “He reminds me a lot of you, to be honest.”

You turned to watch the sun’s sparkles on the water and you spoke softly.

“God help him, then.” “Oh, come now. You are a wonderful person.” “Now, maybe.” “The past is in the past, Y/N. Remember?”

You nodded, staring down at the water around your feet. It was still hard for you to reconcile that the past was truly in the past. You had done some horrible things, but thanks to Shuri’s help, unwavering faith in you, and her dogged determination, you had found healing.

You closed your eyes again, lifting your face towards the sun, which was beginning its descent. You let the warmth caress your face, suppressing the shiver you wanted to give. Shuri stepped to you, laying a hand on your shoulder, and you opened your eyes.

“Do you want to meet him? I think it may do him some good to see you.” “To show him your sole success story?”

Shuri shrugged again, a wide smile coming over her face. You laughed to yourself, giving her a gentle shove. She laughed as she stumbled away, running out of the water and onto the riverbank. You followed, dropping your skirts when you’d cleared the water, slipping your sandals back on. Shuri started for one of the tents, stopping when a shadow came over the doorway, a moment before a man stepped out.

He was tall and muscular. His hair was dark, waving down to his shoulders, and he had half of it pulled back away from his face. The beginnings of a beard shadowed his face and—just as the children had told you—only one of his arms was visible. His left shoulder was encased in fabric that kept it hidden from view. You took a step forward, going still when he looked to you.

Shuri was speaking, saying something to you before she walked closer to him. You couldn’t hear her; you couldn’t hear anything but the pounding of your heart and the rush of blood in your ears.

He was alive.

He was here, right in front of you, living and breathing.

Broken.

But alive.

And he couldn’t take his eyes from you.

A tear slipped down your cheek, unnoticed by Shuri. He, however, furrowed his brows and took a step towards you. You felt the sudden inclination to run, to distance yourself as much as possible, but your feet wouldn’t move. You were frozen where you stood, your blood suddenly feeling like ice in your veins.

You gasped, blinking widely when Shuri suddenly took hold of your arms, the warmth of her hands cutting through the cold, the shake she gave you bringing you back and grounding you.

“Y/N, answer me!”

You blinked again, meeting Shuri’s dark, worried eyes. You shook your head and she spoke again, much softer this time.

“What is the matter?”

You looked over her shoulder, meeting the blue eyes of the man who was studying you, confusion evident on his handsome face. You licked your lips, voice shaking as you spoke.

“Who—who is he?” “Bucky Barnes. A sergeant from the United States Army.”

You slowly nodded.

“Bucky.”

He blinked, taking another step towards you.

“Do I know you?”

You couldn’t stop the shudder that went through you at the sound of his voice. Shuri must have felt it, too, because her eyes widened.

“Y/N?”

You shook your head, trying and failing to move out of Shuri’s grasp.

“I—I need—” “Breathe.”

You whipped your head to him, seeing him hold up his hand as he stepped closer to you.

“Just take a breath.” “You’re alive.”

The words were barely more than a breath, but you couldn’t stop them from spilling from your lips. Bucky shook his head, staring into your eyes.

“Who are you?”

The tears came suddenly, slipping down your cheeks.

“Let me go.” “What is it, Y/N? Why are you crying?” “Please, let me go.” “But Y/N—” “Shuri, please!”

You knew your strength. You knew how easily you could break from Shuri’s hold, most likely breaking both of her arms in the process. You hadn’t wielded your full strength in years, but right then, you weren’t sure you could hold back. Thankfully, Shuri let go of you. You gave a ragged breath, staring at Bucky as he shook his head.

“I … I don’t—” “Good.”

He was clearly taken aback by that, and you sniffled as you shook your head.

“Sorry. I … I’m so sorry.”

You turned your back to them, wrapping your arms around your waist as you began to walk away. Shuri called your name, and you assumed she started to come after you, until you heard him speak softly.

“Let her go.”

You bit your lip at the sob you wanted to give, then picked up your pace, until you bent and took hold of your skirts, gathering them and lifting enough to allow you to run.

You stayed in your quarters for two days, sleeping only when your body couldn’t stay awake another minute. You mainly sat at your window, one hand pressed to the glass, staring at the gorgeous countryside, watching the sun come up, then set, until you were able to stare at the moon and the millions of stars.

Shuri came to the door more than once, but her knocks and pleas went unanswered.

You finally couldn’t fight the hunger anymore, and you ventured from your room to the small kitchen down the hall. You turned on the small light over the sink, opening the high-tech refrigerator and gathering the ingredients to make yourself a sandwich.

You went still as you heard the footsteps behind you, silent as they were. Shuri had fought hard to help you lessen the effects of your previous training, but some things never changed. You took a deep breath, slowly glancing over your shoulder.

Bucky stepped into the kitchen, holding up a hand.

“Sorry, I … there’s usually no one awake this time of night.”

You smiled.

“I know.”

He gave a quiet laugh, moving to run his hand through his hair. You swallowed, then spoke softly.

“Are you hungry?”

Bucky blinked, then nodded. He stepped further into the kitchen as you turned away from him, reaching for the loaf of bread you’d just set away. Your cheeks burned as you tried to focus on your task, but your mind couldn’t move from the fact that he was wearing sweatpants and a white t-shirt, the left sleeve hanging empty.

Bucky kept his distance as you assembled your sandwich, staying silent as he watched you. When you set your sandwich aside and picked up the bread for his, you glanced over your shoulder, both of you speaking at the same time.

“No mayo, right?” “No mayo, please.”

Bucky blinked again and you turned your back to him, cheeks aflame once again. You went through the motions and assembled his sandwich, going still when his voice broke the quiet.

“I know you.”

You didn’t respond—you couldn’t—and he kept talking.

“I don’t know how exactly, but I know you. My mind’s all … scrambled and I’m trying to put it back together, but …”

You set down the knife you’d been using, bracing your hands on the countertop as you closed your eyes.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men…

You opened your eyes and straightened, moving your hands and running your fingers over the smooth counter. You reached for the knife you’d been using and finished your task.

“Did we work together?”

You fumbled the piece of bread in your hand, letting out a shaky breath. You closed your eyes and just breathed, then turned to face him, a plate in each hand. You handed Bucky his, then walked to the table. He followed you, sitting across from you, neither of you bothered by the darkness as you ate in a strangely comfortable silence, despite the question Bucky raised that you still hadn’t answered. When you were both finished, you stood up, taking his plate to the sink to wash them. Bucky followed you, keeping his distance.

“Did I … did I do something to you?”

You glanced over your shoulder, meeting his eyes, seeing the burden he was carrying. You swallowed hard, shaking your head.

“No, you … you never hurt me.”

He slowly nodded.

“Good. That … that’s good. I did some—some terrible things.”

You closed your eyes, reaching into the sink and pulling the stopper from the drain. You washed your hands and dried them, tossing the dish towel behind you as you walked to stand in front of him. Bucky wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“You didn’t do them.”

He lifted his head, eyes full of tears that he wouldn’t let fall. You shrugged your shoulders.

“You didn’t.” “Yes, I did.” “No.”

He shook his head and hung it, and you clasped your hands together to keep yourself from reaching out and touching him. He gave a ragged sigh, lifting his head, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That’s what Shuri keeps trying to tell me. It wasn’t my fault because I wasn’t … myself.” “You were being controlled.”

He met your gaze, a strange combination of hope and fear in his eyes. You shook your head again, speaking gently.

“You were used as a weapon, Bucky. You were controlled by … them, and whatever they made you do, even if it was your hands doing it, it wasn’t your fault.”

His body was trembling, eyes wide as he took a step back from you.

“You … how do you know that?”

You swallowed, closing your eyes as you spoke.

“Because they did the same thing to me.”

You could still feel the cold steel of the chair you were forced into. The pinch of the locks around your ankles and wrists. The bitter taste of the block they placed into your mouth. The panic that arose when they locked the collar around your neck, forcing your head back. You’d close your eyes, bracing yourself for that first fiery jolt, and one thing would come to your mind.

Blue eyes.

“Hey, you still with me?”

You blinked, shaking your head once, glancing over at the man crouching down next to you, whose worried eyes were locked onto you. You slowly nodded, standing up from where you’d been sitting on the floor and dusting yourself off. You gave a ragged sigh, rubbing your hands up and down your arms.

“Cold?”

You gave a mirthless laugh.

“I’m always cold.”

You shook your head.

“No matter what I do, it’s like … I don’t know.” “Like the cold is in your bones?”

You glanced up, seeing Bucky staring at the left side of his body, where his arm should be. He spoke again, then lifted his eyes to yours.

“Like the cold is just a part of you?”

You nodded, and the side of his mouth quirked up into what could almost be a smile.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You stepped forward, and Bucky slowly looked you up and down. You swallowed again, smiling when his eyes met yours. He shook his head, murmuring the words.

“I know you.”

You nodded.

“We should get some rest.”

You started to walk away and he reached out, hand gently closing around your upper arm. You closed your eyes, fighting with yourself and somehow managing to stay upright. You turned to face him and he licked his lips.

“I want to talk to you some more.”

You smiled.

“We will. I promise.”

He let go of you and you nodded to him.

“Get some rest. With Shuri working with you, you’re going to need it.”

He smiled, and you turned from him, the smile draining from your face as you hurried to your room.

“There you are!”

You smiled, sitting up and wrapping your arms around your knees as Shuri walked over and sat beside you. You closed your eyes, feeling the sun on your bare arms, a gentle breeze making the grass dance around and tickle your feet. Shuri reached a hand over, laying it on your elbow, then clicking her tongue.

“You will burn sitting in the sun like this.” “I put sunscreen on.” “I bet. Don’t come crying to me when you look like a strawberry tonight!”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled back, unwrapping your arms and setting them in the grass, leaning back on your elbows. You smiled as you watched a group of children kicking around a soccer ball in the distance. After a moment of silence, Shuri spoke.

“How do you know Sergeant Barnes?”

You swallowed.

“Shuri, I … I don’t know if I can tell you.” “Why not? Is it something bad?”

You nodded, and when she spoke again, her voice was soft, the words carefully chosen.

“Were you … one of the ones who … who programmed him?” “What? No!”

You shook your head, lifting one hand to your hair, then closing your eyes. You took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, opening your eyes.

“What do you know about him?”

Shuri sighed.

“More than I should, probably. My brother would be furious if he knew that I knew everything.” “Everything?”

You looked to her and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged her shoulders, then looked down at her hands.

“I know everything about you, too.”

You nodded, looking out over the field again, murmuring to yourself.

“Not everything.”

Shuri turned her head to look at you, and you blinked back the tears that were threatening to spill from your eyes. You turned to the young princess beside you and took her hands.

“You have to promise me something.”

She nodded, and you gave her hands a squeeze.

“Don’t go trying to dig up information. Not about me or—or Sergeant Barnes. Please, Shuri. Promise me you won’t.”

She nodded again.

“I promise.” “Mean it, Shuri.”

She tilted her head, eyebrows furrowing.

“I do mean it, Y/N.”

You let go of her hands and stood up, wrapping your arms around your waist and closing your eyes.

The sun is warm. Feel it? Do you feel how warm it is? There’s no snow here. No ice. Nothing cold at all. Wakanda is warm. Wakanda is home.

“Wakanda is home.” “What?”

You glanced over your shoulder, seeing Shuri still sitting where you left her. You shook your head and she pushed herself up, walking to you.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Your eyes widened and Shuri crossed her arms over her chest.

“Whatever it is that you’re not telling? It’s causing you harm.” “If I tell, it may bring harm to someone else.” “Who? Me?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“Or Sergeant Barnes?”

You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, Shuri was nodding.

“You two were close?”

You closed your eyes again, turning away from her.

“Y/N?”

You blinked open your eyes, turning back to face her. A tear slid down your cheek as you smiled a sad smile.

“I loved him.”

Rainy days were few and far between in Wakanda. When one came, usually the children could be seen—and heard—running through the downpour, yelling joyously at the tops of their lungs, rushing to their mothers at the first crack of thunder. Just one flash of lightning would send everyone running for cover, and you’d have to fight the urge to lay down in the midst of it and let the rain wash you clean.

This time, you were tired of fighting.

You stood outside, face upturned, rain falling so hard and so fast you could barely see. You were shivering, soaked to the bone, but you wouldn’t move. Thunder rolled all around you, yet you stayed where you were.

You heard the footsteps even through the roar of the rain, and you turned to face him when he was inches from you.

“Tell me the truth.”

He had to shout for you to hear him over the downpour. You shook your head, spitting out rainwater before you answered him.

“I can’t.” “Why?”

He shook his head.

“What the hell do you mean?” “I don’t want to hurt you.” “You couldn’t do more damage than what’s already been done.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head.

“That’s the problem.” “What?”

You shook your head again.

“It’s my fault.” “What is?” “I’m sorry.”

You turned from him and he shook his head, moving to stand in front of you.

“I don’t understand.” “I’m sorry.”

You turned away from him again, sloshing through the puddles, stopping when he jogged around, standing in front of you again.

“What are you so scared of?”

You looked away and he lifted his head, spitting out a mouthful of rain before he looked back to you.

“What did I do to you?” “You didn’t do anything to me.” “Then talk to me.”

You shook your head, and he let out a hard laugh.

“What the hell is your problem?” “You are!”

He blinked as you stepped forward, laying both hands against his wide chest and giving a shove. He staggered backwards, eyes wide, and neither of you noticed the flash of lightning, or the sudden loud crack of thunder that followed it.

You shook your head.

“You know that what they did to you was horrible, but it’s what you don’t remember that’s worse.” “Oh, really? Like what?” “Me, Bucky!”

Another flash of lightning, another roll of thunder went unnoticed. You started to shove him again, but he reached out and grabbed your arm, holding it tightly, but not enough to hurt. You laid your other hand on his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart under your palm. You closed your eyes, soaking in the steady thumps, then looked up, meeting his eyes and seeing a spark in the blue.

Was it confusion? Recognition? Rememberance?

You couldn’t decide. You sniffled and shook your head, lifting a shaking hand to tuck a rope of wet hair behind his ear. You spoke so softly you just knew he couldn’t hear you through the roar of the rain.

“They erased me from you.”

He blinked, eyes going wide and filling with tears. He shook his head and let go of you, and you stepped back from him, tears rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the rain. You shook your head, turning and walking away from him, leaving him standing in the downpour, much the same as you had decades earlier.

You didn’t notice until it was too late the way the sky seemed to open up, the almost slow-motion slither of lightning as it danced through the air, curling down to land right where you were stepping. You opened your mouth to yell, but no sound left your throat.

You felt yourself slam into the ground, held tightly against a wide chest and a wildly beating heart, sheltered from the rain for the first time since it began to fall. You lifted your head and met his eyes, the striking blue that was boring into you. He slowly blinked, lowering his head until his lips were inches from yours.

“Y/N.” “Bucky.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, immediately thrown back to a time of which you never let yourself think. Bucky leaned in even closer, then let you go, rolling off of you and pushing himself up with his one arm. He pushed that hand through his hair, shaking it, sending raindrops scattering. You stood up, brushing yourself off as best you could, watching him as he lifted his face to the rain, just letting it wash over him for a moment. The words left your lips before you even realized.

“I thought I’d never see you again.”

He looked at you, shaking his head.

“You … you were my … my … they took you from me.”

He lifted his face again, and you jumped when he gave a mighty yell. He crouched down, covering his face with his hand, and when another crack of thunder sounded, you knelt beside him.

“Let’s go inside.”

He moved his hand, looking up and staring at you. He didn’t make any sort of movement, but you jumped at the sudden roll of thunder. You reached over and touched his face, the breath catching in your throat when he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch.

“Come on. Let’s get out of the storm.”

Bucky opened his eyes, then nodded. You helped him to his feet, keeping hold of his hand as the two of you walked inside.

Bucky stood in the doorway of your quarters, not moving as you rushed to gather a few towels, ringing your hair out over the sink.

“You can take the first shower, warm up a bit. I’m okay for now.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh and you looked over to him. He shook his head, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re shivering and your lips are blue.”

You lifted a hand to your lips and he shook his head.

“You can go. I’m fine.” “You’re freezing. I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

Bucky snorted.

“Super soldier, remember? No chance of me catching a cold.”

You slowly nodded, setting the towels you were carrying down on the small table in your living area, closing your eyes. You laid your hands on either side of the towels, lifting your head when Bucky cleared his throat. He glanced away, not looking at you as he spoke.

“Some of the … details are pretty fuzzy, but we … we were partners, weren’t we?”

You swallowed around the sudden lump in your throat and nodded. He glanced to see you nod, and he looked away again.

“I assume we’ve been through worse than this?”

You nodded, and he cleared his throat.

“We could go together. I’m sure it—it wouldn’t be the first time?”

You waited until he looked at you, and you shook your head. He gave a nod, and you nodded in return, turning and waiting until you heard his footsteps, following you to the bathroom.

You gave a shaky breath as you turned the shower on, adjusting the water temperature until it was to your liking. You turned back to see Bucky fiddling with the sash he wore around his shoulder, the material soaked with rainwater and hard to maneuver. You stepped over to him and he dropped his hand, watching as you untied the knot, unraveling the material and letting it fall to the ground.

Bucky licked his lips, seeming almost nervous—so removed from the Winter Soldier you used to know, who knew no modesty—as he reached his hand over and removed the cloak-like garment he wore. You pressed your lips together, eyes widening when his bare chest came into view, sculpted muscles on display. You eyes were drawn to his left shoulder, to the angry, puckered, scarred red skin where a metal arm once existed.

You lifted your eyes to his and saw that he was already looking at you. You blinked, then spoke softly.

“What happened to your arm?”

He looked to his left side, and you noticed how his right hand clenched into a fist. He let out a breath, speaking almost as softly as you had.

“I, uh… I got into a fight.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up and escaped your throat. Bucky gave you a soft smile and you shook your head.

“Sounds like old times.”

The smiles slid from both of your faces as the words registered with the two of you. You turned away, cheeks warming as you heard the rest of his clothes fall to the floor. He stepped into the shower, an appreciative groan escaping his throat, and you lifted your eyes to find your reflection staring back at you. You took off your own clothes, staring into the mirror, eyes scanning over your body until you were staring into your own eyes.

“Nice.”

You glanced over your shoulder, giving him a look.

“Excuse me?” “I’m just saying, you … you look nice.”

You rolled your eyes, turning to the sink and cupping some water in one hand, washing the blood from where it was staining your stomach and between your breasts. Your shirt had been soaked through, absolutely ruined, and you’d stripped out of it as soon as you’d gotten to the room. You usually didn’t bother with a bra, and today was no exception. There was no room for modesty in the mind of a soldier.

You flicked your eyes back to the mirror, watching Bucky flex his metal hand before clenching it into a fist. You licked your lips, focusing on cleaning the blood from your body as you spoke.

“If I had known this is what it would take to get you to notice me, I’d have gone topless in front of you a long time ago.”

Bucky barked out a laugh.

“I notice you, sunshine. Trust me on that.” “Really?”

Bucky nodded, and you let out a laugh.

“You mean to tell me the Winter Soldier is more than just a HYDRA puppet?”

Bucky snorted again.

“Takes one to know one, don’t it?”

You laughed, grabbing a washcloth and drying your hands on it. Bucky stepped into the doorway of the motel bathroom, resting one massive shoulder against the doorframe. You lifted your eyes to the mirror, seeing him staring at you.

The two of you made a good team. You’d been around longer than he had, so you were able to show him the ropes. His military background even offered him a few things to teach you, and over the last two years, the two of you had risen quite high in HYDRA’s ranks.

You turned to face him, smiling when his eyes slowly lifted from your breasts to your face. You tossed the washcloth onto the counter behind you, watching a smile spread over Bucky’s lips as you spoke.

“You ever go off-script, Sergeant?” “What script? The mission’s complete. We’re good until the convoy arrives to pick us up at 0500.”

You smiled and lifted yourself onto the counter, and Bucky smiled as he moved forward, stopping in front of you, reaching out and resting his hands on your hips. You sucked in a breath at the coolness of his metal fingers against your skin, giving a breathy laugh when those fingers skated over the waistband of your pants, dipping under and tickling your skin. You looped your arms around his neck, sucking in another breath as he took a step closer.

You lifted your head, eyes locking with his. God, his eyes were so blue. As hard as the rest of him was, his eyes somehow held a softness, a playfulness that only came through every now and then. A deeply buried part of you felt lucky to get to witness it. You pushed your hands through his dark hair, settling a piece of hair behind his ear.

You went to say something, but Bucky ducked his head, pressing his lips to yours. You moved your hands to cup his face, the stubble on his cheeks biting into your palms. He leaned back to pull his shirt over his head, the metal plates of his arm whirring and clicking with each movement he made. You moved your hands to slide down his muscled chest and abdomen, and he gave a quiet moan as he cupped your cheek in his hand, the metal cool against your skin as he brought your lips back to his, kissing you deeply.

You dropped your head, closing your eyes, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. You lifted your head, looking at your reflection again, noticing the haunted look in your eyes. You turned away and went to the shower, pulling back the curtain just enough to step inside.

Bucky was standing under the spray, his back to you and his one hand plastered to the wall, head lowered as the water cascaded over him. You let out a shaky breath at the sight of his back, wide and hard with muscles, spattered with scars. You swallowed and moved forward, one shaky hand reaching out to touch his shoulder.

You gasped when he turned around, pulling you to him and wrapping his one arm around you, burying his face as best he could in your wet hair. You squeezed your eyes shut to try and stem the tears, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tightly. You could feel the pounding of his heart where his chest was pressed to yours, and you moved a hand to the back of his head, holding him where he was, and you were unable to stop your tears when you felt him give a shaking exhale before his tears began to drip onto your shoulder.

Bucky sat on the little couch in your room, a towel around his waist while you had his clothes in your washing machine. You had your hair twisted up in a towel, another wrapped around your body and secured in a knot at your chest.

Given the extensive history between the two of you, being in only a towel didn’t bother either of you. Even if neither of you could truly remember all the details.

You moved into the living area from the tiny kitchenette, carrying a glass of water in each hand. Bucky looked up at you when you stopped in front of him, pressing his lips together and nodding his thanks as he took the glass from your hand. You sat on the small table in front of him, and he took a drink, then set his half-empty glass beside you. He took in a deep breath, let it out, then brought his eyes to yours.

“Tell me.” “Why don’t you tell me?”

He let out a hard laugh.

“My mind is so fucked up, I can’t even …”

He shook his head, his only hand moving to scrub down his face. You felt an ache in your heart, and you stood up, slowly pacing the room as you spoke.

“Your name is James Buchanan Barnes. You were a sergeant in the United States’ Army. A sniper. You were a member of an elite squad led by Steve Rogers, your childhood best friend and none other than Captain America.”

Bucky smiled at that, and you went on.

“You were thought to be the only casualty Rogers’ platoon experienced. Turns out, you were captured and …”

You swallowed, and after a moment of silence, Bucky spoke.

“That’s the stuff I do remember.”

You nodded, and once you’d gathered your wits again, you cleared your throat.

“I was an orphan. I honestly don’t know anything about my parents. Were they killed? Were they too young? Did they just not want me?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“I bounced around the system throughout my childhood, and when I was sixteen, I was taken from the orphanage because … well. No one would miss me.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and continued to pace.

“I was …”

You cleared your throat again.

“HYDRA was fairly certain they’d perfected their version of the serum used on Rogers. They weren’t entirely sure, though. They needed a guinea pig.”

You swallowed and lifted your head, staring out the window, at the rain that was still falling.

“I was the first success they had. No visible side effects. I didn’t drop dead. I could fight and take a veritable beating and barely break a sweat. They sent me on a few missions, a kind of a test run. Some I remember, most I don’t. The thing I do remember is … how lethal I was.”

You felt a shiver roll down your spine, and you continued.

“Once they saw that I was … okay, they gave you the serum. Sent you out on missions, saw how lethal you were, too.”

You turned to face him then.

“They decided we could be twice as deadly together, instead of just extraordinary alone.”

Bucky nodded slowly, lifting his eyes to yours.

“And we were?”

You snorted.

“Oh, we were.”

You turned back to the window, jumping when a crack of thunder sounded, closing your eyes tightly at the sudden assault of memories. You forced out a breath and felt a rough hand on your shoulder. You reached up and grabbed hold, and Bucky murmured under his breath, nonsense sounds that you didn’t even pay attention to. Just the sound of his voice was what you needed to help ground you again.

After a moment, you loosened your hold on his hand, then turned to face him. Bucky reached out and linked your fingers together, shaking his head.

“What happened to me? Why can’t I remember that? Why can’t I remember you?”

You gave a shaky sigh.

“They erased me from you.” “How the hell did they do that?”

You shook your head.

“I don’t know exactly. It has to do with your … programming, I guess.” “The red book.”

Your eyes widened, and you closed them before you nodded.

“I had forgotten about that.”

You swallowed, looking back to Bucky. He was studying your face, no doubt trying to find something in his memory to corroborate your story. He shook his head.

“How could they just erase you from me?” “They had to.” “Why?” “Because I escaped.”

Bucky’s eyes widened.

“What?”

You took your hand from his, wrapping your arms around your stomach and holding yourself together. You gave a shaky exhale, moving to the window, touching the glass and jumping when lightning flashed.

“I don’t know what happened, exactly. I thought maybe the serum was … wearing off. I could remember … things. From one mission to the next.”

You looked back at him.

“When we finished a mission, they’d … reset us, get us ready for the next one. Sometimes they’d put us under. And I got to … I could remember things. Even coming out of the cryo, I could remember. When we’d ‘meet’ again and become partners … I could remember you from our previous missions.”

You shook your head.

“It was excruciatingly painful.” “That’s something else I remember.”

You looked over your shoulder to see Bucky squeeze his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his eyes widened when he saw you. You stared at him for a moment, then spoke again.

“Even through the pain, I kept remembering. I tried to hide it, got pretty good at faking it. But I just knew someone would realize, and it would just be a matter of time before our missions became to kill each other. And I … god, Bucky. I couldn’t. I couldn’t even imagine—”

You shook your head, looking out the window so he wouldn’t see your tears. You heard him take a step, then retreat. His raspy voice cut through the silence like a knife.

“So you left. And with you gone, they must have amped up their shit with me.”

You felt your face fall and you kept your back to him.

“They cranked it up, so much so that they erased every single memory I had of you. Everything but—”

You opened your eyes at the abrupt end of his sentence, turning back to him.

“But what?”

You watched the muscles in his jaw work as he clenched his teeth, then swallowed. He turned his head, icy blue eyes meeting yours.

“You were the only one I saw when I closed my eyes.”

You blinked, sucking in a sharp breath. Bucky shook his head, pushing his hand through his damp hair.

“Every time they strapped me to that goddamn chair, every time they tortured me, wiped my fucking mind clean, you were the last thing I saw. I didn’t realize it at the time, didn’t know who she was, but it … it was you.”

A tear slid down your cheek as he turned from you, walking to the couch and picking up his water, draining it.

You flinched when the glass whizzed by your head, smashing against the wall and shattering into millions of glittering shards. He turned to face you, tears in his eyes, pain infused through every word he spoke.

“How could you leave me?”

You gasped, then shook your head.

“I—I didn’t—” “What? You didn’t want to?” “No, I didn’t. But I didn’t have a choice.” “Yes, you did.”

He sniffed as he walked away from you, shaking his head and sending droplets of water flying from the ends of his hair.

“You had to know what they’d do to me.” “I didn’t.” “Well, you could have imagined. And you left anyway.” “Bucky, it’s not that simple.”

He let out a laugh.

“But you see Y/N, it is! You left, I was tortured, and you’ve been living it up here ever since.”

You stopped, eyes wide.

“Is that what you think?” “No, that’s what I see. That’s obvious.”

You swallowed, shaking your head.

“You don’t know anything about me.” “You’re goddamn right about that.”

You looked away from him, pressing your lips together. He gave a quiet laugh, shaking his head and walking for the door. You spoke just as his hand closed around the doorknob.

“Wait.”

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, the one half missing. You swallowed back the tears you wanted to shed and motioned behind you.

“Your clothes.”

Bucky glanced down, taking in the towel around his waist. He looked back to you and you watched his eyes harden, saw his lips curl in a sneer as he spit out the words.

“I’ll take my chances.”

He yanked the door open and walked out, and you closed your eyes before you buried your face in your hands and sobbed.

PART TWO

#star's marvel mayhem challenge #rachel writes marvel #marvel fanfiction #reader insert #marvel reader insert #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #shuri #tchalla #Steve Rogers #female reader #Winter Soldier #canon compliant

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