Can you draw Quifrey studying something and struggling with it ? Maybe the apprentices look a their master with worry ? Like a little funny slice of life drawing thanks a lot !
Hi, i'm so sorry, I'm a little confused.
You've used the word "draw" twice and I'm wondering if you meant write instead. I do have some drawing capabilities (i am not a pro or experienced) if that is what you are actually requesting. Please let me know in inbox 🫶
Summary: You're up late studying with Qifrey into the hush of night— only you two share a moment of silence and comfort together. Ink spills, an accident happens, and he is quick to reassure you that it was merely just an accident.
NOTE: hi !! pls keep in mind that this is a pure found family fic that i wanted to make between us— the Reader, and Qifrey from Witch Hat Atelier!! do not feed my work into AI, you will be reported and blocked from my account. i wont tolerate that kind of stuff, so be respectful. other than that, please enjoy !!
p.s. we are 'implied' to be a young teenager, but it is up to interpretation, as long as you remember that this is a found family trope. Requests are open !!
Lately, you'd been up studying late for the upcoming test of the Dadah Range. So far, your attempt to correctly draw a spell has ended in failure. Qifrey doesn't seem to mind, enthusiastically encouraging you by being by your side to help with any mistake you might accidentally make.
"Your mind, and soul, should always be in one place when casting a spell. Focus and concentration are key for a witch. Do understand that when your mind is.. occupied with other things around you, then you may not be precise in casting a spell properly." Qifrey says, hunched over your shoulder as to observe your actions.
Recently, he'd been teaching you properly on how to do a small pyreball spell without it sizzling out within a few seconds of barely existing. You've feigned defeat quite a few times, but your newly appointed Master seems to be set on cheering on your misery. Your hand trembles.
"Come now, let's try again. Perfection takes practice, and you are merely yet starting to learn. You can do this, [Name]."
He seems to stare at you confidently with those blue eyes of his, as if he never had a doubt on your skills.
You don't know whether his belief in you makes you feel suffocated or brave.
"Okay... I need to focus." He happily hums in agreement, backing up as if sensing your earlier apprehension to his presence.
You're not sure on how to start the spell, all lessons suddenly escaping your head. Was drawing the Sigil Of Flame first, or was it the ring? You don't know, but your hand goes to draw the ring first, and you feel as if it was the right thing to do from Qifrey's little whisper of encouragement, word's of "Yes, that's correct", and "That's the way to do it." All while hovering comfortably by your side.
However... as if things couldn't go any worse, the tremor in your hand suddenly spasmed, causing your pen to fall out of your hand and collide with the ink specially given to you from Tetia. You yelp in suprise, hand swiping across the desk only to further smudge it against your hand. Qifrey is quick to jump in to help, grabbing whatever cloth that would be nearby and applying it to places stained by the ink.
"Oh dear!.. Don't worry, don't worry, this is fixable. We can clean this." He seems to be adept in aiding anyone swiftly, almost like a response deeply embedded into his soul.
But you're shaken completely out of turmoil for spilling special ink.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!!"
It was a fine circle too, the first perfect try that you've been able to do completely.
"Hey.. don't worry about it, [Name]. You are just learning, and accidents are to happen along the way. Think of it as a learning opportunity. Mm?" He smiles at you, as if you hadn't just done anything wrong.
"But.. Tetia's ink—"
"She will be okay with it, I promise. After all, it is just ink."
You're silent, thankful for his words, but physically appalled at your carelessness to a gift bestowed upon you from someone who you care deeply about.
"[Name], will you look at me?", he beckons you oh-so gently. You can't help but look up at him, nervously smudging the ink further into your skin.
"Accidents happen, and it's moments like these that benefit towards your journey to becoming a witch as you imagine. Ink can always be replaced, it's no big matter. All that does matter, is how you can grow from it in the moment." His hand envelopes yours, ignorant to the ink that would soon stain his hands too, "One day, you will be able to hold your pen proudly, and pen spells as easily as breathing. All that it takes, is time. And I will be sure to be there with you ever step of the way."
He chuckles, "even if it means a few stained hands."
You hadn't even thought about it like that.. Your trembling hand would soon, one day, be able to glide smoothly against pristine paper, penning a spell as well as you would hope for it to be. The setbacks you encounter today could very well possibly be the challenge you manage to pass tomorrow without hesitance.
At that, you're able to take a deep breath in, and release your troubles away.
"Now, let's go get you some more ink. Mhm? I'll let you borrow some of mine."
"What if I spill that one too?"
He looks at you, eyes almost crinkling with the smile he's giving you.
"Then I will let you borrow more." He says.
You have half the mind to wipe the smudged ink on your hand properly with a cloth, but....
Gods, you really do think it's impossible to take yourself seriously sometimes.
Your hand lifts to your mouth—
"Don't." His hand points at you swiftly. Daring you to do what you're about to do.
was he always staring like that???
...
Your tongue runs over your hand anyway.
"PPHHF!—"
"You!!.. You didn't just— Gods help me."
THANK YOU VIO FOR PROOF READING THIS !!!! we have many more fics to release !!
Hello! I JUST read your Aloe Vera (Ch. 2), and it. Was. So. Freaking. Good. I haven’t been able to find someone who’s STILL in writing for Sans AU’s—especially platonic—in FOREVER! YOU’RE SO FREAKING GOOD AT WRITING! 💗💕🫶🏼😆
It was SO detailed! I could literally FEEL the MC’s feelings and even relate!
But, I came here to ask another thing; are you taking requests? Especially for Sans AU’s X Platonic!Reader? I’d LOVE to know what you write for and don’t!
Now, I don’t know if that Dream Sans is an AU you created or not, but I would like to know if you write for any other Sanses/AU’s? Like Ink Sans, Swap, Dust, etc…Is there a list you’d think you could come up with of who you do/don’t write for?
Also, how much do you allow for the people to request to give details on the story they want you to write? (I already know I’m writing SO much…I’m so sorry 😞) Like, would you want A LOT, with many details and even specific scenarios or more of a prompt so you could use more of your own imagination? (I’d also like to know how long it’d take 😊, if you could estimate) and how many characters could you write for in one story?
I hope this isn’t too overwhelming! I’m just so excited at the possibility of getting to request for somebody! I truly, truly hope this didn’t make you uncomfortable or upset in ANY WAY! 💗🫶🏼 and feel free to decline or anything like that! I’m truly curious and want to know your rules before requesting anything!
Please, take your time and have a good day! 💗💕💗💕😊🙂🫶🏼
Hiii!! I'm so sorry I only JUST saw this now <\33
I am open to taking other platonic Sans aus x readers in the future, when I get a proper hold of their characters, that is. But to answer your question, I like as much detail as you are willing to provide and more, but I can also go with something simple as "Affectionate reader" or a "Reader whose love language is physical touch" and I can go off that. And that specific Dream Sans where he's a demon king is not my original idea ! Check out SilverSnake on Quotev, her stories pretty neat. :) I am going to include multiple Sanses in my story, I just gotta figure out how to write them properly without butchering their character LMAO
I'm still working on my rules and such but bottom line of them is that I obviously do not want anything problematic, such as incest, rape or pedophilia. Thin ice is also on the topic of self harm, suicidal tendencies and gore.
My writing speed, admittedly, is very slow sometimes. I get very sudden bursts of energy and motivation, other times it's at rock bottom. So most likely the request that you send in will be written within the duration of a week or two, maybe more depending on circumstances.
I'm planning on including Ink, Swap, Nightmare, Dust, Killer and Horror, possibly even Fresh Sans and Kals own little Sans AU. Other Sanses might be in the equation too (minus Lust Sans) but thats a conversation I'll have to have with Kal. I can absolutely write multiple characters in one story as thats the plan, I want the Reader to have to adjust to much company after mostly living in solitude for a while as their Grandfather is often out visiting their Grandmother.
Thank you for asking!! It's so very exciting when I see a new pop-up in my inbox, and it's lovely reading all of your questions. If you have anymore questions, don't be afraid to ask me again ! (*´ڡ`●)
I am genuinely devastated at the recent events going on with Pressure. I dont think we'll be getting the game back seeing as va's and collaborators are now pulling back and away from the game.
Recently, a person involved with the creation of Pressure also known as Ren/nolongernull has come out with proof of Zeal sexually assaulting and raping them. I am not aware of the full details, but if you want to know more, then I've attached the link following Rens own statement. It's awful what happened, and anyone that stands with Zeal can disrespectfully fuck off and do not ever interact with me again. We stand with and support Ren. The victim always comes first.
What Zeal Did to Me at RDC 2025 Written and compiled by the person to whom this happened. Edited with the help and support of my friends.
Me and Kal will not be writing any more of OTEOP. We'll release the last unfinished chapter that we've been writing, but we will not finish it. Thank you so much for the support along the way, but we do not want to create content for the game anymore.
HIHIHIHIHIHIHIHI!!!!! I really really REALLY love your Aloe Vera fic and i was wondering if i could make a little request? So I was thinking what if instead of Dream, Nightmare sans was summoned instead? Obviously this could be like an AU where the MC's illness isn't connected to him. I lowkey just wanna know how they'd interact with each other and I think it could be like a small what if scenario? Just basically how the summoning with dream went and the mind link sharing thoughts as well.
I'm really sorry if it's too spoilery 😅😅 oh and also thank you sooooooo MUCH for writing this masterpiece, I really love it <3 take care!
Hi anon!!!! Thank you for requesting teehee I hope you enjoy your food!! i wanted to keep it as close to the canonical storyline as possible, because the same things still happening but with two very different demons (*´∀｀*)
I'm very sorry for the wait, here you go! Please feel free to reach out if I've made any mistakes or you feel what you requested wasn't necessarily fulfilled <3
[platonic x reader only.]
Nothingness stands in the room beside you, except for the dust that your lungs drag in with every inhale. This pentagram your parents and grandparents used to stand before hasn't been used in a long, long time.
You are about to break that mark.
Your SOUL thrums happily within your chest, but your heart responds hesitantly. Of course it's to say you're ecstatic to achieve a feat your parents did in their lifetime, but you're also hella nervous. For all you know, something could go wrong, and the ritual could fail.
Either that or the demon you're about to summon just might turn tail and stick a shiv into your neck because you pissed it off somehow! Yay!
This is insane. You're insane to even think of doing something as stupid as this.
It's fine. It's not fine. Is it fine???
It's fine. Probably.
You're about to find out.
Hands grip the summoning book within your hold nervously, as you begin to chant along to the flickering of the candles surrounding the circle before you. They respond obediently, a calm fire radiating to your every word. Even the one screw up can cost you everything. Still, you don't stop in slowly chanting the words— and the summoning circle glows. You have to physically stop yourself from losing the words on your tongue because your attention is caught by the steam of your own breath, because losing the words is very very bad unless you want to risk the potential of invoking the wrath of an eldritch being you somehow summoned in failure of the ritual that you were NOT supposed to attempt!!!!! We wouldn't want that!!!
You actually don't know what would happen if you failed this. It's not like you've seen anyone thats done this and lived to tell the tale, or if that tale is fabricated and just a scare tactic of your own mind to prevent you from doing something as absolutely idiotic as summoning a demon that could probably have murderous intent and smother you with a pillow while you sleep.
It doesn't even matter because the candles flames flicker uncertainly and the circle dims, dying out. But why? You did everything right— You didn't even falter in your words?? Why is this happening??? You don't have time to ponder on it when you feel the weight of 7 camels on your shoulders. Your vision wobbles as the legs carrying your entire being buckle under you. Unbelievably, your soul thrums uncomfortably in your chest.
The Lycoritis. You knew this would happen. This was expected, and you still went and did it anyways.
Okay, it's okay. You're still fine, if you just keep chanting, then maybe, just maybe, you can clutch this.
Otherwise, if you don't, the consequences of failing a ritual you were never supposed to make will be unfathomable. You're gonna be fine. Maybe. Probably. Most likely not. You're so god damn screwed.
No, you WILL be fine! The ache in your chest proves otherwise. Keep chanting your lines and you'll persevere! How long are you going to keep this up? As long as you need to, as long as the ritual works, and you see a demon standing within the borders of the pentagram. Ignore the pain! Use it! Don't stop until it works!
Your eyebrows furrow with a wince as the pang within your SOUL worsens. It feels as though you just got internally punched with the horsepower of a bulldozer. Your vision is filled with black spots permitting all over. You have to do this.
The pentagram glows more fiercely with the same velocity as the ache within your SOUL— You push your magic in spite of the pain.
It's not going to work; you're in too much pain, you're stressing yourself out, you're not ready, you're not ready!—
You're shoved back from the sheer force of the summoning backfiring on you, and you're shoved down to floor with a rather harsh landing that you're sure it's going to leave you with a nasty bruise. Well, you fucked around and found out. Quite literally the definition of "blew up in your face" because you're sore in all places that you became aware of places that you were unaware that could hurt this much. You can't move your limbs, they feel as though your bones have been replaced with lead. It's like someone just played footy with your skull with the way your barely functioning brain is reverberating off its walls.
You don't even realise you stopped breathing because of the wind being shoved out of your lungs when you got punted in the SOUL by the literal hand of god.
You feel incredibly unsettled after a long, few seconds.
Your skin prickles on your neck.
You are being watched.
Your head shoots up before being interrupted with a particularly rude jolt of pain in your skull that's bound to be a migraine later as your wide eyes dart to the pentagram.
Someone is standing there.
Not a somewhat, a something.
And it's staring right back at you.
Your heart pounds uncontrollably and your palms grow sweaty and clammy. Has it always been so hot in this room? It's hot in here, right?? Fear creeps in to the very corners of your being, seeping through and staining like blood on fabric.
You can't look away. Something is preventing you.
"It" only grins maliciously.
"Your fear is delectable, child."
what? did you just summon?
You gape at it like a fish out of water. You can't do anything. Why can't you move?? Do something!
It seems to be observing you with a tilt of its head. Its maliciousness turned scorn. It looks angry. Almost furious. You mimic its movements, tilting your own head in a half mock manner.
"How utterly irritating," it starts, "It seems as though my presence was demanded by a stubborn infant with a summoning book that can barely tolerate its own balance." It glares harshly at you.
Huh??
Oh. You're still on the floor.
Shame floods you. What a way to get killed, genius. You've done it again. The summoning book beside you has been left ajar. Grabbing it, and slowly rising uncertainly to your full height.
The thing you summoned doesn't seem to like you very much. That much is proven with the way it looks down at you like you'd only just learnt how to crawl. Still, it's dressed very formally.
But either way, you'd be absolutely delighted if you weren't absolutely shitting your pants right now. The tension in the room is suffocating, it feels like you're breathing concrete into your lungs. Delighted in the sense that you actually somehow managed to summon a real, breathing demon, and got a sick bruise to prove how you got absolutely humbled by your own magic backfiring.
In disbelief, you card a hand through your hair.
"Holy shit," the demon squints at your profanity, but tilts his head nonetheless with cynical curiosity at your incredulity. Or at least you think it's a he. You're a little scared of asking. The probability of it happening, especially since it's overly dramatic, but you feel like you'd get a public execution in the streets for asking whether or not it's a "it" or a "he." And quite frankly, you don't necessarily wanna find out.
"I actually summoned a renegade," Your mouth slurs before you could stop yourself. Seems as though that knock back from the summoning still has you a bit woozy.
And he looks infuriated.
You think that if looks could kill, he'd have done that public execution ages ago.
He laughs incredulously. If you look closely you could see.. er. Things. Squirming behind him. You swear they look kind of aggravated. The sight of his death glare has you squirming in your own boots yourself.
"If I weren't bound behind this enclosure, I'd have severed your tongue and fed it to you." He almost snarls. It sounds more like a threat rather than a what if.
You just. Blink. At him. You're too tired for this.
"Well, that's not very cash money of you." Yes, because ragebaiting demons with the full capacity to weave around the set rules you've built for them is a wonderful idea. No really you should reward yourself with a good earnt nap after this seeing as your last reserved energy for literally everything has been depleted. That's if it doesn't strangle you whilst you sleep.
And a fleeting thought, which turned as loud as train horns completely interrupts your line of thought and his descent into rage.
"If you're not a renegade, then what the hell did I summon?"
At first, his gaze is unreadable. Only slitted dark green eyes peer down endlessly at you. Then, a sneer. One that inhumanly stretches uncannily across his face. The sight of it sends a prickle down your spine. Never once does his eyelights come off you. Courteously, he bows. Not a bow of graciousness— One of malevolence.
Whether you know it or not, he has you wrapped around his finger now.
You've walked yourself right into the jaws of something much more dangerous than a vulture.
It guffaws at you much like that of a crow.
"Stifling situation you've put yourself in, Child. Tell me, how did you manage to summon a demon king with your waning life?" It's head twists at you; not of curiosity but more so to mock. As if it's deciding the many ways to end your life smoothly ahead of track.
You're not even focused on that right now. It only smiles more at the terror on your face.
You summoned a demon king.
And not one that likes you, nonetheless.
You have actually sealed your own fate at your own stupidity.
And somehow, it seems to know about your depleting lifespan. You're not sure which one you're more scared of, the king, or the fact that it knows something it's not supposed to.
"Answer me, child." It spits out the 'child' with a bite of aggravation.
"....uhhh. You know. Um. The book." Your hand slaps the page of said book for emphasis, and his gaze is almost crazed in an annoyed sense.
His hand snaps as immediately as a bolt of lightning, used as a tactic to gain your attention.
"Do you plan on standing there, wasting my time and breath on your pathetic self, or will you make yourself useful for once? Goodness. I might just slice your head off for your insolence. I have done worse to those who have done less."
Your nose scrunches up in distaste to this guys stinking attitude. He's got a real knack for spewing shit out of the wrong side. It's not like you'll voice that though, of course not! because he'd shoot you point blank in the brain—
"do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"
...WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT?
TO A DEMON KING??
ARE YOU MENTAL????
He stares at you. He just stares. Your SOUL is running wild with fear for the lack of emotion displayed on his face. gods, what the hell were you thinking to insult a Demon King???
Too frozen in your place to mutter anything, to blabber apologies out of your mouth, to plead for forgiveness or to just even continue insulting him, he starts chuckling at a low tone. Okay. Probably not a bad sign, right?
You are incredibly wrong. What started as mere chuckles turns into full blown cackling to the point it's borderline hysterical. Your concern is growing more and more with every single drawn out laugh from this guy. You don't know if he's laughing at your guts from having either the worst bravery or the funniest idiocy to challenge a demon king like that. You truly do not know. Either that or he's just blown a loose screw.
"You are bold." He states. You don't know if thats a good thing or a bad thing. It just feels like he's playing with his prey.
"Fine, then. I have been summoned here for a reason, have I not?"
"Well... yes?" It's not like he can refuse either way. A demon refusing to adhere to a summoning can result in consequences.
Even death.
He looks down at you with a wicked grin that conveys only one thing.
'You've done this to yourself.'
"Begin the ritual."
— — — — • ༅
Footsteps wring out through empty discarded halls, once what was full of life childlike memories, now lays waste and barren with only a phantoms regret.
Your footsteps are reminiscent to that said phantom.
A little ways from you, a demon trails ahead. The one that you summoned, no less. He walks in front of you not for the purpose of the protection you summoned it for, you actually don't know why he does this. Superiority, perhaps?
That's what you think of when you attempt to card through his thoughts.
After all, you both share a mind together now.
It's so strange, you think, to have someone know each and every one of the things you're thinking in that moment.
That could make for some potentially pretty bad intrusive thoughts. Kinda makes you wonder what this guy has seen in someone else's brain if this isn't his first time sharing a neural link with a summoner before.
You almost don't notice it, but the thought alone has the things beneath his tailcoat writhing. He's quick to stop it, but that still doesn't stop you from picking up on the sheer flood of disgust that pops in his mind. He truly does not wish to think about that. The brain of a human being is just as equally complex as it is repulsive. Or so he thinks.
Yeesh. Poor guy.
["Do not pity me, Human."] He scolds harshly. You can't help it. You think what you think and there's not much you can do about it.
Still, that doesn't stop you from mentally thinking out an apology to him. Half because it's his mind you're sharing too, but because this fucker scares you half to death, and you're already dying.
You've noticed that he's not much of a talker. Not that you mind. He himself has probably noticed, but you're absolutely buns at conversation. Almost no opportunities has been taken up to strike up a conversation between either of you. You totally would but you have the mindset of a little wet sewage rat. Plus in all honesty he's a bit scary.
That's what happens when you stay inside constantly! Absolutely no social skills whatsoever!
He forms some sort of scrunched up bewildered face at your thinking. What? What did you say for him to look like someone just spat in his salad???
Your internal confusion has him looking at you over his shoulder and sending that of the nastiest stare you've ever seen from a skeleton.
No, literally. What are you meant to do in this situation??
You don't really need to. He breaks the silence anyways.
"Your thoughts are equally ridiculous as they are entertaining."
You blink at him a few times.
At least he thinks you're funny? Or something?
"Thanks?..."
His gaze lingers for a few moments more before turning around and continuing on his path. You physically have to fight back the urge to sigh. Even just getting a glimpse from this guy makes your hairs stand on edge.
Uncertainty fills your entire being. You still have to attend school tomorrow. Initially, you thought he'd be absolutely enraged at the prospect of being summoned by a sickly young child in order to scare off the people who'd been bullying them at school.
You were correct.
He was furious.
You'd genuinely believed that from that event alone, he'd have had his last straw and killed you right then and there, for going against the summoning books word and summoning a demon king to tell off people at school. In your defense, you hadn't planned on summoning a demon king— that part was accidental. Even he commended your absolute stupidity, and that level of it amuses him greatly. Not when it's on him, though. He flipped his shit when you told him, and in your words, you 'needed protection.'
You still don't know how you got out of that situation. But you still have a feeling he won't let you hear the end of it until the time comes that you send him back.
You await for that time fitfully.
Until then, watch your back in the midst of the Demon King you summoned.
Anon who requested platonic (Aloe Vera) Nightmare Sans & reader !! Your request is being written, so in due time it'll be ready :) Thank you for your patience!!!! <33
'Your conquest to summon a demon worked. Albeit, there being a problem with the summoning ritual...
You hadn't summoned a renegade like planned.'
Words: 8066!
Tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, trauma, near death experiences, bullying, sans!oc is included in the story (not yet), purely platonic relationships, fluff and humour, emotional constipation (on dreams end... bro does NOT want to be a permanent babysitter.) reader is terminally ill.
Ch.1 | Ch.2 | Ch.3
'I can feel the light shine on my face.' [3]
"Are you? My Summoner?" He asks. Not once has he broken eye contact with you, like it was physically impossible for him to let go.
You almost had to bite back a "well gee, i don't see anyone else in the room." for the sake of manners. That's one thing you and your bullies don't have in common! At least you keep your mouth shut!
Instead of that being said, you settle for a nod of your head and manage out an "uhuh."
He looks absolutely astonished at your response. Although, he quickly recovers. His posture straightens up and he clasps his hands behind his back in a.... very offical manner. He might be involved with some higher ranking demons, you think.
"Very well. How can I serve you, Summoner?"
I mean, not that you can blame him. If you were summoned out of nowhere and there was nobody except for a scrawny looking kid that looked like they just got sent back into 100 buildings, you'd be just as shocked as he were. You're just surprised at all for being able to summon anything.
Even just a renegade.
Agh. Now you have to actually get up. But still! How good is that? You summoned an actual, real life demon. You laugh offhandedly and finally stop living on your lower arms, slowly raising from the floor. This time not rushing! Because we definitely don't want to almost pass out again! Because that would be bad, wouldn't it?
Even then, you still feel the golden skeletons eyes on you as you recover from your little accident. Seems like you haven't failed your entire bloodline after all.
"I can't believe it," you breathe out, barely managing to stand on your two feet. You waver as you stand, arms outstretched beyond to balance yourself. As to further prove your surprise, you place your hands atop of your head. He looks at you curiously, head tilting. "I actually summoned a renegade."
For a moment, his eyes widen— then they close. Politely, he smiles at you and opens his eyes once again.
Your entire mood was trampled when he uttered the words to you:
"I'm sorry, but I think you're mistaken... I'm not a renegade demon."
.
.
...wha???
You gawk wordlessly at him. He's? not?? a renegade??? Then what the heck is he and how is he standing here???? WHY is he standing here?????
He watches you nervously, eyebrows furrowing at your continued silence.
"....What the hell did I summon then??"
He gazes at you rather curiously, how can someone not know what they summoned?
"Summoner, I am a Demon King. And I am at your service for whichever you implore of me.", he says as his head subtly bows down. A curtsy sign of respect.
"..come again?"
"I am a Demon King."
You looked crazed.
"Just one more time", you say, almost in disbelief.
"...I am a Demon Ki—"
"WHAT???"
He flinches. You don't even notice the look of sheer exasperation he's giving you as you're too busy panicking. He observes as you wander around aimlessly, hands on head. You're undeniably stressed, that much he can tell. Especially from the way you're mumbling to yourself as you pace around, heck, you're practically radiating sheer hysteria.
He truly gets to get a good look at you despite your panic that he sees that from your lacklustre eyes were very... lifeless. Like all the vitality had been sucked out of you. If he had to guess, your SOUL would prove to be the same— if not similar. That would certainly explain the dullness of your very character. For your SOUL and spirit alike to be so diminished, you'd have to have gone through a life changing experience. The very thought of it makes his SOUL ache. You're so young, and yet, it looks like you've barely gotten to experience life at all. He also notices that you look sickly. Your general aura emits ailment, the eye-bags, the paleness of your skin, the constant shaking and the way you can't properly control your magic? He truly won't know until he gets a look at your soul.
He doesn't stop examining your features until the action of you picking up the book and worriedly skimming through it snaps him out of his thoughts. You're still panicking.
Ah. Maybe this was his fault... no wonder you're so worried, you couldn't even tell you summoned him at first. The least he could do is try to soothe your mind.
Meanwhile, your mind is racing with thoughts that could put an elderly man into a coma. Holy crap. You're screwed, you're so screwed, no wonder you got sent back to Friday??? Your magic inevitably shit itself and look what happened! You summoned the ONE thing the book told you to NEVER summon! Occasionally, the skeleton hears you mumble to yourself as you read over the book he'd seen you with the first time he saw you. Not only that, but he sees you grasp at your chest, like whatever was going on was hurting you internally.
It's when you notice something is off that you start feeling so.... calm. Like it came out of nowhere that you become suspicious. Theres no way you can just calm down like that. Especially not like this. As in you feel safe, and your shoulders droop. You're speechless. You feel so... Comfortable? You blink. Once. Twice. Your mind isn't racing with thoughts about how bad you messed up anymore. It wasn't until that you finally snapped out of it when the demon king talked to you.
"If you are in need of a moment, I am willing to wait however long for you to take a breather, Summoner." He gently politely speaks, "Or if you wish to return to the ritual, then I will respect your wishes. Whichever decision you come to." He adds. Oh. He must be tired of standing there for so long. You were so occupied with worrying that you completely forgot about his presence... agh. All the more reasons he's going to kill you. If you know one thing about Demon Kings, you know that they're not exactly.... benevolent.
You shake your head, thinking over your next set of actions. Summon the demon.. confirm identity— ah. You haven't even asked its name... the realisation of that settles a deep sensation of guilt in your chest. A frown forms on his face. As soon as you notice the gloomy expression he's wearing, you stutter over your words and try coming up with a semblance of awkward apologies.
Your voice cracks. You cringe and refuse to give eye contact at that mess up. How many of those was that today? You don't know but you're pretty sure you lost count. "Uuh.. Let's— let's continue. I'm sorry." The same feeling of comfort washes over you again randomly. And it's like you didn't have anything to worry about to begin with. He offers you a short smile, nodding curtly. "That's quite okay." It's so strange. How comfortable you feel around this Demon King. You don't know how or why you feel this way, but it's reassuring.
You turn your attention back to the ritual and clear your throat, walking towards him.
"State your identity."
"I am Dream, Guardian of Positivity. To fix your earlier confusion, I will reinstate again that I am a Demon King and I am yours to beckon if you so wish." Once again, he bows with a hand behind his back and one folded neatly at his chest— like he'd done this numerous times before. Like this was rehearsed over and over again.
"You summoned me in hopes for a renegade demon, correct?"
"Uh- Yes, that's correct." Stop that. Stop stumbling over your words. You may be a social reject and stayed inside for months but that does not make you incapable of basic communication. Buck up, buttercup. He nods along. Then, he looks at you curiously. Somewhere in his expression is a hint of concern.
"May I ask why I was summoned? And that my Summoner so happens to be..." Your eyebrow raises? "...Very young." Oh. So THATS what this is about. You giggle at that last question.
"You're amused." He points out.
"Talking about a random 14 year old somehow managing to summon a Demon King, yeah, I'm amused." You glance down at the summoning book in your hands. When you look back up, he's gazing at you with an unreasonable expression.
"...If you think about it, it's kind of funny." Unfortunately, he doesn't find this as hilarious as you do. That's quite obvious from the way he quickly changes the subject.
"You're very young to be performing magic, let alone summoning demons. Why did you attempt at summoning one?" Okay. Now that one's trickier. He catches onto the way you quickly break eye contact.
"Ah.... That one's harder to explain." You nervously mutter. He sighs, and offers you the gentlest smile he can possibly give.
"That's okay, little one. I will not judge you whatsoever." Dream sends off with a kind smile.
It's so strange.
Him being so polite to you. A demon king against a child. Everything you've known about a demon completely crumbles under the influence that this demon himself seems to have. Everything stereotyped in the books of demons, every single one that you've read, down to the last detail that all demons are cruel and heartless creatures,
is squished like a bug under Dreams foot.
He could be tricking you. No, he IS tricking you. The number one rule of summoning a demon is to never trust them. He could be buttering you up, gaining your trust under false pretences so that he could end your life sooner than planned. I mean, it's not like you had much left of a life to live, and that thought seemed to display on your face. Dream cocks his head to the side in innocent curiosity. He can feel your distrust towards him.
"Summoner?" He calls out to you. You must have been quiet for a few seconds.
"Okay... Look. I don't have a ton of plans for you to do.. I just have a bit of a special request."
Dream looks at you with mild curiosity, almost eagerly awaiting your answer. He'd like to know what he is doing here, after all. It seems so interesting to him that the complexities of a humans abilities to summon the highest ranking demons far surpass his expectations; considering he'd believed that only a human blessed with intelligence of a spiritual ability to summon his species could possibly also apply to a sickly 14 year old.
Dream would absolutely like to know why he was even summoned for this humans short life.
"I need some protection..."
..Huh! Okay, definitely not what he had in mind.
Wait. Protection from what??
"Summoner, are you in danger??"
Your eyes that had been staring blankly down at your hands— which were fidgeting rather anxiously— quickly dart to his face, which had been completely encased with worry and concern.
"What?? No!! Well— I mean, yes. But my life isn't in danger!!", is what you nervously blabber out after being asked such a question.
"You are not being hunted down by demons?"
"No, I just need protection from.. Aghh, look. It's hard to explain, but I won't be keeping you around for long. Maybe just for a day or two!! I just need your help with protection."
If the danger isn't demons or anything slightly above your pay grade, what could you possibly need protection from?
And this confusion was already plastered all over Dream's face, his eyes holding a tint of confusion to it.
"Summoner... Why do you need protection?"
...
An embarrassingly long silence fills the air, static screaming louder than the silence barely being spoken.
"..you know... from bullies?", you smile nervously up at him. He only stares at you in response. It was bad the last few times when you couldn't read his expression, but now?
This is just downright horrific. It's bruising your self esteem.
He's just.... staring. Wordlessly. Endlessly. He probably doesn't even know what to say.
And that is assumption is correct, for he is stunned. In all of his millennia of living, not once has he been summoned by an ill looking child seeking protection from... bullies. Okay. Maybe the complexions of a highly intelligent summoner might not apply to that of a 14 year old if they're all summoning Demon Kings to give wedgies to their enemies at school.
You sigh after his prolonged silence.
"Look. I'm not summoning you because I want you to just scare them away. Sorta." His stare at you becomes sharp, agonisingly so. You could almost crumble at the weight of his stare, it's like receiving the asian look from your friend's mother.
"They make my life a living hell. Everywhere I go inside of that place, they follow me, and they antagonise me for it. They've been doing that since..." Since your brother's death. "...Since for as long as I can remember." His almost glaring like stare dies down when he feels the influx of sadness within you and sees the way your attention is torn from him. How your eyes became almost glossy. To him, it's a little too familiar. His gaze turns sympathetic at the torment that your emotions like to torture you with. The way your eyes lost their light with unwanted memories that you'd shoved away into the recesses of the back of your mind a long time ago.
He knows this emotion a little too well. He recognises it, and he hates it. The feeling he knows too well as grief.
"And maybe give them a wedgie."
A mixture of a groan and an exhale, you don't know, but from that noise he emitted alone— you KNOW Dream is exasperated. You meet him with the most shit-eating grin you can muster. So much for a sentimental moment. It's not like he can refuse... you must have blown all of your last resorts to be turning to this, he thinks.
Alright. Fine. Just this once, he'll adhere.
Besides. It's refreshing. Having to scare lives instead of taking them whenever he'd been summoned.
"Very well, Summoner. Whatever your call beckons, I will comply." He dipped his head, clasping his hands behind his back.
"Including the wedgie?" You inquire. He frowns.
"...It was a joke! Jeez!" You huff. "tough crowd." He chuckles at your frustration.
"Okay. Okay, okay..." You quietly console yourself. This is really happening. This is happening and you're not just dreaming. What was the next step? You ponder off into oblivion for a moment, and murmur an "ah." as if it was so obvious. Dream waits patiently in the pentagram, watching the candles flames as they dance across the wick they stand on.
You look at the golden demon king and notice that his attention is elsewhere. Not that you can blame him, in your wholehearted opinion, zoning out into fire is incredibly fun. But still, you need his attention.
"Dream?" He snaps out of oblivion. Now that you've caught his attention, you can continue.
"Are you ready?" You ask. He nods briefly.
Throughout numerous times that you've been to see friends of your family that are also spell-workers, you've had to reveal your SOUL to them a number of times. Often at those times, at the sight of your SOUL,
They were horrified and had to look away.
You can't blame them. The sight of the thing is pretty gnarly, if you do say so yourself. You just hope Dream doesn't do the same thing because then you just won't be able to look at him in the eye. Not once for the probable duration of 2-3 days he'll be here.
You place your hand just outside the barrier of the pentagram as he does the same. You close your eyes, beckoning the call of your SOUL to become physical. Oh boy. Here we go.
His eye sockets widen impossibly, and he steps back just a tad bit. It's annoying, you think. How they do this every time your SOUL appears. It's why you hate these appointments. The look they give you afterwards, like you're some poor thing to be pitied for. Your SOUL, supposed to be pristine and pure, shows a rip in the very centre of it. You think that would be the ONLY thing he'd be shocked at. Haha, you're wrong!
Within the rip escapes black vine-like roots coming out of it. Like the vines are attempting to crawl out and swallow your SOUL whole. The vines themselves shine an iridescent dark green. Dream even swears that they seem a bit... droopy. The ichor of the vines dripping, he thinks. His jaw hangs open, like a fish out of water. The centre of your body, the very core defining your spirit, is.... wrong. Even the colour of your SOUL is dulled. His earlier hypothesis about the lifelessness of your eyes was correct.
He's... never seen anything like this before.
This is the first time he's ever laid his eyes upon something like this.
You hate it. It's the exact look of shock that other people would give you when you had to show them the disease affecting your SOUL. He's looking at you the same way they looked at you with pity, undignified concern and a poor attempt to sympathise with your pain. Pathetic, is the only word you'd use to describe your sorry state of a SOUL. He won't stop staring.
Make him stop staring.
"Are you done?" You snapped frustratingly. His eyesights locks with yours the moment you nastily spoke. You don't care if he is a Demon King and you will reap the consequences for speaking to him in such a manner.
You will not be pitied upon by him, too.
Unfortunately, just like the rest of them, he has the gall to open his mouth and try to offer you the same sad face and sorry excuses of apologies. The book under your hand, just like your rising anger, becomes crinkled and uneven. For though you are the moth drowning in endless waves of water, you will not wait for your last breath to be swindled by the vultures around, dragging you out by the wings in an false effort to make suffering a means to an end quicker than you want to go. In other words, you won't let your pain be taken advantage of, it's unconventional to allow yourself to ravel in front of a being classed higher than the vultures you are used to.
No, he is more of a phoenix.
And yet your hands don't tremble upon his gaze, not because of how embarrassingly it drips with the false pretension of pity, but because you have had enough with the sick sense of underlying condolence. Shame won't be the very thing that eats you whole. You are too used to be swallowed up by the vultures that tear at your fragile being. Shame will not be the thing that you feel at the end of everyday.
You aren't quite sure whether or not this phoenix finds pleasure in preying upon the weak.
But one thing is for sure, you aren't used to the warmth that eminently spreads from its fiery nature. Nor are you used to seeing the concern that falls from his gaze.
It makes you uncomfortable.
You hate their sympathy.
"Let's just get this over with.", is barely hushed under your voice, almost revealing the scared child hiding beneath the false impression you cover up with snark. Unfortunately for you, he sees right through your attempt to be "authoritative".
"Yes... I apologise, deeply. I did not mean to offend you.", is his attempt to hopefully convince you of his regret.
You don't reply. You don't think you can. So, instead, you cover up your fear by placing up a thinly veiled wall of the best possible blankness you can muster. And you nod. Curtly. You refuse to look at his face that you know conveys his remorse. You can feel his golden eye lights on you. It's mildly disturbing.
When you're properly inspecting the summoning book for the next set of instructions, you notice that the page is slightly crumpled. Most likely from earlier when you were getting so distraught at the thought of getting coddled like an impaired toddler. You hastily smooth it over... Pop would have ripped you a new one for even accidentally laying a scratch on these books. It's sacred to him. It is to you, too.
Not to mention, though the summoning book with you holds a great deal of sentimental value to yourself, it means so much more to your Grandfather. Just as you are doing now, he too was performing summoning rituals— taught by his own parents. You remember the way that you were younger, he'd sit you on his lap and tell you stories of your Great-Grandparents that were also amazing mages and spellcasters. It's how he became so great one day and then later on passed that skill down to your parents. He told you that his parents themselves, your Great-Grandparents had made these summoning books. It became family heirlooms once they passed. Into your Pops arms, into your mother's, and now yours.
You also recall the part that they became a little too worn down. So your Pop himself remade it into a sturdier, stronger book. All still with the same rituals and spells. That's why it holds so much meaning to him. And also why he'd turn you into stew if you ever accidentally broke it. He warned you about that when he gave it to you to read for the first time. He was joking, surely?... You hope?.... You shake yourself out of the memory your brain trapped you in. That's right, you still have a binding ritual to do.
You inhale. Here we go.
You chant the words carefully, reading and internally rehearsing the lines off the book. He listens carefully, his eyes moving across the book that lay bare in your hands.
"Dream, Demon King and Guardian of Positivity, your very soul will be bound to mine for you are to solely focus on my safety as it is now your responsibility to keep me out of harms way should anything try to endanger it." Your SOUL happily thrums as it floats in front of your chest. For the first time ever in your life, just as your ancestors have done— you have finally harnessed the energy within your SOUL and channeled your magic to summon a demon, let alone a demon king in this very spot. It feels so natural. The way the words glide off your tongue and you chant the words with ease. Like you were always meant to do it. Never have you ever felt so connected to your parents and bloodline this way— you honestly thought that reading the summoning books in your cubby and grandparents room would be the closest you'd ever get to knowing them like this.
But here you are. You hope that they'd all be proud of you, performing your own first summoning despite the disease that shackles you to it.
"You are prohibited from causing me harm or death for doing so will result in punishment worse than death itself." You allow yourself a well deserved breather after a hot minute. Whooey. this is a hell lot of words. jesus christ, how did your ancestors do this and not pass out??? you think you might understand them less now.
The next set of words make you pause. Is this really fair to him? What you've read of these next lines is that if your death happens and he fails to protect you, just like if he were to cause it a few lines ago, he'd face a death worse than your own. You are going to die anyways. Not due to him or him failing to protect you, but because of your disease. It's already something you've come to long accept. It's inevitable. You won't get better and it will consume you. Your blood won't be on his hands.
So if he doesn't cause it, why should he die, too?
Instead, you chant this.
"If... my death were to happen, you are to be unbound from my SOUL and the rules that come from it and sent home immediately." You don't notice how he freezes up. If he knows anything about these regulations, he knows you weren't supposed to say that. From all the countless times he has been summoned, it has always been the same.
'if i am to die, you will face a death worse for failing to preserve that of which was mine.'
And he for sure knows that this wasn't included in the book, too. You came up with this on the spot instead. Despite your earlier wariness of him, and your tiny spat, you still found it within yourself to save him from dying himself had serious harm come to make its way to you. Even despite then, you had that kindness within yourself even though you are a human and he is a demon. Maybe you really do share the complexities of even the most renowned spell-workers. He doesn't stop the soft smile that graces his features.
"Just as our SOULS are bound, so are our minds— You will hear my thoughts just as I will hear yours." As you're busy chanting, he doesn't miss the way you look so content as you recite the words noted in the book you hold. He can feel it. Such childlike wonder. He chuckles wholeheartedly at it.
"You are to carry out any task and or command that I give you immediately." You gaze down at the summoning book. Grimacing, as your finger trails along a particular line. "unless?..." Your voice wanders off. If you could bend the rules to avoid getting him killed if you died accidentally, maybe you could do it again? it IS your ritual, after all. You are the summoner here. "Unless you are physically incapable of carrying out the commands I give." You hope you won't regret this. You're bending too much for this guy already.
Doing so just might lead you to your early demise.
Much earlier than expected, either way.
When you finally look up from the book that you've been staring at since you've started chanting, is when you also finally see that you notice the small, soft smile that's Dreams giving you.
It's not very often that he has been offered the curtesy of a humans raw kindness.
"You know... From the many times I have been summoned by many that share the same ideals as you, you aren't as predictable as I thought you to be. It's rare to come across generosity you have given me."
From his words alone, you feel a tad bit sheepish. This more or less supposed to be the bare minimum for someone who won't stay longer than a day. Why enforce so many rules onto something that wouldn't be here for anything too mundane?
Oh, but it clicks. There are always loopholes when it comes to a demon, and you're unsure of his true nature when it comes to humans due to their malicious intent to harm their Summoners. Demons have a deep rooted hatred for the ones that put them into that Pentagram in the first place, which is why you are bewildered at this demons desire to spread Positivity rather than the demons who choose to spread harm. You know this since a single page in a Demon Summoning book does not go without a single warning to the Summoner.
'WARNING. A summoned Demon is highly likely to deceive you, endangering your life and those around it. Your Demons job is to protect your life; if given that task.'
Not only that, but the warnings of your parents and Grandparents don't go without saying. You'd listened attentively since it was the safety of your life that they warned you about. If you are to summon a demon, always keep them at arms length. It's how you will keep yourself safe, and alive.
Maybe giving this guy too many chances to end your life already was a terrible idea.
But you know what? It doesn't matter. It's not like you'd be living for long anyway.
"What business would the average 14 year old be doing with a demon, a king no less, that would be considered the opposite of 'generous?' I mean. It's not like you're gonna be here for a while." You look back down to your book. A moment or two of silence, yet again, unsettles you slightly. What is with this guy and being so god damn silent???
You look back up to see his face stretched into a mildly uncomfortable expression. Still harbouring that polite, yet feigned smile on his face. Bone. Whatever it is. Let's just go with face.
"You'd be surprised."
Your eyebrows furrow.
"Aren't they supposed to be playing roblox or something??? Why are kids my age summoning demons??"
"You are the kids your age summoning demons, summoner." It was like a slap to your face. A fair point, but still felt like one either way. AND he just had to refer you as 'Summoner' as a cherry on top.
"Alright. Touché."
He chuckles. Of course he does. He's right, but you won't say that out loud.
Oh, the binding ritual.
.
.
Your mind comes up blank. What were you meant to say next???
Your mouth barely forms coherent words as you skim over the summoning book. Crap. Fuck. Uuuuh.
A skeletal hand points towards the book.
"Line 9. 'To return from whence you came.'"
Oh. Thats right. Damn, skeleton dude really knows his stuff.
"Huh. Thanks."
"You're welcome, little one."
It makes sense. For someone with his status, he'd already have memorised everything a long time ago with all the countless times he'd been summoned.
"When you have completed your duty, you will be released from my SOUL and return to whence you came post haste."
Your hand stretches flat against the barrier. A silent request— an oath of your own. A binding of your imploration. He accepts, and lays his palm flat against yours. All the while he holds a kind smile on his face.
"Your SOUL will be bound to mine until you have accomplished your tasks and been released willingly by my will. As our SOULS our bound, as will our minds—" You place your forehead just before the barrier, your gaze unrelenting towards the golden skeleton in front of you. Dream mirrors your exact action, placing his head just where yours lays. It's a little funny, however. He has to bend down slightly just to be able to reach you. He is really tall. It should be a superpower or something. The way you fought to bite your tongue and avoid laughing at the sight of a skeletal demon king leaning over to reach a teenagers height. Just look at the book and you'll be fine. Look at the book and you won't laugh. just look. look and don't laugh.
You looked at the book. Unbeknownst to you, Dream can feel the overwhelming urge you have not to start cackling out of nowhere. Most likely of the sight of him bending over. How silly of you. He has to give you a tut of his breath and a shake of his head. All the whilst he still held that smile. You only grin at him in response.
You close your eyes. And you know he has, too. As to how you know— you just do.
"Do you accept these terms, Dream?"
"Yes, my summoner."
With the words said, the pentagram glows brighter and brighter and the candles flicker furiously. The moment he agreed is the exact moment the deal sealed your fate. The barrier protecting you falls— and the only thing standing between the both of you was the promise written in the book. Undeniably, you're exhausted. This ritual was already so much strain on your SOUL alone. Any more, and you think it just might explode.
His hand touches yours the second the barrier releases him. It's such a strange feeling. The feeling of bone against hand. Makes you shiver a bit. It also kind of makes you thankful that your brain doesn't care enough to make you process the feeling of your own bone inside your limbs. That would be a sensory nightmare.
["Thats morbid."] You genuinely, actually physically jump. That was like a speaker was directly next to your ear— or actually inside your head. Or something. Whatever it was, it was clear, and crisp, and you did NOT like it. And if theres anything you know, you know you did not willingly conjure that up in your mind. Or maybe you did. You don't know. The human brain is scary. It wasn't even in your voice??? Who the hell does that voice belong to?? Why do you have a narrator in your head now??? DID you actually think that and your brain is just playing tricks on you and your demise is earlier than expected and is actually around the corner?????
A hand waves in front of your face to shake you out of your spiral. When you look at its recipient, he holds a guilty look on his face.
"I was not aware of the possibility of frightening you from the mental link.. I take it from your reaction, this is your first summon?" He words carefully, each and every syllable constructed as to not spook you like as if you were an already spooked animal in a cage.
"...I would not word it like that, but nonetheless, I should have warned you. First words spoken through mental links are always a scare for the first time. I apologise." Right. You forgot about the whole mind thing for a second there. Whoops. The whole time, he's looking at you with a tensed smile.
"It's..." You stare at him. Why does he look so unnerved?
"It's fine." You shake your head, brushing off the stress from your inwards spiral. Theres a dull ache resonating within the deeper parts of your chest. It's bothersome if you put too much mind to it.
You don't really know what to do now.
Now that the ritual is done and dusted and out of the way, you truly have not a lick of what to do next. It's not like you thought about this part because now you have another resident here. In your house. Who will stay for a while until he's done what you've brought him here to do. This isn't very nice host manners. Your mother taught you better than this. Actually your mother can't teach you cause she's dead.
Dream visibly flinches and grimaces.
Maybe you should stop. The lore bombs on this poor guy must not be fun.
"Er.. sor-sorry." You attempt to form more words. "Uh, let's just go upstairs?" This is just sad for you. He can only smile uncomfortably and nod in response. You promptly turn around.
That was pathetic. If Dream heard that, he says nothing about it and follows you up the stairs.
The walk up is awkward. Filled with tension that it could choke the life out of a fully grown man. You don't want to think about that, so you opt for something else instead. Like the leftover lasagna currently sitting in the fridge for dinner! Hurray! How good is that?
...You actually don't like lasagna all that much. Or rather, that specific brand. It tastes like waterlogged cardboard. Still. You might just skip out on dinner tonight, then. Pop won't mind.
Apparently, Dream thought so otherwise.
"You'd starve yourself in distaste for that dish?" He frowns worryingly at you. You can pick up the distinct, almost fleeting words of "humans" and "strange" in your head. They definitely weren't your thoughts.
You can't be blamed here. It tastes like ass.
"Language," he chastises.
"Sorry."
"We can worry about that later, Summoner." Dream gently stops you in your tracks by grappling onto your wrist. Theres most likely a certain expression on your face that is causing his to contort into discomfort. You're sick, that he knows. And you don't seem very willing to talk about that.
He has to be careful about this.
"You're really not going to give your body the nourishment it needs?.."
Theres conflict written all over your face.
You look at his face, and what looks back is pure apprehension looking back at you.
The sight of it is aggravating. Fine. Whatever it takes to stop making him look at you like that.
"Agh! Fine!! I'll have a look." You flail your arms a little. He seems to relent at that, and at the same time release a chuckle. You were very reminiscent of a small child being told to put back the sweets they shoved into their pocket at a grocery store.
"But I'm not promising anything." Dream has to fight back the urge to sigh. You're definitely the persistent type. Maybe it's best for a topic change. Yes, he'd like that.
His eyelights gaze over the house as you pass through it, nothing he's never seen before, but it's a fairly huge home for a small teenager to live in alone.
"This is your abode?"
"Yup. I mean, technically my grandparents."
"Are your grandparents also summoners?"
"Oh yeah. Where'd you think I got this bad boy from?" You flaunt the summoning book to him. It earns you a chuckle.
"And they're not home right now, so you don't have to worry about introductions." Right, because you'd be screwed upon Pops finding out you summoned a Demon King.
"It is a very lovely place." He smiles politely.
You don't know what else to say except for a barely formed thank you. Although persistent in things, he's noticed you are also very awkward in others.
"I stay home a lot. Doesn't really make up for a lot of social interactions."
He nods in understanding, heart swelling for your prolonged absence of companions. For someone your age? It wouldn't have been easy to battle your illness and do it all alone.
"Just let me know if you need anything. Unless it's a helicopter. I can't afford that.", Dream slightly chuckles to your little cheeky remark. He's noticed that you have a very indifferent sense of humour to combat the pain you are constantly met with. His head tilts narrowly to observe your behaviour, and in return, you tilt yours. A little to mock him, a little to also study him as a demonic being; acting very differently in contrast to what you expected to see. Many different kinds of warnings over the years, tellings of death and caution for the event you may ever come to summon a demon for your own safety.
"I may be different to other demons, Summoner, but you can rest assured that no harm will come to you. Not by me, and not by any other being that may have ill intent towards you.", he says warmly. You silently question the sincerity of his words; demons are cunning. But for the moment, he has no reason to truly hurt you in any way or shape. Aside from the fact that demons are extremely resentful to their summoners. You feel the honesty of his words, and a subtle pull from your soul that rest behind your ribcage.
"...Okay, I believe you. But no funny business. Understand?"
His eyelights flicker with contentment. "Yes, I understand, Little Tinea."
A momentary silence, one not filled with an air of pressure, but rather with contemplation.
["Tinea..?"], you question.
Dream slightly steps closer, his presence nowhere near overbearing. More like a presence that you feel fills the silence comfortably.
["Yes, my observations of you made me come to the conclusion that you have a similar sense of self preservation. Just like a little moth, you appear to me as... Gentle, but very ruminative. You hold the samenesses of the moon; you shine a light upon yourself, and the things you hold dear. Very few are faint to finally know you, and the things you would want to share willingly. You, Little Tinea, carry yourself with a sense of passion for discovery."]
He isn't even aware of it, but the boldness of his words shatter your being.
Okay, well, he is now. The shock on your jaw agape face is more than enough to tell him what he said. Essentially a reversed slap to the face. The guilt plastered on his being is more than enough to convey the words that lay dormant on his tongue.
"Forgive me— I apologise!! If I said the wrong thing—" He waves his hands frantically, silenced only when you hold one of yours up.
"No, no. Just. it's been a long night. I'm not exactly ready to kinda hear those words, you know?" Your hand drops back down to your side.
that, and the fact that nobody has had anything remotely kind to say about you. Neither directed to your face or back.
"Y-Yes. I apologise if I've crossed the line." He clasps his hands together. Theres no word to explain how you feel, but the wording "hit by a bus" fits perfectly. But replace the horsepower of a bus with a train instead.
"It's fine. I think." You mumble the last bit to yourself. Just sweep it under the rug and you'll be fine. Probably. Let's find out when you go to sleep tonight with or without the existential dread. The whole time as you've continued walking in complete silence after being pulled apart for everything you are, the Demon King behind you wallows in embarrassment and mortification. You thankfully didn't seem to appear viscerally, but it was still a whoopsie daisy.
That'll be over with in maybe two days time. Let bygones be bygones, or something. And then the conscious of being exposed won't live on in your mind after that!
All is silent. You really don't know what else to say after that, and you just have a nagging feeling in the back of your head that Dream doesn't either.
For the moment, you both walk in silence.
That is, until Dream breaks the silence.
["Do you have any books, Summoner?"] He asks. God, you'll never get used to another voice in your head that isn't your own, but nonetheless, it peaks your interest.
["What kind of books?"] You look back at him. He doesn't mean the summoning books, does he?
To your relief, he shakes his head. You don't like the idea of a Demon King holding access to your Grandparents summoning books unless absolutely necessary. He once again shakes his head politely.
["That is not the case. I like to read in my spare time, theres just something about settling down in a quiet spot and reading a good book."]
Ah. Then, in contemplation, you ponder which book could hold enough significance to cater towards his unknown preference of reading material.
["For reference, I do like to read books of knowledge, some may be dictionaries or Encyclopaedias Of Science or even Animals. Many do peak my interest of your mortal world, and it is fascinating to see which to the cycle of how it works! But, anything works, really."]
Ooohhh. he's that typa guy.
["What is that supposed to mean, Summoner...?"]
["Don't worry about it. So I might have a few of those kinds of books lying around somewhere, but I don't know the kind of condition they're in, so if it isn't up to general standards then you might have to pick a book from my own little selection."]
His face grows curious in an excited manner; he appears to like learning about you. — ["What books do you like to read, Summoner?"]
["Horror and comedy."]
Silence fills the room. Well, there was always silence in the room, there just seems to be silence between the two of you.
["...I might have a few sci-fi books around."]
Dream's hands happily clasp together in mild appreciation.
["Wonderful! If I may, then I will take a look at them."]
"Whatever tickles your pickle man."
He sighs.
"Please do not say that."
"Tickling the pickling?"
"Summoner."
---------------------------------------------
For a minute, you hope that the world has gone quiet enough for you to be able to quietly recede into confined corners of solitude, retreating back into the space you hoped to have been able to breathe without fear or anticipation of an unprecedented attack; you had a Demon King with you, and you really don't know why.
Earlier fluctuations of power now lay dormant, almost as if there were no sign that your SOUL could bring out the strongest of the strongest. As if there had been no trace of evidence. Your illness prevented you from using basic human skills to light small fires with your magic. Small feats are more than enough to exhaust you of all your energy that you so graciously try to save to get through the day.
So, as soon as your head hits your pillow, you release a muffled sigh of exhaustion and fatigue. Today was too much on your already feeble body, taking all energy you could muster. Summoning a Demon sure was more than enough to deplete any ordinary mortal being of any strength, but god, you feel like you just got hit by a moving truck and then some.
And you really thought that would be the end of it, but noooo. ahaha. No rest for your weary mind, for the demon by your side sticks out like a sore thumb.
"I apologise if my presence causes you fatigue...?" he very nervously says.
You sigh under your breath, and turn your head with all of the strength you can possibly hold together. Talking feels too much of an effort right now. Your illness tugs uncomfortably at the surface of your SOUL.
"Ah... Then there is no need to talk, my Summoner. I understand." he offers a smile, a gently gleeful expression is all you need to accept that you can just turn in for the night. Lesser problems of the world buzz in the back of your head, proving no such situation will happen with him around. You won't question the uncomfortably obvious fact that he will stay around to watch you sleep.
Yes. That's it. You will let the background noise fade into nothingness, as you will for yourself eventually. You will fade into benevolent silence as your life nears its shortened completion. But, for now, you hope fate will be kind enough to let you sleep comfortably.
...You hope that maybe your brother will visit in your dreams.
CHAPTER 3 UAYYY !!!! see i know i said it would take a while for chapter 3 to release and left you guys hanging for hhhmmmmm..... 6... months.. OH AND THIS FIC HAS ITS OWN TAG NOW!!!! YIPPEE!!!
guys.... put requests in my box pls... (im begging ((HAS to be platonic i know you guys like your romantic fics but this is a platonic page only (i swear ill upload on time)))
'You enter your first period with a devastating start to your school day. You definitely weren't expecting a warm welcome back, but this? this wasn't what you were expecting.
After that, you hoped that surely, it wouldn't get any worse. Right?
Wrong. Your last straw was drawn, and it led you to doing something incredibly stupid. You buffoon.
(In shorter words, hurray! You have a new friend now!)'
Words: 7118!
Tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, trauma, near death experiences, bullying, sans!oc is included in the story (not yet.), purely platonic relationships, fluff and humour, reader is terminally ill.
Ch.1 | (Ch.2) | Ch.3
'I can't fight this time, now.' [2]
There are various students scattered all around the classroom, some of which you respect, some you definitely don't and some you just don't know enough about in order to have an understanding. Your eyes dart all over the room, hoping to find a lone desk far from others—
You spot one. Well, two, but there's nobody occupying the second. Exactly right next to each other, so that means you can place your things on the unoccupied one. Located at the far end of the room, and even better, right next to the window. Perfect for zoning out and gazing at the sky. And whilst it's a little further from the back than you would have liked, it works. There's not many students who would bother you crowded around those particular desks, nor are they even sitting there. It's the best you're going to get right now and you're not gonna wait for someone else to take it.
Hastily you make your way to the two desks and successfully claim your spot on the one further from the middle of the room, and directly next to the window. The noise is deafening. You genuinely wish you had headphones to block out the epiphanies of horrible noises these people are making, and it's barely even 8 in the morning. Even the teacher looks tired. You couldn't imagine working 50 hours per week stuck with these people, you'd have quit a long time ago. You suppose you already have without the context of the circumstances.
The dread in your soul worsens when somebody becomes aware of your existence.
"Is that seriously?—"
It's too loud, but too silent. Like they're making a point to acknowledge your presence, but making sure it hurts your very soul.
"Weren't they supposed to be rotting away in their bed?"
Were they aware of how painful their words are? Do they just not care?
"Didn't their brother die?" Some students gasp in shock whilst others release sounds of mildly amused "ooh's."
They didn't have to mention that.
Your eyes dart nervously around the room, as if trying desperately to find a distraction that could take away that gnawing feeling at your soul. Fortunately, but also unfortunately your eyes happen to align with the teachers, who you've noted down will make your presence loudly known.
"Ah!! It's you! Come, come here."
You shake your head nervously, smiling like you wouldn't want to hurt his feelings.
He clicks his fingers, then points to the floor next to him. As if showing up to school isn't already stressing you enough, surely it's the act of being put into an audiences attention who demand you to impress them.
"Alright, everyone. So—"
There'd been an abrupt shrill, and then a masculine voice in the back shouting for you to 'crawl back into the ditch you came from'. It's embarrassing to be stood at the front of a class that made their point across that they didn't enjoy your company. Other's joined in, saying the stuff you'd been listening to everyday for 6 months straight before your became a shut in. It was natural for your ears to hear, but it still struck a chord with you.
One of them however, ended up crossing a line that hurt a little too deep.
"Look how dead they look." You almost thought it would be left at that.
You were terribly wrong.
"Hah! They're taking after their brother."
They ended up laughing and smiling to theirselves after that. It unnerved you to have to spend any more of the time you're forced to be here around them but unfortunately, as uncomfortable as you are, there will be no acceptions as to how you feel because nobody doesn't regard any of your feelings. Nor do they care about anyone else's. It is a repeating cycle for human society to bring themselves down then blame other's for the state of the world. It repeats, and shows the true colours of mankind.
More 'oohs' erupt from the people around them, the same ones who seemed to enjoy to peck at your self diffidence.
You can't.
you really just can't.
You had the mind to just grab your stuff and leave. It wouldn't be the first time you got up and left when people just couldn't keep their mouths closed. You can always mark it down to feeling too sick to attend school. Technically, it's not wrong as you do get too physically ill to make it to most days.
And it's only a Monday. One day won't hurt.
Your gaze snaps to the teacher beside you who crudely forced you to stand at the front of the room. As if this wasn't already troublesome enough for you.
"Settle down! Sit down, now." He shouts over the classroom. You silently pray that they don't care enough about you that they continue hooting and hollering. Oddly enough. Unfortunately, again luck is not on your side as they all quiet down with the exemption of some snickering between them. These people.
['read the room and let me sit down already.'] You wordlessly stare at him. Pretty sure if a student didn't want to do something, the Teacher should accept that and move on. But apparently not with this guy.
"In Ancient China, there were three main Dynasties— all of which held roles in maintaining China's economy. {Name}, would you happen to know these three dynasties?"
.....
Fucked if you know.
Nobody would understand the absolute urge you had to say that to his face. But unlike most people in this classroom, you have basic human decency not to.
But clocks' a tickin, and you're sure repercussions are bound to happen if you continue standing here like this. But you just can't bring yourself to speak. You don't want to.
Time continues as you stand there like a deer caught in headlights. Still, your time is running out and you'd rather not look like even more of an idiot in-front of these people. Just let him down gently and you can sit down again.
"..Uh, Ancient China?.." He nods in confirmation to slightly nudge you on. You exhale through your nose.
"Listen.. I, um. I haven't been here at all within the past while. So I really don't know the answer." He stares at you momentarily before yet again putting on that same smily face and placing a hand on your shoulder.
"Sorry, sir." You mumble towards him, hoping to be as quiet as possible to avoid letting other students know what you're saying.
"That's okay! Next time, then." You already dread next time. Maybe next lesson you'll either stay home from school or go home early, you really don't want to be humiliated again. "Back to your seat, now." He shoos you off gently.
Your return to your desk is silent, thankfully. But you know they're incredibly amused by this whole situation. They're always so entertained by anything, you swear they'll even laugh at you for doing something as small as breathing? Seriously, what is up with that?
The teacher continues his lesson on the subject of Ancient China and all the different things they did upon daily life.
Whilst the unimportant ramblings of whatever words that rung out in the background, you'd been distantly gazing out the window, stuck into the bounds of your mind. To you, this was the best way to pass the time without having to worry about how long the lesson would be, nor the social setting. What runs around in your feeble mind is the wish to be surrounded by your favourite characters, or your brother for that matter. It may not be a good way to pass time, or to cope, but it is all you have known.
Unfortunately the noise levels doesn't benefit in the factor of your sensitive ears— considering you'd spent the past few months in silent solitude— and the ones around you who couldn't seem to keep their mouths shut. Every uttered word had an uncomfortable ring to it that tortured your eardrums. It felt like it was constantly echoing within the bounds of your mind; you certainly were going to have a headache later.
"Hey, psst."
This subtle whisper wasn't merely enough to grasp your attention, so they'd resorted to throwing a piece of paper hurling towards your head. Thankfully, it landed just close enough for you to pick up, albeit your annoyance to being ripped out of your euphoria.
Looking over to the person who'd distracted you was a mistake. It'd been those people who couldn't seem to shut up. Most of them were snickering to themselves, whilst looking at you incredulously like you were a circus show.
"Look at it, go on."
Your head tilts down slightly to the paper that was thrown at you, it'd been crumpled into a ball.
You bend over to pick up the peculiar piece of paper on the floor, hearing the childish chortling of those who'd been watching you like hyenas, cornering their prey. In this scenario, you are the fawn in headlights, and they are the bear who looks at you with hunger.
they could practically be drooling with how wide their smiles are.
Said piece of paper on the floor was now cradled in your hands, and each moment that went past, their reactions seemed to heighten every second you took delicately unfolding the notepaper. It unnerved you how intensely they stared, and you could only prepare yourself for what could potentially break you.
Yes, you are always preparing for the worst case scenario, because your eyes landed on the very thing that tore your soul to shreds.
It was a drawing, a pathetic drawing that overexaggerated your insecurities down to every dot. In the drawing, you'd been crying rather embarrassingly. You hadn't been impressed nor insulted so far, infact, every poorly performed piece of shit detail had you rolling your eyes. However, your thumb creased with lead, and your eyes trail to where you could have possibly smudged. Besides the poorly drawn representation of your brittle self, was a grave.
With your brother's name on it.
And your brother's body drawn underneath it.
The dam holding together your last bit of dignity breaks, and you think you just might do the same, too. Maybe giving them a piece of your mind by throwing the paper at their big fat heads and telling them to stick it where the sun don't shine will give them a message to back up.
If they wanted you to have your final straw, then they damn well have it because you're not tolerating this shit any longer. But then again, that's what you've been doing for the past couple of years you've been here. You've barely ever retaliated, and when you did, it came back tenfold. It's dumb. They're dumb.
You try your best to ignore the despair in your soul rising as a result from the onslaught of unpleasant memories regarding your past experiences. It's fine. Just let them do what they want, they want a reaction and if you let it get to you— that's exactly what they're going to get. And that's not what YOU want. So, what do you want?
...You want to stop staring at this paper in your hand.
You scrunch up the paper in your hand and toss it back to the people who crudely threw it at you in the first place. Throwing the paper back without so much of a single glance, maybe you should have ripped up the stupid drawing for good measure.
You run over the thoughts in your head about whether or not you should do something about it. Do you tell a teacher? You don't know. Mean whilst as you're debating on your thoughts,
They don't relent, for their laughter just grows in tandem. Obviously they find the relentless joy of absolutely abusing you hysterical from the way their smiles reach to their ears. Should you tell the teacher? Ah. No. The moment your hand even reaches the sky, those grins will be wiped off their faces and they will make sure you'll regret making the decision to even dare raising your hand.
You suppose they'll never leave you alone for you are the stray dog that wandered into uncharted territory, naively walking into the non-prying jaws of that pack of wolves. Your reputation betrays your name, tarnishes your image for what you are not— the mutt with its tail tucked between its legs. You will bark and bellow until you physically can't. A cry for help that will be ignored.
Okay. Thats enough of Shakespeare for now. You leisurely spend the rest of the lesson drawing away on the sheet of paper you were given. Little doodles, whatever had been on your mind. The whole time, the said ravenous pack of wolves behind you spends theirs choking on their own laughter and whispers. As long as they don't bother you again, there won't be a problem. You can only hope.
The teacher doesn't expect you to do much, such is the pleasure of oh so poor attendance. You don't even know whats going on. Stuff about Ancient China, yeah. You can't think of a single thing. You're already too busy on trying to fight this illness, anyways.
Time goes by as clouds form and turn the sky into a murky grey. In the distance, rain falls. Not here, but it will be, soon. You think it'll come around in the afternoon or so. Sometime later in the way. It'll suck if you have to walk home in it, but hey. School might be over by then. Which is a plus. You like rain. It's calming.
The clock at the front of the classroom ticks on, continuing its onslaught of time just as the teacher continues his lecture.
You can't wait to go home already. Today has been enough as it is.
You don't know how much time has passed, but when you glance at the clock— it reads '8:55'. yes. Great. Good. Very awesome sauce. Only 5 more minutes left till you can leave this lesson then onto the next one.
It seems the others are just as excited to torment their next teacher as they too start howling and cackling like hyenas. Again, say's hello, your headache. How fun.
The teacher at the front of the room attempts to tame these students which act like crazed rodents. He won't succeed. Still, an effort is a good one.
"Pack up your stuff, if you even brought any." He mutters the last bit under his breath. "The bell will be going in a few minutes, and by that time! You will be out that door! So come on, people. Chop chop." He claps towards the lunatic like students.
The rest of your time here is spent packing up and you honestly could not be more relieved doing it. The chatter of bored and lonely people with the mindset of that of a raccoon doesn't hinder one bit. It settles into the back of your mind, becoming somewhat of a white noise. The people behind won't notice you again. They've already had their fun.
You wait. And you wait. Until finally, the ringing outside of pure and absolute euphoria of escape sets off from the speakers. A satisfied feeling sets off within you, thats one lesson down. Although you're not out of the woods yet.
..All semblance of happiness has just been ripped away from your being at that thought. You still had until 2:55pm.
god dammit.
Regardless. You hastily make way outside the door after all the other people have made their way out. Onto the next class.
If only headphones were allowed on school grounds. Well. You could probably pull it off if you give a story to the office ladies and or the guidance councillor that you can't focus without them. Especially since all the people you share a class with would be incredibly loud. Actually. They ARE incredibly loud.
But you've arrived at your destination! And you're totally going to ignore how you may have read that in Siri's voice!
Hopefully you get to draw as much as you want in this classroom, too. If only the day could go faster.
------------------------------------------
Second lesson has been a bust, so far but definitely better than your last class! Unfortunately, it's maths. And due to your wavering attendance at school, you don't get to learn much.
So far— Exactly 30 minutes has gone by since the lesson started. Out of all of the other classes you could have had today... it REALLY had to be maths??
buns.
You honestly dislike maths. No, hate it. Hate hate hate. hate it. The bane of your existence on this god forsaken planet. The nice thing about maths though is that the teacher doesn't give enough of a damn about non participant students in her classroom. She's rather nice, actually. Won't call you up to the front of the room if you don't want to. Unlike that last teacher... you shiver. Let's try to avoid being called up again, okay? You heard staying still makes it seem like you turn invisible. TOTALLY seems like a great way to make it seem like your presence is not in school, you might give it a shot.
You glance to outside and whoo boy, it is a pretty sight. For you, at least. As the clouds rolled in to form one big clump, turned the sky from half blue and half white to a complete white. Chances of it raining are probably likely. Dark, rainy days at school is always nice.
All you really have to do in this class is copy down examples Miss did from the board and put it in your book. Then you'll solve some other math questions. Boom. Thats it. Once you've done those then you can draw some more in your sketchbook.
You waste no more time in completing those equations.
------------------------------------------
Today was nicely smooth despite your little spat in this mornings english lesson and your unwavering reluctance to get up to go to school today at all. So far, exactly 3 or so hours have passed by. It's currently your lunchbreak before you go back into your classes to continue some more hours of headaches and sitting for an hour and on.
You wonder why you even decided to show up today. Well, you know why, but still. You really don't want to deal with the school breathing down your neck, and, well. That and your angry grandparents. Nan is slightly more forgiving than Pop. Nana doesn't approve, but... she understands. Thankfully, Pop doesn't throw too much of a fit. A scold and thats it, whipping out the illness card comes in handy sometimes too. Not that you want to guilt trip, gods no.
However, it's not.. technically false?
But either way. You've already munched on the necessities you brought to school today. You would have bought something, but money is a bust due to frequent pharmacy visits and for groceries every now and then.
Thankfully, disability support pensions are a thing and so is Medical Support. So thats a bonus. You make do with what you get weekly. And you're fine with that.
The sound of the bell ringing shakes you out of your stupor.
Fantastic. Back into the fray you go.
-----------------------------------------
Art! Finally, a good lesson today. Not that the other ones sucked, (except for history this morning. You hated that first lesson.) but you especially like art the most. After all, what else would a mini artist such as yourself do in an art class?
...Draw. That is as much.
Your objective in class today is to create a recreation of sketching then shading techniques of the eyes and mouth. Thats it. Nothing much. You don't have to draw anything strenuous and you also get to take your sweet time. Missing a large portion of the school year with the illness trump card can sometimes come in handy. This means you won't have to hand in any assignments. You've missed out on a lot of lessons on what is needed for the assignment, so your teacher decided that you could do this instead. It still technically counts as learning and can make up for some of your report card.
You already know the drill. Your pen drifts over the paper you've been given. You mark every detail of the eye and mouth you've been told to draw. Occasionally, you'll sketch in the sketchbook you were gifted by your Pop when he found that you liked to draw. It's nice for passing time waiting for your name to be called at a doctor's appointment, or just to ease your boredom. But also just to draw. Drawing is fun. It takes your mind off of the impending death you're going to face later on in your shortened life.
Okay.. quite gloomy. You hiss slightly at the dull ache in your stomach. We don't want that! So! We're going to think about something else nicer! Like this assignment of the eye and mouth you're drawing! Isn't that fun?
You glance at the clock.
You want to draw something else.
On command, your hand begins moving along to draw something different on your sketchbook.
----------------------------------------------
Freedom has graced you yet again! As soon as the bell hit your ears during Art, you swore you almost cried tears of joy. Not that you have anything against Art, but with each lesson that goes by— means you're much closer to going home at the end of the day. It's currently second break. Everyone is out on a whim, talking to their friends or taking a walk around the school. Either that or they're causing problems.
Unfortunately, that last scenario is the case right now.
It's not the exact same group as before during history this morning, although there are a few faces you recognise from the said group. There are other faces. Some you've come to identify easily from the frequent encounters you've had with them. You can never name them. You don't know their names. You can only recall what they looked like.
One of them, you can distinguish in a singular second.
Her name is Alkmini.
She causes your SOUL to ache uncomfortably when shes around. Your gut constantly tells you to be wary of her. In all honesty? You should be.
She holds her hair down. In her hair, is a brooch of the moon. You notice out of school that her clothes are tailored and fitted for her very being. You recognise her as another human being that wields magic. Just as you are. But she's much better. At that note, you also recognise her as the child of the parents that rival your family. They're renowned. Infamous for their summoning skills and their image of a successful spell-working business. Much like your own.
Or, what it used to be. Your family too used to be known for its success. Your parents were skilled summoners and sorcerers. They took commissions and summoned demons, performed powerful rituals. Not very many people could live up to their potential. They had it all. Wealth, financial stability, and status. You were comfortable. You could have been just like her had you lived without this disease. As in, in-tune with her magical prowess. Her ability to summon demons and perform magic. But not snobby and arrogant.
That's not how your parents and grandparents raised you.
She laughs tauntingly. A grin plastered on her face, so sickeningly sweet. She looks at you seemingly innocent, like whatever was going on inside her head wasn't near as horrible as what she wished her hands could do to you.
They would twitch to hear the echoing reverberations of your neck cracking underneath her hands. Or the hands of a demon she'd personally summon; it wouldn't really matter.
But she craved to hear the voice that she grew opposed to for years, wishing nothing but pain upon it and for that voice to die out like a candle lacking the air that it needed desperately to survive. Almost as if she imagined that candle to be the flame that lights your candle, slowly dying out.
But it is, isn't it?
You are slowly dying, and you have no choice but to sit in your own sick. You have no choice but to watch your own candle slowly dwindle, not even the wax that didn't dare move. Your light is too weak to melt your candle anymore.
...This is mildly depressing. No more of that. Only positive feelings!
Ah. Right. Theres nothing much to be positive about when the people in front of you, sizing you up like a pack of hungry wolves "jokingly" poke at you. Their laughter rings out, and you mentally brace yourself for the inevitable extortion that is to come.
"What are you drawing?" One of them inquires to you. Don't do anything. Don't rile them up. Just stay composed and keep calm. Answer them but don't react. Make them keep going until they're bored.
You draw in a long breath of air. Your eye contact stays exactly where it is— on your book, but always with them in your hindsight.
They almost snicker at your answer. Like as if the very response you gave was the funniest thing in the world. You see the most malicious of them in the corner of your eye hold out their hand. Once again, you recognise her as Alkmini. She talks to you sweetly. There's a condescending tone in her voice that makes her send off so... hostile. "Can I see it?" She asks with a smile. There's a certain glint in her eyes. One that you know means trouble. Especially if it's coming from her. Always, if it is coming from her.
You just want this to end already. Just keep them entertained.
"It's not a lot. It's.." Word it properly. Speak or they'll tear you apart for that, too. "A work in progress." A pause. She knows you're trying to deter her. They all do.
"Oh, I won't judge. You can show me."
Your silence is what greets her in reply.
"Come oonnn..."
If it will get them to leave you alone, then maybe it would be worth the torment and shame of being laughed at for the pathetic excuse of a drawing currently being crumpled under the grip of your hands. You hesitate, before flipping it around to show her. Her eyes glint more dangerously. She makes no move to take it, but it's quite clear that she wants to see it up close from the look on her face. With a single turn of her head, she looks back to the people behind her. As if almost on cue, one of them abruptly steps up and crudely snatches the book out of your hands. Your heart jumps, and your SOUL thrums uneasily. You should take it back by force. You imagine ripping it back out of their hands and walking away as fast as you can.
But you don't. You only sit there and wallow in the self pity as they all crowd around, hungry. Waiting. Eyes peeled over the page you poured your thoughts on. You can see by the crinkle of their mouths and the squinting of their eyes that the sight of your drawing was exactly to be expected. To them, a joke.
"..Pfft, what the hell is that?" Ah. There it is. A male, around maybe a year or two older than you. He just looks like the average person you'd see in the hallway. A girl slaps him in the thigh, snickering. They chortle to each other, like little girls. Like they'd stolen a sip of mummy's champagne. Truth be told, you're not surprised. But it still hurts.
On your drawing, is a scribbled mess of the figures you see in your dreams. A malformation of a black creature with seemingly goopy-ish tentacles emerging from it. You don't know what it is. All you know is that it is so painstakingly familiar. In your dreams, sometimes, you will see the mangled bodies of your mother and father and the cries of your Nan behind you somewhere. Thankfully, your parents aren't also scribbled in that drawing. At least it won't be one thing after the other that they make fun of you for.
And the only other thing you know is that you started seeing the creature when you first emerged with your disease.
Alkmini is silent as she scrutinises your drawing with an unreadable expression. Is she going to say something? God, you hope not.
Unfortunately for you, "You're right," she starts. Before you can say anything else, she interrupts.
"It really is isn't much."
She hands it over to you. She drops it unceremoniously before you could grasp it.
"If you need more inspiration, maybe you could ask your brother." She pauses deliberately. Then, she drops her hand over her mouth slightly and smiles politely. Like whatever she said didn't break you.
"Oh... sorry." The people surrounding you are silent. Deathly so. They look ecstatic to see you so gutted. You don't reply. You don't think you can. You just stare down into the floor for a while before she scoffs. The pack of loyal dogs that followed her here to you look at the others in astonishment. Just as she turns around to leave, they do too, leaving you to drown in your thoughts. Seems like they snuffed out that candle after all.
It was a mistake to come today.
You hastily pack up all of your stuff. You're not tolerating this anymore. Education and your grandparents fury be damned.
Fuck this place.
Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest, and you so badly want to cry. Scream until your throat feels raw and your chest has been ripped apart. But you can't. Not right now, not until you come home to an empty house. Your legs hurt with such ferocity with the thoughts overwhelming you, you swear you feel dizzy. As if you're about to faint. But you ignore it. You force your legs to work and carry you through the hallways you've come to fear so much. You notice a teacher step out into the hallway when she notices your hasty departure. You also notice her hand is outstretched, trying to talk to you. Most likely to try and stop you from leaving the school grounds. It's the same lady from this morning, the one person in this entire school that you've come to tolerate.
You almost feel bad for ignoring her and darting away anyways. Your throat scratches uncomfortably. Most likely from the result of your lungs consistently drawing in air and then out, over and over again. Too fast your brain to comprehend.
--------------------------------------------
You don't stop walking until you've reached beyond halfway. A part of you tells you that this? This is a horrible idea. You should have never exited the school during school hours. You're going to get in trouble for this. You need to turn back, right now if you want to make up for the consequences. You idiot.
But can you?? Should you? You look behind. Last time you checked, it was around 1:34PM when you were confronted by Alkmini and her pack of wild animals. If you had to guess? It's probably around 1:48PM.
It's too late to go back now. The days already practically finished.
Well. This will be a problem for future you! You turn on your heel and continue walking home. This would be better with some music, you think. Anything to avoid thinking about the repercussions you're going to gain from this.
---------------------------------------------
You want to crawl into a hole and just die. Thankfully! You did just exactly that! Er. Minus the dying part.
Your legs now definitely hurt from the walking and negative emotion influence. You really don't feel like doing anything else for the rest of the day.
Back when your family was wealthier, your grandparents made a little cubby just for you and your brother. They said it would be for safety measures. Had a robbery ever happened, or a summoning ritual gone wrong, or if you just really wanted somewhere to hide for a little bit— You could crawl into a small you-shaped hole and enter a hidden room just in between your grandparents room and your room. You could stay in here forever, and never have to come out. Your little cubby consists of a built in bookshelf, full of your childhood books and memories. Fairy lights dangle from the ceiling, a clock, and theres a beanbag smack bam in the corner. Hell yeah. It's a sanctuary for you. It's your number one place to unravel.
...Your home is silent. More so than usual. You have a caretaker come here on Thursdays to check on your physical and mental wellbeing. Not only that, but sometimes, Pop sits in the lounge room— gazing at the fireplace and the family portrait above it. This time is not one of those times.
Your SOUL hums sadly. You miss him. Most likely, he's somewhere else with Nan right now. Thats enough. Let's stop with the bad emotions, okay?
Sometimes! You like to steal your parent's old summoning and spell-work books from your grandparents room. It's nice. It fills a sense of wonder in you, knowing that these books are from a long line of summoners in your family tree. That your parents were such remarkable magic wielding people themselves. In the cubby, on the wall at the very back behind the beanbag is a tiny vent that leads to all rooms in the house. You used to listen to your parents perform rituals in the basement through this vent. You could recite these rituals off the top of your head.
So why don't you? You could finish what your parents started. You are the next generation of summoners in your family.
You can, but you can't. Not with this disease. You may be the rare percent of humans in this world that can perform magic from their SOUL, but because of your sickness, it tampers with your magic. Makes you do spells you weren't supposed to do. So, you avoid that and just read these summoning books instead. And thats okay.
You continue reading through the book. It's mostly in Latin. As to how you're able to read latin, your grandparents taught your parents and your parents taught you. Until they couldn't, so, Pop picked up the mantle and continued teaching you whenever you could. The book you're reading is detailed on demons and their types. The lowest, renegade. Renegades aren't as strong as anything above but they're still not to be fucked with. The highest? The demon you NEVER want to cross. If you summon one, you have a death wish.
A demon king. The highest ranked of all types of demons and therefore the most dangerous. Even your parents came to this very lightly. As it happens to be, this demon king specified in the books is seemingly like the one you see in your dreams. The friends of your family, also spell-workers, suspect that this demon king has something to do with your disease and the death of your parents.
Thankfully! You don't have the physical prowess to be summoning this type of demon! Probably! Huzzah! You turn the page.
You look at the clock in your cubby. It reads "4:55pm." Agh. You don't want to think about how late it's getting. You have to go back to school tomorrow and make up for the escape earlier. Not only that.... but you just. Don't. Want to go. Because you 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 you're going to be confronted again. None of this would have happened if you just stayed home. It's not like Pop's here to change your decision.
There's not much you can do to prevent your bullies from confronting you. Staying home is the most effective but has repercussions. You can't defend yourself. You tried and you got in trouble for it by the school.
You could try scaring them, maybe. But how?
You look down to the weight on your lap. At the top of the page, reads: "HOW TO SUMMON A DEMON." and under it: "DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS."
.......
It's a bad idea. You shouldn't. You CANT do it.
. . .
it would be quite affective, though? Wouldn't it?
.
Stop.
You skim over the page. You shouldn't need to; you already know the drill. It's just a renegade demon. It shouldn't mess your magic up too much, right? You can perform these spells... it just takes extra effort. Ynow what? Let's do it. There's nothing left to lose! And it'll be under contract, so lets-
......
You ended up shoving the book off you. Clearly, the idea is getting to you. Stupid. This will mess you up worse than today already did. Just deal with it as you always do. You look at the book. You keep looking at the book.
...You can't stop looking at the book. Just one demon. Then send it back. It will just scare your bullies and defend you from them. And, it'll give Alkmini a message— You may be sick but you can still summon things. You're not to be messed with.
.........
Ah. Screw it.
----------------------------------------------
You stand in the basement before the summoning pentagram your parents and grandparents always used to stand at. Heart racing. SOUL eagerly pulsating in your chest. This is the most excited you've ever felt in months. Are you really, really about to do this?
You stare nervously at the book in your hands.
this is stupid. Stupid, stupid stupid.
It's probably fine. You can do it. You'll be okay.
Slowly, you begin chanting the words described in the book— carefully and meticulously. One screw up can cost you your life. The pentagram before you glows, the candles situated flicker ever so slightly. The lights dim and the temperature in the room drops to freezing— it's working. Your pronunciation is strong and calm. Akin to the light emanating from the candles, your hands tremble slightly. From fear or anticipation, you don't know. But you're in too far and you can't back out now.
The light from the pentagram flickers, dimming and dying out slowly— wait, what? Why? Why is the ritual failing?! You sway on your feet— your body feels like the weight of 10 trains has dropped on you. How? it was going so well? Whats happening???
The lycoritis. You knew this would happen. Your disease is interfering with your summoning. Shit. It's okay. It's gonna be fine. Don't panic, you'll make it worse. Continue chanting the words and you'll be okay.
You feel weak— you need to stop. Otherwise you're going to faint and pass out. And everything will be ruined— you wont even know the consequences of the ritual until you wake up. You could be walking into your death and not know it. Just finish the words! Ignore the ache and persevere! You chant harder with each syllable being carried off your tongue carefully. The pentagram glows more– You push your magic harder, fiercer— to make this work. It WILL work.
The colour of your SOUL glows from your hand, and the ache in your chest worsens. You're putting too much strain on it. You're not ready, you're not—
You're pushed back from the force of your magic backfiring on you, and you tumble to the floor with a particularly harsh landing. It exploded in your face. Literally. Your body aches worse than it ever has. It's agonising, the way your limbs feel like molten lava and your head feels like it's been stomped on repeatedly. The groan that resonates from your vocal cords echoes in your ears worsens your already throbbing headache. Not to mention the high pitched ringing thats emitting in your ears.
You don't even register the voice thats yelling at you from the pentagram.
You groan. The voice only seems to get more worried.
It's okay. You're okay. You can recover from this. Just take a minute, and you can check on the ritual—
Oh god. The ritual.
Your eyes snap open then are lidded groggily. The area around you is still blurry, and you can only see the ceiling from where you're laying. You need to get up. Get up. Now.
You will yourself to move your barely recovered limbs. You can barely support yourself, your arms feel like lead. You're okay, you mumble offhandedly to yourself, offering your jumbled mind a sense of comfort. Ever so slowly, you move more and more and yet you've barely moved at all. Now, you're situated on your lower arms and slowly raising.
"—##ummoner!—" Who is talking to you right now? Who could be saying anything to you?
"###moner, take your time. Do not--" Would that person just.... stop? They're hurting your head more. You wobble on your arms. You tremble like the candles earlier. You shake like a leaf. You just can't ground yourself. From the bottom of your eyes, you spot something strange. Your gaze slowly moves to it, not knowing what the crimson red droplets are when you see them. You blink, and theres another droplet. Something warm runs down your nose and— Ah.
Your hand presses to your nose, pulling it back, and you see blood smudged on your finger. Fantastic. Thats great. Theres a voice in the back of your head, gently coaxing you. You don't know why it feels so painful hearing it or why your SOUL seems to be so distressed. You don't know anything. All you know is that you shakily inhale air into your lungs, and then exhale. And again. Finally, you hear the words that seem to be directed to your being.
You look at the demon standing at the circle. It looks back at you.
You notice that it mostly consists of gold. It stands at exactly 6'5, easily towering over you. On its head, is a circlet of gold. From its back is two golden ribbons cascading down. The most noticeable thing? It's a skeleton. An actual, demonic, skeleton.
Oh shit. It worked. You wheezily laugh.
He, if you can call it that, is very silent.
The demon you somehow managed to summon says nothing when you interlock eye contact. Then, he voices,
"You're... very young." A pause. "Too young."
You only blink at the golden eyes staring down at you.
"Are you? My summoner?"
YAYY CHAPTER 2 !! no, unfortunately, chapter 3 is not finished... BUT!!! it is in the making!!
I'm gonna be honest. Even though this chapter was already finished ages ago, I forgot to publish it here for a hot minute. 💔 Either way!! Chapter 3 most likely won't be for a while.
If you have any questions or suggestions, please feel free to ask them ! （ ＾ν＾）
'Each little creature crawls towards the source of a beast's maw, choosing how their life will drown out, gently or furiously.
Your life takes a toll after being an outcast to society, being a part of a "cultist family". Unfortunately, this brings a pack of bullies to your door to emphasise their point that you do not belong here.
All you simply wanted to do was scare them away, so you summon a demon you hoped would help you.'
Words: 4933!
Tags: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, trauma, near death experiences, bullying, sans!oc is included in the story (not yet.), purely platonic relationships, fluff and humour, emotional constipation (on dreams end... bro does NOT want to be a permanent babysitter.) reader is terminally ill.
(ch.1) | ch.2
'My body's on the line now.' [1]
It's silly, how human nature tends to be fragile, and broken upon a single touch of whatever opposes it. Like the infinite webs running around the line a spider hangs onto, or the leaf that slowly decays after feeding the mouths of hungry larva. That includes the beautifully textured wings of a Butterfly, to the flame driven moths, flying towards the very thing that draws their life out.
That makes you akin to a moth, not quite a butterfly, not quite spider.
A moth is introverted by nature, captivated by the wonders of a gentle moonlight glow. These gentle creatures, are preyed upon, and are the meals for the much larger threats that spy on the weak. Moths are categorised into the Insect Order Lepidoptera; which they share with the common butterfly, equalising them to food for the preys in higher categories.
One thing that makes them stand out, is their dull colour. It is what makes them so easily diverse, compared to the colourful shades of each colour on a butterfly's wings. It's why the moth is detached from nature, being an outcast into the lesser category.
It's easy to identify which blooms in hue, while the lesser's complexion dulls in their tint.
You suppose you fit into the moth category. Sharing the same feeble nature with these gentle creatures; you too fly towards a brighter future, not knowing the consequences, nor the dangers of what lurks beyond that wall of unknown complexity.
It may even be your downfall, seeking to find what lies ahead beyond the confines you put yourself in before torching the wings that carried your ambitions towards a flame. It will only be your fault.
There's a reason each moth is apprehensible to each wave of water. Moths will lose that protective outer layer to protect their coats. Otherwise, their doubts become bigger than the wings that enable them to fly, hindering their ability to take to the sky. If it isn't the flame that burns through their feeble body, then it is the ocean which they created with their own sorrow that will.
Each predator has a preference, from an eagle selecting an earthworm coming from soils of their home, to the sharks that quarry each family of fishes that fall victim by swimming into the lions den, or the owl that preys on an unsuspecting moth.
While an owl prefers their food in the form of voles and mice, there can be exceptions.
One specific owl had set their sights on a lone moth, dazed by the shining light from the sky. It's gentle shimmers of blue made the little moth yearn for something more. Something bright and warm, to reach for that mellowness that beckons them towards the flame.
But this little moth won't extend to the warmth above.
It will continue to be preyed upon, extending their lifeforms to the beings above their existence, ensuring their role to be pivotal to the ecosystem. They exist, for the cycle to repeat. It is one predator after the other, and one can only ensure the others survival.
You're positive you understand your role in this ecosystem. You are the moth, and the people around you are the owls.
They'll be the ones to peck endlessly. Eating away at that little moth, bit by bit. They'll take away what matters most to it. First, all senses of its individuality. The vulture like owls will chip away at the moths persona, wiping away all of its unique colours of its small wings until it resides full of empty holes. Second, they will drown out in an empty sea of doubts. Slowly, it will feel more squished up into the box they shut themselves in. Only the belly of the vulture will feel satisfied of its successful hunt.
That applies to you when you're being dragged down from the pits of your self-destructive mind and all the incomprehensible fears that bubble up to the surface once you've run out of air. Having to endure the dwelling of whatever cold thoughts that whisper obscenities into your ear, whilst being the ones to comfort you after the tears that have dried on your face will be the ones to tell you that it is over; you're engulfed in the predators belly.
You will continue to sink deeper, and you will feel trapped, drowning in your own pool of tears, blocking out whatever mutterings it will whisper in your ear. It wont matter, since your ears are water logged anyway.
You wake up with a shriek, hands clawing at your chest which had been filled with water in your hazy stupor. It was 55 minutes before your alarm, and your mind groggily contemplates staying in the warmth of your blanket; it feels safe, familiar. Maybe any form of education can wait, so you can release yourself into the confines of drowsiness.
Ofcourse, you could forsake any social interaction and avoid the anxiety that claws at your chest, setting a burning feeling that feels like your heart is on fire throughout your chest. The thought of having to leave your safe space, feels threatening, and you're not sure if the fear feels like you're being held by gunpoint compared to having leave home.
Even if letters flood your mail regarding missing absences.
Your throat emits a rather drawn out sigh, trying to shake off the apprehensiveness that lays beneath the built-up walls you yourself put up for your safety. Education had been a problem for the past few months, having missed a whopping 6 months after battling a disease doctors couldn't place a name for, and for the ache in your bones that scream with every movement each brittle shake your body gave.
Yes, you are still expected to push all your worries to the side, and spend 8 hours in a place people take advantage of you for. It's taxing on your mental health, and the decay of your osseous matter? It spreads. Like a cup of coffee spilled across the pavement floor or a plain white shirt. It leaves traces of the destructive force it leaves, staining your future endeavours just to drag yourself into a pit where your solicitude lays.
These are the things expected of you to push through, and it seems impossible. Almost too demanding of anyone to ask of a 14 year old.
You are still struggling with your grief.
Not only has your chronic illness been a thorn in your side for 6 months, so has the absence of your late brother.
How bright his smile was, even if there was nothing to smile about. A day of torment couldn't rip that familiar grin from his face, showering you with a comfort that you'd known for years, until death consoled him with its lies.
A pang of pain echoes at your heart from the hurtful reminder of your brother's death. You'd rather not think about it right now. In fact, you'd really rather not think about anything at all regarding the impending doom of all your life's troubles and the crushing weight that wears down on you. So that's exactly what you do. Stare down into the floor of your room like some sort of void on it mocks you from the very crevice of it.
You sit there, your thoughts having been washed away with that same drowning sensation you felt in your dream. You can barely find the energy to do anything, let alone breathe. Even blinking feels taxing on your weary soul when all you're doing is just trying to survive. Your disease has a very funny way of greeting you in the morning. So you spend your time leisurely, basking in the comfort of your room as it lasts before the dread sets in when you have to get ready for school.
You sit. And you stare.
Until you just can't anymore.
Your clock on the very far corner of your bedside table despite it being crowded changes time, and you somehow noticed it from the corner of your eye. 6:45 it read, and it was 15 minutes before you had to leave the warmth of your bed to get ready for school. There was no forsaking how much your innards groaned at the sudden movement, and you wince slightly. Unfortunately, you'll have to push through if you want to return to bed when you get home from school.
Your feet thud against the floor, already mourning the loss of sleep you could have had. Crusted bits of sleep remain around your eyes, groggily blinking like a frog to take in your surroundings; your room.
Around you, is your bedside table with cups, a few plates and bowls layered on top, leaving no space for anything other than the bottle of water you like to have in case of accidental awakening in the middle of the night to cure that dry throat that bothers anyone who would wake up at 12 in the morning.
It comes in handy.
Your room could be described as any normal room, if not for the figurines scattered around your desk you'd haven't been at for some time. It was guaranteed to have collected dust bunnies and maybe, if you're lucky, you'd definitely have a house spider in your room somewhere. It can be fun and games you suppose, you can greet the non conforming spider as you stare at it whilst it hangs out on your ceiling. Maybe you'll name it Hunter. Spiders hunt, right? It'd be a great name if you got somewhat along with it.
That is until at some point of the middle of the night you feel it drop onto your face.
You shiver at the thought. You're not exactly a fan of the previously mentioned spiders very tiny hairs moving along your face, and you sure as hell don't doubt Hunter will be punted to the wall across the room in pure fear.
You discard the thought. Either way, you're running out of time as the clock now reads 6:52 due to your endless staring into the floor. You would courage yourself but no courage is to be brought upon your body if you're forcing yourself to get ready for school, the bane of all educational centres. You don't exactly have a choice if you want to have your ability to attend school revoked.
Your body aches in protest once you will yourself to get up, each brittle bit rattling and screaming.
Each creak on the floor ranges from a rather gentle creek, to an annoyingly banshee like shriek. It makes you cringe, wincing slightly at how much attention it would draw. However, it's almost 7 in the morning, and you doubt anyone would be awake to criticise how your feet made the floor creak every step you take.
You had a shower yesterday night, so you doubt you need to shower this morning. It seems like a distant concept, far too demanding of your motivation to handle; you're already asking much of yourself, getting up in the mornings and having the energy to find that decent outift for the day, and to brush your teeth. Facial care had already been taken care of, so there's no need except for the splash of water to wake you up properly, even though the creak of the floor and your bones rattling are plenty to rip you from that haze.
What does greet you is the lack of warmth throughout the air, your fragile body shivers. A tremble down your spine, and a mutter of complaint from under your breath. Mornings were always horrible, having been a night owl instead of a morning-person. It's an uncomfortable cold to shake off, and it doesn't change how your eyelids droop from the sleep you could embrace with open arms again; but the face of your angry grandparent scowls at you with a punishment you'd rather not take.
The bathroom was even colder, and you shiver violently, which erupts a rather painful sensation in your spine, one that feels like you'd been laying on glass that'd been freshly tempered with flames. It earns a lengthy swear word (that you should DEFINITELY not say) from your throat.
Side tracking your pain, it's time to brush your teeth! Your toothbrush looks back at you with a sparkle, and you frown. You'll get this done as quickly as you can.
. . .
Your toothbrush breaks mid cleanse.
With a hearty sigh, you chuck your now damaged toothbrush into the bin. You'll just have to gargle some mouthwash instead.
You eye the mouthwash, and it glares back at you. Distinctly, you remember how your brother groaned about having to use Dragonbreath's Mouthwash, claiming it was "shady", and how it's unconventional how high the sugar content is. Unfortunately, it happened to be the cheapest option considering how high the bargain of mouthwash is these days. You chuckle to yourself, your brother always wanted to find you a healthy substitute that you genuinely benefit you. The %14 ethanol sticks out like a sore thumb on the packaging that promises 'It's the best you'll ever use!'...
That doesn't matter. You open the newly fresh bottle of mouthwash and take a decent amount of mouthwash to be chugged and gargled.
Now that you'd atleast done your dental care, it was time to put on your outfit you totally hadn't found at the back of your drawers. Today, your outfit was whatever you could scrounge up from your wardrobe that was plenty comfortable enough for you to at-least go to school for one day peacefully enough with little to no problems. You feel like if you wore anything near accurate to your preferred style, it would be strenuous on your mood. You really don't want the feel of uncomfortable fibres and the small micro ache in your limbs when you wear those clothes to school.
You dig through your drawers hastily, not wanting to waste anymore time as you grab the said desired clothes and throw them onto your bed.
This will definitely do.
Once you'd put on your outfit, it was time to gather your school supplies. All that you took, was a book you used for all your subjects, the thick books your school lends you to do some studying at home filled with science queries and the confusing maths complexities that make your mind hurt. That, and the pens and pencils you carry around in your bag and pocket. There's no use having a pensil case since most of the work is either done online, or written down on paper.
Everything was done, and you'd felt proud of yourself of having been able to accomplish such an easy feat that to you was considered irregular, given your current schedule.
Now, all you had to do was go to school, which was easier said than done.
Your keys to the house would have been forgotten at the very last minute had you'd not opened the door, and the sunshine rebounded off the metal. Breathing your first bit of fresh air you knew you hadn't had in a long while was refreshing. Being cooped up in your house, unable to move nor show up to a public setting would likely do things to your brain, such as make you accustomed to the life of singularity and less social interaction. Usually, you grow distant from the outside world. It leads to a more secluded life from society.
You have no qualms with that, but it still doesn't stop the oncoming set of dread creeping up on you.
School was a compromising addition to daily life, representing the very flame that opposes the gentle nature of a moth. There are no traces left after a very curious moth ventures into the greedy flames of sacred fury, torching the wings of those that dare test it's anger. It will consume everything about a little moth, taking the very pinion that allows you to take flight.
It is only by nature you crave any warmth to heal your fractured soul. To grow the scorched tile-wings that allowed your freedom to grow.
Even after being derived of your privilege, the flame still tricks anything that drives near too close, watching as their golden fury take what mattered to them too.
The walk from home to school wasn't a difficult distance, only being a 10 minute walk. Which... Does look bad on your attendance rate considering the distance from school to home. Thankfully, the bounds of your introverted mind come with an ability to daydream your life away! Imagine the thrills of being able to summon your favourite majestic beast, such as a man-eating beast called a Trico, a dragon or even a phoenix.
Or being able to make your own scenarios such as interacting with characters that are fictional, or creating your own characters to act out the things you cannot do in everyday life; like talking to animals...
Or talking to your deceased brother.
. . .
That's rather depressing.
Your head shakes off any thoughts of such, choosing to ignore the subtle throb of distress in your soul. Either way, the gates of school stood right at your very feet, and you felt yourself trying to determine if whether it will be a good day back for the first time in months, or if it will just end up depressing you even further to walk home mid-day just to spend another 6 months in your room pondering about all the things that could have been.
Encompassing you is the school office to your left, and the beginning of the senior field to your right. There's a reason you like to avoid the senior field, staring at all the students that get too rowdy with their confidence and their overpowering ability to make others feel insecure of themselves.
Plus, you need to go to the office before you do go to class so you can talk to the administrators there to speak about your absences, and whether you'll miss any more of the school year. You think you'll just use the usual excuse, which isn't technically false you suppose. You don't know what days you'll attend and which you will miss. Honestly, it's all a game of chance with a roll of the dice, anything under the marked number will always guarantee your chances of staying home.
Passing through the corridors gave you a sense of whiplash, bittersweet dread and nostalgia all at once. It sent a sick feeling of anxiety in your stomach, you almost felt like keeling over and discarding all of those feelings into the floor; leaving a staff with a very 'warm' welcome.
Actually, you'd rather not do that. The staff do actually like you for your respectful behaviour. Retching the remnants of whatever meal you had wouldn't be a very great way of greeting everyone after spending so long at home. It fills you with dread, the people you value having to clean up your mess.
"Oh, you're back!" is the first thing you're greeted with for the day.
Actually, it's the first thing that's been spoken to you in weeks, so you smile in reply to their commitment to atleast half-ass their first welcome.
"Yeah, I'm... Still a little in disbelief. Still think I'm dreaming." Your voice slightly cracks, which earns a subtle cringe from your face. Was it obvious you hadn't cared to speak for the last few weeks?
"Mm. You feel like you're dreaming, and that you're still at home?" Her voice is airy, and it carries that gentle feeling of something professional but familial.
She had always been someone to go to when you'd been picked on since she had expressed her educational background back in her days were somewhat like yours. If anything, she was someone you could trust, and you were always willing to accept her kindness.
"Absolutely... So, um. My attendance...?"
"You let me worry about that kiddo. I'll speak to the deputy principal and I'll try and convince him to let you off the hook. Plus, it's year 9. I reckon this year wasn't too important, so.."
"You're the best Miss."
She chuckled, shaking her head to herself.
As you opened your mouth, the bell rang. Miss sends you a knowing look like she's just about ready to send you on your way. Knowing this, you'd already huffed a 'yeah yeah.' Just before your exit, you'd decided to take a sneaky approach for the first time today. Turning around, your face had a rather cheeky grin to it, and Miss could only sigh as it got wider.
"Miss."
She sighted rather tiredly, "Yeah?"
"You look like a witch today." is what you said before you started giggling like a madman to yourself.
"Don't call me that... Go on, to class now."
Giggling, you shut the door gently. From your line of sight, you already apprehend the clusters of students swarming around the halls in order to reach their designated lockers or to talk to their friends. Already with the increasing bouts of negativity in your chest, your soul aches with a profoundness you've come to quite despise within the past long while that it's been tormenting you, which is weird because you were just in a good mood. Always in your depressive states, little or big, your disease had always come back tenfold during those bouts.
You never knew why, but they always say that the mind is connected to even the deepest parts of the body and soul. Maybe this is just one of those things.
Hopefully today won't be so physically taxing. But you know well and truly better than not to expect it.
First lesson of the day, and it's only somewhere around 7:20-something. A full 7 hours and 25 minutes. You guess that some schools in other countries have it longer, but this is already challenging enough for your weary soul. You couldn't possibly imagine going to school for more than you already are, thats insane, right??
You're right in that assumption, but wrong in the previous where you hoped it wouldn't be as taxing today. A shove to your left side shocks you out of your stupor, and it sends you stumbling into the lockers to your right. It doesn't help at all with the ache in your chest, infact, it only seems to worsen it at you seethe with unbridled anger pointed towards the ones that for whatever stupid reason pushed you.
Turns out, it wasn't a direct shove from someone and apparently accidental. There was a group of friends. One that you've particularly grown to dislike. They don't bother you in the sense that they actively go out of their way to make you feel like crap but in the way that they bother you. They will NOT shut up during class. They scream things, throw things around and always make uncomfortable remarks to their friends regardless of who they are.
They'll get defensive if you call them out or tell them to quiet down for the sake of your troubled mind, essentially think of the average Australian year 10 group full of idiots. Other than that, you don't care about them.
Bitterly, you stare at them. The person that was shoved into you just stands there with an irksome expression on his face that makes you honestly want to give them a very hearty "fuck off" in turn. You would make things worse for yourself just by doing that, but honestly?? Who cares???
Actually, you do. Ignore that statement because you don't like feeling bad with it tampering around with your sickness but also because they're annoying and will say anything to back their dumb excuse up.
He only laughs. You don't understand how people just don't have basic human decency to act nicely to others. He and his friends just stand there. Looking at each other, like a bomb was about to set off and set them all into a fit of laughter. You disregard that just to turn around to your first lesson,
"My bad."
Being petty, you don't even answer. Which can look bad if you don't replicate the same actions. He ended up giving a scowl which never meant anything good when it came to assholes like him. He took a single step towards you just to open his mouth, and you took the opportunity to dart out of there. It's bad enough that you'd bumped into one of the people that take the time to waste energy just to make you feel down, but ignoring them when they make the most half-assed effort to apologise?
It wasn't very smart, and you're sure they'd confront you after the first few periods of class.
Sighing under your breath had become an unintentional habit by now, and your head feels like it's rebounding off the walls with how loud the chatter is, and how the bell practically rings in your ear. That was the second warning bell, and now you had little time to get to your class.
Thankfully, class wasn't too far away and there was no effort needed to jog the rest of the way just to get to a class that is basically around the corner. Atleast time seemed to fly a lot more fast when you're deep into the depths of your mind when you're daydreaming. It helps when work gets too much of a bore that you practically forsake any and all important parts of the class that could be major to your grades, and ultimately fail.
It's not like your grandparents would care anyway.
You'd underestimated how horrible the noise level of the classroom would be, because the moment you walked in, the teacher was screaming to get people off the desks. It was like a zoo.
One student was on his phone, the other was laughing loudly then reciting the newest slang of whatever's been trending on social media. The multiple other students looked like they were ready to die, and four students were jumping around like crazed monkeys on desks.
You're just about ready to die now.
HUZZAH ‼️‼️‼️‼️ I FINALLY POSTED IT ON TUMBLR!!! YIPPEEE
I will post chapter two here soon, but for now, have this! For those of yous who don't know, this fic is also crossposted on ao3 and quotev. You can find the links to those on my page !
[co-author is @stickyportraitdrawinglamp ]
If you would like to be included in the tags in the next chapters, please let me know ! (⌒▽⌒) I am also open to asks and requests for Dream!Sans. (platonic only. if i am asked for romantic x reader i will punt my fingers into your eyes)
At very long last, we've finally dropped a new chapter of Aloe Vera (To heal your wounds)!!!! Yes, although it may not be OTEOP (i apologise to our papa fish readers.....) It is in progress and will be published sometime hopefully within the next month or so.
But for our Underverse readers, we have more food for you to eat up. :) We also have a Quotev account for you guys to check up on now! It will be cross posted on Ao3 and Quotev now.
Again, all credits go to SliverSnake on Quotev and her story "Her Guardian." Please read that too when you have the chance !
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Each little creature crawls towards the source of a beast's maw, choosing how their life will drown out, gently or furiously.
Your life tak
we may (or may not of..) dropped a new story BEFORE chapter 4 of OTEOP.. But its fiiine!!! You're going to love this one if you're interested in Underverse/Sans AUS!
Whilst rewatching the entirety of Underverse, I may have reverted back into my old ways and entered an Underverse phase. Whoops !!! either way, that spur my little mind to scour the internet for some additional content (Fics, x readers, you get the gist.) I stumbled across this particular fic on Quotev, and MY GOD it was beautiful. I read it all completely in only a couple of days and sent it to Kal, who also loved it as much as I did and went on with me to write a whole new story for this one skelly!!!
Yes, you know him, you love him (unless you favour his brother more...) its the one, the only!!! Dream Sans!!! Of course, we'll have some platonic relationships with the other skellys, too. Some sibling relationships never hurt anyone !!! :)
We'll still absolutely be working on OTEOP but we're doing this other story as a side project. You should totally go read it!!!
baratheonpilled
discoholicmusic
tangentwithtanner
kaledo-art
prguitarman
snowghoul
andulkaphoto
