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ashleyswrittenwords · 4 years

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The Queen’s Tournament III

A ZeLink Fanfiction (Part Three of Three)

(Art by the wonderful @ramibriidge)

Summary: Princess Zelda is ready for her coronation. Her court, however, is not. In an effort for a King, the ministers pressure the crown princess into agreeing to marry whoever champions in a tournament any man in the kingdom can participate in.

Note: I’m so crazy happy that this little story gained so much traction! You all are so nice and I’m truly indebted to you all. In the future, I’ll have a bunch of other cute little fics like this one - so please follow! I also am continuing How to be a Queen, my very long ZeLink fic. She’s my baby.

The Queen’s Tournament

The sun was just as relentless as it had been the days prior. This time, however, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky to give momentary reprieve. Zelda wondered if the masking spells also staved off the sun’s assault. The princess was never the one to tan, but she hadn’t had an issue up until now. The present problem was the excessive sweat already dripping from Yoland’s forehead as the announcer rattled off rules that her attention span couldn’t afford.

There were three others in the open space. Lord Ganondorf was sizing up his decided opponent across from him, a man whose name slipped her mind. He was a sword smith for the castle armory, she remembered vaguely. She tried to recall where else she had seen his face, but the blue eyes from across the way burned holes through her. In an attempt to release nervous energy, she thumbed at the cuff of her sleeve and diverted her gaze to the ground.

Yoland hadn’t had the opportunity of speaking with Link this morning. Each contender was escorted to opposite entrances of the theater and ever since the awkward reintroductions were being said, the hero hadn’t stopped glaring at her. Even from so far away, the energy he directed at Yoland was beyond unwelcoming – it was borderline obsessive. Zelda racked her brain for reasons why but came up short. There was some semblance of camaraderie yesterday when Link took the liberty of distracting Ganondorf. Even their brief exchange was amiable. Link had even smiled!

And a different encounter the night before… well, it hadn’t stopped plaguing her mind. The memory had slipped its way under her skin and to the very depths of her mind. Each time she closed her eyes to sleep that night she could only see the way he looked at her – wanting, needing, but unable to verbalize it.

But now it was as if that hadn’t occurred.

Dark brows drew towards each other. Maybe it was a guy thing? Something that Zelda couldn’t understand despite looking like one. That only worried her more.

Her attention drew to the choice of weapons that were laid in the center of the arena. She had already made up her mind of what to choose: The thin longsword in the middle. It looked light enough for her build, but long enough for a decent reach. It was also a weapon she had the most experience with. Lord Ganondorf would probably pick the Desert Saber – a long curved blade with a thick guard at the base. The blacksmith would probably choose a similar weapon with his stature being just as bulky as the lord.

“Gentlemen!” A deep yell echoed off the walls, “Thirty seconds!”

The unsuspected announcement jolted Zelda and her heart pounded in her chest as a group of women shouted her alias behind her. Then, the voice counted from ten.

Seven…

Five…

Three…

Two…

One…

Yoland lept off his back foot and sprinted forward. Wind rushed past his ears and the only sounds were of his heart and the dull yells from the stands. Sweat meshed with the leather gloves as a hand wrapped around the handle of the chosen blade. Yet, the sword wouldn’t rise from the clay. For a short moment, Zelda peered upward to see why she was suddenly shaded from the sun. Then, an elbow collided to the side of her head.

It happened in a split second, and the motion of her jerking brought the blade loose from under Link’s boot. She stumbled to her feet and struggled to steady her gaze. Link was parrying an onslaught from the Gerudo politician and to her left the blacksmith was making his way to her. The events caught up to her and she readied her stance, parting her feet evenly on the ground.

Before the man reached her, Ganondorf rushed him and barely gave Yoland a second glance. Rushed footsteps sounded off towards her and Yoland raised his blade just as Link crashed his own down. The sudden pressure on the thin metal made the smaller man sway, but he rebounded quickly.

Link moved wordlessly, but vigilant. It barely gave Zelda space to collect her thoughts because she was so preoccupied with watching his feet. With each step and slide, she flashbacked to their training and used his actions against him. The hero slowly grew frustrated with the little show of progress and bared harder into a slash towards Yoland who gritted his teeth in surprise. The tip of the blade cut into the navy fabric of the tunic and Zelda knew she needed distance. Link could easily overpower her with such a heavy-weighted sword in this proximity. All he needed was to corner her.

Therefore, she took the moment to double back.

A cry rang out and the stands were shouting something that she couldn’t make out. It had apparently drew Link in as well as he lowered his weapon slightly to look over at the other two fighters.

Ganondorf had cut deeply into the arm of the blacksmith, who had dropped his weapon in pain. Blood ran down his arm and he screamed out again at the sight. Zelda looked between Link and the man for a moment, question invading her features. The only way for someone to drop out of the sparring was to admit surrender.

The lord was looking annoyed and stepped towards him. With the butt of his guard he brought it sharply upon the blacksmith’s crown and the man crumbled like a corpse. Yoland gasped involuntarily.

With dark eyes wide with alarm, Yoland turned towards his opponent, “He’s going to kill him.”

Link had almost turned his head to negate the statement, but as the Lord picked up the man’s head by his hair with the sword in his grasp there was a shout.

“Ganondorf, stop!” It was Link. His brow was creased and his defensive body language towards Yoland dropped to face the Gerudo man who was now looking irritated at the interruption. “You’re not to kill him!”

“And what’s to stop me?” The man grimaced.

This time, Yoland spoke. “He has obviously surrendered.”

Ganondorf tilted his head to the side. As a taunting motion, he leaned down to the blacksmith as if he were listening intently. “I’m afraid he has nothing to say!”

Link looked at Yoland, a glint in his eye. In that short moment, an unspoken agreement was made. They’d take care of their business with each other after this immediate threat was dealt with. Yoland gave a short nod before addressing the aristocrat again, “I won’t let you harm him again.”

The Gerudo snorted, “You? The hero wannabe I could understand, but you? Pathetic.” Yoland winced as the unconscious body of the blacksmith crashed into the ground once more. He approached slowly, wiping the thick blood from the peak of the blade. Lord Ganondorf was a large man in both stature and demeanor. Even the few armored men that stood at the entrance closest to them waited idly. Again, Link met his eyes and he motioned towards the group. If they could disarm or incapacitate Ganondorf, they’ll interfere. But until then…

Ganondorf sauntered over, leering at the two smaller men. His yellow eyes intensified under the sun and Yoland narrowed his eyes. “Don’t look so fearful. Aren’t you the man that could cross realms? How has life been like since giving up that Master Sword for the cozy retirement life of being the princess’s lapdog?”

Link was the first to make a move. His sword harshly met the politician’s own which knocked him off balance. Before the Gerudo could react to the aggression, Yoland went to slash at the wrist that supported the blade. A fist collided into Yoland’s stomach, air fled from his lungs and his body crashed to the floor. The raven-haired man gaped for air. The aristocrat’s boot kicked into Yoland’s midsection, robbing him of recovery. A wounded wheeze escaped him.

A pair of boots appeared before him and Ganondorf was forced back. There were short exchanges as Yoland came to his knees.

“Always in the way, aren’t you Hero?” The Gerudo spat.

Link held his own, “Only yours. No need to get jealous.”

“It doesn’t matter what they call you,” the lord grunted as Link brought his blade down, “You’ll always be a peasant worthy of only pity in her eyes. This won’t change anything.”

Yoland stood now, breathing shallowly. Internally, he hoped the aches were temporary. Ganondorf had his back to him now, facing Link instead. The latter doing a show of enrapturing the large man in conversation. With a gulp, Yoland left his weapon in the dust and ran forward. He wrapped a forearm around the man’s neck and tightened the hold with the opposite arm. He yelled out Link’s name with hurry in his voice.

As the arms tightened, the politician raised his blade with the inability to shout. Link reacted by hitting the blunt of his sword into Ganondorf’s dominant hand. The weapon fell, and hands swiped at Yoland who felt the world turn sideways.

The guards that previously hung to the side approached now, prying the oversized man off with handcuffs in their grasp. Too busy choking, Ganondorf spat curses and shouts. Just past the disarray, Zelda sighed in relief at seeing the assaulted blacksmith coming to.

“That was unpleasant,” Yoland said, dusting off his trousers. Link didn’t reply and Yoland saw why. The glint in his eye was gone, replaced with distaste once more. With eyebrows raised in alarm, he fumbled for his weapon as Link came towards him. Zelda within was beside herself. The ally she saw in him wasn’t in front of her anymore and his expression was jarring, but she couldn’t linger on it for long. It wasn’t time for Zelda, she needed Yoland to be present.

He searched the opposite man’s face, “Can’t we breathe for a moment?”

“Why were you in the garden?” Link snarled, lunging towards him.

Yoland deflected the attempted blow. Surprise met his features and his heart pounded adrenaline. It had occurred to Zelda that it was Link that made a noise in the garden this morning. Her heart lurched in her chest, but by his demeanor he hadn’t seen her until after casting the spell. If she had waited any longer he would have known. Yoland didn’t display Zelda’s worries, instead he grinned. “Private matters.”

Staying spry on his feet, Yoland watched Link’s footwork and matched it. It was clear Link wanted answers because he was being easy on her, like when they trained. The only difference being that he meant to injure instead of teach. Speaking of Link, he looked beyond irritated, “What does that mean? Why were you outside Zelda’s terrace?”

She didn’t mean to laugh, but it came out anyway. It was easy to voice what one could gather from the awkward predicament. “What’s it to you? Maybe we have a thing going on.”

The look on his face confirmed what he had been thinking prior. Zelda regretted her words, but it was too late. Whatever preconceived notion he had conjured was confirmed. He lowered his sword for a moment, his head tilted in disbelief. “I don’t believe you.”

“You probably shouldn’t,” Yoland took the opportunity to aim his own blade at Link who blocked it at the last second. They were caught in a stalemate. “You never told me why you were here,” Yoland grunted out, struggling against Link’s added pressure.

“Do you really want to know? Or are you just trying to distract me?” Link said as his opponent side-stepped out of the stalemate and Link slashed his blade through the air. The move reminded him of something he couldn’t pinpoint.

Zelda knew she couldn’t beat him in strength. Again, she had to find distance and escape somehow, “Humor me.” She crouched to kick at his feet. Perhaps if he trips, she could disarm him. The action didn’t follow through and he dove to the side.

He stood straight, breathing heavily. Courage stirred in Zelda to see that she had kept him going for this long. Link shook his head in exasperation, “I just want to give her a choice.”

Yoland guarded himself, but his brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“When I win,” Link cracked a grin, “I’ll ask her what she wants.”

Their blades clashed again. Yoland blinked as if his statement didn’t register. “What if she says no?”

He didn’t unlock his eyes from his opponent. The blond hair stuck to his forehead now and his breath came in short pants, “I’ll leave. Or whatever she wants me to do. I thought about faking my death to get out of this place. Would be nice to see the mountains this time of year.”

A bitter laugh came from the black-haired man, “You’re bluffing.”

But he wasn’t and Yoland’s laughter settled to silence. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. I thought about it for a long time,” Link plainly said. As if it were nothing. Zelda felt nauseous. Her face felt like fire and the heat wasn’t helping.

“S-so,” Yoland fumbled backward, their blades parted as Zelda scrambled to get a grasp of what he was saying. He didn’t really want to marry her? With surprised eyes, Yoland ducked at a sudden slash towards him. Eventually, she found her voice, “What if she said yes? What would you do, Hero?”

Link frowned. He acted as if he didn’t understand. Reason fought through her flustered mind and she narrowed in on her advantageous situation. Yoland kept eye contact but bared down on his left foot and swung with all his might near the hilt of his sword. Link hadn’t expected it because his blade flew out of his hand. Yoland’s foot hit him squarely on the chest and kicked him backward, the man toppled over.

Yoland cleared his throat, breathing heavily now as he looked down at the bewildered hero. “What would you do?”

“I’m not stupid,” Link coughed, but reacted by grabbing the ankle of the unsuspecting man. “I’d marry her if she wanted me.”

Zelda yelped as her back hit the ground. Reflex brought her right arm inward along with the sword. It ended up below Link’s neck who looked precariously between it and Yoland’s eyes. He slowly backed up and Yoland didn’t move to stop him. It was Zelda’s head that was spinning.

She stood and met him as he retrieved his weapon. They were both out of breath. Link froze for a moment. He took a step closer and stared.

“What?” Zelda breathed out, turning to see what was behind her. There was nothing but open air. “What?” She repeated. With an arm raised she attacked where he parried lamely. The sword fell to the dirt.

His expression was indescribable, then he grinned.

“Link,” she was getting frustrated, “This isn’t funny.”

Link was laughing now. “You win.”

Zelda cocked her head to the side, “What are you- Stop it!” She stomped her foot on the ground, but it didn’t stop him.

The man looked towards the tower where the announcer was and shouted, “I forfeit!”

Then, Zelda noticed the quietness in the stands. With a glance at her hands, she understood why. Her masking spell had slipped. Her hands were no longer had the tan callousness of a man. They were pale and the only imperfections were the scrapes and bruises of today. She dropped her weapon and reached back to grab her braid. The locks were blonde.

“The…” the announcer seemed to step away and was speaking to another person, “The winner of the Queen’s Tournament is… Princess Zelda?”

The crowd irrupted in mayhem.

“Ridiculous.”

“It’s for show, Zelda. He’ll be used as an example. He won’t be convicted.”

Zelda pointed at the one of the fabric pieces a maid held out. They were the same hues of blue, but evidently to the designer they were not. With a shake of her head she spun around to Impa, “How was he supposed to know and why wasn’t I told?”

“For your protection. Your coronation is a week away and-”

The princess sputtered, “My protection? He’s supposed to be the one helping to protect me!” She stomped around the advisor with fire in her eyes, angrily picking out goblets for the celebration.

“They put Link Forester behind bars for threatening me with a weapon,” her eyes were wide with disbelief and Zelda spoke breathlessly. “How am I supposed to put up with that? I am the acting queen and they went over my head.”

Impa sighed, exhausted. “They aren’t thrilled with your… display. You know that. We are down to days before a proper crowned monarch ascends to the throne after two years of absence. The ministry will pull every trick to disgruntle you before they no longer can.”

A deep flush crept up Zelda’s neck. It was born from a sudden frustration and the thought of Link. She hadn’t seen him since the tournament. They were barely able to speak a sentence until she was dragged away to be assessed for injury. Zelda had never been opposed to marriage, if anything she was annoyed with the idea of match making made on other’s part. She wanted to be in control of her life and if that meant wanting a man in it, then it will happen. Being of royalty, she learned early on that the criticisms and judgements of others had to be isolated from her own or else she’d be a vessel others controlled.

She cleared her voice, turning back to her mentor. “Where is he?”

“The holding cells,” Impa said before realizing her mistake, but it was too late and the princess had already brushed by her.

‘You know,’ Link thought, ‘It could be worse.’

Sure, the floor was cold and the only place to sleep was on a wool blanket with a myriad of holes. And the bathroom wasn’t the cleanest, but the soldiers he did know brought a generous amount of food for his meals and sometimes a maid came by with extra blankets. So yes, Link supposed it could be worse.

Link heard from rumors that they tried to have Zelda abdicate after the tournament, but once it went public there were protests in the streets. Borderline riots, from what he heard from one stationed guard. “Good,” was all he had replied. Because it was. There was no one’s approval Zelda cared more about than her peoples’. Link knew she felt bolstered by that and no doubt her attitude towards the house of ministers worsened. Now, they were saying her coronation was next week.

The tournament itself was two weeks ago now. He tried to say something to Zelda before they parted, but there was nothing that could prepare him for her presence. When her blade was touching his throat, he had watched her eyes change from dark to light. It was, to say the least, a shocking moment. It was no wonder how Yoland matched his footwork so well, but it was also obvious that she had practiced beyond what he had seen. Link was proud and maybe a little embarrassed by the things he had said to her throughout the tournament.

They had arrested him only a couple days ago under the pretense of attempted treason, which confused him to no end. He was actually on his way to pack for an escape, but there wasn’t much he could do about several armed castle guards storming into his room in the middle of the night. So, here he was waiting for a trial, which could take weeks if the court wanted it that way.

Link looked up from his place on the floor towards the stairs that led to the holding cells. There sounded like an argument occurring outside. The door opened and more shouting. His ears twitched up at the voice.

“Do you know who I am?” There was a clanking that rattled down the stairs and a sword landed at the foot. Another clinking was heard being wrestled with.

“Your Grace, please! I can’t allow you-”

Light steps bounded down the stairs and a form appeared, her colorful skirts were hiked up above her ankles and her head was turned to interrupt.

“You can’t allow me to what? See my own subjects? Remind me, sir, who did you swear your allegiance to?”

Zelda had the same effect on him as she always has. She stole his breath away and her casual beauty forever enraptured him. The princess didn’t have her crown on today, meaning there weren’t any public appearances. Her blonde hair spilled down her shoulders and she was impossibly perfect. Now, she was muttering her grievances and taking care to step over the fallen blade. She scanned the cells until her eyes rested on him. Zelda paused in her steps.

Link found his voice, “What are you doing here?”

She walked over slowly with a ring of steel keys in her grasp. Zelda looked thrown off, as if she was shocked to see him. “I- What are you doing here?”

“Well, I am incarcerated for harming the crown,” he jested. Zelda’s frown deepened and she fiddled with the keys, beginning to test them in the lock that separated them.

Link came to his feet and met her at the door. Concern flooded his mind, “What are you trying to do, Zelda?”

“I’m trying to get you out. This is stupid.”

He reached his hands through the bars and stopped her own. Their eyes met and he watched her brow crease in confusion. “You’re getting into trouble and you’re not even queen yet.”

“I’d rather be in trouble then leave you in here under false pretenses,” she said, looking up at him with an annoyed expression. But behind her eyes was a tinge of sadness. He smiled softly at her, “If you wait a week, you can pardon me yourself.”

“No! I… I want you there.”

Link looked thrown off by her comment. “That’s nice, Zel, but-”

“Were you telling the truth at the tournament?” She searched his eyes desperately. Her cheeks were reddening. He blinked in confusion, she was talking fast, and he could barely keep up, “What?”

“Two weeks ago. After Lord Ganondorf was dragged off the field. Were you telling the truth?”

Her hands grasped around his and Link felt his heart jump in his chest. Her head was just barely resting on the bars and he wanted nothing but to make whatever was causing her distress to go away.

“What part?” His lips quirked upward ever so slightly. “I only remember talking to a man with a peculiar name.”

“Link!” He heard her stomp her foot like she did then. “I’m serious!”

Link’s forehead touched to cold bars as he watched her frantic eyes and he wondered briefly why. Now the comparisons between the untrustworthy man and Zelda made sense. It was a wonder to him that he hadn’t figured it out, but if Link were honest with himself, he was never the type of man to draw logical conclusions with someone like Zelda involved. She was horribly intoxicating. With a heavy breath he spoke, “About why I was there?”

She nodded slowly and he felt like he couldn’t breathe with such big eyes on him. He didn’t feel like this against Zant. Sure, he was nervous. But Zelda was different. She was beautiful, strong, and unbelievably stubborn. “You’d been dragging your feet for the days and weeks leading up to it. Sadness and anger don’t suit you well, Zelda. Of course I was telling the truth,” Link smiled softly.

Her breath caught and Link thought he had said something wrong. Before he went to apologize, Zelda spoke up, “Marriage. W-what about being married? To me?”

“Marriage?” He leaned back to get a full look at her. Zelda’s face was blotched in red and she watched his reaction with wide eyes, “I’m sorry! I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…”

“Being married to you?” Link said again, his smile wavered, “Zelda, a man wouldn’t be a man if he didn’t dream about being with the most beautiful woman in Hyrule at least once.”

She looked expectant, but nervous. Her voice was uneven and her eyes never straying. “Even you?”

Link had to steady himself from doing anything rash. Her lips were so close and he thanked the goddesses for the bars separating them, though if she leaned closer…

“Yes,” his voice dipped low, “Especially me.”

He leaned down, watching her reaction as he did. She didn’t move and he couldn’t control his composure without her pushing him away. A part of Link wanted her to do just that, tell him no, or move back to give him some indication that what he was doing was wrong. But despite his silent rationale slipping away, she did none of those things. Instead, she waited for him with eyes flickering to his lips. Without a moment longer, Link eagerly pressed his lips onto hers and they were softer than he ever fantasized about. Her hands traveled upwards to his forearms until they were stopped by the bars. She breathed deeper into the kiss and Link was convinced she was a drug he’d forever be addicted to.

Far too soon, she pulled away and without catching her breath she spoke breathlessly, “I love you. Marry me.”

Between being dazed by her kiss and her words, he felt light-headed. The world passed by him as he stared dizzily at the woman who waited timorously. “I love you- wait, what?” He felt like passing out.

“Marry me?”

“But what about your coronation?”

She shook her head, “I don’t care.”

“Your cabinet, the ministers, the people?”

Again, she shook her head fervently as Link stared bewildered at the woman before him.

“I don’t care about them. I know what I want and I want you.”

He couldn’t stop the beating in his chest and the smile that painted across his lips. Despite the whirlwind of weight being dropped onto him and slowly coming to the fact that this may be the single most important moment in his life, doubt gnawed at him. His eyes searched the ground and his palms grew sweaty. “Zelda, are you sure you want me? I… Everything Ganondorf said wasn’t all false.”

“I’ve never been surer about anything than I am right now,” she spoke with a steady voice. Even had he lied to himself and refused her hand, there wasn’t a power in this world to keep Zelda’s stubbornness from winning. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“You do have the keys, love.”

She stared at him for a moment. “I thought that meant getting in trouble, Link.”

“I believe we’ve surpassed trouble at this point.”

“Fair point,” she nodded, laughing lightly until she managed to shove a key into the lock. The rusty hinges creaked as the door opened. Link brushed a hand through his hair, “You know the implications of me marrying you, right?”

“I know, and frankly I think you’ll do fine,” she smiled as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I’m just a goat herder from South Hyrule. I can’t offer much. I don’t even have a ring,” Link beamed at her with pure adoration in his eyes.

Zelda hummed, “I don’t mind.” Her smile dropped, “You never said yes.”

Link grinned wryly, his lips already itching for another kiss. “Yes. Yes one-hundred times over to marry you.”

#fanfiction #legend of zelda #loz au #zelink #zelink fanfiction #link #zelda #link x zelda #zelda x link #the queens tournament

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secret-time-is-here · 5 years

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The bad guys rewrite

Notes: For original accounts anniversary (June 14) I decided to rewrite The bad guys series into one -yes one- long story. Also, thank you to @toynako (Not sure if you want me to tag you here) for the first ever person to like my crappy writing :3

warnings: too many to put, but it’s really long (7,150 to be exact)

Boredom. How long had he felt it? Had it been Decades or Centries? What could he do?

He only had so many AUs to play with to soothe his indifference, it’s not like he’d ever owned any friends, and even then, if he did, would he be in the place he is in now?

The self-proclaimed King sat in his throne, feeling small compared to the size of the room. He sat laying across the seat and its two arms, looking like a child forced to this role due to his height and him swinging his legs. However, this man was far from a child, he was in his hundreds and was about to reach his 217th birthday- marking 200 years reigning as King.

He glanced over at one of his tendrils, a mass of solidified goop that ran like a waterfall but forever stayed in its own shape, defying all laws of Matter it could. The color was a dark green, almost black-but still held elements of blue- creating a new color of its own, it even matched the color scheme of him himself and by extension the palette for most of his decor.

The goop that covered that tendril wasn’t just there either, it covered his whole body- from his skull to his skeletal toes, that was the only color you could see. Although, the color fit his self-proclaimed title as the “King of Darkness” perfectly.

The goop itself could become a burden, however, the only reason he even had the goop was because of the Dark apples. It could even fall off sometimes- he had to learn that the hard way- but it only stuck to him and to nothing or anyone else, at least he didn’t have to clean it off.

He laid there a while longer, searching his mind for anything to do. After searching through the mental files of memories, he remembered something he specifically put away in his private library, an area where he stored spirals of Notes on Aus, Journals, and much much more. He teleported to the spot, not caring to walk the distance to the room.

The object in question was a medium sized and handcrafted spiral that a close childhood… companion had given to him as a Birthday gift when he was 14, the memories came surging back to him as he picked it up. He remembered how the other insisted that they stayed away from the village nearby that day because it was their day, and no one was to interrupt it. They spent that whole day together reading his favorite books, then later had a well-made meal followed by a delicious dark chocolate cake that was just the right amount of bitter and sweet.

This meaning there was almost no sweetness to it, strong dark chocolate as the King called it (70-80% cocoa for you readers). He could tell his companion didn’t care for the cake all that much, and remembering the face he made when he had the first bite- probably didn’t like it at all, but his companion still ate on. He hid his distaste for the food and just wanted the other to be happy, which, surprisingly, worked at the time.

The King often missed the past, he smiled at the memories- but then his smile turned flat as he turned through the pages, looking for any notes that stood out. The past was the past and he now had to look forward and forget what made him the victim, and instead remember what made him the feared guardian and dark King of today.

The spiral held notes he had taken from hearing the villages conversations about other AUs and outcodes, at the time he didn’t understand most of it, but after the years he slowly pieced everything together and could talk about almost any AU you asked about. He set up timelines of events, specific details on AUs, and even what made the AU special or terrible- helping him to avoid them then and take Negativity from them now.

He finally found what he was looking for, it was towards the middle of the spiral and written bigger than everything else- meant for him to remember it. A learning strategy if he remembered correctly, he purposefully did this so he could remember that peculiarity of these two specific individuals.

The first one was Error, a destroyer of worlds, he wrote for him possible motivation and wrote as much on his backstory as he heard. He put a few possible timelines together, he became an Error and already hated the world, he already was an Error and something drove him to destroy, or he was simply insane or psychotic. Fitting enough for how he acted.

The second was the helper of creators, Ink, he -as his title suggested- helps creators and gives them motivation. He had written similar things for him with a few side details that included his bad memory -aside from traumatizing events- as well as his lack of emotion and a soul, Ink was an empty husk that lived because of the AUs creation.

He remembered Ink well enough, he was a colorful skeleton with an expressive pair of eyes, they had a run in once after the King started his rule- ever since Ink had avoided him. Ink may be emotionless, but even those who can’t feel emotions fear death. What he wrote as possible motivation was almost exactly the same as Error’s except he kept the concept of Ink being part of the void from the start.

Another thing came to mind as he thought about the peculiar pair, a handful of pacifistic AUs that had gone off from the path as of late. Gaining strong amounts of negativity, made he could help them so they didn’t end up like hi- ...so they didn’t end up insane.

Not a second later and he was outside the ruin doors of a pacifist -or soon to be pacifist- Undertale Snowdin, trees were all around aside from in front and behind him.

Dust circled around him and in the air. The King brought his turtle neck up to his mouth and nose, covering them so he wouldn’t have to breathe it in. He was far too late. It didn’t seem to help that the more he walked around the underground world, the more evidence he had to support his theory, there wasn’t anyone left alive or spared. Even temmie village was quiet.

The uneasiness of the surrounding area sent small chills and shivers up the King’s spine, the quiet deafening, the only sound other than his breathing being his subtle footsteps as he walked along. The ruins, snowdin, waterfall, Hotland, core, and the surrounding area of New home were all empty, that is if you didn’t account for the dust. Even the true lab was empty.

Sighing, the King went to the only place left to look, the judgment hall. The one place he had left alone.

The gold hall shimmered before turning dark from his presence, startling the skeleton idly sitting at its exit. The skeleton turned, shocked. Clearly not expecting it as it was obvious everyone was dead in this timeline.

The sans’ eyes were blank, streams of tears drying underneath his eyes and turning black along his skull, his soul misshapen and red by the sheer amount of determination and LOVE running through him. Other than those few unique details, he was -or at least looked- as normal as any other sans.

“I thought I killed everyone...” The sans deadpanned, looking annoyed and astounded someone got out of his merciless grasp. His eye’s slanted in grimace, slowly pulling out a knife as he stood up and mentally prepared himself for battle.

“Friend, you don’t want to do that.” The king announced, chuckling. The sans’ stance tensed but relaxed too, unsure whether he should listen to this dark being’s advice. “I’m certain we can come to a compromise rather than fight- besides, I sincerely doubt you’d make it far.”

The murderous sans moved forward anyway, only to be picked up and stopped by one of the King’s black tendrils, his arms restrained and held down against his body by the same tendrill.

The knife clinked as it fell to the floor from the sans’ surprise. His look turned from annoyance and surprise to hatred and distaste.

“Fine,” He growled out, “...What compromise do you have in mind? And- can I question who and what the hell are you?” His eye’s changed from slanted and angry to raised, suspicious and confused; Seemingly willing to listen.

“I, young one, am Nightmare, a skeleton much like you. I am also a guardian and King of sorts, of negativity- and you, friend, just happen to radiate such; Allowing me to find you.” Nightmare summed up, “Now, the compromise I had in mind, it’s up on the table whether you decide to take the offer now or even down the timeline- heh.

“The compromise itself is simply you join me and what will eventually become a team of people to help spread negativity- killing, destroying, ruining lives, etc.- and leave this empty world for the large multiverse beyond it. All I ask in return is for you to trust and join me, let me take care of you as you work for me. Are you willing to take it?” Nightmare concluded his speech, dropping the sans and holding out his hand as he did so.

The sans hesitated, seemingly fighting between sticking solo and possibly joining this Nightmare down the line or joining this skeleton and allowing Nightmare to take care of him as he worked under him.

Eventually, he nodded; grabbing onto Nightmare’s extended hand to pull himself up and shake it, sealing their deal.

“Good choice,” Nightmare concluded, as he made a portal back to his mansion, “Now before we head back, what can I call you? You will come to find that there are many sans’ in the multiverse, even I am a variation of one.” Nightmare asked

“Um… would Killer work?” Killer answered, unsure of himself.

“Of course, now, head through this portal. It’ll take you to the hideout, feel free to explore while I look for the other team members I have in mind.” Killer followed these orders and jumped through the portal, supposedly ending up at Nightmare’s mansion.

One down, five to go.

His two next targets were easy to find, this was because if you found one, you found the other. There was little time spent apart for these two, a constant battle that was set to never end. Each time they were hurt more and more, each time to go to their homes to only heal, sleep, and possibly eat and then return to the battlefield.

Error didn’t stop destroying nor stop fighting Ink, Ink wouldn’t stop helping Creators nor fighting Error. The two created a balance of peace, without destruction you have a scrambled mess, without creation, you wouldn’t have anything in the first place. The circle of life, the circle of balance, Yin has their Yang, Yang has their Yin. The good side will only be balanced with elements of bad, and bad will only be balanced with elements of good.

However, in this situation Error was the pillar to finding Ink, and it was difficult to do it the other way around.

The protector of worlds was a soulless being, his intentions as soulless as his body. He didn’t care if the AUs were starving or celebrating, as long as they were alive. Being soulless did benefit him in one way, however, he didn’t mourn over the lost and destroyed AUs, allowing him to continue fighting against Error for their survival.

His targets were in a mind-wrecking place, the AntiVoid, fighting as if everything was on the line. To Nightmare’s somewhat joy and displeasure, Error’s back was facing him, letting Ink see him first.

Ink’s white eyes diverted from Error seeing a black blob in his peripheral. The pearly ovals glanced at Nightmare and then quickly changed to small lines, like daggers, in his eyes. Wanting to kill but prevented by his morals, it was only a little emotion, but it was the most he could convey without his paints.

This action also showed a glimpse of something else, fear.

Ink, deciding it better to save his skeletal hide than stick around, then left without a word, angering his opponent whom he was battling a few seconds ago.

“Hey, you asshole! I was fighting you! Where are you going?!!” The air was thick with the monster's anger, clearly pissed with his foe leaving mid-battle.

Nightmare smirked, if he did this right, he could make the great destroyer of worlds one of his friend- ...team members. If he gives Error a compelling argument, he could have him as at least an Allie.

“Ugh… that asshole is such a scatterbrain, probably forgot we were fighting in the first place...” Error mumbled to himself, almost like he was answering someone. Nightmare laughed behind him, that’d be something to deal with.

Although It’d be something for Nightmare himself to deal with if he managed to gain Ink as a teammate, and if he got both of them… he wondered how long the Mansion would stay standing with the two of them in it.

Error turned towards Nightmare, not even aware of his cold presence despite being a few feet away from the King. His expression showing his eyes wide in a shocked surprise, before slanting down, as if needing glasses to make out the details of who was standing in front of him; but not carrying them on him.

“I’d say it’s because he doesn’t want to be hurt by my hands,” Nightmare humored, “... again.” Error cringed at Nightmare’s sadistic aura. It reeked of darkness.

The more Nightmare stood there, and the longer he stayed, the more the darkness spread around his feet. Slowly, the blank white canvas of the AntiVoid was painted by the darkness that Nightmare was covered in. If he walked slow enough- he could probably leave dark footprints.

“What- and who- the hell are you?!” Error half questioned-half stated, unsure if he really wanted an answer to his question.

“I’m Nightmare, a guardian and King of negativity,” He answered, calmly speaking despite Error being in a battle stance and killing with his eyes. “-and you just so happen to give off so much anger that I can feel you emotional presence from across the multiverse.” He concluded, smiling at the shocked and further confused expression on the glitch’s face.

“...Okay, your weird-ass ability aside- you said you hurt Ink?” Error’s look turned from its previous confusion to question, and then murderous hope “Did you beat him!?”

Nightmare eyeballed Error for a second, as if looking at a child that didn’t know its place. Error’s look of hope and smile dropped, realizing he was hoping that someone he didn’t know had severely hurt his life long enemy in the past. His expression dropped and let go of his victorious look, exchanging it for an embarrassed and flustered.

Nightmare stood in silence, letting the embarrassment Error had truly take him over, it was funny to watch the mighty Destroyer as his face turned to an overripe blueberry. Minutes passed and eventually, Nightmare nodded his head, smirking.

“I thought that was clear,” Nightmare started, pausing to let the information sink in. Error had gone the extra mile to think aloud his quite murderous thought when it was implied that a painful interaction had happened, it was just a silly waste of time. Before the destroyer could speak anymore, Night continued “I do hope you enjoyed embarrassing yourself by the way.”

Error grumbled and pulled his hood up and covered his face with it, saying something along the lines of shut up but with a lot of swearing and insults, some of which were hypocritical but the King figured Error already knew that.

“So, now that’s over with, would you like to hear a proposal-? It may do you some good.” The lord of darkness coaxed, letting his new acquaintance take his time to answer the question. Error pushed his hood back, letting his face be shown, but skull still covered.

“Depends; what does the all mighty King of negativity and darkness want from a destroyer of worlds? Wouldn’t I cause less AUs and less negativity to feed off of?” Nightmare stilled, damn his old companion’s rumors.

He slowly sighed, this might not be worth it after all.

“Believe it or not, you are of much use to me, as I am may be of much benefit to you- and no, I don’t feed of negativity, I live off its existence. Without it, I wouldn’t be here and alive, I eat normal food like anyone else. Rumor may say otherwise, but truth prevails.” Nightmare explained, letting Error’s expression turn from reserved and doubtful to understanding and willing.

“Fine, you’ve convinced me to listen. What’s your proposal?”

“You join me, I own a mansion and have plenty of room for a companion, I’m sure it’d be a better living situation than sleeping on the floor of the AntiVoid. All I ask of you in return- if you join me- is that you be there when I ask of you. You work for me, I take care of you. If not, we could at least stay allies and you can have a residence with me.” The King offered, holding out his hand

Error shook in reply, pulling his body and hand away from the potential physical contact, cringing at it, clearly not wanting either to touch Nightmare’s goopy hand or not wanting to touch in anyway way. Nightmare raised an eyebrow, not fully getting what was wrong.

“Would a yes work…? I’m… not a big fan of touching.” Error explained, voice dropping at having to explain his ‘weakness’. Nightmare nodded, finally understanding.

“Before I let you go to my manor, there is one thing I wish to do. Come along,” Nightmare stated, opening a portal. Error quickly ran through it after him, following his new ally into AU after AU, not seeing what Nightmare was trying to do.

It was quiet as they did this, seemingly going through every AU in the multiverse, but only going through about 10. However, soon enough they reached a stop. They were on the surface of an underswap AU, stopped at a clearing in a forest. A forest where up high in one of the tall redwoods sat Ink, looking out at the sunset of the protected and safe AU.

Error bumped into Nightmare when they stopped, and started rebooting straight after, not expecting the contact. Nightmare whipped around after hearing the loud beeping noise, and so did another figure.

Ink jumped down from the tree he was sitting on, seemingly not as scared of Nightmare as he was minutes ago. His eyes shifted between bright yellow joy, orange confusion, and an occasional uncertain red-orange. Nightmare quickly picked up the artist with a tendril while he was distracted, making Ink make an alerted sound in reply.

Ink pouted at Nightmare, crossing his arms. His body language asking if this precaution was necessary. Nightmare grinned, finding Ink’s childish attitude amusing. Another loud beep took their attention once again.

Error sat blinking, seemingly trying to get his vision to clear of the error signs that covered it. He looked up to Nightmare and Ink, seeing them staring at him.

“...Um, what happened? Did I reboot again?” Error asked, scratching his skull as he shakily stood up, seemingly not remembering what happened between him falling and now.

“It would seem so, however, your reboot caught Ink’s attention and took him off guard. So I thank your predicament. Now, however, is the time to talk about you, Ink.” Nightmare turned his attention to Ink, and so did Error.

“What about me, octopus?” Ink challenged, now starting to glare at the skeleton holding him. Clearly not wanting to hear what this ‘bad guy’ had to say. While error kneeled over laughing at the nickname, Nightmare gave the artist an annoyed look.

“I wish to talk, that is all. I wish of no harm done to you, and I won’t let you harm anyone else- meaning, I don’t want you attacking Error nor him attacking you while I’m talking with you both, I also wish for you both to wait until I’m finished before arguing.” Ink nodded, looking like he was willing to cooperate for the time being, “Thank you, It’s nice to know even with the spread of rumors people are willing to listen.” Nightmare started before taking a seat on the forest floor, Error following soon after with Ink still suspended slightly in the air by a tendril.

Nightmare sighed, he was going to have to explain a lot to get both of them to cooperate and join.

“I wish for both of you to be part of my team of sorts, it’s more or less me giving you a residence, care food and more in return for you working with or for me. However, there are a few complications. Ink, I’m aware you somewhat in alliance with Dream, an old, old ex-friend of mine. He’s spread lies about me for years and I just wish to stop that and continue to keep the balance of the multiverse in peace.

“Another issue is your relationship with Error and vise versa. To begin with, there’s nothing there whatsoever, you both are enemies and that’s how you’ve always lived. If you were to come to compromise this could work, I don’t want to keep you across the manor from each other just because you don’t get along. It might help with your decision to know that I know close to all of your information, aside for your pasts which not even you yourselves know so… that’s something to keep in mind.” The king finished, happy with how his speech came out, for something off the top of his head it was good.

The enemies blinked, looking like they were struggling to take in all the information. A safe place to call home with food and care, false rumors spread by the ‘good guy’, keeping balance, compromising with their life long enemy to get care and a safe home, Nightmare knowing almost everything about them. It was a lot when you break it down.

“Hold up, how much exactly do you know about us?” Ink asked, confusion clear in his multicolor and forever changing eyes. The King sighed in response, of course, there was going to be some questions.

He went to his hoodie pocket and took out a small spiral, quickly flipping and scanning the pages until he reached about halfway through.

“Here it is, ‘Ink the protector of worlds is secretive, but I have close to all his information pieced out, the same applies to the destroyer of worlds Error. Both have phobias, both different, and Ink seems to own PTSD for the AntiVoid and gained chromophobia- fear of white- from it, he may also be somewhat psychotic. Speaking to voices in his head and owning no emotions of his own; all his emotions being prompted by the vials he drinks.’ Does that sound about right, Ink?” Nightmare questioned, before picking up where he left off, “‘he could also possibly be touch starved because of his time alone, even if he may not show it, he could own haphephobia- fear of touch- as well but it’s hard to tell with his secrecy.

“‘Error seems to show similar symptoms to Ink, except he still owns emotion. He talks to voices in his head much like Ink but he does also possess a large kill count and seemingly relentless murder streak. Error may own haphephobia but that information could be false, he doesn’t seem to own chromophobia since he most likely lives in the AntiVoid, not having anywhere else to go considering the AUs hate him for his murdering tendencies.’” Nightmare concluded, closing the journal and putting it back in his pocket, now waiting for his potential allies answers.

The silence bore into the King as he waited, his eye socket dark and emotionless, showing his exhaustion catching up to him.

“I’m in, and willing.” Error finally spoke, looking to Ink to silently signal the other to answer.

“I’m not- I don’t care if Dream is right or wrong, I don’t need help from the likes of you- either of you. Now, let me go. I need to get back to work. This was only supposed to be a short break.” Nightmare gave a slow nod, releasing him from the tendril’s grasp and letting him fall the few inches left to the ground.

After that, the artist ran off, probably to make a portal and get out of reach of them so he couldn’t be tracked as easily. However, Error ran after him. By the time he realized Error had ran after Ink, his new companion was long gone.

Damn him.

Nightmare got up, swaying as he was exhausted from using so much of his magic and general energy that day. Teleporting multiple times in a day, going to at least 12 AUs, and holding skeletons in the air with his tendrils -which were sustained by his magic- had taken a lot out of him.

Slowly he followed the destroyer, going along the broken path of branches and moved branches. It didn’t take long to catch up, however, so he was able to hear Error started what seemed to be a rant at Ink.

“What the hell was that?!” Error called after Ink when he got to where the artist stopped. The protector raised a skeletal eyebrow at him, not knowing what the destroyer was so angry at. “You don’t want help from ‘the likes of us’ the fuck is that about?! I knew you were an asshole but really? That was so uncalled for! You don’t even know what it’s like being on this side, you ass, you have no right to call us that!”

“Hypocrite.” Ink responded, monotone and seemingly just wanting this to be over with.

“What am I being hypocritical about?! Sure I’m an asshole too, but only because the entire multiverse hates me for removing the copies and clutter- for every copy I destroy there are two more made! But no- you don’t do anything even bother! Without me, you wouldn’t even be able to get around the multiverse like you can! You wouldn’t be able to find one timeline or even AU out of the trillions that would be around without me- what do you have to say about that huh?!” Error growled out, clearly pissed off and angry

“Error. Quit it. He’s not worth it. He’s soulless and doesn’t feel remorse for anything, and from what I can tell, he doesn’t keep a guilt vial on him. Let’s just get you back so I can move on to the others that need my help.” Nightmare spoke, coming out from the shadows of the trees.

Error started a ramble on why he shouldn’t stop but was shortly cut off by him being poked, which took him off guard and made him jump back, eyes covered in error signs but not rebooting. Nightmare looked back over to Ink, giving a silent ‘go on’ with his eyes.

-----

After securing Error back at the mansion with Killer watching over him and keeping him company-to ensure he didn’t try and go after Ink again- Nightmare moved on, heading off to another AU that had gone astray from positivity.

He landed in a quiet snowdin, bloody snow and occasional Dust around, no wonder it started to grow in negativity. Just as quickly as he got there, he moved into the shadows of the trees, not wanting to be spotted by anyone just in case this AU wasn’t deserted like Killer’s- which it seemed like it wasn’t.

True, walking through the trees was harder, but he couldn’t be spotted in the tall shadows that the forest was consumed by, so it was a win in his book.

However, not long after he started walking, he came upon the person he was looking for, the resident sans of this seemingly murderous AU. Like any other, this one wore a blue hoodie and black shorts, however, he also wore a shabby and pail shirt with it all, giving him an almost hobo-like look.

The sans sat asleep in his shack of a watch post hoodie over his skull and face. A foul and dead smell came from the hut the closer Nightmare grew closer to the sans, as well as the strong smell of dust and blood which the skeleton and shack were also covered in. Nightmare wrinkled his nose in distaste, he should’ve gone here first.

Hesitantly, he nudged the sleeping skeleton awake, to which the sans raised an axe above his head and jumped back in reply, clearly not expecting to be woken up. This action made his hood fall off as well, showing off the large hole in the side of his skull and his singular red pupil. Neither being healthy or normal for skeletons.

“Calm down,” Nightmare tried, to which the skeleton did none of the sort, only glaring at him in response. The king sighed, “I’m here to help you if you’ll believe that.” He tried again, hoping that he wouldn’t be losing his head today.

The sans nodded hesitantly but didn’t let go of his axe, instead deciding to keep it in his grip but lower it to in front of his body. Nightmare nodded back, accepting the silent language this sans used. The sans simple nod meaning ok, I’m willing to listen, while Nightmare’s said thank you.

“I can give you a home, care, and help if you join me, I wish to help you from the situation your in so you can help me. I’m Nightmare, a guardian of negativity, and you can help me spread and keep its balance with positivity. If I help you, I can help other AUs and sans’ that are having tough times, so they can be happy too.

“I’m just here to keep balance, I promise not to hurt you. I have already helped two others, and they are waiting back at my mansion, where I have plenty of space. Will you join me?” Nightmare asked, almost repeating the speil that he had given Killer, Error, and Ink earlier that day.

“Only if I can bring my brother. If you’re going to help me, you have to help him too. He deserves it more than me anyway.” The skeleton’s gruff voice responded, almost like he was dehydrated. That totally wasn't worrying.

“Alright, can you grab him or bring him here? Also, you will come to find that you’re not the only sans in this world, do you have a name I could call you?”

“I’ll call him, and I guess… Horror? I’m not good with comin’ up with names.” Horror responded as he called up his brother, to which a papyrus rushed towards them.

This Papyrus didn’t look too healthy either, his teeth were chipped and a few were even missing, his eyes were small and seemed like they struggled to see- squinting at any point of light. He stood hunched over, struggled to even walk and limping. His clothes were like any other Papyrus, but they were heavily worn and slightly stained with blood, his scarf tattered like it had taken a literal beating.

Nightmare should’ve definitely come here first.

“Brother!” The Papyrus’ screechy and also seemingly parched throat called out as he stumbled over, stopping next to Horror, his back hunched over so much that he was barely a foot taller than his brother- when he should’ve been several feet taller. “Nyeh? Who’s this sans?”

“He’s here to help us,” Horror started, then turned back towards Nightmare, “You can call my bro here Scream if you want, or just Paps, but- we’re ready to go when you are. We don’t have much down here.”

Nightmare nodded, opening a portal for his new companions' Scream and Horror, he hoped deep inside that he could give them all the help they need- they probably had a lot of issues. It seemed like Scream needs glasses as well as some help with his back, and both of them were malnourished.

Three down, One extra, One lost, Two to go.

Another portal, a deserted land, checking everywhere, the judgment hall left, everything seemed to be repeating. The shimmering hall went dark again as he walked into it, a Sans at the end of the hall, this one different.

He was exactly like any other sans, in every way, expect in both eye lights gleamed red, with one having an extra ring of purple. His hood was pulled up, and he sat talking to himself, not even noticing Nightmare.

“You see someone? That’s a funny joke, bro.” The sans continued to talk- seemingly to himself, “There’s actually someone behind me?” The skeleton turned around, finally noticing Nightmare.

“Hello, young one.” Nightmare started but was cut off as he felt a knife go through his arm.

Dust had thrown a knife at him and it went right through the goop that covered his arm. It stung a bit, but he only looked at it and his now torn sleeve, before letting the goop cover his arm again, repairing the wound in seconds.

“Well, that’s one way to say hello. Now, do you want to hear what I have to say or not? You can’t effectively hurt me enough to kill me, and if I get bored of you constantly throwing knives at me- I can always go to the others that need my help.” Nightmare explained, not fazed at all by the wound he had seconds ago.

“What help?” The sans snapped, seemingly not able to control himself or being controlled by something else.

“You are on the brink of insanity my friend, and if you kill another monster, you will most likely become an amalgamate because of you unbalanced DT. There is a lot of help I can offer you. I can help you get rid of your insanity, I can help your excessive amounts of DT, and I can help you escape this place and underground. But, only if you help me.

“I’m Nightmare, a guardian of Negative emotions, and you just so happen to be part of that negativity I have been sworn to protect. I can give you a home, help, and care if you join me. I have helped four others and have plenty of room for another at my mansion.” The king offered, holding out his hand for the sans, to which the sans took it.

“What now-” The sans stopped himself, and then scowled, “No I won’t-... sorry nightmare. Paps is just being overprotective.” The sans explained; like he knew no one else could see his Papyrus- who was probably haunting him.

“It’s quite alright. Now, I’ll bring you back home- after I get a name, of course. Just keep in mind, sans won’t really work, you are one of the many out there. Even I am I version of sans.” Nightmare told the sans as he opened a portal to his mansion.

“... how about Dust?” Dust hesitantly asked after a long pause, seemingly saying a suggestion his papyrus had.

“That’ll work, now, go through the portal. You will meet four other’s that will be taking residence with you. Three of them are Sans’ as well, and another is a version of Papyrus. Tell them I’ll be joining you all soon.” Nightmare asked as he let Dust go to the portal.

Dust nodded in return, walking through the portal, content to be getting out of the underground and going somewhere new.

Nightmare sighed; Four down, One extra, One lost, One to go.

Going through one of his last portals of the day, he appeared in his second to last destination. He landed in a land of white, almost like the AntiVoid, but in reality, just a destroyer and barren Au- expect for one person.

An occasionally sniffling and hiccuping skeleton sat a block or so away from him, turned away from his direction, easily seen because of how empty the area was.

The skeleton looked overdressed, even from the back. From the back, you could see an overly fluffy hood, a long black and white scarf, and what looked to be X’s across his clothes and design. His body didn’t look mangled or hurt and was a healthy pearly white, that meant he was crying for a different reason than pain.

Or maybe… it wasn’t physical pain.

“Hey kid,” Nightmare called out, making the quiet hiccup the sans had sound loud and surprised rather than lonely and depressed. The skeleton turned around, showing his full design, X’s covering his black and white clothes like Nightmare predicted, but his eyes were a different story.

The sans’ eyesockets held one red pupil and another had a white one, a red almost lightning bolt scar underneath the red one. He was glitching as well, occasionally showing a young monochrome chara instead of the sans.

The skeleton quickly wiped away the tears he had and stood up, summoning a large knife like sword supposedly with magic, battle stance ready but tense; something that could easily be knocked down with a swipe at his leg.

“There’s no need for that, I’m not here to hurt you.” Nightmare said, stepping forward hesitantly, but after noticing the sans wasn’t advancing for an attack, started to walk instead. “Let’s sit down and talk, okay? You look like you need a friend; or a family.”

“Fine.” The sans spat, clearly trying to cover his previous crying with a cold indifferent facade.

“You don’t need to cover up emotions, feel free to let out whatever is building up, I should know better than anyone it helps to talk about it rather than let it build up.” Nightmare coaxed, but sighed when the sans let go of his facade, but then went for an emotionless attitude instead.

“Why should I care what you have to say you-”

“-Becuase it may help you in the long run.” The King cut off, not speaking anymore after that, waiting to see if the skeleton would try and speak again. Although, when the sans didn’t try to speak, he continued, “If you’re willing to join me, I can give you a home, care, help, and a family. I’m Nightmare and I’m the guardian of Negative emotions, although, as of late, I’ve been helping sans’ instead.

“I have helped five other’s today. The first went insane from resets, the second went insane from being left alone and hated, the third and fourth were stuck in an AU were everyone was starving, and the fifth was driven mad by their frisk’s constant path of genocide. They are all waiting back at my mansion, and I’m sure -If you let them- they would be happy to call you friend or family. Will you join-”

“-C! get away from him!” Ink interrupted, bolting over to where the two were sitting, ready to start attacking Nightmare, but was picked up by a tendril once again.

C stayed sitting and Nightmare got up and walked over to where he was holding Ink in place, glaring at the artist for interrupting his conversation.

Ink could’ve helped Killer with his insanity, could’ve talked through things with Error long ago, could’ve helped Horror or Scream with food, could’ve helped Dust so he wasn’t on the brink of melting with DT, could’ve made it so this C person next to him wasn’t alone and clearly broken. Ink could’ve literally done anything, but he didn’t help with any of the AUs and wouldn’t even accept help for himself, now it’s Nightmare’s turn to do something.

“I beg your pardon, Ink.” Nightmare menaced, voice gurgly and threatening, “I”m here to help this person you call ‘C’ and take him out of this insanity of a place so he can be happy- something that you’re clearly not helping with. You didn’t help the others- you won’t help yourself, so let me help them.” Nightmare finished, flicking Ink across the void when he finished. C wasn’t even concerned.

Nightmare took a deep breath to calm himself from the anger and then turned back to the still sitting skeleton he had been talking to. C didn’t seem fazed by the violent act that just happened in front of his eyes. Nightmare sat down with him again and took one of his hands.

“I’m terribly sorry I had to harm Ink in front of you, I’m not sure of it, but it seems he sees you as a friend.” Nightmare started, looking into C’s eyes, “Even though it may be pointless now, will you still join me and my… family?” Nightmare asked, expecting a no, but smiled when he got a nod instead; “Alright, follow me, C. We can head through this portal home.”

“It’s Cross,” Cross spoke softly as he got up with the now happy Nightmare, although, he didn’t know why he was happy. Ink had told him Nightmare was an emotionless and harmful being, that killed anything in his path. Ink must’ve lied about a lot of things.

Nightmare nodded to this new information, pulling Cross with him into the portal.

The truth was, he was happy because he saw himself in Cross. A young broken monster, let alone, most likely used and abandoned. Nightmare helped Cross because no one had ever helped him. He wouldn’t let the cycle repeat on another innocent monster.

“Nightmare, you’re back!” Killer smiled, along with everyone else in the room.

Everyone sat around in the large living he owned. Error was laying in a hammock he made attached to the ceiling, Killer sat in an armchair, Scream had fallen fast asleep on the couch with his head in Horror’s lap- who was petting scream’s head as he slept, Dust was in the armchair opposite of Killer- seemingly talking with him before Nightmare had arrived.

“Yes, I’m back, and I brought a friend along.” Cross shyly stepped to the side, clearly not ready to be meeting so many people at once, but he wasn’t alone.

Soon enough they were all getting along and learning about each other, Nightmare beamed, he had made this happen. He had helped them and now they wouldn’t be alone. Even the bad guys have to stick together.

-TOLD YOU IT WAS LONG-

Dream and Nightmare belong to @jokublog

Killer belongs to @rahafwabas

Error belongs to @loverofpiggies

Ink belongs to @comyet

Horrortale belongs to @sour-apple-studios

Dusttale belongs to @ask-dusttale

Xtale and Cross belong to @jakei95

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lunarlooroo · 5 years

Note

I loved all of your 🔥🔥🔥prompts where Heather and Severus where going at each other heh. I have a traditional crack!fic request: the ministry mandates that sex ed be taught at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, this year Snape and his assistant are in charge of addressing the whole student body en masse. It ends up being an uncomfortable experience for most, a hilarious one for some, but also an interesting one for Heather ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

DAY TWO OF TWELVE DAYS OF FICMAS!

Probably not as raunchy as what you had in mind. Also, I did the bare minimum amount of research into this topic, so don’t hold it against me if there are any glaring inaccuracies.

“Come, Heather. We are due to give the lecture on sexuality education this year.” Severus walked past her, scowling up a storm.

Blinking, she hastened her footsteps to catch up with him. “Wait, what? What do you mean?”

“Are you not aware of the most recent demand from the Ministry?”

She frowned. “I think I heard something about it, but I thought Poppy would be in charge or something!”

“Well, last week the Sorting Hat decreed that the responsibility would be foisted onto me. Otherwise, I would never be involved in such a troublesome matter,” he said in distaste.

Well, that really put a new perspective on ‘picking a name from a hat’.

“Okay, but what does that have to do with me?” She raised an eyebrow. “The hat didn’t call my name, now did it?”

Severus stopped and turned to face her with a smug expression. “Indeed. However, as my apprentice, you are obliged to carry out tasks that I set aside for you. Trying to impart such delicate information to immature cretins is something I refuse to do alone.”

Sighing, she nodded in resignation. “Okay, but why am I only hearing about this now? Wouldn’t it have been better if we’d done some sort of preparation?”

“What is there to prepare?” he asked dryly, “Ah, good they are here.”

Heather walked through the door after him and almost froze in shock. What seemed like the entire population of students, from the first to seventh years, were seated in the room, which had probably been expanded for this very purpose.

She caught Severus’ arm and pulled him closer. “The lecture isn’t for all the students, is it?” she hissed, “That’s just preposterous! What we’d need to teach 11-year-olds and 17-year-olds are totally different!

Severus sneered, crossing his arms. “Blame the sodding Ministry. This was not my idea at all. Fortunately, in future years we will only need to give the talk to the first years.”

Heather didn’t know how they were going to pull this off, let alone next year’s.

“Attention!” Severus said, not even bothering with a Sonorus. The whole room quietened, knowing better than to cross their Potions Master. “As you are no doubt aware, this lecture is focussed on sexuality education.” A few snickers sounded. Severus glared around, cowing everyone into silence.

“Make no mistake. This is not sexeducation orsexualeducation. Surely even you lot can fumble through that yourselves without me to hold your hand through it.”

Heather had to stifle a laugh at the innuendo, knowing Severus must have said it on purpose, despite his straight face. She could see a few students half-disturbed and half-amused by their strictest Professor saying anything even remotelysuggestive.

“We will begin with basic anatomy.” Severus produced a large scientific diagram with both the male and female human body, parts annotated clearly. He ignored the sudden chatter for about a minute, before shushing them all.

“We will begin with the male body. Pre-puberty, the testicles are less than 4 millilitres in volume.” The image of the testicles on the diagram lit up. “Puberty is the period in an adolescent’s life when they undergo changes to their body for sexual maturation. Theoretically, after puberty the person is a fully mature adult. Of course, I know this is rarely the case.” He stared pointedly at the seventh and sixth years, who fidgeted in their seats.

“In males, puberty begins with the enlargement of the testicles, typically beyond 4 millilitres. They experience an increase in height and muscle mass. Some pubic hair will grow around the groin. Thereafter, their penises grow in length and their voice breaks and begins to deepen. They begin to grow facial and axillary hair.”

As Severus described the changes that occur through puberty, the diagram changed as well. Up until the picture of the boy became a man.

He then went on to describe the development of females in a similar manner. Though Heather noticed the girls looked a tad discomfited at having a male teacher teach them this.

She was rather impressed that Severus knew that much about this subject, though. She probably wouldn’t have been able to give this much detail, and so clinically, too.

“If you have any questions thus far, you may direct them to Miss Potter.”

Surprised at being called, she straightened to attention. She placed an encouraging smile on her face, stepping forward to receive questions.

A few hands were raised, mostly from boys. There were a few girls that she saw seemed to want to ask something, but were too shy to.

“What does axillary mean?” a third year Gryffindor asked.

Heather gave Severus a look, wordlessly suggesting that he stay away from scientific jargon for the remainder of his lecture. “It is the scientific name for the armpit region. Next?”

Most of the questions were simple and easy to explain. Eventually, she managed to get the shyer kids to speak up as well. The older students, on the other hand, were beginning to fall asleep.

Severus then moved on to explain the mechanics of intercourse and reproduction, speaking so dryly that not even the most rambunctious of students were able to make any dirty jokes.

In fact, some of them were looking rather disturbed by how boring Severus was able to make sex sound.

“Poor Miss Potter. The bat can’t be very satisfying in bed if this is how he’s like. I bet his idea of foreplay is reading a Potions journal.”

Because she was closer to students, she was able to hear the snide whisper from one of the sixth years. Though she didn’t put it past Severus go have heard it anyway. He had ears as sharp as, well, a bat.

Far from being offended, Heather was beyond amused. She certainly had no complaints about her lover’s prowess in bed, not that it was any business of her students’.

She didn’t if know what people said about men with big noses was correct, since a single anecdotal case wasn’t exactly robust evidence, but suffice to say these boys were reallyoff the mark.

Shaking her head, she banished the train of thought from her mind. A classroom was hardly an appropriate place to be thinking of such things.

“We will now be covering our last main topic. Menstruation. Sometimes referred to as monthly bleeding or periods. You will find, of course, that not every person’s menstrual cycle is the common 28 days. Each person’s body varies, so naturally no two cycles are exactly the same.”

A group of boys began making a ruckus. One foolhardy one amongst them stood up with a defiant tilt to his chin. “Why do we have to sit here and listen to this? It’s gross, girly stuff! Sir.”

The female yearmates sitting around the group all pinned their collective ire on them. Heather foresaw that these idiots wouldn’t be enjoying the next few months. It was when she saw some younger girls hunch in on themselves, ashamed, that she wanted to throttle the boys herself though. Puberty was difficult enough without ignorant people making them feel embarrassed about their own bodies.

Severus got to them before she could.

“Farley,” Severus intoned lowly. The single word was enough to make the boy pale and look regretful of his decision to speak. “Tell me, do you have a mother, sisters, aunts, any females close to you?”

The boy, Dorian Farley, looked back to his friends for help, but none of them dared to meet his eyes. Heather resisted the urge to scoff. Typical.

“Answer the question!”

Farley jumped, visibly gulping. “Y-yes, sir.”

She nodded to herself. The boy was a middle child, with two sisters. One of whom had been in the same year as Rian and the other, a third year sitting right in this very room.

“Tell me then, why you would disparage a natural process that occurs in most women, a process, I might add, that was crucial to your very existence? Any reason other than pure ignorance and selfishness, of course.”

His younger sister, Bella Farley, was glaring daggers across the room at him, eyes promising some sort of retribution. The girl was a spitfire, Heather knew.

“Well, don’t keep us all waiting, Farley. Surely you have a good reason to dismiss this heavy burden placed on women everywhere by nature. Perhaps you do not deem it necessary to learn more because you do not respect the hardship they have to face on a regular basis and you have no intention of doing what you can to ease the struggle?”

A few moments passed before Farley realized that Severus really wouldwait for his answer before continuing. The combined stares of everyone in the room might have done the trick as well.

“N-nothing, Professor. I don’t have a good reason. Sorry.” His words all but slurred together as he forced them out, face burning red. He sat down hard enough that a ‘thump’ echoed through the room.

Severus continued to Lookat Farley for a moment more, before stating, “Now, as I was saying…”

No one made a peep during the rest of the lecture, especially not the boys.

By the end of it all, Severus was on the receiving end of multiple starry-eyed gazes, not the least of which was her own. He had made himself something of a hero, with his passionate speech. On the menstrual cycle, of all things.

He had always been considerate of her during her periods – understanding when she felt a little moodier and not holding it against her, casually handing her a hot bottle charmed to remain at a perfect temperature, even handfeeding her chocolate, on some memorable occasions.

“If any of you have any personal questions that you don’t feel comfortable asking now, please feel free to arrange a meeting with either of us, or submitting a note if that is easier for you.” Heather said, as Severus wrapped up the lesson.

Heather beamed up at Severus as the last student filed out. “You did a wonderful job! I barely even needed to do anything! I don’t know why you insisted I be here.”

Her lover turned his back to her to pack up his diagrams and models, not saying a word.

Pursing her lips, she pondered over his behaviour. A delighted smile took over her face. “You were nervous!”

“Of course not!” he rebutted, too quickly. He faced her with an indignant frown. “I was- concerned, that I would not be able to instruct them properly. I’m not the first person anyonewould go to for matters of such a delicate nature.” He ended his sentence with a deprecating twist to his lips.

She shook her head fondly, going up to wrap her arms around him. “Severus, believe me when I say that you handled that excellently. The only thing I would find fault with is your use of too-complicated language. If you had perhaps dumbed down your words a little, then it would have been perfect.”

“It went better than I expected, I admit.”

“Oh come on, that’s an understatement if I ever heard one. You’ve amassed quite a following amongst the female student,” she said teasingly, “And who could blame them? You were quite thorough in your advocation for menstrual cycle awareness. My gentleman.”

Pink dusted over Severus’ cheeks. “Nonsense.”

Giggling, Heather leaned up to peck his lips. “I’m not joking. And I really am impressed with your lecture. You really got them to take the topic seriously. There were hardly any dirty jokes at all! Well, aside from your own, of course.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Well, at any rate I’m glad that’s over.”

“Mmh. I’d say you deserve some reprieve after all that. Why don’t we head back to our quarters and just relax.” She lowered her voice to a husky whisper. “Don’t worry, I can do all the work.”

His hands clenched in her robes. “That, Heather, is a fine suggestion indeed.”

#WHfP #prompt ficlets #12 days of ficmas

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sordm5 · 6 years

Text

Part 1 of the OC character sheet/questionnaire

Which faction(s) did they join and which did they destroy? Why?

He ended up favoring and assisting the NCR shortly after he left Goodsprings. That ended up in regret once he’d met and spoken to the people of Freeside, Westside, and The Strip. Also taking into account the people’s opinions on the aftermath of him helping the NCR take control of Primm, furthered by discovering how bureaucratic the NCR are, with little regard for the citizens in their allied regions.

What is their S.P.E.C.I.A.L.?

3, 9, 6, 4, 7, 8, 3 (All my SPECIAL stats in NV are fairly high, so I reduced some of them for more customization in line with characterization.)

Give us a summary of their backstory.

[Moved to bottom]*

What’s their full name and does it have a meaning? Do they have any nicknames and how did they get em?

For the first month after his head injury, he just went by “Courier”, since he wasn’t fully comfortable naming himself. At that period, he didn’t really have any sense of self, and didn’t know how to go about defining who he was since he had nothing to go off of. He preferred to simply avoid the entire subject when Doc Mitchell was interviewing him.

He only started going by his name when Johnson Nash had finally dug up a copy of his employment ID: Mason Shepherd McCoy. Even then, his name felt extremely foreign to him, and he flopped between accepting and rejecting it for a brief period. Those close to him ended up calling him “Mase”, for short, but still...he never quite shook off being called “Courier”.

Do they have any mental illnesses? How do they cope?

Extreme bouts of paranoia due to his amnesia. He lost hope on ever recovering his memories after coming across a pre-war medical text on amnesia due to physical trauma resulting in brain damage. It’s hard for him to trust people because of this, and his inclination for helping people is an odd cycle of redemption-seeking and regret.

This leads to a tendency of running from both his problems and his responsibilities, which is an issue that hasn’t been solved.

How much do they care about their outer appearance? What’s their “beauty routine”? How often do they shower/ bathe?

While the Lucky 38 was acting as a base, he may have gotten a little too used to bathing frequently (even if it was short-lived), and after that, his stay in Zion, where the water was remarkably free of radiation. Having the opportunity to get clean whenever he felt like it was a luxury he hadn’t realized he’d been missing out on.

Not a lot goes into keeping up appearances, though. He tries to keep his face clean-shaven and his hair fairly short. But...since he usually wears a ranger hat, he doesn’t mind when his hair gets a little messy.

What do they fear the most?

Something or someone from the past he can’t remember coming back to confront him. That and permanently losing people he cares for.

Their biggest flaw? Do they recognize it as a flaw?

Probably his occasional stoicism and constant lack of trust. He doesn’t see automatic distrust as a flaw, he sees it as a strategy for life (which eventually does prove useful), but it largely feeds into his inability to connect with people.

What Wasteland threat do they fear the most? (ex. Deathclaws, super mutants, raiders)

Cazadores.

Also, Legion assassins disguised as traders and caravaneers became a very real threat and fear while he stayed in Zion. He’d thought they were easy enough to handle in the Mojave, being able to see them coming from miles away in their bright crimson costumes, and knowing when to steer clear. But back then he hadn’t dealt with the convincing deception of the Frumentarii, especially not when there was a target on his back, and an even bigger target on someone close to him.

What natural alignment are they? (ex. Lawful Good, Chaotic Evil)

A varying spectrum of neutral, depending. More accurately, he started off as neutral good, and became more chaotic neutral near the middle and end of his campaign.

Do they have any hobbies? What are they?

Does collecting unique weaponry count as a hobby?

Other than that, he developed a fondness for his former job title - maybe some sort of imprinted nostalgia from his past. Even though he’s no longer formally employed by the Mojave Express, he still enjoys running low-pressure delivery jobs. He finds it calming, and it gives him purpose without any emotional responsibility.

Do they have a favorite holiday? How do they celebrate it?

He’s read about Halloween, and seen pre-war decorations for it, which he thought sounded and looked incredibly fun. Later on, Joshua tells him about Christmas, and he finds it extremely fascinating. He doesn’t celebrate either...though he wouldn’t mind dressing up in a terrifying outfit and asking people for free sweets.

What’s their favorite season?

Anything but summer. Summers out west, the Mojave in particular, are absolutely unforgiving. He spent the larger part of the first summer he can remember in Zion, and was constantly tempted to lay face first in the water of The Narrows.

Do they have a temper or are they level headed?

Level-headed, but that stems from not being on the talkative side. Not talking leaves a lot of room for listening, speculating, and problem solving. However, he did have more of a temper in the beginning. Multiple instances of losing his composure to anger, followed by regret after calming back down, prompted him to learn how to control it better.

Do they express their emotions freely or hide their true feelings?

More prone to hiding his feelings. Not only does he not like sharing, but he doesn’t like to burden other people with his issues. He’s only open with those he’s spent a lot of time with, and even then he holds onto some reservations.

Are they a leader or a follower?

Neutral with slight leadership leanings. While wandering across the Mojave and various western territories, he got used to the concept of leadership just by exercising his will and freedom, and that feeling grew by taking companions along with him. It’s not an assertive type of leadership so much as it is learning self-assurance.

He doesn’t have a problem with taking orders (even prefers it sometimes), as long as he agrees with them to some extent. He had no objections to being in deference to Joshua’s leadership while in Zion, for example.

Do they prefer to travel alone or with company? Who have they traveled with if any? Current companion if any?

While in the west, he was with a companion more often than not. During his long travel east, he kept to himself...due to a myriad of reasons, including trying to avoid being followed by potentially unwanted pursuers. Aside from the infrequent drunken bar stop, and some friendly conversationalists when roaming with different caravans, he was alone.

Before that, he spent the most time with ED-E, Arcade, and Joshua, in order of who he met first.

ED-E was almost an instant companion once he’d made it to Primm, and, in a unique way, ED-E became a best friend. Even if ED-E gave no confirmation that he was listening to Mason’s rare, sporadic rants (he was mostly talking to himself, anyway), the eyebot’s presence still brought comfort. He refused to send ED-E away, even after meeting Arcade and hearing him complain about his general distaste for the bot.

The dynamic he shared with Arcade, however, was completely different. They fed off each other’s sarcastic quips, another feature that could bring out the expressive side of Mason, and kept themselves entertained with creative use of wording. But beyond amusing each other, under the banter was a general acceptance and understanding, and Mason found that to be invaluable.

After leaving the Mojave (more like fleeing), Mason meets Joshua via his job with the Happy Trails Caravan. After assisting Joshua in ridding Zion of the White Legs, Mason decides to stay - his decision fueled by his trepidation of returning to the Mojave, and by developing a misguided attachment to Joshua. He learns fairly quickly that the majority of those around Joshua seem to be magnetized to his intense personality, some even bordering on misplaced hero-worship, and though Mason’s aware he’s fallen in line with this behavior, he can’t bring himself to care.

It’s almost a year before Mason reluctantly decides to leave Zion, and the west altogether, coming to the conclusion it’d be the best for himself and those around him. In that time, a mutual respect between himself and Joshua became a tentative friendship, which eventually became an actual friendship, and, more importantly, it became trust. Leaving Zion and the Mojave felt like leaving himself and starting from the bottom...all over again.

The years spent crossing the Wasteland, after leaving all he knew behind, changes Mason in an unprecedented way. He’s inclined to more reckless behavior, and cares less about the repercussions of his choices. He’s certain he doesn’t need anyone, and is hesitant to let people close beyond casual meetings.

Would you describe them as selfless or selfish? Does it depend on the situation?

Ultimately, all the reasons behind his choices are based on selfishness. Even leaving the west was built on the idea of escaping his responsibilities. There were some selfless reasons contributing to it, and those definitely pushed him over the edge, but he knows that those reasons wouldn’t have been enough on their own. Perhaps enough to leave Zion, but not the Mojave.

What do they find most attractive in others? Name at least one psychological and physical trait. (doesn’t have to be romantic attraction)

Confidence, self-assurance, and some amount of outward leadership. When he’s around people who appear to lack fear, it relieves some of the pressure that weighs on him. He doesn’t like being the person who always has to make the decisions, though he aspires to lose his reservations over that very thing.

He doesn’t care for physicality beyond shallow acknowledgement that someone is good-looking to him. But there is no ‘one feature’ that he always finds attractive.

Do they flirt often? How easily do they fall in love?

Does an agonizingly bare and plain display of trust count as flirting?

What’s their love life like? Are they interested in anyone or in a relationship?

He only completely trusted one person after he’d been shot and lost his memories. He fully accepted that whatever he felt wasn’t going to lead to anything, and he respected that. It was unspoken, even if both parties were aware of it, but that’s all it ever would be.

Do they prefer to solve things diplomatically or using violence?

While he doesn’t enjoy speaking to those he doesn’t know well, he will try to de-escalate tense situations with words nonetheless. If it comes to no other choice, he has no objections on defending himself.

What is their combat style? What range do they prefer? Do they sneak?

Ranged, preferring both bolt and lever action rifles. He’ll always choose to scout an area from a recon position and engage any enemies from afar, only after gathering information on the land and what weapons his targets are equipped with. If things get out of hand and the fight ends up close range, he’ll switch to either a pistol or 12 gauge, depending on what he has with him.

What weapon(s) do they always carry with them?

One primary large rifle, and a secondary pistol or shotgun. Favorite weapons are: Paciencia, Medicine Stick, This Machine, Dinner Bell, That Gun, and Lil Devil. He changes his loadout frequently to remain light, and only carries two weapons with him at any given time.

Their most prized possession?

Perhaps not a prized possession, but he always has his Mojave Express ID with him, taped to the inside of an old delivery organizer. Maybe he’s gotten attached to it – maybe it’s insurance in case history repeats itself.

(I attempted to “draw” the delivery notebook and the ID.)

Their thoughts on power armor?

Impractical for his type of combat specialties. He sees power armor as an anti-radiation tool for certain circumstances, but he rarely applies the armor even then, since he can’t be bothered to burden the armor around while wandering or travelling. And...well...he thinks it looks silly.

Favorite armor/ outfit?

Anything resembling a duster or long coat, and he’s automatically into it. It doesn’t really go any deeper than that.

How’s their aim? Do their hands shake while pointing a gun?

Because of his preferred style of combat, he can’t afford to have shaking hands. The recoil between shots in a large rifle is long and offers too much of an opportunity for the enemy to get the upper hand. Each shot has to count, and any motion outside of involuntary bodily movement, like breathing, can lead to failure or death. He spent...a long time training his body to respond properly to using rifles.

What are their thoughts on having to kill on a daily bases in order to survive? Does it take a toll on them? Or do they shake it off rather easily?

He was surprised it didn’t affect him beyond the initial adrenaline when he took part in his first shootout - when the Powder Gangers attacked Goodsprings. He didn’t feel remorse, and neither did anyone around him, which gave him pause. Perhaps it was an instinct from his old self to not dwell on lost lives for nameless faces, or maybe his brain was damaged beyond amnesia.

So, no - killing doesn’t take a toll on him, but trying to analyze why it doesn’t affect him can sometimes keep him up into the wee hours of the night.

Thoughts on death if any? (ex. Fear it, accept it)

He’s convinced he’s experienced death already. Shot in the head, buried in a shallow grave, followed by an immediate and total loss of self. If your past and memories define you, and those are all lost in the blink of an eye - is that not a sort of “death”? Coming to this conclusion brought him peace with the idea of dying.

He’s very much not okay with the idea of those he cares for dying, however. This is small part of his reasoning behind leaving the west.

Do they move around a lot or prefer to have a place to call home?

Zion was his home for nearly a year, and it’s the longest lasting home he can remember having. He’s had a few different “bases” - his room in Novac, the Lucky 38, (the back of a caravan wagon), (the side of a dusty road) - but nothing that truly classified as a “home” to him.

Their opinions on ghouls, feral and not feral?

A ghoul is just another person - a feral is just another target (bloody annoying targets that he’ll try to avoid, if he can).

Do they scavenge for their supplies or simply buy them?

Scavenge for parts to make his own supplies and ammo, buy them when he’s desperate and running low.

How do they sleep? Are they picky about where and how or can they sleep basically anywhere?

You don’t get a lot of options for bedding when you’re always on the move. When exhaustion finally gets the better of him, it’s not unheard of for him to fall asleep sitting straight up with a bottle of whiskey in hand.

What’s their favorite radio station and song? (post-apocalypse)

He prefers Radio New Vegas, but the Mojave Radio plays a few good ones too. He can’t resist singing or humming along to Big Iron. Every. Time.

What’s their favorite post-apocalyptic food? Are they a picky eater? Do they know how to cook?

Iguana bits have a certain quality about them that he can’t quite place. Iguana on a stick doesn’t compare, nor does a gecko kebab or squirrel bits. He’s attempted to replicate the recipe numerous times, even with his low survival skill and lack of culinary knowledge, but ultimately failed.

;-))))) (If he knew the truth, he’d probably grasp at his throat and make dramatic gagging noises, recoiling in horror, remembering all the times he enjoyed iguana bits.

What’s their favorite beverage? Do they drink alcohol?

Water, booze, and Sunset Sarsaparilla. Whiskey is a long time favorite, though when he hits the east coast he starts picking up a palette for bourbon. Surprisingly enough, he can barely stand Nuka-Cola.

With no memories or defining character traits to speak of, the most difficult thing Mason struggled with was finding a purpose for himself. He’d felt useful helping the people of Goodsprings with their troubles, and it kept his mind from clouding with negative thoughts about his circumstances (he didn’t recognize the person he saw in the mirror; his voice didn’t sound as he expected; sometimes he felt younger than how he looked - sometimes older, etc.). But, after he had set off from Goodsprings, he felt empty.

At first, the prospect of finding his shooter didn’t much appeal to him, but eventually, a dull anger set in, and he found new purpose in tracking down the man who stole everything from him. He kept with his inclination of helping people in his journey across the Mojave, and though that quickly lost its novelty and no longer brought him comfort, he would do it anyway.

Things changed him throughout his time in the desert. He met interesting people, some of them becoming his friends, and he learned more about himself and the land around him. The prospect of craving revenge became more and more distant, and he learned to let go of his anger. But, unfortunately, he ended up unintentionally winding himself into the politics of the Mojave, and made quite the name for himself. This only worsened once he’d finally reached The Strip.

He let Benny live, and berated himself for being such an idiot after the ambush. Later, at Fortification Hill, Mason was ready to pull the trigger, but, at the last second, he’d stiffly turned away (he remembered lowly uttering, “Do what you want with him, I’m not your puppet,” to Caesar and his guard.) It was one of the biggest decisions he’d made, and he was aware of it.

With the Platinum Chip in hand and the second battle for Hoover Dam on the horizon, situations only became more tense. Yes Man, Caesar, and the NCR all persistently trying to whisper in his ear, with the latter of the three being the one he made most reputation with. A regret. He became determined to no longer unwittingly further anymore political agendas, but the pressure from the three factions was getting to him. He turned on his radio, made another big decision, and fled to Zion.

He didn’t think his problems from the Mojave would find him there - but, after a time, they do. Too many assassins and intelligencers. They’d had a purpose to be there before he’d arrived, one that was bigger than him. An unfortunate slip up in a fight, and then there were two targets the Legion were gunning for in Zion, rather than one. (”You’ve made the wrong friends, Courier Six,” a frumentarii hissed as a boot crushed Mason’s windpipe.)

It took him a long time to make the final decision to leave the west coast for good. Before, he’d only been fleeing from the political mess he wound up in, but it became worse than just a mess. He knew he was being hunted, and more, they knew he was allied to Joshua - that just added to the difficulties Joshua already faced with Legion spies and assassins, and also put all the tribes in Zion at a greater risk.

He couldn’t go back to the Mojave...so that really only left one choice.

Screenshots:

#oc shepherd #this belongs on my fallout blog so i'm posting it here #and deleted off my personal #////#/////#fallout new vegas #it IS under a read more #i know the tumblr app sometimes doesn't show that #not trying to overload dashboards here

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mothsmusing · 5 years

Text

My Chilling Adventures with Sabrina.

What’s up witches!? Let’s talk about Sabrina, everyone’s favorite (extremely) platinum bad-ass witch.

I recently finished season 2… and I’m trying to hold on hope and follow the Herald of Hell. I absolutely loved the first season. It was such a dark, creepy, atmospheric breeze of completely fresh air, blown from the steam of a black, bubbling cauldron. And, dear Dark Lord, was I HERE for it! I lost myself in the dark world, found myself rooting for the witches, wanting this to be a reality, and extremely happy I got to experience it as part of my own day-to-day.

The second season fell short of this, though, and I’m trying not to cuddle up to a black cat and cry. I still loved Sabrina, of course, and Ambrose, and the aunties. But there was just something I couldn’t place that didn’t entirely work for me during this season. Don’t get me wrong, I still enjoyed it. It just wasn’t the same.

Let’s start with the things I DID like, shall we?

Firstly, this show is still just honest-to-hell beautiful. The cinematography is amazing, and the color pallets and patterns are just wonderful. It really does a fine job of taking advantage of the dark and gloomy British Columbian landscape. Every waft of fog, twisting of thorns, and streak of black just melts together like a spell to create a wonderfully wicked world that was, and still is, fun to escape in. All blacks and blues smeared with silver and crimson, a melancholy landscape set the backdrop for this part of the story. The tidbits of pop culture, little Easter eggs of mythology and folklore were a nice touch, too. Everything here seems to live and breathe, even the monsters and beasties. All the faces you see in the background are picture perfect and fit in this created world, even when they have no other screen time or importance. They are seen. They are a part of the world. I especially loved the appearance of characters such as Dorian Gray, Shirley Jackson, and even Methuselah. They were nice touches of black, blotting ink on a pretty great world.

Next, it was a nice change from the “teen” genre to see that the problems in this season went beyond who slept with who, who said what, and other mere gossipy trends in drama. This conflict was overarching and bigger than any one of the characters, even the central Sabrina. It was difficult from the start to figure out who was the central character, who would extend and drive the main plot? Every episode focused more and more on characters that sat in the sidelines during Part One; Ambrose (my broseph), Zelda, Hilda, and even Prudence. And let’s not forget the mortals in the cast; Roz, Theo (formally known as Suzie) and the heart throb Harvey. All of them very important this go ‘round and all of them driven by their own threads in the story. The network of characters really shown like a black flame candle in this season, and their webs weaved in and out, all surrounding the central story.

Speaking of story, this time, it seemed more developed, more complex. The first Part, expectedly, centered mainly on Sabrina’s decision as to whether she should sign the Book of the Beast, embracing her ‘evil’ heritage, or forsaking it, or even, finding a way to marry the two, just as her father and mother married the world of witches and mortals. This time, however, Sabrina is just a pawn, just a player in the game. The story is much, much wider than her. Like, bigger than Greendale. Like… the world and shit. Potentially. Definitely the world of the witches and warlocks. Fire and brimstone, and all that.

One last thing on the front of what I loved….

THAT TWIST THO!!! The backstab of it all! The shade!! I did NOT see those slaps coming, but praise hell did I feel them!! HOLY SHIT!!

*excuse me while I compose myself*

*cough*

Now amidst this exquisite cacophony of darkness and snark, there were a couple things that I just didn’t vibe with… sadly…

Remember when I was glad that the conflict in this season went beyond just the usual teenage drama. Well. Plot-twist. It’s still there. And it just isn’t…. good. The strain on the relationships between Sabrina and her mortal friends seems a bit forced. Now, I’m completely aware that this is, in fact, a television show and the actions of the characters are deliberately written. What’s the worst is when it actually seems that way. The drama, although valid, due to some rather neglectful, and sometimes downright selfish, acts of the leading Spellman, was a bit, obvious. Too obvious. Maybe I’m wrong here, and maybe this is what would actually happen, but the reactions of her friends seemed a bit cliché’. Part of my love for this show was that it took cliché and gave it a giant, scaly middle finger. Unfortunately, here it fell short.

Again. Remember when I said I loved the world-building and mythology? Some of it was painfully unoriginal when it came to the stories of Satan and Lilith, at least in their backstories. Sadly, I guess not everything can be original in a show, right? Still. I wanted something a little… more. More stylized? More bastardized? More warped? I’m not sure. All I can say is that it just wasn’t there for me.

So, fans of this show know that the campiness is part of the appeal. The twisting of the classic tales of witches, all but wrapping them up in a black conical hat and sending them off on a broomstick. That being said, there were parts in this season where the campiness just seemed too real, counter-productive, and distracting from the show. It was like someone made editing mistakes and just didn’t realize until it was already done, just hoping the viewers didn’t see it all THAT much. I just found myself, sometimes thinking well OF COURSE that happened, or of COURSE that’s what they are doing. It was a bit difficult to decipher if the intention was to be campy and cliché on some subjects or if there simply was no other way to do it. Mostly, it was just a distraction bundled up in a big box of cheesy.

My final con, and I may be going to hell (heaven?) for saying this, was Sabrina herself. Her ego really got huge in this one, and there were times where it just was not flattering. She made some decisions that came off as completely selfish, and haughty, and her moment of religious zealotry was little different than the ones she was trying to overthrow, even if her reasoning seemed justified (and truthfully, probably was). I just couldn’t shake the distaste she left in my mouth more often than not. Fortunately, the side cast really took center stage here, and they came through, threefold. (Side note: Sabrina, I still love you, but.. bitch calm down.)

Overall, this was good. Really good. And I loved it just as I did Part One. I hated characters, I loved characters, I wanted to light some candles, cast a circle, and invoke all the powers of the night alongside my favorite faces. One thing this show does well is tantalizes some really beautiful places in the mind. It makes you wish you lived in this world, but also forces you to understand that maybe you shouldn’t. It’s a world that is both otherworldly, and painfully familiar. People hide as monsters and magic hides as mischief, all covered in blood and bone and thorns. All while doing this, the conflicts that these magical retinue of folks go through hit home with today’s world. Gender-equality, misogyny in religious settings, secular oppression, gender expression, personal freedom, found family, etc. Either way, its enticing, spellbinding, and I am completely enthralled. I’ll willing sign this show’s Book of the Beast.

Happy watching, fam. -Moth

#tv #chilling adventures of sabrina #tv review #netflix #showtime #tv thoughts #witches #warlocks #hail sabrina #my thoughts #reviews #bloglife #mephisto walz

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

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Skyscraper Jones

Notes: I thank her on every single one of these and I always will because this verse wouldn’t exist without her - @welllpthisishappening. (She’s perfect so if you don’t follow her, you’re really missing out!) Anyway, I know that everyone loves Wes/is waiting for something Wes centric, but Harrison is my puppy dog and he’s slightly based upon my ridiculous younger brother who is giant. (I call him Moose.) Anyway, this one-shot is based upon the actual events involving my younger brother who everyone seemed to think was in the fifth grade instead of second grade on our first day at a new elementary school. (Little Pirates ‘verse: By the Hook, Breakfast for Boys, Pirate Halloween and Children and Understandings.) You can also read this on AO3 here: [LINK] Summary: Harrison Jones is a big kid. Five inches and fifteen pounds heavier than the other kids in Ms. Zellar’s second grade class. He’s a bit hard to miss, which is why Emma Swan can’t understand why she’s getting a phone call in the middle of day from Storybrooke Elementary informing her that her son is missing. Rating: T Word Count: 4,1000+

Harrison Liam Jones is a big kid.

But this is nothing new as he was a big baby too and that’s something Emma Swan won’t ever forget because pushing out eleven pounds and two ounces of a human being is something that deserves a mention in the Guinness Book of World Records. (Henry likes to inform her that bigger babies have been born around fifteen and sixteen pounds and she cannot help but wince. She cannot imagine pushing out something bigger than Harrison, who nearly ripped her apart and broke his collarbone on the way out.) She remembers turning to her husband not long after Harrison was taken away by the attendants and telling him if he wanted another kid, he was going to have to carry it himself because there’s no way she’s going through childbirth again. (Six months later, of course, she makes a liar out of herself when whispers in his ear to tell him she wants another. Wes is born not long after that and Beth less than two years after him. Thankfully neither kid is as big as their brother when they’re born. Wes is a respectful seven pounds and nine ounces. Beth is their tiny girl; born four pounds and eleven ounces.)

They aren’t quite sure where Harrison’s stature comes from. It’s not that Killian is particularly short, but he’s not the six feet and four inches that their pediatrician estimates their boy will be. David is tall and broad, but he’s not gigantic enough to explain why their son will be towering over them before long. All and all, they chalk it as a medical and genetic mystery, and just accept that Harrison is going to be a very big boy.

David loves it and often heckles Emma to sign him up for pee-wee football despite the fact that he’s only seven, a year or two too young to even be on the team. He’s a proud grandfather and sees so much athletic potential in Harrison who is taller than Neal now, despite the fact Neal is a good year and some months older than him.

“He’s bigger than half the fourth graders and he would be on the same team as Neal!” Her father argues, looking at her like she’s insane for saying ‘no.’

“He’s not old enough!” Emma huffs, glaring at him with her hands on her hips. This is an argument they’re had too many times. “Besides, I don’t want him getting hurt.”

“Hurt? Your son is a bear cub compared to those kids. If anyone is going to get hurt, it’s the poor quarterback who stands no chance against a kid his size. Come on, Emma, you have a baby Brian Urlacher on your hands. If Hook knew anything about football he would agree with me!”

Emma cannot help but snort. Everyone is so caught up on the size of the boy that it seems that they cannot look past it and realize that her kid isn’t just big in size, he has a big soft heart as well. Harrison is a sweet boy who wouldn’t want to hurt a fly let alone tackle another kid. He’s incredibly gentle with his younger siblings, often guiding them around and picking them up when they fall over. He’s more likely to help a kid up after being tackled than doing the tackling himself. (Her other little kiddos are different story entirely. At five, she can already tell Wes has a bit of a mean streak as well as a wily cunning that goes beyond his years while three-year-old Beth doesn’t care about anything except getting her way.) No, Harrison Jones is very much a lover, not a fighter; no matter how much of a big kid he was.

“Dad, Harrison isn’t old enough. I don’t care how big he is. We’re not signing him up for football. At least not until next year.”

“Fine! But no one would ever know! It’s not like he looks seven!”

He’s right. At seven-years-old, Harrison is four-foot, five inches and sixty-five pounds, which is five inches taller and fifteen pounds heavier than the average demographic for his age. Emma figured that this wouldn’t be a problem as long as he was a healthy and able-bodied boy until it was…

Because David is right; Harrison does not look like a seven-year-old.

Killian and Emma are finishing a follow up on a break-in at the pharmacy when Emma’s phone rings and the caller ID reveals that it’s the elementary school calling her…again. They share an exasperated look as she reaches to answer it.

“Wes?” Killian predicts with a sigh. Their youngest son has been causing some trouble in his kindergarten class. His sticky fingers are a little too sticky with his classmates’ belongings. It’s become an issue that they’re sorely hoping to nip in the butt. Everyone seems to believe Wes is emulating Killian with his thieving skills, but Emma privately sees herself in the boy; her own pickpocketing days seem to be forgotten by all but her.

“Probably,” Emma sighs before pulling up her phone. “Hello. This is Sheriff Swan.”

“Hello…Sheriff Swan…its Principal Pratt from Storybrooke Elementary…” The principal’s voice sounds more hesitant than annoyed, and something about that makes the hair on Emma’s arm raise.

“I know, Marie, you’ve called at least once a week. What did Wes do this time?” Emma asks with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t even bother calling the woman by her title anymore. They talk enough to be on a first name basis, regardless of any sense of propriety that the principal has.

“It’s not Wes I’m calling about, Sheriff. It’s Harrison. He’s missing.”

Emma Swan and fear are good old friends. After living in Storybrooke for some long, it’s almost an expected part of her day to feel adrenaline kicks, shivers down her spine and to choke down all feelings of panic in order to launch herself into action, to save everyone else. What she’s feeling isn’t normal fear; it’s hysteria. She’s not facing down some nameless monster. This is her kid in trouble, her kid in danger, her kid that is missing. Every part of her is screaming and it feels like a blaring red alarm is going off in her head. She’s lived through the Final Battle and honestly, she can say, this feels worse than that. The very concept of her child being in danger is worse than any possibility of death. It is the one thing that they don’t tell you when you become a parent.

She doesn’t stand around waiting for the school to update her. She can’t. She’s the Savior and she’s a woman of action. She and her husband march into the school, war faces at the ready. They stride into Principal Pratt’s office, ignoring the squawking secretaries and administrative staff that tries to stop them. They don’t do more than yell at them to stop however. She’s the Savior and Killian is in full Hook mode, looking positively murderous. They couldn’t have stopped them if they tried.

Principal Pratt and the young woman, who Emma recognizes as Harrison’s teacher Ms. Zellar, jump as they jar open the door to Pratt’s office. Emma also wishes she had a sword so she could jab it into the desk and let Principal Pratt know exactly how angry she is.

“Where is my son?” Emma hisses as she strides over and slams her hands against the desk.

Killian settles himself against the door, arms crossed in front of his chest with the hook on display. He’s letting her handle this…for now. He’s just as upset as she is at the moment, but he’s stewing. This joke of a school administration needs to figure its shit before Killian goes off, full on Captain Hook on them. Emma would let him. Gladly.

Ms. Zellar, whose eyes were red and cheeks blotchy, starts to cry. Her entire body shakes and Principal Pratt looks helplessly between the teacher and Emma.

“I don’t know!” Ms. Zellar wails. “He went out to recess with the rest of the kids and he didn’t come back in with them! We haven’t been able to find him since!”

“My son is the biggest kid in your class! He’s like the Empire State Building compared to the rest of them! You don’t just lose the Empire State Building!” Emma replies, her voice is so loud that it could be considered yelling. It’s not yelling though. Not yet. She’s just warming up.

“With all due respect, Sheriff Swan, all the grades recess together. So Harrison isn’t as noticeable as the Empire State Building. We do have grades kindergarten through fifth grade playing outside together after all,” Principal Pratt replies, placing a hand on Ms. Zellar’s shoulder. “It’s entirely possible that Harrison could have run off without any of the staff noticing.”

“Harrison run off…” Emma repeats. The words are distasteful on her tongue. “Bullshit, Marie. Harrison has never caused any issues in his time at this school. Wes run off? I would believe that in a heartbeat because none of you seem to be able to manage my five year old. Harrison? Never.”

Emma wants to say more, but she hears Killian shift behind her and she can see the facial expressions of the two women change as he approaches. She tilts her head to the side to look at him. Killian is stalking towards the desk and though there’s a small smile on his face, there’s no joy in it. It’s a dangerous smile and it reminds her of a time long ago when he was the Dark One.

“So, correct me if I’m wrong, ladies, but from what I’m hearing, the policy of this school to bring every single child outside during a period of the day when you do not have enough adults supervising them to ensure their safety and make sure they aren’t capable of running off? In Storybrooke nonetheless where we are favored with a monster of the week?” Killian asks in a soft voice that makes a chill even run up Emma’s spine. She’s not sure these women realize exactly how angry her husband is at the moment and that they should be considering their words carefully.

“It’s been our policy as long as I can remember, Cap-Mr. Jones. The children prefer it because some of them have kids in other grades. Your own children included.”

“You know that my sons have friends in other grades, but not where my eldest is? You need to work on priorities in regards to your observation skills,” Killian responds, standing next to Emma. She grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze in solidarity.

Principal Pratt’s face colors at the comment and she opens her mouth to respond, but the door opens again and this time, it’s Mary Margaret who strides in. She looks almost as murderous as Emma and Killian, her face flushed with anger. She couldn’t have looked more threatening even if she had her bow.

“Where is my grandson?” She asks, wedging herself between Emma and Killian and placing her hands on both of their shoulders. Principal Pratt looks at a lost with how to deal with an angry Snow White, Captain Hook and Savior. Ms. Zellar looks like she wants to faint.

“Shouldn’t you be teaching fourth grade, Mrs. Nolan?” Principal Pratt responds.

“Jim is looking in on them,” Mary Margaret replies. “I know how to responsibly take care of my students unlike some teachers. Now answer the question. Where is my grandson?”

“We’re looking for him, Mary Margaret, I promise,” Principal Pratt responds, looking very haggard at having to deal with all three of them. “We’ve got Mike, Isodora, James and Ava all looking for him.”

“And yet, you’re both in here,” Mary Margaret responds. “A child is missing and you’re in your office, doing nothing. This time could be better spent looking for Harrison.”

Emma’s heart warms a bit at the conviction and accusation in her mother’s voice. Her mother is risking her career at the moment by talking this way to her boss, but Emma loves her more for it. Their family is more important to her mother than her job. If she wasn’t so keyed up about Harrison being missing, she would have hugged her.

Principal Pratt looks dumbfounded that Mary Margaret is speaking to her in such a way. Her mouth opens and closes a few times without actually uttering anything. Ms. Zellar’s face, which was red before, is now closer to a shade of purple and she keeps her eyes trained on the floor as if she wanted it to swallow her up.

“I…I…” Principal Pratt is lost for words. “You’re right. We should help look for the boy.”

“Not the boy,” Killian hisses. “Harrison. He’s not the boy. He’s not any boy. He’s my son and you will remember that.”

Principal Pratt’s face goes white at Killian’s tone and Emma squeezes his hand, debating to herself whether she could tell him to dial it down a notch or kiss him for being so fiercely protective of their son. Mary Margaret gives him a look of approval and nods in agreement. All five of them are about to walk out the door when there is a commotion outside the office. All the secretaries are buzzing about something. Emma and Mary Margaret exchange a look while Killian pushes open a door.

A young man no older than twenty-seven is in engaged with an angry verbal spar with one of the secretaries. Not only is he angrily spitting at the harassed looking women, but he is also holding up Emma and Killian’s son Harrison by his ear and it’s obvious by the redness of the appendage and the tears in Harrison’s eyes that the man had dragged him into the office by it.

“I need to talk to Principal Pratt about this punk right now! This kid thinks he’s funny! Trying to play off like he’s a second grader! The dumbest ploy I’ve heard to get out of a test! He needs to learn a lesson! You can’t pull this kind of stunt on a substitute teacher!” The man shouts at the secretary.

Mary Margaret lets out a horrified sound. The secretaries, the man and Harrison, turn to see the five out of them standing outside of Pratt’s office.

“Mom!” Harrison shouts and yanks himself free of the man’s grasp, flinching as he did so. He runs towards Emma at full speed and Emma gathers her big little boy in her arms, tugging him as close as she can. He’s honestly too big at held at this point but Emma doesn’t care. Relief is a palpable thing and Emma feels like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. Harrison is safe.

Killian darts past her at a speed that Emma hadn’t realized that he was capable of until that moment. The young man’s eyes bulge in alarm as Killian approaches, taking a step back in hopes of getting away from him. Killian isn’t deterred, he lifts the man up by his hook and slams the man against the wall. The administration gasps. Principal Pratt moves forward to intervene, but Mary Margaret places an arm in front of her to stop her from interfering.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Killian snarls, barring his teeth like some feral creature. The muscles in his jaw and neck twitch under the strain of his rage. “And what makes you think it’s okay to manhandle MY SON!?”

“You okay, Kid?” Emma asks Harrison in a murmur, gently running her hand over his back in a smoothing motion. Her arms ache from holding him up, but he deserves to be held and after the sheer terror she felt while he was missing, she’s reluctant to let him go. She frowns at the redness of his ear. It looks like it hurts like hell. They might have to stop at the nurse’s office for an ice pack.

“He didn’t believe me, Mom,” Harrison whispers. “He didn’t believe I was in Ms. Zellar’s class.”

“The kid was trying to get out of a test and thought he could pull a fast one on me,” the man wheezes out.

Emma’s certain if she wasn’t so focused on her son at the moment, she would have hit the guy over the head because he just doesn’t know her kid. Harrison, without question, is the easiest of her children to handle aside from Henry who is now grown and in college. Wes is the one who would pull a fast one on a teacher. Beth, once she finally is old enough, will probably try to pull fast ones too. She does a marvelous job hoodwinking Killian as is. Harrison is the one most likely to rat someone out because, despite his age, he has an extreme sense of justice to him that makes his grandfather proud.

“And that gives you an excuse to manhandle a child?” Mary Margaret demands. Despite the fact she’s wearing frilly pastels, she looks positively terrifying like she’s ready to pull out her bow and use the man for target practice.

“Mr. Jones could you kindly put Mr. Abad down so we can get to the bottom of this business?” Principal Pratt asks in a tired tone. She sounds like she’s in desperate need of a drink. Emma doesn’t blame her. She wants one too.

Killian acquiesces to her demands, reluctantly pulling away from Mr. Abad, but not without ripping the collar of his shirt. Young Mr. Abad looks torn between indignation and terror as he regards Killian with a wary eye. Killian continues to glower at him, looking like he would delight in nothing more than ripping the man to shreds for touching their son. If Harrison wasn’t clinging so hard to Emma, she’s sure she might have slung at the man.

“You have the floor for the moment, Mr. Abad,” Principal Pratt says with another sigh. “I suggest you explain yourself and your actions before Mr. Jones, Mrs. Nolan and Sheriff Swan get impatient with you.”

“Well,” Mr. Abad starts, licking his lip as his eyes dart back and forth between Emma, Killian, Mary Margaret and Principal Pratt. His pupils remind Emma of a pinball machine with how fast they move. “I caught this kid-“

“Harrison,” Mary Margaret interrupts, crossing her arms in front of her chest and glowering at him. “Not this kid. Harrison. We know our students’ names at this school. Did you even ask?”

“No, but-”Mary Margaret doesn’t let him finish again.

“You didn’t ask? You brought him to the principal’s office but you didn’t bother to learn his name? Do you even know any of your students? Did you even do roll call? Attendance? Because if you did, you might have learned Harrison doesn’t belong in fifth grade and you would have saved everyone here an hour of panic!”

“Well, I didn’t know if he was lying to me or if any of the other punks were! I mean the kid said he was in the second grade for Pete’s sake! He tried as far as to go in through the second grade doors when he came back from recess. That’s ridiculous!”

“Mr. Abad,” Ms. Zellar speaks for the first time. Her face is still red, but Emma is now certain it’s from anger now instead of embarrassment. “Harrison is one of my students. He is the second grade and I’ve been frantic for the last hour because you took one of my students without even consulting anyone!”

“I didn’t think I needed to consult anyone on taking a fifth grade student! The kid doesn’t look like a second grader! If that kid is a second grader, then he’s the mammoth of all second graders! The beanstalk of the second grade!”

“We prefer to call him the Empire State Building of the second grade. Skyscraper Jones when we’re being clever, thank you very much,” Emma replies, glaring at him and giving her son, the aforementioned Empire State Building of the second grade, a kiss on the forehead. Harrison cuddles his face into her neck like he does at home when they’re watching a movie and he’s getting second-hand embarrassment from a particularly dumb scene. Typical of her sweet boy. Wes, Beth and even Henry would be straight up angry and kicking up a storm of indignation to be in this situation, but Harrison? He’s just embarrassed.

“How are you even a teacher?” Mary Margaret says, still going for the kill. “You don’t take attendance. You don’t know who are your students and who aren’t. Oh! You call the students “little punks” and you manhandled my grandson in front of the entire administration staff. Seriously, how did you get a teaching license?”

“Yeah, this is a public school. If you want to pull that kind of stuff, go to a private Catholic school. You’ll fit right in,” Emma replies because she can’t help herself. Mr. Abad is a young teacher (soon to ex-teacher) but he reminds her of all the nuns she dealt with when she was put in Catholic school by the Smiths in Montana.

Mr. Abad seems to sense that he’s in a world of trouble at the moment and makes the intelligent decision not to reply to Mary Margaret or Emma. He does however keep his eyes trained on Killian’s hook as if he is just waiting for it to gut him. Killian, of course, who notices the look, offers him a smirk and continues to look at him with murder in his eyes.

“Mr. Abad, I think it’s time for us to discuss your future as a substitute for Mrs. Decker’s class and that you give Ms. Zellar an apology for this…situation,” Principal Pratt says finally, gesturing for Mr. Abad to join her in her office. Mr. Abad’s face blanches, but he enters the office quickly as if trying to get away from Emma, Mary Margaret and Killian as fast as possible. Smart man.

“You will receive a formal apology from the school in the mail and acknowledgement of Mr. Abad’s termination in regard to this incident,” Principal Pratt says in a weary tone as she regards Emma with a tired look. “I’m sorry for this situation.”

“If it’s all the same to you, we’re going to take Harrison home for the rest of the day,” Emma replies, silently challenging the woman to protest the course of action.

“Of course,” she replies, obviously not willing to argue with Emma. “He’s had a trying day.”

“What do you say, bud? You, me and Dad get ice cream at Granny’s?” Emma says to her son, meeting Killian’s eyes over Harrison’s dark hair as she always says when she calls him ‘Dad.’ They have a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, a three-year-old and he arguably helped raise her college sophomore, but it still brings out an unnamable emotion when she calls him that.

“Yeah…I would like that,” Harrison replies, voice still muffled by Emma’s neck.

Killian, who still looks pissed off about the whole fiasco, softens a bit. It’s as if the reminder that he’s father pacifies the rage beast that was dying to be set loose today. He steps forward and takes Harrison from Emma’s arms, hefting their son over his head so Harrison is sitting on his shoulders. It’s a picture that it is both absurd and impossibly adorable since Harrison strongly resembles his father despite his stature; their facial structure near identical, the only key differences being Harrison’s green eyes, chubby child cheeks and more pointed chin. Emma smiles and shakes her head, mainly because Harrison is far too big now to be receiving rides on his father’s shoulders. Killian is relatively strong, especially for a man with one hand, but she knows he’s going to be sore as well later.

“I will see you later at Granny’s?” Mary Margaret asks with a smile. All evidence of her previous ire is erased by a picture of pleasantness. Emma doesn’t know how her mother pulls it off.

“Sure,” Emma replies, chuckling as she watches Killian squat down so he can both himself and Harrison through the doorway. If he drops their son, he’s sleeping on the couch for a week. “We’ll see you there. Hopefully without another mashed potato incident.”

Mary Margaret laughs.

“Yes, extra eyes on the boys is always necessary,” she says with a smile. “But let’s worry about that later. Go enjoy your ice cream. Give Harrison some extra sprinkles courtesy of Grandma.”

“Done,” Emma replies, following her husband and her son out the door.

Harrison ends up getting only extra sprinkles, but hot fudge, whipped cream and a cherry on top of the mountain size portion of vanilla ice cream. Granny defends the decision by stating that big boys need big portions.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs crew #cs #swan jones family #dad!killian #daddy!killian #momma!emma #cs babies #cs fanfiction #ouat ff #harrison jones #little pirates #my fic #my shit #little pirates fic #skyscaper jones

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onemoreepitaph · 4 years

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The Saga of the Swamp Thing and the trouble of writing comic book reviews.

So, I recently finished finished reading The Saga of the Swamp Thing (or as it’s known in more modern terms, Swamp Thing volume 2). As with every comic (and most things) I finish, I want to review it. This poses a problem, as Swamp Thing is 171 issues covered by a massive amount of different staff members with low cohesion beyond canon. Pasko’s Swamp Thing is vastly different from Moore’s from Collin’s from Millar’s and so forth. This makes it difficult to review as one piece even if I can define it with a beginning, middle, and end. I’ve reviewed comics before without problem. Even comics with multiple directions (such as Miracleman) but not on such a massive scale.

Really, the writing isn’t even the thing that makes it hard to review. I can cover disjointed writing. It’s the disjointedness of everything. In visual mediums, I like to review the visual design, and swamp thing has passed through the hands of so many artists that even recalling all of them is incredibly difficult. I can give kudos to Tatjana Wood’s coloring for by far being the most consistent thing in this comic book. So rather than formatting this like I like to on my other blog, I’m going to give this a more messy crazy whirl.

(If you’re here after Alan Moore’s Swamp Thing and just want to know if you should read the rest jump down to the very bottom (past issue 171))

To start off, let me acknowledge that this is a sequel, and should be treated as such. Since the end of the first volume, Alec Holland is Swamp Thing again (this happens in Challengers of the Unknown, but for all intents and purposes treat the last 2 issues of volume 1 as non-canon, life will be better that way.) Swamp Thing finds a peculiar situation, a man trying to kill his daughter whilst declaring her the anti-christ. Swamp Thing saves her, and thus starts on his next great arc. Unlike the individual stories of volume 1, volume 2 is more arc based. This is for better and for worse, the stories have more character, more plot, and more impact, but also this can lead to dragging and near filler. Generally I’d say it’s just alright in the first few arcs, they’re interesting but unmemorable. The story really picks up in issue 16 with a few character reintroductions, and we’re off to the races from there. Swamp Thing is a famous comic book, and for good reason. The next arcs are a work of brilliance, taking the horror hero concept through some truly interesting reconstructions with absolutely brilliant writing and amazing visual design.

While it’s no painting, the cohesion between writing and visuals is near perfect. You can tell the team was skilled and in alignment. The Love and Death arc of this series is both an amazing story, and the arc that broke the comics code. This marked the evolution of swamp thing from the newspaper stand kids’ content to the saga of respectable storytelling we now hold comic books to be (at their best at least). But no gold rush lasts forever, and the other side of the 50 mark the series begins to cool down into an interesting but only somewhat above average niche it slides into by 100. After that, the series gets turbulent in some interesting ways, which each consecutive writer having drastically different visions and some moments that changed the story almost as much as The Anatomy Lesson did. Your mileage on the post-100 side of swamp thing will probably vary a LOT, with different tones both thematically and visually throughout the rest of the series. If you were to show me issue 166 and tell me it’s the same comic as issue 66, I would find it incredibly difficult to believe you (assuming I weren’t accustomed to these massive changes.) I can say however, that the final ending of the series is a true highlight. It pulls from the legacy of the character into quite a unique finale.

So, here’s the question. Do I recommend Swamp Thing volume 2? Short answer, yes. Long Answer, maybe? It’s status as an un-cohesive story makes it hard to recommend. Most people would recommend issues 21-64, but I’m not sure I agree. I do recommend it from the start, knowing that it will get better. Issue 64 is a great ending, and the only good drop off point until the very end. I can with little doubt recommend up to there. Beyond that is less of a solid go. I firmly believe if you carry on past that point, you will at some point grow distaste with the series. It can be all over the place, and at times I thought to myself “I’d enjoy this story if it were it’s own thing and not Swamp Thing” but I found the experience to be worth it in the end. The transition from 64 to beyond is a bit rough, as 64 feels like a good point to end end the series, but it continues on with a writer who’s clearly not as good as the writer before him. When Nancy A. Collins comes along in the early 100s, she drastically changes the tone, and with Millar starting work on the series it becomes almost unrecognizable as anything before it. I do think, despite all of this, it comes together as one good piece. I think most people will grow to dislike the series at some point, but only temporarily. So if you find yourself at issue 64 and want more, I advise you to carry on, but know it will be a crazy and imperfect experience.

Rating this series in final is difficult, at any point it was somewhere between a 6 and a 9, but usually floated around 7. Overall I think I’ll give it a 7.5, albeit a very interesting 7.5

So, here’s the gloves off spoilers in section. If you’ve never read any of swamp thing volume 2, I implore you to take your leave here. This is mostly for those who have read Moore’s run. I’m going to do a run by run break down. Martin Pasko’s run (1-19) is fine. I found it enjoyable, mostly towards the very end, and it lays the groundwork for some stuff that will pay off later. Really, throw issue 20 into this as well, as it’s just an ending piece for this run. I think it’s a fine enough lead up to the Moore run, but if it existed in isolation I wouldn’t remember it one bit. I recommend it for first time readers, but if you’ve already read beyond it there’s no real point in going back to it. The Moore run (20-64) explains itself. It’s famous. It’s pretty awesome. I generally liked it, even if I didn’t love it. It’s not my favorite Moore work because I don’t think it builds on itself all that well, but the good parts are damn good and art and prose are excellent. I really feel like the space arc was definitely in the territory of “more neat than interesting” but it was a good read nonetheless. oh god my cat wants attention he’s so adorable aaaaaaaa Everytime i type he paws at me for attention ok he went to go do something else. Okay so, Rick Veitch (65-87). Veitch worked as an artist with Moore, so he and Moore are very much on the same page. Despite Moore closing the book in 64, Veitch reopens it with something that feels consistent. The nearly logical next step, the problem is Veitch is not Moore. Veitch had a shitty job, of following that up. He did it the best he could, but he just wasn’t as skilled. If you want more Swamp Thing, it will give you that, but if you want more ground-breaking comics kino, you’re out of luck. It’s a fine read, but the gap is noticeable. The other problem with Veitch is that due to the issue 88 fiasco, his plot didn’t finish by his own hands. Some people read just Veitch, but his ending isn’t an ending. He was supposed to be followed up by Gaiman (who wrote the excellent annual 5), but the issue 88 fiasco made Gaiman also back out. While this was a pretty damn respectable move on Gaiman’s part, it makes me sad wondering what that run could have been. Doug Wheeler (88-109) came in and finished up the arc and then wrote his own war epic, Quest of the Elementals. While Wheeler is a lot of the times criticized as being the bottom of the barrel for Swamp Thing, I found him to be about on par with Veitch. Interesting, but not remarkable. I do give him credit for having an actual ending to his run, which I suppose could be used as an ending point for the series but it’s clearly an arc ending and not a story ending. Then Nancy A. Collins comes in (110-138). Her Swamp Thing is tonally quite different. It’s a much slower, toned down Swamp Thing. A lot of times people describe it as being closer in tone to the pre-Moore era. I liked how it spent more time developing the supporting cast and actually giving Swamp Thing time to be at home with his family. The run was almost comfy until right after the move to Vertigo, it stopped being so. I don’t know why, but on the way out Collins decided to break the status quo, leaving a really unhappy ending. The early parts of her run were some of my favorite parts of Swamp Thing in awhile, but the ending was just upsetting. This is followed up by a one issue Black Orchid crossover, which is neat I suppose. Then we get to Millar (140-171). He starts out his run working with Grant Morrison in this 4 issue story that’s almost pure insanity. It was interesting, but really was a prologue to Millar’s greater run to come. At first I did not like Millar’s run at all. A fuckload had changed. The art was in this simplified, dynamic style that contrasted abrasively with the prior style. The story had become lonely and quite a dark downer, but it picks up. The first real arc, Parliament of Stones, is the biggest offender of being both a downer and not very good. I think from here, it really starts to improve. It still is pretty dirty and down, but it’s got a bit more humanity to it rather than just being shitty for shitty’s sake. The last stretch, Trial by Fire, was quite fantastic. It makes real good on the size of the Swamp Thing legacy, running this clearly Alan Moore like story, and just keeps pulling brilliance out until it ends on an ultimately upbeat note.I see why Millar’s run is the most recommended past Veitch, but it really is rough getting used to. Ultimately though, it justifies both itself and a lot of the weight that the series has gained.

#dc #dc comics #swamp thing #alan moore #mark millar

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