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hyperactivelittlebee · 4 years

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Keeping a Secret 1/??? (HC Kiddo AU)

First half takes place in season 4, while the end bit taking place in the beginning of season 6. Yes, this is connected to “The oddity at area 77″ TW for: Blood descriptions, slight implied child abuse, Taurtis being the asshole for once.

Putrid, horrible, agonizing, miserable.

These were the words Ren could use to describe the Nether. He disliked everything about the place; the stink of sulfur and brimstone that would stick to him for days, the dim lighting of glowstone and the fire that was scattered along the ground forcing him to constantly use his sharper eyesight, the screams of the damned coming from the mouths of horrid flying creatures as they spat balls of fire at him making him consistently on high alert, everything about the place made him despise going there.

Sure, the others didn't mind it as much as he did; but they didn't have the heightened senses he had to deal with.

There was only a few reasons he felt it worth being there; Quartz, Glowstone, and Blaze rods.

That last one was why he was in the Nether right now. He needed Blaze rods for Blaze powder to get his potion stands working. At first, He had asked Iskall- well, more like begged- for some, but the Swede didn't give in, simply giving him directions to a Nether fortress and telling him to get them himself as politely as possible.

Which promptly meant he chased Ren out of his base with a Cod.

Jabbing his sword through the skull of yet another Wither skeleton, he watched in annoyance as it crumpled to the ground in ashes. The amount of sweat he was covered in gave him the feeling of being in this fortress for hours- maybe even days! While in reality, it had most likely only been 2 or 3 hours but it was still quite a long time without finding Blazes.

He'd really have to work to scrub out the smell this time.

Ren ran his fingers through his hair, undoing it and grumbling softly under his breath as he re-tied it. By now, the smell of brimstone was annoying the hell out of him- clogging his senses and making his eyes water. His eyes roved over the endless expanse of the nether, hoping to spot at least one blaze so he could just leave already.

The sound of an echoing shout made the Lycan's ears perk up, his head snapping towards the sound so fast it almost gave him whiplash.

From across the Lava, he could see a half-bred blaze demon chasing far behind another demon. The grip around the handle of his diamond sword tightened, his adrenaline rushing. As Ren focused on the half-breeds face, something in the eyes of the demon made his stomach drop- his instincts telling him something was just wrong and he needed to hurry.

Sprinting across the Fortress bridge's, Ren didn't slow down as his previous exhaustion was long gone, replaced by increasing paranoia and adrenaline.

Jumping from the fortress, the Lycan landed on the netherrack with a thud before continuing his sprint; quickly catching up to the Blazes. He skidded to a stop as they reached a cliff, jumping behind a cluster of Quartz as a voice spoke up. The half-breed held a golden sword in one hand, his hair a chestnut brown and wearing golden armor. He was bulky and looked to be about Iskall's size- making Ren a bit nervous. He looked to be in his early 20's, having a slight beard that only added onto his similarities to Iskall. His eyes were an unnatural gold, seeming to be blank and soulless.

"This doesn't need to be hard pal; just give up the girl and we'll be on our separate merry ways!"

"Like hell!"

"I will not ask you again!"

Peeking out, he spotted just what the blaze was chasing. A demon stood with his back to the cliffs, tensed in a defensive position. His hair was the color of honey, his skin was pale as the moon, his scerla's were black as the void and his iris' were red as blood, wearing nothing but a ripped tunic and cloak the color of freshly grown grass and black tights. He seemed to be young, around the age's of 18 or 19- but his skin was littered in scars and bruises.

Then, as his gaze shifted, Ren's focus was on something else.

His eyes narrowed in on the small child next to him, their hands clamped around each other tightly as the teen held her slightly behind himself- eyes locked with the Blaze hybrids.

"Salem's dying wish was to take her child away from- from HIM- why the hell can't you just respect that Mini?!"

"I do respect that, I really do! But you know how it is around here."

"Why are you acting like this?!"

A thud inches away from him made Ren jump, seeing another demon land beside him. Following him were two more male demons- both of them holding golden swords, but not wearing golden armor. The first seemed to be an Incubus, his hair a golden blonde with strikingly beautiful blue eyes, a black bandana tied around his head. He was smaller than the hybrid in stature, his slight curves showing through his clothes. His shirt was lime green and he wore slightly ripped blue jeans, a long whip-like tail waving behind him.

The other seemed slightly older than the others and easily could match Doc in his size, but seemed to have a gentle atmosphere. At first glance, He was just a regular demon, but the uncharacteristic black demon wings folded behind him gave away his rank easily. It wasn't often demons were born with wings- but when they did, Ren heard it could be insanely dangerous. The demon had auburn hair that was gelled back and the mustache on his upper lip was well-groomed, his eyes a soft red and his skin a tanned color. His horns were curled back like a ram, and his tail was just as whip-like as the Incubus'. He was dressed more formally in a rusty red pin-stripe vest, a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black dress pants. He held the golden sword with less tensity, seeming to not have as much malice as Mini.

"M-Martyn- You're-" The teen spoke up, looking surprised and hurt as he locked eyes with the Incubus. Martyn seemed to flinch, taking a step back, "Look- I have to. You know what happened last time I went against order's..."

The larger demon stepped forward, his look almost pleading, "He's willing to forgive you, bud...You just need to come back with us- Please....I...We don't wanna hurt you." His voice was soft, sounding genuine and calming.

He reminded Ren of Mumbo.

"Zee- You should understand better than anybody that I- I need to fulfill Salem's wishes. Please!"

"I-i..."

The Child let out a yelp as her foot slipped a bit, causing Ren to react instantly, taking out his sword and charging the Incubus.

The blond spun around and blocked the strike with his own sword, eyes wide as he looked at Ren. He pushed back against the Lycan, taking Ren by surprise with a kick to his stomach, making him stumble back. The larger demon caught him, holding his sword to his neck, "Move and I kill you-" Ren gulped, surprised at how fast he was taken down as well as his lack of self control.

What was he thinking?

Mini huffed, completely ignoring the situation as he cut off the larger demon, "I really don't understand how the King keeps forgiving you. You've always been nothing but an ungrateful brat..." His voice was flat, void of emotion. Zee's head snapped toward him in shock, eyes wide, "Mini, what the fuck are you saying? What has gotten into you?!"

A grin spread across his face as he dashed forward before the teen could react, grabbing the child by the arm and tossing her behind him carelessly, "I'm just a bit smarter now, that's all ya big softie! And I'm smart enough to want to get rid of the problem!!"

Marytn reacted fast, catching the crying child and pulling it to his chest comfortingly before it could hit the ground- looking at the brunette in a panic, "Mini what are you doing?!"

"MINI NO-!" The larger demon let go of Ren and ran toward the pair in a panic. Ren watched in horror as the hybrid pulled the teen towards him; the golden sword plunging into his stomach as his eyes flew wide. Blood seeped past his lips and tears flowed freely from his eyes as he frantically gripped Mini's arm.

"M-mini...?"

The look in his eyes was so full of betrayal and heartbreak as he looked up at the older demon, the scene being something that would not stop playing through Ren's head for years to come.

Mini withdrew the blade as his eye's turned a soft green, flushing with emotion again as he seemed to pale, "G-gri?" A look of horror and realization spread across his features as he dropped the blood-soaked sword. The teen wavered, holding his bleeding stomach and stepping back shakily, "I-i...how...cou....ld....you..." His breath hitched as he slipped, falling back off the cliff. Mini shot out, grabbing him by his tunic front and pulling him back with enough force to knock himself back. Zee fell to his knee's beside them as Mini sat up, cradling the young boy in his arms tenderly.

"No..nononono-"

He began to shake, eyes welling with tears, "God- FUCK- what have I done-" Mini looked up at Zee with wide, teary eyes as he ripped up his vest and used it to cover the wounds, "Zee- Please- believe me, I didn't mean to hurt him- I don't know what the hell happened-!"

"H-hey- I know I know..." He leaned forward, kissing the hybrid on the forehead reassuringly, "He's- he's going to be fine- we need to think fast, they'll be here any moment-"

Martyn looked at the child and the 3 demons, seeming to struggle with an internal decision. The conflict swam in his eyes, seemingly brewing as old memories seemed to resurface.

His head snapped to Ren as if he had decided, "You. You're from the human world right?" Ren swallowed dryly, hands shaking, "I...y-yes." Martyn chewed his lip, gulping before walking over with the crying child in his arms, "Take her and Run. Make sure she never comes back to the nether- I'll take the blame for losing her-"

"W-what?!"

The incubus handed the Child over, kissing her forehead before stepping back his hand gripping a golden locket, "Hide- they're coming..."

Martyn ran over to the others and Ren tensed at the sound of beating wings approaching.

Thinking instinctively, Ren held the small child to his chest and made a break for it, his mind running at 100 mph as he searched for a hiding spot. Skidding to a stop when he reached the base of the nether fortress, he spotted a crack in the netherrack wall. It was just big enough to hide the child if he dug a bit in, but not big enough for both of them.

Looking down at the child in his arms, he felt her tiny hands gripping his shirt as she sobbed, breaths shaky and uneven. He could just drop the child and save himself- after all, he could be assisting in a kidnapping without even realizing it. He owed nothing to those demons anyway, he had no attachment to this child, and besides- he wouldn't make a good parent. He had no idea how to raise a normal child, never mind a demon child.

Then there was the issue with realm rules. Trafficking any species out of the nether other than pigmen, ghast's, blazes, or magma slimes was strictly forbidden- taking a normal demon from the nether would for sure get him banned from the server, but taking a demon child? That would probably be a one-way ticket to being eradicated.

But as usual, Ren was thinking with his heart rather than with his head. He didn't take a second to think about his own life on the line as his mind drifted back to the demons from before. His heart ruled out all logic in the situation as he put down the child and took out his pickaxe, digging a bit more into the hole before picking the child up and putting her inside the crevice. She scooted back into the hole in confusion, her entire body engulfed by shadow's as only watery golden cat-eyes stared back at him.

"W-where...Gri-gri?"

"Hey..."

Leaning forward, he reached in and cupped her face, heart-squeezing as he felt her soft cheek covered in warm, wet tear streaks. His voice softened almost instinctively, sounding barely recognizable to his own, "Gri-gri is uh...He's gonna be okay. I need you to stay here and sit quietly, don't make a sound and don't come out until you hear me yell uh..." His mind drawing a blank, Ren blurted out the first thing he thought, "Firefly. I want you to do your ABC's 15 times. If I'm not back by then, I want you to climb the weird staircase right there-" He turned and gestured to the cobblestone staircase attached to the nether fortress, waiting for a nod before continuing, "From the top, go straight past 2 hallways. Take a left, then a right. You should find another staircase just like the one you climbed up. Climb down it and you should see a weird square tunnel through a wall of the rock below us. Go down it, you should find a weird rectangular thing with a pretty purple curtain like thing. Go into it and don't step out until you see warm brown floor and grey brick-like walls. From there, do this." He took out his communicator, clicking on Iskalls contact before handing it to her, "Click that slash icon, and then when another man answer's, tell him to come because Ren Dog might be in trouble and sent you. Then stay till he arrives, okay?"

A soft nod came in response as she took to the communicator, "Promise me you'll do this?" She nodded again and Ren bit his lip, reaching and taking out a flint knife, handing her the small object, "If any bad guy's come after you or grab you, you use this to hurt them back, okay?" Reaching out, she took the knife by it's handle and held it close, nodding once more.

Ren heard a yell, making him tense as he snapped his head towards the noise, "Alright- I'll try to be back as soon as possible."

Unsheathing his sword, Ren ran back toward's the spot with the demons, quickly ducking behind the same quartz cluster as he spotted a few new demons. He peeked out from behind the cluster, watching yet another scene unfold.

"Lost her- What do you mean you lost her?!"

One of the new demons spoke up, seeming to be the ring leader. He was roughly a few inches shorter than Mumbo but made up for it with muscle mass. He had tanned skin and neatly combed raven black hair, a red and blue headset sitting around his neck while he wore a blue t-shirt and ripped blue jeans. His horns were long and sharp, his tail whipping irritably behind him and large red demon wings folded behind him. He looked furious, his glowing blue eyes narrowed at the Incubus from earlier.

"S-she ran off after Mini stabbed G, Sir. I was too distracted by the scene to account for her escaping. I-"

"So what your telling me...is that your incompetence...not only let my property be damaged-" He gestured to the teen on the ground from earlier, his head now in Mini's lap as Zee had begun wrapping the wound. They both seemed to flinch and tense at the man's words, Mini's eyes narrowing on the man before quickly looking away, "But also let my daughter run away alone. Where she can easily be killed?!"

Faltering, the incubus stepped back, "W-well- Yes but-"

"Are you a fucking imbecile?!!" The raven-haired demon reached forward grabbed the blonde by his hair, throwing him to the ground, before suddenly freezing in place, "No...You think I'M the imbecile, don't you?" His pupils dilated and he brought his foot down on Martyn's stomach, the man crying out in pain, "You let her go, didn't you Martyn?!" He dug his heel in, Ren's stomach twisting as he heard the cries of pain erupting from the smaller male.

A young woman stepped forward, her short silver hair tied back, wearing a grey jacket and pants over a white tank top, her horns significantly smaller than any of the others.

"Taurtis, that's enough- you're being irrational again-"

"SHUT IT NETTY!!!"

She flinched back, looking hurt at the man's sudden bark. The man- Taurtis- turned his attention back to Martyn with fire in his eyes. He snarled, growling as he stepped back and let the Incubus stumble to his feet, "Just like Tim...Just like that goody-two-shoes boyfriend of yours, you're starting to get soft....I have no use for anyone "soft" unless they're my property." He walked over the wounded teen, smirking as he grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him closer, "You all wonder why I haven't gotten rid of little G over here? He's soft. Soft doesn't fight back. Soft runs away, and once you wrangle it up again and beat around the bush a bit they are nice and obedient for you again.Thats exactly why I love him." He let go of the teen carelessly, Mini just barely managing to catch him before he hit the ground, letting out a pained sob.

Mini and Zee looked at Taurtis like they were ready to bite his head off, both of them hovering protectively over the teen.

Taurtis glared back before moving on, walking back towards Martyn, "This…This is the bad kind of soft.” Lifting the sword, Ren watched in horror a Taurtis brought blade down across the Incubus’ neck. “I have no use for soft!!” With a gurgled screaming and coughing, Martyn collapsed while holding in neck, bleeding out onto the netherrack. Ren slapped his hand over his mouth to keep himself from crying out. Without hesitation, he scrambled back and took off towards the nether fortress. As he approached it, he called out- “FIREFLY!!” Approaching the hole, he looked inside and was relieved to find the little demon still there, golden cat eyes staring back at him in the darkness hopefully. “Cmon, we gotta go-” He reached in and carefully removed the toddler from the crevice, holding her against him.

Sheathing his sword, Ren used both arms to support her against him before taking off towards the staircase. Up the staircase, across the bridges- Ren’s lungs burned as he inhaled the scalding air and ash, the muscles of his legs burning as he ran on pure adrenaline. All that mattered to him was getting the child to safety, forgetting the entire reason he had been in the nether in the first place. As the purple hue of the portal came into view, Ren only ran faster, his instincts taking over as a whimper sounded from the small body in his arms.

As he jumped through the portal and landed in his base, Ren knew this wasn’t over. He put the child down and took out his pickaxe, using what remained of the adrenaline in his system to breaking the obsidian portal.

As the portal broke, Ren sighed in relief and flopped back, panting. The adrenaline finally flushing out of his system, he started to become more aware of his surrondings.

“M-mister…?” Oh. Right. Sitting up, Ren looked to see the little demon beside him, her appearance making him grimace. In the brighter lighting he could see the bruises and cuts that covered her body much better. Her hair was a black as a ravens feathers and looked unkempt, her sclera engulfed in that same black and eyes a bright gold, Soft maroon markings made patterns on the warm brownish tan skin of her face, and two small black horns protruded from her head. His heart sank as he realized the situation, eyes widening and freezing. If anyone found out, he was sure he’d be banned immediately and the child would be sent back to that- that hell. …...Alright. He could do this... Slowly, he reached back and picked up the toddler, setting her in his lap as he crossed his legs, “Heya kiddo...Do...Whats yours name? I’m Ren.” Giving his warmest smile as he could feel the small body in front of him slowly relax. He reached out and brushed her bangs from her face, seeing her leaning into his touch as he gently cupped her face again, “I...I don’….I don’ like my name…” He hummed softly and picked her up, cradling the demon in his arms, “Then how about we pick a new one, hm? How’s that sound kiddo?” “New name…?” “Mhm! How about....Amanda!” He walked up into his base and to his bed, gently setting her down on his bed and he began to look for something to clean her cuts. “Nuh-uh!” “No? Aww darn...Emily?” “Bleh!!” He chuckled and turned to her, putting down the rubbing alcohol and kneeling in front of her, beginning to clean the cuts, “Well, aren’t you a picky nicky!!” A smile broke across her face and she giggled, “Silly puppy!” He felt a tug at his ears and chuckled, letting her play with them, “Ay! I’ll have you know I am the fearsome diggity dog, thank you very much ya butt!” Her giggles grew into full laughter as they kept talking, a warm feeling spreading into Ren’s chest as he gently bandaged the young girls wounds. As he finished, he looked up at her and tilted his head, “How about...Pele.” She lit up instantly, a wide smile spreading across her face telling him everything. “Pele it is then! Now,” He picked her up once more and sat on the bed instead, placing her in his lap, “You need some sleep. When you wake up, We’ll get you bathed and some new clothes, okay?” “Okay…” He hummed softly, inhaling deeply, “You…Your gonna be staying with me from now on, alright? But i’m gonna take real good care of you! I won’t let any bad guys hurt you anymore…” “Promise…?” She held out her pinkie to him and looked up at him with pleading eyes, making his heart melt, “Yea…” He intertwined his pinkie with hers and shook it, “I promise. Now- let’s get you to bed kiddo!” Internally, as he tucked Pele into bed, he made a promise to himself. He wouldn’t let anyone stand between him and Pele. Not that Taurtis fellow, not Xisuma, Not Iskall, no one. ----------------------- As Ren ran towards the future district, all he could think about was his little girl. Sure- she was little older now, but to him she was still his little girl deep down. By now, Xisuma had figured out how to code the Nether without demons, making it safer for the hermits. It took a long while for Ren to get used to being a father- and raising a demon wasn’t the easiest- but he figured he’d done a good enough job. Pele was responsible enough, was a quick learner, and by now she could barely remember her real father- a fact Ren was grateful of. He had told not a soul about her, not only because he fearful of the repercussions, but ideally worried about being separated from her. Shaking his head, he focused on the problem at hand. Xisuma had announced an emergency arrival at spawn, something that was alarming to everyone. The admin had never called such a thing to the server’s attention, so it made everyone curious and worried.

As he arrived at the spawn, he was surprised to find False, Stress, and Iskall standing around a nether portal as Xisuma was pacing back and forth in front of it, his helmet strapped to his side as he looked shaken. Ren approached a familiar blond, putting a hand on her shoulder, “Falsie, what’s going on?” “Mumbo went into the nether for the emergency arrival, but he hasn’t-” Almost if on cue, there was a vooping noise and Mumbo emerged, holding a bundle in one arm and someone else thrown over his opposite shoulder. “Close the portal!! NOW!” Without hesitation, Xisuma took out his pick and broke the side of the portal. The person over Mumbo’s shoulder was sobbing and kicking, reaching towards the portal pleadingly, “NO! ZEE’S STILL BACK THERE! LET GO!!” Rushing over, Xisuma took the bundle from Mumbos arms and cradled it. Ren watched as Mumbo slowly lowered the smaller person, kneeling beside them with an apologetic look as they finally stopped struggling. Ren spotted the demons tail whipping behind the person and his breath hitched, walking closer. His heart stopped as the young demon looked at him, honey blond bangs hanging in front of his face and vibrant red sweater standing out. Slowly, the demon calmed down and he looked around, “M-my baby...where is he- please-” Xisuma walked out and kneeled by him, handing over the bundle. The young man took it with a whimper of relief, hugging it close as it began to cry and snuggle up to him. Xisuma inhaled deeply before taking out a communicator, “I’m sorry but...I’m gonna need your name…” Taking a deep breath, the demon looked at the admin through blood red teary eyes, “I-i’m Grian…”

#hermitshipping #hermitkiddoau #renthedog #writing #IpersonallyapologizetoanyonewholikesTaurtis #ilovehimtooiswear #imsoftforRenlmao

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barbarahoward · 4 years

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LWDBALSERBAWERHALWEKRJBAE GUYS ZEE MADE ME A WHOLE ASS PLAYLIST AND NO ONE CARES BUT I HAVE TO SHOUT INTO THE VOID ABOUT HOW MUCH I LOVE MY FRIEND BECAUSE IF I DON’T I’LL COMBUST TY SIS I LOVE YOU SO MUCH @daredeviil

#b.txt #shut up bhargavi #friends

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centeris2 · 6 years

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Rebecca finds Concorde, Dark Core unfinds Concorde.

(7/11/2018 update fic) (continues from Setting Up A Circus (Again))

“Anne is going to be pissed,” Rebecca muttered when she rounded the corner of the maze and finally saw Concorde for the first time.

“Any chance you didn’t die and just got foalified for easy handling?” Rebecca asked more to herself than the foal, reaching out to touch the colt. Xin didn’t let her, taking her and the rest to see Ydris inside the circus tent. She got her hopes up when Ydris said he was waiting for her, until she realized he still did not recognize her.

Rebecca remained silent during the monologuing, annoyed that Linda cut off Ydris’ explanation of Garnok. It concerned her, Linda of all people should have been open to learning new perspectives. Had Linda been conditioned to reject all information of Garnok that wasn’t from the druids? Or was she so set that she knew the truth, even to insult the person holding Concorde hostage?

It took every ounce of self control to not squeal and clap her hands when Ydris began to explain Garnok and Pandoria. Oh it was terrible to be sure, the druids were no doubt responsible for banishing Garnok to Pandoria, or at least keeping him there, meaning that Pandorians saw the druids as the enemy. That would be an issue. But finding out Garnok was not from Pandoria to begin with? That led to a whole new set of fascinating questions!

Her happy thoughts of theories and puzzles were cut short by a mocking apology from Ydris directed at her.

“Forgive me, my sweet. I promise this won’t hurt… much.”

Rebecca had a feeling she was going to be turned into something.

Sure enough it felt familiar, and didn’t hurt a bit. Had this been the first time she was turned into a horse it probably would have freaked her out, but Ydris had done this before. Even if he didn’t remember.

Rebecca tossed her head and shook, adjusting to her horse body, and noticed a second man standing with Ydris. She snorted a laugh and played along with Ydris’ race.

“Uh,” Ydris glanced at the dark man standing next to him in a familiar jacket.

“You really don’t remember, do you?” Midnightwarrior asked, smirking and raising an eyebrow before he looked around. Human eyes saw so many more colors, and he enjoyed a chance to see the world as Rebecca did.

“Where did you get those clothes?” Ydris asked, only half paying attention to the race now.

“You let me keep them once I learned how to get them on. I’m just glad I didn’t transform naked this time,” Midnightwarrior gave a sardonic grin, “the clothes bringing anything back?”

“Who are you?” Ydris demanded.

“Was it the druids that got to you? Did they wipe your mind for teaching us?” Midnightwarrior didn’t answer, asking his own questions instead.

Before Ydris could fumble an answer the race ended, the golden mare crossing the finish line and triggering the teleportation spell that put them all back inside the circus.

Rebecca tossed her head and trotted over to Ydris and Midnightwarrior, whickering and nuzzling the dark man.

“You look different this time,” Midnightwarrior commented, noting her color change.

At that point Ydris realized that Rebecca’s horse was not standing in the circus tent, and connected the dots. An unsettling sensation wriggled at the back of his mind, near the base of his skull, as he studied Rebecca.

The Bobcat Girls had all transformed into colors that roughly matched their human forms, Ydris had to make them all into matching white horses. Rebecca should have been the same, yet she had turned out completely gold. A glance back at Rebecca’s horse-turned-human and the wriggling sensation dropped into his stomach, the human turned so dark he was a void cloaked in clothes.

“Turn her back!” Justin shouted, Linda yelling in agreement.

Rebecca neighed and took off with a high stepping trot, tossing her head and stepping around Justin and Linda.

“You look scared,” Midnightwarrior muttered to Ydris, smirking at the taller man. But he was back to normal human colors.

“She seems quite content,” Ydris declared to Justin, concealing his confusion behind a showman’s mask.

Rebecca trotted back over to Ydris and Midnightwarrior, playfully taking Ydris’ hat and putting it on Midnightwarrior.

“You make a wonderful horse. Are you sure you want me to change you back?” Rebecca blew in his face as an answer, “Very well. I am a man of my word.”

Ydris was put off by the fact that he was not the one to change them back, as he moved his hand to cast the spell there was a flash and the pair were in their original bodies.

They were showing off. Trying to show him something, but not the other two humans present. So, Ydris was not the only one putting on a performance. He could play along.

“Poor Zee. I warned her that you would put up a fight. I just hope her pride will heal before opening night,” Ydris noticed the look of interest on Rebecca’s face. The girl certainly was curious.

“As for Loretta and my other stars, I am supremely disappointed. Perhaps they would be more effective as carousel horses. Round and round, up and down! Wouldn’t that be delightful?” he didn’t let them answer his rhetorical question, banishing the intruders from his circus.

With his audience gone he bit his lip before he retrieved his fallen hat. He was glad Midnightwarrior hadn’t trotted out with it. To his embarrassment he jerked back in surprise when a green thing dropped into his face. He checked his hat for anymore hidden items and, finding none, looked on the ground. He bent down and picked up the clover from the ground, feeling the power from the little five leaf clover.

But it wasn’t freely given, it was… returned?

The wriggling returned, his heart pounding. This was his five leaf clover. How had he lost it?

“What did the druids do?” “You really don’t remember, do you?” “Did they wipe your mind for teaching us?”

That’s what they had asked, Rebecca and Midnightwarrior. They were also the only ones who had touched his hat. And Midnightwarrior had worn his clothes, if those really were Ydris’ own clothes, then it was entirely possible that one of his clovers was tucked away inside…

“Fleas… those foolish, wretched fleas!” Ydris snarled, the realization sinking in. The druids would pay.

#sso #star stable #star stable online #fanfiction #starstable #starstableonline #My Work #My Writing

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cinnaminsvga · 6 years

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dear min yoongi,

the special light of my world, destroyer of eardrums (from your shrieks of terror), and owner of my heart:

GOD i’ve been writing these special type letters for you in secret for so many months now, but it’s only now that i release my thoughts out into the world. my sun, moon, and stars...

my universe.

do you realize how much power you hold over me? over all of us? how your stories and music are strong enough to move mountains? how dare you!! if i knew better, i think i would sue you, min yoongi.

march 9. it’s a day i recognize as quickly as i recognize my own birthday. your presence in my life has become a steady and quiet whisper in the back of my mind, always there to remind me of you. whenever i see or do things, i find myself thinking “would yoongi enjoy this? would he approve? i shouldn’t do this; he wouldn’t be proud of me.”

you’ve shaped me, min yoongi.

there is a subtle awareness now, more than ever, for this desire to become a good person because of you. just as much as you try everyday to become better, so shall i. what power you hold over me, min yoongi.

even if the world were the disappear beneath my feet, i don’t think i could ever cease to love you. as much as i’m attracted to you (a realization that hardly only applies to me), this type of love is not the type of love that quickly burns away—it’s respect, recognition, and acceptance. it’s the love for a human being, purely as you are.

this is my shout of love for you, into this void we call the internet. it may never reach you as i am but a voice in a million, but know that there is always going to be one person who loves you beyond anything else.

happy birthday, yogurt man.

-zee; 030918

#IM SO FUCKING SOFT #I HAVE AN EXAM IN FIVE HOURS SO I GOTTA STUDY BUT!! GOTTA PROCLAIM MY UNDYING LOVE FIRST AND THEN STUDY #ILY MIN YOONGI #min yoongi #myg #text #zee talks

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thedarkenedkeeper · 7 years

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Glitched: Part 6 - Stitched Together

Author’s Note: Alright, a few things about this before you go head first into it.

Firstly, this is long, and I mean long. It came out as 14 pages long on Word, and I apologize for that! Once again, I underestimated how long the chapter would be!

Secondly, I had originally planned for this part to have two parts to it, but given just how long this came out, I once again had to severe a part into two parts. SO Part 7 will be centered on what happened at the very end of this. After that, Part 8 will DEFINITELY return to the present and involve the events of “Kill Jacksepticeye”.

And thirdly, which is the most important. I know I always leave a reminder stating how the fanfic is angsty horror, but this time I truly need to stress this. WARNING: This chapter is incredibly graphic. There is a lot of blood, some abnormal “body horror”, and detailed descriptions of surgical operations being performed. There’s a horrible sense of dread, intensity, and helplessness throughout the entire duration of the chapter. Sharp surgical instruments are mentioned, and there are scenes of involving horrific hallucinations and psychological horror. So if you are REALLY squeamish or have a hard time reading about surgical procedures, I would strongly advise you to scroll past this. However, if you’re completely fine with what’s been listed, then I hope you enjoy!

Also, fun fact! This entire fanfic series has been my first ever attempt at writing horror, and I’m truly pleased with how it’s been coming out so far, especially what with this chapter. I can’t wait to hear what you all have to say about this :)

Another fun fact! There’s foreshadowing in this chapter….keep that in mind for the chapters to come ;)

And here, listen to this playlist while you're at it

Red…that’s all he saw…

All he could see was a thick hazy layer of crimson…

All he could smell was the nauseating scent of copper…

All he could hear was his heart pounding brutally in his head…

All he could feel were bolts of pain charging throughout his body…

All he could taste was his own blood…

He lay there on the cool flooring, his body shaking violently as he struggled to breathe; raising a trembling lanky hand to his torn throat, making a poor attempt at trying to stop the bleeding. The wound was deep, so much so it had gone through his trachea; blood gushing, spurting, and washing down into his lungs. He was choking, drowning in his own life force, and his vision was blurring; spots of black and red spattering the corners. He could barely hear properly now. All he could hear was his heart beating frantically against his ribcage, feeling like it’d burst forth out of his chest at any moment. Blood was flooding his mouth, gurgling and cascading down the corners of his lips as he tried to call out for help; ribbons of scarlet running out onto the ground, pooling under his head.

He was dying. He may have been feebly making an effort at trying to think clearly at the moment, but he knew his life was slipping away at a fast rate. And if he didn’t get help within the next couple of minutes, he would die here, drowning in a pool of his own blood.

Blinking slowly with his hearing fading in and out, he managed to make out faint voices coming from different directions, echoing in his head, each increasing in loudness and approaching him. He shifted his eyes slightly to just barely see a few figures standing around him, all of which looked very similar to himself; green hair and all, the only differences being the distinct outfits they each donned. He couldn’t make out any of the words they were saying, but judging from the gasps of horror and how they seemed to jump back in alarm, he knew they were all stunned by the sight of him. None of them were moving to help him – not because they didn’t want to but because they didn’t know how. Unexpectedly, the startling bang of someone bursting through a set of doors sounded throughout the room, a snappy German voice accompanying it.

“Alright, vhat is going on? Vhat is all the commotion about? Vhat is - ?! Jesus Christ!”

He didn’t see who had entered the room, let alone who was speaking, but given how the man was speaking, he had a sense the German had just now noticed his horrible condition. Through the red haze, he squinted slightly and struggled to see what looked like a doctor, who was now dropping to his knees and hovering over him.

“Jack? Jack, can you hear me buddy? Vhat happened?!” The doctor asked, panic evident in his voice.

The green-haired man tried to give a reply, but only a torrent of blood spluttered out of his mouth; staining his shirt and spewing out onto his hands. The good doctor’s eyes grew wide as saucers, snapping his fingers impatiently at the other figures standing behind him.

“Someone get zee stretcher NOW!” He snapped, not taking his eyes off of the man bleeding out onto the floor.

Henrik immediately tore off his coat, rolled it up, and forced it to the gaping wound in the paled YouTuber’s neck, adding pressure and trying to temporarily stop the flow of blood. He grabbed the man’s clammy hands and placed them over his coat as he stared at him intently.

“Keep pressure on zee vound, alright?” The German doctor jerked his head, looking over his shoulder. “Damn it! Vhere is the stretcher?!”

Almost as if on cue, the other egos came rushing towards him, wheeling a stretcher up to his side. Without having to give an order, the Irishman was carefully hauled off of the bloodstained ground and placed onto the stretcher before getting rushed through the exact same doors the doctor had entered from. His breathing was getting increasingly more raspy and shallow, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open, watching the blinding lights above him fly by at a blurring speed.

“Stay avake, Jack. Come on, don’t pass out on me, buddy!” He heard the doctor’s voice echo, pleading for him to stay conscious.

Bolting for the E.R., Dr. Schneeplestein and his associates pushed and pulled the stretcher towards a set of doors leading into the good doctor’s operating room; barging through the doors and wheeling Jack over to where the operating table stood waiting for him.

“Alright, buddy, come on. Come on.” Carefully yet urgently, the Irishman was lifted from the stretcher and put onto the table. Right at that moment, the man lurched and harshly coughed up a mouthful of blood; a gross wheezing breath following after it.

He heard the other green-haired men gasp, horrified at seeing him like this. As soon as blood fell from his lips, the doctor frowned and instantly whirled on his heel, raising his arms and motioning for everyone to leave.

“Get out! Everyone out! Everyone out now! Leave me to do my vork! Go!” He shouted, shoving his friends hurriedly towards the exit and out the doors before locking said doors. He could not afford to be bothered, not when he had to deal with his currently dying friend.

“NURSE! Get zee patient ready for surgery! Also, get me my coffee! I cannot vork vithout my caffeine intake!” The German shrieked.

Henrik didn’t waste time bolting for his surgical smock and mask, slipping them on in a hurry. He nearly tripped over his feet in the process at hearing the unpleasantly wet sounds coming from Jack practically drowning in his own bodily fluids. The doctor cursed repeatedly under his breath out of nervousness.

“Don’t vorry, my friend. You’re in good hands.” He said in the most reassuring voice he could muster as he rushed to the YouTuber’s side. He noticed how his supposed “nurse” – someone he claimed helped him numerous times even though they had never once been seen by anyone – hadn’t done as he had instructed, and he grimaced.

“Zhat stupid fucking bitch, never doing vhat is said. Goddamn it!” He groaned with irritation before giving Jack a reassuring smile. “I, Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein, vill fix you right up. Von’t zhat be nice, Jack? It be quick fix, I assure you. Zee doctor doesn’t lie.” He exclaimed before adjusting his mask over his nose and mouth, sliding on his glasses, and snapping on a pair of vinyl gloves.

Jack opened his reddened mouth in an attempt to speak, but the doctor pressed a finger to his lips and shook his head.

“Oh no, no, don’t speak. Can’t afford to vaste any energy.” Schneeplestein stated, moving the green-haired man’s hands away from the lab coat that was pressed against his throat.

Cautiously, the doctor pulled the coat away to inspect the deep pulsating gash, globules of blood continuing to flow out. The German cursed, his hand shaking momentarily at seeing just how fatal the wound was. If it had been just a cut – nothing too deep – this would’ve been an easy fix. He could’ve had him stitched up within a matter of minutes. But this…this was serious…this was incredibly lethal. Jack didn’t just have major arteries severed; his windpipe had been slit open as well, only allowing a majority of his blood to escape through it.

The doctor swallowed the lump in his throat, letting out a breathy sigh. The man had had his rare cases of dealing with emergencies here and there, nothing extreme. But this…this was like nothing he had ever dealt with. He had never dealt with something as serious as this, let alone anything involving his friend – the one he and all of the other egos relied on. Jack had been the one to create each and every one of them, he gave them life. They all resided in a void invisible to the naked eye, the only individual able to access it being Jack. The egos remained happy living in their own individual fantasies, and Jack was the one who controlled this world they resided in. None of them had the power to control this world or Jack’s own body, only the Irishman could do that. However, with his subconscious here in the void, bleeding out fatally, Schneeplestein knew how incredibly horrific this was. It was crucial that his subconscious stay alive, stay in sync and attached to his body, because if not…if his subconscious died along with his physical body…

The German’s heart stuttered at the thought, his blood running cold. He needed to act fast, even if he wasn’t fully prepared. He needed to stitch him back up and relink him back to his body. He needed to take drastic measures NOW.

Pushing the coat back down over the cut and placing Jack’s hands over it once more, he instructed, “Do not let go of zhis, do you understand? Keep pressure on zee vound at all costs.”

Not being able to give an answer, the Irishman simply kept his dead-white hands over the coat just as he had been told. Instantly, Henrik whipped out a pair of scissors and cut open the man’s shirt, tearing it open before rushing around aimlessly; hooking him up to his monitors so he could keep a close eye on his vitals. Almost immediately, there was something noticeably wrong. For some reason, there was nothing – no breathing rate, no heart rate, no blood pressure, nothing. The doctor frowned with puzzlement. That was odd, maybe he hadn’t hooked him up correctly? Perhaps the machines weren’t working properly? Schneeple faced Jack, immediately checking to see if each of the pads were in the correct position. With his back turned, the doctor didn’t notice how all of the screens momentarily glitched out, all now reading the YouTuber’s vitals. At hearing the sound of the systems working, the doctor whirled around to get a good look, and instantly he took note of everything wrong with the green-haired man. He noticed how his heart rate was irregular, one minute spiking incredibly high and the next steadying down. His blood pressure was off the charts and his breathing was becoming worse as each second flew by.

“Fucking Christ, Jack, vhat did you do to yourself?” The German questioned, eyes shifting from the monitors back to his patient, who was growing worse in condition at an alarming rate.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could’ve sworn he noticed a petite smirk tugging at the Irishman’s crimson-stained lips, almost like he was amused for some unknown reason. Just as quick as that smirk had appeared, it disappeared as the man lurched again; turning his head to the side as another mouthful of blood projected out, splattering to the floor beneath. Analyzing the situation and taking note of just how horrible Jack’s breathing was, the doctor knew exactly what had to be done. He was going to have to perform both a tube thoracostomy and a tracheostomy. However, he had never once gone through with either procedure on a patient. He knew how both worked and what was involved, but he had never actually done either, which instantly overwhelmed him with anxiety. If he didn’t do either one of the operations correctly, one slip up would immediately kill Jack. But if he didn’t try, Jack would end up dying anyway.

There’s no time for this! The doctor scolded himself. You need to operate NOW or he is going to die! You cannot let him die!

Not having any time to fully run through his plan, Henrik realized he was going to have to take immediate action without first preparing the primary steps of the operation. He had learned in “Doctor College” that when it came to emergencies like this, he always had to remember ABC: Airway, Breathing, and Circulation. But given the current situation and of just how gruesome of a condition Jack was in, that order would have to change. Jack could barely breathe, what with his windpipe cut and having his lungs flooding with blood. The doctor had to first get him to breathe before he could even remotely think about fixing the wound. However, given how much little time he had on his hands, Henrik had absolutely no time to take out a marker and indicate where the incision would be made. If he did that, it’d only slice off a valuable chunk of time he’d need to save Jack. He would have to eyeball it.

The good doctor turned to a nearby stainless steel table and grabbed for a syringe, immediately filling it with anesthetic. He kept eyeing the green-haired man lying on his operating table as he did this, constantly estimating just how much time he had left. Once the syringe was full, he set the vial of anesthetic down, and with one hand holding the syringe, he used his free hand to move Jack’s left arm out of the way, exposing his bare side to him. Dr. Schneeplestein stared at the skin, eyeballing where he’d inject the needle before proceeding with the operation. After a brief moment of figuring out the exact spot, he pressed the needle into the Irishman’s side, right between where his ribs were. He felt the man tense up a bit under him, a soft whimper slipping past the Irishman’s bloody lips. Schneeple took a quick glance at him.

“Trust me, my friend, zhis is for your own good.” He pulled the syringe away, throwing it over onto the steel table before reaching for a scalpel. “Now I von’t lie – zhis vill probably hurt.”

Adjusting the overhead light and zeroing in on where he had injected the anesthetic, Henrik carefully pressed the blade of the scalpel into his flesh, making an incision in the direction of one of Jack’s ribs. Unfortunately for the YouTuber, the anesthetic hadn’t fully kicked in yet, and immediately, his entire body went rigid at the sudden pain; a choked gasp erupting from his slashed throat. With his free hand, the doctor tried to steady him; resting his hand over his chest.

“I’m sorry, buddy. I know, bear vith me here, please.” He said sincerely, his eyes never leaving the incision he was making.

Deeming the cut large enough, Henrik set the scalpel aside, reached for one of his Kelly clamps, and taking a worrisome glance at his patient, used the clamp to bluntly dissect a tract into the tissue; slowly pulling open the two flabs of muscle. Almost instantly, Jack’s breathing hitched and became far more uneven than it had been before. He was already in so much pain, but now with a new opening in his body, he really was starting to feel faint, and Schneeple could sense it. He patted his chest gently.

“You’re doing fine, Jack. Relax, it’ll be alright, I promise you zhis.” He cooed before inserting a gloved finger into the opening, making sure the tract ended at the upper border of Jack’s rib. He scoffed. “Vhen have I ever lied to you?”

The Irishman bit down on his lip at feeling this, his head throbbing as his vision began to swim. The pain was beginning to take a hold of him. Recognizing the signs and knowing he had to continue forward, the doctor extracted his finger and hurried to fill up a syringe with more anesthetic. Once full, he launched the vial of anesthetic away and over his shoulder, not at all caring where it went or if it damaged anything. He was far more concerned for Jack at the moment. He proceeded to insert it into the exposed muscles, knowing fully well that if he didn’t supply his patient with more anesthetic, he would lose him to the agony he was currently enduring. Once again carelessly chucking the syringe away, the doctor used a larger clamp to pry open the muscle, enlarging the dissected tract through all layers of the chest wall. At that moment, a considerable amount of blood spewed and gushed out onto the table; some absorbing into Jack’s jeans and managing to flow out over the side of the table, streaming down to the tiled flooring.

“Shit, shit, shit!” The doctor panicked momentarily, fumbling with a set of forceps as he tried to stop the unforeseen bleeding. The last thing he needed was for his patient to lose even more of his life force. As quickly as he could, he expertly closed off the severed vessels before continuing on with the operation.

“Nurse! Hook up zee drainage system, STAT!”

Schneeple inserted his finger again, probing Jack’s insides for lung tissue and possible adhesions. Audible wet and squishy sounds grew more in volume as the doctor continued to feel around the Irishman’s muscles and veins; little blood leaking out onto his gloved hand. He frowned, getting frustrated in not immediately finding any.

“Come on, come on! Vhere are you? Zhere’s no time for zhis!” Finally, he felt something and pulled out his finger, now dripping with gore.

Realizing how his “nurse” hadn’t set up the system he required, with not a moment to lose, the doctor searched the room for the drainage machine he’d need to use, noticing immediately how he had misplaced it.

“Fuck!” He shifted around awkwardly, not knowing whether to stabilize the incision first or take a risk and tear up the room for the damned machine he needed to SAVE JACK’S ASS!

Growling in frustration, Henrik bolted, running around the operating room, shoving things out of the way and trying to recall where he had left that blasted machine.

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Zee one day somezhing incredibly urgent like zhis happens, and zee one zhing I need in order to do zhis is missing! Muzherfucka!” The foul-mouthed surgeon yelled, lashing out and swiping a whole month’s worth of important paperwork and instruments off of a nearby table.

Through his outburst, he made out the sound of constant bubbling and gurgling, followed by a harsh disgusting breath. He whipped his head up and directed his attention over to where his patient was lying in a pool of his own blood, immediately spotting the smile on the green-haired man’s face. Even though he was practically drowning, it almost seemed like the man was making an effort to laugh. The doctor grimaced, both put off and not understanding how the man could be finding any of this funny.

“Oh vell, good to see someone is enjoying himself, even zhough zhat someone is currently in the process of DYING!” He snapped, scrambling around for the equipment he needed. “Vhat is so funny? Is it the lightheadedness? I zhink you’ve lost too much blood zhere, Jack. But don’t vorry about zhat, ve’ll deal vith zhat in a moment. Very easy fix, I assure you.” He stated, even though deep down, he admittedly had his doubts.

Coincidentally, under the table he stood by was the machine he required and instantly, he didn’t hesitate. He hauled the machine off the ground and dashed back over to his bleeding patient. After fumbling with the equipment, he grabbed the tubing and returned his attention to the gaping hole in Jack’s side. Using the clamp to widen the opening a bit further, the doctor carefully began to feed the thoracic catheter through the hole, gently pushing it through the Irishman’s muscles and into his chest cavity; a gross nauseating squish emitting from it. Some blood gushed out of the hole, oozing out onto Dr. Schneeplestein’s gloved hands, but he didn’t care. As soon as he knew the tube had managed to slip all the way inside, he flipped on the switch for the machine, instantly watching the tube flood with crimson warm blood; rushing out of Jack’s lung and into the jug down at Henrik’s feet.

“Ha ha! Vunderbar!” The doctor let out an abrupt nervous laugh at this, not believing how his plan had worked…that was until he noticed how Jack was breathing both shallowly and rapidly.

The doctor’s brows furrowed and he opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get a chance to get anything out. With no warning, the lights flickered for a fleeting moment, followed shortly by a sharp ringing erupting in his ears. Henrik yelped at the sudden pain, hands flying up to his ears to block out the noise. His eyes went from Jack to wildly searching around the room, wondering where the ringing was coming from. The lights flickered once more, except this time they blacked out. Everything powered down – the monitors, the drainage system, everything. Now was the time to panic.

With no lights or equipment, there was no possible way for the doctor to continue working on Jack. He couldn’t see a single thing in the room; it was pitch-black. All he could hear was the constant ear-piercing ringing, as well as Jack’s wet gurgling breaths and his own breathing, which was beginning to increase now.

“Oh come ON! Zhis can’t be happening! Zhere’s no time for zhis bullshit!” The doctor exclaimed with anger, not daring to move from where he was since he couldn’t see anything around him.

Through the ringing that was driving him crazy, very faintly he managed to make out a giggle. An eerie childish giggle that made the hairs on the back of the doctor’s neck stand up on end.

“Hello? Who’s zhere?” He called out into the darkness. “Zhis is no time for joke! I svear to God, if you’re responsible for all of zhis, I vill kill you!”

Another giggle sounded, coming from right beside the German; becoming distorted and scratchy this time. He jumped with alarm, shoving his hands in the direction of where the giggle came from, but didn’t come into contact with anything. His heart was thudding against his ribcage madly, fear seeping into his veins. He literally did not have any time for this. If the power didn’t come on soon, it would be too late. Suddenly, the lights and monitors returned to life, and he found himself standing over the operating table, looking down on his patient. However, something was very wrong.

The patient he was staring down at wasn’t Jack anymore – it was himself. There he lay with his wrists and ankles bound to the table; restrained from any movement. He was unconscious and his mask, glasses, and cap had been removed. The doctor stood there in both alarm and confusion, not understanding what was happening. What was going on? Why was he staring down at a copy of himself? Hadn’t he been operating on Jack a moment ago?

Henrik went to move, only to realize he couldn’t; his hands didn’t react to the order. Watching with wide eyes, he felt himself reach for an orbitoclast – an ice pick-like instrument used for lobotomies – resting on the table beside him. He grabbed it along with the small hammer settled beside it, moving himself into position; hovering right over the head of his duplicate. Instantly, the doctor’s heart rate spiked. He could hear his blood rushing through his ears loudly as he helplessly raised the pick over the duplicate’s right eye, aiming it right for the corner of his eye socket.

At that precise moment, to his surprise, the doctor watched the eyes of his copy shift under his eyelids before fluttering open, directly looking up at him with confusion first, before having the compromising, vulnerable situation he was currently in dawn over him. The poor man started writhing on the table, violently tugging and pulling at his restraints, trying desperately to break free and get away from the man who was about to lobotomize him. His eyes even began to water from fear of what was going to be done to him, shaking his head repeatedly, and pleading out for release. Henrik was horrified at the sight. His nerves were rattling from shock, a tremor of true full-blown disturbance burrowing its way through his body. He couldn’t do this – whether it was actually happening or not, he could NOT DO THIS!

Struggling to restrain himself and gain control over his own body, Dr. Schneeplestein desperately tried to pull himself away from the table. Feeling like a puppet having his strings tugged at, the doctor watched as he took a moment to grab the man by the hair and violently bash the back of his head into the table, momentarily putting a stop the copy’s struggles. Henrik then bore witness to complete and utter horror as he suddenly brought the hammer down, impaling the orbitoclast through the corner of his copy’s eye. Blood spurted out and into his face, causing him to flinch and gasp in alarm; a hair-raising scream getting ripped from the duplicate of himself. He watched as a line of crimson weaved out of the wound as he hammered away at the pick, feeling, seeing, and hearing it sink further into his copy’s skull; a loud crack erupting very suddenly. Henrik’s breaths were coming out laboured and rather shaken now, heart pounding harshly as he felt bile rise in his throat. He felt like he was going to be sick.

And very suddenly, with a blink of his eyes, he found himself hovering over a bleeding-out Jack; the duplicate of himself nowhere in sight, nor were the lobotomy tools he’d just used. Panting wildly, the doctor’s eyes flew across the entire operating room; trying to decipher if this was real time and that none of what he just seen and endured had actually happened. The German took a moment to take in deep breaths, having been scarred by what he had just gone through. What the hell had that been about? What had caused that? Why had he suddenly blacked out and had some sort of vision of him giving a copy of himself a lobotomy – all while operating on Jack, no less?

He couldn’t come up with a reason as to why any of that had happened, let alone why it had felt so incredibly vivid, like it had in fact actually happened. He didn’t have time to dwell too much on the thought either, given how he instantly noticed how his patient was breathing shallowly.

Henrik watched the Irishman intently, dismay gleaming in his eyes and fear panging in his chest. “Jack? Jack, buddy? Are you…Are you still vith me?” He lightly tapped him with a bloodied hand. “Jack?” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming from him, although it was very obviously laced with concern. “C-Come on, zhis is no time to be joking around vith me. I’m trying to save your life, you know!”

There was no response. He scanned his body, taking notice of how he was shaking all over, he was sweating profusely, and how his lips and fingertips had quickly become blue – when had that happened?! For a brief moment, Henrik’s brows furrowed in confusion, not yet entirely piecing everything together. And what was that irritating beeping sound? Where the hell was that coming from? It was agitating him greatly.

“For fuck’s sake, vhat is zhat blasted noise?! I can’t vork vith such racket!” He turned to see what was causing the sound and in seconds flat, the poor doctor felt his stomach drop.

Oh no…..No, no, no, no, NO!

The heart monitor – it was going off like mad! Jack’s heart rate was skyrocketing, racing wildly, struggling to keep pumping blood throughout his body. Dr. Schneeplestein immediately whirled around to face his patient, FINALLY concluding what was so horrible about was happening. Too much blood was getting into his lungs – He couldn’t breathe! He was going into hypovolemic shock! The green-haired man’s eyes were shifting back and forth weakly, his eyelids fluttering for a moment before slipping shut; falling unconscious from both the pain he was in and the blood loss.

The doctor’s eyes shot open in horror, shaking his head rapidly. “No…No, no, no, NO! Zhis cannot be! Zhis isn’t happening! I can fix zhis! I can fix zhis!” He repeated to himself aloud, trying to return some hope to himself.

In a hurry, he crudely stitched up the gaping hole in the man’s side; securely keeping the blood-filled tube in place and pricking his finger more than once while doing so. As soon as he did this, he didn’t at all hesitate to fall into phase two. The Irishman needed air, and with his trachea cut, there was no way for him to breathe properly. Hastily the doctor moved his scrunched up, now completely blood-soaked coat away from Jack’s throat and threw it clear across the room. Luckily, much of the bleeding had stopped, but there was still some coming; leaking out and oozing through Henrik’s vinyl-covered fingers. He felt for the man’s pulse, both feeling and seeing it throbbing at a rapid pace.

“Shite!” The surgeon cursed, a crimson-covered hand reaching for his scalpel once more. He let out a shaky breath as he went to make an incision into the YouTuber’s neck, a little below where the wound was. His hands were trembling now, dread and a terrible nauseating wave of despair settling into his gut. He shook his head, trying to stay focused. “Alright…Alright, Schneeple, come on. You can do zhis, huh? Zhis isn’t a problem; you can fix zhis easy.” He kept attempting to convince himself as he reached for a clamp and stretched open the muscles of his patient’s throat; exposing his trachea to him.

Almost immediately, at seeing this and the amount of blood pouring out, Schneeplestein gagged and instantly flung backward, bringing a glove-clad hand to his mouth and nearly stumbling over the wires and cables of his equipment in the process.

“Vhat ze fuck?!” The doctor screamed abruptly, his breathing coming out laboured and rather shaken. He stared in horror at the body on the operating table, not caring or seeming to notice how he now had blood smeared over his mask. What he saw was not normal – nothing he’d learned in “Doctor College”, that’s for certain. No, nothing about what he’d seen was of human biology.

When he went to open up Jack’s throat, blood wasn’t the only thing to leak out – some sort of black slime-like substance gushed out along with it. And that wasn’t all. Weaving out all along the man’s trachea were what looked like veins, but they weren’t red or blue; they were a festering green, spots of black plaguing the entire windpipe. The entire thing looked severely infected, the muscle around it only looking just as bad; lines of black branching out and pulsating with darkness. He could’ve sworn he had seen something slither underneath the muscle as well. It was almost like there was something living beneath the skin and inside the veins, like a parasite was involved. But what kind of parasite could do this to a human being?

Feeling his heart thump with trepidation and beads of perspiration coming to his forehead, Henrik barely collected himself and approached the table, eyeing the abnormality of Jack’s throat before taking nervous glances back at the heart monitor. Realizing his time was dissipating expeditiously, the doctor couldn’t let this disturbing discovery get in the way of the task at hand. He only had so much time, and if he didn’t do something now, he’d probably lose another patient on this operating table.

His heart jumped at that thought. He had lost many patients before, and every time it had left a brand new scar in his chest; forever fueling him with guilt. But if Jack – his best friend – were to suddenly become no different than any of those other patients he had failed to revive…If he weren’t able to save the man who was responsible for himself and the other egos…

He felt his heart give another painful pang as tears threatened to come to his eyes. He shut his eyes for a quick moment, shaking his head.

“No…No! Stop it! Get your head in zee game! You can save him. You VILL save him!” A clenched fist came down onto the nearby table fiercely, a loud abrupt bang coming from the impact. It was very evident at this point that the doctor was becoming increasingly more frustrated.

Noticing how Jack’s chest was barely even moving anymore, Schneeple immediately set back to work. With bloodied hands, he rustled around for his haemostatic forceps; finding them blindly. Adjusting the overhead light so he could get a better view, ever so carefully he tried to close off any vessels; attempting to keep the blood flow to an all-time low. He then proceeded to place his set of tracheal dilators through the opening, expanding it by turning the screw; widening the incision further. As soon as the contraption pulled open the space, Henrik noticed his vision throb and start to swim for a moment; the light above him flickering unsteadily once again. He blinked, shaking his head and struggling to stay focused.

What’s going on? Why are you having such trouble concentrating? He questioned himself, transfixed on the pulsing blackened veins coiled around Jack’s trachea. Come on, focus. Focus, damn it!

But that was easier said than done. His head felt heavy all of a sudden, the edges of his vision going black. He blinked slowly, everything blurring for a quick moment before a wave of glitches abruptly scattered over Jack’s neck right before the doctor’s own eyes. The light flickered spastically as Henrik’s heart pounded in his ears, watching something pulse throughout the green-haired man’s throat. He found himself fascinated and reaching a gloved finger into the black and green trachea, the open wound squelching and sucking his finger in. His eyes widened, gleaming with disgust and horror as he slowly pulled his finger and thumb back, extracting a long thick string of blackened organic matter; some veins still linked to it and getting stretched out the more the string was pulled. Bile rose in his throat, a wave of nausea hitting him dead on. His fist-sized organ of innocence gave a painful jolt within his chest at the sight. This was beyond disturbing for him; this was beyond what he could handle. His vision glitched out again when he went to blink, the darkened string that he had pulled from the man’s throat completely gone.

Dr. Schneeplestein stumbled backward, reaching a hand back to steady himself on a nearby table only for that table to wheel away and cause him to collapse to the ground. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the body on his operating table, noticing a stream of black oozing out from the cut in Jack’s throat and running down his arm, which was outstretched and hanging limply over the edge of the table. The poor surgeon couldn’t even begin to understand what the hell was going on. He felt like he was living in a horror movie, scared beyond comprehension. This was too much; he was going to go insane! He shut his eyes for a brief moment, trying desperately to calm his heart and steady his breathing, but to no avail. For Christ’s sake, his hands were trembling! He couldn’t work like this; it would only lead into disaster!

The German doctor reached up for the ledge of a stable table, pulling himself up onto his wobbly weak-kneed legs. Stumbling forward, he dashed for a nearby counter and grabbed for his mug of stale coffee, which surely must’ve been lukewarm at this point. He then flew open every cupboard door, tossing anything and everything out until he finally found what he needed: a bottle of diethyl ether. Letting out a shaky on-the-verge-of-having-a-mental-breakdown breath of air, Schneeple hurried to unscrew the cap, throw it off to the side somewhere, yank his mask off, and take several big gulps of the fluid; not at all giving a damn how he was resorting to intoxicating himself in hopes to calm himself down enough. Pulling himself back from the bottle, the man poured a vast amount of the drug into his coffee; filling the mug to the brim before setting the bottle aside and taking a gulp of his drink. Staggering back over to the operating table and nearly slipping in the puddles of blood surrounding it, the doctor slammed down his mug of drugged coffee onto the nearby steel table; beginning to feel the effects of the drug kicking in.

“Alright…Okay…Pull yourself togezher, man!” The unsteady, increasingly disoriented surgeon shouted at himself, making a poor attempt to stand up straight. He lazily readjusted his mask on his face and looked back at his patient, using a bloodied hand to pat his shoulder gently. “Don’t vorry, buddy. Everyzhing is okay, everyzhing is alright. Death is overrated – who needs zhat?” He squinted slightly, his vision blurring for a brief moment. “Are you in pain, buddy? Can you feel anyzhing?” He was evidently intoxicated at this point, proven by how he barely recalled how Jack was currently unconscious. He leaned forward, moving a hand to get a better look at the inside of his throat. “Easy fix….Easy fix….” He muttered to himself over and over.

While being cautious to keep anymore blood from escaping, the good doctor leaned over to grasp a tracheal tube, which would allow Jack to breathe when inserted. Carefully, he wedged the tube through the opening of his trachea; granting the YouTuber a temporary airway until his neck could be fixed thoroughly. Much blood was covering Henrik’s hands now; lines of still warm wet crimson running down his arms. Some had managed to also spurt out on his chest during the procedure, but he hadn’t taken any notice in it; all of his attention had been transfixed on fixing Jack. Once the tube had been successfully inserted, he leaned back and let out a sigh of relief, running the back of his gore-drenched hand across his exposed forehead, leaving a long thick smear of blood and matter on his pale skin. His eyes went from the tube to the wide-open gash in the Irishman’s throat. Only one thing left to fix. He could do this, he could do this, he could –

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep…..

Dr. Schneeplestein immediately jerked his head in the direction of the heart monitor, alarmed and horrified to see that the line had suddenly dropped flat. There was no pulse and the man wasn’t breathing anymore! His stomach dropping at the sound, the doctor didn’t even stop to think first; he dropped his tools and raced for the defibrillator, just barely tripping over any cables. In seconds flat he was at the Irishman’s side, immediately setting up the defibrillator and putting gel onto the paddles. Cranking up the machine and charging the paddles, Schneeple quickly moved his mask and grabbed for his mug of ether-laced coffee; downing another two gulps of the liquid. Wasting no time, he picked up the paddles, rubbed them together fiercely before pressing down hard onto Jack’s chest; a violent electrical shock getting sent through his body. He listened for any sigh of a pulse, but there was none. He pulled back and recharged the paddles, rubbed them together once more, and tried again; another jolt of electricity striking the YouTuber’s heart. Still nothing.

“Come on, damn it! You vill not die on me, do you hear me?! Not today!” The unhinged surgeon burst out of fear. He recharged the paddles, rubbed them again, and sent another shock into the man. “Stay vith me, buddy, come on! I vill not let you die! You cannot die on me!” He waited a moment before giving him another violent shock. “If you go down, ve all go down vith you! Damn it, Jack! Come on! Vake up!” Another shock.

Repeatedly the doctor tried desperately to restart his friend’s heart, refusing to let him go that easily. And he wasn’t lying – if Jack’s subconscious died here and now, then Schneeple and the other egos were at a high risk of dying along with him. He needed to live in order for them to continue living, there was no other way! As the good German doctor continued with his poor efforts, he didn’t take notice of how the YouTuber’s fingertips were twitching slightly, almost in a spastic manner every few seconds. He also didn’t notice how the lower half of the man glitched out intensely for a slight second, like something was trying to remain stable…

Tears were coming to the doctor’s eyes with each attempt, and he was trying so hard at holding them back, knowing this was no time for crying. He was truly beginning to lose hope at a fast rate, an overwhelming sense of despair suffocating him and clouding his already intoxicated mind. Any and all confidence he had had at the start was completely one hundred percent gone – totally nonexistent. He was failing as a doctor, failing to save his friend Jack – the man responsible for him and the other egos. He could not live whatever would remain of his life with Jack’s blood on his hands – both literally and figuratively speaking. He would truly die on the inside, and it would only prove how much of a failure and a humiliation he was as a doctor to both his wife and kids, who had already left him a month ago. The poor man was already broken; he couldn’t afford to lose the one person who still viewed him with respect.

“Jack, please.” He pleaded through tear-blurred eyes. “I need you, buddy.” He blinked, a few tears running down his cheeks. “Ve all need you!”

Finally, with one more jolt of electricity through to the Irishman’s heart, there was a pulse; the line on the monitor spiking slightly. Jack’s chest slowly but surely began to rise and fall steadily, air getting to him through the tube Schneeplestein had surgically implanted into him. His heart beat was very low and just barely there, but it would give the doctor enough time. Flinging the defibrillator paddles away and taking another long gulp of his ether coffee, Henrik dove for the man’s throat, FINALLY setting to work on closing off his major arteries.

“Yes! Come on, buddy, don’t fail me just yet! Zhere’s still hope! All of zhis vill be over soon, I svear on my name!” He exclaimed, sealing the YouTuber’s arteries shut and closing his trachea. “You’re not dead yet, zhere’s still plenty of time to fix!”

He had gone and set up an IV for the Irishman, inserting the needle into his arm and getting new blood into his body before proceeding to suture up the slit in his neck. It was right at that moment when he felt his heart jolt harshly in his chest, followed by something warm and wet running from his nose. Getting a whiff of copper, he dragged his mask downward and ran the back of his sleeve along his nose, watching as a smear of red showed up. Before he even had time to question the bizarre occurrence, the doctor’s heart gave another pang of pain, and his vision started to swim once more, much worse than earlier. The lights were starting to flicker again, an icy cold gust of air now circulating the room and causing the poor surgeon to shudder violently. Faintly, voices echoed throughout the back of his mind, all distorted yet overlapping each other. He had a difficult time deciphering what they were whispering to him, but he managed to make out a few words.

“K-Kill….”

“H-He’s d-dead alre-eady…”

“Gr-rant…”

“Can’t sa-a-ave him…”

“YoU iDioT!”

“M-Me…”

“D-Dead…"

“G-Give…l-li-ife…”

“Access…”

“LeT ME iN!”

“D-Dead in-inside…”

“FiNIsH IT!”

The doctor was feeling nauseated, his head spinning and like the world was tilting on its side. His breaths were increasing in speed, as was his heartbeat. His vision was fading in and out as he desperately tried to focus on fixing his patient. The instruments upon his steel table began to rattle with no explainable reason as to why, and a few of the lights were bursting; sparks flying through the air with each explosion. He could make out the heart monitor going off like mad, before slowing down considerably, daring to fall flat again. Henrik panted and growled, shutting his eyes and shaking his head.

“No….No! I’ve had enough!” He grabbed his mug of coffee and downed the rest before bolting up and throwing it across the room into the main doors out of a sudden burst of rage. “Fuck it! Zhis is it! I’m ending zhis NOW!”

Though the words getting hissed into his ear were taunting him repeatedly and everything occurring around him was driving him into madness, the doctor didn’t let any of it stop him this time. Not even when he looked to Jack’s open neck to see black sludge leak out. Grabbing his needle and thread and readjusting the head light for the last time, Dr. Schneeplestein pricked the man’s shredded flesh; hooking the needle through the layer of muscle and pulling at it from the other side. In and out the needle went, getting repeatedly stabbed into the sickeningly pale blood-smeared skin; crudely stitching the gaping wound shut. Blood stained the doctor’s fingers and he pricked himself more than once, but he remained focused, even though his vision was seriously beginning to fade out. With each stitch, there was a violent glitch from the patient’s lower half; his fingers twitching and curling inward. And with the doctor’s attention on Jack, he didn’t notice let alone hear the heart monitor glitch out behind him; lines of static weaving out across the screen.

“Come on….Come on…Zhere ve go.”

With the wound now finished, he took a step back, chucking the gore-soaked needle off onto the table; letting out a shaky, tired breath of exhaustion. He stood there and kept his eyes fixed on Jack, hoping like hell he’d give a response, or better – wake up.

Unexplainably, everything came to a halt. The lights all shut off only then to return back on. His equipment and instruments were no longer shaking. His vision adjusted back to normal and the voices he had been hearing faded almost immediately. Henrik slowly approached the table, tearing his surgical mask away from his face as he stared down at his friend, waiting impatiently for a sign.

“Jack?…Jack, buddy?…Can you hear me?”

No response. He gently shook his shoulder.

“Jack?”

Unknowingly to the doctor, from behind him, the heart monitor suddenly glitched out violently, only then to reveal the heart rate going at a normal, steady pace. With a start, Jack’s eyes flew open and he lurched forward, gasping for air. Blink and anyone would miss it, but for a fleeting second, the eyes of the Irishman flashed a sickening neon green. And unfortunately, the doctor had in fact blinked.

“Jack! Oh zhank Christ, you’re alive!” Henrik shouted with relief, putting a hand over his own chest to steady his poor heart.

The green-haired man on the bloodied table blinked, turning his head slightly to notice the doctor before turning his attention downward; taking in the sight of his condition. The hose securely stitched into the side of his ribs, the blood all over his pants and the table, the feeling of the breathing tube in his neck…

Slowly, the YouTuber shrugged his shoulders, leaned back on his arms, and carefully sat up, Schneeple assisting him.

“Careful, you’re still in very bad shape.” The doctor cautioned. “Don’t vant any of your stitches coming undone.”

Sitting hunched over on the crimson-drenched table now, the Irishman gently moved his neck from side to side, testing out his limits of movement; feeling a painful stinging stretch in his neck muscles at moving too much. Letting out a raspy sigh, the man slowly lifted his hands, sticky with his own blood. He looked down at them, rotating his wrists and getting a good look at both the front and back of them. He clenched his fingers, almost seeming like he was testing them out…

Almost like he was adjusting to his body for the very first time…

Henrik reached for his blood-spattered glasses and pulled them off, letting out a shaky breath as he set them off to the side. He kept his eyes on Jack, scanning his body for any signs of something wrong.

“Do you feel alright? Pain is to be expected and is completely normal, and you cannot leave until full recovery.” He advised.

He didn’t receive a response; Jack was still looking over his hands and then down at his bare, crimson-speckled chest. He seemed to be taking in everything, at least that’s what Schneeple thought. Given everything that had happened, he’d understand why his friend was acting so strange.

“So…how do you feel?”

The Irishman flexed his fingers once more, gently rolling his shoulders back as he did so. A deep rumbly groan came from his throat, almost sounding like he was pleased. After a long pause, a small smirk tugged at the corner of the man’s lips as he shifted his eyes to the doctor who had stitched him together – who had resurrected him.

The doctor who had granted him access.

“Like I could take on the world.”

Part 5 - Say Goodbye

Part 7 - Patience

@fear-is-nameless @golden-eyed-guardians @n-o-ra-xi @steffid101

@jse-fandom-protection-squad

@butterlover328

@nuclear-squiggles

@septic-obsessed

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stevie-baby · 4 years

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Guess who keeps getting her hours cut at work

#lil hint: it’s me #i went in last night and they sent me home after an hour and a half. an hour and a half. of my scheduled 5 hours.#i was supposed to work tonight and they were like ‘yeah.... we have too many people scheduled tonigh so can you like... take tonight off?’#and i mean i can take a cut in hours because i’m privilaged enough that i don’t need this job to be able to survive #and that some of my coworkers DO need their hours to be able to pay bills and if i wasn’t getting cut from the schedule they would #but it still sucks #like i need to work because i need feel productive and worthy of existence because c*pitalism has brainwashed me #and i have student loans i should start paying back someday #it’s been over a year since i dropped out... and i’m still $40k in the hole over that mistake #maybe if i ignore c*rnerstone they’ll go away #this was a fucking RANT.#zee shouts into the void

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turquoisemagpie · 7 years

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Healing (6)

Jackaboy’s eyes, swollen and bruised, slowly started to open. His body was buzzing with stinging pain and he feared having to move to make the pain worse. He sluggishly pulled his head up and looked towards Anti, who stood in the center of a small tornado of static fractures and fissures that eradiated from his hands and heads. Jackaboy knew this meant he was controlling someone, and he correctly guessed who that someone was, or rather, who they were. And, even if he had to drag himself through the puddle of his own blood, Jackaboy had to stop him. Keeping to the ground because of the intense pain, and to be less obvious to Anti, he began to drag himself with his shaking arms towards Anti’s feet. When he reached him, Jackaboy grabbed Anti’s ankle and pulled hard and fast, groaning from the horrible soreness as he did so. Shocked and baffled and breaking his concentration, Anti’s whirlwinds of glitches dissolved away as he was pulled to the floor. “NO͢!͠”Anti roared, “I w̵a͢s ̵śo ͡clos̸e͝!̕”

As the tip of Schneeplestein’s scalpel touched his throat, and the deadly nightshade began to tilt towards Marvin’s lips, the two egos suddenly stopped and their body unclenched as Anti’s control went away. Marvin quickly sealed up the deadly nightshade and put it back in his collection, his heart beating incredibly fast from his latest near death experience. “V-vhat happened zhere?” Schneeplestein asked, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe up a sudden nose bleed. “I thought ve vere goin to die zhere.” “Jackaboy must have done something to stop Anti.” Marvin presumed. He placed his needed ingredients aside and was just about to close his case until one jar caught his eye. A salt jar. He took it out and stared at it, just as a light bulb went off in his head. “Will you be ok on your own, Schneep?” Schneep shrugged. “Az long az Anti doezn’t come back.” Marvin poured some salt onto his hands before slipping the jar of salt in his back pocket, and he bolted out the office. Schneep watched him leave, a little bewildered. “…Ok, zo zee you zoon?”

Jackaboy smiled. His head may have been bleeding, his legs may have been bruised, his arms may have been broken, but he didn’t care. He gave his friends more time, and now he had pissed off Anti to a point where he would not leave the void until Jackaboy was dead, he was sure they would succeed saving Jack. The smile soon went as Anti grabbed his throat and slammed his neck into the ground, keeping ahold of him to start choking him. “H̶ów͡ ̴m̢uc̸h d̶o̵e͘s ̢it̶ t͡a͟ke t̛o ̀K̶I͝LL you ̛?!” he growled manically, his grip tightening around his neck to the point where he may even break it. Suddenly Jackaboy slammed his hands on Anti’s arm and tried as hard as he could to pull his hands away. Gradually he prized Anti’s shaking hands off him. He uttered, “It actually doesn’t take much… But you’ll only get to kill me once. Because once the world sees you kill me, and Schneep, and Marvin and Chase, you will lose your admirers.” He began to sit up, pushing on Anti’s arms for him to back away until eventually Jackaboy threw him across the space in the void. Something glinted in the darkness ahead of Anti; his knife, and he seized it eagerly, like a child getting a lost toy back. Both egos quickly got to their feet and stalked each other, waiting for one to attack the other. Jackaboy continued, “They’ll see the monster you really are, and soon there’ll be no one left to fuel you. You’ll die, just like the rest of us.” There was a small laugh from Anti, but it seemed weak, uncertain, dubious. Anti scoffed, “I.̴.̕. won'͠t̨ ͘diè.̴.̶.̷ ͠I CA͜N͏'T!̸ Ev́en͏ when͠ I͜'̶m ͘g̶one ͡t̴hey̴'̵ll͏ ̵rem̵emb͢er ͡my͠ na̶me,̴ t̢hey'͘ll͘ ̸r͜em̷e͞mb͜e̷ŕ ̶the͘ mons̢ter̶ I̶ a͝m͏. Th͞at̡ ̴w̢il̡l ke͠ep ͘me͢ al̛įve͘!̀” he snarled. He slid his fingers along the edge of his knife and admired its metallic sheen. “... I̵n ̷fa̕c̛t͜..͡. ̢k͟i͝l͏li̛ng all o̵f̕ ͘ýo͡u̶ one̡ by one w̸i͠l̷l͡ on͢ly͠ ͠g̸e̴t̡ m̷e m͜óre ́a̢t̷t͜en͢tion͘!” He looked up at Jackaboy with a venomous smile. “E̵s̶p̴ecįal͞l͟y̨ ̕ki̢llin̵g ̢Ch͏a̡se̸..̴. ̛e̸veryo̸ǹe͝'͡s̨ ́f̀a̸vou͝ri̷te pr͜eci͏o͝ùs͠ ͡b́oy͡...̶ Oh͢,̕ ͠i̛ma͠gi̕n̡e̸ t̷h͜e ͞c͝a͞r̶nagé of̡ THA͏T ̕v͠id͟eo.̨.̧. I͏ can t́as͝te͜ the ̨e̶n̷erg͡y̛ j́us̡t ̴t͘h̷in͘ki̧ng ͝ąb̸out ͘i͟t̀!͡” Jackaboy grew more and more fearful of Anti’s expression becoming more manic with every breath. He stuttered, “You… you’re insane.” Anti’s head tilted to a side, almost as an animal does when confused, but his wide eyed grinning expression stayed the same. “O̸f çourse I̢ am...́.̸” he spat, “I'm ͟Ant̴ís̀ept̕i̴c̛e̴y͝e!” He charged forward.

There was a mighty ‘oomph’ as Marvin sprung from the darkness and punched Anti in the face. The glitch bitch was sent flying, as was his knife. “Jackaboy!” Marvin shouted, “Catch!” He threw his vial of salt for the hero to catch. Before Anti had the chance to recover, Marvin grabbed him and bent his arms behind his back to keep him still. “Now!” He called to Jackaboy while trying to control the frenzied Anti, “Open the vial and start pouring a circle around us both!” “NO̷!” Anti screamed, and tried to glitch away, but his arms were caught in Marvin’s salted stinging hands and he couldn’t release himself. Jackaboy quickly opened the vial and began to pour a think line of salt around Marvin and Anti. As Jackaboy made half a circle, Marvin forced Anti to lie on his front as he began to carefully try to move away from Anti before the circle was completed. He jumped back from Anti just as Jackaboy connected the circle. Anti hurled himself at them, but was stopped by an invisible force before he could get over the salt, which seemed to zap him like an electrocution before letting him fall to his knees with scorch marks on his hands and neck. He stared at the hero and the magician who looked back with angry scowls. They picked up his knife, walked a few yards away from him, placed the knife down and poured an even thicker circle of salt around it. Anti howled in defeat. “Tr̀a͢i͘t̛or̕s͢!͟” he cried, “Che̡àt͘ers͢! ͟Yo͢u wo̸u͟ld ̛con̨f̧i̢ne͘ me ͝a͠nd̷ t̵o̷rture me͝! B͡u͡t ̕y̷o͡u do̸n't̛ hav̀e̶ t͏he g͜ut̛s to̷ jus̡t k̷i̵ll ́mȩ!̡ You͜.͏.̷.̕ wȩa͏k̕li͜ngs̕!̴...” “We’ll never kill you Anti.” Marvin told him as he poured another circle of salt around the circle of salt already containing Anti, just to be sure, “You’re invincible anyway, but even if you weren’t we still wouldn’t kill you.” “Yo̶u̷'r̸e̵ ̕c̀o͝wa̡ŗd̨s.̢” Marvin shook his head. “No. We’re brothers. In a way. We may all be different from each other, but we are all parts of Jack at the end of the day. With as much importance as each other, and with the same dependency on each other. We may hate you and you may hate us, but we need you, as much as you need us.” Anti spat outside the circle. “Yo͟u'͞re ͡not̶ ͟m͘y b̕r̴o͘ther̀s.̢” Marvin sighed and said, “We still think there is some good left in you. And for as long as we think that, we will never kill you. And when you’re ready to calm down, we’ll be right there to help… Just so you know.” Anti growled like an angry dog and squatted down with his back to them. He wouldn’t be wanting to speak to them for a long time. Marvin opened up and exit for himself and Jackaboy and they walked out of Anti’s dimension.

The hero and the magician quickly made their way back upstairs to Jack’s office. Dr. Schneeplestein was squeezing the skin around Jack’s neck incisions, trying to get the last few drops of poison out of his body. He looked up to the other egos as they entered the room and smiled proudly. “Almozt done.” he said confidently, “Anozer success for Dr. Schneeplestein!” Jackaboy gave him a quiet clap in celebration. “You see? You are a good doctor!” Schneep beamed at the compliment, then blinked a few times at Jackaboy’s bleeding and swollen face in shock. “Oh goodnezz, Jackie! You look awful!” He wiped up the last drops of poison from Jack’s neck and quickly grabbed some band aids to cover up the incisions. “Az zoon az I am done vith Jack, I’ll get you cleaned up.” Marvin clapped his hands together. “Right.” he sighed, “And now for the final trick.” He grabbed his ingredients for Jack’s potion and went to work.

#magpie ramblings #next chapter may be the last #Healing(egos)#marvin the magician #marvin the magnificent #dr schneeplestein #jackaboy man #antisepticeye #jacksepticeye #septiceye egos

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leeesbian · 7 years

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so i got my sword for my zynnis cosplay and then wanted to address in fiction why zynnis would have a super fancy longsword so i wrote this sad bullshit enjoy!!!!!!!

The day of the attack, the sky opened up and let loose sheets of rain. Zynnis trudged through the forest, soaked in blood of their own, blood of the raiders, and the blood of their friends. Thrown over their back is the limp body of Aman Rockbelly, who stopped breathing an hour ago, his stomach torn open and wet with blood, even through the plate covering Zynnis’s back. Zynnis marched, throat tight and dry, pain shooting up through their body from the gaping wound above their hip with every step. Thoughts race through their head- if only I had moved faster, if only I had thought quicker, if only I had been stronger…

They had come out of nowhere, the raiders. It seemed like they fell straight from the sky, attacking Zynnis and the rest of their party with arrows, with scimitars, with daggers. Steeltank had been the first to fall, a raider had attacked him from behind and slit his throat- it was actually how Zynnis and the rest of the party had figured out of the raiders’ presence. Florentin went to try and save him, muttering healing spells and applying hard pressure to the wound in his neck with his bare hands. Aman and Marvela charged while Zynnis went to attack the masked man attempting to take out Florentin. They fight long and hard, and while their back is turned, they hear Marvela scream. When they turn, they see Marvela stumbling backwards- one arrow in her shoulder, one in her gut, and one in her eye. Zynnis looks up and spots the masked marksman up in a tree, and Zynnis attempts to jump to Marvela’s aid. It’s when they do this that Florentin shouts and collapses over Steeltank’s body, a dagger plunged into the back of his head. “You bastards!” Aman bellows, launching one of his hand axes into the chest of one raider, sending him stumbling backwards. Zynnis quickly jumped to his side, greatsword glinting in the last of the sun peeking out from behind the clouds just before rain began to fall. It seemed that the two of them fought for hours until another blade made contact with flesh- this one, a raider’s scimitar embedded deep into Zynnis’s side just above their hip. A gasp left their lips but they quickly lifted a foot to kick the assailant in the chest, the blade tearing out of them leaving behind jagged bloody skin. Zynnis fell to one knee, gasping for breath and watching as Aman tore apart one, two, three raiders in his fit of rage. It seemed he was unstoppable-

Right up to the moment a raider buried his daggers into his stomach and ripped him right open. Aman screamed, an ear splitting sound Zynnis didn't even know Aman could make, and he collapsed to the ground. The raiders muttered to each other before nodding and darting away down the path. The rain got heavier, and Zynnis made eye contact with Aman, who was breathing heavily and had one hand clamped over his stomach. “Looks like this is it, Cranan,” he wheezed, coughing up a mouthful of blood. Zynnis sucked in a deep breath and shakily got to their feet. They bent down slowly, the pain in their side searing hot, and gripped Aman’s arms. They pulled him up to his feet, then quickly stepped in front of him, allowing him to fall across their back. “Like hell it is.”

The plan had been to get back to town in order to save the both of them. It had taken three hours for Zynnis to cross paths with another patrol. The minute they noticed the other soldiers, they fell to the ground, praying that death would take them too.

After the ambush, Zynnis took solace at the Charming Conjuress, away from the barracks, the other soldiers, everything. They left to assist Knight Captain Harriet Greatrider, a few other soldiers, as well as the families of Florentin, Marvela, Rarsesli and Aman with funeral processions for the lot of them. A bounty was put out on the raiders that ambushed the party. Derrersa put them up in their old room at the brothel, and said any food or drink they ordered would be on the house.

Not that Zynnis did much else than sit at the bar, drink, and sleep.

About six months later, Zynnis was called back to the barracks by the Knight Captain herself, for a purpose unknown. When Zynnis arrived, dressed in simple dirty street clothes as opposed to their usual shining Watch armor, Knight Captain Harriet had gathered every single soldier, as well as many citizens of Little Ivywood. “Zynnis Cranan,” she said in a loud voice. She was flanked by four soldiers, who stood facing Zynnis and saluted. “Your bravery has not gone unnoticed. If it wasn't for you, it would've been days- maybe even weeks- before you and your platoon members, Aman Rockbelly, Marvela Kue, Florentin Wisesnow, and Rarsesli Steeltank, were found by your fellow men. Though we lost four lives that day, it would've been much more without your assistance and identifying the raiders which acted against us. It is true, they have yet to find those particular assailants, but we know that they will be found through the hard work of the Guard.” Harriet turned to a soldier to her left, who knelt before her and offered her a glimmering silver sheath. Harriet took it then approached Zynnis. “This is Knight Griever, a long sword forged right in Little Ivywood in your name,” she explained. As she spoke, she unsheathed the sword, the hilt decorated with expertly designed dragons, mouths agape as they chased after each other. The blade itself was straight and sharp, just as any excellent blade should. “The steel from which it was made came from pieces of armor worn by your compatriots. They were given to the blacksmith per the request of their family members. Consider it a gift from all of us in the Guard, from the families of your fallen soldiers, from the whole of Little Ivywood to thank you for your bravery and excellence.”

For a minute, Zynnis just stares between the sword, the Knight Captain, the saluting soldiers, and the hundreds of teary eyes surrounding them. It took them a bit to find their voice again.

“No.”

The Knight Captain blinked. “What?”

Zynnis cleared their throat. “Knight Captain, with all due respect, I… I failed. If I had acted in the way a good soldier must, my…” They choked a bit. “My friends would still be alive. I failed my mission and broke my oath. I don't deserve a gift like this. It should be buried with those that were braver than me.”

“Zynnis-”

“What do you want me to say?” Zynnis shouted, voice much stronger now, yet still quavering. “Thanks everyone for the gift of a weapon made out of my dead friend’s armor? This will definitely fill the void of losing five of the people closest to me.” Zynnis took a deep breath and rubbed at their eye with the heel of their hand before dropping their voice to a more suitable volume again. “I’m sorry, Knight Captain,” they said, staring down at their feet. “I… I can't accept this.”

When Zynnis returned to the Conjuress that night, the Knight Griever was lying on the bar next to a foamy flagon of ale, and a small note. Zynnis sighed, picked up the flagon and took a long swig before reading the note.

Zynnis,

I understand the pain you must be feeling. Becoming Knight Captain was a path filled with death. I’ve watched fellow soldiers, friends, even lovers fall at the hands of an adversary. Granted, I’ve never carried the body of one of my friend’s on my back for miles through the pouring rain with a near deadly injury, but nevertheless, I am no stranger to this sort of emotional grief. This gift will, of course, not bring your friends back by any means. But I know along with your Guard’s Oath you have a personal mantra of always fighting the good fight. And I know as your captain that you can use this sword to continue to do so, and your friends- wherever they are now- would be ever so grateful to see you take down the ones that took their lives with a blade forged from the armor they wore with pride.

I don't know if it’s revenge that you want. If it is, I would send an army behind you to help you take down those bastards. If not, hang this sword on your wall with pride, or carry it with you on your travels as a memory. Or, if you truly do not want it, return it to me and it will serve as a memorial for the troops lost that day.

You did not fail your duties, soldier. You fulfilled them to the best of your ability. Now it is time to grieve, and to rest.

Yours,

Harriet

Zynnis set the note down and picked up the sword. It was a perfect weight, feeling just right in their hands. They slowly unsheathed it, watched as the candlelight in the bar glinted off the steel like stars. They squeezed the grip of the hilt and set the sheathe on the bar counter. They swung, listening to the blade cut through the air with a whistle.

“Pretty sword, Zee,” a voice said. Zynnis looked up and saw one of the women of the Conjuress breezing through the common room- curly brown hair tied up in a loose bun, soft lacy pink dress loose on her form and sliding off her shoulders. “Where'd you get it?”

Zynnis lowered their arm and caught a glimpse of their reflection in the sword. “The Knight Captain,” they said softly. The woman whistled and chuckled. “How fancy. You must've done something impressive.”

And Zynnis laughed, the sound foreign to them after not having done so in over six months. “Yeah,” they said. “I guess you could say that.”

“Looks like it might rain,” Florentin says, squinting up towards the sky through the thick of leaves. Zynnis looks over as Marvela snickers, her graying black hair falling loosely around her face out of her tight bun atop her head. “You’d hate that, wouldn’t you?” She says, bringing a chuckle out of Zynnis. Florentin blushes and stutters as Aman interrupts him- “Yeah, he’d probably melt!” This makes the whole platoon laugh, sans Florentin, who just looks down at his shoes, flustered. Marvela nudges Zynnis with an elbow. “Rain would never slow down a tank like you, though, right Cranan?”

Zynnis laughs softly. “I don’t know, Kue,” they say. “I might rust over.”

“No, of course you wouldn’t,” Aman says joyfully, elbowing them playfully in the side. “You’re stronger than all of us combined.”

Zynnis laughs again. “Oh, shove it, Beerbelly,” they say, shaking their head. “You all give me too much credit.”

The conversation goes like that for fifteen, twenty, forty-five minutes- Zynnis actually loses track of time. It’s like they aren’t even on patrol, keeping Little Ivywood safe, it’s more like they’re just a group of friends taking a walk together.

“You know what I’m going to do after this patrol?” Aman says, folding his hands behind his head as he walks. “I’m going to the Conjuress and I’m having a drink.”

Zynnis laughs. “You just want to bother me more, huh?”

Aman laughs back. “I’m not going to bother you-”

“You’re going to bother me and all of the ladies you tell your awful jokes to!”

Aman laughs again, hearty and gleeful. “My jokes aren’t that bad!”

Marvela wipes a tear of laughter from her eye and sighs. “Well after this patrol, I’m going to go home to Colette and I’m going to make her dinner-”

“You’re going to poison your dear wife?” Aman says with mock horror and astonishment. “How will your daughter go on?”

Marvela punches Aman hard on the arm and smirks. “I’ll have you know both Colette and Charmaine love my cooking. I’m sure you would to if you took up any of our offers to come to dinner.”

Zynnis snorts and crosses their arms. “I’ll probably just take a damn nap,” they said, looking up at the sky. “Feel like I deserve a good rest.”

Florentin catches up with the three of them, leaving Rarsesli to tail the group and keep an eye out. “Maybe I’ll go to the bookshop,” he says timidly, wringing his hands around the leather grip of his staff. “I’ve had my eye on one by Nadine Sunpelt- that author down in Golgotha? I guess she’s writing a new series of-”

“Erotic romance novels?” Zynnis supplies, grinning at Florentin. Florentin blushes and laughs awkwardly, stammering as he attempts to get out exactly what this woman is writing. Marvela claps him on the back, which causes him to fall forward just a bit. “Don’t worry, Wisesnow, we’ve all been there.”

“I-it- it isn’t-”

“Well, then, what about you, Steeltank?” Aman interrupts, leaving Florentin a blushing mess and falling behind.

There’s no response.

“Rarsesli?” Marvela says, looking over her shoulder towards him.

Zynnis looks over to Rarsesli-

And their vision gets blurry.

#zynnis #my writing

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panticwritten · 6 years

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Breaking furnace - Solitary Chapter 8

Chapter 8: Maybe This is How it Was Meant to Be

Table of contents!

All of my writing!

This is! The end of Solitary! There are three books left, but first we have the next In-Between Collection. There are four scenes in this collection, so we’ll be back with Death Sentence on October 19th.

This weekend, I’ll see if I can get all of the links fixed on the previous chapters, so it’s easy to get to each chapter from any of the posts. And, if you didn’t see, I now have links to all of my writing compiled in one post!

(I’ve had to change quite a bit of formatting to post this on tumblr. If you want to read this chapter with its original formatting, you can do so HERE.)

Remember that this is a daydream taking place in the Escape From Furnace universe, so keep that in mind if you haven’t read EFF.

Word count: 2442

Content warnings for this chapter:

Emotional manipulation and blackmail

Kane is kind of an ass, but that’s nothing new

Feel free to message me if I’m missing any.

The second In-Between Collection will start on September 21st at 7pm PST.

If you like what I do here, maybe consider buying me a Ko-fi or checking out my Patreon! I love being able to put so much out for free, but this would be a great way to show support and also see cool new content!

♥️♥️♥️C♥️♥️♥️

If Sawyer ever brings up the idea of coming back to Furnace when we’re done here, I’m going to kill them. My head’s still messed up from the wisps of fear and anger I’m getting from them. The crimson light of the infirmary doesn’t help, though we don’t linger long.

Beyond, surgery amphitheatres dot the walls. I don’t look to find out which ones contain wheezers, which ones have children being cut into. I just need to get to the end of this hall.

The others joke ahead of me. They can taste the possibility of freedom.

I don’t even know what I would do if we managed to get to the surface now. Would the rest of the game continue? Would we have to face the might of Furnace and his creations without the help of nectar?

I’m more scared to find out than I am of Cross and the new nectar.

But I follow behind them and keep my mouth shut. There’s no point in telling them that they’re wrong. That hope is what we need to get out of here.

At a three-way junction, we continue straight ahead. An iron door waits at the end, heavy and unyielding. We normally sneak in and try to climb the chimney. It’s the perfect size for us to climb, aside from being about a mile straight up.

The roar on the other side of the door tells me we’re not going to be able to do that this time. See, no point in killing their hope. That sound did it for me.

The furnace is on. I hate that I’m relieved, but all I can think is that I’m happy not to climb up there. Ecstatic not to have to end up burned alive to move forward.

“I ain’t going back there,” Kevin insists when I stop behind the rest. “I’d rather die.”

“Better do it quick, then,” I say. “There’s nowhere else for us to go.”

Kevin glares at me. He lunges through the group to shove me back, but it’s all for show. His only options are the infirmary or death.

“This is your fault.” He levels a finger at my chest. “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

“You agreed to come,” I growl. “I didn’t make anyone do anything!”

For once, that’s true. I made a point to have Sawyer disable my powers of manipulation in this universe, but that wasn’t the case when I was gathering everyone. If they had refused to come, I would have backed off.

I didn’t make anyone do anything.

“We weren’t expecting this.” Alex tugs on the door to the furnace, though I’m not sure what he would do if it actually opened. “It’s worse than last time.”

“No one expected this. If I had known—” I look back down the hall at a shout. Cross is coming. I continue in a rushed hiss. “If I’d known it would turn out like this, I never would have asked.”

“Fat lotta good that does us now.” Donovan drags Kevin back by the back of his uniform. “Unless you got a better plan than the usual one, keep your mouth shut.”

“But that blue stuff—”

“We’ll be fine,” I promise. I think of how many times I’ve heard Sawyer say something similar, how many times it turned out to be a lie for them. “There’s nothing else we can do, unless you’re down for a suicide pact.”

“That truly would be something.”

I spin around to see Cross standing at the end of the hall with an entourage of blacksuits behind him. Several look less than happy, but the bulk of them grin those half moons that I’m starting to fear again.

“Cross,” Zee gasps, so quiet I barely hear it.

Cross, however, beams cruelly.

“Quite. You know what comes next.” He raises a hand and the blacksuits come forward in a rush. “The time to run is over.”

I expect a vice grip on my arm, but the suits part around me like water. They grab hold of my friends, who all fight tooth and nail. I still have to watch the five of them get dragged back past Cross.

To the infirmary.

He strolls closer with his hands in his pockets.

I wish I could say I’m not terrified. My brain can’t decide between flight and freeze, so I manage a half-step back. All it earns is a broader grin.

“You certainly have my prized specimen in a mood,” he notes. His voice is too light, it trips every alarm I have. “It’s hard to believe you used to be so close.”

Sawyer.

I keep my jaw clenched shut. I can’t give him a reason to kill me. Virtuoso warned me of that.

“Without her leading your merry band, I suppose that makes you the competition this round.”

He stops barely a yard away. His smile reeks of malice. It takes me a few beats to decide he wants a response.

“It doesn’t change anything,” I choke out. “You won’t keep them forever.”

If possible, the corners of his smile broaden further.

“I don’t expect to. She seems to have plenty of pent up aggression toward you, however.” He taps his chin, making a show of thoughtfulness. “I doubt she would need much prompting to take your life if the opportunity arose.”

His words drench me like ice water. My muscles lock and it takes every ounce of concentration I have to keep my breathing level.

Sawyer hates losing people, no matter how they make it look from the outside.

Would they be able to recover if they found out they had killed one of us while under Cross’s thumb? That they had killed me? Even if I know it’s not their fault, if I forgive them, what would it do to them?

“I’m sure you know what you have to do to avoid that regrettable outcome.”

Regrettable outcome.

He jerks his head and turns back down the hall. I only hesitate as long as it takes to realize he’s inviting me to follow before I do. It’s clever, using them against me.

He found my weak point.

So, I trail behind him without a word. There’s no point in fighting. I need the nectar to stand a chance against him or any of Furnace’s creatures. I know that.

He knows that.

He still leads me at a leisurely pace along the hall back to the infirmary. He’s leading me directly to what I want. He hasn’t changed the way he reacts to our plans, he’s letting us through without any resistance.

But he doesn’t know about the pieces of us I sealed in our consciousnesses. He doesn’t know—I hope—about Virtuoso and their warnings. He can’t know.

We can do this. I can do this. I have to swallow everything else down and know that we will get out of this prison.

With that in mind, I push past the plastic slats into the red light of the infirmary. I follow Cross through a curtain to an empty cot. At his indication, I climb onto the bed with a bad taste in my mouth.

Cross moves to leave, but pauses with a hand on the stained fabric.

“Remember: Obedience is the difference between life and death in my prison.”

He whisks out without another word, without waiting for a response. A wheezer takes his place in an instant, and I lie back and stare at the ceiling. I don’t want to see this.

The sharp sting of a needle in my arm leads to my vision falling away. I think I’m still conscious, somewhere, but I don’t know where that is. I beat down the instinct to fight back.

I have to do what Cross says, for now.

He’ll get what’s coming to him soon enough.

???V???

“At least he didn’t get himself killed.”

I glare up at the glowing splinter. It shrugs and drops down to stand next to me. It rests a hand on my shoulder. I don’t turn away from my screens, all paused on various people and locations.

“There’s nothing I can do for him now,” I say eventually. “Chip away at Sawyer, maybe, but I can’t interfere with nectar.”

It pats my shoulder with a soft sound in its throat.

“Just keep up what you’re doing. Put your calculations to use, plan for different possibilities.”

I shrug it off and void the screens. I may as well let the universe run on its own. No matter what I’ve tried, I can’t affect how the nectar changes its hosts. Not to mention, if I keep pushing at Sawyer with my recycled phrases they might shove me out.

I can’t afford to start over at this point.

“My offer to help is still on the table.”

I jerk around to find the splinter still standing there. It normally flits off when I turn it away. Now, though, its brows crease in an uncharacteristically serious frown.

“I can do this,” I mutter.

“I know.” It dips its head in a nod. It takes me aback. It’s never agreed with that before. “But I could make it easier. Set all the limits you want, make rules for me, whatever.”

It shrugs and finally tucks its legs up to its chest to float. It doesn’t leave, though it looks away.

“I’m scared for them, too,” it says.

I’m saved from needing to answer by the door to the outside appearing so close it almost knocks me over. The splinter shakes its head and drifts off to the edge of our living area.

“Hey, kid, how goes running the world?”

I turn to the door and frown. Kane has come to speak to me several times now, keeping me aware of the world outside. It gives me some idea of how urgent getting out is. So far, we aren’t high on the priority list.

“Nothing is going right, but that’s nothing new.” I sigh. “Do you have news, then?”

“Jess wants to talk to you.”

I grimace. The real one is the last person I should be talking to.

“No.”

He makes a nonconcommital sound and the thud of a body slumping against the door follows. I lean my head against the door. This is the closest I’ve ever been to the actual Cube.

“I figured I would ask.” The distinct sound of shuffling paper drifts through the door. “As for news: Jess is on with the Scouts again. I’m keeping an eye out, but she could use something to stabilize her.”

“They’ll kill you eventually if you keep using the wrong pronouns, you know.”

He barks a laugh.

“Well, you know,” he says with a smile in his voice. “If they ever actually ask me, I’ll be more than happy to comply.”

I shake my head but leave it alone. They’ll tear his head off anyway if he’s not careful.

“I’m trying to find a way to let Connor project himself through the door, since it doesn’t look like they have any intention of finishing this daydream soon,” I say.

“With how things are looking around here, that might not actually be the best idea.”

I pause. I didn’t think Connor’s presence could be considered a bad thing as far as Jess is concerned. I consider asking why, but he would say if he had any intention of telling me.

“Is there more?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

“Hey, is everyone else doing okay?”

I jump and turn to find the splinter hovering just behind me. Kane makes a surprised sound.

“Hello to you, too. I don’t follow gossip much—”

“That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

I stare at the splinter, the testiness in its voice unfamiliar. It smiles, though, an excited expression trying to be a smirk.

He sighs.

“I dunno what you want me to say, kid.” He sounds more genuine now. It’s like talking to two different people. “It’d take days to list out all the drama around here.”

The splinter presses closer and rests a hand against the door. The wood warps, and for a second I think it might break out. It doesn’t make any real change on the door, though, and it eventually pats the surface.

“I’ll just have to pick your brain when I get back, then.”

I look at the splinter, and its smile has turned into a bitter scowl. It doesn’t match its light tone. I wonder if Kane looks the same when his equally cheery response comes on the other side.

“Sure thing, kid.”

The door disappears. The splinter keeps its hand up, eyes closed, for several seconds before letting it drop to its side.

I’ve never been to the Cube. I don’t have friends or relationships to have left. I know about everyone in an abstract sense. The knowledge is there, but I don’t know them. Kane’s the only person out there I’ve even talked to.

But this splinter was a part of a version of Jess that remembers being out there. Sure, it’s technically a piece of them that has never set foot in the Cube either, but it remembers being there. It remembers everyone, it remembers being surrounded by people.

It has a home to go to.

After a few minutes, it swings its head around. Its signature, tired smile is nowhere to be found. It watches me warily.

I haven’t been treating this splinter of Sawyer very well at all.

“Fine.”

It perks up and tilts its head.

“‘Fine,’ what?”

I shrug and turn away. My screens pop back up without prompting.

“When Cross finding out about us poses no danger—after Connor’s final test, maybe—you can help.” It gasps, but I plow on. “There will be rules, but the two of us together will get this done much faster, right?”

Arms wrap around my middle. I manage to hold in the gasp that wants to startle past my lips. The splinter presses its head against the back of my shoulder and squeezes tight.

I pat its arms awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. It withdraws within seconds, and I don’t have to look to know it’s vanished into the ether.

I try to focus on the universe we’re supposed to take care of. I have to figure out how to outline the rules to keep the splinter from overstepping our bounds. With how creative Sawyer—Jess, whichever name is more fitting—can get in dodging rules of a universe, I have to be extremely careful.

With how long it’s been since Jess moved the universe forward, I have a feeling I’ll have a long time to think.

#writing #madd #maddart #my writing #bf #bf writing and info #the only one having a good time here is cross #and that should be illegal

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