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silverskye13 · 2 months

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Helsknight showing up bloody at Welsknight’s base please I need suffering 🙏

There was something to be said about the stupid things he was willing to do in the name of self preservation. Damn his fears, and the unfairness of the universe, and the uncertainty of living [and dying] and everything else. The unknown had always been his greatest weakness, his greatest betrayer. Pity it was also one of the few inescapable things about living in general.

To say Helsknight stepped into Hermitcraft would be a terrible injustice of what stepping normally, let alone gracefully, looked like. What he actually did was stagger and drag himself into Hermitcraft on unsteady and shaking limbs. There were holes in him. He hadn't really taken inventory of them yet. Admitting he had a wound [or several] was enough. The minute he admitted the wounds were bad, in certain terms his mind could comprehend, was the minute shock would steal his senses. He was on Hermitcraft for the specific reason of dodging death, and it seemed to him shock, on any level, meant dying. If he wanted to die and roll the dice of respawn, he would have died in hels, in the alley he'd been jumped in, where he could at least take comfort in familiar cobblestones and the knowledge he'd dragged all his attackers down with him. But he didn't want to die, so he was here.

It was dark. He was inside a building. He was bleeding. Wels was nearby. Those were the only things he needed to know for certain. Helsknight looked around, trying to ignore the sluggish tilt his vision offered when he moved too quickly. The double vision of trying to parse memories of a place that weren't his battled with his wounded animal double vision and together they made him feel nauseous, more so than his wounding already did. Helsknight balled a fist against his sternum, like he could hold himself together that way, and concentrated very hard on walking and nothing else.

Helsknight didn't like being this close to Wels. Not while he was this injured. He could feel the awareness of his other half like a spider on his skin. There was a reflex-like urge to shout and try to shake it off, the instinct-like certainty that if it rested on him long enough it would find a reason to bite him. And he knew, in the way only experience could teach, that if he could feel Wels, Wels could feel him. Helsknight had the sensation of walking a tightrope: his body insisted speed was the only thing that could save him, while his mind insisted he must stay unnoticed. He must balance necessity with making his thoughts and emotions small, and it was hard work to do when he was losing blood.

Helsknight blinked slowly, tiredly. He picked a direction and walked, a hand pressed to the wall, keeping himself upright. Wels's potion room was nearby, a borrowed half-memory informed him, he just had to get there. He searched his drifting thoughts for a poem to repeat in his head, to keep fear and uncertainty from rising. His heartbeat was quickening, a symptom of something; panic, or fear, or blood loss, or all three combined. He was fixing one of those things. He needed to carefully manage the other two, before Wels felt them. The only poem he could think of was in Middle English, and mostly gibberish to him, which told him it came from Wels's memories somewhere.

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Rhyming child with child was a lazy, but this was written back when one could convincingly spell "down" as "doun" so he supposed he shouldn't be overly critical. The real trick was figuring out if "derling" was supposed to mean "darling", or some other archaic word lost to time. He could only figure out so much from context clues. "Mourning" apparently transcended centuries, and that seemed fitting. Everyone knew mourning, in some form or another.]

An ache opened up beneath his clenched fist, or it had always been there, and his body was only just now reinforcing the fact that it was important. It felt like the mother of all cramps in his muscles, and he stubbornly pretended that's what it was. He needed more potassium in his diet or something, and the gods would forgive him the smear he left on the wall when he leaned on it, waiting on the intensity of his pain to ebb. The doorway he was walking towards seemed close, but also very, very far. Closing distance with it was going a lot slower than he thought it would, and it was only one short hallway. He was glad he'd decided to do this, instead of his other half-considered option of attempting to walk across hels to the Colosseum. He wouldn't have made it.

Dread pooled in his stomach. Dread, and other more physical things, like blood, probably, but he pretended the dread bit was more important. He could feel Wels pricking on his skin again, an insistent spider twitching at a breath on his web. Helsknight breathed out the steadiest breath he could manage.

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Sorwe. What medieval idiot thought "sorrow" was spelled like "sorwe"? Maybe it had something to do with inflection. Poetry was half words, half rhythm. Maybe "sorwe" was supposed to indicate they wanted the reader to pronounce "sorrow" as a single syllable, so it sounded more like "sore". That's also probably why "bothe y-same" was sitting there like word vomit. They meant "both the same", but wanted it read without a pause between the first two words. It was really the method for the madness that mattered with poetry.]

Helsknight blinked. He was in the potion room. He couldn't fully remember the walk down the hallway, but that didn't matter. What mattered was there should be health potions in here somewhere, his salvation. Relief edged his vision in stars, and he once again felt Wels's attention cant in his direction, confused and curious. Wels didn't associate feelings of relief with Helsknight. It wasn't an emotion they felt in each other's presence, and it was far too strong to be muffled by the distance to hels.

[He knows I'm here.]

Helsknight opened a chest and rifled through it. His vision was protesting. Stars and tilting that would turn to spinning soon made a clutter of his eyes. It got hard to distinguish the colors of the stoppered bottles. He picked up one that felt overly warm to his cold and shaking fingers. He was pretty sure it was a health potion. It felt too hot, but he reminded himself he was cold from losing blood, so it should feel hot. Hesitantly removed his fist from where it was balled in front of his sternum, and let his eyes unfocus when he grasped the bottle's stopper. His hands were so unsteady, it took a couple tries just to grab it, and when he pulled on the cork, his fingers slipped off weakly. He tried again, eyes closed with concentration, pouring every ounce of his strength into the act of pulling a stopper out of a bottle, only for his hand to slip right off again.

Frustrated, nearing desperate, he looked down at himself for a clean place to wipe his hand on his tunic. It was a mistake. He knew it as soon as he did it. His eyes were inexorably drawn from the fabric to the poke-holes in it, to the wine-dark stain that flowed down his front and still dripped tak-tak-tak slow and inexorable onto the floor. It was a woeful amount of blood. He was honestly surprised he wasn't dead yet. Chalk it up to fortitude, and ignorance, and size. He had more blood to lose than some people did.

Helsknight's world suddenly gave an awful twist, vertigo and the crescendoing, cramping agony of his wounds, only staved off by how his now shattered ignorance, kicking him off his feet just as surely as a horse could. He slumped against the wall, and then to the floor, and the awful jarring of it hurt him worse. Half a dozen other wounds on him aired their grievances, and the big one near his sternum pushed blood onto his fist when he clutched it. Helsknight sat pinned, unable to breathe for many long seconds, feeling a bit like he'd been struck by lightning. The pain was blinding and numbing and overwhelming all at once.

Why-- have no-- have ye no-- something something...

[Words. Breathe. Think of words.]

[Gods... But it hurts......]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

[And what the hels did "routhe" mean, anyway? He knew the word "route". He knew the name "Ruth". Neither of them fit, unless his bloodless brain was missing something. There was a chance "routhe" was supposed to be read like "bothe", as a double word slurred together, but that still left "routhe the" which made less sense in context than "routhe" did.]

Right. He was supposed to be doing something other than bleeding to death on the floor. Helsknight blinked, looked down at his hand and realized the health potion he'd grabbed was gone. He must have dropped it when he slumped over. Looking around, he spotted it just to the side of his left boot, unbroken, thankfully, but it might as well be a lifetime away for all the good it did him. Helsknight knew without a shadow of a doubt he couldn't reach it. The idea of tensing his muscles and dragging himself forward to reach was exhausting, and he hurt so much he knew the movement would feel like tearing himself in half, and there were just some things a mind couldn't power through. Helsknight laughed dismally and let his head fall onto his chest. Both motions were white hot agonies, but all his pains were starting to blur together into a smear of overwhelming sensation that took thought away. It occurred to him he was breathing too fast, like he'd run too far too fast, and his fluttering heartbeat agreed.

[... It hurts...]

[Gods and saints it hurts.]

[I'm dying.]

A feeling he could only describe as doom fell on his shoulders, a cold grasp of fear that wrapped stony hands around his heart and squeezed. He'd heard of this. Never felt it himself. The utter sureness that if he didn't do something now, he would die. All the unconscious bits in his body in charge of keeping him working all unanimously agreeing they needed divine intervention, preferably right now, before they started shutting down. It wasn't something he often had occasion to feel, though he had heard people tell of it after particularly grizzly matches and bloody tournaments. Death was normally too quick in the Colosseum, or else he'd won his match, and even if he was falling to pieces there was a health potion too close to hand to let him dwell on his harms. This was so terribly different. Death stalked toward him unhurried and unbothered, waiting on him to finish drowning in blood. He might panic, if he wasn't already so cold and scared.

"Ah. This makes some sense, anyway."

Helsknight, who had stopped seeing the world in front of himself without really closing his eyes, refocused his vision on the open doorway. Wels stood there, an angel of death in azure and silver, his sword in his hand. His eyes were the ruthless blue of hels freezing over and lifeless corpses, and Helsknight thought there was no one else in the world he would rather not watch him die. But the universe hated him, so here Wels was, just as surely as if he was fated.

"I didn't think all that fear could possibly be for me."

Helsknight tried to reply, but all he managed was a dying-animal noise that strangled itself out when he tried to breathe a little steadier. He tried again, and this time managed a very weak, but vaguely defiant, "Fuck off."

"Rude," Wels said chastisingly. A glow of something like smug satisfaction prickled Helsknight's skin. The feeling came from Wels. "Especially given I'm the only person who can save you."

Helsknight chuckled, and then stopped when his body seized painfully around the motion. "We both know you don't want to save me."

"No," Wels admitted. "But I don't want to do a lot of unpleasant things I agree to do anyway."

"How... charitable."

"It is a virtue."

"Sure."

Wels didn't move. Well, he did move, but only to sheath his sword. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame, the image of patience, as though they had all the time in the world.

[Hungry spider. Waiting on a web for something to struggle.]

"If you're waiting on me to beg," Helsknight informed him through staggering breaths, "I won't."

"Too prideful?"

Helsknight searched himself momentarily for pride, and came up short. Pride would've dictated he die in the alley, instead of here where Wels could lord it over him. This was something different than pride.

"No."

"Then why not?" Wels asked, raising an eyebrow. "It's easy. Just say, 'Welsknight, please give me a health potion'. Or if you're feeling monosyllabic, just 'please' will work."

Helsknight managed a smirk. "Why not help me out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I don't have any kindness for people like you."

[People like you. What a loaded phrase.]

Have ye no routhe on my child?

There was an entire philosophical debate that could happen in the phrase 'people like you' that Helsknight had neither the time or the energy to bother with. Besides, it was all words Wels knew. Wels pretended to be a chivalric knight. Chivalric knights helped the weak. Chivalric knights saved the defenseless. Helsknight, for all the grievances of his existence, was both right now. Then again, the chivalric knights were also supposed to make war against their enemies mercilessly, so he supposed Wels would be in his rights, as a chivalric knight, to walk away and let him die slowly and painfully on the ground.

As if sensing his thoughts, and likely because he could actually sense his thoughts a bit, Wels said, "You are always going on about how I need to be a better knight. There's something ironic here. No matter what I decide, I think you'll owe me an apology regardless."

The feeling of doom, of bone-deep, agonizing dying mantled over Helsknight again and Wels stopped existing to him. His sense of urgency, of desperation to live clawed its way up his throat. He tried to move his arm, his leg. He got his fingers to twitch. He tried to lean forward, to drag himself with willpower alone towards that stupid potion just out of reach. The potion he wasn't even strong enough to open. His vision collapsed in quickly, and he only knew he'd cried out because he was breathless. But he hadn't moved, besides managing to lull his head forward onto his chest again. Cold fear crawled around in his empty guts, a relentless, caged animal that refused to stop squirming.

[I'm dying.]

[Breathe.]

[I'm dying.]

A shadow fell over him, a presence freighted with hate, and deserving, and dissonant guilt. Wels had come forward, only to stop short when Helsknight's terror swept over him like a wave, and he stood baffled by it, and guilty for it. The fool knight probably thought Helsknight was scared of him. If only. Helsknight thought he would prefer that. At least then he could manage to die gracefully. Wels's fortitude bricked itself up against him then, a bitter soul trying to will itself to be cold and cruel, and Helsknight was thankful for it. It staved off his fear, if only a little.

"What did you do to bring this on, anyway?" Wels asked breathlessly, trying to recover his resolve. Looking for a reason to hate him.

"I was... walking home."

"That's it?" He sounded so skeptical, it was almost funny.

"I committed the terrible sin..." Helsknight laughed out a breath, "... of being fearless when I should have been cautious."

"Hubris."

"Habit."

"Yeah right."

"If I got stabbed like this every day, I wouldn't have come crawling here."

Wels glowered, parsing this statement for truth. Helsknight might have mustered some hate in him for it, if he wasn't so scared. His vision had taken on a permanent blur, and he was getting cold. He hadn't gone numb yet, which was something he found profoundly cruel. He wanted to be numb. To stop hurting. To stop fearing.

[Breathe.]

Why have ye no routhe on my child?

Have routhe on me ful of mourning;

Tak doun o rode my derworth child,

Or prik me o rode with my derling!

[Derworth... "Dearworth", probably. Beloved. So "derling" was probably "dearling", which turned into "darling". Middle English was strange. Just slightly to the left of normal. He didn't think "tak" was a word anymore, except where it existed as pieces of words. "Tak" to "take", to take hold, maintain, maybe. "Tak" to "tack" like a nail. "Prik" also, like "pricking" flesh, like a point digging.]

"Hold down the road, my dearworth child," Helsknight muttered. "Or pick me a road with my darling."

"What?"

"Stupid poem."

"How much blood have you lost?"

Helsknight laughed, and his whole body flinched, and for a moment he couldn't breathe because his pain was so alive and electric it almost stopped being pain. The concern from Wels was laughable. He wished Wels would make up his mind about whether or not he cared. Then he could get on with dying, and the terror would stop, and the universe would take him or it wouldn't, and if it didn't, he would respawn and sleep for a week. He felt Wels's hand on his wrist, which was its own kind of hilarious.

"Trying to figure out how many heartbeats I have left?" Helsknight asked.

It would be nice to know. If Wels figured it out, he hoped he would share the information. Then Helsknight could keep count.

"Your heart's too fast."

"That happens."

Wels stood up and paced, all nervous energy, back and forth across the room.

"You don't deserve my help," Wels told him scathingly, angry for how conflicted he felt. "You don't. You've been nothing but cruel ever since we met."

More pine ne may me ben y-don

Than lete me live in sorwe and shame;

["Pine", like pining. Or pain. More pain? Punishment maybe. "Don" to done. Something like: More pain to me could not be done than to let me live in sorrow and shame.]

Helsknight decided whoever wrote this poem had never been stabbed. He'd felt both sorrow and shame, and neither of them packed quite this amount of punch, in his opinion.

"It probably goes against my tenets anyway," Wels continued, still pacing. "And yours too. Aren't you the one who follows some crazy death god?"

"... Saint... of Blood and Steel."

"He probably thinks dying in a puddle on my floor is glorious."

"... they."

As love me bindëth to my sone,

So let us deyen bothe y-same.

[Maybe he was just getting better at this, or maybe this part was just easy. "As love I'm bound to my son, so let us die, both the same." It didn't flow very neatly when it was simpler. Maybe Middle English wasn't that stupid.]

"I can't help but think you did this on purpose to... I don't know. Test me somehow. Prove you're better. Weak again, Welsknight! For helping your enemy when you should have let him die, or speed him along. Don't you know knights are supposed to be cruel?"

Helsknight tried to call up his own tenets, or Wels's tenets, or anything to do with knights and their duties. He got a little lost on his way, his thoughts meandering and dying, and gasping back to life again when they remembered they were supposed to be searching for something. Something he was scared of. Dying. A wave of fear crashing over him that made Wels flinch, and bid Helsknight keep breathing, because any agony was worth not confronting that one, great, crippling unknown.

"What would you do in my place?" Wels asked him suddenly. "Answer me that, perfect knight. What would you do if the person you hated most showed up one day bleeding on your floor?"

That... was an excellent question. Helsknight searched briefly for the answer, and found it wasn't very hard to find.

"I would help."

"You're lying," Wels said guardedly.

"I... can't lie."

"Then you're dodging the truth. What would you do?"

"I would heal you if I could. Or I would kill you if I couldn't." With strength he didn't know he even still had, Helsknight leaned his head back against the wall. It was easier to breathe that way. To talk.

"Why?"

"No creature is deserving of dishonor or pain."

"That's not a tenet."

"It's not a chivalric tenet." Helsknight shrugged one shoulder weakly. "Chivalry states you can hang my guts from the ceiling if I'm your enemy."

"It does not."

"It might as well."

Wels didn't seem to have a ready reply for that.

"What is routhe?"

Wels blinked down at him, guarded and confused. "Routhe?"

"Routhe." Helsknight repeated, as though it were helpful. "Middle English."

"As in?"

"Poetry."

"Use it in a sentence."

"Why have ye no routhe on my child?"

"Ruth." Wels said, a bit too quickly, like he'd known what Helsknight was asking and was trying to avoid the answer. "We don't use it as ruth anymore. It shows up in rue, like regret, or sorrow. And... ruthless."

"Merciless."

"Yes."

Why have you no mercy on my child?

"Why are you asking about Middle English while you're bleeding to death on my floor?"

Helsknight let out a breath. It hurt, but everything did. "Stupid poem."

"Can I hear it?"

"I'm busy bleeding to death on your floor."

"Tell me and I'll heal you."

There it was again, asking for an excuse. That was Wels's real cowardice, his failing as a knight. He was scared of making decisions. Scared of dealing with the consequences of his actions. Paralyzed by indecision. He wanted to hate Helsknight because it was justified. He wanted to watch him suffer, because hatred allows suffering. He didn't want to label himself cruel, nor be accused of weakness, or softheartedness, if he showed mercy. And he didn't want to pick up his sword and kill, if it meant killing someone defenseless. He wanted Helsknight to give him a reason to act, so he could blame it on him later if it turned out wrong. Given it would likely be Helsknight rubbing his nose in it later if it was wrong, he couldn't really blame him for that.

Helsknight closed his eyes and counted his heartbeats, and pretended he wasn't scared.

"Do what you will."

An hour long minute ticked by. Helsknight felt the time moving like it was physical, like he was falling through it and he couldn't catch himself, and he was nearing his limits. He thought the only thing stopping him from begging for it all to stop was the crushing weight of his fatigue, the exponential strength it took to take his next breath, and that stupid poem, skipping in a circle in his head. It kept his thoughts away from his fear, from bearing the weight of the unknown that came next. It was still there, a nameless, formless anxiety that formed the undercurrent of his thoughts. But he didn't have to think about it when he was busy being annoyed about a poem stuck in his head.

Wels moved. He stooped to pick up the potion Helsknight had dropped and unstoppered it deftly. He was surprisingly gentle as he helped him drink, aware that every movement could cause pain. Helsknight could feel Wels's caution in the air like wings, like a bird hovering before it lands. The first potion wasn't enough to heal him completely, so he got a second from his chests and helped him with that as well, one hand hovering over Helsknight's wounds, waiting on the skin to knit back together. Helsknight got to his feet, shaky, and feeling like he'd been wrung dry of all vitality. There was no pain to speak of, but he was thirsty, and hungry, and exhausted.

"You should rest before you go anywhere," Wels said, words of pragmatic care that sounded stilted coming from him. "I can get you some water."

"I'll be fine," Helsknight told him, allowing himself some hesitant pride now that the smothering pain was gone. Even exhausted, he could think so much more clearly now -- think at all, really. And he thought the longer he stayed here, the higher the chance Wels would come to regret his decision to heal him. They were not made to like each other. They didn't even respect each other as enemies. And Helsknight knew if they fought now, he would lose, and he might lose very badly, if Wels decided to leave him to bleed out again. It was something Wels had never done before, but if he could convince himself Helsknight deserved it, he would.

"Do what you will, then," Wels said, bitterness creeping into his tone. He probably thought he was being coy and ironic. Helsknight mostly thought it was annoying.

"The poem isn't mine," Helsknight said. "It's one you've read before. Middle English. Why have ye no routhe on my child. I don't know the title. It might just be the first line. I think it's a lament."

"... I see."

"Next time you find yourself bleeding out on someone's floor," Helsknight snorted, "Pick something stupid like that. It makes things... manageable."

"Right... manageable."

Helsknight gave a helpless sort of shrug, as though what he'd just said were perfectly normal.

Wels mustered an enviable facsimile of concern when he said, "I've never felt terror like that before."

Helsknight felt his already parched mouth somehow go drier. The sympathy he felt rolling off of Welsknight was sickening. Literally. He could feel himself becoming nauseous.

"What are you so scared of?"

Shame, red hot and searing, clawed at the inside of Helsknight's ribs. He wished so badly he could hide it. Distract himself from it. At least turn it into anger. But he was tired, and he didn't know how to bring his emotions back to heel, and Welsknight was already giving him an open, piteous look like maybe they'd stumbled onto something significant. He could feel hope there, like maybe there was a reason they hated each other like they did, and if Wels could figure out where that fear came from, they could find common ground -- or at least the leverage Wels needed to make Helsknight relent.

"I don't need your pity, white knight," Helsknight snarled. "Go sate your savior complex somewhere else."

Wels scowled. A cold wall of loathing, resigned and inevitable, closed itself around anything else he could possibly feel.

[As it should be.]

Hours later, home and safe, Helsknight cracked open his journal and wrote:

Why have you no mercy on my child?

Have mercy on me, so full of mourning;

Take down the road my dearworth child,

O give me a road with my darling!

More pain to me could not be done

Than to let me live in sorrow and shame

As with love I am bound to my son,

So let us die then, both the same.

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makncheese12 · 1 year

Text

Top Shelf

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: being the kid of a well-known book store owner was easy, so was running into famous people. But being book smart doesn’t make everyone people smart.

Warnings: my writing, language(bad words😯), my attempt at being funny, mention of gun shots and head shots, mentions of my favorite book(literally love Ruta Sepetys sm omg.

A/N: part 2? I am going to make you all suffer through the most oblivious slow burn. R if going to be so dumb/oblivious it’ll hurt you all🫶🏻

Word count - 3.6k

Credits: @novmoth (my friend from school who feeds into my delusions and gives me more ideas for this story🫶🏻)

(bare with me English is not my first language🥲 I’m getting help from my friend to edit it)

You were born to it.

The books. The films. The music and video games.

It was your life, literally. With your parents being owners of the infamous establishment called ‘top shelf’, you had no choice but to.

And you wouldn’t ever change.

Books upon books, movie after movie, games old and new and music that could last you weeks. Who would want to change such a life?

Your father was the first to start it.

He was poor man in Washington but had just enough money to buy it from the man who owned the small movie shop before he retired. He slowly started added book shelves and video games to the mix. Getting few customers but enough to survive day to day during the time of his early years

Your mother was a wealthy run away. Wanting something different and new in her life when she met your father. The man was playing on his game boy behind the counter before he saw her.

The poor boy and his run away wife, a classic really.

The rest after that is history.

As soon as they found out your mother was pregnant with you, they used the rest of her money they saved and went to New York where they bought the huge abandoned apartment complex.

They broke all the insides down and built what you now know as your second home. Hundreds of video games, films and music in one section and thousands of books in another.

Thus, Top Shelf was born only two weeks after you.

You met many friends there in the comfort section where students and business people worked as you all goofed off.

Your had also met your small friend group during your younger years, the four of you all never letting your father have the peace he wanted and dragging him all over New York.

With the thousands of books and hundreds of video games and films your parents sold, you had money. Lots of it.

But your mother made sure you never let that get the best of you, never. It went against everything she went for when she ran away.

She would make sure you would work for and earn everything you got, always.

She never let you have too much online activity, in case her family found you and made sure you were both street smart and book smart.

Your neighbors made sure you were street smart more than anything but you still gave her credit for trying.

Though, the book store was beautiful in every season. Winter was a favorite and when it was busiest. It was too your favorite.

Your father lighting the public fire place, your mother setting soft seasonal music, hell even the cheesy Christmas cartoons on the TV’s set the mood for the perfect bookstore vibe.

The lights dim just enough to where it almost felt like dark academy yet the plants that grew down the upstairs railing made the entire place feel more alive.

————

“Bullshit!” You yell out as you throw your head back onto the head rest of your chair, groaning loudly as the photo sound of your death snapped in your ears.

“Man, he’s fucking using cheats!” Dru calls out through the mic before his name pops up above to yours in dark red on the screen as you respawn.

“Of course he is, he’s a pussy.” Mj says, as her name, too, pops up on the screen.

“Oh come on, guys!” Lyle says through his staticky mic. “You all just suck.” He laughs

“Now I know your cheating, dude. Your mic is acting up again, just like last time!” Dru says, the sound of his voice booming louder than needed and you roll my eyes.

“DD, just because you like to replay games without using cheats doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” Lyle says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“It’s multiplayer, stupid! It’s meant to be fair for everyone!” Dru says making you snort. “Says the guy who chases around little kids and steals their horses making them cry.” Mj says making Dru blow into his mic making loud, unnecessary noises.

“Quit that!” You say taking one head phone off your ear. “Tsk tsk tsk,” Lyle starts. “Such a sore loser.”

“I’ll show you sore loser, get on Elden ring and we’ll test your irritation.” Dru says, mic now muffled by his own spit.

“Your tank build is not enough to stop me, comet azur will always save the day.” He says in a sing-song voice.

“And you call me a try hard, yet you’re the one always using a broken spell.” Dru complains. “Theres nothing I have to try hard at when I can just hold a simple button.” The sound of Dru’s groans become louder as his spit clears out from his Mic. “Same thing!”

You laugh once again before picking up your phone and looking at the time.

“Shit!” Your eyes go wide at the sight, 8:48 AM.

You quickly throw the head set off and push yourself out of the chair, opening your closet grabbing a quick pair of jeans and a hoodie before rushing to put it all on.

Your cat skids across the floor, startled by your sudden movements before a crashing in the your pile of books and out the door.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble as you jump up and down to put on your shoes, failing at not falling and race toward the door. “Sorry!” You call to your cat who yells at you next to his food bowl.

You grab your keys and rush out the door before slamming it shut and locking it.

“Ay, y/n!” Your neighbor, Rosa, shouts from beside her door. “Quiet will you! I just put Nona to sleep!” She yells raising her news paper tapping your head with it.

“Sorry! sorry, Señora Rosa.” You whisper yell as you try to push her weaponized hand away. “I’m just a little late.”

“And I just got a moment of peace! Quiet!” She says giving you one last wack making you try and shrink away from her as you rush toward the stairs.

“You got your pepper spray, right?” She calls and you raise your key chain to show her the attached small can. “¡Buena niña!”

You rush down the stairs and push passed the glass door, almost slipping on the ice before running down the street.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket making you quickly take it out.

“Hello?” You ask without knowing who it was.

“Arthur Morgan would be very disappointed at your sudden disappearance from an important mission.” Lyle says before sighing.

“It’s multiplayer, there are no main missions.” You say, trying to avoid the ice on the ground before stopping at the red hand across the street. “Plus, we were in the middle of four way 1v1. He’d be more upset that we were going against each other.”

“Loyalty is everything in such a game,” he says, sarcasm in his voice and you imagine him shaking his head. “Of course he would be upset at my bullet in DD’s head.”

“Why’d you call me exactly?” You ask watching the hand turn into a green man walking before taking off again.

“Well, you just yelled ‘shit!’ Before disappearing on us, had to make sure someone didn’t break in and kill you.” He replies casually as if he knew that weren’t the case. “But after hearing you continue on your ‘shit’ rant and the door slam I figured it was okay, just had to call and make sure, y’know?”

“Ever heard of a text, loser?” You ask, barley missing a man walking and looking down at his phone. “Gross,” he says before making a gagging noise. “why waste such time typing when I can simply just hit one button?”

“You’re so lazy.” You laugh out loud as you run across another street. “Work smarter not harder, Y/N. You should know this with that big brain of yours.”

“What if I want to work both smarter and harder?” You ask, running up to the glass window to see the books lined up. “Well, then your just weird.” You roll your eyes.

“Just kidding. I guess you can do both, I just personally prefer the alternative.” He says as the sound of guns shooting fills the phone. “Yeah, also sorry about leaving.” You say pushing into the store being greeting with the familiar smell of books and the warm smile of my mother.

“I forgot I had to get ready for work.”

“You’re at top shelf?” He ask and you reply with a ‘mhm’. “I might stop by later to say hello actually, I need a new game anyway.” He laughs as the sound of Dru yelling in the back ground becomes more prominent.

“Sounds good, see you loser” You say as you take your sweat shirt off, leaving you in your tank top you hand before leaving. “Later,” you hear him say before hanging up.

“Good morning,” you hear your mother say as you pull the staff sweat shirt over your head and pull up your sleeves. “Mornin’,” you reply before kissing her cheek.

“Wheres dad?” You ask looking around before your eyes setting on the woman stack a pile of books into one pile.

“He’s going to be out of town for a few days,” she says carrying the pile to the check back station. “A vacation, I insisted as I continue your training.” She says making you smile.

“We both know he needs it, he’s getting older.” She says and your smile fades as you nod. “So are you.” You mumble and she, too, nods.

“You know him getting old is different from me getting old.” She states, sighing quietly.

“What’s todays task?” You ask, quickly changing the subject at the sight of her sad frown. She looks at you for a moment before smiling once again.

She moves to storage closet and unlocks it, allowing you to see the boxes upon boxes along with stacks of different other things.

“To be a good store owner, you have to know your customers.” She says returning with a large box that you quickly take from her.

“Just put it on that table — and to know your customers, you must socialize and help them throughout the store.” She finishes as you take the box to the table noticing the label romance written across it.

“That also means having to work while helping the customers, so you’ll be on stock duty as well.” She says with a smile.

Yes.

You mentally say to yourself. Stock duty required work of you finding the places of different books, movies and games which also meant finding new things you didn’t know about before.

“One more thing,” you mother says as she walks behind the counter to finish opening up the store. “No head phones.” Your eyes go wide.

“But ma!” You call out to the lady who switches the sign from closed to open. “What else am I supposed to do when I stock!” You call, holding onto the white cords and swinging them around.

“Help the customers and socialize.” She laughs out making you frown. “I should call CPS.” You mumble carrying the box to the sorted area before hearing the woman’s laugh.

“Sure, call ahead but don’t be disappointed when they decline a twenty year old.”

You roll your eyes before continuing down the aisle.

“And after you sort those, get the others out of the storage closet!” You huff quietly as you glance back with a small playful glare on your face.

“If I wanted to work out, I would have gone to the gym.” You say and she rolls her eyes. “You’ll be just as sore in the morning, trust me.”

————

Hours hand passed, since you last seen the romance box having moved on to the horror section of the films.

You search through their placement areas, looking at all the old cinematic master pieces, the many Dracula films placed neatly next to each other, in order of both year and name.

Horror was one of the favorites when coming here, your father being a collected through his years he had many people couldn’t get their hands on.

Sure you could watch it online now but where’s the fun in that when you have a real copy with the static noises and written voices on screen. Some people still had some class left in them.

You hear a book hit the floor making the library echo as heads turned toward the cause of the sudden interruption of their silence.

“Shit—” You hear someone say quietly, making you roll your eyes as you place the rest of the CD’s in their rightful places before making your way toward the aisle the noise came from.

You subtly make your way toward the aisle while acting like your checking the books before taking a peek around the corner.

You see a rather short girl — shorter than the third shelf — craning her neck to look up at all the books in front of her.

Just to your luck, your mother placed a box for that genre next to the end of the shelf and you picked it up.

You make your way down the aisle and set the box toward the middle before looking up the girl who was already staring, and boy was she something.

Freckles littered across her tan skin, strands of her short hair fell from her half up half down style, her eyes — damn her eyes — they were the prettiest brown you’ve ever seen.

You smile lightly before picking up the first book and reading both the authors name and the title while trying to slow down your racing heart.

Who was this girl? Matter of fact, what was she? She wasn’t a regular, that’s for sure but you always get random people coming in so it didn’t exactly matter.

After putting away a few books, you glance up to see the girl a few feet away and on her tippy toes, reaching for a book on the fifth or sixth shelf.

You snorted quietly catching the girls attention making you quickly look away to keep yourself from laughing.

“You think this is funny?” She asks and you begin shaking in quiet laughter.

After a few moments, you compose yourself and stand shaking your head.

“No, not at all. Would you like some help?” You ask taking step toward her. She narrows her eyes. “Are you making fun of me right now?” She asks, both amusement and annoyance in her voice.

“Why would I do that? It’s poor customer service.” You say with a smile before watching her own smile grow.

“It’s poor customer service to laugh at a customer.” She mumbles before stepping back. “Please.” You walk up and grab the book.

“Look how easy that was.” She says, taking the book you held out for her. “Being six-foot-two does have its perks.” She says looking over the back of the book.

You roll your eyes but your smile only grows. Looking down at the book you nod and raise your eye brows, “that’s a good one, read it a few years back.” You say, making your way back to box of books.

“I’d hope so, for all the work I had to do to try and get it.” She mumbles making you smile and shake your head. “Anything else good?” She asks, looking down to you.

“You’re asking me if there’s anything else good in here when there’s just by the look of it thousands of books here?” You ask, smirking at her when she rubs the back of her neck.

“Yes, there is, I’ve read more than I can count. My recommendation board is up by the front desk if you want to check it out.” You say before placing crave by Tracy Wolff into the slot.

“You must have come here a lot before working then? If you’ve read so many books from here.” She asks, following hot on your trail with the book tucked between her arm. “Oh, for sure,” you say nodding. “The owners and I are real close, we were together a whole nine months before I was born.”

Her eyes widen slightly at the information. “You’re parents own this place?” She asks, gesturing to the entire book store and you nod, smiling.

It felt like you were a teenage boy, flaunting his muscles to a girl he finds attractive.

“Wow,” she says looking around once again. Book still tucked tightly into her arm as she did so. “Just wow. Your parents have taste.”

“More like their people pleasers.” You say shaking your head. The real other reason why horror is so popular in the movie section is because of their request.

Every week they check their request list and buy everything people ask for. New books, new movies, new music and games, there’s always something new. You’re surprised there’s still room, then again the place would be as big you supposed.

“They like having their customers choice their number one priority. It’s good business.” You say looking up to the girl who had a look of wonder in her eyes as she stared down at you but there was also something else. Something you couldn’t quite place.

She stares at you for another moment before speaking again, “do you.. know who I am?” She asks and your furrow your eye brows in question.

“Should I?” You ask tilting your head. She stares for another moment again, eyes scanning your face and it’s features as if searching for something.

Her smile then grows, as she shakes her head. “You shouldn’t, or rather shouldn’t have to. It’s just a surprise.” She says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

You knit your eye brows together in confusion.

She walks out of the aisle and you catch the light smile on her face as she does.

What the hell? You wonder to yourself as you place the last few books away.

You were pretty sure that was the last section, unless your mother put out some more stuff you didn’t notice. You’d just check out the to-do list.

Your mother and father always had one for both you and their own sake. Adding things so no one would forget.

As you made your way to check out, you see the girl walking in the general distraction as well.

“All set?” You ask, placing the box inside the others, moving past the small door attached to the low counter.

“Yep,” she says once again staring at you.

You take the book you got for her earlier along with another you recognize almost immediately. “Between shades of gray?” You ask, looking at her as if she were serious.

“Your description seemed trust worthy enough to make me interested.” You glance over to see your board clearly flipped through before nodding.

You scan both books. “Careful, it’s sad, dark and traumatic. It’s one of my favorites though.” You say looking up at her, she pauses for a moment, staring at you once again and just smiles and shakes her head.

“I think I can deal with a few of those.”

“Bartering or buying?” You ask. “Bartering,” she replies and you nod. “Good, I need to get a review on what you think.” You say with a smirk and you see a glint of something in her eyes.

“Name?” You ask and she looks at you a little confused. “We have to know whose using our books, how else do you think we send emails threatening to charge or get them back?” You snort.

“Oh, your totally right.” she says quietly before taking out her credit card.

“Jenna Ortega..” she says and you nod, typing in the name before reaching for the credit. Her grip on the card tightens at your lack of response.

You pull the card gently but her grip is to hard for you to take.

“Can I… get the card?” You ask, looking around slightly uncomfortably with the stone like stare she was giving you.

“Are you sure you don’t know who I am?” She asks letting go allowing you to swipe the card.

“Again, should I?”

You both stare at each other, both confused and entrapped by the other.

You find is strange how she thinks you know who she is or why you don’t know her.

Maybe she was some big deal somewhere off and you still have yet to hear about her.

Her name did ring a bell but you weren’t sure. Was she a person you knew from your child hood? An old friend trying to reconnect? Maybe some relative on your moms sent by the older ones to investigate if it was really you.

“Miss Ortega?” You’re both broken out of your thoughts as two large men stand behind her. “Time to go.” he says gesturing to a few people who were standing and staring in your general direction.

One grabs the bag off the counter before quickly walking towards the door.

“Looks like I gotta go,” she says, smile now suddenly shy with others watching. “Don’t worry, I’ll return your book Y/N.” She says before walking toward the door, one of the men right behind her.

“Yeah, you bet-“ you pause after the the realization hits you. “Wait, how’d you-?” You begin to ask before watching her gesture to her chest.

You knit your eyebrows together, you look down to see the name tag right under the library symbol.

She was strange.. cute.. but strange

Read next sort here!

A/N : Some parts once again rushed🧍🏽‍♀️This is just an introduction I suppose, the details will get better I tried my hardest🥲

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #celebrity x reader #top shelf #book store #book store owner #scream #Wednesday Addams #Vada Cavell #tara carpenter #scream 5 #scream 6 #jenna ortega imagine #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega x you

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frostbitten-screams · 6 months

Text

hey why does nobody ever talk about how the rot seems to be like. the only other possible method of leaving the cycle. yeah yeah yeah it eats you and you respawn in-game but I believe that's just Game Mechanic and not Lore Mechanic

the rot seems to consume literally anything it can reach. metal, dirt, brick, water, meat, plant, whatever. and then it becomes part of the rot. it can never revert back (good example is hunter becoming a longlegs + the way pebbles' structure can't fix itself anymore when iterator structures are usually able to for normal damage). it becomes one with the rot until the rot dies like we eventually see in silent construct and then whatever was consumed dies alongside it. or inside it?

and the X markings on each lump that makes up a mass of rot, which just so happens to be spherical/circular, feels almost very intentional of resembling the karma 10 symbol??

maybe I am just seeing correlations where there are none but it SEEMS like the options for leaving the cycle are: get horrifically and slowly consumed by the revolting, squelching mobile embodiment of death OR crawl deep beneath the earth, give up all worldly desires and possessions, and get your body & your essence itself horrifically and slowly scrubbed away with an acid so strong it removes you from reincarnation entirely to exist fuck-knows-where. and are either of those really worth it?

#I may just be talking out my ass but ???????????#please be niceys to me I am just Having Thoughts #rain world #rain world spoilers

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thesharktanksdriver · 11 months

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Determination (Platonic)

As you can tell this is kinda based off of Undertale in the whole. Not a lot but some elements from it that I changed

This isn’t really linear and I’m just jumping from character to characters

Cause screw the timeline

Warning of a lot of child death and spoilers

part 2 part 3 shanks

Determination : a Paramecia type devil fruit shaped into a four pointed star. This mysterious devil fruit allows its user to essentially become immortal. When the user dies they “respawn” at a different location randomly. Oddly, when dying via water the effects of the fruit still occur though it takes longer for the user to “respawn” and the user doesn’t age after eating the fruit.

Determination was something that was sewn into the fabric of the human soul

From the dawn of time humanity fought to survive against nature and itself

This blazing emotion called determination propelled them forwards against all odds

A blazing spark that had pushed them again and again

Through every conflict and tragedy

If is perhaps one of the most important things of the human spirit along with the capacity for compassion

It’s no surprise that determination was a strong thing but even stronger would be the devil fruit you one day ate that you decided to name after that one blazing emotion

It took a long while for you to figure out the ability of the fruit since nothing happened at first all those years ago

You didn’t transform into an animal of any sorts

Nor did you change your body or make something like flames appear

It left you confused…well until you died by accident

In your defence you were a young kid (you still are to be honest) without any spacial awareness

So you didn’t notice the tiger that snuck up on you

There was a small moment of pain and then black

A pure black much like the ocean at night

There’s was confusion and then something appeared in front of you

A glimmering star that glowed softly and appeared out from your chest

Pulsating gently as you stared at it

You touched it and then woke up

Sand beneath between your fingers as you got up confused

It’s there that you saw the ocean stretching out beyond your view and into the horizon

Cerulean blue sparkling with the sunlight

Bits of golden light shimmering around you now fading as you sat up confused

It took a while after that as well to figure out the specifics but you figured out that you died

And that seemingly despite that you were brought back somewhere new, an island across the ocean from what you once knew was home

It’s a lot to take in but with time it settles in on you as you navigate what to do next

You’d always had wanted to explore and sail the seas

What always held you back was the danger of it all

Your parents once warned you of it before their deaths

How you shouldn’t do something so risky that could end up taking your life

But now there was no worry of that

Of leaving them

It was just you on your own in this big world

Now leaving you with that once far off Dream being your only reality

So after that you geared up and set sail

Your ship…er if you could even call it one was Basically a couple of barrels combined together into a small vessel

At least 8 barrels served as the base whilst two were combined together into a hut with a small cut out to make your bed area

There was no wheel or proper sail

You used a umbrella attached to a big stick and turned it manually to control the direction

But you rarely did that

You kinda just let the boat take you to wherever

It was fun that way

Partially because all the friends you’d met were made through this method of letting the waves take you wherever it deemed you go next

How your ship has survived for decades you don’t really know nor care about

All that mattered was that it floated and was a serviceable vessel (many would disagree with that)

Through the years you stayed the same as the world changed

You never aged from when eating the devil fruit and though you become more mature you were still a kid at heart

One filled with determination

Gol.D Roger

Ironically for someone seen as the “pirate king” you’d think that he’d be more mean

But surprise surprise when you pull up on your boat near his own the pirate king himself invites you aboard

Smiling brightly as he offers you a hand and his men tie your boat to his own so it doesn’t float away

Your friendship with Roger was something that you’d consider priceless

He is considerably kind and gentle with you

Almost treating you as if you were his own child

His crew is equally welcoming to you as they all share the thought of how in the world had you survived this long (key point technically you hadn’t lol)

That day in which you had first met him they throw a small party where your their guest

Drinks are shared all round, you even get to sneak in a sip as Roger laughs whole heartedly at a joke

For the first time in a long while you eat and sleep in a real bed on his ship

And the next day he’s sitting you down to have a serious talk with you

Roger may be childish and oblivious but he can tell there’s more to this than meets the eye

He isn’t pushy or threatening like you had expected

Just asking what your situation was

So you tell him

Perhaps it was because you were still naive or because you knew your secret would be safe with him

But something in you told you to trust him and your gut was never wrong

You expect the reaction to be something like asking you how you got it

maybe even jealousy

But what you get in return is sympathy

He thinks of how lonely you must be

Something more akin to a curse despite its benefits

You’d never really saw it that way but his gentle gaze full of forlorn sadness makes you open your eyes a bit

In many ways, yes, never dying was a curse of loneliness

You’d outlive everyone

But in your eyes that time spent and having the opportunity in meeting them i the first place made up for that

Forever sharing their stories and carrying their memory kept you from being alone

He smiles

While you never officially joined his crew you ended up traveling with them for months on end

Becoming apart of their family as the crew took turns letting you sit on their shoulders

Your favourite thing to do though was stealing Rogers coat and hat

Parading around like him as everyone else held in chuckles as you fake ordered them around

It became something of a tradition as Roger would randomly announce to the crew their real captain was here as you walked out

He became a lot like an older brother with fatherly qualities

Fun and caring

Despite knowing you couldn’t really die he always remains careful around you

Especially when their fighting marines

He doesn’t want you targeted for affiliation so he does his damn best in hiding you away during fights

Hell, he even once punched someone across a bar for trying to pick on you

Like when you trusted him with knowledge of your immortality he trusts you with knowledge of Rouge and his unborn son shortly before his death

Perhaps in some ways he knew his death was soon but he entrusts you with something only his most trustworthy allies are allowed to know

You aren’t there when he died but you know for sure he did so with a smile

Clutching one of his coats to your chest you cry with a soft smile as his son is born

Rouge let’s you hold the young baby she named Ace

A fitting name for someone who you knew was bound to be an Ace in the deck of cards that was the world

Monkey D. Garp

You meet Garp cause of Roger

Shocking right (note the sarcasm)

Particularly because Roger entrusted you to show Garp where Rouge was hiding out

It is…tense at first to say the least especially since you knew Roger was likely being walked to his execution

The one person you grew to trust more than yourself

But as usual, with time you both began to talk

He asks if your apart of Rogers crew and you answer truthfully

Your not but they had accepted you as their own

Taken in a small child afloat on the ocean without any hesitation

They all respected that your a free spirit that couldn’t be tethered to one place forever and accepted that

Garp had already respected Roger but it grew as you talked of the pirate king

This the talk time goes away though when Rouge begins to give birth

Your left panicked and doing your best to comfort her as best you could

Your still a kid, there isn’t much you can do but your trying for her sake

For the sake of her unborn child

For Roger

Despite how tears stung your eyes from how hard she held your small hand

You held them back and focused on her

And it’s through that Garp sees how you are indeed not a pirate

Your just a child, one who was alone in this world clinging to a piece of driftwood

Floating from place to place and helping others despite the fact you needed it as well

When Ace is born and Rouge passes away your left to cry as you comfort the young baby boy

The marine carefully takes Ace from your arms and lets you mourn

Not only for a woman who showed you nothing but kindness but also for Roger

And for Ace having to grow up without either parents, for being doomed to a fate of death if anyone else found out of his linage

You end up going with him since you can’t yet peel yourself away from Ace

It feels too soon and you need more time for a proper goodbye

He’s fine with this though

Dare you even say he encouraged you to come with him

Despite your…lacklustre experience with marine’s you find Garp to be nice company

It’s Odd but he acts almost fatherly?

There’s a hidden longing in his eyes of wanting familiar connection

Something that you can relate to after the loss of your mom and dad

A craving for a connection you once thought lost

Eventually though you know it’s your time to leave

With a last goodbye to Ace in the form of a kiss to the forehead and a small handmade charm you set off

Garp is already waiting there though with your boat and a box of supplies

And Garp tells you that you’d make a good marine

You laugh

Never in a million years

And despite knowing your answer he isn’t angry, he smiles and waves as you begin to sail away on your dinky “boat”

He probably should’ve at least bought you a real boat

Maybe next time he muses

Next time

The cycle begins again

Doflamingo and Rosinante Donquixote

After a long while of traveling you ended up at Dressrosa for a pit stop

But decided to stay a bit longer than you anticipated when you met two boys your age

Both were battered and bruised Beyond recognition

Blond hair muddied with clumps of blood and mud

The two brothers were apprehensive at first but eased up when you offered them the pie you bought yourself

Apparently the entire island HATED them with a passion

Something because of them being celestial dragons which you didn’t care about nor understand why that would lead to how others treated them

It’s messed up to you that their practically beaten for something they can’t control

So you stand up for them

Taking the hits for the two brothers as people focus their anger on you apparently betraying them or something

You don’t care

Not like you can die anyways but the two blonds don’t exactly like seeing their only friend beat up because of them

But that doesn’t stop you since you were their friend

And friends help friends

Nor would you stand for such an injustice in your eyes

Rosinante enjoys playing games with you

Out of the two he is more immature in the sense he’s more like a regular kid

He is compassionate and kind despite the circumstances

One who would tend to your wounds as his brother stewed in frightening anger

It scared him…how his brother had some sort of darkness in him that grew

Your the only person he confides this to

And you can’t help but also be worried for his bother but also himself

How this could affect him when considering that he brother was one of the only people dear to him

But that was a worry for later

In the moment you focus on keeping him happy and distracted from the cruelties directed towards him

You’d buy sweet treats, toys and a scavenge bits of pretty shells as gifts

Letting the two keep the small signs of your friendship as a way to at least brighten their days

At some point you had even picked up on his like for heart themed stuff and incorporated that into the stuff you wave gave him

Safe to say he might’ve cried some tears of happiness

Sometimes you worry for him out of the two

Doffy knows that fighting is sometimes the answer but Rosinante doesn’t

Along with the fact he trips over thin air

You don’t know how many times you’d bandaged him up

But everyone has their quirks you suppose

And you wouldn’t change them for the world

Doflamingo on the other hand is very much the opposite of his brother

He doesn’t exactly play, he more so soaks up the knowledge you spill of your travels

Stuff of how the world worked

The politics of some of the islands you’d visited

He’s innately interested to a degree you hadn’t exactly expected

But in some sense you appreciated it

Everyone just lumping it under the ramblings of a child

But Doffy doesn’t

Speaking of which your the only one permitted to call him that lest they get a swift kick to the ass

It’s an honour you hold in high regard

Especially since he even gives you a nickname of your own

“Knight”

It’s cause apparently your like their own personal knight, something fitting cause he one day swore to rise up back to their proper birth right

Before their parents abandoned it

He’s strong and knows it but still insists that your their protector of sorts

You don’t really argue with him about it anymore

In fact you kinda lean into the name

Making a makeshift sword out of a stick and waving it around in mock sword fights

It brings back fond memories of your old friends that have probably long forgotten you

Except for the fact you had to save Rosinante from almost poking his eye out

Nothing however as usual can last forever

You don’t know what had led up to this point but eventually everyone had enough of them

And also you protecting them

Some men dragged you into a town square of sorts one night

Their yelling obscenities at you that you don’t flinch at

Even as they tie you in ropes that bite at your skin and walk you towards a chopping block

The crowd holds you down on the block as flames illuminate your face

You can only watch in pity as the Donquixote’s are forced down to watch as the blade rises above your head

Your only shred tears for your two friends having to watch your death

A smile finds its way on your face

Tears lining your eyes as they cascade down your cheeks, shining due to the warm light of torches

There was cheering from the crowd

Screaming from Doffy

Crying from Rosantine

And the air splitting as the blade came down

And then darkness before a familiar gold shining light appears before you once more

The cycle begins again

What you don’t know is that both boys notice your kicked away body dissipate into golden stardust that travels up into the sky before their both blindfolded and strung up

Whitebeard pirates

During your time with Roger he had several encounters with Whitebeard but your first real encounter happens when you end up at an island in their territory

You once again died and ended up there and almost immediately ran into the well known member of the group Marco

Now in his perspective you were a random child who stumbled out an alleyway with scrapes and bruises

How was he not supposed to be worried?

His mind goes immediately to possible conclusions even as you argue with him that your fine

To please not take you to a medic

In reality you really wanted to avoid Whitebeard in case of unearthing memories of Roger

But you don’t have much of a choice when this blue bird boy is dragging your ass back to the ship to be properly healed

You don’t go down without a fight though…doesn’t do much but it sure does look like a rabid animal attacked him so it’s something

But your brought to the ship, the good old Moby dick which looks even bigger up close and personal

And there sitting down with tubes attached to him is Edward “Whitebeard” Newgate

Otherwise known as Roger’s kinda rival/friend?…it was complicated, too complicated for you to understand at least

Everyone aboard welcomes you with a smile even as you keep punching the (in your words) “oversized chicken with a pineapple for a head”‘S back in vain

Safe to assume the crew grows to like you as your kinda just adopted on board

Their docked at the island for awhile so they haven’t just taken off with you being dragged along

Though from what you heard of their track record you wouldn’t have been surprised

Marco is the one who interacts with you the most at first mostly cause his devil fruit helped with injures

Despite your petty aggression you do have to admit he is nice company

He’s rather levelheaded and exceedingly caring

It’s why he (literally) dragged you here in the first place

Cause he couldn’t just leaven an injured kid on their own

You get the sense that due to his fruit he’s older than he seems, it makes sense with the whole Phoenix thing

So you often pose questions of immortality to him to see if he had differing views to you

Surprisingly he didn’t

He also carried the mindset of it being worth it due to all the experiences you couldn’t have in a lifetime

It’s nice in a weird way

Just knowing you weren’t alone in having to watch the world change as you stay the same

You don’t say this aloud of course but he seems happy in discussing the “possibility’s” with you

He takes to looking after you even after your better and interacting with others on the ship

A sense of responsibility for the fact he brought you aboard in the first place

Along with a possible hint of Kinship and a mother hen instinct (Thatch got smacked on the head for that)

Occasionally he likes to change fully or half shift into his Phoenix form to fly around

It’s a pretty sight

Even more so when he offers to taking you flying as well

Feeling the wind swish past as you soar through the air isn’t something you’d ever experienced before

It is ingrained in your mind that sense of adrenaline and rush of a mixture of fear and excitement

Its single-handedly an experience you’d likely never forget

And everyone seems to know it as he places you gently back down on the deck, shaky legs paired with a bright smile and wide eyes

Sometimes you wonder if he has bird instincts but he doesn’t answer the question (the crew says yes he does)

Thatch is extremely friendly and because of that (and the food) you end up hanging with him in the kitchen quite a bit

Food had always kinda been an afterthought to you and you’d forgotten what having good food was actually like

But with Thatch he changes that quickly

The food he makes brings back nostalgia of old

The home cooked meals in your mouth after a long day, sitting yourself down at the table as she placed a hot plate in front of you

The scent and steam still rising off of it

He has her smile, bright and gentle

The first time you ate one of his meals and he gave you that look you cried

Which caused an angry Marco to try and yell at him for doing something before you stopped him

While you stay on the ship you unofficially become his little helper

Bringing others their meals and prepping up the buffet when they had a party (which was seemingly every other day of the week)

you tease him about his hair and it then becomes a running joke between you two

The others catch on and they all laugh when you call his pompadour something to piss him off

And then he proceeds to whine about it

He won’t admit it but he sneaks food to Stefan

He of course denies this but you catch him late one night and now use that as blackmail to let you lick the spoon used for the batter for pancakes

Sometimes he styles your hair

The crew laughed their asses off when he made it look like a pompadour

While on your stay at the ship he makes sure to memorize your favourite foods

Especially when he catches glimpses of you being especially sad

Speaking of sad

You almost cry when seeing the familiar freckled face of Ace again

Body freezing over and going stiff as the cowboy hat wearing son of tiger gives you a jolly smile

In a lot of ways he’s not like Roger

But in other ways their more alike than you’d ever expected

It’s hard being around him

Especially since all you want to do is cry and hug him

To explain that Rouge and Roger loved him more than you could put into words

That you missed him but your glad to see he found a place where he’s accepted

But you can’t

You know you can’t when your permanently stuck as a child

Never aging even as the world kept changing

Plus you don’t know how he’d react to it. You’d probably sound crazy

So you keep all of it to yourself

But to everyone else it’s obvious that something is going on with you

Sure, they hadn’t known you very long but their all good at reading people

Around Ace everyone notices that there’s a obvious shift in your behaviour

You become reclusive, a look of distant sadness lingering as you avoid him

It doesn’t help that he wants to get to the bottom as to why your seemingly afraid of him

You occasionally hide in random closets when you hear him nearby

Thatch and Marco can’t get a word out of you as to why you act this way around him

But eventually you begin to let up a bit

Being able to have a proper conversation with the freckled male as he has to hold himself back out of excitement

It’s still hard but you push through it

Especially when seeing him smile as wide as he did when you looked after him

He still has the charm you gave him

It’s a little worse for wear but it’s there

As is your matching one that you hide from the crew in your pocket

He likes to show off his powers to you

Watching as your eyes stare at the swirling flames that dance on his arms

What he likes more though is when you question him about his tattoo and brothers

Apparently he has two sworn brothers

One who had sadly passed named Sabo and the other who was still alive named Luffy

His voice is tinged with a certain fondness as he talks about them that you can relate to

In a moment of weakness you ask him about the charm that hangs off his white and red stripped bracket and he smiles

He talks about how someone looked after him when he was younger according to his gramps

They had to leave, but was still out there

They had a matching one to his own

And one day he hoped to find them

You have to turn away and hide your eyes for a moment

With a smile you wish him luck and he replies back that he doesn’t need it

He’d find them

He was right and didn’t even know it

From then on he approaches you regularly while your on the Moby dick

Taking you on mini adventures and letting you sit on his shoulders with your hat covering your head

The crew laughs with glee

He jokingly tells you that your already apart of their crew but you know there’s truth to the words

He’s always a bit crestfallen at your answer, but even with that he retains hope you’d join

First time he passed out you nearly died again and began crying until Marco comforted you

Not your proudest moment but he seemed particularly touched that you were so emotional about his well-being

Kinda like with Ace your initially on edge around Whitebeard

Sure, he’s welcoming you with a smile and is generally warm but seeing him brings up Roger again

You remember the times you’d sometimes peak out to watch them battle with Shanks and Buggy

Honestly your very relived he didn’t recognize you

Nor the coat that you drape over your shoulders

Even moreso cause you can tell he knows something is up with you

Like Ace it takes a lot of time for you to begin to get close to him

But like Ace once again this man is stubborn shit who is patient enough to be able to crash down your barriers but by bit with time

It starts off as him inquiring of your home, your family and if their waiting for you

You respond that your birth family is long gone but you prefer to travel anyways. Finding new friends along the way

The answer worries him but he makes no mention of it

The questions then progress to you asking about some of his experiences

What it was like being rival to the greatest pirate in the world

He laughs at that, mumbling about how Roger was a stubborn pain in the ass

But one whom he considered a friend

Someone he missed

You ask him how he deals with grief, with losing someone close to you but being reminded of them

He says that it’s hard but with that comes a sort of melancholy happiness

That there are still traces of them in the world, even if it’s through simple actions

Like a gentle reminder of their importance and affect on his life

You’d never thought of it that way..but you think it’s nice

It helps you ease into spending time with Ace and him some more

Both of them are happy about it

At some point he begins asking if you’d like a place here

A home on their ship and crew

You smile and tell him that the sea itself is your home, but you know that this place and it’s people are family

But you also have family elsewhere as well

He accepts that but he does seem saddened and worried

In general a lot of what you do makes him worried

Specifically the disregard of your life and safety

To be fair to him though he doesn’t know your basically immortal

Well until…the attack

Everything was fine, a party was happening and Thatch had brought back a devil fruit

Drinks were shared all around as was the food

Thatch was pretty drunk and you decided to bring the fruit he found back to the pantry to be locked up for now

You didn’t see the person follow you

It’s a bit of a blur but all you removed was burning pain as you heard a chilling laugh

And then there was the screams of voices familiar

Through blurred vision you stare up at a crying Ace as he yells for Marco

He goes to run and get him but you grab him with bloodied hands

Shakily you reach into your pocket pulling out the charm as his eyes widen

You smile through the pain as tears swell in your eyes

“You found me”

Whitebeard holds you gently as you hear Ace sob

You fade away cradled in the large warm hands of Whitebeard

The charm matching Ace’s in your hand

They all watch as you crumble away into golden star dust that scatters off into the wind

It is then that the captain of the ship is reminded of what Roger once said

“There’s one star out there that never dies, their just in a different place in the sky. You just have to find it again”

“Hmf….sly bastard. Their out there, we’ll find them again”

The cycle begins once again

Buggy

You come by him as a complete accident

Just finding yourself adrift at sea once more when a boat quickly pulls up

And before you know it your met face to face with your old friend

Almost immediately your dragged aboard by him as his crew watches on confused as to why he’s acting all nice?

He looks he’s about to cry

Hint: he is

Immediately your whisked to his private quarters and you quickly get a large hug from the blue haired man

And he is absolutely SOBBING

The poor bud can barely make cohesive sentences as you pat his back

After a few minutes he places you down

And then he realized you hadn’t aged a day from when he was a kid

So it’s safe to say you have to explain yourself to him

He’s amazed while simultaneously horrified

Especially since you brush off your own deaths as an afterthought

But then that goes away when he asks if Shanks knows

And you reply that he doesn’t

He begins to laugh his ass off, talking about bragging rights which leaves you confused

Sure, you knew him and the red haired boy had kinda a rivalry but you weren’t sure why he wanted bragging rights

So he then explained what happened after Roger died and you disappeared

Apparently after Roger’s death the two began to drift apart

Petty Arguments growing bigger and bigger before they whet their separate ways

You can’t say your surprised but it’s sure sad in your eyes

That his death caused them to go their separate ways

The dynamic duo you’d come to befriend and see as bigger brothers now separated

But even with that your happy to see that Buggy is still his normal self

Sure, he’s brash and at times arrogant. But you wouldn’t change him

He was Buggy, unabashedly himself

You stay on his ship for awhile and in that time get to know his crew

Their all still kinda confused how their captain knows you but brush it off

Just accepting it as it is

You end up napping with Richie a lot despite that fact many of your deaths was via animal mauling

The lion enjoys your company, especially as you brush his lavender mane and braid it

After seeing that the captain may or may not have asked you to braid his hair as well

You oblige

During your stay Buggy lingers by you a lot

Perhaps a bit scared to let you go

The crew won’t mention it aloud but somehow your presence makes him more agreeable

Also less…aggressive

They reallly hope they’ll be seeing you around more often

Some might have partially cried when you left due to that

The other half is cause they got attached

#platonic #one piece x reader #buggy x reader #whitebeard x reader #Whitebeard pirates x reader #gol d Roger x reader #Garp x reader #rosinante x reader #doflamingo x reader #marco x reader #ace d portgas x reader #thatch x reader

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rxzennia · 1 month

Text

leviathan of the cosmos

– tales of the voracity pathstrider

✎𓂃 something unto death as the respawning boss enemy, i haven’t finished 2.1 yet

when aventurine brings up traveling to the reverie hotel in the dreamscape alone, your eyes narrow ever so slightly and you take a step towards him. though you do truly worry for him, you can’t deny that you also want to take a peek at the off-limits-to-visitors area for yourself, too.

he’s been keeping you away from conflict, away from the dangerous games he plays on the daily, but you want to know. you want to see all that he is, his feats and evils, not just what he decides to show you. and if it means following him into the dreamscape, you won’t shy away from your quest of knowledge.

he doesn’t want you to enter the dreamscape reverie with him, but you’re very, very stubborn

“it’s dangerous for you,” he says, giving you the most serious look you’ve ever seen on him, like he’s genuinely concerned (he is)

you tilt your head. even without saying anything, he knows what you’re trying to say – you don’t understand where he’s coming from

he tries to explain, boy, he’s trying so hard to explain to you why exactly it’s a bad idea, but he feels like he’s talking to a wall

are you even listening? hello?

he can’t see your expression because your scarf is in the way, and your eyes betray nothing

for as much as he loves talking at you, this is the one time he wants you to give him a response

“you’re strong enough.” a statement, not a question, because this man is one of the ten stonehearts, and you know he has more power than he appears to have

well, yes. but, to be honest, he isn’t confident in his ability to protect you

death is a dangerous entity, and even if he’s certain he can hold his own against it…

what if it decides that you are its next target? you, who is so precious and lovely?

he doesn’t want to run the risk. he likes having you around, both as a friend and as a secretary, and the last thing he wants is to lose you

but you’re adamant. “there’s nothing to worry about,” you say, oblivious to all the worries running miles per second in his head

he feels like if he didn’t let you tag along, you’d just follow him anyway and that would be even worse

aventurine thinks he knows you well, perhaps even better than yourself, but turns out he’s just delusional. you’re so timid, so awkward, and when you’ve warmed up to him you’re still silent and brooding most of the time, how could he have known that you have so many cards hidden up your sleeve?

he’s just dealt with a few scattered crew from the dreamjolt troupe, but he might’ve made a little too much noise when he whacked the televisions

it feels like the entire floor’s enemies are attracted by the noise, even memory zone memes are showing up

he glances towards you, who’s doing a really good job at staying out of his way and avoiding attacks

way better than he expected

you don’t seem afraid, either. he can tell that you’re relaxed from your body language

one thing he’s worried about, though, is eventually attracting death

because that’s the one thing he’ll try his best to protect you from, but he isn’t certain if he can

he doesn’t think you can fight, and your lack of inclination towards conflict only reinforced that belief

sure, you’re built like a fortress and you’re intimidating, but he soon found out that you’re a big softie inside

which, even more unlikely that you can fight. you just feel so… vanilla

you feel like the type who’d try to de-escalate a situation that could otherwise be easily solved with fists

even if you look like your punches would send people into orbit, it's just so out of your character

he likes that about you, really, but sometimes he wished you have some combat skills

when death inevitably appears, aventurine’s heart drops. it completely ignores him and heads straight for you – perhaps it knows who’s stronger or weaker – its wing rearing back as it coils around you, picking you up by your scarf, and –

he goes pale. he immediately acts, invoking qlipoth’s protection

but he knows how swift death is, and how easily it will lay its claws upon you and take you from him

the shield he casts on you is easily broken in one, two, three slashes

does death penetrate armor? it doesn’t quite make sense – the kind of shield he confers should not have been so easily broken!

before he could even do anything, before he could even tell you how much he treasured you…

you’ll be gone, and he’ll be all alone again

he hates that. and you know he hates that, but what could either of you do?

for as far as he’s come, he’s still powerless to protect the ones he hold dear

he tries, he really does, but his attacks won’t reach death in time, nor will his shield reach you in time

it’s dead set on taking your life, and it’s going to succeed

damn it, he should’ve just forced you to stay in the reverie in reality, or the golden hour, or something

he’d take your annoyance over watching your symbolic “death” any day

he reaches for you – in a fit of desperation, he tries to grab onto you, your scarf, anything

you blink, watching as death’s claws withdraw, and as it swings its blade-laden scythe wing towards you. you seem shocked, but you close your eyes as you welcome the darkness.

the darkness known as your leviathan.

your white scarf sits perfectly around your neck, and your nose is still comfortably buried in the fabric

but there’s no mistaking it; it’s yours

the serpent emerging from the ends of your scarf, who wrapped around the monster known as something unto death, whose translucent body wound around it until it is no longer visible, who made it disappear…

it obeys you, holy shit, that creature obeys you

but you’ve always seemed so harmless, so sweet, so, so… so innocent

how could someone like you harbor something so terrifying?

yet here you are, swallowing the memetic entity with a gulp, like you’re simply swallowing down your food

you’re eating – no, you’ve eaten death

your leviathan settles into your scarf again, its form dissipating as if it had never existed at all

so simply, so effortlessly, disposing of it as if it’s naught but a mere worm

aventurine stares, at where death once loomed, and then at you, who looks completely fine. he stammers your name, and for the first time, he feels a primal fear in him. it’s different to the fear of uncertainty, of whether or not he’ll still be alive tomorrow, or of being left behind again. it’s a fear more powerful, a fear stemming from coming face to face with someone perhaps even more dangerous than everyone he’s encountered on penacony. the fear of prey before the apex predator on the food chain.

his gentle giant of a secretary all of a sudden doesn’t seem so gentle anymore

he can’t really tell what exactly it is hiding in your scarf, but he has an inkling

before he can make a guess, you interrupt his line of thinking

“bleh…” you cringe in disgust, your face scrunching up as you stumble to find refuge on a nearby couch

never mind, he'll take that back

honestly, you don’t look like someone to be afraid of right now

you look like you’re about to collapse, with how pale you’re getting and how you’re almost retching up your lunch behind your scarf

which you are. the only thing stopping you is the physical aspect of being unable to

he pushes his fear aside, and finds it surprising easy to do so

in fact, it’s so easy that he could almost find your reaction hilarious

if you didn't look like you're three seconds away from keeling over

“you, you didn’t just–” he approaches you slowly, kneeling down by your side, “aeons, you look sick.”

you want to give him a reply, but the sheer flavor of the meme you just swallowed makes you so queasy that you think you might puke the moment you try to speak

his hands slowly reach up to hold your face, “will you be okay?” he asks, quiet and careful

you nod, relaxing into his touch, and he can feel you turn to lean against his palm even through the fabric that obfuscates your face

how are you still so adorable when you’ve just consumed the entirety of death?

you’ve never revealed much about yourself, and you’ve been the biggest mystery aventurine has been itching to solve. but at this stage, he isn’t too sure if he wants to find out anymore. you, your path, your abilities… you’ve been hiding them all, under that guise of innocence.

then again, he’s the one who made assumptions and decided to keep you away from conflict

he still feels cheated, just with no one but himself to blame

he wants to believe that you’ve been genuine with him! that your personality, at least, isn’t fake

you’re doing a really good job at reassuring him

well, maybe because you’re experiencing indigestion on a couch in the dreamscape after eating something that looks decidedly inedible

it doesn’t feel like you’re lying to him at all, with the way you’re behaving

when the nausea goes away just enough for you to speak, the first thing you say is a string of curses

and “i really hope i don’t get food poisoning”

it gets silent very quickly, and you two stare at each other

“i… i don’t think food poisoning is what you should be worried about right now,” he manages to say, suppressing the urge to just chuckle, because this is his confirmation that you’re still his favorite secretary

it takes you a while before you let out a very, very quiet mumble of “please don’t fire me.”

aventurine has never expected that to come out of your mouth. “what? why would i fire you over something like this?” he raises a brow, and he’s just as relieved as you are when your shoulders sagged. “i’m just glad you’re okay…”

he tries to lift you up, and you give him an a+ for effort, even if he ends up failing. you lean onto him, letting him carry half of your weight while you try to stand.

“c’mon, let’s get you out of here. you need to rest,” aventurine says, in the most happy, truly grateful way you’ve ever heard him speak. “but, after that? you have a lot of explaining to do.”

#ares's voracity pathstrider tales #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine #aventurine x reader

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