#A shadowy wispy child but still

[ask-dawnanddusk]

The Serpent Who Rules the Void

"To grow only small ~ Giving guidance for all ~ Seen while hardly known."

~

Now, the beginning of everything, as you very well know, starts in the Void. Here in this expanse of both all and Nothing, new dimensions spring forth. And it was here, when all was still New and young and being made, with so little realms formed, that Maksviah, already Old, laid her first egg.

We don't know exactly how or why this occurred; perhaps it was the alignment of her powerful magics, or maybe the Nothing wanted a beast of its own. In any case, this egg soon hatched into a shadowy, wispy, serpent-oid child whom she named Teniguris.

The two went nearly everywhere together, as Teniguris was still very fragile as a child. Maksviah showed her son the wonders of the physical world; the cool billow of the breeze, the warm rays of the young sun, the dim shine of the full moon, the earthy scent of the world after rain, and much, much more.

As Teniguris matured and Maksviah settled down, he decided to continue his travels and observed the changing world around him. He loved watching how the worlds grew and all the unique creatures within it fascinated him to no end.

This, along with his mothers teachings, made him fall in love with the world around him.

One day, however, Teniguris stumbled upon a world unlike the others. This one was malformed and lopsided, as if someone had ripped apart multiple realities and stitched them together in some monstrous and unstable thing.

Shocked and concerned beyond belief, Teniguris entered the Void in an attempt to figure out what had happened. He quickly found his answer.

You see, the Void is not only the place where all things rest, but it is also the place where most young Arceus form. Their small, ethereal bodies would, over time, solidify into what we recognize as the standard Arceus look, and they then go on to make their own realms.

Very few Arceus remember where they originate from, however in this case, one did. And they were not a kind god.

This Arceus had a twisted mind, and would hunt down the baby Arceus, so little and fragile, and steal their powers, killing them. It would then use these new abilities to experiment and build worlds that never should have existed.

Teniguris was enraged when he learned all of this, and a terrible battle broke out between the two, magics of creation and distortion clashing against each other.

The battle raged on for many, many months. The two hated each other deeply, and while eventually Teniguris did defeat his opponent, it did not come without a great cost.

The Void, their battle ground, had been nearly empty before, but now it was all but devoid of anything living. In his haste to defend the little ones who lived within the Void, he had unintentionally sealed their fate. They had not stood a chance against the magical waves of power emanating from the two, and had perished almost immediately.

Teniguris was heartbroken when he learned of this. His anger had blinded him, and innocents had paid the price for his ignorance.

He swore he would not make the same mistake again.

—

Over the next few years, Teniguris spent much of it in the Void. He carefully watched over any little Arceus who formed and was so, so careful with them, terrified of harming them as he had once done before. He guarded them, but dared not approach.

One day, however, he gained three visitors.

The first visitor came clad in Diamond and blue, large and unyielding.

The second visitor came cloaked in white and Pearl, sleek and sturdy.

The third visitor came gilded in gold and Platinum, slithering and mirage-like.

These were the first Dialga, Palkia and Giratina.

They had found their way here after many years of searching, and they shook at the sight of his form. Carefully, they approached him, each with their own problems.

The Dialga spoke first, explaining how it struggled to control time and balance all its duties. It had little time to do anything else. Teniguris thought of all he had seen and done, and said that it was not wrong to rely on those who care for it. He advised the other god to approach their Arceus and ask for aid. Learning to balance its work with others' help would lessen the stress placed upon it, and he was sure that their creator would be willing to help. Putting pride aside would be essential.

The Palkia spoke second, explaining how very few listened to them, and how it struggled to be firm with others. It feared its own power and anger. Teniguris thought of all he had seen and done, and said that yes, its power was great, and it had reason to fear losing control. But letting this fear control them would only do more harm than good. Learning to control both their emotions and power, finding healthy ways to bleed off anger, and building meaningful and healthy bonds would all be ways to mitigate this.

The Giratina spoke last, explaining how it had trouble understanding the mortal world, and how it feared that due to its previous violence it would never be loved. Teniguris thought of all he had seen and done, and said that whilst its past actions could not be changed, it could strive to be better in the future. He also suggested that the other Giratina travel the world and find wonder in the mundane. Perhaps it would never be as loved as other legends, however such worship was not something to strive for. What truly mattered was the close bonds it made with others in its life.

The three legends heard his words and thanked him for his advice, leaving soon after.

As Teniguris spoke, saw the struggles of others reflected on himself as well. He struggled with these things just as the young trio of creation had, and resolved to take his own advice.

From that point forward Teniguris worked to better himself in many ways. He raised each Arceus carefully, but with the kindness and firmness needed, until they were ready to leave him. Each one he saw beauty in and loved fiercely, despite how they were destined to forget him. And when they were ready, Teniguris would see them off with a smile.

~

"We built a world of wonder with our hearts."

[kursed-curtain]

The Fall

A ficlet for the Wizard Prodigy AU.

Graham has grown desperate. After disappointing his mentor, and fearing he’ll lose his mentor’s love alongside that, Graham attempts to master a spell beyond his skill level - and overestimates what his body can physically handle.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

"Don't waste my time with this one. If you're going to do a demonstration, do it quickly." Manny snapped.

Both father and son walked down the dank, crumbling steps into the castle dungeon. The prisoners, the royal guards, sat in their cells with their blankets and downcast moods.

"The spell mostly only works on people, though maybe it works on animals or plants, but that's why I need people to show the effects," Graham rambled as he prepared the spell - small casting amplifiers placed around to help boost the range. He hadn't tested them beforehand, which was probably why he was full of nervous jabber. "It's smoke-based, so it spreads easily. The protection circle should-"

"You're wasting my time, should I just go back up and do something more productive?" Manny retorted. Graham hastily shook his head. Just get it over with, Graham reminded himself, You'll get back his approval soon enough.

Graham grabbed at the air, pulling a strip of wispy blue-green magic into his hands. He exhaled, then let the strip grow into a cloud - dreary and booming with power like a thunderstorm. The guards who were watching gasped in amazement and helpless fear. Graham’s hands were shaking, his focus fading as the cloud grew bigger and blocked his view. He released his hold on the spell.

The cloud billowed out, filling a large portion of the room with a shadowy haze. Torches blew out upon contact. The shadows grew in the dim moonlight. Everyone else in the dungeon, the imprisoned royal guards, made attempts to escape the impending smoke. Some guards had managed to cover themselves, hiding in their helmets until the fog had cleared, protecting themselves from the effects of the spell. 

However, those who got caught in the chaos, coughing and scrambling to get away, soon found themselves stopped. Demotivated. As if, out of nowhere, a burden had been placed in their chest and the whole world had come crashing down to tell them that it was all over. Some started to silently weep, others curled up and fell asleep in an instant. For those who could see into their eyes, they were foggy and distant. Manipulable subjects. Absolutely perfect.

Manny let out a satisfied, still busy calculating, hum. That was Graham's indicator that Manny was thinking about it, a step closer to success. Graham's head panged. He took a sharp inhale to counteract, but his body felt like he was lifting sandbags. His hands were numb and shivering furiously. Aches, all from practicing the same spell over and over again the night before, emerged once again.

Then Manny outstretched his arms for a hug - his reward, and his forgiveness. Graham's face lit up, though still dazed and exhausted, and slumped over Manny’s shoulder.

"You did well today," Manny cooed, putting on his best proud parent voice and talking to Graham like a child. "Now rest up, you'll need it for the days to come. I have big plans for you."

Soon enough, Graham was out cold, a sweet smile still plastered on his face with praise fresh in his ears. Manny dropped the act as soon he felt Graham's breath level out. He scoffed, letting Graham fall onto the cold stone flooring as if he were an abandoned toy.

Manny called to one of the guards - one of the helmeted ones - and commanded, "Take the boy upstairs to one of the bedrooms and have him rest there. And remember, escaping in the middle of work isn't an option." He snapped his fingers, sharp green lightning crackling outwards. "I have ways of making you compliant."

(If Royal Guard No.1 could hear this, he would be reprimanding Manny for giving his guards orders without explicit permission from him as captain. Yet, as it was, No.1 was down for the count - The enchantment reached him before he could find his helmet. No.2, who was both lucky and unlucky enough to have held his breath for the whole ordeal, was found attempting to wake No.1 up. Unsuccessfully, as could be predicted, and as should have been predicted by the desperate second in command before he even tried.)

The guard glanced at their captain, at the frightening silence and bits of tears from their fellow guards, then saluted. Sweat gathered under their helmet. Manny unlocked the cell door, and the guard scooped up the peaceful body of the young wizard. 

Manny turned back to his prisoners. "For the rest of you left standing, you're not to speak with the boy of this. You're not even supposed to be speaking with him in the first place, you'll dirty up his precious mind with your barbaric ideas."  Manny shuddered as he paced back and forth through the hallway. "Besides, he wouldn't believe you anyway. You've seen him, he's hungry for my approval. He believes in my ideals. The boy will side with me over you scoundrels on any day of the week. And for those brave enough to try? Good luck."

The dungeon was hushed, desolate, clouds of fog hung in the air. With that, Manny left to find a spot in his plans for his newfound tool.

*:･ﾟ✧

(It was frightening, really, how the young boy in the guard’s arms had knocked out the entire regiment with just one flick of the wrist. Paranoid fantasies flitted about, thoughts of him waking up and taking them out right then and there. 

The guard tried to understand why he’d do something so horrible. The explanation was there, but trying to truly understand why was a whole other undertaking. Why he’d love that lying, condescending, son of a grapefruit. 

They laid Graham down, tucked him into bed, and ruffled his clean cut mop of hair.

As the guard turned around, Graham opened his eyes a crack. “Did you see what I did?” he croaked. A lump forming in their throat, the guard simply nodded. 

“Wasn’t it great?” he asked. No response.

Graham fell asleep with a delirious giggle. They’re all so, so proud of him, and that’s all he ever wants to believe.)

[askthechronoverse]

Chapter Five: Who is in Control?

Last Chapter •||• Next Chapter

It had been weeks since Rex had appeared in the Unikingdom. A small hooded humanoid with a fire for a head approached a large room, wings flexing nervously. He waited for a figure who sat in a large chair to say something. Anything.

"Master Hazard. This had better be worth the time you are taking from your work and from mine." The voice was feminine, but it sounded like multiple women were infinitely urked at the interruption.

"Have you heard of the Armommageddeon incident?" The wispy creature stood as tall as he could.

"Of course I have. A child having a tantrum about friendship succeeded where I have yet to." She spoke like she was describing a forgotten trash pile. "It was good work, of course, but I would have rather been the one to do it. Why are you bringing this up, Master Hazard? There is so much discord we need to spread to meet the quota for the month."

"That child is in the Unikingdom." A pin could drop and startle the two after the words came out of the flame's shadowy mouth.

"He is, huh?" The feminine speaker chuckled darkly. "Like I said, I have to admire how close he got to wiping everything out, regardless of the motive. I need that cunning and strength in this organization."

"Are you considering him as a Doom Lord?"

"Of course not. However, I can see the potential for an alliance. If I could have him use that power to meet my goals, I could bring this world to its knees. Tell our potential… let's call him a consultant… that I would like to make him an offer." An envelope slid on the table's impossibly smooth surface to the flame creature, which he grabbed. "You still have work to do today. I want you to get Plague or Malice to extend the offer. Or can you handle this as well as make your quota?"

"I can handle both. Of course. He lives in Action Forest. It works out. I can spread some easy chaos on the way over." The desperation to please was palpable in his voice.

"Good. Now go." The flame creature scurried away.

—

"Hey, Rex! Are ya home?" Puppycorn rushed into the front yard unaccompanied. He had a red ball firmly in his mouth, dropping it in a quick motion and catching it as it bounced back up so he could speak. He ran to the side of the house where his friend sat on a towel in the dewy grass, eyes closed. "Rex! Do ya wanna play catch?" Rex didn't open his eyes.

"Let's try somethin' first. Sit down." The puppy took a seat to Rex's right side. "Breathe in real deep through your nose and hold it there for a sec." His young friend tried to keep his breath held. "Now exhale through your mouth." Puppycorn did this and panted a little. "And again. Let's try to do that three more times together." The two seemed to be in sync with each other by the last cycle. "How do ya feel, kid?"

"That was kinda nice, but really boring." The puppy admitted.

"Yeah, I get that." He got up and grabbed the towel, folding it. "Did ya come here alone? Ya really shouldn't do that. The forest is dangerous." He tucked the towel under his arm and headed for the front door of his cabin, Puppycorn following behind.

"Yeah, but I wanted to play with someone and everyone was busy today!" Puppycorn moaned. The room was still decorated for a party, despite the fact the party was long over.

"So you came all the way out here to see if I was free? Actually kinda flattered to be on that list somewhere." He grabbed a trash can and started to take down some of the decor. "Sadly, your sister couldn't be bothered to clean my house after she threw a party. Not gonna force ya, but if ya help me clean, I'll play with you. Sound good?"

"OK!" The puppy started to grab streamers and balloons with zeal and dunk everything he grabbed in the trash. The two got the room clean in no time. "Can we go play now?"

"Sure. Come on, kid." Puppycorn and Rex left the cabin, only to be greeted by a creature with a flame for a head. He looked at Rex and smiled a jack o lantern smile. Puppycorn got behind Rex, frowning sharply with an upturned brow.

"Are you Rex Dangervest?" The creature asked, ignoring the dog's reaction.

"Who's askin'?" He turned his head to his companion. "Kid, you OK back there?"

"I'm Master Hazard. I come to you on behalf of Master Doom, head of the Doom Lords. We wish to-" Rex cut the wisp off.

"Unless ya came all the way out here to sell cookies, I'm not interested." Rex folded his arms. "If ya got cookies, I'll buy a box of the mint ones and a box of the toffee ones." The flame creature blinked. "I'm disappointed. I could really use some cookies right now. Don't let the forest hit ya on the way out, buddy." He turned to head to the backyard, letting Puppycorn remain in front of him.

"You really don't have a choice here. Master Doom wishes to speak with you."

"Last I checked, free will is somethin' we all got. The part I really like about it is that I can tell ya to tell your boss to talk to someone who cares. Which ain't me." He tried to leave, but Master Hazard stopped him.

"You can't! I was sent here specifically to come get you!" Hazard was starting to sound desperate.

"You haven't told me why I should care. I may have the time to listen, but I'm runnin' out of patience. Can't ya see I'm entertainin' royalty right now?" He pat Puppycorn's head.

"I could see if she can schedule you for a more convenient time?"

"Okay. How about February 30th at 25:70 hours?" Rex rolled his eyes and pushed the flameheaded creature aside. "Let's go, Puppycorn. I need to go into town to buy some cookies."

"You have no choice. If you don't come on your own volition, Master Doom may authorize me to use other means to hold your attention." Hazard looked right at Puppycorn when he said this.

"Keep the kid outta this. Touch a hair on his tail and you go back to your boss in pieces." Rex's voice was low. "I don't want to play this game, but I will win. Not you or your boss. Get off my property before I go find some stamps."

"I'll let her know you rejected the offer, then?"

"I would. She clearly knows all about me. She should know I don't play around." The flame creature rushed off. Rex sighed and turned to Puppycorn. "What's a Doom Lord? You seem to know."

"Rick told me about them once. They are in charge of all the bad things that happen in the world. They're really bad news and he told me to stay away from them." Puppycorn leaned close to him, looking for a hug.

"Of course they are." He shook his head, satisfying the puppy's expectations with a pat on the head. "Don't worry. I'll keep 'em away."

"Why would the Doom Lords wanna talk to you?"

"I have done some terrible things, kid. Things that would label me as a villain." He clicked his tongue. "Looks like it's all catchin' up to me. I'm sorry if I scaredja. You're the last person I wanna do that to. I had to speak in a language someone like that'd understand."

"It… It's OK. You aren't like them. I know that!" The pup wagged his tail.

"I do want you to go home. If this Master Doom is anything like I was, she ain't takin' no for an answer. Someone like that will not hesitate to hurt a kid like you and I wouldn't forgive her or myself if that happened." Puppycorn nodded and started to run to the path into the woods, but an icy angular creature in a dark robe appeared in front of the dog. She stared at Rex with cold, heterochromatic eyes and sneared, approaching Rex like she owned the ground she walked on. Puppycorn ran back behind Rex, who met her eyes with his own steely glare.

"I was right about you being a child." She laughed. "Still. I will talk to you about an opportunity I have for you, 'Rex Dangervest'. Or can I call you by your real name, Mr. Brickowski?" Puppycorn looked to his friend with confusion. Rex curled his hands into fists, seething. "Oh, come now. Did you really think you were clever with that laughable pseudonym? Now, be a gentleman and invite me in, Emmet. I don't have all day."

"Puppycorn. Go in my cabin and lock the front door. Now." The puppy rushed into the house and did as his friend told him to, but watched the two from a window. "We can talk right here. I ain't lettin' you near Prince Puppycorn."

"I'm not here for your little dog. Like I said, I'm here for you. You, after all, did the very thing I have been working my whole life to achieve. The end of everything. A shame the power of love and friendship prevailed. But, where did all this leave you?" She smirked. "Right back where you started. Am I right?"

"I'm not back where I started, lady. I have-"

"You have what? Friends? Are you referring to the Unikingdom royals? One of the people who abandoned you and a dog that reminds you of the person you manipulated to start Armommageddeon your behalf? Or are you referring to the woman you once followed like a lovesick puppy until she abandoned you like the others? You're lying to yourself to keep the illusion that you aren't still suffering, still dying to get back at the people who left you to die, alone and frightened."

"Get to the point." Rex growled.

"I'm offering you a second chance to finish what you started, once and for all. You have the rage and technology, but I can give you so much more. I can help you make sure the power of love and friendship never gets in the way again."

"That's not who I am anymore. I don't need your second chance."

"But you do, Emmet. You still have the potential to bring this galaxy to its knees and have it beg for your forgiveness. You keep that pain that once burned the stars out of the sky under a cloud of insomnia and a patchwork set of morals, but really think about the position you put yourself in and what watching your plan succeed made you feel. Is any of that working out for you?"

"I said no. Also, get that name out of your mouth before I break you in half. I'm not that man anymore." Rex's fists shook.

"But doesn't the name you like to go by stand for "Radical Emmet Xtreme" or something silly like that? I want your strength, but I refuse to play into your delusions. So, I will continue to call you by the name you rejected." Master Doom pulled out a packet of paper. "This is a contract to work as a contractor for the Doom Lords. Think about what the royal family have done for you and weigh your options. You can drop it off at the Doom Lord tower in Frowntown. Don't disappoint me, Emmet." She dropped it at Rex's feet and vanished as quickly as she came. The forest grew tensely quiet with her absence. Rex picked the packet up.

"Kid. Come out. Ya should be safe." The puppy rushed out of the cabin and sat beside Rex.

"Are you gonna be OK?" Puppycorn couldn't read his friend's expression, but something was clearly wrong.

"I will be if I never see that lady again." Rex let himself relax just a bit. He scanned the document left for him and rolled his eyes.

"You aren't gonna join the Doom Lords, are you?"

"Of course not. She called me a child and by a name I don't use anymore except for legal papers and she expects me to sign this?" He spat, waving the thick stack of paper.

"Good. You aren't a bad guy." Puppycorn's smile melted Rex's heart, but he tried not to show it.

"Not anymore, kid." He pet the puppy's head. "Let's go play with your ball. I could use a de-stressing game of catch." The prince wagged his tail and handed his ball to Rex.

The two played for a while, only stopping when the man's attention went to the contract. What did he have? Was Puppycorn really his friend, or will he just forget about him when someone… less broken comes along? What about Unikitty? She betrayed him in a different timeline, what about this one? Maybe Master Doom had a point. He could make this world burn to nothing for what he went through. No. He had to be better. He had to rise above his anger and pain. Trembling hands grasped the contract now, Rex unaware that Puppycorn was watching him.

"Rex? Are you OK?" Puppycorn tilted his head.

"Kid. Be honest with me. Would you ever forget me?" He barely took a breath when he said this, eyes focused on the contract.

"Nope! You're really rad and always down to play with me. I could never forget a friend like you!" Again, that dog's smile made Rex feel something deep in his heart. Why did that woman get in his head like that so quickly?

"I wouldn't ever forget you either, Puppycorn." He gestured for the puppy to come inside the cabin with him. He headed for his study and threw the contract on his desk unceremoniously. He came back into the main room with a lighter step.

"Why was she calling you Emmet? You're Rex, right?" Puppycorn followed his friend into the kitchen.

"That was my name a lifetime ago. I really need to get that legally changed or somethin'." There was a deep exhaustion in his voice. "I'm not him anymore. Haven't been in a long time."

"Then, you are Rex. She's a big meanie anyway. Unikitty said you were mean too. But you aren't mean to me. If you wanted to be mean, you wouldn't try to keep me safe, right?" The puppy watched his friend for an answer.

"No. I just wouldn't care. If you got hurt, that wouldn't be my problem." Rex leaned on the counter.

"I know you'll walk me back to the castle when I'm done playing with ya because you don't want to see me get hurt. A meanie doesn't do that."

"No. No, they do not. I'm an expert on bein' mean." Why was the puppy making so much sense right now? "Kid, be extra careful the next few days. I know nothin' about the Doom Lords, but once I say 'no' for the millionth time… Like you said, I want you safe and I can't always be around to protect you."

"Why not?" The thought of Rex not being around was strange to the small dog and it showed.

"What if I wasn't home? I know people off planet."

"But you never talk about them." Puppycorn countered.

"Because I'm not actually sure they like me. Or how I feel about them." The man muttered this. He thought it was harder to hear, but he clearly underestimated the pup's hearing.

"Are you talking about the pink and blue hair lady? She seemed really worried about you when she came over."

"Yeah… She did, didn't she." Rex looked down at his phone. "Maybe I should call her." He muttered the last part to himself. The puppy yawned. "Looks like it might be time for you to go home."

"But I don't wanna. Can I sleep over?" Puppycorn moaned.

"No. Ya don't want that." He grabbed his phone and waited for the puppy to be by his side before heading toward the castle.

[fr-jedicreed]

Little One

[All dragons are in anthro forms!]

tw: violence, blood, mentions of child trafficking/kidnapping

--

Koi didn't mind the patrols in the Lower Tier. Sometimes things happened to make it worth while. But lately, things had been far too quiet. Made the patrols boring. Koi wasn't the only one in the Torn Wings Mafia doing patrols at night (too much ground to cover for one dragon), and he had to wonder if theirs was just as boring.

"Shiiit, c'mon..." he mumbled, shaking his head, "Ain't nothin' happenin'? Do I gotta stir up some trouble t' make it worth it? ...Naw, better now. Lady Thyl'la might skin me fer causin' trouble in her territory..."

But just as he was about to resign himself to a boring patrol, some raise voices nearby caught his attention, his ears perking up instantly.

"C'mon, just grab the kid and let's go!"

"She won't stay st--OW! She bit me! Stupid brat!"

"Grab her and let's go! We're low on our quota, she'll hafta do!"

Koi's ears folded back. He didn't like the sound of that. Quickly, he made his way to the alleyway where the noises were coming from, and came upon quite the scene.

There were three dragons--a Pearlcatcher, an Imperial, and a Mirror. The Imperial was holding a bag, while the Mirror and Pearlcatcher held onto what looked like a very young Nocturne. A kid. Just a kid. And from the looks of it, she was putting up quite the fight, struggling as much as she could.

And, judging by the bleeding hands of the two, she had bit then quite hard.

Good girl... thought Koi, grinning as he came into the alleyway, "Oi! What's goin' on 'ere?"

The three dragons startled, and the Nocturne looked surprised, large eyes full of hope that she might be rescued. Poor kid was probably tuckered out from struggling so much. Koi didn't blame her.

"What's it to ya?" snarled the Mirror, letting go of the young Nocturne, shoving her at the Pearlcatcher, "Move along, this doesn't involve ya!"

"As he said, this isn't any of your business." said the Imperial, glowering at Koi, looking him over.

"Oh, I think it is my business." said Koi, cracking his neck as he moved towards the dragons, "Y'see, the Torn Wings Mafia dun take too kindly t' child traffikin', or kidnapping 'round these parts. An' the fact yer doin' it in our territory? Ya must have big balls t' try somethin' like that."

The three dragons growled, the Pearlcatcher tossing the young Nocturne aside roughly. She yelped as she hit the ground, and quickly scrambled up and pressed herself up against the wall. Koi then saw that her wrists and ankles were bound. No way to escape.

"If you're one of Thyl'la's goons, we'll take you out no problem." said the Pearlcather, pulling out a dagger, "If you're not around to report it, we can continue doing our business."

"Pretty nasty business, if ya ask me!" snarled Koi, "Kidnappin' children in th' middle o' th' night? Sickos, th' lot o' ya!"

"That's it!" roared the Mirror, drawing two daggers and charging at Koi, "Yer dead meat!"

Koi sighed, looking over at the Nocturne, who was watching with wide eyes, "Ya might wanna turn away, little'un. This ain't gonna be pretty."

As the Mirror charged at him, Koi's own daggers materialized by him, wispy shadowy smoke holding onto the ends. They hovered, as if alive, and as the Mirror drew closer, they stilled, before a wave of Koi's hand had them shooting right at the Mirror.

One in the throat, and one in the head.

The Mirror only took two staggering steps, before he collapsed onto the ground, into a pool of his own blood.

The messy splat seemed to echo in the alleyway. The remaining two dragons stood still, shocked. But they soon recovered, and charged at Koi with battle cries. The young Nocturne, despite Koi's earlier words, continued watching, eyes wide.

The battle didn't last long. Using his cane, Koi batted aside their attacks, and let his daggers take over. They sliced at the two attacking dragons, whittling them down, before delivering the final blow for each of them. A deep cut delivered to the neck of the Imperial, and a stab in the eye to the Pearlcatcher. Both dragons went down, into a bloody mess.

Koi flicked the daggers clean, before approaching the Nocturne. To her credit, she didn't even flinch, as she looked up at him. Kneeling down next to her, Koi used the daggers to cut the ropes bonding her ankles and wrists together. There were welts left behind, and he gently ran a finger over them to soothe them.

"Ya awright, kid?"

The Nocturne nodded, swallowing hard before speaking, "Y-Yeah. Thanks."

"No prob. Jus' doin' my job." said Koi, patting her on the head, before standing up. But before he could leave, she reached out, grabbing onto his jacket, tugging it.

"D-Don't leave me, please!" she begged, using his jacket as leverage, as she stood up, "T-Take me with you!"

"Ya dun wanna come wit' me, it's too dangerous." said Koi, with a sigh, "Ye should back t' yer parents. They're probably worried, eh?"

The Nocturne's gaze turned down, large eyes looking sad, "I...don't have parents. Not...Not anymore." Her gaze went to the bodies of the three dragons, before looking down again.

Koi put two and two together, and sighed heavily. Orphaned, because she was targeted for traffiking. Poor girl...

"Yer name. What's yer name, kid?"

She perked up at that, though she still had some tears in her eyes.

"Axen. I'm Axen."

"Koi. Nice t' meetcha."

Using his cane, he scooped her up, using the nape of her shirt, before holding the cane against his shoulder, walking out of the alleyway. Axen yelped at the treatment, but didn't protest.

"Thank...Thank you for rescuing me, Mr. Koi." she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Bah! Mister...Dun call me that." chuckled Koi, shaking his head, "Makin' me feel old, kid."

"Then...what should I call you?" she asked, tilting her head.

"Not Mister." he said, before humming in thought, "...Try 'Sensei' since I'll be takin' ya in. Lady Thyl'la can't say no, if I'm takin' ya in as a student."

Axen nodded, smiling, "Thank you, Koi-Sensei."

Koi chuckled, grinning. That sounded better than he thought. He could get used to this...

[mk-empress]

Battle Against The Dual-Bladed Duelist

The Boss Fight

The invasion was a success. The folded soldiers had captured Bowser and his minion army. And Bowser’s cowardly mage had even crashed the entire castle. Sure, the minions got away and are now enslaved to do maintenance on Shangri-Spa by the toads, but at least I had Bowser as a living trophy in his own throne room. I was alone in the throne with the chained, oversized koopa. 

“Hey! Release me this instant! Don’t you know who I am?! I am Lord Bowser, and I will not stand for-“

“Oh, cut it out already. Can’t you see you belong to me now? You’re already lucky to be in one piece.” I told him. I walked down the red carpet on the floor to Bowser’s throne. I decided to try it out, see how it felt. His throne was surprisingly quite comfortable.

“Hey! Get off my throne! You’re not allowed to sit there!” Bowser barked.

“Silence! You are not the one in charge here anymore. You are my prisoner. I am above you. Now, be good and seal your lips closed, or I’ll cut out your tongue.” I threatened. Bowser gulped and froze in place. Good. 

I glanced up and saw the green streamer penetrating the ceiling, creating a large hole. Seeing this reminded me of the other streamers. I had already watched the red streamer, the blue streamer, and the yellow disappear. I felt bitter about it. I was worried about the purple streamer. I decided to step outside to see if the purple streamer was still there. I know I’m not supposed to leave my post, but I needed to know. 

When I got outside, I flew under the clouds of Shangri-Spa. I could see the Sea Tower below. Wait-... where’s the purple streamer-? No... I zoomed down to the roof of the Sea Tower, no one was there. Why? Where was Tape? I-I couldn’t be the last one! I can’t be alone! I frantically soared faster than I’ve ever flown before toward Overlook Tower. I stopped above the top. I only saw a couple of toads looking at the hole left by the spool in the pole, nothing else. I shifted my gazed and soared to Shogun Studios. I got a bird’s-eye view of the park. I saw several toads working at the entrance. Some of them were carrying bags of Rubber Band’s broken bands. I glanced into another direction and arrived at The Shroom Temple. I entered through the upper entrance. When I got down to the dance floor, my heart shattered when I saw Hole Punch’s broken, pale, lifeless body. My eyes watered, and I just shook my head. I rushed back out and flew back to the Sea Tower. I landed on the roof and spun circles around looking for Tape. I noticed blood on the ground, and it was fresh. I was panicking. I stared over the edge of the tower into the sea, then I saw blood in the water. Tape had to be down there! Maybe I could save him. I jumped off the tower and dived toward the surface of the ocean. I held my breath as I plunged into water. I scanned my surroundings looking for Tape, then I saw him. I swam deeper down to him, and grabbed his hand. I held on to him tightly in my arms and shot up out of the water back to the roof of the sea tower. I gently laid Tape down. I tried to wake him up.

“Tape! Wake up! Come on!” I shouted, but he didn’t stir. I shook him harder. “Please! I can’t be the last one! Get up! GET UP!” He still didn’t move. 

I looked at his body and I started to cry. His wrists were bleeding profusely, and his arms were red. I put my hand on his chest, and I felt his ribs were broken. I pressed my fingers on his neck, there was no pulse. I froze in place. It felt like my heart was just ripped out of my chest. Tape was dead, like the others. I cradled him in my arms and held his head to my chest. I was devastated. His body still felt warm. It came to me that he died recently. I looked up at the clouds above me. Tears streamed down my face. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I thought I could save SOMEONE! I just wanted someone to be with me. I stayed there, with Tape’s body, still holding him close to me. I remembered all the times we had, the good, the bad, and the insane. We fought at times, we sparred at times, we laughed, we raced, we enjoyed each other’s company, and now... I continued to mourn. Deep within me, I felt an inhumanly rage boiling within me.

I blasted up back into Bowser’s castle. I swung open the doors into the throne room. I wanted to shred Mario and Olivia into a thousand pieces. I wanted them to sink into the deepest rivers of The Underwhere! They had to pay for this! I needed revenge! It was all I craved!

“Aww! What’s wrong? Did something hurt your feelings?” Bowser taunted. I was not in the mood to deal with his mockery! I drew one of my sword blades and grasped his throat, choking him, and pointing the tip of the blade at his eye.

“Listen to me. I am NOT going to listen to you whine, beg, or mock me! If you speak one more time, I will murder everyone you love or remotely care about! Then you will know how I feel!” I screamed. I released Bowser, turning my back to him. I was still so enraged, and I didn’t realize that my eyes were glowing. I craved revenge! I had to have it! I would annihilate EVERYTHING in my way! I would destroy Mario! HE’S THE ONE WHO MUST PAY! 

I felt like I had the rage of many people at once. I felt like my heart was beating out of my chest, and my back was aching. I thought I felt something seeping out of me. I looked behind and saw dark, wispy shadows. What was this? What was happening to me? Suddenly, I felt like something just bursted out of my back, then I felt it again, and again. I started to notice shadowy creatures appearing around me. I saw the black silhouettes of little boys and girls holding hands, I saw large, black, adult silhouettes- both men and women- towering around me, and then, I saw a massive creature that wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before. It had a hand for a head, and the body of a snake. I decided to call it the “Handaconda”. I felt the pain in my back go away, and I felt a bit more in control of myself. The shadows surrounded me, and they looked like they were waiting for something. Oddly enough, I didn’t feel threatened by them, as if they were MY minions. I looked behind me at Bowser and he looked terrified. I just smirked at him. I turned back at the shadows.

“Do you serve me?” I asked. All the shadows nodded the best they could. “I want you all to spread throughout and guard the corridors and rooms of this castle. If you see any of the folded soldiers, do not attack. If you see a small man with a mustache, and a little girl floating beside him, bring them to me for termination. If any of the toads or any of Bowser’s minions enter, get them out any way you like. NO ONE is to enter this room at any cost! Understood?” I commanded them. All the shadows agreed and left the throne room.

I still felt an unnatural rage within me, but I felt a little calmer after creating those shadows. Suddenly, I heard someone from outside the castle. It was faint, but I did hear it.

“DAAAD!” I heard a child scream.

“SON?!” Bowser called. 

I glared at Bowser, then he looked at me. I looked up at the hole in the ceiling, then back at him. That boy was coming for his father, and I can’t risk the green streamer being destroyed, now can I? I grinned as I drew my blades and zoomed out through the hole above me. I saw the kid that looked similar to Bowser, and zoomed at him. I latched my blades together into an actually pair of scissors. At the last second, the kid saw me just before I sliced him and his clown car into six, bloody pieces. Some blood had sprayed on me. I watched as the remains of the boy fell to the ground.

“NOOOOO!” I heard the blue mage scream. I cackled as I returned back to the castle.

I landed back on the red carpet in Bowser’s throne. I sheathed my bloodied swords. Bowser stared at me with a worried expression.

“What did you do?!” Bowser barked. He could see the blood on me.

“I simply delayed Mario from entering this castle.” I answered.

“What did you do to MY SON?!” Bowser roared.

“I KILLED HIM! But don’t worry, we’re in Shangi-Spa! The Spring of Purification should revive him.” I explained.

“YOU’RE INSANE, YOU MONSTER!” Bowser screamed at me. Insane? INSANE?! 

“Insane?!” I laughed. “With what I’m going through, I think I have the right to go a little insane!” I snapped. My eyes began to water. I was laughing and crying at the same time. I knew I lost my mind, but Mario took so much away from me. He stole my siblings’ lives! He SLAUGHTERED all of them like they were pests! I SAW WHAT WAS LEFT OF THEM! If I’m not allowed to be a tiny bit crazy... 

I waited for what felt like an eternity, pacing back and forth, pondering all the things I could do to Mario. I was clutching my skull, my tears were dripping onto the floor, and my rage was destroying me from the inside out. Bowser was good as he stayed quiet the whole time. All of a sudden, I heard the bullhorns outside squeal, then someone spoke.

“Ahem. Attention, fellow minions of Lord Bowser! The folded soldiers guarding the entrance to Bowser’s Castle are no more! Now is the time for us to rise up! Make for the castle and stand with Mario! Together, we shall free Lord Bowser and restore honor to our names! FOR BOWSERRRRRR!” That was the voice of that blue mage. I heard cheers outside.

“HA! Yes, my minions! You hear that?! Soon, my minions well storm and retake this castle. And when I’m free, I’ll stomp you into bits!” Bowser threatened. I simply laughed.

“Oh, I wouldn’t get so excited if I were you. Your weak little army will be rushing to their DEMISE! They won’t even make it to that door.” I replied. My own minion shadows would destroy them first. Then, Mario will be next!

I could hear all the commotion outside. I was wondering who was winning. Not too much time pasted when I heard Bowser’s minions outside trying to break down the door leading into the throne room. It seemed the folded soldiers had failed.

“It would seem I underestimated your minions, Bowser. But, no matter. I will swiftly dispose of them myself.” I drew my blades and flew up out of the castle. I soared around the structure and entered again through the front door. I had a straight shot to the koopa army.

“INCOMING!” One of the minions shouted. 

I gripped my blades tightly, and I began my rampage. The minions tried so desperately to land a scratch on me, but alas, my blades minced them first! I laughed maniacally as I wiped Bowser’s army from existence! I thoroughly enjoyed killing them one by pitiful one. In mere minutes, all who were left were the blue mage, and Bowser’s son. They both stared at me in horror. The mage held the kid and turned their gazes away. I thrusted my blade through the kid’s spiked shell, and out the mage’s back. Blood poured from them, and they both became limp. I yanked my sword out, and let the blood drip from the tip. I looked behind me and saw the result of my massacre. The blood of the minions flooded the floor, and the chucks left behind littered across the carpet. It felt great to vent on an ENTIRE raid. I unlocked the door and walked into Bowser’s throne room, then closed it behind me. I was soaked in blood, and I LOVED IT! Bowser stared at me, horrified and speechless.

“I told you not to get so excited. EVERYONE is dead, and now you know how I feel, losing everyone.” I said quietly to him. Bowser sank and started to cry. GOOD! He’s going through what I’M going through. And now all that was left to do was KILL MARIO for what he did to MY family! 

Suddenly, I heard more calamity outside the doors. I could hear Olivia... and hissing? I assumed it was Handaconda fighting Mario and Olivia. Finally, Mario had arrived to my doorstep. A wave of uncertainty suddenly hit me- if not even my siblings could stop Mario, why would Handaconda be any different? No, surely it could do something to the plumber. Handaconda was forged within me by my rage. Wait, was it JUST Handaconda fighting Mario? Where were the other shadows I created? I heard loud slams and hisses. I wasn’t sure who was winning behind that door. I flew up and hid in the rafters above, watching that door closely. I heard one last hiss before silence fell. Who just won? I heard a thud against the door, and I heard Olivia talking! No! Everything I created, everything I loved- why does Mario always win?! 

Mario and Olivia swung open the doors into the throne room. After a long struggle of saving Bowser’s son and facing so many shadows, they could finally see the end of the green streamer.

“There it is! The end of the green streamer! We did it! It’s the end of the road! The last of the streamers!” Olivia exclaimed. My anger and hatred burned hotter for every second I looked at those two.

“Hey! I’m here too!” Bowser shouted.

Mario and Olivia approached the steps leading up to Bowser’s throne. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I lunged down from above.

“Look out!” Bowser screamed. I flew down and slammed my blades down above Mario, but he jumped back half a second before I could kill him. “I get credit for that!” Bowser said. I slowly floated down to their level.

“Hmph. Well dodged. Of course, I expect nothing less. It would have been terribly boring to end things so quickly, yes?” I was losing my composure rapidly in front of them. “You may have been successful in killing the others and destroying their streamers, but- by doing that- you’ve only doomed yourselves further. You’ve made me angry, Mario. Now, I will cut off your head! En garde!” Mario pulled out his hammer, and I gripped my blades tightly. And so began the duel. 

“Let’s get this straight: I WILL annihilate you...but I don’t see why we can’t have some fun first. After all, where’s the challenge in slicing you to strips immediately? Therefore, I shall grant you... a slight advantage.” I sheathed my blades in front of them. I wanted to cut them to shreds, but I wanted to have a little bit of pleasure softening them up. “See? My blades have been sheathed. We’re on equal footing. However! Should you damage this cover during our battle...I shall interpret such boldness as a direct challenge...and I won’t hold anything back!” I warned. 

As much as it hurt, I had to hold so much of my fury back. With my swords sheathed, I had to go with fist-fighting, which- I will admit- I wasn’t as skilled with as two of my fallen brothers were. I flew up then dived down toward Mario, but he dodged, and I ended up slamming my fist into the floor. I dashed toward Mario before he could ready a swing. I flipped up and kicked Mario in his chin, sending him flying up. I flew up to him, grabbed him by the neck, then threw him into the floor. I dived after him. Mario scrambled up as fast he could, and swung at my side, but I dodged. Mario hurled his hammer at me, but I caught it. I threw his hammer back at him with powerful force. Mario dodged, but his hammer was destroyed on impact. Mario pulled out a shiny tail and a POW block. He absorbed the tail and floated toward me. I attempted to kick him across the face, but Mario dodged and countered with a tail-swipe to MY face! Mario floated up a little higher, then ground-pounded onto of me, crashing me to the ground. He threw the POW block into the floor, and the shockwave threw me back up. I felt dizzy, as the vibrations rang in my skull. Mario’s tail wore off, then he absorbed an ice flower. He threw four ice balls at me, but I was too dizzy to dodge, and they all hit me, freezing parts of my flesh. The ice flower wore off, and the frost on my skin melted. I laughed.

“All right! Enough. It was fun while it lasted...but your feeble attacks have grown tiresome. Let’s CUT to the climax! Ha haaa!” I exclaimed. I grabbed my swords and slowly unsheathed them. I glared into Mario eyes. Finally, it was time to DESTROY Mario, and take REVENGE for my family! “Guarding is useless! This is the end for you, you despicable fiends! FAREWELL!” 

I flew back and latched my blades together. Mario’s doom is now. This was the FINAL CUT! For The Missile Maestro! For The Elastic Entertainer! For The Disco Devil! For The Shifty Sticker! For The Fanged Fastener! FOR KING OLLY! And for myself...This is IT!

I zoomed at Mario. I closed my blades together, but MARIO JUMPED OVER IT?! I turned around and saw Mario land. My rage consumed me. I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A powerful green aura erupted from my body. My eyes glowed and flamed so brightly. Even my blades had their own auras. My hatred became too strong, I had lost full control. I rushed at Mario with uncontrollable speed. I repeatedly tried to slice him with my blades. I heard both Mario and Olivia panicking. Mario could barely keep up with dodging my attacks. I even heard Bowser freaking out. 

Eventually, Mario fell too far behind. I swung both my blades, and they cut straight through him, slicing him in half and removing his head. I watched Mario’s body fall apart. I straightened up, then froze. I was still furious. I did it, why couldn’t I calm down? I heard Olivia weeping to the side, then I locked my gazed on her. She stared at me with fearful, watered eyes. She was involved with the deaths of my siblings. I had to kill her too. I dashed at her and swung my blades, but she too dodged, then ran and hid behind Bowser’s throne. I rushed at her and sliced the throne in two, scaring Olivia senseless. 

Before I finished her, I heard a certain sound behind me. I turned around and saw a 1-up mushroom absorb into Mario. Next thing I knew, Mario was standing up with no wounds. My rage was still erupting out of me. I charged at him and slashed my blades. Mario dodged and whipped out another POW block, then threw it into me. The shockwave shook my bones, but my rage let me push through it. When I looked at Mario, Olivia had just transformed into the Ice Vellumental. She blew a massive ice beam at me and froze my legs in ice. I couldn’t moved them, I couldn’t fly, I couldn’t escape! Olivia smashed her hands down, and the ice shattered, mangling my legs. I collapse onto me knees. I couldn’t walk. I was bleeding. It suddenly hit me that this most likely is my end. Olivia transformed back to herself than stood behind Mario. Then, Mario gained the 1000-fold arms. My anger was extinguished immediately, and fear took over. My eyes widened as Mario grabbed me and slammed me into a wall. He pressed me against the wall with one arm, and took hold of one of my blades with the other. I knew I was done for. Mario drove that blade straight into my stomach. All my breath was taken away. Mario released me and pulled the blade out, and I collapsed to the floor. I felt so weak. All my rage, my energy, my strength, gone. 

I looked up and watched Mario smash the spool of the green streamer. My eyes flooded with tears. I failed! I FAILED! How could I have failed?! I used all my will, all my fury, everything, but I still failed. I failed to protect the streamer, I failed the avenge my siblings. I failed...

“Great job as usual, Mario! That was the last streamer. We’ve done it!” Olivia shouted. 

My heart just sank. I was so lost in agonizing thoughts. I zoned out. I don’t remember what they said, or what happened, but when I snapped back and looked up, I saw Mario, Olivia, and Bowser leaving. I was able lift myself up a little bit and took a breath.

“You think yourself a HERO, Mario?!” I screamed. Everyone paused and turned around toward me. “You took EVERYTHING from me! My brothers, my sister, my creations! Do you even understand what you did to me?! WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH?!” My body was growing weaker. I couldn’t hold myself up anymore. Life was draining out of my body. I heard Olivia reply. 

“You guys all threatened the toads’ lives! You all did terrible things to them!” Olivia replied.

“AND you butchered my army AND my son! Even I couldn’t do something so cruel.” Bowser jumped in. 

“You...ruined...us... First, you kill my siblings, then you kill me, and now your going to kill my creator? I loved them! And you are tearing apart our lives! We have feelings just like you, you know? How can you live with yourselves?” I questioned. We had our own lives. We were created for one purpose, but we still treated one another as family. Even King Olly cared about us. The toads neglected Olly, and then these guys come to break us ALL down. Why? 

My thoughts slowly became nothing. My vision was fading. I felt so bitter, but none of it mattered anymore. I never heard an answer from the others. I felt a wave of peace come over me. When I die, I would see my siblings again, and- when the time came- I would see Stapler and Olly again too. We would be united again, and I would feel happy once more. I felt calm.

I’m so sorry, but I’m coming.

[atortoiseinimladris]

To Dwindle With The Night

Summary; Elrond muses over his relationship with the sea, upon realising that he must sunder himself from his children. Rated T, mentions of both scars and death.

The water is cold, bitter winter upon gentle spring that wishes for naught but to recede. Elrond wants to fade away too, he thinks. He wants to watch his silver circlet glimmer as it drowns beneath the sea, wants to become a wispy memory of ages past that not even his Father’s star can make waxing and indulge himself with thoughts of that which he has been denied for too long. Instead, he lingers; ankle deep in the waters, darkened and brooding with the night. Elrond muses that he is much in likeness to the sea; he too is adorned by the shadows of twilight, yet the piercing watchfulness of the stars he can never seem to escape. His thoughts are pitch-dark as night, but stars always wax within them. Elrond has known many stars, but none of them have ever answered his summons for light when they are needed. What is hope, to the child it forsakes time again?

The shingle lashes at his bare feet, held captive by the waves. The pieces of rock scrape at his skin and form willowy, dark scars upon his legs; he watches them detachedly, as though he is not truly a part of himself but merely observing the damage from afar. Clouded grey eyes flicker from trembling legs to the ocean beyond; vast and unknowing. With a slender finger he twists his ring of Sapphire, Vilya, about where it rests dormant upon his hand; he could sink down to his knees and set it gently atop the next broken wave, he supposed. Somehow he knew it would float; the power it held was simply too pure to not be borne up by the seas. Distantly, he wondered if he would drown if he went too. 

He could succumb to the same fate as Sirion; to drift away atop the cradling embrace of the sea and find solace beneath the blanketing waters, where the keen gaze of the starlight could neither follow nor admonish him. Yet his choice had been made, in an Age long past but not forgotten. When the sunlight could still encase his mist-grey eyes, as gentle as the coming of an evening breeze. His choice had been made, so now he would abide by it; his light may be overcast by the night for a time, but the night would eventually pass and he would cease to dwindle. Elrond would be borne Westward by the seas, but he would not sink below the surface.

From his upright position atop his shadowy mare, Elrond’s gaze met the stars as they danced about him, embellishing his ebony hair with glimmering silver. The night encased him, caressing against him like a mother would a sorrowed child. A gentle glow dressed his middle finger with pale blue light, and he found himself uncertain that the past moments had not been some form of test put to his resolve.

As the faint but distinctive form of Imladris greets him as the cantering steed turns past the looming mountain sides, he finds he does not truly care.

[sheliesshattered]

This Isn’t A Ghost Story - Chapter 1

Whouffaldi non-canon AU. 8 chapters, will be about 32,000 words when complete. Rated Mature for heavier themes in later chapters, please contact me privately if you’re worried about triggering topics. Clara Oswald/Twelfth Doctor. Mystery, pining and angst with a happy ending. Available on AO3 under the same username and title. Updates every Friday.

This Isn’t A Ghost Story

Chapter 1: The House

14 November 2014, London

There was a certain amount of irony, Clara reflected, that her first reaction was I’m going to kill him.

Her ‘special friend’ had just cost her the sale of her late grandmother’s house. Again. This had to be roughly the twelfth adorable family or nice couple that had stepped into her ancestral family home only to turn tail and run before they’d even had a chance to hear about the antique hardwood floors or the fully restored kitchen. At this point, he wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore.

The longer the house sat on the market, the fewer calls she was getting to schedule walk-throughs of the property. She was beginning to worry that word of the house’s strangeness was getting around the local real estate community. If things kept up at this rate, she was going to end up permanently saddled with an inheritance whose tax burden she could barely afford, in the form of a one hundred and thirty year old, gorgeous, sprawling, haunted house.

Clara used her key to let herself in through the ornate front door, grumbling under her breath. As soon as she closed the door behind her, the cabinets in the kitchen began to rattle ominously.

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, dropping her purse and keys on the small table in the foyer. “It’s just me.”

The door to one of the bedrooms upstairs slammed shut.

She groaned and buried her face in her hands and counted to ten before looking up again. “Listen, I get that you’re cross with me for bringing people by, but I am beyond livid with you, so let’s skip the part where I yell and you throw things and just agree to be angry with each other in silence, okay?”

The house went quiet in a manner entirely too creepy for her liking. If not for the undercurrent of petulant passive-aggressiveness, she might have actually been scared.

Not that Clara had ever really been scared of the ghost that lived in her Gran’s house. He had never once made her feel unsafe, not since she’d first spoken to him as a small child. But the sudden silence was still unnerving. 

“Well, good,” she said into the preternatural stillness, more to prove to herself that she wasn’t scared than anything else. “It’s nice to actually be able to hear myself think, for a change.”

The top step of the staircase creaked once, as if to make a point.

“Still shut up,” she grumbled.

She went about the short list of tasks she’d come to see to, putting away the food she’d set out for the potential home buyers, watering the plants, closing the curtains, and flicking on a few lamps to make the house look lived-in. Of course, she didn’t envy anyone who tried to break into the house while it sat apparently empty. At some level, a poltergeist was better home protection than a dog could ever be. 

Her chores complete, Clara returned to the foyer to find her purse where she’d left it, but her keys conspicuously missing. She sighed, hands on her hips, and turned towards the cold spot she could feel forming near the foot of the stairs. He was nothing but a faint wispy outline in the direct light of the setting sun filtering through the stained glass window over the front door, but even that outline was familiar enough that Clara was able to find his eyes and fix him with a displeased glare.

“Where are my keys?” she demanded. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his behaviour earlier, and she was in no mood to play find-the-lost-trinket tonight.

“I didn’t want you to leave before I could apologise,” the ghost said, not quite meeting her gaze. His voice raised gooseflesh along her arms, as usual, but she much preferred the low rumble of his Scottish brogue to the slamming of doors and rattling of cupboards. Not that she would ever openly admit that to him.

“So apologise and tell me where you’ve hidden my keys!”

“Clara,” he said, and she clenched her teeth against the shivery reaction she always had to the way he said her name, like it had been invented just so he could say it. There were days when she lived for that rush — and many, many lonely nights, in her love-struck teenaged years — but today was absolutely not one of them.

“...Was there more to that sentence?” she asked when he didn’t go on. “Saying my name does not constitute an apology.”

He glanced up at her, looking increasingly solid as the sunlight waned. “I’m sorry I upset you. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No, your intention was to make certain I can’t sell this house, and don’t bother to deny it.”

He chewed his incorporeal lip for a moment, then shrugged. “I won’t deny it. I don’t want you to sell the house. But I’m still sorry I upset you.”

Clara sighed. “I have to sell it. You know this. And someday, someone too brave or too stupid to fall for all your clattering will decide to buy this place, and that’ll be that.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleaded, his eyes glinting blue in the gathering dusk.

“It’s the reality of the situation, so you’d best start making peace with it,” she said evenly. Another irony not lost on her: arguing the state of reality with a man dead nearly a century. “Now, where are my keys?”

Her ghost hesitated. “You don’t have to leave,” he said. “You could stay?”

“I never stay the night in this house. That was your advice to me, more than twenty years ago. No sense in breaking with tradition.”

“I think maybe I was being overly paranoid at the time.”

“And I think maybe you’re acting like a lonely old man now,” Clara snarked back.

“Alone in a house that you of all people are dead-set on evicting me from? I can’t imagine why I’d be lonely!” 

“It’s not like you’re stuck here! You’re not tied to the house, you can go anywhere you want!”

“But it’s my house!”

“Keys, now!” she snapped. “Traffic is already going to be horrendous—”

“All the more reason to stay,” he said petulantly.

“But,” she went on forcefully, speaking over him, “tomorrow’s Saturday, so I have the day off work. If you tell me where my keys are, I’ll come back first thing in the morning. I still need to finish going through all those old boxes in the attic. We can spend the day working on that together, okay?”

“You’re going to drive all the way home only to turn around and come back in the morning? Why not just—”

“Or I could spend the day doing something fun with people my own age, very far away from here,” she bluffed. “Your choice.”

“Oh, fine,” he said, shoulders sagging. “Your keys are hidden in the parlour, I’ll show you where.”

“Thank you,” she said mildly, and followed him into the next room.

--

As promised, Clara arrived back at her grandmother’s house early the next morning, take-away coffee cup in hand. There had been a moment, whilst she stood in the queue to order, when she’d found herself thinking she ought to get two coffees, bring her ghost a peace offering to smooth over their row from the night before. Thankfully she’d realised how ridiculous that sounded before it was her turn to order, but she still felt strangely off balance as she unlocked the front door and let herself in, like she had forgotten something important.

“Hey,” she called to the empty house, as soon as she closed the door behind her. “It’s just me, no need to go rattling the hinges on my account.”

Her ghost appeared in a shadowy corner of the foyer, smiling at her shyly. “Good morning, my Clara,” he said. “You look lovely today. Have you had a wash?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, trying to ignore the somersaulting of her heart at the way he said her name. My Clara. “Why are you being nice?”

“Because it works on you,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “And because I really am sorry about yesterday,” he added.

“Well, apology accepted,” Clara said. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you. The process of selling this place has been entirely too stressful, and I’m really starting to worry it won’t happen before the property taxes are due,” she sighed.

He ran a semi-transparent hand through the short curls at the back of his head, the ring he wore on his left hand briefly catching the light. “Yeah, about that...”

She winced. “What did you do?”

“The post came early today,” he said, voice even more apologetic than before. “I didn’t open it, but one of the envelopes has a rather official looking return address. I put it on the dining room table for you.”

She left her keys and purse on the table by the door and trudged off to the dining room, unable to contain her groan when she saw the envelope in question. Opening it, she found that he was right: property taxes were due in six weeks, the total even higher than she had anticipated. It was more than she made in a month at her teaching job. Even with the small amount she had stashed away in savings, she would hardly be able to pay it and the rent on her flat, and still expect to feed herself.

“What about the rest of your inheritance?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“I put it all into fixing up this place to sell,” she said.

“Which I’ve made impossible,” he murmured.

Clara covered her face with her hands, trying not to cry and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Yes, he was the reason she hadn’t been able to sell the house to any of the dozen or so buyers who had shown initial interest. But he was also the only one in her life who even knew or cared what she was going through.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she told him honestly, still hiding behind her hands. “If I don’t pay it, they’ll just add late fees on top of that already ridiculously large sum. If I can’t sell the house soon...”

She felt a cold touch drift across the back of her hands, felt her hair stir in a nonexistent breeze, and wished, not for the first time in her life, that her ‘special friend’ was the sort of friend who could offer a hug when she so desperately needed one.

“I don’t suppose there’s a secret stash of diamonds in the attic?” she asked him, only half joking. “Or a map to buried treasure?”

“You are descended from a line of exceptionally adventuresome women,” he replied, voice sounding distant and thoughtful. “I haven’t been up to the attic in years. I don’t know what all is in there, but anything is possible.”

Clara dropped her hands from her face and squared her shoulders, not looking at her ghost until she was certain she wouldn’t spontaneously burst into tears. “Well, let’s hope there’s something up there that will help.”

--

The attic had never been Clara’s favourite place in her Gran’s house, cramped and dusty and full of ancient boxes that gave off a far creepier vibe than the literal ghost had ever managed to do. But on the plus side, it was also windowless, dim enough that he was able to appear to her in a fairly solid state and even move lightweight objects as though he were a real person existing in the real world.

She had removed the larger pieces from the attic weeks ago, furniture and blanket chests and trunks of old clothing, all sorted through and donated to charity or brought back to her flat, or else restored to the best of Clara’s ability and set out to decorate the house in a manner befitting its age. All that remained were boxes of keepsakes, photographs and journals and old letters, small family things that required far more of her attention to sort through. 

Despite the lingering threat of the taxes due, it was a pleasant morning, sitting together amidst the papers and dust, slowly uncovering the history of her family, layer on layer, like an archaeologist digging through levels of sediment. Her Gran had spent her entire life in this house, from the time she was a baby, used it as a homebase during her adventurous youth, married and raised her own daughter in it, and continued to live in it after her husband died. The boxes that littered the attic bore witness to all those many decades.

“Oh my god, these photos of Mum,” Clara said, turning the yellowed album towards her ghost so he could see them, in all their early 1970s glory. “She must have been, what, about fifteen in these?”

“Ellie’s first formal school dance,” he confirmed, leaning in to examine the photos. “With that older boy, I forget his name. Your grandfather did not approve.”

Clara snorted. “Can’t say I blame him. Look at those sideburns. I’m not sure I would have let her go out with him at all.”

“They had a huge row about it, if I remember correctly. In the end, your grandmother took your mother’s side, and she was allowed to go.”

“Why didn’t you ever appear to any of them?” she asked, flipping through the pages and pausing to linger on what looked to be polaroids of a rugby game. “You were here all that time, but you never talked to anyone until I came along?”

He shrugged. “You were the only one that was you.”

“Thanks. That clears it right up.”

“It’s the only answer I’ve got,” he objected.

“I scared the daylights out of Mum and Gran when I told them about you, I was probably all of six years old at the time.”

“Five, I think,” he said quietly.

“God, five. I might have a heart attack if my five year old started talking very confidently about her special friend the ghost that lives at Gran’s house.”

“I seem to remember advising you against telling them.” 

“And in all the time you’ve known me, when have I ever taken your advice?” she asked archly.

“Hmm. There was that one time you actually listened to me, about that chap you were dating, what’s-his-name.”

Clara winced, remembering it all too well. “I thought we agreed never to speak of him again.”

“Gladly,” her ghost replied emphatically.

She shook her head, more than happy to dismiss the subject. “As a child it didn’t make sense to me not to tell Mum and Gran about you. You live in Gran’s house, the house where Mum grew up, I just assumed they already knew about you. I mean, why wouldn’t they?”

“I’m not sure I could have talked to them, even if I’d wanted to. And I never did want to.”

Clara turned her gaze to him, studying his face in the dimness. Without direct sunlight, he looked almost human, almost alive, the blue of his eyes and the salt and pepper of his hair appearing so very real, so very close at hand. He still seemed as ageless to her now as he had when she was a child. Ageless and ancient, wise and funny, solemn and sardonic. She thought perhaps she knew his face better than any other, living or dead.

“But why didn’t you ever want to talk to them?” she pressed.

“Why do you need a key to enter the house?” he asked in response.

She felt her eyebrows come together in consternation. “Because the door is locked.”

“But why that key?”

“Because... that’s the key that fits. That’s the key that goes with that lock.”

He shrugged, most of his attention on the page of the journal he’d been perusing. “You are the key that fits. I can’t give you a better answer than that.”

--

Chapter 2: The Box

[fuwafuwamedb]

The King’s Dumu Lugal Pt 13 (CasGil, Hakuno)

Previously: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 , 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12

____

“Gil?”

He could sense her like a limb, feeling her close to his side before he turned around. The city that they had arrived in, the world of golden splendor and rich colors, had become their home for the time being. Today would be their first time venturing out, their attire covering their human features compared to these strangers that stood around them.

Turning around, he felt his breath stop.

“I think this is the first time I’ve gotten you to make that face,” she teased, standing before him in the white fabrics that looked like they belonged to that Roman emperor they’d met before. Her brown hair was curling around her shoulders, her fringe threatening to fall over her eyes as she looked up at him with those golden brown eyes of hers. More than anything, he saw his necklace around her neck, his traveling king’s necklace that he’d set upon her after their night of sexual escapades.

“Uruk jewelry suits you,” he forced out, pressing his hands to the windowsill of the train.

“And that’s the first compliment I think I’ve ever gotten from you. Are you feeling alright, Gil? Is the humidity getting to you?”

Her gloved hand met his forehead, but he didn’t let it linger.

No, rather- he clasped it with his own and began to lead her down to their train compartment for the journey.

“You’re being a fool, Hakuno. I give you what compliments are due.”

“Do you? What compliments have you given?”

“If you cannot remember then why should I care to tell you any further? Are you looking to become like that fool, Rin? Are you so incapable of being as you are, free from the burden of requiring compliments to support any ego you may possess?”

She pulled him to a stop as more of the shadowy figures passed on the train. Her magic helped to remain concealed from their attentions, just as it had for the hotel and their lives thus far in this place.

“I still don’t get why we don’t just take Vimana.”

“Pleasure, Hakuno. We do this for pleasure. Why use our own resources when we can utilize this world’s own?”

“You are my pleasure. This is just superfluous.”

Gilgamesh opened his eyes, staring up at the canopy over his head.

He was her pleasure.

Ah, but his little woman could say that so well to him. What he needed was for her to say that again. Once more, just for him.

Looking to the pillows at his side, he found nothing of her presence. Merely the slightest indentation showed that anyone had been there, although the crease was deep and large enough to no doubt be his own.

“Hakuno!”

“We’re in here!”

Caster moved to stand up, grabbing his bathrobe from behind the door and noting the empty crib. He could see Hakuno pacing in the living room, rocking the young boy in her arms as she went.

“Hakuno, it’s still nighttime.”

“Ur was beginning to wake up and starting to make noises. He was about to cry when I went to him.” She waved a hand. “Go on back to bed. I’ll come back in a bit.”

She would not come back and they both knew that. She was barely dressed, wearing only his establishment vacation shirt at the moment. Her hair was tied back sloppily, her eyes rimmed in fatigue.

“Do you do this often?”

“He is little,” she told him simply.

“Let me see the boy.”

The moment he reached for the boy, he found her pulling away, her arms pressing him closer to her chest. The shift gave him a better view now.

She was comfort nursing.

“Hakuno-“

“It’s fine, Gil. Go back to bed.”

“The boy is old enough to be having mashed food. He doesn’t need to-“

“He’s fine, Gil,” she told him again, her voice growing firmer.

He was fine. That was true. However, Hakuno was not. The woman was swaying slightly. Her eyes kept threatening to close as she held their son to herself more and murmured to him about how good he was.

Once more, he had to remember that she was unaccustomed to help. Gudako and the others had done a great disservice to the woman by isolating her and leaving the boy to her care alone. A babysitter could only help in such a way.

“Hakuno,” Caster addressed, softening his voice now. His hands reached out, slowly, going for her back rather than the child now. He could feel her brown hair tickling at her neck, teasing his hands as he began to rub soothing circles just there.

“Go back to sleep,” she tried again.

“I cannot sleep without my wife,” he murmured. “I need my beautiful woman who suits Uruk jewelry in my bed.”

The small smile looked forced, but he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers.

“Sit with me on the sofa at least. Let me hold you while our son soothes his own night hour blues away.”

“Gil-“

He kissed her again, soft, fleeting kisses. They quelled her arguments into dormancy, leaving her trailing after him as he guided her path to the plush cushions of the sofa. He lowered himself to the seating first, bringing her into his arms and rewarding her tired presence with more of those longer, lovelier lip locks that she seemed so fond of.

This was not how he had imagined the early morning hours, considering that the clock on the mantel in the room flashed a three in the morning time at them.

“He needed me,��� Hakuno murmured.

“He is a baby, he needs both his parents. Since he is from me, I will warn that he will no doubt need you until you are on your death bed. I find time to pray to my mother each evening, sometimes several times in a day.”

“Hmm?”

“Did I not mention it before? My mother is a goddess.”

“I… I didn’t think you prayed at all,” she confessed.

Caster flicked at her forehead.

“Gil!”

“Do you think I lack principle? She gave me life. She did what she could for me at any time I had need of her. I pay my dues as all sons do. Ur will be no different. I imagine he’ll cling to your ankles when I go to teach him magic.”

“He doesn’t need to learn magic.”

He would, but that was an argument for another night.

Caster pulled the woman in more, his lips finding her neck. “You need rest, Hakuno.”

“I rest better with Ur close.”

“You make me tempted to force my master to take you away for an obligatory few hours each day for resting and doing something elsewhere in Chaldea.”

“Absolutely not. I did having you babysit. You took Ur to Uruk.”

Did they not review this?

It was the means to an end and have gone over perfectly. She had managed what she had needed in that time and would have been unable to help if she had stopped. The smell alone that Hakuno had possessed had been a good sign that his decision had been fore the best.

“You have to trust me, Hakuno.”

“I trust you.”

Did she?

Gilgamesh glanced at Ur again, noting his head leaning against her chest. Almost sensing it, he turned his gaze up to see her watching him, knowing without words what he was thinking.

That bemused stare trying to sear him into inaction did nothing.

“This is our child,” he pointed out, running a hand over Ur’s back and pulling Hakuno closer. “Yours and mine. That means that when he makes a mistake, it is also my mistake. When he speaks ill, it is also I who speaks ill.”

“He is still learning though. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“True, but I have this woman, this wife, you see.” He pressed his lips to hers again, pulling Ur a little closer to himself. “She thinks she’s all alone in this, far too accustomed to being the martyr for our boy. She fails to see that Ur is our son. There are nights where I should be the one climbing to their feet and pacing around the living room.”

The boy made a happy sigh, those red eyes opening only for a moment as he pulled him from her arms.

“You should be admiring your boys, the man whom you took pleasure in and the son you dared to give to this world, and should be more selfish.”

“I’m selfish by wanting you both with me.”

Ah, but that was selfless, since all she did was give, wasn’t it?

He pulled the blanket down from the back of the couch, wrapping it around Ur and cooing to him as Hakuno rested against his side. Her hands brushed back the wispy blond hairs from the boy’s head, her voice gentle as she praised him.

“Tomorrow night, should he cry, you need to awaken me.”

“You died from a lack of sleep, Gil. I heard it from Gudako.”

“And you’re still alive. Isn’t that convenient?” He stole those lips, nipping the lower one as he pulled back. “From dusk until dawn, Ur’s actions are my responsibility.”

“What about during the day?”

“I suppose the diapers may be yours. Since you are so adamant on coddling him.”

The bickering ensued, entertaining in their own way until she closed those eyes of hers and began to drift off. He had to pull the two close, carrying them back to bed and setting Hakuno down so he could pull Ur from her arms and set him back in his crib.

The boy was quite happy, spoiled beyond all measure.

He rocked the crib when he awakened for breakfast. Looking through his gates, he found the dress he had dreamed of Hakuno wearing.

Had there been no blood staining it, he’d have let her wear it.

What happened, he wondered to himself again.

“Gil?”

He kicked the dress beneath the bed, pulling out a set of robes from Uruk and smirking proudly.

“What’s this?”

“Today is breakfast with all of Chaldea,” he declared, smirking. “Get dressed, Hakuno. You’ve hidden away with Ur for long enough.”

[simplysnexual]

Got inspired by @doctor492 ‘s SCP!au with Erasermic! I don’t often post my stories so have mercy! I took some creative liberties with their abilities and such. I’m also not terribly educated when it comes to all the SCP lore. 

Excerpts from a guard’s journal.

Day 1

My first day in this sector of the facility. There are 4 keter class anomalies in this sector. Two of which I am in charge of dealing with. These two are kinda...humanoid in appearance but I have yet to see more than quick glances. Training is extensive in this sector as one wrong move either means death or worse: the escape of a dangerous creature. Training has mostly been computerized and kinda boring. Can't wait to get to the hands on stuff. 

Day 5

Finally onto some interesting stuff. I’ve had my first encounter with the SCP nicknamed Eraserhead. He...well I suppose it, though it does have a masculine body type. Plus its kinda weird calling such a humanoid creature an it so I’ll just say him. Anyway, he is a shadowy figure that appears to be made of an ever shifting inky mass. He has bright, misty yellow “eyes.” These eye-like features could be something else entirely their own but appear to act like eyes, blinking and fixating on whatever his attention is on. White cloth-like ribbons float around him constantly like thin snakes writhing in the air. Wispy outlines that look like hair also frame his head and face. I don't know much else about Eraserhead but I’m excited to learn more.

Day 7

First encounter with the “Voice Demon.” Yet another humanoid anomaly, this one more so than Eraserhead. The Voice Demon appears to be a 6’1” white male with long blonde hair. The most jaring and notably inhuman feature is its mouth. A wide maw stretches past the normal stretch of a human mouth, wrapping around all the way to its ears. Its, well I’d called this one a he too. He has lacerations around his throat that appear to have been stitched up and plucked at only to be stitched again. I don’t know for sure but I believe those injuries were inflicted by the Foundation…

Day 10

Something rather interesting happened today. On my usual rounds to check on the anomalies, I discovered Eraserhead standing at the plexi glass window of his containment unit. Mirroring him on the other side of the hall was the “Voice Demon.” The demon’s spirling green eyes seemed softer than his usual jaring glare. As could be said for Eraserhead. But shortly after they noticed my presence, they went back to the darker corners of their units. 

Day 12

I’ve finally found out more about my two favorite SCPs. Turns out Eraserhead has the ability to not only control the writhing ribbons around him, but can also erase one function of the human body, such as the respiratory system or cardiac system. Pretty scary stuff right? A few guards have fallen to this creature’s abilities. I guess I have to be wary not to piss him off huh? As for the Voice Demon, his name is very fitting. His voice can reach beyond 177 decibels, a range passing which is dangerous to humans. This level of sound can burst cells in your lungs, shake your bones and even cause long term damage to your joints. I believe the facility tried to sever his vocal chords but found that not to be the source of his ability. I’ve yet to hear (hehe) of his ability being used or how they keep him from using it. 

Day 16

First incident on my shift, A fellow guard wasn’t being so careful around Eraserhead’s unit. There's an existing rule that you don’t stick around the plexi glass viewing window of his unit. Apparently this guy forgot or didn’t listen to the warning. Dude’s respiratory system shut down and I found him after hearing his gasping wheezes. The SCP medical team took him away. I’m not sure where to but I have a feeling it wasn’t to a hospital…

Day 18

Caught my favorite two charges interacting across the hall again. I hid around the corner to see what they did away from prying eyes. They seemed to be making gestures to each other and after a bit I noticed the Voice Demon fogging up the glass with his breath and drawing things, cats and flowers and the like. Eraserhead’s yellow slits of eyes squinted like how mine do when I smile. Strange...but endearing. Humanizing almost... 

Day 21

Found out what the Voice Demon’s smile looks like...Seems I made him laugh, not sure I can call it that but I’m guessing it was a laugh. I tripped on my idiot coworkers spilled coffee and kissed the floor. Once the Voice Demon made his laugh like noise, I turned to him and saw his lips had curved up and his eyes squinted. Eraserhead matched his squinting. I couldn’t help but smile myself...heh I guess I’m just as strange huh? Smiling at the strange and deadly creatures I guard from the world everyday. But hey it’s the little things that remind you of your humanity when you’re stuck in sterile white hallways all the time.

Day 25

A few guards went into Voice Demon’s unit to try to draw blood or something. Most came out with bleeding ears. Two came out in body bags after a gas filled the room to incapacitate the creature. I’m beginning to doubt the Foundation’s care for its employees…

Day 26

After reviewing the security footage of yesterday’s incident, I noticed the shifting form and writhing ribbons of Eraserhead had increased in their violent motion. His inky, ever-moving form had gone rough around the edges and his ribbons whipped as if in a tornado. Almost like...he was upset?  Angered that his neighbor, maybe even his friend was hurt?

Day 31 

Eraserhead and the Voice Demon are definitely friends of some sort. Yes I know I’m not supposed to humanize the anomalies but I can’t help myself. Their interactions continue and grow in complexity and frequency. It's kinda endearing to be honest. I don’t see much friendly interaction in this place. I feel just as trapped as they do sometimes…

Day 40

My first interaction with the Voice Demon. Guess I pissed off the facility or something cuz they sent me in ALONE to try to draw blood. I’d pretty much accepted my death sentence the second the doors closed behind me. But to my surprise the creature looked at me...curiously? I knelt down to try to seem less threatening and spoke to him like I would a scared child, like my siblings when they hid from a storm. Across the hall I caught a glimpse of Eraserhead’s form shifting violently again. I sat cross legged for a while, slowly trying to coax him over. I couldn’t believe it when the creature approached me and extended his arm for me. I held his wrist like I had when my little sister scraped her elbow. I spoke softly like I had to her as I took the Voice Demons blood, totally unaware of why but fixated on the sentience in his eyes. 

Day 45

The facility sent me into Eraserhead’s unit after my success with the Voice Demon. They didn’t send me for blood, I don’t even know if he has blood?? I think they sent me in for the hell of it, to watch a keter class at work or see what this one did with a human actually in his unit not just outside his window. Turns out, not much. The creature merely stared me down before shifting away and turning his back on me. Without anything really interesting happening for a good while, the high ups let me back out. I’m just as much contained as they are these days. I haven’t been allowed to leave since the interaction with the Voice Demon. But I can’t find it in myself to regret it.

Day 50

I don’t trust this place anymore. The staggering number of guards lost in a month is beyond what could be just “accidents.” The measures they go to “contain” these creatures they label monsters are beyond what’s right. Nearly worse than what the creatures do themselves. A place which considers beating what I could nearly call a person into submission just doesn’t seem right.

Day 51

I treated the Voice demon’s wounds today. He seemed sedated as I worked with him as gently as I could. I talked softly to him, about nothing in general but just to give him some comfort, something to focus on. My heart nearly stopped when I heard his voice. It was only a soft. “Thank you.”. His voice was soft but raspy from lack of use. I met his gaze and that’s when I made my decision. I’m getting them out of here. Him and Eraserhead. After all, what use is it freeing a lone creature to face the world outside without a friend?

Day 55

This Foundation is run by idiots. All this secretive crap covers up their incompetence. But this plan isn’t going to go through without sacrifice. It’s worth it. Without my family around to need me anymore I’m happy to die for a good reason. I’ve faced death before just for this stupid Foundation’s fun. Tomorrow during shift change I’m cutting the power on the sector where Eraserhead and the Voice Demon reside. It’ll be just long enough for the locks to fail and let them escape. I hope they get far away from this hell hole and pathe their way in the outside world. And maybe….just maybe, remember me fondly.

This was the last entry written in the young man’s journal. SCP guard Scarleton lay dying in the glistening blood pooling around him. The red flashing of alarms briefly illuminating the hall in intervals. His dying sight was the Voice Demon’s toxic green eyes spilling over with tears as he grasped the only guard, hell the only human to treat him like anything other than a monster. One more little smile found the man’s lips as he showed his blood stained teeth, eyes sliding closed. “Go on….be free.” He let out a wet laugh and went still. A shifting black form took the arm of the green eyed creature and drug him away to follow through on the guard’s dying words.

[realfuurikuuri]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Mao Mao: Heroes of Pure Heart (Cartoon) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Mao Mao/Tanya Keys, Mao mao/badgerclops AN:  We are here again my undoubted friends. You know how these things go, the personal updates are that I finished SMT IV and started SMT IV: Apocalypse which is good 'cause Atlas RPGs are always fun. I've noticed we've gone a bit of time without an action set piece, so I threw one in here for good measure. Also for those that left comments on my NSFW fanfic, it turns out I turned on manually approve comments, so... whoops. As always follow @spookylovesboba on Tumblr and enjoy the chapter.

Direct Link: XXXX

Chapter Below the cut

Mao Mao dug through the closet, looking for the white suit that he was certain he put somewhere. It shouldn’t have been that hard to find. It was pure white, dammit! He tossed capes and sashes to the ground, digging through the endless pile of junk. He tossed Badgerclops’ tools out the way, pushed aside some of Adorabat’s toys, and wondered where the bathrobe that belonged to none of them even came from.

“Badgerclops! Are you sure my suit was in here,” he yelled to the other room.

“Yeah, I’m sure I saw it in there.”

“Well, it's not here.”

“I don’t know why you’re stressin’ about it. The plays’ not ‘till tonight I’m sure you’ll find it.”

“I’m not stressing about it. I want to iron it first.”

“I don’t know how long you think it takes to iron things, but it definitely doesn’t take 7 hours.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’m pretty sure I do.”

Ding-Dong!

“Mao Mao, someone's at the door.”

“And you’re in the living room. Answer it.”

Mao screamed his frustrations into the bathrobe before throwing it aside. He didn’t understand how Badgerclops could be so lax about this. She’d already been dropped off, and the silence her absence left made Mao Mao feel anxious. Adorabat’s play was in seven hours, and a lot could go wrong in seven hours. The house could burn down, the Sky Pirates could attack or-

“Hey, Mao Mao you’re gonna wanna come here.”

“I’m busy. Who is it?”

“I don’t know. He’s pretty tall, wearing gold… says he’s your dad.”

-his dad could make a surprise visit again. What could he want? He wanted the finger back, obviously, but what else? His next thought was that he wanted to apologize. Mao Mao quickly dismissed that thought, but he slowly brought it back around. Everything he thought he knew about his father had been turned around. Maybe he actually did want to apologize. Mao Mao rose to his feet, huffed, and slammed the closet shut. If papa wanted to apologize then the only question to ask was how would he fuck it up this time?

It was then that a thought struck Mao Mao like a bolt from the blue. Why should I forgive him even if he doesn’t fuck it up? His first instinct was to come up with an argument against it but found nothing of any worth, yet he still pushed the idea aside.

He stepped in the living room, finding his papa standing just outside the door frame, lest he breaks it again. The first thing Mao Mao noticed was his armor. Normally kept pristine and shining had scratches and dents marring its facade. It wasn’t even waxed. Had hadn’t returned home, had he?

Mao Mao fought back the urge to ask what he was doing here. Mao Mao pushed past Badgerclops, stepping onto his porch, and closing the door behind him.

“Son,” Shin Mao said.

Mao Mao ignored the question. He reached into his sash flicking the broken finger towards his father. “This is what you came for, right?”

“Part of it, yes.”

“Of course it was,” Mao Mao spat.

“That’s not-,” papa took a deep breath to get control of his voice,” that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean? ‘Cause everything you say and does tell me that you don’t!”

“I came here to apologize!”

“Oh my god! We literally had this exact conversation a week ago. I bring up all your problems and you deny and deny and deny!”

“Well, I’m trying to own up to it now!”

“And it still doesn’t mean shit!”

The door was thrown open. “And that is enough of you two,” Badgerclops yelled.

Neither of them heard Badgerclops. They kept arguing.

“I get it,” papa screamed,” I get that I’ve made mistakes! What do you want me to do to make it up to you.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” he yelled back.

Their voices rising higher and higher, so high that it wasn’t even words anymore. Just pointless screaming. Again, a thought wiggled its way into his head. Why should I forgive him? It stood above papa’s voice and even his own. It was just an infuriating mess of noise inside and out. At first, he gave in to his rage and grasped for the hilt of Geraldine before thinking better of it. He ignored the shouting, got onto the aerocycle, and left.

* * *

Despite taking his leave Mao Mao felt no calmer. His knuckles ached,

He could hardly drive straight, so he landed at a small clearing in the forest. Everything irritated him. The bird’s singing, the cool breeze, the fragrance of the pine forest. He sat on a large boulder to gather himself. His father would leave sooner or later. Then he would go back home and- Dammit! Adorabat still had her play and he still hadn’t ironed his clothes or even find them. Mao Mao sighed. Whatever. Badgerclops was right, there was still time to waste.

The maddening chain of thoughts kept going. His mind turned from one problem to another, from one mistake to another. The terrible thoughts shared no connecting theme. Sometimes it was how he embarrassed himself as an adult, other times it was the mistakes he made as a child. It made his throat feel rather dry rather quickly. Maybe it was the devil’s luck that he had nothing to drink. However, he did have Geraldine.

Mao Mao took his sword and swung at the nearest tree. The tree crashed down to the floor with a single slice. Mao Mao examined the stump with displeasure. Despite only taking one slash the cut wasn’t very clean. The wood was jagged and frayed at the edges. Not sure what he expected considering he let proper maintenance fall to the wayside.  When was the last time he took his care of his sword? It was nearly two months; around the time Jǐngtì first showed up if he remembered right. That was when his life really turned into an entire pile of shit, wasn’t it?

Mao Mao took to running his sword along the edge of the boulder he once sat on. To his surprise, the rock worked rather well as a sharpening stone. It had a nice grain that matched his sword well. Maybe he should remember this spot, or better yet take a piece of the rock for himself.

Mao Mao held his sword backhanded and swung it through the tip of the boulder, taking a nice chunk of it. That was when the ground began to shake. Mao Mao struggled to gain footing as the dirt cracked and exploded out as the boulder grew larger and larger and larger, towering over him in a wispy mass of shadow.

That was no boulder! It was a monster.

The monster was utterly massive, even by monster standards. Its loose shape only contained in the bony protrusions that he thought were rocks. Mao Mao barely shook off his shock in time to dodge a swipe from its wings. He stared at the terrible gash in the ground where he once stood. How many hits could he take before dying? If he hadn’t just gotten out of the hospital he might actually be able to tank a hit. Like this, a glancing hit might kill him.

A beast with strength like that could only be dodged. And dodge he did. He ducked under swipes and leaped over attacks, holding a half-sharp Geraldine in his only hand. He stepped out the way of another attack and retaliated with a quick slash. It chipped the stone-like edges of its wings.

There was no point in striking its exterior. He’d have to go for the shadowy flesh.  He rolled over one of the slashes, using the momentum to toss himself towards the monster. He left a nasty gash across the beast, but something was wrong. It felt like he was cutting through a thick cloud of smoke. He landed and immediately jumped away from another attack. He clung to a tree watching the gash get filled in by more shadowy mass. Did he do any real damage? How many more hits would it take?

Mao Mao leaped back into action. He slashed and slashed, taking entire chunks of the monster, but it was always right as rain in seconds. He, on the other hand, couldn’t keep this up forever. He was a cat, not a monkey, and he couldn’t keep running around like one forever. His entire body felt weak and it was hard to find balance. The sheer pressure of knowing that a single hit would bring him just shy of death was taxing.

Mao Mao remembered a piece of advice he hated. He who runs away lives to run another day. He was ready to leave when he heard a thunderous crash that seemed to shake the world. He hesitated to look over his shoulder, regretting that hesitation immediately. He should’ve just said fuck it and run away.

Amongst the kicked up dirt and dust, amongst the black shadows fading in the wind, was the glorious glint of gold. Papa had found him. Badgerclops was there, too. He watched them argue from the trees. He considered still listening to the hated advice but ignored better judgment, like always.

He sprang from the tree with a stumbling stop, falling to his knees to catch his breath.

Papa, to his credit, rushed to help him to his feet, but Mao Mao forcefully pushed him off. “I don’t need your help,” he spat at his father.

“What were you doing,” Papa asked. “You’re in no shape to be fighting monsters.”

“And you’re in no shape to be acting like a parent.”

“I think we should get him to a hospital,” Papa Badgerclops.

“Hey, fuck you. Don’t talk like I’m not here.”

“Calm down, son.”

“No. I won’t calm down! Every time you’re around you always make me feel… small . You ignored my existence and when you don’t you ignore my feelings and blow them off like they don’t matter. I don’t love you. I don’t care what happens to you, and I don’t want to see you, Shin , ever again.”

“You need to take a minute. You’re obviously delirious. You probably have a concussion.”

“Who cares! Who cares what you think! I’m done caring about what you think,” Mao Mao poured his entire heart into those words, screaming his throat hoarse and raw. “I think you’re a self-serving asshole too obsessed with your ego to realize your mistakes! I think you're so selfish that you honestly think you can suddenly realize your mistake and suddenly expect forgiveness!”

“I think-,” Mao Mao licked his numb lips, stumbling forward as his vision grew blurry, “ -I’m having a stroke.”

Everything went dark as the ground came rushing towards him.

* * *

Mao Mao woke up in a regrettably familiar setting. It was cold, reeked of sterile antiseptic, and home to the closest thing the valley had to a doctor.

“Hey, why am I at Camille’s Tower this time,” he said to no one.

Badgerclops rushed to his side. “You had a stroke, dude.”

“Right… wasn’t that a side-effect of Camille’s medication.”

“If you didn’t watch your blood pressure.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds familiar… hey, it might be the stroke messin’ with my memory, but wasn’t I doin’ somethin’ before I got here.”

“You were getting ready to attend Adorabat’s play.”

Mao Mao nodded along. “Was that before- no, that’s not important. He’s not important.”

Mao Mao stumbled over his words trying to push off the fatigue. “What I mean to ask is if you can tell me the time.”

Badgerclops placed a hand on his chest to keep him from getting up. “Oh no. I know that wide-eyed look. It means you either got the zoomies or about to do something stupid. Same difference really.”  

“I’m fine.”

“You literally had a stroke.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not find.”

“Actually, it does mean you aren’t fine,” Camille corrected from the back.

“I don’t remember asking for the peanut-gallerie's opinion.”

“But the peanut gallery has a point. You can stay here and get better, while I can go attend Adorabat’s play.”

Mao Mao searched the room. There was a window on the far side, but he probably wouldn’t be able to reach it, and he certainly didn’t have an idea what to do once he jumped through it. He sighed, realizing how little options he had left. He gestured for Badgerclops to lean in as he whispered into his ear.

“I know I don’t talk about my childhood for obvious reasons, but did you know that I actually was in a school play. I tried out for the leading role, but ended up playing a bush and -don’t laugh- and I actually handed an invitation to my father to make sure he knew it was happening. You can guess what happened on opening night.

“He wasn’t there,” Badgerclops said.

“Don’t say it out loud. Point is: Going to this play is a very important thing to me. I don’t want to be like Papa… Shin, I mean.”

Badgerclops stood up. He drummed his fingers against the patient’s bed while he thought. “We’ll go to the play.”

Mao Mao swung out of bed to have Badgerclops put his hand on his shoulder. “But, you’re coming back here when we’re done, alright?”

Mao Mao nodded along. He would’ve nodded to anything you said at this point. He was just happy to go.

* * *

Were theatres required to markup ticket prices on showing days? Mao Mao and Badgerclops took their seats as the curtain was drawn. Mao Mao kept his eyes on the stage the entire time, but couldn't remember anything about it. He remembered yawning, leaning against Badgerclops, the ruby pure heart was mentioned somewhere. It was a huddled mess, a confusing blur of time that got lost in his endeavor to just stay awake. Suddenly, everyone started clapping and Mao Mao tried clapping too, alas he forgot he only has one. Adorabat found them soon after the play ended.

“Did you see me,” she asked.

“Yeah, I saw you,” he answered.

[ajanefantasy]

Book Love part 9 - Simm (Rise of Trouble Vol. 3)

Simm - RoT Vol. 3 picks up a couple of months after RoT Vol. 2 ends. Things are moving along. Sari’s gone back to her life in Issin Sound and all that entails and shouldn’t entail, and stealing her professor’s timetell because he left himself open. He deserved it and she probably should have kept it. And Jayd is suffering lectures from his family because apparently that is his life now. He misses his seamaid and, after a rather explicit letter from her, decides he’s waited long enough to return. Besides, he has a promise to keep. And another lecture to avoid. No really, the king is there, and he’s doing all he can to avoid him. Weigh anchor ye fools, weigh anchor. Aye, I know ‘tis the king, weigh anchor! 

The world continues to expand as Sari and Jayd continue their trek towards happily ever after. There are nosy guardians, and insistent spirits, and annoying siblings...who may not be so annoying, and fathers doing unexpected things. There is dance practice to be had, and annoying dance partners who are still vastly annoying. Why are you bothering me, Kittie? Plus celebrations to be had, lectures to suffer, bargains to be made, and lots of pirating to be done, actual pirating. 

And now onward! I introduce:

[Image ID: Image of a three mast ship sailing away from a river inlet and snow capped mountains, with the words Simm Rise of Trouble Volume 3 written across it]

Princess Sari has much upon her mind. Classes about pirates. Dancing. Her father sneaking from the palace. Her twin brother stumbling about. Why is Kittie bothering her? Troublemaking spirits. Pretending she and a certain pirate are not married. Jayd Lightning wants nothing more than to be with Sari. His son wants him to be with Sari. He wished his uncle would leave him be. Wait! Is that a bit of treasure in need of liberating?

Story contains strong language and explicit sex. 107,880 words

Amazon / Smashwords / Kobo / Apple  / BN

Preview of Simm Rise of Trouble Vol. 3 under the cut..

Lightning flashed across the sky, lighting the room in a sudden burst of brilliance. Jayd froze, his body and mind at war. He wanted to fling open the window and join the sky in slinging power about—Yeryl and Zasara he wanted to do that—but he knew Magic was going to come running into the room, frightened, wanting to make certain neither he nor Sari were going to leave him.

As the second strike of lightning bloomed bright, Magic came running into the room as predicted and leapt onto the bed. Sari, who was already sitting up and wearing Jayd’s shirt, prepared as she was after the first flash of lightning, caught Magic and pulled him in close, offering him the comfort he sought.

“All is well, my little love; your papa and I are right here.”

“The storm…”

“’Tis outside and offers us no harm.” She quietly began to hum, wishing to soothe Magic’s anxiety.

“Magic,” Jayd ran a hand over his son’s flyaway hair, “I wish to share something with you. Uncertain I have been how to show you for never would I wish to offer you fright. ‘Tis part of my magik as a Lightning and a part of me, an important part.”

Another strike of lightning and Magic buried himself further against Sari.

“Know you that never would I bring you harm, yes?”

“Mh.” Magic nodded but stayed huddled against Sari.

“Magic, look at me. I would show you something.” When he could see his son’s eyes, he held out his hand and little bits of lightning danced upon his palm. “Lightning, ‘tis a gift of mine.” The bits of lightning arced from his palm to his thumb then from finger to finger before returning to his palm and dancing a jig on the two legs it grew. It was a trick that his own father showed him when he was a lad.

Magic ducked away hiding against Sari, but then slowly turned back hearing and feeling Sari clapping and laughing. He stared at the streaks of light racing around his father’s hand, soon mesmerized and unaware of the strikes of lightning outside.

“Ye have lightning, Papa.”

“I do. ‘Tis a part of me, always has it been. On a night like this, I would open the window and send it out into the sky, to see who could make the better strikes. But never would I frighten you, son.”

“Ye talk like ye do in Berja.”

Jayd laughed. He then took on the parlance of his pirateself. “I am. Methinks I forgot to change after Sari’s papa left.”

“But why would ye be different?”

“Not everyone need know that I be a pirate.”

“Like Uncle Arno?”

“He knows—his mother, my great grandmother was a pirate, just like my grandpapa was, and Aunt Sprite is—but I need be the Titledman for the rest of Berja. That Sari’s papa be a king as well, ‘twas proper for me to be the Titledman with him as I will need be Titledman for much of Artezan since we belong to Sari and she be their princess. But when we are upon the sea, always will we be pirates.”

Magic nodded, a little smile on his face, but just as quickly buried himself back against Sari when a loud clap of thunder rolled overhead. “Stay.”

“We go nowhere, my little love.”

Jayd brushed a hand over his son’s hair, feeling helpless. “Magic, all is well.”

“Mayhap, rogue, you might show Magic just how pretty lightning can be.”

“Aye.”

Leaving the bed, but after putting on a pair of breeches and a warming spell—it was winter after all—Jayd walked over to the wide window and pulled the two sides open, the curtains fluttering dramatically. He breathed deep of the lightning charged air, letting it wash over him. It prickled his skin and dared him to step outside, to dance with the danger. Had it been just he, he might have done so.

He heard his son whimper and looked over his shoulder: Sari had moved to the edge of the bed, Magic still tight in her arms, a blanket wrapped about the two of them to ward off the cold of the night. “Watch your papa, Magic. Right here I am and I go naewhere.”

Thrusting his hand out the window, he built up his magik, let the lightning spark and flurry about his hand. When it felt ready, he flung it towards the sky in an impressive eruption of light. Flaring his fingers wide, he made it bloom, jagged veins spreading out across the sky.

He grinned over his shoulder when Sari clapped and cheered. Magic was staring with the beginnings of awe. Relief filled him, shoving away the fear that he terrorized his child.

“Shall I do it again?” More relief when Magic nodded. “That a lad.”

Jayd once more gathered the magik about his hand and sent it dancing towards the sky. This time he heard two sets of clapping and, with growing confidence, set about working a third strike. By the fifth strike he was starting to get a little fancy with how he was throwing the lightning, buoyed by his son’s cheers.

He was about to send out his seventh strike, his heart rate and breath steady, his fingers not yet tingling, when a slender man—one could almost call him wispy—appeared on the low stone wall surrounding the terrace in a flash of light. Jayd held the lightning; waiting, prepared to send it at the stranger did he dare make a threatening move.

The man hopped down from the wall, an arrogant smirk twisting his lips. He had white blond hair and shadowy skin with patches of pale, which appeared to move as he did. The man wore naught but a white cloth about his hips and Jayd knew not how it stayed on as the wind grabbed at it ruthlessly, let alone how he withstood the cold.

“Are you the fool who dared challenge me?”

“I…I offered no challenge.”

“Sending lightning into the sky while I did so, I take that as a challenge. Did no one teach you any manners, mortal?”

“I wished to show my son that he need not fear storms.”

“Of course he needs fear storms. Storms are things to be feared!” He threw his arms out and lightning flared overhead followed by a loud boom of thunder, chortled at the child’s cry of fear.

“Who are you?” Jayd kept his eyes on the stranger, trusting Sari to keep Magic safe. He wanted to let loose the lightning he held, angered that this man dared frighten Magic. But the bastard called him mortal. He wished not to fight a possible guardian, never would he survive.

‹‹’Tis Father Air’s fool of a son, Arelev. Very few immortals hold any like for him. He is unpredictable, oft volatile, and always a fool. Be most wary of him, my son.››

Arelev snorted. “Mortals, they forget so easily. I am…”

“Leaving.” Nekor grabbed Arelev by the scruff of the neck, made the other man look at him. “’Tis my nephew you threaten and ‘tis not a deed I look kindly upon.”

“He challenged me!”

“No, you eternal fool! Descended he is from The Lightning. The storm drew him and he did what only comes instinctually to his Line, to his Blood. Do you think to threaten he or his family again, my actions will not be so benevolent.” With that, Nekor turned and…

He had thought to throw Arelev into the sky, but changed his mind. With a wave of his hand, he opened a doorway. Beyond stood a giant of a man at a workbench pounding something with a hammer, sparks flying about him, soft grunting noises slipping from his lips with each strike. The man looked over, a frown upon his face, the long scar on his cheek pulled tight. Father Fire used to wear a beard, one that reached beyond his collarbones, which hid the scar, but too often it caught fire as he worked.

“Nekor.”

“Father Fire, I do apologize for the intrusion, but I thought you might care for a bit of company.” He shoved Arelev through the portal. “Mayhap your forge is in need of a boost?”

Father Fire grunted as he brought his hammer down once more, all without looking at what he struck. He stepped back from his bench, large hammer still in hand, and tossed what he was working on into the furnace. He scratched his chin, missing his beard—mayhap a short one would cause no issue—and stared at the heap that was Arelev. Another grunt.

“My forge could indeed use a boost, though I am uncertain of the company. What manner of trouble is he in this time?”

“He thought to threaten his mortal sibling line for daring to compete against him, though ‘twas quite unknown there was competition.”

“Which line?”

“The Lightning’s. The one in question is Önia’s mortal son.”

“The fool does hold an unbecoming ego and an overblown sense of pride. I assume I need not ask whose lightning was best?”

“My nephew has quite a knack, but ‘twas for his son he offered such creativity; the lad holds a fear of storms and he wished to ease his fright.”

Father Fire looked through the portal at the three mortals, the child held tight against the woman, the man standing ready to defend his family. The man was definitely from the House of Lightning with the silver hair at his temples and those lightning-flecked blue eyes. He found himself smiling when the little boy peeked from the woman’s hold with large, wide eyes, but he sensed no fear of him. It had been a time since he was around children. He liked children. But for some reasons the others thought he jested about such a thing. Just because he oft disliked their children meant not he disliked all children.

“My apologies for this fool’s behavior; he thinks too highly of himself.”

Arelev sat up. “He challenged me!”

“Hush, you fool,” Father Fire hissed. Small streams of smoke curled from his mouth. “How could he offer challenge when he knew not that you even existed? No, answer not. Be of some use, go aid my forge.” Turning from the other immortal, offering his back to the fool as he walked to the portal doorway, he gave his attention to Magic. “What is your name, little one?”

“I be Magic Stryke. Mamé was Fierce Stryke.”

“I should have guessed. Never would a Stryke feel fear of me.” Of their Father of Fathers, but he kept that to himself wishing to protect the child from the others. “Ah, I know what you need!” Father Fire held his hand out and a finely forged sword and expertly tooled scabbard appeared in his hand. “A gift. Always will Stryka serve you well, never harming you unless you harm her.”

“’Tis beautiful,” Magic whispered, certain he had never seen shinier treasure. He wanted to go touch it, to mayhap give it a hug. “She sings, too.”

“Aye, she does, but only to those deserving of her.” He placed the sword and scabbard just inside the room and leaned it against the wall, gave the handle a soft pat. Father Fire turned to Jayd. “You will keep Stryka safe until your lad is of an age, teach him how to care for her properly, or I will know the why of it.”

“Aye, ‘twill be guarded most fiercely.”

“Before I go, might I see your lightning, lad? Your Mother of Mothers is quite spectacular with her ability; always does she enjoy offering a demonstration.”

Jayd nodded, what else could he do? He forced himself to walk back to the window having moved to stand before Sari and Magic when the second immortal arrived. His feet felt like slabs of unliftable stone, his mind bombarded by Nekor’s presence—though far was it from the time Nekor spoke directly within his mind. Still was he Jayd. Still was he in control of himself.

With a deep breath, he called the magik back to his hand, felt the spark and crackle prancing about his fingers. How was he to do this? What sort of demonstration was Father Fire looking for? Such pressure he felt. What would happen did his magik fizzle?

“Ye can do it, Papa!” Magic yelled.

He felt himself relax hearing his son cheer for him. He could do this. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he offered a broad pirate’s grin. “For ye, my fierce lad, always.”

--

© A. Jane

Book Love:  Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7  Part 8  Part 9

[xoxoendoh]

Close to Lost

A leaf of cartography, an inkwell upturned… He’d stained the land, he’d blotted out the verdant life around him.

SasuSaku Month 2018, Day 4: Burn

A/N: No content warnings for this fic, and I apologize for being a whopping twenty-four days late! For whatever reason, this one took forever and a half.

Jukebox: "You Are the Moon" by The Hush Sound

FF.net link

Sakura had been wandering through the secluded training grounds, eyes downcast; her troubling ruminations as much to blame as the glare of the sinking sun. There was something about the place that kept her coming back, something reassuring.... Ever since the start of the chunin exams, she had been unable to quiet her mind. Sleepless nights strung together, wakeful worries interwove: she couldn’t shed the net tangled about her.

And through some frayed string of fate, she found the object of her rumination that evening. She caught him in a moment of weakness, shortly after he’d fallen to Sabaku no Gaara and the beast within him, a time near the cruel anniversary of his clan’s demise.

And he was sending up flares.

The gradual transition to twilight was the perfect showcase for his fireballs, their red flames churning upward to lick at the weary sun in spite, in envy.

They were her beacon, drawing her into the trees.

Under the canopy, the woods were dense and shadowy green—and just as they should be. Yet with every stride, the foliage grew more glaucous; the acerbic smell on the air strengthened, it burned…. And she began to hear the silence as she went deeper. There was nothing. No chirping, no scurrying. No cicadas humming their nightly crescendo, their exaltation of the rising moon. Not even cries warning of her intrusion. Just the sound of her footsteps and breath and the heavy quiet… Her instincts, however, beckoned her onward.

And all at once, she found his fury.

It could have been beautiful. Perhaps it was….

She saw downy dandelion parachutes suspended in spring; she saw windswept sakura petals, lilting and languid at the height of hanami….

Yet she knew she stood in summer. Her hands leapt to cover her mouth, her heart.

Fine motes cast a strange veil to compound the dusk. Tufts of ash drifted sedately, buoyant on the dense air; wispy embers, flickering orange and gold, floated along the heated murk. The incinerated terrain below hissed and sputtered in despairing protest.

A leaf of cartography, an inkwell upturned… He’d stained the land, he’d blotted out the verdant life around him.

The unfurling fumes thwarted her attempt at a calming breath, turning it into a muffled wheeze against her palm. Her fingers tightened at her collar, releasing the steam of perspiration; she shook her head, repelling the flecks as they sifted down. One footfall disturbed the chalk of the forest floor; the next created a small cloud. Uneven as they were, her steps took her through the ruin, the temperature climbing as the sun fell, until she stood a few feet away from the boy she loved. The origin of the blaze…

Her tiny frame trembled faintly in the wafting grey, in the orange glow of smoldering coals. She could feel the heat of his destruction radiating into her skin. And she knew she should look him in the eyes, but she couldn’t—not when his gaze had been so blank, so hollow only moments before…. He’d just stood there, among the scattered cinders and flames, the brittle charcoal, the blackened remnants of a vernal woodland. He could have been a child witnessing his first snowfall, dazed, unable to fathom it all. He hadn’t said a word. Perhaps he’d been unable.

"S-Sasuke-kun,” Sakura began hoarsely, sure in the need to break the silence, to tell him…yet so uncertain in the method, in the phrasing. “The day we became genin…” she trailed off, unable to deny her eyes the scene around him.

The burnt foliage above had come apart at the seams, falling so bright in the maturing darkness. Spores seeking to take root, nascent sparks popped and rocketed skyward to compete with those descending from the treetops. Flurrying and whirling, they clashed. Yet it was a futile rivalry, for even fire was failing: the last of the withering flames lusted after the unburnt traces at his feet; blindly, they reached and stretched and groped the scorched earth for virgin kindling to burn, to consume….

But there’s nothing left….

The notion tugged her from her odd reverie, sent a shiver to shake her spine. She’d seen enough. Sakura bit down on her lip. The grainy dust—the arid, acrid taste of smoke and wrath—lingered on her tongue as her lips parted.

The weight of her words and the pain in the memory sucked the remaining oxygen from the haze around her, forcing her to speak too quickly: “That day, you told me solitude is the worst sort of pain! I-I see it so clearly now, Sasuke-kun! I…” She felt weighted, so heavy. Her short hair shielded her face as she hung her head lower, eyes closed to the irritants and toxins around her. “I…” she tried again, in a whisper, “I didn’t back then, I had no idea…” Her voice was stronger: “But I think, maybe now, I understand what the pain of loneliness is. I have family and friends…but…”

She tentatively lifted her head to search for his eyes in the dim. She found them, dark and distant…and waiting. Hers shone and stung with tears to be—from the intensity of his regard; from the airborne debris in the sudden gust. The sparks floating around them flared and billowed on the wind. It whipped their hair; it reanimated the once-settled charred remnants…. Watching the displaced pall subside around her still feet, she waited for the words to come.

When they did, they were frail, fraught: “You feel so far away….”

Come back to me, hung unspoken.

Recovering herself, Sakura quietly cleared her throat and took a soft step forward. She kept her tone gentle, free of judgement: “It-it breaks my heart, Sasuke-kun, seeing you...like this.”

Eyes now keen, now wary on hers, he was still panting from the exertion of forging his own inferno. Singes dotted the skin around his mouth, where he’d exhaled fire. Like hers, his inky hair was dappled. Trickles of sweat streaked through the fine layer of grey on his face, stripping away the corruption, to reveal slivers of the boy she recognized, the boy she loved. 

But as she examined the rest of him, she found myriad of scorch marks. He’d been reckless. His dominant arm hung forgotten at his side, the last vestiges of electricity convulsing through his fingers. So reckless...

She clenched the fabric of her dress; she felt her skin cool and prickle, felt the tiny hairs stand on end—like his current had somehow reached her.

Burning through your chakra like this—you could have killed yourself! You could have…

Despite the chill gripping her body, a drop of her own perspiration slid from her temple to her chin. The feeling, though slight, was enough to break her train of thought. For the briefest moment, she wondered what he saw in the vein of clarity it left on her…. She wondered if he could he see anything at all….

The droplet left her skin to disappear in the dust, and her mind centered. Somehow, she knew it was time for honesty. Somehow, she knew he needed to hear it:

“Because…you mean everything to me. Everything.”

The words had nearly caught in her throat, suspended like the ash in the sweltering air. I will not cry, she told herself. I won’t weep for him. He’s never wanted that, he never will—and he deserves more than my tears.

As tentative as it was instinctual, her hand reached out for his shoulder. Eyes flitting between his and her target, she braced for an adverse reaction upon the moment she made contact, she expected it. Though he stiffened, he didn’t swat her away or shrink back: he just stood there and allowed her featherlike touch; watching the dust settle to further mute her bright hair, questioning her with his dubious silence.

Her eyes rose from his shoulder to scrutinize the three black tomoe etched into his neck, as they so often did, and she silently cursed the Snake. Beyond the singes, the malicious, black mark was the only blemish on his body—the only visible manifestation of his suffering! Unless, of course, he set the coal of his eyes aflame…

And she’d seen the frightening power of both.

Is that what you were thinking, Sasuke-kun? ...Is that why you did this?

The fingers at the red of her collar clamped down, she moved to bite her lip again—but she stopped herself. She couldn’t give in to such a childish habit when she’d come this far, when he was listening. Determined, the verdure of her eyes returned to his.

“You don’t have to be alone, Sasuke-kun,” she spoke soothingly, careful to avoid a patronizing tone. “You’ll always have me.” As a shy smile formed around her last word, she felt blood rush to her flame-flushed cheeks. Sakura ignored the sensation and forced her lips to loosen: this wasn’t the time to give in to girlish whimsy; she’d make her body obey. She bent her elbow to step solicitously closer, close enough to smell the earthy scent she knew to be his through the miasma. One hand on him, the other on her heart, she swore: “Always.”

I love you so much…with all my heart, she thought, but I don’t think I can tell you that, not yet.

She gingerly traced his shoulder, nails collecting the fine, gritty precipitate there. She could feel the dexterity in the muscle, the power in the sinew…. And he didn’t flinch under her light touch, he didn’t avert his eyes. She moved nearer, preparing to see alarm or revulsion appear in his expression, until her forearm was flush against the length of his bicep, only a few inches of smoke separating the rest of them. She couldn't blink, she couldn't breathe for fear of dispelling the moment, her chance to reach him….

A branch snapped behind him; coils of red outlining its remaining leaves, faux fireflies swarming and twinkling in its wake. The fallen limb rippled through the powdery soot at the forest floor, sending it aloft once more.

Yet neither noticed, their senses entirely focused on the other.

Sakura was transfixed. She could see the suffering, the perpetual ache, the torment in the ink of his eyes—and it was dizzying. She’d known it was there, but she’d never seen its full extent…. She’d never seen it so close, so unconcealed. And just beneath, there was the acidic fury she’d tasted in the ashes. Tonight, his anger had burned too hot for his body to contain. The devastation around them, she realized, had been a momentary lapse in control, a flare of his temper. A mere glimmer of the roiling, lambent blaze inside him…

Hatred.

Its conflagration eclipsed the flicker of him that existed beyond loathing and vengeance—the flicker the Snake had tried to snuff out, the flicker she’d managed to sustain when his darkness burned black through his skin. She saw it so clearly then, for in that moment, he was living only for the past, only for the promise of retribution….  

But they both knew the inevitability in fire….

One tear escaped to flow down her face: she could feel desperation coming on the night.

...They’d known it long before witnessing the aftermath of his arson.

Ignoring the shriek of warning she heard in the back of her mind, she stood on pointed toes and flung her arms around him. The impact of her embrace released a plume of ash to envelop them. She pressed her face to his neck, her lithe body to his, the muck on his skin coloring hers.

“I won’t let you be alone anymore,” she promised in a murmur to his ear, eyes shut to the despair around them. “Never again.”

She waited, stunned at her own audacity.

His heart thudded into hers; his chest expanded as he inhaled. The blue-black fringe at his nape stroked her forehead. 

The last traces of tree sap crackled and bubbled in the dimming embers, crystalizing as the surviving coals waned to a low gleam….

Her eyes flew open, dilating in panic, in the umbrage: she felt the muscles in his hanging arms spasm and contract, considering motion. But she didn’t dare let go—not when he felt so close to lost.

So, eyes agape, she froze, not risking a breath….

Over his shoulder, she could see the world turn to shadow as the sun finally vanished. At last unobscured, sweet silver streamed down to mottle the earth, to temper the remaining hues of red and orange and yellow. The shimmering perigee of moonrise... The beginnings of a familiar nocturne hailed its coming: the warble of a songbird announced its proximity; insects revved and stammered, grappling toward their usual thrum; an owl called out, wistful and clear.

And then—haltingly, devoid of his usual grace—he bowed his head until his cheek rested on her hair.

Unsure if she was imagining it, afraid to dissolve the mirage, she held her gasp in her chest.

She felt the low rumble of his voice before she heard it, smoky on the clearing air:

“Sakura… Thank you…”

His breath, his words were soft on her skin…. They were warm.

So, what do you think? I'm still feeling so rusty when it comes to writing, particularly something like this…. Spent so much time second-guessing myself and nitpicking, and I really hope I got it right. Believe it or not, this actually has a Part II. PII was meant for Day 8: Flowers...but it will be a while before I get around to it! 

And a huge shout out to @thepiestperson​! Thank you for all your help with this lil' ficlet—you're a doll! Not sure when I would have finished this one without your input and encouragement. :)

My other SSM18 submissions:

☀ No content warning: Gravitation, Day 2: Side by Side

☾ Barely NSFW, then very NSFW:

Umbra, Day 11: Eclipse | The Cherry Wood Armoire, Day 31: Free

If you’re interested, you can read my other SasuSaku and ItaSaku work on FF.net.

[moonbedoodling]

Nightmares

{GORE WARNING}

Dreams. Dreams are strange and mysterious things that are often wispy and undefined, seeming to have no meaning at all. Yet dreams are a gateway to the mind. Your deepest thoughts, fears, desires, ambitions...memories. Leaving only the impression of a thought, an emotion, an image, or the feeling of the whole world on your shoulders. When this gateway opens, the mind becomes so vulnerable, so– manipulable. The amount of influence something so intangible can have is quite remarkable, don't you agree? Let us see where this next dream takes us, shall we?

Deep in the forests north of the Shire, two elves sat asleep in a clearing, under the stars. Their fire had long been put out, but they were not cold, for it was a warm summer's night. However, as chance would have it, though unbeknownst to them, the shadow of Doom decided to pass them by that night.

"Who does she think she is, ordering me around like some errand boy! Me! How disgraceful. I am Amarth! I am DOOM! I would have destroyed her long ago if it weren't for that @#$&*% dagger! @#$&*%!!!"

Still seething, it was then that Amarth happened upon the clearing in which Tári and Aredhel rested. A wicked grin crept its way onto the dark elf's face and he lept into the tree nearest to the sisters. His task could wait. Now, it was time for some fun.

Passing a quick glance into the taller elf's mind told him very little and nothing to his interest. But the other, ooh yes there was so much more darkness and turmoil here. Yes, this would be his playground tonight.

Tári was having a perfectly nice night, dreaming of happy memories she had as a child, when her dreams took a nightmarish turn. She was practicing archery with her father at the edge of a large clearing. She had just turned fifty and her ada had made her a brand new bow of her own! Her naneth watched from a little ways off with a proud smile as she hit each target straight in the center nearly every time.

Suddenly there was screaming. Their house was on fire and shadowy figures were everywhere, breaking, burning, and yelling. Her Naneth was cornered, fighting off ten at once with her twin blades. Catching sight of her daughter, she yelled at Tári to run, only to be swarmed by another set of attackers. Tári was frozen, shocked and unable to choose to run or to fight. Too late she realized one of the shadows had come up behind her and readied herself for the blow. Then her ada was there, knives flashing and arrows flying.

"Run Tári, quickly! I will hold them off!"

"But what about you and naneth?!"

"It will be alright. We will meet you at the northern lake, now run!"

With that, Tári took off running as she had never run before. Tripping over rocks and unseen roots, she payed no mind to how scratched up she was getting. What she did notice, was that as she ran, the forest began to darken. It grew darker and darker, until the world faded away into a solid black void. She continued to run for what seemed like hours in that empty blackness, and the only sounds she heard, were the sound of her footsteps echoing endlessly, and her own heavy breathing. Finally when she could run no further, she collapsed onto her knees, attempting to catch her breath.

Now, the silence was deafening and the darkness pressing in on her eyes was making her jumpy. Was this what death felt like? A sudden whisper caused her to whirl around. She immediately wished she hadn't. There stood her mother, burned and bloody, along with her father, cut up and broken. Her mother's skin looked charred and cracked. Blood oozed from large gashes and her right eye was gone. Her father was missing an arm and his head hung at a strange angle. It was her mother who spoke first.

"You left us to die. You ran away when we needed you most."

"No, please! You-you told me to run! You said it would be okay!"

"And you really believed us? Haven't we taught you well enough to go with your instincts?! Her father snapped.

"I-I'm sorry, I wanted to save you, I really did! B-but you told me—"

"Tch! What a disappointment."

"You are nothing but a failure and a COWARD."

"You are no daughter of ours"

"No, no, no, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorryI'm sorryI'm sorrySo sorry, SorrySorrySorrySorrySorry..."

The darkness was suffocating, her parents voices filled her head and it felt as if the whole world was caving in on her.

Suddenly, she was back in the clearing with Aredhel. Spotting her sister lying in the grass across from her, she quickly went to her side and shook her shoulder. "Aredhel! Wake up, quickly! Something is not right here." Her sister did not move. "Aredhel?" No answer. "Aredhel! Are you all right?! Please, say something, anything!" Shaking her violently now, Tári grew frantic. "Sister please, wake up! Aredhel!" No. No no nononono– she- she wasn't dead, she couldn't be dead, she could still feel her heart beating. But by the stars it was so slow. Slow, slower...No.

"Aredhel! Aredhel please! AREDHEL!!" She jolted awake, screaming her sister's name. Aredhel was immediately up, her sword at the ready. "What? What is it sister?! Are we being attacked?"

"No, nothing. It was...nothing. Just—just a nightmare. Nothing but a nightmare..." But even as she said it, Tári couldn't shake the feeling of horror at what she had just witnessed, nor the sense of dread settling heavily in her chest.

[knightedwriter]

Noose

So this is a short story I wrote for a class last year. A nice spooky one that I genuinely enjoyed writing.

I’m posting it unedited partly because I don’t have the time to edit but also partly because it’s a good way to see how far I’ve come in just a short year.

TW for death, hanging, scary-ass animatronic clowns, and similar things.

Michelle was used to late shifts by now. That didn’t mean she was very happy at the moment.

She’d been working at Tico’s After Hours Repair Shop ever since she graduated college four years ago. The pay was just barely above minimum wage, and she was asked to work on everything from animatronics to small-time Hollywood movie props. The work varied so much between one job and the next that most often she repaired things via trial and error. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—Michelle liked finding out how things worked—but it wasn’t a good way to get the job done quickly, and her supervisor was a big subscriber to the “time means money” motto. It’s funny how he thought that and yet had only given her a pay raise once in all the time she’d spent there.

Michelle always told herself she’d look for a better job soon. She’d always wanted to work with computers. An IT position would be ideal. As college drew to a close, she applied to positions until her fingers bled.

Ms. Proux,

           We regret to inform you…

If they really regretted it, they would hire her. If they really regretted it, they wouldn’t leave her breathless with anxiety, crying as she read through the letters late her graduation night, wondering how she would pay off her loans.

In the end it was her dad’s chance encounter with Tico Rives, the owner of Tico’s After Hours Repair Shop, at a bar that landed her a job. Michelle had been so grateful that she stopped searching for another job. She knew she couldn’t stay there. She told herself it was just a temporary job. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t muster up the courage to start looking again.

When her parents asked about it, she blamed the economy. She was just waiting for it to improve, she said. And it only got worse.

Now it had been so long since she graduated, she was afraid her education wouldn’t count for anything for her career path.

So yeah, after four years, Michelle was used to night shifts. She actually preferred them by now. But as she turned the key in the car and revved her way toward the other side of the city, she sincerely hated her overweight, handle-bar mustached employer.

Tonight was supposed to be her night off. Tico approved her request for it every year. He’d actually approved it this time around—and then he’d called her in.

“Tina’s in the hospital,” he grumbled to her over the phone. “I need ya to come in.”

“What? You gave me this day off! Ask Eric.”

“He’s out of town. ‘Sides, we got an animatronics job and he ain’t any good with ‘em.”

There was no way in hell Eric was out of town—it was the kind of bullshit excuse he came up with every time he didn’t want to work. Michelle had once seen him at a bar on her way to cover him, sucking on a beer and draped in women. Of course, Tico never said anything about it, even though he had to have known about it. No, Eric’s daddy was way too influential for Tico to raise a finger against a Senator’s son. It seemed like this job was more of a hobby to him than anything.

“No way,” Michelle said. “You gave me this day off. I’m busy.”

“If you don’t come in, there’ll be trouble,” Tico growled, and his voice tipped downward in a way Michelle recognized at once.

She fumed on the other end. Maybe now was the time to just move on from the job. If Tico fired her, all the better.

But the fear of looking for more work dissipated her rage. “Fine,” she said, clutching the phone so hard that the case groaned under her fingers. She hated how much control he had over her, hated how he could just do this and she went right along with it.

“Good, good,” Tico said. “Be down here by nine. And Chelly? It’s just a goddamn birthday.”

Michelle slammed the car door and walked up to the little pizzeria that had stolen her night. The sign above the squat, brick building—Good Clown’s Pizzeria—was unlit, but the inside was flooded with over bright white light. Her left hand clutched the tool kit she brought as she walked up to the entrance. She’d already seen someone inside. She had been hoping that no one would meet up with her and that she’d get out of work.

Figures.

Her friends had been planning to take her out to a drag show in town—just the kind of place to take her mind off her dead-end job and ever-present student loans. It didn’t start for another hour—perhaps if she got the job done quickly Tico would let her go for the night. It didn’t seem like they had any other service requests after this one.

Then again, Tico had made it plain that this would be a lot of work. And animatronics were never the easiest to fix.

“Ah, you must be our fixer-upper!”

The manager of Good Clown’s Pizzeria was a stick of a woman, with long arms, long fingers, and long nails. Her long black hair hung cobweb-like around her face as she held open the door for Michelle.

Michelle slipped past her into the bright white light of the pizzeria. The door closed with a tinkle that echoed in the empty room. Across from them, a ticket counter blocked off the rest of the pizzeria, its surface scratched and stained with what looked like condiments. An old analog clock ticked on the wall. Its second hand was stuck on the ten, flicking back and forth as it tried to escape and move forward.

“You’re from Tico’s, yes?” the manager said, and Michelle jumped. Her voice was like two pieces of paper being rubbed together. It made Michelle’s ears ache.

“Yes, sorry,” Michelle said, sticking out a hand. “I’m Michelle Proux. We got a call about animatronics?”

“Rita Willow,” the manager said with a wan smile. “And yes, you did.” Her hand slipped into Michelle’s and she shivered at how cold it was. Her spidery fingers brushed over Michelle’s wrist.

Michelle pulled back after a brief shake, wiping her hand stealthily on her work pants. “Right, well, I’ll let you lead the way.”

Rita leaned over her for a moment, her smile stretching the skin of her face so that the edges of her skull could be seen clearly. She smelled sour, almost as if she were close to rotting. Then she turned and walked toward the ticket counter. Michelle followed, watching the woman’s black pointed heels as they clicked on the floor. She kept a good distance between herself and the manager—the woman was freaky enough without being up close and personal.

Compared to the front of the pizzeria, which housed the ticket counter and small, private party rooms, the back was dim. They moved through the larger party room, which was packed with tables and chairs set so close together that it was hard to squeeze past them. At the front of the room was a stage. Dusty red curtains were drawn across it, but they fluttered as if actors were brushing past on the other side.

“This is our Grand Ballroom,” Rita said in her wispy voice. “It is the main attraction for our wonderful guests. It is also where most of our animatronics perform.”

Michelle glanced again at the curtains, which had stopped moving. “Which one am I working on?”

“Oh, none of them in here,” Rita said with a laugh. “No, we have a special one set aside in the workroom. It’s Bobby Red from our nursery. Have you ever been here before, Ms. Proux?” she asked suddenly.

“No,” Michelle said, shuddering at the thought. Other than the fact that she found clowns absolutely disturbing, the stains on the walls of this place and the dust in the air were enough to keep her away from it. If it weren’t for work, she’d never have step foot in there.

“That’s a shame,” Rita said, leading the way through a door painted with the words “Employees Only”. “Bobby is very popular with the young ones. He’s in high demand. It is very sad that he’s stopped performing.”

They walked down a long, shadowy hallway, the row of lights above flickering with disuse. They passed several doors on their way, some left half-open. Peering into what must have been the employee lounge—complete with one tiny table and several chairs with cracked legs—Michelle found herself suddenly glad she didn’t work there.

Rita led her all the way to the end where a door marked “Maintenance” barred their path. With a jingle of keys, Rita opened the door and they both walked inside. It was pitch black for just a moment before a flash of light illuminated the small space within.

Michelle nearly screamed. Across from them, sitting up on a table set against the wall, was what must have been Bobby Red. Wide, saucer-sized green eyes leered at them from under thick red eyebrows. He was about the size of a small child—standing up, he would just barely reach Michelle’s knee. With his fat, red-rimmed mouth and bushy red hair, he looked like a more robotic version of Chucky from those slasher movies. Michelle shuddered—those movies still scared the shit out of her.

Rita, oblivious to the absolute horror on Michelle’s face, smiled fondly at Bobby. “Splendid little creature, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, sure,” Michelle managed to choke out.

“It’s sad,” Rita continued. “He was a little feisty the night before—I had to punish the poor dear. He just wanted to play. But their version of play is just a little too much. And the next day, he wouldn’t dance for the children. I do hope you find what’s wrong.”

Michelle couldn’t begin to describe the chill that passed through her. It was as if the whole room dropped ten degrees. She looked at Rita’s face, but it wasn’t at all clear if she was joking or not. The manager stared at the clown animatronic with an almost motherly expression.

“Well, I will leave you to it,” Rita said, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Michelle said, and Rita stopped. “You’ve forgotten to give me a manual.”

“A manual?”

“You know, for how this thing was built?”

Rita’s face twisted at Michelle’s word choice, but the look was gone in an instant. She laughed, the sound like the tearing of paper. “Oh no, we do not have that. We had an old work group that worked on our performers for years, so we had no need for it. Frankly, if they hadn’t closed down—lost too many workers, it happens—you would not be here, Ms. Proux.”

And what a great relief that would be, Michelle thought as the manager turned away. Who the fuck throws out their manual? The work tonight would be ten times harder—and longer—without it. Michelle had only worked on a few animatronics in her time at Tico’s, and each of them had been different. It was only with some sort of manual that she got the work done at all. This was yet another obstacle course she was forced to run through.

“If you require me, I will be in my office,” Rita said. She walked out of the room without a glance back.

The lights flickered, and Michelle sighed. Maybe if they went out, she wouldn’t have to do this. As if to spite her, the flickering stopped. Another sigh. Michelle approached the work bench. Bobby Red sat immobile, slightly slumped, eyes glaring at the sparse, rusty tools scattered across the bench. Michelle took one look at these and hefted the tool kit she brought with her, lifting the lid to reveal a neat set of silver tools.

She started pulling out what she thought she’d need, pushing aside the old tools to make room for the new. As always, holding the shiny silver instruments calmed her. Her dad had called her a builder when she was younger. He said she had the hands to create, to fix, to solve. To commemorate that, he’d gotten her several tiny tool kits for her eighth birthday, and watched her go to work. Later he’d get Michelle computer parts and teach her how to build one of her own. But those tool kits had been the start of it all and Michelle found herself missing their simplicity. It seemed life only got harder as one grew up. She’d give anything to be young enough for her parents to take care of her again.

Michelle pulled Bobby Red forward, wincing as the animatronics’ limbs creaked. For the next half hour, she looked for the screws holding it together, only to realize the animatronic opened with a series of button presses. She jumped as, with the last button, Bobby Red’s back flipped open. A mess of wires greeted her. Hell, it would take hours to figure out what all this stuff did, much less what was wrong with it.

Creak.

Michelle froze, her heart skipping and stuttering in her chest. It sounded like someone just pushed open the workroom door. She waited for Rita’s wispy voice, but as the silence stretched, Michelle’s heart started to pound and she felt goosebumps skitter over her flesh.

Michelle risked a glance over her shoulder, squeezing the wrench in her hand. The door was ajar, but nothing stood in the shadowy hallway beyond. Had Rita come in to check on her? Michelle shivered and shook her head, turning back to her work. But she couldn’t quell her unease. Her hands shook and every little noise made her look back over her shoulder. At last she decided to go check on Rita.

Michelle stepped out into the hallway and walked back the way she came. Now that she thought about it, Rita had never told her where the manager’s office was. She’d have to go looking.

Creak.

Michelle whipped around. She squinted down the hallway. It took her several heart-pounding seconds to realize that she’d stepped on a squeaky floorboard. Cursing herself, Michelle turned back around and strode out the Employees Only door with a more confident air. The curtain in the Grand Ballroom fluttered as she passed through. Michelle assumed it was just the passage of air.

She reached the front of the pizzeria. She hadn’t seen a single door to the manager’s office in the back, but here she spotted it—the door was set off to the side of the entrance and a faded gold placard read “Manager Rita Willow”.

Michelle knocked.

“Yes?”

Michelle never thought that voice would comfort her, but as she pushed open the door, she felt the goosebumps fade away.

“Ms. Willow?” Michelle said, glancing into the room beyond, which was much dimmer than the storefront.

“Call me Rita, dear,” Rita said. She sat behind a neat wooden desk, a stack of papers in front of her. Her office was plain—there was a picture of a mountain hung up on the right wall, and a couple file cabinets set up against the left.  A solitary bookshelf sat near the window behind Rita, which cast slanting bars of artificial light into the room even through the closed shutter. The office was clean, polished even. For some reason, Michelle had expected it to be full of cobwebs.

“Is there something you needed?” Rita asked.

Michelle started. “I just wanted to ask, did you come check in on me?”

Rita raised her eyebrows. “No, dear. Why?”

“I…heard something.” She knew she couldn’t have imagined it because the door had been pushed open, but saying it out loud made her seem childish.

Sure enough, Rita smiled. “Did you? Curious. Our little performers must be playing tricks on you. They like to do that. Used to scare the old crew half to death!”

Michelle stared at her, not sure whether to take her seriously or not. “What?”

“Never you mind, they shouldn’t bother you much. I’ve taught them to stay away from the workroom. They require a firm touch, you know. Off you go.”

Michelle tiptoed back through the Grand Ballroom, her mind racing. The lights flickered in the hallway to the workroom, making the stains on the walls seem like large claw marks. Michelle shook her head and walked through as quickly as she dared. Reaching the workroom, she closed the door firmly behind her. But just as Michelle turned away, she caught sight of something on the back of the door.

Before, she thought it was one of the many stains in the pizzeria. Now, she placed a hand to the spot, and drew away quickly. It had been scrubbed and treated, but it was still there. A rust-colored handprint. Michelle thought of the color of dried blood and blanched, backing away.

Creak.

Michelle rounded on Bobby Red. This time she actually screamed. The animatronic, which she had left laying facedown, was sitting up, staring at her across the space.

“Ms. Proux?”

Michelle jumped. Rita poked her head through the door, her tall figure hunching in the frame.

“Is everything alright, Ms. Proux?”

“I—it—” Michelle spluttered, pointing behind her.

Rita frowned. “What is it?”

Michelle turned back to Bobby Red. “He mo—” She stopped. Bobby Red lay facedown, his back open and the mess of wires glinting in the workroom’s single lightbulb. “It—nothing,” Michelle finished lamely, her eyes wide. “Something startled me, is all.”

“Well, if you have need of anything Ms. Proux, I will be behind the Grand Ballroom curtain. I need to check in on our performers. Give them a little talking to. I have told them time and again to keep the games between us.” She sighed and turned away. “Just call my name if you need me.”

The door closed behind her and Michelle listened to the tap of Rita’s heels until they faded away. Bobby Red lay motionless. She looked back at the door. The handprint she’d seen was still there, but Michelle admitted that jumping to blood was pretty stupid. Probably just paint.

“Of course he didn’t move,” Michelle said out loud, and sighed. She approached the workbench and threw herself back into her work.

Still, she couldn’t figure out what Rita was talking about. Either this woman had an unhealthy obsession with her animatronics, or she was insane. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t helping Michelle focus. She actually let herself believe Bobby Red moved.

A half an hour in, she sat back and pulled out her phone. 10:34 P.M. Five unread messages. Michelle unlocked her phone and stared at the group chat with her friends. The last message she’d read was five hours ago: Just let us know if ur out at a reasonable time—Barb. The newest messages made her want to throw her phone across the room.

Guessing that’s a no on partying tonight—Barb

Ur boss is an ass—Kirsten

Are u really surprised? He schedules her for nearly every holiday—Justin

That’s okay! We can move this to tomorrow, right Chell?—Annaliese

As long as she doesn’t work lol—Justin

As it happened, she didn’t work tomorrow, but she guessed that could change at any time if Tico was willing to bring her in on her birthday. For the millionth time, Michelle wondered why she let him do that. Why did she keep going along with his bullshit?

Michelle typed out a response—Sorry guys, yeah that should work—and hovered over the send button. A sound made her look up.

Something was clunking down the hallway—footsteps, Michelle thought. They were nothing like Rita’s though, and Michelle instinctively hushed her breathing.

Clunk clunk clunk.

Michelle gripped the workbench tight, staring at the door. She heard something else over the clunking.

Singing.

The song, whatever it was, creaked and hissed through the hallway, tuneless. Mechanical.

Oh, I want to go

Where we haven’t been

Inside the human skin

To children’s rooms

Where sadness blooms

To the depths of human sin

The song and the clunking stopped right outside the door. The silence felt so deep, so impenetrable, that Michelle couldn’t even breathe.

“Oh, someone is in there,” a voice said in a high, sing-song tone. “Hello. Would you like to play?”

The door handle shivered and turned. The sound of Michelle’s phone hitting the floor echoed throughout the room, but it didn’t matter if that person already knew she was there. She reached the door just in time, and held the handle in place with both hands. It quaked as the person on the other side tried to open it. Michelle held on tight, her breath coming in gasps.

The person on the other side giggled. “That’s not how you play the game silly.”

The handle jiggled once more but Michelle didn’t budge. At last, it stopped.

“Oh well,” the person sighed. “I’ll find someone else. Oh! I think I hear the Missus. Perhaps I’ll surprise her this time.”

The person began to sing again and the clunking footsteps receded until all Michelle could hear was her own ragged breathing. Still, she held onto the handle, her eyes wide. Her first thought was to call for help, but she didn’t want to leave the door unguarded. It took a lot of convincing to finally let go of the handle. When she returned to the workbench, however, she didn’t see her phone. She scoured the ground for it and came up empty handed.

Her eyes found Bobby Red. He was in the exact same position as before, but now, there was a phone in his left hand. Michelle just barely swallowed her scream. She grabbed a wrench and backed away, slowly, her gaze locked on the motionless animatronic. Her back hit the door. She reached for the handle, found it, paused.

No sound on the other side.

The door’s hinges squealed in the silence. Bobby Red twitched. Michelle scrambled out and slammed the door shut. She sprinted down the hallway, the lights flickering as she passed. She shut the Employees Only door too and stopped, gasping for breath, in the Grand Ballroom.

It was quiet and dim. Michelle looked around the room. Remembering the manager’s words, she glanced at the curtain. It was still.

“Ms. Willow?” Michelle’s anxiety made her voice crack and it sounded like a whip in the silence.

No answer. Michelle started toward the stage, her eyes on the curtain. “Rita?”

The curtain fluttered. Michelle stopped.

“Oh thank God, Rita, there’s someone else here, we need to—” Her breath caught in her throat as whispers came through the curtain.

“Is that another one?” Someone asked, their voice thin and reedy. Each syllable was drawn out in a whistling tone.

“Oh boy!” Another voice giggled, and Michelle recognized it as the one who had tried to get into the workroom. “It’s our late night guest!”

Michelle could barely breathe. She backed away from the curtain, her eyes darting to the exit across the room. A mass of tables and chairs blocked her path.

“Quick Chuckles, turn off the lights,” a third person whispered. “Let’s play hide and seek.”

The lights in the ballroom flickered once, and went out. For just one second, the stage remained illuminated. Behind the curtain, Michelle glimpsed the outline of a figure hanging from a rope. Then all went dark.

Michelle covered her mouth, and without really thinking, dove under the nearest shelter. The table groaned as its wooden legs scraped against the floor. Then all was silent except for the fluttering of the curtain and a soft whirring clump as three sets of feet padded to the front of the stage.

Michelle had no doubt that Rita was down for the count. The sight of that hanging figure was burned into her mind. But that was not as hard to accept as the identity of Rita’s killers, all three of whom stood on the edge of the stage, looking out into the room. The animatronic clowns, with their bright neon-colored eyes and whirring metal parts, were enough to make Michelle want to crawl into a deep hole in the ground and never come out.

“What fun,” the middle one—the one Michelle recognized—said, its eyes flicking over the tables and chairs. “She’s actually hiding.”

“Shall we go find her?” the left one said in its reedy voice. “The Missus wasn’t nearly as much fun as I thought she’d be. And we finally surprised her, too!”

“But think, it’s the last time she can punish us,” said the one on the right. “We can do anything now. Let’s go.”

They each hopped off the stage. Michelle’s fingernails dug into her cheek.

They’re going to find me.

She had to move. She couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. She had to go.

Michelle thought about Tico. If she hadn’t given in to him, hell, if she had actually decided to look for another job instead of lounging around, she wouldn’t be here, shaking as the footsteps thudded in the room. If she had just fucking chosen to enjoy her birthday instead of doing this, she wouldn’t be scared out of her mind. You’re so spineless, Chelly. Good thing I have you as a worker.

That asshole. He’d never said such a thing to her, but she knew he thought it in the way he’d clap her on the back as hard as he could and send her on her way without a care.

Well, she sure as hell wasn’t going to die because of him. And she wasn’t going to just sit here waiting for those creepy things to get her.

Michelle stared at the exit across the room, waiting for her path to clear. She gripped the wrench tight. The animatronics creaked closer.

Clear.

Michelle gritted her teeth and lunged for the door.

[sheliesshattered]

Here are the first few scenes (~2500 words) of the new AU that suddenly grew legs and started going tonight. I’m not sure yet if I’m going to pursue this, or if this is more of an exercise in skimming off the top layer of whatever odd stuff is floating around in my head so that I can get back to working on the stuff I want to work on, but I would be curious to hear reaction to this either way. Tagging a few people who I know follow my Doctor Who writing, but anyone who reads this, feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you think.

Vaguely inspired by this post, fwiw.

Working title is Poltergeists and Real Estate (Do Not Mix) but that may very well change as this grows a plot and becomes less of a crack-fic. Oooor it may end up sitting in my over-populated WIP folder forever, we’ll see.

Thoughts? Lemme know. Tagging a few people, but open to comments from anyone. @praetyger, @megsann13, @claraaoswald, @puddlejumper72-blog-blog​, @tounknowndestinations​, @chipsandcoffee​, @the-chumblies​, et al

Poltergeists and Real Estate (Do Not Mix)

There was a certain amount of irony, Clara reflected, that her first reaction was I’m going to kill him.

Her ‘special friend’ had just cost her the sale of her grandmother’s house. Again. As in, not for the first time. This had to be roughly the twelfth adorable little family or nice couple that had stepped inside her ancestral family home only to turn tail and run before she’d even had a chance to tell them about the antique hardwood floors or the fully restored kitchen. At this point, her ‘special friend’ wasn’t even being subtle about it anymore.

The longer the house sat on the market, the fewer calls she was getting to schedule walk-throughs of the property. She was beginning to worry that word of the house’s strangeness was getting around the real estate community. If things kept up at this rate, she was going to be permanently saddled with an inheritance whose tax burden she could barely afford, in the form of a one hundred and thirty year old, gorgeous, sprawling, haunted house.

Clara used her key to let herself in through the front door, grumbling under her breath. As soon as she closed the door behind her, the cabinets in the kitchen began to rattle ominously.

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped, dropping her purse and keys on the small table in the entryway. “It’s just me.”

The door to the upstairs washroom slammed shut.

Clara groaned and buried her face in her hands and counted to ten before looking up again. “Listen, I get that you’re cross with me for bringing people by, but I am beyond livid with you, so let’s skip the part where I yell and you throw things and just agree to be angry with each other in silence, okay?”

The house went quiet in a manner entirely too creepy for her liking. If not for the undercurrent of petulant passive-aggressiveness, she might have actually been scared.

Not that Clara had ever really been scared of the ghost that lived in her grandmother’s house. He had never once made her feel unsafe, not since she’d first seen him as a child. But the sudden silence was still unnerving. 

“Well, good,” she said into the preternatural stillness, more to prove to herself that she wasn’t scared than anything else. “It’s nice to actually be able to hear myself think, for once.”

The top step of the staircase creaked once, as if to make a point.

“Still shut up,” she grumbled.

She went about the short list of tasks she’d come to see to, putting away the food she’d set out for the potential home buyers, watering the house plants, closing the curtains, and flicking on a few lamps to make the home look lived-in. Of course, she didn’t envy anyone who tried to break into the house while it sat apparently empty. At some level, a poltergeist was better home protection than a dog ever could be. For the right owner, it might even be a selling point, she mused. Perhaps she ought to rewrite the home listing.

Her chores complete, Clara returned to the foyer to find her purse where she’d left it, but her keys conspicuously missing. She sighed, hands on her hips, and turned towards the cold spot she could feel forming near the foot of the stairs. He was nothing but a faint wispy outline in the light of the setting sun filtering through the stained glass window over the door, but even that outline was familiar enough that she was able to find his eyes and fix him with a displeased glare.

“Where are my keys?” she demanded. She still hadn’t forgiven him for his behaviour earlier, and she was in no mood to play find-the-lost-trinket tonight.

“I didn’t want you to leave before I could apologise,” the ghost said, not quite meeting her gaze. His voice raised gooseflesh along her arms, as it always did, but she much preferred the low rumble of his Scottish brogue to the slamming of doors and rattling of cupboards. Not that she would ever openly admit that to him.

“So apologise and tell me where you’ve hidden my keys!”

“Clara,” he said, and she clenched her teeth against the shivery reaction she always had to the way he said her name, like it had been invented just so he could say it. There were days when she lived for that rush — and many, many more nights, in her love-struck teenaged years — but today was absolutely not one of them.

“...Was there more to that sentence?” she asked when he didn’t go on. “Saying my name doesn’t constitute an apology.”

He glanced up at her, looking more solid as the sunlight waned. “I’m sorry that I upset you. That wasn’t my intention.”

“No, your intention was to make certain I can’t sell this house, and don’t bother to deny it.”

He chewed his incorporeal lip for a moment, then shrugged. “I won’t deny it. I don’t want you to sell the house. But I’m still sorry I upset you.”

Clara sighed. “I have to sell it. You know this. And someday, I’m going to bring by someone too brave or too stupid to fall for all your clattering, and that’ll be that.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleaded, his eyes flashing blue in the gathering dusk.

“It’s the reality of the situation,” she said evenly. Another irony not lost on her: arguing the state of reality with a man dead nearly a century. “So you’d best start making peace with that. Now, where are my keys?”

The ghost hesitated. “You don’t have to leave,” he said. “You could stay?”

“I never stay the night in this house. That was your advice to me, more than twenty years ago. No sense in breaking with tradition now.”

“I think maybe I was being overly paranoid at the time.”

“And I think maybe you’re acting like a lonely old man, now,” Clara snarked back.

“Alone in a house that you of all people are dead-set on evicting me from? I can’t imagine why I’d be lonely!” 

“Keys, now!” she snapped. “Traffic is already going to be horrendous—”

“All the more reason to stay,” he said petulantly.

“But,” she went on forcefully, speaking over him, “I have tomorrow off of work. If you tell me where my keys are, I’ll come back first thing in the morning. I still need to finish going through all those old boxes in the attic. We can spend the day working on that together, okay?”

“You’re going to drive all the way home only to turn around and come back in the morning? Why not just—”

“Or I could spend the day doing something fun with people my own age, very far away from here. Your choice.”

“Oh, fine,” he said, shoulders sagging. “Your keys are hidden in the parlour, I’ll show you where.”

“Thank you,” she said mildly, and followed him into the parlour.

--

As promised, Clara arrived back at her grandmother’s house early the next morning, take-away coffee cup in hand. There had been a moment, whilst she stood in the queue to order, when she’d found herself thinking she ought to order two coffees, bring her ghost a peace offering to smooth over their row from the night before. Thankfully she’d realised how ridiculous it sounded before it was her turn to order, but she still felt strangely off balance as she unlocked the door and let herself in, like she had forgotten something important.

“Hey,” she called to the empty house, as soon as the door was closed behind her. “It’s just me, no need to go rattling the hinges on my account.”

He appeared in a shadowy corner of the foyer, smiling at her shyly. “Good morning, Clara. You look lovely today. Have you had a wash?”

She narrowed her gaze at him, trying to ignore the way her heart flipped over at the way he said her name. “Why are you being nice?”

“Because it works on you,” he shrugged nonchalantly. He hesitated, then added, “And because I really am sorry about last night.”

“Well, apology accepted,” Clara said. “And I’m sorry I yelled at you. The process of selling this place has been entirely too stressful, and I’m really starting to worry it won’t happen before the property taxes are due,” she sighed.

He ran a semi-transparent hand through the hair at the back of his head. “Yeah, about that...”

She suppressed a groan. “What did you do?”

“Post came early today,” he said, sounding more apologetic than he had earlier. “I didn’t open it, but one of the envelopes has a rather official looking return address. I left it on the dining room table.”

She dropped her keys and purse on the table by the door and trudged off to the dining room, unable to contain her groan when she saw the envelope in question. Opening it, she found that he was right: property taxes were due in six weeks, the total even higher than she had anticipated. It was more than she made in a month at her teaching job. Even with the small amount she had stashed away in savings, she would hardly be able to pay it and the rent on her flat, and still expect to feed herself.

“What about the rest of your inheritance?” he asked, sounding genuinely worried.

“I put it all into fixing up this place to sell,” she said.

“Which I’ve made impossible,” he murmured.

Clara covered her face with her hands, fighting back tears and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Yes, he was the reason she hadn’t been able to sell the house to any of the dozen or so families who had shown initial interest. But he was also the only one in her life who even knew or cared what she was going through.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she told him honestly, still hiding behind her hands. “If I don’t pay it, they’ll just add late fees on top of that already ridiculously large sum.”

She felt a coldness drift across the back of her hands, felt her hair stir in a non-existent breeze, and wished, not for the first time in her life, that her ‘special friend’ was the sort of friend who could offer a hug when she so desperately needed one.

“I don’t suppose there’s a secret stash of diamonds in the attic?” she asked him, only half joking. “Or a map to buried treasure?”

“Your great-grandmother was a very adventurous woman,” he replied, voice sounding distant and thoughtful. “I don’t know what all is up there, but anything is possible.”

Clara dropped her hands from her face and squared her shoulders, not looking at her ghost until she was certain she wouldn’t spontaneously burst into tears. “Well, let’s hope there’s something up there that will help.”

--

The attic had never been Clara’s favourite place in her grandmother’s sprawling house, cramped and dusty and full of ancient boxes that gave off a far creepier vibe than the literal ghost had ever managed to do. But on the plus side, it was also windowless, dim enough that he was able to appear to her in a fairly solid state and even move lightweight objects around as though he were a real person existing in the real world.

She had removed all the larger pieces from the attic ages ago, furniture and blanket chests and boxes of old clothes, all sorted through and distributed to extended family or donated to charity, or else restored to the best of Clara’s ability and set out to decorate the house in a manner befitting its age. All that remained were boxes of keepsakes, photographs and journals and old letters, small family things that required far more of her attention.

If not for the threat of the taxes due, it might even have been a pleasant day, sitting together amidst the dust and papers, slowly unveiling the history of her family, layer on layer, like an archaeologist digging through levels of sediment. 

“Oh my god, these photos of Mum,” she said, turning the yellowed photo album towards him so he could see them, in all their early 1970s glory. “She must have been, what, about fifteen in these?”

“Her first formal school dance,” he confirmed, leaning in to examine the photos. “With that older boy, what’s-his-name. Your grandfather did not approve.”

Clara snorted. “Can’t really blame him. Look at those side-burns. I’m not sure I would have let her go out with him at all.”

“They had a huge row about it, if I remember correctly. In the end, your grandmother took your mother’s side, and she was allowed to go.”

“Why didn’t you ever appear to any of them?” she asked, flipping through the pages and pausing to linger on what looked to be polaroids of a football game. “You were here all that time, but you never talked to anyone until I came along?”

He shrugged. “You were the only one that was you.”

“Thanks. That clears it right up.”

“It’s the only answer I’ve got,” he objected.

“I scared the daylights out of Mum and Gran when I told them about you, I was probably all of six years old at the time.”

“Five, I think,” he said quietly.

“God, five. I might have a heart attack if my five year old started talking very confidently about her special friend the ghost that lives at grandma’s house. I just assumed they knew about you, too. Why wouldn’t they?”

“I’m not sure I could have talked to them, even if I wanted to. And I never did want to.”

Clara looked up at him, studying his face in the dimness. Without direct sunlight, he looked almost human, almost alive, the blue of his eyes and the salt and pepper of his hair seeming so very real, so very close at hand. He still seemed as ageless to her now as he had when she’d first seen him, more than two decades earlier. Ageless and ancient, wise and funny, solemn and sardonic. She thought perhaps she knew his face better than any other, living or dead.

“But why didn’t you ever want to talk to them?” she pressed.

“Why do you need a key to enter the house?” he asked in response.

She felt her eyebrows come together in consternation. “Because the door is locked.”

“But why that key?”

“Because... that’s the key that fits. That’s the key that goes with that lock.”

He shrugged, most of his attention on turning the page in a journal he’d been perusing. “You are the key that fits. I don’t have a better answer than that.”

[hrcamping]

Safe - Chapter 7 - Hunting

The wolves go out to hunt.

It's not safe.

AO3 Link

WHOOOOO! Things are getting wild here!

Also, warning for animal death here. Not graphic or drawn-out, but I just want to put that out there for people who get upset by it. It's the third paragraph of the POV switch.

It was a warm summer night that David found himself in. One in which he could feel the threats of a rainstorm in the air, but only threats. Rain would not fall until morning, if at all. Perhaps by then it would’ve moved on to another area other than Camp Campbell to make way for the sun. That would be nice. But so was the rich amber-blue smell of soaked earth and green leaves, dripping with water from the heavens, and the misty dampness in his breath as he took in the early morning quiet and listened to the rhythmic 'drip drip drip' of water falling from the leaves.

For now, though, he'd take a walk and listen to the here and now. The rustle of the trees and the soft fluttering of night time birds going about their business.

And the flushing of a toilet... It seemed one of the kids was up. Not knowing who it was, he hid in one of the other cubicles and waited to see which child was up.

He'd recognise that blue hoodie and mess of curls anywhere, and the blue-green scent of cedar wood and oranges that overlay them.

"Mrf!" He called, trotting out of the shadows towards Max, who gave a slight start before relaxing at the sight of him.

"Hey, dad," he said, and David tried not to let his chest puff out with happiness like it always did. He failed. "Figured you'd be out in the woods by now." Max frowned. "Don't give me that look, you smug asshole."

David tilted his head in mock confusion.

“Don’t give me that look, either,” he growled, but his voice lacked the menace he’d been aiming for. “You know exactly what you’re doing, giant dog or not.”

David gave a soft bark and bumped his head against Max's shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

"Rude," Max snorted, shoving David's head away with a smirk. "Go on, go chase some bears out of town or something."

David rolled his eyes at him and backed up, giving his son some space.

"Seriously, though, you should get going," Max said. "I'll hold off Nikki and Neil for the night."

With that, he turned and headed towards the tents, giving David a final wave before breaking into a jog. David watched him until he was back in his tent, where torchlight shone through the canvas and shadowy shapes danced over it. Probably Nikki making paper shadow puppets. He could hear the comical, animated voices from here. Content that Max and his friends were okay, he trotted off into the woods and disappeared from view.

It was dark, but his vision cut through the shadows, and the synthesia showed him all the well-worn paths of man and nature that had been trodden in throughout the years. Picking out the wispy brown of rabbits, he followed it to a trail he frequented quite often.

Guess it'll be rabbits tonight. Better get some for the Quartermaster, too.

Cold. Dark. All around, the world stretched out. The walls were gone, cold metal absent from the wolf’s limbs as wide, crystalline eyes searched for them. What was this?

Little creature. Pale smell. Snap. Warmth in its mouth and bones giving way. A hunger growing in its gut even as it ate as much as it could.

Free. Freefreefreerunchase-.

Noise. Footsteps. Yellow and purple. A scream of terror and teeth closing around flesh that immediately dissipated into empty air.

Where’d it go hunthunthunt

Flashes of memories. Cracks, pain, chanting, the dark and murky smell of man.

Manhurtkill

There was more of it. Here. Now. The wolf could feel it, choking, seeping into the throat, nose, mouth, lungs-

It was coming from across the water.

Run, stop, watercoldswim

The wolf could see lights there. It knew the sight of man from the other times, when the moon was gone.

Phantom pain, in its back, throat, limbs…

It saw man. Man hurt. It didn’t want hurt. If man was here, then hurt would come when the moon left.

It didn’t want that.

Whining, fear. The wolf backed away, but man was still here.

Free

Make them gone 

It could. No chains. It could hurt man first.

A running jump. Cold. Wet. Remembering how to swim. Finding the lights of man again.

Rage. Anger.

Hunt kill get them first.