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whoopsyeahokay · 5 months ago

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October Moon

summary: So, Claire had been working with Mr. Anderson, you and Xavier hadn't been speaking, the Homecoming dance had been on the horizon, and no one had been any closer to getting answers. But, hell, you and Wally had made progress in...other ways.

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smutty smut smut. mad spoilers. and obvious Canon divergence. very involved, very dense plot.

bon reading, frens

___________________________💀

OCTOBER MOON pt.1

Aurora chatted merrily at you as she drove you to school, the sun shining and the radio playing upbeat Top 40 hits between the DJs' too-cheerful morning banter. You weren't listening, had too many things on your mind to pay attention to what was outside of your skull, and stared blindly out the window.

The stink of Aurora's tea was suffocating. You'd drank the same tea for years, had smelled it every day in the kitchen, yet now you couldn't stand it. Especially after having smelled something so similar on the breath of those sacrifices.

It'd been a week since the theater. Since Aiden had somehow forced everyone through the farmhouse door to show them—you—the truth of what'd happened to him. You hadn't shared what you now knew with anyone in your family, too afraid of being asked questions that would lead Ginny or your mother to your involvement with Wally and the other ghosts.

You'd considered only sharing what you knew about Maddie, but had quashed that rather swiftly. That would've led to the same kind of trouble. Possibly worse since the threats in Maddie's case were corporal and could actually hurt you.

While Mr. Anderson was no longer a threat (had probably never been a threat), Claire had taken his place. Simon and Maddie spent the past week stalking her around school to see if they could figure out how she tied into Maddie's missing body.

Although you'd put together that the symbols surrounding the school were related to the Something-Something of Dagda—officially named The Emerald Order—you didn't have enough evidence (that was: none) that Maddie's ghostliness wasn't more than what had been responsible for shining a light on what was wrong with Split River High's metaphysical world.

While Simon and Maddie had been tracking Claire, you and Wally had taken to the computer lab most days after school to research the history of the town. It wasn't where you'd wanted to start, but you had little else to go on where the Something-Something, Amelia, and Anabelle were concerned.

Figuring any information was better than none, you'd tried to piece together what could've been related to the Something-Something's movements throughout history with what Wally had learned about the cult during the Satanic Panic.

A meathead jock that ghost was not. His mind was still sharp and the knowledge he'd accumulated back then had flowed out of him as if he'd read about it that morning. God, he was hot when he was spouting facts about an evil society of occult abusers.

Between handsy makeouts that'd been entirely Wally's fault, you and he had discovered that Split River had once been a colonial town, named something completely different. The school stood where one of the first churches in Wisconsin had been erected. Wood and plaster and starving pilgrims for a congregation. The old town had succumbed to a horrible fate, because of course it had, and then fast forward through another questionable event and, bingo bango, the school was built.

Coincidence? You and Wally hadn't thought so. And though you couldn't say for certain that the symbols had been there on Christmas Eve 1784, the event itself fit the Something-Something's modus operandi.

You would've convinced yourself that the symbols were all that remained of the Something-Something. Nothing in your research at home or the research you did with Wally suggested the cult was still operational.

Except. Follow the lines, Christopher Nears had instructed Wally who'd then relayed the order to you. You'd tried that and the results had been less than fruitful. You'd found the basics. Places of birth, marriage certificates. Death dates. September 23rd, 1925. How could you follow the lines if the lines had continuously changed?

Amelia and Anabelle had literally turned into new people and you had absolutely no idea what identities they'd slipped into after they'd reentered the world as teenage girls.

If it hadn't been for the fact that you remembered hearing Amelia's named when Aiden had been killed, you wouldn't believe the presence of the strikingly high population of ghosts within the school were related or something to worry about. Just an unfortunate accident due to bygone ceremonial procedure that hadn't been tidied up in the aftermath.

Unfortunately, however, you and Wally and everyone else agreed, Amelia or Anabelle or their successors were out there and likely had plans for Split River High's dead...

Apparently, your silence had become too much for Aurora who'd turned the radio off to ask, "Are you okay? You haven't said a word all morning."

As the car turned into the school parking lot, you still weren't fully aware, the stink of Aurora's tea trickling into the crevices of your brain and making you drowsy.

"Hey, are you listening?" Aurora waved a hand in front of your face.

Finally, you blinked, shook your head slightly and looked at her, "What?"

Aurora pulled into the drop-off zone, put the car in park, and shifted to face you. "Are you and Xavier still fighting?"

Yes.

And no.

Band practice on Saturday had been tense and awkward, but you and Xavier had made it through without Hana or Lucas or Eli commenting on it. Of course, they'd probably been pretending with everything in them that nothing was wrong for the sake of tomorrow's performance.

Whatever. You hadn't had to spin another yarn and Xavier hadn't had to confess to cheating on Maddie to your face, so win-win.

Neither of you had even attempted to speak since, barely making eye contact when you happened to be in the same space. Mathilda had informed you that Xavier had been spending his free time with Sandra Nears, which had caught you off-guard, because what? Why?

"Sort of," You finally said, tilting your head back against your seat and closing your eyes. "We're not fighting but we're not talking," you summed up as you rolled your head to the side to look at Aurora.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Ajay step tentatively up to the driver's side. Hands in his pockets, gaze soft, peering at Aurora like a long-lost friend.

And, as it had been yesterday when Aurora had driven you to school, she simply sniffed the air, frowned in thought, and then shooed you out of the car with a final statement. Today's was, "You guys will be fine. Things feel a lot bigger at your age than they are. Trust me."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Rory, you nailed it." You muttered, climbing out and giving Ajay an apologetic look. Part of you understood why Aurora wouldn't acknowledge that she sensed Ajay. The Golden Rule and a lifetime of family gospel.

But.

But...there was a twist in your gut as you watched her drive away, the stink of her tea clung to your hair and clothes after you'd had to sit in it for the fifteen-minute journey. Thankfully, yesterday you'd had a late start so Aurora had already finished her tea before getting in the car.

"She didn't say anything, did she?" Ajay asked when he came to stand beside you, solemn as he stared after the car.

You didn't reply for a moment, pondering it. "She probably doesn't want to risk it. Our family takes keeping secrets very seriously," you shrugged.

Ajay glimpsed down at you, "You mean like you kept your magic a secret from us?"

"Connectedness. And no. It's different." You said, head tilted as you really gave yourself a chance to think about recent events.

Why didn't anyone in your family talk about the ghosts? It wasn't as if the ghosts were around to listen (apart from Dead Grandpa John). There'd been some excuse made, like Dead Grandpa John might reveal your family's abilities to other ghosts and then, oh no, the house would be swarmed, stormed, squalled.

But. He wouldn't. Would he?

Up until Maddie's disappearance, that excuse had made sense to you, but now, in the wake of everything that you'd experienced, it didn't.

You sighed and rocked sideways, knocking your shoulder into Ajay's arm. "She remembers you," you assured him, grinning, "She brought home Bollywood Grill on Tuesday."

"That's not offensive," Ajay rolled his eyes though he snickered, clearly amused by the thought that Aurora's cravings were dictated by the smell she associated with him.

"I'm just saying, she obviously sensed you."

Ajay hummed, stood for a moment longer, and then, "It doesn't feel like it did," he conveyed. "The air is thicker around her." When you gave him a confused look, he shrugged, "I don't know how to explain it better than that."

"Fair enough," You supposed. "It's probably the smell of that tea clouding everything. I swear to God, it just takes over." You looked up at Ajay helplessly, "How did I ever like it?"

"I used to love black olives," Ajay said, "Now I can't stand them."

Skeptical, "You also suffered probably the biggest trauma known to mankind. I bet my tastebuds would change, too."

"Fair enough," Ajay parroted with a fond smile.

As you and Ajay turned toward the school, Simon jogged up to meet you, nodding his head cordially at Ajay before telling you, "I followed Claire home yesterday—"

"Terrifying."

"—and she stopped at Mr. Anderson's again. She waited outside his place for twenty minutes before she gave up. He never came out."

"Yeah, probably because he was with Andrew."

Your uncle had returned to town the same night Mr. Anderson had been arrested. Slept on the fold-out couch in the den now that his room in the basement was no longer available. He'd even helped post Mr. Anderson's bail.

You hung your head and confessed, "I feel kinda bad."

Simon's lips twisted and he sighed, admitting, "Me too." And then, "But the school's dropping the charges so long as he pays everything back, so that's good news, right?"

You hummed as you considered that, "I guess so. I just... I feel like we blew up someone's life for nothing, you know?"

"It wasn't for nothing." Ajay said, reminding you that, "If he hadn't been arrested, Simon would've handed him back his phone. You guys wouldn't have found out Claire was working with him. Or...doing whatever she's doing with him." He grimaced. "God, I hope it's not creepy."

"Same." You and Simon chorused.

"Where are you with the cult?" Simon asked you as he watched in fascination as a group of students made room for Ajay's presence without realizing that was what it was.

You snorted, "Buttfuck nowhere. I've been trying to find similar rune rituals in my family's library, but things like that are considered—"

"Black Magic." Ajay interjected.

"The Dark Arts." Simon supplied.

You rolled your eyes, "Forbidden. Guys. They're forbidden."

Ajay grinned, "Like Black Magic."

"And the Dark Arts." Simon added.

"I hate you both."

You and Simon parted ways at your lockers with a promise to catch up at lunch. Ajay lingered for a moment longer, mind as distant as his gaze.

"Still no sign of Mina?" You asked quietly.

Despite everyone assuring you that last Friday's events weren't your fault, you carried the guilt of it all the same. Those had been your memories, Aiden had been your brother. And if Mina, like the others, had been pulled through the door, it was possible she'd never come out. Or that she'd seen something so heinous, she'd gone into hiding.

"Not even a glimpse," Ajay reported, mouth weighed down at the corners, "I've looked everywhere...it's like she vanished."

"We'll find her."

Ajay pressed a tight smile to his lips and nodded in thanks, but you could tell that, as much as he wanted to, he didn't believe it. Eventually, he cleared his throat and changed the subject altogether, informing you, "Wally's outside. He's doing drills."

You chuckled, "Ah, yes, the big game's tonight."

"You'd better be there," Ajay warned with a slight glimmer in his eye, "He wants his girl to see him bring the Bandits to victory." For the last part, Ajay impersonated a hyped sports commentator and then a roaring crowd, shaking his fists in the air like he'd just won the Super Bowl.

You guaranteed, "I wouldn't miss it for the world," because you wouldn't.

A kid at Christmas, Wally had been amped since Monday, pulling you onto the field between research to show you how to toss the ball well enough for him to practice catching. It'd been fun, although you'd refused to admit it.

Every time you'd stubbornly announced, "Sports are sooo dumb," he'd read through you and had tackled you (gently, playfully) and tickled you until you'd submitted. Laying under him, giggling, before he'd stop, breathless, grinning, and gaze into your eyes, lean down, brush his lips to yours—

The fact was you were looking forward to it. To the game, to the celebration, to the dance; it would be a welcome reprieve from the rock and the hard place you'd been caught between.

"Tell him to be in the gym in half an hour," Ajay said as he gave you a quick side hug, dutifully checking to make sure the coast was clear. He then sauntered off to join his fellow Group members to prepare for Wally's big night.

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Wally was halfway through a set of burpees when the connection between you and him exploded in his chest, causing him to almost fall flat on his face. Thankfully, he caught himself and snapped to his feet, wiped his forehead with a towel that he draped over his shoulder, and turned to watch you walk onto the field.

Fuck. You looked good. You always looked good, but today you looked particularly edible. Short skirt, curve-hugging top, hair tied up to show off the soft slope of your neck. He licked his lips and openly stared as your hips swayed with every step.

Wally was keyed up, he knew, because of the big game, but so much of it was also the time he'd finally been able to spend with you without constant interruptions and secrecy.

You and he had even had the chance to test your Traveling ghost on the barrier. How you'd tried to step across the invisible line only to wake up in your body on the school side. The reverse had garnered the same result. It'd been fun despite the outcome and Wally reveled in spending one-on-one time with you.

"Hey pretty girl," He said as you got close enough for him to hook his arm around your waist and yank you into him. His eyes went heavy and dark, his hand sliding down your back to the curve just above your ass, "You come to see me workout?"

You blushed so pretty, pink cheeked and Bambi eyed. "I came to tell you that you have thirty minutes before you gotta be in the gym," You replied, a sweet little smile on your lips that Wally wanted to bite. "You're getting your sweat all over me," You complained, scrunching your nose up at him.

Wally leaned in close, nipped your earlobe, his voice low and husky, "Don't pretend you don't like it, baby." His hand slipped lower to sneak under your skirt while his lips grazed the soft skin on your neck. He heard you gasp, your body arching into his, and he grinned victoriously.

"Don't start something you can't finish, Clark," You advised in a light, breezy tone, leaning back to look him in the eye. "I have class in ten minutes."

Wally pouted, "I don't even get a kiss?"

You laughed, head thrown back, beautiful, "Fine, one kiss, but then you'd better freshen up and make an appearance. I hear there's a banner you're responsible for."

"There is a banner," Wally agreed with pride. "And balloons." He narrowed his eyes in thought, "And I'm thinking of a crown of sparklers."

"Because that's safe," You scoffed playfully.

Wally shrugged, "Can't get more dead." And then he dipped his head and captured your lips with his, the connection between you like fireworks behind his ribs.

He kissed you until you and he were breathless, rested his forehead against yours, willing his body to cooperate and calm the fuck down otherwise he didn't know what he'd do.

Well, that was a lie. He totally did. He'd pin you to the grass and remind you of the effect you had on him. Twice.

"Fuck, baby," He murmured before he licked into your mouth and kissed you hungrily, hands gliding over your waist and hips and lower.

You broke the kiss with a whimper that went straight to his cock, petitioning, "Class. Test. Seven minutes." The connection flared as if it refused to believe that that was a good reason to stop things from progressing.

Unfortunately for the connection, Wally was raised a gentleman and offered, "I'll walk you to class, pretty girl," letting you go with a pinch to your ass cheek and a boyish grin.

"You wanna carry my books, too?"

"And see your teacher freak out when they appear out of thin air?" Wally chuckled, "Absolutely."

He didn't do that. He knew better than to mess with the status quo. But he still enjoyed the banter between you and him as he walked you to the third floor.

"You're coming tonight, right?" He asked just as you and he neared your math class.

You stopped and turned to him, "Of course I am. And, I have a surprise for you. So you have to meet me before you get on the field, big guy."

Wally perked up, "A surprise?" And then he recalled the surprise you'd brought him and Charley yesterday. "Is it Max's?" He asked, excited.

Max's Diner had been his favorite spot when he'd been alive. An old-school greasy spoon even in the '80s. Wally's parents had worked there when they'd been teenagers; it had been how they'd met. The diner held a special place in Wally's heart and he'd almost cried when you'd presented him with his go-to order: Double cheese burger, extra pickles, extra fries, and a large Coke.

"Not quite," You said with a wince, "but I think you'll like it just as much..."

"Then I can't wait, baby," Wally said, glancing up and down the hall before leaning in to press his lips to yours once more.

It was turning into an addiction. And since he was going to get caught up in game prep and might not see you for the remainder of the day, he took his time, impressing everything he felt into that kiss and smiling when he heard you release a pleasured sigh.

"You suck," You groused when he finally released you, "I'm going to fail and it'll be your fault."

Wally smirked, admittedly proud of himself, yet he maintained, "You'll be fine, you've got this. We went over everything three times yesterday and you got everything right."

God, there was that blush he was starting to love so much, "You are a good tutor. Even if you can be distracting."

"Get in there and kill it, baby," He encouraged, winked, watched as you disappeared into the classroom, and then he turned to head to the gym as instructed, fantasizing about what your surprise later could be.

However, as the connection between you and him dimmed, his senses flooded back in beyond how you felt and tasted and...smelled—he caught a whiff of something off-putting and familiar.

Pinching his shirt, he brought the fabric to his nose and sniffed.

Heady.

Floral.

Like licking soap.

Without a second thought, Wally spun around and rushed into the classroom. The teacher was already behind his desk correcting another class's tests, the room study hall hushed as everyone read over their test sheets. Wally hurried to the back of the class where you were sat, hunched over your sheet with the eraser end of your pencil between your teeth.

The connection between you and Wally prompted you to glance up before he even reached your seat. Your eyes widened when you saw him approach in a panic, but you otherwise remained still, as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on. He crouched beside your desk, gaze supplicating.

"Why do you smell like that?" Wally asked in a whisper though no one else could hear him.

He watched you surreptitiously sniff your hair, make a face of revulsion, and then write in the corner of your test sheet, Aurora's tea which you erased as soon as you knew Wally had read it.

Wally swallowed, nervous, and looked back at you, "I smelled that in the cellar the night Aiden died." He explained, "It was on your breath. And in one of the glass things I picked up."

You stared at him for a split second before taking a deep breath and raising your hand. Wally had no clue what you were thinking as you slid out of your desk, leaning most of your weight on your other hand that held the back of your chair.

"Mr. Davis?" You said, and Wally was shocked at how weak you sounded, like you were—oh. "Mr. Davis, I don't feel well, may I please be excused?"

Mr. Davis stood and scrutinized you, brow deeply furrowed, "Are you sure this can't wait?"

You shook your head, took one, two small steps and then, whoops, fell forward. Or, your body did. Your ghost remained upright, freaking out at Wally, "You're sure it was the same smell?"

Wally nodded, his eyes on your unconscious form on the floor. "Did that hurt?" He had to wonder, watching your curvy goth friend, Mathilda, hurdle over desks and demand everyone back the fuck up!

"Probably. I won't feel it until—"

And there you went, back into your body as soon as Mathilda's hands were on you to check you over. The class was in chaos, your classmates shifting and hovering over your limp form. Mr. Davis instructed someone to fetch the school nurse and three students took it upon themselves to do the honors.

By gentle degrees, your eyes fluttered open and you came to, looking for all the world like you'd genuinely fainted due to some unknown affliction. A sad Victorian child, pale and weak.

Oh, you were good, Wally mused, pressing his lips together to keep from laughing.

You sat up, blinked at Mathilda and then at Mr. Davis, and again asked to be excused. Nurse Laine dashed in and fussed over you for a moment until she discerned you could stand on your own two feet.

"No need to call an ambulance," she said when you'd answered a series of questions she'd posed. "Probably dehydration or stress."

To be on the safe side, Mr. Davis dismissed you. Mathilda seemed to think that meant you and her, but, thankfully—for the sake of the ghostly investigation—Mr. Davis told Mathilda to take her seat and concentrate on her test. You sent her a grateful look and a frail wave before stepping into the hall.

Wally accompanied you to the nurse's office where you were given a glass of water and orders to lay down on the sofa for ten minutes. He sat on the ground, back against the bottom of the sofa, shaking his head in amused disbelief.

"You just dropped like a sack of potatoes, baby, what were you thinking?"

Peeking out from beneath the cold compress Nurse Laine had handed you, you noticed she'd left the room to speak to someone in the hall.

Free to answer, you justified, "I was thinking that someone told me they smelled a gross tea I grew up drinking the night my little brother was killed by a woman wearing my friend's dad's body." You sat up to give Wally a significant look, "What else was I supposed to do without possibly failing that test?"

Wally conceded that that had been the best way to leave and avoid a bad grade or accusations of cheating.

"Next time, maybe don't do something that'll leave a bruise," Wally said softly, reaching up and brushing the backs of his fingers down your cheek where a red mark was blossoming into a bruise from the angle at which you'd hit the floor.

"No promises," You grinned.

Ten minutes later, Nurse Laine cleared you and gave you a note to give to the secretary to dismiss you for the rest of the day should you feel you needed it.

Wally wished you could use it just to spend that freedom with him instead, but you reminded him that Mr. Martin would be heavily involved in the rest of Wally's day and that might not go down so well.

Hey, Mr. M, this is one of now three living people who can see us that we lied to you about. Also we're investigating Maddie's not-death because, guess what, she's not dead.

Not that Xavier was talking to anybody (Wally didn't mind, he still hated the guy). Simon, on the other hand, was fun to talk to. A real bro with a quick mind and a dark sense of humor. Loyal as hell to Maddie which Wally appreciated. Xavier should've taken notes.

Regardless, Wally agreed, "Yeah, let's not do that."

He led you into an empty classroom where you and he could brainstorm what the hell that smell meant, if it meant anything, which...it had to, right? He was quickly learning everything was connected in some random way, no matter how absurd.

"You're sure it's the same smell?" You wanted to know, propped against the wall, thumbnail between your teeth.

Wally leaned in close and breathed in your hair, "Yeah, exactly the same. It smelled a lot stronger in the science glass than it does on you now, but it's identical." He confirmed.

A few beats as the gears turned in your head, "Aurora drinks that tea. And Nanna. Dave, too. And, honestly, I haven't noticed anything off about anyone. They're all still them. Not disoriented or drugged up or in a coma." You said, appearing to have trouble connecting the right dots. "I drank that tea for years."

"It could mean nothing," Wally rationalized, "Maybe there's an ingredient missing that was in the stuff I smelled versus what's in your family's tea, who knows."

He saw you process that and then admit, "When I was in that...memory or whatever, the kids Amelia and the others transferred into...they smelled kind of like it." Your gaze caught Wally's, brows knitted in worry, "It wasn't exactly the same but it was close enough. Really flowery. Like—"

"Licking soap?" Wally finished. "I don't wanna be that guy, but I have a feeling it's related."

"Fuck." You groaned, pressing your fingertips into your eyes. "Do we think the cult's back and selling rancid, probably-poisonous tea?" To, what, fund their next big scheme? ... Possibly.

Stepping into your space, Wally took your hands in his and lowered them, kissing your forehead before resting his against it. "It's worth looking in to. Think you can ask who your family's tea dealer is?"

"Yeah. I'll ask Nanna later," You murmured and Wally could tell you were overwhelmed. "Do you remember any of the ingredients you saw on the shelf?"

"Yeah, a lot of them." He leaned back and searched your expression. "Want me to write them down for you?"

You nodded, "Yes please."

With a gentle smile and soft eyes, "I got you, babygirl," Wally assured. "I'll give it to Maddie to give to you." At your adorably lost face, Wally said, "Like you said, Mr. Martin is gonna be heading my hype committee and will probably want me around for my input all day. Maddie, on the other hand, has a habit of disappearing at random."

You chuckled, "Gotchya," and drew Wally into a short, but very hot kiss. One that got Wally's everything running. He moaned against your lips, hands trailing down your hips to your thighs then under your skirt, pressing you more firmly against him.

"You gotta stop doing that," He said with a heavy exhale.

"Doing what?"

Wally nipped your lower lip, flicked his tongue to soothe the sting and kissed you dirty and deep before telling you, "Making my goddamn brain melt."

You giggled and told him in no uncertain terms, "Definitely no promises..."

‗‗‗‗•‗‗‗‗

Derek wasn't prepared for how his day was unfolding. Thank fuck for Darcy Behr and her cosmic timing, because he didn't think he could handle his father's bad mood for another second.

The man might've earned his sobriety chip, but two relapses later and yielding to old age, Douglas Anderson now suffered for his sins. Wet brain, they called it. A kind of dementia that could've been prevented.

Douglas had fits, tantrums, ranted about experiences he'd never had when he mistook the movies he watched for memories he'd lived. He wasn't a bad man. No, really, Douglas had never been a violent or aggressive drunk. Happy and friendly. Just neglectful because he truly didn't understand how his actions affected his wife or son.

Now, personality corroded by years of alcohol abuse, and Douglas did one-eighties at the drop of a hat. They didn't last and could be easy to ignore, but sometimes Derek was in juuust the wrong headspace, and, kaboom; he needed to get the fuck out of the house lest he did something he'd regret.

Today, Darcy had appeared like the answer to a prayer, had rung the doorbell seconds before Derek would've exploded, and had swanned around him, into the living room, where she plopped down on the sofa and told Douglas to, shut up, old man, you're being a menace. With a twinkle in her eye, of course. That was how they'd always been with each other. Bickering and caustic.

"Thank you, Darce," Derek said, shoulders sagging in relief.

He fixed her a cup of instant—lots of cream—and delivered it to her while she helped Douglas navigate Netflix. Derek was able to get some paperwork in order in another room while they watched a movie. It wasn't exactly a break, but he'd take what he could get.

Until, that was, he heard Douglas' voice climb in volume. He hurried into the living room to find Darcy quickly pausing the movie, trying to calm Douglas down as he ranted, his face red, eyes wild.

"This town is fucking cursed." He spat, shrunken body vibrating in his armchair, "It's Hell itself. You can't get out of here! No one gets out of here if your blood is in the soil!"

Darcy shot Derek an apologetic look, motioning to the movie. The scene was paused on some graphic image of grotesque pigskin masks nailed to trees. A low-budget movie about cults or witches or curses, Derek didn't know. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, rushing over to Douglas to crouch beside him, hand on Douglas' leg.

"Dad, it's okay." He tried, expression neutral, "That place isn't real, it's just a movie."

"Sweetie, I tried to tell him," Darcy murmured, wringing her hands, looking nervous and uncomfortable as Douglas dismissed Derek's words entirely and launched into another heated tirade.

"You don't know anything, boy. This place is haunted. Ghosts everywhere. You can't see them, but they're there. In the shadows. In the ground. You come to this town to die!" Douglas ranted, not making sense.

Derek nodded at Darcy, an indication to get Douglas' medicine from the bathroom cabinet. She was gone and back in a flash, moving faster than her old body should allow, likely prompted by the unhinged scene Douglas was making.

Douglas grabbed Derek by the collar and pulled him in, stronger than Derek remembered him being in awhile. Spit on his chin and a sinister gleam in his eye, Douglas snarled, "You've had your head so far up your ass you can't see it. Ever since your foreign friend died. You were always a little bitch, but I never thought you were stupid."

Derek yanked himself out of Douglas' grasp, let Darcy take over in giving Douglas one of the pills to calm him down, get him drowsy. Derek retreated to the kitchen and held himself up on the counter, breathing like Meredith Chung had taught him. One deep inhale. Hold. Hold. Hold. One long exhale. Repeat.

Darcy came in a few minutes later, "He's quiet." She said it with sympathy, and Derek felt her boney hand on his back. "I'm sorry you have to deal with this. He's not the man he was."

"Yeah." Derek said, had nothing else to add.

"He loves you." Darcy assured, though she sounded remorseful, as if she didn't quite believe it anymore. "You're doing a good thing, Derek. Staying with him. He'd have no one else if it wasn't for you."

Derek stayed silent, and then, "He has you."

"That's not the same. I'm not family." He heard the subtle smile in her voice when she said, "Family is everything. Especially in these twilight years." Kinder, "It's hard when that shift happens and you find yourself having to take care of the ones who took care of you. But it's worth it in the end."

"I hope so," Derek muttered.

He straightened, gave her a tight smile and then wandered back to the other room to collect the paperwork he'd been sifting through. He tucked what he needed into a folder, checked in with Darcy to make sure she was able to stay for another hour, at least until the nurse arrived, and then walked out the door.

He groaned when as he turned around, none other than Claire Zomer stood at the bottom of the porch steps.

He was not in the mood for this.

"Hey. Why haven't you answered my texts?"

"Claire...you need to leave right now." He implored, noticing another car parked down the street that he recognized.

Claire didn't budge. "What'd you tell the cops?"

"Go home, Claire."

"Tell me." Then, her expression twisted in what Derek could only describe as fear. "I need to know what you said."

Derek had had enough of the bullshit. All of it. He needed to put it behind him if he was going to move forward.

"I told them the truth." He said. "That I took that money to pay off my dad's debt. And that's where I was the night Maddie disappeared, with my father."

Claire glanced away, shamefaced.

"Is that alright with you?" Derek demanded, feeling less inclined to hold it together. When Claire didn't say anything, "Cool. Can I go?"

As he made his way toward the car down the street, Claire called after him, "Did you say anything about me?"

Internally, Derek got in her face and screamed. Outwardly, he turned to face her, petty, digging, "You know what? I don't remember." And turned back, quick-stepping his way to Andrew's car.

He slid into the passenger's seat, head falling back on the headrest, and he released a weary sigh.

"Who was that?" Andrew asked, watching Claire get back into her car through the side mirror.

Derek rolled his head to the side and gave Andrew a pleading expression, "No questions?"

Andrew snorted, "It's nothing illegal, is it?"

"Fuck, no." Derek sat up straight, alarmed, "Nothing like that."

Andrew peered at Derek for a moment, smiled, "Alright, buddy, I believe you," then pulled into the road.

Derek pulled the rolled-up folder from his back pocket and opened it in his lap, reciting what he'd put together for Andrew to judge. They were on their way to see Andrew's niece's husband—a fucking mouthful. Dave. If Derek wanted to put the scandal and Split River behind him, he needed to sell the house, and Dave was apparently a top dog realtor, willing to do Andrew a solid and help Derek without commission.

He didn't know how he was going to explain it to his father. Or Darcy. Or anyone. But Split River had taken everything from Derek, including his dignity, and he was ready to make his life in the town past tense.

💀___________________________

PROLOGUE - PART TWO

also available on AO3!

MASTERLIST

#Milo Manheim #Wally Clark #Kristian Ventura #Simon Elroy #Spencer MacPhearson #Xavier Baxter #Wally Clark x Reader #fem!reader #Wally Clark smut #Wally Clark fanfiction #Milo Manheim fanfiction #School Spirits #zed necrodopolis #Disney Zombies #October Moon

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pixelchills · 1 year ago

Text

Chill's ramblings about the DCA fandom and personal feelings and issues towards TSAMS (both positive an negative):

(I'm writing this like an essay but treating it like a diary, so if I jump from subject to another, it is because I am just typing as the thoughts hit my head. Sorry for being so wordy.)

I simply feel like I need to write my thoughts down, so why not share them with you. Maybe you can validate my feelings or something, I don't know.

Intro:

So, oof, I got a fic rec from @thedenofravenpuff and I'm loving it so much I really wanna draw fan art for it...

But the problem is that it's a TSAMS fanfic and I've sworn to my name I'll never draw anything related to the show because that will make me engage with a part of the fandom I'm not comfortable with.

My biggest issue with TSAMS:

I have such complicated feelings towards the show and its fanbase and I do not wish to make my life and work more difficult because of it as it already is.

My own work and characters are already constantly being compared to TSAMS. When I first introduced Solar to my fic, he was constantly being referred to Eclipse from TSAMS. Now that the show had a character with THE SAME NAME, it has been even worse.

Dolldrop Moon has been compared to Lunar. Even though the dolldrops existed before the youtube channel was even created (and Lunar made his debut much later).

The biggest issue I've had has always been the fanbase, that takes the show as the canon for Sun and Moon from FNAF and uses it as an excuse to harass shippers like me because they think Sun and Moon are brothers.

I've first handedly seen the damage the fanbase has done to some of my friends who draw, or have previously drawn art for the show besides their own AUs and personal headcanons of Sun and Moon as lovers. I'm sorry to tag you, but @kriimhild and @fablekitty : I've seen how the immature side of the show's fans have treated you, I am so terribly sorry you've had to defend yourselves over and over again for things that were not meant to be mixed up.

I have posted some ideas of a possible Animutant Moon and Sun forming a polyamorous relationship with Solar in the future of "My Dear Daffodil" on my personal/adult Twitter account. Someone kept commenting on my posts that I was glorifying incest, because Sun and Moon were brothers and Solar was their cousin.

The post had "Animutant" in it. Not "TSAMS". These comments came from a person saying they were 19 in their profile. So it's not just kids who can't tell not every fanwork is about TSAMS. It's starting to be some adults too.

Vice versa I've had another person comment on my very clearly SFW Twitter how they're following me because I am an adult artist who draws TSAMS incest. I have never drawn TSAMS art. I ship Sun and Moon, but they're never related with family bond, because I love presenting them as lovers.

Why I ship Sun and Moon:

Because I am a hopeless romantic. I love romantic love. Every single story I write is always about love.

The only exception to this is the Poppy Playtime comic I am doing. But even then, I was originally planning for a romantic love between Dogday and the Player. Yet, I decided to leave it, and keep the relationship open for any type of representation the reader themselves will prefer.

I used to watch The Sun and Moon Show when it first started airing. I loved their playthroughs. I had a big distaste for them calling each other brothers, as well as some of the first "lore" videos they had. My biggest issue at the time was how Moon treated Sun, though. As someone who grew up with an abusive sibling, it sometimes just hit a bit too hard at home.

But it got better after Eclipse and Lunar appeared. Moon was more caring, and I started to really like his character development. There was one episode where Sun explained to Lunar that he and Moon had simply just "decided" to be brothers, despite not having a canonical relationship.

This actually made me really happy. Because the Old Moon was aroace, the love he felt was simply never meant to be romantic, but platonic. And by making Sun his brother by choice clearly indicated that Sun was always the one he loved the most - in a way that was suitable for aromantic person like him.

And it really made me enjoy the show for a while. Sun is my favourite character, and despite not always liking the way the show presents him, I always feel so much love for him, no matter the AU he is in. So I loved that Moon loved him more than anything, even if it was just platonic. Because I've always been under the impression that the canon Moon loves Sun, and is only under a virus to protect him. For me, the best part of any Sun and Moon AU is to know that Sun is the most important thing to Moon.

Why I stopped watching TSAMS:

And then that Moon I had really started to like, who loved Sun more than anyone else but just platonically, died.

It hurt so much I simply stopped watching the show. I've watched a few episodes here and there after that, but I am having a hard time liking the show the same as I did before.

Partially it's because of the fanbase. Partially it's because I don't find the lore very interesting and some of the stuff a bit repetitive. Partially it's because I am scared to see Sun eventually crumble up into madness, because he has been through so much.

I like the New Moon. He is funny and nice, what I've seen. His relationship with Solar has been interesting, and I genuinely hoped they would've been able to take the romantic route after Moon said he wasn't sure if he was aroace anymore. But as I said, I've only watched a few episodes after the old Moon died, so I don't know either of their characters that much to form any strong opinions about them. I just listen to the Monty and Puppet podcast once in a while and get a little inside to some of the lore that has been happening.

But hey, at least there's fanfics. Which is why I am rambling here today.

Fanfics:

It is a rare treat to find Sun x Moon fanfics that aren't simply just porn, or do not include reader inserts. So since my romance-filled brain needed something to fill the void, I've started reading some TSAMS fics with romance (that wasn't between Sun & Moon) and plot in them.

I know Solar was settled to be a "cousin" to the weird family tree of TSAMS. But I simply crave for Solar and New Moon to be at least queerplatonic. Solar is not from their dimension, no matter how much they decide they're 'cousins' it doesn't make him their real cousin or relative because they're not from the same world.

Sun and Moon are brothers but they technically gave birth to Eclipse, who then created Lunar so Eclipse is technically Lunar's parent and then brother and Lunar is Sun and Moon's brother and... do you see what I'm trying to say?

The family tree is so complicated that I don't think I'm a horrible person for shipping Moon and Solar and reading fics about them. Tell me if I am wrong though.

The FIC that is making me question everything:

So Puffy recommended this fic by @theinfamousdoctorf , "Eclipse Meets His Match".

I'm currently on chapter 40, and I am genuinely surprised how much I am liking this fic so far. It got everything; redemption and character growth, the representation of Sun as the good, glowing angel he is in my mind (for canon, and every AU. He is always perfect in my eyes I love him can you tell lol), slow-burn romance, drama, excitment, plot, jokes and funny moments... even if there are a lot of mentions of sex and sexual pleasure, it doesn't feel out of the place as there is so much more to it too.

Eclipse's redemption to become better and realising he is in love with Sun has been so interesting to follow. Sun deserves the love. I love when Sun is getting loved. I literally ship him with every other animatronic in the games and love it when people ship him with their self-inserts and OCs. Because I love him so much I want him to be loved in every possible universe he is in.

Even bigger bonus to this fic is the second pairing, Solar and Moon, which I already opened up about above. I don't know how much the fic is truthful to the canon lore of the show, but I wish to pretend this fic is the canon now /hj.

I love the characters and how they're written. I love the descriptions of their flaws and hopes and dreams. How vulnerable they can get. How closely they stick together. And as an appreciation for making me tearful and excited about fanfiction in such a long time, I would hope to be able to gift the author some fan art for their fic.

But I've sworn to not draw anything for the show. For my own good. I've got too many awful comments already from the fans of the show despite never doing any art for it. I am just scared it will turn things worse.

End words:

I don't know if creating a new alias would be the right choice. So my main name/account would be spared from the confusion that the show's fans seem to stirr into, where one tsams artwork turns all of the artist' work into tsams.

I don't care if the art style would be recognisible. The artist would be me, but not PixelChills. Just so I could gift something to the author of this fic that is currently saving me from the boredom of being unable to write my own.

Thank you.

(This text has been typed on my phone, so pardon for any typos).

-Chill

#pixel talks #rambles #tsams #fic rec #essay #sorry my head is simply just confused

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missaengg · 7 months ago

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A Sleigh Ride Without Snow

14 Days Until Christmas: Sleigh Made for Ikemen Advent hosted by @queengiuliettafirstlady and @candied-boys Featuring: Ikemen Prince Silvio Ricci x f!reader Tags: fluff Word Count: 1084

Silvio Ricci, the first prince of Benitoite, isn’t by any means a romantic. Hell, he never goes out of his way for a woman, except apparently, when it comes to you. He’d buy you the entire world if it meant seeing a bright smile on your face.

Like the one you’re giving him right now.

You peer up at him, your eyes open wide, an adorable delight sparkling in their hypnotizing depths. It’s a sight Silvio knows he’ll never tire of, no matter how many times he sees it. Especially when you’re smiling because of him.

“Silvio,” you gesture to the white sleigh parked in front of the castle, “what’s this?”

The crystal-encrusted sleigh you’re referring to shimmers under the hot Benitoitian sun, each crystal a dazzling glimmer in the sun’s rays. Blue and silver ribbons line the edges and cascade down the sides like waterfalls of glitter and silk. At the head of the sleigh, a majestic white horse adorned in a saddle and reigns just as decorated as the sleigh itself stands, letting out a tiny bray.

The sleigh is, of course, beautiful because Silvio himself ensured it was the best money could buy, but there’s something about the sleigh that’s peculiar. Instead of the normal runners, this particular sleigh has been altered to run on wheels making it somewhat of a sleigh-carriage hybrid. A rather odd sight considering that Benitoite has no need for anything snow-related as it never snows in Benitoite.

Silvio knows the sleigh-carriage hybrid looks silly, despite the fact that he spent an exorbitant amount of money to have it imported from Rhodolite and adapted to run on stone as opposed to snow. It makes no sense to do what he did, except…

How could he not when he knows it’ll make you smile?

“It’s a sleigh,” Silvio grumbles, a faint dusting of pink on his sun-baked cheeks.

“I can see that,” you reply dryly. “But why is there a–”

Suddenly, you stop speaking. Your pretty lips round into a silent, ‘oh’, and a knowing expression slowly crosses your face. You turn to face Silvio, a sly grin on your lips, and Silvio winces, cursing himself internally because he knows he’s done for. You’ve figured him out – the sharp woman that you are.

“You remembered,” you tease, your eyes crinkling into crescent moons.

Silvio heaves a sigh, the dusting of pink on his cheeks deepening into a tomato red. “It ain’t a big deal or anythin’,” he mumbles. “You said you missed the sleigh rides in Rhodolite, and I know we don’t get snow, but…”

“Mmhmm,” you hum, amusement dancing across your face.

“Ah, don’t go gettin’ all sappy on me, woman,” Silvio grouses, turning away from you to hide his flustered expression, fully conscious of your gaze on him.

While Silvio finds great pleasure in making you smile, he never knows what to do when your joy is directed towards him, when his insides turn to mush because… he’s never felt this sorta way until you entered his life. It’s awkward and embarrassing and uncomfortable, but also soothing and thrilling and wonderful. He hates being the subject of your affection, and yet he can’t get enough of it.

A pair of arms wraps around Silvio’s waist, and he jumps, startled from the sudden physical contact. “Hey!” he yelps, his first instinct to pull away, but your arms hold him tight. “Let go.”

“No,” you pout, your doe-like eyes staring up at him imploringly.

Silvio stares back, and just like that, he’s smitten. This time, he can’t look away, hopelessly drowning in your mesmerizing eyes. A warmth spreads from his chest throughout his body, chasing away the tension he’s holding in his muscles. Clicking his tongue, he returns your embrace, caging you in his arms and resting his cheek against your head. “Sassy devil woman,” he mutters under his breath, feeling you smirk against his chest.

“I love it,” you declare. “It’s such a thoughtful Christmas gift, thank you.” You nuzzle your cheek against the fabric of his vest, letting out a happy sigh. “I love you.”

Silvio huffs, but inside, he’s melting. His heart clamors wildly. Annoying butterflies flutter madly about in his stomach. Despite jumping like a crazy person whenever you touch him, it always feels right when you’re nestled in his arms. It feels like home.

“That’s not your Christmas present,” he mumbles into your hair.

“What?”

“I said, that’s not your Christmas present.”

“Silvio!” you protest, struggling to pull away and catch a glimpse of his face. “That’s too much!”

Silvio doesn’t allow you to escape his embrace, not quite ready to let you go. He exhales an exasperated, drawn-out sigh. “Damn it, woman, would you just lemme spoil you?”

Your movements still. He can’t see your face, but he can picture you making that bewildered expression he adores, the one where you blink several times in rapid succession and wrinkle your forehead, a little pout on your lips.

“Fine,” you finally concede, pulling at his vest. “But only if you let me spoil you too.”

Silvio chuckles, the sound deep in his throat, and closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of roses in your hair. He presses a tender kiss to the top of your head.

For as long as he can remember, he’s chased an unquenchable thirst – one that no amount of alcohol or women could satisfy. He tried to fill the void with the finest alcohol, the most brilliant jewels, the most expensive clothes, anything of quality money could buy. He thought money would be the answer to all his problems, but it was never enough. No matter what he achieved or bought or drank, his unbearable thirst was never satisfied.

That is, until you came into his life.

Until you made him realize he was wrong. That there were things in the world money couldn’t buy. That what he’d been searching for all this time wasn’t money or fancy jewels, but love.

The desire to be loved.

Love that you now freely gave to him without asking for anything in return, except his heart, and for a woman like that, Silvio would do anything. He’d buy you everything your heart desires. Shit, he’d even bring you the moon and the stars if that’s what you asked of him, even if it takes everything he has to do it.

For the woman who taught this beast how to be a man, he’d do anything if it meant protecting your smile.

#missaengg writes #IkemenAdvent #silvio ricci #ikemen silvio #ikemen prince silvio #ikepri silvio #ikepri #ikemen prince #ikepri fanfiction #ikepri fanfic #ikemen prince fanfiction #ikemen prince fanfic

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cricky-butspicy · 1 month ago

Text

Creature Fun Facts with a Reader with Periods

These guys are weird with blood and changes with it in your body! You know what changes your blood and your bodies experience with it? Periods! This is for all readers with periods out there and also people who just want to hear more lore!

The creatures are strange, and so are their senses! And truly creatures are born with the need to procreate, given to them to keep their species alive and well! There have never been many creatures around in the world, maybe maxing at just under 3,000 around the globe at their highest population level for Sun and Moon's related creature types, but there have never been this little of their species around ever since they were introduced to the world. Right now there is a record low of 23 creatures (at least of the Solar, Lunar, Mimic, Day and Night creatures ALL together) to Sun and Moon's knowledge, and that's including them. That is terribly low compared to 3,000 when they were booming. And it's surprising to The Fae and Creatures as a whole because one of the primary instincts that they have is breeding with a mate and carrying on their species.

And they aren't one and done creatures. Creatures are known to have around 4-5 kits between each bonded set of mates. Sometimes more. And with numbers being so low, the rulers of the courts are pushing for more to create balance within the creature species again.

Due to this need to breed and their sensitivities to blood, iron and hormones, your body speaks loud and clear to them at all times, even before you have bonded with them.

They sniff out your luteal phase easily, and the ending of it shouts at them a similar thing that most submissive creatures about to go into a heat/rut give out for their dominant mate. It's that "Get ready!" type of pheromone smell, except you don't have pheromones exactly, especially before bonding with them. So, they are just questioning their little destined mate in their heads and wondering why they smell so tantalizing and needy. It's usually the last 7ish days before the next menstrual phase where they smell this the most, and it only gets stronger and stronger the closer it gets to your menstrual phase. They want to be near you during this time. They feel a need to be close and to follow you at every step. They might be a little annoying about it, but they can't help it. Your body is literally calling to them. They can't ignore the call. So, they won't ignore you.

Then you get your menstrual phase. And at that first drip of blood, they kind of are a little out of sorts. They aren't well with blood, especially your blood at first. They are sensitive to it. It drives them a little mad. Outside of a creature's blood, it usually just makes them hungry and hypes up their instinct to hunt whatever is bleeding so badly, but your blood makes them insatiable. They want to lick it, and clean it, and make it better, and they want you. They know your body is readying itself for the perfect timing. They smell your body working to create something just for them. That follicular phase has their mind doing tricks for it, even if they don't know what that is.

But after they get through that initial crazed phase with your menstrual phase, they are WORRIED. You are bleeding! Why are you bleeding? You won't stop. They can't get you to stop? You are bleeding and they are scared they can't heal you because you won't stop! Creatures don't bleed like this. Menstrual cycles don't exist in creatures, so they have no clue what is happening to you or how to help you, and if you have bad periods? Maybe even debilitating ones? They are panicking. Their (destined) mate is dying? For no reason? They can tell your body is doing it to itself. They asked if you lied too much or if you consumed something like iron that is causing your body to purge itself of the bad. You have to have the period talk with them. Sun and Moon still don't exactly understand by the end of the talk, but they realize that what your body is doing is (somewhat) normal (depending on the intensity.) It also clues them in on why they are so obsessed with you in the time after your menstrual and follicular phase.

You've hit ovulation, and suddenly they want nothing more than to connect with you like two mammals should. That's why you smell so good to them now! You are ready! Prime time for mating and prime time for making kits! Oh and they really try to convince you, even if you aren't bonded yet, it's in their silly little creature minds to want nothing more than to mate with you during that short little window. Those two-ish days of ovulation are hell for you, because not only are they following you as close as they can while hanging off of you, but they are warding off any other thing that can smell their pheromones with their "back off" scent and are keeping you close so they can try to shower you with "convincing" words (they are still learning how to properly communicate with you, so they may not sound all that convincing unless you agree to let them use their pollen to let them communicate in their own language) and loving affection to show you how good it would be if you were to mate with them.

They'd even try to prove that they'd be the best mates for you! The best non-bearing mates you could ever ask for! Even better than any others that may have come before them! They'd protect you so well, and provide you plenty of food and they'd show just how good they are with taking care of you. There are two of them after all, which means they could switch off and one could actually help raise the kit while the other takes on prowling duties! But they are non-stop for those two days trying to pathetically convince you. They become pathetic, whining and begging you over and over again. You might just have to avoid them for the time being to get them off your back. They pout in the woods about it, and may even climb around the outer walls of your house to pout at you through your windows. Don't worry. Just close the curtains on them. They'll get over it.

But once they are over and you are back to the beginning of your luteal phase? They are back to themselves. They act like nothing happened and like this won't all repeat the next time you have a full menstrual cycle when you hit the end of the luteal phase and get ready for the big works of your body trying to help you along with the human experience. The human experience that they don't understand and find terrifying that you just, bleed all over before you're really fertile.

They learn very quickly how to help you during your periods though! Like if you like them cuddling you to rest or having them laying on top of you to put pressure and heat on your abdomen to soothe cramps. They'll rub places that are sore and hurting and try to make you so comfortable. They will both purr at a frequency known for healing properties. They want you at your best after all, even during times of struggle.

They struggle to help with cravings, but Sun will try to bring you so many of his fruits since he know you don't like their fresh meat! He'll even go out of his way to find different fruits. Better fruits that may catch your fancy. He promises they are all safe and that he's broken the bonds off them all! None are Fae food! They are just clean fruit for you! (Don't ask how he got pineapple or dragon fruit. He could probably get his hands on papaya and passion fruit. Maybe the occasional pomegranate. It's just best to accept that he got them somehow and you don't need to know where they came from, but really all of it is some of the best fruit you have ever eaten.)

They are sweet to you and very protective of you in the worst times of it, even towards each other sometimes. (Sun has snapped at Moon getting too close to you before only for Moon to push him over and remind him who he's dealing with before Sun remembers it's just Moon. Sun will apologize before they both come back to try and comfort you more.)

#don't go in the woods #creature sun #creature moon #creature x reader #creature au #creature lore #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #cricky speaks

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fiddlepot · 2 years ago

Note

Can you write what it would be like sleeping/or just dating the top 3 upper moons? You can make it NSFW or SFW.

Thanks!

Okay.. Since this is an anonymous ask, we're keeping it pg-13.

gn!reader x top 3 moons / it gets a little suggestive on doma's section.

Headcanons under the cut!

Dating an upper moon

feat. nap time

Kokushibo (Himosaurus Rex)

As a demon, he doesn't exactly require sleep. Nor is it possible for him to do so in the first place.

However, there are times where, just for the sake of it, he is inclined to share a bed with you.

To glide a hand through your silken strands.

To croon tender affections in your ear as you drift off into the realm of dreams.

He quite enjoys it when your head is on his chest while you both lay on your side, sheets strewn beside you. You can hear his heartbeat that way—and it reminds him that he is, in fact, alive.

He'll hold you taut in a gentle, yet unrelenting embrace—so you're sure he's not going anywhere. That he's solely there for you.

It's certain that those moments are the only time he'll truly let his guard down

And the sole instances where he'll feel genuine solace—unburdened by the weight of his loyalty to Muzan, his strength, or his battles.

Kokushibo is a rather traditional lover in that sense; his body speaks more than he does.

Doma (Himalicious)

The same can certainly be said for Doma.

But since you're a follower—and his favorite one, at that—you see him all day.

Despite being the third strongest demon in existence, his disposition makes him far from easily manageable... At least, in Muzan's eyes.

Consequently, he finds himself rarely entrusted with missions.

And with an absence of tasks to occupy his time, he opts to keep you close by his side instead.

Very close.

The room he initially bestowed upon you now serves as little more than storage for the extravagances with which he indulges you, for you can scarcely recall the last time you slumbered beneath sheets truly your own.

"Come, dearest! Lay with me," he'd entreat, his voice suffused with mirth.

Best get comfortable. You'll be there for a while.

In his dimly shrouded chambers, sheltered from the sun's penetrating rays, the two of you recline in an intimate embrace.

Your back rests upon his chest, ensconced within the expansive, chilling embrace of his strong arms.

From there, he'll babble on about anything on his mind—and it'll always be far removed from his duties.

In the midst of those spontaneous monologues, you're reminded that he possesses a poetic inclination, and, perhaps more significantly, that he is leagues away from lacking tact.

Sometimes (a lot of the time) he'll permit his hands autonomy. They'll dance languidly—and knowingly—about your body, carrying his subconscious with them.

Every skillful graze against your flesh forces you to recall his main merit: that he is serious, and he does know what he's doing.

When his disciples are consigned to him, your sole abode is nestled within the sanctuary of his lap. Should you find yourself elsewhere, it is fairly probable that he would place the task of locating you at the pinnacle of his priorities.

He is also most certainly inclined to do the same before, during, or after sermons.

Akaza (world's best Krispy Kreme employee)

As far as he remembers, you're his first

So he's awkward initially.

He loves talking to humans—especially those he battles against.

And you're no exception!

But he's marginally different from Doma.

He won't talk about philosophy and he is repulsed by gossip.

Just as he is with most things related to Doma.

Instead, when he's alone, and in your embrace, he loses his playfulness around opponents in exchange for a more cool-headed and gentle disposition around you.

It's kind of sweet.

He likes it when, while he's laying on his back, you'll rest your head on his chest—that way, he can embrace you leanly but efficiently.

Sometimes he'll play-fight with you to get you to bed. Tackling, tickling.. The likes.

But for the most part, he does fancy pillow fights.

If you're visibly exhausted or sick and refusing to rest, he'll fight you to sleep. And he is absolutely exceptional at it.

And when you do finally let up, he's by your side until an hour before dawn. It pains him to have you wake up by your lonesome, but it can't exactly be helped.

Still, Akaza makes up for it by ensuring he has time for you every night.

By ensuring that you know he loves you and your company.

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈

Okay. Sorry for the wait! I've been busy and writing this on and off. The sudden shift in style for akaza is a result of my not quite knowing how to characterize him; I really prefer the top 2 moons over him, but he is still very sweet.

#fanfic #kny #kny fanfic #kokushibo #doma kny #kny akaza #akaza x reader #akaza #kokushibo x reader #kokushibo kny #doma x y/n #doma x reader #doma #kny x reader #kny x y/n #kny x you #kny headcanons #upper moon headcanons

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zapreportsblog · 2 years ago

Note

Garrett x human Reader Her whole body except for her face, neck and hands are covered in tattoos but she does not revel them until the battle of to see if Renesemee is immortal child or not. She does not meet Garrett until the battle of Victoria and her army of newborns. She has long chocolate brown hair and wears circle framed glasses. She is related to Emmett.

❝concealed❞

✭ pairing : garrett x reader

✭ fandom : twilight x reader

✭ summary : (y/n) is the mate of Garrett but doesn’t meet him until some years later, she has tattoos and is the only human relative that Emmett has

✭ twilight masterlist

In the heart of the forest, where shadows danced among ancient trees, (Y/N) moved with a graceful purpose. Her long, chocolate brown hair cascaded down her back, a stark contrast against the muted greens and browns of the woods. Clad in a simple long-sleeved blouse and jeans, she seemed like any other traveler exploring nature's beauty.

Yet, (Y/N) was far from ordinary. Beneath her clothing, her body was adorned with a tapestry of intricate tattoos, each design a testament to her connection with her ancestors and her reverence for the world around her. Her neck and hands bore a rich mosaic of symbols, alluring and mysterious, hinting at a history that was deeper and more complex than her appearance suggested.

For years, she had concealed her body art, careful to hide her inked skin beneath the fabric of long sleeves and high necklines. Her tattoos were her own secret, a personal tapestry of stories and memories that she carried with her, unbeknownst to those around her. And while she was proud of her heritage and the links that bound her to her ancestors, she chose to keep her marks hidden, revealing them only when the time was right.

It was a chilly evening as (Y/N) entered a clearing, her glasses perched on her nose as she surveyed the landscape. In the distance, a shimmering waterfall cascaded down a rocky cliffside, its gentle roar a soothing backdrop to her thoughts. It was a place of solace, a sanctuary where she could lose herself in her contemplations.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in a tapestry of colors, (Y/N)'s thoughts turned to the rumors that had begun circulating among the supernatural community. Whispers of an immortal child, an enigma that had captured the attention of vampires and shape-shifters alike. She couldn't ignore the call to action, the pull to uncover the truth.

The woods seemed to hum with anticipation as (Y/N) turned to leave the clearing, her footsteps measured as she navigated the path back to her small cabin. The moon cast dappled light through the trees, and in its ethereal glow, (Y/N)'s tattoos seemed to come alive, a hidden masterpiece waiting to be unveiled.

Little did she know that destiny was about to introduce her to someone who would change her life forever. A battle loomed on the horizon, one that would bring her face to face with not only the supernatural forces she had heard whispers of but also a certain nomadic vampire named Garrett.

Weeks turned into months, and (Y/N) found herself drawn deeper into the mysteries that surrounded the supernatural world. She followed leads, listened to whispers, and sought answers to the enigma of the immortal child. Her quiet determination propelled her forward, her tattoos hidden beneath her everyday attire, a part of her that remained known only to herself.

It was during her investigations that the path of destiny intersected with another, as the confrontation with Victoria and her army of newborns loomed on the horizon. The forest crackled with tension as the two sides prepared for battle, and (Y/N) stood among the supernatural allies, her eyes steady behind her circle-framed glasses.

As the battle cries echoed through the air, (Y/N) fought with a fierce determination, her every move a testament to her hidden strength. Her tattoos remained concealed, a canvas of stories that remained shrouded in mystery. It was only when the chaos of battle began to reach its climax that her moment arrived.

Amidst the fray, (Y/N) found herself facing off against a particularly formidable adversary. Victoria's red eyes bore into her, a fierce determination mirrored in her gaze. (Y/N)'s heart raced, her every instinct sharpened by the adrenaline of battle.

With a surge of energy, she unleashed her full strength, the power of her ancestry coursing through her veins. As her opponent's attack faltered, her own strike was swift and precise. And in the wake of the battle, Victoria's threat was finally extinguished.

As the dust settled, the supernatural allies regrouped, their breaths heavy with a mix of exhaustion and relief. It was in this moment that (Y/N) felt a presence at her side. She turned, her eyes meeting those of a nomadic vampire, his hair wild and his gaze unwavering.

"Garrett," she murmured, recognition dawning.

He offered a half-smile, his eyes curious. "You fought well."

"(Y/N)," another voice called from the distance. Turning, she saw her connection to the supernatural world, the Cullens, approaching.

"We owe you our gratitude," Carlisle said, his expression sincere.

Her gaze shifted between the two, her lips quirking into a smile. "It was a battle for all of us."

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow on the aftermath of the battle. As (Y/N) stood among the supernatural beings, her tattoos remained hidden beneath her clothing, a silent testament to her own battles and triumphs.

Garrett approached her again, his gaze steady. "You're not like the others."

She raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "And what makes you say that?"

He smiled, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "I have a keen eye for those who bear secrets, my dear."

A knowing smile tugged at her lips, and for the first time, (Y/N) felt a sense of camaraderie with someone who understood the art of concealment. As the night wore on, stories were exchanged, bonds were formed, and the mysteries of the supernatural world began to unravel in ways (Y/N) had never imagined.

Little by little, as (Y/N)'s world expanded to include new allies and experiences, her tattoos remained a hidden reminder of her unique journey. For with each day that passed, she found herself not only entwined in the supernatural tapestry but also a chapter of her own tale that was just beginning to be written.

Time flowed like a river, carrying (Y/N) into a world she had only glimpsed from the periphery. She walked a delicate line between her newfound supernatural allies and the life she had known as a human. Her bond with Garrett deepened with each passing day, their shared understanding of secrecy and concealment forging a connection that transcended words.

With her tattoos still hidden from view, (Y/N) became an indispensable member of the supernatural community, her skills and determination proving invaluable in times of danger. She joined in their endeavors, fought alongside them in battles that shaped the destiny of their world, and stood shoulder to shoulder with vampires and shape-shifters alike.

As the seasons changed, (Y/N)'s journey of self-discovery continued, each day a testament to her strength and resilience. The Cullens became not only her allies but also her family, and Garrett, her mate, a constant presence at her side. Together, they faced challenges that tested their bonds and celebrated victories that united them in purpose.

One evening, under the stars that glittered like diamonds in the night sky, (Y/N) found herself sitting by a crackling fire, her tattoos illuminated by the dancing flames. She wore a sleeveless top, her decision to reveal her marks a deliberate one. The intricate designs spoke of generations past, of stories whispered through time.

Garrett approached, his gaze drawn to the revealed tattoos. His fingers traced the patterns gently, his touch both tender and reverent. "(Y/N), they're beautiful," he whispered.

She smiled, her heart full as she met his gaze. "They're a part of me, a reminder of my ancestors and the path that led me here."

Garrett's eyes held a mixture of admiration and understanding. "Just as your strength and spirit are a part of you."

In that moment, (Y/N) felt a sense of completeness that she had never known before. Her tattoos were no longer hidden away, but proudly displayed, a testament to her journey, her heritage, and the love that had woven its way into her life.

As the fire crackled and the night stretched before them, (Y/N) and Garrett sat together, their hands intertwined. They were bound by more than just their secrets; they were bound by the shared experience of growth, connection, and the promise of an unknown future that lay ahead. And as they gazed into the flames, they knew that whatever challenges awaited, they would face them together, their stories and tattoos interwoven in a tapestry of love and courage.

#x reader #x reader one shot #x reader oneshot #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #twilight #twilight masterlist #twilight scenario #yandere twilight #garrett twilight #twilight imagine #garrett imagines #garrett x y/n #garrett x reader #garrett imagine

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echantedtoon · 1 year ago

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In The Moon's Shadow (Yandere Kokushibo x Reader) Ch3 Amongst Us

(Warnings: Some Hate and discrimination against demons. Y/n accidentally cuts her hand a bit. Mentioning of a few scars on reader's hands.

Demons don't eat humans in this au but most aren't very pleasant. Y/n has no cannon design and can look however you like except for her turquoise eyes which is plot related.)

The scent of burnt flowers is the first thing that greeted you when you came back to the little shop two days later.

You had slept in late because of your nightly escapades and by the time you woke up and rushed back to the small shop, it was already mid-day. But you had found your boss there. And the older woman was. NOT. Pleased. The opening of the door was greeted by her form sitting down near a shelf looking to be rearranging some candles by color, and had given you the dirtiest scowl you'd ever seen on an old woman.

"Where have you been?!," she demanded rudely as you gasped for air from running all the way there. Her arms crossed and she scowled harder. "I've been up all morning trying to rearrange these shelves all by myself and I can't reach most of them!"

You immediately bowed still gasping for air. "I-...I'm s-so sorry. I-I overslept b-by accident." You gasped out between breaths.

"Excuses, excuses! I don't suppose you brought me the basil I asked for?" Her brow rose as your body stiffened up, remembering that you stupidly left the small bag of wild herbs by your bedside. She hummed. "Mm hm. Well since you think that staying up last night would give you a good excuse for lateness, you can just come in early tomorrow morning and help clean out the storage in the back!''

"I-I can just go b-back and get them-"

"And give you the idea of just falling back asleep? Not likely. Now get in here and get those green candles off the top shelf."

It seems fate decided to be a cruel lady to you. You had no choice but to sigh and obey, forcing your tired body to just work the rest of that day away before being granted permission to finally head home and rest more. Totally exhausted by the time you got home and just collapsing into your futon with a sigh. Tomorrow... Tomorrow would be better after you got lots of sleep and weren't feeling sleep deprived.

The first rays of day kissed the skies good morning and woke her up enough to bring out the cheerful smile of morning from her slumber. Glass shined as the light passed right through the window panes and chased away the darkness in the home. The rays of light passed up the body stopping among the head and shining directly into the soff eyelids. They fluttered and moved from the light's gleam until they opened slowly, squinting and blinking at the light until they adjusted.

Turquoise irises gazed softly out at the world.

You blinked before groaning in annoyance at the light shuffling around under your blanket but ultimately decided to get up from how too warm it was. The summer beat and the sun's light baring down on you on top of the thick blanket covering you made your body too irritatedly hot, so the blanket was kicked off in order for you to get up. Your torso sat up arms reaching above your head to stretch out, your mouth yawning. A hand reached up to wipe the sandman's kisses away from your eyes. Another morning to live. Another day to work. You slowly got yourself up and got yourself ready despite your still groggy state to get ready for work to ensure you'd not get another earful from your boss for being late again. So you were quick to make yourself look presentable and made sure to grab the small bag of herbs she wanted to avoid any scolding concerning that as well. With a final look in the mirror and grabbing a nearby apple for breakfast, you smiled at yourself before you opened the door and headed out your door into the morning sun.

You held the bright red apple in your mouth as you closed the door to your small one bedroom home behind you and turned to start walking down the sunny street. The sweet taste of apple tainted your senses as you are the delicious fruit on your way down the road. There was a nice breeze again today and a lot of clouds in the sky providing you shade from the harsh sunlight as you walked which made it a nice day to walk around. No doubt there would be countless people taking advantage of the nice weather. Your turquoise eyes wondered around lifting the fruit again to your mouth...but lowered it as you noticed that-...Wait a minute.

Where was everyone?

Your eyes wondered around the nearly empty street as you walked down the dirt road between all the houses and small businesses slowing down your pace as you noticed that the streets were.. unusually barren. Usually you would see young children running around playing and laughing loudly in such nice weather but you didn't see any of the young children around or their laughter. The elderly would be seen relaxing on the shady porches but they too were gone. No men and their sons were walking past you to the forest to fish and hunt like they did every morning. No people were walking around the roads. No one was tending to the various small gardens around the homes... Nothing. Well no. There WAS a few people. Although they seemed to be walking quickly and keeping their heads down whenever you watched them pass. You tried smiling and waving at a few people but they either ignored you or didn't notice making you raise a brow at their strange behaviors. What was going on? This was highly unusual. You couldn't help but stare at the strange occurrence. Turning a corner you were pleased to see at least two child playing outside. A little boy no older than five playing with no doubt his baby brother as the barely toddler boy squealed in delight as his older brother played peekaboo with him. You smiled softly at the cute sight before a slamming of a door caused both to look up.

"What do you think you're doing?!," an angry older woman demanded. She had thrown the sliding door open in the house right across from the two boys that looked at her.

"We're playing?," the older boy asked back.

"When there's death lurking about?! You're in big trouble!!"

The woman(their mother no doubt) continued scolding them as she stomped over. Effortlessly scooping up the baby in one arm while the other harshly grabbed the young boy by the back of his kimono. He was forced up and quickly marched back into the house, the door slamming back shut just as you were walking past their house. You continued to stare at the door for a long moment as you passed bewildered more before continuing on your way towards the small shop. Seriously what was going on? It was like if the a plague had combed through the town scaring everyone into hiding overnight. It wasn't like this just the other day. You decided to get to work quickly and see if things were better there instead. The apple core now eaten was tossed aside into a nearby tree patch before you hurried on your way down the rest of this street before turning left and going down three more small homes. The third home being the small shop that doubled as your boss's home. The streets were still practically empty but at least the shop looked calm. The eerie silence was getting to you so you quickly walked up to the shop and opened the door-

Only to reel back as the smells of burning wysteria and smoke and ashes hit your senses.

The stinging of the smoke hit you first as your eyes stung from smoke. The smell of singed wysteria burning your nostrals and making your lungs involuntarily cough and instincts drove you to sharply throw your head to the side. Your coughing fit in the open doorway to allow most of the smoke in the house to escape instantly and allowing the wind still blowing to blow it away.

"What are you doing?!," an older voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard screeched. "You'll letting our protection out you foolish girl!"

A hand suddenly grabbed your arm and tugged harshly. Your coughing firm gasped out as you were thrown inside stumbling a few feet before falling to your knees and continuing to cough. There was a loud slamming sound behind you as someone closed the door quickly and then shuffled around you. You coughed and fanned away any leftover smoke away from your face, rubbing your watery eyes before you turned and stared at the old woman shuffling around to look at you with a deep scowl.

"W-What *cough* was that?," you asked between coughs looking at her. "Did something catch on fire?"

"No you naive child!," she spat pointing at you harshly, "You just jeopardized what little protection I have against these beasts!"

You blinked at her bewildered even more. "W-What are you talking about? Protection from what?"

"How could you not know?!"

"Know what? What's going on?"

"FOOLISH GIRL!!" The pointing finger poked harshly on your chest. "A demon's been spotted outside of the village two nights ago!" Her face turned from anger and annoyance to fear quickly as she gave a quick look outside of the window. "As far as everyone knows it's still out there."

Your body froze as her words slowly seeped into your brain and your eyes widened. "A what?!"

A demon. The rumored cold hearted killers everyone feared. And one was spotted near your peaceful village?! How- No. WHY?! It didn't make any sense for a demon to be here. Demons lived in large towns and cities and were attracted to buzzing crowds and wars and fighting. It wouldn't make sense for them to come all the way out here. It was literally in the middle of nowhere and was as bland and simple as can be. There wasn't any treasures or valuable things to attract them. So why was there one lurking about? You blinked looking around you and finally located the source of all the smoke and smells. Many small sticks of wysteria incense had been lit and burning. Around them was all the wysteria scented candles you had lit up and filling up the home with more wysteria smell. The amount of smoke and wysteria was overwhelming and made your head spin. Eventually you reached up to pinch your nose to protect it from the scent overload.

"Why are you burning so much wysteria?"

"Because demons hate the flower. They won't go near it. It's the only protection an old woman like me can have but because of you most of it went out the door!''

"Don't you think you're taking it a bit too far?," you asked ignoring her insults.

"Absolutely not! When it comes to a demon I won't take chances! Now go in the back and see if there's anymore wysteria candles quickly! We need to light more to replace the heavy scent you lost me!"

You would've sighed at her yelling again but given the circumstances you'd thought it'd be better to play it safe. So you only got up and obeyed silently. There was not anymore wysteria scented candles in the back or on any of the shelves when you looked nor was there anymore wysteria incense. She had burnt all of it. The closest thing you could find was a single small bottle of wysteria perfume that your boss immediately grabbed and dosed herself in making your head swim more from the overpowering scent. You started to develop a headache the more you smelt it, and with her refusing to open any doors or windows, you had taken to just sitting in a separate room and covering your nose with your kimono. Safe to say that you didn't have any customers that day. In fact most of it was spent trying not to cough, calming down your boss, and watching her obsessively looking out the window in fear but every time you looked out, you saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary other than the eerily silent streets, and you missed the tall figure walking slowly down the road. He stopped, took a few seconds to gaze around carefully,.. before slowly walking back down the road away from the shop. You were too busy with your back towards the window trying to calm the old woman's rambles for the fifth time to notice. But at least you knew why everyone was acting strangely at this point.

You also alternated between trying to carve a green nice smelling mint soap into the shape of a rose flower in bloom. However this one wouldn't be for sale. Oh no. You were planning on taking this one home for yourself. Unfortunately it wasn't done yet and you had to leave it on the table by the perfumes to tend to your boss's panicked episodes.

Nothing changed except for the sky. The clouds that were blowing across the sky now darkened from white to dark grey and increased in number. The wind picked up shaking your wind chimes like crazy, moving the trees at an alarming rate. A rain storm was coming without a doubt. Hours slowly crept past. The sun moved across the sky near sunset now. And you were surprised to see your boss come out of the back dragging a big bag with her.

Curious and confused you pointed at it and asked, "What's that for?"

"For me of course," she huffed back. "It's too dangerous for a defenseless old woman like myself to stay alone while that monster is roaming about. I'm going to stay with my son and his family until the danger passes! Before dark too." She shivered giving a look at the setting sun. "They always get more active during the night. I'm not going to be stuck alone waiting to see what happens."

"You're leaving now?" You glanced back at the home. You noticed the melted wax all over the floor and the candle stubs and all the ash everywhere. "And leaving the mess?"

"My life is worth more than a mess! It'll be here when I return."

You rose a brow at her and then again at the mess thinking. "Why don't I clean it? It's the least I could do."

The older woman gave you a look like you were crazy and looked you up and down. "Are you still sleep deprived?"

"No. I'd just rather not leave a mess. It usually brings bad luck."

"And you'd do that despite the dangers?"

"There hasn't been any dangers. No one has shown up all day and we haven't even seen anything. For all we know, that sighting might've just been a misunderstanding. Or maybe the demon already left."

She still looked at you like you were crazy but eventually looked away shaking her head. "If you want to clean so late I won't stop you, but I still say you're nothing but foolish." She nodded towards the back of the home. "Although I won't leave you to wonder back home alone if you don't have to. If it becomes too dark, you can just spend the night here and spare yourself the dangers of walking alone at night."

You smiled at her before nodding. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you."

"Hmm. Just don't say I didn't warn you if something were to happen." With that last grim warning, she left with her bag. Carefully pulling the door open, looking up and down the road, and shuffling out as quick as her old legs could carry her up the road.

You were left standing there staring at the door before you also slowly approached the door and slid it all the way open. The eerily quiet streets met you as you gazed your turquoise eyes up and down the empty dirt road carefully but yet again did not see anyone other than the quickly retreating form of the old woman before she took disappeared around a corner. Truly leaving the streets empty and devoid of life. You continued to stare a little while longer before sighing and allowing the door to remain completely open to allow the remaining burning wysteria smell to escape the house. It was giving you a big headache at this point so fresh air would be just what you needed. So allowing it to remain wide open, you got to work grabbing the broom to sweep up the ashes. You sighed seeing all the wax dried all over the floors and tables. You'd have to get a knife to scrape the wax off everything. You would not have an easy night.

Twilight soon began to fall and the more you stayed the more quiet it gotten and the less people you saw until the streets were completely bare of any living creatures and no lights other than the occasional street lantern or candle in the window and the setting sun leaving only a little sunlight to spare. It would soon be complete night, and you were left all alone. You felt almost like a criminal gazing around back allies, hiding from sight, and keeping secret. The darkened skies completely filled up with dark clouds and the wind blew fiercely making the trees shake and groan scarily. The wind blowing in making you shiver and decide now would be a good time to close the door soon. Countless minutes were spent on hand and knees using a carving knife to scrape wax off the floor until you had finally finished. Although not without consequences. During the last few bits, the knife slipped from your hand and sliced across the palm of your right hand. It wasn't a deep cut. Nothing life threatening to you, but it still stung as you wrapped a spare bandage from the back around it. Today was definitely not your day.

You gathered the wax pieces and quickly went outside to throw them out before returning to grab the broom and started to sweep all the ashes across the floor and out the door. As you were doing so, the first drops of rain started to pour down and hit the roof and outside. The broom bristles scraped across the floor pushing the ashes outside the door and onto the porch. You took a moment to stand there and look out into the stormy dark night. Rain pelted everything and you jumped as the first clash of thunder crashed throughout the heavens- A sudden noise made you suddenly jump and a cat yowled out from the inside of an overflowing crate full of garbage and scurried away into the night leaving you spooked. You felt on edge from your boss's warning and you couldn't help but feel like you were one of those unfortunate victims you always heard in ghost stories. The ones who always meet their early demise in the dark. If you weren't offered shelter here for the night instead of walking back in this weather, you would've felt more on edge. The last rays of the setting sun was dowsed by the watering night and all light finally left, making the shadows more powerful. More bigger. The outstretched hands of darkness caressed the world in its grip. You quickly swept the ashes off the porch and onto the muddy ground before quickly turning to go back inside.

The broom retired against the wall. Your hand rested against the door as you gave one last look out. The streets were completely dark, no houses had anymore lanterns or candles inside to light up the houses. Only the lightning to flash everything awake for a brief second. Your shop was the only one with a candle in the window.... Perhaps you should follow suit and put it out and retire for the night. It was already getting late and your worries were starting to make you paranoid about nothing. Your legs took you a step back, your hand slowly slid the door closed-

Only to meet resistance once it was almost closed.

"Hm?"

Your head turned to the door. A light whistling noise was established by the wind blowing through a small space. The door was cracked open just about an inch. You tried pushing it closed all the way but it didn't budge. What the- Your other hand reached up to try and push it shut with both hands. It didn't budge. You started to push harder and harder to try and get it closed. It didn't move. Soon you were pushing it as hard as you could with both hands and a shoulder pressed against it but still it did not budge. With a grunt you stopped and stared at the door before looking at the very bottom of the door. There wasn't anything jammed there blocking the door from closing. So why wasn't it shutting all the way?... Perhaps the outside of the door was caught on something? You decided to open the door again to see if an outside factor was causing this problem. Your hand grabbed the door once again but instead of pushing you pulled...and was again met with the same unmoving resistance. You started pulling harder and harder. Nothing. What was going on? You reached out to slip your fingers through the small crack in the door to grab the door and began pulling with all your might. The door was still resisting. Why wasn't it budging? Surely it couldn't have gotten stuck. It was perfectly fine a few hours ago! With a grunt you scowled at where your hands gripped the front of the door.

Only to freeze ice cold at what turquoise irises saw.

Your fingers gripped the doorway, but under them a third pair of fingers gripped the door, slipped in through the small crack from the outside. The large fingers ended in sharpened nails jabbing themselves into the wood embedding themselves into place firmly. You gazed at the third hand silently and in shock. The ice cold washing over your body as if ice had been injected in your veins-

CLASH!!

You let out a yelp and jumped back in surprise as another crash of thunder crashed overhead. Your hands released the door as you stumbled back until the back of your legs hit the small table in the middle of the room. Your bumped rattled a few perfume bottles on display and a few thumped against the wooden surface tipping over. Rain bear against the roof. Wind howled. Thunder crashed. And lightning flashed as you froze up. Your eyes shrinking to the size of pins as you stared at the hand clutched onto the door. It stayed like that for a long,long time. You couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Only stared in an unholy horror you've never felt before as the hand and yourself remained unmoving as if in some staring match.

The. Hand. Moved.

It physically tightened it's hold on the door before pulling back the door slowly. The door opened wider and wider and wider revealing the outside. Your jaw fell open. Your eyes shrank as small as they could go. The door made a soft thud sound as it opened all the way and revealed the entity lurking on the other side.

CLASH!!

A bolt of lightning lit up the dark figure now revealed to you in the doorway. Wind blew around mahogany colored hair wildly both cascading down his back and framing his face. Pale skin skin to a corpse. The black Hakama pants and purple haori coat blew around straining against the tall body that wore them against the wind. A flash of lightning. Bolt of thunder. And the lighting up of six irises sent you stumbling back further around the table knocking over more glass bottles that clinked against one another some more toppling over as you quickly moved around the table and farther back into the house. The figure remained unmoving for a solid second staring inside and watching you panickedly almost falling over on the floor before stopping to stare wide eyed at him again. Silence aside from the elements resumed...The large figure took one step into the home, the door slid all the way closed behind him.

Which meant you were alone. Staring at this....this....You didn't know who or what this was?! The light from the flickering lanterns lit them up enough for you to see his face that was once cloaked in darkness. The hat he wore was dripping a few drops of water from his head. The sparkling drop briefly reflecting two golden irises that stared back at you. Before a second pair opened under the first. And then a third opened above them. Six yellow irises staring at turquoise irises. The long hair framing his face helped hide whatever features you couldn't make out. But your brain nearly fainted from the realization of what was standing before you.

D E M O N

A demon in flesh and blood was just mere feet across the threshold of your much smaller body. His form and height was imposing. As was the claws his hands held and the long katana in clear view tied to his side. Turquoise eyes glanced at it briefly before turning back on his face-..And blinking as he had turned his head away from yours. You were met with the side of his head instead. His eyes averted away from you and staring at the left far wall. Which was lined up with shelves filled with scented oils and plenty of incense. You couldn't see his eyes because of the long mahogany bangs but jumped as his head turned all the way over to stare at the other far wall. The shelves on that side stocked up with scented candles, and soaps, and nice smelling bath salts ready to be bought and used.

"What kind of store is this?" A deep gruff voice spoke out making you jump ..and blink- "It's rude to not answer when spoken to." The blunt, monotone voice came again and it took you a moment to realize it was coming from his mouth which was moving. You jolted blinking at him. He wanted to know..what shop this was? "It's also rude to stare."

"I-its a f-f-fragrance store," you quickly squeaked out in a high pitched voice of fear.

"Fragrance...store?" The monotone voice sounded..confused almost as he took a moment to look around before humming. "Never heard of one."

"W-W-We sell f-f-fragrances of all kinds." You gestured a shaking hand at the shelves. "I- incense. Oils. Perf-fumes. W-We have them all."

He hummed again. "Curious."

You remained still anf silent as he turned his whole body and walked over to the shelves on the right side of the small home. Afraid to move and catch his attention. He stopped in front of the shelves specifically stacked up with soaps and scented candles. His head moving slowly from side to side examining the colorful candles and soaps carefully. His head stopping at one of the middle shelves where the carved soaps were. Most of the soaps were in fact NOT carved into shapes. In fact most were just plain square-rectangle bars. However the few that were carved was all placed in the middle shelves for easy access. They caught the eye of a lot of people especially travelers and it seemed the demon also seemed to take interest in them. Staring intently at the few carved into fruits, flowers, and one of two animals. His hand reached out to curious pick up a pink soap carved into the shape of an apple. It sat in his palm for a second before he slowly put it back down before turning back to the colorful candles. He stared at them all with his back Towards you.. before his head tilted at them.

"These candles do not smell of just wax." Again he sounded slightly confused but.. interested.

"T-T-Those are s-scented candles."

"Scented??"

You nodded your head despite the fact he wasn't looking at you. "T-That 's right. They're made with d-different herbs and oils and flower petals mixed into the w-wax. When they burn and the wax melts, they g-give off a pleasant scent."

He hummed interested. "I have never heard of such a thing before." A hand of his reached up to lightly touch a bigger blue candle with clouds carved lightly into the outer wax. "...Is the owner available?"

You blinked looking at him before shaking your head again despite he wasn't looking at you. "N-No. She went home. B-But if you n-need help finding something I-I work here." Maybe if you could help him find whatever he was looking for he'd leave.

He didn't say anything at first before retracting his hand from the shelf and speaking. "I'm looking for a gift." You just blinked. A gift? "My brother is getting engaged. I wish to purchase a gift for his engagement ceremony."

Wait...he came in here to find a gift? For his brother's engagement? So he wasn't here to try to tear you apart or rob the store? You immediately let your body relax in relief sighing. Oh thank the gods! Still didn't make this any less scary but it made it more understanding.

You finally offered an employee smile you usually gave customers and gestured to the table you had previously bumped into. "Well if it's an engagement ceremony then perhaps the bride to be would like one of our perfumes?" He turned and all six eyes targeted the table you pointed out. "They're all made from local flowers."

He silently stepped forward until he was standing before you staring at the table. You once again tensed up under his shadow as he practically loomed over you. His eyes scanning the labels on the bottles, some still knocked over, before you heard him snort and turn his head away shaking it no.

"They are too strong. Smells terrible." You blinked. He hadn't even opened them and they weren't that strong. You actually thought they smelt nice- "However...That is pleasant." You blinked and watched as he leaned over, reached out, and grabbed the half carved mint soap rose from the table. "Details are... suitable." You froze more as all size eyes turned to you. "How much?"

Ooooh crap. That was the one you were hoping to bring home! You liked it and worked hard on carving such great detail into its fake petals. But we're you really going to say no to this imposing figure?

You gulped as he still bore his eyes into yours expecting an answer. "I-I...D-Dont know."

"Don't know?"

"I-I'm not done carving it yet," you quickly replied pointing at it, "I can't sell something that's not finished yet."

Each pair of eyes slowly blinked at you before looking at the half carved rose soap with newfound interest. "You..carved this?"

You nodded. "Yes. I carve a few c-candles and soaps."

He hummed before placing the soap back down on the table. "Do you do custom designs?"

You blinked. Was a demon seriously asking you to do a custom job for him? You shook your head before nodding. "Yes. Sometimes."

He didn't say anything at first. Turning he turned back to the shelf of scented candles and walked right up to it. His eyes scanned the shelves before stopping on one candle in particular. It was one of the biggest candles you had. About as big and wide as a small jar. He picked it up and brought it to his face. The scents of cloves and cinnamon filled his senses and he hummed pleased at the pleasant smell it had. The candle was turn delicately in his palms twisting this way and that.

'Yes. This would be work perfectly. The red reminded him of his eyes and hair almost. The strong cinnamon smell wasn't bad either but pleasant. He certainly hadn't seen anything like this before and surely neither did his brother. It would be an acceptable gift without being too sentimental or tacky.'

He turned back around and walked right up to you. You blinked as he held out the large candle. "I want you to carve a sun into this."

You blinked at him before slowly taking the cinnamon red candle from him. You shivered brushing against his hands that felt cool to the touch. "A-A sun?"

"Yes."

You opened your mouth..but closed it looking back at the candle. "Oh. I ..I can do that. Is there anything specific you want me to add to the design?"

He blinked again before staring at the red candle in thought for a moment. "...Make the sun look as if it was made of dancing flames."

Dancing flames? A sun made of dancing flames. Ok. Not the worst order you could've gotten. "I can do that but it'll take me a few days to finish it."

He hummed before looking at the half finished rose shaped mint soap again before pointing at it. "And how long will it take you to finish that piece?"

You looked where he pointed and a disappointed feeling filled you. It looked like you wouldn't be able to keep it after all. "I'm mostly done with it but again it'll take some days especially since I'll also be doing this job for you."

He just closed his eyes and nodded. "Will you be able to finish both within two weeks?"

"Two weeks?...I think so. Yes."

"Then I want this also, looking as if it was in full bloom."

Yep. You definitely weren't going to be able to keep it. His eyes opened slightly and finally took the chance to really look at you... before all six eyes blinked in surprise and he fully turned his head at you.

"I can do both of those."

You tried not to sigh as you looked back to him and blinked as he was full on staring at you. Being so close you finally got an expert look at his face. His six eyes were yellow with red veiny sclera. Mahogany bangs framing his face. But what was most strange was the flame like markings on the upper corner of his face and the lower part of his face going down his neck. There was a long pause as you both just took each other in, especially him. He seemed to stare especially hard at your eyes before his eyes became half lidded and he hummed.

"You work late at night as well?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

"Women shouldn't be in the woods late at night. Not should they be working alone late at night either."

You stared.....Wait a minute-

"Do you make it a habit of being nocturnal?"

It was as if a glass shattering sound went off in your head as your jaw mimicked a hold fish. Staring wide eyed at him. Your head looked him up and down. Stopping on his sword and the purple and black haori coat.

Wait a dam minute-

"YOU-"

"Yes." He bluntly cut you off uninterested in the unexpected reunion before sighing. Of course he'd run into the strange woman in town. Figures with his luck. "Since your work has been established, I'll be staying nearby until you finish. Money will not be an issue but I do expect what I ask to be done within the time frame."

You could only stare gobsmacked at him as he simply turned to make back towards the door and opened it. The sounds of wind and heavy rain filling the space again as he stepped out-

"W-Wait!," you called arm out. He paused turning his head slightly. "C-Cant I at least have your name please?"

He stood against the blowing wind for a good moment before turning back. "You may call me Kokushibo."

The door slid back shut behind him and leaving you staring after him in the flickering candlelights.

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alynwrench · 9 months ago

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Why Hello there, my spooktacular pal! It tis I, your spooky skeleton gifter here to ask a few questions before I start. I would hate to get halfway through and realize you wanted something else.

You don't want Sun or Moon to be related. Gotcha. Is it fine if I have them be platonic to each other? I can still add heavy fluff or similar things that indicate a close bond. I just wanted to check that it's okay to keep them platonic.

Which are you into more(You can pick multiple)? Do you want enough fluff to suffocate in? Hot romance(Between DCA/Reader or another character)? Something to cry your heart out to? Or a hide-under-the-covers-till-morning sorta tale? I am open to anything, so let me know how you want it.

Kepla and Lore I have really taken a liking to. I'm always guilty for loving evil characters. Do you have any more information on them personality wise? And I would love more images of them!

Are you fine with the classic reader insert trope? I can make them anonymous in the description or I can make them you. I generally do DCA x Reader stuff, and if your fine with me using Kepla and Lore, I could do that for you.

What are your fav tropes?

Don't be afraid to be picky! This is your gift after all! I'm comfortable doing anything really.

The only thing I would rather not do is a ship between Sun x Moon. I hope you understand. ^_^

OH MY GOSH... HELLO... ITS NICE TO MEET YOU UNOFFICALLY HEHE... 1. They can ab-so-LUTELY be platonic! Like I mentioned in my secret skeleton wishlist I'm good with pretty much all relationship styles when it comes to my DCA headcanons except for familial bonds just because, like i said, it clashes with a lot of my stories I'm trying to tell. Do what is most comfortable for you as well! 2. GUHH hard choice.. I think my preferences are in this order (most preferred to least BUT STILL ENJOYED! If its at the bottom dont be scared i love ALL of this) -> Romance (if we're talking about art then Sun x Bevel is preferred, BUT if you're planning on writing x reader is fine!!!) -> SCARY for the spirit of HALLOWEEN -> Angst.. I love to cry -> Fluff !!! so soft!! so happy!!! 3. OOO OO! I don't have any more images of them I can share at the moment BUT BUT BUT as far as their personality goes Kepla is an egotistical mastermind who knows how to manipulate others. He's very sassy and mean-girl like such as makes offhanded comments and backhanded insults. If he were to ever meet Sun it would be a squilliam vs squidward dynamic if that makes sense? Lore is for the most part nonverbal, he speaks very rarely. I think his mannerisms are very similar to canon Moon behaviors albeit he's always in his head calculated and thinking about how to strike his next target. 4. Yes absolutely! I'm fine with x reader and keeping them anon / up to interp is a good choice! I will say though with the stuff going on in Kepla and Lore's story romance from outsider characters isn't a great idea, their relationship is not only VERY complicated with each other but anything involving a human person would probably end up with them heartbroken or dead with how fucked up these 2 are LMAO. I love my lil guys but they are.. hoo boy, they need work 5. Some of my favorite tropes are hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers, best friends to lovers, miscommunication, unresolved tension, and pretty much anything else you're willing to throw at me because I am not too too picky. This may be my gift but just have fun with it! Id rather you not stress out TOO too much ahehehe.. THANK U FOR CONTACTING ME!! IM VERY EXCITED!!

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genericpuff · 11 months ago

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no you don't understand, i've seen all of these cards EXCEPT for The Tower and i had been HOPING she had drawn The Tower because it's one of my controversial favorite tarot cards

and i'm absolutely thrilled by how eerie it looks, this is exactly what i was hoping for-

I'm gonna get a little sentimental and preachy here, and this might be a lot to take in if you're not into tarot, but bear with me-

For anyone who doesn't know the significance of The Tower, it symbolizes a destruction of foundations, upheaval and chaos. Many people fear and loathe drawing The Tower, because it can often be seen as either a cruel wake-up call of one's current situation, or a warning of an upheaval to come, depending on the context you're reading it in. Next to the Three of Swords and the Ten of Swords, it's one of the most negatively-associated cards due to all the pain and fear and uncertainty that it signifies.

But what a lot of people don't realize or appreciate about The Tower is that the major arcana that follows it in the sequence is The Star, The Moon, and The Sun.

The Star is a card that signifies hope and finding purpose. Like the stars we see in the sky, they may be small and far away, but they are still significant.

The Moon is a card that brings uncertainty and fear, but in following The Star, it promises that you can release that fear and pierce through the darkness with the light of your own hope.

And The Sun is a card of joy. Warmth. Fun and success.

The purpose of the major arcana is to signify your life in cycles, to transition from one period to the next. This is why the card sequence begins with The Fool - a card of curiosity and discovery and new beginnings - and ends with The World, a card of resolution, accomplishment, and the wisdom that comes with experience of a life lived.

And these four cards from The Tower to The Sun being grouped together one after another is not an accident, it's by design. It's to remind you that when your foundations have been laid bare, when everything seems to be at its worst, we can still find hope and faith in the smallest of things, even if it's just promising ourselves to see the sun rise tomorrow.

Speaking with all the self-aware bias of a tarot reader myself, I think Rachel's version of The Tower appearing now should be taken as a sign in and of itself towards where we are and what we should be carrying forward into the future. Not just in relation to Rachel herself and her work and the impact it's made on us, for better and for worse, or for Rachel herself and what she's surely going through as she transitions from one chapter of her life to another, but the world around us and what we're all currently going through as individuals and as a society.

The Star, The Moon, and The Sun will always be preceded by The Tower. To live in a world without sadness and despair would be to live in a world without hope and happiness. The night is always darkest just before the dawn.

Tarot Cards by Rachel Smythe (2017) (Found on the Wayback Machine and Tumblr)

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Hello!

While some of these tarot card illustrations are not particularly lost media, I wanted to upload them into one post so you can see them all together!

Enjoy!

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The Doctor Foxglove Show Missing Pages Lead

If you have the missing The Doctor Foxglove Show Zines, check out the link and message me!

Thank You!

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The Doctor Pepper Show Master Archive

If you have/found many missing pages listed on the Reddit Masterpost or have any leads on finding more pages to The Doctor Pepper Show, send me a message on here or on Reddit!

Thank You!

#Lost Media #Rachel Smythe #Tarot #Tarot Cards

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heich0e · 2 years ago

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bittersweet - vash the stampede/f!reader (trigun stampede): 7k, listen there's only been 2 eps and i don't know the lore so i am loudy and emphatically declaring creative license, in my mind this is set before the start of stampede but not by much, heavy on the wild wild west core here, light angst, smut, fingering, needy vanilla sex, domesticity, mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, boot-throwing related violence. 18+ NSFW MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

The desert smells bitter.

You wouldn’t think that sand would smell like much at all, but the fragrance that hangs perpetually in the air is heavy, singed, and acrid with the heady scent of life and its misery. Waste and runoff make their unpleasantness acutely known on the hottest days, and the fumes from old machinery that’s barely functioning thanks to age and disrepair—that no one can afford to fix, so they have to hold out hope it keeps running—clogs up the already noxious atmosphere as it rattles on throughout the day.

Mama used to tell you that outside of Jeneora Rock, the world smelled different. There’s somewhere else past the walls that mark the edge of the only town you’ve ever known, even past the wastelands—a place where almost no one ever goes, but that your Mama saw once. Or at least she said she did.

She told you it smelled clean. Sweet. Untouched by anything but the sun’s heat and the five moons’ glow.

Mama’s gone, has been for a long time now, and even though she never had much to give to you in the first place, that story is the most precious thing she left behind. You think about it almost as often as you think about her.

The end of another long day is marked by a familiar heaviness to your bones. Between the suffocating heat that makes you groggy and a hard day's work, there’s a palpable weight that bears down on you as you climb the never-ending metal stairs to your front door—your feet drag a bit more with every step.

The lock to your home is getting hard to turn. You’ve noticed it a few times now: a resistance as you slip your key into the keyhole, a pressure as you urge the mechanism to turn and let you in. There may be sand built up in there to clean out, or maybe it needs some oil.

But oil costs money, of which you don’t have much, so you really hope that it’s the former rather than the latter.

You examine the keyhole once you manage to force the lock open, dropping to your knees outside your door to peek into the narrow opening on the tarnished face of the lock. It doesn’t do you much good because the sun’s already dropped dark, and even if the light of day still hung overhead you doubt it would be enough to make the issue any clearer. You drag your thumb idly along a little scratch beside the keyhole that's probably been there for years; the metal is still warm to the touch from the heat of the day that still hasn’t quite broken, the surface a little rougher where the score is chipped in.

You sigh, picking yourself up off the ground and dusting off your skirt, and turn the knob into your home.

It’s dark when you get inside, but something feels wrong.

You shut the door behind you as you enter, pressing your back flat against it as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark. Your home, like every other one in town, isn’t really much to look at even in the plain light of day. You’re luckier than lots of people though, you’ve got a couple rooms all to yourself where some families have no choice but to cram many people into just one. Papa left you this house, cause now he’s gone too just like Mama, but not much has changed since the day he left it to you—except now there’s less empty bottles rolling around underfoot, and you get to call the little bedroom off the main room yours.

It takes a second for your eyes to get used to the dimness with the door shut tight behind you, so you blink hard to make it happen faster. You see the rickety little table against the wall near the door, and the chair on the other side of the room where you sometimes sit by the window to mend your skirts when they wear and tear—but only when you get home early enough to catch the last few moments of sun, cause Mama always used to warn you about sewing by lamplight. The shutters on the window are closed and locked now, but there’s no light outside them to let in anyway.

Something shuffles in the dark.

Papa left you a gun, too. Even taught you how to shoot it. Mama hated that. She hated how good you were at it even more. She used to say that shooting was gonna be your husband’s job someday, and that even in a world this wicked Papa was teaching you things you didn’t need to know.

But now Mama’s gone. And Papa’s gone. And the world is still wicked. And you’ve got no husband, but you have a gun you know how to shoot.

You keep it and a little stash of 7 bullets underneath your bed where you can get to it quick, but it’s on the other side of the house, and even though that’s not very far away you don’t know what’s waiting for you between the door and your bed. You don’t know if it’s faster than you are, either, so running for it would be a fool’s errand.

Inside your chest, your heart starts pumping a little harder, ‘til you can feel the wet thump, thump, thump right in the back of your mouth.

You know you need light. You need to be able to see. You can’t make any decisions until you know what’s between you and your Papa's gun tucked up safe underneath your bed.

Slowly your eyes flicker over to the lamp on your table, just within reach.

You suck a little gasp into your lungs to steel your nerve. The air is less sour in here—more familiar, a little more comforting—but the acrid scent of the desert still lingers on the edge of each breath. Slowly you reach towards the lamp and flick it on.

“PLEASE DON’T SHOOT ME!”

The frantic plea frightens you so terribly that it sends you tumbling to the hard floor, landing flat on your ass with your back thumping painfully into the wall beside your door. In front of you is a face that has no right being as familiar as it is; eyes wide in panic beneath a round pair of glasses, blonde hair tousled in disarray, two hands (one flesh and one crafted) lifted in innocence.

Your heart is beating even faster now under the tight pull of your laced waistcoat.

“Are you an idiot?” you hiss, instinctively tugging your boot off your foot and lobbing it forcefully at the unexpected intruder. “You scared the daylights outta me!”

The man sidesteps the projectile easily, and it clatters to the floor. The expression on his face morphs from one of panic to something a little more chagrined.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, drawing out the word. His tone sheepish, and his lips pull into an apologetic little smile.

You place a trembling hand on your chest, pressing down on the spot where you feel your heart thumping the hardest and willing it to slow. You stare at your scuffed floorboards and take a few breaths to ease the frenetic beat of your pulse, and feel yourself begin to wilt as the adrenaline in your veins starts to fade.

“How’d you get in here, Vash the Stampede?” you ask, looking up again at the man in front of you from your place on the ground.

“I knocked first,” he says with a grimace, “but you weren’t home and I…”

“Broke in because you’ve got someone looking for you?” you finish his explanation for him, your tone flat and entirely unsurprised.

He sighs, shoulders slumping dejectedly as his head hangs forward.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

He lifts his chin only enough to guiltily meet your gaze.

“It’s just for one night,” he murmurs the plea, his bottom lip weighed down by a pout.

You shut your eyes tight, hands balling into fists over your skirt to hide the way they tremble.

“Fine.”

Vash falls to his knees in front of you, hands pressed to the floor as he gets right up in your face with a wide, cheerful grin. He’s almost nose to nose with you, the light of the lamp glinting in his glasses.

“Thanks so much! I promise I’ll be outta here before you know it!”

He doesn’t need to tell you that, because the pang in your empty stomach tells you that, even unspoken, you already knew it to be true.

Vash is travelling light again, just like the last time you saw him. He’s only got one bag that he begins to unpack onto the rickety table in your kitchen, leaving you to quietly go about your own business like you would if you hadn’t found him in your home that night. On the other side of the kitchen you unpack the meagre amount of food you’d managed to buy for yourself that day from little satchel you carried it home in. It’s barely enough food for one, and now you’ll have to stretch it between two.

“Where’s your father?” Vash asks as he fiddles with his gun at the table behind you. “I thought it was him coming through the door, and I thought for sure he was gonna blow my—“

“He’s dead.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Uncomfortable, even. Vash’s hands still even as yours keep quietly peeling the sad, withered skin from the vegetable in your hand with the blade of a half-dulled knife.

“I’m sorry,” his next words are quiet. “Your father was a nice man.”

“My father was a drunk who got himself shot in a bar fight with a merchant who came to town and was talking big. He just worshipped you because you saved the plant.”

That same uncomfortable silence creeps in again in the wake of your words, but after a few moments you hear Vash pick up his tools and start tinkering away at whatever he’s working on once more.

“Is the plant still running?” Vash is the first to speak again, though a fair amount of time passes before he risks another attempt at conversation.

“More or less,” you remark, setting a little pot on the stove to boil with whatever ingredients you’d been able to scrounge together into a meal. You watch the flame of the element burst to life as you flick the switch, a little hiss as the fire licks at the edges of your only copper pot. “Some days it’s more reliable than others. But whatever you did seems to be holding up all right.”

“Good!” Vash says behind you. “That’s good.”

You turn to face him, the unevenly mended hem of your skirt swishing around your ankles. You lean against the little countertop behind you, with your arms crossed behind your back.

“I’ll pop by the plant before I leave town—”

You watch as Vash’s fingers nimbly fiddle with his gun, broken down into its component parts to be cleaned and maintained. You’re sure it doesn’t need it—are certain he’s fired less shots from that gun in the two years since you’ve seen him than you’ve heard in town this week alone—but it’s kind of nice to watch him work, to appreciate how certain and precise his every move is, and to see how concentrated he is while he goes about it.

“—just to make sure everything’s still in good shape.”

He looks up at you, like for the first time he feels your gaze as it traces the lines of his profile. He smiles again, that same wide, willful expression of cheer that he always endeavours to wear even though he might be the person least entitled to it.

You hum. “I’m sure everyone would appreciate that. You should stop by to see Rosa too, she’ll box my ear if she finds out you blew though town and didn’t go see her.”

The two of you eat across the table from one another in silence. Just the scrape of cutlery and the occasional loud swallow passing between the two of you. Vash seems hungry, but appears to be trying his best to be at least a little restrained as he eats with you. Even though you’d given him the larger of the two portions, he’s still finished his plate before you’ve finished yours, but he sits patiently across from you waiting for you to swallow your final bite.

“I’ll take these,” he jumps to his feet before you have the chance to even push your chair back from the table, snatching both of your dishes up into his hands. “I’ll clean up, since you’re letting me stay.”

You don’t deny him, and instead slump back into your seat, dragging your wrist along your forehead. Your skin feels grimy from the hot day and the filth outside. Normally you would have bathed before you cooked, but you hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day—and Vash looked like it may have been even longer than that.

“I’m gonna wash,” you say, standing from your seat. You pause, your fingertips tracing against the rough, rutted surface of the tabletop. You know you don’t have enough water for two baths in your tank. You used to bathe with your mother when you were little, then once you were older and Mama was gone, you got the bathwater first and Papa would get in after you were done. It’s never been an issue until now. “Er—Vash?”

At the sink where your uninvited house guest is scrubbing at the dishes in the washbasin that you’d filled ahead of time, Vash pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. He’s taken off his familiar red coat, left hanging off the chair he’d been seated in at the table, and the black turtleneck he wears beneath it stretches taut over the musculature of his back as it faces you.

“The bath… there’s only enough water to fill it once. I don’t…Do you want…?” you aren’t sure what you’re even trying to ask him, but whatever is coming out of your mouth is even less clear than the thoughts running through your head.

“I’ll bathe second, don’t worry about me.”

Vash’s smile is gentle and obliging, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they narrow into little crescents. You nod stiffly, feeling heat flush through you at the softness in his expression, and shuffle off towards the other side of your home while avoiding his gaze.

The walls of your home are paper thin, and you’re certain that Vash can hear the splash of water in the tub as clearly as you can hear the scratchy, garbled sound of his radio from the other room. Once your skin’s been scrubbed clean of the day, you sit in the water with your knees pulled to your chest and your chin tucked between them. You strain to try to make out what’s being broadcast, but it’s difficult to hear since the reception in town is always so piss poor, and whatever coherent bits of news you manage to catch are just as abysmal as always.

It’s strange, hearing someone else in the house. It’s something you didn’t realize had become so foreign to you in the time you’ve learned to live alone. The idle puttering in the other room is a sound you didn’t realize you had missed. You lean back and dunk yourself into the water, where everything goes quiet.

The bathwater never gets very hot to begin with—tepid at the best of times, which seems unfair given the climate—but you know it’s not fair to waste time in the tub when someone else is waiting for it. You pull yourself up out of the metal basin, careful not to disturb the stopper in the bottom of the tub, and dry as much water from your skin as you can. Once you’ve deemed yourself sufficiently towelled, you pull on your nightdress and a threadbare housecoat overtop.

Vash looks up from the chair in the corner by the window when you emerge from the bathroom, and he meets your eyes so unwaveringly it feels decidedly like he’s trying hard not to let his gaze wander elsewhere. You fidget under his stare, fiddling with the fraying ends of the towel around your neck that’s catching the droplets that fall from your hair. He must realize that he’s unnerving you, because he averts his eyes to a point on the wall over your shoulder after a moment.

“My turn?” he asks, his tone chipper but polite.

“All yours,” you nod, stepping into your bedroom and leaving him to his business.

There’s an old trunk at the bottom of your bed where you keep some of the things your father left that you haven’t yet been able to sell or make use of. You find an old shirt of his near the very bottom, soft and worn-thin from years of washing. It’s something you could have easily sold or traded by now, but that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to part with—though you’re certain the day will inevitably come when sentimentality can no longer outweigh your basic needs.

You stand outside the bathroom door for a moment, your father’s shirt clutched tightly in your hands. You can hear the splash of bathwater you’re sure has gone cold from where you stand, only a few feet and a thin door between you.

You muster your nerve and tap your knuckles lightly against the door.

“I have a shirt if you need something to—“

The door opens, and you find yourself unexpectedly facing the bare chest of your one-night housemate, still damp and glistening from the bath, lined with silvery scars that the low light catches on.

You toss the shirt at him unceremoniously and turn quickly away, and Vash himself makes a little sound of surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be—“

“It’s fine,” you answer before he can even finish his apology, still refusing to meet his gaze. You gesture vaguely over your shoulder without turning. “Just take that.”

The bathroom door clicks closed again, and you clutch the belt of your housecoat over your diaphragm.

You need a drink.

You cross your home to the cabinet in your kitchen, reaching to the back of the nearly-bare shelf and pulling out a dusty old bottle that’s been there since your father died. It wouldn’t have lasted a day if he were still living, and you’ve made it years without ever so much as cracking it open.

Today however, you feel it’s well-deserved.

The dust caked on the bottle smears against your palm as you open it, and you wipe the grime furiously against the material of your housecoat as you pour a long glug of the amber liquor into a waiting glass. It’s vile, lukewarm from the constant heat of your home, and burns every inch of the way down—but as you set the empty glass back onto the counter, you still find yourself grateful for it.

You pour another drink.

“Take it easy,” you hear a voice say behind you, accompanied by a breathy little laugh.

You turn and see Vash hovering not far from you, his black turtleneck folded over one arm and your father’s shirt over his no-longer-bare chest. His hair is wet, a towel draped around his shoulders just like yours, and he’s taken off his usual eyewear. The mole underneath his eye seems more prominent now that he’s scrubbed himself clean.

Your empty glass dangles from the tips of your fingers, the acerbic taste of the liquor lingering on your tongue. You hold it out to him in offering, and he scrunches up his nose a little bit.

“I really shouldn’t—“

“It’s rude to turn down a drink your host is offering you, y’know.”

Things like rudeness don’t mean anything to anyone these days, least of all yourself. Decency is a luxury few people can afford.

Vash sighs, still smiling, and takes the glass from you. Your fingers brush as it passes from your hand to his, and then you take the bottle and pour another healthy splash into the waiting cup. He brings it to his lips, wincing against the fumes alone that waft up from the glass.

“It’s better if you don’t sip it,” you offer him, though even then you know the guidance doesn’t help much.

He tips it back and drains it.

Two drinks were enough to have you feeling woozy, but you pour yourself a third for good measure. You spare Vash the pain of another, much to his apparent relief, and let him off with just the one before tucking the half-drained bottle back into the cupboard you’d dug it out of.

When you turn around again, Vash is crouched down, examining something on the ground.

Your boot. The one you’d thrown at him earlier.

He peers up at you from the floor, he lifts the shoe slightly.

“It broke again.”

A memory floods back to you then, unbidden.

Sitting side by side with Vash on the edge of the steps outside the same house you live in now, but when the way you lived was different. The plant had just been repaired, and there was a palpable feeling of effervescent joy sizzling through the town around you. An uncharacteristic camaraderie amongst the people of Jeneora Rock as the celebration of Vash’s handiwork spreading through the narrow, grimy streets. The two of you were away from it all, sitting quietly together in a strange sort of celebration of your own.

You were less a woman than you were a girl back then, but still somehow neither. He’d patched the sole of your boot back on when it had ripped loose. And you’d laughed when he handed it back to you with an endearingly clumsy flourish, the sound as high and bright as the sun that hung in the sky overhead. You still remember the way your laughter had made his smile grow.

The patch job had lasted a year. You’d sobbed the day it came loose again, just shortly after the death of your father. You’d been using twine tied tightly around the toe of the boot to hold it together ever since.

Vash blinks up at you from the ground as you stare down at him with what you’re sure is a vacant look in your eyes.

“I brought you something,” he says, hopping up and skittering over to his rucksack with your boot still in his hand. He rifles around in the bag for a moment, his mechanical arm shoulder deep as he roots for what he’s looking for. His eyebrows shoot up and he grins when he locates it—a wide, brilliant smile splitting across his face as he pulls his arm out.

He holds his find up in triumph.

You look at it with narrowed eyes.

“What… is it?” you ask, after a moment of trying to identify the small, relatively unremarkable little container in his hand.

“Boot glue!” he says excitedly, waving it in front of your face. “I thought of you when I saw it! The merchant wanted an arm and a leg for it but I managed to—”

Tears have sprung up in your eyes against your will, and you quickly turn away from him to hide them from his sight.

“Hey, are you okay?” Vash’s voice is softer now, less enthusiastic and more concerned.

That softness is what upsets you more than anything. Tenderness is a foreign thing in the desolation of the wastelands.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, scrubbing your hand over your stinging eyes.

For thinking of me.

For knowing that you’d come back.

You leave that part off, but you feel it just as much as what you say.

You drain that third glass that’s been sitting on the counter waiting for you, hoping the burn of the liquor as it sloshes down your throat to your stomach will give you something else to focus on. Or, if nothing else, that it might numb the sudden pain that’s laid roots down in your core.

Vash sits at the table as he patches up your boot under the lamplight, much like he had the first time. You watch him from the chair in the corner, under the shuttered window, with your knees drawn up into your seat with you. You’re more shameless now than you had been while he cleaned his gun, observing him keenly as he scrubs your boot with a rag and leftover water from the dish pan. He makes sure no more grime clings to it before he carefully smears a thick layer of the glue along the sole, pressing down firmly to make sure the adhesion takes. He holds the boot up in front of him when he’s done, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, eyeing it from every angle to survey his own work.

You watch him just as raptly.

He turns in his seat once he’s satisfied, holding the boot up.

“All done!” he says, hopping up to his feet and shuffling towards you. He crouches down in front of you and holds out his hand expectantly. Slowly, you stick your foot out, and he cradles it gently in his roughened palm.

Carefully he slips the boot onto your foot, tightening the laces once it’s fully in place.

“How’s it feel?” he asks you, peeking up at you from his place on the floor.

“Feels good,” you reply, with an equally breathy tone.

The lamplight doesn’t reach this corner of the room quite as brightly as it does at the table, but you can still make out a blush that sits high and pretty at the top of Vash’s cheeks. You wonder if he’s starting to feel the flush thanks to the liquor, or if maybe it’s something else entirely.

“G-good!” he stammers a little, fiddling with the laces at your ankle. “I’m glad!”

“That glue must have been expensive,” you say. “Thank you, Vash.”

He shoots you a smile as he loops his fingers through the laces. “It's the least I could do, especially with you putting me up for the night.”

For the night.

Just for the night.

The reminder makes you ache a little.

Vash helps you slip your boot off again, carrying it over to the door and setting it down beside its mate.

“I’ll leave this here for you, in case you need it again,” he says, screwing the top back onto the little pot of adhesive at the table. “There’s not much left, but there’s some.”

You nod from your seat in the corner, one leg up and one leg still down—your nightdress drawn up to your knee from when he’d helped you into your boot.

Vash ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck, dry now after his bath. Yours remains a little damp, but you’re sure it won’t last long as the residual heat from the day still hangs in the air even though the sun has long set.

“It’s late,” he finally says after a moment. “You should sleep.”

You hum in agreement, moving to stand from your chair. The room spins slightly around you, those three glasses you’d knocked back sneaking up on you while you’d been sitting down. Your foot hooks in the hem of your nightdress because of the way you’d been sitting, but before you can stumble theres a strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. A warmth pressing into you as your face meets a heaving chest.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Vash murmurs, his grip on you tightening for the briefest moment.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, and you don’t meet his eyes as you nod, letting him lead you towards your bedroom.

Your hands fumble at the belt of your nightdress, pulling it off and tossing the garment across the end of your bed as Vash helps you onto the mattress. You tuck your feet under the thin sheet before leaning back against your pillows, and Vash is quick to turn and head towards the door after helping you pull it up to your waist.

“Wait,” you call to him before he can retreat. He pauses in the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Where are you going to sleep?”

You hadn’t thought much about this, and you ought to have considered it earlier. You only have the one bed, but you have two pillows you can share and a spare blanket in the trunk at the end of it that you could offer him if he wants to sleep on the floor.

But you don’t want to tell him that.

“I’ll just take the chair,” he says with a blithe smile, jutting his thumb towards the armchair in the other room.

It won’t be comfortable. You know that from experience, having fallen asleep there a few times yourself after a particularly gruelling day. The stuffing is lumpy and the springs are painful if you press against them the wrong way. You know he won’t complain about it. You even know that it’s probably still more comfortable than lots of other places he’s rested his head over the past two years.

But you want to be selfish.

For once you don’t want to be alone.

“Vash,” you say quietly, and you watch his entire body go rigid at the sudden bare vulnerability of your tone. “Please stay with me.”

You’d asked him the same thing once before, but different. The words once murmured desperately against his lips as you clung to his red jacket. Staring at him with eyes full of hope and a freshly patched boot on your foot.

He’d looked at you the same way back then too. That smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. As gentle of a no that he could ever offer you.

“I know you have to leave,” you murmur, eyes downcast to your hands as they rest atop your lap. “I don’t expect anything like that from you. I know it’s just for tonight.”

“Please don’t cry.”

The bed dips beside you, and Vash tilts your face up towards him. He looks troubled when you meet his gaze, even in the dim light of your bedroom you can make out the conflict on his features. It’s strange to see him not smiling, wrong almost.

But your eyes are dry.

“Stay,” you repeat yourself, meeting his gaze resolutely. You swallow hard over the lump in your throat, bracing yourself for the impending sear of rejection.

Vash cups your cheeks in his hands, and you can’t tell if it’s your cheeks or his touch that feels so warm.

“You deserve someone that can say yes to that and mean it properly,” he says ruefully, not dissimilarly to what he’d said the first time you’d asked the very same thing of him.

“I’m not asking anyone else,” you whisper, “I’m asking you."

You wonder if your mouth still tastes like liquor as Vash’s tongue dips inside of it, hovering over you as you lay sprawled across your bed.

It didn’t start like this, of course. The first kiss had been gentle, hesitant even—like Vash wasn’t quite sure if he was going to see it through at all, poised to flee at any moment. But neither of you could deny how right it felt when his lips brushed yours, an immediate wash of relief and of unadulterated want inundating you all at once. You’d been the one to crane up and bridge the gap, but soon Vash was crawling into your bed overtop of you, easing you back to lay flat as he succumbed to the same need you felt thrumming through your veins.

Your hands are tangled in his hair now—a gesture that earned you a pitchy, needy little groan from him as your fingers twisted through the blonde strands. It only seemed to make him more eager as he parted his lips against your own in a deeper kiss.

There’s something a little clumsy about it all, an eagerness and inexperience to every touch and graze. But it’s not the same as it was at first, no longer hesitant or wary—his reservations have been peeled away as surely as the clothes the two of you are wearing, until you feel nothing but his skin against your own.

Vash’s hands are as greedy and rapacious as his mouth; touching, grabbing, grazing anything he can reach. His calloused fingers cup themselves around the swell of your chest, squeezing lightly, and when you reward him with a little moan it stokes the flames of his curiosity, and his touch moves to the pebbled bud of your nipple next. He rolls it tentatively between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly, and when you gasp against his mouth, arching further into his touch, he makes his own little pleased sound of surprise before lavishing your other breast with equal attention.

His metal hand touches you more gingerly than the other, and he tends to favour the one made of flesh and bone. The contrast in sensations is a little disorienting—smooth, hard metal versus the life-roughened heat of skin on skin. It’s dizzying. You want more.

“Vash,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your lips are stinging now from the constant kissing. He’s scarcely left your mouth uncovered by his own since they first connected, but at your hoarse whisper of his name he pulls back slightly, watching your face for any sign of reproach.

“Touch me more, please,” you say to him, cupping his cheeks as he presses his forehead into yours, both of you sharing the same breath in the little space between you.

He makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a hum, nodding a little, and kisses you again as his hands slip further down your willing, waiting form.

If he’s surprised by the wet wet heat he finds between your legs, it doesn’t stop him. One finger and then two find their way inside you slowly; he moves in gentle thrusts and scissoring motions that have your jaw going slack. His palm presses against the swell of your clit, and each time your hips jump it grinds into the heel of his palm, earning a keen from the back of your throat.

“Feels good?” Vash trails kisses up the top of your cheek until his lips are by your ear. His breathing is laboured and the air of each breath is hot as it ghosts across your skin. Your tongue feels leaden, but you nod repeatedly, wrapping your arms around his neck and keeping him close.

“Yeah,” you finally manage to breathe out, “’s good.”

It’s even better when you feel the stretch of him pressing himself inside.

The sound that’s pulled from the depth of Vash’s broad chest as he carves his way into you makes your toes curl—high and sweet and desperate.

“’S hot,” he slurs, his hips giving a shallow, desperate thrust.

He’s needy, pulling you closer as he moves you how he wants you. He loops your knees up over his elbows, his mouth frantically finding it’s way back to yours as the weight of his entire body bears down on you.

The next thrust is harder, deeper. And the pace only increases after that.

The rickety headboard of your old bed knocks against the wall each time he brings his hips down against yours. It’s loud, but so is the sound of skin on skin, and you have the distant thought as the bed frame creaks that it sounds like it might splinter underneath you—but you don’t find it in yourself to care as the pressure in you core steadily builds, threatening to burst. It blinds and deafens you to anything but the pulse that pounds in your throat. It makes your fingers curl against the skin of Vash’s shoulder blades until your nails dig into skin.

He’s still kissing you, wet and messy and noisy as his tongue presses into your mouth. He never stops kissing you.

It's nice to be with someone. To be touched. To feel wanted and needed.

Especially by him.

Your eyes flutter open, and as though he can sense your gaze on him Vash’s do the same. His expression is heavy-lidded as he pants, a little drop of sweat sitting high on the edge of his blushing cheek. He smiles a little, a soft, gentle expression you’ve never seen before.

A tenderness in his gaze unlike any you’ve ever experienced.

The pressure in your core comes undone.

He takes your face in his hands as pleasure rips through you like a sandstorm, blistering and unescapable. He’s still kissing you. Keeping you so near. In the haze it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins, everything clouded into something thats both and somehow neither. Something new.

“Close,” Vash whines, grinding his hips down against your own.

Your muscles ache, the pleasure has worn you raw, and your lungs are pricking with the need for a full deep breath you haven’t been able to draw into them now for some time. But even so, you don’t want it to be over. Can’t bear the thought of being apart.

The headboard rattles a few more times, and then the pressure between your legs is gone as Vash pulls out and spatters his spend across your stomach with a long, low groan.

It’s hot. The mess on your skin, the sweat that clings to you, the paltry breaths of air you draw into your lungs. Even the sheets of your bed have absorbed the heat from both of your bodies, sticking to your skin as you collapse into them in boneless heaps, chests heaving and hearts racing side by side.

You tilt your face towards the boy crowded into your narrow bed beside you, and find him watching you expectantly.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing a piece of hair away from your eyes.

You hum, leaning into his touch.

Vash’s gaze travels down your body, eyeing the mess he’s made of you with wide eyes. He pops up suddenly, clambering out of bed and tripping clumsily over the sheet that’s fallen half-way off the mattress as he skitters out the door. You’re not too worried that he’s going far, considering he’s still stark naked, but you watch the doorway curiously as you wait for him to return.

When he does, he has a cloth in hand—still damp from your bath earlier in the evening. As gently as he can, Vash cleans you up; the cloth cool is against your sticky skin, and feels nice. Once he’s satisfied with his handiwork, he presses a kiss to the valley between your ribs, lifting his face to smile up at you.

You shoot him a feeble smile back.

He slips into bed beside you once more, crawling up towards the pillows and pulling the rumpled sheet up to your chins as he goes. He settles in, and with one sweep of his arm he tucks you safely against his chest, with your ear resting over his heart. His hand pats gently along the back of your hair down your spine, keeping you close to him.

Vash smells good. Clean and comforting. It makes you think of the place your mother told you about once. You wonder if he smells like that place, or maybe even better.

You wonder if he’s ever been there before.

You wonder if he’d tell you if you asked.

You open your eyes, though the effort pains you in your exhaustion, and you see him peering back at you. Vash’s lips pull into a smile, but it's one of the ones that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. An expression that you know is more for you than it is for himself.

You think the two of you have a lot in common, then. That maybe the two of you understand the same loneliness. The same feeling of being haunted.

Your ghosts live on in the trunk at the end of your bed and at the back of your cupboard, covered in dust, tucked away out of sight.

Vash’s live on inside of him, and it’s where he seems determined to keep them.

In that moment you know that even if you were to ask, he’d tell you nothing—and he’d do it for your own sake.

Tomorrow you’ll wake and the air will smell bitter and burnt, and he’ll be gone, but your boot will be mended, and the little pot of glue will remind you he was there. But tonight you’ll dream about the place your Mama told you about, and tomorrow you’ll still have the smell that clings to your sheets. So for now, the world smells different.

And that has to be enough.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash x reader #vash x you #vash the stampede #trigun stampede fic #trigun stampede writing #writing

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kurt-nightcrawler · 2 years ago

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Baby Blonde

Paul x Reader

Summary: Paul is a sensitive guy

Warnings: tiny bit of angst, mentions of periods and related period things, implied smut but no actual smut

Word Count: 1.5k

Paul wasn’t one to cry. He was cool. He was sexy. And he spent too much time trying to be goofy or space out to cry.

Or that’s at least what everyone thought.

He was a good, sweet, and somewhat clingy boyfriend. Always wanting a hand on you– a hand in your back pocket or in your hand were the most common– getting you food whenever you wanted it and making sure you were never sad. He was a giant golden ball of sunshine, who killed people and was great with his tongue.

However, Paul was a sensitive little bitch. Deep, deep, deep down. How he got you more stuffed animals than Laddie or gave you posters when they came with his vinyls instead of plastering them all over the cave walls. Or when he got high and ate Marko’s butter statue in the fridge– he felt bad for months– and when he accidentally scratched David’s The Cure album with his claws. The guilt was mostly cause David chewed him out, but that was beside the point.

What could he say? Paul was a man with many layers. But sometimes those layers were so deep they did not mean to see the surface.

–

You were lying down on the old couch in the cave, trying to snuggle under one of the numerous blankets the boys had accumulated over the years. Groaning in discomfort, you turned to the other side, trying to ease your pain.

Water bottles, snacks, and any kind of painkiller imaginable were scattered on the floor around you.

Your period was three days early. Not like it was ever consistent, but it was still miserable. You were burning up, sore all over, covered in three new zits, and anytime you went to the bathroom it looked like a murder scene afterward. You hated it. And while your blood-sucking boyfriend loved it, he tried to sympathize best he could– to treat you like a little baby bird and not like a meal.

But sometimes, sometimes, his blood lust got the better of him.

–

Paul strutted down into the cave, totally not paying attention to his surroundings, until he saw a big lump of blankets on the couch.

“Baby?” he called out.

You grunted in response.

“You okay?” Paul asked, momentarily clueless as to what was going on with you.

And then it hit him.

Your period.

His gaze got slightly hazy, and he immediately pounced onto the couch, wanting to pepper you in kisses, feed you chocolate, and eat you out until you passed out in a blissful slumber.

“Baby I want–”

“Grrrrr…” You shoved him off the couch and curled up into a tighter fetal position than you were already in. “Don’t touch me… not now…” You whined. You were hit with cramps soon as Paul entered the cave, and your pain meds were proving to be useless.

“Oh…” Paul’s cold dead heart was resuscitated momentarily by seeing you, only to be stomped on and shattered by your harsh rejection, bringing it back to death.

“Okay… If you need anything I’ll be in my room…”

Paul walked away into the depths of the cave slowly. Any pep in his step or excitement was sucked out of him. He just wanted to help! Make you feel better– maybe give you a massage, or help cool you down by holding you in his arms while he buried his face into your neck.

Paul knew you were the one. He didn’t miss the daytime because he had you, the sun to his moon– bright and cheerful to compliment his bright and cheerful. Except where he was cold and dead, you were warm and alive. He loved showering with you, sniffing all your fancy soaps, and asking if he could take a bite. He tried to pull a romcom classic and cook for you, which almost burnt your kitchen down… But his big, sad, blue puppy dog eyes got the best of you. He could never thank you enough when you did daytime-esk errands for him, like buying him snacks from stores that closed before sundown or letting him do laundry at your place. Or standing your ground and helping him get some touchy valley girl off his back.

But Paul was still Paul, and he had trouble with being told no by someone other than the boys. He also worried you would eventually get sick of him. Sick of his loud voice, and weed-ridden musk. Sick of how he was sometimes really forgetful, or too spaced out and lost focus easily. He was scared you wouldn’t find him sexy or funny and see he didn’t really have much else going for himself. He had been working on it, trying to be more confident deep down and not cry like a baby when you didn’t want to hang out 24/7, but sometimes it slipped his mind that humans needed personal space and alone time.

You mumbled a groan as you slightly shifted under the covers, attempting to fall asleep.

—

You had awoken, after sleeping for what felt like an eternity. You were sweaty, groggy, and had no sense of what time it was.

“Good morning Sleeping Beauty,” someone teased.

You groaned and shifted from your spot on the couch, rubbing your eyes as you stared at the person who woke you.

“Marko, hey. How long was I asleep?”

“Too long, according to Paul.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “He would say that. Where is he anyways? Is he getting food?”

“…”

“Marko…”

Marko bit his thumb and avoided your gaze as he picked up the trash surrounding the couch.

“Marko...”

“He got really upset after you told him to fuck off.”

“What? When did I do that?”

“Um, he said when he came home,” Marko shook a pill bottle, seeing if it was empty. “You were curled up into a ball on the couch and then you pushed him away and told him to leave you alone.”

Your boyfriend was such a drama queen. “I’m on my period.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Yeah, well,” You and Marko walked into the kitchen area, trash, snacks, and medicines in hand. “My painkillers didn’t kick in on time. I thought I was dying for a hot second. I didn’t want Paul making it worse.”

Marko smiled, closing the chip bag, “He probably would have taken a bite out of you if you let him.”

You rolled your eyes, “Maybe later.”

One of the pigeons flew towards you both. Staring Marko in the eyes.

“No, I’m not giving you potato chips,” he jokingly scolded his pet. “No, these aren’t for you.”

“I’m gonna see what he’s up to.”

“Okay.”

Marko was still focused on his pigeon. “Yeah, she’s gonna see Paul. She’s gonna see Paulie. You know what they’re gonna do Jasper—“

“Shut up,” You scoffed.

—

You knocked on the “door”— an old surfboard covering the hole in the wall to his little stoner rock cave— of Paul’s room.

“Paul…”

You heard a sniffle from the other side, but nothing else.

“Paul, I know you’re in there…” another moment of silence.

“Or is it Laddie?” You joked.

“It’s me,” Paul quietly replied.

“Can I come in, baby?”

“Sure.”

You pushed the door to the side and stepped inside his room. “Hi, baby.”

He was laying under several blankets in the nest you’d both made together, only his head and lion's mane worth of hair sticking out.

“Hello…” All the usual fun and excitement was sucked out of his voice, leaving it hollow and empty.

“Oh no, I don’t like hello. What’s going on?”

“You… You wouldn’t cuddle with me…”

You slowly sat down next to him, pushing aside a few mixtapes and some dirty clothes, “Baby… baby you know I’m on my period.”

“Yeah, you smell nice— like nicer than usual. And I just, I love you so much—

“I know—“

“And I wanna cuddle”

“—I know—“

“—and eat you out so hard you see stars.”

“My meds just didn’t kick in.”

“Yeah, you were mean.” Paul sniffled. “I didn’t like it.”

“Oh baby come here,” You joined him under the covers, attempting to scoop him into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It was not fine.

“Paul… you don’t have to lie to me.”

He shifted his head onto your shoulder, “You just… you scared me.”

You gently scratched his head. “I didn’t mean to, I just needed to be alone.”

“I’m worried I messed up and you don’t wanna be with me anymore… I’ve messed up a lot and I tend to pretend I don’t care if I fuck up, but I do.”

“I’m not going anywhere, you know that. Even if I tried, David would Professor X my memory.”

Paul laughed a little.

“I just didn’t want you pouncing on me like an animal–”

“–But I am an animal.”

You frowned, “Not the point here.”

“Right, sorry.”

“It’s okay. Are we good?”

“Yeah… Just… just don’t– if you– uh, if you need some space don’t act like me when I need blood and I wig out, okay?”

“Will do.”

Paul sat up a little, so he could snuggle into you.“Mmmm… Thank you.”

“Of course baby. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #paul the lost boys #tlb #tlb 1987 #the lost boys x reader #the lost boys imagine #my fic #my writing #lost boys paul #paul lost boys #paul the lost boys x reader #the lost boys paul x reader #the lost boys movie #the lost boys movie 1987 #vampire fic

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athycore · 3 years ago

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Mob psycho characters with a kuudere!Reader!

GN!reader.

Shiego kageyama:

When he first meet you he didnt mind that you were quiet most of the time. In fact, he enjoyed it. He likes to stay in quiet comfortable places where he can speak his mind.

He feels like he can trust your aloof personality. He finds comfort in their personality. He swears its like a soft cloud that he can reach too and cry immediately.

Ritsu Kageyama:

He’s like shiego except he actively looks for your comfort. One where he isnt judged nor looked up upon, one where you see him as him, not some member of the student council. When he first meet you he just started middle school. you happen to be at the art room talking to the teacher about something of an assignment. He was simply walking by but noticed how your voice was soft. He made it his goal to try to talk to you more often.

He adores the fact you dont lie. He feels like he can open up to you and not be ashmed of it. Its a trustworthy feeling he gets whenever hes with you. He’s constantly asking for you with your friends and everything. He simply just cares for you.

Sho suzuki:

Star eyes. He needs someone with patience. He needs someone’s reassurance. He’s glad you dont hate him. He just wants a friend afterall. He met you during he was hanging out with ritsu. He somehow spot you in a crowd and he felt like he had to get to know you.

He always felt like you never get along. But thats because he starts and ends most if the conversations. Although you think otherwise, he still thinks its a whole enemies to friends type stuff. Dont worry, he is protective over you. Whenever you leave for a few days he makes sure you safe. From afar ofc.

Teruki Hanazawa:

Teruki relates…somewhat. He thinks its all a facade. Cause he was just like that too. He learns later on that you are simply just like that. Nothing changes ofc but he feels like hes gotten a little close to you now. He meet you when he was shopping. You caught his eye. He probably thought you were attractive ofc. So he went up to talk to you..turns out you both go to the same school.

He is like the sun to your moon. He lights up your eyes and it hurts. He knows when and when not to crack jokes. you are always to one to remind him to do his homework. He brings you along when hanging out with shigeo.

#mob psycho 100 #shiego kagayama #mp100 x reader #mp100 teruki #teruki hanazawa #ritsu kageyama #mp100 ritsu #mp100 shou #shou suzuki #shigeo kageyama x reader #ritsu kageyama x reader #teruki hanazawa x reader #shou suzuki x reader #fifty percent ✘

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knightofmidnightsun · 3 years ago

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THE NIGHTMARE NEARBY, chapter three

the corinthian x gender neutral!reader

word count: 12K

warnings: mention of death and (slightly?) description of a dead body. description of injuries and blood. angst. a lot of angst, be ready. corinthian will face a long self-doubting spiral, so prepare the tissues. BUT THERE'S SOME FLUFF IN THE END, there will be a time when it'll look like it won't come, but it will, I promise!!!

summary: the journey of a nightmare trying to fly into the warmth of the sun. and, the first wax burn that marked his skin.

A/N: I'm so sorry for taking so long to post this chapter, I was on a hiatus that last month due to my mental health and my studies, but I'm back! It's a very long chapter so I'm not sure if I had proofread everything, soon I'll check this chapter again, so I hope you enjoy it either way.

After this chapter, there will have a time jumping till the next one and I'll reblog a prompts list so you can request drabble ideas for the detective and the Corinthian during this one-month time jump!

And for last but not least, I want to thank @kameronrose, @80-s-cup-of-milk-and-honey and @ondragonhonour for helping me before, during and after my hiatus, helping me through my writing process and being patient with me lol, thank you so much, I meant it!

Now, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I do. For sure, it is one of my favorites so far.

chapter three: the corinthian and the fall of icarus

The pearly moon hanging in the center of the dark night reflected perfectly on the blade in Corinthian's hands. Especially now that he was finally done cleaning up the blood in it.

Sighing, as his breath lingered in the cold air, he tucked his blade back into one of his holsters, previously hidden by his blazer. The only thing that never left his hands was his handkerchief, now soaked in the blood of the dead young miss lying in the motel’s bed.

There was no longer a trace of white on the handkerchief, yet without any hurry, Corinthian used it to wipe the blood running from one of his eye sockets. The blood-soaking handkerchief stained his fingertips through the thin fabric but he didn’t give it a mind, doing his best to clean himself and his things from anything that could relate him to the body of the woman who was only a few steps behind him.

Unlike the others that the Nightmare had killed so far in that town, she wasn’t a boy, much less a prostitute. He never intentionally changed his victims during all the time he traveled from city to city — state to state — on a killing spree. However, now, he had to make an exception.

A little thing to stir a certain detective's head. To shake up that game of cat and mouse between you two since you were more committed to this case and its conclusion than he had initially thought.

Even when it was hours since both of you were walking through the town and drinking at that same bar, he could still hear your voice in the back of his head. How engaging you were about the case and looking forward to taking the next step tomorrow at work. Not only that but you were slightly captivated at knowing more about him — the stranger who seemed to feel all the overwhelming storm that gathered in you — and also sharing a little about yourself in return.

Silly things really, nothing that usually would intrigue the Nightmare. However, with you, any of them sounded silly at all, not even foolish. For a moment, while listening to you and saying a thing or two himself, he felt… Nevermind. That wasn’t his point.

The point was that, unfortunately, you mentioned nothing about your visions. You never did, not directly. Neither way, luckily, talking with you was intriguing enough to keep his attention until you both headed home.

He never said he was going home but to finish a job. And that he did.

The Nightmare began to dress, idly looking for his sunglasses until he found them beside the bed. By accident, as if he wanted nothing, his vision collided again with the frame of the person's body stretched out — thrilling the pattern of their own red blood covering every detail of their skin.

However, Corinthian jumped out of himself immediately when his sockets stopped at their face.

They were you. He’d recognize the contours of your face anywhere. Although, what really made him shiver was not meeting your eyes, your pair of myriad colors and emotions.

How they used to blaze every time you were motioning as you spoke. How your eyes sparkled and, suddenly, you felt more alive. You could make anyone around you feel more alive but only when you were comfortable enough to let your walls slowly give in.

When you felt safe enough to let people pry through those walls.

Safe for saying things that typically you wouldn’t be with other people but did with him. Him from all people.

You gave him the password to let him in the door and you should have regretted it.

In the past, the Nightmare laughed when someone stated that ‘eyes were windows to the soul’. There wasn’t such a thing for him. For him, eyes were the window to the truth and nothing more.

Yet, with every second he spent admiring your eyes and how your corners crinkled when your gazes met, he may or may not have learned he was wrong… In a few parts.

The eyes could be the window for the soul and the truth — because, what was a soul if not the truth about the being that carried it within itself? Wasn't a soul the chest of their past, present, and future?

Then, he took them from you.

His stomach turned at the realization, he got your eyes and ate them. At the time, he enjoyed the whole thing but now, knowing to whom they belonged, he felt sick. The Corinthian had never felt sick, he didn’t know how he knew the word or the feeling.

He just knew it felt like a stab in the chest.

Not a single stab but a thousand of them, followed one by the other. Tearing his skin apart from the inside and bringing him back to the night Dream nearly unmade him.

He had never been the one stabbed.

His vision, for the first time in decades, blurred. The blood soaking his hands and his handkerchief were yours, redder than anything he had ever seen. And for the first time, he hated himself for how that same blood had once brought comfort to his fingertips but was now nothing more than a terrible cold burden, pulling his body down and against the squeaky clean motel floor.

The Corinthian jerked his face away from your body and threw the bloody handkerchief as far into that room as possible. So that he would never find him later no matter how hard he tried.

However, when he dared to glance at the same body again, they weren’t you. They had never been you. She was a student he had met while wandering around the town that night, not you.

You had never been the one who was laying peacefully in the motel’s bed, covered in your own blood and missing both of your eyes.

Even if you were, why did it freak him out?

It didn’t make sense, the mere thought of it shouldn’t affect him. There were many reasons for that but he could start with the obvious one: he had met you for a day and a few hours. You were much a stranger to him as he was to you, except for the part where he knew your name (something you couldn’t say the same about him) and that you could or not have a link to the place where he came from.

Besides that, you being that shouldn’t bring that kind of reaction of his.

Pursing his lips in a thin line, the blonde threw himself into a chair near the window, taking his blade back from his holster and searching for a piece of wood inside his blazer. It was one of his many wooden pieces that were almost done, scraping every now or then when…

Well, you know, when he needed to think.

The blonde turned to score the wood, gently blowing away the dust and a few small pieces of wood far away, something he should clean before leaving the room.

A different thought crossed his mind at each scratch he made on the wooden piece. But the same question always made him stop what he was doing before resuming it again.

What the hell were you? Because it had to be you, right? The thing that didn't fit. What was troubling his mind and making him feel something that shouldn't be there. It could only be you, whatever your ability or your true nature was, it was making him sick.

If he knew that playing with you would backfire so fast, especially like that, he’d have followed his plan strictly that night and killed you in the first alley. Indeed, it would bring less headache than now, and it wouldn’t upset him in the same way.

Upset? He huffed to himself and resumed back to scratch his wooden piece, he wasn’t upset. Tonight wasn’t the first time he had imagined you dead, killing you with his own hands like he had done many times before — you wouldn’t be the first and let alone the last victim of his. Yet, something felt different now and he couldn’t figure out what or why.

Suddenly imagining that the blood on that handkerchief was yours, not that lady's… Brought something in him. Very different from what he felt when he killed, nothing so fleeting as since even now, while scoring his blade against the piece of wood in his hands, the Nightmare felt the stabbing sensation lingering in his core.

Similar to what he had felt when he sat by your side that night.

When you two met at the cafe the following day and he placed his hand over your gloved hand, you dared to smile at him. Or, a few hours ago, when you two went to the bar again, together, and chatted until your friend Bruce had the decency to kick you out kindly.

Just… Peaceful. Nothing had felt peaceful to him before, until you.

It wasn’t a coincidence, not at all. The Corinthian had lived long enough to know that.

He rotated the forming carving in his palm, the roughed edges grinding into his palm like a sharp reminder of the wooden hilt he had gripped only seconds ago. His lips twitched as he thought to himself, grabbing the piece before scraping it once again, trying to finish it along with the dilemma he was finding himself in.

Feeling what others don't feel changes a person in a way. It makes you more human.

It made you more human. At the point to want to hear about the interests of a Nightmare even if your conscience was aware of the danger in it. What a curious human you were, indeed.

Usually, he’d just keep going with it and wait for it to end. Despite being different from the last people he had played, you’d bored him sooner or later — just like the others — and he’d have to kill you when it happened. Not ‘have’, he ‘would’.

However, the Corinthian would have to go against his rules precisely because there was something different about you. The initial plan was to understand what you were, day after day patiently. Now, he couldn’t be patient any longer.

With the last scratch from his blade, the Corinthian looked at the finished wooden piece in his hand. How he had perfectly captured each contour and curve of the familiar figure, especially, the pair of eyes full of emotions.

Grinning down at your face engraved in wood, the blonde wondered how much those eyes hid even without their owner's knowledge.

Then, he gathered his things and fixed the scene he’d left behind. There was only one place that the Nightmare knew would have the answers he was seeking, even if have been a long time since he hadn't visited there, he was finding himself forced to change that.

Corinthian would go back to the place where once was his home.

The Dreaming had changed.

The Nightmare had predicted it would have.

It was even expected since it had been a long time since Lord Morpheus had returned to his realm. Therefore, viewing the place how it was now shouldn't have amazed him, but it did.

Lands that once were filled with a plethora of colors and annoying waves of laughter were vacant — drained to nothingness. Not a sign of life could be found as the Nightmare wandered through the outside of the palace, trying to catch any dream or nightmare still lingering at their home.

So, it hit him, there was no one to be found.

It seemed like everyone had run away, thinking that their creator abandoned them once and for all.

That brought a smile to the Corinthian’s face as he fixed the hat over his head. Perhaps, finally, the others could understand why he had fled to the Waking World — what it really meant to be free or to search for that freedom. How it was to look for something beyond what you were designed to be.

While nearing his way to the front of the palace, the Nightmare saw a few things that were still intact at The Dreaming. Despite how lonely and empty the realm felt, it looked like the House of Mystery and the House of Secrets remained strong, which meant that Cain and Abel did not leave the place. Predictable.

But they weren’t the only ones, speaking of predictable. Far away, Corinthian could see a bit of green among the grey area that covered the Dreaming grounds. The Fiddler’s Green continued to wait for his creator patiently even when most of his friends and siblings had fled.

The Nightmare wondered about the idea of visiting the dream just to nag him but ended up changing his mind. He could still remember the times he'd dared to walk among the dream’s trees and that same dream's attempts to drive the blonde out of his perfectly green lawn.

Standing close to the front doors of the palace, Corinthian gave a last look to the broken fields left of the Dreaming. For a reason he couldn’t grasp quite yet, he wasn’t smiling anymore, something in him stirred with a strange feeling. In a short time, not even the House of Mystery, the House of Secrets, or Fiddler's Green could fight the loneliness that prevailed in the Dreaming anymore, weighing on the chest of anyone who looked at the empty and lifeless place for too long.

Not that the Nightmare felt terrible about it. He didn’t, there was no world where the sight of the remains of those soulless hills made him feel remorse. The Dreaming hadn’t been his home for decades, nothing now could change how he thought about what the realm once was, what it used to mean for him.

With a sigh, he turned on his heels and watched the doors to the palace warily open for him, as who greeted someone that they used to know. And, as the Nightmare passed through them, he didn’t look back.

As the Nightmare passed through them, he didn’t look back. He just waited for the click of the door closing behind him to go towards the known path to the library.

If outside, the realm was shattered in pieces, gathering what it had left — inside the castle, everything was falling apart.

The immense pillars, perfectly carved where each contour told a story, rested in crumbles on the ground and no longer supported the magnitude of the place. The Nightmare's gaze followed its destroyed pieces' path, step after step, how they revealed to him how the grand hallways and room of the majestic Dream's palace were nothing more than an old memory.

Inside the castle, strolling to the library made Corinthian feel stranger than outside when all he had was a view of a land ravaged by the lack of its king. The walls surrounding him were a single reminder of who had brought that to the realm, the same Nightmare that dared to walk calmly through the place as if nothing hadn’t changed over the centuries.

He could hear the wind hissing at him, shifting after every turn he’d take. The palace recognized him and if it weren’t completely empty, anyone would feel the rogue nightmare aura back to the Dreaming as the place did. They would sense the air becoming heavier in his presence.

The Nightmare that strayed from the Dreaming. The being who stated that would never return. And the reason the place he was raised was on its last breath. Not that anyone knew that but probably, they could guess since their lord was looking for him before he disappeared.

It has been more than fifty years. Things at the Dreaming weren’t like before, the loneliness that the walls exhaled made it clear.

After some time, the Corinthian found the entrance to the library. A grimace was placed on his face, confused by the uncommon deafening silence — everywhere used to be noisy. It was strange not to see a familiar face squinting their eyes at him suspiciously as they mumbled about the rogue nightmare.

He shook his head to himself, it should be a blessing and not something to bother him.

Once the Nightmare got into the library, the sight gracing him left him much more confused.

As anywhere in the realm, it was falling in itself. Most of the shelves that used to fill every inch of the place, full of books and stories that were currently being written were gone. Wood pieces of those shelves were left where they onetime were. The many books that brought the endless smell of fresh papers in the air now turned into dust, covering every surface.

And no sign of the loyal librarian who cared for the Dream’s library with her whole heart.

Holy shit, how was the Corinthian supposed to find your book now? He was expecting that the entire realm would be affected by the absence of its lord… But the library?

It was a collection of every book imagined and every story of a soul, human or not. The Nightmare thought that the place could work on its own, as long as people continued to create and live.

However, it couldn’t be like before, could it? It wasn’t like how things worked. Once someone took an essential piece off the board, the rules changed.

Everything changed. Perhaps, he hadn’t foreseen this as well as he'd thought before.

The Nightmare walked past what remained of the library, searching for anything that could be resisting the fall of a kingdom. Any standing bookshelf, a book facing down the cold ground, or even a single page by itself. Nothing.

If there was any magic around there, even if a little, the blonde in sunglasses didn’t feel it. Crumbles and dust made up the place once filled with magic, to the point of being sickening to the Nightmare now roaming its voidness.

Then, after so long, all that the Corinthian met was the breath of a dying land.

For a moment, he caught himself sitting in the middle of the long-lost library, was he supposed to feel something about all of it?

Because he didn’t regret helping that charlatan to keep an Endless trapped, especially when that Endless was his creator, all he wished was freedom. And only for that did Lord Morpheus try to unmake him?

Just for dreaming?

Was it really wrong wanting to feel emotions like humanity felt? To be among them, try to look and be like them? To envy them? For fulfilling his purpose perfectly while experiencing the ephemeral sensation of being human?

No. I wasn’t. Dream of the Endless was wrong, he was a self-centered, cruel, and blind creator to believe it was, to condemn any of his creations to do something as simple as dreaming.

So, Dream deserved what it came for him. Some would even say it was karma.

Thus, why wasn't the Corinthian satisfied?

He got the freedom he had long wished for. He was among humanity and fed from their fear and distress. In a second, he could feel how mortals were gifted to feel.

And even so, it wasn’t enough until he was drawn to your way at that bar that damn night.

One time or another, what he could regret was not killing you that same night for how your mere presence affected him. But, ironically or not, your effect on him was the exact reason for him to most of the time be relieved for not killing you yet.

Relieved. One more word that he didn’t understand its meaning or sensation before you and he shouldn’t, not in the way he did. That’s why he had returned to the Dreaming, looking for your book, for something that could explain what you were.

Why, when he was around you, to feel was easier? Stronger, even.

Corinthian tsked, rummaging in his pockets. His voided sockets wandered at anything but what he fished out of a specific pocket of his blazer, it would be better if he didn’t. It was bad enough for him to have recognized what he was looking for just by tracing his fingertips into the sharp edges of the wooden piece recently carved.

Why? It was simpler to ask this, the Nightmare realized when he finally stared at the piece he held fiercely. A heavier wave of confusion washed him as he looked back at those carved eyes.

Then, he sensed it.

Like something stroking the back of his neck and forcing him to look back at a spot under some wooden planks. Instead, what was hiding there.

A large burgundy book with a gold-edged spine was tucked away in what little remained of the various shelves. A unique aura enveloped its pages, the last drop of magic still lasted in the forgotten library. It wasn't for nothing that it wasn't easily felt but now that the Nightmare acknowledged it, he could feel every new word being written on its pages.

The Corinthian pushed himself up, slowly approaching the book. From where he was, he couldn’t read what was its exact title.

The D- And that was it.

Standing up beside the planks that were hidden in the book, the Nightmare was about to kick them away when…

“... Corinthian?” The sound of a certain voice caused him to stop dead in his tracks.

“Lucienne,” the Nightmare turned around, facing the librarian with pointy ears and rounded glasses.

Ever the loyal library, even if from an abandoned realm. Perhaps, the Corinthian was wrong for quickly assuming that she’d leave the Dreaming as the others did.

“You’ve returned,” the librarian sized the Nightmare up, carefully. Her hands gripping a book close to her chest, its title away from curious eyes, “Unfortunately, his Lordship is missing at the moment.”

Corinthian fought back a snort. Rather, grinning at her wording.

With ‘at the moment’, Lucienne meant sixty-five years and four months.

“Dream is missing? What a misfortune,” with a dramatic sigh, the blonde pretended not to notice how the librarian raised a brow at him. He didn’t answer her question and was well aware of that. As was she, perhaps that was why he felt like she could bore a hole into his skull, “Good thing I hadn’t returned, I’m only passing by”

“Hm,” Lucienne murmured skeptically, not falling for the alluring toothy smile that the Nightmare showed off, “And I suppose you do not know anything about our Lord's whereabouts?”

“I don't know what you're trying to imply with that tone,” Corinthian clicked his tongue, “Wherever Dream is, I am sure he is having all the time of the world to think.”

Usually, the librarian wouldn’t be the reason for the Nightmare to shiver. She was one of the most loyal Dream’s servants and could intimidate anyone that messed with her nerves.

Yet, when Corinthian was still a nightmare that carved wood under the comfort of a shadow in the Dreaming, Lucienne's squinted eyes and tight lips didn’t affect him. Not like it did now, as she threw daggers at him with a single stare.

“Think?” the librarian repeat the word, her voice not contained anymore. She was outraged, to say the least.

If he had to admit, it had made him shiver. It would be a secret only shared in a mundane night's silence.

Lucienne wasn’t the type of being that played following the rules of someone else’s game, especially a nightmare’s. After decades of aiding other dreams and nightmares, it could have taught her not to be deceived.

“Where the loyalty for your creator lies, Corinthian?” The librarian asked, her voice hardly above a whisper, “To fail him with such disrespect as to decide to have a part in his disappearance?”

So, she knew. The Nightmare couldn’t tell how much the librarian knew, but it was enough for her to know what was fact and what was still a shot in the dark.

Certainly, Jessamy had told Lucienne about his involvement. He remembered seeing the raven flying around the Burgess manor — because of that, he did himself the favor of warning the magician about the Dream's faithful messenger.

Yet, he had seen no sign of the raven in the Dreaming. If she were there or in the Waking World, she’d sense his presence in the realm and would make sure to be the first to confront him. Despite that, the Nightmare didn’t hear any beat of wings when him when he first stepped back into the Dreaming or now, as he discussed with Lucienne.

Did that charlatan get rid of…? Corinthian shook his head, that wasn’t something to be worried about. In fact, to celebrate, Jessamy could be quite annoying sometimes.

Then, why he wasn’t smiling anymore?

“Why should I be loyal to him?” Corinthian bit back, ignoring how hoarse his voice suddenly got, “He never had loyalty to me, not even to you or any of the others. There is a reason for almost every creation of his had fled the moment he didn’t respond to their pleas, don’t you agree?”

Listening to his words, the library frowned. The irritation in her furrowed brows and tight lips was replaced by a sympathetic look and lips pressed in a straight line, gulping back her thoughts. In a certain way, she knew where that resentment was coming from.

A long time ago, many nightmares and even dreams had blurted out about how sometimes it was difficult to feel anything for their lord but indignation.

“You misunderstand him, Corinthian,” Lucienne wasn’t hiding the sorrow painted on her features, yet if briefly. She might not tolerate the Nightmare but she felt sorry for him being unable to see things as they truly were, whether they like it or not, his twisted vision and mind were the real reason they were having this conversation.

The Corinthian wasn’t stupid, he didn’t need to take a second glance at the librarian’s face to see what was crossing her mind while she stared at him quietly. Pity, she was pitying him and he hated it.

If someone was supposed to pity, that someone was him. The Corinthian should be the one to pity the other people from the Dreaming, being sorry for them.

Sorry for Lucienne, the ones who chose to stay, and even the others servants that still had a little faith in their Lord as they lived in the Waking World. For all of them, they all were delusional, and couldn’t have the guts to cut the thread that linked them to Dream.

The Nightmare pitied them, they were the ones who didn’t understand Dream. He let out a wry chuckle, shaking the fragile walls that hold the library up with the sound of it.

“To the contrary, I see him for what he is,” he clutched at something he was holding, embracing the sharp contours in wood meeting the skin of his hand. The blonde lifted his lips and gave the librarian a mock grin, forcing the words out of his mouth, “If you think I failed with him, I don’t mind. You just can’t pretend that he didn’t fail with us first, he doesn’t care about you or me. Or for what we think.”

Lord Morpheus could have been the one who created them, but he never would be capable of truly seeing them. Being the one that brought them to life didn’t make him a good creator or Lord, quite the opposite. Precisely for being the one who gave them the breath of life, Dream didn’t see them beyond the duty that he thoroughly shoved right to their throats.

Dream of the Endless didn’t care about his servants, he only cared about himself and his kingdom.

And for that, the world was drowning in the fragments of a kingdom’s downfall.

That was the end that The Dreaming deserved, his Lord’s masterpiece, after everything that Dream had turned a blind eye to.

Lucienne not once missed the dark lenses of the Corinthian’s sunglasses — eyes and voidness locked in an unnerving quietness. Both servants of the same Lord: the loyal librarian and the rogue nightmare, which one would look away and turn their backs to that discussion?

Laying all of his bets on the table, Corinthian thought he had a good guess about who it would be. That was before the so-called 'good guess' fixed the round glasses on the tip of the nose and took a step forward toward him.

“You’re wrong, Corinthian,” Lucienne raised her chin and the Nightmare turned his nose at her insistence, “Not only for the twisting view you have of Lord Morpheus and for what you did to him… But for how you have harmed the Waking World and the Dreaming while doing so”

Had he?

The Nightmare doubted that… Decades ago, when he had nothing to be confused or uncertain about.

Still, something was different now. He didn’t know why. Still, something was different now. He didn’t know why but his head was constantly rewinding to what he had witnessed once he arrived back in the realm of dreams and nightmares. A land that had lost its life and colors, followed by grey clouds ready to start an endless storm.

After, all of them came in. The doubts.

And, if anyone wanted to hear some sincerity coming from Corinthian, the last thing he needed was more doubts. The number one reason for him to be there, at the Dreaming, was to crack the doubts that he already had back in the Waking World.

Therefore, he honestly didn’t need Lucienne instigating the new tide of doubts that broke in his thoughts, flooding each one of them. Despite his will, it came to him anyway.

Memories of how agitated and vivid those lands used to be when even the darkest spots used to bring comfort and not shivers, were shuffled with the brutal reality images of how the kingdom was now. A realm of dust and crumbles.

All by taking the card from the house of cards base.

The Corinthian looked away, rubbing his forehead. The staring contest between him and Lucienne didn’t matter anymore — it had never mattered — not when he was trying to look for the quickest way to put his head back to place.

A nightmare being tormented by his own mind, who would have thought about that day would come? Not him.

Corinthian sighed deeply, darting his tongue across his dry lips. Who had built that house of cards in the first place?

“Now, am I really the one to blame?” His low voice swallowed the silence in the library, Lucienne studied him carefully, paying no mind to the wind attempting to scare a nightmare off, “Everything I had done was to be free, if anything it’s thanks to me that the others finally gave in to what they always wanted to. Besides their duties and what they were created for, without fearing Dream punishing them for doing so.”

Knowingly, he said the last part bitterly, biting the two words and swallowing them down.

Some of the words the librarian had given him with such certainty were still running wild between the tracks of his train of thought, so he had all the right to refund them in some way. Paying for every letter, every gap, and every wound they unwittingly inflicted on his nonexistent soul back.

Mockingly, the Corinthian bowed his head in Lucienne’s direction, “You could follow suit and give it a try. Who knows, you might like it”

One last strike into the librarian’s nerve, carried by poison in every curve in his words.

Lucienne winced slightly, realizing the vicious teasing behind the Nightmare’s suggestion. If she didn’t have any self-control or sense, she’d smack him with the very book in her hands, Corinthian didn’t even need to read much in her narrowing eyes to acknowledge that.

Wait… Did the librarian hold a book? The Nightmare furrowed his brows, lowering his vision to the servant’s hands — there, she indeed was carrying a book when she first encountered him in the library. Perhaps, the book under the pranks wasn’t the only one persevering the loneliness of a kingdom?

The book. Glancing at the burgundy book hidden in the resemblances of a shelf, Corinthian remembered what he had found and tried to take a look before he was interrupted. Lucienne’s presence almost made him leave without what he had just found.

Even during his discussion with the librarian, if the Nightmare focused enough, he’d feel the magic pulling him to the collection of pages in a cover. Mesmerized by the familiar aura enveloping and sheltering it from the realm’s decay.

If he closed his eyelids, even briefly, he’d go back to the days when everything used to feel enough.

And now what lingered in the bare of his being was a longing nonsatisfaction. Despite how much he had achieved.

“If you really wished for that freedom that you so roguishly conquered,” Lucienne’s voice stood above the Nightmare’s train of thought again, bringing his attention back to her quipped brows, “why have you returned now?”

Corinthian raised a brow back to her, glancing between the librarian and the book she held, “I said I’m passing by”

“And I don’t believe you,” Lucienne rolled her eyes, fixing her posture. Her analytical stare bored through the pair of sunglasses that the Nightmare wore, trying to decipher his true intentions back in the Dreaming, “I’ll ask you again and I wait for an appropriate answer: why are you here?”

Fucking hell, the Corinthian pressed his lips into a thin line. What should he say? If he wanted Lucienne out of his way and to take that book without her nosiness, he should give her some type of answer. How much of the truth he could tell her without feeding her suspicions about him?

The half of it? The tenth of it?

“I was looking for a book,” Corinthian opened his arms, glancing around where he kept his two feet. The place hadn’t changed a bit since they started their little conversation, it still hung by a thread, “But I guess I won’t find it here.”

Lucienne tilted her head, looking the Nightmare up and down. Disbelief was clearly written over her features.

“A book,” Lucienne could believe what she had just heard. With a grin, Corinthian slowly nodded to confirm that she hadn’t heard wrong. The librarian scoffed, that sounded ridiculous, even for a nightmare, “You’re saying that your search for a book brought you back to a place you had sworn never come back to?”

The Corinthian shrugged, “Is it so hard to-”

“What is the name of the poor soul you want to read about before killing them?” Lucienne cut Corinthian off like a blade crossing thin air. Immediately, the Nightmare’s vision snapped back to her, taking time to process exactly what she had said.

Anyhow, both were oblivious to how the ground shook beneath their feet toward the insinuation. The librarian took upon Corinthian’s lack of answer to continue, “As you have been killing many others through the last decades?”

And that was her mistake.

The sound of the Corinthian’s jaw setting is swallowed by the library, his three mouths gritting his teeth in an iron grip. The Nightmare didn’t have veins or blood to run through them but, somehow, he thought he listened to the sound of blood flushing furiously inside of his head. Probably, it could be blood, it would explain why he was seeing red.

From outside the library and the palace, the clouds trembled. The Dreaming’s sky was completely painted gray and black, covering the lands in a big and cold shadow.

Now, Corinthian knew that Lucienne didn’t know about the detective. There was no way she would, that was a fact. That was supposed to be obvious.

Nonetheless, the facts didn’t matter, on the contrary. He didn’t like the implication that was intertwined in the librarian’s words, the incredulity in her tone when she referred to you as one of his next victims.

Like the ones who he amused himself by inviting them to the night, luring them to the comfort of his embrace before stabbing their backs. Then, with hands soaked in blood, taking their eyes out with the help of his blade, devouring them — blissfully enjoying the bittersweet taste lingering in his mouth, filling his chest with delight. Temporary, but still a pleasure, it used to satisfy him.

However, you were nothing like them. One day, you’d be one of his victims? Yes, he’d have to kill someday soon, but it would never be like how he had done with the others.

Not because he didn’t want to but because he couldn’t do such a thing. Not with you.

At the end of the day, besides all the Corinthian's attempts, they wouldn’t change how he felt anytime he imagined his hands soaked in your blood and your eyes consumed by his voidness. His stomach turned upside down just from trying to view you without your eyes, empty sockets and stolen soul.

Would your aunt be right? Would you forever be stuck in the mundane world if he took your eyes off you?

Incapable of finding peace?

There was no world where he could do it with you, submit you to a fate as being trapped in an eternity of loneliness. As long it was with any other boy or girl, it didn’t bother him. The Nightmare didn’t care about any of them, they didn’t deserve what was given to them.

Yet, for some reason, you did.

When it was about killing you and eating your eyes, that was a sight that he could never bear. And he couldn't figure out why.

Still, somehow, realizing that made the Nightmare’s limbs feel like they were made of lead.

“You’re wrong in assuming I’m searching for a next victim’s book, Lucienne,” Corinthian muttered, the words spat out dryly. Although he stiffed his posture back and tried to regain his control over the discussion, the Nightmare let out his annoyance when he clenched his teeth along his tone.

What he actually wanted to say was a single question: How could you think this of me? But, that could be easily retorted with an even better question.

How wouldn’t she?

After all, he is the Corinthian. Regardless of knowing that much, the Nightmare rested a hand over his chest, “Even I am not that sadistic, not at this point”

Lucienne blinked at that, dropping her arms to the side so she could take a better look at the blonde. Was he joking? He had to be, she hoped he was. However, the way he wasn’t chuckling in the way he used to do, was enough to tell her that he meant it. Which didn’t make sense, because yes, he was that sadistic.

Worse than being a nightmare, terror being the core of his nature, he had been corrupted by the evil in himself and humanity. Corrupted by what he was and what originally was his purpose.

Scanning the Nightmare’s form, the librarian searched for anything that could answer the unspeakable question that lingered in the air, absorbed by the walls in the library was raising — one that, as well, pickled in the back of her mind.

Because the nightmare before her can’t be the same nightmare that she witnessed running away from their realm. So, what was he?

What had changed him during the years he had been with humanity?

For all the librarian knew, the consequences of Dream being kept away from his duties could affect the Corinthian in the Waking World, right? Mess with the bareness of his existence? As it would probably affect any other dream and nightmare who fled to live among the humans.

No, it didn’t make sense. If that was ever the case, the other dreams and nightmares would have already come to her and reported anything hypothetically wrong with them.

So.. Could it be a curse? Did the nightmare cross the wrong person in the past decades? Maybe a demon, sorcerer… Anyone powerful enough to put him under a hex that forced him to feel a drop of human empathy, since all he wanted was to feel like humanity did.

But if someone cursed or plagued by evil was walking through the Dreaming, any servant there would had felt something off. And, Lucienne hadn’t sensed any magic in the nightmare that didn’t belong with him.

Lucienne remembered too well that even a few years after his escaping, Lord Morpheus was having to deal with the huge trail of bodies that the Corinthian had in his tail, accompanied by a wave of dread and terror that washed over the humans that he crosses ways. He hadn’t changed at that time, and that was one of the reasons their Lord decided to put an end to this matter and unmake him.

Therefore, what was different now? After so many years? Decades? Almost a century?

The librarian was running out of answers. Nothing made sense, it was like she was overthinking it.

Yet, she wasn’t. Something had changed, she just couldn’t quite grasp what.

Not until…

Puzzled, Lucienne drew her brows together, eyes stopping at the track.

“I thought you had stopped wood carving,” she noted out loud, eyes fixed at what Corinthian held fiercely in one of his hands.

Corinthian’s face dropped by the librarian’s voice, what she was pointing to with her wise eyes.

He was supposed to have kept it back in one of his pockets when Lucienne entered his space, but he forget it. How did he not notice that he was still holding his figure? And, instead, unconsciously found comfort in holding it tight.

For a nightmare as clever as him, he was losing touch.

“Looks like you're back with your old hobby,” choosing to ignore the Nightmare’s quiet shock, Lucienne added.

The way she was saying, prompting the subject, wasn’t helping the Corinthian to understand where the librarian wanted to go with it. What was the importance of him going back to wood carving or not?

It had nothing to do with what they had discussed in the last few minutes.

So he decided to take that rope she was giving him anyway, without giving it a mind. If it would help to distract Lucienne, he would willingly pull the rope.

“Stop is a strong word, I just wasn’t interested anymore for a while,” Corinthian shrugged it off, fixing his sunglasses, “Humans would call that a pause”

“I see,” the librarian stepped closer to the Nightmare, calmly, “You started to wood carve again when you arrived at the Waking World?”

Corinthian raised a brow at the question, pondering it carefully. What was so interesting about he wood carving again? When he used to do his hobby in the Dreaming, no one commented about it or his little creations, much less Lucienne.

“No…?” he tilted his head, incapable of reading the now Dreaming’s keeper, what she had running on her mind.

As a matter of a fact, it had been three days since he started wood carving again.

Trying to be as casual as possible, without causing any fuss, the Nightmare slipped the wooden figure back into his blazer pocket. He didn’t appreciate the idea of not knowing what was boiling in the librarian’s mind while locking her eyes on his piece.

“Is someone you met?” Lucienne asked, dipping her head. In response, the Nightmare furrowed his brows, not understanding what she was asking exactly. What was she referring to now? Towards the lack of an answer, the librarian pointed to his pocket, “I’m talking about the figure. It doesn't look like anyone I met from the Dreaming or any other realm”

Oh…

Corinthian sneered at himself, contemplating the situation where he was put as his eyes echoed the sound. Mocking the Nightmare themselves, even when they were him.

It was almost tragic if not frustrating. If he was alone in the library, he’d have screamed until he could understand what humans meant by their ‘lungs burning’.

Lucienne tricked him in her own game. It had been a long time since they weren't playing cards according to his rules, but hers. And without realizing it, the Nightmare fell into the librarian's trap.

He was cornered and in the exact place that Lucienne wanted him to be. In a position where even if he answered her or refused to, he would be giving her an answer anyway.

The Nightmare tutted, tilting his head while analyzing what had led him to where he stood.

The librarian could be quiet and always in her place in the past, knowing when was her time to speak or not. However, she was always there, somehow. When things unfolded and another servant needed to her to the wise, whether they like it or not, Lucienne was there like a shadow. An annoying one, in the Corinthian’s opinion, she always had some advice to give.

Unlike any of the other creations, dreams or nightmares, Lucienne was one of the few who was well aware of what the Nightmare was: his story, the moment he violently rose, and what he had become from there.

Therefore, of course, she’d have noticed that something was off.

From the moment that she stopped at the entrance of the library and her eyes locked on the Nightmare, she knew. Whatever it happened in the Waking World, it made the Corinthian return to what once was his home, in search of an answer or of what could solve his problems back in the Waking.

The very world that he adamantly claimed from the bottom of his being, the only place where he could be free. For the Nightmare to break his own vow and leave quickly that same world before going back, something would have scared him.

Him. The Corinthian. The Nightmare. The reflex of humanity.

What would scare such a being?

Would be the same thing that brought back his interest in wood carving back? An old habit that the Nightmare used to have even before Lucienne existed. A thing that he treasured and kept with him before he went to the Waking World for the first time, along with their Lord? And which, after that, when he was once back to the Dreaming, was never seen around again.

To make the Corinthian fall back to one of his old hobbies, a forgotten one even by himself, it needed to be something powerful. It wouldn’t be for anything that would make a nightmare get glimpses of his old self and question what he had achieved — how he had, the cost.

Then, the final card was the wooden figure. When Lucienne had her eyes on it, she finally understood.

What was more powerful than a human’s heart?

Nothing.

No, the Corinthian took a step back. He refused.

He can’t bear the idea of Lucienne knowing all of that. And, even if she did, that being his true.

Or, worse, what if the librarian discovered more about you? Would she ask for a dream or nightmare she trusted to warn you about him? Make sure you find out about his true nature? What he has done?

Would Lucienne be that cruel? With him?

Corinthian can’t let that happen. What would you do if you knew everything through someone else?

“I think we’re done here,” the Nightmare didn’t care about the strange book that he had found before Lucienne arrived, not really.

He wouldn’t be there any longer, he couldn't let Lucienne get more answers out of him than she already had. His questions could be left to think about later, but now they weren't on his top priorities anymore, “I won’t entertain you anymore with my presence”

Bumping into the librarian’s shoulder, the Corinthian passed by her. When he felt her eyes following his back, he ignored them.

The Nightmare still was clever enough to leave when it was necessary. Even if it meant that he had lost in their game.

In the Corinthian’s command, the wind returned to involve his body in a tight hold, a gale reserved for him and him only. Dust and sand camouflaged the Nightmare in thin air, ready to follow him wherever he wanted to be.

The Dream shuddered at the Nightmare’s demand, willingly giving his ticket back to the Waking World.

“Corinthian,” Lucienne called for him before he was completely gone from Dream’s realm again. The Nightmare expected the library to say something about their Lord, to remind him adorably that he was wrong in this matter — he imagined her saying anything to him except what spilled out of her mouth, “Whoever they are, let them be. Don’t destroy their life”

Then, with that, the rough breeze that had been there from the beginning led him back to where he belonged. To humanity.

But that didn’t stop him from hearing Lucienne’s last words to him. And they hit his intrinsic in a final blow, “Nothing good comes when you’re around, not to them”

The clicking sound of the glasses full of alcohol hitting the tables, along with the loud laughs of some drunks, was one of the few things that kept Nightmare from completely drifting his mind away.

Inside the bar, most of the people were seeking the shelter of a drink and the comforting warmth in spaces like that, anything that would make them forget about how cold it was outside. It could probably be one of the coldest nights of the season, forcing humans to find new ways to keep themselves safe from the icy breeze of the town.

For the first five minutes, Corinthian thought that it would be better if he headed to his nightly routine and didn’t meet you that night at all. Bruce, the bartender who took care of the bar at night, had seen him and greeted him? Of course. Would he probably tell you he was there and left before you arrived? For sure, after all, the bartender had a fondness for you — the reclusive detective with fickle humor.

It didn’t mean that, for a second, the Nightmare had pondered the idea of going to his routine and let the bartender tell you he had left anyway. But, he didn’t leave.

Instead, he had left the table he had taken in the back of the bar and sat on the counter’s stool.

Now, ten minutes since he had first arrived. Corinthian exchanged a word or two with the bartender, filtering little of what was said as he constantly caught himself back in what had happened in the Dreaming. The things Lucienne had said to him and what he would have said to her.

The details that were left in suspense, which were never mentioned but that had taken their places in the corner of his existence. Carving their own holes and burying themselves in him. All well aware that in the late night, when no sigh could be heard, the Nightmare would dig them up till the tip of his fingers turned to sand and clay again, trying to cling for what they were. The details, what they were? What did they mean? Why they held his unconscious conscious as their home?

In a moment, while the Corinthian drifted in and out of the conversation, Bruce mentioned something about a bottle of wine that he kept untouched in his house. At first, the Nightmare thought the bartender was trying to seduce him to his bed, it wouldn’t be the first time that a handsome man told him about a very old and expensive wine in their house that needed to be shared. That made Corinthian return his full attention to what Bruce was saying, just then noticing where he was going with the ‘untouched bottle of wine’ point.

“Do you believe it? A Château Lafitte as a gift? From 1828?” the bartender snorted, shaking his head, “That kind of stuff is rare, to not say very expensive, I almost refused but I’m sure you already know how the grumpy detective is”

“The detective?” Corinthian furrowed his brows slightly, “I didn’t quite catch, the detective was who gifted you that bottle of wine?”

“Yes, sir,” Bruce nodded, chuckling at the memory as he poured another glass of vodka for the Nightmare, “According to the dear detective, I deserved a reward for putting up with such a moody presence at the bar for a year.”

Well, that much sounded like something you would say indeed. The Corinthian nodded in understanding — for others, you were reclusive and someone of few words, rather staying in your quietness than instigating a conversation. Perhaps, it was because of it that you’d suggest sometimes that you were a complicated person to be around, the way your coworkers referred to you didn’t help you to think otherwise either.

However, you weren’t. Complicated, that was. Not for the Nightmare.

Sure, there were times when he couldn’t understand you. He still didn’t know how your abilities worked or where they came from, for example, only that they remind him of the Dreaming. That was why he had gone there and regretted it instantly, going back to the Waking World, (annoyed, he might add, it was the better word to describe his mood without going further).

Also, he couldn’t quite grasp yet the reason for you wanting people to discover their truths. What was the point in showing someone what they will continue to be oblivious about?

Okay, maybe it was your sense of justice, he could understand that. You believed that people deserved to face reality.

Although, he of all people had a say in the matter, an incontestable fact: humanity is afraid of acknowledging their truths, to confront reality, the reflex that would stare them back in the big mirror of the world. And, you could do nothing about that.

Thus, why keep trying? It was useless. If they couldn’t see what was in front of them and inside them, in their intrinsic, so they didn’t deserve to wander among the others. Someday, he hoped, you would understand — before you died, preferably.

Speaking of you… He glanced around the bar, distractible, dark lenses stopping at the bar’s doors for a second. Better late than never.

Escaping from the icy wind, you fixed your scarf and readjusted the black gloves covering your hands, protecting you from the winter's sudden potential. Flashing your eyes at a couple of drunks settled in their tabled, you winced by their shoutings and kept your hands in the pockets of your coat, as usual.

Your face didn’t carry the best of expressions, any energy you had before drained by what you had to deal with at work today. Dragging your gaze to the counter, finding where the Nightmare and the bartender were, you did your best to mask your tiredness. But it was clear, as you made your way to the stool next to him, that something had dreaded you.

The Corinthian could smell the fear leaving your pores and coating your frame. However, nothing of it was yours, but from someone else.

A flash of the face you the girl he had killed between last night and today, her expression contorted in horror and lack both of her eyes. Her blood pooled on the floor and stained the bottom of his black shoes.

The student…

“Hey Bruce,” you dipped your head, adjusting your figure over the stool. Your eyes were on the counter but, clearly, your attention wasn’t there, “Can I get a whiskey in one of those exquisite glasses and with ice?”

The bartender puffed, glancing at the Corinthian as he held a laugh, “You mean a whiskey on the rocks?”

“Good to know we’re speaking the same language,” you said with a smug, one that quickly faded from your face. The Nightmare snorted at your tone, sipping his drink — at least, he wasn’t the only one sulking anymore. Laying your arm over the counter, you faced the man in sunglasses, his hat resting in his lap, “Sorry for being late, my case is… It’s complicated”

The Nightmare took a second to contemplate you from up close since you were sitting by his side. You weren’t excited as you were when you both shared your goodbyes in the middle of the night, your eyes beaming at him as you whirled your back to him. Now, your irises felt haunted.

Gulping a lump that formed in his throat, the Corinthian frowned at himself. His mind was drowning in words, a single being played repeatedly like a broken record.

Haunted. Haunted. Haunted. Haunted. Haunt-

“And you?” you asked in return, tilting your head at the Nightmare. Instantly, he noticed a subtle scent of tobacco coming from your clothes, not your breath.

It grounded him more firmly in the present.

“A lot like you, I hadn’t the best of days,” he raised his glass, shrugging.

“Hm,” you muttered, tapping the counter as you waited for your order, “Are you okay?”

Corinthian huffed, to not say that he scoffed at your question. Not because of the question itself, but for you being the one asking it. You, who were overflowing in worrying, despite your attempts to keep all that gathering in your core. And you still cared to ask him if he was okay?

That sounded like a joke. How would he even start explaining? Better, what would he actually say?

I was working and suddenly you came to mind and it distracted me enough to make me go home and I hated it, in fact, it’s still bothering me. So could you please stop with whatever you’re doing? Because you have to know what you’re doing.

No, that wasn’t one of the best ideas, for far not the brightest.

“Are you okay?” he returned the question, “What happened, another victim?”

“I wish it had been only that,” you sighed, “But I believe things are getting harder the closer I get to the answer.”

“Well, enlighten me,” the Corinthian offered an encouraging smile, one that you returned with a nod before starting to explain.

Quickly, Bruce handed you your drink before giving the both of you a wink and going back to his work. You didn’t touch the whisky, just thanked the bartender in a mumble and ranted about how your case was going as you let the ice melt in the drink and diluted the alcohol.

And, for what it seemed, only one thing had happened as the Corinthian had predicted that day: his changing his victimology so suddenly did not only stir your head but your precinct as well.

Aside from the complete change of target, the young adult was murdered in the same way the others had. About the eyes... Like the last times, they were taken too. Nothing else had changed.

Your hands gestured in the air while you talked in a lower tone, wishing for Bruce not to hear how was the student’s state when you went to the morgue.

Her skin was coated by the smell of dead, lifeless, her clothes soaked in her blood and her chest exposed — with wounds that even if she hadn’t died in the motel, she’d not make it to the hospital. And her face…

You stopped yourself before continuing, a shiver running down your spine when you relived her fear and worry for her own life.

Her face was pure void, according to your words. You didn’t know another way of describing it. Blood tears had stained her cheeks and turned into two portals for emptiness where her eyes once were.

The Corinthian went quiet while you continued to explain what happened at your work, how your case was going, how the new victim would change it, etc. His dark lenses were fixed on your face, even if he wasn’t paying attention to what you were saying anymore. The vodka he had in his hand turned warm when the smell of tobacco in his gloves couldn’t hold his thoughts to the ground anymore, rewinding to the shadows in his being once again.

Into emptiness.

For some reason, the Nightmare could still feel that there was something in his hands. Staining, soaking, and coating them with a bloody weight. Drop by drop, he heard the vividly liquid fall from his fingertips to the drink in his glass, tainting his vodka with his wrecks.

Looking up, he could see the crumbles in his being that mimicked the ones in the Dreaming. His feet sank in sand, dust, and clay as he strolled among the nothingness that fill him. Each step left a red footprint behind him, the tracks of a fallen creation. A killer.

Wasn’t that what he was supposed to be? The truth about humanity was ugly, horrible, and gloomy — his purpose was that, to represent that side of them. To defy them to see the shadows of their reflex, a sight they wouldn’t dare to face when they were awake.

So, he would make them see it himself. Acting like them, camouflaging among them and killing the ones who didn’t know how to enjoy what they had. Feeding from their eyes and enjoying it himself, for once, the Nightmare could feel like humans did.

And then, he was greeted by the void again. Vacancy.

Everything that, now, the Dreaming reflected too.

The Corinthian bit the inside of his cheeks, looking for anything that would push that memory away, even pain. But he felt nothing, sand filled his tongue and vanished at the same second, leaving a bitter taste instead.

The Dreaming was a part of Dream, as Dream was a part of the Dream, and he — a nightmare — was made with the resemblances of Dream, his creator. Would that mean that Dream was feeling like he felt? That lack of everything and nothing at the same time?

Something in thinking about it, made the Corinthian feel sick. Sicksicksicksicksicksick, an unfamiliar word with a new meaning and he hated everything about that word. It implied that he felt bad about his creator if it was true if Dream was really passing through what he has been in his entire existence.

That hole grew bigger and bigger in his core.

And, if that was the case, he couldn’t feel sick about it. He should be satisfied with it. Eventually, Dream would understand him.

“Even if one of the offices behind those other cases replies to my letter, it will be useless,” the sound of your voice slowly grounded him back to his stool. If you had noticed that the Corinthian wasn’t entirely there, you didn’t say anything about it, “Until there, my case will close, unfinished, and I won't be able to continue it from here.”

“What?” the Nightmare drew his brows together, “What do you mean?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line, sipping your drink for the first time.

“MacDonald got in touch with the cops in the other cities, the closest from here, asking them about the victimology, and who answered her said that my case matches their old cases,” Corinthian’s sockets widened, raising his brows at it and returning to drink again. He would need it, “My unsub has been working for ten years, if not more”

Way more, the Nightmare pursed his lips. It wasn’t like he was going to count how many years had passed since he'd started, it had certainly been over fifty.

It started before Dream was captured. So, there was the math.

His lips turned into a pout when the name emerged again in his mind. Dream.

“Sorry if you had already explained, I’m just trying to understand,” the Corinthian fixed his sunglasses, twitching his nose, “But why this means that you will close your case?”

Drumming your finger on the surface of the counter, you looked away from the Nightmare in silence. The same lullaby was playing constantly, it made the skin of the Corinthian tremble as if they were strings trying to follow a melody’s chord.

He felt that wave again. Emotions threatening to escape from your chest and that claimed for him to reach them one more time. Like he had done the other times.

However, this time, the Nightmare chose to ignore it. To let the wave pass through him and don’t adventure in the deep of those waters. To not swim further.

Just stay.

Suddenly, he felt it. Vividly.

That feeling when you would be drowning and the water filled the bottom of your lungs, digging its way into your organs, tissues, flesh, and core. Lungs screaming for oxygen, pleading for it even a bit, anything that would make the pain go away. The burning.

The Corinthian’s lungs were burning.

Despite him not having lungs or feeling pain, not as humans would do.

But, he felt.

“It’s just that…” you stopped yourself, the words trembled every time you opened your mouth, “The others officers, from these other cities, they all said the same thing, you know? The unsub always leaves after he murders the seventh victim, he moves from town to town, taking advantage of the officers who don’t give his cases a second thought.”

That… That was true.

The Corinthian pinched the bridge of his nose when he remembered that. Remembered by you. How had he forgotten a crucial thing as it?

It could be because he had never shortened the time between his killings. Or because he had never been that absorbed before.

Enjoying more what happened after the killing and the delight than the process itself.

That wasn’t optional: he should find his next victim.

But, it would mean that he’d have to leave the town soon after. And, if he left, he could just let you continue here.

Everything that Corinthian was planning to do in the future far away would have started to be set in motion. That idea, unlike when he first thought about it, didn’t bring him any excitement. Or amusement. In reality, it made that burning feeling return to his lungs.

His chest.

“MacDonald just took information from them because she technically forced them to re-check closed cases and even so, it will be for nothing” Your glass of whisky danced in your hand, sparkling under the bar’s dim lights. You frowned at the whisky, glancing at the Nightmare, “Probably, tomorrow another body will be found, and even if get to the motel instead of asking for the cops to bring the victim to the station… The unsub will be on the road already, he could be anywhere.”

Yes, he could.

The Corinthian mimicked your frown, taking in what you had just said. The agony of drowning in the void as you wait for a helping hand or for that torture to end — but nothing ever coming to happen.

Condemned to the lack of a something, an anything. A conclusion.

The lack of everything and nothing. That would make you two, right?

After the bar, both of you would be doomed to a similar fate. You would have to die without your answers while he would have to keep living without his answers, but the doubts you planted in his head.

And your blood in his hands.

The Nightmare winced at the mere thought, seeing his blade cutting through your fresh. Only one time, he wouldn’t have the courage to stab you more than once. So, for that, he’d have to hit you in your head, more specifically, your medulla oblongata.

You would die ten seconds later, gazing at him in his empty sockets while one question lingered in the air and you’d never find the strength to make it. Why? Then, your eyes wouldn’t close, they would continue to stare at him, emotionless. Completely numb, empty, just a void of what you were.

A reflex of him.

He’d never find in himself to close your eyelids. Or maybe, he would, not wishing to remember you in that way.

He needed to remember you by the way you’d look at him while explaining something that you didn’t have sure he’d understand — but it didn’t matter, because he would be paying attention, and that was enough. Not only by how your eyes widened at him, pouring how you felt out but your determination, what some would assume to be stubbornness. Yet, he appreciated it, even when he didn’t understand why you kept doing what you did, he liked that you weren’t one of giving up.

You never were or would be. You were the type of person that wouldn’t die without pulling up a fight, trying until your last breath to carry on.

The Nightmare’s hand hovered over the pocket of his blazer, feeling the edges of the wooden figure there.

He had to make a decision.

“You seem too positive about that,” the Corinthian remarked in a mutter, loud enough for you to hear and bring your attention back to him.

It was inevitable, the wanting to kill would strike again and he’d give in to it.

He’d have to murder another victim, no matter when.

“What do you mean?” it was your turn to ask.

That was the key: no matter when.

The Corinthian grinned at your question as if you had asked exactly what he wanted to hear.

“You had said to me that the killer probably is killing and setting his scenes as he does because he wants attention,” the man in sunglasses quipped a brow, pulling his drink away from him, “Especially from the press”

“Yes…?” you furrowed your brows, folding your arms, “Where you want to go with it?”

“Calm down, sweetheart, I was already getting there,” the Corinthian held his hand up, not noticing how you lowered your head, bashfully, “As you said, none of the other officers even investigated the case, so until now no one had instigated his interests”

Not that he didn’t want attention.

After years of murdering and rarely being a topic around common people, he had grown to like the mornings after the murder.

When he’d walk among the humans, waved by the sun upon his head, while they were utterly unaware of the horribles of the other night. The danger that was nearby.

It wasn’t something that you needed to know, though.

“What are you suggesting?” you abandoned your drink, narrowing your eyes at the man in sunglasses.

“Give what he wants,” the Corinthian offered, drumming the counter as you did before, “I know people that if I knock on their door right now, would have it published tomorrow morning”

With a threat. But the point was that they would do what he asked them to do.

You opened your mouth, then closed it and opened it again.

“Would you do that?” you asked, trying to hold back a smile. Either way, the corners of your lips turned up, “Seriously?”

“Of course, I would,” he flashed you a smile, genuine this time, “Am I not a journalist?”

Your face relaxed in relief, tears threatening to escape from your eyes while you stare at his sunglasses. Your gloved hands gripped the stool where you were sitting, not knowing exactly what to do with them. Perhaps, if you weren’t so afraid, you’d ask him if you could hug him.

“You don’t know how much this means to me, thank you,” you brushed your shoulders against his, briefly, “I owe you this one”

“No, there is no need for such a thing,” the Corinthian shook his hands, resting them over the counter, “See this as I doing a favor for a friend”

Friend? Was that what you were?

“Huh, if you say so,” you nodded, “I’m sure you would like a last drink before heading to some of your contact’s house?”

The Corinthian chuckled, “I’m not one to refuse a drink when offered”

You laughed at him, much lower than the others in that bar and, yet, sweet.

“Bruce, please,” you called the attention of the bartender, who quickly perked up at your order from his position behind the counter, “One round to me and…”

The sentenced paused there, remaining in the air. Your eyes stopped at the being by your side again, as if you waited for something.

It took a couple of seconds for the Nightmare to realize.

His name. You were asking for his name.

He was taken aback by that, fixing his position on the stool sheepishly.

You didn’t want any of you to be a stranger anymore. That made his chest burn again, but not in a bad way like before, it was something else.

Let your name run around or, worse, give a face to said name was a dangerous thing to do. It would only bring you trouble for the person.

“Hm,” Corinthian scratched the back of his neck, “You can call me Cori”

But the Nightmare was willing to take the risk.

Your brows rose, “Cori?”

He liked how the name sounded in your mouth, how your lips moved along the letters. It felt right when you repeated, coating the world in honey and turning it into a sweet melody, a lullaby. A dream.

Everything that he lacked.

“Did I get it right?” your eyes crinkled when you questioned, lowering your head in his direction.

Cori smiled again, nodding, “Yes, and you? I suppose you have a name, detective”

Rolling your eyes, you pondered it for a moment.

A name wasn't something that someone should give to any one.

In the end, names held power. Identities were made by names, and names molded souls. Once you gave a name to something, it became real, it had a meaning.

Yet, you gave yours to him freely.

And, even with Corinthian knowing what was your name way before you knew his, it was there.

At the moment that his chest filled with flames that burned but couldn't be felt.

The beginning of the downfall of a nightmare.

next chapter.

Taglist: @slashersimp101 @mavsketch @lostcause514 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @morallygr4ygay @milleca @ravenous-says-stuf @smoke-n-fiire @laydreams @kameronrose @mischiefmanaged71 @seraferna @lupinlie (if you want to be added, let me know!)

#the nightmare nearby #the sandman x reader #the corinthian x reader #corinthian x reader

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eyndr-stories · 2 years ago

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I Think I Smell A Rat (FNAF SB fanfic) C2 - Maybe Just ONE Game

In Summary:

Being a robotic repair rat who lives in the walls of the pizza-plex is a pretty great gig, all things considered! You fix the wires instead of chew them, and you get into tight spaces those silly humans can't reach and fix things up behind the scenes. You do your little tasks diligently, and all is well. That is, until one night when you realize all of your other repair rat friends have gone missing, and almost all of those animatronics outside the walls are acting strange... You aren't sure what it is that needs fixing, but by golly you'll fix it! You just might need a little help along the way...

Things To Know:

Not a lot of warnings for this one! There is some peril and danger, damage to robots, and damage to. Uh, whatever the heck Afton is at this point??

Reader insert! You're a little rat shaped robot a handful of inches long. Lots of borrower-related themes in here

Daycare attendant centered, though the other animatronics make brief appearances. You hang out with Sun in the first half of the story and Moon in the second half!

A little over 17000 words in total, just a lil guy! 5 chapters, they're all pretty short

I somehow managed not to swear once in the entire story, aw hell yeah! Wait-

Ao3 link: Here!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

C2 - Maybe Just ONE Game

It wasn’t long before you and Sun ran into trouble. You’d just made your way back out of the walls, having turned the lights on to the corridor ahead, when you heard Sun cheerfully greet someone else.

Sun bounced excitedly. “Roxanne Wolf!! Wow wow it’s so nice to see you! You hardly ever visit the daycare except for birthdays. How are you?!”

Roxanne stalked across the funky carpet floor. Her walking animation was off, slow and jerky, like she was having trouble pathfinding properly. You stood cautiously next to the port leading back into the walls. Neither bot had seen you emerge just yet.

Sun noticed Roxy’s strange walk as well. “Uh oh, are you feeling okay??”

Roxy didn’t reply, but her gaze fixed intently on Sun. She lifted her arms, as if to grab Sun, now only a few paces away. Those claws of hers looked menacing, but you knew they were just fancy guitar picks. All the animatronics had them except for Sun, so they could pluck the strings of their instruments despite their massive metal fingers.

“Oh, do you want a hug?! I’d love a hug!! We can hug!” Sun excitedly threw his arms out for a big hug.

Roxy raised a hand, winding back as if to strike. You realized that striking Sun was actually exactly what she meant to do, and you panicked.

“SUN.” You darted forwards, waving your flashing tail.

This got the attention of both bots. Roxy paused a moment away from heaving a clawed hand down at Sun to fix her intimidating gaze on you instead.

“RUN,” you quickly told Sun, already darting back towards the wall.

Sun seemed to have realized that Roxy was not actually about to give him a hug. “This is NOT how we treat our friends, Roxy!!” Sun yelled as he ran.

You were very suddenly plucked clean off the ground. After a moment of terror wondering if Roxy had been closer behind you than you’d realized, you noticed between the pathfinding warnings that the metal fingers around you were yellow, and did not have any claws. They were also cradling you very carefully. After a moment of disorientation and hurriedly dismissing warnings, you poked your head out between Sun’s fingers to see Sun had made it through the door into the next corridor and was trying to close the door behind him via the control panel next to the door.

Roxy made it to the door a moment later. She punched the control panel on her side of the door, and the door slid back open.

Sun immediately hit the controls again, and the door slid closed. Roxy and Sun went back and forth, and after a moment you remembered why Roxy couldn’t just jump through. All the bots were programmed to wait until a door was completely open to step through, as a safety feature. Sun and Roxy were locked in a cycle of opening and closing the door, Roxy unable to get through and Sun unable to move away without letting the door open.

You quickly wiggled out of Sun’s hand and scurried across his arm. Your little claws clung very well to the fabric of Sun’s pants as you climbed down to the ground.

“Tiny friend, where are you going??” Sun asked.

“Closing the door,” you quickly flashed before darting into the walls.

You made your way up to the door controls. Once you reached them, you paused, realizing this wouldn’t be quite as easy as you’d thought. There were active signals constantly transmitting back and forth as Sun and Roxy opened and closed the door. In order to rewire the door shut, you’d need to time your move carefully. Your little paws were insulated, so it wasn’t a shock you were worried about. But if the mechanism detected an active charge going through a severed wire before you could connect it again, the whole thing would shut off as a safety feature to prevent sparks and a potential fire, and the door would be stuck open by default, leaving Sun to face Roxy with no easy escape.

You timed it out carefully. You had an opening a few milliseconds long between signals, so long as Sun and Roxy kept up the same pattern. You were fast, but you weren’t sure if you were that fast. You’d never had to reconnect a wire under a time limit before.

Focusing on your internal timer, you set your teeth on the wires you needed to sever and waited…

Now.

Snip! And then an instant motion of paws twisting as fast as you could make them go, and then…

Silence.

You weren’t sure if the controls didn’t have any more signals going through it because the other bots had stopped pressing the buttons or because you hadn’t been quick enough. The path back out of the walls was much longer than you remembered it being.

You leapt through the port and back into the corridor where you’d left Sun.

“Tiny friend!!” Sun knelt down in front of you, his rays swaying happily.

The door was closed. Roxy was stuck on the other side. You’d done it.

You collapsed with relief, flopping over on the ground.

"You did such a good job!! Thank you so much." Sun reached out and gave your little head a pat. "I'm not sure what's gotten into our friend Roxy, she's not usually… well. She can be mean sometimes, but she would NEVER hit anyone!!"

"Something is wrong…" You were beginning to worry about your fellow robotic rat friends. Maybe Roxy or even another bot got to them… but why would nearly all of them be missing?? At the least there would be total system shutdown pings on the network and a last known location from the downed rats. But the network was still quiet.

Sun hugged his knees and tapped his pointy shoes on the ground. His sun rays slowly retracted into his head. "What do you think is making Roxy feel sick? That's it, right? She's just not feeling herself! Usually she loves to talk, but she didn't say a thing earlier! If she's sick, that means you or someone else could fix her, right?? You can fix things, you're really good at fixing things!"

Your reply was hesitant, somewhat quiet. Not in volume of course, but your tail light was a bit dimmer than normal as you blinked out a reply. "I don’t know how to fix Roxy. I do not even know what is wrong with her. Repair rats were not designed to interact with you animatronics, so all I know is what I have learned from observing over the years."

"Oh." Sun's face plate turned briefly to the door. After a moment, he looked back down at you. "You would help fix her if you could, right?"

You replied honestly. "Yes. If I knew what to do and was capable of doing it, I would. It’s my job to repair, my nature."

Sun nodded. "Would you help me figure out how to help Roxy? After we find your friends, of course!" Sun suddenly straightened. "Oh!! Do you think whatever made Roxy sick also made your friends sick??"

You considered that for a moment. If it was some kind of bug or even a virus making Roxy act the way she had, you supposed anyone connected to the main network could have accidentally been infected. Every bot in the building, even the wet floor sign bots, had to connect to the main network at least every once in a while for system updates. "I think it is possible. If it was a virus, why are you and I not affected? Are the other animatronics affected as well, or just Roxy? More information will likely lead to a solution."

"Yeah! So how do we learn more?? If the others are acting like Roxy too, it might be dangerous to ask them…"

"Maybe we can observe from far away. I'm good at that."

"Good idea! We can play pretend that we're spies on a secret undercover mission!!" Sun swung his arms around, doing a few karate chops.

"You can pretend if you want. I will just be me."

"Aww, but it would be fuuuuun!!" Sun slumped over dramatically, spinning his face at you. "You don't like to play, do you?"

"We do not have time to play." You realized then that you and Sun had been sitting around for five whole minutes, wasting time chatting. You started to scurry along, waving your tail at Sun to follow.

Sun sprang to his feet and easily kept pace with you. "We can play after the work is all done, right?? Once we find and fix all the friends and everything is okay?"

"Fine, fine. We can play later if you really want to so badly."

"YAY!!!" Sun cartwheeled past you, ending with a happy little hop. Well, as ‘little’ as a hop could be when the climax of the jump was more than thrice as tall as you. He crouched back down as you caught up and offered his hands out to you. "We'll have SO much fun, you'll see! We can play all kinds of games, you can even invite all your friends!!"

You climbed up into Sun's hands and imagined for a moment close to a hundred repair rats all sitting around a table together with Sun. The thought was amusing, even if you couldn't imagine what kind of game Sun would have that would host so many players. You couldn't really imagine any games at all, actually.

"I have never played a game before," you told Sun.

Sun stopped dead in his tracks and stared down at you. "Never?? Not ever?! Not even ONE game?!?"

"No."

"You- you don't ever have any fun?!"

"No."

You'd never been at all adept at understanding the expressions of the animatronics or the humans, and Sun's rigid unanimated face plate didn't emote at all anyways. However, Sun managed to make it transparently clear regardless that he was upset nearly to the point of tears. He was shaking and hunched over, and his rays had retracted all the way into his head, and he was making the most pitiful little sounds.

Sun straightened suddenly, still managing not to jostle you. "That simply will NOT stand. You can't just work work work all the time and never play! Gosh, how horrible!! I can't believe you've NEVER EVER played before even once!! We should play a game while we look, what do you say??"

"No time." You weren't sure why this had Sun so worked up. You needed to keep moving, there was work to be done, things to fix.

"We can play as we walk! Please please please?!"

Sun sounded like he might collapse in despair if you declined, and you sort of needed him to get around hastily. You begrudgingly agreed.

"Just ONE game. And we have to keep moving."

"Okay!!" Sun did another happy little hop and immediately started moving again, long strides carrying the two of you down the curving corridor. "Oh boy, your first game!! Okay okay, so this game is called I-Spy! It's easy, all you have to do is pick something you can see."

"Okay. I pick that plastic potted plant over there." You wiggled your nose in the direction of a decorative plant to Sun's left.

Sun giggled and shook his head. "No no, the game is that I have to guess what you've picked, silly! You can't tell me what it is unless I guess right!" Sun elaborated, explaining that the guesser would ask if items in the area, matching a brief description, were the item in question. "You can guess first, okay? Are you ready to give it a try?"

"Sure." You couldn't see how this 'game' could possibly be considered fun, but if it kept Sun moving, you would indulge him.

"Okay!! I spy with my little eye… something… red!" Sun declared.

You gazed around halfheartedly, looking down the corridor for red items. "Is it the red squares on the carpet?"

"Nope! Good guess, try again!"

"Is it… that vending machine?" you tried.

"No, not quite!"

You looked around again. What else was red around here? Your eyes were very good with color, even in low lighting, so that you could easily tell different wires apart. Finally, you spotted a poster near the end of the hall, depicting a few of the main animatronic characters performing together. The background of the poster was a bright red flowing curtain.

"Is it that poster at the end of the hall?"

"Yeah!! You got it! Wow, good job!" Sun cheered.

"I got it!" You held your head a little higher. You looked back at Sun, who was bouncing with every step as his sun rays swayed back and forth. "…Alright. I guess games are… nice."

Sun laughed. "They are!! Do you want to keep playing?"

"Yes."

You played I-Spy with Sun for a while. It was a very convenient game, since you were already keeping an eye out for your friends anyways. It even had the added bonus of helping you get more accustomed to using your eyes. You were, admittedly, having fun. You were even a little annoyed when you had to stop in order to get into the walls and turn on the lights for the next area. You had no idea that playing games and having fun could be so… so… you couldn't even describe it.

No wonder Sun had been so insistent on the games this whole time. Playing games was fun. Having fun made you happy. Oh- that's what it was. Happy, you were happy.

You weren't sure if you'd ever been happy before. Satisfied, maybe. You liked doing a good job and getting your tasks done and fixing things, that all felt good. Like a circuit board with all its neat little pieces lined up just right, everything wired up correctly. Happy was something close, but still almost entirely different. It was more like when a damaged rat finally returned to the nest after a long repair.

You couldn't complain. Of all the things you'd felt so far, this was considerably more enjoyable than some other things. Like physical damage, or buggy updates, the out of bounds error, or not being able to fix something and being unable to dismiss the task until it was fixed.

Sun paused, and you brought your full attention back to him. He was staring at a poster advertising the daycare, the hours of operation listed at the bottom.

"I hope we can get everything sorted soon. I know we've only been gone for an hour and a half, but I miss the daycare. I don't usually like to leave. Everything makes sense, and it feels cozy, I belong there! But this is really important." Sun sighed and slowly carried on.

You studied Sun for a moment. You felt the same way about being in the walls, and your charging nest. You were designed for the walls, built for that specific environment. Sun was built for the daycare.

You waved your tail, bringing Sun's attention back to you. "Sun. Thank you for helping me."

"Of course, tiny friend!" Sun carefully gave you a pat with a thumb.

You and Sun carried on. You'd turned on half the lights in the whole building at this point, and hadn't found any more answers.

Your luck finally changed however when you made it to the food court.

You'd been avoiding the area because the light controls were harder to get to and a bit more complicated. The whole space was quite large, and you'd have to leave Sun for a while in order to get to all the controls. There were three entire floors to activate the lights for, and that meant a lot of climbing for you. Not that you minded, you'd just been hoping you wouldn't have to spend so much time running around fixing lighting controls while your friends were all possibly in danger somewhere.

After figuring out all the lights for the food court, you quickly made your way back to Sun. You could tell he’d gotten worried by how long you’d been gone, and he was especially relieved to see you again.

Sun lifted the rolling shutter gate and carried you through into the food court. You were up on the second floor, surrounded by directories and benches and stroller corrals and vending machines. Sun crept up to the railing, whispering about sneaky spies.

You and Sun peered down into the brightly lit food court together.

There were several animatronics hanging out on the main floor. You could see Monty and Chica aimlessly ambling around the open crowd space in front of the big stage where they usually put on performances. Freddy was stalking slowly between rows of tables, occasionally bumping into the edge of a chair or table. You could see evidence of the gang’s poor pathfinding everywhere- toppled trashcans and downed fake plants.

It seemed Roxy was still wandering around somewhere in the halls behind you, since she seemed to be missing. You weren’t sure if you would prefer to have them all in one place or not.

Sun took a few steps back away from the rail. He crouched down and held you up closer to his face so he could whisper to you. “They all look like how Roxy looked. If everyone is sick, that means it wasn’t just a bug with Roxy…”

“It has to be some kind of virus. It must be in the main network if they all have it,” you reasoned.

“Oh dear, oh no.” Sun grabbed one of his rays with his free hand, pulling at it with worry. “This is no good. I’m glad I don’t have it too, I have to help you fix this!”

You still had no idea how to fix whatever this was. You had the beginnings of an idea, but you weren’t sure how good of a plan it was.

“I bet I don’t have it yet because I’m not on the network!! I’ve been in safe mode this whole time. I don’t like to connect to the network unless I have to, it’s too noisy!” Sun shook his head.

“Maybe I should put myself in safe mode too, just in case.” You had no plans to connect to the main network anytime soon, but you figured you should stay on the safe side anyways. You would be disconnected from the sub-network all the rats used to communicate too, but there was no one on that network anyways. You’d been checking every five minutes, to no avail.

“Good idea. So what do we do?? How can we fix everyone?” Sun asked.

“I have an idea, but I do not know how well it will work.”

“I’m sure it’s a great idea!! Besides, I don’t have any ideas at all.”

You sat back on your hind legs as you explained your idea, folding your two front paws together. Sun patiently and quietly watched your tail light blink out your plan.

“I do not think it is safe for either of us to contact the others directly. So in order to help them without being near them, my idea is to modify the charging stations around the building to set them to safe mode automatically once they enter for a charge. I can do the same with the charging nests in the walls for the other rats.”

“Ohhh that’s really smart!! Yeah, that’s a great plan, lets do that!” Sun excitedly shot to his feet. “I know where all the charging stations are! I’ll take you to the nearest one first!”

Sun was already moving before he’d even finished talking. You arrived in no time at all; the nearest station was just around the corner, by the entrance to the Roxy Raceway attraction.

“Can you set me on top of the station, please?” you asked.

Sun happily obliged, stretching his arm up high enough for you to climb atop the cylindrical chamber. You took a moment to marvel at the convenience of having an extremely tall friend- it would have taken you ages to climb up on your own. You dipped your tail back over the edge and flashed a thanks to Sun.

You heard Sun reply immediately. “You’re welcome, tiny friend!! Good luck!”

You turned your focus to the task at hand.

Changing the controls to set a charging animatronic to safe mode turned out to be more involved than you’d hoped. Not impossible, just difficult. There were a lot of safety features in place to keep anyone from tampering with the charging stations.

Sun shuffled around aimlessly while he waited, doing quiet gymnastics and poking at the surrounding decor.

You were almost finished, and had paused to glance up as Sun did a particularly impressive backwards flip, when you noticed motion behind Sun, on the stairs leading up from the main floor to the second.

“SUN.” You waved your tail frantically, getting Sun’s attention. “HIDE.”

Sun froze for a panicked moment, then quickly swiveled his head around, searching for a hiding spot. He dropped to the floor and quickly wiggled his way under a bench, and not a moment too soon.

Monty reached the second floor and turned to face you. You quickly scurried back away from the edge of the charging station. You could hear Monty’s heavy steps clomping closer, though you were pretty sure he hadn’t seen you. Monty must be coming to charge.

Moving quickly, you rushed to finished your work. You could use this as a test of sorts, to be sure putting the animatronics in safe mode worked before you and Sun wasted a lot of time and effort going around the entire building to alter as many charging stations as possible.

You finished your work in the nick of time. The door of the charging station slid shut, and you could hear the chamber whir to life. The door lock activated, and Monty entered rest mode.

Sun tentatively poked his head out from under the bench.

“Safe,” you assured.

Sun shimmied his way back out from under the bench. “That was a close call!” Sun wiped imaginary sweat from his brow and angled his face plate up towards you. “Did you do it?? Is it all fixed?”

You bobbed your head in the affirmative. “Yes, it should work. I think we should wait around and see if Monty is better.”

“Good idea! Then we’ll know if it made him feel better or not!” Sun reached up and offered you a hand. You hopped down into his hand.

Sun cupped you close to his chest and eyed the charging station. “It usually only takes me five to ten minutes to complete a charge. Do you think the glamrocks charge just as fast? Or maybe even faster??”

“I’m not sure,” you answered honestly. “I suppose we’ll find out.”

You and Sun waited patiently for the first minute, then impatiently for the next four.

"…He's still not done charging." Sun heaved a sigh and sat down heavily on the bench, hands still carefully cupped around you. He threw his face plate back dramatically and kicked his feet out.

"I bet it's ten minutes. Shouldn't be too much longer now, hopefully." You padded around impatiently in Sun's hands.

"We haven't seen any of your friends around. Where do you think they could be?" Sun wondered.

"I don't know… I'm worried." You half expected to see someone every time you went back into the walls to fix the lights, but the walls were strangely empty. Even if they had been infected by this virus that seemed to have infected most of the animatronics, surely they'd still at least be wandering around…?

"Aw, I'm sure we'll find them! Maybe they're all hanging out together somewhere? Maybe there was a really really big repair that needed doing somewhere and we just haven't found it yet!"

"Yeah, maybe." You pat a paw against Sun's palm appreciatively. "Thanks, Sun. And thank you again for helping me."

"Of course!! And thank YOU for helping ME with my friends too!" Sun nodded towards the charging station.

As if on cue, the charging station door suddenly hissed open, causing both you and Sun to start. Sun leapt to his feet as Monty stumbled out of the station.

"Monty!! Montgomery Gator, hi hi! How are you feeling?!" Sun asked.

Monty's attention snapped to Sun. His head twitched to the side, and he crouched slightly.

You got a very bad feeling just then, like an unexpected shock, too much electricity overloading your circuits.

"Sun-" you started to warn.

Monty sprang forwards, lunging at Sun with clawed hands outstretched.

Sun cried out and quickly spun around, hunching over you as his hands closed in tight around you. You felt a violent shudder and a horrible high pitched metallic scraping sound that sent an uncomfortable amount of grating feedback piercing through your audio processors.

"Ouchie," Sun whined.

Sun was moving, and you could barely see through the cracks between his fingers. He was running for the nearest door- luckily, you'd already been through the hallway beyond with Sun earlier and the lights were already on- and you could hear Monty in hot pursuit.

You could finally see again as Sun adjusted his hands, cradling you to his chest with one while the other hit the door controls. You were already moving after a brief moment of reorienting yourself. Monty and Sun went back and forth with the door controls as you darted into the walls.

You were moving as fast as your little legs would carry you. You knew Sun had to be damaged, but you hadn't been able to get a good look at him. You did your best to focus on the most pressing problem; getting this door shut so Monty couldn't hurt Sun again.

You could barely wait the milliseconds required between signals. You cut the wire and deftly reconnected it. All was still and far too quiet.

When you finally made it back out of the walls, Sun was sitting on the ground, his face plate turned all the way around so he could see the damage on the back of his casing. The door was closed, and you could hear Monty stomping around on the other side.

"Hi tiny friend," Sun said quietly, his face plate swiveling back around to look at you. "So ummm. There's good news and there's bad news."

You were already scurrying around Sun to look at the damage for yourself. Sun's face turned to follow you.

"The good news is that parts and service is really close by!" Sun said as you sat there and stared. "The bad news is that I need to get there pretty much as fast as physically possible."

There were three gashes in the metal near Sun's shoulder, right above and leading into where his casing had been entirely torn away. There were a lot of exposed and severed wires, as well as at least one support beam spanning the vertical length of his endoskeleton's spine that looked a breath away from snapping.

You finally snapped out of it and started quickly flashing your tail at Sun. "Do not turn to either side. Do not lift your left arm. Stand slowly and move quickly." You climbed up Sun's leg and scaled his scarf in order to get up onto his shoulder, so he wouldn't have to reach out and lift you.

Sun did as ordered, moving very carefully. You heard some concerning groaning, but nothing snapped. Sun made his way down the hall towards a 'Staff Only' door leading down into the access tunnels.

"Wowie, that sure is a lot of warning pings and damage errors!" Sun laughed nervously. His voice was strained and much higher pitched than usual.

"Keep moving. You'll be okay. I'll fix you."

Sun nodded. "My tiny friend is very good at fixing things."

"Right." You kept checking and double checking your internal clock. Time seemed to be moving a little too slowly as Sun made his way slowly but surely to parts and service.

#I think this was the longest chapter of all of them #teeny little story #eyndr tells a story #fnaf sb #fnaf sb au #fnaf sb fanfic #fnaf security breach #daycare attendant #security breach #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #moondrop #sundrop #fnaf dca #tw violence #fnaf au i think i smell a rat #i think i smell a rat #fnaf y/n

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