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bonny-kookoo · 4 years

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Shattering (KTH x Reader)☁️🔞💜🐾

🌹Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Reader

🌹Genre: ANGST, romance, smut, god AU, Idk what to call this, hybrid AU

🌹Warnings: heavy angst, death is a major theme, mentions of suicide and death by freezing, listen there is smut but it’s not as kinky as it usual is, just sweet and heartbreaking lovemaking y’all, Wintergod!Taehyung, Winterspirit!Reader, Wolf hybrid!Taehyung, Bunny Hybrid!Reader, major character death, please love this okay I needed to get all that angst out of my system, somewhat of a happy ending? I don't know you tell me lol

🌹Summary: Every day he would warn you. He’d try and keep an eye on you, his favorite spirit, curious as ever- until one day, he looses sight. And you understand why you were warned. Oh dear rabbit, what did you do?

Humans are amazingly interesting to you.

Sometimes, they'd look at you in wonder, they would call out for you, bending down to seem less intimidating, or would try and beckon you with food- yet the voice of your master would always continue to remind you never to get too close to them.

'Humans and beings like us don't mix well, little rabbit.'

So you'd simply watch from afar, or play hide and seek with the children running around the snow covered meadows and in between the trees of the forest you lived in.

Taehyung was worried every time a new day would start. Even though he had a lot of spirits under his command, and other matters to keep watch over, he couldn't help but feel enchanted by you. His heart had you locked inside, never to open again and free your soul within- and you didn't seem to mind that at all, making matters just more complicated for him. He was no god- he was merely a hand of those who ruled over the times and seasons. He was just as much a puppet as you were, yet they prayed to him like he was in control of all live.

Humans would leave presents and wishes at his shrine, every year around the same time. He sometimes felt a bit of guilt seeing all those things delicately placed for him, while he had you at his side, innocently asking him what they brought him this time. It was another charming attitude of yours; you seemed to felt no jealousy at all. In hierarchy, you were low- so low in fact, that everything around you could easily become your end. While he was graced with with a presence so heavenly that he was invisible for the human eye, you were always seen as the snow white rabbit jumping around the white covered grounds. He saw your actual form instead; a young lady as if drawn by the hands of a painter in the 18th century, with pale skin and snowy white bunny ears- your tail just as expressive and adorable as in your animal form. Everything about you made him feel attached, and he didn't mind at all.

The only thing that did in fact bother him however, was your dangerous curiosity. He knew that one day his scolding voice he'd managed to place inside your head would not be enough anymore to hold yourself back from stepping over the line he'd once drawn in the snow- a line for you to never cross. He knew that one day you would, that one day your life would end, either way. Spirits were never intended to continue living for long, anyways. It was a fact he was very well aware of, yet somehow he couldn't bear the mere possibility of your death. Even if it was inevitable.

As he laid there with you, warm and cozy in your burrow underneath the largest tree of the forest you both called your home, he started to let his mind wander, while his fingers traced along your delicate spine. Your skin was so soft, he swore nothing could truly rival the feel of it under his hands. As his palm laid itself over your ribs, you sighed, moving a bit so snuggle closer to him.

He knew he had made a mistake, a heavy weighing one if he was being honest with himself. His life would continue centuries, while yours could very well be taken tomorrow, or today; yet when he'd seen you last night, skin seemingly glowing underneath the moonlight, as your hair shone like stars, he'd given into his deepest desire to claim you for himself.

It wasn't uncommon for small gods like him to feed on small spirits like you, but this was more than simple craving, this was more than pure need. What he felt for you was desire in its purest form, love in its painful ways, and a soft and warm song of happiness and fulfillment inside his head. You drowned out his thoughts and quenched his thirst for adoration; the way you had sighed so blissfully at his touch made him feel like he needed to relive the moment again already. You'd noticed this as well by now- his length rising in need as your eyes opened, sparkling orbs finding his gaze as he moved, tiny rays of the early sunlight peeking into the cave you'd made and shown him proudly the day you'd finished it. He remembers how uninterested he pretended to be, even though he had felt so proud of you that day.

And he notices how he's never voiced that out until now, as he moves to lean over you, his hands holding yours as he looks down on you. "I've never told you how well you did with this home, little rabbit." He humms, his lips finding yours as you can't seem to hide the grin growing on yours. "You did so good." He mumbles, as his kisses move from your lips to your ear, so they can make their way down your neck. "Yet my pride forbade me to voice my thoughts back then. I hope you forgive me." He speaks, and you smile at him, eyes filled with nothing but happiness as he copies your expression.

"I would forgive you anything." You say, and he feels his heart swell inside his chest.

He humms against your pulse point, before he chuckles. "Those are dangerous words, darling." He sighs against your skin, as you squirm underneath him. "What if I was to snap your neck, little rabbit?" He growls, his hybrid features moving as he grazes his sharp canines against your collarbone- a place he'd already bitten and marked the night before, purple bruises and other marks already blossoming beautifully on your skin. Yet you only mewl at him, eyes closing as you stay relaxed underneath him.

"I'd happily die under the hand belonging to the being that holds my heart." You say, and his eyes widen a bit at your statement. "What a way to go, knowing my last breath belongs to you." You say, and he stops a bit, before he snaps his mind out of your words.

"Foolish little rabbit." He mumbles, hands now more desperate, more aggressive, less careful as he seems to be frustrated. "You make it sound like you love me, darling." He chuckles, and you suddenly open your eyes, hands grasping his biceps as he halts his movements, gaze meeting yours.

"I do." You say, voice quiet and wavering, as if you're scared to say them too loud. "Please don't say that you don't, even if it's the truth." You suddenly seem sad, making him grow uneasy as he searches for any way inside his head to make it better. "Please lie to me. Please say that you do- just once." You whisper, and his large hands hold your face, his eyes wide open as he speaks his words.

"I cannot lie, and you know this." He answers, and you smile painfully, not meeting his eyes as you look to the side, nodding. "I don't love you, little rabbit." He speaks, making you choke up before he leans down, kissing your closed eyelid, before he moves to the other. "I adore you." He humms, as he kisses the bridge of your nose carefully. "I cherish every second with you." Another kiss, placed on your cheek. "I'll worship you like those humans worship me, little rabbit." And another kiss, placed upon your lips as your eyes open, watery and glistening as he smiles. "Love is nothing compared to what I feel for you, my dear." He humms, and carefully brushes the tears off of your face as they fall. He he doesn't think about the weight of his words in that moment, and simply lets himself be washed away by the waves of emotions drowning you both in this small space, hand underneath your thigh as he positions himself properly, to enter you smoothly, thoughts flying away like crows after a hunter's warning shot into the trees. It's not for pleasure, it's not to quench any thirst he has- its simply to feel close, to cherish your body, to make a memory he can remember once you're gone.

And as he listens to your blissful sounds, he fights his own tears, knowing deep down that your fate was already decided. This was no fight-

because the loosing part had already been decided. And he knew it would be him.

He watches you from afar as you play with the children of a wandering couple, who seem just as enchanted by your form as he is. In these moments, he can't help but think what would've been if you were both born human- fighting problems so wonderfully mundane and normal, working and coming home to find you smiling at him, asking him what he'd done during the day. He wished your fate would've been reversed- but then again, he's glad that it is how it is. He's happy that you're going to spend your time happy, at his side, with love never fading away. He's feeling comforted by the fact that it's going to be him carrying the burden of living on without your presence at his side. He's sure he can take the pain- he would never want you to carry those bone crushing feelings on your shoulders. He's happy.

It feels strange, the way you suddenly stop in your tracks as you try to run after the kids, turning around to spot him, as you run towards his opening arms; a gesture he hadn't even noticed doing. It was beginning to become normal to him, as you fall into his arms, body fondly buried into his robes, as he places a kiss onto your head, right between where your ears sit. He feels like you're soulmates never meant to be, and he knows that this is only temporary. Yet he's feeling the need to be selfish, as he looks down on you.

You smile at him, unknowing how it makes his heart race and pulse quicken.

Oh how he loves you.

It's not the sound of it that makes him worried.

It's the lack of your body at his side, that instantly has him worried.

He walks around the forest, asking every spirit around him if they have seen you; but no one can quite answer him, as he grows frustrated. His steps quicken as he searches for you, unknowing if the sound he'd heard had just been a warning shot as usual. He can't help but feel as if today was different.

He asks Hoseok, a fellow spirit of yours, but the bear hybrid can only shake his head, as he tells him he has not seen you today either. It's when he hears the soft weeping of the sparrows that he becomes scared to look around the tree he is standing behind. But his legs lead him forward, as he spots your form, the sparrows tearfully placing flowers around you; and he knows that you have been taken away.

They look at him, their child-like forms noticing him, but for a change none of them decide to put their attention on the small god. He knows why it is, knows that your place in hierarchy had maybe been as low as they can be, but your kind heart and soft character made you be loved by almost everyone around you.

He swallowed hard as he felt his eyes sting, slowly walking towards your form, snow softly falling onto your now unmoving limbs, your skin as pale as it can be. Snowdrops grow around you as he kneels down at your side, the sparrow's bodies still getting shaken by their hiccups as they hold each other, mourning your passing. He can't look down yet, chooses to look into the sky as he tries to keep his composure. He's not supposed to cry, he's not even supposed to kneel at your side like this, cold and wetness from the ground seeping into his knees as they begin to sting from the bite of temperature. But it only helps him, in away, gives him a bit of a distraction before he looks downwards.

But he's unprepared for what he sees on your face; the serene smile, a look that tells him you had not been scared in your last moments of life. You had accepted death, and for some reason, this just pains him even more. He doesn't know why this feels so much worse now. If he could only spot a tiny speck of pain or regret, a bit of fear or a hint of regret, he could channel all his emotions into anger and make it storm so harshly everyone would never return into those woods ever again. But knowing that you were happy and content with your end gives him nothing instead.

His eyes widen once he feels the sparrows on either of his side, carefully hugging his body as he does not understand what is happening. They swallow tearfully, needing to calm down for a moment until one of them looks up at him.

"She said even if you decline and fight it, we should comfort you." One of them whispers.

The other nods. "She said even gods need a hug sometimes."

And as a sob escapes him, he can't do nothing more than pull your body onto his lap, holding your head to his shoulder, as if to warm you up in his embrace. He knows he has to let go, but he wants to be selfish for a moment. He wants to keep you just a bit longer, before he has to move on.

He doesn't know if he can.

"I never said it back." Is what he presses out between gritted teeth, tears blurring his vision. "But I love you."

He watches the kids play with the sparrows, as he passes them, their smiling faces greeting him.

He smiles too.

He walks around aimlessly, never straying too far away from the cave you'd build years ago. He doesn't need to sleep, but he still keeps it cozy and clean. He feels like he needs to prepare it for you if you were to miraculously return to him, even though he knows its just a wish he makes every day to keep his mind relaxed.

He spots a body not too far away from him, as he kneels down. Its a young man, never passed his early twenties, as he spots the blue lips and pale skin. His soul is long gone, and he usually does not feel anything towards these people. But maybe you had colored his soul differently, because slight sadness creeps over him as he starts to silently place his hand onto the young man's head, brushing away his hair in a soft breeze of wind. He had probably underestimated the stormy night, since it was early morning right now. What a sad way to go, he thinks.

The sparrows and a fox spirit look over his shoulders, as he begins to mumble. "Make it pretty, yeah? Give him a good end." He speaks, as he looks across the body, the almost see through soul of the young man watching him as he smiles, nodding, as if to thank him. Taehyung simply nods back, as he stands up, walking away from the scene, as he tells the crows on the trees to help the villagers find the boy.

Something in the air is shifting as he feels his skin tingle. He watches from the cave as the moon glows onto a figure emerging from the frozen lake, a new wintergod being born as he leans against the tree, a smile gracing his lips as the new god greets him. It's the young man who'd frozen to death all those years ago. He walks towards taehyung as he kneels down, bowing respectfully. "Does it.. does it need to happen?" He asks, and The older god smiles, chuckling as he immediately thinks that this would be something you'd say as well. He got his hybrid features, the young man in front of him- those soft bunny ears bringing back memories that no longer pain him. He nods.

"It's how the world works, friend." He says, and the rabbit in front of him looks saddened by his words. He places a hand ontop of his head, as he looks up at him. "Don't feel sad- there's nothing to be sad about." He explains. "I'm ready." He speaks, and the young god in front if him nods, though he bites his lip, as if to keep his emotions at bay. Taehyung knows that he's going to be a good hearted god. The upcoming winters will lack moody storms and heavy snowfalls for the next years without his own swings of emotions every now and then.

He smiles brightly suddenly, as another figure emerges from the lake behind the new god, who turns around as well. Taehyung heavily gets up, bones heavy as he stumbles on weak legs, chuckling as your arms catch him. He chuckles, head burying into your chest before he laughs out, smile genuine and young as he starts to crumble. His skin breaks off, falling down like fresh snow as the sparrows, the spirits, and the new god watch him embrace you closely, his last strength fading as he looks up at you.

"I love you." He mumbles, before he kisses you tearfully, making you chuckle. "I love you, I love you-" He repeats between every peck, as you laugh, fading together with him.

"I know." You say.

And together, you leave nothing behind but fresh snow, a new generation, and a field full of snowdrops.

#bts imagine #bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts smut #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #kim taehyung smut #taehyung x you #kim taehyung imagine #hybrid imagine #hybrid kim taehyung

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supercasey · 4 years

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TMA Child Avatars AU

Alright, so ever since I listened to the episode about Agnes’s origins, I keep thinking about an AU where a bunch of the other Entities, after realizing that it’s at least possible to create an avatar from birth, perform their own rituals and make a bunch of the future Archives gang. This AU has a lot of potential for angst, but since TMA is sad enough, I’ll probably mostly focus on the world building and fluffy/funny stuff (‘cus god knows I’m a slut for that shit).

To all my followers, I’m sorry I keep making kid AUs; I got told in like 2015 or so that I sucked at writing kids and it’s Never Left My Mind, so now I always wanna make stupid AUs in order to practice writing kids better (I also have an original story I wanna write soon with a ten year old as the main character, so yeah, I need all the practice I can get).

Anyways, here’s all I’ve got on the AU this far (explanation under the cut; a very long post is up ahead):

Character Backstories

Jonathan “Jon” Sims - Apprentice Archivist of the Eye

Jon is a very complicated story, at least from everyone outside of the Eye’s gaze. It was Elias’s idea to create him, and were it not for Gertrude getting lucky, no one but Elias, Peter Lukas, and Simon Fairchild would have ever known that Jon existed until he was ready to become the next archivist. Gertrude found out by pure chance when she accepted a live statement from one very frightened Delores Sims, who told the archivist about how a strange man had been stalking her ever since she found out she was pregnant. Out of completely nowhere, her husband died a month after she conceived, and even though it looked like an accident, Delores swore that she saw an arm surrounded by fog push him down the stairs. Things only grew worse for her over the next few weeks, as in the midst of her grieving her dead husband, Delores began seeing green, glowing irises out of the corners of her eyes, watching her every move as she lived her life, which was followed by the stalker in question appearing constantly in her dreams, always watching her from afar, an unpleasant and frankly unnerving grin on his face the entire time.

Suspicious, and finding the description of the stalker all too familiar by the end of the statement, Gertrude investigated Delores’s claims on her own time, going so far as to break into Elias’s office in order to dig up more information on whatever he was up to. No matter what her theories may have been, none of them were anything like what she found in his letters to his associates. Somehow, Elias had conspired alongside the Lukas and Fairchild families to find their heirs/avatars together, and Elias was the last person to acquire one of his own. Gertrude was unsure of the details at the time (and she still unfortunately is), but from what she could gather, the child growing in Delores Sims’ body was somehow touched by the Eye because of something Elias had done, and they would be born with the perfect framework to have the powers that an archivist learns over several years of training at birth! With no time to lose, Gertrude got back into contact with Delores, and after much discussion between the two women, she convinced Delores to come to her apartment when she eventually went into labor, and to give Gertrude the baby after they were born so that she could keep them safe from Elias.

The birth was meant to be done in secret, but the second the first contraction occurred, there was a knock on Gertrude’s door, Elias waiting for her on the other side with an unhappy grimace on his face. He came armed with a gun, and threatened to murder Gertrude if she didn’t allow him to claim the child as his own. Aware she still had many rituals to stop in the near future, and that none of her assistants were experienced enough to stop them by themselves, Gertrude reluctantly agreed to let him inside, but on one condition; the child had to be shared between them. Elias was abrasive to the idea of course, but he eventually complied with his archivist’s demands, not wanting to replace her so early on in her career. The sight of her stalker coming into the bedroom to watch her give birth unfortunately sent Delores into a panic attack while she was still very much in labor, making the rest of the birth a rather dangerous thing, but the child survived, leaving his mother terrified and shaking. Gertrude had planned on letting her go on her merry way after the baby was born, but Elias wasn’t taking any chances, and he shot her as soon as he deemed it safe to.

Since then, Gertrude and Elias have had dual custody of Jonathan- the name was Gertrude’s idea, on the grounds that it was a nice, proper name for a young man- trading him back and forth every other week. It’s been hard, especially with the adults he calls his parents wanting to kill each other, but Jon’s oblivious to most of the fighting right now, assuming his folks are just going through a messy divorce.

Martin Blackwood-Lukas - Adoptive Son of Peter Lukas

Peter ended up running very behind in the whole child avatar thing (a first for his family, something Simon reminds him of on a daily basis), and he really struggled with creating a baby avatar that would actually be able to “keep up” with the other young messiahs that were coming to be. Eventually he realized that his family’s usual method would take too long, so out of desperation he went to Elias and Simon for help. It was Simon’s idea that worked; he suggested that since the normal methods weren’t working, and kids usually don’t become lonely until they’re older, that Peter should try his own summoning ritual like the Lightless Flame did with Agnes. Peter was hesitant at first, but he gave in quickly, sacrificing a number of lonely souls to his entity in a well-timed manner, until finally, he found a small, swaddled baby in the midst of the fog; a supposed gift from the Lonely for his loyalty.

Peter was delighted by this discovery, and so were his colleagues, the men relieved that their hard work had actually paid off for once. After naming the little boy Martin- it was Elias’s idea, though he didn’t have much of an exact reason for the name, simply claiming that it “suited” the child- and before long, Peter began raising his newfound son much the same as he was; in almost total isolation, save for a variety of rotating nannies and caregivers. Unfortunately for Peter, this went horribly wrong almost as soon as he got started, as by the time that Martin was six months old he had accidentally forced five different nannies into the fog out of fear of them leaving like the ones before them had. With no other options available, and being able to actually leave the fog if Martin threw anymore fits, Peter was forced to raise his son by hand, which again went wrong, but for very different reasons, as to his shock, he became quite attached to his adopted child.

This evolved into Peter having doubt of the Lonely for the first time in his life, but he refused to acknowledge it for as long as he could. But he was finally forced to when, after Martin turned five years old, the rest of the Lukas family insisted on performing a test on the child to see how well Martin could handle the fog without any guidance. He had been inside the fog before of course, with Peter holding his hand or carrying him through the dense chill, but the family wanted to isolate Martin inside for a full month. This secretly scared Peter like nothing else ever had, but out of fear of what his family might think, he didn’t say anything at the time, simply watching from afar as his son was dragged into the fog and left to fend for himself. The ritual went wrong within the first week, Martin having a full-scale breakdown and nearly hyperventilating to death, and yet the family kept him in there for another week before the intervention.

The results of the test of course disappointed the other members of the Lukas family, who suggested that they simply leave Martin to disappear into the fog and look for a new, more sufficient messiah to serve their god. The news hit Peter incredibly hard, and despite his previous inhibitions and fear, he knew he couldn’t let the Lonely consume his one and only son. So, without telling anyone of what he was up to, he ventured into the fog, rescued Martin, and fled to live with his estranged ex-husband the Magnus Institute. Since then he’s been living with Elias at his house and avoiding his family at all costs, all while young Martin has grown up alongside the other entity kids and has struggled to figure out his role in everything, but at least he has his dad on his side through all of this.

Sasha James - Chosen Daughter of the Mother of Puppets

(Note: I headcanon the Mother of Puppets as a giant spider, so that’s how I’m writing her… sorry if this is inaccurate, but I’m only on MAG 152, y’all. Besides, I think this is cool af.)

Sasha was very much planned, even more so than Agnes was so many years beforehand. The Mother of Puppets had her minions gather hundreds upon hundreds of orphaned infants and bring them to her nest. She swaddled each every one in her webbing and kept them like this for several weeks, allowing them time to adjust to the webbing and adapt. Unfortunately, most of these children weren’t cut out for the Web’s influence, and while a few indeed held their adoptive mother’s mark, almost none of them were marked deep enough to become a fully realized avatar. The unsuccessful batches were subsequently sent off to orphanages across the world and replaced with new babies, this process repeating for years and years, until finally, Sasha was born. There was nothing special about her parents, yet she not only bore The Web’s mark, she seemed to have it embedded into her very soul. This, of course, was met with celebration from the Web, and plans were quickly made as to how to raise her moving forward, as no one wanted Sasha to end up like Agnes did.

Annabelle Cane ended up being the one chosen to home Sasha for the first few years of her childhood, and she was dutiful in her new, rather honorable role, as she not only cared for the child well, but she treated Sasha as her own, though she was careful to be seen more as an older sister than a mother to the girl; that role was, of course, reserved for Sasha’s real mother. When Sasha finally turned five, the Mother of Puppets announced further plans for the young avatar, calling on Annabelle to take Sasha to the Magnus Institute and give her to one of their hidden agents there so that she could learn more about how the Web uses it’s influence over other entities. This worried Annabelle, who wanted to keep the child near her and prove that she was the most loyal of the mother’s children, but she would never disobey a direct order from the being that had given her life such meaning. So, rather reluctantly, Annabelle gave Sasha to another member of the Web, watching from the shadows as this unworthy follower took the blessed daughter into the institute for further training.

This went wrong within only a few months. Gertrude ended up finding out who the Web’s spy in the institute was, as she had suspected that another entity was trying to control her from the shadows, and after disposing of the threat and searching their home for anything useful that she could use against the Web, she found Sasha. The archivist was tempted to kill the supernatural child on sight, but while she can murder her assistants and enemies without much remorse, on the grounds that it’s always for the greater good, killing a child is a very different story. So she took Sasha in, raising the Web’s child as her own alongside the Eye’s own prodigy Jon, all while trying to help Sasha control her slowly budding powers. The Mother of Puppets has been trying to get Sasha back ever since, enraged that the child is so close to her yet just out of reach, but with no luck, though there’s no telling how long that will last.

Timothy & Daniel Stoker - Dancer and Future Ringmaster of the Stranger

Both Tim and Danny are chosen ones of the Stranger, created as soon as their god had gained enough spare power to create them. Tim was born first, being the Stranger’s first attempt at birthing an avatar that might be powerful enough to help lead the Unknowing, but Gertrude interrupted midway through the ritual. By some miracle, Tim survived the ordeal, but he was left “incomplete” to some degree, leaving him simply marked and not fully connected to the Stranger. The entity’s followers ended up keeping him around though, both because Nikola Orsinov was too fascinated by the newborn baby to give him up, and because his parents wanted him to survive, but it was agreed that another attempt would be made, this time with more planning involved. Four years later, Danny was born, and with Gertrude too preoccupied to intervene this time around (and because she didn’t realize they’d try again so soon), the ritual went much better and created a far more suitable vessel for the Stranger’s powers.

After that, Tim and Danny’s parents died, fully succumbing to the Stranger’s transformation and leaving them orphaned. Not that their presence was strictly necessary after the kids were born, as Nikola Orsinov was more than happy to take over in most of the child rearing, genuinely growing quite fond of the two boys, particularly Tim, as despite his lack of supernatural abilities, she found him to be rather endearing, which is probably the closest she can get to genuinely caring about someone. Both brothers were raised more or less the same way, save for Danny being showered with more praise and being trained as a future ringmaster while Tim was mostly ignored and trained to be a dancer. Some followers of the Stranger feared that Tim might harbor resentment towards his little brother and try to kill him someday, but to their surprise, Tim only grew more protective of him over the years, swearing to keep Danny safe as he grew up to fulfill his destiny and help their family mold the world in their image.

Eventually though, when Tim was eleven and Danny was seven, Tim realized what was actually happening behind the scenes, and not wanting his brother to risk being sacrificed for the world’s destruction, he told Danny everything, leading to the young messiah to run away with him to London (they were raised primarily in Russia, but moved with the circus a lot, and were in France at the time that they finally ran away). There, Tim found the infamous Gertrude Robinson, who he knew had the power to stop the Unknowing, as she had once saved him from becoming the Stranger’s avatar, and inadvertently led him to having a little brother. Tim and Danny have since moved in with Michael, and they visit the Magnus Institute whenever they get the chance, as both boys have grown to become friends with the other avatar kids. You’d think that the Stranger’s followers would be furious about all of this- don’t worry, many of their acolytes are- but Nikola has laughed it off entirely and keeps insisting that the boys are just having a “sleepover” or are away at “summer camp” (in fucking January, apparently).

Melanie King - Cadet of the Slaughter

Honestly, the Slaughter wasn’t as into the whole “let’s make an avatar from scratch!” thing that the other entities’ followers were doing, but hey, sometimes child avatars just kinda wind up on your doorstep, ya know? Melanie ended up being found at about four years old, sobbing on her hands and knees outside of a burning hospital and calling for her mommy and daddy to come back to her, but no one answered her cries, and she was left to weep for quite some time before someone found her. The hospital, you see, had been overrun by the Corruption and promptly burned to the ground by the Desolation, neither of which bothered to stick around for some worthless child. Melanie’s parents were both inside when the entities clashed, leaving her orphaned and scared, and while Alfred Grifter, who had been on his way to a show with his bandmates at the time that he found her, had intended on just leaving her be, he saw the overwhelming rage and blood-lust in her crying eyes, and realized in that moment that she was touched by the urge to kill, just like he was.

Melanie was promptly taken in by Alfred Grifter and the band, who honestly had no idea what the hell they were doing. On one hand, Alfred knew that keeping a kid around was unbelievably dangerous for all parties involved, but on the other, he really didn’t want to leave Melanie all by herself, for fear of what she might do if left without any guidance from “people” who knew what she was going through, at least to some degree. That isn’t to say Alfred and his bandmates were all that great at raising her- they mostly just brought her to gigs and let her play on her Gameboy backstage while they started massacres- but they did at least try to give her somewhat of a home. It wasn’t until five years into this that some other Slaughter followers found out about Melanie’s existence, to which they told Alfred to give her to them for proper training. Knowing her life would be horrible with them, Alfred gave his ward a backpack full of everything she ever owned, a kid sized guitar, her Gameboy, and sent her on the run.

Melanie was scared out of her mind at first, having grown to see Alfred and his bandmates as her new family; she had already lost her parents, so why did she have to lose the band, too!? But there were no other options, she had to run, so she did just that, attacking any adult who tried to stop her along the way. She didn’t actually know about the Magnus Institute when she made her way to London, and Alfred didn’t tell her to go there or anything, but she ended up being spotted by Adelard Dekker while she was looking for a place to stay in the area. Seeing that Melanie was an avatar of some kind, Adelard managed to convince her that he was safe, and to let him take her to someone that could help her. He brought Melanie straight to Gertrude Robinson, who agreed to house the child since Adelard couldn’t, though she ended up letting one of her unofficial assistants (*cough* Gerry *cough*) take her to live in his flat so she wouldn’t be as easy for Elias to monitor/get ahold of.

Julia Montauk & Alice “Daisy” Tonner - Children of the Hunt

(Watch as I fuck with timelines so badly that the people who keep track of this shit will order a hit on me) The Hunt found both of their avatars in strikingly similar yet different ways; Julia was first, born from the womb of another entity’s follower, but bound for so much more than anything the Dark could give her. Years after her destined birth, Julia’s mother was viciously murdered by the People’s Church when she was just five years old, her father Robert Montauk going down the path of becoming a fully-fledged Hunter, and in the process he unknowingly marked Julia with his newfound entity, which in turn unlocked an unprecedented potential inside of her, not that it was fully realized until another tragedy struck her. This next tragedy, unfortunately, claimed Julia’s father. Mr. Pitch was mistakenly summoned, and in it’s rage, it destroyed Robert while he was in the midst of a sacrifice. The monster would’ve gotten Julia next, had it not been for the intervention of a nearby Hunter.

Trevor Herbert honestly didn’t mean to get involved, but when he witnessed a little girl screaming as she ran out of a house, a giant mass of darkness chasing after her, and no one willing to so much as call the damn cops, he knew he had to rescue the poor kid. In a flash he ran over, picked Julia up, and ran away with her to safety, managing to get her in his car (which he stole, but that’s not important) and drive as far away from her old home as possible. In the aftermath, Trevor had no idea what to do with Julia, since he had never actually wanted any kids of his own, but… well, he ain’t heartless, and that monster was still out there somewhere, just waiting to sink it’s cursed teeth into this young child’s flesh. Trevor ended up keeping her after that, becoming her adoptive father as he traveled with her around the UK, slowly but surely training her to hunt the same monsters that claimed her beloved parents.

You’d think that would be the end of Trevor Herbert adopting little girls marked by the Hunt, but nope, he just can’t catch a fucking break! He found Daisy about a year later, when Julia was eight and becoming more adjusted to her new lifestyle. Again, Trevor wasn’t really planning on going on any hunts at the time that this happened, he was just traveling through the area, but upon finding a bloodied up, terrified little girl being chased by a boy who looked possessed… well, it wasn’t like Julia wasn’t lonely, and again, Trevor isn’t heartless, and he sure as hell can’t let things go. So yeah, he kidnapped another child touched by the Hunt, even though this one actually had a living parent, and once again he took to traveling the UK with his adoptive daughters, secretly reveling in his new role as a father. Daisy, while scared at first, quickly grew fond of her new family, and even fonder of her new nickname after Trevor patched up her wounds, and noticed a flower-shaped scar on her back, prompting him to start affectionately calling her Daisy.

Yep, things were going pretty good for the family of three, but of course, shit eventually caught up with Trevor, not that he thought he could avoid it forever.

The police eventually caught wind of “Trevor the Tramp” traveling with two little girls who looked an awful lot like the missing thirteen and ten year olds Julia Montauk and Alice Tonner, and in his desperation to keep from getting arrested and having his children taken away, Trevor fled to downtown London in order to lie low for awhile and raise his daughters in relative peace, only ever going out for food runs and the occasional hunt. It was through one of these hunts that he ended up meeting Gerard Keay, the two of them chasing after the same book that had been summoning shadow people to wreck havoc on the city, and after a bit of back and forth banter over the campfire that was once a Leitner, Gerry convinced Trevor to move in with him so that the girls and him would be safer and actually have a home. Although he was hesitant to accept an offer he thought was too good to be true (also, he’s not gonna lie, he thought Gerry was a vampire when they met), Trevor agreed and moved into Gerry’s flat with his daughters, and has since helped Gertrude and her assistants with monster hunts.

Oliver Banks & Georgie Barker - Fetchlings of The End

Georgie and Oliver are an odd story, with the latter of the two having gained his powers as a mere toddler, being plagued with horrible, ghastly dreams that would keep him awake through the night, leaving him absolutely haggard by morning. His father tried everything to help Oliver through this torment- counseling, medication, bedtime rituals- but nothing worked, and before long, Oliver’s beloved father was claimed by his nightmares, dying of a heart attack that he couldn’t stop. Alone and misunderstood by everyone who tried to raise him, Oliver ran away countless times, coming across Georgie during his last attempt. He found the little girl to also be on the run for similar reasons, but unlike him, she wasn’t the least bit afraid. She wasn’t exactly happy, but she wasn’t a bawling mess like he was. Together, the two of them struggled to survive, relying on kindhearted drifters for support while they avoided the police until, at long last, something took pity on them, that something being a large, fat tabby cat.

As it were, the tabby cat- dubbed The Admiral by Georgie- wasn’t a normal cat in the slightest, and although it couldn’t speak, it’s intentions were clear; it was there to help these lost, orphaned children. Oliver was skeptical of course, but Georgie wasn’t about to look a gift cat in the mouth, so Oliver reluctantly followed the cat and his little sister to an apartment building, and from there, into an unoccupied flat. Since then, the two children have been living with Admiral in that very same flat, the cat providing them with a fully stocked fridge, warm beds, and running water. It’s still unclear what the Admiral is, but he seems kind enough, and is obviously quite protective of his newfound children, accompanying them on their outings and occasional visits to the institute.

Michael Crew - Prodigy of The Vast

Out of all avatars to be raising children for their entity, Simon Fairchild absolutely has had the most fun with it all, treating it almost like a fun game or pastime. He was the first (save for the Lightless Flame having Agnes, of course) to “create” an avatar child, and from minute one he was overjoyed with the results. A few years after news broke of Agnes’ origins, and the followers of other entities were all arguing over whether or not to follow suit, Simon didn’t bother waiting for anyone’s input or permission, simply throwing himself into the deep end and praying he could make his plan work. Seemingly overnight, Simon somehow acquired a baby later identified as the missing and presumably dead infant Michael Crew, who he referred to as Mike when he finally introduced him to his friends/associates. He still hasn’t told anyone how he even got the kid- not even Peter or Elias know what he did!- but by some means, he illegally adopted Mike and took to raising the kid like a duck takes to water; a bit unsure at first, but growing to love it fast!

When Mike was introduced to the rest of the entity followers community, many were shocked (excuse the pun) to see that the infant had a long, frightening Lichtenberg scar running down his right arm, his back, and his right leg, the scars glowing a bright blue whenever he took to the sky or, as Elias learned the hard way after accidentally annoying Mike by bouncing him on his knee for too long when he was a toddler, used his powers to electrocute people. Even with his child being such an oddity, even among other avatars, Simon took it all in stride, proudly bragging about Mike to anyone who would listen, most of these people being victims of the Vast, who were hardly able to hear Simon’s excited rambling over their own shrieks of terror. He usually also insisted on bringing Mike with him, even when he was a mere infant, though he at least kept the kid in a tight harness on his chest. In all honesty, Simon being such an excited parent was what kick-started a lot of other avatars to start acquiring their own child avatars, as he made it look so easy!

However, things weren’t always perfect, especially on Mike’s end as he grew older. Being the eldest and more or less “firstborn” of this new generation of entity-made avatars put a lot of pressure on him at a very early age, pressure which Simon tried to help him deal with by not acknowledging it, which unfortunately didn’t help in the slightest. Thankfully Mike started to feel less unsure of his place in the world as he reached his teen years, seeing as the younger kids were now getting all the attention and giving him a chance to breathe. Even now that he’s an angsty teenager, Mike loves Simon like a father, referring to him as such without hesitation. This, of course, delights Simon to no end, and makes all his peers low-key high-key jealous of the awesome relationship he has with his son.

Helen Richardson - Droplet of The Spiral

Not much was known about Helen when Michael first found her. After being sent into The Spiral by Gertrude on what he thought to be a suicide mission for the greater good, Michael was half certain he wouldn’t find anything but his end in that place. Instead he found a small, strange toddler where he was meant to find… well, he didn’t actually know what, but certainly not a baby, that’s for sure! With no one watching baby Helen, and therefore making him believe that she had been abandoned by The Spiral’s other creations, Michael had no reservations against scooping her up and taking her back to the physical world with him, where he was met be a very confused Gertrude Robinson. Michael wasn’t exactly keen on killing/abandoning a baby after he got out, so he and Gertrude brought her back to London with them in hopes of finding out more about the odd child. Along the way, it became clear that the baby was gifted with The Spiral’s powers, the giggly toddler continually screwing with reality, though she wasn’t aware she was doing so.

Back home in London, it took another three weeks of research, but Gerry eventually found out more about the child Michael had more or less adopted. Her name was originally Helen Richardson, and her father, a rookie paranormal investigator who had once been marked by The Spiral, was obsessed with the distortion, and was willing to do anything to become more than simply marked by it. He ended up finding a map similar to Gertrude’s, and a few years before she even knew it was possible, the father went into The Spiral and used his own daughter as a vessel for the entity, hoping she would be a good enough sacrifice to earn it’s favor. This of course ended in disaster, with the father “disappearing” while Helen absorbed The Spiral’s power, but seeing as she was so young, it couldn’t manifest properly, even after two and a half years spent trying to “raise her” within the deepest depths of it’s domain.

With research still being done on what to do about the child, and whether or not the team can remove her powers without killing or permanently injuring her in the process, Michael has agreed to take Helen in, secretly delighted to be raising a baby. With the Stoker Brothers already under his roof, Michael has his hands rather full with them and baby Helen, but the boys take her antics in stride, having learned quickly how to deal with the apartment they live in occasionally “growing” some new doors and changing color at random. Luckily for Michael, he has back-up in the forms of Gerry and Gertrude, who occasionally take Helen and the brothers off his hands for him so he can take a break/fix whatever Helen may’ve accidentally broken with her powers.

Character Roles in this AU

(Feel free to add your own OCs/other characters if you wanna do stuff with this AU, I’m just naming characters I know about/remember!)

Avatar Kids: Jonathan “Jon” Sims, Martin Blackwood, Sasha James, Timothy “Tim” Stoker, Daniel “Danny” Stoker, Melanie King, Julia Montauk, Alice “Daisy” Tonner, Oliver Banks, Georgie Barker, Michael “Mike” Crew, and Helen Richardson.

Avatar Kids Semi-Reluctant PTA Group: Elias Bouchard, Gertrude Robinson, Peter Lukas, Gerard “Gerry” Keay, Trevor Herbert, Michael Shelley, and Simon Fairchild.

PTA Allies: Basira Hussain (Daisy’s best friend and the local Normal Child™), Agnes Montague (Everyone’s emergency number for avatar child advice), Alfred Grifter (Just shows up to hang out with Melanie and cause problems on purpose), The Admiral (Guardian to Georgie and Oliver and occasionally the other kids; best babysitter), Adelard Dekker (Comes around the archives sometimes and always brings presents for the kids + assistants), and Rosie (Elias’s assistant and the only sane and sensible adult in this Chili’s tonight).

PTA Enemies: Nikola Orsinov (Tim and Danny’s “Mom” who keeps kidnapping Jon on accident), Annabelle Cane (Hates the institute and wants Sasha back), Jude Perry (Hates the kids but loves Agnes; worst babysitter), and Jared Hopworth (Nightmare flesh man that needs to fuck off; mediocre but funny babysitter).

Character Descriptions

(Feel free to tweak the physical designs if you want; I’m just going off my own headcanons, and seeing as my drawing skills are pretty shit, it’s not like I’m gonna be doing much art for this outside of writing. So yeah, go off with your own headcanons if you want to!)

Full Name: Jonathan “Jon” Sims-Bouchard-Robinson Age: 7 Birthday: October 26th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Eye, Marked by Literally Fucking Everything Guardian(s): Alexander Sims (Biological Father - Deceased), Delores Sims (Biological Mother - Deceased), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current), Elias Bouchard (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin, worryingly short for his age, dark brown eyes that glow bright green when he’s using his powers, long black hair with a few green and grey hairbands tied in, constantly “borrows” Martin’s sweaters to wear, occasionally wears skirts but most of the time he wears slacks, constantly looks sleep deprived, has a very intense stare, and occasionally he can be seen carrying his stuffed moth around. Personality: You’d think he’d be a quiet kid, considering his entity, but no, he has Questions and he wants them Answered, goddammit! He wasn’t raised around many kids his age, being home-schooled by Elias and Gertrude all his life, so he struggles to connect with the other avatar kids. Is only close to the S1 gang at first, but he gets closer to everyone else over time. Idolizes Gerry and thinks he’s the coolest guy ever. Appears rather cowardly at a glance, but he’s braver than most people give him credit for. Would die for his friends/family.

Full Name: Martin Blackwood-Lukas Age: 8 Birthday: February 29th (Pisces) ((This one’s for you, Dane)) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Lonely, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): William Blackwood (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Edna Blackwood (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Peter Lukas (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Polish heritage and pale as a fucking ghost, average height for his age but growing fast, pretty chubby, covered head to toe in little red freckles, short and curly red hair, bright brown eyes, wears big round glasses, wears sweaters and comfy trousers almost 24/7, carries a backpack full of “emergency tools” wherever he goes, usually has a cup of tea in-hand, and sometimes wears a small sailor hat that Peter gave him. Personality: Incredibly reserved, much like Mike, but he’s been trying to come out of his shell more. He’s “Best Friends Forever” with Jon, and gets along well with Tim and Sasha as well. Fears Melanie and Daisy. He likes hanging out with the other kids, but he often gets talked over, leading him to withdraw for awhile if it’s bad enough. Adores his dad, and is so much braver than anyone knows. Incredibly snarky when he feels like it.

Full Name: Sasha James Age: 10 Birthday: November 18th (Scorpio) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Web, Marked by The Eye, Marked by The Stranger Guardian(s): Francis James (Biological Father - Deceased), Patrick James (Biological Father - Deceased), Annabelle Cane (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gertrude Robinson (Adoptive Mother - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Caucasian with dark brown skin, slightly taller than average for her age, long dark brown hair, wears big round glasses, sometimes wears a little make-up if she can get away with it, wears a lot of turtleneck sweaters and long skirts, always has at least one cobweb on her, carries around a stuffed spider that she brings with her to the archives every day, and she wears a headband most of the time. Personality: Easily the most level-headed of the kids, as she’s been raised around paranormal stuff the longest and is rarely bothered by the stranger things that happen. She hates Artifact Storage with a passion, but other than that, she loves exploring the institute and occasionally stealing Gertrude’s laptop to mess with it. Very tech savvy, and even more curious! Incredibly smart, to the point that she can even outclass Gertrude and Gerry with her quick-wittiness.

Full Name: Timothy “Tim” Stoker Age: 12 Birthday: August 3rd (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Marked by The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Mother - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, slightly on the taller side for his age, messy/spiky black hair that looks impossible to comb, dark brown eyes, is described as a “handsome young man” by strangers, has a very charming smile, wears a lot of Hawaiian shirts and shorts (even during the winter), needs to wear glasses but he refuses to wear them in the archives out of self-consciousness. Personality: Probably one of the brightest personalities of the avatar kids, Tim comes off as very cool and funny, but underneath all of that he’s rather paranoid, afraid that the circus will come and force his baby brother into becoming a monster. Protective of his little bro and the archive kids, but he still teases them to no end. Smarter than he looks, and isn’t afraid to break his cool guy persona to tell someone off.

Full Name: Daniel “Danny” Stoker Age: 8 Birthday: August 1st (Leo) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Stranger, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Markus Stoker (Biological Father - Deceased), Olivia Stoker (Biological Mother - Deceased), Nikola Orsinov (Adoptive Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard “Gerry” Keay (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of Latino and Korean with dark tanned skin, about a head shorter than Tim, somewhat neat black hair that sticks up in odd places, eyes are impressively dark and glassy looking, slight gap between his front teeth, is described as being a “handsome young man” by strangers, wears a lot of tank tops and shorts as well as the occasional hoodie if it’s cold, and loves running around barefoot. Personality: A lot of people describe Danny as being a “smaller and cuter Tim”, but that’s just not true. Danny is a lot like his older brother in many ways, but he has a much more refined taste for adventure, constantly getting himself into trouble with Jon on the grounds of “exploring” or what have you. He idolizes his big bro to the moon and back, and loves hanging out with him alongside the other kids. More of a follower than a leader, but he doesn’t mind. Secretly fears the day that the circus will come back to make him into their future ringmaster.

Full Name: Melanie King Age: 9 Birthday: June 7th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Slaughter, Marked by The Corruption, Marked by The Desolation, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Boris King (Biological Father - Deceased), Carrie King (Biological Mother - Deceased), Alfred Grifter (Guardian - Uninvolved), Gerard Keay (Guardian - Current) Appearance: Irish heritage but not terribly pale, rather short for her age, incredibly thin from malnutrition, short brown hair with the ends dyed bright blue, bright brown eyes, brings her leather jacket and her guitar with her everywhere she goes, wears a lot of pink/blue skirts and band t-shirts, wears black leather boots, has a lot of bandages on her knees and knuckles, and always has a camera ready to record things. Personality: Melanie is probably the most disconnected of the avatar kids (save for Helen), seeing as she only just recently joined the group, but already she’s beginning to befriend Sasha and Basira. She’s very protective of the other girls, and she keeps challenging the boys to fight her (only Danny ever agrees; he always loses). Secretly idolizes Julia and Daisy, but will never admit it. She sees Gerry as her big bro and Alfred Grifter as her adoptive dad; she misses Alfred more than she let’s on. Would stab as a warning.

Full Name: Julia Montauk Age: 13 Birthday: April 19th (Aries) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunt, Marked by The Dark, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Robert Montauk (Biological Father - Deceased), Linette Montauk (Biological Mother - Deceased), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Indigenous heritage with dark tan skin, tall for her age, skinny enough to look malnourished, close-cropped red hair that gets her mistaken for a boy a lot, metal grey eyes, a scar runs diagonally across her right eye, often wears medium length skirts and oversized t-shirts, always wears athletic shoes, has a lot of scrapes and bandages on her knees most of the time, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Before the deaths of both of her parents, Julia was considered rather normal for her age, being interested in horses, dolls, and dress-up games. After her mother died, she became more tomboyish, which only became more extreme after her father’s death. Since being taken in by Trevor, Julia’s been trying to act more like an adult in an attempt to seem less vulnerable, to varying degrees of success. She adores Trevor to the moon and back, and sees Daisy as her little sister. A bit standoffish around other children, but she’s got a good heart.

Full Name: Alice “Daisy” Tonner Age: 10 Birthday: March 15th (Pisces) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Hunter, Marked by The Slaughter, Marked by The Eye Guardian(s): Greyson Tonner (Biological Father - Deceased), Antoinette Tonner (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Trevor Herbert (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Welsh heritage with cream colored skin and a light tan, average height for her age, short and shaggy blond hair, has a number of tiny scars all over her face and hands, has a huge scar on her back that Trevor has told her looks like a daisy, striking green eyes, wears a lot of sleeveless shirts and shorts, refuses to wear dresses or skirts, prefers to be barefoot, and has abnormally sharp canines. Personality: Is already rather hot-headed at her age, especially after her encounter with Calvin while he was being possessed by a spirit of the Slaughter. Even so, she’s protective of her newfound family of Trevor and Julia, and while she misses her mother, she believes it’s best if she stays where she is. She loves playing outside whenever she can, and will spend hours chasing after squirrels and rabbits if left alone for too long. A bit argumentative, but she gets along really well with Julia and Basira.

Full Name: Oliver Banks Age: 10 Birthday: June 14th (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): June Banks (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Isaac Banks (Biological Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark skin, has an array of pitch black freckles on his face, short and neat black hair that reaches just below his ears, ghastly grey eyes that look almost clear and turn black when he’s using his powers; used to be dark brown, worryingly thin from years of malnutrition, wears a lot of baggy and long-sleeved shirts, wears sweatpants, has boots on everywhere he goes, and he’s almost always shivering. Personality: The more distrustful of the “End Siblings”, the only person Oliver even sort of likes is Jon, and even then he’s still scared of him. Constantly fidgeting and yawning from both his paranoia and fatigue. Is protective of Georgie, but more out of obligation than friendship. Prefers to be alone, and rarely visits the archives. He knows something bad is coming, but he’s too scared to do much about it. In the end, he knows he’ll do the right thing, but for now he’s hiding until the bombs finally fall.

Full Name: Georgie Barker Age: 7 Birthday: December 9th (Sagittarius) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The End, Marked by The Hunt Guardian(s): Georgie Grounding Sr. (Biological Mother - Deceased), Sarah Grounding (Biological Mother - Deceased), Jason Barker (Adoptive Father - Deceased), The Admiral (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: Mixed race heritage of African and Indian with dark brown skin, fairly chubby, has an array of light brown freckles all over her arms, back, and face, has long and curly black hair done up in poofy buns using colorful hair bands, paints her nails all the time with different colors every week, cutest little smile you ever did see, wears a lot of ghost-related clothing (mainly t-shirts and jeans), and she brings her ghost backpack with her everywhere she goes (it has her stuffed leopard inside). Personality: Despite being an avatar of the End, Georgie has a very upbeat personality, having no time for her adoptive brother’s endless worrying and fearfulness. In fact, all her fear has been gone since she was little, so she’s never scared to explore something new and parade into danger! She’s very close friends with Jon (even if he’s distant sometimes) and best friends with Melanie, though she gets along with most everyone else as well. She may be a chipper person, but look out, she’s carrying more baggage than she let’s on. Loves The Admiral more than life.

Full Name: Michael “Mike” Crew Age: 14 Birthday: May 13th (Taurus) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Vast Guardian(s): Ramsey Crew (Biological Father - Uninvolved), Whitney Crew (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Simon Fairchild (Adoptive Father - Current) Appearance: Caucasian and pale as a ghost, shaggy white hair that’s almost always wind-swept, strikingly pale blue eyes, smells of ozone and burnt hair, incredibly short for his age, very bony and thin, tends to wear a lot of oversized hoodies on the grounds that they make flying more fun, clothes are almost always pristine and clean, his back, right arm, and right leg are covered in a Lichtenberg scar that glows bright blue when he’s using his powers, permanent bags under his eyes. Personality: A very, very quiet kid, at least around strangers. He’s much bubblier around Simon, but otherwise he’s viewed as an “old soul” by most adults. He does have a sense of humor though, taking a bit too much pleasure out of sending people soaring into the air against their will, especially if they insulted or annoyed him beforehand. Secretly a bit protective of the other avatar kids, and has been known to take them flying if they promise not to let go of him when they do so. Nice kid, but don’t make fun of his height or he might just electrocute you out of spite.

Full Name: Helen Richardson Age: 3 Birthday: February 23rd (Gemini) Entity/Mark(s): Avatar of The Spiral Guardian(s): Tiara Richardson (Biological Mother - Uninvolved), Dexter Richardson (Biological Father - Deceased), Michael Shelley (Adoptive Guardian - Current) Appearance: African heritage with dark brown skin (has the beginning patches of vitiligo on her face and hands), fairly chubby but Michael swears it’s just baby fat, has bright purple eyes with swirling yellow irises, has short but frizzy black hair that cannot be tamed, is often dressed in very colorful onesies and footie pajamas alongside the rare dress, and occasionally she’ll have a child leash vest on (though it often disappears because of The Spiral). Personality: She honestly doesn’t have much of a personality yet, being a toddler and all, but she’s a very giggly child, and loves nothing more than making Michael “be silly” with the use of her powers. Speaking of which, she has very little control of her abilities, and although she’s too young to understand their impact on the world, she still feels bad when she accidentally goes too far and gets Michael hurt. She adores Michael and Jon, and loves it when Michael brings her to the institute with him. Very playful and mischievous.

And that’s all I’ve got for now! I wanna write some fics for this at some point (particularly I wanna write a fic that has all of the kids’ origin stories in better/more detail), but for now anyone is free to fuck around with this AU, so long as you’re not doing too much shipping between the kids (hints at ships are fine, but they’re still kids, y’all) and ESPECIALLY not any shipping of the kids with the adults/guardians. Feel free to PM me or scream about this AU in the notes/tags; I’d love to hear people’s thoughts!

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hitbythunder · 3 years

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Among the Gods of Asgard -2

A dark!Thor x Reader, minor Loki x Reader story with all the drama and angst you’re craving. Including Alexander Skarsgard as Balder.

–> Read also on AO3

Summary: The gods are being loved and feared in equal parts by their subjects, more the latter by the thousands of slaves working for them. Ten feet tall, powerful and immortal are the rulers of all beings within the Nine Realms. You, the daughter of an Asgardian merchant, fancy the three handsome princes of Odin - like any woman does - and dream of actually meeting them instead of watching them at public events. That is until, as a consequence of Loki’s tricks, you are being forced into slavery at the royal court. Amidst this harsh new reality, you catch the attention of the god of Thunder who then seeks to make you his alone. You are nothing but a toy, a puppet, in the god’s eyes and he will use you as he pleases.

Do not hope for mercy.

**** WARNING: dark story, manipulative Thor, heavy rape/non-con elements, no happy ending in sight

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From the window of her room upstairs, ________ watched the four palace guards arriving at her family's estate, the stomping of the hooves being audible from afar. Her eyes were dry and swollen. The moment her father had handed her the royal decree stating his punishment, the young girl had been paralyzed by shock so that the parchment had slid through her soft hands. Then she had snapped out of her trance all of a sudden and had begun to shout angrily, throwing harsh words at her father. Harald didn't respond much since most of her accusations were true, painful statements of how he had failed his daughter. Even if her servitude was limited in time, the girl would be marked as a slave forever. He had ruined his daughter's life and future perspectives. Thus Harald had let her rage like a storm inside the luxurious living room, not caring much when she had smashed one or two vases. All the wealth Harald had heaped over the years wasn't enough to buy back ________'s trust and forgiveness.

After a night of weeping, shedding all her tears in desperation and sorrow for herself, _______ had mentally arrived at the bitter resignation to her fate. Almost ghostly calm and reserved, she had hugged her mother and brother goodby when the time came. Harald only received a cold glare as she picked up the one trunk she was allowed to bring along. _______ kept her head up as she rode among the guards towards the golden palace, her heartbeat quickening when the large gate came into view between the noble houses and mansions. Nevertheless, the young Asgardian girl took her last steps as a free woman full of dignity and confidence, entering the home of the gods.

xxx

Centuries of experimenting and practice had transformed the slavery-system at the palace into one of an elaborated, well-structured design aiming at high efficiency.

According to individual capabilities, age and gender, the slaves were divided into different categories with certain tasks and duties. Young healthy males would be assigned to hard work like construction or field work and such, while the elderly as well as females and children would serve as cooks, maids and valets. Upon their first day of servitude, each of them received a magical tattoo of a ring adorned with Norse runes on the right upper arm. The different colors of the tattoo as a whole and the symbols inside the glowing ring indicated their status within the slavery-system. A white and empty ring was for the general staff, the type of work being resembled by a matching symbol inside the ring. For example, a field worker had a sickle inside the white ring, while a cook had two crossed spoons. Whenever the wearer was assigned to serve a specific single god, the ring would change to the color and be filled with the personal sigil of that deity. Then the slave would have to tend particularly and firstly to this one god's needs while still obeying the orders of other gods.

_______'s father had dishonored the God of Light and so she was bound to serve as Balder's maid. Thus after a short tingling as the magical needle pierced her skin, a lilac ring with the image of a flying dove appeared on _______ 's right upper arm. The tattoo would last until the final day of her servitude, a special rune beneath it showing that she was not a permanent slave. However, heretofore were 49,999 and a half days more to endure.

xxx

Aligned in a straight row the maids stood in the salon of Balder's chambers, their gazes glued to the floor and their mouths shut tightly as the royal abigail Gerlinda surveyed them thoroughly. The grey-haired woman was a member of the small part of Asgardian nobility that had the honor of serving the gods as special staff such as abigail, teachers or advisors. After decades of experience at the court, Gerlinda knew exactly how to train the slaves efficiently and her 'management-style' was rather prominent and feared.

“Remember to always show respect and submission to the gods!” she hissed in a raspy voice as she swiftly straightened one of the maid's skirt.

“Some of you already know what happens to foolish girls who dare to disobey.” A few maids shuddered slightly in response as Gerlinda examined one girl after another, tugging a loosening strand of hair back into the tight braid or checking wether the fingernails were clean.

“As for you, new-one....” the abigail paused in front of _______, her stern gaze resting fully on the younger woman who had no clue what awaited her in the weeks to come, still naive and hopeful. Eyes sparkling with innocence and life's joy, a young and lively spirit - Gerlinda had seen so many pretty girls like ________ joining the ranks of the maids. Ultimately, over time the strain of the work, both physically and mentally, had broken them all.

This one wouldn't be an exception. Gerlinda thought to herself as she continued. "... Keep your mouth shut, watch and learn!"

_______ only nodded in response and showed some fake respect, hoping the abigail would continue to pace the room instead of lecturing her. Gerlinda then noticed the special mark beneath the girl's tattoo and was about to comment on it when suddenly the large double doors of the adjacent bedroom opened. The abigail stepped back immediately, the new girl and her tattoo already forgotten and all women present bowed in respect as the second prince of Asgard entered the salon.

"Scolding the girls this early, Gerlinda?" Balder asked in an amused tone as he approached the group with large strides, his bare feet smacking on the cold marble floor. Since he had just risen, he only wore a night garment out of thin silk which probably was worth much more than any dress _______ had ever possessed.

"Perfection is attained through repetitive practice and discipline, so that we may serve you as best as possible, your highness!" Gerlinda replied humbly and only when she straightened up again, the maids did so too. Having laid eyes upon the gods only from afar during public feasts, _________ was impressed by the sight now that she was this close. The god of light was tall and lean, tight muscles being hidden underneath the white fabric with delicate golden trimming, which matched his blonde straight hair reaching past his ears. Hard lines painted his oval face, especially the straight nose, but the cerulean blue of his sparkling eyes kept the balance and gave him an overall tender expression. The young girl couldn't help but stare at the handsome giant, regretting her bluntness immediately when said blue eyes fell onto her.

"I see..." Balder's attention had already been caught by the unfamiliar face at the end of the row. Sensing the pair of cerulean orbs resting on her, _______ quickly averted her gaze in a naive attempt to fade in with the other maids or perhaps with the luxurious furniture surrounding her and vanish from the god's sight. But it was too late. Balder already made a step towards her. Then another and he was right in front of her.

"This one I haven't seen before." he assessed in a cool tone as he towered over the small girl with flattering amazement written plainly across her face. Not fear like so many other slaves. "She was brought to service this morning, your highness!" Gerlinda piped from the side while Balder surveyed the girl and came to notice the rune beneath her tattoo. Non-permanent... "You are Harald Leifson's daughter?" the god concluded and his eyes narrowed at the thought of the sly merchant who had embarrassed him in front of everyone. "Yes your highness, I am ________ Haraldsdottir and I shall serve you to purge my family from the shame my father brought upon us." she replied like the well-educated woman from nobility she was, her eloquence surprising the abigail and the other maids. "All others out, I shall have a word with _______ alone!" Balder ordered then, which only added to everyone's surprise but they all obeyed. Because to a god they must always obey.

xxx

Silently _________ watched the god making himself comfortable on the large couch in front of the fire place, his large body draped languidly across the plush covers. Once fully relaxed, Balder broke the silence between them. “Has your father told you about his crime?” he asked calmly, his gaze wandering somewhere in pretense of not watching her, which he very well did from the corner of his eye. “Yes, your highness. He was a fool to try and cheat you.” Curt and polite but honest, attributes the god favored in a servant. “Good. You ought to know the reasons that brought you here although I have to admit that I am not a friend of slavery.” the god replied, still not looking at her directly but noting her growing stiffness nevertheless. Then why again am I here?! _______ wondered, the question burning on her tongue but her manners kept her from ushering a single disrespectful word. She just nodded and let the god continue. “But justice must be upheld and your father made me look a fool in front of the gods, the nobility and thousands of Asgardians!” Balder clenched his fists as he remembered the hot shame and embarrassment he had felt that moment. Even if his mother had already forgiven him, the others wouldn't forget so easily, especially his dear little brother. The Trickster would chaff him about it for centuries. The blonde was so occupied by his pondering that he almost didn't hear the quiet voice of the girl in front of him.

“If I may ask, your highness, why not punish Harald himself for his actions?” _______ knew the question was risky but she simply couldn't resist now that they were in privacy. Besides, the whole topic made her want to cry and shout at the same time. Balder sensed as much, not only because the girl had addressed the merchant by his name, and since he was familiar with daddy-issues he didn't mind her asking. In fact, he admired how composed she remained in this unfortunate situation. “You, his only daughter, being here is his punishment, the worst a father can imagine.” he looked deep into her watery eyes, cutting off whatever she was about to retort.

Now her shell has cracked. “But it's not f-” “Do not question the All-Father's decisions!” Balder admonished in a stern tone, his cerulean orbs narrowed and sparkling threateningly. He wouldn't tolerate any offense against his father, especially not from a mere mortal girl. Staring bluntly at the god, _______ barely managed to keep herself together as emotionally shaken as she was right now. But she had to be brave. They may have enslaved me, but they will not break me. _______ swore to herself, her breath calming as she focused. Balder watched in amazement how the girl swallowed her anger and frustration, her expressions turning almost emotionless like the ones of a pretty doll. “Yes of course, please forgive my offense, your highness!” she said then and bowed her head in respect. The god was impressed.

Perhaps she will endure longer than I thought... “Listen closely, ________...” he began more friendly as he leaned forward on the couch, resting his strong arms on his thighs and drowning her in this orbs as marvelous as the bright sky on a summer day. “I promise not to have you do anything undignified or unbefitting of your former social status. In return I expect diligence, respect, honesty and absolute obedience. Am I clear?”

“Absolutely, your highness.” _______ replied without breaking the eye-contact with the handsome prince, wondering how in the Nine she had managed to screw such a promise out of the god on her first day.

#dark!thor #thor x reader

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steeltoss · 4 years

Text

Pre Shippuden — Shippuden Era

Ages 16 - 22. This is a continuation of the events in Hokkaido's life.

Age 16

I left off on her six month mission in Konohagakure. Backtracking a few months before she turned sixteen, she worked directly under Tsunade Senju amd had slowly reconnected with her old friends, including Neji Hyūga, Kiba Inuzuka, Ino Yamanaka, Sakura Haruno, Shikamaru Nara, and Choji Akamichi.

That being said, her sixteenth birthday was spent in the Hidden Leaf. The party was small and planned by Ino, complete with a few cupcakes and dango. This was the first birthday she enjoyed after Emi passed away.

Speaking of Emi, Hokkaido constantly worried over Ichika and often wrote letters to the younger one. After all, next year Ichika would start the Amegakure Academy.

Aside from her mission, nothing too big happened this year. Though she found out Sasuke was missing. He had become a Rogue Ninja. Okay that's pretty big but still.

Age 17

Upon her journey towards Amegakure after the six months had passed, the Kunoichi had taken it into her own hands to search for Sasuke. She strayed off the path she should have been taking to go to the Hidden Rain Village.

From here, she runs into some nasty company.

This was the first time she met Pein and Konan. And they looked like they were ready to end her.

Upon activating her sharingan, interest was sparked in her by Pein. She was spared on one condition. Well a few, but one big one.

She was to join the Akatsuki, accept the Rogue life and abandon her old life. This would mean abandoning the Hidden Rain and Ichika.

But on the other hand, maybe she could find Sasuke. She had no clue just how wrong she was. But she agreed nonetheless.

So she was taken back to the base, fron there, she met the other members.

Okay don't kill me but here's what happens when she first meets the Akatsuki: [her opinion and relationships will change over time]

Pein: Of course when they first met, she was intimidated and activated her sharingan, but being spared and hopefully brought closer to her brother, she would do anything he asked, for now at least.

Konan: Seeing her special skills, Hokkaido was intimidated but wouldn't admit so. She seems to be the only female here.

Deidara: I'm sorry Dei, but my little angel thought you were a very beautiful lady until you spoke the first time. Needless to say, she was rather shocked but admired his hair and explosives anyway.

Kakuzu: one word. Fear. This man is huge and crazy tall, also his personality reminds her of what its like to bite into a crabapple.

Hidan: she admired his dedication, but didn't like how he greeted her with “Fuck, there's another one? At least this one has a decent rack”. She punched him. And threatened his life only to find out he's immortal.

Tobi: well, he's very hyper and welcoming at least, but she wondered why he wore that mask.

Kisame: is he a man? Shark? Man-Shark? Either way, she kept a distance and admired his strength from afar.

Sasori: puppets are completely and utterly horrifying and she wanted nothing to do with this weird puppet man. Until she saw how red his hair was and her cheeks dusted a pale pink. It reminded her of someone she met a few years ago.

Itachi: . . . Her brother. Her brother, who had killed the clan was in the Akatsuki. Upon seeing him, she wondered if it was too late to leave the Akatsuki. She rurned her nose away and sighed.

Zetsu: “are you a. . . Big, adorable plant man?” i think it's safe to say Zetsu stared at her and quite possibly closed his trap around himself to save himself the embarrassment or black Zetsu threatening to eat her.

Back to Age 17

Sasuke wasn't with them, and she felt like shutting down completely. She was now at square one again. She had hoped this was her ticket to helping her brother, but ahe didnt know he didn't want help.

And honestly, you can't help someone who doesn't want any help.

Aside from her mind overworking, she now had to face Itachi as he was staring her down.

“hey, Itachi... ”

From there, the two walked around as he explained what really happened that day. She was torn. The Leaf had ordered this massacre?

Maybe she wasn't ready to go home after all.

Age 18

On her eighteenth birthday, she had spent her very first one with Itachi in nine years, and she oncr again, was crying those sappy happy little tears.

She never really expected a group of terrorists to the villages to get her gifts, yet they had.

Konan had gotten her a pair of fingerless gloves; Hokkaido appreciated the gesture because her hands were usually cold and Konan usually got things she needed or wanted anyway as the two had become closer.

Kisame had given her her very first katana, which, she undeniably adored the gesture; and she was extremely pink cheeked, she wasn't in love with him but she really liked his caring and understanding attitude.

Tobi had gotten her a mask to match his, which she never would wear; instead, she retaliated with offering to share dango with him instead. Which results in him squealing.

Sasori had claimed he didn't give a damn about things she wanted but still placed a small wooden figure of well, GAARA, in front of her; which led to the idea he had read her diary and had fully embarrassed her. But this little figure was different. Gaara was dressed as the Kazekage.

Deidara had picked her up some paint; remembering she hsd spent endless nights she couldn't sleep to paint her ceilinv and walls, and was out of it.

Zetsu uh, well, gave her a few seeds for flowers. It was for a joke since he figured she would never use them, but she held o to them. Just wait. These gifts will be brought up later.

Kakuzu, and i can't stress this enough, didn't do shit.

Hidan, on the other hand, tried offering immortality if she converted to jashinism.

Itachi had saved his for last. He had gotten her a journal and pens, as well as her stuffed panda from Amegakure.

A part of being an official member of the Akatsuki meant missions. And she had completed several, but what made her panic would be the one where the hunt for Jinchuuriki began.

It was a silent battle with herself. She had already dedicated herself to the Akatsuki but she knew two Jinchuuriki. Gaara and Naruto.

The day Gaara's One Tail was extracted, she covered her mouth upon hearing those certain words.

“He's dead”.

As if she had been hoping her life wouldn't get worse, she had already made up her mind. She really, really despised Deidara now. And she knew she would be killed if she straight up abandoned post.

However, on her next solo mission, she managed to leave a scroll for the Hokage and wanted word passed silently between the Five Kage's. She was playing both sides as of now, but desperately wanted out.

Would they believe her?

No. Not yet at least.

Age 19

Silence. She had succumbed herself with silence, almost like a vow she had taken. Deidara, Sasori, they were dead and war was coming.

She promised herself she would hate Deidara for what he did to Gaara, but she couldn't help but feel pity. Deidara was only a teenager when he died. [I think he was nineteen?]

With the Fourth Shinobi War coming, she was scared. Having no idea what to even do, Hokkaido assumed she would die.

Because I'm a lil bitch, I'm making you wait until she turns 20 for more details.

Age 20

The Akatsuki was no more. Almost all had died, and Hokkaido felt a slight empty feeling in her heart as she sat in front of the Five Kage's.

This was judgement. Would she be allowed to repent and become a better person or be banished forever, or die? Her mind was going wild.

Though, she couldn't help the feeling of ease as she saw Gaara, the Kazekage and boy she used to know, standing and perfectly fine.

“During the time of my extraction, I could see she wanted nothing to do with the Akatsuki organization. She looked almost forced to be there”.

The words Gaara spoke made her face turn pink and look away. Why was he trying to help her when she had fallen into the wrong group of people?

As if she hadn't already felt like she had succumbed herself in a repetitive cycle of falling for Gaara each day she thought about it, him helping her only dragged her deeper into the pit.

And Kami, he was so beautiful.

“and I'd like to offer that if you don't trust her, that's fine. She can return to Suna with me and Kankurō. She can build herself from there”.

So she moves to Suna and begins working on herself as a person, much of the things she had thought about was the very questions Gaara had asked along the way.

“why help me?” she had asked, the gaze he gave her was hard but he responded with: “you aren't the only one who was in the wrong. It would be wrong of anyone to not let you change yourself. I was given a chance and was once feared and hated, so can you answer this for me, do you wamt to live? Do you want to start a new beginning? If so, keep walking with us”.

And so she walked.

Age 21

Life in Suna was much different than the Hidden Rain or Leaf. Not many people would contact her or look her way for the first few days. After all she was an outsider and reformed terrorist.

Hokkaido had grown close to Temari once more, as well as Kankurō. These two, when free, helped her with the adjustment.

Hokkaido had left Amegakure behind, the ache in her heart subsiding as she realized Ichika had grown into a decent young child and chose to not become a shinobi, considering shinobi had too many hardships and heartaches to deal with.

As for Gaara, the two often spent time gardening and cultivating cacti.

Something from the past had finally been planted. The flower seeds Zetsu had given her way back on her birthday spent with the Akatsuki.

The katana that Kisame had given her was placed on a display.

Her Traditional Japanese Sword Display

The katana which is the most recognized full sized samurai sword and is often the first piece in any collection. It sits at the bottom and has a beautiful violet ito handle wrap.

The second would be the wakizashi which is a mid-sized sword that resembles the katana and the ito handle wrap was midnight blue.

Then the third which is a tanto. The tanto is the shortest of the swords or in many examples can be as short as today's standard survival styled knife. The ito wrap is black.

This is an example of how the stand is:

Age 21

The mask Tobi had given her had brought up bitter memories and had long sense been tossed into a storage box.

Her fingerless gloves had been destroyed during the war, but since she used them for swordplay, Temari had gotten her a new pair as a gift.

The wooden figure Sasori had given her of Gaara was more or less embarassing since she lived with the sand siblings and had hidden it away in the storage box.

Her panda sat on her bed, displayed and untouched except for during the night.

Age 22

Upon the next year, Hokkaido watched as relationships blossomed between many people, marriages and children coming into the world, she began wondering if she would ever have something like this in her own life. She highly doubted it.

Having been back and forth from Konohagakure, she grew closer to Shikamaru once more from childhood as she often joined the male and Temari on days they'd spend time together.

Other times, Hokkaido would stick to Kankurō and help with making puppets, she rather enjoyed painting them.

And occasionally, when Gaara was free, the two would still garden together and had began talking more, sometimes the two would even go out to the village and walk around together.

Her feelings for Gaara seemed to only hrow stronger as she had grown older, and she imagined herself having a future with him. It always made her heart hammer and her face turn blood red.

This year, she had cut most of her hair off to her shoulders as it had grown too long. She soon admits her feelings to Gaara, unsurprisingly, he was silent.

She most definitely assumed she blew it, but nearly a week later, Gaara had shyly asked if she would allow him to court her.

This was most definitely the beginning of a new and beautiful relationship.

I'll pick up with pre boruto - boruto era soon. Though im not sure if these are even good. @temarihime @thefifthkazekage @how-troublesome @houndninja

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antihero-writings · 4 years

Text

Jack of All Trade, in This Masquerade

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Fic Summary: Jack's stream of consciousness describes how society is like a masquerade, while his dreams show his own hypocrisy

Notes: Originally written for Phmonth18, Week 3, Prompt/Day 2: Mask.

What started out as something that was supposed to be a short little fic about Jack’s internal monologue became an in-depth look into Jack’s psyche…hehe. I’ll admit, this is one of the weirdest formats I’ve ever used, and I’m not quite sure if it works, but I had fun with it! This is my first time writing heavily about Jack, and it’s about how his mind works….so forgive me if there are any inaccuracies to his character.

If you like it, I’d really appreciate if you could leave a comment!! They really do make my week, and help me keep writing, especially when it comes to multi-chapter fics like this one!!

Chapter 1:

Everyone always wore a mask.

That was how things were, how the world worked. No question. No alternative. No argument you could make to stop it. Like a plague that replaced everyone’s faces with the skin of monsters.

The world was a masquerade. A dance, where you trade partners, and you never quite know who you’re dancing with anyways. You’re thrown in without knowing the moves, and are required to learn as you go, because you can’t stop. If you stop, the music, the momentum of the world turning, doesn’t. So if you do, you may just be trampled, thrown off the world.

As you grew up, you learned the moves, programmed them into your bones until the motions were mechanical, and your body knew nothing else. Nothing but the lies. Grew up, painted your mask, made it more ornate, less likely to show your true colors, less likely to fall.

Something that made a louder crash when it did fall.

They always do. Eventually. Don’t think you can escape it.

Your parents, your family, your friends, they’re no different. When I said everyone, I meant everyone.

But when you grow up in gutters, in the stench and blood, the offal of humanity, and watch from afar, forbidden from the dance, but also from...not dancing, learning that you must dance to make in it the world...you may or may not grow to hate humanity.

I couldn’t wear a mask. But I was doomed to see through everyone else’s. See their lies, see their hypocrisy, their cold cut rules about how much of a clown you could be, I could see the puppet strings.

I learned to hate.

But.

******

The room glittered and gleamed; the chandeliers, the polished marble tiles, the wine glasses, the clothing of the dancers.

Jack stood on the sidelines. The black and white players spinning before him, coming near him in flashes and fake smiles.

Outside, snow fluttered down onto a darkened ground, so much so he couldn’t see past the wind and flakes to a world beyond.

He had to stay inside, or else the storm might overtake him.

Storm inside. Storm out. Between two evils, how do you know which is worse?

They didn’t know they were simply chess pieces. That this was simply a game, that they would be sacrificed, all for the sake of the king.

Once, he had found their twirls and fanciful garments fascinating; the masks shined and their feathers climbed towards a twinkling ceiling. He looked on with longing, then.

Now, the word fake grew out of the crevices where their eyes were meant to be, it crept along their porcelain cheeks, their feathered heads, their bejeweled necks—and they didn’t see the vines, the spiders, linked together into chains, strangling them, driving fangs into their chests.

At the same time, sickness pooled in his own heart, started creating ripples towards his thoughts, reaching his words, crashing upon the shores of his actions.

A sickness called hate.

It took him far too long to realize the motions held no meaning. They were all just tumbling in the dark and the cold, trying to make meaning of the moves when there is none. The shimmer on the surface of the water was reflected from a sky they could never reach, not something buried beneath the waves that they could touch, hold, and keep, if they just held their breath long enough to wrap their fingers around it.

The same was surely true for the waters in his own heart.

At least, that’s how it seemed, and what he told himself.

Black and white. No color. Pawns and knights in a grand game of chess.

What was real?

What would happen if it all just…stopped? What if we called the world, the dance by name?

A pause. A flicker. A flash. Color.

First it was red. Red like lamplight, in the night-soaked brightness of the room, a lantern of hope, guiding him across the lifeless waters of a stormy sea—navy waves, navy sky, (navy, not quite black, not quite blue), till they were indiscernible from each other—to a land where there was more light like hers. Red that burned—could it burn down the masks? Like blood. Like roses.

Red in her eyes.

Then it was her hair, a splash of brown, flowing between the sides of black and white. Some say brown isn't pretty, isn't really a color. But looking and the rich hazelnut locks he would beg to differ.

Then the violet of her dress, like flowers, like the fluttering butterfly she was, like she was the only royal in a council of fools and common sense.

He lost track of the moves to stare her way.

******

One day I met a girl—brown hair, eyes red as roses in the snow—who wasn’t wearing a mask. She told me she could see through the masks too. But instead of hating the world in general for the practice, she questioned, she wondered, and she cheated the game.

And looking into those red eyes, I realized nothing else mattered. Not the world, not the deadened grasp of humanity, the music, the moves, or the masks.…Just her.

I tried to follow her, but in the mix of feet, in the unlearned motions, I myself was trampled to the ground.

So I resolved to learn the dance—not to live, not for the dance itself—but to follow her. To trade partners until I found her hand. I had to get up, to sew together a mask, glue on the feathers with blood, and pull the jewels out of dead men’s hands.

Horror is the word, I believe. The one to describe the things I did. I think you’ll find that both joining the dance, and subverting it, will inevitably lead to that word. I followed in the steps of people who did worse than me. Danced with partners whose masks were sewn into the skin. I did things that’ll make you shudder to think.

All part of the dance.

Nothing but her.

******

Outside, silent snow turned to to the taps of rain asking to get in, like little children knocking on the window frames to beg for some food.

As he stared the girl’s way, the masks knocked against his shoulders, they trod on his feet, and scoffed at his incredulity, scoffed at him for not knowing the moves he should have mastered by heart by now.

He looked over their heads, trying to peer through the feathers and jewels, catch another glimpse of the one real thing in the sea of falsity.

For the first time there was something compelling him more than puppet strings and patterns. There was something alive in him. His heart became a beating thing. His lungs a set of pumping parts.

For the first time he understood: the dance wasn't evil, he just didn't have the right partner.

She faded like a word on the tip of your tongue never breathed out into the air.

Living, which tasted so sweet, quickly turned sour, into something that hurt. His heart panged. His lungs thumped too fast. Fear, desperation set into to his fast-beating blood.

And, at last, his gaze on her fading footfalls, he moved.

Out from the sidelines, into the mix of motions. Out into the world, the sea that he always thought was full of things with teeth, that'd eat him alive if he got too close.

But instead of following the ordained pattern, he was a wrench in the perfectly predestined machine.

The other cogs knocked into him, dug their teeth into his shoulders. He tripped. Tripped into the workings of the machine, all the ugly machinations that made the pristine clock tick. The dance kept turning all the same, the other cogs kicking into him. Knocking him further, down to the tiles beneath, further below than he'd ever been. So he lay there, bruised and bleeding, staring at the calculated movements of the gears ticking above him.

“Lacie!” his cracked voice called, reaching out his hand to the star he could never reach.

And on the floor, where all the broken parts, the scraps of things that tried to change the direction of the machine go, he realized that that the pattern was too ruthless to break. Kicked and beaten by the dance, he understood that the only way to follow her, was to join the dance.

He wouldn’t give up. He’d follow her footprints through the forest of feet and fakes.

If he’d bend the rules a little.

******

I set the moves into my hands and feet, resolved to be a bruising and beating thing, like them, clawed my way back into the artificial light, until that red was back in my sight. I took her hand in mine and—

She…didn’t remember me.

No peppered, cheerful hello. No pretense, or pretending.

No mask.

My free spirit. My unmasked beauty. My blood red girl. My Lacie.

In eight years, as I broke myself apart and sewed myself back together, as I metamorphosed into something I myself barely recognized, she still hadn’t changed, been chained; she was still the same dash of color in a world of black and white fakes. A player in a world of pawns.

Despite all the things I had done, I knew she was the one person who would still accept me. She was still the one who questioned the machine, and would accept the things I did to fight it, would understand that the only way to fight it was from the inside out. I'd done it all for her, after all.

There's no sunlight at the bottom of the machine. Eight years. Eight years in the dark. Eight years since I felt the warmth of sunlight on my skin, the touch of something, someone, living.

"Dance with me." I'd spoke the words a thousand times, but this was the only time I ever meant them.

When you find your color in a black and white world, your dream in a world of nightmares, your life in a world of walking corpses, you never want to give it up, to let the song end.

But.

******

After the moving maze, the muddied world of men, the journey to get back to her, his hand found hers.

Something real, something dynamic, instead of stagnant, something warm to the touch, not metallic and cold.

Standing before him—at last—was his pride, his prize.

She was on the other side of the endless ballroom, off to the side, her head turned, gaze out the window. But she was still dancing with someone. Slowly, their moves less cold and mechanical.

He didn’t bother with the pretense of the dance, or courtesy towards the one she was currently dancing with. He threw his arms around her, and held her tight.

The shock in her eyes told him something wasn’t quite the same.

—(Or maybe he wasn’t quite sane)—

Did she not remember him? That moment when color entered his world?

What was all of time for him, was a passing glimpse for her.

It didn’t matter. As long as she didn’t cover those pretty eyes with the mark of a fake.

And she never did. Not as long as he knew her

“Jack.” She placed her hand on his cheek, running her fingers along his skin, pushing a strand of his hair behind his ear.

She smiled, and it was the only real thing.

But that smile didn’t last forever; it became a twisted thing, etching itself onto her features.

A thing that certainly didn’t belong to her, even now.

Was this her mask? Could her face have been a mask this whole time?

She pulled away from him.

“You fool.”

He drew in a sharp breath, and it pierced his heart.

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

She gestured grandly to the room as a whole.

What? What didn’t he see? This was how it had always been. Nothing had changed.

She grabbed his chin and made him look away from her.

“Look at them.”

Then he saw.

The dancers around them weren’t just dancers, strangers, background.

They weren’t strangers at all.

Or maybe they were even less known to him than strangers would have been.

They weren't even in black and white after all; there was color all around him, the color that had belonged to himself. Many of them were wearing the same green outfit he wore presently, others were in red, and blue, some wrapped in a thin blanket…They all had the same blonde hair, sometimes in a braid like his, others messy and short.

And they all still wore masks, as if the emotions could be written and plastered on rather than felt—happy, sad, angry…that disgusting smile…

His disgusting smile.

Each and every one of them was himself.

Had it always been this way? Since the beginning? Or had they become this way? Somewhere in the middle, had strangers morphed into mirrors?

The music faded out, and the rain outside grew louder and louder until he couldn’t help but turn to the window, as if to demand some peace and quiet.

The drops that dribbled down and splattered across the panes were not clear, or grey, or blue.

That red he had once found so fascinating, once begged for, was painting the world.

He swallowed.

As he realized the change in scenery, all the other Jacks stopped, turning to him with mechanical motions, and faceless expressions, some creepy army of past-self-dolls.

“Lacie,” her name on his lips—(the word echoed through the crowd, the other Jacks moaning it as if remembering the one word that made them alive once, though it wasn't alive in their mouths now)—he turned to her, his one hope, his one safety in a world that had fixed its canons against him.

She was no longer beside him.

Laying in his hand was a limp chain.

He didn’t want to look, to follow the trail; he feared what he would see. But he chased the links to the ceiling—

Her body, suspended in the air above, like she was one of those twinkling chandeliers. Her body, pierced by chains.

That red rain was inside now.

And below her, looking his way, was someone else. Someone else in color. Someone else who wasn’t wearing a mask.

******

My Lacie, who lied, and died at the hands of her brother. For the simplest crime of never wearing a mask over those red eyes. For the simplest crime of existence.

Oswald. Her brother.

I should have hated him for taking her from me.

And there was a part of me that did. Surely. But he loved her too, you know. And it was some sick sense of duty that threw her into the pit, not his own will.

I was a question in his eyes, and he was an answer in mine. There’s something about mutual darkness between people; being able to look into someone else’s soul, and see your struggles reflected, and yet…not yourself… Something that we call friendship.

******

The first thing he saw was his cloak, like a wave breaking across his shoulder. Crimson, just like her eyes.

Just like her blood he spilt.

Then his eyes, violet, like her dress. But unlike with her, this violet, this royalty, was sharp, cold, and unforgiving.

Then it was the black of his hair and clothing. A deeper black from the dancers before. A darker sky.

He was the black king, after all, wasn’t he?

"Lacie is dead,”

“I killed her.”

******

It wasn’t malice, or revenge. It was the requirement and requiem of a leader.

Or at least, they poisoned his mind and made him think so.

I’m sure he would have joined me, if he wasn’t such a fool. If he wasn’t so wrapped up in his own ignorance.

(An ignorance that was my fault).

Joined me to get her, that is.

Death isn’t quite the right word. She was cast into the Abyss, into a place where "return" has no meaning.

But I learned that the masks, the dance, the masquerade, goes by another name:

Chains.

Chains come in many forms. There are the chains that killed her, those that we create contracts with, linking us to a place darker than the bottom of the machine. Chains between people; like friendship, like love, like hate. And the chains we create for ourselves, tying us to an abyss of our own making, with no need for outside temptation.

Then there’s another type; this world is a ruin—(I always knew it)—and the Chains around it are the only things keeping the world from the Abyss, in the same token as others tie us to it. They fall between the lines on the pages of our story, into the places our eyes can’t see.

Or, more accurately, keeping the world from her.

Blood red world. My gift for my blood red girl. And I didn’t care how much blood I spilled in the midst. Not really. Not enough.

This world is rotting anyway. I’ve known it from the start. But not to her. She saw the color, the life, the light. She saw the stars. She saw that there was something real behind those falsely shimmering lights. That maybe it wasn’t all on the surface. Maybe there was something beneath the waters that we could reach.

And I’d bring the world she loved to her.

I’m doing this for you.

#jack vessalius #oswald baskerville #pandora hearts #pandora hearts fandom #lacie baskerville #tragedy trio #pandora hearts manga #Pandora Hearts fanfiction #pandora hearts fanfic #pandora hearts fic #pandora hearts jack #jack pandora hearts #pandora hearts oswald #oswald pandora hearts #lacie pandora hearts #pandora hearts lacie

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yue-muffin · 4 years

Text

Time Raiders (2016)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

This hellsite turns the images into POTATO quality but ah well, here we go. Into the tomb!

P A R T T W O

He’s a puppy!! Everyone in the family wants to protect him from this business, but here Uncle Three goes ‘eh, might as well’. This boy has no idea what he’s doing. At least Zhang Qiling is here to protect him, because in what world does he not?

Lovely scenery!

Wu Xie…he’s such a nerd. But I relate, I would also use random facts I know from school to start a conversation, my mom probably hates me for it haha. It’s sort of obnoxious coming from some people (me…especially in undergrad). I love it when Wu Xie goes on a ramble tangent though.

We’re really going straight for the throat with the “lookin the mirror because you don’t know who you are” thing, aren’t we. Aw, then he gives a little pout.

These subs are really decent grammar-wise, but LOL at them just giving up on translating Zhang Qiling’s nickname: 闷油瓶 (sullen oil bottle), apparently referring to the way he doesn’t like to talk. It’s a cute nickname but it’s so hard to translate. Some have gone with Poker-face, which I think is the best one you can get in English.

HAHA WU XIE. This kid. I looked up 安静 and the dictionary gives me “quiet, calm, peaceful”. He’s not really quiet, he is rather calm in that he doesn’t flip out easily, but he has such puppy energy that it’s hard to use that descriptor for him. But confirmation that he thinks Zhang Qiling is a handsome man.

Aw, there’s our Wu Xie. It’s funny because he’s so annoyed with Zhang Qiling in the first volume of the novel when he doesn’t respond to Wu Xie’s attempts to be friendly, he always refers to him with a bit of scorn. But, well, it’s a super slow burn relationship (I’m talking platonic, since that’s fully canon and I can turn my shipping goggles off lol) and we don’t have that kind of time in live action adaptations. I do have to say, I like the drama and movie for changing that dynamic a little - if not, it detracts from Wu Xie’s image as an innocent, naive young man, probably.

Oh my fucking god his finger is on the trigger THIRD UNCLE WHY DID YOU BRING THIS KID WITH YOU. Well, that marks the first Zhang Qiling rescuing Wu Xie (from himself…this dumbass) of the movie haha.

Oh he took the bullet out ok that’s better. Ha! Wu Xie is a little imp still.

You just gave Zhang Qiling an heart attack, Wu Xie, hope you’re happy.

This kid. If he wasn’t so stoic, he’d have rolled his eyes. You can just see it in his soul.

Oh ok, we’re getting a flashback to Third Uncle scolding Wu Xie that’s better. I thought he really was that irresponsible to just go “ok sure!”

He looks so sad. It’s the puppy eyes, I’m telling you. That’s how he always gets his way lol.

So he has a dream that weighs heavily on him, but is it worth risking your life in an actual tomb for?

Smooth, he redirects Zhang Qiling’s question right back at him - why do you want to go to the tomb? I love it, he’s still got that mouth on him.

Ooh so they did end up using the periodic amnesia part of his character. And his insecurities about whether he truly exists in the world.

These looks they give each other. They’re so soft. Aahh (shipper me is back). Aww. “Don’t worry, I’ll record them with my camera. You won’t be lost.” So there is a purpose for making photography part of his character. I like using the camera and mirrors as motifs.

“If I come or go, who cares.” I GUARANTEE YOU SOMEONE WILL.

More scenery for the record!

These shots really drive home what he just said: the world is so big, what’s one person in light of it all?

…Never change Wu Xie, never change. This is why everyone wants to protect him, because he says things like this. You’ll protect him?? Haha I remember when he said something like this in TLT2. It was so endearing. But also you just want to die laughing. But that is what makes Wu Xie, Wu Xie. Even in the first book, he cared and worried about Xiaoge’s whereabouts whereas everyone else was like “nah, he’s probably fine”.

HAHA WAIT. Third Uncle you are responsible.

Is this a prison transport truck why can it lock someone inside so easily.

This is so funny.

Oh no it’s the foreigners!! “You’ll be safer in the truck” they said.

It’s Pangzi and Ah Ning!

I still really miss TLT2 Ah Ning, I can only imagine that one in my head now haha.

I don’t understand why she had to climb on the side of the truck just to sit on the hood. Also, wear something a little more protective in the chest area if you’re gonna go tomb raiding it drives me absolutely crazy that women must always be so underdressed just for that male gaze.

You’ve got some good reception considering where you are. Her accent doesn’t make my ears bleed which is a good thing.

Oh-hoho he’s catching onto your little spy cam! IMPOSSIBLE haha that’s everyone’s reaction upon seeing Zhang Qiling after xx years looking the exact same.

And we’re in! Cue the greedy tomb robbers who touch things and get into trouble the second they enter the place. No deaths yet though…still too early.

-DO YOU SPEAK ZHONGWEN (Chinese)?

-*whisper* Chinese.

-CHINESE.

?? I’M DYING. This part is such comedy gold.

Yup that’s Pangzi, I think I’ve heard this one in other DMBJ adaptations but I don’t remember which one.

I’m pretty sure the tomb needs a key…which you have, Third Uncle…

Don’t worry, Zhang Qiling is here to help! As always, he tends to trounce everyone with the most mundane items even though the enemy is carrying heavy duty weapons.

Is something to happen to the beams? First a bracket fell off, now the camera focused on it briefly.

This Zhang Qiling is so low-key funny even though he doesn’t intend to be. They really said “how can we show Zhang Qiling being even more badass” by having him use the cloth as a distraction, then have it fall over his shoulders when it lands.

I also like how he never has any stupid qualms about fighting a woman. Oh he spoke English! Haha. “Not bad.” “I know.”

This Zhang Qiling.

Ah Ning pulling that gun out of her sleeve was real badass. I love how she’s the only one who actually gets hand-to-hand fighting and everyone else in her team just shoots from afar. She’s the team leader and boy does she deserve it. You go, Ah Ning!

Haha they are pretty good! Even set a trap.

Oh, Wu Xie got out of the truck.

Again, kudos to this Wu Xie for actually recording the stuff he sees in tombs.

Why am I laughing so hard right now haha. Look at his hands patting Zhang Qiling’s. His hands are a lot thinner now that they’re right up next to each other.

So high tech what is this haha.

What is my name? Wu Xie did you think he was an imposter or-

Aw, helping him check for his amnesia acting up haha. This kid.

Look at this smile. How can you hate him, it’d be like kicking a puppy. But also, he says the darnedest things. And Zhang Qiling gives a little laugh and a smile! See?

Gotta snap a picture of the bf.

Aww, nice music to go with the “hey you’re alright, proper introduction time” part. And they share a laugh, too.

GUYS YOU HAVE A KEY FOR A REASON?? If the darn thing isn’t turning, maybe you shouldn’t force it and try another method??

Wow they really went for the gore on this movie. Even got some nice blood splats when the thing clamps close. That’s not horrifying at all, nope.

Haha first trap you, the cut off the arm with a guillotine!

As always, Zhang Qiling to the rescue! But yikes is that one heavy duty sword.

Was it smart to light the ball on fire. I see statues holding crossbows that is not a good sign. This is a pretty imaginative way to light up a room though!

I love this Zhang Qiling.

The female statue is rather good looking?? It’s a statue?? And it looks downright creepy, not beautiful or sexy.

Oh no. They touched stuff in the tomb.

It’s a guy who has been dead for hundreds of years. What did you expect it to look and sound like.

Oh fuck no the eyes moved I hate it when this happens!!

Do you also see all the wires rigged to it or is that just me. And they’re holding CROSSBOWS. Now the HEADS MOVED I CAN’T.

There’s no corpse in the coffin great. And now the puppets are playing instruments. This is not disturbing.

COVER YOUR EARS. It’s too late!! Now everyone’s hallucinating, great.

Oh, she’s pretty! But don’t trust her!!

But why did Wu Xie get trapped in that dream of his, while everyone else is hallucinating that they’re still in the tomb.

A decent CGI lion for once? As long as it just stands there it looks fine.

And there goes Zhang Qiling’s magic blood!

It’s super effective! Oh, so he has to spill some blood for each person who is effected by the illusion? Yeah, no one say Zhang Qiling doesn’t care. He’s willing to spill enough blood to pass out (Book 1/TLT1), for all these dumbasses who probably had no business being in a tomb anyways with how they go about it and get themselves into mortal danger.

Yes, Wu Xie, be the voice of reason and protect him from your uncle and his friends. He could’ve left you guys to go crazy if he really did have malicious intentions. But he cut himself to save you, geez. Show some appreciation.

This is a pretty fun trap, gotta say. Wu Xie figured out the rhythm.

Don’t lie, he was definitely worried about Wu Xie, but haha turns out he’s not completely helpless. Just compare picture 1 to picture 2 lol.

HA KNEW IT. THE CROSSBOWS ARE NEXT.

Haha I love it how Zhang Qiling always preferentially helps Wu Xie up or worries about him, to the point Pangzi in Reboot/Chongqi doesn’t even really comment on it anymore.

Someone’s gonna end up dead at some point I’m just waiting for that ball to drop.

HAHAHA I’m howling.

Everyone falls on their asses and crashes into stuff. Zhang Qiling falls into a crouch A+ landing. Wu Xie?

Of course Zhang Qiling catches him. There always has to be a scene where Zhang Qiling holds Wu Xie in his arms, no matter the adaptation, haha. Is this the one for this version?

Of course it’s insects.

I QUIT? Everyone is looking for a way out, ok, you literally cannot quit until you get out of here.

Oh ew the bugs are here of course.

Aww that’s the Wu Xie we know. He wants to save people, always.

THE BUGS CAN EAT METAL. That surpasses “flesh-eating” ok.

Aw, look at his face. Poor boy. I didn’t think I’d grow this fond of Lu Han!Wu Xie.

This is why one person from your family died a month when you were a kid. Welp, that’s one person down.

Zhang Qiling hurting himself again to save their butts. In this adaptation it doesn’t seem that his blood repels so much as hurts creatures outright though, which is far less useful than his evil creature repellant in the dramas.

Lol, dude he even had to help you get your feet up on that metal thing.

WU XIE TRIES OK. He tries really hard. But it’s his first time in a tomb and he’s got more guts than half the people here ok.

SO YOU DECIDE TO PLAY THE FLUTE??

Always record Zhang Qiling’s smiles ok. He was so worried Wu Xie was going to be mooched alive by the bugs. I guess that’s why he can’t have the bug repellant blood in this adaptation lol. If he did, it would’ve helped a lot.

Oh, sure, now the foreigners come in.

You. You might have blown up the only exit??

Good thing your brains, Wu Xie, showed up after all, huh.

Option 1: Dig a hole!!

Option 2: Smash your way through!

How is he doing this haha. Zhang Qiling is too OP.

Aww, see, this is why their relationship across the franchise is so good?? Zhang Qiling in the books especially is so much of a badass, he always is ok and always wins, but it doesn’t matter how many times he escapes death. Wu Xie always cares and worries about leaving without him.

What’s with the awful weather outside lol.

Next Up: more tomb shenanigans!

#time raiders #image heavy post #the muffin's liveblogging adventures

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fraxturedskxn-blog · 5 years

Note

“bad end”

Send me “bad end” for an alternate, dark/tragic ending to my muse’s story

@hackerxadam

(have an old fic)

Standing on the sidelines. He had been told — asked to do it, and that was where he had done something wrong. He should’ve been out there, fighting, but instead, he listened, and the only one fighting made the biggest decision.

The one battling had gone to his final form of Evolution and was taking on the enemy, head to head. His breathing ragged, and half of his armor gone, shattered into Digital specs. Gone. As Kouichi watched, he saw the enemy take the Warrior’s head in his huge hand, laughing as he did so.

Their enemy had a smirk on his face, clenching the head firmly in his grip, lifting the final force of good into the air, his feet hanging high off the ground. “Little Warrior, how foolish to attack me on your own.” The larger body almost rippled when he laughed yet again, watching as the Human turned Digimon squirmed in his grip.

Gritting his teeth was the hardest thing to do, especially when a giant hand covered his face, about stopping his ability to breathe, and just about sticking his throat. His windpipe was squeezed, though he managed to grind out words faintly. “I will not let you take him back. You are an evil that must perish!”

Watching from afar still, the Warrior of Darkness hid behind a rock pile, as he had been told to do, and asked just before the Warrior had gotten caught. He gripped a piece of the rock in his hand, holding it so hard, it soon turned to dust. Agony flared in his red eyes, and he was helpless, for now. He could do nothing. His pride was making him keep his promise he’d stay put.

The lump of Evil shook again, this time his jaws opened wide, as black spilled forth, turning into orbs of nothingness that circled the captive. They bumped his armor, and body at moments, and the pained screaming rang across the area, making the hand clamp harder, trying to muffle the shrieks. “You Humans are far too brittle, even as Digimon, you are weak.”

Blue eyes burned defiantly, staring through cracks in the fingers as he was bombarded. His teeth struggling to open. “I…will..finish…it.” Ever hopeful he could get out, the Warrior gazed with a glare of triumph. He was the last to stand against it, the shadow over the Digital World, and he’d defeat it, even if it meant risking his life.

Kouichi’s mind felt like breaking. He should be there too, at least with two the one now….he wouldn’t be captured….His knees gave and he fell, eyes wide, as tears broke from his red eyes. Through his experiences with the others, he had gained something he had lost, a heart, and a little soul. Even if only a tiny bit, he had it. And he was cursing it, it was making him feel horrible over the events taking place before his very eyes. It was too much, and he did all he could to hold back his screams and sobs.

Soon, the one held captive felt his energy give, and he reverted back to his Human self, his weak, and ever more helpless body, so fragile. His icy eyes still glared as blood ran down his forehead, and between them. He was pale, and quickly losing the will to stay awake, the crushing grip on his skull becoming too much. With his final moments, he said his final words. “Cherubimon.” He rasped, drawing quick, painful breaths as he laid his struggling and trembling hands on the Digimon’s hand clutching his head. “You will fall….Not to me, it seems, but I know you will…” His last acts of heroism, they were all for something though, or so the dying Warrior thought as he slowly drew breath. He had someone who could combat the evil, that very someone he told to hide.

Cherubimon’s form shook, only once more as his laughter rang out, dull and lifted by the Darkness. “You will fall Warrior, and it seems like he will be powerless.”

Steeling himself, he glared at the beastly enemy, one last time. His eyes said ‘I may die, but he will live. You cannot have him.’ At that moment, the Digimon wrapped his other hand around the body of the almost perished Warrior, and he twisted and pulled.

The sounds drove Kouichi mad and he huddled down, wishing he didn’t have to hear his savior dying. 'Just make it stop!’ He screamed in his head, he wanted quiet. A sickening RIP! was heard, and bones splitting apart. He dared to get up and look, how wrong he was to do so.

The sight made his stomach flip, times over, and he felt like running, but his legs were glued. The boy’s lips parted, echoing an ever soundless scream, one of pain, and deep sadness. His eyes were as wide as they’d go, his whole body trembled.

Cherubimon had tossed it, the body, or rather, parts of the body. Kouichi saw it, and he couldn’t help but finally find his voice. And he screamed. “KOUJI!” The head, upper, and lower halves of the body were splayed out on the ground. Blood seeped into the ground, the lifeless head of the downed Warrior leaning toward the Warrior of Darkness. The boy gazed into the now lifeless blue eyes, they were dull, and half rolled up into the decapitated head. The short hair, much like his own, was ripped, matted with his own blood, it looked so out of place, he had always kept it looking so nice. His bandanna, it was on the ground as well, a short distance away from the head.

He wanted it, his twin’s head scarf. His eyes flickered over to the Digimon, who caught sight of him at last, grinning gleefully. “Kouichi, now you know true pain, and shall fall further into the Darkness. Enjoy your pain, because now you are the only one left.” With the final parting words, Cherubimon knew Kouji was now gone forever, and that Kouichi was in a state of disrepair. His once puppet was broken, and he had no further use for him. Retreating into the black, he laughed, mocking the boy’s pain.

His limbs gave and he fell forward. His collapse on the dirt made one thing clear. He could move, and that meant. The bandanna. Picking himself up, he ran at full speed toward his brother, or what remained. Crashing to his knees, he felt hollow, and forgot — or rather couldn’t breathe, he didn’t have to. His eyes were a stationary pool of nothing, he didn’t feel anymore, his feelings died with Kouji. His hands slid along the ground as if he couldn’t see. He didn’t wish to look upon the mess. Fingers found it, the tattered fabric that belonged to his kin. Grasping it, Kouichi clutched it to his chest and yelled a dark and hate-filled yell. Standing, he wrapped the bloodied mess of fabric around his neck, as a tribute.

What to now? His reason was gone…his ’life’ had been taken. Growing thick with malice, he shifted into Duskmon, stiffly breathing in and out. His weapons made themselves known, and he walked into the trees. Seconds later, screaming could be heard, and if one were to look, they’d find Duskmon, ravaging the land, killing Digimon and destroying everything. Also, one would see, that even as Duskmon, the fabric was tied around his hair, and there it stayed.

#getting mail #tw: character death #tw: death #hackerxadam

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matrixaffiliate · 5 years

Text

Like the Storybooks

Co-written with @hufflepuffmarlenemckinnon

FFN and AO3

Chapter 15

Marlene awoke having slept better than she had since her attack, but it was followed by a feeling of emptiness. He'd only stayed till she fell asleep. Of course he had; that was exactly what he said he would do. But Marlene could not shake her disappointment at waking up without him.

With the emptiness came the realization that she could not stop this. Every logical part of her screamed to stop, to find some way to halt her affections, but her heart told her it was of no use. He'd captured her heart at the banquet and had sealed it his when he cared for her after her attack. Everything hence had simply enraptured her more to his charm.

But thinking on last night, falling back asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around her, his steady breathing calming her frantic heart, Marlene knew she was done for. It did not matter now who James wanted to pick when it came time for her to wed, her heart would forever be lost to Sirius.

Perhaps now that she wasn't fighting it, she'd be able to function more naturally. The greatest portion of her recent distractions had been due to trying to avoid her feelings. But having accepted that she had handed over not just her affections, but her love and her heart to the gentle Knight, her mind felt clearer than it had since the banquet.

Her mind was clear, but a part of her heart cried out at their reality. She'd suddenly found herself within one of the awful tragic romance stories her mother’s Ladies in waiting often swooned over. High born women falling in love with lower standing men and loving from afar. Marrying and moving forward, but exchanging formal greetings and broken-hearted glances with the one who could not be theirs. Marlene pushed her tears back down.

She shook her head trying to clear away the melancholy. Her mind wandered to the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around her, how well she fit in his embrace, the feeling of his lips against her skin. And for a moment she indulged in the memories she had of Sirius playing the part with her.

When she emerged from her inner chamber, Sirius stood and the look in his eyes seemed to tell her everything. He looked at her like she was the world, and Marlene knew she had found herself exactly in the midst of a tragic romance. She would spend her life haunted by the adoration in his gaze, knowing she could never have more than his gaze.

“Your Grace,” Sirius greeted her and the two words had never been both so unwanted and sweet upon her ears as coming from his lips because it was the whole reason this love would never be more, but it was his voice calling to her and that would forever make her heart soar. It was reality and Marlene hated it.

“Sir,” she nodded and smiled. Even when everything told her this was their tragic destiny, he still managed to pull a smile from her. “Shall we?”

He nodded and she took his arm. Silently they walked to the great hall.

Sir Sirius left her in the company of Lady McGonagall for the day again while he and James worked with the army, and Marlene was surprised to find that she had been right in her assessment. Having admitted that she had handed her heart over to Sirius, her mind seemed to clear and she was able to get far more done than she had the day before.

“Lady McGonagall,” Marlene looked down at her notes. “I keep hearing mentions of Tom Riddle, but I don’t quite grasp what role he plays in anything? Can you help me to understand?”

Lady McGonagall eyed her shrewdly before nodding. “Up until recently, the council felt hesitant to include you in the discussion of a few particularly sensitive matters of state. There are things that some of the council would prefer to shield you from, I’m sure. In any case, if you ask me, Your Grace has proven bright enough that it's only a matter of time before you figure it out for yourself.” Lady McGonagall took a moment to collect her thoughts.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Marlene nodded. The veiled language that the Chief Minister was using made it unclear if the King himself was the one who preferred to keep Marlene sheltered, though that would make the most sense. Could it have been Sir Sirius? She shook off the suspicion and reminded herself that these matters were a great deal more important than the tragic romance whose pages she had brought to life as of late. She needed to focus, as Lady McGonagall continued.

“You are aware that the Lord Dumbledore takes the most promising young minds on as squires in his service I trust? Our own dear King learned much in his service to the Lord. So did, many years ago, a young man of insignificant birth but great ambition, named Tom Riddle.”

“It is significant that Riddle served Dumbledore during a time when the Lord had great favor for a foreign-born knight, Sir Gellert Grindelwald.”

Marlene knew the name. She'd spent many a lesson with her tutors talking about the Knight Grindelwald, and about how he had plotted to destroy the Royal family before his plan was discovered and he was tried for conspiring against the crown.

“It is my understanding that young Riddle learned a great many lessons from Grindelwald. He took these lessons and improved upon the knight’s methods of wielding power by holding the ear, and oft times the heart, of key members of the nobility. Tom Riddle charmed his way into the court of Sempurapuria when it was still a Duchy ruled by a noble couple with two promising heirs. Within three winters the Duke was buried under suspicious circumstances, the eldest son and heir,” she paused, “was lost to them as well… but with Tom Riddle at her side, Walburga wore a crown and called herself a queen.” Marlene could hear the disgust in Lady McGonagall’s voice. She nodded to indicate that she understood the implications, and the King’s Chief Minister took a deep breath before going on.

“Well, being as ambitious as he is, we all had doubts that he’d be satisfied with only the strength of Semprapuria under his thumb. These past months it’s become evident that Riddle has designs on the kingdom of Phoenixordo as a whole. He has agents stirring descent in neighboring duchies, and that’s not the worst of it.”

“We believe, given the intelligence we received combined with the information we were able to get from your attacker before the execution was carried out, that he was acting on orders from Riddle.”

“What would Riddle want with me?”

“Your Grace is a Lady in a position of power and a single lady to boot. You are everything Tom Riddle seeks out in nobility, to use for his own ends. We believe it was his intention to marry you to Regulus Black, Walburga’s...chosen heir. We gather that Riddle, or perhaps Walburga herself, considers Regulus easy to control. With only King James himself standing between you and the throne… you see where that line of thought goes, do you not?”

Marlene’s eyes grew cold. “I am no one’s puppet.”

“Yes, that much is quite clear to us all, Your Grace. In fact, I believe it will be clear to Riddle as well when he gets word that you took a blade to his man. You… are a lot like another young person… who refused to be Riddle’s puppet.”

“Who’s that, your Grace?” There was something in Lady McGonagall's eyes as Marlene asked the question that made her look uncertain.

Before Lady McGonagall could answer, the sound of the heavy old door swinging on its hinges interrupted. His Majesty and Sirius made their way back in.

“That’s a very long story, for another day entirely.” Lady McGonagall’s eyes seemed to follow Sir Sirius. Was there something of chastisement in the look she gave the knight? Marlene couldn’t quite tell, and if she was being honest with herself she didn’t have the faculties to concentrate upon it at the moment. She didn't think she would ever grow accustomed to the way her heart both soared and bled at the way his eyes locked on hers and he smiled as if she were his sun.

“Would Your Grace like to dine in the hall this evening?” James asked, pulling Marlene's attention from Sirius.

“I would be most pleased to, Your Majesty.” Marlene smiled at him.

“Wonderful!” James smiled at her. “I am glad to see you feeling better Cousin. I was worried your attack would have affected you for the worse. It's good to see you more yourself today.”

Marlene was sure that James would not be pleased with the reason she seemed more herself, but that was something for her heart and no one else's.

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Let us depart, friends,” James seemed to take a great deal of relief in Marlene being more herself. Yes, running from this love was the exact way to get caught. She'd made the right decision this morning.

And then Sirius was at her side, helping her from her chair and letting her take his arm. She smiled up at him as they followed his Majesty from the room. His eyes were haunted as he smiled back at her. The same haunted look he'd held when she had first approached him all those months ago. Something about what the Lady McGonagall had said had brought that haunted look to him. It occurred to Marlene that she was still unsure of Sirius’s part in all of this.

#blackinnon #blackinnon fanfiction #sirius x marlene #sirius black x marlene mckinnon #sirius black #marlene mckinnon #medieval au #medieval fantasy AU #fake relationship au #jily #hp #harry potter fanfiction

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mister-tom-a-dildo-lover · 6 years

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Strive Pt. 18

{PART 1} {PART 2} {PART 3} {PART 4} {PART 5} {PART 6} {PART 7} {PART 8} {PART 9} {PART 10} {PART 11} {PART 12} {PART 13} {PART 14} {PART 15} {PART 16} {PART 17}

Pair: Tomarry

Rating: M-E(depends)

Tags: Mild Language, Homosexuality, Sexism, Obsessed Tom, Time-Travel/Dimension-Travel, Teacher/Student, Eventual Romance, Teacher-Harry, Grey!Harry, MoD(sort of), Death!being,

For a time we had a peace. And that peace was something none of us would ever trade. But as always, all good things must come to an end. The darkness that settled over Hogwarts that morning was one I would never wish upon anyone. And with it came a most foreboding feeling. An omen.

As if sensing the incoming danger, the sun had disappeared behind the darkest clouds we'd ever seen. And in the distance were lights. None of which any of us were personally acquainted with at least in such magnitude. A single light up close was not a foreign sight but many at once was trouble.

The glowing stomachs of the dragons could be seen from afar off, and it gave us enough time to react to the incoming invasion. I had always believed that Godric's desire for a dragon was ridiculous, yet in that moment I couldn't be any more grateful for his ostentatious attitude. It truly saved the school that day.

We four had stood our ground upon the stone turrets and cast our most powerful protective enchantments around the castle. And the glowing orb alerted our enemies to our knowledge of their coming. But we were ready, and when the fire rained down from above as the winged creatures surrounded us, we unleashed Hogwarts' own defenses.

Godric's dragon and my beloved Basilisk, Isembard attacked our flying foes relentlessly. The sight of dozens of dragons falling from the sky upon meeting my precious Isembard's gaze, was one I will never forget. And with his assistance, we managed to even out the field of battle considerably, leaving the magical humans for us to handle personally, and the rest of the dragons to suffer.

We did not lose children thankfully, but the castle suffered much damage from it being too difficult to keep up the protections and fight at the same time. The rebuilding took years to work through I have been told.

I lost my dear Isembard that day, but in his memory, I hatched my beloved Cici. She was naught but a hatchling when I left the school, but she needed to stay to protect the students. It was the duty I had hatched her for. I miss her.

I miss Hogwarts. But it is better this way.

The morning paper had held unpleasant news regarding the magical war and the actions of Grindelwald. The current European Dark Lord was causing mayhem even more frequently than he'd been before. And to Tom, it seemed almost frantic in a sense.

It was late February and it didn't appear as if the war would end anytime soon. And the students all knew that eventually Grindelwald would try his hand in Britain. He was taking over the continent and it made sense to make Magical Britain his next conquest since Britain had one of the largest and oldest Magical Communities in the world.

Of course there were rumors that the man hadn't invaded the community yet because of Dumbledore. Tom wasn't certain how much stock he could put into such a claim, but he was aware that for the entire time the prodigy known as Albus Dumbledore resided as a teacher at Hogwarts, Gellert Grindelwald never stepped foot into Great Britain. There was an attempt before Dumbledore earned his teaching post, but afterward, there was nothing on British soil, to show that the Dark Lord had been there.

However, now the Daily Prophet was making comments on how Grindelwald seemed to be coming closer. That his mark was being magically burned into buildings and that he and his followers were making their way across the continent in a most jagged journey. Mapping of their appearances were sporadic at best.

The entire Great Hall was full of whispers and even his Slytherins seemed concerned about the happenings.

Grindelwald boasted a desire for Muggle subjugation which was all well and good, but surely he knew that there were too many Muggles to just force them into complacency? The rumors of him controlling Adolf Hitler, the man at the forefront of the second Muggle World War, seemed to hold some truth. His Muggle puppet was busy making the Muggle world cower, but the simple fact of it, was that not everyone was cowering and many were fighting back.

And there would always be people fighting back. This was what made Grindelwald's plan flawed in Tom's mind. Tom didn't like Muggles either, but he would much prefer to ignore them and not think of them at all. He didn't have such a luxury since he had to go back to Muggle London every summer. He had to go and be reminded of just what they could do, which was why he was for keeping them and magic separated completely.

If people felt threatened, eventually those who got tired of feeling scared, would rise up and cause a ruckus. It was best for people to respect those in charge. It was even better for them to think they are the reason the person was in charge to begin with. Less chance for opposition.

Hitler was experiencing some struggles, and Grindelwald hadn't gained control of all of the magical world. Puppet and master seemed to be floundering, looking for something to help them.

Tom looked toward the professors, who were also talking among one another over the current events that would no doubt be history one day. Professor Potter seemed the most distracted despite the fact that his own copy of the Prophet was levitating in front of his face while he sipped his favourite tea.

His eyes were unseeing, taking no note of the words before him as he occasionally lifted his cup to his lips. Tom wondered what he was thinking about.

"Professor Potter seems concerned," Abraxas noted without an ounce of subtlety, much to Tom's annoyance.

Nott and Greengrass nodded their agreement, though Nott seemed more willing to speak his thoughts. "Dumbledore is as equally worried. Though to be honest, unlike the Gryffindors who feel safe because Dumbledore is here, I feel more safe knowing Potter is here. He is far more impressive and I feel he'd be capable of holding Grindelwald off."

All those who heard turned to look at the youngest professor of the school. A chorus of agreements followed soon after. "Too true," Greengrass nodded.

Grindelwald had proven that he would slaughter even Purebloods to get his way, which was why so many were terrified of what he represented. There was no safety for anyone in the magical war. This wasn't being done to make magic what it used to be in the eyes of the world. And it wasn't being done in hopes of bringing back the more forgotten Artes. This was simple greed to benefit Grindelwald alone.

Tom wondered if Potter knew that the Slytherins held him in such high regard. And Tom was among them though he would never admit such views aloud when surrounded by his minions. It wouldn't do for anyone to entertain feelings of 'equality' when thinking of Tom Marvolo Riddle. They were not his equals.

"Who wants to bet that Professor Potter will defeat Grindelwald?" Abraxas proposed, holding up his bulging coin purse and smirking darkly at the group.

Carrow scoffed. "A fool's bet. Perhaps we should reword it. How about a wager on when Professor Potter will defeat Grindelwald? We can pool our money and the winner gets the whole cauldron."

Everyone seemed keen on the idea and put forth their bets immediately.

Abraxas Malfoy- 100 Galleons. Early August 1944.

Marlo Nott- 25 Galleons. Mid-September of 1944.

Basil Greengrass- 50 Galleons. June of 1944.

Enver Carrow- 20 Galleons. Yule of 1944.

Varvava Carrow- 20 Galleons. Easter of 1944.

Brais Zabini- 50 Galleons. January of 1945.

Nestor Goyle- 20 Galleons. 1 week before Valentine's Day in 1946.

Tavish Crabbe- 20 Galleons. 2 weeks before Valentine's Day of 1946.

Perseus Mulciber- 25 Galleons. May of 1945.

Jubilee Avery- 55 Galleons. 1 week after the summer hols begin in 1945.

Tom mentally added up the numbers and nodded to himself, liking them very much. And because he was around Professor Potter more than the others, he might just be able to convince the man to go after Grindelwald personally. And as Tom intended on applying for a job at Hogwarts once he graduated, he would have even more of a chance to speak with the man. After all, who would turn away Hogwarts' best student?

The gold was placed in a Shrinking Cauldron, so that they could regulate the size of it if more money was added. Each of the participants swore to acknowledge the true winner fairly and honestly, and the Prediction Charm for fair wagers was added to good measure.

Feeling confident, Tom reached into his robes and withdrew his own coin purse. He proceeded to dump 25 Galleons into the cauldron and take up the same Magical Oath as his fellows. "I predict Professor Potter's defeat of the Dark Lord Grindelwald, to come the first week of April in the year 1945."

It was half of what he'd managed to save thus far thanks to the various students coming to him for assistance in tutoring. And if he played his cards right, he would get even more in return.

The others eyed him warily, looking less sure of their presumptions now but being unable to take them back once the Oath and Charm were set. Tom rarely participated in such things, but this he had full certainty that he could manipulate to his liking.

Once all bets were placed, with a few more adding their gold to the cauldron and bringing it out to 500+ Galleons going to the winner, the cauldron disappeared, and would only reappear when the winning prediction came true, as per rules of the charm.

Tom could do a lot with 500 Galleons. And so many books could be purchased that way. Books meant information. Information brought knowledge. Knowledge was power.

He was looking forward to Harry Potter defeating Gellert Grindelwald no matter how it happened.

As March came, Tom was once again made aware of the International Dueling Championship coming up in July and how Professor Potter would be competing for a Mastery. A new bet was going around Slytherin House, and nearly everyone had varying opinions on what would happen.

Some students even offered to help their favourite professor practice by dueling him ten to one.

It might seem unfair to the Hufflepuffs who refused to partake in such a task, but it was actually in Potter's benefit. It would help him deviate his attention properly. The man always won such duels, even when Tom participated in them. He was simply better and capable of thinking on his feet. He had an unconventional approach to magic and Tom made certain to take note of it.

Spells he never would consider using in a fight had been cast. One that made the victim speak only in limericks if they tried opening their mouths, meaning they could only use nonverbal spells if they knew any at all. Another caused the tongue to burn terribly making it difficult to focus one's attention elsewhere and thereby making it almost impossible to cast at all.

The Dueling Club was progressing nicely. More people were capable of casting the Patronus after each meeting. Potter was encouraging and kind. He also informed them that they could get extra points for their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. DADA grades should they master the charm by then. Extra credit of any kind was always appreciated, making the students work harder.

Potter's class was on the same level as always despite the work no doubt piled onto his shoulders thanks to his additional duties as Deputy Headmaster. The man made multi-tasking seem easy. Tom could only hope to have such skill when it came to his cause in the future.

And he managed to learn something else about the professor that no other student did, and it was all because of Tom bringing back the professor's book on the Founders in order to trade it in for the book on the Gaunts.

Tom had nearly run into a woman coming out of his favourite professor's office. She was on the short side, with a heart-shaped face and a widow's peak. Her dark hair was long and plaited, and her eyes were topaz, if that was possible. Her clothes were an obvious mark of her wealth but she didn't appear to be pompous like most of the rich children he knew.

"Apologies," he murmured, plastering his most charming smile on his face for the woman.

She waved him off. "It's nothing, dear. Are you here to see my sweet Harry?" Her smile was wide, carefree, and all-encompassing.

"Ellie!" Professor Potter's voiced rang from within the office, sounding very much mortified.

'Ellie' turned in the doorway and crooned, "My very sweet and very single nephew!"

So she was his aunt. Tom realised a second too late that this had to be Ella Potter, current Lady of the Potter Family and wife to Charmont Potter. Their son Charlus had graduated in Tom's first year, so he never truly got to know the man.

He also didn't miss the not-so-subtle suggestion at his professor's unattachment to another being. And if he was being honest with himself, he very much liked the idea of being in a relationship with Harry Potter. He was obsessed with the man already and having the man all to himself would make his magic sing.

"Tom is a student!" Potter blustered, much to Tom's pleasure. He liked hearing his name coming from the man. When he looked over Ella Potter's head, Tom could see Potter sitting at his desk, looking as if he wanted the portal to Hell to open up and swallow him immediately. His flushed face was a lovely compliment to his features.

Ella's head drew back so she could cackle, throwing her entire self into it. "Not for long, dear!" She turned back to Tom and extended a hand. "Ella Potter."

He made sure to place a light kiss on the back of her hand, offering his knee-weakening grin again. "Tom Riddle, Lady Potter. It's a pleasure to meet such a lovely woman as yourself."

He got a twinkling wink in return. And unlike Dumbledore who was simply unnerving when he twinkled and winked at people, this felt conspiratorial and teasing. Like Tom was in on whatever she was thinking and she considered him an equal. "Such charms worthy of a Slytherin, Mr. Riddle. I myself was a Slytherin many years ago." She leaned in, pitching her voice down so only he could hear. "As a Dark Witch, I married a Grey aligned wizard and have been perfectly happy for over two decades. A little advice for a fellow Dark individual, that a difference in cores will not get in the way of a romance so long as you don't make a big deal of it," she said, gesturing toward Professor Potter with an insistent tilt of the head.

Because Potter's core was Grey, as he'd once told Tom. And Tom's was Dark.

Ella stepped back. "I need to get going. Harry dear, do Floo us a bit more often will you? And come home for Easter!"

She was gone before either Potter or Tom could say anything.

"I'm so sorry about her, Mr. Riddle, she can be very vocal about what she wants. Years with a Gryffindor have worn away her subtlety as you saw."

Tom shook his head, not really minding a bit. It let him in a little more on the man's life. He seemed to be on good terms with his aunt and uncle. He was 'very single'. And he was a blushing mess when his romantic life became a topic of conversation, which most likely meant he was inexperienced in relationships. It was nice to know. Tom's greedy need to know more was practically pounding at his skull.

"It's fine." More than fine really. "I merely came to return your book." Though honestly he wanted to hoard it for himself. But it wasn't his and unlike some students, Tom didn't steal people's belongings. So long as they didn't anger him. A spoil of war was different in his opinion.

Potter smiled and thanked him. A silver book from the shelf slipped out of place and floated toward Tom. "As promised. Treat it very carefully. It cost a lot to get my hands on that and it worth almost as much as Salazar's book was."

"Thank you, sir." He couldn't wait to learn more about his ancestry. Morfin and Marvolo had next to nothing for him to learn. The Gaunts had been very poor at keeping records of their history.

Before leaving however, Tom felt compelled to ask, "Are you feeling well, sir?" He looked stressed and tired.

The minute look of shock he got in response made him want to smirk, but he withheld the powerful urge. He was a Slytherin! He could contain himself until he was alone!

A slow, and dare he say sweet, smile was aimed his way. "Not really, but it isn't something pressing. Thank you for your concern though."

"If it does become pressing, please see Madam Vinch. The students value you too much for you to become ill."

He took his leave before anything else could be said, feeling flushed and not wanting the man to see his embarrassment.

Tom had mentally included himself in with the student body in his statement. However his value of Potter was a lot higher than what was considered normal.

A/N: I wrote this whole chapter this morning. Adding in some mystery on Harry’s end and giving Tom a leg up over the other students who honestly don’t care enough about Harry to wonder about his home life. Not that Tom realizes that.

#Tomarry #Tom Riddle #HP #Fanfiction #Watermelonsmellinfellon #Strive

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zimagine · 6 years

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Misunderstanding, Again (ft. Park Woojin)

|| PROMPT LIST || MASTERLIST || PT.1 ||

Title: Misunderstanding, Again.

Member: Park Woojin (Wanna One)

Rating: G

Prompt: #2 Will it stop? These raindrops, these tears? [Downpour], #17 Even if I say it a thousand times, you won’t know how I feel [Open Up]

HI! To the Anon-nim who requested for a Park Woojin angst with prompts #2 and 17, I hope you don’t mind that I connect the two stories together, because there has been a ton of requests for Misunderstanding (pt.2), and seeing the two prompts together I became triggered to write it tehee.

So here we go, as promised! I hope you guys like it!!! Sorry for not updating quite a while, I’ve been busy with exams huhu ㅠ.ㅠ (btw GIF’s not mine!)

Woojin gulped down his pills along with a glass of Vodka. His eyes, red, were busy scanning the mountain of paperworks he had to sign. But as he’s had enough, he returned his attention to the piece of photograph that had solely sustained his life for the past 3 years; you, smiling, with your engagement ring tucked in your finger.

Yes. 3 years had passed since you left him senseless. He’s gone mad searching for you all over the globe, and yet again, it was all for naught. It was as if you were swallowed by the very earth itself.

He looked away as he felt his eyes burning. It was his fault. He knew. He always knew. He knew very well that time wasn’t something that could be turned back, and the pain he’s given you can never be undone.

But was it so wrong if he asked for a chance to explain himself?

He could no longer shed tears, they were long gone, only the sobs remain. They were stifled as he attempted to hide his grief, but then they broke, unrefined, like the pain was still an open wound. Every time he thought he’s moved on, the little things would remind him of you.

At first it was hazy. Just you moving around in his head. Then it got more vivid. He’d hear you calling his name, your hand running through his hair, then as he was about to lean in for a kiss, you disappeared.

He’s gone mental from yearning too long. He craved the warmth of your body as you tucked him to bed. The scent of you that once filled the bedroom has faded into thin air, like it was never there in the first place.

“… jin? Woojin…?”

Jihoon knocked his door softly, leaning against it. The colour on Woojin’s face was pale, and the strong smell of alcohol surged out of his room. He swirled his pen in his finger, greeting the older with a sheepish smile.

“Woojin, you could really use some sleep,” Jihoon trudged along the scattered papers on the floor. Woojin must’ve pulled an all-nighter. Again.

He was about to reach for more pills and vodka before Jihoon snatched the alcohol away. “At least take it with water. Please.”

And he obliged, gulping his only diet, packs of supplementary pills, in one go. He forced another smile on, which Jihoon knew just one of his tricks to hide his sorrow. “How did it go? Did you find her this time?” He asked dejectedly.

Jihoon wished he could nod, saying yes, so his friend would feel better. But what else could he possibly do? When hundreds of his men, searching for you through every nook and cranny, all came back with nothing but empty hands. He’s asked your parents, but their lips were shut tight. And he didn’t have the heart to keep on pestering them.

“Have you not found her yet?” Woojin asked again.

Jihoon ruffled the younger’s hair gently. “I’m sorry…” he mumbled, to which the latter sighed.

His hand trembled as he put down the pen on the table, bringing his finger to knead the empty space between his brows. Then with a wistful gaze, he looked over to Jihoon. “I skipped my meals so she’d come nagging at me. I drink alcohol ‘cause I can’t bear seeing her silhouette smiling at me when I’m sober. And I came to fear bed time, ‘cause every dream was so sweet it was poisonous…”

“Hyung… I miss her…”

“Will she ever come home…?”

Jihoon could only pat his back lightly as his sobs were getting heavier, wishing it could wear some of his burden off, although he knew well it wouldn’t.

Woojin stared at Jihoon, then back to the photograph in front of him. Your hair was longer, bunned up into a messy ponytail, round glasses sitting on the bridge of your nose, and a doctor’s robe dangling freely over your shoulders.

You looked as beautiful as he could remember. More even, if that was possible.

“I can’t believe this coincidence!” Jihoon bawled. “Of course! The hospital. How could we have missed that…”

“Fate has always been cruel, hyung.” Woojin stared keenly. He couldn’t deny his lips stretching wider into gaping grin and his eyebrows arching for the sky.

Just as he’s decided it was time to move on and accept the fact that you will never come back to him, here you were after 2 more years had passed, caught in a photograph, captivating him once again into your charm.

“So you’re telling me she’s part of the hospital board, that we’ll be meeting tomorrow?”

Jihoon nodded discreetly.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“You’re not,” Jihoon walked over his table, smiling at the sight of the younger grinning from ear to ear. “I’m happy for you.”

Now if Woojin were to be honest, none of what the hospital’s chair said had remained in his head. He couldn’t count how many times he’s pinched his hand, trying to snap himself out of it. But no. This was not a dream. You were really there in front of him. No longer were you pixelated and two-dimensional; you were warm, fragranced, and soft.

The whole time his gaze has lingered upon your figure. The little laugh you’d throw every so often, and your smile that seemed to swallow your eyes whole, were less merciful to his heart, making it throb abruptly. He couldn’t deny how much he’s missed you, how much he’s craved for you.

And as soon as the meeting ended, he made it his foremost priority to have a talk with you.

But his gaze turned sour as he saw you giggling around someone who he assumed to be a male colleague of yours. He could’ve sworn he felt his heart about to jump out as that man casually caressed your cheek and interlocked his hand with yours, before breaking apart.

Just as you were about to go back to your office ward, he yanked your wrist, bringing you closer to him.

“Where have you been?” his voice quivered softly.

For a moment you didn’t move. Woojin could feel your muscles stiffened at his touch. His grip tightened.

“Move.”

“Why did you leave me without saying anything?”

To hell with this being a hospital. Let people stare as they please. Let them witness Woojin’s desperate plea to the woman who had successfully turned his whole life upside down.

“Woojin, just, please! Move…”

He didn’t budge. He knew he shouldn’t fight his common sense, but he couldn’t resist. He leaned in a little closer, your foreheads touching. Dear god, he couldn’t fight the thoughts that were going through him. Your very smell was flooding his senses now.

“Follow me,” he uttered desperately.

He dragged you into your office ward by the corner of the hallway.

“Woojin! Please, it hurts!”

His gaze was pained and disoriented. He brought his hand to cup your cheeks, erasing any trail that man must’ve left on his woman. How dare he.

“Woojin! Stop!”

His hand slid smoothly onto your waist, pinning you against the wall. And you hissed at the impact.

The next second he’s slammed his lips to yours. Not innocently, but hot, fiery, passionate, and demanding. More than any words could ever do, his kiss was enough to whisper the yearning that he’s endured for as long as he could remember.

“… I miss you…” his voice barely more than a whisper. He led his finger to wipe away your tears, and pulled you into a hug, letting his chin rest on your head. For a second his world felt complete.

“I’m sorry,” you pushed him away. “I-I can’t.”

Woojin held your hand as you tried pushing him away further. “Please, I need to explain everything to you.”

“No— It-it doesn’t matter anymore. I was hurt, of course. I lost my baby—“

“ —our baby.”

“Whatever.” You cleared your throat. “The point is, I have to move on, Woojin…”

“You don’t have to move on! Please, you have to listen to me!”

“I can’t!” You ward him off roughly.

He sighed, wiping his face with his hand. “Why? Why are you running away from me? Why won’t you let me explain anything?”

“Because, Park Woojin, it doesn’t matter anymore!” You roared, snapping his hand away.

“Wh-what do you mean? How could it not mat –“

“Mom?”

Woojin frozed instantly. He took a glance at the door which was slightly open. The little girl poked her head from behind the door. She was dolled up in a pretty red dress and a matching pair of shoe.

“Daddy is waiting in the lobby, are you coming?”

You glanced at Woojin who was still petrified, stunned at the sight before his very eyes. “Yes honey, Mommy is coming,” you quickly grabbed your bag, looking at Woojin for the last time. “I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, his vision blurred, and he could feel his legs collapsed on him. Then with one step backwards, he crumpled like a puppet suddenly released of their strings.

Woojin was watching from afar. His gaze wavered and abashed, following you as you giggled with your little family.

It was as if his heart was filled with a sudden rain. Drop after drop, drizzling over him, flooding his chest inevitably. Those five years he spent eagerly searching and waiting for your comeback, was all for naught. Whatever was he supposed to do with this downpour in his heart? When will it stop? These raindrops, these tears?

No. Would it ever stop?

How could fate be so cruel to him?

How could he not given even the chance to tell you how much he loved you? He hasn’t even told you how much joy he’s gained from being together with you, from getting to embrace you within his arms as you snuggled into his chest. And more than anything, from letting him taste the sweet moment of anticipating the day when your little angel would be born.

And how much he’s never regretted that ‘mistake’. It was never a mistake, even.

But more so than wanting to tell you ‘I love you’, his heart was heavy at the fact that he didn’t get the chance to thank you. To thank you for embracing him when everyone else pushed him away, to thank you for allowing him to depend on you, to thank you for all the warmth you’ve given him.

And to thank you for being his, even if it was just for a brief moment.

All he’s ever asked for was a chance to talk. To explain himself from being trapped in this prolonged misunderstanding.

He chuckled bitterly at the sight of you, whimpering at what fate has once again thrown at him. “I love you, I really do. If only we had the time to sit down and talk about everything… but now, even if I tell you a thousand times you will never know how I feel…”

Just as his whole world once again crumbled apart, his tears fell.

-END-

GAHHH sorry for the long waittt and thank you to everyone who has been requesting for this!! I hope you like it!!

#wanna one #wanna one scenarios #wanna one fluff #wanna one imagines #wanna one angst #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop angst #park woojin #woojin #park woojin angst #misunderstanding #z.Imagine

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purkinje-effect · 6 years

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 7

Table of Contents Go to first. Go to previous. Go to next.

(Updated 2019.01.29. Minor name tweaks.) Bugs, insect gore, and food squick tw’s.

Not again.

Seeking his face, the two-foot-long RadRoaches flowed up Carey’s legs. He’d contended with these insects in Vault 111 as well, and defrosting and awaking to their thinking him an intruder had punctuated the jet lag. Here, it was less a rude awakening and more a rude greeting. He should have known better. What kind of oversight to think, when he found no humans or even ghouls, that this building had no inhabitants!

He smacked the barrel of his cane over the one in the lead. Its carapace over his thigh cracked not at all unlike that of shucking a crab, and the insect generously splattered its oleous innards. Though half the vermin scattered upon this one impact, the rest dove around their fallen ally in hot pursuit of the invader’s sweet face-flesh. The light from Carey’s Pip-Boy swung about in the fray as though a dangling light bulb in a shaking building, its illumination frenzied, dizzying, and uneven. A second light source came right at him--the source of the chartreuse glow he’d observed from afar before he’d entered.

Steady, Carey. Remember, one solid hit is all these fucks take.

Radiation imposed from the seams of this one’s exoskeleton, and he misconstrued the sputtering clicks of his Pip-Boy’s Geiger counter as threatening emanations from the enormous roaches. Carey kicked the glowing vermin in the face, and it reeled a few feet away before flying right for him along the ground. He cried out and fumbled to whack it away with the crook of his cane. Its body broke against the foot of a nearby lab desk.

A forceful hammering of his heel against the floor crushed a third, but the remaining two went for his forearms. He flinched as he shielded his face. The cane dropped to the enameled metal floor. When the RadRoaches would not relent, he laid down with his hands to his face, and stupidly hoped they would get bored if he stopped struggling. They persisted; but in falling over, he recovered enough to catch them off-guard, and he smashed both of them against the floor.

Ragged wheezing slid out of Carey as he recollected his faculties and belongings. The altercation had knocked off his glasses, and he felt around in the dimness for them and his cane. When he sat up, he winced at the deep nicks in his left forearm, left by the roaches’ blade-like mandibles. He sooner prioritized finding the breaker box for the floor than tending his injuries. Somehow, he appreciated that he’d had his sleeves rolled: for a feeble chemist, repairs of the flesh came more easily than those of fabric.

He pushed off with the cane to stand, and shambled cautiously along the walls of the room, his shaky eyes ever vigilant for the RadRoaches that had retreated. There had been twelve of them at the start, hadn’t there? Carey counted five dead. Only his dress shoes and hard rubber cane tip traversed the floor with any sound, so surely the rest must have fled.

Or, maybe he just couldn’t hear over the blood pressure surging in his ears.

Light and electricity soon returned to this floor of the building, and he turned off his Pip-Boy screen. The familiar fluorescent overhead lighting soothed him, its faint humming the lie of comfortable sterility. Now that he could see unimpeded by a windowless room, he navigated the lab readily.

He encountered two long, small confection tins on one of the lab desks and sighed in exasperated relief at the trademark label. Mentats.

“Oh, thank fuck.” He groaned and slid the lid off one tin to dispense a small white seltzer-like tablet, which he promptly chewed up as he continued investigating the lab. “Maybe now I can focus.”

He’d gone two hundred years without a fix. All the chemists at both his jobs in the States had relied on them by requisite of their positions: nursing an appetent addiction to the minty chem’s boons of neurological efficiency and productivity gains came naturally to anyone in a medical manufacturing field, it seemed. Maybe he’d get lucky and put his hands on a few syringes of Daddy-O, too. Or, better yet, some barberry syrup and ethylene glycol--so he could whip up a few batches of intensely potent Berry Mentats. Albeit alarmingly experimental in perspective, the Deenwood chemists all seemed to rely upon what they all endearingly termed a special edition flavor.

Everything carried a collectedness, a clarity, his mind abuzz. A sense of normality, familiarity, returned to him, standing here in a lab, standing here like this. His mind felt like his own now. For now. Carey’s gaze halted upon the wall-mounted locked glass-front gun case near the security door he’d entered.

A Syringer.

He whet dry lips and hooked his cane over his left arm, to ineffectually wipe the grime from his hands with his crusty kerchief, then worked at picking the lock with his screwdriver and one of his hairpins. It gratified him, his formed habituation of having pocketed the tool, half a two-part skeleton key. He could go and take as he pleased, provided sufficient time and patience. The kerchief hadn’t quite done the trick, so he compulsively smeared his hands along the backside of his legs to knock off further oily residue from the insects’ guts, then kept at the gun case until he had it open.

He admired the weapon in both hands as he extricated it from its place. His fingers traced along the rifle-styled copper blowgun, which most commonly utilized tranquilizers, and his eyes followed its sights down the barrel. Subduing threats often proved more effective than simply shooting them, depending on what chem piloted them in the moment. The all-too-familiar Psycho came to mind, and how security on base had relied upon Syringers to subdue without killing subjects puppeteered past their thresholds of pain, injury, and self-preservation. As predicted, he put his hands on a few boxes of Pax Syringes at the bottom lip of the case.

Melancholy would have to play with the notion of what else might be more effective--or more fun--than the Pax tranquilizer. He nearly lamented that it had not been Calmex, which evinced a low smooth enough to afford self-administration, but reminded himself the two had very different applications. His nostalgic grin washed into self-consciousness when he could hear his Handy’s thrusters approaching the lab. Angel came up beside him and eyed the rifle he still held.

“My word, what happened here?”

Carey murmured, “I intruded.”

Reminded of the carnage, he set down the rifle and rounded back to identify from which pieces of the RadRoaches he might ideally isolate useful compounds. He cracked off legs, and collected abdomens wherever they remained in tact. With the Glowing RadRoach, he also scraped together its slime into a chemistry jar and stoppered it.

“These samples will have to suffice for now. Maybe their friends will return later. They scattered like cockroaches.”

A grimy hand to his his mouth stifled a licentious chuckle.

“They certainly roughed you up. What a mess.” The Handy promptly descended upon the broken coffee cup with its housekeeping attachments, and deposited the bits of ceramic in a nearby waste bin. It looked to its owner with knowing concern, recognizing the Mentats in his tone and behavior. “Sir... You really should reconsider bringing your work home with you.”

“What can I say? It’s a calling, and its calling me?” Wryly, Carey piled up his findings on a medical tray, and placed it on the nearest lab desk. Lost in thought, he repeatedly stroked his fingertips over the scraping slices the roaches had taken out of his forearm. He raised his chewed-up forearm level to his head as he spoke next, his tone uneven but hardly composed. “I was fortunate the Pip-Boy provided me a bit of protection. Angel, would you... be a dear and... administer a Stimpak to my left arm?”

“--Certainly.”

Without hesitation, the robot produced the requested medication and took ginger hold of his wrist to press the pneumatic syringe to this antecubital fold. An astringent pleasantry, Carey spectated as his wounds healed in real time. Angel didn’t feel like the more enticing option, but still it tried:

“Could I impose upon you to take a break for dinner, Sir? It’s late, and you ought to rest up your injury. Remember, we found Yum Yums! I could use them to make you an egg salad perhaps? And I could... freshen your coffee...?”

“...Mm, I suppose pacing myself couldn’t hurt. Besides, now that I’ve got an idea of the lab’s amenities, I ought to assess what from the store room I could make use of here.” The cool derangement in his grinning eyes grazed Angel, and the robot’s ocular lenses stuttered. “Egg salad sounds exceptional.”

Jerking at the unexpected success, it flew animate and excited.

“Come join me whilst I prepare it? You can catch me up what all you’ve discovered up here, if you like. I’d love to hear what all you’re scheming!”

“Mm. You would, then, wouldn’t you.” Carey retrieved one of the tins of Mentats to take with him, then walked out into the receptionist’s office to retrieve the carafe. “Shall we?”

“--Sshall,” was the best it could muster. The Handy never had liked this side of its owner.

Carey sat in the break room with the catalog from the store front register, and pored over it with a new cup of the same coffee. One hand fidgeted with the mug, the other with the publication, and both eyes glued indifferently to the catalog.

“Say Angel, how many doses of Melancholia are left?”

“Twenty-seven, Sir. Hm!”

“Hm indeed...”

Angel added a few ingredients to the blender and puréed them. Then it poured the pale purple concoction into a tall glass, and, with the tongs which terminated one of its trio of mechanical tendrils, it presented it to its owner, who accepted the stuff in a tempered confusion.

“What say you of a smoothie?”

Unperturbed by a testing sniff, Carey took a drink of it. His face scrunched a bit. Chalky, salty, heavy, and inexplicably sharp. He took a second sip anyway.

“You didn’t happen to find sugar in the pantry, did you? What is this?”

“Why, I blended a Mutfruit with one of the eggs, and a few other things I happened upon in the cabinets. Vitamins and protein in one convenient beverage! The sweetest thing we have is the sweet rolls, I’m afraid. And-- the Halloween candy! Do you think that might suit you?”

The image of intention came to mind, of adding pulverized licorices and ribbon candy to... whatever this was. The chemist narrowly kept himself from retorting couldn’t possibly make it taste any worse, instead shoving the ill-placed sarcasm into taking another big sip. Christ, this isn’t a smoothie or an egg salad, and it’s nowhere between the two either. I didn’t program it to do this. Was this a result of deteriorating algorithms, or has it somehow learned this compulsion?

“It’s wonderful as is, Angel. I do think I’d still like the Yum Yums themselves--an accoutrement to your fancy beverage here.”

Brutal honesty then would have merely excused unwarranted meanness and crassness. What point was there, in verbal cruelty towards a machine? His Handy was trying its best. At what, he couldn’t be certain.

Angel brought over the half-dozen carton of deviled eggs, and he opened it to pluck out one for himself. Their whites had transformed dark and translucent, their yolks now a waxy heterogeneity of ashen grey and rusty gold. He sniffed at one, and noted its pungency did not evoke the same manner of gag reflex as something which had rotted. Cautiously, he nibbled it, and, intrigued, nodded as he chewed slowly. Muskiness clung to his mouth, something like accidentally having tasted cologne. Where the other components in the smoothie previously masked this note, an attempt to wash down the bite of egg with the concoction only served to overwhelm all other flavors. He coughed, disguising his displeasure by faking food going down wrong, and chugged at his coffee.

He definitely owed Angel long-overdue repairs and firmware tweaks, and this experience underscored the need for it. He made a mental note to scrutinize to what extent he could provide such care with the extant resources on premises. At the very least, he could try to program definitions into its algorithms so it had updated knowledge on what post-apocalyptic food tasted like. Not that it could understand flavor.

Carey finished the other half of the Yum Yum anyway.

He couldn’t subsist solely on Melancholia. Could he?

Appetite spoiled, again he pored over the pages boasting the company’s orthotics offerings, compared those he’d found to the variety advertised. The most basic provisions for minor infirmities and sprains. Unavailable at most locations, the sturdiest and most rigid binding Walden carried seemed nearly excessively so: fan-laced surgical orthotics. The company stocked everything from pharmacies to dementia wards. A quick thumb to the locations index designated that the hospital branch of their warehouses lay in Nashua, New Hampshire.

Constitution. Stability. Disposition.

His nostrils punctuated a breath, and he cursed in Russian at his coffee under his breath.

These braces are fine. A trek like that, on foot. It’s both excessive and out of the question.

They’re fine.

I’m fine.

He looked at his Pip-Boy and pretended that seeing it was after midnight had caused his irritation. He then slammed back the last third of his coffee in one go and put down the cup beside the egg carton. Mentats in hand, he shuttled himself off to the lobby couch.

“I’m turning in for the night,” he told Angel on his way out the door. “The day I’ve had is... catching up to me.”

“Rest well, Mister Carey! I’ll be sure not to disturb you.”

The Mentats went to one of the side tables with his glasses, and he sat on the couch while he struggled to remove the braces, which he set in the floor beside the couch before buttoning his shirt back up and curling up under the hospital blanket. The thorough oily coating in his mouth, and his nettled confidence, persisted throughout the night.

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#fallout 4 fanfic #fallout 4 oc #fo4 oc #fo4 fanfic #fallout 4 #sosu #sole survivor #it's somewhere between pidan and ambergris lmao #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #insects tw #insect gore tw #food tw #drugs tw #food squick #disabled sosu #trans sosu

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tos-lore · 6 years

Text

A Salem Christmas Story

The first one of the stories

Next story: A Town out of Time

Story under the cut

In a dark chamber of an old run down cabin, muffled sounds were barely audible above the sputters of fire. Atop the fire, there was a black cauldron, big enough to boil a person. A dark figure, with olive skin and dark eyes, was draped in a long, dark dress.

A woman, wearing a large, pointed black hat stirred the contents of the cauldron with a large wooden spoon in slow, steady circles. while a black cat brushed against her leg and began to knead its paws against the thick drapes of her dress.

The Witch whispered her recipe, “Leg of frog. Eye of newt.”, trying to concentrate.

Murmurs and sounds of rustling came from the corner of the room. What looked like a small boy with pointed ears was bound securely, tied with golden tinsel and red ribbons him to a rough, wooden stake. His head rolled side to side before his eyes opened.

“I’ll tend to you soon enough, Alabaster,” the witch muttered, never looking up.

“Where am I? How did I get here?” Alabaster demanded. “I must get back to working on Santa’s Naughty and Nice list. Please let me go!” he pleaded.

“I have plans for you, elf, and bigger plans for Salem, but first you must recruit others for our cause.”

She held up a jar whose contents glowed a shimmering pink and squinted, knotting her mouth in concentration.

She half tipped the jar above the cauldron, pouring its contents in the bubbling goop. At first, nothing happened. Then, steam began to rise from the cauldron, pour out over the floor and into the air around them, obscuring everything in a dense fog.

Gunshots rang out in the distance.

Alabaster tensed and began to shake.

“Don’t worry about them deary”, the Witch laughed, “We still have work to do here.”

He struggled to peer through the white and pink clouds of smoke, but the dark and fog turned all shapes into shifting shadow.

The Witch, cat and cauldron were the only things he could make out. The rest of his surroundings blended together like shadow puppets. The cat arched its back and hissed towards something behind him.

The den of gunshots faded slowly in the distance, rolling over the hills and through the trees like a passing storm.

The Witch took the stirring spoon from her cauldron and began to trace a large circle around herself and the cat.

Alabaster tried thinking of hot chocolate and candy canes. Mistletoes and toys. Anything to calm himself. Licorice, Christmas Trees, Eggnog. “Oh I could really use some Eggnog” he thought to himself. He finally closed his eyes, hot tears streaming down his red cheeks.

Then he could hear them. Sounds coming from just outside the cabin. “Voices”, he thought. “Someone is coming.”

Still shaking, he opened his eyes and squinted, through the tears, into the steam. He could hear the old, rusty door hinges squeal as the door was opened. He could hear someone, something, walk through the doorway.

Two figures, began to take shape. Then three. They slowly made their way through the steam, walking with a hobble. It reminded him somewhat of his friend Otis after a long night of eggnog.

The first figure shuffled closer, parting the fog. Alabaster recoiled at its sloughing skin, pallid complexion and expressionless gaze. He… it… had a patchy beard, and an eye that had gone completely white. Its gaunt frame was barely covered by tattered clothes of green and red, despite the December cold. It wore one green shoe which appeared to be laced by golden string, and drug behind him one foot still bare and mapped by blue veins.

At last, it seemed to notice the elf that was tied to the stake in the corner of the room. It turned it’s head slowly. Unnaturally.

Alabaster screamed.

Snow began to fall in the North Pole, covering Santa’s village in a veil of white. The elves were busy working, making toys for all the good boys and girls. The elves of Workshop 14 were drinking eggnog and dancing jigs in the recreation area of the workshop. The main door was slowly pushed open and Alabaster walked in. His skin a pale white, clothes torn and his eyes were milky. All of the elves turned to look and let out a collective gasp. They all rushed to the aid of their injured friend.

Alabaster turned to the first elf to reach him. He bared his teeth and attacked. No one is as efficient as one of Santa’s elves at accomplishing a task, any task. Within the hour, the 24 elves of Workshop 14 were all turned.

The Witch strolled into the workshop, her black dress spotted with snow but she did not show any signs of being cold.

At 11 o’clock Santa came to make the rounds. There were other workshops of course, with different specialties. Perhaps he’d stayed too long with the taffy shop, now he was running behind. It was therefore that he hardly noticed the smell, already starting to fill the air, of fire and ash.

When Santa saw the chaos that Workshop 14 had become, he tried his best to run. Magic, however, is impossible to escape. He ran for the door. In front of him, the air became hazy and he hit a wall he could not see. His vision went dark.

Santa awoke suddenly as his wrists and ankles were bound tight with twine.

He was in his large sleigh bed, nestled deep in a pile of quilts and furs, and a cozy fire crackled from a massive hearth.

“Alabaster!” he cried, catching glimpse of the elf over his large belly, “what’s the meaning of this!”

The elf looked up. His eyes were as cloudy as cream, and his skin hung loose on his face. His small, nimble fingers never ceased knotting and braiding the twine around Santa’s legs.

Santa tried to sit, but his hands were pulled to high to either side of him. He jerked his right hand hard against its bindings.

“You are finally awake”, laughed the Witch. “So glad you could join us, I thought you might miss all the fun.”

The workshop had been turned into a black magic lair. The walls, floor, ceiling and even the air was tinted black. The evil of the magic had corrupted everything. The undead elves could be seen toiling away over a large cauldron.

“What are you doing you foul creature?”, Santa screamed infuriated.

“Elven magic is necessary for my plans. Now that I have control of your little flock, I can create magic more powerful than there has ever been!”, the Witch sneered gleefully.

“You see, I once had a coven. They were my sisters but they were taken from me. That town… Salem, it took everything from me”, the Witch said mourningly. “But using the ashes of my sisters and the elven magic, I shall make Salem pay for what they have done.”

“This isn’t the first time evil has entered my village”, Santa said. “Our defenses will be online and coming for you.”

Just then, the window shattered and a large figure landed inside of the workshop. It looked exactly like Santa but moved differently.

“HALT INTRUDER.”, the robot Santa said in an eerie robotic voice.

“Yes, yes. I am well aware of your defenses Santa.”, the Witch growled.

In one swift motion, she plunged her hand into the cauldron and flicked a handful of ash towards the robot. The dust shimmered blue and green as it touched the fake skin covering the robotic body. The cyborg froze.

“Oh no”, Santa exclaimed.

“He is mine now.”, the Witch cried. “With my magic and this… thing, Salem is doomed”, the Witch cackled.

“Thank you Santa for making this even easier.”, she said as she turned her back to him.

The Witch threw the magic ash high into the air, and an image of Salem shimmered in front of them. The Witch, the Cyborg santa and the zombie elves stepped through the image, setting foot onto the cold ground of Salem.

“Finally the time of my revenge is here!”, the Witch exclaimed.

The witch landed upon a hill, and concealed herself with magic. The rest, whatever happened here, she would observe from afar. With the rest of her coven gone, she could not afford to be careless.

“The people of Salem have all been judged to be naughty! They have killed my coven, now their blood will be driven upon the snow.”

“HO HO HO”, Robot Santa answered in his metallic voice.

Christmas Eve was a quiet night in Salem. All of the town members were in their homes, enjoying their warm fireplaces. Cotton Mather was stolidly smoking his pipe, sitting rather stiffly in a straight backed chair. He began to hear a commotion outside.

He opened his shutters to look out on the blanket of fresh snow. The scene before his eyes was horrific. Houses in flames, Christmas trees toppled over and the snow stained red.

The remaining townsfolk came pouring out of their homes. In many cases the children were ushered in as quickly as they came, shooed back by the fathers. The townsfolk all reeled back in horror as they say what was once a family of elves turned ghastly.

“Get your rifles men! Protect the Town!”, exclaimed Cotton.

The townsfolk emerged from their homes again, each carrying a musket. The sound of musket fire could not drown out the screams. Inside of one of the houses, black smoke began to billow out of the windows. Perhaps a lamp had been overturned in the melee, or perhaps a townsperson started the fire hoping to kill the elves inside.

“HO HO HO.”, Robot Santa cheered.

A paddy wagon was drawn by four destriers, and it was framed by thick iron bars. The horses tramped many of the elves under-hoof, and several others were flung inside and barred in, at the tips of bayonets.

A strong wind was now forcing the fires from the burning house to spread westward, throwing the flames from its burning windows like a powerful billows.

A water tank was opened, and some of the women and children were called out into a bucket chain. Many of the elves had been hemmed into the burning building and the water was directed towards containing the flames from spreading to nearby houses.

The witch watched the remainder of the chaos from the ridge above. Robot Santa fell to a parade of gunfire from the town’s sheriff and deputy.

Most of the elves had been burned, even the paddy wagon seemed to have been immolated. Someone in Salem had a lust for arson she noted. As two more houses started to smolder. A shame, she thought, that such an individual would foil her plans. Perhaps later, he’d be an ally.

The town began to quiet, only the sound of flaming wood crackling could be heard. The Witch stood atop the hill aghast. Her plan had failed but she was nothing if not persistent. She came up with a new plan that would destroy Salem forever.

She reached inside the folds of her skirt and pulled out a vial of ashes, and threw a sprinkle of them high into the air. Before her glimmered an ornate, turreted building on a distinctly Italian countryside. Warm air gusted out of the portal. The ashes had more power than even she had known.

She looked through the portal, then back at Salem. “So much hard work wasted”, she sighed.

As the Witch stepped through the portal, it became evident that this place was not of her time. Through a nearby window she could see horseless carriages speeding along. She had arrived in Sicily, Italy but not the Sicily she knew.

“Ey, how’d you get in ‘ere? If you got a beef you gotta talk to the Capo.”, a voice came from behind her.

The Witch turned about. She saw a older man with salt and pepper hair. He was tall, confident and, the Witch could tell, powerful.

“I have a job for you. One you cannot refuse”, The Witch sneered. She reached into her pocket and threw a handful of ash the man’s way. His eyes glazed over.

“The Don, at your service. Who do you want me to whack?”, the man said lazily.

The Witch grinned evilly.

#town of salem #long post #a salem christmas story #login story

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