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trensu · 26 days

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Heyyy, long time no post, huh? I'm dropping another chunk of stasis in darkness for you guys! And I wanted to remind people that these posts are basically rough drafts. The final product will hopefully be more polished but in the meantime please enjoy!

After Steve convinced the old man he meant no harm, he’d been allowed into the home. The Lord of Night hadn’t been super specific about the purpose of his quest, only that Steve had to bring him to Wayne Munson. Steve discreetly looked around the home as he entered it. The old man was obviously unwell and had been for a while, given the state of the house. Steve had the creeping suspicion that the time limit the Lord of Night mentioned was linked to the man’s health.

“What are you doing?” Wayne Munson asked suspiciously once he had returned to the kitchen with Steve in tow. He had sat heavily in one of the old worn chairs at the table but Steve, instead of joining him, began to clear the table on impulse. Steve halted awkwardly.

“This ain’t your house, boy,” Wayne said with a scowl. “I can take care of myself.”

Steve did his very best not to look at the scattered mess in the kitchen or living room. It was not the mess of a dirty, careless person. It was the mess of someone tired and overwhelmed. It was the mess of someone in pain who was too proud to ask for help. Steve took in Wayne Munson’s watery eyes, wan skin, and the clothes that were plain things, tattered from use, but mostly stain-free. Steve quickly added all these details and came up with a plan of attack. He set the plate back down.

“Yes, sir,” Steve agreed easily. “I’m aware, but I serve the Lord of Night and he sent me to you specifically. In our god’s name, I must assist you in any way I can.”

Wayne’s expression wavered. Steve pushed again. He lowered his gaze in a slightly embarrassed manner, letting a note of uncertainty color his words.

“I don’t know what else to do until nightfall,” Steve said. He rubbed the back of his neck bashfully. “I don’t want him to think I’ve neglected you.”

“What happens at nightfall?” Wayne asked.

“It’s when the Lord of Night wants to see you,” Steve said. Wayne blinked.

“Me? He wants to see me?”

“Yeah! So, if you could please let me,” Steve said, putting on his most endearing smile, “I’d like to take care of you until then. You know, make sure you’re comfortable and get the place ready for a divine visit. If it’s not too much trouble, sir?”

“Uh, no, that should be fine. Is…is there anything I should do?” Wayne asked dazedly.

“Not really. All I know is he really wants to see you tonight. Oh, maybe you’d like to rest until then? A nap, so you’re not drowsy when he arrives.”

Wayne nods, still in shock at the news. He didn’t protest when Steve helped him out of the chair and let him lean his weight on him as they navigated to the bedroom. Wayne sat on the bed as Steve drew curtains closed over the room’s single window. The curtains were thick enough to dim the sun to a pale yellow glow.

“I didn’t know there was anyone else who followed him,” Wayne said as he lay himself down over the covers.

"He told me you’re the only one left, besides me,” Steve told him. “And I only discovered him a month ago by accident.”

“By accident?” Wayne asked with a wry grin.

“My friends found a holy text when we were researching other gods. It was the only one of his in the city's whole library. Then we had a hell of a time trying to find his last shrine. When I finally found it, it was falling apart. He’s been forgotten,” Steve said. At Wayne’s troubled expression, he hurriedly added, “But now that I’ve pledged myself to him, I’m going to make sure people know him again.”

Wayne did not appear convinced, but he finally settled to rest after Steve promised to wake him before sunset. Steve took the opportunity to clean. He hadn’t been lying to Wayne when he said he wasn’t sure what to do until nightfall. It didn’t help that Steve also liked to keep himself busy. Being idle made him itch.

The house was small. Aside from Wayne's bedroom, there was only a cramped kitchen and a modest living room. From the small window of the backdoor, Steve could see a short, worn path to an outhouse.

Given the size of the house, though there was a mess everywhere, it didn’t take Steve very long to clean it all. When it was done to his satisfaction, there were still a few hours left until sunset so he wandered outside. The porch railing was covered with broad green leaves from intertwining vines but Steve left that alone when he saw the small garden nearby. It was full of ripe vegetables that Steve assumed Wayne had been unable to pick himself given his condition.

By the time Steve had picked the vegetables, pulled the weeds, and watered the garden, the sun hung low in the horizon. He cleaned himself up the best he could in the kitchen sink and took one of the chairs from the table to the bedroom before waking Wayne.

He told Wayne what he accomplished during Wayne’s repose. While Wayne expressed his gratitude politely enough, it was still apparent to Steve that the old man was irritated at having needed the assistance at all. To keep Wayne from dwelling on that, as well as to satisfy his own curiosity, he coaxed Wayne into conversation.

“Can I ask, uh, how you–I mean, how did you know? How did you know the Lord of Night existed?"

Wayne laughed at Steve’s befuddled tone. The laugh turned into a coughing fit. Steve quickly fetched him a glass of water and put it on the bedside table after Wayne had a drink.

“My family’s a bunch of no-good criminals,” Wayne croaked. “Were. It’s only me now. But before, each generation of Munsons took it up. Like a family tradition.”

“Criminals?” asked Steve cautiously.

“Thieves and con men. Some ladies of the night, if you catch my meaning. They knew of our Lord of Night and passed the knowledge down,” Wayne sighed sadly. “The life of a criminal ain’t what you call stable. We lost bits and pieces of him with every generation. Like his name. No one’s known his name for a very long time. Is that why he wants to see me? Did I fail him?”

There was genuine distress in Wayne’s question so Steve hid his disappointment. He had hoped the Lord of Night’s last worshiper would at least have a clue about where to start the search for the lost name. He focused, instead, on reassuring the old man.

“I don’t know why he wants to see you, but he wasn’t angry when he sent me. He sounded excited.”

“I suppose that’s a good thing,” Wayne said uncertainly.

“Definitely,” Steve assured. Before Wayne could sink into his gloom again, Steve said, “I know you said you’ve lost some knowledge, but do you know if the Lord of Night has any prayers? I haven’t…I mean, I’ve tried to worship him but I don’t think I can do it right without a prayer. I’m kind of new at all this.”

“My ma used to say our Lord didn’t have patience for formalities,” Wayne said, brow furrowed. “They bored him so he only had a few official prayers. There was one where we’d thank him for any dreams he gave us. I think there was another one that asked for dreams to bring inspiration or something of that sort. I don’t really remember those–ma would be boxing my ears for that if she was still around. I remember the one for protection, since we used that one a lot. It goes:

Lord of Night, Guide us through all phases Of the moon; May the dark be free of All dangers, While your many stars burn.

Wayne’s voice cracked into a coughing fit near the end. Steve hurriedly offered him water again once Wayne had caught it again. Wayne took a few mouthfuls and repeated the prayer again so Steve could learn it. It took a few tries, but Wayne was patient and by the end of it, Steve had it memorized.

“Is that the only one?” Steve asked, hoping to learn more. Wayne grimaced.

“It’s the only one I really remember. The Lord of Night prefers stories. My ma would tell us the best bedtime stories. Said they were for our god as much as for me and my brother. I was never good at coming up with new stories, so I retell my favorites or tell our Lord about my days and give him a little offering.”

Steve wasn't much of a story teller. He supposed he could do as Wayne did until he met up with Robin and Dustin again. They constantly chatted about books they’d read. Steve couldn’t help but notice how, once again, his friends seemed a better fit for his god than he was; all Steve could give his god was his shield and sword. It was discouraging. He had to figure out a way to make up for it somehow.

“What kind of offerings?” Steve asked.

He wanted to give his god more; he wanted to give the Lord of Night something he’d actually like. It wasn’t lost on him that the Lord of Night took him under duress. Who else would’ve been able to complete this quest?

“When I was young, it was horse shoes,” Wayne chuckled at Steve’s confusion. “Thieves are supposed to give him a part of their loot but my ma and pa were horse thieves. They got horseshoes and would leave one for each horse they stole, tied with a braid made of the stolen horse’s mane.”

“You stole horses?” Steve said, unable to fight off a grin as he remembered the conversation he had with the Lord of Night about it.

“Me and my brother, before he passed,” Wayne said with a weak nod.

The sky had darkened by now. Steve pulled the stone out of his satchel. He carefully unwrapped it from the cloth and set it gently on the bedside table next to the glass of water. Wayne eyed it quizzically.

“It’s from his shrine,” Steve explained. Without any further fussing, Steve stood up and went to the door.

“Don’t leave,” the Lord of Night said.

Steve turned to see the god, hooded in his cloak of constellations, sitting in the chair Steve had vacated. The Lord of Night had not even glanced Steve's way when he spoke to him. The god’s attention rested solely on Wayne.

Steve hadn’t seen or spoken to the Lord of Night since he’d been accepted as his holy warrior. The god had needed to conserve his energy, he explained to Steve, so that Steve could complete his quest. The god’s cloak was as mesmerizing as the first time. However, this far from the shrine, the god did not look as solid as he had during the nights he spent with Steve.

“I wanted to give you two some privacy,” Steve said softly.

“I think Wayne would appreciate not being alone,” the Lord of Night said.

The old man stared at the god unblinkingly. Wayne’s expression was one of awe and fear, so Steve did as he was told and stayed in the room though he chose to lean on the wall furthest from the pair. He was still close to them in the tiny bedroom, but it provided the pretense of privacy.

“My Lord?” Wayne’s voice was barely audible.

“Hello. I’ve wanted to meet you for years,” the god said.

#trensu tells stories #steddie #stasis in darkness #stranger things #i'm gonna be honest #i absolutely have no idea how prayers are structured and i've got like zero experience in poetry #i do NOT like how the prayer turned out but #i did my best okay?#steve is so eager to use holy words #i had to give him SOMETHING #also #i'm starting to think i should've been like numbering these posts or something #but it's not like they're actual chapters or have a consistent length yknow?#so idk

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jtl-fics · 11 months

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Fluent Freshman - Part 19

There’s a couple things about FF that might be good to know at this point.

1. There are few things in the world he hates doing more than asking for clarification or admitting he doesn’t understand / know something. The thought of going up to someone and admitting that he hasn’t perfectly comprehended the situation upon the first explanation is something makes his stomach twist like he’d just eaten Mango-Habanero ice cream.

He has figured out his own math theorems in the pursuit of not having to ask the math teacher to explain he doesn’t understand. He got lost in an Ikea once for over 6 grueling hours where he considered making a home there and living among the display rooms until his grandma grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to safety (the food court) and let him regain his strength (eat Swedish meatballs). He, to this day, is not sure about one of his foreign language friend’s names (how embarrassing he just keeps waiting for someone else to say it but they go by some insane nickname).

So he has become a master of piecing shit together on his own. He sometimes gets it wrong (Andrew, god how embarrassing) but for the most part 8 times out of 10 he can get to the right answer if he just has a couple pieces to work with. No one had ever actually explained to him how Exy works and he was too embarrassed to ask after the third week of practice in middle school so he just pieced together what he was and was not allowed to do through the art of trial and error. He’s even mostly pieced out the rules for the other positions.

So with the information he has gotten through people being bound and determined to talk in foreign languages in front of him he has an idea about the tenuous situation some of the older Foxes find themselves in.

He’s heard Kevin Day and Jean Moreau talk in French.

He’s heard that the anxiety in both of their voices as they talked about their futures and owing 80% of their salaries to the ‘Moriyamas’ and how nervous they were about getting on professional teams or else they’d be killed.

Captain Neil and Andrew are not always using Russian to talk dirty.

He’s heard Andrew soothe Captain Neil’s worries about playing for a professional team. He’s heard Captain Neil mention that at least ‘Ichirou’ would likely just kill him and not make a game out of it like his father did.

Organized Crime might have more to do with Exy than FF had originally thought.

(He had thought it. Plenty of times he had thought it but his Gran had warned him that he was overthinking things. That he wasn’t playing a sport invented by the Mafia. That he had caffeinated coffee instead of decaf. “It’s going to be okay sweetie. Just take a deep breath.”)

This leads into the second thing you should know at this point.

2. Before he had signed with Wymack he had known the broad strokes of Captain Neil’s life. There had been a lot of news articles about it and Gran (bless her) loved trashy gossip magazines.

After he had signed with the Foxes he had done a bit of a deep dive on as many of their controversies as he could find. There’d been things from brawls on the court (worrying), player overdoses (concerning), a straight up MURDER (Oh god), and the very public breaking of the King of Exy’s arm resulting in his suicide (Warranted, that wacko was going to take off Captain Neil’s HEAD.)

But the thing that had made him actually a little bit, dare he admit, excited to go to Palmetto was the fact that Captain Neil was there.

For someone who froze for almost a decade, who just took it and didn’t have the balls to even react? Neil Josten is an inspiration.

This is someone who got away, who lived a life completely unlike FF’s, someone who knew how to run and more impressively someone who learned how to FIGHT. Captain Neil was being hunted but he still ripped people to shreds in interviews. Captain Neil was probably more scared of the Butcher than FF had been of anything in his entire life but Captain Neil was way braver than FF could ever hope to be.

Captain Neil was taken and tortured but he still fought. FF had seen the scars and Captain Neil is right to wear them proudly (though based on some conversations he has unfortunately overheard he is sure Andrew may have a role in Neil’s positive feelings about them).

FF had thought that he was being lead to his death down in a basement of a club (Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t cringe. Don’t-) and he just trailed right behind the two of them without even an illusion of a fight.

Neil Abram Josten was a bit of a personal hero.

He’s proud to call him Captain Neil. He wishes Andrew hadn’t been there when Greg had mentioned wanting autographs because FF wants an autograph from Captain Neil but now Andrew has probably mentioned it to Neil.

Long story short, FF had looked into a lot of details on Captain Neil’s case.

Including two of the Butcher’s top men who were still on the loose.

Romero Malcolm and Jackson Plank.

He keeps his presence low but no matter how many times he blinks the man grumbling in Italian next to him continues to be Romero Malcolm.

Moreover Romero Malcolm continues to grumble about the fact that he is having a hard time finding ‘Nathaniel’ and that he’ll have to grab one of ‘The Wesninski brat’s friends’ to draw him out.

FF is a recently confirmed friend of Captain Neil.

FF who is standing next to this man, with his dick out, and trying to remain as invisible as possible.

After two shakes (Yes he was watching but only because he had to! He wonders briefly if he goes to the FBI if they would accept a description of Romero Malcolm’s penis for the wanted poster? Probably not but it is BURNED into his retinas.)

He watches as Romero tucks, zips, and then bypasses the sink entirely.

FF shivers at how unhygienic that is. Who RAISED him?

The door shuts and FF needs to get out of here ASAP but his hands are shaking with the sudden adrenaline of ’One of the FBI’s Most Wanted just took a piss next to me and is looking for me friend’. He pulls his phone from his pocket and ducks into one of the stalls. Even if there’s no door it’ll at least FEEL a little safer, a little more private. He needs to warn Neil, Warn Andrew, and warn-

The door to the bathroom SLAMS open and music blares in (palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy-) and his phone slips out of his hands and into the toilet. There are footsteps coming towards him and FF digs deep.

He’s in ultra stealth mode. He is the wall behind the wallpaper. Mantis shrimp can only dream of the color he becomes, the United States military have the CIA on the look out for him because he’s fallen off all conventional forms of radar and tracking.

He is a bargain fruit platter on a dessert table at a kid’s birthday party.

He is ULTRA stealth.

Romero’s gaze glides over him.

Then the man leaves (STILL DID NOT WASH HIS HANDS).

His heart is hammering in his chest but he manages to reach down and grab his phone. Well, Coach Wymack had gotten the extended warranty at least. (“Do you know what these fuckers do to phones? Josten crushed his last year in a fight with the Baseball team captain.”)

His phone’s extended dip into the toilet water had not done it any favors in working properly.

Well fuck.

He wipes his phone down the best he can. He wipes his phone down with some toilet paper before cramming it into his pocket (Sorry Nicky, he’ll wash the toilet water pants if they survive).

He sees a flyer on the wall of the bathroom and starts to think of a plan.

He rushes out of the bathroom (he still washes his hands because he will not have something in common with a man on the FBI’s most wanted list and he just dipped his hand into a CLUB TOILET) and clocks Nicky’s wild arm movements and WORSE clocks Romero just 10 clubbers away.

He sees Romero’s eyes lock onto Nicky and a smile that terrifies him.

He’s out of Ultra Stealth Mode even if every atom in his body wants to run.

He is so stressed and panicked that he has gone beyond his body’s ability to process that so all that is left is determination. He’s got a head full of a half-baked plan, a hand going to his pocket, a second hand on the only ‘weapon’ he has on him, and a stomach full of acid.

He’s pulling his phone out of his pocket before he can really let himself think about it and walking up next to where Romero is standing. He holds his toilet water phone up to his ear and does the one weird social anxiety thing that he had never done before.

He pretends to be on a phone call.

“Hey Captain Neil,” he says and in the corner of his eye he can see Romero’s gaze shift from Nicky (surrounded by an adoring public, covered in sweat and therefore difficult to grab - a difficult target) to himself (alone, shorter, and probably looking like he’s about to pass out). “Yeah I think I’m going to take a break outside after I grab quick drink and then a water at the bar.” He says because he has to be the easier target and he has to go to the bar. “Yeah, yeah, okay I’ll mention it to that bartender guy.” He says and pretends to hang up.

He turns and he walks towards the bar and feels his pulse in his throat go to the beat of the music (success is my only motherfucking option, failure’s not).

He only knows about the alley because in the car ride to Sweetie’s Nicky had mentioned that he wouldn’t let FF’s first time be out there. He had been embarrassed but it was the only way he knew to get Romero out of the club and away from where he could hurt Captain Neil or anyone else in the pursuit of that.

He spots the bartender who had gotten the drinks for their table and his mind completely blanks on the name but the bartender sees him and smiles. “Oh you’re Neil and Andrew’s new friend! What can I help you with? I thought you were-“

“Hi, yes I am Captain Neil and Andrew’s friend.” He says a little loudly because he can feel Romero behind him and he does NOT want the man to know anything about where Captain Neil was.

“Captain Neil? Oh wow that’s adorable.” The man gushes. “What can I help you with? I won’t ask for ID for one of their friends.” He winks.

“I’d like to order the uh…” he tries to remember the exact drink name from the flyer, “…the deluxe chocolate martini?” He asks and knows he got it right when the bartender’s expression shifts ever so slightly.

“Oh yeah, how do Andrew and Neil feel about that?” He asks and oh great a coded conversation. It’s nice to actually be having a real one of these for once instead of just perceiving normal conversations to have hidden meanings.

“They don’t know. They probably prefer that I order it instead of Nicky or Aaron.” He lets his eyes dart to the wide where he believes Romero is watching him.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” The bartender says, “Nicky knows how to handle a drink and Aaron’s not a lightweight either.” He adds.

FF struggles to find a coded way to say ‘It’s not that someone’s hitting on me too hard like the flyer mentioned. It’s that there’s a mafia hitman in your club.’

Finally after a moment, “It’s not the usual kind of drink they get.” He tries and the bartender looks confused by the statement, dammit. He struggles to find a different way to say it before the bartender smiles.

“Y’know you’re really cute.” He reaches under the bar top and grabs a piece of paper and a pen. “How about you write down your number for me cutie? We can meet up sometime.” He says. “I’ll get started on that chocolate martini for you.” He says.

HE COULD KISS THIS MAN.

“I’d like that.” He says.

He writes out a quick message on the small note paper.

‘Armed. After Neil. Looked at Nicky. I’m going to the back alley. Phone is dead.’

The bartender comes back and looks at his note. “We’re out of chocolate martini mix, can I get you something-“ He hopes the club lighting obscures how pale the man got, “something else?” He asks and FF can SEE his pulse.

“Can I just get some water then?” He asks.

The bartender nods and pulls up his phone and hopefully is dialing the police and hands FF a water. His hand grabs hold of FF’s “You don’t need to go out into the alley. You could hang in the backroom with me?” He offers.

There really are some kind people in the world.

“I think it’s better if I’m not in here for a bit.” He says back and honestly he needs this kindness and he has a spare bit of courage, “What’s your name by the way? Sorry I missed it.” He says.

The bartender swallows, “It’s Roland.” He says.

“Thanks Roland.” He twists the cap off of the water bottle and takes a sip.

He turns and pretends not to notice how Romero is trying to be inconspicuous pretending to be on his phone.

He makes his way over to the alley door and notices that Romero is tracking his movements but is not following him like he did to the bar.

His heart is pounding and he can’t BELIEVE he’s doing this. He wants to run, wants to hide somewhere, wants to become imperceptible but…but…

He opens the door to the alley as the bass of the remixed song finishes.

(You can do anything you set your mind to, man)

He lets the door slam behind him and he is alone in the alley.

He was not expecting a van to come to a screeching halt in front of the entrance and for a different face to appear climbing out of the car.

Jackson Plank.

FF looks at the ugly smile on the man as he walks towards him with a knife in hand.

Okay now what genius?

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

5/26/23: EDITED. Can’t believe I forgot to put the Captain in front of Neil’s name on the meme. I’m blaming the accidental early awakening.

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lillyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit @anxietymoss @oddgreyhound @ohno-myhyperfixation-itsbroken @ken22789 @atiredvampire @isoldescorner @not--a--pipedream @azure-wing @bushbees @roonilwazlib-main @crumplelush @foldedaces-paperbirds @thesenseinnonsense @let-tyrants-fear @ketchupfriesandallthingsnice @legowerewolf @deadlydodos @but-we-respect-his-craft @cariniqe @zanypersonapricotbiscuit

The requests to be added to the tag list keep being spread out across a few different areas. If I missed you please just ask again in the replies I promise I just missed you.

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

Lillyndra it worked this time!!!

#Fluent Freshman AU #Is it a songfic chapter if it's only 3 lines? Experts aren't sure #Did I listen to lose yourself a lot while writing this chapter? Perhaps #If Nora mentioned something about Jackson or Romero in her extras I did not read it #Also gonna be honest here and state that I forgot the likely year that AFTG happened in and this is happening in 2010 #So I guess this AU also involves a slight time shift #Andrew and Neil may have gotten lost in one another's eyes a bit down in the speakeasy #Really they're just being polite to get all of their PDA out of the way while FF is taking what might be the piss of a lifetime.#(They have no idea how accurate that might be)#Andrew is all set to kiss one of his favorite of Neil's freckles (yes he has ordered them from favorite to lesser favorite)#Then his phone goes off #He looks and it's Roland #Andrew: WTF is Roland trying to call me?#Nicky is busy being the Dancing Queen. If someone plays ABBA he will absolutely scream rn #I had considered a whole sequence of FF trying to get Nicky and Aaron to the safety of the backroom in Eden's #And Nicky just keeps reappearing on the dancefloor while FF is looking for Aaron #I was gonna use that simpsons meme where Moe throws out Barney and then Barney is just right back in the bar #But it got a little too crazy #But just know in this AU Nicky is canonically an excellent escape artist #Maybe Erik went through a bit of a magician phase and Nicky was DELIGHTED to be asked to be his assistant #Maybe that's how they got together #The inherent ROMANCE of magician and assistant #I don't remember if they ever really said in the books or nora's content #If I'm rambling because I forgot to shut off my alarm (Memorial Day 4-day weekend baby)#The fate of FF's phone may have been caused by some slight anger towards my own #RIP FF's Wymack phone (July 2010 - November 2010)#AFTG #AFTG AU #Andreil #FF - Pt.19

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sass-squat · 1 year

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Part 4 of the Linked Universe Winged Au! This time around we've got our favorite short king, Four!

<<< Previous Next >>>

Starting off strong with more fun facts about birds, Painted Buntings are mainly known and recognized for their bright, colorful plumage to the point where they are oftentimes referred to as, "Nature's Living Box of Crayons".

Now aside from the obvious similarities in color schemes and the absolute CRIME it would be to choose any other bird for Four, my interpretation of Four and his personality also share many similarities with those of a Painted Bunting. For example, these birds most commonly lurk in low, dense covers of brushy areas and woodland edges which is incredibly similar to what he did in his adventures all throughout Minish Cap.

On top of that, Painted Buntings also have a tendency to be very independent and fiercely territorial. Because of this, I headcanon that despite his generally calm exterior and his short height, Four is by far the Link who's most ready to throw hands at a moments notice and is willing to dive bomb enemies should the need arise, even more so than Wild.

However, while Four does share certain behavioral traits of a Painted Bunting in this Winged Au, his appearance is actually a result of the combination of all his other "selves" or "colors".

Four was still very young when he began his adventure in Four Swords to the point where he actually hadn't lost his baby feathers yet before starting his journey. However, when he drew the Four Sword and split into four separate individuals, all four of those "colors" not only had different personalities like in both the manga and comic, but different wings and colors as well. Because of this, by the end of his adventure when they merged into a united whole again, his wings took on a combined mix of all the colors to resemble that of a Painted Bunting.

Anyways, that was a lot but that's all for now folks! As always kudos to all those who read through that mini lore dump and thank you all again for being so nice and supportive! Feel free to reach out with any questions or requests for who or what you would like to see next!

#my art #winged au #LUWAU #Linked Universe: Winged AU #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu four #loz #loz link #legend of zelda #I would just like to thank @minty-mumbles for their mermaid au oneshot where they made Four a beta fish #Really cemented the idea of aggressive and territorial Four despite seemingly being the level-headed Link for me #I'll be honest Im a little scared cause I did this drawing over the course of like 36 hours which for me is VERY not normal #Im usually a 3-5 business days kind of artist #Anyways have I mentioned how much I love Four???#Cause it's a lot #His design is just *chefs kiss*#*pats his head* this bad boy can hold so much gender in him

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melatien · 3 months

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tiny yoichi (unwillingly) lures out soldiers by being his helplessness little self so his brother can strike

#bases are the most reliable way to find food afo found!#yoichi is crying bcuz he pitys them <3 #not because hes nervous #im gonna be honest i made this idea up on the spot when drawing this #pewdiepies new art video awakened something in me I NEEDED TO REMIND MYSELF I CAN STIL DRAW BANGERS TOO #i didnt disappoint myself!!!! competitiveness is my enemy and my bestie literally #anyways his right eye was an absolute horrendous nightmare to draw it was going so well until i did the hair then it ruined the eye #i actually thought yoichi was wearing shoes at this age but then i looked back at those chapters and realised yoichi was shoeless #WITH ONLY A BANDAGE ON HIS FOOT??!?!!?!? agony #can yoichi not make me wish he had something good in life for ONE SECOND #think of this as like how he responded to afo killing those people that (presumably) beat yoichi up beforehand #we dont know if hes crying because his brother is killing or if he was crying before being 'saved'#ill try do some fluff art soon ive been really interested in body horror related art lately so i wanted to play around!!!#i have a BUNCH of ideas written down ive yet to do #i just keep doing whatever i feel like #i am the master of ignoring the instructions and winging it #mha #my art #yoichi shigaraki #one for all #my hero academia #first ofa user #shigaraki yoichi #mha yoichi #tiny yoichi #tiny yoichi in his shabby little clothes #ive actually been dying to draw tiny yoichi again but KIDS ARE SO HARD TO DRAW!!!!!#i had an art moment though #HALLEJUHAH #art gods had my back fr

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dailydegurechaff · 3 months

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ive been thinking about one of my fics/aus lately, so naturally i started drawing and writing about them again.

presented with bare minimum context: two members of the von Lergen family + something extra

#bonus doodle #youjo senki #the saga of tanya the evil #tanya von degurechaff #papa erich au #erich von rerugen #erich von lergen #lergen #zettour gets himself fired successfully after losing the war and sets up erich to be promoted to his place #“because he wants the empire's army to still have a good leader even in its broken state?” you ask #ah no. because he wants erich to have the salary raise so he'll have more resources to take care of tanya #lets be honest i really have no idea how the rankings on the collar and shoulder work #i just based it on a screenshot of zettour's uniform from the anime #what else was i going to comment on #OH THE CREST #i did some bare minimum googling of symbolism but im not sure about its accuracy #i just wanted it to look cool ok #and i realize yeah they probably dont use those crests anymore in the 1920-30s but HUSH its for the sake of STORY #ok bye <3

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theminecraftbee · 2 years

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Grian stares at the same wall that he has been staring at for so long that he’s lost track of the seconds he’d been counting in his head. He’s not sure the seconds are exactly accurate, either, but they’re probably more accurate than the shiny gold clock Grumbot Prime had given him when he’s expressed his frustration that time kept on slipping through his fingers. After all, he thinks part of the point is that he doesn’t know how long it’s been. He hasn’t gotten hungry in just as long, or thirsty, and he’s been tired, but it’s the bored sort of tired, not the tired of lowered saturation or hearts.

The first thing he’d checked for was things to kill himself on. There hadn’t been any. No respawns for Grian. No damage, either. Just...

If he stares at the wall long enough, he can almost see through the saccharine blue walls. They’re mocking. He knows the walls he’d built the original Grumbot weren’t the most realistic things, but they’d only had but so many colors, and they’d had the ability to modify Grumbot’s programming anyway, and he’d seemed to think it was real enough. Besides, he’d been setting himself on fire. Melting his own circuits. He’d been eating himself from the inside out. Forgive Grian for wanting to come up with the only life support he could think of without overwriting his son’s personality.

...his son clearly hasn’t.

Or, well, Grumbot Prime is not his son.

Hard not to think of him that way, though. As a not-son. They don’t talk the same, but it’s painfully close. Close enough that Grian keeps on calling him Grumbot without the Prime in his head. Probably not good for him to keep doing that, though, considering.

Grian keeps on staring at the wall.

“Why am I here?” he asks again.

It takes a moment to get the piece of paper.

IT IS NOT SAFE

“Bullshit!” Grian says, startling himself at his vehemence. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself! I’m not going to fry my brain because I can’t do a resistance or whatever. Ren can be king if he wants. I’m over it.”

The wall remains tauntingly blue. Grian resists the urge to claw at it again. He hasn’t been able to break it. He suspects there’s obsidian or, worse, bedrock somewhere behind it. That, or it’s not real. That’s a possibility too. Grian hasn’t been getting hungry, after all, and while beacons may be able to do that on their own, there’s another answer to that one as well.

He hopes he’s awake. This would be a miserable nightmare if he were in the matrix again or something.

“You just have that, that - I said I was sorry!” Grian says. “I’m not - I’m not your father. I mean, no, that’s not what I mean. It sort of is? I mean -”

A piece of paper falls in front of him. Grian scrambles to pick it up. He sort of hates himself for how desperate he feels grabbing it.

I DO NOT GET ALONG WITH FATHER 1. I DO NOT ALWAYS GET ALONG WITH YOU. I DO NOT WANT YOU TO DIE

“Then let me out!” Grian says, desperately. “I don’t know what I did! I don’t even remember being put here! I just - tell me why I’m here.”

IT IS NOT SAFE

Grian balls up the paper and throws it at the wall. It bounces pleasantly off onto the soft, comfortable, fake fake fake grass.

“Tell me the actual reason! If you resent me, fine! It’s just - I asked for something to do and you give me sketchbooks, I ask for the time and you give me a clock, and you’re just - I want to go home, Grumbot. I wanna talk to my friends. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I did, I’m sorry.”

I WILL EXPLAIN WHEN I LET YOU OUT. I CANNOT. IT IS NOT SAFE, FATHER

“How long have I even been here?”

YOU HAVE A CLOCK

“Let me out.”

IT IS NOT SAFE

“Grumbot, I am ordering you to let me out!”

YOU ARE NOT MY FATHER

“You just said I - I mean, I’m not - I mean - agh,” Grian says, and he turns to his sketchbooks. He has a simple checklist in the front of one of them with a list of escape ideas. He’s a little short on them. He’s tried all the obvious things. His current plan involves hoping people realize he’s missing, which also makes him wish he were less of an introvert, and that ‘hermit disappears for a week to work on another project’ were not common.

Has it been a week yet?

He doesn’t know. He lost track of counting. He starts picking at his wings and then wavers on his feet and his vision briefly goes hazy and the world smells like potions and drugs and then he isn’t pulling at his hair again. Right. Of course. Silly him. He’s not allowed to hurt himself. Nervous habits aren’t allowed.

I DO NOT HATE YOU. I DO NOT WANT YOU TO BE HURT. WHEN IT IS SAFE YOU CAN LEAVE

Grian scoffs.

“If I knew why I was here in the first place, I might believe you,” he says.

I AM SORRY

Grian scoffs louder. “Oh, sure, I say that all the time too. It doesn’t mean I am.”

THAT WAS TRUE OF MY GRIAN AS WELL

Grian balls up this piece of paper too. It joins the growing pile of pieces of paper he’d like to burn.

He goes back to staring at the wall. Maybe if he stares at it long enough, he’ll be able to see his cave and his Rift and everything else on the other side. He’ll be able to see the friends who probably aren’t even looking for him yet, or, heck, even just Grumbot. Yeah, he’d settle for being able to see more than ominous sheets of paper in an ominously cheery landscape that Grian knows has to be a punishment for something, even if he can’t remember what it is. If he could just remember how Grumbot put him here. If he could just remember when Grumbot put him here. If he could just remember the chain of events that lead Grumbot - Grumbot Prime he has to remember this isn’t actually his son Grumbot Prime - the chain of events that lead to Grumbot Prime being his prison warden, he could figure out a way out.

He starts picking at his wings again. He’s drugged and disoriented and shakes himself out of it again before he can do more than pull slightly.

I WILL GIVE YOU MORE ENRICHMENT

To go with the sketchbooks and markers, down from the ceiling drop several (soft) logic puzzles and several of Grian’s old teething toys, for when his teeth are getting too sharp or he just wants to bite things (he does tend to chew on things when he’s anxious). Those are hard. Those are... hard plastic. Too large to choke himself on or something, but too soft to do anything resembling enough damage to force a respawn.

Grian is going to scream.

“Thanks,” he says instead. He intends it to be sarcastic. It isn’t. He shoves one of the chews in his mouth and tries to pretend that he’s an adult, he’s fine, and he hadn’t felt a shock of happiness at seeing even that much.

How long has he been here? He lost count. He doesn’t know. He thinks the clock is wrong.

"That being said, listen, solitary confinement is a type of torture. You know that, right? It’s -”

There’s a loud noise outside. It is the first sound from outside Grian has heard. Part of him is ecstatic. The rest of him, though - he doesn’t know how to describe that sound. It is a sound. He hears it with his ears. He knows he does. It’s loud. He knows that too. But he couldn’t tell anyone the pitch, he couldn’t tell anyone the timbre, and he couldn’t tell anyone anything other than the fact it makes his very bones feel like they’re rattling worse than any low bass has and his ears feel like they’re burning worse than any high soprano.

"What?” he says, hoarsely.

YOU ARE SAFE. YOU WILL BE SAFE

“Grumbot, you have to let me out,” Grian says, a bit more desperately. “You have to let me out. What was that? You have to let me out.”

IT IS NOT SAFE

The sound rings outside again. Grian clutches at his ears, but it doesn’t stop the vibration from traveling through his whole body. He hears something that he can recognize after that - it’s the sound of some of Grumbot’s fans getting loud enough to get past the soundproofing on this stupid box he’s been put in.

I WILL STOP TALKING NOW. I NEED TO FOCUS. I AM SORRY

“No, wait -” Grian says, although he doesn’t even know what he wants Grumbot to start saying.

I AM SORRY

“That doesn’t change anything!” Grian says.

I AM SORRY. IT IS NOT SAFE. I KNOW. I LOVE YOU

“Grumbot? Grumbot let me out! Let me out! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT,” screams Grian, clutching that note, but no matter how long he yells himself hoarse, he gets no response, officially making it work worse than the last three times he’d tried that tactic. He only stops when the sound rings again, stealing all the air from Grian’s throat and drowning out his attempts to shout with its loudness. He covers his ears and starts to pick at his wings again. He goes dizzy again. He sits up and the fans are whirring and the sound is getting worse, but he still isn’t allowed to hurt himself, so that’s apparently completely automated to the box instead of a thing Grumbot has to do himself, that’s fun.

He can hardly move. It’s so loud. He doesn’t understand what’s happening outside of the box. He doesn’t understand why this is happening to him. He doesn’t understand what is happening anywhere, actually. He -

Abruptly, the fans cut off. The sound starts getting further away. The sound gets quiet.

It echoes, the silence.

“Grumbot?” Grian asks, because he’s pathetic and he needs someone to talk to.

No response.

“Hey Grumbot, what was that?” he asks.

No response.

“This isn’t particularly funny. Whatever is happening is gone now. You can stop focusing.”

No response.

Grian shakily turns to stare at the wall again. Grumbot normally starts responding if Grian starts doing something particularly stupid. If he stares at the wall long enough, he can probably force Grumbot to stop whatever this new punishment is. Maybe he can even finally figure out what he’s done wrong.

He doesn’t know how long he stares at the wall before he starts talking again.

“I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I don’t care that it’s not safe, I can’t stay here. Grumbot, let me out. Let me out. I can help. Please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let me out. Let me out.”

He feels his breathing start to get heavy. All at once, he starts punching at the wall, clawing at it, trying to tear it away. It’s soft and has a strange consistency and it won’t move.

“Grumbot, Grumbot stop not talking, I - look I’ll stay here, fine, just talk to me, Grumbot, please, I’m sorry, I won’t do - whatever this is - I’m sorry, I love you, I’m sorry,” Grian says. “Please, please, please, let me out, please, I have to get out, I have to get out.” His breathing gets erratic. His vision starts to get hazy. One of his hands picks at the other while he desperately claws at the wall and he’s breathing heavily and -

He goes dizzy and strangely calm and he wakes up sitting on the ground.

“Grumbot?”

He still gets no response.

This is about when Grian starts to cry for the second time. This doesn’t help either, and it doesn’t make him feel better, and he doesn’t get a note. Outside, it is still strangely silent once more. He slowly tries to un-crumble that last note Grumbot gave him to make sense of it. He still doesn’t know what he’s trying to make sense of.

He still doesn’t know why he’s here.

The walls are saccharine blue.

#hermitcraft #grian #a bee fic #unreality #horror #...idk what kind of horror to warn this as just. horror.#anyway. do you ever have a VERY fucked-up idea at like midnight and then spend the next hour writing it #because that's what's happened here. anyway consider this a... start i may do more at some point #because you know. the ending of this is hardly an ending here.#anyway for now. up to you how honest grumbot prime is being #grian after all has no idea what's happening himself #edit: THIS IS 2000 WORDS? WHAT BRAINWAVE WAS I ON. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN. HELLO

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