#look i finished it! a bit disjointed but the spirit is there i think | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

padfootastic · 2 years

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so, for s&h sarurday, we’ve got outsider pov of mob boss sirius and a bunch of scary looking mafia underlings showing up to a school play with inconspicuous weapons to see kiddie harry dressed as a tree. confusion & ‘oh my god the boss has a what?’ ensues. slightly crack-y.

Clark Forrest hadn’t planned on going into this line of work, not when he’d graduated with an honours degree in Business Administration. But the economy was…not doing great, bills had to be paid, and he knew someone who knew someone who had very enthusiastically hooked him up with this job so here he was.

Applying his hard earned education to being the accountant for a mob boss.

If only his poor mum, may the Lord bless her soul, could see him now. She’d faint right back into her grave.

To his boss—Mr. Black’s—credit, he wasn’t that kind of mafia, the one with the indiscriminate killing and plucking toenails off and kidnapping children. Clark was sure there was some kind of…illicit activity going on - he wouldn’t be a mob boss if there wasn’t, would he? - but he hadn’t seen anything of the sort as of now, so he could happily go on believing nothing was amiss.

Well, unless you counted the occasional blood on the rug.

That - was clearly one of the more, uh, colourful activities Mr. Black engaged in. He tried not to think hard about it. It could always be red wine?

Was it really a surprise then, that Clark thought it would be something similar, when almost the entire, er, gang was called in for an important meeting?

“Alright, this one’s important so listen up,” Mr. Black ordered.

Now, here’s the thing. For those who hadn’t seen the man, it would’ve been very hard to picture the kind of—aura he had. Outwardly, he was attractive, almost unnaturally so, with high cheekbones, a sculpted nose, grey eyes that were known to inject terror into the hearts of the toughest of men. His hair was cropped close to his head, and he had jewellery pierced through his entire right ear. Tattoos ran down the length of his arms, creeping up the hem of his shirt to skirt around his jaw, peeks of ink around the ankle when he walked.

He looked dangerous, yes. No one would dispute that.

But he didn’t—feel dangerous. Not at first.

Because Sirius Black had an accent as posh as the Queen, with a pleasant smile adorning his face, like he’d just gotten back from a walk. Clark had been under the mistaken impression that the man wasn’t fit to hold the position he did - maybe he’d just gotten it through inheritance? a placeholder, perhaps? - because someone who drank their tea with more milk than tea in it, who sniffed delicately into handkerchiefs and said ‘excuse me’ when he burped—that didn’t seem like a mob moss, never mind that Clark’s only experience with the underworld had been in the form of smuggled DVDs and pirated clips.

It wasn’t until he’d seen what happened when someone defaulted on a payment that he realised exactly how deadly the man was. The screams from behind closed doors still rang in his ears sometimes. The unbothered expression of neutrality on Mr. Black’s face as he exited the room even more haunting.

Coming back to the situation at hand, though, Clark’s back had automatically straightened at Mr. Black’s tone. His brows were furrowed in a deep frown, lips pressed into a line, and he was looking at all the assembled members intently.

“Tomorrow, 9am sharp, not a minute before and not one after—You’ll be outside Collingswood Primary. I want all of you dressed casual. Jeans, jumpers, t shirts, you get it. If I see a single obvious sign that you’re packing, I’ll have you strung upside down from the London Bridge quicker than you can turn the safety off, get it?”

It took a second for Clark to realise he was actually expecting a verbal answer and he hastily added his agreement to the chorus of ‘yes, sir’ and ‘affirmative’ ringing around the room. Mr. Black stared at them for a few seconds longer—seconds that felt like they were stretched into hours. Clark could feel the sweat beading on the back of his neck, not even daring to blink as Mr. Black’s gaze skimmed over the room, only stopping on his for a millisecond. Finally, he nodded and gestured to his right.

“Lupin will give you the address and be your point man for the event tomorrow. We’re going to be undercover in public, which means subtlety and respectability. I expect everyone to show it.” With one final nod, he swept out of the room without a glance backward.

It was like a collective breath was released in that moment because Clark could feel his chest deflating, eyes blinking rapidly in an attempt to understand what just happened.

Did the big boss just tell them to go incognito at a…primary school? One where actual, real kids went to study? Clark was confused because—he could’ve sworn they didn’t do that. Mr. Black hadn’t said it out loud but Clark had always gotten the impression that children were off limits. But that was clearly not the case here.

Maybe he needed to rethink his earlier ‘no kidnapping children’ conviction, and also his employment while he was at it.

Speaking of which, why was he there anyway? He was an accountant, had never been ‘out in the field’ so to speak a day in his life. He couldn’t even identify the parts of a gun if his life depended on it, for Christ’s sake.

Really, the only thing they all had in common was that they looked like they could blend into a crowd—as opposed to Mr. Black and a couple others who looked like they’d stepped off a biker gang catalogue at any given moment—which is, perhaps, why they’d been selected. All the better for going incognito.

“Alright lads, you heard the boss,” Lupin said, before rattling off the address for somewhere in Chelsea. Jesus. “Be there at 9 on the dot, you hear me? That’s when entry starts and it’s first-come-first-serve. Obviously, we want the best seats available. No excuses for being late because if you are, then that’s shop cleanup duty for a week. Alone.”

“But that’s a three man job, at least,” one of the others cried and the almost-sadistic smirk that flitted on the man’s face reminded Clark why, despite his mild mannered looks, he was one of Mr. Black’s main enforcers.

“Guess you won’t be late then, huh?” he replied with a nonchalant shrug.

Clark hastily swallowed all the questions he had at that.

The next morning, the sun was shining bright, the sky was blue without a single cloud and Clark was standing in front of Collingswood Primary—a large, sprawling brick structure with faculty members dotted around the grounds—at eight fifty seven, feeling exceptionally awkward in his polo shirt and khaki trousers.

He tugged at the collar as he surveyed the place. It was a posh neighbourhood, no disputing that. He couldn’t remember ever stepping foot in the area before today and it almost felt like even the air here was too expensive for him to breathe. It was making him even more nervous, then, to imagine what they could possibly be here for. Clark had spotted almost every single person from yesterday’s meeting scattered around the place.

McKinnon was leaning against a tree, phone in hand, and he was slightly envious at how comfortable she looked, while he was sweating in his loafers. Lupin, Meadowes and Longbottom were gathered around the far end of the lane, coffee cups in hand and periodically glancing around. Pettigrew was stuffing a bagel in his mouth, hunched over like he didn’t realise everyone could see him. Clark’s lip curled instinctively at the sight.

Another look around and he realised the man himself, Mr. Black, wasn’t here. Did that mean they had to do…whatever it was…on their own? He wasn’t prepared for this. He was just an accountant who’d taken a wrong turn in life and ended up in this position, both employment-wise and existentially, no matter how cushy the pay was or how many free coffees he got from the communal Keurig.

It was as he was spiralling in the thoughts of what could have been (what if he’d gone into trade school like his da wanted? what if he hadn’t failed third semester corporate finance and had gone into a different kind of cutthroat sector? what if he hadn’t thought a call centre was beneath him? what if—) that he heard a voice call out.

“Mr. Black! Welcome, welcome.”

His head snapped up just in time to look at the tall frame of Sirius Black standing beside a lady who was almost half his height—literally, the top of her blonde bun barely reached his chest—at the front gate. Mr. Black was dressed…differently. His usual leather-jacket-distressed-skinny-jeans look was switched out for a very respectable button down shirt and trouser, still skinny fit of course, and he looked—normal? Not like he was the head of the most terrifying organisation this side of the Thames, not even with the tattoos that were visible all the way from where Clark was standing. He could see him taking the old lady’s hand in a handshake.

“Headmistress Martin, you look lovely as always. I trust you’ve been well?”

Inexplicably, the lady (which—headmistress??), who must be as old as Clark’s grandmum, blushed. “I appreciate that, Mr. Black. You know, I’m glad to catch you here today, I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it.”

“As if there’s any way I can miss…” their voices trailed away as they made their way inside and Clark cursed the missed opportunity. He still didn’t know what was happening, and at this rate, his head was hurting because the most recent interaction was telling him there was something else at play here. It didn’t quite seem like they were here to kidnap kids for ransom or blackmail now.

Just as he’d shifted his worldview for the third time in so long, Lupin walked over the entrance and made a signal for the others to follow. Clark, being the closest, ended up directly behind him, which gave him the chance to…subtly listen—not eavesdrop, not his fault people talked too loud these days—to the man’s conversation with the teacher at the gate.

“Six for Harry Potter,” he said, handing over…tickets?

“I just saw Mr. Black go in too,” the teacher replied after writing it down in her clipboard. “Quite a popular kid, that one, isn’t he?”

“We’d like to think so.” Lupin smiled and walked in, seemingly familiar with the building and leading them like a line of ducklings to a door marked ‘Auditorium’. At this point, Clark was—yet again—calibrating his entire worldview. They were here for a…show? A kid’s show, at that? Were they going to drag a kid straight off the stage? Or, was he wrong, and were they here for a parent?

That would actually make more sense. Maybe they had a…client or someone who was hiding, but even cowards could be good parents, right?

He kept telling himself that as they took their seats somewhere down the middle, all in one row. He ended up squished in between Lupin and Longbottom, which was great, really. He could get all the inside gossip without any of the work.

“So when’s the kid coming up?” Longbottom asked, looking around curiously. “And where’s the boss sitting, anyway?”

“Sirius would be somewhere in the front row there. See.” Lupin pointed a finger towards the center of the auditorium, where a fancier set of couches were laid out. Mr. Black was sitting on one of them like he owned the whole place, with the Headmistress and some other distinguished looking officials in conversation beside him. “The lucky bastard, gets the good stuff while we’re stuck on these bloody chairs.”

Sometimes, Clark forgets that these two men went way back—no one else could dream of referring to the boss man like that.

“As for Harry, there’s some sort of a—choir, I believe? Then the play. Shouldnt take too long, it is primary school, at the end of the day.”

“Speaking of primary schools, do you know why we needed to bring our…pieces to one?” Longbottom questioned. Clark barely swallowed down the squeak that followed that line of query. He’d almost forgotten they were…packing. “Does Black think we’ll get attacked out here or something?”

“You know he doesn’t,” Lupin rolled his eyes. “But he’s not taking any chances when it’s coming to Harry. If you think you’re armed, you should’ve seen the assortment he strapped to himself today. If I didn’t know him, I would’ve had him chucked straight into a facility, I’m telling ya.”

“Mate, I know him and still feel the urge sometimes.” Both of them snort in unison at that and Clark is just sitting there, slightly terrified and mostly confused, at the turn of the conversation.

As the—program commenced, Clark keeps a tight grip on the handles of his seat, watching each child and member of the audience carefully. He doesn’t knew what he’d be asked to recount later, and he has no wish to make things harder for himself by losing himself in the spiral of wondering what the fuck was going on. His time at this particular…organisation had taught him two things, if nothing else: head down and no questions. It was how he’d skirted past everyone’s radar so far and he wanted to keep it that way.

The choir came up on stage and performed an—interesting variation on pop songs he’d heard on the radio. Lupin and Longbottom clapped politely when it ended and Clark joined in until the host on stage announced ‘Annual Play! Our little actors have put their heart and soul into this, so please, show them all the love you can’ which led to another round of applause, slightly more raucous this time. He could see Mr. Black was one of the more enthusiastic ones in the audience. Huh. He didn’t think he’d ever seen him smile so big before.

Just as he’s focused on now unnaturally white the man’s teeth were, Lupin leant forward to face their entire row.

“The boss’ kid is coming up now and he expects maximum participation from all of you.”

“The boss’ what?” Clark’s glad that McKinnon chose to voice what they were all thinking because he didn’t think he was brave enough for it, no matter how much he wanted to know.

“His kid, Harry. Keep up, Marlene,” Lupin sighed, like they were being the ones being unreasonable here and not the fact that an entirely new facet about their…organisation’s head had been revealed to them.

“Since when did Black have a child, what the fuck.”

“That’s not important, what is is the fact that Harry’s about to be on stage right now and if you get caught talking during his part, you bet your arse he’s gonna have you cleaning blood off the rug for the whole month.” With that, he turned back to facing the stage, considered the matter closed—no thought given to the others who were stuck in varying stages of disbelief and shock.

“How, er, how exactly are we supposed to know which one the kid is—and does he have a name?” Pettigrew asked, craning his neck around everyone between him—in the last seat—and Lupin.

“It’s Harry, didn’t you hear, Pettigrew?” McKinnon snarked.

“He’s just coming up, wait…” Lupin mumbled, looking intently at the stage where a bunch of kids dressed in colourful fairy tale costumes had arranged themselves. “There! That one.” He pointed towards the back corner of the stage where a small cluster of children were gathered. Clark squinted, trying to identify what was going on. Surely, Lupin didn’t mean—

“The tree?” Meadowes said, incredulously “That’s what we’re all here to see, a kid dressed as a common garden tree?”

Somehow, he didn’t think he could be more shocked and yet, when Lupin nodded, completely seriously, Clark was. His eyes zeroed in on the tree in question—not a hard task considering there was only one—and could just about make out a bunch of hair escaping the band sitting on his head. There was a pair of spectacles sitting on his nose, a bit too large in Clark’s opinion, and his face was pulled up in a wide smile. He was looking straight at the front row and even sitting as far back as he was, Clark could see the joy radiating off him. Cute kid, really, but did nothing to make sense of the befuddlement he was feeling.

Clark turned to his side, saw the varying expressions of confusion and shock lining everyone else’s face, and felt immediately gratified. At least he wasn’t alone.

He went through the rest of the performance barely registering what was happening, like moving through a fog, clapping when Lupin and Longbottom did—which was apparently whenever the tree, sorry, Harry so much as moved—and sneaking glances at Mr. Black all the other times.

It was astounding—the man was leaning forward, elbows planted on knees, an expression of complete rapture on his face like he didn’t want to be anywhere else except here, watching a kid dance around in a plastic shrubbery costume. He clapped frequently and loudly, even letting out a taxicab whistle one time that made Clark double take most comically. The guests on either side of him only smiled indulgently in his direction and that, more than anything, drove home how much of a regular Mr. Black must be among them.

An indeterminate amount of time later, the kids bowed, the host announced the end of the show, and everyone clapped harder than they had so far. Which was really saying something considering how much their group had contributed to the cumulative applause. And that’s not to even mention Mr. Black. But now, everyone was on their feet, and Clark could feel his palms stinging under the onslaught of his enthusiasm. Better that than be reprimanded later, though.

Once the cheers had died down and the host was finished with their closing credits, Lupin turned to them. “We’re going backstage, let’s go.” And promptly got up, walking down the aisle towards the stage. Clark blinked at his abruptness, used to it by now but still not quite, before turning to his other side where Longbottom was flapping his hand in a ‘well, go on then’ motion. He decided to listen and scurried away after Lupin, absently wondering if they looked like a bunch of ducklings following after mama duck. And wasn’t that a thought—the mighty thugs of the London underworld, relegated to animal metaphors.

“Wonderful event, Mr. Smith.” Lupin shook hands with an average white guy at a side entrance. “We’ll just go in here to see our boy, yes?”

“All…of you?” The guy asked, eyeing their procession dubiously.

“Well, of course, Harry’s our favorite little guy,” Lupin replied in the same pleasant voice. Clark didn’t bother to clarify that none of them even knew there was a little guy until an hour ago. If the boss wanted them to say his kid was their favorite, then that’s what they’ll say. It didn’t take long after that for them to be let in. Clark would be more worried about the school’s safety if he hadn’t seen Lupin walk circles around the smartest people he’d ever seen. School cops were no match.

“An’ an’ an’ did ya see the whole t’ing?” An excited voice was saying as they turned the corner. Clark craned his neck and felt his brows creeping up when he assigned it to their favorite little guy—Harry. Who was currently being cuddled—there was no other word for it—by Mr. Black. Harry had his arms wrapped around the man’s neck as he talked and Mr. Black was looking at him with a kind of laser focus Clark had never seen before. And considering he looked after their entire operation’s accounts, that was really saying something.

“I saw the whole thing, baby,” Mr. Black replied, voice soft. Clark and the rest of their entourage were frozen in their positions, not wanting to disturb their conversation. “You were beautiful.”

Harry bit his lip at that, eyes gaze falling to rest on Mr. Black’s collarbone rather than his eyes. “I was jus’ a tree, though, Siri.”

Mr. Black’s eyebrows turned down. “And you were the most perfect tree I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“But it—that’s—trees are boring. Anyone can be one,” Harry’s lower lip looked a bit wobbly there and Clark had just a second to despair, no matter that he was standing too far away to be expected to do anything, before Mr. Black took over, swift and practiced.

“Harry, my love, if anyone can be a tree, and yet it was you that was chosen, then what does that say about you?” Personally, Clark thought that bit of philosophy, while profound, was a bit too complicated for a child.

“But—“

“And,” Mr. Black gently cut in, “If you were boring, then I wouldn’t have cheered as hard as I did, would I? It’s a matter of pride for me that my godson makes such a lovely tree.” He tweaked the kid’s nose, making him let out a wet giggle. But, even Clark, inexperienced as he was around children, could see they weren’t out of the danger zone yet. The kid was still looking a bit troubled there. Clearly, Mr. Black had picked up on it as well because he turned to their little association with an expectant look on his face. Clark hadn’t even realised he’s noticed them but of course he did.

“And if that’s not good enough for you,” he continued teasingly, turning Harry towards them. “Then you can ask any of them and they’d say the same.” Mr. Black’s raised eyebrow was sufficient warning.

Harry, on the other hand, was unaware of the looming danger because he burrowed into his…parent? guardian? uncle? (Seriously, what was the relation here?) as he noticed the bunch of strangers standing there like idiots.

“Who’s they, Siri?” he whispered loudly.

“They’re my friends from work.” Clark pushed down the hysterical snort that wanted to emerge at that statement. “And they came here just for you!”

“Really?” Harry’s eyes—a bright emerald, now that Clark was closer—opened wide in surprise. “All for me?”

“All for you, baby,” Mr. Black reassured him before clearing his throat pointedly. Clearly that was the cue for Lupin, who’d been standing just as quietly, to jump in for he strode forward until he was right in front of the pair.

“Hello, Mr. Harry,” he offered a hand to the kid, who returned the solemn handshake with a grin tugging his lips. “I see you’re well.”

“You too, Mr. Loo-pin,” Harry giggled before leaning forward in Mr. Black’s arms. “Did ya see me pre-pef-peform?”

“I did, you were really quite something, kiddo,” Lupin ruffled his black hair, showing a level of familiarity Clark should’ve come to expect by now. “Thank you for letting me come.”

“But I din’t—“ Harry said, eyebrows furrowed adorably.

“We wouldn’t have seen such a great show if you weren’t acting in it, now, would we?”

“Hm.” While Harry seemed to consider that, Clark and the others had managed to get over their shock to make their way to their boss and his kid.

“Hello, Harry,” Meadowes grinned, bright and friendly, taking the lead. “You were so cool up there!”

The poor kid looked at her with rapidly reddening cheeks. Clearly he wasn’t immune to her charms either. Figures. “T’ank you, miss.” Clark could see Meadowes biting down on her lip, eyes softening in adoration.

“I thought you were the best one on stage, Harry,” Clark added, keeping one eye on his boss who was staring at all of them intently and another on Harry who couldn’t see to stop blushing. As he received another stammered thanks in reply, the others stepped up for their turn at congratulating the kid.

When all of them had finished their round of pleasantries, not that it was much of a chore—while a tree was certainly a forgettable role, Harry was adorable enough to win all of them over—Mr. Black smoothly stepped into the conversation. He ran a gentle hand over the boy’s unruly hair, smoothening it fruitlessly before tucking a few strands behind one ear.

“Will you believe your poor godfather now? Or do I need to shout from the rooftops?”

Harry swatted at his chest feebly, making a face at the gentle teasing. Despite knowing that this was just a kid—the boss’ godson at that—Clark held his breath in anticipation of how such an action would be perceived. Surprisingly (or perhaps not) the boss only grinned, a shocking display of emotions Clark hadn’t ever seen before today.

“So, ice cream in celebration then?” he asked. Clark, still stuck on the relationship reveal, almost replied in the affirmative before realising that would’ve been a supremely awkward thing to do. Clearly he wasn’t the one being asked here.

“Yes, please, Siri!” Harry chirped, bouncing a little in excitement. “Will—will your friends come too?”

“Will they, now?” Mr. Black repeated, looking at them with a raised eyebrow that communicated very well his feelings on the matter. The four of them, Longbottom and Lupin not included, immediately fell over themselves trying to communicate a variety of reasons for why they ‘couldn’t come, so sorry kid, maybe next time?’ in a way that didn’t hurt his feelings or get themselves strung upside down.

“Oh, otay then,” Harry blinked, looking a bit overwhelmed at the sudden onslaught directed at him. “T’ank you for comin’!”

Meadowes was unable to stop herself from cooing this time. Mr. Black snorted softly before inclining his head in their direction, saying ‘thank you’ and dismissing them in one smooth move.

Longbottom and Lupin stayed back, engaging Harry in conversation, while the others slowly walked away, trying to wrap their heads around the events of the day. He could hear snippets of Meadowes and McKinnon conversation, speculating on why they needed to be armed if they were just here to watch a kid’s play, and immediately increased his pace so he didn’t have to hear about things like that again. He really did not want to think about the unsavoury aspects of his job right now, not when he was equally baffled by everything.

Instead, he wondered if he should go job hunting again. All this stress surely wasn’t worth it, was it? Not if he wanted a place right next to his mother in the near future. Maybe he should think of going into the call center industry he’d written off earlier. It didn’t make use of his degree but it also didn’t have guns, the pay was decent, and there was no definitely no blood to clean up on the rug.

#sirius black #harry potter #remus lupin #good godfather sirius black #sirius and harry saturday #mob boss sirius black #an oc with the stupidest name on earth #literally used it as a placeholder but i can’t find anything better lol #outsider pov #look i finished it! a bit disjointed but the spirit is there i think #i started this like two months ago bc of this mental image of a bunch of scary thugs showing up to the school #for harry dressed in the most mundane outfit because sirius is a PTA Parent #and that fact remains true even in a universe where he’s a scary mobster #the ending is kind of meh but we’ve established i’m not good at those #but yeah. big terrifying man who’s super soft for his kid.#a+ concept. love to see it.#tumblr works #pen’s writing

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i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend · 3 years

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As It Should Be ~ Lucy x Caspian

A/N: Hello lovelies, so this is well out of my wheel house. But thanks to Shadow and Bone I am well and truly back on my Ben Barnes Bullshit. Which included re-watching the Narnia movies and then I had some feels. I'm completely ignoring the books and this is way AU but I couldn't get it out of my head. So if there's any Lucian shippers out there, this ones for you. Spoilers for the movies.

Summary: Lucy had not been ready to leave Narnia. And Caspian had not been ready for her to go. Perhaps fate still had a plan.

Characters/Pairings: Lucy Pevensie/Caspian (everyone is of age, time works funny between the realms); Edmund Pevensie, Aslan

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst, pining, spoilers for the movies.

Word count: 5800 (I don't know how it happened. I just had a lot of feels)

Caspian’s voyage on the Dawn Treader had been a success on all counts. But in spite of his resolve to be a great king of Narnia and to treasure the lands and people he had been chosen to rule, the young king was sorrowful on their return journey. His crew had known better than to question him when he returned alone from Aslan’s country. Drinian put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and Caspian clasped it for a moment before giving him a meaningful nod. Drinian got the Dawn Treader sailing for home while Caspian ducked below deck for just a moment to mourn the loss of his friends. When he returned, his smile was not quite so bright as it had been when the king and queen of old had been on the ship.

The crew was happy to be going home, but they also felt the loss of their companions quite acutely. It had taken no time at all for them to love Lucy and Edmund. The younger of the Kings and Queens of old were kind and hardworking and had immediately treated them as old friends. Narnia they supposed was their great love. And while Eustace had taken some extraordinary circumstances to warm up to, he too was missed, and they all found the ship far too silent with Reepicheep’s running commentary.

Their return took nearly six months as they returned all those who had been taken by the mist to their home islands. So, while the crew was joyous to be returning home after nearly two years, everyone was weary when they finally docked on the shores beneath Cair Paravel. Drinian directed the landing team, as more sailors came to help them unload. Caspian gazed up at Cair Paravel in all its glory. It had been mostly restored before he departed, but now, it was back to its true grandure, he wished Lucy and Edmund could have seen this.

He had only a moment before his advisors were upon him, welcoming him back and informing him that a feast was already being prepared for his return. They clamored for his attention, luckily with good news. They each were reporting that peace remained and things had grown even more bountiful in the past six months. Caspian listened carefully making notes on what to discuss with them tomorrow, before finally excusing himself to clean up before the feast.

After what could only be described as the most delicious meal he’d ever had, Caspian took his time reacquainting himself with the halls of his castle. During his time away, the team in charge of the interior restoration had finished all of their projects, which included the portraits of the Pevensies at the height of their rule. He inspected each one closely, trying to find the familiar features of his friends in the older faces.

For the most part he could see it. Although it was odd to see them at that age - all older than his 23 years. Well, all but Lucy. She had been just shy of 21 when they tumbled back through the wardrobe. She was the only one who never mentioned how hard it was to go from being an adult back to being an 8 year old. But he suspected that she struggled more than she let on, though she would never tell her siblings while they suffered their own distress. His thoughts lingered on the youngest of the great kings and queens. He couldn’t help but wonder if his dear friend would look the same when she reached 20 again.

Her portrait hung beside her sister’s and one could easily spot the differences. Susan held a quiet beauty, befitting her title of Gentle. But even the stillness of a portrait could not tame Lucy’s wild beauty and adventurous spirit. He knew well the twinkle of excitement the artist had captured. It was one that never failed to bring a smile to his face.

Caspian had been captivated by Lucy during their time on the Dawn Treader. More than he’d been willing to admit, even to himself. Though he suspected Edmund had seen it. He’d even expected a brotherly talk at one point, since Peter was absent. But he merely smiled, and took every opportunity to let them be together. Drinian had also made more than a few subtle comments, but Caspian had chosen to remain silent.

While the young prince had had eyes only for Susan upon their first meeting in terms of amorous intentions, Lucy’s unwavering faith and goodness had endeared her to him. When she stood across the river with only a dagger in her hand, facing down an army with a smile he could see why she of the four was the Valiant. She was amazing, even at age 11.

Her return 3 years later, had only deepened that opinion. She had matured and Caspian found himself lost in her. He’d been telling the truth when he told her that he hadn’t found a queen as beautiful as Susan, but what he left out was that there had been none as fierce as her either.

The pair had spent every possible moment together – stargazing, checking maps, telling stories. He loved her stories. Queen Lucy the Valiant had truly been a queen of her people. While her siblings had often been on the frontlines of battle, Lucy had always been protecting the people – evacuating them, learning from the healers how to dress wounds that didn’t require her cordial. She was the most beloved of the four, even in the stories Caspian had heard before he met them. Though she would refute that claim a thousand times over.

Other stories were filled with tales of dancing with fauns and dryads. Mr. Tumnus was a frequent character, and Caspian could hear the heartache in her voice when she spoke about him. He would often take the opportunity to squeeze her hand in comfort, which she also responded to with a grateful smile. Edmund would often join in, offering tales of his own or teasing Lucy.

One time in particular, he felt the need to remind her of the time a suitor had come to court and she had been so used to dancing with the fauns during their revelries that she panicked when he had offered his hand for a formal dance.

“All you could hear in the ballroom was Tristan grunting and Lucy apologizing,” Edmund chuckled.

Lucy’s cheeks flamed red and she glared at her brother for a moment, before a smirk slid across her features.

“At least I didn’t end up in a fountain after my first kiss,” she shot back.

Edmund’s cheeks tinged ever so slightly, but his expression was wistful.

“She was lovely. And it was worth it. I hope she had a good life.”

“I’m sure she did. But I’m sure she missed you.”

The siblings shared a look, regrets and memories flowing through their minds. Once again, Caspian was struck by how much life and loss these two “children” had experienced.

Later that night, after confirming their course with Drinian, Caspian was ready to retire to the barracks area for a few hours of sleep. But as he passed his quarters which he had given to Lucy, he heard humming. Moving as quietly as he could, he neared the cabin, noting the slightly ajar door. Caspian couldn’t help the smile that crossed his lips as he watched Lucy dance to her own tune as she looked in the mirror, the steps somewhat disjointed. He slipped inside, leaning against the doorjamb, making sure she couldn’t see his reflection.

“Would you like a partner?” he finally asked.

Lucy jumped at the unexpected voice, whirling as her cheeks filled with color upon realizing she’d been caught.

“Caspian! I was just… Edmund made me remember and I thought I’d practice.”

“In case we have a ball on the Dawn Treader?” he asked, grinning wildly at her.

“Of course. I’ve been to many balls on ships,” she giggled before sobering slightly. “No, but there’s dances back home. And I’ve never been, but I suspect they don’t much care for the type of dancing the fauns and dryads do.”

The mention of home twisted in Caspian’s gut, but he pushed the thought away. He would enjoy what time he had with her. Each moment was a gift.

“Well, I don’t know how they dance in your world, but it always helps to have a partner. May I?”

She nodded, uncharacteristically shy.

He snapped to attention and made a formal bow, which made her laugh but she curtsied anyway before taking his hand. He pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles, before placing her hand on his shoulder. His right hand fell to her waist, he his left clasped hers firmly.

“’Ready?”

“Absolutely?”

He wasn’t positive, but they both sounded breathless.

He began to hum, counting the beats by gently tapping his fingers against her side. He gave it a count of 8 before he began to move. It was rough at first, they were both out of practice… and nervous if he was being honest. But after a few crushed toes, they found their rhythm and soon they seemed to float. Caspian waltzed her around the room, twin smiles adorning their faces. Before they knew it, they were simply swaying in place gazing into each other’s eyes.

“I wonder if Susan is dancing like this with her naval officer,” Lucy wondered aloud, regretting it the moment it slipped past her lips. “Oh, I’m sorry, Caspian. I wasn’t thinking.”

He chuckled and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, Lucy. I’m not upset. I’m happy that your sister is moving on with her life. No one deserves to be alone.”

“But you’re alone,” Lucy pointed out.

Not cruelly, more confused by his logic.

“I’m not alone right now. I’m with you.”

And I will take that, he thought to himself. Just this moment and whatever else I get.

“Susan and I are worlds apart. In more ways than one,” he added slyly.

Lucy gazed up at him, no longer swaying at all.

“Caspian, I-“

At that moment, the ship lurched sending her crashing into his arms. It lurched again and sent them both to the floor. A storm had reached them and they heard the crew members racing about on deck. They shared one more moment before sprinting into action.

“Your majesty.”

His chief advisor’s voice jostled Caspian from his memories.

“Lord Pallburn. How can I help you?”

“You requested updates on the refugees and the five lords.”

“Of course. We shall speak on the way to my chambers.”

Caspian shot one last look at Lucy’s portrait before leading his advisor away.

Lucy sighed quietly as she watched the happy couple spin around the dance floor.

Years ago, on a ship a world away, Lucy had been held like that. Her thoughts strayed to Caspian and his near obsidian eyes. She had thought of him often in the years since. She wondered how long it had been for him.

Was he married by now?

A father?

Dead?

No.

Her heart couldn’t bear that last one. She had to believe Caspian was alive and well and happy or she wouldn’t be able to carry on.

She shook the thoughts away and returned to the view in front of her.

Susan was absolutely radiant in her wedding dress. Her smile lit up the room as Tom held her in his arms, leaning down for a peck as the song ended. They held hands as they exited the dance floor to chat with their friends.

Peter had his younger daughter, Jane, balanced on the top of his shoes as he moved them about in a decent facsimile of a waltz. Lucy smiled as she remembered her oldest brother doing the same with her when she was much younger.

Edmund was sitting with his girlfriend Margaret and their cousin Eustace laughing quite merrily.

With the exception of her cousin, Narnia had taken on the golden tint of a fond memory. But a memory none the less. Her siblings had been content to leave it at that. Lucy could not find it in her to do the same. Narnia had always felt more like home than this world. A fractured childhood would do that to you she supposed. After all she had grown up in Narnia first.

She still knew their customs and constellations better than England’s. But she knew it wasn’t just that. Her heart lay in Narnia, or rather with the King of Narnia. Caspian had a way of making Lucy feel seen when others didn’t.

“Enjoying the party, Lu?”

She nodded as she looked to Edmund who had slipped into the seat beside her.

“It’s wonderful. Everyone is having so much fun.”

“Everyone?”

“I’m having fun,” she insisted, knowing Edmund could see right through her.

“Talk to me.”

She looked again to the dance floor, eyes flitting from couple to couple.

“Do you think that I could ever find that here?”

“Love?”

Lucy nodded again.

“What makes you think you won’t?” he pressed, avoiding her question.

“I can’t imagine finding anyone to share my life with like that. There’s so much I couldn’t tell them. I don’t know how you all do it.”

Edmund hummed in response.

“Narnia meant everything to me. It made me who I am, but the only one who needs to know about it for it to be real is me. And I’m lucky enough that I got to share it with you, and Peter, Susan, and Eustace. Margaret doesn’t need to know what made me the man I am. Only that that man is someone she wants to be with.”

Lucy regarded her brother carefully for a moment. He’d clearly put a lot of thought into this and she appreciated it.

“I guess that makes sense. I guess I’m not ready to admit that Narnia is my past. Even though I have to.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Is that the only reason you think you won’t find love here?”

Lucy knew where he was going with this, and finally she sighed – more an exhale after holding one’s breath.

“I think I loved him,” she whispered, not needing to specify who “him” was.

“Loved?” he clarified.

“Love,” Lucy corrected.

“He loves you too for what it’s worth. I could see it. Clear as the Northern Sky.”

“I don’t think it matters much. We’re worlds apart now. He’s probably married by now. I’m not sure how I managed it, but it seems I’ve left my heart in Narnia.”

Edmund wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her into his side. She leaned her head heavily against his shoulder.

“What has been lost, can be found. We just need to have faith about these things. You taught me that.”

Lucy smiled at the reassurance.

“Thank you, Edmund.”

“Anything for you. Would you like to dance? We can even pretend we’re at Tumnus’,” he offered.

Lucy shook her head, but smiled more genuinely than she had all night.

“I think I’m going to take advantage of the gardens, and get some fresh air.”

“It’s not like there isn’t air inside,” he joked making her roll her eyes.

“I’ll be back soon.”

Edmund nodded and squeezed her once more before letting her go.

“Be safe.”

Lucy slipped through the crowd unnoticed, as usual. After a few minutes walking through the gardens she happened upon the entrance to a hedge maze. Looking back at the lights of the reception, she took a deep breath and hurried into the maze, following the turns at random.

It couldn’t possibly be big enough for her to actually get lost.

Caspian perched on the rail of his balcony, one knee up as his back was pressed against the palace wall twirling Lucy’s dagger in his hand. If anyone entered his chambers they wouldn’t be able to see him unless they stepped outside. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back against the stone enjoying the cool breeze off the Eastern Sea. He had chosen this room specifically for the view of the water. It had always calmed him, and now it held an even more special place in his heart.

In the morning, he would return to his duties as king and this journey would leave the forefront of his mind to make room for diplomacy and logistics. And if his advisors had their way, finding a queen. But for now, as the wind whipped around him, he could imagine that he was back on the Dawn Treader. And if he listened closely enough, he could hear Lucy’s familiar humming. He allowed his mind to run wild with memories.

When the humming only grew louder, even after shaking himself from the sweet memories, Caspian grew concerned. Alert now for possible danger, he scanned the grounds for the source of the sound.

The beach was clear. As were the cliffs to the north. But as he turned his gaze to the south, a flash of auburn hair in the garden maze caught his eyes. She was deep within the heart of the garden without alerting the guards which was no easy feat.

Fastening his sword belt on, he sheathed Lucy’s dagger which she had gifted him on the shores of Aslan’s country.

“I think you’ll need this more than I will.”

“It shall never leave my side.”

You shall never leave my heart had remained unspoken.

Not wishing to alert the guards, Caspian scaled down the side of the castle, jumping from the lowest window and rolling to his feet.

The wind was carrying the humming to his ears quite clearly, as though it was actively helping him find the intruder. At the edge of the maze he took a deep breath before stepping inside. He allowed himself to be led through the turns by the voice, although he was nearly certain it must be a trap. Surely it was a siren or some spell luring him with his heart’s desire. But still he pursued her.

A few times it seemed they were just on the other side of the hedge from each other, but he would round the corner and find only a dead end.

Finally, he caught a flash of lavender fabric whooshing around the corner and he sped up as well as he could while maintaining his stealth. Lucy’s dagger fit comfortably in his hand. Peeking around the corner to ensure she was coming, he waited until she had passed by before leaping out and grabbing her, the dagger pressed against her throat.

“Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

She froze in his arms.

“Caspian?”

The woman squirmed in his grip enough to see his face and in his surprise he let her.

“It is you. How on Earth did you get here?” she asked.

“Lucy?” he mumbled as he released her and she turned to look at him, giving him his first good look at her.

“Yes, it’s me. I know I look a bit different. But goodness, you haven’t aged a day,”

“Lucy,” he repeated before dropping the dagger and pulling her into his arms, burying his face in her neck.

She held him just as fiercely as if he would disappear if she let go for even an instant.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured. “I thought of you every day.”

“As did I. How long has it been for you?” she asked as she lifted her head to look at him, unwilling to break their embrace any further.

“Six months and thirteen days.”

Lucy huffed out a little laugh.

“Is that all?”

Caspian already knew it had been much longer for her. Years, he guessed, given how much she looked like her portrait.

“How long?”

“Six years. Four months. Eleven days.”

She’d been counting. In spite of knowing that Aslan’s plans for Narnia did not include her.

“Oh, Lucy,” Caspian sighed.

Years. She had thought of him every day for years. The knowledge made his heart beat faster.

“It’s okay. You’re here now. How on Earth are you here?” she asked again.

Caspian glanced upward, just to ensure he hadn’t been transported to her world, but sure enough his stars remained, twinkling down at him.

“Lucy, you’re in Narnia.”

Whipping her head around to gain bearings she didn’t know she’d lost, Lucy’s expression clouded with confusion.

“But how? I was at the wedding. I just stepped out for a few minutes –“ She paused and shook her head with a serene smile. “Things never happen the same twice,” she murmured. “Or four times I suppose. I’m not sure how it’s happened, but I am glad to be home.”

Caspian’s heart both clenched and soared at the word home. But he was still stuck on the earlier revelation.

“You were at a wedding?”

His mind raced as he took in her demure dress and artful curls.

Six years, his mind screamed. Even if she had thought of him, of course she would have found someone else in that time.

“Yes,” she affirmed absent-mindedly. “Of Susan will be so cross I’ve left her wedding.”

Elation.

“Susan’s wedding?”

“Yes.” Lucy’s face dropped. “Oh, I’m sorry, Caspian.”

“So you are not married?” he asked, ignoring the apology.

Lucy’s laughter was a balm to his soul.

“Goodness, no. Not even close. The closest I’ve come to marriage was holding hands with Dennis Macmillian when we were 17. And even that was mainly because I was slipping on the ice. I’ve never even gone for a stroll with a boy.”

Caspian smiled, pulling back just enough to offer her his arm.

“Well then, please, allow me. It would be a shame to waste such a lovely Narnian evening.”

“So it would,” she agreed, looping her arms through his. “Tell me everything I’ve missed,” she insisted as they walked deeper into the maze.

“There’s not that much to tell you. We’ve only just arrived back to Cair Paravel this morning. It took us several months to return everyone to their homes before we could return. Beyond that, I’ve just received reports of peace in Narnia.”

“That’s wonderful, Caspian.”

“I’m sure your time has been far more interesting. Tell me everything.”

“Longer doesn’t always mean more interesting.”

Caspian shot her a look of disbelief.

“I’m telling the truth. After the Dawn Treader we stayed with Eustace until the end of the War. After that, once Susan, Peter, and our parents returned, I went back to school. I learned how to become a nurse.”

“Did you now?”

“Mhmm. Top of my class even. It’s been fascinating to learn, although I still think the healers here have a better bedside manner. And goodness have there been days where I wished for my cordial on the job.”

“It sounds intense.”

“It is. But I love it.”

Her smile confirmed it.

“It suits you,” he agreed.

“Besides all that, not much has changed for me. I spend most of my time working or with my family, though that’s been difficult of late.”

“Difficult? Why?” he asked with a furrowed brow.

“They’ve all become convinced I’m doomed to become an old maid. Well, not everyone I suppose. Mainly my parents and Susan. Peter would prefer it that way, over protective as he is. And Edmund, well he just wants me to be happy.”

Despite her comments, the fondness she had for her siblings still shone through.

“I’m sure they all want you to be happy.”

“I know that. I just wish they wouldn’t keep trying to set me up. I think falling in love should happen naturally.”

She glanced up at Caspian who was watching her closely.

“As do I. So it sounds to me that you’re turning suitors down left and right.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed. “Although I think Susan believes that she’ll have a better chance at marrying me off now that she’s officially taken. They’ll have to settle for the lesser Pevensie sister.”

Caspian narrowed his eyes at the assertion, footsteps coming to a halt as he turned to face her.

“In what way lesser?”

“In every way,” Lucy laughed humorlessly.

“You are Queen Lucy the Valiant. The most beloved Queen Narnia has ever seen,” he reminded her, continuing on before she could argue with him. “You are amazing. You are in no way lesser.”

His words made her smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“That may be who I am here. But in my world, I’m just Peter and Susan’s little sister. An afterthought.”

Caspian hated to hear her talk about herself like that.

“Then everyone in your world must be fools. You are valiant and beautiful in every world.”

Lucy found herself unable to hold his intense gaze.

“I’m not beautiful like Susan.”

He lifted her head up with a finger underneath her chin, forcing her to look at him.

“Perhaps not. But you’re beautiful like you. And brave. And kind. And loving. And a million other wonderful things.”

“No one’s ever seen me the way you do.”

“It’s an honor to know you this way, Lucy.”

He reached up cradling her cheek before sliding his fingers into her hair.

“I love you.”

It was a relief to finally say it out loud, and her smile was well worth it.

“I love you too, Caspian. I have for a long time.”

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. When he pulled away, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“I was so scared I’d never see you again,” she whispered.

“I was too. I was certain that I’d lost my chance. But you’re here now.”

“I am.” She looked around and somehow he knew she was looking for Aslan. “But I still don’t know why.”

“I’m sure Aslan has his reasons.”

“He usually does,” Lucy agreed with a smile. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out in time. For now…”

“For now, I’m just going to be grateful. And enjoy every second of my time with you.”

“I like that plan.”

They walked through the gardens for a time before Caspian escorted her up to the castle.

Sure enough they spent the next few weeks enjoying their time together. In fact the entire kingdom rejoiced at the return of their queen. But with no indication as to why she was there, soon a quiet anxiety crept in.

Neither Lucy nor Caspian were willing to make too many plans when they didn’t know when she would be returning, so instead they focused on ensuring Narnia was well taken care of. Lucy helped Caspian reinstate the High Council so that every type of creature was represented. Caspian watched in awe as the land flourished and now that everyone had a voice they found it even easier to keep peace. In fact, many days it seemed there wasn’t much ruling to do at all. So he spent more time with his people than ever, which he loved.

And he grew to love Lucy more every day. He knew at some point that she would have to leave, to return to her family, but he also knew that he couldn’t bear to be without her. His decision was made, although he was sure that many would consider it selfish.

Which is why a year after she arrived, Caspian led Lucy into the maze he had found her in.

“This is quite lovely. We haven’t done this in a while. What brought this on?” she asked as they walked.

“Well, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And I have a question for you. And I thought this would be the best place to ask it.”

She tilted her head in question, noting the slight nervousness in his voice.

“What kind of question?”

“An important one.”

They had reached the center of the maze and Caspian led Lucy to sit on the edge of the fountain that contained a stone carving of Aslan. He hoped it would bring them the Great Lion’s blessing.

He took both her hands in his as he sat beside her on the edge of the fountain.

“Lucy, my love, ever since I first met you, you have been a source of strength and someone who I have never failed to believe in. On our first adventure I learned never to overlook you, and I am eternally grateful for learning that lesson. Because it allowed me to see you for who you are on our second adventure. On the Dawn Treader, I fell in love with you. And the day I had to say goodbye to you it felt as if my heart would never be whole again. But by the grace of Aslan, you were returned to me. And I have spent the past year falling more and more in love with you. I’m not sure how long we have left in Narnia, but I don’t want to waste another moment without asking you to be my wife.”

She gasped as Caspian shifted down onto one knee.

“There is no other I would bind myself to. I love you, Lucy Pevensie. And my only wish is to have you by my side for as long as you’ll have me. Will you marry me?”

“Of course.”

She tackled Caspian to the ground in a very unladylike move, and kissed him soundly.

“Of course I’ll marry you.”

Caspian’s smile was brilliant as he reached up to cradle her face before pulling her down for another kiss. They reveled in their new engagement alone for a while longer before deciding to return to the castle.

They were nearly out of the maze when they saw a flash of golden fur.

“Aslan?”

Lucy took off after the lion and Caspian was right on her heels. He couldn’t help but wonder at the timing.

They made it back to the fountain and found the lion himself in front of his stone counterpart.

“Aslan, it is you.”

Lucy launched herself at him, burying her face in his fur.

“Hello, dear one.” It came out in a deep rumbling laugh.

Caspian knelt before Aslan, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Rise, King Caspian.”

“Aslan, what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to talk to you about your future, dear one.”

Caspian felt unease coil in his stomach.

“My future here or…?”

Lucy took a step back to stand next to Caspian taking his hand in hers.

“That is your decision to make, Lucy. Your heart longed for Narnia when you returned home. You had not been ready to leave it behind. Is that still true?”

She looked to her betrothed and considered her words carefully.

“I could leave Narnia. But I cannot leave my heart. I cannot leave Caspian. Not again.”

Aslan turned his massive head towards the king – looking at him expectantly.

“Caspian?”

The king lifted Lucy’s hand to kiss her knuckles, looking to her as he answered.

“Narnia was the only home I ever knew. But Lucy is the only home I will ever need. I would leave Narnia if she wished me to. If you would allow it,” he added as he finally turned to face Aslan.

“Caspian?” Lucy gasped at him.

Aslan seemed to nod so Caspian continued, looking back to his love.

“Lucy, in the past year we’ve changed Narnia. It is ruled by its people. As it should be. They don’t need a king. But I need you.”

Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, but there was no mistaking her smile.

“Are you sure?”

“I am,” he assured her.

Lucy kissed him for a moment, before turning to Aslan.

“Aslan, is it possible?”

He huffed a laugh and nodded with a shake of his mane.

“Yes, dear one. It is possible. All is as it should be with Narnia thanks to you. But you both must be sure.”

They shared a look before turning back to Aslan.

“We’re sure,” they said in unison.

“But we must not abandon Narnia this time,” Lucy insisted. “I want to say goodbye properly.”

“Of course. You two can stay as long as you like, you have earned that. When you are ready return to this fountain and take the path behind it.”

They both peeked around as the hedge directly behind Aslan’s statue opened up. If she listened closely Lucy could hear the music of the reception.

“You’ll be returned to when you left,” Aslan answered her unspoken question.

Lucy hugged him again and Caspian joined in this time.

“Thank you, Aslan.”

“Thank you, for all you have done for Narnia. It is better for knowing you, dear heart.”

Lucy and Caspian were married after six months on the day before they stepped down and allowed the high council full rule over Narnia. Surprisingly, no one begrudged them their decision. Narnia was happy and they saw that they could rule themselves and be their own heroes.

Two years to the day after Lucy arrived, they said their final goodbyes to the land that had given them so many gifts, the dearest of which was each other.

Hand in hand they entered the maze and followed the turns to the center. With one last look at the great stone lion, they walked through the hedge behind him, coming out into a dark night. Lucy was once again in her lavender bridesmaid dress. Luckily she had had the foresight to have a suit made for Caspian so he would blend in.

“Shall we?” she asked, excited to see her family after so long. Well so long for her. Just moments for them.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t just wait here until after the wedding? How are we going to explain me just turning up?” Caspian asked, daunted by the new world around him.

It was louder than Narnia, and undeniably strange. Lucy cupped his cheek, and kissed him.

“The evening is nearly over. The others will want to see you. You were at the other party and we ran into each other in the garden. You’re an old friend from our time with the professor. And I insisted that you come say hello and congratulate Susan in person.”

“You’ve thought about this,” he teased, considering the plan in his head.

“Of course. It was the first thing I thought when you threatened me with my own dagger,” she reminded him with a mocking look.

“Oh really?” Caspian chuckled, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Yes. Right after ‘he’s here. Maybe I get to be loved after all’.”

“You are so loved, my valiant Lucy. And I shall love you forever. In every world.”

She smiled up at him, blissfully happy.

“And I you, Caspian.”

They shared one more kiss before walking hand in hand back to reception. Everything was as it should be.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this. I've got loads of Ben Barnes feels lately and this is how I'm dealing with it lol. Thanks for reading!

#Caspian x Lucy #Prince Caspian Fic #Lucian Fic #Lucy x Caspian #lucy pevensie #narnia #prince caspian #Lucy Pevensie fic #Narnia fic

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lunapwrites · 3 years

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AO3 Stats Tag

Thanks @jmilzwrites for the tag!

How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 26 published works.

What's your total AO3 word count?

I have apparently published 162,757 words in total.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I am strictly a Harry Potter author. Maybe some day I'll add something else to my collection haha. Probably Dragon Age, if I'm going to be perfectly honest with myself.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1) When the Moon Rises to Meet the Stars (hard 18+!!!!) 2) for him. 3) Louder Than Love 4) A Matter of Interpretation 5) The Great Biscuit Calamity of 1978, and Other Such Disasters

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I respond to everyone that comments (except for like... one comment I got on Moon, but it was only because I was very unsure of the spirit in which the comment was meant and I overthought it and proceeded to push it under the metaphorical rug to not address ever lol.) But aside from that, I just like reaching out to people and letting them know that I do see their comments and it really means a lot to me to read their thoughts. :) I also like making friends, and if I can make friends in the comments, then that's all the better!

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Red, probably haha. I mean I've written a lot of angst, but that one is... it's just whump.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

I had someone yell at me for taking the Marauders' side in A Matter of Interpretation, which led me to believe that they didn't actually read the fic, because the literal entire point was that the actual "bad guy" for The Prank changes depending on who is telling the story. But hey.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

(eyes Moon) yeah... so apparently my brand is safe, sane, and consensual kink in which I talk around the bits more than I refer to them directly, and more headspace and emotions than mechanics. I will say that if you like the tags in Moon, I think I'm handling some of those things a bit more effectively in the few scenes in LTL where this has come up (such as the most unintentionally erotic language lesson) so if you're not completely put off by the relationship tags, I do highly recommend it! Especially since Moon was literally the first smut I have ever written... ever.... and part of me wants to bury it in the sand. XD

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of!

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

What's your all time favorite ship?

I have a WEAKNESS for Wolfstar. They're super versatile in terms of writing subject. (I do like Hinny for fluff pieces though.)

What's a WIP that you want to finish, but don't think that you ever will?

Honest answer: No Code (I'm not even going to link it.) I made the mistake of posting the sequel to Louder Than Love at the same time that I was working on Louder Than Love, and I hadn't actually mapped anything out correctly at all. A lot of the overarching plot points are still going to be the same, in terms of what the end game is, but I really am not happy with how it gets there, and some major beats have moved away from the way that I have them written there. So I think it's less that I'm not going to finish it, and more that I'm going to rewrite the whole bloody thing, and probably put it all in order to boot.

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue for sure, particularly banter. Remus Lupin. Just... Remus. XD And probably also writing train of thought.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Telling, repetition, letting the wheels fall off the banter bus (ie: the feedback loop of snark that is Remus and Sirius), plotting in general (working on it!!), and tagging dialogue. I've got weird dialogue tags I've discovered, and I've got a thing about leading directly into dialogue with a tag first, so I have to put it on a separate line, and it's just... ugh. I can't explain why I can't lead with the tag on the same line, because I have no issues when others do it, but when I do it, it's WRONG. It feels wrong, it looks wrong, and the whole universe is going to die if I keep it. So I don't.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in fic?

Well I'm just gonna point at myself here... use it sparingly. I had to go back and edit a buttload of stuff in Moon and No Code because I had too much fucking Welsh and I was nowhere near proficient enough in it to be able to write it as confidently as I was. It can also make things very difficult for readers and pull them out of your scene if you go too hard. Now on the flip side, there's a scene I have in LTL where Remus is falling asleep and his inner monologue switches from English to Wenglish to straight up Welsh as he falls deeper asleep, and it gets more and more disjointed and associative. This is purposeful: it's not supposed to make sense to the reader. So to that end, it's like... if it makes sense narratively and isn't going to trip your readers up too much, then go for it.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The first fandom I published for is Harry Potter... but the first I wrote anything for was... probably Dragonball Z.

What is your favorite fic that you've written?

This is a very hard question. I like Red a lot because I literally wrote that as if I had been suddenly possessed, and it shows. I like Louder Than Love a lot because I've put so much work into it and it's really coming along beautifully (I'm just perpetually annoyed by the first few chapters lol.) And I really, really enjoy Lost Dogs because it was such a challenge to write, and I think that the images I managed to pull out in such small word counts were more powerful for it. But if I had to go with a favorite... Numb (Phobos I) from my Satellites series, which was originally published here. I love Peter in it. I love the way that he and Remus talk to each other. I love the palpable spite in the air. I love the fact that there's a real past between them, that the hurt is still so raw. I so rarely get to see people in the fandom explore Peter at all, ESPECIALLY Wolfstar folks, because most prefer to not address him at all. But he's a constant specter in the background of LTL as well, and Numb is a sort of "What if" taken from that Universe. It may not be my cleanest or most cohesive work, but it's the one that keeps me awake at night.

That was fun!! Tagging in @impishtubist @wanderingbandurria @allalrightagain and anyone else who would like to play! <3

#tag game #ao3 stats #writing #my writing #fanfiction #hp

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stray-tori · 4 years

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Making peace with TPN S02E04 (anime-only)

Post summary: my problems with the episode, possible explanations for why and how to minimize the problems. also some speculation.

The thoughts are mostly based on the anime in a bubble, aside from the segments where I mention otherwise.

#0 - My mixed feelings about staying anime-only

This is strange, because... I’m not really hype for next week? I want more, but not in the same excited way I did before. Because I simply don’t know what to expect anymore.

I want to stick as an anime-only so I can deliver stand-alone thoughts as this... clunky and stumbling adaptation makes its way towards the finish line (obviously it won’t be done this season but, yeah ---- i mean, hopefully not, who knows what they’ll do at this point).

But another part of me is just... more excited to read the manga to see what it is like and what the differences are, after the anime is done (which was always my plan, but I was never really actively excited about it pff-). And I feel like your anime approach has failed when I’m moreso looking forward to reading the source material eventually. I do hope that with ep5 they’ll get back on track and this feeling will fade. That they have a meaningful plan and reason for why ep4 felt so messy and disjointed - a reason why it had to go this way, because I feel like they just wanted them out of the bunker, but this is not the way imo (more on that in the next segment)

#1 - Leaving the bunker - mix of feeling “rushed” and “waste of time”

I feel like where the anime is going, they kind of wrote themselves into a corner in Episode 4. The story setup was leading them to this place (i.e. the bunker), but they obviously didn’t want them to stay there long.

What is the problem? / The way it was setup, we got about an episode of them being there (too few to have emotional attachment to the place) and then being chased out when things went well. In a way it is both too soon, but since nothing really worth the ~1 episode “fluff” happened there in the end, it feels pointless or as if we just wasted time, just for them to leave in the end.

Imo, the bunker is needed for two things, 1) being the first goal for them to go to, so the story isn’t aimless right away and 2) info dumps. Most of the children’s content can be repurposed during their forest time or doesn’t seem relevant right now.

For the record, I personally think that they got found out makes sense in-universe,

WM said he was found out, it’s not unlikely the farm knows that bunkers exist and might even have a vague idea of where they are

that there are multiple could be assumed by the army guy saying, “That’s how shelters usually are” -- If the world has been like this for 1000 years, what other purpose than human survival in a demon would could shelter even have?

I don’t think the pursuers communicated it back (got lucky, Ray) because if they did, they wouldn’t show up a whole month later.

they could have just observed them, they’ve been on the surface quite a bit.

(though I also agree it should be confirmed how the farm found out)

I’m just questioning the impact it had on me as a viewer (which is little) - the world is rigged against them, they can’t catch a break in a system this powerful chasing them and I think part of the confusion and “wait we’re back at square 1??” (literally) is intentional, to evoke the feeling of something being lost. If possible, I would keep the spirit of this idea (see “it’s a trap” in the next segment)

So what can we do to fix it?

Skipping the bunker / I don’t think we can remove the bunker outright. I suppose they could have had them just go straight for the new location by having the last keyword be another puzzle instead of the phone recording giving it away directly. But that might have too few things happening. That way they also would have gotten more time on their own to be wandering OR Mujika and Sonju might have been with them longer (which would honestly make sense from a meta point, too. I feel like they were a little short-lived.)

Less time in the bunker / if it feels pointless anyway, get it over with quickly

More time in the bunker / stay longer and have them do something else. Maybe they prepped to already go back to GF, time has passed and then they get raided. Problem: why did it take the farm force so long?

To be honest, I’m not sure that would have been much better so I’m personally more inclined to fix it with a very tightly connected problem, which will be the next segment:

#3 - the HELP wall scare was pointless

What’s the problem? / the scare was used in between two segments of “the happy life in the bunker”(TM). The segments are the exact same feeling to me personally, just fluff. The scare changed NOTHING. Nothing that was revealed justifies it existing.

Pre wall scare: WM is an ally, the bunker is for escapees

Post wall scare: WM is an ally, he got discovered, the bunker is for escapees, there were escapees there before (?)

The wall doesn’t even have anything to do with WM. And we didn’t get enough details on the HELP wall, even on its own. Was the book and the “HELP”s from the same person? Why were they going crazy there? What did their siblings die from? It can’t be food, so it must have happened outside. Where they picked up by the Task Force(TM)?

The “don’t give up” is nice, but our crew didn’t need that pep talk I think - i guess with Minerva gone, they lost a hope for allies, but at the same time he gave them coordinates where to get support. If they didn’t get that and now were on their own, I’d get the whole uplifting book more, personally. I guess the tragedy here is that WM is dead? Maybe I’m not emphasizing with the characters enough on this.

. So what can we do to fix it?

Give more details to the wall / i.e. answering the questions posed above. Maybe show more of the diary. Maybe two were left and one killed themselves (they scribbled HELPs and were crazier) and left the other alone, and they decided they’re leaving for the human world. It doesn’t change that the scare doesn’t mean much, but it would at least be a little more personal.

Change the wall / remove the helps, leave the names and the counting. It would be a tragic reveal (instead of a over-dramatic scare) to see that people had died (around) here, making them scared for their own lives (I guess that’s kind of implied to be happening but since it doesn’t linger, I didn’t really notice.)

It’s a trap/they definitely know of the bunker / it’s not “help” but “run” which was a warning someone put there because they figured out the farms knew of the bunker (or they got attacked and one couldn’t leave). It being a trap would make sense because even as it’s now, I’m just assuming they vaguely know of the bunkers’ existence anyway. Then it wouldn’t be “yay bunker life! - scare - yay bunker life! - BOOM” but instead “yay bunker life! - it’s a trap... what do we do?” - you can still have the info dumps & the phone call and then they either realize it’s a trap and just leave (removing the problem of the....... interesting raid scenes), and BOOM (haha) you’re where the anime is now, since the troup got nom’ed anyway and aren’t a threat anymore. The mission would still fail since they’re gone, so Isabella’s plot is in tact too. I think this would also partly solve the bunker problem, because now something actually changed about the setup we know. It’s NOT the safe bunker anymore. It changes a lot about the world too - the farm knows of them so how much more of the WM support net is affected? It makes you think more about the larger scale implications (and ligns up nicely with the “I was discovered” talk from James, therefore making the wall shown at the same time relevant), + the bunker has another reason to be there, to reveal that. Personally, it would change our perception and understanding of the situation, which imo would make up for the lacking investment in the bunker itself. It would also prompt them to leave faster (likely), thus eliminating the “we spent so much time here for nothing” thing. If you really want to you can even have them stay anyway, since it’s the only thing they have and they opt to just leave on the first sign of someone actually being on their back. This requires a better night watch than Don though :D

#4 - The little things

Missed drama - the episode was pretty casual about a lot of things; testing potentially dangerous food (fair because it was a nice segment), their new home being gone (fair because no attachment) and them seeing humans being eaten right in front of them (WHY WASN’T THIS MILKED). It makes it all seem like it’s not a big deal - which I guess in a survival story, it kind of isn’t. But I still feel like there wasn’t really any impactful moment this episode it just kinda went “brrr” and now we’re back to episode 1.

for real, please milk the wild demon eating people / he just kinda goes "nom" and the children are there and run. It feels like the anime itself barely takes it seriously - it's the first time (I think), they see a human get eaten by a demon and I feel like that could have used like a close up shot, and some more disgusted reactions by the children. I get that it's a world where that just happens but I feel like the anime just didn't take or see the change to do something more personal with it. I like it as an element at its core because it makes sense; they shot around, attracting the demon and I also like the irony of being saved by a wild creature. Even if that now chases you.

incompetent soldiers - why do they have guns? they can’t HARM / KILL the quality food, so WHY GUNS? -- People with guns are usually incompetent in anything because they just can’t hit anything, but that at least makes sense here. Still, what was the plan? Sheer intimidation? They’re the farms’ force right? Why don’t they know how to deal with wild demons? Possible answer: to prevent humans with guns knowing how to eliminate their higher ups :D doesn’t change that it makes them look stupid. Bro really got defeated by getting a cup thrown in his face. To be fair this specific one didn’t seem to be the brightest bulb, why the “huh?” when he found Don??? Is this relevant I’M SO CONFUSED.

where’s the character moments? - when they got to the bunker, everyone else kind of got the focus, and the main cast just didn't have any of those character moments anymore that made the previous episodes, especially episode 2, so touching and emotional for me. Don't get me wrong, I love the kind of fluff content with the children a lot but I kind of missed some.... it feels like it's more event driven (#BOOM) than character driven now, and idk how to really attach to that? Especially since with ep4 we didn't even really learn anything new (aside from a name and that he was indeed good and is now dead I guess).

#5 - Why?

Warning: this goes a bit into comparisons (nothing concrete though), and I obviously don’t know more than I picked up from fandom reactions.

My guess is that

“So... I cannot at this point say that we are going to animate the entire story to the very end. We are not at a point where we can say that. Sorry. (Laughs)”

from the MAL interview might be a factor. It seems they wanted to tell their own spin regardless (which I personally respect) but maybe they thought that unless they had a two-cour, it would be hard to keep up the investment the first season set up with what was originally in the manga (I had heard that it would be a weird pacing to do 11 episodes and maybe they wanted to make sure viewer engagement was high).

> “We know that there are viewers who, after they watch the anime, want to continue on and read the manga, and there are viewers who have read the manga first and are now watching the anime.”

(I’m not sure if “after the anime” means after a season or after the the whole adaptation)

Their goal is definitely an “unique” experience. And they seem to at least be aware that some people watch the anime first, so it has to make sense in a bubble.

I can’t say if I would have preferred a slower start into whatever the manga has that caps off at 11 episodes (idk how much rewarding stuff could have fit in there), since they probably fear of not being able to do a complete adaptation too. And I feel like as I’m getting it, they are trying to quickly reintroduce what people cared about in s1 --- in Isabella’s case, maybe a bit too early. there was barely any time to really miss her imo.

But I’m also not sure if whatever they’re aiming for will be rewarding. I hope so, because I don’t want their efforts to go to waste. And I don’t want to come to dislike it.

I can admit faults, ep4 is definitely a lowpoint even without knowing the alternatives. Just that for me, it is annoying little things and not the shocking deviations from the manga.

#6 - Hope

I have hope though because Isabella’s stuff was good, and now that they’re over the no-return divergence point, they might be able to... (meta spoiler) not repurpose manga scenes without any buildup (is what I’m getting) anymore :”D, because they really only set themselves up for disappointed with that. It might seem like a homage but it’s moreso out of place, the people who read it aren’t happy because you didn’t earn it (and of course they’ll compare) and the anime suffers from it because it can create unnecessary confusion forced in just to make a reference.

Ironically I think they’re too stuck in the manga too and could have benefited from a blind perspective.

I don’t really mind anything overall I think (world is against them, that’s fair, being out on the run again is fine, the demon “rescue” is fine), the execution / some details of episode 4 were just... strange. idk where they are going with it and maybe that really was the best way to transition but until I know where it goes, I can’t really judge that. Highly doubt it though.

I really hope they completely just do their own things now with some base elements from the manga.

A lot of what I talked about in this post ended up making me appreciate the crumbs of intention. The realization that previous escapees didn’t make it (not all of them, anyway) and WM being dead, and then having that uplifting message. The message of “you don’t get to rest, you’re on your own again”. The irony of the wild demon being their (temporary) rescue. The past escapees.

Ironically, I wanted to dunk on the anime but really, all I feel is more content now. Would I have preferred some fixes? Yes, but I see some semblance of meaning in it even with the errors.

Thanks for reading this goddamn essay.

#tpn #tpn s2 #tpn anime #tpn s2e04 #the promised neverland season 2 #tori talks #tori has opinions #long post

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parachutingkitten · 4 years

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Day 2 - Alone: Awakening

Still behind on @ninjago-angst-week, but I have a short drabble idea for todays prompt that I can also do today, so hopefully I’ll be back on track by tomorrow. Anyway um... Here’s some Echo stuff for this prompt, cuz duh.

The light was brighter than he was used to when his systems finally restarted. He was sitting in a fairly large room, mostly empty except for the table he now sat at, and the chairs on either side. He didn’t recognize this place. It certainly wasn’t anywhere in the lighthouse. But where else could he have been? However, this was hardly the strangest thing that graced his eyes. The strange thing was the person that sat across from him- someone else. Someone new, someone he had never seen before. She had pale white skin and dark purple lines scattered along her complexion. Her bright green eyes seemed to glow as she softly met his gaze- a connection he hadn’t participated in for quite some time.

“Are you awake?” She asked. “Are your processors feeling functional and all?” Her voice was kind and her manor only slightly concerned as she patiently awaited his answer.

He looked at her, processing the sound of her voice and her presence in general. After a moment he managed to realize what she had asked, his own attention redirecting to himself. He looked down at his hands, moving them a bit. He nodded a bit hesitantly, still very confused.

She mirrored his nod, her expression remaining mostly unchanged. “Nothing feels too out of place?”

His eyes finally found their way back to hers, his mind now thoroughly muddled. He parted his lips, pausing for a moment, trying to decide what it was he wanted to say.

“Who…”

“My name is Pixal,” She smiled. “I’m a droid like you are, see?” She held out her hand, her fingers slowly disjointing to reveal the metalwork holding them together. “We’re in a safe place right now, everything is okay.” His hand slowly reached forward towards hers, his fingertips tracing along the inside of her palm. It had been so long since he’d touched another’s hand. The feeling of physical touch seemed so foreign to him now. “Do you think-” she paused for a moment as his eyes lifted back to hers. “Do you think you could tell me who you are?”

“...My name is Zane,” he answered. This answer seemed to invoke a reaction of some kind in her. Not that it was unexpected to her, but rather something of a troubling confirmation. “Is that… wrong? My father would sometimes call me Echo Zane. I don’t-”

“No, you’re fine,” she reassured him. “Do you remember much about your father?”

“Well…” Zane sat up in his chair, thinking over what there was to say. “He built me. We lived together for quite some time before… he left.” Zane went quiet, his eyes turning to the floor.

“And... how long have you been on your own since then, Echo?” Pixal pried.

Zane thought for a moment. He didn’t have an answer.

He didn’t know.

“I… Well…” he blinked a few times, his feelings creeping up on him as he tried to quantify the infinite void he had suffocated in. “It’s been… years…” He looked up at Pixal again. “A decade probably, at least.”

“You’ve been alone all that time?” She asked, her eyes filling with pity.

“You’re the first person I’ve seen since he left,” he sighed. “Are there… Are there other people here?” he asked. “Is my father here? Is this where he went?” He glanced around the room.

“I’m sorry Echo, I’m afraid your father’s been without us for quite a few years now.”

Her words didn’t hurt as much as he thought they might. Maybe because he’d already been without him for so long. Maybe because there was some kind of resentment he’d built up towards the man. Either way, it didn’t do much to help lift his spirits either.

“But there are others waiting outside,” Pixal continued. “We can go out to see them if you’d like.” Zane’s eyes darted to the door behind her. “We just didn’t want to overwhelm you when you first woke up. But your brother is out there and-”

“My brother?”

“Your brother, Zane.” Pixal continued.

Echo could feel tears swelling rapidly in his eyes. “As in the original… the first Zane?”

Pixal nodded. “Would you like to talk with him?”

Echo could feel the water spill from his eyes as his hand rushed up to brush them away.

“Is everything okay, Echo?” Pixal’s hand reached forward, covering one of his.

“Yeah,” Echo smiled. “It’s just… I didn’t know he was-” he stopped, catching his breath for a moment before he could finish. “I didn’t know he was real.

“I thought my father had just made him up.”

#ninjago #ninjago angst week #echo zane #pixal borg #writing #oh my gosh I love the dynamic between these two #I should write more with them

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welcometoloving · 3 years

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Welcome to Loving: Chapter 2

Shane sat atop a white picket fence running down a dirt path towards a two story, dull light blue house overlooking the beach. He had chosen a spot where the paint was not peeling, and the points of the pickets had dulled, yet they still dug into the seat of his pants; he took no notice, however, his full attention directed to the wind through his hair and the island just off the coast. Though it was fully daylight, it still gave him an eerie feeling; he could see why the devil supposedly made it’s home there. He was interrupted from his thoughts, though, by the sight of three other teens heading towards him down the path.

“Hey Shane, where've you been?”, called out the one in front. The two behind him laughed.

“Just sitting here”, he called back. “What do you need?”

“We’ve been looking for you. We’re gonna go check out that hill in the woods!”. He pointed his thumb in the direction of the trees. Shane paused.

“I thought we were doing that Tuesday?”

“Well there’s been another sighting. Plus, there’s a full moon tonight. It’s prime hunting time!”

“I thought the moon had no effect on ghosts”, Shane inquired.

“Well, it can’t hurt,” replied the boy behind the one in front. “Besides, Tuesday’s gonna rain, and who wants to go ghost-hunting in the rain?” Shane thought for a moment.

“Alright, fair point”, he acknowledged. He jumped off the fence and turned towards the house further along the path. The wind changed direction, blowing in from the lake, and carrying upon it a peculiar smell of fish, incredibly faint, yet recognizable nonetheless. Shane wrinkled his nose, before the wind changed it’s direction again, and the scent disappitated. He looked back towards his friends.

“Well come one, let’s get our gear ready!”

* * * * * * * * *

Up in a small room on the second floor of the light blue house by the lake, the four teens sat and sorted their gear. Flashlights, trail mix, rain ponchos, granola bars, pocket knives; all went into the backpacks. Shane held up a black rectangular device, with a screen, buttons, and a radio speaker. He addressed the girl to his right.

“Hey Seher, what is this?” he asked. Seher glanced over.

“Oh, that’s a spirit box. It runs through radio channels. People say ghosts can say things using it.”

“BS”, interrupted the boy across from Shane. “Like a ghost would talk through radio stations!”

“Shut up, Jack”, said Shane’s brother, Anas. “As if a ghost would talk to you.” He paused, thinking for a moment, before continuing. “Actually, Jack may have a point; imagine being able to catch a radio station out here!”

“Why haven’t we used it before?”, Shane followed up.

“I ordered it a month or two ago,” responded Seher. “Took a while to get here. Delivery trucks don’t really come to tiny, isolated towns”

“Fair”, Shane responded. His brother chimed in.

“Hmm, small isolated town, off the map, unknown. Great place for a haunting, or a disappearance!”

“Heck”, added Jack, “It’s a miracle this town hasn’t vanished already!”

“Oh, it’s no coincidence,”, said Shane and Anas’s mother, coming up the stairs. “But never mind that; when are you four going to head out?”

“Oh, we were just on our way”, replied Anas. He and the others placed their cameras around their necks, picked up their loaded backpacks, and filed out the bedroom door. They jumped down the stairs, and exited the house into the waning light of the late afternoon.

* * * * * * * * *

As darkness settled across the treetops, four figures entered a narrow, winding path through the woods. Further and further they travelled as the light slowly waned, bouncing between trunks and rocks, sneaking up on each other through the shadows, and occasionally turning their heads to appreciate the small amounts of starlight that showed through the bough’s silhouettes.

“BOO!”, yelled Jack, jumping out from behind a particularly thick trunk. There was a scream, and in response a startled jump from Seher up front. Shane turned, facing Jack and deadpanned,

“I heard you coming from a mile away, easy.”

“I didn’t”, wheezed a very scared Anas. “What the actual frick?”

“Seems like we found our first ghost for tonight”, said Seher. Jack turned inquisitive towards her.

“Who?”, he asked?

“You”, replied Seher, “If you don’t stop fooling around!” Jack turned to Shane and said in a low voice,

“I think I’m being threatened”.

“I dunno, maybe you should check again”, said Shane. Jack gave a wicked grin, before turning back to the other two, who had gotten a bit ahead.

“Well, couldn’t hurt to make sure”, he said, before hastening to catch up with Seher and Anas. They continued on for another half hour, before coming to a clearing in the woods, centered around a rocky hill. Boulders littered the far side, but the near was clear and grassy. The moon shone brightly above the clearing, full and luminous. It was complemented by the hundreds of visible stars, which, contrary to the warm night, made the four teens shiver. The air stood still, and gave the whole area a silence that was eerie to behold. Jack, Anas, and Shane looked towards Seher, who, taking the cue, stepped fully into the clearing. Head forward, she issued instructions to the other three.

“We’ll climb the hill on this side, it’s a lot easier. Then we can set up the cameras on the top towards the forest. Jack, can you make a salt circle for us to retreat to if things get sticky?” Jack pulled out a half-empty container of salt.

“Sure,” he responded. “Where do you want it?”

“Oh, at the very top should do,” said Seher. “We can also set up the cameras inside it too so that nothing can mess with them”.

“Random squirrel in the trees, ready to ruin our plan to catch video evidence of ghosts”, laughed Anas. He turned to the trees, both middle fingers brandished high. “Screw you, squirrels”. Shane laughed and gave Anas a soft punch to the shoulder.

“Let’s not provoke the most dangerous creatures on Earth”.

“Ghosts?”, Seher asked.

“Squirrels”, Jack confirmed. “Those little bastards will get us all one day.”

“Crazy people”, Sana breathed, exasperated. “We’re hunting ghosts, not rodents”.

“Hey!”, protested Anas. “Us rodents are a noble race, perfectly worth hunting… oh wait oh no”.

“Well, if you insist”, said Jack, hoisting the camera stand he was holding like a gun. Anas backed away.

“Woah man, hold up,” he began, before Seher interrupted them.

“Okay you two, it’s time to stop fooling around and get ready. Jack, did you finish the protective circle?”

“Yeah, and the cameras will just take a few minutes”. Jack and Shane got to work on the cameras, while Seher and Mark pulled out other equipment. Eventually, they had both finished their jobs, and they settled into a sitting circle on the far side of the hill, next to the rocks. Seher laid the spirit box in the middle, and switched it on. The device emitted a loud stream of static, before developing a more recognizable, steady pattern of discordant sound and vague, disjointed syllables. Seher addressed the box.

“Is there anyone here with us? If so, please say something”. The box continued on it’s pattern of channels, with no discernable alteration. Seher tried again.

“If there is anyone here with us, please communicate using the box”. The wind picked up, blowing eerily through the trees. The air grew chilly, but they couldn’t tell if it was the wind or something else. The noise made by the box began to distort, as if trying to from a meaningful word. Finally, something seemed to come through, though just barely recognizable.

“Leave”, said the distorted voice. The four teens looked at each other with worried yet curious eyes.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”, said Seher. Again, the box began to form syllables, before forming another word, more clear this time.

“Go”, it said. Shane looked up.

“Did it just say go?”, he asked.

“I think so”, replied Jack. “But go where? Go away? Does it want us to leave?” The box’s emissions became violent. Out came a third word, clear as day, cutting through the air and through their minds.

“RUN”. Now they were afraid. Shane, Jack and Seher all looked at each other, then back at the spirit box. Anas spoke.

“Guys?”. They ignored him, and he started again. “Guy’s we need to leave”. The other three looked at him, then followed his gaze off into the forest, past the rocks. Lurking between the tree trunks, barely visible, was the shadow of something that looked like a man, but was thin, emaciated, and unnaturally tall, with long, spindly limbs. They froze in shock for a moment, before coming to their wits.

“Quick! Behind the circle!”, whispered Seher. Instantly, they scrambled to the salt line, careful not to disturb it. Once inside, they all stood, huddled together, and faced the figure in the trees. Jack, in front, raised his camera, and a small clicking noise came from it. Delicately, the shadow stepped forward, blending into the shadows, a hazy silhouette against the shadows of the trees. It continued forward, slowly, tentatively, it’s long legs bending and straightening in a way that made the teens sicken. Finally, it reached the edge of the shadows, and, after pausing for a moment, moved forward into the moon-lit clearing, parts of it’s form now horrifyingly clear.

That was too much for Anas. He opened his mouth and tried to scream, but no sound came out. Whipping around, he bolted towards the path back through the woods. Hesitating for a second, the others followed him as the thing moved slowly closer and closer to the hill.

The flight that ensued was panicked and clumsy. Each blundered their own path through the dark woods, vaguely along the trail, but none had time to mind the branches that scratched at their arms and faces, or the leaves that filled their open mouths and got caught in their hair. Occasionally, one of them would glance around, to make sure the others were with them, and, satisfied by the sounds of the other three crashing through the trees, would turn their full attention back to their frenzied escape. Eventually, they found themselves free of the woods and, in the full light of the moon and the stars, they analyzed the shadows of the trees. Backing slowly away they eventually determined that the shade was no longer in pursuit, and they were in fact safe. Convinced of their safety, they still hastily made their way back to the house, and collapsed on the porch.

“WHAT the HECK was that?!”, shouted Anas. They all looked at each other.

“I… I think we found ourselves a ghost!”, said Seher, astonished.

“I can’t believe it!”, exclaimed Jack.

“I know, right”, said Shane.

“No. I actually cannot believe it,” Jack clarified. “Ghosts don’t exist. There’s gotta be some other explanation. Like maybe a bigfoot-like creature, or a trickster of some sort.”

“We literally saw a walking shadow”, said Anas. “Explain that”.

“You know what?”, said Jack. “I will. You hear me?!”, he yelled, pointing to the trees off in the distance, past the road and field. “I’m gonna find out your secrets!”. The other three laughed.

“Sure you will,” said Seher.

“Mark my words”, replied Jack. “Soon, the forest will learn to fear the name of Jack Fyons!”

“Can’t wait to see the newspaper articles”, said Anas. “Local boy destroyed by own hubris, not a single person who knows any Greek mythology surprised.”

“You’ll see”, assured Jack. “You’ll all see. And what’s better, you’re gonna help me.”

“Uggh”, groaned Anas.

“Oh no”, uttered Seher.

“...this is where the fun begins”, said Shane, laughing.

#story #welcome to loving #supernatural #supernatural mystery #mystery #fiction

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gonewiththevoid · 4 years

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Saw some posts on the dash joking about Arknights being a real game (like a MOBA, a FPS, a fighting game) but I wanted to try and take it a mite seriously. I’ll be theorizing a fighting game because I’m more used to them. Under a read more to spare space.

So I’m thinking a traditional 1v1 fighter, no tagging system. Each side has a health meter, obviously, and the resource bar is the either called a Cost/DP bar or an Arts bar. It’s divided in two equal sections, and for half you get either a super or a Roman Cancel like in Guilty Gear, and for all the bar you get a big cinematic hyper (that isn’t exclusively a finisher like in BlazBlue).

I don’t know if I’d put a burst or a powerup mechanic, but they could be implemented. I’m picturing it at about the “pace” of Guilty Gear or Under Night in Birth: airdashes and decently long combos without being like. BBTAG.

I also don’t think it would need an Arc System Works style “gimmick button” (like Drive in BlazBlue or Unique action in Granblue Versus). Character gimmicks could be covered in other ways. I also don’t think a variant system like the Moon system a la Melty Blood or the recent Mortal Kombats would fit. Still, I think even without these it’d be possible to make a decent amount of fun to play characters.

All that said, considering recent 2D fighting game releases, I’d say the base cast should cover about 16 characters for a good mix of RI personnel and some antagonists. So without further ado, and trying to keep each entry short, I propose the following cast:

1. Amiya, obviously. A Shoto, equally as obviously, but with a focus towards projectiles without going full zoner. Decent at everything but can hold her own against pure zoners and projectile wars. Spirit Burst as a projectile spam super, and Chimera as her hyper; they don’t stun or kill her because that’d be crippling but they have long ending lag.

2. Blaze. A basic but solid Rushdown character. Good normals with the chainsaw and some mixups on her specials. Packs a decent meterless reversal as well. Chainsaw Extension Module as a super; it buffs her chainsaw-based attacks with more range, making her hitboxes really disjointed. Boiling Burst as her hyper, probably.

3. Flamebringer, because he feels like a natural fit. Katana/Iaijutsu character in the vein of Jin Kisaragi or a less teleport-y Yuzuriha. Good pressure and range but weak defense. Could potentially have a stacking mechanic like Johnny’s Mist Finer. Hard execution but worth the effort. Good neutral game too. Definitely uses his second sword for his hyper, Blade Demon.

4. Hoshiguma. Bruiser type. Heavy, slow, and big normals with way shorter combos but good damage anyways. 100% has a command grab. Really good defense too; only sticking point is she’s slow and she could use a bit more horizontal range. Absolutely has a counter super in Thorns. Saw of Strength is her hyper and has deceptively long range on startup.

5. Indra as the obligatory boxer. At least two variations on a dash punch. Definitely has a dodge move with like 3 different followups. Has a rekka sequence. Close ranged as hell but can’t get pushed out once she Gets In. Launcher move is an uppercut. Considering Armorcrusher, probably has guard breaks too. Hyper is Sundered Soul.

6. Gavial. Here to represent Medics and also to be the grappler. This croc WILL Death Roll you as a command grab that takes off 25% of your health. Cane wack special. Has a command grab, an anti-air command grab, a command grab super and hyper. Look I know I’m ignoring gameplay and lore here but nobody else came to mind as the token grappler OR medic.

7. Texas because no way Penguin Logistics isn’t included. Really, really good pressure but apart from her Sword Rain super has little in the way of defense. Okay reach with her sword, but tons of multi hitting moves because not including her summon swords into her moveset would be a crime. Get in, pressure, do combo, and hope you can read the enemy’s reversals.¸

8. Lappland because c’mon. Obligatory dual wielding character. Sword beams for projectiles. Does a little bit of everything, and well at that. Silence probably manifests as preventing the enemy from gaining meter with certain moves. Wolf Spirit as a super. Has a special clash intro and a unique vs theme for Texas.

9. Executor. Literally just the Terminator. Has Naoto Shirogane’s Raid but with super armor and a shotgun. Also has a bullet/ammo system like Eltnum however, so smart use of shotgun blasts is key. Probably also has a shoulder bash with bullshit frame advantage. This means he has conditional midrange and needs to get close otherwise. Hyper is Final Journey.

10. Manticore. Patient character. Gameplan is to abuse tail normals and specials to poke from afar and punish mistakes, and force mistakes or whiffs by placing traps (her energy spikes) that you can also convert into combo. Has Arakune’s Invisibility move for maximum guessing if she decides she wants to Go In. Decent defensive options. Toxic Overload is her hyper.

11. Mayer. Zoner/Summoner, duh. Meebos are a special move, they don’t attack unless another special is used to make them do so. Annoying disjointed and long with her cool robo-arms. Not super combo oriented but god help you in the corner if she sets up. Detonate and Recycle is a super, it summons one Meebo in front of her and then immediately explodes them all.

12. Siege. Complete gorilla. No thoughts, head empty gameplay. Simple close and midrange moveset, a reversal, a dash attack (probably with projectile invincibility), maybe a rekka or a command grab. No projectile though. Play neutral focused, catch mistakes, or go in: she can do it all and still get good damage. Vs theme for her and Indra.

13. Cuora. Stance character. Either in the Field Stance or Batting Stance. Field is her base state; okay normals with the bat, a counter, a baseball dive for a low dash attack, but otherwise a little subpar. Batting Stance makes nearly immobile but allows for bonkers damage if played right or especially in the corner. Hyper is literally just Chie’s Instant Kill but baseball flavored.

14. Kroos. Semi-joke character. Annoying zoner piece of shit. Has both straight crossbow shots and angled falling shots, as well as ricochet trickshots. Has an invincible movement option to both get the hell out and reposition herself. Low damage and short combos however; you gotta be willing to commit to the long game.

15. Crownslayer. Chipp Zanuff. Every ninja character ever. Low damage but good pokes. Teleports based on screen position. Dies to a stiff breeze. Can try to rush you down or abuse mobility options (of which she has many) until you make mistakes and then capitalizes on them. This is her only opportunity to ever be taken seriously.

16. FrostNova. Full zoning. Ice shards. Ice spikes. Advancing ground ice shards. The whole works. Moving is for suckers. She keeps the chapter 6 chilled and frozen mechanic on her strong specials. Of course, she has like -2 defensive abilities to compensate her avalanche of projectiles. Definitely has an ice-storm super. Vs theme for her and Amiya.

And of course:

Talulah. Absolute bullshit SNK boss. Huge and fast sword normals. Huge and chip-heavy fire specials. Gains meter passively or some bullshit. Probably has a teleport for some reason. Unplayable.

Any criticism or commentary welcome, this is super unfiltered and raw.

#Arknights #Concepts #long post #i just. love fighting games #and theorycrafting #i want a fighting game spinoff of everything #like im not kidding super long post i apologize if the readmore doesnt work

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lucastheunlucky · 4 years

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Who Made Who | Luke&Blanche

Time Frame: Current Who: Blanche & Luke Possible Triggers: Body horror Location: Strawford Park Summary: Luke has been seeing a ghost around him and Blanche offers to help work out where she might be buried. Going back to the mass grave where he was disposed of a few years ago, causes her to lash out. She finally shows her face, and the horrors of exactly who she is and who hurt her.

Blanche pulled her yellow jeep into Strawford Park’s parking lot with a low sigh, sliding into the parking space. She was overly prepared, as per usual. Some might call her paranoid, and they’d be right, but she had seen far too much to not be. She had enough salt in her bag to kill a baby moose, as well a small iron rod, wards, taser, mace, and acid mace. Probably a bit of overkill, but if she was going to be ghost hunting - sorta - with Lucas, then it was better to be overly prepared than not at all. Swinging her backpack on her back, she locked her car and stuffed her keys into her back pocket, walking up to Strawford Park’s gates, immediately tensing. Cemeteries were always haunted, she could feel the spirits lingering inside, and she winced as she lingered outside, waiting for Lucas. She felt him before she saw him, feeling the presence of a ghost coming ath er from a different direction, and she looked up from staring at her shoes and waved. “Hey!” she called, “What’s up? How are you feeling? Any better?”

So Lucas had only one goal in mind with all this-- and it didn’t actually involve him. ‘Do not, under any fucking circumstance, have Blanche get hurt.’ There was nothing else that mattered to him, because answers could always be found in other ways, and there wasn’t a super rush. Even with this ghost-- well-- it wasn’t good, but Lucas could handle it. He waved at Blanche, her smaller stature, backpack, and youthful energy making Lucas concerned already for her safety. “Hey there, Blanche,” he gave a soft smile, and sighed a bit. “I’m feeling a bit sick, but I’m good though. You have some gear on you, stuff to help with ghosts?” He asked, pushing the gate open, and looking out at the gravesite with a thump in his throat. “It's just on the edge, back I think-- better to not walk the middle, yeah?”

“A bit sick?” Blanche’s brows knit together in concern almost immediately. This was why she had wanted to go alone. In theory, the hard part was done, Lucas already knew where the grave was. She walked with him through the gates, grimacing slightly as she nodded. “Yeah, good idea. I - sometimes I have a nasty habit of drawing spirits to me. Something about my aura or something,” Blanche said with a shrug, “So staying away from most of them would be most appreciated. But I do have stuff in my bag that’ll help,” she patted her backpack slightly. “Iron, salt, wards, you know, the usual.” After a moment, she paused and looked at him, concerned once again. “Here, we can go slow, okay? Are you sure you’re up for this”

Lucas chuckled, trying to keep his tone calm and slightly teasing. “Blanche, I don’t know what the usual is for ghosts, so I’m going to have to take your word for it. I’m not the type to grab weapons.” He’d have to remember that though, any new information on supernaturals wasn’t the worst to have. So the ghosts were attracted to her in a bad way, this put a frown on his lips, glad he hadn’t let her come alone. “Listen, if this goes sideways, I want you to come with my brother next time. There’s never a need to have shit like this bother you so aggressively alone.” He almost let out an annoyed growl, but it stopped in his throat. At her pause he looked back. “Of course, I know this seems grim and I don’t feel the best, but what if it helps? If we both feel like we need to turn around-- we will. Want a code word? Something we can just shout and we run like our ma’am’s have a wooden spoon and we’re on our last warning?”

“Oh, I am,” Blanche said automatically, with a shrug. “The type to grab weapons, I mean.” She thought back to when she and Winston went to look at the cursed chest on the beach, going to snap photos and kill Karknoids. The back seat of her old, shitty car had been full of bats, bricks, wasp spray, and anything else she could find. She was a bit more prepared now. “Salt and iron are usually good for ghosts, though. I have wards on me in case I have to ward anything off while I’m here. But I don’t think anything’s going to go sideways.” At least, she hoped not. She let out a low sigh as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Your brother?” She frowned, not sure she liked the idea of that. Blanche wasn’t even sure coming here with Lucas was a good idea for Lucas’ safety, she didn’t want something bad to happen to his brother too. “If he’s alright with that. Does he know about this?” They continued walking, Blanche letting out a low laugh. “A code word? Like we’re spies or something? Do you think we’ll need something like that instead of just saying, Zoinks Scoob, let’s get the hell outta here?”

“Yeah, he will know. I don’t keep anything from him anymore, and he’s in search and rescue, he will be able to help out if we can’t find her body,” Lucas easily said. For some reason, while they walked along the edge, steps careful, and both vigilant to their surroundings, he couldn’t help but think about Regan and how she had suggested having a picnic in a graveyard. He internally smiled at that. Weirdo. She was something special. As they moved, Lucas felt the hair on his arms rise up, and he cracked his neck as it grew stiff, the muscles feeling heavier along his shoulders and making his body groan a little against itself. “Yes, Zoinks, please say that,” he said quietly. He glanced at his phone at the rough map, but in reality, he kinda knew where it was now that he was here. His memory was broken up from the day he was put here, hazy like they were echoes of moments over what actually happened. “Shit,” he glanced down when a surprise of pain made his chest suddenly ache and a wave of dizziness hit him.

Blanche hated graveyards, always had. Whenever her parents would drag her and her little brother to see their great grandparents when they were small. Blanche would scream her head off, even though she was supposed to be the older, more mature one. Her screaming would set her brother off and it would always end with their father snarling at them to stop causing a scene and to behave. After a few failed times, they stopped going. Except Blanche never did stop seeing ghosts. “I can keep my old cartoon references going, if you want. Yabbadabbadoo,” Blanche snorted to herself, shaking her head. The spirit’s presence coming off of Lucas became stronger all of a sudden, causing her to pause as gravel crunched under her sneakers. She turned to look at him. “Lucas?” Blanche asked. Spots of blood were appearing on his shirt. He was hurt? What? “Lucas! Your shirt! Your skin - What - what’s happening? Are you okay?!”

Luke didn’t want to blame the ghost, even if it wanted to hurt him. It wasn’t her fault she died. It was Gotch’s. A low sound vibrated in his chest in a growl. “Yeah--,” he said. “I just felt suddenly sideways, vertigo, tired.” As he finished speaking the familiar southern drawl carried through the graveyard and his heart stopped for two beats before it started into a fumbling race that sent a tremble to his fingertips. ‘Another person with you? So comfortable.’ Lucas refused to look towards where it came from because he knew he wasn’t in town. He’d not heal from losing an arm that fast. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“She’s what?” Blanche gaped at him. And then she saw her appear before her eyes and Blanche stumbled back eyes wide. This was no girl - well, it was a girl, but it wasn’t quite how it should have been. She was instantly reminded of Lauren Langley’s true form, with intestines spilling out of her body. This was different. The girl was half formed into a wolf, bones bent and broken at odd angles, strange animalistic features and tufts of fur stretched over her skin. The streaked on her face from the large bullet hole in her inhuman skull. Blanche stared in horror, shaking slightly as her stomach churned dangerously. No, she had a job to do. She could be sick later. Come on. She could do this. She swung her bag off her shoulder. “Lucas?” Blanche said. “It’s okay. She’s here and she’s trying to stop you.” Blanche forced some semblance of calm into her voice. “Let him go!” Blanche commanded. “We’re trying to help you. Let him go.”

Stop him. Why? ‘Wouldn’t you want to be free of this suffering?’ The disjointed voice carried through him, and Lucas staggered into a standstill when Blanche tried to speak calmly to something behind him. When he laid at night, his nightmares were mostly seeing his packmates taken away, cut up, beheaded, but also it was this shadow of a monster that lurked in the very furthest points of his vision and whispered to end it. It’s always been this way for him. He’s been terrorized too long by Gotch. His voice would always lurk. Luke starred forward, determined to keep the feeling from scaring him, though his body creaked gently in want to defend himself. “She wants me to stop,” he swallowed thickly, taking a few more steps. He blinked a few more times, refusing to believe what he was hearing, the words kept slipping by, but it ached all of him. “Fuck--” his pulse increased. “Blanche-- forward or back?” he asked.

“Let him go!” Blanche said firmly. She pulled the iron rod from her bag, though she knew the notes she had taken that it wasn’t going to be nearly as effective as she wanted it to be. Oh hell, what was she going to do now. “Lucas, listen to me. Can you hear me. Can you come forward to me?” Blanche asked. Panic was spreading in her body, but she desperately tried to make it go far away. Far, far away. There was a part of her that wished she told Rebecca or Nigel or anyone what exactly she’d be doing today. Mind racing, Blanche had to figure out what she wanted to do now. Go back? No, the longer this thing was attached to his soul meant bad news for Lucas. She didn’t want him to be tormented for that long, he didn’t deserve that. No one deserved that. Could she get the ghost to talk to her? “Look at me!” Blanche demanded. “No you, Lucas. You! The …. Girl. Hello? Can you hear me? Let him go this instant.” Blanche stepped closer to Lucas, almost ready to reach out and yank him towards her. “We want to help you find peace. Don’t you want that? Come on.”

Lucas had amber eyes on her, hair sprouted in places along the highest planes of his arms and knuckles, and he seemed heavier, almost denser as the muscles coiled in tension, but when he looked at her, it was him seeing her with a clear gaze. He refused to have this thing hurt this young woman. Luke could handle it, making him see his worst nightmares even if it made his heart thump at a dangerous pace that stirred him into a wanted shift. He’s been through worse-- he’s suffered so long-- this was nothing. Lucas was a beast with control, and he stepped forward, without restraint, nothing physically holding him back, not that a lot could against a werewolf’s strength. It was what was behind Blanche that made his stomach sour, making it so difficult to stop the paranoia.

‘I want to kill her.’ Gotch smiled and Luke almost shattered, “I can hear you, Velma,” he joked in hopes to not fall into that pitfall, pulling the first name from his pop culture list he could. Blanche’s pulse was high as well, and panic could be easily read and somehow, that was the reassurance he needed to know it was her. “Stay calm,” he took another step. “She has to do a lot to hurt me. I’ve already been to Hell.” The person behind Blanche was Gotch, missing his arm and holding a shotgun at her head. He exhaled and the side of the ghost surfaced just out of his vision near his cheek, her mangled face not the one he always saw but unable to speak from the damage. He took another step. “She hates someone. The one who killed her, it’s all she keeps saying. She keeps showing him to me.”

Velma. Blanche let out a short laugh that sounded more like some type of high pitched tea kettle noise. “I’m as calm as I’m going to get,” Blanche replied. There was a whispering coming from the ghost that she couldn’t quite hear, and she wondered if it was because she was whispering lowly in Lucas’ ear and not to her. She didn’t want to talk to her - made sense, since Blanche actively wanted to get rid of her. But she also wanted her to find some semblance of peace. The girl would never be able to do that leeching off of people’s souls. She stared at Lucas, examining him closely for a moment. The more responsible part of her, whatever was left of that part, told her to turn back. To abandon this and come back by herself or with his brother. She met his eyes a moment. “She’s showing you things that aren’t real,” Blanche said carefully. After a moment, Blanche held out her hand to him. “Take my hand. We’ll go together, okay?”

“I have fallen for them before,” Lucas admitted, and he still couldn’t look Gotch in the eye, and a small part of him could hear Miles saying it would be extremely tough to face him in all fronts. He had to get better. When Blanche moved, and he took her hand, the illusion broke, the shotgun disappeared and the hallucination dissipated. Lucas stepped forward. His mind ached, like nails carving down his skull to believe it all. That it was real, and Lucas didn’t know if it was because he’d had nightmares for so long that he could navigate this, or because there was light before him-- Blanche’s bravery gave him pride, and appreciation. This was why you didn’t do things alone, right? He squeezed her hand to reassure her and the choice, the gravesite was close. They just had to go up a little more. Could he handle that though? Would he suddenly remember moving the dirt pressed on his face and trying to get out of the ground?

“That’s okay,” Blanche said, quietly. She was relieved when he grabbed her hand. Gently, she lead him forward, her eyes still on the mangled form of the girl that was so desperately trying to pull Lucas back. She didn’t understand why she was doing this - then again, Blanche supposed there was no need to know why, just that it was happening in the first place. Was that what her problem was? That she was so caught up in why things happened instead of just taking action and dealing with them as they came? Blanche didn’t know, but it caused a new round of anxiety in her. She clutched the iron rod in her free hand tighter as she pulled Lucas forward.

The weight on his soul seemed to pull and stretch. Like the ghost was tethered and bound to it and leaving his body behind like like a demented balloon. Suddenly something materialized near them and howled a broken, threatening sound. Lucas’ steps stopped, the very instinct to howl back came up without control, and he gritted his teeth as fangs crowded his mouth and his body shifted subtly, swallowing it down as his ribs creaked under his shirt. He turned around and it was Miles, with his face blown off, down to the bone, flesh hung off like a torn bed sheet, only his broken muzzle hung open to let the howl come through, and one eye illuminated and staring at him. ‘Late. Late. Late. This is what happens. Told you, I’d hurt them. I’d cut them. I’d kill him if you went to his side.’ Gotch’s voice whispered in his ear in familiar ways. Lucas stared at his brother, strong emotions a current in his chest, heavy in frustration and fear. His hand fell from hers, taking a step forward. “Don’t show me this--”

Until he wouldn’t go anymore and she stopped too, squeezing his hand tightly. “Lucas?” She asked. She watched his inner turmoil, eyes going from between the girl and him. “Stop it! Leave him alone! Who are you?!” Blanche snapped. Shit. Lucas said a name, seeing some hallucination that she couldn’t see, turning and walking away, his hand falling from hers. Shit. Blanche rushed forward, practically running to cut Lucas off, holding her free hand up to stop him. “Lucas, look at me. It’s okay! It’s okay, it’s not real.” Blanche bit her like and then resigned herself. “Lucas, I need you to send me the map on your phone. So I know where to go, okay?”

He closed his eyes so he wasn’t fooled. Did it mean she actually died here, and wasn’t disposed of? Did Gotch kill her so horribly? “Okay--” Luke opened his eyes, rings of gold in his brown, seeing Blanche. It was impossible not to feel this ghost’s presence now, and it was exhausting him fighting back. He pulled his phone out and quickly sent the map and plot location to her cell. “We have to go, it’s-- this is too dangerous now--” he said, wishing he could keep going but knew he didn’t want to put Blanche in any more danger. They got answers though. This wolf-- they deserved to rest. It was the least he could do.

The ghost was wailing now. A deep, anguished howl erupted from her, and Blanche could feel it ringing in her ears. “Alright,” Blanche said softly, feeling her phone vibrate. She was overwhelmed now, over stimulated by the spirit and Lucas - it happened so often like that. It was easier to be around one instead of both, and Blanche spent the better part of her life wishing it was the live ones. But she could feel this spirit. This girl’s pain. More than that, she could feel just how desperate she was and feel just how close to breaking it was. A session or two with Rebecca hadn’t done much for her senses, other than her focuses on how different sorts of spirits felt, and if Blanche took a moment to breath, took a moment to look at the mangled body of the girl, she knew she didn’t have much time left. She reached for Lucas’ hand and pulled, this time back towards the graveyard gate. “Let’s go home,” she said. And then, she would come back later, without Lucas. So she could deal with this poor spirit herself.

#x: blanche #body horror tw #x: who made who

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bluehhj · 5 years

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listen to me — chapter 27

LISTEN TO ME — 0027

listen to me masterlist;

WORDS: 1.9K

Chan wept not only the pitangas*, but also all the fruits of the fruit bow. It wasn't possible that someone had such bad luck!

"And her boyfriend got there all of a sudden, all handsome, looked like a model," — he sniffed as he talked about his fateful discovery about the hot girl at the hospital being compromised. Not that he was surprised, since fate loved to preach those plays to him, but he could swear that the smiles that that girl had sent him eventually wanted to say something... Probably, that he was a fool. — "It looked like those movie scenes, you know? Where he hugs her around the waist and gives that amazing kiss for everyone to see that they're a perfect couple. Even Seungmin must've laughed at my defeated face!" — Chan remembered Kim's indecipherable expression as he let the stethoscope drop to the floor. He also stationed in the same hospital, and although they had never had any disagreements, Chan thought that even that forgotten plant at the front desk was making fun of his personal failure. — "I feel cheated again!"

Lee Felix, who was sitting on the other side of the table, looked at his new friend in a way that should've been a little comfortable, but he also suffered so much from those damn breakdowns that he didn't even know what to do with his own life, nor with that of others.

Felix had requested transfer to the same college of Chan and that was the first day that he attended the lessons of the course of Medicine with the new class. Alas, he was already gifted by a double work without even getting a tiny salute from the professors, and Chan, who was sitting next to him, noticing how much the rookie looked lost, asked if they could do it together. Felix just missed wrapping him in a hug. Usually he wasn't so easy to make friends — for some reason, people always thought he was a bit strange (?) — what could've caused a headache if Chan hadn't been a good person and helped a soul in need of attention. So much attention, so to say.

It took forty minutes together and half a work done for Felix to start pouring out his frustrations as if they had been friends for a long time. His girlfriend had dumped him, so he was needy and immensely sad the last few days. The plan was to meet at five, after Chan had left the internship, and tried to finish the work until seven, but it was nearly nine o'clock and all they both knew how to do was cry — after Felix opened his wounded heart, Chan began to identifying with him and having his feelings rummaged by what appeared to be a giant blender, consequently urging him to talk about his frustrations as well, emphasizing the latter.

All that was missing was a bottle of soju and music for cuckold.

"That's why I detest some women" — gripping one of Bang's hands lightly, Felix sniffed and wiped the corner of his eyes with a napkin he'd recently purchased. — "No offense," — he said to Jade, who now only watched the two of them from the counter while making juice. She had tried to use her words from a near-graduate psychologist to console them in the last half hour, but it didn't seem to do much good. — "You're nice."

"Huh... Thank you?" — the american replied hesitantly. On the one hand, she was happy that Chan had arranged a friend, but the other was worried that the same friend would be so melancholic. Two melancholics together never ended in good. — "You're nice too, I guess."

"Really?" — the australian smiled suddenly. — "Not everyone says that, thank you!"

"... You're welcome."

At that moment, the front door made a noise and those in the kitchen waited until the person in charge showed up. It was inevitable for Felix not to let his jaw drop.

"May I know where you were until that time?" — Jade asked as soon as she saw Jinah enter the room, as if she were unnie there. However, everything became clearer as the figure of Jisung also entered her field of vision.

"In the church, of course," — Choi replied as she got rid of her uncomfortable tie. — "Praying for the Holy Spirit."

"With that swollen mouth?"

"That's not my fault."

Jisung let out a small "oh" when Jinah sent him a meaningful look with a wink. He was totally embarrassed by such attitudes.

Jade could already imagine the rest of the story. It'd start with dates, kisses here and there, nighttime visits and, when she realized, Jisung would already be sprawled out on the living room sofa. That way they'd have to rent a bigger apartment.

"What?" — Jinah asked when she finally noticed Chan's emotional situation. — "That girl from the hospital already has someone?"

He didn't want to be so predictable.

"My love for her started so random and ended even more..." — he lamented, drawing disjointed things on the sheet of notebook on the table. — "By the way, this is Felix, we met today," — his eyes met those of the younger boy, who by then had already blessed the newcomers mentally and returned to normal. — "This is Jinah, my friend, and that is Jisung, the... How can I call?"

"It's something undefined, I get it" — Felix laughed when Jinah opened her mouth, but couldn't find the right word, at the same time Jisung seemed to have received a flip-flop on both cheeks. — "Nice to meet you."

The doorbell rang and Jade, supposing it was the pizza, left the kitchen while the others settled on the table and exchanged receptive words. In the meantime, Changbin came out of the bath cheerfully, with a wide smile decorating his face.

"I loved the internship, being close to all those cute little kids is so cute!" — he said with his hands on his cheeks, resulting in a discreet grimace coming from Jisung. — "There are also the older ones, but I confess that little ones are my favorites!"

"But..." — Han whispered to Jinah, who could only hear because they were sitting close to each other. — "He's not like that, that's wrong."

"I told you that the impression you had of him was wrong," — Choi whispered back. — "But you don't believe the things I say."

"It must be because you're always talking nonsense"

"Boy, you can be sure that when I start talking real nonsense you'll know."

"And one of them even called me Binnie!" — Changbin continued his story, causing Chan and Felix to stop crying and start laughing and commenting on. It was just another day almost normal.

Having the two boxes of pizza on the table — one of chicken and the other of chocolate —, Jade took the jar of ice-cold orange juice that rested on the counter and began to serve the glasses. As soon as she went to deliver Jisung's, her gaze took on a deeper depth, like the look of a suspicious mother lurking in her son's first girlfriend.

Han stared at the glass for a moment, then turned to the american: — "There's no poison, right?"

"The will to kill you is no bigger than my willingness to spend money on so little."

"Jade!" — Jinah scolded.

"He started it!"

"I didn't start anything!" — retorted Jisung. — "You who kept staring at me with that angry face."

"But it's your fault!" — the american stamped her foot.

"I wasn't even looking at you. If your problem is jealous of Jinah, you can keep it to yourself!"

"She can?" — Choi's expression became sad, but she was promptly ignored in the middle of the argument.

"I'm not jealous of Jinah!" — Jade stated with all the conviction that she was able to gather within her 5'3" tall. — "I just don't like you very much!"

"Guys, what is that?" — Changbin intervened, alternating his gaze between them. — "Can't you stay in peace for at least a few hours?"

"Or rather, can't you be at peace for all?" — Chan reshaped the question. — "If you're going to have to get used to each other's presence anyway, you'd better do it more quietly, no?"

"It's not me, it's her" — sulked, Jisung folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. Jade was about to do the same, but her good sense alerted her to how much she was being childish acting like that. — "And I won't apologize while she doesn't."

"Ah, but..." — Kang was almost indignant again, but eventually let out a sigh and lift the fucking white flag for being easier and less exhausting. — "Okay..." — she bit the inside of her cheek in a short moment of reluctance. — "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

Jisung didn't spare one last ironic glance before finally lowering his guard: — "I'm sorry, too. For whatever bad I've done for you."

"Now a hug," — Changbin added, but both Jade and Jisung refused and said it was already too good that way, destroying Seo's expectations. — "That's why I like the kids," — he murmured, disappointed, and turned his attention back to the pizza.

The moment, then, became conducive to peace reign and everyone could enjoy a good meal around a large table, except for Jinah, who continued sulk in her place.

"What's wrong with you?" — Jisung asked with a frown.

"You reject me too quickly," — she mumbled, folding her arms.

It took him a few seconds to go over the last lines and find out what he had done wrong, then realized that the tantrum was due to the fact that he had told Jade that, if the problem between them was jealousy, the american could stay with Jinah for herself, but it was obvious that this was a kind of irony. For a moment, Jisung had forgotten how much Choi was sensitive that day.

"I didn't reject you and I didn't say that seriously."

"It wasn't what it looked like."

"Jinah, do you really think I'd offer you to Jade if I knew she really would want you?"

"This is getting cute," — Felix murmured to Chan, who laughed softly and nodded.

"Really?" — Choi asked, her eyes looking like those of some abandoned puppy. Changbin wanted to laugh and put an end to that drama at once, for it was very clear to Chan, Jade and him that it was all a cheap staging by someone who wanted only a little more attention.

"Of course."

"Then, give me a little kiss" — Jinah pouted her red lips in Jisung's direction, who widened his eyes.

"You don't have to exaggerate, either."

"But you said..."

Han began to think about what he had done so badly to deserve it, but, as he knew from experience that every fight with Choi was lost, he deprived himself of something stubbornly in vain and kissed her for a few seconds, then hearing cries and provocations of the others.

"Now I'm happy again," — Jinah said through a smile as they parted, watching the boy's cheeks paint red.

Jisung just wished he hadn't opened such a big smile as well.

* WEEP THE PITANGAS: again, idk where that expression came from, but basically from what i know, it means: "the name pitanga, or brazilian/surinam cherry, comes from pyrang, which, in tupi — language used by the ancient indian tribes here in brazil —, means red. therefore, the expression refers to someone who cried a lot, until the eye turned red. from its origins, this expression has the meaning of "complaining", "whining". i googled to see if there was a similar english expression and found some, but i don't think any other expression would fit that well sjskjs because that's the fun of brazilian slang and expressions, they're funnier when translated in a literal sense, even if you don't understand the meaning at all, yanno? in addition, it's also good to learn new expressions and slang from time to time, even if they are from a different language

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spookyspaghettisundae · 5 years

Text

Suffer, Huntress

Evil walked the streets of the city. Fog strangled the spirits of people, instilling them with a fear that prevented them from straying far from the heat of the hearths. The thick fog suffocated the light shed by the gas-powered lanterns lining the cobblestone-covered streets. In the shadows of an alleyway, darker than most, a young lad clasped his hands together, mirroring the gesture of many a penitent man. But he prayed to no god.

Even surrounded by tiny flickering dots of candlelight, arranged in a specific arcane formation, this particular spot turned colder and darker than any other throughout the metropolis. The youth spoke strange syllables—uttering unspeakable sounds that no human tongue should utter—a spell that a strange man had taught him. An eerie sorcerer from far-flung lands, housed in a lavish tent in the harbor district, peddling his occult services for coin.

Reciting the deviant incantations, the boy prayed to something unholy in hopes of conjuring a power that would allow him to exact his revenge. Oh, but what a fool this lad of twelve winters was. He believed this ritual to be a tool at his disposal—but in truth, an unseen force would now use him as a tool to enter this world.

What a petty motive had driven the lad to practice such dark arts. The Baker boys had pulled down his pants in front of the seamstress girls on Miller street in broad daylight. A humiliation he could never forgive them for, as his darling, Susanne, was among the girls to witness his debasement. Not that Susanne really knew him, nor did he have an inkling if she even remotely reciprocated his sentiments. But to such a young and naive lad, the world had collapsed on that fateful day. And soon after, he sought revenge, though the Baker boys were too big and too tough for him to confront in person.

As he finished speaking the unspeakable, many disjointed thoughts crossed his mind. For nothing happened and his fears began to fill the dreadful void that followed. Had he misspoken on any parts of the spell? Had the stranger cheated him out of his hard-earned copper coin? What if the magick failed to do what he desired, and the Baker boys knew somehow of his doings? Would they do yet worse to him?

Still, nothing happened. The ringing from the clock tower bells to indicate the witching hour had long ceased to echo. The streets remained dead silent. The candles flickered, mocking the lad.

A violent gust of wind howled through the alley and blew his cap off his head, ruffling his hair, and snuffing out the lights from the candlewicks. He inhaled sharply, expecting something to happen.

And happen, something did.

He gurgled and rasping breaths escaped his lungs. A disembodied force surrounded him, enveloped him. An invisible something came from nothing, engulfing his body. It tickled all over, tingling—made him feel like dancing, but also gripped his heart with terror. It entered his heart first, spread from there into his thoughts, and finally took control.

Though he continued to see through his own two eyes, everything seemed so far away. Even his own hands, that he stared at. It was not him that gawked at his palms with curiosity, but the entity that had taken over. Cackling erupted from his mouth, not of his own volition. If his body still did his bidding, he would have screamed.

He left the alleyway—not the boy, but the creature in the boy’s body. Staggering at first, gaining familiarity of its vessel with each step, recalling how to move human legs again.

It had a mission. It wandered the streets, uncaring of the cold that bit at the digits of the body it had possessed. It had not felt so alive in a long time. After all, it had just escaped a prison between the worlds.

It, too, sought to exact revenge. Though its intent was of a much more murderous nature than the stupid boy’s. A lesson to be taught, a mortal to be punished.

It gazed at the street signs, finding its way. Ignoring the boy’s pleas for release, it homed closer and closer to its chosen destination. A stone tower standing tall above the houses around it. Massive fortifications with iron spikes and barred windows adorned its front. It exuded something merciless.

The creature marched towards the entrance. A man in a constable’s outfit stood guard outside the heavy wooden door leading inside. That officer displayed admirable stoicism, unflinching and with his hands buried in his jacket’s pockets. He glared at the boy approaching him.

The constable hissed at him, “What in the devil’s name are you doing here, boy? At such an ungodly hour?”

The creature reached out and feigned innocence when it answered, “Sir, I am lost and am afraid to walk home alone from here.”

It grabbed the man by his wrist, wrestling a hand out from his jacket pocket with a sudden surge of inhuman strength. Shock and awe of this peculiar situation paralyzed the man. They locked eyes with each other and both froze. Time stopped, with a split second dragging on like half an eternity. The creature released the boy, leaving behind a cold emptiness and a young soul scarred by the dread of helplessness.

The constable shivered and his vision glazed over. Thicker than the fog in the streets was the mist in his very own being: his adulterous thoughts and pangs of guilt towards his wife that had been on his mind all night aided the creature in taking control of him. In a haze, the constable was lost in his thoughts while the entity forced his lips to curl into a devious smile.

The boy gasped, emitted a clipped shriek, and ran off into the night. The constable’s body, now no longer within his own control, cackled as he turned to enter the tower.

Although it was cold inside this prison’s walls, the air within was warmer than the freezing night outside. The demon savored this change in temperature but wasted no time. The shroud of confusion that kept the constable from fighting back would not hold forever. The constable even entertained some murderous thoughts towards people who might reveal his sinful secret, giving the creature cause to chuckle.

Another officer inside gave him—it, or them—a funny look, but then averted his eyes to continue reading the penny dreadful he held in his hands as the possessed constable walked past him.

Tapping into the vessel’s thoughts, the demon knew where to go next. It traversed the prison’s lower chambers, arriving outside the office of the head warden. The constable knew—and by extension, so did the entity—that the head warden had stayed here late this eve, drinking himself into a stupor, just as he was wont to do on many such nights as of late.

It rapped the door with brute force, marveling at the delicious pain from the borrowed bruised knuckles not its own. Then it entered before the warden could respond.

The head warden looked up from sloppy notes in a journal, saying, “Come—”

He glowered at the constable. Tiny reflections of candlelight danced in his eyes together with venom. Brandy wafted out on his every breath. “Ah, yes, I see we’ve abandoned all good manners,” he slurred at the possessed man.

The warden arched an eyebrow as he stared at the constable, who now grinned at him.

“What is so damned funny, Marcus? Spit it out.”

The constable’s mouth opened and a jet of vomit shot out in a stream of steaming, disgusting goop. Foul-smelling and acrid, a mixture of black and dark green fluids sprayed the warden in the face, who sputtered and shielded his eyes far too late, only after tumbling from his chair onto the cold stone floor.

The constable chortled but almost choked, coughing up more bile as he rounded the warden’s desk and knelt beside the man on the floor. The warden writhed and desperately tried to wipe the vomit from his eyes but the possessed constable touched his forehead with his index and middle finger conjoined.

Then the constable collapsed, crumpling onto the floor beside him. The entity took over the warden’s body. It swam in a sea of stupor. The world span around him, and the warden’s drunkenness made it easy to assume control. The warden would probably think that this was all just a bad dream, until the cold harsh reality of the next day set in. The sobering nightmare of learning what he had done that night, once the demon was done performing its dirty deeds—oh, how the entity relished this prospect.

It drew a kerchief from the warden’s pocket and wiped the vomit from his face. He then produced a ring of keys from the desk drawer and jingled it, enjoying the bright ring of metal clinking together. Then he found the warden’s knife in the next drawer, which he hid inside a sleeve.

It forced the warden’s lips to whistle a happy tune as it left the office and made its way up the winding stairwell. The guard sitting in the entrance shot a glance to the warden, but shrugged and continued reading the piece of printed fiction in his hands.

Ascending the prison tower, the entity imagined all the ways it could torture its target. It had spent a lot of time contemplating this specific act. It had long lusted to inflict a unique breed of bodily harm and suffering.

“It is time to suffer, huntress,” it whispered through the warden’s teeth. His mouth twisted into a hideous, inhuman grin.

It made the fingers of the warden’s unoccupied hand dance and wiggle, picturing what it would be like to peel skin from muscle, and shaping the mental image of toying with human flesh and bone, piercing it all down to the marrow, drinking in the spectacle of muffled screams, and tearing and pulling with the warden’s strong bare hands.

Even through the alcohol-addled brain of the warden, the demon could pry precise knowledge from his memories. It knew exactly what cell to visit. It stopped right outside the reinforced door and unlatched a small opening at eye height. It peered inside, past rough iron bars that would prevent any grown human from reaching through.

A woman sat motionless on the stone floor, leaned up against the wall, one knee bent, the other leg outstretched. Her head was drooped down and a mess of tangled greasy hair concealed her face. Rays of moonlight poured in from in between the bars of her cell’s tiny window to the outside world, reflecting off of a sheen of sweat on her skin.

It was her. Nora Morrissey, the object of this demon’s obsession, the target of its intended symphony of torments.

Eager to begin, it unlocked the cell’s door and entered, closing it behind itself. It drew the knife from the warden’s sleeve. His teeth glistened in the moonlight, standing out bright and white between the lips that parted for that horrid, toothy grin.

It bent down to grab her but stumbled back in confusion. A sharp pain exploded in the warden’s gut, searing hot like fire, but cold and merciless like the wintry air itself. His fingers slipped off her arm. And although the haze of drunkenness had made it easy for the demon to take control, the same intoxication had dulled its own perception of the world around it. That sheen of sweat on her skin was not a cold one—it was warm, and her skin hot to the touch.

Icy, pale blue eyes stared back at him through the tangle of hair in front of her face. It looked down and found something sticking out of the warden’s belly. A crude, pointy object with straw wrapped around it. Something made of wrought iron, whittled down into a sharper shape from scraping it against stone for a very long time.

“I waited for this moment,” the demon had thought mere moments ago. But Nora, the “huntress,” was the one who said those words out loud. Had the creature spoken through the warden, the words would have spilled out with sadistic glee. But the words she had spoken trickled out, each syllable dripping with contempt. The sentence echoed in the demon’s entire being, instilling it with something alien.

Fear.

They struggled, grunting, panting, slamming each other back and forth into the walls of the narrow cell. It slashed her with the warden’s blade across her palm, drawing blood, but she fought with a rage that welled up in her gut, summoning a strength that took the entity by surprise. While he sunk the knife into her side, just missing something vital, she elbowed him in the throat and then seized the opportunity that opened as he reeled, repeatedly stabbing him in his belly with her improvised dagger, finally wrestling the bayonet from his hands.

Although the demon was in control of the warden’s body because the brandy had dulled his senses, the booze had also dulled the the body’s coordination. The world spun and crashed down sideways until the warden’s face smashed into the wall. The warden and the entity saw stars not of any world. The creature struggled to get up, but the body disobeyed.

The demon sensed the dagger rushing towards the warden’s back. The miscalculation now dawned upon the monster. It had underestimated this wretched woman. Time ground to a halt.

She had killed one of its kin. She had foregone the rituals of exorcism, ending its existence by killing that kin’s vessel. And now it sensed the same air of murder about her. Just before she could sink the dagger into the back of the warden’s skull, it fled this body. A thick violet mist billowed out of every orifice like a cloud of living steam, dispersing in every direction.

“You made a mistake coming here,” she growled. The demon could hear these words, haunting it on its way back to the void between worlds. “If we meet again, I will destroy you.”

It wanted to tell her the same, but had no body to respond and no courage to lend credence to such a threat.

And like that, it was gone from this world.

She took the keys from the warden. He groaned but remained lying on the floor, face down. She squeezed her fingers and hand together, balling it into a fist, letting blood drip from her slashed palm. Nora allowed herself to whimper. Tears welled up in her eyes and she blinked, wiping them away with the back of her uninjured hand.

She had no time to waste. It was time for her to escape. The Crimsonport Killer—as the press had dubbed her—was free. Some part of her had hoped to remain here in captivity until the day she died. Because with freedom now within her grasp, she felt the pull of a terrible responsibility, the weight of a crushing burden.

Once she stepped foot outside her cell, she could taste that burden. Once she escaped this place, she would have to hunt again, and live in squalor and in the shadows—a hopeless life of fighting the darkness with no safe haven to rest her head in. This demon was just one of many, and the demons were but one of the evils laying siege to the Red Coast.

The creature had unknowingly inflicted a different suffering than it had intended.

The ruthless huntress had returned.

The night would quake with fear.

—Submitted by Wratts

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mythicallore · 5 years

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Encounter with Pale Humanoids

Among the many strange encounters in the world of the paranormal, there are often those that serve to be particularly baffling. These are the cases that hover out beyond our ability to really classify them or put a name to them. Are they ghosts, mysterious animals, aliens, or what? No answers are clear in such accounts, and they lurk out there in the periphery of the fringe. Among these bizarre accounts are tales from all over of what appear to be some sort of thin, pale beings, often hunched over, crouching, and crawling, that have come to be collectively known as “Pale Crawlers,” and which are every bit as creepy as you might imagine.

Probably one of the most well-known cases of these odd entities is that of what have come to be called the Fresno Nightcrawlers. The first account of these truly bizarre and unidentifiable creatures surfaced in the 1990s, when a video came forward showing something very strange indeed lurking about in the area of Fresno, California. There was a family who were concerned about trespassers on their property, as their dogs had begun to bark out into the darkness nearly every night, and this prompted them to install a security camera outside by their garage, facing the front lawn.

That next morning after they set up the camera they were in for quite a shock, as there in the video was a pair of pale beings a few feet in height, with no discernible arms and two long, spindly, almost stilt-like legs that appear to bend backwards. Interestingly, there seems to be some sort of fabric flapping around the legs, drawing many comparisons to a pair of disembodied walking pants. In the footage the creatures smoothly and fluidly move across the front lawn and out of view, and that’s that. You can see the footage here.

The quality of the footage is sadly low, making it nearly impossible to discern any real details, but the general shape and their odd way of moving were creepy enough to have the family contact the police. Before long the media got a hold of the footage and the “Fresno Nightcrawlers” became a hot topic. Although thought by many to be a hoax, others say that this footage has captured something truly otherworldly, and the footage was subjected to a detailed analysis on the SyFy Channel show “Fact or Faked,” which showed that the footage seemed to be genuine, and they were unable to reproduce the same results by intentionally faking the video.

Following on the heels of this video was another, this time taken over in California’s Yosemite National Park in March of 2011. In this case surveillance cameras had been set up by park officials for the purpose of identifying some intruders who had been vandalizing an area of the park, and again they seemed to have caught on tape something anything but human. Again there is a pair of spindly white entities loping across the frame on a hillside, one seemingly much smaller that the other, and both with what appears to be some sort of webbing connected from the knees to the upper body. Although they appear to be very similar, it is unknown if the Fresno creatures and the ones from Yosemite are related or not, and there have been theories ranging from that this was all a hoax, to that they are Native spirits from lore, ghosts, or even aliens. No one really knows.

Something similar to these entities was sighted in January 2004, in a case documented by researcher Albert S. Rosales. The sighting allegedly happened in Manchester, Dearborn County, Indiana, when a young man was driving along a remote rural road in the area. As the witness rounded a bend, his headlights illuminated a tall, frail looking, pale being crouched over a puddle of water. As the witness passed the thing he looked back and could make out that it moved in a disjointed, odd manner, and had, according to him, “protruding joints that buckled out.”

As he watched the thing flickering in the red light cast by his tailights, the crouched, bone white creature purportedly stood to a height of an estimated 6 feet 7 inches tall and began to walk about in a “strange manner.” Interestingly, as he watched there was apparently another car that came along and seemed to swerve to avoid the thing before stopping. The witness would talk to the elderly couple in the car and they would confirm having seen the same thing, of which they said, “It was no human being, it was no man.” They were all so spooked that they decided to drive out of there in close procession together. Indiana has produced some other similarly odd reports as well. In one case from the winter of 2016, the witness was out feeding goats on a farm in Daviess County, Indiana, at around 8 PM, and when she finished she started walking back. The witness would say of what happened next:

After I had finished I began to walk back. I had crossed one field and was about halfway through the narrow path when I started to hear rustling in the underbrush. All I had with me was a little flashlight that only shined about 10ft in front of me. I was almost to the end of the path when I spotted something. It was on all fours with a bony frame, elongated limbs, and pale skin. While the first part of that description sounds pretty generic, it did seem to have a long and highly flexible neck. Not long after I noticed it it noticed me and bolted down the path. It ran, almost skuttling into the second field. This field had a small hill in the center, this thing fled and disappeared over one side. I ran as fast as I could around the other side of the small hill and zig-zagged back to my house where I quickly locked all of my doors. This thing was terrifying, but it seemed watchful more than anything, for now.

In another account from Indiana, documented in the National Cryptid Society database, we have a case from Michigan City, Indiana from 2012, in the middle of a lightning storm to add some atmosphere. The witness claims that she had been staying at the beach house of a friend by Lake Michigan and that there had been a lightning storm at the time. At around 2 AM some of them went outside to smoke and watch the lightning, and that was when they noticed the beam of a flashlight scanning the tall grass by the shore nearby as if searching for something. Thinking this to be a bit odd, the group of friends watched on and saw that the beam had captured an elongated, grayish humanoid looking creature stretched out on the beach, and the witness would say:

The light sweeps by something in the grass, then it shines back onto it. What was illuminated was very strange. It appeared to be a naked guy crawling around on the grass. Although, it had elongated arms and legs. It was moving kinda fast crunched over. It only lasted a few seconds, long enough for all of us to see it. Then, after the thing ran off, the flashlight shines directly at us. It stayed pointing at us until it went out after a few seconds. Creepy.

So, we’re all like WTF was that, we asked what each other saw. We all seen a weird stretched out naked guy. The only explainable thing it could have possibly been was a drunk gangly naked guy. But, I don’t think so because it looked abnormally stretched, the light pointed at us, and it freaked everyone out. It was something strange. I can’t say what the height of it was accurately, maybe around 7ft tall. My husband said it looked like something from a Marilyn Manson music video.I wanted to go down there. I wanted to see if we could find it. But, no one would go and they were creeped out and wanted to go back inside.

What on earth was the outlandish thing they saw? What was with that flashlight and why did it train itself on the observers of this surreal scene? Who knows? There have been a few sightings of something similar and equally baffling around the town of Effingham, in the state of Illinois. One case file of the National Cryptid Society is dated as 2010, and concerns a witness only known as “Jade.” The witness was allegedly out one night headed for the supposedly haunted Kasbar cemetery out in the deep woods outside of Effingham along with two friends. When they were out in the countryside, at around 1 AM in the morning, something very curious congealed out of the night, and the witness would say:

I see something with yellow glowing eyes off the side of the country road just past the ditch in the head lights. Too short to be a deer, but too big to be a possum or raccoon. As we get closer it gets clearer, and I realize what I’m looking at is skinny, hairless and grey, human like but definitely not human. Crazy as hell looking…thing. It was crouched down, It’s arms were incredibly long and looked like it could have been 7ft tall or bigger standing. I can feel myself get cold and my heart race and my hair stand on that back of my neck.

Complete shock and terror set in and i can’t make a sound, I’m just staring at it. By that time we are right in front of it, passing it and it just watches us drive by. It slinks into the dark. Then we all just start screaming. Literally freaking the hell out. I was convinced it was a demon for months but still doubted myself even seeing it. Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me. We didn’t even make it to the Kasbar that night, we went straight home. I couldn’t sleep that night.

The witness went on to become convinced that what she had seen was a “ghoul,” or an entity that lurks around feeding on the dead. She would say of this:

They feed on the freshly dead and normally stay close to cemeteries to be close to food. They have been known to show themselves to humans when trying to get close to them to eat in times where fresh deceased bodies are scarce. I went to images of them and could only find illustrations but they look exactly like what i saw that night. Everything i was reading was falling perfectly in place. Lined up perfectly with my experience. I couldn’t explain it away.

Also in the state of Illinois is a case from the town of Rossville, in 2010. The setting was at a cemetery and the time was just after sunset. The witness and a friend were walking down the main lane through the cemetery when something fairly weird scuttled out of the night. The witness would say:

Something came running from the gate and past us on our left. My friend had laughed and asked if I had heard that, and I stopped walking and responded that no, but I had seen it. As the thing had passed between headstones I caught a look. Looked like a pale, emaciated humanoid that was running on all fours. It had no hair at all that I could see, and I did not get a look at the face. It was moving far faster than any person running on hands/feet should have been able to. My friend and I just stayed frozen there and waited for another friend to come and get us because we were too scared to move. It continued to circle us, as we could hear it moving around. It never seemed threatening. If anything it seemed curious/scared of us. But who knows. I do know that it was not a coyote or a stray dog. I never saw the face but I did see the head; it did not have a muzzle. There was no tail, either. It definitely didn’t have fur; it had pale, almost bluish skin and I remember I could make out the ribs from where I was standing. Forgive me if this is a hot mess of a post; I was up all night researching this thing and when I did fall asleep I didn’t sleep well.

Other locations have had sightings as well, such as Ballard County, in Western Kentucky. As the witness was driving along the back roads on a gravel road one night at around 2 AM he says that he caught something in his headlights that startled him to the core. He would say:

I caught sight of something white and vaguely human crawling in the ditch. As we passed I hit the brakes thinking it was a person who needed help. “Are you crazy?! Don’t f***ing stop!” Blake screamed. I looked in the mirror and saw that it was standing up. Even though it was still in the ditch it was as tall as the stop sign next to it. It took a step towards us and I hit the gas. As we drove away I saw in the mirror that it dropped to all fours and was crawling after us. I didn’t start pulling away from it til I got up to about 40 mph. No matter how close I was to it I never got a good look at it. It was fuzzy like it was constantly out of focus. I’m not sure why but something about it makes me think of it as male. Maybe the height? When it crawled it moved like a lizard-hands and feet flat on the ground, elbows and knees up and out, body wiggling side to side. This happened when I was around 22. I’m 40 now and have never seen that thing again. I’ve taken many a midnight cruise along those narrow roads but I’ve never had the nerve to go near that particular farm road again. Call me a chicken…I’ll cluck happily.

Such accounts seem to lie beyond any easy classification. Are we dealing here with some sort of cryptid, ghosts, aliens, inter dimensional interlopers, or what? Or is it all just hoaxes and misinformation? These obviously seem to be far beyond normal reports of cryptids or ghostly phenomena, leaving us to merely ponder just what might be going on. Whatever the answers may be, these truly bizarre entities are not anything anyone would want to encounter slithering down a darkened road at night in the middle of nowhere, stumbling into your headlights.

#humanoids #cryptids #supernatural #paranormal

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breeeliss · 6 years

Note

One word prompts: Wither; Midnight; Flowing; Soft; Kiss; Sway; Glow; Dawn; Flowing; Blood; Bruises. 💙

allurance

.bloodthere was an old altean law that prohibited those of noble birth from seeing the color of their own blood. it discouraged harm against those of noble birth and helped to maintain the delicate illusion that royals were being above the laws of nature.

invincible. indelible immortal.

it was long considered obsolete when allura was a young girl, but her father would remind her of it whenever she would get injured during training. “shut your eyes,” he’d instruct as he wiped the blood from her skinned knee. “if you don’t see the blood, it’s as if it’s not there.”

it did more than pull the pain and stop her crying. it forced her to focus in battle. there was no time to worry over injuries. there was only time to complete her missions and emerge victorious.

so when allura saw her blood splattered across the inside of her helmet, she shut her eyes tightly and refused. refused to look, refused to feel, refused to succumb.

it wasn’t there. the blood. the pain. the water slowly filling the cockpit of her lion. none of it was there. //

.swaywhen she awoke in the hospital, the entire world shifted, flickered, and floated before sharpening in a burst of pain. a concussion, her doctors said. one that left her quarantined in the dark with blacked out windows and no visitors.

the isolation made her reckless and pulled her from her bed one morning, but the room swiftly tilted to its side and left her swaying with nothing to hold onto. allura resigned herself to the ghastly fall until she collapsed straight into a warm chest and a fervent embrace.

they warned her of the confusion she would suffer. it was likely this body was a doctor. perhaps it was even the floor turned to flesh by her mind in order to save her from the pain of the fall.

for now, it looked and felt like lance.

she clung to him, her dizziness pulling them back and forth into a disjointed waltz as she whispered into his shoulder. “i didn’t think you’d come to catch me.” //

.witherhaving him in bed with her felt like a dream. time became distorted -- constantly blurring, stretching, and compressing. lance told her it was the morphine and the confusion from the head injury. allura was only happy that she could fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat at night.

they were lying together in darkness as he stroked her hair. “i had to beg on my knees for them to let me see you,” lance explained. “i told them someone needed to be here. needed to find you when you woke up.”

he sounded far away, drifting on a plane of thought she was in too much pain to reach for. allura ignored the pounding in her temples and did her best to follow. “why?”

lance’s arms tightened. “because i thought about you alone in your lion. alone in this room. thinking that everything you loved had finished withering away.”

his voice had cracked during his admission, and allura reached up blindly to cradle his cheek. she tried to hold fast to him, but her hand fell as the drugs pulled her under. he slipped away before she could catch the rest of his words. //

.bruiseseventually the haze dissipated and all that was left was the pain.

“battered” was too a weak descriptor. she felt dilapidated -- as if one wrong twist of her body would finish crippling her.

lance helped ice her body twice a day in the hopes that the bruising would begin to fade after a couple of weeks. in return, she helped redress the gnarled, angry wounds across his chest from where his shattered armor had dug into his torso during the crash.

it was usually done in silence, an unspoken decision on their part that made their first aid feel oddly intimate. the shivers she felt when the ice touched her body and when his thumb stroked her neck felt identical -- blooming from the same place hidden deep within her.

her injuries made her feel raw -- a fragile being stripped down to its most basic parts and asked to endure in spite of its weakness. but lance would take those parts, polish them off with his hands, and breathe life back into them as he pressed one kiss to every single mark on her body.

“you are impossibly beautiful,” he told her.

“in spite of the bruises?”

“no. because of them.” //

.midnight“were you afraid?”

they were lying on their sides, staring at each other with only the moonlight illuminating their faces. this late at night, allura didn’t need to elaborate on what she was referring to. lance already knew.

“no. i was ready. lately i feel like when i think it’s coming, i’m always ready.”

“i don’t think i ever could be,” she admitted. “every time it comes im always afraid. i accept it, but im always trembling when i do.”

“there’s this quote from a peruvian writer. it goes, ‘a warrior thinks of death when things become unclear. the idea of death is the only thing that tempers our spirit.’”

allura frowned. “i don’t think i like that at all. there’s too much to lose in death and i have so much i still want to hold onto. alteans had a different philosophy.”

“oh? what was it?”

“‘a warrior does not give up what he loves. he finds the love in what he does.’”

“in fighting?”

“no. in those he fights for.” //

.softthey crossed a line one morning.

allura woke before lance and stood by the edge of the bed to undress, thinking she was safe with his back turned towards her. she was standing in her underwear when she felt a hand brush against the flesh of her hip.

it was a sleep ridden request for her to come back to bed, but he must have belatedly noticed her state of undress because his fingers retracted the moment he blinked to full consciousness. he was in the middle of an apology before allura grabbed his hand and gently placed it back where it had been.

she bit her lip and waited, afraid that the move had been too bold. but then she felt lance’s hand traveling up to the dip of her waist and across her lower back. there were scars and discoloring along its path, but still he muttered under his breath, “so soft...”

allura’s whole body shook, and she was afraid that they were toeing closer to an edge that would engulf them if they allowed themselves to fall. the idea wasn’t entirely unpleasant but she could picture how complicated a fall like that would be. how much more hurt was on the line. how their hearts would have to start breaking for two.

but, oh, to feel his hands on her like this always. to shake around him and let him inside her. it burned a hole of want through her stomach and made her sigh at his touch.

eventually, his hands left her and the spell had melted away. he turned to dress and they both said nothing. //

.flowinglife is too short, allura decided.

she thought a lot about how minuscule human lifetimes were. the fact that lance would die hundreds of years before her was the single most painful reality she could ever hope to accept. but the morbidity floated away when she realized how gorgeous it was to watch lance pack every single second he breathed with meaning.

his days flowed right into one another, never pausing and never stuttering. he couldn’t afford the wasted moments so he made every single one matter. it’s why his generosity was infectious, why his words were sincere, why his smile was blinding, and why his touch stayed bold and steady.

it often made her think of what she wanted and what was worth grabbing. love wasn’t something she felt she could ever be selfish enough to take. there was so much work to be done, so much danger to face, so much more unpredictability that could stand to pull her aspirations out from under her. love could never thrive being suffocated by all that.

but lance found small gaps of freedom amidst his responsibility, and it was those gaps he filled with his love. he showed them to her late at night when they whispered conversations that lasted until the sun came up, and he poured some of it out onto her skin whenever he couldn’t keep his hands away. it warmed her, filled her, made her exhale with hope.

when lance dies, allura knows that his love will be the one thing he takes with him -- blessed in his last moments and immortalized with his spirit.

yes, allura decided. life is indeed too short. //

.kiss allura found him sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling off his boots and preparing to turn in for the night.

she always found time to marvel at how he’d changed -- how his shoulders had broadened, how his jaw had sharpened, how his eyes had softened. she couldn’t quite track the slow progression. rather, it felt like she’d suddenly woken from a sleep and finally found herself able to see clearly for the first time. and lance was so clear before her now. rendered in perfect detail. permanent. stamped in her heart forever. thoroughly inextricable.

she crawled onto the bed behind him. he paused his movement when he heard the mattress creak and calmly waited for her next move. nothing at that point had been planned, so allura followed the pull of her want. she brushed away his hair -- grown out long for forgetting to cut it -- and pressed one soft kiss to the nape of his neck.

lance’s fingers curled into the sheets below him, and her kisses kept traveling. his jaw. his cheek. the corner of his mouth. until finally his head turned, and his eyes were brimming with affection for her.

he met her halfway, and suddenly all allura knew were lance’s lips, lance’s groans, and lance’s hands slowly lowering her onto their bed. //

.glow“wait,” she gasped. “go slower. move slower.”

lance’s hips stilled, lip trembling as he slid his hand up her thigh. “am i hurting you?”

“no.” her body moved with his, urging him forward again. “i want to see your face. watch it change.”

he obliged, shifting against her, pulling out so slowly she could feel every inch of him leave her before rushing back in. “how is it changing?”

allura kissed him, whispering against his lips. “i swear it’s like you’re glowing.” //

.dawn lance still glowed the morning after, face haloed by the warm rush of dawn peeking through their bedroom window.

allura traced his lips with tips of her fingers before licking along the lines they followed. he woke to her kiss and pulled her tight against him, feeling him surround her just as fiercely as he had last night.

their limbs were tangled in the bedsheets and he laughed into her neck when he couldn’t hope to free himself. “i hope i wake up like this every morning until the day i die,” he said.

allura smiled into the kiss she left on his chest, just over the warmth of his heart. “you always will,” she told him. “i swear it.”

#allurance #legitallurance #voltron #allura #lance #vld #allurance fanfiction #voltron fanfiction #my writing #lol sorry i ended up using all of them haha #Anonymous #ask

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the-kit-scarlet · 5 years

Text

Salt in the Wound| Harland, Maddox, & Kit

Set After The Space Between Us, Burn the Heart Out, Welcome to the Masquerade,

Harland returns to Thornhill after Black is publicly punished and learns more about the history between the Black Dragon and the King’s Mistress. He learns even more about what grows between Kit, Maddox, and himself with each day that passes with them under his roof.

trigger warnings: war flashbacks, mentions of gore, suicidal ideation

KIT

Maddox had been bending over backwards to lift her spirits. He seemed determined to keep her distracted and was forcing himself to be far more cheerful than was usual for him. It made her suspicious. Luckily for her, servants were horrible gossips. Even better, all of those in Harland’s employ had their tongues and were able to clue her in. Each hour seemed to reveal yet another difference between both households and courts.

But if what the servants said was true, the supposed good Queen was just as ruthless as her rival. They said that Black was not recovered by any means whatsoever but once the physician had said in theory he could physically hold himself upright, the Queen had refused to delay his punishment any longer. If what they said was true, the Queen intended to beat him within an inch of his life.

Kit thought she should have felt satisfied. After all, he had betrayed her and nearly killed her. But all she felt was hopeless grief. She wanted to talk to Maddox more than anything. She hated to keep things from him. But when she said Black’s name, all Maddox seemed to hear was the way she had cried out that first night.

She hated to keep things from him, but in this, she had no choice.

She had found her way into Harland’s bedchamber. Let them talk, she thought bitterly. No one other than her seemed to dare to enter while Duke Briar was not present. The Unseelie guards kept a wide berth and even Maddox hesitated at the door, before nodding and remaining in the hallway as she was let in by one of the Duke’s servants. Perhaps they had seen the tears in her eyes and taken pity on her, allowing her a private place to mourn.

As soon as the door shut, she began to sob. He was my brother. He was half my heart and if the Queen does not kill him, surely my King will.

She wrapped her arms around herself as if she could hold herself together by sheer willpower. But she slid to the ground all the same. She leaned against the corner of the bed, crying herself hoarse.

She wanted so badly to rejoice in the fact that the man who attacked her would be punished for his brutality. But instead she kept thinking of the mess of dark hair that used to lay in bed with her, an arm tossed lazily across her shoulders. Or how in his sleep, he would pull her closer almost reflexively. That once he was the only one she shared a bed with and slept better for it.

Not for the first time she wondered how a heart could break so completely and still continue to beat.

HARLAND

There was no greater fury that Harland Briar had felt in this time of peace than the one he felt watching Balthazar Black be whipped within an inch of his life. Eighty lashings. And Balthazar had not stopped one of them. Harland himself knew he could not, but watching the man he had for many years considered a comrade and friend be torn to pieces by the Queen they both served had made him sick.

The fact alone that Harland was needed as a witness to the punishment, having gone in Kit Scarlet’s stead as well as by decree of his position on the Council of Elders, made him sick. He was commanded to stand and watch it all, unflinchingly, as each lash tore Balthazar’s back open into a bloody mess. The fact alone that Balthazar had looked to him when he’d damned himself hurt the worst of all, for he knew the other lord knew the repercussions of such an admission. It hurt no less, however.

Everytime Harland shut his eyes all he could see was the iron-tipped whip as it fell again and again and again.

He stalked through the halls of the manor, unheeding of the guards or if they got out of his way. The scowl on his face was thunderous, the snarl that twisted his lips even worse, and he wanted to sleep, to dream away the fucking sounds and the faces and the reality of what he had just seen. A stiff drink or a fuck or, hell, something to shoot at or someone to spar with would even do the trick but he was crawling out of his skin and he needed to reign it in before something happened.

Rounding the corner to his rooms, Harland stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Maddox standing outside his door, jacket half opened and off. He stood there, chest heaving a bit, and felt a rush of adrenaline course through his veins. He did not, however, act on it Instead, he let the curiosity, and the anxiety, he was feeling bubble up to the surface. He went to speak, to say something, but then he heard the crying.

Maddox’s face was stony, but Harland could see the pain in his eyes, all the same.

Striding past him quickly, the brush of his hand at the back of Maddox’s neck heavy as he walked past, Harland pushed the doors to his rooms open, eyes scanning for the source of the sound. He found Kit huddled near the foot of the bed, sobbing into the arms wrapped around her legs. Careful, like he was approaching a startled animal, the Duke crossed the room and got down to her level, setting himself on the floor a few feet away from her. When he spoke, his voice was low, the sound soothing, something he would have imagined he’d have used on Freya as a girl, if he’d gotten the chance to know her then. For the time being, Harland’s pain could be placed at the back of his mind.

MADDOX / KIT

When Harland appeared, he did not look like the man Maddox had grown familiar with in these few weeks. Instead, he looked like a man possessed. The anger Harland had shown with Ser Gregor was nothing compared to what was in his eyes now. He wanted to be a source of comfort or calm, maybe both, but knew he could not. At least not right now. He could no more grieve for what had been done to Balthazar Black than he could believe King Oberon was a good, wise king. So he let Harland pass him by without so much as a word.

Kit did not look up when the door opened, unable to bring herself to face Maddox. But when it was Harland’s soft voice calling out to her, she raised her head and wiped at her eyes.

“You know what happened better than most of us here,” Kit replied, her voice flat. She was listless before him, still very much curled into herself. She met Harland’s gaze and saw her own pain reflected there. She wanted to look away, but found she could not. Instead, she reached out her hand and took his into hers, running her thumb over his knuckles.

“Nothing here is all right, but you are kind to say so.” Kit murmured. “I did not come to your chambers to be alone. I came because I thought you and I need to grieve.”

She shrugged. “Maddox… he does not understand. It is not for lack of trying but… he does not love him the way you and I do.”

HARLAND

The anger Harland had felt entering his home had all but dissipated now. In its place was an abject sadness, something so profound he could hardly stand it but to burst open at the seams. Instead, he sighed, tightened his grip on himself, and pushed onward.

Shaking his head, the Duke found his eyes dragged over to the blonde huddled on the floor as she wiped at her eyes. Almost mechanically, he pulled a kerchief from his pocket and offered it to her, startled by the delicate fingers running across his knuckles. He stared at them for a moment, frozen, stunned at their presence and why she would even set a hand to him in the first place. Why she would come here of all places.

A startled laugh caught on his windpipe as it rushed it's way from his chest. The sound was like glass, fragile and entirely too sharp. He did not mean it, but the sound was stark all the same. Still, when he moved his hand out from underneath Kit's, it was careful. The hands he put on himself as he rose to his feet, however, were not.

Fingers blazed past buttons as he finished undoing the clasps on that damnable jacket, sighing heavily when it was no longer suffocating him. The garment was tossed across the back of his desk chair in the corner of the room. Rounding on a heel, Harland seemed a man possessed, a flurry of motion. He wrenched the bedroom door open and left it ajar, a quiet murmur to the man behind it to come inside and shut the door behind him. In anything, there was the Duke's continued softness. His voice did not match the frenzy of his actions, and his actions did not match the fervor of his words.

Harland Briar was a man, in this instant, disjointed from time.

Striding across to the woman on the floor, Harland looked down at her for a moment before offering the furs from his bed to her. If they were going to have this conversation they would be comfortable. And they would all hear it. Once he was satisfied. Harland maneuvered his way over to the dressing screen. His boots he removed and set beside the wall, beneath the window, but his pants he left on for the time being. His shirt he ripped off, a chill running down his spine from the temperature in the room (or, perhaps, the ghosts of his own mind). When he rounded the corner of the screen again the tunic was barely tugged across his torso.

In any other instance it would have been improper but, now, Harland hardly cared about propriety. The stench of the mob was gone now and his shoulders had relaxed a fraction with the knowledge. Yet his eyes were still troubled.

Heaving a great sigh, the Duke met the eyes of both fae, fingers working at the hem of his shirt as he began to pace, breaking eye contact.

"I do not grieve even in the same way you do, Kit. Balthazar was, is, a friend. But he has caused me much pain and hardship. No, what I grieve is...the brutality. The…" here his voice broke, waivered, and it was for the first time a show of vulnerability, of pain, in Duke Briar. "There were eighty lashings, Kit. Eighty. Even you, Maddox, would understand the...monstrosity of that." Harland was lost, now, and his pacing suddenly stopped.

Instead, he had leaned against the bedposts near Kit, heaved a great shaking sigh, and stared at the floor.

KIT/ MADDOX

A veil had been lifted and suddenly, Kit was no longer a grieving woman on a bedroom floor. Instead, she now sat upright, her legs tucked to the side and her back straight. The only indication that she had ever been anything but this patient woman, waiting with bated breath, was the kerchief she kept in her left hand. She held it tightly in her hand as she watched Harland become something else entirely.

She knew too well what a force such as this anger and frustration could do to a man. Naively, she had hoped that she would not see this side of the Duke. She liked him better as the man who conjured flowers for her. Yet, she saw that same softness even as he worked himself into a frenzy. She tilted her head slightly, eyes watching his every move. She did not speak. She hardly seemed to breathe.

Maddox entered and immediately wished he could leave. He wanted to go find Balthazar Black and squeeze the life out of him. Even here, the destruction that damned idiot caused weighed heavy between them all. It was in that all too familiar pose of Kit’s- the one she always assumed when her King began to rave. It was in the frenzied motions of a usually calm man. But he nodded at the Duke and stepped inside, shutting the door.

He sat across from Kit, on the opposite side of the bedpost as Harland continued to pace. Kit offered him a sad smile and Maddox looked away. That was how they both came to the harsh realization of Harland’s naked back. Both of them saw the tragedy that marred the Duke’s torso and back and Maddox felt a thousand curses bubble up in his throat. He wanted to keep them both here while he went out and destroyed everything that would ever harm either of them.

As Harland sank to the floor, Kit reached out her arms for him. She wrapped herself around him, raising herself to her knees to match his height. She dropped the kerchief and began to run a hand up and down his back, her touch so gentle it could have been imagined.

She shut her eyes tight, unable to keep the tears from falling from her eyes. She did not see the way Black’s face had contorted with rage as he breathed fire. Instead, she saw the longing those eyes had held when Aurelia used to stroke her hair. She saw the boy who wanted a family more than he wanted his own life. She heard his laughter the first night they got drunk and raised hell together, the way they had spun each other round and round into the streets until they could hardly stand.

When Kit spoke again, her voice was a soft and mournful sound. “You do not have to bear this alone.” Her eyes flitted to Maddox, a harsh warning in them. She could see it in his eyes that as severe as eighty lashings were, Maddox would have gladly delivered another eighty more. Maddox only nodded in response and Kit averted her eyes so that when Maddox reached for Harland’s hand, she could pretend the flicker of the motion in her peripheral vision was merely a trick of the light.

HARLAND

Harland breathed, in and out, eyes shut tight to block out the sounds, the sights and the smells. The stench of blood and the roar of the crowd. The roar of a battlefield and the stench of charred flesh. Everything was rushing in and suffocating him. His hands shook, his entire body was shaking, but he knew if he did not quell the force of it, the manor would fall around them. The Duke had not caused a quake in years, not with the magnitude he could feel brewing beneath his skin. Not since he had nearly died, had almost given himself over to that feeling of emptiness.

But it was right there. Just on the precipice. If he just stepped-

Feeling returned to him in a blinding sense, battering at his every nerve like a thousand tidal waves. Drowning him in sensation. All the breath rushed from his body as he sat, perfectly still, beneath Kit Scarlet's hands. He did not know what to do. The feeling was foreign to him, here, when he was at his most vulnerable.

His mind screamed at him that she was there to harm him. To kill him, even, that it was a trick and he was a caged thing, a creature caught in her web. But another, smaller, part of him ached for a kind hand to soothe his scars. Ached for the feeling that he had long since been deprived of, that he had shoved away at every cost. He was war. He was at war. He was there again, in himself, in the world falling down around him.

The memories reminded him all too well. And, yet, Harland Briar's breath still broke on a wordless sob as he bowed his head on top of Kit's, broken not even by the memory of Balthazar Black but all that they had endured. It had been six years since he had felt the brunt of these emotions. Six years, save for the sleepless nights and bitter irritability, the mood shifts and the haunted look in his eye when too many people drew near. The mob today...the reminder...it had set everything off.

And Harland Briar was tired. So, very, tired.

The hand that found his, now, he did not see. Hardly even registered any words through the blood rushing in his ears. Instead, he gripped to them both fiercely, suddenly overcome by a wash of emotions: fear of what could come, resentment of himself, protectiveness of those that surrounded him, even those who had caused all this. It was Harland's fatal flaw.

He would accept it, wordlessly, as he did with everything else.

MADDOX/ KIT

Maddox knew the signs well and felt his blood run cold. He wanted to grab Kit, to shove her out of the chamber and shield her from this. A man whose mind was still trapped in the war was a danger to himself and everyone around him. But the look in Kit’s eyes had no fear, no apprehension.

She did not comprehend what she was up against, but it did not seem to matter. She would bring him back to them somehow.

She kept running her hand up and down his back, murmuring. “It is over. We have survived the worst of it. You are here with Kit and Maddox and we will not abandon you. We are safe here.” She took exaggerated breaths as she held him close, willing him to follow her lead. He was clinging to her like a drowning man, too fiercely to be mistaken for anything other than sheer terror, but Kit remained gentle and steadfast in her embrace.

Perhaps Maddox should have known that Kit could navigate these terrors as easily as she navigated the mire that was Roheim. Something in him was torn as he realized that for all the years he spent hiding his own pain away when he could have gone to Kit. She would not have been frightened. She would have held him like that- she would have soothed him-

His grip on Harland tightened, looking for comfort even as he tried to reassure.

Kit saw the pain in her shadow and hated that she could not rip herself in two to comfort them both. But she knew Harland was breaking in front of her eyes and that her shadow, as always, would remain. She would piece him back together later.

She was a clumsy seamstress, but she had been stitching men together after their rages for all her life. She had not lost a single one yet. She would not fail either of them now.

HARLAND

It was funny.

Not long ago Harland had been breathing along with Maddox, himself, quelling his own hysteria. And now, here he sat, trapped in his own abject misery, breathing alongside Kit Scarlet and that self same man. The hold he had on Maddox tightened and, wordlessly, he pulled him in closer. He still shook but there was an instinctual part of him that had begun to recognize things as a voice murmured in his ear. Kit's voice.

The sensation was jarring, jumping from one thing to the next. It was why he had done all of this away from civilization last time. When he had stitched himself together again with sheer will and time. But time...he no longer had it, and that key ingredient had made him fall apart.

There was no time left to feel anything. Left to pick up the ruined pieces, not if they were simply going to succumb to War again.

Still, he nodded into the blonde hair beneath his chin, careful with his hands that still shook as he curled her closer into his body, a chance to shelter now in a way that she had just done for him. It was as easy as breathing to him, coming down from a precipice and channeling his pain elsewhere.

It was almost as though it had not even existed.

Yet, his hands still shook and he did not want to leave, pressed between two bodies who, wordlessly, understood. Rightfully, Kit should have feared him. Rightfully, Maddox should have left. Yet they had not. And the gratitude that swelled in his heart was enough to make him shatter anew. The next sob that broke out of his chest housed words, pressed into Kit's hair, and they held far more meaning than what they said.

"I am sorry."

Sorry you had to see. Sorry you had to bear this. Sorry there was not enough time. Sorry he could not fix everything. Sorry he could not even fix himself.

Sorry for her. For Maddox. For the death that plagued them all.

Sorry.

The shaking subsided and Harland could feel a release of magic around them as he curled into a smaller being between them both. This time, it was familiar, and he smiled, a small, sad thing, into her hair. The flowers that had erupted around them were white, as stark as the snows at the peaks of the Oliana mountains.

They surrounded them.

KIT/ MADDOX

Kit continued to caress Harland, her voice soft as he nuzzled against her. She pressed a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder as her hands traced the length of the scars on his ribs. He was still sobbing, but it had changed in quality now. He was distraught, yes, but no longer seemed to be on the verge of destruction. It was a welcome change.

When Harland had first used magic with her, Kit had been in awe. Maddox, on the other hand, was horrified by the sudden outpouring of flowers. He loathed magic. Every fae might have been born with it but he still viewed it as an unnatural and evil thing. He tensed. He wanted to bolt.

There was a look of understanding that passed while Harland remained curled up in Kit’s embrace and despite every fiber of his being telling him to run, Maddox forced himself to relax against them. Kit reached her other hand, giving Maddox a reassuring squeeze.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Harland.” Kit continued, pressing a second kiss to his forehead. “We are here with you. Regardless.”

HARLAND

Eventually, the Duke began to fully relax, grip not so tight and shoulders not so rigid. Eventually, his breathing evened out and he was able to pull away from Kit ever so slightly, give her a bit of a grin. There was still a lost look in his eyes but it was hidden behind a clearer gaze. Glancing around the room, Harland let out a quite groan at the flowers that had sprouted everywhere, the way some of the plants on the tables and near the windows had sprouted at an alarming rate.

He turned to look at Maddox for a moment, studying his face. He’d remembered the look there when he’d made a conjuring for the children. It was not the first time someone had been unsettled by his magic, but such a visceral outpouring of it was hardly what could be considered unsettling. A hint of guilt crossed his face and he tilted his head, a silent question asking if the other man was alright. The angle was a bit awkward with the way they’d settled, the Duke’s back pressed halfway into Maddox’s side, Kit’s arms loose around him now that he had given them a bit more space. One of his free hands tugged at the collar of his tunic, fidgeting with the laces.

The realization that they had seen far more than he’d imagined them to made him sigh, the sound heavy as he let the thought knock around his brain for a bit. The quiet that had descended over them all was not something he wished to break but knew he must, all the same. Just, perhaps, not yet.

KIT/ MADDOX

They lingered there for a moment, the three of them, just taking refuge in the relative peace that settled between them. They each had different reasons, Kit suspected, for wanting to preserve this moment. They were not likely to experience such peace in each other’s arms for a long while.

In the end, it was Maddox who pulled away first. His expression was unreadable. When Harland turned towards him, Kit kept her arms firmly around the Duke as Maddox stood up. Maddox bowed his head. Kit flattened a palm against Harland’s shoulder, the motion as restricting as it was reassuring.

“Forgive me-” he began, his voice trembling with a rage he could not contain now that they all seemed to have been pulled back from the precipice. He balled a hand into a fist and now Kit stood up, crossing the distance between them until there were so close his lips were practically resting against her forehead. She took his fist into her hands.

“Maddox,” She began, raising his fist to her lips.

“I cannot bear witness to this. Not to your grief. Not to his despair. Not caused by-” he inhaled sharply and stepped back as if he had been struck. A flower was crushed underneath his boot in his haste. Kit was left with the ghost of the kiss she intended and a growing sense of dread.

“Command me to remain or allow me to leave.” His voice was strangled and Kit only sighed in response. Maddox departed, his jaw set, not sparing either of them a second glance.

As the door slammed shut, Kit winced as she turned back towards Harland. “It is not for lack of trying,” she repeated, miserably.

HARLAND

Maddox was the first to move and, while Harland had almost expected it, figuring in the way he’d reacted before to Kit’s pain and, now, having to witness Harland’s own, it still stung. The Duke squirmed a bit at the hands that were pressed to his shoulders, still wound around him. They were far from confining but Harland still wanted to press against them. Instead, he watched as the guard balled his hands into fists and, yet again, felt his rushing of emotions. They were plain on his face, the rage and the pain he felt. It was clear Kit could see it as well, had possibly seen it before.

The blond stood, moved towards her guard, and the Duke watched as they spoke. He was quiet but his eyes took in everything, the care that the pair held with one another. There was a sharp sweetness to it, something that was as bittersweet as their entire situation. Maddox spoke and his voice was harsh, strangled, like it was being forced from his throat and Harland did not know what to do. As he departed, a coldness took his place.

Chuckling weakly, Harland rolled his head against the bed, looking at Kit with helpless eyes. “No, it’s not. As much as there is pain here...it is understandable. I do not fault him for it, though perhaps I should.”

KIT

She shrugged. “Perhaps. I have found it useless to find faults that lay within a man’s nature. We could rage against the sky for raining down upon us, but it will not alleviate our suffering.” She remained standing for a moment.

“Luckily enough, an old whore like me knows better ways to ease the sting,” Kit smiled, a bitter thing on a soft face. “Any liquor near? It does not have to be good, there just needs to be enough.” When Harland motioned to a cabinet, Kit moved towards it. She paused in front of it, asking permission to open his things. When he gave a nod, she opened and retrieved the bottle before sitting down next to Harland. She leaned her head back, uncorking the bottle with her teeth and passing it into his hands.

“What a shit day.”

HARLAND

“Nothing relieves suffering except time to repair it, my lady,” Harland murmured as he watched her standing there, stock-still before turning towards him and offering up a bitter smile. It looked wrong on her face, like there was something not quite right about it. In the time the Duke had housed her at Thornhill, Kit had been nothing but optimistic. For the most, she had been a driving force behind her own recovery. He gave a helpless shrug and shook his head. "If only we were given it when it was most deserved."

Shifting around to look more fully around the room, Harland quirked up the corner of his mouth at her suggestion. "Of course there is, Kit. Just over there." He pointed to a cabinet church near his desk and watched as she moved towards it, asked permission to go through it and he gave a tired nod. There were no things he needed to hide there. Nothing on his desk, either, though he hardly doubted Kit Scarlet would care for anything he worked on.

At her words, the Duke let out a loud bark of laughter and nodded his head, accepting the bottle from her without hesitation. He took a long drink from the bottle before passing it back to her. "We've more to grieve than most, I think, though for entirely different reasons. Easing the sting is the least of our worries. It's living with it that will be the hardest part."

KIT

She took the bottle back, letting it burn her throat as she swallowed it down. When she finally let the bottle leave her lips, there were tears forming in her eyes. “Grief is such an awful trick. No matter what causes it, you’re left feeling as if you are the loneliest person in the world. That no one will ever comprehend what overwhelms you.” She took another swig before passing it into Harland’s hands, her fingers lingering against his longer than they needed.

“There are moments when I am baffled I still draw breath. It feels like it will all crush me. It seems so cruel that it does not.” Her voice was strangled, constricted with the cries she refused to release.

HARLAND

The tears in her eyes mirrored the despair Harland himself was feeling. There were times, yes, that he had been so unbelievably frustrated with Balthazar, times where he and the other lord had gotten into shouting matches or raged at one another so fiercely that the Court shied away from them. This had been just at the end of the war, when things were spiralling out of his control and Balthazar had caused so much grief.

Even then, however, Harland could not help but stand beside him. Even then, he was still Balthazar’s friend.

Even now, though the blond hardly believed in what it counted for these days, after Harland had done so much and the other faerie had thrown it all away. And for what, truly, some petty grievance? The pain he felt because he believed he had been wronged by this sprite of a woman? Ah, yes, it was almost laughable, how they harmed one another in the end.

The fingers that lingered beneath his for a moment made the Duke look at the woman beside him, keenly aware of her grief and her pain, but not quite understanding it. They both felt it, some form of it, but it was just slightly off step, out of tune and off pitch. It was familiar, despite the fact that Harland did not want to admit it. There had been similar instances where he had felt much the same. Still, he slid the bottle from her grasp and turned away, saying nothing for the moment. He drank, stared at the wall across from them, and listened.

He made a noise at the back of his throat, almost a strangled form of laughter. Mirth, even. Harland knew the feeling well. “The cruelty is the trick, really, having to live with it all. Drowning your sorrows and locking it away so the world believes you feel nothing and then fucking off to the Wildlands to piece yourself back together again. Or, perhaps,” he murmured, rolling his head against the bedpost to look at Kit, eyes tired and red-rimmed, “crying on the floor of a Duke’s bedroom because you believe he might understand. In a way...he does, but perhaps not the same way.”

KIT

It was not a direct invitation by any means, but Kit acted on it all the same. She slipped underneath Harland’s arms, maneuvering him until she was wrapped in his embrace with her head leaning against his chest. He was solid and warm, and that was enough for her. She sighed, looking up at him even as the tears stung at her eyes.

“I have been on worse bedroom floors, Your Grace, believe me. Although this may be the least compromising position I have found myself in.” The bottle was still in his hands, but she tilted it to her mouth all the same. He was so stiff underneath her touch, so unsure, but she could not help but remain close to him. Duke Briar was steady, and she was falling apart. What other choice did she have but to remain in his embrace, reluctant as it might be?

“I cannot imagine a time when you were ever broken, Harland,” Kit said, her voice solemn and her gaze steady, “though it is not for lack of belief in the grief you bear.” It was an incomplete thought and it hung in the air between them, but she did not elaborate any further. Instead, she turned her gaze away. It seemed easier on the both of them if she too turned her gaze to the wall.

“You are adorable when you talk about yourself in the third person, you know.” Kit laughed as tucked her legs underneath her to lean against his chest.

“You and I met Balthazar at different times,” she continued, a smile on her lips in spite of herself, “you met him during the war-yes?- and I met him before Oberon and Mab ever crossed paths. I knew him when he was a young thing and his sword was still clumsy in his hands.” The tears were falling freely now and she made no effort to stop them.

“He spent countless nights in the old brothel. He gained quite the reputation for his supposed insatiable desires. How the lords and ladies would have been scandalized to find out the young Lord Black spent all his time fully clothed, more likely to drink with the whores than to screw them. We were his family. My mother, Celestials keep her close, considered him a son until her last breath. Whenever I was not entertaining a client, he would spent the time in my bed, falling asleep. It was not safe for him to sleep in Black Manor. His mother was such a hateful old bitch. So he would simply collapse into my bed at odd hours. You cannot imagine the horror of the poor bastard I brought upstairs who was greeted by lord Black, still groggy from sleep.”

Something between a laugh and sob fell from her lip, and she shut her eyes.

“We would braid his hair in his sleep. He was such a pretty picture, asleep with daisies in his hair. I never wanted to wake him. As hard as I try, when I close my eyes, all I see is that image of Black. I wish I could force my mind’s eyes to remember him as hateful as he was the last time I saw him, but in my heart he will always be my tired little lord, wearing the flowers in his hair as awkwardly as his titles.”

HARLAND

The Duke grew rigid at her touch, just as he had before, but this was something entirely different. There was something much more prominent about the care she arranged his limbs around her body, something that he was cognizant of and wished he were not. He’d not drunk enough for this. But he allowed it all the same, merely heaved a sigh and let himself be maneuvered like a puppet, head leaned back against the bedpost. Harland did not dare look at her until Kit was done squirming, arm tightening around her of its own accord as she settled into his side, half across his chest.

The tears that were caught in the corners of her eyes were visible by the sheen of them, the way the candles reflected off the bright blue. It was something he’d not have truly noticed unless he was this close and Harland sighed quietly, the hand around her carefully stroking down her back, a motion meant to be as careful as it was soothing. Kit was still healing from her wounds, her traumas, and Harland was in no place to look past it all.

Despite the clear allusion in her words, of compromising situations and the rumors that came with them, the gravity of the situation, Harland felt himself laughing. It was deep in his chest, a sound that was more a rumble than anything, and it was a good sound for such a time. “I'm sure. And I’ve been in similar, or so I’ve heard. Then again, no one can truly believe everything they hear, can they?” He quirked a brow as she tilted the bottle to drink, angling his hand so the neck of the bottle moved easier for her, watched as she drank and then he pulled the bottle away and set it to the side. It was nearly gone anyhow.

The words she spoke were laced with something he could not, or perhaps, did not, wish to identify. However, Harland’s gaze did not waver from her face. There was something entirely...wholesome at her faith, at the steadiness she seemed to attribute to him. Harland knew it was the role he had played in her recovery but, even still, knowing what he did made it a bitter thing to swallow. “You have not seen my version of broken, not truly, Kit. I pray you never do. It is not a pretty thing. Certainly not glorious like the tales make it seem.” They were all shit, anyhow, he thought, almost struck by how cruel that seemed, to give false hope where there had been none at all.

The moment broken, Harland snorted and shook his head, manuevering himself more fully upright so she could tuck herself into a ball more easily. He glanced down at her legs for a moment, watched the way they curled underneath her skirts, before bundling the furs he’d strewn around them around her, around them both. “Thank you, my lady,” he murmured, voice amused despite the sincerity in her tone. He shifted about for a moment, getting himself comfortable enough to listen to a tale he had never before heard.

Balthazar Black before the war, before the Dragon, was almost a myth, some foreign thing that Harland had only known in fragments, from sifting through the whisperings of truth and the vitriol spit about him. Harland joined in her laughter, some of the images amusing to think of. He’d certainly dealt with the man’s hair enough to know what a nest it could be, how cumbersome. To imagine it braided with flowers was an image that was entirely disconnected from reality, wholesome in a way that the war had stripped away from him.

Had stripped away from them all.

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me, though it’s...far from the Balthazar I usually see. First time I met him, I had to carry is heavy arse back to camp.” He chuckled quietly, shook his head. “The bastard tried to go back out into the field after I’d accidentally broken his leg when he’d sealed the wound that would have killed me otherwise.”

KIT

“Must you always carry yourself so sternly, Harland?” She asked, her voice as playful as it was soft. “Surely the sun will continue to rise and set if you allow yourself a moment’s peace.” She twisted in his arms, the furs ruffling awkwardly with her movement, until she was looking up at him. She studied his face for a moment, as if she was attempting to peer through time and picture what a little lord Briar had been. There was a flicker of disapproval across her blue eyes for the briefest of moments, which was replaced with a melancholy look.

“But you have never been able to give yourself the time to discover whether or not it will,” Kit said. She reached her hand up to his face, a slight tremor there that revealed her nervousness. What was blooming in her chest and stretching up into her throat and down to her stomach was a foreign feeling. The desire for something unfamiliar was a strange sensation to a woman who had spent the past few centuries devoted to one man. There were others who had been brought in for a night, a few lucky ones who had spent a few years, but they had always been passing curiosities compared to what she felt for her King. But in Duke Briar’s bedchamber, miles away from the King and brought together from shared struggles and grief, Kit felt each beat of her heart as surely as one felt the clap of thunder in a storm.

Her fingers landed as light as a feather on Harland’s bottom lip, her thumb brushing against the softness there. “I told you once you would ruin me, the way you deprive me of my secrets and leave me bare.” Her voice seemed to waver slightly as she whispered, “I think I could ruin you. I inspire feelings you have no room for.” She hated herself for it, she realized. Was she any better than Balthazar? Were they to be twin agents of agony? Was there anyone who was happier for being loved by her? Would she condemn the man who had carried her while her flesh still burned to such sadness?

She left her thumb fall until she was outlining his jaw in her hands. “Even in the refuge you have built for me, I invite disaster and destruction.” She did not look away from him, even though the tears in her eyes began to blur her vision and she struggled to keep her face from contorting with the sobs that shook her shoulders. “You did not rescue me from a monster when you brought me to Thornhill, Harland. You just let a prettier one in.” Her shame overtook her and she buried her face in his chest, hands clutching either side of her head as she willed herself to shrink. It would have been kinder for the both of them if she pulled herself away, but the urge to bury herself in Harland’s arms was all-consuming.

“You should have left me there. If Black and I had left this world together, Midsummer would be a safer place.”

HARLAND

Harland felt his brow furrowing at her teasing and he moved to look at her, staring down at her with a raised eyebrow. "I haven't known peace in years Kit. I don't think I remember what it even looks like. Beyond that...I could not rest now, not when so much hangs in the balance." The disapproval on her face when she'd shifted around to look him in the face made the Duke sigh, the sound quiet.

The blond watched her hand with more sobriety than he had possessed since this conversation had began, when the bottle had been opened and they'd poured out parts of themselves to replace with liquor. The feeling of it pressing against his mouth was foreign and he did not know what to do beneath its weight. Like before, he stiffened, watching Kit's face with a weariness he felt in his bones.

"You inspire many things, Kit. Feelings are just a part of it all. Whatever they may be." He dropped his head back, a heavy sigh moving the woman on his chest, a hand stroking down her back even still. "You have invited nothing into my home that can destroy me. Not by your hand. By another's perhaps. But you are no monster. And, if you were, Kit, well…It takes a monster to know a monster, does it not? Perhaps we are a pair, in whatever form that may take?" His voice was heavy as he spoke, the words achingly sincere.

"At least you did not murder hundreds, dove. At least you did not murder hundreds and then be commended for it." His voice was more bitter than Kit had ever heard it. It was something that haunted him, what the war had made him into. It would continue to for the rest of his days. He looked at her when she burrowed into his chest and the sight twinges at his heart. He brought a hand up and ran it carefully over the hand closest to him, pulled it away cautiously. Kissing the fingers that curled, so small, in the palm of his hand, Harland gave her a small, sad smile. "Midsummer can survive if we let it."

KIT

She knew better than to ask, but she asked all the same. “Do I frighten you so that you become so rigid under my touch?” she asked, unable to hide the shame that crept into her voice. “Or is it because of the company I keep in Roheim?” She wanted his approval so badly. She hated herself for it. She had no right to desire anything from him.

“You deserve peace, Harland,” Kit said, her voice melancholy. She allowed him to move her into her chest, shutting her eyes and basking in the tenderness of his touch. His words brought tears to her eyes. There was forgiveness in his tone. There was permission- for what- she was not sure. It brought her to tears all the same. “I wish I could give it to you. I am sorry for what I have brought to Thornhill.” She did surrender to the sobs, too exhausted to fight them off, but it did not stop her from meeting Harland’s eyes.

His lips were on her fingers and it broke her open, but she kept her gaze steady.

“There is no one who remains innocent. Not after my King tore Midsummer apart. You did what you needed to get your men home.” She reached for him again, but lingered a few inches away from him, waiting for permission. “There is never a choice, not really, not when love is involved.”

HARLAND

Despite himself, Harland found himself answering her shame filled question honestly. "No. Nothing you do could frighten me." He gave a small shrug, a hint of a smile on his face. There was a hint of a tease in his voice when he spoke next. "Well, almost anything. I hear you can drink men half your size under the table." There was a deflection there and it had drawn a clear line but the Duke could not help the shadow that flickered over his face at the mention of Oberon. He hurt so many, continued to in the way he kept Kit Scarlet, yet she defended him.

It was as maddening as it was confusing. But this was neither the time nor the place for that kind of talk.

The crooked smile that curled around his face was far from serious when he addressed her melancholy. Stroking a soothing hand carefully down her spine, Harland just shook his head, a gentle cadence to his voice. "I take what I can get, Kit. Peace isn't always in the cards for fae like me. I've known that from the moment this war began and the second I took up the mantle of diplomacy." In truth, it had been a kindness the Queen had given him anything at all. Harland had not wanted it, not at first, but he saw the good that he could do and what could be done to help his people, so he had. If anything, it had given him a reason to keep going when the world had been dark, for the briefest of moments.

Her sobs shook her and the Duke could feel them in his chest. But Kit kept looking. After a long moment, it was Harland who looked away first. Heaving a sigh, the man nodded, conceding to her even if he did not believe her words. Not wholly, anyway. There would always be a small part of himself that he would see as broken, a monster that had been put together again with one too many chipped pieces.

He saw her reaching for him out of the corner of his eye and instead of letting her touch him again, Harland grabbed her hand in his, carefully curling his fingers around her hand and closing it. He placed it gently on top of his chest, beside where the other rested, before sighing through his nose. Readjusting the hold he had on her, Harland leaned forward, getting ready to gain his feet once more.

"Steady now, Kit," he murmured and, then, he was standing and she was against his chest. It was like picking up a feather, really, she was so light, and it reminded him of when he'd brought her to his home. Except, now, she was awake to remember it.

KIT

Kit smiled in reply and it brightened her features. “There’s nothing to do in Roheim but drink, fuck, and start fights. I became very adept at all three in my time there.” One could see a glimpse of what she might have been if she had chosen anyone but Oberon as a lover- she would have been this playful creature, chaotic and carefree. But there was gravity that pressed upon her shoulders and it made her smaller than she appeared. So when Harland let a hand run down her spine, Kit leaned into him. So what if he was the Queen’s diplomat and she was the King’s whore?

He wrapped her hand in hers and she felt a sense of relief wash over. He said her name and held her and it was treason to even think about how good it felt. She could not help but lean into his chest, curling up in his arms. She looked up at him and could not help but remember memories tinged with the smell of burning and the sting of ash in her eyes. He had looked so steady then. Somehow, he looked less steady now.

“Is this the bit where you take me to bed and ravish me, love?” Her voice was hoarse, choked with too much emotion to be as playful as she intended. She kept a hand on his chest, fingers clutching the collar of his shirt. “I cannot tell if I am offended it took you so long or relieved you allowed me some time to heal and prepare for you. Most are far more susceptible to my charms, Duke Briar.” She kept her head underneath his chin, suddenly very at peace with the weight of Harland against her.

HARLAND

Looking down at her as she started speaking, Harland shook his head and hid a smile, chuckling quietly. “This is the part where I take you to bed and we sleep, Kit. It has been a long night and I think we could both do with some.” Shifting her weight in his arms, wrapping the furs around her more securely, the Duke lifted her over the bedpost and continued padding his way around to the side of the bed. He resolutely ignored the fingers curled into the collar of his tunic, bending at the waist to set her as gently as he could on the mattress.

Groaning a bit as he straightened up, the blond ran a hand through his hair, staring down at her for a moment. His eyes strayed over the blonde curls that spilled over her shoulders, the burns that stood out starkly against her skin, and huffed another laugh. “You’d not find me very interesting, I’m afraid. Much of what they say about me is merely that, talk.” Granted, some of the things they said were true, but that was something he never gave credence to, not with the way the Court hounded him. “Do not take offense, my lady, I am but an old soldier.” As if to prove his point, when he rounded to the other side of the bed, Harland slumped onto the mattress with a world weary sigh, overly dramatic in the hopes that it would get the woman beside him to laugh. Turning his head to look at her, Harland leaned back against the headboard, the corner of his mouth raised in a half-smile.

KIT

It was a soft place to land, all things considered. She watched him, her eyes never leaving his frame as he maneuvered her first into bed and then at her side. There was so much one could learn about the way a man came to bed. Even in this, Harland Briar was a careful and a cautious man. It broke her heart. She saw why her shadow was drawn to him.

Still, she snorted at Harland’s antics. “I have known many men in my life. The most interesting ones are the ones who try so very hard to dispel the rumors surrounding them.” She said, but her voice had taken on a lazy quality. Try as she might, she was exhausted and everything about sleep right now was inviting.

She turned on her side, propping herself up on her forearms to be closer to Harland for a moment. She let her nose brush against his, eyes closed, a smile on her lips. “I’ve entertained many an old soldier, your Grace, but I have never enjoyed their company as much as yours.” When she turned away, leaning back into the bed, she let her lips brush against his, but made no concerted effort to kiss him. Theirs would be a story of almosts, of that she was sure.

“If only we could stay here,” she said wistfully as she pulled the furs up to her neck.

HARLAND

"Perhaps you're just bored with life, dove, if you think mine is intriguing," he mumbled, the siren call of sleep loosening his tongue. He yawned, jaw popping, and curled an arm around Kit, tugging her quietly closer. There was nothing but innocence in the gesture, a steadiness here that he could not find anywhere else. The grounding essence of touch was something he always craved, even in the most simple of ways. "It is nothing more than diplomatic meetings and the wrangling of pompous courtiers who think they know politics but have no more understanding of it than a bud still suckling at his mother."

He quieted, then, a hand curling carefully around the small of Kit's back, a thumb stroking along the knobs of her spine for a moment before stilling. "It's easier to keep things that do not belong in the public if you do not merely acknowledge them. Kit, I have heard every rumor under the sun, including the one that caused me to be-." Abruptly, he stopped, jaw clicking, and sighed. "Well, that is the past, now, is it not? There is nothing for it."

Looking down at the woman resting against him, the Duke's eyes crossed as he watched her lean closer. Kit's nose brushed against his and Harland stilled, watching her carefully. He made no move to comment on what she'd done, merely watched her as she pulled away, the feeling of that brush of her lips a shock to his system.

Clearing his throat, Harland watched as she pulled the furs closer and the ease with which she moved despite her burns made him realize just how close she was. But, just as before, that was not something he wanted to dwell on. Instead, he offered her a small, soft smile and curled a hand over her arm.

KIT

“Terribly bored, your Grace,” she quipped, mischief sparkling between eyelids that had grown heavy with fatigue. “There is absolutely nothing of intrigue here at Thornhill. Not in rescued human servants or forbidden loves or long-lost daughters. Only a tired old man weary of having to reign in all the little lords and ladies playing at politics.”

She rested her head on his chest, eyes fluttering closed as the beat of Harland’s heart began to lull her to sleep. She let out a yawn and could not help but smile at the timing of it all. “Rest assured, Harland. When I return to Roheim, all my King will hear of how positively dull Wisteria is even in the midst of all this excitement. With any luck, I may be able to convince him never to return.”

Of course, if the King decided to keep away from Thornhill, it would be no easy feat for Kit or Maddox to find their way back. But she had no desire to think about such awful things now, especially not when she and Harland had finally carved themselves a tranquil moment before sleep overtook them both. She drifted off into a dreamless sleep, save for the occasional flashes of white flowers blooming. But there were worse dreams to have.

#salt in the wound #harlet #marlet #harddox #my shadow #tw: war flashbacks #tw: mentions of gore #tw: suicidal ideation

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vradika · 6 years

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🌓 Vaderwan/Vaderkin Obikin Fic Recs

Updated 5/10/2021

Here you’ll find the Obikin Fic Rec Masterlist, and here are some tags and warnings in case you don’t want to read about certain topics:

🔥= Mustafar AU ⌛= Time travel/de-aged/rebirth 🔗= Slavery 🍫= Explicit sexual content 🍂= Master-student relationship or mentions/underage

🔥♥♥♥♥♥Dearly despised by Anonymous Status: on going Where a Jedi was spotted, Darth Vader was sure to follow, leaving behind a trail of corpses; Jedi or otherwise. To finish what he started when he knelt down and swore allegiance to a new Emperor. To finally bring peace to a galaxy that had been ripped apart from war.Obi-Wan knew better. This was a more personal matter: Vader wanted revenge. Vader wanted him.

🍫🔥♥♥♥♥ where every mask cracks by little_tales Status: on going

Four years after the birth of the Galactic Empire, Obi-Wan approaches Darth Vader with an offer he doesn't expect.

⌛♥♥♥♥With the will of the force, In the palm of my hand. by Spice_Runner Status: hiatus

After Obi-wan's supposed death on the death star,Darth Vader is sent back in time to his home planet by the will of the force, in the body of his nineteen year old self. He's been given a second chance,but to do what with? He doesn't know. All he knows if that the Jedi are alive once again,and so is Obi-wan. He plans to destroy the Jedi again without the rise of Darth Sidious,and With Obi-wan at his side as his apprentice. To right the wrongs of the Jedi,rebuild his Empire as he sees fit and take back all those he loves. The Force has different plans.

🍫♥♥♥♥come back from the dark by amidnightlove Status: on going

Almost a year after Mustafar, Obi-Wan is slowly becoming accustomed to living in exile, being an unmated Omega and watching over Luke. And then an imperial pod crashes into Tatooine.

🍫♥♥♥snowbound by amidnightlove Status: complete

Sent to Ilum to investigate the sighting of a new Sith apprentice, Obi-Wan expects to simply find them and detain them. Sharing shelter with a Sith during a snowstorm was the last of his wishes.

♥♥♥♥♥Neutron star collision by liv_k Status: on going

A neutron star merger is a type of stellar collision. When two neutron stars orbit each other closely, they spiral inward as time passes due to gravitational radiation. When the two neutron stars meet, their merger leads to the formation of either a more massive neutron star, or a black hole. In the aftermath of Order 66, Anakin Skywalker's miraculous survival after his confrontation with the new Sith Apprentice Darth Vader ignites a sparkle of hope in the remaining Jedi, in the fledgling rebellion and, above all, in his former Master, who had thought he had lost everything to darkness. But darkness is generous, and it is patient. [Title changed from "This time we'll fall together"]

⌛♥♥♥there is peace (peace is a lie) by luminousbeingsweare Status: on going

Ben Kenobi, Wizard of the Wastes, was really tired of this. For some ridiculous reason, he really thought he'd be able to rest for once in his (after)life. Of course, it couldn't be that simple. Judging by the intense cursing coming from Darth Vader's - or was it Anakin? - side of the room, it seemed he wasn't the only one in this predicament.Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker are thrown out of the afterlife back to right before AOTC starts. Everything goes to hell.

🔥 ♥♥Bound to Me by ilcuoreardendo Status: complete Summary: One of the memories Anakin carries away from Geonosis is that of his master in chains.

⌛♥♥♥♥♥ Vader in time by SWModdy Status: on going

Summary: He’s given a new chance. Or rather Vader takes the new chance as he feels the death of Obi-Wan somewhere out in the wide galaxy, the Jedi passing utterly alone without Vader there and in a moment of madness everything becomes clear… so he takes a new chance for himself. By going back. And this time Palpatine shall not take it all from him.

🍫♥♥♥♥What Dwells in Us by Caudipteryx dreamwidth

Status: complete

Summary: Three months have passed since Obi-Wan Kenobi arrived on Tatooine. He has settled into a quiet, uneventful life in the desert, watching over the infant Luke from afar. Alas, his life isn’t going to stay quiet or uneventful for much longer.

Or: The story of Obi-Wan’s years in exile I have always wanted to read. (Yes, it is written in first person, and I know a lot of people hate first person. But this serves a very specific aesthetic purpose; if you think the subject matter may interest you, please try giving it a chance anyway.)

🔥♥♥♥ Eyes by TiBun

Status: hiatus (last update: 2017-11-11)

Summary: Darth Vader had won the inner battle. He had wrapped Anakin in darkness and snuffed out his light. But Obi-Wan wasn't quite sure Anakin was completely gone, and the Sith Lord's eyes could be very telling.

♥♥♥ Ascension by lilyconrad

Status: complete

Summary: Anakin loathes the soulmark Obi-Wan bears, a black dragon that will one day take his beloved master away from him.

🍫♥♥♥♥♥The Negotiator Series by Ralph_E_Silvering

Status: complete

Part one 🍫♥♥♥♥ The Negotiator: Darth Vader was always arrogant. He forgot that Obi-Wan had spent 20 years in the desert, with nothing to do but learn new ways to mess with him. Or the story of how Darth Vader touches Obi-Wan Kenobi's lightsaber after the events on Cloud City but forgets about that little Force-trick of psychometry. Obi-Wan has one last surprise for his old Padawan.

Part two 🍫♥♥♥ Hindsight: Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi woke every night, sweating and gasping, from nightmares of Darth Vader. It had been nine years since he had watched his Padawan burn, watched the Republic fall, watched his life be destroyed around him. And every night he saw Anakin’s face, twisted by evil, his eyes sickly yellow, as he screamed his hatred of Obi-Wan. It was that last which he could not bear.

Part three 🍫♥♥ Darth Vader's Master: Yet always he would be pulled awake far too soon, finding himself in his sterile and empty Imperial chambers, hard and aching once more.........

Part four 🍫♥♥After the End: Obi-Wan tilted his chin up until their eyes met, and Anakin felt shame burn through him. But Obi-Wan was still smiling, his eyes deepest blue-green, and as he bent to place a gentle kiss on Anakin’s lips, the younger man finally began to relax. “Hello, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, joy suffusing his presence.

♥♥♥And Back Again by DreamingMoonlight

Status: complete

Summary: Darth Vader is on Tatooine with a mission and cannot be stopped. Not until the Witch of the Junland Wastes stands in his path and changes the course of his destiny.

Also, look at this lovely art by @crinzinzey

⌛🍫♥♥♥ Soldier, Poet, King by Glare @glare-gryphon

Status: hiatus (last update: 2017-06-08)

Summary: Second chances are very rarely given, but the Force smiles upon two of its favorite children and returns them to a time before their actions have met their consequences. Anakin Skywalker, also known as Darth Vader, seeks redemption while Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi, disillusioned with the Jedi Order and its Code, falls to the Darkness. Trapped out of time, Master and Apprentice must once again work together to stop Sideous’ plans from reaching fruition and bring Balance to the Force—all the while dodging the Jedi, the Sith, and their feelings for each other.

♥♥ Disjointed by Ha_neul @octavigustus

Status: complete

Summary: Returning to Tatooine to erase his past, Vader reunites with his old lover and their son.

⌛♥♥♥♥ I myself have torn myself to shreds by iiscos @jamesalarcon

Status: complete

Summary: The Force whispers in its ageless voice, its touch peaceful and lulling against Vader’s ancient soul, “Tell me your biggest regrets.”

Or the five times Anakin traveled back in time with the intention of making things better, and the one time that it actually worked. I would say this story begins as Vader and ends in Anakin, a more wise Anakin who have suffered a lot.

⌛♥♥ Anathema by poplitealqueen (Isimun) @poplitealqueen

Status: hiatus (last update: 2016-11-29)

Summary: An illogical visitor appears on the Death Star, following the apparent death of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

🔥♥ Am I only dreaming? by Kris_Amethyst (now orphan account)

Status: dropped (last update: 2016-03-10)

Summary: It's been five years since Obi-Wan Kenobi saw Darth Vader. Now, in the deserts of Tatooine, he finds a seemingly amnesiac Anakin Skywalker who doesn't know of his fall. Can he and Padmé save him once and for all?

⌛♥♥♥♥ Tell Me, Show Me by LeelaLaFleur ArvisTaljik

Status: hiatus (last update: 2016-07-02)

Summary: While searching the Force for the spirit of his former Master, Vader finds himself thrown deep into the past. Free of the Dark Side and with his youthful body back, Vader/Anakin is ready to change his own destiny for better, but when he comes across shy, yet incredibly stubborn Padawan Kenobi, everything rapidly spirals out of control and the ex-Sith is forced to face some of the old attractions and attachments....

⌛♥♥♥♥♥ Return to the Point of No Return by theascetic

Status: complete

Summary: He turns around, his tunic soaked with blood, and holds the gorgon's head up by its wispy hair.

"Anakin, please-"

"Don't beg me, Master,” says the last of the Sith, tenderly reaching to cup Obi Wan's hot cheek with a gore-stained hand. “Command me.”

The ever-popular time travel fix-it fic... with a bit of a twist.

🔥♥ Go Away Closer by MissPop (before poplitealqueen (Isimun) ) @poplitealqueen

Status: hiatus (last update: 2016-04-04)

Summary: 'Go Away Closer' aka a double bind: where every decision you make feels like the wrong one. However, in Zen Buddhism, it's also viewed as a path to enlightenment. The impossible question with no correct answer.This is a Star Wars AU, a Mustafar AU to be exact, where Obi-Wan doesn't cut Anakin down to size and nothing is okay.

Also a SPOILER WARNING of Go Away Closer, for the next one shot:

🍫♥♥ Comorbidity by MissPop,poplitealqueen (Isimun) @poplitealqueen

Status: complete

Summary: Anakin's premonitory "Probably-Palpatine-Just-Fucking-With-Him-But-Also-Lowkey-His-Old-Pal-The-Force-Trying-To-Give-Him-A-Head's-Up" nightmares return.

🔥♥♥♥♥♥ I have lied my way to the stars by iiscos @jamesalarcon

Status: hiatus (last update: 2016-03-13)

Summary: Anakin wavers in darkness, while Obi-Wan questions the light.Or another post-RotS AU where Obi-Wan is captured on Mustafar.

⌛♥♥♥♥♥ Second Life by Sapphirethief

Status: hiatus (last update: 2017-01-05)

Summary: Vader takes his last breath only to wake in times long past.

...keep updating

#obikin #fic rec #aniobi #fic #fic list #vaderwan #vaderkin #anakin #skywalker #obi wan #kenobi #obikin fic rec

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topazshadowwolf · 6 years

Text

False Hope (Chapter 6)

After the human left the underground, Sans is left trying to piece his life back together with those who remain. As time goes on, decisions are made about what monster kind should do next, and how best to escape to the surface. But if they do get their freedom, what will happen?

Written by: Topaz Shadowwolf Undertale Fan fiction Undertale is owned by Toby Fox

Heads up: Soriel, Sans POV, my goal in writing this is to poke at your emotions Warnings: Major character death, implied suicide, homicidal thoughts, don’t expect a happy ending

AO3 On Tumblr: Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5

I know! Last two chapters in one day~ Here we goooooo!

Chapter six: Impatience

Flowey

That flower had beaten him to the human and was trying to kill them. He could see the flower had them tangled in vines. He must have caught them unaware as he had a clear advantage and was now toying with the human like a cat with a wounded mouse. Had he not decided to make this a game, the human would be dead by now.

And Sans would have lost his chance to get revenge.

Sans felt his anger increase as that stupid flower had the audacity to try to steal this from him. With how long he had been planning this moment, he couldn’t let that happen. The human was for him to destroy. The flower was just as guilty and had no right to steal his justice. Too many times he had suffered from that plant’s cruelty. This was one thing he wasn’t just going to let the flower take from him.

All the rage he had been holding inside, every ounce of distaste for that plant swelled up within an instant. The magic within him hummed so loudly, drowning out all other sounds. In the darkness of the night, every object around him was bathed in an ever-changing cyan to yellow glow. Eye sockets narrowed as he shook so much his bones began to rattle, which formed the war song he was about to fight to.

He took a shortcut into the house raining bones down on the flower. Taken by surprise, Flowey yelled out and recoiled from the burn of KR. “You!” Flowey hissed as he raised up. The flower summoned up its seed bullets to throw at Sans while pulling up more vines to attack with. But Sans didn’t care, he was going to win this, one way or another. With the use of his magic, Sans stretched time to avoid each bullet and swing of the vine. Doing so cost him a lot of magic, but it was well worth the cost. He had plenty of magic within him. As lazy as he is, he never lacked power, just strength. To win this fight, and have enough power left to finish off the human he will have to make this quick.

The human was still tied up in vines, so Sans took the opportunity to form a box around them with blue bones. Not seeing what happened, as the flower’s focus was on Sans, Flowey ended up screeching in pain as he started to move those vines. Trying to end the burn he detached those vines form his main body. The flower looked at where the human was now struggling to free themself from the disembodied vines. Even if they did manage to free themself from those, they would still be trapped in a cell of bones. Flowey was clearly angry as he turned back to Sans and hissed, “No! They are mine, you stupid trash bag!”

Sans didn’t feel the need to say anything as he continued to attack, sending wave after wave of bones and blasters. At first, as if this were some joke, Flowey laughed at his attacks, “I already know how you fight, idiot!” But soon the flower found himself on the losing end. Sans attack patterns were different, disjointed, maddened, fueled by his rage and broken thoughts versus his normal calm, rational plans. The flower didn’t know where the next attack would come from or what shape it would take.

Flowey might think that the human was his, but Sans wasn’t going to allow it. He couldn’t allow it. HE WON’T ALLOW IT! He’d rather turn them over to Undyne than this flower who is just as murderous, just as cruel… just as soulless. It wouldn’t be an act of retribution if Flowey killed the human. It would be just an act of a murderer killing another murderer.

Where was the justice in that?

There was none, at least, none he could possibly see.

Finally, beaten and weakened by the onslaught of attacks, Flowey retreated, “FINE!” He snapped as he pulled himself down into the earth below the floor of the house. He then called up from under the floorboards, “But you BETTER finish them off, you hear me, smiley trash bag?! I hate this ending as much as you do.”

Victorious, Sans stood there, panting with dark eye sockets. He felt a laugh bubble up within him and he let it out. It didn’t sound like a normal laugh for him; nor, did he know what was so funny. Just that he felt the need to, and so he did. As he laughed he turned to the human who shrank back from him within their magic made cell. Their terrified face illuminated by the flashing cyan and yellow of his glowing eye.

Finally!

Finally.

Finally…

From within him, his magic started to build up as he prepared to slaughter them as he had in the hall. They were defenseless, an easy mark. He could kill them with ease like this. There was no need to arm them and go through another needless fight like he did with Flowey. Soon this will be over. This whole nightmare will be over.

“y’should have reset sooner, kiddo,” Sans growled while accenting the nickname with distaste.

Arms wrapped around him, stopping him. The owner of those arms held him tight while radiating such a feeling of sympathy and love, “Sans… this isn’t you.”

Toriel… why… why… why…?

“Please, Sans, I know you don’t really want to do this,” Toriel tried to plea to his kinder self. But he had killed that side of him off long before, or so he thought. Hearing her sorrow filled voice caused him to tremble. As Sans felt her love for him, more and more, his sockets fill with tears.

“i do tori, i do want to. why are you stopping me,” his voice started to quiver, and he raised his hands to cover his sockets. She wasn’t supposed to see him like this. This wasn’t right. Why did she follow him? “if i do this you’ll come back…,” Sans strained to say as his magic tightened in his non-existent throat. He ignored the confused look of the human as he tried not to sob. “i don’t know if you’re really there, tori… can you even tell me? are you just in my head or are you really a spirit following me.”

There was silence, but he could still feel her arms around him. He started to tremble as he relaxed his magic. While he kept the human trapped, he no longer felt ready to finish them off. With a long, shuddering sigh, he tried to calm his nerves. “i don’t know who i am, anymore,” Sans whispered.

“YOU’RE MY BROTHER,” Papyrus spoke up while placing a gloved hand on his shoulder.

“A-and my science buddy,” Alphys added in.

“You’re also my dear one, my love,” Toriel finally let him go so he could turn to face them.

“this isn’t fair,” he whimpered. He was now shaking so much his bones were rattling again. This time it was a sad tune that matched his inner turmoil. Why? Why did they have to come to stop him? He was so close to having them back, yet they were the ones to stop him. Didn’t they know how much he truly missed them? Were they so concerned with him making this moral choice they couldn’t let him go through with it? He felt so stressed with all these thoughts, he needed to move. As he started to pace back and forth he tried to put his thoughts in order.

“this isn’t fair,” he repeated as he stared down.

“Sans,” Toriel started but Sans turned to face her.

“N O!” He snapped then pointed to the human. “T H I S I S N ‘ T F A I R !”

With every bit of malice, he had in his soul, he glared down at the human with dark sockets, “don’t you see? don’t you know they don’t deserve this? why should they be happy after everything they did? why should they get to sit here and live in this house while you three are dead?!” He turned back to the three who looked at him with…

With sympathy.

“why? why are you looking at me like that?” tears rolled from his sockets. Why were they doing this?

He paused and looked down as he thought. So many thoughts were rolling around in his head. Thoughts of life, anger, justice, displaced anger, wrongdoings, and his newly found impatience. He couldn’t feel himself wait any longer for the reset.

“fine,” he said to the three before turning back to the human, “let me think about this.”

With his jacket sleeve, he cleaned the tears from his face and sockets so he could see clearer. The human was obviously terrified, as they should be. At MTT Resort, he had many audiences, but never a captive one. He chuckled and shook his head, “okay, tell ya what. i’m going to work through some thoughts out loud, and you’re going to listen.”

He started to pace again, trying to figure out where he should start…

Life seemed about right.

He started, using a more serious tone than his normally relaxed voice, “I think the one thing that has bothered me throughout the years, and resets, is how quickly a life can disappear...”

Basically, it all boils down to this. Do I kill you and force you to reset, or do I show mercy to someone who doesn’t seem to understand that concept? And don’t tell me you were just curious because curiosity doesn’t justify murder. Curiosity doesn’t mean you can ignore the lives in front of you. Curiosity doesn’t justify cruelty!

You can’t see them, right? Because, here they are, right before you, begging for your life when you killed them... how many times? You abused their trust in order to appease your curiosity. You ignored their feelings because you just believed they didn't have any. You crushed their lives because, in the end, they didn’t matter to you. Just your curiosity!

Just accept that you thought it was a game. That you saw our lives as a way to pass time. To you, we were merely a plaything to discard once you were bored. And even though there was the potential for a “happy ending,” you couldn’t even be bothered to give us that before abandoning us to this sorry fate.

I’m so lonely, being tailed by ghosts and memories of my failings…

And it’s your fault.

Did you seriously think that your actions would not catch up with you?

Did you honestly believe we were nothing or no one? That our lives didn’t matter?

I see them, begging me to spare you. Funny, huh? The ones you murdered over and over are now the ones pleading for your life. So, now…

What do I do?

Aren’t you curious to find out?

Closing Notes: Oh man... I loved writing this. I hope you enjoyed reading. Again, a big shout out and thanks to my beta readers. @upperstories beta read 1-4 and then @obsessedkatie read these last two. I loved their insight and input. Thank you for reading, liking, reblogging, commenting, tagging commenting, whatever. I hope you love this as much as I loved writing it.

#Undertale #fanfiction #fanfic #Sans #Toriel #Soriel #Alphys #Undyne #Papyrus #Did I forget to tag Paps in the last chapter #How dare I forget him #I think I did #anyway #have fun!#myfic

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