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mooodyblue · 2 years

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square | austin butler x gn!reader

summary: your own insecurities stopped you from confessing to your best friend before it was too late, leaving you to wallow in your own sorrow.

WC: 1.6k

warnings: angst, gender neutral reader, a bit dialogue heavy tbh, loneliness, mentions of anxiety and depression, friends to lovers? all over the place if im being real

notes: making my austin fic debut!! im contributing to the few non-smutty fics out there so hopefully this doesn't flop lol heavily inspired by square by yerin baek may contain mistakes as i didn't bother proofreading this one, sorry y'all. wrote this at a cicis and was like yeah lemme upload it before i change my mind and delete it

masterlist | send a request or say hi :)

sometimes you wished you weren't so closed off when it came to your own feelings. especially when it came to austin. that deep feeling of anxiety was what continued to stop you anytime you came close to revealing your true feelings towards him. especially now that he has a girlfriend, who he's been seeing for a few months now. you liked her, she was nice but part of you knew she didn't like you. could you really blame her? all he ever did was text or call you. after filming elvis, he was always with you and now that he has a girlfriend, it feels like nothing has changed.

you'd known austin for quite some time now. he was introduced to you through a mutual friend and grew close with eachother immediately. nobody knew you like austin did and just that alone made you fall in love with him. whether it'd be you having a panic attack or just having an awful day, he'd rush to your side and make you feel better. if only he could be by your side 24/7. he may as well be.

so when you've found yourself at a get-together that austin would be at, you prayed you wouldn't run into him. it had been a couple days since you'd seen him, but you hadn't been up for seeing him. insecurities and worries were clouding your mind, you just weren't doing too great and didn't want to admit that to austin. you didn't even know why you came to this place, maybe for the alcohol or just to get out of the house. you'd been glued to your corner on your phone, occasionally saying hi to friends you hadn't spoken to in awhile before they ran off to their other friends.

"well well well." a voice said in front of you.

you looked up from your phone, part of you dying inside at the tall figure now in your personal square in the corner but flashing him a quick, welcoming smile. "hi austin"

"you been avoiding me? haven't seen you in forever." he leaned next to you against the wall, invading more of your personal space.

"i didn't see you! honest! i didn't even know you were here." you lied, shoving your phone in your pocket. "i think you would know if i was avoiding you."

he crossed his arms, "which you were definitely doing-"

"-which i was definitely not doing!"

austin sighed and grabbed your arm, "c'mon." you let out a small whine as he pulled you outside, away from the large crowds of people. he sat down on one of the steps, pulling you down next to him. "what's going on?"

you hugged your knees slightly, shrugging. "just been busy."

"it's a good thing you don't act cause you are a very bad liar."

you scoffed. "you play in one huge movie and suddenly you've gotten cocky?"

austin let out a small laugh as you shook your head at him. you both sat there in the cool air for a few moments in silence, just taking in eachothers conpany as you gathered your thoughts. you didn't have enough alcohol in your system to really admit what's been bothering you, but you had to tell austin something. anything.

you scooted closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder. he wrapped an arm around you, rubbing your arm gently. "you don't have to tell me anything. just know i'm here for you." he said softly.

that was the problem. nobody had ever cared for you like austin did. you felt undeserving of him sometimes, especially at times like this. you hated how nice he was to you and how he always knew the right things to say to cheer you up. you hated all of it. it made you love him even more. why love what you can't have? when austin got a text from his girlfriend asking him where he was, he gave you a final hug, told you to call him later and left you there alone on the steps, a feeling of relief overcoming you. you went home that night and cried yourself to sleep, not even bothering to call or text austin.

there had been many times in your friendship where you'd hinted at liking him. you definitely wished you had just been open about how much you adored him instead of just beating around the bush. you'd send him silly little love songs that reminded you of him, often joked saying 'we may as well be dating' and even acting heartbroken when he told you he had a girlfriend saying 'b-but i thought we were dating!' yet he still couldn't take a hint. now here you are, glued to your bed, refusing to look at your phone and gluing your eyes to netflix all day. watching other people being in love knowing how unloveable you felt was comforting at times.

austin was nice enough to give you your space after the party a few days ago, which then turned into weeks. you'd never gone this long without talking to him. but you couldn't bring yourself to answer his texts and he knew better than to show up at your doorstep. you wished he would though, but assumed he was too busy with his girlfriend to put in the effort. your phone lit up with another text from austin asking if you were okay and how worried he was about you. another text of his going ignored as you went back to your show.

just as you were about to doze off, you heard your doorbell ring. letting out an annoyed mumble, you slipped on your house shoes and a hoodie before making your way to the door. it was ringing nonstop, like it was being pushed repeatedly. "jesus, hold on!" you yelled and glanced outside the window. your eyes widened at a disheveled austin, glancing at you sadly. "what the fuck." you opened your door, austin throwing himself on you and holding you tightly.

"i was so worried about you." he said, voice deeper and more tired than usual. you pulled away from him to get a good look at him, frowning slightly. "austin-i-are you okay?"

"she broke up with me."

"oh, god. i'm sorry. c'mon, i'll get you some water." you closed the door behind him as he took a seat on your couch, face in his hands. "i tried, i really did."

you grabbed a water from the fridge and handed it to him before sitting next to him. "what happened?" you felt bad for austin, really. you'd neglected him for weeks all while he was having problems with his relationship and you were the one person he wanted to talk to throughout all of this. you felt awful, but you were glad to be there for him now at least.

austin began picking at the label on the bottle nervously, hands shaking. "it always feels like people leave me, am i not loveable? why can't i hold a relationship?"

it was ironic, you having the same feelings in regards to austin. it was the reason why you had been avoiding him all this time. "you know that's not true, austin."

he refused to look you in the eye, still making a mess of the label. "why've you been avoidin' me? if it's not true then why won't you talk to me?"

"i-" you sat there silently, looking at the floor. this wasn't the time to admit your true feelings to austin, but you couldn't come up with a better reasoning. "austin-"

"d'ya know i used to be so in love with you? like-god." he sighed and placed the bottle on the coffee table, glancing over at you. "moving on was so hard. i just-i wanted to be with you. i think that's why she broke up with me. because of you."

your jaw dropped, leaving you speechless.

"this whole time-i just wanted you. it's always been you. been so worried about you these last couple of weeks, just wanted to come over and hold you for a few hours. i wanted to take care of you but i thought you were mad at me about somethin'-"

"austin. are you serious?" you interrupted. you leaned back on the couch, laughing softly.

austin looked at you with his brows furrowed, slightly annoyed at your sudden mood change. "whats so funny?"

"i must really be a bad actor cause i've been throwing hints at you for the longest time." you laughed again.

"hints?"

"austin, i've been in love with you for years. when you got a girlfriend, i was devastated. i didn't know what to do, i thought you were gonna leave me."

austin turned to you, bringing a leg up to the couch. "i would never leave you. are you kidding?" he took your hands in his and held them tightly. "after everything you and i have been through? hell, after everything i put you through? i mean c'mon, i could have asked anyone to sit through all of elvis's movies with me but i asked you instead."

"surprisingly not that bad."

"right?" austin chuckled then shook his head. "no but seriously, you mean everything to me. i can't lose you." he stood up and pulled you up. he hugged you tightly before placing a kiss on your forehead, smiling and leaving his arms wrapped around your waist.

you placed your hands softly on the sides of his face, locking your eyes with his. "let's go to bed, yeah? we can finish this in the morning."

"i'm all yours, baby."

#austin butler #austin x reader #sooo many mixed feelings abt this one u guys im so sorry #also send in austin requests !!!

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shadeswift99 · 3 years

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any of team zit for the headcanons thing!

- @mleemwyvern

I'm fairly certain that I've done this for each of the other two before, so I'll gladly pick Zedaph!

Realistic:

Zed prefers to live alone, but anyone wandering by his base probably wouldn't even realize that. Zed talks to absolutely everything: himself, contraptions that he's made, mobs that aren't behaving, random inanimate aspects of buildings, himself again... it's just a constant running commentary out loud. It isn't out of loneliness or anything like that. It's just his way of processing! It helps him think more clearly and remember things better.

Hilarious:

Zedaph has a lab coat this season because somewhere in the between-season transition, Cub set his down somewhere and Zed absentmindedly picked it up. He was too embarrassed to go return it and admit what had happened, so whenever anyone asked about it he'd just act clueless and say he's had it all along. Eventually he may or may not have convinced himself into forgetting that wasn't true, so Cub just gave up trying to argue with him and bought a new lab coat. That's why Cub's new skin didn't have a lab coat for a brief time. To this day, Zed will insist that Tango gave him the lab coat for his birthday while Tango insists it was Impulse and Impulse isn't even aware of this debate because he just wasn't paying attention.

Heart-crushing:

There's a reason why Zed doesn't participate in server wars, or the games around death and deception that his friends seem to favour. Zedaph has a very unique relationship to both time and death (which are, when you think about it, two sides of the same coin). He experiences time mostly in relation to his feelings. A lack of feeling or only mild feelings (either negative or positive) will make time go much faster for him, while intense feelings make time seem to slow to a crawl. Death is a powerful intersection point of all the time and feelings in a person's life come to a close, and that intensity makes Zedaph able to feel every death near him (especially those of his friends) on a soul-deep level that he could never hope to explain to anyone else.

Not to Tango and Impulse, who relish the opportunity to build death traps for each other and play out dramatic betrayals for entertainment. Not to Grian, who twice now has shown up on his doorstep with an invitation to a world that Zed knows would have left him bloody and raw in ways far beyond the physical. No, Zed hasn't told anyone so far the full extent of what he feels. Not how slowly the seconds tick by whenever conflict makes him worried or furious or frantic with panic, how long he has to sit in those feelings for. Not how cold a death feels, like icy nails on a chalkboard in the marrow of his bones, multiplied by the time stretched long by his empathy for the dying (and his horror at why his friends insist on killing each other so often).

He knows nobody will understand. He doesn't need them to understand. He doesn't want them to understand, doesn't want them to feel what he feels or feel bad about the things they can't change.

All they need to know is that conflict makes him uncomfortable. That he'd really rather they stop, or he'd rather be left out of it if they have to let things come to blows. That, they can understand. That, they can handle and accept.

A lot better than Zed would be able to accept another war, another decade (by his time) of sitting in a cave, sick with fear.

Unrealistic:

Zedaph is an alien disguised as a human who's doing a really bad job of it but all the other Hermits are just too polite to say anything about it. He hasn't really gotten the hang of "face" and "body" and "clothes," but he thinks he can do "words" pretty well by now! (And 80% of the time he's right!) Impulse and Tango are proud of him for trying, at least, even if he does forget to blink for minutes on end and frequently needs them to remind him of "how many joints you - us humans have again?"

#zedaphplays #shade rambles #it's 2am and i didn't edit this yeehaw #enjoy! i have no idea how understandable it is

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starring-movies · 3 years

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The Haunting of Bly Manor: Episode Analysis

Episode 8 - The Romance of Certain Old Clothes

Episode 8 is the penultimate episode of The Haunting of Bly Manor. This episode, as well as Episode 5, are some of the absolute standout episodes of the season and in this one we are given the origin story of who The Lady of the Lake was.

We find out that “towards the middle of the 17th century” the current owner of Bly Manor at that time had died, and he left his two daughters as his heirs to the estate. His daughters were Viola and Perdita, and Perdita was five years younger than her sister. It’s an interesting detail that in Latin, ‘perdita’ means ruined, wasted or lost. In accordance with the meaning of her name, Perdita’s life is completely wasted and lost to Viola.

In life - Perdita lost her husband to Viola (Arthur was first interested in her but Viola presented herself as the lady of the manor so that he would marry her instead), she lost most of her life to caring for Viola when she became sick with “the lung” and she literally lost her life to Viola when Viola strangled her.

In death - Perdita gets lost as a ghost when her face and memories all fade.

An amazing detail; is that when Viola and Perdita are mingling with the various suitors, no one in this scene actually opens their mouth when it looks like they’re speaking to another person. Everyone makes the physical gestures towards one another which you make when you speak to someone (like one person leaning in to be heard and the other leaning in to listen), but no one’s mouth actually opens in speech. This small detail, as well as the whole episode being in black and white, helps to immerse us into the fairytale or gothic romance-like tone of the episode.

After Viola marries Arthur, they have a child together. We discover that the origin of the phrase “it is you, it is me, it is us”, which is used to invite a ghost into a person, was first said by Viola to her baby daughter.

It’s not made completely clear, but it’s straight after Viola notices Perdita and Arthur looking at one another that “her suspicion began as small”, but also when “the tickle in her lungs” began. This may just be a coincidence, but if it’s not, then it’s strongly suggested to us that Viola’s illness stemmed from the jealousy and suspicion that planted itself within her - like an almost ‘Dorian Grey-style’ physical manifestation of the jealousy that infected her heart.

When the doctor’s treatments for Viola’s illness don’t work and her condition starts to look more terminal, Arthur calls the vicar to her bedside to preform an absolution rite. Out of sheer stubborn wilfulness Viola refuses to repeat the rites, saying to the vicar for him to “tell your god, that I do not go”. Arthur tries to covnince her to repeat the rites by telling her “it is not about your body any longer, my love. It is your soul we must treat. It is your soul I worry for”. Again it’s not made explicitly clear, but it’s strongly suggested that Viola doesn’t die peacefullly and her soul is imprisoned in the chest of clothes because she didn’t say the rites and so her soul was not properly treated before dying.

As Older Jamie is telling the story, she says that “then five times around the sun, and all is different”, as this was when Viola found Perdita dancing with Arthur and started to treat Perdita awfully. In Episode 9 Older Jamie also says that “five years would pass, and there was peace” for her and Dani, before Viola started to take over Dani’s body. It seems that Viola was given “five times around the sun” before she started to see the connection between Perdita and Arthur growing stronger and when all became different; and so Dani and Jamie were given “five years” of peace before Viola reared her head and made everything different for them.

We also see a similarity being drawn between Viola and Peter. Viola is still hanging onto her life and refusing to die and Perdita says to her that “you should think of her, Vi. Think of Isabel. What will she be left with, what memories of you will she carry? Will it be this? This version of you? Because Viola, with love, let it be anything else”. It’s clear that Viola obviously does love her daughter but at the same time, by refusing to let go, she’s acting somewhat selfishly. Perdita is right when she says that Isabel will not carry any fond memories of her mother, but only a vision of her slowly wasting away in a “living death”. In the same way, Peter does love Rebecca but his decision to drown her was a completely selfish one, only thinking about his own loneliness and what he wanted.

We then see that Viola’s soul has been trapped in the chest which she locked her clothes in. While trapped in the chest she repeats a constant cycle of “sleeping, waking, walking” as she waits to see her daughter who will open the chest when she is of age. However when Perdita is the one who opens Viola’s chest, Viola strangles her as revenge for being killed by her and for her opening the chest that was supposed to be guarded until Isabel could open it. When Viola sees Arthur’s reaction to finding Perdita’s dead body, she doesn’t see “the changes wrought of time” but she sees “only his sadness”. This is heartbreaking for Viola, to see the man who was once her husband lamenting the loss of her sister.

Thinking that Viola’s chest was cursed, Arthur throws it into the lake so that Isabel would not succumb to the same curse that killed Perdita. It is this “absolute abandonment”, this “final insult”, which breaks Viola’s heart completely, and it’s from the anguish she feels and “stubbornness alone” which stops her “being pulled towards some other place, some realm beyond”. This stubbornness that Viola had, and because she ignored the pull from the “realm beyond”, meant that “she instead made her own gravity, gravity of will”.

We find out that The Lady of the Lake’s journey through Bly Manor started when her chest was thrown into the lake. The trip that Viola makes is in the hope that she would one day find her daughter. She walks to her old bedroom in the hope that she will find her daughter but then when she doesn’t find her, she remembers that she died and that her daughter had left her. This remembering would break her heart after every single trip, and so she would sleep to forget what had happened and then would wake back up having forgotten. It is also revealed to us that most of the other ghosts which we see in the manor are people who got in the way of her path, the most tragic of whom was the Doll Face Ghost, who was a little boy that she mistook for her daughter and drowned.

Through this we are also presented the idea of the danger of becoming blindsided by anguish and stubbornness. Viola began her journey through the manor with the purpose of finding her daughter, but then as time went on and she forgot more and more, the journey just started to become a ritual, something repeatedly done mindlessly and with no purpose. Through this repeated ritual, she completely loses the purpose for which she once did this, and as a result takes the life of an innocent boy because she could only remember that she was searching for a child and so she thought that this must be the child whom she sought. Viola allows anger and grief from love to seethe inside her, and eventually it takes over her completely, leaving only that anger in control of the shell of her body.

As well as this, we find out that the reason that all the ghosts have lost their faces is due to a side effect of forgetting. As each of the ghosts gradually forget who they once were, this gets physically shown on their face. It is a visual representation of memories fading as the details slowly get lost and then they are eventually lost completely.

You can read my previous The Haunting of Bly Manor posts here:-

Episode 1 - The Great Good Place

Episode 2 - The Pupil

Episode 3 - The Two Faces, Part One

Episode 4 - The Way It Came

Episode 5 - The Altar of the Dead

Episode 6 - The Jolly Corner

Episode 7 - The Two Faces, Part Two

——————————————————————————

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teawaffles · 3 years

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Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 5 / End

Now, we return to the scene at the beginning of the story.

A little regretfully, Fred left for his work as the “Crime Consultant’s” point of contact, and Louis was alone in the hall once again.

However, the situation was completely different from before. He was no longer watching helplessly as the fish grew weaker — instead, he’d found a ray of hope for its recovery.

Standing before the aquarium, Louis was now gambling on both the medicine’s efficacy and the fish’s own willpower.

“Please, help him……”

Fervently, he prayed for the angelfish’s recovery.

And as the so-called king of the aquarium swam about its tank, the image of his brother surfaced in his mind.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Five days after that, the time had finally come for the tropical fish to be transported to Stapleton’s residence.

It was early in the morning, and the sky was perfectly clear. Several horse-drawn carts lay parked on the street outside their mansion. For ease of transport, the fish had been transferred to suitably-sized bottles; and as the members of the Moriarty household carried the bottles, tanks and other aquarium equipment onto the carts, Louis stood at the mansion entrance, quietly watching over the scene.

Although he’d nearly collapsed after those consecutive days of exertion, by the time the fish were set to be moved out, Louis had been able to recover his full strength. That haggard complexion of his was now restored to its healthy glow, and behind those spectacle lenses, his eyes shone with the sparkle of success.

At first, Louis had wanted to move the items onto the carts all by himself, saying that the entire enterprise down to the fishes’ transport was his responsibility. However, knowing he had contributed the most this time around, the rest of the Moriarty household insisted that he not work any longer. As a result, though dissatisfied, Louis had hence been relegated to a spectating role.

Occasionally, as they moved past him while carrying the fish in their bottles, the glint in Louis’s eyes would tremble ever so slightly. And when that happened, he would pretend to adjust his spectacles in order to hide the tremors in his heart.

“Feeling emotional, Louis?”

Seeing his younger brother readjust his perfectly-positioned spectacles for the fifth time, William walked up beside him.

Embarrassed, Louis gave a small cough, then straightened his back.

“I would never——”

He stopped. Then, looking at the carts, his voice grew soft.

“No, you’re right. I didn’t want to acknowledge it — but for once, I’m feeling rather sentimental.”

Hearing Louis reveal his true feelings, William gave him a fond look.

Before the two men, the bottles containing the pufferfish and guppies were being loaded onto the carts. Ever since the tiny fish had been given names, Louis’s tropical fish-keeping endeavour had taken a strange turn.

Recalling the reason that a spanner had been thrown in the works of this enterprise, Louis turned solemn, and dipped his head.

“Nii-san. I am truly sorry for what happened before. I went overboard, and ended up causing everyone unnecessary worry. I was immature, and I shall reflect gravely on that.”

Not only did he grow fanatical over the angelfish named after his brother, he even made the aquarium layout needlessly extravagant, and recreated a South American habitat through and through. To top it off, in caring for the sick fish, he had nearly destroyed his own health. Looking back on it all with a cool eye, he had really been quite reckless.

As Louis reflected on his actions in earnest, right then, Moran and Fred walked past bearing pots of tropical plants: the by-products of his over-enthusiasm. They would now become a surprise gift for Stapleton.

Without taking his gaze off the trees, Louis burned those symbols of his inadequacy firmly into his eyes.

Watching his brother ruminate on the subject so gravely, after a beat of silence, William spoke.

“You may be right. If the situation had persisted, and you’d collapsed, the care of the other fish may’ve been impacted. Although you took care not to let that happen, I do wish you had taken the worst-case scenario into account and talked with me more.”

“…………”

Louis knew that. But still, to have his faults pointed out by someone he respected — those words had pierced through his chest.

Naturally, the sense of achievement that’d grown within Louis now began to wilt; though his face once bore a proud expression, he now favoured looking down instead.

“But you know, that’s just one part of the story.”

“Eh?”

Out of the blue, William had added that in a gentle voice, and Louis was startled.

He couldn’t decipher the meaning behind that remark. Then, William narrated his own thoughts.

“Louis, you went overboard for a single fish, so much so you neglected your own body — I don’t think you should’ve done that, since there were in fact two other angelfish which could act as substitutes. But in a way, to go so far in order to ensure that not even a single life is wasted: that could be seen as an expression of your sincerity.”

Sincerity.

Louis knew he’d been driven by an impulse akin to selfishness. But strangely, he did not resist as that word seeped into his heart.

“Certainly, I had said that it’s possible to replace the fish if they die. But I think it’s wrong to take that at face value, and put one’s faith in how there’ll be replacements, or second chances.”

William moved on to talk about the attitude Louis had taken towards his work.

“Such naive thinking can undermine one’s focus on the task at hand. For example, if you were to think ‘There’s two more of them, anyway’, and approach the enterprise with that optimistic mindset, it wouldn’t be a surprise if all the fish ended up dying right away. In other words, Louis: from that point of view, I would say your earnestness towards that one fish was exceptionally appropriate.”

“……Nii-san.”

William’s tone had contained no more emotion than what his words conveyed, and in no way had he defended Louis’s actions. He was simply assessing them from an objective standpoint.

And that, was precisely why Louis was glad.

He’d thought his actions were nothing more than a mistake born from his own foolishness. But William had shown him that they could in fact be seen as the complete opposite. Taken another way, his persistence towards that one fish was proof of his ardour for his work — that, was what his older brother was telling him.

For now, William fell silent. And right then, the two brothers caught sight of Moran carrying an aquarium tank toward the carts. He hadn’t faltered at all since the start: with his physical strength, it seemed no load was too heavy for him to bear.

It looked like there were only a few things left to move; Fred, who’d also been hard at work loading the items, now put in a last burst of energy. Incidentally, Albert had already moved his share of the items onto the carts earlier, and left for his work at the universal trading company.

Taking his gaze off Moran, Louis now stared at the empty tanks lined up on the carts.

Then, the sight of the three angelfish swimming in close formation sprang to mind.

“…………”

In truth, before their departure from the mansion, he had wanted to return ‘William’ to the tank with the other two angelfish. He’d thought it would be nice to see them swimming harmoniously together once more.

But that wish had not been fulfilled. For Louis, who was in charge of this endeavour, it was truly a pity.

Then, following behind Moran, Fred stepped out the doorway of the mansion. In his arms was a bottle that held a certain fish.

Louis stood before the entrance. Fred studied his expression, and asked him a question.

“This’s the last one…… Is it really alright to load it up?”

“……Yes, please do.”

His reply bore a faint sense of loneliness. Hearing that, Fred nodded solemnly, and proceeded towards the carts.

For one last time, Louis looked at the bottle Fred was holding.

Swimming within it, was the angelfish that’d been ill up to a few days ago.

Earlier, as Fred spoke to him, Louis had noticed it swimming languidly yet powerfully through the water. The rays of the morning sun, just risen, gleamed off its silver scales — their lustre was simply beautiful.

In other words—— the angelfish had thoroughly regained its former elegance.

The day after he used the treatment William provided, the fish had gradually recovered, and fully regained its strength just the day before. However, as Louis was hesitant to stop the treatment immediately after it had recuperated, he had no choice but to abandon the thought of letting it rejoin its former tank mates. Instead, it spent its remaining days in the mansion confined to the small aquarium.

At the very least, he’d wanted to see the “three brothers” together once more.

However, as Fred loaded the bottle onto the cart, Louis quietly closed his eyes, and put that thought away.

——They are but three fish; they’re not the same as us, by any means.

That cold line was directed at himself.

After caring for them so wholeheartedly, he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t grown fond of them in the slightest.

Moreover, if he had asked his brother seriously, it might have been possible to leave just the three angelfish behind in the mansion. In any case, there were many other varieties of tropical fish: they didn’t necessarily have to part with those three.

However, Louis did not do that.

As Fred had brought up, the one who’d asserted that the fish were nothing more than tools — was none other than himself.

He had no intention of retracting his words now. Furthermore, he was afraid that when the next mission came around, he might just let his emotions get the better of him, and end up causing irreversible damage.

When all was said and done, those stunning tropical fish were simply tools — a means to an end.

There were some things that could only be obtained by pushing aside sentimentality, disciplining oneself, and devoting one’s heart to their work, just as he had done.

And he was sure that his brother understood those feelings of his.

Even as he felt a pang of regret, Louis banished those thoughts, and met his brother’s gaze beside him.

William smiled back. “Well then, we’ve had a rather long chat, if I do say so myself,” he said. “But all that was just waffle. There’s only one thing I want to tell you, Louis.”

He knew what Louis truly wanted to hear right now. Then, he spoke in a warm and gentle voice — not as the leader of a criminal organisation that lurked in the darkness, but as an older brother.

“You didn’t let a single life go to waste: you did a great job, Louis.”

“……Yes!”

Louis replied with vigour. Then, dropping his guard, he nearly broke into a grin — and tried to suppress it in a panic. But he barely managed to stop himself from cracking a smile; emotion welled up from the depths of his heart, and his eyes misted over: it seemed that such sentiment could not be suppressed, even by a cool-headed man like himself. Through a mist of tears, he could vaguely make out the figure of his brother standing before him.

To become his brother’s strength. To fulfil his brother’s wishes. And, if possible, even if it was only for a little bit: to receive his brother’s praise.

Right after receiving that task from William, he had inadvertently obtained what he’d desired — and Louis was trembling with emotion.

William adjusted his tie. “Well then, it seems everything has been loaded up,” he murmured. “I think it’s time for me to get ready to leave as well.”

Then, he softly placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

“Leave the rest to me, Louis. I’ll make sure your work wasn’t in vain.”

“I know, nii-san.”

Without a shadow of a doubt, Louis was certain of it. ——That his brother, would never let his own efforts go to waste.

Hearing that, William smiled; then, his expression immediately reverted to that of the “Crime Consultant”, and he went back into the mansion.

After seeing his brother off, Louis glanced at the carts full of glass tanks, and murmured to himself.

“……It’ll be time to make breakfast soon.”

Once he’d ascertained that the transport preparations were complete, the memories of his arduous days spent with the fish then morphed into a record of observations. In his mind, his thoughts switched back to their usual subjects: those of managing the mansion and their estate.

However, deep in his heart, that gorgeous silver light remained as an unfading memory.

Louis had taken on the challenge of maintaining aquaria, and completed his mission since. Surrounding him was a refined atmosphere, and the air of a man who’d finally brought an enterprise to fruition.

T/N: omg I have so many thoughts about this one — much longer than the usual one-liner at the end of each story — so they’re in a separate section below if you’re interested :3

Translator’s thoughts (haha)

Louis’s growth

I think this story in particular is the previously-untold link in Louis’s character development! As seen in the Baskervilles arc and the start of this story, Louis initially had this worldview that he needed to be a cold-blooded machine to fulfil William’s wishes. To him, everything else was unnecessary if they did not serve his brother’s goals.

But in the course of caring for the angelfish, Louis was forced to confront the fact that he was actually fond of the angelfish — even though this contradicted his existing worldview, since emotion is unnecessary in rearing mere tools. And upon reflecting on how he handled the whole debacle, he finally realised that although the way in which he acted on that affection was not entirely right — showering the fish with too much love, which might’ve led to its falling ill, and sacrificing his own health and potentially the entire endeavour to save just one fish — the very presence of that affection was not a bad thing; and as William affirmed, he should continue to value every single life.

So I think this was the turning point from which Louis started to let go of that obsession toward his brother, and act on his own emotions and wishes: what he thinks is right, as opposed to merely what William wants. And this culminated in him seeking Sherlock’s help to save his brother, even as William himself did not want to be saved.

So in short, I really think this story is a key point in Louis’s character development, connecting the Louis of the Baskervilles arc with the Louis we see in the Final Problem arc — a missing link in the narrative, if you will!

Some random thoughts:

I’d think that sometime after the events of this story, Louis would properly apologise to Fred over what happened in the Baskerville mission

William told Louis he was right to not let even a single life go to waste — I think those words would’ve echoed in Louis’s mind when he sought Sherlock’s help together with Fred

Parallels to the Final Problem arc

Furthermore, some aspects of this story do parallel what happened in the Final Problem arc:

‘William’ being the one to fall ill

Louis trying very hard to save him

Louis praying for someone to help his brother

Help coming from a friend, rather than Louis himself

‘William’ remaining separate from the other two angelfish for a time

I wonder if it’s intentional, in the same vein as that past illustration by Hikaru-sensei where William covered his left eye with a rose… It could be possible: this book was published alongside the Phantom arc (Volume 7), so it’s conceivable that the Final Problem arc had already been planned out by that point.

Wow this has been a long one — thank you for reading this far! And onward to the next story ヽ(*・ω・)ﾉ

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #a study in scarlet

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cuuno-moved · 3 years

Text

And He was Nothing (A Jack Manifold Story)

tw for blood, death, self-deprication

Jack was nothing.

He’d never been anything. He was the kind of guy you met once, then forgot, a friend of a friend.

“Oh, you know Jack Manifold?”

“Yeah, the skinny kid with the broken glasses and the bald head?”

“That’s the one!”

He was nothing, and no one, and because of that, he’d always expected to die, in the way that background characters always die. It wasn’t going to be a martyr’s death, but maybe he’d even get a line in first.

He never expected it to hurt.

Of course it hurt. He’d heard the stories before, he thought he knew what to expect.

He’d heard from Tommy, back before he was exiled, the boy squirming at the memory as he talked about the pain, the cold, the fear.

He’d heard from Punz, the man laying on his back, staring at the sky in a strange, melancholy sorrow as he described the feeling of his body turning into nothing.

He’d heard from Skeppy, the trickster’s voice trembling as they sat together and watched the waves crash on the waves as he talked about sacrificing himself for someone he loved more than life itself.

He’d known it would hurt.

He hadn’t expected it to hurt this bad. The firework stuck in his stomach didn’t kill him instantly, burning, popping, destroying his guts bit by bit as he collapsed. He heard others cry out, but he was in too much pain to do anything.

It took nearly five minutes for his mind to give up, for his body to go limp for the last time.

The void was probably scarier than the dying by a million times. He just floated there, in the dark, in the cold, in the nothing, his eyes straining in the pitch black, his hands reaching for something. Anything.

He respawned among a dozen others, all of them sobbing and clutching their guts. He was in pain. He was in so much pain, but he didn’t say anything to Niki when she handed him a bottle of regen and told him to help out one of the others.

He did, helping around Pogtopia, cracking jokes, trying to raise people spirits, but after a while, he went back to Manburg, went home, and cried himself to sleep, trying not to remember the feeling of his body being torn apart.

He never went back to Pogtopia after that, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand listening to people speak of their own deaths as if it made them special, wouldn’t be able to hear Tubbo talk about his execution as if it made him a hero, when dozens others went out the same way.

Pogtopia was full of heroes, and he was just a guy.

Tubbo and Tommy were both just as dead as he was, both just as fucked as he was, so they were in the same boat, and it was sinking fast. The two of them just had life jackets.

The battle of Manburg happened, not that he cared. He’d built a house on the outskirts of Manburg as he watched the world crumble.

Not a lot of other people stayed neutral, he noticed. George was oblivious to the destruction, the Badlands seemed to switch sides as they saw fit, and Karl had his own plans in mind, but Jack just shook his head and went back to setting up his new home.

He declared himself separate from L’Manburg, and Tubbo had agreed, telling him he was officially his own state, Manifoldland, and had nothing to fear from L’Manburg. He’d believed him.

He should not have believed him, especially when Fundy and Quackity showed up at his door with sadistic grins spreading over their faces.

They offered him a deal, in the end. Rejoin L’Manburg, or lose another life.

It wasn’t much of a choice.

Things were a sickening blur after that. Dream threatened L’Manburg (again), Tommy got exiled (again), and Tubbo caved to the slightest bit of peer pressure (again and again and again.)

Finally, Jack grew tired of being ignored, being treated like he hadn’t been there in the first war, fighting alongside the others, he needed someone who would treat him like a human being, not just a joke. Fundy was a dick, Eret was a traitor, Wilbur was dead, Niki was busy and Tubbo had bigger things to worry about.

Which left one person to talk to.

“Tommy! Hey, how’re y-”

He was cut off by a fist in his gut. The next thing he knew, he was dangling from the narrow walkway by his arms, legs kicking the air violently as he tried to get back up. Tommy did nothing to help, just staring at him as he did everything he could to just stay alive .

Then the boy was screaming at him about loneliness and friendship, and he didn’t know what was going on. If course Tommy was his friend, it wasn’t that he didn't care, he just didn’t realize the younger boy even remembered him anymore.

It wasn’t like Tommy’d ever made much attempt to act like a decent fucking human to Jack.

Jack begged, pleaded, sobbed, but Tommy had just shaken his head, and kicked his old friend into the lava with a fake salute.

That death hurt the worst.

It was also the coldest.

And the loneliest.

Jack had tried to lighten the mood. He stole Tommy’s prized possession then, a scarecrow he called his girlfriend. He thought things would get better, Tommy trying to get back at him, and him getting back at Tommy. A prank war, like back in the good old days.

But Tommy had just shrugged, and turned away to go back to Dream, and Jack felt something in his heart crack.

Tommy committed suicide a few weeks later, according to Tubbo, using up his last life, and Jack felt so goddamn guilty, so goddamn stupid.

And then Tommy was back, with Technoblade, the bastard who’d killed Jack the first time and he had no idea what to think.

Tommy had betrayed Techno, turning from his eldest brother to face Tubbo, and faintly, Jack wondered if the warrior was feeling the same dread, the same heartache he’d felt when Tommy had pushed him that last time.

The next day, Techno and Phil and Dream were back, and Jack was so so tired.

He stood his ground, with everyone else, charging the withers, fighting the best he could, watching as Techno spawned more, and more, and more, nine withers swooping through the air, sending people sprinting. He watched them close in on his house, and he felt a strange urgency well up inside him.

He had nothing. He had nothing but that house. That house was his only escape, the only thing on this server that truly belonged to him. So he ran, and he killed three withers, all on his own, and he looked around, hoping someone, anyone would notice and smile at him, a simple, ‘Good job, Jack, that was good’, or a nod, or any form of acknowledgement.

But he was Jack Manifold, and so he was left with nothing.

No one had even noticed, he realized. He did everything he could to help them, and when he needed it most…

He was alone.

When it was said and done, L’Manburg a smoking crater in the ground, the L’Mantree burnt down, and his home singed and damaged, he just laid down in the grass, and stared at the sky.

Suddenly, laughter echoed through the crater, and he crept to the edge. Those three bastards stood at the bottom, revelling in the destruction.

Dream, the man he and his friends had fought against for so long, who had destroyed this nation, this land, while barely raising a finger, stood with his back to Jack, long dirty blond hair in a high ponytail, casually leaning against a chunk of concrete.

Phil stood beside him, smiling lightly, face streaked with soot and blood. The little gems that hung from his hat and robes cast sparkles around the ruins, and Jack almost felt something like wonder, or admiration, or… regret? He looked like an angel, with his wings folded behind him, his eyes bright and fiery.

Technoblade was the one laughing, his curly hair spilling off his shoulders, the white-blond color it once was, now stained a dark pink with blood and clay. His single good eye glittered maniacally under his pig skull mask, and his arms swept in a wide arc as he twirled slowly, deep red velvet gown floating over the ground and causing pebbles to go skittering.

Jack remembered that laugh. The laugh of a man who pointed a firework down at him and smiled. The man who destroyed him, destroyed his home, destroyed his friends.

He stood up, almost expecting someone to step in, stop him, but no one noticed as he marched into the pit, to the three gods gathered in the center.

No one ever noticed.

Techno noticed, of course, stopping his revelry to gaze at the young man walking up to him, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Jack really really didn’t want to hear it.

He wound back his arm, and slammed his fist into Technoblade’s mask, as hard as he could.

Something in his fist cracked, but he pulled back, and punched again, and again, and again, aiming for the head, the chest, the neck. Finally, a voice that sounded so similar to Tubbo’s yelled his name, yelled at him to stop, but he didn’t care.

He was shouting something too, something wild, and garbled and furious. People were turning to stare, gazing into the crater at the mere soldier slamming his clearly broken hands into the Blood God’s chestplate, tears pouring down his face. Good. Let them stare. They weren’t going to remember him anyway.

Suddenly, two huge hands caught his wrists, forcing him to stop- almost a pitying gesture- and he stared up at the amber eyes of the most infamous killer in the dimension, and he felt nothing but rage. He slammed his head forward, into Techno’s mouth.

It didn’t do much, apparently, other than amuse the warrior, and he gave the boy a half-pitying smile before turning to glance at Phil.

“Mmmm… Thank the gods that L’Manburg has the great Jack Thunder Manifold here to keep them safe.”

Jack felt his heart plug as soon as his name left the lip of the other man, and he gulped. How did he know his name? He was nothing, a speck of dust in a ruined city. Finally, Techno turned his gaze back to him, and released him. Jack stumbled back a couple steps, before watching the other man pull out his sword.

He was going to die. He was going to loose his last life right here, right now, and he smiled.

“Do it.” His voice shook, but his heart burned with an intensity he was almost scared to acknowledge. “Kill me. I’m done. You win.”

Technoblade frowned at him, levelling the sword at his neck, but he paused. “...Do you have any last words, Jack Manifold?”

Jack hesitated. Did he? He’d never really thought it through, last words were something for heroes, for people who appeared on the book cover, for people who were worth remembering. He couldn’t think of anything, other than… “Just get it over with, bitch.”

And then Techno pulled back the sword and swung.

That death was the least painful. There was a moment of agony, as there always was, but it bled out quickly, along with the boy.

So he was in the void. Forever alone. Cold, tired, and alone.

Jack cried then. He hadn’t really cried in a long time, he realised, but sitting alone in the void seemed like the best time to do it.

“Hello.”

“...Wilbur?”

“Jack.”

“You look... nice.”

“Thank you. Pros of being dead, I suppose. I can make myself look good, and I don’t even have to shower.”

“Oh. Makes sense. Am I…am I here for good? Like, I can’t leave?”

“I’m… not sure? Everyone’s souls split in two when they die, the ghost bit and the soul bit. Your ghost is probably down there, somewhere, but hypothetically, you can switch with it-”

“No, I don’t want to be a ghost. I’ve met yours, he’s a bore.”

“...Ouch?”

“No offense. I don’t want to be a ghost, I just want to be me.”

“... Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“You weren’t much to begin with. Why go back?”

“What?”

“You… you were kinda the least… well, the least person I knew. You really want to try so hard to get back, when no one would even notice?”

Jack didn’t respond to that.

He just started walking.

For a while, Wilbur walked with him, trying to get him to stop, but, eventually, he gave up, letting him go.

He walked for hours, until the nothing turned into something.

The Prime Path.

He went home, and got a bowl of soup, and went to bed.

Everyone noticed he’d died.

No one noticed he shouldn’t have respawned.

He didn’t care.

He marched to Niki’s house, first thing in the morning, with his proposition.

Tommy was the main character, and Jack was nothing, but he’d be damned before he let himself get ignored.

He was everything, and he was nothing, and he knew the secrets of the universe, and he’d stared God in the eye and called him a bitch.

And Jack Manifold became a villain.

#toby writes shit #toby's banger posts #jack manifold #dream smp #mcyt #blood tw #gore tw #technoblade #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #death tw

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dydra · 4 years

Text

Thanks for the 100 followers, guys!! Enjoy!

Memories (Chat blanc)

Marinette was acting strange the last week, everyone noticed.

She wasn't as cheerful as always, but the smile she gave them when they asked make them believe that they were just overthinking, that she was okay and she just went to bed late dissing, as always. But Adrien knew that smile really well, he used it every interview and photoshoot he'd had.

That smile was completely empty, it only hide pain, and loneliness. And the fact that Marinette was using it, terrified him.

What could have happened to make her feel that way? Whatever it was, he wanted to let her know that he was there for her, that she wasn't alone. He wanted to hug her and erase the pain and the tiredness from her eyes. He wanted to be a good friend.

He shook his head trying to concentrate in his biology class, but he couldn't.

She didn't talk to Adrien much, they weren't close friends. And with Chat... were they close enough for him to ask her about her personal problems? He dropped by sometimes when he does alone patrol nights to buy some pastries and they usually talked on her balcony about akumas, hockmoth or food, nothing too personal for neither of them.

He wasn't sure if she would answer, but at least she would know he's worried about his friend.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>

It all started that night.

A week after... that day, Chat visited her, like he normally did, for pastries. But as soon as she saw his face, she remembered.

"Everything went purr-fect until hockmoth found out"

"It was our love that did this to the world, m'lady "

Blue cat eyes was the only thing she could see at that moment.

She prohibited him to visit her.

Maybe that's what hockmoth found out? His visits. She knew she would fall for him if he kept visiting.

Would Hockmoth had used her to threaten Chat? No. She couldn't let that happen.

After he left her balcony confused and hurt, she did what she hadn't stopped doing all week: cry in her bed until she fell asleep with Tikki by her side tryingto comfort her.

It all started that night.

Chat noir didn't understand anything. He didn't expect her to kick him out and order him to never come back.

Did he do something wrong? He just wanted to help. How could he help if she didn't want It?

He knew he should have listened to her. She didn't want him near, then hen why was the point to stay? He didn't know, but when he heard her crying and sniffling, he was sure he couldn't leave.

He would be there for her... even if she wasn't aware of it

It all started that night.

She'd had nightmares about her partner before. They were usually about their fight, and their conversation. Sometimes he said more hurtful things to her, others he just stood there and watched her with no emotion in his eyes and then proceed to try to try to kill her(In a strange and creepy way, she liked them. They were like some kind of justice, it remained her that what happened was her fault and that she would never make the same mistake)

But this time... this time it felt different.

She wasn't ladybug as normal, she was still with her pijamas.

Why was she at the Eiffel Tower?

Paris was still destroyed, but not flooded by the ocean like she expected.

The she felt it: Desperation. Sadness. Impotence. Fear. Guilt.

"No... No, no, no, no!" She heard "My lady... no..." the masculine voice broke. She recognized it as soon as the nickname came out of his mouth.

In front of her, were the blue eyes that hadn't left her head all week.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" He said to the ladybug dust statue with tears falling from his eyes. " I didn't mean to– I didn't wanted to–" his voice broke once again. He extended his globed hand with the intention of cuddle her cheek, "Please don't leave me, please. I love you..." as if his legs could no longer support his weight, he fell to his knees.

She felt her heart broke, then ran towards him with the intention to hug him. But as soon as she touched his shoulder, she tripped and then felt how her body passed through his. As if she was some kind of ghost.

"Wha–" she watched him perplexed from the floor

What was going?

Meanwhile, in the other side of the city, Lila was frustrated. She had spend all week trying to get everyone's attention. She faked being hurt, she lied about a some celebrity contacting her, she even lied about someone in her family dying! But nothing happened. All of the class was more interested in the sudden change on the litte rat's mood. (Something that Lila would be enjoying if it wasn't because she got all the worry and attention)

Her phone buzzed again. She had more messages from the group chat (one that she made made without Marinette in it with the excuse of her disliking Lila)

'Even Adrien asked me about it! He was really concerned about her' Lila read a message from Alya

'Really? Do you think he likes her?' Myleene asked

'I hopes so! Marinette still has a crush on him. They would make a cute couple!' Lila's blood boiled when she read what Rose texted

She gave an exasperated cry and threw her phone across her room. He should be concerned about her suffering for the death of her family member, not for the stupid feelings of a nobody!

Then, her anger and frustration increased at the same moment she heard a familiar voice in her head.

"Oh poor girl, of course your friends should have been more interested in you than in that boring girl "

Lila smirked

"Hockmoth..."

What was he doing? He had no idea.

He was sitting on her balcony hearing Marinette crying while still asleep. Should he wake her up? Should he leave? Should he hug her?

No, she prohibited you come back. He repeated himself with sadness.

He heard a crash

"Marinette Dupond-Chain!" A voice yelled.

An akuma...

Why would someone be upset with Marinette? She hadn't do something wrong to anyone!

He needed to take Marinette somewhere safe. Without hesitation he entered her room, took her in his arms and jumped across rooftops away from the new villain. Within a couple of minutes, Marinette was fully awake.

"Ch-chat bl– noir?" She asked unsure and containing the argue to cry and hug him tightly.

"An akuma is after you" he explained quickly without looking at her. He didn't wanted to see her anger and disappointed.

They landed on an alley

"Stay here, ladybug and I will handle this." He said still with his eyes away from her "I'll tell my lady to take you home when all of this is over"

He extended his baton ready to leave when her voice stopped him.

"Chat!" She called him "I didn't meant to–" he finally looked at her, but she didn't. Playing with her fingers seemed more interesting "I didn't meant to sound so rude earlier. I just think that you shouldn't have any contact with a civilian while you are in your suit. It's dangerous. For both of us"

He trusted her, he really did. But he knew that wasn't the only reason, there was more. Still, he wouldn't ask about it, not yet.

"I know " chat noir gave her a small smile when she lifted her head, and then left ready to fight the akuma.

Marinette sighted. And looked at her red kwami (she was lucky the tiny goddess woke up and followed the cat superhero when she heard the crash)

"Come on, Tikki. That cat needs our help"

At least now a have a good excuse of why I couldn't sleep. Marinette thought. She knew that after that dream, she would have be awake all night with or without akuma

I don't want to get emotional, but I really never thought I would get this far, I was super nervous when I posted my idea for the gods au. I hadn't expected so many people to like it!

Thanks to everyone for every like, reblog and comment, it really warms my heart when I see a notification from tumblr. I really appreciate it😁💕

I know there's nothing special about this fanfic, but I'm a sucker for marichat, and chat blanc is f*cking perfect. So I thought it would be a good idea to mix two of my favorite things and write this in celebration of the 100 followers 😋

P.S. If you have any questions about any au, fanfic or whatever, feel free to ask😌

P.S.2. Let me know if you think I should write more about it. For now it's just a one shoot, but I could try to write more if it's good enough

I figured you would like to be tagged when I posted this @squirrellygirlart

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml ladybug #ladynoir #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous marinette #marinette x chat noir #mariblanc #chat blanc #ml chat noir #mlb fanfic #mlb #marichat fanfic #ml chat blanc #adrien agreste

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crystalirises · 3 years

Text

A Liar and A Son

Note: This was a prompt given to me on ao3 by Project and I have their permission to post it on Tumblr :)

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Fundy curled closer into himself, pulling his knees closer to his chest as a bout of nausea tore through his senses. His throat ached with each small sound he made in an effort to alert anyone of his debilitated state. The air felt hot around him, nearly suffocating as he clawed at his shirt collar, begging for fresh air to fill his lungs. The window had been closed for the night, trapping him in his own bedroom to choke and die. Well, he wasn't really dying, but it sure felt like he was. His vision was blurry, spots of black weaving in and out of existence as he tried to focus on the lamp desk in front of him. He was in his room, but he couldn't say for sure. Fundy let out a whimper, shivering despite the heat that ravaged his body. He must've caught something yesterday, or maybe a while ago when he had so carelessly jumped into the river after a long hot day of training. Fundy buried his head into the rough pillow, begging the abyss of sleep to take him into its kind embrace. He wasn't sure how long he could keep his eyes open, if he'd even wake once he does fall into slumber.

The day had started quite terribly, with his father practically yanking him out of bed in the godforsaken hours of dawn where even the sun still refused to rise in the east. There had been a chill and harsh wind outside, one that left Fundy shivering in his poorly-made crayon suit as they all began their daily training. Fundy could barely breathe by the time they finished, the sun high in the sky that it's warmth was more a curse than a blessing.

With their training done, Fundy got the "bright" idea to sneak out and jump into the river nearby. The water was cold against his skin, dripping down his hair as he made his way home, hoping that he wouldn't run into Wilbur.

Jumping into the river was a mistake… gods…

He heard the faint creak of wood stuttering open, a muted gasp as hurried footsteps echoed throughout the small room. Fundy groaned, closing his eyes as the sudden loud noise began to make his head ache anew. A warm hand was rubbing gentle circles on his back, another petting his hair before lowering to rest at his forehead. He heard a small tsk from above, hushed whispers asking indecipherable words into his ear as a face came into view. Fundy blinked, his vision a mess of color. He didn't know who was in the room with him, couldn't possibly distinguish the face that peered down at him. He edged a bit closer to the stranger, wishing to feel some semblance of comfort in the haze that enveloped his mind. The stranger moved closer, the mattress dipping as they sat a bit closer to him. Fundy reached out a hand, clutching at what felt like the end of a coat. A blue coat as far as he could tell. That meant one thing… "D-dad?"

"Y-yeah, kiddo… Are you alright, Fundy?"

He felt arms wrap around his form, pulling him closer until his head was resting on his dad's lap. He felt his dad fuss over him, poking his cheek every now and then as if to see if he was still conscious.

"Jumped into the river… sorry…" Fundy sniffed, eyes nearly fluttering shut as he hugged his knees closer to his chest. He expected a lecture, a tangent of words he'd probably wouldn't be able to understand as his dad went on a tirade of how foolish he had been and how dangerous it would've been if anyone had caught him outside L'Manburg. Wilbur had built the walls for him, so Fundy would never have to leave. Fundy hated them.

"It's alright, buddy. I know training was brutal today. It's not your fault." Fingers grazed his cheek. Fundy leaned into the touch, his tail wagging weakly against the bed. "You poor thing… you'll be alright, Fundy. I promise."

The arms around him slowly disentangled.

"You have a fever… Hold on a second, Fundy. I'll be right back, alright?" Fundy whined as his dad moved away, feeling the loneliness of his situation even as he heard the scuff of boots against the wooden floor of his bedroom. A cool breeze fluttered into the room, as pale moonlight graced the room with its ethereal glow. Fundy blinked, turning on his side to avoid the light. "I'll be right back, Fundy. Just try and close your eyes for now."

"B-but…" His dad's footsteps turned muffled, his door creaking as his dad disappeared into the hall. Fundy whimpered, shutting his eyes tight as he could, worried that his dad wouldn't come back. "Dad…"

Silence greeted him. He wanted to cry.

It wouldn't be the first time Wilbur had promised him something and didn't truly mean it. Fundy missed when Wilbur acted like his dad instead of his general. L'Manburg had been nothing but a cabin, the home of a hermit and his small fox hybrid son. There was no war, no drugs, no Tommy nor Tubbo, but them. Perhaps it was selfish to long for the past, but Fundy would have given everything to have his dad back. He hated the general, but missed the musician.

General Wilbur Soot was a cold man, a soldier who loved his country more than he could ever love his own family. Wilbur Soot the Travelling Musician was a loving and doting father, a man who simply wanted to give his son the world.

He's still so young… yet he's lost himself and his father to war. War has no mercy to spare, not to a father and certainly not to a child.

"Dad… please don't leave me here… Dad..."

He felt hot tears sting the corner of his eyes, wet trails slowly cascading down his cheeks as he let out a mournful sob. His dad had left him again. His hands reached out towards his hair, pulling at the tips as he tried to console himself to sleep. He was alone. His dad didn't care. His head began to pound, an ache settling over his entire body as sorrow wracked through his form. The house was eerily silent, as if his dad had truly left him alone to fend for himself against a fever. Still, Fundy held on to the small hope that his dad would come back, that he couldn't hear movement due to the ringing in his ears. He wished his dad wasn't so busy… too busy to even stay— His ears twitched, the slight groan of wood breaking through the silence as someone rushed back into the room. He let out a small noise of joy, sounding more like he was choking as a hand tried to soothe him into comfort. He felt something cold and wet pressed against his forehead.

"We need to go on a supply run soon." Fundy heard his dad mutter under his breath, the drenched piece of cloth left against his forehead as a pair of arms moved him to the center of the bed. Fundy let out a pained gasp, his vision blurring as he was slightly jostled. "Sorry, Fundy. I know it hurts, buddy."

Fundy heard the rustle of bedsheets, the sudden shift on the mattress as his dad turned to leave again. With his remaining strength, Fundy reached out, grasping his dad's wrist though knowing his dad could easily break out of his weak hold. He felt his dad's pulse quicken, the figure shifting until he was gazing into his dad's blurry face. Fundy couldn't really see his eyes, a dark shadow covering the top of his dad's face.

"Stay." His voice was hoarse, a low whisper that Fundy feared wouldn't reach his dad's ears. His dad moved closer, lying down beside him as he placed a hand on the back of Fundy's head. Fundy pressed closer, nuzzling his head against his dad's neck as a small tune tried to pull him to sleep. He'd never heard his dad sing this particular song, it reminded Fundy of the time he and Eret had started to sing while they placed down the foundations of what was to be L'Manburg. Fundy sniffled, remembering the days where his dad trusted him enough to be in charge of the houses… yet that responsibility fell upon Tubbo as his dad was too worried about Fundy leaving the walls to gather the materials they needed for construction. Eret had casted him a look, a worried glance before humming underneath his breath. It had devolved into a round of singing which lasted the entire night. He felt a chin press against the top of his head, and for a moment, Fundy remembered how good of a dad Wilbur was when he wasn't riddled with paranoia and stress. "Mmm… love you…"

His dad froze up and Fundy worried that he had said the wrong thing. He couldn't exactly remember the last time he'd told his dad that… couldn't remember the last time his dad said those words to him either. Fundy tried to pull away but an arm wrapped around his shoulder, shushing him as his dad held him closer. Fundy let out a small yip, too delirious to even be embarrassed about how childish it sounded. "I-I love you too, bud. I love you too."

His eyes fluttered close, exhaustion seeping into his veins as the fever began to pull him into sleep. Fundy clung to his dad's soft singing, wondering why his dad sounded a bit different than he usually did. Wilbur didn't sing as much, preferring to hum a low whisper that Fundy could barely hear at times. He couldn't remember the last time his father had sung him to sleep. The last his dad had been there for him when sickness placed a mist over his mind that Fundy could barely distinguish friend from foe. Still… he knew he was safe in his dad's arms right then and there. No one else in L'Manburg cared for him, it couldn't be anyone else. A smile found its way to his lips. He wished his dad hugged him more often. "Will… you be here in the morning…?"

"I will, Fundy. I'll stay with you for the night if you want me too. You don't have to worry about early morning training, at this rate you might have to stay in bed for a week… god…" A loud hiss followed soon after, his dad's hand trembling against the back of his head as a drop of water landed on his cheek. He heard a sniffle, the hand disappearing for a moment before settling on his cheek. A thumb wiped away the bead of water, "I'm sorry, Fundy. Don't worry about your old man, alright?"

"... Goodnight, Dad… promise you'll be here tomorrow? Please..."

"... Sleep well, Fundy, and yes I'll be here. I promise. I promise."

"...love you…"

"Hm… I know, son. I know."

~~~

Eret waited until Fundy's breath slowly stuttered to a peaceful lull, his forehead still creased as though even sleep there was no reprieve from the stress the poor fox hybrid suffered in his waking life. Eret rubbed soothing circles on his back, guilt gnawing and clawing at their chest as their tongue tasted the sickly sweet lie that they had told the poor child. They knew they should have corrected Fundy, should've told him that they weren't Wilbur.

But how could they tell the truth? Fundy looked utterly miserable and Eret's heart couldn't bear the devastated disappointment that would cross Fundy's face, quickly disappearing into indifference as if to show he didn't really care.

Fundy wasn't that good at hiding his emotions.

They pressed a soft pat against the fox hybrid's head before slowly moving away. Fundy stirred in his sleep but didn't try to reach out for them. Eret made their way towards the hall, leaving the door open for when Wilbur came into the house. They paused, leaning against the wall as a sharp pain of despair gripped their chest.

Dream's proposal hung over their head.

L'Manburg's army consisted of children, Eret didn't know what to do. It was a good offer, one not many could refuse… but to take a child's life much less three for the sake of a crown is nothing short but evil. Eret placed ran a hand through their face, the choice weighing heavily in his soul. They'd said yes, like the coward they were. With one simple word, Eret condemned them all to death. Fundy, Tubbo, and Tommy shouldn't have to go through such a betrayal, but there's nothing Eret could do. The deal was signed, and only the gods knew who cruel Dream could be if crossed. They had to go through with it… even if it meant seeing hate in Fundy's eyes. L'Manburg would be a nation built upon the blood and tears of children lost to war. In the end, it was never meant to be.

They heard the crinkle of bedsheets. They looked over, relieved to find that Fundy had simply turned in his sleep. Eret sighed before walking down the stairs, careful not to step on a creaky floorboard. Eret couldn't stay, it wasn't their place and Fundy didn't need them. Fundy needed his dad, and Eret would drag Wilbur home by the neck if it meant Fundy could have one moment of happiness. Wilbur needed to be there for his son. For once, damn it.

Eret breathed in the night air, the wind whipping against the end of their coat as they gazed up into the starless sky. They took a final look behind their shoulder, praying to any god that Fundy wouldn't wake to an empty room.

Eret left. They needed to find Wilbur.

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

Hm... Yep :/

pls don't kill me ;-;

#fundy #eret #mcyt #here comes the angst again #and my timing is so horrible ;-;

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professorsnape394 · 3 years

Text

The Potions Master’s Apprentice

Chapter Five: The Calm before the Storm

A/N: This is the fifth part to my fanfiction ‘The Potions Master’s Apprentice (Severus Snape x OC)’. Chapters 1-16 can be found already uploaded on Wattpad under the same name. Feel free to leave requests in my inbox for anything Snape related you want me to write. Leave a comment below if you wish to be added to my tag list.

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC (Dumbledore’s Granddaughter)

Summary: A talented young witch is employed as an apprentice professor at Hogwarts, but who will she be working under? Severus Snape is not best pleased with his new responsibility of taking on an apprentice, however she is relentless to create a friendship between them. Will she be successful? Or might the friendship just go a little two far? With the eyes of her grandfather constantly watching over them, an attempt at a relationship might not be in the cards for Aria Dumbledore and Severus Snape.

Word Count: 2128

Warnings: n/a

Credits to Gif Creator

Severus Snape spent the next two weeks drowning in fire whiskey. When he returned to his quarters after spending an evening with Miss Dumbledore, he could not get her out of his mind. He hated himself for it, but she had admittedly charmed him with her striking beauty and captivating personally.

Having somewhat sobered up from the evening drinks, Severus took it upon himself to crack open another bottle of Firewhiskey, downing glass by glass until he no longer remembered how he felt about the woman.

The days that followed simply became harder to forget about her, as she would often come calling to his office; private quarters and classroom in search for the brooding Professor. Each time she came knocking Snape shied away from her, keeping his doors locked, and poured yet another measure of the burning liquid down his throat in the hope that she would disappear from his memory all together.

This was not him. He thought to himself. His whole life he had resisted the temptation of women like her. This was not to say he had never felt the touch of another, he had in his youth had his fair share of women upon leaving Hogwarts. But never had he caught feelings like those that were threatening to surface, except for one other woman. The thought of his first love forced yet another glass of whiskey down his throat.

As of now his feelings for Miss Dumbledore were purely physical but he did not want to risk them developing into something much more complex. Vowing never to fall for Aria as he had for Lily Evans, Severus built his walls higher than before, making himself impenetrable to the charms of Miss Dumbledore.

Staring at the bottom of yet another empty glass the Professor knew the only way he could resist his urges and keep the woman away, was to use his feelings for her to fuel his (now) hatred. Every kind word she spoke to him was ammunition for mockery. Every question she asked him was an excuse to belittle her. Soon enough she would take the hint and keep her distance. At the very least it would surely provoke her frustration and spark disagreements between the two. No relationship with the woman would of course be better than a bad relationship, but if he had to settle, he would gladly take the latter.

Reaching the end of yet another bottle Severus dumped the vessel into nearby bin, finally retiring for the night.

Countless bottles of Firewhiskey and Nettle Wine later, the castle gradually begun to fill with numerous Professors and various other members of staff. The school year would resume in two days time and Severus needed to get his act together in order to once again face his new apprentice.

The night before the students were set to arrive via the Hogwarts Express, Headmaster Dumbledore sent out a formal reminder to the staff regarding the start of year feast. Aria was well aware the feast was a tradition here at Hogwarts where a ceremony was held and the new first year students were sorted into their respective houses. She was not, however, aware that the night before the official grand feast the professors sat down to a banquet of their own. It was stated in her letter than all staff were required to attend. Aria assumed this was included more or less for the benefit of Severus, whom she knew would try at all costs to avoid attending, possibly even more so now then any year before, though she wasn't entirely sure why the sallow-skinned Professor had been avoiding her these past weeks.

Admittedly, she missed the man, though they had only really spent a few days together, she was getting used his company and her loneliness only made the days longer. She had tried to talk to him, ask him why he had been avoiding her. However, after receiving no response when she sought him out, and due to their conversation at the Three Broomsticks detailing the man's introverted personality, she decided not to pester him further. Instead, she chose to busy herself preparing alone for the school year. Until the past few days that is, when the castle begun to fill with Professors and she thought she may as well get to know some of them.

Almost instantly Professor McGonagall took Aria under her wing and set about introducing the girl to her fellow colleagues. The two witches got along so fast, Miss Dumbledore almost wished to become her apprentice instead. Sadly, Aria was not particularly skilled in the art of Transfiguration. After a few days of brief meetings with almost all of the staff, Minerva invited Aria to afternoon tea in her office. Getting on like a house on fire, Aria felt all the nerves that had been building up within her over the last month slowly melt away. Minerva happily chatted away with the young woman, feeling she too had found a great friend.

Sooner than Aria may have liked the subject eventually turned to the subject of her mentor, Severus Snape. Minerva couldn't wait to her Miss Dumbledore's thoughts on the man. Although she also considered Severus a close friend, she knew he would not be happy with the situation and was dying to hear of his reaction. It of course came as a great shock to her when Aria Dumbledore began to spill the details of her brief encounters with the Professor.

"He was harsh at first." Aria begun. "I knew he wasn't happy with the arrangement at all, he clearly resented me for coming here and invading his space. He seemed like a very foul man."

Minvera smiled knowingly at the young woman, never had she heard a description so accurate, though she secretly knew he was not all bad. Not that he would ever show it. She thought to herself, of course she was moments away from being proven wrong.

"Don't worry about it too much, my dear. He'll eventually get used to your position here and then he wont be so cruel... simply unpleasant." She chuckled to herself. "He's not truly as hateful as you might think. He does have a heart somewhere in there."

"Oh I know." Aria exclaimed. "It took a few days but we found a rhythm of working that suited us both. Eventually we were getting along quite pleasantly. That was, until the night we had a meal at the Three Broomsticks. Then I have no idea what happened, I haven't seen him since." Miss Dumbledore pondered.

"You and Severus had a meal at the Three Broomsticks." Minerva gawped, her eyes almost falling out of her head in disbelief.

"Yes, he didn't seem too keen on the idea initially, but he seemed to reason with himself and finally came around."

"Aria, my dear, dear girl." Professor McGonagall shook her head, trying to get a grasp of what the young witch was telling her. "You do realise Professor Snape, does not socialise with anyone." Minerva tried to state her point, hoping the woman would catch her drift.

"Yes, he did mention that. I guess he's coming out of his shell." She shrugged.

"No, no, no." Minerva shook her head once again, bringing a palm to her face. "You do not understand. I have known this man since he first came to Hogwarts at the age of twelve. He had rarely shown interest in any other human being his whole life, and he certainly does not go out for meals with his coworkers for a simple chat. Especially not one of your beauty."

"What are you saying?" Aria looked confused, not liking what the older woman was insinuating.

"I'm not saying anything, my dear." McGonagall placed a hand over Aria's, reassuringly. "Except... I consider Severus a close friend, and although he doesn't show it, I believe he feels the same. And never, I mean never, has he agreed to socialise with me just for the fun of it. The man never leaves his chambers, my dear."

What Minvera said stuck with Aria for the rest of the day. She was even more confused than ever now. Why had Severus been avoiding her for so long, if he clearly liked her more than the rest of his colleagues. Why had he spent the time listening to her, talking to her and walking her back to her quarters, to only cut all contact the next day. She knew he was a mysterious man from the moment they met, but this was just plain confusing.

This thought circled in her mind even as she made her way to the Great Hall for the first meal of the semester. Although she knew Severus was required to be there, she presumed he would keep his distance, and with the overwhelming amount of staff and topics to get caught up on she did not expect they would have any conversation at all.

When she arrived the table was already more than half full, but still Severus was no where to be seen.

"My dear, sweet, Granddaughter." Dumbledore beamed. "Come and join us." He beckoned her over, gesturing to the empty space next to his at the top of the table. Thankfully she had been positioned next to Minerva, though she feared for who would take the seat opposite, knowing that almost everyone except one was present. Embarrassed by her Grandfather's introduction she hurriedly sat down, and began talking with Minerva, hoping no one was staring at her too much.

Dumbledore wasted no time in waiting for the final seat to be filled, and it seemed the rest of the staff had forgotten that Severus even existed. That was until, half an hour into the meal, when the doors to the Great Hall, swung open violently, causing a loud and startling bang to echo through the gigantic room. Instantly the ramble of excited chatter stopped, everyone staring at the culprit. Almost immediately upon noticing the bat-like Professor enter the room, cloak billowing behind him, the chatter commenced once more. The Potions master's reputation was more than proven to Miss Dumbledore, as it appeared even the staff did not want to face his wrath. His presence was known and he was feared. This was more than enough to intimidate Aria into keeping her mouth shut for the rest of the meal.

"I'm glad you could finally join us, Severus. Please, sit." Dumbledore spoke softly, grinning at his friend.

Snape did not return the gesture, his features perturbed into an aggravated scowl.

"It is a wonder I even made it here at all, Headmaster." Severus sneered. "I suppose everyone else received a letter, detailing the time of the feast. However, sadly." He spat. "My owl must have fainted on the job, for I did not receive such a thing. Is it your intention, to excluded me, Professor Dumbledore."

The chatter had quietened now, everyone curiously listening in to the dispute. A dispute, which Dumbledore appeared to find rather amusing, evident by the growing grin appearing on his face. Taking a slow sip of wine, Albus let the Professor stand waiting on his answer.

"That is not my intention, at all, Professor Snape. But I assumed due to the ever expanding collection of empty FireWhiskey bottles in your rubbish bin, that you would be, shall we say, preoccupied, at this time." Albus shot him a disapproving look and a small frown before, turning his attention elsewhere.

"How dare you." Snape raged, ready to continue the argument Professor Dumbledore deemed complete.

"Take a seat, Severus, before you miss any more of the meal." Albus continued, like he had not just outed Severus' small drinking problem to the whole of the staff. This however, was the incentive Severus needed to sober up and act professionally once more. He knew this was a warning from his employer and if he continued his antics his job would be on the line. His replacement was already lined up. He thought, reluctantly taking his seat across from said woman.

As everyone had, Aria couldn't help but listen to the conversation unfold. Terrified of catching Severus' eye, she focused on the three rogue peas that danced around her fork. She thought about the Professor sitting alone all those nights he had ignored her, downing glass after glass of whiskey. Knowing him, he didn't seem the type to have a problem like that. He was clearly a very disciplined man with rock solid self-control. So what on earth could have forced him to act in such a self-destructive manner?

At least now she had an answer as to what he had been up to while avoiding her all this time but the main question still remained. Why?

Taglist:

@ayamenimthiriel

#severus snape #severus snape imagine #severus x oc #severus snape one shot #Harry Potter #harry potter and the goblet of fire #harry potter fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction #alan rickman #severus x reader #severus x y/n #potions master #potions masters apprentice #professor snape #dumbledores granddaughter #dumbledore #severus snape fluff #severus snape smut

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sola-whumping · 3 years

Text

Umbran, Febuwhump: Buried Alive

Cw obvious title, forced to work, fear of dying, rationalizing as a coping mechanism, begging without relief, broken whumpee

Nox sighed. He was exhausted. He had been forced to dig for the past few hours, now he was covered in dirt and grime and small bits of rock. He hadn’t been allowed to stop or even rest or know what he was digging for but he supposed he didn’t need to know. He was just a stupid pet anyway, no one ever told him things.

The ditch he was digging had an odd perimeter, six feet deep, three in width, and six in length. If he laid down he could fit comfortably, but he tried not to think about that. He was building something, that or he was trying to find something. It didn’t help that Gabrial wouldn’t tell him what he was working on, though, he supposed this was a punishment.

He had spoken to someone he wasn’t supposed to. Pets like him were meant to be seen not heard- though he had been asked a question and it would have been rude not to respond. Really it wasn’t his fault, he hadn’t been told he couldn’t speak, but he wasn’t allowed to be a good pet so this was to be expected. He hadn’t earned the right to be good.

Then Gabrial called him up. He was so very relieved that he could put his shovel down and stop working. His arms had started to tremble and his legs and back were sore. He didn’t exercise much, only when he was forced to run. Otherwise he was chained in a small cell Gabrial liked to keep him in.

When he got up he was jerked to the side and tugged to the ground with a knee pressing harshly into his back. Farix had pinned him. He felt his wrists being grabbed and tied behind his back, he also felt his wings being secured but he didn’t struggle. He just waited to be sedated to be brought back to the mansion.

There there was no sedation. Instead he was shoved in the glass box just big enough for him and his wings. The glass box was sealed and lowered into the pit, it had a tube that would lead to the surface so he wouldn’t suffocate- but he was still scared, he didn’t know what was happening.

Had he dug his own grave? Made not to struggle and taught to be obedient, only to be abandoned? This was as deep as a coffin. They could pull out the air tube and just leave him here, no one would miss him. No one would be looking.

He panicked, struggling in his restraints as dirt started to be poured back into the hole. He flinched every time dirt or rocks hit the glass surface, scared it would break. He didn’t want to be buried. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. The tube was too little- he had to control his breathing or he’d suffocate himself.

Nox was worried the dirt would crush the tube- or maybe they’d plug it up or pour water down it or or or- there were too many things Gabrial could do to him. He hadn’t even been told when he could get out or even if he would be brought out.

If he would be brought out.

He tried shouting as the soil covered his box and started to pack around him. He tensed as the sun was blocked out, starting to hyperventilate. It was dark and he couldn’t see he couldn’t see how would he know how much time has passed? How would he know if it’s been a day or a week or- or.... how would he know when to give up hope?

Wasting away would take a long time. He was scared of the wait, of the suffering that would happen and just, being here buried. He was a bird, he wasn’t meant to be underground.

Nox calmed down after a few hours of screaming for Gabrial to come back, begging and crying. He was still frightened but no longer panicked as badly, he had run out of energy to be panicked. He started to think, cataloging what could kill him, his chance of survival, and how long it would take. He wanted to know his chances.... and how bad the ending would be if he didn’t make it... he had to be prepared.

Umbrans were meant to last a long time. They stored energy as glucose in their bloodstream rather then as fat cells, they ate and stored enough to last for months without food. Nox wouldn’t die of starvation and he was glad for it.

They stored water nearly the same, they didn’t sweat and they retained it only to hydrate them and to replace blood in the case of blood loss. He wouldn’t dehydrate to death unless he was made to bleed badly and he didn’t have any injuries. He heard dehydration was a terrible terrible death, he felt lucky to have escaped this fate.

Air. Umbrans breathed nitrogen, not oxygen. There was 78.08% nitrogen in earth’s atmosphere verses 21% oxygen. he rambled the facts to himself, trying to stay level headed. Even if the tube was cut off he would be able to breathe for a long time, not to mention he had pockets of pure nitrogen in his lungs. Unless something happened, he wouldn’t suffocate.

Cold. He could die of cold easily. He didn’t have the space to use his wings as a blanket and he was buried under ground. Though, the dirt around him should act as an insulator to keep him warm, maybe- or hopefully making him warmer.

So he wouldn’t die from any of those, unless he was just left here. Now that he knew he wasn’t in any immediate danger he settled down, trying to get comfortable in the awkward position.

He felt the temperature drop just a bit as time went on and he ventured to guess it was night. It was unsettling being buried but now, it was a waiting game. He stared at the glass ceiling that blocked out the light. He wouldn’t be able to sleep but he didn’t think he’d be able to.

He was just. Scared. He wanted out but he knew struggling might break the glass. He didn’t want to risk being crushed. He saw no way out, any way he could die in here would be slow and painful and terrifying.

Suddenly he remembered something. He knew how he was going to die in here. He was going to die cold and alone and sick and in pain. Umbrans needed oxytocin to survive. Oxytocin was released with physical affection. He was a social creature and would die of loneliness. This could take as little as three days to two weeks.

He would have preferred starving if he was honest, but for now he surrendered, closing his eyes. He stopped trying to get comfortable, stopped trying to keep his breathing even and stay calm. He was going to die in the worst way possible.

Nox despaired, and waited. He waited and waited, feeling the temperature rise slightly again before losing track of time. He felt the terrible ache in his chest and the hollow feeling in his bones and the emptiness that came with dying like this. He waited, terrified, for death to claim him like an old friend. He waited even as a fever set in and he started to tremble. As he had trouble moving and breathing, he waited.

And then he stopped waiting. He thought he was hallucinating at first but he could feel vibrations in the ground above him. He could feel each strike of a shovel in the ground above him. He felt like death. He had already accepted it terrified and shaky, what right did Gabrial have to prolong his suffering? Nox had been scared, terrified out of his mind. Why hadn’t Gabrial come when he was still begging, still pleading to him not to be left alone in the dark under the earth. Why had he waited until Nox had given up?

Nox had given up. Gabrial’s time to save him had come and gone and Nox had waited. He wasn’t waiting anymore, he didn’t even flinch when the shovel broke through his coffin. He wished it had broken him, not the glass. He was tired, so tired and so cold and so tired of waiting.

He didn’t react as dirt fell through a hole in the glass, didn’t react as he was grabbed and dragged up to the surface with metal and shards of glass splitting his skin open. He only looked at Gabrial with dead eyes, and followed as he was loaded into the trunk of the car. He had surrendered. He had broken. What more could they take?

✨Masterlist✨

Taglist:

@haro-whumps @poisoned-by-royalty @sunset-avenuer @wide-awake-but-comatose @whumpsy-daisies @misspelledwitch @string-of-broken-hearts @febuwhump

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

Text

175 - The October Monologues

[static] [slightly distorted] The trees are dying again. You know it, I know it. The trees know it. They have known it for decades, centuries in some cases. The shiver of cyclic, symbolic death. A rattle in the cold night air. A rustle in the footsteps of a hungry deer. It is October and something is different. It is October and the trees draw the crackling red and orange curtain in the year’s final act. It is October, and so listeners, dear listeners, Night Vale community radio is proud to introduce The October Monologues.

Faceless Old Woman: I am lonely. Oh, I see people. I see lots of people every day. I see you right now. I see you, Caleb, sitting in your rolling desk chair, hunched over your computer. I am a faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home, watching you download yet another video game, Caleb.

But seeing people and being with people are different things. Different ideas altogether. I miss touch most of all. A father’s hand, a friend’s arms. A lover’s chest. I still touch, am touched, but it is not the same. It is not a mutual touch. My touch is unwelcome, unfriendly, unwanted. Yet I touch because I love.

And I love you, Caleb. I do. I know you don’t believe me after what I did to you tonight, but I do. My love is not romantic nor maternal. It’s not platonic, either. I love you the way a deer loves a cornfield. It is safe, it is nourishing. It is in its DNA to want to be there, to hide, to eat, to play. You’re very much like a cornstalk, Caleb. You are loved and you are benign. Better than benign, you are a contribution to this world. The cornstalk is unaware that a deer loves it so much that it will bend it and stomp it until its edible morsels spill out from its crumpled empty husk. The cornstalks, there are so many cornstalks, do not understand that they are so loved by the deer as to be devoured.

You’ve seen a kitten before, Caleb, I know you have. Sometimes kittens are so cute. So so so so cute that you wanna put them in your mouth. Do you understand that kind of love, Caleb, that kind of touch? You do not, no one does. And this is why I’m lonely. But I think you know that. You’re different. You’re lonely too. That’s not what makes you different, we’re all lonely in our own way.

You’re different, Caleb, because you know I am here. You see me even when I do not want to be seen. No one has been able to do that in at least 200 years. Sometimes you speak to me. Not in terror, not in rage; I’ve heard many of these voices in my life from those who feared and detested my presence. No, you ask me my name. I won’t tell you, not yet. You tell me about your day, I’m sorry your new boss is so mean, I will rectify this. And last night, you prepared a dinner for me. You’re not a good cook, I can smell that much, but it was your gesture of generosity that touched me. You made cashio e pepe, a recipe you learned from TikTok, and you prepared a bowl just for me. You waited to see if I would appear, and when I did not, you told me you understood wanting to eat alone, so you left it for me on the dining room table, as you went to play the new flight simulator.

Few men have ever been this kind to me before being frightened into it first, or without using their kindness as a disguise. I think you genuinely understand your own quiet desperation among the mass of men. And in turn, you understand others too. I don’t trust the kindness of men, Caleb. I don’t trust the kindness of women, either. Or anyone else’s kindness, to be truthful, but I especially don’t trust men’s kindness. There are exceptions. Andre, whose kindness was loyalty and honesty, and Albert, although his was a much different kind of kindness.

But Caleb, 23-year-old, unshaven, video game loving, boss hating aimless Caleb, your kindness frightens me. I’m scared of what you want, what it is you plan to take from me. Kind men have stolen my childhood, my morals, my money, my love, my life, and my family. What will you take from me, Caleb, that I have not already lost? I’m afraid. I’m afraid to respond to your gentle bait of friendship, because I am afraid you will take my loneliness from me. I am lonely, and that is a choice I have made for myself.

One day, Caleb, you will die. I know exactly when. It will not be of my hand, although I will do nothing to stop it. It is my fate, my path, to know such things. And in your death, you will return my loneliness to me, and it will be a horror to behold, bloody and misshapen. My loneliness, not recognizing its former owner, will howl an unholy and unceasing cry, and I will not be able to bear it.

This is what I fear, Caleb, and this is why I took the bowl of cashio e pepe you left for me and hurled it against the wall, just missing your cheek. I’m not sad that you screamed at me, I’m happy that you did so. This is how it has to be. We are not enemies, Caleb, no no. I love you deeply. Deeper than you can know. I am your deer Caleb, and you are my corn.

Cecil: The fiery flash of fall leaves stuns us, captivates us. Fireworks in slow motion. Or the crackling embers of a finishing flame. Upon the leaves are written instructions for how to make oxygen, how to give life, with every exhalation. How to find flair in fading grace, and how to raise new life by falling to your death. The leaves know they will return again, so much will return again. We return now to the October Monologues.

Michelle Nguyen: There’s this new song I like, but I don’t wanna tell you what it is. I find it kind of embarrassing. Usually I love to talk about my favorite music. There was that summer I was obsessed with the new single by Saint Vincent. The single came in the form of a glazed vase containing three blue flowers. Only one was ever made, and I got the only copy. I found it very catchy, but the flowers eventually died. Or the year I spent listening over and over to that new Janelle Monae album. I forget the name, but the cover was a black and white picture of a well, and if you didn’t share it with someone else in 7 days, you would die. Of course no one ever died, because the album was so good, people just couldn’t stop telling their friends to listen.

My favorite song of all time is a blank cassette tape still in its plastic wrapper. It was owned by a man named Gary Joy. He was a real estate lawyer, reasonably successful, but he always dreamed of being a singer/songwriter. He dreamed all the time of quitting his job and writing songs, but he had never even written one song. Then one day, in a fit of optimism and energy, he bought this cassette, intending to make his first memo. But the day got away from him, and then the week, and then the rest of his life, and he never quit being a lawyer, and he never even wrote one song. This blank cassette tape, still in its wrapper, contains the potential of all the songs he could have written but never did, which is better and more powerful than any song anyone’s actually managed to write. The potential of the thing is always more perfect than the reality of the thing. However, and this is the crucial drawback, the potential is absolutely useless and the reality, however imperfect, can be quite useful. Anyway, I like to hold Gary Joy’s unwritten demo and imagine what it would be like. Hold on, sorry. There’s a customer.

[bell dings] Welcome to Dark Owl Records. What? No, no. No. No! No. OK, bye! [bell dings] Sorry about that. Some people are so unreasonable. I don’t even know what a Taylor Swift is.

But there’s a new song I like, and it’s not cool like my other favorite songs. It’s not a song that fits the kind of image I like to project. When I put on my mirrored leggings, my extra long jorts, and my really big hat, people expect something from me. They expect me to be on the cutting edge. They expect me only to be into bands that aren’t popular yet, or will never be popular, or that frankly don’t know how to play their instruments very well. And the song I like now is not any of those things. It’s… ordinary. It’s… popular. I don’t wanna say what it is. Remember when I only listened to the sound of beez buzzing? That was a good summer. Of course I got stung once or twice or 30 times. [sighs] Hold on, sorry, there’s a customer.

[bell dings] Welcome to Dark Owl Records! Hey. Hey! Hey! Hey! HEEEEY! Thanks, nice to see you again. [bell dings] Sorry about that.

I’m tired of being cool. I was going to say trying to be cool, but trying implies the possibility of failure, and there has never been a moment when I’ve failed to be cool. But here’s the hard truth I’ve come up against: being cool is a young person’s game. And that’s not because young people are better or more interesting than older people. God no. God no. God no! It’s that coolness itself is a concept tied to youth. Coolness is a reactionary manifestation of insecurity. The more insecure you are, the cooler you need to be. It’s colorful plumage. But as I’ve gotten older, I no londer need flashy plumage. I just wanna sit in the comfort of who I am, and not worry about what that looks like from the outside.

Anyway, I can’t stop listening to “Karma Police” by Radiohead. It’s just… a good song, you know? Hold on, sorry, there’s a customer.

[bell dings] You! You’ll never catch me alive! [sound of running] [bell dings]

Cecil: An abundance of words, words falling, fluttering to the earth. Words crunching beneath our feet. They were beautiful once, the words. Now they are beginning to rot, to wilt, to compost, to ferment new growth. To fertilize new words growing upon great trunks of paragraphs and chapters, but not now. Those will come later. Now the words sputter and drop in spiraling arcs to the ground. Here, then, are the final few brightly painted words falling upon you now. The October Monologues.

Steve Carlsberg: What does it mean to be believed? I’ve always known that Night Vale isn’t like other places. As long as I can remember, I could see that. I could also see that no one else could see it. I was alone in my knowledge. Knowledge may be power, but power is often lonely. My grandfather knew. He could see that I was like him. “Steve,” he would say, “us Carlsbergs have always been the town pariahs, but just because they hate you, doesn’t mean they’re right.” I would sit at night as a kid and listen to Cecil on the radio. He was the same age as he is now, and at the time he seemed so wise. But I would hear him dismiss what I knew shouldn’t be dismissed. I would hear him cover up what should be uncovered, and I would know with a child’s certainty that it was wrong. I loved him still. Everyone in town loves Cecil. It is possible to love someone who you know is doing wrong. It’s terribly easy, in fact.

What does it mean to be believed? As a teenager, I started trying to express what I saw about the world. I gave a presentation in my social studies class called “Night Vale – there’s literally nowhere like it”, and I thought it was informative. The class all plugged their ears in unison. The teacher stopped me a minute in, glancing nervously at the 8 surveillance cameras monitoring the classroom. “Are you trying to get us all killed?” the teacher hissed at me. I remember that her breath smelled like Strawberry Jolly Ranchers, and there was a lose crumb of mascara in the sweat of her temples. “No,” I said. I didn’t know what to say. It’s not the kind of question that demands a sincere answer. The report earned me a trip to the principal’s office, and then the re-education pit, which honestly is not as bad as its name. I mean, almost not as bad. It’s pretty bad. It’s a pit, for re-education. So, certainly learned something from that re-education. I learned that you’re equally likely to be punished for being right as you are for being wrong.

What does it mean to be believed? I was a young man entering the workforce, and I had long ago learned to hide away what I knew about my city. I had learned the handshake and the smile, the nod and the necktie, all the signifiers that hid what I truly signified. All of life is a code, and I had been thought the key against my will.

I got a job as a bank teller at the Last Bank of Night Vale. I studied with great interest the townsfolk who came and went there. I learned about their lives and their secrets, and what kind of money they made for the whispered deals out back of quiet parking lots just before the sun went down, pulled up next to a black Sedan that contained their handler who they only knew by a false first name. but I couldn’t forget what I knew, even if I learned to playact that I had. What I know shapes who I am. I can’t close my eyes, not to this town I love. This weird and secret town I love.

What does it mean to be believed? Then I married into the family of Cecil Palmer, host of Night Vale community radio! And he hated me, because he could see that I knew. And after all these years, my mask had slipped a little. I’d lost my interest in hiding. I wanted to speak the truth as I knew it, nothing could be more threatening to Cecil. His life and livelihood depended on speaking the truth as the City Council wanted it. Or as the Vague yet Menacing government agencies crafted it. And here I was, pointing out to him the sky. There are glowing arrows in the sky, there are dotted lines and arrows and circles. The sky is a chart that explains the entire world! I tried to tell him, and this only made him hate me more. I tried to share who I was with him, and this only made him recoil.

Abby listened to my stories, but she never shared my enthusiasm for the truth. “Let it lie,” she would say, “let it lie.” But that’s he point, I can’t let it lie and I can’t lie! We’ve done that for too long! We’ve let our town sit heavy under the weight of euphemism and half truth, and unless someone just said what they saw for once, we would be crushed eventually by that weight!

And then it all changed. I wasn’t alone. The others saw that we lived in a weird place. And you know what? We kept existing. Our world didn’t end merely because we dared acknowledge it. Cecil and I are friends now. I haven’t forgotten how he treated me, but I understand it and I forgive it. Forgiveness and understanding are not the same as forgotten.

What does it mean to be believed? It means everything. It means all.

Cecil: And as the leaves are done, so are the October Monologues. All that can be said has been said. And all that can be said will be said again.

Today’s proverb: Listen, it might seem like everything’s bad right now.

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transcripts #episode 175 #the october monologues #sorry again for being so tardy #was swamped at work #but here it is

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jay-and-dean · 4 years

Text

Firefly Chapter 3 : Nine and Twelve years old

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary : 40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 4880

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it.

Firefly Chapter 1

Firefly Chapter 2

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

—————————————————————————————

Reader’s pov

She sighed, putting the notebook down on the marble table.

“Once more” the demon ordered, weirdly scratching his chin, or rather the skin of a middle-aged lady that didn’t suit him. “I want you to know this by heart.”

“Why” Y/n frowned. “What is the point of all that ? You’re not even a real teacher ! You make me learn things that have no sense !”

A wicked expression appeared on the demon’s face, betraying him despite that ridiculous disguise.

“Oh I’m begging you little shit, disobey again. Punishing you is the only good part of this stupid job.”

“You’re not allowed to hurt me” she smiled with contempt. “Crowley would end you, and Lilith…”

The demon suddenly got up, grabbing her by the hair to throw her where the chains were. Immediately tying her like an animal in a circus. She tried to fight him, already regretting her words.

“I’m allowed to cage you.”

“No no no…” she instantly begged.

Last time he had done that, he left her chained for four days and no one showed up, he was the only one coming every day.

But today, she was going to know if Sammy told John about the college letter. After several bad days in a row (days when Dean couldn’t talk, wasn’t in his cell or she couldn’t get there), she couldn’t resolve to be locked again.

“Let me out !” she groaned. “Let me out or I SWEAR !”

But the demon kept smiling, seeing the now warded chains redden without breaking.

“Please…” she finally begged, falling on her knees. “Please, I hate those chains.”

“Prime numbers” the demon just stated coldly. “Until two thousand.”

“Two” she swallowed, looking down. “Three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen…”

She limped in the corridor, holding on to the bloody walls with tears in her eyes, and Mister Teddy Bear against her.

After making her start again ten times, the demon had thrown the keys at her with a satisfied smile before he left. But of course, he had given them all but one : the one holding her ankle ; just to laugh, thinking at her false hope.

And after tugging at it furiously for an hour or more, something had finally broke. Not in the chain... but in her ankle.

Dean’s cell wasn’t so far now, she would make it. And she would be brave and heal, just like he did, every single day. She turned left and limped to his cell, a cold sweat dripping down her back, and finally pushed the door with a light smile.

Her smile faded.

She was too late or too early, or Alastair just lost his temper again. Almost nothing was left of her friend. Blood and guts, pieces of bones....

For the first time in her life, she looked away, turned around on her purple foot and left a tear fall on her cheek. Hell was an unfair place and, for years, she had just accepted it for was it was, because she knew nothing else… But now her child innocence was slowly dying, and her hate growing.

She sat on the corner of the room, making herself as small as possible, her back on what was left of Dean, holding her teddy bear against her.

She could wait.

After a while, she could hear the little whimpers that left his mouth, a sign that he was back together.

She turned around to see him : He was panting, his clothes clung to his sweat drenched body. His eyes were still closed, not ready to face her yet, if he even knew she was there.

She took her injured ankle and heaved it up off the ground to turn completely to him, a hiss leaving her mouth. It wasn't totally healed yet, which made her frown. She was used to injuries only lasting a few minutes, an hour eventually… But this one was bad.

His eyes opened, he probably heard her.

“H-hey Firefly…” he sounded hoarse.

She wiped her tear and tried to give him her best smile, but she couldn’t. Hell was weighing down on her more and more every single day, she now saw how wrong it all was. How her friend suffered every single minute down here.

“Hey…” she said a little bitterly, as she waved the arm of Mister Teddy Bear.

His eyes raked over her, but he didn’t really seem to see her yet. They looked void of anything. He heaved himself up with his arms, his back now resting against the wall. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and opens them again. His pupils adjusted to the darkness that surrounded them. He once again took her in, frowning when he saw her cradling her foot.

“Y-You’re hurt ?” He sat up more, his hair sticked to his sweaty forehead.

She shrugged, she would heal anyway. It’s nothing compared to what he is going through. For the first time in her short life, she thought of the act of torture, for real, not just like something that existed and filled her world, but like something absurdly cruel… Before she could really come to any conclusion, he spoke again, his voice worried like it was more important for her to be hurt, like for him, it was just the way it was… Was it ?

“Does it hurt ?” he questioned her.

She shook her head no. It did hurt, but she didn’t want to worry him, she just wanted to know more about Earth and try to take his mind off everything.

He let his head rest back against the wall.

“Where were we ?” He still had some trouble breathing, she could see it in the way his chest moved. “Oh yeah. The college letter, right ?”

She nodded, yes ! Was Sam gonna tell their dad or not ?

“Right…” he took a deep shaky breath, and she couldn’t say if it was from his body still being broken, or from that weight on his chest, he always seemed to have when he talked about his father. “So at first Sammy didn’t tell our dad, because well, he knew dad wouldn’t like it. He knew I didn’t like it.”

Of course he didn’t, she thought, he needed Sam. And being alone with his father really didn’t seem fun… For a second, she wondered what would life be with a brother or a sister. But she will never know, her own father made it very clear that her “accidental” life was enough bother.

“I didn’t want Sammy to leave” he continued. “He’s my baby brother. I gotta look out for him.”

He fell silent suddenly, apparently strangled by emotions, a tear rolled down his face. Her own stomach felt tight, the love Dean felt for his brother always moved her deeply.

She moved a little closer and put her teddy bear in his lap, she knew he felt lonely. It was part of the torture, the loneliness… She felt it too.

He wrapped his hand around the small, dirty bear with a tender smile, almost amused.

“Thank you.” He looked down at the bear as he continued. “He is the reason I’m here, you know. Sammy died and I… I couldn’t let that happen, so I made a deal. My life for his. I would do it again in a heartbeat. He deserves a happy life.”

And he didn’t ?

He was tortured every single day, just because he saved his baby brother ? That sounded… wrong.

She knew a few reasons people would give up their soul. Money, success, fame... She never understood why those reasons exactly, these things didn’t mean anything down here. Those souls, they never lasted long on the rack.

But sacrificing your own soul for Love, those were the good people, the ones that really didn’t deserve to be here. Dean was one of them.

She looked up at his face, his eyes were watching nothing in particular, but she could tell by the thousand emotions passing on his face, that he was lost in his memories.

“Sammy loves fireworks” his thumbs brushed over the blood stained tummy of the bear. She frowned at him.

“Do you know fireworks ?” He finally looked at her.

She crossed her legs, noticing her foot was healed, and shook her head no. It sounded a little dangerous to her.

“It’s a tube filled with chemicals and when you light it on fire, it shoots up in the sky and makes a colorful explosion. Many people use it to celebrate a holiday” he half smiled. “Fireworks can be blue or red, gold, green, any color you want.” He reached over to give her bear back. She took him and placed the broken toy back in her lap.

A smile came upon her face, that sounded like something she would like.

“I hope you can see it one day, well night, you can only see it at night, because light only shines in the dark. This one time I got a whole box of fireworks, i was like 19 maybe. Sammy was 15. We had some rough hunts, one after the other and I could see it was wearing down on Sam, and it was the 4th of July.”

She didn’t dare telling him she had no idea what it meant, she was used to know only a part of what he was talking about.

“Dad forbid it, but I disobeyed. I wanted to make him smile, he was so happy…” he smile faded. “I wonder how he is now. ”

She wanted to get him fireworks, she wanted to make him smile. No, she had to make him smile, if it was the last thing she did.

“Sorry, I was talking about the letter, I just… I just remembered night sky and...” he swallowed. “At least Sammy can still see night sky, stars. You never saw stars, Firefly, right ?”

She gave him a light smile, that seemed to make him curious.

“Did you ever see the sky ?”

“I…” she started but didn’t finished her sentence.

How dangerous was it to speak ? For him ? For her ? For Crowley and all the “people” she knew even if she hated them all. They had made her swear.

She looked around and turned her ankle to make sure it didn’t hurt and wasn’t broken anymore. Then got up on her feet.

It was the very first time since she knew Dean, that she saw him totally healed and, above all, not chained. His body just got whole again so it was free from the iron nightmares.

She took a deep breath, and thought hard for a second : What if Alastair came here and… What is the worst that could happen if she got caught breaking Hell’s number one rule ? They would torture him… They already did that the best they could. They would probably lock her up and never let her out…

She looked at him for a long time, searching his confused face.

“Are you okay, kid ?” he asked in a frown.

“Come” she finally answered, offering him her tiny hand.

Dean’s Pov

He stared at her palm, trying to process what she just said. He had never escaped this room, and the few times he got out of it, a demon just took him just next door, for unknown reason.

“You…” he said but she just kept offering her hand.

Dean was scared. He was terrified even. Years of constant torture and humiliation had made him extremely sensible to threats ; and right now, all he could think of was Alastair’s voice telling him he hadn’t done the worst he could do yet, that some places in here could make him say yes in a heartbeat, but that it was funnier this way.

He hesitated. Alastair would be furious if he found him out… But her eyes were shining, and her hand didn’t shake at all. Something so strong was radiating from her.

He got up, and just being on his feet felt weird now. No chains, no broken knees… His hand reached hers and she closed her surprisingly soft fingers around it, smiling so wide her pretty teeth showed.

The first three or four steps he took felt extremely weird, like his body remembered how to be active, move… There was something so alive about walking.

After balking a second before the door frame, he finally got out of his cell, led by the little girl in a fancy night blue dress, that seemed to fear nothing.

“Where are you…” he started.

But she turned to him, cutting him with panicked eyes and a finger on her lips. Then she shook her head “no”, making it clear that they had to be silent.

Dean was thorn. His eyes kept roaming everywhere, and yet he didn’t want to see anything. Hell was not just a word now for him, and the screams and begging was slowly triggering some serious panic attack deep inside of him.

His hand started to sweat.

The little girl stopped in her tracks, frowns and turned to him. Her big eyes searched his face, she obviously could feel how bad he was. She tugged at his arm making him bend a little on her, never letting go of his hand.

“You stay silent” she whispered close to his ear. “You never leave my side, I know the way…”

It somehow helped.

He had no idea who she was, but what was sure was that this tiny lovely ghost knew what she was doing.

They kept walking and he started focusing on her, and only her, forgetting the arms trying to reach them and this horrible smell of sulfur, forgetting the burning hot and the freezing cold…

The way she moved was totally amazing, fast like a rabbit then careful and slow like a hunting cat, stopping to hide behind a column before a demon even showed up, like she knew Hell’s clockwork perfectly. And it calmed Dean a little : watching her move was like watching a dance.

After long minutes avoiding many dangers, they entered a very long corridor with no doors but an incredible cathedral ceiling. Dean didn’t think he would see anything like this in Hell, anything somehow beautiful… But his Firefly was really like a beacon in the eternal night.

“No demon” he whispered.

“No…” her little voice answered, echoing on every tall walls. “This place is empty and useless, they say.”

“Useless…” he repeated, not really understanding.

At the end of the corridor, a huge door appeared, high like a house, thousands of symbols carved on it, and two huge marble gargoyles guarding it.

“They lost the key” she whispered even lower, guiding him to the door.

“What is on the other side ?” he asked, his breathing short with a mix of fear and hope.

She stopped, and suddenly let go of his hand to plunged her small fingers in the hole where the head of her teddy bear should be. She bit her lip in concentration, searching in the foam.

A little smile appeared on her face, and she started pulling at something.

A key.

She took it out cautiously, blowing on it a little to take off the foam dust stuck on the weird yet beautiful key. It was way too small for the giant door, and yet, she got on her tiptoes to reach the little lock he hadn’t notice.

The little girl looked behind her a last time before she made one of the huge parts of the carved door move open.

“Come” she said.

Carefully, he slipped inside the room and his breathing got stuck in his lungs while she slowly closed the door behind her.

The room had no ceiling. It was made of four black walls that Dean wasn’t even sure were there because of how dark it was. And above them… The sky.

The shadows of trees and and leafs in the night and between them : the stars. Exactly like he remembered it. It must have been a peaceful night of summer, because the temperature was perfect, no burning hot and no painful cold… Just a soft breeze was gently caressing his skin and he could have swore he could distinguish the thousand characteristic smells of nature, of a forest.

A tear rolled down his face, falling in his ear as his chin was up, eyes glued to the sky, the stars and the moon.

It was like the room was both in that forest and out of it, or under it, like his Firefly and him were in the bottom of a well, open on the universe.

He felt her hand wrap around his wrist and turned to her for a second. She was as fascinated as him, her big wet eyes reflecting the moon, and her hand shaking a little.

“What is this place ?” he asked, but she only shrugged, never looking away from the crescent moon. “That’s where you saw the sky, Firefly” he understood.

She nodded.

They stood here, close to each other, her small hands holding his wrist on her right and the key on the left. Tears rolling down his face, and shaking his chest in silent. Not another word was said.

After a moment, she slightly tugged at his arm, and his heart sank. How could he go back to torture now ? How cruel was it ? But he couldn’t let her get in trouble, and maybe… just maybe one day she could take him here again.

He wiped his tears and followed her without a word. The second she closed the door behind them, the harassing heat was back, and the dreadful smell was the only thing surrounding them again.

She closed the door behind her and hid the key back in her teddy bear, making sure it was on the bottom of it. Before she could start to walk back to the horror of his cell, he turned her small body to him, and sink on his knees to hold her.

“Thank you” he breathed out. “Thank you so much.”

Her skin was cool despite the suffocating heat, like it didn’t affect her at all, and no sweat was on her soft arms or back.

She hugged him back hesitantly, wrapping her hands around his neck, and he felt her nose shyly closer to his skin, like she needed to know how his skin smelled.

He let go before her, and get up on his feet, murmuring something about going back. She took his index finger and led him like she did on their way here.

Dean was lost in his thoughts. About life, about Earth, about the sky and the stars, memories of not appreciating it enough, of that time he told Cassie that just watching the sky was boring…

That’s why he didn’t feel her finger let go of him in an instant.

“Dean winchester !” a horrible demon voice groaned.

He looked up and started shaking. The beast was wearing it’s real form, twice taller than him, with horns coming out where his eyes should have been, and extremely long claws at the end of his too big fingers.

“How did you get out !” the demon half yelled.

Dean looked around : Nothing. No clue of his Firefly presence, or that she even was there once.

And while the beast was dragging him by the arm harshly, he wondered if it was possible that his mind was beginning to make things up...

Alastair was furious, even angrier than he ever was. Hitting his face again, he kept asking :

“How did you get OUT ?”

But Dean didn’t open his mouth, not once.

When that demon that had found him entered, holding the little girl by the neck, Dean had two really strong contrary feelings at once : The infinite joy of now being sure he didn’t dreamed that, and the devastating pain of seeing her struggling against that giant monster.

“Boss, we found her hiding. You think she might have helped him ?” the demon said, making the walls tremble.

“Oh yes she might, I’m pretty sure she did…” his torturer answered with a wicked smile.

Y/n’s pov

The demon dropped her to the floor of the cell.

“Oh girlie, you are in so much trouble now.”

She saw Dean cowered against the wall, already bruised and bleeding. Arms wrapped around his body to protect himself.

He tsked his lips in a way only he could, making her shiver, and hold on to her broken toy.

“Leaving your room AND taking my pet,” an eerie grin showed his yellow teeth, “You’re in for it now.” He motioned with his two fingers to the demon to handle Dean.

She couldn’t let that happen, it was her fault, Dean shouldn’t pay the price for her disobedience. She ran to stand in front of Dean.

“No.” She said, looking up at the monster, challenging him.

He laughed at her and she clenched her little fists and planted her feet. She knew she couldn’t stop the torture, but right now, she couldn’t let it happen. The smell of his neck still clear in her mind, the sight of his happy tears falling on his face…

“You’re gonna stop me, child ?” he bent, to face her, his long sharp teeth inching towards her face.

She held her head high, looking him in his black eyes with rage and took a step forward, the demon moving backwards. Her breathing got faster and she felt her anger burn her skin.

He looked down at his feet apparently surprised that with every step she took, he moved more backwards, his long nails scraping over the floor, leaving deep crescents behind. He reached his arms towards her but he couldn’t reach her, like there was an invisible wall between them.

Waves and waves of fury pulsated through her, making her feel tall for once, making her feel strong…

“I-Impossible” he gasped.

Her grin grew wider, her hair started floating around her again.

But it didn’t last...

A immense power violently slammed her back into the wall as Alastair stepped forward. She fought back the best she could but he didn’t even break a sweat.

“You’ll need a whole lot more juice to over power me, girlie.”

He stood straight before her. His power crushing her, her breath cut short. His grin made her feel sick as his eyes travelled over her with contempt.

Her eyes widened when he grabbed her bear clutched tight in her hand from her.

“NO !” she yelled.

Her arms fought his power, reaching out for him, but with the flick of his wrist she was pinned against the wall once again. She was fighting him with everything she got. Eyes a flare, vibrating from the power inside of her.

She could see Dean in the corner of her eye, he looked… scared. Was it of her ?

“You disobey, you pay.” Alastair said as he held Mister Teddy Bear, his eyes turning white as he set the bear on fire.

“N-No…” tears rolled down her face.

Her stuffed friend was the only thing that fought her loneliness, her only true friend, they had been through so much together.

As she started sobbing, seeing the quick fire of Hell turning Mister Teddy Bear to ashes in seconds, she felt her heart sink in her stomach. Her nights would be so much lonelier now with no one to hold. But her days too, everything would be empty.

The light in her eyes died down as did the flame. Mister Teddy Bear, reduced to a pathetic heap of dust…

“Stop crying, you’re nine years old, that’s too old to have a toy.”

Alistair patted his hands together to get rid of the black ash. But in his hands was not only ash. Shining on the floor, a little reddened by the flame : The key. His eyes widened.

“Where did you get this?!” His hand grabbed her by the throat, his power pushed down on her, making the wall behind her crack under it’s force. “WHERE ?”

“L-let her go” Dean coughed, his breathing short, but Alastair ignored him, and the other demon stepped on his chest.

She kept her mouth shut. She had snatched it off of Crowley one day when he had pissed her off, hoping it was a key to one of her chains. But it didn’t fit…

It looked different from a normal key. It was gold, a circle with a hook on top of it and three long teeth that looked it would never fit in any lock. But if Crowley kept it, it had to be important. So she tried every lock of Hell.

“You STUPID girl, you just earned yourself an eternity of chains and horror” he sneered at her.

“It already is my life” her tears had stopped by now.

This key seemed like a big deal, Alistair was not one to lose his temper so easily. He put it in his pocket. Turned his head toward the beast crushing Dean’s ribs with his weight.

“Take Dean to my room, it will be one Hell of a session” he winked towards the bloody man struggling to breathe, toying with his prey, as the demon dragged him out.

Y/n didn’t wave this time, her eyes fixed on the pile of ash on the floor.

“And you” he fisted her hair, making her look up at him. “Let’s give you a taste of real Hell.”

___________________________

She walked carefully in the corridor, holding her long, puffed-out muslin dress up to keep it away from the blood and dirt.

The cold air was biting her wide cleavage, upper back and neck because her hair was held in that tight bun. She could feel the freezing gold at her wrists and neck, and hanging from her hair. Her shoes were tight and high, she hated them.

Her steps resonated against the stone walls, but she knew no demon would be around.

She needed to see him, just once, since they had played with her like a doll since this morning, and she didn’t have a second for herself.

When she pushed the door, he was held by chains again, but whole, curled up in the corner, his clothes seemed to have been mostly burned, and a heavy smell of smoke was making the air barely breathable.

“Dean” she said.

He looked up and his face lit up, his widened eyes reflecting her fancy appearance.

“You look like a princess” he groaned with a voice still croaky.

“You won’t see Alastair tonight” she assured him.

“Is there a party ?” he scoffed, visibly bitter like he somedays were. “Have fun.”

“No one will visit tonight Dean” she repeated again, not knowing what she could add to that.

Then she turned around in a light sigh. He had every reason in the world to be that bitter, there was nothing more to say. But the second she was going to pass the door, he spoke again :

“Don’t let them hurt you, Firefly. You fight back if they touch you…” he cleared his throat. “You look amazing.”

She entered the ballroom with that indifferent pout on her face she kept there all the time lately. Her sad feature hidden behind that disillusioned mask she wore every single day.

The room looked like the throne room of a rich castle, and all the demons were hiding their vileness in human bodies, dressed fancy, with smiles on their faces. But they didn’t fooled her.

They stepped aside to let her enter, turning toward her in whispers. She walked in, her back straight, her hate making her back shiver under the noble lace.

“There she is” a voice came from the crowd.

And the first demon of all, in the body of a tall blond lady appeared, she was the only one wearing a dress more sophisticated than her own.

“Lilith” Y/n curtsied slightly, clenching her jaw.

The demon took her face brutally in her hand to look at it with contempt and nodded slightly.

“Maybe you’re right, Crowley” she admitted, letting go of her face and turning her back on her. “Maybe your accidental offspring could be a bride or a toy for our Lord when he rises.” she turned to Y/n again to look one last time from head to toe, and muttered low. “But I’m glad I won’t be here to see that.”

When Y/n turned to walk far from that evil shrew, she came face to face with Alastair, and goosebumped appeared on her skin.

“Happy twelfth birthday, Girly” he smiled and she swallowed the angry lump in the throat.

“Y/n !” Crowley called, probably trying to get her away from his own enemies like he always did, not to protect her, but to avoid the humiliation of seeing the Ace in his hand being despised by anyone stronger than him.

She turned to him, but felt Alastair’s hand grasp her wrist harshly. He bent next to her ear and she could smell his fetid breath.

“I hope you die.”

Next Chapter on @roonyxx‘s blog

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rjhpandapaws · 3 years

Text

A Hand in the Matter

Ch6: ... I Wouldn't be Adverse to Trying

//Warning(s): detached sense of self, depression, out of control thought spiral, self harm, rationalization of self harm, low self worth, suicidal ideation.

Richard was confused and scared. He'd experienced both emotions before, but he'd never felt both at the same time. He was unsettled in a way that seemed heavier and more permanent than his other bouts of more intense emotion. His world felt like it was irreversibly and simultaneously tilting on its axis and shaking apart. Richard was left in the free fall.

He was still pacing his apartment, he'd stopped counting the rounds at ninety-nine. A perfect number, a double that would bring him good luck. He paced from his front door to the far wall of his living room. A path that kept him from bumping into or touching anything. Nothing would be moved from its place. Everything had a place. Things would be fine as long as nothing got moved.

Richard didn't have a place in his own life any longer, meeting Gavin had violently dislodged him from it. This was Gavin's fault. Had he not met Gavin he would still have his place. If Gavin was no longer part of his life things would go back to normal. No more clinging. No more late night conversations. No more pictures of Franklyn. No more movie nights. No more coffee meet ups. He would be back to normal. His world would stabilize. He would be alone.

Richard didn't like being alone. It was unpleasant. It clung to him like tar, an ever-present reminder that knowing him was more effort than it was worth. Gavin would leave on his own eventually. The loneliness would pull Richard under again and this time he would drown.

At somepoint he had stopped pacing. He needed to get away from these thoughts. Why had he stopped moving? He needed to think, thinking was difficult. Something close to him was playing music and something else was vibrating against his chest. Why? Was it his phone? Someone was calling him. It would be rude not to answer.

Oh.

It was Connor. He didn't want to talk to Connor. He would worry. His worry was stifling. Like the loneliness, except his head was being held down by someone instead of something else pulling him under. He stared at the phone until he missed the call, cleared that notification as well as the one for the voicemail that followed it. He should let Connor know he didn't want to talk. That's what a good brother would do, thats what Silas would do. Was Richard still a good brother? He didn't think so. He should text Connor and tell him he doesn't want to talk.

Me: Stop calling. I don't want to talk.

Connor: Richard?

Connor: is everything alright?

Richard opened both messages so the would go away. Nothing was alright. Connor was being annoying and Gavin was insisting on sticking to him. They both should go away, but if they went away he would be alone. If he was alone he would drown. He didn't want to drown. Dying that way was painful. He put his phone on silent and put it back in his shirt pocket, back in its place.

He looked down the hallway and scratched at his wrist, it was grounding. His left, so no one would see if it bled. He was tired. He should sleep. Sleeping would help. His wrist was becoming raw, the sting would keep him from drowning. Pain was good company. He would be fine with it if he didn't wake up. He would no longer be Connor's burden. Gavin would be free of him, and his loneliness would be gone. It would be calm and quiet because there would be nothing. His wrist was bleeding now but that was fine. He just wanted to rest. If he woke up he would deal with it then. He nodded stiffly and made his way to his room.

He hated this room. It was a prison. Clean and unlived in. Everything had a place. This was not his. He liked the couch better. Couches were for company. He didn't have company. No one was allowed here. It was not their place. It wasn't his. He would make it his.

That thought brought with it anger, the anger moved him. First to his dresser. He pulled violently on the top most drawer, knocking something off the top of the dresser. It hit the ground and broke, Richard didn't care. He pulled the clothes from the drawer tossing them away from him as though they were worth nothing. When it was empty he slammed it shut. He did this until the dresser was empty. From his spot on the floor he stared at his closet. He didn't like that either.

The metal doors opened too fast, the sound was grating and he didn't like it. He needed to get rid of them. They were to heavy, they would have to stay. He pulled the clothes from their hangers. Some of them tore, he didn't have it in him to care. These were thrown into the room too. Being angry was exhausting. Being was exhausting. He should lay down. Sleeping would turn all of this off. His mind would be quiet. He didn't want to wake up, he wanted to stay in the quiet. Numb silence was safe.

He got into bed on top of the covers. He pulled the soft throw from the foot of the bed up over him. This would be enough. He closed his eyes and his thoughts screamed. They were too loud. Too much. He didn't want them. He wanted silence. He wanted to be numb. He didn't want to wake up. He didn't want to be alone.

Gavin didn't like him. Gavin was using him. Gavin hated him. All of this was Gavin's fault. He didn't want to think about Gavin. He didn't want to think. He wanted to sleep. He didn't want to wake up.

A sob wracked his frame, it was chased by a frustrated groan. His thoughts wouldn't stop. He needed to make them. He needed to get them out. They had to go away. He sat up and wiped his eyes, the movement hurt his wrist. It was grounding. He did it again. This was Gavin's fault. Gavin didn't like him. Gavin was using him. Gavin hated him. No one ever stayed. Gavin would leave and so would Connor.

His thoughts were too loud and only getting louder. He opened his nightstand and got out his notebook as well as the pen that sat beside it. He wrote out his thoughts. Kept writing them, covering the pages until the loop finally stopped, ground to a hault because of exhaustion. He set the notebook aside and put the pen where it wouldn't be lost. Nothing had a place anymore. Not Richard. Not his things. He wanted to sleep. He didn't want to wake up. His mind was finally quiet. He could sleep. He laid down and the dark didn't take long to claim him.

Sleep was a mercy, he didn't dream, or if he did he hadn't remembered them, but he did wake. It was unpleasant. His arm hurt and he didn't know how long he'd been down for. His phone was no longer in his pocket. It must have fallen out as he slept. When he found it he looked at the time. He'd slept through the night apparently, it was eleven in the morning. He had several texts from Connor, each progressively more worried than the last. He opened them so the notifications would go away. Gavin had texted too. Richard didn't like that. Gavin was the cause of all this. He needed to go away. If he wouldn't do it himself, Richard would do it for him. This was Gavin's fault.

Gavin: we still meeting at the cafe today?

Gavin: asking because I'm running a little late

Gavin: you're gonna need to grab the table.

Gavin was using him. Gavin was not his friend. Gavin was a liar. Richard had known all along. He did not want this anymore. This was all Gavin's fault. But Gavin also didn't know better. Everyone he had met used him. Gavin was no different.

Me: I think you should find another tutor.

Me: its nothing personal Gavin.

And it really wasn't, not against Gavin anyway. He was only doing what everyone did. Gavin was at fault for being nice, and Richard was just as much as fault for getting attached.

Gavin: was it something I did?

Was it something Gavin had done? He'd stomped into Richard's life and acted like he belonged. Dislodged Richard from his routine. Had Gavin not done that Richard would be fine. Alone but alright. That spiral of destruction had at least been slow. Now his whole world was in upheaval. Nothing had a place anymore. Not Gavin, not Connor, and not Richard. He felt like he was free falling onto a pit of spikes.

A new message popped up from Gavin.

Gavin: text Connor please, he's worried about you.

Let him worry. He dropped his phone off the edge of the bed. He didn't want to deal with it anymore. Not Gavin, not Connor, and not this horrible feeling of displacement. He just wanted to sleep. He didn't want to wake up. It wasn't worth it. None of it was. The loneliness was suffocating, but the alternative was an unknown. Richard didn't like unknowns.

He wanted to go back in time, to that second day and tell himself to steer clear of Gavin. To change his schedule. Anything to keep from having met him. Being alone had to be better than this. Yet the thought of going back to having no one felt bitter. But bitter had to be better than abject terror, it had to be. He couldn't stand living like this.

Richard drifted, his thoughts began to lose traction until they stopped and he slipped under again. The silence of his sleep was oppressive this time. It weighed down on him. It was not rest, this was uneasy. He slept restlessly waking up, only to be pulled under again before he was fully coherent. The next time he woke up was because something was wrong. He couldn't place what, but something had changed. He curled in on himself tighter, trying to make his lanky frame as small as possible. If he kept still long enough, surely it would pass and he could get back to sleep. Perhaps the third time would be the charm, as they say.

There was a knock on his door. Three light taps before it creaked open, someone was there. If he didn't respond they would probably go away. He didn't want to be seen.

"I'm going to turn the light on." That was Connor's voice. Why was Connor here? Richard had made it clear he didn't want to talk to him. As promised the bedroom light came on a few moments later.

Richard sat up and let his eyes adjust. He kept the blanket in his lap, running his fingers over the softness, grounded by that and the slight sting it brought to his wrist. There were two people in his room, one was Connor and behind him was Gavin. Why was he here? This was his fault. Hadn't he caused Richard enough pain already?

'Get Out!' He signed harshly, but it was no lower the grounding sort of pain, it was sharp and reminiscent of the anger he was feeling. Better to show is anger than his fear, 'Leave'

Gavin backed off a step, flinching away from him like he was afraid. Richard had mixed feelings about that. Satisfaction because perhaps now Gavin would leave, and, apprehension because now that Gavin was here a part of Richard wanted him to stay. Gavin wouldn't meet Richard's eyes. Gavin knew this was his fault then. Good.

"Can," Gavin's voice sounded tight, small, and unsure. He kept his eyes down. "Can you at least tell me what I did wrong?"

Everything. Gavin had done everything wrong. He had stayed, had the nerve to look at Richard like he was worth something. Like Richard was his friend rather than a means to an end. Like everyone else Gavin had used him, but it was worse this time because Richard had fallen for it. He had given in with the hope that this time would be different. Then he had time to think about it and tried to push Gavin back to a safe distance, but Gavin wouldn't budge and now he was here. He wanted Richard to be miserable. Gavin was not his friend.

'You Lie.' He closed his eyes to keep from seeing Gavin's reaction and to hold back against the emotions that were bubbling to life in his chest, 'Not My Friend. Only Want Teacher.'

"I... you're my friend Richard." Gavin sounded like he was in physical pain, "I never meant for you to feel like this. I want to fix it."

'LIAR!' A sob rattled up and out of Richard's chest, he was late to cut it off and his tears spilled over without his permission, anger melting into pain and fear. Making him weak. His signs were becoming sloppy, "Not My Friend. Now Leave.'

"Alright. If you want me to go, I will." It barely registered over the hurt that Gavin was listening to him. People didn't tend to listen to Richard, they had better things to do.

Connor's voice cut across that train of thought, it came from much closer than when he'd first spoke. Richard hadn't heard him move. He was too close.

"No Richard, he stays." Richard turned to look at Connor who was beside his bed, with Richard's personal notebook in his hands. He was reading it. "He was the one that said we should come by. He cares about you and is worried for you."

Richard was much more concerned about the notebook, those were his thoughts. He grabbed for it, moving too fast and getting dizzy, 'That Mine. Not For Him! No Showing.'

"I am going to show him Nines, it is about him after all," Connor's tone was a mix of kind and chastising. "You have said your piece. Gavin deserves a chance to say his."

Richard watched Gavin as he read over the page, he didn't know which of the few it was, but it looked like it was making him sick. Guilt ate at Richard, starting loud and violent before settling down to rest along side the sadness and fear in his chest. When Gavin looked at him again he was crying.

"I... I don't hate you." He rubbed at his face, wiping away his tears though his voice was laiden with tears, "and I'm so, so sorry for whatever I did that made him feel that way."

Richard signed, trying and failing to keep his hands steady. They were messy and he knew Gavin would need Connor's help, but he needed to get this off his chest before it suffocated him.

"You stayed, no one ever stays. Not for me." Connor paused to compose himself. He took a deep breath before continuing, "I'm not worth the effort. Its too difficult to communicate with me. So no one stays. People don't like me. I'm not worth knowing."

Gavin looked at Richard like he had said something personally offensive. "I stayed because I like you. You're smart, quick with a joke, and nice to have around," Gavin caught his breath and stepped toward the bed keeping the notebook with him. "I'm not the easiest to get along with either, and people aren't quick to hang around. But you did."

Gavin tucked the notebook under his arm freeing up his hands, 'You Taught Me Your Language.'

Richard felt a storm of things all at once, he couldn't decipher them all, but fear was there. It was familiar, Richard took it and ran, letting Connor pick up the slack. He needed to get these feeling out. They were too much to have all at once.

"You don't know me." Connor narrated, keeping his voice as level as he could, "I am not my brothers, I am not kind. People are difficult and they cause me stress. You do not, being around you is nice. I am not used to it, it scares me."

"You're right I don't know you all that well, but I still let you into my home, showed you my cat, and let you eat your way through my fridge. I only tolerate that kind of behavior from my friends," Gavin took a breath, finally setting the notebook down, he continued speaking as Richard grabbed it. "You're right. You aren't Connor and that's what I like about you."

Connor rolled his eyes at that, the serous mood lightened some. Richard still felt like he was in free fall. All of this was new to him, but listening to Gavin was comforting in a way that he hadn't felt before.

"You're Richard. You leave me on read until I send you pictures of Frankie. You text me at ass o'clock in the morning because you think that if you're awake I should be too," the life was coming back to Gavin slowly. Despite him talking like Richard was worth something, the terror of the thought wasn't as all consuming as it had once been. Sitting face to face with Gavin, Richard almost believed it, "you come to my rescue when I get in over my head. You push me to be better and I need that more than you know. So you're absolutely right, I may not know you well, but I wouldn't be adverse to trying."

Richard was reeling. Gavin liked him, apparently enough to come crashing into a space that wasn't his to ensure that Richard had a soft place to land when things fell apart. It was strange in that it was something new, something he didn't understand. He was unsure, but Gavin seemed sincere but also afraid.

Richard turned to a blank page in his notebook and dug around for his pen. He wrote quickly and it wasn't as neat as he would have otherwise liked, but he needed to know. He flipped the book toward Gavin.

'Do you mean it?' Richard didn't want to risk being lied to. It seemed too good to be true, people didn't do these kinds of things for him.

"Of course I mean it dipshit," Gavin tried to give his usual smile, even without the confidence it was still sincere. "I may be many things, but a liar isn't one of them."

Richard began spilling his thoughts, confessing to everything. Gavin trusted him it was only fair that he did the same. Then he crossed it out, these were his to bear, Gavin wanted a friend not a burden. So next he wrote an apology. For what he had thought, what he had felt, for worrying Gavin, for being a burden; and crossed that out too. It would only upset Gavin again. He settled for thank you. It wasn't enough, and it never would be, but it was the best he could give for now.

'Thank you Gavin. It means more than you know. I'm sorry I worried you, but having friends is difficult and scary. I will try not to do this again but I can't promise anything.'

"Then don't promise," it was said kindly but didn't leave Richard to argue is point that, this was his burden to bear not Gavin's. "Ask for help. Connor is here for you, I haven't met your other brother but I'm sure he is too, and so am I. You're not alone. Not anymore."

Richard wasn't so sure, Connor and Gavin surely had better things to do. Even at that they had still come to him and at least tried to pull him out of his own head. Gavin didn't know what he was stepping into, but still seemed sure of himself. It comforted Richard and he gave a weak, tired smile. He would try, even if it was just so Gavin didn't have to see him like this again. He wouldn't have to face this alone, but having someone see the worst of him seemed just as daunting. Gavin was nothing if not stubborn, he would drag Richard back to his feet if needed. He could do this, if not on his own then with help.

#A Hand in the Matter #dbh #d:bh #gavin reed #dbh gavin #d:bh gavin #d:bh reed900 #dbh reed900 #reed900 #rk900 #nines #dbh nines #d:bh nines #connor rk800 #connor

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askwenjing · 3 years

Text

[ROTG] Cruel Summer

Written for @rotg-hope-week. 2223 words.

Prompt: Summer

Pairing: Blackice - Jack Frost/Pitch

Setting: human!au, modern!au

Notes: This is the first time I made a ROTG human!au and modern!au fanfic. If the conversations feel weird I do apologize - I am not good in writing social interactions (I am bad at interacting with others) but I have tried my best!

I do not own Rise of the Guardians and the song Cruel Summer. Rise of the Guardians belongs to Dreamworks and Cruel Summer belongs to Taylor Swift.

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

Jack hated summer.

Most people would love to catch the warm rays of the sun and to have more fun during the extended daylight. Jack understood that.

Jack’s friends loved summer too.

North would carry out his outdoor activities like hiking as long as the sun was up. He loved exploring and he wanted to see the wonder in everything.

Bunnymund loved the sight of greenery in summer. Besides, longer days meant that he could work on his garden longer, and summer rain would help his plants to grow better.

Tooth would leave the town to go for birdwatching. She loved to be surrounded by nature, and hear the birds chirping. It was the only time she could properly destress herself.

Sandy took this opportunity to take some naps outdoors. He would sleep on a hammock as the summer breezes swayed it gently, allowing him to fall asleep easily.

But Jack. Jack could not stand the summer heat.

Jack always felt like he was melting. He needed to blast air conditioning in full force when he was in his house. He only went out to the beach, the swimming pool or the fountain to cool down. He would buy plenty of cold drinks and ice cream to satisfy himself with the cold feeling.

Jack preferred to go out at summer night. The temperature was at least cooler and more bearable for him. He would go to bars to relax and listen to music. He was usually by himself and he rarely talked to others. He just observed other people.

Jack thought this summer was going to be like every summer he had in the past – alone under the gruelling heat – as what he would describe as a “cruel summer”. He was proven wrong when he caught a glimpse of a man in a black suit sitting next to him at the bar.

Jack was amused that someone could wear a suit and still survive under the hot season. “Still wearing that suit under the summer heat?” he asked the man in a playful way.

“Says the one who won’t retire the hoodie from their closet,” the man replied with a smug smile.

Jack knew that he had lost. He was still wearing his favourite blue hoodie and he was unwilling to change it no matter what season it was. “Okay, you win,” he said sheepishly.

The man let out a small chuckle. “Nice try, young man. But I never lose in a sass battle,” he stated proudly.

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” Jack replied confidently and pulled out a mischievous smile. He loved challenges.

“My name is Jack,” he introduced himself.

“Pitch Black. But you can call me Pitch,” the man introduced himself.

Since their first meeting, Jack and Pitch had been hanging out in bars, and occasionally at parks during nighttime. Jack was glad to find someone who hated the summer like him. Besides, Jack never knew that Pitch could be so much fun. Even though he was a sophisticated gentleman who lived in a mansion on the outskirts of town, he sure knew how to make Jack laugh with his sassy attitude and sarcastic remarks. They constantly had back-to-back banters and they all ended in laughs.

At times, though, Pitch would make some moves on Jack when they were both alone. He would gently grab Jack’s chin and close the distance between them slightly as he whispered to the young man. When they walked, he would ask Jack whether he could hold his hand. Jack did not mind his physical acts. In fact, he liked them.

The longer they interacted, the more they uncovered their true selves. Jack could relate to Pitch’s loneliness and his desire for some company. After all, he was a man who had so much riches and knowledge, yet he had no friends and family. Jack had left his family to live by himself after graduating high school. Although he had North, Bunny, Tooth and Sandy as his friends, they were constantly busy in their works. Jack did not want to disturb them, so he went off to do things alone.

Jack and Pitch did appreciate each other’s company. Though, Jack wanted more than this. He wondered whether Pitch felt the same as well. He wondered who would make the first move – him or Pitch. He also wondered what moves Pitch would make next.

Jack was overwhelmed by his thoughts that he was unaware that he had been drinking too much. Eventually he became drunk and Pitch was quick to notice it. Pitch sighed and he carried Jack to his car. He placed him at the back seat of the car and fastened the seatbelt for him. He then proceeded to drive Jack back to his house.

As Pitch was driving, Jack started to cry. Pitch began to worry about him, but he also believed that it could be the effect of alcohol on Jack. Once he reached Jack’s house, he carried him to his room and carefully placed him on the bed.

“Are you okay, Jack?” Pitch asked him. He wanted to make sure that he was fine before he left.

“Y-Yeah… I’m fine…” Jack answered groggily.

“Just… call me when you have rested well,” Pitch said as he ruffled his messy white hair. “Goodnight, Jack.”

“Mmm… goodnight… Pitch…” Jack replied, still feeling tipsy.

Pitch smiled and left a small kiss on his forehead. Jack was taken by surprise. Before he could react, Pitch had left, and exhaustion took over him.

A few hours later, Jack woke up in the middle of the night. His body was heating up. He was sweating and he had a headache. He felt uncomfortable. He quickly took off his hoodie and opened the windows to get some fresh air.

He lied down on his bed, trying to recall what happened when he was drunk. He could briefly remember Pitch asking him whether he was okay, and that he should call him after waking up. Though, the one thing that he remembered most was the kiss on the forehead. He blushed at the thought of it.

As his headache subsided, Jack grabbed his phone from his trousers and dialled Pitch’s number. He hoped that Pitch had not gone to sleep yet.

“Hello?” Pitch answered the call.

“Hey, Pitch,” Jack replied with a small smile. “Just letting you know that I am okay now.”

“That’s a relief,” Pitch said, and Jack swore that he could imagine him smiling on the other side.

“Haha, yeah,” Jack blurted out and chuckled.

There was an awkward silence.

“Uhm… Pitch-”

“I think you should rest, Jack. You may have a hangover later.”

Jack was saddened to hear that. Even though Pitch was right, he wanted to hang out with him more.

“It’s okay, Jack. We still have plenty of time together once you completely recover. I will be at my mansion today, and if you need anything, you can just call me.”

Jack let out a long sigh. Pitch was right, and there was nothing he could do about it. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Pitch let out a small chuckle. “Well, take care, Jack.”

“I will. Bye.”

Once the phone call ended, Jack let himself fall onto his bed. He groaned at the thought that he failed to ask Pitch about the forehead kiss. Though, as he started thinking about the phone conversation earlier, Jack was certain that he had feelings for Pitch, and that Pitch had feelings for him too.

He needed him, and he needed more of him.

Fever dream high in the quiet of the night

You know that I caught it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

Bad, bad boy, shiny toy with a price

You know that I bought it (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

Killing me slow, out the window

I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

What doesn't kill me makes me want you more

All his unfulfilled desires were torturing him. It felt like a cruel summer to him.

And it's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

But ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

With you

Jack continued to rest even after the sun had risen. He wanted to make sure that he was completely fine if he wanted to see Pitch late at night. He wanted to tell him about his true feelings. Although Pitch would advise him to do so by phone, Jack felt that it would be more genuine to tell him personally.

As night fell, Jack went out and he had his hood covering most of his face. He took a brief stop at a vending machine that was on his path to Pitch’s mansion. He brought a bar of chocolate and a can of soda from it. He remembered hanging out with Pitch right here, where they joked about screwing up their relationship.

Hang your head low in the glow of the vending machine

I'm not dying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

We say that we'll just screw it up in these trying times

We're not trying (Oh yeah, you're right, I want it)

So cut the headlights, summer's a knife

I'm always waiting for you just to cut to the bone

Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

And if I bleed, you'll be the last to know

Looking back at the memory, Jack hoped that their relationship would last. Besides, they had to keep their relationship a secret. After all, many people, including Jack’s friends would find it weird that a gentleman like Pitch was dating a young boy still in college.

Oh, it's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

But ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

With you

Jack wanted Pitch to know everything about him, and he wanted to know everything about Pitch as well. He no longer wanted to hide secrets just because he was afraid of sabotaging their relationship.

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (Oh)

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

Jack arrived at Pitch’s mansion. Pitch had brought him here a few times, so he knew his ways around the place. He found a gate that would lead him to the garden, and he snuck in. He hoped to find Pitch there and confess to him.

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh)

Jack found Pitch was enjoying his tea in the gazebo. He came out of the bushes to face him.

“Jack, what are you doing here?” Pitch was shocked to see him.

Jack took the hood off. “Pitch, there’s something I have been dying to tell you,” he said, and Pitch listened.

And I scream, "For whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

Jack looked down to the ground. He did not know how Pitch would react to his confession. Suddenly, he felt a finger on his chin, and his face was lifted to meet Pitch’s. Jack could feel his cheeks heating up as he saw Pitch’s devilish grin. From there he knew that Pitch felt the same as he did.

He looks up, grinning like a devil

Months passed. The weather was turning cool and the leaves were turning colour. Jack and Pitch were in Pitch’s car, enjoying the view of the town from the top of a hill. Pitch had his arm wrapped around Jack’s shoulder, and they felt contented. They had so much fun this summer. They tried out many activities like swimming and surfing at night, stargazing, having a barbeque at Pitch’s garden, and making cocktails. Furthermore, their relationship had become more intimate since the confession, and they were more comfortable to give each other physical and emotional affection. They had made many wonderful memories this summer.

It's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

It's cool, that's what I tell 'em

No rules in breakable heaven

But ooh, whoa oh

It's a cruel summer

With you

“Hey, Pitch. Do you think that my confession is the worst thing you ever heard?” Jack jokingly asked him.

I'm drunk in the back of the car

And I cried like a baby coming home from the bar (Oh)

Said, "I'm fine," but it wasn't true

I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate (Oh)

And I scream, "For whatever it's worth

I love you, ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?"

“No,” Pitch answered. “In fact, it is the best thing I have ever heard.”

They smiled and shared a kiss.

It turned out to be their best summer yet.

#rise of the guardians #rotg #fanfiction #fanfic #rotghopeweek2021

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vpyre · 3 years

Text

The Geek Division

Grelle was annoyed. She generally was these days, but this time there was a tangible reason. Why on earth did she need to experience “the science side of Grim Reaper Dispatch” when they knew full well that she had no interest in academics and would rather be out learning something useful like how to collect souls? She was in Retrieval training for christ's sake. To hell with “having an understanding and appreciation for all branches of the Dispatch”. It was just pointless. Pointless and stupid and just another thing for her to suffer through. She sighed and tapped her fingers against one of the black lab tables. Beakers and vials bubbled and hissed in the back of the room, barely audible over the clamor of the new trainees as they filed in and found seats with their new friends. No one sat with her. She was left alone to sulk, not that she particularly cared. They were all the same anyway; afraid of her, unnerved by her, rude to her. She would tell them all to drop dead, but it was a bit too late for that.

When everyone had found a seat, four reapers in white lab coats made their way to the front of the room, and one of them stepped forward. As soon as the first word left his mouth, Grelle knew she'd be dying of boredom ten minutes in, if that. Pointless. What a waste of time. As her gaze settled on the view through the long window on the other side of the room, she propped her chin on her fist and twirled a strand of her short hair around her finger. I wish it was longer. To my knees even! I’d be gorgeous if I grew it out; and then maybe they would see me the way I really am. Her thoughts continued drifting wistfully, like a cardinal’s feathers in a breeze.

"Hiya."

Grelle started and whipped around so hard she almost fell out of her chair. Sitting in the previously empty seat beside her was another man in a lab coat, though he was decidedly more rumpled than the other scientists. Where their clothes and hair were tidy and their demeanor formal, his dark hair stuck out in odd places and he was slouching in his seat. When she saw the open, laid-back friendliness on his face, she felt some of her tension evaporate as her mind processed that he wasn't there to harass her like the others. But still... why is he talking to me?

"My name's Othello. What's yours, my dear new reaper?" he asked. She didn't see a single hint of negativity or ulterior motives in his face, so she replied,

"Grelle Sutcliff. From the Retrieval Division." If he was really genuine in his friendliness, she couldn't see the harm in making conversation to pass the time.

"Good to meet you! Now, what're your pronouns, Dear Grelle?"

What? She blinked, trying not to let her surprise show. No one had ever asked her that before; they all just assumed. She couldn't blame them, not really. She'd never met someone like her, never met someone who was aware of anything other than what the societal norm was. But somehow he knew. Why did he know? Reapers must really be ahead of their time, or at least this one was. He seemed to have picked up on her line of thinking when she didn't respond right away, so he continued,

"I've seen you around, so I noticed that you carry yourself a certain way and that you don't appear to like being referred to as male. I wanted to make sure I wasn't assuming anything, 'cos you seem like an interesting person to know."

It was the sincerity in his voice that stifled the last of her apprehension. She relaxed and murmured,

"I... I'm a woman. And thank you. Y'know, for asking. It isn't often that people are this considerate."

"No need to thank me, it should just be common decency. Anywho, it doesn't look like you're particularly enjoying the forensics lecture." Before she could finish stuttering out a defensive response, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna tattle on you. I'd be in the same boat if I had to visit the retrieval division, seeing as I'm physically incompetent and nothing fascinates me more than science." There were sudden rustles of movement around them as the instructors shooed everyone out of the room for a demonstration. Grelle sighed and stood up to follow,

"Well, it was nice to meet you, but-" a hand on her arm gave her pause. "What?" She turned to look at the other reaper, and he mouthed,

"Come with me!" She hesitated for a moment, deliberating. Then she shrugged. She had nothing better to do; plus he was considerate and kind, which was more than she could say for anyone else as far as she was concerned, so she nodded, relief and mischievous curiosity bubbling up and lifting her spirits. Stifling a grin, she followed him as they scurried through the lab and away from the group, quietly slipping out into the corridor.

She glanced around furtively and asked, "What are we doing?” as he tugged her onward through the stark white halls.

”Alleviating your boredom. You looked like you were about to snap and smash some of those beakers, so I thought I’d save you from the inevitable cleanup duty punishment. And like I said, you seem like an interesting person to know. Plus, I want to show you my lab. Forensics will never interest you if those stuffed shirts are the ones talking. They don’t ever say anything interesting. They all think I’m ‘eccentric’ just cos I’m not satisfied with their dull science; and I very well may be, but at least I’m not boring.” She rolled her eyes, but she couldn't deny that listening to this geek talk was infinitely more entertaining than sitting in that stuffy lab, listening to those stuffy scientists regaling her with their stuffy lecture.

His lab wasn't far, thank god. As much as she hated the Dispatch and its rules, she didn't want to get caught and written up, not when she was doing so well in her retrieval training. They stopped at a plain wooden door in the middle of the hall. It was unremarkable, but from what she could already tell about Othello himself, it was sure to be more interesting on the inside. He unlocked the door and they entered. What she saw was unexpected, but she had expected it to be unexpected, so really it wasn't all that surprising. Where the other lab was neat and orderly, equipment organized and surfaces uncluttered, his looked like a tornado had torn through it. Beakers and papers were scattered across all available tables and counters, almost completely obscuring every horizontal surface. There were science-y odds and ends everywhere. On top of that, there was a huge pile of unrecognizable mechanical parts, metal, and machinery on the floor in the back of the room (strangely enough, the floor was clean and absent of any other clutter).

"What on earth is that thing?" Grelle asked, leaning on a table and gesturing to the back of the room. She hoped he wouldn't get all technical about it; she didn't understand these sorts of things, nor did she want to, but she couldn't help feeling curious.

"It's a dynamo, a generator; or, rather, it will be. I'm still working on it. Humans probably won't have it for the next hundred years or so." He strode over to the desk near the metal thing -the generator- and started digging through the papers. Despite the mess he seemed to know exactly where to find what he needed, emerging a moment later with a diagram, which he waved around enthusiastically, excitement shining in his eyes. "It converts AC into DC using a commutator, which is a set of rotating switch contacts on the armature shaft that reverse the connection of the armature winding to the circuit with every 180 degree rotation, creating a-"

She shook her head and cut in, waving a hand, "Wait wait wait wait. I don't speak geek; mind translating that to English?"

"Essentially, it just generates energy in the form of electricity. But there's so much more to it than that! Lemme show you the diagram." He motioned her over to the desk. Pointing out parts as he spoke, he explained what each one did, how it worked, and how they fit together. When he finished rambling about the generator, he moved on to some of the other blueprints and formulas scattered throughout the room as well as some of the chemical vials sitting in their various nooks and crannies. She didn't understand a word that came out of his mouth, but his enthusiasm was contagious; though she tried to act aloof, she found herself smiling and nodding along as he spouted scientific gibberish. It was entertaining just to watch him gush about it all, and honestly kinda endearing. It certainly took her mind off of her bitter thoughts. Even with the difference in interests, she was just glad to be around someone who seemed to enjoy her company and who didn't harbor any negativity towards her. Someone who went out of his way to cheer her up. Someone who trusted her not to lash out at him. Someone who was thoughtful enough to ask about her feelings and respectful enough to listen to, then act on her answer.

Still, she wondered. "Why did you come talk to me, y'know, back in the other lab? Most reapers would rather avoid me."

He shrugged and put down his test tube. "You just seemed lonely. Not only at that moment, but almost every time I saw you around. To other reapers, your loneliness and hurt might come across as anger, but that's just 'cos they don't bother trying to understand you. Honestly! You'd think they'd have no trouble understanding on some level; after all, we all got here the same way, but some people just don't seem to have it in them to be sympathetic anymore. I make a point of doing things others are afraid of doing, which too often includes being a decent person. On top of that, you're just a very interesting woman, and I like interesting people. Besides, you're really tough and I'm physically weak, so if I stick with you no one will dare mess with me, ha ha!"

Grelle rolled her eyes, but she chuckled a bit all the same. Truth be told, she genuinely appreciated this reaper, someone she had just met, for speaking so openly and kindly. He certainly was eccentric, but he made that a good thing. He continued on as if nothing had happened, and she relaxed in the casually comfortable atmosphere.

All too soon, she heard the trainee crowd walk past Othello's lab, instructors herding them back from the forensics tour. To her surprise, she found that she wanted to stay and simply listen to Othello rave about his beloved science, even though it just went in one ear and out the other for her. She turned to bid him farewell.

"I'm going to head back before I get us in trouble. It was a pleasure to meet you, even if you are a huge geek. And just... thank you. For going out of your way to make me feel more welcome. I may not like or understand science, but if you have to talk about that sort of thing, I suppose I'll humor you and listen."

He smiled a bit and shrugged. "Anytime. And I guess it's too much to hope that I've piqued your interest in forensics?"

"Yes. I'll leave that to you geeks." She shook her head in mock exasperation, but as she walked away, she smiled. Just a bit.

#for the people without ao3 accounts #fanfic #my writing #platonic grellethello #grellethello #grelle sutcliff #grell sutcliff #othello #black butler #kuroshitsuji

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commander-yinello · 4 years

Text

Guardian (Jumin x Zen)

Happy Birthday @maniart1o9!!! For you, I wrote some JuminZen with one of your favorite themes (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I hope you will enjoy it! Read more under the cut ♥♥ ~_^

Word Count: 1945 Warnings: Mild swearing, smoking, references to a car accident

Jumin knows he’s seen him.

Even upside down, with the airbag so closely pressed to his chest that he couldn’t move, his vision spinning, and the overwhelming scent of gasoline making him dizzy, he sees Zen outside the front window. And he’s glowing, so bright his eyes water. Then, as someone pulls him out of the car, he’s gone.

That’s not possible, assistant Kang insists next to the hospital bed he’s sitting in, both waiting for the doctor to come back. Zen was nowhere near C&R International, and she only just warned the RFA 5 seconds ago of the crash. He could not have possibly arrived here that fast.

Ah. The crash. The car crash. The one Jumin was in because Driver Kim had his day off, and Jumin saw no issue driving to the client himself. The one where Jumin had to swerve to dodge another car cutting off his lane, and caused his own car to topple over and crash against a tree.

She’s right, Jumin thinks, there’s no way Zen could have been at the crash. Most likely stress from the crash, a concussion, his panicked imagination going in overdrive.

Yet, not a minute later, the doctor tells him he doesn’t even have a bruise. As if he never was in a car accident. That should not be possible, the doctor says, and assistant Kang is equally confused. Jumin however, is not.

He is certain now, he’s seen Zen.

And he has a suspicion why.

~~~~

Jumin Han:

Do you sometimes find yourself in places you weren’t before when you travel?

ZEN: Dude it’s 1 AM why are you messaging me

Also wtf are you going on about

Are you high???

Jumin Han: You still replied.

ZEN: Go to sleep and leave me alone, asshole

~~~~

He’s always wondered what was up about Zen. He knows about albinos, they often took great care of themselves when going outside, and sometimes had other health issues. Not Zen, who is so handsome, not that Jumin would admit it out loud. Who is so fit, he jogged daily. Who has no problem taking selfies in broad daylight with no sunscreen or sunglasses in sight. It had been only after Jumin made the last comment, a year ago, that Zen suddenly mentioned jogging at night, or an extensive skincare routine.

Back then, he stopped caring very quickly. It wasn’t any of his business, of course, what the narcissistic man did.

Now he cares again. He remembers how Zen had gotten into an accident, and V told him in full detail how Zen had healed insanely fast.

A handsome albino with super fast healing skills. How very strange, he tells Elizabeth, and she meows in agreement. He pets her while leaning an elbow on his mahogany desk, laptop showing a website of occult creatures.

Maybe he is a vampire. The ones in that one teenage movie sparkle. Which is not a glow, his brain reminds him. Plus the whole sun thing would still be an issue.

He entertains the sexy albino vampire idea a bit too long, before he realizes and cuts his thoughts off on purpose.

Maybe he is too paranoid. Maybe Zen is human. Zen’s allergy for cats seems real, at least. Even though Zen is an actor, Jumin thinks, he hides his emotions poorly.

And then Zen mentions that, sometimes, he has prophetic dreams.

Strange. Very, very strange.

Too many things don't add up for Zen to be human. And Jumin wants to know who he truly is - very much so.

~~~~

Jumin Han: Do you often glow?

ZEN: Of course I do, my beauty is radiant Blessed by the Gods themselves

Jumin Han: Gods. Interesting. Tell me all about them.

ZEN: What? What do you mean? You’re creeping me out Also why are you messaging me again what the hell

Jumin Han: You always reply to me.

ZEN: No I don’t, stupid jerk

Jumin Han: And yet you did it again.

ZEN: Argh! I can’t with you! Screw you!

~~~~

Zen is calling him a weirdo in the chat again. Jerk. Freak. The words have never mattered to him, but now Jumin wonders if it’s a smokescreen. He’s paid very close attention to all of the chatrooms with Zen in it, to the point it felt like stalking. It’s interesting how often Zen brings him up as a topic, even when it’s completely unnecessary.

He starts to understand why Luciel thinks Zen is obsessed with him. Perhaps because there is more than Zen shows.

But Zen denies everything he asks. He denies whatever screenshots Jumin sends him. He insults and denies and rants, and Jumin doesn't get any closer to the truth. At some point, Zen mentions that his behavior is akin to his older brother, but it comes over as an excuse to make Jumin shut up.

To the outside world, it seems that Zen truly despises him. Jumin is just not convinced.

There’s only a few things Jumin knows for sure. Zen was there when he crashed. And it had to be connected to the fact that Jumin came out of the crash completely unharmed. That’s it.

It drives him mad that he is denied more knowledge.

So he makes a decision. He tells assistant Kang to watch over Elizabeth. Heads down to the garage. Opens the car door. Takes a deep breath and wonders if he’s gone insane.

He gets behind the wheel again.

~~~~ Yoosung☆: Hi Zen!!

Jaehee Kang: Hello Zen, good to see you!

ZEN: Hey guys Where’s Jerkmin?

707: Lololol why do you ask~ Could it be.... You miss him??! (~˘▾˘)~

ZEN: What?! Of course not Why would you say that I’m glad he’s not around to spoil the mood! I just find it suspicious he’s not here

Jaehee Kang: Mr. Han said he had something important to do Now I have c-fur on my suit again T_T

Yoosung☆: Poor Jaehee, hopefully you’ll be free soon - Zen has left the chatroom -

Yoosung☆: Ehhhh????

707: Zen suddenly leaving? Now that’s suspicious ರ_ರ

Jaehee Kang: I hope nothing happened to him. ~~~~

Jumin never crashes. The moment he turns on the engine, Zen is there, in front of the car lights, scaring the hell out of him. In a split second, the lamps in the garage flicker, and Jumin swears he sees a faint glowing outline of feathers behind Zen.

Zen is wearing his trademark turtleneck and holds a cigarette in his hand. He takes a drag and blows out the smoke, looking bored, as if he had been waiting.

“You're such a jerk, you know that?” Zen’s voice echoes in the large garage. They are alone. He hears nothing in the background, as if time stands still.

Jumin is too stunned to reply. Zen sighs, and walks to the side of the car, opens the door and takes his place in the passenger seat. He grabs the key from Jumin’s fingers and turns the engine off. The smell of tobacco and cologne fill Jumin’s nose, yet he doesn’t find the will to tell Zen not to smoke in his car.

“If me sitting here will stop you from killing yourself, then so be it,” Zen says, and takes another drag after closing the door.

Jumin realizes his hands still grip the wheel, and he slowly lowers them to his lap.

“What… what are you?” he asks.

“I can’t answer that. You already know way too much because I fucked up. Don't worry, nothing will happen to you,” Zen replies, and the smoke surrounding him makes him look more human.

“And to you?”

Zen looks out the open window instead. “It’s fine,” he finally replies.

That isn’t what he wants to hear. But if nothing would happen to him, then possibly Zen’s punishment wouldn’t be too severe.

Zen’s words do confirm other things - there is some higher power at work keeping Zen in check. And Zen did protect him, he’s sure of it now, from dying. So much so that Zen is in trouble for it.

“You protected me… too much. I should have had some damage,” Jumin says, inadvertently licking his lips. He’s nervous, because the bratty vain actor had been the one standing between life and death for him.

Zen runs a hand through his hair. Maybe Jumin is projecting, but he feels Zen is nervous too.

"I know that, trust fund. I just… couldn’t deal with… that." Zen waves his cigarette-free hand at the air in front of them, trying to stay as cryptic as possible.

He cares too much, Jumin instantly realizes. He watches Zen cross his legs - a defensive stance, Jumin notes - and wonders how much Zen has said in the chatroom is real.

“For someone like you, you aren’t exactly good at keeping it a secret.”

Zen chuckles. “You’d be surprised how much people accept. In fact, the stranger you seem, the less likely they suspect.”

Jumin hates to admit that it made sense. “Are you always fighting me because you have to distance yourself from me on purpose?”

“I can't answer that.”

Can't or shouldn't? Either way, Jumin is content with the answer. Yet, he can’t stop asking questions.

“Does everyone have… someone like you?”

“Not me specifically.”

Jumin makes a mental note to check all sun-loving albinos in the country. “Do you know who else is like you?”

Zen shook his head. “I know there are others. No idea who.”

“Sounds… lonely.”

“...It is.”

Jumin knows all about loneliness. He imagines Elizabeth on his lap, and sees the photo of V, Rika and him on his desk, and hears his father’s voicemail on his phone. So many days he’s convinced only Elizabeth would be there to catch him, when he comes home tired from work and falls down the abyss in his mind. Awful, lonely thoughts.

He wants to ask more. Menial questions like is Zen truly allergic, or deeper ones asking about the forces unknown. Jumin decides that he doesn’t want to push it.

“So… what now?”

“You,” Zen points at Jumin’s chest, “Will stop trying to drive, you menace. I actually like it here, so don’t make it worse.”

Jumin grins. “You like it here? Even with me?”

“Yeah, I know, must suck being guarded by someone you hate.” Zen rolls his eyes.

“I never hated you.”

Zen whips his head towards Jumin, eyes wide.

“Never. Not even when you tried your worst. And now, knowing it is you watching over me… It is a blessing. Thank you, Zen.”

He means it. There is a happy light feeling in his chest, knowing there’s a very logical reason for Zen to act so irrationally towards him. And he knows that he’ll have to act irrational back in order to keep up the facade, so Zen can stay.

He wants Zen to stay.

Zen blushes, and tries to hide it poorly by looking out of the window again. Jumin can’t help but find it endearing. “When you say things like that, people will think you’ve gone crazy.”

Jumin smirks. He doesn’t care what people think of him. Wasn’t there still that rumor of him floating around?

Zen flicks his cigarette stub away and sighs. “Well, I need to go. Take care.”

“Should I, when I have you?” Jumin sasses. It’s too close to flirting to be misconstrued otherwise.

“Wh- N- Whatever, just don’t drive!” he yells. His cheeks are redder, and Jumin notices before the car is filled with a bright light.

Once again, Zen is gone. A very typically Zen to do. Jumin smiles, and sits in the car for a while.

He still has no good excuse when Assistant Kang finally finds him there.

#juzen #juminzen #zumin #jumin x zen #mystic messenger #mysme #fanfiction #my fanfic #omg it's been too long since I wrote fanfic #pls forgive anything OOC #also I wanted this to be longer but no time T_T #why is real life so cruel #still it was v fun to write!#I love supernatural themes *_*#ty mani for ur talent and ideas <3

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