#has this been collecting dust in my wips for months now? yeah and what of it
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Don't Blame Me (Part 1)
Sebastian's concerns for MC's safety are at an all-time high. He's had it with their recklessness, their decision to trust a goblin the final nail in the coffin- if they refuse to listen to reason, insisting on continually endangering themselves, then Sebastian would simply have to take measures into his own hands.
When rumours begin to circulate about their latest exploit (the takedown of an ashwinder base) he's hit with an epiphany. Perhaps the enemy of his friend, could be his ally.
Whatever happened next, at least he'd always know MC was alive, no matter what the cost.
fic is on ao3 here
The heat of the Undercroft threatened to become unbearable, stifling air brought on by countless blasts aimed at the numerous target dummies, robes long since discarded and thrown to the side in a mindless shuffle, sleeves rolled up and rivulets of sweat clinging to the nape of his neck- anyone else would have long since abandoned the burning heat of the room to the cooler air of the Castle.
Sebastian couldn’t bring himself to care, hoping the air might burn some of the energy from his body, tear the frustration from his lungs, perhaps he could finally claim a night of uninterrupted sleep when all this was over.
There’s no concern of getting interrupted in here, nobody to tell him to calm down or to talk him through his racing mind. Ominis had holed himself up in some corner of the library to finish an essay, and the only other person who knew about the Undercroft had rarely visited the hidden alcove before their fight with him.
Unwillingly, his eyes drifted to the side, catching on the open triptych.
His next basic cast threatened to topple the training dummy over, viciously tearing from his wand on impulse.
MC had been avoiding him- the rare times they were even in the Castle, that was. Like they had any right to be the one avoiding him, after what they had done. He saw the way they slipped around corners at the sight of him, head stubbornly turned in the other direction when they crossed paths in the corridors- things he only caught sight of from the periphery of his vision, the glances he caught when they weren’t looking.
It’s how he knew they were so frequently sneaking out. They hadn’t been at dinner for an entire week now, fleeing the grounds at a moment's notice, and none of the staff could care less.
Neither could he. Sebastian had no interest in whatever fruitlessly heroic missions they indulged in when they took flight from the grounds, whatever daring mystery had caught their attention now. He. Didn’t. Care.
Except, that’s a lie.
A huge lie, it’s impossible to ignore. His skin itches at the thought of what dangers they may be facing, without anyone at their side to defend them, his gaze can’t help but seek them out in a room, settling on the rhythmic movement of their breathing, the steady gait in their walk, all signs of health- of life , anything to settle the racing fears in his mind.
Thoughts made worse when he remembers their latest argument, that goblin friend of theirs. Disgusting. Impossible. Terrifying . How could they be so stupid ?
A hissing diffindo slices the head clean off the training dummy. He casts reparo with hardly a second thought.
On the worst nights, images of them plagued his dreams. MC, dead in the middle of a goblin encampment, dragged off in a cage to meet their fate at Ranrok’s hands, bled dry of their magic until they had nothing left of use to Ranrok, pallor ashen and empty, lying dead at the goblin’s hands. Images fuelled by their latest visit to Feldcroft, the way the goblins had focused so intently on MC as they arrived in the midst of battle, the words of violence as they recognised MC in their trip to the Mines, none of it any surprise to the target of their ire, like they were used to it- even as the goblins’ attitude was only getting more violent, more targeted.
None of those dreams felt like his usual terrors- nothing like how the memory of Anne being cursed had haunted his sleep for months afterwards, or how images of his parents’ death still lingered on nights when he felt particularly alone or hopeless. No, these dreams felt different, leaving him lurching awake, his chest tight with panic.
Deep down he knew it was because these dreams were different- because every single image his brain conjured up was entirely possible.
MC had always been reckless, but they were taking it too far, putting their faith- their precious friendship- in the hands of a goblin , one close with Ranrok, no less.
The knowledge sat like poison on his tongue, disgust and fear raged a vicious war within him at the thought.
How long until MC was betrayed, and nobody would be there to save them?
Years spent in Feldcroft, dealing with the constant threat of Goblin Loyalists, and Sebastian had never seen them as violent, as determinedly targeted as when they clashed against MC. Terror races in his veins at the thought of what they might do if they finally got their claws on MC, what horrors MC might face before the goblins inevitably killed them.
Look at what they had done to Anne, for the mere crime of existing- what would they do to someone who was actively seeking out and destroying their camps, intentionally getting in their way and investigating their plans?
MC was ignorant to the true nature of goblins, couldn't understand it like Sebastian did. They were blinded by their own naivety, mindlessly putting their trust in centuries-old Keepers and goblins, with no care for how their own life hung in the balance.
Deaf to reason, MC refused to listen to Sebastian, insistently running out of the castle to face unnamed threats, believing themself invincible or ignorant to the fact that they weren’t- it was tearing him apart.
It was in dreams that the truth was hardest for him to deny or hide from.
If MC kept doing this, they would die. He was going to lose them.
Just like he’d lost his parents, like he was losing Anne- he hadn’t stopped those from happening, he’d been blind to the danger until it was too late- but not with MC. This time he could see the threat coming, he wouldn’t turn away from the danger they were in- not like MC was so determined to. He’d not allow their ignorance to get in the way, he couldn't .
Sebastian was tired. Tired of losing the people he cared about, of feeling helpless to protect them and feeling haunted by the ‘what ifs’ for the rest of his life.
He couldn’t lose MC too, no matter what the cost.
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“An entire base, I heard.”
“Natty owes them her life.”
“You think they’d tell us what happened if I asked?”
Sebastian grits his teeth as the whispers of Hogwarts gossip follows him through the Castle, whispers which had been impossible to escape since breaking out at breakfast that morning, all about how MC had supposedly taken out an entire Ashwinder base to rescue Natsai Onai- a story which had apparently originated from the staff themselves, and Natty was making no effort to refute, happy to praise the heroic prowess of her friend.
The rumour itself isn’t surprising, not to him. He’d seen first hand what MC was capable of- more so than anybody else he’d dare wager, they were the most competent magical study Sebastian knew and would confess to as much regardless of whether they weren’t talking right now- no, it was the rest that frustrated him.
MC had raided an entire Ashwinder base, on their own. It infuriated him- this same recklessness, the blatant disregard for their own safety, had they even paused to think , to consider the risks before acting? How hard would it have been for them to pen a note to him for back-up first? Regardless of their last conversation, he would have been at their side in an instant, and they could have burned down that Ashwinder base together- he would have thought MC knew that, regardless of how petulant they had been acting recently.
Privately, if only to himself, Sebastian could confess that not all of his frustration was directed towards MC.
He’d been neglectful.
So caught up in the threat of Ranrok and his loyalists, it had been easy to forget about the sight of Victor Rookwood that day in the Three Broomsticks- too easily, he’d forgotten that loyalists were not the only ones hunting down MC.
At least against goblins, there was a wand-casting advantage- but with Ashwinders, MC could be facing any length of dark magic thrown against them, forbidden curses and conjurations against a student who had only been studying magic for a few months…
And yet, the realisation didn’t send the same white hot fear racing down his spine as when he thought about MC going up against goblins, something Sebastian didn’t care to question, but the thought of the dark wizards still worried him. Especially since whatever MC was doing when they weren’t on castle grounds, was clearly drawing the ire of the Ashwinders when they already had a target on their backs.
What was so important, it took priority over their own life?
The triptych, Sebastian could understand- that was MC’s magic they were talking about, and they were investigating it with him - someone MC could rely on, who certainly wouldn’t allow himself to be in need of rescuing.
Which begged the question, why had Natty needed rescuing?
Ashwinders had been terrorising the highlands since before even Ranrok’s Loyalists had taken over, and they had only grown more bloodthirsty as their power grew- it wasn’t like the dark wizards to spare mercy on anyone, even a child. If Natty had been in their way, she should have been killed- not captured.
So why was she ?
Curiosity stabbed at the back of his mind like an errant gnat, an itch he couldn’t scratch without burning his pride and asking MC themself, breaking the silence between them.
He’d have to settle for the Hogwarts rumour mill, how dull and disappointing.
Still, he had to wonder what purpose Victor Rookwood had for pursuing MC like this, drawing their ire against Ashwinder encampments and, from what he had heard, poaching rings. Ranrok, MC had told him about- the goblin’s relentless pursuit of ancient magic, targeting MC for the knowledge they had, searching at the locations of previous keepers- Isadora Morganach’s old home, Rookwood Castle-
He stumbled in his steps, only vaguely aware of the way it drew Ominis’ attention his way, the frown in his friend’s browline, “Sebastian, are you alright?”
He pulled himself together enough to brush off the concern, resuming their casual stroll to lunch, “Y-yeah I just tripped, faulty stair. Let’s keep going.” If Ominis said anything in reply, Sebastian wasn’t paying enough attention to know, mind already reeling.
Rookwood Castle.
Oh Merlin, he was an idiot.
This went beyond some minor truce with Ranrok to hand over MC, beyond any anger with MC for disrupting Ashwinder operations.
Victor Rookwood was the descendant of a Keeper.
He had to know about the Ancient Magic, and if that were true then there was no way he’d be willing to hand MC over to Ranrok, not if he’d figured out that they were able to wield it.
Rookwood wasn’t stupid enough to trust a goblin, as much was obvious to him from the moment MC identified the pair conspiring together in Hogsmeade. Sebastian knew immediately that whatever alliance this was, it was tentative at best, built from a single shared goal- one that, once met, would see an immediate end to the alliance, with what he hoped would be a devastating fallout.
And he had a suspicion on the identity of their shared goal- not a ‘what’, like MC seemed to suspect, but a ‘who’.
First, he needed more information.
-------------------
By Beasts class that afternoon, his head was still swimming with his earlier realisation, with nothing else to focus on but all the questions he didn’t have answers to, a rush of energy through his body as he waited for the moment class would be over and he could head to the clocktower, hoping to find Natty there.
Anything that happened between then and now would fade to a trivial blur.
Or, so he’d thought, until Howin lead them all into a penned clearing not too far from the Beasts hut, and the creature held within was enough to temporarily abate all thoughts of Rookwood and the Ashwinders from his mind.
A Unicorn .
Pure white coat practically shining under the winter sun, shaking its mane with a gracefulness Sebastian didn’t know was possible, the ethereal image interrupted only by the careful wrapping of bandages around its torso, the slight limp to its steps.
He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Unicorn’s were so rare-
“Not too close, that’s it, Unicorns are excellent reads of character, but they tend to show a preference for witches over wizards. I wouldn’t want to startle them, especially not at the moment. Hopefully we’ll be able to introduce you all in the future, once they’ve gotten used to their new surroundings.” Howin directed them several paces away from the fencing, but still within sight.
Sebastian’s sure he isn’t the only one holding his breath when the Unicorn seems to finally notice it has company, but after a few seconds of watching them all, assured nobody is moving closer, the beast huffs, resuming its grazing.
He swears he hears Poppy Sweeting practically vibrating with excitement.
“Of course, their caution isn’t unwarranted. Magical creatures adapt their behaviours over time to ensure survival- the Unicorn is no different. Just about one of the most magically-imbued creatures that exist, from their hair to their blood, they are practically made of magic potential- a fact which puts them at great risk.” As if on cue, the Unicorn stumbled over its right hoof, the front of which had stitches racing up the leg, a detail he had missed until now.
He wasn’t the only one who realised. From the corner of his eye, Sebastian caught the twisted expression on MC’s face. Absent-mindedly, he wondered if they were feeling some sort of kinship with the beast, as Howin pressed on with her lecture.
“Unicorns are not aggressive by nature, despite how powerful they are, and we’d be better off describing them as ‘prey’ animals. To make up for this, Unicorns have a very keen judgement of character, and when combined with their breakneck speeds, they’re able to evade predators- well, most of the time.” The Professor sighed, anger bleeding into her tone, “This one, we rescued from a pack of poachers. Even the most agile of creatures can be caught off-guard, especially if their predator is cunning enough- their natural self-defence tools won’t always be enough.”
Sebastian tried to imagine that. One of the most pure and magical creatures in the known wizarding world, ruthlessly targeted and hunted down until it was overwhelmed on all sides- injured, alone, without escape. Helpless to the malicious whims of a predator who’d use them for their magical potential, and discard what remained.
It was too easy to imagine, felt too familiar to think about. Nausea curled on his tongue.
“Aren’t we just as bad, then?” One of his classmates interjected. A Gryffindor, Elijah Jennings, who stumbled over his words slightly when the full attention of the class fell on him, “I-I mean, keeping the Unicorn in captivity, even after they heal…how is that any better than the poachers?”
Howin didn’t seem upset by the line of questioning. If anything, she seemed happy to answer, as though she’d been hoping someone would ask. Knowing Howin, she probably had been.
“Well, what is kinder Mister Jennings- releasing the Unicorn back into the wild, where they’d continue to be targeted by predators and likely die in a matter of days, especially without the support of their pack- or keep them at Hogwarts, yes in captivity, but where we know they will be safe and protected from those who’d do them harm?”
At this Jennings shut his mouth, but more interesting were the reactions of several students to the left of Jennings. Poppy Sweeting, who looked like she couldn’t agree more. MC, who was nodding along to Howin’s words, even though their attention hadn’t wavered from the injured Unicorn.
Howin continued, and Sebastian found himself hanging on to her every word.
“Sometimes, in order to protect magical creatures- especially endangered ones- a difficult decision must be made on their behalf,” With a single flick of her band, Howin levitated a bundle of feed the Unicorn’s way, “What is better, an upset Unicorn, or a dead one? What is a little bit of unhappiness in the short term, if it means they stay safe in the long term?”
A heaviness settles amongst the group at her severe words, watching in silence as the Unicorn eyes the bundle of feed warily, caution in its every step as it approaches. Then, slowly, the head bows as it begins to eat, tail swishing to the side in satisfaction.
Satisfied she’s made her point Howin proceeds on with the lecture, failing to notice that not all of her students’ attentions had recovered from her earlier statement.
Sebastian forces his gaze away from where it had fixated on MC, but keeps them in his periphery even as class continues.
---------------------------
The Clocktower wasn’t as busy or loud as Sebastian was used to, but given it was the younger years on the roster today, he couldn’t complain about there being less spectators.
Besides, it didn’t really matter how busy it was- as long as it had attracted the attention of the one person he was looking for.
Fortunately, Natty had claimed her favoured spot on one of the upper viewing decks. Sebastian didn’t get the appeal of watching a bunch of amateurs that hardly know their basic cast from a protego duel, and he’d told Natty as much in the past, but the Gryffindor had insisted she found it interesting, so who was he to judge?
Especially when it provided the perfect opportunity to talk to her, uninterrupted.
“Surprised to see you here, from what I’ve heard shouldn’t you be raiding some Ashwinder base right about now?”
“Sebastian! It’s good to see you,” Natty beamed at him as he joined her by the railing, looking down on the Crossed Wands duel taking place, “And I believe we both know you have the wrong side of that rumour, my friend, I am not the one who raised as Ashwinder base.”
He shrugged, keeping his tone light, “We both know there’s no way you were an innocent bystander, Natty.”
Sebastian liked Natsai Onai, teaming up with the transfer student on a few occasions in their fourth year during Crossed Wands- her taste for adventure could rival that of his own, something she no doubt had been drawn to in MC, in not a dissimilar way as he had. But their friendship was tentative, Sebastian knew the Gryffindor’s opinions on magic differed greatly from his own, with a propensity for black-and-white thinking so typical of members of the lion house.
There were lines Natsai Onai wouldn’t cross, which he’d never cared for in the past, but knowing now that she was engaging with dangerous enemies and dragging MC into it, likely ignorant to just how in-danger their mutual friend was- a pit formed in his stomach with the knowledge Natty wouldn’t do what was necessary in the heat of battle, she’d let MC die if it meant never using ‘dark’ magic.
Worse still, she’d allowed herself to be landed in such a position that required MC engaging directly with an Ashwinder camp to save her. It was a fight to keep the ire from his tone, something he’d never had to do around the friendly Gryffindor in the past.
Instead, he kept any subtle dig from bursting forth, instead regarding Natty with a sympathetic tone, “Still, I can’t imagine how terrifying that was. Are you alright?”
Natty nodded, a smile still present on her face, as though it didn’t even bother her to think of what her own recklessness could have cost, “I’m fine, really I owe my life to MC- they did not let me stay imprisoned for long.”
Yes, that sounded infuriatingly like them- rushing into danger the minute someone else’s life was at stake. Sebastian could picture it now, their impulsive rush to be the hero, not even sparing a second thought for their own safety, relying only on sheer power to get themselves through.
He took a grounding breath, reminding himself what he was here for.
“How did you end up in such a precarious situation?” Sebastian keeps his curiosity light, eyes still observing the duel taking place below them in an image of casualness.
Natty matches his nonchalance, as he’d hoped she might, he liked to think that their friendship was strong enough that she’d feel comfortable sharing the details with him. That, and he supposed the fact Sebastian had his own rumours circulating about his out-of-castle adventures with MC certainly helped, “We’ve been investigating Harlow- MC and I, for some time now- our investigation led us to some of his victims in Hogsmeade,”
The name comes to him easily. Theopholis Harlow- Rookwood’s Second in Command. Merlin , how reckless could MC get? It wasn’t enough for them to be interrupting the operations of Ranrok and Rookwood, no, of course they had to be going after Theopholis Harlow too.
He tried to keep his frustrations at a simmer, as Natty continued, “I suppose I was too reckless, I didn’t even realise the Ashwinders had noticed me until it was too late- they took me to a hidden base next to the Hog’s Head, held me and another man they were extorting in some cells in the back rooms. Even then, I knew MC would find me- our friend is quite the powerhouse,”
That , Sebastian knew, was an understatement. Still, he wasn’t sure if he appreciated Natty’s praise, or hated how she just assumed MC would come running to her aid, like putting their safety on the line was something that should be encouraged- “One moment I am pacing in my cell, the next I am hearing the distant sounds of combat, and then MC is arriving to save us. Upon our escape, I realised they had taken on the entire base on their own- defeated every Ashwinder who had been on patrol.” Natty shook her head slightly, unable to keep the edgings of awe out of her voice, “I don’t know how they did it, I almost wish I could have seen it for myself. Watching them fight is…incredible.”
Yes it is.
Sebastian could watch MC take on legions of goblins all day, wield powerful ancient magic like the extension of themself he suspects it is, commanding the elements at their will, and still couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. It was no surprise to him that MC was capable of clearing an Ashwinder base alone, but he wished they wouldn’t.
Still, there was another part of Natty’s story that didn’t quite fit, that Sebastian couldn’t make sense of no matter how hard he tried.
Why wasn’t Natty dead?
Ashwinders weren’t known for their mercy, they had killed and tortured their way into power over local hamlets indiscriminately- male or female, child or adult, none were spared the mercy of the Ashwinders if you had dared to get in their way. Natty should have been killed the second she was spotted prying into their affairs.
So why wasn’t she?
The question wrapped tight around his mind, the final piece of the puzzle he just couldn’t fit the picture together without.
This conversation had been pointless, leaving him only with the same questions as he’d started with.There was only one other person Sebastian could think of that might have any answers for him, and by Merlin , if they were still talking he wouldn’t have even gone to all this trouble in the first place-
His thoughts are interrupted once again by Natty.
“You and MC are close…right?” Her voice is low and quiet, hesitant in such a way he is completely unused to hearing from the normally self-assured Gryffindor, “You were with them in the Three Broomsticks when Rookwood came after them.”
His focus sharpens immediately at the slip of vulnerability, he almost forgets to reply, “Yeah, I remember.”
Natty nods, but doesn’t turn to look at him, her gaze distant even as she looks down on the next Crossed Wands match. There’s none of her usual excited interest in her now-distant expression. Sebastian waits, and soon after Natty continues.
“After we escaped MC..MC asked me not to tell Officer Singer or anybody else about- well, I don’t want to betray their trust. But I haven’t stopped thinking about it, I can’t stop worrying and…and I know you’re both close-”
Warmth rushes through his body as the muttered admission, the reminder of how he and MC were widely-acknowledged amongst the school for how close they had become- he’d not missed the way his former Herbology partner had silently made way for MC one day in class, or the whispers from his roommates when they don’t think he’s listening.
All the more indulgent now, that it seems they are considered close enough for Natty to divulge MC’s secrets to him.
Sensing Natty’s hesitation, he urges her on, “I worry about them too, wish they’d tell me more so we can keep them safe.”
It had been the right thing to say, Natty nodded absently, “I-yes, me too. You deserve to know- the Ashwinders, they only captured me in an attempt to gain information on MC. When I wouldn’t tell them anything they- I…I believe they were using me to lure them in, as a trap.”
Sebastian’s breath catches in his chest, the final puzzle piece falling into his lap, ready for him to piece together.
Rookwood and his Ashwinders were after MC. He knew that, Natty knew that, Merlin, Sebastian would bet everyone in Hogwarts knew that by now- but what Natty was talking about was something entirely different.
Capturing a Hogwarts student to lure their rescuer in, interrogating Natty for information- that took intent, it took desperation and more importantly, forethought .
“I was lucky MC rescued me when they did, any delay and I-MC could be- I overheard-” A deep, shuddering breath, horror laced Natty’s words when she spoke next, hardly above a whisper, “They were on their way. Rookwood and Harlow.”
His head snapped around to stare at Natty before he could stop himself,
“You’re sure?”
“It was the first thing the Ashwinders did after taking me, contact Harlow.” Natty’s voice was solemn, “I have been so foolish , Sebastian. If I’d known they were so desperate to get to MC-
“Did you hear anything else? Why they are after MC?”
“No, but Rookwood and Harlow have given direct orders to all their followers- to capture MC on sight.” Natty sighed, unmoved by Sebastian’s sharp attention. A testament to how deep her worry ran, “I am not the only one who has concerns, Poppy Sweeting heard the same whispers among Rookwood’s Poachers. But when she tried to warn MC-”
Sebastian knew the ending to this particular tale, a familiar bristle of frustration swelling in him as he completed her sentence, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice, “They brushed it off.” Reckless. Disregard for their own safety. Ignorant.
“I am worried for them, Sebastian. You didn’t hear how desperate the Ashwinders were- and MC, it’s-it’s like they don’t even care . I could not keep this a secret- I figured if anybody could get through to them, it might be you.”
“You did the right thing, Natty. I’ll handle this, trust me, I won’t let any harm come to MC.”
His unwavering conviction seemed to settle some part of Natty’s worries as she sighed, suddenly looking as exhausted as Sebastian had been feeling, she offers him one final smile, looking far less burdened than she had for this entire conversation, “I know you won’t, let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. You’re a good friend, Sebastian.”
And with that, Natty was gone, leaving him alone on the upper platform, free to let his thoughts finally come together, finally letting his earlier thrill of realisation overwhelm him.
The mere possibility of getting to MC had been enough to demand the immediate attention of two of the region’s most dangerous dark wizards, to summon them to Hogsmeade and abandon whatever other terror had been occupying their time. Not even he had seen such a sense of desperation coming, and yet everything Natty just told him had confirmed all of Sebastian’s earlier suspicions.
This went far beyond a simple alliance of convenience with Ranrok. Rookwood had his own plans where MC was concerned, and while the thought should terrify Sebastian, should fill him with the same torturous images as he suffered with the recollection of how Goblin Loyalists were targeting MC, it doesn’t .
Natty’s earlier words, whispered like some torturously painful secret, felt like guilty relief to his mind, ‘capture on sight’ .
Someone who wanted MC dead wouldn’t have their followers going to such great lengths to capture them- there would be blasts of the killing curse flying in MC’s direction every time they entered the battlefield, not convoluted plans to lure them into a trap.
No, Rookwood had plans for MC, and they depended on MC being alive.
And it was no mystery why , even some moonmind hit by the confundus charm could figure that one out.
Rookwood knew about MC being able to use the Ancient Magic, he had to, and if that were true then there was no chance he would deliver MC to Ranrok if he got his hands on them first. There was no chance death would come for MC, if they were under the hold of Victor Rookwood.
In fact, Sebastian would bet Salazar’s relic that the moment Rookwood had secured MC, a way to access the Ancient Magic, his alliance with Ranrok would fall apart- hopefully, with the Goblin dead at Rookwood’s wand.
With a sudden lurch, Sebastian pushes himself away from the railing he’d been leaning against, acid burning in his throat as his train of thought caught up to him, what he’d actually been considering-
Victor Rookwood was a dark wizard, an evil, conniving bastard who led an underground crime ring built on corruption and extortion. Merlin, Sebstian lived in one of the Hamlets that fell under Ashwinder territory, his neighbours were victims of their rule of terror- he’s heard about the kind of things Rookwood’s people did to those who wronged them, the cruelty and depravity that none were above sinking to.
There was no corner of the Scottish Highlands that the Ashwinders had not conquered, no rival crime ring that hadn’t been either recruited or all-too-quickly eliminated. They answered to no one, their victims too terrified or too under their control to speak out.
And if Ashwinders were cruel, then Victor Rookwood was even worse.
But he’s not afraid to backstab , a traitorous part of Sebastian’s mind whispered, He’s strategic, he has greater plans than this .
For all his cruelty and depravity, Victor Rookwood was smart. Smart enough to build a criminal empire from a measly local crime ring- the kind of ambition that spoke to greater plans, a hunger for power that extends beyond the simplicity of the Scottish Highlands. Cunning like that meant a want for a challenge , and Sebastian had heard whispers of Ashwinders spotted in other Wizarding towns- the beginnings of expansion.
Yes, Victor Rookwood was smart- smart enough to realise MC had more use to him alive rather than dead.
In spite of himself, Professor Howin’s earlier words resurfaced in his mind, louder than they had been all day.
“Even the most agile of creatures can be caught off-guard, especially if their predator is cunning enough- their natural self-defence tools won’t always be enough.”
Rookwood was smart in a way the goblins weren’t. Ranrok would kill MC the moment he realised they would refuse to tell him how to access the stores of Ancient Magic, blindsided by hate he’d slaughter them where they lay trapped.
“What is better, an upset Unicorn, or a dead one? What is a little bit of unhappiness in the short term, if it means they stay safe in the long term?”
But not Rookwood. No, Rookwood has lofty ambitions, a hunger for power- and he’d do anything to get there.
That much, Sebastian knew he could trust.
That much, he could work with.
------------------------
The ambient chatter of the Slytherin Common Room felt like a soothing blanket with the crackle of the fireplace, as he and Ominis sat in comfortable silence, lost in their respective textbooks.
Things between Sebastian and his best friend had been tense recently, they’d been bickering more than either of them were used to, terse words exchanged got increasingly heated in the days after Ominis had followed him to the Catacombs- but with MC’s intervention, it had been easy to move past. Ominis didn’t ask him about the relic, and Sebastian spared him the details, in moments like this it felt like everything would work out for the best. For now, this was enough.
Still, the familiar comfort of reading in the Common Room with Ominis wasn’t enough to settle his mind. With a frustrated huff, Sebastian slammed his textbook shut, resisting the urge to hurl the offending item to the floor, words a mess of squiggles behind his eyes.
To his side Ominis hadn’t so much as flinched, used to the petulance of his friend by now, and merely paused his wand from where he’d been scanning the Herbology textbook, raising one eyebrow.
“Honestly Sebastian, if you’re still so upset about your fight with MC perhaps you could try, oh I don’t know, talking to them? Merlin forbid, apologising ?”
The scathing tone was nothing new, nor was Ominis’ preference to take MC’s side- he had a tendency of doing that, Sebastian hadn’t forgotten how quickly Ominis folded in the Catacombs with just a few words from MC- pathetic, they just had to bat their eyelashes and suddenly Ominis didn’t have a word to say against them. And now here he was, taking MC’s side over his best friend of five years.
Ridiculous. Ominis didn’t even know what happened, what gave him the right to comment? Even worse, to take their side?
“Drop it already Ominis, I have nothing to apologise for.”
“ That , I sincerely doubt.”
Sebastian grit his teeth as Ominis’ perfectly calm reply, forcing himself to settle his frustrations, “You wouldn’t be so quick to defend them if you knew what they-” He took a deep breath, “Can we not, talk about this again? Besides, that’s not even what’s bothering me-”
“Oh?” At this, Ominis seemed to perk up slightly, “Then what is it? It’s got to be important, to stop you moping about MC.”
He wanted to argue, he had not been moping, but the need to talk won out, needing to clear his head.
Going to speak, Sebastian hesitates, the words dying on his tongue. He can’t tell Ominis what’s really on his mind, knowing ‘furious’ wouldn’t even begin to describe whatever response he’d get in reward for his candor- Ominis’ unrealistic moral principles and bias for backing MC withstanding.
“I just- I can’t stop thinking about something Hecat said in Beasts Class today.” Close enough to the truth, “Is it right to keep a magical creature in captivity, even if it’s for preservation?”.
Ominis frowned, “ That’s what has been bothering you? If it's keeping the beast safe, then what’s the problem?”
He tried not to scowl at the straightforwardness of Ominis’ answer, talking as if Sebastian were being an idiot, “Well, what if they’re unhappy?”
“I’m sure Professor Howin wouldn’t keep a beast in captivity if it wasn’t absolutely necessary, Sebastian,” That was a tone Sebastian was familiar with, and sure enough when he’d turned to look. Ominis was rolling his eyes, “At least this way it’s getting taken care of.”
“Oh yes , taken care of. What, for students to ogle at them, to be used for their magical features.”
“I don’t know much about Howin, but I doubt a Beasts Professor is motivated by greed, besides even if she was- would that be so bad? She wouldn’t be hurting the unicorn, and at least it will be safe here at Hogwarts.” Ominis paused, for a moment lost in thought, before he continued, a wrinkle of worry lining his forehead, “I hear Poachers have been getting increasingly troublesome recently.”
The veiled implications are not missed on him, Sebastian has the feeling he isn’t the only one aware of MC’s recent exploits in the Highlands, the expansion of their enemy list they seem ever-ignorant to think about.
In the past, when Ominis mentioned MC’s exploits, it was always Sebastian’s job to defend them, insisting they were capable of handling themselves out there, that they’d ask for help if they needed it. Beliefs he was struggling with more and more with each adventure he joined them on.
“How can Howin know that what she’s doing is right?”
Ominis’ head tilted slightly at his words, momentarily struck by the sombre tone. Uncertainty was never a good look on his impulsive best friend, “I suppose she can’t know- not for certain- but the Unicorn is safe now isn’t it? Nobody is going to harm it here, so she’s doing something right.”
He let the words wash over him for a moment, assured by the conviction in Ominis’ words- despite their recent disagreements, he could always trust Ominis to be honest with him. And if Ominis, one of the most virtuous people he knew, felt Howin’s actions were justified, then…
His thoughts are momentarily broken as Ominis speaks up again, voice notably quieter than before, “Are you sure that’s all, Sebastian? It’s not like you to get caught up on something so fickle.”
Fickle? Like any of what he was dealing with right now was even close to fickle .
Still, he was touched by Ominis’ obvious concern. They’d always been able to read each other so easily, something that had become more of a hindrance than help to Sebastian in the past year, with Ominis interfering with his every plan made towards a cure for Anne. No matter how deeply he wished he was able to talk to Ominis about this, he knew his best friend was beyond understanding.
“I’m fine, Ominis, it’s just been a long week.” A lot on his mind, ever more so now.
“Well, if you insist.” The false lightness of his voice wasn’t lost on either of them, nor the slowness of Ominis to pick up his wand again and continue reading, as if hoping Sebastian might change his mind.
The silent gesture is lost on Sebastian as his mind finally catches up with him, flickering heat of the fireplace burning its image on the back of his retinas as conflict rages a war within him. The urge to pace is unbearable, but the last thing he has the energy for is more of Ominis’ suspicion.
MC is a free spirit, he knew that, just as he knew how much they hated Victor Rookwood, but what else could he do?
What could he do against their blind ignorance to the danger they’re in, carelessly throwing themselves in the path of goblin loyalists and countless other threats, depending on raw talent and reckless fervour to come out the victor. Someday, Sebastian knew raw power wouldn’t be enough.
They’re endangered, yet they keep insisting on fleeing the safety of the Castle walls to invite trouble, throwing themselves to the line of fire even as the threats against them become more incensed, ever more determined.
Ranrok Loyalists. Ashwinders. Between the two, Sebastian knows which side he’d prefer to see win. He also knows there’s only one side which MC is likely to stay alive with. Against such stakes, why should he worry about anything else?
Mind made up, he pushes himself to his feet with renewed vigour, book nestled under one arm, “Well, I’m turning in, you coming?”
“No, I’m going to finish this reading first on dittany. You know, for Garlick’s essay- the same one you have? ”
“I’ll do it later.”
“It’s twenty inches Sebastian, you need to pace these sorts of things out!”
“Yeah, well I’m tired tonight.”
“ Tired ?” Ominis paused, likely realising the same thing he had- that Sebastian hadn’t been eager to sleep for weeks now. For a moment, Sebastian worried he was about to get questioned further on why the sudden change in spirit, fortunately, Ominis dropped it just as quick, “Well, I suppose you do need the rest, don’t think I haven’t noticed you nodding off in class.” What a hypocrite , he bit down on a witty retort, not wanting to antagonise Ominis any tonight, “I’ll see you up there.”
“Night, Ominis.”
Leaving the chatter of the Common Room behind for the silence of his dorm room had been a dreaded exchange for weeks, the quiet unable to defend Sebastian against his racing thoughts in the same way gossiping housemates and stray spells could- but tonight, he had no such wish to drown out his thoughts.
Lying in the plush four-poster bed, curtains drawn around him, Sebastian welcomes a new distraction, the familiar thrill of a plan unfolding before his eyes. It wouldn’t be without its challenges, he knew that, but if everything went to plan- if he was right about his, about Victor Rookwood- then the fears that had plagued him for weeks, the images that burned behind his eyes whenever they landed on MC- it would all be over, they would be safe .
He had to be right about this.
Lost in a whirlwind of careful schemes, moves and countermoves playing over and over in his mind, it’s hard to tell when the lul of sleep finally takes over- plans fading to black, fitful nightmares taking their place.
------------------
Taunting jeers sounded across the encampment, sounding over the blasts of magic and clanging of steel weapons, hurling down in flashes of obsidian red.
The target of their ire standing in the middle of it all, eyes gleaming in the heat of battle, was MC.
Hair whipping around them from the sheer might of their power, grin wide on their face as they effortlessly dodge another incoming blade, turning back just in time to pull from the might of the skies, another enemy fallen at their wand.
They were a deity of battle, the picture of beauty even amongst the drudge and viciousness of the battlefield, bodies at their feet, twisted grimaces of their enemies in their face. They were untouched by it all, above them in both image and power.
Until suddenly, they weren’t.
Without warning, the sea of goblin loyalists became an overwhelming tidal wave, ethereal blue swallowed by tainted red, all that could be heard was a single piercing cry, tortured and desperate, as MC fell to their knees. A plea, and for a moment, just a moment, he hears his name -
“Sebastian!”
Silence rang across the encampment.
Impossible to tell if a minute had passed or hours when the red sea parts, the scene changes, or maybe it stays the same. What does it matter, whether goblins outline the perimeter, or aren’t there at all, it’s all a blur against the picture of a broken figure in the dirt, held down with chains of goblin silver.
All he can see is MC, lying in the ground, battle-worn and weary, bruised and beaten from hours of torment, blood dripping from a mark on their temple. The urge to wipe it away, to sweep them into a protective embrace is overwhelming-
Footsteps echo across the empty cavern mine? camp? and MC’s head raises- eyes wide and alarmed, snarl across their lips as their attacker approaches, instantly recognisable to them.
Even in memory, he recalls this face.
Ranrok stares down at MC where they are held at his feet, blood red eyes glinting with promised malice, loathing written plainly across the goblin’s features.
One clawed hand wraps around an axe, long and sharpened, Ranrok raises it above his head and prepares to swing down
MC doesn’t move, they watch the blade with wide eyes, tear tracks cut paths down their face that hadn’t been there moments before. In the next beat they should struggle, start fighting- but they don't. Silently, their head bows in acceptance.
What happens next is inevitable, has played before him a thousand times, but he’s too far away, he can’t reach them- why can’t he reach them ? Damned only to watch, helpless to do anything, powerless to save MC, and yet he can’t close his eyes, even as the axe falls, death cuts through the air and a broken cry waits to burst from his chest-
A streak of grey shoots across the scene, seconds later the axe embeds itself in the empty earth where its intended target had just been lying.
In its wake follows a rage of fire, swallowing the goblins whole.
Breath stolen, the new image burns itself into his memory, in an explosion of fire all other possibilities are reduced to ashes.
The snake binds around MC’s frame to keep them kneeling in the ground, slitted red eyes survey the desecrated area, poised to attack, ready for whatever enemy next crosses their path. Perceiving of threats in a way its prize was not.
MC’s eyes suddenly ablaze and the flush of life hot in their cheeks. Any sign of earlier torture gone from their skin, which almost shines with magical potential, their delicate blue brushing against deep grey scales.
The Ashwinder holds MC tight within its coils, now, finally , safe against any blow that may be raised against them, no matter how much they desperately fight in its hold.
#hogwarts legacy#my fics#hogwarts legacy mc#sebastian sallow#seb means so well but he doesn't always DO well alright#has this been collecting dust in my wips for months now? yeah and what of it#(jk i am so very ashamed)#don't you love it when a whole fic revolves around one scene idea and that idea ends up being the ENDING of a PART TWO#pain#also yes the fic title is from a tswift song and no i don't listen to tswift and for some reason this felt like a moral conundrum for me#who had a worse moral conundrum: me naming this fic or sebastian sallow deciding to do....well what he's about to do#posting pt 1 because although i've started writing the second i'm not sure when i'll finish it#finding motivation to write in this fandom is difficult to say the least?? so apologies if this ends up forgottn i suppose
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WIP Wednesday
So, I’ve been tagged in quite a few of these by various people the last few months, but I’ve never had anything to contribute. The few things I have written in that time have been oneshots that I absolutely blitzed through, going from the first word to finished and posted within hours- which is great, just not all that helpful for WIP-posting purposes!
However. Today I haven’t been tagged specifically, but I do have something to post, kind of. A 76 glitch yesterday night prompted me to torment Trin a little. It’s still very much in semi-note form, so it might not make a whole lot of sense, but that’s hardly anything new for my Fallout OC posts lol, and I’d rather post something than nothing as usual.
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(some context: Trin, my 76 gal, didn’t get her hands on any scorchy Nuka-Cola until she’d done Scorched Earth repeatedly, and so is slowly becoming ‘lightly Scorched’)
Trin arrives at the Valley Galleria to complete the daily quest The Importance of Communication. When she opens the door, she momentarily hallucinates a Scorchbeast inside the building, flying from the skylight down through the floor and vanishing. This hallucination involves pretty much every sense she has- she sees it, hears its screech, feels the movement in the air as it flaps its wings and dives, smells the distinctive burning scent of ultracite dust in the air, even feels a familiar jolt of energy in the pit of her stomach. But she blinks, and it's gone.
Afterwards, though, her brain is thoroughly scrambled. Her head feels heavy, her energy is drained, and she can't remember why she's in the Valley Galleria (she first thinks it's to collect inert bombs, since that's her typical reason for going there, then she remembers collecting Sofia Daguerre's beacon recently and thinks that's also why she's there now). Then she realises with a start that she was completely zoned out and unfazed by the approaching Scorched, three of which are now in her vicinity, weapons at their sides, not hostile, simply... watching. She slowly backs out of the door, maintaining eye contact with them until it swings shut. She follows her old approach of walking swiftly away in the opposite direction until she literally feels the mist clear from her mind. Still shaken by what just took place (in particular how real it had seemed, and that her brain can deceive itself to that extent), she gets the heck out of there, deciding that she'll find radio vacuum tubes at a different location, she knows of a few good potential sources already.
Her best guess as to what happened is that being near to so many Scorched whilst she was already in a confused and somewhat emotionally heightened state not long after she'd visited Watoga (she went to the Valley Galleria directly on her way up from there, so... yeah) triggered a momentary connection into their hivemind. She decides she'll give Cranberryland a wide berth for a while, and opts not to disclose the incident to anyone yet, or she knows she won't be trusted to explore alone, which is exactly what she'd rather be doing to keep her mind off recent developments.
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3, 23, 24, 25, 27 and 30? 💕
hi hi ria!! blessings of rain be upon ye...
3. how you feel about your current wip
i am RATTLING the bars of the cage in my brain!!! by that i mean the faramir goes to rivendell au is possibly my favourite best thing ive ever written i am just stuck in the mudpit of the current conversation and i would like to. not be there. but i really do love working on it it feels like gradually assembling a structure around a framework and when i step back and really look at it its just. jrr tolkien and i are having A Conversation. you know? like yes!! i AM transforming the work!! i AM deciding whether he would fucking say that and i do think i am right at least 92% of the time!! ive had the concept of the au in my head for probably 3-4 years at least and i feel like. well i was never really going to feel Ready to write it. and yet i am grabbing it in my hands and doing it anyway and it IS making me a much better writer and i can Feel it. yeah i love it.
and umbar fic/situationship au is just me pushing the bounds of do it weird/do it horny/do it self-indulgent and it is. SO MUCH FUN. i think there has always been a little block in my head stopping me from doing that i mean like everything i write is kind of like. this is specifically created to cater to me. but the panopticon in my head is a crazy thing. but step by step we are defeating it. this is like the next step up from just so long as this thing's loaded which was kind of my first time pushing those bounds and. i mean there are a lot of things about that one that i think i could improve now (this is my REAL answer to that "would you rewrite anything" question from the other ask meme) but it definitely got me here. never underestimate the power of a rarepair to make you WEIRD. (<- abby rarepairnationcore sentences...)
23. pick three keywords that describe your writing
what is this a job application? LOL just kidding but i do suck at these. um. atmospheric. character-driven (yes this is two words but it is true). interrogative (i am IN THERE with. either the original text. or the minds of the characters. shakes u like a snow globe WHAT is going on in your head).
24. how do you recharge when you're not feeling creative?
im really bad at this. like actually spectacularly abysmal. i mostly sit around feeling sorry for myself for three to nine months. until i eventually buck up the motivation and executive function to actually (re)consume a piece of media and more often than not it will seize me by the throat and lead me out of the pit. yeah this does usually work best with things ive seen before that will awaken a dormant fixation.
25. besides writing, what are your other hobbies?
going to the grocery store. doing my dishes. LOL ok when i am Not Writing A Novel-Length Fic i knit. one day i will start doing it again i want to make. the extensive sweater vest collection of my dreams. but i already have this repetitive stress injury because i type for eight hours at work and then come home and type for four more and i think if i started knitting again on top of that i would immediately crumble to dust. and um. is that it? that can't be it. i do calligraphy sometimes. WAIT LOL I BIND BOOKS. -> @hexagonspress
27. your favourite part of the writing process
omg ok i'm not sure if this is like my Top Number One Favourite but ive recently started really enjoying drafting out ao3 tags and start/end notes it's really fun to work out what things i want people to notice that i might wanna talk about in the end notes and compressing everything down into tags (to varying extents) is also just a neat way to think about like. what was i trying to capture/convey with the fic. e.g. whether i wanna be really wordy with it and get it all out in there or just have the reader go in pretty much blind.
30. share a fic you're especially proud of
maybe i'll never shut up about TO THE VERY DEAR MEMORY OF [ ] but like...you guys. i love it so much. it's so so experimental because the place in my mind that is wrapped around yancy becket is so....complicated and full of grief and fundamentally altering to my brain chemistry and i can only capture it through the world's craziest extended metaphors but i kind of feel like i pulled it off. it is like truly the tip of the iceberg of a LOT of stuff that is really fundamental to honestly a lot of my? lotr work? i mean the way i think about water metaphors...the fundamental dead brother complex baked into my writer's brain...it's all pacific rim in there. this fic marinated in my head for THREE YEARS. that is the longest from inception to completion that any of my (published) work has existed (unpublished is a whole different story. there's a longfic that i created at the beginning of my freshman year of college and has stuck around into postgrad. i mean. girl). i wrote the poem that each first line of every section is extracted from in my parents' house during covid lockdown. and then it just had to sit and develop and develop until the yancy becket death anniversary this year yanked it forcibly out of my head and into a fully-formed format.
fic writer's asks
#from the inbox#sweetshire#man my recency bias when i talk about my own work has become...so obvious to me recently#bc ive been doing all these fic asks (which has been. just so much fun u guys. i never wanna stop talking about it all). but like. yeah its#really just Page One Of My AO3 Works. well we are in there#I HIT ENTER BEFORE I FINISHED THE POST LMAO SO SORRY. ADDING LIKE THREE MORE SENTENCES#girl this is so long sorry everyone on my dash i just...love to talk#thank u for so many ria i had a blast
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the long awaited wip graveyard post
i thought the title was fitting for halloween :p
this post is an assorted collection of all my old thaw wips that i deemed not good enough to post, but didn't want to just rot away in my folder, so now they're here.
enjoy !
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the Eye post
fun fact: i used the same seven colored pencils for both the thes eye and the tommy one, i just made the grayer shades more emphasized for the latter. thought that was a neat little detail.
q's eye here makes his skin look a lil more purple
i impulsively gave quackity an eyebrow when i didn't sketch it before, and the way it turned out bothered me >:((
not a wip because i absolutely would never give this abomination its own post, but this is basically what my scratch paper sheet looks like when i want to test out how different colors look with each other, and also get a really, Really rough idea of what the final product will look like. this is the process i go through Every time i draw something serious. 😭
peep all 7 colors of the chaosduo's eyes under the thes eye practice
LMAO AND THE THES FACE 8 SECOND SKETCH LOOKS LIKE HE'S ON DRUGS IT'S SO SILLY
can you see me struggling to figure out how to wrap the rune around q's pupil? and also how to make the rune not just Completely disappear bc of how dark his eye is? yeah. traditional art is a pain is the ass sometimes, but i'm still wayy better at it.
also shoutout to @alexanderwesker for giving me an idea of what the rune on q's eye looks like, because i like being as accurate as i can when i draw stuff, so that was very much appreciated!
the part 2 to the hero's journey comic
i went fucking Ham during the hero's journey assignment, so much so that i literally planned like 19 more panels than what you saw in the original post (27 panels planned in total). but then i realized that i had like Four Whole Days to do that assignment, and would definitely not be able to do that many, especially not without burning out.
so i instead settled for the very first 8 panels that i planned (though even then, i had to abridge a lot of it, and also cut slime entirely from it, bc otherwise those 8 would have been 14 whole panels, and i think i would actually die-), since that was just enough to show two different steps of the hero's journey (crossing the threshold and meeting the mentor btw. i could probably do a whole analysis on how wesker's stories fit into the hero's journey if i wanted to, but i'm lazy rn and this post is already pretty long), and that was the big grading requirement. (i got 100% on that assignment btw 💪and my english teacher still has no clue that he graded minecraft fanfiction fanart LMAO) but this one is what i would have included if i had more time on the project, and could include more of the story, but as it stands, i made this one in my own leisure, because comics are fun to do.
anyways, with that little rant aside, i tried my best to make q look younger than quackity, and really accentuate the difference between them. idk how i feel about how q turned out though.
i'm really proud of the paneling, and i'm also kinda proud of the first frame with quackity's face in particular bc i thought it looked cool, like an actual comic book or something. but i couldn't figure out the card physics or perspective and that's what ultimately made me choose to abandon it 💔 maybe i'll try attempting this page again when i'm feeling more daring (as well as the other panels that i still haven't even drawn yet), but this wip has been collecting dust for a couple of months now so i figured i'd share it here anyway.
Palido
i drew palido a bit ago, but bro got somehow managed to get crinkled in my bag, even while literally being Inside of my sketchbook 🤨
it's not Too awfully noticeable though, especially bc the fold isn't On the drawing itself, so i might be able to salvage him and post a finished version someday... but i kinda halted progress on him for the time being bc of it, so here he is. </3
"Am I Still Even Me?"
i 1000% want to redraw this someday, just because i think the idea behind it is so fucking neat.
honestly, this one wasn't too bad at all, especially since i did all of it (besides the bones bc i think my health professions teacher would be disappointed if i got them wrong, and also the rune bc i care way too much about accuracy) without any reference, which is a pretty impressive feat for me and my aphantasia. but yeahh i think it could definitely be better, and really, this drawing was ultimately something that i just drew in class to keep myself busy for a bit bc i had way too much freetime that day. it wasn't intended to be post-worthy or anything.
but i think that the idea behind it is definitely post-worthy. maybe i'll even add a thes and/or youngerbur addition once i get more information about them and just how they've changed yk.
i had no clue how to draw the bones in that position, i probably could've done more research but. yeah no i don't have an excuse, i just couldn't be bothered that day lmao.
i was also gonna bloody q's hands a bit if i ever got to the coloring stage. like a little nod to when he lost himself to Madness. is the blood actually there? who knows, we're seeing it from his eyes, so for all we know, the rune isn't even lit up either, and he's just remembering it being so. remembering the moment he acted so unlike how he used to be.
the bones are definitely there for charlie though, poor guy...
also can y'all tell that i drew the rune in like. 5 seconds. bc yeah.
i had way more wips to share but i have literally no clue where they went, and also the tumblr picture limit is getitng close so ig that's all for now </3
like for a part 2 (whenever i accumulate enough wips to warrant a post, that is)
#i reserve the right to resurrect these wips at any time#so don't be surprised if one day you see a finished/redrawn version of any of these#thaw#the house always wins#fanart for a fanfic#my art#thaw fanart#wips#the house always wins fic#thaw!charlie#thaw!quackity#thaw!q#traditional art
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Male drider x female reader - WIP, Part Two (sfw)
Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.
After a teasing Part One last week, here's 3.5k words of Part Two, featuring two poems, neither of which are my own... Things get off to a very rocky start between the lord of Widowsweb Court and the reader, with the drider not exactly behaving in a manner befitting a lord... Naril, the firbolg gardener that everyone seemed rather taken with, continues to be a complete cinnamon roll.
Hope you enjoy, despite 'his lordship's' terrible manners and behaviour... Part Three has just gone up on Patreon today. He also got dubbed ‘cranky spooder’ over on our Discord server, which I adore.
Enjoy x
On the day you first met the lord of Widowsweb Court, you’d opened up one of the enormous windows to breathe a little life back into the stuffy library.
Having spent four weeks getting to know the collection as it was, you’d taken the opportunity to dust a little as well. That had the added advantage that you were now able to let the air back in without fear of choking clouds of dust billowing up into your face. For a house as enormous as Widowsweb Court, you had been surprised to learn that the staff was so minimal - no more than Naril and his father, Chiara the housekeeper, a valet of the lord whom you never saw, and two other members of staff; one a cook, and one a maid.
Standing beside the heavy, ragged old curtain that dragged its hem on the floorboards like a sullen teenager scuffing their heels, you sighed and stared listlessly out at the enormous park beyond. There was something melancholy about it. The grounds were meticulously kept by Naril, not a leaf out of place, and yet it was deserted.
There should have been parties, the voices of people laughing, the chink of glasses and the murmur of conversation in the evenings as people gathered to watch the sun go down over the stunning vista beyond. Music should have floated across the terrace behind the house, washing out to mingle with the dancing splash of water in the fountain, but that basin with its fantasy carvings and rearing stone centaurs, laughing fauns, and wide-winged harpies remained silent and dry.
“Why is it so sad here?” you whispered to yourself, the backs of your knuckles trailing down the old, warped glass of the leaded window. The shutters of this window had been thrown wide too so that you could see what you were doing, and the light poured in over one of the three long, research tables that lined that half of the dour library. Over the course of the past week, you’d stacked books pertaining to poetry up into huge, teetering piles that now looked more like a model city than anything, with skyscrapers reaching for the moulded plasterwork of the triple-height ceiling.
A low, bitter voice from behind you made you jump. “The name didn’t give it away?”
You yelped and tensed, turning sharply to find a figure occupying the shadows between two looming bookshelves. Unable to see them behind the chiaroscuro contrast in the room, you squinted. “The name?” you croaked when you’d finally recovered your senses.
A long, black, needle-thin leg emerged first from the darkness and you almost recoiled in surprise before another appeared beside it. A drider. The voice belonged to a drider. “Widow’s web…” he said in his low, gravelly voice, the tone heavy and dripping with sour sarcasm.
“Oh.” You blinked and curiosity flared in you. “Do… Do you work here as well? I haven’t met you before…”
The emerging drider stopped, the shadows still concealing his upper body, but you could see that he was one of the deadly, flash-quick driders; slim-built and light boned, and probably full of venom. You swallowed. Perhaps he was some kind of security agent? Perhaps it was his job to keep an eye on the place and make sure people kept their distance from the place. Perhaps he had come to check up on you.
For a long moment, the drider remained silent, and then without a word, he flung a thin volume onto the nearest end of the table, only a yard or so from where he still hung back, half concealed in shadow, and turned wordlessly to go. “See that this one is shelved with the rest,” he growled.
You caught a flash of red on his spider’s abdomen before he completely disappeared. His needle-clawed legs made almost no sound on the floorboards, and if you hadn’t been so stunned by his unexpected appearance and behaviour, you might have gone after him to scold him for treating what had to be a first edition - everything else so far had been - so callously. By the time you heard a sharp creak and the soft click of a secret door closing somewhere, it was too late to follow.
So instead, you left the window and picked up the book. It was an anthology of poems, and as you let the volume fall naturally open in your hands, it revealed a short, painfully bitter poem.
And like a dying lady, lean and pale,
Who totters forth, wrapp'd in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose up in the murky East,
A white and shapeless mass.
No wonder he was so gloomy if this was the kind of thing he read. With a sigh, you closed the book and laid it with the other poetry anthologies, and spent the rest of the day trying to shake the encounter from your mind.
At lunch, Naril leaned over the table and frowned. “You alight?” he asked. “You look kind of… far off…?” It was just the two of you that day, with Naril having come in from the gardens a little later than usual, and his father having already eaten.
You sniffed and blinked, not realising you’d been staring into your bowl without really seeing it. “Yeah,” you croaked. “Listen… I’ve not really asked about… this place much. Why is it called Widowsweb?”
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his lanky arms. He was tall, even for a firbolg, and that day he had scraped his long red hair back into a thin plait that hung down his back. His eyes, bright green, turned a little distant. “Apparently a dowager from the Silkfoot family had a falling out with her son, and he was so desperate to be rid of her that he exiled her here and gave the entire estate to his cousin who went with her. The two families diverged there, and never had anything else to do with each other since.”
So what Sarrigan had told you, about the two families being at least distantly related, was true. You wondered if the part about the Silkfoot family not liking humans had played a part in the disagreement. “I know one of the Silkfoots. Not well, but he’s a friend of a friend. He seems nice, but he says his family’s mostly awful.”
Naril was still watching you. “What’s brought this on?” he asked after a moment.
You took a breath and said, “I’m assuming your master is a drider then?”
Naril nodded. “Yeah. You… You didn’t know?”
You shook your head. “I hadn’t given it much thought, if I’m honest. Your father was the one who employed me and dealt with everything on behalf of your ‘master’. I… I think I met him this morning though.”
It was Naril’s turn to look a little surprised. He batted his long-lashed eyelids a few times and then barked a rough laugh. “Seriously?”
“Why is that so strange? He lives here. I find it weirder that I’ve not seen him yet.”
“He never shows himself to any of us. He lives in his wing of the house and literally never goes out. Chiara, and his valet Mason are the only two who ever interact with him directly.”
“Why?”
The firbolg’s surprise melted into something softer. “It’s said he’s cursed, but my father says that’s bollocks.”
“If he’s not cursed, then why? Why live as a recluse?” and why was he so rude?
Naril gave a half shrug and then stood, reaching across the table to collect your plate with his scuffed, scar-knuckled hand and take it to the sink. You murmured your thanks as you waited for him to speak, but he didn’t for a long time. You stood watching him, his shirt dirty and sweat stained, ripped here and there, presumably from the vicious thorns of the roses you’d glimpsed from the windows.
“He lost his wife and their entire clutch when they’d only been married a year or so,” he said at last. The splashing of water in the sink as he washed up almost masked his words, but something in your chest panged when you caught them. “People said he did it. People said he was cursed. People said his whole line was cursed.”
“People say a lot of cruel and stupid things,” a harsh, female voice interjected from the doorway behind you and you turned to find Chiara glowering at the pair of you. Naril cringed and turned his attention back to washing up. “You’d do well to ignore all of them, and repeat none,” she said, fixing her yellow eyes on you. The harpy’s tone was as sharp as her claws, and you didn’t fancy crossing her.
You nodded. You weren’t part of the staff, no matter how welcome Naril and his father had made you feel. You were here to reorganise the library, and then you were going to leave. You had been there for one out of your six contracted months already, and the task seemed gargantuan, but you were determined not to let it get the better of you. Time to get back to it.
“Chiara,” you said carefully, “We weren’t gossipping. I believe I met your master this morning, though he didn’t fully show himself to me. I just wondered who I’d met, that’s all.” With that, you turned and put your hand on Naril’s arm. “Listen, I’d better get going. Thanks for doing that,” you added with a twitch of your chin towards the soapy dishes in the sink.
He bowed his head, his large, cow-like ears waggling softly, and closed his eyes briefly. “Take care up there in the library, eh? Don’t go falling off something or lifting more than you can carry. You look worn out.”
“I am tired,” you said, cracking a yawn almost directly on cue. “I haven’t been sleeping all that well here. Could I borrow you tomorrow for half an hour or so? There’s a massive chest that’s been parked in front of a shelf and I need to move it to get to the books behind it.”
He grinned, his odd, almost feline nose twitching. One lip pulled back to reveal his blunt, herbivore’s teeth and he nodded. “Happy to lend a hand, you know that. After lunch?”
You smiled, feeling a slight heating of your cheeks, and turned for the doorway. “Thank you.”
The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and you finally cleared enough shelves to begin putting the first phase of your plan for the library into action.
Three days later, though only as you tucked yourself up in bed for the night, you realised you’d left your phone behind in the library. Cursing, you knew you’d have to go back for it if you were going to get up in time the next day to start work. No one formally kept track of your hours, but your professional pride demanded that you start work at nine, and you didn't fancy sleeping through til gods-knew when, especially given your erratic sleeping patterns of late.
Dressing hastily in jeans and a t-shirt, you grabbed the back door key, with which Mr. Ambleside had entrusted you after your first week on site, and let yourself into the main house.
If Widowsweb Court was creepy in daylight, it was unfathomably eerie at night. Pipes creaked and groaned sporadically, and a draft whistled up the corridor as you fumbled along the passageway that would lead to a servants’ staircase, and eventually, emerged onto the second floor near the library.
Were it not for the light of an almost full moon beaming in through the windows along the corridor, you might have missed the library doors altogether, but as it was, they illuminated the brass fittings so that they gleamed like gold, sparkling and winking at you almost fatefully. You scoffed at the thought, and pushed into the library, the door giving its usual raucous yelp on the hinges.
“Gods, I’ve got to get Naril to look at that,” you grumbled, moving across the floor and wondering if you dared turn all the lights on. Part of you expected a hoard of ghostly spectres to be drifting around the shelves like shades through gravestones.
Before you’d gone three paces, you froze. The whisper of a page turning caught your attention, and you swallowed, heart thudding. Again, you were not alone in there.
“Who’s that?” a sharp, male voice demanded from a table at the back of the room.
“It’s me,” you replied, immediately realising how stupid a thing that was to say to someone who wouldn’t have been familiar with you. You added your name, and followed it up with, “I’m working on the library catalogue.”
“At this time of night?” the scratchy baritone growled.
“I left my phone in here,” you said weakly as you stepped around a bookshelf and found him standing behind the furthest research table from the door. You knew immediately who it was, and your heart was thudding as you wondered just how well the lord of the manor would take it that you were sneaking about his house at this hour of the night. “I need it for my alarm in the morning.”
“It’s over there on the windowsill,” he said carelessly, moonlight running along his outstretched arm like mercury. From what you could see of his body, silhouetted against the light from outside, he was unhealthily thin, and he had long hair that fell loose and unrestrained down his back. He was also huge. Sarrigan was squat, fluffy as a tarantula, and muscular, but this figure was spindly and ominous, and built like a black widow.
“Thank you,” you croaked. “I’m… I’m sorry for disturbing you.”
As you picked up your phone from the sill, you heard him clear his throat, and glanced up to see him shifting a little. He looked like a nightmare demon from a shadow-play, all legs and pendulous body, but something about the angle of his head gave you pause.
He took a slow, rasping inhale. “How… is the work going?”
“Slowly,” you said with a rueful smile. “Mr. Ambleside might be a little out of touch with the collection… It’s larger than I was expecting.”
After a pregnant pause, the drider snorted softly and you broke into a nervous laugh at the innocuously-spoken innuendo.
“Anyway, on that note, I’ll leave you to it. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” he said and you watched him walk towards the window. As he moved, you realised what was unnerving about him. One of his legs was missing. Where most driders had eight legs, he had only seven.
You thought about him all the way back to your accommodation, and even after you’d set your phone on your bedside table and lain back to stare at the ceiling, the master of the house still occupied your thoughts.
The next morning, you found your feet taking you to that furthest table, and there you discovered that a book had been left open.
The poem that graced these pages was older by many centuries than the one about the moon. It was written in a language that had long evolved beyond recognition, but you stared at it and trailed your fingers down the verse, murmuring the words aloud in the Old Tongue. It was one you’d studied at university during one of your shorter modules, and you barely remembered any of its translation.
Oft him anhaga are gebideð,
metudes miltse, þeah þe he modcearig
geond lagulade longe sceolde
hreran mid hondum hrimcealde sæ
wadan wræclastas. Wyrd bið ful aræd!
You frowned, muttering words aloud until you’d muddled out a tiny bit of it. “Often, the one who is alone finds grace for himself, the… mercy…? The mercy of the lord? Although he, sorrow hearted… heavy hearted?”
“‘Sorrow-hearted’ works,” came a now-familiar voice from behind you and you jumped, nearly knocking the book from the table. This time you turned to find the drider advancing on you in full view.
Slowly, you let your eyes slide up his body to his face. He wore a crisp white shirt that looked like it had never been worn, the stark, monochrome contrast with his black spider’s body almost jarring. His hair was black, with a thick streak of bright, blood red falling around the right hand side of his face, which was gaunt and sallow, with dark shadows beneath his four red eyes. Around his right two eyes, his white skin was stained dark - almost purple - down his face and a little way onto neck, the birthmark looking like a swirl of watercolour. He blinked slowly at you, as if expecting something; waiting for you to say something rude or thoughtless.
With a start, you remembered the poem, and turned back to it. “Was this what you were reading last night?”
“Mmm. You’ve studied the Old Tongue I take it?” he said, and you turned to find him approaching slowly.
You tried not to let your gaze snag on the void where his leg should have been, and instead looked at the text again. “A little, and it was a while ago. I’m rusty… I think I remember this one. It’s called The Wanderer, isn’t it?”
He nodded, his hair sliding forwards like a black theatre curtain to hide his sunken face. “Not going to chide me for leaving it unshelved?” he sneered as he turned and headed once again for the back of the library. “I never did like librarians, you know?”
Grinding your teeth, and forcing yourself not to snap something rude at the person who was technically your employer, you said, “I’m an archivist, and this is your collection, not mine. One book being out of place is hardly going to though the whole thing into chaos, is it?”
He froze, on the point of leaving, and with an almost theatrical slowness, he turned to regard you. After fixing you with his eerie, red stare, he lifted one side of his upper lip and snarled, “I suppose not.”
And with that, he left you alone and unnerved again.
Work progressed at a glacial pace on the library, but you eventually moved from poetry to non-fiction: travel journals and histories, geographical texts and maps.
Naril grabbed you one bright, weekend morning after breakfast and dragged you out into the gardens for the first time. The two of you spent a couple of glorious hours touring the kitchen garden, the walled garden, the rose garden, the knot garden, and finally the orchards and arboretum. As the pair of you walked, hot and honestly quite tired, back up to the house for refreshments, your eyes naturally found their way to the library windows that overlooked the terrace and lawn at the back of the house, and you were surprised to find them flung open.
You paused and scowled.
“What?” Naril asked. “What’s wrong?”
“I was sure I closed the windows last night…” you murmured.
“Maybe the master is in there,” he said. “You know, I think you’ve seen him more than I have now. What’s he like?”
“Sad.” That was the first word that came to mind. “He strikes me as someone who’s incredibly sad. I’ve only seen him three times now, but each time he seemed so bitter and prickly. It’s like he’s curious about what I’m doing in there, but he doesn’t want to talk to me too much.”
You passed beneath the windows and slid into the house, sighing as the air of the cool stone passage wafted over your sun-warmed skin. No more than an hour later, you found yourself back in the library, but the master wasn’t there and the window was shut again. Easing yourself down into a comfortable chair beside the casement, you let your head loll against the back, and wondered if he ever set foot outside. If Naril was to be believed, the drider never left the confines of his wing for anything other than quick trips to the library.
After a while, you found your eyes drooping, and you inhaled deeply, letting the weight of a doze seep through you like the warmth of a hot bath.
A noise stirred you, and you opened your eyes to find that the light had changed to the vibrant magenta of a clear sunset, and that you were not alone. Squinting at the shelf, with his face far closer to the books than yours needed to be to read the titles, was the lord of Widowsweb Court.
You watched him in silence for a moment, not sure if he knew you were there or not, and took in the lines of his black legs - skinny, barbed, and deadly. The chair creaked as you sat up straighter, and he whipped around, dropping the book with a bang onto the floorboards and rearing up, his front legs rising like lances ready to strike.
“Sorry,” you gasped. “I didn’t mean to make you jump. I didn’t know you hadn’t heard me.”
As he lowered himself back down, you looked up into his face and the expression you found there made your heart stop. He looked furious. “Get out,” he barked. “If you’re not working in here, get out.”
Without another word, you rose and fled the room as sedately as you could muster.
Part Three --->
To be continued next Wednesday… Part Three is currently up on Patreon so you can read it right now on the Pixies and Goblins Tier.
I really hope you folks enjoyed this one! Don’t forget to let me know if you did enjoy it by leaving a like and/or reblogging it!
__
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#drider#male drider#exophilia#monster boyfriend#monster x human#drider x human#male drider x female reader
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Just Your Average Ghost Hunt
Author’s note: I felt like writing a one-shot today, taking a break from my longer WIPs, and here’s the result! I hope you all enjoy.
Summary: Virgil has a YouTube channel where he talks about cryptids and conspiracy theories. Tonight, he sets out with his friend Roman on a ghost hunt.
Warnings: ghosts, talk of death and murder, some crude humor, fear, Remus
Word Count: 1818
Writing Masterpost!
...
“You remembered the camera, right?”
“Wha—of course I remembered the camera! Come on, give me a little credit.”
“And it’s charged?”
Roman pouted at him, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
Virgil smirked, hopping out of the car. “Just checking.”
“It’s your camera, isn’t charging it your job?”
“Knowing you, you’d happily run down the battery before we even got here, with all those selfies you take.”
“That’s what my phone’s for,” Roman claimed, jutting out his chin. He slung the camera strap around his neck, double checking that it was secure.
“Oh, I see.”
“We’re not going to get in trouble for coming here, are we?” Roman asked, following after his friend and staring up the road.
“What, are you scared, Princey?”
“No, I just—”
“Because if you’re scared,” Virgil sighed dramatically, “we can go, I guess, but you have to be the one to tell Logan we still haven’t gotten his proof of ghosts. It’s your fault if he thinks we just couldn’t find it.”
Roman huffed. “What is it with you and proving to him that ghosts are real, anyway, Winnie the Boo? Isn’t talking about cryptids and conspiracies more your usual gig?”
Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Is that really the best nickname you can come up with? Wow, you really must be scared.”
“What, we’re on a ghost hunt, aren’t we? And don’t avoid the question!”
Virgil rolled his eyes, closing the car door. He took out a flashlight and switched it on, casting their surroundings in high relief. “I wasn’t, calm down. I just want to see the look on the dude’s face when we show him actual video of a ghost.”
The pair’s boots crunched on gravel, twigs, and assorted debris as they began the trek up the long-disused road towards their destination. “So,” Roman asked as they clambered over a fallen tree, “what are you going to do if we can’t find one?”
“I have Photoshop.”
“Well—then why are we even out here? Just photoshop yourself up a ghost and be done with it, Wail-E!”
“That nickname was even worse. And besides—” Virgil hopped down, reaching up to help Roman, whose jacket had gotten caught on a snapped branch— “this is way more fun.”
“Speak for yourself,” Roman grumbled, inspecting his coat for damage.
“Come on, it’s not that far now.” Virgil started forward, flashlight held high. Roman scrambled after, not about to be left behind.
“I don’t like this.” Roman peered around at the surrounding trees, whose shapes and shadows seemed to warp as they passed, reaching towards the pair like spindly arms ready to drag them into the dark.
“I didn’t ask you to come. I’ve done plenty of these without you.”
“You’ve done plenty of these with Janus,” Roman corrected. “In our friends’ houses. Not in the middle of nowhere.”
“I wasn’t going to put this off just because he’s got a stomach bug. It’s supposed to rain all next week.”
Roman swallowed. “And I wasn’t about to let you come to some old abandoned house alone.”
Virgil turned, putting a hand on his chest and grinning. “My hero. Now turn on the camera, I see the house up there.”
Roman squinted, and saw that, in fact, he could make out the shape of some kind of structure ahead. It looked like it was practically part of the forest now, trees grown around it and nearly obscuring the shape in the darkness.
“Welcome to Virgil and Roman’s final moments,” Roman said, turning on the camera slung around his neck, “documented for all those who want to see us torn apart by crazy woods people, or bears, or wolves, or, possibly, ghosts.”
“Very funny,” Virgil said.
“Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” Roman said. “I don’t know, set the scene.”
“Kind of hard to do that when you keep talking, isn’t it?”
Roman stuck his tongue out.
Virgil turned to face the camera. “My name is Virgil, and the lug behind the camera is my friend Roman. Tonight, we’ve got a treat. We’re visiting an abandoned house, deep in the woods.”
Roman silently shook his head, amused at the exaggeration. The nearest major road was only a ten minute walk away.
“Legend says it’s been abandoned since the 50’s—”
“Is Wikipedia where you heard this “legend”?”
“Shut up, Princey. And no, it’s not, actually. Will you let me continue?”
Roman held up his free hand in surrender.
“Legend says it’s been abandoned since the 50’s, but no one had been able to stay in the house for more than a few months at a time even before that. Apparently, there was a murder here decades earlier, and the ghost of that person has haunted the place ever since.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Roman and I are here to get the first solid proof of this ghost, and share its existence with all of you.”
“I’m sure YouTube will love it.”
“I am so glad I can edit out all your dumb comments.”
“You know you love them, Count Woe-laf.”
“You’re going to make me wish I’d waited to come with J, I just know it. Just make sure you’re holding the camera steady.”
Roman smiled innocently, then turned the camera up to focus on the house.
“We’ve just arrived,” Virgil said, “And are about to head inside. Wish us luck.”
“Virge, you know this isn’t live, right?”
“Yes, Roman, I know that,” Virgil said. “Let me put in a little flair, okay?”
“I must be rubbing off on you.”
Virgil ignored this comment and approached the house, peering around the crumbling façade of the dilapidated structure. “It looks like the front door is padlocked, but this window is broken. We can put one of our jackets on the sill and climb in.”
“Wait—whose jacket, Virge?” Roman stepped back, clutching his own protectively.
“Oh, relax,” he said, rolling his eyes as he shrugged off his own jacket.. “Some of us thought better than to bring our favorite jacket on a ghost hunt.”
“If that roof collapses on us, I don’t want cheap plastic all that’s protecting me.”
“I’m pretty sure a jacket won’t save you if the roof collapses; but go off, I guess.”
“Thank you; I will.”
Virgil laid his jacket over the window sill and hopped inside. Roman climbed in after him, turning on his own smaller flashlight and looking around warily.
Dust motes hung in the air, which smelled of mildew. A few pieces of furniture remained in the house, each covered in a sheet that might have once been white. The space had not been spared from the elements. Weeds even grew between some of the rotting floor boards.
“I know this is where I’d want to live, if I were a ghost,” Roman commented dryly, eyeing a grimy puddle that had collected in a fold of one of the sheets.
“Ghosts are tied to places where they died, or to objects that were important to them. Or their body. Odds are, this ghost has no choice but to live here.”
Roman sighed. “Okay, anyway. How are we proving there’s a ghost here?”
Virgil slung off his backpack and pulled out a wooden board. “We’ll start with this. It’s a Ouija board.”
“A Ouija board?”
“Yeah. It channels spiritual energy and lets them talk to us.”
“I know what a Ouija board is,” Roman sighed. “I was just… I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you brought one.”
Virgil sat down on the floor, beginning to set up the board. “Set up the tripod, so it can see both of us and the board. You sit across from me.”
Roman did as Virgil asked, then sat across from him. Each perched his fingertips atop the small, triangular piece of wood with a hole in it, which Virgil said was called a planchette. They slowly brought the planchette around in a circle, with Virgil narrating what they were doing and why, probably for the less supernatural-versed Youtube fans. Then Virgil said some mumbo-jumbo words about positive energy and communication, whatever; and then they finally they got to the questions.
“Is there a spirit with us in this house?”
There was a long pause, long enough that Roman started to think that maybe Logan had the right idea, before the planchette slid over to Yes.
That was you, wasn’t it, Virgil?
Virgil was trying to hide a grin. “How many spirits are here with us?”
1.
“What’s your name?”
The planchette slid over to B.
“Brandon? Bethany? Bella? Benjamin?”
U.
“…Buford? Bucky?”
T.
Virgil frowned. “Butler?”
T.
Roman bit his lip to keep from laughing.
S.
“Roman, stop messing with the planchette,” Virgil snapped.
Roman made an indignant noise. “I didn’t!”
“Spirit, I apologize for my friend. What is your name?”
B-U-T-T-H-O-L-E.
“Maybe it doesn’t want to tell us,” Roman said, shrugging and trying not to laugh.
Virgil was starting to look exasperated.
“Maybe it’s a kid. How old are you?” he asked.
6.
“You’re six years old?” Virgil’s mouth opened. “That’s so y…”
The planchette moved again, interrupting him.
9.
“69,” Virgil repeated. “Okay, maybe not a kid.” He glanced at Roman, looking suspicious, as if wondering whether he’d changed the results again. Roman pouted at him in response.
“How did you die?”
“Wow, that’s pretty personal, isn’t it?” Roman asked. “Ask it how it’s doing, at least.”
Virgil sighed. “They don’t usually stick around for long, Roman.” Then seemingly deciding to humor him, he asked, “Spirit, how are you?”
Yes.
“Well, that’s… an answer,” Roman said. Maybe the Ouija board was broken or something.
“How did you die?” Virgil asked, repeating his earlier question.
The planchette hovered for a few seconds.
K-N-I-V-E-S.
Roman swallowed.
“Oh.” Virgil shifted. “What year did that happen?”
4-2-0.
“Roman, seriously, stop.”
“I swear, it’s not me.”
“Fine, then let’s try again. What year did you die?”
D-E-A-D.
“Yes, you died,” Virgil said. “Do you remember what year that happened?”
Y-O-U A-R-E D-E-A-D.
Roman’s eyes widened. Virgil wouldn’t have done that, would he? “Um, Virge? I think maybe we should leave.”
“Are… are you a good spirit?” Virgil asked, his voice uncertain.
No.
The lights above flared into life, far, far too bright, like small suns. They shouldn’t have worked, even if they were still connected to power, or had the bulbs replaced in the past decade. Wind rushed through the room from an invisible source, the temperature dropping.
POP!
The light above them burst, sending sparks falling around them. The rest of the lights followed in rapid succession. The tripod fell over as if pushed, crashing to the ground between the pair and sending up a cloud of dust.
Roman and Virgil screamed, scrambling for the exit, pushing each other through the window, back into the woods. They raced back towards the car, both the camera and Virgil’s jacket forgotten.
Hysterical, cackling laughter followed them through the trees.
#sanders sides#thomas sanders#roman sanders#virgil sanders#remus sanders#ts sides#ts roman#ts virgil#ts remus#ts fanfic#ts fic#fanfiction#sanders sides fan fiction#just your average ghost hunt fic
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Young at Heart at Oldstones
Since we have some lovely Jonsa-themed WIP Wednesday headers for Modern and Canon fic both, I’m going to share a couple of different things that have been sitting in my big Maybe file collecting dust. (You can find the Modern AU Headers here)
I don’t see much fic of Jon having a relationship with his grandmother so that was partly what sparked the idea for this one. Someday, I’ll get enough of it done to start posting on ao3 but here’s a good little bit of it.
****
“I don’t know about this, Mom. We’ve not spent much time together since I was a kid. What do I even say to her?” Jon asked as he had the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder, searching for a clean shirt.
“Just talk. She’ll be happy you came to see her.”
“Yeah but it’s going to be awkward after about five minutes.”
“You can handle a little awkward, can’t you? You’re not a kid anymore.”
She was right. He wasn’t. He was twenty-three and a graduate student at Riverlands University. He could give an hour or two of free time to his grandmother and not whine about it being a sacrifice. “I’m going…once I find a clean shirt.”
Lyanna laughed through the phone, making him smile to hear it. “I know it’s thirty minutes away but it’ll mean so much to her, Jon. I call her here and there but you know it’s…well, it’s awkward with us.”
He knew that. How could it not be awkward? Considering the circumstances of his conception and birth and the strained relations that had arisen between more than just his mother and father, he felt his mother was quite thoughtful for even bothering to call his paternal grandmother.
Speaking of which…
“You know, she has three kids who could visit her.”
“Yeah, she does and none of them visit. Your Aunt Dany is young…”
“Barely younger than me!”
“But she’s always been her father’s daughter at heart and she still blames your grandmother for the divorce.”
“Oh, yeah because Aerys is such a gem,” he said sarcastically.
“Families are complicated, Jon.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Anyway, Viserys can’t visit.” No, his sociopath of an uncle wouldn’t be visiting his mother. Hard to do when you’re behind bars. “And your father…”
“Is a self-absorbed asshole who found a retirement community for his mother four hours away from where he lives.” He heard his mother’s sigh and felt guilty for dredging up hurtful things. “Sorry.”
“It’s alright. You’re not wrong. She’s so excited you’re coming, Jon. I hope you can enjoy the visit, knowing that at least.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be okay. Love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
**
Oldstones Retirement Community was not a nursing home although he’d thought of it as one. He’d pictured some old depressing building resembling a hospital with blank eggshell white walls, dingy tiled floors and musty-smelling, hospital-style rooms.
Therefore, Jon was pleasantly surprised to see it was indeed a community, a neighborhood for the elderly with rows and rows of neat individual bungalows with their own little postage stamp yards spread out in an arch around a larger one level ‘community center.’
However, in order to get a pass to enter the gated section where those bungalows were, you had to check in at the center first.
Parking out front, he walked inside the center to get his bearings, the whoosh of the automatic doors giving him a blast of air conditioning on the exceptionally warm autumn day.
He caught sight of a young woman in navy blue scrubs holding the arm of an elderly man as they walked along. Thinking she might be an employee of the center, he approached.
“Hi. I was wondering if…”
His words and his train of thought were effectively stopped in their tracks when she turned towards him with forget-me-not blue eyes and waves of auburn hair.
“Oh, hello,” she replied, a musical lilt to her voice as she looked at him expectantly.
Damn, she was beautiful. She was around his age, maybe a couple of years younger. Could she already be a nurse? Or just an assistant here?
There was a pattern to her scrubs, cartoon characters he recognized from childhood including Wiley Wolfe. It was cute. She was stunning.
The old guy beside her cleared his throat irritably and Jon realized he was just standing there staring at her and her scrubs. It’s not like he didn’t know how to talk to women but he felt his mouth going dry while he was drowning in those eyes of hers.
Her expectant smile began to morph into one of concern as the silence stretched on. Say something! Use your words, you idiot!
So unfortunately, Jon blurted out the first words that came to mind. “I’m here to see Gamma.”
Those were not the words I had in mind.
The beauty’s lips twitched and Jon felt heat flooding his face. Of course, he’d fall back to what he’d called Rhaella when he’d been two (not that he’d ever stopped calling her that when it was just him and her.)
“I mean, I was looking for my grandmother.”
“Oh, well…do you know which bungalow she’s in or…”
“Reception’s over there, kid,” the old man interrupted curtly. “My granddaughter doesn’t have your gamma hiding under her top either.”
“Grandpa!”
Jon’s red face was getting redder but now. Hers was, too. “I wasn’t looking!” Well, his eyes had lingered on her top for a minute there. “I was just…I like the wolf bit,” he said, nodding towards her chest. “Wiley was always my favorite.”
The wolf bit?! ‘Wiley was always my favorite?’ Gods, you are such a dumbass, he thought, rolling his eyes at himself.
The old guy with his shaggy grey beard shot through with hints of red continued to glare at him. He had a cane and Jon wondered if he was about to use it on him. At least, she was smiling.
“I’m sorry for assuming. I just saw the scrubs and thought…”
“No, it’s okay. I’m a nursing student, thus the scrubs. I just came by to see my grandfather today after my classes were done.”
“Checking up on me for your mother, you mean.”
“You know I want to see you anyway, Grandpa.”
She was still smiling but there was an edge of hurt feelings in her voice, too. Jon didn’t like the idea of anyone hurting her feelings although he didn’t even know her name. Yet.
The old man took the hint though and grasped her hand. “I know, darling. Sorry. They’ll help you out at reception, kid.”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks.”
“Who’re you seeing anyway?”
“Rhaella Targaryen.”
“Rhaella?” he said, his bushy eyebrows raised. “Well, that’s swell. I’m her neighbor, Hoster Tully.”
He held out his hand so Jon shook it. “Jon Snow.” He looked hopefully towards Hoster’s granddaughter, unable to hide his grin.
“I’m Sansa Stark,” she said, shaking Jon’s hand as well, her cheeks still flushed a lovely shade of pink. “And I’m glad you have such good taste in cartoons.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said, grinning wider. “It’s nice to meet you both.” Especially you.
“Have a nice time with your gamma, Jon,” Hoster chuckled. Never living down that introduction then. “The sweet shop’s open. You wanna ice cream, darling?”
Jon smiled, thinking his grandmother would likely ask him the same question.
Sansa cocked an eyebrow at him and put a hand on her hip. “Do I want an ice cream or is it you who wants one, Grandpa?” she asked, clearly amused.
“I’m sure you’ll be reminding me of the doctor saying to watch my sweets, huh?”
“Maybe.”
“I've been a good boy, I swear. I also remember when you couldn’t say no to mint chocolate chip,” he added in a slightly pleading tone.
“I still struggle to say no to it,” she laughed. “Maybe they have a no-sugar alternative."
"Blech. Help me out here, Jon."
"I, uh..." He looked between them both, Mr. Tully with pleading puppy dog eyes and Sansa with her hand still on her hip. "I mean, one little scoop’s not so bad and I'll bet they have a variety of options with, um...different sizes and calories, sugar-free and...you know I've never been here before in my life, right?"
They both started laughing and he was mesmerized by the tinkling sound of Sansa's as her eyes sparkled.
"Well, maybe we'll check out the varieties available, Grandpa," Sansa relented, giving Jon a wink. Hot damn! "It was nice to meet you, Jon. I hope you enjoy your visit.”
“Thanks. It was nice to meet you, too,” he replied as they continued down the hallway.
Sansa’s a pretty name. Where do you go to school? Riverlands? Please, say Riverlands. They've got a nursing program there...I think. Do you come here often? Can I buy you both an ice cream? Can I have your number? Do you have a boyfriend? I really do like the wolf bit.
Naturally, he’d think of a dozen things to say as she was walking away, not that he could say most of those things when they'd just met.
With a sigh, he headed towards the reception desk as Sansa and her grandfather disappeared from his view.
“Can I help you?” a woman wearing pink scrubs, a friendly smile and a name tag that said ‘Yaya’ on it asked.
“Yes, I’m here to see my gamma.” He groaned inwardly as her smile widened. “I mean, my grandmother. I want to visit Rhaella Targaryen.”
“Oh, Rhaella! What’s your name, honey?”
“Jon Snow.”
“Okay, Jon Snow, let’s take a look.” She opened a ledger to nearly the back page, her finger tracing downwards. “Do you have an ID on you, Jon?”
“Yeah.”
He grimaced as he pulled out his wallet. It was possible they asked this of all visitors but he had to wonder if his grandfather and uncle didn’t make this necessary for his grandmother. There was still an Order of Protection in place for his grandfather and Viserys wouldn’t be welcome lots of places, particularly around a potentially physically vulnerable population. Well, I’ll bet Old Hoster with his cane can take care of himself alright.
Yaya looked it over and then smiled, passing him a slip of paper with a word written on it.
“Hippie?”
“Yeah, that’s the gate’s passcode. Just use the alpha-numeric keypad to enter it and you can pull your vehicle through.”
“Okay but hippie?”
“The residents vote on it once a month. They tend to go with something that gives them a chuckle.”
“What was last month’s?”
“Prunes.”
“No shit?” Yaya’s eyes widened before she threw her head back and laughed. Jon hadn’t meant to curse in front of a stranger but when he thought about the meaning there… “Sorry,” he said, failing to stifle his answering laughter.
After they’d settled down again, Yaya asked, “Does she know you’re coming?”
“Yeah, she does.”
“Great. I know she’ll be happy to see you. She doesn’t get…” Yaya trailed off, a soft melancholy settling in her warm brown eyes.
“Many visitors, I know,” he said, shifting guiltily. He’d moved here six weeks ago. He could’ve come sooner. “I…maybe that’ll change.”
“I hope so, Jon. Have a nice visit.”
#jonsa fanfiction#vivilove-jonsa fic#wip wednesday#jonsa#new fic that may never see the light of day on ao3#but have some of it here anyway
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awwww i’m here now darling so you better feel amazing <33333
ok miss i see the subtle flex you just pulled on me, just say your team is op and go... :pp jk!! no but yeah if you’re stronger than the goddamn bosses it usually goes easily. can’t say i’ve seen those days in a while tho rip
YOU ARE MY BABY!!!!!! you could do a doodle for me and i’ll literally cry abt it until i die. ooooh that seems good tho??? especially ningguang and beidou... the ladies are making a comeback 🥴 i agree with you actually!! i’d love for chongyun to come back (so you can get his c6 mostly) and for selfish reasons i want razor to come back to... bc boy scouts. i really want the boy scouts... hope it happens soon tho 🥺
speaking of boy scouts i just got him.... xingqiu.. i felt so bad bc i know how much you want him... :( but i didn’t get any xiangling so. i lost successfully shskdhsk. also I WISH they had cross-server co-op more than ever at this moment bc then we could do our chongyun + xingqiu dates... 🥺
cluna you’re literally so cool! you work through them? help couldn’t be me. i get super annoyed and if it’s not working i’ll just let it go and write something else instead shskdhdksk. for instance, i was working on this fic two months ago and i got really far into it when i hit a writers block. so, its just been collecting dusts for months now. a couple days ago i accidentally stumbled upon it and realize the potential it had so i might pick it up sksjdkd. i was literally prepared to just let it rot like so many other fics i write. so yeah idk sometimes i just give up because it’s easier even if it hurts me bc i spent so much time writing them sjshdkdj. yikes.
right?? and when you write a fic that takes place during the day you can get inspired by the atmosphere outside!! and yes!! i have to study outside i can’t get anything done at home. i used to be able to do that when i was younger but now it feels sooo impossible. especially with online school and stuff. either i go to a library, cafe or school. although most of these are closed now so i have to book a room somewhere to study. do you have a specific area at home where you write or can you just sit down anywhere and study?
for sure!! if i had the space i’d absolutely consider buying more books. right now i just have them scattered around everywhere (even some in my makeup drawer shdjdh). do you have a bookshelf? 🥺 that’s so pretty...! what are some of your other favorites btw? oh grade school is basically class 1 to 9... so from 6 years old to 15? girl no worries i know how difficult it is to understand all of that. when my friends used to explain their countries school systems before i’d just sit like owl eyes.
THE ALBEDO FANART!!!!! during his quest i took sooo many screenshots god he’s just perfect. he’s such a gentle and sweet boy ughhhhh.... he’s been gone for 2 days and i already miss him. and xiao and aether are just... yeah... i love how everyone ships aether with the boys yet i don’t think i’ve ever seen lumine shipping fanart? let’s just say gay rights and leave it at that.
BEFORE I CLICKED ON THE LINK I HAD A FEELING IT WOULD BE THAT POST.... literally us!!!! don’t make one in america no worries!! idk why my acc was set to that lmao. i’ll make one in asia tonight and just hustle for a few weeks until i reach co-op (i think it was ar 15?) plus i really want aether so i’m kind of not so stressed about it tbh? god i’m actually so exciiiiiteeeeed...... 😭 you gotta promise you’ll help me with domains and bosses tho you’re gonna be at a much higher rank than me while i’ll just be a little nooby girl. 😭
thank you so much for the encouragement!!! ♥️
today i didn’t keep you waiting too long, hehe. i missed you too much. but you’re porobably asleep now though :( oh well, can’t wait to hear from you my love <333
hiya!! i’m still up bc i miscalculated the length of a fic chdjcnskjd and thought to check if you’d sent anything before i went to sleep!! made me v excited to see there was not only 1 but 2 asks from you hehe (also it’s 2am rn so apologies for any incoherence!!)
AHAHAH fjskdjskdn genuinely tho,,, i’m really happy with my team rn LOL. and noooo you’ll get there someday!! before your world level increases and you’re stuck being many levels below the bosses again fhdjdjkd it’s a cycle 😩
NFKSKDLAKS i wish i could manage even a doodle… drawing hair is literally my worst nightmare (along with drawing anything else tbh) and all the genshin charas have such complex layered hair ugh it’s like they don’t want me to even try. yass beiguang (idk if that’s their ship name) actual queens 👑. razor!!!! what a good boye. i love his idle animation so much, pls he deserves everything 🥺🥺 and you deserve to get the boy scouts!!! can’t wait for that day to come <33
AHHH!!!! no don’t feel bad i’m so happy for you omg… live out all my xingqiu-having dreams for me please 😩😩😩😩 our xingyun dates!!!! some day it’ll be a reality <333
DHJAJSHS nooooo fuck writer’s block 😤😤😤 but i hope you’re able to finish that fic now!! (vaguely, if you prefer) what’s it about? also i have plenty of fics/ideas just rotting too, but that’s usually bc i get caught up in a new idea which i like more ? i think? lmao so yeah i definitely do give up on my fics too omg wait do you have those fics where you’re like omg this concept is god tier i’m so big brained and then you write out a scene and then it’s like … wtf do i do with this now? HAHAHAH like my attention span is slowly too short to write any long af fics, i can’t stay dedicated or interested enough for that but a lot of the ideas i have have the potential to be those 300k 40 chapter slow burn etc etc so there are so many docs in my drive that are just. works with like 2-3 written scenes and an entirely fleshed out plan but i know i’ll never actually end up writing it bc of aforementioned factors lolllll. that’s another reason why i think about just releasing all my wips some day! so people can see all the ideas im unable to execute jfjsndns. do you [like] writing super long fics like that? i admire your tenacity if you do ahah
agreeeeeed <3 and oh i see!! i always feel like people who don’t study at home are so studious fjskdksk it gives off that kinda vibe for me 🤪 and i have a study! so i usually do most of my work there. sometimes tho when i get bored and if i’m not watching a lecture i’ll sit on my couch or on the floor and change things up a bit lolol
djxkkakdks omg don’t let your makeup ruin the books.. or is the makeup more important djskskks. i do have a bookshelf!! it has like… 6 levels? and it’s all full 😳😳 other faves are defs the hunger games (catching fire >>>>>>>>) and you know the others like percy jackson, divergent, the mortal instruments. oh and the maze runner!!!!!!! the prequel (? sequel???) is probably one of the recent books i’ve actually read, even tho that was like back in 2017 lmao. i liked the john green stuff too.. just a lot of the like. basic ones LMAO. hbu??
6-15??? damn that’s an interesting range djsksk i guess the closest for us would be primary school which covers ages 6-12!
albedo is legit SO prettt and for what. his hair, his eyes, his soft spoken manner. ugh 😩😩😩 and taking a bunch of screenshots is a big mood!! ooo i’ve seen some lumine ones but yeah def not a lot ! (i know there’s discourse surrounding that lmao) but yes gay rights 😤 wait that reminds me i saw the cutest razor pic the other day and saved it i’ll show you when i’m in a more awake state to attach the image fjdjnd
!!!!!! ours minds… actually connected 🧠
okay that sounds good!!! and yeah wtf why does co-op unlock so like late lol let us play together NOW 😤 and good luck with starting again!! and have fun with aether hehe we’ll be able to have both ours meet 🤪🤪 AND YES I PROMISE!!!! i’ll carry you until we’re both the same AR and we can suffer fighting bosses together <3 you can just sit back and watch me do all the work 🤪 i’m super excited too!!! 🤩🤩🤩 and thank you for doing thisss even tho i know you said you don’t mind but still!! 💗💘💝💕💓💗💞
no problem!!! i believe in you!!! ❤️❤️❤️
eagerly (but patiently) anticipating your response~ xo!
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Ficathon: Mad World
I’ve spent today on uni work and chipping away on Shadow to Light, so instead of a prompt fic, have a sample of one of my WIPs - this one is Mad World, a fic where Alice is the daughter of Charlie Swan’s estranged sister who goes to live with Bella and Charlie. It was an experiment in gothic horror/romance, tbh.
“If you don't know where you are going any road can take you there.” - Lewis Carroll
When I look up at the sky in Forks, I don’t see clouds. Or I do, but they’re obscured by leaves and branches; the forest stretches above me and it’s nice. Private and safe, even though it makes it feel a lot later and darker than it really is. It’s like we’re in a cocoon, and there’s no one else in the world.
I return to reality as his teeth rasp against my stomach, above my belly button, and I giggle, ticklish. I’m splayed across a rock, and it's scratching my back - my sweater is balled up in the dirt, and my shirt is pushed up above my bra.
My fingers twist in his hair and I smirk as he looks back up at me. Jasper Hale; who I sit next to in History and in Trig. His shirt hangs open, revealing a body that will be taking pride of place in my fantasies.
“You okay?” His voice is low and even, but his eyes are sharp. Dark, and watching me. For a moment, I see calculation and something I should react to. Something dangerous. Like he could kill me right here and now; fuck me and choke me; rip me into wet, meaty pieces; beat my skull into dust with a rock. This boy, this man, is dangerous, and I have invited him to get much, much closer. He could do whatever he wanted to me, and he wouldn’t be the first.
And I don’t care. That darkness, that rage, and potential for violence, I’m not scared of it. I haven’t been for a long time. It’s easier to consent than to resist. And more than that, I like that darkness. I like that sharp edge. And what I know of Jasper Hale, I like.
Whatever I am feeling twists and fades into the steady thrum of lust, of confidence and willingness.
“Absolutely nothing,” I say, and tug his hair to bring his face closer to mine.
And that’s how I spent my third afternoon in Forks; fooling around with Jasper Hale in the woods behind the high school auditorium.
—
It’s a rainy Thursday night when I finally, finally arrive in Forks. And in that moment, it is the most beautiful place on earth - the green of the forest, the grey of the rain, the fresh air. It is Shangri-La on Earth, and I am apart of it.
I left North Carolina on Monday, and since then have taken a bus, a train, another bus, another train, and a third bus. I have layers upon layers of deodorant and grime upon my skin; my phone is dead; my hair is greasy from the endless styling tutorials I looked up to combat boredom, and all I want is something to eat and a shower. Anything that isn’t itchy seats, never-ending road, or snack foods would be heaven upon earth at this moment.
In truth, I don’t feel human anymore. I feel like a transient spirit, a modern-day gypsy, a lost girl. That for the rest of time, this will be my life - dirt and fuel and waiting for an end that never comes. But somehow, I have made it to Forks; the red ‘x’ on my photocopied map is finally a real place, with buildings and streets and people. Forks isn’t home, but it is the most welcoming sight I have had in years.
I jump down from the bus; a backpack on my shoulder, a satchel across my chest and a duffle bag in one hand. For all intents and purposes, this is all I own in the world. Twenty-three dollars in my wallet, and my entire life in my bags. I could go anywhere I wanted, except twenty-three dollars won’t take me many places.
No one else on the bus carries as much luggage as I do, and no one is dressed alike either - I changed at the Seattle bus station into my second-to-last clean outfit, to try and make a good impression. Everyone else is wearing a jeans-parka-boots combination, which is probably smart with the horrible weather. Not that I will miss the hideous summers of North Carolina. But I get the sense that this bus is full of locals, who busted happened to be travelling from Port Angeles or Seattle. There’s something about them, like the green of the forest, the dirt and mud of the ground, the rainwater has sunken into their bodies and marked them invisibly as belonging to the town of Forks. I wonder if I’ll be here long enough to be marked too.
The bus station is the smallest I’ve been to on this whirlwind road trip - a tiny convenience store, a spinning rack of postcards, a payphone, and endless wooden benches.
Uncle Charlie is right there, waiting for me - sitting on a bench with a paper cup of coffee. Even if he hadn’t been wearing his uniform, I would have guessed he was my uncle. He doesn’t strictly look like my mother, but there is something in the way they carry themselves, the way that they fill space. I don’t know. I just know that he is definitely Mom’s little brother, one Chief Charlie Swan of Forks, WA.
My new guardian - saviour or gaoler is yet to be determined.
“Uncle Charlie!” I put a big smile on my face and march straight up to him - if life has taught me nothing else, it’s that first impressions count. And not to piss off the person in charge of your welfare. “I’m Alice.”
Uncle Charlie looked up at me, and for a moment, just stared.
So, my outfit wasn’t the best first impression I could have picked. But it was the only one left that I could wear in public - my beloved, holey galaxy leggings; ancient floral Dr Martens that I had laced with pink ribbons; a giant purple and black sweater, and a black miniskirt. Combined with the pancake make-up I had used to cover up my blotchy-skin and dark under-eye circles, my greasy hair knotted in two buns with my collection of dollar-store butterfly clips, and the fact that I smelt like four days of bus, sweat, and fried food, I definitely looked like the devil child my mother probably portrayed me as.
“Mary Alice!” Uncle Charlie recovered. “How was your trip?” He smiled awkwardly and stood up.
“Long,” I said ruefully. “But I’m here now.”
—
Uncle Charlie tried to make conversation as we drove back to his place, as if a truncated game of ‘Twenty Questions’ could undo the awkwardness of not knowing about each other for seventeen years.
And it wasn’t like I could abridge my messy, ridiculous life story into a fifteen minute car trip, anyway. Or that Charlie Swan could become a beloved uncle between the bus station and his home.
Who was I?
I was Mary-Alice Brandon, eldest daughter of Annette Marie Swan-Ackerman, the only child of the late artist Nicholas Brandon. Resented step-daughter of Stephen Ackerman. A granddaughter and a niece and a half-sister. Former prisoner of a remote reform school. Epileptic. A secret keeper, and an artist.
How could I tell Uncle Charlie all the tiny details that made up me, and the reason I was here with him now?
That my mother is no Swan, but a chameleon, a snake, a cuckoo in the nest?
That the last of my stitches came out last week, but the scars still itch like crazy?
That I used to love gas-station slushies, especially pink ones, until I was twelve? That now I love soda, so cold it makes your brain and teeth hurt, and tastes like static?
And besides, what do I know about Charlie and my cousin? He’s a divorced police chief, and his daughter Isabella is also seventeen years old - five months older than me - and lives with him full-time. She attends the local public high school. That my grandparents are dead, and my ex-aunt has since remarried.
That’s it. That’s all I really know. And I am about to live with them.
If I think about it too much, it just feels like another trap.
—
The Swan house was small, but then, so were all the houses on the street. It was old, too, but I’d always known that was a probability. It didn’t make it easier, though. I’ve never done well in old houses. It needed a few repairs - the paint was peeling off, one of the shutters was hanging at an angle, and the front garden was dirt, grass, moss and ferns. Uncle Charlie struck me as a neat and practical kind of person, so this was surprising. But maybe in the spring, I could coax some kind of garden to life, as a way to say thank-you.
We walked in the backdoor, letting it swing shut behind us with a bang. Inside, the hallway was narrow and dark, with stairs leading up, and a few aged pieces of art hung on the plaid walls - mostly landscapes, and several of fish that were very good, if hideously ugly.
The first thing my eye caught was the mantlepiece in the sitting room, above the fireplace - a shrine to a teenage girl who bore a startling resemblance to Mom.
“Wow,” I said, moving closer. The eyes, the smile, the brown hair - this had to be my cousin. “Is that Isabella?”
“Yeah, that’s Bells. She’s out with her boyfriend at the moment,” Uncle Charlie said, setting down my duffle bag.
“She looks just like Mom,” I said, amazed. It was uncanny - Bella looked more like Mom’s daughter than I did.
“I guess she does,” Uncle Charlie said. “Bells is much prettier than Annette was at that age - but that’s all Renee.”
Charlie sounded uncomfortable, and I had to admit to myself that I was uncomfortable hearing my mother’s name. Turning away from the photographs, I pasted a smile back on my face.
“Sorry, I’m easily distracted,” I said. “You were going to show me my room?”
“Yeah. It’s not much,” Uncle Charlie began. “It’s pretty small…”
“You’re taking me in. That makes everything else perfect,” I said firmly, grabbing my backpack again. “Lead the way.”
—
Well.
Uncle Charlie had warned me that my bedroom was tiny.
It was more than tiny – more like a large alcove with glass doors. The walls were off-white, and a square window looked over a tiny yard and the forest. A narrow bed was wedged against the wall, made up with a hideous yellow bedspread. A dresser was arranged against the wall between the bed and doors. Opposite the dresser was a tiny desk and chair. Jammed in the gap at the end of the bed, next to the desk, was an old laundry hamper.
I was betting I could touch the window and the door with my arms outstretched.
Luckily I was used to small living spaces. I wasn’t sharing with anyone; that was enough to make up for the fact that this room would have been a better closet. Or window box. Apparently, Uncle Charlie had used it as an office when he needed to bring work home.
I set my bags on the bed. This was going to be my home for the next year and a half. It felt overwhelming all of a sudden, that I would be living with an uncle and cousin I had never even met before. It wasn’t like school, where I had shared a room with seven other girls, and we’d all been strangers.
I could do this.
It was only eighteen months. I had been away at school nearly three times that long, and if I could survive school, I could survive living at Uncle Charlie’s.
I had intended to unpack and settle in before dinner, but in the end, I just changed into some pyjamas, shoved my bags under the bed, and fallen asleep nearly instantly. I didn’t wake up until much later, almost midnight, starving and disorientated. I crept out of my room, making a note to buy some kind of curtains for the glass doors to give myself some privacy.
Uncle Charlie and my cousin were clearly already asleep, so I got myself a glass of water. There was a note scrawled out for me, telling me to help myself to food, and that they’d see me tomorrow. I felt bad for vanishing without spending time with them or even meeting Bella, but there wasn’t much I could do about that now.
The house was quiet in the darkness, but I used my phone to carefully navigate - and look around. The shrine held a wedding photo of a much-younger Charlie, and the woman who was my ex-aunt; a sad memento when I knew that Uncle Charlie had been divorced for quite a long time. An off-brand recliner sat near a small, out-of-date television, the remote on top of a TV guide, with various sports matches circled in pen. Several pairs of shoes sat by the front door - my cousin was clearly a strong supporter of Converse sneakers.
The leftovers in the fridge looked kind of suspect – some luminous mac and cheese, a chicken that was nearly picked clean, and some greasy looking Chinese. I ended up slapping some peanut butter on some bread, and drinking nearly half a carton of milk, before vanishing back into my new ‘bedroom’ for some more sleep.
Peering out of the uncovered window into the night, I could see beyond the fence line into the black of the forest. The tops of the trees cut the bottom half of the sky off perfectly, like an old-fashioned silhouette. It was strange to imagine my mother living in this kind of town, growing up here. But then, I had a hard time picturing my dad and her being married, too.
Lying back, I stared out at the night sky, the slow movement of clouds over the stars lulling me back to sleep.
#fic: mad world#jalice#alice cullen#jasper hale#twilight fan fiction#twificathon2020#twilight#my fic#my writing
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Okay, this has been a long time coming and I’m not gonna’ go into the full detailed sob story just because I’m not the sort of person who actually talks about their problems (wild concept, tbh) but, as I’m sure some of you have noticed, I haven’t really been writing fics recently. The last one I finished and posted was well over two months ago now and I pretty much had to force myself to complete it (so it really wasn’t all that good and I acknowledge that lol) Between a combination of struggling mental health and the upheaval of the world as we knew it thanks in no small part to the Corona virus, I’ve hit a solid wall of writers block. I’ve tried to force myself out of it and currently have about ten different half finished WIPs collecting dust in my files but actually finishing any of them is proving difficult. I’m working on getting myself out of this slump one hard earned sentence at a time and I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for sticking with me through all this. I don’t deserve it but I appreciate it all the same. I’m on the upward mend of what I can only assume was a depressive episode so I should have something out soon.
That being said, I’ve made a side blog dedicated solely to my writing so that it’s both easier to peruse and more organized without getting lost in all the other stuff I post here. This one will continue to be used for general fandom content (fics from other writers, fanart, my own weeb centric posts) but don’t worry. I’ll reblog anything I post there onto this account so you don’t necessarily need to follow both just to see my fics. I’m hoping this change will make it easier for those who only want to read smut without seeing all the other shit I blog about with the added bonus of acting like a one stop hub for my content. Details will follow as I continue pulling myself up by the boot straps to get back into the swing of things, and that goes for my own projects as well as the requests you guys have sent in. I haven’t forgotten them, I promise. Things were just kind of hitting a low point there for a minute where I didn’t want to talk to anyone or do anything except immerse myself in Naruto. 😂
Speaking of, I finished Shippūden and am now working on Boruto. Honestly, I’m not sure why so many people shit all over it because I truly went into the series expecting the worst attempt at a sequel in recent history but I was pleasantly surprised to find that it’s actually quite good. Charming. I think it handles it’s female characters much, much better than the original series and it also gives us the sort of characterization the OG cast desperately needed and, in some cases, STILL needs. I can only assume that any genuine dislike for it stems from either the final pairings not being what you’d hoped for (I’m not a fan of Shikamaru ending up with Temari, to be frank, but that’s not enough to make me hate it) or because the nostalgia goggles are just strapped on too tight to recognize what Boruto does better. Anyway, my point here is that I am enjoying the new gen quite a bit so don’t be shocked if I pop off with content for them at some point. It’s likely only a matter of when, not if.
So yeah. There’s my long overdue update/apology for dropping off the face of the planet in every possible way. More fics are coming, I can promise that. It’s just taking me a while to get my shit back together after I took such an emotional nosedive. I’m far from done with thirsting and being a general cock slut tho so I’m not giving up yet!
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Dance to This (m)
pairing: fuqboi!jhs x reader
genre: smut, dance majors!au
warnings: light bondage (?), thigh riding, self-gratification lmao
wc: 3k
notes: an old draft i found collecting dust in my wips from a year ago. i think it meant to have more plot and detail but I’m not entirely sure lol editing this was more as a mental break from my current stuff than anything else and i can't remember what my original idea for this was but enjoy lmao
synopsis: in lieu of your injured partner, you’re forced to work with one of the biggest mistakes you’ve made in your college career.
Some of the most important things came in pairs; shoes, lungs, chopsticks, dance partners. Yet much to your inconvenience, you had managed to become the mismatched sock in an otherwise perfectly organized dresser drawer of neatly rolled - and paired - socks. Four weeks before one of the largest showcases in your college career, your dance partner Jimin, a sophomore prodigy, had badly twisted his ankle slipping on black ice that had frozen along the steps outside his dormitory in the aftermath of a winter storm. While the boy would still be able to dance in a few months' time, your instructor was quick to find someone to fill in the blank. Rather than your more preferable idea of turning your duet into a solo, you were haphazardly thrown to the whims of one irksome Jung Hoseok.
It wasn't that he was terrible. It was far from that - he was too good, and he knew it.
Flawless transitions, a body that moved with all the expression, ease, grace and passion you could only hope you portrayed. His performance pushed the limits of perfection and inspired awe to those who spectated, upper and underclassmen alike. And it just so happened he would be performing in the same show with you at the end of the semester, in an effort to attract the attention of big-name dance companies. To secure a future in the industry.
Yet the unbalanced dynamic caused by a long and awkward history between the two of you seemed to threaten all of that.
"Does it hurt?"
The question sounds silly the moment it leaves your mouth, and the odd look on Jimin's face most likely mirrors yours. Obviously, it hurt. But Jimin, the angel that he was, only smiles brightly and wiggles his toes in the cast. "Only a little."
Jimin, practically a contemporary dance prodigy, still had a year to go, hence, he avoided many repercussions of not being able to participate in the show. You, on the other hand, were grinding down to the last semester at your performing arts school. While it wouldn't be impossible to get a job teaching at a studio or even at another school, it wasn't what you were looking for - wasn't what you had dreamed of.
And now, with Jimin's eyes drowning you in that well-known look of pity, that dream felt very, extremely out of reach.
You shot up out of your seat, feeling your skin crawl and your ears burn under that familiar feeling of irritation. A hot feeling filled your head with all the pent-up frustration from the situation that had long gone out of your hands. You need to get out. For a fleeting moment, you're tempted to step on Jimin's other ankle out of pure (unwarranted) pettiness. Damn you for leaving me in a position like this.
"I just wanted to stop by and make sure you were doing alright…" You hope your smile looks more amiable than it feels.
The boy nods, extending his arms as if going for a hug, and then quickly retracting into a half wave as though he's thought better about it. Over the grueling hours and months you had spent practicing hard together, you and Jimin worked together like a well-oiled machine across the floor. You were good partners, even nearly friends, but close was something you were not. At the end of each day, you both went your separate ways. Still, it felt wrong for this to have happened and to not stop by the hospital, no matter little of value the relationship was to you.
As you reach the door Jimin calls out to you, "Are you heading to the studio?" He eyes your attire and the gym bag you shoulder as if that if not an obvious enough answer.
"Yeah."
"Is everything going okay with Hoseok?"
The fingers that rest of the doorknob curl around it in an iron grip. You glare hard at the scuffed tile floors, biting your tongue at the slight idolization you hear in Jimin's tone just at speaking the man's name. He had always been a bit of a fan.
"It's great," you lament, pushing through the doorway. "Fucking fantastic."
There is only one studio ever open past ten o'clock at night, and you are one of a handful that ever wanders in there so late at night after an already taxing day spent on these very floors. So when you arrive to find a sliver of light from the doorway and heavy bass of an R&B song trembling the walls of the corridor, the sense of frustration from earlier that evening only seems to balloon. Kicking the door open and fully intending on forcing the person out of the studio, you're stopped short by the sight before you.
Two closely intertwined half-dressed bodies, moving erratically and jammed up against a foggy wall length mirror jump apart at the sound of the door slamming into the wall behind it. You mentally wince, knowing that someone's instructor will spaz when they discover a door handle sized dent in the drywall.
Jung Hoseok stands in a sweat-sticky tee, hair tousled, slowly tucking himself back into the draws and basketball shorts that had fallen to his shins, looking a hell of a lot less perturbed than the girl he was just dick-deep inside. This - this was exactly why you refused to be partnered with him.
The girl (one you vaguely recognize from an Intro to Tap class you took on a whim) looks frazzled, struggling to simultaneously reach for her leggings and pull up her bra. She opens her mouth to exclaim in anger, but you beat her to the punch.
"What the fuck is this."
You stretch in silence. It's always like this now, as opposed to the pop music blasting over the stereo Jimin would play during warmups, the mild hellos and good mornings, the partner stretches or the comfortable small talk made between switching positions. Now, with Hoseok, the closest thing to a greeting is a nod or a grunt. Warming up is done in radio silence, save for the days like today when you remember to bring your earbuds and turn the volume too low for your new partner to hear, but loud enough to block out your thoughts and the awkward tension that's more deafening than the silence.
Today is more uncomfortable than others, for a multitude of reasons. You can hardly turn your head in Hoseok's direction, the image of him pinning your old classmate to the mirror by the arms and the flash of his bare ass forever printed to the backs of your eyelids. You say nothing to him though, having shared more than enough words when all he had replied to your outrage was with a shrugged off, "Practice."
You had cursed him and his accomplice out, reprimanding them for misuse of school facilities. A reprimanding that had, apparently, gone right over their heads, because while the girl had at first a little decency to appear sheepish, she had shoulder her way past you to the door hissing, "killjoy."
Despite the fact that the previous night's events had only amplified your cold attitude toward him, you could feel Hoseok's gaze burn hole between your shoulder blades. You had a three-hour practice together before a break for lunch, and although it had only just started, you were counting down the minutes.
Little was said for the first half, aside from "Let's try that again," and "One more time from the top,". Despite being thrown into it at a moment's notice, Hoseok is a fast learner and picks up the routine quickly. However, when it gets to the point where the instructor allows you to practice without him for the last hour and a half, Hoseok feels unnecessarily entitled to fill the void. Most days you don't mind a little constructive criticism. Yet today, when his hands unexpectedly go for your hips in the middle of a turn, you practically leap three feet in the air before stumbling out of his reach.
You whip around to face him, hands planted on your hips. "Can I help you?!"
Hoseok has known you've been on edge all day, yet the look on his face is one of genuine surprise at your outburst. He blinks. "You're moving your hips all wrong."
"Wha-?"
"Your hips," He falters when you move further away from him when he reaches for you again, sighing exasperatedly. "You look super stiff like you're trying to twist your way out of a tight pair of jeans. There's no fluidity."
Chin tilted in his direction, you keep your defensive stance, still mentally gathering your bearings. The image of bare thighs flash across your thoughts, and it takes everything in you not to screw your face up at the memory. "Excuse me? Instructor Lee said that I was doing this perfectly fine-,"
Hoseok snorts, "Instructor Lee doesn't want to hurt your fragile little feelings."
"My feelings?!" Is he not the damn professor?
"Y/N, I know what happened yesterday was a little…unprecedented. But if you want to be taken seriously at this showcase, you have to focus and be able to handle constructive criticism."
"Taken seriously?!" At this point you're just parroting what he says, his condescending tone rendering you shocked into disbelief. You've quickly gone from defensive to full offense, advancing on Hoseok. "You, of all people, are the very last person to talk to me about being serious! Especially after that stint the other night. Can't you take your private business somewhere a little more, I dunno…private? How do you expect me to just unsee whatever the hell that was? I can't sleep, Hoseok. I have nightmares. Don't you know how much this sucks? How much more stress you've caused me?!" At this point you've got a single pointer finger digging into his pectoral with so much force he bats your hand away with a hiss.
"Look, I think you're exaggerating a little too much-,"
"And I don't think you're taking this seriously enough. This isn't a game, Jung. Don't you know how much I want this?!"
"You don't think I want this either?!" Hoseok barks back, appearing more than a little miffed.
"You certainly don't act like it."
He huffs again, shaking his head dismissively. "Look, I'm not ecstatic that we got paired together so last minute either, but we could work so well together if you would just stop being so tightly wound-,"
"-You're the reason I'm so wound up-!"
"Then let me undo it!"
The words hang in the distance between you, which Hoseok tries to close in a quick succession of steps that bring him far too close for comfort.
"Excuse me?" You lean away, tilting your chin to glaring up at him incredulously over the bridge of your nose. Is he offering what you think he's offering?
"Let me help you relax," he reiterates. "If it means you'll be more compliant."
"You say that as if this whole mess is my fault. And as if I'd ever get comfortable enough to let you put your hands on me again," you scoff.
"Y/N… You know I can do it. You know I can get you there. It's a matter of morals, really. Stop being so stiff." Your name rolls from the depth of throat in a low growl. His hands hover by your sides as though he's fighting the urge to initiate physical contact, fidgeting fingers curling into fists. Suddenly, you're reminded of every other hapless run in you've had with Jung Hoseok for the past four years, how they all started like this and ended the same. A long progression of tension, sly looks, flirting, wandering hands and an offer that you had never taken upon until your junior year because you never thought he really meant it. You had thought were better than that and had more self-respect than all of the other girls before you who had succumbed to such encouragement on his part. But that night, when you had caved in because he was so damn earnest and you had managed to convince yourself he really did care, was the night that had solidified the true nature of your relationship and revealed the real character behind one determined, dazzling Jung Hoseok. When he had left you alone, in a stranger's bed in the heated aftermath of a house party held by the friend of a friend, only to reappear into your life the next day with another girl on his arm. You had felt played. Hence began the year-long tirade against anything and everything Hoseok related - until now.
"Having a sense of self-respect and morality makes me stiff? What, so you wanna bang me against the mirror like you did to your other little friend?" you sneer. 'I didn't think you'd take me for someone so easily. "
His eyes flash, more than likely reliving that night too, the last time you had ever really talked to him outside of the studio. You grip the hoodie that's tied lowly around his hips and yank him an inch forward so that you can nose up to his ear.
"Fine. I'll let you help me, but we'll do it my way this time."
And then you're shoving him backward, towards the balancing bar, quickly untying the knot of his sweater sleeves as you go. Hoseok trips over his own feet, all of his usual elegance and grace lost as he struggles to comprehend your intentions. He grimaces when his back hits the wall. "What are you doing?"
Blatantly ignoring him, you place your free hand on his shoulder pressing down, the other still holding the sleeves of his hoodie together. "Kneel." His brow furrows at the command, but he complies none the less, slowly sinking to the floor.
A feeling of satisfaction thrums through your veins at the sight of him like this, knocked off his pedestal and quite literally a few feet beneath you. In a single motion, you ruck the hoodie up from his waist, pulling his arms up from under his biceps in the process. Stepping closer so that you stand over his knees, Hoseok awkwardly attempts to reach for your waist, yet you slip the hoodie around his wrists and tie them to the bar in a haphazard yet decently secured knot.
"I said you're not going to lay a hand on me." You hiss, wedging a foot between his knees, you direct him to slide his feet from under himself and prop his legs up. Much to your surprise, your toes brush up on his crotch, finding him already half hard.
You flash him a mocking smile. "Already?"
Hoseok only looks down at the floor in response, cheeks flushing red with shame.
"It's alright. You've always been one to take what you want." He watches you with wide eyes as you undo the strings of your sweatpants, gaze quickly flitting to the mirror, and then the door. "Now it's my turn."
"What about the door?"
A bolt of panic runs down your spine. It's daytime, and despite it being so close to lunch hours, it is more than likely that anyone could walk right in and catch you in the act. However, you remember the light in the hall, the unlocked door, the unworried look, and nonchalant air that which Hoseok had carried himself when you had found him and that girl, and you realized that he didn't really care. He couldn't have. It makes you all the more determined, and a little bold.
You step out of your sweatpants and gradually lower yourself into his lap, pinching his chin to divert his attention back to you in a show of bravado. "Let them see, then."
Straddling his left leg, Hoseok's eyes become impossibly wide as you begin a steady gyration over his thigh. "You've always had such nice thighs Hobi. How about you put them to some good use."
Slowly but surely you move your hips along the ridge of muscle in his leg, one hand on the balancing bar and the other on his shoulder for support. The pressure on your core brings a thrill of pleasure down your spine, heat filling low in your abdomen. A breathless sigh escapes you, and Hoseok groans at the sight before him. You nearly laugh at the sight of his petulance.
"Didn't think it would turn out like this, would it?" Knees braced on either side of his legs, you grind down harder. When your kneecap brushes the bulge between his legs, Hoseok gasps, responding with an erratic buck of his hips. He tosses his head back, hiding his face in the crook of his right arm. The answer to that question would be yes, but he senses that you're not looking for an answer; you already have one. "Leaving the door open, not even the slightest bit surprised when I came through the door. You knew what you were doing last night." You seethe in his ear. "Think of how unfair you're being; fucking her while you're thinking of me."
Hoseok growls. "Who said I was thinking of you."
"Nobody had to." You roll your hips into his thigh faster, seeking that self-satisfaction, and Hoseok hates it. He wants you pinned to the floor, beneath him, his mouth on the alluring juncture between your neck and shoulder, and his hands on any bare skin he can possess. Instead, here you are, rendering him subdued while you use his body to get you off like some kind of toy.
"I-I didn't even know that girl was coming last night. I-I was waiting for you," Hoseok confesses, albeit reluctant. "Wanted to get your attention again."
"Well, now you've definitely got it." One particular motion results in the material of your panties to chafe directly at your clit, causing you to stutter. "Oh, f-fuck!"
You're ridiculously wet, evident in the dark streaks left in the fabric of his red shorts. Hoseok gathers the strength to look at you again, moaning at the sight of you working yourself on him. He flexes his leg and you falter again, whimpering. You're close, he can tell. For a moment Hoseok fidgets against his makeshift restraints.
"I could make you feel so much better if you would just let my hands go."
"Not happening," You admonish gripping his jaw with the hand not on the bar when Hoseok tries to toss his head back again in frustration. "Look at me - no, look at me."
Your partner's replacement is forced to watch as you whine and wriggle yourself to completion on his leg. The pressure of your knee on his crotch leaves little to no relief, and yet he bucks up in a last ditch effort anyways. When you finally hoist yourself up, shiny streaks stick to some places where the edge of his shorts meets his bare skin. Hoseok nearly gawks at the site. Meanwhile, you pull yourself together, hiking on your sweatpants and turning to gather your things.
"Hey!" He realizes your intentions and begins to panic. You throw him a bored look over your shoulder, halfway out the door. In his stupor, he recognizes it to be one far too identical to his demeanor the other night. Except for this time, it's no bluff. "Untie me?"
You raise an eyebrow.
"Please?"
Instead of granting his wish, you slowly stride over to him, pulling out your phone to snap a quick photo of him. The fantastic, Jung Hoseok, God's gift to the world of performance arts, looking disheveled, distraught and tied up to a balancing bar. It was too good to pass up.
"Okay. I've had my fun." With one good yank, you release the man from his confines and stalk out of the practice room. "But don't think it'll be happening again."
#hoseok smut#bts smut#hoseok scenario#bts scenario#old draft#if you have any questions pls dont be afraid to ask bc i know how trash this was written jskljfkhgs#impulse post
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uhhhhh yeaaaaaah I’ve got an order for some edwin featuring parental roy and riza, hold the royai?
merry new year, @bifullmetal, I’m your secret santa for 2018!! I’m sorry this is late, I was held up by some travel plans that popped off a little earlier than I thought they would
you asked for basically anything, so my plan going in here was to deliver a wintery and modern spin on the classic mermaid au fic. of course it ran away from me, so now you get a wip of a fic, and that just seems like a bum present so I draw art to make up for that, and gosh dude I just hope you like it
thanks to @fullmetalsecretsanta for putting this event together for 2018, you guys are awesome, for sure
anyway, here’s a sneak peek at the first chapter!
(edit: sorry for the extra late posting, I saved this to my drafts again on accident which is kind of the most embarrassing mistake I could possibly make)
“The Sea Bleeds Blue”
Chapter 1 (prototype)
“... the man is reported to have been under the influence of alcohol during the time of his encounter…”
The tiny little TV blares throughout the house from its perch on the kitchen counter, a feat much more impressive in possibly any other structure that isn’t a cramped beach house. Like, seriously cramped. The kind of cramped where you can barely lay flat across the floor without hitting a wall.
It’s not like Winry Rockbell hates her grandma’s beach house. In a way, she gets it. You get older, your health starts to go, the warm weather is easy on your joints and the air is just so much easier to breathe compared to city smog. And everyone else your age has the same idea, too. When you have a nest egg and no other obligations, why not? Why not just live at the beach, wake up every morning to the soothing ebb of waves, sip your coffee on a porch overlooking the scenery, be a family vacation destination in and of yourself, and just wait to die?
That’s her whole bugbear with the thing actually, now that she thinks about it. People come to the beach to die.
She blinks hard, reaches for her wire cutters, and tries not to think about it much more than that.
“... officials like park ranger Jean Havoc however say the injuries are more likely to have been caused by a particularly territorial sea lion,” the newscaster on the TV continues, her voice tinny and distorted by the on-board speakers. Honestly, she could fix those if Gran would let her...
“He might’ve been feedin’ ‘em, harassin’ ‘em… Sea lions ain’t known to be gracious about their personal space, so all it takes is one loud, persistent jerkwad to ruin their whole day. Heck, mine too! Hahaha.”
“The man was admitted to the hospital this morning, and is expected to make a full recovery…”
Paninya scoffs, loud enough to startle Winry just as she’s threading the headlight through its socket. Luckily a less delicate part of this process. “Sea lion my butt. I’ve bounced frisbees off those things and they haven’t moved.”
She pauses as she considers that image. “Please tell me you don’t make field goals out of sea lions on purpose.”
“Of course not! They’re just… big. And bouncy. And all over? You can’t go down the boardwalk without tripping on them. Like, seriously, is there like a sea lion sanctuary nearby or something? Don’t they migrate?” Paninya asks, her nose scrunching up.
“Uh, I think Mr. Hughes might—”
“No, wait, that’s beside the point,” she interrupts. “And the point here is that I’m not buying what that park ranger is selling.” Her deep brown eyes watch Winry expectantly.
Winry puts down the wires she was futzing with and turns to give her a long-suffering smile, resigning herself to the next few minutes being completely unproductive. “Alright, detective, give me the scoop. What’s really going on in Brightly Cove?”
Paninya always gets this wild grin on her face when she does this. The corner of her smile lifts up just so, her eyes glint, and she squares her shoulders like she’s the hardboiled crime noir star the situation needs.
“Okay, so,” she starts, “You saw the gashes on the guy, right?”
Winry shrugs. “A little bit.”
“Okay, well, they’re completely inconsistent with a sea lion attack. We’d be looking for bites and puncture wounds, and he got approximately uhh, NONE of those. So either sea lions have mutated to have razor sharp claws in the past week, or it wasn’t a sea lion and the park ranger is bullshitting us to cover up what it REALLY was.”
“Right, I’m following so far.”
“So, let’s set the scene.” She stands up to stalk around the incredibly small kitchen table toward Winry. “You’re a dumb tourist that came to the beach in the winter. You’ve brought a brand new jet ski with you, completely oblivious that the water is way too cold for that right now. Because you’re a dumb tourist.”
Winry takes the cue. “I’m a savvy tourist because I’ve arrived when no one is here and none of the shops are open! Locals LOVE my business! Sure hope nothing happens to me without any lifeguards!”
“You’re out on the water when you get caught… in a current! Waves come and pummel you towards the shore, one by one! Before you know it you’re smashed up against the rocks, no shore to save you. You’re stuck.”
She musters the most dramatic slump over the back of the chair that she can manage. “Woe is the fate of a tourist such as I.”
“But wait!” Paninya raises a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from some kind of indoor sun. “What’s that coming toward you? It couldn’t be, is it a person, come to save you in your darkest hour? But then it comes closer, and you realize fate has never been so kind… because there, in the distance… is…“ She leans in close to Winry with a grave look.
“Is…?”
“Bigfoot with a machete.”
“Bigfoot with a—?!” Winry sputters, pushing Paninya away as she absolutely howls with laughter. “Your idea of a more likely culprit than a sea lion is Bigfoot with a machete?!”
“Uh, yeah?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Come on Winry. The gashes. The rocks. The collectible shot glass he leaves at the scene of every crime. It’s totally Bigfoot’s m.o.”
Winry turns back to the mess of robotics on the table. “I’m done with you. Completely done. I’m kicking you out.”
“What? Noooo, come oooon, I’ve got nothing else to do today! I’m gonna be so bored, Winry, pleeease,” Paninya whines, flopping bonelessly onto the table with her best puppy-dog eyes. Winry is mostly unaffected.
“Why not just go hang out with Lan Fan?” she asks. “She puts up with you way more than I do.”
“Can’t. She’s out with her grandpa ‘scoring sweet holiday deals’ at the outlets.” The complaint comes with air quotes. “Besides, you’ve been talking about how cool this project is gonna be for like, mooonths. I can’t miss it after that kind of hype.”
“I have kind of been taunting you with it, haven’t I?” Winry sighs, curling a loose wire around her finger. “Tell you what. If you can be quiet and not so… Paninya the amazing living distraction on me, then I’ll let you come with me later to do the experiment.” Paninya’s whole disposition perks up like a labradoodle. “But! That means no distractions.”
“Aye captain, no distractions,” Paninya promises with a little salute.
~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~
Several hours in that ramshackle beach house kitchen, crammed around a table and dutifully trying to keep potato chip crumbs from invading her whole zone (which, to Paninya’s credit, does not technically count as a distraction), and it’s finally complete. Just in time for low tide, too. The thing she’s been dreaming of doing for months, the senior project that will launch her college applications from drab to fab, the thing that will get her out of this backwater beach town for good...
“Okay, so. No more secrets. Tell me what your project is, Win,” Paninya demands, handing her a roll up cord out of the backpack they brought with them. Winry beams at her.
“Wwwweeell, do you remember those guys from like, San Fran who started building an aquatic robot to explore a hole that was rumored to have treasure at the bottom?”
Paninya pulls out a half-eaten bag of Ruffles from the backpack. “No, but that sounds completely rad. Is that your project? Oh shit, are we gonna find treasure?”
“Probably not,” Winry casually admits, ignoring the way Paninya deflates. “But the robot, yeah. The one they built was a world-wide collaboration across the internet. They had a goal, and people would test their builds by building one of their own, tweak it, and report their findings on those tweaks. It was super cool.”
“Yeah, cool for nerds maybe…” Paninya mumbles around a chip.
“SO,” she presses on, “I built one of my own. With some tweaks. You know, in the spirit of the thing. Now I just need to test it out, record my success, and write a whole essay on it.”
“Which is why we’re in the spooky cave that you can only get to at low tide and has a mysterious bottomless pit in it? So you can see if your ‘bot dives or fries?”
“Yep!” Winry answers cheerfully.
“And why not just use Ling’s pool to do this instead? My legs don’t get good traction in here. I almost slipped earlier. I almost died.”
“Because Ling’s pool isn’t saltwater, and you’re fine.”
“Wow. Cold. Is this what a shitload of free time your senior year does to you, or is it just the overachieving itself?”
“Both,” Winry chirps, and plugs the cord into the tablet. She moves to plug in the other end into the robot itself, but frowns. The waterproof chassis doesn’t look right, like it settled in transport, skewing the whole design just slightly enough that it kind of worries her. Just that tiny bit of pressure on the cable could knock it out with the right bump, or damage the whole port.
Oh well. That’s why a scout’s always prepared, right? She pulls a knife out of her pocket and carefully shaves the plastic away to make room. And just like that, the plug fits like a charm. Nice and snug.
She turns to Paninya, and nods. “It’s show time.”
“Wait, waaaait,” Paninya stops her, waving a cheese-dusted hand around as the other reaches into the backpack. “It’s bad luck to sail a ship without a name. Got one?”
“Uh… I’ve just been calling it Divebot mark 1?” she offers.
Paninya stops digging through the supplies to stare. “Come on, Win. I’ve taught you to ‘yes and’ better than that.”
“Ugh, fine, okay. Um… Divey Jones?”
“Better.” Paninya reveals a can of ginger ale, and at Winry’s own disbelieving stare, shrugs. “It’s not like I have champagne, dude. Ready?”
“Ready.”
Gently, Winry eases the newly christened Divey Jones into the pool of water in front of them at the same time Paninya starts vigorously shaking the can. It floats on top of the surface, gently bobbing, and Winry tosses a grin at Paninya. First success: buoyancy. Next: video feed.
She boots up the tablet, jailbroken to run an open framework because nobody wants you to sandbox their stuff anymore, and opens the custom app she programmed just for this project. One part video capture, one part robot controller. It saved her the parts cost of making a controller, but also? It’s just a little more impressive for whoever looks over her work. Look, she can engineer hardware and software!
When the window prompt comes up to sync the devices, she starts to get jittery. It was one thing to test out at the house, where everything seemed to work just fine, but this was it. This was what either made her winter break a vacation or a mad dash to troubleshoot whatever could have possibly gone wrong in her schematics. The only thing separating her from either possibility was the flip of a switch.
She picks Divey back up from the water, turns it over, and flips it from “off” to “on”.
Immediately, it begins whirring to life, humming in her hand as the battery does its work. She picks up the tablet and pulls out a notepad lined with little squares to check off as she goes through the boot up process: Video feed online? Check. Headlights? Check. A quick figure eight around the little pool confirms that the fins and motors are working, and she checks that off as well.
It’s time for the big moment. She and Paninya nod at each other.
She deflates the swim bladder a little bit, and as Divey Jones begins to sink into the black abyss, Paninya opens the can of ginger ale to a satisfying arc of spray across the cavern, whooping and laughing at the mess it makes. “Bon voyage!!” she calls down the hole, and Winry shakes her head, smiling and turning her attention to guiding the robot on its way.
The “bottomless pit” is an old volcanic magma tube of some sort, five feet in diameter at the top but quickly narrowing as you go down, and filled with water that pours into the cave at every high tide. The cave that contains it is only accessible on foot during low tide, and you have to be careful not to get caught in the cave during high tide. There’s a ton of warnings on a sign outside that attempt to dissuade tourists from trying to camp out in it, and for good reason.
She got stuck in here at high tide once, when she was a kid. Blacked out and woke up to an ambulance and her grandma freaking out. Couldn’t step foot into the place for a few years after that, partly because of trauma, and partly because the park rangers have tightened up their watch on the place ever since.
So. She and Paninya aren’t really supposed to be here. But, you know. It’s for science.
Paninya leans her head on Winry’s shoulder and watches the video feed on the tablet, the only indicator of where the robot is now that it’s turned a corner out of sight. She presses a chip to Winry’s lips, who mindlessly opens her mouth to accept it she’s so focused.
“How deep is this thing, anyway?” Paninya asks after a few more moments of watching video of dark gray rock walls float by.
“Hopefully less than fifty feet? The cable isn’t any longer than that.”
“Yeah, and you’re almost out of rope,” Paninya observes, looking at the coil beside them that grows thinner and thinner as the robot dives onward. “So now might be a good time to say you see the bottom.”
“Well, I don’t see anythi… wait.” Winry leans forward, bringing the tablet screen up to her face, her brow furrowing. There’s a small irregularity in the tunnels further down where it opens up a bit more. It’s like… what it looks like when an octopus camouflages itself against a rock. But the video on Divey’s tiny little camera is so grainy… and it looks so, so much bigger than an octopus.
Paninya leans in closer. “What? What do you see?”
“I… don’t know?” she answers honestly, and then something really startles her. “Oh fuck, it moved. It just moved—”
“What moved? Where am I looking?”
“Right here!” She points at the screen, at the tiny mass of pixels that is growing and changing and moving, even as the robot sits still, and she doesn’t know what it is. A thought occurs somewhere in her head that maybe she should start backing Divey up, but before she can do anything the mass surges forward in a terrifying blur and the feed cuts to static.
“Divey, no!!” Paninya squeals, and Winry nearly tosses the tablet across the room. But she’s cool. She keeps her cool. She’s smarter than to throw away the one thing containing most of the several past months of work.
“What the hell could…” She stops, the zippy sound of cord sliding across rock catching her off guard. That pitiful coil of cord that was slowly disappearing into the abyss with Divey is disappearing so much faster now, and with the tablet still connected to it.
“Winry, Winry Winry Winry, the tablet, you’ve gotta let go of the tablet—” Paninya babbles, scrambling to get onto her feet, and Winry doesn’t even think this time. She fumbles for the knife at her side, and in one swift motion, severs the line, just in time for the newly frayed end to get sucked into the hole like spaghetti.
Her mouth is dry as she looks up at Paninya.
“Run.”
#fullmetalsecretsanta#fullmetalsecretsanta2018#fmasecretsanta2018#edwin#fma#fullmetal alchemist#au#mermaid au#feat. me#edward elric#winry rockbell#genuinely very sorry about how late this is dude#art
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Fic-Writer / Vid-Maker Meme
Tagged by @educatedinyellow and @gailbsanders, thank you!
Author/Vidder Name: sanguinity
Fandoms You Write For: Lately it’s mostly book!verse Hornblower and ACD!Holmes (although the ACD!Holmes is largely behind the scenes with a long-form WIP that I’ve been focusing on). I also write for assorted small Holmesian fandoms as the whim or prompts take me, and I used to write fairly prolifically for Elementary, before that show wore me into the ground with how persistently they don’t care about Joan Watson. I’ve written a fair bit of Strange Empire, some Doctor Who / Torchwood, and quite a few one-offs in random fandoms, from the Oz books to Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles.
Fandoms I Vid For: Mostly one-offs or small batches that overlap with the fandoms I write for: Holmesian multiverse, Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles, plus a number of rarer Festivids-qualifying fandoms like The Middleman or Noah’s Arc.
Where You Post Fic: Most of it is on AO3, excepting some three-sentence and five-sentence fics that I’ve never collected.
Where You Post Vids: Variously Vimeo, YouTube, and DailyMotion, depending on who threw a fit about what copyrighted music the week I posted it, but all my vids are listed at AO3.
Most Popular One-Shot: “The Sincerity of Dust,” a BBC Sherlock Mystrade flash-fic I banged out one morning and which then went on to eat Cleveland. It has 1400 kudos and is working on 14,000 hits. Its nearest rival is “Score: Q to 12,″ an Elementary flash-fic featuring Sherlock and Joan playing Calvinscrabble, which performed modestly on AO3 but cleaned up on tumblr to the tune of 1700 notes.
Most Popular Multi-Chapter Story: “Holocene Park,” an Elementary case fic featuring dinosaurs under the streets of New York City. If I’m remembered in the Elementary fandom for anything, it’s probably for this or Calvinscrabble.
Most Popular Vid: “Something Good (Will Come From That),” my Holmes/Watson multiverse vid. It has 10K plays, the AO3 page has 2.5K hits, and the tumblr page has almost 800 notes. It escaped my corner of pseudonym-based AO3-centric fandom and has made the rounds of the Sherlockian scions on Facebook, as well as being rec’d on non-fannish websites in French, German, and Japanese. For a little while there it was making me anxious with how popular it got -- at the height of its popularity, I was worrying my mom was going to email it to me. After it hit it big I almost completely stopped making things for a while, because I was pretty sure that nothing else I made would be even half that good ever again. Happily, that turned out to be a stupid reason to not make things, and so I started making things again.
Favorite Story You Wrote/Vid You Made: Yeah, sorry, no, my brain burns out on “favorite” questions, especially ones that have no criteria. I’ll just refer you to my Fic/Vid Speed-Dating Score Card, which can be construed as a list of my favorite works on various axes, and is still fairly accurate despite being a year old. (Scariest nowadays is probably “Tea for Two,” a Moriarty-centric story from this last round of Holmestice.)
Story You Were Nervous to Post: “Any Service Required,” which is dark Bush/Hornblower porn. I always feel hideously exposed when publishing porn -- I’m nervous about posting it even in the best of cases. But what with this being dark-fic, I was half-expecting the self-appointed morals police who get prescriptive about “healthy” relationships to show up and make a stink. Or along similar lines, I was fearing that followers who are used to a certain kind of thing from me will look at this one, think it base trash, and lose respect for me over it. I’m happy to say that nothing like that has happened so far, and while readership has been light, I’m fine with that: I’d rather a story have a small readership who is genuinely into it than a large readership who isn’t, and I’d like to believe that this story’s small readership is mostly due to people taking a look at the tags and making good decisions about the kind of thing they enjoy reading.
How Do You Choose Your Titles: BY ANY MEANS I CAN MAKE WORK. My preference is to grab a meaningful phrase from the text, but I’ll also use quotes and popular phrases, sometimes straight-up and sometimes with a twist, if it seems a decent fit for the story. Ideally, a title will speak to some deeper truth about the story, but when push comes to shove, I’ll settle for a title that is short, clean, and memorable: basically, anything that I and others can remember without having to look it up all the damn time. (This is my main problem with people using lines of poetry or song lyrics as titles: they tend to register in my brain as generic word salad, and in many cases I couldn’t say without looking it up what the title actually was, let alone what it had to do with the story.)
Do You Outline: For long or complex stories, sure, yes. If there are many scenes or multiple chapters, I tend to jot down a few lines listing out the succession of scenes or chapters; for “The Next World,” whose main body is a long and rambly conversation, I had an outline that listed out every twist and turn of that convo. The outline for “Langstroth on Bees” (WIP, currently 58K) is a monster of a thing, listing out the internal timeline (five years of current action plus another ten of backstory), various promises I’ve made that I need to deliver on, assorted events that I want to remember to include, and rough ideas about where chapter breaks should maybe fall. Given that I’ve been working on that story for five years now, often with breaks from it of nearly a year, that outline has saved my ass. I guarantee you that without it, I would have picked up this story at some point, tried to remember where I was going with it, come up with nothing much, and shelved it permanently. If anything, I really should outline more often -- I have a few long-standing drafts in my WIP folder that I just... don’t remember where I was going with that. I remember that I did have a destination in mind, yes, but what exactly? WHO KNOWS. Btw, my outlines are living documents -- I revise them often, as my understanding of the story develops. In fact, revising the outline is one of many tools for understanding where a story is going and what is still needed to bring it together.
How many of your fanworks are…
Complete: 92 stories or story collections (I have a few AO3 “stories” that are actually collected ficlets from tumblr or Sherlock60), and 26 vids and vidlets,
In-Progress: Nothing published to AO3 -- it makes me crazy to have a partially-published WIP. My drafts folder has 36 partially completed stories in it, and there are probably a half-dozen vids that I started but haven’t finished.
Coming Soon: Four? For various values of “coming soon.” I have two Hornblower stories that are mostly done (one for the Tegmore verse and another for the Kraken verse), and I’ve been working steadily on “Langstroth on Bees” in the hopes that I’ll finish it this year. And I’m signed up for Remix Revival -- whatever I do for that will probably be the very-most-next thing.
Do You Accept Prompts: Yes! Although I have only a 1/3 to 1/2 completion rate on prompts -- I do hope that no one minds that too terribly! But I’ll actively solicit prompts from time to time -- to celebrate something, or if I’m having a shit day and want to turn it around -- and some of my best stuff has come from prompts people have given me. I never ever guarantee filling them (see my above mentioned completion rate), but if someone wants to prompt me something, my ask box is open. Even if the prompt never gets filled, I still get a warm flutter of “They want to play with me!” from it.
Upcoming Story You Are Most Excited to Write: “Langstroth on Bees,” a 58K-and-counting Holmes/Watson retirement fic that I’ve been working for five years. I added a solid 13K to it this month, and have maybe 20K left to go -- I’m hope-hope-hoping to have it done this year. But I’ve gotten far enough into it that “Langstroth” has finally begun overlapping the territory covered in “From Allegany,” and by the end of this chapter I’ll have passed it entirely. Then I’ll be in unwritten territory, wheee! (Speaking of titles, I never really intended to call this thing “Langstroth on Bees” -- that’s just a working title for my drafts folder. But enough of you now know it by that name that I think I’m going to have to stick with it? So I’m desperately trying to figure out how to justify it. ONE OF MANY THINGS TO DO IN THIS DRAFT.)
Tag Five Fanfic Authors to Answer These Questions As Well: @beanarie @quipxotic @phoenixfalls @xserpx @amindamazed And of course anyone else who wants to play!
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A Rush of Blood to the Head (2/6)
Pairing: Terra/Aqua
Rating: T
Word Count: 4,951
Summary: Aqua was told it was a fair trade - her life for his. And it was, but now Terra has to pick up after the consequences.
AO3 FF.net
A/N: It’s such a weird feeling to end a WIP. This is the third one I’ve opened, and the first one I’ve closed. I usually daydream about them until I put them into words. The outline had been collecting dust for a couple of months. After I’ve dusted it off, I decided not to change anything. Needless to say, I’ve been very excited to finally share this. I almost consider this as an AU to my other AU, with all the same headcanons and backstories for them that I’ve written out.
The reunion was done to Michael Giacchino’s “Locke’d Out Again” from Lost Season One.
The Wayfinder scene was done to Michael Giacchino’s “Departing Sun” from Lost Season One.
The second flashback to the end was done to Gustavo Santaolalla’s “Home” from The Last of Us.
One Gain
The only thing that would have made this night better would be moving closer to her. But asking for her permission to do so was a risk Terra never took.
The rain continued to patter heavily on the windows, and every once in a while lightning struck again. The lamp next to Aqua had been lit, and they rested the heavy leather book in between the both of them, a blanket draped over their laps. The rest of the lounge, a mixture of furniture, long desks, shelves of books and a wardrobe, was completely draped in shadows. She was close enough that her leg rested against his.
For now, he was grateful to relish her proximity. He also felt safest when he made it difficult for her to determine his feelings for her, fearful of how she would react if she ever found out.
“Ghosts will stay behind for any number of reasons. They may need to take care of unfinished business, or they could be in denial over their deaths,” Terra said, summarizing most of the chapter he had been reading.
Aqua rested her elbow on the backrest of the loveseat they were sharing, her head on her palm. She yawned. “That doesn’t sound so bad. When does it get dangerous?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.
“They can haunt people if they are angry or resentful.” He wondered if there would ever be a point in his future career as a Keyblade Master that he would encounter one. “They can even get aggressive if they are enraged, or vengeful, or even possessive.”
She scoffed. “And the writer of this book came across enough of them to know this?”
His lips curled ever so slightly upward. “Did you know there is a world out there where there are undead pirates? It’s true. There was an earlier chapter about them.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not the same thing as a ghost. How do you actually know you came across one?”
He pointed to some lines in the book and read aloud: “A ghost, upon contact, will carry burdens and confounded memories of the life left behind. When one speaks, the manner will be cold, and their sentences garbled. A ghost will talk nonsense, leaving the living confused. It is a way to make certain that personal pain is felt by those left behind.“
“That’s horribly depressing.” She stifled a laugh rather poorly, which was usual. She always made fun of him for finding the strangest things to read from the library. But she never refused to listen to him talk about it.
“It gets worse.” It was fascinating, but heavy-hearted at the same time. “Sometimes the living can keep a dangerous ghost around because they get obsessed with their loss. Like, they’ll keep objects that used to belong to their loved ones with them at all times.”
“Ugh, Terra-”
“Hey, you never know. You might need this information.”
“Of course,” she said, her eyes fluttering shut. “Someday we’ll need to attempt a heroic rescue over some old lady who didn’t know she died.” Her voice cracked.
“You’re very tired.” He mustered every ounce of his will to stop himself from sounding disappointed, expecting she’ll leave him for bed.
She slowly opened her eyes, the dim lighting from the lamp on his side reflecting off of them. They stared into his for a while. “Yeah.” She actually sounded discouraged over her own tiredness, and it was a lie if Terra pretended that his heart didn’t flutter in that instant.
Still, he shouldn’t be too forward. “Should I carry you to your room? Or do you want to camp out here like we used to do during the snowstorms?”
“First of all,” she said, smacking him on the bicep, “I can take myself back to my room... But yeah, let’s camp here.”
It was the better answer. The lounge was one of the several rooms they’ve christened as spots for blanket and pillow forts when they were children. Inside the wardrobe were a heap of stacked blankets. They spread them out and layered them right in front of the tall windows - enough to makeshift a spacious bed.
The rain wasn’t letting up anytime soon. Each time lightning flashed, it illuminated her silhouette, the way her chopped hair fell around her face. Most days, Terra was able to handle his ache to touch her just fine.
Tonight, he snuck behind her in some feeble attempt to scare her. As expected, her reflex to defend herself kicked in - she sent an elbow straight back, which he grabbed. She laughed, her other hand right on his as he wrapped his free arm around her waist. She never seemed to learn that tackling him using just physical strength was always futile. Being this close to her, he could faintly smell notes of vanilla and lavender. He threw her onto the blankets, her laugh the sweetest sound next to the rain.
The sky was painted in shades of bright oranges and deep pinks. Sunsets in Twilight Town seemed to make the sandstone that shaped the architecture stand out all the more.
To see light again - after what apparently had been thirteen years of pure darkness, with nothing to see or touch - was an indescribable feeling.
Hearing voices that weren’t Xehanort’s took a few days to accept. The smell of food was overwhelming. The sights were unbelievable. He had spent such long hours in darkness with nothing but repeating memories and dreams. Anything he saw in his mind those years was probably warped. Seeing color again made him weep with happiness for the first several hours. Best of all, there was no Xehanort left to speak of - at least not speaking to him in his head.
But that was the biggest problem. He woke up, and didn’t understand why or remember what led to it. He was left to die in the middle of a desert, with four furry legs and an inability to walk properly. He was saved by a talking meerkat and warthog who took him to an oasis. It was there he met a young lion by the name of Sora. It didn’t take long for him to meet others, like his most esteemed successor, Riku.
Terra would describe the two of them as saviors. They helped him retrieve his armor and his Keyblade. Kept him up to date with all of the latest happenings. Listened to him when he briefly spoke about his past. But it had been two days since Riku came back from the Realm of Darkness, from a mission to find her. Avoiding Terra was such an understatement to describe how often he refused to answer calls.
That left Terra on guard duty in this quiet, peaceful town, checking the communicator they gave him every five minutes to see if Riku had finally replied. He listed every possible reason why he was awake in the first place.
He also replayed memories to himself, since he had no friends to share them with. Sneaking notes to Ventus during their study time, unable to stifle giggles. Ventus would write back to him the worst puns. Aqua sat right by him, her brow twitching every time they laughed as she glued her nose to a book. Until she grabbed the essay she was writing and smacked Terra right on the head, begging for some peace and quiet.
She was the same as him, though - she failed to contain a giggle of her own. They spent their entire childhoods with endless teasing like this - it was the easiest way to get her attention. When he got older, he wanted more from her, attention that was different than what he was used to. It was possible that he probably could have received it if he had asked. But old habits just didn’t break.
To think that was thirteen years ago, and he spent those last few moments they had together by shutting the both of them out, going out on his own, and hiding a bunch of truths he should have, could have, and would have shared with them. He could have been sharing this beautiful sunset-lit view with them now.
I didn’t even congratulate her for becoming a Master. I’ve ruined us.
He walked through the streets of Twilight Town, and checked his communicator again. Nothing. The buildings were tall, and it looked like magic was at work with the way the sun seemed to brighten every angle. Except for a hooded figure. So black was the cloak that it stood out like a mess of paint.
The hooded figure, a woman, saw that he noticed her, and bolted straight toward the forest outside of town.
“Hey!” He sprinted, following her into the trees, away from the ears of any civilian. She was lithe in her movements, almost floating in a way, using shadows to make her fly faster, to make her jump higher, to help her speed.
They reached a clearing, some decent patches of grass where thick tree trunks wouldn’t get in the way. She stopped and faced him, her hands melting into cascades of ever flowing shadows that seeped out from her long sleeves. Until they thinned out and hardened. He summoned his Keyblade, and she whipped.
The Master usually said that Terra excelled in staring down his opponents. In facing them with bravery. In analyzing their skills and preparing accordingly. The woman was a mage, a sorceress that utilized shadows that were able to bend to whatever she wanted them to be. She floated in the air, using mainly her whips for offense, at times trying to grab him. Not once did she say a word.
There were only two things that Terra needed to keep in mind: do not fall to his knees, and do not keep his eyes away from his enemies.
Most of the fight was just a flurry of strikes that were blocked by others. But it was her dodging that gave him the first sense of unsettling dejá vu. He moved to slam her with his Keyblade, and she maneuvered a handless cartwheel to her left. A twirl here. A backflip there. Each dodge an opportunity she took to sneak up on him later. But each one was something he almost expected.
What hurt the most were his obliques. He gripped them as leaned onto his Keyblade. At least he wasn’t thrown down.
He waited for an opportunity to hit, and it looked like she waited for the same. The smoky shadows that kept pouring out of her long black sleeves still formed those annoying whips, but she kept them close to herself.
The woman made the next move. She flailed her right arm first before closely following it with her left. Terra maintained his defensive stance, blocking each strike as she continued to wail at him. He could feel that he was getting a bit more sluggish every second. So he darted the next strike and sprinted at her with all his might, raising the incredibly heavy Ends of the Earth to hit her as hard as he could.
She dodged, and dodged again. He stopped, and there they waited. Again, there was that itching feeling in the pit of his stomach. Something about the way she was moving. It was acrobatic. It happened at all the exact moments that never left him surprised.
He kept his Keyblade close and he breathed hard. What was worse than being this injured and fighting a new enemy this powerful was the thought that was threatening to leave his mouth.
And he didn’t have the strength to keep it in. “Aqua?”
The shadows didn’t exactly dissipate. They crawled right back into her sleeves, gloved hands forming in replacement. She started to remove the hood that was hiding her face.
The hand that held his Keyblade became weak. It felt like his face went cold, and he might as well be floating in the air since he forgot the pain he was under. Her hair had gone mostly white, save for the roots which were still blue. Her eyes were bright as always, but instead of bearing that enamoring azure color he kept a memory of all these years, they were amber. And they were furious.
All at once, Terra forgot he was breathing. He slowly walked forward, holding his hand out, but stopped himself short from touching her. She stood still, the look of wrath never wavering.
“I don’t understa-” He choked on a sob, and willed himself to hold it back.
She smacked her lips, and took a moment to respond. Her expression was fully unnatural for her.
“You understand exactly who you’re looking at,” she said with a low voice, but with an intensity that told him she was ready to strike again.
Of course he knew. He was looking at a parasite, during its gestation. It almost felt like he was going to faint, his face losing all feeling. “Why?”
There were small micro twitches throughout her face - her nose, her mouth, her eyes. As if she was enraged by the question and tried her hardest to contain it.
After what felt like forever of her staring at him this way, she asked, “did you ever think of me all these years? Just once?”
Terra let out a harsh gasp. “Of course I did!”
She breathed in slowly. “Then what was I doing, sitting in the dark all by myself this entire time? Hm?” She cocked her head at that last hm? But he had no proper answer.
Then she said, in a softer voice, “were the worlds safe the entire time I was gone? Was there a point to any of it?”
He shook his head slowly. His eyes burned and his throat constricted.
“And what were you thinking when you left us there to chase you around world-to-world?” she continued, her jaw quivering. “What was going through your head when you refused to come home?”
Again, he had no answer. She straightened her head, and strange sense of calm washed over all the movements that flooded her face before.
“You’ve ruined us,” she said.
Terra slowly dropped to his knees, leaning on his Keyblade. He stared at the ground.
“I know,” he said, failing to keep his voice steady. “Everything is broken, and I don’t know how to put it back together.”
He took in two breaths. She must been staring at him, because she didn’t move. He told himself to keep it together before speaking again. It was breathy, the way he said it. But it was the most strength he had.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me.”
No answer. He willed himself to look at her, even though he was terrified of what he would see. Her brows were slanted harsher than before, her lips so pursed that she must have been grinding her teeth. Aqua never used to get this angry.
If this was the most frightening she would get, then the only terror left to face was to tell her the truth. As crazy as it was. All these years of saying nothing, though, only to hit him back where it hurt the most.
“I’m sorry I never told you earlier,” he said, his voice surprisingly calmer like he was ready for the execution. He felt his eyes soften, but he refused to cry. “I love you.”
Her eyes quivered and they watered. Her mouth relaxed into a the beginning of shock as her eyes went wider.
He prepared for an attack, but then her face changed. It became... cold almost, and her eyes glassed over, almost like she suddenly became a different person. She reached her hand into her pocket, and threw something so hard that it told him she hated him. It hit him in shoulder, and bounced onto the dirt.
Her bright blue Wayfinder.
Fair enough. She slowly turned to walk away, leaving him and his unsteady breaths.
What to say to make her stay?
“What about Ven?” he called out. There was no way she would abandon him. No way she would put him in danger.
She stopped, but refused to face him. It took way too long for her to reply, and it was impossible to read what she was feeling through her voice. “I don’t... need you to find him.”
Aqua kept going, disappearing into the trees. For the moment, Terra didn’t feel much of anything. It seemed that his body responded by simply denying everything he had seen. He eyed the Wayfinder, the only spark of blue that is among this forest baked in sunlight.
The sound of crumpling leaves and twigs crept up behind him. “She dealt a stronger resistance than you did,” said a voice that was soft, but only mock-pleasantly so. “Either way, her ability to continually struggle with it usually turned toward our favor.”
It was a young man, seemingly younger than Terra, with white hair, dark skin, and bright yellow eyes. There was no denying who this was. Xehanort, but a teenage version of him. How this was possible was beyond Terra’s understanding - not that he was able to mull over the reasons right now. The shock of seeing such a face nearly put him in a stupor.
This Xehanort smiled - it was a smile that oozed superiority, and it was perpetually different from the way an older Xehanort would have done it. The Master was practiced in pretending. This one still had a long way to go.
Terra only stared at him. This Xehanort wasn’t the one who told him continually, all these years, how he was good for nothing. That it was all his fault. That there was no one in the world who wanted him around. Still, it didn’t matter.
“What are you talking about?” Terra said, trying hard to keep his voice steady. There was no way he was going to give this bastard the benefit of hearing him in pain.
Xehanort maintained a smile. “She isn’t as frantic about resisting it as you were. On some level, part of her desired it. I believe most of it was due to the fact that she can now remember what it is like to feel again, and that she is free to roam where ever she may please.”
Terra let out a scoff that melted into a laugh. “Just shut up,” he said calmly. “She would never have-”
“But she did.” A glisten in the eyes, like rubbing salt on a wound. “She traded herself, for you.”
Terra held his breath. He shook his head, very quickly, and didn’t allow himself to gasp.
“You were a liability,” Xehanort continued. “We thus sought a more proper candidate who was primed for the responsibility.” He crossed his arms, his smile widening just a bit more. “I don’t believe she understood exactly what she was getting herself into.”
“You took everything from me.” Terra’s voice shook now. He hated himself for it, and he gripped the handle of his Keyblade so hard that his knuckles turned white. Eraqus was dead. Ventus was still missing. Now Aqua was taken.
Xehanort pretended not to hear it. “So much unspoken and forgotten emotion. This made her much easier to manipulate than-”
Terra lunged at him, the latter summoning a Keyblade that was unrecognizable. Another mage, just like the old man, but much more temporal. Much more willing to let himself be distracted by anger.
And without a foreign will to bend the mind, Terra was free to let loose any ounce of darkness he was still scarred with. It was like unlimited power, fed by a hatred so deep, Terra wished he could end him there - take the life of a teenager, and everything in time and space would reverse.
It left the young Xehanort disarmed and up against the trunk of a tree, with his shoulder lodged under Terra’s substantial Keyblade. Without magic, Xehanort was just as weak as any, unable to wrestle out of Terra’s grip.
“I’ll take her back,” Terra said, and this made Xehanort sneer through his nose.
The he heard her voice. “Let him go.”
She stood there, shadows snaking up along her cloak. She wasn’t in a stance to attack, but her voice demanded submission all the same.
Surrounded by two enemies now... although one of them was someone he would never fight again, knowing now who she was.
He turned to face Xehanort, and said, “the next you see me, you’ll be afraid.” His voice was so low, it was only meant to be heard by one person.
Terra ripped his Keyblade out of the trunk, and Xehanort stumbled a bit, breathing hard.
The least he could do was keep his eyes on the enemy - at her. She was still Aqua, maybe she would always be. But not right now.
She held his stare until her eyes started to tremble, and she was the first to break contact.
“We have work to do,” she said to Xehanort, before turning her back. The teenager didn’t look too pleased with her reaction, but he gripped his shoulder and followed suit.
They walked some distance, where another man in a cloak, who was fairly large and very tall, waited for them by a gateway made of shadow. This man also had white hair that was long enough to drape his shoulders. Most surprising was his face - Terra’s face. Aqua walked through the corridor without acknowledging this man, but the man followed her with his gaze, and it made Terra uncomfortable to witness. Xehanort also disappeared through the gateway, and the man eyed Terra one more time before going through himself.
Alone. A gentle breeze shook the leaves that still took refuge in the canopies. Terra realized he was still gripping his Keyblade with an iron will, but forcing himself to relax opened a dam of tears to pour from his eyes instead. He walked over to the blue Wayfinder, and fell on his knees when he tried to pick it up.
Terra let the tears fall, barely breathing. His chest hurt the most, and he told himself that he wouldn’t vomit.
He held the Wayfinder to his forehead. When was the last time she truly smiled at me?
The morning of the Mark of Mastery exam. They stood together, right before opening the back doors to the entrance hall. The sun shone so brightly through the windows. The mountains were still green from the summer season. She looked at him, and with two fingers, traced the shape of a smile on her lips. Her own followed, and whenever she smiled - when she was really happy - her eyes sparkled. He remembered smiling back, although it was lie to say he wasn’t nervous. They were silent. Then they graced each other with good lucks and shook hands. It was the last time he had ever touched her, as well.
Tears continued to drip. He stroked the Wayfinder with his thumb, his nose stuffed up.
Peculiarly, he felt a nub at the back of the trinket. He flipped it to see a tiny, rolled up piece of paper taped there. He gently unrolled it, careful not to destroy the beautiful details she poured her heart into the creation of this star-shaped charm. The scroll was tiny and narrow, and it had three lines.
The first - her handwriting, soft and elegant:
Find him. May your heart be your guiding key. You just need the right one.
The others - still hers, but they were scratchy, as if she was being tortured when she wrote them:
It cannot break.
It hurts so much.
Terra let out a breath, the last of his tears tracing his jawline. “I know it hurts,” he said out loud. “But you’re going to be okay. I’m going to fix this.”
With a refreshed bravado, Terra stood up quickly, and hustled back to the motel he was staying in. The sun was disappearing behind the horizon, and most of the sky was dark. He turned on only the bathroom light, so that the bedroom was illuminated by it and what remained of the sun. He placed the communicator on the dresser and made his way to the narrow standing mirror right by the windows.
He began to undo the clasp that held the string of her Wayfinder together.
A question she asked him a few weeks before their Mark of Mastery exam rang in his mind...
“Do you know what I would haunt you for, if I ever turned into a ghost?”
They laid next to each other that stormy night, on top of several blankets, with some pillows they took from the lounge sofas. She was on her side, facing him, while he opted to rest on his back. Close enough to touch each her, and damn, he wanted to.
He allowed a half-smile. “No, what?”
She rolled onto her back. “The fudge cake you rejected for your sixteenth birthday.”
“Oh please-”
“It had multiple layers-”
“I already apologized for that-“
“And I worked so hard on it-”
“It’s not that your baking is bad. Far from it. I just needed a change of diet.” He scoffed and added, “I still ate it, anyway.”
“I even put strawberries on top.” He could see in the dark that her smile was smug.
Terra snarled. “I’d haunt you for driving me crazy.”
She giggled and rolled back to face him. Her eyes were just as beautiful and bright at night. “But seriously though,” she said, “we should make a pact about this. And it should be a serious one.” She thought for a moment. “Hey, why did we stop making blood oaths?”
He laughed. “You forgot about that? We decided that it hurt too much to prick our fingers for everything single stupid thing. We were doing them for reasons like saving each other from being stuck on a tree.”
She snorted. “I think when you’re eight or nine, being stuck on a tree is a scary enough ordeal.”
“We still made pacts, though. We agreed to replace them with pinky shakes.” He smiled at her. “Don’t you remember? We said they meant just as much.”
“Okay then. Let’s promise to save each other’s souls if we ever turn into ghosts.” She held out her pinky finger. “What do you say?”
He gazed at her for a moment, and lightning struck. He wished he could hold her by the waist to bring her close to him.
He hooked her pinky with his own. “I guess you’re worth the trouble.”
... Terra wore the Wayfinder around his neck. Its bright blue stood out against the earthy tones of his clothes. He placed his hand on his sternum, underneath the trinket, as he stared at the mirror. It felt light on his chest, sitting close to his heart.
From her peripheral, a small light blinked from his dresser. A message on his communicator. It was Riku. The message said that Sora found a Keyblade washed up on the beach of their home world, and Riku asked if they could come together to investigate it.
Terra looked back through the windows, seeing that the sun left a sliver of red along the horizon. The stars were bright. He reached up to touch her Wayfinder again, and stepped out of the motel to summon his glider.
YOOOO so if you haven’t heard, I’ve gotten some requests to expand on this and include Terra saving her and their eventual reconciliation. Let me know if that’s what you would like, as I’m mulling it over!
Thank you guys so much for reading this! Especially to those of you who stuck by this particular story. The mention of the Keyblade that Sora found is essentially inspired by the multiple theories that were popping up all over the place over the very first trailer for Kingdom Hearts III, where Sora found Eraqus’ Master Defender on the beach of Destiny Islands - possibly hinting that Aqua was severed from it when she turned into Aquanort. Most of these theories say that it’s the key to finding Ventus - since it would be terribly out of character for her to put him in such danger. I just wanted to play with a tragic love story. I hope you guys enjoyed this!!
#terraqua angst#terqua#kingdom hearts fanfiction#kh fanfic#aquanort#terra#aqua#young xehanort#can't believe it took me this long to update#but i felt like my other works needed so much attention#but it's here!#let me know what you think please <3#my fic
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Current Fic Lineup For Yours Truly!!
Hi I’m writing again, it’s all les mis (and thus meponine because. I love them???), and I need a timeline of sorts so that I get things published when I want them to
So.
Seen and Spun (title subject to change) - It’s almost done I promise, I’ve got like a month in-story left to write and then my super-long editing process and then!! I post it!
Anyway short summary?: Based off of this lovely textpost. Marius and Eponine meet, and Eponine figures out that they’re soulmates right away, but it takes Marius quite a bit longer. It’s teetering around 14k, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was a little more than that by the time it was finished. There’s some background exr stuff also, but it’s generally Eponine-centric.
Draws the moths out from their holding cells - Technically it’s based off Something Small by Joan Shelley but honestly it’s not really anything to do with that. Canon era, hopefully like, <1000 words but also I thought Seen and Spun would be 3k so maybe I can’t judge these things. But short and sweet.
She Lit a Fire - 7 chapters, and unlike the one above, it actually has something to do with the song it’s named after. So, based on She Lit a Fire by Lord Huron. Marius is a sad boy who goes on an impulsive road trip, where he meets Eponine. Both are lonely, and so they start traveling together. Fitting to what it was based on, it’s a lot sadder and lonelier than Seen and Spun, but it’ll have a happy-ish ending? Hopefully? I’m still definitely in the planning stages of this tho
Fics that I have been sitting on for AGES that hopefully I’ll do something with soon???
Boys of Summer - Wolfstar, a study in how misinterpreting lyrics can lead to great things
All those Billdip WIPs just sitting on my drive, collecting dust - The tattoo au I’ve wanted to turn into Something for a while now, so??????? maybe. & I think about picking up daydreams sometimes I just. really don’t know what to do with it.
That genderbent stucky thing with all the kissing - I WILL post this along the way somewhere! I promise! I just really gotta edit it to hell and back before anyone but me is allowed to read it
All that A Separate Peace stuff so that John Knowles can properly roll in his grave - ehhhh I need an outline but if I ever get that far then yeah. Probably. There’s still a lot of stuff I wanna do with that book and now I have Confidence so I might actually do it haha
Okay that’s all yall!!! If you happen to like the stuff I produce tho< get hype, because I have Many Ideas
#21st#November#2017#November 21st 2017#molly's musings#adventures in fic writing#My writing#meponine#les mis#wolfstar#stucky#A Separate Peace#seen and spun#draws the moths out from their holding cells#she lit a fire#boys of summer
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WIP Tag
i was tagged by @floofyeol! idk if this is a blessing or a curse let’s find out.
some of these fics have been in drafts for ages? so tbh i don’t even know if i will post them but hey we’ll see. (so assume for now that none of these will be posted—except when stated otherwise with an *)
the first couple will be ships. the later ones are reader-inserts. all are still protected by the Creative Commons license.
slide it up in here: chapter 10*
pairing(s): jikook, namjin, yoonseok
genre: humour, crack, drama, angst
tags/warnings: texting, college au, slightly filthy, innuendoes, Awkward Jeon Jungkook™, slowburn, self-esteem issues, self-hatred, implied/referenced homophobia, everyone is a mess™
SUMMARY
gguki: [image attached]
gguki: what should i do with it
chimothy: um
chimothy: dude idk if i’m entitled to give you suggestions but
chimothy: i mean you could always just stick it in the ass???????
or jungkook accidentally sends a stranger a picture of his roommate’s brand new dildo
PREVIEW
the (9)7 wonders of the world
tol: ok here’s the plan
dabs 24/7: yugyeom no offence but your plans kinda suck
muscle pig: ^^ what bambam said
muscle pig: i don’t trust you anymore
tol: wow that hurt
tol: but i promise you this one will be better
dabs 24/7: don’t do it kook
tol: it won’t backfire in any way
untilted vhope
pairing(s): vhope, namjin
genre: humour, fluff
tags/warnings: college au, skype dates, profanity, neurobiology/pyschology major!namjoon, ra!jin, music major!yoongi (i think), some major!hoseok, and high schooler!tae, tbh idrk bc i haven’t finished writing it lmao
SUMMARY
When Jung Hoseok signed up for college, he didn’t think he’d end up on academic probation so soon. Hell, he’d never guess he’d have friends who would use him as a fucking lab rat for their atrocious experiments. He definitely did not expect to fall in love with his resident advisor’s little brother—and then proceed to sneak into said resident advisor’s room and hack his computer just to have one more Skype date with the little brother. Without getting caught by said resident advisor. Yeah—he’s a little stressed, to say the least.
→ a continuation of It’s Burning Up in Here.
PREVIEW
He didn’t sign up for this. He thought college would be a great idea—who would pass up the opportunity for ultimate freedom and youthful stupidity? No, he was ecstatic for college—but he definitely hadn’t signed up to be the fucking victim for his resident advisor’s boyfriend’s experiments.
“Hoseok-ssi, please stay still or otherwise this will hurt. A lot,” Namjoon begged as his friend Yoongi tried to hold him down on the fragile coffee table.
“That’s not what your needle’s saying! You said it was a harmless experiment! You said I’d be fine!”
“You will be! I just need practice drawing blood once—”
“You’ve never even done this before?” Hoseok shrieked, writhing some more. Yoongi growled in frustration and flung his entire weight onto Hoseok’s body—and thus effectively snapping the legs of the coffee table and sending them down towards the floor.
His advisor ran into the room then, eyes wide in alarm while holding a skillet filled with half-cooked meat, his creased white apron reading World’s Best Dad! in pretty cursive pink. “What the hell is going on here?”
untitled taekook*
pairing(s): taekook, yoonjin
genre: fluff, angst, humour, crack
tags/warnings: restaurant au, running away, mentions of nudity, exhibitionism, does getting caught dancing naked in your room count as exhibitionism idek, mention of mpreg, but there’s no actual mpreg, i mean it’s the sims it’s not real, many many references to the male organ, but sorry folks no smut (A/N: this is literally what i have in my docs wow i’m such a nerd for preparing ao3 tags LMAO)
SUMMARY
The last thing Jungkook expected after running away to Seoul is to score a private live viewing of Naked_Neighbour_Dancing_In_His_Bedroom.mov—and then proceed to bump into him when he’s not-so-naked. And then also manage to greet him with a slap. It also probably doesn’t help that Nude Neighbour is his new boss. All in all, Jungkook just maybe kinda wants to die. (But of course Seokjin isn’t gonna allow him, so he’s just going to suffer—for now.)
PREVIEW
He sighs, turning his head to gaze out of the window, only to freeze when he realises his view isn’t exactly the most… decent.
Because across from his small studio apartment window is a perfect view of a larger apartment in the building across, and currently, the tenant (he hopes the boy’s the tenant) is enthusiastically dancing through his room completely naked, dinglehopper fully on display. He’s mouthing the words to some song, throwing a finger up in the air as he shuts his eyes and nods his head as though the music (Jungkook thinks there’s music) blasting in his room is speaking to him on a spiritual level.
Jungkook’s face is bright red when he finally breaks out of his trance, and he wishes he wasn’t so bad at reacting appropriately to inappropriate situations so he could at least have saved himself from adding a thirty-second clip of Nude Neighbour to his collection of non-digital memories. He rushes to the window and pulls the curtains close, fingers stiff as he tries to rid his brain of such scandalous images.
At least he was hot.
His face is redder now—if that’s even possible. “Fuck me,” he whispers, and then flushes even more. “Wait, no. Don’t fuck me. That’s not what—why am I even talking to myself. Agh.”
take these words out of my lungs (and set them free)
pairing(s): vmin
genre: angst, fluff
tags/warnings: major character death, suicide attempt, depression, body image issues, depressed!jimin, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, ambiguous original character that appears for like five seconds, high school au
SUMMARY/PREVIEW
three pounds. that’s how much he’s gained since he last stepped on the scale, the dictator that rules over his life. he stares at the numbers again, frowning at the digits glaring up at him. perhaps there was a mistake; maybe the scale is rigged or jammed or simply broken. he couldn’t have possibly gained three pounds in a span of two days. hasn’t he been walking around his neighbourhood enough?
he sighs, stepping off the scale and turning around to flush the toilet before washing his hands. even the cold water burns his skin, and he wishes he could melt through the cracks on the floor. would he slim down then? would he finally be skinny enough?
“jimin!” he hears his mother call, and he forces his way from the sink, sneaking out his parent’s bathroom and into the living room outside. their apartment is small but cozy. jimin hates it.
untitled kim seokjin*
pairing(s): platonic OT7
genre: fluff, angst
tags/warnings: anxiety, depression, eating disorder, negative body image perception, lapslock (lower case)
SUMMARY
honestly, he can’t remember what it’s like to live anymore.
PREVIEW
breathe in. breathe out.
three lucky charms. four cereal pieces. seven bits down the drain.
he smiles, staring at the milk-stained sink as the spoon clatters against metal, bowl turned upside down. it’s ugly—white ink staining burnt grey like liquid cobwebs feeding on rust. it looks exactly as how he feels: dirty, wasted, trash. one-seventy-nine centimetres down the drain.
untitled kim taehyung
pairing(s): Kim Taehyung/Reader
genre: fluff, humour, probably angst bc knowing me
tags/warnings: (sor far) nudity, profanity
SUMMARY/PREVIEW
Kim Taehyung has no regrets. Sure, he probably should’ve thought twice before he spent all of his money on BIGBANG merch just to show Jungkook that yes, he’s the bigger fanboy, and sure, he definitely should’ve listened to Jimin when he warned Taehyung that no, he shouldn’t eat three whole pizza pies by himself, but that doesn’t mean he regrets any of his decisions. Even though blowing all his earnings on people he’ll never meet did cause him to starve for a good or so month.
(Thank god for ramyeon.)
So, no, Jimin, he doesn’t regret running out of the shower butt naked when he heard her singing on her way to the second floor of their co-ed dorm, doesn’t regret shouting, “I love your voice!” before she screamed, “Oh my god, you’re naked!” And he definitely doesn’t regret yelling, “Oh, shit!” into Oblivion before sprinting back into the bathroom to resume the hot shower he abandoned.
“For fuck’s sake, Taehyung,” Jimin says to him once Taehyung’s finished recounting the story, the two of them lying side by side on Jimin’s bed. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”
“I should probably say hi,” Taehyung muses, blinking at the ceiling. “Do you think she remembers me?”
Jimin glances down, and snickers. “With how small your dick is, she probably does.”
untitled park jimin
pairing(s): Park Jimin/Reader
genre: fluff
tags/warnings: (so far) blind!reader
SUMMARY
He is an angel; and she doesn’t need to see to believe. She fathoms his widespread wings as he gently picks her up, worriedly and urgently asking for her health, voice so soft it touches her skin like silk on smooth glass. His eyes must be crinkled in the corners, a smile stuttering through apologies, heart too warm for the human hand to touch. She imagines what he looks like, faintly deciding through his rapid Korean that he must be chesnut if not vanilla, not in skin but in connotation because he sounds and smells and feels like home.
Her pause is a millennia long, and she hears him repeat himself again, the sound of melting marshmallow oozing out of beautiful lips: “Are you alright?”
She produces a smile, feathery and light, eyes glassy and the world continues to remain black. “I’m fine,” she replies, and her voice is cracked from its lack of use; she hasn’t met anyone worth talking to in what feels like a century. Another smile reappears, much strained than what she’s used to, and she picks herself up from where the concrete lay, the dust falling from her voile skirt. “No damage done.”
untitled kim taehyung #2*
pairing(s): Kim Taehyung/Reader, platonic OT7
genre: fluff, angst
tags/warnings: i think it’s schizophrenia?, mental illnesses, depression
SUMMARY/PREVIEW
There is a moment when time stands still. It’s fleeting, escaping the moment your fingers curl around it and pull. But it is during this moment happiness enraptures you with its warm hug as your heart thunders against your chest—the steady thump, thump, thump of a snare drum awakening. It is during this moment pain ceases to exist.
But after, everything will come rushing back.
i have more but these are the ones that are decent, at the very least.
to pass the torch on, i’ll tag @minmelly @kinky-koreans @pasteljeonggukk @haneulismykoreanname @rnjmnster and anyone else who wants to do it! (if you don’t, no pressure. good luck to you and your writing!)
#tags#i actually have like 10 more wips#i didn't know i had this many#will i actually write any of these#hopefully at some point
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