Random Barnaby Oneshots (A Wattpad Fanfiction)

Blooper

Trigger warning: death, mild gore, and decapitation. Reader discretion is heavily advised

An ugly girl was running through the forest. She screamed, "You never told me what a race is! I'm drinking wine when I get back." She slowed down, her shit colored eyes darting from the forest path she was running on to her lolly. "Glad I didn't drop this. I'm going to have some hot [censored] with Chablis when I-!" She cut herself off when she heard some rustling above her head. She glanced up and froze.

Her pursuer was gazing at her with orange eyes. His bright orange tongue was sticking out and if the girl didn't know any better, she would say that her pursuer looked like something straight out of a cartoon (which she sees as something of low intellect and something only Americans watch). His beak opened to reveal an orange mouth and he hooted, giving indication that he was some sort of owl. His neck stretched to her eyes, his black feathers gleaming in the moonlight. "My dear, it's rude to run away from your death. This one is specially planned for you!" The voice sounded very educated and fruity. He gripped the girl in his talons, hooting. "Well, at least you have enough manners to introduce yourself to me, Emma." The bird spread his black wings and took flight, giving Emma a good view of his outfit. He was most certainly dressed like someone who went to Oxford with his purple tweed jacket and matching bowtie. The bird eyed her, commenting, "Didn't you already die in the last story involving me?"

A disembodied voice yelled, Hold up! Barnaby, darling, you're kinda breaking the fourth wall. Wattpad doesn't like that!

The bird, Barnaby, froze. His sunset colored eyes glanced around, searching for the speaker. "Are you a ghost, my invisible friend?" He called.

No. I'm the author. You can call me Puddie, Koneko, or Sonicphobia. I'm not giving my real name to protect myself. But, anyways, you're breaking the fourth wall.

"Oh, my sincerest apologies, Mr... Puddie?" Barnaby hesitated, since he was genuinely unsure of the gender of the voice. It sounded young but also older at the same time. The gender seemed ambiguous to the bird.

Miss, please. I identify as a female werehog that lingers in a special library called Wattpad.

"Can I still give her a death to remember?" Barnaby asked, spinning his head curiously. His tongue is still sticking out, the inside of his orange mouth glowing.

Go ahead. I'm not stopping you. I don't have that power. In fact, carry on smartly and just pretend I'm not here. I'm just the Werehog recording current events. It's entirely up to you.

"Thank you very much! Oh-hoo!" He hooted, grinning at Emma. He flew back to his humble estate, entering through a coffin shaped window. "Home sweet home!" He chortled as he landed on the carpet. He dragged the brown haired girl through. "You can't possibly join the party like this!" He hooted, ducking into the kitchen. Then he placed Emma on a hook, his sunset-gold eyes full of insanity.

Emma asked excitedly, "Is there wine at the party? Singing? Dancing? [Redacted]?" She grinned at the thought of having some new ways to test out this bird.

The bird smirked, his mouth glowing orange. "Yes, and the best part is that your death is going to be the most fun!" He hooted, twisting and bending his neck. "And judging by your low intellect and overall rudeness, your death should be fitting!" Barnaby exclaimed, puffing his feathers out.

Emma froze, her shit eating grin wavering. "What...?" Then she smirked again. "Ghosts are not real. The afterlife is not real!" She smirked, believing her atheism would save her.

"Then what have you been talking to, my dear?" Barnaby exclaimed, fading into purple mist. The only thing that remained before fading were the insane eyes.

Emma's stomach dropped. "It's just a parlor trick. Magic isn't real." She told herself. Then she thought about the bird's grip. It felt cold... Lifeless to Emma. But she assured herself, "That bird is not dead. He is lying." She wriggled out of her predicament... Right into a blender. "He was joking." She told herself, trying (and failing) to get out. Then Barnaby returned, hooting and singing an unpleasant tune. It sounded like this:

That was when Emma got a good idea on Barnaby's true nature: he was genuine about how she should die. Emma tried to beg, but that was when she felt something wet fall on her. She glanced up to see the obsidian owl pour milk on her. Then she felt something cold. She realized it was ice cream. She hurriedly began to eat, hoping she is not heavy enough to die from lactose overdose. Then she heard the sound of something whirring. She felt pain in her stomach, and she tried to scream. But her muffled scream was silenced as one blade sliced her head off.

Barnaby finished making the shake, then he turned to find a beautiful figure. Her bright green eyes were latched on him, but her fur was see through. "Dear, do you want a special milkshake?" Barnaby offered, pouring the mixture into a cup.

"No thank you. I don't eat uneducated trolls. But I can suggest a lovely cherry pie recipe." The figure spoke in that same voice as the disembodied voice from earlier.

"How many times did she die?" Barnaby asked, excited over the thought of having a plaything that wouldn't die.

"I'm honestly ashamed to admit this, but I don't know." The figure replied, shrugging her shoulders. She was wearing a black dress with a corset (very fashionable to Barnaby). She hugged the oversized bird, nuzzling her muzzle into his jacket. "You're genuinely sweet." She murmured.

That made the bird freeze. When was the last time he was described as sweet? It has been decades since he was last described as such a word. Barnaby felt something tingling within. He stuck his tongue out and grinned, gently preening the figure to show his appreciation for the compliment.

A special thanks to all of my followers and friends. You must really like my writing (or really hate a certain uneducated someone who claims to be heading for Oxford while asking the stupidest question in the world. No thanks whatsoever goes to Peskyemma).